Hand-y

I sometimes wonder how I come across to guys. My coworker Rowan has already informed me that men find me intimidating. I think he's just trying to make me paranoid [ok, it's only half working]. When I think I'm being all Wonder Women-esque, are men thinking I'm more Wonder Bread-esque?

Case in point...

[I find "case in point" a weird saying, probably because it reminds me of "case of beer" which is even funnier because I haven't been able to drink beer since I got horribly sick off a tall-boy can of Keith's when I was a mere 14. To add to the "color that is my life" I find a man drinking out of a beer bottle amazingly sexy and impossible to resist].

To my mum who is probably reading...the whole beer thing was my first time drinking. *wink*

Oh wait, you just read that wink didn't you?

To my mum who is probably reading, I didn't mean to wink. ;)

Moving on.

Remember when I kicked all kinds of handyman ass and put up a new mailbox for my Nana? Well some of the local fuckos* admired my handy work so much they stole the mailbox. And the wooden post it was attached to. And the wooden post that wooden post was attached to, and nestled in the ground.

So Sunday afternoon I took my Nana to the local hardware places to scope out something more...durable. I thought it would be funny to get one that would deliver an electric shock to anyone who is within shocking range for longer than 10 seconds. But they were on back order. Instead we opted for one of those plastic looks-like-one-piece but are actually many pieces mailboxes. I liked this option because it comes with almost everything you need. Everything except a 4" x 4" piece of lumber.

Being newly single, it was time to brush up on my flirting skills. And what better way to get back at 'er than with a hunky hardware guy. I sauntered up to the counter and was greeted by the biggest sly smile I've gotten in a while. He was so rugged looking - shoulder length dirty blonde hair (nicely conditioned), scruffly semi-bread, rippling muscles and a golden tan. Like a guy who works outside a lot. Or a golden retriever. And sure he was missing a few of his fingers on his right hand (so safety isn't his thing ok?). But still. Mmmmm...

Wait, where was I?

Ahem. Yes, wood. Er, a wooden post. So he helped me pick the length (I opted for an 8 foot post cut down to 6 feet). My Nana was questioning what tools I was going to use to dig a hole big enough for the post and to assemble the mailbox. I kept telling her it'd be no problem and that all I needed was a shovel, a drill, a screwdriver and a socket wrench. The hunky hardware guy seemed impressed that I knew my tools (boy, do I!). By the time I got to the cash register, I was sweating. And it wasn't from any heavy lifting (he did it all). Even my Nana was checking him out and making highly inappropriate comments (thank goodness I was the only one in ear shot).

In retrospect, it took just shy of two hours to dig (down almost three feet) and assemble the finished product. I ended up sawing the 6 foot post down to 4 feet. But man-o, that thing looks ****ing awesome. And there's no way some fucko* is lifting it, let alone walking away with it.

I can't help but wonder what the hunky hardware guy was really thinking when he was helping me. I hope he wasn't thinking about toast.

* The word fucko was first coined by Peter DeWolf.

Survey Says...

Come to Momma

Dear Bloggie,

Please forgive me. I've been a very [very] bad girl.

It was not very nice of me to go away like that so suddenly. Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh. It's ok. Erika's back.

There's a lot that's happened since I've been away. To get you up to speed (without the filler and shameless swearing - well, maybe a bit of the swearing), I thought it'd be best to do a...wait for it...list. I know how you like lists. And when I do that special swirly thing with my tongue.

Top 10 Things That Happened While I Lived As A Non-Blogger:
- Took 3 hour allergy test (using both forearms, plus a bicep). Threat of death if consuming nuts or shelfish replaced by much more practical allergy to all trees and grass.
- Slacked off training for marathon. Will now amp up (ie. start) training and run 10 km in three weeks.
- Gained 5-7 pounds (or possibly 20...I don't own a scale and just ask Mr. Stewart, my Grade 10 math teacher, I was never good at guessing)
- Stopped buying succulant celery because my [ex] boyfriend Liam thinks it tastes like water (yes, yes, we're getting to the "ex" part)
- Had horrible drama-filled Sunday morning complete with door slamming, yelling, breaking up and Tim Hortons and uneaten raisin bread toast. Still bruised from quick and painful fall from Cloud #9.
- Considered taking Liam back
- Considered becoming a lesbian
- Remembered I like penises and teeny tiny man boobies
- Had heart-to-heart talk with Undercover Mother complete with crying, ice cream and cotton candy
- Renewed [possibly lifetime] membership to the "Single Girls Club"

See, you didn't miss too much.

