I'm-a-Let-you-Finish-But...

Kanye West & Taylor Swift
wishing you
Happy Halloween!

I got a few "Are you Anna Nicole Smith?" questions out of the wig and red lipstick. Funny. Wish I had a party to go to tomorrow, but I'm not repeating last year's radio station party nightmare. Maybe I should just take the wig to a bar. What do you think? Too bad it itches after an hour.

Boondock Saints II is open...anyone from Boston has to go see it. Mandatory. But it is only in limited release. Next weekend maybe.

Oh and I made it to the end of October! Damnnnnn. I survived with a cameraless, letter J- and letter K-less Blackberry. Tomorrow I get to see what AT&T has been hiding on me: the costs for the upgrades they've been teasing me with. Yes, I'm eligible for an iphone. No, I don't think I'll be getting one.

No, I haven't heard from FutureSex except to learn he had to do halloween with his child. So it must have been future future FutureSex on his mind when he met me. Whatevs.

Here comes November. Here comes Vegas. Vegas baby Vegas. 25 days and counting.

And some of you have asked to hear more about my marriage....I'm mulling that over. Got to leave something for the books, but I wouldn't mind telling some things people would like to hear. Feel free to leave questions or suggestions.

And yes, you've all asked about my darling Italian friend, Mr MBI. He's quite well, and I am still enjoying his twitter presence immensely. Learning Italian and teaching English word by word, laughing every day, and sharing appreciation for all things Springsteen. Cue up James Taylor, because I've got a new friend.

And no, I'm not going to share too much of him because I'm a selfish Sagittarian soon turning an ungodly age and hoarding all the attention I can possibly accumulate like a bear about to hibernate for winter. I especially enjoy his singing voice.

You've all (well, me mostly, but you partly) already embarrassed him. You, yes you, (well, me, really me) you've made an Italian man blush. I didn't think it was possible either. So I'm afraid, there will be no monthly "Ask Molto Bello Italia" posts.

What can I say? I know we're hungry American women! How about some Sopressata?

Little Things in a Big World

On Friday night, I had a bucket list moment.

I've said it before. I'll say it again. There are some really good reasons to stick out the loneliness and keep living in Jersey.

I went and stood in line at a Borders bookstore to shake Clarence Clemons' hand and get his signature on a book he co-penned. He's a very important member of the E Street Band; he's Springsteen's saxophone player.

And he's more than that. To me. He's part of a unique elixir I've tried to describe before that somehow gets my mother dancing at concerts for the last 6 years or so.

There's nothing quite like a beautiful sax solo to get your feet tapping or to bring out that extra heart-wrenching emotional twist in a song.

And I had about 60 seconds to tell him, something, anything.

I leaned over the table so he would be sure to hear me, and I got his attention while he was signing the book. It probably didn't hurt that I had the girls in a push-up bra right in his line of vision, I'm no dummy.

I said: "My mother is in her 70s and it is because of your saxophone playing that she still dances."

His smile was so genuine, I saw it reach his eyes.

He shook my hand and there was a really warm energy there. He said, "Well you tell her to keep on dancing. Because I've had 3 hip replacements and 2 knee replacements and I'm still up there so she can keep on dancing."

I thanked the co-writer Don as he signed his name, and then somehow I made it a few steps away from the table. My eyes were just brimming I could not see clearly, and I quickly found an out of the way spot in an aisle of the bookstore. The tears just streamed down my cheeks. Happy tears. Sad tears. All at once.

I have some very special memories with my Mom at some incredible Springsteen concerts. Winning tickets on the radio. Driving several hours just to pick her up and take her to Boston. Being given tickets another time to a VIP section with an amazing buffet that she still talks about as if she'd never eaten food like that before. Watching her dance and listening to how she thinks of Bruce as a son. Those are the happy tears.

She will probably not attend another show now; she has said so herself. Those are the sad tears.

I got Mom on the phone as soon as I could, and I told her that Clarence Clemons has a message for her. And I could hear the change in her voice, for just a moment. She had some surprise, and I heard some happiness shine through the misery and the pain she normally wears like a cloak while her various ailments eat her body alive.

I tell her not to give up but she tells me she's so tired of fighting her body. She mentions my birthday coming up, and says she can only think one day at a time.

She says she wants to read the book. I warn her there's swearing. She doesn't care. I said I'll get it to her as soon as possible. I tell her I love her and hang up the call.

Just another memory filed away in the brain heart.

It's the little things that matter.

I am just so shocked here, but deliriously thrilled.

Blame It on Estrogen

"A crush cannot endure
the passing of time;
while a friendship
can withstand
the trial
of all seasons."

