Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I got exactly what I needed last weekend to pull me out of the funk I was in - a little male admiration. It doesn't take much to cheer me up. A little will do. And coming from four different directions helped a whole lot.
The Officer - stare and smile.
Within an hour of my arrival at the gath3ring I noticed "The Officer" (TO). He was average height, very broad shoulders with small hips, strong face and nose, piercing eyes, shaved head, heavy cotton long-sleeved shirt, military bearing. (By military bearing I mean upright posture and a certain "definiteness" of movement.) No rings.
Yummy.
I'm not very good at judging age at all. I'd have put him at maybe early fifties. His face was lined, but with no sag.
I couldn't stop looking at him. He was sooooo nice to look at. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and curl up against that strong chest. (Well, not really. What I really wanted to do was hit him over the head, and drag him out behind a bush somewhere.)
I sat at his table, a few seats away, and learned that he was a national board officer. (Each gath3ring is supposed to have a national and a regional officer in attendance. Many don't.) He was explaining his duties. A little later, I got up to go to a presentation. He got up too, heading for one of the game rooms. We walked together for a short distance, and spoke about three sentences before he peeled off.
I didn't hear much of the presentation. I was mulling over what I could do, what I could say. I really wanted to get to know him better. I am absolutely no good at small talk. If I meet a stranger, we'll sit there in silence until the other speaks. If the other person is willing to initiate topics, I can participate. I hear I'm good at conversation, but only with the other person's lead. From just that few minutes at the table, it appeared to me that he was a bit shy, too.
Worse, I don't know how to flirt. I seem incapable of letting a guy know I'm interested. Over and over there have been guys (high school, college, coworkers, even Jay!) that I had unrequited crushes on, and years later we'd be talking, and I'd say something about it, and they'd be shocked. Over and over I've heard "Wow! I liked you, too, but I never thought you would be interested. Never thought I could ever get anywhere with you." Even with Jay, people thought we were having an affair literally years before WE found out how the other felt. I just can't seem to convey interest, availability. I think I'm flirting with a guy, and I think I'm doing just fine, and then some other woman comes up and hangs all over him, and I'm left sitting there alone. I don't know how to "get" a guy. I refuse to drape myself all over them. I don't invite touching, I guess.
So, I'm sitting in the presentation wondering how to show interest. Small talk's out. Attaching myself to his body is out. Then I remembered a TV show where they were teaching some women how to flirt (yeah, I taped it!) and they said that the way to indicate interest in a crowded club was to stare at a guy for 10 seconds. A long time, but count it off, no less than 10 seconds. If he looks away, stop counting, but keep staring, and eventually he'll look again to see if you're still looking. In the last two seconds, give him a smile that crinkles your eyes, and glance down and away. If he's available, and if you look anything like his type, he'll come over.
So, for the rest of Friday night, and all day Saturday, any time he was in the vicinity, I looked and smiled at him. (Just one 10-second one. The rest were long or short glances.) If we passed each other, I looked into his eyes with a small welcoming smile the whole time we were walking toward each other. He was smiling back. When I'd look over at him, I'd find him already looking at me. A lot of eye contact. Anyone seeing us would think we were passing silent coded messages. By 9 pm Saturday evening, when the open bar and karaoke started, I was getting frustrated. Ok, he knows I think he's pretty, and he must think I look ok, so what next?
At one point, two guys were singing "I'm an A55hole", and doing a very good job of it. I'd never heard the song before, and I was leaning on the brass rail between the floor levels laughing, when he leaned on the rail next to me, to my right, elbow barely touching mine, and asked what I thought of it. We passed another few sentences, and then I turned back to watch the show. Now, I figured the neat thing to do would be to take my left arm off the rail, turn slightly, and lean back against his shoulder. Body contact, but subtle. So I did it, and almost fell backward. He was gone.
Bleck!
A few minutes later he was sitting at a table, talking to a couple who were from his local group, and legends in the society (I was at their Rennaissance-themed wedding, 20 years ago, and attended some of their anniversary parties). I sat directly across the table from TO (a distance of about 5 feet), and joined the conversation. This time, he initiated most of the glancing and smiling. Now, most of the time Friday and Saturday he had been in and out, visiting various activities, fulfilling his national responsibilities, but this evening he sat there for three solid hours, talking to the same people. Unusual. The glances and smiles were getting hot and heavy, near to smoldering. And then suddenly, about midnight I guess, he stood up and left without a word to anybody. I figured he'd be back, but he hadn't returned by 3 am, when I went to bed.
I decided that come hell or high water, I was going to sit next to him at Sunday breakfast, and I was going to talk with him!
Didn't see him at all Sunday. He must have gone home Saturday night or early Sunday.
When I got home I looked him up on the internet.
He's 64. I'm gonna revise my age limit upward. 64 can be very sexy.
Either he's married, or the daughter who lives with him was born when he was 8. Or it's his sister, who happened to have a different maiden name and now has the same last name. Yeah, sure, that's the ticket.
Fooey.
The Kid - Wherein I can't help but wonder what he wants.
Ok, 42 isn't a kid, but close enough. That's 20 years younger than I. He could be MY kid. During the conversation he said he doesn't discuss ages, that he's "on the cusp" of baby boomer and gen-x and comfortable with both. I found out his age when I got home and looked him up on the internet. He told me he writes music, but according to what I found, that's a hobby - he's got an impressive resume in advertising. Or something like that. I forget. But what I found did surprise me.
Average height, thin, pleasant face, dark hair. He has a very unusual name. Seems like a nice guy.
Another case of trading glances, mostly on his part. He was next to me in the Saturday lunch line and struck up a conversation. Later, in the evening, when I was sitting across the table from The Officer, he sat next to me, and really concentrated on me. For the next six hours. For three of those hours, I was flirting across the table with The Officer, and The Kid either didn't notice or ignored it. We talked about everything under the sun, (but now I realize there was no personal info) and laughed a lot. He said that he had seen me at the Orlando gath3ring. After I got home, I realized he was the guy who chatted me up in the whirlpool spa at the Orlando gath3ring one evening. Made me feel good then, too, even though I wondered what he wanted then, too.
When at 3 am I announced I was tired and going to my room, there was an awkward pause. It would have been the time for an invitation. But I don't "do" casual. Sorry fella.
We traded email addresses. He's going to be at a few of the gatherings I intend to attend within the next four months. This could get interesting. If I'm not careful it could get beyond casual.
I don't know whether I want to take it any further than conversation.
The Un3xploded C0w - wherein I am not as I first appear.
I went to a Saturday presentation on "Meta-Forms", a logic teaching tool for children. We learned how to "play" it. There were five people at my table. The guy next to me was dark-haired, maybe late 40s, wearing a t-shirt and a kilt. Nice legs.
He and I picked it up very quickly. The other three people at our table seemed confused. As we went up in complexity, he and I were racing each other, then explaining it to the others. He was impressed. We started working them together, and he challenged me to compete in the Meta-Forms tournament that evening. (They changed the time of the tournament, and it overlapped dinner, so I couldn't go.)
After dinner, along with the Karaoke and open bar, there was a costume competition. The theme was "games". You were to come as a game or toy theme. There was a woman wearing an 8-ball costume, and if you shook her up and asked a question, she'd choose a random answer on her chest. Another woman was all in red, as Miss Scarlet (I think - I don't really know the game) from Clue. (I thought she was rather unimaginative - just an opportunity to wear a tight sexy dress, like those women who always show up in body suits with animal ears.) A small group came as Monopoly pieces, and there were a few video game robots and warriors.
The very best, however, was The Un3xploded Cow, from the game of the same name (click for synopsis - it's a funny proposition).
My kilted Meta-Forms friend arrived in a black and white cow suit (rather like footed pajamas, with a zipper up the back and a hood with horns and ears). He had a magnet attached to one foot, and a metal bomb, complete with fins, that latched onto him every time he kicked it away. The concept itself was funny enough, but it was funnier because the cow suit was a "G0th Milk" costume. (He didn't wear the nose - instead he wore white makeup, black eye liner, black lipstick, and a ring in his nose). Please do click through to the costume photo. Note the pierced ears and tail, and the pierced and chained teats that stick straight out. The writing on the chest of his suit was much smaller than in this photo.
I had purchased a copy of the Meta-Forms set, and The Kid and I were working some of them when The Un3xploded Cow (TUC) arrived. He reached between us and moved some of the pieces. I turned, and saw the teats right at face level, from the side. A startling view! I laughed and turned red. Every so often, he'd come by and move some more pieces. I'd never heard of the cow game, so he explained it to me.
I'm still smoking, so every so often I'd go across the hall and outside for a cigarette. TUC smoked, too, and pretty soon I noticed that every time I went out, he did too. We chatted. I wasn't very encouraging, because I noticed that every "two blue dots" woman (see prior entry) in the place rubbed against him at least once. Ok. He's a player? I'm not interested. Even though he sang (karaoke) several times, and was really good.
Late in the evening, we're outside again, and I noticed that one of his teats had lost its ring. The ring was dangling from its chain and that teat was drooping, no longer ... um ... erect. I pointed it out to him, and tried to reattach the ring, but the threads were broken. He took the ring and slipped it over the teat down to its base. A few minutes later, I pointed to the teat and said "It didn't work. It's still flacid."
You know, he didn't get it for two beats. I don't think he expected that from me. I have often been told that I can come across as a prude. When he got it he roared. He reached out and looked at my badge, and said "No dots?" I said "I'm a tease", and he did exactly the right thing. He stepped back, opened his arms, and said "Come in to me." So, of course, I did.
I got thoroughly hugged. All over. For a long time. By a cow wearing black lipstick and a nose ring. And a bomb attached to his foot.
When we stepped apart, all four teats were flattened. We both looked down, and I laughed and said that I was sorry I'd had such a negative effect. He said, no, quite the contrary, there's been a definite positive effect. "This udder acts like a cup." He excused himself to go to the men's room, where he anticipated a struggle with the zipper up the back of the suit. I did not volunteer to help.
He left about an hour later, during which time I did not go out for another cigarette.
The Big Guy - With whom I did not want to play.
There was a very large guy who, every time I passed, followed me with his eyes and if I looked his way, patted the seat next to him and invited me to sit. I mostly did, and we talked a little, but I didn't want to encourage play. It was still nice to be noticed, though. Flattering.
Enthusiasm
There are gath3rings within 250 miles of here every other weekend (except around Christmas) from now until April. I think I'm going to start attending more of them. Maybe all of them.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
981 Boston
Monday, November 20, 2006
Well, not really Boston, thank goodness, the Boston Men5a R3gional Gath3ring last weekend was in Braintr3e, MA. I didn't have to go through Boston at all. (Note how I've cleverly disguised the words above - I'd prefer that others who were there didn't Google them and find this journal. It happened with a few other events I've commented on lately, local people have found me, and I'm going to have to either start censoring myself, or disguise the topics, and I don't want to censor me.)
