Monthly Archives: June 2008

We’ll return after these messages

I really want to write about the Traverse City trip, mainly to get it all out before it’s forgotten.

But I’m entirely too exhausted. Who knew drinking wine and walking more than a mile in sand could wear a girl out.

But I will blog the highlights tomorrow. Maybe. Or the next day. Depending on my recovery time. Those sand dunes pack a wollop.

For now, I’ll leave you with a couple money shots. Consider them your own Pure Michigan ad.

Peninsula Wine Cellars, on Old Mission Peninsula
Peninsula Wine Cellars on Old Mission Peninsula. One of six we visited on our wine tour.


Glen Lake — Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park


It doesn’t look like it…but that dune was a bitch to climb.


Ahh, Lake Michigan…still in Sleeping Bear Dunes Nat’l Park.

If you’re not a Michigander, but are into outdoorsy things, or wine (especially wine of the white variety), check out the Traverse City area and the dunes. And if you are a Michigander and haven’t been there, getcha booty up north, yo!


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Filed under DD (aka My Man), travel

Who would have thought?

Today marks the 365th day (366 with the leap year) since my first official date with DD. To some of you long-term relationship folk, this may seem trivial; but to me it’s a pretty big deal. I dated someone during and after college for about 3 years, but it was so on and off, I don’t think we ever actually celebrated an anniversary. So this past year, with all its stability and relative ease has been amazing.

Last night (or early this morning if you want to get technical), DD leaned over and said “Happy Anniversary.” I replied “I know. A whole year! Who would have thought us two relationship-challenged people would make it this far.” Along the way, we’ve each had our requisite freak-outs and come to Jesus meetings, but we’ve somehow worked through it.

As I reflect on the past year, all I can think is that I really care for this guy (dare I say I love this guy…). And because there hasn’t been an insane amount of drama as there was in past relationships, I can actually see a future with this guy. I can picture our life in my head and that’s scary. As I’ve said before, he’s a little slow, so while celebrating a year is a big milestone, there’s still a long road until any sort of white dress. This thing is far from locked down, but it’s closer to that point than I’ve ever felt.

Since I’ve never celebrated this kind of thing, and since I’m a nerd, I’ve decided to do a special blog post in honor of the occasion. I present 20 fun facts in no particular order about our relationship, our history, or why I like him so much.  While he doesn’t read the blog, I think it still pays a nice homage to the man behind the Supergirl.

  1. At my birthday party last year, after only knowing me a week-ish, he got on the dance floor at the club and danced with me — without me asking.
  2. Yet, he’s an awful dancer. But his dancing makes me laugh…in a good way.
  3. After the birthday party and each of our first few dates, he texted me with a “I had a great time and look forward to seeing you again” kind of text. Extra attention is always nice. 
  4. After about 2 months of dating, I invited him to come with me to Lake Michigan over Labor Day to visit some friends. I had planned on going for just a day, but he suggested extending the trip to the entire weekend, having never met my friends and barely knowing me. And we had a great time.
  5. When I complain about an aspect of our relationship that he has a part in (i.e. his crazy work schedule), he understands and respects my side.
  6. He makes me a priority. Even with his crazy schedule and need for space, he gives up things to be with me. This is actually a new concept for me.
  7. He’s a goofball.
  8. We think alike. In fact, there have been occasions when he’ll bring up a subject that I was thinking about at the same moment, and vice versa.
  9. I sleep more soundly next to him than I have with any other guy. For some reason, this is a determining factor in how good a fit someone is for me.
  10. He has no game. And I love that.
  11. He loves Detroit and city life. And I’m a city girl.
  12. He’s good to me. My mom once said that my father has never been an extremely vocal man as far as expressing mushy feelings, but that he’s always been good to her and that’s what’s important. And it’s so true. I’ve always looked for the mushy expressions of love, but isn’t this more important? Actions speak louder, and all.
  13. He’s upwardly mobile. It may sound materialistic, but oh well. Truth is, my self-worth is wrapped up in my career, so it’s probably only natural that I enjoy a man who is equally focused on his career and is doing well at it. I feel like DD places the same value in his job that I do in mine. Probably more so. And that’s OK, I don’t mind a guy that can provide for me, even though I’m perfectly capable of providing for myself. (I know, I know, it’s all very 1950s of me. Don’t hate, feminists among you.)
  14. He likes fine things…and not-so-fine things. We love our greasy spoons and dive bars as much as we love 4-diamond dining establishments. It’s nice to share in the variety, which leads me to…
  15. He motivates me to try new things. Why the hell do you think I’m playing in a softball league, when I never even owned a baseball glove until this past April?!?!
  16. He doesn’t hold my flaws against me.
  17. He’s cutey-cute-cute (this really should go without saying!)
  18. His family is important to him.
  19. He’s nice. Which sounds generic and cliche, but I’ve never had so many friends of the guy I’m seeing say how nice their friend (my guy) is. His friends and acquaintances are constantly confiding in me, saying he’s one of their favorite people or saying he’s the nicest person they know.
  20. I trust him. Which I’ve never completely experienced with someone. Usually I’m a Jealous Janice, often for no real reason. With him, I just don’t play that game.


