If Only Jake Had Been There

OK, friends, say what you will about my blogger buddies, the confessors/Mormon Bachelors Jake and Calvin-- but I am thinking the reunion would have been a little bit better with Jake there. After all, he was my contest winner. Let's see if he does something great to make it up to me.
By way of quick update, I was just talking to my father about something totally unrelated-- specifically that I'm giving this kid a ride to FHE tonight. He doesn't come to church all that much, despite the whole RM, just-transferred-from-BYU-I thing. Nice guy. Not interested in him, of course, because military types leave me cold (no offense to my armed-forces friends-- I just never hit it off with those guys long-term), but I am interested in being his friend. I felt pretty great that he'd ask me about FHE and that he'd like me to give him a ride and help him transition into the Uni Branch. It's just a matter of time before he's our most popular guy, I'm sure. Go Phil! Anyway, my dad was giving me the normal "lock your gate and turn on lights" lecture, and then he asked if I was going out. HELLO! It's Monday! (Note, you can probably insert any day of the week in the previous statement, but of course I'm going out tonight.) Told him I was giving Phil a ride, and he gave me the 3rd degree. Is that even the right degree? Heck, I don't know. But he wanted all details. He was like, "Be careful who you meet or drive with alone." Ha! First of all, we won't be alone. Second, this is Phil. No prob. Third, and most ridiculously, when I mentioned that I'd not taken drunken customer home after the party the other night, he was like, "Oh, you should have!" My father, heaven help him, is officially crazy. Good thing I love that guy (my dad, that is, though Jake is a given, the jury is still out for Phil, and the drunken customer merits only a few warm fuzzies).

I think I can wait another 10 Years...

I'm a little worried. I don't know if it was just my graduating class, or if everyone from Los Lunas is totally trashy.
OK. I know that both statements are inflammatory and incorrect, but let's just say I think I can go another 10 years without seeing some of the crazy stuff I saw last night.
And for the record, Cassidy did the best job organizing last night's party. She is a classy lady, and I have the deepest gratitude toward and respect for her. Love, Love, LOVE Cass. She was always such a nice girl and so much fun to be around. She's not changed except to have grown even lovelier and kinder over the years.
Also, I have to say it was really good seeing a lot of people I'd not thought of in ages. My classmates are all still very beautiful people and it looks like they're finding some good success. I'm happy for them.
This post is rather pointless, now that I think about it, because I'm suddenly hit with a sense of social responsibility. Were I back in my journalism mind-set, I'd not hesitate to report exactly who was really unkempt and who was causing scandals, who was drunk and who I had to hit because he was getting into my personal space (as well as that of about every other woman at the reunion). But these are people's lives, and so it seems harsh. Suffice it to say that I was thrilled to see Jackie and Crystal, Jessica was so gracious as was Des, and Sarah was a wonderful, pleasant surprise. I'm grateful to Josette and Wes and Jari for our nice chats, and I'd have kicked myself if I missed it.
One story that I do think is harmless to tell was a bit of a highlight of the night. I saw a classmate I'm sure I'd not thought of in 10+ years. We'd known one another since grade school, and he looks exactly the same-- like a sweet little boy you just want to hug. He's happy, working up north and engaged to a girl he's been with for seven years. I didn't feel bad telling him to grow a pair and marry this girl, because a) I've always said exactly what is on my mind and b) he was pretty tipsy, so I didn't think he'd take offense. Anyway, the funniest thing about drunken, Tiger 99ers is the way alcohol makes them prone to terrible flattery. It's like those posters one sees in public health clinics about the perils of drinking. No alcohol in the system, you've got a picture of this morbidly-obese, pock-marked aberration, but with each one, the person starts getting better looking until they are Catherine Zeta Jones or Antonio Banderas. I'm guessing with this guy, I was at least Cindy Crawford. He started saying things like, "Oh Rachel, you were pretty much the smartest girl in our class." Disclaimer: Not true. I worked really, really hard, and there are plenty of people much smarter (and harder working) than I was. But my favorite was when he started telling me how he thought I was an amazing actress. Now, picture me hearing this, delighted that he came to see any of the shows I'd been in over the years, even if it was just for extra credit in English. Yes, I was in all but one play throughout my high school career, and it was something I really enjoyed. He went on: "Oh, there was one where you were just OUTSTANDING." I'm sure I started holding my head a little higher, and doing that thing my friend Kari does when she's pretending to be snooty and shaking her hair like a conditioner commercial model. Which would it be? My feisty take on Hermia in "A Midsummer Night's Dream?" Or perhaps he was into the way I made a heck of an old lady in "Arsenic and Old Lace" or "Harvey." Did he love me in the more romantic lead I had in "The Jury Room?" I waited with baited breath. "Yeah, you were the greatest. Remember how we did 'Scrooge' in 6th grade?! I was just an urchin, but you were THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST. You were AMAZING!" Wow. I guess I peaked at age 12 in a supporting role. I was supposed to kiss Ebeneezer goodnight, but it was my good friend Josh Jolly, and I would have been mortified, so I remember just patting him on the head. But even though I've regretted not giving the role my all for so many years, apparently it was enough for this guy to think I was brilliant about 15 years ago.
Anyway, it was all OK, I guess. Go Tigers, and all that.
And I really should be in a better mood than I am. I mean, I got my football wish, with BYU beating the Utes (though it was a really sloppy game, Cougars). And congrats to TCU and many thanks from the Conference. My aunt watched the rivalry game with me, and was very sweet to cheer for my Alma mater, and also surprised when I'd give the Utes a lot of credit. She told me I was very gracious. I'm not always. In fact, when my cousin, who was also watching the game, got annoyed with me singing what's arguably the longest fight song in the world over and over, he kind of starting pulling for the U, and I got a little miffed. My friend and erst-while "fiancee" Eric was spouting off like a ranting ranter via facebook, but when he gets in those moods, there's no winning. I shouldn't have injected myself into the conversation, but he was making some really stupid comments (and yes, I'll be brave enough to call someone's opinions stupid when they suggest an athletic program is more important than the integrity of the students and staff on any campus), but he was nice enough to rip me a new one. Of course, only our 5 or so mutual friends could even access the conversation, but it still made me feel bad. I've actually been crying at my computer this evening.
It's been a bit of a sensitive day. I was supposed to have lunch with my brother and his family, and skipped friend time and lunch after church with the besties, but when I got back to town, the kitchen was closed and the party was over. Then I twisted my ankle a bit and cut it on my blasted gate. I went to my room and took a two-hour nap and woke up freezing, even though it was a moderate 67 degrees in my house. I'm worried that the drunk boy of last night will remember me hitting him and decide to not use us for future insulation jobs. I'm worried that I'll never get my house decorated for Christmas, just like I never took care of Thanksgiving stuff. I'm worried because I'm super poor, and I hate it. I'm worried that someone will give me a dog for Christmas, and I'll hate it, because I REALLY DON'T WANT ONE. I can't afford it, and I don't have the emotional reserves should anything happen to it.
But don't worry. The grumpiness doesn't last, and it's just a matter of time before I'm back to normal. I just needed to vent a little. In the next few days, I promise to write about the many happy things in my life-- like my visit to the inspirational "Cabin and Cottage" on 4th Street and my funny love-life episodes. Cheers.