As of Thursday evening, I still wasn't sure I wanted to go. I've been unhappy lately, feeling old and haggy and saggy and fat, and wanting to just go back into hibernation. The only reason I hit the road Friday morning was that I hadn't canceled the hotel reservation in time to avoid a charge, so I may as well go.
It was the best thing I could have done. The weekend was good for me.
I had heard that the Boston gath3ring was a good one, and it was. Not for the speakers and programs, the national gath3rings do that better, and not for the food, the northern New Jersey regional gath3ring did that better, but for the PEOPLE, and the fun.
Since I came out of mourning last summer, I have been to two regionals (usually 100-200 people) and two nationals (900-2000 people). I was joined at the hip with Roman at the regionals, so I didn't socialize much. At the nationals, New Orleans last year and Disney/Orlando this year, the hospitality rooms were huge, and they had a very strange atmosphere. There'd be people sitting at tables talking, and if you joined a table, they'd stare through you. It was very hard to make eye contact with anyone, let alone "break into" a group. Someone commented at the New Orleans gathering that it was as if the vastness of the room shell-shocked people, made them close ranks with familiar faces to keep out the cold. (Ok, it was I who said that, but others agreed with me.)
I knew this gathering would be different the minute I walked into the hospitality room. The room was about the size of my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined, divided into two levels. The upper level had maybe four large round tables that could seat 10, and four tables on the lower level, with a small dance floor. Up a few steps to the side was a kitchen/bar.
People were sitting at the tables spread with M&Ms, nuts, cookies, and chips, just like always, everywhere, except that most of them looked up and smiled at people walking in. I hadn't made it halfway across the floor when at least five people introduced themselves and asked where I was from.
I talked to a lot of people. I felt included, appreciated, accepted. They fed us all the meals except Saturday dinner - for that you could buy a ticket for a group dinner at a local Chinese buffet, or go somewhere on your own. I bought a ticket, and (for once) it was easy to join a group car pooling to the restaurant without feeling like I was intruding at all.
I was very happy.
I didn't feel saggy, baggy, fat, or old. In fact, I got hit on by three different guys, even without dots**, and I practiced flirting myself with another - a guy I wanted to drag away the moment I saw him (yeah, lust at first sight). I had recently cut my hair shorter around my face, and somehow that weekend it finally hit its stride, the natural curl took over, and it looked fantastic.
Queen Mum, you'll be happy to know that the man who pursued me most persistently was --- ta ra! --- in his early 40s. Very early. 42, I think. He and I had conversed one evening in the whirlpool at the Orlando gath3ring. He has actually seen my legs and is still interested? (Hmmm. He had also seen me sit on a whirlpool jet and go into a trance.)
By damn, I can still attract healthy nice-looking intelligent men. Given the way things had been going recently, I had been thinking those days were over.
Details in the next entry.
-----------------------------------------------------
**Dots
At gath3rings you wear a badge, usually a plastic or canvas envelope on a cord, hanging down your front, handy for holding things like room keys, schedules, and meal tickets, with your name on the front. Then you can decorate it with sticky dots.
Mensans are huggers. They had to come up with the dot scheme to prevent screaming and slapping in elevators.
Geen dot - Hug Me.
Yellow dot - Ask Before Hugging.
Red dot - Respect My Personal Space. No Hugging.
Blue dot - Single.
Two blue dots - Single and Looking.
Three blue dots - Single and Willing.
Four or more blue dots - Desperate.
There were orange dots on the table, too, just because they came in the package with the others. EVERYBODY asked what the orange dots meant. (If I had been behind the registration table, I wouldn't have put them out.) There were two French Canadian men there, and we tried to tell them orange meant into gay S&M, but then we noticed some people had happily stuck them all over their badges, so....
I don't use the dots. Well, I did when I went to the NJ gath3ring, I stuck a blue one on, but that was because I was there with Roman, and I was angry with his running hot and cold, and wanted to make a point.
So people (men) would gallumph up to me, arms outspread, pause, study my badge, and say, in confusion, "You don't have any dots. What does that mean?" I'd say "Oh, I'm such a tease", and smile sweetly, and ask where they're from, and usually the gallumpher would forget that he didn't get a hug.
Actually, it means I prefer to initiate any hugs, and yellow doesn't work because I don't like to say no to some and yes to others. This way I never have to actually say no, and nobody's feeling are hurt. Being very small, I seem to be a target for bears with enormous soft bellies. They like to engulf me. Smother me.
Self defense, folks.
Well, not really Boston, thank goodness, the Boston Men5a R3gional Gath3ring last weekend was in Braintr3e, MA. I didn't have to go through Boston at all. (Note how I've cleverly disguised the words above - I'd prefer that others who were there didn't Google them and find this journal. It happened with a few other events I've commented on lately, local people have found me, and I'm going to have to either start censoring myself, or disguise the topics, and I don't want to censor me.)
As of Thursday evening, I still wasn't sure I wanted to go. I've been unhappy lately, feeling old and haggy and saggy and fat, and wanting to just go back into hibernation. The only reason I hit the road Friday morning was that I hadn't canceled the hotel reservation in time to avoid a charge, so I may as well go.
It was the best thing I could have done. The weekend was good for me.
I had heard that the Boston gath3ring was a good one, and it was. Not for the speakers and programs, the national gath3rings do that better, and not for the food, the northern New Jersey regional gath3ring did that better, but for the PEOPLE, and the fun.
Since I came out of mourning last summer, I have been to two regionals (usually 100-200 people) and two nationals (900-2000 people). I was joined at the hip with Roman at the regionals, so I didn't socialize much. At the nationals, New Orleans last year and Disney/Orlando this year, the hospitality rooms were huge, and they had a very strange atmosphere. There'd be people sitting at tables talking, and if you joined a table, they'd stare through you. It was very hard to make eye contact with anyone, let alone "break into" a group. Someone commented at the New Orleans gathering that it was as if the vastness of the room shell-shocked people, made them close ranks with familiar faces to keep out the cold. (Ok, it was I who said that, but others agreed with me.)
I knew this gathering would be different the minute I walked into the hospitality room. The room was about the size of my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined, divided into two levels. The upper level had maybe four large round tables that could seat 10, and four tables on the lower level, with a small dance floor. Up a few steps to the side was a kitchen/bar.
People were sitting at the tables spread with M&Ms, nuts, cookies, and chips, just like always, everywhere, except that most of them looked up and smiled at people walking in. I hadn't made it halfway across the floor when at least five people introduced themselves and asked where I was from.
I talked to a lot of people. I felt included, appreciated, accepted. They fed us all the meals except Saturday dinner - for that you could buy a ticket for a group dinner at a local Chinese buffet, or go somewhere on your own. I bought a ticket, and (for once) it was easy to join a group car pooling to the restaurant without feeling like I was intruding at all.
I was very happy.
I didn't feel saggy, baggy, fat, or old. In fact, I got hit on by three different guys, even without dots**, and I practiced flirting myself with another - a guy I wanted to drag away the moment I saw him (yeah, lust at first sight). I had recently cut my hair shorter around my face, and somehow that weekend it finally hit its stride, the natural curl took over, and it looked fantastic.
Queen Mum, you'll be happy to know that the man who pursued me most persistently was --- ta ra! --- in his early 40s. Very early. 42, I think. He and I had conversed one evening in the whirlpool at the Orlando gath3ring. He has actually seen my legs and is still interested? (Hmmm. He had also seen me sit on a whirlpool jet and go into a trance.)
By damn, I can still attract healthy nice-looking intelligent men. Given the way things had been going recently, I had been thinking those days were over.
Details in the next entry.
-----------------------------------------------------
**Dots
At gath3rings you wear a badge, usually a plastic or canvas envelope on a cord, hanging down your front, handy for holding things like room keys, schedules, and meal tickets, with your name on the front. Then you can decorate it with sticky dots.
Mensans are huggers. They had to come up with the dot scheme to prevent screaming and slapping in elevators.
Geen dot - Hug Me.
Yellow dot - Ask Before Hugging.
Red dot - Respect My Personal Space. No Hugging.
Blue dot - Single.
Two blue dots - Single and Looking.
Three blue dots - Single and Willing.
Four or more blue dots - Desperate.
There were orange dots on the table, too, just because they came in the package with the others. EVERYBODY asked what the orange dots meant. (If I had been behind the registration table, I wouldn't have put them out.) There were two French Canadian men there, and we tried to tell them orange meant into gay S&M, but then we noticed some people had happily stuck them all over their badges, so....
I don't use the dots. Well, I did when I went to the NJ gath3ring, I stuck a blue one on, but that was because I was there with Roman, and I was angry with his running hot and cold, and wanted to make a point.
So people (men) would gallumph up to me, arms outspread, pause, study my badge, and say, in confusion, "You don't have any dots. What does that mean?" I'd say "Oh, I'm such a tease", and smile sweetly, and ask where they're from, and usually the gallumpher would forget that he didn't get a hug.
Actually, it means I prefer to initiate any hugs, and yellow doesn't work because I don't like to say no to some and yes to others. This way I never have to actually say no, and nobody's feeling are hurt. Being very small, I seem to be a target for bears with enormous soft bellies. They like to engulf me. Smother me.
Self defense, folks.
980 Lipstick
Found this one on a Mensa joke site:
According to a news report, a certain private school in Victoria, BC recently was faced with a unique problem.
A number of 12 year old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.
Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.
To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.
There are teachers, and then there are educators.
According to a news report, a certain private school in Victoria, BC recently was faced with a unique problem.
A number of 12 year old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.
Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.
To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.
There are teachers, and then there are educators.
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.
Sigh.
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.
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.
Sigh.
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 (Zabasearch.com 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.
[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 (Zabasearch.com 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!
BEWARE OF THIS NEW SCHEME THAT IS NOW BEING USED.
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....
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!
BEWARE OF THIS NEW SCHEME THAT IS NOW BEING USED.
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.
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 - http://youngmammy.blogspot.com/2006/11/why-we-are-poor.html.
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 - http://youngmammy.blogspot.com/2006/11/why-we-are-poor.html.
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.)
Whatever.
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.
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.)
Whatever.
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.
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.
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 (http://www.pierogi2000.com/flatfile/wilnerma.html). 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.
[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 (http://www.pierogi2000.com/flatfile/wilnerma.html). 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.
Friday, November 10, 2006
970 No More Online Dating
Friday, November 10, 2006
I've had it with the online dating crap. Yeah, Daughter and son-in-law found each other online, and I'm sure there have been other success stories, but it just isn't working for me.
It's beginning to seem like all these guys are lying about their age, and their photos are at least 10 years old. Most of the ones I've met in my age group are badly damaged, either emotionally or physically. The good healthy** happy ones get social as soon as they are available, and don't go online. Pickings may be better for the younger folks, but not in this age group (57-65).
