I started school at Willard elementary. What I remember most about kindergarten was a boy named Tony. Yes, I was boy crazy even then. Tony was blonde with thin spiky hair and brown eyes. His mother dressed him in coordinating jogging suits. At 5 I was living with my grandmother who loved to curl my extremely thick hair with rollers and brush it straight back; this was an extremely popular hair style for women in their 50’s, but yes, I was rocking it at 5. In addition to my awesome hair I was decked out daily in a poofy garage sale vintage dress lacy socks and mary janes.

I believe my love affair with Tony started in gym class where we were learning how to square dance. The boys were instructed to pick out a partner and Tony picked me! I remember having a secret crush on Tony, but was astonished that he chose me to be his square dance partner.

Shortly after our do sa do, Tony found me on the playground and would declare he was going to kiss me. I would squeal and take off running from him. I would hide and he would seek until the bell rang. I can still remember the smile and look in his eyes as we would stair at each other from either side of the big tire panting as he planned his attack and I my escape.

A sock

I’m single. Been single so long that when I say just how long I receive a raised eyebrow and a look of suspicion. Of course I haven’t been dateless for all that time. There have been quite a few blokes that have come and gone. Funny thing about dating today; its like fireworks, there is an initial spark, you both shoot straight up in the air, and then there is an explosion, and it’s as if there was never anything there.

Then one day you’re doing laundry, in my case I was washing towels. I wash them once in a blue moon because I have so many, and why wash them until I have absolutely no towels left. So here I am standing at the dryer folding my towels fresh out of the dryer; because this is the only way I will actually put them away, and I come across this solo brown sock. Obviously the remnants of a previous relationship gone KABLAAM! I stare at this sock dangling in my hand and think for a minute whose sock is this?

I’m quickly calculating the last time I washed my towels and adding up the number of fireworks that occurred in my life during that time to arrive at the Vegas London twirler. The arrival of this sock could not be at a worse time; since I was still smoking from the dynamite invention cracker. I’m staring at this sock and come to the conclusion that there have been at least three firecrackers in my life since the last time I washed towels. 3!

Rather than dwelling on this number and what this pattern may be saying about me. I decide I must dispose of said sock immediately. Now what to do with it? I instantly hide the sock back in the dryer better to not be faced with it until I know what to do with it.

Do I fling it off the balcony on to the street?

No a bum may pick it up and start wearing it and then I’d see the bum everyday with the sock. No, no, not a good idea.

Do I throw it down the trash shoot?

No the door is broken and it may fly back up.

I could put it in a bag with my other trash.

No it’d be mingled with my trash forever haunting me.

Do I mail it back to the owner?

Ha. Nevermind.

Do I walk downtown and throw it in a public dumpster and run away before I see which bum picked it up?

No then I will be afraid of any bum in brown socks.

Do I walk down to the water and put a heavy rock in the sock and throw it out into the water?

Yes, Yes!!!! I think this just may work. No brown socks, No brown socks.  

One evening a girlfriend and I decided to head out for drinks. We headed to the local dive bar that we usually gathered at with our co-workers. It was a Saturday night in the middle of nowhere. We wanted to be out and about, but didn’t want to make the 45 minute trek to Orange County. The bar was very empty and after a couple of drinks we gave in and started heading back home in defeat.

As we headed for the freeway we passed a parking lot full of cars at 11:00 pm. We’d seen this full lot before and always wondered what it was. Since I was driving I flipped a U-ey and headed for the lot. As we made our way in we passed several police cars and saw police all around the place. Instead of being deterred this spurred us on. As we got closer we could hear the Mexican music coming from inside the club. My friend satisfied to know that it was a Mexican night club was ready to head home, but I pressed on saying come on where’s your sense of adventure.

We parked and entered the club. Instantly upon entering the club I felt as though I had been transplanted into Mexico. The girl working the register spoke to me in all Spanish. The receipt was in all Spanish as well. After, being searched and frisked by the police man (not bouncer police man) we entered the club. The bar was right up front so I ordered us two Vodka Crans. The bartender looked at me like I was crazy and had no idea what it was I was talking about. After some time she returned with two Vodka crans with cherries as garnish. Before, the drinks had arrived my friend had been accosted by two gentleman wanting to dance. Bailar?! Bailar! They shouted over the music. My friend kept turning them down, but they kept standing there insisting. I came over with the drinks and told them maybe later. They moved on after a bit and we were able to get the full view of the Hacienda in full swing.

There was a live band and the dance floor was packed. Tables and tables sat empty just occupied by purses and drinks that their occupants had left behind on the way to the dance floor. It was a simply amazing sight to behold. Couple after couple swung and stepped in time to the beat. This wasn’t your regular bump and grind that you see at the usual clubs we’d been to. As we walked around the club we caught stares from the few people not on the dance floor. Clearly we were out of place. Not long after we’d circled the club the two gentlemen from before came back to ask us to bailar. I shook my head no and said I don’t know how. They spoke to us entirely in Spanish. My friend knowing more Spanish than me was able to keep up with the conversation. I on the other hand was at a loss. As I was standing there listening to them. I kept thinking. This is what it would be like to move to another country where I didn’t know the language.

