Okay, yes, I've talked about this before, but it's my blog and I'm going to talk about it again.

Grocery stores. Grocery stores. GROCERY STORES.

As I'm sure most of you know, this past Thursday was the day of the turkey. Frankly, I'm not a fan of turkey, so Thanksgiving is one of my least favorite holidays.

This year, Princess and I were going to hang out with two of my friends (who just got married) for a grown-up Thanksgiving. They were doing most of the cooking (because they're both really great cooks), but I was told to bring anything that means Thanksgiving to me. So I did.

Unfortunately, this meant a trip to the grocery store. I shudder to think what might have happened had I been there to pick up more than five items.

Here are the items I needed: noodles, Kosher salt, cheese, cream.

This particular grocery store has always made very little sense to me, as is the case with most of the Albertson's in the metroplex. On top of that, they decided that the Thanksgiving holiday would be the best time to rearrange the store.

So there were boxes all over and most of the aisles were mislabeled. My personal favorite: The milk/cream, yogurt, cheese, and eggs? Are all in different locations around the store. The cheese, specifically, isn't even all in one place. Half the cheese is with the produce and the other half? Is in the aisle with lunch meat. That aisle is labeled "frozen foods" and is in the middle of the store. No, I'm not joking.

It probably took an hour to navigate and find the simple things I needed. More than once, some poor (usually male) soul looked up at me when I passed, "Do you know where I can find baking soda (or some such item)?" Sir, I don't even know where you can find the door at this point. (It turned out he really needed baking powder, and that they were completely out of it. Good thing he didn't get baking soda instead, we all know how that goes...)

I have to say, if I never have to go to another Albertson's again? It will be far too soon.

But then I made cheese and spaghetti (my must-have Thanksgiving food) and it was delicious. Princess and I made it to my friends' place, where we feasted on beef tenderloin, au grautin potatoes (for which, you probably would have given up your first-born...I have the recipe, but I don't want your children), cornbread dressing (seriously, we all have our own, and I didn't really like this variety as much as the one my Granddaddy makes), cheese and spaghetti (I can eat my weight in this stuff, seriously), and some really crunchy green beans (which I don't like).

For dessert, my friend out-did herself with a Triple-Chocolate Mousse Cake. TASTY.

And if that had been the end of the day? It would have been a fun and relaxing Thanksgiving.

It's [Wednesday], we should break up - Dallas Cowboys Fans

Since today is, for all intents and purposes, Friday, and I will be spending the next four days (at least in theory) wrapped up in a blanket in my pajamas, watching endless hours of pointless television, reading books, and drinking hot chocolate from a giant mug that never empties, I'm going to break up with Dallas Cowboys fans today.

Living in Dallas and NOT being a Dallas Cowboys fan is, well, kind of rough. You see, I love football. And in Dallas? The ONLY football I ever get to hear about is Dallas Cowboys football. They don't even talk about other games in passing. Aside from, yesterday, discussing the merits of luring Vince Young away from Tennessee to come to Dallas because he's so much better than Tony Romo (I'm not saying this, they were saying this. Vince is still on probation with me). May I remind you of the Vince Young who had to sit his ass on the bench last season because he got booed for throwing an interception and freaked the hell out? Even though he won the game. You really think he can HANDLE you Cowboys fans? No sir.

But my issue isn't with the constant coverage. (Seriously, even when it's not football season and could we STOP talking about TO? He's GONE.) It's with the fans.

The Cowboys are never allowed to lose. Ever. Every loss is ridiculous and a reason to fire everyone and Tony Romo sucks and Wade Phillips is incapable and Jason Garrett can go suck an egg and wasn't Roy Williams supposed to be good? More than that, though, no win is ever good enough. You Cowboys fans are like...an overbearing perfectionist mother. Oh, you got a 99 on your test, honey. Why didn't you get a 100?

And even if they win, and they win by a lot (which, let's face it, just doesn't happen that often), the fans find something to bitch about.

Tony Romo was given the key to the city in...Illinois or something and he had the AUDACITY to wear a backwards baseball cap to the ceremony? FIRE HIM!

Wade Phillips said "ya know" too many times in the press conference after the game? OFF WITH HIS HEAD!

