Top 10 Ways to Be Creative In An Oral Emergency

Another Monday. Another post.

Today I decided to scoff my elimination diet* (scoff scoff) and get a chicken "tornado" wrap from the local "sounds like Tobeys" super-monopoly, er...I mean supermarket store.

I wolfed it down (a cross between inhale and make sweet salvia love to it) and went to grab my handy-dandy purple travel toothbrush for a little oral hygiene pick-me-up before my next client. [Note to self: do not use the word "client" after a sentence containing the phrase "oral hygiene pick-me-up" unless wanting to sound like a wayward wanton tart].

I realized my handy dandy purple travel toothbrush is in my black purse. And not in the snake-skin brown purse I'm sporting today (which nicely matches the snake-skin boots I'm wearing). First thought: Don't panic. Maybe this is the first time in a year you won't have something mangled in the front of your braces like the grill of a 1970 Chevy driving through Alabama in August. Upon closer inspection in the loo, it was now time to panic. Suck me silly and call me crazy but chunks of brown, green and white in your teeth just don't scream "professional" to me.

But in true Redhead-Next-Door-idness why panic when you can get creative...

Top 10 Ways To Be Creative In An Oral Emergency:

1. Fashion piece of paper towel into pointy toothpick thingy except it's paper towel and try to dismangle food chunks. Doesn't have the stiff-as-wood properties like a toothpick. Quite useless really on chicken. Absorbancy qualities might be best left to soup stuck in the teeth.
2. Use piece of fruit, like a grape, for make-shift spongy toothbrush. Run the risk of adding more food to the fire.
3. Attempt to quickly use dinner fork as a toothpick. Run the risk of getting fork stuck in braces. Or getting caught using fork as a toothpick by staffer. Try to keep your cool and state (very matter of factly) "I saw this on Oprah." When all else fails, return to Oprah. She can do not wrong in the eyes of most women. And Dr. Phil.
4. Fashion paperclip into bacteria filled toothpick. Use and hope to goodness sake you don't contract typhoid fever.

Ok, I know I said Top 10...but really what are you expecting after #4? It works. And let us never speak of this again. [hauuuuuck] Does my throat seem red and bumpy to you?

*Elimination diet: when you eliminate certain foods out of your diet to figure out which foods your body is sensitive to. Or in my case, eliminate all foods that taste good. Just when you thought it couldn't suck any more, you eliminate coffee. And then you know what sucks really means.

Karma's a Bitch

Dating is like a box of chocolates, you never know what kind of a guy you'll end up with, or what's in his juicy center unless you take a bite.* [See what happens when I drink more than two cups of coffee in the morning, I get all philosophical and shit].

Whether you enjoy every second devouring that piece of er...chocolate, or spit it out because it's not caramel (your favorite) affects the next bite of the next piece of chocolate.

Before you toss it in the trash you owe the truth to that little (or big) piece of not-the-flavour-you-had-in-mind chocolate. Afterall, chocolate have feelings too. [Just go with it ok].

I do try to tell the truth (in a not-so-harsh way) really I do. I have hurt many a man's feeling over my dating career. And they mine. But sometimes, occasionally, I chicken out. And you know what, it gives me the worst feeling. I like to call that feeling dating karma.

I know that my actions or in-actions/non-truths/non-talking will come back to bite me in the ass. And unfortunately, not in the literal sense. But sometimes I can't help myself.

My latest victim was Ben. He emailed me late Monday afternoon following his 5 days away sans-communicado. His email was light and airy, asked about my weekend and whether I was playing softball that night. Ben made no mention of why he didn't call. And no apology for not calling. He was testing the waters.

I didn't even bother to reply, I just let the email sit in my inbox. Not because I was mad. But because I felt that we both wasting each other's time. He had the looks, the witty, but had zero passion for life. I like someone who can think outside of the box. Clearly all Ben had on his mind was the *ahem* box.

What could I say without sounding like an asshole? "Dear Ben, I'm just not that into you. PS: I took the liberty of signing you up for a "how to please a woman in 3 easy steps" class."

