I'm glad I follow my own advice...

... because it came in handy yet again!

Remember waaaaaaaay back when, when I wrote this post about never leaving your house looking like a pig because you never know when you might run into an ex?

And you know how I always say Cleveland is two degrees of separation, right?

Well, those two little nuggets came into play last week when I ran into a blast from my dating past.

Not that he'd remember.

That's right, ladies and gents. I saw Amnesia Guy.

Picture it. Third quarter of a Cavs game. I had just finished my second (double) gin and tonic and wanted to hit the little girls' room before the game let out. So I left my boy toy at the seats (which were SICK, by the way), made my way up the stairs and turned the corner to head toward the ladies room.

And there he stood. Amnesia Guy. Stuffing popcorn down his throat and wearing what some might consider a Cosby sweater. He was clearly waiting for someone to come out of the ladies' room, and after the ridiculous email exchange that went down with him last summer (seriously... if you don't remember/know the back story with him and didn't click on that link up there, do yourself a favor and go check it out now) I had nothing to say to him.

So you're probably asking, "Why are you telling us this story if you didn't even talk to him, AAB?" Well, my point is this, ladies: you never know when you might see an ex (even in a sea of 20,000 of your closest friends at an arena), so it's best to be a good scout and always be prepared.

Because while I was looking all sassy in my cropped velvet blazer and cute little booties, he... well... was wearing that unfortunate sweater. (With popcorn all over it.)

I bet he wishes *I* were the one with amnesia now.

Have you ever had a run-in with an ex when he (or -- gasp! -- you) looked like a wreck?

The best wedding I never went to

Contrary to popular blogpinion, I have NOT been to every wedding ever held in the contiguous United States.

(Just most of them.)

But there are a few that I never made my way to.

And there's one in particular I wish I could have gone to... but, alas, I wasn't born.

That's right. I'm talking about the lovely nuptials of one Mr. and Mrs. Blogdad and Blogmom. On this day 38 years ago, they got married.

Fast forward through three daughters, two sons-in-law, two grandkids (with another on the way), four cats and lots of my ex-BFs... and they're still holding hands in church and commenting on blog posts together -- nearly four decades later!

Happy anniversary, guys! Love you! (And so do my readers!)

xoxo --
Always a Bridesmaid

P.S. I think we can all agree that I was the best gift you ever gave each other, but don't tell my sissies. ;)

Whoreoween

When did Halloween become Whoreoween? I swear, Halloween is now just an excuse for girls to dress (and act) slutty. (Not that the single guys probably mind all that much.)

Me? Not so much. My rules for Halloween are simple:

• I can't be uncomfortable. (One year, The Murse and I went to a party as the Unibomber and The Bomb. I was The Bomb, natch. Which meant I wore a giant cardboard box around all nite and couldn't lift my arms to drink my beer. And I needed help every time I went to the bathroom. Sidenote: my bladder is the size of a ping pong ball. That's when this rule was enacted.)
• I can't look like a whore. (Unless, of course, I'm dressed as a whore. But then how would I look any different from my everyday wardrobe? Jaaaaaaay kaaaaaay.)
• I can't look like an asshole. (Same ex-boyfriend, different costume: one year, The Murse and I went as the couple who had the Halloween party we went to every year. Except he was the wife and I was the husband. I wore Carhartt from head to toe and a drawn-on goatee. I looked like a reject from Extreme Makeover: Lesbian Home Edition and immediately swore -- after seeing pictures -- that I would never go out for Halloween again looking like an asshole.)

Since then, I haven't really had many opportunities to do a couple's costume with a significant other because, well... I haven't really been dating someone at Halloween. And it looks like this year won't be much different, as the boy toy will be working when I will be partying. Sad face.

(However, I am pretty juiced about my costume idea. And, no. I'm not divulging.)

Do you have a favorite couples' costume that you've worn (or seen) over the years? (One of my personal faves is when my sis and her now-hubs went as Cameltoe: he was the camel, she was the toe.)

