I am lame

DAY 1--Politics

OK, I would LOVE to write a real post tonight, a post on politics as promised, but here's the deal.

I had a really long day at work, and then I came home and cooked dinner for a friend. Said friend is, at the moment, in my kitchen doing all the dishes, because I was DETERMINED I was going to blog as promised, regardless. And here I am, and I can't concentrate, because someone is in my kitchen doing the dishes I should be doing, and shortly we are going out to shoot pool. 

Also, politics is a tough topic to start with right now, not because I'm not happy with the state of affairs (because I am!! So happy!!), but because . . . well, come on. There are SO many political bloggers out there anymore, what's left to say? For now, let's just leave it at being happy, looking forward, anticipating the future, etc. . . . for the first time in a long time.

Tomorrow night I have no plans, personal-life-wise. Longer blog entry to come. At least I logged in tonight, and am making steps towards building the habit. That is key.

The Experiment

So, first things first. 

Yes, it's been ages and ages . . . and the time lapse is not helped by the fact that I deleted the last real post I wrote. And to answer the numerous questions I've received about that--I just had to do it. At the time it was written, that post was necessary, cathartic, liberating . . . but it was also bitter, cuttingly negative, and ultimately poisonous. Its presence on here made me not want to log on to the blog, not want to see it and be reminded of everything that had happened. I also felt it was too domineering, had too much power on here, tainted everything in an unbalanced way. That post is not what my life is about, not what the blog is or should be about. So, the NP post is gone, tucked away and saved in a safe place, but not a public place, not MY public space. It's better that way. And from here on out, the blog is a RWBF/NP-free zone. It's seriously time to move on.

And in the spirit of moving on, I'm making a new commitment to the blog. (Hey, you've gotta commit to SOMETHING, right?) And in thinking about this commitment, and especially in thinking about taking it seriously, I've realized a few things about myself. Mainly, I've realized that in order to really accomplish anything, I need structure. I think that's been the problem with maintaining the blog--there are no deadlines, no tangible rewards, no carrots, no sticks. No structure. And frankly, I don't do well without that. Without some framework to build around and to tie me to something, I tend to kind of . . . drift away.

I've kicked around some different ideas about how to address this issue on here, something to finally kick my ass into gear, and I've come up with a plan. Let's face it--the loosey-goosey, write-about-whatever-whenever method that most bloggers embrace and run with just isn't working for me. So, I'm trying an experiment.

First, I'm going with a "30 posts in 30 days" plan. That is, I'm going to post something, every day, for 30 days, barring insurmountable logistical issues (e.g., traveling with no internet access, which does happen sometimes). This is mainly to get me into the habit of logging in, thinking, writing, connecting with the blog again. I'm not promising anything particularly insightful, lengthy, or clever every day, but there will be something there. 

Second, I'm assigning myself topics based on days of the week, to help me focus. Yes, I know that to some of you out there, this seems silly and unnecessarily restrictive. Remember, structure! I need it! And it's not going to happen unless it's self-imposed. So, here's what I've come up with:

Monday: Pop culture stuff (books, movies, TV, etc.)

Tuesday: Relationships/dating

Wednesday: Politics

Thursday: Work

Friday: General life stuff/day-to-day observances/pets

Saturday: Week wrap-up/freeroll*

Sunday: Freeroll

(*Freeroll is open topics--gotta leave some wiggle room here.)

So, that's the plan. Regarding the 30 days, today doesn't count--tomorrow is Day 1, Politics. Tune in. The post will be there. 

True Confessions

[NOTE: Moderate to high Dad warning.]

First, my usual disclaimer--I haven't been blogging because I've been working on some other writing. I'm not going to get into what it is, exactly, but it could be the beginning of my book, so I need some slack cut here. (In all fairness, though, no one's really been giving me shit about not blogging, so maybe slack has already been cut. . . . )

Anyhow, I felt inspired this morning . . . which is more than I can say for my mental state for most of the rest of this weekend. So, that's my first confession--laziness. I've felt incredibly lazy lately . . . not sure why, maybe it's just the advent of porch-reading season, which, you can pretty much guess from that what I spent most of yesterday doing instead of the spring cleaning I had planned for this weekend. And as long as we're on the topic of confessions, here's some completely random ones from the past couple of days.

