Why I date

There are times when I wonder why on Earth I even date. I mean, seriously, dating, as mentioned before is an F-ing beating. I have to remind myself of the wonderful things that make me want a man.

1. They take the trash out (I am capable, I would prefer not to do this.)
2. They take care of the cars. ( I yearn for a vehicle that never runs out of gas and is perfectly maintained. My mother says this is the main reason she is married. She's kidding. I think.)
3. They take the dead animals out of the house and kill others that aren't dead but need killing. (This is why one of my sister's is married. She hasn't said so, but I'm pretty sure it's high on her list.)
4. They are wardrobe assistants. I had to go next door this evening to get assistance closing up the back of my dress. If I had a man, it would be his job.
5. They can raise your income bracket. Ok, this isn't always true, but if you are fairly self-sufficient, wouldn't it be delicious to be able to raise your bracket simply by falling in love? In the words of Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen prefer Blondes, "Don't you know marrying a rich man is like marrying a pretty girl. It's not why you do it, but my goodness, doesn't it help?" I say, YES!! I think my other sister rather likes where her income bracket currently resides.
6. Heavy lifting. I mean, there is a lot of stuff that is dang difficult to do by onesself, such as moving furniture and getting things out of the attic.

I'm sure there is more, but this is what I was able to come up with on the fly cause I think I'm going to need some reminding fairly soon of why I am torturing myself in such a fashion. Feel free to add, but don't give me any of that sentimental crap. I know better. ; )

Cracking the Whip

There are times during the year when I literally can sit in my office and check things off my little list paying almost no attention to the children. They can work like bees. Everyone knows what he/she needs to be doing, the editors are watching their minions with eagle eyes, and work is being accomplished.

However, this is the time of year when I have to sit in the room and truly pay attention. I have to keep my eye on them and constantly be hollering out, "what are you doing?" "Are you working on your assignment?" etc etc.

It wears me out. And, I'm already tired and itchy. I'm tired because I think I may be getting sick. Auuugghhh. And I am busy enough that I really don't have time to be sick. Going to bed early last night was a gift. I'm not stop all this weekend. So I'll be downing vitamin C like no tomorrow as much as I can.

I'm itchy because I decided that I needed a little color for the black dress I'm wearing to Prom (I know it makes me sound like a pediphile, but I promise I'm chaperoning, not dating ; )

At any rate, there is literally a line down my entire body and everything on the backside is burnt and everything on the front is fine (well, except the top half of my left boob where my top slipped and I am now crispy.) My backside is itchy. Top to bottom.

As an added note, it is one of the girls bdays. I let them talk me into going to JD's for a little bday something, something. ALL I wanted was a small limeaide. I gave them all my money. I got no change . . .and they got a cherry limeaide. CHERRY. Did I mention the word Cherry? NO. Not once. I am so annoyed.

I'm not even sure how I can de-crank myself. Sigh.

You know in professional circles . . .

you would be called an enabler. Not YOU, but 'you' my students. When asked last night, so what is a habit or addiction that you have, I didn't even have to think about it. (While I know he had high hopes for the answer to be sex, alas not the addiction of yours truly.)

My addiction is the slurpee. Coke Slurpee. I'm a purist. For anyone who watches NCIS, you might get close by imagining me as the Abby of HP, she has a love of the CafPow. I love the slurpee. Frequently people approach me with slurpee outstretched in the same way people approach her. The first sip of the slurpee . . .divine. My addiction is not helped by the DAILY offer of children only interested in my happiness (and their desire to be late, leave the building, go home to get something they forgot, and, in general, be a part of my total addiction) to go get me a slurpee. Have they no shame? I write this because last night, I think Date 9 might not have fully appreciated the total addiction I have going with el slurpee.

No, really, it looks just like you

Our school librarians get filled with an itch to do something fun and different every once in a while. Luckily, not too often. Recently they decided to play the 'which teacher is this?' game. I was one of the unfortunates chosen. In the interest of full disclosure I tried to tell them that I look exactly the same. Really, other than bad hair, not a lot of difference. Hell, even my middle school pictures look strikingly similar. They assured me that I wouldn't look the same. uh huh.

So, I went home and searched through my photos. I wanted to find one from my senior year, but instead I managed to find one, still from the 80's, but a year or two later. Funny, NO ONE HAD A PROBLEM FIGURING OUT IT WAS ME. And if the rude comments are anything to go by, they were highly amused that I look EXACTLY THE SAME. Sure, more wrinkles, no bangs (we can thank the girls of HP for breaking me of my love of bangs), and it looks like I discovered the hair brush, but other than that, pretty much the same.

