Catch Up

So, it's been a while. December is a tough month. On one hand, here in the Midwest we have officially entered the White Sky Syndrome time of the year, where every day is cloudy and the sky is a solid shade of whitish-grey, all the time. It can be rather depressing, if you're prone to that, and at the very least, it can just drain all of the excess energy out of a person. At the same time, there's all the holiday shopping to do, parties, events going on at work . . . so, for the past several weeks, when I haven't been running around, I've been unable to resist curling up on the couch and hibernating a bit. So, that's my excuse--I'm pleading the ever-popular Couch Potato Defense.

And then again, the RWBF has been hanging out here a lot, and I find it difficult to write when he's around. This is a rather new development, him being around all the time. If it keeps up, we'll eventually get to a place where I can carry on with writing even if he's here, but for now, we're still at that hanging-out-with-each-other-constantly stage (which, admittedly, nicely incorporates the whole couch-potato thing).

A lot of you have been wondering how things are going with the old RWBF, and for the record, things are going really, really well. Believe me, I'm as shocked as anyone. For a while, I was kind of waiting for some kind of blow-up, some political argument that our relationship wouldn't recover from, but that hasn't happened, although we do discuss politics sometimes. And no, it's not some kind of ideal situation where we calmly meet in the middle, find some common ground, compromise and acknowledge valid points about each other's opinions, etc. Rather, we continue to disagree, strongly and consistently, about a LOT of stuff--more than not, actually. The amazing part is that I'm discovering that it really doesn't matter all that much--at least, not nearly as much as I always assumed it would. And I'm continuing to try to keep an open mind about it. The fact of the matter is, I've always dated liberal, like-minded guys . . . and for those of you keeping score, it hasn't worked out so well. My ex-husband, for example, was politically left of me, even, and in the end, that didn't matter one bit. The reality is, how you feel about politics has very little to do with how you interact on a day-to-day basis, how you treat each other, how you feel about each other.

UPDATE: I started this post a couple of days ago. Right now, it's Wednesday night, and the RWBF is here, sitting in the living room recliner and reading. Meanwhile, I'm sitting on the couch, blogging. Apparently, we've reached "that point" already. Weird. But good. More soon.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

So, it's Saturday morning, and I'm trying to appreciate just being in my apartment with some down time. This is the first time I've been home on a weekend in three weeks. Two weeks ago was my trip to New York for Thanksgiving, where I was gone from Thursday to Sunday, and last week was my trip to San Diego for work, where I was again gone from Thursday to Sunday. For me lately, that's a lot of traveling, and it was so good to sleep in this morning, get up, make coffee, putz around, and not have to deal with airports or suitcases or schedules.

Funny thing about traveling and getting older. I still love to travel, and I don't generally mind the hassle of planning a trip, flying, getting taxis in strange cities, etc.--it's all still a rush for me, just to get out of town and see someplace new. But the older I get, the more I appreciate the comfort of coming home as much as the excitement of leaving, and I've come to realize that back-to-back trips like that don't really suit me much anymore. It's just too tiring, and I don't like being away from my animals that much, especially my dog. (Anyone who knows her and has seen firsthand her guilt-inducing facial expression capability can understand why I don't like to leave her for long periods.)

My San Diego trip had another element to it that makes me less thrilled about traveling than I used to be. I know almost everyone has their own airline-travel horror stories, dealing with delayed or canceled flights, lost luggage, etc.--I've had my share as well over the years. But so far, I had been able to avoid the potential-terrorist treatment in the airport security lines . . . until this trip.

So, on my trip back, I was supposed to be flying Continental, but when I got to the airport, I found that they--THEY, meaning Continental--had switched me to a different airline, because otherwise I'd miss my connecting flight due to their fucked-up scheduling practices. (Note that the same thing happened on my trip out there, albeit without the subsequent consequences.) So, I head off to the United counter (which, incidentally, was about a quarter-mile walk away, with me dragging a large suitcase, two carry-ons, and a jacket, but anyway). I get to the counter and discover that my alternate flight isn't leaving for an additional two hours. O.K., no big deal. Like I said, I don't really stress about these things. It was a beautiful day in San Diego, and I parked myself on a bench outside and read for a couple of hours.

The fun really started when I went through the security line and discovered at the initial checkpoint that I had been "flagged for additional security." Flagged--by whom? Why? Just step over to this separate line, please, miss. So, I go through the usual routine of taking off my shoes and jacket, putting everything in bins, etc., and go through the metal detector. On the other side, they look at my boarding pass, and I am put in this isolation-booth thingy. So here I am, standing there looking like an idiot, everyone looking in at me wondering what I had done. (I was wondering the same thing.) Finally, this big Nurse Ratchett-type woman comes and gets me out of the booth and takes me over to one of those side areas, where she proceeds to pat me down. In the interest of making friendly conversation with a woman who is running her hands up and down my legs in front of the world, I ask why I was flagged. As it turns out, it was because I had switched airlines at the last minute. Never mind that it was the AIRLINE, not me, who had made this decision. Apparently, this is a Department of Homeland Security thing--you switch airlines for any reason, you're flagged. (Although this is not a consistent ruling--it hadn't happened to me on the flight out.) Seriously, is it any wonder that people, as they get older, lose faith in government, once they start to realize how utterly stupid, random, inefficient, and wasteful a lot of the practices and procedures are?

So, after the humiliating pat-down, Nurse Ratchett proceeds to inspect my bags. The inspection involved taking this wand thing with a piece of cloth on the end and running it over each piece of electronic equipment, as well as my shoes, and then putting the little piece of cloth through a machine to check for trace amounts of whatever. Note that a separate piece of cloth was required for each item--my laptop, my Treo, my cell phone, my iPod, and each shoe. Each time, she would VERY SLOWLY walk with the wand and the piece of cloth over to the analyzing machine, which was several yards away, and then VERY SLOWLY walk back, taking her time, chatting with coworkers along the way, etc. The whole thing took about half an hour, and all I could do was sit there. Luckily, because of the flight delay, I had plenty of time, but I did wonder how many people wind up missing their flights because of this shit.

The kicker? After all of that, I still managed to get a lighter through this ultra high-tech security process. How "safe" do you feel now, American travelers? I hope I don't make you lose too much sleep over knowing that, although people may not be able to take control of airplanes with iPods and shoes, they can still whip out lighters with which to wreak havoc. Be careful, people.

Message Board

O.K., I'm using the blog as a message board here.

To NN--I see that you are no longer at your former job. Melody says hi. I sent an e-mail to your other account. Please disregard my last e-mail (well, two e-mails ago) and call me.

Chances are, water will not KILL YOU

[*Note: I started this post last week, and it refers to events from last weekend, not this past weekend. I've had a hard time finishing posts lately, obviously.]

So, here I was last [Sunday] night, coming off a very pleasant weekend. On Friday, I went to happy hour with some work folks, and the RWBF hung out with us for a while before leaving for the great midwestern north for the weekend. I came home after happy hour and got some much-needed rest.

On Saturday, I went with my friend Paul to a bar to watch the OSU/Michigan game. Shortly after we arrived, I looked over to the other side of the bar, and there, of all people, was Mr. Exclusive But Casual. This was a very odd coincidence--this was only the second time I'd ever been to this particular bar, I'd never been there with Mr. EBC, I'd never heard him mention this bar, and it wasn't particularly close to either of our houses. But, here we were. You'd think it would have been awkward, right? I mean, we hadn't seen each other since a very abrupt and sloppy breakup, OVER THE PHONE, no less, and we hadn't spoken since. It had been about six weeks, and since then, lots has happened, including, obviously, the RWBF. It was a strange situation to find myself in.

Believe it or not, it wasn't bad. We eventually made eye contact, and he came right over, smiling and being perfectly pleasant. We chatted for a while, caught up, etc., and it was surprisingly not awkward. I didn't see any reason to NOT be friendly--it's not like I hate the guy or anything, and it was good to talk to him again. We even started talking, if obliquely, about why we broke up, what happened, etc., and it was good to get it out. As the day wore on, though, and we continued talking off and on, our motives started to diverge. It was like, I was thinking, "Hmm, he really is an interesting guy, fun to talk to--it would be good to be friends with him," and he was thinking, "Hmm, I'm starting to get drunk, she's looking cute, and her boyfriend is out of town--maybe I can get her to go home with me." (And no, I'm not being presumptuous; his later words and actions verified that this was, in fact, what he was thinking.) So, I wound up having to shoot down Mr. EBC, but he took it well, and he even texted me later to apologize for hitting on me. There you go--closure at last.

So, Sunday evening rolls around. I'm relaxing, having some dinner--tomato basil bisque soup from Trader Joe's, along with some really good Italian bread with olive oil and parmesan, which is for dipping in the soup. That, a glass of wine, and a DVD of the last episodes of The Sopranos--a perfect evening, yes? And so it was, until. . . .

At one point, I heard, all of a sudden, what sounded like a downpour of rain, and I thought a storm must have sprung up out of nowhere. Then, I had a realization. You know that scene in "When a Stranger Calls" when the cop tells the babysitter, "The call is coming from inside the house!"? Well, I realized that this was where that noise was coming from. Inside the house. My house.

I ran up the stairs to the sight of water pouring out from under the bathroom sink, covering the bathroom floor, and running out of the bathroom and down the very stairs I was running up. I turned around and ran to the basement--water shooting out of every pipe in sight, showering down everywhere. By the time I got back up to the kitchen (which is under the bathroom), water was pouring out of the light fixtures.

