Fuck You, Katherine Hiegl!

You're not an idiot.

I am sure when you read the title of this post, you realized that I am probably not having a good day, but before I get to my hatred of Ms. Heigl, I want to give a shout-out to my old roommate, Lily.

When I would go on one of my rants or was having a bad day, she was always there for me. For the two years we lived together, she gave me more support than I could have asked for. No joke, I would have been on the street and starving and would have had to take care of myself when I was sick if it weren't for her.

So I thought about her a lot today, because she would have joined in my bad mood for solidarity's sake, I am sure that she does not have anything against Katherine Heigl, but she would have for me and that's why I love her.

I also want to give her a shout-out because just got engaged!! To a tall Asian man!!

Congratulations to Lily and Mr. Ming!

May your first child be a masculine child!

And now for the main event:

So, you may know that my preferred form of stress relief is thrift store shopping. It is equal parts green and economical which makes it completely awesome!

I went to two different Goodwill stores today. I now am the proud owner of more wicker baskets than my grandmother.

When that didn't work, I reverted to my old ways.

My junior year of college, my neighbors knew I was stressed when I started rearranging the furniture in my dorm room. I had a single and was working hard to make the Dean's list.

My room got changed around a lot.

I am going to take a moment to inform you that my couch is in my office, my desk in the dining room and my dresser is in the living room.

Clearly I am not in a good place.

The sad thing is that I can't really pin point exactly what set me off and when, but I know this past week was really weird for me. While I should have been focused on the death and resurrection of our Lord, I was worried about Lainie problems.

Problem friendships, reading Tess of the d'Urbervilles without realizing it was a tragedy,a bad case of missing my family and an even worse case of Ralph withdrawal.

And to top it off, One Tree Hill ended.

In the time I should have been reflecting on what this Lent meant for me, I kept thinking of past Lents and Ralph.

I don't know what started it, but I had this crazy flood of memories of Triduums past and it was all I could do to keep it together while singing at all of the masses.

Then today, I woke up completely pissed that hadn't really settled into my apartment and the fact I'd just unpacked my office yesterday.

Yesterday!

I have lived here for seven months.

What have I been waiting for?

I think I know though I have been afraid to admit it.

I have been waiting for Ralph to come get me.

He's not coming.

And I think I have to live here now.

I blame myself, I watch way too many romantic comedies and I fancy myself the leading lady in my own life and I always relate to the heroines, especially those played by one Ms. Katherine Heigl.

I am headstrong, a work-aholic that needs Gerard Butler to show me the error of my ways, the perpetual bridesmaid and a snazzy dresser with awesome hair. Other important things to keep in mind, I am a huge klutz (though that never works in my favor) and I always have a plucky sidekick on hand.

If art imitates life, then how am I still dealing with all of this? By the end of the movie we have moved ahead six months and after both characters have grown, they find their way back to each other and life is great.

I have been here seven months and life's still kicking my ass.

I am a woman in my thirties so I should know that although art imitates life, the reverse is not realistic. Yes, it would be cool to have someone hold a boom box over their head to get my attention, but Ralph doesn't own a trench coat and probably has no idea who Peter Gabriel is so that's out.

As I was placing furniture in inappropriate rooms, I kept thinking about the fact that I made a joke of moving here because some boy broke my heart, but now I have to ask myself if that is completely true. And I find myself having to admit two things.

One, that it is absolutely true and two, my mother was right: I can be quite melodramatic

If you tell her, I will deny it 'til my dying day.

No matter the circumstance, I know that I am supposed to be here and that Terre Haute, IN has a specific purpose in my life and I am just going to roll with it, I just can't believe I let Katherine Heigl trick me into thinking that we were the same.

Her characters get to be blissfully happy and I have to move my couch back into the living room. So fuck you, Katherine Heigl and I hope you know the folks downstairs aren't that happy with you either!

When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'

Coming from a big city known for its Irish folk, I didn’t expect to have an awesome St. Paddy’s Day. Not that I am one of those hot mess girls that gets drunk on green beer and has to be escorted out the back door…anymore. I actually bowed out of that scene a few years ago because you know, I turned 25 and I added it to my Murtaugh list (see Ted Mosby).

