Thinking of Adoption?

Did you know that February is Adopt-A-Singleton month?

Ok, so I made that up. But just hear me out...

Normally this month is strickly reserved for those currently in their honeymoon phase of dating, in a mushy livin'-in-sin relationship or a marriage that just won't quit. While single people become casualties left to rot on the side of the unpaved road of love.

Until now...

February is quickly becoming the month when well-meaning marrieds adopt poor unfortunate singletons around the world. Husbands and wives vow to take their single friend under their wing for guidance and support, blah blah etc. etc.

Personally, I think it's a good cause. To show my support, I emailed my girlfriends, offering myself up for adoption. [Sigh] Making the world a better place, one hook-up at a time.

So how about you, are you thinking of adoption?

[Bloggers Note: I have now been formally adopted by two couples (and counting!)]

What's In A Name?

While attending a training seminar, the facilitator announced that he could tell which soap opera a woman was watching during her pregnancy by the names of her children.

Interestingly enough, my mum was watching All My Children. I was named after the deliciously (rhymes with itchy) Erica Kane played by the one and only Susan Lucci. So, it's not coincidental that ABC describes Erica Kane like this: "Her romances epic and her exploits the stuff of legend, Erica Kane is not merely a woman, she's a force of nature. Confident and vulnerable, kind and brazen, there are no odds insurmountable or challenges too great. After all, as she would tell you, she is Erica Kane. "

It's like it was meant to be. Or something.

My mum went with the German variation of the spelling, that's why there's a "k"...to throw everyone off. And it does, moreso because we're not German.

I've spent most of my life spelling it for people (when booking appointments, during introductions, etc) so that "Erika with a k" has become my preamble. But it suits me to a T. Not that the letter T could be very suiting, or comfy. Perhaps I should say, suits me to a yoga pant? But that's just not as catchy.

Ironically, there is a character named "Aidan" on All My Children. But he wasn't on the show when I was pregnant. My son is named after Aidan Quinn. Not to be confused with Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman.

So what soap opera was your mum watching when she was pregnant?

Beta Or Bust

It's official.

I've switched from Beta to the "new" blogger powered by the money hungrey people at Google.

I held out for as long as I could. And I thought I was being very sneaky about it and perhaps they'd forgotten I was still over on "the dark side".

But they found out. They even had to trick me into changing over. And now, it's offical. There's no turning back.

So far, I've noticed a few changes - like all the comments posted to my last (and very funny) post all became "anonymous". I assure you they were posted by real people, and it's not just me trying to fill my comments section. Only my sister Kirsten (who posted after the switch) is listed.

I've changed some of the options on my blog - now anyone (even readers who are non-bloggers) can post a comment, like Charlene. Although I still retain the power to publish or reject them (bruuuuhahahahaha).

I've added a few other things here and there like post labels.

Enjoy :)

Match Making 101: Pre-Pre Date Getting To Know You

When you find yourself on the receiving end of a well meaning relative/friend/coworker/minister/dentist who has a potential person of interest (aka PPI), you have a few choices...

You can:
a) run screaming from the house/cubicle/building/dentist's chair/confessional
b) graciously ask for more details as you're always up for meeting new people including cute pilots (or something...that was just an example)
c) think, here we go again and wonder what you did for karma to keep biting you in the ass
d) join a travelling band of ambidextrous ukulele musicians

If you opt for "b" you need to be prepared (actually, if you opt for "d" you also will need to be prepared). It's ok to get the basic details - age, height, maritial status and extra appendages. But any more requests for details and you'll be starting to sound like that chick from Murder She Wrote.

Next, comes first contact. Much like an alien invasion, you have to be ready - with your A game. (Not A, as in option "A" listed above because that would be counter productive at this point) but A as in all around amazing (the triple A).

Now I don't have to tell you that I have been on the blind date merry-go-round a few times before [*cough cough*]. And just like a carnival ride, my stomach gets all swirly and I wonder if I'm going to toss my meal.

It can also be exciting! The wind in your hair and the feel of the leather reins gripped tightly in your hands (if one is still on the merry-go-round). If not, it can still be exciting but you're also slightly apprehensive on how much of the "real you" to put on display.

Much like the scene selection on a DVD movie you've rented for the first time, pre-pre date getting to know you shows some of what you might want to see. But you're not sure whether you want to watch the whole movie (including credits).

