Oh my.....

So I joined an online dating service. Basically, it comes down to the fact that I am a busy woman, and I do not have time to be trolling bars to meet men. So, I have decided to be practical and hire an online company that can do it for me. And, to a certain extent, it weeds out the people who are truly NOT my type. I have met some wonderful and interesting people on this site... and I have also met some truly disturbing individuals. Within the first 24 hrs of having joined, I had one who told me I was "devastatingly beautiful" (which, of course, is a nice ego booster). However, in the same email, the individual also told me that he was auditioning for the part of boyfriend (his words, not mine), and if I was available for marriage, that was ok, too. Now... I like my men assertive... but this is a touch over the top. Another one wanted to know if I wore pantyhose or thigh highs. Now, maybe I am old fashioned, but I am convinced there is more to a person than their attire, and I told him as much. His response was to ask me out for a drink, and inquire what I would "wear for him." I think not. It is also becoming apparent that I should proofread my profile... You know, just to take out any mentions of the word "assertive" and to ensure that I don't have "I love psychos" secretly hidden in there somewhere.

Sport Eating

Today is Thanksgiving... which I believe is some sort of Native American derivative word for "eat until your GI tract cries." Usually, Turkey Day is an enormous event for my family. Its nice because some of my mother's family, and some of my father's family come. However, we were small in ranks this year; it was only 7 of us. Unfortunately, I don't know how to cook for 7 people, and I shall be eating turkey and pie until New Years'. However, this year Thanksgiving was different. It felt more like a Sunday dinner than a big, holiday, family event. It was less than 5 hrs from when everyone showed up to the time when I was by my onesies, finishing the last clean-up bits. I didn't get as much time to visit with people this year. But nonetheless, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have such a wonderful family, and that I am close enough to be able to spend time with them. We may not always turn out in numbers, but we love one another, and that is really the only thing that matters. Happy Thanksgiving!

Anonymous 4, Sequaelia

It seems to me that everywhere I turn, my friends are either married and/or preggers. Its not that I am in any particular rush to be in either one of those states, but it does seem that I am rapidly being pushed into the Single Minority. There are but few of us left. And, of course, there are always the aunts who consistently ask if I am dating anyone (although, thankfully none have called me a spinster in several years). I think we single women should band together. Thus far, I have decided that Meg, Kellie, Myrna and I are all members of a very elite quartet. Myrna came up with the lovely name of Anonymous 4 (certainly a music geek moment, but I like it). Since a group that sings renaissance music has already stolen that title, I have gone for Sequaelia. After all, our life as singles is as dying a breed as renaissance singers. Hmm.... maybe I should inform the other two women that I have thrust them into this quartet? Nah... let 'em be surprised.

Disillusionment, or Friends with Benefits?

I have decided something about myself that may either be wonderful, or tragically limiting. I am a strong woman. Yay. But one does not go through the things I have endured without growing and learning a thing or two. My senior year in college was supposed to be fantabulous. Instead, my mother had a stroke and my theoretical fiance shit-canned my ass. So of course, these are not the makings for wondrous life memories. Somehow, I inadvertently fell into my mother's shoes. We always claim we will NEVER be like our parents. I was no different... as a teenager, I swore I would never be my mother. However, a few years down the road, and innumerably years wiser, I realize that I am a somewhat more open-minded and certainly more brazen version of my own mother. And I am fiercely proud of that fact. But alas, I digress. I have discovered that, as a "strong" woman, few men truly want to be with me. I sense there is some sort of unspoken complex? I don't know. And truly I don't care, as I am not likely to change my being in the immediate (or distant) future. At any rate, it is not looking good for me in terms of finding a suitable husband who does not want me to change my intrinsic personality. Compromise is acceptable, but where does one draw the line? So my ultimate question is, do we, as strong women in the world, cave in to the demands of an antiquated societal norm, or do we just find Friends With Benefits that can supply all the biological needs of release and procreation? I really haven't decided yet... but match.com is looking better and better every day.

