Nashville Part 2: Play Something Country

I've been a bad blogger and I'm almost a month behind in posts.  In an effort to keep you entertained and to get back to blogging about my dating life, I will wrap up the remaining 3 days in Nashville with a few pictures and funny stories.  As I might have mentioned, I went to Nashville for a professional conference where I knew no one.  That's right, I decided to go to a conference alone, in a city I'd never been to, assuming that I'd meet some cool people and make some great networking connections...and that's just what I did!

The first thing I learned at my first ABA event was that lawyers love to party!  Seriously.  I had anticipated a few networking events, but nothing to the extent of what the ABA's Young Lawyers Division pulled off.  The first night there was a welcome reception at the Wild Horse Saloon, which was conveniently located next to the store where I bought my 4 pairs of boots earlier in the day.  This of course prompted me to tell everyone I met that night about the amazing sale and I was then branded the crazy girl from New Jersey who bought 4 pairs of boots in Nashville.  Which, I rationalized, is better than being known as just a crazy girl.

The Wild Horse Saloon was a blast and although I wasn't yet comfortable enough with a roomful of strangers to learn how to line dance, I did get dressed to the nines.  I knew going to the conference that the social events were "Country Snappy" attire so I packed to the best of my ability.  Knowing that I would be purchasing cowboy boots, I packed several short dresses that would be no less than freaking adorable paired with my new footwear and prayed that I wouldn't be the only one who took the dress code so seriously.  Thankfully I wasn't the only one dressed up and I found myself sucking back Jack and Cokes with lawyers from all over the country dressed in cowboy boots, cowboy hats, thick belts and plaid shirts.

I sat through some super-exciting Continuing Legal Education seminars on Friday and got done early enough to explore a bit more of Nashville.  I took a walk in my stilettos to check out the pedestrian bridge with a new friend I had made.

After a few pictures of Nashville and the beginning of a blister from my heels, I hightailed it back to the hotel to change into some more appropriate clothes for listening to live music (and cowboy chasing).  My new friend had opted to attend a diversity luncheon, which, regardless of the fact that diversity encompasses all races, I always feel strange going to, so I braved lower Broadway on my own.  I headed over to the legendary Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, where just about every country singer who is anybody has performed.

Inside Tootsie's between sets

I sidled up to the bar, ordered a beer and a pulled pork sandwich and listened to some young girl sing songs I'd never heard of.  Somewhat disappointed that this self-proclaimed country fanatic couldn't sing along, I sat back and soaked up the scene...and my Miller Lite.

It's Miller time

I was enjoying the music and had even made a new friend who was in town from Las Vegas when a fine piece of ass nice looking cowboy walked with his guitar.  I watched, and photographed, as he was setting up to sing because you never know how much US Weekly is going to pay for those "Before They Were Stars: Butt Picture Edition"...and because he had too nice of a tush not to capture.

I'm shameless, I know

The singer's name was Jake something or other.  He had a great voice, a good sense of humor, a nice ass and most importantly, he called me pretty.  This may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was bearing crazy cleavage and had given him a big tip, but I sat there pretending that he was cursing himself for being married when he could have me on his arm.  Seriously, why are all country singers married?!

You can't see, but he's looking deep into my eyes

Jake the cutie cowboy finished his set and walked around for tips so I did what any sane woman would do.  I tipped him again (with a wink!), we took a picture together and I immediately uploaded to Facebook so my friends and family could appreciate the professional networking I was doing in Nashville.

Friday night was another night of "Country Snappy" attire but this time we had dinner and dancing at the Country Music Hall of Fame.  Naturally I would take a terrible selfie of my outfit in the mirror before dinner and then neglect to take a picture of Elvis' gold Cadillac in the Hall of Fame.  I know, I know.

The Hall of Fame was great!  Before dinner we were able to take a tour of the museum where I saw some amazing collections of costumes, cars and gold and platinum albums from the greatest country legends.  While enjoying our night of dancing, I found out that I passed the New Jersey Bar Exam which made the night even better!

