Dating Dilemmas

I know this is my second post this afternoon, but this was just too good to resist writing about. I often work at home, and today, my son had a thwarted oral surgery appointment, so after rescheduling his appointment, I decided to work at home instead of going back to the office. I was working away with Yahoo Messenger on, and I got an unsolicited instant message from a guy in Louisville, who obviously had been checking out my personal ad, and had politely attached his ad to his IM. He was 41, 5'8", average looking, never married...very much like many of the men I have talked with over the past two years. He immediately proceeded to grill me about my personal ad....I had marked "any" for ethnic preference, did I date black men? I replied that I had not, but would not rule them out, as I was just as interested in what's on the inside of a person as what is on the outside. He then started to grill me about my appearance...I proclaim to be "athletic" could I define that more precisely? I replied that I work out 4-5 times a week, have well defined muscles, but just enough padding to keep me soft. I'm frowning as I write this, of course. He then informs me that he doesn't date women larger than a size 10. I laughed out loud here in front of my computer and said, "Sorry, I'm a size 12." He then asked me if I am a D or DD. Now I am guffawing. I replied "What? No questions about my opinions on e.e. cummings or Vivaldi?" He then suggested that my answer must be a "no" about the D or DD and retorted that like most women, I had the mistaken opinion that its what’s on the inside that counts, but for him, its all a chemistry test. I offered up the possibility that as important as the chemistry test is, it includes more than just an eye test. He retorted that for men, its all about the eye test and that he wished me luck in my search. I replied that unfortunately for him, women with perfect bodies are usually looking for the same. He didn't understand what I meant. No surprise there. I then replied "besides, I prefer taller men." Ok...that was mean. At least I didn't suggest that there may be a good reason why he has never married....That reminded me of the guy who IM'd me on a lonely Saturday night and started talking all flirty with me. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was simply not in the mood. He asked me to share a fantasy with him, visions of bustiers, garter belts and black leather, no doubt flashing through his head. In a moment of frivolity, I agreed to share and wrote that my fantasy was a tall, handsome, kind, intelligent, gentle man who would make me laugh, tell me I'm beautiful, make love all night long, and didn't mind helping with laundry and the dishes. The guy immediately went off line....

Rainy Monday

The weeds are coming up out in my garden, although to be fair, the flowers are coming up, too. I woke up this morning, the first day of spring break for my three sons, and listened to the rain drumming on the skylight. I burrowed deeper under the covers, grateful for a morning to myself, at least until I got into the office. My boys are pretty self sufficient on days like today. They will sleep long past my departure waking up slowly with bowls of Frosted Flakes and Captain Crunch. I try to get into work early, and then be home early so that my house stays in one piece. They are good boys, for the most part. As respectful as teenagers can be who have been given the gift of free expression, they follow my few rules without too much grumbling, home by curfew, smoke free clothes, no alcohol that I know of. Perhaps I am naive, but I like to think they are still pretty innocent. They went to church with me yesterday and didn't tease me about singing too loudly. They each, on their own, thanked me for the Easter baskets...without any prodding from me. During the prayer, I looked across the sea of teenage boy heads to my left and felt a prickle in the corner of my eye. Is it sinful to feel such a burst of pride at the sight of your three sons, sitting together with their heads bowed, at church on Sunday morning? Of course, at the end, Kevin refused to hold Scott's hand during the benediction, raising just a bit of a commotion and the prickly feeling in the corner of my eye quickly moved to pink across my cheeks. Sigh. Then dinner in the dining room, with china and crystal and my mother inquiring into my son's acne...what's wrong with the picture when the daughter reprimands the mother for inappropriate dinner conversations?? But that was a tiny incident, and we laughed the rest of the time about the artichoke hearts and Scott's refusal to eat red meat. I let the boys have a glass of merlot, but none of them drank it which was actually a little reassuring. They all three suggested that next time, I NOT forget to get them sparkling grape juice. But back to this morning. Rain drumming on the skylight. Warmth under the covers for just a few more minutes. And I woke up smiling. That felt good. Rainy days and Mondays don't always get me down.