I'd like to think I can handle situations like this, since I live alone and these things do happen in life. Unfortunately, it took me about 30 seconds to get absolutely hysterical. I figured I had to turn off some water valve in the basement, but I had no idea which one. So, I'm on the phone with the RWBF, then my cousin, both of whom tried to guide me to the main water pipe. I'm running around the increasingly wetter basement, clutching the phone, getting hysterical, shutting off every valve I can find--no change. I couldn't remember where the landlord's number was. Finally, I called the fire department.

While waiting on the fire department and panicking, I went over to the neighbors' (this would be the new hippie neighbors--more on them later) to see if they had the landlord's number. They wound up saving the day. They came over, and the guy ran upstairs and turned off the valves under the bathroom sink. That did it--the water stopped. At that moment, the fire department arrived. Four guys came in decked out in full-on fire-fighting gear; one of them even had an axe. So now I had to explain to the fire fighters that everything was O.K. The neighbors were still there, these guys were in my living room, the animals were going nuts and running around, water was trickling out of the kitchen into the dining room, and, at that moment, the landlord called.

It was quite an eventful evening.

Anyway, everything is all cleaned up now, and no serious damage was done. A pipe had burst under the bathroom sink, and it's been replaced. As it turns out, I don't even have access to the main water pipe, so it wasn't just a matter of me being an idiot and not being able to find it in the basement. And at least I was home--that could have been a real disaster if I hadn't been. As it was, it was just kind of embarrassing.

The RWBF*

So, I've been struggling with whether or not to write about this . . . but here's one of those set-in-stone writer's rules I'll share with you all: When you have something gnawing at the corner of your brain that you think you might want to write about, you'd better just buckle down and write about it already, because until you do, you won't be able to write (well) about anything else. Case in point--I've started around five other blog entries that I just haven't been able to really get out and finish, and it's because I wasn't writing about what I really wanted to write about. The muse is a harsh mistress.

Therefore, I'm just going to get this post out of the way so that I can get on with things already. There's been a change in my life recently, one that I wasn't looking for or expecting at all. I've struggled a bit with how to articulate it, but I think the direct approach is best, so here it is: apparently, I now have a boyfriend. Yes, I'm using that word after only three weeks. See, I could have just said that I've started seeing someone, or that I'm in the beginning stages of a new relationship . . . but when you get together with someone three, four, five times a week, spend entire weekend days together, and talk on the phone multiple times a day, every day--that's a boyfriend. No getting around it.

How did this happen? Well, after the last guy I dated from Match, I was ready to give it up for a while. I was getting sick of weeding through the e-mails and winks, going out on tedious dates and figuring out how to handle things afterwards, exchanging e-mails with seemingly interesting people only to be disappointed when we met. And really, I was just getting sick of dating in general--I was ready to take a break and withdraw for a while, catch up on my writing, do some reading, hang out with friends I haven't seen lately, etc. (After all, I did have a social life before I signed up for Match!) So, that was the plan--I was all set to take down my profile. But, there was this one guy. We had been trying to make plans for a while, but both of us had been busy, and when a free night came up, I decided I'd go on this one last date. . . .

What can I say? Those of you who have been out of the dating pool for a while may not remember that absolutely delicious feeling when you meet someone and know from the first moment that there's something there. It was just one of those BAM moments. We were obviously, immediately attracted to each other, and we had one of those really great date nights--intense conversation with no lags or awkward moments, a feeling of being really comfortable with each other right from the beginning, and of course, the whole attraction thing . . . just pure chemistry, which doesn't happen very often. So, all of these factors made me set aside my initial (and pretty major) reservation about this guy. Some of you know already what I'm talking about, but for those of you who don't, prepare to be shocked.

He's a conservative.

O.K., so there's something to chew on. I've got to run to work now, but I'll delve into this more later. And I'm really going to try to commit more to the blog going forward--I know I've been pretty negligent lately. (That tends to happen when I get involved in a new relationship . . . there's just no time!) Stay tuned.

[*Regarding the blog title: RWBF = Right-Wing Boyfriend]

Grounded

So, guess where I am? In my office. Why? Why am I here? I have a laptop--I should be able to move anywhere in my apartment. I shouldn't be chained to this one specific room. But I am. Stupid wireless internet access.

It's a long story, and I really don't want to hash it out, but I've had a lot of trouble accessing my supposedly wireless internet recently. The issue has prompted a lot of intrigue, guess-work, etc., concerning why it's happening and what to do about it. Things have been attempted. Advice pours in. Nothing works. So tonight, I'm plugged in BY WIRE, attached to the actual cable that comes in through my office, and here I am--stuck, here in this room, if I want to be online. It's barbaric.

O.K., so I'm maybe blowing that a LITTLE out of proportion. But really, some of this stuff I (and everyone, really) have to deal with just makes my head want to explode. Sometimes it blows my mind to think that, until about six years ago, I didn't even have a cell phone. Until about nine years ago, I'd never had a computer, and had never used one except for the most basic of functions. Now, I have:

*A Mac laptop
*Various equipment for the Mac laptop
*A PC laptop
*Various equipment for the PC laptop
*A Treo
*A charger for the Treo
*A cell phone
*A charger for the cell phone
*An iPod
*A charger for the iPod

I could break it out in greater detail, but you get the idea. The thing is, I could easily deal with all of this stuff if it ALL FUCKING WORKED ALL OF THE TIME! Having to know how to troubleshoot every little thing that can and does go wrong with every single little thing you buy these days . . . THAT'S what I have a problem with. You pay good money for something, it should, well . . . WORK.

O.K., sorry about the ranting and raving. Going to try to calm down now. Peace.

C'mon Baby, Kill Your Cat For Me

O.K., for obvious reasons, I have not blogged about anyone on Match for a long time, but I have to share this profile I found tonight. [By the way--to a certain person I spoke with a couple of days ago about this, I'm sorry. I know you don't like reading about the Match stuff, but it's a gold mine, and I'm not going to not write about it. You don't have to read if you don't want to.]

[On a related point, this post comes with a mild Dad warning. I'm going to have to figure out how to create some kind of Dad-warning barometer for the blog.]

Anyway, a while ago I stumbled upon this certain profile, and it was really promising . . . at first. The guy seemed smart and funny, he was articulate and a decent writer, he had a good job, and he was very good-looking--almost too much so, in an all-American football-player type of way, not usually my type, but . . . I digress. So I'm reading along. Keep in mind that, up to a certain point, everything in his profile is good--he's clever and witty, and he avoids both banality and arrogance/creepiness, which is rare. Nothing sparks cause for concern.

And then we get to this part:

So here are some rules with me... 1. NO cats -- I'm allergic. Yes, I know this rules out like 1/2 of the known female universe. However, If we're REALLY meant for each other we can always do something with/about the cat ;) 2. No vegetarians. I like to cook, I like meat and if you don't... we probably won't work. 3. Faith is fine and I love having debates about this stuff, but if you're a Jesus freak, I'm not for you. 4. Oh, and if you're really into wearing neck scarves... Next! 5. If you live more than 20 miles from Cbus... it probably won't work so let's not bother. 6. If you are a "pageant" person... probably not my type. 7. If you've ever been called "flaky"... please move along. 8. If you look like a man, are missing any visible teeth or have major gastrointestinal issues, don't wink or email me please! 9. One last thing... Wayne does not like women who routinely refer to themselves in the 3rd person. Sorry, but Wayne knows want he wants and he will not settle. Neither should you ;) Wait, Wayne just thought of one more thing... 10. Seriously, stop emailing me (you know who you are)... I will NOT pay to fly you from China to meet me. I don't care how good you say your Wonton Balls are! Ahhh... time for some New Rules (I sound like Bill Maher). 11. If you claim your best physical feature to be your bellybutton or neck (and you're not just being funny), me probably not interested. 12. While we're on the subject... and this could be tough for some... the one physical feature that turns me off quicker than the Bengals defense is... big arms. If your arms occupy more of your profile than your boobs, I won't be able to deal. Don't get me wrong, I am NOT into stick figure girls but there is something about "fat arms" that I can't.. just can't be around. 13. I can't believe I didn't list this earlier as it such a basic thing with me... loud chewers and lip smackers must not only refrain from emailing/winking at me, but should immediately go to the nearest etiquette trainer. Heck, even Borat managed to do that before pooping in a bag and bringing it back to the dinner table.

O.K., I just have to say--if I read this in a work of fiction, I would probably crack up. I mean, you can see the cleverness. But . . .

Truthfully, I don't even know what to say about this. It would take a dissertation to pick this apart, and I wouldn't even have a clue how to handle some of this material. I will, however, comment on a couple of things:

1. Obviously, the part at the beginning about the cats. Dude, WTF? This is my favorite part: If we're REALLY meant for each other we can always do something with/about the cat ;) Um, what? Is he proprosing that, as a team, we will kill the cat? I love how he also manages to make it seem like this would serve as a couples bonding exercise. He might as well write something like, If we're REALLY meant for each other we can always go on a killing spree ;) Any less creepy? Not to me.

2. Heather cracked up at the part where Heather read about how Wayne doesn't like women who refer to themselves in the third person while talking to Wayne. But this was the best part: he [presumably Wayne] will not settle. Neither should you ;) What's up with the emoticon at the end, there? Is that like a wink-wink nudge-nudge, "Neither should you, but really you should" type of thing?

