Good Luck

.......................


One hour to New Year's Eve and I don't feel a bit sentimental. I don't feel like I'm missing any parties and I am certainly glad to be off the roads.


My promise to myself to file all of my 2011 papers before 2012 seems to be hanging out with my promise to go to the gym every day. 


My New Year's Resolutions are repeating themselves and my immediate concern for the new year is that I remember to write the correct year on my checks. 


There's a limit to how many years I can go with no one special to kiss at midnight before I relegate the whole celebration to another "couples only" event designed to keep the singles out of sight. Oh. But if there IS a singles new years eve party that I would ever choose to go to, it is designed as yet another opportunity to make us half a couple. 


In Israel, thank goodness, it isn't a holiday. One reprieve from the onslaught of holidays. 


So here we go again. I'll wake up at my usual time to go to work tomorrow.  If I remember, just before 7am, I'll change the channel to a US news station to get my annual I-used-to-live-in-America fix of the ball dropping in Times Square. I'll smile for a few minutes and say that looks like fun. 


A lot of "good luck in the new year" go around and a lot of good wishes, but business as usual. 

Unfortunately, I have developed an aversion to Good Lucks. 

For me they are usually tagged onto replies on dating sites:  "Thanks, but no thanks, but Hey, good luck to you!".


Shoot me now.
.........................................

Pass the Petri Dish

...............................................................
Nothing is going on. The highlight of my week is that I mistook a urinary tract infection for a heightened state of arousal. 


I have decided to attribute the infection to the one time I used the jacuzzi at the sports club. I have no idea if that is even remotely possible as a cause, but it gives me a perfect excuse not to use it again.  


While most people would rather lounge in a jacuzzi than swim laps, I prefer the latter. 
In the pool I become a champion for half an hour. I am a graceful swimmer and I know that when swimming, my body fogets its recent foray into middle age. In a jacuzzi, I have to pretend that I am not grosssed out by the overly hairly sharing their space with me. 


So I stake out my lane and swim almost non-stop for half an hour, taking a moment every so often to knowingly renew the slather of saliva in my goggles,  betraying only the fact that I was too cheap to buy the antifog ones. 


I lean against the wall at the end of my laps and look around, keenly aware that from the vantage point of being half submerged, I am as as svelte as the rest of them. 


And then I get out.


As I climb up the heinously skinny ladder I am shocked into reality that I am neither svelte nor a real athlete,  and if I had any doubts, I try to wrap a towel around me, but suffice with covering my butt. 


Once, I found a window of opportunity when there were no men in the jacuzzi who would watch me waddle my way from the pool's edge to the jacuzzi's edge. There was no one  in the warm bubbly water, no one crouched at the perfect eye level to watch my thighs jiggle ahead of me down the jacuzzi steps. So I lowered myself with the grace of a rhino into this reservoir of bacteria and positioned myself strategically against a jet of water. 


And a week later I have a urinary tract infection. 


You do the math. 
...................................................

A Play in Three Acts

.....................................


Scene 1: Olden Times (circa before internet).

• Girl holds out hope for a week that Boy from blind date arranged by meddling aunts is interested. 
• Boy not calling.
• Girl calls Boy.
• Boy not answering. 
• Girl spends additional week justifying why. 
• Girl runs out of justifications.
• One ton of bricks falls on girls head.
• Boy makes his point that he is not interested.
• Girl goes on with her life. 
• Disappointment Factor: 1 Boy over Two Weeks

Scene 2: Present Day.

• Girl drinks coffee in front of computer.
• Girl logs onto 5 internet dating sites. 
• Girl sends messages to 7 attractive Boys.
• Girl makes second cup of coffee.
• Girl notices that 7 Boys have looked at her profile.
• Girl notices that 7 Boys have logged out.
• Girl notices that her inbox is empty.
• Girl is sorry she didn't buy ice cream.
• Disappointment Factor: 7 Boys over 10 Minutes

Closing Scene: Future

• Girl in urban all night mini market paying for kitty litter and various sundries. Girl  goes back for ice cream and meets Boy of her dreams in the freezer section.
• Girl knew that loyalty to Ben and Jerry's would eventually pay off.

No question that the sheer number of disappointments is the price of the sheer number of opportunites. 

