Monthly Archives: December 2011

Christmas Confessions

Every Christmas morning for the past 20 some odd years, I’ve called my friend Megan and we talk about our presents.  Our conversations used to be about  bikes, roller blades, American girl dolls, and the fact that my parents STILL wouldn’t get me a trampoline.  This was the first year we didn’t have our Christmas day chat and it’s because Megan died.

Just kidding.

Her family flew to Mexico on Christmas day.  Was that joke about her death a little too morbid?  I don’t think it was.  Especially since Megan often insists that if she does die young, I marry her husband.  I used to get uncomfortable when she would make these jokes, but now I tell her that I’m going to change her son’s name from Holt to Holten when I’m his mom.  See?  This is just the kind of friendship we have.

But since Megan was flying to Mexico on Christmas, we had our annual, “What’d you get for Christmas?” conversation on the twenty-third.  It wasn’t a long conversation- partly because we hadn’t gotten anything yet and partly because while talking to her, I was driving and missed my freeway exit and ended up ironically much closer to Mexico than I was supposed to be.

Megan is a devoted reader of this here blog and during our conversation, she scolded me for not updating it.  I told her I just hadn’t felt like writing and she replied, “Ok good.  That’s much better than your lame ‘I’m too busy’ excuse.”

She can say things like this to me because we’ve been friends since before we starting shaving our legs.  In fact, she was the friend who convinced me I needed to start shaving my legs.  Remind me to punch her for that.  And though I have indeed been busier than usual, my real reason for neglecting the blog is because I simply haven’t felt like writing.  I think they call it writer’s block.  But I’m not technically a “writer”, so maybe it’s just laziness.  But no matter the reason, now my fingers have the itch again so here we go.

This year’s Christmas Confessions in no particular order: Continue reading

Dating Grandpas and Becoming Lions

I really don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out:

I accidentally went on a date with a 47 year old black man.

I’ll let that fact sink in for a moment.

47.

Black man from the hood.

Me.

Coco’s.

It happened.

For reals.

In my defense, I didn’t realize I was on a date until it was too late.  I’ve never been great at “reading people” so I had no idea that he was thinking “date” when he asked what I was doing after church.  And apparently I’m a little too friendly when meeting visitors at church- so much so that elderly gentlemen from Comptom think I’m “putting out the vibe” when really I was just trying to make him feel less awkward about being at the “young, hip, white people service.”  And thus, I ended up eating soup in a booth at Coco’s (his choice) on one of the strangest dates of all time.

I suppose I should resort back to taking a fake pee during the meet n greet.

During our ever-so bizarre and ever-so awkward date, I swallowed giggles the whole time.  I’ve never received so many confused looks from strangers and that’s saying something because people, I get A LOT of confused looks from strangers.  Typically, when there is an awkward lull in the conversation, I fill it with mindless chatting, but this time I didn’t even try.  Nope, I sat there like a mute, basking in the cloud of awkwardness watching him fumble for words.  And all the while I kept thinking, “How did I end up here?  How has it come to this?  How am I 29 and going on dates with men old enough to be grandfathers?”

Typically I wouldn’t write about my “dating life” on here, but I’m pretty sure this fella hasn’t figured out the Internet and I’m also pretty sure that this date doesn’t officially count.  I mean, he did pay for my soup but again, let me stress the fact that I did NOT realize he was asking me on a date.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my “single status” and not just because I’ve had to switch church services so as to avoid running into gramps.  (I know, I know- I’m passive aggressive like that) But my singleness has been on my mind for a number of other reasons as well.

For one, my team is continually talking about how it is a team goal to “find coach a husband.”  They tell me I need to stop making Harry Potter references or I’ll never find a husband and they are forever winking and nudging me whenever a single man is in the gym.  At our latest tournament, I was talking to one of the coaches and kept seeing flashes from across the gym.  I knew what it was immediately and pondered flipping off the pack giggling girls who were snapping pictures of us, but I refrained.  Then a few nights ago, one particularly persistent teaser would not let up about the opposing coach being my “boo”, so I squeezed her neck so hard she collapsed to the ground.  Took that one from the coaching  handbook of Bobby Knight.

I’ve also been reminded of my singleness thanks to two recent conversations with my 5 year old nephew.  First, I explained to him why he and I have different last names.

Me: “Your mom used to be a Hardeman, but when she married your dad, she became a Ploog.”

Vander: “And you used to be a Hardeman and now…”

Me: “I’m still a Hardeman.  I haven’t found my husband yet.”

Vander: “Well, where is he?”

Me: “I don’t know.  I have to find him.”

Vander:” Katie,” switches to an oddly patronizing voice for a 5 year old  “here’s what you gotta do.  You see a cute boy…”

Me: “Yeah?”

Vander: “…and you go get him.”

Me: “Well, how do I get him to like me?”

Vander: pause as he thinks hard about this and then “You kiss him.”

Me: “I don’t think it’s that easy, Vander.”

Dan (Vander’s dad): “ummmm….yeah, it kinda is.”

So basically, if you’re a cute single boy and you’re in my vicinity, look out. Continue reading