The Dating Situation, As of Late

Frit‘s not really a crier. Me? Oh, I’m a big-time bawler. In fact, have you seen Kristen Bell’s sloth meltdown on Ellen? (If you haven’t, you must.) Because I really understand her. We’re soul-sisters, me and Kristen. Kindred spirits. But if her “good zone” is between 3 and 7, mine is more like 4 to 5–at least that’s what Frit tells me.

So the other night, I went into her room (Frit’s, not Kristen Bell) and crawled up on the bed (it’s really high, you kind of have to hoist) and I was a little teary. And though I’m sure she would’ve rathered ignore me, she asked what the matter was. Such a good best friend, that one is.

Now, you have to know that earlier in the day we had run into some friends of ours at the store. We didn’t see them initially, but the wife saw me and grabbed me and said she’d heard that one of us was engaged.

Now this “news” that one of us is engaged is a rumor that has been circulating among the more nosy members of our Church congregation lately. Well, at least I call it “nosy.” Frit’s a lot more forgiving. But regardless of whether it’s nosy or sincere interest in our lives and “well-being” (not), it’s a false rumor.

And so I set out to tell this woman that it was not true. No one in our house was engaged. No one was even seriously dating anyone. When Frit joined the conversation, the wife retold the story, looked at Frit and said, “And well we knew it wasn’t you, so we just assumed it was Krista.”

Uhhhhh … okay? What does that even mean? “We knew it wasn’t you.” ??? As if the idea of Frit being engaged was impossible?

Now you also need to know that this conversation happened just days after someone ELSE told Frit that they worried she’d never get married because they had determined that she couldn’t open her heart.

(Even just the thought of that right there makes me swear a long string of expletives in my head. Who do these people think they are?)

And so, the other night, I found myself sitting on her bed.


For her.

Which, truth be told, only made her laugh. Which is generally how it goes ’round these parts. (Watch that sloth video again from time stamp 3:02 and you’ll see. Frit’s Ellen. I’m Kristen. No lie, that’s exactly what it’s like between us.)

But anyway, Frit’s not one to take anything too personally. She never internalizes or worries. She mostly just laughs. While I, on the other hand, well … I told you. My “good zone” is between a 4 and a 5.

But really. Someone needed to cry about it!

And so I did. I wept for my friend. Because honestly, it’s hard enough to have enough faith on your own at this age that love and marriage will eventually happen. We don’t need doubters or their stupid commentary.

Well. After Frit stopped laughing and I stopped crying, we had a pretty great time recounting all the dating situations we’ve encountered lately. Seriously. This whole thing (i.e. dating at this age and in this place) is ridiculous.

And I thought you might enjoy reading the highlights (I realize this post is getting long, but I promise these stories are worth it):

1.  A couple months ago, we were both back to trying the online dating thing and Frit was matched with a guy who wanted to talk on the phone. Now, not only is Frit not a crier, she’s not a phone talker–at least not for periods longer than 20 minutes. But obviously, it’s helpful to have a phone conversation between the initial emailing and the possible meet-up. So she gave him her number. And he called. And he talked. And he talked. And then he talked some more. About himself. The whole time. And she told him she needed to go. And that her battery was going to die. And still … he talked. And so finally. She just hung up. Mid-conversation. Mid-sentence. Just … hung up on him. And that was the end of that. (This story makes me laugh so hard every time I think about it!)

2.  Now on this dating site, you can browse around through the catalog of singles and if you see one you like, you can either send them an email or a “flirt.” Yes. A “flirt.” There is an actual list of actions, I guess you could call them, such as a wave or a wink or a sign that says “you’re cute,” that essentially equate to virtual flirting from across the room. And honestly, I can’t even believe I’m typing this. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous … As if it’s even possible to flirt virtually! … two avatars acting out some supposed fling. It’s so bizarre to me. Good grief. And I rarely respond to flirts. I mean, I think, if you want to get to know me, send me an email. Ask me a damn question, for crying out loud. But anyway, I got a flirt recently. And the sender? He blew me a kiss. Really? Like, for REAL real? Because … you would do that in real life? You’d actually see a girl you want to get to know and you’d blow her a kiss and expect her to … what?

3.  I also got an email, through the dating site, from a guy that said the following:

Im Kyle
Im bad a telling but better at answering
I go to school full time and I work part time teaching people to drive

And I am not kidding. I did not delete any punctuation or any portion of his email. I also did not embellish it in any way. That is a straight copy and paste from his initial attempt to contact me. And all I could think was, Seriously? This is one of my options?

