Tuesday, September 29, 2009

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Seconds (or less)

Listen up, ladies, because I have found a guaranteed way to scare men away. 10 seconds....or less (hence the title...) They will run so fast they will be tripping over their words and feet as they scurry out the door. I know this because I tried it today, you know, because I had absolutely nothing to lose.
Mr. (un) fab came knocking again (okay, figuratively...it was a text, of course...so predictable, that guy.) This actually works to my favour, because I'm so much more creative with the written word than I am with the spoken word. I'm downright waxing poetic in these texts. It's brilliant, really. So after a few texts about his actions-and-words-not-jiving issues, I laid it all out on the table. I told him that I was at total peace right now, and my life was calm and wonderful because I was going to church.
I'm pretty confident I won't be hearing from Mr. (un) fab ever again. Seriously, 10 seconds...
He wished me well, and said he was so glad that I was happy. But that I should be really careful (and now I'm kicking myself for not saving the text, so I could repeat verbatim) because churches have a tendency to become "cult-like" and that I should "BEWARE" (seriously, capital letters and everything...) But don't get him wrong, he's 'religious' too. He believes there's a power higher than himself. I clarified that I'm not 'religious', but that I have been "saved by Grace" to which he said, "Be careful, hun" (ugh, so condescending) and after a few drawn out bu-byes, he was gone.
I did feel a little sad. Because I knew then that Mr. (un) Fab was really, truly unfabulous. Whatever else I liked or disliked about him seemed inconsequential because the more I talked about my faith, the more convinced he was that I was going to start wearing long, flowy peasant dresses, while singing 'Kum Ba Yah' and drinking Kool-aid. It bothered me, to say the least. But after a minute or two of feeling sorry for myself, I came to the realization that a new chapter cannot begin until the one before has been finished. I finished the (un) Fab chapter today. I finished it. There will be no waiting or hoping for his text, because I have moved on.
Now, there's just excitement for the next chapter. Someone who gets Christianity on a level deeper than religion, and can realize it's so much more than rituals and ideals - that it's a relationship. I have no idea where this man will come from, I have no idea when - but I have faith.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Man Eater

"Of course I'll marry you. Yes, yes, yes!"
There has been no news on the dating front - and by that I mean no bites on POF. Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I've had two messages. One from a guy who just moved to Van and would like someone to show him around. Uhhhh, that might be an euphemism for something 'else,' but let's just say that it isn't...like I have time - on top of being a full time mom, and working full time - to be a tour guide as well. Sounds a little too much like work to me, and not the fun kind...
The second guy was short and overweight and spent his whole profile talking about how sick he is of people judging him by his appearance, and how shocked we'd all be if we gave him a chance. Seriously, he went on and on and on. To be fair, he does have a point. I know I'm guilty of judging a book by its cover, however, if I'm going to spend forever with someone, I'd like to be physically attracted to him. That's just me though. Furthermore, what I find attractive is most likely different from what you find attractive (Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp aside...) so I think buddy just needs to be patient and his princess will come along. How's that for ironic? Me, giving dating advice, about patience no less. This is what got me..."I would love for a beautiful girl like you to give a guy like me a chance..." Waaaaiiiit a minute here. So, looks aren't supposed to matter to me, and if they do, I'm a superficial you-know-what. But, it's okay for looks to matter to you. How fair is that? Talk about a double standard.
I've dated a few men in my time, and probably none were considered "hot" or "gorgeous" but there was an attraction there that I saw, that I felt. Let's get serious, though. If there's not physical attraction, don't we call them...friends? I'm not looking for another 'friend' thank you very much...
So, I'm trying to figure out what it is about my profile that isn't attracting men. I think I might be a little too honest. And sometimes honesty sounds a little um....bitter. I wrote it thinking it made me sound strong and empowered. But it's probably, oh what's the word...ah, yes... scary to a man. Men want women who are strong and self assured. They DO NOT want women who have "baggage". They do not want women who rip their bra's off and burn them, while carrying handmade cardboard signs that read "We Hate Men..." or something close to that anyways. To be clear, I have no desire to burn my bra. I really like the support it gives. And burning it would be like burning $50.00. Not to mention the fire hazard it poses (but maybe that's just the mom/paranoid in me...)
I guess the challenge here is to tone down the bitter man-hating vibe, while not sacrificing my strength and independence. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to change who I am, but I'm really not a man hater. I love men. They're wonderful. I think men like to think that women are a little vulnerable, and need a big strong man to take care of them. I think I like the thought of being a little vulnerable...but just a little...