So, don't leave me hanging. Go find those old pictures and let's see what time has wrought on the rest of you.

Bloomin' yard

Many of you may remember my beginning days at the current abode. Sure the yard actually had grass back then, and it looks a little worse for wear, but that is not the point. This past fall my dear friend Helen helped me fix my front flower bed. I've been worried most of the winter about the roses that I actually thought would never bloom just to piss me off.Please to enjoy the fruits of my labors . . . As a side note, I think I may be growing a fine set of weeds too, but I'm just not certain. In the back, I recently planted a 100 freaking gladiolas... I knew there was a chance the hellion and her companion (well, mostly her companion) would be working against me. Yeah, they did. Please note the fabulous hole that Buddy dug in the middle of the bulb bed. And, what is really impressive to me, is they look so slovenly hanging out in the house. You would never imagine that they are creatures of destruction.

The end of 8

So I finally got around to ending it with Date 8. I have to say a weekend with the family and various people asking me what 8's name really is made me laugh. Cause really who wants to waste precious space in the memory banks for a name that will be totally unnecessary shortly?

Hi 8,

Sorry I didn't get a chance to call. It was a very busy weekend. I didn't get back until late, and I had a massive headache.

I have enjoyed getting to know you, and thank you for putting effort into making fun dates. You are a great guy, but I don't think we are a good fit. I have no doubt you will find a lovely girl that is perfect for you. You deserve to find someone who is a good match for you.

Sincerely,
The Diva

This is my standard. Again, I recognize I am total chickenshit for not doing it in person, but really, in person is awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. Email is so much better, cleaner, etc. It's not like I want them to like me forever and talk well of me. Mainly, I just want them to go away with minimal fuss.

8's response has to be my absolute favorite.

Diva,

I enjoyed our time together and wanted to talk with you about the same subject. It is good to know we were on the same page about where this was going.

I hope you have a great time in Europe!

Take care,

8

I just like that we are on the same page!! ; )

Venting

It has been awhile since I have wanted to vent about the people with whom I work, especially Scooby. I think I have done a great job of just keeping my mouth shut. As many of you know, this is not traditionally, my strong suit.

So, I get an email today:

Diva,
Here is who made Quill & Scroll (honors journalism organization) from the yearbook staff.
Susy Fabulous
Betsy Badass
Laura Loveher

If there is anyone who didn't make it whom you thought should have, please let me know. I had students dropping off applications with my staffers who may not have gotten it to me and I don't want to leave off anyone who isn't deserving.
Thanks,
Scooby.

I sent a reply:

Who else applied that didn't make it?

He replied with:

Here is who made Quill & Scroll (honors journalism organization) from the yearbook staff.
Susy Fabulous
Betsy Badass
Laura Loveher

Auugghhhhh. Freaking tell me who didn't make it.

The publisher

So, last night I met Date 9 at Capital Grille. He arrived about 30 seconds ahead of me. Nice looking guy. Funny. Interesting. He is 53 or so. Two boys from first of two marriages (23 and 21). He owns a publishing company of coffee table books. When we spoke earlier in the week, I mentioned that I was interested in interior design since I am working on my house. He brought a book as a gift for me!! How nice is that?

We shared appetizers. It was really fun. He's order something, we'd share and then move on to the next course, ending with filet, so, yes, I did get my steak!

He is the 2nd of 4 kids. Born in Ohio, moved to California as a teenager. We chatted comfortably all evening. It was fun because we spoke a little about what he does and what I do and that a lot of it is similar. Who ever thought I'd be able to talk on a date about the gilding on the edge of the pages of the book and the double nesting that was required for the 800 page book to be side stitched properly. (Such sexy talk, I know.)

** Side note: He went to pay for dinner and realized he didn't have his wallet. YIKES. He went out to the car to look for it. He must have spoken with the manager coming back in because I offered to pay and he said he had taken care of it. Very classy.

All in all, it was a lovely date, and I'm pretty sure he'll call to ask me out again.

Ironically, thinking about my schedule in the next two weeks, next Sunday I have a party to attend, and I bet he would be fun to have go with me. Date 8 I don't think I would want to have go. I may have to think about that some more to think of why that is.

Just set it up so that I can post from the phone. Although If my twitters post this is really the same thing. How much more than 140 characters can I type at any one time.