Erika

Blog Today. Gone Tomorrow.

Dear Blog,

As I approach my 100th post in 10 months (9 more to go!) I'm amazed...

At the crazy topics I've covered.

The things I've done in the name of "research".

The high consumption of booze.

The bad dates (too many).

The good dates (just enough).

The high consumption of booze.

I've come a long way from the no-dating-til-it's-all-done-list little Redhead-Next-Door. Now I'm in a normal well-adjusted albeit crazy-in-love relationship. And I have you to thank dear Blog [well that, and my fantastic bottom].

We had some great times Blog. We've laughed. We've cried. We've had pillow fights in our underwear.

But now, it's time to say goodbye. I know this isn't something that we've talked about, but we always knew one day we would go our seperate ways.

I will miss you Blog; you were my first.

xoxo, Erika

[Post Blog Post Note: Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting over the last 10 months. I love you all! I'll be starting up another blog soon. For anyone who'd like the link, send me an email at redhead-next-door@hotmail.com].

Zoom Zoom Zoom

I'm quickly learning that guys love tinkering and general fix-it's for a woman in need ["need" is often self-determined by said guy]. More than likely an automatic response that can be tracked back to caveman days when the cave dude was always trying to help a cute cave girl reach the cub off the top rock. Guys like to feel wanted and needed. It's not rocket science.

Liam offered to check out my stereo system because the sound in the right side speaker was dodgy. He peered around the component, and promptly asked for a flashlight so he could examine the wires and determine the problem. Ofcourse, I was assigned to be the pretty tech assistant/ flashlight holder. Liam was able to figure out after 2 seconds that my problem was "I need a man" for various things about the house. Ah huh. [I did get him back the next day while cooking lunch, he was unable to put saran wrap over a container of leftovers, so I told him he "needed a woman."]

In addition to gaget and electronic diagnosis, men also like taking on internet -based "research" for their girlfriend/ partner/ wife/ girl they're shagging. And no, I don't mean THAT kind of research. I'm talking safety ratings and fuel economy.

I'm in the market for a new car. While my current car is in relatively good condition considering it's age (think Demi Moore), I'm concerned about it's dependability (think Bruce Willis). With every thump, whirl and swish, I become more convinced that I should turn down the bass and stop listening to Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back" and pay more attention to what's going on under the hood/ axel/ splash guard.

Liam was sweet enough to take me out for a test drive on Friday (the cars, not me). I had explained that I already knew which dealership I wanted to deal with (Toyota), and which car I wanted (Corolla Sport in impulse red). Naturally, being the man who's researched (and researched), he didn't want his careful hours of auto anaylsis to be wasted, so he pursuaded to get me to try a few others cars to get a feel for quality and performance.

The first dealership we went to had shoddy customer service. After our test drive, the saleman asked Liam what he thought of the car. Playing it "cool" Liam said that he really really liked it. I, on the other hand was not convinced and the salesman knew it. Silence sayd a lot.

Trying to work his salesman magic, the man offered that Liam's opinion didn't matter as I was the one with the decision making power. Well duh. Obviously he thought we were purchasing a vehicle together, and figured that women hold a lot of weight when it comes to making big ticket purchases. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

The next dealership had over-the-top customer service. The salesman explained every single minor detail about the car - what every button did. The 400 pound salesman was leaning in from the driver's side door (I was sitting in the driver seat trying to remember which button gave the oil readout and which one pumped up the seat). He was two inches from my face the whole time, I was trying not to laugh, wondering whether I should smoke a cigarette afterwards.

We saved the best for last and Toyota did not disappoint. The moment Liam sat in the driver's seat and felt the leather bound steering wheel, he was hooked. I'll never forget his words, "You were so right, this car is THE ONE." We drove up to the Wal-Mart car park and I hopped into the driver's side, feeling a bit less nervous about driving a brand new car. I drove about 5 feet - the length of one parking space (just like in that car commercial) and said, "I like it!" Then we laughed hysterically.

Liam did show me how to measure performance and quality versus value for your money. Plus, he got to reve some engines and drive some cars. But sometimes you just need a woman ;)

Every Body

Once in a while, you just have to stop and ask yourself, "What the fuck?" Because there are some things in this world that just don't add up [Like the continuing popularity of Ron Jeremy].

Or, like this binding is-it-a-diaper or-is-it-a-straight-jacket contraption (see right). No doubt, it was designed by a man because there's no way a sista would do this to another sista.

This tighty whitey body cast inspired undergarment is one of many similar lingerie warfare pieces pictured in North American department store catalogues.

