What Do We Do?

Within the last couple of days, at least three women friends have expressed their dating frustrations.



"What are we doing wrong?" they ask. A question I ask myself regularly.



Upon reflection and discussion with other single (and fabulous) women, clearly we aren't doing anything wrong. It's my theory that women have evolved into these even more amazing creatures over the last few decades and men, frankly, aren't sure what to make of us.



Women have become more independent than ever, earning good salaries, obtaining PhD's, owing their own homes, nice cars (okay, so maybe this woman doesn't fit any of the posted criteria...but many do!). We'll dine alone, travel solo, do our own home repairs (our hire someone to do them for us). For the most part we're physically fit, financially fit, and fairly successful. I think men could be just slightly intimidate. Okay, so no man is intimidated by my "financial fitness"-- of course not. Rather, my financial situation has men running in the opposite direction. But I'm not just talking about ME here. I'm talking about single women as a whole.



A couple years ago, the fireman I was dating said to me during one of our final conversations, "men just want to be needed." Aahhh, I wasn't providing this guy with the opportunity to be my "hero." Clearly, given his profession, that was an important role for him to play in his relationships with women, as well as, his work. I was not the girl for him.



Number Eight's ex-wife turned out to be clinically diagnosed with a mental disorder. She refused to get help and he tried to work with it for seven years before giving up and filing for divorce. He then told me his last serious girlfriend, for whom he had been shopping for rings, also had a problem with depression. One of his closest female friends, is an alcoholic and until recently was without any positive direction. Apparently, he has an attraction to women with emotional/mental disorders who he might be able to 'help'? Being pretty emotionally balanced and happy (I know I know, sometimes you'd wonder) I am, again, not that girl.



A discussion with one of my single pals over cocktails the other night revealed that it wasn't enough for men to just be "wanted" by women. By only being wanted and not actually needed, there's too great a risk of being "unwanted" one day. We may decide to just discard them like a pair of outdated shoes or a dress that no longer fits like it used to. The "need" factor guarantees you'll stick around. You need his money, his house, his 'handyman' abilities. Something to keep him in control of the relationship. Within my circle of friends, no one has such a need. Other than the physical need, women just don't need men in the same way that we used to. We're really just looking for someone we want, who wants us in return.



Unfortunately, all this need vs want business is causing men to become more confused and then their resulting behavior becomes confusing to women. It's a vicious cycle. I, for one, do not intend to pose as a weak, needy damsel (alright, technically I'm too old to be a 'damsel') in distress. And I don't know any woman who does.



So what's the answer to the "What are we doing wrong?" question? Nothing. Just keep doing what we're doing and have fun doing it! The right guy will trip along eventually. I'm pretty sure of it.



end note: There isn't anything wrong with "needing" someone, by the way.

What's Behind Door #?

They say when one door closes, another one opens. I hope that is true as door #8 is being shut in my face.

I swear the last three guys I dated did the "just stop calling" routine. WTF? Why is that acceptable after dating several months? It's acceptable after one or two dates, sure. But five months? Not acceptable grown up behavior. I suppose that is the only way men feel they can get rid of me. I am not a fighter, so there is no chance of an argument ensuing where we can have a break up with exchange of heated words and insults. Confrontation is difficult so actually saying to my face that we need to wrap this up just isn't an option apparently. So if they just stop calling, they can hope I'll eventually get the hint and leave them alone.

I do have a great life...wonderful friends and can do pretty much what I please without answering to anyone. Why can't that be fulfilling enough? Why must I need the physical affection from a man thing? Well, cause that's how nature made us I guess. There's really only so much you can get from a battery operated toy. sigh.

In the April edition of "SeattleWoman" magazine, there is an article about girlfriend getaways. For the past five years that is all I've had -- girlfriend getaways (besides the mini-weekend to Whidbey Island in December with #8- which was wonderful, by the way). Getting away with my girlfriends is most definitely one of my favorite things to do. Frankly, however, I'm ready to spend some time having an actual romance in all the romantic places I've been the last five years.

Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed every minute of Paris, Venice, Prague, the Greek Islands, beaches along the Adriatic and Mediterranean Seas, the Caribbean, and Mexico. These places are spectacular no matter what. And there is nothing less romantic than being in a romantic place with the wrong man. I've experienced that scenario as well.