4.  Speaking of initial contact online … Frit got the following first email from a new match (a complete stranger) on Valentine’s day:

Just felt inspired to drop you a note and wish you Love and Light on this day of Love, Hearts, and Lovers.

May you find love in your heart for all of the wonderful people, relationships, and beauty in your life. It’s apparent you live in such a way that you give back more than you can see that receive in this life… I feel also to share that you have so much love building and building for you. You welcome some of it now, but there is so much more awaiting you. You will receive it when the time is right. Keep giving…keep loving… you receive it all 10-fold (though I can tell that is not your motivation, it IS your reward and promise).

Much happiness to you,

p.s. sorry if this seems a bit unusual, but like I said, I’ve felt drawn to u. I’ll leave it at that though. The next step is yours.

5.  Another initial message? I got this one a few months ago:

send me a message when your not busy

Well. How about you stick an apostrophe in your conjunction, capitalize the first word in your sentence, and put a period at the end of it. And … while you’re at it, why not take 30 seconds to tell me about yourself or, novel idea, ask me about myself, when you’re not busy.

6.  But enough about first emails, let’s talk first dates. Frit’s had some doozies. There was, of course, the one who brought his son on the date. Aaand okay, it’s not ideal, but we can go with it and try to be accommodating. Unfortunately, the kid was a holy terror and her date ended up chasing him around the whole time.

Or there was the first date whose initial question as he sat across the dinner table was: “So. What’s your dealio?” Ha! Ummm … well. I think the real question here is, What’s your dealio?

Or there was the time one of her first dates got a call in the middle of ice-cream and had to leave to go pick up his child because his ex-wife didn’t want to watch him anymore. Or, speaking of ex-wives, there was the time when her date canceled because he had been put in jail—by his ex-wife.

7.  But what about profile names? Here are three of my favorites:

a. whazupwidu3, b. iloveitwhenyacallmebigpapa, c. krazybone

Again I ask: Seriously? And can I just point out the fact that Mr. whazupwidu3 has the number 3 at the end of his? Is there also a whazupwidu1 and whazupwidu2? Does that mean there are three men out there who independently came up with that screen name and thought it was a good idea?

8.  Oh, and how about the time I got this email:

I love the way you look! I realize the age-gap’s too wide, but, hey, a guy can dream can’t he?…I’m just sayin’.

How old was he? Oh, he was 61. 61! Why? Why? Wwhhyyyy? do I actually pay for this?

9.  I’m almost done, I promise. But I can’t wrap this up without sharing the following email exchange I had with a guy who sent me multiple “flirts” initially:

I write: Hi, Thanks so much for the flirts … it’s flattering. But I’m just not much of an online flirt kind of a girl (I don’t know why it seems weird to me). If you’d like to get to know me better, feel free to send an email. I’d enjoy getting to know you. Hope you’re having a great day! Krista

He writes: Hi Krista!, my names Scott, this internet dating is very weird I agree, its been a wonderful morning. The days not over yet though.

Me (thinking in my head): Okay Kris. Just breathe. Maybe punctuation and coherent sentences aren’t the deal-breaker you think they are.

I write back: This is true. Any fun plans for the weekend?

He writes back: Paintball this morning! , roller derby tonight and a after party.

Me (thinking in my head): Uhhhh … Why is that comma there? And what do I do with this? What does he want me to say? Does he have any questions for me? Okay. Breathe. Just go with it. You have to try, Krista. Just try.

I write back: That’s quite the day!

He writes back: Yea but.it makes for alot of fun too!. At the end of the day ill be exhausted but have had fun all day and can relax next weekend!. Yes it made for a long Saturday, got some sub culture in thanks to brodie I did drag him to the ballet on a double date last week to thiller, good thing Sunday is a day of rest even though there’s still tonz to do.

Me (thinking in my head): Who is brodie? And going to the ballet is “sub culture?” What does that even mean? And what is tonz? I. Can’t. Handle. This. We are so not a match. I’m done.

10.  And finally, speaking of nosy people at Church. A woman who doesn’t even know Frit, except by name, (seriously this woman is essentially a stranger) begins asking her about a guy she’s been dating. Said woman knows about this guy because he’s come to Church with us a few times. And said woman concludes the conversation with, “I just so hope you two would fall in love.” Note to everyone: If we want to talk about our dating life with you, we will bring it up. If we don’t, then we don’t want to talk about it with you. And it’s none of your business anyway. I mean, I don’t ask you how often you and your husband are having sex, or if you’re going to have another baby and when and why not, do I? No, because it’s none of my business.

