Counting my blessings (but not my bad dates)

This is a great time of year to reflect on all of the wonderful things in your life: your friends and family, your health, your ability to eat Melt on a regular basis without gaining weight. (I'm blessed with the first two, but definitely not the last.)

I was honored to share in the special days of two of my very best friends this year. Two more bridesmaid notches under my belt, two more incredibly happily married friends.

We were able to start the wedding season festivities by doing the robot at Carrie's bachelorette party:


And having a ton of fun on her wedding day (this is one of our fancy shots of the day):


Then came Molly's bachelorette party (featuring penis straws, as modeled by me here):


And her awesomely wonderful wedding day:


And sprinkled in between all of my bridesmaid duties were vacations with my college friends (who are now spread out all over the Midwest and East Coast):


Any my family (not pictured, but also on vacay: blogdad, my brothers-in-law and Brissy):


And while I celebrated all of these occasions without a significant other to share them with, I still never lost sight of the wonderful people who are in my life each and every day.

(Plus, I just thought it was really funny to post this many pictures with people's faces blacked out.)

So I guess I just want to say thank you to all of my holla-awesome friends and family (and readers! I think you rock too!), and wish everyone an even happier, more joyful and blessed 2009.

And, please, for the love of all things holy... keep working on that finders' fee! :)

Much happiness in the New Year -




Always a Bridesmaid


P.S. See? I did listen to all you guys about how I should wear my hair for Molly's wedding. (That's where this pic is from.)

P.P.S. I'm heading to Philly for a few days to celebrate NYE with a couple of the college roomies pictured above. Blog to you in '09!

How YOU doin'?

Ever wonder where guys come up with some of those horrifically funny pick-up lines you hear from time to time? (My personal fave: Are your pants made of mirrors? Because I can see myself in them.)

Well don't look at me. I don't have the answer either. But I just might have discovered the antidote: Adult Mad Libs: Kiss Me, I'm Single.

Grab a pencil, ladies. This should be fun.

First, make a list of the following words (and don't cheat by skipping ahead!):

• noun


• article of clothing


• adjective


• part of the body


• noun


• noun


• noun


• noun


• noun


• verb ending in "ing"


• noun


• noun


• adjective


• part of the body

*****

Now, take those words you just wrote down and fill them into the following Persuasive Pick-up Line Mad Libs:

• Is that a/an noun in your article of clothing, or are you just adjective to see me?


• I hope you know mouth-to-part of body -- because you just took my noun away!


• If I said you had a beautiful noun, would you hold it against me?


• Can I borrow your cell noun? I want to tell my noun I just met the noun of my dreams.


• Did you hear that? It's the sound of my heart verb ending in "ing."


• If you were a laser noun, you'd be set on "stunning."


• Is there a warrant out for your noun? Because it must be illegal to look that adjective.


• Are you from outer space? Your part of the body is out of this world!

What do you think? Did you discover a few new gems?

And that's just the start of the fun. There are lots more Mad Libs to choose from, including Tactful Turndowns, Blind Dates Gone Bad and Warning Signs.

Seriously. Go buy this book. Your friends will thank me for it. Especially when they hear you say something like this to some unsuspecting guy:

Did you hear that? It's the sound of my heart barfing.

(True story. That's one of the ones I came up with. Mostly because I was listening to one of my cats yakking up a hair ball while I was making my list of words.)

Joey Tribbiani ain't got nothin' on us, ladies!

Guest blogger #5 - Out of money, out of luck

Ooops, readers. I thought I only had one last guest blogger in the queue (TMGB), but I forgot about this little nugget from Ashley over at Encounters of the Human Kind.

Since Ashley already wrote about this horrible date on her own blog (and I'm all about lazy blogging during the holidays), just click on the link above to find out how not to impress a woman on a first date.

The experience she describes makes every leather pants lawyer/lady parts salesman/cartwheel doing-guy I've dated and/or seen on the prowl sound like a prince.

Seriously. Who starts a date at 11pm? (Other than... ahem... those ladies who are *paid* to do so.) And THEN he doesn't have enough money to pay for himself? OMG.

Go check it out. You'll feel better about every pathetic date you've ever been on.

*****

And now that you've checked out Ashley's blog (what? you didn't go there yet? promise you will after you finish this post!), I officially only have one guest blogger left in the hopper: TMGB. Thanks again to everyone who contributed to the blog over the past week! It was nice to have a little time off.

But sorry, readers... you're stuck with me again now. (And I'm actually kind of glad... I missed you!)

Guest blogger #4 - Fully Loaded

Hi, readers! Hope good old Saint Nick brought you everything you wanted for Christmas. (No, I didn't get a boyfriend. Though I did get a new camera. Even trade, no?)

Just to clean up a few loose ends...

• The Mouse did not end up coming over for Christmas. (He was able to make it home to be with his own family.)


• And The Beard has been texting a TON. But alas, he's leaving to go back home tomorrow. However, that did not stop my sissy from re-enacting our PDA session to the entire family on Christmas Eve. Which was actually sort of helpful, since I don't really remember it.


• I got a random "Merry Christmas" (spelled wrong -- who spells it "Marry"??) mass text from The Banker. WTF? I haven't talked to him since October.


• And The Teacher and I have talked on the phone a few times and may be meeting up at some point this Sunday.

So I should have plenty to update you on in the next couple of weeks!

Now on to more important things... like guest blog posts. This submission comes us courtesy of the blog Famously Single.

There's one more guest blogger in the hopper, but he (yes, you read that right -- HE) is going to wait a couple of weeks to send his submission. (Timing is everything, peeps, right?)

(As a side note... I was thinking the other day of how random it would be if The Male Guest Blogger (TMGB) and I somehow end up together. That would be such a fun story for our kids someday... and, hopefully, the movie studios.)

Til then, enjoy this little nugget from Ms. Famously Single.

*****

After having my heart broken and five months of no sex, I decided it was really time to get into the game. Enter Mac.

We met while out for a mutual friend's birthday party. He was cute, in the military and I was slightly needy. He seemed like such a nice guy and maybe after five months, I wasn't being as selective. In my drunk state, I even text messaged my dad saying I met the man I wanted to marry.

Fast forward a few weeks. I wake up next to him. This is like the second time we have ever slept together. He is getting up to go golfing. I am lying in his bed. He's about to leave. He says, "Just so you know, that gun right there is fully loaded. So if you try to mess around with it, it's loaded and it will go off."

I say, "Wait... I slept with a loaded gun by me the whole night?" (Always a Bridesmaid sidenote: That's What She Said.)

He says, "Yeah. Alright, I'm leaving."

He is almost to the door. I'm already thinking he is a psycho, until... wait for it.... he turns around and says, "Your p*ssy's mine." (Always a Bridesmaid sidenote: I HATE that p word... but doesn't every girl?)

I've slept with this man twice and already he is staking claim on my p*ssy! Seriously, who says that? For once in my life, I was literally speechless. What are you supposed to say to that?

I wish I would have said your d*ck is mine, but I found out that it wasn't. Maybe that line really worked for him because while he was screwing everything with two legs, the girls were not.

