Where Have You Been?

The beginning of the best summer of my life started, as you have read, with tears. I was crying, I was hysterical. I had nowhere to go and nowhere to turn because I had hit a financial rock bottom. I've worked hard all my life, and people who work hard don't hit financial ruin, now do they?

But I did.

In an attempt to take my mind off this financial ruin, I began milking cows in my spare time. Because apparently a degree in Sociology won't do it for a person and sometimes you have to go back to where you started out in order to figure out where you really need to go.

And there I was, working my butt off, covered in sweat, dirty like I've never been dirty before in my life. I've been tromped on, shoved around, kicked by the hooves of a thousand Holsteins. I've been given eye infections, hand infections, arm rashes, and the odd back ache.

The first time I milked with The Farner, I about died. Would he judge my sweaty grossness? Would he judge my technique? What would we talk about? What if I dropped the dip cup? What if I killed one of his cows?

And I guess he was thinking the same thing because the pair of us became such a couple of bumbling idiots that the first several times we milked together, cows got loose and other cows were neglected; dip cups were dropped and we bumped into each other; I had debris on my face and he had debris on his face and neither of us could muster the courage to mention to the other that this debris existed at all.

The entire months of May and June passed us by and he finally asked me if I would go to fireworks with him on the first of July. Several awkward and strange dates were to follow before we played out the first verse of this song in our own strange, shy kind of way.



The rest of our summer was played out in much the same fashion. There has been a cheesy country song to match just about every one of our dates, including the one where I spent the entire time sitting on the tire of a Hesston 6550 in the field behind the barn. Or the one where we sat out on the riverbank watching shooting stars until two in the morning. Or the other one, where we climbed up in the hay mow and I screamed when a spider the size of my head descended inches from my face.

Saturday morning crop walks have become the highlight of my week, where we walk with my hand in his enormous, farmer-y, calloused one to see if things are ready to be harvested or not. At first I thought these walks were just a ploy to spend time with me. How sweet! But it turns out, this is actually a part of the process of farming. I routinely get asked to walk about four hundred metres into a field of corn and bring him back a few ears. (Because corn does not come in pods. It comes in ears. Peas come in pods and farmers get cranky when their equipment breaks down and their pods of peas go bad, but that is another entry altogether.)

The weather has cooled down some now. We spend more of our time in the grain room, on a makeshift couch made of feed bags. We talk every day after milking, about the things that don't really matter. Occasionally, we talk about the things that really do matter.

I've spent the end of summer begging the end not to come, but I can't really control the seasons. There are vast differences between this fall and the last two I've faced and despite my crankiness at the change in the weather I'm looking forward to every next day.

Oh, Right... My Dating Hiatus...

Well, my dating hiatus began on December 21st. I am now roaring into month four with only a little bump in the road.

It was a small one.

And I was more enamored with that bump's tractors and cows than I was enamored with him, but hey, sometimes green tractors and big cows can get the best of a girl.

I simply can't be blamed for the affinity I have for tractors and riding on them in the moonlight with the person who owns them. You would have climbed right up as well. You know you would. Because the tractor was green and the cows needed to be fed and what girl can resist the words "Well, looks like we need to take a little tractor ride."

Luckily, this individual and I never went on a "date". So I'm still good with my dating hiatus. Had anything involved dinner and movies and hand holding and that sort of thing, I would be sunk.

All I did was milk some cows in the company of an individual who happened to own cows.

No dating.

Which is good, because if I had gone on any dates in the past four months, my beloved Joomy would be disappointed in me.

Still on a Hiatus...

Yep, I made it PAST my one month mark and I am now roaring into month two. I wear a lot of jammies, watch a lot of movies, spend a lot of time with friends, and never worry about the crumbs of Cheetos on the front of my shirt.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what freedom is all about.

Of course, there have been ups and downs. Like last week, when I was driving innocently down the road and my phone rang. And it was a number I didn't recognize but thought it could be an important business contact. So I answered and I was so stunned to hear the voice on the other end that I almost crashed my car.

It was the MooseHunter and I believed, after our breakup, that he would never call me again. I had no intention last November of ever hearing his voice again and I was actually fine with that.

But then he called me? What could he possibly have to say?

I did what any sane and rational person would do and told him that he was an asshole. He sighed and told me he gets that a lot. (You'd think a person would take some sort of inventory on this and maybe, just maybe make some changes? Apparently not.)

Then I told him that I was angry at him. Like, mad. I said "I'm real mad at you." (His redneck-ed-ness really brings out my inner redneck, poor grammar and all.)

Then I said "You know I deleted your number from my phone?"

He said "Oh?"

I told him it was a physical impossibility for me to call him back.

He didn't have much to say about that, either. Except to ask me what I would be doing later on.

So I did what any girl who's invested a year and a half in liking someone and said "Well, I'm still mad but you can call me tonight at five."

