Tag Archives: Awkward Jean

The Perfect Date, Great Expectations and Other Relationship Wrecking Balls

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When it comes to relationships I’m the ultimate Armchair Quarterback. I know exactly what to do in theory, it’s the getting out on the field and executing the plays that seems to allude me. More than once I’ve been told that my problem is I build up impossible expectations in my head, or “write the story” for how something will go, and in the end I basically set up guys for failure. I’ve also been told that I expect black and white from everyone else while I tend to live in the gray. Ouch. Mostly because both observations are pretty accurate.

So, part of this year of trying new things has me focused on recognizing that behavior in the hopes of changing it. Not the easiest of tasks. Especially considering one of my twelve items to try this year was to plan a date and take someone on it. However, in my mind that automatically reads as planning a date worthy of old Hollywood. One of those grand gesture-type of dates that’s clever, thoughtful and memorable. In short, the perfect date. Right there I’d already undermined myself without even realizing it. Perfection is one of those gray area terms ripe with unrealistic expectations.

Original Crush’s birthday is December 1st, so about a month ago I had decided to plan the perfect date to celebrate his birthday. On the surface this is a very thoughtful plan; however, truth be told, it was also rather selfish. Deep down I think we often plan for others the things we’d like done for us. For my birthday OC sent me a text in the morning wishing me a “happy 35th anniversary.” That was it. No lunch date, no drink after work, no gift, no card… heck, he didn’t even sign the office card that was passed around for me (until I literally brought it to him after the fact and made him sign it — classic Awkward Jean move). So, like I said, if the truth be told some of my “perfect date” planning was probably more selfish than I’d like to admit.

OC moved to Kansas City from Chicago. He was a Chicago transplant, but had lived there the majority of his adult life. He loves Chicago. He misses Chicago. He hasn’t opened up to the hidden treasure of Kansas City quiet yet. So, for his birthday I wanted to do something, anything, that would maybe let him see that while Kansas City is no Chicago, if he’d stop comparing the two, he’d find we have a pretty great city here. He likes hockey. The Chicago Blackhawks are his team. Now, while Kansas City doesn’t have an NHL team, we do have a CHL team, the Missouri Mavericks, and they happen to play at the events center right by my house. Which is saying a lot because I live about 45 minutes from downtown way out on the east side — Chicago or Kansas City, the ‘burbs are the ‘burbs and are rarely thought of as the hip and happening place to be. Unless you want to go to a hockey game. Which I’d never done, and knew he’d love. (Well, at least I’d hoped he would.)

So, with the help of my hockey-loving friend Erica, I bought tickets to a hockey game for the Friday after his birthday. Since it wasn’t a professional hockey league I thought I could make up for that with great seats — that’s where Erica came in, I wasn’t really sure where the “good seats” were. I ended up getting seats just off center court (rink?) in the first row (on the glass??) behind the home team. More than just planning a great date, I also wanted to plan a great birthday because on his actual birthday OC was driving home from Thanksgiving in Indiana at his parent’s house. Not a great way to spend a birthday, so I made sure my house was not only decorated for Christmas, which is always so pretty (read: romantic) with all the white lights, but also for his birthday. I hung a sparkly ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ banner and got him an ‘It’s My Birthday’ sash and a party hat — blue, his favorite color to match the blue cupcakes I made him. I figured we’d stop by my house on the way to the hockey game, drop off a car, surprise him with his cupcakes and birthday paraphernalia and then be on our way to the hockey game.  It was the perfect plan. All I told him was that we were celebrating his birthday on Friday, December 6th and to put it on his calendar — the rest would be a surprise.

As you can imagine, I’d already fallen victim to one of my classic relationship landmines — the Hollywood version in my head. I had the whole night planned to every detail, but none that I shared. Just expectations I created in my own mind — good luck to him on figuring them out. Basically, I set him up for failure.

So the week of the Perfect Date arrived, and with it an awful winter’s cold. I’m talking man down, congestion, coughing, grogginess, grumpiness — you name it, I had it going on. All week I desperately fought the cold. I slept, I tried every remedy anyone on Facebook would share with me (literally — tried them all). I bought any over-the-counter medication that claimed to help. I practically took out stock on all things Vick’s. Friday rolled around and I suffered through work — even though my boss told me I looked miserable and should go home. (Sidebar: As a child if we stayed home from school sick, we couldn’t do anything that night… as an adult I guess I’ve held on to this policy. No work — no play. So I stayed.) Finally around 3:15 I threw in the towel. I needed just ONE more cleansing of the sinuses with my Neti pot if I was going to make it through the night. Our plan had been to leave work together and drop a car at my house (where the birthday surprises were), but there was no way I was going to drain sinuses in front of OC — even I’m not THAT awkward. SO, I told him to meet me at my house.

