Familiarity Breeds Contempt, Part 2

Let's see, where were we? Oh, yes. I have my intervention talk with E.

I told her I do not understand why she doesn't move home, back to Minnesota. She misses her family so much. She's really close to them. She doesn't own a house, she hates her job anyway, she doesn't have any money...if I were in her shoes, I'd pack up and stay with my mom until I got my act together. Maybe go back to school. Away from all the bars. I told her I don't understand why she won't leave her job, where she is overworked and underpaid, and now working with her ex-boyfriend AND his entire family, who never liked her and are mean to her. I mean, there literally is no good reason to stay at that job. Everything is so obvious to me, but she just sort of agrees and then makes excuses for why she can't change anything in her life. None of her arguments have any merit. I swear, she is determined to stay miserable!

I almost laughed when she said, "You know, it's so funny that you are telling me all of this. Almost like an intervention. W even said the same thing to me the other day. She said, 'I feel like I need to stage an intervention with you, E.' Funny, right?"

I swear, there could be giant, flashing signs in front of her face, and she would not even see them.

If two people who know you well are both saying the same thing, what does that tell you???

I am pretty surprised W never told me what living with E was like. She never gave me a heads up or hinted at anything. So when E began to do things like sleepwalk and handwash the dishes in the middle of the night, in a totally dark kitchen, I had to figure things out by myself. And E's most recent ex, B, also never gave me any indication that he was dealing with the same kind of wackiness I was, although I'm sure he must have. I can only imagine the long list of crazy experiences we have witnessed individually. It is pretty amazing, though, that neither of them have ever approached me to talk about E's antics. I wonder if W and B just have more patience than I do. Or if they were both relieved that she was living with me instead of them, so they kept their mouths shut. Can't say that I blame them.

So back to the intervention conversation with E. As she went on about her problems, I began to understand what was really going on. After telling her how worried I was and how abnormal her behavior was, I told her that she might want to think about getting a shrink or some kind of professional help, in addition to rehab. She told me that she used to go to a shrink, but that she stopped going.

Knowing she has pretty good health insurance and loves nothing better than to whine about her problems, I asked her why.

"Because he told me I'm bi-polar, and I know that's not true."

OMG. Lightbulb. As soon as she said this, it all made sense! The insomnia, followed by sleeping straight for 3 days. The anti-depressants (to counter-act her "down") combined with the Adderol (to counter-act her mania). The impulse shopping. The sad, weepy days where she would be totally bummed. Followed by days where she was in a fantastic mood. Yet nothing in her life had even changed.

Being a librarian, I decided to do some research and looked in the DSM-IV, one of my favorite books ever, because you can diagnose your friends, your family and yourself with mental disorders (you think I'm joking, but I'm not. It really is fun. And we are ALL in there, trust me. I'm in there at least twice.). Well, it turns out that E could be the poster child for Bi-Polar Disorder.

Negative thinking that stops you from making decisions? Check.
Self-medication with alcohol? Check.
Loss of appetite? Check. (The girl never eats, I swear.)
Problems concentrating? Check.
Bouts of rage? Check. (She can blow up at the drop of a hat sometimes -- she's one of those girlfriends who makes a mountain out of a mole hill, a source of lots of relationship problems for her.)

At this point, there is very little doubt in my mind that E is bi-polar. But I also know she's in a deep denial about this, which is something no one can help her with. So as irritated as I am with her, I am also worried about her and feeling pity towards her. She is so unhappy. Her life is a trainwreck.

Now, I don't know if her bi-polar disorder is responsible for her need to re-organize all of her worldly posessions twice a week, or her obsessive stalking of her ex, or her abily to dwell on things until the cows come home. Or her innate ability to call me at the worst possible times. All I know is that she needs help. And that I'm glad she's out of my house.

Which are some pretty bad mixed feelings. I'm sitting at the intersection of Guilt Street and Annoyance Avenue, a very odd place to be. You see, I have so much pity for the girl. Her sister died at age 30 of breast cancer, and E was very close to her. E got tested and found out that she also has that breast cancer gene, which means she has an 80% chance of getting breast cancer. So to prevent this, E had a voluntary double mastectomy. Which totally sucks. And I just feel so guilty bitching about her. For a long time, I kept giving her the benefit of the doubt. My internal dialogue went like this: "Well, I'm sure I would be a basketcase, too, if my sister died that young and I might die of the same thing, causing me to volunteer to remove my boobs." (This health concern did not stop her from smoking like a chimney, btw. Another example of her great decision-making skills.)

But after a while, this argument couldn't justify her irritating habits or soothe my frazzled nerves. I began to divorce my worries and pity about her health from my resentment towards her. I compartmentalized these emotions. My internal dialogue turned into: "Well, I lost my brother and my dad in the same calendar year, and I don't feel the need to ruin other people's lunches or drone on and on about what an asshole my ex is."

And I grew weary of her. Exhausted, even. Encounters with her, which used to be friendly and exciting, were now dreadful and redundant, not to mention absurdly pathetic. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job at concealing my joy when she told me she was moving out. I couldn't wait, to be honest.

The day her new boyfriend came to load up her stuff, I was in an excellent mood, I must say. I even smiled as I watched them load up the truck. I even offered to help. :D

Almost as a final parting gift from E, I have had to deal with The Table Incident. Let me explain:

When E moved in, she brought with her a HUGE, gorgeous kitchen table, with four chairs, all painted a glossy white. It looked like it was designed for my house, it went so well with my living/dining area. I love big tables, where I can spread out with books or projects. That table almost made living with E worth it.

So I was ecstatic when she told me she was moving out BUT was leaving the tables and chairs with me until further notice. She didn't need them at her new place, which was fully furnished. This was fabulous news.

A couple weeks later, E moved out. Not in the traditional sense of the word, in that all of your stuff is now at a new location and you no longer reside at your previous home. No, no. Not with E. For her, moving out takes a solid month. Which was, like most things E does, annoying as shit to me. I also happen to consider taking your sweet time to move out of someone's house to be fairly rude. But that's just my personal opinion. By that point, I just wanted her OUT OUT OUT. And all she did was drag, drag, drag her ass. So instead of having my house all to myself, I had to deal with random phone calls during that time: "Hey, I am coming over tonight to get some more stuff, ok?"

Most of you are thinking, "So, what's the big deal? You can just be conveniently not there when she comes over."

Oh, but I can't. Because E seemed to have a difficult time remembering what was hers and what is mine. She walked off with my George Foreman grill, after I told her which one was mine. In an admittedly childish retaliation, I hid her pizza stone until she brought it back. And she also managed to take one of my trashcans, which is only mildly irritating. If she managed to get anything else, I haven't noticed. But my point is, I had to be around to watch her move all her stuff out. Argh.

Finally, after weeks of this crap, she had moved all her stuff out. She also conveniently forgot to clean her bathroom or her bedroom, which were both filthy. Whatever. I certainly was not going to invite her back to clean them.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I thought I was free of her until further notice. I was enjoying the table and chairs so much, I was beginning to forgive her of all of her pain-in-the-ass ways.

But of course, nothing is ever really finished with E. She obsesses and dwells and changes her mind as often as she opens her mouth.

A couple of weeks after she had moved out, she called me to tell me she had changed her mind about the table and chairs. She was coming by to get them after work on Friday.

Leaving me with no table or chairs.

After she had told me 3 times that I could keep them until further notice.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. It also could have been PMS. But I was royally pissed off about this and bitched about it incessantly for the entire weekend. Ask CN. He was sick to death of hearing about it, poor guy.

"What are you going to do if she calls you in a couple of weeks to tell you she wants to keep them at your house again?" he asked me.

"I'm going to tell her that if they come back in, they are mine forever," I said. "And if she remembers that she left her computer monitor here, I'm going to tell her I haven't seen it. I'm sick of playing Little Miss Nice Guy. I am having an E-botomy. She's being removed from my life. No more phone calls. No more hanging out. I do not care to ever talk to her again, to be honest. She drives me nuts."

"She left her computer monitor? Can I have it?" he asked.

"Consider it yours," I replied, happy to be 100% E-free at long last.

Familiarity Breeds Contempt, Part I

Alright, so far, I am seeing choice #4 pop up in the votes the most, so today I will discuss the roommate issue a little bit more. In case you are scratching your head right now, E moved out the weekend of Halloween....in theory. (You'll see what I mean in Part II)

Now, I know I have familiarized you with E and her antics before. But I haven't really given you the whole story. So here we go.

I met E several years ago, through my friend W. At the time, they were roommates-- E rented from W. Every so often, we would all get together, so I knew E well enough to like her, but let me tell you, you never REALLY know someone until you live with them.

When W's boyfriend moved into her condo, which is pretty small, E began to feel like three was a crowd. And really, with a boyfriend around, I think most single girls would feel they were a third wheel. So I understood her feelings of discomfort and interest in moving out. Coincidentally, at the time, my old roommate K (who is a WHOLE other story which I won't get into right now) had moved out, and my extra bedroom was empty. So I invited E to move in with me.

That's when I got what I should have seen as Red Flag #1: "Oh, I would love to, but I'm really broke and I wouldn't be able to pay you a whole lot of rent, so I would feel bad doing that to you," E explained. I told her that since we were friends, I would cut her a deal, no problem. At that point, I needed the rent money. ANY rent money.

"Ok, well, how about you pay me $350 per month?" I offered. Where I live, this is a really good rent price, especially for living in a house, rather than an apartment.

"That's more than I'm paying now. I really can't afford to pay more than $230 per month," she replied.

Since I was really just wanted ANY extra money, I said ok. "You are a sucker," CN told me. I told him that we are friends, and I would feel bad if I charged her a price that broke her bank.

"$230 doesn't break anyone's bank, unless they are on welfare," he replied.

A little voice in the back of my head told me he was right, but I decided to ignore it. While E doesn't have a college degree (she dropped out), she does make a decent living working for a health benefits company. I don't know how much exactly, but she probably makes around $30,000-35,000. Looking back on it now, I do kind of feel like a sucker. When I made that amount of money, I was paying $500/month in rent.

Not long after E moved in, I began to learn more about her financial situation. With around $20,000 in credit card debt and an upside-down car loan, she was on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. Suddenly, her low rent request made a lot more sense to me. I told her to let me know if things got even worse and if she needed extra time to pay rent, or some other kind of help. She was my friend, after all.