I was hoping Ben would call me that night when I didn't reply and I could at least tell him over the phone. But he didn't. He willingly accepted my silence. True, I could should have called him. But I didn't. And now, I've got some bad dating karma coming my way.

[* The Redhead-Next-Door does not recommend biting metaphorical chocolate].

Wack Job

My super sweet neighbour, I'll call him Danny* (*not his real name), has been helping me with my lawn maintenance. My other neighbour, I'll call him Chip* (again, not his real name), has also been giving me a hand (With his shirt on this time. And trust me, that's a good thing).

Between Chip using his ride-on mower and Danny using his weed wacker, I've barely had to lift a finger so far this summer. It probably helps that I always express how thankful I am for their assistance. Toss in a couple of eyelash flutters, and a short skirt with flip flops, and ta-da! I've got myself a couple of lawn boys. Kind of like pool boys, but without the water/ requests to have help with my sun tan oil.

Danny wanted to make sure my boyfriend wouldn't mind that he was helping me. Awww. Isn't that sweet? Ofcourse I quickly set the record straight. Lawn boys = 2, boyfriends = 0

Yesterday, Danny asked if I wanted to try out his weed wacker. Ofcourse, being the adventureous girl that I am, I said yes. Well, because Danny is: a) a guy and b) bigger than me, the weed wacker looked a lot smaller when he was wielding it like a knight's sword. But when he brought it out of the shed, it was almost as big as I was.

Danny got it started for me, and showed me what the buttons did. It was gas powered so the trigger gave it a "vroom vroom" sound like an engine reving, or a high powered chain saw. I could hardly contain my excitement...I am woman, hear me roar (over the loud roar of my high powered weed wacker).

And then...

I tried to use it.

It was like the machine had a mind of it's own. Plus is was heavier than a dead body (or something). So I could barely move it around. I was throwing my whole body into getting it to move - then it turned into this pendulum-esque swinging motion. Back and forth, back and forth.

Let's just say, it was a massacre. Grass was flying like muppet fur. I decapitated a cedar post holding up my front step. And those poor flowers, they never saw it coming.

The whole "rein of terror" probably only lasted 60 seconds. I shut off the machine. And half carried, half dragged it to Danny. Naturally, he was trying to maintain composure. Which wasn't helped by the fact I was laughing hysterically.

I felt like such a...girl and I needed to be rescued by the big strong man. Danny told me he doesn't mind taking care of it for me anyway. I wonder if his wife minds?

I guess good fences do make good neighbours. Although, I don't have a fence around my house. Maybe it's cute single girls make good neighbours.

Single Girl On A Saturday Morning: The Warm Up

It's official, it has been one month (yesterday) since Liam and I went on our first date.

Tonight, he's planned a 60's themed date [and now you're all thinking about make love not war jokes]. I'm not sure what our 60's date entails but I do know he's tracked down my favorite Beatles movie (Help) and has been compiling music for the occasion, including dusting off his personal collection of Pink Floyd. Liam feels a certain responsibility to make things semi-authentic since he was actually born in the 60's.

He's so creative and knows how to plan. I'm not sure men fully understand how much women appreciate planning and creativity. Or perhaps it's just me.

To get ready for this evening, I'll go through my usual "ritual" of pre-date activities. I'm not sure guys fully understand how much women go through to get ready for a date. Or perhaps it's just me.

Showing up looking "naturally beautiful" is hard work. Observe...

Top 10 Pre-Date Get Ready Activities Done By Women:
- Some sort of physical activity to rid the body of any retaining fluid (level of activity varies from woman to woman, i.e. go to the gym, walk around the block, get out of bed)
- The 3 S's...****, shower and shave
- Pluck random hairs from face, chest, etc
- Condition skin
- Paint nails in pretty color like "Blushed" or "Sheer Innocence"
- Concoct effortless and sexy looking hair do via sheer torture with heated metal appliances like a curling iron
- Forage around dresser drawers for suitable bra and knickers
- Spritz subtle perfume in key areas
- Pick out "knock his socks, etc off" outfit
- Apply layer of natural looking makeup

Wow, I'm tired just writing about it. :)

The Quickest Way To A Man's Heart...

