This Chickie Thinks #2

Dear Auspicious Jots,
When you have told a gentleman that you just want to be friends... are you allowed to change your mind?
Sincerely,
Old Gal

Wow! This one is a zinger.

I was married before I left the womb so I have no personal experience in this. That means that I have a TON to say on the subject. Let's take it from both sides, shall we? And let's drop the anonymity because we all know who you are talking about.

So... I am George Clooney and I am deeply hoping to pursue a relationship with Old Gal. She is funny, attractive, confident, and not afraid to rock out some pants with whales on them. I let her know my intentions. She says she would like to just be friends. My pride is wounded. My heart is bruised. But I am George Clooney: a grown ass, healthy man. So I take it like a man on the chin and I am grateful for her honesty.

Now... I am Old Gal. Men like George Clooney are enjoyable in my life but I am at an exploratory point in my personal development. I am trying new things. I now tweet on the twitty thang. I meet strange ministers and befriend them. I tell men like George Clooney that I have doubts. These are positives in my life except...

OH S#!T! That was George Clooney! What was I thinking?!?!

This Chickie Thinks - Tell him. Say, "Honey, I don't know what I was thinking." Then pick one: "It must have been the..." a) "hot flashes", b) "greed based journalism scandals of Great Britain that are rocking their society to the core", c) "that goofy minister I've been hanging out with." Then take your pride, throw it on the floor, stomp it with your espadrille and say, "Would you like to go out with me?"

Either he will say yes or he will say no. And the measure of the man is in the answer. You will either have been right the first go round or you have yourself a date. And you will have my esteem for admitting you were wrong and risking embarrassment by being honest. You go, Old Gal!

Dear Auspicious Jots,
I have a thing for Optimus Prime. It's long term. He does not know my name but I can't help myself.
Sincerely,
Your best buddy from high school

Oh, for Pete's sake, what the hell is wrong with you? You are the most beautiful woman I know AND you are smart as a whip. Will you please spend some time with a human with a Y chromosome and make his year? Come on, woman!

Superheroes and chick flicks. Ugh. You know why they are called chick flicks? Because they reduce us to looking down at the ground for pieces of popcorn when we should be looking at the sky and coming up with something better to do with our wings than fatten them up so they'll be good with barbecue sauce.

Okay, that was the wine talking. But I will say that I hate hero flicks and chick flicks because they lie to women. They tell us that these men with dreamboat looks are going to understand us to our core, put up with our crap, read our minds, and rock our worlds. (Yes, I mean you, Dermot Mulroney, Colin Firth, and Adam Rodriguez.)

The truth is that very ordinary looking men who can't lift cars or fly have hearts of gold, will worship and adore us, may be smarter than we are, may have a crooked grin and get the hiccups when they drink beer, but will go to the moon and back for us. You don't have to be a superhero to be steady and true.

That had absolutely nothing to do with your question. But I've been wanting to get that off my chest for awhile. So, back to you.

This Chickie Thinks you need to take a nice man who makes you laugh and is fun to be around when you lay down that next ten dollars to go see Transformers AGAIN in 3D. Because I know you are going. And I also know a hundred men who would love to go with you and look into your lovely face when you admit your passion for Optimus Prime.

In other words, share your geek-love-freak-flag with the world, baby, but don't give your heart to the robot forever.

Dear Auspicious Jots,
I am plugging along at my calling but I feel like I am spinning my wheels. Should I just say screw it and drown my sorrows in a gallon of gin?
Sincerely,
Ripe Life

You already know the answer. We all do. As I said to my daughter at Skateland today who could skate no more than three feet before falling: If you can dance, you can skate. Breathe. Relax. Bend your knees. Don't look at the floor. Wherever you look there you go. You can do it. Just get up and try again. You got it, baby. You got it.

Again, that is not totally appropriate to your situation, but This Chickie Thinks it is true that where you focus you go. And I don't want you at the bottom of that gin bottle and neither do you. Watch the sunset with a few close friends, share the gin, laugh til you need to pee, get up the next day and try again. You got it, baby. You got it.

Dear Auspicious Jots,
I have not blogged in over a week. My broadband went out and I tried to be macha and fix it myself. Finally I got professional help. Lightning had struck the box so there was nothing I could have done. Now I feel like an idiot and won't blog.
Sincerely,
Auspicious Jots

Oh, shut your whining snot-nosed, self-centered yapping up. Aren't you the person who misspelled alliteration in your last blog post? Who cares? There are bigger problems out there. Just write, you goofball.

PS- Old Gal owes me a cocktail because I blogged before her deadline AND answered her question. I would like an umbrella in it, Old Gal. Even if it is a beer.