St. Patricks Day in April: Or Teddy Go Home.

Right, I know I said Friday, but I really didn't get around to finishing this until this morning.

So, St. Patrick's Day.

(Is that going to be funny every time when I put "St. Patrick's Day" in bolded green font?)

St. Patrick's Day was supposed to be mellow. There was a plan. The plan was that K-Rock, Hott Scott and I were going to run Six Tunnels and then we were going to go see Flogging Molly at the House of Blues that night, have a few cocktails and then turn in. That was the plan. Mellow, more or less. Nobody (by which I mean me specifically, but might mean others) has been in a mood for a rager here in a while. And honestly, I'm okay with that.

Six Tunnels was delightful. Hott Scott insists that we show up at the crack of dawn, which turns out to be not necessary but nice nonetheless because you can see some special sights in an off-strip casino at 6:00am. The run is beautiful, the weather is beautiful, it's a great way to start the day.

Things begin to go wrong right after that. To begin with, I don't get a chance to nap at all between awaking at 5:00am to run and meeting up for pre-Flogging Molly drinks at 5 or 6pm or whatever time we met up. I intended to nap, but I had a bunch of errands to run and it didn't quite work out that way. So I'm already exhausted by the time we hook up at the classy, classy Mermaid Bar at Mandalay Bay in the early evening.

It's fight night at the Mandalay, which means that the crowd is a mix of frat boys who never quit being frat boys ... and Mexicans. And then there are a bunch of hipsters and punks and aged-out punks and Irish nationalists running around for the Flogging Molly show. I was sure there was going to be a race riot, or more accurately a social-class riot, but in the name of St. Patrick everybody seemed to get along just fine.

So, the show. Firstly, the show begins with the single most awesome opening act you will ever see - The Cherry Cokes. Apparently, Irish punk is all the rage in Japan, and so there are now a series of Japaness bands that play Irish punk. I'm not making this up, and also I almost enjoyed this band more than I enjoyed FM. They were brilliant in a completely non-logical way. Enjoy.



And then we meet Teddy.

Teddy is everything you hate about people who answer the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up."

Firstly, let's talk about Teddy's form of introduction. Scottie has wandered off, and K-Rock and I are chilling at the bar when I sense that somebody, somewhere, is WAY too far into my personal space. I turn, and there is Teddy, standing silently and stalkerishly about half an inch from my body. Teddy also looks like everything you would expect from somebody who answers the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up." He has on the obligatory hipster striped Sesame Street reminiscent shirt, the shaggy but still sculpted hair and the kind of "dead behind the eyes but not quite" stare.

Teddy wants FRIENDS. OMG TEDDY WANTS FRIENDS. And Teddy is going to get friends using the most tried and true method of obtaining friends: Round after round of Washington Apple shots. I am having one of those nights where I am immune to alcohol (unlike Friday night of this week, where I had four cocktails over four hours and have now been violently ill for two days), but Teddy is not having one of those nights where he is immune to alcohol, and he gets progressively drunker and drunker.

Now, anybody who knows me knows that I am and have been for a while now a tad bit irrationally hung up on a boy, and Teddy is about the polar opposite of K-Rock's kind of thing, but it's St. Patrick's Day and we're out and about and so we're enjoying the company of our fake, hipster, shared boyfriend, Teddy. That is until Scott comes back. Scott will steal your date straight out from under you at any time in any place. And he turns to Teddy and asks him about what kind of music he plays, and Teddy is gone to K-Rock and I. Hott Scott has stolen our boyfriend, and frankly I'm still a little pissed off about it. Teddy LOVES Hott Scott and his interest in his music and decides to celebrate by buying another round of Washington Apple shots.

And then Teddy is obliterated. He begins obliterated by sidling up to me and saying, "I think you're really pretty and I want us to be best friends forever."

"Really," I say, "Would you still want us to be best friends forever if I were forty pounds overweight and played the washboard in a band for a living?"

Teddy, in fairness, actually takes a solid minute to think about this. And then he says, "No."

