I am the world's greatest cat whisperer

The little work stray is now letting me rub her belly and scratch her chin. From feral to friendly in less than two weeks. I am magical. (And willing to plop canned food in the bowl twice a day.) She is definitely nursing babies...wish I knew where they were. Time's a-wastin' in the tamin' game!

In other news, I was a bit premature with my announcement that Mr. Ordinary had given up. He called last night. I didn't hear the phone ring--I have no idea why; I was home--but he left a message. I should just cut him loose, I suppose, but he's so nice. "I hope I'm not disturbing your rehearsal." (I told him I was doing a show this weekend.) Sigh.

Someone needs to take away my remote

'Cause, god help me, I have now watched both episodes of "Date My Ex: Jo and Slade." Why, I ask myself, why? The premise is ridiculous, the participants, for the most part, are by turns vapid, vain and detestable...and yet I watch. Damn my cheesy reality television addiction! (You will be pleased to know that I HAVE resisted the efforts of both Denise Richards and the lesser Lohans. I have some standards.)

Not much going on around here. No dating news to report. I think Mr. Ordinary may have given up on me. (And vice-versa.) We talked on Saturday, he said he'd probably call me on Sunday, but he didn't, and hasn't called since. Maybe he's waiting for me to call, for a change. But I think the fact that we talked on the phone a number of times without either of us suggesting meeting face-to-face is probably pretty telling.

Who needs to date, anyway, when there are feral cats to be concerned with?! I'm attempting to tame a skinny, skinny, pregnant (or maybe slightly postpartum) tortie that's been hanging around the work neighborhood for a while. I've made great progress this week, since I broke out the canned food. She has rubbed against my legs, and has (however grudgingly) let me pet her a bit. I predict we will be great friends before too long. Little does she know that I have plans for her girly parts! And her kittens, god willing, wherever they are.

I've got a one-night theatrical performance to do this weekend. So, see...I'm getting back to my roots. Theatre and homeless animals--who needs a man? (Unless he's offering to mow my lawn, of course, I'm no fool.)

Speaking of men, though...I am currently reading "Why Men Love Bitches," which was given to me by a friend. Have any of you read this? I'm sure I'm going to have quite a bit to say about it, but I thought I'd finish it first. Maybe it has a surprise ending. Heh.

I stepped on a dead mouse this morning.

In my bare feet. Outside, thank goodness. It was right next to Dolly's feeding place, so I guess she was leaving me a little "treat." Thanks, Dolly.

My beautiful, super-talented eye candy is gone from "So You Think You Can Dance." I am so disappointed. I didn't bother to vote, because I assumed his inclusion in the finale was a given. Apparently, his other fans did, too. I'm sorry, Will! Please forgive me!! I love you!!! *Sob.*

I really see no reason to continue living, but since it's too hot to even entertain the thought of offing myself, I guess I'll just have to carry on somehow.

Those of you still rooting for Mr. Nice But Possibly Too Ordinary Guy will be happy to hear I haven't axed him from the competition yet. I sent him an email this morning, apologizing for being so sleepy on the phone last time we talked (I blamed my harried week, which might possibly be true--I had just mowed the lawn on a heat advisory day and may well have been dehydrated) and inviting him to give me a call this weekend if he wants. If I get sleepy on the phone with him again, though...that may be it.

Maybe the weekend will surprise me. In a good way, I mean. No dead mice. Hope yours is lovely and rodent-free, as well.

Just a quickie

I'm too hot and cranky to do much here, but to answer your burning questions...

The "friend date" was way fun. Much beer was drunk, many laughs were had...and as far as I can tell, friends we are, and friends we'll stay. Which is not at all a bad thing. A girl's gotta have friends, right?...and what better friend than someone who has pretty much exactly the same taste in beer and the same sense of humor as yourself! We both agreed we need to do it again soon. (And he paid for the beer. Yay for generous friends!)

Mr. KC will not be coming through Tulsa this weekend. He had thought he might, but he's taken a new job and has to make a flying trip south to drop his kids off at their mother's, and a flying trip back north to start work. So...no time for flirty fun this time around. I am surprisingly disappointed by this. I guess I didn't realize I was hoping for it quite that much. He still plans to come to town in mid-August, so....sigh.

I've had one further phone conversation with Mr. Nice Guy, and...does it sound terrible if I say I think he's too...ordinary for me? I mean, on paper it works...he says he likes theatre, movies, music. And hey, so do I! But when he says "theatre" he means he has a season subscription for the "Broadway Series" of road company musical tours at the Performing Arts Center. And when he says "music" he means he's very excited to have scored a ticket for the opening concert at the new arena downtown--a group of geriatric rockers I probably wouldn't have paid money for even "back in the day." And movies? Well, apparently he just goes to see whatever first-run movies are out in any given week. And there's nothing wrong with any of that. Nothing at all. It's just very, very not me. And yeah...maybe I just need to show him that there's a lot more out there, and introduce him to my favorite musicians and take him to some local theatre, but couldn't he have figured some of this out on his own, damn it?! (May I remind you that it is hot, there are still roadworkers in front of my house and I am cranky? Heh.)

