A Panty Party

There can be many more trials and tribulations to being a Pet Nanny than people realize. It's not a career for the faint ... or impatient. From one of my very early gigs, I had one of the pets in my care die from an epileptic seizure. I had to re-evaluate my 'career choice' at the time. Do I really want to do this? But I figured what were the chances of that happening again? Within the following two years, two more pets died in my care. I was beginning to feel like the Dr. Kevorkian of animals. One friend even invited me to her house to visit in the hopes that I would take her 18 year old pooch in to be put down because she couldn't do it. She figured I must be good at that by now. I declined that offer. Thanks anyway.

Besides those three furry fatal incidences, there are other hazards to the pet nanny business. Pets might have health issues, require medication, make a mess in the house for example. The other day, while sitting for two adorable little dachshunds, I came home to find them running to the front door to greet me. Already this is alarming because they are to be penned in the kitchen. Clearly they've busted out of the gate somehow. I enter the house cautiously and begin to check around for damages. Immediately I notice dog poo on the sitting room carpet. Quite a bit of poo....but it's firm, easy to pick up and didn't leave any stains. Whew.

I continue to survey the house for any other signs of disarray. Upon reaching the top of the stairs I notice my plastic laundry bag which was sitting next to my suitcase is empty of all my underwear. Three pairs of underwear are strewn in the hallway. I pick them up and two have the crotch eaten out of them! Completely gone. Okay, so this is a little bit funny...and a little bit disgusting! Someone spent the day snacking on my panties! I keep looking around and I see the pillows on the beds are all smashed down. They've obviously been up on the beds partying. I walk past the master bedroom walk in closet and glance in and there I see another pair of pink lacy numbers abandoned. I pick them up. NO CROTCH.

I don't see any more so I go on about my business, fluffing pillows, setting waste baskets upright. I get to thinking about the underwear I've been wearing all week and am certain I'm missing a few pairs. So I start the hunt. I look under beds, inside beds, behind doors. I go back into the walk in closet and get down on my hands and knees and search behind the hanging clothes. Sure enough, there in the back corner is a whole pile of panties! All ruined. All crotchless!

What I found a bit disturbing is the night before I couldn't get my "boyfriend" interested in getting into my panties at all, but here's this dog that, apparently, can't get enough of them!

Later I found one more black and pink lacy number in some random spot waiting to be discovered. Sheesh, I hope I've found them all now. I can only imagine what the owners would think if they found a pair (or two) of crotchless underwear stuffed under their pillow or something. What kind of crazy crotch eating orgy is their pet nanny having in their $2 million home??? SEVEN pair of Victoria Secret panties destroyed! For the next few days I was sure I'd see pieces of lace or elastic in the poo as I was poopy scooping. Someone had to have been having a serious tummy ache.

My 15 year old niece had given me three pair of new VS panties for Christmas. She must have had a premonition. Good call, Alexa, I need them!

Post Holiday Conundrum

With the help of everyone and, especially, Dianne's niece, Daelyn, I came up with the perfect gift for my current sweetie. She suggested a cooking class we could take together. Since he loves to cook, eat interesting foods and enjoys all those gourmet foodstuffs, I thought this was an ideal gift. As Daelyn pointed out, it's something he'd enjoy and we could do together! Viola! I loved it.

Saturday night Dianne and I hunted on line for cooking classes within my modest budget and found Cooks World near University Village (near his neighborhood...a good sign). They posted special holiday hours and I was able to high-tail it down there on Sunday the 23rd to pick up two gift certificates; one for him and one for me. Since I can't really choose what day we'd both be available, this gift allows us to look at the list of classes and work out which one we want to take.

"Why don't you just get one certificate for double the amount?" the woman at the shop asked.

"This way, it will be clear that it's a gift for two. I will present it as a gift for us to enjoy together," I explain, even though while doing so I realized it sounded a bit manipulative.

Included with my certificates, I presented #8 with some homemade spiced nuts (thank you, Marcie!) and some homemade cappuccino mix, balsamic olive oil for dipping and chipotle stuffed olives....and chocolates. I thought it worked out quite well considering where we are in our 'relationship' (early stages) and his enjoyment of food, cooking and event-based gifts over a bunch of material items to fill his house.

Well, I think my attempt at a togetherness gift may have backfired. I presented the gift and he was very excited about all of it. I, however, made a complete error in judgment and said, "if for some reason, the class you really want to take is the night you have your daughter, I suppose you could take her instead." He thought that was an exceptional idea! WTF? I was just making a polite gesture! I wasn't actually suggesting he take his daughter to MY cooking class. What is this man thinking? He isn't, that's for sure. I didn't spend this kind of money for him to take his 14 year old daughter who I haven't even met!

He keeps telling me how he is looking forward to doing things with me because he's been spending all his vacations, New Years Eves, holidays, ski trips etc... with his daughter for the last several years. I present him with what I think is clearly a couples gift and he is actually considering taking his daughter? I'm just floored. Do I say anything? NO...of course I don't. I just sit there stammering over my words in disbelief. I will just have to let this ride a bit and see how it pans out. I'm hoping he'll mention this whole scenario to his sisters and/or co-workers and they will slap him upside the head and set him straight. Yes, I realize I need to be slapped upside the head for opening my mouth in the first place. Me and my polite gestures. They always get me into trouble.

Second Time Around

It occurred to me that possibly the reason I am a little guarded about #8 is that in so many ways, he is very much like my ex-husband. That's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean my ex-husband is a good man. We had many good years together and enjoyed our time overall. And maybe the ways they are similar are in the good ways. I mean I always said that I wanted my next mate to have all my ex's good qualities .... AND a bunch of other great qualities too. One of my male pals asked if I was looking for God. No, not really...Jesus would do just fine.

So these similar traits I'm noticing in #8: he's conservative, attentive, thoughtful, has a sense of humor, is a bit of a goober, analytical, romantic, frugal (some would say downright "cheap"), yet generous toward others, enjoys skiing, cooking and is adventurous with food. Oh...and then there's that sexual chemistry thing...yeah. Maybe my "type" is the conservative, analytical, goobery type.

I'm so afraid of making the same mistake twice, marrying my ex-husband all over again, not realizing that I'm repeating history, that maybe I'm not recognizing that I am actually in a good relationship. Eh...now I'm over analyzing! It hasn't even been two months! Get a grip. I like the guy, but I'm not "va voom" over him. (eeew, I think I felt the same about my ex when we first started dating. I'm in trouble.)

Anyway, after his generous weekend splurge, I am going to need to up the anti on the Christmas gift idea. I don't think a plate of homemade cookies is going to be adequate. Darn.

Five days before Christmas and I'm pretty much back at square one. Yikes.

Weekend Rendezvous

Our weekend rendezvous started out with #8 picking me up and presenting me with a rose after apologizing for being a little late (he was not late at all!). He took me up to La Conner where we had a wonderful meal at the La Conner Brewing Company, where we sat by the fireplace and enjoyed a spicy artichoke dip and delicious steamed clams in a coconut milk sauce. We strolled through the town, poking into shops, buying a few Christmas gifts for our friends and families. He is actually a great shopper. Later, we drove on to our accommodation, Guest House Log Cottages in Greenbank on Whidbey Island.

They were the sweetest, most romantic little cottages, nestled in the woods. Ours was decorated in Christmas lights, located on a quaint pond and we were greeted by a little Christmas tree in the living area; the ultimate in coziness. We lit the wood stove, corked a bottle of red wine, and snuggled down for an evening of romance. And romantic it was. The bed was incredible. Once I got in, I didn't want to leave. I told #8 it was a good thing we were leaving on Sunday, or I'd never want to get out of this bed!

The breakfast was a spread laid out (the table was pre-set for us) in style. Sparkling cider, croissants, danishes, cheeses, eggs (in the frig), yogurt, apple sauce, fruit juices, coffee all available for our pleasure. #8 whipped up a couple of fluffy cheese omelets while I showered. Hell, my culinary contribution consisted of making coffee while he was in the shower!

After breakfast (okay, brunch) and checking out, we walked around the grounds inspecting the other cottages (all lovely!) and then we drove to Langley and strolled some more picking up a few more gifts before catching our ferry back to Seattle.

It was an amazing weekend, actually. I keep saying that #8 is 'not my type' or 'too conservative' or 'a bit goofy,' but I have to say he is very attentive, sweet, generous (for a cheapskate pilot) and the sex is just too good to give up right now!

Oh, and he did notice my lingerie! I didn't think he would since he's one of those guys who rips your bra off without even looking at it. But he did notice... and comment. I dunno....this guy could grow on me. And then where will I be???

Firsts

After visiting a friend recently and witnessing her tastefully decorated table top tree, I became inspired. I decided I should attempt to adopt a little more of the holiday spirit and have a tiny little tree in my tiny little apartment. I have several boxes of Christmas decorations and ornaments. Why not use them? Actually, there are plenty of reasons including, but not limited to, the time it takes to drag all that stuff out, the finding a place to stash all your regular decorations while the Christmas decorations take over the house, keeping a tree watered regularly so it doesn't cause a fire and burn the entire apartment building down, and then packing it all away in three weeks. But all that aside, on my way home from yoga the other day, I stopped into the grocery store and picked up (quite literally) a tiny little cut tree. It took me all of two hours to bring it home, find a container to stuff it into, rifle through my closet and find the boxes of Christmas gear, trim the tree, clean up and sit back to enjoy. It's quite cute. I'm pleased with my little addition. And more importantly, after living with my folks, then off to college and then moving in with my husband, it is my very first Christmas tree as a single person.



Another "first": The other day, #8 called and left a message requesting, if possible, that I keep the coming weekend free so he can take me away somewhere. Away somewhere? A weekend rendezvous. A romantic get away. I have to admit, I was a little impressed. Impressed that he is even thinking of this sort of thing. Impressed that he called in advance and asked politely. I'm still not quite sure what to make of him, but I thought this sounded nice. I haven't been 'away' with a man since my divorce over five years ago.