Roy Williams caught the ball? THAT'S JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

I'm soooo sick and tired of this crap. Get over it, people. Your team hasn't won a playoff game in 13 years. Your owner is, well, a little loony. Not Al Davis loony, but hey, at least Al Davis's team has been to the Superbowl in this decade. And I HATE the Raiders. But having watched them beat the Bengals last week? I'd say you Cowboys better at least be on your toes.

And to all you sports talk radio hosts out there: Someone expressing some minor doubt in their team does NOT make them less of a fan. So shut your face. And to Arnie Spanier? May your Thanksgiving bring you salmonella. You are scum.

So that's it Cowboys fans. I'm out. It's been a nice run (not really), but I just can't take any more. Don't call me, I'll call you. (Unless I know you and love you in spite of your Cowboys love. We can still hang. I'm not talking to you. Yet.)

A metered reaction.

I love downtown Dallas. I really do.

I had never really spent much time downtown, but Princess lives in a schmancy high-rise building (for only another month, SADFACE) (his new apartment is awesome, though, so I'm not complaining), so I've had plenty of opportunity to get my downtown on. And I have.

Here are the things I've discovered:

• Everything closes at like 7:00 pm. And I have no idea why.
  
• There's only one grocery store and I can't even keep a straight face while calling it that.
  
• There's a distinct lack of laid back dive bars.
  
• Walking everywhere you want to go is AWESOME.
  
• Everything is pretty damn close to where you are.
  
• The Walk/Don't Walk signs? Actually work. You don't even have to push the button like everywhere else in the DFW Metroplex. (Seriously, folks. There's just a steady "Don't Walk" hand, if you don't push the little button. In Dallas, we're serious about our cars. Please, dear pedestrians, get off the road. NOW. My personal favorite is when you push the little button, the "Walk" sign flashes up, you step off the curb, and immediately the "Don't Walk" sign is blinking at you. You must be The Flash to cross the street.)
  
• Parking can be really easy if you know where to do it, however...
  
• No one knows how to park at the damn meters.
  

Last night, Princess and I planned to watch the Titans (WOOHOO!! It was a rough start to the season boys, but it's good to see us playing football again. Let's not talk about that Patriots game, mkay?) play the Texans at a bar near his apartment. Usually he just picks me up because he's very concerned that my car will be vandalized and all my stuff will be stolen. You see, his apartment building? Has no guest parking. None. They have a parking garage, with the kookiest layout in the universe, FULL of empty parking spaces, but to get in it, you have to have the little key fob dealimajigger. You also have to have the key fob dealimajigger to get OUT of the parking garage. It's kind of a pain in the ass.

On the occasions when I do drive over to his apartment, we either to the little dance to get me into the parking garage or else I just park at a meter on the street. They're all free after 6:00 pm. The only catch is, they start up again at 7:00 am. It's not so bad really. Just means I might actually be on time for work!

Finding a meter can be tricky. Other people use them, and most of those people don't even remotely understand the concept of parking at a meter. You see...your car? Should not be in the middle of the parking meter itself. A la this:



This way, no one can park at the meter in front of yours, or possibly at the meter behind yours. Because you are taking up all the space. You can see the problem, right? With your single vehicle, you have occupied up to three free parking meters. This is about the time I curse you*.

Last night, I passed about five such vehicles. WTF people? Get it together. I even googled "How to park at a parking meter" to see if I could find a tutorial, and guess what...even google thinks you should know how to do this. So please, get in your car, drive around, note the proper technique, and employ it immediately. Thank you.

*I'm pretty sure in New York or Seattle or Boston or DC, they'd shank you. So consider yourself lucky you only had me to deal with in this scenario.

(Dear Cleveland Browns, please please get it together. You're killing me. And I love you. --Shine.)

Cancellation feels pretty darn good.

I canceled my MySpace account today.

Let me say, though, that I probably hadn't logged in or used the thing since February, at least. I would have probably canceled sooner, but I couldn't remember my password. It came to me in a flash of brilliance and short-term memory this morning, so I took the plunge.

I know there are probably some friends that I only communicate with that way, which probably means I haven't talked to them in nearly a year. So I guess maybe we weren't very good friends, eh?

Canceling my MySpace account feels like permanently closing a door on a past I no longer care to contemplate. It's not about you, MySpace friends. I assure you. If I remember who you are, I'm sure I love you dearly.