At which point, I was going to entertain him and talk to him anyway because at least he was honest, but the band got good and I wanted to listen. And so Teddy moves on to K-Rock and her luscious boobs. And, well, that doesn't go so well because Teddy is so drawn in by the voluptuousness of K-Rock's boobs that he can't help but to reach out and grab them, at which point Hott Scott can't help but to reach out and grab Teddy. And so, Hipster Teddy and his Hipster Ways are forced to exit the night under the heavy hand of the punk rock version of Hott Scott. And what have we learned? You don't grab women's boobs at an Irish punk show unless said women are too drunk to know better and/or don't have their ripped up runner bodyguards with them.

After the show, we head over to the bar at Fleur de Lys to meet up with Al and Sue, who are finishing up dinner. We sit in the bar, having more drinks and truffle popcorn and watching the rowed up testosterone lovers exit the fight. And then Al and Sue join us for drinks and popcorn and then Al says, "I'm a VIP Gold member at the Penthouse Club. Wanna head over there?"

Because what St. Patrick's Day is complete unless you end it with some naked boob hanging over your table and a free bottle of vodka? Screw you and your green beer and leprechaun chicks. We want Stoli and some girl whose resume says "Dancer" and who carries a little purse onto stage with her to put her thong in when it comes off.

It was a good St. Patrick's Day. If I see Teddy's band around, I'll go to a show. There'll probably even be a song called "Washington Apple" in which he laments not having been able to fully realize the passionate love of K-Rocks breasts.

That is all.

 

And...GO! A Friday Ten In Which I Give Up on the Rest of the Year

Ha! Do you like how I stopped the Africa updates right before the three single best days of the trip (lions, gorillas and zebras?). I actually have a rare 20 minutes of down time right now when I should be trying to clean out my inbox, but let's just update instead. There are many, many things going on right now.

1. I LOVE STRESS: I mean, I probably don't love the way that it ages me, but I do thrive on it. The good thing about the current levels of stress is that it comes at a time of year when I habitually get manic anyway. I'm averaging about 4 hours of sleep a night right now. You would think that with 20 hours of awake time a day I'd have time to answer people's emails or return phone calls or not bail on social engagements. Ha! Here's what I'm balancing right now:

- A stressful job transition that's also resulted in some bad mojo for some people who work/ed with me. So I'm basically working about 12 hours a day, on a good day. Literally, my day starts at 7:30am. Around 4pm, I go to the gym for a couple of hours, and then around 7pm I start working again. Usually until around midnight.

- November is NOT party season in Vegas, but we're determined to make our revenue goal, so finding people who want to party in Vegas during one of the months of the year when NOBODY parties in Vegas is hard.

- You know it - it's holiday season. I have a shopping list of 120 people plus a card list of about 300, and you know that the majority of that card list gets that custom, special letter that Pookie and I do together which is 3x the work of a card and 10x the expense of a card. And you also know that of that 120 people a lot of them get things that I make, and though I made 35 of something during the summer, that's still a lot to do. The good news is that I have "the spreadsheet" completed. The bad news is that I also have three months of late birthday presents that need to be sent out as well. Viva!

- I AM OUT OF SHAPE: Which means I'm running like a beast. I'm not sure how it happened. I was underweight before I left for Africa, but still in good running shape. I didn't gain weight in Africa, but I also didn't run. And then when I got back, I didn't get right back to running, and I ate a lot of pizza, but it wasn't all that out of control. But when I went for my first run back this week, I was sucking air at four miles. Not good.

- AND THEN I HAD A PANIC ATTACK ABOUT MY SCHEDULE. Literally, a breathing issue panic attack. I did my calendar, and I realized that between the time I got back from Africa and the week after New Year's, I had only two weekends where either I didn't have an out of town trip scheduled or I have people in town. One of those weekends is this weekend, and one is either the weekend of December 8th or December 17th, depending on which weekend I do "Holidays in LA." After Africa I had Halffington in town, then the eight million nieces PLUS Jess's bachelorette, this weekend is blissfully off. Then November: the first weekend Matty and Jess get married, the second weekend I am going to Vancouver, the third weekend there are LA girls in town, and the fourth weekend I'll be in New York for Thanksgiving. Then there is December: the first weekend I'll be in Texas for Paul and Kari's wedding, one of the next two weekends I'll go to LA, then I'll be home in Pittsburgh for the holidays, then I'll be in Arizona for New Year's. When I looked at that schedule, I had a panic attack. Because, if you're following, I have no down time during the week right now. There's nothing I'd want off that schedule though. So I'll just buckle down and make it happen.