What's really discouraging is that (and I've heard this from other women, it's not just my experience) guys who are relatively local, say within 40 miles or so, don't want to meet local women. Are they afraid of meeting some woman who will then camp on their doorstep? Afraid they can't get rid of someone local if it doesn't work out? 80% of the contacts I've been getting are from at least 100 miles away. I get a lot of guys sniffing around who live in New York City, eastern Pennsylvania, western Massachusetts. Now, hey, I'm sure there are plenty of women local to them. Why are they looking at me? Because I'm a safe 100 miles away?
A male friend has suggested that the men might be afraid that all a local woman wants is an escort, a steady date, until he pushes too hard for sex, and then she's off to the next (next what?), whereas a long distance connection is more likely to be looking for something permanent. She'd be investing more in it. Not to mention that a long distance meeting is likely to involve weekend visits, which could quickly get interesting.
Which is exactly why I don't want long distance. It puts too much pressure on. I would want to explore "us", a friendship, a growing together, before getting intimate.
I guess the crisis came when I realized that there's a guy in New Haven with whom I had been trading emails for a month, and whom I had promised to call - two weeks ago - and I haven't called him. Haven't emailed since that promise, either. He sounds really good. Looks really good. But New Haven? That's like 140 miles. As good as he sounds, I really don't want to get into that.
So I thought about it a bit, and decided I really didn't want to get into any of it.
I guess I'll just have to continue going to movies alone, and continue celibate. Online wasn't fixing those problems, anyway.
If I want a local man, the way to do it is to get out and meet local men, locally. Once they get to know me, they'll think I'm wonderful, well worth the risk. All I have to do is figure out where intelligent single men in their late 50s and early 60s hang out, go there, and exude availability. And somehow learn how to flirt. And do "small talk". Yup, that's all I have to do. That's all. All. Sigh.
I also have to clean up the house. I am fully aware that I've let the house go because I wanted isolation. I wanted to not be able to invite anyone in because I didn't want anyone in, in any way. Ok. Let's clear clutter. Opening up the house might open me up.
Got me some work to do.
Any suggestions? (Sorry - church groups are out. That would be starting off with a lie.)
--------------------------
**"Healthy" is relative. I don't mind his having had bypass surgery, or some extra weight. I do want him to at least be able to keep up with me mentally and physically, and not fall asleep during dinner. That's not too much to ask. If he falls apart after a few years, that's ok (there's no guarantee I won't fall apart in a few years), but I want those few years.
I've had it with the online dating crap. Yeah, Daughter and son-in-law found each other online, and I'm sure there have been other success stories, but it just isn't working for me.
It's beginning to seem like all these guys are lying about their age, and their photos are at least 10 years old. Most of the ones I've met in my age group are badly damaged, either emotionally or physically. The good healthy** happy ones get social as soon as they are available, and don't go online. Pickings may be better for the younger folks, but not in this age group (57-65).
What's really discouraging is that (and I've heard this from other women, it's not just my experience) guys who are relatively local, say within 40 miles or so, don't want to meet local women. Are they afraid of meeting some woman who will then camp on their doorstep? Afraid they can't get rid of someone local if it doesn't work out? 80% of the contacts I've been getting are from at least 100 miles away. I get a lot of guys sniffing around who live in New York City, eastern Pennsylvania, western Massachusetts. Now, hey, I'm sure there are plenty of women local to them. Why are they looking at me? Because I'm a safe 100 miles away?
A male friend has suggested that the men might be afraid that all a local woman wants is an escort, a steady date, until he pushes too hard for sex, and then she's off to the next (next what?), whereas a long distance connection is more likely to be looking for something permanent. She'd be investing more in it. Not to mention that a long distance meeting is likely to involve weekend visits, which could quickly get interesting.
Which is exactly why I don't want long distance. It puts too much pressure on. I would want to explore "us", a friendship, a growing together, before getting intimate.
I guess the crisis came when I realized that there's a guy in New Haven with whom I had been trading emails for a month, and whom I had promised to call - two weeks ago - and I haven't called him. Haven't emailed since that promise, either. He sounds really good. Looks really good. But New Haven? That's like 140 miles. As good as he sounds, I really don't want to get into that.
So I thought about it a bit, and decided I really didn't want to get into any of it.
I guess I'll just have to continue going to movies alone, and continue celibate. Online wasn't fixing those problems, anyway.
If I want a local man, the way to do it is to get out and meet local men, locally. Once they get to know me, they'll think I'm wonderful, well worth the risk. All I have to do is figure out where intelligent single men in their late 50s and early 60s hang out, go there, and exude availability. And somehow learn how to flirt. And do "small talk". Yup, that's all I have to do. That's all. All. Sigh.
I also have to clean up the house. I am fully aware that I've let the house go because I wanted isolation. I wanted to not be able to invite anyone in because I didn't want anyone in, in any way. Ok. Let's clear clutter. Opening up the house might open me up.
Got me some work to do.
Any suggestions? (Sorry - church groups are out. That would be starting off with a lie.)
--------------------------
**"Healthy" is relative. I don't mind his having had bypass surgery, or some extra weight. I do want him to at least be able to keep up with me mentally and physically, and not fall asleep during dinner. That's not too much to ask. If he falls apart after a few years, that's ok (there's no guarantee I won't fall apart in a few years), but I want those few years.
969 Shame! Only Shame.
Friday, November 10, 2006
I am ashamed of myself. Another of my peeves is misplacement of "only".
Today I left a comment on another's blog, which ended with "It only hurts for a little while." As soon as I posted it I wanted to fix it.
"I only eat fish" does not mean the same as "I eat only fish."
I should have said "It hurts for only a little while."
Tsk.
I am ashamed of myself. Another of my peeves is misplacement of "only".
Today I left a comment on another's blog, which ended with "It only hurts for a little while." As soon as I posted it I wanted to fix it.
"I only eat fish" does not mean the same as "I eat only fish."
I should have said "It hurts for only a little while."
Tsk.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
968 Funnywright
I can't write funny, but I can find funny. Check out http://littleredboat.co.uk/?p=2496 for a sweetly funny post from Anna. You'll never again think of staplers without smiling.
I should probably point out that this post immediately followed a post in which she complained of SAD (seasonal affective disorder), brought on by gray skies, low sun, the advent of winter.
I should probably point out that this post immediately followed a post in which she complained of SAD (seasonal affective disorder), brought on by gray skies, low sun, the advent of winter.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
967 More Things I Don't Understand
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
Bath Towels
The Orlando hotel I stayed in had big thick fluffy soft towels.
I don't understand why people think big thick fluffy soft towels are best - the bigger, the thicker, the softer, the better?
Smaller towels are easier to use, to handle. Thinner towels actually dry your skin better. Too thick and fluffy doesn't get into the crevices so well. Soft is nice, but not-so-soft leaves your skin feeling cleaner, like it's been burnished.
So what's the fuss over big thick fluffy towels? Is it all just show? Give me a small thin towel, followed by a big thick fluffy soft robe, and I'm happy.
Name Pronunciation
I'd always been told that you are allowed to pronounce your own name any way you want, and you can insist that others pronounce it your way. You can spell it "Smith" and pronounce it "Jones" if you want. (But you shouldn't be surprised if others think you're crazy.) I can understand that, within reason. It's YOUR name.
I don't understand why a public figure would insist bucking the current. If you are a public figure, such that most of the people who come into contact with your name are not personal acquaintances who have the opportunity to learn your preference, and especially if your name is a common name, then it seems like you should bow to the common pronunciation, at least with your public. What's got me going is a newswoman named Bang-Jensen, who wants it pronounced "Bong-Yensen", as in Denmark.
Yes, "Bong-Yensen" is technically ancestrally "correct", but the average Joe America on the street already has a pronunciation for "bang" and for "Jensen", and that ain't it. Why disconcert people?
Car Insurance
Lets say you have one car, and you have two drivers. You drive the car 1000 miles a month. The insurance company's risk of a claim is x. Your insurance premiums are, say, $1000 a year. Then you buy a second car (of approximately the same value) and put it on the same policy. Your premiums go to, say, $1500 a year.
I can understand this, because with two drivers, it is probable that the total per month mileage will go up, and it's possible that both cars will be on the road at the same time, and therefore the risk of a claim goes up, possibly even doubles.
I don't understand why if I am one driver only, and I buy a second car and put it on the policy, the premiums go up by about the same amount as with two drivers. This makes no sense to me.
The mileage won't go up, both cars will not be on the road at the same time, and the risk of a claim will not go up. Everything actually stays the same. Do they really think I can drive two cars at once? So why should the premiums go up?
I think I'll call my insurance company and ask. Especially since the second car I just put on the policy is worth half as much as the minivan. The risk has not gone up, but the amount of possible collision claims has gone down. They should REDUCE my premiums!
Phase/Faze
I don't understand why no one uses "faze" anymore. Instead, they misuse "phase".
"Phase" is a noun. It means a period or stage in a chain of events.
"Faze" is a verb. It means to disconcert or upset.
I was reading an 18-page glossy brochure in the auto service garage this morning (oh, yeah, the minivan's power steering is now fixed) on how to set up and run a de-icing operation adjunct to your winter plowing business. It went into what chemicals to use, when and how, how to generate customers, how to figure costs, and so on. I was very impressed with it until I got to the penultimate paragraph, where it said "... but don't let that phase you", and the whole effect was ruined.
Faze, folks! Faze!
[Later edit] While we're on the topic. "peek", "peak", and "pique" do NOT all mean the same thing. Your interest is "piqued". "Site", "cite", and "sight" are not the same word. "Lose" and "loose" are even pronounced differently, and they don't have the same meaning. Sheesh.
I went to school in the days when you got an automatic "F" if you confused homonyms, especially "to" and "too", in any paper. Don't people learn stuff like this in elementary school anymore? I blame the teachers more than the students. You won't know something you've never had the opportunity to learn.
Bath Towels
The Orlando hotel I stayed in had big thick fluffy soft towels.
I don't understand why people think big thick fluffy soft towels are best - the bigger, the thicker, the softer, the better?
Smaller towels are easier to use, to handle. Thinner towels actually dry your skin better. Too thick and fluffy doesn't get into the crevices so well. Soft is nice, but not-so-soft leaves your skin feeling cleaner, like it's been burnished.
So what's the fuss over big thick fluffy towels? Is it all just show? Give me a small thin towel, followed by a big thick fluffy soft robe, and I'm happy.
Name Pronunciation
I'd always been told that you are allowed to pronounce your own name any way you want, and you can insist that others pronounce it your way. You can spell it "Smith" and pronounce it "Jones" if you want. (But you shouldn't be surprised if others think you're crazy.) I can understand that, within reason. It's YOUR name.
I don't understand why a public figure would insist bucking the current. If you are a public figure, such that most of the people who come into contact with your name are not personal acquaintances who have the opportunity to learn your preference, and especially if your name is a common name, then it seems like you should bow to the common pronunciation, at least with your public. What's got me going is a newswoman named Bang-Jensen, who wants it pronounced "Bong-Yensen", as in Denmark.
