The Gambler

Life is like a slot machine.

You either win big, or lose it all...but if you choose to play it is very unlikely that you are going to end up with the same amount of 'money' you initially started out with. At least this is my approach. Maybe it's too cautious, or too cynical, but it's my take.

The way I see it is like this: You have $5, you can keep your $5 and feel great about having something to your name, it may not be much, but it's more than nothing. You can choose to gamble that $5 by putting it into a slot machine, you may double your money or even win the jackpot! But you could lose it all. You never know. Would I rather have $10 than $5? Yes, of course. That's an easy answer! I want to win the whole freakin' jackpot. BUT! I'd rather have $5 than nothing at all, and since no jackpot is guaranteed, and I don't know the outcome, it is safer to keep my $5 in my pocket than to play the game in the first place.

I gambled a bit with 'Jon' (remember him?) of course, that was a bit one-sided, so maybe that was only about $2.50, but it took a while for me to get my full $5 back anyway. I decided I hated gambling and wasn't going to anymore. Anything less than $5 in my pocket just isn't worth the risk. Recently, I was in a situation where I was forced to play my hand (or rather Mr. Dude, we'll call him "Joe", forced me to play his hand for him...and I know I am mixing my gambling metaphors). I started by putting the money in one dollar at a time, I pulled the lever, and started getting some return on my gamble. Not jackpot level returns, but enough that I felt safe putting in the whole $5. Perhaps I was overly optimistic, could it be that I finally hit a lucky streak? This never happens! Of course it doesn't...because at the next pull of the lever, I lost it all! Just like I always do.

What upsets me the most is that I should know better. I let my guard down, I gambled, I took a risk. I got let down. I'm not surprised. These are the things that happen to me. I'm disappointed for sure, but mostly in myself for letting this happen. I lost my head for a minute, and I'm smarter than that. I know better than to let my self get swept away. I'll eventually get my money back, and this time I'm sewing my pockets shut!

Dream on

I had a dream last night that I think would make a really cute Lifetime Original Movie (at least I would watch it). I dreamt that I was visiting my sister, but she lived in, like, Manhattan or something. Anyway, her apartment had a living room with a huge bay window and a window seat, and I would sit and read, or watch a movie, or sing and dance around and just generally be myself. My sister wasn't home, she was probably at work. (Who invites someone to visit if they're just going to be at work the whole time? Rude. But not the point). In her neighborhood there was this guy, who would walk past her apartment every day on his way to work, and on his way home. After a few days, he started leaving little messages (like...'hey', 'how are you?', 'I saw you singing and dancing like a crazy person the other day and it made me laugh', etc.), and we would communicate through these little notes. My sister didn't approve of me talking to a stranger, but then again, she was never home. On the day I was supposed to leave, he left a note actually asking me out for coffee, but I couldn't go because I had to get to the airport. And that's the end...

What does it mean?

This is actually one of my more normal dreams. I would love to go to a dream analyst sometime and find out what my dreams mean. They are usually pretty complex and bizarre...

This is Crazy

Contagious pop songs are one of my guilty pleasures. The top song infecting my brain these days would have to be Carly Rae Jepsen's Call Me, Maybe. It is everything a pop song should be: it's catchy, it's bubbly, and it's just plain ridiculous. Who just goes up to someone and says "Hey I just met you, and this is crazy...but here's my number, so call me maybe?" No one. No one does that.

Oh wait. 

I do that.

Okay I don't do that, but I did that. 

Yesterday I had just had a horrible day at preschool. I had been kicked, hit and bitten by a 4-year-old. I had blocks thrown at me, I was called 'poo-poo-butt', and I had to chase said 4-year-old down the hall, twice, as he tried to run away. The entire time he was doing this, he was giggling like a sociopath. I was feeling terrible, and I was about to call my friends and tell them I wasn't going to meet them for dinner after all. But...that would be letting the 4-year-old win, so instead, I came home and changed into something cuter than my preschool garb. 

So there I was at dinner with my friends and sitting at the table behind K and S was the cutest guy (Like, totes, OMG!) But really, he had a super-sweet smile and to be honest, he looked a little bit like 'Jon'. I was smitten. 

