For anyone who still reads this...

... the Reporter and I are getting married on March 1!

One Year Anniversary

It's hard to believe that exactly one year ago today, Sandra Dee Dates was born.

It began with my exciting adventures in online dating. It ventured into the world of coupledom with Sixty. It detoured into the what-might-have-been with an old flame.

Now it's taken a turn into the world of possibilities with The Reporter.

And what exciting possibilities they might be.

The always awkward "define the relationship" talk was broached this week, and I felt eerily comfortable bringing it up with him.

"I don't want to date anyone else," I said to him while we were on the couch. I couldn't believe the words were so effortlessly coming out of my mouth. And he happily agreed that he was done looking as well.

Maybe it's because this relationship is one of such ease, but who would have thought that such a terrifying, vulnerable conversation could be so simple?

There is even talk of my meeting his parents next weekend. And unlike how it's been with other men that I've seriously dated, I'm completely unafraid of this big step.

Strange as it sounds, I'm actually looking forward to it.

Maybe it's because I'm ready to begin a new chapter with The Reporter. I'm ready to experience a full-fledged, adult-ish relationship with him. I'm excited to be with someone who is so crazy about me and likes me for who I am. I'm ready to strive at making it work with one another.

And for the first time in my life, I'm completely and totally myself with him. That speaks volumes in my books.

So on this one-year anniversary, I'm not looking back on all of the hilarious and horrible dates of the past year.

I'm looking forward to the future with a wonderful man on my arm.

Here's to you, readers. Thanks for a great year!

Hello Long Lost Friends!

While I'm still not convinced that The Reporter hasn't found my blog, I'm going to blog a little about him anyway.

You know. Because you asked where I've been.

I've been leary to begin blogging again, ever since I discovered what a bitch Google could be. But writing is such a release for me -- and I just adore hearing from you all -- that I could never give it up entirely.

So screw you, Google. I'm bloggin' on.

My New Year's Eve was super. The Reporter had invited me to a party that his friends were putting on. It was considered a "faux formal" -- which meant anything from tuxes and dresses to jeans and fancy shirts. I was a bit leery of going, just because it was going to involve meeting most of his friends.

But I'm so glad that I went. Not only were his friends great, but The Reporter is the epitome of a gentleman. He showed up in a killer suit and brand new shirt and tie, looking nothing short of completely dapper. Not to mention that he remembered that I'm somewhat allergic to flowers -- so he got me chocolates instead.

With reservations for a fancy dinner, he had made all the right moves. And he just made me feel glamorous and ladylike.

And of course, we began the New Year with a kiss, at which I must say he is very good.

Wink.

This last week, however, takes the cake. I wasn't expecting to get to see much of him because not only was I coming down with a cold, but I also had lots of work and a few social engagements to tend to. But we had made plans earlier in the week to watch our boys play basketball on Wednesday, and he agreed to come on over to my house.

With a raging headache, a terrible sore throat and body aches to boot, I show up at the door in sweats and a t-shirt.

We watched a bit of the game -- which was a disaster -- and with my not feeling well, I wasn't expecting him to want to stay around.

What does he do instead?

Cuddles with me on the couch. Tucks me into bed. Brings me food the next night. Tells me I'm beautiful even when I'm sick.

A girl could get used to this.

I think he's keeping me around for a while.

And maybe I like it.

Happy New Year!

Yes, I have big New Year's Eve plans.

Yes, they are with The Reporter.

Yes, I am excited.

Yehaw.

Happy New Year!

Too Easy to Find

You all have probably wondered where the last two posts have gone about The Reporter.

I wish I could have kept them up. I wish I could blog about my newest dating adventure.

But alas, Google has found a way to link Sandra Dee Dates to my AIM screen name, my MySpace address and my other blog.

So I'm bound to be found.

Awesome.

So in the meantime, enjoy the other posts, and I'll find something else to blab about.

Cheers!

I'm in love with Boston and New York City.

My trip to Boston and New York City was a complete and utter fairy tale.

It was my first time in both cities, and it was a bit overwhelming. The buildings were so tall. The people were everywhere. The subways so fast.

But experience was unforgettable.

I give all my thanks to my trip parther, Jeff. I couldn't have done it without him. He kept me grounded and protected me. I felt like a lost puppy dog, wandering around and looking up at all of the buildings and the people. And Jeff kept me on a much-needed leash.

I'm exhausted.

But it's the good kind of exhausted.

I can die happy.

I'm A Crappy Girlfriend

After reading this, I've decided that I make a crappy girlfriend.

1. I am too nice: Men like bitches. I'm not bitchy. I can't help it; it's just the way I am built. Now don't get me wrong -- I can get mad at the dude just fine. But being bitchy for the sake of being bitchy isn't my thang.

2. I am too accommodating: If they ask me to go camping, I go. If they want to go eat sushi, I go. What can I say? I'm really just that easy to please. Because guess what? Making a fuss over stupid shit like not wanting to go camping is stupid.

3. I fall too hard. And I don't mean down the stairs.

4. I am too giving. I don't mind making dinner for us every once in a while. Wait. Maybe I'm a bad cook, and I don't realize it?...

5. I am a virgin. And I plan on staying that way until I'm married. I'm fairly certain this freaks dudes out.

6. I don't use a tanning bed. Or a nail salon. Or dye in my hair. Or Botox. What you see is what you get.

Excuse me while I go talk to my plants now.