Now, in fairness I will say that he asked me what time he should leave and I told him “Leave when you can.” He knew the original plan had been to leave by 4:30 so we’d miss traffic. Surely he’d understand he should stick close to that plan. At 5:20 I hadn’t heard from him yet. The game started at 7:05. We were running out of time for the birthday surprise and heading to the game. I didn’t feel well and I was grumpy… the wrecking ball was all geared up to crash into the night. I called him at the office and almost couldn’t speak when he answered the phone. 5:20 and he STILL hadn’t left downtown yet??? Are you frickin’ kidding me?!? (Enter Angry Jean.)

He told me he was finishing up an email and would leave shortly. Fine. (Now gentlemen, you KNOW when a lady say’s “Fine.” she means anything but.)

At 6pm he called to say he was leaving. Then told me he was kidding and was close, he’d call when he got here. At about 6:15 he called to say he was out front. So, I told him he could drive and I’d just meet him out there in a second. I put the cupcakes away, blew out the candles, looked at my sparkly decorations, turned out the light and headed out the door. Angry Jean.

These are the things we do. We build up expectations in our heads, we don’t communicate our needs, and then we hold others accountable for the impossible standards we’ve set that they’ve let us down on without ever knowing it. I am not alone in this. We all do it. Some of us recognize the behavior better, some of us head it off at the pass before it becomes destructive and some us throw gasoline onto its flames until it burns out of control. Traditionally I’m a perpetrator of the latter, but am really trying to work on the first in order to do the second.

I got out to the car, the whole time giving myself a pep talk — it’s not OC’s fault that I don’t feel well. It’s not OC’s fault that I planned surprises, didn’t communicate the time I really wanted him there and he came late. Don’t let this ruin the whole night Jean. (I talk to myself a lot.)

OC: So, you’re angry. 

Me: No. (Yes)

OC: Are you mad that I’m late?

Me: No. (Yes)

OC: Do you not feel well and need to stay home?

Me: No. I’m 100%. (Yes.)

OC: Hmm… 

(In Jean’s Head: this is NOT his fault. YOU didn’t communicate the time. YOU built up unrealistic expectations. LET GO. He asked if you felt well enough — that was thoughtful. YOU decided come hell or high water you were doing this tonight, so YOU need to suck it up and stop blaming him for impossible expectations that are in YOUR head. Don’t expect him to fail. Give him a chance. Give the night a chance.)

Me: I’m good, I’m excited for the game — let’s go. (Smile.)

And I did. I finally listened that Armchair Quarterback in my head who knew all the right moves, all the right plays, just had never really been out on the field. I let go of all the expectations. I sucked it up that I didn’t feel well. And I had a great time. The game was very exciting and fun. OC was charming and witty and sweet. When I stopped writing the script in my head and just went with the flow, I was amazed how little disappointment I felt and how much I just enjoyed my time with him.

After the game we went out and grabbed some dinner. Then he took me back and dropped me off at my house. He never saw my pretty, romantic white Christmas lights or the sparkly birthday banner. He never got to make a wish on his birthday candle and enjoy his blue cupcakes. He never knew I bought a brand new bra in his favorite cobalt blue color (just in case). He just dropped me off and thanked me for the evening, told me to get some rest and feel better and to let him know when we could go out again. In short, pretty much nothing I had planned actually happened… And yet, it was a perfect date.

Sometimes I think we’re our own worst enemies. Our ideas of perfection and our great expectations… they just undermine the potential that reality holds. At least for me.

So, time to not plan the next date. I’m making him watch Love Actually — he’s never seen it. I know, practically sacrilegious! Don’t fret my friends, we’ll fix that… with no hope or agenda*…well, maybe a little hope.

XOXO — Awkward Jean

*Quote from Love Actually by the character Mark.

Bulk Buys, Spending Patterns & Awkward Jean

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ImageMy name is Jean and I love Costco. I have loved Costco for so long I can’t remember when the trips first started. I don’t buy snacks for the soccer team, nor do I feed a bottomless pit of a teenager. I am a single woman, with a cat, and an unapologetic love of bulk purchases. Specifically at Costco — they have fabulous finds at excellent prices. I often think I’ll buy some landscaping there or perhaps upgrade the counters in my kitchen, maybe even new tires come winter…

In reality I buy five things:

  • Alcohol (Wine mostly. Apothic Red @ $7.99 a bottle I’m talking to you!)
  • Produce (Spinach, apples, brussel sprouts and beets — those four items are basically all you need to create just about anything worth having.)
  • Coffee (Random Jean Fact: I’ve loved coffee since I was a wee child. Six year old Jean would negotiate with my mom to have coffee for dessert instead of say, actual dessert. True story.)
  • Books (Who don’t love a deal on some books? Heathens, that’s who.)
  • Beauty Products (Namely contact solution, lotion and razors — we’ve previously established my need for hair removal, razors ain’t cheap. And some Oil of Olay is how I keep this youthful glow! Oh, and seriously solution is a huge cost savings there.)

