What is exactly in the middle?

You would think after having dinner with someone for four and a half hours, I should have strong feelings. Positive or negative, I should feel something other than...fine. It wasn't awful, it wasn't wonderful. It was something in the middle.

He talked a lot. Again, that should be a good thing. But it didn't really feel that way. He kept repeating the same theme- people in a relationship should communicate, he loved his work, open communication is important. Yeah, I get that. I really wanted to ask about previous relationships. He didn't give any hint at all about that.

I got a chance to tell some good stories but I left feeling like maybe I didn't really come off as well as I had hoped. I could come up with some reasons for that, but they probably sound like excuses. I was all kinds of tired on the drive there. I had enough time for Starbucks before dinner in hopes that a chai latte would perk me up. At least I didn't yawn through dinner. The restaurant was cozy. That's an upscale word for cramped, crowded and loud. It felt like I was sitting at the same table as the people next to me. That makes for an awkward first conversation. After the first two hours, I wanted find a way to wrap things up. I'm not good at that segue. So we stayed for another two and a half hours during which the waiter stopped refilling our water glasses.

He was a big guy and I guess I stereotype more than I care to admit. I was surprised when he said he was ordering the tomato and mozzarella salad and that was it. Damn, I'm not getting a big dinner out this. Even weirder was the waiter brought separate checks. No chance to see if he picked up dinner. Hmmph. I had a lovely crab cake which came with an avocado, corn, cilantro salsa thing. Yummy but tiny.

It was cold when we walked to the cars. I offered him my number, but then he gave me his business card. Not sure what that meant. He kept a distance of at least four feet between us in the parking lot and I know what that means. So I'll email him and leave it up to him. I know it's 2013 (almost 2014!) and I could call him. If he wants to get together again, I would but if he didn't, I would be OK with that too. Maybe I'd feel differently in a different situation. I felt sort of out of my element for some reason. I just didn't feel witty or clever. I don't think I was standoff-ish or boring.....I was something in the middle.

Twas The Day Before The Night Before Chirstmas

Somehow, warms temps and Christmas don't jive in my brain. On December 22nd, it was almost 70 degrees. In Pennsylvania. Even weirder was that I wrapped all my presents that day. And I only copped out with one gift bag. Except gift cards. And as a reward, the sound on my television broke. It will independently and randomly turn down to zero. And then not let me turn it back up. I can get alot done with the TV on in the other room- fold laundry, unload the dishwasher, unclutter in general. Without sound, I felt lost. Plus I didn't want to miss the football game. I know this is totally a first world problem. Oh woe is me.

On the bright side, I have a date set up. Friday in Manayunk which is exciting for many reasons. I haven't been there in years and well, let's face it- it's a date. Parking has the potential to be a challenge but I'll brave just about anything. And even more exciting, there is a second guy that they want to set me up with. His schedule was 'crazy' so it might have to wait another week or two. A second date, I can hardly believe it!

So of course, I have to plan what to wear AND preview the menu to decide what to order. And paint my nails. I'm supposed to donate platelets that morning. They will recommend avoiding alcohol the rest of the day. Drinking after being 'a pint' low could be a bad move. Imagine someone with low tolerance slamming a couple high powered shots. One glass of wine after donating platelets could have the same effect. But I'm not entirely sure since I've always heeded the advice. But it's a festive (translate- alcohol consuming) time of year. Please discuss.

Now I'm really depressed

As I've said before, patience is not my virtue. So I decided to take action about this dating thing. Again. I logged into Plenty of Fish to see who is also putting themselves on the market. Since it's a free site, I should always remind myself that you get what you pay for. I'm chalking up this indiscretion to a predicted snowy Saturday with some extra time on my hands.

You know it's a bad sign when you put in some search criteria and a message pops up to tell you they expanded your search. What I'm looking for doesn't exist. Nice. Encouraging. To be truthful, it doesn't exist within the distance that I wanted to search. But we all know I'm rooted strongly. Hell, I barely like leaving Exeter Township. I'm not going to chatting up some fellow in Maryland or Jersey or Williamsport. (I know Williamsport is still in PA, but I've been there and I doubt I'd want to move there for any reason.)

Distance aside, the profiles are generic, repetitive and mind-numbing. Read the same thing over and over and you start to get cynical. I mean, more cynical. Apparently there is one guy on POF so they just clone his profile for every other guy and change the pictures. How can it be that every guy is equally comfortable getting dressed up and going out or staying home in jeans and a tee? So if every guy is caring, thoughtful, active, believes chivalry isn't dead, likes to travel, can balance work and play, and has a romantic side, why are they all still single? I know I exaggerate. There is a second guy/profile that includes a picture of just a motorcycle, talks about hunting, Nascar, riding a Harley, and building bonfires.

And then, there are the profiles that I recognize. I've seen these guys before. And they're still there. (Yes, I know- so am I.) POF has emailed me matches once a week since I started. I tried turning it off, unsubscribe, but it wouldn't let me. Maybe that's a sign! But the one email listed when I created my profile. It was 2008. If that isn't the most depressing thing.

I'm going to hang around the site for a couple more weeks. Or maybe one week. Actually, I hope to make it to Saturday. I'm going to send out a couple emails. You get what you pay for.  And after one week, I'll re-evaluate. Then I might join Match again.

Tumbleweed

My sister will refer to me as a tumbleweed because I'm the 'wild one' in the family. And by wild, she means not rigid or boring. I'm more apt to make a spontaneous decision or be a little adventurous. Nothing dangerous mind you, but if we haven't discussed it ad nauseam, to my family that is outrageous and crazy. What they don't realize is that I've probably thought it through in my head but haven't mentioned it out loud due to the expectation of disapproving looks.

I have three dogs.Up until about a month ago, I had four living with me. My foster dog, Murray, was adopted the first weekend in November. A wonderful senior citizen who takes extraordinary measures to care for her dogs added him to her pack. I'm sure he loves it there, once he got used to her yelling. (She didn't yell because she was mad. She couldn't hear us, so it only makes sense she scream to make sure she could hear us.)

Shortly after his adoption, my timid Kissy was chewing on her crate. She doesn't have many good teeth left up front so I moved her to the kitchen to prevent her from breaking a tooth. A couple days later, Tally bent the top of her crate. To bend it back, I had to use both hands and brace my arm against the crate for leverage. How she bent this with her mouth is beyond me. Then I noticed she broke a tooth, one of her canines. She did that a few years ago when she became an only dog and experienced such anxiety that caused her to.....wait for it....chew on her crate and break a tooth. Some dental surgery later to remove the broken canine and another molar that was decayed and I've just purchased my vet's Christmas presents. All because Murray got adopted.

So now Tally and Kissy are being closed off in the kitchen. Kissy hasn't quite gotten the purpose of a puppy pad. Kissy never has been a smart one. I'm hoping Tally shows her what she is doing wrong.

When this happened the last time, I was recovering from gallbladder surgery. It took me about a month to find a shih tzu to adopt. I thought the size would fit nicely in my house/lifestyle and the thought of a nonshedding dog was heaven. So Niko joined our home. And I crated him next to Tally. That worked well and relieved her anxiety. For about a week. Then Niko decided he didn't want to be crated. And crawling around to snag him from under the bed after I was all ready for work wasn't my idea of a good time. So he was allowed free reign (and continues to reign to this day). I needed another beagle to keep Tally company.

Enter Lonnie. She was a foster dog from BREW, the beagle rescue where I adopted Freckles, fostered (for three happy years) Spanky, and fostered then eventually admitted defeat and adopted Tally. Lonnie lived with us for almost 10 months. Then was adopted. Then anxiety returned. No broken teeth this time, but it wasn't much time before arrangements were made for Bentley to hang out at my house. Bentley was a long term visitor during the time his medical records were updated, documented, registered and certified to the standards of the state of Hawaii. His family moved there and he hung out at my house for three months until he was able to fly out to join them. The very first time it was time to crate Bentley and Tally, she ran in the crate like she was never anxious in her crate a day in her life. And as soon as he left, Tally was anxious again.

Fast forward another month, and now Kissy comes to my house as a foster. And as was mentioned earlier, it took even less time for Kissy to worm her not-so-smart-but-oh-so-sweet way into my heart. And I adopted her.

Fast forward another six months, and Murray's sad tale makes me agree to foster him. Now we're up to speed. And two beagles are hanging in my kitchen instead of the safety of their crates. And my kitchen can never have dish towels by the oven door, lest they end up in a dog bed. Not destroyed, but still lying on the dog hair laden bed and I'm sure slobbered on sufficiently to need laundering. And I have to check for puddles of pee. That's the beauty of crate training. In a crate, she can hold it so she wouldn't soil her 'den', but the extra space the kitchen provides allows her to pee then go back to the comfy dog bed.

I do have a point. I'd rather have the beagles in crates. Do I foster another beagle to provide the security needed to crate them all? This idea is why my sister would call me a tumbleweed. Little does she know that I spent a lot of time thinking about this. The logic is hard to follow but it's there. I'm not going to get a foster right now. Even though Christmas break would be a good time to allow a dog to adjust. And I've already looked on BREW's website (www.brewbeagles.org) to see who they have available to foster. But I'm going to wait. For now.

A little December frustration

It wouldn't be Christmas without something quashing holiday spirit. It's my own fault but I'll never admit to that. I haven't been to the gym all week. Monday I had stampers at my house, Tuesday was the snow day and I counted shoveling as my exercise, 8th grade music concert on Wednesday and tonight is a Christmas party for stamping friends. There's always Friday. I'm not counting on Saturday since we're getting more winter weather.

So it's no surprise the scale has been stagnant too. I was hoping the new Simple Start that WW rolled out would help. I'm not sure I've wrapped my brain around it so far. The premise is eat whole foods (not processed) and stop when you are full. Hmmm? If I did that already, I wouldn't look like this. I'm going to give it a couple weeks.