3. I also liked the part where he went on and on about how he hates big arms. I'm kind of tempted to create a fake profile, and for the photos, just post a bunch of pictures of slender arms. And send it to him. Would he freak out?

I have to say, I've missed this Match stuff.

[By the way, I loved numbers 3 and 6 of the guys "rules." Too bad he didn't stop there.]

Exclusive but casual? Um, no.

So, here I was all ready to quit Match.com, because I thought I'd stumbled into A Relationship. I'd been seeing a certain guy for about three months--this was actually the second guy I went on a date with, after Gay Craig--and things were going really well, or so I thought. We saw each other around two or three times a week, which is perfect. And I liked this guy a lot--he's smart and funny and quirky, he has an interesting job, and I was very attracted to him. At one point, after about a month and a half, he told me he wasn't seeing anyone else and didn't want to. Then, shortly thereafter, I noticed that he had closed his Match account. So, making what I didn't consider to be a major mental leap, I assumed he thought we'd reached the exclusive level, and I decided I was good with that, and I stopped dating other people. I was still technically on Match, and I did look at the profiles of the people who got in touch with me, but I wasn't writing to, talking to, or dating anyone else on the site.

Still, not everything was wine and roses. (Actually, there was a lot of wine and no roses, but that's kind of a tangent. . . .) There were several things about this guy and this relationship that nagged at me. However, as obvious as it should be at a certain stage of life to never ignore a little nagging voice in your head, in certain circumstances, other factors step in to really muffle that voice, and I think that's true no matter how old you get. In this case, those factors were 1) I did really like this guy, and 2) I had gotten pretty sick of dating. Eventually, though, I couldn't ignore the little voice anymore, and I had to address the issues that were bothering me with this guy. In case you haven't figured it out, that's when things fell apart.

I should mention at this point that, from the get-go, there was a big red flag attached to this guy, one I chose to ignore for a long time because it's such a stereotype. (As many of you know, I hate stereotypes, and I'm always irked when they prove to be true, which, unfortunately, seems to happen a lot.) Anyway, this particular stereotype is as follows: If a man reaches the age of 40 and has never been married, and hasn't been in a serious relationship for over 15 years, there's a reason for it. Either he's so clueless about women that he will never be able to connect with one, or he's just not a relationship kind of guy--he doesn't need one, doesn't want one, and might not even know this about himself.

In retrospect, I realize that this guy was a little bit of all of the above. For a really intelligent man in every other way, he hasn't a clue about women in general or how to act in a relationship specifically. After the breakup, I started thinking about all the little, obvious clues that were staring me in the face and didn't seem like a big deal until I looked at the big picture. He never put a cap back on anything or put anything away--toothpaste, contact lens solution, pickle jar, etc. He never put the toilet seat down. (A tired argument, I know, but one that has become an iconic example of a guy's basic ability to be considerate of others--namely, women.) He was the quintessential bachelor in every way, with habits requiring a level of training that I'm not sure I have the energy for at this point in my life.

All of these things were true about him, but none of this came up in the breakup discussion, or any discussion, for that matter. And honestly, this was all stuff I could have lived with, if there weren't other, more pressing issues. Such as? This seems like the perfect spot for A List:

1. He was not a big fan of making advance plans. Maybe he was trying to be spontaneous, or maybe he was just inconsiderate (most likely the latter), but he had a tendency to call up and ask me to do something right then or that night. Most of the advance plans we had were initiated by me.
2. When we did have advance plans, he would never call or text me to confirm them. He just didn't get that it's basic consideration, when you make plans for three days later, to call the person and confirm those plans at some point. We're all busy people, stuff comes up, etc., and how easy is it this day and age to at least send a confirmation text? Well, that never happened, and eventually, I brought it up. The first time I brought it up, it was in a non-heavy way, but I did make it pretty clear that I felt strongly about something that would have been no skin off his nose, and he should have just done it. But when he failed to do it again, three days later, I wasn't so non-heavy. I mean, come on! At least make an effort, dude. That was a big, stupid fight.
3. He was shocked--shocked!--to learn that I had talked about him with my friends. If I was talking about him with my friends, I must be thinking about him 24-7. Seriously? Does he not grasp the fact that most, if not all, women--and a lot of men as well--talk about the person they're dating with their friends almost from the get-go? Hell, I talk about guys I've gone out with once and don't ever plan to see again . . . of course I'm going to talk about someone I've been dating for three months. See? Clueless.
4. Regarding the exclusive thing--as I discussed above, for all intents and purposes, we had reached the exclusive point. So, I was a little surprised when I learned that he still considered our relationship "casual." This issue came up during a discussion where he was defending his ongoing habit of not calling me to confirm plans. He felt he didn't need to be calling me constantly (um, I'm sorry, "constantly"? A few times a week is "constantly"?) because we were still "casual." Exclusive but casual? That's an oxymoron, in my book. You can be exclusive and still not really serious yet, but you've definitely moved beyond the status of "casual" at that point. So, I told him that I was not aware that we were still "casual," but if we were, I was going to resume dating other people. This did not go over well. As you can imagine, things went downhill fast from there. The official breakup moment manifested shortly thereafter.

So, that's that. I won't say I'm not disappointed--this was, after all, my first attempt (albeit unintended) at a real post-divorce relationship, and it fell flat on its face. But, given the overall picture, I realize it's for the best. Another funny thing about this guy--on some level, I think he realizes he's not relationship material. He used to joke about how every woman he dates winds up marrying the next guy she goes out with, as if she's thinking, "Man, I've got to get myself off the market before I wind up with another guy like that." (His words, not mine!) Of course, now I'm totally tempted to send him a note saying, "Hey, guess what? I'm getting married! Ha ha."

But I won't. No more contact, at all--that's the key.

One final thing--I noticed tonight that he's back on Match, which I found kind of funny. Some woman out there might find herself having a very enjoyable two to three months. Hope she enjoys it while it lasts.

I need to hire a cleaning service. Seriously.

[Note: I know I've been egregiously (happy, S?) negligent in updating the blog lately. So busy. Work, vacation, and the usual summer activities . . . and just a general lack of motivation, I suppose. But, things have slowed down a bit, and I'm back in the mood, so the blog should be getting some attention in the near future. In the meantime, here's a post I wrote a few weeks ago and didn't post because I wasn't quite satisfied with it, but anyway, I'm putting it out there now. More very, very soon--promise.]

O.K., so in a few days I'm leaving for my Wisconsin trip (which, in case you don't know, I'm doing instead of my Guatemala trip--long story). And I have SO MUCH shit to do. So much. Ever get to that point where there's just so much friggin' stuff to do that you're totally overwhelmed, and you just blow it all off? Welcome to my world!

So, my original intention was to get up early and get started on my long list of tasks immediately. Unfortunately, I had failed to actually make a list--which, having such a list really does help me get motivated. So I woke up, started thinking about everything I had to do, couldn't decide where to start, and instead spent the morning reading, watching T.V., talking on the phone, and fooling around on the computer. Sigh. I did manage to get the dishes done (and there were a lot of them). But then I looked around the rest of the apartment, and all motivation just drained out of me. I hate cleaning. I have limited free time that I would rather not spend cleaning. I can afford a cleaning service. Therefore, I should just hire a damn cleaning service already, right? Right.

For me, though, this seemingly simple solution is problematic on several levels. First, I'm not sure I want someone I don't know in my apartment when I'm not there. I'm not so much worried about theft--it's more about my animals, and in some respects, my privacy. I'm sure, for example, that Josie would be fine and wouldn't attack someone who came in to clean, but I'm not crazy about the idea of her getting comfortable with strangers coming into the house when I'm not here. Also, I know that when I'm cleaning, my cats tend to get in the way a lot. I say something to them and they generally move, or I gently move them . . . but what's to stop a cleaning person from kicking them out of the way? (I know, I know--I'm being paranoid and overly sensitive about the cats. Can't help it. That tiny, bleating maternal instinct within me has to come out somehow.)

And then there's the whole privacy thing. If I'm not there, what's to stop a cleaning person from, say, looking in my nightstand? Digging through drawers and closets? Etcetera? I mean, the temptation is too great for a lot of people to resist. And here's the point where I'm supposed to say, "I have nothing to hide, but. . . . " Bullshit. Everyone has something to hide, or at least, something (or things) in their house that they'd rather strangers not see. (And if you don't, I feel sorry for you--you may need to spice up your life a bit.)

In an alternative scenario, if I have the person come when I'm home . . . well, that's no better. What am I supposed to do while this person is scrubbing my toilet? Read a magazine? Watch Law & Order? Talk on the phone while they listen to my conversation? I just think that would be so awkward.* (And maybe there's a bit of middle-class guilt going on here too. I think this is one of those luxuries that I never pictured myself indulging in. I could probably get over that part, though.)

So, what to do? Well, one thing's for sure--I doubt I could get anyone to come out TODAY and clean my house. Which means I should probably face reality and get to work. Or, instead, I could write a match.com blog entry update. Hmmm. . . .

(*I was talking about this very issue with a friend recently, actually, and this friend was in agreement with me, so I don't think I'm being too weird/paranoid about this. And to that friend--I miss you! Call me!)

In the words of my nephew . . . this is the BEST THING EVER!

