Birthday Bonanza

Now, this is a slap in the face!  See what my thoughtful friends from the car insurance company included on my latest bill:

KRISTEN    AGE BY MARCH 11: 32    MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE

This little gem was etched in 75 point font and highlighted in neon green! Must they rub it in so shamelessly???

Anyway, apparently I'm not as joyous about turning 32 as I once thought (refer to sappy post regarding my meltdown).

So, in an attempt to make myself feel slightly more celebratory, I will reminisce about my 21st birthday, a whopping 11 years ago!

Flashback...February 11, 2002:

I had a green dress shipped via air mail (no, I'm not kidding) from Victoria's Secret for the momentous occasion.

As soon as I woke up, I busted into my friend Andrea's apartment next door to shriek obnoxiously about my glorious milestone. I may have even knocked over some of her furniture. What a spaz! I mean, in retrospect, what was so exciting about turning 21? I had already been drinking illegally for years. Not only that, but I had been purchasing the classy Boone's Farm since I was 19.

Anyway, we'll discuss my shady criminal past another time.

So, I attended all my classes in the fancy green dress and a ridiculous plastic tiara. I had no shame.

 My wonderful friends had "Age of Aquarius" playing for me when I got home to my apartment. Before I knew it, it was time to take the party to the one and only Applebee's! Yes, in this college town, our bar options were extremely limited, and Applebee's was like a club.

The entire birthday party was caught on film, with some of these great one-liners from yours truly:

"Hi, this is Kristen, reporting live from Applebee's Murray. We are about to have deep talks."

"The Age of Aquarius is playing in here! Did you guys plan it?" Yes, Kristen. Your friends coordinated with the Applebee's staff to play your favorite song on their mix tape.

"Hi, it's Kristen reporting live again, Applebee's, Murray. What does everyone think about elevator silence? World peace?"

"I'm 21 today and guess what? I tore up my fake ID this morning!" Way to go, Kris. Announce that as loudly as possible. If you're lucky, a cop may be chomping on a cheeseburger nearby.

Free astrological analyses were provided for all the guests.We may have received a few noise complaints.

All in all, a very memorable birthday.

If only 32 had as much appeal....

My 21st birthday-are we loving the blond tresses?

My 28th birthday, as you may have guessed

My 30th Blowout Beach Bash in Fort Lauderdale

               

My 31st birthday on Carnival

                                                   

Temporary Meltdown

Due to an unforeseen injustice and subsequent meltdown this week, I have been AWOL longer than originally intended.

Yes, "Aquarius Life as I Know it" has been rotten for the past week, people.

Although I cannot divulge the details behind the gut-wrenching incident (no, not another awful date), I will fully admit that I was a frightening mess this week. 

Between bouts of insomnia, a total loss of appetite, and a constant, unsettling desire to punch someone in the face, I resembled a character from The Night of the Living Dead. I walked around like a zombie for days, sporting deep luggage under my eyes that gave me the oh-so-appealing crack addict look (for the record, I am drug-free).

As for my Nicorette intake, well, let's just say I fell off the wagon. Like fell off hard enough to get a concussion. Don't judge me.

When my dear friend SL the Libra (aka: The Nicorette Warden) noticed that I wasn't handing over my daily stash, she approached and said, "Kristen, you didn't give me your gum today...."
I looked up at her, utterly defeated, and said, "Not today, SL. Not today." I then proceeded to chew about 500 pieces in my quiet misery. At one point, I asked another dear friend, KD the Cancer, if it was possible to have a heart attack from Nicorette overdose. I really wish I could ship out to a Nicorette rehab center, and I am NOT trying to be cute here.

Anyway, after I finally stopped wallowing in my misery today, I realized the following disturbing facts:
1. I completely forgot about Grey's Anatomy, the usual highlight of my week.
2. My only clean wardrobe choices remaining included a Murray State alumni sweatshirt, an Aquarius tank, circa 2002, and a particularly offensive shirt that says "Love Life." Like I'd want to wear that!
3. When I ran like a madwoman through the parking lot and hallways at work to avoid being late for a meeting, it took me like 10 minutes to catch my breath (hence, a lack of exercise last week).
4.  I went several hours without speaking or laughing one day last week.

It was time to get a grip.

I rarely get this upset about something, and I generally remain relatively upbeat. Or I try to combat inevitable annoyances with sarcasm and a self-deprecating sense of humor. This tired drama queen act had to go, and not just for my sake.

I hate to feel sorry for myself, and I always try to tell myself, "Kristen, you're not homeless."
Or, "You haven't been kidnapped." Although I am fairly certain the kidnapper would drop me off at the nearest exit after he was forced to listen to me analyze his zodiac sign.

Anyway, emotion defies logic (I patented that saying, by the way), and sometimes you simply cannot talk yourself out of funk, hard as you may try. Today, when my temporary insanity wore off, I realized just how fortunate I am to have so many great friends and family members. I may not have a huge mansion or my dream job or the love of my life, but I am one lucky girl. In the midst of my meltdown, I was given emergency white chocolate pretzels, some fabulous island-themed gifts, permission to rant and rave endlessly and act like a complete moron without judgment, and best of all, true support and loyalty from my friends and family.

