Or not.
I'm not particularly enjoying my life right now.
On the way to work this morning, I passed a child's teddy bear facedown in the road, and I nearly burst into tears. The poor teddy bear! The poor child! How did it end up in the road? Was it accidentally flung out of a car? Did some mean older brother fling it deliberately?
Maybe I need to start taking St. John's Wort or something. So, why am I blue? Well, let's see...
I did not get cast in a play I auditioned for, a part I really, really wanted. Gah.
I decided not to audition for another play coming up in two weeks, as I discovered that the character actually does have to be fairly thin. Which I am not. Bah.
There are no other appropriate auditions coming up for at least a couple of months. Gah and bah.
My cat Rover is not doing so well, heartwormily speaking. We went back to the vet this week. Sadly, we're already doing all that can be done, so...cross the fingers and take one day at a time. Wah.
Pudge has had some diarrhea again, which resulted in him waking me up for a potty break at 4:00 a.m. for four days in a row. Argh.
Monday was the one-year anniversary of the day I met New Guy...and the three-month anniversary of the last time I saw him. And no...he is not currently returning my calls. Gah, bah, wah.
There are no particularly interesting prospects in the dating mix at this moment. I have had a somewhat lame email exchange with a guy whose sallies seem to be limited to "How's your day going?" Fine. Fine again. Oh, and he did start out once with "Hey, Sexy." WTF? I haven't ruled him out completely, though...because he's quite attractive. Shallow, party of one.
I was hoping that Ordinary Guy would take the hint and not call me again, but sadly...he did not, and he did. I haven't returned the call. I'm trying very hard to convince myself to take the high road, call him and tell him "I'm sorry, there's just no chemistry," but you know what? I'm tired of being nice. I'm nice all the time, and where does it get me? Seriously...I knock myself out feeding and taking care of stray cats, and in exchange, the universe gives MY cat heartworms. Go fuck yourself, "Nice."
Things are annoying me. Things that would ordinarily roll off my back. I'm "in a mood," I suppose.
I dreamed last night that I attempted to hang something up on a wall with a push pin...and the entire wall began to crumble, and I started to freak out that my landlord was going to blame/evict me. Anyone care to interpret that?
On the plus side, I'm going to meet a friend for Indian food tomorrow night, I only have to work a half-day on Friday, and then it's a 3.5 day weekend. There are SOME slightly bright spots, after all.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I should feel good, but I'm just exhausted.
Yesterday I managed to trap 3 of the (I think) 4 kittens born to my little workplace stray cat. I should be really happy about that, right? I even have a place for them to go that ISN'T my garage, for a change. But all I can do is be pissed about the one who still eludes me. Damn you, tabby! Picture the fist-shaking-to-the-skies that goes along with that.
The little mama herself continues to be my friend, even as she watches me carry off her babies one by one, and additionally, there are two other participants at what is apparently being touted in the 'hood as the all-you-can-eat cat buffet in our parking lot. One is a true stray I've seen around for a while--probably a sibling to Lil' Mama; the other is clearly just an opportunist.
Have you priced cat food lately? I can't afford to feed this many more mouths. My plan, as soon as I incarcerate the final baby, is to have Lil' Mama spayed, and hopefully find her a home. Then the buffet will be closed. Closed, I tell you!
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pick some more burrs off my clothes. The babies are being hidden on one side of an unmowed field--I've been picking burrs off the cat all week, and now it's my turn.
Who needs a boyfriend when your life is this rich and full?
The little mama herself continues to be my friend, even as she watches me carry off her babies one by one, and additionally, there are two other participants at what is apparently being touted in the 'hood as the all-you-can-eat cat buffet in our parking lot. One is a true stray I've seen around for a while--probably a sibling to Lil' Mama; the other is clearly just an opportunist.
Have you priced cat food lately? I can't afford to feed this many more mouths. My plan, as soon as I incarcerate the final baby, is to have Lil' Mama spayed, and hopefully find her a home. Then the buffet will be closed. Closed, I tell you!
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pick some more burrs off my clothes. The babies are being hidden on one side of an unmowed field--I've been picking burrs off the cat all week, and now it's my turn.
Who needs a boyfriend when your life is this rich and full?
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Post-Ordinary-Date Wrap-Up
Okay, I know you've all been waiting, "with breath that is bated" (name the TV show that is the source of the quote, win...my undying admiration), so here's how it went down with Ordinary Guy.
We had agreed to meet at my favorite vegetarian restaurant, after I realized when we talked on the phone the night before that he was going to suggest nothing but chain restaurants. (Ordinary!) This, coincidentally, is the restaurant to which New Guy and I went on our first date, and also where I met Ukrainian Guy on our...well, apparently only date. I was hoping it might be a good luck charm. Plus I knew at least I'd get a good meal.
On the phone with BFF pre-date, I mentioned my fear that he was going to fail my Asian restaurant litmus test. "I know he's going to order the sweet-and-sour pork. They always order the sweet-and-sour pork. It's the club sandwich of Asian food. But it's so boring!" (No offense intended to any of you who truly love sweet-and-sour pork...but have you tried the house specials on the back page of the menu? Give it a shot.) (And in the interest of full disclosure, that's what New Guy ordered, too. But he had previously fully admitted he was set in his ways, culinarily speaking.)
So, I get there...he's already seated...he stands up when I approach the table (points for gentlemanliness)...I sit down. I know instantly that physical chemistry is going to be a problem (hey, when you know, you know), but I'm determined to keep an open mind and try to have a good time.
We have more than the usual amount of time to peruse the menu, as the restaurant is a little understaffed, and the sweet but somewhat English-challenged father of the family is filling in as server, and he's not what you would call speedy. (But sweet, very sweet.) We open the menus, I joke that I don't know why I'm even looking at it, as I pretty much have it memorized, and I glance over and notice that his finger (and oh, we'll get back to the fingers) is pointing at the sweet-and-sour section. I knew it! "I usually just go for the sweet-and-sour pork," he says. I begin to grimace inside. (And by the way, all the meat in this restaurant is of the "mock" variety, should you be wondering why a vegetarian restaurant even serves sweet-and-sour "pork.") "But I think tonight I'll go for...the sweet-and-sour shrimp." Oh yeah, you live it up, dude!
Post-date conversation with BFF: "Were your eyes rolling? You know...in your mind?" "Oh, I think I sprained the backside of my eyes." Hee.
