Anticlimactic And Abercrombie

Posted on August 28, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

I’ve been waiting… I’m sure you’ve been waiting… it’s been three weeks! I needed it sooooo bad! I showed up, I had my tight yoga pants that show off my cute butt, I had on my tiny top that shows off my abs and my cleavage… I walked into the room and saw a thin white embroidered blanket draped over the yoga mat in the front center of the studio. Rocker Yogi does NOT drape anything over his mat. NOOOOOOOOO! All that waiting and anticipation for his gentle hands. My cheap thrill for the week- GONE! I have to wait another week… or wake up early for an 8:30am class. My fear of that is that he’s not going to wake up. He likes to apologize at Sunday yoga for sleeping through his alarm clock during the week (another sign that he’s waaaaaay young!) I used to sleep through my alarm clock in college. Actually, I dreamt the song on the alarm clock. I’d be at a Bon Jovi concert or a Janet Jackson concert, but I didn’t wake up. Finally, I had to start putting it in between stations so it would sound so annoying that I would wake up (a sign that I’m too old for him because they don’t even make radios that you can put ‘in-between’ stations anymore. It’s all digital). Heck with all of the iPods and MP3 players, I don’t even know if they make radios anymore. Remember rotary phones? I tangentalize…

On a funny note…

My mom has come up with a new dating strategy for me and we put it into effect yesterday. She picked out her favorite men’s store… Ralph Lauren, and walked us over to the fitting room. She found a shelf to sit on and hid herself behind the suits, while leaving me out on display so all of the men who came to try on clothes would have to pass by me.

As they approached she make a deep buzzer like noise if she didn’t like their looks and a high pitched “yeah, yeah” if she thought that the incoming male was cute.

While it was a very clever idea, after about 45 minutes, the store guard started walking back and forth giving us the stink eye as if we were in cahoots in some Ralph Lauren heist. Dude! Really? I haven’t liked Polo cologne since I was in high school, so go back to the front of the store and save the world from preppy shoplifters.

Another sign that I’m getting old… I would have preferred to use mom’s strategy in Abercrombie and Fitch because at least if the guys trying on clothes weren’t hot, the half naked ones who are hired to walk around the store are… BUT the music is too dang loud! Only an old person would write that!

Now I must re-strategize, because the plan is good, but the store was wrong. This strategy runs in my mom’s family. Her cousin wanted to marry a doctor so she would hang out in hospitals and visit people with little or no family… she got her doctor. I don’t want a doctor and I sure don’t want to stalk a hospital.

So, what kind of store would a guy I want to date shop in? Hmmm… William Sonoma! It means he probably cooks right? Oh, but no fitting room. I like Gap guys, but for the guy I want, Gap would be a wardrobe filler. Hugo Boss? Or is that too gangster? I’m not versed in upscale men’s stores. I’ll have to check with Sister, she knows everything about shopping no matter what gender or species for that matter. She knows every upscale doggie day spa in town.

I suppose I can stake out the Nordstrom Men’s department…

©2011

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The Problem With “Outside Of The Box” Names

Posted on August 25, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

When I was growing up, no one had my name. In fact it wasn’t until college that I met someone with my name and she happened to be in my sorority. The reason why this was a problem for me was because when I’d go down to the gift shop with friends named “Sharon” or “Jennifer,” they would smile with glee when they found the Hello Kitty stickers with their name on it or a cute license plate for their bike. My bike had no plate. My sticker album, though filled with puff-ups, had no personalized stickers.

This isn’t a problem for today’s generation. For one, my name is now completely over used and when I go into those gift shops and twirl around a necklace rack to find my bejeweled name on a chain for $9.99 all I can think is ‘Sure, now you’re on the rack.’ And then of course I buy it…

The reason it’s not a problem for today’s generation is because everything is print on demand. So, let’s say you’re obsessed with celebrities and you name your kid Apple, or let’s say you are not obsessed with celebrities and you name your kid Candle.  Here’s the problem. PRONOUNS.

Today I’m going back and forth with AdventureBiz Babe about a website issue that can only be explained by Mercury in Retrograde, and I had to keep re-writing my emails to her in order to work around the lack of pronouns. “Candle” was having an issue with my site. Is Candle a he or a she? I have no idea! In fact, I had no idea how often I refer to people by pronoun until I had to send 4 emails to ABB about Candle! What the frick kind of name is Candle? Which of course got me thinking about dating…

How do you go on a date with Candle or Apple?

