I'm usually a very decisive person. Pick something and move on. It's a motto I live by, and use to judge others. You can't decide? I start to lose respect for you. Today, I was faced with a situation in which I couldn't decide what to do. I got 'stuck'.
My cell phone died. My diagnosis was the battery. Shawn from the AT&T store told me the 'good news'. I am eligible for an upgrade. I think I actually responded, "And?" I don't think he liked my response. He repeated himself and waited for me to jump up and down with joy. He's still waiting. They don't have the battery, they don't have diagnostics and they don't want to talk to me unless it is about a new phone.
Next stop, Radio Shack to see if they even carried the battery. They don't. I can get it shipped, but since I'm guessing this is the issue, I don't even know if that will work. So the Radio Shack guy said for 50 bucks I could buy a battery or get a brand new phone. Hmmm. I was hoping to get a battery then move along to a much needed pedicure. I told him he had three minutes.
The first minute went smoothly. Then things took a drastic turn. When he let me know I could bump phones with someone, I knew I had to escape. That sounded like something new and kinky, albeit the best offer I've had in a while. The overload was apparent, because the next thing Radio Shack guy told me was I could get a white case. (Bumping downloads was way too much for her---offer her a different color, fast! I could read it on his face.) So he showed me the white case, told me his name which I completely forget, and let me know he was the wireless specialist there. I need more than a specialist at this point.
The really good news? I'm old school and still have a phone at home that is attached to the wall. One handset doesn't hold a charge for more than three minutes. The kitchen phone which is still attached to the wall is static-y.
I need a major phone overhaul. My home phones are on their way to the electronics graveyard, I have no working cell phone, no decision made and I'm losing respect for myself.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Dream Analysis
I'm not going to go all tarot cards-mood ring-dreamcatcher on you. But there was an obvious similarity in some of the dreams I've had lately. By getting my thoughts out of my brain, I feel freer to be consumed by other nonsense things, like arguing with my sister or planning what I am going to preserve this summer.
The theme of these dreams is past relationships that show up in modern day. (It seems to be the significant others that hung around the longest.) Here's the puzzling part. I reach a point in each dream that I am screaming, near uncontrollably, in anger for some everyday situation. He, whichever one decided to show up that night, doesn't argue back. I just rant like a lunatic until I can't yell anymore. It's not one of those 'reliving a past experience' dream. I never did that. Most know I am the passive-aggressive type. Believe it or not, when I'm angry, I don't yell. In fact, be very afraid if I start to speak very slowly and enunciate every syllable. That translates to, "she's gonna blow."
So here is my analysis: I think I have harbored anger over these past relationships and haven't gotten rid of it. So I am doing that in my dreams.
Editing is a wonderful thing. The above 'haven't gotten rid of it" started as "haven't had a chance to get rid of it." Yes, I've had the chance. In fact, in some cases, I've had about 17 years to get rid of it. Delete, delete, delete, delete. Then it was, "haven't really gotten rid of it". I'm dreaming about it, so let's be real. It's still there. Get that "really" out of there. Delete, delete. I haven't gotten rid of it. Until now.
What am I so angry about? It's not that the relationship ended. In most cases, it's been my idea. Am I angry that I allowed relationships to continue longer than was healthy? Am I angry that I feel I became a person I didn't like during those relationships? I did that to myself. People treat you the way you let them. I allowed that to happen. That's a reason to be mad. But I would be mad at myself for that. And I'm certainly not yelling at myself in those dreams. Did I feel I wasn't being heard before?
That last one feels the most right to me. I felt like I had the same discussions over and over again. In some cases, I did. I won't call them fights, because it was more of a discussion/conflict. And when you talk about the same thing over and over again with no resolution, it's frustrating. I could see where that would make me want to scream. Literally. The same discussion, the same conflict, the same ending, the same feeling of dissatisfaction. I haven't been so good at compromising. Like, not at all. My definition of compromise means someone else agreeing to my point of view. How can I learn to compromise if I haven't figured it out already? I can study and learn anything out of a book. There's no book for this. What if I haven't learned anything from my past relationships? What happens if I fail? Again. Will it be different if it's with the person with whom I am supposed to spend the rest of my life? I want to think I'm wiser this time.
Back to dreams: The good news is that I have lots of happy dreams too. Well, not so much happy, but weird. I'm used to weird dreams. Just last night I had a dream that I was in a hair salon and someone gave me this thing that looked like a bar of soap but was a body bronzer. While I'm bronzing any exposed part of my body, the owner comes over and I find out the girl who gave it to me doesn't actually work at that salon and the owner is mad that I have this bronzer thing. Then there was this embarrassing scene of me trying to sneak out without being noticed, except that I am over bronzed and the color of a shimmery clay pot. Sorry, I digress; back to ranting and raving dreams. The dreams that include ranting chaos are in the minority. I'm hoping this post allows them to become extinct.
The theme of these dreams is past relationships that show up in modern day. (It seems to be the significant others that hung around the longest.) Here's the puzzling part. I reach a point in each dream that I am screaming, near uncontrollably, in anger for some everyday situation. He, whichever one decided to show up that night, doesn't argue back. I just rant like a lunatic until I can't yell anymore. It's not one of those 'reliving a past experience' dream. I never did that. Most know I am the passive-aggressive type. Believe it or not, when I'm angry, I don't yell. In fact, be very afraid if I start to speak very slowly and enunciate every syllable. That translates to, "she's gonna blow."
So here is my analysis: I think I have harbored anger over these past relationships and haven't gotten rid of it. So I am doing that in my dreams.
Editing is a wonderful thing. The above 'haven't gotten rid of it" started as "haven't had a chance to get rid of it." Yes, I've had the chance. In fact, in some cases, I've had about 17 years to get rid of it. Delete, delete, delete, delete. Then it was, "haven't really gotten rid of it". I'm dreaming about it, so let's be real. It's still there. Get that "really" out of there. Delete, delete. I haven't gotten rid of it. Until now.
What am I so angry about? It's not that the relationship ended. In most cases, it's been my idea. Am I angry that I allowed relationships to continue longer than was healthy? Am I angry that I feel I became a person I didn't like during those relationships? I did that to myself. People treat you the way you let them. I allowed that to happen. That's a reason to be mad. But I would be mad at myself for that. And I'm certainly not yelling at myself in those dreams. Did I feel I wasn't being heard before?