And then I went home and cried. (He didn't call, in case you were wondering.)

I'd love to report that this phone call didn't send me into a tizzy and that I carried on with grace and dignity afterwards but my friends would know what a poor liar I am.

I did make one attempt at calling him back to yell at him ungracefully but his phone was off and by the next day I had come to my senses.

So, I carried on with my life as planned and continued driving to work every day. Of course, two days after the first call, he was broke down on the side of the road and a red light dictated that I must stop my car. Unfortunately, I had to stop my car about ten feet from where he was standing. There was no choice about the eye contact and I did give him a neighborly nod when he waved. I did not pull over and offer to give him a ride, praise be.

He called about ten minutes after that. I let him do the talking and then said I had to go as I was having trouble shifting gears and talking at the same time.

Now I'm thinking, do I have to get a new car so he doesn't recognize me when I'm driving to and from work? How do you escape someone who lives, works, and plays within a five mile radius of your house?

My first thought is to drive to his house and demand that he leave CowTown immediately. Sell your farm and head West, buddy, because I am not going anywhere.

I doubt that would go over very well.

I think my only option here is to learn how to share my town.

I hate sharing my town.

Month One: A Success

I am six days away from making the first month of my six month dating hiatus.

An odd day to post about it, for sure, but hey, its Friday and I don't have a date.

The dating hiatus was orininally mentioned to me sometime at the end of November. I did not commit to it because, at that time, an individual was talking to me.

I knew he wanted to go on a date with me and, as such, I could not commit to a dating hiatus. What if he wanted to take me somewhere that they served delightful food? How can I turn down free food? (I'm a sucker for free food.)

So, I prepared for my date and my mother and my best friend thought that going on this date was a bad idea. (So did I, but anyhow).

Preparations for the date included showering, combing my wet hair, wearing one of my brother's old Guinness T-shirts, brushing my teeth, and applying deodorant. I was twenty minutes late and I didn't smile when I got to his house.

I left his house (In the suburbs. *Shudder*) after about an hour.

The whole way home I thought to myself: Dating Hiatus. I need a dating hiatus.

That was the twenty first of December.

It is now mid way through January and I feel delightfully free. I've been playing guitar, riding horses, reading mindless novels and NOT worrying about who to call when or if someone is going to call.

Who would have thought I would ever feel so free?

On The Moosehunter, and Other Dating Woes

On the twenty eighth of October, 2010, I wrote this post. It was before a date with The Moosehunter and my heart was all afflutter.

I'm not sure how to post about The Moosehunter because I was so wrapped up in him for so long that I can't begin to bring it to life with words.

Simply put, I wanted him. I wanted to be with him and I wanted everything he represented (or rather, what I thought he represented) to be my life.

And at the end of October, I got it all.

I'll never forget the day he walked into my new living room, scooped me into his arms, and proceeded to watch horror movies with me. And then the banter and the chatting and the cuddling that proceeded to follow. My heart almost fell right out of my chest after the first horror movie ended and he suggested we watch another.

The following weekend, he declared us to be dating while we were driving in his fantastical car. Again, I about fainted. We called each other, we chatted, we met, we had dates.

I was on top of the moon. I was so far over the moon I couldn't even begin to speak. Do romance novels make you swoon? Imagine swooning a thousand times more than any romance novel, and then imagine swooning a thousand times on top of that.

He invited me to haul corn with him one day which is a country girl's dream. He met me at the end of my driveway at six o'clock in the morning and I clambered up into his eighteen wheeler and proceeded to have the date of my dreams. He spent the whole day calling me "Rubber Ducky" as I [mis]guided him through the highways of Montreal. We got lost, we were turned around. We had no idea where we were except that we were headed East. We giggled and laughed and talked like we were the best of friends. He asked me to read the map for him and I told him he was barking up the wrong tree if he wanted me to get him anywhere because I'm hopeless. He just giggled his shy, country guy giggle and said "Ten-Four, Rubber Ducky." Every time he said it my heart leapt into my throat and I struggled to breathe for a few seconds afterwards.

For four long weeks I was walking around with a stupid grin on my face that nothing, no one could remove.

I was chatting with Joomy during one of our long overdue dinner and coffee dates and getting ready to leave when he called me. I was actually in the restroom when he called and she screamed "It's The Moosehunter!" I scrambled out of her bathroom and we chatted for seventeen minutes. Joomy was grinning and giving me the thumbs up in the backround as I pranced and leapt around her living room. I am the least dainty person in the world. It has been said that I have the grace of an elephant.

But his phone call made me leap and twirl around Joomy's living room because he was talking to me.

The rain was pouring down, I was out of gas and the roads weren't good, but I drove to his house because he had invited me to do so and my heart was in the sky.