Ok, enough with the comparisons (even I'm getting lost on my point, and there is one). Basically, I feel a bit rusty on the pre-pre date getting to know you bit. I haven't had to practice any "impression management" techniques in a few months (ok, ok 8 months - you're relentless!). And since we all know how THAT went, I'm left feeling like I don't know which side to put forward first anymore. Sure, I'm going to be the smart and witty redhead, that comes out no matter what I do. In fact, I'll probably be doing that in a neckline enhancing blouse, cute A-line skirt and heels. Ok, so he won't be able to see what I'm wearing while I'm typing my light and breezy "this is one smart and witty chick" email, but I'll know. And knowing is half the battle (according to G.I. Joe anyway...).

I am aware (enough with the emails!) that I take the independent woman role a bit far. So, I'm left trying to figure out how to balance the softer side without seeming helpless. Which I'm not. Or that I don't get hurt sometimes. Which I do [tear].

I recommend not taking the pre-pre date stuff too seriously. Both of you are probably wondering the same questions - will they like me, will there be [sparks/fireworks/no crying] when we meet and why did they wear one blue shoe and one black shoe. You know, your basic first meeting jitters.

Don't even get me started on the pre-date prep work. I'll save that for another post.

Ta-Dah...I'm In Love!

I can't keep it secret any longer. I am in love.

And you will be too.

Just run out and buy the new Scissor Sister's CD so appropriately named "Ta-Dah". Hey after all, if it's good enough for Elton John to guest "play" on then you know it's gotta be something to give a listen to. But seriously...

Sporting catching song titles like, "She's My Man", "Kiss You Off", "Ooh" and "Paul McCartney" the song lyrics are surprisingly naughty (though you may have to read the inner jacket to figure it out). Other times things take a brief turn for dark during tunes like "The Other Side".

Ofcourse, the uber popular single "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" is also included, and despite the title, will definately make you feel like dancing.

And I'm sure the slapstick vodville sounding "I Can't Decide" is about my ex-husband. Shhhh....

If all 12 songs were ice cream, none of them would be the same flavour. We're talking Chocolate, Very Berry Blast AND Moon Mist. There's no Vanilla here folks. Tracks like "Lights" feature Bee Gees inspired disco-esque beats, enticing even the most hardened criminal into doing the hustle. No, not THAT hustle, the dance. "Ooh" will have you doing the running man...guaranteed. "Intermission" sounds like it could have been featured on The Beatles "Sgt. Pepper".

I mean, look at them - don't they look like they know how to have fun?

Point blank, this CD is a drag queen beauty pagent, fashion show runway and dance party all rolled into one. It's so good that it should come with a warning (or at least you should warn your neighbors) that listening to this CD will result in extreme dancing. Perhaps you might want to close those blinds!

Happy Holiday!

I bet you didn't even know today was a holiday!

Today's International Drive Like An Asshole day - and EVERYBODY'S celebrating...

Unlike other international holidays, you don't need fancy colorful decorations, yummy calorie filled sweets, or shiny sparkly presents for that special someone. In fact, all you need is you. And some bad driving habits. Mullet optional (you know what they say - "business in the front, party in the back").

Why spend the time and energy on "normal" holidays when you can be an asshole for free? [Free does not include the probable cost of increased insurance fees, accumulation of parking tickets and traffic violations.]

So when your friends get caught up in the commericalism of the "normal" holiday season, you can sleep (and act) like a baby by being the asshole you always knew you could be.

Who needs signal lights anyway? They're soooo overrated. Why roll gently to a stop when you can slam on the breaks and make that "skreeeeeeeech" noise with your tires! Talk about getting the attention of the ladies. Stud. Ooops, I meant stupid.

And amber lights don't mean caution, stop if you can - noooooooo, it means you should roar your engine and speed up to make it through the light. Jackass. Ooops, I did mean jackass.

So ask yourself, have you been an asshole today? Yeah, me too ;)

Brace Yourself

This is Cindy. Cindy Crawford. See how happy she looks! Heck, there's even a sparkle in her smile.

It's almost as if she's glad to be wearing braces. Ofcourse, she's probably only 16 in this photo. And it's quite natural for a 16 year old to be wearing braces, and be happy about all the nice things that braces will do for them. I wonder if anyone ever called Cindy Crawford "metal mouth". Probably not.