I would say you should look me up on Facebook, but I barely use that. What can I say? Follow me on Twitter. Occasionally, my head finds its way out of my ass and I tweet something. Sometimes it's even funny. No promises, though.

So long MySpace. I doubt I'll miss you.

Oh, and Princess and I went to see Bob Saget on Saturday night. He wasn't really as funny as I might have hoped. And I love Bob Saget. The problem, I think, is that he's Bob effing Saget, so he doesn't have to bother to write material any more. He just says whatever comes to mind, with a healthy dose of curse words and a foul mouth. My thought for a good half of his act? I'm funnier than that (okay, maybe not today, shut up)...

That's not a good sign, Bob. Pull it together.

It didn't help that the people sitting in the row with us each individually climbed over us to take a piss/get a drink/smoke/have sex in the bathroom three to four times (there were four of them). The rows at House of Blues are so tiny that there's literally no way to get out of the way without standing up. So every five to ten minutes, we were having to stand up to let these people by. Until the fourth or so time...then we just sat there and let them struggle. And seriously...DON'T touch me. If you can't hold your pee for an hour and a half, I have no sympathy for you. None. And if you know you have a bladder problem or are just completely obnoxious and rude, please...get an aisle seat.

The guy who opened up for Bob, though? He had me doubled over and unable to breathe in all the right ways. Ryan Stout? Call me.

It's Friday, we should break up - Hovering Servers

You know what time it is, guys! Time for another breakup. Read past breakups here!

To be fair, this particular thing has only happened to me at Asian restaurants. I'm trying not to stereotype and suggest that only Asian servers do this, though. I'm sure that's not the case.

Normally, when you go eat at a restaurant, half the time you're searching for your server. Your drink is empty, you never got any silverware, you need a new napkin, you spilled red wine down the front of your dress. Usually, they're nowhere to be found. Servers develop this skill which, frankly, I would love to master. It's the focused "I'm not going to look at you because I know you want something from me" skill.

They walk past your table, careful not to meet your eye. You see them coming, of course, so your heart lifts, you raise a hand, you catch your breath, ready to speak and then...you're ignored. It's quite the letdown.

Not the case at Asian restaurants. At least, when the restaurant is less than packed. They stand behind you, hovering, in case you have an iced tea emergency. They pick up every stray piece of paper or crumb or lemon seed you deposit on the table. They ask if they can get you anything...every five minutes.

While all of that can be really really annoying, I've found that the solution is just to take incredibly graphic reading material to the restaurant with you. And no, I don't mean pornographic. That might not work.

When I was in college, I often went to this little sushi place across from campus. The waitress would hover behind me as I ate, quietly judging my less than masterful skill with chopsticks, I'm sure. I, personally, don't want anyone to be standing behind me for an extended period. Ever. It makes me nervous. Like when your step-dad hovers around the back of the couch when you're trying to watch television. SIT DOWN!

Anyway, I noticed that when I started taking my forensic anthropology and anatomy books in to study, she had absolutely no interest in standing behind me. I like to think it's because she couldn't handle all the pictures of dead people, but, to be perfectly honest, my anatomy lab book smelled like formaldehyde and rotting shark. So it was probably that. (No one really wanted to sit next to me in my other classes when I had my lab book with me, either. Go figure.)

One day, however, this woman just CROSSED THE LINE. Now, I know that this was her job and she probably notices how much food everyone ordered and that kind of thing, but woman, it is NOT your place to comment. You see, that day, I had ordered an extra two sushi rolls to take home with me for dinner. I just ordered them all at once, because it's not like it matters. I ate two rolls and then asked for a box. She had already looked at me like I had two heads when I ordered four rolls, but now she said (and this is not me being a giant racist, this is what she said, verbatim), "That too much sushi. I didn't think you should eat all that. You get fat."

Seriously?!?

I said, "Just bring me a box. And my check." I never went back.

Then yesterday, it happened again. Sort of. I went to this Thai place across the street from work. I ordered a Bento box with some sashimi and some sushi. It also came with a seaweed salad. Now, don't get me wrong, I like seaweed salad. I just wasn't in the mood for it that day. So I didn't eat it. I HAVE THAT OPTION.

The woman came to pick up my mostly empty Bento box and she said, "You no eat salad? You no like it? It good for you."