That last one feels the most right to me. I felt like I had the same discussions over and over again. In some cases, I did. I won't call them fights, because it was more of a discussion/conflict. And when you talk about the same thing over and over again with no resolution, it's frustrating. I could see where that would make me want to scream. Literally. The same discussion, the same conflict, the same ending, the same feeling of dissatisfaction. I haven't been so good at compromising. Like, not at all. My definition of compromise means someone else agreeing to my point of view. How can I learn to compromise if I haven't figured it out already? I can study and learn anything out of a book. There's no book for this. What if I haven't learned anything from my past relationships? What happens if I fail? Again. Will it be different if it's with the person with whom I am supposed to spend the rest of my life? I want to think I'm wiser this time.
Back to dreams: The good news is that I have lots of happy dreams too. Well, not so much happy, but weird. I'm used to weird dreams. Just last night I had a dream that I was in a hair salon and someone gave me this thing that looked like a bar of soap but was a body bronzer. While I'm bronzing any exposed part of my body, the owner comes over and I find out the girl who gave it to me doesn't actually work at that salon and the owner is mad that I have this bronzer thing. Then there was this embarrassing scene of me trying to sneak out without being noticed, except that I am over bronzed and the color of a shimmery clay pot. Sorry, I digress; back to ranting and raving dreams. The dreams that include ranting chaos are in the minority. I'm hoping this post allows them to become extinct.
Friday, May 24, 2013
The journey continues
Let's review the score. Dates: zero. Meals consumed that were delicious, scrumptious or otherwise fabulous: zero. Vegetables consumed: too many to count. Pounds lost: about three (official weigh in on Sunday morn). So if we focus on the positive, I'm getting my Five-A-Day for me and a small village in South Africa.
This journey led me to Produce Junction last night. Imagine a cross between a farmer's market and Soup Nazi. Tables of veggies make three 'aisles'. You are allowed to pick what you want from the tables- assorted greens, some root veggies, I saw leeks. Garlic in mass quantities. There are also some unusual veggies in bags. I think I saw Asian eggplant (at least, that's what I'm calling it); long skinny and bright purple. Then there are bags of wrinkly, unidentifiable veggies. Some sort of squash, I think and some peppers that scare me are lined up right next to the button mushrooms. It's a dichotomy of food and I'm nervous. There's no one to ask and what if I buy something and when I try to prepare it, it bursts into flames or causes mass destruction. So I might be over-reacting a bit. I feel more at ease as I get closer to the counter. Ahh, potatoes, onions, peppers (bell- but in four colors), cucumbers (two varieties even, but I know what they are); all bagged in somewhat larger quantities. This is more like it. You tell them what you want in short order. One cucumber, one zucchini, one cabbage, and red peppers. One equals one bag. Depending on the item, it might be two pounds(squash, cukes, peppers etc) up to five pounds (onions). Don't ask for half a pound of something, or two yellow bell peppers. It doesn't work that way. You get a bag and you don't get to pick. They don't want to talk to you about how to prepare zucchini, or what is the best way to wash leeks. They add everything in their head and give you a nice round number. Thirteen dollars. Seventeen fifty. You order, pay cash, and move along. Don't bring a credit card. Don't expect a receipt. And DON'T expect to pay for anything but veggies at the vegetable line.
The far right aisle leads to fruit. Fruit has it's own counter. Tables with some bagged oranges, boxes of mangoes and a table with pineapples notify you that you've entered "Fruit". Avocados are here, mainly because no one knows if they are a fruit or a vegetable. (The science geek in me needs to tell you it's fruit because it contains the seed). A small cooler on the right holds clam shells of berries. The usual- blueberries, strawberries, raspberries. There might have been blackberries, but I wasn't impressed with the prices. I might try walmart. Again, you order quickly and pay cash. Since it was slow and my mom looks a bit unstable most of the time (not crazy, just like she is a bit lost, might stumble on something, or knock over a table), she asks them to get a bag of red peppers for her in the fruit line. He takes pity on her, probably because there is only one person behind her.
A whole other outdoor area holds "Garden". Annuals, hanging baskets, vegetable plants, some herbs and apparently shrubs live there as was pointed out to me by Mom. They also sell cut flowers. I didn't feel the need to check it out. Again, there is a separate register for flowers. No counter, since this is more self serve.
Their produce is cheap, which is why I drove about 35 minutes to get there. Mostly, the produce is ready to be eaten. Now. Right now. Don't buy far in advance or I'll have a very expensive compost pile. I ended up with zucchini, two small heads of cauliflower, cucumbers, pickling cucumbers, mushrooms, a head of cabbage, two bags of baby carrots, strawberries, a small pineapple, and radishes. A lot of radishes. They sell them three small bags at a time, so I got a bag of three. And I picked up what I thought were beets. It was near other root veggies, which I now realize were probably diakon radishes. They were bunches with lots of greens and thought they were just a bit light for beets but you don't waste time inspecting things. Turns out they are giant radishes. My plans for pickling this week will now include pickled radishes. It's a lot of produce for one person. But as I said, that small village somewhere needs healthy vegetables this week.
This journey led me to Produce Junction last night. Imagine a cross between a farmer's market and Soup Nazi. Tables of veggies make three 'aisles'. You are allowed to pick what you want from the tables- assorted greens, some root veggies, I saw leeks. Garlic in mass quantities. There are also some unusual veggies in bags. I think I saw Asian eggplant (at least, that's what I'm calling it); long skinny and bright purple. Then there are bags of wrinkly, unidentifiable veggies. Some sort of squash, I think and some peppers that scare me are lined up right next to the button mushrooms. It's a dichotomy of food and I'm nervous. There's no one to ask and what if I buy something and when I try to prepare it, it bursts into flames or causes mass destruction. So I might be over-reacting a bit. I feel more at ease as I get closer to the counter. Ahh, potatoes, onions, peppers (bell- but in four colors), cucumbers (two varieties even, but I know what they are); all bagged in somewhat larger quantities. This is more like it. You tell them what you want in short order. One cucumber, one zucchini, one cabbage, and red peppers. One equals one bag. Depending on the item, it might be two pounds(squash, cukes, peppers etc) up to five pounds (onions). Don't ask for half a pound of something, or two yellow bell peppers. It doesn't work that way. You get a bag and you don't get to pick. They don't want to talk to you about how to prepare zucchini, or what is the best way to wash leeks. They add everything in their head and give you a nice round number. Thirteen dollars. Seventeen fifty. You order, pay cash, and move along. Don't bring a credit card. Don't expect a receipt. And DON'T expect to pay for anything but veggies at the vegetable line.
