The (In)Convenience of Owning a Car

Been having some trouble recently with my good old reliable Honda. Lately, if I don't let the car warm up the shifting (sadly, it's an automatic) is really rough until it gets going. I figured the transmission fluid was low and it just took a while to go from sitting in the bottom of the pan to actually circulating. So says the girl with only a smidgeon of car knowledge. Well, it may be a little more than a smidgeon, but if so, it's like smidgeon plus one.

Last night as I was leaving work I was in a hurry so didn't let my baby warm up. As I'm leaving the parking structure the check engine light comes on and the gear indicator light thingy (yeah, technical name there - the thing that highlights which gear you are in) starts flashing. Not so good. So I pull over, turn off the car and then restart it. This time the enging light stays on, but gear light is normal. I let my car warm up and go on my way.

Now, this happens to coincide with needing an oil change anyway so that part works out well. I took my car in this morning to my little Honda Service Center. Did my usual chat w/ the boys who work there because they are all dolls. Then had to wake up my buddy R to snag a ride to work with him. Thanks lovie (even though you don't know about this blog).

Well, my lovely mechanic just called. Definitely an issue with the transmission. Now, the good news is he looked it up and since I have an extended warranty on this thing it is still covered. Just barely. It's 6 years or 100,000 miles. I'm at 96,000 miles right now. Whew! By the hair of my chinny chin chin. The bad news is I have to get my car to the main Honda Service Center where the warranty office is and they'll take care of it. The real PITA is I need to do it today since I need my car tomorrow. So now I'm scrambling to try and find a lift back into SF to get my car and take it on down there. Normally I'd just do BART, but with the cane and air cast it's far too much of a PITA.

Oh, and to top it all off, I also need new tires. Well hell D, as long as you're doing the oil change, slap a few tires on there as well. Then I'll take it to the other shop to fix the transmission. Can't wait to get this bill!

Latest update - well, took my car to the main service center. I explained how I had taken it in at 7am to the other service center and what they had found. Well, turns out they can't look at it today because they have over 200 cars to work on. The guy did say, "Well, if you had brought it in at 7am this morning we could have looked at it." Thanks jackass. I did have it in at 7am. Who knew it was the wrong one? Anyway, so now I have a 7am appt tomorrow morning to have it looked at. They obviously can't tell me if it's serious until they do the diagnostic work. So that's how i'm spending my Saturday morning. I hope it's nothing serious becauase I really need my car this weekend. Drat!

We Came to Drink

Some of you may not know I'm in a volleyball league. We play grass vball down at the Little Marina Green w/ the Golden Gate Sport and Social Club. Generally a good time. Our team name is We Came To Drink. Any questions? The irony is that we are actually pretty good despite all the beer we consume. Or is that because of all the beer we consume? Hmmm... Anyway, we finally moved up to the highest division this season. Our first match was last night. Talk about a comedy of errors!

I had told our captain I'm out for the first three weeks at least. The first two due to my ankle and the third week due to a trip to Texas. He wrote me yesterday saying we were probably going to have to forfeit since no girls could play. I told him if he needed me to just stand on the court so we didn't have to forfeit I could do that, I just can't really play. So I became the pawn.

I roll into the Little Marina Green (after my car fiasco) in my work clothes. Luckily I had my gym bag since I'd made it to the gym in the morning. I went hobbling up to my crew. Four of the guys were there last night. Everyone was cracking up (as they should be) as I come hobbling up as the sole female representative of the team. I went to the bathroom to change and then came back out. Turns out, of the 5 of us there, only 1 was healthy. Our team looked something like this:

Me: air cast and cane
T: knee brace, ankle brace (he sprained it the night before playing softball)
D: injured elbow
V: had been home sick all day
G: the sole healthy person among us.

Since we only had one girl we could only play 3 guys on the court at a time. Worked out well since our opponents only had four as well. The other team was laughing their asses off at us. It had to be hilarious to watch us "walk" onto the court. They were really good fun and were total sweethearts. Anytime they spiked the ball and it came anywhere near me they apologized. They would either hit the ball right to me, or totally away from me so I didn't have to move. The impressive part is we actually ended up with about 5 points each game. Not bad for a bunch of cripples. I actually haven't had that much fun playing volleyball in a long time. It was just a good laugh. We knew we weren't going to win so we just had fun with it. And the other team was great and totally had a sense of humor so that made it really nice as well.