Failure to eat well confession
What I've eaten this weekend:
*Popcorn
*Pizza
*Pop-Tart
And no, I didn't intentionally decide to only eat things that start with the letter "p"--it just worked out that way. And I should note--I almost never eat Pop-Tarts. They had them at the convenience store, individually wrapped, and I thought, "Yeah, a Pop-Tart." Blueberry, to be exact.

Listening to bad music confession Three musicians whose songs happened to come on the radio when I was driving and I did not change the station:
*John Mayer
*Kid Rock
*Joan Jett
But really, who turns the station on Joan Jett? Note that this confession will most likely cause me to lose the total respect of at least one close friend.

Things I didn't do this weekend confession
*Laundry
*Cleaning
*Getting off the couch and/or porch much

Watching bad TV confession Shows that I either actively watched or that were at least playing in the background this weekend:
*That Heath Ledger movie where he's a knight and they play David Bowie music
*Charmed
*A bad Lifetime movie about a babysitter who seduces the dad, blah blah blah

Being less-than-friendly to a certain neighbor confession
Mostly because she has a "Vote Pro-Life" bumper sticker on her car and parks in an irritating way in our common lot.

The RWBF and I have something unusual in common confession [Dad warning in effect]
We have both slept with rock stars! Well, granted, his rock star is quite a bit more famous than my rock star, but I slept with mine three times, so. . . . And who are these rock stars, you ask?
Mine: Ross Flourney of The Broken West, formerly known as The Brokedown. You can see his pic here. Obviously, I successfully pursued my crush on him! Hey, is it my fault if we kept in touch over the course of several months, and when his band came through Columbus, he no longer had a girlfriend and I was free as well? And then again a year later? Sometimes things just work out. . . .
The RWBF's: Well, a picture's worth a thousand words, right? So, here's a pic:



See the one in the middle? Yeah, that would be Belinda Carlisle of the Go-Gos. Apparently, the RWBF was working security at one of their concerts, and she just picked him out. And yes, her hair most likely really did look like that--this was 20 years ago.

Am I the only person who did not like "There Will Be Blood"? confession
Seriously, I don't get the hype around this movie. It was slow, boring, and way too long, and I didn't like or feel sympathy for any of the characters, not even the deaf kid. (When a viewer fails to feel sympathy for a deaf orphan, you know something's gone wrong with the character development of a story.) And I know Daniel Day Lewis got a lot of props for his acting in this one, but to me, it just seemed like he was trying to channel a drunken, insane Captain Jean Luc Picard. Also, the ending sucked. That whole milkshake thing? I just don't get it.

Well, that's about all I got for now. Whew! Glad I got all that off my chest. Must get back to the business of procrastinating on cleaning the house, but I'll try not to neglect the blog so much as I carry on with my other projects. Hope everyone had a good weekend!

And now, time for something completely different. . . .

Time to face reality--the remainder of the SXSW recap is a bust. I'm aborting the mission, which has become an albatross around my neck and is sabotaging my other writing. It's too bad, because I did do quite a bit of work on it, but frankly, I'm losing interest (and I suspect everyone else is as well). Too much time has gone by, and there's too much other stuff I want to write about. So, let's just move on, shall we?

There's a lot going on in my life right now. It's . . . interesting, in some good ways and some bad ways. Things with the RWBF are strange (in a bad way), and things at work are strange (in a mostly good way). But what I want to write about today is . . . politics.

Yesterday, I got a notice in the mail letting me know (rather sternly, actually) that I need to update my voter registration information if I want to vote in November. I was aware of this and had it in the back of my mind that I needed to do this, but getting the notice made me acutely aware of the fact that I haven't voted, at all, since I moved out of the house I shared with my ex-husband, which believe it or not has been two and a half years now. The most heinous offense, which some of you have chastised me for, was that I didn't vote in the recent Democratic primary. But there was a good reason for this, apart from the whole not-really-being-registered thing--frankly, I just didn't care.

