Commitment

It's the start of a new month. And while I'm on that topic, holy crap?! How is it already March?

I'm the kind of person who is methodical about things. Freakishly methodical. There was a time when I wouldn't get out of bed unless the time was a multiple of five (I've relaxed on that little trait, and now I just don't get out of bed). Likewise, if I go on a health spree and decide to change my eating or workout habits I will never start mid-week; I'll always wait until Monday to make the change. There's something about the nice, clean, fresh start that delights me.

So, as I sat here astonished at just how fast time is actually flying, my thoughts wandered to ye olde blog and the Internets and I thought about how I really do want to write more. And what better way than to create a challenge for myself? And it being the start of the month and all why not use my freakishly methodical mentality to push myself into a blogging challenge? And, lo, a habit is born. Or at least force fit into my life. Whatever, I'm gonna write and you're gonna like it, because I'm making it my goal to post every day in March. Yes, Internets, you read that correctly. EVERY DAY. Including weekends.

I even went so far to declare my crazy intentions publicly by adding myself to the blogroll at NaBloPoMo, a haven for other bloggers who have committed themselves to be chained to their blog give the Internets a month's worth of gold in the form of blog posts. And the fine folks at NaBloPoMo offer support, too. In the event you need an idea for a post, they offer monthly themes and daily prompts around that theme. March's theme is "In a Word." I'm not going to lie, some days you might get a one word post and, yes, I will totally count that as a post. You know why? Because I'm the boss of me. But knowing me and my freakishly methodical brain (and my verbose tendencies), you might be the winner of a month full of LMNT. You, in a word: lucky.

You could throw your challenge flag, but the ruling on the field will still stand.

Guess what? ANOTHER BRAND NEW POST! We'll technically, this post isn't new. I actually wrote it on November 19, but because I already posted once on that day, I just drafted and saved it with the intent to publish a day or two or 96 later.

A couple of notes, 1) this post references my other post from November 19, so you might want to reread that (unless you read it every day for the 95 days between postings anxiously awaiting my return), and 2) I do have at least one more Bronco related post coming your way... and I hope you're on the edge of your seat because that one is the mother of all posts.

With that, enjoy.
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While I'm all fired up and raring to take on Seattle and the apparent cadre of apathetic Bronco fans that live here, I should also mention that the Commish and I went to a Blankity Blankhawks game (yes, during my two month blogging hiatus--hi, present day LMNT here. Yeah, before my most recent three month sabbatical, I guess didn't write for the two months before that. Can you believe it? I mean, THE NERVE! Internets, I'm deeply sorry to have deprived you. Really? How DID you muster the strength to carry on each day? You are very strong and resilient. I like that in an Internet. Okay, as you were). And just because it was a Blankhawks game, doesn't mean that it wasn't still Bronco Sunday, so like a true and faithful fan I donned my orange and blue.

We had seats on the aisle and at some point I told the Commish that if I were to see anyone dressed in Bronco gear I would have an uncontrollable knee-jerk reaction to yell "GO BRONCOS!" at them. In a city of enemies, it's heartening to find a comrade with whom to share a special moment, you know? A few minutes later, I spot a man coming up the stairs in a Bronco's sweatshirt and I nearly peed my pants. I start cheering and clapping the minute I see him, and as soon as he gets within high-five range I shout out "GO BRONCOS!" He looks me up and down, and essentially blows me off by asking, "Where are your colors?" I sat there dumbfounded. As I already mentioned, I was wearing orange and blue. Orange and blue. What are the Broncos' colors? ORANGE AND BLUE. There's my colors j-hole.

Oh, poor Commish. I became so incredulous and then fixated on what was wrong with this dude for the remainder of the game (3 1/2 quarters). By talking it out--mostly to myself--I came to the conclusion that he must have been color blind, but one would think that if one was color blind, one would know better than to make any comments about the colors one CANNOT see.

Needless to say, every time that idiot travelled up and down the aisle, I fought my reflex to cheer for the Broncos and completely turned my head away. Oh yeah. I showed him.

Note to self: Outward appearances are not what they seem. The Seattle-based Bronco fan must earn your trust.

Is this heaven?

Yes. This is a NEW POST. Yes, a BRAND NEW POST. A BRAND NEW POST from LMNT. And, no, it's not going to be a post about not posting (for three months, yes, I know, I think the half-dozen of you who are still willing to read my ramblings have not let me forget that. So, ta-dah! This one's for you).

Remember when I remodeled my kitchen? Remember how I bought new appliances? Remember how one of those appliances was a dishwasher? A nice, new, shiny, stainless steel $600+ dishwasher. Yes? Well, the first time I ran the dishwasher, I noticed a puddle of standing water under my sink. Now I ask you, what would any normal homeowner do upon finding a puddle of water under their sink? Call a plumber and have it fixed immediately? Is that your final answer? Ha. Hello, I'm LMNT. I know I haven't posted in three months, but you do know me, right?

