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The skeptic meets a believer February 5, 2008

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Advice People Give Me, Dating, Family, Friends, Full of resolve, It's a strategy, Men, Single Girl Cliches, Weddings, Women.
33 comments

So, I realized that I never blogged about having my tarot cards read on New Year’s Eve, out in a famous Square of a city I love. I remembered this evening when I was rooting through my far-too-full Kathy Van Zeeland purse and pulled out a clear glass stone with a white pattern inside of it – the Tarot Card Lady gave it to me to remember my reading. I went with my girlfriends for a party and we decided to mosey on down to the Square to hang out and in the process stumbled upon the Tarot Card Lady.

Now, before people start leaving indignant comments about tarot card readings being complete bull, I will preface the retelling by saying that I did this after loads of peer pressure and with a healthy dose of skepticism. I was the last of the four of us to have a reading, mostly because my curiosity was piqued by my friends’ readings. I’ve been with friends before who had readings in this same Square – I was never willing to part with a few dollars for what I viewed as a glorified guess based on nonverbal cues.

The Tarot Card Lady sat at a small cloth covered table with two folding chairs-in-a-bag. She spread piles of well-worn tarot cards across the table and had me pick from stacks, laying them atop each other in a pattern, asking me questions along the way.

Of course I was most interested in my love life (or lack thereof). This was entirely to be expected. I was with a group of single women (one has a long-term boyfriend, but is unmarried).

Had I written this sooner, I might remember everything that she said. I only remember the high points, and I will give her that many of her comments were spot on. And I can only hope that her predictions ring true.

I do remember the first card she pulled because she said, right off the bat, that I was very smart. I smiled and nodded. She continued that I was very strong, but I was also extremely emotional and closed off.

I figured she was three for three on that one.

She said that my financial situation has improved (it has) and would continue to do so in the coming year. She pulled one card and said I’d built up a Wall to keep people out; that I’ve been hurt in the past and I don’t want to let men in because of this. (Pretty typical fare for a single 28-year-old, no?)

My skepticism permeated the reading. She kept returning to this Wall I’ve built up to protect myself from being emotionally harmed and said I’d need to figure out how to bring down that Wall in order to find happiness.

She said I’ll be a good mother and I, feeling a wee bit exposed having all of my girlfriends and hundreds of people milling around within earshot as she described my shut-in personality, asked cautiously, “So, I will find someone and have a family?”

The Tarot Card Lady looked me straight on in the eye, crooked her eyebrow and said, “Yes, have you not been paying attention?”

“Well, I know, it is just that everyone around me seems to be getting married. And I’m always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” I joked. Self deprecation is a familiar friend and my only life-long companion.

“Stop. Stop right there.”

“What?”

“Don’t say that,” she said. “If you keep saying that it will come true.” She continued that each time I said negative things I was building my Wall, which I needed to dismantle brick-by-painful-brick.

“You will find love. And you will have a good marriage.” she said.

And, yes this really happened, as she laid out the second deck of cards and talked about my love life, a newly married bride and groom entered the Square, walked past us with their photographer and stopped to pose for a portrait. The bride’s roses were bright crimson red – so bright I can see the exact hue in my mind right now.

“Do you see that?” she asked, excitedly motioning to the couple. “That is a very good sign. A very good sign indeed.”

I will find a man to love, she said. But it will not be easy. Because of the Wall I’ve surrounded myself with and because I compare every man to the one who hurt me and immediately find fault. Because I am scared.

And he’s scared too, she said. We will meet, I will know him immediately as my soulmate, but there will be much for us to overcome, as she said he will be emotional too. We will both have to work through our brick Walls together, and it will be hard.

“But, you are lucky,” she said. “Because you will find your soulmate and you will be together forever.”

As she finished I handed her some money and she picked a smooth stone from the table, where she’d laid out stones on many of the cards. She pressed the clear piece of glass in my hand and said it represented true love, beautiful and pure.

I dropped the stone in my purse and left her table with a smile.

Perhaps she is full of it. Maybe she read my cues and told me what I wanted to hear. Of course she picked up on my skepticism and could have judged me as closed off. Regardless, I left with a bit of hope for the future, a foolishly renewed faith in soulmates and silly ideas filling my head.