Wall of Records

Saturday marked the end of the conference but not the end of my time in Nashville.  After saying goodbye to new friends and professional acquaintances that I had met, I headed out to brunch for some biscuits and gravy.  I had heard that biscuits and gravy were a southern delicacy and from the moment I had arrived I was salivating over the thought of tasting these treats.  I headed over to Puckett's and took a seat at the bar before helping myself to their buffet brunch.  I gorged myself on biscuits and gravy (to die for!), bacon, sausage and a bunch of other stuff that my mouth literally just watered thinking about (gross)...and a Bloody Mary to cure my hangover.

Hair of the dog...

By the time I finished brunch and got back to the hotel, it was time for the most exciting thing to happen--Greta (from Dating Without a Net) came to party with me!  The two of us had been sending each other excited text messages all week leading up to our meeting (because we're weirdos who met on the internet) so it was super awesome (and a relief) when we discovered that we were both normal (and totally awesome) people!  Then our other internet friend, Jessica, came to party with us and again she was normal and awesome--yay!  Greta's friend came up from Atlanta and the 4 of us hit up the town!

Just a sign, there was no soliciting, discreetly or not, done that night

So as not to incriminate anyone, the main highlights from our crazy night out include Greta kicking her shoe over a balcony at my hotel (causing me to pee in my pants--no joke, I was on the floor laughing and wetting myself), all 4 of us riding a mechanical bull (Greta and I were in skirts because we're classy like that) and a 2am trip to Waffle House where I wanted to smack everyone for being so damn friendly! We were definitely "those girls" at every bar but it was an awesome night in Nashville with great new friends and I can't wait to go back to Music City!

Nashville Part 1: These Boots Were Made For Dancing

It's taken me almost a month but I'm finally recovered enough from my trip to Nashville to write about it.  I went down to Nashville for an American Bar Association conference.  After a particularly heinous day at my former job, I received an email about the conference and jumped at the chance.  Between the country music, cowboys and warm weather this trip promised (and of course, hot topics in the law lectures) I booked a flight and hotel within minutes.

Before my flight to Nashville departed from LaGuardia airport, I had already made fast friends with two lawyers from Montreal.  After they told me that they were attending because of the social events and explained how last year's conference in Vegas went down, I knew it was going to be a good weekend! 

My first order of business upon arrival, aside from getting my official conference name tag and CLE calendar, was to find me some cowboy boots.  I asked the bellhop where I could buy some boots and he explained, in a slow southern drawl, that a store called Nashville Cowboy was having a "Buy 1, Get 2 Free" boot sale.  If his accent hadn't caused me to melt on the spot, his mention of a sale certainly would have.  I gathered my composure and scooted my booty over to the store.

I found myself in a leather scented mecca of all that is good and holy about cowboy boots.  They were red, brown, black, white; studded and stitched; stacked 3 deep, 10 feet high and 50 feet long.  At that point my life changed and all events would be divided into BCB (before cowboy boots) and ACB (after cowboy boots).  Ok, I'm kidding (sort of) but it was an overwhelming experience.  

Boots, boots and more boots!

I walked in knowing that I would leave with 3 pairs of cowboy boots.  Although I'm a lawyer (and infamously bad at math), I'm also a woman so I know that a Buy 1, Get 2 Free sale equals 3, yes 3, pairs of boots.  You're probably thinking, "Who needs 3 pairs of cowboy boots in New Jersey," in which case we must not have been properly introduced, (Hi, I'm Emily) and the answer is ME!  I need 3 pairs of cowboy boots in New Jersey!   My parents had already pledged to buy me a pair as an early birthday gift (July 6, thanks Mom and Dad!) so the fact that I could get 3 pairs for the price of one was too good to be true! 

Between my indecisiveness and "retartoes" (I have notoriously bad feet that have been operated on multiple times in the past 15 years) I knew this was going to be a daunting task.  The store was almost empty so I enlisted the help of a nice salesgirl to guide me through my boot selection.  She informed me that I needed at least one pair of brown and one pair of black boots, obviously.  I immediately fell in love with a dark brown pair with turquoise stitching that would match my straw and turquoise cowboy hat.  Pair one settled.

