Category Archives: Dating

He

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… just left after a whirlwind 30-hour marathon date.

… was a little shorter than I envisioned, but still tall enough that I could (thankfully!) wear my pink wedge heels and not be taller than him.

… later said that the first few minutes were a little awkward. (He was right.)

… let me win the go-cart race, but kicked my trash at air-hockey.

… opened my doors (all of them) for me everywhere, every time. (Love that.)

… was oh-so-kind and careful and tender with me.

… said he “was really glad” about the results from the hairstyle vote. (Straight won for Day 1 & messy curly for Day 2.)

… drove me to the top of the mountain to watch the sunset over the lake.

… acknowledged and appreciated the time I took to get ready for him.

… noticed that I’d painted my nails for the occasion.

… let me taste some of his food at lunch. (I come from a family food sharers yo.)

… obeyed all traffic laws. (You SO could have made it through those 3 yellow lights before they turned red!)

… said he was surprised at how much I made him laugh. (Dude, I told you I was funny didn’t I?)

… also said he was surprised at how easy & normal it was to be together. (Agreed.)

… brought me a little present from the trip he took between the semester’s end and meeting me. (Thanks for thinking of me.)

… didn’t get offended when I fell asleep with my head in his lap during a conversation and didn’t get totally grossed out when I snored or drooled on his arm whilst sleeping. (Yes. You read that correctly and I can’t believe I’m actually writing that out loud. Can anyone say “mortified”!? I never snore. Ever. And I know everyone says that, but when I told Frit about it tonight, she was like, “I heard you snoring last night! You’ve got to be really tired or something, cuz you never snore!” And then she fell into a fit of uproarious-tear-inducing-laughter that I’d snored and drooled for 20 minutes while he watched me sleep. And then we were both laughing, and crying, and doubled over with side aches from the laughter. Cuz it is pretty funny. Alright, it’s actually really funny. But it’s kinda cute that he just watched me right?)

… took me to the aquarium.

… sat beside me while I finished some “have-to-do-now” work this morning before we could play.

… sat close to me on the couch when we watched a movie, cuz after a long, fun day we just wanted to stay in.

… would smile at me for no reason and say things like, “this is a really great day.”

… held my hand.

… asked if I wanted to come visit him in St. George next week.

I said yes.

First Date Hair: Please Cast Your Vote

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Um…I’m getting jittery and excited. The countdown that began five months ago is now down to t-minus 24 hours.

And I know it’s just a first date. I know that there is the possibility it will result in nothing. And I realize that talking about it here is a little premature. Because even though it’s “something”, it’s still not “anything.” But that’s what we do here right? We talk about things. Everything. Even the “things” that aren’t “things.” (huh?)

Because the reality is that I haven’t been excited about dating in a long time. I haven’t been excited about anyone (in a dating sense) in a long time. And so, no matter what happens tomorrow, the fact that I’m excited (and nervous) is cause for celebration. The fact that I’m trying again is reason for a party.

And you’re all invited! To cast your vote for tomorrow’s 1st date hair. Here are the options:

a) Straight

b) Smooth Curly

(Please pay no mind to the horrible lighting. And please forgive me for that face. I don’t know what came over me.)

c) Messy Curly

Frit’s leaning curly.

I’m leaning straight.

But we’re not firm in those choices at all.

So, please weigh in. EVERYone! Thanks for your help!

xoxo

Oprah Was Right: 3 Things That Will Boost Your Sass Level Right Now

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Wednesday is coming fast (not really, but kind of) and that means I finally–after nearly five months of emailing, texting, and phone calls–get to share the same physical space with him for a couple days. I don’t know what will happen. I just don’t know.

And not knowing is a little difficult for a compulsive planner like me. I’m always projecting, thinking ahead, and making sure I have a game plan for every possible scenario. But with this, there’s really just no way to know. So I wait. And I hope. And I focus on the things I can control like: 1) making sure I have all my work done so I can take a couple days off to play while he’s in town (I LOVE being self-employed) and 2) hair, makeup, clothes, and shoes. And that is what brings us together today my friends.

(Note to the fellas who read this blog [all 3 of you]: This is a pretty female-centric post, so feel free to skip the rest if you want. But come back tomorrow! I have a post written up and all ready to go just for you.)

So. I’ve been so excited to share 3 things I found (or re-found) this weekend that really, really, really added some sass to my step. You know, cuz that’s how you gotta feel if you’re meeting a guy for the first (or 50th) time.

1. Gillette’s Venus Embrace Razor: Seriously. Go buy it. Now. Your legs. Oh my. I’ve never, never, ever in my life had as great a shave (so close and smooth) as I did yesterday morning when I finally broke it out of the package after weeks of waiting to use it. It cost a little more than I’m used to, but it’s now on the list of brand-name-must-haves (kinda like Cottonelle tp or Land-o-Lakes butter … it’s worth the splurge).