Here's the most awesome thing about that schedule though. So the other day I was having lunch with this boy I really like (and who I think really likes me) and he said, "Yeah, I'm going to be out of town the next two weekends."

And I immediately made my pouty face like I was so offended that he wouldn't want to spend time with me so badly that he'd leave a weekend clear. And he looked at me like I was the world's biggest hypocrite and said, "We're both really busy people. That's how it is with people like us."

AND I TOTALLY CONTINUED TO MAKE MY POUTY FACE LIKE I WAS 100% IN THE RIGHT. Which is, you know, ha ha ha ha ha ha, because if the question had been reversed and he had asked me what my weekend plans look like in the near future, I would have been all like "Yeah, why don't you talk to me in January. That's when it looks like things clear up for me."

Awesome.

And so I am stressed. My plans this weekend involve locking my door, closing my curtains, turning off my personal phone (but leaving work phones on, sigh) and chilling out - even if chilling out means that I'm actually doing work, just doing it in the comfort of my (now clean!) home. There will be crockpot action. There will be outings to the gym. There will even be laundry (which I find peaceful and relaxing - the sound of the dryer running in the background while I look at spreadsheets). There will be reading. There will be holiday crafting. THERE WILL BE ZELDA. And by 7am on Monday morning I will be refreshed.

And by 10am on Monday morning I will be in exactly the same stressed out, maxed-out place I'm in right now!

Listen, this is me saying I love everybody, but anybody who knows me knows that I go dark in November and December, and this year will be worse because of additional factors. Don't hate. Just know that when I'm not emailing or calling, I'm wishing that I were. If you are on Facebook then you get more action from me. That's all I'm saying.

2. A Little Ditty for the Marketers: Yeah, sorry, this is only funny if you've ever run a marketing department before, but since a lot of you have...

Me
So, you know, I would need the data on x as it compares to y in order to decide what I wanted to do with that situation.

Other Person
Um, yeah, the only way to get that data is manually.

Me
You mean, like, read it and enter it into a calculator?

Other Person
Um, yeah.

Me
But...but...it's housed in a database!

Other Person
Yeah, but there's really no way to easily ... let me just get you a calculator.

Let me tell you, there's some automation about to happen here. I can't think of a LESS useful way to spend my time than manually transferring data.

3. A photo that makes my photos look lame: It's seriously like Mr. Holland's Opus in Pittsburgh. I'm not even joking. My little bro just out-ghetto'ed me. "Mr. J" wins. I don't even know what to do with this.



4. Car! Detailed! Yes, finally. For those of you who have been following the saga, a can of Pepsi exploded in my car earlier this summer. The car needed to be detailed before that, but after the can of Pepsi exploded, it REALLY needed to be detailed. You know how sometimes things make it on to your to do list and then just keep getting moved to the bottom because it's such a hassle?

Then a couple of months later, I accidentally left some batteries in the car during the high heat and they leaked. Then the car REALLY REALLY needed to be detailed. However, not so much, apparently, that it rallied my ass out to get it detailed.

Then LAST WEEK I was on my way to a meeting and I hadn't eaten yet so I tried to eat sushi in the car. And at a red light, I went to open the little packet of soy sauce and it exploded all over the inside of the car.

But you know what finally got me motivated to get the car detailed? My tags have been expired for OVER A MONTH NOW because I've been too lazy to get my smog check done. The last time my tags were expired I totally got pulled over for a moving violation and had to eat the other $150 fine for having expired tags. So I finally got my car into the Saturn dealership. Exciting!

And then today I mailed in the smog check and the tag registration and was so excited that those things could be moved off my to do list.

And then I got home and opened my mail, only to find out that my lack of paying attention had meant that my driver's license had expired and I forgot to renew it, so I'm now driving on a suspended license. HOT.

I am a HOT MESS people.

