“You want to drink a red? Are you sure? You’ve been drinking Sauvignon lately. . . ? “

“Yes Pinot Please.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

I looked at him wondering why he was dissecting my simple response as to what type of wine I want to drink with dinner. Does he not think I know what I want? Can he see me the sweat accumulating on my palms? Do I really want to be here at dinner with him or with someone who can read my mind knowing I want red tonight. Now he’s got me questioning myself.

“Yes Pinot.”

Do I know what I want? A simple question red or white. The taste of red and white and the way they swirl around the glass meshing with my entrée are as different as night and day. As are all the men I have dated.

My reds are strong clean men that are stable. They are the man’s man opting to go watch football or chop down a tree instead of attending Rea’s art opening with me. The reds are my challenges; they know how to handle my brassy edges. They go to work and breakdown corporate execs looking for their faults rationalizing how to win the deal. These are the GQ’s I have dated. Centered and self assured always sticking to the TO DO LIST and freaking out if you sidestep. They are stable and predictable.

If you pick a cabernet vine to early or late it will ruin the wine turning it into a marinade for cheap meat.

The whites are crisp, clean, adventurous, and aloof. The artists and marketers of my world painting me the big picture on canvas. Surprises of butterflies and honey suckles’ left on my door step with out a cause. Everyday is a new adventure and fun. Running around the city palm to palm vacationing everyday. They lack the serious side. But allow me/us to dream we can live on pennies and pickles sight seeing every day. Just writing that makes me want to be Paris Hilton. They lack a planning ability, it’s frustrating and occasionally down right rude. That’s the thing with white wine, put in the back of the fridge for weeks, months, years, when you’re ready to use it ‘LETS GO!’

In the weekend warrior world of bar hopping I am on the prowl searching. We are all searching for what? It’s a personal question weather you are looking for booty, friends, relationships, or to forget your problems. We search for the happy ending even if it is fleeting the moment it begins. We have to believe it’s out there. I know it exists and I used to think I knew what I wanted until this guy questioned my judgment. And now, I am still a little tipsy from the Pinot. It’s to late for laundry, for pie, for the bubble bath I have been longing, for saving a lost friendship I worry is doomed, for fixing my mis-citations, for drunk dialing my Mom and Dad . . . again, perhaps one more glass of wine. A meritage perhaps.

After rereading my entry seems a blush would be in order for the blend I am looking for. A dusted off bottle of red zin.

They stood in a perfect line mimicking every move I made. Their hats were pushed to the left with a sideways slant representing the slightest bit of style. I could tell it was going to be one of those days they color outside of the lines with a purpose.

“Very good now loosen up your shoulders and put a little bounce in your knees. You’ve got it. Now let’s start from the chorus - 1….2….3″

“If yah status ain’t hood
I ain’t checkin for yah
Betta be street if he lookin at me
I need a soldier!”

She walked into the room trying not to smile barely brushing my shoulder.

“Thank-you for teaching my kids hip hop. Kids get your shoes and say good-bye to Aunt Jess. We need to be on time for preschool.”

Because it’s raining outside and I don’t feel like draggin my booty to the gym - it’s Monday - gimme a break! This is one of those nights where the single life is helping me improve my tough girl skills. I borrowed a drill from the maintenance guys at my apartment complex to hang shelves. Figuring out how to change the drill bit was like looking for the last piece of the puzzle. I did it! Then came the hard part - making two dots in a straight line to hang the shelf. I gingerly picked up the drill and gripped it tightly. I stared at the wall admiring it’s smooth surface, I was about to disfigure the wall. It will never again be the same, sure they can respackle it, but the scar will remain. My eyes narrowed, I zoned in (the wall didn’t make a move)
BAM!!! I drilled it Baby!

On another note - I bought an IPOD Mini this past weekend I have lost it 3x already. It’s smaller than a finger in chili

A straight man singing a gay man’s verse – belting at the top of his lungs as he changes the lyrics Old School style. “I fuckin really need you tonight – total eclipse of my *&^%” I laughed and took a shot – acting out the scene with Ronda. The man in the corner did not move, the other would not stop watching her. Breaking away from the scene he walked up to me and said, “So who do you know here?”

“Ronda – she’s my best friend”

Shot down! A total ECLIPSE … he walked away. Then grabbed me by the arm to dance with him,”Sorry buddy – I am not comfortable with this.” You truly can’t hit on a girls best friend or any of their friends. I don’t care if your not dating, an ex, or you had sex just once. It’s not to be done. .

Several years ago I was out with a friend and her favorite ex boyfriend. She said to me, “Joe’s going to hit on you – he already told me he thinks you’re hot, and he has a thing for red heads. It’s okay you can date him.”

“And you’d be okay with that?”

