Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Listen, the next time you talk to him, can you ask him which one the strongest "Power Ranger" is?

Friends, Family, Countrymen:

Alright, so it may have been several months since my last post - my apologies.  My absence has been influenced by one of two things: 1) Well sheesh, I've just been too hugging busy with my fabulous social life and uber-important job that I haven't had a moment to spare, or 2) *Sigh* my life has been so friggin lack-luster in, well, just about every department that I just couldn't bear to provide proof of said boring life in a blog post.  It could be either option.  Really.... 

Anyhow, so I'm on another detail for work in lovely Twin Falls, ID and the absence of social activity  has given me a prime opportunity to reflect on various aspects of my life.  As I gazed back on the stimulating events of the last year, I made a shocking discovery regarding my love life.  Now I know what you're thinking: What love life?  I promise you (yes you, mom), I do go on dates - more frequently than you might think (she types, smirking in her own disbelief).  It's just that I haven't been on enough dates with any one of those strapping gentlemen to be able to brainwash them into "boyfriend" status.  But I digress....

"Boy"... yeah, that leads me to my recent revelation about my dating life.  Without premeditation or realization, I have become a prime specimen of one of them most beautiful, yet feared creatures on this crazy jungle we call Earth.  Have you guessed it yet? Oh yes, my friends.  Heather Delaine Young has become a


Now before you get too excited, my friends from Happy Valley, I'm not speaking of the scholastic genus of cougar (ahem, GO UTES!!).  I'm referring to that elusive and devious feline that preys on a single innocent and unsuspecting creature - the younger man.  Over the last year of my singlehood, the majority of the members of the male species with which I have been privileged to go out have been between at least 4-7 years younger than me.  Now, in normal secular culture, this would not translate directly to cougarhood.  I believe the practiced equation is "age divided by two plus seven."  In which case I'd have to commit a felony to earn the revered title (or date a 22 year old - who's really counting?).  But let's be honest - I live in Mormon country.  Any unmarried woman over the age of 24 is an anomaly, continuously looking for fresh quips to use in response to the ever-present "You're just too picky" or "Try this dating website - my [insert friend, sister, brother's cousin, etc] met their spouse there!" or "Have you considered getting any work done?"

So as a result of my impending spinsterhood, I have unwittingly stepped into the Earth-jungle as this "stalk-and-ambush" predator.  You may be thinking, "Poor girl!! She's so hopeless that she has to resort to pursuing the young, naive and defenseless."  Au contraire, mes amis.  Au contraire!!  There are just too many perks to being a cougar to toss this dating strategy aside as a last-ditch effort of desparation to obtain a degree in eternal companionship.  Want proof?  Too bad, you're getting it.  BOOM!!!

Cougar Proof #1: (Do I even need to say it?) Younger guys are HOT!!!
Oh yes, Mr. Cougar Bait is remarkably easy on the eyes.  He is still working out & playing sports, retaining most of his hair, admiring his muscles in the mirror.... to which I say THANK YOU!  I may be old, but I still take care of myself and I adore a guy that continues to do the same.  He may also be taking care of his brain through intense study at one of the many various universities in the area (ahem, UTES!!).  Now, this may also mean he is living off student loans and/or part-time and entry-level jobs, which can translate to cheaper dates.  But sacrifices must be made for hotness, ladies!

Cougar Proof #2:  Lots-o-fun!!
This is a big one, pals!!  Mr. Cougar Bait enjoys being spontaneous and doesn't take himself too seriously.  He's willing to make a fool of himself and dates because he thinks it will be a good time.  News flash, older guys - a date is just a date; not a binding contract pursuant to marriage, not the result of months of prior study to determine if you are "the one" before initiating a first date.  Could it lead to that?  Sure, but why worry about it before a first date?? See we girls, you know, we just wanna have fun.  A date is a great way for a lady to kick up her painful stilettos and simply get to know you, the man, better.  Cougar Bait fully understands this.   He's looking to shake it up and try new things - and we Cougars fully intend to take advantage of that!!
Cougar Proof #3: Life Expectancy
Okay, this is about as clinical as this argument is gonna get.  It's a fact - women live longer than men.  If I want my man to be holding my hand as we drift into the afterlife together, a la "The Notebook", I've simply got to marry younger.  It's science.  You can't argue with science.

Cougar Proof #4: Um, Demi Moore.  End of story.

Now I know what you must be asking: Heather Delaine, aren't there also cons to dating Mr. Cougar Bait?  Oh absolutely!  I've experienced them in spades.  But the pros are just more fun, so deal with it.  No need to pontificate. 

Now go get some Oreos and milk.  For me, not you.  Make it snappy.  I need a snack whilst I download more Zac Efron photos....

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Hold me closer, Tony Danza.


Okay, so I've been stuck here in Yuma by myself for nearly three weeks now.  And after spending most of my time interviewing people for my investigations, typing up reports, or going out solo, I came to an unsettling discovery when I went out last night.


Those of you that know me know that I'm typically an equal-opportunity flirt.  I like to call it being friendly and interested in learning about someone, but everyone else calls it flirting.  Erroneous.

