i am

a manners enthusiast.


a future real housewife of somewhere or another.

trés forgetful.

maryland

i like business travel.
it gives me an excuse to be a loner and not feel bad about it.

not that i don't enjoy people, because i do.  anyone who knows me at all knows this is true.  that's the crux of the matter...i enjoy being with people so much, i get so enthralled with them, so wrapped in their stories, that i forget to notice the scenery.  to just be quiet and observe.  to sit, in the same spot, for as long as i want, and watch.

last night i went to annapolis.  it was perfect.

it was just what you would think an east coast bay town should be.

easter-colored townhomes lined brick roads littered with tenants' vintage bicycles, their window boxes spilling over with pops of bright petunias.  dozens of quaint mom-and-pop shops hid in a maze of crossroads, skillfully navigated by local preppies.  a man with a handle-bar mustache wore a powder blue and white striped seersucker suit, complete with tangerine-colored bowtie. 

seriously.

i walked into a gorgeous boutique that was all of 600 square feet, containing what was, i'm sure, tens-of-thousands of dollars worth of couture.  there was a tv above the counter displaying an old black-and-white motion picture, although i'm not sure which classic it was.  i couldn't afford anything, but i looked at everything.  i watched as a lady in a white collared dress with full skirt rifled through the garments.  she saw me look at her, but i just smiled and didn't look away.  she went back to her search momentarily, only to pull out a fabulous cobalt blue rebecca miller that she held up to me and said would look stunning with my eyes.  i smiled again and waved as i stepped back out onto main street, a runway for floppy, wide brimmed sun hats and navy blue boat shoes.

i crossed the street and stepped onto the old boards of the city dock.  i strolled the length of it slowly, examining the sailboats and yachts along the way, carefully considering which one was my favorite.  i stopped and stared out over the water, watching as a sailor tied his docklines with a coolness that only comes from seasoned experience.  a little girl with blonde pigtails squealed with excitement as seagulls dove in majestic swoops to catch pieces of popcorn she tossed in the water.  i turned my face into the wind and breathed deeply of the cool, salty air, mingled with the aroma of steamed crab from a restaurant across the water.  a bibbed couple sat out on its patio, pounding crab shells with small wooden mallets, flirting and laughing over chardonnay, reminiscing over the days of old and dreaming about the years to come.

and i wish you had been there.

la bella vita.

i vanna live here.

perfezionare il paradiso.

another one bites the dust

In the search for my ridiculously good-looking, fabulously wealthy, gut-bustingly hysterical Prince Charming (with the body of a Greek god, of course) (...is that so much to ask?) (don't judge me), I've dated a lot of toads.

 Ribbet.

I can't possibly go on with this story until I tell you about my friend, Emma.  I love Emma dearly.  She is one of my favorite persons.  Yes, persons.  She and I are, like, totally opposite, but exactly the same. 

Impossible, you say?  Nay...just trust me. 

Or don't. 

What do I care?

 Emma is one of those tell-you-like-it-is kind of gals. 

"Emma, does this dress make me look fat?" 
"The ruffles add body to the widest part of your hips, making you appear wider, so...yes." 

"Emma, I made some cookies.  Do you want one?"
 "They look dry; it appears you've overcooked them, so...no."

Don't get me wrong; the girl means well.  It's not like she goes around popping little kids' bubbles and tying their jump ropes in knots.  She's just extremely literal.  I actually find it quite refreshing.  And completely hilarious.  Think Temperance Brennen (of "Bones").  I mean, Emma was a math major, for crying out loud.  The girl likes her fact-based-conclusions.

(Examining a puppy) "Wow, this adolescent canine is so compact!"

Ok, that's a little extreme.  But, you get my point.

I make that point to make this point: girl does not exaggerate.

So, when she said to me, one day, "Almost every conversation that we have leads to a story you tell that begins with 'So once, I dated this guy...'",  I knew that, in fact, that was a true statement.  Otherwise, she wouldn't have said it.  Emma is very honest, you see.  She wouldn't lie to me.  She's the most honest person I know.  She once walked 7 miles to return 21 cents that a customer overpaid her after she fessed up to cutting down their cherry tree.  Much like Abraham Lincoln.

Errr, something. 

True story.

So, I talk about dudes a lot.  Whatever. 

I do what I want.

We came up with the brilliant plan that I should someday write a book about all of the "toads" I've ever dated.  Because a lot of the stories are actually pretty funny, in our humblest of opinions.  Every chapter would begin with, "So once, I dated this guy...".  And since these toads, who shall remain unnamed, had committed such frightening faux-pas that I was forced to permanently excuse them shortly thereafter, I would name each chapter after it's respective toad's misdeed designation, i.e. "The One-Upper."

Ugh. 

Hate a one-upper.

However, for the sake of being optimistic,  I'm going to assume that I won't continue to date toads for the rest of my life, thus, the book will end with the story of my meet cute with Charming.

...Lord help me. 


Ribbet.