Back home we have this awesome 8k race called the Shamrock Shuffle and it kicks off the running season. Every year that is the race that gets me pumped up for spring and summer running. It is a pretty big deal and is usually sold out within a week. I never train for it like I am supposed to meaning that by the end of the race I have embarrassed myself into having a better running season. 

Sadly, I never learn my lesson for the next year.

We also have a pretty awesome parade on the south side of town that is supposed to be a family event…until the hot mess girls and the boys who love them managed to get the city to shut it down.

This year, the school Sassy’s kids attend was having a day’s worth of festivities in honor of the holiday. There was a 5k race called the Irish Dash in the morning, a parade in the afternoon and a party later that night.

Because I am supposed to be a new Lainie, I not only decided that I was going to sign up for the 5k, but I was also going to train for it this time.

Now, I have to tell you that I am not a fan of running in Terre Haute. When I first got here, I went running. I was told there were trails somewhere by my house, but I wasn’t interested in finding them because a closed off trail doesn’t seem all that safe and coming from the city I was just fine running on the sidewalks. So I set out one September day and headed north and to run 2 or 3 miles. I was minding my own business and people in passing cars were giving me looks and at one point a white pickup truck got a bit too close and honked scaring the shit out of me! While collecting myself, I noticed the confederate flag bumper sticker. That was the moment I recalled Sassy telling me something about avoiding the north side of town.

I turned around, went home and the rest of that week, random people from work were telling me how either they, or someone they knew thought they saw me running on Fruitridge and after confirming that it was me, all of them said “Don’t you know we have trails? That’s what they’re for!”

 I haven’t run in Terre Haute since then.

So no, new Lainie did not train for the 5k.

Because I have a steady workout routine (TurboFire!) and I drink my Vi shakes, I was in pretty good shape to do this. Being me, I got there like 2 seconds before registration closed and forgot to get my timing chip so I have no idea what my time was but whatever, I had fun and now I have awakened the runner inside me. I have missed her these last few months and Confederacy be damned, I am running on the sidewalk!

__________________________________________________________________

The parade was a good time, Sassy was in it with her kids and I sat with Izzy, her husband and her adorable boys both under the age of five. This was a wholesome family event our parade back home hoped to be, but I have to admit it was a little odd to see the cops actually smiling.

After the parade, we collected all the candy that was pelted at us (seriously, no one gave those kids a lesson about how to thrown candy!) and Izzy’s older son realized that we had a lot and did his best to ward the candy-givers off. Picture this: A little boy no older than four with red cheeks, balled fist and positioned in a sumo squat screaming “We don’t want anymore candy! No thank you! No more candy!”

Don’t worry folks, I checked for a belly button and he is a human child.

Walking back, Izzy and I saw Waiter Jeff with his parents (he went to the school back in the day). Of course I was still a hot mess from the 5k.

 

Literally.

I was sweaty, had on no makeup, I had just run 3.1 miles and it showed. I did my best to channel my inner beauty and had a conversation with him, but I am sure all he saw was hot mess.

Awesome.

                      ______________________________________________________________________

I was a little nervous about the party that night because every time I go to those things with Sassy, I end up following her around and feeling like a lost puppy. I know some of the other parents from a previous party and I always manage to talk to them, but never really on my own. That was when I (finally) emailed Waiter Jeff to see if he was going to the party and gave him my number so he could text me if he was.

He never responded.

I may have to find another classy establishment to frequent in Terre Haute.

Shit. That’s the only one.

______________________________________________________________________

Sassy had to work the door so I sat with Geoff (who is now less nervous around me) and he introduced me to people, one who was a single guy that talked my ear off and went on tangents that I can’t explain and when it was all said and done I only had one bite of my dinner and Geoff decided to help me by saying “Hey! If you want to ask her out, you should do it already!”

I swear in that moment if I was not chocolate brown, I would have been beet red.

The conversation ended and in an attempt to avoid running into Sir Talks A Lot the rest of the night, I stayed close to Sassy’s friend Ray and his wife Debbie. Because Ray is such a generous party animal, he supplemented everyone’s unlimited beer with Jameson.