So, we order, we make idle small talk for a while. He says he's glad I chose such an interesting place. I say I love the food, and also, "they're just such nice people." Now, I am talking about this specific Vietnamese immigrant family, who I've gotten to know pretty well through the years. "Oh yes," he says, "they always are." What the hell "they" is HE talking about? Vietnamese immigrants? Restaurant owners? Rash generalization much? Am I overreacting? Probably. But still, it needled a bit.
We chat, eventually the food arrives. To his credit, he does enjoy a fresh spring roll, and when my noodles come, he tries them, and says he'd probably order them himself on a return visit.
Anyway, we chat, we eat, and it's all perfectly pleasant...and nothing more. Not for me, at any rate. He's an okay guy, we have some political/philosophical differences (nothing to come to blows over, certainly), he stubbornly refuses to admit that Andrew Lloyd Webber is an overwrought, overrated hack who hasn't had an original thought since "Jesus Christ, Superstar," though he does (thank god) admit that Stephen Sondheim is far more talented. We talk about all the concert tickets he's recently procured (none of which appeal to me), and the fact that he will attend pretty much any sporting event at any time, regardless of who's playing (okay, I suppose, if that's your thing), I say I really only enjoy sporting events when I actually care about the outcome, etc., etc.
Now, here's the part where I admit to being completely shallow. It's becoming clear that his personality isn't exactly making me weak in the knees, but it doesn't really matter, anyway, because he would have to have the personality and charm of Jon Stewart and Leonard Nimoy (shut up!) combined to get me past the fact that I hate his hands. I don't have many physical deal breakers, but...I really, really don't like ugly hands. You know...stubby fingers. Too-long fingernails. Badly chewed fingernails. Or, in his case, stubby fingers with extraordinarily tiny little fingernails. I KNOW this is not something he can help, obviously...but I can't help it, either.
I don't care what color your eyes are. Or your hair. I prefer short hair, but if you can rock a long 'do, I'll roll with it. Don't care if you have NO hair. Don't care if you're tall or short. Your ears stick out? That's okay. Got a bit of a buddha belly? No problem. A little bit of back hair? Eh, who cares.
But you can't have ugly hands or bad teeth (by which I do not mean that they must be perfectly straight and pearly white...just reasonably healthy-looking.). These are my turn-offs. We all have them--these are mine.
So, anyway...the restaurant is closing, the check has been lying there for a while, I'm stubbornly waiting to see if he's going to reach for it, and finally he does. He walks me to my car (still a gentleman, I'll give him that), I can tell he's hoping for a hug or something, but I just can't do it. I thank him sincerely for dinner, he thanks me for introducing him to a new restaurant, says he'll call me in a few days, I make some completely noncomittal sort of noise, and we're done.
Long story short--decent guy, just not at all my type. Unfortunately, I don't have his email address, or I'd take the coward's way out and send him an email to that effect. As it is, I'm just going to wait and see if he calls. Maybe he clued in from the lack of hug. If not, I'll try to figure out a kind way to discourage his attentions, I suppose.
And with that, I believe I may be done with dating. There are no other guys in the pipeline, so to speak, at this point.
NOW what will I blog about?!
We had agreed to meet at my favorite vegetarian restaurant, after I realized when we talked on the phone the night before that he was going to suggest nothing but chain restaurants. (Ordinary!) This, coincidentally, is the restaurant to which New Guy and I went on our first date, and also where I met Ukrainian Guy on our...well, apparently only date. I was hoping it might be a good luck charm. Plus I knew at least I'd get a good meal.
On the phone with BFF pre-date, I mentioned my fear that he was going to fail my Asian restaurant litmus test. "I know he's going to order the sweet-and-sour pork. They always order the sweet-and-sour pork. It's the club sandwich of Asian food. But it's so boring!" (No offense intended to any of you who truly love sweet-and-sour pork...but have you tried the house specials on the back page of the menu? Give it a shot.) (And in the interest of full disclosure, that's what New Guy ordered, too. But he had previously fully admitted he was set in his ways, culinarily speaking.)
So, I get there...he's already seated...he stands up when I approach the table (points for gentlemanliness)...I sit down. I know instantly that physical chemistry is going to be a problem (hey, when you know, you know), but I'm determined to keep an open mind and try to have a good time.
We have more than the usual amount of time to peruse the menu, as the restaurant is a little understaffed, and the sweet but somewhat English-challenged father of the family is filling in as server, and he's not what you would call speedy. (But sweet, very sweet.) We open the menus, I joke that I don't know why I'm even looking at it, as I pretty much have it memorized, and I glance over and notice that his finger (and oh, we'll get back to the fingers) is pointing at the sweet-and-sour section. I knew it! "I usually just go for the sweet-and-sour pork," he says. I begin to grimace inside. (And by the way, all the meat in this restaurant is of the "mock" variety, should you be wondering why a vegetarian restaurant even serves sweet-and-sour "pork.") "But I think tonight I'll go for...the sweet-and-sour shrimp." Oh yeah, you live it up, dude!
Post-date conversation with BFF: "Were your eyes rolling? You know...in your mind?" "Oh, I think I sprained the backside of my eyes." Hee.
So, we order, we make idle small talk for a while. He says he's glad I chose such an interesting place. I say I love the food, and also, "they're just such nice people." Now, I am talking about this specific Vietnamese immigrant family, who I've gotten to know pretty well through the years. "Oh yes," he says, "they always are." What the hell "they" is HE talking about? Vietnamese immigrants? Restaurant owners? Rash generalization much? Am I overreacting? Probably. But still, it needled a bit.
We chat, eventually the food arrives. To his credit, he does enjoy a fresh spring roll, and when my noodles come, he tries them, and says he'd probably order them himself on a return visit.
Anyway, we chat, we eat, and it's all perfectly pleasant...and nothing more. Not for me, at any rate. He's an okay guy, we have some political/philosophical differences (nothing to come to blows over, certainly), he stubbornly refuses to admit that Andrew Lloyd Webber is an overwrought, overrated hack who hasn't had an original thought since "Jesus Christ, Superstar," though he does (thank god) admit that Stephen Sondheim is far more talented. We talk about all the concert tickets he's recently procured (none of which appeal to me), and the fact that he will attend pretty much any sporting event at any time, regardless of who's playing (okay, I suppose, if that's your thing), I say I really only enjoy sporting events when I actually care about the outcome, etc., etc.