Don't Bother Me, I am Watching the Game

It is no secret that I am an avid football fan. I, whether for better or worse, actually broke up with someone because he chose to talk at me during a football game (and not about things pertaining to the previous play). Anyhow, the Patriots are my team. I realize that, as far as New England sports go, I am a newcomer to the Fan life, and have had it pretty good thus far. Since I have been watching, we have won 3 Superbowls (and, of course, the Sox broke The Curse). Many older fans have chastised me over the fact that they lived through many years of crappy playing by the Patriots, and that I have missed out on the true angst that makes a Pats/Sox fan. Whatever. I can't really be held accountable for the fact that I was not fully cognizant when the ball went between Bucky's legs, or that the Pats didn't actually know how to play football before 1997 or so. But I digress. Since I have begun watching football, my life is scheduled around the Pats playing schedule. I NEVER miss a game (in fact, once I completely blew off work in order to go to a game at the stadium, which goes quite against my personal work ethic). So this evening, I watched the Pats/Redskins game, and was disheartened to see that the game was just not interesting to watch. While I like seeing my team win, it is pretty sad that the other team never showed up. With a score of 52-0 (until the last 3 minutes), it became apparent that snipers could take out every one of the Pats, leaving the Redskins all by their onesies, and they STILL would have lost. That sort of takes the oomph out of watching The Game.

Spinnybits

My friend Andrew has an amazing capacity to give things unique and often bizarre names. Gold's Gym is affectionately termed "Lumpy's Bump Menagerie." As I have recently acquired a new car, I figured it needed a new and unique name. Who better to come up with one than Sir Andrew? The complete name given was: His Ducal Serene Highness Stanislaw Spinnybits, Third Regent and Landscape Architect of the Sargasso Sea. I am not entirely certain what this means, or where on earth it came from, but I think I like it. However, it will take me weeks to memorize that, so I am thinking I might just keep it at Spinnybits. I often wonder how Andrew comes up with these things, and have since decided that it is probably better not to question it. The man works for the government; I don't know exactly what his station is, but I am quite sure that if he told me, he would have to kill me.

Thank God

Sometimes, I forget to take the time to realize just how lucky I am. God has blessed me with a wonderful family, precious friends, and a gift of music that I would not give up for anything in this world. But usually, I don't actually take the time to thank Him. I just seem to think that the things I have are from my own doing, when I realize in my heart that this is not so. While I update my blog today, I think about the car accident I had just hours earlier. If I had not hit my brakes when I did I would, at the least, be in the hospital, maybe worse. Someone was watching out for me today, and I can't begin to thank Him enough. There are still a lot of things that I want to do in this life, and I can only hope that it is part of His plan that I do them. Most of the time, we go on our way, not thinking of anything other than ourselves. I wish it didn't take a mild crisis like a car accident to remind me that there is a greater plan out there, and that I am only a part of it, not the driving force.

Too Much Information

Before Lola had a nearly tragic accident, she was regaling readers with the stories of her vacation... and sort of got lazy and forgot about them. During her jaunt in NH, she discovered an important thing about parents and adulthood. When we are children, we try to think of ourselves as adults. However, once we reach adulthood, we discover it is not all it is cracked up to be. Lola got just such a life lesson while camping with friends in the woods. Lola learned that there is a nebulous dividing line with one's parents. Whilst growing up, parents tell their children only what is necessary for daily life... however, as we age, they let down their guard. At some point, Lola and her best friend discovered that this invisible line had been crossed when her father started making jokes of a sexual nature. Amongst friends, this is completely normal. But Lola must say, there is something decidedly bizarre about hearing someone you think of as a father discussing sexual topics, or in fact, his sex life. I do believe that crosses the Too Much Information Act of 1974. Lola will say, however, that she is mildly amused (if somewhat disturbed) by the candor that parents are now showing around her.