There's been such a constant spin at work (absolute chaos as they redesign the department space for a week) that I haven't had a minute to write. Which really wouldn't matter because I've not been to the gym and I've not paid attention to the scale (which would potentially mean I'm not obsessed).

The Sagittarian in me wants to run away so badly. And literally. Just take a month's worth of salary, skip town on all the bills, and just keep running.

Aren't you glad I didn't do that? Yet anyway.

However, for a few days now I've had a post written in my head. And now I'm just hoping I can get it out from rattling around up there keeping me from a semblance of sanity. This is another Samantha Jones-type of post so, if you don't want to talk s-e-x, give yourself up to the authorities now, you're anti-human.

Remember on October 8 when I said about my flittering with Mr Molto Bello Italia (MBI), "I figure as long as we keep our passion to Bruce, we're in a safe zone..."

(Yes.)

Remember that lousy movie Blame it on Rio?

(No. Maybe.)

It isn't important. But I'm going to call my little episodic adventure Blame It on Estrogen. Movie to come soon. Wait for it.

What in the hell am I talking about?

Well, try as hard as I could to walk the straight and narrow and keep to the safe side of conversation with a warm, friendly, taken man, I epically failed, and I have the wicked hardest crush on MBI.

Yeah. I'm talking swoon-worthy, butterfly-swirly, ooh-ooh I've got a crush on you please sing some more Bruce Springsteen for me. I tried! I just couldn't help myself, I have no willpower to resist the charming musicians in life! We have so many great commonalities, and a shared sense of humor that transcends language barriers. He's quite possibly the only Springsteen fan my age that I know who loves Bruce more than I do.

Most men can't figure out when a woman is crushing on them, so I don't know what he's thinking. Quite possibly I may have achieved an international stereotype status: Sex-crazed American woman. I have spent my entire life avoiding fitting into types, but I think I've pretty much fallen into one by sheer default. I mean, they don't write songs like "American woman, stay away from me...." without good cause.

I have shared many emotional thoughts with my new friend, including my thoughts about the wedding and my marriage that I shared here with you and got such amazing feedback on (thank you).

Sooooo....on Monday he left me a twitter message that simply said, "I've found you."

My 1st thought: Awww and I've found you (in the universal zen sense).

My 2nd thought one second later: OH....GOD HE.... GOOGLED.... ME. *sucking in for air*

Yes, he's read the blog. And...right now I am glad he found it.

But at the time, when he first mentioned it, in a matter of seconds this "tremendously sexy" American female was instinctively seeking a virtual rock to crawl under. There is no fiction or poetry posted here, just my darkest thoughts.

Unreasonable and unexpected tears streamed down my cheeks even though he didn't say anything bad and had no idea of the effect.

I just sat in front of the computer and tried to recover from my ridiculous freakout party, thrown no doubt by my hormones on overdrive. I'd like to stop being an 18 year old boy please.

My little bubble crush felt like it had burst, and I was standing there in tomato sauce.

He said that my blog "reads like Bridget Jones....." and that I was "obsessed with weight." He was kind about it, not cruel.

At first I said no, I'm just being healthy, but the truth is who am I kidding? I am obsessed, with many things. Weight is one of them. Trying not to be, but I am. It holds the key to my inner happiness.

Even my new friend remarked how sometimes my eyes seem sad. And I know what's missing there. If I can just accomplish some things, like the weight and the book and someone to laugh with and hold me again, I would feel so much better. Ah well, working on a dream.

Anyway, so we have a man around the blog here. He said he would keep reading, so I said I would keep writing. How did the real Carrie Bradshaw's (Candace Bushnell's) friends handle being written about in her real life column?

Well, here's where I want to give a shout out to my new friend; you can say hi to him too:

Ciao Mr Molto Bello Italia! Ciao!

What really really really matters to me, Mr Gypsy Eyes, is that you're someone who brightens my life. Beneath all that crushy stuff I feel, you're REAL.

You're my kind of people. You're my kind of Springsteen fan. You're my kind of friend. Which is rare and high quality.

I don't make friends easily. And I don't want to give that friendship away just because I have not had sex in almost a year. I may be crazy, but I'm not that crazy.

*cringe* Writing it makes it true!?

Anyone want to rent me a date for my birthday? Anyone? Anyone?

Happily Ever After Reflections

My cousin's wedding was nice. I'm not going to trash it in a jaded bitter way; I wish them the best.

Although the official who married them must have been a retired auctioneer, everything was very nicely done. It wasn't too extravagant. The meal was delicious. And the bar was open. As long as you didn't get a mixed drink, you could actually taste the alcohol. I stuck with vodka on the rocks. No wine headache for me thank you.

