Allergy Warnings

My sons have allergies.  We've done the skin test which was pure torture on a four year old autistic child.  The rest of the tests were blood tests and both of my older kids reacted to almost everything that could be tested for.  Some allergies are more severe.  Kid2 reacts to peanuts on a blood test, but loves peanut butter and jelly uncrustables.  Give him soybean oil in his ranch, and he's going to puke.  He is also the kid that spent a summer getting familiar with bees.  He would open a soda can (when I used to buy soda) and set it on the porch and wait for bees.  He would then hold them and watch them.  His little hands were stung about 10 times in a week.  I keep baking soda in my medicine kit so I can make a paste of it with water for those stings. I keep an epipen or two in my purse. I had cat allergies as a kid.  I have a cat now.  She doesn't usually try to kill me, but somedays I curse her out for living.  I'll give her a bath and even though I try not to scare her, she is usually convinced I'm trying to drown her, and will fight me as viciously as she can. The battle scars from a cat battle are why I don't care when she wants to party all night.  She's fixed so I don't have to worry about her getting knocked up by some low life Tom Cat.

My latest allergy is wheat.  I was always a bread eater.  I love it warm and crusty and tender with softened butter or dipped in olive oil.  I love the taste of childhood found in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a grilled cheese sandwich with a little garlic salt.  I love almond croissants with the flaky dough and creamy granulated feel of the sweet almond paste inside. I was feeling constantly uncomfortable and I asked my doctor about food allergies.  She tested for celiac disease, which I don't have, but suggested I keep a food journal.  I did.

I wrote down what I ate and how I felt.  I just happened to go a few days on veggies, fruit and meat.  A few butter snap pretzels later and I felt like death was coming for me.  I'm talking diarrhea (I know you wanted to know that), dizziness, nausea, bloating, gas and gas pain.  I started avoiding wheat but wanted to test out the theory with a blueberry muffin and a few other innocent looking treats.

I loved Moscato d'Asti until I had a glass that made my face heat up.  Your booze shouldn't require a dose of Benadryl.  I don't react to margaritas at all.

Just before I graduated high school I had a recurring case of strep throat.  It would come and never really go away each month.  I was given erythromycin repeatedly until I had a reaction.  My chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe.  It only happened once, but why retest?

Allergies are interesting.  You could be fine with something for most of your life, then suddenly it wants to kill you.  People usually have a reaction to bug bites, but sometimes that reaction can get scary.  There are food and pollen allergies.  I've even read about an allergy to the protein in semen.

Mostly I've learned I'm allergic to drama.  I have a lunch date.  I'm just meeting an old friend but I would normally use the excuse to dress up.  Honestly, for a while I would dress up when I knew I was seeing the ex.  Today was a day where I'm meeting someone for lunch and I stopped by the ex to drop something off this morning.  It could have been the perfect excuse to wear something sexy and showcase my legs, but I didn't.  I have plans to hit the beach alone tonight, and my comfort was more important than the drama I would have invited.

Lowlights from the Trenches of Bad Dates

Warning: I'm not always nice, and I'm in a mean mood.

Life as I know it has taken a serious turn into the unfriendly world of single motherhood, and family health issues.  I think it's time for frivolity and what better place to start than to share some of my bad dates.  These are all people I actually met in person on dates.  Not all of them will end up here because some bad dates belong to men with redeeming qualities.  Just not enough for subsequent outings with me. I can use the laugh. Laugh with me.

Mr. Smart, Active, and a bit too Creeptackular

The first date I had was a spontaneous event.  We chatted a bit here and there between his basketball games and we talked about his career which interested me enough to keep the conversation going. He was aware that Wednesday is my first kid free day and I was on my way to Ikea when he reached out for a date that night. I'm not a drinker, but I have no problem with a good meal.

We planned to meet at a bar and grill in Highland Park, between us. Unfortunately, I was having a stressful day that included forgetting to feed myself.  By 6 that evening, I was starving and weak, and while I planned on half a gluten free wrap at Togo's, I devoured the whole shebang, chips and drink in less time than it took to get there once I realized I needed food.  I was in the earlier stages of online dating, where texting 7 men at once was still fun, so arriving early because I'm punctual didn't matter.  I was sitting in my car and lost track of time.  I was almost 5 minutes late.

I walked around the front of the bar and stopped for a minute to flirt with the bouncer.  Old habits die hard.  I had him guess my age because that never fails and always delivers.  He guessed 8 years younger.  My date noticed what I was doing at the door while seated at a table in the back of the bar, and was jealous enough to mention it.

I noticed he had two glasses of water on the table with the gin and tonic he was nursing.  My first thought was I couldn't trust the drink because I didn't know what all was in it.  And I was still full. I sat with him and didn't put one thing in my mouth the whole time.  I was a really cheap date. We chatted and the conversation flowed easily enough.  In hindsight, his boozy goggles probably made it so he needed to focus on my face, but his staring into my eyes, when I was looking everywhere but at him kinda creeped me out.

By 9 I made a lame excuse to head home, and he offered to walk me to my car.  He had been creeping me out for the last hour and a half and I kinda thought I'd be safer walking on my own, but accepted his escort.  When we got to my car he leaned in for a goodnight kiss.  I flinched.  I flinched the second time too, but gave a chaste kiss because I was sure he'd make a third attempt.  He asked about a second date, and I said yes, but we both knew he wouldn't get one.  As I was leaving, my headlights flashed at a woman sitting in her car across from us, laughing hysterically at what she saw.  It is kinda funny.

Mr. Sounds Sexy But Shouldn't Be Talking

I should state here that I'm not a nice person.  This man had such a thick accent that I couldn't understand half of what he said, and maybe that's what he had going for him. I really loved our first date.  The second date showed me more of the anger he had boiling under the surface.  He sees too much of Europe's financial demise coloring our economy in ways that make him predict a financial future that he's trying to leave in his past. He had the sounds and moves of the Italian transplant he is, and just wow.  In a good way.  He's the only one that got a second and third date.  I happened to have his first and third date on the same day as first dates with two other men.  Yes, seeing two men on one day has happened.  I should feel shame about how easily I navigated that, but I don't.  He was a special snowflake, just not special enough for me to want exclusivity.  In the end, an evening with an Adele soundtrack seemed to break him and his sweet emotional side was too soft for me to look at without wanting to laugh at him.   I won't go so far as to call him a little bitch, but I would have in my 20's. I did mention that I'm not nice, right?

Mr. Amazing on Paper, but Hornball by Text

I was flattered at first.  This was a man that was willing to meet me on my lunch break in Burbank from where he was working in Northridge.  We talked about being single parents.  He has owned a few businesses, and we discussed his latest ventures.  He seemed like someone worthy of my time.  The goodbye kiss was great.  He wore my lipstick nicely and didn't mind walking to his car with it smeared all over his mouth.  I loved getting to work and realizing my lipstick was also all over my chin.  Every text after that was about how badly he wanted to screw me on every surface he could find. He justified being rapey because I enjoyed kissing him too much.  Is that a thing?  I'm a grown woman that isn't inexperienced, but he made  desire feel dirty. He was the first person I had to block.

Mr. Old Enough to be My Teenage Dad

I'm not a fan of online dating.  At all.  When I meet a person in person that is willing to take a chance to ask me out, I'm usually game.  I'm big on spontaneity.  He had all of this going for him, so I didn't ask the obvious question that answers itself online: Are you between 38 and 45?  I lean toward 42 as a maximum unless he's beautiful and built.  He was nervous and brave in spite of being afraid of my rejection and I said yes even though I really wasn't interested.

He has a favorite beach and suggested an 80 minute drive through traffic right after I got off of work. I suggested we cut that time in half with my escape hatch at Santa Monica.  He made a few wrong turns and admitted he was nervous although he claimed to know the area, and later admitted to talking about me with a friend.  We were supposed to meet for coffee.  I never once offered to name a puppy together.

I like to ask men what they love about their work.  If there's something they love, they might be in a better mood when I see them than if they hate everything about their job.  At the end of the day, he's not a happy man. He saw a man texting at a light and went on an angry rant, but I didn't point out that it's a bad habit of mine to check alerts when stopped at a light. He made a few different hateful observations that described me pretty closely. He didn't know me well enough to know this.

On our way, I got car sick.  I tend to get boat sick. I used to get sick on the school bus as a kid.  I get carsick on mountain roads and stick shift cars with new drivers.  I don't remember the last time I actually got car sick but it was on the way to Big Bear when my boys were little and I was still getting pregnant for other people.  Before he hit the 405 I wanted to puke.

We ended up playing mini golf which was a win once my stomach settled and he stopped hovering over me like a mom.  On the way back to my car, he chose the streets and prolonged the drive that originally made me sick. I got sick again and passed up on his dinner offer.  I got home and made myself a steak and potato dinner.  Someone should explain to him that it's not a good idea to bring up your ex on a first date, or your date's ex, repeatedly.

