"I'd love to meet a nice Italian girl, but..."

Seeing my friends Markiella yesterday reminded me of a funny story that I don't think I shared with you guys yet.

It all goes back several weeks, when I was at a party with Markiella and their families. I chatted with the mom of the XX half of Markiella for a good portion of the party, and she just couldn't understand how I am still single.

(I have a way of winning over the over 50 crowd. And eliciting the "how are you still single" question.)

Fast forward a couple of weeks, when I received a tweet (via Twitter, for those of you who may be as technologically backwards as me) from the XY half of Markiella, telling me that his mother-in-law (from the party) had a potential guy for me.

(I don't think the XY half had told his m-i-l about the finders' fee, so I assume he was acting as the go-between to maybe get his little hands on it.)

Apparently, his mother-in-law has a lot of interaction with professional guys all day as a result of her job (get your heads out of the gutter, you pigs), and she had one in particular who she had her eye on for me.

After I gave the go-ahead to attempt a fix up (hey, April Adventures, people!), his mother-in-law asked the potential suitor if he'd like to meet a nice Italian girl.

The potential suitor responded that he'd love to. Except that he's gay.

Soooo... I guess I should have been a teensy bit more specific about my prereqs for a guy. Funny. Family-oriented. Wears a watch (or in some other way showcases his responsibility). Has a job that he likes. Aaaaand... likes girls.

(I know, I know. You're remembering how I just recently professed the gay guy as my "type." But I'm fairly certain it would not work out in the real world of dating.)

On the bright side, I do know that Markiella's mom/mother-in-law definitely has the right kind of guy in mind for me. Now she just needs to make sure he likes girls too.

Findlay, not Find-a-lay

I told you yesterday about our outing in Findlay for my friend Michele's bachelorette party this weekend. Unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately), my camera battery died so I had to rely on getting some photos from friends.

Aaaaaand here is the photographic evidence of the overalls guy I told you about:


Note the guy on the left's "summer teeth" (one of bloggrampa's favorite phrases, rest his soul -- as in, "summer here, summer there"), pube-a-'do goatee, wife beater and nose ring. Note the man in the background's scary arm tats. Note how proud overalls guy is of said overalls ("Hey, man. Check out my dungarees!")

Aaaaaand here is photographic proof that everyone in Findlay has either furry hair, a mullet or a mustache (and, sometimes, all three):


Note that my friend (in the white) is the only person in this picture with a full set of teeth. What you can't see is that the lead singer (shown here sporting jean shorts, a.k.a. "jorts") is barefoot. Sick. And, yes. That person in the orange plaid is a woman.

So, my friends, is it any wonder that I didn't have much luck finding love while on the road this weekend? Here's hoping this coming weekend brings better prospects. With better fashion sense. Or at least a full set of teeth.

Doin' it bloggie style

I wish I could say that I were witty enough to come up with that "bloggie style" reference myself, but, alas, it was stolen from an ad on the back of the gay porn magazine that my friend Michele got at her bachelorette party this weekend. (I won't gross you out by sharing the name of the blog that the ad was promoting.)

Needless to say, it was a pretty wild nite (especially by Findlay, Ohio standards). A few highlights from our adventures:

• A friend of ours announcing to the bride-to-be's future mother-in-law that she was a "very sensual girl" (this same friend also asked my friend if she takes baths with her fiancee... in front of her mother)


• Seeing men at the bar wearing honest-to-goodness denim overalls (similar to the ones I wore circa 1995 in college)


• Walking in on a girl from the party taking a BM at the first bar we were at (umm, lock the door, please)


• 2o minutes later, seeing another friend's hoo-hah when the door swung open as she was going to the bathroom


• Forcing our friend Shannon to make a cake for us so we could eat it after hours (there's no Panini's in Findlay, kids)


• My friend Nikki gorging on leftover shrimp cocktail late nite, deciding that she was going to "melt a tub of butter and eat it like it's lobster" (actually, we were all grateful that she didn't try to use the fruit-flavored sex lube "Dick Tasty" that she had given to the bachelorette earlier that nite)

Aaaaaand, yet another ridiculous bachelorette party under my belt. And you would be so proud of me. I did not give my number out to any chefs or lawyers. (In fact, I'm not sure there even are any chefs or lawyers in Findlay.) I didn't do the robot. I didn't even black out (even though I was drinking blackout and tonics).

