This Bad Decision Brought to you by the Letters K & C

I'm evidently hell bent on losing every reader I have by only posting once in a blue moon. The funny thing is, I get annoyed with the bloggers I read daily who go a while without posting. And yet I often leave Just Me unattended for weeks at a time. Hypocrisy, thy name is Kendra.

So let's see, what to bring you up to speed on? Well first, would have to be my trip to NYC. Cheryl and I jumped on planes from our respective cities and met up with Marissa in New York. We had such a great time and right about here is where I would post picture after picture but guess what? My effing camera is holding the pics hostage and will not download them to my computer. It's a shame too as there are some really great photos. I had hopes of taking the memory card somewhere this weekend and having the pictures put on a disk but I didn't get around to it. But the trip was awesome and we looked cute the entire time. You'll just have to take my word for it. Or you can make your way over to Cheryl's site and see her pics there. Or you can wait for me to get around to getting mine downloaded. I'm hoping it happens shortly before hell freezes over but let's not hold our collective breath, ok?

In other news, I've been making some bad decisions when it comes to men lately. Ok, so just one man, but he if were a university, I would be majoring in Poor Choices. He is as much of a smartass as myself which is always so attractive to me; however, I usually like the affectionate guy, the guy who gives good hugs and touches alot and this guy is not that guy. Which is a good thing because it made it quite easy to resist any charms he may have because I always assume that if someone isn't as tactile as myself, they must not like me. So thing were fine until...he touched my hair. I like to think of myself as a pretty strong woman but I turn to mush when a man plays with my hair. (Sidebar: In my humble opinion, all men should do three things - without fail - to ensure a happy woman. Thing #1 - Focus on the hair. Duh, I just told you that. Thing #2 - Put your hands on a woman's face when you kiss her. This must be done the right way: the thumbs should be in front of the ear and the other four digits wrapping around the neck. Then pull her in. This raises the Hot Quotient of said kiss, thus exponentially raising the possibility of other activities. And finally, Thing #3 - Place your hand on the small of a woman's back when your walking out of a restaurant or bar...or wherever. It's the non-verbal way of saying "I got your back". And chicks totally dig it. Whew. It's exhausting sharing all of this knowledge. Tune in next week for Three Things a Man Should NEVER Do...) Anywho, there was some hair touchage and he somehow figured out that I enjoy it a great deal. It could have been the heavy sighs or the purring or the drool that began to form at the corners of my mouth that gave it away. Hard telling how he cracked the code. And this lead to...nothing. Seriously, nothing happened. Ok, so we curled up and talked all night and laughed but nothing else. The whole night was rated PG. So you might be wondering why I look at this as a bad decision since it was all PG and you're thinking most of your bad decisions have been rated R (maybe even NC-17 for some of you. I'm not naming any names...cough, cough, Woodrow cough, hack, cough.) But if I told you the full story, the whole enchilada, you would understand. And then you'd probably roll your eyes and sigh a little and be all Hey Kendra, this is a bad idea. And I would be all, I know, I know. And you would be all, I thought you weren't going to date guys like this anymore. And I would be all, OK, I get it. And you would be all, I'm not kidding, this won't end well. And I would get pissed and be all, DON'T JUDGE ME! You're not the boss of me! And then I'd go up to my room and slam the door and you'd sigh that exhausted sigh and say something about how stubborn I am and how I always have to learn the hard way. And I'd blog about how I CAN handle the situation...and about how parents just don't understand. Or something. Anyway, stay tuned for imminent doom. At least it will give me something to write about, right?

All Random, All the Time

Here's the thing - I enjoy getting text messages but I kind of hate sending them. It seems to take a long time and I get bored writing back. And people tell me to use the predictive text and I'm all, "The what?" And they're all, "Duh. Predictive text." And then I smile and nod like I know what they're talking about and I go back to taking ten minutes to write a message like I'll meet you at Sushi Hai at 8pm. But what I hate most of all about sending text messages is writing out a message and then accidently sending it to the wrong person. I mean, the really wrong person. And then trying to explain the message you just sent. I'm speaking hypothetically, of course...

In other news, I'm done traveling...at least for the next two weeks. After three trips in four weeks, I'm tuckered out. First was the mid-west, then back east and then down south last week. What there was too much of: fried food, alcohol, scratchy hotel towels, late nights, sneezey airplane passengers. What there was not enough of: sleep, excercise, seeing the brown dog. Good trips but it's been so nice being home. Anyone who has ever stayed at my house will tell you there are two things that are always high end under my roof - bedding and towels. I have yet to find a hotel that has the kind of sheets and towels I like. And I'm not one of those people who puts the cheap stuff in the guest room and bathroom. It's good stuff in there too. I want my guests to be happy. I do wish the hotel industry would share my philosophy on linens. *sigh* Anyway, I do enjoy being home.