Anyhow, I fear I may have lost my ability to flirt after going so long without any opportunities (i.e. men) to use my mad skills.  Yes, there are men in Yuma.  Unfortunately, in this town they are either of the over-60-with-man-boobs variety or the teenage-pants-on-the-ground variety.  I've been so starved for male attention that I even giggled like a little girl when the lime green schoolbus full of immigrant workers made kissy noises in my direction at the Chevron while I pumped gas in my smart trousers and sweater vest.

Yeah, it's a pretty dismal situation.

So imagine my delight last night when I went to eat at a local bar and grill and found it contained a handful of jauntily dressed male students from the local community college.  Bonus - no Ed Hardy in sight!!!!   I make a mad dash to the ladies and slick on a little extra mascara and lipstick before strut over to my solo seat at a pub table in the middle of the room.  Thank goodness I'm wearing my Will Harcourt-approved jeans and heels (sorry, that's inside unless you know Will)!!  I order my regular Coke w/ lime and decide on the BBQ ribs.  I'm snacking on some bread when I spot a couple of particularly attractive young men at another table.  After starving here in man-boob central, I decide to go ahead and work the flirt a little with one of these little morsels of testosterone. Yeah, just little eye contact here a little coy smile there.  Textbook moves, I know, but they work.  After about five or so minutes of "I'm so lonely over here by myself.  Won't you come rescue me?" I am delighted to see one these young Yuma-n stallions climb out of his booth and start making his way to my table.  I take a sip of my Coke to reward myself for my success and angle myself toward my rescuer with a smug smile, just in time for him smile........and slide past my seat without a word.  On his way to the men's room.  I can feel the upper-case L being stamped on my forehead.

So I turn back to my rejection-laced Coke and smile thankfully at my waitress as she delivers my ribs.  I dive in, figuring if I can't have some male companionship, I can savor some barbecued carnage.  And this carnage is pretty darn delicious.  As I'm savoring a particularly drippy piece, my men's room Casanova appears at my side and says something about how much I must be enjoying my meal - I can't remember, I'm too busy desperately mopping up my face with the too-few napkins I have on my table.  Nice.

Casanova sits down at my pub table and attempts to start some conversation with me.  I'm pretty sure we talked about what I was doing in town and something about him studying engineering at some local college, but I pretty much spent the whole conversation screwing up my face while trying to dislodge a piece of rib that set up camp between a pair of my molars.  I'm sure after suffering through a few minutes of watching the tug-o-war occurring inside my mouth, Casanova quickly decided he didn't want to be anywhere near that mess and told me to keep enjoying my meal as he returned to his table. 

For those keeping score:
Casanova - 2
Ribs - 1
Me - 0

I finished my meal with my scarlet letter "L" clearly imprinted on my face.  I paid for my meal and painstakingly took my walk of shame past my would-be husband.  He gives me a cursory head nod and turns back to the two brunettes that found their way into his booth.  Awesome.  Instead of spending the rest of my evening with a tanned and gorgeous coed, I spent it with a package of Oreos, milk and HGTV.

Epic fail, Flirt.  I think you are going to stay in my pocket until I get back to Utah.  Maybe my Flirt doesn't speak Yuma-n...........

Saturday, February 13, 2010

I wasn't supposed to put beef in the trifle!!!

Okay, so up until this point I have been adamant that a person of my situation should not have a blog - single, relatively drama free, unable to discuss the ins and outs of my somewhat-interesting job.  I don't have kids to brag about, no burgeoning business to promote (yet), etc etc.  What on earth do I have to contribute to the bloated world of the online journal??  And after years of reading the musings of friends and family, I decided.....

 (that's only Swear #1 for the day, Effiginaiah.)

So here I am - stuck in my hotel room for work in the desert of Yuma that has become my home for the next two weeks.  Watching reruns of That 70's Show.  Consuming a few slices of the two pizzas I ordered for myself.  Slumming it in my Transformer jammies.  Listening to the not-so-subtle going's on of the retired couple in the room next door, reminding me of my singleton status.  Wishing I could be at home having a dance party with my roomies or watching The Little Mermaid with my 3-yr-old niece.  Boring?  Why yes, yes it is.

Last night was a little more interesting.  I went to dinner and a movie by myself.  The waitress at Chili's recognized me from eating there last Friday night ("Oh yeah, I remember you!  You total loser!").  I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little flattered by the barely-legal kid that walked in and out of the restaurant at least five times before mustering up the courage to prop himself onto the chair next to me and exclaim "Hey, do you want to call me some time?"  Nice.  The movie wasn't terrible - Valentine's Day - about as lacking in substance as one would have expected, but somehow still enjoyable enough with the grown women behind me making inappropriately cougar-like comments whenever Taylor Lautner came on the screen.   ("I heard he just turned 18.  Legal!!!!") 

So, in an effort to add a little excitement to my pre-Valentine's Saturday night, I am going to throw myself a solo dance party (a little JT, please!), order a loud action flick, and slowly savor the delicious eclairs I got from Kneaders today.   Don't feel bad for me - I actually do this all the time back in K-town, except with the roomies, of course.  Miss you, ladies!!

Okay, so that's all I've got for now.  I'm seeing a few movies on the pay-per-view that may actually distract me from the noise next door - seriously, this is bullcorn!  I hope all my friends and family have a fabulous Valentine's Day and I can't wait to see y'all when I come back to the beautiful life in the UT on the 26th!!

Peace out.