Among my cousins, I am the only divorced woman without children, under 40. There is one other, who is over 40. There were no viable guys to even think to flirt with, and only one good-looking bartender. Despite my open plea for wedding crashers to show up, the only unwanted guest was my T.o.M. arriving promptly at the conclusion of the evening. Must have been all the shimming I did on the dance floor to the B52's Love Shack and The BlackEyed Peas I've Got a Feeling.

My Mom, who has been battling a cold in addition to the recent hospital kick in the ass stay, got out on the dance floor and did a polka dance with one of my uncles. That was a memory made right there. Of course, the DJ didn't have any Springsteen so there was no Waiting on a Sunny Day.

If photos surface that don't have me looking like a black trash bag ready for the curb, I'll share them. I am still two weeks out without a camera (Hello Blackberry renewal November). Although I didn't get many compliments (a lot of "nice-to-see-yous" which is fine because I didn't blow smoke up anyone's ass either), no one asked the dreaded "How's your love life" or "where's your date" singleton questions which rocked. One aunt asked about L, because she knew I moved to Jersey for him, and she was appropriately horrified when I told her he had married someone.

I did catch several men staring at my breastages which I found incredibly odd. It is not like my girls are anything like they used to be in their former glory before losing 9 inches with the weight. But apparently, these guys, some of my uncles even, haven't seen cleavage recently. When they would talk to me, their eyes kept drifting down there. I always heard women complaining of this phenomena, but now I've experienced it myself. I was amused and alarmed at the same time.

I was reflective about marriage. It would have been 19 years this month for me. How different life would be right now.

I always wanted a big wedding. By always, I mean, before I got married. So, before I turned 20, I had always thought I wanted a big wedding. Not that there was anyone to pay for it, but just in pure romantic theory.

I was in love with being in love, and I chased it like a storm chaser chases tornadoes; with very little regard for my own (emotional) life while in the presence of something larger and perceived in my mind to be from nature. I saw what my sisters had found, and I saw what my mother didn't have, and I swooned at the rock stars and movies. I wasn't going to be that Sally in 1989's When Harry Met Sally. I wasn't going to be crying to my best friend, "But I'm going to be 40....*sob* some....day..." while still single.

Here's the clip, minute 2:16 into it....

Little did I know at the time that I had removed the big wedding option for myself when I basically thumbed my nose at the entire tradition and got married on the spur of the moment while overseas on a field study leave from college without anyone's knowledge.

One has to understand the mindset of my 20-year old self at the time to fully grasp why the events took place as they did. I was impressionable yes, but I was also very aware of outside influences affecting my decisions. I would say no single factor carried more weight than the others, but combined they were the ultimate megacatalysism for my decision.

1. I had interviewed a former teacher living with PTSD and won recognition for a poem I'd written about him. His haunting tales and day-to-day struggles were very present in my psyche.

2. I had just completed a year studying under Michael Klare, Professor of Peace and World Security Studies, and I was incredibly hyper-aware how the world had screwed up so many lives during all previous wars. I was emotionally knee deep in the hawks and the doves of the Vietnam War via countless books and movies for my 3rd year's social studies term paper.

3. I began my trip overseas on August 2, 1990, the day Iraq invaded Kuwait. I'll never forget this because it was all anyone discussed on the plane. War with the United States was pending and the Iraqi ex-pats on the plane were hopeful for the end of Saddam Hussein's reign.

4. My newfound love had been avoiding his country's mandatory military obligation, extending his university education another semester, for several semesters already. But he could no longer do that if his country joined the US-led coalition against Iraq's invasion of Kuwait. And they would surely join, being the most steadfast ally the US has ever had in the region.

5. I fell hard for my husband. And he for me. There was love in abundance, to the point where I could have drowned in it. He wrote me poetry, struggling to find the words in English. He told me I was the marrow inside a man's bones; something life-sustaining, life-changing. And I wasn't about to lose someone who valued me that much to a "stupid war for oil."

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 = enough reasons why I wasn't thinking that my mother might feel betrayed in old world Polish/Italian fashion that her youngest daughter got married without family present, or why I wasn't thinking how nice it would be to have a big wedding, get lots of gifts for a home we didn't have, and go on a honeymoon before living happily ever after.

I'd already had 6 weeks in paradise with him. I was simply innocently aiming to live happily in the near future in a war-free zone or in the world's war-defending nation at least.