On a side note, I found out that he shot some guy in the leg who tried to get into his girl's apartment. Guess there is one benefit to sleeping by a loaded gun. :)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house...

... not a creature was stirring, not even The Mouse.

(Too much of a stretch? Yeah, you're probably right.)

But I thought you would enjoy the fact that blogdad invited The Mouse over for Christmas in case the weather is too bad for him to make it back to his hometown for the holidays. (Remember? In addition to being a past boy toy, The Mouse is also a close family friend.)

I wonder if this isn't blogdad's attempt to play St. Nicholas. (Blogdad was a professional mall Santa back in the day, after all.)

Hmmm. Wonder if that means I'm on the naughty or nice list? ;)

Merry Christmas, everyone!

(A few more guest blogger posts are in the hopper for after the holidays!)

We interrupt this guest blogging series...

... for a quick post from yours truly. (It's me! Always a Bridesmaid!)

I am just now starting to feel better (it's currently early Monday evening) from the annual Christmas party that my brother-in-law and his friends throw (which was Saturday nite). Ummmm... yeah.

I awoke yesterday morning (at my sis and bro-in-law's house) to discover a few things:

• I should never mix gin and tonics with shots. EVER. That mixture is gross going down. And guess what? It's even worse when it comes back up. (Twice.)


• McDonald's breakfast is the closest thing to a slice of heaven that's possible after a night of drunken debauchery.


• I should have reconsidered my footwear for the party. Knee-high boots are cute when you're sober, but tearing those things off when you're in the bag is another story. (Luckily, my friend Nikki was there with the assist on Saturday nite.)


• I use proper grammar and spelling even whilst drunk/blackout texting. (I must admit -- I was quite impressed with myself when I was reviewing the text log in the morning.)

Also of note? I apparently thought it was a good idea to conduct a PDA session at the party with The Beard, a kid I have known since grade school.

This is the same kid who I flirted with at my middle sissy's wedding, then later got called a d*ck tease by my youngest sissy, her hubby and brissy because I didn't "seal the deal" that nite. (Which, I suppose, does technically make me a d*ck tease.)

Anyhow, The Beard is utterly adorable (minus the beard thing he has going on right now) and very funny. You know how I love the cute, funny ones! And while The Beard's family still lives in town, he has since moved away. (Seems to be a trend for me, no?)

Hey, I guess every party needs a "that girl," right? I just hope I don't fill that role again anytime soon.

*** We now return to our regularly-scheduled guest blogging series. ***

Guest blogger #3 - The Underwear Thief

Welcome to another installment of "Always a Bridesmaid is Too Lazy to Write Posts While She's on Vacation" (aka the holiday guest blogger series!).

This entry comes to us from Sparks via her blog No Sparks.

Hold on to your undies, ladies!

*****

as a rule, i won't use this outlet to tell humiliating stories about ex-boyfriends or anyone i have ever truly cared about... that is, of course, unless they did something grossly inappropriate or gut-bustingly funny. such is the case with the underwear thief.

JG started out as a taboo, a coworker i was sleeping with out of convenience, but quickly evolved into someone special. we only dated for a month before he took a job in another city and split. we stayed in contact and, over the next 6 years, visited each other several times for weekend romps. these weekend get-togethers would start with a friendly hug, then move straight to the bedroom, where we would stay until it was time to say goodbye. just like that, we could turn it on for the weekend and turn it off again without losing any sleep pining for each other when we were apart. it was when we deviated from this bedroom-weekend pattern that JG became fodder for my dating tales.

one weekend, JG drove in from LA so we could take a little road trip down to Tucson together, to see 'rock kills kid,' a band we both like.things got ugly right away...

jg: "can you please not smoke in the car?"

me: "roll your window up, i have the a.c. on."

"don't throw your cigarette out the window!"

"stop changing my music."

"don't put that out in here! it smells!"

"you have to go to the bathroom again?"

"seriously, you can't go 2 hours without a cigarette?"

...and just deteriorated from there. he became an octopus at the concert, groping me to the point of public indecency and seriously pissing me off, because i don't like to be f*cked with when i'm listening to a band i never get to see and paid good money to watch.

things didn't even get better when we retreated to our safe place - the bedroom. we were staying with a friend of mine, who was sleeping in the next room, so we felt the need to be quiet. i don't particularly enjoy quiet sex, so i might not have even bothered if i weren't so desperate to salvage the weekend. plus, i wanted to show off the new underwear i'd bought just for this trip - cute little hot-pant boy shorts with lace trim. tomboy sexy. JG was into 'em, so we proceeded, but apparently the quiet wasn't doing it for him either. he wasn't performing up to his usual standards, so i feigned sleep when he took too long to finish.

the next morning, i was standing in my friend's kitchen with a packed suitcase, keys in hand, ready to get this weekend the hell over with. JG finally finished primping and joined me in the kitchen, asking: "hey, did you leave your hairbrush in the bathroom?"

oh, yes, i had. i went to retrieve it. when i came back, he was fidgeting a bit.

"um, i think you forgot something else."

he then bent down to unzip his bag, fumbled under a pile of clothes and pulled out a wadded ball of purple and green - my new underwear. he handed them to me and stuttered something about how i must have left them.

really? i left them on the bottom of your suitcase? douche bag?

i was speechless the whole way home. i had never realized how long the drive from tucson to phoenix could be.

that was my last weekend with JG, now officially "the underwear thief." we sporadically stay in touch, and this past year, he got engaged. he is actually a truly phenomenal person, kleptomania and panty fetish notwithstanding, and i wish him all the best. i just hope his fiancé has the good sense to get a padlock for her underwear drawer.

Guest blogger #2 - Mr. Textual

If you read this blog with any regularity, you know all about my trials and tribulations with boys who are obsessed with text messaging. So it should come as no surprise to you that I immediately identified with this guest post submission from BonQuiQui.

Lucky for me, I don't think I've ever had textual intercourse like this guy was trying to with Miss BonQuiQui.

Read on!

*****

One night this past summer I found myself slightly intoxicated at a bar in Berea with some friends. After chatting with some boy toy potentials, I ended up getting into a good conversation with a guy whom we shall call Mr. Textual. He was funny and definitely kept my attention.

Mr. Textual was cute, graduated from college and had a job. Those last two qualifications are traits that I usually don’t find. So one subject leads to another and he suggests that we get dinner sometime during the upcoming week at the lovely Olive Garden. I agreed, considering a free Italian meal is always appealing, and we continued to chat for the remainder of the evening.

The next morning, I awoke to a text message from Mr. Textual saying the standard “I had fun last night, hope you did too” mantra. I sent a simple response back assuming that would be the last of the texting for the day.

Boy, was I mistaken. Before the noon hour I had easily received twenty texts from him. And it didn’t stop there. By the end of the day, I had probably over 100 messages from the lad.

As the afternoon progressed, so did the inappropriateness of his messages. He went from talking about his job, to talking about, well his 'sexual' preferences. For a guy I had just met, that was quite a turnoff.