For the record: My ex was my soul mate.  He was the bouncer at the pool hall that was my second home.  He would flirt and joke about patting me down for weapons when I barely had room for myself in my mini dresses.  One day I was at the bar and asked the bartender for a Coke, and said he would pay for it.  He said it would cost my number.  A week later I was on a date with someone else and asked why he didn't call me.  We had our first date in April, married that September and lasted for nearly 15 years before he quit.  It's been 16 years since our first date, and we're still legally married.  You can't recreate what was had because it was a combustible flame that consumed us both then was snuffed out in a vacuum.  You can't compete with that.  You have to accept that it was special and it's over and I'm waiting for my life partner.  He set a bar that I've raised to my eye level and I'm especially picky about who I give my time to.  If I've granted you an audience, don't waste it on my past.

Mr. Entrepreneur

This past weekend was planned as a self care weekend.  I needed to take myself out because I know how to treat this lady.  I had a beautiful sunset at the beach followed by a delicious meal by myself.  It was a beautiful night.  I blogged about it.  Cotton Candy Skies Make it Better. The next evening I met a girlfriend at the Grove and we shared laughter over non alcoholic drinks and I had chicken in a white wine reduction with capers, lemon juice and brussels sprouts which gave me a hangover the next morning anyway.  I'm so not a lush. We even joked about having kiddie drinks. As I was leaving, I got a Bumble alert from an OC man that was 2 miles away for work.  I said I was heading home, but probably stopping for coffee first.  His reply was about coffee keeping me up and I mentioned it was also an excuse to meet him if he was game.  I was open to tea. We met at Starbucks, but he suggested tea at the Thai restaurant that was closing.  He said they'd sell tea, but clearly hadn't investigated in the time he was waiting for me at the Starbucks he suggested.  They weren't a tea bar, but I ordered a young coconut.  He watched me pay for mine, then ordered and paid for his.  I don't mind.  It's only $4.

It made me think about a date that bought me breakfast when I took him up on his offer after a couple of messages.  It was a last moment thing and I loved the spontaneity. He said something along the lines of taking the opportunity to prove you aren't a douche on the first date by paying.  This was a terrific date,  but we want different things.

Mr. Entrepreneur and I chatted and had a difference of opinions on many things other than finding each other attractive at first glance and at the end of it we parted ways without so much as a hug and I unmatched him before driving off.  I'm not against going Dutch.  I think the part that bothered me was the way it was done.  I had just had a meal with a girlfriend with separate checks and he made it feel so impersonal in comparison.I think it was about the way it felt like he had a constant sneer about everything I said and felt.  The bonus was driving past LA Ink on La Brea and finally seeing it.

FYI: If you are living someone else's dream, you are not actually an entrepreneur.  If you say you are an entrepreneur and you are an Uber driver, you are no longer stretching the truth, you are abusing language and I'm afraid for words everywhere.  Just no.

My membership on Matched will end in less than a month, and that's when my online dating adventure will end on all sites.  I only extended it the second month because of that really great breakfast date and his encouragement. I'd say it's been fun, but it's really just been an adventure.

Clover: Good for an ego boost.  I have 363 likes from men mainly in their 20's.  The oldest has been 4 years younger than me.  The young ones.

Bumble: Swiping madness can cure boredom.  They will put the pretty ones first. It's an eye candy explosion and I may or may not have had to wipe drool off my lips once or twice. The beautiful ones.

Match: A few good men, but not worth the fee.  I was often matched with people who haven't used the site in over 3 weeks, probably because that's when their membership ended and they couldn't email anyone anymore. The successful bunch that loves travel and has high expectations.

Twoo: The questions and badges were fun. Making me swipe right before I was able to see those that liked me for a free membership when I wasn't interested back made me lose interest.  I don't even want the Premium. Not a pretty bunch, but they were all really nice.

OK Cupid: By far my favorite.  I liked the questions. You answer. The other person answers. I cancelled a date based on how differently we saw the world. He had a tantrum. Messaging is free and you can see your 5 last visitors.  A free boost was in answering questions or updating your profile because you end up in an activity stream and I've often been messaged right after an edit.  You can't see your likes for free but if you've gotten an alert and check your last 5 right away, you can take an educated guess.  It's a mixed bag of candy that you have to carefully choose from.  Some bits are toffees, some are taffies.  If you are lucky you won't bite into a jawbreaker thinking it's a pillow mint.

Los Angeles is Not a Desert

There's been a shift in my plans.  I'm more dutiful daughter than flowing stream, but you get the benefit of more words as a result as I sip instant coffee with instant creamer and follow it with Ovaltine because I'm at Mom's house and that tastes like my childhood. Los Angeles is not a desert.  Seriously.  It goes against everything I've ever been told, but I'm reading and learning because there's a boy who looks like a man and he said it's not and I'm researching a bit because he sparked my curiosity and I need to know now. Yes, he shifted my perspective, but we won't go into that because I work with him, can't have him and will only be able to daydream and objectify him. Technically we aren't even in the same department and he's not my supervisor and maybe he's too close for awkward later. I don't want to risk it going south. And I don't know that he'd be interested. I don't write about the people I actually go out with for the most part because reality is rarely as amazing as my imagination. And some guys are just special with memories that are mine. As long as I don't see him as a possibility, I don't mind objectifying him. 

Yes, this would be the same man that was on my mind when I wrote Earthquake Country and part of a conversation with him happened before I hit Santa Monica and met two other Los Angeles transplants that prompted me to write Native Californian before that.  Talking to him makes me want to write and it's a good thing.  I may also look for him in common areas, and that's a problem.  But it's my problem and I'm enjoying it.

Yesterday at the company barbecue we were talking about the endorphins that hit him after running about a mile and I was in my slack jawed glory, just trying to focus on his face and not the way his faded red t-shirt was hanging off of his pectorals making my mind drift to naughty places.  The conversation shifted to the Los Angeles mild weather versus East Coast hell.  After painting the picture of shoveling snow and layers of clothes contrasting against oppressive humidity and a need to shower more often than the commercial breaks in an hour long episode (and yes, I pictured that), he brought up the fact that we are not in a desert.  He mentioned a documentary and his curiosity was infectious as he managed to say it all without making me feel objectified. He was adorably expressive and nearly bounced with childlike excitement.  Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I loved what I was seeing.

It was sometime after he wasn't in front of me and I wasn't looking at the chest hair peeking out of his shirt, or the bright excitement over his ideas and sharing them or the way I wanted to . . . There's a point, and I will get back to it because we work together and he's off limits and that is the story I keep telling myself.

The American Association of Geographers has a long case built on the fact that we have more rainfall than a true desert making us semi-arid and we have groundwater that keeps us looking like LA and not Barstow in natural areas that are not funded by water wasters. (We can ignore the fact that they misspelled Los Feliz.) The fact that our water resources cannot support our population does not make the land a desert in the classic sense. We also grow much of the food for our nation in California, and aside from pretty lawns and luxurious bathing, what we put toward agriculture on a national scale requires more water than is natural to the land, but our climate is arid and mild enough to nurture most plants and vegetation.  I often ignore planting schedules on the backs of seed packets, because plants will usually sprout as long as they have water because our sunshine is good for that.

This article says we have a Mediterranean climate based on the Köppen system.  We certainly have a love of mediterranean food and I have a thing for the men. Sometimes.  It just depends. The point is we have great plants that thrive here and if you are wise enough to support a xeriscaped garden somewhere, these plants are made for home and know how to come back after a drought or fire or flood because that and the earthquakes are what Los Angeles is used to. I remember a geology class where my professor talked about plants that will only release seeds once the plant has burned. We usually get heavy rains and mudslides after fire season.

I won't go into articles that whine about bad propaganda because that just blames long forgotten individuals for an evolving classification system, because science changes as we see things differently and add information.  But yes, Mr. Adorably Curious was right.  We are not in a desert. His large brain has my attention. He shifted my perspective. This is what it feels like and it feels good. Imagine that.

Cotton Candy Skies Make it Better

I've had a rough dating week this week.  There were enough bad "man experiences" that I'm looking forward to my weekend alone.  I decided yesterday I would date myself.  Today I will paint my bedroom and visit a friend that is female and has no interest in my body whatsoever, and tomorrow will include church and probably nature somewhere.

It was a 40 minute drive from Burbank to Santa Monica Beach and I enjoyed it.  I got to the pier and was surrounded by sounds of happy screaming on rides, performers making music and creating laughter, conversations about everything and nothing and dreams and desires. I saw families and couples and babies.  There were anglers catching mackerel and I saw what was too wriggly to be a mackerel with sharp teeth that was called a lizard fish by the cute blonde that released him back into the ocean.

I saw that friendly photographer again.  It was the usual hug of a greeting and I left to look for the seal he said I wouldn't find.  He was right.  He suggested it's a seasonal thing and the seals are working on fattening up for the summer.

He took several pictures of me in front of the breathtaking sunset I enjoyed last night and then wanted to show me something.  I walked with him to a quieter area of the pier where fishing isn't allowed and saw more breathtaking views.  The ocean was so calm.  He then lead me to another quiet area above Maria Sol where there was another couple walking through and I was able to get a more bird's eye view of the many people I normally weave through.  At this point he took my hand in a firm grip, reminding me why I wear fewer rings on dates because, ouch, and wanted to show me the lit up ferris wheel. There were other people around, and that's where I made up a story about meeting a friend at the 3rd street Promenade.  I had to rush.  Sort of.  He offered to take me to Marina del Rey to see the seals.  I said, "Sure. Maybe," and headed off without giving another word.  Really, I have a great car and Waze and I can get there myself.