After the match was over I was named MVP. Should I be offended it takes an aircast and cane to finally be named the MVP? :-)

We decided that this could be our new shtick. Even when we're all healthy again, we're still going to show up every week with our various braces and slings and whatnot to throw the other teams off. Then when it comes time for the playoffs we're going to take them all off and dominate. Yeah, it's good to dream. We also decided we should change our name to the Crips. Or perhaps the Crypts and really throw people off. "What? They're all white kids!"

Oh well, all in all a rather entertaining evening. My ankle doesn't like me much today. Old instincts are hard to fight even when you're injured. Instant reaction is to go after the ball. Unfortunately, it was immediately followed by instant pain when I acted on that. Oh well, a good evening full of good laughs. Who could ask for anything more?

Light at the end of the tunnel

And this time it's not a train!

Been feeling blah the past couple weeks. Hence no witty blogging and the diatribe that the last post turned into. I thought the blahs were a combination of Aunt Flow visiting, too many thoughts about my parents and the ankle. Figured once Aunt Flow went away (far too much information I know), I'd feel better. This week proved me wrong.

I went to Milwaukee at the begining of July for a rugby alumni weekend. Played three rugby games while there. Took the week off from working out when I got back to allow my body time to recover. Right as I was ready to get back in the swing of things, I messed up my ankle.

Now, I know I can still work on upper body, do abs, etc. However, I was so annoyed at not being able to do my cardio or the things I wanted to do that I just didn't work out all last week. Or this week either. It's one of those vicious cycles - you are so annoyed that you can't really work out yet you know the annoyance will go away if you do work out, but it's annoying you can't do what you want...and so on. Plus I've been really tired despite going to bed early and haven't been able to drag my butt out of bed. Everything takes 3 times longer to do these days.

However, this morning I managed to get out of bed and hobble my way to the gym. Did some upper body weights and a good ab workout. I feel LOADS better. My mood is drastically improved today. I'm sure my coworkers are thrilled.

Hmmm...maybe science is right about the effects of working out after all. Who knew?

Yellow Number 7

Never to be confused with Yellow Number 9.

Lance did it....again...and again....and again. He won his 7th Tour de France. He didn't just win seven of them, he won seven in a row. The man is a machine. His body processes twice the amount of oxygen the rest of ours do. He climbs in a lower gear than anyone else because he can spin so quickly and maintain that pace mile after grueling mile. He pulls bicycles up mountains that I'm not sure I could hike over. The man just doesn't quit. His feats are amazing even without the history. Then you factor in that he is a testicular cancer survivor and it becomes the stuff of legends.

I can't help but wonder, selfishly, what makes someone like Lance able to survive, and not just survive but become an athletic legend, when so many others don't? What separates him from the rest of the crowd? What is the defining factor that enables any survivor to do just that, survive, when others succumb? Sure, there has to be the will to live, to fight. But what about those that go down fighting? How did they end up on one side of the coin while others fell to the opposite side? Was Lance (or any survivor) that much better a person than my dad or mom? Did he deserve to live more than they did? Is the world a better place for having him in it rather than them? And what about the "bad" people in the world? The murders, the rapists, the abusers...how is it they get to live while good people die? And not just die, die of a horrible disease that destroys the body. Where is the justice in that?

How does one continue to have faith in an all-loving, all-powerful God when things like this happen? I was raised Catholic. When dad died, I went on strike. I couldn't go to Mass anymore as it just seemed like a play. The priest and alter boys were actors up on stage. Yet I still found myself talking to God every day. I still do. Sure, I occasionally go to Mass and generally when I do it's a good thing. However, I don't have the same drive to go on a weekly basis. I guess I consider myself more spiritual than religious. I'd like to think I've made my peace with God in terms of my parents. However, I can't seem to do it. There are times when I'm fine. Then there are times where it seems like yesterday and all the rage and injustice and feelings of being robbed rear their ugly heads again.

In the grand scheme of things, I have been so lucky. I was blessed to have two fantastic parents for 17 and 23 years respectively. They are so much a part of who I am. They taught me so many things and I am lucky to have had that. Most of the time I can focus on that. But sometimes, when I'm tired or generally feeling low, it all comes rushing back. My parents weren't there to see my brother get married and won't be there to see me. Dad won't be there to walk me down the aisle. Mom won't be there to help me plan. Our children will never know their grandparents. There's no one to call when you're sick and just want your mommy. The torrent of emotion can be so surprising. Does one ever truly "get over it"? I don't think so. Does one every truly get past it? God, I hope so. Though considering it's been 10.5 years since dad passed away I think I'm starting to lose faith on that happening as well.