The majority of my holiday shopping will happen Wednesday. I have a dentist appointment and I'm taking a sick day. It is perfect timing. Not that I have a lot of holiday shopping to do. Gift cards mainly, but that still takes time since we're not a family of chain restaurants lovers. Since I'm avoiding cookie temptations, I'm not baking this year. I'm making chocolate bark with cranberries, pretzels and pecans. I'll also make a double batch of seasoned pretzels. That is my plan for Saturday. Somewhere between Saturday and Wednesday, I'll be less frustrated and search for holiday joy. It's good to have a plan.

Happy ending

I spent some time reviewing my previous posts. Self reflection can be useful. I saw that I used the same title twice (One Week). Two entirely different posts. Neither of them particularly happy. When I started blogging, I hoped to be writing about dates. Lots of dates. I envisioned frequent meetings, witty stories of the people I met. My self reflection is proving differently and I'm not sure 'useful' is the word I'd use to describe it. I read a lot of whining, self pity, and even a little anger at times. Is this really me?

Really, I am a happy person. Well, I want to be a happy person. All I want is a happy ending. I want to hit the end of my 'year of dating' with a post about success and a relationship and finding what I've always been looking for. Actually, I wanted to be able to tell the service that they can stop setting up dates for me. Nothing would have made me happier to then to have to suspend my membership because I was dating someone. It's seven months later. I'm not any closer. In fact, I'm feeling less optimistic than ever. But that will only last until the next phone call from the Dating Coordinator.

I've had four dates set up by Dating Coordinator, et al. Each had potential to be a good match for me. Laid back personality but a little ambitious. Interesting and a little on the geeky side. Delaware may have been a little too artsy for me, a little too much blue in his personality. The others were probably all green, just like me. Do you how hard it is to find a single green? What makes it even harder is that greens tend to be a bit introverted. For a girl, it's not easy being green. (I couldn't resist.)

Maybe it's time for my Dating Coach/Life Coach session. I'm curious as to what she has to say. Geez, if I'm doing this all wrong, won't that make for a fun post? See? I'm getting what I asked for after all.

Inspiration

While my emotions roller coaster quite a bit, I feel I am heading up a hill of bitterness. One of those roller coaster hills where the cars lurch and struggle to climb. It's uncomfortable and painfully slow. The chains under the ride need to catch so you finally get to the top. You want it to be over. You want to get to the good part. But I'm stuck in the car, feeling like I'm going nowhere, waiting for the chains to catch. I'm sitting in a car of negativity. I want to get off this ride.

Years ago, a long-time friend of mine, who I know is also a  blog reader (Hi PB!),vowed to be a kinder, gentler person. She inspired me then to do the same, and she inspires me now(for many reasons). I am going take on this mantra. Just this morning, I talked to a student about a gratitude journal. It was almost a mini-revelation for me. I need to do this too. Ok, so I'm not going to actually write in a journal. I'm a hypocrite that way.  But I'm going to remind myself of the things I would write down in a journal if I actually wrote in a journal. And I'm going to be a kinder, gentler person. I just hope it doesn't interfere with my ability to be funny. Because if it does, screw kindness- I'm going for funny.

December

On the first day of December, most people are filled with cheer, joy, hope and a little bit of panic as shopping and decorating ramps up. I'm not feeling any of the above. My shopping will consist mostly of gift cards. My family is blessed in that we need nothing, which makes gifting difficult. Gift card shopping isn't that fun. I don't decorate much for the holiday. Unless my garlands were made of milkbones, the dogs wouldn't notice. I'm just not in a holiday place. I even tried listening to my favorite Christmas CD- John Denver and the Muppets. It didn't work.

I've joked in the past that I'm reserving the right to have a mid-life crisis. I might be taking myself up on that offer. I had an epic meltdown earlier that appeared out of nowhere. I was sorting laundry and thinking about the upcoming week. My mental calendar included things like: Monday- Girl Scout meeting, Wednesday- open house at Michelle's, Thursday- babysit Mom's dog. And then the tears came out of nowhere. Lots of them. In all honesty, it started earlier in the day but I suppressed it adequately. But it got the best of me and I bawled. I have no reason to cry. I'm being a big baby. There is absolutely nothing wrong in my life that is worthy of tears. I was just feeling sorry for myself. I have no reason to cry and I told myself that repeatedly. And I still continued to cry. Thinking a change of scenery would bring me back to reality, I got in the car to go to Walmart. And I cried in the car the whole way there. Luckily, I was able to compose myself in the car. By the time my meltdown had passed, nothing had changed. My life was exactly the same, except for puffy eyes and wasted energy. Maybe tomorrow I'll find my holiday cheer. I hope so, because I've still got thirty more days of December.

One Week

As I lay in bed last night, fighting to find sleep after watching a frustrating Steelers loss, random thoughts sprinted through my mind. I hit a theme that entertained me for a while.

One Week is a song by the Barenaked Ladies. It's probably close to 15 years old but I had to do the math to figure that out. I associate this song with a trip to Cleveland. I lived in an apartment then, I remember meeting up with Gretchen and Michele to leave for the trip from there. I've been in this house for 13 and a half years and lived in the apartment for about three and a half years. So about15 years ago. We road tripped to Cleveland to visit Alexis and I used any excuse to play that song as much as possible. Being the first song on the CD, we listened to it as the first song and then the last song before we switched CDs. I'm sure they were sick of the song by the end of the trip but I felt like it was/is my personal theme song.  It was before anyone of them had kids. Now, they all do. We went to a club on the Flats on Saturday night and drank a lot that night. Two drinks now and I'm either toasted or passed out. Things have changed quite a bit.

One week is how much longer I'll be 42. I tried to focus on the blessings in my life, things for which I am thankful, what with it being Thanksgiving. I listed them mentally, even including my dogs who were snoring away, and still dwelled on 43. Then I thought about how I should get a Troy Polamalu jersey because his number is 43 and I'll be 43, he's one of my favorite Steelers, and I would be 43 like his jersey. I like Heath Miller too but I doubt I'll be lucid enough at 83 to think about jerseys and he won't be playing then anyway. Like I said, random. But I came back to 43. My life is as together as it's going to get. But I don't feel much like celebrating it. The thought of a family dinner isn't exciting. I'm not sure I want singing or cake. I sort of want to time travel to 8 days from now. Let's just get it over with and be 43 already. Then I don't have to think about another passing year. Another year of my life of having so much, but having one lone thing elude me. I don't want to have to think about having spent another year by myself. And I certainly don't want to think about the possibility of spending another year the same way. So forgive me if I feign a smile in one week. I'll be better in eight days. Now I just need a song about 8 days to remind me of that.

So it has come to this.

I'm starting to feel bipolar. Sunday night, elation; Monday morning, dispair. That might be a bit exaggerated, but my Monday wasn't stellar to say the least. I was a little grouchy at school, then came home to more grouchy and unmotivated. My motivation found me around 11 pm. When productivity strikes, I take advantage. Dishwasher unloaded, some laundry dealt with, general straightening, kitchen table unearthed. That perpetuates the vicious cycle of staying up way too late and being tired after school the next day. Thereby, a nap ensues, I'm up too late, need a nap the next day, and so on, and so on.... A break for Thanksgiving is near, so hopefully this will allow balance to return.

My dogs are spoiled. This is not a big shock. In fact, I am stating the obvious. A few recent incidents have reinforced this statement. Tally is the beagle that has lived in my house the longest. I think it's been about four and a half years. She was very timid when she came to my house and was definitely not alpha dog material. When she is the only dog at home, she is anxious. And I mean destroying stuff, chewing on her crate until she breaks a tooth, knocking the crate over to escape out the bottom anxious. She won't go in her crate, runs around like a nut, barks and cries. Another beagle in the house? She is calm and crates eagerly, waiting for her treat. Really, she can't handle the pressure of alpha dog and relinquishes the role willingly. And she is a sissy when she doesn't get her way. Imagine bed time, all the lights are off and all living creatures are staking claim to their spot for the night. Tally has learned that Niko, the I-think-I-am-a-big-dog shih tzu, positions himself at the bottom of the bed to try to intimidate other dogs from jumping up. Tally has outsmarted him by coming to the side of the bed. She jumped up, weighed her choices of sleeping spots and went to move toward the bottom of the bed. She will snuggle on her terms and that night was a negative snuggle night. Niko barked at her to voice his displeasure at her choice. She immediately retreated to my side, cowering a bit, and then lay right against me for protection. I'm not sure if she buried her face under the comforter for warmth or for pride. This morning, I had just stepped in the shower when I heard a single whiny yelp. Tally had selected her post-breakfast napping spot and it was a place that Niko had been choosing lately. She was sounding the alarm that he was intruding on her space. When I finally made it the living room, no one was on that chair. I'm not sure who won that battle, but I'm sure her feelings were hurt. Luckily, they'll get the next five and half days of my attention to heal all wounds.

Finally, in my favorite, "you are dead to me" move, I have deleted a contact from my phone. The guy from Hershey no longer exists. I really thought he'd call me back. I had a moment of feeling pathetic. Well, more than one. I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, and before I could filter my own response, I said 'a boyfriend'. Geez, I really am a 7th grader.

The illusion

I had a good weekend. On Sunday night, that feeling made me want to pinpoint what made it feel 'good'. More accurately, I should state I had the illusion of a good weekend. There wasn't anything spectacular about it.