I keep trying to think of how this should look differently than it does.  It was really a kindness and a blessing on that first night when my mood was bottoming out to see him and have him offer a free picture that still sits on my fridge.  It's his job to take pictures for a price.  A freebie when I was seeking out the ocean to dwarf the drama in my life seemed like a gift I really needed.  I thought I would return that kindness with kindness.  He was always friendly and I assumed that was his character because often it is mine.  I don't know how I feel about going back there anytime soon, or if I would want to go alone, because it was my alone happy place. I should tell him I'm not interested in seeing him anywhere but on the pier and I really don't want to hold his hand, but it would be easier to catch those sunsets from Will Rogers State Beach where it's less crowded and then head to a more crowded area where there's a strong police presence, because yes, I am a chicken that sometimes has a hard time rejecting people because I know how much it hurts to be rejected.

That may be why I will continue conversations I'm not really interested in.  I hope they'll change my mind, but they rarely do.  A date I had this week repeatedly brought up my ex. It's bad when you bring up your own ex, I know this and avoided it. He wanted to know how we met and when I knew he was the one and how he could recreate it.  You can't recreate that.  I wouldn't want to.  We met at a pool hall.  After weeks of flirting, I saw him sitting at the bar and told the bartender I was having a Coke, and he would pay for it.  He told me it would cost my number and I scribbled it on a matchbook.  A week later I was in the pool hall on a bad date and asked him why he never called.  He did call.  We had our first date, and I went home to my roommate and told him I would marry him.  He went home to his mom and said the same thing.  It was beautiful and amazing.  He was my soul mate but I'm waiting for my life partner now.  You can't recreate that magic because there's enough stardust left in me for something whole and new with the right man. 

My plan was for a boiled crab dinner on the pier but I ended up at Hummus House on the Promenade where  I sat alone and enjoyed my meal.  Another man sat next to me, also alone at his table and he sipped wine with his meal as he enjoyed the basketball game on the big screen in front of us, and it was comfortable.  I love comfortable and companionable but I enjoyed our silence. I walked alone and stopped to greet blue eyed babies and creep out their parents a bit.  It was awesome.  I drove home along Sunset Blvd. for the most part singing too loudly, and ignoring the flashing lights and sirens whipping through Beverly Hills in the opposite direction because I was content to sit in selfishness and not wonder about who's life was shifting into despair and chaos behind me.

At the end of the day, my day got better because cotton candy skies will do that.  Although next time, I resolve to include cotton candy wisps that melt on sticky fingers in clouds of joy and diabetes.

What Family Is To Me

Growing up my Dad told us that family comes first.  I saw it in his discipline and the way it was encouraged.  I saw it in my uncle always having a place to shower and land when he went through his many years of chosen homelessness.  We spent holidays with our extended family, hopping from house to house toward the end of the year. It was kisses that were too wet and hugs that were too warm.  It was sitting still through boring conversations because visiting family was about  showing our elders love through respect. Family was my mom's years of petitioning to bring her mother and siblings to the states from Thailand.  It was money spent and hours and red tape and bureaucracy with English as her second language.  (She literally thinks in Thai before responding in English and has a brain for money and planning that I envy.) It is her constant sacrifice to help us out when it comes at a cost to her needs and wants.  It was her choice to remain in a marriage that would not bring her joy for many years for my sake.  She was Mom before she was who she is.  My mom still teaches me that we show we love our family by doing what is best to teach and support each other, even at our cost because at the end of the day, our value is found in the joy of the lives of the children we lead - of the adults we love.

One of my sisters had a child who is now an adult, but spent her first year or so at home with us.  When my sister stood on her own two feet and moved out, mom missed the "pitter patter of little feet."  I was still in high school, so she did the amazing and decided to become a foster parent.  Through her divorce, she remained a foster parent.  To this day, we sometimes see kids that have now grown into adults that remember our "zoo" with fondness and return for love and to let us (mainly mom) know how they're doing.  Foster care is ideally about a temporary home until parents can better care for their children, but sometimes it doesn't work that way.  My mom started adopting kids.  This made me part youngest, part oldest and part only child.  I didn't really have anyone to get into shenanigans with or conspire against the parents with. I was telling on someone or being reprimanded by too many parents.  I was a bad example of a grown up to the children that came after me.

Let me clarify, so I don't confuse you. . .

4 daughters from the first marriage, of which I am the baby. We're all black and Thai.

2 step sons and a step-daughter that refer to her as "Mom," and it melts the icy parts of my heart every time. They are caucasian like my Okie Step-Dad.

6 children through adoption.  2 Vietnamese sons.  2 Mexican sons. 2 Black daughters from different families of origin.

There are 3 in laws and my ex is the 4th but I don't count him anymore.  Mom still does.  She will always see him as a son.  She always sees my sister's ex husband as a son.  But she keeps her distance out of respect for everyone involved, and keeps old pictures because those memories are still special, if a bit bittersweet.

We are family and we're surrounded by Thai cousins, aunts and uncles all the time, with calls from our cousins in Houston too.  We range in ages from 47 through 7 or so.  I'm not sure about the baby's age as it changes every year and she will always be the baby to me. Some of us older kids have had children of our own and our family is ginormous.  And international.

Our family gathers for most major holidays, and even the not so big ones.  We celebrate birthdays once a month.  We get together when we can in smaller groups but larger gatherings are at Mom's house where there is food from all of our cultures.  Our family doesn't require blood or marriage.  If you really just need a place to be for holidays, our family is big on welcoming you.  You will eat more than you should and the drinks flow freely with laughter and the talks you expect from siblings that love you.  There's honesty and raw emotion because we are people that won't always approve of what each other is doing, but will love each other through it.  If you are coming as a date, there is a long period of breaking in before we decide if you are good enough to deserve the person we would move mountains for.

Our family is tolerant.  There are those that are not okay with chosen life styles, but we never withhold love because of it.  We have gay family members and a cross dresser that helped me put on fake lashes.  He is a better girl than I am and he deserves my breasts more than I do.  He can probably work them like I can't.

We love each other enough to help when we can, at no cost.  There are medical professionals in the family.  My paper tiger skills have been called on.  My nieces tag team babysit when I need them to.  My cousin is a creative mechanic and will help out when he can.  We don't do it with a price in mind because we're family and that's what family does.  That's what family means.

If you thought my 3 surrogate pregnancies were impressive, I have two sisters that did it as well.  That's who we are.  We understand the value of family and life and the miracle of childbirth.

When I wanted to wait out my ex's midlife crisis, my family held their tongues.  They supported me through it.  When I decided it was time to let go, I was met with love and respect and encouragement.

Even when we are angry with you or don't agree, we will always fix the rift because you are family and this is what our family does.  Love often looks like lectures and written checks to bail us out, knowing that repayment may never happen, but hoping it one day will.  It looks like sacrifice and lots of food.  It looks like jumping in front of your car and stealing your keys when you've had too much to drink and making sure you are in a recovery position when you need to sleep it off.  It's trips together when we can all plan and budget it.  It's texting late at night or early in the morning because your sibling is your friend, the one you call and rely on when it matters the most.

Earthquake Country

Our schools practiced earthquake drills regularly.  We knew to drop below our desks, facing away from windows with our hands protecting our necks from projectile bits of shattered glass and eyes shut tightly.  We knew to look for sturdy support structures that would create pockets of safety.  Open spaces that are not below power lines are safety zones. We were versed in what is needed in an earthquake kit and had bags packed with snacks and comfort items to get us through a few days if that's how long it would take to be picked up by our families.  We knew to shut off gas lines and smell for leaks, but honestly I haven't done that. A thought: Imagine being the teacher that can't leave her students to find her child because teachers are unsung heroes in a school crisis.  Yikes.

The first earthquake I remember was around 7 in the morning when I was in elementary school in the mid to late 1980's.  I rode a school bus from East Hollywood to school in Brentwood and the driver stopped in the middle of the street near West Hollywood.  Residents came out of their homes and stood around us and I thought they were rocking our bus.  I had no idea what an earthquake felt like.  In the following days, aftershocks would remind me how small I was and that my big problems were not big or problems.  This thought would later be a source of peace as I find comfort in ocean waves for the same reason.

During the Northridge quake I was asleep.  I didn't stay asleep.  I was a high schooler sleeping in the attic of my Mom's 1901 Victorian styled home.  It has a wood frame that is flexible with cracking plaster where it is not.  Her house sits on a hilltop near Chavez Ravine and that earthquake sent waves of energy up the hill and into the house.  The shaking rolled through and up. I was terrified.  My mom heard my screaming in the absolute dark and feared that I was hanging out of the window by my hands as I often sat on the roof from the windows that opened to the front of the house.  Naturally a strong enough earthquake makes a power outage an expected accessory.  We sat in the dark and dozed off until the waves of aftershocks reminded us of our powerlessness.

Everything else has been a shake here and there with random destruction in it's wake.  It's not enough to make me leave the place that has always been home.

When the earth shakes, all you can do is seek safety and ride it out.  It's humbling.  It shifts your perspective.  It changes who you are and alters relationships in letting you see what the one you love is really made of.  How do they handle a crisis? Are they prepared? Will they take their fear and turn it into anger that is directed at you?