Crash Into Me

So there I am... driving along... and I develop momentary color-blindness. On a relatively busy road in Norwood, I mistook a red light for a green one, and only realized at the last moment my error. I slammed on my brakes, but unfortunately not in time to avoid collision with another car. I suppose it could have been worse... if I had not hit my brakes, the other car would have crashed into my driver side door, leaving me squashed. As it was, I hit his passenger side fender. Basically, his car was left with a dent, while mine was crumpled up like an unwanted piece of paper. Antifreeze is not such a bright, lovely green when it is oozing out of one's car onto the pavement. And for those of you who have never had your airbags deployed, let me warn you... the scent is something akin to being on the firing range with melting plastic in the background. Granted, I am quite happy to be sitting here, continuing the Saga of Lola.... but am also rather pissed that I have to buy a new car, considering I just finished paying for this one last month. Ah, God moves in mysterious ways.

Plunk

During one of my uneventful moments on the dock, waiting for some hapless fish to get stuck on my hook, I discovered that at some point, Laura's reel had lost a screw. While I was sitting talking to her, slowly reeling in the line, I discovered that I was turning the reel, but nothing was happening. I looked down to discover the handle was in one hand, the rod in another. Neither one of us had heard the screw fall out, and we most certainly should have heard the plunk. At any rate, later that same evening, Matt was sitting with me while Laura helped with dinner. I continued to fish, for I had discovered that as long as I held the handle carefully, it would stay in place until we had gone to the hardware store to buy a new screw. I was explaining to Matt the mysterious injury to the rod, when I cast the line, and heard a tell-tale PLUNK! There was a split second of silence while Matt looked down at the water, and I began hysterical, uncontrollable gales of laughter. He asked me what it was, and when I could not control my laughing, I just held up the rod and showed him the handle-less reel. Both of us were in hysterics for quite some time. I spent a few moments trying to figure out the proper way to explain it to Laura... I finally decided on: "Before I tell you this, I want to tell you I will fix it... Now remember that plunk we didn't hear before? Well... I have since heard it, and it sounded exactly as you would expect it to sound...."

These Are All Mine Now.

Matt taught me to play poker the other night! I have wanted to learn, but no one has successfully explained it to me. Matt was quite the teacher. I discovered that the game is all about playing odds, and appearing as though you know what you are doing. I am good at that sort of faking. He explained the different hands to me, and betting strategies. Soon, I was more or less able to play without constantly asking questions. At one point, I laid down my cards, pointed to the chips and said in a sweet, innocent voice, "So these are all mine now, right?" They laughed and agreed that I was not entirely helpless. I had a wonderful night of beginner's luck, and Laura and I had to loan her father and husband chips in order to keep them playing. Poker is just no fun if there are only two of you!

Fishing with the Peanut Gallery

On this trip, I was actually able to fish a few times. I, by no stretch of the imagination, know what I am doing while fishing... I have but the vaguest idea of what I am supposed to do. But Laura and I had a hell of a time sitting on the dock, fishing, and shooting the shit. I caught several little fish, while Laura managed to get a small-mouth bass that was big enough to eat. We of course decided that it was necessary to eat what we had caught, so her father brought us down to the shore and showed us both how to properly clean a fish. I can honestly say it was a touch gross, but not so bad it would keep me from doing it myself, should I catch a fish large enough. We sauteed it with butter, salt and pepper. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. There is something existential in catching and eating your own food. Maybe just empowering. Anyhow, I was on a mission. Wednesday morning, I actually got up at 5:30 in the morning to sit on the dock with a rod and some worms! It was gorgeous. The weather was perfect, the water calm, and I even got to see a sunrise for the first time in years! Unfortunately, the only fish I caught was not really large enough to eat. And, he was troublesome... the little bugger jumped out of the bucket 5 times! He managed to time it so that each time he made an escape attempt, I had just cast my fishing line. I tried to reason with him... told him that jumping onto the dock where he would suffocate was going to help no one. I finally decided that I didn't really want to eat a fish that was so hell-bent on dying in the first place. So I let him go.

Sunrise, Sunset

It is easy for one to forget the simple things in life. Lola had become so engrossed in her studies, music, and beginning a career that she had forgotten how much she loved the outdoors. While in NH, she was able to just sit back and listen for once. And yes, believe it or not, she was quiet. One morning, she got up at the ass crack of dawn, and was able to see the sunrise over the mountains across the lake. One cannot watch the sun rise or set without feeling some intense sense of awe and wonder about the world around them. The sounds of creatures in the woods was relaxing, as was the constant breaking of waves on the rocks along the shoreline. Maybe Lola will buy a house on a lake in NH when she is rich and famous.

