Week 8

    Going 'out on the town' is becoming severely expensive. It’s time to start thinking outside the box, and definitely outside the bar or I‘m going to end up with either an empty bank account or I’ll have to tape my cut-up credit cards back together. A Manhattan here, a Dirty Martini there, some tacos, and a Cosmopolitan; these things add up way too fast.  If I keep saying, “Yes I’d like another margarita please," and “Sure, appetizers sound great,” I”ll find myself with a thin wallet and an extra full figure. So, it’s time to mix it up, shake it up, and I’m not referring to bartending school.  I’m realizing that there is dress life without the nightlife.

   I think it took this last Tuesday night to help me come to this epiphany. I made a big ‘oops’ while wearing a dress. With my accomplice Gabrielle,  I drank a Cosmo, or actually, it may of been two Cosmos. These bad, bad alcoholic beverages consumed during happy hour led to poor decision making.  I did the WORST thing I could of done. The next morning I woke up with a that familiar feeling of regret and a guilty conscious. But, I also had secret feelings of triumph and excitement. Yes it was wrong, but it felt so good.  I know what you’re thinking, and its true, I did the deed. I went shopping. I went shopping while slightly intoxicated.

   I've never been particularly fond of the Cheesecake Factory solely because its’ menu is more like a short novel rather then a list of dining options. I’m already indecisive enough as it is, so having to select  from so many choices just stresses me out. Instead of tackling that food menu, I stuck to the happy hour drink options which were luckily located on a short, single sheet.  And the nice thing, the very dangerous thing, is that this restaurant is located conveniently close to a variety of overpriced clothing stores. The good news is that I didn't purchase another dress. The bad news is I used my emergency credit card.

Oh yes, I look soooo happy there, oh so fancy free! But, that was before my 'walk of shame' back to the car with shopping bags in hand. 

   Daylight, sunshine, and the blue sky ( not Blue Skyy) is completely free and makes me very happy, so why not embrace it in a dress? Bouldering has no cover charge,there's no reason I couldn't do it in a dress. It may be a bit tricky, but I imagine I wouldn't have trouble finding any spotters? Backpacking, slack-lining, and fishing are some other dress-wearable activities although not entirely practical. I plan on doing it all, but I suppose I should start simple with a Farmer's market, a BBQ, or picnic on the beach with friends. I need to take full advantage of the fact that California has decided to skip its' winter and has already rolled right into spring. The only winter that will be experienced this year will be the chill my 'emergency' credit card will feel, buried deep, deep in my freezer.

Week 7

   A tip for all the single guys out there: Don’t act so single and get so drunk. Let me just explain. Here’s the scene: A biker bar. And when I say biker bar I’m not referring to a crowded dive bar with Harley Davidsons parked out front with big, burly and leather-ed men decorated with tattoos and mustaches. That actually sounds kind of fun, perhaps I should add that to the list. NO, I mean a bike bar, a trendy Marin bar where you can park your bicycle out front and try some craft beers.  A Tuesday night, and the Olympics are playing on the TV in the corner, and the ceiling is covered with dollar bills folded up and stuck in with push pins.  I’m with my friend Emily and our tummies have just been filled up with margaritas and carne asada tacos. There is a small, yet rather boisterous crowd of those ‘opposite sexes’ over by the pool tables.  And then here one comes, stumbling over in our direction.

   I mean, shoot, I don’t want to give a guy a hard time for approaching a girl, which is not always easy to do. In fact, I need to practice starting up more conversations with random good looking guys and stop that bullshit of being coy, especially when I’m in a dress!(And I will have many opportunities this year) When  it comes to approaching an attractive male, I totally shy away and wait for him to come to me. I give props to men who confront us. But with that said, I don’t give props to guys that partake in far too much liquid courage.

   Here comes the example of a man overboard, so far overboard he needs to freakin’ grab the lifesaver and get pulled back on deck of the boat- just as long as its not in the same boat as me. He's getting closer, and pauses for a moment, grabbing a table for balance as he attempts to stabilize himself. He smiles at us, or more like in our general vicinity because he seems to have trouble focusing on anything really.

“Oh , Do I know you? I thought you were my friend Jessica for a second," he mumbles.

  I’m not sure if he was referring to me or Emily, probably because he was hoping for either, or? He tried, but, no thanks. No thanks, because as he sits right in the middle of us he almost spills his beer on me. No thanks, because I have this imaginary box around me, it’s called my personal space, and its just been violated. No thanks, because he smells like two-day old Tecate beer. He is the perfect example of how not to act, and what not to do when hitting on a lady in a dress. Or what not to do when hitting on any girl for that matter, dress or t-shirt and jeans. Umm, yep, that would be a big NO.