Last week I was chatting with a co-worker from another department.  He's tall enough with a great smile and he probably cares about his fitness slightly more than I do.  He's all kinds of beautiful with his bald head and warm tan and constant 5 o'clock shadow that would look lovely with my shade of lipstick smeared all over it.  But I work with him and I'm not revisiting those shenanigans. [Obsessive Observations of My Latest Crush Because He Was Hot (and so fun to watch) if you're curious.] This latest bit of eye candy isn't a native. He's from the northeastern tip of our country and can tell you about freezing winters and muggy summers.  We were chatting with another California native when he asked about earthquakes and how a native handles them.

We go with it.  We don't panic right away.  Not for the most part.  Some quakes are terrifying, but the shaking starts slow enough that you can tell when it's getting bigger.  You have time to decide if you should take cover and where to find your safety.  You have time to see if you can just look around from where you stand.  You look around at the ones who have never had the ground shake below them.  I may be amused but I wouldn't outright laugh.  That's a cruelty I can't stomach. I tend to look up to hanging lights and chandeliers once the shaking starts.  The swaying tells me it's a rumble from the earth and not a giant truck rolling by.  I will pay attention and try to determine what the shaking feels like.  Does it shake abruptly like it's a strike slip fault, or does it come in waves of energy that roll through the earth? The shaking isn't destructive, it's the man made parts that fail us.  Earthquakes are natural, just not normal, although the earth is normally always in motion.  Is it really any wonder that I wanted to be a rock doctor and study geology? It's not just metamorphic rocks that are sold as precious stones in jewelry stores. I keep fresh batteries in flashlights around the house.  I don't have tools next to the gas meter or water shut off, but I know where to find things if I smell gas or water is flowing out of a broken pipe.  There's a house shut off for water, but there's also one at street level.

The earth will move.  We will be shaken, but we will also be okay.  Somehow we'll learn from it and build safer structures because of the destruction we live through and learn from but mainly we will let the earth do what it will because we really don't have a choice.  Such is life.

Jealous Much?

I once read a Maya Angelou book that I loved into worn and dog eared pages. It was weighted with the pleasures of words that resounded deeply in the wistful and angsty corners of my heart.  The most profound (to me) thought she shared was on jealousy.

“Jealousy in romance is like salt in food. A little can enhance the savor, but too much can spoil the pleasure and, under certain circumstances, can be life-threatening”

The beauty of online dating is the ability to hide certain details like where exactly I live and work.  That's the benefit of hiding behind a keyboard.  I let potential suitors know I'm available when custody shifts to their capable Dad, and I usually have a couple of offers lined up for Wednesday because that's my first kid free opportunity.  Last week and again this week, I was asked to meet at the California Pizza Kitchen in Burbank.  I work in Burbank and that seems to be the solid choice because it's across from Ikea and everyone seems to know how to get there.

For years it was our place.  My ex and I went there for date nights, and we shared many family meals there.  I went there last week with a lanky guitarist/skateboarder and learned from the staff that still remembers me that it's still my ex's favorite place with the new woman in his life.  I was surrounded by scent memories and nostalgia in a restaurant that has slowly shifted into something new and trendy in shades of my favorite colors.

My date probably had first date nerves, but I wasn't so into him that sharing a first meal with him mattered to me.  He relaxed into the evening when he realized I really don't bite. He had yet to impress upon me the benefit of his presence.  As cocky as that sounds, I am picky.  I'm on four dating sites, and have swiped left enough times that I've exhausted both Clover and Bumble's list of potentials because I've narrowed my criteria and rejected as many as they had for me.  I like a clean shave because that's a preference.  I like fair skin and light eyes with a solid jawline.  At the end of the day, he has to be doing better in life than I am, and not feel like dating is the same as a sex interview and that's where they tend to crash and burn.  I'm very interested in not having to take care of anyone else, and I refuse to date younger men.  As of right now, I have 237 likes on Clover in the past 3 days and 90% of them are still in their 20's. It's a cougar's market.

"No man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment."

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

I'm meeting someone else at that same restaurant this week.  I hear his insecurities when he brings up my ex.  He wants to compare and contrast but that's not a game I'm interested in. I can hear his need when he tells me how carefree my smile is and that I have a magnetic charm he has wanted to get to know for some time and then he talks about his insomnia.  He thinks he needs what I have but I don't know how to share it.  It's who I am.  He's a bit jealous of the ex and I don't think he can tell I don't care to see that.

I have jealous moments, but it's not for the man my (still) husband has become, but the life we used to have.  It's gone.  We've both changed too much for that history to become a future. I have moments in the bustle of a busy restaurant with friendly smiles and fresh yeasty bread with a crackling crust and the aroma of fresh pizza sauce that catch me by surprise in memories of spilled soda and laughter and even a bit of hand holding when we shared each other's rings. I'm sometimes jealous for the life we shared before this last year changed who I am and forced choices I never imagined I would have to make.  I'm no longer jealous of the woman that called me a horrible mother, an ugly woman and that I deserve how my husband treated me as she spent long nights and days texting my husband and sharing family moments with her children and mine in restaurants and at their workplace, replacing me at my children's birthday parties that are now separate celebrations.  I'm no longer jealous of the in laws that treat her like family and told me I was no longer family because I was thrown away.  I was thrown away.

I think of the ignorance and joy of a life as a wife that never imagined a "what if" or "when . . . I will" because I once had a marriage that didn't have a contingency plan. Our future was camping trips and growing old together and it doesn't look like that anymore.  I'm jealous of the certainty of that.

A Year Ago Today I Said

A strong woman rarely needs emotional hand holding and when she's not needy, it creates a vacuum that makes her the person to rely on and complain to. Don't let this be discouraging. You are amazing. You are brave. You are strong. Otherwise you wouldn't be asked to shoulder someone else's emotional weight. Some people will never be happy without something to complain about. Let them complain. You don't have to hear it or believe that their tangential existence in your life gives them authority unless you allow them to. I imagine a baby duck who is too busy learning to swim to have a little water annoy them. Being spiteful with your handheld mirror only makes things worse so don't bother. 

Worth the Effort

I had a birthday party for a friend Saturday night.  I won't get a sitter when I have a date.  That's what shared custody is for.  But I had a party to attend.  It was a party with Persian food and it was full of vegetarian yum and the beautiful art of kabob that satisfied the carnivore in me.  It came at a cost.

My son didn't want to go to Grandma's house, but he agreed if I would make him macarons.  He loves macarons.  He requested orange blossom.  They're a complicated piece of work with very few ingredients.

I usually use fewer dishes, but I wanted to take pictures.

At this point, the egg whites have sugar added and a bit of cream of tartar.  I had stiff peaks that stayed put when the bowl was flipped upside down.  The powdered sugar and almond meal were sifted together, then folded into the egg whites.

Orange blossom water added the flavor and the gel food coloring made it pretty.

This stream of yum is ready to be put in a piping bag.

I use silpat mats with parchment over it.  It keeps the bottom from browning too quickly.

I'm horrible at piping things with a bag. I bang the pan on the counter to release air bubbles. They rest a bit until the top is no longer sticky.

They've baked and have cute little feet from released steam.

I eyeball my buttercream.  Butter, powdered sugar, more orange blossom water and gel food coloring.  Normally the cookies would rest but my boys don't allow that.  I already had one thieved away as soon as the cookies were taken out.

The cookies were made and gone by morning.  (I asked them to save some for Kid3 who thinks they're too sweet.)

The point is the work involved is where you find the love.  I was texting someone last night. It's the new form of dating I'm not sure I like.  Even in casual dating, people want to get to know you and I feel that's the point of going out for coffee and dinner.  I rely too heavily on nonverbal communication and body language to be comfortable with texting.  It skeeves me out when I'm texting someone that says he's willing to relocate from Dallas to Los Angeles for love or when you can't judge the tone of a conversation because it is something that pops up when you are in the middle of living.

I wholeheartedly believe that if the juice is worth the squeeze, it's not work but anticipation.

My kids have on and off freak outs about my dating.  They are okay and then the anxiety kicks in and they are not. For the most part I keep it away from them.  They won't meet anyone I'm dating unless he's really special and we're talking long term and progressing toward cohabitation or marriage.  I'm still legally married and not at all interested in that right now.  I'm also not into "Netflix and Chill," now that I know what that means. (Yikes!) I try not to piss in my own pool, (to put it in the most vulgar form I can), but that means I'm not eager to date someone that knows my family.  That just feels like descabbing the scars our family faced last year when I was a sobbing mess shattered by a false friendship and deep betrayal. This morning I had a heart to heart with Kid3.  He's worried about a replacement Daddy. I assured him that he has only one Daddy and Mom is just going out to have fun.  He's special to me and someone has to be really special to earn the right to meet him.  He felt better about that.  He was curious about the many alerts and likes I get because my phone goes off all the time and I showed him a couple and pointed out that Mommy can't date the many 20 year olds that like me because that would be creepy. He started laughing with me and we both felt better.

This juice is worth the squeeze but I'm waiting for the wine glass to shine before I pour this mimosa.

