My Dating Life--The Saga Continues

I know this may come as a deep shock, but I don't have a lot of friends.

Aunt Sally stopped talking to me when she passed away, so now my "Friends List" is very limited. I do try to have a social life beyond Facebook.

This may be why I don't have any friends, because I talk to myself on Twitter.  So, one day last week when this really cute guy I had briefly met years earlier "Facebooked" me out of the blue and asked if I would meet him at Starbucks "just to talk," I was elated.

I just knew that my life was finally turning around.  Life was going to be good.  I was finally going to get married.  Probably.

I was cautiously optimistic as I prepared for my big Starbucks date.  Of course,  I had already done the word math in my own head.

I don't charge people for going out with me, though I should offer some type of written guarantee.

Not having a boyfriend is the one part of life I have completely mastered.  My dating life has become nothing more than a desperate cry for help.  Not to brag or anything, but I could easily win a trophy for being a failure at dating.

I tend to give myself false hope and that is what I really love about me.  This time was no different. With lots and lots of makeup I tried desperately to look better than a moderately attractive zoo animal.

I've tried asking guys out myself, but they always look at me like I just asked them to donate a brain.  Then, they try to run away from me like I am the electric bill or a crying baby.

So, a date that was not imaginary was a pretty big deal to me. The sheer volume of hope that I had injected into myself began to consume the inside of my own head.  The pressure of the suffocation of my sanity and the reality of the situation became completely unbearable for me before I even made it to Starbucks.

As I pulled in, it glowed.  Not my head...Starbucks.

I parked beside an old, old, old 1960's beat up Ford truck that had not one, but two buckets underneath it catching whatever comes out of old Ford trucks.  My pathetic delusions of meeting Prince Charming tonight began to fade as I realized it was the only vehicle in the parking lot besides mine, which needed no buckets, just Prince Charming.

To make a short story long, I entered Starbucks with distinct uneasiness and spotted him right away.  It had been years, but he was still great looking and had an amazing smile.

I sat down, though a bit nervous, as Starbucks was not this amazing fortress of romance I had dreamt it was.    As he slurped on Green Tea (literally green) and talked incessantly about his recent ex-girlfriend, the conversation quickly began to hold a death-grip on me.  His beautiful white teeth slowly turned putrid green.

I stared out the window at the truck, at the green tea and then his phone that kept beeping.  He would stop mid-conversation and smile John Deere Green so he could return a text to whoever he was flirting with on the phone.   The text messages were the only pauses between him going on and on (and on) about his ex-girlfriend.

Normally, my brain has an infinite capacity to bring itself back to life on its own after being pummeled with someone else's problems.  I felt the conversational death-grip begin to kill it. Maybe I would need someone to donate a brain to me after all.

He finally stopped long enough to ask me about me.  Before I had five words out, somehow, those few words reminded him of his "horrible" ex-girlfriend who had misjudged him.  After all, he had tossed the woman's two year old daughter out of his recliner because that was HIS recliner so she should understand and stop being horrible.

I just sat there, my brain cells rapidly dying and hating me.  The supply of kindness I had was completely exhausted.  I wanted to make a break for it...and spill those buckets under the truck for HazMat to clean up.

My once friendly brain cells were screaming at me.

But, just as I was about to give up hope so I could go ahead and die by the condiments, he finished texting whoever he really wanted to go see and said he had to "go workout" at Planet Fitness.  It was 10:00 p.m.

As he stood up, he gave me a hug and said that he wasn't ready for a relationship and that I was a great friend for listening.  He said I deserved some special award for listening to all of his problems.  Yep, I'll just put it right along beside my other awards.

This was his status a few days later on Facebook:

Ok, so I need to add a few more trophies to my collection:

What is at the End of the Rainbow

I found out what is really at the end of that rainbow...

Golden Arches...
and cinnamon melts. Mostly cinnamon melts.

Miss you guys! Yes I have been on a short hiatus. I'm involved in lots of conspiracies and stuff which has taken up an unusual amount of time. Also, I'm back in flight school (yes, someone allows me in the sky), which takes up a lot of time and I don't care to fly exhausted and falling asleep in the plane, though when it starts to dive, the plane's alarm usually wakes me up. Things just get fun after that.

In addition, I have found myself watching Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo and my IQ has dropped about 10 or 5000 points because of that decision so that doesn't help my dating life either.

Even Facebook is working against me.

I actually think I saw the word "unstable" in there somewhere, but probably not so I left that out.

Don't worry, you are all still safe and can sleep sound at night without fear of me going crazy.

See ya'll when I'm done getting into trouble with my flight trickery and stuff! I'm anxious to start catching up on some of your adventures on your own blogs!

Lance Armstrong, Myself and I

I wonder if Lance Armstrong is still single because we have so much in common now.

Don't worry Lance, you have a friend in me (friendship not guaranteed).

Also, in completely unrelated news, but still in France, you can buy canned air straight from Paris for the low, low price of $9.99 without ever having to step foot on a plane, in a hotel or Paris.