Towards the end of our conversing, he mentions our upcoming date:
Mr. Textual: What are you gonna wear to our date?
BonQuiQui (Creeped out slightly): A shirt and jeans
Mr. Textual: You should wear a skirt
BonQuiQui (Creeped out a little more): Haha we shall see
Mr. Textual: How do you feel about you wearing a skirt on our date and us getting a secluded booth at the restaurant…(There was more to this message but not what is appropriate)
BonQuiQui (Completely creeped out): Haha....NO.

I have nothing against PDA, but that is just a bit too far. With fears of being assualted via breadstick, I called off our date, and have only heard from him a few times since. Of course, by text, and of course I do not respond. I guess I should be thankful that he asked my opinion of his idea of a good dinner date prior to the date itself.

Guest blogger #1 - Frog or Prince?

Welcome to the first installment of my holiday guest blogging series!

Today's post comes from a fellow blogger over at Stream of Consciousness. (I'm not sure if she wants me to use her name... and being an anonymous blogger myself, I'm very sensitive to this point!)

This little nugget is all about what life is like after you go from being boyfriend/girlfriend to being romantically-attached roommates.

WHOA. I am clearly not ready to live with anyone unless they poop in a litter box... and don't use my towels.

Enjoy!

*****

My boyfriend is the best. He’s got this amazingly deep voice, the perfect amount of facial hair and a six pack that is every girl’s dream. Not to mention that he treats me like a princess.

I moved in with my prince 6 months ago. Since then, I’ve definitely seen the frog side of him.

I had great dreams of moving in with Jock (named for all of the hours of sports that we watch). We spent so much time together; and the thought of cooking and drinking wine together after work, waking up on a lazy Sunday morning to flip through the paper while sipping coffee and sharing chores sounded like bliss.

And that part is. But let me warn you, girls: your eyes will definitely open wide as soon as you start packing your boxes. Let me give you a few examples:

1. When we lived separately, we spent a lot of time at my place. His roommate was no picnic, and the less I saw her, the better. No time at his house=no time to pay attention to the stinky socks, the smelly gym bag or the much-handled basketball that he insisted on carrying around (it’s easier than renting one at the gym, apparently). Bottom line: I never knew he generated so much man musk.

2. I have always been nuts about my bath towels. They have to be soft, big and fluffy, totally dry and only used by me. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to comprehend this philosophy. My first strategy was to assign certain colored bath towels to him so that when two are hanging up in the bathroom, he knows which one to use. With that, he feigned ignorance and said that he never could remember which color towel was his. My next strategy was to hang my towel on the right side of the bar, his on the left. So far, this is working, but I can’t tell you how many times I have found MY towel as a soggy, crumpled mess on the bed. I will take him out the next time he does it.

3. I can only hope that if he and I ever get married, we have only girls. I have nightmares about the possibility of feeding boys who have the same appetite that he does. I have come home on so many occasions with a specific craving—Wheat Thins, ice cream, chocolate—only to find that he has finished whatever was left in our pantry. Seriously, I bought a box of Wheat Thins, and the next day, they were gone. One time, it took me 3 trips to the store to finally scrounge together all of the ingredients for some candy that I wanted to make, all because he would eat some portion of the ingredients when I wasn’t looking. When I finally did make the candy, guess who got the first bite?

4. Remember when your mom used to say that your dad was like one of her kids? My mom always said that, and in my naïve little world, I never believed that could be true. I mean, he’s an adult, so he has to be mature, right? WRONG. In all of the time we’ve lived together, Jock has opened my eyes to all of those things listed above. But my favorite is when he does one of those things on purpose. Oh yes, Jock will leave a towel on the bed; or drop his nasty gym clothes on the floor next to, no TOUCHING, the hamper instead of in it; and go into the kitchen and finish my favorite snack all for entertainment value. Apparently, I’m funny and cute when I’m miffed. Let me tell you, I do not want to be cute and funny. I would like to be scary and intimidating. Instead, when I respond to these pranks with questionable language and a hefty sigh, all I get is a laugh. How old is he--10 or 25?

To be fair, I must tell you at least one good thing that has come out of our cohabitation: I get a home-cooked meal every night. That’s right—he cooks, and it’s good. That princely move is enough to make up for all of the frogs I have to put up with.

Getting nailed

No, not in that way, you sickos. I'm literally talking about my nails. And my sweet little manicurist, Anthony.

Anth is a 19-year-old student who works at his mother's Rocky River nail salon during his off school times (along with some of his other siblings) and he has been "my" nail guy for the past two or so years.

After jazzerci... I mean... cardio class tonite, I checked my phone and had a text from Anth (yes, we have each other's numbers... you never know when you might need an emergency nail appointment!). He just wanted to check in to say hi (actually, he said, "Hey, what's up darling?") because I didn't make it in last Saturday.

(Yes, I get a manicure every week. It is my little $20 splurge. I don't go out to fancy dinners that much anymore (no one to go with!) and I don't buy $300 jeans, so I figure a weekly manicure is legit.)

Anyhow, the reason for the post is this: I realized tonite that Anthony has been the most steady male relationship I have had in my life for the past couple of years (not counting blogdad or my bros-in-law, of course).

I'm not sure if that's sad or sweet.

What I do know is that I need to wrap up this post so I can go wrap up Anthony's Christmas present. (Is that weird?) I just hope I can still master the scissors with these talons at the tips of my fingers right now.

Things that make me go HMMMM...

How the hell does Drew Peterson -- whose third wife was killed and fourth wife is still missing -- get engaged to YET ANOTHER woman?

Granted, I would never want to marry a wife killer... but it just makes me wonder how some (horrible, horrible) people can couple up like it's their jobs... and other (smart, funny, cute) ones (ahem... no names mentioned, of course) can't find a boy toy to save their lives. Something is wrong with the world when this guy can find five women who are willing to marry him and I can't even find one. (Not a woman, of course... but you catch my drift.)

Anyhow, I really think this guy's name should be Eeeew Peterson. Because he is just disgusting. (Translation: he would not qualify for the finders' fee.)

I think I've dated some of these guys before...

... or, at least, Cleveland versions of them.

I mean, it's one thing to be close with your mom. (I actually quite enjoy when a guy has a good relationship with dear ol' mom.) But the guys (and moms!) on this new show from Ryan Seacrest are just completely ridic.

Don't get me wrong. I have dated some mama's boys myself. But the mothers on this show (especially the one who said her son could only date "a white girl") are completely and utterly insane. No. Effing. Way. would I ever in a million years date a guy whose mom is that controlling.

The Mush Mouth thought his mother could do no wrong, even though I swear she used to give me the evil eye every time he wasn't looking. (OK, maybe that's an exaggeration. But she DID tell him to buy me a giant Precious Moments necklace one year for Christmas, which I actually think was way worse than if she had actually given me the evil eye. Seriously. It was the size of a hood ornament. And heart shaped. And did I mention it featured Precious Moments?!?)