2. Velcro Rollers: I’ve used velcro rollers since the late 90s when I saw Jennifer Aniston using them in a movie (remember Picture Perfect?). Anyhow. “Somehow” they got lost in the recesses of my bathroom cupboards until I found them recently and yesterday I got more compliments on my hair than ever. For maximum results, spray your scalp with a root boost before blow-drying. If your hair poofs or frizzes at all during a blow-dry, run a straightener through it. Once smooth and dry, roll hair from end to scalp, keep hair taut and opposite of the direction it normally lays on your head (tip: alligator clips stabilize the curler if it won’t stay on it’s own). I leave mine in for a minimum of 30 minutes, but I’ve been known to wear them to bed* so that I can get maximum roll time (it’s only slightly uncomfortable). If you don’t have a lot of time or any desire to wear them whilst sleeping, then once you’ve rolled your hair, blast it with heat from the dryer and then blast it with cool air from the dryer to set it. Spritz with hair spray. Once the hair spray is dry, take the rollers out. Don’t over brush. You’ll get great lift without teasing and a nice, natural, wave/curl.

*If you do wear them to bed, I suggest wearing a curler-cap … you know like they wore in the 50s and 60s … to keep your hair and the curlers in place. You’ll feel very Doris Day. (LOVE her.)

3. A Good Bra: Oprah was right y’all. A good fitting, well-made bra will change your life. And I am not being dramatic. Frit and I have both always just worn the cheap bras from Target or wherever, and we’ve both commented lately how we’re noticing the effects of gravity on our chests. So this weekend, we turned to Victoria. If she knows the secret to keeping the girls high and happy, we needed to know. And oh. my. gosh. She knows. It was fantastic. The store associates measure and fit you and bring you all sorts of styles to try. They adjust the straps for you so it’s right where it needs to be for proper support. They write your name down and which dressing room you’re in so they know who and where you are and check on you non-stop to offer feedback and help. Seriously awesome customer service. We both walked away with the Body by Victoria Lined Demi Push Up and all day long we kept saying how great it felt. It made all the difference in the world. And a noticeable difference at that.

So there are my 3 tips. I realize they’re very superficial, but I’m telling you, taking the time to “get ready” really boosts the psyche. It does.

But now I want to turn it to you … do you have any more recommendations to add to the list? Products? Rituals? What do you do that just totally makes you feel confident, gorgeous, and unstoppable? Tell me!

p.s. Tomorrow (in addition to a post for the guys) I’ll be posting pictures of straight hair vs. curly hair for your vote.

p.p.s. I. Seriously. Love. Being. A. Girl.

I Called Him. Can You Believe That?

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This is me. The day after Mr. Muscles (that’s what I shall call him from here on out) handed me the note that said he thought I was–and I quote–”very cute.” Remember that? Yeah. That was fantastic wasn’t it?

Anyways, I like how I look in this picture. I think I look content. At home in my own skin. Which, to be honest, I’m usually not. (Are girls ever? Or is it just me?) But that note and the total attentiveness, i.e. staring, from Mr. Muscles at our lunch date yesterday (Yes. I called.) did something to me. But I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I? (What’s new?)

So here’s the rest of the story.

After he handed me the note (go here if you don’t know what I’m talking about) I texted Frit immediately (of course) to tell her what happened. Then I finished my run. And then, on my way to my car, after a bit of debate–should I? shouldn’t I?–I texted him: Hey…this is the girl from the gym. Were you serious? Or was that just a joke or a dare maybe? It just seemed impossible that he could’ve been for real. Guys like him (athletic, strong, and really cute) don’t go for girls like me (somewhat pretty on good days, a few great features but not drop-dead-gorgeous, and by no means athletic). It’s like a law of nature or something, I’m certain. But he replied: Yes I was serious. (What? The laws of nature just went all wonky.) We texted back and forth the rest of the night and he asked if I wanted to go to lunch the next day. I said, Yep. I do.

The next day I was different. I didn’t check and re-check myself in the mirror. I didn’t change my outfit 10 times (only 3). And when I looked at myself in the mirror on the way out the door, I actually thought, huh. You look pretty hot Maurer. And yeah I know I’m going all Johnny Lingo/Mahana* on you. But for real. The laws of nature that I’d always lived by were gone.