'Firsts' can be nice, whether they are first Christmas trees, first weekend trips with a new 'lover' (that sounds better than boyfriend to me, but somehow it still doesn't really suit #8) or some other first that makes us feel a little warm and fuzzy inside.

Hmmm...is sexy lingerie in order for this weekend's excursion? It has just occurred to me that I have none. Nada. Zip. Zilch. How is that even possible? That a single 44 year old woman has NO sexy lingerie? Sure, lacy bras and panties...but nothing 'special' in the way of evening wear. It's been so long since I've actually slept with a man, I have whittled my lingerie drawer down to functional cotton boxer shorts and matching tanks. Time to dart out of work early and see what kind of last minute item I can muster up before the weekend commences!

More Christmas Gift Dilema

Aw Crap. It's December 7th. We're in the middle of Hanukkah and ye old Christmas is right down the road. I've pretty much been in denial. Yes, I see the Christmas tree upon the Space Needle outside my windows. I am semi-aware of the phrase "happy holidays" being tossed about by supermarket cashiers and the Fed Ex delivery people at the office. But somehow it's not registering that I actually need to participate in this event. Not only have I not made one Christmas purchase (my previous post aside, I do need to cough up a decent gift for my nieces), nor come up with my homemade gift idea, I haven't even thought about any of this.

In my previous fully-employed-by-well-paying-job, married-without-children life, I would have had the entire house decorated to the hilt including the 'perfect' Christmas tree, a shopping list made, most gifts purchased and the homemades well underway. My 50+ Christmas cards would have been mailed, and at least that many types of cookies would have been baked by now. Our guestroom turned 'gift wrap room' would model a scene from the North Pole.

But no, this new me doesn't seem to operate that way. We are well into the holiday season and my only decorations are a dish towel and a potholder with Saint Nick on them, which I pretty much use all year round due to lack of dish towels and potholders. So does that really count as 'putting out my holiday decorations?' I think not. And what brought all this holiday hoopla to my attention (because, apparently there just aren't enough ads on TV for me to notice) so sharply was the alarming fact that I might have a boyfriend. A boyfriend, who just might expect a little something from his girlfriend. I haven't had a holiday boyfriend in years (Andreas 2003). Uh oh. This is a tricky situation. We have only been dating a little over a month. Once a week type dating. I have absolutely NO IDEA what to present this man with at Christmastime.

We haven't even discussed spending time together at Christmas. He has a daughter and his family is all local. He'll, of course, spend the hols with his people. I, on the other hand, am wide open. But that's a minor detail really...I'm just anxious now about this whole Christmas giving thing. I don't think he'll appreciate my 'gift of charity'. I can't afford to go crazy, of course. He's a skier, but any of that paraphernalia is out my reach. He could stand a new wardrobe, but that is a bit personal at this stage. He doesn't read books (my signature gift), nor does he seem overly into music. I've never met his daughter, so I can't ask her. This is just one more indication of how impossible it is for this man to be labeled my boyfriend! I don't even know him! What do you give a boyfriend you barely know? (I'm actually open to suggestions here.)

Commitmentphobe

He did it again. Number 8. I was telling him about a story where my boss asked where Wedgewood was. Now my boss is, for one, a complete "know it all" and has lived in Seattle for at least 20 years. How can he not know where Wedgewood is? Sure Seattle is full of little neighborhoods - little neighborhood tucked within larger neighborhoods claiming their significant identity. But Wedgewood is one of the "oldies", not some new fangled, trendy neighborhood. So I'm telling this little story to #8, since that is his hood, and he says "you should have told him that's where your boyfriend lives."

I'm like a deer caught in the headlights. I can't speak. I just stare at him astonished. Unable to respond in any way at all.

"Boyfriend?" What is with this boyfriend shit? We'd only seen each other six times at this point. Six times within the last month. That does not constitute boyfriend commitment. A relationship. Coupledom.

I realize I do have a bit of a commitment-phobia. I can't quite commit to one job - one decent paying, satisfying, benefits supplying job. So I work one low paying, full-time job and pet sit, teach English and a Discover U class on the side, spending half my time at work researching other job opportunities.

I can't commit to a residence. I've been in my apartment for a year and a half and most of my wall hangings are either propped up against the walls or in a pile waiting to be framed nicely and hung on the vast bare ecru.

I won't buy a car because that would mean I'd have to commit to a job to pay for the car.

I'd like to return to school and earn a masters, but I can't commit to a program. TESOL? International studies? Cultural development studies? Instead I continue to take one day writing classes at Hugo House because I can't commit to the six or ten week courses!

I am able, however, to commit to my 6 week, without fail, L'oreal hair coloring session... and to my friends. They can count on me. At least where I am committed is worthwhile (I'm talking about the friends, not the hair color. Although that is worthwhile also.)

Sure, while I'd like a boyfriend thingy, of course, it still has to be the right guy, the right time. Six "dates" does not make you a couple. Maybe I'll change my mind after a little longer...like a few months at least.

Rather than to think how lucky I am to have a nice guy who wants to be with me and call me his "girlfriend", I'm thinking of running for the hills. What's wrong with me? (That's rhetorical!)

'Tis the Season- Cha Ching

As the Christmas season rears it's materialistic, commercialized head, I once again cringe at the thought of all the unnecessary spending that is about to commence. Or if you're one of the 'Black Friday' shoppers who was at the mall at 12.01 a.m. on the 23rd, you've already begun. The whole idea of the way we celebrate Christmas really turns me off, to put it as mildly as I can. The original purpose of Christmas has been completely lost for most people.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not against giving and receiving by any stretch. But isn't it a time to give 1. what is appropriate, 2. what we can afford, 3. from the heart, not the credit card account and most of all 4. a time for giving to those less fortunate? For most people I know, my circle of friends and family, buying ourselves things we want when we want them is pretty common place. So why are we breaking our necks running out to the crowded stores trying to frantically buy someone that special something, that they will just go out and buy themselves if they really want it?

I know I'm sounding like an old Scrooge, but that's not my point at all. I listen to people talk and it sounds like a contest to see who can spend all their money the fastest. People giving their loved ones "lists" of things they want for Christmas. Are you kidding me? Unless you're five, you should not be presenting anyone with a list. If someone truly wants to give me something, I'd rather they give me what they would like to give me. If it happens to be some ridiculous item I neither can use nor want, I will thank them anyway (because after all they were practicing the spirit of the holiday) and creatively find a use for the gift or find someone with a use.

Most people want to give what the person wants to receive, hence the list. If it's the wrong size, color etc., we trudge back to the sh op to return it. Ugh. More shopping. So to avoid that process, we give a list specifying the exact make, model, size, color and even who has it on sale this season, to make it easier on our gift giving friends.

Which brings me to my point. During my mother's last few years with us, she realized, as many of us should, that there really wasn't anything that she needed. And if she wanted something, she'd go buy it herself. She also didn't want us (adult and hard working) kids to spend our money on her. What she was really saying is that she didn't want us to spend our hard earned money on crap she didn't need. She just wanted our company on Christmas day and requested that we give our gift in the form of charity. She didn't care what charity. She simply asked us to choose our favorite charity and give a donation in lieu of gifts to her. That sounded great to us...so we did. And it felt good. Christmas day was simple. We still had a wonderful Christmas dinner, family time, our usual rousing card games and banter. But getting others on board with that idea hasn't been so easy. "What's Christmas without presents?" they often say.

I recently received an email from a friend encouraging this 'alternative to gift giving.' It was a great reminder of those last Christmas's with my mother, the spirit of Christmas and to remember all those who really are in need. I am currently making a very low wage at my job, pet sit for additional money, don't own a car and just got a notice that my rent will go up in January. But I feel extremely fortunate, because in all honesty, I really don't need anything from some store. Sure I have a few simple wants, which I will purchase myself as money permits.

As far as actual gift giving, mine are usually of the consumable, homemade sort. The thought is there, they don't clutter up the house and they have that 'personal' touch. Hope my friends won't be too disappointed when they realize the rest of their gift went to a charity.

Pulled Over For Bad Breath

Last week I was driving home from my new boyfriend's house (more on that later) after a little dinner, DVD and romancin', when I got pulled over by the police. I never get pulled over. I can't even remember the last time I got pulled over. Seriously, it had to be ten years ago...at least. It was about 12.30 or 1.00 in the morning so there was no one on the road. I was pretty sure the officer was going to tell me he pulled me over for illegal lane change. I was coming off the Mercer Street exit turning right onto Fairview Ave. That particular intersection is a little tricky because the roads go from two lanes on Mercer to four on Fairview, and you need to think ahead where you are going so you can choose what lane you need. Anyway, I am pretty sure I sort of slid on over into my lane without properly signaling, checking blind spots etc. It was late and as I said NO ONE was around. Except for my new friend, Officer Bill.

He approaches the car and says he pulled me over for veering over the fog line as I was coming off the exit and asked if I had been drinking. No. Am I tired? Not really, but it is late, so maybe I'm more tired than I think I am.

He asks again "are you sure you haven't had anything to drink tonight?" Okay, that is an entirely different question. I report that I had one glass of wine at around 7.00 p.m. with dinner, but nothing since (true statement).

"Oh, now I smell the wine," he says.

I confess that it's probably my bad onion and chile breath. My date had whipped up a meal of sauteed clams in onions, shallots, chiptole chiles and my breath was seriously suffering.

"No, I know the difference," says OB. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to have you step out of the car and do a roadside test." You've got to be kidding me? I've never had this happen before...and to be honest I'd driven with far more alcohol in my system back in the days of yesteryore. But I know arguing with OB is not going to do me any favors, so out of my vehicle I step.