As my 32nd year of life approaches in two days, I realize that my life is only getting better, year by year. No, I'm not going to stop complaining about aging, or whining about my wrinkles, or drop the  lame jokes about falling in love over wine and cheese in the retirement home, but I am going to roll on.Tupac says, "Keep ya head up!" So I'll do just that.


p.s. Thanks for hanging in there with this "cry me a river" post. My next blog will be Dating Disasters: Part II of 777, so don't unsubscribe, okay?

"Check, please!" Dating Disasters: Part I of 777

For quite some time now, I have wanted to explain to my friends, family, and the world at large why I am so anti-dating. It is my deepest hope that these dating stories will clear up any confusion as to why I'm not eagerly attending any speed dating events nor enthusiastically updating my dating profile on a regular basis. Please be advised that all these stories are true, no matter how unbelievable they may seem. Furthermore, I have wisely changed names to protect the not-so-innocent. All zodiac signs, however, remain authentic.

1. My first and last blind date:  "Steve the Serious and Seriously Psychotic Sagittarius"

Living in a small town that offered lots of cow tipping and limited dating options, I found myself browsing a free dating site.The old mantra, "you get what you pay for" did cross my mind once or twice, but I stupidly ignored the warning. After vetoing some alarming profiles of men who seemed determined to impregnate one lucky woman by date #3, I found a seemingly normal, attractive man whose prerequisites did not include stellar culinary skills. So after a few encouraging phone conversations, I put on lipstick, packed my pocket knife in my purse, and headed to a restaurant to meet him in person. He bore a striking resemblance to his profile picture and not a 60-year-old creeper, so things were progressing well. It wasn't until the salad arrived that I realized the error of my ways. Bypassing any sort of safe small talk, "Steve" demanded my opinion on abortion. Dumbfounded, I thought maybe I had heard him wrong. Perhaps he had mentioned "portions" or something of that nature? I politely asked him to repeat the question and he went into a psychotic tirade of his view on the subject. Now, I'm all for some deep, meaningful conversation, but I was kind of hoping we might discuss work and our pet goldfish before entering this dangerous terrain on the very first date. So I did my best to steer the conversation away from this topic, only to be bulldozed with the issue of capital punishment. Really? You want to discuss the pros and cons of the electric chair over burgers and fries? So, as alarm bells rang in my head, "Steve" proceeded to gulp down wine by the gallon and ramble about euthanasia. Once he had downed half a bottle all on his own, he gazed at me thoughtfully and said, "Here--you take this wine home and keep the bottle. On our 50th wedding anniversary, you can look back and remember our first date." No signs of humor in this statement. No signs of humor in this man at all, for that matter. For whatever reason, I chose to finish out the date, although my hand did slide over the pocket knife resting in my black clutch numerous times. "Steve" went out with a bang when the topic of children came up (I'll let you decide who brought up the subject). When I told him I wasn't ready for children for a few years, "Steve" snorted and declared, "You aint no spring chicken!" At the ripe ole age of 28, I was equated with poultry.
I can only hope that today Steve has dozens of toddlers running around his 18-year-old wife, asking Mommy and Daddy for their opinion on immigration laws.

2.  Too in Touch with His Feminine Side: "Paul the Pathetic Pisces"
In the same said small town, I was still single (imagine that) and pleasantly surprised when I met a sweet and polite man at a coffee shop. When he struck up a conversation without mentioning his views on gun laws or the legalization of marijuana, I was encouraged. We met at the movie theater the next night to see that Will Smith flick "Seven Pounds." About an hour into the movie, I heard sniffling. The sniffling would not stop. I glanced at "Paul," wondering if the poor guy had a cold. Uh, not quite. Paul was crying! Not a subtle type of crying, either. We are talking full-blown waterworks here. I was stunned, to say the least. Was I some sort of heartless person since I wasn't feeling the emotional depth of this movie like Paul? After the movie, we parted ways and I thought maybe I was being a little too hard on him. Perhaps he was just an emotional person and death by jellyfish was particularly traumatic for him to watch. He could have been stung by one as a child or something. Anyway, the next day, my phone beeped and there was a text from Paul--It was ......POETRY. Terrible poetry. Misspelled poetry. My work cell beeped almost immediately (at the time I was sporting two cell phones; my work phone number was accessible on my company's web site). It was Paul again! With the same poetry. The same terrible, misspelled poetry. This happened about three more times that day. I finally sent him a text telling him that the poetry was kind of freaking me out. His response? "It was just food for thought. I sent it to my guy friends, too." RIGHT. So long, Paul. I can only hope that today you are curled up with your wife on a love seat, bawling your face off at the Hallmark channel.