Quick aside, I know Sister is going to kill me for this, but I don’t actually know if Apple is a boy or a girl, because I was about to write that I suppose if Apple grows up to look like mommy Gwynny, it wouldn’t matter if her name was Egbert, dating wouldn’t be a problem for her… but then it dawned on me. What if Apple’s a guy? Even if he was the male hot version of Gwynny, I don’t think I could date a guy named Apple. I KNOW I couldn’t date a guy named Candle.

The chick on Sweet Home Alabama, a not so sweet replacement for my Bachelorette withdrawal on the CMT network, has chosen as one of her final two guys a bartender named Tribble. Tribble? Is that a common country name? Because it makes me think of dribble, which makes me think of a college guy barfing when he is so drunk that he doesn’t clean the dribble spit from his chin.

Now I’m dry heaving. Sorry for the gross image… But seriously! How do you have sex with a guy named Tribble? Ladies, if you’re sitting alone at your computer reading this, try re-enacting the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally and call out the name Tribble. And Billy Crystal had a problem with the name Sheldon? Nora Ephron had no idea what was coming in the next two decades.

Are your kids going to be going to movies with characters falling in love named Skyline and Folder? Which one is the guy?

I’m distressed over this! I have a customer based business and I need to know the gender of my client before I get on the phone! What if I assume Polish is a girl and phone ‘her’ up, and ‘she’ has a really deep phone voice so I assume ‘she’ is a guy and make a comment to ‘him’ and it turns out Polish (as in nail polish, because her mother owned a salon) is just a heavy smoker! THAT is bad for business.

And really, what is with the weird names? I can’t get past Candle… why? Why? WHY? On what planet is Candle a good name for a human being? Why name your kid after a fruit?What’s next? Will Apple have a BFF named Grape and a boyfriend named Prune? (btw the most masculine fruit name I could come up with).

Kids are named after cars. We’ve got Porsche and Mercedes. So what happens to the kids who are named Kia and Hyundai? Do they have to sit in the downstairs lunchroom because their sticker value is lower?

What’s next? Household appliances? “Mom, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Blender.” You see, not only is the problem that we don’t know the pronoun to use, but we’re depriving kids of the right to nickname. If in 8th grade, Johnny ruins a house party because he knocks over a candle and burns the place down, it’s okay to call the kid Candle, but when he applies for a 6 figure job, you can be sure he’s putting John on his application NOT Candle!

Ironically I have no problem with girls who have boy’s names.. I actually like that even though the pronoun problem exists, but at least they get it. If you’re a girl and your name is Glenn, you’re used to people assuming you’re a guy.

I don’t know. I don’t have kids, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge. My fake name after college when I wanted to blow guys off was Aspen. I created an 80 page bio on Aspen. She’d been conceived in a hot tub in… Aspen. Don’t think it didn’t freak me out when 8 years later I met a little girl named Aspen. I’m convinced her daddy made her mommy name her that because he never got over ‘that girl’ in Brother Jimmy’s with whom he’d fallen head over heals with in a matter of hours, only to discover that Aspen Rey, had given him a fake number.

Since then, I’ve met a number of curly blond Aspens. And while they probably can’t find a bicycle license plate with their name on it, they can certainly order one to be printed on demand on the internet. So what the heck is my problem…

Oh yes, I now have a potential client named Candle and I have no idea if IT is a he or a she!

©2011

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The Brilliance Of The Fist Bump

Posted on August 24, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

Oh WHY didn’t they have the fist bump when I was growing up? I’ll admit, up until a month ago, I had NO respect for the fist bump. I thought it was something that losers on Jersey Shore did (not that I ever watch that show, I just see clips on The Soup). But now…. NOW… I’ve seen the light. I’ve seen the beauty. I’ve seen the brilliance of the fist bump. Boy could this have saved me years of misunderstandings. How many young men’s hearts would never have been broken, if this gesture had been realized a few decades ago? Many!

I’ve often.. too often found myself in situations with guy friends, with whom I have no attraction, investing years into a friendship, only to find out that alas… the guy has feelings for me. After years of friendship, he is convinced I’ve given both cause and clues for him to deduce that I too, have romantic feelings for him. And by ‘him’ I mean every guy friend this has happened with. And HE is always wrong. And poof! There goes years of investment into a friendship.