The far right aisle leads to fruit. Fruit has it's own counter. Tables with some bagged oranges, boxes of mangoes and a table with pineapples notify you that you've entered "Fruit". Avocados are here, mainly because no one knows if they are a fruit or a vegetable. (The science geek in me needs to tell you it's fruit because it contains the seed). A small cooler on the right holds clam shells of berries. The usual- blueberries, strawberries, raspberries. There might have been blackberries, but I wasn't impressed with the prices. I might try walmart. Again, you order quickly and pay cash. Since it was slow and my mom looks a bit unstable most of the time (not crazy, just like she is a bit lost, might stumble on something, or knock over a table), she asks them to get a bag of red peppers for her in the fruit line. He takes pity on her, probably because there is only one person behind her.
A whole other outdoor area holds "Garden". Annuals, hanging baskets, vegetable plants, some herbs and apparently shrubs live there as was pointed out to me by Mom. They also sell cut flowers. I didn't feel the need to check it out. Again, there is a separate register for flowers. No counter, since this is more self serve.
Their produce is cheap, which is why I drove about 35 minutes to get there. Mostly, the produce is ready to be eaten. Now. Right now. Don't buy far in advance or I'll have a very expensive compost pile. I ended up with zucchini, two small heads of cauliflower, cucumbers, pickling cucumbers, mushrooms, a head of cabbage, two bags of baby carrots, strawberries, a small pineapple, and radishes. A lot of radishes. They sell them three small bags at a time, so I got a bag of three. And I picked up what I thought were beets. It was near other root veggies, which I now realize were probably diakon radishes. They were bunches with lots of greens and thought they were just a bit light for beets but you don't waste time inspecting things. Turns out they are giant radishes. My plans for pickling this week will now include pickled radishes. It's a lot of produce for one person. But as I said, that small village somewhere needs healthy vegetables this week.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
In other news
I've debated calling the Dating Director, Dating Coach and Dating Consultant. I want to ask them, "why haven't they set me up on more dates?" I'm afraid I would sound overbearing and a bit crazed if I did. I think this is why I have trouble dating. Can you say demanding?
As a new part of this year long project if you will, a recent addition is the start of Weight Watchers. I've done it before and I know it works. If you stick to it. Duh. My problem is not making the lifestyle change. Again- duh. Luckily, I'm going to meetings with Kim, my I-was-forced-to-be-her-friend-because-she-picked-me friend. And my family is supportive. Maybe a little too supportive- they were way excited about the first meeting. I'm trying to ride this enthusiasm through the misery of the first few days of change.
So, now I'm not dating and I'm miserable. Not miserable as in not feeling well. I just feel like I am thinking about food and points and snacks constantly. So I'm a little cranky because I feel deprived, even though I'm not. And I'm playing fast and loose with the word cranky. Bitchy might be more like it. And I'm thinking about not eating, which IS in fact miserable. Lord help me when I try to exercise.
As a new part of this year long project if you will, a recent addition is the start of Weight Watchers. I've done it before and I know it works. If you stick to it. Duh. My problem is not making the lifestyle change. Again- duh. Luckily, I'm going to meetings with Kim, my I-was-forced-to-be-her-friend-because-she-picked-me friend. And my family is supportive. Maybe a little too supportive- they were way excited about the first meeting. I'm trying to ride this enthusiasm through the misery of the first few days of change.
So, now I'm not dating and I'm miserable. Not miserable as in not feeling well. I just feel like I am thinking about food and points and snacks constantly. So I'm a little cranky because I feel deprived, even though I'm not. And I'm playing fast and loose with the word cranky. Bitchy might be more like it. And I'm thinking about not eating, which IS in fact miserable. Lord help me when I try to exercise.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
The Wait
It's a bit sad to think that there's no one they want me to meet. I have no idea of how many men are in this 'pool', but there is a shade of feeling pathetic approaching. I gave them about three weeks of availability. That basically translated to "I can make myself free pretty much any day". The response I get is they will contact me. Quit bugging us. So I added that last part, but that's how I feel right now.
I guess that means I 'm waiting for the right person to sign up. Not even the right person, but any person. I'm trying to be patient. Maybe I will learn patience if nothing else from this experience. Or maybe I'll learn how truly impatient I am.
I guess that means I 'm waiting for the right person to sign up. Not even the right person, but any person. I'm trying to be patient. Maybe I will learn patience if nothing else from this experience. Or maybe I'll learn how truly impatient I am.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Grateful
I have my shit together. There are facts to prove that. I have a job that I love (most days). Behind my name, I could put a bunch of initials that mean I spent a lot of time in school. Having a Bachelor's and a Master's and no school loans is a feat these days. I own my house and within a year will have it paid off. No mortgage...can you even imagine? My car has been paid off for years. My credit card gets paid off each month. I am wildly funny. So that last part is more of an opinion than fact, but the rest is true.
I am fortunate in so many ways. My family cares about me and we like spending time with each other. Most of the time, I can say this without cringing. Yes, I complain about my parents but underneath it all, I love them and they love me. My sister is enmeshed in my life- a little too much sometimes. Her husband is very patient with all the family time that is forced upon him. He secretly likes it, but would never admit it ever. That's my theory, of course. While my brother doesn't come home often, I like when we have time to spend together. We're lucky.
Work-there are many a dysfunctional workplace. This is not one of them. Yes, there is dysfunction. I like to think of it this way: we put the "fun' in dysfunctional. We have a good group of caring individuals that mostly make decisions based on what is best for kids. It's not perfect, but I never dread coming in. Well, it's May so let's be real. I dread it a little, but only because of scheduling that is looming. Let's rephrase. I count my blessings when I walk in each day. There are so many other schools that are uptight, stressful, chaotic, and unhappy. This isn't one of them. I could be far worse off when it comes to employment. And I live less than five miles from where I work. How perfect is that?
