Month: February 2011

Last night I got an early start on my bedtime routine. I hate getting up and getting ready in the mornings and found that taking my shower at night helps me. So I got all clean, combed my hair out, pulled it back in a pony to let it air dry some (this also helps me manage my time under the dryer) and headed back out to the living room.

My brain was addled and really not wanting to focus on my programs I had setup to record, so I opted to grab my book and curl up in bed with it. I talked to Chandler around 9:30, we caught up on our days and said goodnight. Apparently I was a sleepy girl because I conked out shortly after, only to wake up around midnight, light on, cat next to me and my Kindle on my chest. Oh and my hair damp. . .

So I get up, dry my hair and realize that it will be a bad hair day for Wednesday but decide that I am too sleepy to worry about that. I crawl back into bed and promptly fell back to sleep. Weird dreams that made no sense danced through my head and when my alarm went off at six I hit snooze.

I hit snooze so many times I didn’t get out of bed until ten after seven. Umm, major morning fail. . . but I get out the door and use my Starbucks gift card to get my caffeine fix in the hopes of waking up since apparently I was very, very tired. I get to the office and start working, sucking the coffee down as quickly as I can. Then I get my Diet Coke fix started (yes, I have issues) and continue to make those spreadsheets dance.

Then I get an email. . .water main broke, downtown, building losing water. No worries I think, I mean, how hard can it be to fix a water main. Then I get another email. . . the water company estimates time of repair to be four hours. . . Bathrooms on first floor still working at the moment. . .

I continue to work, have lunch, read and try not to think about the fact that my bladder is ready for a break. I run downstairs and go to the restroom, praying that it doesn’t smell, it isn’t nasty and that it has at least one flush left.

Some businesses closed due to the break but we stayed open. I tried to talk my supervisor into letting me head home to work (and pee) but that was a no go. Of course when you are talking to a man about the issues of no running water, they don’t really get it. I mean, men can go anywhere if need be. . . At least I had hand sanitizer after my dash to the first floor.

Thank goodness they got it repaired but really, no water, no potty? I can do a mean pee pee dance but I really don’t think anyone I work with or anyone else in the building for that matter wants to see the dance. Just saying. . .

Or more? I went to Panera Saturday morning for a little treat while Chandler slept and took the laptop with me. After having a moment where I struggled to setup the WiFi connection, I got online and was surfing away.

I was reading about some random starlet getting paid way too much money to appear at some club. Of course I stopped for a moment and thought about what I would do with $30K and I almost started laughing. Money is tight around these parts, been like that for many years but hey I have a place to live, food to eat and gas in the tank so I am okay with that. But I had a thought. Wouldn’t it be funny and interesting to tweet to celebrities and ask for money?

No? Okay, maybe it was just me thinking that, especially when a vacation is at the top of my list of things I really want this year. But it would be an interesting social experiment. I think it is easy for us “normal” folks to see people who make obscene amounts of money and say, gee, could you spare a few for your fellow man? I always think of what I would do with the money when I play the lottery (not very often and usually only when it is a large amount).

I would set my parents up, set up some college funds for a few of my friends’ kids, buy a house, pay off my student loans, invest a good portion of it and maybe start a nonprofit or go work for one. Of course I would have some fun with some of the money, you have to do that, but my main goal would be to set myself up for life so I could do what I wanted to do. Dad said it best, when you start working, you have to always work. And since my parents did not invent Toaster Strudel, I have to work.

I got lucky and didn’t have to work until I graduated from high school. But then I got a car and a job and it has been downhill ever since. I kid! There are a few things I would have done differently but I think many of us would agree.

I have read blogs that have PayPal buttons on them, the money? Who knows where it goes. Some are transparent and donate to charity. Others skip that route altogether and list their wants with a donation button. And for the readers who donate to them, I guess they are fine with it.

But while I would be curious to see what celebs would say to a tweet asking for money, I just can’t do it. At least not right now. They earned it and while I might think how they earned it is silly they earned it just the same.

But maybe I could tweet Charlie Sheen. . .I mean he did give some porn star $30K for no real reason. Would that be bad to ask? I can only offer him a thank you and a smile though. . .

As I have mentioned before, there are a few things I am good at, like cooking and writing, even being funny. BUT there are some things that I should always leave to the professionals or end up looking like a fool.