Filed under DD (aka My Man), glass half full, relationships, Uncategorized

Excuse me while I waste precious time

I’m blogging at work. For no other reason than because I can. Why you ask? It’s the first time in 2 weeks that I feel caught up after taking on this new (but not really new because it’s the same job only more piled on) job. And I don’t know what to do with myself.

I’ve never blogged at work. Well, wait. Maybe I did once, but I think it was because I had a story so good, so juicy, I was afraid I would forget it by the time I was able to get home and get comfy on my favorite only fabulous red couch. Of course, now, I can’t remember which oh-so-good, oh-so-juicy post that was. Obviously it was a pivotal life-altering moment.

But I digress. Onward and upward.

Blogging at work feels a little weird. A little illicit if you will. Not nearly as illicit as being violated by a stripper, but illicit nonetheless. Do you blog at work? Do you feel the same or am I the only one out there feeling all guilty and clandestine? I feel like I’m executing some secret operation, what with my mouse poised and ready to click my screen over to a more work-related project, and my furtive glances to the hall in front of my office.

On the other hand, I kind of like it. It knocks the whole blogging thing off my to-do list so that when I get home and cozy up on said couch, I can happily NOT turn on the computer and instead turn my attention to some excellent Friends and Seinfeld re-runs or other similar time waster. As much as I love the whole blogging thing, staring at a computer screen when I get home from 8 hours of doing the exact same thing gets a little, well, burdensome. It’s really much easier if I can take care of all computer-related things between 9 and 5. But then there’s that pesky work thing again. Hmm.

So, what was this post supposed to be about aside from my need to waste time? It was going to have a theme. Hmmmm.

Oh yes, pet peeves. (I know…totally related to concerns over blogging at work, right? You can see the common line between the two, can’t ya? Don’t worry, I can’t either. Such is my brain.)

Pet peeves. I’m a big pet peeve person. Easily annoyed by the little things. In fact, I have an entire category entitled “peeves” here on my blog, yet I’ve only used it once. When I started this blog, I thought my voice would be a lot more cynical that it has ended up being. Some would say being all sunshine and flowers all the time is a good thing, but I feel like it’s taken away a lot of my blogging fodder. Because I find the cynical voice so much funnier than the “I’m so happy I have a fabulous boyfriend who loves me (even though he doesn’t say it) and life couldn’t be better” voice. How boring.

To inject something other than sunshine and flowers, I present two of my most recent pet peeves.

  1. Why do the asswipes who drive large conversion vans or trucks have to park all wonky-eyed in the very narrow public parking structure near my office? Every day I have to navigate my own boat of a Taurus through it and I’m constantly afraid of hitting one of their larger than life vehicles. Because they like to take up two spots. Or park in a manner that almost blocks the entire driving lane. What, because you singlehandedly illustrate our nation’s dependence on foreign oil, you get to park however you want?
  2. Construction season in Southeast Michigan can officially kiss my ass. I almost got barricaded in my city this morning because I couldn’t find an entrance ramp to the freeway that gets me out of my city and off to work. I’ve never felt so trapped, except earlier this summer when all exits leaving/entering the city of Detroit seemed to be closed. There really should be detailed construction alerts on the news every morning so that I can find out what has changed in the past 24 hours. Then again, here in Metro Detroit, that “little” segment, would probably encompass the entire half-hour news show.

For you optimist lovers out there, sunshine and flowers will no doubt return tomorrow with a special post celebrating 365 (366 with the leap year) days in a stable, romantic relationship.


Filed under career, DD (aka My Man), Detroit, peeves, rambling nature, rants

There were fireworks when we met

Tonight was the 50th annual Target Fireworks. On this occasion last year, I was on my second date with DD.

Some people say they see fireworks when they meet someone great. Me on the other hand? I literally saw them.