It's A Jolly Holiday with Randy

So my aunt is staying with me for the holiday weekend, and we're having a very fun time together. Very cool lady-- super chillaxed and all. We bond over the normal things-- shopping (though I think she was baffled when I picked up [no, I didn't buy them, but I was sorely tempted] the Miss Cleo Tarot cards at the antique store-- she's more of an Uptown Girl), music (and ok, maybe this isn't typical, because who else has a 65-year-old aunt who loves Kid Rock and Flo Rida?) and pop culture and gadgets. She's got a proud Polish heritage, and she's just sweet. One thing that has also been entertaining this weekend though, have been the stories of her neighbor, a real ladies' man named Randy. I guess I shouldn't blog about him by name, but Randy is my new obsession. My cousin Jordan is considering a visit to Auntie in AZ over the New Year, and I've begged him to steal one of Randy's Hawaiian-print shirts, which are part of his personal uniform. Oh Randy! I'm working on some songs to sing about him... I can't just settle for a Barry Manilow rip-off. I'll let you know how I progress.
Tomorrow is the reunion, and I'll be going alone. Don't hate on Jake (otherwise known as me, Reuben) for not coming down. I'm hoping hott, hott Alex B. will be there so I can finally confess my undying love for him. I think we could make it work. I mean, I know Mormons and Jews don't normally make great matches, but my Christmas tree looks blue because the silver branches take on the color of any light, and the little blue lights go well in my living room. I feel we could spin a dreidel right under some mistletoe and make it work. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Finally, I should say that I really shouldn't have gone shopping today. I didn't find any deals, and because I was actually already DONE with my Christmas shopping and wrapping (minus my father's gift, which I will pick up this coming week when things aren't so busy), I just bought things for myself. But I've gotta look cute for Alex at the reunion, right? Or if it's a bust, I might just find Adam F. at Papadeaux, because everyone should have a ginger-haired boyfriend for the holidays.

Taking Issue with People's Sexiest Man Alive Issue

OK. So maybe it's because I don't watch television, and I no longer spend all my free time looking at entertainment blasts online. Or maybe it's because I'm more impressed with things like Converse on the feet and a love of social causes, but again and again as I browsed the current issue of People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive Issue, I kept saying, "Who IS that? And who in the world thinks HE'S sexy?"

Now of course, I have no beef with Johnny Depp. Love him. Love him most in "Chocolat." Think he's crazy in anything Tim Burton, but that's part of what makes him so awesome. I also love the way a lot of men find women's general obsession with him inexplicable. For me, it's because he's a bit of a gypsy, and that is super. Go, go; go Johnny go.

But seriously? So many of the others left me cold. Or just less than impressed. Shall we page through the issue together? I'll provide my commentary. It'll be like you're right here with me.

* Simon Baker. Who is that? Oh yeah. He was that guy in "The Devil Wears Prada." Eh. Whatever.
* Matthew McConaughey. Overrated and dirty most of the time.
* David Beckham. Snooze.
* Patrick Dempsey. OK, I'll give you that one. But let's not forget his "Can't Buy Me Love" beginnings.
* Will Smith. I think he could be on the cover of "World's Biggest Ego."
* Josh Brolin. OK, I DID love him in "The Goonies," but I've always been more of a Sean Astin girl.
* Bradly Cooper. Hmm. I do love him. But only because he looks like my friend Stephen Petty.
* Gerard Butler. He gets a shout-out because Sokphal loves him.
* Jake Gyllenhaal. Does anyone even care about him anymore?
* Robert Downey Jr. Oh wait. Is he actually out of jail?
* George Clooney. Yes. Double yes. Classic. Even with a mullet on "The Facts of Life." Wish he'd settle down, though.
* Ashton Kutcher. Forget Ashton! Bring on Danny Masterson!
* Matt Damon. Sure, but can we get someone else in this magazine besides the same old people?
* Lenny Kravitz. Better with dreds.
* Alec Baldwin. Sick, sick, sick. Someone should leave a message on HIS voicemail calling him a little pig or ingrate, or whatever it was he said to his daughter.
* Brad Pitt. Must have stock in the magazine, I'd say.
* Ben Affleck. Must have a movie in promotion, because we never see him anymore.
* Ryan Reynolds. Why is his photo buried all the way on Page 106? Get rid of old boring Matthew M.