That has always pissed me off! There have been times in these friendships, when other guys have called me out and said, “RCG, that guy likes you,” and I answer, “No, he knows we’re just friends.” To which I receive an eye roll or a a face grimace that is inferring “REALLY?!” To which I respond, that I’ve even broached the subject and he is crystal clear that we are just friends.

In the end, the warnings always come to fruition and another male friendship bites the dust dragging a broken heart behind it.

But now.. enter the fist bump! I can’t take credit for this realization. It was introduced to me by FWB! A month or so ago, I was on the treadmill when I got a text from him. It seemed pretty random, until I realized he was texting from the recumbent bike. I hadn’t seen him in months and he looked great. He looked happy. So it wasn’t awkward at all when I finished my treading and went over to say hello. We had a nice hug hello, caught up briefly and I had to get to yoga, so when we said goodbye, he put out his fist. At first I wasn’t sure what to do, but then I got it… he wanted to fist bump.

I walked away laughing to myself, like what the heck was up with the fist bump. But then a few nights later I went out to a movie with a guy friend. We knew each other from high school and have been friends for the last decade, and he recently found himself in my neighborhood, so we’ve been hanging out. Two fish out of water. He’s great but not a guy I want to date. So when he insisted on paying for the movie, I was a little worried. He’s awesome and I don’t want to send out wrong signals or lead him on in any way.

We saw a romantic comedy and laughed about it the whole drive home. And then it was time for the drop off goodbye. Now in the past, I’ve always given the hug. I hug my girlfriends I hug my guy friends. But not anymore. I said goodbye and put out my fist and he gave me the fist bump. There is NO mixed messages when you get the fist bump.

Do y’all understand how HUGE this is for me?!?!?!? I don’t care if the fist bump goes “out” I will use it for the rest of my life!

This is a beautiful, beautiful thing!

©2011

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Thunder Rolls And The Lightning Strikes…

Posted on August 23, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without blogging. I was traveling and wrote ten entries in my head, but they never made it to print. I will do my best to catch you up…

The thunder has been rolling and the lightning has been striking… literally and figuratively. Yesterday I landed in a lightning storm. From the window of the plane it was spectacular. Twenty minutes of watching the sky light up and electric bolts skip across the sky. For about a minute I wondered if it was safe to be flying in a lightning storm. I mean, what would happen if the plane was struck? I considered asking the pilot on my way off the plane because he was hot and I wanted to talk to him, but I decided it was better that I didn’t know. Then I decided they must have a safety feature on the plane because they fly through lightning storms all the time.

The thunder rolling was the anger brewing in my entire body. People with kids I apologize, but I assume if you are reading this you’re a good parent so it doesn’t apply to you anyway.

I fly a lot. I’ve had screaming babies on the plane and you know what? They don’t bother me, because they’re babies. They can’t control themselves, their parents can’t control them, and frankly I feel awful for the parents because they must feel terrible. HOWEVER! If you’re children are 5 and 7 and using their outdoor voices from the moment they board the plane to the moment they de-plane THAT, parent, is on YOU! The two brats behind me were so close to being screamed at NOT by their parents, but by ME, that it was scary. I was scaring myself, because I love kids. I was a camp counselor. I am kind to kids. But these kids were bringing out the thunder in me and I was roaring under my breath curse words that their dad, who was sitting next to me, pretended he didn’t understand. Yes, they were bilingual, and just as loud in both languages. I blamed that dad! Damn straight I did. Which was why I kept saying “shut the f*@k up” loud enough for him to hear but not them. So HE could feel uncomfortable. What the French, Toast?! Discipline your kids! I don’t care what you let them get away with in your house, but in a an airplane, surrounded by adults, you’d better turn around and tell your kids to be quiet! And if you’re not man enough, your bimbo wife better do it!

And the thunder rolls…

A few hours before that, I left NY where I was not supposed to be. My uncle died. There is NOTHING worse in the world than a daughter seeing her dad in pain. NOTHING!!! I was with family for the last five days, and while there was plenty to blog about, none of it was funny or romantic, so that explains the lull since Thursday…

And the thunder rolls…

Before that, I was in Los Angeles working and when not working hanging with Sister (which was only about 5 hours because I was mostly working). I snuck in two classes with Yogi Cupcake, who is as yummy as always and gave me an inspirational relationship talk, which was supposed to be one of my blog entries because it was so profound. I told him I’d wished I’d been recording our conversation. He said that I’d remember what was important and that I got it all stored away on a subconscious level. Well, I hope so, because I’ve already forgotten everything he said. I need one of those pills Bradley Cooper was taking in Limitless, which I watched on the iPad during my trip and it was pretty good.