There's 6 days remaining until date #3 with the Englishman and it's hammer time. It's not close enough to panic over my end of the bargain, but this is a strategic move. One that must have some thought put into it. Like strategy in Battle Ship.

Only there'll be no maneuvering to launch a torpedo and take out a sub, or be boarded (well, ok maybe a bit of that). But really, I will find out if the old adage is correct...that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

I sent an email to my coworkers Mary (aka Undercover Mother) and Rowan requesting their assistance with my dilemma. I asked Rowan to name the most delicious mouth watering sinful dessert he's ever tasted. I asked Mary to name the easiest dish she's ever made that yielded the greatest results, er, I mean compliments.

Rowan replied with a discription of a three layed cake his mum used to make (white, "pink" and chocolate with frosting on each layer). It sounded completely disgusting. And apparently she's never used a recipe in her life, she kept it all "up here". As I'm reading the email I can picture Rowan pointing to his head. I think he's trying to derail my dessert plans.

Mary, on the other hand, replied with four little words... "Sex In A Pan."

At first, I though she was just being funny - mostly about my [in]ability to cook, but more importantly that it doesn't matter what I make. It can be a simple dish, but tempting and as hot as hell.

As it turns out, Sex In A Pan is an actual dish. But Mary didn't know the recipe. Luckily, my coworker Mandy has it memorized (no, I didn't ask questions). So now I too have the recipe.

If only I knew what to wear...Pants? Skirt? Dress?

Hmmm...I might have to poll the men on this one.

Single Girl On A Saturday Night: A Whole Lot of This And That

List of things to do Saturday night:

- go to supper with dear friend Nan
- enjoy glass of wine
- clean very dirty house
- magically make piles (and piles) of laundry disappear
- watch movies (Marie Antionette and Running with Scissors)
- do taxes
- take down outside Christmas decorations

Apparently I'm less efficient than previously thought.

Especially after two glasses of wine.

Undiscovered Dating Techniques #4: Ass-traction

Undercover Mother and I were chatting away at work yesterday, discussing her daughter Bridget's most recent object of malefection (i.e. male eye-candy). Let's call him Ted.

Bridget is using a rarely used but powerful technique to get Ted's attention...she's using the laws of ass-traction. Much like the laws of attraction, ass-traction specifically uses the hypnotic powers of the gluteus maximus, much like the effect of a tractor beam on Star Trek, men (and aliens alike) are defenseless.

This technique is especially useful during spinning class, as long as your bike is within ass-traction range.

Employed and enjoyed by men and women, the ass-traction should not be attempted by amateurs. You must be willing to put your money where your ass is (via a few trips to the gym to first make sure you're in prime ass-traction condition). Coordination and tight fitting shorts are a must.

Use at your own discretion.

Single Girl On A Saturday Night: The Ugly Sweater Party

As you know, I like to pirate ideas from fellow bloggers and today's post is no exception! The "Single Girl On A Saturday Night" is a regular feature on Amy's blog. And yes, I do realize it's Sunday already.

Last night my sister Kirsten and I went to an Ugly Sweater Party.

We spent a small chunk of time (quite possibly 60 minutes in total) at three different second-hand stores in a quest to find the ugliest of the ugly to wear.

We found a strong contender at our first stop - a flowered synthetic thingy. And best of all, there were 6 identical sweaters so Kirsten and I could do the "twin thing" which we haven't done since university (probably because we're not actually twins). Unfortunately, the sweaters were $12 each (a bit pricey for second-hand even if they were Tommy Hilfiger and still had the price tags on.) I tried my best to wheel-and-deal offering to take both for $10 total. The shop keeper disappeared out back for a minute and returned to announce that $7 each was as low as she could go and still make money. So we pulled the old "we'll think about it" routine.

Two shops later, we'd found something suitable (in ugliness and in price). My pick was a retina-burning blue and baby diarrhea green striped pullover with smaller lines of mustard yellow thrown in. My sister literally stumbled upon a low cut greenish blueish knit sweater that tied at the elbows, and resembled something a bar wench would have sported back in the 1700's...

We were able to take our time getting ready (a rarity with the kids). Kirsten assisted with my hair which she hasn't done since university (I didn't know it could defy gravity like that). And I didn't even get burned by the curling iron.

