Clearing the Clutter

It's about this time of year clearing the clutter becomes a major focus for many of us. Spring cleaning ensues as the days become longer and the setting sun through our window brings attention to the blinds that haven't been dusted properly for several months. It's the time for detoxing the body of impurities, as well as the time for detoxing our closets, drawers and garages of the unwanted stuff we've been collecting all winter (or longer). Yard sales become more prevalent. Spring editions of my favorite magazines publish articles on clearing the clutter, reorganizing your space, donating gently used items to charitable organizations.

I'm no different. Something about that spring equinox gives me a spurt of energy and enthusiasm for purging. I've gone through closets, kitchen cupboards, desk drawers and the space under my bed until a pile of shopping bags were stacked in Dr. Seuss fashion against a wall in my living room awaiting the charity truck's arrival. There is no excuse not to get rid of unwanted or unused stuff when someone will come by and pick it up for you. My one bedroom apartment easily begins to bust at the seams if purging isn't done on a regular basis.

I sound so insensitive and unattached as I talk about chucking out the old and relieving some sorely needed closet space. Until...yes, until I'm forced to admit one thing. More than being ashamed, I'm actually rather baffled by this fact. I still have 24 years after the wedding and 9 years after the divorce, my wedding gown. Why do I still have this absurd thing in my possession? I have no idea. It's still in it's "preserved" wedding gown box- the kind where you can see the bodice through a window in the front of it.

One friend commented in horror when I confessed, "You live in a one bedroom apartment! Where are you storing this thing?" Yes, this is my own reaction. Believe me. There is just something keeping me from pushing this (rather large) box out onto the curb along with all my other discarded crap for a strange truck to come by and load up like a piece of garbage. I don't really know why. No one in my family is ever going to want to wear the thing. I got married in 1987. That says it all.

As I began confessing to other friends, also divorced, I learned I am not alone. One friend has the gown from her first wedding still hanging in her closet. That garment has been hanging there for the duration of two marriages and witnessed two divorces. But there is something that prevents her from hauling it away. My brother's ex-wife who I'm very close to still has hers a couple years after her divorce in hopes that one of her daughters might want it. It's funny that we somehow hold more value on the dress than the guys we wore it for. I haven't seen or spoken to my ex-husband for nine years, but I've got this dress staring at me every time I open my coat closet.

If that's not enough, my boyfriend has his ex-wife's gown in his closet! When she moved out, he asked her if she was going to take that with her. "Nope" was all she said.

The dress doesn't represent anything significant for me except a lot of money spent on something I'll never wear again. I did like it. It was special at the time, but I certainly don't keep it for sentimental reasons. I requested the divorce. There is no emotional clutter to clear out. I'm not carrying around some old baggage of deep seeded sorrow and pain. No way. So why can't I seem to part with the dress? I'd like to do something that makes me feel better somehow. Something that makes me feel like it was worth the cost and effort.

My ex-sister-in-law said she went to St. Vincent De Paul recently and saw a wedding gown hanging in the window. Her immediate thought was "Eee Gads, that thing is gaudy!" Then she wondered if that is the reaction her own nearly 20 year old dress would bring.

Another friend bought a used wedding gown off Craigslist last year at Halloween. She proceeded to cut it up, soil it, and apply fake blood for her corpse bride costume. I just can't accept that possible fate for my own lovely gown.

I began soliciting ideas for these old 80's-90's wedding gowns. Donating them is an option, but upon further research it seemed that most of the brides in need would prefer something a little more, ummm, modern. The particular era we're talking about here doesn't make them "vintage" quite yet either.

One friend suggested a tea party where we all wear our gowns. That would be a fantastic idea if I had half a chance of fitting into the thing. I was 118 lbs on my wedding day. Three pounds more than my goal weight at the time and several pounds less than my goal weight today. Yeah, that's not happening. But I'm guessing there would be a few others in the same predicament.

Another suggestion included donating it to the Children's Theater or any other theater group in town. My wedding dress in a play! That sounds better than it morphing into a corpse bride costume.