For now, I just hope that if cyberspace doesn't offer (true) love, I'll eventually find my Boy  in the freezer section.  At least he'll be well preserved.

.............................................

GPS For Sale

I have got to get myself a better road map. If love is just around the corner, I must be in the wrong neighborhood. 


With my luck, love is teetering on a brink somewhere. It is outstretching its hand to me, begging me to save it from the precarious precipice. But too many cookies, and that extra weight sends us plunging over the edge. 


I hate the cliche that all the good guys are either married or gay but I'm on the verge of believing it. 


If I am to believe all the profiles on the internet dating sites, great men are a dime a dozen. Yet I seem to be a penny short  because it's been a while since I met any of them. I may have thought they were great for a while, but I was wrong. 


So at this point, I read the profiles for the entertainment value. I will paraphrase some of the recurrent themes for you.

• "I hate to talk about myself, but if I have to... I am wonderful, witty, smart, considerate, a great lover, your best friend..."
  
  
• "Ready for chapter two. Understand what true love is. No fat women please"
  
  
• "I am a father to 3 wonderful children who are my whole life... they take up much of time so if you expect any attention from me please don't write to me."
  
  
• "My motto in life is live and let live. I am looking for a woman who will not try to change me, who gives me space to breathe, who has her own money..."
  

This one always puzzles me:

• "I would like to meet a woman who is clean."

 So you can tell that I don't have too much to say about my search for Mr. Right.  I'm doing everything in my power to keep the bar set high enough that I don't settle for Mr. Not-Comatose.


As always. I will keep you posted.

Take Two

.................
Hebrew has a wonderful expression roughly translated to "corrective experience". It is part of the lexicon relating to everything from the mundane to the sacred - that opportunity to play out the scene again, this time with a different ending. The best I can find in English is that children's cry of "Do-over".    If we are sharp enough to recognize and create our opportunities, life can be filled with do-overs. Lot's of  do-overs. 


Many of us tried to do-over our fathers with our first marriage. 
Some of us tried to do-over our ex-husbands with our second marriage. 


So long after the second divorce, we (I) finally have it figured out that the only truly effective do-over is on ourselves. We are not going to correct anyone else. 


With the wisdom of hindsight, I trust myself enough to allow back into my life the same one that I've alluded to before, the one that makes my heart skip a beat. I know full well that he isn't going to be there for the long haul. But this time, I'm not going to let him get to me. 


I can't help but think of the expression: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."


Now let's just hope that my heart cooperates and adjusts to the new set of rules. 
.....................

Postcards from the Edge...

....................................

Here we are again... Wait... For real this time....

Here I am again... trying to maintain my equilibrium. 

My inner ear is fine. 

It's my heart that beats to its own drummer: no program to follow and no melody line.  Perhaps the restless beat of tom-toms in a distance and then perhaps the tympanni section of the Philharmonic. Sometimes it is the expectant drum roll of a snare, and other times the calm brushes and muted symbols of a jazz band in the corner. 

All bets are off. I am on the brink. I can go either into that place of supreme bliss or over the edge to the abyss (there's that darn word again).

The S.W.A.T. teams have the target in their cross hairs. Just let him try to break my heart again..

..........................................................

Tea and Sympathy

.............................
I'm headed already for a life filled with cats. Lots and lots of cats. 


Everyone was passing me on the highway, and I'm fairly certain I had my left blinker on for about 7 kilometers. 


Where are the days when I burned the candle at both ends? When did I start running home to comfy pjs and TV?

What happened that instead of making sure my clothes go from work to play with casual ease, I'm just grateful that I didn't drip any soup on my bosom?


When did I start listening to the drive-time ads for protected living?  

Why is it that the day a glass lid slipped through my fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor, I cried for my pot?

What is it about my demographic that I am inundated with ads for teeth implants?

Am I in that netherworld between too old for the young ones and too young for the old ones? Are all the ones my age married or gay?


Eventually I'll get it figured out. For now, pardon me while I wallow.

Is This Seat Taken?

I dont remember the last time I could sit alone at a table without someone taking my chairs. 