Yes, "Bong-Yensen" is technically ancestrally "correct", but the average Joe America on the street already has a pronunciation for "bang" and for "Jensen", and that ain't it. Why disconcert people?
Car Insurance
Lets say you have one car, and you have two drivers. You drive the car 1000 miles a month. The insurance company's risk of a claim is x. Your insurance premiums are, say, $1000 a year. Then you buy a second car (of approximately the same value) and put it on the same policy. Your premiums go to, say, $1500 a year.
I can understand this, because with two drivers, it is probable that the total per month mileage will go up, and it's possible that both cars will be on the road at the same time, and therefore the risk of a claim goes up, possibly even doubles.
I don't understand why if I am one driver only, and I buy a second car and put it on the policy, the premiums go up by about the same amount as with two drivers. This makes no sense to me.
The mileage won't go up, both cars will not be on the road at the same time, and the risk of a claim will not go up. Everything actually stays the same. Do they really think I can drive two cars at once? So why should the premiums go up?
I think I'll call my insurance company and ask. Especially since the second car I just put on the policy is worth half as much as the minivan. The risk has not gone up, but the amount of possible collision claims has gone down. They should REDUCE my premiums!
Phase/Faze
I don't understand why no one uses "faze" anymore. Instead, they misuse "phase".
"Phase" is a noun. It means a period or stage in a chain of events.
"Faze" is a verb. It means to disconcert or upset.
I was reading an 18-page glossy brochure in the auto service garage this morning (oh, yeah, the minivan's power steering is now fixed) on how to set up and run a de-icing operation adjunct to your winter plowing business. It went into what chemicals to use, when and how, how to generate customers, how to figure costs, and so on. I was very impressed with it until I got to the penultimate paragraph, where it said "... but don't let that phase you", and the whole effect was ruined.
Faze, folks! Faze!
[Later edit] While we're on the topic. "peek", "peak", and "pique" do NOT all mean the same thing. Your interest is "piqued". "Site", "cite", and "sight" are not the same word. "Lose" and "loose" are even pronounced differently, and they don't have the same meaning. Sheesh.
I went to school in the days when you got an automatic "F" if you confused homonyms, especially "to" and "too", in any paper. Don't people learn stuff like this in elementary school anymore? I blame the teachers more than the students. You won't know something you've never had the opportunity to learn.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
966 How to "Get" Someone
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Used to be if you were vindictive the easiest way to get back at someone was to anonymously claim that they had large quantities of drugs in their home. Or if they had children or animals, to call child protective services or an animal welfare league on them. Or if they had income, to report them to the IRS as having cheated on their taxes.
You've got a new one in your arsenal, and this one sounds like more fun.
Someone made an anonymous call to the police in a city up the river from here, claiming that there was a murdered person buried in the back yard of a certain house.
The police are digging up the back yard. We're talking heavy machinery and 10 foot piles of dirt. They haven't found anything but a few animal bones so far, but they're not giving up. They've expanded the search to a vacant lot next door. A police spokesman has admitted that they have no idea who the victim might be, or any idea who the perp might be, or, really, any reason to believe there is an actual body, but "we're treating this as an active murder investigation".
Hmmm. Might be a good way to get the yard dug up for a new septic system, for free.
Used to be if you were vindictive the easiest way to get back at someone was to anonymously claim that they had large quantities of drugs in their home. Or if they had children or animals, to call child protective services or an animal welfare league on them. Or if they had income, to report them to the IRS as having cheated on their taxes.
You've got a new one in your arsenal, and this one sounds like more fun.
Someone made an anonymous call to the police in a city up the river from here, claiming that there was a murdered person buried in the back yard of a certain house.
The police are digging up the back yard. We're talking heavy machinery and 10 foot piles of dirt. They haven't found anything but a few animal bones so far, but they're not giving up. They've expanded the search to a vacant lot next door. A police spokesman has admitted that they have no idea who the victim might be, or any idea who the perp might be, or, really, any reason to believe there is an actual body, but "we're treating this as an active murder investigation".
Hmmm. Might be a good way to get the yard dug up for a new septic system, for free.
Monday, November 06, 2006
965 'Nother Photo
My sister just sent this one, Nephew in turnout gear. I had seen it on a shelf in her living room and asked her to scan it and send me a copy.
964 Nephew - Friday Funeral
Monday, November 6, 2006
The funeral was Friday morning. My sister picked me up at 10 am, and we went to the Presbyterian Church in downtown Orlando. Big church, several buildings taking up the whole block.
We had some difficulty finding parking, even though there were several multi-story garages in the immediate area. Sister's daughters were joining us, so there was a lot of cell phone coordinating ("There's a spot on XYZ street, near the ABC Bank, want me to stand in it and hold it for you? Do you have any idea where A---- is?")
What did we do before cell phones?
There were fifty (!!!) identical police motorcycles neatly parked side by side at the curb in front of the church, and several fire and rescue trucks.
Inside the church, the first four or five rows were all uniformed fire fighters and police.
The service was familiar, with
Prelude
Call to Worship, including 1 Peter 1:3- and John 11:25-26
Prayer of Thanksgiving
Hymn - "Morning Has Broken"
Memories and Reflections, eulogies by the fire chief, other fire fighters, Nephew's mother and adoptive father, and friends.
Solo - "I Can Only Imagine"
Scripture Reading - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 and II Corinthians 4:16-5:1
Meditation
Pastoral Prayer and The Lord's Prayer
Hymn - "Angels We Have Heard on High"
The Testimony of Faith - Psalm 23
Benediction
Pipes and Drum - "Amazing Grace"
They asked that only the uniformed officers and fire fighters leave first. Next, all those who plan to proceed to the cemetery should leave, and line up on any of the streets around the church with your headlights and flashers on, and the officers will direct you into the cortege. That's when we left.
When we got outside, the motorcycles were all gone. (I found out later where they went.) Sister went to get the car, and I waited for her on the corner near the church, so I had a good view of what was going on. Traffic was totally stopped in both directions for several blocks around the church. It was all cars just sitting there with headlights and flashers on, and an occasional bewildered driver stuck in the middle with no idea what was going on. Pedestrians came up to me to ask if the church was on fire, or if a county official had died.
It was probably 25 minutes or more before things got moving. The police wrapped cars around the blocks, feeding them into the intersection nearest the church and then all in one line out one street, led by flashing fire trucks, then the hearse, then the family limousine. When Sister came past the corner, I hopped in.
So far, nothing had surprised me. I knew Nephew was well loved, had a lot of friends, so the crowds didn't surprise me. After 15 years in one fire district, he had transferred to another and had been there three years (I think), so there were two districts represented. He was also an EMT, and EMTs often have working relationships with the police, so their heavy presence surprised me only a little.
But --- what happened next totally blew me away.
Route 4 is the main highway ( 6 to 8 lanes limited access) going into and through Orlando. The cortege went through a few blocks of downtown Orlando, then onto Route 4 for about 10 miles, then through residential areas of Altamonte and Casselberry. About 16 miles altogether.
Every intersection and on-ramp, every U-turn, every shopping center and mall exit, for the entire distance, from start to finish, had a motorcycle cop or a fire truck blocking traffic. No other cars were allowed on "Nephew's road".
It was so strange on Route 4. We proceeded at a stately pace of about 30 mph in the second lane from the right, in a long straight line, and there were no other cars on our side of the road, the whole way. Florida is flat, so when we went over a high overpass, we could see the procession ahead of and behind us, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it must have been at least three miles long, possibly four, since we occasionally caught glimpses of the lead fire truck, but never did see the end behind us. The officers must have held traffic for quite a while after we passed, or formed a blockade after the last car, because no traffic caught up to us from behind.
I wondered what the people on the other side of the road were thinking. After a few miles on Route 4, passing on-ramp after ramp with cars jammed up, the other side of Route 4 started to slow down and finally stop. Maybe gawkers, maybe cars couldn't exit because the side streets were at a standstill, maybe they realized what was going on and wanted to show respect - maybe a combination.
Nephew was the definition of nice guy. One of the eulogists had said that if a neighbor asked to borrow a tool, they'd get the tool and Nephew too. (The same eulogist also said that Nephew's parties were best not mentioned.) So seeing all the traffic stopped, all the people who were going to be late, inconvenienced, I said to Sister "For someone who was so nice and helpful all his life, he's pissing off a few hundred thousand people today! Making up for it, I guess."
We passed through several fire districts on the way, and they all had at least one truck parked on the side of the road (or across an intersection) with a row of fire fighters at attention. The hearse was too far ahead for us to see, but I'm certain they'd have saluted as Nephew passed.
There was another ceremony at the cemetery, bagpipes, taps, flag folding and presentation, a hymn, ringing of a bell, presentation of Nephew's turnout helmets, more bagpipes, and the "Last Alarm". I'm not going to describe the last alarm, because in words it sounds so flat, but anyone who wasn't already in tears broke down then. I'm teary now remembering it. It was broadcast over a loudspeaker on one of the fire trucks, similar in format to an alarm for a fire or MVA, only this one was for Nephew.
After that we went to a fire hall for a reception and early buffet dinner. I had to smile - it was obvious this part of the day had been planned by men. They had roasted chicken, sliced turkey, baked ham, and meatloaf. They had mashed potatoes, kernel corn, and baked beans. They had cookies and (huge) chocolate brownies. There was an open bar. Notice there was nothing green. They had enough plastic plates and utensils for 200 people, and had to send teams out to buy more plates and forks, and several buckets of KFC. Everything was delicious, though (especially the roasted chicken!)
Later, Sister and I went shopping (I bought a warm fake fur hat, which I was glad for when I got off the plane in Albany the next day to 33 degrees F.), and then to her house, where we talked about life and love and men and forgot about time. I got back to the hotel at something like 4 am.
We should have watched the late news to see what was said about the traffic tie-ups that noontime, but we didn't think of it.
Oh, I forgot - at the church, at the very end, starting during the bagpipes I think, they had a slide show on huge screens on either side of the front, of photos from Nephew's childhood right up to recent, and then again at the fire hall. And yes, they did do organ donation.
The funeral was Friday morning. My sister picked me up at 10 am, and we went to the Presbyterian Church in downtown Orlando. Big church, several buildings taking up the whole block.
We had some difficulty finding parking, even though there were several multi-story garages in the immediate area. Sister's daughters were joining us, so there was a lot of cell phone coordinating ("There's a spot on XYZ street, near the ABC Bank, want me to stand in it and hold it for you? Do you have any idea where A---- is?")What did we do before cell phones?
There were fifty (!!!) identical police motorcycles neatly parked side by side at the curb in front of the church, and several fire and rescue trucks.
Inside the church, the first four or five rows were all uniformed fire fighters and police.