Manis and Pedis~okay ladies, we all love to be pampered right? A big, fat yes sir is the answer! But on the more economical side of things, there are women out there that prefer to take care of their hands and tootsies themselves. Especially when the economy is still dragging, spending the cash for this pampered treatment can fall to the side.

Me? Well I kind of failed the whole color neatly, cut straight lines in kindergarten so I think we all know that doing my own nails tends to look like someone hacked at them with a knife and a paint brush ten sizes too big. I am a disaster at doing my toes, the polish gets on the nails but also gets on the skin and I then take the approach of it will wash off in a few days. . .meet Messy Martha! I only get manis on very special occasions, if that, because I am a klutz and the chipped look is so wrong. If I trim my toenails then I end up cutting them too short and my Flintstone feet look even worse than normal.

Hair color~due to genetics I lucked out and kept my blonde hair once I hit puberty. Mom’s turned in junior high to brown and Dad’s hair (what is left of it) is still blonde, blonder than mine. So many years ago I began to get my hair highlighted. Most of the time I can manage a trip to the salon once a year, sometimes longer (depending on how long I spend at the pool during the summer) for this little lift of color. My hair is still blonde yet to me it looks brown and a dull brown at that.

When I was very poor, right out of college, I took drastic measures and opted to do it myself. Box color does not work that well on me. First, a little secret I learned from a stylist years ago, my hair takes the color so well that I don’t need it to stay on that long. Second, that brassy, yellow color? Not a pretty look for my skin tone. Third, if I can butcher my nails what do you think the outcome is when I try doing my hair?

Unfortunately I thought that with some advancements in the box colors, the new highlighting kits and all those great reviews in magazines equaled easy, peasey, even I can’t screw this up color. I was wrong. . .I am not capable of separating out my hair to highlight. I get antsy and then ready to move on to something else. I learned this on Super Bowl Sunday. I wanted to refresh my hair and look extra special for Chandler. I am now sporting some bleached out spots on my roots at the crown. Nice huh? He laughed.

Waxing~my brows are light but I have issues with their unruly way so I get them waxed. Not too often but I like to get them done from time to time and feel all put together. I tried once at home to do it, with wax. I was pulling wax out of my brows for a week. Speaking of pulling out wax, I even tried the bikini wax one summer. I have had it done professionally in the past, but in an effort to save money one summer I tried the at home kits.

Ladies, this is not for the faint of heart. Once you get that stuff on, down there, you have to rip it off. I counted, I tried to be one with the sheet, I even tried to get into the mindset of the pro but try as I may I couldn’t just pull it off. I kept gently trying to take it off. Do you see the problem? If you pull gently the hair doesn’t come off. It was a disaster and my panties stuck in places for a week thereafter. So I went back to shaving which causes its own problems, so I have learned to discretely scratch when it starts to grow back and I haven’t groomed.

Housekeeping~I am Pig Pen. I am a messy person, thankfully friends still love me (that is why I cook for them as often as I can). I pick up when it gets bad, I move dishes from the sink to the dishwasher back to the sink (because honestly, half the time I fail to unload the stupid thing). I do this with clothes too. The dust stacks up until I can’t take it anymore and then I move it around as well. Vacuuming? Only when there is dirt, fur and leftover cat puke do I use it and I have a really nice, expensive vacuum cleaner that I love but I hate to do it. So cleaning ends up looking like a mess when I get done and then that makes me question why I even attempt the tasks. One of these days I will have money to pay for someone else to clean. Not weekly, hell, I would be thrilled if it was only once a month!

But I am good at whipping up dinner, I can be funny, I can write and dammit, if any one of my friends need me in the middle of the night, I am there to care for them. I will even wipe the snot off of your face onto my shirt if I don’t have a tissue. Cause that is the love I have for you, just don’t ask me to clean or anything else from my list. You might just live to regret it.

I think this will be my mantra through the baseball season to Chandler. I am a football kind of girl. I understand the game, I have my team, know the players and take it to another level by participating in two fantasy football leagues. My love for the sport was nurtured by my dad and cursed by my mom.

The guys I have dated in the past were all about football, sure we would hit the bar to watch some March Madness or the playoffs for baseball but there was a consensus that football was the sport that we all focused on. For a few years it seemed like my weekends were spent in sports bars with friends and Jorge with little other activities planned.