Speaking of roadworkers, they've all been suitably obsequious since I revealed my superhero identity as Cranky Bitch, but I am sooooo ready for them to be done. Cranky Bitch won't truly go back into hiding until September, no matter what the status of the road construction, 'cause she FRIGGIN' HATES AUGUST and the A/C IN HER CAR ISN'T WORKING, but an end to the nonstop mess wouldn't hurt, would it? IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK TO SIMPLY DRIVE UP AND DOWN MY STREET AND INTO MY DRIVEWAY?

Cranky Bitch likes all-caps. And italics.

The latest

I don't know why I feel the need to keep the interwebs updated on the minutiae of my..."love life" seems a bit strong, so...my "dating experiences." I guess I consider it a public service--those of you who are happily coupled can say "thank god I'm done with all that" and those of you who aren't can say "thank god I'm not the only one."

So...I had a brief email exchange yesterday with Mr. KC. He said he seems to be driving "to, through or near" Tulsa quite a bit lately...so we should definitely keep in touch. Fine with me. (I only wish the email had a more distinct Ukrainian accent. Hee.)

I gave my number to Mr. Nice Guy with Possible Chemistry Issues (I have got to come up with a better alias than that if he sticks around much longer), and he called it the minute he got off work, apparently. Which, actually, was a little earlier than when I got off work, but it was a slow afternoon, so I decided it would be okay to chat for a bit. "Chat" is a strong word, though. "Chat" implies a certain give-and-take of conversation, and I have to say...the man's a talker. Nice voice, somewhat annoying laugh (though that's certainly not a dealbreaker), but the man is apparently never at a loss for words. I could hardly get a word in edgewise. (ME! The queen of babbling, inane small talk!) I'm going to hope he was just nervous...and trying to prevent any potential awkward silences, and not just assuming that I would be that anxious to hear his in-depth reviews of the three movies he saw over the weekend. And not that he didn't have interesting opinions/insights, but...dude! Three movie reviews in our first conversation? Might want to dial it back a bit. I also know that he's diabetic, trying to lose weight, has an undiagnosed problem with his platelet count and had lamb and couscous for lunch on Sunday. What does he know about me? I'm not sure I could tell you. I'm not sure HE could tell you. So...the jury is definitely still out.

I'm meeting the friend I "ran into" online for drinks tomorrow night, and I'm SURE that is going to be a good time. We've been making each other laugh all morning via email. Somehow we've managed to arrange a theoretical mudwrestling match between one of our vile senators and a Muslim. Yeah...I'm not sure how that happened, either...but it was funny. Trust me.

Other than that, what's going on in my world? Well, I have officially become the neighborhood's cranky bitch. I've mentioned in passing the road construction going on, I know. It's been a nightmare, basically. Eventually we're going to have lovely streets, curbing and driveways, but getting there is a mess. Long story short, when I got home last night I couldn't get in my driveway. They had started the preliminary digging for the concrete pouring, and then just left it...impassable. I'm a cranky bitch, so I called the construction company and complained (hey--they left a letter on my door weeks ago saying that each night they would spread gravel so the streets would be passable), and they sent out a poor shmuck to fill it in with gravel for me. (Yeah, poor shmuck...probably makes twice what I do.)

Today I went home for lunch, and it was impassable again, of course, which I expected, but they hadn't actually started pouring the concrete yet, so I went across the street and asked the guys if it would be drivable when I got home from work. "Nope, don't think so." Unacceptable! So I called the company again, identified myself as "the bitch who called last night" and said I was calling proactively today. The woman in the office got a little snippy with me--"We're fixing YOUR streets; you're gonna have to give a little to get a little." UNACCEPTABLE! (I'll be the bitch here, thankyouverymuch.) She said I should have been given a letter notifying me that I would need to make "alternate parking arrangements" for a few days. Well, a) I received no such letter and b) WHAT alternate parking arrangements? The whole freaking neighborhood is a torn-up dust bowl, and I don't want to park in what used to be a street but is now a dust bowl next to the dumptrucks and bucket loaders. She finally said she couldn't help me, but would have a supervisor return my call. (I managed to get in a bitchy "this may be just a jobsite for you, but it's my HOME." Hee.)

Her supervisor called a few minutes later, apologized profusely for my inconvenience (now THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!) and said the site supervisor should have given me written or verbal notice that they'd be pouring concrete today. (Somebody's in trouble! Hee!) I said "if someone had done that I wouldn't have had to turn into such a bitch, now would I?" He assured me I wasn't being a bitch (liar!), just "expressing my concerns." He promised to build some sort of gravel ramp so that I could at least drive through the yard and into the top half of my driveway, as the concrete on the lower half has to set for a day, and when I asked that they be mindful of how low my car sits (I've lost count of how many times I've bottomed out and scraped my undercarriage this month), he said he would have someone sitting there at 5:15 to make sure I get in okay. I'll let you know how THAT goes. Hee.

At which point I became sweetness and light, of course. I'm not really a bitch, I just play one when I need to get my way. *Bats eyelashes.*

Edited to add: did I forget to mention that the men with the jackhammers in the driveway have given Pudge diarrhea again? IN the house? No wonder I'm a bitch.