And I did absolutely love The Murse's mom (as in, she sent me a Christmas card six months after we broke up telling me that she always thought of me as a daughter and couldn't understand what was wrong with her son). What was wrong with her son was that she babied him so much over his lifetime that he couldn't make any decisions for himself as an adult (including whether to "get off the pot" after 6+ years of dating).

Anyhow, I can't believe I wasted an hour watching this effing "Momma's Boy" show. (In my defense, it was on after The Biggest Loser and I was just too lazy to change the channel. Which is a really ironic sentence when you think about it.) There goes 60 minutes of my life that I'll never get back.

Sort of like those 6 years I spent with The Murse.

This thing is getting huge

OK, huge is probably an overstatement. (That's What She Said.)

But when I started this blog, I literally thought that it would be just my closest friends and family reading it. (All, like, 12 of you.)

Then I discovered that a few folks outside of that circle were stopping by (I do have blog analytics, after all), whether from a link on another blog or a friend emailing it to them. I'm imagining introductory comments like, "Hey, don't feel so bad. Check out this chic's blog and your dating life won't seem so lame-o." or "OMG, she totally must have gone on a date with {NAME}!"

(And in fact, early on in my blogging, I actually had a new acquaintance send me a link to my own blog with a note that said something like, "My friend emailed this blog to me and I thought you would like it." Ironic, no?)

Anyhow, imagine my surprise when I got an email today (from a potential guest blogger, BTW... who is a BOY!... yeah for the XY perspective!) who said he found my blog through this article on cleveland.com.

What? My blog was written about with other "real" blogs by cleveland.com/The Plain Dealer? WTF? I'm no Carrie Bradshaw, peeps. This, I know.

And to be perfectly honest... I'm a little weirded out about the article! (Don't get me wrong... I'm totally flattered too!) But I really just thought of 27 Dresses in Cleveland as my little creative outlet/entertainment source for those who were always asking about my dating life. I had gotten tired of sending the same (sad) e-mail updates over and over when friends and family asked about what was going on with potential suitors, so I figured I should just capture everything in one place at one time.

But I guess I've captured something else along the way... like way more readers than I ever could have imagined. :)

Note: This post intentionally less bitchy than usual. Gotta break in new readers slowly, right?

Christmas or Kiss-mas?

Question... when saying hello and/or goodbye to someone you used to date (but no longer do), how do you greet? A hug? A "fist bump"? A kiss? And if it's the latter, is the kiss on the cheek or lips?

(This is assuming, of course, that when you see each other you're still civil and don't want to go in all Mike Tyson-like for an ear or something.)

Disclaimer: The situation in question did not involve mistletoe, but did include lips. Maybe his lips were just dry and he was hoping for residual Chap Stick!?!?!

*****

UPDATE: I should have indicated in my initial post that it was HE who went in for the lip kiss. I was fully expecting a hug and maybe a side-swipe cheek... which is why I'm asking all of you if this could be considered "normal," or if it's just another effed up incident in the love life of Always a Bridesmaid.

Looking for a few good... er... bloggers

The holidays are approaching, which means I'm probably going to want to take a few days off from posting about my (lack of) love life.

(Unless, of course, you want me to hang myself from a bundle of mistletoe.)

But me taking a break doesn't mean this blog has to suffer.

So here's my idea...

Are you single and wanting to share one of your crazy dating stories? (Go ahead. Just TRY to beat the story about the guy who asked me about my hoo-hah over appies.)

Or are you coupled up and dying to tell us what it's like on "the other side"?? (Or maybe you just want to vent about how you wish you were still single?)

Or are you a guy who wants to tell us ladies what dating is like from the XY perspective? (PLEASE. For the love of all things holy... what the hell are you guys thinking?!?)

Then drop me an email at cleve27dresses@yahoo.com. I'll be happy to post your stories over the next several weeks. Think of it as your Christmas present to me!

The rules are simple:

• You can't use a guy's (or girl's) real name (unless he's a friend involved in your story and not the romantic interest). Instead, use a fun nickname for whoever the love interest is.


• Tell me what name you want your post published under (like my Always a Bridesmaid moniker -- or you can use your real name if you're really brave!).


• If you have a blog, let me know what it is so I can link to it.


• You have to be funny (duh).

That's it! I'll post guest blogger entries over the next several weeks (assuming any actually come in!!) in between my updates about The Teachalian (who wants to get together this week), The Italian Stallion (who I've talked to a couple of times now... and who hasn't sent one text! YEAH!) and The Teacher (who I already have a post in the works about).

I know you've got stories, ladies (and gents). Don't be shy!

P.S. if you know my personal email address, feel free to send your entries there too. (Same rules apply!)

Seeking Rick Astley

I remember the first time I saw the "Never Gonna Give You Up" video back when my jeans were pegged and my hair was sky-high... and I was completely weirded out by what Rick Astley looked like.

Not that he had two heads or half a face or something... but his voice just didn't go with his body. You're with me on this one, right?

Fast forward 20 years and I'm now thinking that Rick wouldn't be such a bad catch after all. Why?

And, really, isn't this what all of us single ladies are looking for? Thanks to my friend Matt for forwarding this enlightening pie chart along.

P.S. Sorry if this song is in your head all day now. I've already hummed a few bars myself.

Single for Santa

My friend Amy forwarded me this list of 5 Great Reasons to be Single During the Holidays. (I don't know who the source is, but I'd swear I wrote this list myself anyhow.)

I realized last nite while finalizing my Christmas shopping list that it's actually quite nice to not have to buy gifts for a "special someone" this year. I've always prided myself on getting the *perfect* gift for my boy toy, and am always disappointed when I get the proverbial gift certificate. Or, even worse, when I have to specifically spell out what I want. Ugh. That's no fun for anyone.

The Murse was the king of last-minute shopping, which always made me feel like an afterthought. Especially after I would spend weeks finding just the right gifts for him. (Truth be told, the last-minute thing wasn't all that bad. He always felt guilty about going at the last minute, so he ended up spending way too much on me. I'm pretty sure Kate Spade and Banana Republic were always thankful for that.)

So to all my single readers... enjoy!

5 Great Reasons to be Single During the Holidays

Don't let your relationship status play a factor in your holiday cheer. It's still the most wonderful time of the year--especially if you're single!

Sure, spending another gift-giving season alone can be lonely, but if you adjust your view, it can also be the greatest time of the year. No quarrels, no guilt trips—you have the freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want and with whomever you want. If you need to be reminded about just how amazing the holidays can be when you’re solo, read on for our five top reasons why it’s great to be single this season.

Reason #1: You can Spend Time with your own Family and Friends

It’s the age-old holiday conundrum and controversial issue: which family should a couple spend the holiday with? Lucky for you, being single means you aren’t obligated to go somewhere you don’t want or have to split time or compromise between your partners family and your own.

There are no expectations to spend the morning sipping cocoa and opening presents with your in-laws just because they live closer than your own family or because it’s their ‘turn’ this year. Take ownership of the holiday and make plans with your own friends and relatives. You’re already trying to please your own family; being single you won’t have to please a partner’s as well.