I also got to see Sexy Mom, her hubby, and her two kids who are so perfectly behaved that if I ever heard anyone tell them to be quiet using expletives under their breath, I would kick that person’s ass!

And the lightning strikes!

At least it did when I rented my car in Beverly Hills. I’m not a fancy girl. I don’t need a fancy car, so when I travel, I get an economy car. Apparently, the gal at the rental car facility didn’t think I belonged in a Kia, because she told me she was giving me a free upgrade, which I thought was very nice. I didn’t know how nice until I went back to pick up my car and the guy was gassing up a Mercedes. Uhhh… that was some upgrade! It would have been even better if I could figure out how to use the dang thing. I made two country CDs for my drive down to San Diego, but could not figure out how to get them into the player. I also spent 22 minutes trying to figure out how to open the gas tank. I tried calling my friend who drives a Mercedes for both problems, but he didn’t answer my call either time. Rats!

And the lightning strikes!

The people who brought me in to speak in San Diego did a FAB job with my hotel accommodations.  I had a great entry about that too, but I was so tired after my bubble bath, that I had to sleep. In a nutshell it was about how luxurious the room was and all of the benefits a guy could have had if “a guy” was in my life, because that room was definitely made for two! I really think since I’m going to be flying around the country speaking, I should get a hot male assistant to travel with and of course one of his duties would be “making the most of the room” with me. And I don’t mean raiding the mini-bar.

So the thunder has been rolling, but on the bright side, lightning has been striking… and I’m back. No more 2 week hiatuses. Thanks for hanging in there for me!

©2011

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Garbage In ’94

Posted on August 10, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

1994 was one of those life changing years for me. I left everyone I knew and loved and moved… right into the Northridge earthquake. It happened literally less than 24 hours after I moved within’ miles of the epicenter. Mother Nature was screaming at me “Go home!” She was shaking me to turn around and go back.  But I didn’t. I stayed.

In ’94 I couldn’t find a sports bar to watch the Superbowl in. What kind of city doesn’t have a sports bar? Again, should have gone home. The signs were there, this was not the town for me. But I didn’t. I stayed.

In ’94 a hideous waterbed was thrown in the garbage.

We make choices to go or to stay. To keep something or to throw it out. I don’t know about you but I rationalize my choices to death. I rationalize them until I don’t even know if they are my choices at all.

In romantic comedies, the hero always makes the choice to go after his or her love and break up the wedding ceremony. We’ve seen this scene soooo many times. Sometimes the ceremony ends and they live happily ever after and sometimes, it’s the false ending and we think our hero will end up alone only to find out a few scenes later that the wedding didn’t proceed and our hero lives happily ever after.

So WHY, when I know these movies SO WELL… When I’ve watched and studied them since before I was a teenager and KNOW how they turn out, WHY, didn’t I call him when I found out he was engaged? Why didn’t I take the chance, the hero’s big risk?

I can tell you my rationalization… I figured he’d moved on, didn’t feel the same as I did, and I didn’t want to be this weird call from out of the past. I made a choice. I didn’t call and tell him how I felt. Not the kind of story you write a movie about.

But it is the kind of tale you tell in a blog about “happily ever after” because it’s a cautionary tale. The reason why so many people wish their lives could mirror the movies is because they don’t have the courage to speak the truth of their heart. I sure didn’t. I would’ve if Cameron Crowe could have put them down on paper for me. Just a few lines to get me started, I wouldn’t ask for a whole scene.

The thing with life is that it’s longer than 120 minutes. The movie hero only has 90-120 minutes to get to the happily ever after. SOOOOO…. that gives me hope. That tells me my movie isn’t over yet. As long as life goes on, there’s still a chance. I haven’t had my big monologue yet. I’ll have to give Cameron a call and see if he’ll work on it for me, he’s got angst down to a science!

What’s important for me to remember is that my movie is a romantic comedy, with comedy being the key. Yes, I’ll have days when the hero is at a low and she never thinks she’ll recover, like when Bridget Jones stuffs herself with ice cream and wine, or when Andie Anderson throws herself into her work. But ultimately, the scenes of my life in between, must be funny.