Sheesh, remember when the bra and pantey section of the catalogue served to inspire moments of self-lovin' ? Ah, the good old days.

Since when are women expected to eradicate all traces of their curves in exchange for smooth silhouette lines you could bounce a quarter off? There is so much pressure on women to conform. Remember pre-Ben Afflect Jennifer Lopez? You don't? Um ok. How about ahhhhhh.....well, it's happening ok!

Surely men don't want to spend precious minutes (or hours depending on manual deterity) unwrapping a woman who's bound like an Egyptian style mummy. Could you picture a dude wearing one of these to feel better about how he looked in clothes? Exactly.

So women, embrace your curves - all of them. Being comfortable enough to breath is way sexier than elastic-y containment. For the first time ever in a relationship, I actually feel sexy without trying so hard or feeling the need to be perfect and failing that, covering up. Before, I'd always buy a new shirt to wear for a date or exercise like a leg-warmer-wearing maniac. But Liam makes me feel sexy without feeling like I need to have my ta-ta's flanked by low cut v-neck shirts all the time.

Ladies, you don't need to hide what God (or Haagen-Dazs ice cream) gave you. Men, am I right or am I right?

Blog Post Fact: I ate a second helping of cheesey mashed potatoes while writing this post.

[Post Blog Note: I'm not sure what brought on this tirade. Perhaps it's the Vex I'm drinking right now (note to self:Vex makes you an angry albeit literary gifted drunk).]

Not-So Mellow Yellow

When I first got my braces put on, I was given the option of picking the color of the bands that hold on the wire running across my upper jaw.

There was probably about 20 colors to chose from ranging from grey [too boring and/or robotic] to pink [too girlie] to orange [too raver] to blue [too boyish] to green [needs no further explanation]. This is to make braces wearing fun for the children and teenagers of the world, who account for 99.9% of the braces wearing population. The dentist that was doing my braces told me that pink and purple were the most popular colors for girls. Uh huh.

I had to choose wisely because the bands would be on for 4 weeks. Hmmm...let's be logical about this...what's going to match with most of my clothes and accesories. Being the smarty-thinking-ahead kind of gal that I am, I went with white (which for those of you in the "know" realize that white is not an actual color but I digress). My rational was that at least it would look natural, and minimize the visual effects of the grey metal against my teeth.

And it worked. From Wednesday to Saturday, I was told by coworkers, family and friends that you could barely notice I had braces at all. Naturally, I gave myself a hearty pat on the back.

That Saturday I went over to Liam's for supper, etc. Since my teeth were still very tender, he put careful thought into the menu, and what I was actually going to be able to tongue on the roof of my mouth and then swallow.

Liam is a fabulous cook. He likes things spicey - just like me. He decided to cook up a yummy curry, mushroom, pepper and potato dish. It was sooooooo delicious.

After supper I headed to the bathroom to brush/floss/mouthwash [repeat] the gobs of food stuck in my braces. Imagine my shock and horror when I looked in the mirror and noticed that my nice white bands were now a bright glowing neon curry-yellow color.

I brushed and brushed and brushed (all the while trying not to piss myself laughing). Still bright yellow. It reminded me of that episode on Friends when Ross whiten's his teeth and they glow in the dark. Now instead of looking like I had white teeth, I looked like I was a three pack a day smoker. My only consolation was knowing that at least they weren't green (or even much worse, brown).

When I went to the dentist for a quick check up the next week, I ran into the dentist that put on my braces and told her my funny story (of which I'm sure there will be lots over the course of the next two years). Without missing a beat, she said, "Oh didn't I tell you that? And, mustard is just as bad."

Alrighty then. Lesson learned.

Maybe next time I'll just get pink. Then at least I'll look like I have gum disease instead.

A Face Even A Mother Could Love

Once in a while (though you'd think I'd learn my lesson by now) I am persuaded by the relentless Peter DeWolf to try something new.

His most recent quest is to recruit people to join Facebook. I firmly believe he holds shares or some sort of stake in the Facebook corporation. Free questionable massages perhaps.

I now tenderly refer to Peter as my "dealer" and Facebook is my "drug" of the moment. I only joined tonight and spent a mind boggling two hours like that [snaps fingers] when I could have been typing up a really good blog post. Because after all, let's face it - you all deserve one after all the non-posting that's been going on around here.

So instead of thinking of something clever, I'm left scrambling to crank something out before Dancing With The Stars comes on.

There's a whole lot of stuff I had planned to do tonight. Heck, I was going to be (dare I say...) productive.

