10 random things I like about Neat Guy:
1) We laugh. A lot. And both have a strong history of laughing in very serious moments, like meetings and funerals. I can't believe I did not get pulled over today for laughing so hard while driving.
2) He carries the "go boxes" out of restaurants. Not sure why I like this so much. I just do.
3) He's conscientious and responsible. I like his morals, and I especially like that he applies them to himself first--like oxygen on an airplane. Isn't that how it ought to be, really?
4) He's forthright. By which I mean he has limited ability to filter his comments. But I admire that in a person.
5) We're each smart, in ways that overlap just enough so we learn a lot from each other.
5) He's both cute and ornery. Seems to have started this way as a little brother and just stuck with it.
6) Despite #5, he's really grounded. Almost AR. Which is good b/c I can be both a space cadet and OCD. Which leads to...
7) He accepts me as is. Yay!
8) He builds interesting stuff like strobe light water fountains.
9) He makes great coffee.
10) His dog. She's a riot. And I think she's put a good word in for me.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Malfunction Junction
In the past week: garage door confirmed it is indeed possessed, water line to icemaker launched sneak attack into my bedroom, and cell phone jumped into the toilet. Now none of them work. NONE!!! The prima donna garage door demanded a new electronic board thingy. Free, luckily, but don't tell her that. Just gotta call her fairy godmother to install it. The water...well, that's in progress with big fans and carpet pulled up in 1/4 of my bedroom and a hole in the kitchen wall. The phone is in the equivalent of ICU--a container of rice. I think it was suicidal in the first place, launching into a body of water like that and unable to swim. I don't blame myself. Obviously it had issues.
And something is on fire in Wagoner County. Not sure what. Probably grass--and who knows, it could be the fun kind. (Feds burn that stuff, right?) Probably not a big deal. But the haze yesterday was unlike any I've seen since my last visit to L.A. and any kind of smoke sends my sinuses into lockdown. Ya. As a matter of fact I WOULD like some cheese with my whine.
The silver lining is...and I promised I would fess up...I met a very neat guy.
And something is on fire in Wagoner County. Not sure what. Probably grass--and who knows, it could be the fun kind. (Feds burn that stuff, right?) Probably not a big deal. But the haze yesterday was unlike any I've seen since my last visit to L.A. and any kind of smoke sends my sinuses into lockdown. Ya. As a matter of fact I WOULD like some cheese with my whine.
The silver lining is...and I promised I would fess up...I met a very neat guy.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I Hate Dating
Never liked dating. Never. Not even when I was young and kinda hot. I believe it was my best guy friend who coined the term "wolves". That made me...prey. And that's how it felt. Having a boyfriend, on the other hand, was kinda fun.
16 years and one scrapped marriage later I am on the dating scene again. I won't address the "hot" issue; you've seen the curlers. Dating as a divorcee is just as stupid and awkward as dating in highschool. Maybe worse. Because now the internet is involved. You've been working the married/monogmous circuit for a decade...you don't know where single people hide. Log on to Match.com to find the answer: they are hiding in a dark room in their house tapping away on their lap top. Like you. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. They all have sparkling personalities and the bestest of intentions, so their profiles say. It's like reading a resume wearing beer goggles. Everybody looks like a "10".
AND there is a post-divorce pattern. It goes something like this:
1) Create profile, don't post any personal info or pictures. Log on as the opposite sex to eyeball your local competition.
2) Post a vague picture. I posted one of my eyeball, which solicited the comment, "Hey. Nice eyeball. What does the rest of you look like?"
3) Post an essay about how glorious you are, along with a Glamour Shot. Feel very flattered by the cyber attention as your profile is viewed by 150 people in one day.
4) Freak out and hide your profile.
5) Realize no potential date would be able to find you in public based on that photo (some folks skip this step).
6) Take 1 million photos, post 3.
7) Get the bright idea to do a general scan of your local cyberpopulations. Find 5 people you know in real life and block them. No real people allowed!
8) Get an email from a funny, cool, and intelligent guy. Find out he was in your highschool Trig class. Go out, have a great time. It's just like a date with...your brother. Keep in touch.
9) Congratulate yourself for going on a date. Hide profile.
10) Your favorite bank lady runs off to Kansas to marry a guy she met on Match.
11) Get bored, unhide profile, rewrite profile. Enjoy the attention as it validates yourplagarizing and photo shop skills ability to flirt and attract admirers.