Now, we all know I hate taking risks and I'm terrible at talking to guys. I am also trying to get over my I-should-be-wooed-and-was-not-made-to-woo thing, because when it's been 6 years since any kind of wooing has happened anywhere near me, it's probably time to do something. (Although I still think it'd be nice for some guy to take the initiative and sweep me off my feet...but I digress). So after a long discussion (where S pointed out there was a reason I had changed my clothes), we decided that somehow this guy was going to get my number. My friends gave me a choice: I could give it to him myself or they would give it to him for me. So I wrote my name and number on a napkin, and as we were leaving the restaurant, I kinda tossed it at him and muttered 'My friends are making me do this' and ran away. 

But I did it!

Do I think he'll actually call me? Not a chance. Do I regret it? Probably a little, but I'm never going to see him again, so it's okay (and if I do, we have a funny story of how we met!)

At least the day ended up being something other than the day a 4-year-old bit me (it's not like my day could've gotten worse anyway).

Someday My Prince Will Come...right?

The way I see things, there are basically two kinds of guys: Davids and Linuses. As in David and Linus Larrabee. Let me break it down for those of you who are not familiar with the 1954 Audrey Hepburn classic Sabrina.

Linus Larrabee, Sabrina Fairchild & David Larrabee

(Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn & William Holden)

~*~

Sabrina Fairchild is the daughter of a chauffeur. The Larrabees' chauffeur, to be exact. The Larrabees have two sons. Linus (Humphrey Bogart) and David (William Holden). Sabrina has always had a crush on David, because he's handsome and charming, but he never really noticed her until she went to Paris, learned to cook and got a make-over...then he's all over her, even though he is engaged (as part of a business deal). But David, being the cad that he is, asks his brother Linus to "keep an eye on Sabrina" so he can keep up the charade of his engagement...I don't want to spoil the ending, but you get the gist.

Guys like David are quite a catch, at least on the surface. They are captivating, handsome, and just all around dreamy. It is really hard to see a David for what he really is unless you're on the outside looking in. You're just so entranced by this charming fellow you've set your sights on. But underneath that enchanting exterior is a heart-breaker. Confidence turns into cockiness...charm turns to smarm...and even if you once held his interest, his attentions are now elsewhere. Davids are NOT nice guys.

Then there are the Linuses. In the movie, Linus was portrayed as a bit of a grump. Supposedly not as handsome as his brother (but let's face it...he was still Bogey!) Linus was more serious, and therefore, not as obvious of a choice. Linus is a nice, genuine guy. He doesn't use a phony facade. He doesn't really need to. His appeal is in his 'nice-guy-ness'. His real, not-for-show nice-guy-ness.

David might be charming, but Linus is the prince!

Almost every guy I have ever had a crush on has been a David. Davids are the reason I am bitter and cynical and sad. 'Evan' turned out to be a David (although, I kinda saw that one coming) 'Jon' was a David (The worst kind of David, too...the David that tries to make you think he's a Linus). The only Linuses that come to mind are my ex-boyfriend and the guy I think I might kind of like now.

But for reasons that I won't discuss over the internets, things obviously didn't work out with my ex...or he wouldn't be my ex

And things aren't really working out with this new guy...because I'm not a Sabrina. Or at least not a post-Paris/make-over Sabrina. I don't stand out as 'that girl'. In fact, I've actually been told that I'm 'just one of the guys' (after complaining that I wasn't being treated like a lady...but I'm gonna chalk that one up to the fact that my guy friends are mostly a bunch of Davids).

Who's That Girl?

Five episodes in, and I am hooked on the new Fox series New Girl. At times, I think this show is partially based on my life. Essentially, it is about a girl who is quirky and weird, and likes being quirky and weird, and through her quirkiness and weirdness ends up being pretty adorable (or in the show's word: 'a-dork-able'). I can totally relate to the main character, Jess, because being adorable is my thing! People are always saying things to me like, "Oh, you're a preschool teacher, that's adorable." "You have a crush on a guy, you're too cute." And yeah, working with 3 and 4 year olds is super cute. Especially when instead of napping (like they're supposed to), they kick you, hit you, laugh at you and make you so frustrated that you cry*. And I'm not sure why but somehow my having a crush on a guy who probably will never feel the same way seems 'cute' to my married friends. Yes, sometimes I think my life is just too cute for me to handle. Doing all the quirky and weird and 'adorable' things I do every day is exhausting. It's actually pretty hard work being this adorable all the time....but I guess someone's gotta do it.

(What can I say?)

*To be fair, that was an isolated incident...I really do love my job

Just One of the Guys...