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

My Friend

I have this friend. She hates her job. I know, hate is a super harsh word, isn't it? It's true though, hate just about covers it. Despise is a close second. Loathe works, too. She can feel it suck the life out of her. She can feel her creativity slowly die every day she goes to work. She used to sing (I've heard it was beautiful) and she used to write poems and stories. She went to university, and was going to be a High School English teacher. She wanted to inspire kids to love literature, and she want to teach them to find their voice. It's sad really. She's trying to figure out why she's there - at this job now, because she absolutely believes there is a purpose to everything. So she knows there's a reason, but she can't see it.
She wants to know why it is an employee of her's decided it was necessary (not to mention appropriate) to strip nearly naked in front of her to prove he was not wearing a recording device. Or why one employee is wondering if ,when the Apocalypse strikes , we can use the tunnel under the building to um....sustain life (I've often wondered the same...) There's the employee who tried to hit her with his 2000lb forklift, you know, just for a joke. It might have been a test, though, to see if she was tough enough to do the job. And these are just a couple of horror stories.
It's not that she can't take the pressure, quite the opposite. She likes working hard. She likes chaos (organized chaos, of course.) She thrives in stressful situations, it's a talent - she's exceptionally good at it. But she wonders how on earth she's making a difference. What does it all mean? Please pray for my friend. She's discouraged. She's tired. She's coveting a job in a coffee shop that pays a cool million per year. Or a sugar daddy. Or maybe just some guidance and little bit of energy to get through the week.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

A Day in the Life of...