12) Recieve a message from your lawn guy warning you to proceed with caution 'cause there are a lot of guys online only after "one thing" (and btw, he met the most wonderful gal on here!),
13) Email back and forth with a few guys, no dates. Lots of winks from the AARP crowd. Perverts.
14) Meet--in no particular order--The Player, The Guilty Neurotic, The Midlife Crisis Neurotic, The Jet Setter, The Con, and Edward Scissor Hands. Start to take it personally.
15) Let best friend look at profile, who immediately finds the most compatible individual in the state for you and promptly blogs the experience.
16) THE Match--the highly compatible one who actually comes across like a real life person--just isn't ready. Which is fine. That's how I felt last year. Hence all the profile hiding.
Bitter? No. Exasperated? Yes. "But I'm busy! I don't have time to get out there." Nah. What a cop out. I'm not too busy to tweak the wording on the profile 500 times or check the website. "But I have kids...it's hard to meet people when you have kids!" Seriously? Kids are like puppies. They're cute and provide fodder for conversations. There's lots of hunky single dads out there at those kid functions. Why don't we have a local chapter of "Parents Without Partners"? Oh, because in 2011 that's fodder for an SNL skit. In the end, my lesson is exactly what I tell my 11 year old about the DSi: "Put the electronics down and go play." I'll keep y'all posted. Note the irony.
16 years and one scrapped marriage later I am on the dating scene again. I won't address the "hot" issue; you've seen the curlers. Dating as a divorcee is just as stupid and awkward as dating in highschool. Maybe worse. Because now the internet is involved. You've been working the married/monogmous circuit for a decade...you don't know where single people hide. Log on to Match.com to find the answer: they are hiding in a dark room in their house tapping away on their lap top. Like you. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. They all have sparkling personalities and the bestest of intentions, so their profiles say. It's like reading a resume wearing beer goggles. Everybody looks like a "10".
AND there is a post-divorce pattern. It goes something like this:
1) Create profile, don't post any personal info or pictures. Log on as the opposite sex to eyeball your local competition.
2) Post a vague picture. I posted one of my eyeball, which solicited the comment, "Hey. Nice eyeball. What does the rest of you look like?"
3) Post an essay about how glorious you are, along with a Glamour Shot. Feel very flattered by the cyber attention as your profile is viewed by 150 people in one day.
4) Freak out and hide your profile.
5) Realize no potential date would be able to find you in public based on that photo (some folks skip this step).
6) Take 1 million photos, post 3.
7) Get the bright idea to do a general scan of your local cyberpopulations. Find 5 people you know in real life and block them. No real people allowed!
8) Get an email from a funny, cool, and intelligent guy. Find out he was in your highschool Trig class. Go out, have a great time. It's just like a date with...your brother. Keep in touch.
9) Congratulate yourself for going on a date. Hide profile.
10) Your favorite bank lady runs off to Kansas to marry a guy she met on Match.
11) Get bored, unhide profile, rewrite profile. Enjoy the attention as it validates your
12) Recieve a message from your lawn guy warning you to proceed with caution 'cause there are a lot of guys online only after "one thing" (and btw, he met the most wonderful gal on here!),
13) Email back and forth with a few guys, no dates. Lots of winks from the AARP crowd. Perverts.
14) Meet--in no particular order--The Player, The Guilty Neurotic, The Midlife Crisis Neurotic, The Jet Setter, The Con, and Edward Scissor Hands. Start to take it personally.
15) Let best friend look at profile, who immediately finds the most compatible individual in the state for you and promptly blogs the experience.
16) THE Match--the highly compatible one who actually comes across like a real life person--just isn't ready. Which is fine. That's how I felt last year. Hence all the profile hiding.
Bitter? No. Exasperated? Yes. "But I'm busy! I don't have time to get out there." Nah. What a cop out. I'm not too busy to tweak the wording on the profile 500 times or check the website. "But I have kids...it's hard to meet people when you have kids!" Seriously? Kids are like puppies. They're cute and provide fodder for conversations. There's lots of hunky single dads out there at those kid functions. Why don't we have a local chapter of "Parents Without Partners"? Oh, because in 2011 that's fodder for an SNL skit. In the end, my lesson is exactly what I tell my 11 year old about the DSi: "Put the electronics down and go play." I'll keep y'all posted. Note the irony.
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