Meet Mearl

Meredith (left) is camera shy. I had to corner her in the bathroom to take this picture. Earl (right) giving his best "bish, please" look.

About a year and a half ago, two little fuzz balls came into my life. Indulge me my crazy-cat-lady tendencies, and let me tell you a little bit about Meredith and Earl.

Mearl, as I've taken to calling them collectively (it's their celeb couple nickname), were essentially strays. A friend of M's, found them behind her house, two litters and a couple of mama kitties. I don't know how she managed to do it, but somehow she trapped them all and took them into her home, determined to find homes for them. I had only planned on getting one (Earl), but then M's friend tugged at my heartstrings by telling me that Meredith would miss her brother very much, and didn't I want two?

My life has not been the same since. They bring both joy and frustration daily.

Earl (named for Earl Grey tea, of course) has a BIG personality. He is crazy. And persistent. And probably the smartest cat I've ever met. Last night I put one of his favorite toys in the closet because it makes too much noise when I'm trying to sleep. He saw me put it in there and hours later managed to get the closet door open to get to the toy.

He loves to climb into the refrigerator, and I'm not talking just poking his head in to see what's going on. Oh no. He climbs in. No door shall be closed to Earl.

Meredith (I didn't name her, M's friend did, I guess I was just too lazy to change it) is my sweet little girl. She is shy around other people, to the point where she refuses to come out if others come into the house. Which is a shame because she's so sweet and talented too. Meredith's favorite thing in the whole world is to play fetch. If you tell her to go get her ball she'll go get it, bring it to you and sit and wait patiently for you to throw it for her. Then she'll bring it back again. She can also catch the ball in her paws. I know! I didn't teach her any of this either.

OK, next time we will be back to adventures in dating and more fun stuff. (J gets back to town tomorrow and we're supposed to go out on Monday!) I just had to give a little shout out to the fuzz balls in my life who while they drive me crazy, also keep me sane.

P.S. Why is it so freaking hard to post photos? Am I just blog-retarded? I promise I will get better. Although, I think the only photos I would ever post would be of Mearl. So, perhaps you don't want me to get better. What is sadder than a 36 year old single woman posting photos of her cats on her blog (at 7:30 on a Saturday night, no less)? "Oh look, here's Earl sleeping. Oh, and look, there's Meredith giving me the stink eye!" If I start knitting them sweaters, please plan an intervention.

More Moo to Love

There's this thing going around on Facebook, 25 Random Things About Me, that everyone is doing. I've already done it too, and I won't bore you (all 4 of you, hee hee) with a rehash of what I've already written, but I've thought of more interesting Moo facts. So here they are.

1. I've never broken a bone. This one came to mind because a former coworker of mine just fell down a flight of stairs and broke her leg in 2 places. She pretty much broke her foot clean off her ankle. I mean, it's still there, held together by tendons and skin, but yikes.

2. Speaking of injuries, I had 2 black eyes within a 6 month period in 2008.

• The first happened at N's nephew's 6th birthday party in June. I've never missed one of Little C's birthdays. I've known him since he was born. In fact, I quite love that according to Little C, I'm just part of the family. Anyway, all the kids ran off to beat the pinata (I know that "n" in pinata needs a little thingy on it and I don't know how to do it.) and N, her brother G, and I decided it would be fun to go jump in the bouncy house. We're jumping, having a great time, when G, the big ole queen that he is decides it would be fun to do back flips. And it was fun. Until he kicked me in the face. Hence black eye number 1.
• The second black eye was entirely my own fault. My friend T and I (sometimes we call him Black Girl) were at a club in Gay Town. We had a couple of drinks and decided we'd like to go to another bar. We're walking out the door, I'm strutting really, when all of a sudden it hit me... the door that is. Or rather, I hit it. I walked right into a freaking glass door. In front of a whole line of people. I am an idiot. I ended up with a knot the size of a golf ball on my forehead, a concussion, and within a few days black eye number 2.

3. I have a really good sense of direction. Uncannily good. I used to travel a lot for work, often times to cities I'd never been to before. Generally, I rented a car that had GPS, but they weren't always available. I don't think I ever got lost! But, this also kind of makes me like a man, in that I'm usually pretty hesitant to stop and ask for directions.

4. I work for the best company ever. N knows this. We're super busy right now (I'm on my lunch, not writing on company time.) and the other day one of the owners of the company, whom I just love, came in with a case of Sugar Free Red Bull just for me!