I go through the entire charade of finger following, walking the line, and the one legged balance maneuver. I'm actually quite shaky because I'm a bit of a wreck. I was thinking how glad I was that it was 1.00 a.m. so there wasn't much traffic. It's a bit humiliating to be doing this test, especially when I know there can't possibly be any alcohol in my system five hours after consuming the stuff. I even told the officer that this whole process was a bit nerve wracking. He didn't find me too charming. And I am pretty self-conscious of my onion-laden breath.

After reducing me to feeling like a complete loser who M.A.D.D. should hunt down, he asks me to breathe into the bad-breath-a-lizer. The look on OB's face was priceless. Clearly, I'd blown a double ott.

With a look of total surprise he said, "okay, wow, that is some stinky wine!"

He was fairly apologetic about making me go through the whole process on account of nasty breath. I told him I understood. He was, after all, just doing his job. And if I had been drinking, then I definitely should not have been behind the wheel. No harm done.

He was actually pretty cute, but I couldn't stand around flirting with the guy...not with my current halitosis condition. I just wanted to get home and soak my mouth in Listerine!

Red Wine Allergies

Things could be progressing with Speed Dater #8 . We've gone out (or gotten together, rather) five times now. On our fourth date, we went for a two hour latte. I don't know how it is we have so much to talk about, but we do. I guess I'm a bit of a talker...and he's a bit of a talker...so you've got two jabber mouths vying for air time. While waiting for our lattes to be 'tossed out' at us at the ever busy Starbucks in my neighborhood, he looked around and asked if there was a place to sit. I said I was sure there was at the other end. And if not, he could kick someone out. He finds me humorous (points for him) and replies in his faux tough man voice, "hey, my girlfriend wants your seat. Move." We chuckle...hardy har. But what I'm actually thinking is, "Girlfriend? This guy doesn't think of me as a 'girlfriend' does he?" That can't be possible. This is our fourth date. Nah...he's just making the comment in jest, right? I'm pretty sure he had to be thinking, "Yikes, did I just call her my 'girlfriend'? She can't take it seriously, right? I was just role playing." Oh, the joys of dating. Communicating. Miscommunicating. Whatever, I let it drop.

So how am I feeling about #8 after five dates now? Well, he's totally not my type. Whatever that means, I'm not even 100% sure. I've dated all types. They are either all my type or none my type. Can't say for sure. I think #8 might be a titch too conservative for me. An ex-military fighter pilot, commercial pilot and now flight instructor conservative type. He's a bit of a goober in a cute sort of way. Hmmm...we definitely get along. I enjoy his company when I'm with him. Except for some of his clothing choices, I'm not cringing when I'm around him. His attire is a bit Jerry Seinfeldish. He's got a 14 year old daughter...doesn't she coach him at all?

And, yes, the 14 year old daughter. THAT works out quite well for me. He's busy with her at least half the time...which keeps me stalker free.

So five dates. I know what you are all asking now. On our second date we had a nice dinner at an Indian restaurant then went back to his for a movie. I noted that he ordered chai tea at the restaurant and he chose an Indy film. More points for him ...for a conservative guy he's willing to branch out a bit. After the film, we did a little smoochin' on the sofa. He was eager to get busy, but I put the kibosh on his plan and left before things heated up too much. I'm a lady after all (anyone who knows me can just stop snickering at this point).

He came by to pick me up for our third dinner date. I invited him in for some wine first. It was a Friday. We'd both had long hard work weeks. We were ready to unwind a bit. I have a tendency to suffer from wine allergies. My nose stuffs up almost immediately, I begin to sneeze and sniffle. However, this time the wine had an entirely different affect. After two bottles, my clothes fell off! I can't say that's never happened before...but it'd been a really long time. So yes, my friends, my sexual moratorium has been lifted. Finally. And I have to say, although I don't think this guy is my type...he's definitely fun in the sack. So I may need to keep him around for a bit. I know that sounds a little crass. But it's not as if I'm using him or anything. Surely he's getting something from our time together as well. Besides, I'm not getting any signals that he is feeling any differently about me. He seems to enjoy my company enough, but he's not mushy, overly attentive, or complimentary in any way. I think we are probably on the same wavelength. As long as he doesn't go referring to me as his "girlfriend" without my consent, we'll be just fine.

Forever Shopping?

Oh this 'transitioning' bit is much more challenging than I'd imagined! A mid-life crisis used to be simply a matter of buying a red corvette convertible, touring the countryside and having various torrid affairs with young hotties (Oh, look at that! A red corvette just passed by as I finished writing that sentence! No kidding.) I suppose if that was all there was to it, a lot more of us would be jumping on the mid-life crisis band wagon.

But no, it is actually more complicated than that, unfortunately. Rather than the red corvette and countryside tour, I flew off on a jet plane and did the European tour, otherwise, my 'crisis' was pretty much of the traditional sort. And I highly recommend it! However, it's the transitioning from the 'crisis' portion to the 'next phase' portion where things get tricky.

Not willing to revert back to where I began: a cubical corporate job which is "safe" yet soul sucking and meaningless. But not having found the perfect job after all this time, nor having found Mr. Perfect in the process either. Why is that? Are the two issues closely related? I think they are. Being in the wrong job is quite like being in the wrong marriage. Both can be stifling, make you feel trapped, stuck or defeated, along with a lot of other negative emotions. And many of the qualities we look for in a job are similar to those we look for in a partner:

1. We want to feel good (both emotionally and physically) with our job/partner.

2. We want to feel we are getting something from our job/partner.

3. We want to feel we are making a positive contribution in our job/relationship.

4. We want to wake up and be excited to be involved with our job/partner.

5. We want to feel important in our job/to our partner.

6. We want respect from our job/partner.

7. We want to have fun with our job/partner.

Right, the criteria is pretty similar. So if I'm seeking the same criteria from both my job AND my partner and haven't found the perfect fit in either category, am I being too demanding? Probably. Should I be that demanding? Definitely.

In talking to a fellow single and actively dating friend the other night, we commented on how people in relationships will often tell us that we might be "too picky." What they are really saying is "just settle...that's what we did."

Thanks anyway. I'll keep shopping.

Stalker Report

A few of you gave me some very sound advice on how to handle this stalker fellow. I really appreciate the feedback. Because I was out of town on business and did not have ample opportunity to cancel this date within a reasonable amount of time, I kept my promise and went on the date. I think calling on the day of the date to say I've had a change of heart might have been a little harsh somehow. So I met him at Elysian Brewery (nothing too dimly lit or romantic in atmosphere) where he says to me "how do you know about this place?" Ummm....I've lived in the area for almost 30 years. He had never been or heard of it, which I found interesting given that he works at Group Health just up the road. Whatever. Everyone can't know everything about every bar in this town. I'll give him a break.

After a couple hours of chatting, he wants to know what the "deal" is with women. We say we want a 'nice' guy, but we really don't. Well, I assured him that I, in fact, DO want to date a 'nice' guy, however, that is not the only quality I look for in a man. As I am sure is the case with most woman (and men) that I know. Nice is not a specific enough description for me to determine if I want to date someone. A lot of people are nice. As a matter of a fact, most people I meet are nice. That doesn't mean we are a match.

I told him what the "deal" was with me. I explained that I was dating other people and that until I find the one person I want to date continually, I am dating. I explained that his constant phone calls, followed up by emails and more phone calls were too much. He needs to back off. He advised me that based on our initial conversation when I told him I was not a phone person, he had toned it way down for my benefit. Wow. If that was the toned down version of this man, I can only imagine what he's normally like.

Besides being an insecure and needy stalker, we really do not have a thing in common. My idea of a romantic evening in might be some nice wine, a cozy fire and a rousing game of scrabble. His was curling up in a blanket to watch Spongebob Square Pants. Need I say more.

The 44 Year Old Dating Novice

I've never been much of a dater. I used to joke that I married my ex-husband because he was the first guy to come along and really treat me well. I was 19 when we met.

In high school I never had a boyfriend, a Steady Eddie to ask to all those Tolos (Sadie Hawkins, girl ask boy dances). I always had to drum up some pal or ask some guy who'd be too nice to say no. It was awful and, although I went through the motions, I was really never thrilled about the actual date portion of the evening. It was more just being part of the event. Usually I was on the committee that planned these dances, so it seemed only natural that I'd attend. But they were never quite as fun as the anticipation- like so many things in life, I've since learned.

So here I am... a 44 year old woman once again trying to date. It's been a long time since I was as excited about the date himself as I was about the outfit I'd wear.

So far the only thing that has developed from the speed dating event last week is a tentative date with #8 and #11 stalker. Yes, #8 (the avid skier) did contact me and we decided to make a date for Sunday pending my arrival back to Seattle from my Eastern Washington work trip. Nice that he is being flexible, but we'll see if I make it back in time.

#11, the stalker, is kinda making me crazy. He calls every day and emails once or twice a day. THIS is why I don't give out my number very readily. And no, this is not in any way 'sweet.' He is a needy, insecure, demanding sort who is getting on my nerves and we haven't even had our first date yet (scheduled for Tuesday). I am seriously considering cancelling. Is it rude to cancel before Tuesday explaining that I've had a change of heart based on our very frequent email and phone conversations? Or is it meaner to go through with the date, and then tell him we are not a match? Neither one seems like a very good option. But option three, feigning serious illness and then never calling him again, is definitely not my style...as much as I wish it were.

I'm just a terrible dater. I wish I were better at it, but when you marry the guy you meet at 19 and stay together for 18 years, you're pretty much going to lack the dating skills that most people develop in their 20's!

Post Speed Dating Review

Because my new job thingy required a trip to Yakima and back yesterday, I had to opt out of any of the Halloween invites I'd previously received, but was able to get back in time to swing by the Karma Martini Lounge in Belltown for my originally schedule Speed Dating event. Aaah, yes, speed dating. It's an interesting concept and one I rather enjoy. Just go out, meet and talk to 10 guys within a couple hours, cast your votes for the ones you want to see again...and see what happens. It's so much less time consuming than the tedious task of regular Internet dating.

