Philly – 10/28/08


For the rest of the story, click here.

So, I waited to pack until the night before and didn’t end up getting to bed until after 2am. Our flight was for 11am in RI. Needless to say, I was running a few minutes late in the morning. The flight was quick and painless; we were both thrilled to be there. Our hotel room was on the 19th floor with a great view of the city and two beds. Everything seemed perfect…

We got the famous cheese steak from Pat’s with onions and cheese whiz. I know, sounds gross but it was one of the best things I’ve ever consumed that wasn’t a dessert. We walked back to the hotel, it was balmy that day and a little misty but not too bad. We stopped at the Ritz for champagne before dinner. He made reservations at a really romantic place, it took my breath away when I checked it out online. They told him we could walk from the hotel….

There was a line for the taxi cabs so, we set out on foot. I didn’t mind, I was dressed for baseball in late October in a long sleeve turtleneck wool sweater with my favorite Dave Matthews t-shirt as a liner, winter coat and sneakers. I was dressed appropriately for the game and looked nice for the restaurant. My hair and makeup made up for the sneakers.

Little did I know his sense of direction is somewhat lacking. Had I known, I would have made an effort to get my bearings on our location. I’m not sure if I mentioned I’m the oldest of 7 and have a need for a little bit of control. For some reason, I thought it may be a good idea to let go of the reigns and relax this particular weekend.

We got halfway to somewhere and the sky opened. The downpour put my shower water pressure to shame. We made a dash for cover then got directions to the restaurant and sprinted so as not to miss our reservation. Of course, there wasn’t a cab in sight. By the time we got there, I felt like a drowned rat. My hair was completely matted and I could feel mascara making it’s way down my chin. The hostess looked horrified. (“It can’t be that bad,” I thought but, nonetheless, I was still beside myself.) We inched our way to the table; I sat for a second then made a bee-line to the ladies room to tidy up.

Can I just tell you? When I ever walked in and saw the woman in the mirror, I almost screamed. My face was sweating profusely. I know it’s my moisturizer; I can’t lay it on too thick when I go to the gym or that happens. As I’ve mentioned I’m not much of a sweater. When I do perspire, it’s because I have WAY overexerted myself. That must have been the sprinting, I don’t do that often. Plus, the bathroom was like a sauna. I had to peel my clothes off and fan myself for a few minutes to stop sweating. Most of my makeup was gone and there was no help in sight for my hair. I had to go back up to the table in my t-shirt holding my sweater. Talk about embarrassing. Fortunately, I had a glass of wine waiting for me.

As I was drinking the wine, he asked if I was tired. I said, “A little, why?” He countered with, “You have bags under your eyes.” Seriously?! Had I not felt delirious, I would have hurled my baguette at him. Fortunately, that was followed with an arsenal of compliments like, “you look great, you have beach hair and my dad had bags under his eyes, I like it…”

I kept drinking. I knew I’d feel better eventually.

The next day was lovely. We stopped at the Four Seasons for another round of Philly Cheese Steaks before taking a romantic stroll downtown towards Love Park and I noticed a flock of some awful birds flying above us… All of a sudden, I was fired upon and hit, square on the top of my head. I stopped short in my tracks to gasp and declare, “No way!” He hadn’t noticed the offense. When I told him, he ran for cover and immediately asked if any got on him.

Of course, my first thought after, “I can’t (litany of swear words) believe that just happened to me!” was, “Would my soul mate do that?” I may need to keep looking.

Am I unreasonable?


Toenail – 8/29/08


For the back story, click here.

I am so upset. In an effort to lose some weight, I started running about 3 months ago. I only did it for 3 or 4 weeks but the effects have lingered. Not the slimmer thighs, increased stamina or speedy metabolism but the blisters under each of my second toes. Apparently, they are slightly longer than my big toe. (It’s hardly noticeable. Really.) Trin, the woman who paints cute little flowers on my big toes, pointed it out the last time I was in for a pedicure. I told her not to panic when she took my polish off because I knew the two toenails were black. (Honestly, this is very upsetting.) I thought I created the damage because they were a little sore and I suspected a blister forming so, who knows what possessed me to put droplets of iodine under each nail, but, I did. Just in case there was some infection…

Who on earth in their right mind thinks it’s okay to put black/red iodine under a white, almost translucent nail? Honestly. I don’t know where I parked my brain that day but it wasn’t in it’s usual spot.

