Tag Archives: dating

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy


Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:


A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”



I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”


“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.


When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.

The Rules


This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.


One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.


Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.


My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.


Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.


It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.


Some rules I effed up on:


Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”



Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.



Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5



Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂



Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?



Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.



Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.



I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

How My Pinterest Wedding Board Got Me In Trouble


Don’t judge, but God help me, I am addicted to Pinterest.

In case you’re not familiar with Pinterest, it’s a website composed of idea snapshots. You can “pin” the ideas to your various “boards” which you theme according to your interest – for example, I have boards for home ideas, healthy food recipes, beautiful places I’d like to see, cute clothes, wedding ideas and funny quotes. The wedding board was what got me in trouble last week.

The BBE and I were relaxing at home one night, watching TV. I was half watching, half perusing Pinterest, and pinning new stuff to my boards. BBE leans over the laptop to find out what’s consumed so much of my interest, and begins pointing out cute stuff to add to my “home” board: decorating ideas, dishes. He even highlights a super cute baby room idea. Then he notices some of the other board themes I have. In particular the wedding board.

Now, it’s pretty rare that BBE really comes out with a whopper that makes me want to pop him over the head with a frying pan. I think at some point though, even the sweetest guy ever is bound to say something retarded that makes you wonder if he’s just lost his mind… and his ability to filter. In this case, the BBE made me want to find the biggest, heaviest cast iron skillet ever made when he said “Why do you have a wedding board? You don’t even HAVE a wedding! And you’re probably not getting one soon anyway”.




First of all: EVERY girl has a wedding board. It just takes many forms. It could be a collection of bridal magazines hidden under the bed, or a scrapbook neatly organized and tabbed. It could be a mental board. Not matter how it’s done, most girls of a CERTAIN AGE (I guess I shouldn’t say all) typically have a catalog of wedding ideas and know what their “perfect” wedding would be like, even if it perfect idea changes as we get older.

Another thing that changes as we get older is how freely we talk about weddings. As kids, my friends and I sat around and talked about what types of weddings we wanted; it was fun to play Wedding from time to time, and that was perfectly ok. When we hit out teens and twenties, discussing this openly became taboo. How crazy do you sound in the 11th grade discussing satin versus sateen bridesmaid dresses?

By the time you hit your thirties you don’t give a flying fart in space about keeping your wedding preferences a secret. You discuss it with your friends, and balance the pros and cons of destination weddings versus local (destination is the way to go, beach wedding versus chapel (beach …or maybe Tuscan theme? I say a really nice one on My Fair Weddings with David Tutera), open bar versus plated dinner (bar! duh).


Second of all: Just by allowing him to SEE this wedding board made me incredibly vulnerable, and was certainly a sensitive subject. In just mere seconds, his view of me changed from his sweet, slightly goofy, fairly crazy girlfriend to his completely crazy, positively wedding crazed bridezilla girlfriend out to ensnare him in my web of wedding-ness (as if me watching Bridezilla every Sunday wasn’t enough). And just to have some more fun with me, he rubbed it in a little further by suggesting that if I was so ready right now, then he was perfectly prepared to accept my proposal!! (!!!!) Are you high?!? Old fashioned I am not, but if he thinks I’m proposing then we’re in big trouble. I don’t think my knees bend that way, lol.


Thirdly: although I am joking about a lot of this, he really is the one I believe I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, and I think he feels the same way. I’m satisfied with taking it slow so that we can both be sure. I think a wedding would be great fun and should be a wonderful celebration of our love for each other, but what comes after that? A long life of marriage, and that’s serious business. I want to do it right, and with the right person. On the flip side, I also want kids before I’m old and wrinkly and too arthritic to run after them or drive them to daycare.


Geesh people relax!!! It’s just a pinterest board! Wait ’til he sees my wedding scrapbook!


JUST KIDDING! I’d never let him see the scrapbook.

