Unintentional Underwire

If I had truly wanted the carpet measuring guy to see one of my unmentionables, I would have hung it from the ceiling fan. It would seem that I dropped a little something when I scooped up the pile of clothing from the bathroom floor. The rest of the pile was hauled without incident to the laundry room. And, naturally, the doorbell rang while I was still downstairs. I did not have the opportunity to do the once-over for missed undies. I suppose it could have been worse. But I ask you, did it have to be so very high contrast? And since the carpet measuring guy got an eyeful, I thought it was only fair that you get one, too. But only one eyeful. Please be courteous and wink. ;)

Courtship Conundrum

I have been to the internet singles bar. Yes, indeed, I have suffered the humiliation and rejection of dating without, for the most part, actually being there. Which saves time and effort and primping up to go out in public. For three months I took part in an on-line dating service. I'd tell you which one, but then I'd have to meet your parents. It was interesting and informative but ultimately unsatisfying. First I would like to gripe about the more than fifty percent of the "matches" who didn't bother to post a photo. Looks are not everything but let's be honest, appearance is a very real and valid piece of the attraction pie. Post a photo, buddy, or you're invisible to me! I also found it annoying when a fellow would post his profile greeting in all caps. I felt as if he was yelling at me over the noise of the virtual band in the internet singles bar just to get my attention. It seemed there was a standard manner in which single men describe themselves, at least one in ten felt he was laid back, liked to hunt and fish and watch sports on tv, and his favorite thing was riding his Harley. No wonder he's single! These are activities he does with the guys! He's looking for a guy with boobs and cooking skills, if you ask me. He might as well have included beer guzzling and lighting farts. Something that I found odd was the number of men who referred to themselves as teddy bears, or more specifically, teddy bears who love to cuddle. There likely are women who appreciate a cuddly, furry sort of guy, but for me the term teddy bear is a turn-off, the mere mention of a stuffed toy completely desexualizes the situation. Next thing you know, he'll be calling you Mama. His funky little mama that he's going to take for a laid back ride on his Harley! There were some men whose profiles genuinely interested me. I emailed them. Most of them didn't bother to even send a courtesy reply, they just ignored me. Probably just as well, if they don't understand that good manners are an assett on-line, they may not know how to employ them in person. I did have two face-to-face meetings, which I will give you all the mostly non-juicy details of in another post. When my three months were up, my profile remained on the service for another week so I was still getting views from potential first dates. When a man calling himself "Rhonda" was interested, I decided it was time to delete my profile and move on. His profile contained absolutely no personal information or a photo. He said he was interested in meeting an open-minded woman who didn't mind that he liked to dress up in feminine clothing. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you have to draw the line somewhere. So let's get something straight here and now. In a relationship, I'm the one who gets to wear the lacy camisoles and nighties. We can take turns wearing the pants.

Just for fun, this is Miss Manners' take on the subject of internet dating.

In The Mailbox.....

...the snail mail box, that is. Amongst the usual assortment of catalogs, pizza coupons, bills and cable/dish tv offers this week were two genuine pieces of personal mail! The most exciting was my radioactive tshirt from MPR! There it is! Evidence that I am a true supporter of public broadcasting. I know, I could have opted to receive no thank you gift at all, which would mean that more of my actual dollars would go to support programming, but the way I see it, this is advertising that is worth much more than the fair market declared value of this shirt. Which is fifteen dollars. Am I feeling guilty now? And while we're on the subject of thank you, the other piece of personal mail was a hand-addressed thank-you note! From Dianne the sales lady at the furniture store where I purchased the chair for the 16yo last week. With, of course, her business card enclosed. Sincerely, even. Am I supposed to feel that Dianne and I now have a close personal relationship? What are the social protocals involved? I thought our little fling was over when I signed on the dotted line after my Visa card was approved. I may have to put on the radioactive tshirt, then go sit in my son's new chair and ponder this. Oh, and thank you for reading.

Caved n' Shaved

I have no self control whatsoever. I only made it ten days. I couldn't take the itchy ankles thing anymore! Being a white girl of both Norwegian and Scottish descent, I also have undertones of blue to my skin. I do not venture outdoors without a healthy slathering of spf 45 sunscreen. I am pale and my hair is dark. The result of not shaving for over a week had rendered my legs nearly ape-like. I know, I know, I gave up shaving my legs for Lent. I have had much longer (pun intended) hair growing experiments in the past that I have endured for up to two months. But yesterday I caved and shaved. And I didn't even have a date last night.