I think it's just the unknown aspect of it. I'm the kind of person where if you can give me an explanation, even if I don't agree with it, I can process it and move on. I can make use of it. But I guess there just isn't an explanation for everything. That's the part I really struggle with. There is no reason why some people fall on one side of the coin versus the other. At least no known reason. I can't seem to content myself with accepting that I'll just never know. I want to know, and I want to know now damnit! Will I ever know? Will I ever find out if there really is some higher being out there? Will I ever know why two great people had to be taken out of the world at such an early age?

I just dunno.

The Diagnosis is In

Called my PCP yesterday to get a recommendation on someone to see about my ankle. (remember my Grace Kelly moment?) It seemed to be getting worse as the week wore on instead of better. Not the usual sprained ankle pain - no swelling, no bruising, hurt on the inside of my ankle instead of the outside, etc. Called the person she recommended and couldn't get an appointment until Friday. I finally decided bollocks to that and went to the UCSF Ambulatory Clinic yesterday.

The joy of the ambulatory clinic is you don't have an appointment so you get to sit there and wait with everyone else. Everyone else generally being those hacking up a lung without covering their mouths. I was lucky yesterday and got to wait with a cute boy. Makes you feel somewhat better.

Anyway, the process worked something like this: You hobble into the desk and check-in. Then you hobble to the chair and wait. A nurse eventually calls you and you hobble back to a room. She asks you what happened as she takes your blood pressure and your temperature. Then you get to hobble back to your chair and wait for the doctor. The doctor eventually calls you and you hobble back to another room. You get to tell your story yet again as he inflicts pain by feeling around on your ankle. He decides he needs x-rays. Of course the radiology clinic in that building is closed. Instead I get to hobble across the street and up to the 3rd floor to the radiology clinic.

Crossing the street was an adventure. As soon as I hobble out of the building I get stopped by a guy on the street. He tells me that he has just been diagnosed with HIV, his roommate found out, beat him up and kicked him out on the street. He didn't have any luck at the shelters. His friend was going to let him stay with him (the friend was standing there), but the university had a guest fee. He (in his words) had to resort to asking the public for help since he hadn't had any luck with the shelters. Unfortunately for him I had used the last of my cash for my copayment. Then again, part of me was wondering if this guy could afford rent in San Francisco, how on earth could he not pull $20 to pay a guest fee. But maybe that's just the cynical side of me.

I then carried on hobbling. Saw this total hottie as I was crossing the street. My ego was a bit deflated as I didn't even warrant a second glance from him. Then I realized I probably look like Quasimoto (sic?) dressed in work clothes hobbling across the street and I understood a bit more.

So, I hobbled up to the radiology clinic, checked in and hobbled to a chair to wait. Then I had to hobble down a very long hallway to the x-ray room. The nurse helping me was a sweetie. Took 3 x-rays and then got to hobble back across the street, hobble to the desk to let them know I was back and then hobble back to my usual chair. I'd spent so much time there at this point I now considered that chair "mine." Twenty minutes later the doctor calls my name and I hobbled back to a different exam room. He said he had good news and bad news. Good news is nothing is broken. Bad news is the x-ray showed that I have the beginnings of arthritis in my ankle. Ummm...hello?! I'm 28 freaking years old. Are you kidding me?

So anyway, he gave me some pills for pain and swelling and an air cast. Then he said, "I don't think you need full blown crutches, but I think you should get a cane." I asked him if he was sure he couldn't just give me the crutches. Crutches are cool. A cane makes me feel like I'm 80. Somehow he didn't appreciate my sense of style. I now have to use the air cast, cane and pills for two weeks. The arthritis bit means it may not heal quite like we expect so if it still hurts in 3-4 weeks I will have to do physical therapy.

Had a bit of a pity party for myself last night. Pain, combined with arthritis news, combined with being tired, combined with it being that time of the month, combined with having had dreams about my mother the night before led to a total chick moment and just generally feeling down. The great thing about pity parties - you're guaranteed to have at least one person attend!

I'm over it.

Oh well, at least I met The Plimsouls.

What Ever Happened to the Courtesy Wave???