The service was familiar, with
Prelude
Call to Worship, including 1 Peter 1:3- and John 11:25-26
Prayer of Thanksgiving
Hymn - "Morning Has Broken"
Memories and Reflections, eulogies by the fire chief, other fire fighters, Nephew's mother and adoptive father, and friends.
Solo - "I Can Only Imagine"
Scripture Reading - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 and II Corinthians 4:16-5:1
Meditation
Pastoral Prayer and The Lord's Prayer
Hymn - "Angels We Have Heard on High"
The Testimony of Faith - Psalm 23
Benediction
Pipes and Drum - "Amazing Grace"
They asked that only the uniformed officers and fire fighters leave first. Next, all those who plan to proceed to the cemetery should leave, and line up on any of the streets around the church with your headlights and flashers on, and the officers will direct you into the cortege. That's when we left.
When we got outside, the motorcycles were all gone. (I found out later where they went.) Sister went to get the car, and I waited for her on the corner near the church, so I had a good view of what was going on. Traffic was totally stopped in both directions for several blocks around the church. It was all cars just sitting there with headlights and flashers on, and an occasional bewildered driver stuck in the middle with no idea what was going on. Pedestrians came up to me to ask if the church was on fire, or if a county official had died.It was probably 25 minutes or more before things got moving. The police wrapped cars around the blocks, feeding them into the intersection nearest the church and then all in one line out one street, led by flashing fire trucks, then the hearse, then the family limousine. When Sister came past the corner, I hopped in.
So far, nothing had surprised me. I knew Nephew was well loved, had a lot of friends, so the crowds didn't surprise me. After 15 years in one fire district, he had transferred to another and had been there three years (I think), so there were two districts represented. He was also an EMT, and EMTs often have working relationships with the police, so their heavy presence surprised me only a little.
But --- what happened next totally blew me away.
Route 4 is the main highway ( 6 to 8 lanes limited access) going into and through Orlando. The cortege went through a few blocks of downtown Orlando, then onto Route 4 for about 10 miles, then through residential areas of Altamonte and Casselberry. About 16 miles altogether.
Every intersection and on-ramp, every U-turn, every shopping center and mall exit, for the entire distance, from start to finish, had a motorcycle cop or a fire truck blocking traffic. No other cars were allowed on "Nephew's road".
It was so strange on Route 4. We proceeded at a stately pace of about 30 mph in the second lane from the right, in a long straight line, and there were no other cars on our side of the road, the whole way. Florida is flat, so when we went over a high overpass, we could see the procession ahead of and behind us, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it must have been at least three miles long, possibly four, since we occasionally caught glimpses of the lead fire truck, but never did see the end behind us. The officers must have held traffic for quite a while after we passed, or formed a blockade after the last car, because no traffic caught up to us from behind.
I wondered what the people on the other side of the road were thinking. After a few miles on Route 4, passing on-ramp after ramp with cars jammed up, the other side of Route 4 started to slow down and finally stop. Maybe gawkers, maybe cars couldn't exit because the side streets were at a standstill, maybe they realized what was going on and wanted to show respect - maybe a combination.
Nephew was the definition of nice guy. One of the eulogists had said that if a neighbor asked to borrow a tool, they'd get the tool and Nephew too. (The same eulogist also said that Nephew's parties were best not mentioned.) So seeing all the traffic stopped, all the people who were going to be late, inconvenienced, I said to Sister "For someone who was so nice and helpful all his life, he's pissing off a few hundred thousand people today! Making up for it, I guess."We passed through several fire districts on the way, and they all had at least one truck parked on the side of the road (or across an intersection) with a row of fire fighters at attention. The hearse was too far ahead for us to see, but I'm certain they'd have saluted as Nephew passed.
There was another ceremony at the cemetery, bagpipes, taps, flag folding and presentation, a hymn, ringing of a bell, presentation of Nephew's turnout helmets, more bagpipes, and the "Last Alarm". I'm not going to describe the last alarm, because in words it sounds so flat, but anyone who wasn't already in tears broke down then. I'm teary now remembering it. It was broadcast over a loudspeaker on one of the fire trucks, similar in format to an alarm for a fire or MVA, only this one was for Nephew.
After that we went to a fire hall for a reception and early buffet dinner. I had to smile - it was obvious this part of the day had been planned by men. They had roasted chicken, sliced turkey, baked ham, and meatloaf. They had mashed potatoes, kernel corn, and baked beans. They had cookies and (huge) chocolate brownies. There was an open bar. Notice there was nothing green. They had enough plastic plates and utensils for 200 people, and had to send teams out to buy more plates and forks, and several buckets of KFC. Everything was delicious, though (especially the roasted chicken!)Later, Sister and I went shopping (I bought a warm fake fur hat, which I was glad for when I got off the plane in Albany the next day to 33 degrees F.), and then to her house, where we talked about life and love and men and forgot about time. I got back to the hotel at something like 4 am.
We should have watched the late news to see what was said about the traffic tie-ups that noontime, but we didn't think of it.
Oh, I forgot - at the church, at the very end, starting during the bagpipes I think, they had a slide show on huge screens on either side of the front, of photos from Nephew's childhood right up to recent, and then again at the fire hall. And yes, they did do organ donation.
963 Frontloader Backhoe Fun
Monday, November 6, 2006
I had some fun this afternoon. The Hairless Hunk was outside with his favorite toy, a huge beast with a frontloader on the front and a backhoe on the back, using the backhoe (looks a lot like a steamshovel) to dig up rocks and roots and stumps in the cleared woods.
We were talking, and he asked me if I'd like to learn how to use it. I said yeah, of course.
So now I know how to put it in gear and drive it, switch the seat to the other direction, put the stabilizers and front bucket down to raise the wheels off the ground and lock it in place, raise and lower and aim the arm with the backhoe bucket, scoop under the rock or root and pull it out, and everything! By my sixth rock, I was using both hands on the arm/bucket controls and swinging that thing all over the place, with some semblance of precision.
HH took some pictures of me pulling some roots. I'll post them sometime soon.
I took some pictures of him, too, but unfortunately he's wearing a shirt. You won't get the full effect. Sorry....
I had some fun this afternoon. The Hairless Hunk was outside with his favorite toy, a huge beast with a frontloader on the front and a backhoe on the back, using the backhoe (looks a lot like a steamshovel) to dig up rocks and roots and stumps in the cleared woods.
We were talking, and he asked me if I'd like to learn how to use it. I said yeah, of course.
So now I know how to put it in gear and drive it, switch the seat to the other direction, put the stabilizers and front bucket down to raise the wheels off the ground and lock it in place, raise and lower and aim the arm with the backhoe bucket, scoop under the rock or root and pull it out, and everything! By my sixth rock, I was using both hands on the arm/bucket controls and swinging that thing all over the place, with some semblance of precision.
HH took some pictures of me pulling some roots. I'll post them sometime soon.
I took some pictures of him, too, but unfortunately he's wearing a shirt. You won't get the full effect. Sorry....
Sunday, November 05, 2006
962 Nephew - Thursday Viewing
Sunday, November 5, 2006
I arrived in Orlando at about 2:30 pm on Thursday. Sister picked me up at the airport and took me to my hotel. We talked while I unpacked, and then she left.
The viewing (I hate to call it that, I don't like the connotation) was 6 to 8 pm, so she said she'd come by at about 6:30. At 6:30 I was waiting outside the hotel lobby doors, when a man walked up to me and called me by name, and started conversing. I didn't know what to think. Then it dawned on him that I didn't recognize him - it was Sister's ex-husband.
Niece arrived with a friend of hers, and then Sister arrived.
Shuffling of cars, thence to the funeral home - a beautiful building on a lake that reflected the lights of the city around it. The parking lot was full. The chapel was packed.
Sister smiled at me when I checked to ensure that the flowers I ordered were there and as described. They were, and the arrangement was huge. It embarrassed me a little, I didn't realize how big it would be - ostentatious - but at least it was red carnations and white daisies and stuff, not roses.
Nephew had apparently been on heavy steroids or something during the coma, because his face and hands (all that was visible - he was in full fire fighter dress uniform, including hat) were extremely swollen. Sister kissed him, but I didn't. It would have felt forced. I'd always liked him, but we hadn't had actual direct contact since 1990.
There was an honor guard of two firefighters in dress uniform slightly in front of and at either end of the coffin, standing at attention and facing each other. Every 10 minutes or so, three more firefighters came in, moved slowly up the aisle to the center front, where the five saluted Nephew (v-e-r-r-r-r-y slowly) and performed a choreographed changing of the guard. Every time they changed the guard, I started sniffling at the salute. The respect was palpable.
At first I wondered why they changed the guard so often, it wasn't such a strain to stand there for ten minutes, but then I realized that it was so that everyone from his company could have an opportunity to attend him. That made me sniffle more.
We stayed perhaps an hour.
I spoke to Nephew's mother and was surprised that I didn't embarrass myself or screw it up. (Except that I inadvertently upset his girlfriend. Oh well, I tried.) I am absolutely no good at stuff like that. I hate "receiving lines", and try to avoid them even at weddings.
My brother, Nephew's birth father, did put in an appearance, but he had left before we got there. I wonder if that was planned, coordinated somehow. Sister and I both have serious issues with him, but I'm not as forgiving as Sister. There may have been some concern about a nasty incident if we met, although nobody except he, I, and possibly Sister knows about it. Maybe it was coordinated not by people, but by Nephew's new friends.
I have no idea how he is reacting to Nephew's death.
Then Sister, her Ex, Niece (their mid-20s daughter), her female friend, and I all went to dinner at an upscale place, the kind where the menu price is huge and the serving is tiny (but good), and then back to my hotel.
Sleep was immediate.
I'll write about the funeral tomorrow. It was incredible. I'm still reeling.
I arrived in Orlando at about 2:30 pm on Thursday. Sister picked me up at the airport and took me to my hotel. We talked while I unpacked, and then she left.
The viewing (I hate to call it that, I don't like the connotation) was 6 to 8 pm, so she said she'd come by at about 6:30. At 6:30 I was waiting outside the hotel lobby doors, when a man walked up to me and called me by name, and started conversing. I didn't know what to think. Then it dawned on him that I didn't recognize him - it was Sister's ex-husband.
Niece arrived with a friend of hers, and then Sister arrived.
Shuffling of cars, thence to the funeral home - a beautiful building on a lake that reflected the lights of the city around it. The parking lot was full. The chapel was packed.
Sister smiled at me when I checked to ensure that the flowers I ordered were there and as described. They were, and the arrangement was huge. It embarrassed me a little, I didn't realize how big it would be - ostentatious - but at least it was red carnations and white daisies and stuff, not roses.
Nephew had apparently been on heavy steroids or something during the coma, because his face and hands (all that was visible - he was in full fire fighter dress uniform, including hat) were extremely swollen. Sister kissed him, but I didn't. It would have felt forced. I'd always liked him, but we hadn't had actual direct contact since 1990.