On any given trip I will spend between $100-$125. It’s like Target, only fewer cart items that hold a longer-lasting yield (well, except maybe the wine…)

AND, Costco is a great company. One of the rare monster-conglomerates that I can actually feel good about giving my business to. If you don’t believe me check out this article (click on the word article — I’m getting very techy these days, before you know it my moniker will be Impressive Jean as opposed to Awkward Jean). 

All that said, I was at Costco last week picking up a few things (in this particular case: red wine, spinach, coffee, a book and a candle — sometimes I get adventurous) and I needed to renew my membership. Now… I feel like I always need to justify paying $55 a year to support my Costco addiction as I always feel a bit ridiculous about what I buy there — I realize the “big box retailers” weren’t created to cater to an audience of one (plus cat) but… I just love it so much I say to heck with the fee — I deserve some frivolous rewards just like anyone else and by god mine is COSTCO! Sooo… I renewed my membership. Easy, breezy — simple to do and I was off to shop!

Upon gathering my goods (after like 45 minutes of meandering and planning all the things I was totally gonna get someday when I finally focused on using my membership to its fullest), I went to the checkout lines. Everything was going pretty much according to routine until the young man checking me out said: 

I think I’ve checked you out before, and may have already asked you this…

Um. Okay. (He’s soooo judging my cart!)

I see you just renewed your membership, did anyone talk to you about upgrading to the Executive Membership? Do you mind if I scan your card to show you something?

Um. Okay. (Oh god. Is he adding up all the wine to convince me it’s cheaper to buy it by the case? Enabler.)

Just what I thought. You see (mumble, mumble, heart racing, kinda missed the details)… Because you see, you spent over $1200 here in the last year and with your spending patterns you’d be actually SAVING money if you spent more on the upgraded membership. For another $45 I can do that for you right now?

Um. ($1200 on wine, books, spinach, coffee and grooming???? Yeah, I guess that probably sounds about right… I mean, I DO read a lot…) I’m good right now (how did spending more save me money again?), but I’ll definitely think about it.

So, it appears as though my “spending habits” have green-lighted me for the elite (more expensive-money saving) Executive Costco Membership… Take that Soccer Moms! **Dear Lord Baby Jesus, PLEASE let me join their ranks some day, Amen** And suddenly, upon learning I was using it to its fullest degree, my single lady Costco membership doesn’t seem so frivolous. Hmm, guess that means I can start looking for a new frivolous reward… 

XOXO — Awkward (Costco) Jean

 

 

 

Is that the (EXPLETIVE) anchor?

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I’ve had a request for some Throwback Thursday posts… These are intended more for my challenge of writing some every day for a month, but… It’s Thursday, I feel like writing… seems like as good a time to start as any. So… here we go… 

Picture it, September of 2012. A pristine day high up in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, not a cloud in the sky and a refreshing summer crisp in the air — perfect for a little lake fishing during our annual girls’ weekend with my friends Kim and Melissa. Now, one thing you all need to know about Awkward Jean is that I’m VERY athletic (*fine print: only when drinking) and super outdoorsy (*fine print: only when drinking heavily) so I was pretty sure I was going to be awesome at the day’s events. 

Mistake #1: We rented a row boat. Melissa, who was hosting the girls’ weekend, had assured us that the power boats were not only overrated, but also way more spendy. (Dear Future Jean — Always question when people say something is too much money. In this case it was another $5. Not per person, total. Fail.) So we rented a row boat. 

Mistake #2: Everyone assumed Jean (who is a. awkward by nature and b. stone-cold sober, i.e. unathletic, at this time) knew how to get into a boat. Well… Picture a clumsy blonde girl in wedge flip flops stepping directly onto the seat of the boat with one leg and leaving the other leg on the dock as the sudden movement of this not-so-graceful leg-plunk forces the boat to drift (think Van Damme-esque splits).

Mistake #3: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!” “Get IN. THE. BOAT.” “Oh my god, she’s gonna fall in.” “SERIOUSLY!! GET IN!” “FALL!!” (why are they all yelling at me??) All I heard was “FALL”. So I did. I’m an excellent faller. Excellent! Lacking athleticism I went into self-preservation mode and flung myself into the bottom of that row boat. And like many good falls, there was a casualty. I sort of flung myself down on top of Melissa, who was already in the boat, bringing her down with me. Hard.

At this point Melissa and Kim are laughing so hard they are crying, the boat is shaking up waves and the peace of the once calm fishing lake is irrevocably disturbed.  And I’m barely able to get myself into a seated position. This is when they made a rule. I was allowed to sit in ONE SPOT and NOT MOVE the whole trip. Fine by me — I cracked open a beer. 

Mistake #4: My ONE SPOT that I could NOT MOVE from happened to be in a rather inopportune location.  After a rough start, and finally kicking off from the dock, we (they) rowed us out to the other side of this breathtaking lake (I ate my sandwich and drank beer). We found a good spot to claim as our fishing hole and it was time to throw the anchor and cast our lines. Which brings us back to Mistake #4: My ONE SPOT that I could NOT MOVE from happened to be where the anchor was located.