In an effort not to bore you with my thought process I will fast forward 2 hours, 1 packet of almonds, 6 mirror self-portraits and countless text messages to my fashionista friends and mother.  It turns out that the most difficult decision to make is deciding which pair of buttery soft goat-leather boots (yes, they're made from goat skin) should be the 3rd, as I had found 4 pairs of cute cowboy boots that didn't mess with my sensitive feet.

As I hemmed and hawed over whether to put back the caramel colored or the shorter boots, I heard a voice whisper, "The 4th pair is 40% off."  I turned to see an angel in tight jeans and cowboy boots.  Saving me from the despair of abandoning a pair of boots, I jumped up to hug him from my crumpled place on the worn wood floor (where I was likely having a conversation with the boots to decide who was coming home with me) but he was gone.  As I questioned whether this intese spiritual moment had been real, my angel reemerged, from the stock room no less.  He explained that he was the manager and would be pleased to give me 40% off the 4th pair seeing as I was having such difficulty deciding.

Caramel, Dark Brown with Turquoise, Black cut outs, short tan suede and dark brown leather (From L to R)

I choose to believe that he gave me a discount because of my overwhelming beauty and not my everlasting presence in the store or their existing sales policies.  Regardless, I left with 4 pairs of boots-- 3 as an early birthday present from my parents and one that I bought on my own.   After just 3 hours in Nashville, I was ready to take on the town and headed back to the hotel for a Welcome Reception that requested "snappy country" attire.  

  

"Double or Nothing": How to Date Two People in One Night

Since my time is valuable and I'm always up for a challenge, I decided to do something last night I hadn't done in a while--I went two dates in one night.  If you can swing it, this can be a good thing to try.  It's an efficient way of getting two first dates out of the way and if you don't click with either, you've only lost one night instead of two.

This wasn't the first time I've had a "Double or Nothing" date.  Over the summer, I met up for a morning hike and lunch with one man and then met another for afternoon drinks the same day.  It was easy enough to do on a weekend because there was plenty of time--I scheduled one date from 10am to 2pm and another at 3pm.

Last night proved to be a challenge because I had to work until 5:30pm.  I knew fitting two dates into the night was going to be difficult so I planned to meet one for drinks at 6pm and one for dinner at 8pm.  There was some very strategic planning involved, so if you're interested in doubling up, here are some tips.

Tips for "Double or Nothing": Dating Two People in One Night

1. Pick two dates (one you like, one you're not so sure about)-- "Double or Nothing" works best if you are curious about meeting someone but not curious enough to waste an entire night on them.  Pick one date you like or think you'll like more (Date #2) and one you're just willing to give a shot (Date #1).  If your gut instincts are right, you'll be ready to leave Date #1 by your deadline.
2. Stagger the dates-- You need enough time to get to know each other.  An hour and a half should suffice for the first--especially if you're not super interested in them.  Make sure to compensate for traveling time.   I planned my dates 2 hours apart, giving me over an hour and a half for Date #1 and enough time to travel to Date #2.
3. Location--For Date #1, pick a location that is near, but not too close, to Date #2--something in the middle of your point of origin and your second destination is perfect.  A place that is en route to Date #2 is good because it cuts down on driving time.  Since you're not sure if you're that into him anyway, pick a place you at least know you'll like.  I picked a place I had been to on a previous date--it has a ton of beer on tap so it's an instant hit with men.  It was between my office (where I was coming from) and the location of Date #2.
4. Excuse--Come up with an "out" so that you can leave on time.  Bring this up at the beginning of the date.  Don't lie, just keep it vague.  "I volunteer at a place nearby so I've got to leave at 7:30" worked for me.  It was the truth (I never said I was leaving to actually go volunteer; I just let him think I was), it gives you an end time and the subject is quickly changed to asking about the excuse.  "Oh cool, where do you volunteer?"
5. Deadline--Pick and stick to your deadline.  If you go over, you'll be screwed for Date #2.  About 10 minutes before you have to leave, mention that you need to leave soon.  This gives you a chance to get the bill settled, go to the bathroom and leaves time for an awkward goodbye.  

