Single in Saint Louis: Craziness

5 paragraph text message

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:16:00 GMT

I am rting this to mke a pt. I’m tired of the 5 para. Txt message. It seems everyone I M dating these days is rting them. Apparently, the purpose of a cell phone has been lost. I hate them. I wish ppl remembered what it was like to call someone. I wonder if they even know what that receiver in their hand does.

Clearly, it is a typewriter or computer, certainly not a telephone. At 1st txting was fun. Txting was a nice way to say “Hello!” and “Thx.” I txted my friends from time 2 time and for various things. Txting was a gr8 way to get out of a bad date.

That was B4 I began hearing the ring of my phone a million times a day. Only the txt’s I was sent were not a short “Hi!” The txts I was receiving were novels. I even thnk some1 txt’d me Jane Eyre.

I will nvr get while ppl will spend an hr typing on the phone, something that could be lft in a VM in two min.

That is Y I am rting this entry. I am tired of the txt. If you wnt to tell me “i m cute” or “B there @ 8” call me or send an email. Stop typing on your phone. (This blog was written on my cell phone and sent to myself via text)

Keeping about my humors...

Fri, 16 Jun 2006 00:37:29 GMT

Had an excellent search hit this site today.

"St. Louis Eats Bride"

That explains why all us ladies in da lou are single. LOL

In reality, I think St. Louis Eats, is a magazine, there must be a bridal issue.

Just Call me Serena...or The Wizard??

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 04:26:00 GMT

All the attorneys I know have some type of ability to play a sport. This ability is usually used to hang out with potential clients. Usually, this sport is golf. I tried on golf for size once, my father risked life and limb to attempt to teach me how to use a golf club. After hitting myself several times with the golf club, I found that golf clubs make much better shot put devices. Needless, to say, I chose to quit. I decided that I was endangering everyone on the golf course by my very presence and it was best to just stop before I put myself or someone else in the hospital.

I heard through the grapevine that the next most popular attorney sport is Tennis. So, in an attempt to live up the standards of my future profession, Prince Charming took me out for a match. Well, what was supposed to be a match. I had a festive time watching Prince Charming hunt for tennis balls in the woods near the court and then on my next serve chase them out into the parking lot. Then I had this wierd flashback to age 12.

My family and I went out on a family outting to play tennis. I was the youngest and the family klutz, but they were kind enough to let me have a jr. racket. Then, my brother challenged me to a match. I didn't understand all that Love blah blah, but I do remember being exceptionally bad at tennis. My mother was actually quite good. She pulled me aside and told me to place one finger on the back of the racket to give me a bit more control. I wondered today, if it still worked. I tried it. Prince Charming was grateful. Instead of chasing the balls into the parking lot and woods, now he only had to chase them around the two tennis courts enclosed by fencing. I felt I had learned something. I could hear Wimbeldon calling my name. Crowds cheering! Wait, I was dreaming. I must have knocked myself out. Perhaps, tennis isn't for me either. I must say though, it was a good time. Maybe I will try it again, just for fun.

Since my athletic streak seems to not exist outside of my beloved dancing, I am perplexed about what attorney sport I am going to have to learn. Then I had an epiphany! I will start a new trend among the young lawyers of today, I will resign myself to video games. I am pretty good at original nintendo games. I am a Tetris Master, and I have stomped on my fair share of Koopas and Goombas. I can just see it now, Conversing with clients over an intense game of Rad Racer. Maybe setting up trial strategies as I swim or fly in Super Mario 3. I think it is brilliance, and doesn't take a whole lot of training, just the ability to use a remote control with buttons that do different things. I think I can handle that. I haven't known anyone to be injured playing an original nintendo game. This might be the sport for me.

Hiccups

Fri, 26 May 2006 03:34:27 GMT

I have been fighting the hiccups off an on all day long. It finally came to a point where i googled them. Yes, that is right. I called upon the almighty servant of the internet..google..to find out what a hiccup is and what causes them.