See I’ve always had a pretty healthy opinion of myself in most ways. I’m confident that I’m a smart, successful, accomplished, talented, fairly funny–ok, ok, freaking hilarious–spiritually-tuned woman who can cook and hostess better than Martha. But I’m never the object of someone’s affection, or attention. So in the back of my head (or front of my heart, take your pick), I’ve always held the notion that boys just don’t like me for some reason. And the only conclusion I could ever come to was my looks. That had to be the reason I don’t ever get asked out. Ever. (Am I saying too much here? Probably.) So to have some random (cute) guy, at the gym of all places, find me so physically attractive that he would approach me out of the blue, not even knowing about the “smart, successful, accomplished, talented, freaking hilarious, spiritually-tuned woman who can cook and hostess better than Martha” underneath? Well. That just does something to a girl. Something good.

So I show up at lunch (I wore light khaki linen-ey slacks, a black 3/4 sleeve v-neck with gathers around the chest, and black ballet flats with my hair in big loose curls. I always want details like that so…there you go, in case you’re wondering.) and he was waiting–in jeans, flip flops, and a plain white-t. Um…kinda like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. And you know how I feel about Top Gun. And I know I shouldn’t think this (we Mormons don’t do tattoos) but the tattoo round his bicep peeking out from under his sleeve was pretty hot.

Excuse me while I go take a cold shower. I’ll be back to finish the story in a bit …

OK. I’m back. So like I said, he was waiting. We hugged. He was strong. [grin] And from there–we ordered, ate, and talked. And within 10 minutes … I was pretty certain he wasn’t for me. Within 45 minutes, I was way certain he wasn’t for me. I know. Sad huh?

He was super nice but we really didn’t line up on some major things–namely Church stuff. Plus there were some “choice of language” differences and differing philosophies about family and family relationships.

After an hour, I said I needed to go. He wanted to hang out the rest of the day. I said I couldn’t. He asked if he could see me again. And I wondered if he’d even listened to me during lunch? I mean it was so obvious that I so wasn’t what he was looking for. And he’s not at all what I’m looking for. If we’d pursued anything beyond that lunch, I’m certain I’d drive him crazy and eventually I’d get frustrated with him. And then I realized … he probably hadn’t heard much. He really had just stared at me. Which was so flattering and made me blush just a little. But really. After an hour, he knew nothing more about me than what he had known when I walked in, which was that he was attracted physically. He knew nothing about the “smart, successful, accomplished, talented, freaking hilarious, spiritually-tuned woman who can cook and hostess better than Martha.” And I need someone who wants to get to know all of that. I need someone who adores all that and can’t get enough of all that.

But I also know now how much I need someone who makes me feel as amazingly gorgeous as he did. And that finding someone who feels that way was/is actually possible.

But you know something else? You know what I was thinking about throughout the entire lunch? Him. No, not Mr. Muscles. Him. He comes in a week. And well. I’m pretty over the moon for him. And … he kinda likes me too. At least that’s what he tells me (although he doesn’t use the word “kinda”). Which is weird/scary/crazy/unnerving to feel towards someone I’ve never met in person. And it’s also a little embarrassing to admit out loud since he stops by here every now and again (Hi you. I bet you’re feelin’ pretty good about yourself right now knowing that I was thinking about you the entire time I was on a date with another guy.) :) but really, as soon as I said goodbye to Mr. Muscles (and called Frit to give her the run-down on the date of course) he was who I wanted to talk to. Next Wednesday can’t come soon enough.

And that is the end of the story about my fling with Mr. Muscles. Twas a lovely 18 hours.

Please feel free to leave comments, concerns, or questions in the comment box below. Thank you for your time.

Have a lovely afternoon.

*You can watch Johnny Lingo & Mahana here: Part 1, Part 2 It’s a short movie and totally worth watching over and over (like I did when I was a kid). I even had a goldfish on my mission that we named Mahana.

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How Krista Got Her Groove Back

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I don’t know if I ever even had a “groove” to lose to begin with, but hold the phone! I’ve got one now.

I’ve never been one of those girls. You know. The ones at the gym whose hair stays in place even after pounding the treadmill for an hour. (What kind of a person can even pound a treadmill for an hour?!) The ones who don’t sweat, who look cute, and bounce around the weight room doing absolutely nothing but collecting stares from the menfolk and standing by the water fountain. No. I’ve never been one of those.

I’m more the holey pajama wearing, sweat-dripping, lung-heaving, working-my-butt-off (if I’m lucky) type who doesn’t wear makeup and whose hair rivals Medusa by the time it’s all over. Let me tell you, I’m hot.

Last night was no different. But for better, or worse, that’s where this story begins. Do you have the visual? Okay. Here it goes.

So I had just finished 100 squats and 100 lateral shoulder raises and had made my way through half of my 100 lunges and 100 shoulder presses (Yeah. I’m a rock star. Let it be known.) when a guy came around the track and almost ran into me. He looked at me. And Iiiiii avoided eye-contact. Technically I was getting a little too close to the inner lane. But I couldn’t be bothered with such trivial details! I was, after all, lunging and keeping my balance and counting all at the same time (talent people. talent.). So I kept my eyes straight ahead and off he went, sprinting around the track. I finished my lunges and shoulder presses and laid down on the mat to do abs.