Results
Date #1 went as anticipated.  I had met him on Plenty of Fish, he seemed nice enough, offered to learn who Jason Aldean and Luke Bryan are and was pretty cute in pictures.  Our emails weren't anything to brag about so I figured he would be a good candidate for Date #1.   Right away I told him that I had a deadline to leave and he took the bait and started asking me about volunteering.

Conversation flowed but there wasn't any real spark.  He was also much cuter in pictures than in person.  I thought there might be some potential when he told me he drove a truck for work (you know how I love pickup trucks), but then I noticed that he was wearing one of those thick silicone bracelets (below) with the word "Groovy" written on it.  I have a feeling there was a story behind it but I wasn't up for giving him any positive reinforcement for wearing it and didn't ask.

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Date #2 went better than Date #1, which was also anticipated.  I had met Date #2 at a bar last Friday night.  I was there for an intramural kickball event and he was there at a young professional event.  He was a tall, well-dressed, Billy Baldwin look alike and came up to make conversation while I was at a table with friends--bonus points for having the balls to come up to me in a group!  We engaged in some Yankees vs. Red Sox (go Sox!) banter and I gave him my number before he left.  

I met Date #2 for sushi in the town where I'm moving this summer.   I was looking forward to seeing him so when I got to the restaurant and he was no where to be found, I got a bit worried.  I quickly picked up my phone and called to ask him where he was.  Apparently he was peeing in the bathroom. Not exactly the way I imagined a man would be holding himself while thinking of me, but I'll take it.  He was soon out and after making sure he washed his hands, we had a great sushi dinner.  He even asked me out for a second date after I knocked a glass of water onto him.  

I'm exhausted this morning but happy that the "Double or Nothing" date worked!

Giddy Up

I swore off dating lawyers after both my ex-husband and creepster, JD, who tried to undress me on our first date.  But, since I tend not to listen to myself very well, I started talking to another attorney, who I will just call Lawyer NYC, a couple of months ago from Plenty of Fish.  He is a cute intellectual property attorney in NYC with a sexy geeky look who, aside from having a penchant for calling me "counselor," did not appear to be a complete weirdo.  Between the Bar Exam and his jaunts down to visit family in Florida, we haven't had the chance to get together but have graduated from emails to text messages. 

We've corresponded at length about going to school in the Midwest, having dual citizenship and international travel--all things we have in common.  When the subject of music came up, I made sure to tell him I like country, as that seems to be a dealbreaker for some close-minded individuals.  Their loss--I go wild wearing a cowboy hat--yeehaw!  Lawyer NYC seemed open to my music taste (brownie points) so we continued talking.  I even sent him a picture of me from the Rascal Flatts concert when he asked how it went. 

I've been busy over the past month and texts between Lawyer NYC and I have died down.  This must have struck a nerve with him because I started getting strange text messages from him filled with legalease and 2am invitations for hot chocolate.   A little strange, but nothing that I couldn't get over. 

However, over the past week, I must have really been on his mind...and I'm starting to wonder what he's doing with my pictures.   While I'm glad that he's open to my love to country music, I think he might be putting the cart in front of the horse.  Sexy text messages can be appreciated in certain instances--like after a number of great dates and a satisfying romp in the hay--but not before an in person meeting.  That's just weird.  From the sounds of it, Lawyer NYC might be a really fun rodeo cowboy, but I think I'm going to pass.

Guest Blogger: Dating, it's a Shitstorm!

Today I'm taking the Bar Exam so I have a guest blogger.  Ann Marie, from A Little Bit Stronger, is a ridiculously hot single mom who kicks ass at raising an adorable son while working in corporate America and dating.  Enjoy her story and then check out her blog.  Ann Marie lives in a place filled with cowboys and country music, of which I am insanely jealous.