Later, I told my Mom about the tarot card reading, assuming her religious ways and conservative nature would make her mortified that I’d participated in such a thing.

She just smiled and asked, “Did she say WHEN you’d be meeting this soulmate of yours?”

I wish nothing but the best for you both January 7, 2008

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Advice People Give Me, Cooking, Dating, Fashionable Ranting, Friends, Men, Really. Bad. Habits., Sad but true, Single Girl Cliches, The Male of the Species Is Ridiculous, Weekend Updates, Women.
28 comments

Saturday evening, after seeing “Juno” with my girlfriends, I decided to pick up a few things for dinner and head in for a quiet night of watching Season Three of The Office. My ankle still hurts and I’m heading out on Thursday for a whirlwind wedding weekend, so a bit of relaxation was in order. I stopped by a new gourmet market to browse and wait for food-related inspiration.

I was rolling through the aisles aimlessly, trying to decide what to cook. And this led me to a logical place – the meat counter. You see, I’ve been working hard in my post-vegetarian months to build dinners around meat instead of adding it in at the last minute.

So I’m looking at different cuts of meats – incidentally, I went with chicken breast and later made the world’s worst chicken. I’d meant to make a nice Parmesan crusted chicken breast, but oh did I crash and burn and end up with a lumpy mess. But, of course, I didn’t know that that this point.

What I did know at this point was that, gee golly, I was about to have an encounter of the uncomfortable kind. Because as I looked up from the applewood smoked pepper bacon, I spied a familiar face. One I’d only seen once in person but studied extensively via MySpace before coming to the conclusion that, yes, I was cuter than she is.

It was The Nurse’s Girlfriend, in all of her not me glory.

Whereas I looked put together – a rose-colored sweater with a cowl neck, wide-legged trouser jeans, flats, with my hair pulled back and simple makeup with glossy lips – she was not only wearing what I assume was an oversized men’s polo-style red plaid shirt and, horror of horrors, a SKORT.

Now, I know it is impolite to mock your ex’s current fling, especially when she was unfortunate enough to bear his spawn recently, but I really don’t care, because this isn’t actually about her right now. Girlfriend was wearing a denim skort. A pair of denim shorts with a faux skirt flap in the front. The definition of frumpy. And I should have just giggled and went about on my merry little way, happily not saddled with a child by a soulless liar. But at that moment, my New Year’s Resolution to find the blessings in my daily life fell from my mind and all I could think was, “He dumped me for someone who wears a skort.”

My maniacal fashion judgment gave way to the realization that she probably wasn’t alone. And I was right – The Nurse and Their Child were right behind her.

And, yep, I was there in my cute outfit, but hopelessly alone with a package of chicken breast and two baking potatoes. As I peered at him holding his baby and perusing the aisles, the blood drained from my face and I fumbled in my purse for my phone and called Southern Belle.

“Are you busy?”

“No, just painting my nails. What’s up?” she asked.

I told her I needed someone to distract me while I finished my shopping because I could not risk having to talk to the happy family.

And it turns out that I was going to need the distraction. Because they were everywhere – at the meat counter by the pork chops. In the deli section by the sliced cheeses and the prosciutto, comparing babies with another couple with an infant. At the seafood case by the scallops. In the produce section by the portabellas.

I was skillfully dodging him while carrying on my conversation and silently seething about how much I hated him for dumping me without bothering to give a reason and then occasionally dropping back into my life to flirt or suggest that we reunite for a night. And really hating myself the most for caring so much at this point and for letting him remain under my skin when I should have banished him like the poisonous rash that he is.

But as I went to replace a package of gnocchi on the pasta aisle, he was leading his brood down the same aisle and we ended up face-to-face. We made direct eye contact, he nodded and smiled to acknowledge me and I managed a weak smile and turned my cart around.

Later, as I walked to my car, I moped to Southern Belle.

“It isn’t him,” I said. “It is that he just dumped me for no reason, or at least if he had a reason he didn’t share it. And now he’s dating some woman who just doesn’t seem to be as fun as I am and he keeps popping up and making inappropriate comments to me and telling me how awful she is.”

“Yes, it would be easier if he were just gone.”

“Right. And, I’m sorry, she was wearing a skort.”