And then Senor Cuervo joined the party.

It was official: Sassy was going to have to drive my ass home.

Before we left, I managed to be belligerent (I was pissed I didn’t win the Kindle Fire), clumsy (I don’t think anyone noticed), and ambitious (I may have offered to join the band and gave an impromptu audition).

On the 1.75 mile walk to my car the next morning, I thought about the previous day. I had a pretty awesome St. Patrick’s Day!

I realized that even though our Shamrock Shuffle is better attended, I got to the 5k mark of the Irish Dash and was done and when I usually reach that point in the Shuffle, I think “I would be done now if this was a normal race!”

I actually got see an SPD parade full on and I didn’t have to do battle with some drunk twenty year-old that kept stepping on my toes or her over-gelled boyfriend that need to defend her (absence of) honor.

And even though, I may not be able to show my face around Waiter Jeff again, I got to enjoy my evening with out following my friend to the bathroom to hold her hair back, dancing with some super drunk guy sweating green (not kidding, that happened to me in 2002) or declining beers I didn’t see poured.

Terre Haute on St. Patrick’s Day. Not so bad.

These Irish Eyes are smiling.

Vera Bradley Bingo Night

Catholics love their bingo.

White ladies of all ages love their Vera Bradley.

I have been Catholic for almost twelve years now and I have never been to a single bingo night and we all know my thoughts on Ms. Bradley and her patterns...

Last week, I took part in Vera Bradley Bingo at the local Catholic Church. I went with Pat (who has requested a name change...I am still thinking), Sassy and some devout catholic Vera Bradley lovin' ladies (Annie, Suzanne and Suzanne's daughter Kitty) where I had a surprisingly good time!

I also learned something I forgot I knew.

I can influence people pretty well, to the point of random absurdity. (No, I do not always use my power for good.)

After I unofficially named our team "Loud Paisley," I settled in with cards and my marker (decorated in some NASCAR vehicle. Who races the #1 car?) and it began to sink in that I donated $20 to support a good cause in hopes that I would win a Vera Bradley bag. That and to experience Terre Haute at its most diverse. 

I know we are only 75 miles away from the Indy 500, but is nothing sacred? Not that  anything Bingo related is expected to be classy...

When I first got here, I felt that there were two Hautian categories: The Natives and those that remember a better place. Native Hautians have sub categories consisting of those that left and come back (Waiter Jeff! Still haven't emailed him in case you're wondering), those that have lived here forever and have not ventured far. When I say every kind of woman was at this event, I am not lying. I parked my car and walked in expecting to see the same kind of people I always see. 

No.

I saw wrong side of the tracks people, college students and old church ladies. I saw those un-brassiered and mullet coifed and the occasional doting husband that looked how I felt. 

I was super glad I was sitting with my LP gang. I knew them well enough and I have no problem letting people see the real Lainie so they got to know me a little better than they wanted. I know that I should a bit more...um...normal in public because I work for a prominent non-profit where the fact that I am a good and (sometimes) pious person is an expectation. 

I don't care about other's expectations of me, I just come to get the party started (ask anyone, that is my official role in life) and have a good time!

Our bingo caller is a local celebrity (one of the weekend anchors at a local TV station); I wasn't the least bit put out that I wasn't asked because I am also a local celebrity...more on that later. He did a pretty good job, even if he did let other people bingo ahead of me. I'm not bitter or anything, but the same cluster of people kept winning which lead me to believe that he was sleeping with all of those little white ladies.

I guess weekend news anchors need love too.

I shared my theory with the LP gang and after they got over the initial shock of what I said, they laughed (then promptly crossed themselves) and the co-worker formally known as Pat hit me. I have to point out that she did not hear what I said, but she knows me well and assumed it was something that put my piety in question (Lainie Mac, Pious...with a lower case "p").

Over the course of the night, the LP gang started to believe in my theory about Weekend News Anchor (WNA for short) and we may have starting booing his alleged prostitution and the effect it is having on us not winning. Because of my aforementioned knack for influencing others, I swayed them to my side without even trying; I also managed to get all of the surrounding tables joining the brouhaha.