Having said that, I must say “thank you” to said woman. We hope we fall in love too. And while things don’t currently look too promising, and while people frequently say stupid things, offer stupid advice, and extend stupid consolations to us, we’ve not lost hope. No. We’ve not lost hope. At least that’s what Frit reminds me between my tears.

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#reverb10: wisdom

Day 10 of #Reverb10 // Susannah Conway {love} asks // What was the wisest decision you made this year and how did it play out?

I don’t know if I would classify this as the “wisest” decision I made this year, but rather a series of choices I’m glad I made. And they were wise. I think.


I said I wouldn’t do it. (Ever again.) But one late night I found myself alone in a hotel room, snow swirling outside, staring at the florescent glow of my computer screen. I typed quickly, probably because I knew if I thought too hard about what I was doing, I’d talk myself out of it. Twenty minutes later, I hit “Enter” and my profile was created.

A few weeks later we were “matched” and again, I said I wouldn’t do it. I was not–was not–going to email first. “Oh get over it,” my sister said. “Just email him.” And I found myself typing quickly, again for fear I’d retreat from my moment of bravery. And what do you know … He replied. And then I replied. And then he replied. And well … that’s how it went day after day.

It was what I got out of bed for. The one thing I looked forward to. When everything else was uncertain and difficult and unstable. When the grief (though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time) was gray and paralyzing. There was this person, who, though I’d never met, I began to care about. And the  emails just got longer and longer. And more and more honest.

After two months I heard his voice for the first time. We picked up right where we left off as though we were already friends. And I suppose we were. Night after night I spent hour after hour laying on my bed, feet propped against the wall, smiling, at times like a 16-year-old, happy just to talk. To him. And I thought. What if I hadn’t done what I said I wouldn’t do. I could feel myself opening up in ways I hadn’t in so long. So long.

Three months later I saw his face and held his hand and kissed his lips for the first time. And it was fun and it was giddy, the way all new relationships are. But that was just the beginning of the end. Things in person weren’t the same as they’d been over the phone and email. We were at different places and needed different things from each other.

And so one night I said, “I can’t do this anymore. I think this needs to be the end.” And he didn’t argue.

I’ve wondered in the six months since then if all the time and effort and money were a waste. But mostly I’ve wondered if the honesty I gave and vulnerability I allowed were worth it. And the conclusion is yes.

The choices I made that led me to him, though reckless, were wise. And all the experiences that followed as a result, allowed me the opportunity to feel and learn and grow. I was alive, in a way that I hadn’t been in so long, even if only for a few months.

But in the end. It was also wise to be done.

To leave a comment, simply scroll down. To read more #reverb10 posts, click here.


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Moving Forward

This weekend I …

I deleted all the cute text messages that I’d saved over the last six months.

I deleted the pictures from him on my phone.

I tucked all his emails away into a folder out of sight. (What can I say? I’m a saver and our emailing days were some of my favorite. I can’t part with those.)

I had lunch in the park with Frit, where I was allowed to say any irrational thing I thought or felt without any judgment or advice being given back. It was sunny. We ate cherries.

I consumed an entire bag of BBQ potato chips while watching 500 Days of Summer, as well as a Krispy Kreme doughnut and an Arby’s Jamocha shake later that night. (Thank you Frit for knowing exactly which comfort foods I always need and for bringing them to me exactly when I need them.)

I washed the sheets and remade the bed in the spare room.

I showered and put some make-up on.

I made a list of all the things I really liked about him so that I can make sure to look for them in the next “someone.”

I made a list of all the things that were absent between us so that I can make sure they exist in the next “something.”

I made a list of all the things I learned from him and this experience.

I outlined a plan for some things I need to improve on.

I prayed for help in my pursuit of set ups. (Speaking of, if you have someone in mindemail me.)

I prayed for him, that he’ll be happy and successful.

I took some deep breaths. Because sometimes I forget to breathe.

I’m mustering the courage to take some risks in the near future.

I’m stepping out.

And I’m moving forward.

Here we go!

p.s. moving forward is a lot easier and way more fun if you’re wearing a pair of yellow peep-toe wedge heels with ruffles.

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Alone Again

The relief I felt yesterday when he pulled away was short lived. Actually, it comes and goes. We did the right thing and I know that. But reality set in too. I’m alone again. And with that realization, my thoughts bounce around like a pinball.

I miss him.

We haven’t talked in 24 hours.

This is the first day in six months that we haven’t talked.

