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Monday, April 8, 2013


Recently, I went shopping with my daughter – it’s a little different here as the nearest real mall is 30+ miles down the road. As we wandered through a clothing store sporting a sea of jean styles, I had a thought: wow, this sure beats the “jean” pool back home. Hmmm, jean pool. What? Oh, ha, ha, ha, yes, very funny… lost in thought… unfamiliar territory. I’ll put it and your humor into my GPS. So, as I was saying, jean pool. Now, that’s not to be confused with that ‘other’ gene pool. This jean pool is the one you’re likely to find at a local bar not your community college science lab.

In a rural area you’re likely to see jean labels like Wrangler, Cruel Girl (no, not a reference to your ex), or Cinch. And, be honest, we’re all a bit prone to ‘label shopping’ (me, I’m mostly a Wrangler gal myself).  Problem is, in the country, sometimes the available jean pool can be a little shallow. So, just like taking my daughter to the nearest mall sometimes we have to find a way to a deeper pool.

Yep, here we go again with the internet thing. As with wading out into any pool ya gotta be careful where you step; otherwise, you could end up stepping on something that bites and/or smells (and not in a good way either). Believe me, the internet jean pool can be full of more critters than Ellie Mae Clampitt had in her cement pond.

My suggestion to the people who come up with those ‘cowboy’, ‘farmer’, and ‘country’ dating websites: If you’d focus more on getting people into the right JEAN pool as opposed to the right GENE pool, you might find you'd have more success than Kim Kardashian has. You may say - "it's all in the genes", but I hear - "it's all in the jeans". (Of course, there’s always the possibility of pulling the drain plug on that jean pool only to discover that the guy with the right ‘jeans’ was never even in there – he had been onshore waiting patiently holding your towel for you.)

Today’s point: In love, as in style, the right jeans are all about the right fit.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


I don’t date jerks… Ok, quit spitting coffee out your nose – that was only cute when you were 5. You didn’t let me finish… I don’t date jerks BY CHOICE. My relationship luck is more like buying a lottery ticket with all 6 winning numbers – from the previous week’s drawing. 

One thing I’ll say about it though, it sure seems to bring out the best in my friends when it happens and for that I’m grateful. As I was having lunch with the lead mares the other day, I realized just how lucky I am in that respect. You see, while there are probably times they’d like to GPS the men with the butterfly nets for me, instead they listen then, we all laugh. This was the case with what happened to me recently. 

My last relationship end was absolutely a real shocker for everyone around me.  In fact, it was kinda like taking your cousin’s dare and touching the electric fence wire to see if it’s hot only to find out that it was! And, I must admit for a bit I felt about as good as if it zapped me. But, like the pain of child birth, that stinging is subsiding with time. That’s due in great part to my great friends who usually know just what to say at just the right time to say it. 

Here’s one example: I was talking to the boyfriend of a good friend of mine recently who knows how to put things into perspective. He’s by nature a very kind and funny person anyway but this has to be his best line to date. He asked me how I was doing and said how sorry he was to hear about what happened. I thanked him and told him it’s just the way things seem to go with me and love. His reply is one I’ll never forget: “You know… we’re all alike… WE ALL FART IN BED!”  

Somewhere in there, there’s a grain of truth to that if you think about it (once you quit laughing). We all have our sweet side and our smelly. If it starts smelling like a barn stall full of manure, though, it may be time to ‘clean out the stall’.

Today’s Moral: If you’re smart you’ll realize only have to hit that hot wire fence once to realize you don’t want to do it again.