Poor Date 8

First, the disclaimer. Remember that as a blogger I am working through things here on the internet rather than in the privacy of a journal. Some of this is just me trying to get it all together and think through my issues. (It just so happens there is a small select group of you that get to be a part of my verbal barf. Lucky, lucky, you.)

Disclaimer part deux. Date 8 is a nice guy. He is absolutely trying to show his best manners and pull out the stops. Now, whether he is pulling out the stops to impress me because I'm amazing (ha) or because he wants to do the horizontal tango or both, I don't know, but I do recognize that this is the one people will bring up saying, "Remember that nice boy you blew off just because. You could have been married, but nooo, you are so picky." (Please say with a Jewish accent, much funnier.)

Monday night we went to the Fox & the Hound Pub. First, I am delighted to say the precious girls at the front desk CARDED ME. My face clearly showed my pleasure and excitement at needing to fish it out. After seeing it, they informed me, "Oh, well, you look really young." I like that place!

I will give him points in that he seems to be determined to arrive places ahead of me and have the cosmo ordered. Chivalry or an intense desire to get me drunk? Hard to say, hard to say.

At any rate, turns out he is a bit of a pool shark, so I had to concentrate mightily to not embarrass myself. That meant that we didn't talk that much, but it also led me to realize that we don't actually have that much to say. (Worrisome issue to discuss later.)

He called Tuesday night AND Wednesday night at 9:45. Tuesday I answered the phone and gave him the "Oh, my, you are calling late." He didn't take the hint too well because he kept talking and then called the next night at the EXACT same time. Grrrr.

So, last night was King Tut at the DMA. We were meeting at 7. I got a text message at 6:30 saying, "Not sure where you are. I'm on East side of building next to Tut ticket booth." Not sure of where I am?? Are you kidding? I'm either at home or on my way, but it is 6 freaking 30. Breathe. Breathe.

His desire to be places ahead of me has now moved into totally annoying, especially since on our first meeting he told me he is usually on time, so this isn't a deal where he is always early, he is now determined to be early to be ahead of me. So, fine, send a text that says I'm early and here is where I am. Don't start with where are you. Set. My. Teeth. On. Edge.

So, as my friend KT can attest, I was cranky well before my arrival at the DMA. What can I say, in the last two weeks I have had ONE night to myself. Every time I have a free night, he'd ask me out, and that is great, not his fault, but I imagine he has lots of free nights and then goes out every once in a while and I'm exhausted because I can't catch a break . . .all this to say, I have reached crank status. Yes, many of you are making faces because you have dealt with crank status, and it's not pretty.

At any rate, King Tut doesn't really invite conversation either because it is very, very quiet. No one is talking. We work our way through and get out at about 8pm. He turns and asks me if I want to get something to eat. "No," I say, "I have eaten because I would have died if I had to wait until now to eat." And then I went into my song and dance about left to my own devices I would eat by 5 and be in bed by 9 and oh, by the way, please don't call after 9 again.

So, trying to be polite, I say, "Shall we find someplace to eat for you to get something." Great he says. . . the only problem is that there are NO places downtown (except really expensive restaurants), so he wants to suggest a sit down place near me, but it is after 8 and I've just explained my need for sleep. Argghhh.

Ok, so he walks me to my car, I drive him to his, and he hightails it out of my car fairly quickly. Bless his heart. I wasn't wretched, just a wee snippy.

I am worried about the fact we don't really have much to say. I asked him about his day and he said, "I was really busy." "Oh, what were you doing." "Purchase orders." What do I say to that?? As we were leaving the museum, he asked me about my schedule and I started rattling off what I have coming up which ends with the trip to Europe when school gets out. His response was "and then school starts back up"????? Um, no I'm only gone two weeks.

His response? "Oh, well, if I ever get to go to Europe I would go for as long as possible." huh. There are so many things wrong with this statement. Oh well, yes, I know I am just picking on him at this point.

Late Friday he sent me an email:

Dear Diva, I had a good time at Tut with you last night.Those were interesting artifacts. I think we need to take time and talk about our schedule. I know you will be on the road soon so pls call sometime this weekend when you think about it . Have a safe trip! Date 8

Our schedule? Really? Cause I'm thinking only one of us really has a schedule to keep track of here, the other one isn't doing jack shit most evenings. . . but that's just me guessing. Could be wrong. It's happened before.

So, now I've got to figure out what I'm going to do about 8. I guess I'll call him Sunday. It's not like I can see him in the next 2 weeks, because I am literally busier than a nickle ho on payday.

Changes are afoot . . .