A hiccup is a spasm in the diaphragm (the muscle you use to sing at the bottom of your lungs). No one knows what causes it, but it might have something to do with eating quickly. The old wives tale was to hold your breath for 30 seconds and hiccups will go away. Some of the websites I looked at claimed this was true because it causes carbon dioxide to build up in the lungs, which causes the diaphragm to relax and, in turn, stops the hiccups. I know this is kind of a goofy entry, but I thought it was interesting.

I've always wondered this. Sounds like something to government should set up an agency for. The National Hiccup Research Institution. I would send my tax dollars toward it.

Cytoplasm and Cell Walls

Thu, 05 Jan 2006 02:02:04 GMT

Guest writer Michael the Aloe

Single has returned. She was in awe of how much I have grown in her absence. (Blame it on all that miracle grow from the Christmas Party) She didn't give me any water though. Its cool. I am on a diet. Only sunlight for awhile. I don't want to get saturated and then get sick. Even plants can have too much of a good thing. Especially with all that stuff they put in water these days. Single drinks purified water. I wish I got some of that stuff. She seems to think that tap water is good enough for me. Oh, yeah, it might kill her, but it is fine for the aloe. I am such a second class citizen around this place. Whatever, Single.

I have been on this search for my inner self as advised by my plant therapist. My therapist told me that to help with my identity crisis pertaining to whether or not I am an aloe or a cactus I should start with the cytoplasm and explore my cell walls. So That is what I am doing. I have been doing a little research. You can track my progress on my new blog. I will be exploring the ins and outs of what makes an aloe special. I can't believe single finally let me just set up my own space. I told her I could do it, she claimed I was just a plant. Well..I am an exceptional plant. Here is the site!

www.msnspaces.com/members/michaelthealoeplant

The Princess and the Toad

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 14:23:26 GMT

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. She lived in suburbia with her family and around the block from a toad. The toad was somewhat good looking in his own right. The beautiful princess grew up and after being introduced to the toad through a friend she began to date the toad. She dated the toad for a long time.

The relationship with the toad was like that of any relationship between a princess and a toad. Total chaos. A toad dating a princess has a serious inferiority complex. Which means he liked to attempt to exercise power over the princess by attempting to bind her to his ways. The princess thought she loved the toad though so she kept with him regardless of his complex. However, the love she thought she felt was really only a product of the toad’s evil power scheme. The princess didn’t know.

One day, the princess gave the toad the key to her apartment which he broke into and stole all her precious royal jewels. The princess was irate! She had a sudden epiphany of how the toad had been controlling her and moved out, leaving the toad with nothing but a box of cheerios and a picture of her giving him the bird. Later she found out the toad had been mooching! He had been sleeping on her couch in her old apartment. She attempted to use magic spells to implant into the toad’s brain how much he sucks. Nothing worked. Not even pointing at him for hours on end. The toad was an unhappy son of a momma toad with a lot of problems that toads with inferiority complexes have.

The princess found a new prince, and the toad got horribly jealous. He began to call the princess and her new prince all the time because the toad is a punkhead. This annoyed the princess and often she thought of the sweet vengeance that could come from slitting his tires, but the princess was too refined to do such things so she just called the police. The toad was picked up by the police, but before he could be handcuffed he fled into the street only to get squished underneath a car tire and flattened onto the pavement. Just Desserts. The princess’s royal jewels were brought back to her along with the cheerios, the key, and the picture. The End.

The morals of the story: Do not get involved with Toads when you are a princess. Leave the toad to other toads. They will steal your dignity, your jewels, and your cheerios. Trust that life will give them just desserts when the law can’t, but still call the police.

Photosynthesis Part II: What happens when single is away?

Wed, 21 Dec 2005 14:13:42 GMT

Guest Writer: Michael the Aloe

Single left yesterday. I am holding up fort while she is gone. She gave me some water before she left and lucky for me she left those really hot pink roses on the coffee table. Oh yeah. Lucky me. Nice to look at but I think they may be a bit to high maintenance for a plant like me. However, one of the dozen does look over here to my window every once in awhile and wink and give a little flirty smile.