Then, I started noticing the shopping. And I'm not talking about hitting big annual sales or Target or even Walmart shopping. E would buy brand new Coach purses. And not the little ones -- the BIG ones. She would justify the purchases by using $25 coupons she received in the mail for being a loyal Coach customer. "It's such a good deal! How can I not do it?" she would exclaim, showing off her new purchase. Then there were the matching shoes that had to be purchased to go with the purse. And if there was a party or an event coming up? She had to buy a new outfit. Often from places like Banana Republic or J.Crew. If nothing else, E is a well-heeled girl. I have to give her some props -- she's a fantastic dresser. But really, at what cost?

This was from the girl who swears she cannot afford to pay me more than $230/month in rent.

Then, there was her car. It was only about 2 years old, and it was a big, gas-guzzling SUV. It was newer and more expensive than my car. I am not saying that I am envious of her, because as you will soon see, that is the last thing I feel towards E. I'm just stating this as evidence of how outside of her means this girl lives. I make more money than E does, and my used car cost only $8,000. Hers was around $25,000. She eventually managed to trade it in and get a new car loan at a slightly lower interest rate. I thought this was a great idea, until she brought home her new car. It was a brand new, $25,000 car. "My payments are a little lower now. And it's much better on gas," she explained.

Is this girl for real???

Now, is it just me, or does it seem pretty stupid for someone in her financial situation to live this kind of lifestyle? I mean, it's a no-brainer, really. But wait -- it gets better.

One day, we were talking about her precarious financial situation. I managed to, in a round-about-way, aske her how in the holy fuck she got into this mess to begin with. Her explanation? Her ex-boyfriend from several years back, who we are pretty sure is a drug dealer (oh yes, she picks some real winners), showered her with luxurious gifts for so long (these were guilt presents, because he was cheating on her left and right) that she got used to them, and just can't seem to go back to anything less.

Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me.

I asked her what kinds of things he had bought her before he ripped out her heart and stomped on it. (Side note: It was a pretty shitty breakup -- he basically kicked her out of his apartment to make room for the new girlfriend, who he'd been cheating on her with. Yeah, he was a really great guy.) He had purchased for her: several Coach bags, shoes, perfume, a Rolex and (drumroll please) a Louis Vuitton purse. As in, a real one, NOT a knock-off from Canal Street or someone's car trunk.

Call me crazy, but if I was broke as shit, drowning in debt, and I had a bunch of junk that some asshole had bought for me with drug money to ease his guilt over cheating on me, I would sell that crap on eBay so fast it would make your head spin. But does she do that? No. She'd rather wear her Rolex every day, a constant reminder of not only a miserably failed relationship, but also her poor decision making skills. What the hell is this girl on, anyway?

Well, for starters, alcohol. Now, we all know that I don't drink anymore, so I am a little out of the loop, but I'm pretty sure it's not really very acceptable to drink beer on your lunch break. But this didn't stop E. I would come home at lunch to find one empty beer can in the trash, and a fresh one in her hand. Sometimes, she would get drunk on margaritas at lunch and go back to work. Yeah. I'm sure you're not surprised to hear this, but she also would drink heavily at night and on the weekends. In addition to knocking out a case of beer every week at home (an amount I already think is kind of a lot), she would go out at least 2 times during the week and every Friday and Saturday--drinking for about 5 hours straight. Now, E is a fun girl, I will give her that. But I also think a lot of fun people are alcoholics, and she's one of them. Not only was her safety impacted by her drinking (she would drive drunk if no one would was around to take her home and she came thisclose to getting busted for an open container once), but so was her budget and her job. She called in sick several times due to a hangover. I know a lot of people do this, but she would do it about once or twice a month. That's a lot.

In addition to the alcohol, E was also on a cocktail of pills. She's a Heath Ledger waiting to happen: anti-depressants, Xanax, Ambien and Adderoll were all put into her body every day. This is in addition to all the alcohol, any over the counter painkillers she would take, and if she was sick, antibiotics. She admitted to doctor shopping, especially when one of them would not refill her prescriptions.

As you can imagine, anytime her behavior became strange or erratic, I just assumed it was from all the chemicals she had swimming around in her body. Or an eccentric personality. After a while, I grew accustomed to her insomnia, her weekend sleep-a-thons, her drunken antics, her Ambien-induced sleepwalking, and her passing out in the bathtub. What, I never told that story? I can't believe I never told that one. I was probably trying to protect her by not spilling her personal life on this blog. But at this point, I doubt I will lose any sleep over it. If anything, I'm hoping this will serve as a warning to anyone using or thinking about using Ambien. The drug is evil, I tell you.

A few times, E would come home drunk, take her Ambien and watch TV in her bed. I have learned that drunk people need everything to be louder than sober people do, so several times I would wake up to the sound of her TV or music coming from her room. Knocking on her door, yelling her name and even shaking her did not wake her up. A couple of times, she was so PTFO that I thought about calling 911. She was seriously dead to the world. If there had been a fire, she would have burned alive. No joke. So I would eventually just give up, turn the TV or music off myself, and go back to bed.

This wasn't a huge deal, but it started to scare me as time went on. More than once, I would wake up in the morning to find that the oven had been on all night. E had gone out, gotten drunk, come home to make a frozen pizza, and then PTFO on her Ambien before turning the oven off. I was really starting to get worried, but always hoped it would be the last time.

The last straw came with The Bathtub Incident. One night, I was awakened by the sound of music coming from her bathroom. At this point, it was normal for her to be up all night, re-organizing her room as she often did when she had bouts of insomnia. I was annoyed, but I knew she hadn't woken me up on purpose, so I walked over to ask her to turn her music down. I knocked on the door. No answer. I yelled her name. No answer. Thinking she had passed out in her bed, I went into her room -- she was not there. She had to be in the bathroom. I peeked around the corner to look into her bathroom. She was passed out in the bathtub, with water up to her chest. I was panicked, and sort of froze for a minute, because what do you do? All I could think was, "What the fuck? I am so pissed at her for putting me in this situation. This is so fucking awkward and scary. At worst, she could drown. At best, I have to go in there and drag my wet, naked roommate out of the tub, which is very awkward!!"

So I went in and shook the crap out of her until she woke up long enough to mumble that she was fine. Then she passed right back out. I seriously didn't know what to do. She was too heavy and slippery for me to pick her up, because I tried. I was really furious that I even had to deal with this at 3am. I was starting to feel like her babysitter, and I was really just OVER IT. Looking back on it, I should have let the water out of the tub, but it didn't occur to me in my half-asleep stupor. I was just pissed. I took a good look at the depth of the water and realized that she was too tall to slip under it. (E is about 5' 9") At the time, that was good enough for me. I figured the water would eventually get cold enough that it would wake her up and she would get out. So I turned the music down and went back to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I totally panicked, because HOLY SHIT, I just left her there??? What the hell was I thinking??? I felt horrible. But I am a deep sleeper, and not the clearest thinker in the middle of the night. I still can't believe I did that, and I shudder to think of what could have happened. But at the time, I thought I had made a good decision. Stupid, I know. I feel really bad about that. Anyway, so I ran to her room and I saw that she was safe in her bed--WHEW. I didn't even tell her about it until several weeks later, because it was just so awkward, and I was so pissed about it, I didn't want to bring it up.

This, along with the random guy she left at my house, were major turning points in our relationship. I began to really resent her and grow very annoyed with her. Little things that hadn't bothered me before started to drive me up the wall. For example, every morning, she would ask me if her outfit looked ok. It always did, because she has the most gorgeous wardrobe you've ever seen, and thanks to the Adderoll, she's as thin as a rail. I am not nearly as good of a dresser as she, so it never made sense to me why she'd even ask for my opinion in the first place. After the Bathtub Incident, this little morning routine began to drive me insane. It began to feel like she just wanted to show off her clothes to me. As if that wasn't bad enough, I swear she began turning her iPod up more loudly, and she listened to the SAME four songs every morning. And she has really bad taste in music. For weeks, I had to listen to "Please don't stop the music please don't stop the music please don't stop the music!!" (that Rihanna song) at 67 decibels.

As if the morning wasn't bad enough, lunch breaks were even worse. When I go home for lunch every day, I like to read or watch "What Not to Wear". I don't mind a little small talk or gossip, but if E took her lunch at the same time, she would basically hijack my lunch time. E would often change outfits at lunch, so I would have to go through the whole outfit-approval discussion again. And instead of making small talk and letting me get back to my meal/book/tv show, she would use lunch breaks as an opportunity to inform me on one of the following topics:

OMG, You Won't Believe What Someone Did to Me!
My Ex-Boyfriend is an Asshole and You Won't Believe What He is Doing Now! (aka OMG, You Won't Believe What a Stalker I Am!)
OMG, I Hate My Job
OMG, My Boyfriend is Such an Asshole (Side note: he wasn't. He's actually a great guy. Who gave her the boot a few months ago, because he also grew tired of her crap.)

As you can probably gather from this list of topics, E has a tendency to be a martyr and dwell on things. She's a little obsessive about how people have wronged her. A lot of the time, like with her ex, she's right -- the guy is a total fucking jerk. But they broke up FOUR YEARS AGO. LET. IT. GO. She still, as far as I know, stalks his girlfriend on myspace, drives by their apartment, looks for his car when she goes out, etc. A lot of girls have done these things, including yours truly, but for FOUR years???? Good grief, Charlie Brown!

All of E's Martyr Talks got really old after a while. I just wanted to eat my sandwich and watch my show and be left alone. I did not go home for lunch to play therapist. To the same patient. With the same issues. Every day. Not surprisingly, she never took any of my (basic and obvious) advice anyway, which only irritated me further. It's like she is hell bent on making her life as difficult and emotionally upheaving as possible. I don't get it. So I began to take my lunch breaks very early, to avoid seeing her. She rarely went to lunch before noon, and never went back to work before 2pm (yeah, her job is another story!) . I have found that simply avoiding her works very well. I haven't had to watch The E Show in a very long time. (You know anyone like that? Every time they talk to you, it's all about them? Never about you? That's E in a nutshell.)