So how did it go, you may be asking. Let me give you the run down.

Pre-Dater #11 (the first gentleman for me to meet) was immediately annoyed by my use of the word "chemistry." As in, "I'm looking for someone with whom I connect, have a spark and there is a chemistry." Yeah, apparently this fella has been bombarded with the word chemistry. Six minutes of pretty much him gagging over the use of that word. Alrighty then. Moving on.

Pre-Dater #10, a tall fella with long hair and pleasant smile, seemed interesting in some way, but honestly I can't really remember any details about him...except that he works outside a lot, in various neighborhoods. A general contractor? I don't think so. Real Estate? Ummmm...no, that wasn't it. Six minutes. Six very quick minutes to talk to these men. No real time to jot down notes.

Pre-Dater #9 informs me that he technically isn't exactly divorced. He was...he thought, but now he's not. Huh? Apparently, his wife, err ex-wife, stirred up some trouble after the divorce was final and got the divorce voided?? Yeah, I'm not sure what that is all about. I don't really care. Too messy for me. Next!

Pre-Dater #8. Oooh, here we go. He's a hottie. Stunning blue eyes and dark hair. A total turn on. An avid skier. Yum yum. Works...somewhere??? Who cares. I'm digging him. Oh, but that darn bell goes off and we have to rotate already! Oh well. Hopefully, we'll get to talk again in the near future.

Pre-Dater #7, a dentist in West Seattle (which I find out later is actually Burien. Burien is not West Seattle...at least it is not the same as West Seattle) and a collector of classic muscle cars. Other than getting a ride in his '68 Camaro, not really feeling any reason to reconnect with this one.

Pre-Dater #6 is a super smiley fella, lives nearby, skis, runs, hikes etc... Although I'd love to meet a skier/hiker and general outdoorsy guy, there was just something about him that didn't work for me. It might have been the smile. It was almost too much. Like Stan Laural of Laural and Hardy. It was distracting.

Pre-Dater #5 enjoys sci-fi movies and computer games. Ummm...yeah. Say no more.

Pre-Dater #4 is into salsa dancing and learning to play his guitar.

Almost done here.

Pre-Dater #3 was a cutie pie. Geographically not so compatible (lives in Everett), a Boeing Engineer, with a degree in Industrial Art. I think that is what he said...I was a little distracted by his cuteness.

Pre-Dater #2. I can't remember one thing about this guy. I didn't write down one notation. I only remember that I most definitely did not want to get together with him again.

Pre-Daters #1 and #12 were a no show. So that was it. Ten fellas. Six minutes each. Time to go home and make our choices on line and see if there are any 'matches'.

But before I go home, I am sitting at the bar finishing my vodka martini and Pre-Dater #11 comes over to me and begins talking. He sits down and orders a beer and we continue to chat...and chat...and we're laughing and having a decent time actually. Reminder: this is the guy who was pretending to slit his wrists when I used the word "chemistry." He manages to wrangle my phone number from me. I rarely give my number out and I'm not sure what made me do it now. Must have been the vodka martini. He walked me to my car two and half hours later. I'm not at all attracted to this man. But honestly, it was an enjoyable couple of hours. We gave each other a friendly little hug goodbye. I wasn't even home yet when I received a text message from him. I don't answer. I don't pay for text, so I don't use it as a rule.

Here's the problem. I cast my votes when I got in last night. I voted for #'s 8 (obviously, he was totally hot AND a skier), 3 and 10. I wasn't too into #10, but felt like I should give him a shot. But what about #11? We spent the rest of the night chatting. I gave him my number. How can I totally blow him off now and not vote for him? It's awkward. So I click the "yes" button. Shut my computer down and go to bed.

This morning he called and left a long and detailed voice message. He then left a message for me on the Cupid.com site. Uh oh. What have I done? Have I got a stalker on my hands?

I checked my 'matches' this morning and only numbers 10 and, of course, 11 matched with me. My other two choices did not pick the funny, fun and smart, sexy Wander Woman. Oh well. I did get picked by numbers 9 (the one in the middle of a divorced vs not divorced conflict), 7, the dentist with the muscle cars, 4, the guitar playing salsa dancer, 2, who I remember nothing about, and 6, Stan Laural. Okay, so the only three out of ten who did NOT pick me where the two I wanted to see again and the computer game playing geek. Terrific.

I am debating about giving Stan a try. He could be worth giving the time of day. I am just not certain.

I'll keep you posted on follow up dates...if they should occur.

Coffee Shop or Fish Market?

Two of Seattle's claims to fame are our coffee expertise and our local fish market...where they "toss" the fish. Whenever a visitor comes to Seattle, we locals generally make sure our guests visit the Pike Place Market to witness the fish toss and to take a peak at the original Starbucks Coffee Shop. You'd better advise your guests, however, which is which...because, frankly, it's getting harder and harder to tell the difference!

Let's take the WAMU Center Starbucks location for example. If you arrive anytime before 9.00 a.m. you'll stand in a line practically out the door, while baristas are yelling orders down the line.
"Can I help you get your order started, Ma'am?" They call out.

"Who me?" I turn to look around me. I'm seven people back from the ordering case. Could they be yelling down the line at me? "Um, I'll 'ave the pum...eh hem...eh HEM," I clear my throat, trying to wake my voice up. It's the first time I've spoken yet today and I've got morning voice...and it's definitely not ready to yell out my order through a crowd of businessmen. Getting my vocal chords in check, I call out "I'll have a tall, pumpkin spice, non-fat, no whip latte, please!" But I'm still a bit squeaky.

Barista: "What's your name?"

"Loreley," I croak.

Barista, writing on a paper cup and yelling down the line of baristas on the other side of the counter: "one tall, pumpkin spice, non-fat, no whip latte for Loreley!"

I just love that everyone in line 1. knows my name and 2. knows what I'm ordering. And they also know I can't speak before nine a.m.

I eventually make it to the cashier.

"What are we making for you?" he asks.

"A tall, pumpkin spice, non-fat, no whip latte."

"That will be a gazillion dollars." Cause it may as well be on my low income. But I continue to spend my precious greenbacks on these stupid fancy lattes! And pumpkin spice is seasonal....it's not going to be around forever.

Finally, I'm part of the crowd gathering around the "order pick up" area where there's a frenzy of drink orders being yelled out, names hollered, and cups tossed on the counter. People push ahead to claim their drink. I swear my cup is going to come flying at me like a Sockeye Salmon at the fish market and I'm going to have to shoot my hand up and catch it in midair! It's just a bit too stressful for a morning coffee experience.

Where are the days of sitting down with a cup of coffee, that comes served to us in a ceramic cup and saucer style apparatus? We sip it casually while chatting with a friend or co-worker. Instead we grab our paper cup and hurry out into the world, back to the office, with our coffee getting cold and spilling out of the little hole from which we are suppose to slurp it. Sigh.

We may be the experts on making the coffee drinks, but we need a lesson from our European friends on how to serve, drink and truly enjoy it.

Bring Back the Fancy Frock

Last Saturday was my 15 yr old niece's first Homecoming Dance. A few weeks ago I went dress shopping with her and her mother. I was surprised at how fancy the dresses were for these events nowadays (I know I'm starting to sound old). They were even categorized "Homecoming Dresses" or "Social Dresses." I had use of a car on Saturday, so I drove up to Bothell to hang out and watch her get ready for her date. She and the other gals from school had spent the entire afternoon at the salon getting their hair coiffed into 'up dos', mani's, pedi's and makeup applied. Even tanning appointments were the norm. By the time they were done they looked like bridesmaids and movie stars, not teenage homecoming dates. My niece looked gorgeous all glammed up for her big night. Oooh-la-la. When was the last time you got all dolled up like that? I am pretty sure my last time was my wedding...twenty years ago! Twenty years? Can that be right? How is it that I am an adult and never have an occasion to really go all out and get "fancified?

On Friday I went to see Spamalot at the Paramount Theater. Going to the theater used to be an occasion for dressing up. Not any more. At least not in Seattle. I wore a pair of dress slacks, a sheer top and heels and my date, who was sporting jeans, said "oh, you got dressed up." Dressed up? Since when are slacks and a pretty top considered "dressed up?" But he was right. By Seattle standards, I guess I was kinda dressy. My 22 year old niece who lives on Long Island has an entire wardrobe of evening gowns and matching shoes. Okay, sure, that's Long Island. I get it. But even so. I don't own ONE (although I do have the 'special occasion' shoes! You know, the ones that look dazzling, but you can't actually walk in them.)

I'll walk along 5th Ave and glance in the windows as I pass by viewing the formal gowns glimmering behind the glass and wonder "Who is buying this stuff? And where are the going in it?" Occasionally, I'll spot someone donning an evening gown at the symphony, the opera or ballet, but it's rare. And it's usually a woman over 60. A woman who remembers the day when we used to make these events, 'real' events worth getting dressed up for.

Granted, I am guilty of running around town in all too casual wear myself many days. I walk dogs in the afternoon, so the attire is jeans and sneakers...but even so, I make an attempt at looking "put together" in my dog walking uniform. It's a challenge to run around this rainy city wearing anything less than Wellingtons and Crocks, but I, for one, wouldn't mind stepping it up a bit. I mean, it's important to feel princess-like once in a while, even as an adult! Or is that especially as an adult?

Limit Reached

Well, I think I've finally reached my threshold. My financially drained, bargain basement limit. It was last week that did me in. Prior to last week, I was in dog walker heaven. The beautiful golden days of autumn were mine for the taking. Taking dogs for a walk through the parks, that is. It was brisk enough to warrant a fleece vest, but nothing more. The rich marigold and orange-rust leaves crisp under our feet, we scooted along happily wagging our tails. It was delightful. And after the walks, a visit to Joe Bar, my favorite coffee shop slash gallery was always a treat. Oh yes, life was good.