Friday nights I often crash. This past Friday was no different. The effort it takes to hold my life together all week makes me collapse into a worthless heap of human. I veg out with reruns of Monk. Saturday, I had great intentions of getting up early and knocking out some shopping before lunchtime. Well, I left my house around 11:45- does that count? Next exactly the 9:45 I had hoped. Within two hours, I had achieved success. I found two pairs of badly needed boots for this season. I had all the intention of getting black and brown in different styles, but didn't find brown ones that I liked in my size so I did the next best thing. Bought the same style as the black ones. The two pairs of clearance shoes were a bonus. Seriously, two pairs for $30- who can resist that! Clothes shopping was just as successful. I was in need of basics, even though I'm starting to think you actually can have too many pairs of black pants. I was a little disappointed in the selection of sweaters and tops, but not enough to go to another store. After eating lunch, I managed a trip to the gym to try again to break the one mile mark. Not this time. But after a few minutes of walking in the middle, I ran another quarter mile. My next experiment will include cross training to increase cardiovascular endurance. Saturday night was enough to make anyone jealous. I got to dog sit for my mom's dog. They wanted to go out to dinner and, because of his recent health concerns, haven't left him alone in about week. Basically, I watched him sleep. But I got paid with a cup of minestrone, so I have no complaints.

Sunday was bitter cold with a biting wind. My Sunday mornings for the past six months have included my Weight Watchers meeting. I hit 10% this week (based on my weight when I started, I lost 10% of my weight). After that, I wanted to get a couple things done and then hunker down at home with an afternoon of NFL. Quick trips to Ulta and Bed, Bath and Beyond accomplished my list, followed by Best Buy to scout out the present my sister will be getting me for birthday/Christmas. Then I was home to watch a Steelers win. During the late afternoon game, I made veggie soup and roasted butternut squash. If you've never tried to wrestle a butternut squash, brace yourself. I think I know how an orthopedic surgeon feels. The late NFL games was a great match up. Two quarterback that I dislike in below freezing temps makes for entertainment. When faced with deciding who I wanted to win, I was reminded of the game Phoebe played on "Friends". Given a choice, the first answer you give without thinking is what you really feel. Patriots (Brady) versus Broncos (Manning) and I picked Peyton. I almost surprised myself. The overtime will make today a little rough.

So what was it that had me feeling pleasant and positive- hell, almost optimistic on a Sunday night? It could be that we're approaching a break from school.  But I don't think that's it. It could be that December is right around the corner. Although the temptation to resist Christmas cookies might be torture, so that's probably not it either. I'm going to give up trying to figure out what it is, and just enjoy it. I'm happy with what I'm doing and where I'm going, so I'm going to let it ride. And keep my fingers crossed that it continues.

Blah, meh, yucky- whatever you want to call it.

I'm feeling discouraged today. And a little angry. So another night with no phone call makes me want to send a text like, "I thought you had more integrity". Seriously, don't say you're going to call in a specific time frame if you have no intention of calling. Something vague like, "we'll talk later," would work. If things are so crazy that you can't talk, send a text. Something. I feel like there is a black hole associated with my dating life that sucks up anything near it.

As if that black hole weren't enough reason to dive into a pint of Ben and Jerry's, there's my Couch to 5K. I can run a mile. Realistically, it's a jog but humor me. I get to a mile and I'm ready to collapse. My heart rate is about 160 at that point. My lungs can't get enough oxygen, so I walk for about two minutes. Then I can usually run for about six minutes more. That would be a total of 1.5 miles. And I can't get past this. Even by a minute. I'm trying to adjust my food to better support a workout. It's not enough. It's frustrating. Last night, after two minutes of walking I wasn't ready. Another minute of walking, then I'll run for six more, or so I thought. Nope. I made it three more before it felt like my legs were going to collapse.  I'm sticking with it, and hoping to see an increase in time. If I'm nothing else, I'm determined and stubborn. I'd like to increase past one mile by just a minute. I can work from there. But this long with a stalemate is torture.

For now, I wait to hear from my Dating Coordinator and keep on running. Again.

Feeling like

I hate the days I feel like a needy chick. It makes me want to do something drastic and irrational. Like text someone in a snarky, sarcastic- almost bitchy- way. I don't because it would perpetuate the 'needy chick' stereotype. And because, contrary to popular belief, I try not to burn bridges.

Needless to say, things aren't progressing as I had hoped with the guy from Hershey. I called him on Thursday. We chatted for half an hour. I thought it was a great conversation. He said he'd call me at the end of the weekend or the beginning of the week. By Tuesday night, no call. I really thought he'd call. Now I doubt myself that I misread our conversation, misconstrued what he said when we met, misinterpreted... everything. And it's left me miserable.

I guess what I am reluctant to admit is that I am indeed a needy chick. These feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness would subside with one phone call. Actually, a voicemail message would do it to. Even a text message. I've had such a busy week that I barely have time to set up a date. But I'd like an offer. The idea of a future date would keep me going for a long time. It's kept me going for years now, hasn't it?

So it went like this....

Last night, I called the guy from Hershey. Around 8:50, I thought I should call now. Then I played a little Candy Crush. Then I got nervous. Then I got more nervous. It was 9:30, I was out of lives on Candy Crush and my palms were clammy. I just dialed to get it over with. Maybe I would get to leave a message and be off the hook. The little voices of doubt were chanting in my head. maybe he was being nice and didn't want to talk to me.

He answered. He shouted a hello and sounded excited. (Hush, you evil voices of doubt.) He was on his way to Columbus for a friend's birthday. They planned a spa day (for guys- i love that). And he's driving back to PA tonight for his son's birthday party tomorrow. We talked for half an hour. Well, it felt like I talked for half an hour. He asks a lot of questions and had me talking about work (including child abuse and mental illness?) and Pampered Chef, as well as the usual 'what did you do this week'. We talked a bit about what we each had planned for the weekend. He said he'd call later in the weekend or early next week.

The one part of his day that he shared had me raise an eyebrow. He told me about two separate people who asked him for money. One was a cousin he hadn't been in touch with for 7 or 8 years. He hadn't called him back yet and wasn't sure why he would be asking for $3000. The other was a women he met on Match.com. They had stayed in touch and I guess they were on friendly terms. She asked him for $500. And he gave it to her. His defense was that she said she'd return it by the weekend. How weird is that? I was so stunned that I missed my opportunity to say, "well, now that you mention it, I was calling to ask for money". I would hedge my bet on never seeing that money again.

We also talked about cookware. Yes, pots and pans. Apparently, he lost custody of any cookware when he split from his ex. He has one skillet. He has used it for eggs, oatmeal and spaghetti. Boiling spaghetti in a skillet almost makes my brain hurt. Obviously, he eats out a lot. If nothing else, I might just get a good Pampered Chef sale out of this.

Dela...what are you thinking?

On Halloween, Delaware sent me a text. Well, it was technically November 1st since it was 1 am. Who does that, other than drunk college kids? Since then, we've had this odd exchange of text messages. Imagine a conversation stretched out over a period of time. Imagine three weeks. He asks a question. I respond. I ask a question. Wait a week. He responds. Repeat. Why would he do this? Men are usually superficial- what you see is what you get. No deeper levels, no complex reasoning. I'm not knocking them, I'm being honest. I brought up getting together again. He brought up the weather. While it took mild convincing, I get it. Not interested.

So why bother texting me? I'm sure he's not lonely and looking for a friend. The state had a slogan years ago, "You've Got a Friend in Pennsylvania". I doubt he's testing that theory. There's no precedent of booty to think it's a booty call.

So he's messing with me. He didn't seem like the type to play mind games. Now that I think about it, there's probably not a 'type' for that. I'm just surprised because he seemed normal and not manipulative. I'm almost irritated to the point to telling him to f- off. My irrational belief of karma is leading me to take the high road. However the part of my temperament controls my inner GPS might re-calculate the route.

A Refreshing Change

When was the last time I met someone and I wasn't crying, "woe is me?", lamenting over the distance or feeling meh? I know, I can hardly believe it either!

After the initial 'finding the right person', it was good. The kind of good that still elicits a grin two days later. Starbucks is a busy place on Sundays. I got a drink and grabbed a seat. Not many open tables, and my initial survey of the room for singles was iffy. A couple guys on laptops, one guy in sweats with greasy hair, and an old dude. Please, oh please, don't let it be the guy in sweats. Then I spied someone sitting at an outside table, looking around, glancing back into the store. He finally braved the threshold and walked up to where I was sitting. He went to order and drink and asked if I wanted anything else. Nice gesture-bonus point. I'll be honest. It took what seemed like an eternity. At one point, I was convinced that he took off through the kitchen and hightailed it out of there. Luckily, I was wrong.

It seems every date starts with the question of who drove how far. He's from Hershey or Hummelstown. He said both so I guess they are close together. He travels for work and said he is in Reading 2-3 times a week. Sounds good to me. Then he asked me about my past relationships. Bam- we are not wasting any time. I tried not to let my jaw hit the table. I didn't do a very good job. There wasn't any sugar coating the entire hour. It was the most honest first date I've ever experienced. And I've had a lot of first dates. The questions, asked and answered, cut through all the political correctness, all the fluff,  and all the - for lack of a better word, bullshit. And it was refreshing. I didn't have to wonder, fill in the blanks. The cards were on the table. He asked pointed, relevant questions. He answered the same.

We had an hour. The date change was due to a swimming lesson for his 6 year old. I admire that he didn't blow off swimming to meet a girl. I had no idea of how quickly time elapsing, and based on his reaction when he checked his watch, neither did he. I think I saw the "I should have left 10 minutes ago" face. But he said he wanted my phone number. He said he thought we should talk again in the next few days. It's burned into my memory. Then he gave me a hug. Not just a pat you on the back, dashing off, barely making contact kind of hug. The kind that lingers a bit, involves an embrace and makes your mind wander for the rest of the day. Then he jogged to his car. And I drove home with a goofy grin on my face.

Everything was on the table. He is from Ohio- go Buckeyes. Moved to PA two years ago for work- marketing consultant. Google is my friend as I was able to review the name of who he worked for again. I should probably check out LinkedIn- might find out more. He might want to move back to Ohio at some point, years from now. He's competitive and a little sad that his son isn't. Athletic, likes beach vacations, scuba, and is looking for chemistry- something lacking in his previous marriage. He talked about finding balance between working from his home office and play time. He's attractive and has a charisma that is subtle. And I can't wait to find out more.