Here's just a few of the very important things I was going to tackle BFB (before Facebook):
- 5 loads of laundry
- 1 sink full of dirty dishes
- 2 unruley eyebrows
- 1 drawer of un-color coded knickers
- 2 unmade beds
- 1 ultra-funny blog post
- 1 Glamour magazine
- 3 car quotes
- 1 mini-pedicure
- 60 minutes of quality time with Billy Blanks
- 1 piece of chocolate chunk cheesecake

And here's what I've accomplished:
__________________________

Ok, so I DID eat the cheesecake. Oh well, I guess there's always tomorrow.

Eb and Flow

Yowza.

Hormones + full moon = one wacky girlfriend

Today it's Wednesday. The universe has returned to normal. Liam and I have returned to normal. He came over after work this morning. We talked, we laughed, we kissed (not necessarily in that order :)

Thank you for your advice, words of support and recommendations of mental health treatment facilities. It was appreciated.

Fighting Fair

After 6 weeks of passionate bliss Liam and I are having our first fight [or "row" as the English say]. At least I think that's what this is.

Although, I thought I remembered fights being two sided, back and forth, and then lots of making up. I guess we've had two mini-versions of those types of fights which lasted all of 30 seconds (the two sided back and forth part and not necessarily the making out...er, I mean making up part).

This is different. He needs a few days to think. I'm not sure what happened exactly but apparently "it" got him thinking following our phone conversation yesterday morning. I was [admitedly] cranky and appologized in advance for [any] potential attitude. But mostly I was quiet. I didn't want my crankiness to rub off on him. (Yes, I really am THAT thoughtful).

I knew something was up today when I didn't hear from him until mid-afternoon. But I was thinking more along the lines of heavily involved in home renovation project, was in car accident, got deported, or (my favorite) was busy planning something sweet to cheer me up. If only...

And now, I feel like a woman possessed.

Normally, something like this wouldn't bother me. And I've come to the cold hard realization it's because I've never cared this much about any guy. Ever. Period. I love him.

I'm sick to my stomach. I can barely see through the tears to type this. And don't even get me started about the snot dripping from my nose right now.

To top it off the radio is playing songs like "Mad About You" by Belinda Carlisle.

I called, once. I emailed - the first time to say I "understood" (no, no, I don't really) and he could take a few days to think, and the second time to pour my heart out because I can't wait any longer. I fear telling him too much, or worse, not telling him enough.

It would be easier if I knew what was on Liam's mind. After all, I was president of my high school debate club. Perhaps I'm over reacting.

I feel so vulnerable and open. So this is why I usually keep that wall up around me.

I guess I'll just keep refreshing my email screen to see if he's replied. (Nope).

Arg. This sucks.

[Post Blog Update: My soul-baring and email screen refreshing have paid off. Liam is coming over after work. ]

Waa-Waa Whaa-Whaa

Ever wonder what it would be like to talk like Charlie Brown's teacher for a day?

Me either.

Sadly, the fates have other plans for me.

Right about now it feels as though the thorny crown of Jesus (a la his crucifixition) has been shoved right into my mouth. Actually, more like a new-age thorny Jesus crown made of metal instead of wood. Same great gashes and tears, without the wooden aftertaste.

Perhaps the pain meds and booze are wearing off.

Perhaps this is the kind of pain men feel when they receive a quick sharp kick to the kajones. Except the pain is in my cheeks. Like a set of aching throbbing cheek kajones.

And the pain meds and booze are working again.

The Last Supper

Tomorrow morning I'm getting my braces on.

Tonight I wanted to go crazy for my "last supper" so I could enjoy all these foods I'm not going to be able to eat for a FEW YEARS! Like poutine...Mmmmm...

I was heading over to my Nan's to help her with some chores and told her not to make supper, as I was bringing something delicious. She'd already had a pork chop dinner in the works. "But Nan, I wanted something good," I said.

Oops. I didn't mean it like that.

So then I felt guilty and agreed to eat the pork chops. That was my last supper. Of great substance anyway.

What bothers me the most is how girls keep telling me how braces will be a great way to lose weight. Uh huh. I don't want to lose weight. Any thinner and I'd make Nicole Ritchie look fat.

But seriously...I'm super stressed right now about my impending dental fusion with metal. I'll be ok after that initial mirror reveal, but until then, pray for me :)

Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm... #3

A certain blogger friend of mine who shall remain nameless rhymes with Heater is into tracking people who visit his blog.

I thought it would be interesting to see who was reading obsessively fixating on mine [yes, you like me, you really really like me]. Anyhoo on rhymes with Heater's recommendation I signed up for the handy dandy randy services of "My Blog Log".