What would have otherwise been a very lame Saturday night became an unforgettable trip to Mexico right in my own backyard. Who knew that out in the middle of Norco existed such a secret hopping hideaway.

I guess we never know what is just around the bend…http://entertainment.enterto.com/rss_index_singlegirl.html

I met “gay bar guy” online. He had an interesting picture with all of these snakes coiled up. We chatted very briefly through emails and decided to meet. It was a Saturday night and the place was full of couples and groups of people when I walked in. I ordered a drink and snagged a booth that had just opened up.  In came “gay bar guy” he looked around for a bit before approaching me and asking if I was Jenny. I smiled and said hello. He grabbed a drink and came back to the booth. Our conversation was light and easy flowing. He told me about growing up in North Park and that many of his friends were gay. After a couple of drinks he asked me if I wanted to go over to a bar where h is friend was working. I said sure. He then gave me the disclaimer that his friend was gay and worked at a gay bar.

Always up for an adventure I said yes.  The next thing I know I’m in a place called “Flame” it was very exciting, strange, and steamy. Yes, STEAMY.  Instead of a fog machine it made steam. So the entire club was steamy. LOL. I’m still laughing about it. His friend the bartender was nice; he made us some drinks and “gay bar guy” and I wondered through the club. There were two bars and I believe three rooms. We first settled into a dark red room for some more conversation. This to me felt like any other bar minus the steam.  

For the next round of drinks we headed into the main dancing room. This room was filled with stripper poles, couches, and round beds. We settled on a round bed that was on a pedestal and had a glass wall that let us see into the bar and vice versa.  Here is where “gay bar guy” lost my attention. I had never seen so many men; good looking men, dancing. Giving each other lap dances. Kissing. It was all so intriguing to me I couldn’t help, but gawk. The energy in the room was so sexual. Maybe it was the steam.  All in all it was a wonderland of site. I’d definitely go back, but not on a date. . .

This is definitely one of those experiences where I look around and think this is not a place I ever thought I’d end up tonight. Chalk one up for “gay bar guy” coming up with a twist on the tried and true drink date.

What!? He’s MARRIED

Background:

“Delivery Boy” was this cute delivery guy that went through out the land of Portland delivering stuff to places of business like the place I worked. I saw him a few times a week when he came in to make deliveries. I always thought he was cute. Me along with the girls I worked with would talk about “Delivery Boy”.

The day after Christmas I’m working in the office alone and in walks “Delivery Boy”. Today there was a different vibe between us. We chatted more than usual and smiled a little more at one another. He left, but a few minutes later he called the office and asked me to a play that he’d just won tickets to. I agree and we meet for drinks.

When I show up for drinks two days later I have chopped my mid back length hair super short and it now looks like a koosh ball. Of course then I didn’t think it looked that way. I thought I was hip and funky. He smiles and compliments me on my transformation.  We order drinks and quickly in the conversation he reveals that he has a daughter. Insert uncontrollable face movement now! I say oh! How old? I make conversation and he shows me a picture and we smoothly change the subject.

We go to the play. We go out for dinner a couple times. Watch a movie at his place and then he comes in and has lunch with me at work one day. After “Delivery Boy” leaves one of the maintenance guys comes in and says what was “Delivery Boy” in here complaining about. I say oh nothing he was just having lunch with me. Maintenance guy looks at me in disbelief as though he can’t believe what I’ve done. He then says isn’t he married? WHAT! No he’s not married I shout back. Maintenance guy says uh yah. He came in last May telling me he went to Hawaii and got married.

My mind is flying as I am dialing his cell phone. WHAT?! He CAN’T be married. I made out with him in his apartment. There were no remnants of a woman there. Just a huge screen TV and a couch.

He answers. Now imagine the most unfriendly tone. “Uh Hi. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
No, like what?” “I don’t know that YOU’RE MARRIED!!!!!!”

Long story short. It had been annulled. Mission kick “married delivery boy’s” ass averted.

Recently I experienced something both equally disgusting and hilarious at the same time that I felt the need to share. . .

Imagine if you will; I'm walking down the street back to my apartment after finishing a kickboxing class at the gym. I am literally soaked with sweat and bright pink from my work out. It's around 7:30 in the morning and I am crossing the street. I look up and see a man in his truck checking me out, as I notice this he opens his mouth and jirates his tongue at me. I was horrified, disgusted, and could not stop laughing at the same time. What on earth was he hoping to get from doing that? I'm still laughing about it as I write this.