I just have to get this off my chest this morning. I was driving to work this morning and no fewer than three times I slowed down and flashed my lights to let someone over who had their turn signal on. Each and every time the person moved over and that was the end of the story. No quick wave to say thanks. No middle finger to say F off. No nothing. Wtf? I can't be the only person that was raised believing in common courtesy. I am not *obligated* to let you over because your turn signal is on. I let you over because it's the polite thing to do and I hope that others will do the same for me. It takes you two nano-seconds to put your hand up in the air, give a little wave (with all 5 fingers please) to say thanks and go on about your business. When people don't say thank you it makes me want to pass them an then cut them off. I mean, honestly people, is it really that hard to say thank you?

At this point I would love to go into a diatribe about common courtesy not being very common (particularly in California), but that's for another time.

This wtf? moment has been brought to you by the letter R and the number 3.

A Quiet Tribute

I found the below on Craigslist today. I can't take credit for it, though I wish I could. I have quite a few thoughts around this, but am in the middle of things at work so will have to post those at another time. However, I wish I had written this as it expresses so many thoughts I have had in the past. To the anonymous poster - good on ya!

The link is here. Since the link won't last long, here's the text:

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

...this is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed and learned, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

My Childhood Revisited

Had a rather tame weekend. I finally had a weekend at home which was awesome. Friday night I just sat on the couch and watched some TV. Saturday I did tons of laundry, went to Trader Joe's, rushed home to check Missed Connections on Craigslist since we all know everyone gets missed at TJ's (yes, this part I made up), and spent another fun-filled evening on the couch watching bad TV movies. Actually, that's not entirely true. I did watch Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. Too funny! Sunday I did some house cleaning. Ah, the exciting life I lead. That afternoon I went and got a massage. Mmmmmmm.....Massage is good....

Sunday night I picked up my buddy from New Zealand who had just flown in. G is a flight attendant (one of the only straight ones I know) from NZ and we know each other through rugby. Picked him up and met some friend's at Zuni Cafe for a quick bite to eat. Then we went to Cafe du Nord to see one of my favorite bands from my childhood - The Plimsouls!!!

I heart The Plimsouls! If you've never heard of them, they are a band out of LA. They put out their first album in 1980. At a time when rock music was shifting gears, the Plimsouls threw British Invasion into the new wave mix and permanently altered the genre. Fun was the operative word, and bar bands everywhere joined the fray. But the Plimsouls were exceptional because they boasted the talents of singer/songwriter Peter Case. The one big hit they had was Million Miles Away which is on the Valley Girl soundtrack. Actually, if you have seen the movie (and are willing to admit to it publicly), the scene where they are in some dive bar and a band is playing - that's The Plimsouls. Anyway, these guys broke up in 1987 and fans everywhere were heartbroken. However, they have now reunited and all is right in the world again.

So, the 6 of us head over to Cafe du Nord. There are some steep steps that lead down to the bar area. So basically, you're going from bright sunlight down into darkness via a steep staircase. I was carrying a jacket and the LP jacket to one of their records (that's right, I own some records), my hair was in my face, I couldn't see, and yours truly pulled an oh-so-graceful move and missed the last step. Managed to nicely roll my ankle. Oh yeah, I'm Grace Kelly.

Anyway, turns out there was an opening band we didn't know about. They are called The Magic Christian. If you ever get a chance to see these guys, DON'T!!! They are garbage! Actually, that's not quite fair. Their guitarist, drummer (former drummer of the Tubes) and base player are all good musicians. However, their lead singer has GOT TO GO. The man can't carry a tune to save his life, has no rhythm, and to be honest, is just a tool with bad hair. One of my friends, SM, wasn't familiar with The Plimsouls and thought these guys were them. When she finally realized it wasn't she was truly relieved. Apparently she had been standing there wondering why she was friends with us at that point in time. G had also been wondering why he was still awake for such a horrid show instead of being in bed catching up on sleep.

They finally get off the stage and it's time for The Plimsouls. Woohoo! The guys sounded AMAZING! Just like they do on their albums. It was a GREAT show. The ability to relive your childhood is amazing and if you ever have the opportunity, take it! I danced like a maniac despite my ankle. They did a couple encores. It was fabulous! After they show they came out front and I got them to sign my album jacket. Apparently they are writing some new music and will hopefully be around for a while. They are total sweethearts.

Got home a little after midnight which is making work a bit painful today. So is the ankle. I iced it last night, but can hardly walk today. Have a nice ace bandage and am wearing sandals at work. Sexy....kinda. However, it was well worth it! If y'all get the chance to see The Plimsouls, definitely check them out.

This music review has been brought to you by the letter R and the number 10.