Our first date had been the night before, and it had been great. We’d gone out for sushi and then headed back to my place and watched Top Gun, because he’d never seen it. We cozied up on the couch the entire time…there was more coziness than I think I’ve ever had on a first date. I talked through the entire movie because I was so nervous. Will he kiss me? Does he like me? Do I like him? God, he’s hot.

Ah, the joys of new relationships.

Our date was so good, he invited me to a BBQ his roommate was throwing the following night in honor of the fireworks. I agreed, even though I didn’t know any of friends. My friend who set us up was kind enough to go with me and hang around until DD showed up. I can still picture him walking across the park in his suit, straight from a hard day of due diligence (hence the DD, duh!). Gosh I love a man in a suit.

Eventually, we headed off to meet up with our friend (who set us up), who also hooked us up with a fabulous rooftop view for the main event. When the fireworks started, we were so close, it felt like we could reach out and touch them. We’d been drinking, which meant I was losing my requisite second-date awkwardness, and we were getting cozier by the minute. Watching the fireworks, we were all huggy and coupley and a few people even asked our friends how long we’d been dating. They thought it had been months, that’s how natural we were acting together.

After the fireworks were over, we headed to a bar for some food. Cuddley the whole way, we settled in at the bar with my friend (who set us up) and some others. It was late, I was tired, and all I could think was that I really wanted to go home with this guy. But I barely knew him, and I didn’t want to screw it all up with a one night stand. I asked my friend how I should handle the situation and she replied “just let it go as far as you want, and then put a stop to it. Or just flat out tell him you’re not going to bone him.” Yeah, she’s kinda blunt like that. Somehow, neither option fit. But I was tired enough and my hormones were amped up enough that when I went back to sit next to him and he asked where I wanted to go next, I told him to take me home. To his home.

I was able to prevent any one night stand mistakes with a simple: “Just so you know, I’m not a good time girl” comment. I thought it would be a light-hearted way to break the ice. I meant it jokingly to get the point across. But the poor man didn’t know what to do with himself. Thinking back, what the hell is a good time girl?!?! What the hell does someone who’s not a good time girl do?! Anyway, I recovered and luckily he hasn’t held that ridiculous comment against me since he now understands my nerdy sense of humor! And understands I am, in fact, a good time girl.

So, with all that good history, I’ve been looking forward to fireworks night all year. Ready to relive the memories, maybe even snag the same view. But alas, it was not to be. DD’s out of town working. I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, and in fact I almost forgot they were happening tonight. But then I turned the TV on to watch and it hit me. This sucks. It’s just not the same. And as sappy as it is, it’s actually slightly depressing that DD and I can’t be together to re-experience one of our big milestones.

I texted DD with a photo of me sitting on the couch, watching the fireworks, lamenting about what a bummer it was he couldn’t be here. He replied:

“Don’t be sad. Look at the bright side. Last year, you didn’t know what lied ahead. This year you know you have someone who really likes you and we have a great weekend ahead of us.” (referring to our upcoming anniversary trip to Traverse City.)

Immediately turned my frown upside down. Ugh, I’m in this one deep. Scary…but so good.


Filed under DD (aka My Man), Detroit, rambling nature, relationships

How I spent my weekend -OR- How I came to be mauled by a stripper

It has been quite the interesting weekend. Full of attending a wedding, doing some bar hopping and being mauled by a stripper.

That last part kind of makes you forget about the rest of what happened this weekend, doesn’t it?

Let me preface the story by saying I have never been to a strip club. Yep, that’s right, I’m a strip club virgin. Yet I’ve always been intrigued.

So on Friday night, I rolled down to the D along about 11 to meet up with DD and his friends. We decided to go to a bar down the street, which just happens to be across the street from the D-List strip club downtown. Which also happens to be on the same street I work. Yes, I work down the street from a strip club. I’ve walked by this club every day for nearly 4 years, always wondering what was inside.

As we were sitting outside of the bar, looking at all the people at the strip club, we tossed around the idea of heading over. There was one other girl in the group, a girlfriend of one of DD’s out-of-town friends. It was her first time in the group and I have a feeling she was just doing her damndest to fit in. So when the strip club came up, she immediately got on board. I said I’d be up for it, so I could finally see what all the fuss was about.

The strip club was no bigger than my little apartment, with just one small stage about the size of a large dining room table. We found a booth, ordered some drinks and settled in. DD and one of his friends turned their attention to the TV to watch the Tigers game (I love that he was more interested in the Tigers game than the half naked women), and his other friends headed to the seats by the stage with some dollar bills. I just sat back in the booth and watched in fascination.