The first day after 174 days of talking daily in some form or another.

It’s really hard to just turn off the notion that we’re “supposed” to talk today.

Especially when he was such an good and happy part of my life.

My daily life.

I don’t know what shift he’s working today.

I don’t know how the drive home was yesterday.

I don’t even know if he made it home.

I don’t know what he had for dinner.

I don’t know what he did with the rest of his day.

I don’t know how his mom’s garden is.

Those are all things I used to know.

And I know the “missing him” is partly him and who he is, but mostly it’s me just missing “someone.”

Having “someone” again was nice.

For so long I shut down all those feelings.

It’s just easier to not think about it.

And that’s what I’ve done for the last 5 years.

I haven’t dated.

At all.

I haven’t even been interested in anyone.

Not one person.

For five years.

But I also haven’t cried over anyone.

And I cried a lot yesterday.

I haven’t been confused about my feelings for anyone.

I haven’t been rejected.

I haven’t wondered where I stood.

I haven’t been left waiting by the phone.

But I also haven’t felt butterflies.

And I love the butterflies.

I haven’t been giddy over getting ready for someone.

And I love getting ready for a date.

I haven’t felt that “take-my-breath-away-heart-leap-instant-smile-on-my-face” feeling when his name appears on my phone.

I love that feeling.

Frit always joked that she knew when I was reading a text from him because of the way my face looked–all smiley and gooey.

I haven’t felt that total and complete “happy-calm” when you’re lying next to someone, all snuggled in with your head on his chest.

That is the best feeling in the world.

And now I have to start all over.

Because I let myself open up all those feelings that I put away.

And now that they’re out again, they want to stay out.

At least the happy, girly feelings do.

It’s like Pandora’s box.

Well kind of.

In theory it’s like Pandora’s box.



Starting over.


It’s worth it.

It’s worth it.

It’s worth it.

It has to be.

It better be.

I know it is.

I know it is.


I know it is.

Why couldn’t it have just worked?

Me and him.

I hate this part of the process.

I really hate it.

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The End

I didn’t expect to feel the relief I felt when I shut the door behind him. I’ve known for a little while now that this wasn’t what I wanted. Wasn’t what I needed. And ultimately wasn’t for me. But I held on. Because letting go is scary. Because I thought–hoped–it could maybe, possibly become what it needed to be if we just gave it time. Because I liked him. I really did. Because it was so good in the beginning. Because it was “something” after a long while of nothing.

But something isn’t better than nothing–even though I’ve been trying to talk myself into believing that for a couple weeks now–especially when it’s not right.

He was here less than 24 hours this time. He was kind. He always is. And we laughed. And we had fun together. But in the end it just wasn’t what it needed to be. For either of us. And so he left this morning. After an hour of cuddling, a few tears, and a hug.

And that’s the end of this chapter in my life.

B: Thank you. Thank you for the time we had together. Thank you for your kindness. You’re a good man and I’ll always think of these six months with total contentment and no regret. Our late night phone calls were the highlight of my New Year. Meeting you was a blessing. Dating you was a gift. And I want you to know. It’s okay. I’m okay. xo, me

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Initiative 2010, I Need Your Help

Every New Year, my friend Emily chooses a theme to live by for the next 365 days, i.e. 2005: Husbands Arrive (she and her roommates wound up getting married that year “oddly” enough) or 2007: Closer to Heaven (wherein she worked on some spiritual goals throughout the year). Well, when I heard about her tactic, in the back of my mind I came up with my own theme for 2010. I didn’t write it down, or think about it too seriously, but it crosses my mind every now and again. What was it, you ask? I’ll tell you …

2010: Date More Men

And I can happily say I’ve already accomplished the goal. I’ve dated more men in 2010 than I did in 2009.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit B.

And see, here’s the thing about Exhibit B … I thoroughly enjoyed dating him. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be. And even though it ended, it made me want to try again. So back to the catalog I go.

But herein lies the problem: I don’t have a catalog. I work from home, I go to a family ward*, my eHarmony membership ran out and I don’t want to hop online again just yet if I don’t have to, and there really aren’t a lot of ways to meet single LDS guys (unless you want to go to those wretched regional activities/conferences–which I don’t).


I’m swallowing my pride (and my fears) and I’m asking for help. From you. Yes, I’m asking my readers to set me up. I really think this could be fun! So if you’d like to give the role of matchmaker a try, here are the rules and guidelines for Krista’s Initiative 2010: Date More Men

1. He needs to be an active, dedicated, and faithful member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

2. He needs to be 5’11” or taller (the taller the better).

3. He can be as young as 25/26-ish or as old as 40, although there is room to fudge on this rule if you have someone you think is just really fantastic but doesn’t fall exactly in that age-range.