I honestly couldn't believe that finally, after all this time of waiting, my dreams were coming true. I wanted him and he had clearly displayed to me that he wanted me. Everything was finally perfect. I'd lost my horse, lost my job, my car was quite literally duct taped together. But I had my Moosehunter and nothing would keep me down.

Upon arrival to his house I was unceremoniously dumped with no reason cited. I've dated plenty of people and I've been dumped several times. I have to say that this was the worst dumping I've ever been a party to.

Unceremoniously.

Dumped.

If it is shocking to those who know me, it is most of all shocking to me that I have shed only a single tear over The Moosehunter. I left his house and carried on with my life, going to work and riding horses and cuddling on the couch with my Beagle.

The tear I shed over him was like something out of the movies, much like our time dating was like something out of the movies. I was carpooling to work with my coworker and she just kept repeating "I can't believe it. After all that's happened, I just can't believe it." And at that time, feeling the way I was feeling, a single tear escaped my right eye and I thought I would lose it completely. It rolled sadly down my cheek; I wiped it away with my gloved hand, took a deep breath and a sip of my coffee.

That was the only tear I've shed over The Moosehunter.

In discussing this with Mal over the past months, we've come to a conclusion: My time with boys needs to end. Upon reviewing my history, I've lived at home for three and a half years. During those three and a half years, there has always, at some point, been some object of my affection. If not the object of my affection, then the object of my yearning and really? This needs to end. Mal's proposition was this: Take a six month break. Any guy who comes your way will not recieve any attention or thought or anything else because you're going to be on a six month break.

I allowed this to swirl around in my head for about a week.

The middle of December came along and some innocent individual began messaging me on Facebook. A date came out of this and prior to my date, my mother begged me to think a little more clearly on what I was doing. Surely a six month break from dating couldn't hurt?

I immediately interrogated both Mal and my mother to see if they had been consulting on this matter.

But no. Neither one has been speaking to the other and both these women, who love me and care about me, think I need some time to clear my head.

Joomy doesn't think it possible for me to go six months without some dating drama or other. (Neither, quite frankly, do I).

But I am going to try. My plan, at this point, is to go six months focussing on my work and my riding. No more boys. I don't need the hassle.

The me of a year ago would have fallen over at the thought of not dating for a full six months.

The me of today finds it a rather relaxing thought.

I'll keep you posted on how the next six months go.

I Don't Even Want To Post It...

But I'm going to. Thankfully, my Dearest Joomy has gone to Nigeria. Elsewise I would be worried that she would march right here to CowTown and slap me silly.

Last September, I wrote a number of posts about the MooseHunter.

I don't normally post that much information about the people I date but I think the number of posts I put up about him speaks volumes.

Last October, I continued to write about him.

In November, I resigned myself to the fact that it would never work out.

And then in December, this happened.

There was another Are You Kidding Me?!?! moment back in April, which I didn't write about because I figured that, by that time, it was so ridiculous I couldn't bear to mention it lest there be judgement from my trusty readers (Hi, Jooms!). Blah, Blah, Blah, and suddenly it is hunting season again and I get an inbox message from him regarding a certain bull moose he removed from the bush up North.

My drive to and from work is made up of my passing his equipment on the road as he harvests corn and suddenly I'm wrapped up again in this whole situation. My heart is aflutter, and every time he flashes his headlights at me on the highway I feel like I'm going to pass out.

We may or may not have another date coming up tomorrow night and my mind is racing. I don't know how to extricate myself from the situation should it be drawn out and painful. I don't know how to react should the situation result in what I want it to result in.

Amanda's Relationship Status Has Been Changed to "Single"

I've never wanted to date a sports person and, in fact, I never have. I could never, before now, stand those people who have to run from playing to whatever sport to watching whatever sport and who eat, breathe, and live that sport.

Over the summer, I have become that person. I am now officially willing to put every other task in my life on hold so that I can go to the barn. Everyone in my life is put on hold for the horse I am riding, the people I ride with, and the rides that I have.

I now understand sports people.

In July, I wrote this post. I was officially dating someone for the first time in years.

Did you know that when someone adds you as their girlfriend/boyfriend on Facebook, you get a relationship request the same way you get a Farmville request?

Well, I didn't know that either because for as long as I had facebook, I haven't had a relationship. Sure, I've dated every single male within a hundred mile radius over the past several years, but a relationship?

No way.

So this summer, I made a valiant effort.

And I was officially "In a Relationship With" for several months.

I started riding Sargeant and at that time, big things started appearing in my mind. Riding competitively is something I have wanted since I was a little girl. When my Golden Opportunity arrived early in September, I nearly fell off my feet because this is what I've been looking for my whole life.

And this wonderful soul I was dating all summer started to feel the effects of my passion.

It was never my intention to make him play second fiddle to my desire to compete but in the end, that is how things happened. I truly thought I could combine riding for real, having two full time jobs, and being "In a Relationship With".

