We're Back, Bitches

Before we even jump into the topic at hand, we must let it be known that coming up with this post title was a point of contention: one of us views bitches as a term of endearment, and the other sees it not so sentimentally.

Oh well: the girl who's typing is the girl whose vote counts.

So yes, we're back. We took a three-year hiatus, but that doesn't mean we're any less broke or any less single.

We will tell you just how single we are, in fact, but first we must tell you about an epic decision with which we were recently faced. (Did you like how that sentence did not end with a preposition? Oh yeah. That's what happens when two English majors write a blog post.)

Recently, we were presented with an opportunity to take the next step, to take our relationship to another level. Yes, we were faced with a big question: to roommate, or not to roommate? (Dad was wrong: that English degree was worth something.)

A friend of ours remarried his ex-wife, which left them with a bonus house. When he was explaining this to us, we immediately exclaimed, "We could rent that! You should totally rent that to us!"

And we were met with crickets.

Silence.

Nothing.

But apparently we pitched the idea well enough, as he emailed us first thing the next morning offering up the house for rent -- and then used up all of our phone storage by texting us 45 pictures of every corner.

On Monday, we toured the house. It was a nice house. It had a lot of roommate potential. And, it would accommodate our zoo. Now we had to make a very important life decision. And how does one do that?

Over cocktails. Duh.

So, we headed to dinner -- where we were going to have one glass of wine.

Three glasses of wine (and an extensive mental list of pros and cons) later, we headed over to one of our houses. And opened another bottle of wine.

At this point, we thought we should get another opinion. So naturally, we called Mom.

Us: Hey, Mom, can we put you on speaker phone? We have something we want to ask you.
Mom: Oh, sure!
Us: Okay. Mom, you're on speaker phone.

Silence.

Us: Are you there?

Mom: Are you girls gay?!

Us: Silence.

Us: Well, that'd be a lot easier.

Us: But no.

So yes. That's just how single we still are. Our parents think we're gay.

Welcome back, friends.

Same Old Song & Dance

As holders of graduate degrees, we have learned how to analyze the shit of the shit out of something; synthesize old and new information; and apply it across race, language, age, and - in this case - gender.  Let us take this moment to educate: in psychology, there is a phenomenon called "learned deviance."  This occurs when people learn bad things from others; instead of learning positive coping skills, they learn to be better criminals.

Why are we telling you this, you may ask?  We are perplexed as to which came first: Randy's ridiculous behavior or his roommate Buck's blatant disrespect toward other human beings.

Background story:

When one of us started "dating" (again, we use that term loosely) Randy, Randy was adamant about hooking the other up with his roommate, Buck.  We thought this was a great idea: how fun would it be for two best friends to be dating two fall in love with and marry roommates?!  We were thinking double wedding, houses right next to each other, naming our children after one another - you get the picture.  It was going to be grand.

And it was!

When we started dating (yes, term used loosely yet again), things were wonderful: Buck is well-traveled, he is intelligent, he is well-versed in the arts, he is relatively attractive, he is older (more mature, right?), he is a great father, he is a runner and in great shape, he is a dog lover, he loves to cook and drink wine, and the list could go on and on.

Red Flag #1 (it was only a matter of time): "I didn't think I'd like you because I don't date redheads."

Red Flag #2: "I usually only date stupid, vapid blondes about half my age."

Red Flag #3: "You have a unique face."

Red Flag #4: "I can recommend a great aesthetician - my baby mama."

(Red Flags #1-4 were actually said in one sentence - one breath that came out of his mouth.  Awesome.)

Red Flag #5: while one of us was trying to sober up Randy for that high-class charity event, urging him to stop asking Buck to accompany us, Buck finally mentioned that he could not attend because he had an "overnight guest" coming, and he had to clean the house.  After we picked our jaw off the floor, we quickly left the vicinity because we believed it to be "girl code" to avoid situations in which your best friend's man was sleeping with another woman.  Side note: when we returned in the morning, we noticed that "Bobbi with an 'i'" drives a red IROC Camaro, and we therefore assumed she looked like this:

Classy.  And after some clever stalking on a popular social networking site, it was confirmed that "Bobbi with an 'i'" does, in fact, wear shoulder pads.