Now, here's the part where I admit to being completely shallow. It's becoming clear that his personality isn't exactly making me weak in the knees, but it doesn't really matter, anyway, because he would have to have the personality and charm of Jon Stewart and Leonard Nimoy (shut up!) combined to get me past the fact that I hate his hands. I don't have many physical deal breakers, but...I really, really don't like ugly hands. You know...stubby fingers. Too-long fingernails. Badly chewed fingernails. Or, in his case, stubby fingers with extraordinarily tiny little fingernails. I KNOW this is not something he can help, obviously...but I can't help it, either.
I don't care what color your eyes are. Or your hair. I prefer short hair, but if you can rock a long 'do, I'll roll with it. Don't care if you have NO hair. Don't care if you're tall or short. Your ears stick out? That's okay. Got a bit of a buddha belly? No problem. A little bit of back hair? Eh, who cares.
But you can't have ugly hands or bad teeth (by which I do not mean that they must be perfectly straight and pearly white...just reasonably healthy-looking.). These are my turn-offs. We all have them--these are mine.
So, anyway...the restaurant is closing, the check has been lying there for a while, I'm stubbornly waiting to see if he's going to reach for it, and finally he does. He walks me to my car (still a gentleman, I'll give him that), I can tell he's hoping for a hug or something, but I just can't do it. I thank him sincerely for dinner, he thanks me for introducing him to a new restaurant, says he'll call me in a few days, I make some completely noncomittal sort of noise, and we're done.
Long story short--decent guy, just not at all my type. Unfortunately, I don't have his email address, or I'd take the coward's way out and send him an email to that effect. As it is, I'm just going to wait and see if he calls. Maybe he clued in from the lack of hug. If not, I'll try to figure out a kind way to discourage his attentions, I suppose.
And with that, I believe I may be done with dating. There are no other guys in the pipeline, so to speak, at this point.
NOW what will I blog about?!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Who says I'm not a winner?
Yesterday I won a valuable cash prize in a company-wide contest!
Okay...I won $20 by guessing the amount of loose change in a bucket, but it was exciting to me.
My boss came in lugging this enormous bucket, into which he'd been tossing his loose change for something like 15 years. He said he'd give us the morning to analyze it, then he was cashing it in, and the person who could come closest to guessing the amount would win $20.
Well, many different methods were used in the guessing process. One guy measured the depth of the bucket in inches, and tried to calculate $/inch. The two strongest guys lifted the bucket and tried to measure $/pounds. (It weighed 74 pounds, incidentally.) I scooped out a random handful of change, counted it--$4--then tried to figure how many handfuls were in there. Of course, one handful barely made a dent, so I just eyeballed it for a minute and said "I think there are more than 100 handfuls, but I don't think there are 200 handfuls, so...splitting the difference...I say $650."
There were guesses from $400-$860. How much change was in the bucket? $652.54. Yep, I was really, really close. I told my boss I attributed my superior calculating abilities to the recent acquisition of my "Nensa" card. Hee.
I spent my "prize" on takeout pizza last night, and ice cream for lunch today. Whoo hoo! Moving on.
I finally sent an email yesterday to Ordinary Guy, suggesting we cut to the chase and meet face-to-face. We're going to have dinner on Tuesday night.
I'm planning another "friend date" with my funny friend.
I haven't heard anything from Mr. K.C. regarding the trade show he was planning to come to, though I think it was this weekend. Maybe his plans have changed. Whatever.
I've exchanged a couple of messages with my junior high crush--he has a yacht! It's beautiful. I am jealous. Why couldn't I be a gay man? Instead of, as I've always suspected, a gay man trapped in a woman's body?! Heh.
Okay...I won $20 by guessing the amount of loose change in a bucket, but it was exciting to me.
My boss came in lugging this enormous bucket, into which he'd been tossing his loose change for something like 15 years. He said he'd give us the morning to analyze it, then he was cashing it in, and the person who could come closest to guessing the amount would win $20.
Well, many different methods were used in the guessing process. One guy measured the depth of the bucket in inches, and tried to calculate $/inch. The two strongest guys lifted the bucket and tried to measure $/pounds. (It weighed 74 pounds, incidentally.) I scooped out a random handful of change, counted it--$4--then tried to figure how many handfuls were in there. Of course, one handful barely made a dent, so I just eyeballed it for a minute and said "I think there are more than 100 handfuls, but I don't think there are 200 handfuls, so...splitting the difference...I say $650."
There were guesses from $400-$860. How much change was in the bucket? $652.54. Yep, I was really, really close. I told my boss I attributed my superior calculating abilities to the recent acquisition of my "Nensa" card. Hee.
I spent my "prize" on takeout pizza last night, and ice cream for lunch today. Whoo hoo! Moving on.
I finally sent an email yesterday to Ordinary Guy, suggesting we cut to the chase and meet face-to-face. We're going to have dinner on Tuesday night.
I'm planning another "friend date" with my funny friend.
I haven't heard anything from Mr. K.C. regarding the trade show he was planning to come to, though I think it was this weekend. Maybe his plans have changed. Whatever.
I've exchanged a couple of messages with my junior high crush--he has a yacht! It's beautiful. I am jealous. Why couldn't I be a gay man? Instead of, as I've always suspected, a gay man trapped in a woman's body?! Heh.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Life changes
Or not.
First, let's talk facebook. Yes, it's kind of fun; no, it hasn't changed my life. I've gotten a couple of nice messages from people I haven't seen in a while, so that's good. I searched my high school graduating class, and discovered that, on the whole, we're not particularly hip. Only six of my roughly 250 class members have profiles. A couple I didn't even know. I sent "friend" requests to two, including the guy I had a HUGE crush on in junior high and high school. And yes, that made me FEEL like a junior high girl. ("Omigod, what if he doesn't "friend" me back?")
Now, we did have a very (very) casual friendship in our post-graduation days, before he moved away, and our mothers generally keep us vaguely aware of each other's lives (in that small town "everybody's mother still knows everybody's mother" kind of way), so it's not like I haven't seen him since high school. I saw him and his siblings out dining together in Hometown a few years ago, and was struck with this thought: "I think he's probably gay."
Well, it turns out I'm right, and this is interesting for a couple of reasons. A) it proves my fag hag tendencies go back even further than I thought! and B) out of three siblings, two are now openly gay (one male, one female). (The youngest boy is married with children, but truthfully, he's the one I would have pegged first if I was listening to my gaydar.) Genetics, methinks? And both the gay children were really good athletes back in the day...which enforces one stereotype (lesbians are athletic) and counteracts another (all gay boys love musical theatre and showtunes).
And none of that really has anything to do with anything, I just thought it was interesting. You may beg to differ. Heh.