OMG, am I actually growing up? Say it ain't so!

"Please put your seat in an upright position...

... and a ring on my finger, passenger in seat 16A!"

I went on a business trip today and had a major revelation: I need to start moonlighting as a flight attendant. Man, there are a lot of cute boys flying during the week. (Plus, I'm a huge sucker for a guy in a suit.) No wonder they call them the friendly skies.

Which got me thinking: what other jobs would be good to find men? I've come up with a couple:

• Hairdresser. You know how I love a well-groomed (read: metrosexual) man. And most of the guys I have dated go to a hairdresser at a nice salon (vs. the barber down the street). So, it stands to reason that working as a hairdresser would be a great way to guarantee at least 30 minutes every few weeks with the same cute guy. I could get to know him over the course of a couple of months, then go in for the kill. (Which is probably the wrong phrase to use if I am going to be working with very sharp scissors. But you know what I mean.) Plus, I'd probably get to work with lots of my second-fave type of guy: gays! (Maybe I could double down and find a SO for Brissy there too!)


• Tailor. It's not often that putting your hand in someone's crotch is encouraged, but tailors do it every day. And, despite the fact that I can't really sew (unlike the hairdresser idea, which I actually think I'd be pretty good at), maybe I could be an "apprentice" or something. Or just the official measurer chic. If a guy was especially cute and nice (and funny! don't forget funny!), I could slip a little note in his pocket with my number on it for him to find when he got home.

But, I can't really think of any good ones beyond those. (Bartending is out. I am way over the bar scene, so there's no way I'd subject myself to that.)

What other professions would be primo for a single gal looking for love?

I heart guest blogging

Hi, guys! I'm not really here today... I've abandoned 27 Dresses (don't worry - just for today) to head over to the I Heart Cleveland blog for a guest post about the best places to date around the city.

I must admit that I was really very flattered when the editor of IHC asked me to do a guest post because I love that blog as much as I love saying That's What She Said.

(OK, almost as much as I love saying TWSS.)

Check out my suggested places to find and/or court a potential mate, and please let me know other places I should check out!

P.S. If you don't already regularly read IHC, you should. It's the best collection of "sassy things to see, taste and do in the place we call home" that I've found. Subscribe!

Oh, baby!

I know I've documented my love for the blog Cake Wrecks before. It is truly effing fabulously hilarious. (And I don't even like cake!)

As you know, most of the cakes I get to see these days are at wedding showers, bachelorette parties (made into... ahem... interesting shapes) and weddings.

(Sidenote: more cake is heading my way this weekend, when we celebrate my friend Michele's shower and bachelorette party. Stories to follow, I'm sure. Especially if I have a few blackout & tonics.)

But back to the point... the last couple days of Cake Wrecks posts have been particularly fun for me. Because they've been about baby shower cakes. (Check them out here and here.)

Why, you ask?

Because Always a Bridesmaid is going to be Auntie AAB soon! Yep, my middle sissy is pregs with my future blogniece or blognephew.

(I'm secretly hoping for a girl because the clothes are cuter, but I will take anything as long as it's healthy. And it agrees to call me its favorite aunt.)

I suppose it's only fitting. I've pretty much perfected the art of hosting a wedding shower, so I think this is God's way of letting me know that it's time for my next challenge: baby showers. One thing I can tell you is that, in no way, will any baby shower I ever throw involve games of any sort. (Well, unless they're drinking games.)