Solidarity is awesome.

Even with their interesting ways of playing Bingo (What. Is hat pin bingo?)I was starting to get bored and scanned the room when I saw a beautiful black man enter the gym. Not just beautiful, but oh so cool looking too.

Like Samuel L. Jackson before the snakes started to piss him off cool.

This Vera Bradley bitch has got game! I can’t get a brother to show up with a knock off Coach and she has him right where she wants him.

I should start wearing paisley more.

That or become the girl he was there with.

Seriously? Hat pin?

Moving on, Father Ed from my church showed up to lend his support around this time and joined us. Just when he almost made bingo, one of the WNA’s whores claimed a prize. I looked straight at him and said “You didn’t win because WNA’s sleeping with her and all of the ladies at that table.”

Suzanne turned beet red and I am pretty sure Annie started choked on her food.

Without missing a beat, Father Ed looked in their direction then back at me and said “Well, they don’t look well rested to me.” We roared with laughter and somewhere in Heaven, God is taking years off my life.

Lainie Mac, “pious” with a silent “p.”

I didn’t win anything that night, but the admiration of my table mates…but maybe not their respect.

Although I may have attempted to soil WNA’s integrity, I did use my power for good. I made them forget about not winning anymore loud paisley that I will have to look at when they are around.

So in a way, I win too.

Dammit, Squirrel!

So, it looks like I have been unofficially into the Sunday Night Dinner Crew with Ted and his friends. This week our restaurant of choice was the Applebee’s. Of course, I live in Terre Haute now and the only restaurant open on a Sunday night would be a mediocre chain restaurant. Without getting into it too much, I just want to let you know that I absolutely loathe Applebee’s. No. Me. Gusta.

While Ted played words with friends, CB and I talked about Doctor Who (what else is there?). Sitting next to him, I was working hard not to show my irritation at him and my sadness that Bret didn’t join us.

I like Bret the best. Not just because of his accent, he is just the most normal out of the three and he actually seems rational.  

I decided that I liked hanging out with Bret and CB much better than I liked hanging out with Ted. I find it funny, because in the beginning, CB annoyed the hell out of me and I worked hard to find him tolerable. It helps that we can talk about nerd stuff  and he acknowledges that I am in fact a superior being when it comes to knowledge of all things television.

 Yes, I realize that this is why I am probably still single.

I also realize that I am hanging out with boys again, something I told myself I wouldn’t do anymore. I have enough guy friends and I am trying to change my ways. I have a ton more in common with guys and I may or may not act like a man sometimes. (What? Fart jokes are funny!) I have been a tomboy my entire life and a well dressed one at that. My mom always dressed me in nice clothes and was mortified when I came home with scraped knees and leaves in my hair from climbing trees and making mud pies. I also could leave my older boy cousins in my dust while wearing dress shoes-- a skill that has transferred to being able to successfully run for a city bus while wearing 5 inch heels.

I just realized that I will never have a chance to do that in Terre Haute. My feet are singing joyful songs, but my heart just got a little sad.

Anyways, not that Ted, CB and Bret  are going to be my new guy friends, but it is a possibility especially now that I have ruled them out as potentials. Bret is married to Daphne, CB is cool and we can be nerds, but he…is a nerd, and not in a good way.

Then there’s Ted.

Oh, Ted. I remember the time when he and I went on a pseudo-date and was hoping that he would ask for my number. Oh how we grow and change over the course of two months, especially with an emancipation thrown in there for good measure and clearer vision. This particular outing cemented just how much things were not going to go anywhere with us in anyway shape or form. He didn’t do anything wrong or wear a hideous shirt this time around, he was just himself.

I don't think that I really want to get to know him any better. I think that he is a little into himself and lacks a filter. 

OK, I know that my filter is clogged and possibly in need of changing (maybe in 3,000 miles?), but I have one. When we went out a few months back, I found out that his parents were divorced and his brother and sisters were lost souls and other random facts about his family that I won't share and didn't need to hear. 