I was not planning on this entry, I wasn't looking for fodder, I wasn't even planning on signing in to Match tonight at all. But they have this brilliant thing they do: every three days or so, they send you an e-mail titled "Your Matches." In this e-mail, they provide part of the profiles of, like, 9 or 10 guys they think you might be interested in. And of course, when it's sitting there in your inbox, you check it out--you never know, right? Well, yeah, you kind of know, but's it's a brilliant marketing scheme. Who can resist opening such an e-mail? Not me.

Anyhoo, I got one of those e-mails tonight, and I casually opened it while watching "America's Top Chef" (which I've somehow become totally addicted to). And lo and behold, I came across the most . . . commentable-upon profile ever. (And yes--to the person I was just talking to today about my tendency to make up words, I just made up "commentable-upon." Makes sense, doesn't it?) I won't say anything quite yet--I'll just post the opening comments in full, complete with all (sics) intact:

Okay, I am leaving my job in the park. I am the mime that juggles cats for a living(they do not mind being juggled, but they really hate it when i shave they face to put on the mime make up). Well they was a slight revolution and the leader , her name is pudddin, she ran off with the keys to my 74 pinto wagon. not a good day. But I always look on the bright side, I am going to buy a newer Pinto wagon, and make into a funny car.there is nothing more bueatiful than a smart confident woman. A person needs to be accepting of what they are, what they are on the surface and inside. Also We men are not money, you cannot change us the way you would a twenty, hey if you were to change a twenty how would you ask for it back? Hey if you are a big fan of Dr. Phil or John Gray, good luck. Lastly I cannot stand bad table manners or word that are spelled incorrectly

(No, I didn't forget to copy and paste the period at the end. There was no period at the end.)

Man, where do I start here? Do I even need to start? I'm kind of curious about whether or not some of you perceive this the same way I do. That's why I'm going to propose something that will draw ire from a variety of sources, but mainly from people (probably bloggers) who believe you should never solicit responses on your blog--the responses should come organically, naturally, without undue influence. Fuck that. This isn't about generating responses (and I should point out--I don't even have a blog counter, anyway). This is about my curiosity about this issue. So, let's have a multiple-choice survey, shall we?

Survey Question: After reading the above profile, what was going through your head?

A. This guy is a complete and total freak.
B. This guy is trying so hard to be cute and clever, but he's clueless about how to do it right, and it comes out SO WRONG. . . .
C. I have a hard enough time getting past the aggregious spelling, punctuation, and grammatical errors to try to decipher the actual intent of this bizarre post, let alone try to analyze its outcome, and then I get thrown this curve ball: "Lastly I cannot stand bad table manners or word that are spelled incorrectly, and the absurdity of the whole thing makes my head hurt to even think about it anymore.
D. This profile is so cute and witty. I like it.*

So, feel free to weigh in, and feel free to add your own "E." entry if you feel like it. This isn't like No Child Left Behind, you know. This is not your schoolboard's standardized test.You are actually free to express yourself and show creativity here. Extra points if you guess which one is my response. (Tough one, huh?)

*If you chose this answer, you and I are not on the same perception level in this life. We will probably never see eye to eye. Feel free to keep reading my blog, though!

More Profile Don'ts

O.K., folks, it's list time! As I've always known, and as a very special friend recently reiterated, everyone loves lists. So, without further ado, here are my top reasons for automatically eliminating someone as a potential match.com date based on stuff in their profiles and their written interactions with me:

1. Random Capitalization. This is a More Common Problem than you might think. Some People, in their Profiles, will just randomly capitalize words that have No Business being capitalized. Why? Why? Here's a classic Example:

Happy Camper, seeking to share this journey with an Exceptional Woman who has taken care of herself Emotionally, Physically etc... I'm described by friends as loyal, honest, funny, dependable, hard working/playing, sincere... I'd have to agree with them most of the time... I'm proud of my Family and appreciate their support, and Very Lucky to be surrounded by Good Friends who keep me centered... I'm a Travelholic, Chocolate Aficionado, Ethnic Food Loving, Music Listening, Best Uncle Ever, Golfer... OK, OK Enough about me. Please, let me hear about YOU...

I especially like how this paragraph degenerates toward the end into capping almost everything and then, finally, into ALL CAPS, fulfilling its inevitable destiny. I'm SO tempted, since this guy actually e-mailed me, to write him back and tell him I couldn't possibly date someone Who Caps Things He Shouldn't . . . but do I really want to go there? Do I want to become the Asshole Editor Woman of Match.com? I'm already the Crazy Woman on the Bike Path Who Yells Things at Cyclists. I can only wear so many bitch hats, people.

2. Stalking. I currently have two e-mail stalkers. Both of them have written to me several times, despite the fact that I haven't replied to either of them, ever. In case it isn't obvious, I find this rather creepy. Here, in order of succession, is the correspondence I've received from one of them. (You should probably know that I didn't respond to him the first time because, in his profile, he mentions God, and Jesus, and praying, repeatedly. Um, that's another don't, by the way. Unless you're on eHarmony, that is.)

First message: I'm looking for someone semi-normal to share time/life with. Give me your craziest up front so I know it can only get better from there. I'm very easy going and I aim to please that special someone. After reading your profile, I would bet we have much in our past that is common. I'm not always on, but my perception and judge of character are usually pretty accurate.

Second message, three days later: Come on. I want to hear about it. My background is of course different from yours, but it is one hell of a background. Not trying to match stories or wit, but I like to see what life has thrown at someone and through that adversity, what comes out the other side. If you feel comfortable, you can call me. [He then provides his phone number.]

Third message, three days later: New pictures posted for me. I still hate them. [Apparently, he thought I wasn't responding to him because I didn't like his pictures. Which is true, but not the main reason. The new pictures weren't great, either.]

Fourth and, so far, final message, three days later: If anything, you are missing out on a conversation of a lifetime.

You're right, buddy--it's my loss. Does anyone else hear Twilight Zone music playing in the background? Hopefully, he's gotten the idea that he should maybe stick to his "conversation of a lifetime" with God. Or Jesus. Or little green men from outer space. Or anyone but me.

3. Shirtless Primary Photos. Besides this guy, there are plenty of other men who opt to bare it all, from the waist up, anyway, in the photos they post. This isn't always a bad thing--the ones who do it tend to have pretty good bodies, and depending on the shot, it's not always cheesy, like when they're in a pool or on the beach or something. However, when they choose such a photo as their primary one (that is, the one that everyone sees initially, the one that accompanies their tag line), they are automatically out. Do I really have to explain this?

O.K., there are more, but I'm out of time. More later, along with updates on the actual dating that's going on. (And there has been some of that--I don't spend all my time on that site criticizing and critiquing profiles . . . O.K., a lot of it, but not all.)

Why Children Are Scary and Dogs Are Not

So, I can't be too specific about who this post is about, because said person may or may not read it eventually. That's a funny thing about blogs, as some of you know and the rest of you can probably extrapolate--you have to be careful what you write about, for the obvious reason that you're going to be putting it out there. I can't always remember who, exactly, I've given my blog address to, and then I have no way of knowing whether or not some people are reading if they never add comments and never mention my blog when we talk. And that's the situation here--I know I've given the blog address to the person in question, but I don't know whether or not she actually reads it. If she does, she would most likely be offended by what I'm about to say, because, as you will see, she's kind of sensitive, so for the purposes of this entry, she will be known as "some people." (Of course, she might figure out that this is about her anyway, but there's only so much I can do, right?)

(And no, this post is not about me in disguise, in the way that all of the "I have this friend. . . . " stories are.)

Anyway, I have this theory on why some people appear not to like children very much, and specifically, children whom they should like because said children are adorable, generally well behaved, and related to them. This apparent dislike of these children that some people have can be very distressing to the parents of these children, especially when some people absolutely adore their dogs and appear to love these dogs much more than they love these children. (Wow, these euphemisms are getting tedious, and I imagine they're difficult to read and follow. Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?)

The fact is, dogs are safer to love than children, because children can devastate you. As anyone who has children or is ever around children for any length of time can attest, there are going to be times when any given child is going to appear to despise you. Unless you indulge a small child's every whim, you are eventually going to do something to piss that child off, and most of the time, a pissed off child is going to let you know he or she is pissed off. You know what I mean--the dirty looks, the pushing you away, the hateful, bratty comments. ("I don't like you," "I wish you would go away," "You're mean," "You're stupid," etc.) Now, an overly sensitive, nominally insecure person, particulary one who's not used to being around children, will oftentimes take these comments personally and become quite upset.

You should not take these comments personally. This is a child, acting out. You are an adult. Deal with it.

Case in point. Last weekend, I went to the zoo with my sister and her two children, whom I adore. Her boy is four, and her girl is almost two. My nephew and I have gotten extremely close--I am the cool aunt who does fun stuff with him and buys him neat things and almost never disciplines him, and he practically worships me, which is how it should be. However, there are times. . . .

So we're at the zoo, and it's ungodly hot out, so we're trying to stay hydrated and keep the kids hydrated all day long, which meant we dished out a lot of money for bottled water which, at the zoo, costs $2.50 a pop. Toward the end of the day, I was digging in the bottom of my purse for the last of my change for one more bottle--we were completely out, and my sister and I were both dying of thirst. So I'm standing at the machine with my nephew, and he decides he wants a pop instead of water. I didn't have enough money for both, so I told him no, I had to use the money to buy water. This did not go over well. When he saw what came out of the machine and realized it was water and not pop, he gave me the most evil look I've ever seen on a child in my life. And he then proceeded to give me the serious cold shoulder--he wouldn't walk next to me, wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't look at me etc. So, I ignored him. This, I've found, is the best way to deal with such a situation, because ultimately, children want attention, right? And sure enough, after about 10 minutes, he'd forgotten all about Popgate, and he was holding my hand as we left the zoo. Happy joyful bonding time with nephew resumed as scheduled.

