Re-Defined Life

A Couple More Red (Can't Resist)

A Day, A Day

What a long hard day. And not over. Not nearly over.

It's that feeling--you know the one--when you have looked at something far too long and can no longer even formulate solutions to the problems there.

In good news, I'm halfway through the html for the hush-hush project. In bad news, the other half has to be finished/nearly finished tonight. And it is 7 already.

At least a couple more hours await me.

But I needed a moment. To do something else. To feel moderately peaceful.

Oh man.

Love & Red

The new me. You know.

Inspired by the Many Photos of Men

I miss you, Roommate #1.

Peace and Longing and Tea

When I was in Ireland, I drank a lot of tea.

I'm not sure why our brains make the associations that they do. I read a book in college that was supposed to explore the idea of scent-memory, taste-memory, etc. But I must not have paid attention. Or perhaps discarded it with disgust, as I sometimes did with the more bizarre theories presented by the more bizarre professors. B.S. the paper, B.S. the test and out the door without long term retention.

That's beyond the point now, though, isn't it? The fact is that we do remember. Associate. Travel backward in time.

For me, one of the strongest pulls into memory lane is tea made well.

I had left Dublin, which I moderately disliked for its pollution and bad food and general bad feeling, and took a bus to Slane. Slane, the famous, yet tiny, home of Slane Castle, where U2 made a video and Madonna did a concert, etc. etc.

The bus station was miles from the hostel. But I didn't know that. Hiking backpack strapped securely, I wandered in the right general direction, stopping every mile to check that I hadn't passed it. Finally, on finding it, relieved, I spent the rest of the day relaxing within those walls. Clean bright rooms, sturdy bunkbeds, an Irish children's book I'd picked up along the way and cups of lovely, complimentary Irish tea that I made down in the kitchen.

My time in that hostel was so quiet and so defined by tea and longing. Longing, in part, for something unknown. For the what comes next of life. As I had just left New York for good. And, longing also, for a love that I had so little time to revel in before my departure. But still peace. Peace and longing and tea: that is the Irish countryside.

I remember the third or fourth day that I was there...I think it was the day that I had hitchhiked out to Drogheda and back...an Australian couple came to the hostel with their warmth and wit and tiny rented car. We sat in the kitchen while they ate and I had tea. Cups and cups of tea. And we talked. Laughed. And I felt less restless, more content and homey.

I don't drink tea in the U.S. very much. Somehow it is not the same. Tea is one of the things that the Irish just do right. Tea and scones and Druidic ruins.

When I do have tea here, it only takes me back if it is exceptional.

Today it was exceptional. And transported, I am.

Ballsy...er...Buttsy?

For future reference...this does not make us want to date you. Lesson One: Women work differently than men.

Ballsy though. And you have something written on your cheek.

The Rules of Engagement

As many of you know already, the double-date awesomeness has been temporarily put on hold, as Roommate #1 is off traipsing around deserty areas, possibly canoodling with scorpions and then I am off schmoozing with fancy type persons who are related to me during super-big weekend-long birthday celebrations.

As soon as Roommate #1 and I return, though, there will be more hilarity in store. So keep checking back.

Before she left, R#1 and I spent some time very thoughtfully making a list to help the next round of double-date-ad responders not to fall into the same ruts as those come before. For now, I will share with you this list of PLEASE DON'TS, which you may feel somewhat familiar with, as you're all smart cookies and feel the same way I do about text message continuums. Obviously.