Reason #2: You can Put yourself at the Top of your List

This year, your holiday debt and anxiety will be at an all time low because there’s no need to find the perfect gift for your significant other and his or her immediate family. With no struggle over what to buy, spend a fraction of the money on a gift you’ve been eyeing for yourself or donate the funds to the charity of your choice.

Reason #3: You can Create new Traditions for Yourself

Don’t be a creature of habit. Give yourself permission to enjoy the holiday in whichever way you envision. Have you secretly always wanted to create the most over-the-top Christmas light-adorned spectacle of your home or set up a fabulous girly tree complete with all the pink trimmings? (Sidenote: and if you are a man, you can put up a tree like the one featured on this post.) You now can, because being single you have the option to deck the halls—or not. Perhaps this year you’ll start a new tradition of going away with other single friends to an exotic beach locale or volunteering at festivities for your church, synagogue or community center.

Reason #4: You can be Fun, Flirty and Fabulous at all the Holiday Parties

Put on your best party dress or suit and revel in the holiday spirit. Without the stress of having to make sure your significant other is having fun think of all the time you’ll have to collect kisses under the mistletoe.

Reason #5: There’s No Undue Expectations

Expectations for the holidays are already unrealistic—single or not. It’s rare that everything will go smoothly but being solo does take part of the pressure off because you hold the power to create your own special day. The best part is that all the choices are in your hands. If you want to spend the evening sipping hot chocolate and watching a reality show marathon you can do it.

Your relationship status doesn’t have to determine your holiday cheer. Spend time this season reflecting on the past year and what you want out of life in the future.

***

Now don't get me wrong... I'm not gonna complain if Santa leaves a tall, dark and handsome present under my tree this year. I just hope he comes with a gift receipt.

The boomerang club

I've discovered a very interesting phenomenon in my life: boomerang boys.

While no one has ever been quite as bad as The Groundhog, there seems to be a trend of guys disappearing then reappearing at the weirdest/most random times.

I've had a few recent boomerang encounters:

• The Paramedic - I went on one date with this kid a year or two ago. He was SUPER young. As in, younger than my youngest sissy young. On the day of our date, he found out that he had just landed the new job he'd been going after, so he wanted to go "somewhere nice" (his words) to celebrate. We went to the Outback. Fast forward to a few days ago when he Facebook friended me (with a profile pic featuring his new GF), then sent me a message telling me that I still have "that million dollar smile and hair." I've heard of a million dollar smile, but million dollar hair? That must be SOME weave.


• The Mouse - This is the guy I "hung out with" (again, his words) last year. Totally same sense of humor as me (though he is much less animated and much more sarcastic). And un-be-liev-ab-ly cute. I mean, he has dimples. *melt* Anyhow, hadn't really talked to him much over the last several months, but he called a couple of weeks ago and has been emailing and texting (even sending jokey e-cards!) ever since. But, as I said in previous posts, I'm fairly certain this is on the "friend track."


• The Cop - I thought he had gotten the hint that the only time I'd ever see the back of his cop car was if I got arrested (and not for a makeout session), but I guess not. He's been FB messaging me to come meet him out at a bar, come to events he'll be at, etc. Weird.


• The Redhead - According to blogmom, this kid was my first-ever boyfriend. We went to grade school together until my family moved in third grade. I had not talked to him since then (what is that? 24 years?) until he Facebook friended me last week. While catching up via FB, I discovered yet another six degrees connection: he was fraternity brothers with The Murse back in college. (Seriously, people. That is just crazy. I've decided my life is more like two degrees of separation.)

And on top of these oldies (and questionable goodies), I've also heard from The Teacher, The Teachalian and The Italian Stallion in the past week.

Let's hope they don't all turn into boomerangers too.

I've heard of head over heels, but this is ridiculous...

Last Friday, I was at the Bier Markt with a friend I haven't seen since third grade (so fun!! and I also ran into my blogging buddy Alexa) when I witnessed what could quite possibly be the strangest attempt to pick up a woman I have ever seen.

A guy did a cartwheel.

That's right.

A guy did a cartwheel. In the middle of the bar.

It was one of those moments that seemed to go so fast it was a blur, while at the same time seemed to be happening in slow motion.

And why, you ask, did he do that? (Besides the Christmas Ale, of course.) To impress a girl.

(In case you're wondering, it didn't work.)

The rest of the nite sort of paled in comparison, though I did meet The Teachalian, a guy my sister Jenna suggested I should meet.

(Sorry, readers... I am completely stuck on a name for this guy since I don't know him well enough to be creative beyond what he does for a living. He is a teacher by trade, but I already have The Teacher that I've written about, so that name is out. And he's super Italian, but I've already used The Italian Stallion too. So I made up my own word. Teacher + Italian = Teachalian.)

Anyhow, The Teachalian was cute (though perhaps maybe a tad too manicured for my liking... OMG, I never thought I would say that) and seemed to have a good sense of humor. We hung out for a little while but, to be honest, I was a little more preoccupied with catching up with my 3rd grade BFF than macking on some new guy.

He did text on Saturday nite to see if I maybe wanted to meet out with him (I declined, as I was already tipsy on Prosecco at my friends' house) and just texted again tonite to see if I wanted to maybe grab a drink this week.

And while I hate that he is texting so much (I will nip this in the bud, to be sure), I do sort of like that he is pursuing me. (The Teacher and The Italian Stallion could take a few pointers.)

Who knows? Maybe we'll meet and fall in love over a cannoli while reading first grade text books.

Hey, stranger things have happened. Like guys doing cartwheels in bars.

Let them eat cake

As a professional bridesmaid, I have seen (and tasted) my fair share of wedding cakes.

And while I don't even really like cake that much (other than cassata cake, which I could quite possibly eat by the truckful), I do admire the craftsmanship that goes into creating a showpiece that serves as the sweet ending for a bride and groom's big day.

That said, some brides can definitely go overboard when designing their wedding cakes. I mean, have you seen the pic that accompanies this post? Nothing says "This day is all about us" quite like a life-size statue of the bride only, right?

(Side note: how many friggin' people were at that wedding? How could they possibly need that much cake?)

Anywhooo... as a single gal who is often home alone, I randomly read a lot of blogs when you people are on dates with your husbands and boyfriends. And whenever I mosey on over to a blog called Cake Wrecks, I get sucked in for hours reading about professional cake decorating gone bad.

Imagine my delight when I found this recent post all about wedding cake fails (where the brides provided "inspiration" cake pictures to their bakers and received... well... you be the judge).

Whoa. I think I just discovered what the opposite of a "sugar high" is. Yikes.

Raphael, Nicholas... and, now, Anthony

I had no idea how many religious rituals there were to find a potential mate until I started this blog.

I got a text from blogaunt last week telling me to burn an orange candle next to a picture of St. Anthony on Tuesday to find a husband.

Sure enough, I did a little online research and discovered this item on several sites:

Saint Anthony of Padua
On a Tuesday, burn a brown candle for special requests, a green candle for financial help or an orange candle to find a husband. St. Anthony is a wonder worker when it comes to finding lost articles, improving the memory and bringing back a strayed lover. His emblem is the lily.

