Mice are for Men

I like to think I'm a pretty handy girl. I have my own tool box and a black belt in Ikea furniture assembly. Hair balls in the shower drain, no problem (even when of the ridiculously disgusting variety). Removing unidentifiable objects from the refrigerator? Got it covered. And somehow I became my house's resident IT department.

Granted, I think single people should receive a 50 percent off discount when trying to buy a home (how am I supposed to afford the same mortgage that two incomes can?), but overall, I consider myself pretty self-sufficient.

Except when it comes to Mickey Mouse.

I live in a cute, charming house in a nice neighborhood in Arlington. There's just one little problem - we've been overrun with mice for a year. On the plus side, I wouldn't say we're infested. We typically only have one or two at a time...but it's all the time! Numerous phone calls to the exterminator have yet to yield results. Yes, there are now poison and traps everywhere, but the mice keep coming. Our handyman has been over every inch of the exterior filling in anything that looks like it might be an entry point - and every couple of weeks we still wake up to a lovely (read: incredibly gross) surprise in the kitchen.

Turns out, as independent as I like to think I am, I'm utterly incapable of dealing with dead mice. I tried - once - but the trauma just proved too great for me. While I'm our house's expert trap-setter, I have a complete meltdown if I have to deal with the results. When I attempted to remove the offending creature, with the aid of a shovel and grill tongs, the situation quickly deteriorated to the point of screams and tears, leaving me emotionally drained.

Which brings me to the theory that mice are for men.

These are not cute, cuddly creatures. They are nasty, disease-spreading, cookie-eating rodents who have no place inside the four walls of our house. Disposing of them should be the work of men - this is your chance to prove your manliness and ability to protect house and home. I've seen the state of the bathrooms that many of you use blissfully every day - manhandling this six-inch long pest should prove no problem for you.

And yet, when we called upon the male specimen residing in a separate apartment in our basement during one particularly disturbing encounter with Mickey this summer, he proved useless.

As usual, we had set traps the night before and when we woke up that morning, noticed one of them was missing. A quick e-mail chain to various offices established that no one had made the early morning trip to outside with a furry corpse.

"The trap must have gotten pushed behind the trash," we all agreed. Except, a thorough inspection of the kitchen that night revealed it was really and truly missing. As we looked around the floor in confusion, our attention slowly turned to the stove.

"A mouse couldn't possibly drag the trap, could it?" I asked nervously.

With a considerable amount of trepidation, I pulled the stove away from the counter and cautiously peered into the space I'd created.

"Ummm, ladies....found the trap," I said. "And it's been sprung."

Thinking this an ideal opportunity to contribute something in the clean-up department, I grabbed the specially-designated mouse broom and started to slide the little wood and metal device away from the cupboard wall so I could reach in and grab it.

Except...it was stuck. "Eeeek!" I screamed. "There's something on it!" Everyone gathered around debating what to do. Far braver than I, Lauren reached for the broom and tried to move the trap into the open again.

"It's not just stuck on something, the mouse is still alive!" She shrieked.

That did it - I was not cut out for this kind of work. Luckily, there happened to be a speed trap stationed right outside our front door that night. "Is this the kind of thing we can ask a cop for help with?" I asked, in all seriousness.

We concluded we weren't ready to look that helpless just yet, and instead went in search of Matt, our downstairs neighbor. He was happy to help us deal with the situation - but his version of help was simply to bang his hand against the side of the cupboard to scare the mouse out of its hiding place. No such luck, of course, and that was as far as Matt was willing to go on the chivalrous front.

Finally, Kimberley - a petite 5'2" former sorority girl - took matters into her own hands.

"This is ridiculous," she said. "Hold my feet - I'm going in." And with that, she grabbed the grill tongs (seriously, these things are useful for so much more than just maneuvering food) and threw half her body into the cavity between the stove and the counter.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "Bag!" And we quickly handed over the makeshift shroud so she could toss everything inside and bolt for the door.

When she reappeared, the rest of us were in awe.

I guess mice aren't for men - they're for very brave women. Good thing too, since we caught another one last night.

Teletubby Trouble

I'm baaaaaack!