5. I have a rock-n-roll crush on Dave Grohl. I really don't know why. He's not super hot, I just love him. After Kurt Cobain died, who ever thought Dave Grohl would be the one to make it big? Weird.

6. I also have a huge rock-n-roll crush on David Bowie. Yum. Always have. Since I was like 10 and the video for Let's Dance came out. While we're at it, I also used to love Bryan Ferry. I think I might have a thing for British musicians.

7. Keith Richards is my favorite Rolling Stone. I know, who has a favorite Rolling Stone? Well, I do. There is just something endearing about him to me. What? I'm weird.

8. I totally Facebook and Google stalk ex-boyfriends and people from high school. I have found out that my high school boyfriend, another M, is a married mortgage broker living just a few miles north of here. Don't know why I needed to know that, but I did. Thank you, Google.

9. One time, my mother asked me, in a restaurant no less, how the sex was with a guy I was dating. I was mortified. Literally mortified. I must've turned twelve shades of red. Gross.

10. I have never, knock-wood, gotten a speeding ticket or been in a car accident. It's not that I don't speed, I'm just lucky enough to have never been caught. I'm so tempting the car gods by writing this down. You may not want to get in a car with me for a while.

11. I am just superstitious enough to have seriously considered deleting number 10 and ending this post at 9. Seriously. I'm consumed now with fear that I am going to get a ticket this weekend, or worse yet have an accident. Don't worry, I'll be careful.

To All the Boys I've Loved Before

A few years ago, long before there were blogs, N and I used to toss around the idea of writing a book about all of the crazy boys we had known. It would be a joint effort, as we both had a lot of stories to tell. I was thinking about this tonight and thought I'd write about just a few.

First there was C. He was the first guy I met when I moved to San Diego. We met at a friend's birthday party. Later that night, he took N and I to the Casbah and gave me my first Mexican valium. Poor C. He was so cute, but so lost. He was such a tortured artiste (he fancied himself an Actor). With a drug problem. Who could never get it up. C didn't last long. He used to call me every once in a while trying to sell me drugs.

Next, there was L. I met L at a pre-Halloween pumpkin carving party. He was a friend of the host and known to be quite the ladies man. After my experience with L, I'm not quite sure why. I won't go into too much detail here (I have my reputation {ha!} to protect!), but suffice it to say L peed in my bed and helped himself to a block of cheddar and every jar of hot sauce we had in the house!

And then there was Michael. You may be wondering why I'm breaking my own rule of using only initials. Well, when it comes to Michael, it's just too delicious not to. Like C, Michael also fancied himself the creative type. When I met him he was spelling his name Mykal. N & I met Mykal at a holiday party at a friend's house. We liked to describe him as "artfully disheveled". You know the type. Hair mussed up just so, jeans perfectly worn, shirt half tucked in, half out. Christ on a stick; the guy wore cover up!

I chased Michael/Mykal down. Went to all the places I knew he hung out until he finally noticed. After a while, Michael/Mykal and I became sort of friends with benefits. We lived close by each other, so it was convenient and we actually hung out quite a bit. But, as such relationships do, after several months our relationship just sort of ran it's course and we lost touch.

When I was thinking about writing this entry, I searched Michael/Mykal on Facebook. (I searched both spellings. Hee hee.) I actually found him (by the more traditional spelling). I considered "friending" him and then thought better of it. I mean, what's the point really? People come into your life and they leave your life. I'm a strong believer in the theory that we learn something from everyone we meet. Even lost, tortured Actor types and boys who eat your cheese.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

It is now a well known fact amongst my friends that I do not consider myself photogenic. I came to this conclusion about a year ago when the ugliest picture ever taken of me was posted on our internal company website. I am not kidding. It was the worst ever. It was a lovely snap of me mid bite of pizza. My eyes were closed, my mouth wide open, and worst of all, it was in profile. I looked like a monster. After a few panicked calls, the offending photo was promptly removed.

A couple of months later, I was visiting my mom in Florida. We were looking at some old pictures and I let her in on my shame. Even though I should have known better, I was still slightly stunned when she agreed with me. The nerve!

Anyone who knows my mother will not be surprised by this. She doesn't sugar coat anything. She's been known to point it out when I've put on a few pounds. She certainly doesn't hesitate to point out a zit or any other imperfection.

When I showed my mother the best picture ever taken of me (which was a completely candid snap from N's wedding), her response? "Great photo! You look so beautiful... You know it was the professional hair and makeup." I can't win with the woman. Mom giveth; and mom taketh away.