5. Can we talk about SMOS briefly? You know how every year around this time, when things start to get crazy busy in my world, I start this lecture about how "I REALLY need to do something to slow the pace of my life down?" And then I go into this whole inner turmoil about how I would benefit from slowing myself down, but my nature is to live fast and big and I'd hate to have missed out on any of the things I would have missed out on if I didn't live that way? Well, can I say that in many ways this year I failed to slow the pace of my life down (see the two month schedule above as Example A). However, SMOS has totally made me slow down at least a section of my life. I have the most lovely, wonderful, beautiful men in my life right now. And if I had been going at my normal pace, I'd be well ensconced in another relationship by now and would have missed out on a lot of wonderful things I've learned. So, I'm saying, SMOS is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I did have a little bout of "single insecurity" going on the other week. And Shimmy reminded me that that's the point. As she said, "You need to become secure in the insecurity." She is so zen.

Slowing my life down will, once again, be something about myself that I try to work on in 2008. The other one will be trying to be at my best even when I'm not motivated or not inspired, which is something I learned this year is a weakness of mine. That is all.

6. I went through a phase this week where... I couldn't stop lusting after Luda. Yep. Sure did. I mean, like, talking about how hot he was all day long to anybody that would listen. Then Pookie drunk IM'ed me, and he sent me a copy of "Sexy Motherfucker" by Prince. And then I couldn't decide who I thought was sexier. Here, ponder for yourself.



7. The best thing you won't hear on my public playlist this week. You won't hear it, because I can't find a copy to put on the playlist, but there's a 2 DISC cd set of mashups of Britney and/or Madonna songs that made it down the girl chain from Ang to Shimmy to me. All the mashups are good, but there are two I just leave on repeat and listen to over and over again. One is a mashup of Missy Elliot's "Pass That Dutch" with Madonna's "Holiday", and the other is a mashup of "Holiday" with D-Child's "Make Me Lose My Breath." AND THOSE TWO MASHUPS ARE SO GOOD. You should totally try to find them online somewhere if you can. I can't stop listening.

Also, why do we love D-Child? It's because of lyrics like this:
"Ooh
Two things I don't like
when I'm trynna get my
groove -
Is a partner that meets
me only halfway, and
just can't prove -
Take me out so deep when you
know you can't swim-
Need a lifeguard and I
need protection-
To put it on me deep in
the right direction.
Ooh
You understand the facts
that I'm trynna give to
you-
You movin' so slow like
you just don't have a clue-
Didn't momma teach you
to give affection?
Learn the difference from a
man and an adolescent
It ain't you boo, so get ta steppin'"

Secondly, here's a conversation Halff may not have wanted to be made public. He and I are in the car (unfortunately pre-detailing job) listening to said cd (disc 2!).

Halff
These mashups are way better than the original Britney and Madonna songs.

Pause

Halff and I Simultaneously
Except for "Holiday." That's a great song on its own.

What have we learned? Mash any song with "Holiday" and everything gets better.

8. Cat Blog! This is honestly how fat Sly is. This is how he's sitting: He has his back paws on one chair, his front paws on another chair and his HUGE GUT is actually hanging between the two chairs. I am a bad mom!



9. Because I need a number nine ... Listen, I'm going to come clean here. Because the Rockies are Ry's favorite team, I always put $5 on them to win the World Series at the beginning of the season as a show of faith to him. The odds at the beginning of the season were, like, 30 to 1. I'm sorry. I know so many of you are Red Sox fans, but mama wants a pair of $1300 snakeskin Versace shoes she saw the other week. Go Rockies!

10. And a playlist! When I get super stressed like this, the music sounds more like a nightclub. Why? That's so obvious. Because nightclubs are where I reduce stress. Here's what we're listening to in Jocelyn world right now.

"Do It Well" - J-Lo: OHMYGOD! How much do I LOVE the new J-Lo single WITH a breakdown from my boyfriend Luda? I've been warned that if I don't stop playing and dancing to this in the work environment there will be a boycott, but IT'S SO GOOD. I work to it, I do laundry to it, I run to it. It's the best thing EVER. Or at least recently. You can't even listen to this and then listen to "Gimme More" and take Britney even a little bit seriously. I LOVE J-LO.

"Lose My Breath" - D-Child, "Pass That Dutch" - Missy Elliot and "Holiday" - Madonna: Okay, I can't give you the mashup, but I can give you all three singles and you can imagine. And dance. You can imagine, and then you can dance.

