Blind Dates Aren’t So Bad

Somehow, I made it to the ripe-old age of 30 before I went on a blind date.  And honestly, it wasn’t too bad!

“Hold it,” most of you are thinking, “What about Mark?!?”  Oh yeah, he went on a blind date too.  Now don’t get your panties all in a bunch. . .we went on a blind date together!

Moving to a new state, far from home, one of my main concerns was how much I was going to miss our friends.  Trying to make friends, especially good ones (and couples, no less), is like digging for a needle in a haystack.  And after you find them, it’s easy to take them for granted; they’re always gonna be there, just right around the corner.  Until they’re 1,064.96 miles away. 

So just like when you go through a break-up (I’m sorry Columbus, it’s not you, it’s us) you have to put yourself out there and meet someone new.  Mark and I put ourselves out there, and met a new couple.  Now it’s not like we joined some weird “We’re a 30-something couple with a kid, new to the city, seeking a normal couple to share pizza and wine with” website. (Do they even have those?!?  Mental note for new business venture. . .)  We got set-up by mutual friends.  I heard that’s the best way to do    it. . .

And before you ask, yes, of course we were safe and got to know each other the responsible/modern way.  You know, friend each other on FB and e-mail back and forth for months before making plans for the first live meeting.

The day of the big date, I had the expected first-date jitters.  What should I wear?  What should I have Mark wear?  And best yet:  What should Lake wear?!?  I wonder what we’ll talk about. . .what if the conversation takes a turn to one of those awkward silences and things get weird?  What if they hate us?

But I had Mark around to reassure me.  “Who could hate us?!?’  And when I panicked because the apartment wasn’t tidy enough to invite them up for a drink after dinner Mark replied, “Maybe we won’t like them.  And then you have an out!”

But we did like them.  They were smart, and witty, and fun.  The conversation never took a turn toward awkward silence and I wished I had cleaned up the apartment.  They even took us out for gelato after dinner – too cute.  The one and only downfall?  He’s a Michigan fan.  But remember those panties I referred to earlier?  Make sure they are big-girl ones, put them on and deal with it.  We broke-up with Columbus, remember?!?

And today, a post-date follow-up e-mail.  They want to see us again!  If he can look past our Buckeye devotion, we’ll just have to reciprocate J

So our first blind date was a success. Thank you to our friends that set us up.  You just handed us the needle and we didn’t even have to dig for it!

The Clash

Should I stay, or should I go?

Home or to back to work, that is.

It’s an age-old debate, or more like a 50 year-old debate.  You know, since the feminists took charge and made Jane Cleaver look like a total idiot.  But, I digress. . .I am not going to debate choices for moms in this blog, not today at least!

Today I'm discussing stay-at-home-moms, most commonly known as SAHMs. . .because we have really gotten that lazy and have to abbreviate EVERYTHING. . . Here’s the thing about SAHMs:  I’m not a fan of that moniker.  My name of choice?  Home Girls.  Because moms are girls, and well, they stay at home.  (And doesn’t it sound so much more hip and cool?) So from here on out, I will affectionately be referring to SAHMs as Home Girls.  Got it?  Good.

As luck would have it, I became a casualty of a pharmaceutical “reorganization” when Lake was 3 months old. AKA, I got laid off.  So overnight I went from a “Senior Therapeutic Sales Professional” to a “Home Girl.”  And while I have cherished all the moments I have been able to spend with my little guy (the first smile, first laugh and first steps to name a few) I have to say, my time as a Home Girl has been made exponentially more awesome because of other Home Girls.

{This is where I make a shout-out to my two favorite Home Girls Jen & Angela.  I miss our mid-week Polaris and Starbucks dates!!}

There is something about having Home Girls to meet-up with, swap baby horror stories and contemplate the meaning of life after work.  Makes a Home Girl feel normal, ya know?  Even with the conversations going something like this:

“So I’ve been looking for a new pair of white jeans – wait Lake, don’t throw that.”  I bend over to pick up a sippy cup. “And I just can’t – LAKE, momma said don’t throw that!  Have you seen – Uh, Lake NO! – Have you seen any around here?”

I miss those conversations.  I miss my Home Girls.

So I decided to hit-up the one place I was sure to meet some new Home Girls:  The Park.  So last week, I get dressed all cute, and put Lake in his new madras shorts and we strolled up two blocks to the neighborhood park.  As we come up over the hill, it’s like a mirage!  Little ones with Home Girls all over!!  On the swing, playing in the grass, going down the slides!  But as I get closer to the action, something is suspect.  All the Home Girls look a bit different from their kids.  And by a bit different, I mean they are, without a glimmer of a doubt, 2 totally different nationalities. . .

Uggh, not Home Girls, NANNIES!  Duh, Duh, Dummmmmm.  I know how this goes; I’ve read The Nanny Diaries.  I’m the foe here.  I’m the Home Girl that these Nannies congregate to bitch about.  It’s kind of like your manager at work – you can be cordial to one another, but your not gonna hobnob with the boss.  Then I see a nice young girl with a little boy (they DO look the same!) so by my power of deductive reasoning, I conclude that this is a Home Girl.  And her little guy looks just about Lake’s age.  Score!  So I head over to the empty swing next to her and strike up a conversation.  After introductions, she asks where I live.

I respond, “We just moved into Apartment X (sorry, this blog is a bit to public to be announcing exactly where I reside. . .) up the street.”

Home Girl says, “Oh really?!? “  Pointing to the little boy, “That’s where HE lives, too!” 

Ok, not a Home Girl.  Another nanny.

Awesome, I am officially the only Home Girl at the park.

