astronaut mike dexter

I went out with the matchmaker’s pick tonight, and though she doesn’t (and probably won’t ever) know it, I owe her an apology.

I really thought I wasn’t going to like him and was, in fact, mentally composing a “what a disaster” post on the way to the date. (I realize this is unattractively pessimistic, but it’s based on a combination of reflex self-preservation and an awkward voicemail/phone conversation from a few days ago.)

But I was pleasantly surprised.

He was cute. A little cleaner cut than I like, but cute. Big, blue eyes.

We had dinner at a really great Cuban restaurant I’d never been to—a hole-in-the-wall kinda place—and then a group salsa lesson in the restaurant.

He did the gentlemanly bells and whistles: pulled out my chair, helped me into my coat, walked me to my car. I appreciate those things. I’m not certain about the chemistry yet, but I’m not ruling it out.

The kicker?

He’s an FBI field agent.

No, really. He carries a gun and taps people’s phones and is part of mob stings and so on. In fact, the mob is his area.

Just writing that I’m giggling because it sounds so made up.

But I live in DC. Here, a government job can fall anywhere between sanitation and espionage. It keeps things interesting.

We have a potential second date next weekend, work schedule permitting.

In related news, two hours prior to the date I was pocket-dialed by the lawyer I went out with several months ago, the date that went SO well he asked me on a second within the hour … and then I never hear from him again. Kinda funny. I only know it was a pocket dial because of the swishy, wordless voicemail he left. So much for the semi-comforting thought that maybe he’d just lost my number.

In other related news, an hour or so before that I received a text from TSG, who I haven’t heard a peep out of in weeks.

ROB REINER: What do they call that? When everything intersects?

TOM HANKS: The Bermuda Triangle

Yep.

Pretty much.


Throwback Thursday: Adelaide singing “A Dream is A Wish Your Heart Makes” from Cinderella, which once upon a time, she sung quite regularly around the house.

Singing Disney songs in the bathtub while washing her hair with painted fingernails.

Girlier than glitter, this one.


shnarfilyconfuzzled:

Super Families by Andry Rajoelina

GPOY

shnarfilyconfuzzled:

Super Families by Andry Rajoelina

GPOY


Oh my god. I’m Houdini.

Oh my god. I’m Houdini.

(via wanderingwithhope)


Spring has officially sprung in the DC area. See exhibits 1-5, gathered on my hour-and-a-half walk this morning.

I love spring. I’m IN love with summer, but I do love spring. You know, like a (non-kissing) cousin. Easter, though. It’s my least favorite holiday. In fact, I actively dislike it. It fills me with anxiety and melancholy and I have no idea why. (Buried childhood trauma?)

I passed a church marquee on the way back from dropping off Adelaide that read: “Silly rabbit, Easter is for Jesus.” Oh yes, by all means, let’s tell the under-7 crowd their chocolate was delivered by a moaning, bloody martyr. Excellent plan. And this only 20 or so miles from an anti-evolution billboard.

Anti-evolution. Is there anything more fascinatingly insane?

At least it was just a billboard (said Galileo and Giordano Bruno). 

*steps off soap box while wondering where it came from*

But the weather is lovely. And I have the house all to myself for the week. Adelaide is with her father, my parents are visiting my sister, and their dog is at the “spa.” I could make privacy angels.

I’ve been sleeping in Adelaide’s bed. I got used to sleeping in there when she was sick, and although I’m relishing the alone time, this big house is the tiniest bit creepy at night. Adelaide’s room is my security blanket.

I have a date on Wednesday with the guy the matchmaker sent my way. I’m gonna go—nothing ventured and all that—but after the message he left me and a brief phone call the other day, I get the sense I’m not going to like him. Well, not that I’m not going to LIKE him. I mean, I’m sure he’s probably going to be perfectly nice. I guess I should say I get the sense he isn’t going to be my cup of tea.

But we’ll see. I won’t know until I’ve met him.

Oh, and point of interest, no one told him I had a daughter. Do we not think this is important information to impart? It was really awkward to casually mention Adelaide on the phone, be met with stunned silence, and then have to explain that I have a child. Shouldn’t this have been part of the description of me he received?

His reaction is admittedly part of the reason why I feel he might not be for me, but I guess that’s not fair. Surprise isn’t a crime.

This is total TMI, but it’s my blog so I’m gonna write it anyway: I wish I had an established relationship going on. It would be nice to use this week of privacy for sex.

And that’s not just the spring talking.


do you wanna build a snowman

Adelaide and I drove to Raleigh today—in hours and hours of spring break traffic—for the exchange.

We listened to the Frozen soundtrack three times, with both of us singing along.

If you can listen to your child’s high, sweet, sadness-filled voice waft up from the backseat with “please, I know you’re in there … we only have each other … it’s just you and me … what are we gonna do?” and NOT feel your bottom lip tremble uncontrollably, you have a harder heart than I do.


thedaddycomplex:

lickystickypickyshe:

New diet plans.

It’s just a modest proposal.

Soylent Tween

thedaddycomplex:

lickystickypickyshe:

New diet plans.

It’s just a modest proposal.

Soylent Tween



ba-dum-CHING

ME: Adelaide, don’t drag Rapunzel around by her hair, ok? It’ll get … tangled.


For those going on internet blind dates (or just traveling somewhere alone)

slackmcnasty:

earthwindandherpes:

Kitestring is a simple webapp that checks up on you and sends a text message to your emergency contacts if you don’t respond by a designated time.

Enter your ETA and Kitestring will send you a text message to reply to. You can extend your check in time via SMS or check in early. If you don’t respond to Kitestring’s text message, your emergency contact(s) will get your customizable alert message. [x]

Important

FYI.

In related news, the matchmaker has found me a match—I’m seriously NEVER going to be able to write about this without getting Fiddler on the Roof stuck in my head—so it appears I may be going on my first totally blind date soon.

Gulp.

(via maniacopazzo)