Room for Writing

Welcome to my writing space/office/blogging room. This is the ottoman I put my feet up on. Oh, and a look at the pretty rug that keeps my toes away from the cold tile basement floor. I have found that comfortable feet keep me focused on writing.






This is the all business corner of the room. Desk. Bulletin board. Computer. Desk lamp. Shelves filled with reference materials and office supplies. Ignore the tv. It's not even plugged in.






Einstein and Newton, in a completely separate room. As usual, denying knowledge of or responsibility for anything. Begging for tuna, most likely.






This is the crafty corner of the room. Unfinished projects, scrapbook supplies, unfiled papers. Ignore that mess under the table.




How did this get in here? A dopey photo of me expressing some sort of deep emotional contemplation in regard to the fake spilled drink on the bar. Really. It's a red plastic puddle attached to a wine glass. Found in your better novelty stores, or here, on the bar at Latitude 44. I like to think of it as l'attitude 44, where you can cop one. Or 44. Or as many as you think you can handle.

Ooh, back to my office. Large comfy chair in the corner is indispensable for journal writing, poetry construction and the occasional nap. Penguins and polar bears on shelf are for inspiration, amusement, and the collection of dust bunnies. Radio is for casual Saturday NPR listening. This American Life. The Splendid Table. A Prairie Home Companion. I'm a Sustaining Member, now, so I can come out of the shame closet where the rest of you NPR moochers hang out.

Hip to be Square

It only happens nine times a century, people. Happy Square Root Day! I am such a pitiful geeky girl. To celebrate I consumed a root crop. There were carrots in my soup this evening. Alas, they were round slices, not square chunks. The last SRD of the twentieth century sticks in my mind. 9/9/'81. A sun-drenched late summer morning when I dropped by the construction site where my boyfriend was working. I was on my way to work myself and I don't remember why I felt compelled to stop and see him. What I do remember very clearly is that I looked at him that morning and knew I didn't want to be with him any more, that I didn't really like him very much. But it's hard to let go of what is familiar, and I clung to that relationship for several more months, way beyond its expiration date. I'm smarter about letting go, now, and it's easier for me to accept the fluid nature of life. Change is inevitable and predictable and perennial. Count on it like its comrades death and taxes. Another fascinating numerical holiday occurs a week from this Saturday, 3.14, aka Pi Day. Bake a pie, eat some pie, create a pie chart and see how many decimal places you can recite pi to beyond 3.14159. And I'll see you back here on the next SRD, April 4, 2016.

I MIGHT Be Cool

The 16yo sings. He actually sings very well. On pitch and expressively and often very oddball songs that I've never heard before. Which makes me wonder, how can he remember all the lyrics to a song like The Last Saskatchewan Pirate but can't remember to read any book on the Accelerated Reading list, take a test, and improve his English grade?!?! Which brings us abruptly to an alternative music group known as They Might be Giants. Or to their devoted followers, TMBG. Last week while in the car with the 16yo, he burst into song. He sang of particle man, triangle man, universe man, person man and of their various interactions with each other. It sounded vaguely familiar. I laughed. I think it was last summer, I was in Sioux Falls, sitting outside on a very chilly June evening on Phillips Avenue taking in some live music. Which is ever so much more entertaining than dead music. More lively, if you will. Ahem. The band had been taking a break and were wandering back to their instruments in a random, leisurely fashion. The keyboard player, in an effort to amuse himself until his cohorts retook the stage, began plinking about and playing a song I thought he was making up on the spot. About guys called particle man and triangle man. I thought he was goofing around but it was a real song! The very song my son was singing! Which apparently is a song written and performed by TMBG. Then I remembered another musical moment maybe a year ago, when for some reason I was in the kitchen singing the lines ...Istanbul not Constantinople, Istanbul not Constantinople...and the 16 yo was impressed. Another TMBG song that I was aware of I think because of Bette Midler. They might be giants, but once in a while, when I least suspect it, I might be cool.