When I met this person who I was "In a Relationship With", I really thought this was it. I didn't meet him online, he has a long-standing (if not distant) connection to my family, he came with excellent references and everything seemed to be perfectly fine. I honestly thought this was going to go places.

The fact of the matter is that there is no way I could continue on with him being hurt every weekend when I was late because I'd been at the barn, when I stood him up to stay at the barn. He asked me to go away for a weekend in October and my first response was that we could leave late Friday night: Right after I ride.

When I wrote my long, sad, pathetic, self-indulgent post on being alone I had no idea my life would turn out the way it has. I had found out a few days before that post was written that my horse would not live through the fall. I thought when I lost Zydo I would be losing riding and so I embarked on this relationship thinking that it was to become what my life should be about.

Everything changed later in the year and I suppose that is all I can say about this situation: Life throws you curveballs that make you think you're supposed to live a certain way, and then a couple months later it throws you another curveball and you have to decide to swing or strike out.

I suppose, in this case, I have both given my best swing and a sad, nearly heartbreaking strikeout.

So Here Is Something Interesting...

On May the sixteenth, I wrote this sad, pathetic, self-indulgent post. I don't need to justify that post's existence in the world because Hey, this is my blog and I can be sad, pathetic, and self-indulgent if I want to. And on May the sixteenth, for about an hour, that is exactly how I was feeling.

Eight days after that post was written, I met someone.

It was a setup that I was not interested in being set up with. I had zero interest whatsoever the first time he messaged me on Facebook. I figured I could get out of it by inviting him to drive over an hour to sit by a fire beside three people he had never met. I gave him specific instructions to text me later in the day, and he made the grave error of calling me instead. I came home to a voicemail on my phone and stewed for a moment. My mother's exact words: "He called you in VOICE? Doesn't he know that's a deal breaker?"

Clearly he was unaware that calling me to talk is not OK. I do text, I do MSN. Talking in person, not so much.

But, I called him back and gave him very vague directions to my house. As in, I said "I have no idea where you are but you can google my address".

Somehow, he made it. He passed the driveway three times because the driveway is kind of hard to see, but he made his way up our bumpy driveway and sat by the fire.

Beside three people he had never met before.

What a trooper.

I decided I would never see him again.

And then, the next day, I had to face the individual who had set us up.

To say that her level of excitement was high would be the understatement of the year.

I couldn't bear to tell her the truth. Look, he's really nice. And he is tall and blonde and kind of cute. But, you see, I can't do this. I don't do this. I'm the single girl with the horse and the Beagle. Haven't I shown you pictures? The cute Beagle, with the rolls of fat and the adorable face? The one I cuddle with every night? I sporadically date people and then return to my Beagle. Because she loves me and she never judges me when I spend the day laying in bed eating cookies. In fact, she loves it when I eat cookies. Because I share them with her. I do not share my cookies with boys. Beagles. I share my cookies with Beagles. Now please, let's both go on with our work and never mention this again.

I wanted to tell her all that. But she kept grinning at me. All day. Happy little smiles, like, I just set someone up!

And then he messaged me and said he had a good time. Yep, I've gotten that message before. And he wanted a date. I've heard that before, too.

So I arranged our date. I was going to take this poor sucker to barrel races at a local fair. He's from the city. I figured he would last about ten seconds watching horses run around random barrels and be done.

And I was waiting for that.

So I made him watch.

And watch.

And watch.

For two hours this poor boy sat at the barrel racing and eventually I felt kind of bad for making him endure what no normal person wants to endure. Only horse people watch horse things. But he just kept watching.

So we went to dinner and we talked. There was a lot of talking at that dinner. And some laughing. We laughed. Lots. And also, we talked. And then we laughed. And then I managed to coat the entire table with food because I am a messy eater. And after our plates were cleared away and there was a pile of crumbs on my side of the table, I laughed and started brushing them away and I said "Yeah, I'm a really messy eater." So he laughed his laugh and told me to embrace it. A huge, embarrasing part of me was exposed there. I can't eat in mixed company. But he told me to embrace it.

So we started seeing each other. He can tolerate horse events and messy eating. He can embrace a love of cookies. He can make food that I like to eat and he can hold his own at a music night in the Berry Cave with the Berry Queen. We went fishing on our third date and I am not making this up: I couldn't figure out how to work the fishing rod and when I finally caught a fish I was so hysterical that I reeled it into the boat and smacked him in the head with it.

I SMACKED A MAN IN THE HEAD WITH A FISH.

My father would be so proud.