Weekend Update

'Cause I know you're all dying to know. Heh.

I did go on a date Saturday night. With the guy from KC. I wish I had predicted in writing that the accent I was thinking (hoping) he would have would be Eastern European, 'cause I was right. Ukraine. And it's very cute. (If I am a sucker for accents--I am a particular sucker for Eastern Europe.) We talked on the phone Friday afternoon, exchanged a couple of emails arranging details, and we met at the restaurant Saturday night. Dinner was followed by live music and beers by the river, and that was followed by several hours more of conversation and TV watching. He's very sweet, and I enjoyed myself very much. (How much? I'll let your vivid imaginations handle that question. Ha.)

That's the upside. The downside? Well, he only comes to town occasionally, and he is VERY recently divorced. But I think maybe we helped each other take our first steps away from our broken hearts, so that's good. And he did ask if he could see me when he next comes to town, and I said yes. We have each other's cellphone numbers and email addresses. So, we'll see.

The most important thing, you see, is that I had a good time with a guy who wasn't Him!!!! Can I get a whoo hoo??!!

I talked to Mr. Good-Looking with Issues again late Friday night. It turns out that he works most nights until 10:30 p.m., which would be a problem, since that's about when I'm getting ready for bed, and besides that...I just didn't feel a real conversational spark. He seemed a wee bit arrogant, and I'm just so not in the mood for that. He asked about possibly meeting, I said I thought we needed to talk some more when one of us wasn't sleepy, and that I was very busy on Saturday (hee), but I might try to call him later in the weekend. And then I never did. I just couldn't get excited about the prospect, and I decided that was my answer, probably. He never called, either, and when I got online this morning, I had one of those pre-fab Hayoo! "Sorry we're not a good match" messages from him. Nice, huh? Couldn't even type out a personalized sentence? I felt nothing but relief, so...moving on.

Mr. Nice but Possible Chemistry Issues emailed this morning--I think I should probably just give him my phone number and speed this thing up. Either there's chemistry or there's not, and this emailing back and forth isn't really going to tell us.

The only other "activity" resulting from all this online nonsense is that when I checked to see who had viewed me on Catch.mom (having just become an actual subscriber to talk to Mr. KC) I saw that I had been viewed by a friend that I hadn't seen in a while. So I emailed him, just to say hey, how are ya, and he emailed back all I'm fine, how are YOU, and we ended up chatting back and forth several times, and decided we should meet this week for a beer, and to dish about how strange this online dating thing is. And, we both agreed, that may well be the most fun either of us gets out of it. Heh.

Sunday I was so tired from being up so late the night before (Get your dirty minds out of the gutter. Or not, your choice.) that I didn't even leave the house. I discovered AMC was having a Mad Men Season One marathon, before the second season starts next week, and having never seen an episode despite hearing from friends how fabulous it was, I decided to check it out. That is literally all I did the entire day. And you know what? It IS fabulous. How did I miss this before? The period detailing--both sets/costumes/music and speech/attitudes--is just meticulous. Kudos. I had to record the last three episodes (it didn't end until midnight), but once I've watched those, I'm all ready for season two. Bring it on.

How were your weekends? Did you flirt with a Ukrainian? Do tell.

I'm thinking of joining a convent.

I'll just marry Jesus--I know he's a good guy. Heh.

Man, this online dating thing is just crazy, isn't it? I met He Who Shall, Etc., so quickly after joining last year that I really didn't get much of a taste. No such luck this time around, I fear.

I now have paid for one month (and one month only) at MeMarmony, Hayoo! Personals and, um...Catch.mom? Why, you ask? Well, I am either a sucker or a hopeless optimist. Or just plain old superstitious. 'Cause if someone contacts me, and I can't contact him back (due to lack of paid membership) I am instantly convinced that he is my soulmate, and I'm going to miss out on something wonderful if I don't hand over my card number immediately!

So, here's the wrap-up, so far:

MeMarmony: now in "open communication" with two guys...one of whom I have serious doubts about (he's a football coach, and I probably haven't closed the match primarily because I'm trying not to pre-judge him on that basis, but it's not looking good), and one of whom seems to be very nice guy, but with whom I have serious doubts about physical chemistry. Of course, I'm basing that solely on his tiny little thumbnail picture, which I think isn't fair...and which is why I'm continuing to chat with him. Maybe I owe him (and myself) a real-life meeting before I make that call.

I've closed one match...ironically, the one that prompted me to go ahead and pony up the membership fee in the first place. In answer to (and these are pre-fab questions, by the way...the verbiage is not mine) "What are your political beliefs?" he replied with something along the line of "I don't trust politicians but I supported Bush and still think he's a good man" (Stee-rike one!) and to "Do you have any pets? Which types of animals do you love to be around?" (again--verbiage not mine) with, and I quote, "Now Liz, I am a man, do you want me to tell you that cats are the most lovable pet and I love to be around them..............so what did you think!" Well, asshat, I thought you might answer with a straightforward "yes" or "no" or maybe an "I'm horribly allergic" or something. "I am a man"? What the hell does that have to do with anything? Oh, wait...do you mean to imply that "real" men couldn't possibly love cats? And, by the way, nowhere in my profile or previous communication had I EVER said what kind of pets I have. Way to make assumptions, dude. ("Stee-rikes two and three! You're out!")