Noodles on for Safety

It turns out the technological black-out was not the end of my universe. In fact, it was quite nice. I arrived in NH at the camping place (whose name I have sworn I would not mention in this blog) to meet Laura (my dearest and apparently most patient friend), her husband Matt (a constant source if intrigue) and her parents (lovely and fascinating people). Shortly after arrival, we all decided it would be prudent to head down to the lake, as it was so hot. We came up with the brilliant idea of placing lawn chairs into the lake, and brought along a cooler. Laura and I got some of those styrofoam noodle things and set about fastening ourselves into the chairs. We used one as a makeshift seatbelt, and the other as a floating footrest. After several beers, it occurred to me that should a good wave come, and either of us was dumped into the drink, we would be floating ass-end up, unable to right ourselves since we had used the noodles for "safety." Her comment was "Do scoop me up if I should go ass over tea-kettle." I do believe that is what best friends are for... to pick you up when you have gotten yourself into some situation that seemed like a good idea at the time.

Lola Travels

At the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow, I will be venturing off to the wonderful, tax-free land of New Hampshire. I will be camping for an indeterminate length of time with my best friend and her husband (and various others, apparently). I have realized that I am looking forward to this trip far more than is rational. After all, I have been to NH a hundred times before. But for some reason, this one is different. I have just finished school, and am about to begin teaching once again. In a way, this is the time to take a breath before I leap. The last few weeks have been somewhat tumultuous, and I am looking forward to the dead quiet of NH.... or rather, the extreme nature-noisiness of the outdoors. At any rate, for several days, I will be away from computer, internet, and most likely any sort of cellular reception. I am terrified. I used to camp quite frequently, but at some point in life became dependent on technological devices that I am not entirely sure how to properly operate. As I will be away from the laptop, I will actually have to write by hand... on paper... with a pen. I fear that this trip might result in a mild case of carpel tunnel. I am not entirely sure if I can even remember how to physically write in the English language. I suppose time will tell.

F#%* The Fung-Wah Bus

This past Saturday was the big move back to MA. As if the entire ordeal of packing and saying my goodbyes was not stressful enough, I had a bus try and kill me not once but twice on the way home. The actual packing portion went well.... we got most everything into the UHaul on Friday, and had Saturday morning just for the last minute things. On the road by 9, and all was well.... until we get to CT. As I have lamented before, this particular state is a state of confusion and irritation every time I drive through it. Saturday was no exception. The traffic was not terrible, but not fantastic either. One nimrod had clipped the mirror on the UHaul, and the Fung-Wah bus tried to kill me. For those of you not in the know, the Fung-Wah bus is a shuttle from China Town in Boston, to China Town in NY for a nominal fee. On two separate occasions during my trek through CT, the same friggin bus changed lanes without checking his blindspot. I know this, because I was in said blind spot, and the front of my car almost got demolished not once, but twice! No... I am not bitter. But I have since realized that I am the reason there are gun control laws... If I had had some sort of firearm with me in the car, there would have been a nasty little postal incident.

Discard Fallen Insects

Triumph! Today I have waged war on the wasps living under my tarp. And by my tarp, I mean the one that covers the bike I am too lazy to ride. They have built quite the impressive little nest there, and I have been somewhat leery about venturing outside into their domain. So I borrowed some flying insect killer from my father. Which is another issue..... why on earth do bug destroying companies make these gargantuan bottles of insecticide? Chances are, the people buying it are not trying to wipe out an entire insect population. But I digress. So I read the directions on this bottle of poison quite intently, only to discover that is intended for indoor, not outdoor use. Ok.... so the question is, do I actually buy the proper chemical for outdoor use, or do I just bite the bullet and spray the hell out of the hive? After all, the last thing I want to do is spray them with a weak toxin that merely pisses them off. As if wasps aren't cantankerous enough to begin with. I chose the latter. This morning, before the little nasties had properly woken up, I opened up the sliding door, used a mop handle to pull the tarp aside, and went to town. I sprayed the HELL out of that wasps' nest! MWAHAHAHA!!!! After a few seconds, they started to twitch and fall to the ground. I happened to see, at the end of the bottle's directions, to "Discard Fallen Insects." Discard fallen insects? Wha? That makes them sound like martyrs... I don't fuckin' think so. No, I shall not discard them. But I might give them a Viking funeral.

