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My life has been insanely busy lately, but thankfully, all in a good way. I spent the final summer days paying a much overdue visit to my sister in Chicago and as soon as I returned I accepted a job offer after a month-long run of vigorous interviewing.
The day after my return from Chicago, Mr. Baldwin hopped on a jet plane for a week-long business trip. He graciously invited me along for a few days but although I would have loved jetting off for a whirlwind weekend with him, I knew I was too busy and sadly declined his enticing offer.
Warning: What I’m about to admit just may gross you out. As you know, I’ve been hitting the gym with Mr. Baldwin lately and when we’re through with our exercising I find myself taking a whiff of his freshly sweaty bod. It may be nasty, but it’s because I enjoy the pheromones he emits.
According to the Webster's definition a pheromone (\ˈfer-ə-ˌmōn\) is a chemical substance produced by an animal that serves
especially as a stimulus to other individuals of the same species.
The other day my coworker strutted into the office and dropped a book on my desk. MENu Dating by Tristan Coopersmith and Todd Johnson, which suggested we “taste-test your way to the main course.” I immediately thought a clever comparison was going to be made between dining out and dating. But as I dove into the book, I realized a much smarter message was being conveyed: In order to get to the main course (Mr. Right), date a variety of men and figure out exactly what you want and need.
The other night Celine demanded we get dinner and told me she needed some creative ideas for her boyfriend Miguel’s birthday this coming weekend. When I asked her if Miguel wanted anything specific, she rolled her eyes and told me Miguel had hinted that he wanted a new baseball bat.
It's literally been years since I’ve met the parents of a guy I’m seeing. So this past weekend when I accepted an invite to spend the afternoon with Mr. Baldwin and his parents, I was equally nervous and excited. After rummaging through my closet forever to carefully select the perfect "meet the parents" ensemble—a sweet summery dress and some platform sandals—I hopped in a cab and was on my way.
The other day I received an email from one of my girls about an old friend of ours who recently got engaged.
A few years back, I worked with Billy, a guy who eventually became one of our closest friends. Aside from being comrades-in-arms at work, the three of us spent a ton of time together running around New York City. We stuck together during the rough times and were always there for each other.
I have a thing for vampires, partly Edward Cullen’s fault, but mainly because biting someone's neck is oh so sexy!
A little biting action never hurt nobody. Personally, I enjoy a love bite or two (OK, or three!) and thoroughly take pleasure in returning the favor.
But the other night, I had dinner with an old friend who told me about a recent experience that well, pretty much bites. I couldn’t help but giggle all through dessert.
This past weekend, Charlotte and I decided to engage in one of our favorite activities: midday margarita drinking. As we savored our salty, frozen slices of heaven, I rambled on and on about my awesome weekend with Mr. Baldwin. As I blabbed on, I noticed Charlotte wasn’t her upbeat self, so I asked her what was wrong.
She told me that last week she had a really rough day and there was nothing she wanted to do more than come home and enjoy a glass of wine. But when she arrived home, an empty bottle completely threw a wrench into her relaxation plans.