There are several areas of my house still in desperate need of attention. The front "study" had a black leather sofa that a friend loaned me that has actually worked its way to the yearbook room. Its removal then left very little in the study.

Unable to take it any longer, I went out a purchased a chair a while ago. A nice big chair with room for two so that Buddy can snuggle up with me without feeling a need to destroy my kidneys as he leaps onto the chair. Please note the matching ottoman which is perfect for Sabrina to curl up on. I totally forgot the pillow that goes with it is maroon and matches the curtains. So, when I got it home I was delightfully surprised and even more pleased than I was in the store. How perfect I say.

The master bedroom is another area of distress for me. I finally decided on chocolate brown and light blue, hoping to give it a diva feel with a chandelier. The walls still need to be painted blue, doors etc. Please note the "fun" fur on the bed that helps to hide the not fun fur of the dogs that is EVERYWHERE. This summer should be a time of painting and finishing up these two rooms. I got a close up of the chandelier too so that you could fully appreciate the glam.

OKC is OK with me.

I had a great time this weekend visiting the BFF and her family. The Good Major hammed it up for the camera, obviously not thinking about the photos later appearance on the world wide web . . . or maybe he did. Hmm. Hard to tell. Biscuit and I shared fajitas. Perfect plan minus his trying to give away my pica de gallo which is totally unacceptable.He quickly realized the error of his ways and returned the pica to my side of the table ; )

This is what I deal with

So, internet dating, eh? Lots of people are doing it, Oh, so and so met her husband through the internet, you should try it. And there are a ton of sites out there. A. Freaking. Ton.

So, perusing a site I found Mr. X. He is very specific about his dislikes. Here, let me show you:

VERY IMPORTANT: Might as well throw this in- Please do not email me if you have fake boobs. I really do not like them at all even if you went to the best doctor etc...

I know what I want and what I do not want, here is a list of the do not's... No fake boobs no matter what:) I do not see myself dating a woman who wears thongs, I know your reasons and I have to add that thongs do not fix your panty lines...I can still see a thong line going up the middle of your bottom.

Okay that sounded a bit negative, but you have not seen the winks and emails I have been getting. I would rather get ONE great email than 3200 mediocre ones.

Also I have two dogs so please be a dog lover too

Please reeview the following list, if any of these apply to you then emailing me is not the best use of your time.

Smokes even just a few :)
Fake boobs (covered this one already didn't we!)
Wears thongs (serious)
Not in shape
Catholic ( Yes I know you are a Christian but you will not get me into Mass...sorry)
Angry with men ( I know, you would think you would not be on Match right?)
Players ( Yes, woman on Match can be players just like the guys)
Pro Abortion (good for you but never would we get along)
Drinks daily
Drugs
If you do not attend church monthly

Hey, If you were offended by any of that look at this as a time saver... Good luck

Wow, you know he's a charmer. In fact, I have used this as an example for many of what wacka-freaking-doodles are on the internet.

I didn't include the first paragraph, but needless to say he starts with his zip code which is. . . drum roll . . . hp (of course) . I also think it is great that he writes a couple and then decides to summarize his checklist of love.

Technically I do not attend church monthly, I attend weekly. Do you think I'm out? What about the Catholic business? I mean, Episcopalian is Catholic light and all.

What if I go commando? As long as there is no panty line, can he fall in love?

These are complicated issues. Currently, I don't drink daily, but I'm fairly certain any amount of time with this guy, and I will be drinking daily. Not in shape. . . how serious is he about this one? We all know that there are many skinny girls that aren't in shape at all. Other girls might appear larger, but are totally in shape. So, is he after in shape or just hot bod? I think either way I'm still out.

And I'll admit, I read that and thought, wow, this guy could meet the girl of his dreams, smart, funny, interesting and for whatever reason crazy about him, but if she had breast cancer and subsequently a boob job, he wouldn't be interested in her. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, that's what I want.

Why am I forcing everyone to be a part of this? That's right, cause the putz emailed me and said he recognized me and wasn't I the yearbook adviser. Sigh. Yes. And no, I am not qualified to date your royal assness. Now go find some conservative, pro-life, granny panty wearing, droopy booby, bible thumping Baptist who doesn't drink, smoke, dance or like sex (sorry I added that for my own amusement.)

Truth, lies and self-deception

Recently, I have had a friend in great angst with another over a little thing called lying. She said something that I hadn't defined for myself before, but I think has a lot of validity. She said that lies are always selfish. Hmmm. Interesting thought. Think about all of the different reasons and ways we lie, yup, they do seem to be at their core, selfish reasons for lying. There are lots of reasons for keeping quiet, some of which are just good manners, and I'm totally for that. But truth is about honesty and a persons character. Who a person is at the core of their being. Something to think about.