Friends- I got 'em. I have my school friends, my crafty friends, my camp friends, my high school friends. Weird how I don't really have many college friends around, but whatever. I prefer close relationships with a smaller group. I'm fortunate.
At times, I look at my life and I remind myself that I've got it pretty good. I need to do this more often. Starting today.
I am fortunate in so many ways. My family cares about me and we like spending time with each other. Most of the time, I can say this without cringing. Yes, I complain about my parents but underneath it all, I love them and they love me. My sister is enmeshed in my life- a little too much sometimes. Her husband is very patient with all the family time that is forced upon him. He secretly likes it, but would never admit it ever. That's my theory, of course. While my brother doesn't come home often, I like when we have time to spend together. We're lucky.
Work-there are many a dysfunctional workplace. This is not one of them. Yes, there is dysfunction. I like to think of it this way: we put the "fun' in dysfunctional. We have a good group of caring individuals that mostly make decisions based on what is best for kids. It's not perfect, but I never dread coming in. Well, it's May so let's be real. I dread it a little, but only because of scheduling that is looming. Let's rephrase. I count my blessings when I walk in each day. There are so many other schools that are uptight, stressful, chaotic, and unhappy. This isn't one of them. I could be far worse off when it comes to employment. And I live less than five miles from where I work. How perfect is that?
Friends- I got 'em. I have my school friends, my crafty friends, my camp friends, my high school friends. Weird how I don't really have many college friends around, but whatever. I prefer close relationships with a smaller group. I'm fortunate.
At times, I look at my life and I remind myself that I've got it pretty good. I need to do this more often. Starting today.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Little Green Monster
Jealousy. There I said it. I never thought I was the jealous type. Turns out, I was wrong.
An innocent night of helping at the school spring music concert. Walking in, I recognize a girl who went to my high school. She is a year younger than me, I think. I smile politely and move along as I try to recall her name. In the auditorium, half the chorus buzzing quietly in their seats, I see another former high school acquaintance. He graduated with my sister and is a large animal vet. And a few years ago, he was back in Berks County and single. My sister invited him to her house for dinner. As the single (insert pathetic) sister, I am there too. Earlier this year, I talk to his new step-daughter and find out Katie has a younger half sister. I tuck this piece of info away. So he is bouncing toddler in the back of the auditorium to keep her quiet. I debate going to say something to him. What new parent doesn't want to hear how cute their kid is? A few songs later, I see former high school acquaintance bouncing same toddler, and make the connection.
Then the little green monster sits next to me, puts its ugly arm around me and welcomes me to its world. I'm not jealous they have a toddler. We have covered that issue here. I'm jealous that they wouldn't have known each other in high school and are now married. I'm jealous that she was married once, has a 12 year old, now divorced and re-married someone to start a new family. I want a family. Again, not the kid part, just the spouse part. And I'm jealous. It's not a pretty feeling. I was shocked when I identified it. And then amazed I couldn't rationalize my way out of it.
I usually could find a way to justify my feelings or explain why I wouldn't want to be in that situation. Each time they came into my line of sight, I felt it again. I know it is irrational. Apparently, I am getting really good at irrational.
Here it is. I am ready to get past this. Suggestions on how to do this are welcomed.
An innocent night of helping at the school spring music concert. Walking in, I recognize a girl who went to my high school. She is a year younger than me, I think. I smile politely and move along as I try to recall her name. In the auditorium, half the chorus buzzing quietly in their seats, I see another former high school acquaintance. He graduated with my sister and is a large animal vet. And a few years ago, he was back in Berks County and single. My sister invited him to her house for dinner. As the single (insert pathetic) sister, I am there too. Earlier this year, I talk to his new step-daughter and find out Katie has a younger half sister. I tuck this piece of info away. So he is bouncing toddler in the back of the auditorium to keep her quiet. I debate going to say something to him. What new parent doesn't want to hear how cute their kid is? A few songs later, I see former high school acquaintance bouncing same toddler, and make the connection.
Then the little green monster sits next to me, puts its ugly arm around me and welcomes me to its world. I'm not jealous they have a toddler. We have covered that issue here. I'm jealous that they wouldn't have known each other in high school and are now married. I'm jealous that she was married once, has a 12 year old, now divorced and re-married someone to start a new family. I want a family. Again, not the kid part, just the spouse part. And I'm jealous. It's not a pretty feeling. I was shocked when I identified it. And then amazed I couldn't rationalize my way out of it.
I usually could find a way to justify my feelings or explain why I wouldn't want to be in that situation. Each time they came into my line of sight, I felt it again. I know it is irrational. Apparently, I am getting really good at irrational.
Here it is. I am ready to get past this. Suggestions on how to do this are welcomed.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Too many chick flicks
I blame the media. Chick flicks have ruined me. I expect poignant songs to play in order punctuate my life. Not sappy songs mind you. "Unchained Melody" will never be heard. "Wind Beneath My Wings"? Not these wings. Songs that are clever and having special meanings are the soundtrack to my life. The tracks are not mainstream. "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies describes my view of life. It's about not being able to say I'm sorry; my anthem. "Trucker Hat" by Bowling for Soup- the lyrics speak to my soul. Train is actually writing their songs with me in mind. OK, not exactly. The parts about being star crossed, just missing the opportunity to find their lover don't apply to me. But "If It's Love"- the only thing missing is the inclusion of my first name.
Sarcastic and witty girls are embraced in chick flicks. My sarcasm and wit are only embraced by the group I eat lunch with. I can identify who I am in many a chick flick. There are the obvious ones. I'm always Meg Ryan. Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail. When I'm not Meg Ryan, I'm Renee Zellwegger. Think Jerry Maguire. Think Bridget Jones minus the jail time in Thailand but include the part where Colin Firth saves me. At times, I channel Diane Lane. Under the Tuscan Sun made me want to buy a villa in Italy. I would totally jump in the water after John Cusack in Must Love Dogs. Seriously, except for the dating your dad part, that movie is the stuff of my life. And speaking of Italy, after reading Eat, Love, Pray (the book was way better than the movie) I was convinced I was destined to visit Italy, India and Indonesia. I could picture myself meditating, using Eastern medicine and mostly, eating my way around Rome. In Steel Magnolias, I am Ouiser. I'd like to be Truvy, but I don't think I could pull it off. And remember, Ouiser ends up with Owen, so I'm ok with that.