What is about me that cries out - "There is no way in hell that this woman will have anyone eventually sitting next to her. Let's take her chairs, one by one, so that no matter how small the table, it will be extra obvious that she is alone, and we can add salt to the wound that is her life of going solo to venues that everyone else goes in pairs." 


I feel like that Frasier episode. The one where he insists he can go to a fancy restaurant on his own without embarrasment. He eventually ends up BEGGING to sit with a family he doesn't know. 


Here is my take on flying solo at different establishments:

• Cafe's are welcoming during the day. Night is a little borderline.
• By day they provide free newspapers, as if to say, "we know you are just stopping by to kill some time in between your daily tasks. Here. Take this newspaper and look busy, no one will care."
• By night, the owner still nods hello and makes you feel welcome, but the newspapers are gone and you are on your own to keep yourself entertained. 
• Restaurants are a borderline experience on your own day and night. The tables are bigger, and they don't have wireless. 
• Pubs with food by day are probably OK. 
• By day, I haven't gone in one on my own. What's the point during daylight if they don't serve coffee?
• I once went into a pub in the evening by myself because they had a nice porch and I wanted to sit outside. Lest you think I'm a role model to all single women, keep in mind that of miles of pubs in my area, I chose the one closest to the turn off to my neighborhood and spoke English the whole time so that they would think I was a tourist. It could take me some time to get out my comfort zone on this one. 
• Bars on  your own, day or night, are just too Looking for Mr. Goodbar Let's not go down that road.

I have a hunch I'll have a lot more to say on this subject. 

For the time being, when a tall, handsome man asks, "is this seat taken?" I just grin and bear it as he carries it off to his party of 6. 

Maybe one day soon, when I least expect it, "is this seat taken?" will be followed by "mind if I join you?" and my life will change forever. 

.............................................

Free Hugs

............
I take my hugs as I can come by them.

For lack of two strong arms to whisk me away to the land of never ending happiness, and for lack of the brilliant Japanese invention, The Boyfriend Pillow, I am overwhelmed at how a few kind words in my direction are enough to bring me to tears. 


This would lead me to believe that either I'm totally pathetic, or that at some point, my uber-woman alter ego laid down for a nap.


These are the thoughts that run through my head sometimes:


Blanche: "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."
John and Paul: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." 

So is it a bit over the top that I get choked up over the daily scenarios that make up my life - 

• being fit in at 6 pm for a two hour highlight and hair cut appointment - and greeted  with enthusiasm and a can of diet coke at my arrival;
• finding a place for new tires where I'm reassured that I can call any time of day or night if I get a flat;
• knowing that I can go to my girlfriends and they will feed me, day or night.
• going to the same doctor for 20 years, who will ignore a room of waiting patients to let me whine non-stop that I need a boyfriend;
• being greeted by name in the work cafeteria that feeds hundreds.  (I'm also greeted by name by the ones who take out my trash... I'm not convinced that's a compliment).

That's really just a stupid little partial list, but you get the point. The point that I get choked up at the drop of a hat, at the first sign of kindness in my direction. This isn't my favorite part of me but I am learning to embrace it.


And not to belittle the joys of being greeted by a poodle with my dirty underwear in its mouth, maybe one day, after a long day at work,  I will be greeted by a smile from my special someone, who will have made me a salad and bring it to me while I sprawl on the sofa. 


Perhaps it is a response to the parade of jack asses and users throughout my life, perhaps it is just a response to moving to a new city and feeling at home. What's certain is that I take my hugs where I can get them, and feel blessed every day to have them coming from so many directions. 


..........................

No Job Too Small

.......................
I am obsessed that I have no one around who can move heavy objects. 


We've already established that I know how to do plenty on my own but is it so bad that I miss having a man around for certain tasks? (Haven't men been keeping women around for certain tasks forever?)


This is when I'm at a loss on my own: 

• When I have to move the washing machine.
• When a roach won't die.
• When trash is gross.
• When the pizza arrives and I'm in my underwear.

Where is he? the coyboy? the sailor? the investment banker? the musician? the ambulance driver? the teacher? the actor? the basketball player? The man of my dreams? 


Until he fixes his GPS, others swoosh in and swoosh out, leaving debris in their wake.


They are the ones who know how to move things but don't know how to put them back. 