"Sexy Motherfucker" - Prince: "In a word, it's you I want to do." Or, better yet, "I want to get to know you, tell me what you do, what you eat...I might cook for you."

"Sexy motherfuker, shaking that ass, shaking that ass."

"End of the Night" - Luda: I mean, I could have picked any song here. He sounds smooth and sexy on anything. That is all. If for no other reason, this song is on because of these lyrics:
" By the end of the night you gon' be wantin to marry a nigga
Cause I make 'em erupt like volcanoes, you just shake and you shiver
Get 'em up, get down, turn around and put your face in the pillow
Cut 'em up like Jason, just face it that boy Luda's a killer
Half man, half gorilla, beatin all on my chest
Pleasin all of your flesh, squeezin all on your breast
Givin you reasons to rest, and ain't never say no to papi
Wake 'em up like Folgers cause I fold 'em like origami
Hey mami let's get it poppin like Orville Redenbacher
The way you move once you started nothin could ever stop ya
Sweeter than Betty Crocker, and I'm ready to belly flop ya
Just mention today but for now I forever gotcha"

Yep.

"Great Pumpkin Waltz" - Vince, Guaralid: Okay, so you'll only get a snippet here, but I've been listening to the whole thing. You know how I love my Peanuts holiday dvds.

Oh, God, come on, that's awesome how I just transitioned from Luda rapping about dirty sex to Charlie Brown. Give me points!

Special Extra Bonus Item! So I can't sleep (shocker) so I log into Facebook because I notice that AshleyPooh has tagged a new photo of me. It is a photo of me and my niece Stephanie "recovering" on my couch the night after all of these photos were taken. Nice, Ashley. Thanks for bringing this picture to the public. I really think the comment I left Ashley on Facebook says it all, which is, "Why would you post this? I look like I just spent five days doing crack."

Which is also what I felt like because my body doesn't recover from staying out all night two nights in a row as quickly as it used to. But I have no pride, so I'll share.

 

My Stalker is More Health Conscious Than Your Stalker

At some point in her life, every girl picks up a stalker. You know, a vaguely disturbing, often very attractive man who will come into her home when she's not there and leave messages written in creepy black crayon on her wall. Every girl has this at some point, or so Lifetime television tells me.

I went out Saturday night and did not arrive home until 5:30am Sunday morning. Though I arrived home to a clean home, which I was not expecting and for which I am thankful. I fell asleep without looking around because, well, 5:30am. The next morning, having finally awoken, I'm leisurely looking around my room trying to get focused when, all of a sudden, just like in the movies, I bolt and sit upright in bed. "Holy hell, what is that creepy message scrawled in black crayon on the wall of my bedroom? Holy hell!"

Some stalkers, when they leave you a message leave things like this:
"I have your panties."
"You're very pretty when you sleep."
"I can find you anywhere."

My stalker leaves this:


Yes. Thank you, Hott Scott. Already, this morning, as I was pondering whether to work out or watch season two of 90210, this new disturbing addition to my home motivated me to put some Asics on and get going. I probably don't say this to you enough, but you're one of the best people ever. I would eat sushi, or run next to you on a treadmill, or watch as beer bottles get thrown at your crotch or spray out the temple with you any time.

What's awesome about that is how many people will read that last euphemism about spraying out the temple and think that it is something much different (and much less disgusting) than it is.

I'm not even going to ask for my extra key back because I kind of suspect there's more crayoning of my walls that can happen in the future. Ha.

And also, while I'm at it, here's a copy of our prom picture from Friday night. I was bummed that I had no wrist corsage.

 

48 Hours in The Life

This entry is also subtitled: Hott Scott Likes to Fog Off with his Fistfull of Cockney

Saturday, April 21st, 4:45am: The alarm clock goes off. My response? "Fuck.Me."

Saturday, April 21st, 6:45am: Yep. It's cold. Hott Scott and I are in the starting area for the Salt Lake City marathon. It's cold, but it's beautiful. It's too early for sunlight, and there's a pretty bridge and a huge ass mountain range that's still purple from the night with white snow caps in front of us. There's a childrens' choir dressed in white robes. There are some pimp ass Kenyans jogging down to the starting line two minutes before the gun goes off like they're too good to wait out in the cold with the rest of us. And honestly, they're too good to wait out in the cold with the rest of us. 6:45 am people.