So in hindsight I gave up that big wedding idea without a second thought or a first thought even. This was my lifetime love. It came so early but I was so sure of it. At age 20. I knew nothing of immigration except that if we were married, he could come to the states and live with me until I finished school. Why delay what we thought in love's terms would be inevitable anyway? He didn't try to push me to think this way at all; I think he was too shocked in love. It was all me. I convinced him getting married was the only way to assure we'd ever see each other again in pure dramatic style, to live a life of love together. I wouldn't lose him to the army. I wouldn't lose him to a war.

And that came true. I didn't lose him to the army or the Gulf War.

A lifetime love can still be lost. I lost him to the war of insecurities that we (men and women) all carry within ourselves that some of us allow to get in the way and destroy our relations with others.

Condiments Could Kill

This is a PSA folks...

(Pssst, I don't think this qualifies as a TMI post for LiLu, who is a really kickass fun former-Masshole blogger. I just can't match those gross-out levels she and her pals achieve! I'm not worthy! But if you enjoy some grossed out things, check out her TMI Thursday posts. You will laugh and be horrified.)

At 3 AM on Wednesday morning, I had a Jimi Hendrix experience. Sadly, I'm not talking about a drug-induced trippy fun hallucination. I'm talking about puking in my sleep, on my back, and thinking I was going to die by method of choking.

Putting aside the fact that I haven't thrown up in.....YEARS....I've come close but not actual....

This was the most frightening experience I've had in a while.

And then I proceeded to hurl for several hours. To the point where my throat burned like the worst hot sauce in the world had been poured down it for days. And then the rest of my body decided to participate in the festivities until I didn't know which part of my body to put on the toilet. I was half-anticipating blood to start coming out my eyes.

Oh yeah, fun times.

So there I am thinking.....WTF, am I going to die of swine flu two days before my cousin's wedding?

Took my temperature. Normal. Normal. Normal.

How is that possible? I just emptied my entire body of all fluids imaginable.

But no, no fever. And no fever, means no infection, thus no swine flu.

So I laid there in bed as no less than 5 different people tried to communicate with me via 5 different media methods. Crackberry in one hand, laptop on the pillow, I tried to just be motionless as much as possible for as long as possible. And oh I do so <3 technology because my Flittering Mr Italia can virtually send me cups of cammy tea with honey, as I wondered what in the hell was wrong with me in all my pasty dry mouth knotty snotty glory.

Was it that I just hated work so much that I made myself sick? Possibly, but spontaneous puking out of a dead sleep did not seem to be my brand of neurotic-based acts.

It wasn't until later when I boldly ventured into the kitchen for a cup of weak tea that I even thought about what I'd eaten. Everything I ate, I'd cooked myself. For days.

I happened to see the jar of minced garlic.

The mega huge 32-ounce jar of minced garlic.

The mega huge 32-ounce jar of minced garlic that I've had for.....ever. Years? Hmmm.

I love garlic, I've used 3/4th of that jar I'm proud to say.

And yes, I have had garlic for the past 3 days as a garnish in my plain yogurt as a sauce for my chicken. And yes, it has been some time since I used it before this week, and I had always sauteed it into things, not used it raw.

I glanced closer at the jar. Expiration date: April.

Check your condiments people. Do it today.

You'll thank me. Trust.

Eh, Not Much

Thought of the weekend: Why can't every night be a Springsteen concert?

*sigh*

Baseball season is over. I don't want to talk about it. Two of my favorite players are likely retiring. I don't want to talk about it. Our closer is most likely getting his ass kicked by every other player on the team and sent to the bowels of hell in a trade next year. I don't want to talk about it.

___________

FutureSex canceled. Work. I asked about a later meeting time, he said he had dinner plans. So, he only intended to hang with me from 1:30 to .... before his dinner plans. OK. Well, like I had said a week ago, he might just be someone I'm interested in for the fun stuff.

Getting on quite well with my Italian friend. Flittering, as I've been educated, is the better term for flirting via twitter. It is a lovely distraction from the solitude, but it cannot replace a good face to face conversation. And then Mr Molto Bello Italy started talking about a last minute trip to see Springsteen in NY in November. I held my breath, until he determined he couldn't swing the expense.

___________

Mom is at home, on the mend, at least as of yesterday. It changes every day. She's got a serious cold which at first concerned us to determine if it was swine flu or not, but without a significant fever it apparently is not. Unfortunately, too bad there isn't a med she can take for her biting nasty attitude. Well there is, but she won't take them.

___________

So, I'm down 5 lbs since last Sunday. Yes, 5 lbs. How interesting. By eating more. Very funny stuff. I will follow the same foods I had last week and see what happens. Of course, cousin's wedding is this Friday.

Speaking of which, so I have these new shoes....and I have to wear them to the wedding.....