They waltz in, all strong and handsome, and move heavy objects to my hearts delight. They shake things up, they rock my world, and then they go. 

• They moved the washing machine but it's in the dining room.
• They killed the roach but his relatives are here for the memorial service.
• The trash is still gross but at least it has pizza in it. 

I don't know what's holding up my dream guy. 


Maybe I'm losing it. I am afraid that what was once "come hither" has turned into "come hither and hoist me out of this chair".


But it will be OK. 


It always is. 
...............................

My Life as a Thumbnail

........................


I have been perusing internet dating sites for so long that my field of vision is limited to 1.5 inches square. Don't ask me what someone looks like if I haven't seen them in a thumbnail picture. I just won't know. 


I expect everything in life to be accompanied by an "add to favorites button". (And you thought "Like" was an original idea...)


I have learned that a 50 year old guy who posts a picture from his 30s probably looks 60.


I have learned that a 52 year old guy who explicitly states that he is looking for women aged 30 to 34 is not going to make an exception in my case. As utterly ridiculous as I may find his preference, I have learned that telling him so is not going to endear me to him.


I have learned that the more a guy writes about himself, the more recent his separation. Not only is he not yet fed up with this whole medium and thinks that anyone has patience to read all the text, but he is grateful to find a platform to expound his new-found philosophies about women and relationships. 


I have learned that my first impressions are damn reliable, and that a guy who posts a picture of himself showering is not looking for a long term relationship, no matter what he tells you.


I have learned that I am going to be wildly attractive to some and totally forgettable to others, and it is not a reflection of me as a person (although I REALLY don't get it...)


It takes it toll on me sometimes. I think I have become a less nice person, at the very least less patient:


If I read one more time about a man who "loves life" and is "ready for chapter 2" I will puke. And I will no longer take the responsibility for carrying a conversation with a monosyllabic man.


At its best, internet dating has potential; there are just as many nice guys out there as there are shmucks. At its worst, it is a mine field of married men,  libido driven maniacs and egotistical scum buckets. 


The long and the short of it is that I am addicted to internet dating sites. 


Say what you will, it keeps me off the streets. 


.........................

Open Wide

............................


So you know how people say "I'd rather have root canal" like that's a bad thing? Next week I'm having root canal. I'm looking forward to it. It will finally put an end to my pain while eating cold things (i.e. ice cream).  


I'm also looking forward to it because I have absolutely nothing else to look forward to that is out of the ordinary. 


I have no dates. So I have plenty of time to schedule root canal.


I also have time to have a suspicious mole removed and treat a yeast infection.


All of these fun activities include kind men in white coats taking care of me.  For a few minutes I succumb to the fantasy that they really care that I wont itch or twinge. I pretend that for no other reason than medical ethics, they haven't asked me to travel the world with them, enveloped in their warmth, protected from the dangers of the sun, cold and vaginal flora. 


It's not just the disappointment that doctors don't ask me out. I encounter so many men in my life. They are part of the fabric of my day. They are the people I meet when I have errands to run and things to do - doctors, lawyers, clerks, teachers, colleagues, ticket takers, waiters, drivers, toll collectors. They are the men who stand in front of me at the supermarket or behind me at the bank. They are the the men who stop at the same red light, and the men who stop to pet my dog.


They stop for a moment in my life, share their sunshine and leave again. 


Some of the men who pass through my life stay longer than others, some should have left long before they did. 


For now, I am not accepting passers-by into my life, for better or worse. 


It means I have fewer dates and spend more time in front of the TV, but there are a lot of good shows on. 


For now I will fill up my calendar with the mundane and find comfort in myself. 


Sometimes the situation is OK and sometimes it really sucks. 


Today it really sucks.


.....................................

I'll Take One...

...............


No longer able to bear the sole responsibility of everything that is wrong in the world of a 14 year old adoloscent girl, not to mention wrong with the size of her bedroom, I informed my daughter in no uncertain terms that there are many children in the world who would be very happy to have a bedroom like hers.


Hours later, I am still shuddering from the sheer power of having said it and meant it, and thus having put a stop to all complaints on the subject. 


Now... if only I could translate that power, that integrity, into other aspects of my life... (who am I kidding... we're really only worried about me in relationship to men). 