Then Chandler came into the picture. Sure, I like going to baseball games but to sit and watch on television? Not likely. I think it all goes back to being at Granny and Popa’s house while my aunt nodded off and on while watching the Braves play. But you could never change the channel even if the whole room was napping because it was baseball! The Braves!

I think my only pro game was incidentally a Braves game, shortly after the lockout that baseball dealt with many years ago. I think I paid three bucks for that game. Also, I have the attention span of a gnat, so baseball, with its never ending innings and slow pace, well I can’t focus for that long.

But Chandler is a Cubs fan. . . and I will wait while some in the know share their “I’m sorrys.” That seems to be the response I hear most when I say he is a Cubbie. But to be the supportive girlfriend I said sure, I will watch some games, I will learn the ins and outs of this game and since I really don’t have a team (unless you count the Yankees and really, I picked them because of their location, not their record) I will pull for the Cubbies.

Small problem though, while it is just a game, apparently I have to be schooled about the rules, the setup and even the players for the Cubs. When I asked if I could wear one of his jerseys he looked at me like I had just asked for all of his money and whatever else I could pilfer from him. Then he stunned me with a one word answer. . . NO!

Seriously? So then I say something to the effect of maybe he should get me a t-shirt. Again with the NO! I am only allowed to wear Cubbie apparel when I can name players, position, records and oh yeah, I completely understand the game. I had an easier time getting my insurance license than this.

And when I say it is just a game (just like he told me during football season) he sighs, half closes his eyes, shakes his head and says NO. I have a feeling it is going to be a long season. . .

In years past I haven’t been able to sit through a complete episode of American Idol as they go through each city auditioning would be singers. I cringed, I closed my eyes, I prayed for it to be over soon and even hit the mute or worse (at least for the television execs. . . ) I turned the channel.

It was one thing to watch someone with less than stellar talent take to the stage and stare in disbelief as Simon told him/her they were crap. Or my favorite, a cabaret act on a cruise ship. . . The past two years I couldn’t even watch due to Paula, Randy, Kara and Ellen search for the words to gently let someone down. Paula would take ten minutes to tell someone that singing wasn’t their thing but your shoes are too cute! Really?

Maybe it is my penchant for British men or maybe it was just Simon Cowell, but I loved his feedback, honest, to the point and without the over the top, let’s have some emotions about that blade of grass growing blah, blah, blah that the other judges came up with to tell a contestant thanks but no thanks.

Last year I couldn’t even manage to watch one complete episode because it was so painful. I had given up any hopes of the show making it without Simon and then thought I would laugh myself into a stupor when they announced Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez as replacements.

I like the three judge format, it actually gives each judge a chance to talk, critique because let’s face it; they all have a different viewpoint. While I was certain that Tyler’s agreement to judge would call into question his rock star status (and apparently everyone sells out at some point, no need to get all anti-establishment on me) and JLo’s inability to relate to anyone that could not afford even a spec off of a Jimmy Choo would mean the death to Idol, I have been surprised.

Tyler has that dirty old man personality that I am drawn to (not physically, just to set the record straight) and even has someone like me (left of center and laid back) cringing, but he is taking the judging role seriously. JLo seems to be at odds with really critiquing the contestant with a fear that they might not like her after that and an apparent ability to show kindness to those that walk across the stage. Randy, well, I still get set on edge with his “yo, dawg” every other word but he seems to have found his place now that Cowell and company have parted the stage.

The contestants are still the same but with a beautiful twist, those “geeky, not the A crowd” kids are showing they have talent. Not everybody with talent has to be the captain of the cheerleading squad dating the star football player. I, myself, have quietly judge some of the “lessor” pretty people that came through only to be blown away by their chops, belief in themselves and the bravery it takes to really put yourself out there.

I want to punch the kid that kicked the kid out of the group when he feared said kid would drag the group down. The Jersey girl who had an okay voice with the stars on her ta tas? Oh yeah, she was the one that insured no one (except one not so bright but very kind girl from the Nashville auditions) wanted to work with her when it came to group night. The sad part about that is she is probably sitting at home swearing up and down that no one was good enough to work with her instead of realizing it could have been her attitude that killed it.

The real challenge will be when they cull the group down to 24 and start to really judge. Will the judges be able to direct the talent? Will they be able to see and hear what the American audience does? And will someone, for the love that is all holy, teach Ryan Seacrest how to talk without bopping his head when he accentuates his words? If not, those frosted locks of his might break off. . .