So #8 got me through the winter months, I suppose, and spring is about here. And I'll see what's behind the next door and plan a trip...with or without anyone else, man or woman.

Small Changes

If I can't make any huge life changes just yet, maybe several simple small changes will satisfy my urges. The other day I was getting ready to meet a friend for a drink when I discovered some old navel rings I had. I hadn't changed my ring in months, maybe even over a year. You get the thing. It's all exciting. Soon (12 years later) it gets buried in there somewhere and you forget you even have it. I decide that needs to be done. Now! So off with the current one. Easy enough. And on with the new installation. Not so quick and easy.

I hadn't done it for a while and was struggling frantically working myself up into a lather. You know how tiny those balls are and then trying to get it exactly centered onto the post and screwed in! My nails, which are on the longish side, kept getting in the way. I was also working against my belly fat and I couldn't see very well over my boobs !!! Ugh...my friend was on her way over and would arrive any minute. The more I tried to hurry the worse the situation became. Why did I have to get into this little project just now? Not as if I'm heading out on the town in a mid-drift top or bikini for crying out loud. I was afraid I was going to have to ask her to be a pal and do it for me! Cripes. Just what I want, my skinny little friend digging around my gut attempting navel ring installation. The scene in my head made me more determined to get the bloody thing screwed in! I finally got it in by lying on the bed and stretching myself all out, but was all exhausted and sweaty from the process!

When I was done, I took a look in the mirror. Hmmm...I don't like this one so much, which is why I hadn't worn it for some time. It'll have to stay put for a while. I'm not up for the challenge of changing it again just yet. Small changes one small step at a time.

Going Nowhere for the Moment

Does anyone else dwell on their lifestyle, career, and love life (or lack thereof) as much as I do? I doubt it. I wonder why I am still living in Seattle when I continue to say I want to leave and live somewhere else? What is keeping me here?

I am in an ongoing go nowhere type of relationship that is on the down slide as I think my ongoing go nowhere #8 is getting bored with me and my constant desire for sex (imagine that?). I'm a bit bummed as it's been nice to just date someone semi-regularly for awhile. But how long is an ongoing go nowhere relationship suppose to last anyway? It's got to end eventually I guess.

I do have my eye on a cutie pie waiter at a place my boss and I go to lunch occasionally. He's probably all of 25. Why would anyone older be a lunch waiter at a place called Fat Albert's? Unless, he's really a former IT professional and, like myself, is in his mid-life transitional phase and is actually an aspiring artist waiting for his big break. I can buy that.

I'm in a go nowhere low paying job. The work is interesting (programing and development of inter-cultural educational and training projects), but I can see in just five months it's fairly repetitive with little opportunity for...well...any real opportunities. It just isn't providing what I was hoping in the way of either travel or training ops. The organization is so small that neither pay nor benefits are available either. I've been keeping my eye out, but will have to begin a more active pursuit for career change.

My lifestyle. I am fairly successful at getting around Seattle sans car, but some days are frustrating, trudging around in the pissing rain, missing buses by nanoseconds, and getting out of town is impossible. The last two charming little bungalows in lower Queen Anne were leveled recently and a new condo will be constructed - directly outside my balcony. I LOVE sitting out on my balcony during the summer enjoying the sunshine, view and quiet. Hmmm....the rent just went up and so will the noise and dust factor.

Now, although my whining seems to never cease, I do, in fact, try to live for the moment. If anyone could have seen the view of the skyline last night from my living room window they would probably understand why I'm still here. The huge golden (almost full) moon rose up behind the Space Needle providing a scene that was surreal. I couldn't take my eyes off of it for the longest time. I wanted to call someone to share the moment. But there was no one to call. So I just shared it with myself...and enjoyed every minute of it.

To Cruise or Not to Cruise?