And then last week happened. The rain. The wind. The hail. The heavy traffic due to said rain, wind and hail. The dogs weren't happy. I wasn't happy. We walked...we got wet. But even that wasn't the most annoying. Getting from one neighborhood to the next in this town without a car is tricky enough on a good weather day. Toss in some inclimate weather, nasty traffic, an accident or two, some power outages, and it's a royal nightmare. I made it through Monday and Tuesday with little incident. We even to managed to get a reprieve from the heaviest rains during the walks. Not bad actually. Some wet paws, but nothing that couldn't be handled by a mere toweling at the door.

It was Wednesday my downward spiral began. I had three whole things to do that day. Just three. In three different neighborhoods; Yoga in Lower Queen Ann, a dog walk on Capitol Hill, and a meeting at the language school on Lake Union. These three little things on my calendar took me an entire day to achieve due to bad weather, heavy traffic, late and missed buses! While walking from my apartment to my first bus I got drenched up to my knees (three blocks). Due to heavy traffic on Denny, the bus was late. I got off at Westlake only to see my connecting bus whizzing past me spraying water so high I looked like I had gotten caught in a tidal wave by the time I got to my appointment, fifteen minutes late.

Crabby, damp and disgruntled by the time I got home at 8 pm (for a total earnings of $12.00), I was looking forward to my next pet/house sitting gig in Ballard that provided me with a vehicle. Well, Thursday the winds kicked up, power outages ensued, and once again, traffic was stalled. It took over a half hour to drive one mile from one dog walking gig to the next. I wanted to pull over somewhere, park the car and walk, but I was stuck. No where to pull over to. Again, it took me the good part of a day just to walk three sets of dogs. Only one got caught in the rain, and one in 30 mph winds. They didn't seem too bothered...and I tried to keep my chin up ... and head down as I plowed through the weather.

Friday brought heavy rains which turned into a hail storm. I had an 11.00 interview in Ballard (Yes, an interview. Time to find an actual job I'm afraid), and my next dog walking appointment was 2.00 p.m. I left the interview at 1.00 p.m., sat in traffic for twenty minutes at the Ballard Bridge. Finally, a police car came and closed off the entrance. I turned the car out of line and headed toward Capitol Hill via Fremont and University Bridge. An exhausting hour later I arrived at the Capitol Hill house. Walked the dogs in soggy weather, left to head back to Ballard for my last walk of the day. On the way, it pours buckets! I wait for it to let up a bit before getting my last dog leashed up. But he's impatient. He's ready to walk!

Taking a deep breath, I realize this traipsing across town for a few bucks here and there just isn't going to help my financial cause. Not knowing how I'm ever going to pay my rent in two weeks, I met with the interviewer a second time. We discussed salary. It's not great, but the job sounds interesting with a little better potential than dog walking. So I shook his hand, hung up my leashes and I begin my new job on Monday.

A Trip to the Movies

Last weekend I went to see the movie "Into the Wild." Although I'd never gotten around to reading the book (one of those many on my long list of "to reads."), I knew the premise. I'd read enough reviews and snippets and had heard people talk about the best selling book when it first came out. So I was aware of the general facts, as well as, the tragic ending. Even so, I was willing to pay $9 to see this movie.

This film was so powerful and touching that my tears began from the opening scene where our leading man is writing a postcard to a friend and continued right on through the rest of the film. I cried my eyes out- no, sobbed- for over two solid hours! As if the breathtaking cinematography, the poetic and loving tone of the narrator (the star's sister), and the spirituality of nature weren't enough, I'd just begin to get myself under control when the moving lyrics and passionate vocals of Eddie Vedder would burst through the speakers. The waterworks would crank up all over again.

At one point I had to step out to use the toilet (I am unable to go longer than a 90 minute stint without a potty break). I'd regained my senses, blown my nose, taken a deep breath before re-entering the dark solemn theater. As soon as I did, I saw our star, Chris, on the screen saying goodbye to the old man he'd befriended en route. What the conversation had been just prior, I could only imagine, but imagine I did, and the tears were once again streaming down my face as I was looking for my seat!

As the closing scene came upon us (finally), the camera pulled back to view the Magic [grave] Bus surrounded by Alaskan Wilderness in springtime. A bittersweet heartbreak. You could have heard a pin drop but for all the sniffling and nose blowing. I thought I could pull myself together enough to exit the theater with a shred of dignity, when a last note suddenly flashed on the screen. A note that his sister flew over Alaska spreading her deceased and much loved brother's ashes. Okay, I've just about had enough. By this time, I am exhausted and a complete mess.

Unfortunately, we were seated at the end of the row, so needed to exit to let others pass. I really did need more time...to sit in the dark...pretending to read the credits. My much more stoic friend and I scampered off into the ladies lounge where I attempted to compose myself and put eye drops in my ruby red peepers. Thing is, from observing the other women in there, it didn't appear anyone else had suffered from a severe case of cryingitis the way I had.

All in all, it was a powerful and inspiring story. One that will speak to you and stay with you long after the credits roll. A highly recommended, heart wrenching, tear jerker, if you're into that sort of thing. Anyone know of a good comedy out now?

Speed Dating 101

So I finally caved and signed up for one of those speed dating events. I went to one, as kind of a lark, in June 2006. It was suppose to be just a fun night out. Having just returned from Europe and realizing I had no single girlfriends left to troll with (they'd all acquired boyfriends, husbands and babies while I was away), I found myself sitting on the couch with my Blockbuster videos too many Saturday nights. I went with an open mind just to see what this event was all about. Ten men, six minutes with each one. It's actually a great way for some of us non-internet daters to sift through the muck. For me, wading through the plethora of (mostly) losers and liers on line and all the BS they shell out is exhausting. But in six minutes, or less, I can learn a LOT. First, is there an immediate attraction? No bluffing with the six year old photo when you're meeting face to face in an, albeit, dimly lit bar. Second, the guy's ability at quick wit and humor is apparent right off the bat. If someone doesn't 'get me' right up front, then they aren't going to get me...ever. And third, you can tell right away if you want to spend additional time getting to know this person. So not a lot of time is wasted in dozens of emails, eharmony stages, photo sharing, finding time to set up an actual date etc...

And, the last time I did go through this speedy process I met two great guys to date. After dating them both for about a month, things seemed to be getting a little more serious with one, so I had to let the other one go. Once I start sleeping with a guy, I just can't bring myself to continue dating other guys. Call me old fashion.

So now, a year after that relationship ended, I decided to sign up for another round. Why not? And if I don't meet anyone to date, it'll still be an interesting night out. However, the event is October 27th, the Saturday before Halloween. This fact was lost on me until I recently began getting several Halloween invites. Pumpkin carving parties, the Maris Farms Haunted Corn Field event, Halloween parties - the options were limitless. So the question is, do I cancel my speed dating event and postpone it to the next available date? Or just go and 'get it over with' so to speak? I'm toying with this question, when it occurs to me, "what guys will sign up for speed dating on Halloween Saturday?" Right, guys who have no Halloween parties, plans or friends to trick or treat with. Are these the kind of men I want to meet? Mmmm...Probably not.

Living in the (Caribbean) Clouds

Oh man. One of my dearest old high school buddies just sent me an email inviting me to go on a Caribbean cruise with her and two of her gal pals in January. I would absolutely LUV LUV LUV to go. Never mind that I never even considered a cruise before. It never seemed like my kind of vacation. All that preplanned organized structure. Eating with the same people every meal. Stopping at designated ports of call. Being on a time schedule. I always figured I'd be certain to miss the boat because I would be off fraternizing with the locals at some little beach taverna. I'd end up paying for a local fisherman to ferry me to the next port to catch up with the ship. Yes, this is my vision of me on a cruise.

Actually, that exact thing happened on a small day trip of island hopping in Greece. I was in a shop chatting with the owner. When I arrived at the harbor at what I thought was the correct time, the boat was not there. It was there a second ago when I went into the shop. I'm sure of it. I wasn't in there that long, was I? Anyway, another boat agreed to take me to meet up with my boat at one of the destinations. Unfortunately, I missed out on a whole stop. Oh well...it worked out. But you see how my gift of gab can get me into trouble.

So why am I so hell bent on going on this cruise with my friend? Well, first of all, I haven't been anywhere in months (again, forget the NY trip this summer...that was a family thing...not a 'vacation', exactly). Secondly, everyone...and I mean everyone swears that I would love a cruise. Everyone I've ever talked to has loved a cruise, even those who didn't think it would be for them. Some say it still isn't their preferred method of vacationing, but they had a great time and were glad they went. And thirdly, I know I'd have a blast with my friend....on this cruise thing...in the Caribbean (which I most certainly love!). She and I have been friends for 27 years and when we are together, which is not often enough, there is a LOT of laughing going on.

So what's the problem? You guessed it....$$$$. Get job, no vacation time accrued to take cruise. No job, no money to pay for vacation. Riddle me that? How is this very underemployed girl going to pay for such an extravagance? Getting a decent paying job to pay for said cruise would mean not having vacation yet to actually take said cruise. But at the rate I'm going now, how would I even consider paying for a cruise? It's such a vicious cycle....this whole job, vacation, eating thing.

Then there are all the other vacations swirling around in my head. My teacher friend in Oman is expecting me in March. My ski/golf buddy is begging me to go to Key Stone in December. I'm contemplating going back to school the first of the year. Where is all this imaginary money coming from? I barely made my rent this month.

You know how you hear about divorced money? Whenever there is a woman who has a surplus of cash people whisper "well, she's been married twice. She must have gotten huge settlements." I don't know that money. My ex-husband is the resident and current owner of "our" former home which has tripled in value. He also owns the ski condo which has done the same. He has just purchased a fancy wancy Audi something or other, and has a doctor girlfriend. Yeah....divorced money? Heaven knows I'm no financial wizard. Actually, I'm wizardly enough, I just refuse to conform to the normal ways it takes to actually have dough. I'll get there...eventually. In the meantime, I need to figure out a way to go on ALL my vacations, pay my rent, go back to school AND eat now and then.

