It's Not Like You're Danielle Steele

I've said this before and I'll say it again... When writing, especially a blog (not that I have experience writing in any published format other than blog), you write in the hope and awareness that someone, somewhere may read it. 

You send your thoughts and feelings and hopes and worries out to the universe with the faith that they will connect with the other souls who are sharing in this journey of life, be they near or far.  Residing in the hope that your journey will parallel another's where you connect and share the challenge or the triumph.

Once in a while I have conversations (actual conversations, not just comments left on the blog or emails or Facebook comments  - which I love as well!) with people who have read my blog.  And today I had an epic one. 

Through the banter, my reader conveyed the thoughts my blog conjured up and in a meandering way (which obviously, if you've read more than one of my blogs, you know I will relate to) the reader said that a connection was felt... The confirmation came that although we are all on different journeys, there are times where we share the same path.

"If nothing else comes from this, my mission here is accomplished", I thought.  What a great conversation to share... Then came the follow up...

"But, you know... It's not like you're Danielle Steele."

I haven't heard a funnier line in ages!!

We are all trying our hardest as we carry on and I think the best thing we can do is support each other along the way.  And check our egos as we go.  This was the very best of both worlds and who could ask for more than that?

Thanks, friend.  And please... Keep reading. 

Alone together

Crowded solitude is an interesting thing.

I have been travelling for work for about six months now.  Not regularly but in sporadic fits of exhausting, short-lived trips across my country I love.  I have visited cities that I had not previously seen and so for this and so many more reasons, I am luck to be in the position I am.

Having said that, there's an interesting contrast when a single person travels.  Maybe it's just me but I can be very acutely aware of my single-dom, depending on the occasion.  Valentine's Day (stupid day, really).  New Year's Eve.  Dinner parties with only couples and my notible exception.  Eating alone in restaurants.  I've gotten used to it (for the most part.  No, really.  I have) but travelling provides a curious perspective on my relationship status.

In my travels I usually at some point grab a cocktail at the hotel bar.  Hotel bars come in all varieties.  Shwanky places with crisp white linens and servers who are the picture of proper manners and etiquette that my parents could have only dreamt I would become.  There are dives where the distance between the arcade games and game hanging on the wall (antlers and all) is one easy dart throw away.  Now don't get me wrong, I love a dive as much as the next girl and I'm pretty sure my first high school crush took shape over a pinball game so, it's all good to me.  And of course there's every bar in between.

But there is a unique magic that happens at hotel bars... People from diverse backgrounds and equally diverse places come together as strange companions.  Perhaps with nothing in common beyond a shared outsider's perspective of your current location but more often than not, that's enough for some pretty interesting conversations. 

I've learned about fishing, hunting, physics, hair dressing, finance, stocks (nothing worth investing on so far as I can tell, sadly) and had remarkably calm but riveting conversations about politics and religion.  I've been at bars where the end of the evening came way too soon and only because an early day awaited me.  And I've been at bars where I couldn't drink my single cocktail fast enough to high tail my way out.

But I always come away with a story to tell and another great memory to add to the bank.  And that's a great investment.

Yada yada yada

I fear my life has digressed to become a never-ending episode of Seinfeld.

On the upside, there is lots to laugh at, friends abound and I rarely go a week without having a great story that's worth sharing (good or bad... and bad usually is very laugh-worthy so not so bad after all).

Having said that, one of the most notable things about the "show about nothing' was the ease with which Jerry dismissed girlfriend after girlfriend for the most ridiculous reasons.  She had man hands.  She laughed like Elmer Fudd.  She wouldn't laugh.  She ate peas one by one.

How picky can one person be?  I'm asking myself that question with increasing frequency.

I date pretty regularly.  Lots, actually.  Lots of first dates.  So many first dates that my new dating modus operandi is that I really don't take an inordinate amount of time getting ready; save the good stuff if a second date becomes an option (perhaps this could be problem number one).  Now don't get me wrong, I'm clean, I smell good, I spiff myself up.  I just don't pull out my super-nice, looking-to-impress dress until I know for sure I want to impress.  That dress has been hanging, unworn, for months.

So what's the issue? Clearly, these guys are not bad... They're good guys, honest (as far as I can tell), sincere, hard working fellas.  But time after time, there is something that tweaks with me to say "nope, leave the dress in the closet."  What are my Seinfeld-inspired reasons for not pursuing date number two?

He told me he was glad he met me so he could save me from the life I was living.

He sent me 28 texts (27 of them unanswered) the day after our date (one of them being, "Is this thing on? LOL").

He forgot my name.

I honestly don't think I'm being unreasonable here but if the tables were turned how would I stack up?  Probably not so well.  I too have my special idiosyncrasies.  Clearly.   I like communication, but not too much communication.  I talk in meandering sentences that, if you're not paying attention, are hard to follow (probably why writing is my favoured form of communication; it gives you the opportunity to read things a couple of times to try to follow my train of thought).  I don't like to exercise. 

Deal breakers?  Maybe.  But it seems we all have them.

I'm finding all of mine, one guy at a time. 

"I am aware!!"

Top Ten Rules for Dating at Almost-50 (or shopping end of season sales...)

