August is the cruelest month

I hate August. It's the most dismal stretch of the year for me. It's hot. Miserably hot. Green turns brown. Tempers flare. It seems so long since spring, and so far until fall. I hate it.

So I've decided to go ahead and lay the blame for my feeling out of sorts and discouraged right at the feet of August. It's a handy scapegoat.

And I do feel out of sorts. Nothing seems to be going quite as it should right now, in this, the Year of Liz. What's wrong, you say? Oh, everything and nothing. It's aggravating--I wish I could point to one thing and say "That. THAT is wrong." And then I could take steps to fix it, and everything would be fine. But there's nothing major wrong; I just feel cranky. And tired. Very tired.

There's the puppy, of course. Some days it feels like all I do is fuss with the puppy. Not true, obviously, and the time I spend with him isn't really all that much, added up, but it FEELS like that's all I do. It's one more duty, one more obligation, and one I didn't ask for! It's making me tired. I have plenty of obligations as it is--work, taking care of the house and the car, taking care of the other animals, mowing the lawn, exercising, lather, rinse, repeat--and sometimes he feels like the straw that will break this camel's back. He won't, I know, down deep inside. This camel has a very strong back--it's just being weakened by hundred degree days. "Damn you, Aaaauuuuugussssst!" (Picture the raised fist.)

Do you ever feel like you just need one good thing to happen, RIGHT NOW? It could be a tiny thing, but it needs to happen RIGHT NOW. That's how I feel at the moment. I need one good thing.

It won't be coming from my dating life, I'm sure. If I even had a dating life. I've gone ahead and cancelled my short-term "MeMarmony" membership. It expires tomorrow. No, I'm not completely disillusioned because that one guy completely vanished from the face of the earth, even before he met me. (AFTER he met me, I could understand...but BEFORE?) It just doesn't seem that "MeMarmony" is really big around here. Most of the matches they've been sending me are from Texas, Kansas and Arkansas. Um...Dr. Warren? Those states are not 25 miles from my zipcode. I'm just sayin'. I really don't have time to date a guy who lives several hours away. Thanks, anyway. And, while we're at it, you might want to revisit those 29 levels of compatibility, and see if you can weed out the ASSHOLES, 'mmkay?

I guess I am kind of disillusioned with the "MeMarmony" system, come to think of it. The few matches I have gotten in the Tulsa area (with the exception of the asshole) have been for guys who are avid hunters, list "Pat Robertson" or "MY DECEDENTED WIFE SHE WAS MY ROCK MY EVERY THING" (quoted exactly, caps and all) as the most influential person in their lives, answer the question "How many books did you read last year?" with "0-3" or have profiles so riddled with typos and grammatical errors that I can barely stand to read them. Thanks, but I think I'll pass.

I am (obviously masochistic because of the heat) considering match.com, only because I browsed through some profiles yesterday and found one that was fabulous. Really. I had to stop and fan myself while reading it, thinking this guy can't be real. Obviously, I must immediately pursue this, because a healthy dose of rejection would be just the ticket to curing my August blues, right? He really did sound great, though. (An artist, with liberal politics, who likes cats and kind people? Be still, my beating heart.) So why do I assume rejection? Well, that's the way I roll. And because he's looking for someone healthy and fit, and while I'm working on that, I wouldn't say I'm exactly there yet. But who knows, maybe he gives points for trying. 113 days worth of it, to be precise!

If that doesn't work out, I'll just become a lesbian. I'm thinking my friend Nora and I had it right years ago when, frustrated by the most recent jerks we'd been seeing, we decided to become lesbians. Only neither of us really wanted to actually have sex with other women, so we decided to become celibate lesbians, which seemed the perfect solution. And then we ran pictures of the guys in question through the office shredder--an activity I HIGHLY recommend, by the way. Very cathartic. And way fun. It would have been even more fun if we'd had a personal shredder at home, and alcohol could have been involved, but either way--DO try this at home, folks!

I do already have an "in" with the lesbian community, a bond which just continues to grow. Yes, I might have accidentally outed myself a bit more at church. What now?

Well, first of all, we were trying to line up our little choir to rehearse the anthem we were going to sing Sunday, and having our usual trouble lining up. Really, we're ridiculous. There's, like, six of us, and we can't get ourself into two even lines without help. So my singing lesbian friend says, giggling, "we're off-center." And without thinking I replied, "Boy, aren't we, though?" I MEANT in sort of a general way, you know...politically, and the like, but as soon as I said it it occurred to me that it could be taken as a sort of sisterhood solidarity statement. I don't know if she took it that way or not, though she did respond, "Well, you ARE left of center." Which I was, LITERALLY, at that moment, and FIGURATIVELY, of course. Oh well, at least Cute Church Guy wasn't there to witness the exchange.

Then, after church, we had a potluck picnic, and I was in such a hurry to get at that potato salad that I ended up loading my plate before any of my friends. By "friends," I mean those people I go to church with who actually are real-life friends, as well. People I knew before we were fellow congregants. Anyway, none of my "real" friends had sat down yet, but tables were filling up fast, and the non-singing lesbian, who was the only one yet seated at her table, said "feel free to sit with us, Liz." It seemed rude to say no, so I did. I sat at the gay table, thinking "well, at least Cute Church Guy isn't seeing this." Then he walked in, of course. AARghh!

Not that it matters in the slightest, really. I had a fine time chatting with the lesbians, who are very nice people, and our church's one token gay man, who's a little....odd, but pleasant enough...and who am I kidding thinking Cute Church Guy even bothers to NOTICE where I sit, much less takes the time to PONDER the possible ramifications of said seating. Really, I have absolutely no indication that he is even remotely interested in me, and yet, I let my brain go crazy worrying that he thinks I'm a lesbian. I am an idiot.

I blame August. It's heatstroke, obviously.