Not being allowed to get up or move it was slightly challenging for me to get the anchor thrown, but desperate to redeem myself I managed to grab hold of it and give it a rather skilled toss overboard (I was about a beer in, so Athletic Jean was beginning to take shape). 

“JEAN!! YOUR –” (scramble, scramble, Melissa at my feet grabbing some rope that was wrapped around my… Oh.) “The anchor line was wrapped around your ankle! Didn’t you check that? Oh my god Jean… that could have been really bad.”

I know. I could have spilled my beer — we didn’t have a ton out there, what if I ran out? And that’s when I realized I didn’t do something else. 

“Um, guys. I maybe didn’t tie off the anchor.” 

“Shit Jean! Is it there?”

(Turning cautiously) “No. No it’s definitely not there.” (Turns out Mistake #4 was like a three part mistake.)

This is probably when everyone decided to have a beer. Sure it’d been a rough start, but it was such a gorgeous day and the view was breathtaking. The fish weren’t biting, even though I had mad fishing skills, so eventually we decided to row to another spot. Now, I can only share what I witnessed here, but the rowing appeared to be extremely challenging. I mean, Melissa is super athletic (like for realsies) and Kim is really focused and determined and for like 45 minutes we were barely going anywhere. I would have helped but… not being allowed to move it was difficult. So I drank beer and advised on strategy. Things like “Row harder.” “Row faster.” “Make the boat go!” — Yeah, I was pretty helpful and I’m sure they appreciated the support. I especially think they appreciated me when suddenly Melissa leaped from her seat shouting: 

“What is that? WHAT. IS. THAT??!!!” (silence… Melissa leaning over me pointing at the back end of the boat…)

“Is that, the FUCKING ANCHOR??!!!” 

Yes. Yes it was. Hmm, guess I was wrong. Guess it was tied off all that time. Which totally explained why we weren’t going anywhere.

And that’s how, on a breathtakingly gorgeous, pristine day at a quiet fishing lake high in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, I was given a “talking time-out” and was dropped off at the shore… without my beer.

XOXO — Awkward (Throwback Thursday) Jean

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The Makeover.

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If Hollywood has taught me anything in my thirty-five years, it’s that all you need in order to change your life, is to change your look. True story. SO… I have the new hair… I’ve hung up my signature flip-flops for the cold season… all that seems to be left is the makeup makeover montage.

When my most fabulous stylist Nicole dyed my hair she warned me that I’d likely need to change up my makeup as well. I felt the timing for this was perfect because it was almost time to replace my signature items — bare minerals (light) powder foundation, MAC Expensive Pink eye shadow (my full-cover) and MAC Sketch (my crease-highlight) eye shadow.

Random Jean Fact — I didn’t start wearing makeup daily until I was 25… I’m a solid ten years in, but… I’m a creature of habit and really don’t branch out much when it comes to my routines, so the idea of trying NEW makeup is a bit daunting. It’s not as simple as it looks and makeup is kind of spendy. Luckily, I just received my annual birthday “Not A Smoker” check from my mom, soooo — no excuses, time to branch out.

SIDEBAR: My mom has some pretty nifty tricks up her sleeves — made more impressive by the fact that those tricks were figured out pre-interwebs and definitely pre-Pinterest. When I was about middle-school aged my mom made a deal with me — if I didn’t smoke and I didn’t drink by the time I turned 21 then she’d give me $500 FOR EACH on my 21st birthday. AND, every year following I’d get $100 EACH on my birthday for not drinking and smoking. Suffice it to say I’ve never seen a single cent of that no-drinking money, but I’ve successfully cashed in on being a non-smoker for the last 14 years! Seriously, parents — do this, it’s genius! Thank you mom!

Alas, I took this year’s “Not A Smoker” money up to my local Sephora this last Sunday night and decided to treat myself to a full-on makeover! I was picturing that scene from Miss Congeniality where a whole team of beauticians (or magicians, whatevs) take over and basically remove all the “rough” from the diamond that is Sandra Bullock… Um, yeah. It was probably more like when Julia Roberts hit Rodeo Drive (WITH Richard Gere) and they just kept throwing things at her saying it was all great…

Things I learned during my “makeover” —

1) If you want a makeup artist to actually spend time with you, teach you techniques, apply makeup, etc. then you REALLY need to respect their time and set up an appointment… not walk in 45 minutes before close on a Sunday night. FAIL.

2) Um, yeah… actually it was just that one thing I already mentioned. I don’t know what an actual makeover would have been like in order to learn more because all I ended up with was one of the makeup artists walking me around and trying to give me very broad pointers… OH, and she helped me with my foundation — turns out I’m not a “light”, I’m a “medium”… the “light” is too yellowy for my skin tone, which explains some rather jaundiced looks I’ve given myself in the past.

