[*Note: This phrase has become my go-to exclamation for whenever something is outrageously, shockingly expensive or whenever my financial stupidity far exceeds its usual level. So, you kind of know where this post is going.]
As you know, I have written before about the inherent dangers of text messaging. Yesterday, I encountered an entirely new hazard--financial ruin. O.K., not ruin, actually, but stress and strain for sure. This happened when I logged on to my cell phone account and discovered that my text message bill for the month of April came to . . . $100!! This is on top of my usual bill of about $60. Shocked yet fascinated, I pulled up my itemized bill and was amazed to discover that in a single month, I had sent and received over 600 text messages. WTF?? I had no idea I was texting that often. It was a real eye-opener.
So today, I did what I should have done a long time ago, which is to sign up for unlimited text messaging for one low monthly fee. ("Low" is relative, by the way. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting low monthly fee'd to death.) But it's too late for this month's bill--$100, down the drain.
In the meantime, I also found out yesterday that my work phone (the Treo), which I thought had unlimited text messaging (and which I've been trying to get people to text to rather than my cell phone), does not, or at least, it didn't--I'm trying to remedy that too. I guess it's a lucky thing that people weren't using my work number during the month of April--I doubt a $100 text-messaging bill would have gone over too well with the finance people.
So anyhoo, all of this has led me once again to contemplate the role of text messaging in the dating scene of today. It truly is a brave new world. Before my divorce, I had never sent a single text message, but as soon as I started dating, I realized it's THE form of communication with new people you meet these days. Who knew? And it's not just a trend among the young, either--guys my age do it as well. (O.K., in reality, the closest I've gotten to someone "my age" is 34, but close enough, yes?) And I have to say, at first I was pretty resistant. Why go through the annoying process of punching all these little phone buttons (and learning a whole new language--T9! Some of you know what I mean!) when it would be much easier to just call the person or, if an immediate response isn't needed anyway, e-mail them.
But there are some definite advantages to texting that have become apparent to me as I've gotten more into it. The most obvious one is that, unlike on a phone call, you don't have to respond right away--you can let the phone just sit there while you go about your business, and you can answer when convenient. A happy side effect of this is that you can think about your response more--you have time to come up with something witty and clever before answering. (No more thinking of the perfect thing to say after it's too late!) This explains why it's such a hot phenomenon in the dating world--you always want to come off as witty and clever to people you're dating, right? Now you can! (Of course, the converse is true as well: If someone takes a while to text me back, and the response is still dull, unintelligible, etc., a big red flag goes up with me, and I tend to kind of write the person off. Harsh, but true.)
Another advantage is that you can be much more . . . flirtatious, sooner, in text messages than you would be on the phone. Things you might be hesitant to actually say to a person you can put in a text, with a little wink-wink icon . . . you can get away with a lot this way. The recipient can't really tell if you're joking, teasing, whatever, when they don't have the tone of your voice to go on, and it just makes things more interesting at times.
Anyway, since I also text people I'm not dating, here's some info--for now, use my personal cell phone number, not my Treo number, for texting. If this changes (again!), I'll let you know.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
At last, I can rest easy . . .
The mystery is solved.
I love the picture of the guy pumping his fist. What do you think is going through his mind? Pick one:
A) Yay, I'm a father!
B) Yay, millions are coming my way!
Please please please let this story go away now.
I love the picture of the guy pumping his fist. What do you think is going through his mind? Pick one:
A) Yay, I'm a father!
B) Yay, millions are coming my way!
Please please please let this story go away now.
It's Worse Than We Thought
My favorite part is the ominous "7 DAYS" at the end, just like in The_Ring. Thanks much to boingboing for this image.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Diversion
So, today is one of those free weekend days that I love--no committments, nothing specific to do. I know this is not true today for a lot of you, as it's Easter--lots of family dinners and such going on. But truthfully, Easter just isn't even on my radar anymore. As an atheist, I sort of gave up on it a long time ago. I would prefer a more paganesque, spring-welcoming celebration . . . and it's kind of hard to get in the mood for that when it's 30 degrees outside and cloudy with snow on the ground. So, today is just a me-day, which is perfectly fine (and much needed after all the traveling I've been doing).
On days like this, I like to break up my activities into segments--surf the Web for a while, do some cleaning, watch T.V. or read, do some more cleaning, write, etc., whatever the mood strikes. (The cleaning part I have to force a little, but it's direly necessary right now. I'm actually considering hiring a cleaning service . . . more on that later.)
So anyway, I was just poking around on the Web a while ago, and I found this quiz about opening lines in novels. And I was kind of intrigued--I like quizzes, and, as a former English major, I was curious about how much of that stuff might still be stuck in my head 15 years after graduation (!). So, I took the quiz and got 10 out of 13 correct, which I felt pretty good about. It's nice to know that I have managed to retain a certain portion of my education despite years of brain-cell killing recreational activity. I will divulge that I missed questions 8, 11, and 13, and one of those was a sci-fi question, which I don't feel badly about missing. There were 2 others that I kind of had to use process of elimination and guess at, but the rest I knew outright. It helps that most of the lines are pretty iconic--you may very well know the answer even if you've never read the novel. So, if you want to kill a few minutes, give it a shot.
(Sorry about the fluff post, by the way. I'm working on something else--stay tuned.)
On days like this, I like to break up my activities into segments--surf the Web for a while, do some cleaning, watch T.V. or read, do some more cleaning, write, etc., whatever the mood strikes. (The cleaning part I have to force a little, but it's direly necessary right now. I'm actually considering hiring a cleaning service . . . more on that later.)
So anyway, I was just poking around on the Web a while ago, and I found this quiz about opening lines in novels. And I was kind of intrigued--I like quizzes, and, as a former English major, I was curious about how much of that stuff might still be stuck in my head 15 years after graduation (!). So, I took the quiz and got 10 out of 13 correct, which I felt pretty good about. It's nice to know that I have managed to retain a certain portion of my education despite years of brain-cell killing recreational activity. I will divulge that I missed questions 8, 11, and 13, and one of those was a sci-fi question, which I don't feel badly about missing. There were 2 others that I kind of had to use process of elimination and guess at, but the rest I knew outright. It helps that most of the lines are pretty iconic--you may very well know the answer even if you've never read the novel. So, if you want to kill a few minutes, give it a shot.
(Sorry about the fluff post, by the way. I'm working on something else--stay tuned.)
Monday, April 02, 2007
Bounty
A kind of strange thing just happened. Today was gorgeous--warm, sunny, lots of birds out and about. After work, I broke out the capris to wear while walking Josie. We set out on a fantastic walk--started out on the bike path, veered out into the woods right along the river for a while, then back to the bike path, then finished with a romp through the cemetery. (Not as morbid as it sounds, by the way. It was still very light out, and Josie loves to run back and forth across the cemetery path, for some reason. Also, it's peaceful--naturally.)
Anyway, we got back, and I fed her and the cats. I was starting to clean up the apartment a bit when I noticed, for some reason, something in the back pocket of these capris I hadn't worn since last fall. It was a $10 bill. Woo hoo! There's nothing quite like finding money in a pants pocket to make your day, even if it's not that much (and especially if it's more than a buck or two).
Then, however, I found myself just staring at this $10 bill, and I started feeling kind of gloopy. Gloopy, by the way, is an odd mix of nostalgia and guilt that I feel on occasion and have so dubbed. The $10 made me feel nostalgia about (not for, by the way--not like I'd want to go back) the days in my life in which $10 would have been a very big deal. And there were many, many days like that. The $10 also made me feel guilt--guilt about the fact that $10 actually doesn't make any difference to me anymore. This $10, that represents an amount more than some people in the world take home in a week, doesn't even show up on my radar, at all. Is this an American thing, this guilt? Should it be an American thing? But then, what can we do about it? Besides trying to make the world a better place by ________________________ [fill in your favorite cause here]. All this stuff was running through my head, triggered by nothing more than that $10 bill. (I have no solutions or answers to these questions, by the way--I just find the thought-triggering process interesting.)
On the other hand, that $10 will pay for lunch for a couple of days. So, woo-hoo, anyway.
Anyway, we got back, and I fed her and the cats. I was starting to clean up the apartment a bit when I noticed, for some reason, something in the back pocket of these capris I hadn't worn since last fall. It was a $10 bill. Woo hoo! There's nothing quite like finding money in a pants pocket to make your day, even if it's not that much (and especially if it's more than a buck or two).