I start thinking as I make the rest of my way home about other similar encounters that I've had… One evening I was walking down the street to a friend's place and came along the path of two men walking in the opposite direction, as are paths began to cross they separated to let me through, then as are paths were crossing they both leaned in and got really close to me; the first one puckered his lips and kissed the air in my direction. The other said, "I love you mommie."  Really!? I love you mommie and air kisses? I wonder did they plan this as I was walking toward them down the street; or was this an instantaneous reaction to crossing my path?

I'm an attractive girl, but lets face it I'm no Jessica Alba or Gisele; so what on earth possesses men to make such gestures. What kind of reaction is it that they are looking for? If they were really interested they wouldn't be so disrespectful. Maybe, I'm not meant to understand.

I know we all have funny encounters like this so please share.

I am one of those high maintenance women that requires eye contact and conversation before you come up and try to wear a hole in the back of my dress with your pelvis region.  Seriously, when did simulating the bedroom mambo become an acceptable form of dance? With strangers?

I guess I am partly to blame; I mean I did get dressed up and go out to the club with my girlfriends to go dancing. Clearly we were way over dressed. The three of us were actually wearing clothes that covered our bathing suit areas Even when we bent over.

I remember back in the day, 2002, when men used to come up say hello, talk to me, and then ask me to dance. It was so respectful back then. Oh well… I guess that day has come and gone. I guess this is just another reason I'm going to spend my days as an old maid….

So a week or so ago I’m flipping through the weekly reader and come across a dating company’s ad. It has all of these statistics listed about a woman alone in a bar. The one that catches my eye is the one that says 50 to 1 she’s single. This startles me, and I think, this can’t be right. I read it over and over thinking I must be misunderstanding it. If anything, in the news I’ve been seeing stuff about marriage being on the decline. So I go home later and I google, "How many women are single in America." I come across the U.S. Consensus bureau website and find that 31% of women between the ages of 16 to 34 are single. "Single" including couples that live together, married couples that live apart, widows, and lesbians. So based on this I guess I really am the rare woman out of 50. Who knew?

Later in the week I read something about tallconnections.com and later decide to google how many men are over 6’ in America. Turns out only 16% of men are over 6’ tall. Great! I’m just narrowing down my odds as I go here.

Just as I’m damning myself for having a pension for the 6’ and above crowd I come across the female mind in the bookstore. I sit down to explore the book and find good news. Apparently, who I am attracted to has nothing to do with my personal choices, but was decided by my ancestors long ago. The books theory is that ancestors were preoccupied with reproduction and were looking for the most worthy of providing food and shelter. So when my body has a chemical reaction to a guy it’s because it’s who my great (x20) grandmother picked out for me.  The book goes on to tell you what men and women typically look for in each other. Women want a man that is at least 4" taller than her (In my case 7" or more) 3.5 years older, and able to provide for her. The book does point out the fact that women today are becoming increasingly more financially independent, but now a woman wants a man to bring as much to the table as she does.  Men on the other hand are attracted simply based on looks.

I know your rolling your eyes and thinking men are pigs. Contrary to some peoples beliefs I’m not a man hater.

Anyways… men are attracted to women who are 2.5" shorter than them, have hourglass figures, clear skin, bright eyes, plump lips and shiny hair. These are signs that a woman is healthy and not pregnant which means that she is an optimal choice for breeding.

Women aren’t gold diggers and men aren’t pigs.

Women became choosy because they needed to choose wisely the man whose  baby they were going to lug around for 9 months and beyond. She needed to be sure that after 10 minutes or 3 months he wasn’t going to walk out of her life. She needed to be sure that he was going to be a resource for food, shelter, and water for her and the new baby. Men on the other hand just want to reproduce as much as possible and therefore are looking for any attractive womb. An hourglass figure means she doesn’t have someone else’s bun in the oven and the other signs show that she’s healthy.

So what’s my point with this? It isn’t that it’s not my fault that I’m so picky or not attracted to anyone. Although my proof is above if you need to read it again. My point is that men for the most (yes, let’s be p.c.) part marry because they want to have a family.  I am coming to terms with the fact that having children for me due to health reasons may not be the wisest choice.

So what is that, 3 strikes already? 1. Most people aren’t truly single, 2. Only 16% of the male population is over 6’, 3. I’m not prime womb real estate.  As the days progress I just keeping finding more and more reasons why I’m single. I’m not even looking for these things, I swear.

I’m checking my email later and I receive email from True.com. I go online to browse at who is available. I’ve been on dating strike, but go on just to prove to myself that I’m not really missing anyone. So I go through the rig-a-ma-roe to see who is out there. Put in my zip there are over 1 billion people in your area it says. Each time I narrow down the search results get smaller and smaller. I put in the regular criteria for myself, over 6’, no kids, makes the same income or more, lives within reasonable distance. Before I entered income I was down to 844. Since I make more than the average median income for my area I doubt my final odds looked very good.

Oh well, what can I say...