Oh, I did call a plumber to have it replaced, it just took me two-and-a-half years to make that happen. But don't think that the dishwasher just sat around not being used for those two-and-a-half years. I put it to great use as the world's nicest, newest, shiniest, stainless steeliest (and spendiest) drying rack. That's right, for the past two-and-a-half-years I've been washing my dishes--and by washing my dishes I mean using my dishes and then leaving them in my sink because I HATE DOING DISHES and then finally washing them when the pile becomes unbearable--by hand and drying them in the dishwasher. That's part laziness, part tolerance, and part aversion to technology. I mean, it's been seven years since I've had a dishwasher.

We could go down the road analyzing why I didn't call the plumber, but we're not going to, because today I called a plumber, and he came to my house to fix the leak, TODAY! Note to self: if you call them, they will come. In fairness to me, I've actually called a couple of plumbers, none of whom worked out. But today, John C. Reilly the plumber showed up (short diversion: the Commish and Monster have used the plumbing company I called for work they've had done before and they've talked about John C. Reilly's doppelganger the plumber. When I opened the door today, there he was... I half expected Will Ferrell to pop out from behind the shrubs).

So, John C. Reilly the plumber diagnosed my dishwasher dilemma and a little bathroom faucet drip and it turns out he's going to come back tomorrow to do all of the work. Which means tonight I'm using every single dishwasher safe dish I own because tomorrow I'll have the complete deal: nice, new, shiny, stainless steel, $600+ washer and drying rack all-in-one.

So not worthy

Watch me slide this post in without skipping a beat and not giving any mention (other than this) to the fact that I've been missing in action for the past two months.

One day during that two month period (okay, there's another mention) when I was neglecting you dear Internets, I received a text from the Commish. He was standing at a bus stop in Seattle when a couple of teenagers passed him. And guess what? One of them was wearing a VINTAGE KARL MECKLENBERG JERSEY! Granted it was not the jersey I wanted, if I did want one, which I do but not the one that the kid was wearing, the one that exists only in my head, but still it's not everyday you see a vintage Karl Mecklenberg jersey walking down the street in Seattle. In fact I'm going on living here 10 years and I can quite honestly say that I've seen a vintage Karl Mecklenberg jersey a grand total of NEVER!

So the Commish, being an engaging fellow called out to the youth and asked him if he was a Broncos fan. He gives the Commish a puzzled look, glances down at his shirt, looks back at the Commish, shrugs his shoulders, let's out a non-committal "eh," and keeps walking. Walking down the street and all over my dreams. That's all I can say about it, I'm still too upset about the less than deserving kid sporting #77's orange and blue. Maybe that's why I've been radio silent for the past two months (third and final mention).

Smells like team spirit

I'm originally from Colorado, which means Sundays in the fall are Bronco Sundays; I bleed orange and blue and I will always and forever swear allegiance to John Elway. None of that makes me a super fan, it's just baseline behavior.

What might propel me to super fan status, however, is going to the Fair with friends yesterday and on a whim getting an orange and blue bronco tattooed on my face. Granted, it was an airbrushed temporary tattoo. We originally had visions of glitter and pixies and a special kind of awesomeness, alas, there was no glitter, and the pixies were not-so-awesome, but she found a unicorn, and I found myself a bronco.

Now I know that one temporary face tattoo does not a super fan make, but after I took one look at my face I was reminded of a scene from some 20 years ago. Growing up, we had Bronco season tickets and I distinctly remember one game when I made it my personal mission to get on the jumbo tron. What's the best way to do that? Paint my face and spray my hair with blue glitter spray, of course. Armed with my orange face paint, I attempted to replicate the "D" from the Denver helmet on my cheek. Only problem with this do-it-yourself face decorating is that I did it in the mirror, so what looked like a "D" to me in the bathroom, looked like this "(I" to everyone everywhere else in the world. I didn't, by the way, make it onto the jumbo tron.

I'm sure a true super fan would have factored in the mirror reflection, but how about an "A" for effort? The commitment is there--incidentally, so is a temporary scar from the temporary tattoo. We were given the directions to either scrub it off or use rubbing alcohol to remove it. Unfortunately, I don't have any rubbing alcohol so I scrubbed it off along with several layers of my face. So many layers, that it looks like I now have rosacea on my face in the shape of a bucking bronco. That right there might be the making of a super fan.

A card laid is a card played

I'm learning so much about myself this round of online dating--and I haven't even gone on a date with anyone, yet.