The makeup artist Loren (picture the cutest, sweetest person alive) focused on changing up my eye shadow routine and kept suggesting I purchase a combo pack palette thingy so that I’d have lots of colors to experiment with. I’ve used the exact same TWO colors, regardless of occasion, for the last three years and yet this fresh-faced, natural makeup-ed woman was trying to convince me that makeup is fun and I can pull off a lot of colors with my skin tone and I should be experimenting and trying different looks for different occasions… Um. Yeah. That’s sooo not my comfort zone Loren… But then, I suppose that’s the point — I’m trying to get out of my comfort zone. And, since I know they don’t work on commission and really thought that this eager-beaver-cheerleader-type REALLY was trying to be helpful and encouraging… I did it. I bought one of the palettes with like 73-colors to play with AND I splurged and bought new makeup brushes too.

(Hyperbole Alert: There were only ten colors… two of which were powder eyeliners, two of which were “highlight colors” -whatever that means- and one of which was the “base”… Sooooo, really there were like five colors… but STILL! That’s 2.5 times as many as I’m use to!)

So, yesterday was my first day with my new colors… I was tempted to do my normal thing (I still have a little left) but… No. I’m branching out. I’m Ally Sheedy, Julia Roberts, Audrey Hepburn… I’ve. Got. This. So, I tried a sort of shiny taupe base with a dark olive metallic crease thingy (sorry, I don’t know the words, I just Googled pictures of what to do) and guess what — nothing catastrophic happened. On the flip side… neither the captain of the wrestling team nor the captain of industry nor the captain of linguistics fell in love with me, but… nothing bad happened. Until today.

The muted success of yesterday’s eye adventure bolstered my confidence. Perhaps to an overly-inflated degree. Today I tried a WHOLE new look. Something Loren hadn’t even thought to suggest! (Dear Future Jean — PLEASE pay attention to things like that… there’s a reason Loren didn’t think to suggest it…) Today I tried the shiny white base with the silvery charcoal crease. Translation: I looked like a frigid snow queen… with glitter all over my face (thank you new makeup brushes I’m not use to yet). AND, to make matters worse, when I saw it was going bad fast, I didn’t stop. I didn’t remove the nightmare on Jean’s face… NO — I decided MY OUTFIT didn’t match my face. So I changed my outfit.

I was a wee embarrassed all day at work because I felt a bit like a soccer mom going through a mid-life crisis and trying something new **Dear Lord Baby Jesus, PLEASE let me join their ranks someday, Amen** but that the new thing just looked like someone trying to dress (my face in this case) younger than she actually is. All day I was worried that I’d run into Original Crush (OC) or that New Crush (NC) would FINALLY invite me to lunch or a drink after work… Heck no! I looked AWFUL! My face was so sparkly from my rogue makeup brush flinging sparkly white powder EVERYWHERE — I looked like a Cullen on a sunny day in Forks for god’s sake! Fortunately (or unfortunately really) I didn’t hear from either OC or NC all day… Until I ran into OC in the kitchen at work at the end of the day…

(Him staring at me; me feeling awkward…)

Yeah, I bought some new makeup this weekend, remember I was telling you about it, and anyway I tried something new today and it didn’t really work and now I have this awful makeup on and glitter everywhere and… 

Actually, I was looking at your roots. 

Oh. Um, right. Well, I guess I just thought you were looking at my makeup because the sparkly eye shadow got all over and… 

Yeah, your makeup is different. You look like a 14 year old girl with that glitter all over your face. Maybe we should get you some of those pants that say ‘JUICY’ on the ass. 

Sometimes I wonder if he hears himself and knows how he comes across, but more importantly… MY ROOTS? UGH! Great! Not only do I have 14 year old “glitter” makeup all over, but now my roots, which are blonde, are coming through and making me look like I have gray hair.

MAKEOVER FAIL!

At least another coworker enjoyed my makeup attempts today… every time he needed to tell me something, his emails looked something like this:

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Awesome. Well, as my girl Anne Shirley (from Anne of Green Gables) always says “Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it.” And by “no mistakes”… I kind of mean the white sparkly eye shadow.

XOXO– Awkward (Glitter) Jean

Nothing, Something… Kismet?

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It all started with a very bad day, backed up traffic, and a bar (as most good stories do). Those of you who frequent my Facebook page may recall seeing this post: Image

Yep, that’s the night the groundwork was laid for CRUSH to have competition. I work on the 9th floor of a nine-story building and my window has a rather glamorous view of the traffic on the highway headed toward my house. I know exactly what I’m getting into when I leave the office. Well, after a less-than stellar day all I wanted to do was go home, put on my lounging attire, pour a glass of wine (or rip out the bladder from a boxed wine and stab a straw in it Capri Sun style… whatevs) and RELAX. Alas, traffic was seriously backed up and I knew that if I went downstairs to the bar (yes, there’s a bar in my office building, freakin’ awesome) and had a drink then traffic would die down and I could avoid the frustration of sitting in it and still get home at about the same time (hashtag the justifications we tell ourselves)… So I did.

