You've Got Mail

Between Oxygen, TBS, ABC Family, and the Style Network, the movie You’ve Got Mail is on TV at least once a week.

And I watch it every time.

I don’t own it. Truth be told, for someone who loves movies, I don’t own very many movies.

And even if I did, I wouldn’t put it in the DVD player to watch. Something about happening upon it makes it seem like I’m not really committing to it. Like I’m just popping by. 

But I can’t help myself. 

I’ve always enjoyed it- I mean, who doesn’t love Tom and Meg together. (Hello, Sleepless in Seattle!? I even enjoyed Joe Vs. The Volcano!).

But as someone trying her hand at finding love from the internet, how can I resist? 

And I relate on so many levels. She has an existential crisis about her work, running a store. Is it meaningful? She wonders why her life reminds her of things she has read in a book. When shouldn’t it be the other way around? She has to worry about the stress of closing a store. (And when her store does close, the most depressing thing she can think of it turning into is a Baby Gap!)

You’ve got mail. Those three little words...

What I get is an email notification on my gmail account alerting me to a new message on the site. 

“Linda, Someone has sent you a message! Log on to find out who!”

And then I log on.

And invariably it is not something to be all twiterpated about. 

Invariably it is someone that is 20 years older than me, someone that writes something weird, inappropriate, or heaven forbid in my world- someone that has poor grammar, and can’t spell. With computers in this day and age, that is absolutely unacceptable. Spell Check, boys!! Spell Check!!

But I still hope for finding a Tom Hanks. Not the best looking guy in the bunch (because let’s be honest, the best looking ones are D-bags most of the time), but someone with charm. Someone with wit. Someone a little goofy, but in an adorable sort of way.

Oh, and someone who is a millionaire who could give me free books for life. That part would be nice, too. 

Seven Days

Watch this...

Now you know how I feel...

I’m still traumatized from this movie. I haven’t seen a single scary movie since I saw The Ring in the theaters opening weekend. After I saw that movie I slept with all my lights on in the entire house, and with the TV turned around to face the wall for 2 weeks. If you've seen the movie, you know why!! If not, DON'T FIND OUT!!!

And today I hear that voice... 

Seven Days....

And I have the same expression on my face as the girl at the end of this clip...

Why?

Because it is my birthday in... 7 days!!

As a friend pointed out on her blog, I am closer to 40 than 20. (Thanks a LOT Robin!!) 

I’m only 2 years away from a new demographic. When I take random survey's I will have to mark 35-44, instead of the good old (or should I say good YOUNG?!?!) 18-34.

My reproductive health is starting to wane. 

I’m no longer a “Young Single Adult” as they classify us at church. I’m just a “Single Adult.” Why did they have to drop the “Young" and rub it in? 

But according to the internet, which NEVER lies, I may have a good year ahead of me...

A UK website, Friends Reunited, 

conducted a survey that found 

33 

to be 

the happiest age!! 

70 percent of respondents over the age of 40 said they did not find true happiness until they were 33 years old.

Well here I am, wiping my brow in relief!

Here is what the internet had to say about it:

"[That age] is enough time to have shaken off childhood naivety and the wild scheming of teen-aged years without losing the energy and enthusiasm of youth," Donna Dawson, a psychologist, told Fox's Washington, D.C., affiliate. "Innocence has been lost, but our sense of reality is mixed with a strong sense of hope, a 'can do' spirit, and a healthy belief in our own talents and abilities."

I think I'm still a wild schemer. And I don't know how much more belief I have in my abilities than I did 10 years ago. Maybe I just know I'm better at faking it?

They also claimed that  the number 33 has long had special connotations.

“According to biblical scholars , Jesus Christ was crucified at age 33.

In 1836, poet Ralph Waldo Emerson published his significant essay "Nature" at age 33.

In 1928, Amelia Earnhardt became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic at age 33.

Additionally, 33-year-old celebrities like Jennifer Love Hewitt, Maroon 5 front man Adam Levine and Katie Holmes seem to be enjoying a wealth of success right now.”

Well, hell! If it’s good enough for Adam Levine, it’s good enough for me.

I also read this:

“Many respondents claimed that their happiness at 33 came from fulfillment in their professional lives, as well as having a support system of family and friends. Not surprisingly, 36% said they were happiest when they had children.

Additionally, more than half of survey takers who chose 33 as the magic number said they did so because life at that age was more fun — probably because they had more money to enjoy it.”

Hmmm... a fulfilling professional life, kids, and money.... I guess I have all of my 33rd year to figure all that out...

Sing it, Freddy...

If you are curious about how my night was, just press play...

My Quesadilla Explosion salad was quite delightful, though, 
thanks for asking.

As was the rest of my evening, which included 

all of these things...

and a long talk on the phone with my BFF in Santa Monica. So the night wasn't a total waste.