So while our hero is constantly taking action going from one conflict filled scene to the next, I’ll wait patiently… because my movie is 20 years in the making and for all I know I’m just at the midpoint, but my happily ever after… it’s worth waiting for. And I promise after my credits roll, I’ll be sure to include the blooper out takes, so don’t leave the theater!

©2011

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AdventureBiz Babe Has Me Rethinking My New Dating Theory

Posted on August 9, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

I want you all to know that when you take the time to comment on my blog, it makes my day. It also makes me think and sometimes rethink what I blog about. Here’s a hilarious message I received from AdventureBiz Babe:

“Back in my dating days, I had all these little “tests” that guys had to pass before I would even consider a relationship with them.  Tests like making them take me to Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles.  More than once, I had men say, “Oh my god, we’re the only white people here…….” to which I would reply, “why would you even notice that?”……then the racism would come out.

So…..one of my little “tests” was asking them about former relationships.  If all they did was bash everyone they ever dated, that pretty much let me know how they felt about women.  And yes, I had men tell me, “my ex was a c@nt”.  WHAT?  You used the “C” word on our second date???

So I meet this hot guy…….I don’t remember where I met him, but I remember he was a taller look-alike for a young Michael Douglas, only better looking.  When I ask him what he does, he says he’s an internet day trader, (read….he doesn’t have a job).  This is our first date, and we’re sitting in a restaurant, and I casually bring up former relationships.  He starts crying….and I mean CRYING!  I say, wow, I am so sorry, insert name here must really have hurt you.  To which, he explains that he dated this woman for 4 months, wasn’t really attracted to her, and he’s not crying about her, he is crying because he misses her 13 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER!!!  Now, the guy just can’t stop crying.  In my head, a red light is going on, and a loud voice is screaming….. he dated her for 4 months, hasn’t talked about her at all, but is crying uncontrollably for her 13 year old daughter?  CHILD MOLESTER!  Needless to say, I excused myself to the restroom, begged the waitress to let me out the back door, (she completely understood) and blocked his emails.

I had a lot of first dates that I would never have anything to do with again, but this one really stood out!”

SUPER CREEPY!!!! After reading that, not only have I decided to abandon my theory of dating guys I wouldn’t be interested in, but I’ve decided to not date guys at all… ever again.

Instead, my new approach is that I’m going to have my parents do an arranged marriage. Here are my reasons:

1. They are paranoid about who I date after the Shady debacle and will do the necessary background check

2. My mom has very good taste when it comes to looks.

3. She is also super critical so she will grill the guy beyond the call of motherly duty and rule out all ‘hot messes’

4. They seem to want me in a relationship more than I care about being in one, which is only because I’m lazy and not wanting to meet the guys that AdventureBiz Babe dated.

5. Any man who would agree to an arranged marriage in this day and age AND have my parents approval, must be as cool and sick of the dating scene as me.

It’s kinda ridiculous for me to say I’m sick of the dating scene, when technically I have been on maybe 3 dates since 2008. I guess the “sick of it” comes from the thought of the process. Then I look at Loverville and she’s been on like 194 first dates in the last few years. And the girl has a grueling work schedule!

So, yeah, I’m just lazy. And as you know if you read this blog, you could not describe me as lazy in any other area of my life, so I’m also avoiding. I can’t think of any past date trauma that I’ve encountered. The only bad part of dating for me is when I’m not interested in seeing the guy again even though we had a lot of laughs and good conversation, because the attraction is just not there for me… and no, he will NOT grow on me. It’s so awkward to have to tell a guy who thinks he rocked a date that there will not be a next one. It’s like Ashley sending Ben home after he proposed, only it was only one date so he’s not as traumatized as Ben.

Seriously, I don’t want to date. I just don’t. But if I don’t this blog is going to get really boring. I guess I’ll do it for you all… but I don’t have to like it!

©2011

Posted in Chick lit, romantic comedy, Uncategorized | 10 Comments

My New Theory On Dating

Posted on August 8, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

Before I begin, I know most of ‘my girls’ out there are waiting for their weekly Rocker Yogi report. First of all, I braved the worst thunder and lightning storm I’ve every encountered, with rain giving a driving visibility of zero in order to make it to class. It’s truly amazing what lust will push you to do. Anyway, it was well worth it. He started us off differently. Instead of Childs Pose we started standing. I have to admit, for the first half of class I was feeling neglected. There were a lot of new people so he was busy adjusting people who actually needed it. I got a quick press when I was in forward fold, but instead of focusing on my breath, I was busy wondering what pose he was going to choose for when he finally came over to me. All I can say… he made me wait until one of the final poses BUT it was so worth the wait!!! It happens to be one of my least flexible poses, so I’m glad that most instructors don’t do it, because I hate it! It’s when you’re sitting upright on the mat, and you open your legs as wide as they’ll go, and fold your chest over as close as you can get to the floor.

