Thursday, November 16, 2006

979 Thursday Before Thanksgiving...

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Late. Quick entry.

Gutters got cleaned this morning. I was awakened by the sound of Butch stomping on the roof.

May called this afternoon. I'm worried about her. Nothing new. She's become so very hard of hearing, and combined with her tendency to interrupt, talk over, and tell the same stories over and over, a telephone conversation is extremely frustrating. I'm going to try to move her to email correspondence.

I went to the Third Thursday dinner this evening. FirstWoman, Roman, and me. We had expected Tom, but he didn't show up. FirstWoman and I are both single and looking, and she and I are going to start going to events together.

After dinner, in the parking lot, Roman gave me a snowglobe - not cutsy-poo, not Christmasy, as I had described to him a year ago, exactly what I've always wanted and have never been able to find. It's from the Metropolitan Museum shop. It's beautiful. The snow sparkles. I sat in his car and cried.

Then we went shopping for a new zipper for his parka. I finally convinced him to let me replace the broken zipper.

He was firmly standoffish. He was holding his umbrella with one hand, and me in the other arm, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips, just as a gust of wind came up and his umbrella turned inside out. He said, "We can't make too much of that." I said, "The umbrella or the kiss?" He said, "The kiss." I said, "You're not supposed to kiss me on the lips any more, anyway. But I like hugs. Hug me." His hug was half-hearted.


Tomorrow I leave for the (annual) Boston Mensa Regional Gathering, returning Sunday. I didn't mention it to Roman because he once, back before he had been to any RGs, said that Boston's was one he wanted to attend, and I didn't want to influence his going or not going.

He's apparently not going. He said in last night's phone call that he was going to visit his parents tomorrow. I'm not sure he's even aware the Boston RG is this weekend. I checked the registration list, and as far as I can tell, nobody else from this area is going.

I don't know whether that pleases me or not.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

978 Past Loves

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

[Later Edit - minor corrections. Ignore.]

A commenter on "970 No More Online Dating" recommended that I should try to reconnect with men from my past.

What men from my past? The ones I ran away from? The ones who tried to kill me? The happily married ones? The dead ones? Who? Ok, sorry. I know what you mean. I'm just feeling a bit bitter. I've left a trail of devastation.

My mother had a "soothsayer" whom she adored. I have to admit, the woman was good. She made some very specific predictions that came true in every detail. There were none that did not come true (except those that haven't happened yet). She predicted that I would be married five times, and that I would remarry Ex#2.

When I married Jay, I tried every way I could to redefine "marriage" so that he came out #5. It didn't work. If he hadn't died, I'm absolutely certain we'd still be together and bumping along just fine.

That's why I keep saying that I can't marry the next man, #4, for love. He'll die on me, or leave me. (I say it, but if love arrives, I will take the chance, of course.)

As for the second part of the prediction, the only way that could happen is if Ex#2 is on his deathbed, unable to speak or move, and he needs someone to move in and take over his care and make decisions that overrule his daughter and siblings, and ... uh ... it still won't happen. Not on this Earth, not in this life. I can't think of any reason that important.

Yes, people can change, I certainly have. But as he's Daughter's Daddy I still see him occasionally, I see how he relates to Daughter, and I assure you he hasn't. If anything, he's gotten worse.

With all the wonderful resources of the internet ( is a great start, Daughter calls it "the stalker site") I have been trying to locate friends from high school and college. Not for potential romance, there wasn't any of that with any of those folks even back then, just to reconnect and find out what's been going on with them over the past 40 years. I've found several, but except for three, one guy from high school and one guy from college, and a female I roomed with for about six weeks during student teaching, no one has responded to my cards, letters, or emails.

One who has ignored a card, a letter, and an email was one of my two best female friends from high school. She knows where the other friend is, and I have begged for the address, but I get no response. Another, also no response, was my best friend in college.

I don't know whether it's because they don't remember me, or because they do remember me.

Of old romances that could be rekindled, there's John, the boy I fell in love with in first grade. I moved away, then I returned to that school in eighth grade and fell in love again. Moved away a year later (I was in more than 12 different schools by the end of high school), and then briefly ran into him at the county fair during college. I've always had a soft spot for him. I have located him on the internet, but have not contacted him. He's in south central Pennsylvania.