And now, rather than spending my Sundays curled up on the couch with Dixie, my trusty deer hound, I spend them curled up with this character. He begs for pieces of my beef jerky just as much as she does, only without the drooling. And also, he typically smells better than my Beagle what with the whole bathing on a daily basis thing. We go fishing, we go camping, we go cottage-ing. We play guitar together, although his playing is somewhat better than mine and I can't harmonize with him. He hates my job and what it does to me and that both bothers me and makes me happy. We both love eggs benedict.

And he fully supports my love of cookies.

My work situation keeps me up every night, my horse's health is failing, I've dropped the last course I signed up for in school, my car is not running very well and I have not accomplished any of the goals I had set up for myself earlier this spring.

But the whole boy thing?

It's kinda going pretty well.

Ok, I Tried to Keep it Light...

Earlier today (Like, ten minutes ago) I wrote a post because I felt obligated to write a post and I realized I'd never told my Blog about my tattoo. So that was my blog fodder.

But something more pressing is on my mind.

Boys.

I hate them. I really, really do! A week ago, I ended a six month bout of idiocy with a certain snow plow driver.

Oh, the snow plow driver. He was a redhead. I'm a sucker for a redhead. And he had an enormous truck with glorious tires. There were deer heads hanging all over his house and he was tall. Oh, he was so, so tall. Tall and redheaded and big shouldered. He liked to cook and watch the Discovery Channel and I spent a number of weekends this winter on his couch, with him and a glass of wine, watching the Discovery Channel and talking. Just talking.

Wait, that's a lie. We weren't just talking.

Don't worry, Dad, you don't need to avert your eyes.

We were laughing. That boy could make me laugh. One time I left his house and my abdomen absolutely hurt from laughing so much. Just talking, and laughing.

Well, that's a lie, too.

There might have been some kissing.

At any rate, there was talking, laughing, kissing, big tires, deer heads on the wall, glasses of wine, and mindless television.

I want that to be my life.

But with many things, it had to come to an end due to certain drama that even I don't understand, which leads me to believe that maybe he just wasn't that into me.

And that's fine. I can accept that.

But then there was this other guy who I dated for a couple weekends after I read the book Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough. It was recommended by Joomy (Who I love) and I read it and agreed to live by it. Because a person doesn't have to have big tires or deer heads or a certain color of hair to make a good partner.

And everything was going great! He was open minded! And nice! And blonde! We laughed together too! And I thought, hey, maybe I can do this.

But then he texted me one day after an uncharacteristic few days of not texting me stating that he really didn't want me to stop talking to him but, well, he's getting back together with his ex.

And I could re-cap the whole MooseHunter fiasco of last September/October but I won't even go there because the saga is just too much for any soul to bear. (This story also had a continuation in December and then again in April.... I'm still single, so I guess you can figure out how it ended.)

I just can't help but feel sad and pathetic and like nobody wants me.

And am I really that bad to hang out with? Am I such a terrible girlfriend? Am I so bad at this whole dating thing that I deserve to be alone forever and ever, amen? Is there no one out there who is willing to be with me? Do I need to totally make over myself in order to be compatible with dating SOMEONE? Anyone?

This is what has been plaguing my thoughts of late. That no one out there wants to date me and that I am destined to forever hang out with my Beagle rather than a human being.

I'm not saying that I'm not happy. I have a good paying job, I have a horse who I love and another horse who I have a lease on. I have my beagle and i own my car outright. My parents are among my favorite companions and there are a couple pretty good friends in there, too.

It's just that sometimes I feel sad. Like last weekend and like this weekend, I just feel sad that there is so much going on in my life. And wouldn't it be nice to share it with someone who makes me laugh?

Are you KIDDING me?

So, throughout the months of September and October, I wrote a number of posts about an individual I named The Moosehunter.

And then I consulted Joomy and a number of other people on issues with The Moosehunter and was given quite a bit of advice and then I had to move on.

And I cried over this Moosehunting character because he made me sad and also because the tires on his car were just so large.

And then I went out with a dining companion and moved on entirely with my life and was living happily ever after, having totalled my Jeep and accepted that now, when we see each other on the road, he won't know that it is me because he won't know the vehicle.

And then?

Are you KIDDING ME?

After I had worked so hard to move on and gone to dinner with a dining companion?

Do you KNOW what happened?

HE CALLED ME.

What the fuck?

(Also, I've noticed that I swear altogether too much on my blog lately. Something I will need to remedy in the future, for sure.)

But in the meantime?

What.

The.

FUCK.

The funny thing is that my mother (You know the woman I'm talking about. The one who dated like, ONE person and then married him at the age of eighteen and then thirty seven years later offers advice to her single daughter? Yeah, that's my mother who I'm talking about here) told me this would happen. She told me that he would be very busy with his thirteen hundred acres of corn and that he would call in January when the corn was done.

She told me to take it as a good sign that he called so soon into the corn being done with.

I might call him tomorrow.

Who's kidding who, I practically had to be restrained from calling him the minute I saw his name on my phone.