My feelings about this election can be summed up in a great bumper sticker I saw the other day: Someone Else for President. Of course, I want it to be a Democrat, but between Hillary and Obama, I just don't care. There are things I like and dislike about both of them, and I'm not overly thrilled with either of them. This is so disappointing to me. You'd think, perhaps, that I'd be fired up about the possibility of having a female president for the first time . . . but does it have to be her? And I never caught Obamamania--he planted the seed of suspicion in me when, in a speech, I heard him refer to the "president of Canada." Call me overly demanding, but I expect a potential president to know that Canada has a prime minister, not a president. (I'm sorry if that sounds petty and exacting, but I'm so sick of having a president who constantly makes these silly, stupid gaffes. Actually, Bush does it so often that I'm kind of used to it, but I was just really hoping that the next president might actually be smarter than me. And you. And my neighbor who drinks beer all day and works on motorcycles and recently got his mentally-challenged girlfriend pregnant. You know?)

So anyway, I will fill out my change-of-address form, and in November, I'll vote for Hillary or Obama . . . whatever. But I won't be overly thrilled about it. And honestly, if McCain wins (proving this country's true colors yet again), it will still be better than what we've got now.

How's that for the world's most cynical win-win? Man, I'm getting old.

At last, the SXSW recap, part 1

[NOTE: In the interest of ever posting this damn thing, I'm going to put it up in segments. As I've noted to some of you, it's kind of turning into a Rolling Stone article. Here's my introduction and a recap of Day 1 (Wednesday). More to follow. . . .]

So, it may be a few weeks late, but here, finally, is my summary of what went down this year at the SXSW music festival. I'm not sure how interesting all of this is to people who've never been, but allow me to tempt you with some highlights:

*I met Frodo! Yes, I actually met Elijah Wood, and had a (very brief) conversation with him.
*I chatted with the lead singer of Vampire Weekend while he was scrounging through the remains of a greasy buffet that had been sitting out for several hours.
*I randomly met or ran into about 20 people from C'bus--kinda crazy.
*I discovered a new, unknown band that I really dig and have been listening to a lot since I got back. What band, you ask? Read on and see!

So yes, a few weeks ago I once again headed to Austin for South by Southwest. This was my third year, and the first time without my BFF and partner in crime Christine, who is taking a trip to Amsterdam in May and couldn't do both. (Hi Chris! I missed you!) Another thing that made this year quite different from previous years was that I had an "in"--a person I met there last year who has become a very good friend and whose job in the industry allows him certain privileges, which he kindly shared with me. (We also hung out quite a bit--I'll call him "S.") The thing about SXSW is, it's becoming so huge that even after dishing out $500 for a music badge, you often still can't get into some of the bigger shows--you have to have a special pass or be on the guest list. So, there were several shows I would not have been able to see, even with the badge, were it not for him--thanks so much, again, S!

Another thing that struck me about this year was how much easier it was to navigate everything, now that I'm pretty familiar with the lay of the land. Something you should know about SXSW is that the navigation of it is a skill that can only be truly honed by going there and doing it. There are so many web sites now describing the whole festival in detail, providing maps, and offering tips and tricks on what to do and where to go, but you really have to experience it to understand how everything works.

The best thing I have to say about this year: I've gotten a lot better at finding the right balance between planning and going with the flow, which is the key to getting the most enjoyment possible out of the whole thing. I've also gotten better at taking notes. And after going over them, I find that this year, there were around 12 solid bands that provided an in-some-way-transcendental experience for me. I know that that might not seem like much from a multi-day festival featuring over 1700 bands, who played from 11:00 a.m. until ??? in the morning, but believe me, that's a lot of music to feel that strongly about, considering the environment from which one has to pare it down. I wandered in and out of a lot of venues over the course of four days, and I saw many bits and pieces of bands I'd never heard of and don't remember now. Some of it was quite good, and a lot of it was truly awful, which is actually the best part of the festival for me--the adventurousness of it. Anymore, I like to spend my time about 50-50, with half the time spent at shows I'd planned to see and the other half spent either wandering around looking for new stuff or checking out stuff that had been recommended to me by others. And this year, that's pretty much what I did. It worked out well. (I did make one major logistical error, which I'll discuss later.)

Another thing that struck me this year--I think I finally have a solid appreciation of what the bands who play SXSW have to deal with. First off, going in, they have both an advantage and a disadvantage. The advantage is that it's a huge party, with the inherent party atmosphere--lots of drinking, lots of people determined to have a good time . . . and this is a great thing, especially for the lesser-known bands who may find themselves playing in front of a larger (and drunker, more appreciative) audience than they've ever had before. Conversely, they may be playing for, like, three people who aren't even all that interested. And then, for the bigger or more hyped bands, it may be the case that a lot of people have arranged their whole schedule around seeing them, and sometimes these people have waited in the same venue for several hours, or sometimes all day, to see them. Big-time pressure, and rightly so, from a fan's standpoint--after all that, it better be a damn good show! So, it can be a difficult field for the bands to navigate as well.