“Excuse me? His girlfriend was wearing a skort?” she asked.

“Yes, a skort. A denim skort. Like we wore in 1993. When we were 13.”

“Oh dear, I see why you’re upset,” Southern Belle said. “I don’t think there is any good reason to wear a denim skort out in public. Ever.”

“And this means I am officially the girl who got dumped for no reason so that her guy could go off and date a skort-wearer,” I said.

“The sad truth is, you’ll probably never know why he dumped you. And that’s crazy, but at least you’re not still with him,” Southern Belle said.

And she’s right. There isn’t always a tangible reason you can see for why a man dumps you. And that needs to be okay, because sometimes you’re the one the guy lusts after and the one who makes his heart pound.

And then other times you’re just not what he wants. And so, inexplicably, you get dumped for the girl in the denim skort.

Getting practical about things December 2, 2007

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Being Southern, Dating, Family, It's a strategy, Men, Seriously!.
33 comments

Well THAT was quite a college football season, now wasn’t it? I had my little football loving heart broken not once, but twice, in a season. I’ve cursed more while watching football in the past two months than when I’m watching a presidential debate or the evening news. And that’s saying a lot.

So as we all start making our National Championship plans and I groan that I won’t be there, in person, to witness the victory, I am looking back on my football accommodations this season. I had tickets to one game and it was an insane nail biter that we won, albeit at the very last second. Anytime someone brings it up, I say, “I felt like the world stopped and everything was in slow motion and then everyone went nuts and I knew we had won and the kids around me started crying because they were so startled by the noise.”

And while tailgating was wonderful and fun, I simply did not spend enough time in the stadium, which is a damn shame. I can’t afford season tickets on my own and my family doesn’t have them, so I am left to scrounge and beg for extra tickets. And, well, this just has to change.

And so I have come to the only logical conclusion for a woman in my situation. I need to marry into season tickets.

Sure, I could go halfsies with a girlfriend, but you start at the bottom of the season ticket food chain, which puts you at the top of the stadium. And then there is the issue of what if someone wants to bring a date and so really then we’d need four tickets and, well, I can’t afford two tickets myself, because if I could, I would have them.

So this is my pitch. My personal ad for a fellow fanatic interested in a future of football, tailgating food, cocktails and kids. Enjoy!

W4M (with tickets)

Wanted: Single Male holder of pair of football season tickets for dating, accompanying to football games and eventual marriage and procreation.

Interested female in her late mid-twenties. Catholic, big family, loves college football, beer and children. Will pay up to half of the cost of the tickets, plus a share of traveling expenses related to attending road games and post-season conference championships and bowl games.

Further, will help coordinate libations and foodstuffs for tailgating, including, but not limited to, baking blondies and brownies, assembling seven-layer dips, procuring various salsas and chips, organizing necessary buns and condiments, seasoning appropriate cuts of meat and assuring the availability of needed paper goods, such as napkins, cups and trash bags.

Has experience in setting up tents and canopies. Understands why it is necessary to park one (1) loaded-down car near ideal tailgating location the Friday evening before the football game. Will take an active role in the logistical aspects of tailgating missions and also tactics by which to taunt opposing teams, including, but not limited to, lowbrow chanting, the writing of clever slogans and the cataloging of reasons why said opponents suck and/or blow and/or bite. Is proficient in Adobe Photoshop and wields a mean hot glue gun. Has previous experience in college football-related T-shirt decoration and design.

Further, understands tailgate attire includes school appropriate clothes and accessories versatile enough to be worn comfortably all day, throughout the game and out to the bar to celebrate our victory. Will not be caught wearing high heels to the stadium.

Willing to provide up to four (4) chairs-in-a-bag, one (1) mix CD of school songs and inspirational tracks and one (1) tote bag ice chest that holds at up to twenty-four (24) canned beers. (Though interested female would like to point out that her favorite beers come in bottles and not cans.) Skilled in making mimosas, screwdrivers, vodka crans and jack and cokes.

Parents and grandparents are local and would likely provide some free babysitting during football season should that ever become and necessity. Family will most definitely give tailgate-appropriate gifts, such as monogrammed polo shirts, Championship memorabilia, flags for our home and many, many accessories for our children. No one would be offended if the first words our children spoke were those of our Fight Song.