My sis even offered to do my makeup too but I'm still scared from when she did a practise run through of my makeup for my wedding 10 years ago - she wanted to achieve a "different" color and opted to add a touch of eyeshadow to the gloss. My lips ended up stained black and goopy. So, I maned the makeup brushes myself. Not that I'm completely hopeless and don't know what I'm doing or anything.

People put some great thought into their sweaters! One guy (who shall remain nameless) wore a black women's sweater, complete with beading and baubles and sequins on the front. Funny part is, he pulled it off, and looked radiant. I never thought I'd say that about a man. The host (a lanky 6"3+ guy) sported a women's cream cashmere belted cardian which made him look like a pimp, albeit, a very soft one.

It was a great time. And gave everyone a great opening line - "That's one ugly sweater!"

I ended up becoming quite attached to my sweater which I was alble to pull off with a sunny yellow collared polo shirt and jeans. In fact, I got lots of compliments.

I guess ugly really is in the eye of the beholder.

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!)]

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.

Single Girl's Guide to Being Handy: Tip #1

Here's the scenario...

You've retired to your fru-fru hotel room for the evening, intent on catching up on some "Sell This House" episodes. After all, carpenters put the handsome in handy. Or something like that. [You don't think well on an empty stomach in this scenario].

You grab a drink, from the four-pack of Pina Colada Bacardi Breezers you drove an extra half hour out of your commute to purchase, at the only liquor store open on Sunday.

You grab a white fru-fru hotel towel from the bathroom so you don't do a number on your nails, and use it to cover the top of the bottle whilst you give a quick twist. But the top doesn't come off. You're really going to town but the cap isn't budging. And then you realize...

Pina Colada Bacardi Breezers aren't twist caps. Frantically, you search your fru-fru hotel room for a bottle opener. Nada. Ok, breathe. You've just got to put those brains to good use and come up with an invention. A bottle cap opener invention. Easy peezy.

Look for something metal you can use for leverage...the lamp? No. The iron? No. The bath tub water spout. No. Getting warmer. The remote control? **** no. It's plastic. You were doing better in the bathroom. Go back in there.

And then, it appears. The small metal square plate on the door frame. Where the movable metal thingy from the door knob clicks in to. Yeah - that! This can be used to pry each little individual groove of the bottle cap open slightly. Then after about a good 10-15 minutes work, presto! You are ready to consume a Pina Colada [or some similarly silly drink made by a manufacturer that has not come into this century and added twist-caps to their beverages].

See, you don't sweat it - you're single AND handy! Whatcha need a guy for when you got great inventions like this? Oh yeah, that whole "penis" thing. Damn.

Undiscovered Dating Techniques #3: The Blogmance

[Cue the violins]

Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler brought us the romance.

Big Brother Allstars Will and Boogie brought us the bromance, the showmance, and the less poetically homance.

I'm pleased to bring you [wait for it]...the blogmance. Ta Da!

The concept of the blogmance is cutting edge dating technology. Observe.

Have you ever read a blog? Well, ofcourse you have, you're reading one right now. But not just any blog. I'm talking about one that is so witty, so carefully crafted, so bloody brilliant, you're left amazed. **Ah hem**

You read every day, without fail. You make comments, without fail. Ok, maybe you don't comment on the slightly boring posts about boy bands and sports but everything else is fair game.

You check out your fav blogger's profile a few times (ok, dozens). Then you start to wonder what this person is like in their regular non-blogging life. You Google them. Then you wonder how some crazy **** like that ended up on Google.

You start to think emailing them might be a good idea. You pose a question, just to make it seem like you're interested in the answer. But you're not really. Unless ofcourse it's to ask if they like to "do the fondue" or about their knickers. Or maybe the Knicks. Because even though you don't fancy basketball, they do.

Then they email you back. Score! You could be onto something here. So, you reply to their reply to your inquiry. Your mind is all swirly with possibilities and low blood sugar. Hotmail must add extra servers to keep up with all the emailing activity. And that's just for the ones you're sending. Actually, you're doing more than your fair sharing of emailing. You shouldn't be doing that.