Anyway, on to the breakdown of What Actually Happened:

Wednesday
My first day in Austin started off slow. I wandered around in the morning, getting reacquainted with the city, or at least the part of the city that hosts most of the SXSW goings-on, that being Sixth Street and surrounds. I also took the opportunity to get a good solid brunch in my tummy, in preparation for the day's festivities. (Believe it or not, one of the most difficult things to do at SXSW is to find the time and place to eat properly. I actually ate two hot dogs over the course of four days, out of desperation and necessity . . . I DO NOT eat hot dogs. Usually.)

I almost missed my first show, the Evangelicals, completely. (Wow, they've got some freaky looking album covers. I didn't know that until I found their MySpace page--I've only ever downloaded their MP3s.) Right off the bat, I got my venues mixed up, and so I wound up watching some other band and not realizing until about two or three songs in that it wasn't the Evagelicals. (This is a somewhat annoying feature of SXSW--the names of the bands aren't usually indicated anywhere in the venue. You have to know what the band looks like to know if you're at the right spot.) I did manage to eventually make it to the right venue . . . in time for exactly two songs, and I was so far away from the stage that I couldn't really enjoy the show. So, that was a bust.

My next endeavor was much more successful. I headed over to a day show hosted by donewaiting.com, a Columbus-based music blog run by a bunch of folks from--you guessed it!--Columbus. They hosted Joseph Arthur, and it was a great show. Not only did I get to meet a lot of people, I was standing about 15 feet away from J.A. during the whole gig, outside on a deck on a beautiful day with the sun shining down, drinking free PBRs. A proper kick-off, finally! After the show, I hooked up with some of the people I'd met and walked . . . man, I'm not even sure where we walked to, some far-away venue that I'd never been to before. They knew some guy who was doing a solo acoustic gig at this venue, but . . . he was awful. After about two songs, I claimed a prior engagement and ducked out.

Not actually having a prior engagement, I wandered around for a bit. I remember feeling extremely pleasant (and, O.K., a little buzzed) as I just kind of meandered from one venue to the next, slowly making my way back to the hotel with no real plan in mind. I know a lot of people wouldn't really enjoy this--wandering around by oneself through what is essentially the Mardi Gras of music--but I loved it. I felt very free, acutely aware of this sense of endless possibility. I like not knowing exactly what I'm going to do or what's going to happen. I didn't see any remarkable music during this particular meander, but it was very SXSWish and fun.

Eventually, I ran into a guy I'd met earlier and went for a BBQ dinner with him and his buddy. Then back to the hotel (solo again) to rest for a few minutes and change for the evening.

That evening was when I made my major logistical error, although I still contend that it wasn't really my fault. (I consider the Evangelicals mix-up a minor error.) One band I've really grown to dig over the past year or so is Okkervil River, and I was determined to see them even though they were playing at the Austin Music Hall, which requires a taxi ride to and from. Shows requiring taxi rides have to be considered carefully--is the extra travel time worth it? Will you be able to get a ride back? This can be tricky depending on where you're going and what time you're coming back--I've heard horror stories of people wandering around for hours looking for taxis or walking 10 miles back from a show at 3:00 in the morning. (I'm not stupid enough to get myself into a situation where I'm a single woman doing this! Stop worrying, Dad!) But I figured the Music Hall was safe--there would surely be plenty of taxis there on a busy night with a big show going on. So, off I went.

Just so no one freaks out, I'll let it be known right now that I had no trouble getting a taxi back. My logistical error was in going to the show in the first place. Unbeknownst to me, the Okkervil River set was only a small part of a much bigger event going on, some kind of awards show. I got in with no problem, but then I had to wait through some other crappy band, along with a bunch of speeches and promotional announcements, before Okkervil River finally came on and played . . . two songs. Yes, two songs, total. The rest of the night was a tribute to Roky Erickson, which quickly turned really campy and cheesy and annoying. So, back I went to Sixth Street, determined to somehow salvage the night.