Had a party last night. Things got a little wild, if ya know what I mean. One of the plants, Jerry, from across the hall brought some miracle grow, and we found some of that flower freshner in single's kitchen. I also met a flower arrangement from across the loft. It is the dining room table arrangement. A good bunch of flowers. Not as haughty as the roses, but has some evergreen branches that I have a lot in common with me. Mainly, being a nonflowering plant and confused about what they really are. I mean, I thought I had it bad "cactus or aloe?". They have it worse, "branch or plant?" Come to find out we go to the same plant therapist. I think we are gonna get together for water later this week.

Plants from all over the area showed up. Jerry hired out the wildflowers. I could have kicked him. Man, if they leave their dirt all over single's loft she will stop feeding me when she gets home. Luckily, he hung out post party to help me clean up. Well, it wasn't really by choice, but because one of the ivy plants from down the street tangled him and was dangling him from the ceiling by his stem and threatening to drop him if he didn't help me clean up. Ivy is pretty cool. We sometimes wave through the window at one another.

One of the trees even swayed over to say hi through the window. Great party. A bit hung over this morning from to much miracle grow. The Roses are looking hung over too from the flower freshner. They have turned on the home and garden channel and vegetating in a vase. Vegetating? Well, I guess we are vegetation, that is what we do best. But we can throw a mean party. Don't worry single, the loft is good as new, and after the wildness of last night, I won't be throwing another party for awhile...at least next week.

Ms. Single Crabbypants wants a Crabcake from her favorite Cajun Restaurant!

Sat, 05 Nov 2005 04:05:41 GMT

My mind was depleted into a mish mash of post MPRE legal jargon. In an attempt to wash away the reminants of the exam I took a trip to favorite Cajun food restaurant. Of course I looked studious. I was wearing my glasses. Hair pulled back into a sloppy bun from playing with it during the exam. That tired look of a night of entirely too much caffeine wearing on my face. My spanktaculous green scarf thrown sloppily around my neck. My new raspberry long sleeved shirt, jeans, and my tennis shoes. I looked grad student chic. In a major grad student chic way.

When I walked through the door to Favorite Cajun food restaurant the googling started immediately. I love the googling. It is fun to watch and ignore. I know, someday, I will no longer be googled at, so I enjoy it while I am still young enough to get the stares.

Waiter boy was staring, awestruck from across the room. From the way he looked you would have thought that the evil stepmother law school had freed Cinderella to go the get some Crabcakes, and she had just run into prince charming. One glance around the room and it was obvious why. I was the only female in the place who was not married. Immediate assistance rushed to me. The one huge perk to being a pretty, young single girl in a restaurant filled with older married couples. I was going to be waited on in the biggest way, and I knew it. Every woman has experienced this at some point in their life. Knowing that men are watching your every move. Just because by happenstance you look pretty that day, and you know you are looking pretty.

"You're meeting someone I assume?" He asked, clearly hoping I would say no.

"No, by myself today. I just want a to go order." I replied, he grinned. When he turned his back I rolled my eyes. I couldn't help it. I was feeling kind of Ms. Single Crabbypants. It was the post test haze. An older lady caught my eye roll and giggled to her husband then smiled at me. The waiter escorted me to the bar, handed me a menu, and told the kitchen staff that I was a first priority order. The manager turned around from making a drink to check me out. I mean literally check me out. Up and down, you would have thought he was searching for a green light on my forhead that said..."I am 24, Single, please hit on me"

My light was off, but he dittoed the first priority order, then made me a drink for my wait. My drink...free, of course, no pretty lady, single in a bar should have to pay for a drink. One of the random southern hospitalities that exists in St. Louis even thought it is a little North for most Southern graces. The royal treatment for the tired princess, I thought. Reminded of how my parents always used to call me a little princess.

"I just want some crabcakes." The manager took my order and googled a bit. I noticed the waiter hoovering around the bar area. He would go check his tables then come sit at the other end of the bar and stare. I thought maybe I had a booger hanging from my nose or something so I casually itched my nose and looked away. He continued his check and stare pattern. In fact, it was so obvious the couple next to me at the bar mentioned it. "That waiter keeps staring at you." "Oh! Really?" I said this as if I hadn't noticed.