“Yes, he’s a great guy”

“You might be okay with that but I am not okay with that”

In the code of friendship would you pass around an ex like hot potato? I have him, now it’s your turn – the music turns off and there you are busted ruled out of the game. I have lost friends for this – well it was a similar selfish act. Men are territorial and so are women.

Dating a friend’s ex or dating an ex’s friend is just morally incorrect. There are plenty of fish in the sea, and to go down that road is just selfish and disrespectful. Sure, my girlfriends have dated some good-looking guys with great qualities, but I wouldn’t even consider a relationship with them because of the simple fact that they have a history with a friend. If anyone does that to a friend, then they aren’t a real friend at all. There’s just no excuse for it.

If you have not heard all of the smart assed jokes about South Carolina being ridiculed for being down right backwards, crawl out of the cave you’re living in.

Because it is.
It’s beautiful in various parts of the state. I love Charleston, S.C. and want to retire there with my YaYa’s. Southern Hospitality truely exists (I still say mam and sir a lot). There are a lot of progressive thinkers who believe in equal rights for everyone but it’s not stressed that they are from S.C. The easiest and most P.C. way to sum up the other parts of the state is I will never ride my bike out of fear some redneck will run me off the road in his pick up just to prove a point. In college I wrote a paper concerning the removal of the confederate flag from the State building. The year was 1997 people! Yes – 1997 –can you believe it stayed flying high above the capital of South Carolina for that long? The South will rise again and Texas will secede – not likely. I’ll be the first one to call BULL SHIT.

And now Tiffy has just informed me of the following.

“Here goes…two laws were up for change from misdemeanors to felonies. One was cock fighting the other criminal domestic violence. Well, it’s now a felony charge to cock fight in SC but you can still beat your wife with a slap on the wrist. Look up Rep. Altman who was on air when he called the journalist stupid and dimwitted when asked about the reason for cocks before chicks.”

I have not been posting much, hell even I am bored after rereading my last few posts. My birthday celebrations and my kid sisters b-day took up a good bit of time (this is my excuse).

I will soon unveil a new mask to hide behind. I acknowledge I am not fully hidden from you like the time Sarah walked up and said, “So I have to ask you something - are you . . . ?”

Me: “Yes, it’s me - I think your a great writer”

Sarah: “I read your blog everyday”

We stood there and smiled at one another - flattered and exposed.

soon to be sassysuspect.com

Remember when you were in elementary school and the teacher would pick you to help on a special project? That project usually included cutting, stapling, running copies, taking things down the hall, etc. At the time your young naive mind did not realize it was child labor. You thought you were special because you were picked to “help”.

As an adult - your not special - your a tool! After arriving at the office half an hour early this morning to finish up some paper work my boss saunters in and says, “Hey - how’d you like to help your boss out?” This wasn’t really a question, he had pieced together his request as a proverbial favor.
I looked up at him thinking, okay I will stop making you and the company money and “help “,

I replied, “Only if I get mucho brownie points.”

DQ: “But of course”

Once again it’s the start of the week and I am having focusing problems – I looked around my apartment this morning taking a stock of the weekends various events. An over turned wine glass in the sink, a half read novel with the pages bent down, a beach towel, happy birthday cards, flowers, my gym clothes, a Playboy magazine someone left at my house (note to self don’t discuss articles with new neighbors in PB), and a mind that does not know which way to go with a friendship.
How does one address a friend whom has lied to you? You know they have lied - you caught them fair and square they walked into the corner and can’t find a way out. In my ever so subtle manner I expressed my disgust and hurt. After asking her why she out right lied, I want to believe her story I dubbed “The Drunken Curse.” It was a a lie – a detail she forgot she told me, thatÂ’s the problem with lies; you forget who you said what to.

I have the propensity to walk away from drama; I donÂ’t want to be involved. ItÂ’s to much to handle the crap of he said she said and you were my friend first BS. If I wanted drama I would watch the soaps. Have you ever pondered the irony of soap operas containing the word soap? Soap cleanses one to get rid of grime and dirt. Ironically, on soap operas everyone cheats lies, and steals - the whole show is scandalous. Perhaps they are always reaching fro the soap? Just a thought.

Monday morning - apology accepted.

Patiently waiting

I thought you all forgot - I felt like the kid who couldn’t play kick ball because the teams were uneven. Depressed and self-involved it was awful. In my natural escapism fashion I laced up my shoes and went for a run. After all - the next day was a Tuesday - who goes out on a Tuesday?

Not expecting anymore than a few happy emails and elated phone calls I woke up with the sun peaking through my blinds telling me it was time to hit the gym. A bird was squawking outside my window, it’s better than a rooster was all I could think. Screw the gym - I walked to Starbucks. Upon my return - you all remembered and had contacted me by 9:00 am.

The rest of the day was awesome -from the time I got to the office till I laid my head down at 2:00am. I can’t forget Lindsey singing Flashdance and the whole bar singing to me. ( my face flushed and matched the color of my hair).

Thanks