Prepare for Departure

Number of items less than 3 oz. in my 1-quart plastic ziploc bag: 14

Number of items in my plastic ziploc bag that are lip gloss: 3

Number of items in containers greater than 3 oz. I decided I could live without: 4, including my favorite hair product

Number of items that may actually be a liquid, gel or aerosol that I didn't pack in my plastic ziploc bag and am hoping security doesn't have a problem with: 1

Times I cursed TSA and their damn liquid/gel/aerosol rules: 343,492

Number of carry-on bags: 2, if I stuff my purse in my enormous shoulder/laptop bag

Number of checked bags: 0

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Number of minutes between my scheduled landing and the departure of my connecting flight: 46

Number of minutes late my flight arrived: 15

Number of minutes I had to catch my connecting flight: 18

Number of minutes my connecting flight was delayed, once I arrived at the gate: 98

Number of times we almost boarded the plane before they decided to give it to another flight: 1

Number of hours my flight is now delayed: 4.5

Number of hours spent at the Home Turf Sports Bar & Grill: going on 3

Number of beers consumed: 2

Number of times I've connected to the wireless router but been unable to connect to the internet: 5,653,404,230

Number of times I've wished I smoked, because at least then I'd have something to do: 48

Time my flight was supposed to land: 9:51 PM

Time we actually landed: 2:33 AM

Number of hours of sleep I'm going to get: way less than 8

Snippets of a Friday

Today's highlights, as culled from sent e-mails:

First message of the day, 7:19 AM

Oh god, I think I may still be drunk.

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About a stupid boy

And I stood there thinking, "Um, hello? Have we met? Yes, because I am QUEEN of fun! casual! relationships. I do SO EXCEEDINGLY WELL at them, yes, that's definitely what I'm after."

---

Regarding my offer to bring dessert to a dinner party, which was met by an inquiry as to my access to a local bakery

BAKERY??? Dude, dessert comes from my kitchen!

The response came back addressed to "Dudess."

---

About another stupid boy

Unfortunately, we run into the really nice body problem. As in, he has one and I would like to be in charge of it.

It's That Time of Year Again...

You knew this was coming, right? Of course we're carrying on the tradition begun last year. I mean, sure, someday I hope to write a deep, heartfelt post about someone very special in my life, but at the rate we're going, I'll be 80, senile and writing a lovely little sonnet for my cat. And I don't even like cats. Or sonnets, really.

As I mentioned, I've been on a lot of dates lately. In particular, a lot of first dates. I would hate to over-generalize such a vast and varied population as half the species, but through my extensive research, I think it's fair to conclude that men are idiots. In the interest of serving the public, I thought I'd put together this handy little reference guide I like to call "How Not to Date Me."

Be Raised by Wolves
Let's say we're out having drinks and appetizers, and in the course of serving yourself, you drip some sauce on the handle of your knife. If your solution to this problem is to gingerly pick up the knife and lick the sauce off of it, that is the moment we will be through dating.

Hint for next time: Use your napkin. You know, the one that's right next to your plate, with silverware still wrapped up in it, instead of being laid out across your lap. Yeah, that napkin.

Suffer from a Case of Mistaken Identity
It's the end of the date. You walk me to my car, and thus ensues The Awkward Pause. If you then offer me (a) a handshake; (b) a hug; or (c) a kiss goodnight, that is the moment we will be through dating. Because, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not a contestant and you're not a game show host, and I'm really leaning toward option (d) none of the above.

Hint for next time: You want a kiss? Go in for the kiss, without talking about it. Yes, you're assuming the risk that she might deck you. You're the guy -- deal with it.

Forget Your Audience
If, during the course of the evening, you need to excuse yourself from the table for a trip to the restroom, by all means, do so. However, if you get up from the table, explaining that you need to "go pee-pee," somehow forgetting that I am an adult and not a three-year old child you are potty-training, that is the moment we will be through dating.

Hint for next time: "Will you please excuse me?" works just fine. We all know where you're going and what you're doing; you needn't be any more specific.

Suffer from Alzheimer's
If we have the same conversation on Date #2 as we did on Date #1, I'm going to notice. Particularly because the conversation wasn't that interesting the first time around. You can try to explain it away, but I'll be left assuming that you (a) are juggling so many people you can't remember what you talked about with whom; (b) weren't listening to a word I said; (c) have genuine memory problems; or (d) all of the above. None of them work in your favor. And that is the moment we will be through dating.

Hint for next time: Cheat and write notes on the inside of your forearm -- you can check them when you go pee-pee.

Be a Wuss
It's the end of the date. You walk me to my car, and thus ensues The Awkward Pause. If you look bashfully at the ground and say, "I'm really bad at this," that is the moment we will be through dating. I may be able to refrain from saying, "Yeah, you are," but I'm pretty sure the sentiment will be written across my face.

Hint for next time: Grow a pair.

Have Bladder Control Issues
Let's say we meet for coffee, and then you take me for a walk around the neighborhood and through a local park. At what point, exactly, does it become ok for you to duck behind a tree to relieve yourself? Right -- the moment at which we will be through dating.

Hint for next time: You know that Starbucks that's a 10-minute walk away? The one we met at for coffee to begin with? I'll bet they have a restroom. Why, they might even let you use it, if you ask nicely! Peeing behind a tree is acceptable only if you're camping in the middle of nowhere or attending a kegger in the back 40 of somebody's house out in the country.