But that’s ok.  Everyday is an adventure, and tomorrow’s another day to attack the mean streets of Texas and hunt down some other women who chose to stay.  At home, that is.

And you better believe I’ll keep you posted on those adventures, too :)

Nothin’ But SPF

I got my first tube of lipstick, lip gloss really, when I was in the 6^th grade.  It was Covergirl lipslicks – a bright pink shade in a purple tube.  I would enter the girl’s bathroom, the one right next to Mr. Izzo’s shop class, take it out of my book bag and apply meticulously.  I'd smile in the mirror and walk out of that bathroom feeling a little more like me.

Well that tube of Covergirl lead to clear mascara (seriously, what is the point?  Especially on blonde eyelashes. . .) and cover-up for those unruly teenage breakouts, then I dabbled in regular mascara and eventually in college I started to use eyeshadow and liner.  We would get those Clinique mailers at the AOPi house and the marketing was genius.  CLINIQUE BONUS TIME.  How else do you get sorority girls to buy makeup but to offer them a FREE makeup tote?  Totally worked on me.

And finally after college, I graduated to the big-girl makeup known as foundation. 

With each new addition to my cosmetic arsenal, there was an additional step to my morning routine. But that never stopped me! I don’t remember ever leaving the dorm, even for an 8 am class the morning after a LATE night, without a shower and fresh face of makeup.  And GASP if I ever showed up to work without my signature face.

The night I went into labor, I got out of bed at 2:30am, called the doctor and immediately asked if I had time to shower.  Her answer was yes, and 30 minutes later Mark walked into the bathroom only to find me sitting at the vanity gingerly applying eyeliner.  I think he almost croaked.  I just wanted to make sure I looked like me when Lake arrived.  (A valiant effort, I might say, but alas there was very little looking like me by 9 pm that evening.)

But then yesterday, I went cold turkey.  I walked out the door with nothing on my face but a little Aveno SPF 50.  Ok, ok, I know 50 may be a little high for some of you folks, but I’m fair skinned, the sun in Texas is radically different from the sun in Ohio and I don’t want to get wrinkles!  (Or skin cancer for that matter. . .)

Now maybe I did it because the Today Show segment on People magazine’s “Most Beautiful People” issue inspired me.  You know when they photograph celebrities without their makeup?  Or maybe it is because I have a sick toddler and the 2-block jaunt to Walgreens didn’t really seem like a big deal.  Or maybe it’s because Texans religiously wear sunglasses, and behind my aviators you can’t see my uncurled, naked eyelashes. But really, I think it’s because I don’t know a soul in Dallas.

There’s something liberating about being in a new place and starting your life over.  I can be whoever I want to be because there are no expectations.  No one here knows if I should be wearing makeup or if my nails are supposed to be painted, and I like that.  The freedom of it, at least.  Bottom line:  I can re-define me, if I want.

(Side bar and admission - I purchased a tube of Neutrogena "tinted" SPF 20 lip balm while in Walgreens, opened and applied it before I left the parking lot.  I said I could redefine me if I want, I never said I wanted to!)

Do I miss the chance of bumping into acquaintances and friends?  Absolutely.  But I think I could get used to Aveno SPF 50 everyday.  And makeup most days. 

What?!?  Never underestimate the power of a little lipgloss.  After 18 years, I still smile at the way lipgloss makes me feel a little more like me :)

Moving Is Like Childbirth

Moving is like childbirth.

Seriously, it is.  Before I had Lake, when I would express fear of labor, women would always reassure me that when it was all over, I would forget all about the pain and difficulties of pregnancy and labor because the end result is so awesome. I have found that to be true (with these 3 little exceptions: fat feet, swollen face, and excruciating heartburn) but only because Lake is so, so sweet.

So, I guess the same goes for moving.  I have moved 13 times since I left my childhood home in Canfield to move to Athens at the tender age of 17.  Yep, go ahead and gasp at my lucky 13^th move to Dallas – done? Ok, lets move on before I call an exorcist to my new apartment.  Back to moving. . .

Now, I’m sure that each time I moved sucked.  But I have to imagine that it sucked less when all I was moving were some trash bags full of Forever 21 clothes and a Wal-Mart bin filled with flip flops.  Each move I added a few more pieces of furniture and many more boxes that should have been labeled “I have no idea where this s**t came from, so good luck finding a place for it in your new home.” Now I say I imagine it sucked less, because honestly, I don’t remember.

Because like I said before, moving is like childbirth.  You’re excited about your new home – giddy with anticipation about where you’ll hang your favorite painting, just like nesting.  You curse the packing and the day you say goodbye to friends and family, just like you curse the day you were diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  You gather your luggage and rush to the airport, just like when you sped to the hospital.  It takes 25 minutes to get through security at the airport with your spouse, toddler and 2 petrified cats only to get on a plane hoping that there isn’t some poor schmuck sitting next to your crying baby and meowing felines. . .just like the 19 hours of labor where (enter your own crazy delivery experience here - mine is TMI!!).

But you ultimately arrive safely in your new home, just like when your baby arrives safely into your arms.

I lived in Columbus for 5 magnificent years.  Truly and honestly, I don’t remember unpacking boxes, or not having photos on the walls.  Because once I really lived in that condo, it became a home, and I forgot about the pain of moving.  Just like how once I had Lake, I became a mom and I forgot about the pain of childbirth.

There are still boxes to be unpacked and many a trips to Target ahead, just like getting shower gifts put away and making daily visits to Baby’s ‘R Us.  And so, my intention now is make this apartment into a home, just like how Lake made me into a mom.   Hopefully Dallas, too, will be so, so sweet.