And in Love Actually, the end-all, be-all of chick flicks in my book- I am everyone. I want to be Aurelia who learns English as Jamie (Colin Firth again) learns Portuguese. I want to be Emma Thompson as she works through the difficult parts of relationships. I want to be Juliet (Keira Knightley) who gets a touching serenade of sorts by Mark, who admits 'enough already' as he walks down the street. I want to be Natalie who professes her love and finds that feeling returned. Even when Billy Mack leaves Elton John's party to spend the evening with his manager, I get choked up. He tells him, "it turns out, you are the love of my life." I would be remiss if I didn't mention the first and last minutes of the movie. The airport scenes. The airport scenes get me every time. This is what has ruined me.
Sarcastic and witty girls are embraced in chick flicks. My sarcasm and wit are only embraced by the group I eat lunch with. I can identify who I am in many a chick flick. There are the obvious ones. I'm always Meg Ryan. Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail. When I'm not Meg Ryan, I'm Renee Zellwegger. Think Jerry Maguire. Think Bridget Jones minus the jail time in Thailand but include the part where Colin Firth saves me. At times, I channel Diane Lane. Under the Tuscan Sun made me want to buy a villa in Italy. I would totally jump in the water after John Cusack in Must Love Dogs. Seriously, except for the dating your dad part, that movie is the stuff of my life. And speaking of Italy, after reading Eat, Love, Pray (the book was way better than the movie) I was convinced I was destined to visit Italy, India and Indonesia. I could picture myself meditating, using Eastern medicine and mostly, eating my way around Rome. In Steel Magnolias, I am Ouiser. I'd like to be Truvy, but I don't think I could pull it off. And remember, Ouiser ends up with Owen, so I'm ok with that.
And in Love Actually, the end-all, be-all of chick flicks in my book- I am everyone. I want to be Aurelia who learns English as Jamie (Colin Firth again) learns Portuguese. I want to be Emma Thompson as she works through the difficult parts of relationships. I want to be Juliet (Keira Knightley) who gets a touching serenade of sorts by Mark, who admits 'enough already' as he walks down the street. I want to be Natalie who professes her love and finds that feeling returned. Even when Billy Mack leaves Elton John's party to spend the evening with his manager, I get choked up. He tells him, "it turns out, you are the love of my life." I would be remiss if I didn't mention the first and last minutes of the movie. The airport scenes. The airport scenes get me every time. This is what has ruined me.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Optimism versus foolishness
Patience is a virtue. It's just not one of mine. Originally, I thought I'd be purging some thoughts about being impatient. As these thoughts swirled around my brain, the true reason for my impatience revealed itself to me. As much as I'd like to get instant results, instant gratification if you will, that isn't why I check my email pathologically. I believe that this time, I've found it. I believe I've found a 'system' that will work. How could it not work? There ARE other professionals who are looking for real relationships and they are going to introduce me to them. One of them has to be the right person for me.
I believe that I will find someone who will accept me and love me through all my faults. (Other than my biological family who has to do that.) I believe that I will plan a wedding. I believe that I won't have spend the rest of my life with just my dogs. I believe that someone will kiss me goodbye each morning, and hug me goodnight each evening. I can see standing in the airport, eager for the flight to a great vacation. I can envision all of this. The things I dream about aren't even all glamorous events. I imagine making dinner and sitting on the deck when the weather is nice and watching football together. I can picture socializing with friends where the boys talk about boy things and the girls talk about girl things. On the way home, we compare notes about the evening. It's a clear picture except for the part about who is next to me.
So then the question presents itself. Does this mean I am an optimist or a fool? All things point to being a fool. I'm 42. I've done things on my own for so long, I'm not sure I can let go and let someone in. I do things my way and I like it my way. It's been so long that I've attempted to compromise, I don't know if I can. I like that I live close to my parents and my sister and can't imagine moving. Well, I imagine moving to a new house, but not a new house far from where I am right now. So does this man exist that will compromise so much when I barely know the definition of the word? Expecting to find this is foolish on all fronts.
Yet, I'm optimistic. I've had one date, and not even a successful one. And I'm ready for the next one. Maybe that one will be the last first date. Am I looking for a fairy tale? You bet. I deserve it. And I will keep going until I find it. It doesn't have to be a Disney fairy tale. I'm too sarcastic for that. My fairy tale doesn't require a white horse. My prince just needs to treat me like the princess I am. A sarcastic, football loving, stubborn and optimistic princess.
I believe that I will find someone who will accept me and love me through all my faults. (Other than my biological family who has to do that.) I believe that I will plan a wedding. I believe that I won't have spend the rest of my life with just my dogs. I believe that someone will kiss me goodbye each morning, and hug me goodnight each evening. I can see standing in the airport, eager for the flight to a great vacation. I can envision all of this. The things I dream about aren't even all glamorous events. I imagine making dinner and sitting on the deck when the weather is nice and watching football together. I can picture socializing with friends where the boys talk about boy things and the girls talk about girl things. On the way home, we compare notes about the evening. It's a clear picture except for the part about who is next to me.
So then the question presents itself. Does this mean I am an optimist or a fool? All things point to being a fool. I'm 42. I've done things on my own for so long, I'm not sure I can let go and let someone in. I do things my way and I like it my way. It's been so long that I've attempted to compromise, I don't know if I can. I like that I live close to my parents and my sister and can't imagine moving. Well, I imagine moving to a new house, but not a new house far from where I am right now. So does this man exist that will compromise so much when I barely know the definition of the word? Expecting to find this is foolish on all fronts.
Yet, I'm optimistic. I've had one date, and not even a successful one. And I'm ready for the next one. Maybe that one will be the last first date. Am I looking for a fairy tale? You bet. I deserve it. And I will keep going until I find it. It doesn't have to be a Disney fairy tale. I'm too sarcastic for that. My fairy tale doesn't require a white horse. My prince just needs to treat me like the princess I am. A sarcastic, football loving, stubborn and optimistic princess.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
So it has come to this.
While checking my email (a bit obsessively) to see if I have info about a new date, I found myself at home one rainy afternoon. My house was clean; well- my version of clean. I was ignoring the constant mess that is my craft room. Oh, what to do?
