This is what happens when you get us on the phone

KDub: We had someone view our blog from Latvia!
KP: They have internet in Latvia?!?
Then later...
KDub: We could be big! We could start with Latvia! We could become celebrities in Latvia! We should probably know the language then. What do they speak? Russian? Latvian?
~~~
KDub: I just...I don't understand Twitter!
KP: It's just like a Facebook status update. That's all. Just in 140 characters or less.
KDub: But I don't like that you can't see what everyone is Twatting to celebrities. I WANT TO KNOW!!
KP: *big huge sigh*
KDub: You think I'm an idiot, don't you?
KP: I would never say that you were an idiot! Though I might describe you as internet illiterate to my other friends. You have a degree in lawyer-ing and you're working on an MBA. HOW you don't get Twitter is beyond me.
~~~
KP: I feel bad for anyone who leads an ordinary life. And that person? Is going to lead an ordinary life. Poor honey-child. While I will go on to live an extraordinary life in extraordinary places.
KDub: What is that from?
KP: What is what from?
KDub: What you just said! That quote! Where is it from?
KP: Ummm...my mind?
KDub: You just made that up?
KP: YES!
KDub: YOU NEED TO BE FAMOUS AND WRITE BOOKS! AND BLOGS!
KP: Well check and check on the blog thing!

Not OK, Cupid

I am the single girl in this duo of deviance. K-Dub is happily married and has been for a number of years. I, on the other hand, have been single for two years and counting. (Seriously, my last--and first--major relationship ended two years ago this week. I didn't plan this entry around this charming anniversary, I promise.) The break-up devastated me, so it took me a while to even feel comfortable with admitting that I was looking because I took myself off of the so-called market for so damn long.

It's only been recently that I've become comfortable admitting that I have a profile on OKCupid. I'm not necessarily doing the online-dating thing to find my life partner. I'm not dillusional. Rather, I consider it to be a sociological experiment of sorts. The sorts of men who occupy this site are, um, interesting to say the least. Here are a few of the responses I've received from the online male population since I activated my profile a month ago:

• "I have two kids, but I'm not tied down! Want to meet?" (No thanks, I do NOT want to become a mommy.)
• "You're pretty. I'm lonely. Want to have a cam conversation?" (GROSS.)
• "You're luminous! What kind of makeup do you use?" (I mean, I did say that I'm looking for a gay boyfriend, but I'm pretty sure that this is more of a pick-up line fail than a rainbow boy looking for new cosmetics.)
• "Want to take my virginity?" (Wait...WHAT?!? WHO asks this to a random hot girl online?)

After such an overwhelming response for these winners, it's no wonder that I'm contemplating taking down my profile and seeking out an application to become a nun. But before I do that, I want to share my rules for online dating sites, culled from the magical experiences I've had this summer.

KP's Online Dating Site Rules (Alternate title: Don't Be Stupid, You Stupid, Stupid Men)

1. Be honest. I don't believe any guy who says he's looking to connect and find a "genuine girl" or a "soulmate". If that were the case he wouldn't have photos of some half-naked girl clinging to him while he does a keg-stand prominently displayed in his profile. If you're really just looking for sex just say it. The same goes for guys who say they want a "real" girl. Yes, as long as by "real" they means "big boobs, tiny waist and is semi-literate" because they certainly doesn't mean "big mouth, curvy body and Masters degree". Trust me, I know.
2. Don't lurk. OKCupid has this awesome feature that allows users to see who is visiting your profile. So all of you 30-something, semi-cute guys who visit my profile every day? Either email me or stop drooling over my pictures, you creepy creeper. Shit or get off the proverbial pot.
3. No sexy talk. Women are like cute little bunnies. We want to be lured in with carrots (or in my case, carats--I like shiny things). By carrots, I mean refreshing, yummy conversation. In NO WAY can you have that kind of conversation if you're questioning us on our sexual preferences three minutes into an instant message converation. Save that shit for the third date, stud. If you wave around your, um, weapon, you'll scare the cute bunnies away. Or just have them laughing at your stupidity.
4. No body shots. I am a fan of mens' abs. I'm not stupid--I know a beautiful work of art when I see it. But if a guy's main profile photo is a closeup of his chest and abs I don't think "ooh sexy", I think "oooh looky! A douche!" Fine, show-off your bod if you think it'll help get you laid. But do us all a favor and pretend to have respect for yourself by not posting body shots as the first picture we see. You can post, like, ten pix. Can't the six-pack be photo #2?

There you have it. The simple rules of online dating. Unfortunately I highly doubt any of the men who need to read this will. But hell--it'll give me more fodder for my memoir if nothing else. A good story trumps a good date most days. So until I find my own perfect partner, I'll keep reporting back with stories from the beau battlefield.

Dream on

Normally I don't do posts about dreams because they're boring/cliche' and also because I rarely remember all of the details of my subconscious musings. This morning, however, I awoke thinking "what the hell?!?" because of a dream I had. It was so randomly bizarre that I feel the need to broadcast it to the world. And, if anything, I know K-Dub will appreciate it for the random Lindsay Lohan cameo.