Now, some people, in this exact same situation, would actually get really upset about the whole thing, and their distress would manifest in getting angry at the child for getting angry at them, and as we all know, adults tend to harbor grudges much longer than children do. Some people would have remained mad at my nephew all afternoon, and might even have tried to get away from him, and at the very least would have ignored him for a very long time. And this situation might happen repeatedly between some people and my nephew, and therefore some people might appear to not like my nephew, but really, they're just subconsciously putting emotional distance between themself and my nephew so that my nephew will not have the power to make them upset when he inevitably gets mad about something. It's a bit ridiculous, but there it is.

By logical extension, some people become perhaps a little too emotionally attached to their dogs, because a dog is never going to get mad at them for buying a water instead of a pop. Never. There is absolutely no emotional risk in loving a dog, besides the obvious fact that you are probably going to outlive the dog.

[So sweetie, please don't be upset. She does love your children--she just doesn't know how to interact with them in a way that feels safe for her.]

So, there we are--yet another reason why I should be an advice columnist. I really wish someone would hurry up and get me a gig like that.

Bedroom Life

Dad--Don't let the post title deter you. This post is rated PG at the most.

[I promised my dad that I would warn him if I was posting anything I thought he would rather not read. The rest of you can take your chances. . . . ]

So, yeah--sorry about the long absence. My life lately has been something of a perfect storm of work issues, lots of people visiting from out of town, a busy social life in general, traveling on the weekends, and ungodly, unbearable heat to deal with the last few days. (Those of you here in town know of which I speak--it has been absolutely miserable in Cowtown this week.) And, since I don't have central air in my apartment, I've spent most of my energy when I am home lately trying not to melt and attempting to keep my animals alive and well. Hence the blog title--since the heat wave hit, I've been experimenting with basically living in my bedroom, where I have a window AC unit. The thing is, the only piece of furniture in my bedroom suitable for sitting/lying/relaxing on is . . . my bed. And guess what tends to happen when you spend a lot of time on a bed? (O.K., some of you need to get your minds out of the gutter right about now.) You wind up . . . falling asleep, of course. And, as much as it doesn't seem to bother my animals to sleep 18 to 20 hours per day, that doesn't really suit my lifestyle very well, or my incessant, nagging need to actually get shit done every now and then. So, obviously, the living-in-the-bedroom thing isn't working out so well.

My slight modification to this plan, now, is to crank the AC up as high as possible, situate a fan in the doorway of the bedroom, and aim said fan directly into the office. The idea is that I can sit in the office, fool around on the computer, and enjoy the cool air from the bedroom being blown in by the fan. The only flaw in this plan? It's SO frigging hot that this cool air, amazingly, manages to dilute itself to lukewarm by the time it travels the 10 or so feet from the fan to my body. Obviously, I need a better plan . . . but frankly, I'm sick of dealing with it all.

An alternative solution? Go out every night, of course! To a place with actual air conditioning! Which is pretty much what I've been doing. Of course, this plan has a downside too--basically, it's exhausting and expensive. So, here I sit for now, in the office, hot, tired, and semi-broke.

It could be worse, I suppose. I could be one of those old people you read about who don't have any AC at all and are found dead in their apartments days after a heat wave strikes, usually by a neighbor or postal carrier. For their sake and mine, I hope this ends soon. I'd like to get back to normal life (or "normal" for me, anyway).

What I'm Dealing With

So, at this point in the match.com journey, I've read a lot of profiles. A lot. And the truth of the matter is, most of them aren't that original or interesting, and many of them just sort of blend together after a while. A couple of interesting side effects of this--one, when I do come across a particularly witty, clever, or original profile, I'll give it my attention even if the person's photo doesn't really grab me immediately. (The same holds true for profiles that are free of grammatical and spelling errors. Those tend to be few and far between.) The other interesting thing I've noticed is that sometimes, I come across one that is so boring and/or poorly written that I likewise can't help but read it--it's like trying to look away from a car wreck. Case in point--this one comes a guy whose photo (which I will not post, by the way, since he is identifiable in it) shows him staring broodily into the camera and just in general not looking like a happy camper. This delightful photo is accompanied by the following text:

"I am a nice single white male who is looking for a long term relationship. I am good looking and I feel that looks are important. Also, the personality is to. I am tired of the bars. I have never done this before. I will do anything at this point to find that someone special."

O.K., let's analyze this line by line, shall we?

"I am a nice single white male who is looking for a long term relationship."
All of this information could be intuited from your photo and the fact that you're on this site. Also, don't call yourself "nice." Nice should be a default trait . . . if you feel you have to mention it, it just comes across as really, really boring.

"I am good looking and I feel that looks are important."
Stating this in the first place portrays you as extremely vain. Stating this in the second sentence of your profile portrays you as extremely shallow. (By the way, it seems not to have occurred to him that his photo is right there. And he's not that good looking. So, he's a bit self-delusional as well.)

"Also, the personality is to."
Well, glad to see you do take personality into account, even if it runs a sloppy second to looks. Now you might want to work on the difference between "to" and "too."

"I am tired of the bars. I have never done this before."
These are standard match.com lines that are employed somewhere in probably around 70% of the profiles I've read. Not usually in such a choppy, staccato manner, though.

"I will do anything at this point to find that someone special."
Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter, which is, obviously--abject desperation, and absolutely no attempt to hide or disguise it. In fact, because of this sentence, the whole profile basically reeks of desperation. Not to mention redundancy. In his profile sidebar, this guy finds it necessary to add the following under For Fun: "I like to golf and watch football. ( ohio state ) I am looking for someone who likes to have fun. I am tired of the bar sceen. I am a good looking man who wants someone to share life with"

Sigh. You see what I mean. (It is worth noting at this point that a lot of people--a lot!--actually find it necessary to mention in their profiles that they like to have fun and/or they are looking for someone who likes to have fun. Um, O.K. . . . as opposed to what? Are there people out there who hate fun, who just can't stand it, who just can't deal with fun or anyone who likes having it? I'm obviously thinking about this stuff way too much--it's driving me nuts.)

One more thing before I lay off this poor schmuck. I think this is my favorite part of his whole profile. Here's what he's got down in the section where he is supposed to list Favorite Things: "Jap. food. Anything but seafood." Now, how's that for cryptic? First, what exactly does he mean by Jap. food? Is he a fan of Japanese food and likes to use a derogatory term to describe it? But then, a lot of Japanese cuisine does involve seafood, which he apparently doesn't like. And this type of food, whatever it is, comprises the sum total of all of his favorite things. Aarrrgghh.

I almost want to get in touch with this guy and clue him in to the many, many things that are so very wrong in his profile. In fact, a lot of people could use some help in that regard. Maybe I should start a side job as a profile coach?

I swore I wasn't going to do this, but . . .

I realize it's probably ill-advised to reproduce photos from Match.com--I'm sure that, if discovered, I could get sued or something. But really, who's going to find out? None of my 10 or so readers are going to report me, I'm fairly certain. And I swear I'm not going to make this a regular thing (as tempting as it may be to do so) . . . but I just have to share the two photos that accompany this one guy who winked at me today. (Also, you really can't tell who he is from these photos anyway. Just bear with me.)


O.K., so here's the first photo:



So, dude--thanks for sharing this pic you obviously took of yourself casually with your cell phone in the back seat of your buddy's car. Nice glasses. Makes it pretty tough to really know what you look like, but that's O.K. . . . I'm sure your next photo will be more revealing.

(And, oh boy, is it ever! Wait for it . . . wait for it. . . . )

The next and only other photo:








Yeah, I know--yum!! But at the same time--yuck!! Is this an online dating site, or a repository for porn applications? I like how he's completely objectified himself by cutting his own head off in the photo and just showing . . . um, the good stuff. I gotta say, in my three weeks of perusing various profiles, I've seen some shirtless shots here and there (many of which, by the way, should never have been posted), but this is the first one I've encountered in which the subject has deliberately decapitated himself. Does he really have no idea how this comes off? I suspect not. And when I don't respond to his wink, I'll be just another stuck-up bitch who doesn't know what she's missing. (Sorry, I don't actually know the guy, but I suspect I can extrapolate his thought process nonetheless.)

I must say, though, that if and when this guy ever gets a date as a result of these photos, I would love to be a fly on the wall during that encounter. Of course, I could always rent a porno that features some lame attempt at a storyline and probably get the same experience . . . .

And I'm not even a farmer . . .

O.K., here's a short diversion into a topic that couldn't possibly be more superficial . . .

I noticed today, out of the blue, that I've reached the point in the summer where I am two different colors, completely. My arms and shoulders are very tan, and my legs and thighs are white white white. In comparison to my arms, in fact, my legs look alabaster. This is due to the fact that I no longer wear shorts, except around the house. When I'm out, I wear capris, skirts (usually knee-length), or long pants, exclusively. The fact is, shorts aren't flattering for me--my legs are too short. At some point in life, you have to accept what works for you and what doesn't and go with what makes you feel comfortable. So, while I have absolutely no problem being in a bathing suit when appropriate, being in a hottub, etc., when I'm out and about, I wear what I'm comfortable in. Which means that by this time of the year, I generally look like two different colored mannequins that have been twisted together.