My plan was to cap off the evening with the Lemonheads show. This would be a total nostalgia trip--they were one of my absolute favorite bands in the early '90s, and I'd never seen them live. In retrospect, I should have planned my night around making sure I saw this show . . . but it didn't work out that way. I got back to town and headed to Emo's, which in and of itself is a problem. Emo's actually has four venues, with two of them connected and the other two completely separate--hence, three different possible lines outside the shows. I thought the Lemonheads were playing at the connected venue, which was perfect--as it happens, I had a special VIP pass for Emo's that enabled me to get in the "secret alley door" of the connected venue. So, in I went, and immediately bumped into the guy I'd had dinner with earlier. (This wasn't a total coincidence--I had known he was going to be there. He'd lost his buddy at this point, although I'm not sure if that was accidental or he'd ditched his buddy on purpose because he wanted to hang out with me. At any rate, I wasn't interested in anything besides hanging out.) So, this guy (Eric, by the way) and I headed to the side of Emo's where we thought the Lemonheads were playing . . . and I had a moment of deja vu as I watched the band for a few moments and realized that this was not the Lemonheads. Bummer. Nor did we have the time wrong, unfortunately--once again, I was at the wrong venue. The Lemonheads were playing at the separate Emo's venue across the street. We went out and tried to get in, but they were at capacity, and my VIP pass didn't work at this venue. So, we stood outside and listened to a couple of songs (the venue was a tent, basically, so you could hear everything totally clearly from outside), but it just wasn't the same as being there, you know? So, back we went to the main Emo's, where my VIP pass allowed Eric and I to see the last couple songs of the Black Keys set, which was pretty cool. Thus concluded my first evening--I headed back to the hotel afterward, thoroughly exhausted.

To be continued. . . .

A good excuse, for a change

So, this is just to let everyone know that the SXSW recap will not be posted today, surprise surprise. At least I have a good excuse this time. I have a short presentation to give at work tomorrow, and prepping for it is proving more time-consuming than I thought it would. Also, out of utter necessity (involving the IRS!! Scary, huh?), I had to go through and organize some paperwork this weekend. It's always something, isn't it? And unfortunately, I still don't feel all that organized. . . . Anyway, after tomorrow, things will calm down at work, and the RWBF will be out of town most of the week, so I will post the recap soon--no excuses. Please check back in soon. (And I realize that after the long delay, this better be a hell of a recap! I'll do my best.)

RWBF Update

So, I guess it's about time for my monthly post, huh? Yes, I'm very aware of the fact that my posts have been unusually sporadic for a while now . . . but at least I haven't abandoned the blog completely. I've considered it--I've been working on some other writing, and there just doesn't seem to be time/energy for everything I'm trying to accomplish outside of work. But, the thought of giving up the blog makes me sad. I've been blogging for almost four years now (!), and it's nice to have that outlet, a place to get things off my chest and share and hopefully entertain you all a little, now and then. So, I'm just trying to get comfortable with the fact that I will never be a daily blogger or overly prolific at it, at least not for as long as I have a full-time job and a boyfriend who practically lives here. . . .

Speaking of which, I know I owe an update on the RWBF, especially after the ambiguousness of the last post about him. Well, believe it or not, we did finally have that talk, before I left for vacation . . . and it was really good. And then I left for Austin, and he must have missed me, because when I got back he was here all week, every night, for six nights in a row, until yesterday when he really had to go up north to check on his house. And he's coming back today. And we've been getting along really well, having a lot of fun the way we did at the beginning of the relationship, and not worrying about things so much.

Quite the turn-around, yes? Well, a big part of it has to do with me, actually. I had something of a revelation when we were talking before I went on vacation . . . and I realized I was "acting like a girl," for lack of a better, nonsexist description. Somewhere along the line, I started pushing the relationship along faster than it should have been going . . . why? To what end was I pushing? I have no idea. I also started expecting him to read my mind (as evidenced by the classic "What's wrong?" "Nothing" conversational exchanges we were having). I also got suspicious of all the time he spent working, although he'd given me no reason to--he still called and texted me all the time, and he IS in sales, after all; of course he has to take clients to dinner and whatnot. (This last issue particularly bothered me--I mean, it bothered me that it bothered me. I of all people should be able to understand the whole career-oriented thing . . . ! And I've never been the jealous type, so I don't know where THAT was coming from at all.) So, for once I am acknowledging myself as part of the problem here. Personal growth--yay!