For a while, the nights and weekends were great -- she would be at her boyfriend's house, and I would be free of her. But as I said a little bit ago, several months ago, he apparently grew tired of her, too, and dumped her. So then she was suddenly at home all the time. When she started dating the guy she's currently with, I thought, "Great! Now she can start sleeping over at his house!" -- but I had no such luck. She managed to start dating a 33 year old guy who still lived with his parents. Not that he doesn't have any money -- he owns 3 cars. But I guess he still wants mommy to do his laundry. WTF.

So he started sleeping over all the time, which led to their shower antics and that time I kicked him out, etc--I have already told you about those things. He only made things worse.

One day, not too long before she moved out, I broke down and told E everything -- I went on and on and on. I talked about The Bathtub Incident, kicking her new guy out of the house, how she left the oven on all the time, how tired I was of getting up at night to turn things off, how she drove drunk, how absurdly she managed her money, how silly it was for her to obsess over her ex, how smoking cigarettes wasn't a good idea considering how much cancer ran in her family, how I was worried about her -- I went on and on and on, for about 30 minutes. I ended it with, "I am really worried about you and I think you need to think about going to rehab."

Know what her response was?

"OMG. You're right. I really need to stop taking Ambien. I will talk to my doctor and switch to something else."

When I started to tell her that wasn't really what I meant, she jumped in with,

"I am such a burden to you. It is so good that I'm moving out soon. I feel terrible. Don't worry. I will be gone soon. I am so sorry."

I guess some people just don't get it.

Stay tuned for Part II.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Be thankful you have a better head on your shoulders than my ex-roommate.

Cruise News, Part 3

As much as I have complained about the cruise, it was not all bad.

Friday, we were in port at Freeport. We decided not to go on any excursions that day, in order to save money. Besides, we were only there for about 7 hours, and none of the excursions sounded like they were can't-miss. Freeport is, according to all the travel websites and books I consulted, not anything worth seeing.

CN and I did look at the little tshirt shops that were literally right off the gangplank. I finally got to listen to someone speak in the local Bahamian accent. It sounds very similar to a Jamaican accent, but not as thick. After about an hour, we had seen everything there was to see, so we got back on the boat.

That night, we had our formal dinner. We went to the cocktail party beforehand, where we had yummy appetizers and drinks--all free. CN and I did a little slow dancing, which was nice (aw). For dinner, most of our group opted for the surf n turf combo: filet mignon and lobster tail. Aside from the lobster tail being rubbery and overcooked, it was good food.

Everyone changed into more comfortable clothes immediately after eating dinner, which doesn't really justify getting all dressed up to begin with. (Note to self: VB, you enjoy vacations which do not require formal wear.) Everything was going pretty well, and CN and I even managed to stay up with the rest of the group for about an hour. But by then, we were pooped, so we went to bed.

At some point that night, we were jarred awake by extremely loud banging on our door. At first, I imagined we were in the midst of some kind of Titanic-like sinking, or there was a big fire on board. CN, who was closer to the door, jumped up to see who was banging at the door.

No one was there. No one was even in the hallway.

Waking up in a panicked state is probably my least favorite thing in the whole world. So I was pretty pissed. "Stupid kids..." I mumbled, as I rolled back over to go back to sleep.

That's when the phone rang.

CN answered it.

"Hello?" asked CN.

*BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRP!!!* said Larva.

*click!* went the phone. Larva hung up on CN.

"It's Larva," explained CN. "I know him. He's not going to stop."

I groaned.

That's when the banging started again. As soon as CN would get up to tell Larva to stop, Larva would run down the hall, giggling, and finally ducking into his room in the nic of time. CN would come back to bed, and as soon as we had gotten comfortable and closed our eyes, the phone would ring again. Ignoring the phone did not work. It just kept ringing. Taking it off the hook caused it to make a very loud beeping sound. So we were forced to deal with the incessant ringing.

This went on for at least a half an hour. Banging. Ringing. Burping. Giggling. Repeat.

After round 3 of this, I had had enough. I stood up and informed CN that although Larva is his friend, I officially hate him and never wish to ever hang out with him again. And that this bullshit had to stop. Now.

CN was way ahead of me. He was even more pissed off than I was. "That's it. I'm punching him in the face. I'm going down to his room and when he opens the door, I'm clocking him," he announced.

CN went down to Larva's room. I can't remember how long he was there, since I was groggy at best. But I remember that CN came back frustrated that Larva wouldn't even answer the door. Neither would his wife, Sandra. (We found out later this was because she had PTFO.)

We tried to go back to sleep, but ended up tossing and turning for about an hour, since we were so wound up. We didn't sleep very well that night.

In the morning, we tried to get in better moods, despite Larva's lack of an apology. *grrrr* We had breakfast and then got ready for our port-of-call in Nassau. We all decided to spend $65 (each) on a 4 hour excursion and go together as a group. At 9am, we got onto a ferry for a 30 minute ride off the coast. By this point, the water was breathtaking. It looked like this, but better. I don't really know how to describe it, other than to say that all those photos you see of the Caribbean do not do the real thing any justice. The weather was perfect, and there was a nice breeze. Ahhh. So far, so good.

The ferry took us to a small island, where there was a beach, a bar, a souvenir shop and a snack shack. We had our photos taken, and then put our stuff down on some lawn chairs. Then, we went to a little roped-off area where we grabbed snorkeling equipment.

It was time to go swimming with sting rays.

Oh yes. The same animal that killed the Crocodile Hunter. Only these were de-barbed for our safety. Whew. On a side note, these animals are really creepy, so the barbs are really superfluous, IMHO.

I put on my snorkeling equipment and began swimming around the sting ray area. The creepy sting rays move like underwater birds. They tend to herd together and swim in schools. If you have ever seen a horseshoe crab, the sting ray looks like a flattened version of it! [Note: These two animals are not really related. Sting rays are related to sharks and horseshoe crabs are related to spiders and ticks. Sorry for the geek moment, folks.]

I am giddy with excitement about this whole experience. Not only were there sting rays of various sizes and colors, there were also white, blue and yellow fish. I am pretty sure some of them were Angelfish. I have gone snorkeling before, and I absolutely adore it. It's like being in a giant aquarium. So I was really enjoying this.

Until I realized........that I had no idea where my boyfriend was or if he was ok.

The same boyfriend who cannot swim.

Uh-oh.

I pulled my head up to look for him. I expected him to be in ankle-deep water, just watching everyone else, or practically drowning somewhere. He wasn't. He was only a few feet behind me, snorkeling!!! I was totally shocked. It turns out that he can sorta-kinda swim and doesn't start freaking out until the water is as deep as his chin. "Plus, the flotation device is helping," he said. (The flotation device was part of our snorkeling equipment.)

I was so proud of him.

Even if he jumped and squealed like a little girl any time one of the sting rays came close to him.

After letting us swim around for a while, the sting ray guides (keepers? handlers?) told us to line up into two lines and face each other. It was time to feed the sting rays. Cool! The sting rays must have known what the two lines meant, because they began to swim very quickly and swarm around us, rather than ignore us as they had moments before.

The guides (keepers? handlers??) then went around and handed each of us a handful of chopped up, raw squid. Um, thanks. Then they told us how to feed the sting rays by holding the squid under the water, just above the sand. The sting rays would swim over your hand and hoover up the squid parts. "They use suction to capture their food," the guide explained. Ew. Kind of like an underwater vacuum cleaner.

Thanks to my overactive imagination, the only image that came to mind was my arm, trapped inside a very angry sting ray, which was doing its best to suck the flesh off my bones as I screamed bloody murder and writhed in agony in the shallow area of this wading pool full of horrified cruise vacationers.

So when a sting ray came near me, I held the squid part under the water for a second, only to let go too soon and watch as the snack, intended for the sting ray, was snatched up by a fish. Oops. Sorry, Mr. Sting Ray. Next time, don't be so creepy, ok?

Next, I was shocked to see that some people were actually touching the sting rays. Didn't they realize they were risking their lives?? That their appendages could be shredded in an instant, much like a garbage disposal would, subjected to the unpredictable will of these shark cousins with extremely powerful suckage mechanisms in their mouths??? Were they insane???!! These are the pool drains of the animal kingdom! Keep your fingers and hair away, people!!!

"Cool! How does it feel??" I asked the guy across from me.

"Slimy!" he replied, excitedly.

"Oh, wow. I wanna touch one!" I said, suddenly forgetting my imagination's vivid and gory warnings.

The guy was right. They are slimy. Firm, but slimy. But as cool as it was, I didn't feel the need to touch them again. Once was plenty.

I looked down the line to see what CN was doing. He looked nervous and tense, and still jumped and yelped any time one of the sting rays came near. I couldn't help but laugh.

I found out later that a great deal of the yelping and jumping had to do with the fact that Larva had put squid parts in CN's pocket, so the sting rays were swarming around CN like bees.

Tee hee. As obnoxious as Larva is, I had to give him credit on that one.

After the sting rays, we had lunch and then hung out in the beach area for a little while. CN and I were enjoying the water, when we noticed a wild, fully barbed sting ray in the water. This was not one of the captive, tame ones we had just fed. It was huge, and it was headed our way.

This time, my overactive imagination threw potential newspaper headlines at me: "Couple, 29, Killed by Wild Sting Ray: 'It was just horrible to watch' witnesses say" and "Wildlife Community Warns of Vacation Danger: Man Never Had a Chance, Experts Say". So I grabbed CN's hand and practically dragged him out of the water lickety split.

"Gee, thanks, Mom," he said sarcastically.

"Shut up! I just saved your life! You can't swim!" I said.

He doesn't know that I was actually more scared of it than he was!!

Then it was time to go, so we all got back on the ferry and were, well, ferried back to our cruise ship. CN and I spent the rest of the day shopping in Nassau.

It was so nice to get off the boat, even if everything was just tshirt/souvenir shops. There was the occasional luxury goods store (Gucci, Bulgari, Fendi, Breitling), but the prices were still outrageous, even duty-free.

Like so many foreign cities around the world, escaping American culture was difficult: Ford cars on the streets, KFC was open for lunch and the U.S. Dollar was the currency. And everything was made in China. ;)

After wandering around for a while, I was very excited to see the big tent where they sell the fake designer handbags. I freaking love these things. They never look like the real thing, but they are still great-looking bags. This time, I got a big, yellow patent-leather Prada. (I will share a pic soon, promise!) I also got a small, black Coach and a large, black Coach tote. I got all three for $100. Yippee!!!!