An Open Letter to the BBE


Dear BBE (aka “Best Boyfriend Ever”),


Here’s my open letter to you; I have a few things I wanted to share with you that I just don’t have the guts to say out loud. Because I’m a wimp.


1. I am so glad that you are comfortable at my place! So glad in fact, that I want you to make yourself at home. Make yourself SO at home that, from now on you will have no more excuses for not putting the dishes away because you “don’t know where they go”.

2. Speaking of being comfortable: the next time that you use the bathroom and don’t replace the empty toilet roll, I am going to choke you out. Like, Vulcan nerve pinch death grip choke you out. I AM NOT KIDDING. And by the way: the windowsill next to the toilet is NOT an ideal place to leave your kindle!

3. Next time you leave random piles of receipts under pillows on my papasan chair I will set them on fire. That’s right, FIRE.

4. I  think it’s pretty rich that you tease me for being weird enough to enjoy the Twilight series and having a Taylor Lautner poster in my water closet when you’re super weird for not liking ketchup and for not eating fruit pies because you believe that fruit does not belong in desserts.

5. Do not fart in my general direction. Ever. Same thing goes for burping. There is no situation in life where that is funny.



In addition to these things, there are some others that I also want to share:


6. I really really love it when we’re cuddling and watching tv and you kiss my forehead and stroke my hair. I realize there’s a pretty likely chance that it looks like a hot mess or maybe a squirrel is making a home in there (hey, when I’m relaxing at home, I REALLY relax at home!) but it makes me feel pretty and girly and super special.

7. I am obnoxious. I am a dork. I do embarrassing things in public and in private (like accidentally flash my underwear to the patrons of the local Cracker Barrel). I promise that at least twice a week I will do something to horrify you in front of others and also when we’re alone. I deeply appreciate that you love me in spite of all those things and seem to find many of them entertaining.

8. As much as I tease you for being mushy, I wouldn’t have you any other way. The little gestures you do to show me you care are so darn sweet…if my reacts alternate between teasing you and tearing up like a wimp it’s because I don’t know how to react appropriately because I’m not used to a guy being so nice… just because. I like that you’re sweet and mushy and cannot understand for the life of me why you like being with me, but I really and truly DO NOT WANT YOU TO CHANGE!

9.  This is uber creepy but I like sniffing you because I love the way you smell. I tried buying the laundry detergent that you use, but it made the crotch of my underpants smell weird and I got itchy on the back of my neck. I think I’m allergic to the laundry detergent you use, but don’t stop using it. I love sniffing you 🙂

10. My face gets hot when people ask me how I feel about you because telling the world that I love you is deeply personal and scary and something I’ve never said about anyone else except my family, close friends, my dog Rex and my cat Milo.


And one last thing…

I love holding your hand. So don’t let go. 🙂




The Sunburnt Peach

The Milk and the Cow


The other day, I had a rather frank conversation with my mom about my relationship with the BBE (best boyfriend ever) and where we were headed. I was very honest and told her that we were considering moving in together. I’m not a serial dater – I have never lived with anyone I have dated, EVER, so for me to even consider this step is pretty huge.

And she said the infamous phrase:

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

Wha??? Who says stuff like that? What is this, the 1950’s??

I am an intelligent college graduate with a full-time job and my own car. I am (fairly) responsible and I try to live a fairly morally compassed life. In this day and age, you think she’d be happy that I haven’t covered my body in tribal tattoos with a tramp stamp on my butt crack, dancing naked under the full moon and posting soft-core videos on YouTube. I mean, I’m not going all Kesha on her, just wanting to have a healthy relationship with someone that I’d potentially consider having little swirly babies with. I think this is reasonable.

I have to admit, I was a little surprised, and then again, I wasn’t. She was being a mom and wanting the best for me, but at the tender age of 32 and a half I have to start being the person that decides what works for me.