Now, I can be sitting upright on the mat with my legs together and bend over and rest my head just past my knees, but legs open… I suck at it. Never been flexible there. Not even when I was a 4-year-old in ballet. So there I was legs spread trying to bend over, when he sits down behind me, places his hands on my inner thighs pulling them open wider and then leaning his chest against my back to press my down farther. Good frickin’ Lord!  The bad news is I’ll be out of town and missing his class for the next two weeks. The good news is, I think that adjustment will keep me for about as long!

So enough tangentalizing and onto today’s subject matter. I have a new theory on dating. I have to start going on dates with guys I’m not interested in. Sounds like a stupid plan right? Here’s my thinking. According to the whole “Law of Attraction” thing, you get what you focus on. I’ve chosen not to focus on the Law of Attraction thing, finding it a bit too woo woo and certainly not proactive enough for my Type A personality.

Then I noticed something. I’ve started going out about three times a week to meet women friends in my community. You’re all aware of that if you’ve been following the past few weeks of blogs. I don’t write about many of the events I go to, because while the women are all very nice, they’re just not “likeminded” people. A few of the business events had a few that could be compatible, but are geographically challenged.

Interestingly, as I’ve been pursuing women friends in this fashion, while unsuccessful at the events, I met 3 cool chicks at the gym. We’ve exchanged numbers. One of them has even become my workout partner. In addition to the women, I’ve been hanging out with some guy friends from high school.

My theory is based on the fact that when I make the effort to meet people, even if the efforts have been unsuccessful, I end up meeting my type of people in other situations without having to try. If I apply that same theory to dating it goes a little something like this:

I start going on dates with guys who are not my type at all, but have asked me out (except for the freaky guy who asked me out after yoga class, because I think there may be something wrong with him). Because I am putting the effort into going on the “wrong” dates, the right kind of dates will effortlessly show up in my life in random places.

THAT is my theory. Now, going through with that plan is a whole other story, because it’s hard enough to hang out with a group of people in a social situation who are not my type, but to be one on one on a date with someone who will wind up being in to me, because despite not being interested in him, I’ll have to be my kind and endearing self,  just sounds cruel… for both of us.

So that’s my theory. I don’t think I’ll be testing it anytime soon, BUT if I do, you’ll be the first to know.  Promise.

©2011

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Astrology, Tarot, And Dreams… Or A Ben Affleck Movie!

Posted on August 6, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

I get my astrology for the week sent to me on Sundays. If I like it, I keep it in my inbox only to discover it months later when I clean out the 900 emails that need to be deleted. Usually something like Mars is squaring myanus I mean Uranus, which means nothing to me..  Then it tells me a legal issue is going to need my attention on Friday so that’s when I hit delete. I get a daily reading of 3 tarot cards for my creativity delivered to my inbox. Lately, it seems repetitive, which means I either really need to focus on my creative project or there’s only so many things you can say in regards to general creative tarot card readings. I used to be superstitious about fortune cookies. If I didn’t like the fortune, I didn’t bite the cookie. If I liked it, I bit the cookie, but just one bite… wasn’t a fan of the taste of fortune cookies.

My dreams are another story. I’ve always remembered my dreams vividly. Sometimes I can instantly translate them. Sometimes I have to share them with others and through the telling, get clarity. Sometimes I have no idea what they mean. Sometimes I wake up haunted by them. And other dreams I wish were real.

The mysteries of astrology, tarot, palm readers, fortune cookies and crystal balls, are very alluring for a romantic like me.  It’s not just that I want my happily ever after, it’s that I want the guarantee that I will get it. I look for patterns (every palm reader has told me I already know the man I’m going to marry), I look for signs (when I’m on the right path I always see my totem animal), I look for meaning (dreaming about someone means he’s dreaming about me too and we’re together in another ‘realm’).

But really, if I want reassurance that my happily ever after is out there, I don’t need any of that stuff. All I need to do is go back to the source, back to the place that put the idea of a happily ever after in my mind to begin with. My favorite place in the world… a movie theater.