And I have more to write about than ever. For those of you who read this regularly (particularly my friend Julia's husband who was kind enough to complain the other day about the lack of new posts - good to know boys think my stories are as funny as girls do!), I'm so sorry for my absence. Between the holidays and work, it was difficult to find time to write, but never fear - the dating did not stop!

While there have been many adventures recently, perhaps one of the most interesting is the story of the Teletubby - and yes, the fact that he was dressed in such a way should have been a clue this would not end well. I met said Teletubby, yellow not purple - a very key distinction to note, on Halloween.

My friend Jamie and I had headed to Sign of the Whale in an effort to stalk Charlie (who everyone will be happy to know I have since cut off all communication with, but more on that later). When my efforts were not panning out, I turned to the nearest boy. Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I'm happy as long as I'm at a bar and in costume, but someone fun to dance with always makes it that much more interesting - and all the better if his costume happens to be a great conversation starter.

Anyway, to skip to the more interesting parts, we exchanged numbers and went out for dinner a few nights later. It certainly seemed that the date went well - after we finished eating we grabbed a drink, and then lingered on the sidewalk saying good-bye (aka exchanging good night kisses - I know, ewwww on the pda). But then he never called!

And no, this was not a case of him waiting for me to get in touch as I texted the next day to see if he might want to do something later in the week. Clearly, he just wasn't that interested - which is fine, but why go to all the trouble of making it seem like you are? I mean, if I go out to dinner with someone and have no desire to see him again, you can bet I bolt out of the restaurant pretty quickly rather than suggesting another date.

Fast forward to December and Holiday Blizzzard of 2010 (16 inches of snow in 24 hours - enough for even this Minnesota girl), and I'd nearly forgotten about the Teletubby incident. As the DC area's snow removal services leave a little to be desired, most people were limited to walking places that particular weekend. In the true spirit of a snow day, my roommates and I gathered up all the Uggs and wellies in the house, pulled on our mittens and trekked to Carpool for one of the most fun Saturday nights I've had since I moved to the area. After a brief stint at Union Jack's, we returned to Carpool to finish out the evening before walking home.

As we flashed our ids at the bouncer, I did a double-take at the guy out on the porch - it was the Teletubby! Not only did he not call, he actually had the gall to show up at MY neighborhood bar - in a blizzard no less! This is not the same as the Corey situation (the bouncer at O'Sullivans) - the Teletubby lives a good 20 miles away, so I never really expected to run into him again, and certainly not in Arlington when the metro is shut down and the only thing moving were a few four-wheel drive vehicles.

I was so flabbergasted, I proceeded to share the entire story with the bouncer, including my absolute incredulity that the Teletubby could be there - albeit, out of costume. Fueled by a hard cider or two, my storytelling skills were just warming up, gesticulating included, when the guy walked inside with this bashful look on his face. I turned from the fascinated gaze of the bouncer (ok, it might have been more a look of amusement as he thought about how his friends were going to laugh when he told them about the "crazy" girl he met at work that night), and asked the Teletubby why he never called.

"I called," he said.

"Umm, no, you most definitely did not," I responded. And then returned to my friends at the bar, why the Teletubby moved off looking nicely chastened (this was not my imagination - even the bartender said he seemed pretty embarassed to have run into me).

Suffice it to say, by the end of the night I had made quite the impression on the bouncer, who now recognizes me each time I walk into Carpool as "the girl with the Teletubby story."

And nothing further from the Teletubby himself - but at the very least, he helped make the Holiday Blizzard of 2010 that much more memorable and continues to be good for a laugh among my roommates.

Online Dating Profiles

I've tried Match.com on and off for the last year without much success. Sure, I've had lots of dates, and on the plus side, almost every one of the guys I've been out with wants to see me again - I just don't really want to see them!

In fact, I think I've only met one guy I was actually interested in - Jack - and clearly that did not work out well.

To be honest, it seems that I'm sending out all kinds of winks / e-mails (no waiting for guys to make the first move online!), but not getting much of a response.

Which leads me to believe there must be something inherently wrong with my profile.