One of said services is what I like to call a "web crumb". Much like Robert Downey and Britney dropped rehab bread crumbs to find their way back to Oz - a web crumb shows how readers found stumbled upon your site by complete accident, whether from a google search or via site link from another equally well endowed scripted blog.

And since I can't make **** like this up, I decided it was definately list worthy.

Things People Are Searching For With Google & My Blog Showed Up in the Results:
- redhead sparkly signs
- sluty figure skaters
- wedgie techniques
- hot lady next door
- angry ferret photos
- cute redhead at the office
- medicinal use of ketchup
- what would brian boitano do
- men answering door in bra
- sexy msn addys
- top 10 things to look forward to after 50th birthday
- strip scrabble
- office cubicle decorating
- sluty redheads
- sexy laryngitis voice
- erika with a k
- hungrey joes wives, and my personal favorite...
- big boobs jello wrestling

And to think, I'm the one common denominator in all this.

I'm baaack

After a brief (ok much too much, long hiatus) I'm desperately trying to play catch-up with my favorite blogs. It's exausting really. You've all been very busy while I was on cloud 9...you've been getting jiggy-with-it, growing old gracefully, manhandling wood, bra shopping and drinking some really weird **** posing as pop.

That's pop. Not poop.

The humor, the swearing...It's all coming back to me.

I've missed you.

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. :)

Sha La La La La La La

There seems to be a rather nasty case of the "blog-blocked" going around, and I'm definately not immune.

When I'm finding it hard to come up with something to write, I look to my fellow bloggers for ideas to pirate, er...I mean to provide inspiration. I'm routinely "inspired" by Amy and Peter. Today, it's Sean's turn.

Sean threw down an invite to list "10 songs you HAVE to sing along to when they come on the radio/ipod/whatever. Those songs that you can't skip past, you can't turn the dial, you have to turn the volume up and sing along with." Sounds like just the thing I need to get inspired for more blogging :)

So...here's my list. Please keep in mind that I can't sing. I only sing when I'm alone (in the car, in the shower, in the photo booth at the carnival).

The Top 10 Songs I HAVE to Sing Along:

1. "Bootylicious" by Dentiny's Child
2. "Heterosexual Man" by Odds
3. "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" by Scissor Sisters
4. "Working For The Weekend" by Loverboy
5. "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top
6. "Love Fool" by the Cardigans
7. "Chotee" by Biff Naked
8. "Make Me Over" by Hole
9. "Love Will Keep Us Together" by the Captain and Tennile
10. "Addicted To Love" by Robert Palmer or "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer

It was quite hard to condense my list to only 10 - it's really missing some ABBA, Bee Gees and Bon Jovi. I make no apologies for my taste in music. Or my lack of singing talent :)

Thanks Sean, I'm feeling less blog-blocked already!

Memory Loss and The Joy of Dating

My current dating situation and "head up in the clouditis" is beginning to have a bit of an impact on... well, everything.

On Tuesday morning I was half way to work when I noticed that my son was still sitting in the back seat of the car. I'd completely forgotten to drop him off at school.

Well, it's not like I left him at home or anything...

Random Compliment, #4

Today I was at a "Crisis and Transition" seminar for work. During our morning break, a lady who works in my department and I were making idle chit chat. We see each other occasionally at the same meetings and training seminars but we don't work out of the same office.

She asked me whether I had any children. I replied yes, that I have one son. Naturally, her follow up question was, "how old is he?" I replied, "He's ten."

"Ten?" she asked (partly to me, partly to herself). I could see her trying to do the math in her head...

"I thought you were only 22," she said.

I was tempted to say, "Well, I was married very young." [Which is very true. Though I certainly wasn't 12]. But I didn't. I explained that I'm actually 30 (and 3/4's). She looked relieved.

And I thanked her for making my day.

But in actuality, it freaked me out. Because then I start to think about things like...he will be eligible to drive a motor vehicle in 6 years. And in 8 years he'll be off to university.

I will only be 38 when he goes to university. 38!

Hey, wait a minute...

Single Girl On A Saturday Night: Cloud #9

Will somebody please pinch me?

Ouch! What the hell did you do that for?

Oh right, I asked you to.

So, my Single Girl on A Saturday Night feature is a bit late. Ok, 3 days late. But it's so hard to write a blog post when your head is up in the clouds all swirly thoughts and stuff. And it's so hard to see to write a blog post when your eyes are all dreamy and stuff.

I went to Liam's on Saturday evening. We cooked supper (chicken curry stew). Yummy!