At 30 (plus 7 and 3/4 months) I am about to get my very own set of hardware. I am not comforted by the fact that Cindy Crawford can make even braces look delightful. I am not Cindy Crawford. And I am not 16.

There are pros and cons to getting them and not getting them. It's definately not for superficial reasons. There are alternatives (like capping all my teeth) but that doesn't sound like something I'd like to have done, even though it is very "in" in Hollywood.

I have questions that I know my dentist can answer, like is pizza in or out? Can I have the clear kind or is it strickly silver for me. And how far can those little elastic thingys shoot?

I wonder what certain things will be like, things that I'm not going to be asking my dentist about, like is kissing going to be weird or painful, or weird and painful? And will I be avoided by men everywhere like some sort of dental leper. Etc, etc.

I have nightmares about my braces getting caught on obscure and ordinary things like tongue rings, chest hair and couches. Perhaps this is just wishful thinking.

Pity Party - table for one?

I'm reminded of the phrase often used by an esteemed colleague that seems quite fitting in this case, "Suck it up!"

El Brrrr deseo que yo fuera en Miami

Right now it is hovering around -31C outside. Es bastante frío congelar pelotas de cobre de un mono.

[I sure hope that translated ok. If not... awkward.]**

See those two over there on the left (or up above, depending on your browser preference)? Yeah, them. That's where I want to be right now. Paraíso.

[Ever notice how everything sounds so sexy in Spanish? Incluso hablando de indigestión rancia.]

This little scenario (courtesy of my unlimited and never ending imaginación) can be summed up in three letters: GSR. And no, I'm no talking about Gun Shot Residue (there is life after CSI). I'm talking about a Guy, a Sunset and a tall glass of coconut Rum and cran-raspberry juice. I guess that would be more like GSTGCRCRJ but some how that's just not as catchy.

Mmmm...Adam Rodriguez (muy atractivo) serving me drinks of coconut rum would be nice. Sin una camisa en. Don't forget the little paper umbrella thingys.

A hammock built for two. Little paper umbrella in my drink. A gentle breeze carrying the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping at the sand's curves. [Sigh] Perfecto. I'm well aware that this is the first official imaginary sunny-destination vacation I've had. Unless you count that one time in Cavendish...

It is only now that I feel warm enough to trudge out into the blustery night and shovel my driveway. ¡Ay! mierda, who am I kidding? I think I'll stay in and watch the Family Guy (esto da una patada al asno).

**For free and easy language translation, click here. The Redhead-Next-Door is not responsible for any [mis]interpretation that may be a result of [mis]using this service. For best results, use in small amounts. Preferably while serving drinks with little umbrellas. Adam Rodriguez optional.

Demise Of The List

It's been a while since I've written a "list update". So long in fact that if you just started reading my blog, you'd wonder (right about now) what the heck I'm talking about.

To summarize, in July I created The List. Basically, it's a list of things I had to do before I was able to accept a dating invite. The purpose of my blog was to tell the tales of hilarity that ensued while completing items on said list. And, true to it's purpose, my blog provided an outlet for some funny stories. Like this. And ofcourse, who could forget this one. Not all of the episodes involved cowboy boots and fishnet stockings. Some involved the men's washroom and an almost run-in with the police. Or me cutting off all my hair. Along the way, I also shared tidbits of random dating advice bestowed upon me by well meaning friends/family/coworkers/random strangers on the street.

To educate as well as entertain, I included dating techniques I learned about including the wedge, and something that rhymes with poprock. And tips for single gals on how to be handy.

For humor (because there wasn't enough already), I tossed in tales of office pranks including a bad case of anal glaucoma and kidnapping a monkey. And random stories about body parts like T and A and bodily functions.

Yes, it's safe to say that I've covered a lot of ground (etc etc) in my blog posts.

In October, I recapped my progress on the List. And that is where the list stands today. So, I've decided to retire. The list.

Don't worry. This won't mean an end to the funny stories. I'm just getting started :)

Honk If You're An ***hole

A youngish sassy redhead exits Shoppers Drug Mart after buying most recent stash of cosmetics. Spots geekyish guy also exiting said store over her left shoulder. Probably just bought condoms she muses.

Their eyes meet across the crowded parking lot, she blushes slightly. He raises his sturdy hand out of his navy wool blend coat pocket and disarms his car alarm. It makes that "beep beep" noise just as she walks by his vehicle. Like the car is electronically whistling at her.