The thing is, there's not really much I can do about it. I'm not going to start wearing different clothes. I'm not going to grease myself up and lay out in the sun--I don't exactly need to expose myself blatantly to another type of cancer. I don't believe in artificial tanning, either through tanning beds or "special creams"--why subject yourself to stuff like that that might do weird, unpleasant things to your body? I'm not willing to get electrocuted or have my skin turn orange in a quest to be all one color. (I realize I'm a bit paranoid about the electrocuted thing, and that people don't generally get electrocuted in tanning beds. About the only true phobias I have are a fear of being electrocuted--which, I know where that comes from, but that's a whole other story--and a bit of claustrophobia. So, no tanning beds for me. Plus, I think it's a waste of money.)

So, I've decided the only thing to do is live with it. So, I'm two different colors--big deal. Why are we all supposed to be this nice, sleek, homogenous color, anyway? (And by "we," I mean women, of course. Farmers' tans on men generally go unnoticed.) I've just decided to embrace the idea that I look . . . interesting. And anyway, eventually the weather will get colder, I'll be outdoors less, the long-sleeved shirts will come out, and I'll go back to boring old all-over alabaster. And I'll wish it was the middle of an awesome summer, and the only price I had to pay was a two-toned look that probably no one but me even noticed. . . .

Deja Vu

So, a lot of you have been wondering how things went with good old Craig, my first match.com date. (As it turns out, he wasn't technically my first date, but more on that later.) To recap, this was the guy who looked a little bit different in each of his photos, and I was curious to see which one would show up. I think that's where we left it.

As it turned out, none of them did. The guy who met me out looked different from all the photos he'd posted, mostly in that he was shorter and older-looking than I'd thought he would be. And I have to say--it was strange to see him in person, and I kind of drew a blank at first on whether or not I found him attractive. I guess my mind was too busy reconciling what I was expecting with what was in front of me. For those of you who have never met someone with whom you first communicated online and on the phone, I gotta tell you--it's just weird, or at least, I find it to be a little weird. You know something about the person, you have a feel for who they are in a general sense, and you may have had some very specific conversations with this person . . . and then all of a sudden, there they are, and you need to piece together this physical person with the mental image you have of the personality you've come to know. It's a little disconcerting.

So, I wasn't sure what I thought of Craig physically at first, so I figured we'd hang out, talk a while, and then it would all become clear. As it turns out, this was a very good plan, because it did become clear, very quickly. It became clear that Craig is exactly like Guy #5 in
this post.

Again, I have to ask--what is it with me and gay guys who don't know/accept that they're gay? And what is it, especially, with guys in their 30s who are still like this? Then again, maybe it's not me--maybe a lot of women in the dating pool encounter this type of guy now and then, just by virtue of playing the numbers.

Lest you think I'm jumping to conclusions about Craig, let me say that I spent a big chunk of the date being regaled with stories about the time he spent in a traveling theater group. This group specialized in campy remakes of serious movies--for example, "Carrie," in which he played John Travolta's character. In one production, he had to make out with this other guy on stage every night, and it was hilarious! At one point, he found it necessary to reassure me, "I was the only straight guy in the group!" And you, dear reader, can just imagine me sitting there, with my head cocked slightly to one side, thinking, "Are you sure?"

But don't worry, all's well that ends well. We had a nice enough time and a good dinner, and all the time I spent pondering how I was going to graciously get out of a second date was for naught, because he didn't contact me again. I was a little surprised by that, actually, because he did make a good show of expressing interest in me, but ultimately I was relieved.

So, that was the first date, sort of--not a success, but not a horror story. Just another one of those things that make you wonder what people are thinking, and doing, and why so many people don't seem to really know what they want. But I guess that's why we're all out there looking, right?

Guess what I don't want to do?

Go into work today. On a Saturday. And not just any Saturday--this has got to be about the most gorgeous day we've had all summer, so far. It's sunny, clear, and the perfect temperature, with no humidity. A perfect day for blogging and reading on the porch and then taking Josie for a long walk through the woods and then maybe going out with a friend to eat dinner on a patio somewhere. But no. I must go into work and sit in my office, far from any window, and spend the day e-mailing instructions to vendors and answering their questions on the phone, because they're all working today too. We have a major deadline coming up, and my life is not my own right now.

At least I have the luxury of going in basically whenever I want, although I really should go soon. The vendors have been working since 5 this morning already, or at least that's what they tell me. Which means I'll have about 600 e-mails waiting for me when I get in. (O.K., that's a slight exaggeration. . . . ) Which means I'd better go. More later.

Come to Jesus

So, it's no big secret that I'm an atheist. Or an agnostic. I'm not really sure which I am, actually. I guess I've always had a slight aversion to the term "agnostic" because I hate sitting on the fence about anything--I tend to have pretty strong opinions one way or another about almost everything. (I know, this is shocking, shocking news.) At the same time, though, "atheist" is a bit extreme and not really representative of my true thoughts and feelings. An atheist knows there is no God, no higher power whatsoever. Do I know this for sure? No--I don't believe that anybody does. So, atheists in general have talked themselves into believing something is absolutely true that, in reality, they have no way of knowing for sure . . . kind of like true believers, yes? It comes down to a matter of faith either way--whether it's faith in a higher power or faith in your own belief that there is no higher power. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I have no faith. O.K., O.K., so I'm an agnostic. Just talked myself into that one.

My ex-husband, on the other hand, was an unapologetic atheist, no question about it. We shared a fear and loathing of evangelicals and a healthy skepticism of all organized religion in general, but he always had an added measure of disdain for anything faith-oriented that I didn't really share. In fact, there were a couple of times in my marriage where I considered checking out the local Unitarian church, mostly because of its involvement in community-oriented activism . . . I thought it might be a good way to get involved in getting out the vote in the last (disastrous) election, for example. I've always respected the Unitarians, and they don't promote belief in the traditional Christian god anyway. But whenever I thought about bringing up the idea with my ex, I scrapped it. I figured he would laugh it off, tell me to go ahead and go if I wanted, but he wasn't interested. (In fairness to him, I don't know for sure that that's what his reaction would have been. Toward the end of our marriage, we weren't exactly projecting optimism onto each other.)

All of this makes the story I heard earlier this week rather interesting. On Monday, my former boss (who is now my boss's boss, and who attended my wedding) stopped me in the hall at work to tell me he'd run into my ex at the grocery store on Sunday. And apparently my ex, who works a regular 9 to 5, was wearing a shirt and tie--on a Sunday. Which led my former boss to comment that he (my ex) looked like he'd just come from church, to which my ex replied, "Well, I did!"

Hmmm. Unfortunately, that was the extent of the conversation, so I have no more information to go on. Of course, there's the possibility that his church-going was a one-time thing, for a friend's kid's baptism or some such thing. But somehow, I doubt it. There have been other clues. Although he and I haven't been in touch for months, I've heard a few things here and there. I know, for example, that he quit drinking. I also know that he's been seeing someone for a while and that it's pretty serious, and also that he and his new girlfriend don't really hang out with his old group of friends much. (I heard this from a friend of his I ran into at a music festival a few weeks ago, who said the ex has pretty much dropped off the social radar.)

So, I'm left to wonder . . . did my ex, the die-hard atheist, actually get religion? And if so, did I drive him to it?

Geesh.

Update

O.K., so it's been a while . . . it's been a hectic week. For the record, I do have more going on in my life than this match.com stuff, but I just don't have time to write about everything, and some of it, I really can't write about anyway, for a variety of reasons. So, right now, I'm going to concentrate on this online dating journey, because frankly, there's enough going on there to fill a book already . . . and it's only been a week! As I think I mentioned before, I could make a second career out of this if I was so inclined. I'm still trying to feel my way through the process, and to be honest, it's a little overwhelming.

Let's start with some stats, as of right now:

Number of times my profile has been viewed: 492
Number of winks I've received: 64
Number of e-mails I've received: 49
Number of e-mails I've received that I haven't read yet: 17
Number of people I initated contact with myself: 8
Number of people I initated contact with who have responded: 5 (The other 3 haven't been logged on to the site for weeks.)
Number of people with whom I've been actively exchanging e-mails: about 7
Number of people with whom I've talked to on the phone: 3
Number of dates so far: 2 (More on these later.)

So, in this process, as in so many processes in life, patterns are starting to emerge, and frankly, it's kind of disheartening. I can basically break down the people who contact me into three categories, and they're pretty evenly distributed. They are as follows:

1. Total duds. These are guys whose profiles present them as both unattractive and uninteresting. I get the feeling that a lot of them are playing the numbers game--basically, getting in touch with every woman on Match and seeing what shakes out. I am not going to shake out. Sorry.

2. Good-looking guys who have nothing interesting whatsoever going on in their profiles. As an example, here's the profile text of the best-looking guy who contacted me:

I have alot of different activities I enjoy doing, anything outdoors, dinner, movies, theater. I'm looking for someone special to do them with. I'd like to meet someone who's easy going likes to have fun and enjoy life. Must also have a big heart

Um, that's great. So, you enjoy "dinner"? Do you enjoy candlelight and walks on the beach, too? How about breathing--do you enjoy that? I don't mean to sound bitter (already!), but seriously, try a little originality and individuality! It's funny, too--there's a sidebar where you can list, separately, what you like to do, and yet another spot to list your favorite things. This guy's responses? "Anything outdoors, dinner, movies, theater." Yeah, he listed these same things twice in the sidebar, for a total of three times overall. O.K., dude, I get it. Frankly, I don't care how good-looking the guy is--I'm not going to respond to a profile like that. I'd fall asleep before hitting the Reply button.