   Ten minutes later, here comes the opposite example, the example of what to do. Enter a good looking guy, probably in his early 40s. He’s dressed casual, doesn't sway back and forth as he walks and sits a couple of seats down from me at the bar. He orders a Guinness, good choice although I was very disappointed with the bartender’s method of pouring it for him. In fact, an Irish person would be appalled, but I’ll just let that one go. Anyways, he sips his beer and looks up at the TV screen. Sean White is now up for his turn to do his snowboard thing. We engage in casual Olympics banter, but he doesn't flirt. He just seems generally interested in talking about the Olympics. He's cute and has a nice eyes. This continues for another 30 minutes with this casual, relaxed conversation. What’s up, why no flirting? That’s making me start to like him, and he‘s beginning to appear more attractive. Then I look down at his hand, because I realize now at my age, I should be doing this. Mystery solved, there’s a ring on his finger. He finishes a second beer, wishes both me and Em a nice night and leaves. Again, to the single guys out there, don’t act so single or get so drunk. Thanks.

Post margaritas, but pre-biker bar visit..sporting one of  my many Anthropologie dresses

   Making up for last week's lack of dress action, I was a good girl and I went out twice this week. Accompanied by my long-lost, fantastic, beautiful, and loads of fun friend, Noelle, I explored multiple areas of the Bay Area. We started out with tacos in the Mission, followed by a healthy consumption of kombucha tea, then jetted downtown to a San Fran bar. After bulldozing some people off the dance floor, we then headed back to Oakland for some more nighttime festivities. Not only did I reconnect with one of my favorite friends, I also rediscovered another old pal, BART. I forgot how awesome and convenient he could be.

And yeah..another Anthropologie dress.. And I wonder where all my money goes?

Week 6

   As I’m jolted forward in my seat I hear a loud crashing sound, the sound of crushing metal on metal. I sit for a moment, stunned. What the fuck just happened?! It takes me a minute to realize I've just been rear-ended.  It’s near dusk and it's pouring rain outside, and I’m wearing a dress. I hear a door slam and footsteps running forward. I’m still in shock. I don't feel like I have whip-lash. I look down to see I still have all my fingers, I wiggle my toes, then I grab my chest, everything's still intact, I'm fine. Through my foggy window, I see the outline of a figure in a blue shirt looking into my car window.  Luckily, I'm on a small residential street in Terra Linda, and I reckon the guy that just hit me was probably not going more then 15 mph. But still, what is it with this year and my luck with cars...first a flat tire, now this?

    I hear a knocking on my window and the sound of a man talking, "Are you OK? I'm so sorry!"  I roll down my window and look up into incredibly bright green eyes of a bearded man that appears to be in his mid thirties, perhaps forties.

    "I'm so sorry," he repeats in a deep voice. He’s seems nice because he sounds genuinely sorry, so I figure there's no reason to get too worked up.

   "I'm OK",  I respond, slightly flustered as I look back at him.  I'm no longer in shock from what just happened, this time I seem to go into shock for a completely different reason. I look back at the concerned face of the man staring into my window.  This dude is cute, wait, let me correct myself, extremely handsome. Imagine a mixture of Gerald Butler and a scruffier version of that actor from Party of Five, what's his name..oh yeah, Matthew Fox. Umm, yes please???

“That was all my fault," he continues, I‘ll get my insurance info." As he runs back to his truck, I'm thinking to myself, Thank God he doesn't have a Scottish or Irish accent or I may have peed my panties.  I notice that the vehicle that he gets into is an older model of a white Toyota Tundra, with the logo Evan's Carpentry imprinted on the side. His front fender looks practically unscratched and I decide I should get out to see the damage that his big truck has done to Kai, my turquoise Chevy.

  I get out of my truck, fussing with my long black Bebe dress so it doesn't get caught on my seat as I slide out. I praise the universe for the fact that I'm not wearing something frumpy like my comfy tye-dye pants and sweatshirt. And I once again thank God, Buddha, or whatever deity there is or isn't, that I started this freakin' blog, because I feel sexy and hot. It's raining hard now and I immediately feel the heavy rain drops meet my bare arms as I step into the fresh, damp air. I manage to jump over a few large puddles in my newly purchased red, Nine West heels (thanks to DSW, I love that place). Kai, which means ‘ocean water' in Hawaiian, really must be 'like a rock' as the GM commercials advertised, because I just see a  faint scratch on the rear bumper.

   As I’m assessing the minimal damage done, a car zooms by, whoooosh! A huge puddle of gutter water that I just successfully avoided stepping in, is now the newest accessory to my dress. The insanely handsome bearded man returns just at the right moment to witness this event.

   "Wow, this really must not be your day, " he remarks to me, as he stares at me in my now soaked, skin-clinging black dress.  I'm actually thinking the latter as I try to discreetly check him out.

I just laugh and respond, "No worries." I shrug and add, "It's just water." And I smile. And he smiles.

"You sure do have a good attitude," he states. “I'm Evan, by the way."

“Sarah”, I respond back, and reach out for the hand he offers me. His hand is rough and callused, and I feel my 'C U Next Tuesday' start to tingle.

 “Well, I must of ruined your night", he remarks in his sexy and manly voice.  "Let me make it up to you? Perhaps I can take you out to dinner sometime?" he asks.