I thought a charity function of a sort could be fun. A Drag Queen Bridal Fashion Show with money raised going to some worthy cause. Finding small sized drag queens could pose a challenge, but I'm sure it's possible in this town.

At any rate, the Center for the Blind came by yesterday and picked up my eight or ten bags of goods. Not only my wedding gown, but also my mother's wedding gown (which is at least vintage-circa 1947) are still in the closet hogging up prime real estate. Suggestions are welcomed.

Old Dog, No Tricks?

The older I get, and somehow it does seem to keep happening, the older the men who are attracted to me get. Sure I still get hit on by the 'Cougar Hunter'. You know, the young bucks who think any woman over 40 is a Cougar and willing and eager to put out for a young piece of meat. Those days have passed. I've sowed my oats during my Eurotramp years after my divorce. While those trysts were fun at the time and served their purpose, now I'd like an actual relationship of a sort. If I'm going to be with someone, I'd like to dig him, have some things in common and still keep my independence in fairly full-form.


That being said, I still require a healthy and active sex life with said partner. Unfortunately, the reality is that most of these older men (and by "older" I mean basically my same age) either lack sex drive or just simply can longer perform (I'm assuming they once did anyway).


One friend of mine has a theory that since older men no longer have the sexual drive, they also lack the drive to even approach women. A man's desire to meet and approach a woman stems from his sexual desires. We witness this phenomenon all the time in bars, clubs, and other venues where there are loads of 20-30 year olds looking to "hook up". On the contrary, if the desire isn't so strong or is absent altogether, the men tend to stick within their own group of guys barely even noticing women, no less approaching them. They may want to meet a partner to spend time with, but the drive to make much of an effort certainly doesn't seem to be present.


The older boyfriend of another friend was joking around with his buddies about having such a low sex drive at his age (early 50's), that sometimes he has to weigh out whether he'd rather, say, eat a Bratwurst (fully loaded with Sauerkraut), or have sex? He admits, for many men, the Bratwurst often wins out. This is a depressing thought. Do I need to start hanging out at hot dog stands to get a man's attention? Maybe I need to own a hot dog stand. I guess that would only get me close to men who choose the dog over sex. Never mind.

This may explain why a very glamourous friend of mine was recently trying her hardest to flirt with the hot dog stand guy at an event and could not, for the life of her, get his attention.

According to several articles, there are some positives to dating men over 40. One bonus noted was that what they lack in quantity, they make up for with experience and quality. The friend with the over-fifty Bratwurst boyfriend would concur. I suppose I'll need to keep experimenting with that theory.

I don't know what the answer is here. Hope for an older guy who's still got it? Have a serious relationship with the mature guy and keep a sexually satisfying young thing on the side? Or just buck up, be a big girl and face the reality? This dreamer is still adjusting to the reality of going back to her corporate gig. Let's keep these life realities to a minimum. It's rough to squelch all my fantasies at once.

Forget Paris

And Prague, Amsterdam, Lisbon, Athens. I don't actually need to forget Paris, or any of my other favorite travel destinations, but I need to find another way to remember them.

I seem to have lost track of time. I'll be telling a story of my six month sabbatical when I traipsed off to Europe after my divorce in 2002. The six months that turned into three plus years. Someone will ask me "when did you return to Seattle?" Ummm, errr, eh hem...two and a half years ago. Two and a half years ago? Already? How did that happen? It seems like only yesterday (or maybe a year ago) I landed back in Seattle, set up a "temporary" apartment where minimal wall hangings have been hung, and told friends and family I'd be out of this city in six months. Bags would be packed and I'd be off to explore new territories, delving into another adventure. Or at the very least, setting up camp in a new city.