He arrived back to the stretching area as I was beginning my second set of crunches. With my knees in the air, red faced, sweaty, and huffing out each count, all I needed was stirrups and I looked like I was practicing for child birth. And yet, between count 8 and 9, here’s this guy standing over me asking what time the gym closed. Seriously? Do you not see me counting? (I didn’t say that out loud.) “In an hour. 11 p.m.”

I finished my crunches and began stretching. I could see him out of the corner of my eye writing on a torn piece of paper, using the weight bench as a table, and honest-to-goodness, my first thought was, Oh gosh. He’s like a trainer or something and wants to help me reduce the size of my backside. Cuz really, let’s be honest. My backside could be smaller. And of course that would be the first thing anyone would think of me if they saw me at the gym. That or, poor girl, she looks like she’s going to pass out. And seriously, he was way strong and muscle-y and looked like a trainer and was bouncing around the track like he was going to run a marathon right then and there. My second thought was, Krista, you’re an idiot.

I kept stretching. He gathered his bag and as I was leaning into downward dog he came up to me, said, “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry, but here,” handed me the piece of paper, and jogged off. My third thought was, he probably just wants to tell me I’m doing great, to keep it up, and someday I’ll have the body I’ve always wished for.

I opened up the wrinkled page. And I’m not kidding … in fact here’s proof. It read:

For real? Stuff like that does not happen to me. I’m not “that” girl.

But let me just tell you. I smiled through my entire run. I couldn’t help it. And I never smile when I run; I mostly look like I want to kill someone. But he seriously made my night. My life!

There was some serious swagger followin’ me around as I walked out of the gym last night. In fact–I can’t seem to shake it.

That little note is now pinned to my bulletin board to remind me–I am that girl. The one who gets hit on at the gym (the gym! me!). I’m the girl who is cute enough. The one who is enough, period.

Groove? Oh yeah. Check & check.

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The eHarmony low-down, 411, dealio, scoop, or whatever you want to call it

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So here’s how it works. You give them your email and your name and your height and your location and your gender and then you take this really really long test. You answer questions about your talents and your decision making ability (or lack thereof). You answer questions about how you deal, or don’t deal, with conflict. You answer questions about your life and your views and your ideals and your hopes. It takes forever. But then again, I was always the one who flipped straight to the quizzes in Teen magazine to find out, scientifically of course, what shade of lip gloss my personality is (frosted coconut), which kissing style I am (soft and sweet with a side of sass), which Saved By the Bell character I’m most like (Jessie, always Jessie. Ugh. After that, I began “cheating” so I could be Kelly.), and how to tell if “he” really likes me (And he never did. I was always the “friend.”), so I actually thought the eHarmony inquisition was pretty fun.

After you finish the test, which is supposed to “read” your personality and ultimately match you up (scientifically of course) with others of a “compatible” personality, you fill out your profile. Here you post your pictures and answer questions about what you’re most passionate about, what your best life skills are, the five things you can’t live without, the last book you read, who you admire or look up to, and basically try to present yourself to your matches so that they can get to know a little bit about you and decide if you’re someone they want to communicate with.

If they don’t–they “close” you. And honestly, the first few times I was “closed” it almost broke my heart. I felt like I was being broken up with for no reason. I mean, what was it about my profile that they saw and automatically didn’t like? I’m a likable girl right? I’m smart and successful and interesting, right? And I know I’m not the most gorgeous girl on the planet, but I’ve got some attractive features, right? Anyways. It stung a little the first few times. But then I had to close some of the matches I received myself and I didn’t feel so bad about it after that. :)

My goal in signing up for eHarmony was never marriage. If that came as a result … sweet. But no, my only purpose was to date. Just date. Anyone and everyone I could. It’s been a while for me so I figured what the heck. Why not hop online for a spell? What’s the worst that could happen?

Over the course of the two months I was on, I was probably delivered about 400 matches. At first I was hesitant to initiate communication. I’m old-school like that. I want the guy to step up and decide he wants to talk to me. But one day Frit was browsing my matches with me and told me to just do it. “If you’re going to pay as much as you’re paying for this, you better get the most out of it,” were her exact words. And so I did. I began sending communication requests to any guy that remotely seemed like a good fit and even to some that didn’t. I tried, not to lower my standards, but to give guys that I wouldn’t normally have thought I might be interested in a chance. Of the 400 matches I probably initiated communication with nearly 75 guys. I personally closed, or was closed by about 300. And then there were probably 25 or 30 who initiated communication with me.