My Playlists

I love music, but my tastes are beyond eclectic.  The last couple of days, I've been loving Mariah Carey's "O.O.C." because I have been out of control and I love the way it feels.  I've also been listening to Blink 182's "What's My Age Again," but in my head it's more like "what's your name again?" There are a lot of "sweeties" and "loves" lately.  It's a bit funny and totally sad.  My texting war with the ex last night was punctuated with texts from a few other men and it was a roller coaster until I decided I could "do not disturb" him.  Nice, right? I don't try to keep track of who I'm talking to like I used to.  Years ago dating was a game and I wanted to gather as many pawns as I could.  Now it's about finding the one I want to spend my time with and I almost hope they catch me because I'm playing a game I'm not interested in.  Really, I only respond to them for the most part.  When he's special I'll let him know I'm thinking of him.  Otherwise, my affections die off slowly.  I find men will go where the attention is and they'll seek it out elsewhere if they don't feel it.  And they call women shallow. I can date myself.  I have been.  I'm freaking awesome.  I just want to share my awesome, not my body. Not really.  I still listen to the DiVinyls song "I touch myself."  I was thinking about sex and the big "O." I can easily say that every time I've ever tried to give one to a man, he willingly and easily accepted it, whether or not it was reciprocated.  Amy Schumer gets it and she says, You're Entitled to Orgasm. (All of my gals and gays say, "love her - yas bitch.") Since my expectations are so low, I expect an amazing person to spend my time with.  His personality can make up for what I no longer expect, but he shouldn't expect it until he proves his awesome is in every ounce of him. (I can predict that tonight will require gelato.)

A fairly recent make out session happened when I was in an Adele mood.  I think it broke him because he was fairly sad when we parted ways. He may be too much of a sensitive type for me.

I indulge in peanut M&M's and Megan Trainor because that reminds me of Hollywood Sunsets and I love the feeling of those swoon worthy memories. Hotness overload, right?

Britney Spears, Katy Perry and Shakira bring out my inner vixen.  She winks at strangers with red painted lips and swaying hips while driving because that's how I get through traffic.

I was teaching my 9 year old pager codes because he'll need them for his cougar phase in a decade and a half if my online experience is any indication, but that usually comes with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" because I need to be in Junior High again for that, but I skip the black nail polish.

When I'm in an agry at the ex mood, I put on Alanis Morissette and Taylor Swift.  Those moments morph into loud singing and the singing brings on the happy again.

I listen to Metallica, Blackstreet, Jars of Clay, Bonnie Raitt and the Judds, Eve and the Ruff Ryders when I think back to lovers past.  DJ Quick too, but those were dark days and I don't revisit them often.

When my writing is more technical and requires deeper thought to decipher it, I will listen to classical music.

My sad moments belong to Mariah Carey and Natalie Merchant.

When I'm in a dancing mood, it vacillates without reason toward Madonna, The Cure, Lady Gaga, and anything else that doesn't hold me hostage in lyrics.

And on days when I just want to get lost in memories and feelings, I shuffle it all and skip things here and there because my words are born in my feelings and the music coaches it out.

Native Californian

I'm a native.  My Dad grew up in Houston, Texas and my Mom in Samut Songkhram, Thailand.  They met in Thailand when my Dad was on R and R from Vietnam.  When Dad finally got permission to bring Mom stateside, they landed in Houston, but set off for California to chase Dad's dreams of making it big in movies.  He acted.  He wrote screenplays.  He still writes.  I was born at Cedars shortly after they moved from the blue Scientology Building in Hollywood.

Last night was another beautiful beach sunset for me.  I spent the morning at the mercy of a headache and doing housework.  By the end of the day, my escape hatch became a craving.  I watched the sunset and smiled at text messages from a handsome skater boy.  I took the advice of another man with beautiful greenish hazel eyes and a gift for finding healthy and good food and walked to the Promenade to pick up dinner.  On my way back to the pier, I pointed at my ear buds and said, "I can't hear you," to the two men trying to talk to me.  I kept walking and a block later while waiting for a light to change, they caught up to to me to tell me how much they appreciated my walk.  It's more of a strut. One foot in front of the other. They walked another block with me, and we chatted a bit and once again I was struck by the awe of people who think being a native is a big deal.  I suppose we are.

Growing up we weren't well off, but we weren't poor either.  I had two parents that always made sure I had what I needed and often the frivolous things I wanted as well.  We lived in East Hollywood until we moved to Echo Park right next to Dodger's Stadium.  My next home was in North Hollywood and I'm now in Lincoln Heights.  I've never left my county. I don't want to.

We live in one place but visit every other area because we can.

Los Angeles spreads out pretty far.  From the time we were kids, it was normal to live in one area but get into shenanigans elsewhere.  When we were little we went into Hollywood a lot.  My sisters would take me to Westwood.  We would take the bus to Santa Monica.  When I was with the youth group in church, we were often in Glendale or Burbank.  I got older and Pasadena was where we would end up.  Being a native means we're less likely to want to stick to places that are walking distance.  We'll do it, but why?  We can go to the mountains to be knee deep in winter snow and be at the beach for a bonfire in the same day.

Hollywood is a right of passage.

We have decent weather most of the year, so filming a summer or fall scene in February isn't a big deal.  Set dressers make that magic happen.  We've grown up with film crews in our neighborhoods and on our streets.  My highschool is a fairly popular setting for television and film. Modeling or acting schools pitched our dreams to us in school and yes, my Mom shelled out tuition to John Robert Powers for me. (That's where I learned my strut.) I spent a few months being an extra or background artist. I was acting behind the actors in my favorite television shows and loving the free food and dating scene. Eventually you will know someone that is successful in their career behind the scenes and you went to school with at least one actor that has a regular gig that lands them on television. We have friends that get paid to work in local theaters. We know that going to movies means we will get approached by someone trying to get a screening filled for a free movie and unpaid focus group. People in the industry are idealists and a bit neurotic, but they feel like home.

We trust street vendors.

Most of us trust street food.  We had ice cream and produce trucks drive through our neighborhoods, playing a warbling tune on bad speakers or a fancy horn to let us know they were outside.  We walked through parks with men selling cotton candy on wood trees.  We wanted elotes, and tamales, and freshly cut fruit with pico de gallo, lime and salt. We know how good a bacon wrapped hot dog tastes with grilled onions and peppers.

Growing up with LA Nightlife  was a navigation.

We knew where to get the fake ID near MacArthur Park, but mainly we knew that getting into a club when underage was more about walking in with the attitude of someone that belonged there.  Our clubs were either empty warehouses painted black with a few go-go boxes, or plush couches, artwork to perch on and psychedelic paint jobs. I was also into flyer parties and raves with happy balloons, and dollar beers. We knew which homeless men were willing to buy our beer at the cost of a 40 ounce.  We knew which clubs would let ladies in free before 10.  At the end of the night, we always had Tommy's.  It tastes like nostalgia and makes a satisfying cold breakfast when you're fighting a hang over.

We know our weather.

We know our weather shifts but not by much.  There's rainy days where I wear flip flops.  Wet feet dry faster than wet socks, and it's warm enough that wet feet won't really suffer.  We know the warm caress of the Santa Anas and that she is dangerous during fire season and will make you suffer with allergies.  We know fire season scorches the hills before raining season and that's why there is flooding and landslides.  It's on the news but we're still shocked every year. Typically we won't need more than a sweater.  A hot day gives way to frigid temperatures when that day is spent at parks and beaches.  A hot day in Los Angeles means it will be comfortable in the local mountains but there's a good chance you'll end up in a summer mountain thunder storm in Big Bear, and if you head to the beach, expect it to be much cooler. We also know our water quality will make you sick, but we venture into the water anyway, knowing to dive beneath an approaching wave and to swim parallel to the shoreline when you notice a riptide is trying to take you away. You learn that jellyfish stings are quickly soothed by human pee and it's really not a fetish at that point.

Our freeways are not very free.

Growing up, we didn't have many toll roads.  There were carpool lanes and you just needed a travel buddy or two.  When travelling by freeway, expect certain times of day to be a parking lot and the 405 is good at making a short commute feel like 4 or 5 hours. This is when it comes in handy to know the many streets that will get you to your destination.  Sometimes there are feeder streets along freeways and other times there are long streets and side streets. I used to keep a Thomas Guide in my car and pull over for a quick alternate route, but Waze has replaced that in recent months.

Gangs were a reality.

Junior high was more than first periods and a new set of boobs.  Gangs were actively recruiting kids to join them because you were vulnerable during school and on the way to the house you had to let yourself into.  Kids were killed while we were supposed to be going to school dances and having first kisses.

Neighbors.

We had a few neighbors that we were able to call family because they came from other cities, but eventually having neighbors meant you didn't get to know them.  They wouldn't be neighbors for too long anyway.  People in Los Angeles often get sucked into the glitter and glam and spend through nest eggs to enjoy the sparkly bits until they have to go back home.

Earthquake Country

We have earthquakes.  The first one can be terrifying, but eventually you get used to the idea that the earth will shake and you just need to ride it out.  You will feel the ground rumble with trucks, but eventually you will look up to lights and anything hanging.  When chandeliers sway, you've just been through an earthquake.  Eventually you will try to guess the magnitude before the newscaster tells you.

Melting Pot or Bouillabaisse?  