Thanks. But I don't have to eat it. I'm still going to pay for it and I just don't need your commentary on my eating habits or food choices. Though I appreciate that she at least didn't tell me I was going to get fat.

To me, these women are as bad as the ladies who try to suggestive sell you a lip wax when you go to get your eyebrows done. You know what? I don't really HAVE a mustache. Please don't try to tell me "I need lip wax. It ugly." Screw you. We're finished!

Except, of course, I'll still be eating in Asian restaurants, so I guess, um, we'll still be seeing a lot of each other. I hope this doesn't make things awkward. Please don't put any puppy in my food or anything. I was kidding! It was a joke!

TMI Thursday - The Poop Ninja

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

In a new relationship, there are always some adjustments to be made. I like to watch TV when I fall asleep, he doesn't. He likes to keep his syrup in the fridge, I don't. You know the drill.

The biggest of these (hopefully) is poop. Not only am I not a big fan of sharing the bathroom with ANYONE, I don't want anyone smelling my poop, I don't want anyone to know I'm pooping, I don't want to poop in someone's bathroom, etc. I'd rather we all just pretend that pooping? Is not something I do.

Now, I've been around enough men to know that pooping isn't really as big of a deal to them. And by the way, thanks guys. I really do love to smell your poop in the morning. Or the evening. Or all afternoon while I'm working. It's awesome.

Well, Princess and I have been spending a lot of time sleeping in the same place. For warmth and the whatnot. You understand what I'm saying. Interestingly, neither of us is really willing to poop while the other is around. I was raised in the South with Southern Manners and all that, so technically I'm not even supposed to talk about my poop. You'll notice that lesson didn't really stick. At first, I thought I'd just be clever and suddenly have to "go home" for something. So I could poop. Of course that leads to all kinds of questions and eventually I just had to say, "Look. I have to poop. And I'm not doing it here."

One morning, things were getting really rough. I had to poop REALLY bad. I'm pretty sure I said, "Uuuhhhhh...I have to poooooppppp..." about a dozen times on the way to my place.

What I had yet to see, though, was Princess pooping. I don't mean see. Princess, if you're reading this, please. I never ever want to see you poop. Like ever. I mean it. Anyway, it was like the man never pooped.

Then one night, I woke up from a deep slumber (I'm like the soundest sleeper in the WORLD) to find myself alone in bed. Um, confusion, party of one. Then I looked over to see the light on under the bathroom door. Hmmmm...

It turns out that, all this time, Princess has been waking himself up in the middle of the night (he claims it's early morning, I claim those are pretty much the same thing) to take a stealthy poop. So I'd never be the wiser. But I am. I saw it. Again, I didn't see the poop. Just the evidence that the poop took place. Stick with me here, people.

This morning, when I went to pee, I noticed that, even though I was the last one to pee last night, there was a new roll of toilet paper waiting for me. (Yes, Princess does actually put a new roll of toilet paper ON the toilet paper holder every time it's empty. I know. He's mine, ladies.) When I came out of the bathroom, I glared accusingly at him and said, "Did you get up and poop in the middle of the night again?!"

He looked at me and said, "Yep." Cue knowing smirk.

Apparently, he's a morning pooper and he can't poop while I'm there (even though I leave for work before he does most of the time), so (because he's this regular) he's trained himself to poop before I wake up. Ya know, at like 3:00 am.

This led to an amusing conversation about super powers and that he should from now forth be called "Princess Poop Ninja" and how he poops so stealthily, no one will ever know it was him. Kinda like The Spleen from Mystery Men only...well, more subtle. And with a tiara.

I just can't leave this one alone.

One of my most awesomest girlfriends, generally referred to as "Pretty Bitch," wrote a blog on Friday, which I just came across today. I have some things to say about it.

And we all know I'm never one to keep my mouth shut, right?

So go read her blog and then come back here, m'kay? GO!

Basically, Nat holds a When Harry Met Sally belief about the relationships that can happen between members of the opposite sex. That men and women can never really be "just friends." While I think she makes some very good points, and I agree that the whole situation can be sticky, I have a slightly different opinion.