Geez. Now I've got to pray to St. Raphael, St. Nicholas and St. Anthony? That's a lot of praying. I might as well have become a nun!

Then again... I sort of am a nun lately...

What women want

My friend Nikki forwarded me this hilarious list of what women look for in men over their lifetimes. What's scary is that I am 32 and agree with pretty much every single thing on that age's revised list... which makes me very nervous to turn 72.

What I Want In A Man: Original List

1. Handsome

2. Charming

3. Financially successful

4. A caring listener

5. Witty

6. In good shape

7. Dresses with style

8. Appreciates finer thing

9. Full of thoughtful surprises

10. An imaginative, romantic lover

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 32)

1. Nice looking

2. Opens car doors, holds chairs

3. Has enough money for a nice dinner

4. Listens more than talks

5. Laughs at my jokes

6. Carries bags of groceries with ease

7. Owns at least one tie

8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal

9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries

10. Seeks romance at least once a week

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 42)

1. Not too ugly

2. Doesn't drive off until I'm in the car

3. Works steady - splurges on dinner out occasionally

4. Nods head when I'm talking

5. Usually remembers punch lines of jokes

6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange the furniture

7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach

8. Knows not to buy champagne with screw-top lids

9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down

10. Shaves most weekends

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 52)

1. Keeps hair in nose and ears trimmed

2. Doesn't belch or scratch in public

3. Doesn't borrow money too often

4. Doesn't nod off to sleep when I'm venting

5. Doesn't retell the same joke too many times

6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends

7. Usually wears matching socks and fresh underwear

8. Appreciates a good TV dinner

9. Remembers your name on occasion

10. Shaves some weekends

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 62)

1. Doesn't scare small children

2. Remembers where bathroom is

3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep

4. Only snores lightly when asleep

5. Remembers why he's laughing

6. Is in good enough shape to stand up by himself

7. Usually wears some clothes

8. Likes soft foods

9. Remembers where he left his teeth

10. Remembers that it's the weekend

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 72)

1. Breathing

2. Doesn't miss the toilet

Here we go again

Blogdad is back at it.

I received an email from him last nite regarding a potential new boy toy for me. Here it is (with some minor edits to delete identifying details):

SUBJECT: Potential s-i-l (I can't make this stuff up)

I have identified a candidate for my beautiful daughter. The Italian Stallion. (Trust me. If you knew his real name, you would agree with this choice.) He will be 31 in January. He is very close with his family... he has one married sister and two nephews. He goes to mass weekly. He works out daily and sells pharma. He ended a very short engagement last spring. She cheated on him. Approx 5' 11", good build, really big dark eyes. He owns a home. He is interested in calling you and setting something up. Can I give him your phone number?

Love,
BLOGDAD

MY RESPONSE

RE: Potential s-i-l

Potential s-i-l? No pressure there. LOL.

Yes, you can give him my number. As long as you donʼt tell him about the blog and/or get pissed if I write about him.

Is it wrong that I now immediately think of what potential blog stories I might get out of a fix-up? (INNER MONOLOGUE: Yes, Always a Bridesmaid. That is wrong.)

Anyhow, I then proceeded to forward the email to my sisters because, well, we're sisters and I knew they would totally appreciate what blogdad wrote.

Sissy #1's response:

Very funny. I’m pissed he’s never called me a beautiful daughter.

Sissy #2's response:

Is that why he is an S-I-L??? Stallion-In-Law???

Just Do It.

Love,
Michael Jordan

Now I don't know what's funnier. My dad's initial email or my sisters' responses.

Or the fact that I now have a guy in the queue that I'm calling The Italian Stallion.

Ciao, bellas -

Always a Bridesmaid

Laying down the law

I had another voicemail from The Lawyer last nite, calling to say hi and asking if I wanted to grab a drink sometime soon.

Side note: he started the message by saying, “Hi, stranger.” This is now the third time he has started a voicemail and/or email like that, and something about it just really annoys the crap out of me.

Anyhow, last nite’s message was a follow-up to the voicemail he left for me a couple of weeks ago and the email he sent before Thanksgiving. I didn’t return his call (was busy with Molly’s wedding stuff anyhow), but did send a nice – yet curt – email response wishing him a happy Turkey Day in return. However, I did not suggest getting together again (or ever talking/emailing again, for that matter) at all (e.g., there was no “Maybe we can catch up after the holidays” or “Talk to you soon” thrown in).

But he obviously hasn’t gotten the hint.

So this is just weird for me. I have never had to have the “I think you’re really nice, but we’d probably be better off as friends” discussion. I just feel very uncomfortable with the whole idea of that talk.

Because the truth is... he didn’t do anything wrong. (Unless, of course, you count admitting that you own leather pants wrong. I'm still on the fence.) I’m just not interested.

So what’s meaner… or nicer? To just sort of ignore him and let him figure it out on his own (which every other guy I've felt this way about has always done), or to flat out tell him I’m not interested (scary!!!)?

And do I owe it to him to have that discussion (knowing that it is going to give me severe anxiety to do so) when we’ve only been out twice?

Ugh. I am so bad at dating. (Lucky for me, apparently so is he!)

Time for a diet

Just got off the phone with a new potential, The Teacher. How did we meet, you ask? Well, we technically haven't. His sister is friends with my friend Aimee, and the two of them conspired to introduce us. (Plus, Aimee's got two kids to feed and I think she wants in on the finders' fee.)

What. A. Nice. Guy.

I mean, I guess anyone can fool you into thinking they're nice in the span of 20 minutes, but he just seemed genuinely nice. And not in the too nice sort of way either. (Unlike a guy I once went out with who literally said, "Wowee!" instead of swearing. Shit you not.)

Sounds like he's close with his family (a plus), has a job that he likes (a plus) and has a good sense of humor (a definite plus).

HOWEVER... I'm sure you're wondering why I titled this entry "time for a diet." As if I'm not self-conscious enough as it is about my body, The Teacher told me that he did an amateur body building competition a few months ago for the first time... and won. (Also weird: he sounds almost exactly like The Banker on the phone.)

(In his defense, he only brought up the body building thing because he was worried that they sent me a picture of him from the competition and he thought that would have been queer.)

Holy crap! I just ate fifty pounds of stuffing on Thanksgiving! I mean, I need to wear Spanx under my Spanx right now! I can't date a freaking body builder!

Side note: in true six degrees of separation form, The Teacher knows a kid that I went to high school with (who stalked me after the Cleveland Magazine singles article I was in a couple of years ago). They played baseball together for a little while in college. Is it just me, or is Cleveland shrinking?

Anyhow, the conversation ended without discussion of a specific meeting day/time, but with the intention to talk again soon.

Guess that gives me some time to wrap myself in Saran Wrap and garbage bags and jump on a treadmill.

Aaahh... I'm not the only one (and boys feel this way too!)

My friend Colleen started reading this blog about... oh... two days ago and already forwarded me an article that I immediately knew I had to post. (Sorry this entry is so long, but the article is hard to find/link to online now.)