There's a guy I knew in Washington, DC, Ed. I liked him a lot. When I left Ex#2 and moved to New York, he got my address from a friend and showed up on my doorstep. We had a whirlwind romance. I realized I was falling in love with him, but that the differences in our patterns was so great that there's no way we could ever live together, so I broke it off. We were not good for each other.

I found him on the internet. He's now living in California. He did not respond to my email - which merely told him who I was and asked if he was him. That's just as well. If I saw him again I'd probably be swept up again, and that wouldn't be good. He's probably married now - and I hope that's the case. He's a nice guy. (Great back rubs!)

One person I wish I could reconnect with is Obie. I loved him dearly, and he loved me, we actually literally read each other's minds, but somehow our timelines never meshed. He died in an automobile accident in 1975. He was 32 then.

One I can connect with is Ray, from high school. I know where he is, even have his phone number. He's the only classmate I have located that I've made no attempt to contact, because I know there would be sparks, if only on my side, and I know he's married, and that way be dragons.

Speaking of dragons, Warren, passionate mindmeld Warren, seems to have dropped off the edge of the earth. Just as well. He was consumed by dragons.

There's Bob, living in the mid-west. We were very well matched. That one could have worked, but, again, timelines didn't mesh. I heard his voice on a phone message to someone else a year ago, first time in 30 years, and my heart stopped for an instant. He knows how to contact me, it turns out we have a friend in common, but I'm not holding my breath. He's married, going on 40 years.

I haven't been able to find Amadeo, and I'd love to. Of course we still can't get married, he still being super Catholic, and I still being a divorcee, but I wouldn't mind discussing that "mistress contract" again.

The easiest ones to find are the ones I hope don't find me.

I'm not going to make "I'd like to see you again" noises toward any married men, even if I know they are unhappily married. I'm not going to hope for any spousal deaths, or give anyone excuses for divorce.

If there's anyone in my past I could hook up with again, he'll have to find me, and he'll have to be completely free when he does.

It doesn't look promising.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

977 More Paranoia

Received in email from a relative:

You walk across the parking lot, unlock your car and get inside.

You start the engine and shift into reverse.

When you look into the rearview mirror to back out of your parking space, you notice a piece of paper stuck to the middle of the rear window.

So, you shift into Park, unlock your doors and jump out of your car to remove that paper (or whatever it is) that is obstructing your view.

When you reach the back of your car, that is when the carjackers appear out of nowhere, jump into your car and take off. They practically mow you down as they speed off in your car. And guess what, ladies? I bet your purse is still in the car. So now the carjacker has your car, your home address, your money, and your keys. Your home and your whole identity are now compromised!


If you see a piece of paper stuck to your back window, just drive away, remove the paper later and be thankful that you read this e-mail.

A purse contains all kinds of personal information and identification documents, and you certainly do NOT want this to fall into the wrong hands.

Or --- you could glance at the back window before you get in the car. Seems safer than backing out with the window obstructed....

976 Why I Don't Watch House

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

I rarely watch House. Tonight I watched House. Now I remember why I rarely watch House.

They temporarily brought a guy out of a coma (?!) brought on by smoke inhalation ten years before. He'd been in a vegetative state for those ten years. The guy immediately raised himself on his arms, and then got up and walked around.

That's stupid. I saw what happened to Jay's body after only six months in bed, and that was with my exercising him for hours every day, beyond his own voluntary movements. Muscles atrophy. Tendons and ligaments shorten. There's no way, even with daily physical therapy, that House's patient could get up and walk.

I am annoyed that they can't seem to write an interesting "medical detective" script without jazzing it up with stupidity, impossibility, implausibility, and illegality. And characters that don't seem to have anything else to do but react to House.

(And have they tried a nerve block on House?)

Jay had often complained that I seem incapable of "suspension of disbelief".

I like coherence. Sorry 'bout that.

975 Emotions....

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

From "Mama" of the blog Emotions..... Mama is a dentist in Mosul, Iraq, an amazing and opinionated Muslim woman, in a time and place where opinions can be terminal -

Monday, November 13, 2006

974 I'm SAD

Monday, November 13, 2006

I don't know whether I'm simply sad, or if it's SAD (seasonal affective disorder).

I'm also not sure how much I can respect a condition when it's obvious the strained name ("affective"?) was carefully selected to form a cutesy acronym. A REAL doctor would have named it something like Photosensitive Depressive Syndrome, but PSDS isn't cute enough, I guess. ("SAD" sounds like it was named by an action committee, or computer salesman.)