It Doesn't Take Much

Resiliency is a funny thing. Just when you least expect it, it's there. I have a date on Sunday. By now, even I wonder why I feel so full of hope. Each time, I think this might be the date. This date might be the last first date. I guess I should be thankful I forget the discomfort of being stood up, and worse, being rejected. Each date is like a surprise- I know his name, age, brown hair, brown eyes. It's exciting wondering what he looks like, what his voice sounds like, finding out what he likes to do. Where does he live? What does it mean to be a consultant? Is he a football fan? Does he like socializing with friends? Is he a movie buff? I can't wait to find out.

I want to tell my Dating Coordinator that setting up a brunch on a Sunday is great, as long as the restaurant has a brunch menu. Lunch at 11 on a Sunday is weird. Even weirder when the restaurant is Italian. I'll also have to weigh in at my Weight Watchers meeting in my date outfit. I debated going to my meeting, then going home, changing and getting right back in the car to drive almost right past the meeting location. That seems excessive. I just hope that my outfit for my date, which has been pre-approved complete with loaned jewelry, isn't heavy. Even though I ran a mile last night, I need all the help I can get at the scales.

UPDATE: I found out the time and location was adjusted. We're now meeting at 10:30 at a Starbucks. Not even a very nice Starbucks. Dating Coordinator doesn't know Reading. I could totally do this better- well, not the dating part but the coordinating part. We all know, it won't make a different really where we meet. However, I'm not sure how I will know who he is. I know brown hair, brown eyes. That is very helpful. Maybe I should wear a name tag and let him find me. And we had to switch thing because he has something to get to in the afternoon where he lives. Which is HARRISBURG. We're moving in a different direction, but not any closer. We're still at an hour away.

Vacation

Junk emails are making me a little sad today. Specifically, the one I got from Carnival describing deals for fabulous cruises leaving from New York and Baltimore. I can only imagine they are fabulous as any cruise I have been on has been amazing. An entire week of a team of people at your beck and call- what more could anyone want?

My cruising experience has totalled four. My first cruise was a group of ten people I didn't really know all that well at the start. We had more fun than you would think could fit into a week. All cruises will compare that that vacation. We did the shows, games, art auctions, the free happy hours, excursions, meals and piano bars together. I have a scrapbook that documents everything.

The following year, the thought of not going on vacation was too much to bear, so I booked a cruise by myself. I knew no one. It was relaxing and restful and a little bit boring. I made a lot of small talk with who ever was around. I'm not a huge fan of small talk, but I did it anyway. I went snorkeling alone. I walked around San Juan alone. I read lots of books, lounged by the on deck pool, and went to the shows. Alone. One meal when my dippy Canadian table mates didn't show up, I ate alone. I enjoyed it but in a bittersweet too-much-time-alone way.

Then I won a cruise to Bermuda. A free cruise from Stampin' Up! at the end of April and during PSSA testing (which is an exhausting three days of tedious testing) was heaven. The weather wasn't as hot as we had hoped, but hell- it was a free cruise. My friend Anne and I had an incredible time and spent most evenings with our new friends from dinner. Some nights, we laughed so hard that we drew a crowd. Like I said, heaven. Bermuda itself was just ok, I wouldn't race back but did we have fun!

My last cruise was with my sister and brother-in-law. We get along well and worked out how to balance what everyone wanted. It was fun, but a controlled fun dictated by the rigid needs of my brother-in-law. We couldn't sit by the pool because that was too many people crowded together. We didn't eat in the main dining room because they didn't want to have to sit with people they didn't know. The restaurants were good food too and I ate my share, don't get me wrong. But I felt like we were avoiding everyone else on the ship.

The offers from Carnival always make me wistful, but not just to go on a cruise. Cruising this summer would be nice, but I want to go on a vacation with someone. This is a common theme for me. I long for a companion. I want to plan a vacation, dream about excursions, share memories with someone. It's like the tree falling in the woods scenario. If you take a vacation by yourself, does it really count if you're the only one who remembers it.

Now He's Just Messing With Me

My usual Halloween includes giving non-peanut treats to my favorite twins (I was prepared this year, not scrounging in my pantry for something without nuts that kids would enjoy like last year) and then going to the gym. This year was no exception. I tried to stay at home with a bucket of candy on the porch for self-serve but the little buggers didn't get it. They kept ringing the bell and driving the dogs, and their owner, mad. I gave up. 

I had skipped enough time at the gym that my 20 minute run was interrupted with much needed walking for a minute or two. While working to regain that steady jog, I watched Silence of the Lambs. I had to endure 40 minutes (my entire workout time) watching something I vowed never to watch. I choose to avoid movies that might give me nightmares. Lucky for me, my gym decided that October would be scary movie month. Joy. I might have to be snarky and ask if in December if we'll be watching happy holiday favorites like It's A Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, or my personal fav- Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas. Doubtful, I know.

This morning, I see I received a text at 12:57 am from Delaware. Actually, when I looked at my phone, I thought, "Delaware who?" (Remember, I'm not using his name here but in my phone, it is his first name.) "hey, Georgeann, did you go to any Halloween parties?" He's messing with me. I experience anger, rejection, self-doubt and hope in about 3.2 seconds. I'm not good at games. I'm good at being pragmatic. I text back. "No parties for me, but I guess you did since you are texting at 1 am". I also resist the urge to correct him on the spelling of my name. What can I say, I'm growing. Now I wait. Let the games begin.

Working on myself

No dates in the near future. Or the far future. So my friend gave me the advice you give to your pathetic friends- "you can use this time to work on you". OK, the pathetic part might just be me. So this is how I'm working on me.

Using RunDouble, I can run for 20 entire minutes (all at one time). In my snail's pace, that means I can run 1.24 miles. All. At. One. Time. I know I am far from 5K hopes. But I am signing up for a 5K in May. And my goal is to run/jog/not walk the entire time. Or die, I don't want to walk during the race or die. I like to set my goals high. The good news is, I'm still going. And I'm lapping everyone sitting on their couch.

By sticking to my points plus each week, I have lost almost 23 pounds. When you get to 22.8, I feel entitled to say 23. Realize, when I talk about my points for the week, I'm not really counting accurately. I don't count the extra 49 points they give you. (Imagine if I did-I would prove Weight Watchers wrong!) I figure by not using them, it accounts for the times I sneak something or lose my mind completely and inhale half a pack of Oreos before regaining consciousness. But I wouldn't know anything about that. Or about trying to calculate the points of an Oreo, then judge they are too many points to be worth putting in little baggies.

Donating platelets is something I've done dozens of times. I've donated (platelets and whole blood) enough times that I got my 10 gallon pin earlier this year. They are always excited to see me, I get a snack, sometimes I get to watch a movie- it's better than a lot of dates I've been on. Getting light headed, breaking out in a drenching, cold sweat and not remembering things clearly was not part of my plan on Saturday. I was in the last 90 seconds of a process that takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. Seriously, 90 seconds. I remember telling David that I was feeling light headed. That was it. Then I remember three people standing over me, tell me to cough. Not in a 'turn your head and cough', but because coughing helps to get your blood pressure up. I missed the part when they took the needle out, turned off the heating pad, tilting my chair, or the first eight times they asked me to cough. I do get the memory of David having to mop off my forehead. Oh, the humiliation. Community service feels so good.

Next is a Pampered Chef party. I'm showing off Loaded Baked Potato Chowder. It's delicious, cheesy, comforting and something that probably wrecks my points. For the week. Maybe the month. I also want to plan stamping projects. But that will take a bit more time and resolve. Mostly, the time and resolve is for cleaning my stamp room first, then working on projects. But I've been thinking that same thought for at least a month. Like I said, I like to set my goals high.

Love In The Time Of .....what??

Every once in a while, a snippet on AOL catches my attention enough to make me click on something. This time, the attention grabber was "what made dating difficult for this girl". She was young, cute and what in the world would make dating difficult for her? I was expecting something horrible, like she is a hermaphrodite, or experiences selective mutism, but only on dates. None of those. She is gluten intolerant. And there is a whole dating site for those who live gluten free and who want to date others who are gluten free. I'm not making this up. The title of the web article was, "Love In The Time of Gluten Sensitivity". I've seen it all.

I thought dating was all about learning about someone, learning to compromise, seeing if you are compatible. What's next? A dating website for  people who are Steelers fans? (And if there is one, please let me know because that would totally ROCK!) I am starting to imagine things like: www.datemeifyouhatemushrooms.com, Obsessive Compulsive and Dating, or a matchmaking service for hypochondriacs between the ages of 29 and 34 who like big dogs, spicy food and video games. So that last one might be wishful thinking for a friend. Isn't part of the fun finding out about their likes and dislikes and then telling all your co-workers at lunch the next day? Bad date stories about the guy who doesn't eat lettuce or the one where the goodnight kiss was akin to getting my chin licked by a dog are the things to which marrieds look forward. How else will they appreciate their spouse?

Have I been so removed from dating that I missed the questionnaire period prior to dates? This seems so ultra-specific and doesn't leave room for things that might arise in the future. What if your perfect gluten sensitive date develops another allergy to seafood? If seafood is your favorite food, do you dump them?

My panic is based on the application of this to my life. I'm hoping our society isn't that superficial. I hope no one is ruling me out because I do eat gluten or I told them I like canning salsa and jam. If they are against multigrains or mason jars, I'm sunk. Rule me out based on something real. Decide not to date me because my jokes aren't funny (but really, they are- I am hilarious). Cast me aside because I use proper grammar, not because I don't eat red meat and you are a butcher. Although, this does remind me of a recurrent theme. I tend not to relate well to men who don't drink coffee. Hmmmm. Tea drinkers beware.