I might agree 100%, if I hadn't seen a male-female friendship with my own two eyes. My ex-boyfriend and his friend/coworker were/are FRIENDS. And only that. When they started working together, they were both married. Her marriage ended first, and she was...a bit of a mess (for good reason). His marriage ended a couple of years later and no one would know if he was a mess or not because he doesn't show emotions like a human being. But there were opportunities for them to test the boundaries of their relationship and neither of them even wanted to. Simply put, they're not attracted to each other.

Now, I know what you're thinking. I'm being naive and they were probably doin' it like monkeys behind my back. But they weren't. I can't say I know that for a fact, but I've never for a second doubted it. She met a guy and now they're married. My ex is living with his current girlfriend. And my ex and his friend have never even looked sideways at each other in that way, to my knowledge.

If they were the last people on earth, would they do it? Probably. But that's not really saying much.

While I do think that male-female friendships can complicate and put pressure on an intimate relationship, I think that's about more than just "men and women can't be friends." Your relationships are all based on trust, or should be, if they mean anything. And not trusting your partner to be able to have a friendship with a member of the opposite sex is just...sad. And more likely a problem with your relationship, not with your friendships.

Additionally, I have several male friends of my own who are just that. Friends. I could turn to these guys for just about anything, and I would be there for them in the same way. And no one wants to make the sex with anyone else, or if they do, all parties are keeping their pretty parts in their pants.

I'm not sure that I agree that a fleeting thought about another person naked or what it might be like to kiss that person constitutes awkwardness in a friendship (Honestly, I've contemplated this about nearly everyone I know...family members aside). Hell, once I had a sexy dream about one of my girlfriends and we've survived just fine. Though she was more than a little disturbed when I told her about it, as she's the least bi-curious person on the planet.

The statement "Cheating is anything that dilutes the relationship" just...makes no sense to me. Gaining 150 pounds could dilute the relationship. Taking up a hobby and spending all your free time on it could dilute the relationship. Having to travel five days a week for work could dilute the relationship. All of those things are probably signs that something is wrong, but not a single one of them involves a third party. I would hardly call them cheating. I think I know what Natalie was trying to say (that anything you do with a member of the opposite sex that dilutes the relationship is cheating), and I respect her opinion, but I don't think this is the best way to say it.

In truth, if you're closer to a same sex friend to a level that leaves out your significant other, you're probably diluting the relationship and treating your boy/girlfriend unfairly, but it's rare to hear anyone get worked up about that.

I think that men and women can absolutely just be friends. And that it's perfectly acceptable to retain close friendships to members of either sex while you're in a serious relationship. Don't be stupid about it. Your significant other should probably be your closest relationship, if you're serious about it and it's gotten to that stage. But it doesn't mean that it's unhealthy or wrong to have close friendships. Period.

What do you think? Is this possible?

(I took a poll of some online friends. It seems that most men think this is totally possible and most women think that it's not. Obviously, there were a few exceptions and a couple of "maybe" or "in the right circumstances" answers, as well.)

Have you ever...

Woken up one morning and realized that maybe you are, in fact, more like your ex-boyfriend than you care to admit?

Because I just did.

I just uttered the words "But I don't want to be dependent on anyone." Fuck me.

That is all.

TMI Thursday - The Pancake Story

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

Disclaimer: Despite what you may think after reading this story, I AM a good cook. I promise.

A few years ago, I moved in with a boy. It was pretty much my first (and last) time ever to do so for any length of time. I had sort of lived with my high school boyfriend for a few months and I had kind of lived with my first Dallas boyfriend briefly, but technically he had his own room and we had another roommate. And when we broke up, we still had to live together. THAT was fun.

So anyway, on a bright shiny day in December, I began the process of cohabitation. And yes, I do mean BRIGHT AND SHINY. We had a heat wave and it was nearly 90 degrees the entire time we were moving. I was only moving from about a half mile away and he...well, he didn't really have much stuff.

Our apartment was wonderful, still one of my favorite apartments, despite the two soccer players who moved in upstairs and tortured us until all hours of the night. We had a pretty sizable balcony, on which we put my old breakfast table.

On our first weekend, I got up early. I was going to surprise him with "breakfast on the balcony."

I decided to make eggs, sausage or bacon (I can't remember which), and pancakes. From scratch. No Bisquick for this girl. I set up the table outside, started the coffee and then pulled out all of the ingredients for the pancakes. Everything turned out beautifully. I poured the coffee, put the food on the plates and took everything outside.