So, in an effort to get used to them, I wore them...while washing dishes at the sink. Perfect right? Sweatpants, sweatshirt, and these tiny shoes.

I had music on and so I was just trying to sway, not actually dance, just sway a bit to the music. I can tell you after about 20 minutes, I thought the circulation to my big toe was going to be cut off completely for life.

*sigh*

Oh and opinions please.....

What is the point of pantyhose? Nylons? Or whatever you want to call them. Seriously, this isn't the age of MadMen anymore (which freaking rocks as a show).

I don't think I'm going to wear them, and I'm just putting that out there. Will I bring scandal to my table at the wedding? One can certainly hope!

Was it wrong to tell my friends to crash the reception?

Oh I crack myself up.

Unusual Week

It has been a really unusual week. It just FEELS off, you know that feeling? Maybe I'm in some altered horror-wonderland or something, some bad things, some good things, some really odd things. I've got so many scattered thoughts and topics, I'm just going to brain dump here and you can read if you want or not.

Many many thanks by the way, to all of the helpful dog-related information people have shared. Yes, I've gone the extensive route of food allergies. That is not it, although I have kept her on a very expensive potato and duck diet. I am really quite certain it is an internal mite. Ew yucko.

_________

So, Mom's scope test results on Monday were normal. Then they told her they were going to do some intestinal tests, on Tuesday (I think). I have lost track of the days and honestly don't know how my sisters keep track.

After about 6 hours of testing on Tuesday (I think that's what my sister said), they returned my Mom to her room and had a nurse announce, "OK, we're sending you home." Right then. Pronto Tonto.

What? Why?

Well, guess what folks?

On hospital Day 8, without conclusive findings of what exactly is wrong, medicare stops paying. And the staff that took such incredible care of her for an entire week couldn't usher her out the door soon enough. Just. Like. That.

They did everything except physically kick my mother in the ass out the door. Allegedly even the doctor's assistant informed my mother that they could "call her a cab" if need be. And, the wait for a wheelchair ride to the lobby would "be awhile," as other patients were discharging.

I guess that's what you call a Medicare Dump Day. I bet it happens every day at hospitals all across the country. Don't think we need some type of reform? I hope to hell you don't ever have a family member who needs care.

Of course, in theory, after 8 days, if you can't determine what IS wrong, perhaps it is best that the patient goes home. Hell, she could get more rest at home. But how about a little kindness people? Is a little kindness too much to ask for a 70something woman who spent her life taking care of medically ill children discarded by their parents and mentally handicapped adults who were wards of the state? Forget that even, how about a little kindness just for another human being?

_________

Returning to work was brutal. Absolutely horrible. Spent 8 hours on Monday going through my email. No exaggeration. Culled what I could and the final tally of work to be done by Friday: 36 jobs. Jobs that I have to do, not delegate to anyone else. All me. 5 of those jobs were jobs that SAT for two weeks, because people didn't find someone else to sign off on their review in my absence, which is totally their responsibility. So their fail became my added work. Well, those 5 got dropped to the bottom of the pile. They can bloody wait. They'll get them on Monday. My eyes can only read so much.

Speaking of which, in many ways my body has not enjoyed the return to work. Neck and shoulder pain galore on Tuesday, and full on migraine by Thursday morning. I did my best to counter the stress with exercise (walking around the lake with the dogs) but I did not make it to the gym because of the workload and the extra gas I'm trying to squeak out until next payday, which is my cousin's wedding, which is becoming quite an expense.

Good thing I don't have a date, it would cost me even more. Gas up to CT and back, plus hotel, plus dry cleaning, plus gift, plus lunch the next day with old friends (the one saving grace in the whole ordeal), and that's quite a little adventure. Oh but hey, you only get married BIG once. Go for it. *rolling my eyes* Nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, that's different. Those are blood, I'd take a bullet for you relatives. But a cousin, who is in her early 30s, about whose life I know nothing? Whatever. I'm going because her dear mother has been a sweet godmother to me growing up. And I do respect all that my aunt's generation did for my generation.

_________

The scale says (and I really take this with a grain of water-retaining salt) that I am down 3 lbs since Sunday. Hell, I'm not counting or getting excited, merely taking note. When the clothes start feeling different again, that's when I'll feel excited. Odd because I'm not exercising. Odd because I'm not really thinking about it. I am eating as I'd planned out for the week on Sunday, but I don't enjoy the "hungry again" feeling that complex carbs give me about 3 hours after eating.

_________

In other unusual news...