What else is going on? Nothing, really...just inching ever closer to giving up on dating. By which I suppose I mostly mean "giving up on internet dating," but really...what other kind is there anymore?
Seriously--where do people of a certain age meet, if not online? Once you stop meeting people through school, and age out of the bar-hopping lifestyle...what are the options? I can't even remember the last time I met an available man in "real life."
Work? I don't meet guys through my work. And I work for a very small company, so there's not exactly a dating pool of co-workers, either, if I did want to "shit where I eat," so to speak. I have exactly one single male co-worker, and despite our constant barrage of off-color jokes, well...he's more like a brother, I guess. A sometimes aggravating brother, with polar opposite political views from mine, who likes to stand behind the bathroom door and bang it when you come out, hoping to elicit a small shriek, but whom nevertheless can always be counted on to help with lawn mowing and the lifting of heavy furniture when needed. But even if I could put aside all that, I could never date a man who refers to his ex-wife as "lardass" and "butterball" on a regular basis. No one who uses that kind of language is ever getting an upclose look at MY ass. Heh.
Church? Well, not so far. It's a very small church, and before you all start chiming in unison with "but what about Cute Church Guy?" let's just put the kibosh on that. CCG was never anything more than a silly fantasy. I have NO reason to think that he is in any way attracted to me, or ever will be. And, since he's pretty much the only single guy there, I think church is not an option for meeting someone. Oh sure, I could go to a bigger church, I suppose...but selecting a church based on the number of possible single guys in attendance...well, that seems a bit sleazy, doesn't it?
Extracurricular activities? Possible, I suppose...but I've been doing theatre and making music with mostly the same people for the last 20 years, so I think all those possibilities were tapped out long ago. (And yes, of course, some "tapping" was done. Hee.) I suppose I should try "taking classes," isn't that what "they" say? Well, I do consider that occasionally, but the classes I think I might find interesting don't seem rife with dating possibilities. I mean...do single guys take pottery or stained glass classes? Maybe so...but it certainly doesn't seem like they would do so in droves, and it might take a drove or two for me to find one I like. (Yes, I'm picky. That's not going to change.)
Blind dates arranged by friends? Well, it's been years since any of my friends even attempted to fix me up. I don't know if they've given up on me, just don't know any single guys, or just don't want to inflict me upon the single guys they do know! (What's up with that, friends?)
While shopping? Seriously, dating columnists love to advocate meeting guys at the grocery or hardware stores. But does that really happen? Should I try to flirt in the assorted hardware aisle: "Oh hey...I'm looking for a screw. Could you help me out with that?" (And should that be accompanied by the batting of eyelashes or not?) The last guy who asked me for advice in the produce aisle was an elderly widower needing help with brussels sprouts, and while I very much wanted to go home with him and cook his sprouts, I mean that in only the most literal way. (Seriously...it made me want to cry. He was so completely at a loss. Sniff.) I'm pretty sure that any single guy who sees me in the grocery store is going to run the other way, spreading the word as he goes: "Hey, guys--a woman in her 40s with a cart full of cat food and Lean Cuisines on aisle 4---scram!"
Are there options I'm missing? I'm not going to meet a guy on my couch watching TV, I know...but I'm open to suggestions. Do you have any? Suggestions, I mean. Or guys, too, I suppose. Do you have any of those? Send them my way. Hee.
First, let's talk facebook. Yes, it's kind of fun; no, it hasn't changed my life. I've gotten a couple of nice messages from people I haven't seen in a while, so that's good. I searched my high school graduating class, and discovered that, on the whole, we're not particularly hip. Only six of my roughly 250 class members have profiles. A couple I didn't even know. I sent "friend" requests to two, including the guy I had a HUGE crush on in junior high and high school. And yes, that made me FEEL like a junior high girl. ("Omigod, what if he doesn't "friend" me back?")
Now, we did have a very (very) casual friendship in our post-graduation days, before he moved away, and our mothers generally keep us vaguely aware of each other's lives (in that small town "everybody's mother still knows everybody's mother" kind of way), so it's not like I haven't seen him since high school. I saw him and his siblings out dining together in Hometown a few years ago, and was struck with this thought: "I think he's probably gay."
Well, it turns out I'm right, and this is interesting for a couple of reasons. A) it proves my fag hag tendencies go back even further than I thought! and B) out of three siblings, two are now openly gay (one male, one female). (The youngest boy is married with children, but truthfully, he's the one I would have pegged first if I was listening to my gaydar.) Genetics, methinks? And both the gay children were really good athletes back in the day...which enforces one stereotype (lesbians are athletic) and counteracts another (all gay boys love musical theatre and showtunes).
And none of that really has anything to do with anything, I just thought it was interesting. You may beg to differ. Heh.
What else is going on? Nothing, really...just inching ever closer to giving up on dating. By which I suppose I mostly mean "giving up on internet dating," but really...what other kind is there anymore?
Seriously--where do people of a certain age meet, if not online? Once you stop meeting people through school, and age out of the bar-hopping lifestyle...what are the options? I can't even remember the last time I met an available man in "real life."
Work? I don't meet guys through my work. And I work for a very small company, so there's not exactly a dating pool of co-workers, either, if I did want to "shit where I eat," so to speak. I have exactly one single male co-worker, and despite our constant barrage of off-color jokes, well...he's more like a brother, I guess. A sometimes aggravating brother, with polar opposite political views from mine, who likes to stand behind the bathroom door and bang it when you come out, hoping to elicit a small shriek, but whom nevertheless can always be counted on to help with lawn mowing and the lifting of heavy furniture when needed. But even if I could put aside all that, I could never date a man who refers to his ex-wife as "lardass" and "butterball" on a regular basis. No one who uses that kind of language is ever getting an upclose look at MY ass. Heh.
Church? Well, not so far. It's a very small church, and before you all start chiming in unison with "but what about Cute Church Guy?" let's just put the kibosh on that. CCG was never anything more than a silly fantasy. I have NO reason to think that he is in any way attracted to me, or ever will be. And, since he's pretty much the only single guy there, I think church is not an option for meeting someone. Oh sure, I could go to a bigger church, I suppose...but selecting a church based on the number of possible single guys in attendance...well, that seems a bit sleazy, doesn't it?