He took his first big bite of pancakes and got this funny look on his face.

"What's the matter?"

"They taste kind of...funny."

So I cut off a piece of mine, forked it up, and shoveled it in my mouth. My mouth exploded with the flavor of salty, syrup-covered hairspray. I spit my pancake out into the courtyard below our apartment and said, "THE PANCAKES ARE BAD."

He said, "They're not that bad," and started to take another bite.

I said, "STOP EATING THEM. THEY'RE TERRIBLE."

I couldn't figure out what I had done. I followed the recipe exactly.

Then I went into the kitchen. Immediately, the problem was clear. Instead of baking powder, as the recipe suggests, I accidentally grabbed the baking soda.

I'm just one of those weird people.

In email. In chat. On Twitter. Pretty much everywhere in my life, I'm the person who is always writing in complete sentences, with proper punctuation. Only rarely do I abbreviate things (WTF? is totally the new black, so shut it).

Things you'll never find in any written message from me (unless someone is holding a gun to my head):

u - as in "you."

ur - as in "your" or "you're," how handy that you don't even have to figure out which one.

lol, LOL, lololol - or any combination thereof. Also, I'm probably not laughing out loud. I don't lie about that sort of thing. For instance, mooog35? Caused me to actually launch snot across my desk with the joke at the end of this post.

2 - as in "to" or "too," or hell even as in "two." I actually follow the "if it's less than two digits, write it out" rule. And again, how lucky that you don't have to figure out which to use, "to" or "too."

dont, cant, shouldnt, didnt - as in "don't," "can't," "shouldn't," "didn't."

Wednesday's, DVD's, steak's - as in "Wednesdays," "DVDs," "steaks." Plurals don't need an apostrophe. Ever.

tho - it has three more letters people. How lazy can we be?

I'm sure there are others, but I can't think of any more.

The thing is, seeing any of those things in written communication to me? Pretty much causes me to stop paying attention. I try, but it's hard to take anything seriously when I have to translate it in my head. And I know I have some friends who do this...and I'm not judging you (only a little), but know that it is a testament to my love for you that I continue to translate. With anyone else? I'm out.

Don't feel bad. I'm the weird one. All the cool kids are doing it. But I don't want to get dumber, so I think I'll stick with complete sentences and stuff.

Today is Tuesday

And I can't think of a title for my blog post.

I'm hard at work on my NaNoWriMo novel, but I keep forgetting to update my word count. Never fear, WriMo Buddies! I am writing. My internets at home are sketchy at best.

I'd like to say it's going well, but...well, I can't. It's been tough this year. But I'm pretty determined to make it.

Having said all of that (it was a lot, I know!), I don't have much for you today.

Except that I've been pretty much listening to this song on repeat in my car (Aunt Kim, don't click that. I mean it. Mom, you too...if you've managed to find my blog again. You won't be happy.), what? It's INSPIRATIONAL.

Also, I love this kid. He's so special. We got dicks like Jesus.



I'm alternating with this one. I'm pretty sure I've got more junk in my trunk than a Honda. My favorite line: Jean wasn't fat, she was easy to catch.



Tell me you don't want to shake your booty on the dance floor right now, I dare you.

And also, too, as well.

People.

People people people.

Just because Sarah Palin says, "...and also, too..." doesn't mean you should. In fact, whatever Sarah Palin says, you should probably just go ahead and say the opposite. But I don't want to get political up in this blog.

Also. Too. As well. They all mean pretty much the same damn thing. Which means there's no need for you to use more than one in any given sentence on Any Given Sunday. Oops. That last part was about football.

Actually, let's change the subject for a second.

MY TITANS WON!! In case you haven't noticed, they've been basically falling all over themselves this season. Justin Gage? Call me. Chris Johnson? You're delish. Keep up the good work, boys.

It's Friday, we should break up - Handwriting Edition

So, as you can see...my handwriting is terrible. And I blatantly stole this from mylittlebecky and Just a Girl. And probably even Alice, since I read hers too.

Happy Friday, y'all!

The Rules for Dating Shine

First of all, before you say anything, this blog is about ME, okay? Just so we're clear.

And yes, if you want to know how awesome I am, you can just ask me.