Mr. Nice Guy with Possible "Chemistry" Problems above, by the way, has TWO cats, and would like to adopt more from the shelter, if he only had more room. Now, THAT is a real man. (And maybe another reason why I haven't axed him yet. Heh.)

Okay, on to Hayoo! Personals. Alert readers will recall that I mentioned having been given the phone number of a good-looking guy. Well, I called him last night. He was working, so I told him just to call me back when he was free. He called me back three times during the course of the evening, each time talking only a few minutes before saying there was something else work-related he needed to take care of. Okay...I can be considerate of work-related stuff. I'm less considerate of answering the same question over and over, though. See, he's a black man, and apparently he's had some sort of bad experience with a white woman (or women) just trying to satisfy her curiosity about black men. (He does actually mention this in his profile.) I can understand how that would be frustrating...but how many times do I have to defend my motives here? YES, I have dated black men before. But NO, I don't date ONLY black men. I'm looking for a GOOD man, regardless of skin color, and while YES, aesthetically I prefer darker skin, it's what's inside that's most important. I'm not looking to enact some sort of Mandingo fantasy here. Don't make me say it again! Sheesh. He had to hang up again, and said he'd call me later, and I said okay. I didn't realize, though, that "later" in this case meant 11:30 p.m., and when he called I didn't answer. 'Cause I was in bed. (I wasn't actually sleep, as it happens, I was talking to BFF, and when the call-waiting kicked in he was all "he is NOT actually calling you at this hour, is he? How rude!")

I sent him an email this morning, saying if he'd like to call at a time when he actually HAD time to talk, and if he would like to talk about something OTHER than the black/white thing, fine. If not...well, good luck to him in his search. (He's going to need it, methinks.)

Nothing else shaking on Hayoo!

This morning I got an email from someone at Catch.mom, which I couldn't look at because I wasn't an actual suck...subscriber, and because "oh my god what if it's my soulmate, etc.," I went ahead and joined and found an invitation for dinner Saturday night. From some guy in Kansas City, who comes to town once a month for business, and he's tired of having dinner alone in his hotel room while he's here, and since my profile is funny, and I'm a vegetarian (as is he), would I be willing to join him for dinner? And you know...I might. He gave me his cellphone number, and I think I'll call him later. I mean, what the hell, right? I'll get him to meet me at my favorite vegetarian restaurant, where they know me, and I'll be safe, and I'll let him buy me some crack noodles. And besides, he says English is his second language, and he's Jewish, so I'm hoping he'll have a yummy accent. (What can I say? I'm a sucker for an accent that isn't "redneck.")

And that's the story, morning glory. I suppose it's better than sitting at home moping about...Him, right? (Oh, and by "Him" I meant "He Who Shall Not Be Named," and not the aforementioned "Jesus." Heh.)

Give it up for -R-!

What a great time Blogshare was, huh? As always, lots and lots of funny, moving, well-written posts. Kudos to all involved.

You should all be thanking your lucky stars that Blogshare happened when it did, otherwise yesterday you would have been reading about the very vivid dream I had, starring Neil Flynn (Janitor from "Scrubs") as a policeman who threatened to shoot me because I accidentally aimed a laser pointer at him. Yeah...I don't know, either. My dream life is weird!

How's the real life going? Well, nothing too major. I haven't heard from or contacted the Professor since last week's excruciatingly polite date. I'm hoping that means that he felt the lack of chemistry, as well, and there are no hard feelings on either side.

I'm still exploring the Hayoo! personals, and actually got brave enough to contact a few guys without waiting for them to contact me first. That hasn't worked out all that well, so far, but I do have the number of one guy who wants me to give him a call. (And he's pretty cute in his pictures, so...fingers crossed.)

I also got suckered into trying "MeMarmony" again for a bit (I never do more than a month at a time with ANY of them--no endless auto-renewals for me), and am currently in the process of "guided communication" with a couple of guys. The problem with "guided communication" is that it takes a while....back and forth, back and forth with the questions! I'm a gal who prefers instant gratification, generally. And yeah, I know the theory is that you get to know someone gradually before you plunge on in, 29 levels of compatibility, blah, blah...but sometimes a plunge turns into a good thing. And if not, well...you find out pretty quickly and move on. Or you have a several-months-long relationship and then he moves out-of-state and breaks your heart. One or the other. Heh.

Mostly I'm just trying to keep myself occupied, and my mind off things like He Who Shall Be Nameless, and $3.89/gallon gas, and soaring food costs, and the construction on my street that's driving me up the wall, and the heat, and the humidity, and well...you get it.

By the way, are we all watching "So You Think You Can Dance," as we should be? I have an enormous crush on Will. I could watch him dance for hours. Preferably shirtless. Yowza. They don't grow 'em like that on Hayoo! or MeMarmony. Heh.

Blogshare participants

First, read the fabulous guest post below. Then entertain yourself for hours and hours reading all these other fabulous guest posts. See you there!