This next activity I am reluctant to admit. With eyeliner in hand, I drew a mustache on my finger and tried to take pics of my dogs with a 'stache. I've never seen my dogs look at me with such disdain. They were pretty much in the midst of a rainy day nap. One would think that would make the process easier. Two of the more cooperative beagles wouldn't make eye contact with me. The shih tzu tried to escape and wouldn't sit in one place, let alone near by. Most days, I can't remove him from my side. Finally, I was pleased enough with one shot to wash my hand and remove the evidence. There was a collective canine sign of relief. Only then did I realize what I was doing. Shame set in. Luckily, it was fleeting.
I really hope I have a date soon. So do my dogs.
This next activity I am reluctant to admit. With eyeliner in hand, I drew a mustache on my finger and tried to take pics of my dogs with a 'stache. I've never seen my dogs look at me with such disdain. They were pretty much in the midst of a rainy day nap. One would think that would make the process easier. Two of the more cooperative beagles wouldn't make eye contact with me. The shih tzu tried to escape and wouldn't sit in one place, let alone near by. Most days, I can't remove him from my side. Finally, I was pleased enough with one shot to wash my hand and remove the evidence. There was a collective canine sign of relief. Only then did I realize what I was doing. Shame set in. Luckily, it was fleeting.
I really hope I have a date soon. So do my dogs.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Meet the Dating Coach. Otherwise known as "It takes three people to get me a date."
Imagine meeting a stranger in a hotel lobby and telling them intimate feelings about what you want out of life. And to finish this half hour of sheer joy, she has to see your driver's license and take a picture of you with her phone. Yes, all of this happened. It's surreal in a weird "technology meets real person" way. I'm ready to wake up from this dream because it's getting more and more odd.
It sounded so bizarre to hear out loud, "I want to be married". I was tempted to look behind me to see who said that. No one was there. It was just me, bearing my soul to this perfect stranger. And I might add, she was probably early 30s at best and had no ring on her finger. The cynic in me wanted to ask how she was such an expert in this to be a dating coach, especially when she was waxing poetic about their clients being invested and wanting serious relationships. I wanted proof that she knew about serious relationships.
Basically, the half hour started with- What do you want someone to know about you? What are you looking for? How do you see this person fitting into your life? Go. Can't we start with a few warm ups? Maybe a yes/no question first. Let's ease into this, Susan, my new Dating Coach who I just met a minute ago and I'm not convinced you know anything other than to wear a blouse the doesn't seem low cut but actually is. The cynic in me had returned. I felt myself stumbling for answers and the anxiety crept in a little. If I said I wanted someone to do things with, did that sound juvenile? I didn't want to get into romantic stuff. First, I don't like mushy, romantic stuff. Second, I just met her and explaining that romantic to me was someone who cared enough to clean my gutters was too much to fathom. And I mean, clean my gutters in the most literal sense of the phrase. Did I now sound like I wasn't sure what I wanted? And again, the question was raised about kids. I answered this already. Ask Rochelle. We talked about it before she took my credit card information. Let's review. I'm 42 and a half. I'm realistic. I got me some old eggs. If an epiphany hit me that I had to be a mother to make my life complete, that task would probably take some medical intervention. I've accepted that isn't in the plan for me. If he has kids, that's fine. (I think. This feels like new territory for me.) But if he wants kids, I've got dogs. I know my dogs aren't kids, but I'm comfortable with my lifestyle and never feel working mother guilt. I can leave them for a week to go on vacation and I don't even have to buy them souvenirs. I can spend money on my hobbies or a new car instead of on tuition. At least I didn't have to answer the question: What do you like to do in your free time? Seriously, who has free time. Even as a single, I'm lucky I get my laundry done and fit in a trip to the grocery store. I digress.
Of course, on the drive home, I realized I should have told her that I'm sarcastic. That I really love pro football, but he can't be a Ravens fan. That while I'm independent, I still want to be rescued and cared for. Should I have told her that I'm a bit spoiled? That I like to get my way? That I like to get my way a lot? Would it matter if she knew that I think it is important to recycle? That I have a compost pile at my house? That it looks like I'm planning for a zombie apocalypse because my garage is full of canning supplies and a food dehydrator? Really, all they need to know is that I'm a catch. Grab on before it's too late.
It sounded so bizarre to hear out loud, "I want to be married". I was tempted to look behind me to see who said that. No one was there. It was just me, bearing my soul to this perfect stranger. And I might add, she was probably early 30s at best and had no ring on her finger. The cynic in me wanted to ask how she was such an expert in this to be a dating coach, especially when she was waxing poetic about their clients being invested and wanting serious relationships. I wanted proof that she knew about serious relationships.
Basically, the half hour started with- What do you want someone to know about you? What are you looking for? How do you see this person fitting into your life? Go. Can't we start with a few warm ups? Maybe a yes/no question first. Let's ease into this, Susan, my new Dating Coach who I just met a minute ago and I'm not convinced you know anything other than to wear a blouse the doesn't seem low cut but actually is. The cynic in me had returned. I felt myself stumbling for answers and the anxiety crept in a little. If I said I wanted someone to do things with, did that sound juvenile? I didn't want to get into romantic stuff. First, I don't like mushy, romantic stuff. Second, I just met her and explaining that romantic to me was someone who cared enough to clean my gutters was too much to fathom. And I mean, clean my gutters in the most literal sense of the phrase. Did I now sound like I wasn't sure what I wanted? And again, the question was raised about kids. I answered this already. Ask Rochelle. We talked about it before she took my credit card information. Let's review. I'm 42 and a half. I'm realistic. I got me some old eggs. If an epiphany hit me that I had to be a mother to make my life complete, that task would probably take some medical intervention. I've accepted that isn't in the plan for me. If he has kids, that's fine. (I think. This feels like new territory for me.) But if he wants kids, I've got dogs. I know my dogs aren't kids, but I'm comfortable with my lifestyle and never feel working mother guilt. I can leave them for a week to go on vacation and I don't even have to buy them souvenirs. I can spend money on my hobbies or a new car instead of on tuition. At least I didn't have to answer the question: What do you like to do in your free time? Seriously, who has free time. Even as a single, I'm lucky I get my laundry done and fit in a trip to the grocery store. I digress.