I especially relate to the author's part about the fix-up (though I'm not sure he had issued a finders' fee!). While I 110% appreciate my lovely friends and relatives trying to find me happiness, I sometimes wonder how well they really know me if they think I would want to go out with, say, a guy who asks about my lady parts on our first date.

So without further ado, please enjoy this little ditty written by Michael Kramer, an Emmy-nominated television writer living in Los Angeles. (Hmm... maybe HE'S a potential for me.)

What’s so bad about being single?

“You know what your problem is?”

Who doesn’t love a conversation that starts like that? But if you’re over 35 (Always a Bridesmaid sidenote: I am 32, but I still relate) and single, people somehow think it’s an open invitation to diagnose why you’re still single. “You don’t have room in your life for a woman.” “You’re too picky.” “You’re not picky enough.” (Sadly, I’ve dated a few women who have elicited that response from my friends.) The very term “singles” practically sounds like a disease (oh, wait, that’s “shingles”), and for those diagnosing us, being single seems to be our defining characteristic.

As the last of my peer group to remain single, I’ve noticed that friends, colleagues, family members, even shop owners, are quick to diagnose me. I bought new eyeglasses recently and the salesman asked my female friend whether we were a couple.

“No, we’re just friends,” she said.

“Good,” he said, “because based on how long it takes him to decide on a pair of glasses, if you’re waiting for a proposal, you’re gonna wait forever.” As if choosing eyewear were somehow related to choosing a spouse.

Is there something wrong with being single?

Comments like these, repeated over and over through the years, were making me start to doubt myself. Maybe something was wrong with me. Maybe I did have the dreaded singles disease. After all, people never give flattering reasons for why you’re still single. The diagnosis is never, “You’re too good-looking” or “If only you were less smart.” It’s always something negative. “You don’t know what you want in a woman.” “You’re looking for a woman who doesn’t exist.” If everybody’s saying these things, after a while you start thinking maybe they’re right.

It got to the point where even I started to wonder why I was still single. So I decided to put my fate in the hands of my happily married friends, Andy and Lisa. (Names have been changed to protect the guilty.) I agreed to let them set me up.

Andy and Lisa wanted to double date, so the four of us went to dinner. It turns out that the woman they set me up with had started a new job that day, and she joked — three times, so I sensed it was more than a joke — that she’s just not cut out for work, and she really just wants to marry a rich guy. That’s a nice thing to hear on a first date, because that’s exactly what guys are looking for in a woman. It’s the equivalent of a man telling a first date that he’s considering quitting his job to devote more time to chewing tobacco.

Then poker came up in conversation, and my date said she loves to gamble, but she’s having a bad year. “How so?” I asked. She said she’s down $19,000. Nineteen. Thousand. Dollars! I thought, Wow, so you don’t want to work AND you’ve got a gambling problem? You’re quite the catch.

After the date, Andy pulled me aside and excitedly asked, “So… what do you think?” Not wanting to be insulting, I said I thought she was nice, but not quite my type. To which Andy replied, “You know what your problem is? You don’t want to be happy.”

Now, wait a minute! I may not know myself perfectly, but I do know that an unambitious gambler is not my road to happiness. And that’s when I came to my senses and realized that the so-called “experts” who were diagnosing me didn’t know any more than I did. Being single isn’t a disease, yet so many married people think they’re Jonas Salk with the miracle cure. But with over 50 percent of marriages ending in divorce, maybe single people should be diagnosing married people.

What single people need to remember

The fact is, we all go through life on our own timetable. I know many people who found their true love a little later in life. It wasn’t because they were crazy or afraid to commit or told too many corny jokes on dates or any of that stuff. It was because they found their true love a little later in life.

I have a well-meaning cousin who, upon hearing I wasn’t dating anyone, sighed and said, “There’s gotta be somebody out there for you.” She used the exact same tone that Dr. Frankenstein would have used if he were lamenting that his monster was still single. I told her, “It’s not like I’ve never been loved!” But then I realized that I didn’t need to get defensive. I mean, even Frankenstein’s monster found his soul mate, and I’m not sure he even had a soul. I have to believe I’m a better catch than he is. Just imagine what people must have said about him before he found his lovely bride. But did he listen? No. Ol’ Frankie’s monster just kept trudging along, with the bolts in his neck and his flat head held high. And until the rest of us find our soul mate, so should we.

Thanks, Michael! I feel better about myself already.

Unlucky 13

Blech. What a bust last nite was. I was supposed to meet a couple of girlfriends (and their respective boy toys) for some drinks and fun, but instead got home before midnite feeling like a big fat loser.

The original plan was to head to Bier Markt (where there are always cute boys), but after one of our friends dropped out because she and her hubs were sick, the plan changed and I went south (Strongsville) to meet up with my other friend.

Friend #2 was heading out with a guy she recently started hanging out with, and his friends were staying closer to their houses. So I agreed to meet them there (since it was just little ol' me coming from the West side).

What I didn't know was that I was heading into Couples Central. (Side note: the bar was apparently also Mullet Central.) As in, I was the 13th wheel. Literally.

While I have grown accustomed to being a fifth or seventh wheel, being the thirteenth wheel was a new low. And on top of that, I only knew my friend out of that group. (Usually when I'm hanging out with couples, I am friends with all of them so it's not that big of a deal.)

While no one would ever accuse me of being shy, it's not easy to come into a situation where you know only one person... and that person has googly eyes over some new guy.

I tried to make the best of it for a couple of hours by chatting up several of the new peeps I met. (I love meeting new people!) That was fun for a while, but the more the beer flowed, the more the couples started... well... coupling up.

So, I said my goodbyes, hopped in the car and headed home. Two's company, but thirteen is definitely a crowd.

And guess what song came on about two seconds after I pulled out of the parking lot? That's right. This one.

P.S. And in case you're wondering, the first Nick never made it out last nite. (Not that he was the reason I was going. But it would have been nice to at least have someone to talk to... who didn't have a mullet.)

In the Nick of time

Anyone who reads this blog fairly regularly knows that I never use any guys' real names here (to protect the innocent -- and the guilty).

But I felt compelled to write this entry using real names -- actually, just real first names -- because what is happening right now is just a little too creepy.

I will keep details very vague at this point in case I end up blogging about any of these guys in future posts with their new "fake" names (e.g., The Something-or-Other).

But I think you will see why I am so creeped out when you read the three scenarios below:

• A friend I used to work with emailed me about a week or so ago because she wants to fix me up with her friend's brother. (He and I have since exchanged voicemails, but haven't yet connected in person.) His name is Nick.


• Another friend emailed me tonite to finalize our plans for tomorrow. She mentioned that some guy might be meeting us out for the purpose of meeting me. His name is Nick.


• My sister texted me from her husband's high school reunion tonite (about an hour after I got the email from my friend above) with a pic of a really cute guy captioned "Your husband." His name is... you guessed it!... Nick.

What does all of this mean? I don't know. Maybe nothing!

But is it at all weird that St. Nicholas is supposedly the patron saint of single women? (Check out this blog post for details.) I don't know.

And is it weird that good ol' St. Nick is as far as the eye can see right now (the mall, the television, the papers)? I don't know.