Then, however, I found myself just staring at this $10 bill, and I started feeling kind of gloopy. Gloopy, by the way, is an odd mix of nostalgia and guilt that I feel on occasion and have so dubbed. The $10 made me feel nostalgia about (not for, by the way--not like I'd want to go back) the days in my life in which $10 would have been a very big deal. And there were many, many days like that. The $10 also made me feel guilt--guilt about the fact that $10 actually doesn't make any difference to me anymore. This $10, that represents an amount more than some people in the world take home in a week, doesn't even show up on my radar, at all. Is this an American thing, this guilt? Should it be an American thing? But then, what can we do about it? Besides trying to make the world a better place by ________________________ [fill in your favorite cause here]. All this stuff was running through my head, triggered by nothing more than that $10 bill. (I have no solutions or answers to these questions, by the way--I just find the thought-triggering process interesting.)
On the other hand, that $10 will pay for lunch for a couple of days. So, woo-hoo, anyway.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Holy Crap
As most of you know, I'm in NYC this week for work. So I get back from the office a little while ago after a long day of meetings, and I stop at the hotel bar for a beer to take to my room. I'm staying in Times Square, so maybe this shouldn't actually shock me, but the result of my bar visit? One Corona: $8.13. Thankfully, I didn't pay for it myself--thanks, Corporation!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Choices, choices
Still working on the SXSW recap . . . O.K., I'm lying. I haven't started it yet. But, I am planning on writing the whole thing this weekend. Right now, I'm still working on the mental recap, and spending a lot of time listening to some of the music we heard to trigger the creative juices. (A little glimpse into the writing process there, people.)
Anyway, one thing SXSW did for me this year was to plant the idea that I need to start going to more shows. Contrary to what some people think, Columbus is an actual city, and we get a lot of good acts coming through, and I almost never go. And there's just no excuse for that. I can afford it, I don't have to worry about finding a babysitter, and it's something I love--so what the hell is wrong with me? So, as much as I generally hate resolutions, I am resolving to go to more shows this year.
In that spirit, I just spent some time on the website of one of my favorite local venues, the Lifestyle_Communities_Pavilion. I know, the name sucks. It used to be called the PromoWest Pavilion, until, for some mysterious corporate branding-driven reason, they decided to name it after a condom instead. Still, it's a good place to see a show. They've got this cool rotating stage that can be set up for the inside venue during the winter and the outside venue during the summer. The inside venue has good acoustics, and the outside venue is a small, sloping hill, so that you can see the stage pretty well no matter where you're sitting. It's a nice size, too--not too big, not too small--and they get some great acts at times.
Anyway, I haven't been there in a while, so I decided to check out who's coming through in the next few weeks. And I gotta say, after looking at the lineup, I can kind of see why they named it "Lifestyle Communities"--they're pretty much all over the place in terms of audience appeal. Here, for example, is a slice of what they've got going on in the near future:
4/20: Lucinda Williams
4/21: Upper Arlington High School Prom
4/24: Taylor Hicks
4/28: Dublin Coffman High School Prom
5/2: Ziggy Marley
5/5: Bo Kimly's Extreme Fighting Challenge 17
5/12: Hilliard Davidson High School Prom
5/21: Mastodon--Against Me!--Cursive
5/28: Damien Rice
6/1: Insane Clown Posse
So, we've got three great shows, two really sucky shows, one show I've never heard of, three proms, and one bizarre rednecky event. (Like the color coding, there? Editors are big on that.) Apparently, they really are trying to cover all the lifestyle bases (as well as pull in some serious cash, with the proms and all). I'll be going to Lucinda Williams for sure, and I might try to catch Damien Rice. Ziggy Marley I'll pass on--I heard enough of his dad when I was in Africa to last a lifetime, and they sound pretty similar. (Seriously, in Botswana, you can't go a day without hearing Bob Marley blasting out of some store or bar or bus. I like him and all, but geesh. There are other reggae artists out there, people of Botswana!)
Bo Kimly's Extreme Fighting Challenge 17? I'll probably pass on that one too. I have managed to live my life without seeing the first 16 Extreme Fighting Challenges, after all.
Anyway, one thing SXSW did for me this year was to plant the idea that I need to start going to more shows. Contrary to what some people think, Columbus is an actual city, and we get a lot of good acts coming through, and I almost never go. And there's just no excuse for that. I can afford it, I don't have to worry about finding a babysitter, and it's something I love--so what the hell is wrong with me? So, as much as I generally hate resolutions, I am resolving to go to more shows this year.
In that spirit, I just spent some time on the website of one of my favorite local venues, the Lifestyle_Communities_Pavilion. I know, the name sucks. It used to be called the PromoWest Pavilion, until, for some mysterious corporate branding-driven reason, they decided to name it after a condom instead. Still, it's a good place to see a show. They've got this cool rotating stage that can be set up for the inside venue during the winter and the outside venue during the summer. The inside venue has good acoustics, and the outside venue is a small, sloping hill, so that you can see the stage pretty well no matter where you're sitting. It's a nice size, too--not too big, not too small--and they get some great acts at times.
Anyway, I haven't been there in a while, so I decided to check out who's coming through in the next few weeks. And I gotta say, after looking at the lineup, I can kind of see why they named it "Lifestyle Communities"--they're pretty much all over the place in terms of audience appeal. Here, for example, is a slice of what they've got going on in the near future:
4/20: Lucinda Williams
4/21: Upper Arlington High School Prom
4/24: Taylor Hicks
4/28: Dublin Coffman High School Prom
5/2: Ziggy Marley
5/5: Bo Kimly's Extreme Fighting Challenge 17
5/12: Hilliard Davidson High School Prom
5/21: Mastodon--Against Me!--Cursive
5/28: Damien Rice
6/1: Insane Clown Posse
So, we've got three great shows, two really sucky shows, one show I've never heard of, three proms, and one bizarre rednecky event. (Like the color coding, there? Editors are big on that.) Apparently, they really are trying to cover all the lifestyle bases (as well as pull in some serious cash, with the proms and all). I'll be going to Lucinda Williams for sure, and I might try to catch Damien Rice. Ziggy Marley I'll pass on--I heard enough of his dad when I was in Africa to last a lifetime, and they sound pretty similar. (Seriously, in Botswana, you can't go a day without hearing Bob Marley blasting out of some store or bar or bus. I like him and all, but geesh. There are other reggae artists out there, people of Botswana!)
Bo Kimly's Extreme Fighting Challenge 17? I'll probably pass on that one too. I have managed to live my life without seeing the first 16 Extreme Fighting Challenges, after all.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
What's in a Name?
O.K., here's something new--for the first time, I'm going to mention my real name (not my Blogger name) in my blog. It's necessary for this little story. You'll see.
So, my name is Heather, in case there's anyone out there reading this who doesn't know. I've always liked my name, and I think it suits me. It doesn't even bother me that all the famous Heathers--Heather Locklear, Heather Thomas, Heather Mills--tend to be blond and a little . . . bimboesque. Nor did it bother me when the movie "Heathers" came out, depicting all of us as evil, conniving social climbers. Doesn't matter. I am my own Heather.
I've always been aware, of course, that my name is also a flower and a color--kind of a pretty, greyish purple. In fact, I own a few heather-colored items of clothing. I can live with my name being a color, but now things have gone too far. Now, apparently, my name is also an adjective. Walking through Target yesterday, I noticed a display of shirts labeled "heathered tees."
Of course, I had to stop and check this out. The shirts were not all a pretty, greyish purple--they came in a wide variety of colors. So what, exactly, made them "heathered," and more importantly, who decided this was even a word? What did it mean? I examined the shirts. The only thing different about them that I could see was that they were all kind of pre-faded out. Was that it? Great. Apparently, if something comes pre-faded, it is now referred to as "heathered." This makes no sense to me, and I feel kind of strangely, personally offended.
Advertisers are ruining the language, people. This must stop.
So, my name is Heather, in case there's anyone out there reading this who doesn't know. I've always liked my name, and I think it suits me. It doesn't even bother me that all the famous Heathers--Heather Locklear, Heather Thomas, Heather Mills--tend to be blond and a little . . . bimboesque. Nor did it bother me when the movie "Heathers" came out, depicting all of us as evil, conniving social climbers. Doesn't matter. I am my own Heather.
I've always been aware, of course, that my name is also a flower and a color--kind of a pretty, greyish purple. In fact, I own a few heather-colored items of clothing. I can live with my name being a color, but now things have gone too far. Now, apparently, my name is also an adjective. Walking through Target yesterday, I noticed a display of shirts labeled "heathered tees."