There was an honor guard of two firefighters in dress uniform slightly in front of and at either end of the coffin, standing at attention and facing each other. Every 10 minutes or so, three more firefighters came in, moved slowly up the aisle to the center front, where the five saluted Nephew (v-e-r-r-r-r-y slowly) and performed a choreographed changing of the guard. Every time they changed the guard, I started sniffling at the salute. The respect was palpable.
At first I wondered why they changed the guard so often, it wasn't such a strain to stand there for ten minutes, but then I realized that it was so that everyone from his company could have an opportunity to attend him. That made me sniffle more.
We stayed perhaps an hour.
I spoke to Nephew's mother and was surprised that I didn't embarrass myself or screw it up. (Except that I inadvertently upset his girlfriend. Oh well, I tried.) I am absolutely no good at stuff like that. I hate "receiving lines", and try to avoid them even at weddings.
My brother, Nephew's birth father, did put in an appearance, but he had left before we got there. I wonder if that was planned, coordinated somehow. Sister and I both have serious issues with him, but I'm not as forgiving as Sister. There may have been some concern about a nasty incident if we met, although nobody except he, I, and possibly Sister knows about it. Maybe it was coordinated not by people, but by Nephew's new friends.
I have no idea how he is reacting to Nephew's death.
Then Sister, her Ex, Niece (their mid-20s daughter), her female friend, and I all went to dinner at an upscale place, the kind where the menu price is huge and the serving is tiny (but good), and then back to my hotel.
Sleep was immediate.
I'll write about the funeral tomorrow. It was incredible. I'm still reeling.
961 Anniversary
Sunday, November 5, 2006
I'm kind of sad today. It's the one-year anniversary of Roman's breaking my heart. Time to take the cast off and throw the crutches away.
I'm kind of sad today. It's the one-year anniversary of Roman's breaking my heart. Time to take the cast off and throw the crutches away.
960 Memes....
| Your Love Style is Agape |
 You are a caring, kind, and selfless partner. Unsurprisingly, your love style is the most rare. You are willing to sacrfice your world for your sweetie. Except it doesn't really feel like sacrifice to you. For you, nothing feels better than giving to the one you love. |
| You May Be a Bit Antisocial... |
 Antisocial? That may be a bit of an understatement. But people love you anyway... you've got a boatload of charm. |
| You Are 62% Indie |
 You're a very indie person, and admit it, you look down a little on people who strive to be normal. You'll indulge in a little mainstream pop culture every now and then. But for you, anything not indie is a guilty pleasure! |
| You Are 20% Sociopath |
 You're empathetic, loyal, and introspective. In other words, there's no way you're a sociopath... but you can spot one pretty easily! |
| Brainy Kid |
 In high school, you were acing AP classes or hanging out in the computer lab. You may have been a bit of a geek back then, but now you're a total success! |
| You Are 68% Brutally Honest |
 Most of the time, you tell it like it is. Even if it's hard for people to hear. Sometimes you hold back though, because you never want your honesty to be hurtful. |
| You Are 20% Abnormal |
 You are at low risk for being a psychopath. It is unlikely that you have no soul. You are at low risk for having a borderline personality. It is unlikely that you are a chaotic mess. You are at low risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is unlikely that you are in love with your own reflection. You are at high risk for having a social phobia. It is very likely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement. You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer. |
| Never Date a Cancer |
 Clingy, emotional, and very private - it's hard to escape a Cancer's clutches. And while Cancer will want to know everything about you, they're anything but open in return. [Note - Roman's a Cancer.] Instead try dating: Leo, Sagittarius, Gemini, or Aquarius |
| Your Linguistic Profile: |
| 45% General American English |
| 25% Yankee |
| 20% Dixie |
| 5% Upper Midwestern |
| 0% Midwestern |
| You Are 40% Intuitive |
 You're definitely an intuitive person, but you never go on your gut alone. You tend to be more analytical than intuitive - possibly because your intuition has failed you in the past. When you don't have enough facts to make a decision, you don't mind listening to your gut to figure out what to do. |
| You Belong in 1962 |
If you scored... 1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in! 1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too. 1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all! 1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day. 1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good! [Very interesting - I graduated from high school in 1962!] |
| Your Bumper Sticker Should Be |
 I've made smarter things than you by eating fiber |
| You Are a Life Blogger! |
 Your blog is the story of your life - a living diary. If it happens, you blog it. And make it as entertaining as possible. [Well, yeah, except there's no attempt to make it entertaining.] |
| You Passed the US Citizenship Test |
 Congratulations - you got 8 out of 10 correct! [Fooey! I was confident of all 10 answers. At least tell me which ones I got wrong!] |
| Your Brain is 53% Female, 47% Male |
 Your brain is a healthy mix of male and female You are both sensitive and savvy Rational and reasonable, you tend to keep level headed But you also tend to wear your heart on your sleeve |
| Your Career Type: Investigative |
 You are precise, scientific, and intellectual. Your talents lie in understanding and solving math and science problems. You would make an excellent: Architect - Biologist - Chemist Dentist - Electrical Technician - Mathematician Medical Technician - Meteorologist - Pharmacist Physician - Surveyor - Veterinarian The worst career options for your are enterprising careers, like lawyer or real estate agent. [I disagree. I think I'd make a very good lawyer, and a very bad architect.] |
| You Are 40% Weird |
 Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it! |
| Your Observation Skills Get A C- |
 You tend to notice the big things in life... But the details aren't exactly your forte. [Man, this one was HARD!!!] |
| Your Dosha is Kapha |
 Calm and grounded, you are not prone to mood swings or anger. However, once you do get angry, it takes a lot to cool you down. You tend to think a little slower than most people, but your logic is astounding. Overall, you very loyal and trustworthy. You're not scared of being who you really are. With friends: You enjoy their company, but often listen more than talk In love: You crave connection and affection. It's hard for you to be single. To achieve more balance: Exercise vigorously (especially in the sun) and let go of attachments. |
959 How Readable Is Your Blog?
(Can you tell I'm catching up on three days worth of blog reading?) Via Roba:
Go to http://juicystudio.com/services/readability.php to find out how your blog scores on readability. This journal scores
7.95 on the Gunning Fog Index (about par with Readers' Digest or popular novels)
75.55 on the Flesch Reading Ease scale (out of 100, which I assume would be Dick and Jane)
4.48 on the Flesch-Kincaid Grade (a fifth-grader won't find it difficult)
So I guess I meet my criteria - although there's a lot I don't understand, I don't confuse anyone else.
Go to http://juicystudio.com/services/readability.php to find out how your blog scores on readability. This journal scores
7.95 on the Gunning Fog Index (about par with Readers' Digest or popular novels)
75.55 on the Flesch Reading Ease scale (out of 100, which I assume would be Dick and Jane)
4.48 on the Flesch-Kincaid Grade (a fifth-grader won't find it difficult)
So I guess I meet my criteria - although there's a lot I don't understand, I don't confuse anyone else.
958 Name Frame
On Flickr
Go to http://metaatem.net/words/ to create your own.
(Maybe you'll know enough HTML to make it fit better.)
Go to http://metaatem.net/words/ to create your own.
(Maybe you'll know enough HTML to make it fit better.)
Thursday, November 02, 2006
957 In Orlando
Thursday, November 2, 2006
I'm here. Good direct flight, on time. Sister picked me up at the airport. Great hotel, nice room, free internet in the room. I don't have a laptop, but no problem, there's a business center downstairs with free use of the desktops.
Swoopy!
Visitation tonight.
I'm here. Good direct flight, on time. Sister picked me up at the airport. Great hotel, nice room, free internet in the room. I don't have a laptop, but no problem, there's a business center downstairs with free use of the desktops.
Swoopy!
Visitation tonight.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
956 Hotel
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
Orlando hotel reservations are made. It took me only three hours. I had to Google the funeral home and the church to get their addresses, check online maps for the locations, get a map of hotels, then figure out how the maps overlap (they didn't both consider the same streets significant), choose a hotel, and then find out which online booking site would give me the best price.
When I filled in all the info, including credit card, and hit "do it", I got "reservations system is not available" and I wasn't sure whether it went through or not. So I called the hotel desk, and they gave me a price $40 less than the lowest rate I could get online (including on their own website). For the same room.
As soon as I finished, Sister called, and it just so happens the hotel I chose is about three blocks from her house. She wants me to stay with her, but I really truly do prefer hotels for the freedom they allow me.
I might allow her to feed me.
Then I went shopping for a flyswatter. None anywhere. I ended up with some of that twisty hanging flypaper, the stuff Roman says the flies ignore.
I have visions of Miss Thunderfoot tangled up in it.
Orlando hotel reservations are made. It took me only three hours. I had to Google the funeral home and the church to get their addresses, check online maps for the locations, get a map of hotels, then figure out how the maps overlap (they didn't both consider the same streets significant), choose a hotel, and then find out which online booking site would give me the best price.
When I filled in all the info, including credit card, and hit "do it", I got "reservations system is not available" and I wasn't sure whether it went through or not. So I called the hotel desk, and they gave me a price $40 less than the lowest rate I could get online (including on their own website). For the same room.
As soon as I finished, Sister called, and it just so happens the hotel I chose is about three blocks from her house. She wants me to stay with her, but I really truly do prefer hotels for the freedom they allow me.
I might allow her to feed me.
Then I went shopping for a flyswatter. None anywhere. I ended up with some of that twisty hanging flypaper, the stuff Roman says the flies ignore.
I have visions of Miss Thunderfoot tangled up in it.
955 Flies! Snow!
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The flies are getting thicker. I need a flyswatter. I've been using rolled up newspaper, but anything but a flyswatter-like implement builds up air in front as you swat, so it's almost impossible to hit a fly. Flyswatters blow away flies without blowing them away. Surprise, splat!
Last night I was thinking maybe I should get those sticky fly tapes, but then I remembered a forgotten conversation with Roman from about two weeks ago. He said his house was full of small flies that were driving him crazy because they keep landing on him and tickling him. Exactly like mine! All summer long he keeps a coil of sticky flypaper hanging in his kitchen, and I asked him if it was full of the flies, and he said these flies don't seem to be interested in it.
I fell a little better remembering that. I was feeling guilty about the three days of cat food leftovers in the garbage, the dirty dishes and unfinished cat food left out overnight, the ignored kitty doodoo in the litterbox. All possible breeding spots. But although Roman's house is messy and cluttered, I am absolutely certain there's no suitable breeding materials anywhere. The man may be messy, but he's CLEAN.
I wasn't watching the TV, but I think I just heard the Albany weatherman say something about "after we clean up the snow tomorrow morning...". Snow? I just remembered the other reason I so rarely use the Albany airport.
The flies are getting thicker. I need a flyswatter. I've been using rolled up newspaper, but anything but a flyswatter-like implement builds up air in front as you swat, so it's almost impossible to hit a fly. Flyswatters blow away flies without blowing them away. Surprise, splat!