Vent Vox
Turn On The Stars
Trudie - Life After AC
Swimming With Sharks
Stefanie Says
Shhh! Librarian-In-Training
Sauntering Soul
Sass Attack
Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills
Red Red Whine
Our Simplicity
One New Duck
Oh My Seven
The Occasional Truth
No Lady
Nancy Pearl Wannabe
Muse On Vacation
Messing With Texas
Melliferous Pants
Lizland
Live Work Dream
Just Below 63
Jonniker
Java Literally
Heidikins
Full of Snark
Face Down
Ex Everything
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Did I Say That Outloud?
The Daily Tannenbaum
The Coconut Diaries
Citystreams
Catheroominations
Bright Yellow World
Breath Smiles Tears
And You Know What Else
Alyndabear
3 Carnations

Give it up for your fabulous anonymous guest poster:

So Here Goes:

I am a girl. I am not a terribly girly girl. I don't wear make-up. I own four pairs of shoes that aren't flat, and two of those have never left the house attached to me. I have what other people call a 'dirty' job. This means I often break nails, I have callouses on my hands, and occasionally I come home smelling like I've rolled through a pile of poo. Because, sometimes it happens. Never for enjoyment, though.

At the same time, blogging world, I can be incredibly female. I straighten my hair. I have treatments with beauticians. I have way too many Kate Hudson and Anne Hathoway movies in my DVD collection. I also watch Grey's Anatomy, and cried when Denny died.

I have found that another way I am not a 'typical girl', is that I have put very little thought into my very own wedding. I have friends who are single, and know exactly what they want, down to how many white roses they want in every table centerpiece, and what colour ribbon these will be fastened with. Even though the logic of their chosen centerpiece suggests that the ribbon will not be seen, and is thus... a pointless expense.

Up until recently, that is. I had a long standing belief that a wedding should be something that is mutually agreed on, and that the only thing the bride should get to do completely on her own is pick a dress (and that's not even completely on her own.. she'll have bridesmaids to help her out). Because I like the idea of appearing all glowing-like at the end of an aisle and having Him damn near fall over when he sees me, because he will never have seen me like that before. (The downside of this is that he may peer down the aisle, think "She looks like a cream puff"...).

Strangely enough... Now I'm actually IN a relationship, IN love, and with someone I actually WANT to spend the rest of my life with, I have pondered the whole wedding thing. Not in great detail, because I still want a lot of it to be picked between us (What fun is picking a cake if there isn't a cake tasting appointment, and why would I want to do that without Him? We both like cake.) .. But I have ideas. I know I won't want it to happen in a church. I'm not convinced on having it in a park, or on a beach, or anywhere outdoors. Mostly because of the weather and it's uncanny ability to be crappy on days of importance.

I also know I want it to be classic (and in-expensive). Something that we can look back on with our kids and grandkids and not have them giggle at how daggy we look. I know this, because my mother's wedding dress is covered in marubu feathers while my dad wore a blue suit and also sported a mullet on their wedding day. I cannot help but laugh at this. It just looks.. so ... awful. I don't want my kids to laugh at us the way I laugh at my parents. (I'm also not convinced I didn't once say I would wear that dress. I was about 18 at the time, had just broken up with my first serious boyfriend, and convinced I would be alone forever, so there was little harm in saying I'd wear it when I was adamant I would be a crazy cat lady instead of a volvo-driving-soccer-mom/mum. My only hope is that she does not remember this. If she does, I have a cunning plan of simply denying everything.) I also know the girls I want in my bridal party. There are three of them, one is my sister. I don't know how many He will want, but if I get stuck on numbers... He has a sister (I'd put her in there over some of the girls who claim to be my 'friend' any day. And I haven't even met her yet). I also fully intend on sticking my niece in a cute little dress and putting flowers in her hair, and getting her to toss a few petals around. Mostly this is because she's cute and I want to see her doing that, rather than the fact that I want a flower girl chucking things around. Because I'm not actually convinced it's a good idea.. she's the kind of kid who would peg a handful of petals at the guests unlucky enough to be sitting on the aisle seats. I also know that based on my skin tone, regular gold isn't going to cut it. I'm all about the white gold, baby. Lucky my taste is understated and simple. Otherwise we'd need to sell my car in order to pay for such a thing. Besides, its not about what it looks like or how much it costs, or how many carots the rock in the engagement ring is. It's about what it MEANS, right? Hell, I'd be happy with a zirconia. It's still going to mean the same thing.

Now, marriage is not something I want to rush in to. Luckily, He is awesome and agrees. But, we have talked about the future in terms of He and I, being happily married, and punching out a couple of kids. (Actually... the kid thing... I'm not sure I've mentioned it to Him, but based on family running of the twin-gene, I'll be surprised if I don't end up having both our planned kids at once.... I've already put dibs on my sister's double pram, just in case. Even if I have single kids, it's still a pretty sweet pram. I could pimp it.). I just get a little weird when it comes up in conversation between us, because I'm never sure what to say. If I say anything about how I am All For marriage, He might think I really AM one of those 'I have a folder of wedding clippings under my bed, to fully display my vision' girls, and if I say anything about how I don't really think about it too much, He may think I really DON'T think about it at all, and thus am not interested in how many girls I'll have in my bridal party. I was nervous enough when somehow what names I liked for future children came up in conversation, just in case it came across as my having decided without him that we were going to have four-in-four or something. Which, I actually really don't want. I'm quite convinced two is enough.