The Rules:
1. No kids. No divorces. Particularly, no divorcees who cannot spell divorce.
2. Writing/spelling/grammar ability should be above a fifth grade level.
3. TWO people. We're not both going out with one of you. One of us is not going out with one of you. We weren't kidding, joking or otherwise cajoling when we said two in the ad. Yeah, we actually meant that part.
4. Photos! We asked for them. We don't respond without them. And you get extra points for smiling and not sending photos of your butt crack.
5. Do not lol about things that are not funny. LOL, in case you didn't know, means Laughing Out Loud. If you just said "I have blue eyes" or "I work in the financial district", your sentence should not be followed by an LOL. If you are laughing out loud about your job or eye color, go out and get a new one and stop bothering us with your incorrect usage of acronyms.
6. Emails and text messaging are not the same thing. Do not email us as if you were text messaging. Those three extra letters do make a difference. And I do not think you are Gr8.
7. Do not flip off the camera. Do not frown and make peace signs. You are not a thug: you live in Denver.
8. Not knowing how to resize a photo and/or sending us emails to confirm our realness are not excuses not to send a picture. If we are a spam bot, we will log your email with or without a photo. And if you are too stupid to resize your picture, we cannot help you.
9. Did I mention, there should be two of you?
10. Age range matters. We do not consider offers from anyone who could physically be our father.
11. Finally, if you cannot read the ad, don't respond. And if your life is so pathetic that you spend your time emailing people on Craigslist to say "no thanks", we don't want to hear about it. Go be sad by yourself.

Built for Speed

Wednesday night was our first plunge into the small pond that is speed dating. There are a lot of fish in the sea and small ponds are no different. The question always remains: are they flounder or kingfish?

But enough with the metaphors.

Speed dating, if you don't know, involves lots of ladies sitting in booths with numbers or letters in front of them and lots of gentlemen sitting beside them, then standing up at the whistle, shaking hands genially and moving on to the next numbered-lettered lady. As this rotation goes on, each person has a scorecard, on which they mark Y or N next to the number associated with each gentleman or lady that they meet. This scoring generally happens after the five minutes allotted for getting-to-know-you.

Except in the case of one gentleman. We shall call him 31.

31 sat down at my booth, glanced at me and opened his card in front of me to circle yes. Before we talked.

What if I was a mean person, 31? (I am sure that it is obvious from my niceness in previous entries that I am far far from a mean person...)

But that is the beauty of men. Particularly men in fields that require them to be with other men all day long. Like engineering. Or the army.

These are the same men that go swing dancing. And, why is that?

Because girls go swing dancing. And, because those girls, who are fit and usually pretty, let said deprived men touch them and hold their hands. This, for engineers and military men, may be close to the heavenly realm.

And, speed dating is close too.

Talking to nine girls in one night.

An accomplishment. And, always always a blast for us as well.

Love Note from a Stud

no thanks!

Dear Bob,

The fact that you even wrote this email makes it very clear to me that you can do better than us. Obviously.

Love,

Gigi

Hate Mail: X Returns

I would like to preface the below by saying that I was going to (very generously, mind you) ignore X's quirks for the most part. The only mention I made of him, post-meeting, was brief and can be found here: This is Why I'm Hott. Not at all as insulting as I could be.

But, he couldn't leave well enough alone. And, after a very short and sweet email (which I have shown you below) letting him down as nicely as possible, he retorted with a vengeance.

Please note, before reading the following, that I did not want to be mean to X. He left me without a choice.

The string:

Dear X,

It was nice to meet you as well. We both had a nice time, but I'm afraid that neither of us felt that there was chemistry there. We wish you the absolute best and thanks for a nice night.

G:

Then why did you email me after the date asking to you out again?  Frankly, I thought you were a little screwy, but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt since you asked for a second date.  I believe that is what you would call the "craigslist pity date".  Otherwise, I probably would not have called you again.

Dear X,

The above rejection was as kind as we could come up with. I’m sorry if you still couldn’t let go without one final jab.

I would like to note that every email you received was from both of us—so why are you so mad at me? Hmm. I’m sorry that your crush on me didn’t work out. Why don’t you go cry to your mommy?

P.S. In your head, I wanted a second date. In my head, thanking you for dinner and saying it was nice to meet you was us attempting to be really nice to someone socially retarded, because we pity you and, I don’t believe that pity-daters call and email in an attempt to reach me within 24 hours of the original date. In Roommate #1’s head, the vague reference to maybe someday hanging out (which was her idea at all) would boost your poor, poor little confidence.

As a final note, A, who we love, is willing to offer you lessons on interacting with women. He does say, however, that he requires your private jet as a down payment.

Think about it.