If only I could say to myself (and mean it)  ''screw the idiot if he doesn't call me back. There are plenty of men in the world who would." 


Maintaining my integrity with THAT statement would happen in a parallel universe.
In this universe, if someone doesn't call me back, I call them again. (Please save me the humiliation of actually writing it and imagine which word should repeat itself in the previous sentence). 


But maybe I have learned something from  tonight's showdown over my ability to defend the inherent quality of my daughter's bedroom. 


There is an inherent quality to me, too, that I can defend, and with integrity. In this world, there are plenty of men who would be very happy to have someone like me. 
I haven't found them yet,  but I don't need to find them all. One will be enough. 


....................................

Entertainment Tonight

..............


The wind is blowing through my hair as I carelessly cruise the highway. I pull off the road to watch the fiery sun as it sets against the restless waves of the sea. I lean against the hood of my vintage car. A tall stranger feigns disinterest. 


I turn my back to him.  Shoes in hand, I walk on the sand; he pursues me. The sand holds me back as I try to walk faster. Helplessly, I fall. Shirt in hand, he catches up to me, his smooth chest glistening in the dusk.  As the sun drops into the sea, he lifts me in his muscular arms and my life changes forever.  


Then I wake up.
Then I clean up dog pee.
Then I go to work.


I open the windows of the car, afraid that if I drive with the airconditioning I'll run out of gas on the way. The wind wreaks havoc with my hair; I make a mental note to buy more hair gel.


I pull off the highway to adjust my seat; I make a mental note to not drive with these shoes again. 


And so it goes...  


Those teensy gaps between reality and dreams don't upset me anymore. At most, they remind me that I haven't given up hope. At least, they keep me wildly entertained. 


I'm guessing that at this point, I'm never going to leave my day job, I'm never going to walk the red carpet, I'll never hang with people who think seasons are verbs and  I'm never going to sit cross legged with a mini skirt.


So no apologies if I had a dream about Russel Crowe and a yacht, and I stayed in that place between sleep and awake as long as I could.


The dog will wait a little longer to go out. 
....................................................

Friends

I'd like to take a departure from my usual whining about my present status, (if I do it too often, though, this blog could lose its raison d'être).


I have mentioned it before. I have much to be grateful for in my life.  Aside from the blessings of a good job, a roof over my head and great-to-wonderful children, I have family and friends who have guided and shielded me, shielded me during my worst moments. 

There is another strata of friends that once in a while leap out of cyberspace and make me laugh and ponder.  My fellow bloggers. I have only recently come to appreciate this medium and am in the process of carving out my niche. In this short time, however, I have met some generous souls and received many a needed cyber hug. And here is one of them:


I have been awarded the Liebster Award by Miriam: (the quoted text is from her blog).


"The Liebster Award is meant to connect us even more and spotlight new bloggers who have less than 200 followers – but hopefully not for long. The rules are:


1.Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2.Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3.Post the award on your blog.
4.Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the Internet – other writers.
5.And best of all – have fun and spread the karma!"


So, thank you Miriam for your encouragement and for sharing your experience!  Now, how do I pass on this coveted prize without it sounding like an acceptance speech...  Here are my picks for blogs in the under 200 followers category.

• I would like to pass on the award to my new blogger friends Midlife Singlemum as she shares her journey, and to New Day New Lesson as she spreads a smile.
• I would like to pass on the award to  Rhonda . I can't even begin to find the words...
• I would like to pass on the award to a very old friend, Lois as she shares her difficult experience
• And last but not least to Janice who aside from EVERYTHING else, feeds me. 

So thank you all for sending your karma my way...

Wishing us all blessings and peace of mind.

Batter Up

----------------------------------------------
I was away for a while travelling in the US, visiting my family. It was a great distraction from my usual obsessions and a departure from my routines. Unfortunately, while not uninspired, I was feeling quite non-creative and viewed my experiences with less humor than melancholy.


While on holiday, I felt torn between saving the writing for a moment of inspiration that kept with the past blog entries, or writing even if my thoughts took a different direction. 


I have opted for the latter. As it turns out I "need" to write more than I thought I did. 