(Hours of running and the following phrase ensue: "Fuck me. That CANNOT be another two mile stretch of gradual uphill running in front of me. That is SO NOT what the elevation map and promo material for this course made it sound like.")

Here are some pictures from SLC marathon weekend for you. Dear Scott and Kari: I live for your love. Every day. Every minute.






Saturday, April 21st, 1:00pm: Arrive back at hotel and take half hour nap.

Saturday April 21st: 1:30pm: Take ice cold bath hoping that the ice down will help alleviate not just your general marathon pain, but also the pain that's about to be caused by the stupid, stupid thing you're about to do.

Saturday, April 21st: 4:00pm: Depart on a plane from SLC to Vegas to hop another plane to Pittsburgh. Say this to somebody while talking on the phone before the plane takes off. "Yeah, you know, I'm pretty naseous from the running. There's at least a 50% chance that I'm going to throw up on this flight."

Saturday: April 21st: 5:00pm: Enjoy your lay over in Vegas. Pick up a voicemail from Pookie asking when you get in and what the plan is. Leave this message on his voicemail:

Me
I'm in Vegas on a fucking layover on my way to you. You know what? There's a reason why you're not supposed to finish a marathon, take a nap and get on a plane. I'm in excruciating fucking pain. I cannot even describe it. I am cranky as fuck. I get in at 1am and I'm going to Tyler's baptism in the morning. We're having family dinner at the house that night. You should come. I have to go. Arghhhhhhh.

Pookie will then play that message on speaker for J. And J will say the following: "Your sister is amazing. Does she always do amazing things like that?"

And Pookie will say the following: "Jos doesn't do amazing things. Jos IS amazing. Jos always says, 'Why do it, when you can BE it?"

Now, if you just read that sentence, you would think that my baby brother thinks I'm awesome and gushes over me. But when you read it, you don't hear the four inches of sugary sarcasm icing on tip of the words. Pookie has had 30 (!) years of dealing with my constant quest to kick ass, and he's amply equipped to mock my inability to turn it off. So if you KNOW me and you KNOW Pookie, then that quote is funny. Otherwise, you're probably not so much getting it.

Sunday, April 22nd, 2:30am: Finally roll out of the Pittsburgh airport after a flight where it was too cold for you to sleep on the plane and having to stand in line at Hertz for over half an hour behind the customer from HELL.

Sunday, April 22nd, 3:30am: Arrive at your parents' house. Realize that you need to wake up in 3.5 hours. Say it again. "Fuck.Me."

Sunday, April 22nd, 7:30am: Wake up half an hour late.

Sunday: April 22nd, 9:10am: Arrive at church ten minutes late dressed like Strawberry Shortcake and have to endure the disapproving looks of the octagenarians as you stroll down the aisle during worship. Have Candy have to explain the whole baptism ceremony to you in whispers in between prayers. Your favorite moment though? You pick up the prayer booklet and start praying along to participate in the worship service because you are a guest in this House of the Lord. AND CANDY LAUGHS OUT LOUD AT YOU WHEN YOU DO IT.

Tyler is a stunningly beautiful baby.

Sunday, April 22nd, 11:00am: Attend Tyler's welcoming brunch. Mention this specifically because your favorite moment with Tyler's father, Wing Man, happens at brunch. You are sitting with Wing Man's Brother and Wing Man's Brother's Girlfriend. The brunch food comes out, but nobody has started eating yet.

Wing Man
Get up and go eat guys.

Wing Man's Brother's Girlfriend
The old people should eat frist.

Wing Man
They know better.

Yep! And also, I have found a new food to love that's Pittsburgh-centric. They're called "Three Rivers Potatoes" and they're cheesy potatoes with a layer of potato chips on top. We know how to eat here.

Here are pictures from the Baptism. Candy makes beautiful babies. I, personally, enjoy the photo of Tyler and I where I look about as Roma as Roma can be. It's like I just jumped off of the gypsy train and offered to read your palm and dance for you with ankle bracelets on.