Yeah yeah...I know, someone who is truly destitute would have a hay day with this post!

What's Missing?

It's been five years since my divorce. Five years and I haven't met anyone "special" who has swept me off my feet. Well, one guy swept me onto my @$$ as he semi-broke my heart and disappeared into the abyss. But honestly, that wasn't a long-term serious thing anyway. So, no...no one has tripped along coming even close to being my 'soul mate', my 'life long partner' or anything remotely boyfriendish. Not even a regular fella to date more than once or twice.

When I first left my husband, all I wanted was to be alone. I wanted to "see the riviera and watch the sun come up in a stranger's arms" as Cheryl Crow would croon in the song that resonated with me and my situation at the time. And I got exactly what I wanted. I'd never really been alone having met my husband my first year at college and never really dating much before then. I used to joke that I married the first decent guy who paid attention to me. After almost 18 years together, alone was definitely what I craved. I basked in my aloneness and my freedom. And I still do most of the time. It's quite freeing not to have anyone else's agenda to consider while considering what I feel like doing on any given day.

Yesterday, after a rainy walk and exploration of the amazing and tropical Volunteer Park Conservatory, I snuggled down to watch "Pillow Talk" with Doris Day and Rock Hudson. Oh, Rock...now there's a man. Mmmm. In the beginning of the film, Doris makes a comment about how much she likes living alone. She has a great apartment, a terrific career as an interior decorator and dates eligible gentlemen who take her out to nice places. What could be missing? To which her maid says "If you have to ask, you're definitely missing it."

Mmmm....good point.

The other day I saw my friend, J, who had just seen my ex-husband. So she gave me the update on his life. Although we don't speak (his choice, not mine), I still like to know what he's up to and that he's doing well. J informed me that he was very happy with his new gal. I knew that they'd been together...well, pretty much since the day I said I wanted a divorce. He wasted no time filling the void I left. That's fine. My choice was to be alone. That was not his choice and he made that clear. Good for him. We both got what we wanted...and needed. I am truly happy that he found someone better suited for him and he is happy. I'd be riddled with guilt if he was alone trying to find that someone to share life with, while I was traipsing through Europe having a hay day and sowing oats like a mad woman.

However, what I don't really need to know are the details. His new woman is Dr. Perfect (yes, a pediatric oncologist), an architect (she drew plans for their house remodel), basically a genius from what I'm told. She is Croatian - the most beautiful women in the world according to Croatian men, as well as many other men around the globe. She speaks at least three languages fluently and she managed to get my ex to support her during the last five years as she isn't qualified to practice medicine in the States. She hasn't taken the US exams yet. She is a genius. I couldn't get the guy to entertain the idea of me quitting my miserable insurance job unless I had a job lined up. No unemployment in our house by golly. He wasn't about to carry the load even for a few weeks. She hit it off with my ex-doctor who chewed me out royally for leaving my husband, and to top it off she has the metabolism of a gnat!

No I'm not bitter. Envious? Possibly. Of course, I'm glad he has found someone great. As I said, riddled with guilt otherwise. But sheesh. Does she have to be soooooooooo much better? Clearly, I wouldn't give a rat's @$$ if I had Mr. Perfect sleeping in my bed. This I do realize.

Well, off I go...to carry on with my well-made single life. Which I do enjoy....yes, I do.

Turn Down the Sex, Please!

A friend recently emailed me making the statement "where did the year go?" while referring to our last get together: a trip to Cabo...in JANUARY! Good question. Where did the year go? And how did I forget to have sex for an entire year? Well 'forget' isn't exactly what happened. It was just a year ago that my last boyfriend thingy (still not sure if 'boyfriend' was an accurate title for this dude) and I broke up. One year ago we were standing on a street corner after brunch on a beautiful autumn Sunday with me saying "I'd rather be alone than in a lonely relationship." He stared back at me blankly. We went our separate ways. Who'd have thunk I'd actually be alone for an entire year? Certainly not me. Not saying I regret my decision that day-a whole year ago. Not in the least. Although I do think of this fella far more often than I care to admit. One friend chastised me saying "you don't quit the job before getting another one first." I disagree. If the job isn't paying, I don't keep showing up to work, regardless of having an office with a sound view.

So I've pretty much become resigned to my situation. I embrace my aloneness with both hands (literally sometimes). I really do enjoy my solitude for the most part. I read a lot. Write tons. Watch silly romantic movies that only a girl can love. Listen to music. Putter endlessly. I go to bed late and wake up late. I go out with the girls, meet friends for coffee, walk miles every day and go to yoga. And date. Occasionally. Very occasionally.

But the shoe is about to drop. I'm about to reach my limit. That final straw is about to break this camel's back! It's my new upstairs neighbors. They are at it nearly every night. The first time I witnessed the sex romp I was caught off guard. I didn't even know what was happening. It had been so long since I was present at such a function I didn't even recognize the sounds. I was sitting at my computer. My television was on. Suddenly I heard an odd noise. I couldn't make it out. Was it coming from my TV? It didn't seem to fit? Oh ... wait....it's ... yes...it's sex noise. Oh Lordy. Why oh why do I need to hear this???

And their sessions always seem to start while I'm watching Sex and the City. How appropriate. Last night during the opening scene I hear the very subtle beginnings of bed springs squeaking...it continued on throughout the entire episode...bang bang bang, squeakin' and squawking, huffin' and puffin'. The moans and the groans. It was a full blown noise making roll in the hay which lasted the entire thirty minutes of Sex and the City and spilled right on into Will and Grace! I was getting tired and sore just listening to them. Shows how out of condition I am. No amount of walking and yoga is going to prepare me for a night like they're having!

I really wanted to pound the ceiling with a broom handle but didn't want to seem the crabby, old, jealous, bitter bitch below who hasn't had sex in a year. And I do remember my 2004 summer in Greece when my live-in boyfriend and I had our little siesta breaks....and how all the little old ladies on our street would eye us as we left our apartment. Yeah, admittedly I've been there. So I tried to focus on the television and forget what I was hearing from above.

Tonight I can hear them wrestling around up there...foreplay I suppose. Hey, at least they aren't fighting. They seem to be quite the 'loving' couple. Blast it all anyway.

Ladies Who Lunch

I was really looking forward to being unemployed for the month of September. I had worked full time for the previous five months for heaven sake and I needed a break (okay, we'll just forget that little old two week NY vacation I took in August). At any rate, I was going to bask in my life of leisure.

Well, for a lady of leisure I've been far busier than I'd imagined. Since my last day at SAM, I've been busier than a one-armed-paper hanger. Part of my problem is I have a tendency to over volunteer myself.

"Sure, I'm happy to do it," I hear myself saying. "I'm not working. What else do I have to do all day?" What else do I have to do? Pretty much everything else. Reorganize my desk drawers, clean closets, find affordable health care so I can see a doctor soon, frame pictures, hang framed pictures, read Dr. Seuss sized stack of books and magazines, watch videos borrowed from friend a month or more ago, look for job. I have plenty to keep me busy.

So far over the past few weeks I've volunteered to help Seattle Learning Academy with a marketing table at a function one Saturday day afternoon and evening. I also volunteered to post fliers around three neighborhoods on foot. This took two entire afternoons. I agreed to walk two dogs daily on Capitol Hill for half my quoted price (I'm not working, I needed the dough. I gave them the introductory price.) After my bus commute over there and back, I'm making about $3. Hmmm, I'm a shrewd businesswoman, I am.

I've spent three afternoons canvassing the Greenwood neighborhood with fliers from a new doggy daycare, Spawz Doggie Daycare and Swim Center. If I was getting paid by the calories burned rather than by the hour, I'd be pulling in some serious cash. Many of those houses are up steep flights of massive stairs. It's always nice to get all the way to the top before seeing the "no soliciting" sign. Luckily I do like a good workout!

I pet sat overnight eight days at two different households which involves taking care of the pets and the households. I helped a friend pick up a car she just bought from my ex-husband and ferried her to her doctor appointment. And I manage to get to yoga a few times a week.

So where is all the coffee shop down time I was imagining? The lounging around the park writing the next best selling Oprah novel about a 40 year old woman who leaves life as she knows it to tramp around Europe, Asia or just the opposite side of the States trying to 'find herself' (Eat, Pray, Love, Desert Sojourn, Without Reservations, A Year By The Sea) ?

Okay so maybe there are enough of those books anyway. But as for my sweet unemployed life...maybe I'll have more downtime this week. This last week of lovely September.

A Penny Saved...Not Worth the Headache Earned

The Question:

How DO you get nail polish out of carpet?

The Recap:

Wednesday 11.45 p.m.

In an effort to save money during this 'underemployment' period, I decided to economize and rather than go to my local nail salon, I would do my own mani/pedi at home (salon price $25). So I hunker down for my evening Sex and the City ritual and proceed to polish. Afterwards, I spray my nails with quick dry, wait a few more minutes and begin to prepare for bed. At which time, I scoop up my nail products to put them away and for some reason, the polish cap hadn't been replaced tight and the entire bottle of Mrs. O'Leary's BBQ (O.P.I.) went crashing to the floor but not without splashing this beautiful shade of BBQ onto my coffee table, sofa and BEIGE carpet! I was so angry with myself! I've been polishing my nails since I was twelve and, although I've spilled a drop here or there on various surfaces which I was able to easily remove, I've NEVER spilled on furniture or carpet! I was beside myself. I was so upset with this fumble, I couldn't even address it. If I tried to clean it up while it was wet, it would just smear all over more of the carpet. In my experience with nail polish, it's usually best to leave it alone and let it dry. Then it can often be 'picked' off more easily. I took several long deep breaths and made myself walk away from this disaster. I'm so pissed off at myself, I don't even know where to begin anyway. I'd have to deal with it in the morning. After my own nails were also fully dry.