What I miss

In addition to having trouble falling asleep, I have weird dreams. I will wake up and feel like my dreams were vivid and lengthy. My personal theory on dreams is based on a freshman psych class. It was the largest class I had at Bloomsburg, and there were about 600 of us in an auditorium. Well, there were 600 on the days we had tests. It was an 8 am class after all. Three professors split the lecturing and my favorite was a relatively young prof whose name escapes me at the minute. He was very animated, even in front of 600. He mentioned his theory on dreams and I developed my own adaptation to suit my needs. Dreams are a combination of things to me. Mainly, I think it is memories or thoughts that are distorted. No premonitions, no visions of the future, no miracle solutions for problems. There is also an aspect I believe about dreams being a manifestation of what we are feeling in our present life that we allow ourselves to express in our dreams. That would explain the dreams I have where I am an angry, screaming, ranting lunatic or ones where I am using weapons to destroy the enemy. I have more of the former than the latter. My theory doesn't explain why my dreams have included a lot of alcohol lately. More on that later.

Last night's dream is more of the wistful variety. I was with friends and we were at some kind of bar/hotel where there were multiple floors. Each floor had a different theme- sports bar, karaoke, music, restaurant. The friends were a mix of people that would never know each other in real life: people I graduated high school with, friends from work, a few cameos by friends from college. It was like my worlds colliding (to steal a phrase from Mary). I remember we were drinking and I was focused on my shoes. I had on high platform heels (which I never wear) and was concentrating on not falling. Which was hard, because we were drinking.  By the end of the night/end of the dream, Michele set me up with someone. He was someone who graduated with me from high school, but I can't really say we were friends. We were holding hands, and looking into each others eyes; very much first date behavior. But what I recall most, we were hugging. It was more than looking at an image of me hugging someone. It was like I could feel it. And when I woke up, it made me sad. The sad part- it felt so nice in the dream and it was only a dream. I've had similar kinds of dreams about some person I'm in a relationship with. With distinct clarity, I remember things like kissing, or holding hands, or watching a movie curled up on the couch.

I promise, I'm getting to my point. When I think about times I was in relationships, there are things that I miss. Everyone complains about spouses or significant others, or will share an exceptional example of a good deed (usually out of the ordinary) but we don't really talk about the pleasant, every day things that happen. Those are the things I miss. Like kissing someone when they walk in the door. Or hugging before you leave for the day. Apparently, I long for physical contact. Not in a weird, sexual way. Everyone in education has heard that you need a certain number of non-threatening touches to survive, and even more to thrive. I don't remember the specifics, but I know I'm not hitting the minimum.

Other things I miss sound ridiculous. I miss going some place and knowing I have someone with me. It's lonely knowing you are going home alone every time. I miss private jokes. Those secrets no one else understands are rare when you live with dogs. I miss conversations that happen when you are just about to fall asleep. Sleepy conversations when you almost feel like you are mumbling because you are drifting off to sleep are the most honest conversations. There is no filter then. I miss making dinner for someone. Or baking them cookies. Apparently, I was a housewife in the 50's in a previous life. I miss putting my hand on his knee. There is comfort there. But most of the time, I miss hugging more than anything.

A Meg Ryan/Sally Albright Moment

Some nights, I have trouble falling asleep. A lot of nights. And when that happens, my mind wanders through various, sometimes obscure, thoughts that flash through my brain. As I drift closer to sleep, the thoughts get more and more unusual.

So get this stream-of-consciousness: My friend, J, has a tradition with her siblings that when one of them turns 50, they go somewhere together for the weekend. In about a week, she's spending a weekend at her sister's house and they are getting spa services because it's her brother's birthday. I thought how fun that would be to relax and get pampered. Then I thought about how another friend who turns 50 this April. I won't name her, but her initials are MM. And she has red hair. I thought how fun it would be if we got a bunch of friends together to go to Hotel Hershey and get massages and drink wine and eat chocolate and shop and drink wine.  We should probably make reservations for April because they get booked. I thought about how it would be great to be surrounded by fun friends when I turn 50. And then I turned into Sally Albright.

***If you don't get the Meg Ryan/Sally Albright reference, please follow the next four steps immediately:
1. Turn off your computer.
2. Drive to the nearest Target or Walmart.
3. Buy "When Harry Met Sally...", some microwave popcorn and some Swedish red fish. You should already have some diet Coke at home.
4. Upon your return home, plant yourself with popcorn and candy in front of the TV, and watch the movie, paying special attention to the diner scene (I'll have what she's having) and when she finds out her previous boyfriend is getting married. You're welcome.

So it hit me. I'm going to be 50. In. SEVEN. YEARS. I know that is a long time from now, but it's out there. What if, when I turn 50, I'm still 'alone'. And by alone, I mean in a 7th-grader-who-is-afraid-she-will-never-have-a-boyfriend-kind of alone. I can't make this up. I started to think about how long I've lived by myself and how long I might continue to live by myself. It was a bit of a panic attack in the making.

The picture of me turning 50 without a significant relationship makes me uncomfortable. I know, I know- I have friends, a great life, so much to be thankful for, I've worked so hard to get where I am, I certainly wouldn't want to settle for just any relationship, blah, blah, blah. I can work so hard to achieve so many things in my life, why can't I achieve this one thing? My usual optimism was suddenly on hiatus. I've gone to so many events solo, what if that never changes? What if I'm so high maintenance that no one is willing to put up with me? I need to accept that I might never find a relationship or be married. It's a slow process to accept that. One that is best accompanied by ice cream. And more chick flicks.

It's 2013

Warning: This blog is intended for adult audiences. I usually refrain from cursing. And by refrain, I mean I curse when it will get me a laugh or when I am so frustrated, I can't use my words. If you are offended by curse words, don't read my blog. If you are really offended by curse words, then we probably aren't friends.

I emailed the Dating Coordinator about getting some feedback. For future reference, I may refer to Dating Coordinator as TB, That Bitch. I had exchanged phone numbers with the last two matches and thought I might hear from them. I didn't. The response from that bitch was, "After consulting with one of my co-workers, he suggested that is 2013 and if you exchanged phone numbers, he might want you to contact him." Seriously? That is feedback? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm paying you more money than I want to admit and your advice is that I have to call him! Lucky for me, I don't have to pay extra for the condescending attitude. And I know condescension. I use it well. The only revelation you can share with me is that it is 2013? Maybe she thought I was still writing the wrong date on my checks. Maybe she thought I was writing 1954 instead of 2013 and she was doing me a huge favor. Thank god she informed me of that! I had no idea it was the 21st Century. I was still putting on my chastity belt each morning as I jumped into my sidesaddle to ride my horse to work. Wait, I wouldn't be going to work, I would be riding to the general store to buy something to make my husband for dinner. Without knowing it was 2013, I might have thought that women should be seen and not heard, or only be barefoot and pregnant, or some other ludicrous shit. Has she not seen any chick flicks in her life? I want to refer her to "He's Just Not That Into You" and require her to watch it immediately. This should be mandatory for anyone working there. For anyone interested in dating, male and female, because Alex and Gigi evolve so perfectly. You can even ignore their last scene.

I did find out that I get to meet with a Dating Coach. At about the six month mark, I get to meet with a Dating Coach who is also a certified Life Coach. Apparently I am supposed to be excited about that part. She is ALSO a certified Life Coach (there was emphasis on also). Because I haven't figured out how to live for the past 42 years? I can't to find out her words of wisdom. Maybe she will tell me I don't owe him sex if he buys me dinner. I do need a Dating Coach, but I've got the 'living my life' part down pat. I've not only secured gainful employment, but have changed jobs twice to make sure I was employed in a place I love doing what I love. I've not only purchased a house, but paid off the mortgage. I've managed to fill my house with things I love- craft supplies, canning supplies, dogs. No coach needed.  This is 2013 after all.

Asking for trouble

Constructive criticism is a euphemism for saying something negative and it protects anyone from getting their feelings hurt. Or so they say. Really, feelings get hurt. It's inevitable. But you aren't allowed to show that because it is under the guise of "constructive criticism". How can you hear something bad about yourself and not feel bad. So why would anyone ask for constructive criticism? More importantly, why would I want to hear something negative and pretend it doesn't slice to my very core?

I can't answer why, but I did. I sent an email my Dating Coordinator asking for feedback. That was one of the aspects of this matchmaking service that intrigued me. It is fascinating to have the ability to hear what they thought, or what was positive or even better, what wasn't. Who said what comment didn't concern me. I just want to hear what was said. I say that now because I haven't actually heard any of the comments. I might change that opinion shortly.

I feel like I'm asking for trouble. Aren't women already repeating enough negative self-talk for a lifetime? I am already my own worst critic. Why am I adding to this litany? Currently I am my own personal filibuster of disappointment, doubt and sometimes disgust.

Perhaps this is a journey of self-discovery? Maybe I am entering a period of personal growth? I'd like to think that was true. This entire matchmaking adventure was intended to reach a goal. The goal of finding a match. Maybe I have the wrong goal? It's like all those surveys for dating sites that ask you to rate yourself or list your personality characteristics or describe any number of values, ideals and traits. No one can do that accurately. No one really knows how they appear. You only know your perception of things. No one ever says, "I'm a raving, jealous bitch," or "I'm dumb and can't manage money." To that person, there isn't anything wrong with what they do. You'll never hear me say I'm moody or demanding or possibly boring <insert self-doubt here>. But am I? Who would tell me that? Now that I've asked for constructive criticism, I might just find out.