And what's your take on this whole Whoreoween phenomenon?

Don't move to Panama City!

At least, don't move there if you want to stay married.

A new article was just published citing America's 50 divorce capitals, and Panama City topped the list. Lucky for me (and those of us who live here), Cleveland didn't make the cut.

(Not that it matters much for me... since you have to actually get married before you can get divorced.)

Is your city on the list? And do you really think where you live has something to do with whether you stay married?

P.S. What's up with all the celeb divorces being announced this month?

FourStalked

I've been FourStalked. And have lived to tell the story.

Picture it: I'm out cocktailing with a gal pal earlier this week. I checked in to the restaurant we were at on FourSquare. Then we continued dishing about the boys in our lives, and I didn't think twice about it.

But then, he came through the door. My FourStalker.

(As it turns out, he was a guy with whom I'd chatted on Twitter, and he seems very harmless and nice. And older gent who's a little lonely, maybe. But harmless.)

Anyhow, he saw that I had checked in to a place across the street from where he was, so he came over to meet me in person.

Now, he knew who I was, but I had no idea who he was because he doesn't use his picture on his twitter or FourSquare profiles. But because he knew what I looked like, he sidled up right next to me (my back was to him), asked the bartender what I was drinking and bought me a glass of wine. And nothing for himself. (Or my friend!)

I thought it was really weird that he was buying me a drink and not himself. But then I heard, "Excuse me. AAB? I'm FourStalker. I just wanted to come meet you in person and say hello because I saw you were here and I was across the street."

(Now before you get all Dateline: The FourSquare Killer on me, I must reiterate that this guy was completely harmless. We'd chatted on twitter on a number of occasions. But, again, because he doesn't use a picture there, I had no idea who he was when he initially approached.)

So... on to the best part of the story. It'd be one thing if this older gent came in dressed and looking like George Clooney. (Or Matt Lauer.) I could get into that. But noooooooo. This guy was most definitely NOT cut from that same cloth. (Literally.) And I believe what he looked like is probably best described in pictures.

Behold.

A man who looked EERILY like Richard Dreyfuss:


Wearing a shirt that was half hunting gear, half Tommy Bahama (Note: I couldn't find a shirt that even slightly resembled the one he was actually wearing to share with you... which is probably a good thing, since now your eyes won't be bleeding for the rest of the day):
And who happened to be sporting one of THESE (except it was thinner and longer... *that's what she said*):


Wow. I've never been hit on by a guy with a rat tail before.

(And, God, I hope I never am again.)

Happy weekend, loves!

From The Mouse to The Winner

I can now officially say that I dated the nation's Bachelor of the Year.

That's right, ladies. (And gents.)

The Mouse won Cosmo's Bachelor Hunt!

Check out the story here. And thanks to everyone who voted for him! :)

Meet The Mouse (and vote for him!)

Anyone who's been reading this blog for any length of time knows a few things:

• I've dated my share of frogs (though, admittedly, they weren't ALL frogs -- maybe just not right for me)
• Every guy I write about gets a nickname so as to protect the innocent (and the guilty)
• I've never "outed" a guy on the blog with his real identity (though The Greek did out himself after that whole saga went down)
• I really try to stay friendly with (most of) my ex-es because there's no point in not doing so
• Most of the guys I date are pretty metrosexual and often HOT
  

Which brings us to today's post. About Cleveland's hometown hottie, Ryan "Mickey" McLean, who's up for this year's Bachelor of the Year for Cosmo magazine. Cute, no?


Whether you realize it or not, many of you already know Mickey. How so? Well, he's been written about here before. Mickey is The Mouse.

(You can read all the posts I've written about him here. And don't worry; he pre-approved his "outing" for this post.)

Anyhow, Mick is a great guy (who just happens to be delish on the eyes) and I'd love to see him win this contest. So won't you help him? Just click on this link to cast your vote for Mr. Ohio. You can vote once per day until October 10.

C'mon ladies. Let's do this.