Recently, I had another acquaintance who has (what I consider to be) a bad habit of always saying, "You're lying." In response to things he finds slightly suspect. I finally asked him why he kept saying that. Had I lied to him at some point? Has he had such rotten luck with people in general that he is always being lied to. his response, interestingly, was "Don't women always lie?" Huh. No. I'm pretty sure they don't. At least I don't. I can't even think of anything that would be worth the energy of keeping up with the lie to be worth lying.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend's winged monkey made some statement about how I was lying to myself ( I can't remember exactly what he said but it was to the effect of my not knowing myself.) I thought that was interesting. When I tried to get him to be specific and say exactly what he meant, he suddenly had to go and do something. Sigh. There are many things that can be said to me that would qualify as pushing my buttons. Those issues that I worry about regulary (Yes, I do worry that I am the most selfish person on the planet.) But this? I can't get too worked up because I do know myself pretty damn well, I work hard to be as honest with myself as I am with others.

My sister, yougottawonder, and I talk a lot about her kids. They, from time to time, cause her great angst including but not limited to, their propensity to lie. We can't figure out what it's about. Why do some kids feel that they need to lie? What lessons are they being taught out in the world that convinces them that it is better to lie than to be honest? These are people who do not appreciate the simplicity of life that comes from being honest.

Today I found a new blog (clearly, I have too much time on my hands) and the most recent post happened to be on lying. Although the specific issue was not mine, her feelings and descriptors of herself are exactly how I would describe myself.

I hope that if I teach nothing else in my classroom each day, that I am teaching my kids to tell the truth and take responsibility for themselves and their actions. I think the world would be such a better place if we could manage to get people to be honest with one another.

Oh, the things kids say

The BFF's kids, Biscuit and Gravy, are great kids. Well-spoken, intelligent, funny, interesting. Don't be fooled. They make me totally crazy. That is the beauty of children. They survive long enough to become grown-ups, because, let's face it, they can be annoying just because they exist, God Bless 'em. But I digress.

Yesterday we were discussing the pirates taking over the commercial ship etc. Gravy, who had been sitting in the back of the car quietly, pops up with "Speaking of Somalia, . . . " Really how many kids are able to start sentences like that? I totally would have nothing to complete that sentence. It is especially funny because she was thinking of the Zoo critter, the Wild Somali Ass. (Not some guy you met at a party, but discovered is a total jerk.) Who wouldn't have a good time visiting the zoo that has that animal?

Later, as we discussed my return to Rome and what places I would be seeing, I started frowning as no names came to me and Biscuit piped up with "the coleseum." FYI if you want your kids to look uber smart, Oklahoma City's Mid Del district is the way to go. Thank God Biscuit and Gravy ARE very smart so there time here won't make them total idiots, but I'm not sure that it's helped them that much. Later, trying to be especially kind, he informed me that, "When you get alzheimer's, I'll show you the postcards from Sorrento." She's training them well. (The postcard's came from me during the last European trip, so they would be designed to help me remember things in my old age. What a giver I say.)

all photos shamelessly found through google and snagged for my viewing audiences benefit. Hope y'all enjoy.

Men and Women

So it has happened before that I have been accused of not liking men. . . well, of even being a hater'. In fact, Date 8 made a statement to this effect. (Sorry, don't remember what I said to make him say it, but I think it was a reference to men being simple (not stupid, people, simple.) Yes, I understand that I need to filter what I say a little better, but that isn't the point of this post, so move on.

I love men. I think men are great. I am charmed by them, sometimes because they are so very different from women. I appreciate that they need us (women) to just tell them what we want and think without putzing around with hints or inuendos.

Sure, I have dogs, friends and batteries (sorry Mom, don't think about that one) which does make the uses I have for men more limited, but that doesn't mean that I like them any less. It doesn't mean that I don't yearn for someone to put gas in my car, take the trash out, kill the bugs and upon occasion take me out and make me feel special.

(Yes, there are more reasons, and, sure, I could get sappy and into all of that, but that's not what this is about, so again, let's move on.)

I am not a romantic. I do not have a two hour movie in my head of the magic that is marriage. I'm surrounded by women I adore that remind me on an almost daily basis that cohabitating is a lot more difficult than most people are willing to admit and there are many reasons to be worried about making it work successfully.