OK. Admittedly, those guys were all good-looking. But if you really want a head-scratcher, check out their "Sexy at Any Age Feature." Two words: Mehmet Oz. WHO THINKS HE'S SEXY? That's like saying Dr. Phil is sexy, and Dr. Phil isn't nearly as obnoxious (though he's not someone I'd want to watch on TV either). This is evidence of Oprah's power, I suppose, because I've been shaking my head ever since. I literally didn't know who HALF of these supposedly-sexy men were. The 40-somethings (with the exception of Oz, 49) were the best on the page, but they got a boost from John Stamos. Can you believe Uncle Jesse is 46?

And then there's a feature of Jerry O'Connell in a speedo. Who really thought that was a good idea? It's just too weird. I like men in clothing. Like, layers.

Good job to People for the shout-out to LL Cool J and Chris O'Donnell. Josh Groban continues to come across as socially awkward. Rob Lowe looks like he's been carved out of wax.

In general, boo. I think I'll compose my own list of sexy men. Look for it soon (sooner if I can get my paperwork done early). I welcome suggestions regarding those who were passed over .

The Reunion Run-Down

OK. So, apparently just announcing the winner wasn't quite enough so here are a few thoughts from my recent contest.
First, thanks to all the fellas who participated. I got a real kick out of your applications. Some of my favorite things:

* Not ONE of my would-be bachelors were of the Medieval Club persuasion. Thank goodness.
* My friend Eric Otto describing his hair color as "a subtle red with a hint of burnt orange," and answering "True" to "I kiss on a first date" with the disclaimer "This has never happened, but I am open to it." Of course, Eric and I have already had a first date-- Preference, the most magical night of my life. Also, he was DQ'd because his app came in late, but it was amazing.
* Another shout-out to Eric, because I loved his essay (can you tell he was my close 2nd?). I couldn't do it justice to summarize, so for your reading pleasure:

I'm extremely clever and witty, have a good heart, and even though I'm a 28 year old man I pretty much stopped maturing after the mission, so I'll be very fun and adventurous (that being said, I was more mature than your average BYU guy at age 11, so take it for what it's worth, I might still be too curmudgeonly for you). We've already been to a dance together, so there won't be any of that first date awkwardness. I'll be polite with your friends, but I'm rarely impressed with resumes so I won't grovel like an idiot if you have a classmate who is a doctor or something. I'm also very likable. I can guarantee that your friends will love me. I'm good-looking in an approachable way, and usually am able to instantly garner street-cred with guys, which counts for a lot.

But in the end, how could I not choose Jake? In addition to the deliciousness of being "wooed" by LDS Pop Culture's Reigning King (because let's be honest, Reuben, these guys are WAY funnier than TAMN, who has lost her subtlety), there's something most-excellent about selecting a pseudonym instead of a legitimate option. Why go safe? No, go big, or go home. Or in my case, go to the reunion.

In light of "Jake's" anonymity, I'll not post the picture he sent (because it's just his hand, but I'd hate for someone to recognize it), but his answers to Questions 3 and 5 were spot-on. Here is a selection from his essay:

You should go on a date with me, Jake from Confessions from a Mormon Bachelor Pad, in lieu of the many other men who will no doubt apply for said honor. I decided putting a period at the end of that sentence is sufficient. I’m not going to explain why you should take me to the reunion. You know I should be your date regardless of the event. Fighting destiny is the stuff of cheesy Chicago songs Rachel. It’s not the silly kind of thing one expects from us. Besides, you know full well that in addition to making you laugh and making you feel like the only woman worthy of any amount of adoration on this earth, I will also tactfully bypass your “arms only” rule in a manner respectful and comfortable enough that when I am done, you will actually feel good about your naughty (yet somehow still in line with the law of chastity) step into the unknown. Shall we continue this charade any further? Dost thou really need me to expound the many nuances that make up our love. Joking about what we have will tear a hole in my heart through which you may see little angels weeping. I mean, if you look hard enough you might see angels, because angels are mostly transparent… apparently… so they’re not that easy to see. You might even need to be gifted like that kid in “Angels And The Outfield” that grew up to be the guy that does it with Zooey Deschanel in “(500) Days of Summer” to be able to see the angels. So, rather than spend my remaining 226 words offering a riveting dissertation explaining why we belong together and proving what you already know, that there is no other choice. I have written you a poem. I wrote it all by myself without the inspiration of any bands circa 1969-1978 that were named after that food stuff which is often sliced and has peanut butter and Jelly spread upon it together creating the heralded “PB&J”. So, without further ado, here it is, my poem that I just made up off the top of my head.If a picture paints a thousand words then can’t I paint you?The words will never show the you I’ve come to know.If a face could launch a thousand ships, then where am I to go?There’s no one home but you. You’re all that’s left me too.And when my love for life is running dry, you come and pour yourself on me.If a man could be two places at one time, I’d be with you.Tomorrow and today beside you all the way.If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die, I’d spend the end with you.And when the world was through, then one by one the stars would all go out.Then you and I would simply fly away.This is the end of my essay with words totaling 500

Anyway, I've never listened to Bread. It was the Zooey Deschanel reference that won me over. Because I like boys who go to arty movies.