Of course, on the drive home, I realized I should have told her that I'm sarcastic. That I really love pro football, but he can't be a Ravens fan. That while I'm independent, I still want to be rescued and cared for. Should I have told her that I'm a bit spoiled? That I like to get my way? That I like to get my way a lot? Would it matter if she knew that I think it is important to recycle? That I have a compost pile at my house? That it looks like I'm planning for a zombie apocalypse because my garage is full of canning supplies and a food dehydrator? Really, all they need to know is that I'm a catch. Grab on before it's too late.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Pardon me, I'm feeling irrational.
I woke up feeling a bit cranky today. Probably because I went to bed feeling angry. It's not logical or rational or even 'fair', but I feel kind of cheated. There was absolutely nothing wrong with last night. Even the part I forgot to mention when I got in my car and has something stuck in my teeth. I was able to laugh it off and figured it was probably not visible.
It was a perfectly fine match. In fact, I like Science teachers a lot. I get along with them, we think similarly, we laugh at the same jokes, I like science (maybe even a favorite class in HS?), and often consider myself a science geek at heart. That is not what had me mad.
The first guy they set me up with is someone I already met. Sort of. It was perfectly reasonable to think that we might have met at some point. We have been in the same meeting before, so chances exist that we may have met before. I feel like they took an easy way out to match him to me. I have no idea of knowing, nor will I probably ever find out if they knew we worked in the same school district. Maybe they knew and thought this was a great idea. What if the employer has a policy against inter-office dating? (HA! That is SO not the case in this district!) What if, as two singles, someone thought to introduce us before and it didn't work out? Melissa could have told Dawn I was looking to date, who told her husband who knew this teacher who was divorced. Six degrees of separation, right? And that was less than six. If that had happened, how awkward would that have been?
Maybe I'm just feeling irrational because I'm good at being irrational. Or maybe because I had to pay for my own appetizer and glass of wine. (yeah, seriously!) Maybe it's because I'm feeling dejected because this perfectly nice man who apparently has a lot in common with me is practically right under my nose and I'm still on the search for a date. I feel like I can almost reach something, it's right there, I can see it, my fingertips barely graze it, but it's still out of reach.
It was a perfectly fine match. In fact, I like Science teachers a lot. I get along with them, we think similarly, we laugh at the same jokes, I like science (maybe even a favorite class in HS?), and often consider myself a science geek at heart. That is not what had me mad.
The first guy they set me up with is someone I already met. Sort of. It was perfectly reasonable to think that we might have met at some point. We have been in the same meeting before, so chances exist that we may have met before. I feel like they took an easy way out to match him to me. I have no idea of knowing, nor will I probably ever find out if they knew we worked in the same school district. Maybe they knew and thought this was a great idea. What if the employer has a policy against inter-office dating? (HA! That is SO not the case in this district!) What if, as two singles, someone thought to introduce us before and it didn't work out? Melissa could have told Dawn I was looking to date, who told her husband who knew this teacher who was divorced. Six degrees of separation, right? And that was less than six. If that had happened, how awkward would that have been?
Maybe I'm just feeling irrational because I'm good at being irrational. Or maybe because I had to pay for my own appetizer and glass of wine. (yeah, seriously!) Maybe it's because I'm feeling dejected because this perfectly nice man who apparently has a lot in common with me is practically right under my nose and I'm still on the search for a date. I feel like I can almost reach something, it's right there, I can see it, my fingertips barely graze it, but it's still out of reach.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Date #1
My original thought was to name the post after the guy's name. After careful consideration, I might have to mix it up a little. Mainly because I feel a need to protect the innocent and get this shit....date #1 works in the same school district as I do. Small world, huh?
So I doll myself up, and get to the restaurant early (by five whole minutes). The hostess walks me to this huge booth. For two people. I don't want to sit all the way across this monstrous table. That's doesn't say 'get to know me'. Then I imagine scooting around half of the table to sit in the back, so he can sit on the short side. Actually, I imagine scooting out afterward after a glass of wine. Better, but not a good mental image. I decide to ask for a smaller table. He shows up as I'm hanging my purse on the back of my chair. He looks familiar but I can't immediately place him. I'm thinking, does he belong to my gym, have I seen his profile online in the many dating websites?
General greetings. blah, blah. Waiter tells us how to read a menu. Still can't figure out how I know him. He starts.
"You must live close."
"Yes, I live in Exeter."
"Oh, I teach there."
"Right. At the high school. I'm a counselor at the junior high." Now that I think about it, there was no reaction at that connection. At one point, he was a union rep and I know we've talked before; but now? Nothing. No look of recognition. Nada.
Then he asks if I went to the union meeting and asked what they talked about. Seriously? I'm planning on meeting exotic and new men, and this guy works 500 yards from me? OK, I really didn't even need exotic. I might as well date Sean. (Just kidding- that was for my lunch group.)
Conversations were about kids from school, who I knew that was in his class, education in general, and Keystone exams specifically. Master's degrees at West Chester, curriculum, more kids I know that are in his classes. Easy to talk to, but these conversations could be happening in a hallway at school. There wasn't a real exchange of personal information.
Oh yeah, except he tells me up front that he is running the Broad Street Run on Sunday and is ordering a salad. We're at Buca so an entree is enough for 17 people. That will be just ridiculous if I order an entree for just me. The lone thought in my brain was, "I don't run and now I'm not even going to get a good dinner." I think an appetizer would be a good choice. Except I'm not really jazzed about their apps, but decide on stuffed mushrooms. Basically safe except for the pesto cream pooled around them. Tasty, but dangerous green and drippy. And drippy it was, right on my shirt. Only a tiny bit, and I think I hid it well enough. What I was not able to hide as well was the effects of the wine. I get red, warm and a bit sweaty and that was only after half a glass. Whatever, this guy never even remembers meeting me before. At the end of the meal, we get to the "have you done this much" question. He tells me you meet great people, sometimes you know you it won't work right away. Then the killer statement, "You'll see. You'll meet interesting people."
So the overall impression: could have been worse. I'd go out with him again. He teaches a subject that interests me, and is pleasant to look at. It was easy to talk to him and I think we'd get along. The hard truth- I doubt he shares those thoughts.