We drank white wine (Fish Eye). Intoxicating!

We watched the start of the lunar eclipse. Breathtaking! We forgot about the lunar eclipse. That's ok!

We played three rounds of Scrabble (with bets). Rewarding!

Toward the end of the evening he whispered something in my ear that was so sweet and sincere I almost cried. I've never experienced anything quite like this before; it's different. I'm not sure how. Just that it is.

If I am dreaming, I never want to wake up.

Except to pee. I can imagine urine soaked sheets are not a fun experience.

[Post Blog Note: We didn't actually get to eat dessert. But I left it at his house for him to enjoy. Solo ;) ]

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.

The Arm Not Taken

The rain has stopped and here comes the sun. I've narrowed down my dating prospects from 3 to 1 in as many weeks. The last man standing is the charming Englishman, let's call him Liam.

Yesterday, we had our second date at a local cafe. Liam now refers to it as "our cafe". [sigh]

Part of the reason I like him is because he finds my awkward dating blunders endearing and not a sign to run for the nearest exit.

Example #1: During a bit of a lull in the conversation, I asked him "What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" After a thoughtful pause, Liam explained he had once purchased a $150,000 car. Naturally, he threw the question back to me (I really should have my own answer prepared before asking that sort of thing). I inappropriately blurted out that I once played a game of strip poker. Curious, Liam asked if I still played. Again, I blurted, "No, I'm not very good a poker." He found this quite amusing. But I didn't stop there...I went on to say that perhaps I should stick to something I'd be better at, like strip Scrabble. He asked for clarification ofcourse about whether it was the stripping or the Scrabble I was good at while trying to keep a straight face. Then we just sat there for a moment. He admitted that he was still thinking about Scrabble and perhaps we should change the subject, so I proceeded to ask him about his favorite color. [It's blue].

Example #2: After our lunch we were enjoying our beverages, coffee (Liam) and tea (me). I asked the waitress for a glass of water, and then went on to explain that my facialist advised me to drink 2 glasses of water for every cup of tea or coffee I consumed. I hadn't realized I was so thristy and began really sipping the water back through my straw. I paused to take a breath and my straw flew up out of my glass, flinging water on my face and arm. I laughed, and then said that obviously, the water is absorbed much quicker into the body if you apply it directly to the skin instead of drinking it.

Example #3: Being the perfect gentleman, Liam walked me to my car after we left the cafe. He pointed out some ice off to right on the sidewalk (this was my cue to take his arm because I was wearing heels and he didn't want me to fall. He did the same thing on our first date and then informed me that any arm taking would have consequences, like a kiss on the cheek). I neglected to take his arm. When we reached my car, I being the graceful singelton that I am, muttered "So I assume somebody will be in touch?" Liam smiled and said that somebody would be in touch.

Back at work I was retelling my dating awkwardness for the benefit of my coworkers who are smug marrieds and have to "live vicariously through me". Within a half an hour there was an email in my inbox from Liam asking if he could cook me supper next weekend.

I offered to bring dessert and my Scrabble board (for a regular game ofcourse).

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.

An Open Letter to My Ex-Boyfriend

Dear [insert name here],

I've deleted your email address so I couldn't send a reply to your too-little-too-late email. Here's all the things I wanted to say about why we "didn't/ don't/ won't work" but held back...

#1: You don't know how to say what you really mean and mean what you really say. Unless it's about something no one cares about, like wind surfing.
#2: You make the worst coffee I've ever tasted (I never thought "ass" was a coffee flavour til I met you).
#3. Yes, that huge crack across the front windshield of your car is unsafe and does make you look like you are too cheap to replace it.

Ok, I'm having way too much fun now...

#4. I find it hard to date a man that wears the same waist-size pants as I do.
#5. I hate the person I become when I'm around only you (too sensitive and too accomodating).
#6. The bumbling fumbling stuttering almost-gentleman Hugh Grant routine is only endearing when done by Hugh Grant.
#7. Ok, so you're a good kisser. But that won't keep a girl warm at night.
#8. You've never actually been in love (your words). I guess you mean, with someone other than yourself...

There. I feel way better now that I got that off my fantastic chest.

Erika

PS - I probably should have told you all of this in the car that day you drove me home. But I knew you weren't being straight with me (I guess some things never change). It seems I've grown tired of being the only one telling the truth.

I really do wish you the best. With someone else.

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.

Dead On Arrival

See this guy? He's not a doctor but he plays one on TV.

In a moment, he's going to place those paddles on a patient.