Of those 100 or so matches I communicated with, all of them fizzled out either during the “guided communication” that eHarmony sets up (series of multiple choices questions, lists of must-haves & can’t stands, and short answer questions) or once we began emailing. I never went on one date. But lest you think all is lost. It is not.

My eHarmony experience got me in the “dating mindset” again. It taught me that there are good guys still out there (In fact I might still be talking with one of them. And by might, I mean I am.). And it certainly reminded me how hard it is to click with someone. I mean seriously, it is an honest-to-goodness miracle when two people meet, click, begin dating, become serious, get past all the “stuff” they each bring to the relationship, and actually get married. A miracle. But like I said. I’m thinking about dating again … after a really long hiatus. So despite my nervousness about doing the “online thing” … I’m really grateful I did it.

And there you have it. For all your inquiring minds. I really do love y’all and I so appreciate your care and concern over this matter in my life. You’ve supported me through everything that’s changed in my life lately, and since a lot of you have asked how it’s been going, I wanted to share a bit.

xo

Krista

Looks Like It’s Your Lucky Day

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See, here’s the thing. I don’t like to talk about dating. Partly because I don’t know what to say about it. But mostly because it’s difficult. It’s like walking a tight rope. If you wobble or bobble and say the wrong thing you fall on one of two sides: a) the side where you’re viewed as whiny and desperate and unsatisfied with your life because you don’t have “someone” or b) the side where you’re overly “fine” with your “situation” and don’t appear to even need that “someone”. And both, are dangerous.

Having said that, I need to explain some things about my perspective, which is LDS (Mormon). Most people who are not LDS would say that “30 and unmarried” isn’t that big of a deal–that there’s plenty of time. But the thing is, being “30 and unmarried” in the LDS faith is a bit of an anomaly. Most Mormons marry in their early 20′s and begin families soon thereafter. And while that trend is shifting to where people are now marrying at slightly older ages, it still doesn’t negate the emphasis our faith puts on the importance of family, regardless of age.

We believe–I believe– that the family is central to our Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness for us, His children. We believe that the greatest joys in life are to be found within the walls of our own homes. I know that to be true. And therein lies the foundation of my greatest wants.

And yet, beyond these matters of faith, there are also just the simple feelings of a girl’s heart–a hopeless romantic girl’s heart who wishes for someone to hold hands with and dance with late at night after all the dishes are done. Who wants to pack her love’s lunch every morning and iron his shirts every afternoon. Who wants to have dinner waiting, along side a big fat kiss. Who wants evening walks and quiet talks right before she tucks her perpetually frozen feet in between his warm ones under the covers. Who wants Cherrios ground into the carpet and permanent marker on the walls. (And if anyone tells me I’m living in a dreamland, leave now please. You’re not invited to read this blog anymore. I’m serious.) This girl has kept these feelings locked up tight for a while now, because it’s too hard to feel them. It’s just easier to avoid them and dive head first into the life I’ve been given, than to allow them to permeate the hours of daylight. It’s easier to say, “it’s fine. I’m happy. I love my life. What great things can I accomplish while I have this time?”

But that’s the thing…I really am fine. I am happy. I do love my life and want to do all I can to acheive great things. And I am–acheiving great things, that is. I’m on that tightrope, as we speak, feeling all of it at the same time–being “fine” but knowing there’s more, loving my life for all that it is but seeing what it still lacks, working hard to accomplish great things while knowing the greatest achievement I could ever attain is that of being a wife and mother.

Oh wow. I just re-read everything I just wrote. It’ll be your lucky day if I actually push “Publish Post.”

And so. I don’t talk about it. Because I don’t know what to say. And because it’s difficult and I don’t know how to walk the tightrope in public.

***
as always, please don’t leave any stupid comments.
and no, I still don’t want to talk about it.

A Step in the Right Direction? I don’t know. The jury’s still out.

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So I did it. I paid for eHarmony.

It was impulsive and reckless–which is how I think most normal people sign up for these sites. It’s late at night. You’ve just finished watching a Jane Austen movie and in a fit of longing for a man (preferably with an English accent) to sweep you off your feet and fall madly in love with you, you find yourself actually thinking, “This might be a good idea. I mean where else am I going to meet someone?”

I’m not saying that’s what happened to me. I’m just saying…I imagine that’s how it might could possibly happen for someone else. Or something along those lines. Maybe.

So it’s been three days and can I just say…it’s miserable. Every anxiety, fear, and insecurity has come bubbling to the surface as though I was a 10th grader facing the lunchroom wondering what table is acceptable for me to sit at.

I can’t believe I actually paid money for this.