So, this is a sad tale of sorts.  It's a tale of my last sexual experience, coming up on almost a year ago.  That's sad enough in itself, however, that's really not even the worst part at all.  Not by a long shot.  I'll get right to the point, which is, of course, the matter at hand: my worst ever sexual encounter, without a shadow of a doubt.  And perhaps the reason that I haven't been with anyone since is because of the sheer awfulness of this particular incident.  Yup, it was that bad.

So I had been dating C for about three to four weeks. It was one of those situations where I just couldn't make up my mind about him.  I was on the fence about my feelings.  He was a really, really nice guy.  He had a great job.  He was funny.  He was reasonably attractive but had a bit more of a receding hairline than I was comfortable with.  He had a great job.  He seemed outgoing and ambitious.  He was into me but not too into me.  All of the right components were there.  I enjoyed his company but I had never really gotten to the point where I looked forward to seeing him.  I could kind of just take it or leave it.  Some people might have parted company but I was determined that I would like him.  Because I had told myself I should like him.  There was no reason not to.  I couldn't find one flaw, fault, or glaring red flag about him.  I couldn't see any justification for breaking things off and yet, there was just *something* that was missing that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

After going three and a half weeks with little more than a few mediocre and somewhat passion(less) kisses, I decided it was time.  This was a make or break situation.  Time to fish or cut bait.  I determined that I need to take the plunge.  Bite the bullet.  Just do "it".  And by "it" I mean IT.  I was going to hop in bed with him and see if the elusive spark I had been searching for was there.

Problem was that I couldn't get in the right mindset without a little (ok a lot) of liquid courage.  As luck would have it we went to a local beer festival, and then to a bar afterwards.  And I proceed to drink.  And drink.  And drink.  And then we went back to my friends house and, it was time.  Time for the big event to take place.  He knew it.  I knew it.  There was no turning back at that point.

And so we proceeded to get down to business.  It started off fairly well and I thought "I can do this, I'm kind of enjoying myself".  And then, it began.  The talking.  Lots and lots of talking.  And not whispering sweet nothings in my ear.  Quite the contrary.  His ramblings were something that would make a porn star blush and turn a (somewhat) good girl such as myself completely off.  I tried to ignore him and focus on the task at hand.  I really did.  But I couldn't tune him out for the mere fact that he simply would not shut up.  I'm not sure where he conjured up the idea that it was necessary to give a verbal play-by-play of what he was doing in explicit form, or to inquire about every.single.move he was making along the way.  Maybe a former lover had turned him on to this sort of thing.  I would actually really like to think that was the case because I'd hate to believe that he dreamt up the crazy idea on his own.  

Guys, if you're reading this take note: women generally do not like to be made to feel like a $2 hooker.  Especially not the very first time they sleep with you.  If you're into the kink that's ok, hey, that's your prerogative, but ease into it.  Feel the situation out first a few times.  Give it a few test runs before jumping headlong into it.  Don't just let that crazy cat out of the bag right away.

As if the dirrrty talk was not enough (and it was) he also had a penchant for jackhammer type thrusting.  I swear I know what Carrie Bradshaw felt like on the "Sex and the City" episode where she actually sprained her next because of her lover's over exuberance.  Again, guys, if you're reading this please pay attention.  Slower is better when it comes to this area.  As much as you'd probably beg to differ, you're not actually running a power tool in the bedroom so please keep that in mind and act accordingly. 

Even despite all of this, I really feel like I gave it my best effort.  I swear I did.  I tried tuning him out.  I tried being positive and chalking some of the experience up to sheer nervousness on his part.  I even closed my eyes and tried to make myself believe it was Brad Pitt I was twisting sheets with.  I really have to give myself an "A" for effort.  But, alas, nothing seemed to be working.  There was no way this was going to end well and I knew it.  So I finally used my drunken state as an excuse to hit the "stop" button, rolled over as far onto my side of the bed as possible, and attempted to go to sleep, all the while wishing, hoping and praying that I would wake up and it would have all just been a bad dream.