Of course, I had to stop and check this out. The shirts were not all a pretty, greyish purple--they came in a wide variety of colors. So what, exactly, made them "heathered," and more importantly, who decided this was even a word? What did it mean? I examined the shirts. The only thing different about them that I could see was that they were all kind of pre-faded out. Was that it? Great. Apparently, if something comes pre-faded, it is now referred to as "heathered." This makes no sense to me, and I feel kind of strangely, personally offended.
Advertisers are ruining the language, people. This must stop.
Predawn Surreal Dumpster Diver
O.K., so blogging from the Treo in Austin didn't exactly work out. When I devised this ambitious plan, I failed to take two factors into account:
1) We were way too busy and/or drunk most of the time for me to be able to blog; and
2) Unless you have fingers the size of rice grains, it's really difficult and annoying to type much on those tiny Treo keyboards.
So, I am working on my SXSW recap, but it probably won't be ready until this weekend. Sorry to keep everyone in suspense! (By "everyone," I mean the two or three people who actually care about which bands they've never heard of we saw when.)
In the meantime, it's 6:00 in the morning, and here I am blogging. Why, you might ask? As most of you know, I'm not exactly a morning person. This particular morning, though, I woke up around 4:00 (after going to bed at 12:30) and just could not go back to sleep. I tossed around for about half an hour, then finally gave up and got up. Not sure what made me wake up so early, but I will admit that I was thinking about work and couldn't get it out of my head. Despite how it sounds, this is not a bad thing. I've woken up early before thinking about work, but it's always been due to stress. This time, it was due to something else--excitement, I guess. Great things happening there! But I don't want to write about work right now. What I want to write about is what waking up so early led me to witness outside my back door a short while ago.
So, I'm in the kitchen making coffee, and while I'm waiting for it to brew, I decide I might as well take the garbage out. I take the bag out of the can, slip on some shoes, and open the back door. Of course, the dog has to come with me. I walk out, and Josie rushes past me, sniffing around in the yard to the right. I head to the left toward the dumpster . . . and stop dead as I notice something climbing quickly out of it, apparently startled by my sudden appearance. At first I think it's a freakishly large cat, but the thought pops into my head that cats don't generally eat out of dumpsters. (They tend to be much more discerning than that.) Then I think--I kid you not--that it's a bear cub. That's what it looks like, all huge and hunched over. As it leaps to the ground, I suddenly realize what it is--the biggest fucking raccoon I've ever seen in my life (and I've seen me some raccoons).
Panic sets in. I have something of a phobia about raccoons. I won't deny that they're kind of cute, but they also tend to be mean, preternaturally smart, and frequently rabid. (O.K., I doubt that they are frequently rabid, but I have this irrational idea in my head that they are all just riddled with rabies.) And this one was huge--I'm not kidding, it must have been 25 or 30 pounds, maybe more? Apparently, these city dumpsters make for some good eating. (Frankly, I'm surprised it was even able to jump up into the dumpster.) But I wasn't afraid for myself--I was terrified for my dog. As this freakishly humongous raccoon waddled away, I had visions in my head of Josie catching sight of it and taking off after it, and then I thought about the awful, bloody battle that would ensue, a la Where the Red Fern Grows. (All right, so it was actually a cougar, not a raccoon, that killed Old Dan in that story, but a raccoon started the whole thing . . . I'm sorry, this is just how my mind works.)
Of course, all of my freaking out was completely ridiculous. The raccoon was long gone almost immediately (being a pretty fast waddler, as raccoons tend to be), and Josie didn't even notice it anyway. Still, I frantically called her name and herded her back into the house as fast as I could, keeping my body between her and the general departure direction of the raccoon; all the while, she's looking at me like I'm completely nuts. And I guess I was, a little--still thinking that we had barely escaped death by rabid dumpster diver.
See, I'm really not a morning person.
[Update: Upon leaving for work this morning, I realized that the raccoon was eating the old, stale pizza that I threw out myself last night. So, it was my own actions that summoned the huge, rabid beast. Must be more careful.]
1) We were way too busy and/or drunk most of the time for me to be able to blog; and
2) Unless you have fingers the size of rice grains, it's really difficult and annoying to type much on those tiny Treo keyboards.
So, I am working on my SXSW recap, but it probably won't be ready until this weekend. Sorry to keep everyone in suspense! (By "everyone," I mean the two or three people who actually care about which bands they've never heard of we saw when.)
In the meantime, it's 6:00 in the morning, and here I am blogging. Why, you might ask? As most of you know, I'm not exactly a morning person. This particular morning, though, I woke up around 4:00 (after going to bed at 12:30) and just could not go back to sleep. I tossed around for about half an hour, then finally gave up and got up. Not sure what made me wake up so early, but I will admit that I was thinking about work and couldn't get it out of my head. Despite how it sounds, this is not a bad thing. I've woken up early before thinking about work, but it's always been due to stress. This time, it was due to something else--excitement, I guess. Great things happening there! But I don't want to write about work right now. What I want to write about is what waking up so early led me to witness outside my back door a short while ago.
So, I'm in the kitchen making coffee, and while I'm waiting for it to brew, I decide I might as well take the garbage out. I take the bag out of the can, slip on some shoes, and open the back door. Of course, the dog has to come with me. I walk out, and Josie rushes past me, sniffing around in the yard to the right. I head to the left toward the dumpster . . . and stop dead as I notice something climbing quickly out of it, apparently startled by my sudden appearance. At first I think it's a freakishly large cat, but the thought pops into my head that cats don't generally eat out of dumpsters. (They tend to be much more discerning than that.) Then I think--I kid you not--that it's a bear cub. That's what it looks like, all huge and hunched over. As it leaps to the ground, I suddenly realize what it is--the biggest fucking raccoon I've ever seen in my life (and I've seen me some raccoons).
Panic sets in. I have something of a phobia about raccoons. I won't deny that they're kind of cute, but they also tend to be mean, preternaturally smart, and frequently rabid. (O.K., I doubt that they are frequently rabid, but I have this irrational idea in my head that they are all just riddled with rabies.) And this one was huge--I'm not kidding, it must have been 25 or 30 pounds, maybe more? Apparently, these city dumpsters make for some good eating. (Frankly, I'm surprised it was even able to jump up into the dumpster.) But I wasn't afraid for myself--I was terrified for my dog. As this freakishly humongous raccoon waddled away, I had visions in my head of Josie catching sight of it and taking off after it, and then I thought about the awful, bloody battle that would ensue, a la Where the Red Fern Grows. (All right, so it was actually a cougar, not a raccoon, that killed Old Dan in that story, but a raccoon started the whole thing . . . I'm sorry, this is just how my mind works.)
Of course, all of my freaking out was completely ridiculous. The raccoon was long gone almost immediately (being a pretty fast waddler, as raccoons tend to be), and Josie didn't even notice it anyway. Still, I frantically called her name and herded her back into the house as fast as I could, keeping my body between her and the general departure direction of the raccoon; all the while, she's looking at me like I'm completely nuts. And I guess I was, a little--still thinking that we had barely escaped death by rabid dumpster diver.
See, I'm really not a morning person.
[Update: Upon leaving for work this morning, I realized that the raccoon was eating the old, stale pizza that I threw out myself last night. So, it was my own actions that summoned the huge, rabid beast. Must be more careful.]
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
blog on the run
this is a test. I am on the road--well, ok, on the tarmack--on my way to sxsw in austin, and i'm attempting to blog from my treo. i've never done this before, but it would be cool if it works and I can give play by play updates during the course of the festival. pardon the lack of proper capitalization--haven't figured that out yet. let's see if this works!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
It's All About Me
Quiz: Are You a Woman Who Is Afraid to Commit?
Anyone even vaguely familiar with the Internet has seen those teaser article titles that inhabit the home screens of various service web sites--including the Hotmail home page, where my eye fell on the above article title the other day. Many of the articles, like this one, originate from the MSN Dating & Personals section. I'd like to say that I usually ignore these teaser titles, but, like American Idol and Deal or No Deal, they are a guilty pleasure time-suck that I sometimes indulge in. Inevitably, they are stupid and pointless, the Internet equivalent of the Cosmo articles and quizzes my friends and I would read in high school and college. You know the ones--10 Signs He's Into You, New Ways to Surprise Him in Bed, Is It Time to Dump Him? There was, and still is, an endless stream of such articles, often with the same material recycled over and over with different titles. And every single one of them--every one!--should, in reality, have the same title: Common Sense "Advice" You Should Be Able to Figure Out for Yourself if You Have Half a Brain. So, he won't return your calls and your friend saw him making out with another woman at the bar? Probably time to break up. Stuff like that.