What do I know? This is gonna be a confusing couple of weeks for me. Wow.

*** UPDATE *** UPDATE *** UPDATE ***

I confirmed with my mother that my name was supposed to be Nicholas until I was born missing the requisite... ummm... appendage.

And, I had a dream about Nick Jonas last nite. (Who's creepy now?)

These guys are all turkeys

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I know I haven't written about many boy interactions lately because... well... there haven't been a lot to talk about.

(That's sort of a lie. I was preoccupied with Molly's wedding and some other stuff going on.)

But, in the case that you are looking for some easy reading to lull you into your Turkey Day tryptophan nap, here's a quick rundown of some of the lame (read: sad, boring and going nowhere) boy encounters I've had over the past couple of weeks:

• The Cop Facebook friended me. I accepted the request, but didn't do anything after that. Then I got a FB message from him a few days later that said, "You should call me sometime. Or text." Oh, yes, Cop. That has the makings of the start of an awesome new relationship.


• The Lawyer apparently did not get the hint after I ditched out on the prom. He called last week, but I was in Target (where my phone never works) so I missed the call. Then I got wrapped up in Molly's wedding stuff and never called him back. (Not that I really wanted to anyhow... if it were someone I really liked, I think I would have found the time to call.) THEN, I got an email from him earlier this week just checking in. UGH.


• I got cornered by The Chef at Molly's rehearsal dinner, but I think he's relatively harmless at this point. However, he did block my path to the bathroom -- literally -- then walked me to the bathroom (and seemingly almost came in!).


• The Banker just sent a text that said, "Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble gobble!!!" WTF? I haven't talked to him since the '60s. Plus, I'm fairly certain this was one of those mass texts that he probs sent to every girl in his phone. I think he's just looking for someone to stuff this Thanksgiving, if you know what I mean. Sorry, Banker.

Thankfully, there are a couple of new prospects on the horizon (most of whom I haven't even talked to yet -- they are finders' fee potentials). Let's hope they aren't turkeys too.

Note: one of the new potentials is a referral from a girl who once fixed up my friend Michele with a guy who wore jorts (jean shorts), pump tennis shoes and a concert tee on their first (and only) date. So, if nothing else, this should make for some good blog reading if it doesn't work out. Stay tuned!

What celebrity would you take to Thanksgiving dinner?

Apparently an online dating service recently did a survey of singles to find out which celebrity they'd most like to bring as a Thanksgiving dinner date.

The winners? Guys chose Jennifer Aniston and girls chose George Clooney. Click here for the full list of top choices.

I actually quite like the Clooney suggestion because he is supposed to be a huge prankster, which seems fun (provided he's not playing any jokes on me). And, he's not too bad on the eyes either. (Unless you're talking about this heinous pic, which I can not stop laughing about.)

But Jennifer Aniston? While I covet her hair and physique, I think she actually seems quite boring otherwise. She barely smiles and probably barely eats (then again, that would mean more food for her date on Turkey Day).

So if you were single and could bring a celebrity home for Thanksgiving dinner, who would it be? My top choices:

• Josh Duhamel - totes hot, is funny and would probably know all the words to Glamorous


• Justin Timberlake - totes hot, is funny and can entertain me after dinner (hopefully with back-up dancing skills similar to his recent guest stint on SNL)


• Paul Rudd - totes hot, is funny and can re-enact scenes from Clueless with me after dinner


• Adam Levine - totes hot. Not sure if he's funny. But something about him is just really delicious. (But not as delicious as blogaunt's special recipe stuffing.)

Sensing a theme? Hot and funny. Got it?

Note to anyone I'll see on or around Turkey Day: No, I am not dating anyone. So please don't bother asking. Unless you want one of those turkey drumsticks shoved somewhere that is going to be painful for both of us.

My new anthem

I. AM. OBSESSED.

Seriously. I can't stop listening to "Single Ladies" by Beyonce/Sasha/Mrs. Jay-Z/whatever the hell name she's going by these days.

Appropriate, no? I mean, I am painfully single right now. In fact, I was the only single bridesmaid in the wedding this weekend, and one of the only single girls at the wedding PERIOD.

(However, I did have several folks interested in getting in on the finders' fee action at the wedding. Interesting. Stay tuned on that one.)

Til then, I am going to continue blaring Ms. Beyonce's song on my computer, on my iPod, in my car and anywhere else I can get my ears on it.

Now I just gotta me some of those Dereon jeans.

(Hey, it sounds like it works for Miss B.: I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips, got me tighter than my Dereon jeans.)

We survived! (But the bag didn't.)

What a fun, fun time Molly & Drew's wedding was. The bride looked gorge, the wedding party was super fun and the new Mr. & Mrs. looked so incredibly happy. YEAH!

And, the survival kit got LOTS of use yesterday.

I love being the bridesmaid in charge of "fixing" people's problems. Whether it's taking care of a stomach ache, helping out with unexpected "lady problems" or chalking over a stain on the bride's dress, my self-made wedding day survival kit bag has made its rounds through nearly all of the weddings I've been in.

(Well, the contents have. The bag has been replaced a couple of times. That stuff is HEAVY.)

Let's take a gander at what was used yesterday:

• SAFETY PINS. Carrie and I each had wardrobe malfunctions and needed pins to holster our bra straps into our dresses.


• TISSUES. Molly asked for a couple of them before the loooooong trip down the aisle. She then proceeded to shove them into Drew's pocket right before they exchanged their vows. (Note: He had to take the tissues out of his pocket about 4 seconds later when they both got a little teary. Awww.)


• HAIRSPRAY & MIRROR. Duh. However, Carrie also got resourceful with the hairspray and reattached a runaway fake eyelash using some. That was crafty.


• BOBBY PINS. All of the bridemaids' hair was super cute yesterday (thanks to Kelly!), but most of the styles required a lot of bobby pins. The more everyone moved/danced, the more the supply in the bag dwindled.


• ASPIRIN. I got a killer headache right after the ceremony (I forgot to have caffeine in the a.m. -- duh), so I popped three pills (and a Red Bull... which may or may not have had some vodka in it) and was good to go.


• DEODORANT. Some of us were so cold, we were sweating. I know that sounds like it makes no sense, but it happened. Thank goodness for the cucumber scented Dove.


• EVIAN SPRAY. A couple of the groomsmen were feeling schivatz after a long day of drinking, so a few quick sprays from the Evian toner/refresher spray and they were ready to break it down. (Literally. One of the guys at the wedding was break dancing.)


• PLASTIC BABUSHKA. We didn't really need this at all yesterday (it was cold, but not rainy), but Drew put it on during pictures to keep some of us girls entertained during "down" times.

Unfortunately, the survival kit bag itself did not fare so well. As in, it completely busted open.

But I just think that means even the bag was so happy for the newly married couple that it was busting at the seams. ;)

Now I have to go see if I've got anything in there for dancing injuries. Apparently your dear Always A Bridesmaid thought it was a good idea to do the splits. On the dance floor. In my bridesmaid dress.

And I'm paying for it today.