Of course the cruise was a luxurious pampering experience fully equipped with all the excess imaginable. A room steward who was lurking nearby for even the slightest need, bar service at your every turn, enough food to feed the entire world...twice, every kind of entertainment, service and even perfect weather. Would I do it again? Sure...eventually...and if someone else was paying for it, definitely. Although I loved spending a week in the tropics with fun women friends, and relaxing on a sun lounger imbibing on a fruity cocktail with umbrella decor, my opinion remains the same about cruising. It's really not my favorite form of vacationing.

The food was as incredible as I feared. I started out slow, making wiser food choices eating salads and fresh fruit as much as possible. At dinner (the formal affairs) I only had the 'spa' (healthy choice) starter of iceberg wedge and tomato, an entree of grilled perch, one glass of red wine and coffee for dessert (that right there is far more than my normal dinner at home). I then upped the anty to the regular starter, a 'spa' starter, entree, wine, 'diet' dessert and coffee. It wasn't long before I'd deteriorated to two regular starters, skipped the salad altogether, an entree, the warm melting chocolate cake for dessert (nothing diet about it!), coffee and had to follow it up with a Sambucca aperitif because my stomach was so uncomfortable! Each day I'd consider skipping that meal, but it would have been in bad form. I mean, we paid for it, the girls expected my attendance and it was all part of the 'fun.' By day five I spent the entire night in the head suffering diarrhea and keeping my cabin mate up as well.

The ports of call were interesting and fun, but of course you don't spend enough time there and the time you do spend is focused on the clock so you're sure to get back to the ship in time! I don't do so well on such a strict schedule. It was a good thing I was there with four other women who wore watches. Otherwise, I'd be writing this blog from somewhere in the Western Caribbean...which wouldn't be such a bad thing. I especially fell in love with Roatan Island, Honduras and a trip back there is in my future. We all agreed on that point.

The ship service was exceptional. Although I couldn't help but have a little bit of a sickening feeling at how hard the staff (mostly from developing countries) work for what I'm sure is very little money. The double shifts, the always being "on", the constant "it's my pleasure" (as they are wiping your butt). I don't know where the cabin steward hides in order to see every time you leave your room, but you could be gone for 30 seconds only to realize you'd forgotten something in your cabin and viola, he'd been there, picked up, changed your towel for the third time that day, put that pointy end on the toilet paper AND the tissue, straightened the chairs on the balcony and left. I never once actually caught him inside the room doing anything. There were just these magical signs that he'd been there. I'd even leave my towel on the rack indicating I'd reuse it (you know, 'green' me likes to pay attention to the environment) and he'd change it anyway. Apparently, he decided it smelled too funky to reuse and I needed a fresh one.

Although the entertainment might not have been overly appealing to our group, I really have no complaints. There were after dinner shows nightly (comedian, Happy Cole, is a must see), a casino, several bars with live music, a dance club, a few shops and even the hot tub on the upper deck til midnight. And if none of that was suitable, there was always the option of wine on our balconies to enjoy while watching the moon reflect off the sea.

Yes, all in all it was a great time. Even though it might not be my favorite form of holiday, I'm glad I was able to muster up the dough and experience the world of cruising and especially spend a week playing with the girls and exploring some of the most fabulous beaches. And now, of course, it's time for the detox cause this bloated feeling ain't just water weight!

Charmed by Canadian

During the first leg of my flight eastward, I sat next to a Canadian fella. As usually happens when you're practically sitting on some one's lap for several hours, we got to chatting. What's in L.A. for you? Where you coming from? Etc. My flight mate was going Guadalajara, Mexico surfing. He proceeded, then, for the remainder of the flight and for the 2 hours I had during my layover in L.A., to dis America and Americans.

It started out innocently enough. He pointed out that Americans are not well-received when traveling and often pose as Canadians. Yes, this is a true statement in many cases. But I assured him that during my three and a half years of living abroad I was never received with any animosity or aggression due to my U.S. citizenship. As a matter of fact, most people were polite, respectful and helpful...even after making it clear that they were not a fan of our "Chief."

Next he launched into a tirade (that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but not much) about how American surfers where not welcome in their waters. There is surfer protocol and they will drive them out physically. Wow. Sounds pretty serious.

The subject then came to the almighty American dollar...and oh, how disgusting it is that we have so many of them and can go up to Canada and buy up their property with cash! An American, apparently, pulled up in his yacht and bought this guy's house on the beach with cash! We have far too much money to be waiving in these poor Canadians' faces.