The sex tips articles are the worst, and so insidious, because they still suck me in sometimes, when I should know so much better. I'll be standing in line at the grocery store, and there's Cosmo or Mademoiselle sitting on the rack, claiming to have new, exclusive sex info, and I'll find myself reaching for the magazine and checking out the article on the off chance that someone really has come up with something new. You know what? They haven't. Surprising him with lingerie is not "new." Changing positions is not "new." A lot of other things aren't "new" either, although for certain reasons*, I won't get into them here.
The quizzes still suck me in sometimes too, which is equally stupid, especially if you're not 14. At the end of these quizzes, they always list categories of personalities/tendencies/whatever, and you fall into one of these categories based on your answers to the quiz questions. And I can go straight to these categories, read them, and know instantly which one I fall into without ever answering the questions because, you know, I pretty much know myself. But I will sometimes take the quiz anyway, just to see if I'm right. I always am. (Another thing--the quizzes are designed in such a way that it is so obvious which answers are going to put you in which categories. If you wanted, you could totally manipulate your answers to put yourself in a different category from whom you really are. Of course, that would be pointless and a little sad, wouldn't it?)
Anyway. Case in point--I saw the quiz title above, Are You a Woman Who Is Afraid to Commit?, and I immediately thought, Yes! I am such a woman! No need to take this quiz! But of course, I took it anyway. Here are the statements one is required to contemplate to figure out one's committment-phobia level, along with my responses:
*Once the excitement of first romance has passed, you get bored in most of your relationships.
Oh, yes.
*You have a habit of dating unavailable men (married, involved with someone else, geographically or emotionally distant, etc.). ·
Um, yes.
*You have a long and elaborate list of requirements for your ideal mate.
Oh, most definitely.
*You consider your married friends’ relationships boring and feel that many of them have settled for too little.
Not so much. I like most of my friends' significant others, and most of them seem pretty happy--the ones who have made it, that is. But they're not me.
*You cultivate larger networks of friends and acquaintances at the expense of romantic relationships. ·
Again, not so much. I don't think I have more friends now than when I was married--in fact, I have fewer, since his friends pretty much blew me off. I do spend more time with my remaining friends, though, which is not a bad thing!
*You date more than one man at a time to prevent becoming dependent. ·
Well, I definitely date more than one man at a time, but is it to prevent becoming dependent? I don't think so--I don't tend to become "dependent" anyway. I think it's to prevent becoming bored.
*You have a difficult time getting over past boyfriends.
Um, definitely not. If anything, I get over them too quickly.
The really funny part of this quiz is the "advice" they give you if, in fact, you are afraid to commit. I won't regurgitate it all here, as it's a bunch of boring psycho-babble, but what it boils down to is, basically--lower your expectations. That's right! Just don't expect so much, suck it up, and be happy with . . . well, whomever! So simple!
Grrr. How about this advice? If you're afraid to commit, don't commit! At least, not until you're really ready to! Be happy with yourself, cherish your friends and family, be productive, live an active life, and don't worry about focusing all your energy on coupling up! Why, why is this idea so far out of the mainstream? Why does everything about society and women's magazines and T.V. shows and movies push us so consistently toward couplehood? At any cost? I just don't get it. Oh, I suppose there is some subconscious biological imperative at work, but really, isn't it time to move beyond that, people? Evolve already!
O.K., enough ranting. (Sorry, got a little carried away there.) I'm not saying I want to be single forever. My plan is, when I'm around 60 or so, I'll find a nice, interesting widower who has a dog and loves to travel and has enough money to be comfortable, and maybe we'll move to Costa Rica or something. In the meantime, there's no need to rush, to lower my expectations, or to read these stupid articles anymore.
*Main reason: my dad reads this blog.
Anyone even vaguely familiar with the Internet has seen those teaser article titles that inhabit the home screens of various service web sites--including the Hotmail home page, where my eye fell on the above article title the other day. Many of the articles, like this one, originate from the MSN Dating & Personals section. I'd like to say that I usually ignore these teaser titles, but, like American Idol and Deal or No Deal, they are a guilty pleasure time-suck that I sometimes indulge in. Inevitably, they are stupid and pointless, the Internet equivalent of the Cosmo articles and quizzes my friends and I would read in high school and college. You know the ones--10 Signs He's Into You, New Ways to Surprise Him in Bed, Is It Time to Dump Him? There was, and still is, an endless stream of such articles, often with the same material recycled over and over with different titles. And every single one of them--every one!--should, in reality, have the same title: Common Sense "Advice" You Should Be Able to Figure Out for Yourself if You Have Half a Brain. So, he won't return your calls and your friend saw him making out with another woman at the bar? Probably time to break up. Stuff like that.
The sex tips articles are the worst, and so insidious, because they still suck me in sometimes, when I should know so much better. I'll be standing in line at the grocery store, and there's Cosmo or Mademoiselle sitting on the rack, claiming to have new, exclusive sex info, and I'll find myself reaching for the magazine and checking out the article on the off chance that someone really has come up with something new. You know what? They haven't. Surprising him with lingerie is not "new." Changing positions is not "new." A lot of other things aren't "new" either, although for certain reasons*, I won't get into them here.
The quizzes still suck me in sometimes too, which is equally stupid, especially if you're not 14. At the end of these quizzes, they always list categories of personalities/tendencies/whatever, and you fall into one of these categories based on your answers to the quiz questions. And I can go straight to these categories, read them, and know instantly which one I fall into without ever answering the questions because, you know, I pretty much know myself. But I will sometimes take the quiz anyway, just to see if I'm right. I always am. (Another thing--the quizzes are designed in such a way that it is so obvious which answers are going to put you in which categories. If you wanted, you could totally manipulate your answers to put yourself in a different category from whom you really are. Of course, that would be pointless and a little sad, wouldn't it?)
Anyway. Case in point--I saw the quiz title above, Are You a Woman Who Is Afraid to Commit?, and I immediately thought, Yes! I am such a woman! No need to take this quiz! But of course, I took it anyway. Here are the statements one is required to contemplate to figure out one's committment-phobia level, along with my responses:
*Once the excitement of first romance has passed, you get bored in most of your relationships.
Oh, yes.
*You have a habit of dating unavailable men (married, involved with someone else, geographically or emotionally distant, etc.). ·
Um, yes.
*You have a long and elaborate list of requirements for your ideal mate.
Oh, most definitely.
*You consider your married friends’ relationships boring and feel that many of them have settled for too little.
Not so much. I like most of my friends' significant others, and most of them seem pretty happy--the ones who have made it, that is. But they're not me.
*You cultivate larger networks of friends and acquaintances at the expense of romantic relationships. ·
Again, not so much. I don't think I have more friends now than when I was married--in fact, I have fewer, since his friends pretty much blew me off. I do spend more time with my remaining friends, though, which is not a bad thing!
*You date more than one man at a time to prevent becoming dependent. ·
Well, I definitely date more than one man at a time, but is it to prevent becoming dependent? I don't think so--I don't tend to become "dependent" anyway. I think it's to prevent becoming bored.
*You have a difficult time getting over past boyfriends.
Um, definitely not. If anything, I get over them too quickly.
The really funny part of this quiz is the "advice" they give you if, in fact, you are afraid to commit. I won't regurgitate it all here, as it's a bunch of boring psycho-babble, but what it boils down to is, basically--lower your expectations. That's right! Just don't expect so much, suck it up, and be happy with . . . well, whomever! So simple!
Grrr. How about this advice? If you're afraid to commit, don't commit! At least, not until you're really ready to! Be happy with yourself, cherish your friends and family, be productive, live an active life, and don't worry about focusing all your energy on coupling up! Why, why is this idea so far out of the mainstream? Why does everything about society and women's magazines and T.V. shows and movies push us so consistently toward couplehood? At any cost? I just don't get it. Oh, I suppose there is some subconscious biological imperative at work, but really, isn't it time to move beyond that, people? Evolve already!
O.K., enough ranting. (Sorry, got a little carried away there.) I'm not saying I want to be single forever. My plan is, when I'm around 60 or so, I'll find a nice, interesting widower who has a dog and loves to travel and has enough money to be comfortable, and maybe we'll move to Costa Rica or something. In the meantime, there's no need to rush, to lower my expectations, or to read these stupid articles anymore.