She looks at him, as if to say, ask me out if you dare. His shiney GM with the new car smell does not impress her. He looks at her, as if to say, don't you love my shiney new GM?

The redhead slides into her gently used Toyota with the fake strawberry air freshner smell. Turns the ignition and puts it into drive. She slams on the brakes as the shiney new GM car guy cuts her off in the parking lot. She sighs. And smiles to herself. Perhaps he was only there buying hemorrhoid cream.

When Larry Met Sally

Pre-post qualifier: in my defence this post was absolutely hysterical when I wrote it last night. Now, not so much.

Larry: You realize of course that we could never be friends.
Sally: Why not?
Larry: What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because Oprah always gets in the way.
Sally: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no Oprah involved. Unless there's a Michael Bolton special. I love Michael Bolton. [singing] "How can we be lovers if we can't be friends?"
Larry: No you don't.
Sally: Yes I do.
Larry: No you don't.
Sally: Yes I do.
Larry: You only think you do.
Sally: You say I'm involving Oprah with these men without my knowledge? Without a Michael Bolton special?
Larry: No, what I'm saying is they all WANT you to stop calling "it" a Va-j-j.
Sally: They do not.
Larry: Do too.
Sally: They do not.
Larry: Do too.
Sally: How do you know?
Larry: Because I have a penis. And no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive that calls "it" a Va-j-j. He always wants to get therapy for her.
Sally: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive that calls "it" a Va-j-j?
Larry: No. You pretty much want to get therapy for 'em too.
Sally: What if THEY don't want to get therapy with YOU?
Larry: Doesn't matter because the Va-j-j thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.
Sally: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Larry: I guess not.
Sally: That's too bad. You were the only person I knew in Gander.

Fly the Friendly Skies?

Picture it...a coworker emails you to tell you she has just the guy for you.

Initial thought: Hmmmm...I don't know. But request more details so not to appear too guarded and/or indifferent.

Turns out said "guy for me" is a hunky pilot.

Next thought: Sexy pilot uniform, could possibly be a bonus. Ok, who am I kidding...uniform = BIG bonus not to mention probable good sense of direction. No more getting lost and stopping to ask for directions on romantic weekend get-a-ways.

Hmmm...could be getting a wee bit ahead of myself.

So where can I met this hunky pilot? Well apprently he spends a lot (a lot a lot) of time at the airport and flying around the country/province/county. You don't say...

Next thought: ***** ******!! Remember have never been on airplane let alone flown in one. Have not even set foot in one at airshow.

Possible coincidental ways to casually bump into hunky pilot = none

Unless, pretend I am interested in sky diving or something. Pros: faint in arms of hunky pilot after take off. Cons: forced to jump out of open door of plane to keep up with sky diving appearances.

Could pursue rouse of being undercover journalist and investigating something aviation-based. Pros: Have journalism experience, an excuse to wear high heels/ show off Billy Blanks sculped calfs. An expose on airplane food perhaps? No, been done already. Airplane tires: Rubber or Rubbish? No, too boring. Must seem exciting! Mile high club. No, too easy. Literally.

Decidely must forego the chance at hunky pilot until overcome mad hopping fear of flying. Or until land-based plane is invented.

Today's Post Is Brought To You By The Letters P and J

I can't take it anymore. This cotton and flannel insanity has gone on long enough!

I may sound old and outta touch by admitting this but I don't get some of the latest fashion trends. Moreso the creation and promotion of tulip skirts and bell jackets but do you know what really baffles me?

Pajama pants. "But Erika," I can hear you saying, "what do you have against cotton or flannel cinched just below the waist with a drawstring?" After all, they are super comfy and on the right person can be sexy. You can get them in plaid or with funny little cartoons, or in my Dad's case - with NASCAR insignia.

Ironically I am writing this in a pair of pink flannel bottoms and my pink Miami Ink t-shirt.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against pajama pants worn in the comfort of your own home. It's nice to slip on something soft and warm and comfy when it's cold out, for an evening in playing Scrabble, when you're retaining 3 pounds of fluid or when sittin' round the fire when camping. Hell, I've even worn them to take out the garbage. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I've seen girls wearing them at the arcade while playing Dance Dance Revolution, or while chowing down at the food court. At first, girls were only wearing them to school. Then the schools got wise, and they were banned [the pj's, not the students]. In true teen rebellion, now pajama pants are popping up at the mall, and I don't mean on the rack. Maybe wearing your pajama pants to the mall today is like wearing sweat pants back in my day (which wasn't all THAT long ago). I'm pretty sure it wasn't sexy then either.