For a few days during my vacation, I sat in New England, at my sister's desk, finally satisfied that I had subjugated her ergonomic keyboard, but mass quantities of anti cold symptom syrup left me woozy at best and hallucinating at worst. Here is the result: 


Having returned from Northampton, Mass, the lesbian capital of the east coast,  I imagined myself as a resident, over 50, and looking for a man. Now THERE's a blog idea for you...


Or how about this scenario: Having returned from a Phillies game, I imagined myself up to bat, two outs, bases loaded, bottom of the ninth and crying. 


Well, I'm back in Israel: 

• I'm not in New England and not up to bat.
• I'm still looking for a man and still crying. 

I'm pleased to report that one has nothing to do with the other.  


Keep your fingers crossed for me.


--------------------------------------------

Hot Flashes

........................................................

That's it... I got the blood tests back.... I'm post menopausal....

While my doctor says that I should give a zillion thanks that I didn't suffer hot flashes, I was COUNTING on hormonal havoc as a ready excuse for just about everything.

NOW how am I going to explain the mood swings? The sudden tears? My bitchy twin?

And if it is not enough that I didn't get to use the excuses of menopause, does it seem fair that I don't even get the full advantages of empty nest? This later life mothering has me saying goodbye to my hormones while saying hello to 14 year old daughter - hereinafter referred to as Her Royal Highness' - hormones.

Oh.... and did I forget to mention that not only do I have to deal with being over 50 and blind-dating, but all previous illusions that I could compete with younger women seem truly ludicrous, as my self confidence is left behind, lost somewhere in the aisles between the tampons and the prune juice?

The up-side? My doctor exclaimed, "Congratulations, your ovaries have stopped working, you don't need birth control anymore!"  Given the current state of affairs, that's like wasting youth on the young...

I know that nothing has really changed in my life except the added official knowledge of my new status. I'll get over it. I've gotten over worse. 

But for now, humor me.... I think it is worth a pout or two.

...............................................

Hormones and Hades

............................


As if the very principle of being over 50 were not unfathomable enough, as if being back on the market over 50 were not a stroll through Hades, as if my body were not gravity's playground, amidst the havoc ridden exit of my own hormonal activity I have to deal with my last fledgling's periodic incarnations of a PMS demon.


As if I didn't feel bad enough that I can't get a date on Saturday night (or even a double-take from a bored doorman) and just when I need attention the most, I come home from a long day of work to hormonal grunts and steely stares that are my lot for having asked if she had a nice day; and how DARE I insist over and over and over again that she talk to me when she doesn't feel like talking. 


Recidivist that I am, I have been sentenced yet again to solitary confinement to ponder my misdeeds; she enters her sanctuary to read, where no mother may enter lest they breath her air. 


I am spending another evening alone with my laptop, book and remote control. There's a lot to be said for that scenario, but after a few years, even that grows old. 


Years ago, in the throes of loneliness after divorce, a wise child psychologist warned me that making my child my best friend was too big a responsibility for them. 


I have internalized that concept so much so that I can honestly say, NO, it is not enough that I have my children, work and home. They do not fill all of my emotional needs. Their attention, whether it be genuine or because I control the car keys, does not replace the caressing attention of a man. 


That being said, for lack of a date on a Friday night, I'm really happy when all the kids are around. We curl up on the sofa to a movie, a bucket of ice cream and 4 spoons. 


And for a few hours, all is good in the world. 


......................................................

Members Only Club

........................
I haven't written for a while. For over one week, I stepped outside of my routine. I did not check email, I did not speak with any men. (OK. No men called me. )

I am in a holding pattern.

All the major survival-mode issues of the last 15 years seem to be behind me. I am free to fill that space once occupied by worry and survival with joy and pride. 

But as it turns out, I do less filling, and more keeping out....

I spend a great deal of time playing bouncer in the club that is my life. Outside my door, waiting for the party to start, is a long line of  smooth talkers, promise makers and dream weavers. They are the life of the party. The ones that make me feel special as long as the booze is flowing and the music is loud. 

But sooner than later, they realize they are missing too many parties. 

So I put a bigger bouncer at the door to keep their kind away.  Unfortunately, he scares away the kinder, gentler would-be guests.