Recently, I was talking to S, another one of my internet loves on the phone. We hadn't met yet and we were talking about our photos. S told me that most women he had met online were more attractive in person than they had been in their photos. Which, if you think about it is good, right? I mean when you meet someone, wouldn't you rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed? I know there have been a couple of times where I have found that meeting a guy in person did not quite live up to his photos. (Don't tell S this, but he was one of those guys. Dude takes a good picture. Don't get me wrong, he's cute in person, but way better looking in photos.)

Anyway, I shared my non-photogenicness (is that even a word?) with S. I wasn't fishing for future compliments or anything. I just figured I'd lay it out there. It is likely you are going to be pleasantly surprised. I do not take a good picture.

S and I met up the next night. We had a drink at a bar close to his house. (Don't worry. I took him to my bar, the one where they think I'm a total slut, on our 2nd date. I'm a classy girl.) So, we're sitting there, chatting away when all of a sudden, out of nowhere S looks at me and says, "Wow. You really do not photograph well."

Even though he assured me that he meant it as a compliment, I didn't know what to say. I mean, really? What do you say to that? Thanks?

I know this is kind of rambling and all over the place. Where am I going with this? Am I owning my beauty? Or am I putting myself down? I'm not sure. But I think what I'm getting at is that it's time for me to stop being so hard on myself. From now on I'm just going to enjoy being a pleasant surprise.

I Got a Rock

I hate pearls. I mean HATE them. Hate.

It all goes back to M. Of course it does. I'll never forget my first birthday with him. When I saw that little box my heart went pitter patter. Jewelry! He bought me jewelry!

And then I opened the box. Pearl earrings. Blech. I felt like Charlie Brown in "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". I got a rock, indeed. (Certainly not the kind of rock I wanted!)

Of course I was gracious. I thanked him and I wore the pearls. And truthfully, back then I didn't harbor the pure hatred of pearls that I do now. It was more of a "They're not really my favorite thing."

That Christmas, M did well on the gift front. I got Ugg boots, exactly what I wanted. And the next birthday I got a really pretty silver necklace with a begonia pendant on it. Yay! No pearls.

The following Christmas I was the proud recipient of not only pearl earrings, but a necklace to match! Luckily, it wasn't like a Barbara Bush pearl necklace. It was silver, with a pendant or something. It had pearls.

And I was gracious. And I wore them.

To be fair, I never did tell M of my distaste for pearls. I've never been one to speak up about that sort of thing. (See Also: every Christmas gift I've ever gotten from my mother.) I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but how do you tell someone that you hate the gift that they picked out for you?

I'm not the kind of person that can thank someone for a gift and then in the same breath ask for the gift receipt so that I can return it. Consequently, I suffer in silence. And then I develop an irrational hate for poor, defenseless pearls.

The last birthday I spent with M I already knew in my heart what I needed to do. My birthday was less than a week before I finally broke up with him. We went out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. He brought me flowers (for the first time in the 3 years we dated, but whatever). And pearl earrings.

At Least I Still Have All My Teeth

So my latest internet love is a guy we'll call J. He seems like a really nice guy. A little bit older than me. Lives part time locally and part time in Central America. He loves to surf. And the best part is he's as tall as he said he was! Yay!

We went out on our first date a couple of weeks ago. Went to my new favorite bar by my house, which by the way, the people who work there must think I am the biggest ho in the neighborhood. I think I've been to the bar with each and every one of my internet dates. Some have gone better than others. The bar employees may have seen me making out with various of my dates. Yet I keep going back. It would seem that I cannot be embarrassed. Plus I like the bar. Even though they have horrible service. But anyway...

J and I had a great time. We never ran out of things to talk about. I found out some very interesting things about him, which I'm not sharing here, but interesting! He's super cute. And tall. Did I mention tall?

Day after the date, J leaves to go back to Central America. He's going to be gone for 2 weeks. So, in that time we have been emailing with each other, not daily, but frequently. Nothing too personal, mostly, how are you? What have you done today? That kind of stuff.

A few days ago, I get an email from J that says, "Any decent new leads in your search? I came across this one girl who is dying of cancer, like within the next 5 years almost for sure. She's very interesting though. Quite an unusual circumstance for sure. Got anything better than that?"

What the hell do I say to that? So I replied, "Oh, I so have you beat! First, how sad for the girl dying of cancer. I'm not sure what to make of that. If I had cancer and was terminal I'm not sure if I'd be looking to get into a relationship. But maybe I would. I just don't know.