Wait a minute...oh no. Oh. No.

You, my friend, have become a Blocker [Blogger + Stalker = Blocker]. Now why did you have to go and do that for? I can't coach you on how to have a blogmance if you're going to act like that. Put down the boiling pot of rabbits. Back away from the stove.

Perhaps it's best to leave this technique to the professionals :)

[Note: Let's take care of a little thing I like to call copyright enfringement. The hillarious faux romance novel cover on the left can be found at www.worldoflongmire.com/features/romance_novels/

Random Dating Advice, Tip #2

Last night was tough. Not just because Wentworth Miller didn't remove his shirt during the season premier of Prison Break [sigh] but my softball team, the Shortstops...lost.our.game. Actually "lost" is a kinder, gentler word than some that come to mind [demolished with a capital "D", a**whopped, b***s ripped off and slow pitched to us, ahem...etc].

My sometimes-under-the-radar competitive nature became quite apparent as the game progressed. At first, I tried to keep the four/five/six letter expletives under my breath. In the end, I was like a seasoned navy sailor unleshed during happy hour in Mexico [a trait passed on to me by my paternal grandmother]. The more I tried to concentrate, the more mistakes I made. And it's never a good sign when I begin to roll up the sleeves of my t-shirt (as if freeing my shoulders and/or arm pits will impact my ability to not f*** up). Yes, say hello to the other side of Erika. And it ain't pretty.

Rowdy cheering from our fans, including Undercover Mother, wasn't enough to change the end result. But gee whiz, we're ordering some snazzy team shirts!

I did an hour of Taebo when I got home, to work off the pent up agression (and punish myself for the bad plays I made). Besides, Billy Blanks doesn't care if I swear. Personally, I think he kind of likes it.

Today at work Undercover Mother outed the competitive side of my personality. Hard to believe such a sweet little thing like me could be so expressive (uh huh). Did I mention my nickname at work is Firecracker? Really, they should have seen that one coming. And hello! The redhead/bad temper thing that we redheads try to pretend is just a myth without a shred of substance...so TRUE.

Our veteran coworker Margaret, who we affectionally call Aunt Margie, ducked into my cubicle for "storytime with Aunt Margie". To summerize (you'll thank me) when you feel like you're getting down, remember the sage words of Pollyanna and "always find something to be glad about". I've been advised this can be applied to many areas of one's life (including home renovations and dating to name a few). But especially, to avoid swearing at a shitter-of-a-softball-game.

I'm a real heat-of-the-moment kind of girl, so to ensure cooler heads prevail and all that b***s*** I've decided to make a list [naturally] which I will write down and carry with me at all times. A list I like to call:

Things To Be Glad About When You Really Feel Like Saying F***:
- Ability to stop traffic with leg baring mini-skirt
- Wentworth Miller with/without shirt
- Jellybeans

Does one really need more of a list than that? H*** no. Er, I mean ofcourse not silly.

Ironically, I have been approached by someone interested in collaborating on a children's book/series. I can't even imagine right now what that would look like.

[Un]discovered Dating Techniques #2: The Cock Block

"Cock Block" n. a friend (usually male) that will not allow one, to have any type of relationship with someone else (usually female). Also can be a motor vehicle maneuver, usually done by insecure twenty- something males (who think that everybody wants to race them) and other ignorant people, designed to prevent someone from changing lanes in traffic. [According to the Urban Dictionary...]

My coworker, Bryan stops by my cubicle each week, almost always with the same purpose. Each time, our non-work-related conversation goes a little something like this...

Bryan: "Hi Erika. How's your love life going these days?"
Me: "Er...um, it's non-existant. Thanks for asking Bryan."
Bryan: "I don't know what's wrong with these young guys and why they're not asking you out. I just don't get it. I mean, look at you!"
Me: "Yeah, I don't get it either Bryan." [But thanks for adding to my insecurities]
Bryan: " I know a guy who's single. His name is Pete"...