Red Flag #6: After "Bobbi with an 'i'" went back to southern Missouri/northern Arkansas (aren't they the same thing?), we had not heard from Buck for several days until we received this gem of a message: "I have an opening in my schedule Friday morning at 9:30 if you wanna come by and hang out."  We're so glad you could fit us into your schedule; did your hair appointment cancel?  (Interesting side note: as we were arriving to that "appointment," Randy arrived as well, and Randy and Buck had a "secret" conversation about how Randy had spent the night "elsewhere."  [Another interesting side note: that "elsewhere" was not with us.])

Red Flag #7: Buck and Randy clearly did not notice our blatant disapproval of their extraneous relationships, and one of us went to their house for dinner - and met Buck's "friend."  (Interestingly, she was a stupid, vapid blonde.  Also interestingly, she was not half his age and was instead a grandmother.  Although we are not sure if, at 42-years-old, that is something you should be proud of, and we are also not sure that ultrasound pictures are appropriate for the dinner table.  But we're not judging...  Okay, we're judging.)

After this lovely encounter, we did not hear from Buck for days - until he called, out-of-the-blue, asking us to meet at one of our favorite establishments.  Fueled by half a bottle of cheap chardonnay, we ripped him a proverbial "new one."  (Of course we didn't do that; you should know by now our strength is passive-aggressiveness.)  However, we did have a come-to-Jesus meeting.  But did he listen?  No: when our back was turned, he told his friend how much he loved to be degraded, and how his favorite pet-name was "emotional disaster."  Clearly the message did not hit home.

Moral of the story: we sincerely thought that dating roommates would be an amazing happily ever after; the boys, on the other hand, likely despised the fact (or completely forgot due to their alcohol-induced stupidity) that we actually talked to one another, completely revealing their meandering ways.

And we leave you with this charming picture: walking into yet another of our favorite neighborhood establishments and seeing Randy and Buck sidled up to the bar, accompanied by a girl wearing jorts and a rather portly woman who slings barbecue for a living.  You're welcome.

Organization is a Life Skill

You know what's really embarrassing?   Walking into the bar with Randy and Buck (the roommate, stay with us) and seeing the two lovely ladies who sang like canaries, opened our eyes, and pointed directly at the giant red flags in front of us.

Let us back up.

Us: OMG.  Last night with Randy was so fun!

Cute Spy Girls (friends of ours and, interestingly, Randy's coworker): Randy?!  Please don't tell me you're dating him!

Us: Uh, I'm not sure "dating" is the right word...

Cute Spy Girls: You are way too good for him!  You are smart, pretty, funny, successful, well-traveled, well-read, highly-educated, and nice!    (Um, duh.  We know.)  Why are you dating him?!

Us: Oh, you know him?

Cute Spy Girls: Let me tell you!  He is a hot mess!

Us: Yeah, yeah.  Story of our lives.  Fill us in.

At this point in the conversation, Cute Spy Girls proceed to tell us just how gentlemanly Randy (and his roommate Buck) is.

Story #1: "Let me tell yoooooooou a story.  You want to know about Randyyyyyyyy?  We will sing like the pretty little birds that we are!"  As it turns out, Randy is a little more organized than we gave him credit for.  Hey, when you're juggling 18 women, you better be able to keep a calendar.  Unfortunately, Randy kept his in his easily-accessible cell phone.  One of Randy's more educated "bitches" (his word, not ours....this one was a lawyer) found some salacious texts from another, more mature (read: old.....like, 50's...sorry Moms) bitch.  At this point in the early morning, Lawyer gathered Randy's belongings and not so politely asked him to leave.  Given the fact that Randy has no transportation (three OWI's, no license 'til 2071, remember?), you can imagine what he must have looked like dragging his garbage bag full of crap across town at 2:00 in the morning.  It gets better.  One of his younger bitches (his word, not ours) called and added to his baggage the happy  news that she was carrying his child.