Last night I was thinking maybe I should get those sticky fly tapes, but then I remembered a forgotten conversation with Roman from about two weeks ago. He said his house was full of small flies that were driving him crazy because they keep landing on him and tickling him. Exactly like mine! All summer long he keeps a coil of sticky flypaper hanging in his kitchen, and I asked him if it was full of the flies, and he said these flies don't seem to be interested in it.
I fell a little better remembering that. I was feeling guilty about the three days of cat food leftovers in the garbage, the dirty dishes and unfinished cat food left out overnight, the ignored kitty doodoo in the litterbox. All possible breeding spots. But although Roman's house is messy and cluttered, I am absolutely certain there's no suitable breeding materials anywhere. The man may be messy, but he's CLEAN.
I wasn't watching the TV, but I think I just heard the Albany weatherman say something about "after we clean up the snow tomorrow morning...". Snow? I just remembered the other reason I so rarely use the Albany airport.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
954 It's Ok - I've Got the Van
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I decided to wait until after I got back from Florida to get the bad noise in the Aerio checked. After all, I have the minivan. Right?
Back when the van was with the Chrysler people, I had reported to them that it was dripping something onto the driveway (they had earlier worked on the brakes). They said it wasn't brake fluid, or they'd have noticed it on all the test driving they did. I guess having decided they knew what it wasn't, they never looked to see what it was.
Last night the van started making awful noises when I turned the steering wheel.
I drove the van into the village for lunch with Piper and Vinnie today, and they called a garage friend of theirs, and so after lunch I went there. Yup. Power steering fluid was very low. The guy agreed it was a slow leak, so he filled it up and the bad noise went away.
He gave me another bottle of the stuff, and that should get me to the Albany airport and back, and then I'll take it in to him on Monday, and he'll find out where it's leaking.
I didn't get my jaw/tooth checked last week because there just wasn't time (and I kept hoping it would go away). I didn't make an appointment yesterday because I wasn't sure of my schedule. So this afternoon I started calling dentists, to make an appointment for sometime next week.
Yeah. Sure. Real easy.
Of the six dentists in and around the village, two are not accepting new patients, and two have NO appointments available until the second week in December!!! Sheesh. Aren't they supposed to keep an hour or two a week open for emergencies? Are there emergency rooms for teeth? One receptionist said they were full with cleanings into December. Cleanings! The hygienists do the cleanings. What's the dentist doing? Managing the cleaners? Filling out insurance forms?
My old dentist is forty minutes away, in Highland, where I lived before I married Jay. I had stayed with him because it was comfortable. But I haven't been in since I went into the depression after Jay died (after 12 years of twice-a-year cleanings), so if I want to change to someone closer, now's the time. Plus, if this problem requires any nastiness, it's better to be closer to home.
I'll try the other two tomorrow. Both are new to the area, according to one of the other receptionists, so I might have a better chance. Failing that, I'll have to expand my search. And there's always the multi-dentist office in the mall.
In the meantime, the pain has lessened. The bite is still off, but I haven't needed any Tylenol or aspirin yesterday or today. Either it's getting better, or the nerves have died.
I talked with Roman this afternoon, and he had to hang up after a short conversation because he had to leave for a dental appointment. Irony.
---------------------------
Yeah, ok, I know I'm supposed to establish relationships with professionals BEFORE I need them. So I should be lining up a dermatologist, oncologist, neurologist, podiatrist, plastic surgeon, oral surgeon, opthamologist ... ??? At least I already have three lawyers. And a financial advisor. And a GP. Leave me alone.
I decided to wait until after I got back from Florida to get the bad noise in the Aerio checked. After all, I have the minivan. Right?
Back when the van was with the Chrysler people, I had reported to them that it was dripping something onto the driveway (they had earlier worked on the brakes). They said it wasn't brake fluid, or they'd have noticed it on all the test driving they did. I guess having decided they knew what it wasn't, they never looked to see what it was.
Last night the van started making awful noises when I turned the steering wheel.
I drove the van into the village for lunch with Piper and Vinnie today, and they called a garage friend of theirs, and so after lunch I went there. Yup. Power steering fluid was very low. The guy agreed it was a slow leak, so he filled it up and the bad noise went away.
He gave me another bottle of the stuff, and that should get me to the Albany airport and back, and then I'll take it in to him on Monday, and he'll find out where it's leaking.
I didn't get my jaw/tooth checked last week because there just wasn't time (and I kept hoping it would go away). I didn't make an appointment yesterday because I wasn't sure of my schedule. So this afternoon I started calling dentists, to make an appointment for sometime next week.
Yeah. Sure. Real easy.
Of the six dentists in and around the village, two are not accepting new patients, and two have NO appointments available until the second week in December!!! Sheesh. Aren't they supposed to keep an hour or two a week open for emergencies? Are there emergency rooms for teeth? One receptionist said they were full with cleanings into December. Cleanings! The hygienists do the cleanings. What's the dentist doing? Managing the cleaners? Filling out insurance forms?
My old dentist is forty minutes away, in Highland, where I lived before I married Jay. I had stayed with him because it was comfortable. But I haven't been in since I went into the depression after Jay died (after 12 years of twice-a-year cleanings), so if I want to change to someone closer, now's the time. Plus, if this problem requires any nastiness, it's better to be closer to home.
I'll try the other two tomorrow. Both are new to the area, according to one of the other receptionists, so I might have a better chance. Failing that, I'll have to expand my search. And there's always the multi-dentist office in the mall.
In the meantime, the pain has lessened. The bite is still off, but I haven't needed any Tylenol or aspirin yesterday or today. Either it's getting better, or the nerves have died.
I talked with Roman this afternoon, and he had to hang up after a short conversation because he had to leave for a dental appointment. Irony.
---------------------------
Yeah, ok, I know I'm supposed to establish relationships with professionals BEFORE I need them. So I should be lining up a dermatologist, oncologist, neurologist, podiatrist, plastic surgeon, oral surgeon, opthamologist ... ??? At least I already have three lawyers. And a financial advisor. And a GP. Leave me alone.
954 Beyond Mice
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I guess I can assume the house isn't too tight. In addition to the mice moving in for the winter, I've got flies. I don't know where they came from or how they got in, but I hope they arrived as adults, because I don't want to think they hatched somewhere in the house.
I often get flies in the fall, and some manage to last through the winter, quietly minding their own business up near the ceiling. These are more annoying than any I've ever had before. They seem to be attracted to my face, and they keep trying to climb up my nose.
I killed three in the den yesterday, and there are four in the kitchen right now.
I can't find my flyswatter.
I guess I can assume the house isn't too tight. In addition to the mice moving in for the winter, I've got flies. I don't know where they came from or how they got in, but I hope they arrived as adults, because I don't want to think they hatched somewhere in the house.
I often get flies in the fall, and some manage to last through the winter, quietly minding their own business up near the ceiling. These are more annoying than any I've ever had before. They seem to be attracted to my face, and they keep trying to climb up my nose.
I killed three in the den yesterday, and there are four in the kitchen right now.
I can't find my flyswatter.
Monday, October 30, 2006
953 Ignorance?
One of our older members has written an article in the latest issue of the local Mensa newsletter, commenting on Jay Leno's "Jaywalking" segments, specifically the one broadcast last June 22, wherein he asked questions like why the Boston Tea Party happened, what are the words to The Star-Spangled Banner, and so on.
She is "amazed and chagrined that persons ... were so very ignorant of the history of this great country of ours."
I think she missed something.
If Jay Leno walks up to you with a microphone and a camera and asks a question, if you answer it correctly, you might look smart, but you don't get on TV!
Think quickly now, how would you answer?
She is "amazed and chagrined that persons ... were so very ignorant of the history of this great country of ours."
I think she missed something.
If Jay Leno walks up to you with a microphone and a camera and asks a question, if you answer it correctly, you might look smart, but you don't get on TV!
Think quickly now, how would you answer?
952 I Want My Chocolate Chocolatey!
Every so often I need chocolate. I'm not particular - Bakers semi-sweet baking chocolate works just fine, especially after a minute in the microwave. It's smooth and super chocolatey, and comes already measured in exactly the right craving-satisfying amount. Sometimes I need a milk chocolate that will melt on my tongue, but not so melty it gloms up the mouth. Lindt or Hershey's is best then.
The other day I found a real deal in the grocery store: "Sweet Obsession - Fine European Chocolate - simply the finest chocolates on Earth". Milk chocolate. With peanuts. $.50 for a 7 oz bar. I'm a sucker for labels. And sales. And new stuff.
It won't melt! It stays hard and dry no matter how long it sits on the tongue, like it's frozen or something. Inert.
I felt a need for chocolate this evening, and it was either snort Jay's six-year-old hot chocolate drink mix powder, or try the "chocolate" bar again.
I tried microwaving it, and it BURNED! Without melting. It was still hard and smooth on the outside, but the inside was that grainy sand you get when you microwave something mostly sugar.
So if you like your chocolate crunchy, if you like chocolate that laughs at you, thumbs its nose at you, chocolate with attitude, that refuses to give in, I have a recommendation.
By the way - the ingredients list on the milk chocolate with peanuts says it "may contain peanuts".
The other day I found a real deal in the grocery store: "Sweet Obsession - Fine European Chocolate - simply the finest chocolates on Earth". Milk chocolate. With peanuts. $.50 for a 7 oz bar. I'm a sucker for labels. And sales. And new stuff.
It won't melt! It stays hard and dry no matter how long it sits on the tongue, like it's frozen or something. Inert.
I felt a need for chocolate this evening, and it was either snort Jay's six-year-old hot chocolate drink mix powder, or try the "chocolate" bar again.
I tried microwaving it, and it BURNED! Without melting. It was still hard and smooth on the outside, but the inside was that grainy sand you get when you microwave something mostly sugar.
So if you like your chocolate crunchy, if you like chocolate that laughs at you, thumbs its nose at you, chocolate with attitude, that refuses to give in, I have a recommendation.
By the way - the ingredients list on the milk chocolate with peanuts says it "may contain peanuts".
951 Nephew
Monday, October 30, 2006
Very brief email from Sister this afternoon. Nephew's viewing is Thursday evening, funeral is Friday morning.
Airports:
I was online looking at three different sites simultaneously, trying to put together the best round-trip package, when Piper called. He asked if I had tried Southwest out of Albany. I explained why I didn't even look at Albany, and next thing I knew he had me on a conference call to Southwest. Straight through, non-stop, Albany to Orlando round trip, both departure times ideal, half the time in the air as from Newburgh, arriving four hours before the viewing, for only $7 more than from Newburgh. Wow. I booked it. That was so quick! Thank you, Piper.
Since I'll be gone only two overnights, Miss Thunderfoot can stay home. She won't be happy, but I just happened to have bought her absolute favorite (cat candy!) dry food this morning - I don't know why, something told me to - so I think she won't suffer too badly.