Thursday 9.00 a.m.

I walked into my living room only to find the nail polish debacle was, in fact, real. Not a dream as I had hoped. It's not only there, but it's baaaad. I couldn't have spilled the clear topcoat, or some softer less noticeable color like 'flesh' or 'nude'. No, I always were bright or dark colors. Great. I donned my rubber gloves and began with the first product of choice. Nail polish remover. Well, as any of you know, nail polish remover is tricky business and must be dealt with the utmost care. I used the non-acetone version. I was afraid of what the acetone might do to my carpet. Which by the way was brand new when I moved in and I've treated it with kid gloves for the past year. I always remove my shoes and ask my guests to do the same. I am careful about eating from the sofa and vacuum regularly.

The non-acetone remover was not really doing much of anything.

Thursday 9.30 a.m. Put out an A.P.B.

Call first friend, W, to get advice. "Use Spot Shot," she says. "That stuff is amazing. It takes out EVERYTHING." Cool, I happen to have some on hand. Probably from some other mishap that she advised me on previously. I Spot Shot the spot. No luck. Nothing. I scrub and scrub. Rub and rub. Circular motions. First my right hand, then my left. Still nothing happening. I have some K2 spot remover in the closet. I give that a try. No results.

Note: The stain does come off the sofa and the coffee table, but it's the carpet now that is the major concern. First of all, it's not mine! The stain is in the middle of the room. I can't hide it.

I call second friend, J, leaving my 911 distress message on her voice mail. When I hang up, third friend, KO, happens to ring up. "So glad you called. I'm having a melt down," I explain my dilemma. She has two small children and drinks loads of red wine. She is the master of spill cleanup. "Oxyclean," she says simply. "That works every time. I've used it on red wine, kid spills, you name it. If that doesn't work, just get the checkbook out, cause you're screwed." Okay, not what I want to hear. I'm not working, remember...I was trying to save money. However, I have hope that this Oxyclean actually is the miracle potion. I'll pick some up this afternoon. But before I leave, I try the Spot Shot one more time. Nope.

11.00 a.m.

Second friend, J, calls and leaves a detailed message on my voicemail while I'm talking with KO. She reads off an Internet printout her husband gave her. It pretty much goes like this:

"Keep the stain wet (great, first thing and I've already blown that!)
Use hot water.
Spray 15-20 shots of hair spray onto the stain, use rubbing alcohol and hot water.
Very important to keep the stain wet (Again with the wet thing!)
Rub in with a small brush.
Can also try hydrogen peroxide, brake fluid cleaner, hair removal cream (huh??), nail varnish remover (but, they advise, be very careful with that), hot water, Oxyclean. "

Hmmm, two people said Oxyclean. Must be some good stuff. I go out for my afternoon dog walks and errands. Pick up the Oxyclean (5.99) on my way home.

4.00 p.m.

Spray Oxyclean onto the stains. Scrub scrub scrub with old toothbrush. Rummage through closet for old white T-shirt to use as a clean rag for more scrubbing. The stain is smearing, and festering. But not coming out. My small muscle groups are getting a workout from all the scrubbing. I continue to work on this project until 6.30 when I have to go to a friend's for dinner. I literally have to step away from this little project to stop from messing with it. I'm obsessed!

11.30 p.m.

I come home and immediately check on my stain. Yes, it's still there. I go to bed exhausted. But not until I try more spraying and scrubbing. I even had all cleaning products lined up around the stain as if they were trying to bully the stain out just by being present.

Friday 9.00 a.m.

I'm at it again.

I email fourth and fifth friends, KSM and LB, for further advice. KSM is a property manager and has more than likely run across stubborn stains in her line of work. LB has a background in fashion design and is an expert on fabrics.

10.00 a.m.

KSM writes back after having consulted with her 'carpet guru' who suggested WD40 based on the oily composition of the nail polish. But he doesn't hold out for much results since the stain has probably already dried and set in (aarrrggh). Next time he's in my area, he'll stop in and take a look.

LB suggests I get a remnant from my landlord and patch the carpet. Or, since I'm trying to keep my landlord out of this whole scenario, I can pull a piece from a closet or around my hot water heater and use that to patch the area without it being noticeable. I'm really doubting my ability to patch a carpet without it being noticeable. However, I'll take both of these bits of advice into consideration. Thanks, girls.

I rummage through my medicine closet and find some Acetone Nail Varnish Remover and small grooming scissors. What the heck. I may as well try it if my next option is to cut the stain out and patch it up anyway! What do I have to lose at this point? I begin to snip away at the carpet fibers. But it's too big a job for these little scissors. The stain seems to go deep into the carpet roots. Oooh, but the Acetone remover is kinda working. I go find another white shirt to rip up and keep at it. I even go so far as to pour the remover right onto the carpet. A dangerous move for sure. Unfortunately, I only had a small amount of the remover in the bottle and I ran out too quickly. I need more.

12.00 noon:

I leave again to go walk the dogs and make yet another store run (giving the stain one more squirt of Oxyclean on my way out the door). I buy Acetone Nail Polish Remover (1.69) , Brake Fluid (2.99) and WD40 (2.49)! I'm not getting anything else done. The past two days have been consumed by this nail polish cleanup project. And I'm starting to feel like the Karate Kid, 'wax on, wax off.'

4.00 pm.

I'm home again with my new bag of tricks. Once again I don the rubber gloves awaiting me. Get down on all fours with my white rags, hot water, and toothbrush. Eeny meany, mighty moe. Which weird flammable product shall I try next? I know the Acetone remover was beginning to work a little. But for some reason I go with one of the other less obvious liquids. I reach for the "super heavy duty Pennzoil brake fluid. I dabbed a bit onto my white rag, rubbed it gently onto the worse part of the stain. By now I'm beginning to worry a bit about all the chemicals I've been dousing onto my carpet for the past two days. I'm expecting to walk into the room and find the area smoldering from self-combustion.

Low and behold, it was working! The brake fluid was working and it was working quite well. I kept at it, working it vigorously and steadily into the stains until the entire stain was gone! I was elated! Oh the joy! The relief! After almost two full days, several dollars, and more angst than I care to have in my 'stress free' life, I could finally relax and move on to do something else with my time (like find a job).

6.30 p.m.

Friend, W, comes by to pick me up for an evening out. She came up to my apt to check out my work. She takes a look, circles the area, scrutinizing the carpet. She looks up at me and says with a laugh, "I think you're going to get away with this!"

Saturday 2.30 a.m.

Came home after a night on the town. Went to bed peacefully....but not without first checking on my carpet one more time. My stain free, beige carpet.

Thanks to all my friends who offered great advice...and to the lucky penny I picked up earlier in the day!

In Need of a Shake-Up

I'm starting to think I'm an emotional retard. Unable to feel any emotion for anything other than a great pair of shoes found on the sale rack. What does that mean exactly? I used to be a somewhat passionate person...I think. Actually, I can't remember the last time I got truly jazzed about something - a job, a boy, a vacation? Yes, I do remember and it was over a year ago. I had recently returned from Europe and had oh so many business venture ideas swirling around in my brain. I'd found a great apartment with a view to set up camp for awhile. Something I hadn't had since my divorce. I had just met a fella I thought could be ... well if not "the one" at least someone to share a bit of time with. Life seemed exciting, fresh and new. Lately, it seems nothing much turns my crank.

Currently jobless, the possibilities are seemingly endless, right? There are loads of jobs out there. Friends have been calling me for the past week advising me of job ops I should be thrilled to jump at. Instead, I think "Ho hum. Sure I could do that. I'll look into it. Right after I ...." fill in the blank. Go to yoga. Walk some dogs. Clean out my closet. Drink more coffee. Read a book due back to the library in three days. Priorities, ya know.

I joke about the lack of man action, but seriously there are at least half a dozen guys who, if I'd just give them the friggin' time of day, would be happy to make time for me. There's the Astrology Expert, Father of Three, Donor Dude, Old Friend From the Past (OFP), and Serious George for example. They are all nice and somewhat interesting to chat with, but just provide no romantic 'spark.' And I am pretty certain the feelings are mutual, but men are strange creatures. If I called any one of them, I'm pretty sure I could muster up a date with him. They still sniff around the peripheral, keeping themselves known.

The tricky part is my current unemployed state right now. That doesn't really afford me to date. Unlike dates of yesteryore, men don't pay these days. I feel like I got ripped off somehow. I married my college sweetheart. A date consisted of pizza in the dorm room. Back then, for those out in the real working world, men did pay for dates. During my married bliss, something happened. I'm now out there trying to date and the rules are all caliwampus. Men no longer pay to take women out. What? When did this happen? I never got to enjoy the old fashioned tradition of being picked up and 'taken' on a date. The man pays and then drops you off at your home. And now that I'm out there, the rules have changed ... and not in my favor. Harrumph. I've paid my way with ALL of the above referenced fellas (and, not that I care about their incomes in general, but they do make good salaries, I might add). Granted that whole paying issue gets tricky. If I'm not interested in them romantically, do I really want them to pay? But if I'm a little on the fence with my feelings, them wooing me a bit might help their cause. Or not. Who knows.

Would it be wrong to flat out suggest a more economical date based on my current financial status? A walk in the park, a visit to a gallery opening, coffee and scrabble at a favorite local cafe? The tight budget does limit outings to daytime activities. Not much in the way of cheap evening dating options in the city.

Then begs the question, why call any of these dudes if I'm not interested in them romantically? My one friend keeps telling me not to bother if I'm not considering them as 'boyfriend' material. Why not just go out with my girlfriends who I'm sure to have a good time with? I don't need these guys to be friends with, she claims. I considered this for some time. And actually, I DO need more testosterone in my life. I have loads of gal pals, but I currently do not have enough men friends to hang out with. Men friends can offer a lot of insight and a switch in the conversation. For example, when I'm with my gals, it's always about men. Talking about men, how do we get men, who got the last man, problems with current men. It can get exhausting. If I'm actually sitting across from one, sipping a latte, we're having a conversation about anything but men.