I bellied up to the bar to gossip with the bartender (my girl Shonda) and I ordered a deliciously dirty martini — up. That’s about when I glanced down and noticed him. One of those good ‘ol boys with the sweet eyes and big grin and the kind of arms you just want to curl up into… Especially after a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

“Psst! PSSSTTT!! Shonda — who is that guy?” 

“Ooo, I don’t know. I’ll find out.” — And that’s one of the reasons you’ve got to love Shonda.

She then proceeded to make typical bartender small-talk — You in for the livestock show? No? Oh, okay. Meeting people? Yes. Alright. Yeah… closed book, not very talky. Fail. 

Enter 1/2 martini-in Awkward Jean. The guy had just returned from a trip to the restroom, having left his mostly full beer on the bar, and I say, loudly from the opposite end of the bar,

“Hey — you’re pretty brave.” 

“Why’s that?” (Melt a little… so cute… mmm vodka)

“Because you left your beer sitting here in front of strangers. I could have ruffied you you know?”

“Let’s hope so.” (MELT)

So I scooch my way down toward his end of the bar to make small talk — he was meeting some co-workers for a happy hour if any of them ever showed up. No, they don’t typically come here but he’s been before and liked it, soo… here he was… About this time his co-worker (a blonde, bigger girl) walks in and it’s pretty clear we are done talking. UGH. I make my way back down the bar, but occasionally glance down, hoping to maybe make eye contact or get invited into the conversation… No such luck. I order another martini, I can’t leave. I’ve got to talk to this guy more. I try to see if he has a ring — negative. I see she does — sweet, just a co-worker, not a romantic… Wait, they’re leaving… together… Sad. “Water please Shonda.”

But wait! He came back. And we got to talking and we ended up staying for quite a while just joking around, getting to know each other… I tell him I’m normally blonde… about 17 times just in case he was interested in the other girl and liked blondes. I mean, come on… he needs to know. Eventually it was time to go, he asked for my number, walked me to my car, kissed me… Ahhh… suddenly I couldn’t even remember why it’d been such a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It seemed like a pretty good one to me. He wanted me to text him when I got home, to make sure I made it okay. How sweet. And yet… sour.

What about CRUSH? What was I doing? I’m an idiot. But… this guy was soo… UGH. What about CRUSH? I called CRUSH when I got home, he was sweet and I was remembering why I like him so much… but then the guy from the bar was texting too…

Bar guy and I texted a little that night. And a lot the next day. He told me he Facebook stalked me. I liked that. And, I obviously asked if he liked the blonde hair better than the brown. The answer… 

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And that’s the moment when the guy from the bar became NEW CRUSH. I now have ORIGINAL CRUSH (OC) and NEW CRUSH (NC)… What’s a girl to do? 

Well, obviously I had to Facebook/LinkedIn/Google-stalk NC. I already know OC, but this NC is too good to be true… time to get my Magnum PI on! Well, actually… my friends did it for me, but… Well, yeah, that’s actually EXACTLY what Magnum PI would do — I guess I had my very own Rick, TC and Higgins on the case! And, even without his last name and the few tidbits I knew about him they were successful. Well, I guess. The success was bittersweet, because we found his Facebook and on it… We found this:

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OH. DEAR. GOD. 

Kismet Crush Is Married! Kismet Crush Is Married! ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!!

I KNEW it was too good to be true. And here I was rethinking the whole ORIGINAL CRUSH and oh my gosh… Homewrecker! And he seemed so nice and… Wait. How come there are zero pictures on his FB indicating he’s married… or posts for that matter… Maybe, well, maybe it’s complicated? What’s a girl to do?? Crazy cyber-stalk mode. THAT’S what a girl’s to do. 

So we did. My crew and I dug up ALL sorts of things… most of which ended up being the wrong person and some of which were unclear at best… Finally I had to go to Defcon 5 of Detective Mode — I had to just ask him.

Yes, he’s married but separated, divorce is imminent (still not really sure what that means) and he understands if I don’t want to talk anymore. So… he was honest. And thoughtful. And understanding. He tells me I’m beautiful and sexy and fun. He says he’s quite taken with me and can’t stop thinking about me. He says he wants to see me again. And he texts all day, every day since we met. And he knew the word kismet… and used it. Damn.

So, that’s the story of how Awkward Jean ended up with two CRUSHES, both of whom appear to be equally unavailable. Seems to be my lot in life. I guess this is one of those stories that is destined TO BE CONTINUED… I think NC reads the blog, I know OC doesn’t. I don’t know if I’m supposed to pursue either one or neither or tell them anything about the other or what, but then… I’m Awkward Jean. If I knew how best to handle these situations, I suppose there wouldn’t be a blog, now would there? Currently accepting advice. And hoping if either of them are reading… I didn’t just ruin a whole lot of maybe. 

