Spartan Spirit

Now hear this – I have discovered the Holy Land of hot men in Charlotte!  This weekend I found the mecca at an event called the Spartan Race, held at the Whitewater Center.  My eyes have never feasted on so many hot, muddy, shirtless men in my entire life – except for maybe on the pages of GQ Magazine.  Saturday I participated in the race which was challenging and fun, but the best part was the outdoor shower facility for finishers to rinse off.  Below is the PG version of the showers, but picture this scene a few hours later with 50 Spartans stripping to their skivvies and scrubbing mud off their godly physiques.  I was in sheer heaven.  I almost went back into the mud pit, just so I could spend more time hosing down.

Sunday I made the pilgrimage back to the Holy Land, for nothing other than to watch more handsome men cross the finish line.  Next year not only will I participate, but I will volunteer to hand out medals to finishers.  I just hope the Spartan organizers don’t get pissed that I’ve etched my telephone number into the medals.


E and one of the Spartans she got muddy with



Weekend Update

I just wanted to touch on a couple of points from the weekend.

A.  Either men in Charlotte haven’t hit their growth spurt yet or E and I are gargantuan.  Not only did this Spinster Saturday again prove the 8/4 theory (see previous post entitled 10,8,5,4 What?!), but it also showed that the average height for eligible bachelors is somewhere around 5’8”.  This is extremely unsettling for me being 5’8” myself and around 6’ with a quality pair of Badgley Mishkas.  If you live somewhere where men are bred as Jolly Green Giants minus the St. Patty’s hue, make room on your couch because I need to visit!B.  If a guy seems too good to be true, he is.  I’ve been emailing back and forth with a guy on EH who seemed amazing: good looks, tall, loves kids, healthy, funny, good grammar.  If I had a check list, he would get a check for almost everything on it.  He pursued me, made me feel like he was extremely interested, and gave me his number so I could call to set up a date.  IT WAS A BOGUS NUMBER!  Why would you go through all of that trouble to seek me out, email back and forth, and ask me out, only to give me the brush off!?!  I got the feeling it was too good to be true and tried not to get excited about him, but it’s hard when your options are limited.  Note to self: follow your instincts – that little voice inside knows more than you do!

C.  I have amazing friends!  This was the last Spinster Saturday for a while due to scheduling conflicts and even if the men weren’t biting, we still know how to have a great time on our own.  A special shout-out to KiKi and her sister Coco for cameo appearances and of course my girl E for keeping me sane.-M

This One’s for Mom

I’ve found since starting this blog that the phone calls I receive from my mother have become less frequent, as she uses my posts as a way of keeping up with my busy life.  So this update is for you, Mom:

Tonight I’m going to dinner with Mr. Schuester.  I really was nervous about going out with him at first because he shares the same exact profession as Peter Pan, but after getting to know him a little I found he has more depth.  Peter Pan had boyfriend characteristics and interests… Mr. Schuester has husband characteristics and interests.  I think it’s a maturity thing and may have to write a separate post after researching this idea further during our date tonight.

Red Bandit called to ask me out again, so we’re seeing a movie tomorrow night.  I was ready to give him the brush off, but a wise friend told me not to be so judgemental because RB is a little nerdy.  I should be grateful and open to the fact that an educated and well-rounded man wants to spend his time with me. 

Sunday I met an EH match for brunch and for the life of me, I cannot think of a clever name to give this fellow.  He is so utterly boring and unremarkable that he will remain “The One That Shall Not Be Named.”  I feel like a raging bitch because he’s already texted (a major no-no) to ask me out Friday night, but I have no interest in seeing him again.  Maybe it was just my Raven superpowers that he couldn’t resist, but the connection just wasn’t there for me. 

I didn’t see Greg Focker, RN at work all week but he texted me Friday night to tell me what bar he’d be at if I wanted to get a drink.  The only thing he saw on his 2002 model flip phone was a blank screen.