I think I could use his services on the men I've been dating lately. They all seem to have had their heart stopped (or even worse, ripped out) by their ex-wives/ ex-girlfriends/ ex-housekeepers.

Much like a critical patient laying unconscious on an ER stretcher, these guys are in no condition to be out walking about with non-patients and going out on dates as if they're whole.

But they do.

And I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. I could manage a little mouth-to-mouth but that's about the extent of my medical training.

So we all know how this ends. Things are DOA before the entrees.

Which is a pitty. Because I was really looking forward to dessert.

I Think I Love You (And You, And You, And Ooooo Definately You)

Happy Valentine's Day to all you singletons and smug marrieds out there in Bloggerland!

Unlike most Valentine Days, I did not harbour any bitterness to the lovey dovey couples of the world who continue to shamelessly flaunt their commitment to love. Nor did I feel the urge to biff a hard biscuit at the heads of couples strolling hand in hand down the sidewalk. And not once did I feel the need to puke at the sight of ugly girls on the arms of their obliviously cute boyfriends. Perhaps I have turned over a new leaf. And perhaps I've realized that even ugly people deserve to be happy.

It's turning out to be a banner year.

But seriously, this is the first Valentine's Day that I'm not sulking about feeling sorry for myself because I'm single. I was actually happy today instead milling about at the pity party.

To celebrate my lessons learned and personal growth, I bought myself some top notch flowers - after all, I deserve it. Personal growth is hard work! I also picked up a bottle of wine (which I'm already 3/4 of a glass into and becoming rather silly) and some portabello mushrooms so I can cook up my piece de la resistence - stuffed mushrooms! Yummy.

I guess I've learned to love the one you're with, even if you're the only one in the room. Because if you don't love yourself, who will.

Ok, that sounds way too philosophical this far into a glass of wine. Enjoy your awesomeness!

XOXO, Erika

Sweet Dreams, Third Edition

Last night I had QUITE the dream.

But I can't write about that. So, I'll tell you about another dream I had...

I was at a record store, searching for some CD I really wanted. But was having a hard time finding it. Probably because I was browsing in the LP section. As I was flipping through the album covers, I kept saying "No...no...no...no..." to each one I glanced at. [I know, I know - already you can see how this is going to go down in the "analysis section"].

[Sidebar: When I was a "newbie" in the world of student journalism I had the pleasure of working with a cool-as-shit Editor-in-Chief, let's call him Josh. He was effortlessly cool with his rumpled brown hair, like a modern day James Dean, but not gay. I mean, this guy even made cigarettes look cool. This one time at the pub he picked me up and swung me around on his shoulders like he was a figure skater or something. Sigh.]

Anyway back at the CD store in the LP section...

Josh (see sidebar) runs up to me, takes a hold of my shoulders with his big strong hands and says "I've been looking everywhere for you. I've been looking for six years but I've finally found you!" Ok, this is where it goes off the rails...

Josh gets down on one knee and proposes!

I say yes. Naturally.

What kind of crazy **** is that?

The "can't find the CD" part probably relates to my search for the right guy. But since I'm looking in the "LP section", I'm looking in the wrong place for the kind of guy I want.

Either that or, I really am looking for a CD. Or maybe I should quit eating salsa before bed.

V Is For...

Houston, we have a problem.

On Friday, I got lucky! A co-worker was selling tickets on a romantic weekend getaway package at a local chalet, and a gift certificate at a fancy restaurant. I was feeling lucky and purchased two tickets. One of which was the winning ticket. Two thumbs up.

My co-worker Rowan teased that now I just had to find someone to take. Uh huh. Without missing a beat, I told him it wouldn't be a problem and winked.

Except that it is a problem. Well, not a "problem"...there's no expirary date (on me or the getaway/ gift certificate). But there isn't anyone right now that I would take.

Which reminds me, things have been grounded with the Pilot. This is actually a good thing. He didn't make me want to throw up. This is actually a bad thing.

So, if you're keeping track, feeling like you're going to throw up when with a guy = good, not wanting to throw up when with a guy = bad. Everyone wants to feel those butterflies and not an empty void.

Also, in case you're keeping track - Valentine's Day is three days away. This year, I want to receive flowers from a secret admirer (or maybe a not-so-secret admirer). Not roses mind you, they're so overrated and cliche. Maybe a nice bouquet of daisies or something. Like he put some thought and personality into it.

Can you believe that some single women actually send flowers to themselves on Valentine's Day and pretend it's from a potential suitor? I could never imagine doing that [*cough cough*].