Lack Basic Social Skills
If you lie to me about something totally inconsequential, then slip up in maintaining your lie and confess to me that you're a horrible liar, but you're "still a really great person and I'm sure you'll see that and I just want to spend time with you," that is the moment we will be through dating. When I then cut off all communication with you, please understand that I am not mad at you, I am in no way interested in you, and sending me four e-mails and leaving two voice mail messages groveling, offering to buy me "something nice to make up for it, I just want to see you" will not change my mind. Nor will five more e-mails, including a re-cap of the weekend trip I was supposed to accompany you on. Newsflash: I. DON'T. CARE.

Hint for next time: You might be beyond help. But just to be on the safe side, don't lie. Ever.

So, Internet, please feel free to distribute the "How Not to Date Me" guide to everyone you know. Afterall, there are roughly 2,741 men in this world that I haven't dated (and rejected) yet, and this information could prove to be invaluable to one of them. But I'm not counting on it.

May I Be Excused?

Sorry for my extended absence, I have just now awoken from the food coma I've been in for the last couple of weeks. All the eating out...ugh. Work people in town, friend people in town, me out of town, Super Bowl party... I'd like to say it's over, but I've got dinner plans this week, too, in the relative seclusion of a-night-that-is-
not-Wednesday-and-does-not-feature-heart-shaped-anything-for-dessert.

The pièce de résistance of all this food was the Junior League Crab Feed, to which I dragged Tracy, because all the liquor in the world can't make me show up for something like that alone. Now, I've been to all manner of food-related fundraisers -- Pancake Breakfast, Spaghetti Dinner, Prime Rib Dinner, Friday Night Fish Fry (on second thought, I've been to all manner of Catholic School food-related fundraisers) -- but the notion of a Crab Feed was new to me. They're all the rage in Northern California, though, everyone from my neighborhood Catholic School to the Kiwanis Club to, apparently, the Junior League, hosts one in the late winter/early spring. I learned from my mistakes last year, and this time around, Tracy and I were prepared.

~ Appetizer ~

Preparation is key. Use this time before dinner to channel MacGyver and rig up some contraption in which to melt butter. All you need is a ramekin, a wire stand, a tealight, a lighter, and, of course, your trusty Swiss Army knife.



Begin drinking the wine.



~ Soup ~

Your dinner ticket was paid for long ago. Go spend more money on any number of raffle prizes. It's for charity! Pour a fresh glass and toast your winnings.



~ Salad ~

Dinner is served, in several rounds, beginning 23 minutes after the time printed on your ticket and in tonight's program. Watch in horror as the couple across from you mangle the communal bread and somehow end up with a piece half on the bread plate, half on her plate and wonder what Miss Manners would recommend you do, now that someone is requesting the bread be passed to them. In the absence of a good answer, resort to drinking.

~ Sorbet ~

Silent auction bidding ends at 8:00 pm. Remember, it's for charity!

~ Entrée ~

Enter the crab. And, exit the crab remains.



~ Amusements ~

Live auction of a gorgeous mink coat, beautifully modeled by a Junior Leaguer, but poorly moderated by the D.J. (a Junior Leaguer's husband) who failed to recognize bids from anyone seated more than two tables away from the stage. Bidding started at $600, with reminders every $50 that "It's for charity!" Lament the fact that you didn't institute a shot-for-every-mention-of-charity-rule. Put this on the mental list for next year. Drink more wine to ease the pain of not owning a mink coat in the foreseeable future.

~ Dessert and Coffee ~

As the food is cleared away, so are some of the tables near the stage. The lights go down, the music is turned up and soon it's a house party, Junior League Style! The fun only lasts until 10 pm, though...people's babysitters need to get home.

A Cure for What Ails You

There's no mood so bad that it can't be improved
by a new pair of shoes.

Hung Up and Overdue

Yeah. Well, judging by the fact that it's 2:23 AM and I've spent more time awake tonight than asleep, I definitely think I'm hung up about something a few things more things than my mind can possibly keep track of all at once. And more than overdue for a mental break, or perhaps a good cry. Trouble is, there's no room in this weekend's schedule for some quality time with Dolly Parton and Sally Field and Julia Roberts, so that'll have to wait.

(Reason #4162 Why I Am Not Allowed To Watch Grey's Anatomy: this, which nearly set me off earlier this week, but I was on my way to work with freshly done make-up, so that was definitely a "There is no crying in baseball" moment for me.)

There are so many things in life that I want right now that I simply can not have or might not have or feel like I'm on the wrong path to ever having and it's driving me a little batty. And it's entirely self-inflicted. My hopes, dreams, aspirations, some of which I can't even bring myself to verbalize, oh, I do this to myself. Nobody's forcing anything on me. Nope, this is my self-inflicted torture device, and mine alone. (Somebody, please, TURN IT OFF!)

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2:51 AM. Seriously, if I don't fall asleep in the next 10 minutes, I'm going to have to clean the house and something tells me my neighbors won't enjoy the vacuuming.

Happy Groundhog Day, everyone! Hope your team wins this weekend, as long as your team is not the Chicago Bears (ahem, Dave), and that if you're awake at 3:00 in the morning, it's because you're out rioting somewhere in classic victory celebration style.