Charlie might attack me with tinsel and Christmas carols once she reads this post, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Thanksgiving is all too often overlooked by the commercial behemoth found in Christmas, and it pains me to see my favorite holiday lurk in the shadows of Santa’s sleigh. So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I give you your top 4 reasons why Thanksgiving is better than Christmas:
50 years ago tonight, my parents became engaged. It’s the only fact I know about their courtship. They claim that they don’t remember anything about their first date or even how my father popped the question.
Apparently, regardless of the situation, I still don’t know when a guy is flirting with me.
Case study:
I walk into a conference room. A meeting has just come to a close and the next presentation will begin in about five minutes. Meanwhile, I set up my laptop and take the few minutes to open up a word document and take care of a few small tasks. Continue reading
As soon as I heard that Tinder was available for download on my Android, I snatched it up. People had been talking about it and my friends are going on dates. So I figured, what’s the harm?
Observations:
This is a hot or not list.
Nothing still happens.
I’m really tired of online dating.
There are at least 500,000 single people (if not more) in the 20 miles around the Salt Lake Valley where I live. Their ages range from the I’m-never-going-there (20 year olds) to the Please-explain-why-you-never-got-married (40 year olds). I don’t know the ratio of men to women, but there is still a substantial group collectively.
I love the smell of men’s shaving cream.
It reminds me of one of my earliest memories. I’m probably about 3 years old. Like most young children, I’m awake much earlier than my mom would like. As soon as the sun streaks across my pink Precious Moments blankie, my eyes pop open and I go looking for my mom. I shuffle past my older siblings’ bedrooms, see that they are still sprawled across their beds, and continue to my parents’ room where I find my mom curled on her side, mouth slightly open and breathing deeply. Normally, I’d nudge her and ask for breakfast or snuggle in next to her for a few more minutes of rest but I notice light coming from the master bathroom so I paddle over in my footie pajamas to investigate.
In the 14 years since I started dating, I’ve had some ups and downs and plenty of stories in between. I think I can pretty much top the bad date stories (sent another girl’s date to the ER… that was pretty awesome) but this last week added some new fodder to my repertoire.
My Facebook Stalker finally got up enough courage to ask me out. He was planning to be in town and decided after two months of messaging me on Facebook and liking my every status that it was time we actually met face-to-face. Although reluctant, I agreed.
I broke my flirt and I have no one to blame but myself. It was never very robust to begin with but a couple years ago I decided to bury it down deep. Real deep. Mariana Trench deep and vowed never to use it again. Neglected and starved, it’s now shriveled and extremely awkward when I try to use it.
You meet a company. It’s fun. It woos you with an impressive salary, it tempts you with it’s edgy reputation, and promises fantastic benefits. You feel like you two would be good together. So you make the first move. You have to let it know you’re interested, right? Be a little flirtatious? A fantastic resumé that touts all of your amazing qualities is just the thing. So you send it in—you put yourself out there in the hopes that the company will like you back. Continue reading
We live in a world where everyone is always competing and comparing. In school we are asked questions like “if Jamie has 6 oranges and Bobby has 4, who has more oranges?” that immediately make us believe that Jamie is better because he has more. We then become discourage when we are found lacking in anything.
The (Single) Life 