Single male holder of tickets should be tall, slightly cuddly, professional with enough job flexibility to take a fall road trip or two each year, and able to light a barbecue pit, know the appropriate lyric of the National Anthem during which to pop champagne poppers, sing both verses of the Alma Mater, deal with the fact that single female seeker of tickets paces and curses during close games and understand why pickled okra is necessary to a good Bloody Mary.

An Open Letter to Myself (AKA: Exes are exes for a reason) November 26, 2007

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Dating, Men, NaBloPoMo, Open Letters, Really. Bad. Habits., Seriously!, Single Girl Cliches, The Male of the Species Is Ridiculous.
34 comments

Self –

You’ve been flirting with disaster lately. And by “disaster,” I mean The Nurse.

Sure, the first IM seemed innocent enough. Just casually catching up with a friend and former fling, right?

Wrong!

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t care about you. He may say that he still cares, that he made a mistake, that you are awesome and wonderful and sexy. But his actions in the past – most notably the Dumping by Not Calling – prove otherwise. (See also: The Impregnating of Someone Else.)

Yes, it does bolster your confidence to have man who once spurned your affections say that he still wants you. But what he wants is not you. He wants an easy fall back girl for when he finds himself single and lonely – or just lonely and lustful.

He’s bad news. Stop the MySpace stalking. Stop comparing yourself to his girlfriend. Stop oooohing over pictures of his baby.

He doesn’t want you. And, more importantly, you don’t want him. Period. End of story. There are many many many better men out there. And even if there aren’t, being alone is far better than being strung along by an immature, manipulative jerk who admits that he knew you liked him and chose to run to another woman’s bed.

Stop IMing. Stop texting. Stop caring. Just stop.

Cheers,

Charming

Reading Anna Karenina November 5, 2007

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Dating, Men, My Misspent Youth, NaBloPoMo, The Male of the Species Is Ridiculous.
16 comments

Sunday afternoon I saw “Dan in Real Life.” I liked the movie, but it is the kind of movie that was made for someone like me – heartwarming, funny and hopeful. I saw it in spite of the fact that Dane Cook is in it, which speaks to how much I love Steve Carell.

There is this scene in a book store and in passing Steve Carell’s character references Anna Karenina. And this, of course, took me back to my own brush with this epic tale a few years back.

T, it seems, loved that book, which is widely regarded as one of the best novels ever written. And he had talked me into reading it and he asked me about it often and alluded to us getting together to discuss the book when I was finished. He’d never scheduled a formal date with me, but when I finished that book he had plans for us, he’d said.

So I’d read chunks of it each day and was up to the middle of the long book when T unceremoniously (and quite publicly) rejected me.

And I put the book down.

I enjoyed it, I did. I would escape for a few hours in the story about nobility and formality and an affair that could never be. But all I could think each time I looked at the cover was how I felt so pathetic for rushing out to read an 864-page book as a way to win a man’s affections. Over the years, reading Anna Karenina has served as the high end of measuring stick of annoyances I will endure to get a man’s attention. It isn’t that reading a book is such a huge stretch. It is that the motivation behind my reading was less about expanding my horizons and more about getting the guy.

Even though our relationship was purely casual, I’d assumed that this shared interest could for a foundation for dating or more. It was stupid and desperate, but I’d spent a good two or more years chasing after a guy who didn’t love me and then I developed a crush on T as a way to get over the other guy. He’d seemed interested and I’d jumped.

The level of desperation associated with the action of reading the book is directly related to the outcome of the situation. Had he not screwed me over so terribly, I would have been glowing about our deep relationship forged over a shared love of Russian literature.

Yes, in the movie version of this tale, T and I would have bonded over this book and lived a Tolstoy-themed existence. Or he’d reject me and I’d finally finish the book to spite him and then one night I’d come back to my apartment and he’d be there with an elaborate Russian dinner set out to offer an apology for his rude behavior.

In the real-life version, the book is sitting at the bottom of a box somewhere, packed away out of sight. There were so, so many red flags – the not calling, the heavy, heavy drinking, never making firm plans for the future. I still feel so incredibly lame for playing into his game and hoping he’d finally notice me as a serious contender and not a drunken conquest.

I was so, so wrong.