At this point in the conversation with our pretty little songbirds, we realized that Randy maintained an honest-to-God rotation of women.  Our only dilemma now was to figure out which night was reserved for us.

Oh, and remember that fancy, expensive, board-of-directors charity event we attended?

Seven hours prior:

Us: getting excited for our hot date.

Randy: getting drunk (Blue Moon) at his place of employment.

Six hours prior:

Us: talking to our friends about how excited we are about our hot date.

Randy: getting drunker (Vegas Bombs) at his place of employment.

Five hours prior:

Us: calling our moms to tell them how excited we are about our hot date.

Randy: telling the bar, "My bitches don't care what condition I'm in!  They're just happy to see me!"

Four hours prior:

Us: steaming the dress to get the wrinkles out.

Randy: smoking...something.

Three hours prior:

Us: calling friends to solidify pre-event plans.

Randy: thinking of reasonable excuses to tell his Friday-night girls (apparently not us) as to why he needs to switch them to Saturday night.

Two hours prior:

Us: picking out the perfect shoes and accessories to match our smokin' hot dress.

Randy: begging his roommate to borrow something semi-nice and semi-clean.

One hour prior:

Us: having a glass of wine to relax and prepare for what will surely be a fabulous, glamorous evening, hobnobbing with Des Moines' who's who.

Randy: lighting up another...um...coping skill.

The event:

See previous post.

You know who doesn't mind being embarrassed?  Us.  You know who doesn't heed red flags?  Us.  Because yes: despite those cute little songbirds, we went out with him again.  Sorry, Moms.

A Charity Case

As we mentioned in the previous post, we invited Randy to an upscale charity function a couple of weeks ago.  It may be important to note that this was not just a charity event that we attended but one for which we serve on the board, one for which we were underwriters.  Read: it was kind of a big deal.

We had been looking forward to this event for months and had purchased a beautiful new cocktail dress (and looked exactly like the model):

5:00 p.m.: After spending nearly two hours primping and curling and make-up-ing, we went to pick up our date.  (OWI's, remember?)

5:05 p.m.: Smell the Blue Moon and Vegas Bombs wafting off of our date.

5:06 p.m.: Jaw hits the ground as we see what he is deeming appropriate attire - the most torn-up jeans he owns, a t-shirt, and a stupid hat.

5:10 p.m.: Randy asks us if we would drive him to a friend's house to run an "errand" with him.

5:30 p.m.: Walk into a scene straight from Half Baked - in a tiny cocktail dress and five-inch platform heels.

6:30 p.m.: Drive back to Randy's and force him to change.

6:31 p.m.: Randy invites roommate (Buck) to the event.  Repeatedly.

6:33 p.m.: Randy digs out slightly more appropriate clothing (cigarette burn on the pants, a fly that didn't work).

6:35 p.m.: Randy demands that he will be wearing flip-flops.

7:00 p.m.: Arrive at a fancy downtown restaurant to have a glass of wine and schmooze with friends.  (In hindsight, Randy did not need anything to drink other than a liter of water and eight Aspirin.)

7:30 p.m.: Pull into parking lot, and Randy answers a girl's phone call and invites her to the event.  When he realizes she does not have a ticket, he said that we can sneak her into the venue "in his trousers."

7:31 p.m.: Become even more annoyed.

7:32 p.m.: Move from annoyed to pissed.

7:33 p.m.: Move from pissed to furious.

In the hour that we were at the event, Randy had approximately four bottles of wine to our one glass, ate appetizers straight from the platters (sans napkin or plate), wandered around outside during the ten-minute presentation, picked flowers out of the centerpieces, asked the server to "top him off," and acted like a complete ass.

8:45 p.m.: Tell Randy that it is time to leave, despite another hour of open bar.