When my parents arrived, interracial couples were still taboo. Even in church. They were asked to not return to a church once. Being mixed meant there really wasn't a cultural niche. We lived in an area with Hispanic people from all over Central and South America. We had black and white neighbors. There are areas that have now become Koreatown, Little Armenia and Thai Town, but when I was a kid there was just the old and new Chinatown. My hair and word choice made it hard to fit in with the black kids and my skin and lack of language made it hard to fit in with Thai kids.  I don't blame Mom for not teaching us Thai at birth.  She came here when it wasn't okay to be who she is, and her adaptability made our family the international bunch we are.  (One day I'll wow you with my family composition.) I have a hard time stomaching bigotry because it was never normalized for me. I've been to quinceaneras where I learned to salsa and punta.  I've been to bar mitzvahs and been lulled by the song of an ancient language.  I've tried to stomach chitterlings and menudo.

Love with a Native

I realize most of us are unique in our loving styles, but there is something about being from a big city full of people vying for that special snowflake attention.  We tend to see everyone as eye candy.  It's a geographical hazard.  Love becomes what we can feel from others, rather than what we can contribute to the lives of others.  Southern manners are desirable because we just don't function that way for the most part.  Relationships are fleeting.  Family and friends don't care unless it gets serious because we're used to it not getting serious.  Everyone will chime in because we can see the step down you just took and we know you deserve better because we are vapid and better is on the next corner. We can see what you are too busy feeling.  But when you find it and it's real, you hold on for dear life.  We all crave more but rarely look past what we would look like together.  A nephew from Alabama just introduced Facebook to his girlfriend, and all the southern family has greeted and introduced themselves to her in a comment.  In Los Angeles, we haven't met her and we're not holding our breath.  She'll come around eventually if it lasts.

We love our gays. 

I didn't grow up with friends getting beat up because of their skin, but because they were into people that shared their sex. When I was young, Sunset Junction was the only place to find an annual "Fag Fair."  That's what we called it and where we would enjoy carnival rides, eat great food off of trucks and watch men wearing chaps and a thong while holding hands. Some of my favorite men would talk about boys with me and we understood the fun and heartache of horny teenaged boys. My curious phase was met with acceptance and encouraged. Deciding that I was curious and then really don't like women was never about rebellion. It was something to try and no one cared either way so there was no pressure for me in letting go then letting it go.

Beautiful Sunsets

Friday was a good day at work.  I did a bit of a run around scavenger hunt for toner and was surprised that my security badge got me into places I didn't know I could go.  I learned new things, and I am really digging finance.  I left work and drove to Santa Monica for another glorious sunset.  I live a blessed life.

I walked the pier and saw that friendly photographer that once offered me a free picture and still offers a warm hug and a hot beverage.  He kept offering hot tea and I accepted. I watched people on the pier land small mackerel.  I looked for the seal that appears to prefer warmer weather.  I even watched a man toss back a crab he caught, accidentally knocking his drink into the ocean.

I answered a call last night that carried a redemptive value I never thought I'd see. It was a shift I didn't know was coming and it arrived long after I gave up on it. The freedom it brings comes with a weighted burden of the heartache that came as a cost to the person bringing my vindication. After being accused of insecurity and jealousy over a friendship, I was told that yes, my ex left me for another man's wife, and there is something wrong with what the two of them did and continue to do to my family, with blessings from those I once called my family. Being right doesn't always feel good.

I spoke about the ex for the first time in months and it wasn't painful. It was more a dull history lesson with angry highlights.  I'm moving forward and experiencing many beautiful first times in a long time. It tastes like freedom. It smells like aftershave and feels like facial hair and solid muscles.  I waited a long time for that conversation and last night I realized it didn't matter anymore. I don't feel happy about it.  I feel pity.  It sat on my shoulders and as the wind whipped through my hair, I couldn't toss back the weight of disappointment that this woman felt.

I made a last stubborn walk through forceful winds to look for the gamboling seal that often cheers me up, then headed to the parking lot.  I stood in front of Pier Burger and while I felt that dinner should be had, my appetite was gone. I met Patrick with beautiful and haunting blue eyes. He was searching for dinner in the trash in front of the restaurant and I offered him a hot meal instead. I looked in his eyes and addressed him by name.  In his uncertain smile I found the cloying weight was a layer of shame that I was feeling and I let go of that weight long ago.  I could see it in the way he looked at me, that the weight I was starting to shoulder was no longer my burden to carry.  In the glimmer of hope shining in his icy blue eyes, I found my anchor in joy.

Online Dating Tips or My Dating Cheat Sheet

I had a great date last night. If every date was this great, I wouldn’t have much to write about. I won’t go into details because he is my treasured memory for now but I will say I am willing to see him again and I’m even willing to spend some time on the freeway to do so.I’ve been a bit jaded and before last night I was seriously thinking a hiatus would be necessary because I was starting to believe men are horrible at being human beings when it comes to dating and mating rituals. This is my cheat sheet. This is my easy access list that will help secure a first date and keep you from getting ignored.

Hey! I see you. You should see me too, because I like you so far.

1. Winks

A wink from me means there was something in your profile I liked. It might have been your eyes or the line of your jaw. Maybe it was the fact that you are well written and witty. It’s also likely that I feel your workout routines are God’s gift to me. I can appreciate appropriate male aggression but I’ve winked, opening the door. Be bold and brave and take that to mean yes, I would like to get to know you better.

2. Messages

If I’ve messaged you, I see enough potential in you that I’m not willing to be passive with my aggression. I’ve very intentionally placed the ball in your hands and I’m willing to wait a bit. A very little bit.

If you’ve messaged me and I took the time to write back, I’ve given an opportunity for you to shine. If you really don’t care that my first few introductory lines are that I don’t date men too far from my home or age, you have already irritated me and only have a message or two to redeem yourself.

3.  Your Profile Picture

I like slightly snug jeans and a t-shirt. I also love a man in a crisp and fitted button down. I want to see your eyes and a genuine smile. I want to see a clean shaved face and a 5 o'clock shadow.

We’re messaging on the website that doesn’t allow pictures.

1. What I want to know

I like to take this time to share a bit about what we are looking for. Are you looking for a travelling buddy? White picket fence and a house full of kids? A drinking buddy? Do we have things in common? Are you 420 friendly, because I really am not.

2. What I don’t want to hear.

Please don’t call me a “good girl” or “bad girl.” I’m not a girl. I’m a grown woman and I know you can’t determine my worth because I already have. These phrases tell me you are probably into spanking and probably need to spend some time in a therapy session or twelve with your parents. I’m the average bear when it comes to dating. I don’t want to dominate you or be dominated. I’m looking for a partnership. Those of us that have walked away from a marriage have probably had our fill of a spouse telling us what to do. Personally I really dig my independence. Deep down I would love to follow the leadership of a good man. You just have to work on proving you are him first.

I’ve given you my number. Use it now. Not next week or in a few days when I get to guess who you are.

1. Here’s my number.

At this point, I would like you to give me a ring. I mean, yes, we can text, but you could do that from the website as well. It’s not like traditional dating where you should wait 3 days to not seem too anxious. We met on a dating site. That means I’m matched with someone that will look better than you every single day, and when bored, I will spend free time swiping left or right. Assume you might lose me because chances are that at this stage, you probably will. You have my number. That gives you an edge. Use it before it gets dull.

2. Texting Etiquette

As for pictures, I post most of the good ones and you’ve probably already seen them. I get that you are probably asking for a special private show, but do you realize you haven’t earned that yet?

I really am not interested in a picture of your penis. I have probably seen enough of these unsolicited pictures to know I will never choose to study urology.

It’s also not a good time to tell me you want to play proctologist and that I can be your patient.

While a good morning, good night and 4 am text may look endearing on the surface, if those are the only times I hear from you, I will assume you are horny or lonely and not really interested in getting to know me.

At the same time, it’s not wise to wait a week. If I’m into you, I will reach out whenever you cross my mind. If you don’t hear from me, I may have already forgotten about you, deleted our texts and moved on. A week later and I am scrambling to remember who you are and it’s a fun challenge for me, but I have already given you a hard pass. I try to keep it simple but it’s not lost on me that I can go for part of the day without hearing from anyone and go through a rush hour of navigating 7 texting conversations at once. I will assume you’re doing the same.

You’re calling me. Oh my goodness. 

1. Sensory Outcomes

I love hearing the sound of your voice. It’ll cover up your poor grammar and punctuation and I’ll have a better chance at getting your jokes because you can’t time that in a text. It’s also a good time to get me used to hearing your voice and looking forward to hearing it. Meeting you should be a sensory fulfillment. This is the time to tell me about yourself and what motivates and moves you.

2. Sex Talk? No. Not yet.

This is still not the time to talk sex. I’m sure you are excited. Think of it this way, you wouldn’t want me to tell you about my wedding dress and where we are getting hitched. Don’t put the cart before the horse when I’m still deciding if your juice is worth my squeeze.

3. Shop Talk

I’m curious about your work. It’s not an interview. I’m not going to offer you a promotion or raise. It lets me know if you are a gambler, or frugal, or if you have no sense of responsibly taking care of yourself, or if I may have to bail you out from time to time. It’s not necessary to lie about what you do.