What I've found out is that I'm really not as inclusive as I like to think I am. I know the odds of me finding potential guys are better the wider I cast my net, and I also know that if I impose too many limits I might miss out on something good. But there are some things to which I have aversions and I just can't help myself. Things like:

• Height. I'm ruling out anyone shorter than 5'8". Why 5'8"? I'm not really sure. Marinara Jar was somewhere between 5'6"-5'7", but when we were getting set up I was told that he was 5'8" (and I also told the person setting us up that height didn't matter to me, apparently it does now). So maybe I've been conditioned to think that way from him and from thinking people always add an inch or two so 5'8" is the new 5'6". And I'm practically 5'10". It's not so much about the height discrepancy between us, but in our gene pool. The kids we have in my brain are tall and athletic. What kind of mother would I be, putting them at a disadvantage from before we even get started? Sorry, but shorties are out.
• Appearance. As lovely as it would be to say that I could become attracted to someone without knowing what they look like, I can't. Nope. I need to see you. If you don't have a picture on your profile, or I don't have a positive reaction to you based upon the pictures you do have posted, you're out, too.
• Spelling and grammar. This is your dating resume. You don't have to be the world's best grammarian (that position is already held by Monster), but you do have to at least proof read and use spell check. You wouldn't have typos on your work resume would you? Or use alpha-numeric text? Oh, you would? C U l8r.
• The wild card. There is something in almost every profile that I think of as the wild card. To be fair, the wild card can be either good or bad and the wild card can trump almost everything else in the profile. In fact, I may consider a shorty for the right wild card. What would the right wild card be? Well, someone who loves to golf, makes intelligent references to things I think are funny, interjects well played sarcasm, or has intense love for the Denver Broncos. Now the same goes for bad wild cards, they could certainly take an attractive man right out of the equation. Some bad wild cards include serious gamers, being too into cars or motorcycles, or showing zero personality.

I'm in the early communication stages with a couple of fellows, and I came across an interesting wild card on one of them tonight. We'll call this one Longhorn. He and I have sent some predetermined stock questions each other's way and so far so good. He's tall (6'3"), attractive and articulate and he's got several other positive traits. However--because you knew that was coming--tonight I was taking a closer look at his pictures, and in one of them I noticed he's wearing a Utilikilt. A UTILIKILT. Oh, Internets. Could I possibly ever be with a wearer of Utilikilts? Unless you are Scottish and at a formal event, you're not going to win me over by wearing a skirt. I'm sorry, but it's true. Apparently I am that superficial. I mean cool if you want to wear a skirt, I'll still respect you as a person, but if you think that you'll get to step into my dreams and father my tall athletic children, well, you might need to think again.

That being said, I'm going to give Longhorn the benefit of the doubt here. Maybe all of his reasonably-legged clothing was dirty that day, or maybe he lost a bet with a friend, or maybe there's some other perfectly good reason why one would need to wear a Utilikilt whilst on a winery tour with friends in Napa. Yes. Maybe so. All I know is that if he's of the mindset that Utilikilts are essential for him to express his personal sense of style, methinks I've found a wild card of the bad variety (no matter how tall those imaginary kids might be).

Note to self: If you start dating Longhorn and you tell him about the blog either come clean about your disdain for Utilikilts, or destroy this post. Or maybe both.

Upgrading life

Marco...?


Internets. You there? Bet you've been wondering the same thing about LMNT. Well, I'm here. Phew, am I ever! It's been quite a summer; yeah, yeah, the Shingles, but also I've been working hard. Hard. And I'm not talking about at my job, but about working hard on me and my life.


It all started back when I went on my fabulous retreat with fabulous women in the Spring. The retreat after which I attended I started manifesting chocolate left and right? Well, it turns out the chocolate just happened to be a faulty--nay, AWESOME--vending machine. But since chocopalooza, I've been manifesting other goodness.


And while I've been doing the work, I haven't been doing it on my own. I've been working with an amazing woman, and she's been challenging me to think differently and not letting me get away with my stuff. We are clearing out some of the clutter and transforming LMNT. New haircut, new clothes, including aaaahhhhhhmazing aubergine Italian leather boots. Thank you Mama M!


Labor Day weekend, I flew down to San Francisco for my cousin's wedding and it was LMNT at her finest. I made a conscious decision to do this trip differently. For starters, I only packed things that make me feel like a million bucks, including aaaahhhhhhmazing aubergine Italian leather boots. And wouldn't you know it? Even when I packed all my favorite things I was still captain of the "light packers" club.


There I am, traveling in all my fabulousness. By the way, Internets, do you know how many friends you make when you're fabulous? A lot. So, fabulous little me takes myself to the rental car counter, and would you believe it? They offered me an upgrade from a Ford Focus to a convertible Mustang for $10 per day. I'm not sure if old LMNT would have gone for that. In fact, I think old LMNT would have stayed practical. But not new LMNT, she went for it. Yeah, it was only $40, but still this is a huge shift for me. And do you know how much fun it is to drop that top and drive across the Golden Gate Bridge in the hot California sun? So much fun that this is what my mom did when we drove through wine country. It is so much fun that I am highly considering trading in my poor little Jetta for a convertible. Yes, I know I live in Seattle, where it's only sunny for 20 minutes every year, and I'm here to tell you that I would buy one and drive it around for those 20 minutes and it would be the best 20 minutes of the whole year (and I'd also be wearing my aaaahhhhhhmazing aubergine Italian leather boots). It's THAT MUCH FUN.


Note to self: when offered an upgrade, the answer is always YES!


And also, wind blown hair? It simply adds to the fabulousness.