But now, the obvious question: What will Rachel do? How in the world can she solve the reunion problem when her winner is Fake Jake from Salt Lake? (Oh, I'm so, so, clever, I'm falling off my desk chair laughing!)

The solution actually was rather simple. My friend Wesley and his wife Jari are also attending the reunion. They'd not purchased their tickets yet. They are buying my couple ticket, and I got a single.

Of course, if my new "love" Jake were to make the 650 mile trip this weekend, I'd honor the agreement and buy him a ticket in (which, by the way, would be full-price, and would defeat the original purpose of buying the on-sale couple ticket) and we'd win over many of my fans in person. I'm giving him an easy-out because it's simply in my nature to be kind and generous, and in the spirit of the holiday season, it would be a shame to be an enforcer.

So congratulations Jake! This is your chance to be added to my dating lists. And thanks to all my other boyfriends. xoxoxo

Aren't Weekends and Holidays Supposed to be Restful?

I'd like to flick the ear of the person who first purported that lie. Restful and weekend do not belong in the same sentence, unless we're writing fantasy.
I'm hanging with the fam tonight, which is nice, but I'd be happy to be in bed, asleep. It's just after 5 p.m. That's very sad. They're getting ready for dinner, and I am burrowed in my office tying up loose ends.
And don't get me wrong-- it's not like this weekend (or any other in particular) was bad, it's just that gone are the days of lounging around, watching movie after movie on Lifetime with the college roommates-- yes, we did that. Don't judge. These days, I'm gone for 13+ hour stretches. I return home highly satisfied, but not well-rested.
There's a fire in my pellet stove at home. There's a Netflix envelope calling my name. But Sunday and all, I'll first have to fold laundry, straighten the kitchen, wrap Christmas presents, change some light bulbs, etc. I'd ask for a vacation, but that would probably just end up being more work. Oh well. One day. Maybe that's what I'll ask for this year for Christmas. I'd originally thought a Ukulele would be great, but maybe I'd benefit more from one day where I don't have to do a single thing.

And the Winner Is...

Jake!
Congratulations!
Many thanks to all particpating bachelors.

Thoughts from the Bath Tub

My life is so beautiful!
No, I don't have a date for the reunion yet, though I'm pleased that one of my 30,000 points friends did apply (and no, it wasn't Matt Lauer). But take heart, would-be arm candy. The contest is still young, and I love to give a lot of points!
Actually, I was having another grateful moment. This morning in the bathtub (I know, I'm like the only person over the age of 4 who likes baths), I did a quick mental review of happy things in my life. This list included:

* Last night's dream about a magical antique store operated in the back of a dry cleaner's in Albuquerque on Milwaukee Street (which, so far as I know, is a street we don't have). You could store your stuff while you thought about whether you wanted to get rid of it. After a month, if you'd not picked it up, they'd sell it. I got so many deals and found great, great things. It was pretty much the best dream ever.
* So many projects and so little time. The creative juices are surging. In fact, I'd better make a list of all the things I want to create, before I forget them.
* I love being my own person, and proving myself. The other night at the restaurant, there was a bit of time when Adam F. was not waiting on us. During a particular conversation, my sister discussed the difficulties of her "gifted" students (she's now doing a special-ed gig, which I think is amazing) and how they can be much more challenging than other "special needs" kids. I agreed and related the story of my former classmate and chum, Chris, who I'd found particularly weird the first day of 5th grade with his black-and-green, zebra-print Hammer Pants, purple and orange backpack that was nearly as tall as he was, and his Dwayne Wayne flip-glasses. I mentioned that Chris was a super genius, but came off as a little different. My mom countered with, "This, from the girl who used to carry a briefcase in 5th and 6th grade, and wore neckties and berets." Touche. Still, I'm glad I've long taken the road less traveled to the life less ordinary.
* I had the best day of my life yesterday, spending a good chunk of my time with Zoey, super niece of the world. We watched "Up" and she ate TONS of popcorn (which was good, because she pretty much lives off of milk, and occasionally, Pez). We colored. We played with makeup (heaven help her when she learns about Sephora someday). She used the big-girl potty and got a sticker. We sang songs and cuddled and took a nice long nap. She picked up her toys without argument. When I took her home, she was glad to see her mom, but she said she'd miss me, and gave me a sweet little kiss goodbye. I am in love with that child. And her smart little sister. Paizlee is already totally funny. I can't wait to kidnap her for aunt-dates as well.

And, while this wasn't on the bathtub love list, this text from Rudy just came in:

"Do u have a spider infestation? Cuz i either promised u i'd take care of it last night or it was a very vivid dream"

Oh, how I love that. Reminds me of the time I dreamt he told me about participating in junior body-building competitions when he was in middle school. We'd hung out the night before, and I woke up so confused, but convinced that the conversation was real. When I asked him about it, he looked at me like I was crazy. But I'm glad I subconsciously think of him as a body-builder, and that he would want to help me with pest control on a deep level. In the words of my friend J.W., "That's love."