By the way, I should mention that he didn't point any of this out to me--I came to these conclusions myself. This happened while we were having our talk. We were out at a restaurant, and he was sitting across from me, and I was trying to explain why I'd been unhappy--and then I saw the look on his face. It was just . . . earnest, and caring, and genuinely confused, and a little sad. There were no pretentions, no furtiveness, he just totally didn't understand what I was saying. And that's when all of the above started to occur to me. . . .

Of course, I'm not saying that everything should be put on me. There is still the issue that he's not always the best listener . . . he's a classic alpha male in almost every way, and that's definitely one of them. So, I'm being much more adamant and direct about MAKING him listen, and it seems to be working--he really is trying. (This is a technique, by the way, that I probably should have employed with my ex-husband. Conservative guys aren't the only ones who sometimes aren't the greatest listeners . . . I hate to keep rolling out the sexist stereotypes, but A LOT of guys have this problem. Trying to find a single guy who doesn't is a pretty ambitious endeavor.) And then there's the whole politics thing. We've both gotten a lot better at talking about stuff we're obviously going to disagree on, and dropping it at the right time. And sometimes, we find some common ground. The other morning, he even made fun of Bush--twice!

Communication really is the key to everything in life, isn't it?

Of course, I still can't predict (nor am I trying to) what's going to happen in the long run. For all I know, our vast differences will still prove insurmountable, eventually. But it's all about the journey anyway, and for now, the journey is fun again.

[Note: I am still working on my SXSW recap . . . hope to post that soon, before everyone totally loses interest, including me.]

Drama, drama, drama

[NOTE: This post has a moderate dad warning. I'd say orange.]

So, as many of you know, the RWBF and I have been going through a rough patch for a couple of weeks now. Actually, "rough patch" is a silly, stupid euphemism. Mainly, I've been super pissed at him off and on, interspersed with nagging annoyance at him, interspersed with missing him intensely. How's that for a recipe for disaster? Meanwhile, he's been typically oblivious . . . sometimes, I am convinced, deliberately so. Such is the stereotypical, drama-filled, completely unhealthy dynamic we've managed to establish at this, the dreaded 5-month milestone in our relationship. Yay, us.

Several times over the past few weeks, I have come THISCLOSE to breaking up with him. When I have time on my own to think, which I've had quite a bit of lately, a thousands reasons why nag at me incessantly. The whole politics thing. The fact that we have almost nothing in common. His job and his obsession with it and the overwhelming machismo that defines his industry and has irrevocably rubbed off on him. The fact that everything about me is foreign to him as well--he's never dated a liberal before, either, or a feminist, or . . . anyone remotely resembling me. My perception of his romantic life before me centers on a string of "Housewives of Orange County"-type women, except even worse--more like "Housewives of Cleveland." One of the things that first attracted me to him was his insistence that he was completely bored with the kinds of women he'd been dating and wanted to meet someone totally new and different and challenging . . . and that was me, and it WAS new and different and challenging, for both of us. For a while.

Now, though. . . .

The problem with "challenging" is that it seems to be directly correlated to the physical relationship. As long as the latter is fantastic, the former is exciting, and can be kind of a catalyst for everything. But when the initial chemistry starts to burn itself out, "challenging" can quickly become something else--annoying, frustrating, infuriating. Too much to deal with. A definite reason to break things off.

And thus have I resolved myself, a few times now. Most recently, last weekend. First, a little background--for the past three weeks or so, we really haven't seen each other very much, mostly because of his job. He's been traveling a lot, and when he's been here in town, he's had clients to entertain. (This situation in and of itself has been a point of contention, as you might suspect. I'm not going to get into all of that, though--suffice to say that it's one issue of many.) Anyway, last weekend he was going to come over on Saturday night, and we were going to talk. And I was going to bring up . . . everything, including my increasing feeling that we should just rip off the band-aid and be done with it. But then, he got here, and we hadn't seen each other in several days . . . and it was Saturday night, after all, and it seemed stupid to waste a weekend night together arguing endlessly, toward an inevitable result that neither of us was quite ready for, and . . . well, we didn't talk. I can't deny that there's a certain benefit to going a while without seeing each other, which I don't think I need to spell out.