Today started with an error of judgment. I decided to meet a group of women from a book club I’d joined but not attended yet, for a movie. The movie was Sarah’s Key. I knew nothing about it. That was my error in judgement. I heard Kristin Scott Thomas, and thought how bad could it be? It wasn’t bad, quite the opposite, but I don’t go to the movies to get depressed. I see those movies at home when I choose. But not the theater. The theater is my place of worship, where I go to disappear for two hour into a world of romance, or laughter, or action, or science fiction, but not horror, and not movies about people who die. To this day I refuse to watch Beaches. The first time I saw Terms of Endearment, I cried for 3 hours straight and didn’t recover for days. I know this happens everyday. I know this is life. But for the two hours that I’m in my house of worship, I want to be uplifted, taken to a new world, or longing for the love that two romantic comedy heros find by the end, after a false ending.

I had to recover from this movie. It had me moping around all day. I decided I had to see another movie, but I was not in the mood to go out. So I checked out OnDemand and found a gem. I’ve seen it 4times already, but I love it. The Town, directed, co-written, and starring Ben Affleck. I truly love this movie. Not only is it a great cops and robbers flick, but the love story in it always get to me because they are from such different worlds, and yet they fall for each other. A rom com wasn’t enough to pull me out of the funk. I needed more, and The Town delivered.

If I ever do get married, I think I’d like to be married in a movie theater. Ideally, my love story will be so interesting that I can make it into a film, screen the film for my friends and family and just as the last scene appears on the screen with the groom waiting at the alter for the bride to walk down the isle, the lights go up in the theater, and I surprise my audience with the reveal of my groom waiting for me under the screen, and we finish the movie with a live ceremony and a kiss that will continue on forever.

And we live happily ever after…

With a screening room in our house!

©2011

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Friends With Benefits Review

Posted on August 2, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

There are not enough diamond tiaras to rate this film. It was so freakin’ funny, I can’t believe it! I was expecting to enjoy it, but not expecting it to be in the running for one of my favorite movies ever. Maybe that’s premature, but I’m trying really hard to focus on the funny. I’m trying really hard because out of two hours, pretty much 100 minutes were funny, and I’m trying really hard not to focus on the twenty that weren’t, especially the three minutes that were downright painful.

I’m not spoiling anything by telling you that JT’s dad in the movie has a monologue about his first love who he let get away. I felt like I was on one of those carnival stages in front of a live audience, being spun around on a red and yellow wooden wheel, while someone threw knives at me. Only instead of the knives hitting the wood all around me, I was hit in the heart and the gut, over and over. Why couldn’t I get a knife in the head, so I wouldn’t be able to think about him.

HIM! I’ve been trying SO HARD, not to think about him. Not to write about him. Being in NY last month it took everything not to blog about him everyday. I was on Long Island for Pete’s Sake! How could I not think about him?!

I get so angry with myself because I don’t understand why I can’t just move on! Why I can’t let him go. Why I watch a movie monologue about a guy telling his son not to make the mistake he made and go get the girl, and all I can think is did I make a huge mistake? Nights like tonight I worry that I’ll never move on.  That I’ll never be able to love someone like I love him. And then I think I’m just being dramatic and that I don’t even know him now.

But none of it matters. The rationalizations, the conversations to convince myself to let him go, the rituals to get rid of energetic ties… it’s all bullshit, because the older I get the more I know, that no matter how hard it tries, my mind never wins the battle. He’s in my blood that rushes to my extremities to fight or to flight, leaving my stomach empty and nauseous. He’s in my heart that hurts so deeply that sometimes I think it may just run out of the will to keep beating. He’s in my skin, so anyone else who touches me, can’t penetrate my pores, because they’re filled with him. He’s in my muscles that grow weaker when I need the strength to reach for someone else. He’s in my eyes and blinds me from seeing possibilities of anyone else.

I’ve tried books. I’ve tried journaling. I’ve tried rituals that people pay thousands of dollars for to release the hold of a past love and nothing works. My brain fights my body and it doesn’t win. At night it gives up and allows me to dream about him. I wake up the next morning sad, missing him, wishing our lives were different.

Every happy ending makes me think of him.