I would love to find a guy that is totally crazy about me and about whom I would be equally crazy; a guy whose company I totally enjoy and with whom I would like to spend days and nights.

But, more generally, I want to say again. I love men for their simplicity and straightforwardness, and simplicity is beautiful. I love that they are linear thinkers (most of the time.) I love that they don't tend to be burdened with terribly complicated, fraught with drama relationships. Let's face it, when they get mad at a friend, it is a simple affair.

"Hey Jackass, you pissed me off."
"What ever Asshole."
Scene ends. Fight
over.

How is it that the world has managed to make the things that I love most about men the thing that makes the world think I don't? Why do I feel as if I am stating some taboo thought when I comment on this basic difference between men and women; as if their simplicity and straightforwardness is a bad thing. We have magazines devoted to making life more simple. We constantly struggle to simplify our lives. These are good things.

Speaking of which, today during a quick run to Target with the BFF, we nabbed Real Simple (Ooohhhh, I do so love that magazine.) The first page has this quote on it.

"What I expect from my male friends is that they are polite and clean. What I expect from my female friends is unconditional love, the ability to finish my sentences for me when I am sobbing, a complete and total willingness to pour their hearts out to me, and the ability to tell me why the meat thermometer isn't supposed to touch the bone." Anna Quindlen, Living out Loud

I love this. Again, please note, lower expectations for men, high expectations for women. I could probably be more eloquent on the topic and perhaps more insightful, but I'm hanging with the BFF, chatting, listening to children run about and just not able to focus too well. So, this is what you get.

Analysis of 3 with 8

I'm not sure that I have much. I'm a little nervous about doing too much analysis because as usual I feel myself starting to get a little freaky. The best bet for keeping myself from getting freaky is to take deep breaths and not think too much about it.

We had a nice date. After dinner at Fish City, we went over to The Balcony Club and closed the joint down. I haven't been up that late in a really, really long time.

The worst part about staying up so late was getting up so freaking early because the dogs don't care if I got enough sleep, they are waking up at 6:30 either way. Auugghhh. I was headed towards Oklahoma City to hang with the BFF by 8.

Basically my analysis at this time is that I am avoiding thinking about it. Yea me.

#2 with #8

8 and I started emailing this afternoon (I was looking for entertainment during the drudgery of inservice.) Actually, the inservice was fine, but it was drudgery by definition because it was inservice. At any rate, at some point he asked me out for tonight. I queried for verification that he didn't want to move the date from Thursday but wanted an additional date. In fact, he did.

We met at the Capital Pub at 6:30pm. Finished after 10. Talked the whole time. Side note, this afternoon I tried to look up some questions for getting to know people, etc etc., you know, just to help come up with interesting stuff to talk about. It's embarrassing because I'm a big freaking geek, but guess what . . . he did the same damn thing!

So, we asked each other lots of questions and got to know each other a little bit better. His favorite color is red. He loves Star Wars movies. The best gift he got was his camaro from his parents when he was a teenager. (Why, yes, I did get a camaro when I was in high school.)

He was really sweet about assisting me in remembering that I didn't need more than 2 drinks. He wasn't rude or overpowering or anything, just nice about it. Hard to explain, but sweet nevertheless.

It is a little strange because he was married for a really long time and he has two kids, and he has lived a very different life than what I lived. There are a lot of things that we very definitely don't have in common.

At any rate, another lovely evening. . . we have a 3rd date tomorrow evening. He has potential. Real potential.

When it's better to be quiet and not post

That's right when you have nothing nice to say. . .

When you are cranky and full of venom. . .

When theme week makes you want to beat your head against a wall because the new editors are NOT taking it seriously and you KNOW that you are going to end up having a crappy ass year because of the fact that they are screwing up already. . .

When you get that stupid stargazer lily orange pollen crap on your beautiful pale pink jacket that you adore, and although the dry cleaner told you she thought that they could get it out you would prefer a "yes, that is coming out" response. . .

When your stomach has been slightly cranky for two days, and you aren't sure why AND when you chose to wear an unbearably tight skirt today that actually required undoing the buttons so that you could make it through the afternoon without fainting. . .

When you spent an evening at the laundrymat (a story unto itself quite frankly) trying to get your duvet and comforter cleaned one of which very definitely still has a big ass pee stain (dumb dogs) on it and the other is at least dark brown so that you can't tell although you are uncomfortably aware that odds are that the pee stain is still there too. . .

When you are about to spend TWO hours in an inservice about something you might find interesting and want to learn about but still can't bear the thought of TWO hours on any topic. . .