Bright Shining Boy

My bright shining boy. If you only knew how closely I feel your pain. I found your poem about heartache in a crumbled ball amidst the debris you call your room. How much I admire you, how much I just like looking at you, remembering your head on my shoulder when you were two, sleeping, trusting me to comfort you. I can't comfort you any more. You have grown older, and wiser, too wise for a mother's shoulder. So I worship you from afar, hoping that amidst the shouts to clean your room and be home on time, to get your butt out of bed for school that you will feel my arms around you, holding you close, praying for your wellbeing. My bright shining boy...growing up, almost gone.

Sex, Politics and Religion

I subscribe to Sun Magazine and their solicitation for new subscribers headlines Sex, Politics, Religion (and other things you're not supposed to talk about at the dinner table). Now, those three just happen to be my favorite subjects, perhaps in that order. I have to admit, for someone who graduated from college with a political science degree and who once had rather high political aspirations...hell, sometimes I think I still do, after my kids get a little older, I know painfully little about the details of politics anymore. I love to debate the theories, love the rush of righteous indignation towards the greedy republicans. But to be honest, as a single mother raising three teenage boys and trying to keep a business going in order to afford the astronomical food bills, all while writing the great american novel and pulling weeds, not to mention the hours on the eliptical machine readying my body for the next love of my life, whereever and whoever he might be, I don't bother finding the time to keep up anymore. Its a sad state of affairs when even the political science majors don't keep up with the issues anymore. Oh, I know there's the social security crisis, and the budget deficit and the proposed tax cuts, (its difficult to utter those two phrases within the same sentence, but somehow, GWB carries it off) and the war in Iraq and the issue with Syria and Lebanon, and of course, that poor Schiavo woman, but all I know is what I read on AOL. There's a saying that the real difference between democrats and republicans is that republicans think people are poor because they are lazy while democrats think people are poor because they are stupid. That must be why I'm a democrat, I feel more stupid about politics every day.

I was raised Methodist, but discarded most of what I was taught my freshman year of college. Through my involvement with the Unitarian Church, I tinkered a bit with Buddhism and Judaism and Hinduism and several other isms, but what I believe boils down to just trying to accept each day as it comes, and to appreciate it as the gift it is. I am blessed with an effusive personality and a very loving heart. Its easy for me to love people, much easier to love people than to love things. I do not feel connected to any “thing”, unless it would be my bedroom or the fishpond I built last summer. My connection to those two places though, stems from the tranquility I feel when I am there, the comfort to my soul that I get from those spaces. My religion is my connection to the people I love, which is what makes it so difficult for me to let go of people. When I love someone, they become part of my spirit, and to let them go requires letting go of a part of myself. My spiritual path is taking me down a road to learn how to do this gracefully.

Last but not least, my all time favorite activity….sex. I’ll take sex over chocolate anyday, although I have to admit that chocolate is cheaper. Unfortunately my access to chocolate vastly exceeds my access to sex. I should take that back. I’m becoming a chocolate snob, of sorts. I want the good stuff. A snickers bar just doesn’t do it. Give me Godiva or Guiardelli. I will abstain if only Hersheys is available, its just not worth the calories. The same with sex. I don’t have a fuck buddy, don’t believe in them. If I’m going to have sex, I want it to be top of the line, head over heels, nail biting, pulse quickening, its gotta be you, give it to me now sex. None of this, well this is better than nothing sex. Maybe I’m a sex snob, too.

Personally, I think all of this should be discussed at the dinner table.

Tough Days

Today was a tough day, and I'm not even really sure why. Maybe its hormones, maybe its the cold when I so very much want it to be warm, maybe its the stress of the March 31 deadlines that loom ominously at work, but I had a hard time today. I had lunch with a writing buddy, which was good, I spent some time with my kids, which was good, I had dinner with three women friends, which was good, but something was off today. Just now, my son was typing a paper and needed help printing it. I noticed that he had read something I had written titled "Saying Goodbye" about my last real romance. Naturally, I clicked on it so that I could see what he had read, and it was about being snowed in with Mickey, and helping him shovel his long driveway. I burst into tears. Its amazing how much I miss him, even three months later. I'm glad that I finally made him stop emailing and calling me. I'm glad that I resist the impulse to drive by his house, despite it being on the way from the high school to the bakery, and I'm glad that I am finally able to move on. Its no fun being in love with someone who doesn't love you back. But I do miss him. I miss his laugh and the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and I miss the way he could play Mozart through his hands. I miss his funny emails and the way he would say "HEY!" whenever he would call me, always expecting me to know that it was him. Now lots of guys call me. Sometimes I have to think for a moment or two to figure out who it is...thank god I got caller ID and have a really good head for numbers. But I just want one. One for me to like who likes me back. Sigh. Sometimes patience sucks.