Unfortunately for me, not only did C have a mouth on him like a sailor, he also was a big fan of cuddling.  Or at least trying to cuddle.  I recoiled like a wounded animal when he tried to spoon in what he probably thought was post-coital bliss.  I barely slept a wink that night and was up and ready to leave at an ungodly early hour.  I sat on my friend's couch not knowing what to do, waiting for him to wake up.  And wake up he finally did.  This is where the story goes from really bad to far, far worse.  

Apparently the previous night's activities hadn't set well with C's stomach, for whatever reason.  Maybe it was all of the booze.  Maybe it was the late night snack we had of pizza and bread sticks.  I'll probably never know.  But whatever the case may have been, if the nail hadn't already been in the proverbial coffin at that point, he really drove it home with his next move.  C, unfortunately could not wait until he got home to use the bathroom.  And use it he did.  I was sitting on the couch, trying desperately not to run for the door, when I heard the bathroom door click.  Then I heard not one but five explosions.  Yes, I counted.  I am not exaggerating when I say that it sounded like there were small bombs going off in there.  My friend M and her husband, B, also heard it, loud and clear.  In fact, it was so alarmingly loud that B covered his head with his pillow. 

I determined, in that very moment, that the only thing worse than having an extremely awkward sexual encounter with someone, was becoming keenly aware of their intimate bodily functions the next morning.  If there had been one shred of doubt in my mind that things were done and over for us before then, all reservations went out the window at that point in time.  I broke things off with him not an hour later and, thankfully, have never seen or heard from him again. 

Rascal Flatts

Those of you who know me in real life can attest to the fact that I have become a bit of a "cowboy chaser" over the past year or so (I blame the Western themed Harlequin romance novels that got me through my divorce--Texas Hold Him anyone?).  While this has proved to be difficult in New Jersey, it hasn't stopped me from listening to country music, getting a cowboy hat and purchasing tickets to every country concert that comes into town.

Thankfully I'm not alone in my love of country music and desire to look cute in a cowboy hat.  Last night I popped my country cherry and went to see my first show, Rascal Flatts, with my good friend Amanda Abajian.  For some reason, Amanda and I tend to have crazy experiences together and I'm pleased to say that last night did not disappoint.

Before we even got to the concert, Amanda's GPS decided that we looked good enough to be "asking for it" led us to a remote location off the beaten path from the Izod Center in East Rutherford.  I have a sneaking suspicion that her navigational system is in cahoots with a local rape and pillage cartel and was setting us up for a good gang bang.  For the record, the Izod Center is NOT located at 50 Rt. 120 in East Rutherford--thanks Google.

Thankfully, Amanda had the wherewithal to do what all shrieking girls in cowboy hats do when they're lost on a dark and rainy night and we asked a truck driver for directions.  Since we were in "that part" of New Jersey, the first truck we found was a trash truck, no doubt owned by the likes of Tony Soprano, but we took our chances and pulled up about 20 feet away from him (just in case).  The driver was surprisingly cute and friendly and undoubtedly laughing at us as we shouted to him through the 3 inches of open window that we considered an acceptable risk to take in that part of town.  He offered to escort us through the maze of industrial roads to our destination, which turned out to be about 400 feet down the road that we had just turned off of.  But an escort is an escort and we were arriving in Jersey Trash style, fully appreciating the irony of driving Amanda's cute Infiniti into a wake of styrofoam debris flying off of the truck.

That's rain, not trash on the window

Hunter Hayes and Sara Evans opened the show.  I was going to strongly suggest (to who, I don't know) that 17 year olds not be made to look so cute onstage until I read Hunter's bio this morning and discovered he's 20--score!  Now I don't feel a total creep for commenting on his butt in the tight jeans he was wearing.  Sara Evans was great but super skinny, which made me hate her a little bit.   She redeemed herself with a stellar performance of "A Little Bit Stronger," my unofficial divorce theme song, which I joined her in singing from my seat.  No worries, Sara, we're cool now.