I think I have 'blogger's block.' I have a million idea's floating (haha, this is a really funny pun...just wait and see) around in my noggin, but putting them into concrete, coherent sentences is proving to be a challenge. The truth is...I'm tired. My day goes something like this: 8:00am - Wake up (9:00 if Q wins the battle the night before...) 8:01am - Make Coffee 8:15am - Feed the Child 8:30am - 10:30am - Bond with the Child 10:30am - Make snacks 11:00am - Get the Child ready for school 11:15am - Feed the Child (I know...AGAIN...) 11:40am - Take the Child to School 12:15pm - "ME" time (read: Facebook, blog) 1:00pm - Get ready for work 2:30pm - Drive to train station 2:50pm - 45 minutes of smelly entertainment on the Skytrain 3:40pm - Coffee (I've left out about 2 or 3 coffee's...) 4:00pm - Midnight - Work (another story for another day...someday...) 12:06am - 12:50am - Another 45 minutes of smelly, drunken entertainment on the Skytrain... 1:00am - HOME!!! 1:01am - 3:00am - "ME" time (uh, Facebook? It sweetly sings my name) And then it starts all over again. I know you're wondering, "when does she do laundry?" "When does she clean the bathroom, do the dishes, eat????" Exactly. It doesn't get done all that often. In fact, it rarely gets done. I'd really like to hire a maid/chef/cabana boy, but it's not in the budget right now. This weekend, it all came to an embarrassing end. A whole week of dishes sat in the sink, clothes strewn on the floor, toys ummmm, everywhere. It didn't matter, though, because I still had clean dishes to use and clean underwear to wear. My plan was to clean on Sunday, and then vow to keep it that way forever. It would all be okay. And, I was the only one who saw it, right? WRONG!!! Q and I woke up to dripping. I didn't hear it at first, he did. Maybe it was raining out, I told myself. Maybe we left the sink dripping the night before. Maybe a rodent chewed through a PVC pipe in my son's room, creating a flood in the ceiling, and the 'dripping' sound was actually water pouring out of the light fixture, down the wall, and from the window. Yes, that must be it, sigh. In addition to the toys, dishes and clothes, I now had water, everywhere. A quick call to my landlord, and my worst nightmare (well, my worst nightmare is being stuck in an elevator, but this is a close second) came true. EVERYONE saw my mess. The landlords, the landlords mother and father, the landlords two children, the insurance agent, the plumber, and the pest control guy. It was humiliating. Absolutely. This was a long time coming though (not the mess, that only took a week...) One sunny summer day, a few months ago I noticed baby rats frolicking outside my window. Rats. Three rats. Rats. Does this evoke feelings of panic in anyone other than me??? I grew up in Alberta where we don't have rats. Seriously, we have the "Rat Patrol" relentlessly scouring the Alberta/BC border, wiping out the little effer's before they can infiltrate our beautiful province. So, the fact that I had not only one rat outside, but three freaked me right out. So, I made a call to the landlord, who brushed it off like it was nothing. He said he'd set a couple of traps and problem solved. Uh, no... A month or so later, the landlords return from a vacation to Fiji (which my rent no doubt paid for...) and they are welcomed by rat turds in their pantry. All of the sudden, it's a big deal. They call the Orkin man, who says the rats have set up shop in the attic. Traps are set and we wait. And wait. And wait. These effer's are smart. They know they're traps. They just know. Fast forward to a week ago. I hear scratching in the ceiling above my head. Oh, it can't be rats. Rats don't get in walls, I'm told. Hmmmm, Okay. What do I know? I grew up without rats (as previously mentioned, and yes....I am bragging) Except that I can hear it in my bedroom, and the bathroom. This gnawing, scratching sound that scurries away when I bang the ceiling with my broom. But again I'm told there's no way that rats can get through the floorboards in the ceiling above me, nor can rats get into walls. Alright. Again, what do I know? Maybe I'm just imagining it....every night.... Turns out, rats can fit in between the floorboards. And through walls. Also, rats like to chew through PVC piping (which I was also told was not possible...) The ceiling has been removed in Q's room. As has one whole wall. And part of the floor. I have a bed in my living room, and a tent in my bedroom (don't ask....okay, well haven't you ever thought it would be super cool to have a tent in your bedroom? Yes, so did I....only it was for Q...definitely not for me) I have rat traps in the rafters, a dehumidifier and a fan. I also have **unwelcome** guests showing up at the crack of dawn. I can now add contractors and Insurance appraisers as those who have seen me in my jammies, before my coffee, before the make up, and before I've brushed my teeth. And we don't even get to cuddle... Something tells me my "ME" time is going to be seriously interrupted. The insurance guy is coming back on Wednesday (he calls me Ma'am, how funny is that?) The pest control guy is back tomorrow afternoon. And the contractors will be here later this week. With fun like this, who needs to date? Who has time to date. I will admit though, and I'm sure you're all thinking what I'm thinking...Ooooooh, maybe one will be a cutie. Future husband? Hmmmmm.....maybe I'll start brushing my teeth before I answer the door. As a side note, the landlord says I will be compensated for my inconvenience. I'm thinking one month's rent. Just a thought.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Oh No You Did NOT

Oh yes I did.
In my defense, it's been a while. A long while. And I was lonely. And let's be honest here, when it's been a long time, you begin to forget how bad it is. You forget about the one liners and the losers and the ugly couch pictures. Yes, I 'unhid' my profile on Plenty of Fish. (Don't get any crazy ideas - you won't be able to find me...)
I don't know what I expect to find this time around. I really don't. Probably nothing. In fact, I bet that in a week or two I'll be so fed up, I'll yank it yet again. But on Sunday morning, as I sat in church, looking around me (while obviously listening very intently to the Good Word...) and I noticed that I was surrounded, surrounded by married men. That's really all I have to say. Married men with wives and children. Living the life I thought was to be mine. Meeting a single man in church is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Not impossible, but nearly so...
I keep saying I think that my Mr. Right is just around the corner, when the truth is I'm slowly beginning to think I don't have a Mr. Right at all. Not everyone gets a Mr. Right. And so, instead of expecting to see him at every turn - or around every corner - I should begin settling into my life as me. Just me. Not in a bad way, not in a scary way, not in a depressing way. The lingering thought is that maybe I'm missing out by waiting for something that I have no control over and might never happen.
The last few nights I've been visited by the ghost of boyfriends past. One in particular who, if I had married, would have moulded me into the perfect little farmer's wife. We were so young, and he didn't so much love me as the idea of me and who he wanted me to be. I believe he's moved on and found his Mrs. G...complete and content to share his dream. I just think of how much I have grown in the years since him. I've learned who I really am, and that is such a fabulous gift. Maybe being single isn't a life sentence, maybe it's a gift. I think if more of us viewed it as such there would be some really content, complete women in the world.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Say What?!?! A Stay at Home Who?

