"My thighs burn with the fire of a thousand suns"... Thank you Shakespeare.

No, no I’m not talking about that mind blowing romance movie filmed in the nineties; I’m talking about relationships and sports. We all know that some couples have sports in common, there are the pairs that play co-ed rugby, the lovers that watch the Twins avidly as if missing a game would constitute as a cardinal sin, and the kinds who are often on the verge of breaking up because one is beating the other severely in fantasy football. But I come from a rare breed of girls, the kind who would rather chew their own arm off than sit through watching any type of college or pro sports, so why is it then that every time I start dating someone they end up being a sports fanatic? Is it my smell that attracts the men who can’t get enough football pads and basketball jerseys or is the universe trying to tell me I should invest more time in learning the rules of Americas most beloved sports?

It must be my smell. Now I don’t want to come off as if I am prejudice to those who love everything regarding balls of various sizes, nets, pads, point systems and overpaid athletes, its just that I don’t want to be subject to this kind of torture on our first couple of dates. That would be like me making someone sit through The Way We Were, listening to me gush over how sexy Robert Redford was back in the day and hearing me obnoxiously sing along with Barbra Streisand, “People, people who need people” over and over again because I have yet to learn anything past the chorus.

To me that is a good time, something I do on a regular basis, but if on a first date I made my lucky beau sit through that he would be more willing to look for that lost needle somewhere under a damn haystack then try and find a way to enjoy himself in my obsession.

My issue with sports and dating began about three years ago when I met a man at a bar in the cities, (and yes that would make me a very old student) conversation flowed easily and he was a true gentleman to say the least. He got my number and set up a date for coffee. The coffee date came and I found that he was an athletic trainer for a professional sports team, and because I was training as a massage therapist at the time we were able to enjoy hours of talk regarding muscle tissue and anatomy. Our next meeting was dinner at his place the main course being chicken and mashed potatoes, this was definitely the man for me. I can barely keep toast from burning let alone cook an entire meal, so I thought this relationship was off to a good start…and that’s when it happened.

Just as we sat down to enjoy this wonderful meal, the TV was turned on and flipped to the Sunday football game. I guess the best way to describe our dinner together would be that we had lively intelligent conversations during the commercials, and the rest of the time I sat wondering whether I was suppose to know the names of the players he was yelling as if he had an earpiece on and was pacing the sidelines while throwing the clipboard down like a five year old having a temper tantrum. Long story short we never made it past the second date.

Now to clarify, so that I can avoid getting hate mail from university athletes and die-hard sports fans, I am not dissing sports. As a matter of fact I would consider myself an athlete, but when dating you have to look for entertainment that would suit both parties, not just one. Sure, if I was seeing someone for a long period of time I would be willing to watch a game or two, just like if I loved someone I would be willing to take a bullet for them. I would do it, but I never said I would enjoy it. Remember there is no ‘I’ in ‘Team’.

Do you ever wonder what you’ll be like when you’re old and wrinkly?

I see myself as a completely stubborn, pink-haired (from all the dying of grays) and wrinkly (from all my years of laughing) old lady that’s still kickin’ after years and years of fabulous travels and wonderful memories… and maybe just as flexible as this hilarious woman.

Oh the drama! The bummer of going to a smaller school where everything is connected includes one teeny-tiny problem: running into that one person (or many if you get around) that you never wanted to see again. What is the proper etiquette for this? Do you do the turn and run or the be nice and try to pretend nothing ever happened?

I am usually the former of those two. But this constant déjà vu happens more often these days than ever… school, the gym, bars… aren’t there any other places to go in this town! I’m tempted to file a stalker suit but I think that might be a little extreme seeing they work in one of these places. Looks like my mother's wise advise of 'just get over it' and 'your too good for this doh head' are finally paying off, (I know, you don't get that advise from just anyone... she could rival the Dalai Lama on her expertise with advise) it's practically poetic.

Breaking wind/ farting/ tooting/ beeping/ fluffing/ natures perfume- whatever you may call it, I have always noticed that it seems to be that one thing in EVERY relationship that seems to be the awkward "are-we-at-that-level-of-comfortability-with-each-other-yet-in-our-relationship" question that you must ask yourself before you decide whether or not it is ok to pass gas.

Me: "What does that even mean?"

So, as you followers may know by now... I love the day of love... Ha! So, for the big day, I did nothing of any consequence... My boyfriend was out of town, so there was no pressure to get out of bed and make myself look presentable, which was SO nice (not that i normally do- if you are reading this). I slept until 1pm, which I don't think I have done since sophomore year. When i finally decided to get out of bed (nearly an hour later), my roommates family was there to greet me eagerly with smiling faces. I spoke with them for a little while and when they decided to go eat lunch, I had the apartment to myself. I do not want to be rude- but the day was to be mine and mine alone- having to entertain and put on a smiling face was tough- especially after sleeping for 12 hours (is that mean?).

As of Sunday, Hallmark and floral shops will be back in business. February 14th is a day that some absolutely love (the true romantics) and others despise (the typical cynic). It really is a nice holiday... give your lover a sweet card, maybe some chocolates and a bouquet of lovely flowers... but don't you think this is something that should happen more often than one day a year and for no reason at all?

You know that moment in the morning after a night out when you run to check your camera and see the pics you took the night before... well to put it simply, I've now learned not to get excited. After the last few nights out, I've found that I am not photogenic in the least bit. So much for all those Glamour Shots as a child!

"Keep your eyes peeled, keep your enemies closer"

I refer to this day often as the worst day of the week... this week at least. I knew it was going to bad from the start when I saw it was windy and snowing. I got my parka on and headed out into the unknown (basically, the bus stop and an unknown day ahead of me). It seemed to be going okay until I stepped off the bus and hit my head on the side mirror (for the second time)! After this I had a major headache and the day basically spiraled downward from there: sleep in an art history course, eat lunch, can't understand/sleep in German class, bus ride home (don't worry... won't make that mistake again) and now I have homework up the wazoo.

It’s not new to those who know me that I can be a chatty Kathy and sometimes, just sometimes, not the best rule follower. My hard knocks German teacher has had it out for me since day 1 when she nearly separated my Deutsch partner and I. But who would have thought that the same distaste from our teacher would have rubbed off on all the other students? With every richtig or falsch question, we can’t answer or make a comment without getting the stink-eye from a fellow Deutsch learner.

I should have known from the start of what I was getting myself into when on the first day of class, the newbie to my right preceded to tell me he was practically fluent because he spent a whole two weeks with a host family when he was fifteen. Oh pa-lease!

But today took the cake. It was like kickball German style. Who wants to be on my team? …Silence. Not even one look back. There was an abundance of members in groups 1 through 3 ranging from 6 to 8 people… and then us. Leaving us Schwesters (sisters) to stand-alone yet again.

But it’s okay, Germans have never had the best taste… considering their American icon is David Hasselhoff.

So question of the day for the male followers: what is the acceptable length and/or style of pants that I should be wearing? Well men- do NOT fear, we are here to answer your question.

So today, the two of us were looking mighty fine... No- that is not saying it right... We were looking HOT! The way in which we described our hair was as "rats have been living in it for weeks" and "an electrocuted cat"... You wish you could have seen it, right?