I'm reminded daily of my past European days and how long ago they actually were. The pajama bottoms I bought in Prague in a very cold 2002 winter are beginning to fray around the waistband. These flannels got me through some horrifically cold nights abroad. My well loved bikini from the Greek Island of Skiathos purchased the summer of 2003 has faded from its vibrant royal to a dull sea soaked drab, blotchy, bluish tone. The funky stylish shoes I bought in Amsterdam for New Years Eve 2004 have walked equal distance from the Netherlands to Seattle. I'm still wearing them, but they really should retire. To be honest, I'll probably squeak one more season out of them, though. The red Haviannas (Lisbon, Spring 2004) are still some of the most comfortable flip flops in my collection - and I do have quite the collection. However, they are beginning to show some serious signs of wear and tear. The lining of the winter coat bought in Turkey November 2005 has long since torn and I've lost my keys or other precious objects through the holes in the pockets more times than I can count. The zipper finally broke altogether last season and I was forced to bid it a farewell.

And my most coveted item, the jean jacket given to me in Prague by my favorite travel buddy the spring of 2003, is held together by mere threads. The pockets boast flag pins of the places I lived during that wonderful and memorable period of my life. I can't wash the jacket or it will disintegrate completely. However, if I wear it any longer, my Seattle friends will pick it off my body like a vulture picking at a weak crow. I'm sure they can hardly stand to see me donning that garment at this stage. I try not to wear it, but sometimes it's the only thing that seems to suit my mood. The fabric is so soft at this point, the comfort is warming and the memories it brings are soothing.

I guess it's time to bid ado to many of these old European garments and look ahead to the future. It's okay to keep the stories of my life abroad, tell a tale or two now and then when appropriate. But clinging to the scraps of threadbare fabric can't be healthy for a woman trying to move into the next phase of her wonderful life and stop re-living the last episode via her clothes.

What's the Plan Stan?

"Sh*t or get off the pot." I've always rather found that phrase a bit too crass to find humorous. But I do believe, it applies to me at this stage of my life.

After the day (week) I've had, I need to take the 'life bull' by the horns and actually make something amazing happen. It's been two years since my return to the states. Two years I could have been going to school, building a business, or doing most anything more productive than the fiddling around I've been doing while I attempt to "figure things out", all the while awaiting some fabulous opportunity to just land on my lap in a nicely foil-wrapped package. I'm a fairly lucky person, but not that lucky.

I know that I need to take action to make something happen. Movement equals movement. Stagnation most definitely does not equal movement. As a matter of a fact stagnation equals paralyzing, lethargic confusion, loss of confidence and further stagnation.

Before you know it you're in a go nowhere job working like a beaten dog for a ridiculous man, semi-dating a man you barely have anything in common with, and complaining about the weather as if it mattered. I have never complained about the weather so much in my life. The weather never used to affect me this way. Either it's gotten worse (Global Warming?) or I've gotten old and cranky. Or maybe- just maybe- it's the stagnation getting to me.

I've either got to actually DO something about my situation or shut up (i.e. 'sh*t or get off the pot'). My friends are going to stop calling and I love my friends. Without them, I got nottin'!

So maybe, if I write something down (or type it in my blog) where people (ehem, me) can see my commitment in print, I'll feel more dedicated to the cause. More apt to 'prove' I can do this. I can make a change by golly! I won't make some pie in the sky goal. But a reasonable goal. By this fall, I will be on my way to .... somewhere. There, a time frame set, but a broad enough goal to give me options!

Not Alone

While I was out walking the Boston Terrier I am dog sitting this week, I bumped into the dog sitter walking the German Shepard in his charge next door. We got to chatting (because that's what I do best) and within a brief encounter I learn that my fellow dog sitter is a 40 something year old man in transition. Just out of a 10 year relationship (he's gay for all of you whose eyebrows just raised hopeful for me), Fellow Dog Sitter is in Seattle staying at his friend's next door trying to decide where his life will take him next. Previously a chef, he's been unemployed for the past year and he is ready to do something different in the field of food. Ready to try a new city, he's here for a few weeks to check out Seattle and see if he'd like to move here. Or maybe he'll go try somewhere else. He's not sure.

We exchanged a brief history, background, hopes and desires before heading in our opposite directions. He was returning from his dog walk and I was just setting out. As I continued down my path, I smiled thinking to myself, "yup, there are a lot of us out there."

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.

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.