On Online Dating...

I don't necessarily keep it a secret that I engage in online dating. I haven't actually gone on a date with someone I've met online in years. I look at it as a tool that may help me find the man of my dreams and if not? Well, I got the story of the guy who brought his knitting with him on our first (and only) date out of it. Oh, the mileage I got out of that story.

So today I happened to peruse this one individual, this guy who works in construction and fishes and hunts and then there's the best part: he rides barrels. OH MY WORD, a man who can ride a horse and wield a shotgun.

I just had to show his picture to my mother, and while she is looking at the picture of him on the horse, my father walks by and halts.

And I have possibly just found my next husband, the person of my dreams, my soulmate, everything that I am meant to be with and this is what my father has to say:

"Is he wearing a helmet? Is he wearing a helmet while he's racing barrels? It's bad enough he's in a girl's sport but if he's wearing a helmet to be in a girl's sport, you better not bring him back here!"

Seriously? Seriously?

It takes me months to decide that I don't like someone, and my father can decide such a thing with a glimpse of a single picture while he wasn't even wearing his glasses.

If only life was so easy for me.

This Will Not Take Two Seasons...

Years ago I went through a breakup. Surprise! That breakup, which I posted snipets of, was chronicled somewhat on my blog. I was thinking about how to blog about my current topic when that breakup came to mind, and I recalled that it took me a whole season of Road To Avonlea and a season of ER to get over it.

I do remember opening the gift of Road To Avonlea and thinking, this is exactly what I need when the breakup happens. As it stood, it took me more than a season of Road To Avonlea and as a result, directly after that, I moved on to ER. I sat on my couch with Dixie, I watched mindless television, and I recovered.

I've done this in the past, needed something to distract me while I move on.

I went shopping today and bought a book by Marian Keyes, who I think I love more than anyone in the world right now. Her novels are fantastic and if you start reading them, please start with Rachel's Holiday as it made me laugh and laugh until I was nearly in tears. Wonderful author, that Marian.

I had high hopes for my current dating situation and like so many others, it just hasn't turned out the way I imagined. Mal asked me how I was feeling about some decisions I've made and when I told her, there was silence on the line. And then she said "Ouch. That sounds like it hurts."

Yeppers!

The fact of the matter here is that I am not in the depths of despair. I have moments in the day where I feel kinda sad, and the odd time over the past two weeks I've felt, momentarily, like I've been punched in the gut, but other than that, I'm totally fine.

So I'm making the decision to not require a minimum of six weeks' worth of mindless television. I'm giving this one a book. A Marian Keyes book.

I will read it in peace in my parents' living room with my trusty deer hound by my side.

In about seventy two hours, I will have moved on (And I say this with utter confidence) and then?

Then, Dear Blog, I will post the exciting details of my new job, which is looming closer and closer to me each day.

There is hope!

And Then Boredom Struck

I've worked out on my excercise bike now twice.

OH MY WORD IT IS BORING.

I love walking in the country for a variety of reasons: I'm out in the open air, there are things to see, my mind can wander.

While I'm cycling in my living room while watching CMT, there isn't much to do.

I must, must, must keep this up as not walking for three weeks has packed on a whopping seven pounds and I just gave away all my fat pants.

But the boredom. Oh, the boredom.

On the job front, I am very excited. However, there is paperwork that needs to be completed before I can begin to apply to jobs. Essentially, I've been accepted to work for this company, and once my paperwork is through, I will be doing casual/part time work. This means that I will be working on top of my current job for a number of months.

Insane, yes. However, I have a host of newfound debts that need to be paid: Alfonso, who I'm typing on right now; my next school course, which is officially in the mail and on its way; my horse debts over the summer; and of course, my trusty JEEP.

(And I have to go on an aside right now and say that since April, I have paid off over HALF of Da JEEP! My goal was to have it paid off in a year and this means that I am bang on, so this is pretty exciting for me.)

So, I'll be doing more than double work for a few months. This casual job means that I will be able to apply for full time jobs within the company once I've got my employee number. Once I have full time work (Which I am well aware could take up to six months) I will continue with my current company part time.

WHY would I do this to myself?

Many reasons. Mostly, I'd like to own a house of my own at some point and be able to live luxuriously should I so choose. In order to do this, I need some fundage.

So those are the two most pertinent updates in my life right now. The Moose Hunter saga continues, and I have no idea what is going on, although I assure you that my copy of He's Just Not That Into You is at my bedside because I have grave fears that this may be the case. This makes me sad because not only does he own six or eight or however many pairs of cowboy boots and drive a spectacular car, he has TWENTY TWO INCH TIRES on that car.

I aspire to that sort of status, let me tell you.

And it is MINE

The job called me today.

IT IS MINE.

A few more minor details to work out, and things are starting to look up.