I have noticed that dating at this stage of life is remarkably similar to shopping sales at the end of any season... Allow me to illustrate:

1)     Only go to your favourite spots.  Picked-over at the places that you only sort-of like will leave you with way less than you would consider any other time but picked over at your favourite place could leave you a diamond in the rough you'd be proud to take home.
2)     Don't skip the "gently used" or "returns".... Great stuff can be found here!  Having said that, broken is broken.
3)     Packaging and marketing can be deceptive.  You really need to completely check things out to make sure everything is as promised
4)     You really need to look around.  A lot.
5)     Be honest with yourself first... Know what you'll accept and what you won't.
6)     At the same time, go in with an open mind... Maybe you would never consider a button-down shirt with pinstripes but sometimes you have to try things on to see how great they are.
7)     Remember, this has to fit with your lifestyle and who you are... You're not about to change that now, are you?
8)     Carefully consider the whole package.  If there are "also comes with" included, only go for it if you're sure the "also comes with" work for you just as much what you had your eye on in the first place.
9)     Window shopping doesn't get you anything at this stage of the game... You have to just jump on in!
10)     Caveat to all of the above... Don't settle.  Ever.  If you're not sure when it's new and shiny (even if it's just new and shiny to you) you'll never be sure.

And, so I will carry on.

The night's best...

There are simple diversions to every day normalcy that make life fun and interesting and notable.  Not that there aren't fun, interesting and notable things that happen in day-do-day life, of course there are.  And most certainly a true gift is noticing those moments when they come and go so quickly.

But today is not about that... It's about the unique stuff... Special, once-in-a-while things that are the pretty pink scarf tied to an already fabulous vintage purse. 

Today is about the Oscars, sort of.  I have, for very many years, hosted an Oscar party for my girlfriends.  I have done it every single year for as long as I can remember, with the notable exception of the year I gave birth to my Middle Son when I watched the Oscars from my hospital bed.  He's 23, almost 24 now so that gives you an idea of the scope of this tradition.  The guests have been transitional but for more than a decade it has been the same steadfast, consistent, solid epic foursome of me and my three girlfriends who now create the four sides of the feminine foundation upon which I build my strength.  So this year was no different.  There were only three of us this year, with girlfriend number four down and out with the flue.  And of course she was missed but we carried on in her absence with true aplomb. 

What made this year extra-special was that the gals were able to stay overnight and we all took today off work. No rush out the door immediately after the Best Picture Award... No worries about how much not to drink.  No easing off on the fun part-way through the night as we each independently start gearing down on a Sunday night in anticipation of the Monday ahead of us. 

And to top the fun off... Grilled Cheese Monday!! Today, we enjoyed a smoked salmon with herbed goat cheese grilled cheese.  It was yummy but we all agreed that it would have benefited from either arugula or apple slices.

If that's the only room for improvement (and it is), than a perfect night it was! 

Oh, and Seth was pretty good too.

Six Months and Counting

I love music.  Most kinds of music really except that crazy kind of jazz that sounds like everyone in the band is playing a different song.  Now before you start hating on me for hating on jazz, I know it's incredibly complex and takes remarkable talent to play that kind of jazz.  I get it.  But it hurts my ears.

Anyway, I have always had music around in one way or another.  I used to lay awake at night growing up listening to the local radio station CKDK hoping that maybe the next song would be a good one.  Maybe.  And that's why I spent my youth falling asleep in a state of frustration.

I played music loudly in my room and sang unabashedly as if performing before the most grateful stadium audience, cheering wildly.  And I attempted to learn the guitar.  Less successfully as a teen (but that was the instructor's fault... What 15 year old in 1978 wanted to play Bobby Vinton songs???) and slightly more so now as an adult.  I know that musical talent is not a gift I possess but I don't enjoy it any less because of it.

So it was with a great sense of glee that I found out (via text from my Youngest) that my latest favourite band was coming to a very nearby, small venue to play in the summer.  Yes, Mumford & Sons is playing Simcoe, Ontario.

I'll wait here while you Google Simcoe, Ontario.




Small, huh?  Wouldn't that be a great show?  Fantastic band and true grassroots venue; I was thrilled.  Until I logged in to purchase my tickets and found it was sold out within 30 minutes. 

And disappointment ensues.

But wait... This is a tour... There has to be other stops nearby, right?  So off I go a searching and lo and behold, Troy.  Ohio. 

I'll wait here while you Google Troy, Ohio like I did.  Small, grassroots venue.  SOLD!  I can picture myself now, regardless of weather, dancing and singing with the rest of the crowd to songs that have brought strangers together and made them instant friends.  It is an amazing thing to stand in the midst of former strangers sharing something you all know and love so completely.  I can't imagine ever getting tired of that.

Now, here's the kicker.  Two tickets.  Bold for a single gal, no?  The way I look at it.  I have six months to find a date.

Hey, it could happen.

Hey You!

Dear future Love:

So, how are you doing tonight?  It's that classic day that is universally recognized for love.  We, of course, are not there yet but that's ok.  I'm fine to wait, I'm a patient gal.

A few things to keep in mind for later, if you don't mind me saying.

Preferably red but white is nice in the summer.  Beer when we're playing pool or around the pool, at the game or at the pub.

No horror, slasher, nightmare inducing movies please.  Not big on sci-fi either so sorry, the Star Trek marathon is definitely a guy's night thing.  I'm out.  Just about everything else is good.

Not big on punk, heavy metal, hard-core jazz (how's that for an oxymoron?).  There will be dancing. 

And I'll sing all the time; sometimes very badly, often with the wrong words but it will be a good show. 

I will sleep in every chance I get. Of course, at this stage of the game, that usually means 9:30 so really, that's not too much of a big deal.  Oh, and I arbitrarily switch sides of the bed.  Not really sure where that came from but it's a thing.

I love cooking so you don't need to do much in that department but don't leave me in the kitchen alone... Hang out, have a chat, refill the glasses.  That's all I need to be a happy gal.

Roses are overrated.  Peonies, lilacs, tulips, hydrangeas... Now those are flowers.

You look great... Remind me I do as well once in a while please.  I promise to do the same.

Make me laugh... More than anything, even if you forget everything else make me laugh. 

So, if you don't mind, get on with the introductions would you?  Or declarations. Or advances.  I'll take it from there (oops; sort of blew my "patient gal" cover, didn't I?).