Did we drop him off at home?  No, no, of course we didn't.  Instead, we decided to take him to our house because his roommate, who is dating our best friend, had an "overnight guest."

Stay tuned for that hot mess.

Lessons in Spotting Red Flags

Where do we even start with this one?  We are pretty sure we just spent the better half of two months dating (we use that term loosely) a cartoon character: there is no way this person could actually exist.  Alas, he does.  And we experienced it.

On May 8th, 2011, we decided to celebrate not being moms by doing the most un-mom-like activity we could think of: drinking on a patio at 3 p.m.  Interestingly, we were the only ones who had this idea, as the patio was empty.  We decided to have one pitcher - yes, ONE pitcher - and then go home.  However, our plans were thwarted when two gentlemen (we use that term loosely) arrived and pulled up their chairs.

At first, we were certain these guys were together; they appeared to be way more into each other than they were to us.  We were wrong.

The next thing we knew, we were sitting around a bonfire in someone's backyard, in the middle of the city, at 3 a.m. on a Monday morning.  Clearly, it was time to go home.

Guess what decision we made?

A week later - to our surprise - we received a phone call at 8 p.m. on a Friday.  The caller - Randy - asked if we were at work.

On the topic of work, let us take a brief respite to tell you a little about Randy:

Career	College degree but not using it: no big deal – in this economy, many people our age find jobs out of their intended field	Completely satisfied with career trajectory as a server at a local restaurant
Transportation	No car: lessening one’s carbon footprint is admirable	Three OWIs
Parenting	Child: as we get older, many people we date are fathers	Has not seen his daughter in three years, nor does he have means by which to financially support her (see above)
Legal	Iowa Courts Online: we were all young and crazy once	2008?!
Health	Addiction: yes, it is a powerful thing, but there are ways to conquer it	Nothing like a year in prison to kick a meth habit
Housing	Living with a friend: great way to save money	An official lease would have shown up on his parole officer’s radar
Domestic Skills	Some parents don’t teach their children to cook	Survives on Taco Tuesdays, roommate’s leftovers, and copious amounts of Coors Light
Clothing	Jeans are expensive; besides, the worn look is in	Holes that show the entire butt cheek are not appropriate for the workplace, even with boxers underneath

Apparently spotting all of these red flags unfurling in the wind is not enough: acting on them is key.

Before that, we needed a date for an upscale charity function, and despite the red flags, Randy was the perfect (okay, only) candidate.

Stay tuned for the date recap - and more on his roommate, Buck.

We've Been Dethroned...

...as the queens of passive-aggressive behavior. Let us tell you some stories:

• As you know, we had not blogged for quite awhile. In that time period, we met several "interesting" individuals, most of whom we subsequently friended on a popular social networking site (perhaps you've heard of it, as it was the subject of an Academy Award nominated film), most of whom were unaware of our virtual authorship. On Friday, we tried to regain loyal readership by advertising our blog everywhere we possibly could, including the aforementioned site. On Saturday, one of these "new friends" proceeded to delete every single comment he had written on our page. Coincidence? We think not. The question remains: why not just delete us all together? Interestingly, due to us being respectful (hey, first time for everything) he had not yet been mentioned in our blog.

• As usual, this is best recalled via actual text messages:

1:16 a.m.: "What r u girls doing?"

1:16 a.m.: "Um, we're at home. We're so cool." (Dude, it's almost 2:00 in the morning. You're 30 years old. It's time to go home.)
2:44 a.m.: "Me and my buddy solvinh th problems of the world. What u doing?"
2:50 a.m.: "Solving the problems of sleeping by moving from the couch to the bed." (Perhaps the better solution would be to turn off the phone.)
2:51 a.m.: "Soft."
2:51 a.m.: "Uh..." (Not surprising.)
3:20 a.m.: "Dude*...I kill on gitar hero." ("Dude?" Really?")
3:39 a.m.: "Oh yeah?"
3:49 a.m.: "You got no chance...I'd fuck you up." (Right.)
4:07 a.m. "Y do u have cats?"
4:08 a.m. "Random. Why do you ask?"
4:08 a.m. "Bc I'm allergic to their damn dander." (What drunk person says "dander" at 4 a.m.?)
4:09 a.m. "There's medicine for that."
4:18 a.m. "I'd be dead if I took that shit."
4:19 a.m. "Abundance of alcohol & allergy meds don't exactly go togetjer."
4:30 a.m. "Were you planning on coming over or something?" (Do not read as hopeful: merely inquiring.)
4:34 a.m. "I'm a guitar hero all star."*
5:40 a.m. "I rock." (Indeed.)