*Main reason: my dad reads this blog.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Grocery Store Breakdown
No, I did not have a breakdown in the grocery store, although I was occasionally irritated by people parking their carts in the middle of an aisle in such a way that others with carts cannot pass them, while the offending person takes an inordinate amount of time choosing a bottle of salad dressing, oblivious. (Yet another instance of people failing to realize that others inhabit the planet. This is a major pet peeve of mine.)
Anyway, two nights ago I made one of my rare major grocery shopping trips. My usual trips involve stopping in when I need something specific or when I'm planning on actually cooking something, and just getting what I need right then plus a few other things, maybe. You know--the kind of trip where you just need a basket, not a cart. (This effectively avoids the above scenario where you can't push your cart around the carts of clueless others. Zipping around with a basket is much more efficient.) Every now and then, however, my kitchen reaches that near-empty point, where I've run out of just about everything and opening the fridge door and peering inside is just depressing. (There's something inherently comforting in looking at a full fridge and disheartening in looking at an empty one--don't you think?)
So, on Monday night, I ventured out to do some real shopping. I planned on spending about $70-80, which may not sound like much to some of you, considering I only do a major trip once every three to four weeks. But, I'm a single, relatively small person who eats out a lot--how many groceries could I need, really? That's the question I was asking myself when I exited the store 45 minutes later, having dropped about $130.
What I failed to remember--what I always fail to remember--is that I am a single, relatively small person who likes to indulge herself, and who also has three voracious animals who seem to never stop eating. Still, in the car on the way home, I wondered how I managed to spend almost twice the amount I had planned on spending. So, last night I got out the receipt and broke down the items I bought into categories, just to see where my money was going. Here are the results, in percentages*:
Cleaning products: 11%
Personal hygiene products: 8%
Sin items (beer, ciggs): 12%
Junk food: 7%
Condiments: 6%
Pet food and treats: 18%
Actual food: 40%
Hmm. I've always wondered why, even after a "major" trip, my fridge always seems to still look relatively bare, and this explains it--there's only about $40 of food in there. Very enlightening.
*Percentage may not add up to 100 due to rounding.
Anyway, two nights ago I made one of my rare major grocery shopping trips. My usual trips involve stopping in when I need something specific or when I'm planning on actually cooking something, and just getting what I need right then plus a few other things, maybe. You know--the kind of trip where you just need a basket, not a cart. (This effectively avoids the above scenario where you can't push your cart around the carts of clueless others. Zipping around with a basket is much more efficient.) Every now and then, however, my kitchen reaches that near-empty point, where I've run out of just about everything and opening the fridge door and peering inside is just depressing. (There's something inherently comforting in looking at a full fridge and disheartening in looking at an empty one--don't you think?)
So, on Monday night, I ventured out to do some real shopping. I planned on spending about $70-80, which may not sound like much to some of you, considering I only do a major trip once every three to four weeks. But, I'm a single, relatively small person who eats out a lot--how many groceries could I need, really? That's the question I was asking myself when I exited the store 45 minutes later, having dropped about $130.
What I failed to remember--what I always fail to remember--is that I am a single, relatively small person who likes to indulge herself, and who also has three voracious animals who seem to never stop eating. Still, in the car on the way home, I wondered how I managed to spend almost twice the amount I had planned on spending. So, last night I got out the receipt and broke down the items I bought into categories, just to see where my money was going. Here are the results, in percentages*:
Cleaning products: 11%
Personal hygiene products: 8%
Sin items (beer, ciggs): 12%
Junk food: 7%
Condiments: 6%
Pet food and treats: 18%
Actual food: 40%
Hmm. I've always wondered why, even after a "major" trip, my fridge always seems to still look relatively bare, and this explains it--there's only about $40 of food in there. Very enlightening.
*Percentage may not add up to 100 due to rounding.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Another Hazard of Texting
Last night, I encountered an entirely new hazard of dating in the text-message age. Well, not really a hazard, per se--maybe a quirk? It's pretty funny, actually--you'll like this.
I got home from my work happy hour around 7:00, fed my little ones (the dog and cats, that is), and took the dog for a long walk. About five minutes after I got back, I got a text message. The exchange went like this, word for word, with some explanatory comments:
Texter: Its john; want 2 come down 2 german village?
[Older Young Guy's name is John.]
Me: Where are you?
John: House sitting across from barcelona [a restaurant]
Me: Want to just meet out somewhere around there?
John: Sure; where r u now?
Me: Home. Just got back from happy hour.
John: U should head down here
Me: Where exactly?
John: Want to just meet me here, then we can head out?
Me: K. Directions?
He then gave me directions and said he would meet me at my car when I got there and we could just walk to a nearby bar. I headed on down, found the place easily, parked my car, and called him. He said he'd be right out. I thought his voice sounded really odd. So the door to this house opens, and out walks . . . a totally different guy than the one I thought I was meeting.
I can only imagine what my face looked like as he approached my car; luckily, it was dark out. I had to recover pretty quickly. This guy was another guy named John, and he's a friend of a friend. I met him last summer and have run into him a few times at parties and such, and he came to a party I threw for a friend a few weeks ago. Well, apparently, he'd gotten ahold of my number--presumably from said "friend." Keep in mind that I'm piecing all of this together in my head as we're greeting each other and exchanging pleasantries and walking to the bar. It occurred to me that it was a bit presumptuous of him to just text me out of the blue like that as if we were good friends, and on a Friday night, no less. This is not someone I would have gone on a date with if I actually knew it was him I was meeting. He's a nice enough guy, but I'm just not attracted to him. But I was kind of stuck now, wasn't I?
In the end, it wasn't a total loss. We had a couple of drinks and talked, and he's actually a very nice guy, and one of those rare ones who actually listen and ask a lot of questions and seem genuinely interested in the responses. In fact, I found myself wishing I was attracted to him . . . but that just wasn't happening. (He's not bad looking at all--just not my type.) And here's a kicker--I wound up telling him the whole thing, all about the mistaken identity, and he got a big kick out of it. More points in his favor. But I'm not going to date him. The evening ended with the understanding that we'd just be friends.
Be careful with the texting, people. It's been an issue with me more than once this week.
*In retrospect, I should have known. Older Young Guy would never use semicolons.
I got home from my work happy hour around 7:00, fed my little ones (the dog and cats, that is), and took the dog for a long walk. About five minutes after I got back, I got a text message. The exchange went like this, word for word, with some explanatory comments:
Texter: Its john; want 2 come down 2 german village?
[Older Young Guy's name is John.]
Me: Where are you?
John: House sitting across from barcelona [a restaurant]
Me: Want to just meet out somewhere around there?
John: Sure; where r u now?
Me: Home. Just got back from happy hour.
John: U should head down here
Me: Where exactly?
John: Want to just meet me here, then we can head out?
Me: K. Directions?
He then gave me directions and said he would meet me at my car when I got there and we could just walk to a nearby bar. I headed on down, found the place easily, parked my car, and called him. He said he'd be right out. I thought his voice sounded really odd. So the door to this house opens, and out walks . . . a totally different guy than the one I thought I was meeting.
I can only imagine what my face looked like as he approached my car; luckily, it was dark out. I had to recover pretty quickly. This guy was another guy named John, and he's a friend of a friend. I met him last summer and have run into him a few times at parties and such, and he came to a party I threw for a friend a few weeks ago. Well, apparently, he'd gotten ahold of my number--presumably from said "friend." Keep in mind that I'm piecing all of this together in my head as we're greeting each other and exchanging pleasantries and walking to the bar. It occurred to me that it was a bit presumptuous of him to just text me out of the blue like that as if we were good friends, and on a Friday night, no less. This is not someone I would have gone on a date with if I actually knew it was him I was meeting. He's a nice enough guy, but I'm just not attracted to him. But I was kind of stuck now, wasn't I?
In the end, it wasn't a total loss. We had a couple of drinks and talked, and he's actually a very nice guy, and one of those rare ones who actually listen and ask a lot of questions and seem genuinely interested in the responses. In fact, I found myself wishing I was attracted to him . . . but that just wasn't happening. (He's not bad looking at all--just not my type.) And here's a kicker--I wound up telling him the whole thing, all about the mistaken identity, and he got a big kick out of it. More points in his favor. But I'm not going to date him. The evening ended with the understanding that we'd just be friends.
Be careful with the texting, people. It's been an issue with me more than once this week.
*In retrospect, I should have known. Older Young Guy would never use semicolons.