1. Lying

I won’t be honest about how many people I’m talking to. I don’t expect you to be. I expect both of our numbers are high because that’s the beauty of hiding behind a keyboard. I am being picky because my time is valued. I may have exchanged numbers with about 30 men in the past month, but I’ve only met four. Hiding the competition is a kindness. Take it as such.

At the same time, don’t lie about what you do or who you are. If you have to lie to keep someone, they can never really appreciate and value you. If you have to lie because you aren’t worthy of who you want to be, then change who you are until you can look in the mirror without needing approval.

I have been cat fished enough times that it irritates me, but since I’m passive aggressive, I will continue to let them flirt and think they have another chance at my wallet, even though I will never graduate past texting and email.

2. Tips

Assume you aren’t the only one I’m interested in and assume I’m letting you tell me how interested you are in me before I move on. I will not go where I’m not wanted, but I may look at your profile a few times because I have a thing for beautiful things and I'm not above objectifying you.

If you gravitate toward talking about sex, your car, your wealth or your board room domination, I will see it as insecurity and that is unattractive. I get it, men are visual and they want to see that I can enjoy what they do. It’s a thing. What you should learn is that women tend to be aroused when their emotional needs are met. It doesn’t mean I care about how much you are spending. I care that I was listened to, and engaged with, and I don’t like the feeling that there is a deposit limit of affection and attention before you make your sex withdrawal. I will offer more than you need when I feel ready and it won’t be over the phone.

I want to know more about you as a person and that has nothing to do with what you can do or what you have. I’m already into you. Believe it or not, your rock collection and what makes you choose a rock is actually interesting to me. Maybe I'm exaggerating but hopefully you get my point.

If you’re still asking for multiple pictures, I will assume you are rubbing one out while imagining my voice. If you keep talking about your needs, I might suggest you find a prostitute. I don’t charge, but I also won’t offer what she would.

If I mention I'm kid free at the moment, do your best to join me. I can be spontaneous and that was your opening.

The First Date

1. Where to?

I don’t mind if you pick a place. I prefer that but I will overanalyze your choice. It’s who I am. If you want late night drinks close to my home or yours, I will assume you hope that’s where we end up on the first date.

If you choose a well populated venue for nonalcoholic drinks or a meal, you’ve gotten past apple points and there are now brownie points involved.

2. Wait for me.

I'm usually early or punctual. On the off chance you arrive before me, please order yourself a drink, but wait for me to order mine. I will assume a drink waiting for me has been drugged.

3. Don’t order for me.

I know what I’m interested in eating. I may have eaten earlier and have a smaller appetite. I may be on a special diet. I'm casing the menu for gluten free options.

4. Body language.

There is a certain amount of skill in not creeping me out.

So totally kidding. 

Keep the conversation going, but do try to mimic your mate. If you are staring at me, but my glances at you are fleeting, I will be creeped out.

If you sit next to me, and I don’t pull my leg away when we graze each other, then it might not be a bad time to brush my hair out of my face, or go for a light pat on my thigh so I can feel the warmth of your hand, but not so I feel felt up. See if I reach for your hand when you reach for mine. If I pull away, maybe we can change subjects and see if I’ll warm up. A warm hand on my upper back that is brief is always worth an attempt, but make sure to watch for a reaction before going further.

While we have an audience, it’s best not to try to feel out my tonsillectomy scars. I don’t mind a chaste kiss on the lips if I have not denied your other advances first.

I like being walked to my car, and it’s nice when I have a chance to put my purse inside of it before you go for that goodnight kiss. Keep it calm. If I’m into it, I will move in closer and there’s no need to guide my hands to your high and low points. You’ll know where you are invited and where access is being denied. I may grant access and then never intend to see you again. If I feel you are looking at my smile and body but aren’t interested in my large brain or engaging personality, you will get a hard pass on any future shenanigans or debauchery.

5. Goodbyes

Parting is such sweet sorrow . . . But I’m an early bird wearing contact lenses and I will need to get going. If you are interested nail down a date. We can talk specific locations and times later, but the less we nail down, the more my attention will drift to the other men that have been texting me all night.

Cat fishing

Last night after work I drove to Santa Monica. I took freeways and streets and got there in less than an hour. I had a beef tamale for dinner because I was in need of a masa comfort food session. It was cold and windy.

I talked to a few anglers and watched them catch a few mackerel. One man caught a bass by the eye. I didn't see the seal I always look for at the end of the pier.

My cat fishing suspicions were confirmed yesterday.

I'm not heart broken. It's frustrating that I'm perceived as so naive. Or maybe I'm too caring. Part of the fun of online dating is meeting so many people. I don't keep all of my eggs in one basket and I prefer to meet right away. My gut instinct is strongest in person.

There's a pattern. They meet but are always busy being hugely successful. I have a weakness for foreigners appearantly. They say sweet things and hope they're the only one. You exchange pictures and boring details about day to day life.  Everything is right now with meeting one day and no real future plans or dreams. After a while they feel you are comfortable and they will start professing life altering love and a desire to take care of you. Then they ask for financial favors. I had a feeling about this man for a while.

Happy Days

Usually a new job interview means I arrive super early so I can check out the neighborhood.  I want to know how safe I’ll feel leaving work after the sun goes down.  I want to see what my lunch options are and how close my nearest bank branch is.  I chose a brick and mortar bank with the highest APY I could find.  That means fewer branches are available.  I get to the job and the first two things I look for are the break room and bathrooms.  You can tell a lot about a company by the way it treats its employees in places unseen. I’m no longer funemployed and job hunting at the beach on phone apps. Honestly, if I had not landed this job, I would have been happy with the 40 minute interview. My supervisor is phenomenal and every ambition I've ever had danced a jig during our conversation. I have a desk and not a view but the people are nice.  The bathrooms are huge with many extra supplies in plain view.  They not only have girl products available, they’re free and each sink has Bath & Body Works soap and lotion bottles.  The coffee bar is insanely huge and stocked and while it isn’t as beautifully designed as my last job, they clearly love us here.  I walked in and was given a mug, pen, and notebook with my onboarding signatures.  They’re pretty sly.  My marketing swag also helps them cut costs and save the earth in not needing to provide paper cups.

I’ve learned my lesson and can’t afford another workplace crush that will keep me distracted and giggling, so I’m keeping my head down.  I still think about him and that's insane. The job I’ve been waiting for is here, and the greatness I experienced on my first day made me appreciate what waiting means, and I got home and let go of someone I was trying to make worth my time. I needed yesterday's work lesson to sink in to get that it translates to dating too.  I can wait for the right one and I don't need to settle in the mean time.

Online dating is amazing and funny and insanely crazy.  I’ve had the bad.  I’ve had a creepy man not notice when I flinched from his lean in to kiss me.  I had one tell me about wanting to live out a rape fantasy and needing me to fight him to excite him.  I’ve had the ones that wanted to dominate and the ones that wanted to be dominated.  I’ve had the ones that wanted me to want them, knowing they were happy sleeping around with anyone willing.  There was the one that keeps checking in with me to see if I’ll give him my banking information. But there’s good too.

Yesterday was my first day, and throughout it, I had 4 to 5 men check in to see how my first day was going.  There was my first kiss in over a year and the first kiss I willingly gave to someone other than my ex in the last 16 years. There was the one that is too young, and too far, but I wanted to bend my rules for him.  He's beautiful. There was the one that is willing to teach me computer coding.  He's kind. There is the business man half way around the world that texts me at random moments.  I'm on his mind and he keeps telling me he wants to shower me with his love, but I'm skeptical. He may be catfishing me, but that’s okay too.  There’s the one that isn’t that cute, but determined to show me a good time. He gets that he comes after my boys. And of course the deployed men that I’ve turned down, but haven’t had the boldness to tell that my Dad’s PTSD ruined their chances with me.  They get turned down, but don't seem to read or hear my rejections because they think an email will change my childhood.

These men are clearly only interested in how I can make them feel and not me, because my blog name is in my profile and I can always use a boost in my stats.  I can see how many hits I get at any given time.  I’m really not worried they’ll read my words.

The best moment was after work last night. I was dealing with co-parenting issues on my way home and when my anger was peaking, I got a call that made my ride home special. He is beautiful and has a really thick Italian accent.  I can’t understand half of what he says, but it sounds so sexy that I don’t think it matters. I can hear him tell me I'm beautiful and he wants to spend time with me.

I’m having fun.

Healing, Growing and Helping Others

Lately the power of "no" has been an elusive friend.  She watches me from her corner booth with a dry vodka martini in hand and the solitary light of an inhaled ember that is a beacon in her ephemeral haze of cigarette smoke.  I can hear her laughter cutting into me like a slap across the face that is kissed into tenderness.  My life has been vacuuming away my choices, so I can only see decisions.  These decisions have a heavier weight to them.  There's an honest clarity that we can't always coat in confectioner's sugar and the independence of a choice is shackled in duty when it becomes a decision.  We must do what is right, even if it is not easy.  Especially when we know it doesn't feel good. It's the stress of the last couple of weeks that has had me blogging less, but it's not so much about being busy or distracted as much as I've been holding the choice to be a dutiful "person to ______" as more important than the choice to be selfish for myself.  Right now that means I'm taking on a little too much and processing it all just before falling asleep and the meaning escapes me in dreams but I wake up with hopeful anticipation. Stress relief looks late late night flirting into early morning hours because I can and a nap is never not an option. I'm reminded fairly often that I need to take care of myself first and this late morning while still in bed is me doing just that.