So while I've been contemplating this debate about calling one of these fellas, I got an email from Serious George inviting me to dinner Saturday evening. He told me to choose the restaurant. Well, at least that gives me the opportunity to choose cheap. And although I'm anything but excited about the man, I will get to wear a pair of my sexy 'date' shoes that I'm so fond of. And that's exciting!

Get Out There

Anyone who is single and attempting to date in this town has heard the phrase from a friend, family member or well-meaning co-worker: "You've just got to get out there."

I hear that and I think "you've got to be kidding me." Not many are more 'out there' than myself. I am out there. I couldn't really be much more out there. In the past few months I've been to the opera, Shakespeare, and the REACT theater. I attended the Killers, Kaiser Chiefs and Joss Stone concerts. I frequent the Seattle Art Museum, 100 Suite Gallery and the first Thursday art walk. I've been to Cabo, Key Stone and New York. Went to the Ballard Seafood Festival, the Evergreen State Fair, but, okay, I missed Bumbershoot. I've been to singles parties, on singles websites, and to speed dating events. I've taken writing classes, yoga classes, taught ESL as well as my Discover U class. I've been to the Olympic Sculpture Park, the dog park, the people park. I've drank lattes and walked dogs in more Seattle neighborhoods than I care to mention.

I've been to wedding, funerals and various BBQ's about town. I was an extra in a local film and I regularly partake in dinner or happy hours with my cute single girlfriends. We go to cafes, bars, clubs and dance the night away. I had a job with the city where I worked with 90% men and 90% of my customers were men. I golf every Sunday and attend local spectator sports (Mariners, Sounders, high school basketball games!). I let friends set me up with friends and I frequently talk to strangers at bus stops. Whew!

If I was any more 'out' I'd be gay! (Not that there's anything wrong with that!).

I Ching, U Ching

So I consulted the I Ching today. Yes, yes I DO consult the I Ching occasionally. I also have my cards read about once a year and do yoga and meditate. So what. It's what I do. It keeps me sane. Well, my friends may beg to differ on that point, but it keeps me feeling sane anyway.

So, as I was saying, I consulted the I Ching and it came up hexagram 9 - The Taming Power of the Small. "You are temporarily restrained. It is a time for taking small steps." Great. I am already jobless, rent a small apartment and don't have a car or even a bus pass right now. If I take any smaller steps I'll be stepping into a pup tent at the park near my house sharing my Top Ramen with the other homeless living there.

Let's see, what else does it say? "The obstacles to success can only be removed now by gentle measures. Inside yourself be focused and determined. On the outside, non action, adaptability, neutrality, and tolerance are the order of the day. Ambitious behavior is to be avoided..." Okay, now we're talking my kind of language. Don't jump into anything too hastily. Don't force anything that doesn't feel right. Chill ... but continue to mentally stay focused about the success I'm after. This is a correct interpretation, right? I can do this. Sure.

"To rush things is to invite misfortune." No problem there...I'm not a 'rusher into things' by any stretch. "Do not collapse into anxiety, doubt, or the strategies of the ego " (a little easier said than done...but I'll give it my best shot) . "Letting go brings inner freedom." If I let go of much more, I'm a little worried of what I'll be left with. A great pair of shoes and a whole lot of unrealized dreams? Well, I'll give it a try. Cause the I Ching has been around for thousands of years. And I've been around for a mere forty-four.

Here I Go Again

Once again I'm unemployed. Or as my friend, Tim, likes to term it, underemployed. Because, after all, I do have my pet sitting business and my quarterly seminar at Discover U. However, these gigs, as fun as they are, aren't quite paying the rent, as meager as mine might be.

So I'm back where I was six months ago- where I've been time and time again during this very extended transition period. Back to answering the same ever pressing questions from concerned friends and family "so what are your plans?" Plans? I need a plan, you say? I've been living on the "no plan" plan for so long I no longer have the ability to plan for next week, not to mention my extended future! Ummm, yeah, tomorrow I plan to go to yoga and Sunday I plan to golf. Oh, and I have a lunch date with a friend on Monday. That's it. No further plans. That's as far out as I am capable of planning.

Why do I have such a hard time making a plan? Or when I do make a plan, it changes the very next day...or hour in many cases. I don't worry much about getting work. There is certainly work in this town if you're not overly picky. Just like there are men in this town if you're not overly picky. Apparently, I'm overly picky in both arenas. I'm still taking temp jobs because I don't want to commit to the wrong job. There are plenty of jobs to be had that will get that pesky rent paid. I've had no trouble finding jobs since my return to Seattle. And I've been able to dabble in a variety of occupations from pet sitting and cleaning animal hospitals to working at the City of Seattle and SAM. However, a year and a half later and I'm no further ahead in the career finding game. When people ask me what I'm going to do next, I feel myself getting tense, my jaws tighten and my heart rate increases a smidgen. I need to have some answer. Something that will stop the questioning! I'm going to be a professional dancer. I'm moving to Oman. I've got a spot on that 40 something year old bachelorette show. Anything besides "I've no idea" would be acceptable. I can tell. These people just want an answer. I can tell from the look on their faces. They need to know I have a plan.

I'm perfectly content with this method of sampling jobs. It's been quite interesting and rewarding in many ways. It's also very stress-free. No corporate politics. No long-term projects that become cumbersome. And I'm all about the freeing of stress in my life. After 11 years as an insurance adjuster and 6 more as an analyst in the insurance industry, I'm certain stress-free is best for my health. However, I think my health is the issue here. This 'sampling' of jobs does not allow for receiving any benefits. No paid vacation, no 401K options, and the biggie...no health insurance.

Socialized medicine, I realize, is a tricky topic and I'm not saying the way other countries operate is the best way. But certainly those of us who are working, contributing to society, paying our rent, but not who are not eligible for health benefits should receive a certain amount of affordable health care when needed.

So once again, I'm feeling that it's time to find that thing. That thing that I am actually good at, that I love (or at least like ... a lot) and just maybe make an actual salary and can receive a certain amount of reasonable benefits to make it a living. This transition bit can be pretty overwhelming some days. Most days it's easy and I don't worry much. But when pet sitting gigs get cancelled, or a doctor visit is well overdo, I begin to freak...just a teensy bit. We'll just see where I land next. It's always a surprise.

What's Happened to Barbie?

What has happened to Barbie? While I'm off traveling through Europe and going through my own transitional period, Barbie, too, has gone through a transition. And NOT for the better. I'd heard talk of plans to reinvent Barbie. Give her a new more "realistic" shape they said.

First of all Barbie is a toy. A doll. Just how realistic does a kid want a doll she is going to make up stories about anyway? Is any pretend character realistic? We've got talking mice who wear clothes (Mickey, Mini, Stuart Little). We've got super heroes who do any number of insane and unrealistic things. Is anyone suggesting we take away superman's flying abilities because that is too unrealistic? Of course not. But Barbie's boobs. Yeah, way too unrealistic. It's unnerving. They must be reduced to a 'normal' size. Well, the 'normal' size in American breasts has increased from a 34B to a 36C.

I am certain some group of out of shape mothers with low self esteem and bad body image are the ones who lobbied for this Barbie shape change. They just couldn't fathom a doll having a better figure than theirs. They said they were worried the doll was promoting poor body image. Well, from the size of some of the guts I've witnessed on fairly young girls, I don't think eating disorders are a problem as a result of Barbie.

Besides what about Wonder Woman running around saving the world in her sexy getup? Or Ariel swimming around with all her curves. What gives? Why all the attention on Barbie's fake figure. Who cares? We DO realize it's fake. Even as a child her hourglass figure never occurred to me. My own mother was overweight. She spent a good deal of her life trying new fad diets to no avail. I never even compared the two women. One was a DOLL. I knew this all along. No mystery in my little six year old mind.

I've been a Barbie fan as long as I can remember. My mother made me wait until my sixth birthday before I could have my first Barbie. She wanted to be sure I was mature enough to play with such a fancy doll. Once I received her, I coveted her and took care of her better than any of my other dolls. She was special. Her ponytails always stayed in the tiny rubber bands she came with. Her clothes were gorgeous and I never left her lying around naked. She did not take baths with me nor did she go outside to play in the sandbox. She was always kept pristine, as did all the subsequent Barbies I received thereafter. My life with Barbie was magical and lasted many many years. In fact, I still have a small collection which I occasionally add to now and then.

While living in Prague, CZ, I visited the toy museum specifically to visit the Barbie exhibition. Oh what an afternoon I had. Barbie history right there before my eyes. The Barbies from her earliest days to present. The fashions, the accessories. Yes, it was a treat for this Barbie lover.

Recently, during my visit to NYC, I stopped into the huge Toys R Us in Manhattan. It's a huge store and I knew they'd have a magnificent Barbie collection. I wanted to see what was new on the Barbie scene, so I popped in for a peek. I was aghast at what I saw. My mouth dropped open. No sound came out. I was speechless. A small breasted doll with shapeless stick legs, big flat feet and a head too big for her body was staring back at me. Talk about unrealistic. This head they've put on her looks like it was taken from a completely different doll and stuck on this faux Barbie as an after thought. I kept checking different boxes looking for the 'real' Barbie. These impostors were alarming to see. I was in a panic, turning corners, lifting boxes only to see more of the flat footed monster dolls.

Finally, I spot the special display case. There she was. Barbie. The real deal. Several of them even. Her small petite face with the large cat eyes and high cheek bones, legs shaped like a dancers, standing on tip toe in her stylish pumps, wearing the glamorous outfits she was meant to adorn. That's my girl! After pressing my nose up against the glass for as long as I could before security started pacing suspiciously, I quickly fled the store looking away from those awful 'non-Barbies' they are trying to peddle. I'm all for making advancements in the world of technology, but Barbie should never have been tampered with.