The honest truth is I'm not overly fussed with a wedding. Which is yet another 'not so typically female' thing I've got going for me. All I'm concerned with is spending the rest of my life with him. I know who I want to wake up next to for the rest of my life. I know who I want to raise my kids with. And I know He wants to wake up next to me, and spend the rest of his life with me, and that he wants me to be the mother of his children. And that while we're both enjoying every moment of being together, I also can't wait to start the rest of my life with him. REALLY start the rest of my life with him. In terms of living together, coming home to each other, cooking with each other and spending weekends cuddled in bed. MMHMM.

Watch this space

Tomorrow is the sure to be fabulous Blogshare 3.0. Check back then for a wonderful post written by...you didn't think I was actually going to TELL you, did I?

Now, instead of dithering on about how none of the men I actually worked up my courage to contact online have responded yet (good lord, why do I never remember how much I hate this whole "dating" thing?), I will be off to finish up my own anonypost, which will be available for viewing at...come on. You know I can't tell. I'll post the list of participating blogs, and you can have fun looking for it!

Well, that was...disappointing.

What was? Pretty much my whole weekend, actually.

I did actually talk to the Professor Thursday night. We talked for about 20 minutes, I guess, and...it was okay. Not thrilling, not awkward, just...the definition of small talk. His voice surprised me, for some reason--he just didn't sound like I thought he would, and it was a bit reedy, but I decided I could overlook that. (Petty thing, I know, but a certain someone who shall go nameless has a beautiful speaking voice, and...I really like that, singer/actress that I am. Anyway.) He suggested maybe getting together for coffee over the weekend, and said he'd call Friday night to set something up. All well and good.

He called as promised on Friday, and the conversation was a little livelier (plus I already knew how he sounded, so no surprise there), and after some back-and-forth trying to mesh our schedules, I decided to forgo my usual Cat Lady Lunch on Saturday to meet him for coffee instead. I figured if he was going to drive all the way from Hometown, I could meet him halfway with the scheduling. He didn't seem interested in substituting an actual meal for coffee, so...coffee it is. (I don't drink coffee, but what the hell. They have iced tea.)

So...he was right on time. He had coffee. I had tea. We chatted. It was all perfectly pleasant. He's a nice guy. He's very smart. His politics are "correct." (Meaning similar to mine, of course. Hee.) But here's the thing--I can not EVER see myself wanting to get naked with this man. Zero chemistry. Zip, zilch, nada. And, for those of you getting ready even now to chime in with a "give it chance to grow" comment, there were also a couple of non-chemistry-related red flags concerning his ex and his kids, so...no.

I haven't heard from him, either by phone or email, since our meeting, so hopefully he sensed the lack of chemistry, too, (we parted with a handshake, not even a one-armed half hug) and I won't have to do the awkward "let's just be friends" thing, but if it comes to it, I will. Moving on.

Damn it. I missed vanilla bean flan and girl talk for that? Heh.

So, anyway...I went home and geared up for my first "Nensa" monthly dinner meeting. I drove to the restaurant in an ever-worsening thunderstorm, dashed inside, and discovered that something was wrong with my bank's debit card system. (Maybe the lightning fried something, is all I could think.) My card wouldn't work. Thankfully it was a restaurant where you pay when you order at the counter, so I was spared the embarrassment of being declined AFTER I ate, but they didn't take checks, and I didn't have cash, so I went off in search of an ATM. Two stops later (in the still-pouring rain) I had to accept the fact that the entire system was down, and I would not be dining out that night. I didn't want to show up for my first meeting a half hour late, then sit and watch other people eat and drink. "Why am I not eating? Well, my debit card won't work and I don't have any cash. But I do have money in the bank--I promise." Um....no. I'll try again next week.

What a disappointing day.

Sunday was not so much a disappointment as it was just plain sad. My friend Jan's funeral was Sunday afternoon. The cat ladies were there in force, of course, and I had to respond over and over to "we missed you at lunch yesterday" with "yeah, well...there was this guy." We all got a good laugh, and I promised never again to drop plans with them "for some stupid boy." Heh.

Actually, you know...the service, though lovely, WAS a little disappointing. For some reason, though the preacher mentioned her cats (and us scoopers) a number of times, there was not one picture of Jan with a cat in the (now inevitable) powerpoint photo essay. Not one. I can't think she'd be pleased with that--what was her family thinking? She had pictures of her kitties all over her house. Oh, well. I called my mother afterwards and told her if she was ever putting together a powerpoint presentation of MY life in photos, I wanted plenty of pictures of critters. They're more photogenic than I am, anyway. (Ooh, I think I also want a picture of myself in my nun's habit from "Sister Mary" to greet everyone as they come in. That would be hilarious.)

The weekend wasn't all bad, really...I made some excellent enchiladas Friday night, and got a lot of reading done. And the funeral was near one of my favorite Indian restaurants, so I cheered myself up with some takeout curry afterwards.