Bryan then goes on to list all of the great qualities that Pete (or sometimes it's Chris) has: good-looking, smart, funny, works out, knows the words to every Loverboy song, can cook, donated part of kidney to stranger for life-saving surgery etc. The trouble is, Bryan has already told me all of this over a month ago at which time I immediately [ok, with the prompting of my coworker Mary aka Undercover Mother] wrote down my number and email address on the back of my business card. To date, Bryan has not delivered this information to Peter and/or Chris. Bryan has no follow through. His intentions are good but in actuality he's a cock blocker.

My virgin ears [I use that term loosely] had never heard this term before. But thanks again to Undercover Mother for keeping this singleton in the know.

And not all the cock blocking is reserved just for Bryan. There's cock blocking going on all over the bloody place. My friend Nan had this guy, Frank, she was going to introduce me to but was hesitant because she thought I "could do better." Couldn't I be the judge of that? I advised Nan this week I was still waiting to be introduced to Frank. She told me he had met someone and they've been serious for a couple of months. Hello! Cock blocker!

My cublice neighbour Marco was chatting up a hunky police officer outside our office building one morning. When Marco returned to his desk, I asked him about the 411 on Constable Cutie. He promised to look for a wedding ring when he went down to the station for questioning later that day. Turns out Marco's soon-to-be-ex-wife was trying to have him socked with some trumped-up bocus charge. When I asked Marco about Constable Cutie the next day, Marco admitted he hadn't even looked for a ring when he went down to the station to make a statement. What the hell kind of a cock blocker is he? I mean, I know he was facing possible criminal charges but come on...help a single coworker out!

Even my grandmother is in on the cock blocking action. There was a potential guy for me at her church. But does she set up an arranged married with his family? No. And now he's engaged to someone else. Someone whose grandmother is not a cock blocker.

When I managed to meet a half-decent guy [pre-list days ofcourse] my male coworkers thought it was time to cockity-cock-cock-block. My last boyfriend, Gordon, was tortured endlessly. They kindly referred to him as Gargoyle [Gargo for short]. One coworker, Rowan, even suggested I break up with Gargo because he wasn't cool as he was. And why was that exactly? Because he didn't own a convertable. [Ofcourse! How silly of me.]

I think I have entered a parallel cock blocking universe. Population = 1.

**Disclaimer: The term Cock Blocker, as referenced above is a term of affection and is not in any way meant to offend. I still adore my coworkers, my friend Nan and my grandmother .**

Undiscovered Dating Techniques #1: The Wedge

"Wedge" n. piece of material sloping to an edge. - v.t. fasten or split with a wedge; stick by compression or crowding. [According to Webster's...]

I picked up this little gem from my coworker Mary (aka Undercover Mother). Now I consider myself a singleton in the know, but I'd never heard it referenced quite this way before. It's another tool for the dating belt/box/shed. One should proceed with extreme caution when putting this method into action. Again, I stress, extreme caution.

Ever wondered occassionally (ok daily!) why a coworker, friend, or local minister...is going out with her? (Or why is she going out with him, or why is he going out with him, she going out with her, they going out with them, etc etc). You know who I mean, the two peas in a pod are blooming inseperable. He's gaga over her, dispite her lisp and penchant for corduroy jumpers. But you're way prettier. And funnier. But more importantly...you're smarter. Being cursed with smarts, means formulating a plan when you need it most, usually to get what you want.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will have you getting what you want (the prize, er... I mean guy) for a price (self-respect and possibly your reputation). To paraphrase Mary's tidbit of info... you become the "third wheel". Always being around. They go golfing..you're there (asking for help with your swing ;) They go to the movies...you're there (buy popcorn then you have an "excuse" to sit between them...I mean you don't want to be rude and not share!). They go to the therapist...ok you can sit that one out.

Point is, all the while you're being your pretty, funny, smart self. And then, wham bam thank you Mary, he realizes he doesn't want her. You're the answer to his one-handed prayers.

Possible side effects of this technique include:
- bar room brawls
- plastic surgery (but only if her fist makes direct contact with your skin)
- guilt
- karma...one day becoming the "wedgie" instead of the "wedger"...being a wedger is one thing, I don't think anyone wants to be a wedgie

Now you can imagine my reaction when Mary finished telling me about this technique. Yes, part of it sounded a bit off but I actually considered giving it a go (prior to writing my list). And I knew precisely the couple to wedge.