*as a reminder: don’t leave any stupid comments about dating, being single at 30, how you understand, how you got married later (at the ripe old age of 26) and that it will all work out, how God has someone wonderful waiting, how God needs me for something special in the meantime, etc. “Stupid” being the operative word here. And if we meet in person, no. I don’t want to talk about this.

Merlin’s Magical Match (and a few of my recent sewing projects)

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Before I get to the projects that kept me busy last week, I believe that I did promise a hilarious story about Frit. And I won’t keep you waiting any longer…

Blame it on Izzy. Blame it on fast approaching birthdays. Blame it on whatever, but the fact of the matter is that Frit and I have been discussing a lot on the topic of “dating” lately. Mostly, about how we don’t. Date that is. And you can blame that on, well…we can’t figure that one out. I mean we’re both pretty cute, successful, smart, spiritually faithful, and we are absolutely the funniest people we know. But we can’t seem to find “any one” let alone the “right one” to date. We’re guessing it’s mostly due to the fact that we’re very rarely in situations where we have the opportunity to meet single, LDS men who are slightly older, still normal, don’t live in their mother’s basement, and have legitimate jobs. So in an effort to, well, put more effort into this area of our lives, we’ve both signed up for eHarmony. Actually we both have profiles, but Frit’s the only one who paid (I’m still not sure I can do it).

So Frit spent an hour answering the questions in the compatability test, paid her membership fees and we waited for the matches to begin rolling in. Soon enough, Match #1:

Merlin (interesting name, but alright, we’ll go with it. We’re not in any position to be picky over a name)
Orem, UT (same state, that’s a plus)
Doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink. (good answers, those are definitely deal breakers)
Christian-LDS (super!)
Age 76 (wha-what? Excuse us?!)

We are DYING laughing at this point. It’s even funnier if you know that Frit has her Masters in Social Work with a specialty in geriatrics. She loves old people like some people love chocolate. If she could live in an assisted living facility, she would. Even at her ripe old age of 36.

Between belly-laughs we figured out that when she was filling out her profile, she accidentally selected her birth year as 1927 instead of 1972. And the only way to fix it was to email the Help Desk at eHarmony, explain what she did, and have them fix it. Within a day it was fixed, but she still wasn’t getting any matches, which just seemed crazy! I mean are there no 30-40-year-old LDS men in the western United States on eHarmony? There had to be at least one! So again, after a little investigating, she realized that when she had made her original mistake of listing herself as 82 years old, eHarmony had automatically calculated that she was currently looking for men between the ages of 72 and 102! Baaaaaaah! She quickly fixed the age range and then, finally, the matches began rollin’ in.

The sad thing was that for the first few days Merlin was definitely the best catch of them all. His photo was darling and his answers to the profile questions were by far the sweetest, most sincere, just-what-you’re-looking-for in a man. She’s since gotten a few more matches in her actual age range that look nice, thankfully. So we’ll see how this pans out. It’s all very weird, we both admit, but we figure, at this point, we’ve got to do all that lies in our power and let God do the rest. If that means signing up for eHarmony, well then, we’ll do it. But I couldn’t not share that story here!

And now, onto the projects that kept me busy last week…

Sewing Izzy’s Blessing Dress (In the LDS faith children aren’t baptized until they turn 8, but new babies are given a special blessing by their fathers in Sunday services before the congregation.)

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I firmly believe that bloomers are an essential element of every baby dress.

I also spent some time making a gift for a baby shower I attended on Saturday:

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I sewed a small quilt with a patchwork of flannel on one side and plush minky on the other as well as a few embellished burp cloths.

It was quite the week and I was happy as a clam working away at my sewing machine. This week, I’ll be busy doing a bit of consulting for a company that needs some PR and marketing help as well as working on my own “stuff.” Can’t wait to share more (soon)!

Hope you’re having a lovely Monday.

p.s. just a reminder: don’t leave any stupid comments about being single, dating, what our “problem is,” etc. You know how much I hate stupid comments regarding this subject.

Breaking News

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image via

This just in …

Maintenance Man — is married. Yeah. I know. I couldn’t believe it either. Here’s how it went down:

I was transferring from the light-rail to the northbound train after work when I saw him. So, I did what any normal 30-year-old single girl would do. I followed him.

Some might call this stalking. I, personally, call it serendipity.

Anyhow, he was with friends, one of whom I know, so I casually and very nonchalantly sat down in the row behind them and caught wind of their conversation.

Some might call this eavesdropping. I, personally, call it being in the right place at the right time.

Eventually the wife came up and I found myself sitting there dumbfounded. Not that I loved him or even thought anything would even happen. It was just a mini-crush. The result of not having kissed anyone in, oh say, uh … ahem, well that’s just none of your business, thank you very much.