I'm also curious to see what sorts of snarky remarks this news elicits from peeps. When my sissies got engaged and subsequently married, there was no shortage of comments about me being single/the last one to get married.

Guess I need to start working on some clever one-liners now to use when someone says something like that to me. Like, "Isn't it exciting? Are you guys due around the same time? Oh, you're not pregs? My bad!" (Though I suppose that won't work on men.)

Anyhow... congrats again, sissy! (And heaven help your poor hubs for the next six or so months!) Love you! :)

Found: my "type"

We had a super fun bday outing for Brissy this weekend: House party. Strip club. Gay bar. Can it get any better than that? (Oh, yes it can. Transportation? The strip club party bus. Who knew that gays liked strip clubs?!?)

(Sidenote: in case you're new here, Brissy is my family's gay quasi-adopted brother. He does every holiday, birthday and family vacation with us. Brissy = brother (because he's a boy) + sister (because he's gay). We love Brissy.)

Anyhow, during the course of the nite, I discovered my type: an honest-to-goodness gay guy. (At least, as long as he's friends with Brissy. Because those guys are aahh-maaa-zing.) For realz. Here's why:

• I wouldn't ever have to apologize for playing Britney Spears music. In fact, it would be encouraged. (It certainly was last nite.)


• I would have someone to learn all the dance routines from music videos with. (Fun!)


• There would be no shortage of one-liners to keep me entertained. Example (when discussing blogdad's attempt to grow his hair out like Richard Gere circa Pretty Woman): "More like Richard Queer!" (Actual words spoken by Brissy.)


• I wouldn't have to plan all of the fun outings/dates. Brissy's friends had that stuff taken care of last nite. From the free shuttle bus and passes for the strip club to the hailing of a cab for sissy and me when we were beat (the boys were still partying), we didn't have to worry about a thing. (Other than our crazy cab driver on the way home.)
  
• I would be guaranteed affection without the expectation of anything more. (I lost track of the number of hugs and back rubs I got last nite.)


• I'd never have to worry if he was going to potentially embarrass me by pulling out some old-school oversized rugby or other horrendous article of clothing. And even if he did wear a rugby, I'm certain it would be the right size. (And designer.)

I suppose there would be some downsides too (like, the fact that he'd likely be more romantically interested in my brothers-in-law than me). *SIGH*

But in theory, I'm sort of really liking the GBF (gay boyfriend) idea. Now if I could just find a gay straight guy...

When virtual & real worlds collide

What a weird, fun nite last nite was. I went out for a couple of drinks with my friend Captain Crunch after a day-long meeting and ended up meeting two different groups of people who knew my dating trials and tribulations -- one which knew my real-life single life, and one that knew just the online version of it.

First was my "virtual world" unveiling. After popping into the ladies' room at the first bar we stopped at, I came back to my seat to discover Captain Crunch talking to the girls next to him (one of whom he knew), apparently about my blog. Guess while I was in the bathroom, he had mentioned something about the blog (which he himself had just found out about earlier in the nite), and it turned out one of the girls actually reads it. Weirdville, USA! I mean, I was completely flattered that a stranger actually finds what I say interesting enough to read about regularly. And I realize that there are now quite a few peeps who read this blog who I don't know. But I guess it was just sort of weird to be sitting two people down from a total stranger who exclaimed, "You're 27 Dresses? I read your blog!" Weird. Flattering. Humbling.

After that conversation, we left the bar and headed out for one last beer (and a couple of pieces of pizza). While Captain Crunch was ordering his 'za, someone came up to me and asked if I had been in a newspaper article about eligible singles in Cleveland. Turns out, the guy was in the article with me (as was his friend)! I mean, really? First my online single persona was unveiled, and now my real one was? Needless to say, Captain Crunch was quite confounded.

So, to recap... within a 20-minute span, my singlehood was solidified not once, but twice. Once, twice, three times a lady, I suppose... whether virtual or real.