4. You may certainly post this solicitation for dates on your blogs or Facebook pages. You may talk to friends, sisters, husbands, mothers, brothers, etc. about it. In fact, I would encourage and ask you to. The way I see it is that it’s all about networking. So if you don’t know any single guys, maybe someone you know does.

5. Don’t think too hard about whether or not it’s an “eternal match made in heaven.” Let us figure that out. If he’s kind, honest, and hard-working (whatever the profession or level of school), then I want to go out with him. Really, I do. I don’t have a “type” that I’m looking for per say, so toss ’em my way.

6. Having said that, if there is an obvious reason he is single (poor hygiene, can’t hold down a job, loves his cat more than anything in the world, can’t do anything without his mother’s approval), please be kind and skip this opportunity to play matchmaker.

7. Please don’t give him the link to my blog so that he can “check me out.” Ever. I’m serious. There’s too much of my soul here. In the event that he’d like to see what I look like before committing to calling, I have included a recent picture at the end of this post for you to download and distribute as you see fit.

8. You may not portray me as any sort or variety of desperate when approaching your single male friend about me. I’m far far from it. I am also not marriage hungry. The only point of this is to date (a lot hopefully), have fun, and meet new people. Period.

9. If you’re the praying type, pray about it. I know that might sound funny or weird, but I believe God answers prayers. I also believe He uses us to bless each other’s lives. So put those two truths together and what do you get? A God who will help you if you decide you’d like to help me.

So here’s how it works. If you, or someone you know, has a guy in mind, email me and tell me about him. Talk to him too. See what he thinks. Here are a few tidbits about me:

Krista, age 31, 5’7″, originally from South Carolina, graduated with a degree in journalism, served an LDS mission, started professional career working in PR and marketing for a record label, now works independently as a writer, photographer, & marketing consultant. Sings. Draws/Paints. Owns a boutique. Loves planning parties, fresh seafood, and the sunshine. And here’s a recent picture:

(Taken Sunday, June 13)

What do you think? Is this a good idea? Or a bad idea? Either way, I really hope you’ll help me.



*LDS congregations are grouped by geographic locations and are called “wards.” In most areas you can find a “singles ward” where you can go to Church with other young single Latter-day Saints. You don’t have to go to a singles ward if you don’t want to. It’s just an option. The other option is what’s referred to as a “family ward” where the congregation is made up of all ages and family status–kids, parents, singles, widows, seniors, etc.


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An Evening Walk

It was a balmy night, the kind of night you want to drink in gulps but can’t seem to swallow fast enough. The sun was just setting behind a plateau of red rocks, sending an offering of burnt yellow rays heavenward. A warm breeze flirted with the hem of my skirt and tugged at my hair lifting single strands like kites in a summer sky. The scent of late Spring blossoms danced along, teasing my taste buds with their sweetness. Quite simply, the air–dry and delicious–was alive. And so was I.

My senses intoxicated, I wanted to slow the seconds–to have time enough to breathe it all in and wrap it up with a beautiful bow for later opening and reopening.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked. “Mm hmm,” he answered.

We started South and the yellow light soon bent beneath the deep pink clouds which then gave way to an indigo dusk. Quietly, he slid his hand into mine, lacing his fingers in that way that he does and said … “Tell me something. Something about you.”

I thought for a minute. Where do you begin when there’s no limit to the answers? Memories and images flowed with the smallest of details and timidly, I began.

He listened as I talked, asked questions when he wanted to know more, laughed at the funny parts, and rubbed his thumb back and forth over my hand when I cried because of how deeply I felt about what I was telling him. It was easy, this conversation. Easy to tell him things. Easy to be myself. Easy to walk beside him.

It was his turn next. To “tell me something.” We zig-zagged back and forth, up and down different blocks, talking and not talking, laughing, listening, hand in hand, stopping to smell every flower within reach, saying hello to the neighbors, watching the moon rise, large and full, pregnant with soft light on the horizon.

And only when the sky grew black with night did we turn to make our way back home. One star hung low and bright in the western sky. Crickets chirped from the gardens by the sidewalk. I looked at our shadows stretched out long in front of us and all I could think was, how much more content could I possibly be?


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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.

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First Date Hair: Please Cast Your Vote

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!


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

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.

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I Called Him. Can You Believe That?

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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