 I’m like…a penguin. When I mate, I want to mate for life. I have seen too many of my friends go through the stress and heartbreak of divorce. I don’t want to rush into any decisions… I also don’t want us to take 5 years to decide that we want to get married (I think my eggs expire before then) however I don’t want to date for just 3 months and then get married. That’s not how I roll. So in order to ensure that I’m making the right decision I want to try the living with him thing first – why is that so bad? Isn’t it better to realize that it’s not going to work and have to separate a few personal items, than to get married, realize it doesn’t work and have to separate two lives?

And let’s talk about “milk”… people are seriously perverts. I know I’m guilty of looking at pregnant women and thinking “you know they like, totally DID IT”. Conversely, it never occured to me that the thought of a couple living together conjures up thoughts of all day orgies, like we’d be shag-shag-shag, left right and center all day. I just don’t have the energy for those kind of shenanigans. And what makes yall think we don’t make milkshakes already?? 🙂 When I think of living together I think of sharing expenses, learning how to live together without wanting to kill each other, putting our lives in sync. I am 32. I’m tired. I like naps, watching Super Nanny and getting lots of sleep. I get excited about new flowers blooming on my hisbiscus bush. BBE had me the moment he agreed that a nice relaxing afternoon involved us both sitting quietly reading our own books. When we first started talking about the living situation, BBE didn’t immediately run to Walgreens and buy a turbo-sized box of condoms so I’m taking that as a good sign.

Furthermore, why is it that I’M the one giving the milk away? Why is it always about the girl putting out? Why isn’t he the one that’s giving the milk away??? And if he didn’t want to “buy the cow” (and I resent being referred to as a cow – I am working on my fitness thank you very much) do yall really think I would live with someone that was just interested in the milk? Seriously? Have you people met me? And if he was just interested in dairy products then he probably wouldn’t have initiated the loving together  conversation, since that’s big committment just to get a little “milk”.

Obviously I feel very strongly about this, and thus I’m a bit rant-y.

Did I mention that I’m lactose-intolerant??


Karma or Irony?


Something happened a few months ago that I’ve been stewing on and just can’t quite determine what I should learn from all of this. So I’m putting it my readers – tell me which part is Karma and which part Irony:



I visit my doctor, referred to by many as “hot doctor” to discuss what might be the beginnings of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or IBS. Some months later, we are matched on e-harmony, and in true Sunburnt Peach style I create a blog post about hot doctor on e-harmony, talk about it on Facebook and send some of his hot doctor pictures to several of my friends (and I really didn’t discriminate: straight, gay, married, single, I sent it to them all). So it’s only natural I should run into him at my local Super-Tarjay.



In my attempt to avoid confrontation with hot doctor, I dart down the nearest aisle of the Target.

It just happens to be the toilet paper aisle.


So… which part is the karma, and which part the irony??


BTW – I am currently seeking a new Primary Care Physician.

This wonderful Bodyshop ad was banned by Barbie Inc. A repost from Twitpic


This wonderful Bodyshop ad was banned by Barbie Inc. Repost i… on Twitpic.

I love this ad. I stumbled across it in my Twitter feed sometime last week.

I think this should be dedicated to ANYONE that has ever been embarrassed by their body for ANY reason – whether you think you’re too fat, skinny, tall, short, freckled, brown, white, wrinkled – whatever. From an early age our parents tell us that we’re beautiful and we spend our whole lives trying to remember that fact. It’s so easy to say “love your body” but so hard to actually just do it. Am I right???

It’s easier to listen whenver someone puts you down – why is that? Why can’t we just believe that someone thinks you’re beautiful just the way we are!!! Being self conscious about your body image can really drive a wedge into any relationship as I’m currently learning and struggling with right now… love your body, it’s the only one you’ve got 🙂

…and that is the end of today’s sermon from the good Reverend Peach 🙂


Happy Feet


So I starting thinking about feet earlier today.