The dumbfoundedness turned into laughter, as this is not the first time this has happened, which led to slight annoyance.

Ladies, if you’re married, and you like him, then you better put a ring on it, as my girl Beyonce would say. Your non-ring-wearing husbands are killing us single girls. Killing us.

In other news …

Tonight was a “run-day” for triathlon training. And I sprinted. So you should all congratulate me on how awesome I am. (Mostly because I want to die, and I think I might, so you should get all the nice things you want to say to me in now before I pass on.)

And finally, to wrap up the news for this Tuesday night …

Today is my mom’s and my granddad’s birthday and I want to give a little shout-out to both. (My uncle put a shortcut to my blog on my granddad’s laptop so my readership now includes my grands — which I think is too cute.) I have posts about both my mom and granddad simmering. But right now, my body is shutting down, on account of the sprinting you see, and I’m anxious to see who I’ll be smoochin’ on in my dreams now that Maintenance Man is hitched. I have high hopes … but I don’t want to jinx it, so I’m not telling you.

And that’s the way it is.

Dear Mister

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Friday, February 27, 2009 (10:00 p.m.)
Flight from Phoenix to Yuma

Dear Mister,

I don’t mean to be rude, but would you please stop talking to me? I have been traveling all day. I’m tired. This is a late flight. No one else is talking. And you’re kind of loud. But mostly, I’m just not a plane talker to begin with. I really don’t like it. Don’t get me wrong … I’m friendly. Really friendly actually. Just not on planes. Can’t you see my iPod in my hands? I’m anxiously fiddling with the ear buds hoping you’ll catch the drift that I just want to close my eyes and not talk to you, or anyone else for that matter. And no, I don’t want to exchange business cards. When I’m not at work, I don’t want to talk shop. Sorry.

Please know, I think you’re really, really nice. But like I said–I’m just not a plane talker. So, please, please, can you stop talking to me?

Cordially,
Krista

***

Sunday, March 1 (4:30 p.m.)
Flight from Yuma to Phoenix

Dear Mister,

Could you please wake up and talk to me some more? I know you’re probably so tired, and I understand. I really do. As a general rule, I myself am not a plane talker. But I’d SO be willing to make an exception to that rule.

Thank you for offering to muscle your way to the back of the plane to find a place to stow my carry-on luggage. Thank you for lifting it and miraculously getting it to fit into the overhead when I couldn’t do it myself. You’re a dream. And I love you. Oh, is it too soon to say that? Well, I’m sorry you spent a month playing ball in Yuma only to have to go back to California without being signed to a team.

Alright. You sleep. I’ll just sit right here beside you and swoon for the next 35 minutes while the Arizona heat settles between us. And don’t worry about your leg that’s pressing up against mine. It’s just giving me tingles in places I didn’t know could tingle. And don’t worry about your elbow creeping onto my side of our cramped quarters. It only caused my heart to skip a beat or two. I really don’t mind. And if you do want to talk, I’m here. And ready. Anytime. Really.

Yours truly,
Krista

p.s. you have really great hands.

***

Sunday, March 1 (8:45 p.m.)
Airport Parking Shuttle

Dear Mister,

Can you seriously not see that there are 5 women still standing up on this bus? Are you really not going to get up and give one of them your seat? Has society really come to this?

Annoyed,
Krista

***

Sidenote 1 to readers: I thought you would like to know that while McHottie-Pants-Baseball-Boy slept, I tried to take a picture of him so I could show you what he looked like. And as you all you know, I’m somewhat of a professional in that area of photography. But apparently, if the lighting is a little too dark, my camera-phone automatically turns on a flash. I didn’t know this and so when I pushed the button to take the picture, the flash went off. At which point McHottie-Pants-Baseball-Boy felt the light, awoke with a start, at which point I quick shut my eyes and pretended I was asleep.
I know I need counseling. Or a help-group. Or something.

Sidenote 2 to readers: I could totally lift my carry-on.
But a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do.

Post-Edit: For inquiring minds like Coordination Queen (see comments) … here’s the photo of McHottie-Pants-Baseball-Boy.

Due to the fact that he jumped at the flash, I jumped with fear that I’d been caught. Thus the blur. But trust me … tall, dark, and handsome in every way. And how can you NOT fall in love with a boy who offers to take care of your bag?

Train Escapades (and More of the Maintenance Man!)

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I have a handful of meaningful posts simmering right now and will share them as soon as they are sufficiently cooked. Right now I’m busy working on my fireside/conference presentations, and memorizing all the music, and am learning some wonderful things that I’m looking forward to sharing. In the meantime, I think I’ll continue my current trend of frivolous posting and give you an update on … the maintenance man. Today is your lucky day! There is news to tell.