PS. Don't forget to tell your friends, only 4 days left to enter the contest! Get your entry to me right away, and let's not disappoint my friends. Yesterday, Pam said "We know how much I love judging people." Don't let her down!
PPS. If someone gets me a date with Adam F., I'll make or buy you dinner.
PPPS. Let the official rules be amended to also now include a provision that I may use excerpts from applications on my blog. Don't worry. I won't necessarily identify you.
PPPPS. Jake has his application in. Who thinks Calvin can do better?

Win a Date with Rachel!! My First-Ever Contest

Here's the story of a lovely lady, and her quest for love. Or, the story of me at a restaurant.
So the other day, I was at a certain Albuquerque establishment-- a chain where all the food is fried and comes from the water (two things I'm super not into)-- with my mom, "Aunt" Trish, sister and brother-in-law. I'd never been there before, and while the company was pleasant, the food was not really my thing, so I doubt I'll go back.
EXCEPT.
There was a really nice boy there. He was our waiter. His name is Adam F. He had red hair.
Now, lest you get the idea I'm a stalker, let me assure you I'm not. I LOVE name tags, and I love calling people by their names (which is a little embarrassing when people aren't using the correct name tag, or when they've got a funny-spelling on what should be an easy name-- like "Shado" [Shadow] from Furr's). This is an every day occurrence with me. I also always make note of people's names when they are helping me over the phone. It's simply polite.
Well, anyway, in my typical exuberance and effervescence, I called Adam by his name the whole night, and was pleased to learn we have a mutual love of honey mustard. He was a good waiter, on the whole.
But my sweet family, including Aunt Trish, were teasing me that I should leave my phone number.
Um, I Can't Do That. Can I?
I didn't. It just seems way too creepy.
As we left the restaurant, my brother-in-law told me he'd gone back and written my number on my ticket. I hit him in the stomach. But I was oddly disappointed when he told me he was kidding.
So that would be the end of the story, but I've managed to get myself into a bit of a pickle.
Coming up in a week and a half: High School Reunion, Part 2. And yesterday, in the spirit of getting a good deal (they were $10 off), I purchased a couple ticket. Oops. I'm not part of a couple! I'm not even close!
Further complicating my life is the fact that said event happens the Saturday after Thanksgiving, when so many of my boy friends will be out of town. I panicked. I scrolled through the contact list in my phone. The boys I know who were not going out of town are either married, in a relationship, gay, living out of state/country, socially unacceptable/unhygienic, or otherwise not good options. And I can't take a girl, because I already went to prom with a girl (thanks Josette!) but I don't want people thinking I'm into women (and no offense to my lesbian friends-- I'm not hatin', I just don't want to give off the wrong impression). Someone suggested I take one of my good-looking cousins, but a) ew, b) one cousin used to seriously date one of my high school chums and I don't want to create an awkward situation for him, and c) another one of my cousins probably already made out with all the girls in my graduating class, so it could turn into a cat fight. Anyway, all around, I'm hitting roadblocks, and it would have simply been easier if Robert HAD left my number for Adam F. Boo.
So, sorry for the long explanation, but the point is, I need a date. Stat. And not just any old fellow will do. Therefore, I'm going to throw myself at the mercy of the Internet, and see if I can find someone decent to take to the reunion, so I won't have wasted a big chunk of my discretionary income on a stupid couple ticket.
However, I don't just want to say, "Hey guys, set me up!" because let's be honest, there are a lot of weirdos out there. So here's the deal:
Below is the application for a date. Copy and paste the questionnaire, complete the essay, and send a photo to rachsego@hotmail.com before midnight, Saturday, November 21, MDT. A panel of judges including the current van-time girls will make a decision to be posted by the following Monday.
Winner will receive the opportunity to go with me to the LLHS Class of 1999 reunion, held November 28 (a $35 value).
Rules and Regulations:
1. No purchase necessary, but extra points will be given to those who send flowers (and remember, roses are for the unimaginative) or other appropriate gifts.
2. Rachel reserves the right to nix any application for any reason.
3. There will be no hanky-panky on this date. I am a Mormon, and I have a huge personal-space bubble, so basically you can only touch my arms, unless I give you permission otherwise.
4. Winner agrees to not do anything embarrassing, including, but not limited to.... wait, I don't think I want to say, simply because it might give you ideas. But there will be no drinking or smoking. No drugs. No visits to tattoo parlors or body-piercing shops. Wearing a lampshade is acceptable.
5. Judges will look at complete contest application, but please know you will be evaluated on myriad criteria. Kirsten will determine if you are hot. Pam will judge if you are nice and funny. Lou will decide if you are smart enough/socially acceptable. Should Tresann, a VT alum, choose to participate in the judging process, she will rate your spirituality. I'll be looking for things like social causes, and what we'll call the ha-cha-cha factor.
6. Certain applicants will be given extra points based solely on their existence and participation. For example, were Matt Lauer, Eric Christensen, Calvin and Jake from MBP, Andrew Stewart, or Mister West to apply for the position, they'd get 30,000 gratis points. Just so you know.
7. Rachel reserves the right to add any rules whenever she wants. Because it's the blogger way.