To begin, I'm on a date with an attractive man. Great start to the dream, I know. Except his idea of a date is for us to watch some hybrid moto-cross/runner's race pass by a lookout location near the town where I currently live. Ever-the-optimist, I give it a shot and soon we're having a grand old time cuddling and watching idiots run long distances/pop wheelies on bikes (yeah I have no clue what kind of sporting event this would be) while we laugh at them from our cushy seats in his car.

Suddenly, though, we're no longer at the race, but at a high-end mall that I can guarantee would never be built anywhere in Minnesota. But we're there and suddenly my date leaves me with my overbaring mother, who squaks that we are now on a shopping mission from God, searching for something that is never fully explained to me. All I know is that I REALLY want a Jimmy Johns sandwich, but when we finally go there after combing through 26897 stores, they're out of bacon for my BLT so they make me some Mexican-esque dish. I am not pleased with this result, but my mom tells me to shut up as she inhales her delicious-looking sub while I pick at my guacamole and rice.

After we're finished, my mom leads me to this trendy banquet hall and mysteriously says "they're all waiting" before disappearing. I walk into the hall to find a dozen or so people seated around a large medieval-looking table. Guests include my BFF Emily, my date who mysteriously vanished earlier, random friends from grad school, Zac Efron and Lindsay Lohan. They all smile and cheer when they see me. They also start ordering copious amounts of alcohol and I get drunk off of one blue amaretto slushie drink (which sounds really delicious right about now). Zac keeps smiling at Emily and I and we keep giggling like preteen idiots because we really do have crushes on him in real life (because when we're together we digress from semi-mature twenty-somethings to barely tolerable teeny-boppers). Lindsay keeps ordering rounds of shots and is crowned queen of the night because she is more drunk than the rest of us, which equal most fun in our books. Soon though, she's slumping over chairs and attempting to dance on our huge table, which does not sit well with the staff. After Zac valiently tries to both sober up Lindsay (fail) and convince the staff that we're good people who just want to drink more slushie drinks and shots so they shouldn't throw us out because of one stupid drunk (fail) we're all ushered out. Zac takes my hand and I think I'm about to get lucky. Instead I'm lead to a non-denominational church service singing bad songs about Jesus while the rest of the crew presumably goes in search of more liquored-up slushie drinks.

Now, I love dream interpretation. LOVE IT. I jump at the chance to analyze my friends' dreams and I've gotten pretty good at digging deep at the symbolism of one's subconscious. But it doesn't take a dream analyst to realize that the dream I had last night denotes nothing good. I've looked up some of the key elements in an online dream dictionary and all of them basically stated that I'm messed up. Needless to say, this makes me feel so thrilled. Though I can see at least one silver lining in all of this--I'm going to figure out how to make a blue amaretto slushie drink. That shit looked so good in my dream last night. Maybe if I pass out from overconsumption of those I'll have better dreams.

K-Dub is the Devil

I am the girl with the red hair and the endless supply of red lipstick. But when it comes right down to it? K-Dub is the one in this relationship who is--how you say? oh yes--THE DEVIL. And of course I mean this is in the most loving of ways. But witness this text conversation we had earlier today. And by earlier today, I mean when I rolled my cute little butt out of bed at the crack of 1 pm. (No, I'm not joking.)

KP: How am I supposed to be productive when there's a True Life marathon on MTV?
K-Dub: Hahaha! U rock! I've already gone to an Imax movie, went to Chili's, went grocery shopping , and now I'm making bread. Something is clearly wrong with me today!
(KP's thought: Mmm...Chili's. And bread.)
KP: WTF?!? Clearly you took my energy and used it to eat at Chili's and bake bread! What movie did you see?
K-Dub: Hubble--about a space telescope. My husband loves that stuff.
KP: Oh cool! You're such a good wife going to stuff like that. Meanwhile I'm still in jammies watching iCarly.
K-Dub: Hahaha! That's why you're my hero!
KP: Stop! All of this flattery does nothing for my motivation! And? You're my hero.
K-Dub: LOL! I would never want to help motivate you! Psssssshhhhh!

See?!? The devil. Though, actually....upon examining the evidence it is clear that I really need to get my butt into gear and both of us need to stop reinforcing our far-too-high levels of self-esteem. But then what fun would that be?! If we stopped doing that, then I couldn't call my friend The Devil, when I'm pretty sure that beneath her very pouffy hair there are little red horns hiding.

(A note from KDub) - One of the many things I treasure about our friendship is our mutual lack of shame when it comes to enjoying trashy tv. And although I may be the devil by way of helping KP stay unmotivated, I will leave the Prada-wearing to her fabulousness. This devil wears flip flops, and I am sure KP is ok with that.

YOU'RE SLOPPY BABIES!!

I mentioned to my daughter the other night that Sue Sylvester is my idol. Her response? "You are not allowed to buy tracksuits."

I will leave it to you, KP, to find followers, as I am barely capable of using this blogging technology. I must go pray for Brett Michaels now.

Seriously, who lets us have a blog?

Because really? No good can come from this. Until I have a more concrete blog post I will leave you with this thought...

"I will no longer be carrying around an ID. Know why? People should know who I am."

Well said, Sue Sylvester.