You're really, really ridiculously good looking...

Have you ever dated anyone that you know is totally out of your league?

I mean, I'm talkin' SUPER attractive. One that you just know HAS to have something wrong with them? I mean, why would God give them such flawless looks and not a flawed something else?

He wouldn't. There's got to be something wrong with them. A deformity. A small wee-wee. A terrible laugh. A weird personality. A cat fetish. Something.

There's got to be SOMETHING...

...because I am going on a date with the most attractive man I have EVER seen in my life.

He asked me on a date. On a DATE.

I usually have a good sense of how I compare on the attractive scale to another human being, so just know, this dude is WAY better looking than me. I'm not bad looking, in fact, I am probably pretty, in some light...but this guy is outta my league. I am now THAT girl. THAT girl who is going out with a guy more attractive than she is. Will people stare? Will people say things like, "How did she get a guy like that to go out with her?"

Holy crap!

I'm already an uncomfortable person on dates. I get nervous and I laugh awkwardly. I'm clumsy...I spill things. I say things I shouldn't say.

Wish me luck. The date is Friday. What should I wear?

And I am scared to death I am going to say what I am thinking, "Wow, you're REALLY attractive. REALLY attractive. Wow."

It could be hysterically funny.

Cheers to finding his flaw....:)

Boob Grabbers.

They're everywhere. All around you. Just waiting to give you a nice, firm grab of the ta-ta.

They pretend to be your friends.

They think they are so funny.

They probably think they are turning on some guy.

They think they are totally worthy of the touch.

They think it is appropriate in any setting.

They hold nothing back.

Honk.

Honk.

Can someone please see how uncomfortable I am? Someone is grabbin' my boob and I still haven't gotten laid and I am so uncomfortable. Clumsy is a self-conscious little lady.

And even when my friends honk my horns....I am still uncomfortable. I'm not touchy-feely. I don't like cuddling. So, I don't like being fondled by friendlies. It makes me super nervous and say nervous statements and laugh nervously. hardy har har.

Boobs should not define me and neither should a little game of Tune in Tokyo.

I'm just sayin' what I'm sayin'.

Hairapy: The Best Remedy for a Broken Heart

I have a theory about breakups that involve your hair.

From my experience with breaking up, the best way to get yourself on the road to rebound is to change your hair. The next time he sees you, you should look different. You should look like a new person because you ARE a new person. A new person with a healing heart.

The problem is...hairapy is a little expensive. Because it must be done correctly. It must NOT be done by a discount hair salon next to Wal-Mart...or worse...IN Wal-Mart.

I have learned these lessons the hard way. I went to a beauty school for my first round of hairapy. And it was disastrous. Don't judge me because I had a Cruella DeVille 'do. Or a femullet. 'Cause I've destroyed the pictures and they were the result of some inexpensive hairstylists/Edward Scissorhands.













Since everything around me is changing, my job, my home, and my boy situation, I decided that I needed to also change my hair.

It's tradition and it is VERY helpful.

Here's the timeline of my hairapy:

After Black Eye Boy and I went our separate ways: BLONDE and I grew it out long.

After Social Retard and I broke up the first time: Accidental Femullet and "short bob" fix - Light Brown
















After Social Retard and I broke up the second and final time: Black and White Cruella Deville 'do.

















After HC and I stopped bouncing around town: Long and Dark






After the big "Insecure Boy" disaster: Short and Blonde











Now, single and ready to mingle, I dyed my hair brown again. A new start. A new singledom. One no longer plagued by HC (he's moving home). And one farther away from Insecure Boy.







The hairapy also helps because when you talk to your friends and they can't remember who you were dating at the time you can say, "Oh you remember Fred, when I had the bob? Or remember the femullet disaster...right after the Social Retard incident?

See how helpful this can be!

I'm telling you, I feel a hundred times better. That, and my hair lady listens and gives me a scalp massage that is to DIE for!

The Big Sellout

Okay, I have truly been MIA. I'm sorry. I should be back in the swing of things in a few weeks.

Here is why.

I got a new job.

I'm moving.

Here's why I am a sellout.

I have a job I love. I love the people I work with here. It is designing for a clothing company and it is my dream job. But in my dream, it paid a lot more. And that's why it can't be my dream job anymore. Because I need to eat. I need to pay the bills.

So. I got offered a job. Not designing. Still kind of in the fashion world. It pays double. Yep. Double. With full benefits, vacation, and a chance to move up.

It's about thirty miles south of where my current apartment is located. Chardonnay and I had this big plan to move in together and I ruined it. I am so sad.

However, I am sure she will come visit because I just got a place practically on the beach and I am so excited. I will be living with two straight dudes. Should make for really great blog material.

Wow.

Gulp.

I am really nervous and excited for the next few weeks. I start my job next Wednesday and move in a week from Saturday.

Then I will tell you all a really funny story. I promise. :)