"Crab Cakes!" One of the kitchen staff yelled. I could see him back in the kitchen he winked at me. I wanted to laugh. I smiled a tired smile as I left. Waived goodbye to the flirts. All of whom were watching me leave and waived back. I needed that moment. I needed to feel pretty. I needed to make heads turn. I needed the confidence boost after being so drained after taking the exam and a sleepless night last night. I went home not so Single Crabbypants anymore. And with my crabcakes. Happy. That is why it is my favorite Cajun Restaurant.

Locked Out

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 16:49:41 GMT

So, the trash has started to stink. I had to take it out. My whole apartment smelled like a landfill. I couldn't take it anymore. So I took out the trash. It seems like a relatively harmless happening. At least if you forget about the disease those little trash bags are carrying. But the trash fought back. The door to my apartment complex swung shut behind me. It locked. I was stranded.

OF course, it couldn't have been yesterday. When the temperatures were a little cooler. OF course it had to be today, in the middle of the day when everyone is at work. Of course! So I sat on the stoop resigned to being stuck in my gated parking lot. Then I had an excellent idea. "I'm BATMAN!!" I said to myself as I began to crawl up the fire esacape.

First floor hallway window...locked. boo.. Second floor hallway window up but with safety locked screen. Booo.... Third floor window Locked.... boo... I began thinking of knocking on neighbor windows. Some of them were up. Just to see if someone was home. But realizing that no neighborly cars were in the parking lot. And the only movement I saw was from the New Yorkers on the first floor who do not like to be bothered. I changed my mind. Crawled back down the fire escape and wandered around the parking lot.

I attempted to manuever the mechanical gate. Didn't work. I was being held hostage in my very own back yard. Literally. I had to get out. I tried the fire escape again. I focused on the 2nd floor window. My fear of heights fighting me the entire time. Then by fate, all those days of cops and robbers as a kid, breaking into other kid's treehouses, and sneaking out my bedroom window when I was grounded became crucial survival skills. I slid up the screen, crawled through the window and was home free!!! Back to my homework, air conditioner, and a club sandwich. Success!!

Fighting The System!!!

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 00:13:40 GMT

There is something incredibly liberating about fighting the system. No, I am not talking about the government. I am talking about the car radio at that stop light next to you on the highway. You know the one which makes your car bounce with its music.

My fight back started about a year ago when I began rolling down my windows on the pimpstress mobile to blare my factory radio with classical music everytime I was next to one of these loud cars. My fight back consisted of Mozart, Beehtoven, Scherezade, Gregorian Chants, Gershwin, and Blues. Everytime I was sitting at a stop light feeling like Chingy was in my backseat, I gave a gift of class. This technique only worked on occassion.

The atomic bomb of my little war against the system has been engineered and was dropped today for the first time. As I was sitting at the stoplight on Forsyth and Skinker in St. Louis City, a silver SUV with some nice spinning hubcaps pulled up next to me. My car began to bounce. My head began to hurt. My inner rage began to take over. I rushed for my CD case and pulled out my Patriotic Music CD. Rolled down all my windows, and began to sing the national anthem. Very loudly I might add. I had to be heard over the SUV's system. Soon, the guys next to me were turning down their music. Yes, they wanted to hear the crazy girl sing. Yes, they were looking at me like "what kind of nut job sings the national anthem with her windows rolled down." I thought "This kind of nut job," and smiled.

It was a fairly cool day here and other cars had their windows down too. Before long I was getting applause from the car behind me. The SUV was busting a gut and the people walking down the street were enthralled. I was feeling quite liberated. Aside from brightening everyones road rage with laughter, there was something inherently liberating about singing with your windows rolled down. No matter how awful you sing.

I am giving a shout out for the internet blog world! Help me fight the system. Lets bring our windows down and sing at the top of our lungs. Let your voice be heard!

The Party

Sun, 28 Aug 2005 20:36:43 GMT

I am throwing a party tonight. Not real sure who is coming. Sent out the warnings to neighbors. Ready to go. Just don't want to go get the fried chicken. Gotta have fried chicken.