Last night I was in charge of opening up at Relate, the young adult group at my church, our regular leader wasn't there so it was a really small group. Me and three guys. With 75% of the population being male, the conversation turned to boy-type things; cars, scary movies, beer...at one point they were actually talking about farts. FARTS! I decided this was a good time to remind the group that I am, indeed, a lady...and one of the boys pipped up that I was 'just like one of the guys!'

Not only is that the last thing a girl EVER wants to hear, but it really got me thinking...is that how I come off?

Because I don't want to be perceived as 'one of the guys', I want to be perceived as a girl. I know I'm not the 'girliest' of girls. I don't wear a ton of pink (mostly because it clashes with my red hair), I usually don't wear colored polish on my fingernails, and I don't spend HOURS in front of the mirror. But I wear make-up, and I like ruffles. I want to be the 'easy going, cute girl' not that 'person who happens to be female.'

I don't want to change my personality, and become, like giggly all the time; I would feel ridiculous. But I don't want to be the girl that guys talk about farts in front of either.

Matchmaker, matchmaker...

I can no longer be trusted to pick out my own guys. I keep choosing the wrong ones. I have had a crush on different versions of the same guy since I was probably in 8th grade. I definitely have a 'type'; both in physical appearance and personality. Tall, athletically-built, fairly good-looking, charming but snarky, teasing, and ultimately kind of a jerk. They are all exactly the same, as is the pattern of stages I go through with each one. There's the 'butterflies in my stomach stage'; the 'he's not that far out of my league' stage; the 'I'm pretty sure he could like me back' stage; the 'now he's just leading me on' stage; the 'I need to just get over him' stage; and it always ends with the 'how could I let him break my heart?' stage...and this is why I refuse to go on picking my own guys. I will no longer acknowledge that fluttery feeling I get in my tummy because I know exactly where it will lead. So I either need someone to choose crushes for me, or I need to teach whatever part of me that controls the butterflies to find a new 'type' and train myself to set my sights on a higher caliber of guy...

vacay

Just got back from vacation with the 'rents. My mom's side of the family has a coast house in Gualala (two hours north of San Fransisco) and my grandpa, great-uncle and great-grandfather actually built it, which is cool. There is no TV, so I got to read my book and do some jig-saw puzzles. It was very relaxing to just hang out and kick back with a glass of wine and not have to answer any email. My mom even let up with the nagging, which was nice. We went up to Port Arena and visited a lighthouse, which sounds boring...and it was mostly a lot of stairs. But the docent at the top was worth the 142 steps it took to get there. Then comes the part where I have the following conversation:
Me-'Did you major in, like, lighthouse-ology in college or something? You know a lot about lighthouses'
Lighthouse Guy-'yes I did...lighthouse-ology is a fascinating subject'
Me-'Sweet! I'm 24 and on vacation with my parents, wanna make out in the beacon tower?'
Then the cute lighthouse guy proceeds to explain why it would be inappropriate to make-out in the the beacon tower, and (having been a lighthouse-ology major in college) he explains the proper use of the beacon tower, and why it is not intended to make-out in.
Okay, that didn't happen. Because I was on vacation with my parents. And I didn't even have the guts to talk to the cute lighthouse-ologist.

Then, as we were driving home today, my inner angsty teenager came out because my iPod battery died and my dad made us go to a lame train museum.

Mr. Monet

Carrie had Mr. Big, I have Mr. Monet*...(in the wise words of Cher Horowitz, "from far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big old mess"). There have been many incarnations of Mr. Monet over the years, and they have all been pretty much the same. Handsome, charming (tallish, brunette--I have a type)...but lean in a little closer, and underneath that flirty exterior is kinda a jerky guy.
The current Mr. Monet (we'll call him 'Jon') is not as Monet-ish...which is step in the right direction for me, I guess more of a Mr. Degas (still impressionistic, but a little less messy). Jon is guy I used to work with, he is handsome and charming, funny, goofy and sweet--and he has his moments of pure Monet-ism. Sometimes, though, I see him as a photograph as opposed to a painting. A clear snap-shot of his true personality will come through from time to time. Maybe I'm blinded by my feelings for him, but I think the 'Monet' IS the exterior in Jon's case...
or maybe I'm just being silly

*I should point out, though, that my Mr. Monets have never made it past the 'crush' stage (less Carrie & Big, more Olive & Ned)