I’m not like a foot fetishist or anything – it just occured to me that this is a very interesting topic… here in Florida we pretty much have only one season: SUMMER. It can be broken up into three distinct seasonal periods – Mild Summer, Hot Summer and REALLY HOT Summer. You rarely see too many Floridians outside in the middle of a hot July day unless there’s alcohol and/or shade involved. Or maybe food. Or maybe food, booze AND shade? Damn! That’s like, the trifecta of summer happiness right there!!! 🙂

With our perpetual summer comes an excess of summer and open-toed footwear. There’s an ongoing parade of parties, dinners, festivals, fairs, beach events and barbecues where you find yourself in summer shoe wear. Thusly, it is imperative to keep your feet in pretty good shape when wearing open toed shoes, flip flops, sandals, etc. Can’t afford to hit up the nail salon every week for a pedicure? Not a problem!!! This is a tough economy – no one knows that better than me. All we’re asking (and I speak fof the general toe-viewing public here) is that you keep ’em neat, trimmed and moisturized. Get a Ped Egg at Target. I suggest a nice nail polish as well whenever possible. Is that too much to ask?

I am VERY embarrassed by my feet. They not horrible or anything, just not like, you know, perfect. The hospitality industry can be tough on your tootsies. With that said, I always make sure that I keep them moisturized, scrubbed, trimmed and with a nice nail polish on them. I’ve been paranoid about them ever since I was in high school. Sitting in the nail shop one day getting my nails done and I heard the manicurists yelling ” you pay extra! you pay extra!” at another patron. I honestly don’t know if the lady was yelling this because the person’s toes were utterly jacked up or if she was charging extra for him/her to cop a feel during a session… either way I’m scared to death of plopping into that chair and having them appraise my feet and then jack up the price because they’re so effing busted.

Also, here’s a thought – what if you’re snuggling up to Mr. Right?? You don’t want to scare him away with scaly feet. Ugh, what about when you’re taking off your shoes to walk through security at the airport? Asking for help in the shoe department at Nordstrom? Standing on the scale at the gynecologist’s office? As a deeply paranoid person I think about this stuff ALL the time, and find myself looking at other people’s toes. When toes catch my eye I’m usually think either “man I wish mine looked like that!” or “THANK YOU BABY JESUS for not giving me toes like that!”

So I’m kinda thankful for the feet I have. After all, they could always look like this:

Here’s My Sign, Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You


I think it’s a universal truth that when you’re first dating someone you work really hard to tuck your crazy safely out of sight until they’re way too sucked in to care. Then, once they’re hooked on how awesome you are, you start to let out the crazy in a slow trickle, like a silent fart or a tire with a nail in it. Is that a fair statement?

So WHY is it that, the more that you try to be hide the crazy the faster and more profusely it just pops out?? It’s like trying to fit size DDD boobs into a DD bra or constantly squeezing your butt into a pair of spanx… and I have been down THAT road enough to know. Eventually it’s not so cute anymore.

Here’s a novel idea – why don’t we all just wear our crazy on signs? Or hell, at least stop trying so hard to hide it. Wave that freak flag (not so) high! At least then it’s not so shocking since you’ve let them in on the secret from the beginning.

So when some of your crazy slips out at, say, a quiet restaurant while laughing at fart jokes with crumbs on your chest, and that special person looks at you like you’ve got two heads, you can be like “it was on my sign, you can’t say I didn’t warn you”.

Imagine how awesome it is when the circus act that is your life (starring the bearded lady) is happening all around the two of you and he’s not running straight for the next train out of CrazyTown. In fact, he’s willing to become a resident, because let’s face it, anyone that accepts your crazy so readily probably has a few fire-eating, lion-taming, trapeze-flying, anvil-juggling acts of nutso of his own and has been looking for someone just like you.

Seriously, think Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey… two big circus joined into one giant mega circus. Way more entertaining, right?

Maybe it’s a good thing to know that, no matter how much of your weirdness is on display or hidden away, the people that matter still want to stick around. It’s the test of whether it’s meant to be or not. I mean who wants to wear spanx all the time? Peeing in those is a real bitch.