In addition to dealing with passive-aggressive dudes, we had quite an eventful weekend. Remember how we said that we signed up for a marathon? Well, turns out that training for such an event is quite important. We decided to start yesterday. After a day of training (two miles), our muscles hurt, our toes hurt, and our brains hurt. We would already like to quit. Instead, we say this to 26.2 miles: BRING IT.

In order to rehydrate and use a coupon, we decided Sangria Saturday was a wonderful idea. Turns out that our $25 coupon covered the tip. Oops. We also decided that our workout for today would include margaritas (Skinnygirl, of course) at 5:00 in the afternoon.

Finally, today was spent running numerous errands. If you are our friends on a certain social networking site, you probably already know this due to our "checking in." It's not so cool when other people do it, huh? We hope you learned your lessons.

And now, we're going to go check in at the refrigerator. It's time for a refill.

*For all of you Guitar Hero All Stars who would like to expand their musical prowess, we would like to recommend a product: Rock Pedal. We would also like to now give a shout-out to the developer of said product, our college buddy.

We're Too Old For This Shit

You may wonder why it's taken us so long to get back to this blog, the one that has brought us such fame and fortune. (Soon, soon...) Well, we've been very busy - dating our hearts out, slaving to find material for you - YOU. And material have we found. Get ready.

We will start this blog post with the conversation starter we have received from numerous gentlemen (we use that term loosely) as of late:

"Hi."

And in keeping true to literary form, we will update you with tidbits of text messages we have received from various gentlemen over the last four months:

3:49 a.m. (after not having talked for six months) - "Hey, what up? Doing anything tonight?"

2:17 p.m. (after not having talked for ten months) - "I hope you're having a nice spring break. Hypothetically speaking, would you have hooked up with me had I asked?"

11:58 p.m. - "So what up? Out having fun tonight?" - "Hey, not out...in bed." - "Sounds like u need some compnay?!?!"

10:33 a.m. - "What color panties r u wearing?"

11:17 p.m. - "You're getting your Masters degree? Usually the girls I talk to are way dumber than me!" - "What do you do?" - "I just got out of jail."

Just so you know, we have some absolutely amazing material on deck, but we'd like to wait until the relationship falls completely through before we blog about it. It's going to be the best yet. Hang tight: this won't take long.

On another note, Spring Break 2011!!!!!!!!!!!

We decided to indulge our inner sorority girls (SPRING BREAK 2011!!!) and head to Key West for a week of fun in the sun. Some of us wore sun block, and others of us were lucky enough to find aloe:

After delivering emergency care, we headed to the Wannabe-Jersey-Shore-House: Fat Tuesday. Of course we bought the requisite obnoxious coozie: how else are we supposed to keep our Hurricanes cold?

Following that necessary pit-stop, we headed to another must-have of the trip: Rick's fountain. After all, we are a couple of classy ladies.

To complete the Duval Crawl, we hit up a popular place:

We came. We saw. We left. Interestingly, this happens to be one of our parents' favorite bars. Thankfully, they were not there...naked...sitting on bar stools.

P.S. In a fit of insanity, we signed up to run a marathon. 26.2 miles (but we're going to do 26.3). Stay tuned.

P.P.S. We'd like to give a shout-out to the #1 evil step-mommy dearest Gator fan: you know who you are, and we love you one million. (Just to clarify: this would not be the parent who frequents clothing-optional bars.)