So I doll myself up, and get to the restaurant early (by five whole minutes). The hostess walks me to this huge booth. For two people. I don't want to sit all the way across this monstrous table. That's doesn't say 'get to know me'. Then I imagine scooting around half of the table to sit in the back, so he can sit on the short side. Actually, I imagine scooting out afterward after a glass of wine. Better, but not a good mental image. I decide to ask for a smaller table. He shows up as I'm hanging my purse on the back of my chair. He looks familiar but I can't immediately place him. I'm thinking, does he belong to my gym, have I seen his profile online in the many dating websites?
General greetings. blah, blah. Waiter tells us how to read a menu. Still can't figure out how I know him. He starts.
"You must live close."
"Yes, I live in Exeter."
"Oh, I teach there."
"Right. At the high school. I'm a counselor at the junior high." Now that I think about it, there was no reaction at that connection. At one point, he was a union rep and I know we've talked before; but now? Nothing. No look of recognition. Nada.
Then he asks if I went to the union meeting and asked what they talked about. Seriously? I'm planning on meeting exotic and new men, and this guy works 500 yards from me? OK, I really didn't even need exotic. I might as well date Sean. (Just kidding- that was for my lunch group.)
Conversations were about kids from school, who I knew that was in his class, education in general, and Keystone exams specifically. Master's degrees at West Chester, curriculum, more kids I know that are in his classes. Easy to talk to, but these conversations could be happening in a hallway at school. There wasn't a real exchange of personal information.
Oh yeah, except he tells me up front that he is running the Broad Street Run on Sunday and is ordering a salad. We're at Buca so an entree is enough for 17 people. That will be just ridiculous if I order an entree for just me. The lone thought in my brain was, "I don't run and now I'm not even going to get a good dinner." I think an appetizer would be a good choice. Except I'm not really jazzed about their apps, but decide on stuffed mushrooms. Basically safe except for the pesto cream pooled around them. Tasty, but dangerous green and drippy. And drippy it was, right on my shirt. Only a tiny bit, and I think I hid it well enough. What I was not able to hide as well was the effects of the wine. I get red, warm and a bit sweaty and that was only after half a glass. Whatever, this guy never even remembers meeting me before. At the end of the meal, we get to the "have you done this much" question. He tells me you meet great people, sometimes you know you it won't work right away. Then the killer statement, "You'll see. You'll meet interesting people."
So the overall impression: could have been worse. I'd go out with him again. He teaches a subject that interests me, and is pleasant to look at. It was easy to talk to him and I think we'd get along. The hard truth- I doubt he shares those thoughts.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Sometimes, the oddest memories fly into your brain.
I don't know why I thought of this tonight. There was a guy named Dan that I dated a couple times. I think it was the second date when I learned that I should pick restaurants that don't have windows large enough for a person to fit through in the bathroom. OK, not exactly- but close.
Before the meal came, we were talking about what we were looking for by using <insert online dating method here>. He was noncommittal and wanted to date lots of people. I told him I wanted to be married. I thought he was going to choke on his beer. I'm not sure if he was more surprised by my honesty or my answer. He excused himself to the bathroom, stood up, hesitated and sat back down. I don't remember exactly what point he felt compelled to make, but apparently it was important enough to delay his bladder. As I waited for him to return, I remember thinking, "Well, he is busting out the bathroom window right about now." He did return to finish his meal.
I might have been better off if he hadn't. He had an odd habit of taking a toiletry bag into restaurants. This was the kind men pack in a suitcase as a shaving kit on vacation. There was nothing subtle about it. After he ate, he would brush his teeth. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of dental hygiene. I floss every night and well cared for teeth are important to me. But this was weird. No one wants to walk around with food stuck in your teeth. I get that. There are times I've been known to keep dental floss in my purse. But a man taking his toothbrush and toothpaste into a restaurant crossed the line.
Here was the other sort of odd thing. We went to a 'family fun center' to race go karts, play mini golf, and they had bumper boats. The tweens that were in the other boats were very amused dousing us with their water guns. Not thinking this through, I wasn't planning on bumper boats and had been wearing a white shirt that day. Needless to say, I was my own wet t-shirt contest. Getting ready to leave to get something to eat, I faced him and asked how much he could see through my shirt. He was a guy after all. I didn't do this in front of a large group. In fact, I was even discrete- as discrete as you can be in a wet, white shirt. Asking him to look was so embarrassing to him and I practically had to force him to make sure I would offend at the Olive Garden. I was giving him a freebie of sorts, and he was mortified. (maybe I should have been offended?)
Oh yeah, I remember why I thought of this tonight. The thought of someone crawling out the bathroom window to escape crossed my mind. If I consider all of the worst case scenarios, they won't happen. Right?
Before the meal came, we were talking about what we were looking for by using <insert online dating method here>. He was noncommittal and wanted to date lots of people. I told him I wanted to be married. I thought he was going to choke on his beer. I'm not sure if he was more surprised by my honesty or my answer. He excused himself to the bathroom, stood up, hesitated and sat back down. I don't remember exactly what point he felt compelled to make, but apparently it was important enough to delay his bladder. As I waited for him to return, I remember thinking, "Well, he is busting out the bathroom window right about now." He did return to finish his meal.
I might have been better off if he hadn't. He had an odd habit of taking a toiletry bag into restaurants. This was the kind men pack in a suitcase as a shaving kit on vacation. There was nothing subtle about it. After he ate, he would brush his teeth. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of dental hygiene. I floss every night and well cared for teeth are important to me. But this was weird. No one wants to walk around with food stuck in your teeth. I get that. There are times I've been known to keep dental floss in my purse. But a man taking his toothbrush and toothpaste into a restaurant crossed the line.
Here was the other sort of odd thing. We went to a 'family fun center' to race go karts, play mini golf, and they had bumper boats. The tweens that were in the other boats were very amused dousing us with their water guns. Not thinking this through, I wasn't planning on bumper boats and had been wearing a white shirt that day. Needless to say, I was my own wet t-shirt contest. Getting ready to leave to get something to eat, I faced him and asked how much he could see through my shirt. He was a guy after all. I didn't do this in front of a large group. In fact, I was even discrete- as discrete as you can be in a wet, white shirt. Asking him to look was so embarrassing to him and I practically had to force him to make sure I would offend at the Olive Garden. I was giving him a freebie of sorts, and he was mortified. (maybe I should have been offended?)
Oh yeah, I remember why I thought of this tonight. The thought of someone crawling out the bathroom window to escape crossed my mind. If I consider all of the worst case scenarios, they won't happen. Right?
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