The Horizon

My mother can be a ray of sunshine. I think that to myself when she states the painful, obvious truth. So imagine that she is like that ray of sunshine that cuts through your flesh and pierces your heart in a blistering attack. So when I reported the details about my date with Delaware, she abruptly announced, "He's not going to call." Thanks for dashing any bit of hope I had managed to salvage. Even though she was right, and even though I knew he was telling me, "I'm sorry you wasted your time driving this far for nothing," it still smarts when you accept that fact. Couple that with the fact I actually did get the final call from FG. It took him two weeks to make the call. He said he was putting it off because he didn't know what to say. Then he didn't say anything. He was silent. I considered helping him out and offering him a statement to get him started. "It's not working out." "You're just not feeling it." "There isn't the spark you had hoped for." "We're heading in different directions." "We don't seem to have much in common." And that was off the top of my head. Instead, I let him suffer. He eventually spit out that he didn't feel the connection he thought he should feel. I made sure to tell him I figured out he felt that way when he didn't call for two weeks. He needed to know that I wasn't surprised. Or maybe I felt the need to tell him that. Either way, it's over and I'm not devastated. But I felt uneasy, unsettled. Was it because I didn't get to say it first?

So I did what any good single girl does. I threw myself a pity party. This particular one has lasted about four days. There were tears. Not just the single tear, dramatically making its way down my cheek. I had one of those streaming tears/sobbing/can't catch your breath/even the dogs look at you funny/your eyes stay red for an entire day kind of cries. It was ugly. Like any good party, it also involved shopping. Not for favors or decorations, but for raising up my spirits and reinforcing my independence. I also spent some time in deep reflection and bring productive-cleaning, re-organizing, putting stuff away. Uncluttering my space has a way of uncluttering my brain. But I spent even more time lying in bed with the dogs, feeling sorry for myself.

And now I'm back. Party over. Back to the world of the living where I need to do laundry and contribute to society. At the gym last night, I was able to jog on the treadmill for ten whole minutes. In a row. And I did that twice. Marathon runners scoff, but for me, that is an accomplishment. I think I was able to sweat out the negativity.

Coming up, my brother will be home for two weeks. We'll have plenty of family time to keep me occupied. And I'll keep adding to that time on the treadmill. I have some plans for putting up French Onion Soup and chicken stock.  And football and baseball (who knew the Bucs could make it into the playoffs?) will be there to entertain me. There are no dates on the horizon. But lucky for me, I still have clear skies ahead for myself. I'm the one in control of that.

The Questions You Aren't Allowed To Ask

Society frowns upon asking certain questions.  We aren't allowed to ask these questions because we aren't allowed to get truthful answers. The truth hurts. We soften the blow with white lies. "It's not you, it's me." really means you are bat shit crazy. Ironically, its the answers to these questions that would prove to be most helpful.

The question I have turning in my mind since Friday night seems innocent and simple. If we lived closer, would you want to see me again? It's a simple question that would be so telling. Is it me or the commute? If one of us weren't required to drive over an hour in not-so-nice traffic, would you want to find out more about me? If you didn't have to take out a second mortgage to afford gas, would you want to date me?

There are other questions I would like answered. The only person I can think of who would be able to answer them is probably not going to answer them. First of all, I think it would be helpful to have this conversation over a couple of beers. He'd do anything for a couple of beers (albeit, good beers). And since he lives in Arkansas now, I don't see that happening. Plus, I'm not sure he would be all about helping me date someone else. But this is how my imaginary conversation goes:  What did I do that drove you crazy? I'm sure a list would ensue.  I'd like an honest evaluation of where I fall on the high maintenance/low maintenance continuum. I like to think I'm not terribly high maintenance. I also think I'm probably way off on my self-assessment. Am I fun or do people just tolerate me? Do I really have a good sense of humor? Do I come off as a dumb girl, flighty, or otherwise annoying?

In every day conversation, I want to ask things like, "Do you like me?" A needy chick question, which apparently I am. I'd like a true evaluation of my physical appearance. Some days I like the way I look- a particular outfit, a good hair day, sometimes all it takes is lip gloss. Some days- I don't even recognize myself- pale skin, clothes that don't fit well, enough bags under my eyes to take a trip to Europe.

I thought this dating service might be able to offer some feedback. I'm afraid to ask but I think I'm at the point of deserving some. I'm going to have to bite the bullet and ask. The exchange of phone numbers would indicate some level of interest. But apparently that is another way to soften the blow. And I may just hear the proverbial, "It's not you....."

Delaware

A lot of updates:
Initial panic-
At the host station, I told them my name. There's no reservation under my name. I gave them his name. Nope. I conceded and told them it might be under It's Just Lunch. They are scanning their computer and my stomach is flipping over. So she points to something and they ask me, "John and Lisa?" Did I say John OR Lisa? Really, do you think I made up the name Georgann on the way in? Luckily they have a table for us. Phew. As I take a seat at the table, I realize I am under a spotlight. At least it feels like a spotlight. I imagine the terrible shadows cast by the light above my head. There are three other tables with awful lighting, so I scoot around to the next seat., exactly at the moment the waitress is approaching. And now I have to explain why I am changing seats without sounding like an idiot. She asks if I've been there before. No. Then she asks if the person I'm waiting for has been there before. And now I sound like a complete idiot because I have to say I don't know. Based on the look she gave me, it was a slight "I want to crawl in a hole" moment.

The guy-
He's dressed casual but not shabby. As he sits down and introduces himself, I think I hear him tell me his name is Paul. His name isn't supposed to be Paul. I'm not sure what I heard, so now I have a millisecond to decide if I ask him his name again (which is one of the few things they tell me) or say something to make sure the right person was shown to the right table or just shut up. The thought of an awkward mix up sprints through my mind. I ignore my urges to say something. He has average looks, a nice smile, and I still can't decide if his hair is blond or grey or something else. When he first sits down he is either nervous or feeling rushed or trying to figure out a way to escape. That last part is probably just my insecurity.

The restaurant-
Harvest in Glen Mills. The address on their website doesn't really exist (at least not that I could tell), so if you need to find it- it's in the Whole Foods shopping center off 202. They serve local and sustainable food and it was fantastic. Most menu items are less than 500 calories. Delaware said he was starved and asked if I wanted to share an appetizer. I like people who share food. It was a smoked seafood trio. I wasn't carefully considering that smoked fish isn't really cooked, so I tried not to think about it. Still tasty. I ordered Autumn scallops. I highly recommend them but there are only three of them, so don't expect to be stuffed. The dessert tray looked fabulous but I decided not to partake. I had already had a glass of wine so I figured I was nearing my calorie limit. He had the pumpkin pie which looked tasty. Tiny but tasty. It had a great selection of wine and there about six other things I'd like to try on the menu.

The date-
We had nice conversation and I found out a lot about him. The first topic on these types of dates tends to be how far away you live. When I say Reading, I get the bug eyes and exclamation over distance. He lives in Delaware. DELAWARE. We talk about hobbies, work, the usual stuff. We share some outdoorsy interests. He likes gardening and beagles. Score. He seemed interested in my tales of canning. By the end of the night, I am not sure if I kept up my end of the question and answer period. Foiled again by my nervousness. It was very pleasant and I liked talking to him. He is the right amount of animated. And now the interesting part: the dissection of the night: He was personable, interesting, funny and the best part- he paid for dinner. But, three times during the meal he apologized for me having to drive so far to meet him. As many times as I said no apology was needed, he still felt the need to apologize one more time. He also asked me if I saw myself living somewhere other than Reading, where would that be? That replays in my mind. I said I like visiting cities, but wouldn't want to live in one.  I really wanted to ask him if he was ever in a long distance relationship. But I couldn't. I didn't want the answer. I didn't want to ruin what felt like a great date. We walked outside the restaurant together, I thanked him again, he apologized for me having to drive so far again, and kissed me on the cheek. We exchanged phone numbers. I thought for sure as I drove home that he would call me. Twenty-four hours later doubt has crept in. Did he keep apologizing because he felt sorry that I wasted my time driving down there? I didn't think it was a waste of time, I hope it wasn't. I hope he calls.

I need closure

I am a girl who likes closure. I would much rather have someone call me and tell that things weren't working out, or he's just not feeling that spark, or that I'm an unbearable, high maintenance bitch. That is a better option for me compared to just never calling again. I hate trying to decide when it's time to give up hope completely. And I think it absolutely lacks balls. Just grow a set instead of taking the pussy way out. Or something a little less hostile.

So I am deleting FG from my phone. Two weeks have passed without any word, one week since he's been back in PA. This is my official "you are dead to me" move. I don't have time to wait for you. I've got better things to do. Like think about my date that will be in eleven and a half hours.

Mini crisis

Crisis is a relative term. In my work with seventh and eighth graders, their definition of crisis is very different from the rest of the world. Crisis for them is their best friend isn't talking to them. Or another girl likes your boyfriend (that you've dated for an entire two weeks in a row), is trying to steal him away, and is telling everyone in school that you are a skank. For me, my crisis is about my hair.

My appointment for cut and color was timed perfectly. I carefully scheduled the appointment two days before the due date of the girl who does my hair and knows how picky I am. I mean, how often does a first time mom deliver early anyway? Coincidently, this was the day before my date. You can't ask for more perfect timing. Except that she delivered early. Which left me in my living room, screaming, "Why? WHY? Why do bad things happen to me?" OK, not really. But I was bummed. (Mom and baby are doing fine; I'm not a total, uncaring bitch.) The earliest time I could get an appointment was Saturday morning. That doesn't help me look fabulous for my date. Who wants to go on a date with grey roots, especially a first date? We all try to hide things like that until at least date 5 or 6. I know that real people don't notice the grey as much I do. And I know that boys probably have less of a chance of noticing anything about hair color. But that doesn't change the fact that I know the the grey is there. Like I said, crisis.

Reasoning

If I send you a text, you have two reasons for not texting me back within twelve hours. 1. You are dead. 2. You are maimed in some horrible accident that has involved amputation of both hands. Those are the only reasons. If it isn't one of those two reasons, you are dead to me. There is even a little leeway if you choose to call instead of texting. I'm flexible like that. And I knew it was going to take FG  more than 72 hours to get in touch with me after returning from his week of sitting in Canada while holding a fishing pole. Yes, I know there was some casting and reeling in fish involved, but mostly I imagine sitting and holding a pole the majority of the time. All that translates to the beginning of the end. He either really doesn't want to be dating, or he doesn't want to be dating me.