Over the course of the night I had learned that this guy was 29, lived and/or traveled all over the world, owns a house on the beach north of Vancouver, B.C., owns a Land rover, a Quad, two motorcycles, a boat, and a snowmobile. I swear if I had asked him if he owned a helicopter he would have told me he had one in storage and one on the roof of his house or something! And he's holding a grudge about American excess? He is the proprietor of Action Jackson Productions where he drives stunt vehicles, mostly for commercials. I thought that sounded like interesting and exciting work. He made it clear that it doesn't pay as much as one would think. Whatever. I was quite honestly pretty exhausted talking to the guy about his toys and money by this point.

Before we were through he shared with me that the Canadian firefighters use American firefighter videos to train them on what NOT to do, Americans have the highest suicide rate in the world, and some other nasty statistic that I can't even remember because this guy was beginning to get on my nerves by now.

I'm not exactly overly patriotic at times. I get very disgusted by our government, our role in global welfare and our wasteful society just to name a few. But listening to this guy...this guy from a comparably wealthy country, from an affluent background, pick and poke and criticize, made me a bit defensive. We aren't all that bad. And we aren't all that bad. It's like picking on my brother. It's okay if I make fun of him, but as soon as someone else chimes in, I run to his aide. I wanted to say "enough already, dude. Give it a rest." Instead, in an effort to keep peace with my neighbor from the north with the prominent chip on his shoulder, I smiled and said "enjoy your surfing trip" and walked to my gate.

Our country definitely has problems. We are aware. But whose doesn't. Does anyone ever say "ours is the most perfect government in the world" or better yet "that country has the best government, let's be like them?" Never. We are also trying to change things with this next election. Can we? (Okay, I am not going to quote Obama here!) Who knows. But hopefully we can make improvements.

I didn't talk at all to the man sitting next to me on the next leg of my journey. I said hello, got out my blanket, took off my sandals and slept.

Acceptance

After doing some invigorating shoe (sandal) shopping on Saturday, I needed to use the 'ladies' so went upstairs to the lounge at Macy's. On the way out, I saw the sign pointing to the swim suit section. "Oh why not," I asked myself. It'd be nice to have a new cute swim suit for my cruise.

I headed over and perused the racks carefully. Decided if I was going to make the effort of disrobing for one suit, I may as well make it worth while and try on several. Besides, my feet were killing me from my morning session and relaxing barefoot in the dressing room for a while sounded kind of appealing. Question: since when is trying on swim suits a 'relaxing' activity?

Inside the far too brightly lit dressing room I stripped down to my skivvies and applied the first ... well...bits of fabric. That's all a swim suit is: Two triangles strapped onto the breasts with a string and a pair of (usually ill-fitting) underwear. Looking at my body in the harsh lighting I was once again horrified, distraught and more than annoyed with what I saw in the three-way mirror; what I never seem to see in my dimly lit bedroom (I really ought to change my light bulbs, but I seem to prefer to live in denial.) -- cellulite I've always prided myself on not having much of, the tummy that won't flatten, the white sagging breasts that won't perk up no matter how tightly I tie the string around my neck. Instead of lifted breasts, I just get a raw red mark on the back of my neck as the boobs continue to head south with increased persistence.

I've been working out a lot more the past month, watching my diet for the most part, hadn't had a drop of alcohol in over a week (that's a mile stone for me), drinking herbal teas and water and this is the body I'm rewarded with?

I got dressed, put all seven suits back on their hangers and returned them to the racks. Why spend $100 on something that doesn't make me look or feel any better than the crap I already have in my drawers? I called a friend when I got home and relayed my swim suit saga to which she replied, "it's called acceptance."

She's right. Number Eight took me for a really nice meal at the Paragon that night where we shared a cheese plate, and salad, I indulged in a glass of wine, and we each ordered an entre. Sunday, I went to Pilate's and Eight and I walked to the beach through Discovery Park, so I attempted to combat some of the food damage. I can enjoy a nice meal and wine once in a while, eat healthfully overall, get daily exercise, and just wear a super cute cover up over my swim suit, and a pair of sexy sandals! That's acceptance.