Extracurricular activities? Possible, I suppose...but I've been doing theatre and making music with mostly the same people for the last 20 years, so I think all those possibilities were tapped out long ago. (And yes, of course, some "tapping" was done. Hee.) I suppose I should try "taking classes," isn't that what "they" say? Well, I do consider that occasionally, but the classes I think I might find interesting don't seem rife with dating possibilities. I mean...do single guys take pottery or stained glass classes? Maybe so...but it certainly doesn't seem like they would do so in droves, and it might take a drove or two for me to find one I like. (Yes, I'm picky. That's not going to change.)
Blind dates arranged by friends? Well, it's been years since any of my friends even attempted to fix me up. I don't know if they've given up on me, just don't know any single guys, or just don't want to inflict me upon the single guys they do know! (What's up with that, friends?)
While shopping? Seriously, dating columnists love to advocate meeting guys at the grocery or hardware stores. But does that really happen? Should I try to flirt in the assorted hardware aisle: "Oh hey...I'm looking for a screw. Could you help me out with that?" (And should that be accompanied by the batting of eyelashes or not?) The last guy who asked me for advice in the produce aisle was an elderly widower needing help with brussels sprouts, and while I very much wanted to go home with him and cook his sprouts, I mean that in only the most literal way. (Seriously...it made me want to cry. He was so completely at a loss. Sniff.) I'm pretty sure that any single guy who sees me in the grocery store is going to run the other way, spreading the word as he goes: "Hey, guys--a woman in her 40s with a cart full of cat food and Lean Cuisines on aisle 4---scram!"
Are there options I'm missing? I'm not going to meet a guy on my couch watching TV, I know...but I'm open to suggestions. Do you have any? Suggestions, I mean. Or guys, too, I suppose. Do you have any of those? Send them my way. Hee.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Pudge is starting to look really good to me.
Who was it that said "the more I know of men, the more I like my dog"? Some wise person--Mark Twain? Will Rogers? Paris Hilton?
At any rate, I had a coffee date this weekend, and was all ready to post about it...and you know, I think I'll still tell the tale as I had planned to tell it. Then I'll tell you the postscript. How's that?
So, this is a completely new guy. I decided that before my various memberships expire (soon), I would screw up my courage and contact at least one guy. So I sent a quick email to a guy with similar interests and very pretty eyes. "You have very pretty eyes." He responded, we exchanged a round of emails, I gave him my phone number, he called Friday night.
Okay, I will interject into my story a bit that he called just a few minutes after I finally returned Mr. Ordinary's call from earlier in the week. I mentioned to Mr. Ordinary that I had a pickin' party to go to Saturday night, and he mentioned several times how fun that sounded. I KNOW he wanted me to invite him, and I thought about it, but I didn't want to commit myself to an evening with someone I haven't met face-to-face yet, and also...I was kind of thinking Mr. Blue Eyes might call, and wanted to keep my options open. Bad dating karma on my part? Time will tell.
So, Mr. Blue Eyes called, we talked a bit, and he suggested meeting for coffee Saturday evening. I told him I had to attend a party later in the evening, but earlier would be good. (Of course, I'm thinking it gives me an out if the date is bad, and if the date is good, I'll invite him along.) We planned for 6:00.
Saturday at 5:30, he calls. His ex hasn't picked up his son yet...how 'bout we change to 6:30, just in case. Fine. A few minutes later, he calls again. Still no sign of the ex, despite his repeated calls and texts to her. I suggest that we just keep things open for a bit, and that he call me when she's come and gone. Fine. He calls a few minutes later--she's gone, and he can be at the designated meeting place in 15 minutes. It'll take me just a bit longer, I say, but not much. Fine.
I get there. He's already there, seated, drinking coffee and eating cookies. I sit down, thinking that as soon as we've said our initial hellos, he'll offer to get ME something to drink. Doesn't happen. We talk for a bit, his phone buzzes in his pocket, he pulls it out to read a text. A lengthy text, apparently. I excuse myself to get something to drink while he finishes reading. I wait in line to order, wait in line for my iced tea, return to the table 2-3 minutes later--he's texting back. Okay.
Finally, he's done. His ex, he explains, is pissed off that he was pissed off that she was late. Great, I think--ten minutes in and we've got ex issues. We chat for a few more minutes, he reads a couple more texts in that time. Nice. He asks what time it is, I tell him, and ask jokingly if he's on a deadline or something. "Yes, I'm meeting a friend for a movie across the street. You did say you were going somewhere later, right?" Yes, yes I did. Of course, MY later plans don't involve an exact starting time--I was willing to be somewhat flexible, but...whatever. He gave himself a backup plan just like I did, I guess. (Dating karma bites back?) He says it's nice to meet me, he's got to run, "we'll talk soon." Uh-huh. Length of date, start to finish, half an hour.
I went on to my party, drank beer, and regaled them with tales from the dating world.
So, at this point in the post, I planned a little poll:
This guy is:
a) a jerk
b) rude
c) a rude jerk
'Cause certainly one of those is true, right?
Then this morning, I open my email to see one from him. I assume he's giving me the big brush-off, and I can't wait to sting him with the witty reply I have planned. Something along the lines of "in the future you should keep your phone in your pants and buy the girl a coffee."
Then I read the email. The skirmish with the ex started as we sat there has evolved into a full-scale war. He had told me that she was moving to L.A. and leaving the kid with him--he was quite happy about this--but now she's decided she wants to take the kid to L.A. and they're in for an all-out custody battle. He doesn't think he needs to involve anyone else in that, so he's going to focus on his kid, and he's taking himself off the dating market until it's settled. He enjoyed meeting me, and wishes me luck.
Well, I certainly DON'T want to be involved in anything like that, having just been involved in something almost exactly like that, so...I take the high road, wish him well, and thank him for his honesty.
Sigh.
I hate it when the universe takes a dump on my righteous indignation. Speaking of which, do you want to hear Mr. Ordinary's excuse for not having come to see my show last weekend? He was doing a favor for his mother...and, wait...it gets better. His mother does dog rescue, and needed someone to drive an adopted dog to its new home in Kansas. So, that's where he was. HOW CAN I BE MAD AT THAT?! Damn you, universe!!!!
To cap off my weekend, a friend called last night to invite me to his annual birthday bash in a couple of weeks. What's wrong with that? Oh, nothing...in and of itself. I'm happy to celebrate his continued presence on the planet with a good party. Only...this is the party that I took New Guy to last year, on our first date, so...it just makes me a little sad.
Ukrainian Guy hasn't responded to my last email, by the by. And with that, I think I'm thisclose to giving up on dating for another decade or so. 'Cause the more I know of men, the more I like my dog. Paris is right. Heh.