Spinster Saturday was an utter shit show, thanks to a bottle of Prosecco, Picklebacks, and a dozen beers.  We were armed and loaded with napkins with our phone numbers, but so far no response to our sly advances.  M gave out two napkins, and I have no idea what happened to mine.  I can’t find it in my pants pocket, so I’m assuming I gave it to some lucky gentleman at the bar.  New rule for Spinster Saturday – don’t get blackout drunk or you’ll end up giving your number to a leprechaun at Ri Ra’s.  And by leprechaun, I mean the alarmingly huge population of short men living in Charlotte.

Leprechaun hunting on Spinster Saturday


Back on the horse

I apologize for my dating and blogging sabbatical while in Nashvegas, but I’m proud to announce that E is back and better than ever.  I am however starting to feel that I’ve been on so many blind dates lately that I need a seeing eye dog.

Wednesday night I met the Red Bandit, who is an Eharmony match that I had high hopes for.  In his pictures he appears to be my chupacabra – a light skinned black man with green eyes.  I was very much let down to learn he is nothing more than German and Italian, but I think his mom made a run with the milk man at some point.  Named the Red Bandit because he works for Target and he showed up to our date in a RED sweater, he was an 8 until he opened his mouth.  NERD CENTRAL.  He spent at least an hour talking about his interests in the healing powers of reiki (google it) and Western medicine.  I am pretty talkative and can hold a conversation with almost anyone, but moving into hour 2 of this date, I wanted to stab acupuncture needles in my ears to end the pain.  I pushed through the rest of the date by focusing on his good looks and ignoring the dorky pitter patter coming from his mouth.  He’s already texted and called to try and arrange another date.  I’ll give him one more chance just so I can look at him.  He’s also been emailing M, so I’m hoping she’ll go out with Red Bandit simply to see if he owns any other colors in the ROYGBIV spectrum.

Tonight I met with another Eharmony match, and we shall call him Mr. Schuester.  I know some of my close friends will freak out because I dated a Mr. Schuester last year, and he is now named Peter Pan.  New Mr. Shue is also a high school social studies teacher and arrived to our date in an argyle sweater.  The new Shue writes and plays music and recently recorded an album.  I’m very much into music and would love to date someone that shares that passion.  He also competes in triathalons and we knew some mutual tri friends.  We set up date #2 before the night was over and he already texted me to say what a nice night he had.  Raven reeling em in like fish.  

I have a lunch date this weekend with ANOTHER Eharmony match.  I know what you’re thinking.  Lunch?  That’s the friend zone.  But I’m a busy lady and I can’t devote all my dinners to potential suitors.  A girl has to eat 3 balanced meals a day and why not let a stranger pay for it?

Tomorrow night M and I are going out for Spinster Saturday, armed with a stack of napkins with our names and numbers written on them.  We’ve got nothing to lose and lots of blogging to gain, so we will definitely be in our zone.  #dontletmeintomyzone


P.S.  Thanks for all the great feedback and support on this blog.  We love our readers!



The Games We Play

I just took my dog for a walk and was amazed at how he had no fear, went straight up to a giant American Mastiff, sniffed his ass, and then tried to hump him. Now granted, my dog is 30 pounds soaking wet and maybe a foot tall, so when he tried to mount the horse disguised as a dog, the only thing he reached was his head. But neither of them seemed to mind, and in fact, they both seemed rather content.

I only bring this up because I wish dating in the human world was as simple as dating in the dog world. No games, straight-forward, no questions of whether you like him or he likes you. The only girl I know who has mastered the “no games” flirting technique is our friend Cray Ray whose method is something like this: Guy is hot. Girl is hot. Hot girl wants hot guy. Hot girl gives hot guy napkin with phone number and they live happily ever after. Very similar to the unambiguous technique used by all other mammals. I, regrettably, do not have the chutzpa to attempt such a bold gesture, and am thereby left playing games that will inevitably drive you crazy.

I went out on Friday night with a couple of girlfriends for what was only going to be happy hour. I ended up meeting a guy, and happy hour turned into bar hopping and 3am salsa dancing. We had an amazing time, great conversation, and he was gorgeous! Sticking to our rule, I did nothing more than let him crash at my place so he didn’t have to drive home. We ended up staying up most of the night talking and he took an amazing picture off my balcony of my view of the city, which is why he’s been named Panorama.