Are you an anonymous blogger? What do you do when someone who reads your blog finds out you're the real-life author behind it?

Damn you, Tax Man

No, not because I owe money on my taxes this year. Because even the effing Tax Man reminds me I'm single. To all my friends who have gotten married in the past year (many of whom I've served as bridesmaids for, natch), I say this:



The only good thing about the whole taxes process is that I'm actually getting a decent return this year, which will probably be spent on this.

(And by "probably," I mean "will." But don't worry -- there's still enough left over to make good on the finders' fee! So get crackin', peeps.)

Finding a mate(y)

Was I the only person surprised to learn that pirates still exist? WTF? It's 2009, right? I mean, I remember learning about them back in 5th grade social studies class, but I never expected to hear Matt Lauer (my love) break news about a ship being taken over by pirates in the 21st century.

(BTW, thank goodness that captain is OK now. How horrific. Aaaarggh.)

Anyhow, this recent news story got me thinking: who would be the best pirate boyfriend? (And, no, I'm not talking about anything regarding an angry pirate, you sickos.)

Here are the contenders:

• ORLANDO BLOOM -- cute. 'nuff said. (I don't even mind the long scruffy hair.)


• JOHNNY DEPP -- cute. 'nuff said. (Plus, you could always borrow his eyeliner if you ran out.)


• LONG JOHN SILVER -- fried food. 'nuff said. (Though I'm not sure the technical pirate version is also tied to the fast food chain. But a girl can dream, can't she?)


• JOSH DUHAMEL -- ok, so he's never technically played a pirate in any movies or TV shows. But he's so yummy, can't you forgive that one little issue?

What say you? Which one of these guys would you walk the plank for?

P.S. Raise your hand (errrr... comment) if you read the "Aaaarggh" above in your head like a pirate.

Nothing says Easter like TWSS, Tacky Onassis & The Cougar

Hopefully by the time you're reading this, you've roused from your post-Easter/Passover food coma and are back among the living.

(I, however, am stuffed to the gills. Too much wedding soup. And ricotta pie. And chocolate-covered strawberries. And ham. And Pringles.)

As always, my family's holiday get-together did not disappoint. Besides the gorge fest (two meals at two houses within two hours), we had lots of laughs:

• Helping my cousin's daughter prepare for her upcoming First Communion by practicing with jelly beans. Since she had the standard procedure down, we added levels of difficulty as we went along, including having her accept the jelly beans with her elbows touching and making her point her toe like she was a QVC model while saying "Amen."


• Making inappropriate "that's what she said" jokes all day with Brissy and my parents. (In case you didn't notice, I gave up saying TWSS for Lent. Man, that was hard. TWSS. Yessss!!!) My fave was when we TWSS'd blogparents' friend after she said the following about our homemade wedding soup: "Mmm. I love these little balls."


• Brissy reminding me of last Easter, when blogmom emerged from her room wearing some sort of zebra-print swing coat and the name "Tacky Onassis" was born. (I wish I were as witty as that damn bitch. He's so funny.)

And, in between all of the holiday craziness, we saw a preview of the newest reality show coming out this week: The Cougar. Have you seen this stuff? WTF is television coming to?

(Don't get me wrong. I'll probably watch at least one episode.)

So then the discussion ensued... what's your definition of a "cougar"?

P.S. Thanks to Dolce, who gave me a blogger award last Friday. Fun! I haven't had a chance to think about what I'm going to write yet, so go check out her blog in the meantime. Thanks again, Dolce!

The "ex" factor

MOTHER EFFING HOLY HELL.

(I realize that this is likely sacrilegious to say on Good Friday, but I think you'll agree this post warrants it. In fact, I almost didn't even write this post because it's so crazy to me. But since I've opened up to you guys so much about my love life for the past seven or so months, it felt sort of right to share it with you here.)

When I got home last nite, I grabbed my mail on the way into the condo. In addition to an invitation to a wedding shower (my second in as many weeks -- Always a Bridesmaid lives on!), there "it" was. A letter. From The Murse.