I tell you what, if you ever go to The Bahamas, make sure you can make up your mind quickly. Everyone there is extremely pushy. They certainly do not take "no" for an answer! CN ended up buying a cigar from a kid, only to get him to shut up and go away. And they expect you to buy anything you look at longer than 5 seconds. I inspected one handbag for a good minute, only to tell the lady that I was not interested. She was really pissed and told me that I wasted her time!! "Well, you need to sell cuter fake handbags," I thought. Hmph!

By about 4pm, CN and I were pooped, so we went back to the boat and took another nice, long nap. It was the perfect end to a great day.

Cruise News, Part 2

This is Day #2 of the cruise.

Our gang spent most of their time hanging out by the pool. Although I don't like getting sunburned and I tend to get bored sitting by a pool all day, I decided to join in anyway. I was sitting on my chair, reading a magazine, as everyone else in our group was in the pool, drinking. They had been drinking since about 9am, so by this point, the group is quickly getting rowdy. They invited me to go down the pool's water slide with them. I had to admit, it looked like a lot of fun. So everyone put down their drinks and we all got in line. The slide was SO FUN!! After going down it, I hung out in the pool for a bit with everyone. It was all going fine and dandy, until CN asked Larva: "Hey, Larva. We've been drinking all morning, and we have all had to get out of the pool to go pee except you. Don't you have to pee??"

It turns out that Larva, a 35 year old father of 4, had been peeing in the pool.

And when I slid down the slide, I had gotten water in my mouth.

So that was the end of the pool for me, folks. At this point, I was starting to dislike Larva, but since he's CN's old college buddy, I decided not to say anything at that time. I just excused myself and took a shower. And a nap.

I hadn't really thought about it beforehand, but being on a cruise ship means that you are stuck with about 1,500 strangers, and you cannot escape them. Everywhere I went, it was impossible to be alone. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal, even if you are a people person like me, but trust me -- it is. Forget having romantic walks on the deck after dinner -- you will be joined by 50 total strangers, most of whom are loud and drunk. Forget having a nice, quiet breakfast with your sweetie -- you will have to eat with a table full of strangers, and you will feel obligated to make small talk. You will have the same small talk conversation with strangers every morning. This gets old quickly. Even finding a nice chair where you can read your book quietly is impossible. I read somewhere once that having at least one hour per day where you are totally alone helps relieve stress. You know what? It's true. Each day, I felt my stress level rising.

By the second day, I was starting to get cranky. Between Larva's antics, the disappointing food, the icky shower and being surrounded by strangers everywhere I went, I was getting a little irritable. Luckily, I kept it in check. My daily mid-afternoon nap helped. That bed made everything better. And thank goodness for the Discovery Channel -- I watched a lot of cool shows. But dammit, I could have done that at home for free, you know?

I would like to say that at least I wasn't bored, but I was -- hence the Discovery Channel binge. It was probably because I don't drink. All the drunk people seemed to be having a blast, especially if they were in the college-age range. There was always a spontaneous party at the pool, complete with dancing and drunken antics. I had fun doing that stuff when I was younger, but now, I'd rather read a book or go see a museum. (I am a frumpy, old dork. Trust me, I know.) It didn't help that everything was scheduled all the time. It made vacation feel like work. When I'm on vacation, I don't want to worry about being late for anything. I want to make my own schedule. Not be subjected to the whims of some cruise director.

There was always something going on, I will say that. A lot of people hung out in the casino. But CN and I don't gamble, so the casino didn't hold our interest. The bingo and trivia contests were at bad times for us (ie, nap time), or just didn't sound worthwhile. They had an art auction, but I didn't have the money to do that -- plus, the art was hideous. I really don't like musicals, so the night shows didn't sound fun to me. We kept hearing that the stand-up comedian wasn't very good, so we decided to skip that. I am not really the sort of person who wants to spend time learning how to make towel animals or line dance. All the activities felt like they were just something to do to kill time, not something I would normally want to do.

What I really wanted to do was go to some historic district, eat local food, go to a museum, take an old homes tour, check out local art and architecture, explore a wildlife preserve, or even just shop.....but none of these things can be done when you are on a cruise ship. I am a Culture Vulture, and I was stuck in a Cultural Wasteland. I know that most people have fun doing the stuff they had planned for us on the boat, but I am just not normal. I am a big nerd. I enjoy learning stuff in my spare time. That's part of the reason I am a librarian! Because I'm a total dork! I read random articles on Wikipedia when I'm bored! *sigh of frustration*

This is why I spent the vast majority of my time eating and sleeping. With a little reading and tv watching thrown in. And I paid about $400 to do this. Yeah. So I'm pretty mad that I wasted all that money. I wish I could just have fun like normal people do. But bars, cigarettes and drunk people annoy me, as do large crowds of total strangers with misbehaving children (seriously, I know you are on vacation, Mom and Dad, but does this mean your children literally get to do everything they want???? Ugh! Supervise your kids or leave them at home!).

I guess the highlight of each day was dinner. That was the meal where the food tended to be the best. Dinner was fun, because we got to eat with our group and no one else. Roger and Grace are really nice and fun people, so they made dinner really great. But we often didn't see them at all except at dinner time. As the days wore on, CN and I tried to avoid Larva more and more, since he was bugging us so much.

When you eat a big dinner at 8:30pm, it's hard to stay awake unless you proceed to go get drunk right afterwards. And since CN had been drinking all day, up until dinner, he was ready to pass out every night after dinner -- he just can't drink for 14 hours, like Larva can. The bed was the only fun thing I had found on board, so CN didn't have to twist my arm to talk me into hitting the sack at 10pm most nights. Plus, this was the only time he and I could be alone.

I know I am being really negative, but it's not all bust. There were some really fun times. I will talk about those tomorrow.

Cruise News, Part 1

It's good to know that so many of my readers can relate to my vision problems! Wow, did I get a lot of sympathy on my last post! I did end up going back to the eye doctor before I left, and she put me in stronger contacts. Apparently, I am "in-between" lens strengths, and the weaker one isn't enough. Don't ask me why it wasn't enough when I left the first time, because I can't figure it out, either. I guess my eyes just don't fully adjust as quickly as they should. I can see pretty well with the new ones, so I'm going to just go with these.

I think the thing is, since I don't know what it's like to really be able to see perfectly, it is hard to gauge what is "perfect vision". I feel like I should be able to see China when I put my contacts in, so anything less seems too weak to me. But I did a check with CN on the way to Jacksonville. For the first hour of our trip, he had to listen to me asking: "Can you read that green sign yet? Or is it still fuzzy? What about that license plate in front of us? Can you read that?" -- I wanted to know if I was seeing what he was seeing. Since he has 20/20 vision, I figured that is a good test. We were seeing the same things at the same time, so I must be good.

I know you will be disappointed to hear this, but I don't have any cruise pictures yet. I will post some as soon as I can. We took a lot of them on CN's camera, so he has to learn how to upload them before I can share with you. For now, I will give you the first part of the trip.

CN and I had so much fun driving to/from Jacksonville together. We talked and laughed and teased each other. He has a Sirius radio, and I played dj on the trip, which was great for me, but not always great for him--he hates rap. He liked all my serenading, though. I had fun making him guess what song was playing. He knows an incredible amount of music trivia. So we had a blast on our way to meet up with everyone.

CN and I went on the cruise with two other couples: Larva & Sandra and Roger & Grace (yes, these names are totally made-up or nicknames). We had met Larva & Sandra before, as Larva and CN are old college buddies. We were meeting Roger & Grace for the first time.

CN and I met up with the two other couples about halfway between Columbia and Jacksonville, at a Burger King off the highway. The first thing they say to us is this: "Ok, before we head down to Jacksonville, we have to make a pit-stop in Savannah."

CN & I: "Um, ok. Why?"

Sandra: "Well, because Larva didn't get his birth certificate stamped with the official seal, so if we don't get it, they won't let him on the boat."

[Insert VB & CN irritation here.]

It turns out that Larva, who has had WEEKS to get his paperwork in order, thought that he could bullshit his way through security with just a photocopied birth certificate. He had even gone with Sandra to the health department just 2 days beforehand, when she went to get hers. "You're sure you don't need one?" she had asked. He told her "no".

When he announces this little tidbit of information that morning to Roger & Grace on the way to meet us, they told him he was an idiot and that his little plan would not work. CN and I agreed.

I still can't figure out why Sandra was not furious with Larva about this. "If you had pulled this stunt," I said to CN, "You would be dead meat right now. I would get on the boat without your ass."

"Trust me, I would never do something that stupid," he replied. "I practically gave myself a heart attack double checking all that stuff!"

So our plan was to take a detour to Savannah to hunt down a health department, pray they were open and cross our fingers that it would not take too long to get a proper birth certificate. Thank goodness Larva was born in Georgia, rather than somewhere far away, like Utah. After some exasperated sighs on my part, we all get into our cars and drive into Savannah.

CN and I begin to follow everyone through Savannah. We seemed to be going nowhere. When our motorcade did yet another u-turn, CN calls Larva to ask him what the hell is going on. It turns out that no one has a CLUE as to where the Health Department is in Savannah, and they were trying to find it through sheer luck.

More exasperated sighs on my behalf. This is not a good way to start a vacation.

Luckily, CN saved the day and found the Health Department with his GPS system. (Thank you, Garmin company.) A few minutes later, we were at the Health Department and were glad to see that there was no line or waiting period needed to get a proper birth certificate.

Fifteen minutes later, we are on our way to get on the boat. We are about 2 hours behind schedule, but it's no big deal. We still got on the boat in a short amount of time. Getting on the boat was very easy.

While we had been waiting on Larva at the Health Department, I told Sandra how I was worried about getting seasick. She told me to take a half a Dramamine the first day, and I should be fine for the rest of the trip. She's a nurse and an experienced cruiser, so that's what I did. Aside from the first night, when I was feeling a tiny bit woozy, I was totally fine for the rest of the trip. I was very relieved, because that was a big worry on my part.

CN and I got to our cabin. The bed was AMAZING -- seriously, y'all, it is a miracle I ever got out of that bed. It was big, soft and clean, and the thread count on the sheets must have been 500. The pillows were the perfect mix of squishy/firm. Our steward changed the sheets every day...ahhh. It was bliss.