New Beginnings

And so Lola sits, very sad on the couch, as the countdown begins to the Great Move. For the past 2 years (exactly, as of yesterday), Lola has been living an interesting, if somewhat less than riveting existence in NJ. Whilst here, she has finished her Master of Music degree; no meager feat. She has also met people that would change her life irrevocably and help her grow as a person. But the time has come.... graduation has been and gone, and she needs to move in one direction or another. After much deliberation, Lola thought it would be best to move home to MA. After all, the piano is there (and thus her business) and it is also rent-free. Being a recent graduate makes pretty much all of one's immediate decisions financial ones. Lola knows that what she is doing is exactly what she needs to do at this point in her life. But she can't help but feel angst and trepidation over leaving the wonderful friends she has met while here in the Sometimes Stinky State. So whenever if you happen to remember a time in your life when you had to make a heartrending yet exhilarating choice, say a little prayer for Lola. I know I will.

Cheney/Voldemort '08

So there I am, horrifically irritated on I-95 on my way back to MA for a cookout at my brother's house. I have made this drive innumerable times, and am quite sure my car could make it without me. I merely point it north, and it seems to know the way. This particular trip, however, is less than ordinary. When I started out from NJ, there was rain. I am not talking a bit of water, I am referring to the Ark-building rain where one cannot see more than 50 ft in front of one's car. This was problem number one. Then, of course, there is CT. I firmly believe that New England would suffice perfectly well without this particular state (sorry to all you Connecticutians). We could just blow it up and then stitch RI and NY directly together. Or just have areally big bay. It is the bipolar state. Half the state think that they belong to New York, and thus root for the Yankmees. The other half has the decency to act like proper New Englanders and root for the Red Sox (no matter how trying this is at times). CT is also famous for more than its fair share of un-driving. While I am trying desperately not to get killed on a fun strip of highway in New Haven, some jackass who got his license out of a Cracker Jack box, flies by me and proceeds to cut me off, so as not to end up on I-91 by mistake. I look closely, and notice this fool has a bumper sticker that says "Cheney- Voldemort '08." Despite his obvious lack of driving skills, I guffawed as I pondered this little witticism. I suppose even CT has a sense of humor.

Great Expectations

In my relatively short span on this earth, I have discovered a few things about expectations. First, you cannot always hold the same expectations for others that you hold for yourself. Second, expectations must sometimes be altered given another's point in life. Third, expectations should never define a relationship of any kind. As a general rule, I have extremely (sometimes exorbitant) expectations of myself; in work, study, etc. However, I have learned that I cannot keep the same template for my friends and family. Tonight I realized that I have been holding ridiculously high expectations for someone who is just not equipped to meet them at his personal point in life. This friend is 5 yrs younger than I am. Granted, this is not a great span of time, but by the same token, I have learned a few life lessons that he has not yet encountered. For example...I know that if I ever needed anything, he would be there for me in a minute; but sometimes, the simple things escape him entirely. Its not always about the grand gesture, but sometimes just the little things, like doing something you say you are going to do. I am a person that, if I say I am going to do something, I do it. No questions asked (usually). I have learned that sometimes people are not always at the same point that you are. I have learned that sometimes it is prudent to be patient, and let others work their own shit out in their own time.