I did not, however, get my lawn mowed, so I now have that to look forward to tonight. Sigh.

I hope you all had better weekends!

Rest in peace, Jan.

My cancer-stricken friend died last night. They had stopped the feeding tube over a week ago, and still she hung on. The last time I saw her was about 3 weeks ago, and I thought it looked like it could be any time, even then. The hospice people were amazed she lasted as long as she did. I am very sad, but also so relieved that she's finally at peace. I know she was ready to leave that ravaged body. Her cats had all gone to their new homes, which I know was a huge relief to her. And I imagine that even now she's in the midst of a joyful reunion with all those rescued kitties who'd gone before. I know when I pass over, I'm fully expecting a long line of little furry faces and wagging tails!

Okay, I'm getting teary. Moving on.

Don't get all excited, or anything...but the professor and I are still emailing. I gave him my number, and we may talk on the phone tonight. I still have no great expectations, but it's nice to have something to think about other than...what was his name again? Heh.

What's with these 5-day weeks?

I just have a feeling this week is going to seem like an eternity. Oh, well...

I will run down my action-packed (please note sarcasm) holiday weekend in a bit, but first things first. Product recommendations!

First of all, I'm diggin' this:

No, it doesn't quite make my lashes look like Drew Barrymore's in the commercial, of course, but it ain't bad! I can get by with just a couple of coats, and my lashes are acceptably thick and lush (for me--I have very fine blonde eyelashes, damn it). And it's not clumpy. The brush is really large--maybe that's the key. Best thing I've tried in a while. And I am a girl who loves (and needs) mascara.

I also love falafel. A while back, the mom and pop of my favorite mom-and-pop Lebanese restaurant retired. (I know--how could they do that to me?!) They sold the restaurant, time-tested recipes included, and the new owner swore he wouldn't change a thing. But he did! I won't go so far as to say it was horrible, but it sure the heck wasn't what it was before. The rice was seasoned differently, the falafel was a bit soggy, and the tabouli wasn't super-fresh. What's a fried chickpea ball-loving girl to do? I'd tried some of those packaged mixes before, and was never very happy with the results. But, for some reason, I was compelled to pick up a box of this:

It's made in Israel--surely the Israelis wouldn't steer me wrong in such an important thing, right? And you know what? It's not Mimi's, but it's not half bad. I knew it was a good thing when I slit open the package and that unmistakable aroma wafted up. It smells like falafel! I fried up a batch, threw together some acceptable yogurt sauce with cucumbers, green onions and (fresh from my garden) mint. Not bad, not bad at all. (Of course, Mimi would never serve yogurt sauce with falafel, but I didn't have any tahini on hand, so I made do.) I will definitely try it again soon.

Okay, so how was my long weekend? Well, it was fine.

Thursday night I went to see a production of the Leonard Bernstein musical "Candide." I'd never seen it before. Truthfully, I was not blown away, but it was okay, and the tickets were free.

Friday morning I went to the grocery story the minute I woke up, hoping to beat the crowds and the heat. (Mission accomplished.) My plan for the day was not to leave the house again, and do as little in the way of actual work as possible. I spent the whole day on the couch reading, having recently been tipped off by Lara that a certain online bookseller was having a massive clearance sale. (She wasn't kidding. Lots and lots of books under $3.99. And free express shipping.) (And sorry about not patronizing my local independent bookseller, but the only one left around here doesn't have a particularly large selection, and they darn sure aren't selling them under $3.99. And times are hard. I'll stop digressing now.) I took a couple of breaks to watch TV and make enchiladas, but I still managed to read 1.5 books.

Now, here's where it becomes clear that the universe really, really enjoys fucking with me. I'm reading my first book of the day...it's not life-changing literature, but it's very enjoyable, I can tell everything's going to be wrapped up in a nice little bow at the end, and I'm going to feel good about it, and that's EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. Since my own life is so very NOT like that. So I'm reading along, absorbed in my nice little piece of escapism, trying to forget ALL about my own life, and a character is introduced. His name is "New Guy." (Okay, not really...he has the same first name as New Guy, but you got that, right?) Oh, great. I read on. "Fictional New Guy" is revealed to have a deep and abiding love for vintage "Dohn Jeere" tractors. Oh, GREAT. So does REAL New Guy. It is further revealed that FNG grew up on a farm, and left it to become a pilot. Oh, just stick that knife in further! SO DID REAL NEW GUY! At that point, I just started laughing. So much for escapism. Heh.

Oh, and then I started into book #2 of the day, and instantly was confronted with another character named "New Guy." (Okay, it's a pretty common name, but really.) Fortunately, this FNG was a shell-shocked Vietnam veteran and he didn't stick around the book very long. Whew.

Friday night I tried to keep poor Pudge calm while the neighbors shot off very loud fireworks on all sides. He didn't get too visibly upset, but flat-out refused to go outside. I think he went about 18 hours without peeing. Sigh. Poor Pudgie.