Too bad I can't say the same thing for the bathroom. Now, I was on an old ship (built in 1987), so I knew not to get too excited about the bathroom. But the shower was totally gross: it was tiny, moldy, dark and felt "germy". It didn't have the most effective drain, either. I think it was the rubber mat on the floor of the shower that really bothered me. All I could think was, "Ew, athlete's foot!!!" So I took very quick showers. And I know I'm probably being a little harsh/germo-phobic, but I have a thing about bathrooms. I am picky.

We unpacked and freshened up and went up to the pool deck to meet everyone else for lunch.

All of my hopes about the kick-ass cruise food were quickly destroyed. The cafeteria on the pool deck smelled like a mixture of fried food, mold and body odor. It was so bad that I had to cover my nose every time I went in there. It literally made me nauseous. I grabbed a burger, some fries, some pasta salad and a couple other things. I did not eat a lot of food from this cafeteria again, instead opting for the dining rooms, which at least didn't make me want to barf. That smell was seriously unbearable.

This first meal was no different from all the other meals on this trip: average to bad. Half the food on the boat was totally disgusting, to the point that it was inedible. (Example: the caesar salad tasted like fish. Now, I know that caesar dressing has anchovy paste in it. But this tasted like it was 100% anchovy paste. Ew.). A lot of dishes were overcooked or flavorless. The rest was ok. I didn't eat any veggies the whole time I was on board, because everything from the salads to the steamed veggies were just awful. A lot of the seafood was overcooked and rubbery. The fruit was not ripe. The pizza was soggy and tasted funny. The escargot was cold. The mashed potatoes were stiff as a board. The desserts were average at best. The cakes, cookies and brownies were all dry and bland. The sandwiches, eggs and pancakes were so-so. The French toast was not very good. The cheesecake was gross. The only things that waere pretty good were the beef and the pancakes. So I ate beef almost every night for dinner, and pancakes for breakfast.

How do you mess up cheesecake and pizza???!! This completely blew my mind. CN agreed with me about all the food. Everyone else thought I was nuts as they chowed down. Maybe I am nuts. *shrugs*

I can't tell you about the chocolate buffet, because it was held at midnight that night, and I missed it. But I doubt I missed much, based on the forgettable desserts I had the rest of the time. By midnight most nights, I was enjoying the heavenly bed in my cabin. I'm not much of a night owl.

The only thing that really impressed me was the coffee -- it was perfect. Oh, and there was this chocolate lava cake that was really good, too. But that was it as far as food excitement was concerned.

Overall, the food was average/bad at best. I can cook better food myself. The food I get in restaurants here in Columbia beats anything they had on their ship hands down. So if you are going on a cruise, don't get excited about the food if you are used to yummy Southern cuisine.

The good news is, I only gained two pounds--and I think that was more from not exercising than anything else! :)

After we ate lunch, the ship left the dock. We all agreed that you can feel a lot of motion in such a small cruise ship. CN and I went to the front of the boat to watch the huge bridge go over us. It was pretty cool.

We hung out by the pool with the rest of our group after that. Everyone proceeded to start drinking heavily! We had a good time just people-watching, hanging out and dancing to the music played by a dj. I really liked Roger & Grace right away. They are super fun and friendly, plus, they are hilarious. After a bit, we went to our cabins to change into dinner attire.

Dinner was apparently forgettable, since I don't remember anything I ate. :P

After dinner, CN and I were pooped. We had been up since 6am, so we were exhausted. I think we went to bed by 9:30. I slept like a rock!

Ok, I will write more tomorrow!

Goal #1

I know I haven't been blogging a lot, guys. But things are pretty calm around here, lately. CN is great. My friends are great (except that I miss KT). My job is busier than usual (which is actually a good thing, trust me!). Even Sammy is great.

So what have I been doing with my free time? Where have I been? Working towards my goals. I have come to the realization that unless you put a date and a number on a goal, there's hardly any point in starting it in the first place. Otherwise, how do you know when you've reached it? So here is my first goal:

GOAL #1:I want to work out a monthly budget I can live with and stick to. I want to learn how to make my money work for me instead of against me. By the end of the year, I want to pay off at least $1,000 in credit card debt AND save at least $1,000 in my savings account. As a short-term goal, I do not want to use my credit card to pay for my cruise (which will be a minimum of $500). I am tired of being stressed out about money. I am tired of saying that I am not good with money. I am tired of panicking about money. It's time for an overhaul in the way I think about money and spending.

And now that I have just spilled all of this on my blog, I am hoping that it will make me more accountable and the potential humiliation of not reaching my goals will motivate me further!

So what am I doing to reach Goal #1? What have I learned so far?

*I have Microsoft Money on my computer, and I'm learning how to use it. It is making me really think about all the different ways I spend money. It's more than just thinking about your last spree at the mall. (Yes, I am that dumb with money! I just assume my financial woes are a result of the mall!) I have kept every single receipt since January 17th, and I've been calculating where my money goes. To the penny. Complete with pie charts. It has been very enlightening!

Lesson: Ignorance is not bliss. Knowledge is power.

*It turns out, most of it is going in my mouth. Yeah. My grocery bills? Totally out of control! I think that since you HAVE to eat, I have been letting myself go crazy at Wal-Mart. That was how I would justify it. I was basically letting myself get whatever I wanted. So now, I am limited to ONE trip a week, and I cannot spend more than $50. This includes things like shampoo, toothpaste, Windex, etc. So I am forcing myself to prioritize and plan ahead. Like a real grown-up! So far, so good -- I came in $2.33 under budget for groceries this week! Not great, but it's a start.

Lesson: Planning ahead and prioritizing can help you save money. Also, give yourself credit, even for reaching small goals.

*I also realized that Target, as much as I love it, is budget suicide for me. Target is to my budget as brownies are to my diet. It is physically impossible for me to spend less than $35 whenever I walk through the door, just like it is impossible for me to say "no" to a brownie. So you know what? I haven't been to Target. In a MONTH. Yeah. I think that is a record. The longer I'm away from Target, the fewer reasons I can find to go back. And since I hate making a special trip to any store just to get one item, I don't know when I'll go to Target again!

Lesson: Know your weakness and avoid it.

*I canceled my garbage service. I live close enough to the public dump that I can take my garbage there myself. (Reality: CN will probably end up taking it to the dump for me, because he rocks like that.) This will save me about $13 a month.

Lesson: Unnecessary expenses can be more than just dining out and shopping. Look for less-obvious ways to cut your budget. Also, every penny counts.

*Thanks to my newer, more fuel-efficient car, I am already saving money on gas. I have gone from spending about $40 a week to about $28 every ten days. Woo hoo!!

Lesson: Um....buy a more fuel-efficient car, I guess.

*Since my 0% interest rate on my Visa just ended, I am going to transfer the balance (along with the balance on my American Express) to a new one. It has 0% interest until March 2009. Then, I can watch that balance drop!!!

Lesson: Don't be stupid. Interest rates do not benefit you in any way whatsoever. Stop pretending they don't exist, and do something about it.

*I'm going to my bank to tell them to start taking $50 out of my paycheck every month and putting it into savings for me.

Lesson: If you are dumb with money, find people who can save it for you. If you behave like a child, you have to treat yourself like one.

*I am thinking about putting all my spending money into cash every month. That way, it will feel more "real" than just swiping a piece of plastic. Any leftover will go into savings. In theory. But first, I have to figure out exactly how much spending money I have to start with. That's where the Money program comes in.

Lesson: Always try for new, responsible ways to hold yourself accountable. Keep trying new things until you find something that works for you.

* Now, if only I could find the time to really sit down and get the stupid Microsoft Money software to work. I am having trouble with some of the features. I got a how-to book. It's just a matter of finding the time to sit down and learn the software better.

Lesson: Make time to learn how to reach your goals. You have to prioritize them or else you will never meet them.

*Before anyone jumps in with recommendations for Quicken and how awesome it is, let me just state this: Money was already installed on my computer, so it was free. And since "free" is my new favorite word, I am not going to worry about Quicken right now.

Lesson: "Free" is usually better when it comes to financial matters.

Instead, I will look forward to paying my taxes and getting my big phatty refund!!! Word on the streets is that we are getting property tax refunds, too, so I might get more money on top of my tax refund. WOOT!!! I will put the tax refund towards my credit card debt and the property tax refund towards my cruise.

Lesson: Buying a house will actually MAKE you money in the long run. Also, do not blow your tax refunds on crap. Utilize the windfall in a way that will benefit your overall financial situation.

Alright. So that is my progress on the Money Goal. I still have a looooong way to go, but so far, so good. I'm kind of proud of myself already. It feels good just to grab the reins and take control, you know?

Do you have any budget/money advice for me? Do you have any ideas? Opinions? Tales of Warning? Please share! I need help, obviously...

Stay tuned for Goal #2....

Stories of My Family, Part 4

I have told you about The Czarina's parents. Now, let me switch over to the other side of my family -- the Belle side.

Grandpa Belle (his name was Charles) was born in New York state, I believe. He had one sister (Dorothy, who I believe may still be alive somewhere in Florida, although I've never met her). When he was seven years old, his dad walked out on the family for unknown reasons. According to my Aunt J, this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened -- apparently he was a jerk anyway. I don't know any specifics about this situation, because my Aunt J refuses to elaborate. So it must be something awful. Maybe he was a wife beater or a bank robber. Who knows. Whatever the situation, he left his wife and kids destitute.

So from the age of 7 on, my Grandpa Charles was the breadwinner of the family. I don't know why his mother (Emma) couldn't get a job...maybe she did. If she did, it didn't pay much, because my grandpa had to work while he went to school. He managed to support his mother and sister while still doing very well in school. I have no idea how he did this. He did so well in school, in fact, that he received free tuition at Syracuse University.

Go Grandpa!!

So off he went to college. Unfortunately, the scholarship did not cover his room and board, so he had to get a job while he was a full-time college student, majoring in forestry of all things. So he began waiting tables at a restaurant.

I have no idea what Great-Grandma Emma and Great Aunt Dot did for money while he was at school. I need to ask my Aunt J. I guess Dot went to work. Last I heard, she was a redneck who lived in a trailer in Florida. I don't really know much about Dot. I don't even know if she's still alive. I do know that for the rest of his life, no matter how little, my Grandpa Charles always sent money home to his mother. Awww. See, he was a good son.