He also manages to only start conversations on things in which he feels intellectually superior. 

Why?

Because he has to be the smartest person in the room. All the damn time!

He’s a bookish bully.

He corrects other people’s grammar and pronunciation and I am sure that if he read this blog I would get a copy of my latest entry in my mailbox with red pen all over it. I have no desire to have an intellectual conversation with him because his need to be the smartest isn't the worst thing. The fact he won’t even allow you to be a close second is more concerning. 

Sidebar to Ted:

So sorry, Dude. It must be so hard on you to know everything. I imagine it to be a lot like Superman. You know, how he is the only one in the world that can hear cries for help and has to choose who he saves. Sucks to be you...

I know I'm being horrible and I know he's not a bad guy. My irritation may stem from the fact that his book bullying reminds me of Ralph and I am just taking it out on him. I am sure that I would come around if I give him more of a chance. I mean, look at me and CB. We are totally nerd friends and we have things in common and we may find it amusing that Ted has no idea what we are talking about when we say "Don't. Blink." in cautious and terrified tones. (DW Season 3, Episode 10)

I want to hang out with these guys (at least two of them) on Sunday nights and now I am looking to find a way to make Ted tolerable in order to make it possible.

Ted.

The whole reason I am hanging out with these guys in the first place. How the tables have turned...

Somethings I Just Don't Understand

OK.

I don’t understand the obsession with this lady.

It seems like you can’t go anywhere in this town without being assaulted by a Vera Bradley print. And yes, I say assaulted because her brightly hued paisley is everywhere. I just left church and no joke, there was a processional of paisley showcased with representation from several generations of women.

I know that it is not just Terre Haute, I first met Ms. Bradley about nine years ago when I was living in the suburbs of my town. I found it odd that teenage girls were schlepping around their grandmother’s handbags and duffels. It wasn’t until a few months later that I found they bought these bags on purpose.

On. Purpose.

Then they opened the outlet mall close to us and I was scratching my head because I didn’t understand how there was a line outside of the Vera Bradley store. I figured that maybe there was something about this lady that I didn’t get so maybe I should check it out. About five minutes later, I realized that I wasn’t wrong and vowed that unless I lost a bet, I would not enter that store again.

If it was just the prints that turned me off that would be one thing, but the stuff is insanely expensive! People sometimes spend upwards of $100 on a bag.

A bag that is not made by Coach.

I do not understand.

I hope that I will never understand.

I have learned that there are companies that make bags to look like Ms. Bradley’s and you can even score knock-offs. Knock-offs?

On a bag that is not made by Coach.

I do not understand.

I hope that I will never understand.

Apparently, Vera Bradley is an Indiana institution because she is from Fort Wayne. That and she created the state flag. Not really, I just figured she had to have done something super cool to charge that much for a bag that is not as cute as it seems (and was not made by Coach). 

Apparently, it doesn't stop at bags. There are wallets, makeup bags, aprons, bulletin boards, luggage, lanyards, umbrellas, jewelry boxes and more things that I probably can't imagine. 

I don't want to take the time to imagine.

By the time I moved here, I had one Vera Bradley item that I actually liked, but I did not come around. It is actually a really cute green tote bag with no design whatsoever and was a gift from one of my interns. By the time I was here a week, I got a green paisley makeup bag courtesy of Sassy. Sassy. She may disown me after this post because the only Vera-free room in her house is her son’s. If I am being honest, I actually like the makeup bag not only because green is my favorite color, but because I prefer loud paisley the way I like my makeup bag…tucked away in my purse only to be taken out at the appropriate time.

Not all of her paisley is loud. I got an apron and recipe box set this Christmas that is green and muted paisley. I actually really like them and I use the apron quite a bit and the recipe box is kind of cute so I put it in my bedroom for perfumes and lotions. I just realize that sentence alone makes me seen like I am fifty years old. That and the fact Pat thinks that I will come around to liking it on my own makes me think that maybe I should stop accepting gifts of Vera Bradley…

Please God, don’t let me understand.

Last Weekend

I had a great weekend and I thought you should know! I took a trip out of town; I did some sightseeing, saw some friends and met a really nice Catholic man that is super hot!