XOXO — Awkward (Oversharing) Jean

Sticky Rice, Raw Fish, and Awkward Jean

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My second officially sanctioned adventure was to attend a cooking class. I chose a sushi course to take as opposed to a more traditional offering because, let’s face it — who wants to be the one to taste self-taught sushi??? See, I told you the brown hair is making me really smart!

After searching online I signed up for a class at the Culinary Center of Kansas City (which is actually located in Overland Park, but whatevs). The class was scheduled from 6:30-9pm on a Monday night — Challenge #1. It was also the Monday following the turning back of the clocks… and it getting uber-dark, uber-early — Challenge #2. For a hermit like me the combo of a Monday + Winter-Chill-Early-Dark = Home in Bed Reading! To be perfectly honest, I felt like a rockstar just walking through the door!

We had assigned seating and I pretty much got the best table. The other tables were full of your stereotypical suburban housewives out for an exotic girls’ night **Dear Lord Baby Jesus, PLEASE let me join their ranks some day, Amen**, but for a swingin’ single like myself I had WAY better cookmates. (Rawmates? Rollmates?) Not sure they felt the same way, especially after Awkward Jean took over, but… I really enjoyed them.

One couple, Ed & Jane, were recent empty-nesters who had been having adventures of their own. Now you see, Ed & Jane’s last child just went off to college and the first adventure they had Jane got to pick — a cake decorating class! (Or as Ed put it “SIX Monday nights in a row at the Joann’s…”) Suffice it to say the second adventure was of Ed’s choosing — sushi class. Ed was very excited because he loves sushi and was certain that if Jane just gave it a try she would love it too. Jane was not so certain, but… after dragging him to SIX cake decorating classes at the Joann’s, she really kind of owed it to him to try. (Though she privately told me that’s what business lunches were for — things like sushi. Um, okay.)

The other two people at our table were Cheryl and Diane (they were more of an ‘and’ than an ‘&’). Now, Diane had driven in from west of Manhattan, KS (about three hours away she was quick to let everyone know) and she and Cheryl were good friends seeking some adventures as well. This were their second class at the Culinary Center, the first being one called “Asian Flair”, and they loved it so much they decided to kick it up a notch with sushi since neither of them had tried it before. Well, correction… Diane, in her early-60s as opposed to Cheryl’s mid-50s, was a bit more experienced than Cheryl and had admitted to trying a California Roll once, but never the actual raw fish. But she was ready tonight.

(Personal Sidebar — I loved the adventurous spirit of all my tablemates, but um… seriously? You’re gonna try RAW FISH for the very first time and your thought is “I should do that in the middle of the Midwest after having prepared it myself!” Wow. Now THAT is impressively daring!)

So, the class was set up where we sat at our tables and watched the chef demonstrate, then we went to the back where there were counter-height work stations with all the prep work more or less done already (hashtag-awesome). I was pretty positive I would be amazing because I was taking really detailed notes during the demonstration — complete with diagrams… Unfortunately, it turns out I missed some very important instruction during my rather focused note-taking…

First off. I can’t roll. Like at all. As in, oh-dear-god-what is that thing? I guess I didn’t pay as much attention on that part as I thought. And on top of that, the sticky rice is SO STICKY! I mean, it was on my face, in my hair, on my left elbow (which frankly was no where near any rice)… I had rice EVERYWHERE! Thank goodness there was a big bowl of water on the counter for us to wash off in! But, I was the only one who kept dunking my arms in and rubbing off rice… how were they not getting sticky rice EVERYWHERE? I was clearly at a table full of wizards.

Round two — We snack on our freshly prepared sushi while the chef shows us another technique. This time I bypassed the note-taking in order to pay better attention. F.M.L. This is when I learned a very key lesson in sushi making — That wasn’t a dunk bowl for cleansing. It was a dip bowl to lightly dip our fingers in before touching the sticky rice each time. It was a blend of rice vinegar, sugar and water and used as an ingredient as well as to keep the rice from sticking to our fingers (our faces, hair, elbows, etc.). It was for BEFORE handling the rice, not AFTER. Like I was doing. With my whole arm. As a wash bowl. Great, 30 minutes in and I’ was already “That Girl”.

Other than that highly awkward situation the night went pretty well. Jane didn’t love sushi, but she didn’t hate it. Cheryl and Diane liked the tempura versions and Ed and I were like damn Hoover vacuums swooping in behind everyone grubbing down on what was turning into “All-You-Can-Eat” night at the self-made sushi buffet. The best part was after we learned our different kinds (sticky rice on the inside, sticky rice on the outside, tempura fried, hand roll and sashimi) we were allowed to use whatever was left at our tables to practice on and take home with us. Ed and I went to town! I clearly needed practice with my light dip and tight roll procedures and Ed was basically just trying to get as much sushi as humanly possible to make up for his SIX nights decorating cakes at the Joann’s. When everything was said and done, it was a very fun and successful evening.