The moose hunter and I had another date on Friday. Turns out, he did call me upon his return but I missed the call.

I feel like I should be using a lot more capital letters and superfluous punctuation in this post, considering how much I wanted both of these things.

I just got off yet another overnight and I am planning on completing my course work today so that I can celebrate in true style later in the week.

Once that is done, prepare yourself for the onslaught on PUNCTUATION AND CAPS, Baby.

One Morning After Work...

I just dropped off my computer at the computer guy's house. It appears that it will cost the same to replace my computer as it will to fix the old one.

I have a fifty page final to write (And no, that's not a misprint. My take home final for this ridiculous course I'm taking is FIFTY PAGES LONG.)

Oh, and I have no computer.

I just got off of an overnight shift which usually puts me in a terrible mood to begin with.

The job I interviewed for has not called me. A coworker tried to console me last night, saying that it's the company's loss to not get me as a worker. I thought it was very nice of her to say but I couldn't help but point out that it is really my loss because I still have to work for my current company.

The moose hunter has not called nor do I believe he is going to.

And I just checked and yep! My computer is still broken.

Oh, and fifty pages of work to write remain on my to do list.

I haven't felt this defeated, rejected and deflated in a very, very long time.

A Plan...

I have a plan of sorts.

And really, I'm aggitated that I have to even make a plan for this sort of thing. Like, really? I'm twenty five years old. That's right. I'm TWENTY FIVE YEARS OLD. And I still have to plan this sort of thing.

Four days ago, I wrote this post.

I was feeling deflated and confused and then elated that I had done something so productive as to have clicked my mouse and make my desktop pretty.

(This is, in fact, the sort of thing my life has come down to. Sigh)

I wrote that post after another date with The Cowboy.

(Only instead of riding up on a wonderful steed and riding double into the sunset, he drives up in a North American car. If only he'd shown up in a golf shirt and flip flops with a Mitsubishi Lancer, I don't think I would have nearly as much trouble with this. But he does things with his spare time like hunting moose and he doesn't look at me in horror when I talk about things like mud and guns and blaze orange. And I have to say, I'm a sucker for someone who digs blaze orange.)

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THIS GUY.

Does he dig me like I dig a twelve guage shotgun? Does he think that opening day of deer season is the best day for a date all year? Does he want to sit by the river decked out in camo with pockets full of bird shot, talking in whispers until dark? How would he feel if I took his car out and spun the tires on the gravel? How would he feel if I took out my JEEP and spun up some mud?

I have all these pertinent questions to ask and now he's off chasing Bullwinkle eighty thousand miles away.

And I know he's in his blaze orange.

At any rate, I have a plan. It took me days to come up with this plan, lots of thinking and calculating and practicing while I drive down the road in my oh-so-sexy JEEP.

I'm going to call him.

That's right. Twenty five years later, I am grown up enough to come up with a plan that involves calling a person on the phone.

Only I have to wait until he returns from his chasing of Bullwinkle.

And while that happens, I am going to write this essay that has been weighing on my mind and also? Also?

I'm going to stop being a crazy person.

Don't say I have no goals, dammit.

So I Fixed My Hair and Shined My Boots...

I think the end result was good although I have to say that I am a little bit upset that my hair, no matter what product I use or how high a temperature I set the flat iron on, just won't become that movie-star straight hair that I so desire.



I bought a new coat for the occasion, a new coat that set me behind financially but that really did its job well. It not only kept me warm, but it flattered my figure that much more because it is not a big, bulky, plaid flannel piece of attire. Odd that I would acquire such a jacket, I know, but here we are.

The date itself... (Oh, yes... this post is about the date. Did I forget to mention that?)

Well, I woke up in the morning and my family asked me how the date went and I threw my arms in the air and said "I have no idea!" and then I promptly sat down and comsumed far too many calories worth of breakfast foods.

I just find this whole thing quite confusing. You'd think that having a solid ten years of dating experience on me, by now I would know something about dating. Like, I should know how to deal with the who-pays-when awkwardness, or what topics of conversation are appropriate or how to dress or whether or not it went well once it is over.

The fact of the matter is that I haven't a clue. There were moments of conversation that flowed and moments of silent awwardness. There were moments when I was having a really, really fun time and other moments when I was like, What now?

We may go on another date, and I suppose that we may not. I fear this boy is a bit of a rules boy, as last time we went out he waited three days to call and I think that this time he is either not calling or waiting three days. (This is one thing I feel strongly about. The boy has to be the one to call. I've no idea why, but that is just how I feel)

And so, I suppose I have to say that I looked nice, if nothing else, and I had a nice jacket and a generally good time.

And other than that I still have no idea what this is or where it may go, if anywhere.

So sorry to dissapoint.

You Can Sleep Soundly Tonight...

He called.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled life.

I Should Have Worn Eye Makeup...