I think much of it might be that I've been in a lot of photographs lately. I don't look in photos like I think I look. I'm not disappointed when I look in the mirror - usually I'm even pleased - but when I look at a photo, I cringe. My skin hangs on my arms and lower face in floppy folds. The scars on the left side of my face are becoming more obvious as the skin loosens. My eyelids are sagging again, hiding my eyes. I look so thick when I'm sitting - I can't imagine how bad I must have looked 40 pounds ago. I thought my hair looked nice when I left the house, but in photographs it's dull, fuzzy, bushy, shapeless, and thin. I've been straightening it lately,carefully using the lowest effective setting on the straightener, and all of a sudden I've got splits and breaks. I also seem to slump a lot more than I think I do. And my nose has gotten huge.

Sigh. I look at the photographs and think "This is what people see when they look at me", and I almost don't want to leave the house. When people say "a distorted body image', they usually mean that the person thinks they look "worse" than they really do - like anorexics who think they're fat.

It's just as bad when you think you look better than you do.

Someone even SAID to me last fall, "You know, I think you think you look better than you do". We were snarling at each other at the time, and I thought he was just reaching for an insult.

The few photos I've put in this blog don't count. They've been carefully gleaned from the pile of compost. About one in fifteen photos looks like "the real me". The rest are ... somebody else.

It's hard to accept your own appearance when what you see in the mirror is a lie.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

973 Dropping Out

Sunday, November 12, 2006

I spent some time this morning checking my online dating subscriptions.

I have canceled my account or hidden my profile on all the free sites. It's odd that one of them does not allow you to delete your information - only to hide it. It apparently stays there forever. That bothers me.

For the ones that cost, I checked my subscriptions. There's no refund for time you've already paid for, and they all insist on automatic renewal (charged to a credit card, which number they already have), so I noted the next renewal date for each, and I'll cancel a few days before then. May as well give them one last chance....

One of them has all kinds of information on the site about how to join and how to upgrade one's subscription, but NO information on how to cancel it. Interesting. Interesting also that it's the most expensive of the services. They do provide an 800 number, so I'll have to call. But first I have to practice saying NO, NO! NO, I don't want to reconsider!

I hope this isn't just a momentary depression. Building all those profiles was work.

972 Fall Hafla

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Last night was the big Hafla (Mid-eastern dance party). There was no printed program, so I don't know the names of all the dancers, and I didn't take a camera, so all I'm going to say is that it was the best yet. Willow's fame is spreading.

I had invited Piper, Vinnie, The Angel, and Piper's Lady Di, but I had left it to Piper to round up the troops. Mistake. It ended up just Piper and me, but that seemed to be ok. He enjoyed it so much that he said he'd make a bigger effort to include the others next time.

971 Vassar Art

Sunday, November 12, 2006

[Later Edit - one of the links wasn't a link. Fixed it.]

Yesterday afternoon I went to the Loeb gallery at Vassar College to see an exhibition of books as art. Or art as books. Or something.

I'm no art critic, but much of it struck me as cut-and-paste and doodling by disenchanted and poorly-educated college students. I didn't "get" it, I guess. As much as I adore Sister Wendy, when art must be explained before I can even recognize it as art, it isn't art.

The pop-up books, however, showed an enormous amount of design planning, and detail cutting. They were impressive, delicate, and beautiful.

What I liked best were the two issues of Martin Wilner's Journal of Evidence Weekly ( They are tiny notebooks full of faces and snippets of conversation from NY subway rides. The pages unfold to about ten feet long. A few inches:

(Click to enlarge, click the enlargement to enlarge more.)

It was supposed to be a Mensa activity, but only the organizer and I showed up.

We also toured the rest of the collection, and I was impressed. I didn't know Vassar had so much good stuff, mostly donated works, including Church, Miro, Monet (or was it Manet?), a few Picassos, a Pollack, and a whole bunch of other stuff. (Including a 10'x10' rendition of a sheet of graph paper. Huh? Art? Why?)

We had late lunch/early dinner at a five-star yet inexpensive hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant.

At 3 pm today there was to be a docent-led tour at the gallery about the use of red - about how red was used and its meaning in individual paintings, etc., the kind of thing Sister Wendy might have done on an oh-hell day. I was very interested in going, but today is cold and rainy, and the sky is that awful depressing pinkish grey color, and so I lost interest in leaving the house at all.