Psychological Crisis

I am sitting here at my (or rather Diana's) desk in the Library, trying my damndest not to fall asleep. It is exceptionally boring at this time in the evening, when I have finished all the major projects for the day, there are no patrons, and I don't want to start anything new. So I am looking up at the bulletin board over my desk (the one with actual notices; not the nice one with the pictures and the quotes), and I notice an emergency listing of some sort. We had something similar when i worked in the hospital... however, emergencies were prioritized... The most hazardous were on top, and they decreased in severity as one descended the list. This list in the Library, however, seems to have no significant order at all. The first item on this list is Psychological Crisis. However, nowhere does it inform the reader of what, exactly, may be considered a psychological crisis. Closely followed is Explosion. Now I REALLY want to know what the psychological crisis could be, that would warrant it being placed above explosion. I can see how a psychological crisis could be the result of an explosion... altho, maybe it is the cause and that is why Explosion makes number 2 on the list. But it gets better! As you read further, there are things such as "Bomb threat, Riot, Severe Weather, Chemical Hazard, Threatening/Violent Behavior...." It goes on. But what I like the MOST about this lovely list is that the section labeled "Important Information" is in the middle... between Resource Teams and Homeland Security. I think, if I had an unspecified Psychological Crisis, I might be ok, but if I needed Important Information of any kind, I might just be screwed. Oh, and Fire is at the bottom of this list.

Great Fairy Tale

My friend Myrna sent this to me in an email today. A forward that I had NOT actually received before, I felt compelled to share:
Once upon a time in a land far away, a beautiful, independent,self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle. The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: "Elegant Lady,I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however,and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so." That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sauteed frog legs, seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself: "I don't fuckin' think so."

Clothing Designers are Succubi from Hell

Lola needed a new pair of sneakers. So, like any other poor, recent graduate, she trekked to Kohl's, the Mecca of the financially strained. There, she found not only cute sneaks to fit her dwarfishly small feetsies, but some nice tops that accentuated the bosom whilst simultaneously de-emphasizing the booty. When Lola first found one of these magical tops, she tried it on in her regular size. Lo and behold, it was too big! Angels promptly descended from the heavens and began to sing. She ventured on to more of these wondrous clothing items, and tried on a smaller size. Damn the clothing people, some of them didn't fit. Lola is now perplexed... she is unable to fathom why one size cannot truly be that size. Clothing designers choose random numbers out of an evil hat that can, one moment, boost a woman's confidence, only to shatter it the next when she has to move up to the size of Tent (or other unsightly, tarp-esque sort of size). A pox on all designers who toy with our minds in such a manner!

Swearing a Blue Streak

I love my job at the library. Not because the job itself is intellectually stimulating, or even because I enjoy being quiet for 8 hrs a day (which I obviously don't). I love it because I work with some of the funniest, kindest and bizarre loons one would ever want to meet. My friend Diana is just such a person. Yesterday, she told me that she hopes that I develop Tourette's Syndrome. ! Not because she particularly wishes for me to have a debilitating neurological disorder, but rather because she thinks I would be a riot a minute. In her eyes, my own personal level of swearing would take on a whole new level. I realize that, more often than I should, I swear like a truck driver. This is not necessarily a good thing, and I have actually been making some sort of half-assed attempt to NOT do so quite as frequently. At any rate, Diana would apparently love me to swear completely uncontrollably. However, she did say that if I do develop said disorder, she would like to be my personal caretaker. Gee, thanks....

In Shape?

So I have decided that round is no longer an acceptable shape. It stands to reason that one with this mentality would then begin the steps to change one's current status. I am apparently conscientously debating which steps to take, and when to take them. Today I thought working out might be a good idea. Nothing too ridiculous; just some weight lifting, stretching, and what not.... then the pain began. I realized that apparently, semi-sedentary lifestyles lead to discomfort when trying to change the status quo. Once upon a time, I was a gymnast. I worked out regularly, and was that cliched "finely tuned machine." Of course, since those days of physical yore, I discovered pain. When you are young, you have no capacity to understand the pain you are inflicting upon yourself... however, at this stage of the game I am well aware. It seems I am incapable of remembering the days when I could run without getting winded, or perform some wily act of physical endurance without so much as a second thought. Now, my basic form of exercise is bringing the beer bottle up to my mouth.... And one.... and two... and.....