So, here we are, a week later. I haven't seen him since he left last Sunday morning. He was in Indiana and Cleveland for most of the week, and then we got hit with the great blizzard of '08, which complicated things. Once again, I've had a week to let the creeping doubts seep in, and by last night I was once again fed up. I had one of those horrific nights when I was just obsessing, thinking about him, getting angry and upset, and totally determined to NOT call him or respond to him until I was firm in my decision to just break it off.

So this morning he texts me at 8:30. I don't respond. He texts me again at 10:00. I respond, but not in an overly friendly way. He immediately calls. I don't pick up. He leaves a message, wanting me to call. I don't call. An hour later he calls again. Again, I don't pick up. He doesn't leave a message this time.

So, can you guess what happened next? I called him, of course. Drama, drama, drama.

He's coming over tomorrow, and we've renewed our plan to talk. But of course, once again, we haven't seen each other in a week. How much faith do I have in my resolve?

I'll let you all guess.

335 days, 16 hours, 28 minutes

So, some of you might recognize what this post title refers to, but for those of you who don't, click here.

I must admit, this time around, I'm less excited about who the next president is going to be than I am about the fact that it won't be him. How glorious the day will be when there is no fear of innocently turning on NPR in the morning and hearing that man commenting on Castro stepping down from power:

"This gives the international community an opportunity to . . . um . . . establish . . . to establish institutions to . . . um . . . ."

My God, spit it out, man! And make some small effort to make your subjects and verbs agree while you're at it! Please?

Actually, it's kind of weird to hear W speak these days. There's something different in his voice that's kind of pathetic. He still has that annoying defensive tone that he's always had, but now, there's also something defeatist there, something sad and resigned. He also sounds like he's just dutifully reading off a script (which he still manages to screw up somehow, frequently), blindly reciting words written by someone else, talking about stuff he doesn't really care about. In some ways, it's more disturbing to hear a president talk like that than it is to hear him adamantly and passionately espousing dangerous and very wrong policies. I mean, who would you rather have in charge--a crazy person, or a lobotomized person? It's kind of a tough call.

I also have to wonder if it's possible that W has entered a period of self-reflection, if it's starting to dawn on him what a failure and shambles his presidency has been, and if that's what's driving his new demeanor. I never would have thought him capable of self-reflection, but I guess anyone can grow. (?) Unfortunately, at this point, there's not really much for him to grow into. . . .

One thing's for sure--the RWBF and I are not going to be hashing out these issues any time soon. Recently we made a pact--for the next several months leading up to the election, he is not to say anything about Hillary, and I'm not to say anything about Bush. (And I haven't even made up my mind about who I'm going to support--I'm just tired of his endless cracks about Hillary. Obama doesn't seem to bother him so much.) Such are the little deals we have to make with each other in order to successfully navigate the landscape of our relationship. If we didn't, we would no doubt have endless repeats of "Reagan Sunday," a day a few weeks ago where we spent the morning arguing about Reagan and the afternoon not speaking to each other. It's not fun and it accomplishes nothing, so what's the point?

Another rough one . . .

O.K., trying to sneak in a quick post before the RWBF gets here. We are going on a kamikaze Valentine's date--meaning, neither of us made reservations anywhere, so we're just going out to hit the town hard and find somewhere to eat before the end of the night. That is our mission. (Yes, the RWBF was in the military. It comes out in little, funny ways.)

Anyhoo, I probably have a little bit of time, because the RWBF is always late. Hey, no one's perfect. It doesn't really bother me, because I'm not the most prompt person, either. Generally, he's not majorly late, and I've easily adapted--whatever time he gives me, I automatically tack on about 20 minutes, and it all works out fine. (We're talking about when he's coming over to my place, by the way, not when we're meeting out somewhere. Actually, that never really happens--he always comes to get me. So, never mind.) 

He's going to be here momentarily, though, so I have to keep this short. Just wanted everyone to know that they should stay tuned--I'm trying to pull myself out of my recent bout of writer's block, and the only way to do that is to write openly and frequently. So, please excuse the probable lack of polish on the next few entries as I try to write my way out of this slump.