Mission Grocery Store

Sat, 13 Aug 2005 21:57:24 GMT

I live on the third floor of my apartment building here in da lou. Which means I and I alone have to haul groceries up three flights of stairs. Unless, I have strategically found someone to help me.

After sitting on my couch for about an hour I came to the realization that I could not call a friend to help me. See, it was before 11:00 and I can't call a friend before 11:00. That would be rude, and likely wake them up. So it was o solo mio. I was to go alone. All Alone. To the big bad grocery store. Filled with angry soccer moms screaming at their screaming children, navigating the aisle hogs, and attempting to navigate my grocery basket around all of these people. Don't get me wrong. I love the grocery store. Especially at midnight or 6am. That is really the best time to shop. There is no one else. The food is freshly stocked. There is no basket manuevering required. It is wonderful! But today I would have to go on a Saturday morning, and alone.

So, I moved from my couch and started to get my things together. Then in an instant! I had a brilliant idea! I will buy my vegetables at the farmers market. It is closer to my apartment, cheaper, and there is more space and less screaming children. Plus, the farmers are usually really nice, friendly people. So I pulled my bike out of storage, aired up the tires, threw a backpack around my shoulders, grabbed 10 dollars, picked the bike up with one struggling arm, lifted it down the three flights from my apartment, and took off for the farmers market.

It was a beautiful morning. The breeze was gently blowing through my hair. The air was warm, but not too warm. Perhaps, that is why I forgot my bike chain at my apartment. Luckily, it is a farmer's market, I could haul the bike around with me. I hopped off and started to walk. Immediately, a farmer noticed my plight as I attempted to stuff a green pepper into my backpack, and offered to hold my bike for me. I parked it by his truck and finished my shopping.

See, there is something very good about the farmer's market, especially for single people. It allows you to buy only what you need. If I want one green pepper I can get one green pepper. Nothing is family sized! If I want some peanuts! I can get enough peanuts for myself. I don't have to buy for myself and 30 of my closest friends.

After shopping I retrieved my bike from the farmer and took off for the grocery store. I must say I am getting to be pretty good at navigating the aisles. But at the grocery store it seems everything comes in bulk. I needed pint sized. Which means I resort to buying kid food. Yes, my singleton cabinet is filled with goldfish, snack packs, and those little cereal things. My freezer has meat which I have to cut into parts and freeze, and I can't buy good bread because it doesn't last as long. With one person eating, a loaf of bread is a little too much. But here is the kicker!

Checking out. I had 5 items. I kid you not. 5 items. Some creamer, salsa, paper towels, TP, and laundry detergent. My bill was not even above $30. The lady in front of me in line has a full basket, two children, and a husband. The cashier asks if she wants paper or plastic. She says paper. Then the cashier says "I'll try to pack your groceries in as few bags as possible." The lady said "Thank you!" The cashier got all of her groceries into two bags. Her husband carried them out. I was ecstatic behind her. I was in the right line! 3 flights of stairs, less is more!

I approached the cashier and she asked "paper or plastic". I said "Paper" not wanting to vary an inch from what the lady in front of me had done. Then the cashier proceeds to pack my groceries in 3 bags. So I asked. "Excuse me, I am here by myself. Do you think you could, please, pack these into two bags." She looked at me and said "What? You can't carry these yourself? Not like you are trying to keep up with two kids and a husband. This is how many bags you get." I am not even kidding. I wish I was! Then I got a little upset.

As any good law student has learned after first year, some people yell and scream when they get angry, others keep their cool and fume under the surface. I kept my cool, and pointed out the fatal flaw in her argument. A flaw I think even my mother with her two kids and a husband would have noticed. "I'm sorry, but two kids have 4 hands, one husband has 2 hands, and a wife has 2 hands...4 +2+2=8. I have 2 hands. So a family of 4 can certainly carry a few more groceries than me." The cashier reluctantly slammed all of my groceries into two bags. I successfully reduced the two bags to one when I reached my car.

So, I suppose my plea on behalf of singletons to all the people of the world is this. Start making groceries more single friendly please! And fire snotty cashiers who can't add!

WEBSITE FOR THE FARMERS MARKET: http://stlouis.missouri.org/citygov/soulardmarket/