At any rate, I had a coffee date this weekend, and was all ready to post about it...and you know, I think I'll still tell the tale as I had planned to tell it. Then I'll tell you the postscript. How's that?
So, this is a completely new guy. I decided that before my various memberships expire (soon), I would screw up my courage and contact at least one guy. So I sent a quick email to a guy with similar interests and very pretty eyes. "You have very pretty eyes." He responded, we exchanged a round of emails, I gave him my phone number, he called Friday night.
Okay, I will interject into my story a bit that he called just a few minutes after I finally returned Mr. Ordinary's call from earlier in the week. I mentioned to Mr. Ordinary that I had a pickin' party to go to Saturday night, and he mentioned several times how fun that sounded. I KNOW he wanted me to invite him, and I thought about it, but I didn't want to commit myself to an evening with someone I haven't met face-to-face yet, and also...I was kind of thinking Mr. Blue Eyes might call, and wanted to keep my options open. Bad dating karma on my part? Time will tell.
So, Mr. Blue Eyes called, we talked a bit, and he suggested meeting for coffee Saturday evening. I told him I had to attend a party later in the evening, but earlier would be good. (Of course, I'm thinking it gives me an out if the date is bad, and if the date is good, I'll invite him along.) We planned for 6:00.
Saturday at 5:30, he calls. His ex hasn't picked up his son yet...how 'bout we change to 6:30, just in case. Fine. A few minutes later, he calls again. Still no sign of the ex, despite his repeated calls and texts to her. I suggest that we just keep things open for a bit, and that he call me when she's come and gone. Fine. He calls a few minutes later--she's gone, and he can be at the designated meeting place in 15 minutes. It'll take me just a bit longer, I say, but not much. Fine.
I get there. He's already there, seated, drinking coffee and eating cookies. I sit down, thinking that as soon as we've said our initial hellos, he'll offer to get ME something to drink. Doesn't happen. We talk for a bit, his phone buzzes in his pocket, he pulls it out to read a text. A lengthy text, apparently. I excuse myself to get something to drink while he finishes reading. I wait in line to order, wait in line for my iced tea, return to the table 2-3 minutes later--he's texting back. Okay.
Finally, he's done. His ex, he explains, is pissed off that he was pissed off that she was late. Great, I think--ten minutes in and we've got ex issues. We chat for a few more minutes, he reads a couple more texts in that time. Nice. He asks what time it is, I tell him, and ask jokingly if he's on a deadline or something. "Yes, I'm meeting a friend for a movie across the street. You did say you were going somewhere later, right?" Yes, yes I did. Of course, MY later plans don't involve an exact starting time--I was willing to be somewhat flexible, but...whatever. He gave himself a backup plan just like I did, I guess. (Dating karma bites back?) He says it's nice to meet me, he's got to run, "we'll talk soon." Uh-huh. Length of date, start to finish, half an hour.
I went on to my party, drank beer, and regaled them with tales from the dating world.
So, at this point in the post, I planned a little poll:
This guy is:
a) a jerk
b) rude
c) a rude jerk
'Cause certainly one of those is true, right?
Then this morning, I open my email to see one from him. I assume he's giving me the big brush-off, and I can't wait to sting him with the witty reply I have planned. Something along the lines of "in the future you should keep your phone in your pants and buy the girl a coffee."
Then I read the email. The skirmish with the ex started as we sat there has evolved into a full-scale war. He had told me that she was moving to L.A. and leaving the kid with him--he was quite happy about this--but now she's decided she wants to take the kid to L.A. and they're in for an all-out custody battle. He doesn't think he needs to involve anyone else in that, so he's going to focus on his kid, and he's taking himself off the dating market until it's settled. He enjoyed meeting me, and wishes me luck.
Well, I certainly DON'T want to be involved in anything like that, having just been involved in something almost exactly like that, so...I take the high road, wish him well, and thank him for his honesty.
Sigh.
I hate it when the universe takes a dump on my righteous indignation. Speaking of which, do you want to hear Mr. Ordinary's excuse for not having come to see my show last weekend? He was doing a favor for his mother...and, wait...it gets better. His mother does dog rescue, and needed someone to drive an adopted dog to its new home in Kansas. So, that's where he was. HOW CAN I BE MAD AT THAT?! Damn you, universe!!!!
To cap off my weekend, a friend called last night to invite me to his annual birthday bash in a couple of weeks. What's wrong with that? Oh, nothing...in and of itself. I'm happy to celebrate his continued presence on the planet with a good party. Only...this is the party that I took New Guy to last year, on our first date, so...it just makes me a little sad.
Ukrainian Guy hasn't responded to my last email, by the by. And with that, I think I'm thisclose to giving up on dating for another decade or so. 'Cause the more I know of men, the more I like my dog. Paris is right. Heh.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
So, THIS is what men want?
Okay...let's talk about "Why Men Love Bitches." And let us note that the author points out that she uses the term "bitch" in an affectionate way. "Bitch" is a good thing. Alrighty then.
It all boils down to this, so far as I can see: men love the chase, and only the chase. They are also basically emotionally stunted little boys who are apparently unwilling and/or unable to make the slightest concession in a relationship, so if you want a relationship with one, you'll have to do the conceding. (She disguises that as saying that you need to be independent to keep him interested, but we'll get to that in a bit.) They are also easily emasculated, and we can't have that!
I hardly know where to start.
Okay, the chase. Yeah, yeah...men are predators, they enjoy the pursuit, blah, blah, blah. But seriously--we have to play into that forever? There never comes a time when a man can sit back and say "yeah, this is a pretty good thing, and I think I'll take it"? How exhausting. I don't have the energy to keep running that long.
Let's talk emasculation. Now, I'm not looking to emasculate anyone. I like it when a guy opens doors for me, pays for dates, etc. I'll let him be a guy. But this author claims that men are so fragile in their masculinity (and their perception of our femininity, I suppose) that merely opening a jar in their presence could ruin things. Now, I have pretty wimpy hands, and I've been known to ask total strangers at parties to twist open my beer, but seriously...we are advised to simper and flutter our eyelashes and then proclaim loudly how impressed we are that they can open that big ol' jar just like that? And heaven forbid we should MOW, or put oil in the car, or anything else that is obviously "man's work." (In retrospect, I guess things didn't work out with New Guy because I was so obviously proud of the fact that I managed to take apart my garage door opener when the power went out last winter. My bad.)