Blast (or something) from the past

So, tonight I was cleaning out some computer files, and I came across this random document containing a blog post I started to write . . . a year ago? More? Actually, I must have written it in the last 7 months, in the time since I got the new computer, but still, it was a while back. I only vaguely remember writing this post, and I don't remember where I was going with it (as it's obviously incomplete). It's interesting for me to think about what I might have been doing when I wrote this--like, was it on a weekend or a weeknight? What was I listening to? Was I watching Law & Order while writing? (I do that sometimes.) That's one of the great things about writing--it helps you track your life.

Anyhoo, without further ado, here is the entry:

Things that irked me tonight:

1. Wilco song as a jingle. (Some car commercial, I think.)
2. Scott Baio is 45 and single.
3. Someone on the VH1 show "Charm School" has the exact same comforter as me. Yeah, they shop at Target too.
4. I have so much to do, but I can't stop watching the World Series of Pop Culture.
5. Transformers trailers. Understand, this is a Michael "King of Crap" Bay film based on a TOY. Yeah. (Slightly even more heinous than basing a movie on a video game.)
6. God, I don't want to do laundry.

So, probably not all that interesting to anyone but me, but there it is--random thoughts that were going through my head at some point about 7 months ago. I often jot down random thoughts like this, but I generally incorporate them into a blog entry or an e-mail and then delete them. This one I just let hang out there . . . and it's kind of fun to come across stuff like this at some point in the future and think back.

Yes, writers are easily amused.

Now that I've thought about it . . .

So, tonight I saw a commercial that really irked me. A man was driving down a road at night while a voiceover droned in the background. The gist of the message was something like this [actually, it's pretty much word-for-word]:

"These days, we are addicted to immediate gratification. [Dramatic pause while car swooshes around a curve.] Don't like your nose? Get a new one. [A creepy caricature of a guy with a humongous nose floats across the screen, followed by a picture of the same guy with a new, regular-sized nose.] Don't like your job? Get a new one. [Picture of someone working at some desk job.] Don't like your spouse? Get a new one. [Picture of a woman in a bridal gown. All of these pictures are superimposed over the car driving along the road.]

Then, the kicker line: "Whatever happened to commitment?" The car continues breezing along the highway, and maybe they talked about the car a little at this point, since this was apparently supposed to be a commercial for said car.

Right as the commercial ended, some words appeared on the screen: "Think About It." So I did. The first thing I thought was, "Who the fuck makes a commitment to their nose?"

O.K., first off, the text of the commercial itself makes no sense. The whole nose thing, obviously. But are they really trying to imply that switching jobs indicates a lack of commitment? So, if you really hate your job, you should stay there anyway, out of some sense of "commitment" to the company? No one should ever leave to, say, find a better job? Go back to school? Start their own business? What kind of commie commercial is this?

Then there's the whole "find a new spouse" thing. I can guarantee, right there they alienated anyone going through a divorce right now. From experience, I can tell you that even the most mutual, uncomplicated divorce is still gut-wrenchingly painful for the normal person, quickie ridiculous celebrity breakups aside. When you've split from your spouse, about the last thing on your mind is "finding a new one." Luckily (?), divorce is like childbirth (or so I'm told)--you eventually forget the intensity of the pain so that you're able to get involved in a relationship (or get pregnant) again. Still, for folks going through a divorce right now, this commercial is completely insulting and off-putting.

The big question, though, is . . . what exactly are we supposed to "think about"? It's a friggin' car commercial! The logical last line to this whole joke would have been, "Don't like your car? Get a new one! This one!" What are we supposed to be showing "commitment" to here? Apparently, not the company that makes whatever car we're currently driving, unless its the carmaker of the commercial, which, ironically, I can't even remember (nor can I remember what kind of car they were attempting to advertise, not being a "car person").

If they're trying to communicate the idea (which I have to assume they are) that their company stays committed to a certain way of making cars, they went about it totally wrong. The whole text of the commercial should have been something like, "These days, some companies are addicted to instant gratification. They cut corners. They take shortcuts. But not us. Blah blah blah." You get the idea. About the last thing anyone trying to sell a product in a consumption-based economy should do is admonish people for seeking immediate gratification--that's just stupid. And when said admonishment is dressed up as knee-jerk family values propaganda (which, I have to point out, doesn't make any sense even apart from this particular context), it's insulting as well.

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.