THAT's when you shouldn't post.

Date #8 and our little friend Mr. Opportunity

Not the first one, or the second, but the third one. March turned out to be a long dry month for me. I missed a couple of opportunities, stood up by one guy (total loser, but did still suck), spoke to another and realized immediately that he was a no go. So, admittedly the identity of date 8 has changed several times as opportunities have arisen and crashed and burned.

So, spoke to 8 for maybe ten minutes on Saturday and made plans for coffee Sunday afternoon. Coffee got canceled because we both had stuff running over, so we pushed our meeting time back to 5pm last night and a quick dinner. It wasn't the best because I'd been in Plano all afternoon and the dogs would have to be fed, but I figured what the heck, I could have blown him off but then I might not get another opportunity any time soon because I'm pretty damn busy right now. We met at a pub in old Plano that I'd been to before with friends. I admit, I didn't really think that it would work out for various reasons, but what the heck, at least I could say that I made the effort.

So, 8 is a great guy. We talked for ages. In fact, I called my neighbors to see if they could feed the hellion and her companion so that I could stay and talk a little longer. Unfortunately, I also took the opportunity to drink 4 cosmos. Trust me, I paid dearly for that mistake, especially since earlier in the day Buddy took the opportunity to pee on my bed. I have NO idea of why he did that. (Maybe my handy man scared him? Don't know.) So, by the time I got home at 10:30 at night, I had no clean sheets, comforter, duvet etc. I slept with a blanket wrapped around me and no sheets on the bed. Oh, and I woke with a delightful little reminder of the previous evenings indiscretions that required several advil.

Tonight I have bookclub, so I will not have the opportunity to go to the laundrymat and clean the comforter which is too big for the washing machine. In addition, I have to buy a new mattress pad because the old one didn't come clean, and I'm just not sleeping on pee. Girls gotta have her standards, these are mine.

Back to the boy. He's an only child, nice looking, parents live in Plano, he works in Plano, divorced, two kids, easy going and a pretty good kisser. Yup. That sums up what I learned last night. Ok, well, more later.

Day of the bulbs

For my birthday (quite some time ago) I was given the gift of 100 gladiola bulbs. Personally, I would have loved to receive the bulbs and the bulb planter, but alas, not the case. So, they sat on my desk and tortured me for a very long time.

In fact, I have kvetched and worried over them so that my bff final felt obliged to tell me to plant the damn things or throw them out, but for heaven's sake, stop talking about them.

So, today after administering an academic science test for a competition (painfully boring), I trotted myself home and planted the bulbs. . . in the backyard . . . where the idiot dogs hang out. Sure, the odds aren't good, but it was the only place I could find. On the upside, I did put up a cute little wooden fence and a couple of planters to guard the area.

We'll see what happens. Not to beat a dead horse, but dating is a lot like this. Work with me here. I planted 100 bulbs. Everyone knows all 100 gladiolas are not going to bloom. Some of them will not bloom at all. Nothing. ever.

Some of them may not bloom at first, but eventually something will pop up. Or, even more likely, they will bloom the first time, but never again.

Still others will bloom and look beautiful. I will be pleased that I put in the effort to plant them, fertilize them and care for them.

But right now as I stare at a large area of just dirt . . . and I contemplate the blister on my hand and the sore muscles in my back from turning the earth. . . and I think about the odds of the damn things blooming. . . I wonder if it is really worth the effort.

Oh, and I'm supposed to meet a new guy for coffee or something tomorrow. . . update to come.

Time is limited

Too many drinks and a desire to go to bed make it difficult to think of anything profound to write this evening.

I shall keep it simple. I am highly amused by my sister picking up the Twitter bug. I went to dinner with my neighbors who demanded explanations of this thing Twitter and what it was about and such. In the meantime, big sis was trying to figure it all out and texting me for updates. Quacking me up.

"Twouble with Twitter" sous-titré
Uploaded by LePostfr

They get me, man, they really get me.

God is going to teach me self control . . .

even if it kills me. I guess this is part of growing up. Sure, I'm behind the curve on this one, but clearly, the dear Lord feels it is time. Ok, fine, I'm down with that.

I would guess there are several areas in which he feels I would most benefit from self-control. Let's explore them one by one, shall we?

Area 1: Money. Oh, this one is a doozy. It has caused members of my family, especially my mother, and friends great angst for a long time. First, let me say, I am very bad in math. This would not be a big deal except often I think I am spending in my budget when in actuality, my numbers are off considerably. In addition, I have chosen to live a life with credit cards which means, unlike people who stop spending when they run out of money, I never actually run out of money. The beauty of plastic. It's unfortunate.