Off the Wagon
Dammit, I texted him. But only once. O.K., twice, but the second time was in response to his response. And O.K., I probably would have texted him more if he had responded to my response to his response . . . but he didn't.
What the hell is wrong with me?
For those of you who were at happy hour, please don't tell G--she'll kill me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
For those of you who were at happy hour, please don't tell G--she'll kill me.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Counting Days
Well, I'm now on day six of successfully not texting a Certain Person. Yep, I'm pretty darn proud of myself. However, happy hour looms, a mere four hours away. Could be dangerous--I have been known to drink and text.
I may need a sponsor.
I may need a sponsor.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Random Thoughts
Apropos of nothing:
1. I hate it when people I know do things to validate and perpetuate stereotypes. Jokes are often based on stereotypes, right? Here's one:
Question: What do you call it when two lesbians move in together?
Answer: Their second date.
I really do like your new girlfriend, sweetie--I just wish you'd take it a little slower.
2. Because I fell asleep wearing my contacts last night (again), I had to use eyedrops this morning. As I was standing there in the bathroom with most of the drops dripping down my face, as they do, I casually read the bottle of drops, which featured bullet points listing the beneficial attributes of said drops. One of the bullet points proclaimed the drops to be "Non-staining." WTF? Is this really necessary to point out? What kind of scary eyedrops are floating around out there? Be careful, people.
3. Lately, I'm putting an inordinate amount of energy into not texting a certain person. It's amazing how much of one's life can be caught up in not doing something. I've actually spent up to an entire hour just sitting on the couch, mentally debating the pros and cons of texting this person. I almost slipped last night, but I managed to turn the phone off and plug it into the charger in another room. It's day five.
1. I hate it when people I know do things to validate and perpetuate stereotypes. Jokes are often based on stereotypes, right? Here's one:
Question: What do you call it when two lesbians move in together?
Answer: Their second date.
I really do like your new girlfriend, sweetie--I just wish you'd take it a little slower.
2. Because I fell asleep wearing my contacts last night (again), I had to use eyedrops this morning. As I was standing there in the bathroom with most of the drops dripping down my face, as they do, I casually read the bottle of drops, which featured bullet points listing the beneficial attributes of said drops. One of the bullet points proclaimed the drops to be "Non-staining." WTF? Is this really necessary to point out? What kind of scary eyedrops are floating around out there? Be careful, people.
3. Lately, I'm putting an inordinate amount of energy into not texting a certain person. It's amazing how much of one's life can be caught up in not doing something. I've actually spent up to an entire hour just sitting on the couch, mentally debating the pros and cons of texting this person. I almost slipped last night, but I managed to turn the phone off and plug it into the charger in another room. It's day five.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Another Lesson
O.K., folks, here's another lesson on What Not To Do.
[Seriously, I should be writing an advice column, don't you think? If someone, somewhere, took me up on this, heartache would be saved. Or at least headache. Really, someone take me up on this, please.]
So. You're a single guy, and you've been out with a particular woman a couple of times. You both had a lot of fun. There's no pressure, you're just having fun. So, you haven't seen each other in about a week, and you call her up. She's casual. You chat. You tell her you'd like to see her soon. So far so good.
The problem? You have no plan. None whatsoever.
You give her no clue about when you'd like to see her or what you'd like to do. Your conversation is more along the lines of that of a good acquaintance who is just clueing her in to the fact that he might like to glimpse her in person sometime in the next few weeks. No rush.
But wait, it gets worse. When she takes the initiative and suggests a particular night, you're evasive. You might be going out of town, you say. You're not sure yet. You tell you'll know the following day, and you'll give her a call and let her know.
Can it get even worse still? Yes it can! You fail to call her the next day as promised. And the night she suggested is the following night.
Guess what she's going to do? That's right, Einstein--she's going to make other plans. At the very least, she's going to tell you she's made other plans, whether she has or not.* What's more, she's completely turned off by your wishy-washy rudeness. She's going to turn you down the next time you suggest an actual plan for a date. In fact, she may very well stop taking your calls altogether.
Idiot.
*By the way, I did make actual other plans. You can go piss off, Aaron. (Not Aaron from work, by the way! A different Aaron. But hi, Aaron from work!)
[Seriously, I should be writing an advice column, don't you think? If someone, somewhere, took me up on this, heartache would be saved. Or at least headache. Really, someone take me up on this, please.]
So. You're a single guy, and you've been out with a particular woman a couple of times. You both had a lot of fun. There's no pressure, you're just having fun. So, you haven't seen each other in about a week, and you call her up. She's casual. You chat. You tell her you'd like to see her soon. So far so good.
The problem? You have no plan. None whatsoever.
You give her no clue about when you'd like to see her or what you'd like to do. Your conversation is more along the lines of that of a good acquaintance who is just clueing her in to the fact that he might like to glimpse her in person sometime in the next few weeks. No rush.
But wait, it gets worse. When she takes the initiative and suggests a particular night, you're evasive. You might be going out of town, you say. You're not sure yet. You tell you'll know the following day, and you'll give her a call and let her know.
Can it get even worse still? Yes it can! You fail to call her the next day as promised. And the night she suggested is the following night.
Guess what she's going to do? That's right, Einstein--she's going to make other plans. At the very least, she's going to tell you she's made other plans, whether she has or not.* What's more, she's completely turned off by your wishy-washy rudeness. She's going to turn you down the next time you suggest an actual plan for a date. In fact, she may very well stop taking your calls altogether.
Idiot.
*By the way, I did make actual other plans. You can go piss off, Aaron. (Not Aaron from work, by the way! A different Aaron. But hi, Aaron from work!)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Chuck Sucks
Here in the Heartland, we're in the middle of a major winter storm today. It snowed pretty steadily for two days, and then last night, we got freezing rain on top of it all, followed by a steep temperature drop, followed by more snow. What this means in practical terms is that I knew my place of employment would either be closed today or, at the very least, running on a delay. Extrapolating further on this set of circumstances, I should have been able to sleep in today--yes?
No.
At 6:30 this morning, something woke me up. A noise outside my window. An awful, continuous, scraping noise. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. It went on and on. I roused myself to look out the window, and there was my neighbor, Chuck (who lives in the apartment formerly occupied by Hippie Neighbors), shoveling the walkway in front of our building. At 6:30 in the morning.
You know that awful feeling, where something is happening that just annoys the crap out of you, and you know there's nothing you can do about it, and you just sit there seething quietly, obsessing about how much better your life would be if this particular thing was not happening? And then your quiet seething turns to fantasies about hitting a particular person over the head with, oh, say, a snow shovel? This was how my day began. (It should be noted that 6:30 is considerably earlier than I get up on a regular day, let alone a glorious snow day when I should be allowed to sleep in.)
And so I lay there, hating Chuck and missing Hippie Neighbors, who never would have undertaken this particular task--or any task, for that matter--at 6:30 in the friggin' morning. Why? Why did he have to shovel that early? Why? It's like those people who mow their lawns in the early hours on a weekend. Does no one stop to consider that they're not the only people living on their block? To top it all off, you can't say anything and piss off a neighbor, because who knows when you might need them to bring in your mail or rush you to the emergency room or something?
Eventually, I got over it, got up, made some coffee, and watched Chuck out the window. Scrape, scrape, scrape. It took him half an hour. I wondered about the other neighbors, whether he'd woken anyone else up, whether they'd been as annoyed as I was. And then I thought I might forgive Chuck if he also shoveled my part of the walkway. The walkway in front of our building comes up from the street and branches off into a Y, with one part leading to the apartments of Chuck and the Asian woman on the end of the building, and the other part leading to the apartments of yours truly and They Who Are Never Seen. Since TWANS are an older couple, and I'm just a girl*, I thought it would be nice if big strong early-rising Chuck shoveled our part of the walkway as well. But no. He shoveled just his own part of the Y, and then retreated back into his apartment. Selfish, selfish Chuck.
(As it turns out, even if Chuck hadn't woken me up at 6:30, I would have been woken up around 7:05 by Guy Who Took an Hour and Fifteen Minutes to Get His Piece of Crap Car Out of Its Parking Spot on the Street and Almost Hit My Car in the Process. More on this saga later, maybe.)
*Of course I was kidding about the "just a girl" thing, but the truth is, I don't own a snow shovel.
No.
At 6:30 this morning, something woke me up. A noise outside my window. An awful, continuous, scraping noise. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. It went on and on. I roused myself to look out the window, and there was my neighbor, Chuck (who lives in the apartment formerly occupied by Hippie Neighbors), shoveling the walkway in front of our building. At 6:30 in the morning.