Before Panorama left, he texted me the picture of my view so that I would have his number… then proceeded to text back and forth the next day. THEN NOTHING. For 2 days straight… NOTHING! If you like a girl, sniff her ass… if you don’t, show your teeth. But why the mind games? Why leave a text unanswered for 2 days? Especially after it seems like everything is going great?

I was about to jump out of my skin so I finally formed a cute and witty text to let him know I was still in the picture. He responded and seemed interested and flattered… but A. Why did it take so much effort to get a response? and B. Why am I still unsure of where things stand?

Out of all the guys I’ve met on this crazy spinster journey, this one is the only guy I’ve actually felt that instant connection that everyone talks about. I don’t know if it’s chemistry or butterflies or too many vodka sodas, but I like him so I’ll continue to play his foolish games… but let it be known, I’m damn competitive!


Valentime’s Day

Off the bat, why do people call it “Valentime’s day?”  It’s VALENTINE… with an N.  Moving on…

I woke up this morning with a slight feeling of depression, as I’m sure most single girls feel on February 14th.  For a moment, I let my mind drift off to the the memories of last year with Peter Pan, then I swallowed down the vomit and moved forward with my day.  I planned to treat today like any other Tuesday, except with the excitement of dinner at Cowfish with M and mental fantasy of Channing Tatum companied with movie butter popcorn.  As usual on ValentiNe’s day, the receptionist at work called me to say I had flowers waiting at the front desk, all because my mom’s fiance is so well trained that he has his Outlook programmed to send me flowers today and on my birthday.  To my surprise, I had three bouquets waiting for me!  Oh, the feeling of love coupled with the jealousy and/or judgement of the staff is a feeling I revel in twice a year.

The other two bouquets came from the charter members of the Spinsters Club – M and Cray Ray, and they inspired the idea for this post.  Why does love have to come from a man?  Why are we lead to believe on Valentine’s Day that the only love that’s worth a damn has to come from a boyfriend, fiance, or husband?  Not true at all.  I felt more love today from the single act of three people whom I did not have to put out for, than any other February 14th in my entire existence.  So I thought – why do we need to appoint a day to share love with the people who are special to us?  And why do teddy bears, flowers, and boxes of chocolate need to be involved?  Not that I’m complaining about the sweets or flowers…

From this day forward, I’m making a point to practice love in action – for myself, for my family, friends, and significant other (if that ever happens), year-round. It’s a beautiful gesture to buy someone flowers on the 14th, but it’s even more beautiful to treat them with care every other day as well. I don’t always succeed, but if we all made a point to trade products for a way of life, days like Valentine’s Day or symbols like engagement rings would fare inconsequential in light of the powerful connections we are creating with each other. The truth is that it’s hard enough to find love and love ourselves fully sometimes without holidays getting in the way. These are lifelong pursuits that just can’t be bought.

“You only get what you give away, so give love.” -Sara Bareilles (yes I love song lyrics)


Chi-town Swaggggg

Since E & M had a low key and dateless weekend,  a special guest blogger has stepped up to the plate.  Enjoy! 

I’ve earlier been introduced in this blog as “Cray Ray”. I, too, rock the single girl swagg, and am attempting to navigate the waters after being in a relationship for the past 6 years. I ended things with my ex back in August, moved to Chicago from the suburbs, and have been making attempts at learning the rules of the dating world ever since.  One thing I’ve figured out is that I’m not one for rules when it comes to dating, which is probably why E & M were blown away by my techniques of meeting men at the bar during my recent visit to Charlotte. I live by the thought that I know what I like and I can usually talk my way into getting what I want. I get away with this easily living in Chicago, as opposed to what those ladies have to deal with in the South. I think things there are intended to be more traditional and “proper”. My response? Screw that. In our generation, women and men are supposed to be equals – so why can’t I go up to a guy I’m attracted to and buy HIM a shot? I see nothing wrong with this, and while I like being doted on as much as the next girl, I’m certainly not going to wait around for seemingly clueless 20-somethings to come to me.