FutureSex and I have gotten bogged down with work this week but we have plans to meet this Saturday afternoon. Hmm. I don't know. Who has sex in the afternoon? Animals, I suppose. And people having illicit steamy affairs. And well, maybe me, lone single girl. I better make sure that timing doesn't interfere with my Red Sox playoff schedule.

We'll see. It's been so long, I think I may have forgotten the basics. Wish that made me a virgin again. Looked at his photo again since meeting, and odd as it sounds, I am just not attracted to the photo. In person, though, there was definitely something. Full moon effect only? Saturday will tell.

I've also started my very first twit-flirt.Um....would that be tw-lirting, tweeters, what say you? Tw-lirting, what a word.

He's 40, Italian, and of course, married. But he's Molto Bello. And a diehard Springsteen fan. Oh delish. Pour some italian sausage on me! Oh wait, that's Def Leppard. Strap your hands across my engines...I figure as long as we keep our passion to Bruce, we're in a safe zone. He hasn't asked me for nekkid shots or said anything rude or sexual, so I think we're OK.

_________

And in yet other unusual news...

I had two FREE Springsteen tickets dropped in my lap this week. Granted, they're so easy to come by because they booked too many concerts at Giants stadium when no one can really afford to go (and these $68-$90 tickets are way LESS than most acts charge to begin with) and even Jersey seems like it might be Bruced-out at the moment. I never thought I'd see the day when lower tier seats are being sold at face value or under face value 2 days before the show. Somehow people coughed up ridiculous sums of money to see U2. I like them, but I'll take my poet's writing any day. So, I'm going tonight, to give myself an energy elixir in the soul of my autumn loving heart. And I gifted the other ticket to a poor college kid, so I am doing the right thing by paying it forward.

Just for a few more hours, for just one more night, I'll be a tramp running free.

"But they can't touch me now
And you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me
What I watched them do to you"
Independence Day, Springsteen

End of the Break

"Show a little faith,
there's magic in the night,
You ain't a beauty
but hey you're alright,
and that's alright with me."
Thunder Road, Springsteen

In the last few hours of daylight before I must report back to prison work, I'm sitting outside watching the lake. Fairly windy today and there's a chill once the sun no longer shines upon where you sit. Two ducks are really going at it, like a watery duel to the death. I sure hope the underdog gets away.

Time really flies by. Two weeks gone in the blink of an eye. I neglected to clean out the clothes closet. I didn't write nearly as much as I'd wanted to write. And I didn't make it to the shore, Jersey or Massachusetts. The closet, the novel, and the shore aren't going anywhere, so I can deal with them and visit them in time. The shore is better in another month or so anyway.

Somehow I did manage to relax. I can certainly say that I've slept enough to feel my body and mind are well-rested, and I've enjoyed my natural pattern of staying up late late nights (Craig Ferguson I love you!) and sleeping in mornings (hell is that habit ever going to be a bitch to get out of). Absolut Boston helped add 7 lbs to my kangaroo pouch, but the gym still exists at $40/month to remind me that I can get back there 24/7. I saw the Red Sox in Baltimore and The Boss in Jersey; definite highlights of my year. He played Waiting on a Sunny Day and I danced for my Mom like he played it just for her. She's going to have the scope tomorrow and hopefully they'll learn something.

About minute 3:00: Crowd-surfing, 60-year old Bruce Springsteen!

I've spent a lot of time with my adorable dogs, whom I don't gush about on here nearly enough, but love dearly. They've been great company. Chad got frisbee'd every day and Lo is probably not going to handle my extended absence from the house too well (still haven't had a single call about my pet sitting ad even though all my number slips have been removed from 2 flyers).

I had to shave Lo's coat in a continued effort to control this itchy disorder she has. We (as if she had a say in it) went with a lion's mane cut this time rather than a horse cut. Left her tail full and just sheared her entire body from the shoulders back. The itchy problem seems internal to me as there is no evidence on her skin of anything, and I wonder if she doesn't have a bit of an immune issue of sorts. The change of the weather seems to have made her worse, when a few weeks ago she was doing better. The most natural anti-itch shampoo doesn't help. Oatmeal doesn't help. The special oils I bought don't help. Cleaning the house like crazy doesn't help. I wish I could get a vet who would investigate until we found an answer. Just can't afford more doctors.

I tried to take a photo of my black little lioness with the web cam. Sadly, nothing but black blobs. I was so hoping it would be suitable for Halloween. If I could only get her to roar maybe she could make some money.

_______________

So in an effort to get back into the swing-a-ling of things, I cooked for the week.