You know that awful feeling, where something is happening that just annoys the crap out of you, and you know there's nothing you can do about it, and you just sit there seething quietly, obsessing about how much better your life would be if this particular thing was not happening? And then your quiet seething turns to fantasies about hitting a particular person over the head with, oh, say, a snow shovel? This was how my day began. (It should be noted that 6:30 is considerably earlier than I get up on a regular day, let alone a glorious snow day when I should be allowed to sleep in.)
And so I lay there, hating Chuck and missing Hippie Neighbors, who never would have undertaken this particular task--or any task, for that matter--at 6:30 in the friggin' morning. Why? Why did he have to shovel that early? Why? It's like those people who mow their lawns in the early hours on a weekend. Does no one stop to consider that they're not the only people living on their block? To top it all off, you can't say anything and piss off a neighbor, because who knows when you might need them to bring in your mail or rush you to the emergency room or something?
Eventually, I got over it, got up, made some coffee, and watched Chuck out the window. Scrape, scrape, scrape. It took him half an hour. I wondered about the other neighbors, whether he'd woken anyone else up, whether they'd been as annoyed as I was. And then I thought I might forgive Chuck if he also shoveled my part of the walkway. The walkway in front of our building comes up from the street and branches off into a Y, with one part leading to the apartments of Chuck and the Asian woman on the end of the building, and the other part leading to the apartments of yours truly and They Who Are Never Seen. Since TWANS are an older couple, and I'm just a girl*, I thought it would be nice if big strong early-rising Chuck shoveled our part of the walkway as well. But no. He shoveled just his own part of the Y, and then retreated back into his apartment. Selfish, selfish Chuck.
(As it turns out, even if Chuck hadn't woken me up at 6:30, I would have been woken up around 7:05 by Guy Who Took an Hour and Fifteen Minutes to Get His Piece of Crap Car Out of Its Parking Spot on the Street and Almost Hit My Car in the Process. More on this saga later, maybe.)
*Of course I was kidding about the "just a girl" thing, but the truth is, I don't own a snow shovel.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Adventures in Singledom
Hello there! It's been a while. I don't want to write a long, drawn-out post about why I haven't blogged in over three months, but I do apologize to those of you (all three or four of you!) who miss my occasional rantings and musings. I could say I'm just too busy, but as most of you know, I watch far too many episodes of Law & Order for that to be a viable excuse. I could also blame it on my wonderful dog, whom I got back from my ex right around the time I stopped blogging--and it's true that the long walks we go on every evening suck up a healthy chunk of my time--but that's not really it either. The truth is, I just haven't felt like it. And now I do. It's that simple.
Anyhoo, a couple of weeks ago marked the year anniversary of the start of my post-marriage life, and I took the opportunity to reflect upon my journey back into the dating scene since then. It also got me thinking about when I was still married and hanging out a lot with other married couples, and howmany of these people often mentioned how glad they were that they didn't have to date anymore, what a hassle it is, how difficult it is to find anyone to connect with, etc. etc. (Meanwhile, I would often wonder whether some of these people were actually "connecting" with their spouses . . . .) And as someone who has suddenly been plunged back into the dating pool as a late-30s divorcee, I can attest that there's a lot of truth in all that whining. Dating can be tedious, especially for women in my situation. That tired, stereotypical chick-flick mantra that "All the good men are married or gay" exists for a reason, especially when you're talking about men my age. Of course, statistically speaking, there should be a healthy pool of divorced, age-appropriate men out there, but I haven't really found that to be the case so far. And then again, in that situation, there are often kids involved, and I'm just not in a place to deal with all of that right now.
Luckily, none of that really fazes me, because I'm just not looking for a relationship. I know some people probably think I'm just saying that in a sour-grapes sort of way, but it's true--I'm perfectly happy on my own. And that's a very freeing attitude. I've been able to spend the last few months just meeting and hanging out with people and having fun without bogging things down by constantly evaluating them for long-term relationship potential. It's a constant adventure, and it's also excellent blog-fodder. So, without further ado, let's take a look at some of the people I've had the pleasure and/or annoyance to meet over the past several months. (Note: Descriptive aliases have been used to protect . . . well, me, from libel suits by any of the below parties I might have been stupid enough to give my blog address to.)
*Hippie Neighbor Brother
What can I say? He was just always around. When the hippie neighbors were still here (they moved to Colorado, by the way), hippie husband's brother was over at their place constantly. And in the summer, we were all outside all the time, often drinking beer on the porch(es). And he was really cute and single . . . it was kind of inevitable that we would wind up hanging out.
Pros: really cute, fun, good at grilling food
Cons: a total flake, broke, not all that smart
Status: out of touch since hippie neighbors moved away, except for one note left on my porch asking to borrow a hairdryer (?)
[Here's a photo I took of him surreptitiously out my front window while he was sleeping in the hammock. Sorry it's such a lousy photo, but it was out the window.]
*Young guy #1
Most of you know who this is--several of you have met him. And you were probably thinking, what is she thinking? (Age difference: 15 years.) What I was thinking was that he was sweet, smart, straightforward, and a lot of fun. The fact that he was an extremely talented musician didn't hurt either. We had a great summer until he got himself into some trouble. I still care about him, and I hope he finds someone (a bit more age-appropriate) who deserves him someday.
Pros: again--sweet, smart, fun, musician, very cute
Cons: way too young, substance abuser (recovering!)
Status: we still talk on the phone sometimes, and go to an occasional movie
*Young guy #2
I know, I know. But, as I pointed out before, available guys my age aren't that easy to find. Also, there's something about the young ones. They don't drone on and on about their careers or their investments or the hassles in their lives. They like to go out and have fun. They don't have kids from former marriages. They can stay up past midnight. They're uncomplicated and passionate. And, as I've been pleasantly surprised to discover, the young men of today often appreciate older women who are substantially more secure with themselves than your average 20-year-old. And this one in particular was (is) quite intriguing.
Pros: cute, smart, funny, musician
Cons: way too young, and another reason I can't really mention here
Status: good friends
*The Ex
No, not the ex-husband. Out of the blue one day, I got a call from an ex-boyfriend from my pre-marriage days. He'd heard I'd gotten divorced. (Yes, this can be a very small town sometimes.) We arranged to go out one night and met for dinner and drinks. The evening started out well enough, catching up on what we'd been doing the last few years. As the night wore on, however, I was reminded over and over of why we broke up in the first place. The whole thing culminated in a stupid, pointless argument over the circumstances of our break-up. In the end, he told me that he was confident he would eventually find the right person (who was obviously not me) because he was, in his words, the "total package."
Pros: still really cute, able to pay for dinner
Cons: boring, arrogant, tiresome, self-delusional
Status: will probably never speak to each other again
*The Guy Who Should Be Gay
What is it with me and this type of guy? This is the third one in my life who's been interested in me--a guy with impeccable taste, articulate, no guy friends, way into the arts, hates sports, super sensitive . . . gay, right? No. I'm pretty much convinced he's not--he's 38, after all, and would have probably figured it out by now. But I can't help thinking that his love life would be much better if he was. Believe me, I love gay men--I just don't want to date one. Nor do I want to date one whose whole persona screams gay, even if he's not. I'm sorry if that seems mean or insensitive, but at some point in life, a person has to drop political correctness and face certain realities. There may be women out there who are attracted to this type of guy, but I simply am not.
Pros: smart, good conversationalist, shares my taste in movies, music, and books
Cons: no spark whatsoever, needy, not a musician, still possibly gay
Status: I may have to cut off contact soon, although I wish he could be my good gay male friend
*Older Young Guy
Seriously, when I met him, I thought he was about 34. Turns out, he's 26. It's almost unbelievable--he looks older, acts older, and is way more cynical than I would expect a 26-year-old to be. And he's a musician. (Do you see a pattern here?) And I met him at a kick-ass concert that we were both really into and had a great time hanging out. A few weeks later, our interest in each other is waning. It's mutual and obvious. I'm not sure why--just one of those things.
Pros: extremely smart, good conversationalist, interesting, attractive, musician
Cons: cynical, unreliable, arrogant, ignores my dog (This is a big red flag to me, by the way. Here's a hint to all single men: If you're interested in a woman, and this woman adores her dog, and you ignore her dog, this woman is not going to adore you.)
Status: dying on the vine
So, there we are, a snapshot of my ongoing quest to not have a relationship. Because, looking back over this list, it's pretty obvious that that's what I'm doing.
And that's O.K.