No Socks

Last summer I was riding Trax on my way to a Bee’s game to meet a certain gentleman for the first time.

I was talking to my mom on the phone as I rode. I was reluctant to tell her I was going on a date, as I am not always keen on hearing  her advice. As much as I love her dearly, I always have to do it my own way, even if I end up doing what she said in the first place, as I usually do. I need to delude myself into thinking I can make all my decisions on my own, thank you very much.

This time, however, she imparted this lovely nugget of wisdom:

“Linda. You are so hard on these boys, and find so many faults....”

Wait. 

Pause.

I was watching the Season Premiere of the Bachelorette with my little Mama this past Monday. 

And MAN she was BRUTAL!!! 

“Don’t choose the one with the brain injury! She’ll have a hard time with him!”

“An insurance salesman?? You don’t even need a College Degree to be an insurance salesman!” 

“A CREAM suit?! Why would he wear something so silly?!”

"Why would he say something so ridiculous?? Don't pick HIM!!!!"

I suddenly felt vindicated for every harsh judgement I’ve ever made.

Because it is obviously a genetic trait.

But I diverge-

The Scene: Me riding Trax, pretending I’m savvy because I use public transportation (which I am not because I got off at the wrong stop TWICE and was late...)

Mom: “Linda. You are so hard on these boys, and find so many faults. This time try not to find the faults. Just try to think of one good thing. Even if the only good thing you can come up with is that he is wearing matching socks.”

Me: “grumble grumble grumble grumble”

Mom: “Just one good thing. That is all you need to find.”

So I went in thinking it was pretty sound advice. 

Guess what.

He wasn’t even wearing socks.

He was wearing flip flops. 

HELLO?!?!  SOULMATE?!?!?!

The date progressed, and he was the first normal person I had encountered EVER from my online adventures. My friends called him “Norm” for months afterwards because he was just normal. Now they call him by other names, but that is neither here nor there.

And what, you ask, is here and there???

I have a date tomorrow night.

And I am going to take my moms advice. 

(this is where she faints from pure SHOCK!)

I’m going to try to find one good thing. 

(So far I’m not doing such a good job...)

We are meeting at a really classy place.

Think of the coolest place in downtown SLC you could think to meet...

Are you thinking?

....

....

....

You were right!!

CHILI’S!!!!

(that’s called sarcasm)

While I do love their chips and salsa, he is not scoring too high right now. 

As one of my employees said, if he isn’t interesting enough to think beyond Chili’s...

Let’s just hope he isn’t wearing any socks tomorrow night. 

LOVE

All you need is love.

Love lifts us up where we belong.

Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs. Well, what’s wrong with that? I’d like to know!

Can anybody find me somebody to love? (SERIOUSLY!!)

I need some body. I - I need somebody. I need somebody to love. 

You might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.

You’ve got a groovy kind of love.

I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more.

Is this love, is this love, is this love, is this love that I’m feeling.

Love, love me do. You know I love you.

Can you feel the love tonight.

I can’t help falling in love.

It’s Friday. I’m in love.

Shall I continue??? It could go on forever.

Artists sing about it, we all long for it. 

I love this quote from the Barbara Streisand Movie, “The Mirror Has Two Faces.”

“We all want to fall in love. Why? Because that experience makes us feel completely alive. Where every sense is heightened, every emotion is magnified, our everyday reality is shattered and we are flying into the heavens. It may only last a moment, an hour, an afternoon. But that doesn't diminish its value...

But why do people want to fall in love when it can have such a short run and be so painful?...

Because...

while it DOES LAST...

it feels f****** great!”

I’ve got love on the brain. 

Because of the complete absence and yet absolute presence it has in my life.

Romantic love has always remained allusive. I believe love is only a reciprocal emotion. A symbiotic feeling. You can’t truly have it alone. And so, sadly, I don’t know that I’ve ever really had it. 

Moulin Rouge says, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." I'm still working on that second part, in the romantic sense.

But then I was thinking about my life and the love I witness, witness, witness.

Not even just shown towards me specifically, but the visible reality of the love around me can sometimes be enough. 

I saw it with a husband and father sleeping in the hospital hallway for days when their baby/ grandson was in the NICU.

I saw it at a wedding in February when the husband toasted his beautiful bride.

I saw it with a woman curled up in bed with her husband in her home, as he drew his last breath.

I saw it days before when the last words he uttered to me, with a warm smile, and clear eyes, were “I love you.”

I saw it as a 2 year old sang Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Song” with me at the top of his lungs, calling it “Lala’s song”.

I saw it as my best friends sent me a bouquet to tell me they care.

I saw it when I was flown to Santa Monica for a day, just because.

All you need is love. 

But it is still allusive. 

Thursday 2 boys said, "Hey! Let's go out!"

And I said, "Great! Here's my number!" 

And they both said...

...

...

I'm still waiting to find out what they said. As I haven't hear from either...