The guy, we'll call him Dr. Ashley, had been my professor in university (please note: there's only a 3 year age difference). We'd met up for drinks every now and again. The last time I'd seen him was at her office Christmas party. (Side bar: I'd been invited by a computer techie I was seeing at the time. No chemistry. Moving on). I had a "contact" who worked the front desk at the gym Dr. Ashley works out at. My plan was to see if he went around the same time every day and then I could oh-so-casually bump into him. Glitch #1: Dr. Ashley hadn't been there in months. Plan B was to email him and say I'd heard he'd taken the plunge and proposed to her (although the good doctor swore up and down during our hard lenonade rendezvous he would never marry her). Glitch #2: They were bloody well engaged. Glitch #3: I was semi-happy for Dr. Ashley. So she wasn't perfect. She wasn't me. I kind of actually liked her (way deep down). Besides, was this any way to treat a fellow redhead? Even if her hair desperately needed a hot oil treatment.

So there you have it. I have a conscience. It's dusted off.

Random Dating Advice, Tip#1

If you've ever been single/ engaged/ wish you were engaged/ married/ wish you weren't married/ pregnant/ not pregnant/ and/or alive on this planet then chances are you've been on the receiving end of...random unsolicited advice.

Such advice can come at you from anyone (random stranger in line at local Tim Horton's), at anytime (while pondering why they even make single-ply toilet paper during much needed pee break in ladies room at mall during shopping extravaganza) and about anything (why to avoid hormone replacement therapy).

But occasionally, and ironically, you'll get some bloody good advice that is actually useful. At a time when you are ready to put it to good use. Yesterday was my lucky day.

Ok, so there was this guy (it's hard to believe as you're reading this, but not all of my stories start out this way). This guy...we'll call him Peter, the Parts and Service guy. Peter was quite charming and sweet, in a quasi-geeky way (the heck with bad boys...I'm a sucker for a geek). He'd been quite friendly with me over the past couple months while my car (only) was being serviced. I literally was into the dealership every week; people were beginning to think I worked there! The part didn't fit but they ordered a new one..could I come back next week or my bill wasn't ready, could I come back next week. Hmmm...sounded like someone was working up the guts to ask me out. Did I mind? Well, I didn't like the hundreds of dollars it was costing me to fix my car but if it resulted in my car getting fixed (a necessity), and a date invite (a bonus), then the answer is no.

Possible snag...unknown maritial status. My guy rader screamed "single" but it's iffy at best. Time for some MSI (maritial status investigation) care of my coworker, Mary. She is one of my biggest dating allies at work. Not just because she is like-minded singleton and is how I see myself in 20 years but because of her gusto in getting info on men. I call her "Undercover Mother".

Within minutes Mary was able to get the goods. Not those goods...the info on Peter. Turns out Peter sounds suspiciously like the live-in boyfriend of another coworker's friend. But she wasn't 100 percent undeniably sure, more like 85%. Hmmm....15% in my favour. I'm not a gambling gal (especially after this saga) but took those odds. Self-respect is so overrated.

Enter coworker Sally, Mary's cube farm neighbour. She just happened to be semi-eavesdropping (a popular sport enjoyed by everyone in the office) at that very moment on Peter-update convo with Mary. Sally went to high school with Peter, who's nickname was "rhymes with peep". Er, ok. He was kind enough to impregnate one of his high school classmates. He also has a baby with his live-in girlfriend but makes time to have affairs with other women. And something about bad eyesight? Quite possibly I stopped listening after the "rhymes with peep" word was uttered. Definately not exception-to-the-list material.

Only one question remained: Where the heck did I go so awry in my assessment of the situation? I'm tired of investing shameless flirting time with off limit guys. Sally offered me this tidbit of advice: the outgoing guys that flirt shamelessly are usually the ones who are in a relationship; they have nothing to lose by shamelessly flirting, they will end the conversation and go home to their significant other. Single guys on the other hand, want to impress you, so they tend to be a bit more reserved thus carefully crafting a way to impress you.

Complete and utter...sense.