Anyhoo, a couple of weeks ago marked the year anniversary of the start of my post-marriage life, and I took the opportunity to reflect upon my journey back into the dating scene since then. It also got me thinking about when I was still married and hanging out a lot with other married couples, and howmany of these people often mentioned how glad they were that they didn't have to date anymore, what a hassle it is, how difficult it is to find anyone to connect with, etc. etc. (Meanwhile, I would often wonder whether some of these people were actually "connecting" with their spouses . . . .) And as someone who has suddenly been plunged back into the dating pool as a late-30s divorcee, I can attest that there's a lot of truth in all that whining. Dating can be tedious, especially for women in my situation. That tired, stereotypical chick-flick mantra that "All the good men are married or gay" exists for a reason, especially when you're talking about men my age. Of course, statistically speaking, there should be a healthy pool of divorced, age-appropriate men out there, but I haven't really found that to be the case so far. And then again, in that situation, there are often kids involved, and I'm just not in a place to deal with all of that right now.
Luckily, none of that really fazes me, because I'm just not looking for a relationship. I know some people probably think I'm just saying that in a sour-grapes sort of way, but it's true--I'm perfectly happy on my own. And that's a very freeing attitude. I've been able to spend the last few months just meeting and hanging out with people and having fun without bogging things down by constantly evaluating them for long-term relationship potential. It's a constant adventure, and it's also excellent blog-fodder. So, without further ado, let's take a look at some of the people I've had the pleasure and/or annoyance to meet over the past several months. (Note: Descriptive aliases have been used to protect . . . well, me, from libel suits by any of the below parties I might have been stupid enough to give my blog address to.)
*Hippie Neighbor Brother
What can I say? He was just always around. When the hippie neighbors were still here (they moved to Colorado, by the way), hippie husband's brother was over at their place constantly. And in the summer, we were all outside all the time, often drinking beer on the porch(es). And he was really cute and single . . . it was kind of inevitable that we would wind up hanging out.
Pros: really cute, fun, good at grilling food
Cons: a total flake, broke, not all that smart
Status: out of touch since hippie neighbors moved away, except for one note left on my porch asking to borrow a hairdryer (?)
[Here's a photo I took of him surreptitiously out my front window while he was sleeping in the hammock. Sorry it's such a lousy photo, but it was out the window.]
*Young guy #1
Most of you know who this is--several of you have met him. And you were probably thinking, what is she thinking? (Age difference: 15 years.) What I was thinking was that he was sweet, smart, straightforward, and a lot of fun. The fact that he was an extremely talented musician didn't hurt either. We had a great summer until he got himself into some trouble. I still care about him, and I hope he finds someone (a bit more age-appropriate) who deserves him someday.
Pros: again--sweet, smart, fun, musician, very cute
Cons: way too young, substance abuser (recovering!)
Status: we still talk on the phone sometimes, and go to an occasional movie
*Young guy #2
I know, I know. But, as I pointed out before, available guys my age aren't that easy to find. Also, there's something about the young ones. They don't drone on and on about their careers or their investments or the hassles in their lives. They like to go out and have fun. They don't have kids from former marriages. They can stay up past midnight. They're uncomplicated and passionate. And, as I've been pleasantly surprised to discover, the young men of today often appreciate older women who are substantially more secure with themselves than your average 20-year-old. And this one in particular was (is) quite intriguing.
Pros: cute, smart, funny, musician
Cons: way too young, and another reason I can't really mention here
Status: good friends
*The Ex
No, not the ex-husband. Out of the blue one day, I got a call from an ex-boyfriend from my pre-marriage days. He'd heard I'd gotten divorced. (Yes, this can be a very small town sometimes.) We arranged to go out one night and met for dinner and drinks. The evening started out well enough, catching up on what we'd been doing the last few years. As the night wore on, however, I was reminded over and over of why we broke up in the first place. The whole thing culminated in a stupid, pointless argument over the circumstances of our break-up. In the end, he told me that he was confident he would eventually find the right person (who was obviously not me) because he was, in his words, the "total package."
Pros: still really cute, able to pay for dinner
Cons: boring, arrogant, tiresome, self-delusional
Status: will probably never speak to each other again
*The Guy Who Should Be Gay
What is it with me and this type of guy? This is the third one in my life who's been interested in me--a guy with impeccable taste, articulate, no guy friends, way into the arts, hates sports, super sensitive . . . gay, right? No. I'm pretty much convinced he's not--he's 38, after all, and would have probably figured it out by now. But I can't help thinking that his love life would be much better if he was. Believe me, I love gay men--I just don't want to date one. Nor do I want to date one whose whole persona screams gay, even if he's not. I'm sorry if that seems mean or insensitive, but at some point in life, a person has to drop political correctness and face certain realities. There may be women out there who are attracted to this type of guy, but I simply am not.
Pros: smart, good conversationalist, shares my taste in movies, music, and books
Cons: no spark whatsoever, needy, not a musician, still possibly gay
Status: I may have to cut off contact soon, although I wish he could be my good gay male friend
*Older Young Guy
Seriously, when I met him, I thought he was about 34. Turns out, he's 26. It's almost unbelievable--he looks older, acts older, and is way more cynical than I would expect a 26-year-old to be. And he's a musician. (Do you see a pattern here?) And I met him at a kick-ass concert that we were both really into and had a great time hanging out. A few weeks later, our interest in each other is waning. It's mutual and obvious. I'm not sure why--just one of those things.
Pros: extremely smart, good conversationalist, interesting, attractive, musician
Cons: cynical, unreliable, arrogant, ignores my dog (This is a big red flag to me, by the way. Here's a hint to all single men: If you're interested in a woman, and this woman adores her dog, and you ignore her dog, this woman is not going to adore you.)
Status: dying on the vine
So, there we are, a snapshot of my ongoing quest to not have a relationship. Because, looking back over this list, it's pretty obvious that that's what I'm doing.
And that's O.K.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Learn It. Know It. Live It.
O.K., after my long absence, I know I owe everyone a catch-up post, and one will be forthcoming this week. However, before I forget about it, I really need to air one of my all-time biggest pet peeves. This weekend, I read The Ruins, by Scott Smith. I was expecting an intelligent, literary thriller, as Smith was also the author of A Simple Plan, which I didn't actually read, but I heard it was great and I loved the movie. Well, The Ruins turned out to be kind of a B-grade horror story with a completely unbelievable plot, flat characters, and infuriating turns-of-events--and I couldn't put it down. As silly and asinine (and, I might add, gross) as it was, it was also nevertheless compelling, and I couldn't quite figure out why. So, today I went online to read some reviews and see what other people thought of it. As it turns out, readers were all over the place--most people either loved or hated it. There were also plenty of people like me, who recognized it as completely silly but couldn't stop reading. What struck me the most, however, was the number of folks who made some reference to "suspending belief."
People, if you're going to take the time to actually write a book review on Amazon, please also take the time to get your literary phrasings down correctly. [WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD RE. THE RUINS.] If you're reading a novel about vines that can think, reason, plan, move, speak German, kill people, and laugh about it all, you are suspending DISBELIEF--as in, all this stuff is completely impossible to believe, and therefore you feel DISBELIEF, but you are SUSPENDING that feeling in order to just escape into a book (or movie, or T.V. show, etc.) for a while. On the other hand, if you live in a world where the above scenario inspires BELIEF, then I'm sorry, but I don't think they should allow you to have books like that in the sanitarium. That's just my opinion.
If you need further clarification, here's a Wikipedia article on the whole concept. Please learn how to use this phrase correctly, or stay away from the Amazon "post" button. Thank you.
[To all: Please keep tuning in . . . posts will come more frequently. I finished my project!!!]
People, if you're going to take the time to actually write a book review on Amazon, please also take the time to get your literary phrasings down correctly. [WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD RE. THE RUINS.] If you're reading a novel about vines that can think, reason, plan, move, speak German, kill people, and laugh about it all, you are suspending DISBELIEF--as in, all this stuff is completely impossible to believe, and therefore you feel DISBELIEF, but you are SUSPENDING that feeling in order to just escape into a book (or movie, or T.V. show, etc.) for a while. On the other hand, if you live in a world where the above scenario inspires BELIEF, then I'm sorry, but I don't think they should allow you to have books like that in the sanitarium. That's just my opinion.
If you need further clarification, here's a Wikipedia article on the whole concept. Please learn how to use this phrase correctly, or stay away from the Amazon "post" button. Thank you.
[To all: Please keep tuning in . . . posts will come more frequently. I finished my project!!!]
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