All I kept thinking was that strippers have some serious athletic ability, and that this really isn’t as sexual as I thought it would be. I realize these strippers are by no means the best of the best, but still…they weren’t so pretty, didn’t seem at all into it, and even when taking their tops off, there was no mystery. The song ended, off came the top. That was that. Like how I’d take my bra off before getting into the shower. No theatrics. No panache.

Until Cinnamon came on. Cinnamon swung around the pole, climbed the pole, made the pole her bitch. The highlight came when she dived into the lap of the other girl we were with, who was sitting with the guys at the stage. Our mouths dropped, we laughed, and secretly I thanked God that wasn’t me. ‘Cuz who wants some stripper’s crotch all up in their face?

But then I made the mistake of making eye contact with Cinnamon.

She saw me and immediately headed across the stage and down the steps, which were near our booth. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet to take me onstage. What. The. Hell??

For those of you who don’t know me in real life, I’m not what you’d call a flamboyent sort. Some may even say I’m conservative. I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I’m definitely not someone who’s going to get up on stage at a strip club. Instead, I’m someone who thought she would feel very uncomfortable and awkward in a strip club, not to mention being pulled on stage by a stripper.

But there I was, walking up the stairs.

At first I protested, but then I thought “How bad can this be? I like to be the center of attention and I’ve always wanted to learn how to pole dance (well not always, there was a time when I was three and just liked watching David the Gnome, but you get the idea…)” So, I followed the woman on stage, grabbed one of the poles, still not quite sure what to do, when she began manhandling me. Or woman-handling me, I suppose.

I thought she was just trying to get me to get up on the pole, so I sort of started to make my way up by hooking my leg around it. In general, I was just do the things you do when you’re standing on strip club stage in front of a bunch of strange men. But no, ladies and gentlemen, she was not helping me up on the pole, she was helping me to the floor.

At which point I found myself in a girl-on-girl porn flick.

Except it was live. And we I was fully clothed. And we were in front of DD and allllll his friends. Before I knew it, she had taken me from being on my knees and flipped me onto my back and thrown my legs over my head (see? yoga really does come in handy! All that flexibility work pays off…you never know when you may have to be violated by a stripper!) In seconds it was over and I was left to crawl off the stage, numb with shock and awe.

DD helped me down and the first thing out of my mouth as soon as I could take a break from the laughing was “how much cash did you give her?!” He looked at me sheepishly and replied “$5”.

“Good,” I said. “She deserved it.”

And she did. She popped this strip club virgin’s cherry in a way I hadn’t expected. DD told me afterward that he was afraid I’d be pissed at the situation, but actually I found the whole thing hysterical. I was so out of my element and unsure of what the hell was going on, but at the same time, I do love being the center of attention. So it was OK.

Except that I felt the strong urge to take a shower.

And FYI, this quite possibly may be the most exciting blog post I will ever write. Because I can’t think of a situation that could happen to me that would top being mauled by a stripper.


Filed under DD (aka My Man), Detroit, Excuse me while I trip on myself, Uncategorized

The perils of living alone, part trois

I just found out a former coworker passed away. She was an older woman and had a heart attack.

That’s not what this post is about; it’s about what happened after she passed.

She lived alone. Her brother was out of town and kept trying to call her, with no answer. Finally he sent the landlord into her apartment, who then discovered what happened. They think she had been dead for two days.

Talk about a peril of living alone.

I’ve often thought about this. I know I’m young, and the chances of a heart attack are unlikely. But truly, you never know what could happen. My mother constantly reminds me that since I rarely call her, she would never know if something bad happened to me. We talk maybe once a week. And I like it that way. I communicate with other people in the meantime, but if they didn’t hear from me for a couple days, they probably wouldn’t think anything was strange. At least not strange enough to bust down my door and see if I’m lying naked in my shower, immobilized by a broken arm. For that kind of a reaction, I feel like it would have to be after several days of my disappearance. There would be no phone tree fan-out to find out if anyone had heard from me — because most of my friends are independent, spinning circles around me instead of one cohesive unit who know one another.

I never thought about all the perils that come with living alone.  I hate the idea that if something happened to me, no one would know — perhaps for several days. I love the independence that comes with living alone…but I’m not a fan of the perils. And I’m not sure how to reconcile the two. Sure, I could have a check-in buddy who I talk to every night before hitting the sheets. But as much as I love all my friends who could easily serve this purpose, I don’t want to be tied down like that. Isn’t the whole idea of living alone so you don’t have to check in? I’m not a phone-talker, the idea of having to have a 15 minute conversation every night with someone is just horrible to me. Even if it’s with one of my best friends.