I thought that if I emptied my space of dead weight and cobwebs, the goodness would find its way of its own accord.  But alas, the cosmos has its own rhythm... Is my knight in shining armor around the corner? Is my ship just off shore?

I feel like a walking cliche. Are all the good ones really married or gay?   Or am I embodying the Groucho Marx remark of not wanting to join a club that would have me as a member?

The long and the short of it is that I am "alone" by choice.

I am waiting for THE one... the one that will take my breath away... 

.............................................................

Pumpkins and Field Mice

..........................


Lately  I am deep in contemplation about myself and less about others. (That's a good thing, right?) 


The trigger for this blog made a cameo appearance recently; the one who wanted to take things so slow that he disappeared. The same one that would take from me every bit of strength to just not think about. The one that had my stomach in knots and my heart on my sleeve for ages.    


But today my thoughts are about me, not him, about how I interpret the gaps in my life.


This was not the first time  post divorce that I fell in love and been left at midnight with nothing more than a pumpkin and some field mice. And it wasn't necessarily about unrequited love, but star crossed love. For as much as did work, there were too many forces, cosmic or otherwise, that didn't work. 


Of the loves that didn't pan out, I divide them into two types. The ones that could have loved back but just didn't want a relationship (thanks to all the ex wife bitches that spoiled it for the rest of us) and (drum roll please) the ones that were not worthy of my love. 


Yikes... The ones that were not worthy of my love....   I struggled with that one for a long time! And I finally recognized what was happening when I read the following passage. I mentioned it earlier but I think it is worth mentioning again. 


From Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert: "I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love... with the highest potential of a man... and then I have hung on to the relationship... waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness."


Understanding that this was me, that this was MY LIFE, was  enough to cure me of heart ache past and prevent future fiascoes.   


So I am left time and time again only with the truly ridiculous situation of wanting a relationship with a man that is simply not interested in having a relationship with anyone.  (Please let's not go down that road of maybe it was just me he wasn't interested in...  Let's just assume I'm right on this one...).


I have many men in my life that have taken their place via different experiences. The   details don't matter. But one thing is for sure. I am outgrowing the willingness to have someone in my life that offers less than I want from him.


I am spending a great deal of time cleaning my space of the proverbial  cobwebs, and not least of all, not letting in new creepy crawlers.


Yet, now, here is this person who has returned to my life... albeit under a different status than he left it. Since his exit, or because of it, I have gained strength,and he is demoted to status of another man that I will like meeting from time to time over a drink or fattening food, and whatever will be will be. (In all fairness, if he wanted me in a relationship, I'd be there in a heart beat). 


On the one hand, I could say that it does make me a teeny bit sad that I have stopped needing his attention as much. Or, I could say thank you to him for vacating one more space in this vessel that is me, this vessel which deserves to be filled up with the goodness that the cosmos has to offer. 

At Least I Wasn't Dressed Yet

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And so the cycle continues... disappointment follows hope. The hope was barely a glimmer and the disappointment barely a sigh, and in the grand scheme of my entire life, this moment will be forgotten.

But while I'm in it, it sucks.

It's such a small thing. Just a broken date. And probably just postponed. He even gave me a day's notice, as opposed to other maniacs who just left me all dressed up with no place to go.

Honestly, I've had worse disappointments; like when all of the clothes in my closet shrunk, and when I suffered a wax that no one saw but my gynecologist.

But why is it that when men disappoint, it just feels different?

It's not a broken heart, just a broken date. But nonetheless, another reinforcement of the cycle of hope and disappointment that taunts me, that threatens my equilibrium.

A few months ago, this setback would have sent me into a menage a trois with Ben and Jerry. Today I am thinking that I still might make it to the gym. 

Good for me.
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Stay Tuned for the Recap

On this the occasion of over 1000 hits on my blog, I feel compelled to recap where we've been, where we are, and where we are headed (to be understood as the royal "we" as in "we are not amused". )

In just over 3 months and just shy of two dozen posts, I have shared the emotions that accompany my hope of meeting Mr. Right and the inherent disappointments that give meaning to the expression "it's a jungle out there."

As I look back, I am astounded by the sheer intensity of my responses. Among other things, I whined at another birthday, I used the word abyss a lot, I compared dating to smoking,  I stopped listening to music and I cursed mornings.