Pretty good, right?

Now for the things that I am not telling you:

I volunteered to take four teenagers (the Core Four—or C4 for short) to Washington D.C. for the March for Life, a pro-life rally held once a year around the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade ruling to prayerfully protest abortion.

We started off on our journey early on Saturday morning and I was glad because these were kids that I have gotten to know the most since I have been here and I was looking forward to this trip. I was not, however, looking forward to the twelve hour bus ride while I was trying to fight off a cold. This was my fifth time going to the March and I usually fly when I go and stay with friends and make a vacation of the trip and stay about a week. I knew it would be different this time around but I was going to offer up the 12 hour bus ride and be OK with that. Because I was feeling kind of sick and didn’t know when I would have to opportunity to get hot tea, C4 and I stopped at the Starbucks and also used the bathroom. While we (meaning me) were savoring our last few minutes before being stuck on a bus with about 50 other people, I got a phone call wondering where we were. I thought we had a bit more time and apparently I was wrong.

As we drove up to the meeting place, we laughed that we were “that group.” You know that group, the one’s that are always late and/or unprepared and then somehow manage to inconvenience everyone? That may have been us. After we were situated on the bus and tripped over people, we were on our way and I was officially dying of sick.

The bus ride was fine enough, we watched movies, I talked to my bus buddy and just I started to get a bit restless of the fact that I couldn’t stretch out when we got stuck in a traffic jam on I-70 courtesy of a chemical spill adding three hours to our bus ride. It wasn’t so bad, because it was during this time that I saw him. The beautiful man accompanying his own group of teenagers on this journey. I am afraid to tell you this, but he’s a priest. A young priest, but a priest. I think I have a problem.

Because I was not trying to go to hell, I opted to sleep instead of ogling Father Hottie and vowed (he he) that I would not talk to him the entire trip. Somewhat because I didn’t want to be flirty, but mostly because I didn’t want to be a giggling idiot at every interaction.

After a good night’s sleep (once we arrived, of course) we had a pretty good weekend. C4 and I went to the Holocaust Museum and it was an incredible experience. I’d been before, but I was in eighth grade and though it had made an impact, being there just before the March made it hit home for the five of us as going through the museum reminded us that being pro-life means more than being anti-abortion. Here I am writing this almost a week after visiting and it is still with me. If you ever get the chance to visit the museum in DC, please do it, I really think that it will change your view of what it truly means to have a quality of life and open your eyes to what takes root and grows out of the poison seeds of propaganda.

After the sobering experience of the museum, we set out to meet up with friends of mine (and their baby that I couldn’t hold because I was sickL) and taught the kids how to ride the Metro! Even though it took at least ten minutes to teach everyone how to pay for tickets (we totally missed two trains), I was glad they got to have that experience. And on the way back, I had the honor of teaching the girls how to use their feminine wiles to get what they want.

I am not proud of it, but I needed to get the five of us to the Smithsonian Castle to meet our group and it was two miles away with only 5 minutes to spare. I flagged down a cab, leaned in and smiled real big while batting my eyes and asked him if he could possibly take five passengers. The answer is usually no, but since I know when to make being a pretty girl work for me, his answer was “where to?”

We didn’t make it on time (more like 10 minutes late) which only cemented our status of being “that group” because they couldn’t call the buses to get us unless everyone was there. (C4 and Lainie…we’re the bomb!) I should also tell you that while running to meeting place, I almost mowed down Father Hottie. While it was a good thing that I didn’t, should I go to confession because I kinda wondered what it would be like to fall on him? (On accident, of course)

chaperone and may have had some impact on their experience in DC, they really had an impact on mine. They are a great group of kids and I think knowing and interacting with them is starting to make moving here a bit more worth it.