So for future (or possibly current) reference (I'm looking at you, Princess), these are the Top Ten Rules for Dating Shine (as of today, who knows what tomorrow will bring?):

1. Do what you say you're going to do. There are no exceptions to this rule. (Okay, probably if you call AHEAD OF TIME with a good reason for why you can't do the thing you said you'd do, I'll let it slide. Once or twice.)

2. Do not cling to me like Leo after the Titanic sank. I will let go. This means you should have your own life/friends/hobbies.

3. You MUST want to make the sexy time play cards. Often. Death and disability are no excuse. What?

4. If you listen to Nickelback or Creed (even on accident), you should probably get out of my face before I punch you in the vagina.

5. I can pay for myself, open my own doors, and I do NOT need you to protect me. But all of those things can be nice, in their place.

6. Be a man. A real one.

• I don't need to hear about every single one of your feelings. Talk to your therapist/best friend/dog about the trivial stuff.
  
• Find it on your own. You can look up directions as easily as I can.
  
• Have manners. If your mama didn't teach them to you, please buy a book or something.
  

7. I'm funny. Acknowledge.

8. If you wear a class ring, you need not apply.

9. The L-word is not a salutation. Use it as such, and it means nothing.

10. I like cake. Feed it to me.

These are really in no particular order, except the first. It's kind of like that rule about Fight Club. Break it, and the rest of the shiz doesn't matter.

Climbing the Wall

I've been rock climbing for a few months now, and I love it. I had done it years ago, and sort of liked it, but now? It's a passion.

I'm not very good at it yet.

I don't care.

There's this one route at the climbing gym that's giving me trouble. It's a route I should be able to climb, theoretically. I can climb all the other ones that are at the same level (except one, but seriously...it's harder and I'm working on it, too).

You see, on this route, the second move is to grip these holds that I simply cannot grip. They are awkward and slippery and I just can't seem to get them. But the third move is this perfect yellow hold, for my right hand. Last night, I finally (after weeks of trying to just get off the ground) managed to get my right hand up to that yellow hold.

It hurt.

A lot.

Then I realized that I needed to get my left foot up underneath my butt. The only problem was that my right hand was smashing the left side of my body against the wall, making it really difficult to move my left food underneath me without pulling my right hand out of the hold.

I was in my own way.

I finally got my left foot where I needed it to be, but I didn't have the strength to pull myself up any further. I didn't trust my legs to hold me. I'd seen other people do it. I knew what needed to be done, but I just couldn't quite trust myself to do it.

This morning I was thinking about this problem and I started to realize that this route, this path on a rock climbing wall, might be a pretty good parallel to my own life.

I've spent so much time and energy trying to reach this one thing. I struggled and struggled. I fell down. I got back up. And then, I finally got my hand on it.

What if that one thing isn't what I want after all? It's the only path I can see. It's the attainable goal. But what if reaching it puts me in my own way? What if reaching it has drained me of the strength I need for anything else? How do I trust myself to keep going, or, even harder, find another path?

Is it just me?

So the big hullabaloo on the (sports talk) radio station I listen to this morning was...the Dallas Cowboys cheerleader who dressed as Li'l Wayne for Halloween.

The controversy is this: She's a little white girl with blonde hair. And she dressed up as Li'l Wayne for Halloween. In order to accomplish this, she used dark makeup to darken her skin. BECAUSE SHE WAS TRYING TO BE LI'L WAYNE. Who, ya know, isn't white.

For reference, here's her picture, both as a cheerleader and as Li'l Wayne, and a picture of Li'l Wayne:





Now this poor girl is being labeled as a racist and being disciplined by the Dallas Cowboys cheerleading Nazi, Kelly what's-her-name. For her HALLOWEEN COSTUME.

Look, if she had dressed up as a person of color being hung by a noose from a tree? That's incredibly offensive. But to dress up as a famous rapper? I'd say that's complimentary. Maybe she was being offensive about it at the party she attended, I don't know.

However, not that I'm watching the fourth season of Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team, because that would just be silly, Kelly what's-her-name just nearly cut someone on the last episode because she was "looking a little chunky." Which means that normally girls "her size" weigh 112 pounds and she weighs 123. So she really needs to cut that down if she expects to make the squad.

You know what I find offensive? THAT.