Supersize Me

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Lots of adventures in the last month. 


"Adventures" might be overstating it, lets settle on challenges:


Challenges to keep my wits.
Challenges to keep my dignity.
Challenges to hold my tongue.
Challenges to not beat someone about the head and thorax mercilessly. 
Challenges to not bake and eat cheese cake.


Successes: I didn't beat anyone about the head and thorax mercilessly. 


I had a few dates. I paid. And when I didn't pay we had a lovely walk on the beach. 
Spare me. 
I want someone to wine and dine me. Not whine and supersize me. 
So not generous of me. So 1950's of me. Lots of things to do that don't cost money. But, crap. I do them all myself already.


I am trying hard not discount someone because I don't like the cuff on their jeans. But  6 inches? Really?


Is it so out of the question to want someone that makes my heart skip a beat, at least at the beginning? Someone who takes my breath away, even if just for a second? Someone who pays on the first date, even if it is old fashoned? 


I could be in a long phase, and eventually I'll get over it and settle for the next best thing.


Until then, I'll keep dreaming. 

Sounds of Silence

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I think I'll get some cats. 


I don't need a port for a ship to come in.


I don't need a stable for a white horse.


I'll get cats. Multiple cats. Inbreeding cats. Cats who will lay claim to the sofa and the laundry baskets.


They will all have names that begin with Mr. and each one will remind me of a Mr. that got away. 


The cats will welcome me when I come home. They will circle my legs and purr. They will vie for my lap.


They will silently remind me of the other sounds of silence in my life:

• The silence of grown up children leading their own lives.
• The silence a teenage daughter suffering a monstrous mother.
• The silence of routine.
• The silence of my phone.
• The silence of my inbox. 

Ahhh. The deafening silence of my inbox. 

No white smoke yet on which feels worse: no mail in my inbox in the myriad dating sites, or myriad irrelevant mails.


I hear a voice in my head (probably my mother's): "Lower your standards! you never know!"

• I have already lowered my "looks" requirement from Ben Afflek to Woody Allen. 
• I have already lowered my "education" requirements from University to No Spelling Errors.
• I have already lowered my "conversationalist" expectations from Pithy Quips to Not Monosyllabic.
• I have already lowered my "age range" expectations from Born after Woodstock to Born After Hiroshima. 
• I have already lowered my "physical activity" expectations from Athlete to Ambulatory.

If there is any advantage to being divorced, it is the opportunity for a Do-Over. 


Is there anything wrong with wanting this Do-Over to be with someone who takes my breath away?


In the meantime, "I turn my collar to the cold and damp" and I wait it out. 
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A Play in Three Acts

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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.

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Open Wide

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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.


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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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