SO. I haven’t seen him since the day after Dream 1. And what I didn’t tell you, when I told you that I saw him getting off my train that day, was that I quick grabbed my phone so I could take a picture to send to Frit. (If you tell me I’m ridiculous or pathetic, I’ll tell you to go stick your head in the sand). Best friends need visuals. Period. Unfortunately there was no way to take a front-view photo without him knowing so the PIX Frit got looked something like this:

Obviously not a very helpful angle, but all I could capture without him knowing. Until today …

At the end of the work day, I caught the trolley to the SL Central Station where I transferred to a train headed out of the city. Whilst on the trolley I’d called my Grandma Sally to say hi and I wasn’t paying much attention to anything but our conversation until I got to my favorite seat in the first train-car, turned around, and saw him. Him! The maintenance man! I quickly, but with feigned nonchalance, turned around and sank into my seat as the flush spread from my cheeks down my neck (and maybe, just maybe, to my hiney). Every encounter is a bit uncomfortable, you must realize, on account of the fact that I’ve kissed him and all. Even more uncomfortable is the fact that he doesn’t even know we’ve kissed. But anyhow, I finished my conversation with Gram and contemplated my options.

Should I get up, move over to his aisle, and strike up a conversation?
No, you fool. You can’t even see him without going all 6th grade on yourself. Besides that, you’re a chicken.
Yeah, true. OK, what about a friendly smile?
Yeah, you could pull that off. Friendly smile is very non-threatening and even a 6th grader chicken can do it.
OK, on the count of 3, I’m going for it. Three … two …

I stood up to “resituate” my bag and coat into the compartment above my seat and as I did so, I caught his gaze (so I thought), smiled, and waved. Aaaaaaaand … he? He turned his gaze and looked out the window. No smile. No nod. No wave. Nothing. Nothing? Nothing!

Wh-what?! If I could’ve sunk any lower into my seat after that I would have been the grit in the creases of the worn leather upholstery. Later, when I told Frit about it, she laughed so hard she almost peed her pants and then (once she could breathe) came up with reasons as to why he didn’t acknowledge my friendly gesture including:

a) He thought I was waving at someone behind him.
b) Though he appeared to have been looking at me, he may have been looking past me and didn’t even see the smile and wave because he was staring into space.
c) Men are sometimes oblivious and he, being a man, might not even realize that I should look familiar to him. So while I have seen him (and kissed him) enough to feel like I know him, he might not recognize that in fact, I am not just a strange woman waving on the train, but am actually someone he’s come in contact with multiple time.

(She’s such a good friend.)

I’m personally banking on option A, but regardless, at the time, I felt like a royal idiot. I sat through the rest of the ride trying to appear as cucumber-like as possible grasping at any shred of dignity I had left. But if I’d had any at all to begin with, I tossed it out the window with my next move.

As we approached my stop, I turned to gather my things, and stole a glance in his direction. He was asleep! Asleep! Heaven had smiled upon me. This was my chance! My chance to get Frit the visual she needed! I ducked back down beneath the top of my seat, fumbled for my phone, quickly turned on the camera, and then slowly, nonchalantly, poked my head up, eyes darting to see if anyone was watching. I carefully rested my arm on the back of the seat, casually “fiddling” my phone. I twirled it on its corner, tapped it on the seat, flipped it around, and when the coast was clear: snap!

‘Twas a bit crooked and blurry so I tried again. Second time’s a charm.

Now I realize after telling you this story, you might think I’m a little crazy. But I like to call it “quirky.” And I think a little “quirk” is charming. So don’t think about leaving that in the comment box. I also realize that in showing you these pictures, I might totally embarrass myself, because YOU might know him. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take for a good blog story. I also realize that in showing these pictures to people who may or may not know him, I might discover that he’s married, which is just plain awkward. But if he IS married, he’s one of those idiot married men who doesn’t wear a ring which I think is awful, and downright rude to us single ladies. And if that’s the case, my dream about kissing him isn’t even my fault. It’s his and he should be ashamed of himself.

OK, enough stalling.

Here’s take 1:

And take 2:


Sidenote: I’ve never seen him wear spectacles before. And today, the spectacles plus the scruff just about did me in. He looked soooo philosophical. And those who know me best know my heart beats true for philosophers. [Sigh] (I wonder if he plays the guitar. If so, he had me at “Now what seems to be the problem with the thermostat on your floor?”)

In conclusion I’d like to say that my train escapade today was fun. I need a little more adventure like this in my life. I’d also like to say that I have no feelings toward the maintenance man whatsoever, other than flustered embarrassment that is slowly turning into curiosity as to why he’s popping up in my life all the time these days. Frit thinks it has to do with The Secret … The Secret … The Secret. Whatever it has to do with, at least there’s a man to talk about.