"Of course I made it from scratch, darling! Now go take out the garbage."
I've recently discovered this new concept that allows us mother-type people to stay on top of silly little things like laundry, house cleaning and cooking. Hold your breath, ladies. Are you sitting down? This is totally revolutionary...it could change our world (or mine, at the very least!)
A stay at home mom or as 'they' call it "SAHM." I know. Its very own acronym, how cool is that? Here's the idea: You don't have to work. Well, not outside the home. You get to STAY home and raise your child(ren). You have time to do the laundry...wash and fold. I've heard it said you can even wash your floors during normal hours and not at 2:00am when you get home from work. You have time to clean your toilet and brush your teeth and NOT at the same time.
You send the child to these things called "play dates," which is just as it sounds. They get to frolic with other children while you can do things like bake cookies, and make extravagant dinners. During this time, you can also have a nap or watch day time t.v. shows like "Oprah" or sordid romances like "Days of our Lives." Once the children are of school age, you have much more 'free' time to wash and clean and watch t.v...
These "SAHM's" have friends who are also SAHM's and they all get together and bond over potty stories and bedtimes. They all know about being exhausted at 9:00pm and being in bed by 10:00. They don't have to say 'no' to going to the bar on Saturday nights with other singletons, because their SAHM friends are hosting dinner parties and surprisingly, the children are invited. Or they get these kids called "babysitters" to look after their children while they go out for a night on the town, and they don't feel guilty for giving themselves some 'me' time. The children are happy, because the babysitter spoils them, gives them cookies for a bedtime snack, and lets them stay up way past their bedtime watching scary movies their SAHM would never let them watch. Did I mention guilt free? You've spent all day with the little loves, 'me' time is absolutely necessary.
I know. I know what you're all thinking...how do these women, these SAHM's, get their lifestyle bankrolled. I mean, if they're not leaving the house to work...where do they get the funds? Okay Ladies, get this - they have these things called 'husbands' that bring home the 'bacon' which is a whimsical word they use for money. It's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Why haven't I thought of this before? This 'husband' could also do the icky chores like taking out the garbage and changing the oil in the car. I've come to the conclusion that this would eliminate the need for meeting, then dating other men as I'm pretty sure these husbands come with certain perks besides the money. If you're like me, you're thinking..."What, no dating? Wooohooo, more time for me!!!" Now, where do I find one of these husbands??
Of course, this is all tongue-in-cheek. I've just spent the week on vacation, doing nothing but mommy things during normal mommy hours. I took Q to school all week. I washed the floors today. I'm caught up on laundry. I have not one dirty dish in the sink. Dinner is in the oven. It's been glorious, and I'm feeling a little sick to my tummy that I have to go back to work on Monday.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

First of Many Firsts

(a.k.a Bring It On!!)
wow. I look old...
Do you remember your first day of school? The smell, the sights, the sounds? I don't. Really, I truly don't. I mean, I have a shoddy memory at the best of times, but Kindergarten? Seriously, that was like 26 years ago **GASP** There's this picture of me on the first day of grade one. I'm wearing a maroon plaid jumpsuit with matching maroon tights and a cute pair of mary janes. It's so very early 80's. But except for the picture, I can't remember that first day either. I do remember the first day of high school, but that's only because I was scared shitless - going from a school of 100 kids to one with over 800 - and well, it was only a mere 15 years ago, and my memory isn't that bad.
Back to school was always my favourite time of year. I cannot even describe the smell of school supplies - to me just sweet glory. And, it was one of two times during the year that we would get new clothes (the other was Easter.) Mom would take me and my brother to the mall and rack up her Sears card on all things 'cool.' (As 'cool' as Sears could be, but mind you, she probably spent the rest of the year paying the card off too...) I loved back to school so much I got a job in a stationary store in grade 12. I tell ya, many an hour was spent sorting and tidying erasers and pens and paper for $6.25/hr. Truth be told, if it didn't go out of business, I'd still bet there getting high on white out and markers...
Today was Q's first day of Kindergarten. So while I don't remember mine, I will always remember his. The day my baby looked like a big boy. The day he gave me a smile and a wave, then happily followed his teacher into his new classroom. Where, I ask you, were the tears? Where?!?! Where was the fanfare? We made it through to the next chapter of our lives. I wonder if /what he'll remember his first day of his first year of the next 15 or so...
Parenting is crazy unfair, because just when you start to feel comfortable in your role as mothering an infant, they're suddenly a toddler Once you've got the hang of running after a toddler, they become a preschooler. Bring it on, bring me a newborn, I'll feed and burp him like nobody's business. But this boy in front of me...where's the manual for him? The one who talked back to me yesterday, the one who said he didn't like me anymore, then cuddled with me an hour later. Talk about mood swings!
Again, I'm left with mixed emotions. Proud of my beautiful boy and the person he's becoming. He was so brave today. Yet, I'm mourning the loss of my baby. And I wonder, does it get any easier?