(For those of you who don't remember, The Murse is the guy I thought I would marry. We dated for 6+ years and broke up about 3 years ago. Since then, we've seen each other a handful of times, and pretty much only talk when we exchange obligatory "happy birthday" emails.)

I actually thought about publishing the letter verbatim, but then I decided it was a little too personal to do that. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have never really opened up about my relationships, and publishing The Murse's thoughts word for word just didn't feel right.

(Which probably seems weird to you, as a reader of a blog about my dating life. But if you don't know me, you probably don't realize what a huge step it was for me to even start this thing. But trust me. This blog's contents are very out of character for the real-life Always a Bridesmaid.)

Anyhow, back to the point. The letter from the ex. WHOA.

It was two pages, handwritten on lined paper and meticulously thought out. And it was apparent to me that the feelings The Murse expressed in that letter had been running through his head for some time now.

Essentially, he told me that he made a huge mistake when he couldn't commit to me three years ago. That working in the hospital has made him realize that people don't always get to say what they want to say, and he didn't want to be one of them. That he still thinks about me all the time. That I will always be the one who got away.

I really don't know what to think. On one hand, I am sad to know that my life right now could be so very different had things gone differently three years ago, and would probably include a husband and a family and a white picket fence. (In the letter, The Murse said that he wished we had had a family.) A life where I wouldn't be alone on a holiday like I will be this weekend.

On the other, I've forced myself to be over this relationship for so long now that I don't really think I could ever go back. (And, truth be told, my friends and family are so angry with The Murse now that it would be nearly impossible to go back, even if I thought I wanted to do it. I could never date someone who my friends and family didn't like.) And who's to say that I would have been happy with a guy who was so indecisive to begin with?

So, there you have it. I don't have any particularly enlightening things to say about this whole situation beyond, "Holy shit." (Thank goodness I didn't give up swearing for Lent like I did last year.)

That said, I'm hopeful that maybe the Easter Bunny will bring me something really, really awesome in my basket this year. Like a guy who adores me and realizes it when he's got me next to him. Not three years too late. (And if that's too much to ask, Mr. E. Bunny, I'll take a couple of tins of Pringles.)

Bartender = personal Dr. Phil

I met up with a couple of friends at Tartine last nite for a quick glass of wine after a long day of work and pro-bono meetings. (Trust me. I needed that glass of Riesling by 9pm.)

As it turns out, the bartender who was working was the same guy who was my server the nite of my "no sparks" date last week.

(Sidenote: I just realized that I never even gave that "no sparks" guy a blog name. Interesting.)

Anyhow, I started chatting up the bartender (huge surprise!), and he remembered me from the week before. He said he could tell we were on a first date, and that it seemed strained. (I think his exact words were, "You were so bubbly, and he just seemed sort of blah. Like he had a wall up.")

He went on to tell us that the wait staff can always tell when people are on first dates, and that they can usually tell when someone is having a good time -- or not.

So I had a new idea... perhaps I should take all of my first dates to Tartine, then let my little bartender friend give me a third-party review of how he thinks things went afterward. (Perhaps even on the blog?)

After all, who sees more dates (the good, the bad and the ugly) than a bartender at a cute little West side hot spot?

Must be in the air

If you regularly check out the comments section on my blog posts, you'll probably remember seeing a few here and there from a guy named slopmaster. I don't know anything about him other than the fact that he is a fellow blogger, but I just read a recent post of his that I found hysterical.

Apparently, getting "found out" by a former date vis a vie your blog is contagious these days.

Check out slopmaster's tale about being discovered here. (Be sure to check out the 5th paragraph: "It was mmmmeeee!!!!" Ha ha ha.) Tell him Always a Bridesmaid sent ya!