One of my New Years Resolutions was to get rid of junk I don't need. I have attacked this resolution with great enthusiasm and each Thursday is an adventure getting all the trash to the curb in the morning because after 31 years of life, I have a TON of junk I don't need. I still have a long way to go but I must say, it feels damn good to unload all this stuff. I've spent most of my life as a pack rat, assuming that everything will one day have a special purpose and therefore could not be thrown out. But I'm checked most of my sentimentality at the door and have been ruthless in my purging. It's been fun going through some of the stuff like old letters from old boyfriends and photos from college (a few of which I still saved because come on! Once a pack rat, always a little pack rat left. Or something...) Anyway, it feels good and parts of my house look much bigger with so much stuff gone. I've decided that clearing clutter is my new favorite pasttime.

Wow. That last line was so pathetic.

I may need a date.

Oh wait, I had one! He is a tall drink of water (6'5"!) and makes me laugh. Good and good. We'll see what happens...

Who Says You Can't Meet a Nice Guy at a Bar?

Ok, I'm giving the people what they want. Here's the insult story...

A few weekends ago my friend Liz and I had decided to head to Sushi Hai for dinner. After dinner we decided to grab a few drinks so we walked to Three Dogs, a Highlands bar. We actually started out at another bar but after a few minutes we decided we wanted someplace a little more laid back and Three Dogs is definately casual and the crowd is usually pretty fun. Please note my use of the word "usually" in that last sentence.

So we ordered our drinks and no sooner did we step away from the bar when a guy walks up and starts talking. Right away it's clear that he's a few drinks ahead of me but he seems totally harmless. A few minutes later his friend introduces himself to us and starts chatting up Liz. So I'm standing there talking to the first guy (couldn't tell you his name if my life depended on it) and after about two minutes I realize I'm talking to the Self-Involved Guy. In that amount of time he'd told me that he was from Indiana (or was it Iowa?), moved to Denver two years ago after his bitter, bitter divorce and owned his own company. He spent a great deal of time telling me all about the company that he started with his best-friend (the guy talking to Liz). Then, he went on and on about his divorce and how she said she "just had to get out". Then he went back to all the facinating details of his company. By that time, my beer was totally gone because besides the occasional "uh huh" or head nod, I hadn't said a word. He found himself endlessly fasinating and just continued flapping his jaws. Because I'm a perpetual smartass I just kept drinking to keep me from blurting out any remarks that were floating through my head. (Example: When he told me his ex-wife said she "just had to get out", my brain screamed, "I feel her pain.") Anyway, my beer was almost empty and Self-Involved Guy kept getting closer and closer to me, thus blocking my escape to the bar. He could clearly see my beer was empty and he didn't offer to buy me another which I thought was just poor manners because everyone knows if you're going to bore a girl to tears with stories of you, you, YOU, the least you can do is provide liquor to dull her pain. But homeboy was totally oblivious and instead proceeded to push himself against me, grab the hem of my sundress and tell me that my legs looked good. I'd been a good sport up to this point but he was testing my patience. I don't really remember what happened next but he said something and I was unable to stop the smartass remark from leaping out of my mouth. Anyway, he got pretty offended. Rather than taking that opportunity to run like hell, I explained that I was just joking around. He informed me that jokes are supposed to be funny. I countered that it was, in fact, a little funny. He argued that it wasn't even a little funny. And then he said this...

"You're a cute girl. But don't try to be one of those girls who thinks they're funny too. Stick with cute because you're not funny."

The last three words echoed in my head..."YOU'RE NOT FUNNY". I stood there for a moment while I tried to process the fact that this numbnuts just told me I was cute but not funny. In my entire life, I've never been told I wasn't funny. I would have rather heard him say I was ugly but hilarious. It's not like I'm thinking of a career in stand-up but I know I'm witty. I make people laugh all the time. I'm a hoot, damnit. I wanted to take my empty beer bottle and crush it over his self involved skull. I realize I shouldn't give a rats ass what some drunk thinks of me but I like to think that my humor is evident even the most intoxicated individual.

He then informed me that he had to go to the bathroom but that he'd buy me a beer when he got back. There wasn't enough beer at that bar (or the other five on that block) to keep me there. I noticed that Liz was about to impale herself on a pool stick to end the misery of talking to the other guy so I interrupted and told her that I needed to get home. We made a break for the door when I remembered I had to close my tab at the other end of the bar. As I stood there waiting for my credit card, I noticed Self-Involved Guy had returned from the bathroom and was looking for us at the far end of the bar.

I may not have been funny that night but watching his dumb ass look around for me? Now that was a little funny.