Monday, September 7, 2009

Worry, Worry, Worry

I have a worry wart. Granted, I am a worry wart, so the fact that I have produced one is not entirely shocking, but bothersome nonetheless. My Q worries about absolutely everything. He worries about the normal 5 year old things like monsters and bad guys. But lately, he's been worrying about getting sick. Like pukey sick. I know, it doesn't seem like such a big deal except that every day (seriously, EVERY day) he has 'symptoms'. A sore tummy, a lump in this throat, a combination that ends up in tears. Ugh, my kid is having panic attacks.
This is not new to me. I get panic attacks, well I got them until my doctor prescribed this fabulous little pink pill (shout out to Paxil!!) And looking back, as a child, I most definitely had them too. I would worry about everything and nothing. The end of the world, being buried alive, my parents dying and me being left alone. You know, the standard angst of an adolescent. Okay, okay, maybe most kids worry about things like whether kids will like them, the big game on the weekend, the math test on Monday. My worries were irrational.
I don't know what to do, I am at my wits end. He's having meltdowns every single day. I'm trying cognitive therapy - I've tried to rationalize the fear...'Has it EVER happened?' I've tried giving him something else to think about 'I'm a healthy kid' and 'My mommy loves me!' I've told him to pray about it, 'Jesus, please take away my nervous tummy.' NOTHING is working. Maybe by acknowledging it, I'm making it worse. His father thinks I should take him to the doctor...which I've already done...it's a nervous tummy, it's normal for kids his age. I'm going to cut out all sugar and crappy food for the next week and see if that makes a difference. But, should I think about therapy for my 5 year old? Is it hereditary? Do all kids experience this?
Here comes my guilt. I know, way to make this all about me, right? Maybe if I was still with his dad and he came from a two parent family, Q wouldn't be having panic attacks. He wouldn't worry about things like bad guys and monsters. Every day, he's wake up in the same bed in the same house and wouldn't have to worry about being bounced from house to house to house. Every day starts out with, 'who's house am I going to today?' When he's with his dad, he misses me. He's become clingy to the point where I cannot leave him with someone else without tearful scene.
Any ideas? Helpful Hints? What to do, what to do??????

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Sleeping with the Enemy

Panic attack, anyone? Seriously, WHY?
I have a highly irrational fear of bees or wasps or hornets. Like ,when I say irrational, I mean super irrational. I have been known to scream like a little girl and freak the hell out if one even thinks of buzzing my way. I joke *haha* that it's the only time that I would put my child in front of myself in order to protect me. Just a joke, except that sometimes the panic is so ridiculous, I can't control it and I hide behind my Q in the hopes they will detect the sweet scent of his youth and leave me alone. I guess one reason why this fear is so completely stupid is, well, see...I've never actually been stung....so for all I know, I'm fearing a tickle, or a love tap, or a kind of a high five from the bee world. Or maybe it hurts like a son of a B and my fear is not only totally rational, but warranted, as well.
You can imagine my absolute horror, then, when I tell you that I have had a bee IN THE HOUSE for the past 3 days. I cannot get it to leave. It buzzes by the window and the fish bowl and I think it's moved in. I have even left the door open (thus risking more of the little devils entering my home) so it will fly out. But it does not. I think it senses my fear, and is enjoying the fact that I cannot sleep, and I'm constantly watching my back in my own home. I have never feared death (mine) while simultaneously wishing for it (B's) as I do right now. Die Bee Die.
Sadly, this is not my only ridiculous fear. I also fear heights. Like for me, 5 feet off the ground is way too high. I tell Q that mommy's aren't allowed on rides or in the McD's play place because we Mommy's just can't handle that much fun. But the truth is...my fear of heights paralyzes me even at the top of the slide at Mickey D's...please don't ask me how I know or how long it took for me to get down. I can't visit my brother for this very reason. His stairs are on the outside of the building. And they're wood. Not steel, not concrete, but wood. How safe is that? Not very, I think. And I can see through the boards. What if I fell through the boards? What if? I'm sure stranger impossible things have happened...
I have plenty more fears, but I won't bore you with the details. At least not tonight. The bee is watching me and I think he's getting ready to make his move. There goes the neighbourhood, folks.