Friday marks the return of my optimism. I'm optimistic that this time might be the time that things go well. I'm optimistic that I will look cute and appealing and not desperate. I imagine witty conversation without nervous laughter or awkward silence. I can picture myself driving home while grinning. You know, that goofy grin of a good date. My long term goals aside, right about now, I could use just one good date.

Now is the time

This is my season for dating. And by that, I mean what I'm wearing. Yes, apparently I am that shallow. This is the season for long sleeves, but not sweaters. Pants or jeans but no need for snow boots. No need for bulky layers for warmth or flimsy fabrics to stay cool. It's the perfect camouflage for any self consciousness. I can order a drink without worrying about the condensation dripping on me when I take a sip. And yes, I've thought of that. While I still might get very red from a drink, as evidenced by the familiar flush after a few sips of wine last week, I can escape from the drippy-ness of summer drinking.

And this weather is perfect timing for another date. So Lisa, the Dating Un-Coordinator, has a chance to redeem herself. And it starts by that fact I don't have to drive into Philly. This place will still be an hour or so with traffic, but it's not the Schuylkill. Of course, I've investigated the restaurant, it's menu and the directions for next Friday. Not two days from now, but a week and two days from now. My eternal optimism is piqued again.

Details are again sketchy. Chris, graphic design and technology, 49, blue eyes, blonde-ish hair, likes travel, arts, music, museums, and has a good relationship with his family. Sounds great. As long as he shows up.

A week off

So FG is off for a week of fishing in Canada. I'm open to a lot of things. While you'll never catch me gutting a fish, I get the whole fishing concept. I think I could even do the "sit on a boat and hold a fishing rod" as long as I didn't have to touch bait or fish or fish guts. Except that it normally starts before the crack of dawn which is not my idea of vacation. And then I found out this whole excursion is an entire week of catch and release. A week on a boat and you throw everything back. I really don't get that.

If I hadn't called with a 'have a nice trip' conversation, I doubt he would have called me before he left. Not his style, especially since it sounded like they were less than prepared to leave for the trip. If they get cell reception, he mumbled something about calling. I'm not betting on that happening either. So the next little experiment is to see how long it takes him to call me when he gets back. I'm guessing a full 72 hours. At least.

So I get a week off from wondering. Wondering if he will call, if we are getting together (dare I say going on a date?), if he is going to try more than a quick kiss. Instead I get to wonder what in hell has happened to my Dating Un-coordinator. Has she forgotten about me? More likely, has she scrounged up someone willing to meet me? Sadly, I think the answer to all of the above is a resounding no.

High Maintenance

I can admit I'm high maintenance. I'm demanding, impatient and I want a lot of attention. Not attention in a "look at me" way, but rather I want someone to call me, pamper me, include me in their life and fawn over me. That's not too much to ask, right? Alas, not everyone has the same idea as me regarding this.

So as FG progresses at the rate of a mutant snail, I'm ready to spout off  about moving things along. I tried to talk to him in the car last night, but he seemed uneasy. I value my life and know enough not to distract someone driving. I didn't really get to the heart of my questions. What is he waiting for? I'm not getting any younger, time is a-wasting, and let's face it: I'm a catch. (Why am I the only one who feels that way?)

I plan this conversation in my head when I can't fall asleep at night. I want to ask him if he really wants to be dating? He stated he is set in his ways. So am I, but I want someone in my life. I'm not sure he does. He tells me all kinds of plans that he has but never mentions me joining him. Soon, it will be time to scout for deer (or something like that). Alone. He seems fine to do everything by himself. I know habits you've done for 20+ years are hard to break. But I don't get the impression he wants to break any of them. I want to ask him if he is attracted to me. He seems to hug everyone else without an issue, but barely connects when he kisses me goodnight. I want to ask him if he wants to spend more time with me. Except, I'm not sure I want to hear the answer to that. Really, I want to know if he sees himself married. And more importantly, does he see himself buying large, sparkly jewelry?

I did get a few answers. Very few. Twice he was dating someone, then found out she was dating someone else. Yeah, been there and it sucks. But I like to think I took less than 20 years to get over it. I also learned that he still interrupts me so it must not be nerves. As we talked about the size of extended family, I was mid-sentence when he started talking again. I hadn't paused for effect, I was in the middle of talking. That means he totally wasn't listening to the words coming out of my mouth. After that I wasn't listening to the words coming out of his mouth either because all I could think about was saying, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did the middle of my sentence interrupt you?"

And I met a co-worker, K, last night. I'm sure he had the hots for her. He still might. She has perfected flirting in a non-flirting way and he was hanging on her every word. When they were both single, he told me they went out for drinks, went to lunch, were each others' dates for company parties but never dated. Blah, blah, blah. So last night, when she switched her drink to vodka, she set her newly opened bottle in front of him and cooed, "FG, finish this beer for me." Ugh, <gag>. Then he did. They aren't in the same office anymore from what I gathered. I don't really understand the hierarchy of his work yet, but I have to admit that fact isn't terribly upsetting.

All this high maintenance really boils down to one thing. I want someone who wants to be with me. When we're home from work, it would be nice for someone to be happy to see me, hear about my day, rub my neck as I complain about dumb stuff like kids that don't do their homework and parents who have no control over their kids. My dogs do all that, except the neck rub part. Can a man be trained to do the same? (There are two things holding me back from training my dogs on the neck rub part- I don't have enough treats and they don't have thumbs.) I want someone who knows that it's a huge deal when I bake a pie for you. I want someone to miss me when I'm not with them. And I can't stand the thought that he might not.

A new development

I realize a blog is public. I'm not under some delusion that this is protected. I'm deluded about a lot of things, but not that. I don't think there isn't anything that I've posted that I wouldn't discuss in person. But I've been made to reconsider that for one main reason. I think my mom is reading my blog.

I share a lot about my life with my mom. We get along well and I can't say I hide anything from her. But for her sake and mine, I choose not to tell her everything. Let's be honest: there are some things moms just don't want to know. Like that time in high school when I...just kidding.

This revelation has made me reconsider. Are there posts that I need to delete? No. Are there tidbits I would normally blog but now will hesitate? Hmmmm. Possibly. There is one easy solution to this dilemma. Mom, stop reading this. I will tell you about my dates, excluding what I deem necessary for the sanity of each of us. And if you don't stop reading, at least remove the tab on your ipad that shows you were on this site. That way, we'll just pretend you've stopped. And we'll never speak of this again. We'll both be happier that way.

Hold on

Two dates in one week. Dinner on Thursday and a picnic on Saturday. Can you believe it?

Vietnamese food, three hours at the restaurant and I still felt a bit ambivalent. We discussed some favorites like movies and music. I'm learning things. Some things are confirmed and some I'm extrapolating.  I don't think he likes to share food. But I made him. The restaurant has great veggie rolls- lettuce, carrots, sprouts and some other stringy, crunchy bits wrapped up in rice paper. The sauce is the best part. It's a peanut dipping sauce. Really the veggies are just the vehicle for sauce. So when the waitress asked if we wanted an appetizer, I basically told him we were splitting them. And since there were two of them, it wasn't tough to split them and spoon the sauce on each bite. But then the entrees came. I offered up a taste of mine right away. We discussed the flavors and he described his meal. Only then did he ask if I wanted to try his. His was duck so I really only wanted to taste the sauce so I picked a piece of broccoli. At the end of the evening, we stood outside the restaurant to say goodbyes. It's tough to get busy in front of everyone enjoying their fro yo.

During dinner, he invited me to a work picnic. Well, it felt more like his work/hunting buddy invited me. I knew I had a birthday party for my favorite five year old twins but also knew it would be completely understood if I ducked out early for a date. Getting FG is provide some info about the picnic was about as easy as getting info from a teen who just got caught. The attendees were easy questions, dress code a bit more challenging. We had to define capri pants, but he still didn't know what women would be wearing. We talked more about him wanting to get a peach pie as his contribution than examples of the important things--should I wear pants, shorts, casual dress? I nailed down that I was going to wear shorts (and pray for a break in the humidity).

I'm starting to learn that you don't get what you don't ask for. Friday morning- day before the picnic- I'm driving home from Lancaster along Rt. 23 hitting every farm stand between New Holland and Morgantown. At my last stop, I picked up some seconds of peaches. It was the only place that had seconds, but it was only a small basket. So I call FG to see if he found his peach pie. Then I offer to make a peach pie. And he responds, "if you want to." Seriously? Someone offers to make you a pie and you say if you want to??? After we went through that series twice, I finally said, "this is where you say that would be lovely". And he did. A light bulb moment for me and hopefully for him. Now we wait to see if this learning experiment is permanent. And on Saturday I made a pie.

The picnic was fun. Well, as much fun as you can have when you only know one person. A little anxiety which I try to hide by wiggling my toes. I would have felt much more at ease with a drink but the risk of red face--not worth it. The host couple was so welcoming and hospitable. I got a gator ride and there were only three times I thought we were going to tip. Without being overwhelming, most of the women who work with FG made a point to question me. . I saw enough stuffed wildlife and skins of various mammals for about a decade. But it was a nice group and I didn't sweat much. Success.

When he dropped me off, I told him he had to get out of the car if give me a proper goodbye. He chuckled. Then he did. We progressed to a kiss on the lips. He still hesitates a bit, but I'm thinking we need to just get tanked and make out and get it over with.

I think I can source the ambivalence. It's my protection mechanism. If I'm ambivalent, then I can't get hurt. And I can't be blamed if it doesn't work out and he gets hurt.

I find that I am analyzing conversations and tucking away little tidbits to bring up later. It's like an odd cat and mouse game. I'm curious but I'm afraid that if I question FG right away, I'll spook him. So some time later, I'll ask him what he meant when he said that other people wanted to set him up. Didn't he want to be set up? Did they give him her number and he never did anything? What did he mean when he told the hostess I don't mind hugs as we said our farewells for the evenings. Does that mean he does mind hugs? But she just gave him a hug? I have a lot of questions. I want to ask him about previous relationships. How long ago and how long were they? What are his deal breakers? What are mine? I have a lot of questions that remain unanswered.