3. Guys with interesting/quirky/original/intriguing profiles . . . who are, unfortunately, completely unattractive. I guess here's where I come across as shallow and/or vain, but I'm sorry . . . I'm not going to contact a guy who looks like a 55-year-old Drew Carey with possible liver disease. It's really frustrating, actually--I'll read someone's e-mail, and it totally cracks me up, it's witty and original, it's grammatically correct (a major turn-on to me!), it's flattering in a light-hearted way . . . and then I click on the profile and see the guy's photo, and--no. Just no. It can be such a disappointment, but if there's no attraction whatsoever, then what's the point?

So, that's where we stand. It's not like there are no viable prospects whatsoever, but there's nothing terribly exciting going on either. I am having a very interesting e-mail exchange with this one guy . . . who happens to live in Alaska at the moment. He's a geologist and park ranger who's based in Columbus but gets stationed at different places for a couple of months at a time. He's even done stints in Antarctica, and he's been to every continent and sailed every ocean, and we're doing a lot of exchanging of traveling stories right now. I'm looking forward to meeting him when he comes home in September, so there's that.

Recaps on the actual dates to come . . . .

The New Time Suck

O.K., so some might say I have a slight propensity to addiction. (See: online poker. Which I hardly ever play anymore, by the way, so there is hope.) I never thought, however, that I'd become addicted to an online dating site.

If eHarmony is a stupendously boring church sermon that makes you wish someone would shoot you in the head and get it over with, Match.com is a wild, crazy party that goes on all night. When we left off yesterday morning, I had just posted my profile and had a few winks and e-mails. (By the way, a wink is when someone just sends you a little message that they've viewed your profile and are interested, but they don't actually write anything--they're waiting for you to initiate contact.) Then I left for the day to go visit my sister in Sandusky, and by the time I checked back in around 9:00 last night, I had about 12 winks and 10 e-mails. Today, those numbers are about doubled. Of course, I can't possibly respond to all of them--this could quickly turn into a second career if I did that. But I do find myself surfing around almost compulsively, exchanging e-mails with some people, and I have to say--it's a hoot. Unless a lot of people are blatantly lying, there are quite a few genuinely interesting guys on there. We talk a lot about music and books and music and such, good places to go out in Columbus, cool restaurants and shows, etc. Some of them, of course, I have no interest in actually dating--and I've been clear about that, and everyone so far has been perfectly fine and cordial about it. They'll just say, "It's been nice chatting with you--good luck!" or something like that. I haven't really gotten a weird or creepy vibe from anyone yet. I'm sure there are some less-than-desirable people on there somewhere, but I plan on being very selective about who I actually meet, so overall, I've got a good feeling about it--and it's just a lot of fun.

I am staying realistic about the whole thing, though. A lot of these people have been on the site for a while, and I understand that it's a common phenomenon that when a new person signs up who seems even slightly interesting and/or attractive, everyone kind of pounces. Hell, I've only been on the site for a few days, and I would do the same thing if a new attractive, interesting person's profile appeared. So, this attention might not last forever--and that's fine. I'm just concentrating now on cultivating e-mail relationships with the real prospects . . . and actually learning a few new things about Columbus in the process.

So, my first date is Thursday night. His name is Craig, he's 31, and he works for a wine importer. Should be interesting. He's got four photos posted on his profile, and in each one, he looks a little different--I'm curious about which one he'll look like in person (if any--you never know!) I will give a full report after, of course. No expectations except to satisfy my curiosity and hopefully have some good conversation. We shall see.

eHarmony Sucks; Match.com Rocks

O.K., O.K., mea culpa already--please stop chastising me for signing up for eHarmony. I know it was a big, stupid mistake. I've done some research, and for the one or two people besides me who didn't know this stuff already, here's what I found out:

• The site was founded by an evangelical for the express purpose of matching up men and women only, and preferably ones who want to get married and start having kids as soon as possible. It's not marketed that way directly because the site can make a lot more money off a wider client base, obviously. (Funny how evangelicals have no problem with blatant deception if it makes the bucks roll in. That's just . . . so Christian and godly, it kind of brings a tear, huh?)
• The site has several lawsuits pending against it by gay rights groups over its discriminatory practices. I would never, ever knowingly give money to any company that discriminates against gays--you guys know that. I guess I was thinking that eHarmony just wasn't hip enough yet to offer services to gays--I didn't realize it was actively discriminatory.
  
• Some people--even straight folks!--who try to sign up are actually rejected, right off the bat. When I learned this, I was kind of surprised that I wasn't rejected--I would seem to be a perfect candidate for rejection based on their general criteria. Upon further research, though, I've found that they seem to reject people who have any history of depression or admit to taking antidepressants, which I do not. (This exclusionary benchmark apparently does not take into account self-medication in the form of vodka tonics.)
  
• A lot of the people who do manage to pass the straight test and the depression test nevertheless wind up, like me, being totally dissatisfied. They go weeks with no matches, and/or the matches they do get are wildly inappropriate (like Christopher from Pickerington! He's still my only "match"! I'm really starting to hate that guy. . . . ). I think my favorite story was the one about this 32-year-old guy who is an engineer, likes to party, and wants kids someday . . . and after weeks of waiting, he got one match--a 62-year-old pediatric nurse who lives two hours away from him. You just gotta laugh.
• The site apparently has this tactic of holding back matches until a day or two before your membership is set to expire, and then it throws them at you all at once, hoping to lure you into renewing your subscription. So, right now I'm waiting, curious to see if this will happen to me. I'm going to cancel my membership either way, of course, but it will be interesting to see if they're really that devious.

Anyway, who needs eHarmony when we have Match.com? That site is awesome. I finally figured out all the technical issues and got my profile posted--I finished the written part yesterday, downloaded a photo, and sent the whole thing in for approval. (Naturally, they have to approve it first, to weed out obvious nutjobs and make sure no one's posting anything pornographic--which is a good thing.) I guess my profile got approved and then went live sometime in the middle of the night, and by the time I got up this morning, I already had four winks and three e-mails. Nothing terribly promising yet, but all of it a vast improvement over Christopher! (This is going to be my new buzzword, by the way, for guys who are completely inappropriate for me--as in, "That guy is such a Christopher." Unless I meet a guy named Christopher who I actually like . . . but we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.)

Where to start?

Does anyone else out there feel like they will never, ever get totally organized? Do you feel like you'll ever get to the point where you think, "O.K., now I've got everything set just right, and I can start exploring new things and really put my heart into it?" Because I'm slowly coming to the realization that this is never going to happen for me, and the only question remaining is, can I live with this?

O.K. that in and of itself is a stupid question--of course I can live with it. I'm not going to kill myself over the fact that I'm probably never going to go through the unpacked boxes in my basement, or that it's a pretty safe bet that my entire house will never be completely clean all at the same time. The question is, will I ever get to the point where I accept this fact of life and don't obsess about it constantly?

I wonder about this all the time--how do people manage to get things done, on any kind of consistent basis, while carrying on with their day-to-day requirements/activities? Because, despite not even having kids, I never seem to have time to really get on top of . . . well, anything. I manage to maintain a lifestyle where I don't live in filth, get most of my bills paid on time, and, with some effort, can track down some important paperwork when needed. But I always feel like I'm barely hanging on as far as all that goes. For example, if someone asked me to produce my passport right this very moment . . . well, I could produce it by the end of the night, probably. But right off the top of my head? I'm just not sure where it is. Ditto for my Social Security card. Last year's tax documents. This year's tax documents. My dog's vet records. My 401K information. (How much, exactly, do I have saved for retirement thus far? Couldn't tell you.) It's all just too much.

I do wonder sometimes, though, exactly where the time goes. What if I came up with a plan, in which I totally clean and/or organize one thing per night, until I'm all caught up? Good plan, huh? Yeah, that's never gonna happen.

Tonight, for example. I tried to set a goal of cleaning the bathroom. That's the one thing I set out for myself to accomplish before the day was over. Simple, right? Easily accomplished? Well, here's how my day went:

7:00-6:00: Work. Yes, I am working 11-hour days right now, minimum. Doesn't help much as far as accomplishing anything else goes.

5:30-7:00: Talk to a friend on the phone. (Obviously, this overlapped with working. I'm trying to multitask my many responsibilities.)

7:00-7:30: Mess around on the computer a bit. (Note that with the new Mac, I could be doing this 24 hours a day and still wouldn't make a significant dent in exploring the possibilities of my new computer. More on this later.)

7:30-9:00: Walk the dog. We started off at the park, with all of our fellow dog-walking friends, where we stayed for about half an hour. Then, it was such a beautiful evening, we just had to go on an extended walk. It was gorgeous and peaceful.

9:00-now: Got home and realized I had absolutely no desire to clean the bathroom--I just wanted to write. Also realized I'd totally neglected to eat dinner. Also, I'm tired. There's not going to be any bathroom cleaning tonight . . . so when? There's a whole new to-do list for tomorrow night (basically, laundry), which means bathroom cleaning will happen . . . when? I really don't know.

Other people manage to clean their bathrooms and get other shit done. How?? I'd love to know. Of course, maybe most of them don't have blogs . . . .

eHarmony Update

Great. I tried to log back in to see if there were any other "matches" besides Christopher in the last hour, and the web site is not recognizing my password--the password I know is right, since I just signed up and wrote it down--it's sitting right here in front of me. And their support center is closed today for "maintenance."