Saturday morning, I did my usual chores and swung by my favorite restaurant for take-out crack noodles (of course), did some more reading, then Saturday evening I went to see the same theatre company do "Pirates of Penzance." Better than "Candide," I thought. They updated it to "modern day," which I didn't feel enhanced it at all, but, fortunately, didn't detract as I feared it might. And hey, the tickets were free. We'll be going to see "Into the Woods" later this week, and I have high hopes, as I love, love, love me some Sondheim. Gilbert and Sullivan I like, Sondheim I love. And hey, (sing it with me if you know the words) the tickets will be free. Hee.

Sunday was church, napping and lawn-mowing, and the weekend was done.

Okay, should I even tell you about this? It feels kind of weird.

Oh, why not. You see, New Guy (real life version) has been very, very busy, and basically incommunicado the past few days, and it's not making me feel particularly good. So I thought, what the heck. Let's see what/who else is out there and, if nothing else, I will be reminded why having a boyfriend named Pudge who walks on all fours isn't the worst fate that could befall a girl.

So I updated my online profile and posted it on a different site than last year. I've gotten several "ice breakers" that I've basically ignored, and a couple of actual messages, one of which I've responded to. The guy's a university professor--at the university I went to, in my hometown about an hour from here. "I don't know if you're familiar with Hometown," he says. Hee! I had to reply. We've exchanged a couple of emails. At the very least, he's intelligent and articulate. (A PhD and a CPA.) I have absolutely no expectations. That seems the way to play it for now.

So, there you have it. You're all caught up.

Thank goodness for short weeks.

I only have to hang in there until tomorrow after lunch, then I get a nice, long weekend. Thank goodness, 'cause I'm feeling just exhausted this week. And we'll probably spend most of the morning tomorrow putting together our company picnic, so that just barely counts as work. I am responsible for the tomatoes, onions and cheese for the burgers. I think I can stretch slicing for an hour or so, don't you?

So how was last weekend, with its myriad of socializing opportunities? Well, Friday night was lovely--I had dinner with a friend who was visiting from out-of-state. Italian food, iced tea, grasshopper pie. Ran into one of my theatre pals I hadn't seen in a while, since I've been sort of out of the loop lately. (Hi, Jenny! She reminded me she reads my blog. Heh.)

I got my usual chores out of the way on Saturday morning, and took Pudge to the vet Saturday afternoon for his yearly checkup. He's perfect, by the way. The vet even said "he looks so handsome--did he just have a bath?" Pudge has NEVER had a bath. He's self-cleaning, apparently. I said as much to the vet, and she thought that was hilarious. "Did you come with the self-cleaning option? How nice for you!"

Pudge and I stopped at my favorite restaurant for a carry-out order of the "crack noodles" I'm so ridiculously addicted to, and then I took a short nap before time to go to Saturday night's pickin' party.

I'd forgotten to pick up some decent beer, my preferred party beverage, so I decided to just take the bottle of wine I bought on a whim a while back and stuck in the fridge.

You know...for a "Nensa" member, I can be awfully stupid sometimes. Will I EVER learn that wine drunk to excess is not a good thing for me? I can put away a massive amount of beer, and as long as it's GOOD beer (no Bud, Busch, Miller or Coors), there will be nary a complaint from my body the next day. Wine? Not so much.

I drank the bottle I took. Plus a small margarita (the host was experimenting with a new recipe which involved fresh lemon and lime juices, plus limoncello--I had to try it). And then, when my own white wine was gone, a large glass of someone else's red. Thankfully I also had chips and hummus, veggies and pizza, but even with the heavy starch load, I was feeling that wine. Lordy. I ate another slice of pizza, and eventually felt steady enough to drive home. I was feeling pretty good when I got home, so I stupidly, STUPIDLY, broke my own hard and fast rule, and did not have a large glass of water and my NSAID of choice.

Big mistake. I spent the entire day Sunday on the couch, DYING. I missed the church picnic--and the weather was perfect for it. Seriously, a gorgeous, gorgeous day. I finally felt somewhat human again around 3:00, but I didn't feel up to driving all the way across town to watch other people drink margaritas at the potluck. Just the thought of being in the same room with alcohol made my stomach flip. (To punish myself, I did go out and mow the lawn, though...which actually made me feel quite a bit better. Sometimes too much couch time becomes counter-productive.)

The lesson here, boys and girls? When you have an entire weekend of events planned, parcel out your drinking. Pace yourselves. You're not as young as you used to be.

You know the only thing I really miss about my 20s? Drinking without hangovers. Sigh.

This weekend I'm supposed to attend a couple of musicals with a friend who has tickets. Should be fun. The 4th itself I will undoubtedly spend as I have the last few--trying to reassure my panicked dog that it's all going to be okay, and becoming increasingly frustrated with my thoughtless neighbors down the street--you know, the ones who've been setting off fireworks in limited amounts for days already, and who just don't know when to quit on the 4th. They generally shoot them off way into the wee hours of the 5th. And the police don't care, I found out the hard way, even though IT'S ILLEGAL TO SHOOT FIREWORKS IN THE CITY LIMITS AT ALL, EVER. And when you have a dog who refuses to go outside to relieve himself until the loud noises stop, well...you want the loud noises to stop! Pity poor Pudge...sitting there panting with his legs crossed.

Well, that pretty much catches you up on my exciting, exciting life. Can I get a whoo hoo? No? Yeah, I didn't think so.