Another shock, another date

I had resigned myself to wait to see if FG called me after his trip to Canada. Part of me figured I would have to give in and call him first. But I wasn't rushing, especially since the first week of school is busy and tiring. I suppose I shouldn't have felt so much shock to get a call from him. But I did. Even more shocking, he asked me to go to dinner on Thursday. Now, don't get too excited. He didn't have any thoughts about restaurants. I had to choose that. And nailing down a time? I had to do that too. I love flexibility. But there's a fine a line between flexibility and indecisive. So we're meeting at the restaurant I wanted, at the time I wanted on a day that is Jeans Day and payday. Not too shabby to start the weekend.

Here we go again

No, it's not a date. Tomorrow is the first day of school. Since I've been back to school for about two weeks at this point, it doesn't really first like the first day of anything new. Regardless, I'll sleep restlessly tonight, as I always do before the first day of school. I'm wearing the dress that I wore for the last date. Well, it's the dress I wore for the last time I thought I had a date but he never showed up. 

I've set a few goals for this week. Last week, going to gym took a hiatus. I want to get to the gym three times. Four would be ideal, but I'll be happy with three. I want to remain calm and level headed when people around me are erratic. Our principal stole my joke at orientation last week. All we have to do is make sure everyone gets home alive. I refuse to panic or become frantic for any schedule changes or complaining kids (more accurately, complaining parents). I want to reasonably follow my
WW points for food each day. (self explanatory) Except tonight. Tonight I am taking cue from my friend who celebrates the last day of summer by having ice cream for dinner. So I'll be joined for dinner by my two good friends, Ben and Jerry.

Status quo

The phrase status quo shouldn't evoke strong feelings. It should allow a feeling of calm, satisfaction or if nothing else, the beauty of non-change. Right now, status quo makes me want to eat carbs at a ravenous rate and hibernate from society. I want to forgo small talk and pretending like I am satisfied where my personal life is right now. But for now, I'll tell everyone that my summer was fine. I'll wrestle the inner struggle of french fries versus the size of my ass. And I'll keep canning to distract myself. That's what I keep telling myself.

Desperation

Over the last six days, a slight sense of desperation has clouded me. My anger over being stood up waned and I wasn't able to fully exert my initial wrath on the Dating Un-Coordinator. She said she would call Charles. A day and half later she sent me an email. She hadn't heard from him and was sorry for what happened. She still hoped nothing was wrong. I could not share that sentiment, but I did send a response about the humiliation of sitting there for an hour and my frustration at wasting an entire evening. It must have evoked enough guilt for her to call one me more time.

Being stood up was a bit like hitting my knee on my desk at school. It initially is a shock, then intense pain, then a lingering, dull throb that lasts far longer than you would expect. The dull throb is the cause of the desperation. If there had been an extenuating circumstance, I wouldn't feel so pathetic. While there are very few acceptable reasons for not calling the restaurant or calling the Dating Un-Coordinator and begging forgiveness, that might have eased the sting.

I've gone about my week, plugging away at work, spoiling my dogs with affection and belly rubs, chatting politely with neighbors. After a week of normalcy, it's almost like it never happened. Except it did. I joke and laugh about it. It's either that or cry. And one of my friends is crying enough for everyone these days.

I read a facebook post, that led to a blog, that led to another quote that struck me as important. Unfortunately, overwhelmed by social media, I'm unable to recall the source. It's better to be alone now then married and alone later. I realize that I could be married (many times over). But I don't just want a husband. I want a family. Most people assume family includes kids. My picture of family might just have the furry, four-legged kinds of kids. But I'm still holding out for a family, not just a husband. Unless I win the lottery. Then I going to buy a farm with a big house and rescue dogs. A lot of dogs.

A Fresh Level of Hell

In the span of three hours, I have experienced every emotion. Maybe not EVERY one, but a lot of them. Some of those emotions were in rapid succession, some were a more leisurely pace. Where should I start....

I got stood up. I wasted time, gasoline, pride and perfectly good makeup in one fell swoop.

I should have known when traffic wasn't too bad that something was amiss. The restaurant was in a Hyatt and part was being renovated. Not too many tables near the bar to begin with and the choice was between the two tables on either side of the doors leading to their outdoor seating. The risk of drinking alcohol and having my face turn brighter than my dress was daunting. I opted for iced tea.

The first few minutes weren't too bad. I was able to watch the river, people walking, a few boats and a jet ski or two. It gave me time to decompress from driving and focus on avoiding a clammy handshake.

6:20- I checked the time on my phone. At that precise moment, the speed of time slowed down and I think there were actual instances that time stood still. I think of possible reasons for being late. Traffic is second on the list of forgivable reasons for being late. First on the list is death. And only personal death. I'm not wishing him dead, just acknowledging that I wouldn't hold this lateness against him if he were dead.  My new focus is resisting the urge to check the time on my phone obsessively.

6:26- I now start to consider the possibility that he is isn't going to show up. It's still possible that he will show up and it will give me an opportunity to show how easy going I am. Mentally, I practice what breezy statement I will make about being so late. "Oh, everyone gets stuck in traffic." "Really, I didn't mind waiting. It's such a nice night." "I'm glad you stopped to save those puppies from that burning building."

6:31- I now am starting to calculate exactly how long I wait until I face the fact. Half an hour isn't exactly enough time. This reminds me of waiting for the professor in college. The legends, how long you needed to wait and the variables based on if that person was a full professor, or an associate professor, entertain me. That entertainment lasts about nineteen seconds.

6:38- I debate asking the hostess for her advice how much longer I stay.  Then I realize she probably has never been stood up so how would she be able to answer my question. My focus has shifted again to the phone conversation that will occur on Monday with my Dating Coordinator. I'm considering changing her title. She's not deserving of the a title including the word dating.

6:43- Reality has set in. Now I have to decide if I get something to eat and endure sitting even longer by myself with an extra place setting at the table. The place setting would surely mock me. The menu isn't fabulous so I decide to gather my pride and leave.

6:48- I feel the need to remove any remnant of said pride by asking my waiter to check if any phone messages were left with the hostess. I feel sorry for this guy who has to walk the length of the bar with a straight face only to tell me there were no phone messages. I ask for the check for my iced tea and he says not to worry about it. The descent to hell begins here.

To get back to my car, I have to walk across the lobby of the hotel, take an elevator down to the garage, walk along a corridor and take a different elevator to level 4. By the time I got to my car, I have experienced anger, disappointment, sadness, frustration, pathetic loser-ness, and more anger. Luckily the welling tears were reserved for the short elevator ride to the garage. I blame Carrie Bradshaw. I episode where she gets stood up on a blind date flashed through my brain. More specifically, the part where she said (excuse me while I paraphrase) 'unless he took one look at me and got the hell out of there'. But I know that couldn't have been the case. My dress was pre-approved and my friends accessorized me with a necklace and great black purse. That only leaves one other option. He better be dead.

Basketcase

My discovery this week is that it's me. I am feeling basketcase-ish.

I have a date set up with a guy from the match service tomorrow. The eternal optimist in me is on vacation and I'm feeling like the distance will be an issue again. It's a Philly date, and the Dating Coordinator offered to have him meet me on the Main Line. Hardly a difference. Again, I worry about which outfit I'm going to wear only to remind myself that guys don't care about the color of my dress. Or if I'm wearing capris. Or which shoes will go with which outfit. And that thought just now made me decide to wear the dress with the black shrug because I have black wedges to wear with it. If I wear the dress with the brown shrug, I'd have to wear flats because either I never had brown wedges or I've lost them or they were chewed by a dog and I've repressed that memory.  See? Basketcase.

Another reason it's me? On the phone last night with FG, I realized he says "and the next thing you know" a lot. Let's find a phrase that tells of time elapsing that doesn't sound like a potato farmer. How about "a few minutes later"? Or what is wrong with 'after awhile'? Or just say the amount of time- an hour later, about 20 minutes, even later that night. We all have phrases we tend to use frequently. I'm sure I have things I say repeatedly and overuse far too much. Feel free to list them in the comments. Finding this phrase so early into our conversations is a bit alarming. In the first weeks of meeting someone, I'd like to find something endearing, not annoying. Maybe I was just over-tired and cranky last night. When I left him a message earlier in the day, I didn't realize at the time I wouldn't be able to fit in a nap that afternoon. A nap might cure tiredness but there may be no hope for my level of cranky.

Routines in conversations often are a natural progression. So natural that you probably don't think about it or even realized it has happened. So natural that you might not even know what I'm talking about. When there is no routine, it is awkward and uncomfortable because you don't know who is supposed to say goodbye first, who is supposed to decide when the phone call is over, who is supposed to lead the next topic of conversation. The part of the conversation when you make future plans is painful without this routine. And this isn't even setting up the next date, but who is going to call or when will you talk next. And yes, the end of our conversation was excruciating.

One lasting concern- he doesn't buy peaches because they cost too much? I did hold my tongue and not scream, "are you KIDDING me?" And he hadn't seen donut peaches. Granted, they haven't been around for decades, but most grocery stores have them. But I guess if you don't buy peaches because they cost too much, you don't exactly check out the varieties. I can support not buying out of season produce. Peaches in January would be pricey. But this isn't January. And don't talk to me about buying a new camera in case you see a moose then tell me that peaches cost too much.

I want to pretend that money isn't a big issue. It is. I work hard, I save for retirement and I'm going to spend my money as I see fit. Like the NFL Sunday Ticket. I forgot to cancel it after last season, so the payments started up automatically. I could still cancel it. But I'm not. So from September until January, you'll know where to find me every Sunday without question.

The bigger money question now is will I have to buy my own dinner tomorrow?