Meanwhile, my grandma Florence was also being raised in New York somewhere. She was an only child, born to Paul and (his first wife), Belle. The marriage broke up sometime after my grandma was born. I know someone cheated on the other, but I am not sure about who did it. So that's why Belle was the first wife. I'm sure this was extremely scandalous at the time, especially in their WASPy New England society! *shock and awe!*

(In case you haven't noticed, there are a lot of horrible girls' names on my father's side of the family, aside from Emma, which is a nice name. No offense to anyone with these names, but I think they are awful: Florence, Gertrude, Dorothy, Arabella, Prudence and -- I swear to God I am not making this up -- Eulella and Euphemia. WTF? Who hates their kids that much? We always joke that the name Euphemia sounds like a disease: "Yeah, I went to the doctor the other day. He told me I've got euphemia! I have six months to live!")

All joking aside, let's move on.

While Grandpa Charles grew up poor as a church mouse, my Grandma Flo grew up in the lap of luxury. She came from a long line of well-educated, socially distinguished WASPs. Her oldest ancestor actually came over on the Mayflower.

Now, it's not as cool as it sounds -- there are today millions of descendants from each Pilgrim that came over. You or someone you know is probably also related to a Pilgrim. I'm just trying to illustrate how freaking long my family has been in America.

So this is an old family we are talking about. Far different from my Grandpa Charles' family, who came over from Scotland in the comparatively modern decade of the 1740s.

At one point, Grandma Flo's grandfather (or was it her great-grandfather...??) was a dentist in New York City, which I think is super cool, because I think NYC is the coolest place ever. Several members of this branch of my family went to Yale, became professors, doctors and preachers -- that sort of thing. Her father was something in the medical field. I think he was a dentist also.

In short, she made my grandpa look like white trash. It's like one of those 1980s teen movies, where the head cheerleader ends up with that boy from "the wrong side of the tracks". But now I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm just trying to illustrate to you the differences in backgrounds between my grandparents. On paper, it's like, "What?? These two had anything in common??" But you'll see what I mean in a minute.

Grandma Flo also found herself at Syracuse in the early 1930s. She joined a sorority, which she soon discovered was full of lesbians, which didn't sit well with her, and so she dropped out, I think. (Weird, huh? Yeah, my Aunt J knows the coolest, most scandalous family stories! I love it!)

I have no idea what she majored in. Knowing her, she had no business being in college in the first place. Not because she was stupid. She was a sweet lady and I loved her, but dammit she was lazy! She would have been fired from any job she had! But I guess this is how you are when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth, especially in that day and age -- she probably went to college to meet her future husband, not to chase a career.

I don't know how much of a catch she would have been. She never had to cook, clean, sew, work or do much of anything growing up. She didn't know how to do anything, because the servants had always done it. So it's a good thing my grandpa came along when he did, because she honestly couldn't feed herself, and we already know she couldn't have held a job. So the poor thing would have either lived in her mother's basement or simply died of malnourishment if it hadn't been for my grandpa. She was lucky she was attractive and very, very sweet. She was THE sweetest person you'd ever meet. Always affectionate and warm. I'm sure that's what my grandpa loved about her. I know that's what I liked about her. (She was the only grandparent I ever met.)

Speaking of malnourishment, one evening while at Syracuse, my grandma went with a girlfriend to a restaurant for dinner. (See? I told you she couldn't even feed herself.)

They were looking at their menus, trying to decide on what to order, when their waiter came over to greet them. His name was Charles. And that's how my grandparents met!

It was love at first sight for both of them-- we are talking puppy-dog pathetically in love, here -- and they planned on getting married once they graduated. They enjoyed dating all through college. I know they must have gone to some football games together, because I have seen the ticket stubs. (Yeah, I know. Who keeps college football ticket stubs from the 1930s? That would be my father, World's Biggest Pack Rat.) And I think they took a trip to the Finger Lakes or something, because there's a photo of them in their swimsuits. Aw. Cute, huh?

Too bad that Great-Grandpa Paul did not like his future son-in-law. Nevermind that Charles supported his sister and mother aaaaaall through school while still making such excellent grades that he got a free ride to Syracuse. Nevermind that Charles was totally in love with Florence. What was the problem? He wasn't rich.

Can you believe it? Just wait, it gets worse.

Great-Grandpa Paul disliked the idea of their marriage so much, he wrote her out of the will. His own and only daughter. His only child, in fact. What a jerk, huh? (If you have been paying attention, this same situation happened with my mother's parents -- weird coincidence. What was up with fathers boycotting their daughters' marriages back then? Sheesh!)

So Charles and Florence ended up eloping and having their honeymoon at Niagara Falls.

I know it must have pained her to lose her relationship with her father. Charles and Florence always tried to make amends with Great-Grandpa Paul. They even gave my dad the middle name of Paul, in the hopes that it would encourage him to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It didn't work. My father met Paul once. After that, Paul didn't want anything to do with his grandchildren. Isn't that sad???

My dad was really upset about this as an adult. He actually made us all promise never to use the name Paul for any of our kids! I can't really say I blame him. Ok, back to the story.

Meanwhile, his now-ex-wife, Belle, saw the grandkids rather frequently. She looked like your stereotypical granny -- white hair in a bun, glasses, floral print or black dress, sensible shoes and handbag. She died when her grandkids were very young, so my dad didn't remember her very well. All I know about her is what I see in the old photos.

In the end, Grandpa Charles and Grandma Florence had four children: David (who died when he was 2 days old because the doctor didn't clean out his nasal passages well enough--sad, I know), my dad, my Uncle G and my Aunt J. They moved around a little bit -- Erie, PA to Elkins, WV to Arlington, VA. Grandpa Charles was a forester and worked for the National Forestry Service. In other words, Grandma Florence never lived in the lap of luxury again. They barely made ends meet, and my dad grew up living in middle-class apartments, not a house like other kids.

I'll tell you more about my dad's childhood later. This post is getting too long, and I have a ton of stories about that.

Anyway, that's how my dad's parents met. And they remained deeply in love until the day they died! Aw.

Stories of My Family, Part 3

Since this past weekend was pleasant, but rather uneventful, I thought I'd post a short family story I just learned today. (I have been pumping The Czarina for stories about her parents). So these are some quick stories about my Grandma Virginia's dad.

Apparently, my Great-Grandpa was a total jerk! Examples:

1. I told you how he disapproved of Grandma V's marriage to Grandpa John, because he wasn't a "good" Catholic. She ignored him and married him anyway.

2. Great-Grandpa also wrote a letter to Grandma V when she was young. He said he'd rather see her in a coffin than marry a non-Catholic. (WOW.)

3. Grandma V's sister, Helen, also got some bad advice from her dad. He told Helen that she and her fiance should wait until after WWII was over to get married, just in case he came home an amputee. (HOLY COW.) Helen wisely ignored this advice, too, and married Byrne before he went to war. And no, I don't think he was injured in the war. They were also happily married.

Great-Grandpa did not attend either wedding. (I told you he was a jerk!)

4. He was one of those dads who made you pick out your own switch. And if he thought it was too small....well....he got to pick it! One time when she was little, Grandma V kept a kitten after he told her she couldn't keep it. She had hidden it somewhere, and he found out. She got the switch! (Jeez Louise!)

5. He gave my Great-Grandmother $30 a month to run a household with 7 children. Even in 1920s money, that is very little. Especially when that includes food, clothing, cleaning and well, everything! During the Great Depression, they had to take in some family cousins who were out of work, which added an additional strain on her budget. I don't know how she did it.

Apparently, Great-Grandma had the patience of a saint, because that is exactly what she did for years and years -- she ran the house on a very tight budget. The only time she got a break was during the summer, when all the kids were shipped out to the family farm to help out. When the girls came home at the end of the summer, they were all tan and freckled, which was not very classy, back in the day. So she would make them bleach their skin with lemons before they were allowed in the parlor when guests came over! She didn't want them looking like farm hands in front of company. Isn't that funny? How times have changed...

One day, one of the daughters was getting married, and the wedding reception was held at the house, so Great-Grandma was getting everything ready for the big party. She noticed the kitchen needed painting, so she was up on a ladder, putting on a fresh coat.

Great-Grandpa walked in with some news: "I just came from the accountant's office! He told me the family firecracker business is worth a half a million dollars!"

Apparently, all his penny pinching paid off in the end! The firecracker business is still doing well to this day, and is still run by my family!

Great-Grandma climbed down the ladder, handed him the paintbrush and said to him, "Well, then you can afford to hire someone to paint this damn kitchen!"

This was the only time she ever said a word to him about his cheap ways!

And yes, he did hire someone to paint the kitchen. :)

Hey -- we still use my Great-Grandma's Applesauce Cake recipe. Wanna make it? You can find the recipe here.

Stories of My Family, Part 2

This is the story about my Grandma Virginia. She was The Czarina's mother, and yes, I am named after her.

Virginia grew up in Kansas City, Missouri, the daughter of German-Irish stock. (I can't remember if she was half German or a quarter German...anyway, it's not important). Being Catholics, they had your typical large family. Here were the names of some of her siblings: Wilbur, Harold, Helen, Jerry...I know there were more, but I can't remember their names. I believe there were 9 children in all. Eventually, they all ended up getting married and having a between 2 and 6 children a piece. That was three generations ago.

By this point in time, there are approximately 5.2 million people in this branch of my family, which means that every resident of Kansas City is a first, second or third cousin of mine. When they have family reunions, each little segment of the family has to wear a designated-color tshirt, or else no one would know who the hell anyone is.

But I digress.

I don't know a lot about Grandma Virginia. I never met her or my Grandpa John. You see, both of my mom's parents died when she was about 21. Grandpa John was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Three months later, Grandma Virginia was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. They died less than a year apart, when my mom was fresh out of college. Not surprisingly, this was rather traumatizing to The Czarina, who has a difficult time talking about her parents at all, to this day. (Oh crap, I'm getting sad again.)

So I don't know a whole lot about her. But I do know the following:

1. She is where my mother and I get our love of efficiency from. We enjoy being productive and making the most of our time. Apparently, multi-tasking IS genetic. We joke about how "German" we are. We are Type-A and want everything streamlined.

2. This is also where I get some of my penny-pinching ways from. Not that I'm a penny pincher. My bank account would be Exhibit A in that court case. But I do have my moments. Lord knows I didn't get it from my dad's side or Grandpa John's side. They were both constitutionally against saving money on anything. In fact, I believe it was physically painful for them to save money.