Sometimes I wonder if I was a really horrible person in my last life, like an awful womanizing casanova who broke so many hearts that this is my karma. How can I be in love with someone for twenty years and not be able to get past it? That’s 4 times as many years as I was actually with him. Do you follow me? My math may not be accurate, but four years with him… 16 years not and my body aches as if no time has gone by. How is this possible? How do I make it stop?!?!  I really need it to stop…

So, yes, great movie I highly recommend it. Sorry I went off on a down tangent, but with movies like One Day coming out soon, you may have to prepare yourself for more of this to come. I apologize in advance…

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My Soft Core P— Yoga Class

Posted on July 31, 2011 by romanticcomedygirl

Yes, I know… I’m completely defeating the purpose of yoga. But I can’t help it! Rocker Yogi is killing me! I’m quite sure it’s all happening in my imagination, but let’s say for the sake of this entry that it’s not.

Today, I switched my mat placement, but no matter… the music went on and I was the first to have his hands on me. Today I dressed for the occasion, with my black Gap yoga pants which fall low on the hips and make my butt look perky and tight. On top I had the Fila black sport top, which is smaller than a bra, and reveals lots of cleavage when bent over or should I say when one is in a forward fold and then asked to come to a flat back..

So when his hands pressed on my back for our first child’s pose, it was his cool hands on my warm back.. and waist.. he has very large hands, so they cover a lot of territory.

Now yoga is supposed to be a clearing of the mind, a moving meditation if you will, but this class is turning into soft core porn for me. There is no clearing of the mind, there is only anticipation when his footsteps are near. Is he coming toward me? Am I about to feel his hands on me?.. (pant pant.. I’m supposed to be breathing not panting!) Oh, those footsteps are torture! I will him closer and closer and sometimes, just sometimes I get my need fulfilled.

I was lucky today. Four times. The first was as I said, right out of the gate. The second I didn’t have to wait too long for… he adjusted my downward dog. He must be a perfectionist, because I’ve got that one pretty nailed, but I didn’t mind him behind me pressing and pulling one bit.

Then there was a long lull. During that lull there were yoga terms used that of course coming out of his mouth just sounded dirty, like “There is strength in the length.” I wanted to whisper in his ear, “Prove it” but that would have been so non-namaste! Then he had us go into table top pose and told us to thrust up our pelvis and be proud of our gender. The comment made me laugh out loud, but apparently I was the only one because he said, “That was way funnier than your reaction.” If he wants reaction, he should just stand next to me the whole class. I’ll stroke his ego and anything else he needs…

Third time, he made me wait, but it was so worth waiting for! It was the last pose of the class before savasana. He had us put our right foot on our left knee and then twist to the left with our right arm and head falling to the right. I usually close my eyes in this pose, but I heard the footsteps… he sat down and took my right arm in his hands, then straddled my arm so I had no where to look but straight into his crotch. Then he took his foot and pushed my hip until my knee touched the floor. But who noticed? My face was less than a foot from his crotch. This was cruel! This was torment! This is my favorite frickin’ yoga class ever!!!! But it didn’t end there, oh no, my lovely readers… we had to switch sides, so I got to stare at his crotch from the left side view as well.

And then savasana. Remember last time I was hoping he’d slip his hands down my top… that would have been inappropriate. But this time, I was barely wearing a top, and I believe I mentioned he has big hands, so he couldn’t help but graze my cleavage with his fingertips as he worked his way back to my upper chest and shoulders for a final push…. oh lordie!

As he went around the class in his hypnotic surfer voice (I know, it sounds like an oxymoron, but in his case it’s hot!) he was telling us to clear our minds for the final ten minutes. Clear my mind? He’d just touched my boobs, there would be no mind clearing! My mind hadn’t been this busy since I was with FWB! And the footsteps! My ears were on high alert! Would he possibly come back for seconds? Had he held my hand during the final twist because he was checking for a wedding band? Because there isn’t one, and I have no tan lines to prove it. Yeah. These were the thoughts going through my head when my head was supposed to be clear.

I am supposed to leave yoga relaxed not needing a cold shower. I have to face facts. I have four other yoga classes during the week that provide relaxation and meditative vinyasas. This class will be serving a “higher purpose” and while I’m such a cliche, I totally want to have sex with my yoga instructor! Hey, give me a break.. in my decade of doing yoga, he’s the first one I ever wanted to do… granted all of my hot yoga instructors have been gay up until now.  How am I going to maneuver this? I will ponder it and decide on a strategy!

©2011

Posted in Chick lit, romantic comedy, Uncategorized | 2 Comments