Excuse me...I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
And bugs? Oh boy, we MUST be shriekingly frightened of all things pesty. We must hide our eyes, and whimper, and omigod won't some big, strong MAN please take care of that creepy crawly thing for us before we faint? And, of course, once the threat has been dealt with, we must again make with the simpering and fluttering. She even relates the tale of a woman who gleefully recounted to her boyfriend how she had...dispatched a snake in her garden, and the boyfriend became impotent as a result. I'm not kidding. The thought of a woman who didn't cower in fear at the mere thought of a reptile took away the man's boner. Is that a man YOU want? 'Cause I'll pass.
And then, of course, we are told that we must always seem completely independent--don't call him, don't return his phone calls or emails too quickly. Make him wonder where you are and what you're doing. He will delight in being required to pursue you some more. (And you, meanwhile, must try not to wonder how the heck he thinks your jars are being opened while you're off being independent.) If he is 15 minutes late for a date--go on by yourself. Don't call him to find out where he is, or if he has a legitimate reason for being late. Just be gone when he gets there.
Don't cook for him. Don't drive to his house EVER. Always make him come to you. Otherwise he'll label you a doormat, and use you as such. And don't be "nurturing." Don't express interest in his health or well-being. Never, never, never say "call me when you get there" if he's making a long trip. He will equate you with his mother, and he doesn't want to have sex with his mother. (But...but...I AM a kind of nurturing person. I take care of stray cats, for pete's sake. I have to completely suppress this side of myself when I'm with a guy? Gah.)
Okay...I can actually see that I have some doormat tendencies when I really like a guy. Now, I know that this is because I a) it happens so seldom, and is so novel, that I tend to get really caught up in it, and b) I have lived alone for so many years that I pretty much have a surfeit of accumulated "me" time. I'm ready for some "us" time. (And, cynically, I tend to assume it won't be lasting forever, and "my" interests will be there waiting when we're done.) But I can see how a guy might think I'm abandoning my own life in the interest of being with him. I vow right now to keep an eye on this tendency. BUT...
BUT...it's one thing to have so many of your own interests that you don't have a lot of time for a guy, and it's another thing to PRETEND you have your own interests, just to keep HIM interested. Isn't it? At some point, my problem is this: if I feign disinterest long enough, I am going to be disinterested. Ah, the old Catch-22.
I'm not completely sure this method works with all men, anyway. I mean...if appearing somewhat disinterested, not calling, not immediately returning phone calls is supposed to enflame him to the point that he MUST HAVE ME, then Mr. Ordinary should be absolutely SWARMING around me, shouldn't he? And he's not. (Although he did call last night. But that was the first time since Thursday--hardly a swarm.)
There are 100 little principles listed and discussed in the book, but I think I'll stop here. You can read it yourself if you're interested. But it mostly seems like a bunch of game-playing bullshit to me. If that's what it takes to get and keep a man, well...crazy cat lady, here I come!
I welcome your thoughts and insights. Heh.
It all boils down to this, so far as I can see: men love the chase, and only the chase. They are also basically emotionally stunted little boys who are apparently unwilling and/or unable to make the slightest concession in a relationship, so if you want a relationship with one, you'll have to do the conceding. (She disguises that as saying that you need to be independent to keep him interested, but we'll get to that in a bit.) They are also easily emasculated, and we can't have that!
I hardly know where to start.
Okay, the chase. Yeah, yeah...men are predators, they enjoy the pursuit, blah, blah, blah. But seriously--we have to play into that forever? There never comes a time when a man can sit back and say "yeah, this is a pretty good thing, and I think I'll take it"? How exhausting. I don't have the energy to keep running that long.
Let's talk emasculation. Now, I'm not looking to emasculate anyone. I like it when a guy opens doors for me, pays for dates, etc. I'll let him be a guy. But this author claims that men are so fragile in their masculinity (and their perception of our femininity, I suppose) that merely opening a jar in their presence could ruin things. Now, I have pretty wimpy hands, and I've been known to ask total strangers at parties to twist open my beer, but seriously...we are advised to simper and flutter our eyelashes and then proclaim loudly how impressed we are that they can open that big ol' jar just like that? And heaven forbid we should MOW, or put oil in the car, or anything else that is obviously "man's work." (In retrospect, I guess things didn't work out with New Guy because I was so obviously proud of the fact that I managed to take apart my garage door opener when the power went out last winter. My bad.)
Excuse me...I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
And bugs? Oh boy, we MUST be shriekingly frightened of all things pesty. We must hide our eyes, and whimper, and omigod won't some big, strong MAN please take care of that creepy crawly thing for us before we faint? And, of course, once the threat has been dealt with, we must again make with the simpering and fluttering. She even relates the tale of a woman who gleefully recounted to her boyfriend how she had...dispatched a snake in her garden, and the boyfriend became impotent as a result. I'm not kidding. The thought of a woman who didn't cower in fear at the mere thought of a reptile took away the man's boner. Is that a man YOU want? 'Cause I'll pass.
And then, of course, we are told that we must always seem completely independent--don't call him, don't return his phone calls or emails too quickly. Make him wonder where you are and what you're doing. He will delight in being required to pursue you some more. (And you, meanwhile, must try not to wonder how the heck he thinks your jars are being opened while you're off being independent.) If he is 15 minutes late for a date--go on by yourself. Don't call him to find out where he is, or if he has a legitimate reason for being late. Just be gone when he gets there.
Don't cook for him. Don't drive to his house EVER. Always make him come to you. Otherwise he'll label you a doormat, and use you as such. And don't be "nurturing." Don't express interest in his health or well-being. Never, never, never say "call me when you get there" if he's making a long trip. He will equate you with his mother, and he doesn't want to have sex with his mother. (But...but...I AM a kind of nurturing person. I take care of stray cats, for pete's sake. I have to completely suppress this side of myself when I'm with a guy? Gah.)
Okay...I can actually see that I have some doormat tendencies when I really like a guy. Now, I know that this is because I a) it happens so seldom, and is so novel, that I tend to get really caught up in it, and b) I have lived alone for so many years that I pretty much have a surfeit of accumulated "me" time. I'm ready for some "us" time. (And, cynically, I tend to assume it won't be lasting forever, and "my" interests will be there waiting when we're done.) But I can see how a guy might think I'm abandoning my own life in the interest of being with him. I vow right now to keep an eye on this tendency. BUT...
BUT...it's one thing to have so many of your own interests that you don't have a lot of time for a guy, and it's another thing to PRETEND you have your own interests, just to keep HIM interested. Isn't it? At some point, my problem is this: if I feign disinterest long enough, I am going to be disinterested. Ah, the old Catch-22.