Apparently, love is in the air.

The End.

The Tracie Show

My life this week has been completely scripted for me.

Ya'll will be happy to know that three cute guys asked me out this week.

It just didn't feel right, but this is my show, so...

Oh, I have a show now.

If you have not seen "The Truman show," geaux watch it and come back.

That is how my life has been this week.

Today, I was running late and I live in a town that has three gangs.

They only caught me at one spot today instead of one hundred spots.

While running late for an important appointment through town to take an important test I had not bothered studying for because it was a bother,  I began to instantaneously develop this intense fear of good things happening to me.  Then this happened...

I've always been at a unique disadvantage with the Red Light Gang as there are always dozens, if not millions of cars in front of me.  Mostly millions.  But, not this time.  It was as if someone had just parted the Red Sea for me to cross over into the Promised Land.  

I crept through wondering if there were land mines in that lane.  Maybe the Red Light Gang had set a trap for me!

My apprehension transformed itself into a staggering amount of wonderment and joy as I reached the Red Light Gang.  I sat there, though, developing a specific thought in my head that something horrible had to happen to me to balance out the equation of good things happening.

OR

Within seconds, however, the Green Light Gang showed up and dashed them away to harass someone else.  

Maybe, Someone "up there" is looking out for "little ol' me" because I made my appointment to take a test I had not studied for.  My plans, actually, were to study at the red lights.  

Scripted, I tell you.

Scripted.  

Swipe My BMW Please

Working out takes hard work and dedication.  I usually go every morning, but no less than once a month.  Something happened this last week, though,  as I skipped dandily out of the gym ready for a good days work of doing nothing.

I became quickly befuddled when I saw what had become of my well-behaved car that had been sitting there minding its own business in a parking spot.

Someone had swiped my car and just left it! A friend who was following behind me noticed the suspicious car parked next to mine.

I immediately called the police and started to blog about it.  Fortunately, the officer only took a few minutes to get there as he was working out at another gym next door.

As he and I walked around the other car examining it, I noticed all of the different colors and dents on the exterior.  It looked as though a beautiful rainbow had brutally beaten the sweet, innocent car in a vengeance, possibly with a small unicorn.

The tires looked sad and badly in need of high dosages of Lortab.  Ironically, the car was not that old.  It was just too young to have a black belt in hitting every thing in the world.


The officer pulled up the license plate and went into the gym to find the dark-cloaked villain.  I was a little upset that someone had just left my poor car in a state of confusion and ugliness to go into the gym to work on abs.  All I knew was, he better be cute.  Forgiveness is a little easier when he is cute, single and wants my number.


I stood by my car watching the door.  Then, they came out.  Forgiveness was gonna be tougher than I originally thought it would be.   He was a she and not cute at all.  I realized right off of the bat that the woman was obviously pretty smart as she was not morally opposed to looking like Yoda.

It turns out that she was a retired college professor in her 80's.  I watched as she walked closer to my car shaking her head in denial.   In my mind's head I stood there thinking to myself but thinking it at her, "Don't say it, don't say it..."


Then she started to speak.

And boom goes the dynamite.


Suddenly, she could only speak dementia.  I stood there for a few moments basking in the rich tapestry of 1950's culture before walking over to her car and blowing off the newly made pixie dust all over the place.  I sneezed as paint chips raced to my brain to eat away at what little was left.


She admitted the yellow paint on her car (underneath my paint on her car) was from a post she hit at Home Depot the week before.  Also,she had the bumper replaced a month earlier because she had hit something else before that.

Venom slowly seeped from her throat as she denied hitting my car again, while she admitted to hitting everything else in the world including the Amazon and possibly Charlie Sheen.  How could anyone hit the Amazon? Charlie Sheen is understandable...


I just wanted her to admit to hitting my car.  Tell the truth.  I glared at her with my beady eyes as she stood there steadily denying what she had done.  Oh, I thought...

Then, what really hurt my feelings was that even though the po-po said that there was no doubt that she hit my car, (and she had selective memory) he couldn't cite her because it was private property so all he could do was give me her insurance information.

UPDATE: I am currently working with her insurance company and hoping that they pay to fix my damages with no problem.  Meanwhile, I have found out that there have been other hit and runs in the same parking lot by a white car.  Stay tuned for the next episode of...

Also, let me say that I know people well into their nineties who are driving with no problems, so I am not bashing older drivers, she just needs to give it up if she is not going to pay for the damages incurred as a result of her driving skills.  Speaking to people who know her well, she does not have any type of memory loss or dementia.  


I still forgive her one-hundred percent even though she is not cute at all!  My car may be damaged, but I'm not going to let it damage me.  I'm not here for any car...

The Universe and Me

I recently joined a gym.

Sometimes, a cute guy will happen along.

Then, the inevitable happens.

The universe begins to hatch a distinct plan.

Things were going too well for me for 30 seconds of my life.

Life will then begin to go into direct contrast to what I hoped it would.

The universe is definitely out to get me.

Jump ropes are in on it.