Sure, DD should probably serve in this role. I’d be more inclined to talk to him every night before I lay me down to sleep. But we don’t have that kind of a relationship. We’re both anti-phone, so we rarely use it. We text or e-mail daily, but if we go a day without, or one of us doesn’t reply, we assume the other is too busy right then. If we go a couple days without communicating, one of us will reach out to make sure all is well, but we know the default answer is probably that everything is just fine, so we’re not really worried. But what happens when things aren’t fine? At what point do you worry and go into overdrive?

God, I feel like now I have to go create some sort of elaborate phone tree so that if something ever happens and I disappear for two days, everyone knows how to get a hold of everyone and they find my body while it’s still recognizable and before my story turns into one of those “it’s so sad,” [storyteller shakes head.] “she wasn’t found for a week. Can you imagine!” tales that I shared above. This is all a lot of work for a girl who just chose to get a place on her own so she could enjoy a little space.

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Filed under DD (aka My Man), glass half empty, perils

A magnificent vista

As you may have read, DD took me to Iridescence for my birthday this past Friday. Iridescence is a AAA 4-diamond rated fine dining establishment at the top of the new Motor City Casino/Hotel in Detroit.

My two word review: Yummily Romantic

My more detailed review:
We arrived promptly at 7:30 for our reservation, only to find that they’d lost it. We seem to have bad luck with this as it has happened before. But no worries, they seated us right away, and in my opinion, we had the best seat in the house. Iridescence is a small-ish rectangular restaurant with an open kitchen and one wall of windows. There is seating along the windows, and then more seating a couple steps up from that. We were in a corner booth on the “upper” level that faced the city. Looking out the wall of windows, you could see downtown, old Tiger stadium, and the Ambassador bridge to Canada. All quite breathtaking as the clouds set and the city lit up. Perfect for a romantic birthday dinner. I really wanted to pull out my trusty camera and snap some pics, but I thought that would look a little, well, low-class. And I didn’t want to look low class at such a high class locale.

As for the food, it was quite yummy. A good list of appetizers and salads; we selected the sampler platter that included a piece of tuna sashimi, a lobster roll, an eggplant ravioli, and a scallop. Just one of each, you know how fine dining is…bite size. I immediately regretted not ordering a salad, but I was trying to not have DD drop an entire paycheck on my belly.

Waiting for dinner, we had some tasty bread (only one piece, the bus boys carefully helped us make our bread selections, no bread basket cluttering up the table here). We also enjoyed an extra little appetizer — a slice of cucumber wrapped around a crab mouse — compliments of the chef.

For the main entree, I ordered chilean sea bass, which came with some asparagus as well as crab and white cheddar grits. I know that sounds odd, but OHMYGOD was it good. I could have eaten an entire bowl of that shit. My sea bass was perfectly cooked — so flaky in fact that I could hardly pick it up with my fork. DD ordered the rack of lamb. I only had a small taste because it was medium rare, and though the chef recommends that, my stomach does not. But it was so good, it just slid down my throat, no arduous chewing needed.

Our server was very attentive, giving us background of the restaurant and letting us know how fresh everything is and their commitment to organic food. After dinner she brought us hot towels, which was the moment the “amateur” showed in my amateur foodie self. She gave us the towels and said something about “after dinner cleansing”. All I could think was: “What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? Put it on my face? Because a nice hot towel on my face would actually feel really good right about now.” But I knew better, so I kind of wiped my mouth and waited until she left when I looked at DD and he said “it’s to wash your hands, duh.” Duh, indeed.

The dessert menu was loaded down with fruit options and if there’s one thing I require about my dessert it’s that it includes chocolate and NO fruit. So all of those were out, but they did have a fabulous sampler that included so much chocolate I didn’t know what to do. DD and I split that and spent the next hour enjoying dessert, cuddling up in the booth, and watching the city lights. We’d already killed a refreshing bottle of Riesling, so we moved on to espresso (him) and a mojito (me).

Before we left, another little treat was brought out, compliments of the chef. I decided I’m really a big fan of the whole “compliments of the chef” thing…makes you feel all special and one-of-a-kind.

Iridescence is definitely the place for special occasions as I couldn’t even guess what our final bill came to. But if you’re in the market for a special occasion destination, it’s the place to hit. The view alone sells it, followed closely by the service and quality of the food. Their 4-diamond rating was given to them for the past several years when they were located in the casino basement. Now that they’re on the 16th floor, they have an entirely different ambiance and I’m wondering if they’ll get that last coveted diamond. I hope so.


Filed under DD (aka My Man), Detroit, foodie, Uncategorized