OK, THE QUESTIONNAIRE: (Remember to copy and paste your answers [and a picture] into the body of an email, and submit before Midnight MDT, Saturday, November 21)

Section I: Basic Information

Name:
Nickname:
Why/How you got that nickname:
Age:
Height:
Hair Color (and don't worry, bald/balding is beautiful):
Eye Color (not that I care, but people always ask this):
Education:
Occupation:
Location:

Section II: Multiple Choice

1) My life ambition is to
a. Be President of the United States
b. Save the world from peril like a superhero
c. Survive
d. Write the great American Novel
e. Other (Please Specify) ________________________

2. When it comes to footwear, my tootsies are usually adorned with
a. White sneakers (this is a hint-- if you choose this, you're probably gonna get dumped)
b. Flip Flops
c. Hiking boots
d. Cowboy boots
e. Converse All Stars-- Hi-Tops
f. Converse All Stars-- Lo-Tops
g. Square-toed dress shoes
h. Rounded dress shoes/loafers
g. Slip on Skater Shoes
h. Slip on shoes-- other (like those ugly velour ones)
i. Other (Please Specify) _________________________

3. Of course I love America! But if I were to be an expatriate, I'd love to live in
a. London
b. Krakow
c. Enniskerry
d. Paris
e. Bombay
f. Venezia
g. Other (Please Specify) __________________________

4. I work out enough to
a. Throw someone over my shoulder
b. Break someone's neck
c. Say that I go to the gym and have people not laugh
d. walk from the couch to the television
e. none of the above

5. Politically, I'd categorize myself as
a. Radical Liberal
b. Radical Moderate
c. Radical Conservative
d. I don't vote, because I'm a moron

6. Were Rachel to listen to my iPod, she'd most likely hear a lot of
a. The Smiths
b. Willie Nelson
c. Will Smith

Section III: True or False

7. I regularly attend Renaissance Fairs or ride a unicycle. T/F
8. I kiss on the first date. T/F
9. I consider myself a man's man. T/F
10. I am a member of the NRA. T/F
11. I recycle. T/F
12. At football games, I like to think about how great it would be to put tracking devices in the ball so the refs could be more fair, and I like to criticize outrageous fans. T/F
13. I plan to be rich someday, and I've got a plan in place for this, plus back-up plans. T/F
14. Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth, in my opinion. T/F
15. I cry at chick flicks. T/F
16. I do dishes, willingly. T/F
17. I believe it's a woman's job to change all dirty diapers. T/F
18. I've done time in jail/prison. T/F
19. I love animals. T/F
20. My speech and writing is not generally peppered with vulgarity or red flags of illiteracy. T/F

Part IV: Essay

Now comes the fun part. Tell me why I should go on a date with you, and specifically why you should be my date for the Reunion. 500 words or less, please.

Alternate Essay Topic: In 500 words or less, flatter me.

Good luck! Winners will be announced by Monday, November 23 at Noon.

Kiss and Tell=Funny

So I had all these noble plans to save a lot of these stories for the 100-Man Celebration, but friends, I'm sorry! I've stagnated. I just kept going out with the same old guys for ages, and I'm still waiting for a decent 99 or 100. Don't get me wrong-- boys have asked, but I just have gotten too picky in my old age.

*NOTE/DISCLAIMER: I just realized how slutty the above-paragraph could make me sound if you don't know me in real life. The Top 100 (98) are boys I've gone on dates with. For the record, I think the kissing count is somewhere around 27, but I'm not sure. Wait. Counting. R, J, S, R, I, T, S, A, H, G, G, M, K, D, S, A, S, B, S, A, T, P, R, A, J, R, B... in no particular order. Yes, 27. Except I get the nagging feeling there's someone else. Oops-- another A. I always forget him. OK, anyway, I guess 28 boys kissed isn't something to be super-duper proud of, but when you consider it's only kissing, and I'm still the 28-year-old virgin with no husband in sight, you can understand.

So anyhow, last night was one of those silly nights, hanging out with friends and laughing about ridiculous stuff. Best comment of the evening came from S.T., who was overheard saying, "Let's go make out, but stop when we get aroused." You know, had it been said legitimately, it would have been extra creepy, but the sentiment is probably a good one.

Anyway, Pammy reminded me of something that happened to me about a year ago that I'd conveniently forgotten. Last night she said, "I still think of R.P. when you screamed in his face." And I couldn't even remember it! But like Tyler of old, I DID scream in his face when he tried to kiss me. No wonder R didn't like me all that much after that!

You know, so many girls say they like it when a guy takes charge in the kissing situation, and they think it's nerdy if the guy asks for permission. But honestly, it's so much better to at least know it's coming in advance. Guys who lunge toward my face are often the recipients of my shocked cries of horror-- not necessarily at the thought of kissing them, just at the surprise. I'm jumpy by nature.

So then I started counting up the boys whose faces I've screamed in over the years. Oops. There are a lot of them! And then they usually go get married to someone else right away. My most recent scream recipient, fortunately, is still on the market, but I'm sure it didn't help my cause.

So then I tried to think of someone who actually got that first-kiss "right," but I really had a hard time coming up with a good standard. Amongst the more ridiculous situations (and again, please don't be offended if you or your husband or your friend or a friend-of-a-friend show up on this list, I'm not naming names, after all):