I really enjoyed the time I spent with C4 over the weekend. I had the opportunity to feel like a teen again without feeling inappropriately immature and share my knowledge of public transit and effective flirting in order to get from here to there. It was also not so bad being “that group” even though we were late three other times including the time later in the weekend when the group leader came to us first to get lunches and somehow we still ended up at the back of the line and last on the bus. No one got mad at as and we started to take bets on just how late we were and wondered if the group leader would have smoke coming out of her ears by the time we actually got to the bus. For the record, she never did, but I am sure that the times we were on time for the bus she relaxed just a little. For those that know me, I am sure you are not surprised. I just can’t believe that I brought down America’s youth in my disregard for all things prompt.

I survived the bus, but never did get better and was so sick that I ended up with my own seat on the way home and a fever. That wasn’t so bad because it gave me a reason to talk to Father Hottie when he inquired about how I was feeling (better now that you’re here…) and we had a mini conversation. Like I predicted, I was a giggling idiot and had to avoid eye contact the rest of the trip.

I really should get help.

I really hope this affinity for men of the cloth goes away soon.

Emancipated Me

So. This is what moving on feels like... For a while I was on what I like to call an "emancipation high" after I pressed "send" on that relationship ending message. Now? I just have to keep moving and shaking like I always do...with a lot less on mind. Here I am world! Emancipated Lainie! Ready to take you on...

On Sunday night I went to dinner with Ted and his friends (CB and Bret) for the second time and it was definitely a learning experience. Unlike the first time, CB's friend Bobby and Bret's wife Daphne came along.  I remember thinking that if doesn't ask me for my number tonight ,  I am done!  I definitely didn't want to be friends with anymore guys, especially uncertain ones.

We decided to go to the Steak and Shake where I did NOT have the coffee (I have never had good experiences with Steak and Shake coffee) and Ted not thinking before talking says "Is that OK for you? Should be eating that food?" I was not alone in shock and surprise saying "WHAT?!" (CB was also a little surprised). Those definitely sounded like fighting words! Poor Ted, he was just concerned because I may have led him to believe that I eat a bit healthier on a regular basis in the times we have eaten together...oops! After his embarrassment subsided we agreed it was fine and we were on our way.

At the restaurant we started talking and I noticed that Ted was way more interested in his phone so I teased him about being anti-social, looked at his screen and saw he was playing Words With Friends. Really?

Please read the following in an urban dialect: Words with friends? Oh I can give you some words with friends!  You think Alec Baldwin getting kicked off the plane was bad? I'm  about to eject you from my evening! Aw hell naw!  I got you! Believe that! (End urban dialect) 

I mean, c'mon! Who does that?! There is being shy and then there is just plain rude! He was also wearing a butt ugly shirt (red plaid in the style of lumberjack, possibly Bunyon Dynasty) and his lack of social skills was the excuse I needed to aviod looking at it for the next hour or so. As a result, CB and I got to know each other better and he seemed a lot less annoying to me once I got to know him. It turns out that he is a nerd just like me and we talked about Doctor Who, Star Wars and a crapload of other stuff nerds like. Bobby also joined in the conversation, but it was so hard to listen to him because no joke, he looks like Hank Hill's son, Bobby on King of the Hill (hence the name). And he talks like him too! I didn't watch that show a ton, but I definitely kept picturing this grown ass man animated and 11 years old. I could have sworn that his dad was gonna show up at any moment to sell me propane.

Still completely ticked at Ted I made a point to get to know everyone at the table a bit more and let him play his game. I think Bret and Daphne are an odd couple, but I liked them.
Bret is British so I figure I should make friends because when Sunny does come to visit she will want to meet him (she has anglophelia).

By the way no one else was bothered by his behavior, I figured this was normal Ted behavior and realized that maybe we should be just friends. I should let you know that Sassy seconded that motion because she thinks I am way too cute for him. And now that I look at him through my emancipated eyes, I am inclined to agree. That. And the shirt.  I think it was mostly the shirt...
 
It's funny, now that I officially let go of Ralph, I am just fine with moving at a slower pace. When I first moved here I told a friend that I had to get two hobbies and start dating. I have only one hobby so far and am really slow in the dating department.  Right now,  I am OK with that.  (Keep on mind I can only speak for right now). I think the newly emancipated Lainie doesn't have anything to prove. She can give herself time to adjust to this new life and figure out this town before she has to start figuring out its men.