Dooced. . .Getting fired because of something that you wrote in your blog. “Blogger Heather B. Armstrong coined the phrase in 2002, after she was fired from her Web design job for writing about work and colleagues on her blog, Dooce.com” (Source: Yahoo.com)

Natalie Munroe, a PA high school teacher, who has (had, depending on how you search for it, cached, lived. . . )blog that started out as one to share with friends and families. From time to time Ms. Munroe would vent about her job, like normal people do.

The issue at hand? Sharing how you feel about your charges on a blog can and often does come back to bite you in the tush. The school district, once notified about her blog and in particular, a recent entry sharing her thoughts on today’s youth left some nodding their heads in agreement while others pointed their fingers at the teacher, stating that maybe she was the problem.

So much to touch on, share and try to look at both sides but here it goes. Yes, I write a blog, I don’t typically discuss work, name names, etc on my blog. There is such a fine line when it comes to what you should share and what should be left in a private journal. And I have at times spoke in circles when discussing work but I always managed to make sure that my anger, hurt or frustration was never sprayed all over my little corner of the web.

I have not gotten a chance to find a cached link to Ms. Munroe’s blog but from several articles that I have read today I am getting the jest of the picture. And from my own people watching skills, she has valid points.

Kids today don’t think twice to pull information from the internet. . .me? A class in college just a few short years ago could do the same but it was more of a treat and our poor professors, how the hell to you cite your work when you pick up from a website.  Not everyone had a computer in 1992 (my first year of college) and as I went through college none of us were blessed with laptop.

Unfortunately while my generation marveled at the technology and ate it up as quickly as the companies could shoot them out to the stores. . . we began to forget how we started, as students. Notepad, pencils, crayons, glue, scissors. . . you know the basics.

And most of the stuff that we wanted when we were kids were dolls, cars and sports. Video games could only entertain for so long back in the day. We also got our butts smacked, got grounded and plenty of lectures to be shared with our friends.

Kids today, everything seems to come easier. Parents want to be friends, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is the way into Johnny’s heart and trust. Parents seem to fear their kids, if they cannot produce this item then Steffi will make sure her parents regret failing at the task.

And everyone is worried about government organization that oversees our children’s welfare misconstruing strict parenting as abusive. I might have been spanked once or twice, my mother’s looks were worse. So I always landed in tears and dammit, the woman can still do it. So parents sit back, scared of being thrown in jail. And they think that the teachers should be in charge.

Well. . . you can’t really do that since teachers kind of have a million rules around here on top of providing students with enough education to pass state tests.

I do not have a child but after years of babysitting I will say this, a child that is used to his parents allowing him to win will not win playing me. A child who pitches a fit when they do not get something get a ride straight home. Time outs are great but on occasion a pop to the leg is needed.

Our teachers should be respected, they should be paid a much larger salary and as I was going through some graduate classes so I could change my career, I realized that I would live in poverty by the time I paid off my student loans. And I know I am not the only one who felt called to teach and can’t because of money.

But in my experience, looking around the mall, restaurants and oh dear Lord, those classy updates on Facebook. I see a bunch of kids who haven’t a clue about life, they threaten people online without thinking about the consequences. They talk about who they are doing, what they are doing, etc.

They expect the world to be given to them on a silver platter by their parents or someone better give it to them. They are rude, incapable of forming sentences, holding down a job and love to blame everyone but themselves. . . and their parents feel the same way.

Ms. Munroe was having a day, one filled with entitlement, rages, talking back and the inability to follow directions. She used her blog to vent. There were no naming of names, etc.

The saddest part is Munroe should have had a teacher/parent conference with the principal in tow. While the parents blame everyone else, someone really needs to put a mirror in front of the parents.

It begins at home people, we teach little ones manners, accountability, listening and respecting elders as well as being told what to do and then doing it. Teachers reinforce this model and then send the kids off to enjoy gym, library and music classes along with the typical classes.

Munroe was being honest about her feelings and I have seen the lazy whiners at work in the world. They can’t do their job, so someone else picks up the slack. They blame others for missing points in a presentation. They jump up and take all the credit when some else has done all of the work and with no remorse.

Do I think she should be Dooced? No, she has not left specific details about the school or kids. For me, this is a great writing exercise that helps someone get their thoughts out on paper.

And yes, if I ever have a kid, they will know the basics and they will also know that there will be a punishment to fit the crime. I will not be my kids best friend. I will be their parent.