Brekkies will be:
1 vitatop muffin top
w/ 1/2 TBLS PB

Lunches will be:
grilled chicken
with either TBLS of garlic yogurt sauce or a thai peanut sauce
EVOO sauteed onions and peppers
over 1/4 cup brown rice, barley, and rye

Dinners will be:
eggs
or
omaha steak / burger
with peppers and onions
and 1-2 TBLS reduced fat cheese

In the cooler weather, I find it hard to eat something cold like salads. So, no more spinach for now. Some will say there's no variety, but that's the way I like it. And some will say there's no fruit, but I really don't like fruit. I do have some cranberry juice I will try to drink mixed into my unsweetened un-vodka iced tea.

To guinea pig the "I'm not consuming enough calories per day" theory, we'll see if eating this much will spark any loss.

_______________

My researchers (aka Sweden) inform me that there was a randy full moon on Friday night, which likely contributed to the randy dandy mood of my date. Very interesting. FutureSex and I are talking about a weekend rendezvous coming up this Saturday, but we'll have to see. He has definitely maintained interest so far, emailing and texting often. Glad to see a 42-year old who embraces technology, even if it is only to flirt seductively. What better use of technology is there? As long as he doesn't start sexting me his goody parts, we're going to be on the same page. I'm all for seeing it in person; just don't send it to my phone.





___________

I Ated It
Sunday, October 4

brekkie
1 egg, EVOO sesame french toast
tea

lunch
2 hot dogs, no buns
1 frozen mini snickers

dinner
caramelized onion mini buckwheat pizza
1 shot of vodka in unsweetened iced tea
water

NOTE: I cooked for the entire week. This was just a bunch of bits and odds of what I won't be eating so it had to go somewhere.

Fucking Hypocrite

And now for something...self-exposing and revealing. At least, I think so. I am always up for a little introspection if in the end I've learned something. Want to come along for the ride?

Family members may not wish to read this sexploit. As if the post title didn't warn you.

Today we're going to remove our Bridget Jones' hats and we're going to don our Samantha Jones' hats. You know, her hats are much more fun anyway.

“A guy can just as easily dump you if you fuck him on the first date as he can if you wait until the tenth.”

Thank you Samantha.

I consider myself to be fairly intuitive, self-aware, and enlightened. I try to do no harm to others, while standing tall for myself. I still try to see the good in people first, despite the countless times I've been proven wrong. I put myself in another's shoes when most people don't even know the meaning of the word empathy. In fact, I might be a little too empathetic.

So, it hit me pretty hard on the head on Friday after a quick "coffee meet & greet" when an OKStupid potential turned into a long seductive staring match across dinner, with mad-PDA (yes it horrifies me too) liplocking dessert with a delicious man in a parking lot.

What was it that hit me on the head? That I am a complete and absolute hypocrite.

I've written about and put down all of the guys who wanted to fuck me but not date me, and here I was so turned on by this particular guy for some reason that I would gladly have driven to the first private location we could find to get it on.

The idea was suggested, yes, by me. And it was discussed, it was seriously discussed, and it was decided, again by my schizophrenic self, that it would be best to wait...until the 2nd date.

Heat of the moment? Maybe. But he went with it.

And I know what you're wondering. No alcohol was involved for either of us. This was a sober facesucking experience. And we've been communicating rather intently since we've left each other's side last night. I have new appreciation for pillowtalk.

So in retro, perhaps all these dates I've been going on, I wasn't really bothered by the guys wanting to shag (the Brit definition, not the southern US definition...hahaha CG!) me that night, it was just that I didn't feel the same attraction for them.

This should have been so bloody obvious to me. But no. It wasn't. Until now. So, now I will just say "eh, the attraction wasn't there," rather than beat my head against the desk because yet another guy wants to bang. It should be a compliment if a guy wants you, but we know most will bang anything. But that's OK, because we know that. If we can remember it, we're ahead of the game. In the end, it is still our choice. And I'll take those odds.

Oh....so, you want to know who is my yummy FutureSex partner? 42, divorced financial analyst (what is it with me and the finance guys?), Greek-born, brown chocolate eyes, bald, 6'0, with very nice hands and a very warm, seductive voice. Travelled the commuter train out from the city to meet me which I found incredibly erotic this time around but have previously found desperate and dull with other guys.

The planets must be flipped upside down or something.

Or I'm just inching ever closer to my peak and thinking about sex more often than ever.

That is definitely the truth. In fact, I'm hoping the Wedding Crashers show up at my cousin's wedding. No stage 5 clinger here boys. Just sayin'.

Hello my name is _____________ and I have the libido of an average 18 year old boy.

Want to fuck?

How about now?

Now?