3. Grandma Virginia is responsible for the vast majority of my family's recipes, including the biscuit recipe, which originated with my great-great grandmother, who was a pioneer out west back in the 1800s. To this day, we make Grandma's gravy, pot roast, beef stew and spaghetti, among other things. She handed down this love of cooking to her daughter and granddaughter. We are all good cooks. I have a soup pot that belonged to her, and the handle just broke on it, and I'm really upset.

4. Apparently, my love of shoes was something I also have in common with Grandma V. Although my size 9 feet are nothing like her tiny size 6s (she was barely five feet tall, after all), the passion is the same: when it comes to heels, the higher, the better, the more, the merrier. Grandma used to go to the Saxon shoe sale in Richmond twice a year and buy about ten pairs at a time. This just makes my heart swell with pride. (By the way, if you are ever in Richmond and you love shoes, you have GOT to go to Saxon. It is the Holy Grail of shoedom.)

I don't know a lot about her childhood or her single-girl years, but I do know that she dated a guy (I think his name was Charlie) who was crazy about her. They had grown up together, and dated for a long time, ever since she was in high school. When World War II broke out, they decided to wait until after the war to get married. But he gave her this beautiful gold and mother-of-pearl locket to remember him by when he left. He even engraved it with a little love note and the date. We still have it. They wrote letters to each other, until one day, Virginia heard through the grapevine that Charlie had been killed in action or was missing in action -- something like that. (Oops, there goes the sad thing again!)

At about the same time, Grandma Virginia attempted to attend college, but was ultimately dismissed because on a dare, she rode a horse through downtown Kansas City, disrupting traffic and I assume, breaking several laws. This was not very acceptable behavior for a good German Catholic girl, and so she was kicked out of college.

Hmmm, this must also be where I get my wild streak.....

I am not sure why, but this, along with the sad news about Charlie, may have been the reason she decided to move to Washington state and work for Boeing during World War II.

She got a job as a secretary in the Headquarters building at Boeing. One day, she was sitting at her desk, doing some work, when a very tall (6'3") young, thin man walked up to her.

She didn't recognize him. "May I help you?" she asked.

He leaned on the desk and casually asked over his shoulder, "How 'bout a cup o' coffee, Babe?"

And that is how my grandparents met.

They started dating immediately, and Grandpa was a total goner for her -- hook, line and sinker. They reached a crossroads when World War II came to an end: their jobs were also coming to an end, since there was no longer a need for new wartime aircraft. This meant that Virginia was going to move back home to Kansas City.

This did not sit well with Grandpa John.

So he followed her there uninvited. He somehow found her parents' house and knocked on the door. After explaining to her mother who he was, Virginia came down to talk to him alone in the living room. Grandma V's mom left them alone so they could talk privately. A few minutes later, there was a big commotion. Much to the family's surprise, they ran into the living room to find John, chasing Virginia in circles around the sofa, pleading with her to marry him.

This did not sit well with Virginia's father, who was a big jerk and thought Virginia should only marry a German Catholic, not an Irish Catholic. (Because they are SO different, right?!)

But it didn't sit well with Virginia, either. She said to John: "I won't marry you until you quit drinking and save up $1,000."

As we all know from the last post, John liked to drink. A LOT. It was pretty much his only hobby. But he was also terrible with money, as I just mentioned. So this was a double-whammy challenge for him.

"Okay," John said.

He quit drinking that day, and found a job. He saved up $1,000 and went straight back to Virginia's house to propose again. This time, he had a ring and she said yes. They got married on January 11, 1945 and had their honeymoon in New Orleans.

Their wedding pictures are really funny, because he's more than a foot taller than her.

Her father didn't walk her down the aisle, because he didn't approve of her marrying an Irishman. (He didn't walk any of his daughters down the aisle, actually, because none of them married German Catholics. I think the girls did it for spite, actually.) I think he got over it, eventually, though. Czarina spent many happy summers visiting her Kansas City cousins and eating her grandmother's applesauce cake. So things couldn't have been too bad between Grandma V and her dad.

Grandpa John never drank a drop of alcohol again for the rest of his life.

But that was the first and last time he ever saved $1,000.

And what about Charlie? Well, I just realized, after typing all of this, that I have posted the Charlie story before. Duh! Go read the side-story about Charlie here. It's the freakin' saddest thing I've ever heard of in my life.

Stories of My Family, Part 1

I was talking about The Czarina's parents the other day, and realized I have never blogged about them. So here we go!

Let's do Grandpa John first. His parents met in a very interesting way. His dad (Thomas), the son of Irish immigrants, may or may not have immigrated to the U.S. illegally! You see, his parents came over after the Great Potato Famine, but settled at first in Canada. Then, things get a little fuzzy, and suddenly they are in Wisconsin, claiming to be natural-born U.S. Citizens on the census, which we know is not true. So we think there is some illegal border-crossing going on somewhere. Anyway, Thomas went to law school at the University of Wisconsin, after convincing them that he is also a U.S. Citizen, although we think he was born in Canada.

A few years later, he was on vacation from his job as a lawyer/businessman in Virginia. He decided to go to a resort in Hot Springs, Arkansas. At almost 50, it was well-believed by the family that he would just end up an old bachelor.

Meanwhile, a young lady named Mary Ellen was going on a trip. She and her sister and mother were leaving Ireland to go visit some relatives in Denver, Colorado. (They were actually going to visit James Denver, a distant cousin whom the city was named after -- cool, huh? Yeah, I have a Colorado connection!)

Ok, um...I just read that Wikipedia entry, and now I am not so sure they were actually going to Denver, or if they were just visiting Cousin Denver in Washington, DC...because apparently, after 1858, Cousin Denver only went to Denver for visits--he didn't live there anymore. And I know all of this took place after 1858.......hmmm.......will have to ask Czarina about that.

Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes.

Since it was a long trip, the women decided to take a break in -- you guessed it -- Hot Springs, Arkansas. They stayed at the same resort where Thomas was. Although she was half his age, it was love at first sight and they got married right away. Mary Ellen, her sister and her mother never went back to Ireland! They all moved with Mary Ellen and Thomas to Norfolk, Virginia. That branch of my family--the Irish branch-- is still there.

They had 4 kids. The 2nd one was my Grandpa John. Family legend states that John was very rascally and often in trouble with authority figures! He was not malicious or anything, just acting like little boys do. (I like to say that this behavior is genetic, as my brothers were also totally obnoxious children.)

Unfortunately for the family, the birth of the fourth and youngest child (a girl) did not go very well. Mary Ellen needed a blood transfusion. But this was before anyone really understood blood types--all they knew was that sometimes transfusions worked, and sometimes they didn't. It was a roll of the dice. And Mary Ellen apparently got the wrong kind of blood, and so she died soon afterwards. Everyone in the family took it very, very hard.

Sad, I know. But it's ok. If you have read Angela's Ashes, you know by now that the Irish race is full of sad stories. But sometimes they are happy and sometimes they are funny. Ok, back to the story.

Soon after Mary Ellen died, the 1929 stock market crash hit, and all of Thomas's investments and businesses went belly up. The financial ruin, combined with the sudden loss of his wife and the worries about raising 4 young children (when he was already so old) were too much for Thomas to handle, so he basically locked himself in a room and turned into an alcoholic.

Crap. This is sad again, I know! But this is my family, so I can't just make up stuff here. There are lots of Irish alcoholics in my family, unfortunately...as you will soon see....

Meanwhile, the kids were running amok because Thomas was too drunk to take care of them. And since there was no money, there were lots of unpaid bills. So their Aunt and Grandma stepped in and cared for the kids. They sent the boys to military school (which they hated) and the only daughter ended up being raised by the Aunt. Then Aunt and Grandma sold everything in the house to pay the bills. (The only things we have left from that house are a chair and a clock!) They even had to sell the house. Thomas ended up living in a hotel and dying in poverty, I believe. (Ugh, sorry this is so depressing guys...but Irish families rarely have happy stories.)

Ok, so meanwhile, my Grandpa John graduates from military school and moves back to Norfolk, where he becomes a soda jerk, moves into a boarding house with his brother* and proceeds to pursue his new favorite hobby: alcoholism. It was at this point when the Great Depression really kicked in. Talk about bad timing.

This is where it gets kinda foggy. Although Grandpa John eventually quit drinking, as you will see later on in my story, he was always ashamed of it and didn't like to talk about the Great Depression when he was basically wasted and unemployed for an entire decade. (Can you blame him?) All we know is that during the Great Depression, he was a hobo who rode the empty freight train cars and he spent some time in Chicago. During this time, he also discovered a passion: journalism. But that's all he ever told anyone.

I like to think, with my overactive imagination, that he was a member of 'Bugs' Moran's North Side Gang, which was an Irish gang involved in prostitution, racketeering and gambling rings and fought continuously with Al Capone's gang, culminating in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.

But that is purely speculation.

And vehemently denied by my mother. Who apparently, has no imagination.

So who knows what my grandpa really did besides jump trains and drink cheap booze between 1929-1939. I guess I will never know. When WWII did break out, Grandpa John decided that putting himself at risk of death every day was worth it to have food in his mouth, so he went to join the military. Unfortunately, he was soon kicked out because he was drunk all the time. Oops. Now what?

Bad, I know. But it's ok. It gets better.

At any rate, thank goodness for World War II's effect on the U.S. economy, or else I may not be here today. Gramps probably would have ended up in a gutter somewhere, pulling a Jimmy Hendrix, asphyxiating on his own vomit or something.

But that didn't happen. What happened was, the U.S. entered WWII, and we needed to build some planes. A LOT of planes. That is when Boeing got a big-ass government contract and hired thousands of people to build planes at their huge building facilities in Washington state. It was sort of like an army base, only it was full of civilians who built airplanes. Lots of Rosie the Riveters.

They had so many employees (we are talking about 50,000 here) that it became necessary to have employee housing. Which means they will need schools, a hospital, grocery stores, and everything else a large group of people would need. Including a newspaper.

Grandpa John somehow managed to get a job with Boeing. He was in charge of the factory base's newspaper. And one day, he went over to the headquarters building to interview one of the Boeing Big Shots...........

Ok, that's all for today.