I just really want to slap someone right now . . . .

I've Been Had

O.K., so some of you know about my new plan, which was . . . to sign up for Match.com. Originally, I was only going to sign up to mine for blog fodder--after spending a few hours trolling around on the site, I realized it was rich with potential blog material. Some of the pictures these people post, the things they write in their profiles, even their nicknames, are just--ridiculous, nonsensical, absurd, hilarious. (Would you contact a guy whose nickname is "plushbunnies"? How about "fuggindude"? Dude--what???) It also surprised and kind of alarmed me that, after specifying that I was looking for men, ages 30-45, within 50 miles of the greater Columbus area, the site brought up a bunch of pictures--and I recognized three of them! One is a guy who hangs out at a local bar I sometimes go to--and up until about two months ago, he was hanging out there with his wife. Now, his profile says he is separated and looking for his "soulmate--that special lady to share his life with." Yeah, buddy, that's a great idea--why not hop right back on the horse, right? Another is --get this--the attorney who represented my husband in the divorce. I didn't notice the phrase "complete and total asshole" in his profile, so obviously he's not representing himself accurately. The third I will refer to as "the woman-man from Match.com." You should see his profile photo--he's got feminine features to start with, and he wasn't helping himself out by posting a photo showing his long, lovely hair pulled back in a ponytail and resting on his shoulder. I kept staring at this picture, thinking they'd put a woman on the guys' page by accident, when I suddenly realized he is a man, and that I've seen him jogging on the bike path. When you live in Columbus, it truly is a small world.

There were plenty of other noteworthy things I saw on this site, including:

• A guy who obviously cut and pasted his profile photo out of a modeling publication, complete with shirtless shot, 6-pack abs, and an artsy black-and-white background. This guy also claimed to be an American and native English speaker, but upon reading his profile, it's totally obvious English is his second language. It was like reading a profile posted by Borat. (His tagline? "Looking for someone that need nice man." His religion? "I believe on Jesus.")
• A lot of people who were unclear about how to fill out their profiles in the first place. See, when you first sign up, you answer all these basic questions about yourself--age, job, marital status (hopefully single or divorced!), whether you smoke, how often you drink, whether you have children and how you feel about having children, etc. You also describe what answers to these questions are acceptable to you in a potential partner. A lot of people, however, give contradictory answers to these questions. For example: "Do you want children in the future?" [Answer: Yes.] "How many children do you want? [Answer: None.] There's more of this type of thing going on than you might think.
  
• One thing I noticed is that there are some things everyone answers in the same way. Everyone loves to travel. Everyone loves the outdoors. No one likes to play games, and everyone is looking for someone who doesn't like to play games. (Headgames, that is, not board games. Board games are O.K.) Everyone loves dining out, especially at ethnic restaurants. Staying in and snuggling on the couch while watching movies with your sweetie is completely acceptable, but no one fesses up to spending some Sunday afternoons watching Law & Order for three hours. No one!

Anyway, I could go on and on, and maybe I'll revisit this in the future, but it's not the point right now. The thing is, as I was perusing the site, I found that there actually were some interesting guys on there. With some of the profiles I read, I found myself thinking that I wouldn't mind meeting this person. So, why not give it a try? I hadn't yet subscribed--you can troll around and create a preliminary profile for free--but I was seriously considering it.

Around this time is when all the computer stuff happened, and I wound up with my new (wonderful, fabulous) Mac. And I discovered that when I tried to log in to my Match.com profile, everything was all screwed up. I couldn't access or edit my profile, and I couldn't download a photo. I couldn't do much of anything. I e-mailed their support group, but I haven't heard back yet . . . and I started to get restless.

So, earlier today, I thought, as long as I was going to do it anyway, why not try another site until Match.com gets back to me (if they ever do)? And so, I logged on to eHarmony.

I should have clued in right off the bat, when I saw that they only match heterosexuals--no gay matching at this site. That irked me immensely--what's up with that? Did I really want to join a site that had yet to enter the 21st century? Big red flag. But, against my better judgment, I signed up anyway. I then spent about two hours that I will never get back filling out their "personality profile" forms, where they ask you about everything, multiple times. And, as they admonished me over and over to do, I tried to be completely honest--I didn't sugarcoat anything. Those of you who know me know what this entails. I was straight up about children, partying, politics, religion (or lack thereof)--everything. And, I actually paid the initial subscription fee, which is $60 for a month. (After that, it goes to $40 per month--still pretty steep, if you ask me.) And I clicked "submit" and waited for the 60 or so matches that I expected would pop up immediately, as they did on Match.com. And waited. Refreshed the page, waited some more. Finally, I got one match--Christopher from Pickerington. O.K., first of all, I'm not going to date anyone from Pickerington. It's too far away, and the people there tend to be--how shall I put this?--hicks. But, I clicked on his profile anyway, since . . . well, since there were no other options. Here's the basis of Christopher's profile:

"Christian man seeks girl-next-door type who will make our relationship the priority in her life."

Um, no. No, and no, and no. No no no. This is what I spent two hours and $60 for??!! They were supposed to match me up based on about 1,600 measures of compatibility, and they got exactly zero of them right. This seems to be almost a litigious-worthy situation. For those of you who are attorneys--thoughts?

The Buttons Are Back!!

Burb, in his infinite kindness and generosity, called me back to explain how to integrate Firefox and Blogger, so now I can once again do this! And this! And, that's about it right now, but I'm sure I'll figure out other stuff eventually. Like how to post a photo to my blog home page, maybe?

Actually, I'll do a little experiment here and try to post a photo of my niece. O.K., I did it, as you can see, but how to move it? I can't figure out how to move it from the beginning of the post to the end. Burb is going to regret ever offering to help me, I suspect!

(Sorry to inundate my blog with all this computer-related stuff. I'm sure it's not that interesting to a lot of you, but . . . I'm in love! And, as people tend to do, I'm inclined to ramble on and on about my new love interest as I explore the beginnings of our relationship. Please bear with me!)

I Am Clueless

O.K., I downloaded Mozilla Firefox--now what??

My Life Is an Onion Article

O.K., if I had to pick a title for my life right now, it would be:

Yet Another Area Woman Can't Get Over How Much Her iPod Has Changed Her Life

Trite, but true. Well, that, along with the new computer--my life truly is transformed. For one thing I've discovered an affinity for multitasking at home. Earlier tonight, I was writing an e-mail, downloading music, eating, and watching Law & Order--all at the same time! It was awesome. The music thing is blowing my mind. It's slowly dawning on me that I have access to just about any music I want, at any time. I know I sound like Rip Van Winkle, but what can I say? It's all new to me.

Speaking of which, I'm finding the Mac extremely easy to use, although I do have a few questions that I can't find answers to in any of the provided materials. Without further ado . . .

Top 10 Questions for Apple

1. What if I don't want to log on to your website for the answer to my question?
2. What if I CAN'T log on to your website?
3. Could leg sweat harm my laptop? How?
4. I'm still having Internet connection problems. Could you kick WOW's ass for me?
5. I just figured out that I need to use the apple key instead of the control key for control-plus functions. Why didn't your salesperson tell me that? Seems it would be a pretty common issue.
6. Why do you charge $200 more for a black computer than a white computer, even if they're the exact same computer?
7. That's not a racist thing, is it?
8. Why do people continue to buy black computers?
9. Why don't you write a Freakonomics article about that topic?
10. Why don't I write a Freakonomics article about that topic?

See, I'm getting all kinds of inspiration from this new computer stuff . . .

(Legitimate question for burb: Why have I lost all my text formatting capability in Blogger?)

A Whole New World

O.K., guess where I am? On my couch! And why, you ask, is that so exciting? Well, usually while blogging, I would be up in my office, where the computer is . . . but now, the computer can be anywhere I want it to be, because--I got a laptop! And a router! And it's a Mac, my first one ever, and I actually figured out how to set the whole thing up myself, so yes, I'm feeling a little proud right now. Granted, they've made things pretty user friendly since the last time I bought a computer, but still, there were a lot of steps involved, and I'm kind of amazed I didn't screw anything up.

The funny thing is, I sort of got tricked into buying this new computer--by my old computer. It was giving me some trouble last week--running really slow, trouble connecting to the Internet, etc. I kept running the anti-spyware programs, defragging, scanning discs, etc., and nothing really helped. Finally, yesterday morning, I couldn't get on the Internet at all, and I just got fed up. I've needed a new computer for a long time--my old one was from 2000--so I just decided to bite the bullet. And I bit it big-time, because as we all know, Macs aren't cheap.

Anyway, after a surprisingly pleasant sales experience at the Apple store, I headed home with all my new toys--computer, router, printer, and, to top it all off, an iPod Nano. I got out the manual, set everything up, and then tried to get on the Internet . . . and nothing happened. As it turns out, the whole problem was with my Internet connection, not my computer. So, thanks to my Internet provider, I'm out $1700, but it's totally worth it. I have iTunes at home! I can watch Quicktime videos! I have a new printer with a scanner and I can . . . scan things! And, I finally got an iPod! You know what's better than walking your dog through the woods on a beautiful Sunday afternoon? Walking your dog through the woods on a beautiful Sunday afternoon while listening to your favorite music. Our walks are going to be a whole new experience.

So, I'd like to take a moment to welcome myself to the 21st century. It's about time.