Anyway! I got an email from a girl! First of all, to be fair, she said she is a woman looking for men, but came across me in some weird convoluted way and wants to be friends. I actually thought it was kind of cute. And then! I got an email from a gay guy. He wants to take me on a manhunt, but only if I let him pick out my shoes. Ha. I'm not sure your (very sad, sincerely, I mean it) cancer girl tops a girl and a gay!" I think I'm being funny and witty.

Cut to a few days later, and, I being a girl, just cannot help myself. I have to ask, "What about your cancer girl? (I feel weird calling her that, but not sure what else to call her?) Will you meet her when you are in town?"

And his reply, "I probably will meet up with my cancer girl (yeah, there has to be a better way to speak of her, her name is B). I'm kind of digging her quest for an epic romance before she goes. I think I need to know more. She's no Moo, but I'm interested in checking her out."

What the hell? What do I say to that? I mean seriously! How is a girl with a normal life expectancy supposed to compete with Tragic B and Her Epic Quest for One Last Love? In my crowd a normal life expectancy and lack of any chronic afflictions is really a plus, not a minus. I kind of felt like writing him back and telling him about my chronic dry skin. Or that the fact that I still smoke could some day lead to cancer. See! I can be Cancer Girl too!

On the other hand, I also wanted to write to him and sell him on how healthy I am. I still have all my own teeth (except for the ones they removed when I got my braces, but still!). I won't be losing my hair any time soon! Can you say that about Cancer Girl? (OK I know that is incredibly mean and insensitive, but bear with me.) But all of that is silly. I know that I should celebrate and cherish my health, and I do.

I guess what kills me is that I immediately went into this whole competitive mode. It's like an instinct that cannot be controlled. It is one of my least admired traits in myself. I tend to be competive with other women when it comes to men. Give me a mediocre guy and I say "Meh...", but give me a mediocre guy with another woman interested in him and I'm all "Must Make Boy Love Me! Now!"

Not that I think J is mediocre. I still don't know enough about him to know. But I can tell you this; when I do see him next week it will be with both eyes open. And I will not be asking any more questions about B. I can't take the competition.

P.S. Regarding the gay guy who wants to take me on a manhunt, only if he can pick out my shoes? After several emails back and forth, (with a quiz even!) I'm still not convinced he isn't a straight guy with a shoe fetish.

Sayings From My Mother

Barack Obama wrote "Dreams From My Father", Moo presents "Sayings From My Mother". She's got a million of 'em. Here is just a small sampling...

1. After me, you come first.
2. Y is a crooked letter.
3. Sympathy is under "s" in the dictionary.
4. Why do you have to be the bride at every funeral?
5. You're not hungry. You're just bored.
6. You're bored? I'll hire you a cop.
7. Why don't you bang your head against the wall? It'll feel so much better when you stop.
8. What do you want me to do? Spin on my head and spit out wooden nickels?
9. I haven't the vaguest notion.
10. Because I said so.

The Rules

I'm a rule follower. Not those crazy dating rules those annoying women wrote about a few years back. Anyone who knows me knows I definitely do not follow those rules. I'm talking about rules in general. I'm more comfortable in any situation if I know what is expected of me and what the rules are. The problem is, when it comes to internet dating, no one sits you down and gives you the rules. Sure, there is the obvious, be clever, show yourself in the best light, blah, blah, blah. What I'm talking about here are the real rules.

Here are Moo's rules for online dating:

1. Post a picture for God's sake! In fact, please post more than one photo. And that photo should not be of you in a hat and sunglasses. If you do not have a picture I will not look at your profile, nor will I respond to your wink or email. I'm not taking any chances here. Who knows what you'll get if you don't see the goods up front.

2. Please be clever with your screen name. "sexykissr4u" is not clever. It is just gross. And while we're talking about "sexykissr4u", with that screen name, I do not believe you when you say you are looking for a monogamous relationship. Particularly when you have several variations of your screen name on different profiles along with a shirtless photo. Again, gross.

3. Any guy less than 5'10'' lies about his height. If a guy says he is 5'10'' or less you can automatically shave 2 inches off right off the bat. This is not attractive. Own your height, or lack thereof.

4.. Emails titled "Hello, Sexy Lady" will not be responded to under any circumstances. Nor will emails that say nothing more than "U r sexy." or "Hi". I know it's not easy to come up with a witty email to send to a total stranger, but at least put some effort into it. Tell me something interesting about yourself. Ask me about something in my profile.