Knowledge is Power

I spent the 4th of July with some friends up at the Delta. A friend rents a house up there right on the water and about 7 or 8 of us went up for the weekend to hang out on the water in the sunshine. Took the ski boat out, drank a lot of alcohol, etc. It was a great weekend.

The Delta is always an interesting place to people watch. It is full of white trash. However, it's white trash with money, which is the worst kind. I've decided that in the Central Valley, instead of buying kids cars when they turn 16, they buy them boats. (For the record, I was never bought a car or a boat when I turned 16!) The ski boats these kids, and I do mean teenagers, were in are AT LEAST $60,000 and that's before they put in the sweet sound systems they all have. Everyone is covered in ink. You need at least 5 tattoos to even begin to fit in. Most of the guys are on steroids and have "great" ink like Christ on the cross with a Jesus balloon head above it across their back or "Sick for Life" written across the chest. And they all wear trucker hats, smoke and listen to rap.

So, we're up there hanging out, having a good time. One of the guys who also rents the place had a few poker buddies come over. We were all drinking and having fun. Then we went out to some bar which was a great people watching place as well. After, we went back to the house and hung out. Off the back deck are steps which lead down to the dock. There's a gate by the steps. I was standing by the gate and one of the poker friends, J, came up the stairs and said, "Is there a toll?" I said, "Two dollars. I want my two dollars." Then I said, "Name the movie." For those of you who don't get the reference, it's a quote from Better Off Dead. Well, J could quote from the movie, but couldn't think of the name. He requested more time to think about it so we went and sat on the dock while he struggled with it. J kept asking for hints. Despite all the hints I gave him, he could not remember the name of the film.

At one point he asked, "Well, do I get a prize if I guess it?" I reminded him that this had been the toll for him to actually get through the gate, back into the house. He kept stating that he should receive a prize for guessing. I finally relented and said, "Fine, what do you want?" He replied with, "You know what I want." I was forced to tell him that actually, I had no clue. Does any woman really and truly know how the male mind works? I think not. So he finally said, "Well, I want a blowjob." Once I finally stopped laughing I was able to spit out (no pun intended), "Yeah, that's not going to happen." Leave it to a guy to go straight for the blowjob. There are all these stages in between, but no, men always have to go right to the heart of the matter. I then jokingly told him I'm sort of an old-fashioned girl and generally just start with a kiss. I'm not sure he understood the sarcasm.

Needless to say, he went home unfulfilled that evening. The next morning the friend who rents the place had to drive back to her house as she had misplaced a $10K check. No one else knew that I had slept in one of the rooms upstairs. No one could find me. I ended up with a voicemail from them asking where the heck I was. When I finally rolled downstairs everyone had assumed I'd left with J the night before. Though I was flattered they thought I had gotten laid, I also thought they were idiots.

Later that day I was recounting the story to my friends. Everyone was getting a good laugh. Then I realized, oh my gosh. Not only am I cool enough to know the name of this film, my movie knowledge also allows me to give blowjobs! How lucky is that? Knowledge really is power.

I think my new pickup line should be, "Hey, I know about Better Off Dead" with a wink and a nudge.

Things that make you go hmmmmm.

A Lost Art?

Inspired by a post from MB about "the lean-in", a post by Glib and events of this past weekend, I've decided to make this posting about kissing, or for MB, snogging.

This past weekend was a Marquette Rugby Alumni weekend. Yes, I played rugby and yes, I am straight. Shocking, I know. Someone has to be the token. Anyway, the weekend was back in Milwaukee and it coincided with not only Summerfest, but Lake Front 7s. Lake Front 7s is a rugby 7s tournament. Without going into too much detail about rugby, here's a brief synopsis. Rugby is generally played with 15 players per side and 40 minute halves. 7s rugby is with 7 people per side and 7 minute halves. Typically very fast paced and involves tons of running, so those of us who are forwards don't particularly care for it because we're fat and slow. Or maybe I'm just speaking for myself, though I know there are other forwards out there that will agree with me.