A new month, an old flame

Thanks to everyone who suggested names for this month's dating escapades. I loved them all and couldn't pick a fave, so I'm going to go with the whole "blood is thicker than blog-ter" mantra and pick blogmom's: April Adventures. (BTW, you won't see that suggestion as a comment on my last post. She texted it to me because she's afraid to comment on the blog too much. Oh, blogmom. How cute.)

And, as part of April Adventures, I'm going to try something new. There is a particular boy who I have a crush on right now (let's just say my stomach dropped when I met him). And I'm wondering if maybe the bad luck in my dating life is coming from blogging about the boys I go out with. (Wouldn't it be a pisser if the saboteur was right? That I'm inadvertently screwing up my dating life?)

So, I'm not going to blog about him. At least, not until I see where this is going.

In the meantime, I'm sure there will be plenty of other AAB escapades to share. For example... there was an ex-sighting this morning. Here's what happened.

I met a couple of my friends for brunch at Sweet Melissa's in Rocky River. When I got there, I scored an awesome spot on the street, and as I got out I noticed that the car behind me looked very similar to The Divorcee's. However, there are a zillion cars like that on the road, so I didn't really think anything of it.

(Sidenote: I just accidentally typed, "I didn't really think anything of us." Interesting.)

Anyhow, as we were looking over the menu, I glanced up to find that my ExSP was right, as I watched The Divorcee and a girl (who knows blogdad, BTW -- more six degrees of separation!) leaving the restaurant.

(I ALWAYS get this weird ESP feeling prior to running into this guy. My friends and I are sort of freaked out about it now, actually.)

But you know what? This was the first time that I have seen him since we broke up that I didn't feel a pang of sadness.

(Don't get me wrong. It was still weird to see him. Especially with a girl.)

Hmmm. Finally getting over an ex? Now that is sweet.

Manhunt March to be replaced by...

... ?????

I can't think of anything witty to replace Manhunt March. (Which, by the way, I later realized should have been March Man-ness. Duh.)

One of my sissies suggested "Aggressive April," but that just sounds a little too... well... aggressive.

What do you guys think? Spring Fling? Something to do with April showers? Or Easter? Help!!!

(BTW, I am planning to keep the Manhunt March mantra going by continuing to pursue boys who interest me instead of waiting on them. I definitely have a new one that I have my eye on... just met him, though I've been hearing about him for a while now... stay tuned...)

In the meantime... help me name the next phase of my dating exploits! March went out like a lion, to be sure (thanks to the saboteur!). Let's hope April brings a tad less blogma (blog + drama, for those of you who haven't been keeping up).

Sparks from the start

I had a date last nite. With the girl who "outed" me to The Greek. What a complete cluster fuc... April Fool! Ha ha ha.

Actually, I did have a date. But not with that chic. With a boy.

He was a very nice guy. Strong family ties, great job, good sense of humor. But I'm not sure there was any type of "spark" or romantic connection with him. (In fact, I'm sure of it. Like, I don't think I could ever imagine kissing him. But I could imagine going to an Indians game or grabbing a beer with him and a group of friends.)

While I certainly don't need to date a guy who looks like Brad Pitt or George Clooney (though I wouldn't kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers), I do think it's important to have some sort of attraction right off the bat. Maybe it's his laugh... his smile... his eyes... his wallet.

(Ha ha ha. TOTES kidding about the wallet thing. You know I'm kidding, right? Just want to make sure I don't develop more haters who think I'm only out for a guy's money. A girl who's a gold digger doesn't date a guy who is jobless/in school for several years of their six-year relationship. So, yes, I am completely kidding about the wallet thing.)

(BTW, it sucks that I now feel like I have to clarify every joke I make because I'm worried some chic is going to try to sabotage me from now on. Eff.)

Anyhow, while I realize that sometimes the "connection" with a guy takes time to develop (unless, of course, you're on The Bachelor, in which case it takes two minutes), I've always found that no physical attraction from the start is never a good thing. (At least, not for me.)

Sparks from the start... necessary or not?