So when I made eye contact with a guy at the bar in Charlotte, I thought I’d enjoy a dose of much needed small talk, free drinks, and harmless flirt-texting over the next week. Never did I imagine that my adorably coy smile and wave to a man towering over all the others at the bar would lead to drinks back in Chicago a week later. After approaching me and some inaudible bar chat was attempted, M came up to inform me that Big Gulp – deemed so because he’s a tall drink of water at 6’5″ – and his friend were just visiting from Chicago. Small world. Turns out, I have a type – and my type is guys who live in Chicago, and respond well to wildly attractive, confident (some may argue mildly aggressive) women.

 During my time shamelessly flirting, I sent E & M on a mission to perfect my signature move. Already mentioned in a previous post, I like to write my full name and number on a napkin, tell the guy you think he’s really cute and slip him the napkin while shaking his hand, then vanish into the bar haze. It’s so old-school and obvious that this move is surprisingly under-used by women. Men find it intriguing and flattering – they love to be hit on just as much as we do. Not only does it leave them with a tangible reminder of your presence instead of a random number in their phone, but you’ve also provided them with any easy way of Facebooking you, in case they were so overwhelmed by your confidence that they forgot how gorgeous you are (like that’s even possible). Most importantly, it puts the ball in their court; you don’t have their number, or even know their name to anxiously await their text/call or Google-ing them at work (don’t judge). The downfalls of this move include, but are not limited to: occasionally accidentally hitting on married men (they should really wear a sign), or the guy mistakes your confidence as sexual prowess – which you also have, but he doesn’t know that yet.  Needless to say, I don’t find either of these to be enough of a problem to keep me from doing it.

Big Gulp heard me discussing this move to E & M, and asked what he had to do to get a napkin with my number… apparently all you have to do is buy me a Coors Light around 1:30am. Throughout the week I got texts from him most days, and he asked if I wanted to get drinks on Sunday. Don’t get me wrong, I love to keep the Sabbath holy like any other 25 year old single girl living in Chicago, but I decided to put down my Bible and agreed to meet up. About 30 minutes into the evening, I told him I had a serious question to ask him and I wanted him to be honest. Nervously, he asked me to proceed. “Have you ever dressed as the Jolly Green Giant for Halloween?”


Why does a first “date” have to be awkward? Why do we feel like we have to be proper and say all of the right things? I know I’m funny in a very specific (often misconstrued) way and if a guy can’t understand my sarcasm then eff him, I refuse to spend my life explaining my utterly hilarious jokes. Moral of the story: Make your own rules for dating, otherwise you’ll end up playing by someone else’s for the rest of your life. Not every guy you meet is going to be the man of your dreams, but unless you put yourself out there, you’ll never know.


Spinster Saturday

I had the pleasure of meeting E’s friend Cray Ray this weekend, and we three single ladies hit the town in what we called “Spinster Saturday.”  The dictionary defines a spinster as, “a woman still unmarried beyond the usual age of marrying” and as the oldest of this fine ass trio, a whopping dirty-thirty, in the south, I went into the night believing I was the epitome of the term.

I emerged from the weekend, after recovering from my haze and DTs, with a greater appreciation of what being a spinster represents and why I shouldn’t take it for granted.  Maybe it was Cray Ray’s impeccable wit, the camaraderie of a single girl’s night out, or #learningtohashtagthehelloutofshit, but I realized that wishing and looking for a relationship or marriage for the sake of not being single will only lead to a life of misery.

My mom always tells me “the grass is greener on the other side.”  Don’t get me wrong, our ultimate goal for the entire blog, and dating in general, is to find Mr. Right and settle down into one of those married couples that you see in romantic comedies.  But Spinster Saturday taught me to appreciate all of the wonderful intricacies singledom has to offer before we upgrade to happily ever after.

For instance, only when you’re single can you come home after a day’s work to a completely silent space that you call your own and process that day’s events.  Maybe it gets lonely every once in a while, but the peace and freedom to do whatever you want is something that married couples only fondly remember.  And as an independent single, I never have to share my bed, closet, bathroom, or paycheck with anyone else unless so desired.  I think the best thing about single life thus far has been the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends, whom I might have missed out on if I was sitting at home with Mr. Right.

Yes, I may be a spinster and I may not meet someone for quite some time.  But I guarantee that I’m going to have a hell of time trying and will never take for granted the amazing life that I have created for myself!

Yes, I’m single and you’re going to have to be amazing to change that! -Anonymous


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