The next day I brought my leftover sushi in to the office for CRUSH to try. Chef said we could eat our leftovers for a midnight snack, breakfast or lunch… but not to wait any later than lunch, oddly enough it wasn’t because of the fish — she said the nori (seaweed paper stuff) would begin to go stale and the rice would un-stick. Anyway, I have to give CRUSH credit that he willingly tried a few pieces… even though it was loosely rolled, falling apart and filled with random leftover tidbits that weren’t exactly what one might call delicious… But, he tried it. That was sweet. (Sucker — Turns out I’m an AWFUL sushi chef!)

Would I do it again? In a second. I can HIGHLY recommend taking a sushi class — go with some friends, go alone, just go for it. It was the best $60 I’ve spent in a while. Oh, and I got a free glass of wine with the meal, so there is that.

XOXO — Awkward (Sticky) Jean

Words of Wisdom from the Night: “You live in the Midwest. There is no such thing as fresh sushi-grade fish. Buy frozen. Trust me.” — Chef Can’t-Remember-Her-Name

Single women over the age of 35 are more likely to…

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Today I turned 35 and for some reason it was very difficult for me. Actually, strike that. It’s not an unknown, random “some reason.” I know why. It all goes back to a silly, completely debunked, statistic from the mid-80’s that occasionally is popularized by film, particularly in the genre of Rom-Com (Romantic-Comedies for all you out there without a uterus, cat and/or stock in Kleenex brand tissues).

My freshman year of high school the movie “Sleepless in Seattle” came out. I was young and idealized the romanticism of the film. It made me want to grow out long blond hair (check) and move to a fabulous houseboat in Seattle (um… townhouse in Missouri… eh) and of course have a whirlwind, all-consuming, magical romance much like in “An Affair to Remember” (yeah… definitely haven’t done that one yet).  But more than these bucket list type items stood out;  something else in the movie stuck with me. The characters were all up in arms about a statistic that women over the age of 40 were more likely to get killed by a terrorist than to get married. That’s when the seed was planted.

Fast forward thirteen years to 2006 and the release of “The Holiday” where the same statistic was touted, only this time it was 35… and they pointed out that terrorists were now a real part of our fear spectrum thereby giving the faulty statistic more credibility. That stuck. I was getting older, the statistical age was getting younger, I was still single and terrorists were very real. That seed had been fertilized and well watered. For years it has lurked in the dark recesses of my brain, growing stronger and stronger toward this day. This moment. This birthday. Thirty-Five.

35 years old just feels as if the path before me has slowly, systematically narrowed in all the directions that were once offered. And when I look back, the multitude of options behind me grow more distant, more overgrown and more unlikely as viable paths. Marriage. Kids. These things suddenly seem like less of a realistic option.

So, what to do? Maybe that’s not my path. Maybe it’s time for a new dream. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not giving up on it entirely, but… when all is said and done, if my dream of being a wife and mother is not realized, what meaning will my life have had?  My guess, my hope , is lots. I want to look back on my life and, regardless of its path, be filled with the joy of knowing it was a life well-lived.

And so begin The Misadventures of Awkward Jean. Each month I’ll try something. Something big, something small — as long as it’s something. As long as I’m putting myself out there and looking for new paths, new options, new dreams; something that pushes me more toward my extroverted self and less into my introverted. I always joke that if I won the lottery I’d be an eccentric hermit. Yeah. That’s no joke, I really would.

Sooo… let’s focus less on hermit and more on eccentric.  It’s not about big life-changing moments, but rather about just living life. Doing. Being. And then sharing it. And who knows, maybe somewhere along the way the life-changing moments will set in and the years after 35 will be looked upon as my having found the path that truly became the meaningful life I seek. Or, it’ll just be a collection of hilarious, awkward, cringe-worthy, good memories. Either way I’d call it a win.

That said, after many suggestions I’ve come up with the following list, in no particular order, of random things I’ll be doing and writing about in the next 12 months. I may add more to the adventure as time allows, but for now the list is as follows:

1. Get my tarot cards read professionally

2. Take a cooking class

3. Learn to meditate

4. Write every day for month

5. Take a train trip

6. Cut-It-Out (This will be a week at a time and I’ll do dairy-free, caffeine-free, gluten-free, alcohol-free)

7. Join a book club with strangers

8. Take a sign language course

9. Mystery Road Trip Adventure

10. Plan the perfect date and invite someone on it

11. Yoga (Oh. Dear. God)

12. Walk 10,000 steps every day for a month (Um.)

13. Unplug — technology free weekend

My first adventure is this Sunday, October 27th. I’ll be attending an event at the River Market Antiques where, for a mere $20, Gypsy Joan will probably get my whole life figured out in a simple ten card spread.

Oh, and as for this whole fancy technology “blogging” thing… yeah, I’m still working on figuring it out… so, be a little patient while I work on the best layouts, links, shares, “fancy blogging term here”, etc. I miss Facebook Notes already… (HashtagSoOld)

XOXO — Awkward Jean