I know there have been all kinds of articles written about what to include in online profiles, like "Three Ways to Build A Better Online Dating Profile" and "Dating Profile Don'ts", and I've tried to incorporate these ideas in moderation.

But something's still not working - so, for your viewing pleasure, I've posted the main body of my profile here. For those who have never checked out Match.com, this is subsidized by other brief answers (think Twitter length) about For Fun, My Job and Favorite Hot Spots, etc.

I think I sound totally date-worthy, but I ask you, where have I gone wrong?

ABOUT ME AND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR:

I'm originally from Minnesota, spent four years in Missouri at school and moved to DC because (ok, this is a little dorky) I loooove "The West Wing." Having been on the East Coast for three years, I've adopted the Steelers as my NFL team but still retain my Midwestern values. I'm just as comfortable in a dress and heels as my pajamas - which I pretty much change into as soon as I get home each night.

I love to travel and can pack light, or bring everything but the kitchen sink depending on the trip. Beach vacations in the spring and summer, ski trips in the winter and spontaneous weekend getaways are a few of my favorites.

When it comes to what I'm looking for, I like to be around people who, no matter the activity or occasion, make it more fun just by being there. I want to date someone who's also my best friend - someone who I can have a serious conversation with, but who I can also be a total goofball around. I want to hang with your friends, and you should be able to hang with mine - bonus points for sitting through a chick flick!

So, whether we're going for a run, visiting a museum or playing a round of golf or a game of Scrabble, let's hang out and see what happens - if you've made it this far, send me a wink or an e-mail:)

Random facts about me:

*My roommate and I tried out for The Amazing Race last spring - our video rocked!

*I read cheesy romance novels because I can finish them quickly, and if I have to put it down for awhile, I don't forget the plot line

*I've had to ban myself from watching Lost because I spend the whole time ranting about how things don't make sense and getting frustrated that we never seem to get any answers

*I don't cry often, but am almost guaranteed to shed a tear or two in the movie theater, no matter what the movie

*I'm really independent, but I crave cuddling with someone at night

*I love cake - seriously, they sell it by the slice at the grocery store and I think that might be the best invention ever

*I was valedictorian and a state swimmer in high school

*If a computer or copier breaks in the office, you can pretty much assume I must have touched it recently

Don't Date Where You Drink

New Rule: Do not, under any circumstances, date someone at a bar you like to frequent. Unless you're ok with not being able to drink there again.

I made the mistake of going out once with Cory, the bouncer, from O'Sullivan's. The date was not something I wanted to repeat, to say the least, and after continuing to ask me out via text for weeks, he finally sent this as a last-ditch effort:

"So, did I screw up our date that badly or did you break your phone or something?"

And thus, I've been forced to avoid the bar for a few months. Until last weekend.

Since it was my birthday, I decided to be brave and bite the bullet (I'm not going to speculate on what role a large bottle of wine might have played in this newfound courage). I like going to O'Sullivan's occassionally and I would NOT be deterred any longer by one bad date.

It also helped that it was Friday, and Cory ususally works on Saturday.

Alas, my hopes of avoiding an awkward encounter were not realized. As the cab pulled up and I peered through the torrential downpour, I realized the face at the door was not that of an unknown stranger, but rather the one I recognized.

"Quick," I said to my friend Kelsey as I shoved her toward the door. "You have to go in first!"

She looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably am a bit, but gamely made her way to the door - allowing me to hide behind her.

When it was my turn to have my id checked, I studiously looked the other way while shoving my license into Cory's hand. Just as he started to look up and say something, I grabbed it back and ran into the bar.

I know, very ostrich-head-in-the-sand of me, and not exactly my most mature moment. And it gets worse.

Since O'Sullivan's is relatively small, the majority of standing room is in plain view of the doorway - and Cory. As we waited to order our drinks, I could feel him looking at me. This was not imagined - when I looked up, we definitely made eye contact. Argh! So much for avoidance.

And then he started to make his way into the room.

I looked frantically for someone to duck behind, but there wasn't a nice, solid guy presently available. Instead, we made our way toward the few tables, and luckily managed to find something hidden in the corner - well out of eyesight of the doorway.

Safe, at last.