3. Date Interrupted: Vinnie the Vicious Virgo

Fast forward a few years. I met a (seemingly) charming man at a karaoke bar and gave him my number. We met at a restaurant, and I immediately knew it was a bust. He rambled about himself nonstop, an immediate turnoff. I might have been able to choke down a burrito and suffer through his diatribes if not for his next comments:
"You know, I really think people should stick with their own yoke. I don't believe in interracial couples. The Bible says so."
No, he didn't! And no, I didn't end up on a date with a loser like this. What kind of narrow-minded, ignorant freak of nature even thinks like that in this day and age? He was sharing salsa with the WRONG woman!
I was outraged and spouted off some scathing remark. He ignored me and said, "Also, I wouldn't ever date white trash OR someone from Beverly Hills. I stick to my own kind."
That did it! I frantically summoned the waiter for my check, gave Vinnie a dirty look and hit the road. I have no fond wishes for Vinnie in the present day--My only hope is that someone of "another yoke" has punched him in the face a few times.

4. Lunatic Lester the Lovey Dovey Libra

Several years ago a strapping young man approached me at work and asked me if I'd like to have dinner sometime. He seemed very classy and I accepted his offer. When I arrived at the restaurant, he ordered wine and watched me sip it. He then said, "Your lips are gleaming from the wine!" Dead silence. In an attempt to combat the awkwardness, I made one of my dumb jokes, "No, that's actually  my new Bonnie Bell watermelon lip gloss." No response. Just gazed at my lips. Ok, so maybe the guy was just nervous, right? I mean, it's not like I was blessed with Angelina lips by any means; I could certainly use some lip plumping. During dinner he was extremely quiet, as I struggled to make conversation. Finally, I asked if he was alright, and he delivered this little gem, "I'm so sorry, but
I just have this feeling in my stomach when I'm around you. It won't go away."  Oh, Lester, I have a feeling in mine, too................



We have yet to scratch the surface of Dating Disasters. This is only the beginning...

The Grand Entrance

My premiere blog! It's about dang time.
 

Disclaimer or something like that:


 I'm an Aquarius, through and through. It is my belief that someone's astrological sign contributes somewhat to his/her overall personality.  I have no patience for people who want to slam astrology, my dearly beloved interest. You don't have to believe in its merit, but you also don't have refer to it as "stupid" or "bs." I don't bash people who spend their leisure hours on a pogo stick, a sewing machine, bent over a gin bottle, or mesmerized by a Candy Land board. Hobbies are personal and sacred, right? So if you don't want to read blogs with regular astrological references, take your judgmental reading eyes elsewhere. (Can you tell I've dealt with annoying, narrow-minded astrology bashers on quite a few occasions? Most of these fools know NOTHING about the hobby, which makes them even more aggravating.) Anyway, I'm not going to pressure you to spend your Saturday nights poring over Linda Goodman's Sun Signs. Nor will I ever encourage you to purchase an astrological bobble head or sport a Gemini t-shirt. However, I won't tolerate ignorant, hateful comments about one of my interests either.


Wow! That was more intense that originally intended. With that out of the way, here are a few fascinating tidbits about me, in no particular order:

1. I'm extremely, ridiculously addicted to Nicorette gum. While I haven't touched a cigarette in years, I chomp constantly on the nicotine-infested squares all day, every day. Nicorette gum is my number one vice. Foolishly, I announced to the entire world that I am giving it up in less than a month. I even took three days off work to conquer my all-consuming addiction. As February 20 looms over me, I've started having lots of second thoughts about this grand idea. See, I am absolutely enamored with this gum. It brings me great joy and relieves work-related stress (or so my warped mind believes). At least once a day I hear, "Can't you just chew regular gum?" My response? "Can't you just eat celery when you want a cookie? Can't you just drink water when you want coffee? Can't you just make yourself run 5 miles when you'd rather stay in bed under the electric blanket?"

My primary reason for quitting is the cost. I can no longer justify spending a couple hundred dollars a month on this gum. It is both the bane of my existence and my reason for living. If those Publisher's Clearing House people were to appear at my door, I would chew 30 pieces a day for the rest of my life. However, I'm a realist at heart, and the odds of my becoming a millionaire are about the same as my becoming a stellar athlete with oodles of coordination. Thus, I must bid farewell to my six-year-long habit. I do wish I had a support group; however, I am going to have to summon my inner strength and fall in love with Trident. Oh, and avoid all human contact for several days. It will not be pretty, I'm afraid. After I survive the detox, I'm going to demand that a warning label be placed on the Nicorette boxes: "Surgeon General's Warning: May cause lifelong addiction."

2. I'm almost 32 and....SINGLE. No husband, no children, no tomato garden, no family photos to mail at Christmastime. My fertility window is closing by the day. However, I'm on indefinite dating sabbatical. Depending upon the day and my mood, I might say, "I QUIT" when questioned about dating. (Don't we wish I could respond the same way about Nicorette.) Trust me, there are good reasons behind this. Please be advised that this blog will contain many snarky posts about terrible dating experiences. I can only hope that my experiences will bring laughter to others, as they have done nothing but annoy the crap out of me.

3. I'm madly in love with my dog, Zodi (yes, short for "Zodiac.") So I never sleep alone.

4. I have wonderful family members and friends...Okay, this blog is starting to sound like a Match.com profile. What next? "I'm very laid-back and easygoing....I love 80s music and hiking."

We shall skip the positive tidbits and just stick with the sarcastic, snarky blogging. :) Welcome to my blog and happy reading!