___________

I Ated It

Friday, October 2

brekkie
PB on sesame toast
tea, tea, and more tea

lunch
bacon cheddar burger with onions on english muffin
fries
ranch dressing

dinner
tossed salad w/ grilled chicken
tea
water

Note: It was Friday. Ha.

Comprehende?

Alrighty...

First important things first, can you do me a favor? Right-click and visit the blog of my Jersey friend and leave her some well wishes? She's feeling pretty lousy. However, she has a great playlist that you can play on and on as you blog read. My thoughts are with you Jersey girl.

Hopefully none of the tunes in her playlist are Disney tunes, because Houston, we've discovered a crack in the Happy Costa Rica guy's armor. And it seems to be a pretty fatal one, rather than a repairable one. He is no Disney knight. How reassuringly human.

Last week, I may have witnessed his Pura Vida, but all I witnessed this week were some emotionally needy issues mixed in with the usual male rudeness.

On Tuesday, he began to text me, starting off with the usual, and I explained my mother is in the hospital, I've been traveling, etc. Then his TMs became ranting in nature, going on about how he's giving up on women because no one has time for him. I told him it was really not the best time for me to be trying to explain my inability to meet up with him again, but I would call him later. Not good enough. He went on and on, and about 10 TMs later, he turned his general lamenting into specifics about me. I'm apparently too interested in baseball (I went to one party last weekend) and not interested enough in him. We could be friends, but he is not going to wait for me to be his girlfriend.

*blink*

Um, I don't even know him enough to know if I want to be more than friends.

I should have left it there, but I wanted to defend my actions and my honor a bit. Because he definitely had it wrong, and who the heck was he to be demanding so much of me? It takes two to show interest, I was expecting a little pursuit from him, not be the one chasing him. But anyway.....so, I called him and tried to explain my thoughts, and these were the questions he began to ask me:

Do I get angry easily?

Do I get sad easily?

(Am I being psychoanalyzed?)

Do I stay in the house a lot?

Do I want to spend time with a guy?

Do I eat a lot?

(Wait. Back the truck the fuck up.)

WHAT?!

Sure, was I getting angry easily right then? But I tried. I took a calming breath. I gave him the bilingual benefit of the doubt. I reminded him that he had lunch with me and we talked about working out at the gym and we talked about reducing stress and how it affects our health, so he could answer those questions himself. I reminded him that he has a lot of time on his hands not working, but that I have a job that will keep me busy plus we have the distance and his lack of driving to consider.

And he just didn't seem to listen or understand and went on....just like so many of the others.

"Well I just askin you this because I don't want to be with a depressed angry woman and because if you lost 50 lbs you could be beautiful, like a model...you're so hot honey...comprehende?"

*click*

I hung up.

Do I get angry easily?

I guess I do when an asshole is involved.

Comprehende?


__________

Wednesday, September 26
Life Fitness Treadmill
Standing heart rate: 76
Average heart rate: 140
Max heart rate: 162
Workout mode: RANDOM mode level 18@2.6
Calories: 830 Distance: 2.47 Time: 65:00

NOTE: Nice average heart rate.

I lost track of what I ate.

Doctor McHurry Up Already

Thanks peeps, for the support.

Update: Mom's taking a book out of the MLB player's unwritten rules and using roids, of all things! I knew she loved Big Papi, but I didn't know how much.

All joking aside, they're giving her steroids to control her breathing level. Until they get that under control, they can't do the scopes they want to do to see what's going on with her lungs and possibly her intestines.

But the good news is that her heart is fine after they scared us.

All in all, she's in the right place to be taken care of. Thank you Medicare. She is just so bloated and so weak that it is hard to handle, from the sidelines.

Medical stuff just takes way too much freaking time when I expect things to be resolved Grey's Anatomy style. You know, with Meredith and Christine fighting over who gets to do the procedure, and everything getting resolved in one episode.

My Mom's health issues have been going on longer than all the episodes of St Elsewhere, ER, and Grey's Anatomy put together.

On a happier note, Bruce is in 2 days. Rain or shine. I will be there, singing my lungs out with a cast of thousands. And especially if he plays either of my Mom's favorites, the toe-tapping Waiting on a Sunny Day or the crowd-partying Mary's Place, I will be dancing like a freak.

Just for you Mom.

Live like you're dying, my friends. Live it up.





___________

I Ated It (like a piggy)
banana nut muffin
20 raspberries
20 walnut halves
tea
water

filet mignon
twice baked potato
asparagus
2 glasses of merlot
chocolate mouse pie

Note: Hey, it was a birthday dinner celebration. Don't judge. No exercise as sadly, putting one's foot to the gas pedal of one's vehicle does not count as cardio.