5. I reserve the right to not respond to your email or wink. If I don't respond, don't keep trying. One guy emailed me 7 times over the course of one hour. I mean it's probably my fault. I did say in my profile that I love to laugh and each email I received from him had an equally offensive, horrible joke.

6. In situations such as the one mentioned above it is totally ok to block the offender. Blocking is a useful tool. It keeps the tools away. Hee hee.

7. I also reserve the right to change my mind about you even after I've given you my phone number. This does not impart upon you the right to send me a mean text when I don't return your phone call. True story. I didn't like the sound of his voice, so I didn't call back. What?

8. Do not IM me. Anytime I'm online and I get an IM from some random dude I about have a heart attack! If I don't know what to say to you in an email I'm certainly not going to know what to say to you in an IM.

9. And lastly, if I say I don't want to see you anymore please stop contacting me. No phone calls. No texts. No emails. Seriously.

How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away?

Two posts in one day! I promise not to always be this chatty. Who am I kidding? I talk a lot.

A few months ago I signed up for online dating. I know! I paid for 6 months. Upfront. So, I'm kind of stuck for now. I'm ready to embark on a new relationship and really, in your mid-30's where the heck are you going to meet anyone? Anyway, I've met some interesting people. People that need to be written about. Hee hee.


First, was UB. A very nice thirtysomething black guy. I'd never dated a black guy before, so I figured what the hell. Honestly, there's not much to tell about UB. He was sort of non-descript. We kind of fizzled after two dates.


Then came T. He was nice, but there was absolutely no chemistry. I never returned his call. I am mean.


Next was G. Again, zero chemistry. One date and that was it. He must've felt the same way because he never called me.


Then I met M. He was great online. Responded to emails right away. Was fairly witty. I agreed to meet him on a Friday night for some drinks. I should have known right away that he was CRAZY. We started talking on a Tuesday, by Friday he had texted me at least 20 times!

Our first date went fairly well. We had a lot in common and there was a spark. M walked me home and kissed me good night. We made plans to get together the next weekend.

And then it started. The barrage of text messages. A lot of them. All about how much he wanted us to work out and stuff that just didn't make sense after one date. Against my better judgement, I went for the 2nd date. Big mistake. He actually asked me how many dates it would take until he would be my boyfriend. Dude, how about never? He texted me last night. "I still miss you." You don't even know me.

Intuition

I am pissed. Oh, hello internet. I'm Moo. Nice to meet you. I found out something last night that really pissed me off. I've decided to channel my anger into creativity. Tah dah! A blog. About dating. Really? Yes, really.

It all started on Facebook. Facebook is great. Old friends catching up with each other. New friends getting to know one another. But Facebook has a dark side. Facebook can turn even the most sane of us into virtual stalkers. Reading friends of friends comments. Looking at friends of friends photos. Facebook stalking can lead you to finding out things you never really wanted to know. Last night I found out my ex-boyfriend, whom I always suspected of cheating, did, in fact, cheat on me. We broke up over a year ago, so this should be a non issue, but still ugh. I may have cried. Just a little.

First thing I did? Called my bff.

N said I should bust him. Send the new girlfriend an email alerting her that when she started dating him he was still with me. Begging me not to leave him. Telling me I was the only girl he never cheated on! (Um, really? I don't know that that's something to brag about. And! It wasn't even true.) But, whatever, it's not her fault. And I hate confrontation. And serves her right.

So, here I am. Writing about it. Online.

My friend L said I should confront him. Right. Remember me? I hate confrontation. And what good would it do me, really? There's no consequence in me confronting him now.

So, again, here I am. Writing about it. Online.

I guess the lesson in all of this for me is to trust my intuition. So many times in the 3 years I dated M I suspected he was cheating on me. For Pete's sake, he cheated on his previous girlfriend with me. (I know, I'm a horrible person.) At one point I even found a picture of him with another girl which appeared to have been taken recently. I caught him in lie after lie, and still I stayed. Even though I knew in my gut that he was a cheater, I tried to ignore it.

At a certain point I remember thinking that it was better to be in this bad relationship, constantly suspicious and unhappy, than to be single. I reasoned that it was more important to have bad companionship than no companionship at all. And then it hit me. I remember asking myself one day, "If I were to walk out of my house right now and get mowed down by a runaway bus, would I be able to look back on my life and say that I had been happy?" And the answer was a resounding no. So I dumped him. The next day. Over the phone. Ha. Best thing I ever did. I've been happier in the last year than I ever thought I could be. And now? I listen to my gut.