Friday, September 4, 2009


Every little girl dreams of her wedding day. The beautiful white dress, the flowers, the shoes. Oh, and the guy, of course. No wedding is to be had without the prince charming. I was absolutely no different. I was no different. I had every little detail planned to perfection. All I had to do was wait for my prince.
We all know how my story goes. My prince was a frog (and that's being polite.) When we got engaged I was living in Calgary, he in Vancouver. So he mailed my ring and I opened it in a parking lot. This should have been my first clue that the relationship was going to be less than stellar, but I was in love...and love, as they say, is blind not to mention a little stupid at times too. After I was sufficiently pregnant, he decided we didn't need to get married and all talk of weddings was well, non-existent. Until a job opportunity came up in Dubai (where the Uber strict laws dictated you could not live common law,) and then the question was not, "Will you marry me? I love you!" but "If it benefits us financially, why not?" For a long time after that, I didn't want to get married. Ever. Marriage was a horrible institution that trapped you into being who you most definitely were not. And worse than that, it didn't work. Men cheated and women just let it happen or worse than that, they made it happen. Well...this was my reality.
Lately, it's a little different. I'm in a good place. Correction - I'm in a fabulous place. And I've been thinking that maybe marriage isn't so bad. Maybe not all men cheat. Maybe it's not all horrible. And maybe, just maybe it would be really awesome to stand in front of God and everyone you love, and pledge your love to one person forever. I choose you, out of all the rest, I choose you. And what little girl doesn't want to be a princess for a day. I know I do.
I started thinking about my wedding again. Just like that little girl sooooo long ago, I've poured over pictures of wedding dresses and flowers and um...money. As one who does not have a small fortune (inherited or otherwise), my wedding is going to be what I call 'Classy-cheap chic.' Here's what I've got so far:
Tulips. Inexpensive. Beautiful. Classy.
The "cake"
Cupcakes...super cute, and they've got to be cheaper than a cake because they're smaller...
The dress:
Simple. Sexy. Cheap (this one is less than $500.00)
The centerpieces:
Uh...tulips (it's a theme, ok...) and the favours would be tulip bulbs...how great would that be!
Now I just got to get me a husband. Seeing as how the top two in the running were Mr. (un) Fab and Mocha man, I had better get my arse in gear. We all know I'm not getting any younger...

Thursday, September 3, 2009

There's the door, Mr. (un) Fab

Mr. (un) fab texted me last night. I know, right...after a month of silence. And get this, he was wondering why I hadn't responded to any of his texts or messages. Seriously, this guy is delusional. Needless to say, I've not received one message from him over the past 5 weeks. I sent him this: "this is an amusing little game you're playing. however, I do not wish to play any more" Oh, it felt so good. It was sooooo liberating. That's what this whole thing was, a game. Pull me really, really close and then disappear. Then see how many times he could do it before I said, "Enough!" I don't believe a word that comes out of this guy's mouth. Not one. I think that's reason enough to moooooooove on! There's the door, Mr. (un) Fab, don't let it hit you on the way out. I've not seen my mocha man on the train in 2 weeks. I should have been a little more bold. A little less shy. I should have seized the moment and slipped him my number. Shudda, cudda, wudda... I think I'm just not ready yet. I think I'm being prepared for the love of my life, and I'm just not there yet. I wish I'd hurry up and get ready. Cuz geez, it sure would be nice to be in love.