I find it hard to imagine if you were a teenaged boy that you would start crushing on a girl after seeing her in the flannels she wears to bed. Then again, I've never been in tune with the thoughts of teenage boys (or boys in general). I know they didn't like wearing sweat pants.

But donning your nightime wear isn't limited to hormonal teenagers. The other day I saw a lady in her 30's in the produce section wearing red flannel pajama pants pushing her grocery cart with her toddler. Did she not sense that people were wondering if she was a bit off?

A young mother was picking her two kids up at daycare yesterday, and yup - had on pajama pants! If your kids are dressed in non-night time clothes it's probably a safe bet that you shouldn't be either.

And I know it's more acceptable to be more daring and baring and all that a la super low rise jeans but come on! It'd be like going to work in your lingerie - probably not going to get quite the rasie you were looking for.

Mmmmm, perhaps I should start a new trend...a small serving of modesty anyone?

And the Winner Is...

It's hard to believe this is my 50th post since I've started blogging back in July 2006.

And what better way to show this redhead your awesomeness love and support than by nominating her (i.e. me) in a category (or three) for the 2007 Weblog Awards aka the Bloggies.

Oh, imagine if I won! It would be better than winning an Oscar. Well, maybe not "the" Oscar but it's way better than being voted "most likely to be on TV with Jim Nunn" like in my high school yearbook senior year. (Sorry Jim)

To nominate me (or to nominate any old blogger if you really need to nominate more than just moi) simply click on the link above and fill out the nomination form. It's that easy! You have until January 10th to get your vote in - finalists will be announced on January 22 with more voting. That voting closes on January 31st (still with me?). The final finalists (aka the winners!) will be posted sometime between March 12-14.

I'm already sooooo excited how will I be able to sleep?

I won't buy your vote but know this, it will make me really really happy ;) And in the words of Britney Spears, "Tell all your friends y'all!" **

**The Redhead-Next-Door in no way implies that Ms. Spears actually used the above noted catch phrase even though it does appear in quotations and does sound like some dribble she would actually say, especially the "y'all" part. By hereby stating this outright, The Redhead-Next-Door and her affliates, The Brunette-Down-the-Street and The Blonde-Across-The-Street
-Round-The-Corner, wash their hands of any potential law suit. We think we've got it covered because there are so many big words in this paragraph that some people might find it hard to understand. Ofcourse, by "some people" we are not necessarily implying Ms. Spears but if some of you think that we are, then we can't get sued for your thoughts. More than likely.

Sweet Dreams, Part Deux

I had the strangest dream! Not kissing Howard Stern kind of strange but more along the lines of chewing Juicy Fruit Blue kind of strange.

I dreamt I was galloping through the jungle on the back of a grey elephant. The wind was whipping my hair behind my back (hey - it's my dream, and in my dream, I had long cascading wavy hair).

But I was not alone...

I leaned back as the elephant slowed. Strattling the elephant behind me was a guy without his shirt on! [Stick with me - it gets way better]. I could not see his face but he had shoulder-length brown hair and a body built for sin, or carpentry, or something. Very muscular thighs, perfect for elephant riding.

A voice told me this hunky guy was my soul mate. Oh yeah - that was my voice.

So it got me thinking, what the heck does this all mean? Sure, the hot guy is easy to explain. But the elephant? I called in reinforcements. And by that I mean, I looked it up on the internet. Ironically, when you dream of an elephant it means that you are going to achieve something you previously thought was unobtainable. Hmmm...interesting.

Sometimes we dream something a bit off the wall. Something unexpected. Our mind can tell us things in such a way that it literally makes no sense (like riding an elephant) but we must learn to trust our instincts (Blue Juicy Fruit there's just something wrong with that!). Our subconscious mind knows what we want. So just go with it. Elephants and all.

[Bloggers Note: That's a representation of me on the elephant with Ashton Kutcher. And yes I know it looks cheesy but that thing took me two freaking hours to Photoshop, so love it or else!]