Love Language 101

Last month I had a girls gathering and one of the girls drove up from Chehalis and stayed the night at my place. When the others had left the party, she and I were talking and I noticed throughout her visit, she kept mentioning her and her husband's 'love languages'. She said, "if I come home and tell Lou I didn't charge anything on this trip, that's his love language." After a few of these comments I asked her if she and her husband were going to counseling. She confirmed they were, hence the whole "love language" terminology being tossed around.

The other night, #8 and I were talking and out of the blue he started talking about his "love languages." He mentioned a book he read either when he was married or while going through his divorce. Either way, he mentioned that it was a very helpful book and he told me a couple of his love languages: 1. Time, when his partner makes time for him and 2. physical touch.

I find these two in particular to be interesting since this is a guy who barely gives me the time of day. I saw him last Monday and haven't heard, seen or received even an email from him since. I had asked him when I left Monday night if he had plans for this coming weekend. He said no, but somehow we never actually planned anything concrete. He'll call eventually, though. He always does...usually apologizing that he's not been in contact.

Touch? Again, he barely shows affection by touch. He will put his hand on my leg in the movie theater, and sex is certainly great, but otherwise, where is all this physical touching? Maybe his idea of these two things is just subtle, while mine is much more pronounced.

I relayed that my 'love languages' also involve time and touch... a lot of touching. I'll have to read up and determine my other love languages.

So, while I continue to date this guy, basically because I do enjoy his company overall when we are hanging out together, and because there's really no reason not to date him at this stage, he just continues to remind me why I know he's not 'the one.'

In addition, I had a crap work week and while confirming once again that my job is not 'the one' I have been having fantasies of my upcoming cruise. Fantasies of the boat stopping in Belize where I get off never to get back on board! Hmmm....what a nice day dream.

Makeup Makeover Trauma

I'm not a huge shopper. I used to be. When I made a decent living and could afford to do more than just window shop. Besides, to be honest there is just not that much I really need. I dress Seattle 'business casual' at work. I don't even need to dress that nicely if I don't choose to. It's a two man office these days and customers don't pop in, so jeans are just fine. But even so, I like to look presentable. I think the casual dress in this town can go too far sometimes. And even if a girl doesn't need much, it's still nice to get a little something new once in awhile.

In preparing for my upcoming vacation, I took stock of my warm weather wardrobe to see what I had from years past. What is still in style (luckily most of it since we're in an 'everything goes' fashion mode these days), what is still in tact (you know how it is, you put something away the last time you wore it back in late August and it had a stain on it, now it's set in for good), and what still fits. Ahhh....the trickier issue. I spent my Saturday evening trying on several outfits all the time sucking my gut in until I was exhausted and couldn't take it anymore. I put everything back in the closet and went downtown today (after my Russian Natalia Nazi Cardio/Body Sculpt Blast, of course!).

First stop, mascara. Harmless purchase. Didn't involve taking off my clothes. That's a good start to my shopping experience. Or so I thought. I go to the Lancome counter to get my usual waterproof mascara. Should only take a second. I know exactly what I want. No muss no fuss. In and out, right? As one salesgirl (or are they called "makeup specialists" these days?) retreats to go find my particular mascara, another one approaches me and advises that if I buy one more item, I get a "gift." Funny, how I'm immediately sucked into the idea of getting something for free. How old am I?

Since I'm still waiting for my mascara girl to return anyway, the other gal starts showing me some lip liners. Yes, I just ran out. I could use a new lip liner. Of course, I can. She proceeds to apply a nice berry something or other liner. It looks nice. But now the rest of my face needs something. She asks if she can put some eyeliner on my eyes too. I thought I had liner on my eyes already (I'm feeling a little insulted here). Silly me. Before I can say much of anything, she's got my head tilted back in a professional wrestler's headlock, coaching me to "look up, look to the side, don't move a muscle, keep your eyes open, don't flinch" while she is jabbing at me with a sharpened black pencil! I can feel my eyes fluttering and watering and I'm doing everything I can not to shove her off of me sending her sailing across the entire length of the department store. Am I at the makeup counter or the dentist?