I find eye makeup to be very tricky. I have to say that of any finer qualities I have, my eyes are fairly spectacular. They are rather striking and a very intense blue. I've often had people ask me if my eyes are real and one time I actually had a complete stranger come up to me and ask me if he could take a picture of my eyes.

This makes eye makeup tricky as sometimes a little liner and some shadow can make my eyes pop that much more, and sometimes they look hugely out of proportion to the rest of my face and I just end up looking crazed.

*Preamble can be considered done at this point in the entry.*

I had a date the other night and while I was first wary of the date, once on it I had a wonderful time.

I often times put a lot of thought into what I wear on a date and who the person is before I dress for the date. A friend and I were out and she thought that the date warranted a new top. Upon review of who I was going out with, I decided a plain T-shirt, jeans with a belt and cowboy boots would be my best option. My friend was mortified and asked me what I was doing with my makeup and I thought that a light layer of mascara and some minimal blush (Along with the perfunctory eight pounds of cover up to hide my insidious acne, but that's another post) would be fine. My friend rolled her eyes and the flaring of her nostrils spoke volumes to me, but I stuck with my decisions.

And then my date showed up in his boots with his belt buckle on and he towered over me -- that's just how tall he is, dear God YES, I went on a date with someone taller than me, how proud would my mother be? -- and his ball cap was cocked back on his head and I figured that the minimal makeup was exactly the right choice.

The conversation flowed and we got some coffee and went for a drive in his spectacular car and talked about his pickup truck and hunting and fishing and his first moose. We talked about farming and driving stick and Dixie, my miraculous deer hound. We discussed horses and school and his time at an agricultural school and my time at school in the city. We talked about beer and the troubles I'm facing with my currently malfunctioning shotgun and pros and cons of a shotgun versus a rifle. We talked and talked until we found it was two o'clock in the morning.

We parted ways and I told him when I was free to meet next, and when he went on his way I said "Call me...." and went inside.

And there hasn't since been a call.

And I've become that crazed person who's checking her phone every thirty five seconds, analyzing every single minute from the evening and thinking I've done something horribly wrong. Did I have food in my teeth? Was there an enormous zit on my forehead I wasn't aware of? Were the boots too much? Should I have just stuck with Docs and not bothered with the cowboy boots?

Alternatively, I'm thinking who the Hell talks with someone like old friends until two o'clock in the morning and then doesn't call? Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

I'm being a psycho, I know. I'm fully aware of my craziness.

I'm just going to blame it on the decisions surrounding the eye makeup and move on.

What's That in My Inbox?

A letter from WHO?

Joomy, avert your eyes.

And also, when you don't avert your eyes, please don't yell at me. And also please don't email me in a lot of capital letters.

Years ago, I broke it off with someone who caused me much heartbreak and many tears. If you're not familiar with the story of Dubai Guy, please read about it there. Dating this person was a huge eye-opener to me. He was also the first person I dated after my husband and I broke up; he came to visit me the first night I lived in my scary downtown apartment; he took me for my first ride in a Mercedes Benz; he remains the only person I know who things that Louis Vuitton footwear is something to be worn on a daily basis.

While I went through the process of blocking and deleting him from all of my accounts, it seems that he did not go through the same process with my information. And because I'm a sucker for making myself feel like I've been punched in the gut, I never did the smart thing and deleted any of his emails -- which appear regularly, about every three or four months -- before I opened them.

Most of his letters to me are short, succinct, and without probing for information on my life.

Every email I get is fairly straightforward: He asks how my horse is, how Dixie is, how life on the farm is. He always wishes me well and congratulates me on anything that is in need of congratulations. And of course, I never really give him anything in return other than the odd pic of my magnificent Thoroughbred or my happy beagle.

And then this week it came, the email that said he'd be in town and that he would like to see me.

And initially, due to turmoil in my romantic life that has again led me to believe that I am destined to be alone for the rest of my days, those old thoughts sort of crept back into my mind. You know, those ridiculous thoughts you have when things aren't going your way and due to the upset you're feeling at the time, those thoughts make perfect logical sense when you first have them.

Days later and my turmoil regarding the rest of my life remains; however, I've landed firmly back on the ground and I'm back in that place I was when we broke it off for good two years ago. Praise be, because I don't think I could go through another Dubai Guy breakup when he returns to his life and leaves me to live mine.

Even though I did make peace with our breakup, I've dreaded seeing those words in my inbox for some time. I was always so scared that all those old feelings would creep up and of course, they did. I realize why now, and I'm safe to say that there is nothing left, romantically speaking. Am I interested in grabbing a bite, hearing about his latest travels, reminiscing about the days when I worked in the corner store and he would come in and buy gum as an excuse to talk to me? Of course. Who doesn't like to hear a good story and laugh over the past?

But I am confident, and you should be too, that it will go no further than that.