Can I just tell you? It’s been months, they’re still black and NOW there seems to be a mini toenail growing underneath. I’d be okay with that if it looked like normal nails were growing in but, the poor little things are completely disfigured. I’ve also been doing more yoga lately too. So, of course, every time I’m in a position where I get a good look at my toes I have to pick at the two yucky ones. (Gross, I know.)

I’m going back to see Trin tomorrow, hopefully, she can help.


Glue – 8/26/08


Can I just tell you? I went grocery shopping during lunch today. I needed more fruits and vegetables for this new vegan/vegetarian lifestyle I’m starting. More on that later…

I got home, put the grocery bags down and noticed a white envelope or something under my stove. I thought I had dropped mail and it slid under there. I got down on my hands and knees in my dress for work and grabbed it.

Well, had I been standing, a fly on the wall would have seen me doing a frenetic pee pee dance frantically shaking my hand to get the thing off me! It was a glue trap for the mice!!!!!! I nearly had a heart attack. Of course, I started screaming.

Could you imagine if a little Fievel were stuck to it????? I would have fainted. I had to wash my hands three times after I got it off. Seriously.

Maybe I need to rethink needing a man in my life.

List – 8/25/08


Can I just tell you? I spent the day on the beach in and out of deep sleep wondering what I really want in a man. Where do I begin? The basics include funny, smart, loyal and employed. Then, of course, the list moves into more personal requirements, such as, common interests and similar values.

Maybe my problem is I like handsome. However, my idea of handsome is somewhat eclectic. Ask my family. They’re never shy about pointing out my suitor’s aesthetic faults. It’s not always about outer appearance though but, I do prefer tallish (I’m 5’3” so most people are taller than me but, I LOVE high heels so a man who is taller than me when I’m wearing 3 to 4” heels is best.) Good teeth and healthy body are two more basic features in the attractive profile.

I like a man who cares about his body. Not like a supermodel but who can score As on the majority of health tests. Even though some days I feel like a sausage, I am still pretty health conscience. I also like somewhat rugged in build with a sense of style (even if it’s minimal, as long as I can work with it, that’s fine.) I would hate to have the fashion police on the scene on a regular basis! Also, leave the smokes at home. Not interested. And, if you’re a heavy drinker, I’m not interested in that either.

Oddly enough, my bar owner had very few of those traits except the basics. He is smart, loyal, employed and rugged. I would say funny too but I’m still angry that he didn’t find my jokes funny so I am going to hold that against him for a little longer. I think he drew me in because he seemed so worldly with all his travel and experiences. He’s also the oldest man I’ve ever dated. I’ve dated men who are now older than him but I was much younger. I tend to prefer men a little on the younger side. Who doesn’t?

So, what else makes up handsome? An ability to write, I love a man who can convey his thoughts on paper, if he can make me laugh too, that’s a HUGE bonus. I also find musical prowess attractive. In fact, as I reminisced of boyfriends past, the ones with some musical skill were always held dearest to my heart. I just like artists. I’m an artist.

Am I really asking that much? Am I too picky?

Truth be told, if you saw my real list, some might think it a little too long. In fairness, I’ve waited this long and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself so why shouldn’t I hold out for the best fit?

August 23 – 8/24/08

August 23

Can I just tell you? I’m 36 today at 5:09pm, to be exact. I couldn’t sleep last night to save my life because I had this question churning in my head. Am I too picky?

As I was getting a facial last month my esthetician relayed a story to me that has been haunting me off and on for weeks. She told me about her aunt who was an attractive, successful woman who never married. She asked her about it one day and her aunt likened it to walking through a corn field and picking through many ears of corn thinking, “no, that one isn’t quite right. No, not that one either…” until she came out the other side of the field empty handed.

My story with the bar owner was starting to unfold like a sappy romance novel. I was thrilled; I thought it was going to be perfect fodder for my book. However, one of the main characters, unfortunately, has a debilitating inability to communicate. As much as I’d like to pen a romance in my life, I decided that just doesn’t cut it for me. C’est la vie.

Of course, the same usual suspects have popped back into my life. My bartender friend has reworked his campaign around my favorite sport (to play), golf. I’ve neglected my game all summer. Very sad. He began with a text message and, true to form, will undoubtedly continue rather than taking a minute to put the phone to his ear and call. He can’t possibly imagine how much that annoys me or else he’d never have the nerve to invite me to visit the bar (to pay for my own drinks) while he’s working again. Why do men do that? I hate that. Grow a pair and call. Please.

My esthetician suggested I make a list of what I’m looking for. I’ll have to start thinking about that tomorrow.