When does he meet Virginia? Does Grandpa John ever stop drinking alcohol? Or is VB's mother conceived in a drunken hook up? What happens on the interview? Stay tuned to see what happens next!!

* I actually just found this out recently, because I was geeking out in a genealogy database, and looked him up in the U.S. Census of 1930. I was so excited, I called The Czarina, who had no clue her dad had ever been a soda jerk, let alone rented an apt with his brother!

Proper First Date Behavior (Part1)

3rd in a series. See below.

Let's see. Where did we leave off? Oh yes. You have the plan. You have made the date.

Oh, I didn't discuss lunch vs. dinner date or weekday vs. weekend date. Hmmm. You know, Phantom Hater had good logic behind his love of lunch dates. (See comments in last post.) But I'm a firm believer in Chris Brander's advice in Just Friends: Friends go on lunch dates. So if you are worried that you might possibly be in The Friend Zone (TFZ), dispel all confusion by taking Crush Girl out to dinner. Other than that, I'm going to say, go with whatever. Some people can't really afford to be picky about when their dates occur. *ahem*

Ironic that I've been posting about dating, isn't it? In the 5 years I've lived here, I've been single for 4 of them. WOW.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. It's Date Day (or Night).

This is how to AVOID major foul-ups which could land you a slap in the face and/or Sunday Brunch ridiculing by your date and her girlfriends: Try and make a good impression by being polite and courteous. Try and get to know your date. Relax and have fun -- it's dating, not a job interview.

Oh! You want details? Well, ok. To make this more accessible for my male readers, I will structure this like a game. The more points you get, the better you do.

1. Clean your car. Some girls *ahem* watch this very closely. You might even call it "The Clean Car Test". Guys who clean their cars are out to impress. Be that guy. +/-50

2. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: DO NOT BE LATE. It's insulting and shows a general lack of consideration. It's a good way to make your date feel unimportant. That's not good. Yes, I realize she will still be getting ready when you arrive. This does not mean you can fudge on 10 minutes. You must be on time. If you are going to be more than 10 minutes late, a PHONE CALL is required. And you'd better have a good excuse: your dog is sick, you got a flat tire, you are bleeding from your eye sockets, etc. If you don't have a good excuse, DO NOT LIE. (Do you really want to start lying to her already? You haven't even gone out yet!) Just tell us you're an idiot who lost track of time. We like it when you acknowledge your idiocy. This will actually score you points. If you are late, even with a good excuse, you are expected to make a humble apology. Three times.

Being on time is NOT THAT HARD. Suck it up, be an adult, and be on time. Please and thank you.

On time: expected, so no points. Being late: -100 points for every 5 minutes you are late. Apologizing for being late: expected, so no points. Apologizing fewer than 3 times, or just generally acting like it's no big deal: -100. Calling to say you're going to be late: +5

Note: If you are someone who is chronically tardy, do not worry. Some girls are lax on the tardiness rule, since they, too, are chronically tardy (gee...wonder who I'm referring to....). But the First Date is different. Better to play it safe and be on time. You can ask her during the date if she's a stickler for punctuality. This is called "Learning What She Likes" and it's another one of your goals.

Note: Do NOT show up 30 minutes ahead of time, like one guy did to me once. I had to entertain him for 30 minutes (he needed the TV remote, a drink, etc.) AND he had to see me without makeup on. Not good. Very irritating. Stick to no more than 10 minutes early. Any more than that, and you will lose 50 points.

3. Pick her up at her house (or place of employment). I cannot stress this enough. It shows you're willing to go the extra step. First of all, she's probably going to be running late (tweezing, powdering, outfit changing, hair do-ing, etc.) so you're going to be waiting on her anyway. Second of all, you don't want her thinking, "Gah, he can't even be bothered to pick me up on the FIRST date? This guy is so full of himself, he doesn't care about making an impression on me. Or else he's just incredibly lazy. What a jerk. I'm ordering the lobster." -- See? Like being on time, it's just better to pick her up. You can ask her on the date if she's cool with meeting up next time. ( "Learning What She Likes".) Most girls are considerate and accommodating in this regard, especially if decent amounts of time or money are expended in order to pick her up.

Picking her up for the first date: expected (usually). Picking her up, always: the points progress in value the longer you do it. So if you are still picking her up for everything 6 months into the relationship, you're getting about 100 points per pick-up. Picking her up, but whining about it: -25 points.

Note: Do not take it personally if she's a little on the paranoid side, and wants to meet you there on the first date. Some girls are just hyper-aware of safety. It doesn't mean you're creepy. If you were creepy, she wouldn't be going out with you. In theory.

Note: Another reason you want to pick her up is so that she doesn't have to wait on YOU to arrive. At best, she'll be mad that she had to wait alone, and at worst, another guy could steal your date! (-500 points)

Note: You will probably score lots of points if you are the guy who ALWAYS picks her up. If she thinks you're crazy for being that way or protests the idea, you can just say, "You're worth the effort." You will score even more points (+8,000). This will make it much easier to get into her pants later on.

Note: By picking her up at her place of employment/house, you can get a glimpse into her world: what she's like, what she surrounds herself with, whether or not her coworkers/roommate likes her. This is all good for information-gathering purposes. You can learn a LOT about someone by seeing the inside of their house. Good things to look at while you wait for her, ever so innocently: pics on her fridge, amount of clutter, books/movies/CDs/magazines laying around, evidence of an ability to cook, absence of objects which would indicate there's another man in her life.

4. Do not be negative, whiny or complaining. It's not fun to listen to people bitch and moan. Dates are supposed to be fun. People like being around people who are happy and positive. Feel free to keep track of how negative she is being, btw. No one wants to be dating Debbie Downer. Being negative: -25 pts. per incident.

5. One of the first things you should say is how fantastic/beautiful/gorgeous/hot/thin your date looks. Remember, we will NEVER get sick of hearing this until the day we die, so feel free to gush about it periodically throughout the date. Throw in a "Wow!" or a "No, really, I mean, WOW!" and you'll get even more points. Ca-ching! Ca-ching! Ca-ching! Can you hear the points racking up??? (+100 per compliment) Don't overdo it, though or we will stop believing you. 3 times per date is pretty good.

6. Regarding doors and their opening. Unfortunately, this is one of those things where Every Woman is Different. However, I would advise any unsure, single guy to continue opening all doors for her unless she tells you to stop or grabs the door first. That is her way of saying, "I appreciate your kindness, but this isn't 1886 and I can get my own door, thanks. In fact, how about I hold it for you, too?" Rare is the modern girl who would be grossly offended by your opening the door for her. So when in doubt, hold and open all doors: car, restaurant, building, etc. It's better to slightly offend a modern woman (-15 points) than to GREATLY offend an old-fashioned one (-25,000). Because as an old-fashioned woman, I can tell you it really ticks me off when I'm not even worth a door holding. It will blow the date, actually--dating privileges will be revoked. In fact, if the door is not held for me, I will patiently wait until it is. One guy was halfway to the restaurant table with the hostess before realizing I was still outside, waiting for the door. High maintenance? Maybe. But he was very embarrassed, let me tell you.*

* I would like the record to show that this is pretty much the only high-maintenance thing I do. Doors are a big deal to me. You don't have to take me shopping or drive a nice car to impress me. Just open the damn door. It's not that hard. And I'm sure I'm not the only girl who feels like this. Ladies, back me up.

Note: Feel free to stop holding doors open if she doesn't say "Thank you," each and every time. We should be polite, too.

Note: Here's a crazy notion! If you don't know if she would like the doors opened for her, ASK. (+25 points for caring enough to ask.) This is another part of that whole "Learning What She Likes" thing.

7. Keep in mind that women's bodies are not as warm as men's bodies. This has been scientifically proven. There's about an 8 degrees Fahrenheit difference between the sexes when it comes to "comfy". Women get cold very easily, so you will get points for asking her if she is hot/cold/comfortable when you're in the car or at the restaurant. This is called "being courteous." Guess what kind of guy we like to kiss. Ding! Ding! Ding! You got it. (+ 75)

8. Turn the music down when you're in the car. What's more important, her telling you something about herself or listening to "Panama City" for the 4,367th time? Don't you want to hear what she has to say? If not, then why are you on this date?? (+75)

9. Avoid introducing Crush Girl to your Inner Hulk. Deep breaths. No yelling at other drivers. We want to feel like we are out with gentlemen who are in control of themselves, not silverback gorillas who are proverbially beating their chests when their manhood is challenged. Also included in this category are temper tantrums, jealous behavior, etc. (Gorilla-like behavior: -500 per occurrence.)

10. Another one of your goals should be to make your date feel safe at all times. Guys don't think about it much, because they are big, strong, brave and know how to fix stuff, so they don't need to worry about these things. But girls are usually of a more fragile physical nature. A lot of us have no idea what to do when the tire goes flat or when a bird flies inside the house. And we live in constant fear that around the next corner is a mugger, waiting to rob us, rape us and slit our throat. That's why we all carry those little mace things on our keychains. It also plays a role in why we like muscles and tall men so much. Big and strong = safety. You can put your date at ease by reassuring her you can protect her in case of muggers/natural disasters/giant insects/Armageddon/scary things in general. (+5,000 for giving off the "you're safe with me!" vibe, with an extra bonus of 20,000 points if you actually end up protecting her from something truly dangerous. Unless it's a big bug, which only counts for 75 points per bug. If we have to call our fathers or brothers for help, because you are as useless as a little girl when a crisis arises, -25,000. If you carry a gun to work, I will give you + 10,000 bonus. But that's just me. Guns are hot.)

I remember I was on a date with a nice guy once. We were leaving a movie theater when a SUPER creepy guy walked up to us and asked to bum a cigarette. If I had been alone, I would have literally run away from the guy--he was that scary. So imagine my terror to find that not only was my date giving him a smoke, but he proceeded to sit and chat with him for about 5 minutes. Not only was he not quickly whisking me away from Mr. Creepy, he was exposing me to more Mr. Creepy time. That was the last time I went out with that guy. If a girl can't feel safe with you, you don't have anything.

Note: This does not give you license to get into fist fights over trivial matters while on the date. There's a difference between feeling like we are safe and feeling like we are babysitting. See #9, above. (Fist fight on a date = -25,000. In most cases, your dating privileges will also be revoked.)

Part 2 is tomorrow....

Comments? Criticism? Praise? Let's discuss.