Once she's adequately applied the liner on both my upper and lower lids, she decides my tinted moisturizer from Aveda is just not doing the job (second insult of the day) and slathers some Ecru 230 Natural Finishing Cream all over my face with a paintbrush attempting to cover up all my age spots and other imperfections. She follows this procedure up with a creamy blush that extends down my neck, a glossy coat of something that is suppose to make my 44 year old skin look 18 again, and she head back to my eyes. My eyes were just recovering from her prior attack. Where is that mascara girl by the way? I'm ready to be done with this experiment.

"Oh, I just can't take that awful green," she says. "I should have removed it right away." The "awful" green is the shadow the last girl sold me at the Shiseido counter six months ago, when I just went in to buy one item. Once she was satisfied with the shadow, she came at me with the final touch. The mascara. Again with the head tilt and 'tugging' action at my eye lashes. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't all this pulling and tugging and poking at my very delicate eye area seem a bit abrasive? Aren't we suppose to be treating this area of our face with kit gloves?

When finally finished, she was oh so proud of her work. She handed me a mirror and announced how great my eyes looked. They actually "pop" now. Yeah, they pop. They feel like they are going to pop out of my head. I will admit that some of the work was attractive, but for the most part, I felt like a raccoon with spiders on her eyes. Far too much makeup for me. And all that heavy black...against my green (with bloodshot red) eyes, and light brown eyebrows (how did she miss those?) was just too much.

Off I trotted with my original mascara request, a lip liner, and a gift bag full of samples; one of them being makeup remover. How appropriate!

Next stop, bra fitting. Does the fun ever end?

Greatest Place on Earth (Sometimes)

It's always the way....I spend months droning on about the crap Seattle weather. The grey skies and drizzle make me crabby and foul. All I do is dream of living in a sunshine filled land, with palm trees and calm blue seas. I envision myself wearing flip flops to my job (the one I have yet to create, but allows me to wear flip flops to and I make loads of dough and am really happy being artsy or something along those lines). Yes, I fantasize about how my life would be so easy peasy and carefree in this great sunny and warm imaginary place in my head.

And I'm all set to move as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Then comes along a spectacular stint of sunshiny Pacific Northwest days that remind me of why I live here in the first place.

My office is located down on Shilshole, and while a pain in the rear to get to via Metro, it's quite gorgeous on the kinds of days we've been having lately. Today I took a long walk down to the beach at Golden Gardens, people and nature watching along the way. Went as far as the duck ponds and looped back to the office gazing out at the peaceful Puget Sound the entire way. By the time I'd reached my office, I'd had an enormous attitude adjustment. It was all due to that beautiful 45 minute walk along the beach. Now that's what I'm after!

On Sunday, #8 had reserved a plane for us so he could fly me to the San Juan Islands for the day. OMG! I have lived in this area for almost 30 years and have spent a ton of time exploring the San Juan and Golf Islands over the years via sailboat, ferry or kayak. When married, my ex-husband and I took several trips and camped, stayed at friends' places or in B&B's on the islands. We went whale watching by kayak and truly reveled in the island life. But I had never seen the islands by air. What an amazement I was in for! Sunday was the kind of blue sky, perfect weather day we dream of in this neck of the woods and the day did not disappoint!

Eight reserved a tiny little two seater plane - he piloted up front and I "co-piloted" from behind him. The 360 degree view was spectacular from my perch. He even let me 'fly' the plane! Okay, so flying a plane with the captain sitting right there at the helm is a bit like sailing a huge craft with the captain standing right there to grab the wheel at a moment's notice. Not a whole lot you can do to screw up. Still it was exhilarating! We landed in Friday Harbor, got out and had lunch and strolled around town. After, we took off again and went over to Orcas. We landed but due to the stellar day, an abundance of planes were out exploring the islands so there were no parking spots available. After doing a spin around the airport, we took off again and cruised around scoping out Rosario Resort and the fabulous secluded homes tucked within the hills and trees of the islands.

Again, I am reminded of exactly why I came back here to live. When it's grey and cloudy and damp, it's miserable. But when we have clear, blue skies and sunshine, there is no more beautiful place on earth! Drats. And I was so ready to pack my bags.