Also, having recently seen Confessions of a Shopaholic, all I can say is well, go see the movie. That's me. But without the guy. And, sadly, cheaper clothes, but more in debt. Now, I'm really depressed. Our conclusion? I need to show some self-control and spend less money. Bah, easy enough to say, but oh, so very difficult to do.

Area 2: Food. Sure, I've always had a weakness for food. I'm an eater. However, the removal of the gall bladder last summer took some of the fun out of eating, especially in light of the dr's assistant telling me that it will probably be a couple more years before my body straightens itself out and can eat fat again. Think about it people. Food with fat in it is dangerous for me. Like don't get more than 15 feet away from the restroom kind of dangerous. Like maybe I need to have a spare set of jeans in my car at all times just in case dangerous. Now think about what you eat on any given day and which of those foods are LOW FAT. Hah. Not as many as you probably think.

After a recent unpleasant incident involving a Bloomin' Onion, I have pretty much gained self control in the fried foods category. However, desserts still taunt me. Last night with a yearning for something sweet, I did a drive by on Central Market. I got a fairly small piece of cake that I thought I could cut into two pieces and have dessert for two nights. How economical. However, as I started to eat it, I just kept thinking how good it was, and maybe I could eat a little more. Oh, yes, I did. I ate the whole piece . . .less than an hour later . . .cramps and rush to the bathroom. sigh.

Today? One of the few things our school cafeteria makes especially well would be vanilla cake. Yummy, moist, spongy, delicious cake. Didn't even eat it all, but, yes, my stomach hurts. I'm going to learn self-control here too. No, I'm not a quick learner. Yes, I probably should be in God's special ed corner of slow learners, but I will learn, so help me, I WILL LEARN!!!

Area 3: I'm not sure how focused on this area God is, but I thought I would add it since it does fall under the heading of self-control. I need to remember to keep the voice inside my head . . .well, INSIDE OF MY HEAD. No need to say everything I am thinking aloud. No need to include people on my humorous and, quite frankly often insightful, little quips. They can stay in my head. Nothing in particular is making me add this, just a general sense of growing up and learning self-control would probably include this too.

So, there you have it. Blog post #2 for April and profound thoughts from yours truly.

Dating is . . .

a lot like buying a house. Let's be honest, when talking about making the biggest investment of a lifetime choosing the person you're going to spend the next 50 years with is quite the investment.

The search: The internet has changed both experiences, for better or for worse. I have purchase homes and found dates with and without the internet. I'm not sure that it makes much difference, except the internet does increase the numbers. Flipping through page after page of options. Determining my parameters as I realize what I do and do not want. Thinking about what I consider to be the most important criteria.

Assistance: Some people like to hire a professional to help in the search. There is a lot to be said for this methodology. I happen to be in the small circle of people who have been dumped by my real estate professional. She was very nice about it, but she did kindly inform me that it might be better if we went our separate ways.

I'm a pain. I know that. I look at men, quite frankly, the same way I look at houses. I'm not taking the first one I see. And I'm unwilling to drop my standards just because it has taken a long time, I've seen a gazillion houses and none of them have been quite right yet. And, I'm not looking for perfection (in homes or men). When I finally make my choice, I have been very, very pleased (at least in homes.)

There are a lot of mistakes that can be made. Lots of times we think we can make our own decision without aid from friends or family. I'm not saying you should do what they say, but they love us, and really do help us see through our new found love and see the home for what it is, warts and all. No one wants to see the list of issues and concerns with the house we want to own, but it is far better to have the list and look at it objectively than to go in blind.

Some people are so confident in their choice that they have a very short option period before they are locked into the deal. I think that is a mistake. No need to rush these things. People should take their time.

Sometimes we get the list of problems from the inspector, but we have decided that we want the house soooo badly, that we are going to ignore the list. Maybe we think we'll fix all the problems ourselves or we are afraid if we present them to the seller they won't be willing to fix the problems, and then what will we do?

I love the idea of renting with an option to own. My parents sold the house in which I grew up by renting it with an option to own. What a great idea. Sure when you first see a house you think it is great, but it is only after living in it and getting to know the ins and outs of the house that you really know if you want to live in it for ever.

So, my option periods have been fairly short so far because I've walked away from many a house, but I have high hopes that I might get a long term lease, and then, eventually buy. . . maybe.