* A boy who'd never kissed another girl had to "Ask Cha-cha" (remember that texting service-- you ask any question and get an answer back right away? Yeah, he honestly asked Cha-cha how to go about kissing me. For the record, Cha-cha did give pretty decent advice, but it made the whole experience super surreal)
* One guy kept feeding me that whole, "It's late, I should go home, but here I am" line, and I finally had to say, "Listen, I'm OK with this happening, but you've got to man up, because I'm not going to do it for you." And he did. And then he freaked out. But then things got much better.
* There was a guy who I was trying to discuss a doctoral thesis with, who at least gave me the warning of creeping slowly across the couch. It was funny, but I was legitimately interested in the conversation, and I still don't know what he's researching to this day.
* There was the guy who bit my neck first and left a mark for about a week. A perfect, round mark of teeth prints. It was so unexpected and shocking that I just laughed. And then he kissed me. I'd been under the impression that he was gay and was moving, so I just went ahead and let it happen. About a week later, he told me he knew he couldn't be gay because he'd thought about kissing me all week. So that's cool, I guess.
* A couple of guys used my own fail-proof kissing line on me, which really bugs because I was the one who coached them on how it never fails. And it blindsided me, because I didn't realize til later how they'd schooled me. One reeled me in by saying he'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss me because we were such good friends (and I wondered what it would be like to kiss him because he had a righteous beard) and the other one tried to say it to be sweet, but I forgot that he was using my own superpower against me, because I melted on the spot.
* And last but not least, let's not forget Mr. Carl's Jr. He would have been an excellent kisser if he didn't taste like barbecue sauce. Ick.

Of course, in the spirit of full disclosure, it's not like I haven't had my own weird moments on the kissing front. There was the guy I kissed (my friend Tiff's crush in high school) because she was too nervous to do it, and they paid me a dollar to kiss the guy. There was the time Mike and I kissed in front of all of our friends at Bajio so he could earn the Kissing Kitty, and Eric made us do it again and again because we weren't meeting the time requirements. There were a couple of guys I just kissed on impulse because I was so extremely happy about something unrelated, but they were around and it was convenient to go lay a smack square on their lips. I kissed one guy simply because it would set a new personal record for three in one night. I've awkwardly played spin the bottle, and also a weird game of truth or dare where I've ended up kissing an odd little fella who honestly thinks he's the king of making out, but he's just the dork king (love him though).

Anyway, I guess not every kiss can go as smoothly as the time Bryce showed up to my party (he was a friend of some friends and I didn't know him at all) and spun me around under the mistletoe to kiss me on the cheek (so he's not part of my 28, but it was still magical). And we can't always be as cool as I inexplicably managed to be with Chevron behind the Otis Spunkmeyer display, but here's hoping I'll stop screaming, and my boyfriends will stop lunging. Sorry Tyler. And Russell. And Rudy. And whoever else's lips I've screamed at.

I'm having one of THOSE days

And by "THOSE" I mean one of those floaty days. But not necessarily good-floaty.
Things started out all right. Woke up naturally early this morning, and started the day off perfectly-- with a candle-lit bubble bath and cup of blueberry tea. Seriously, that is luxury. It's not something I ever get to do, and sure the sun was streaming in, but the candle aroma transported me to some kind of existential creativity hub or something. I hauled a carload of doo-dads with me to the office-- stickers, chipboard, photo corners, glass, pipe cleaners, ephemera of all kinds, metallic leaf, tulle, etc., etc. Don't ask me when I thought I'd have time to mess with that stuff today-- Mondays are always busy. Heck, every day is busy. I helped my mom change the sheets on her bed this morning (this is a long-held family ritual-- she ALWAYS washes her sheets on Mondays, and I do mine on Saturdays), and we talked about the possibility of another boutique, and maybe even growing it into a quarterly affair. I don't know if I could live up to it, but the idea excites me. Creating has led to clarity and better projects recently, but I don't seem to have time for much else. Sometimes I fantasize that I could do this kind of stuff for a living, but I think what makes it so luxurious and soul-cleansing is the way I have to work in stages, stealing a minute here or there create another part of a wondrous whole. Had I all the time in the world to work on even my varied projects (picture it-- floating from playing the piano or the dulcimer or the harmonica, or the uke [which I don't do yet, but I'm thinking that's what I'll ask for this Christmas] and then sitting for a bit to write and then crocheting and sewing and planning parties and building stuff out of old junk or foam core, or hitting the antique store/thrift store/dump to find furniture to repurpose and on and on) would probably zap me of energy and creative urges. But I don't know. I guess it's nice that I'm actually practical and content with the amount of things I CAN do. My reality is likely better than the fantasy.
Still, I am restless. Not because of insulation oppressing me-- not at all. I actually love it. I just feel like there's not ever enough time, and I'm afraid the ideas are all going to fly away before I can capture them on paper (or whatever medium I'm working in). And even though I've got some good basics, I feel like I need a muse or something. Or a little bit more of a life outside my own little frizzy-haired artist head. Um, maybe a boyfriend? Or a trip? Or a couple days off? Whatever it is, I'll find it. Or it will find me.

Missing Fingerprints

After jabbing my thumb a lot with a needle (what can I say, I'm not a seamstress!) I did manage to finish the outfits for my little Turkeys:

Note, those are turkey tail feathers, and not an autumnal fig leaf on Paizlee's romper.

Do my nieces have a great aunt or what?

And I don't remember how I did it, but I also managed to get a paper cut across my wrist-- I think it might have been on the envelope I used to mail in my property taxes (ouch and double ouch). Then last night, I stayed up for ages working on a little project that involves a lot of duct tape. By the time I finished, I had a mighty-fine looking creation, but no skin left on my fingertips. Forget Biore Pore Perfect Strips-- just run some duct tape over your nose and not only will you be rid of blemishes, you'll be missing most of your epidermis. All in the name of art, right? Today's projects will require spray adhesive, so if you see me walking around with dryer lint glued to my elbow, try not to judge.