Unwelcome Guest – 7/20/08

Unwelcome Guest

I felt awfully chatty this morning and spent a leisurely morning on the phone. (I’m really liking my bar owner.) As I finished what I thought would be my last call before I hopped in the shower, I had to stop short, gasp then scream. There it was, scurrying around the pile of shoes in my kitchen, a grey little Fievel Mousekewitz. I nearly had a heart attack even though he was no bigger than my thumb (excluding his tail, of course.)

Can I just tell you? I hate that! I know I am 8 million times bigger than a mouse but they still scare the crap out of me. The last time I had something like that in the house, it had wings. Yes, a bat.

I had already gone to bed; I was teaching at the time, I was awoken by the phone ringing in my room. All I could think was, “who the heck is calling me at 11pm on a school night??” It was my roommate calling from the deck using my cell phone to tell me not to panic. So, what did I do? I sat up in a panic.

She was calling to ask if I could close her bedroom door because there was a bat flying up and down the hallway. Uhh, no. That would mean I would have to leave my bedroom and, at that point, I had already placed towels under the door, stuffed all my hair into my turned up collar on my robe and had a sunhat on my head. (My mom’s chilling words telling me that “if [I] didn’t brush that hair of mine, a bat would make a nest in it!” still haunt me today. My hair is always nicely coiffed now, ask anybody.) Anyway, my heart was in my throat because I owned the house, it was entirely my responsibility to get the bat out!

My first plan was to call the police. I called the non-emergency line and made sure I started with, “this probably isn’t an emergency but…” The woman who answered was so irate when I explained my dilemma. (I can’t imagine why?) Then, I thought, animal rescue… nope, too late at night and the yellow pages was in the kitchen.

It was up to me.

I asked my roommate to tap on the window and whistle to see if would fly out. Maybe it would think she was a relative… She wanted no part in that. (I really couldn’t blame her; I would have been waiting in my car with the windows up and the doors locked.)

I had to venture into the dark hallway and face the bat. All I could think was, what on earth was I going to do with the thing if I catch it, I mean, besides scream? I certainly wasn’t going to kill it! I only had a bath towel as a weapon. My plan was to throw the towel on top of him and gather him up in it and just toss it outside. Seriously.

So, imagine this, I’m wrapped from head to toe in a bathrobe (I put on socks and shoes too), my neck wrapped with a thick towel, my hair COMPLETELY covered and I’m sneaking down the hallway holding up a medium size bath towel. (If you don’t think I was kicking myself for not buying the jumbo-sized towels, you are so wrong.) I made sure all the bedroom doors were closed and tip-toed into the living room.

Well, can I just tell you? All of a sudden, he darted towards me flying up and down the hallway over my head! The neighbors must have thought Freddie Kreuger came in through the back door because anyone within 100 yards heard a piercing (continuous) scream, running then the slamming of a door. Honestly, I thought I was having a heart attack.

Meanwhile, my roommate was peeing her pants on the deck. She could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. Real funny.

I broke down; I had to call my parents. My mom thought it was funny too. That must be where I get all my compassion and empathy…

By the time they got there, the little bat trapped himself in the window and my step dad waltzed in and closed it. I could have done that too if the little critter didn’t chase me down the hallway!

Needless to say, when little Fievel scurried across my kitchen; the first person I called was my mom. The first words out her mouth…”who are you going to call if you go to LA?”

Good point. Touché. I guess I’m going to have to get a little more serious about dating…

Fievel vanished under my dishwasher and has seemed to disappear from the planet.

Hmm, now that I think of it, I think I have just coined a new name for some of the men I’ve dated: Fievel.

Text Message – 7/20/08

Text Message

 Finally, I’ve found a man who seems to understand the proper use of a text message.

 At 7:15 Thursday morning, I had a text message from my “secret admirer.” He was hoping I hadn’t forgotten about accepting a dinner date for that night and asked me to call when I had a chance. Good start, I thought.

 When I called, he asked what I like to eat which leads me to digress for a minute…

 The businessman with the European accent also asked me this question two weeks ago but was a little more specific. He asked, “Do you like sushi?” I replied, “No, I haven’t acquired the taste for it.” “Perfect!” he answered, “I know of a great sushi place that has pretty good regular food you’ll like.” Can I just tell you? I honestly thought he was kidding. He was serious. In fairness, I ended up trying the maki rolls and they weren’t all that bad but I still don’t see myself seeking out a sushi place again anytime soon.

 So, back to my not-so secret admirer, not only did he suggest a place I’ve been dying to go to for weeks but also told me I was “the boss.”

 Now, that is something I can definitely get used to and we’ve had back-to-back dates since then.

 Cheers to a proper start!