"Sure, I’d love that," I respond, trying to play it cool as I'm doing cartwheels in my mind. Then something happens.

    Maybe it was the rain. Or maybe it was his green eyes. But I think it was the dress. I make a split second decision, and before I even have time to second guess myself, I'm leaning in and planting a kiss on Evan's mouth. His beard tickles and his lips send an electric surge all the way down to my toes, you know, the kind you read about in cheesy romance novels.  He pulls back startled at my bold move and for 10 seconds we are both holding our breaths and staring at each other. By now it's night, we're both drenched and the only light is the glow of the street light that is illuminating the wet asphalt. He finally grabs me after those 10 seconds, which really feels like 10 minutes, and kisses me fiercely. Rain is pouring down, his callused hands begin to feel their way up my wet……..ok, ok, that’s enough. Use your imagination. I know I did…

   There’s good news and bad news. The bad news is that story is total bollocks, just fiction, a NyQuil induced hallucination. I've been out sick for the last week. There was no dress worn this week, nor was I rear-ended and seduced by a bearded carpenter. I've been living in my tye-dye pants and my aqua New Zealand sweatshirt (on that note, I think it's time I do laundry). But the good news is... perhaps I have a future career in writing Harlequin romance novels? This possibility is primarily based on the second half of the story which I chose to omit. And I suppose it got a bit chintzy when I started to talk about his rough, callused hands. Again, I blame the NyQuil.

Week 5

   Where did that expression the ‘grey area' come from and why, for heaven’s sake, is it called that? That area is so much more fun then grey! The color grey just sounds so unexciting and when you’re in the 'grey area' with a guy when is it ever boring?  I suppose it’s called that because of the other expression, ‘it's black and white,' meaning it's a very clear choice causing no confusion, thus well defined.  And so, grey is supposed to mean uncertain or unclear because it‘s not black and white, right? But grey literally is black and white, because when you mix the two together, bam, you get grey ( Art Class 101).  So, that expression makes no sense to me whatsoever. Since when did clarity become uncertainty? The 'grey area' should definitely be called something else, something more thrilling and mysterious, like vermilion, alizarin crimson, or even the 'electric ultramarine area'.

   Being a girl, I think it’s in my nature to analyze, seek clarity in relationships, and to avoid those 'grey areas' with men. But when that area is anything other then grey,when it’s a bright cerulean, then I think I need to throw in the towel on analyzing and stop searching for definition. Whatever happened to just enjoying the moment and going with the flow? That’s been my life motto, but I still seem to struggle living within that criteria when it comes to men.

   On that note, I had quite the 'bright cerulean area' night with one of my man friends this last Thursday.  I’ll just call him Mr. Grey to protect the innocent, or perhaps not-so-innocent. I’ll pretty much leave it at that. I had a super duper fun-filled evening which involved a fancy-pants and scrumptious dinner date in the Financial District with my man friend. Then we spent most of the later part of the night playing backgammon and canasta. And heck, I reckon we even played a little Go fish too. Oh yeah, and I wore a dress. And I might of had a little 'oops', a wee relapse, in the dress department last week. Yeah, I broke a rule, crap! I bought another dress. Dress count is now at 60. So instead of changing the title to my entire blog, I think I’ll just dub this as my ‘ghost dress’ and not count it in the total.

   The dress count is now at 4 ( It was 5, but after subtracting this week's new 'ghost' dress, it's back to 4. Also, I think it would be kind of cheating to include the dress that I wore hidden under my jacket during my very uneventful night spent in the Macy’s parking lot with Daryl) That number is not too impressive, but I have big plans for the month of February. Maybe I'll go paint-balling in my least favorite dress and dance in a fountain with my favorite dress like Sophia Loren in 'La Dolce Vita'. Where are there big fountains in Marin?

   For the last few hours I've been nestled under my fluffy down comforter in bed writing and google-ing 'fountain's in Marin' on my computer. I'm also realizing that so far, this new month has not been off to a flying start. I woke up this morning feeling sick with the worst sore throat and headache, such a shitballs feeling! However, at least its overcast and raining (I hate to be sick when it's sunny outside).  I partially blame it on my late night of card games with Mr. Grey, but mainly on my need to overdue it at the gym last night. I'm beginning to second guess my mantra I always tell myself to acquire extra motivation to workout, "I won't regret working out, I'll only regret it if I don't!" Yeah, that's not so true at the moment, because I think running too hard on the treadmill without getting my grandma-average hours of sleep must have pushed me over the edge. Oh well, nothing a little chicken cabbage soup and Julia Roberts movie marathon can't fix.

   Hopefully, later in the week I'll find better Google results then 'decorative fountains' and 'landscaping retailers in Marin' or I'll end up in a black evening gown splashing water in my face from a bird bath. And perhaps I'll find myself embarking on some more dates with the desire of discovering unexplored hues from the man-color spectrum.  Will it be this lustful month of February that holds my fate of finding a Prince Charming-ish dude? And who knows, I could up end up in the 'Ferrari Red area' with him. If so, I plan on indulging.