Off topic - back in post 944, "Rochester Strange", I complained a bit about Jay's sister. To clarify, I do like her. She is smart and has a good and very soft heart. It's just that I have learned a few things about how to avoid friction with her, and I was a bit annoyed on that trip because even though I KNEW what to do and not do, I didn't listen to myself and was just the usual relaxed and bumbling me. Which I knew wouldn't work.
One thing age has taught me is that sometimes it's ok not to be yourself.
Very brief email from Sister this afternoon. Nephew's viewing is Thursday evening, funeral is Friday morning.
Airports:
- Newark and JFK are both a little over two hours away, and I can get non-stop first class flights from there.
- Newburgh is a little over an hour south, but there's no first class and no non-stop flights. It's like it's just commuter flights to Philadelphia or Detroit, where you change to "real" planes. On the other hand, all the flights are relatively cheap.
- Albany is also a little over an hour north, and flight choices are more convenient, but it's been my experience that everything out of Albany costs about twice what it would cost from any other airport.
I was online looking at three different sites simultaneously, trying to put together the best round-trip package, when Piper called. He asked if I had tried Southwest out of Albany. I explained why I didn't even look at Albany, and next thing I knew he had me on a conference call to Southwest. Straight through, non-stop, Albany to Orlando round trip, both departure times ideal, half the time in the air as from Newburgh, arriving four hours before the viewing, for only $7 more than from Newburgh. Wow. I booked it. That was so quick! Thank you, Piper.
Since I'll be gone only two overnights, Miss Thunderfoot can stay home. She won't be happy, but I just happened to have bought her absolute favorite (cat candy!) dry food this morning - I don't know why, something told me to - so I think she won't suffer too badly.
Off topic - back in post 944, "Rochester Strange", I complained a bit about Jay's sister. To clarify, I do like her. She is smart and has a good and very soft heart. It's just that I have learned a few things about how to avoid friction with her, and I was a bit annoyed on that trip because even though I KNEW what to do and not do, I didn't listen to myself and was just the usual relaxed and bumbling me. Which I knew wouldn't work.
One thing age has taught me is that sometimes it's ok not to be yourself.
950 Interpretation
Monday, October 30, 2006
There's a Special K (cereal) commercial where a woman joins her friends at an outdoor cafe, and they remark on how good she looks. She gives credit to her breakfast cereal. At the end, the voiceover says - or at least I think he says:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast weigh less."
I think that's what he said. Because what I heard was:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast way less."
I'm amazed that no one at the ad agency caught that during review.
There's a Special K (cereal) commercial where a woman joins her friends at an outdoor cafe, and they remark on how good she looks. She gives credit to her breakfast cereal. At the end, the voiceover says - or at least I think he says:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast weigh less."
I think that's what he said. Because what I heard was:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast way less."
I'm amazed that no one at the ad agency caught that during review.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
949 Aggghhh!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I just visited the photo gallery of a California bellydancer, teacher, impresario. She puts on a big show in Hollywood every October.
Leela.
I am aghast!
About half the "bellydancers" in the shows in the gallery are wearing bedlah, but they seem to have forgotten their skirts. Just a mid-thigh length belt. One pair in the 2004 show are wearing nothing but pasties, thong, and a long string of beads.
The bellydance police should make her remove "bellydance" from the show flyers. If she wants to call them exotic dancers, ok. But calling them "exotic bellydancers" is taking the form back to when bellydancers were grouped with strippers. It's been a long hard battle for respect, and The Dance doesn't need stuff like this.
It's spreading. Some eastern seaboard dancers have already caught the "Vegas Wannabe Virus" (VWV - I get credit for naming it!).
I just visited the photo gallery of a California bellydancer, teacher, impresario. She puts on a big show in Hollywood every October.
Leela.
I am aghast!
About half the "bellydancers" in the shows in the gallery are wearing bedlah, but they seem to have forgotten their skirts. Just a mid-thigh length belt. One pair in the 2004 show are wearing nothing but pasties, thong, and a long string of beads.
The bellydance police should make her remove "bellydance" from the show flyers. If she wants to call them exotic dancers, ok. But calling them "exotic bellydancers" is taking the form back to when bellydancers were grouped with strippers. It's been a long hard battle for respect, and The Dance doesn't need stuff like this.
It's spreading. Some eastern seaboard dancers have already caught the "Vegas Wannabe Virus" (VWV - I get credit for naming it!).
948 Such a Mix
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I've had such a mix of good and bad the past week. It's tiring. I'm used to being up or down, but rapidly alternating between up and down is WORK!
Daughter's hardcopy birthday card arrived in yesterday's mail, and it's wonderful. I didn't know they made cards that said things like that. The theme is "you were there", and it has paragraphs about all the times that Mother was there, and Daughter has written in specific times and examples between the paragraphs. So nice.
On the other hand, the Suzuki is sick. Friday night driving home from the theater, a scraping sound started somewhere toward the right front wheel well. A metal-on-metal sound. I'd almost think it had something to do with the brakes, but it isn't steady. It happens mostly when I hit a bump (even a small one) or when I turn right. Sometimes when I'm going straight. Off and on. It doesn't depend on speed or brakes.
I said "oh, well, thank goodness I have the minivan" and Daughter cracked up, "I never expected to hear that!"
With winter coming, the field mice are looking for a new home. There was a mouse in the kitchen the other night while I was on the phone. It was tiny, fat, teardrop-shaped, very cute and very fast. Miss Thunderfoot saw it out of the corner of her eye, and she chased, but when the mouse stopped, it was like Thunder couldn't see it. She'd look all around where she saw it last, and look right past it, until it took off again. If Thunder knew it was a mouse, she would have lost interest, but it moved so fast that she couldn't identify it. It finally disappeared under the stove. (That's the main mouse highway into the house.)
Live mice are cute. Dead mice are not. Somewhere 'long about last Thursday I noticed that there's a dead mouse, probably in the wall, just inside the kitchen doorway. You can smell it as you walk in the front door. I know from much experience that if I wait a week or so, the smell will disappear, but in the meantime, it's a long week.
About ten days ago, the back of my right jaw went funny. At first I thought it was a TMJ thing, but then I noticed my teeth on that side aren't meeting correctly. They touch before the left side does. And pressing them together generates pain, top and bottom. Pain from the temple to behind the ear, to below the jaw. I have old root canals there, top and bottom, with metal caps and spikes into the bone, and every time I chew I can feel those nails stabbing. I guess I need to have it looked at, but haven't had time this past week. It feels almost like the top teeth have dropped (they did that before - the fix was to grind down the lower teeth to make room), but another possibility is that I'm growing another wisdom tooth. I must be part alligator or elephant or something. I have grown multiple extra molars - several came out sideways through the outside of the gum, and one is still sitting proudly vertical on the lower left, squeezed between its twin and sister. I've grown six wisdom teeth so far.
It felt a little better yesterday, so I was poking around in there trying to figure out what was going on, and then I was foolish enough to actually chew my dinner, and this morning when the overnight aspirin wore off, the pain woke me. It's really bad today. Phone call to dentist tomorrow.
I had signed up and paid for a ballroom dance class with Rhinebeck Continuing Education, and then waited and waited to get confirmation from them, which never came. In the meantime I lost the brochure, so I wasn't sure when it started. When I decided maybe I should call, the only number I could find for them had been disconnected. I finally got to their office through the superintendent of schools, and left a message. Turns out the class started at the end of September! I am very disappointed. I don't want to sign up for any classes over the winter, so it'll be spring now before I can try again. Note - the object was only slightly to be more comfortable on the dance floor. Mainly it was because I'd heard it's a good way to meet men.
The TV weatherman is gloating over snow predictions.
Today is the fifth anniversary of Jay's death.
I've had such a mix of good and bad the past week. It's tiring. I'm used to being up or down, but rapidly alternating between up and down is WORK!
Daughter's hardcopy birthday card arrived in yesterday's mail, and it's wonderful. I didn't know they made cards that said things like that. The theme is "you were there", and it has paragraphs about all the times that Mother was there, and Daughter has written in specific times and examples between the paragraphs. So nice.
On the other hand, the Suzuki is sick. Friday night driving home from the theater, a scraping sound started somewhere toward the right front wheel well. A metal-on-metal sound. I'd almost think it had something to do with the brakes, but it isn't steady. It happens mostly when I hit a bump (even a small one) or when I turn right. Sometimes when I'm going straight. Off and on. It doesn't depend on speed or brakes.
I said "oh, well, thank goodness I have the minivan" and Daughter cracked up, "I never expected to hear that!"
With winter coming, the field mice are looking for a new home. There was a mouse in the kitchen the other night while I was on the phone. It was tiny, fat, teardrop-shaped, very cute and very fast. Miss Thunderfoot saw it out of the corner of her eye, and she chased, but when the mouse stopped, it was like Thunder couldn't see it. She'd look all around where she saw it last, and look right past it, until it took off again. If Thunder knew it was a mouse, she would have lost interest, but it moved so fast that she couldn't identify it. It finally disappeared under the stove. (That's the main mouse highway into the house.)
Live mice are cute. Dead mice are not. Somewhere 'long about last Thursday I noticed that there's a dead mouse, probably in the wall, just inside the kitchen doorway. You can smell it as you walk in the front door. I know from much experience that if I wait a week or so, the smell will disappear, but in the meantime, it's a long week.
About ten days ago, the back of my right jaw went funny. At first I thought it was a TMJ thing, but then I noticed my teeth on that side aren't meeting correctly. They touch before the left side does. And pressing them together generates pain, top and bottom. Pain from the temple to behind the ear, to below the jaw. I have old root canals there, top and bottom, with metal caps and spikes into the bone, and every time I chew I can feel those nails stabbing. I guess I need to have it looked at, but haven't had time this past week. It feels almost like the top teeth have dropped (they did that before - the fix was to grind down the lower teeth to make room), but another possibility is that I'm growing another wisdom tooth. I must be part alligator or elephant or something. I have grown multiple extra molars - several came out sideways through the outside of the gum, and one is still sitting proudly vertical on the lower left, squeezed between its twin and sister. I've grown six wisdom teeth so far.
It felt a little better yesterday, so I was poking around in there trying to figure out what was going on, and then I was foolish enough to actually chew my dinner, and this morning when the overnight aspirin wore off, the pain woke me. It's really bad today. Phone call to dentist tomorrow.
I had signed up and paid for a ballroom dance class with Rhinebeck Continuing Education, and then waited and waited to get confirmation from them, which never came. In the meantime I lost the brochure, so I wasn't sure when it started. When I decided maybe I should call, the only number I could find for them had been disconnected. I finally got to their office through the superintendent of schools, and left a message. Turns out the class started at the end of September! I am very disappointed. I don't want to sign up for any classes over the winter, so it'll be spring now before I can try again. Note - the object was only slightly to be more comfortable on the dance floor. Mainly it was because I'd heard it's a good way to meet men.
The TV weatherman is gloating over snow predictions.
Today is the fifth anniversary of Jay's death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)