The concert goers seated near us kept us entertained in between acts and taking pictures of ourselves (above).  Two rows away there were a couple of guys, one of whom was recently signed to be a catcher for the Baltimore Orioles.  The cougar next to him was starstruck and spent the better part of the opening acts switching between cozying up to him and encouraging us get frisky with the pro ball player.  She grabbed my hand and attempted to introduce me to him.  Not taking no for an answer, I finally told her that I had a rich boyfriend with a big penis, which was more readily accepted than my original sentiment that I simply was not interested.  She must have shared this information with catcher boy because he caught my eye, winked at me and gave me a thumbs up. 

Rascal Flatts put on an amazing show.  I don't know about the performers but after 2 hours of dancing in our seats, singing and sprinting up and down the stadium stairs for beer and nachos, we were exhausted.  Right before the show ended I got a text message from an obnoxious name-dropping, up-and-coming country singer who I had been talking to on Plenty of Fish.   Although conversations with him were limited to things that rhyme with "truck" and his stories of people I've never heard of singing at the Bluebird in Nashville, I kept in contact with him hoping that my dreams of catching a country singer might come true.  

All week he had been texting me about how jealous he was that I was going to the show.  Around 8pm last night I got a text asking me if I was at the concert.  It wasn't until 11:30 that I got this a picture message from him with the caption: "VIP front row.  It's how I roll lol :)" Gee, thanks for bringing us down with you buddy...or at least telling me you were there so that we could meet in person finally.  Just for that, I'm stealing your pic and posting it to my blog for my awesome review of the Rascal Flatts show.   I also sent him the above pic, asking him if there were any girls who looked like us down in his pit seats.   He replied in the negative then asked to hang out with us...yeah, no thanks.

View of the show from the pit, courtesy of no-name country boy with a Sony record deal...hmm, I really should find out his name.

As expected, it was an awesome night with funny stories that will keep Amanda and I asking each other rhetorical questions for a long time: "Remember when we followed a trash truck to the Rascal Flatts concert and then I told a cougar that I had a rich boyfriend with a big penis?"  Yeah, that was a great night!

Tiger Man

I met a man online who I will call CJ. He was 41, wore tight jeans and cowboy boots (yummy) and had a sexy smoky voice that made me want to do bad things to him. Divorced for almost a year, CJ seemed like the perfect no drama type of relationship that I could use at the moment. It didn't hurt that on our first date we met for drinks and then continued the night at a country western bar (yeehaw!). It really didn't hurt that the night ended with a kiss and a date for the next night.

In the beginning it was all fun and games--literally. We went to a shooting range, watched the Giants in the playoffs, drank beer and ate greasy bar food. We had amazing chemistry that was the icing hiding the red flag cake. He was a witty intellectual who got my sense of humor and but then things got a little weird.

CJ had some friends of the stuffed variety. The first time he picked me up he apologized for being late. He blamed Bob, the teddy bear belted into the middle back seat, for giving him wrong directions. I introduced myself to Bob (what else was I supposed to do?) and asked why he had a seat belt on. Note: Teddy bears are people too and must wear seat belts in cars. I didn't want him flying around back there, did I?!

Albeit slightly strange, I brushed the Bob episode off as endearing and something that the overall sexiness of CJ could overshadow. Then I met Rajah, the stuffed tiger who guards his twin-sized bed, and two other furry friends whose authentic ethnic names (an African name for the lion and another Indian name for Tiger #2) now escape me. He made them each growl for me. A libido killer that even tight jeans and cowboy boots could not overcome.

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There were other red flags that popped up while dating CJ. Breaking his back as a result of a drunken fall down stairs at 2pm and having a house so sparsely furnished that the only place to sit was either on a toilet or on his twin sized bed are notable examples. The morning before I ended the short courtship, things were tense. I was pissed at his overall douchebaggery. Men: For the record, no matter how self depreciating a woman's humor is, it's not funny to say to her, "No wonder your XH ::insert some deplorable action here::"

In an effort to lighten the mood he sent me a picture message of his stuffed friends. They were lined up on his bed with a caption that read: "Hey there, from us!" It was so priceless that I texted him today, solely as a means of recovering that picture from our message history. I doubt I'll ever see that picture again though--Grrr!