I've been reminded over the years on Valentine's Day how truely sweet and thoughtful guys can be. I think one of the best gifts I ever received was from my coworkers at the university radio station where I used to have a morning show. The guys chipped in and bought me chocolates and the sweetest card. I ended up finding out later that while they all adored me (naturally), they were actually from the station manager who secretly had a crush on me.

Sigh. Is it possible to get lucky twice in one week?

5 Things You May Not Know About Me

Today's post was pirated from fellow blogger Peter DeWolf who, let's be honest, inspires most of us with his all kinds of awesomeness.

5 Things You May Not Know About Me (Or perhaps more aptly named, 5 Things You Wish You Never Knew About Me):

- I am currently afflicted with a "touch" of laryngitis.
Cons: Am on the verge of cancelling plans for this weekend unless I brush up on my charades skills
Pros: Sexy gravelly Kathleen Turner-esque voice (or voice of a 20-year pack-a-day smoker). May finally have a legitimate reason to use finger puppets on a date.

- I have a mole on my right nipple.
Cons: Cindy Crawford made the upper lip mole sexy but to my knowledge there has not been a campaign to increase awareness and acceptance of moles on breasts.
Pros: Showing random people my breast...er, mole.

- I think this season of the OC sucks ***!
Cons: Not seeing Benjamin McKenzie brood while wearing his trademark wife beater.
Pros: Not seeing Benjamin McKenzie beat someone's *** while wearing his trademark wife beater.

- I drive a Toyota that's 10 years old.
Cons: Possibly hitch hiking to work.
Pros: Being able to say I drive a "classic." Plus, it has a sunroof that gives me that sexy wind blown look in the summer, and a "sunroof" tan.

- I make a mean plate of stuffed mushrooms
Cons: Being able to cook little else.
Pros: Appearing somewhat competent in the kitchen, especially when mushrooms are accompanied by wine (lots and lots of wine).

This wasn't as easy as it looks - so what don't I know about you?

What Would Brian Boitano Do?

[Smooth and authoritative sounding announcer voice]:"Folks, I'm Frank Jones and welcome to another edition of ABC's "Skating With The Blogger Stars".

"Tonight, we'll see how The Redhead-Next-Door fairs after taking a 5 year break from skating. Will she return better than ever? Or will daydreaming about potential mates have her thinking about life off the ice? And, more importantly, what will she be wearing."

"Here she is...let's watch."

Enter me, onto the ice. A bit more wobbly than anticipated.

Ah, best to warm up so to avoid...too late too bloody late! Charlie horse, charlie horse, G**D*** charlie horse. Breathe in. Breathe out. Maintain composure. People are watching...including two cute guys.

Ok, that's better. Hey, is that music playing? Yes, yes it is! It's Car Wash (the original track). [Gives attitude to self] "Alright girl get your figure skating groove on!"

While doing an on-ice version of the hustle...receive racing challenge. From an 8 year old little boy named Jaden. Gleefully accept challenge. This will be like taking candy from a baby. But on skates. And, there's no candy involved. (What, do you think I'm some kind of person that would give candy to kids?) Or a baby (What kind of parent would take their baby skating - that's dangerous!)

The race begins. That little bugger's legs can move fast. Hey, he's cheating already! Must. skate. faster.

And then...

Something that oddly looks a bit like this.

But less co-ordinated. And instead of falling backward, I went forward. Much like when a baseball player is sliding into homeplate. But without the cushiony dirt.

And I had on a pair of jeans and a sweater instead of sequins and nylons.

So really, nothing much like this picture. But I'm sure we both hurt the same afterwards, albeit in much different places.

How to recover from potentially [actually] embarassing fall? Hmmm, what would Brian Boitano do?

So, I got up. Dusted the ice shavings off. And smiled at the two cute guys.

Then did a little twirl.

When out of visual and audio range, I asked my friend Terri if she knew first aid (she does). Then I told her that her son Jaden was racing round the rink - it's against rink rules! ;) In the end, I always win. Bruuuuhaha.

Hallelujah! [It's Raining Men]

As the saying goes, when it rains it pours. This saying can be applied to many subjects including (but not limited to) construction, dating, dog food and ofcourse actual meteorological events.

After a lengthy dating drought I seem to have found myself smack dab in the middle of a romantic rain storm. And I like it.

After sucessfully being adopted by three (and a half) couples, one of them got down to business straight away - with a charming British chap that worked with her sister (I'm such a sucker for an accent). Then ofcourse my sweet coworker was on a matchmaking mission with the pilot.

Having choices are good. Needing index cards to record and track information to keep it straight, is not.

I guess we all have a burden to bare ;)

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!]