Fill 'er Up

It's no secret I have a real soft spot in my heart for gas-station attendants. I've waxed poetic about the magnificence of Chevron (Adam W.) for years now. I still love telling the story of our first kiss behind the Otis Spunkmeyer display in the Texaco station. I still love remembering how my whole office sat, riveted, as I recounted my boldness in kissing him, and my chutzpa for walking away and not looking back until I'd reached the van. There was something really satisfying about seeing him hunched over the counter, looking dazed and delighted. My Chevron romance was life-changing, and I've never looked at a gas station the same since.
And now, I'm hoping to pass the tradition on to the next generation of lovely girls looking for love. Now, when girls tell me they don't know where to meet boys, I say "pay for your gas inside instead of at the pump." Had Macey's not offered 5 cents off per gallon at Chevron with a purchase of $50 or more, I may had never met Adam, nor sipped free hot chocolate whilst discussing Bob Marley and security cameras. Or had the chance to kiss in the freezer at the Chevron. Or received so many free car washes.
Last night, Pammy went with me to pick up my latest antique-- a great looking bed (pictures to come eventually-- gotta move the furniture around a lot first). I brought the family van for old time's sake, and for trunk space sake. Those folding back and middle seats are great for so many things (wink, wink). I'd not REALLY driven the van since the water-pump incident of July, so imagine my surprise when the oil light came on, and the dashboard flickered and the incessant beeping started. Pam and I had our priorities straight-- we went and picked up the bed. BUT I knew there were several filling stations near the antique store, so I rolled on into a Diamond Shamrock, bought a quart of oil, and proceeded to go all grease-monkey.
Except I didn't really.
A) We were going to have dinner at Lou's restaurant, and didn't think the folks at Vivace would really appreciated it if I were covered in oil.
B) I was a little afraid to touch the engine, because it was hot from driving the 45 miles (PS, please don't tell my dad).
C) I couldn't get the oil cap off. It was totally jacked!
So then I tried to get Pam to come play Ms. Fix-It like Rosie the Riveter, Queen of Pam's Living Room, but she couldn't get the cap off either. There was a little man filling his truck who looked over at us, but he didn't offer to help, and he looked a bit like a creeper.
Instead, we called over to the little boy who worked there who was replenishing the supply of Styrofoam cups and talking on his cell phone. And long story short, Cameron saved the day. He not only got the cap off (with a leatherman or something), but he also poured the oil in. Obviously, I could have done this myself, but sometimes I, as a very independent woman, get a kick out of playing helpless. He was a little sweetie, originally from Tennessee, and planning to go to Colorado Springs soon to study architecture. I told him I didn't really have anything to give him (true, except maybe a piece of gum) but offered to let him kiss Pam. It made me sound like a Madame (he helped me find the right word), and on the whole it was a jolly good evening.
The key to a quality gas-station relationship, however, is frequent interaction. I think I'll make some cookies that Pam and I can deliver, and then accidentally drive off and leave her there while I go antiquing. That should give them adequate time behind Otis Spunkmeyer.

If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out

Recently appearing in my musical rotation:
Oingo Boingo
Ray LaMontagne
Phil Collins
M. Ward
Joss Stone
Vampire Weekend
She and Him
Jimmy Eat World
Cary Brothers
Iron and Wine
The Shins
Sugababes
Ingrid Michaelson
Cat Stevens
Thievery Corporation
Regina Spektor
Remy Zero
MXPX
Wolf Parade
Better than Ezra
Muse
Belle and Sebastian
Le Chat Lunatique
Green Day
Train
Fiona Apple
Counting Crows
Fall Out Boy
Meg & Dia
The Fray
Modest Mouse
Rachael Yamagata
Peter Gabriel
The Killers
10,000 Maniacs
Natalie Merchant
Pretenders
Travis
Mary J. Blige
Weezer
The Outfield
Bruce Springsteen
Ben Folds
Fugees
Stars
Simon and Garfunkel
Sinead O'Connor
The Smiths
Imogen Heap
Inner Circle
The Mountain Goats
Paulo Nutini
Salt-N-Pepa
Supertramp
Prince
Ben Harper
John Mellencamp
Indigo Girls
Eric Clapton

Things I Love

1. My new pillow shams-- on clearance at Cost Plus World Market. My bedroom is transported to India, and the fabric makes me want to dance.
2. Great finds at my favorite antique store. I've got a trunk to re-line, and a new bed. Yes, I bought a bed. I'm crazy. I love beds! This one will go in my room (with the great pillow shams) and my current bed will migrate to the guest room. Guest bed will join its sister-- another frame I'm refurbishing, and who knows what they're journey will be from there. Still trying to decide whether to ditch the love seat in my room, move things around, and put the twinner antique bed (one I bought a year ago) in the study so I can accommodate more company. We'll see. I love decorating evolution!
3. Long chats with faraway friends on a Sunday night.
4. Black Cherry Berry Herbal Tea.
5. Paisley and toile-- the prints.
6. Paizlee and Zoey-- the nieces.
7. The clearance section of Hobby Lobby.
8. Tyler Candles.
9. A second stab at friendship with someone I admire.
10. McVitties Carry-Outs, for when you're out and about.
11. A skeleton I dressed up as a beauty queen and named Bianca.
12. Glitter.
13. My down comforter.
14. Michael Jackson-- "This is It" sizzles. ;)
15. My wish lists, including the wish to kiss Rudy Parsons.
16. Wallace love.
17. My future husband, Eric Christensen.
18. Cat Stevens on my iPod.
19. Steampunk literature.
20. A mix cd I'm making for my friend who will be off of seven year's probation at the end of the week-- playlist to include "I Fought the Law" and "Authority Song."
21. You.