Sunday, April 22nd, 2:00pm: Stop to have lunch with Glory Days. Enjoy this exchange.

Me
I love my thirties so much more than my twenties. My thirties are like an entirely different, better life.

Glory Days
My thirties pretty much still feel like my twenties to me.

Me
You live with your parents, dude.

Sunday, April 22nd, 3:00pm: Finally arrive home. Alternate the rest of the day between napping and eating and talking to Pook, your mom and your 84 year old neighbor who wants to talk about Viagra.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is 48 hours in the life. This trip is going to be great. I can feel it.

 

Defective Merchandise!

Firstly, we're in Salt Lake City today getting ready for Saturday's race. It's beautiful here. Like, stunningly beautiful. I think it'll be a great run by default of feeling inspired by all of the beautiful mountains. It's a little colder than I'd like for it to be, but I have lots of disposable running gear with me. It's 5:oopm right now, and I'm like, "I need to be in bed in three more hours max so I can get up and jog and do some yoga in the morning." If I can just adjust my sleep cycle in that one day, I think I'll be fine.

But on to the defective merchandise!

So, ChriSS was here for a conference last week. And we had dinner on Sunday, during which as we were swapping stories we talked about, what else, me and boys and babies. And then we had drinks again on Wednesday night. By Wednesday night, ChriSS had had lots of time to think about my issues with boys and babies, and this was the conversation.

ChriSS
You're a marketer. You have professional marketing training.

Me
Yes.

ChriSS
I think we should look at your issues with boys and babies and apply your marketing skills to it.

Me
Oh.My.God.

ChriSS
Because if you read your blog, it sounds like you just want a baby making machine. And then the other night, we were in The Burger Bar, and you literally had drool coming out of your mouth over the tattoo guy. And neither of these things, well, you see my point. So I think you're dealing with defective merchandise.

Me
Uh...uh...uh...WHAT?

ChriSS
Not you! No! You're perfect!

Me
Uh

ChriSS
I mean, at least in your own world you're perfect.

Me
Uh

ChriSS
I mean, everybody's perfect in their own world. I'm saying that the defective merchandise is the men you get involved with.

Me
Uh

ChriSS
Let's define what you need in a perfect man. Let's define the product that you're looking for.

And so, we define my perfect man. Who of course is NOTHING like any of the last five to ten men I've been involved with. And so, as I rapidly order a second drink because I'm going into panic over various realizations, we continue.

ChriSS
So, you've been dating men who are NOTHING like what we've just defined.

Me
mumble. mumble, mumble, mumble

ChriSS
And we meet these men...

Me
mumble, bar, mumble, club, mumble, girls' night out

ChriSS
Do you have a gym membership?

Me
Of course.

ChriSS
Since athleticism and understanding athleticism is very important to you, do you meet men at the gym?

Me
I mean, the thing is that I spend all day and most of the evening interfacing with people, and that two hours a day at the gym, that's kind of my personal "Jocelyn time" and...

ChriSS
THAT EXCUSE IS NO GOOD. If you want to meet a man who's appropriate for you, you need to put the time and effort in.

Me
mumble, you're right, mumble

ChriSS
You should do one of those executive masters programs that's overseas, like in Paris or somewhere like that. You'd meet a man who closely resembles your perfect model of a partner for you there. Lives in a big picture world. Travel friendly. Probably athletic because most business types are. Smart. Probably makes more money than you. Probably has a stronger personality than you. Spiritual? That would be up in the air. Optimistic? You don't do an international business program if you're not basically optimistic, do you? Highly social? Probably for sure.

And then there is silence as we stare at each other.

ChriSS
I guess we've gotten a little ridiculous if we're sitting here saying you should spend thousands of dollars on advanced education in an international location just to find a husband?

Me
No, this has been great. I feel like I should pay you $200 for an hour of therapy. But instead I'm just going to buy that glass of wine for you.

And so, I get it. I should cut and burn faster when I realize that I can't get what I want. And I should look for boys in appropriate places, rather than at The Burger Bar because he has a hot tattoo and good biceps. And I'd like to thank ChriSS for calling it like he saw it. I can appreciate that. And I can take it and apply it. And so, we'll see how that goes!