Albeit not fun, given the same onslaught of disappointments, I am sure that my response today would not reach the proportions of the last few months. 

Of course there is a fine line between a proportional response and apathy. And I know that it is that very disproportionate intensity which liberated my creativity. Those mercurial moods will undoubtedly visit me again and I have learned to accept it as a part of my life.

But for now, I don't know if my chakras are unblocked, if the planets are aligned, or if the drugs have kicked in, but my responses to the same situations seem so much less volatile than they were.

And maybe in that shanti, in that groundedness, in that magical place of "when you least expect it" my life will soar.

Armed with the astounding positive feedback from these last three months of cathartic reflection, and with a laugh at myself (lest someone laugh at me first) I'll continue to reflect on my experiences.

As it turns out, I have a lot in common with a lot of women. And they are not all divorced and not all over 50.. and a good many of them can still wear horizontal stripes.

Lowering the Bar?

...............................
I met someone nice today.
No. Let me re-phrase that. I MAY have met someone nice today.

No. Let's be honest... I had a chat with someone on messenger and he seemed literate and not psychotic.

You'd think I have lowered the bar but it's not my fault. The nice guys are still nice,  but the creeps are creepier. They lurk in the corners of the dating sites, drawing you in with their charm, and then wham, they hit you with their creepiness.

But what choices do I have?

Supermarkets?
Men in supermarkets are a far cry from being single.... they have been sent there by their wives with long shopping lists in the hopes that they - the wives - can have an hour of peace of quiet. But then they -the men - stand helpless at the shelves, list in one hand cell phone in the other, receiving new orders from central command.

Singles Bars?
Thank you no.  These are the realm of the mono-syllabic crowd, too young to get the reference to Sgt. Pepper.

I've already discussed the difficulties of meeting men at the pool, and I have yet to gracefully spill the contents of my purse and be rescued by a melancholy Hollywood actor just waiting for a girl like me. (Although I have fallen flat on my face for no apparent reason in front of my favorite ice cream place).

So, until that time that I am introduced to a friend of a friend, I will keep my creep-detectors honed and persevere in that netherworld of online dating.
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Does This Spandex come in an Extra Large?

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I have stopped obsessing about men. Now I can concentrate on getting into physical shape.(I'll make 'em really sorry they didn't stick around... )

Unfortunately, clubs for getting into shape are the domain of those in shape already; the playgroud of glistening ab'd men that work out in front of mirrors, and perky women in spandex.

And then I walk in. With my trusty sweatpants and long t-shirt (please let this be the t-shirt without the stains on it, I whisper to myself). 

I come straight from work, after a 9 or 10 hour day to do my laps, maybe test the treadmill, maybe join the yoga class and last but not least, to meet people.

I thought it might be a nice place to meet men. But how do you start up a conversation with a guy at a pool? "Hi... I really like your speedo."

All of that said and done, I'm really glad I joined this pool. The other place I was going to started feeling like a lot of Muscovites vacationing on the Black Sea.  

All I really wanted was to join a pool, but I went the whole route and joined a country club.

I'm glad I did.

And I'll talk to the men after they change out of their Speedos and into something less distracting.
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Am I in the Zone Yet?

.....
I think I'm in a zone.
Not THE zone.
Not that place where athletes break records.
Not that place where artists create masterpieces.
Just a zone of my own creation. That place of inpenetrable apathy toward the things that once upset me. 

I normally don't do apathy. But once in a while it serves as the emotional version of affirmative action. A means to finding my way back to the center. To that place of caring without obsessing.

In the zone, I care less that I don't have a date on Friday night, (or Thursday night, or Wednesday night, or next week or last week). In the zone, this situation is referred to as an opportunity to stop waxing.

In the zone, I eat less bread and ice cream. Out of the zone, eating them together was an eventuality.

I don't know how long my OK mood will last. My moods are nothing, if not precarious.

 For now I am enjoying it. Enjoying just being. Just doing. Just going about my life.

I have no illusions that my knight in shining in armor is around the corner. More likely he is held up repairing a chink and his armor won't be out of the shop for a while.

But nonetheless, I'll hold onto the hope that when he does arrive, it will have been worth the wait.