My Garden Walk

It is still cold outside, so cold my flowers are afraid to show their faces. Even the forsythia is hiding under the soft green cover of protective buds. Its the last few days of March and only the crocus and the snowdrops are dropping their robes and baring for us their natural beauty. I am so ready for spring, for the warm weather, for the profusion of color, for the unveiling of nature's new spring line. Winter is good for what it is, a time for reflection, for introspection, for rest and recovery, but I'm ready for something new. I'm ready for the hope and rebirth that spring not only represents, but actually brings into the world. Its hard to imagine that in South American, March and April bring with it the prospect of fall and changing leaves and winter right behind. I can't wait to plant flowers and seeds, being ever watchful for the perennials and bulbs that I have planted in my past.

First Day of Spring

Its still chilly outside, too chilly to spread the mountain of mulch under the basketball hoop in my driveway. Mulch spreading should be done in tee shirts and shorts, with the sunshine melting a trickle of sweat down your back and a nice breeze cooling it off of you. Its a spring activity, and if the weather doesn't feel like spring, I feel fully justified in procrastinating that chore. My three sons cheer that decision from a distance...just in case I change my mind. They want to have a head start on their getaway plan.
A man is coming to take me for a walk today. I should be excited about it, but I’m not. I don’t know why it has to be so hard to find a nice guy to go to movies with and to wake up next to every once in a while. I don’t even know if I want to get married again, but I know that I miss having coffee in the morning with someone I like to talk to. I have done a lot of dating since my ex husband moved out four years ago. Nice men, kind men, interesting men, but very few that I wanted to have coffee with in the morning. The man taking me walking is a nice man, a kind man, maybe even interesting. Its unlikely that he will ever sample my morning coffee, though. My radar is getting really good at predicting this. Unfortunately for my sex life, if I like them, they uncannily don’t like me. I still scratch my head on that one. Perhaps it’s the combination of too confident and too hungry. I’ll probably never know.
Now that it is spring, the sap will begin to flow, the green will rise up the stately trees in my back yard, bursting from the branches and up from the loamy soil in my garden. The birds have already started singing me awake in the morning. At the office we were discussing the lovely melodies outside the window. I calmly asked the other women if they knew what the birds were saying. They looked at each other and frowned and shook their heads. I told them, “Why, they are singing the Come Fuck Me song, everyone knows that.” Silence abounded. The seven other mommy accountants looked at me aghast, then started laughing. The “f” word rarely makes its way into any of our conversations. “Well, I’m not telling THAT to my four year old,” my office manager retorted.
Ah, yes, the first day of spring. So…what were the words to that song?
Okay, that was just a joke. It was NOT intended as an advertisement, so don’t you dare start looking for my number in the white pages. It just isn’t that simple.

Hot Date on Saturday Night

Tonight, I had a hot date. It was a big deal. Being the girl, usually I don't drive, but seeing as this was not our first date, I volunteered. We were going to go see a movie, a first run, full of action and maybe even a little romance. I picked him up around 7:00, he held my hand when we crossed the street because I asked him to, but was careful to make sure none of his friends were around. We shared popcorn and red twizzlers and laughed at the movie. It was a fun movie and we took turns talking about our favorite parts on the way home. He was excited, because none of his brothers had seen the movie and he was looking forward to telling them about it. I took him to my place, fumbling with the keys at the front door. He didn't seem to notice and made himself right at home, helping himself to a soda and hollering behind him that he had dibs on the remote. After watching tv for awhile, he said he was tired and I tucked him into bed and kissed him goodnight. He hugged my neck tightly, told me he loved me, thanked me for taking him to the movies. It just doesn't get much better than that.