Anyway, of course there was a huge party after the tournament. Rugby and drinking? Who'd of thunk? Towards the end of the evening I was chatting with one guy, E. E was pretty cool. Of course, he was also pretty drunk. Most folks were. Anyway, E and I were hanging out chatting for a long time. However, as the evening wore on, we started having the same conversation over and over and over again because genius couldn't remember we'd had it 5 minutes before. Now, if I had been drunk that probably would have been ok. However, I wasn't, so it got a bit old after a while. It eventually reached the point in the evening where he said, "You are a beautiful woman. I want to make love to you." Well, there you have it. So I was forced to tell him that though I was flattered, I'm not a random sex kind of girl. We discussed it for a bit (meaning he kept trying and I kept saying no) and he finally realized he wasn't getting anywhere. However, we still hung out and kept talking. Later as he got up to go use the facilities, he tried to kiss me. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. He tried to determine if I still had my tonsils or if my stomach could indeed be found at the bottom of my esophogus. I swear to you, as he was leaning in, his tongue was already out of his mouth. SO not attractive at all.

I started reflecting on it on the plane ride home as women are wont to do. It made me wonder - Why is it a good number of men always feel the need to shove their tongues down your throat? Do they not realize that not every kiss requires tongue? I have had some amazing kisses where tongue wasn't involved. Don't get me wrong, I like the tongue as much as the next person. It's a very useful thing. But it doesn't always have to be used to play "swirly-swirly, pokey-pokey, let's check out the back of your throat" when you're kissing someone. I don't want to come out of a kiss and have to wipe my mouth because you're saliva is now all around it. That was one thing when we were 15. Not at this age.

So, as Glib would say, "Note to all single men out there" - when you're kissing someone, you don't always have to try and shove your tongue down their throat. It's not tonsil hockey kids, it's kissing. You're supposed to be turning someone on, not drooling all over them.

This moment of Dear Abbey has been brought to you by the letter R and the number 3.

The Memo I Didn't Get

I said in my last posting that the Irishman had set off a chain of events that was another story for another time. Though the story has since dissipated a bit, I thought it only fair to share the story.

It all began after randomly seeing the Irishman at the pub. Apparently a memo went out that I never received. I can only assume it said something like the following, "If you have made out with BH in the past, it is suddenly time to get back in touch and try and talk about it. Don't worry if it's been a few years."

The same day I saw the Irishman I ended up having a conversation with one of my buddies who was with me at the time. GM and I have been friends for a few years. We actually met at my local bar via our mutual friend the bartender. We've been good drinking buddies every since. A year or two ago he randomly drunk dialed me one night at like 10pm. Unfortunately, I was on my way home from work. He told me to stop by our local. He was getting drunk because he'd been laid off that day. I stopped by and ended up driving him home b/c he lived a few blocks from me and was in no condition to drive. We ended up making out a bit in the car and then went our separate ways. We've never talked about it and just always hung out as friends after. Suddenly we're having this conversation in the bar which is sort of ironic since he started it, but then didn't want to finish it. Whatever, I'm over it.

Then I get a random IM from another buddy, N. N is originally from Ireland and in the Army Reserves. N and I were more than friends, but less than dating. We hung out quite a bit, enjoyed each other's company and generally made out when we spent time together. However, we never really evolved beyond that. We both got caught up in our lives and next thing I knew he was dating another girl and then spent a year in Iraq. He thankfully made it home safely and is now living w/ said girl. Somehow during our IM conversation the whole thing came up and we started chatting about it. Not that it does me any good to hear a guy say that he always liked me when he's living with someone else. Not my cup of tea.

Next I get a random email from a buddy I met a few years ago. I was up in Napa for a friend's farewell evening. This guy, R, was in town for it as well. We hit it off really well, but he's married and at the time had a new baby girl. We spent the whole night chatting and playing pool. We really enjoyed each other's company, but of course never took it any further than that despite the chemistry. We've kept in touch on and off since then. He randomly emailed me and it started this whole conversation that essentially culminated in, "If my situation had been different I would have liked to explore the possibilities. I really enjoyed spending time with you."

Now don't get me wrong, that's sweet and all. But honestly, what good does it do me to hear someone who's married say something like that? Neither one of us would ever go there. We both have too much respect for marriage. It makes me wonder - When do I get in on the ground floor? When do I get to meet one of these people before they are taken by someone else? Do men really only say these things to someone when they are in another relationship and therefore it's safe to say that to a person? I feel like a hypocrite even asking because I know I rarely have the balls to say something like that to a person I like. But seriously, why even bother saying it when you can't act on it?

Anyway, there were a few others thrown in the mix at the time as well. It just made me think, what the heck? Did a memo go out that I didn't get blind-copied on? These are the the things a girl should have some warning about! I didn't know men even liked to talk about these things after they happened, and suddenly everyone's crawling out from the woodwork and trying to discuss it.

As MB would say, I just dunno.