At least until it was time to leave. Luckily, running out the door worked just as well as running in.

How Old is Too Old?

At 26, I definitely feel older than 25. As my friend Melissa said, I'm now in my late mid-20s - and I'm not a fan of "late" anything.

But my question is, how old is too old for me to date? When I was fresh out of college, 27 seemed beyond me and 30 was certainly ancient. The guy that was a year behind me and still in school was acceptable, but 26 was questionable.

At 24, I reached the point where 30 was no longer so scary and 29 was definitely a good number. But now, as I contemplate tonight's date with No. 9.5 from last week, I'm not sure where the line is anymore.

Did I mention he's 36?

The decade age difference not withstanding, that seems a little too close to 40 for comfort. Let's say things did work out, does that mean I have to start having kids right away? I mean, even if we had our firstborn tomorrow, he'd be 54 by the time the kid went off to college. So much for doting on grandkids together. And what about the male/female life expectancy issue? Does this mean I'll hit my golden years by myself? Or will he be too frail by then to even enjoy them with me?

I suppose on the up side he'd be less likely to leave me later for a younger woman!

I know - I'm several, even hundreds, of steps ahead of myself. As I rattled off these concerns to my roommates the other night,they looked at me with a kind of horror over the new levels of crazy I had reached.

But isn't it better to rule someone out from the beginning than to find out later, once you really like them, there are any number of dealbreakers in the way?

Then again, given that the hottest thing I've got going right now is my lukewarm thing with Charlie, perhaps I can't afford to be so picky.

What now?

Charlie's at it again - and I'm not sure I can translate his latest signals!

As we watched a movie one night last week, I found myself suddenly cuddled up in his lap - not our typical M.O. And even more confusing, he was actually stroking my hair while Cary Elwes pranced about in "Robin Hood: Men in Tights."

And then it gets really interesting: when I start to make noises about it getting late, he says in this incredibly adorable little boy way that he doesn't want me to leave.

Sounds like he's potentially interested in being more than friends, right? I mean, the guy doesn't even like to cuddle!

So we move into the bedroom - again, not at all weird for me to crash there when it's after dark, since his parking lot creeps me out - and he proceeds to engage in some hardcore spooning. But when he leans into kiss me - GASP! - I stop him. We've been down this road before and we both know we don't really make good friends with benefits. Someone (meaning me) always seems to end up disappointed and hurt.

Instead, I explain this to him and when greeted with silence tentatively add, "Unless there's something you're not telling me?" Yep, more crickets. So I start to chatter on about something else and when I stop to take a breath he makes another comment about wanting me to stay.

So I do.

And when we both wake up in the middle of the night, he leans over and says good-night with a kiss on the forehead and a quick peck on the lips.

What does all this mean??!! If I was sending someone these signals, obviously I'm interested in him. But Charlie seems to engage in some weird dialect of man-speak that even my other guy friends can't fully understand.

Birthday Celebration

The best birthdays all seem to have three things in common: boys, booze and baked goods. Luckily, my week-long celebration (also known as the birthday extravaganza) kicked off last week with two of the three - and there's still plenty of time to work in the baked goods (mostly in the form of cupcakes).

The rules for the annual festivities dictate the partying doesn't start until the first present arrives - so thank you Grandma for timing the delivery of your gift with Friday night! Following the present opening, the girls and I headed to Carpool to start the night.

Turns out, the birthday chant my roommate Lauren does with her elementary school kids works just as well with beer as milk - and helps attract the guys. From the "babies" fresh out of school to one that was closer to 40 than 30, the men (I use the term loosely) began to swing by the table in droves. Seriously. I've never had that many talk to my group in one night before!

As we realized this had become the theme for the evening, we started to name and call them by number. At first we thought we'd be lucky to get to No. 5, but we quickly revised that to No. 12.

The number system was all in good fun and no one objected until we got to No.9.5. He seemed a bit offended, although we think he was really just upset that he was a half instead of a whole number (since Kimberley waved him over, we decided he didn't fully count since he did not approach our table on his own).

Not to worry though - as he moved away from our table in a huff, I followed to console him and we're going out on Tuesday.

Happy Birthday to me!