Over the years I have only received a handful a romantic gestures from beaus, some good, some bad and a couple of holidays that make me cringe and cement my dislike for the holiday.

Part of the dislike comes from having a birthday two weeks prior to Valentine’s and Christmas was only six weeks ago, so any guy that I date is tapped out in the bank account by the time this festive little holiday rolls around. And it isn’t that I want expensive things, typically cooking dinner and a nice card will do.

One year Bubba sent me a huge arrangement and I soon found out that it was to compensate for guilt. The boy proudly boasted of never giving anyone a card at anytime but I did get a tiara from him. Jorge at least would opt for the card, flowers from the grocery and then we would challenge ourselves cooking something outrageous. Chandler gets a pass this year, he was kind of occupied with surgery last week.

But this is the one day of the year that single or not I dread it. Women walk around smugly grinning and eying your desk to see if you got anything. Since I have only received the flowers being delivered at work once (from a beau) I tend to prefer the ones picked up at the grocery. The price tag is smaller and they last just as long. For me, it is the sentiment not the overpriced vase of roses that are wilting within the first thirty minutes.

I remember boasting when I got the extra large arrangement from Bubba, screaming from the rooftops to friends and family about the flowers. And then just a few short weeks later I was drop kicked on my tush with the reality that he was guilty for cheating and those flowers were to absolve his guilt. Now it is a natural thing for me to think if getting pricey flowers at work equals my man up to no good.

While this day is all about telling those you love how you feel, giving out cards, candies and gifts, I would much rather prefer the gesture of telling me how you feel on random days instead of just one day of the year. As much as I am a Hallmark whore, I would much rather see random cards in my mailbox throughout the year as opposed to Christmas, birthday and Valentine’s day.

All in all, while I am thankful I have Chandler, this day means little to me. I remember to tell him I love him daily and try to share with him that I do appreciate him, not just on special days.

So from now until eternity, I shall wear black on this day and curse under my breath while the other girls twitter on about getting flowers. Because it doesn’t matter if I don’t really want them, it matters that I still let what others do and get bother me. Oh well, I might have made several strides in self-improvement over the years but those silly grade school feelings of inadequacy still run wild.

Chandler had surgery last week, I was with him and got to be “the responsible adult” to sign his release papers. Leading up to his surgery I began to notice the subtle differences between us in terms of surgery. Of course, take all of this with a grain of salt as my surgeries were quite simple compared to his.

Me: The night before my latest surgery (to remove Charlie and my surprise fibroid Dexter) I was bitter because I hadn’t had food in over 24 hours. Girlfriend doesn’t like to miss meals! But I was sitting around, watching tv as well as wanting to curse my doctor for checking in on me and suggesting if I wasn’t “empty” enough to use another means of getting rid of what could be in my tummy. Sure, doc, this is all you are gonna get, so if there is anything left, just take it as a gift, okay?

The next morning, my wonder twin, Amy, came to shuttle me to the hospital. Checking in was a breeze, the nurse who prepped me almost earned a fat lip for saying I didn’t need to come in so early. (and this is where I would suggest that everyone involved with a surgery to communicate) Once settled in and styling my sexy hospital gown, Amy got to endure a long routine of me lusting after any food that was shown on tv. To say I was drooling would be an understatement. But we laughed, talked and hung out while waiting for me to get the happy pills in my system.

Once taken into the holding bay I had a team of who knows how many people chatting with me (I kept telling them I was hungry) and sticking me with needles. After that, it is a blur. I woke up in my room and guessed that I was staying the night. Amy didn’t want to be the one to break the news to me. I was parched, hungry, in pain and my pain pump kept beeping. Later I learned that my heart rate was dropping and didn’t really care for what I was being given. The night nurse offered a helpful suggestion, just don’t hit it for more meds. Nice huh?

But overall, I was in a chipper, funny mood, begging for cherry popsicles. The whole time I was relaxed, didn’t have much to worry about and could care less about the rest of the world. My first meal out of the hospital consisted of wings, cheese sticks and onion rings. Hey, I had a craving and that was the first thing that sounded good.

Chandler: His night before consisted of getting quiet and alternately aggravating me by tickling me. He got to have food the night before and we settled on pizza at a new place in my old stomping grounds. For him, the surgery was one that while needed and wanted, came with a heaping side of nerves. Of course the morning of his surgery they get him back early, we talk through everything and their was one small surprise. He thought it would be twilight sedation as opposed to being put totally under. I could see the look in his eyes, the desire for it just to be over already and the understanding that if the doctors say we need to do it this way, it was for the best.