I'm not completely sure this method works with all men, anyway. I mean...if appearing somewhat disinterested, not calling, not immediately returning phone calls is supposed to enflame him to the point that he MUST HAVE ME, then Mr. Ordinary should be absolutely SWARMING around me, shouldn't he? And he's not. (Although he did call last night. But that was the first time since Thursday--hardly a swarm.)
There are 100 little principles listed and discussed in the book, but I think I'll stop here. You can read it yourself if you're interested. But it mostly seems like a bunch of game-playing bullshit to me. If that's what it takes to get and keep a man, well...crazy cat lady, here I come!
I welcome your thoughts and insights. Heh.
Monday, August 04, 2008
That was the weekend that was.
So, let's see...what's happened since we last spoke...
I talked to Mr. Ordinary on the phone...Thursday night, I think. He had just come from seeing a foreign film at the cool little art theater close to my house. (One point for seeing obscure film.) And was on his way to a minor league baseball game. (One point for diversity of interests.) He asked how my rehearsals were going. (One point for expressing interest in my life). I told him when it was, where it was, how much it cost. He admitted that he'd never been to see anything on the smaller theatre side of the performing arts center. (Negative five points because that's where all the coolest stuff happens.) I thought he might actually show up, though I never asked outright if he planned to be there. He didn't. (Negative five points for not taking the opportunity to a) see me onstage, b) see the inside of one of the small theatres, c) see some cool shit.) I haven't heard from him since. Moving on.
The show Saturday night went very well. Not a huge crowd, but a seemingly appreciative one. Except for some folks who left at intermission. It might have been a little more "mature" in subject matter than they were expecting. (And that was BEFORE the monologue about Monica Lewinsky! Which was absolutely hilarious. I wish it had been mine.) Afterwards I went out for drinks with some friends. (Hi, George. Hi, Jenny. Hi, Mike and Cat.)
I tried to switch my cats from their increasingly expensive canned food to a cheaper one. Sylvie got explosive diarrhea, and Rover started throwing up. Sylvie is fine now...Rover is still sick. He's the one with heartworms, IBD and some sort of weird hair loss condition, so off to the vet we went this morning. $150 down and no answers yet. Poor Rovie! Think good thoughts for him.
Another of my old animal rescue buddies died of cancer this week. (I hadn't seen her in some time, but we used to work together at the vet clinic, and she was way cool. The two of us spent Sunday afternoons for over two months voluntarily bathing and dipping 12 kittens with ringworm one summer. In sulphur dip. Pheeww!) That makes three this summer, and THAT IS ENOUGH.
I finished "Why Men Love Bitches," but I think I'll discuss that in its very own post.
I drove to the office morning and evening on both Saturday and Sunday to feed and pet the stray cat. I know, I'm insane. But she is getting so friendly! I've instructed my co-workers to all talk to her and pet her if possible, and maybe we can actually get her adoptable. I still haven't found her kittens, though....grrr. (My vet has agreed to spay her at a reduced cost whenever I'm ready. Yay.)
Yesterday the temperature reached 104, and was still 95 at 10:00 p.m. I chose that day to mow my lawn, of course. And lived to tell the tale!
That's about it, I guess. No news on the dating front. I haven't even had any new profile views to speak of. Everybody leaps on you when you're new, and then it falls off. I suppose I should contact a few of those guys I categorized as "maybe," before my memberships expire. But that would require some effort, and did I mention it's going to be 105 today and I am CRANKY AS HELL? I had to eat a piece of cheesecake, just to get through the day. (I believe it was medically necessary. Do not attempt to disabuse me of this notion.)
I talked to Mr. Ordinary on the phone...Thursday night, I think. He had just come from seeing a foreign film at the cool little art theater close to my house. (One point for seeing obscure film.) And was on his way to a minor league baseball game. (One point for diversity of interests.) He asked how my rehearsals were going. (One point for expressing interest in my life). I told him when it was, where it was, how much it cost. He admitted that he'd never been to see anything on the smaller theatre side of the performing arts center. (Negative five points because that's where all the coolest stuff happens.) I thought he might actually show up, though I never asked outright if he planned to be there. He didn't. (Negative five points for not taking the opportunity to a) see me onstage, b) see the inside of one of the small theatres, c) see some cool shit.) I haven't heard from him since. Moving on.
The show Saturday night went very well. Not a huge crowd, but a seemingly appreciative one. Except for some folks who left at intermission. It might have been a little more "mature" in subject matter than they were expecting. (And that was BEFORE the monologue about Monica Lewinsky! Which was absolutely hilarious. I wish it had been mine.) Afterwards I went out for drinks with some friends. (Hi, George. Hi, Jenny. Hi, Mike and Cat.)
I tried to switch my cats from their increasingly expensive canned food to a cheaper one. Sylvie got explosive diarrhea, and Rover started throwing up. Sylvie is fine now...Rover is still sick. He's the one with heartworms, IBD and some sort of weird hair loss condition, so off to the vet we went this morning. $150 down and no answers yet. Poor Rovie! Think good thoughts for him.
Another of my old animal rescue buddies died of cancer this week. (I hadn't seen her in some time, but we used to work together at the vet clinic, and she was way cool. The two of us spent Sunday afternoons for over two months voluntarily bathing and dipping 12 kittens with ringworm one summer. In sulphur dip. Pheeww!) That makes three this summer, and THAT IS ENOUGH.
I finished "Why Men Love Bitches," but I think I'll discuss that in its very own post.
I drove to the office morning and evening on both Saturday and Sunday to feed and pet the stray cat. I know, I'm insane. But she is getting so friendly! I've instructed my co-workers to all talk to her and pet her if possible, and maybe we can actually get her adoptable. I still haven't found her kittens, though....grrr. (My vet has agreed to spay her at a reduced cost whenever I'm ready. Yay.)
Yesterday the temperature reached 104, and was still 95 at 10:00 p.m. I chose that day to mow my lawn, of course. And lived to tell the tale!
That's about it, I guess. No news on the dating front. I haven't even had any new profile views to speak of. Everybody leaps on you when you're new, and then it falls off. I suppose I should contact a few of those guys I categorized as "maybe," before my memberships expire. But that would require some effort, and did I mention it's going to be 105 today and I am CRANKY AS HELL? I had to eat a piece of cheesecake, just to get through the day. (I believe it was medically necessary. Do not attempt to disabuse me of this notion.)
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