You can't hurry love.

No.

You'll just have to wait. 

Passive Aggression, or just clever?

The Liger

I had two different guys tell me this week that they want to go out. So I’ll have some good stories soon, if they pan out. I know I have a loyal readership that I don’t want to disappoint!!

One of these guys asked if I wanted to go to the Bean museum for an hour. (he must not have had great luck on his online dates either, if that’s all he's up for...)

To which I replied, “Did you forget I live in Salt Lake? That’s pretty far to drive just to spend an hour with the Liger.” 

I know.  

Passive Aggression. 

I’ve been accused of that in the past, by a loyal blog participant. 

The Urban Dictionary has it right on, calling it a “defense mechanism that allows people who aren’t comfortable being openly aggressive get what they want under the guise of still trying to please others. They want their way, but they also want everyone to still like them.”

It also says this:

“When a girl at a club starts dancing closely with her back to a guy she has not met. This leaves only two options for the guy: 

1) Act like a creep and start grinding up on her 

2) Stand there and shoot a weird look to your friend

Man, I was having a chill time until this girl started passive aggressive dancing with me. She wasn't really very hot either.”

Call it a wild guess, but I think I may trend more towards the first one.

To this reader who has said I can be passive aggressive at times, I would say if you have any tips on other approaches, I’m all ears. 

This approach obviously doesn't work.

Because I haven’t gotten what I want yet.

And yet, as always, here’s to hope. 

And a good story. 

Always a good story. 

Have You Heard This One?

Two gay guys and a Mormon walk into a Cracker Barrel...

Heard this joke before? 

No? 

Well, the punch-line of the joke has the Mormon girl re-joining a dating site.

Again.

On and off, back and forth.
My last foray was the end of last year. It didn’t yield great results (translation- it didn’t yield ANY results.) So I gave it up in December.

To say that 2012 thus far has been jam packed and emotion filled would be a gross understatement. 

And being online is akin to a part time job. You must invest A LOT of time and emotional energy to make it successful. Which I have not had. Which is why, thus far this year, I have abstained.

But then I went to dinner with some dear friends of mine.

To the Cracker Barrell. (Where they list Mac and Cheese in their “veggie” section! And, what?!? Fried Okra as a side!?! Yes, Please!!).

And me and these amazing fellas started talking about relationships, dating, etc. 

One of them said that they are happy just playing the field. That they aren’t looking for anything serious.

Another friend of ours said that they were okay just being alone and using their own time how they want. 

And I told them that I have friends who are married, multiple kids, crazy schedules, and I hear them say they just wished they had more time for themselves. 

But me? I am so sick of myself. Me, Myself, and I have spend the last decade getting to know each other really well. We spend a lot of time together. 

We’ve spent the last 2 hours watching saved episodes of Community from my DVR and plan to spend the next hour watching Friends reruns on Nick at Nite. 

We do things like this a lot. 

And I am so ready to not have so much time for me.  

This isn’t a new revelation. I just hadn’t thought about it for awhile. 

And so I left the Cracker Barrell full of okra, biscuits, and old fashioned candy, and went home and signed myself up. 

I hate it just as much as before. And still haven’t had a lot of time for it.  

It’s like McDonalds commercials trying to convince you that people actually love going to McDonalds. I try to convince myself that this is a great process.

But the thing is, I do enjoy a McDonals cheeseburger now and again- hold the pickles, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love their fries. So maybe it isn’t all bad. 

And maybe I’ll have some good stories to share.

And maybe I’ll find the love of my life.

I think the former is more likely than the latter. 

But at least that’s something.

Catch Me if You Can

 So when I was in the amazingly beautiful wedding last weekend, I had the privilege of holding on to my dear friends bouquet while she had her hair touched up between events. 

I looked at my other friend as I held it. 

"I'm sending it vibes," I told her. 

"I'm letting it get to know me. Because when she throws it at the reception, I am going to catch it."

I'm NEVER that girl. The one that dives for it, knocking all others out of her way. I usually stand aside, and let the other desperate crazy ladies go for it, 

while I roll my eyes. 

But let's face it, friends. 

At 32, and extremely single, 

I am turning both desperate and crazy.  

I'll do whatever it takes, at this point. 

And if that includes some shoves while participating in a silly tradition, with absolutely no merit as to the results of said catching, so be it. 

It was time.

However, at the reception I discovered that there was NOT going to be a bouquet toss!! 

My friend had never enjoyed them at other weddings, and at 33 she believed she did not have to subject the rest of her single friends to such a spectacle. 

I fully supported her decision...

However...

I was READY! 

So, what did I do?  

I had my own bouquet toss. 

I mean, there the bouquet was just sitting innocently on a table next to the guest book. It was calling my name. 

After all, we had gotten to know each other earlier in the afternoon. 

So, just so we are all clear- 

I DID catch the bouquet.  

This is my year.