While I as chatty Cathy after my surgery, he wasn’t (well, if you have gauze in your mouth you would be silent too) but he did a couple of gestures that made me see he was a okay. While he did warn me that he would be grumpy after surgery, he wasn’t. A perfect patient who got through the whole thing and back home with no complaints.

But the biggest difference I noticed when it comes to the two of us is this, while I yap everyone’s ears off, he gets silent. While I look for the laughs to calm my nerves, he tickles me to the point that I might pee my pants. While I am quite flippant about going under, he takes it seriously.

Had my friends been brave enough to hang with me for the evening before my surgery they would have gotten a comedy show. Apparently I have no shame and will talk to anyone about my insides, poop (just ask my former boss) and that my eggs have walked out on me.

But it is nice to see how we balance each other and that if push comes to shove, I will pull out the bloody gauze and hold it while he takes a drink. Now that is love.

Another post where I have been mulling it around in my head for days on end. . .poor Jennifer Love Hewitt and her incessant act of desperation. Look Love, I get it, you want to be in love, get married and have that little fairy tale. But you still don’t get it do you? And the it I am speaking about is being in love.

Love is a lot of things, and we can all have our dreams of what the proposal will be like, what kind of ring it will be and finally, ideas of what the wedding will be like. BUT girlfriend up and shared one of the most embarrassing things on national television. Apparently Ms. Hewitt thinls that it is totally acceptable to pick out three engagement rings and then share that information with her boyfriend. All of this so she isn’t disappointed should he decide to propose. . .

Oh dear. . .now granted I have never been engaged, so maybe this is completely okay but I would never announce to the guy I was dating that I had even one ring picked out at a particular store. I would much rather share my cellulite with the world.

But the part that bothered me more than anything was her openly discussing how she wouldn’t want to be disappointed in the ring that would be presented to her. Really? Maybe being 37 (dear Lord, help me now) never been married nor proposed to changes my perspective but even at 22 would I have thought to say this is what I want and I don’t want to be disappointed. Umm, yeah, just make a ring out of tinfoil and I would be grateful.

I think that often times, women who think this way are in love with the idea of love. They don’t quite get that there is a daily aspect of a relationship and that the ring isn’t the center of the relationship. I have heard of young women planning their wedding day and to them, that is the end all be all but the reality is that once you say I do, there is a guy that you will be living with the rest of your life.

Relationships are never perfect and I think Ms. Hewitt’s focus on what kind of ring she wants shows that maybe she isn’t quite ready for that next step. That maybe, just maybe, she might want to take a step back, be on her own and get to know herself again before setting out to find Mr. Right.

I have know both males and females who jump from one person to the next, never taking the time to enjoy the quiet nor learning from their mistakes. And each time they start to question the current relationship, their happiness and what happens next. Hey, I am a planner, I get the need to want to see where things are going but sometimes just being on your own forces you to take stock in what you want out of life.

And I am the very first person to admit that I am not the biggest fan of surprises and I am the least patient person in the world but I know that Chandler is in charge when it comes to if, when, how he pops the question as well as the detail of the ring. He wants to do that, on his own and on his own terms. So I will pace, throw looks and ask leading questions from time to time with no answers or direction.

I am pretty certain that had I said to Chandler, “So, there are a couple of rings that I really like and they are at X store. . .just so you know and that way I won’t be disappointed,” he would have looked at me, laughed and walked away. The ring, while a “symbol” of commitment is not really what the commitment is all about. The ring is just a thing to wear.

And while I really do love my Tiffany silver that I have bought or was given to me by the Queen, the thought and meaning behind each piece mean more to me than what they look like or where they came from.

Ms. Hewitt may wonder why she still isn’t married but I think if she took a moment to really listen to herself, she might see that what she considers a very helpful gesture her boyfriend at the moment will see as self absorbed and somewhat childish. Take it from me, you will know you have a keeper when you think tinfoil fashioned into a ring is perfectly fine.

Or maybe I just need to kill a few brain cells and change my personality and head to the mall this week. I will be in Nashville, so I am sure I can direct Chandler to three rings for him to choose from. . . on second thought, umm no. I think that is the quickest way for me to end up single again.