I am mother before I allow myself to be me. It has been a few days of frustration, disappointment, powerlessness, and when I wait patiently, I can even see Grace.  Yesterday Facebook reminded me of what I went through "On This Day" last year. I'm editing out a few names, but essentially I wrote:

May 20, 2015 at 4:29 PM

It's been a rough few months.  I'm not ashamed.  It is part of life.  Alone with the kids at bedtime last night, I was feeling too low to want to read to them.  Kid3 had a tantrum, so I went ahead and started reading.  I keep telling them that giving them less than what they deserve because I might not be happy is a choice and they need to call me on it when I do that.  Kid1 called me on it. It's not their fault life is unfriendly to me right now, and I won't punish them for it.  So I started reading, and as I'm reading, the tears start and so do the sniffles.  My throat gets tighter and the words struggle free and choke with emotion.  They didn't say a word.  They listened quietly and said thank you with goodnight kisses when I got to the end of the chapter.  Their hugs were loving and gave as much as was received.  It's a new day and looking at last night, it encouraged me and right now it's lifting me up a bit. I have great boys.  I want the world to know how great my boys are.

Kid2 is going through a rough patch right now and last night Kid3 blamed their Dad.  It wasn't until after I defended him that I realized how well I'm doing.  At first I was devastated.  I was happy in my marriage and blindsided that he wasn't.  I've found there is true joy in my daily life now that I am single.  There's so much joy that even when situations are out of my control, I can find peace and laughter if I dig deep enough.  I'm learning how to deal with what life hands me in a way that lets me react in making difficult choices and tough decisions without selfishness and greed.  I can hear my son blame his Dad for the family falling apart and I can hear the pain when he feels hopeless in helping his brother.  Hearing his concerns allowed me to comfort him and remind him that I have fallen apart myself and it's a choice to decide you want to get back up.  I reminded him that his Dad is much happier now.  I told him that I've found ways to be happier now and we all just need to find ways to move with what life looks like to us.  I felt the weight of truth in stating that this situation with Kid2 really isn't anyone's fault and that we just need to find a way to help each other feel better and be better.

I saw my cousin and sister late last night and he shared some of the pain from his break up.  I told him I've found my joy in crashing waves and smiling at strangers. I love matching bra and panty sets.  My sister asked who is going to see them and I pointed out I see them in the mirror every day.  I showed them my latest tattoo which is over a year old and we talked about online dating.  In the end, there is good with the bad, and I am having fun with it.  I've found fun on one site and I can let go of the other one.  We made tentative plans to go to Florentine Gardens because that was a club we all went to when we were fledgling adults and it would be fun to revisit.  Mainly we talked healing.

I love my cousin. He is beautiful and feminine and so full of deep love.  I reminded my cousin that he was born at a certain level and lowered himself to be with his ex.  I told him he keeps entertaining his ex to offer another opportunity to get kicked. I did it too. If he stops looking below him, he'll see all of the many beautiful men at his level and above.  He needs to stop looking down and back and look forward.  I told him he may never find closure for the relationship but he will one day find closure for why he thought he needed to allow someone below him to act as if he was above. He wanted to know why his ex would enter another relationship right away and accept an obvious downgrade with worse treatment.  I told him that his ex sees him as better than he deserved which is why he's often the object of aggression.  Say "have a nice day" and hang up. I do.  He looks at what he has and knows it's a downgrade.  He takes whatever he's dished because he's afraid to look lower.

I told my cousin about the many great men I've been meeting and he started to say that I would find someone better than my ex. I don't look to compare him to anyone. Not anymore. He's a good Dad.  He does what he thinks is best for our kids, as far as he can see. We're just no longer together. I compare these beautiful and intelligent men to me. Can we hold a meaningful conversation? I have goals, does he? I'm taking care of myself, is he doing better than I am?  Things are looking better from this vantage point.

I went home and realised the pedestal we place our loved ones on are designed for us.  We just need to look around, up or down, but we'll eventually see where the people we love are placed, and we will eventually see that we don't need to put them in our place because they won't always be willing to set us on their pedestal and their pedestal doesn't always lead us forward. If we're lucky, we can hop from stand to stand, side by side and not feel like one needs to be displaced for the other. And sometimes it's not worth it to date a charity case.  Letting them go and washing off their sticky insecurities can be a little exhausting. That really doesn't refer to the ex.  We're happier apart, and I'm happy with casual dating.

Shifting Gears and Lane Changes

I have a habit of auto piloting to familiar destinations.  I tend to get behind someone and follow their path and pace until I realize I can go around them.  Frustration becomes joy when I check the lane on my left, and slide over while speeding up. Sometimes I feel more creative and will zip in and out, weaving through traffic because somehow that feels good. I used to hate driving.  I wasn't trying to get my license right away.  In fact, I got my license the day I graduated high school at 18.  It was a couple of years later than necessary. I didn't want a license.  I could just ask my parents to drop me off, pick me up and give me some spending money. I got my license and I would borrow my mom's car until she bought me one.  She valued her ability to pick up and go when she needed to. She kept finding and buying used cars for me because she understood my need for independence, even when I didn't.  I would let other people drive for me because I loved falling asleep while giving someone else control of my wheels.

Earlier this year I leased a car and for the first time in my life, I did it on my own.  I went in and negotiated on my own.  I set up a down payment and have been following through on my obligation without failure.  The payments are larger than necessary, but I accepted terms I outlined.  In fact, I only went 3 cents over my planned monthly expense.  I love the independence I felt in doing so and I love driving now.  I've only had one other person drive my car, and it was my niece who needed to take her driving test.  I love sitting behind the wheel and being in control of my time and destination. I keep my car neater than I ever have, although she's due for a deep vacuum session and detailed scrubbing.

I've been spending the last couple of days thinking about driving and the other controlled choices in my life. I have enough control to decide what route to take.  I can take the scenic route. I can take the straight shot.  I can look out the windows around me and catch a coastline or a hunky driver racing alongside me.  I don't have to focus intently on the car right in front of me, because I believe in a large amount of following distance that my peripheral vision can easily discern from the brief flitting glances at all of my surroundings.

I'm seeing the correlation in my dating life.  Most men are still compared to the first crush I've had in a decade and a half.  That crush had the benefit of my vivid imagination and I'm faced with the realities of knowing what is right in front of me is a game and I'm expected to lose. Most are given the full weight of thoughts that will beg my intuition to kick in.  It always kicks in.  It might take a day or two but it kicks in.  It is the flinch that pulls me back instead of leaning into a kiss.  It's a look that lingers and shifts from soft desire to the hope of a guaranteed conquest and fills me with dread.  It's a tingle that crawls up my scalp while focusing on the eyes that can't match the rest of the features I'm watching.  It's questioning motives and looking for meaning.  I'm listening. I follow their script as they discuss wanting to tie me up, and live out a rape fantasy.  I hear their choices and lack of leadership or empathy for others. I hear the fantasies of control and the push and pull of who holds it is a dance that I'm swaying to but these shoes aren't for that dance and I am not ready for those blisters.  I let them blather on about my smile and what pictures they like the most while I hear their lack of drive and determination.  I hear their insecurities in trying to impress me because they can't understand how I may already be impressed or talking to them out of boredom.  I can't offer my motives if I refuse to delineate between what I want, and what I want to entertain myself with. I hear their need to be desired and know it's stronger than their need to connect on a mental and emotional level.  I hear it and it's fluffy noise.  I want a companion that can become more.  They want to fulfill the fantasies born in an album of vapid self indulgence that can't capture the moods and thoughts that have slipped through my mind faster than they were able to make an introduction.

I change lanes.  I don't have to stay the course to the destination they have in mind because I'm in my own car and headed to my own escape and I don't need permission or an escort to do what I have been doing. I've slipped into old habits of shuffling between conversations and switching lanes with the nausea of exhaust fumes clinging to my clothes.  I shuffle them around and give the illusion that I'm playing their game by their rules but I'm in my car and looking to the traffic jam ahead of us.  I'm plotting my lane changes and deciding on dinner because I have no problem eating alone.  I can even take the streets. I'm not a player playing a game.  I'm just two steps from becoming a pawn, but this game is familiar and the moves and rules haven't changed.  I'll be fine with wind whipping through my hair and a radio to sing along to.

Hook, Line and Sinker

Late last night I was at the end of the Santa Monica pier and looking out for that friendly seal that is usually quite a ham and hungry for free bait.  Most performers and vendors had left for the night.  It was after 11, and I noticed an angler next to me with funky fishing line. I'm used to a monofilament line that is transparent or slightly blue and maybe green.  I sent all of my fishing rods to the ex but we used a 4 pound test for freshwater fishing.  This man's line was white and blue and it looked like twisted string.  He was fishing with an 80 pound test - braided line and trying to hook lobsters.  He used really large treble hooks  stepping up along the line and a 5 ounce or so weight to sink his line to the bottom.  I watched him cast his line, and he let it sit.  We chatted as he watched his rods for the bounce of a strike.  I watched him yank upward to set the hook in his prey and he reeled in quickly.  He showed me the leg of a lobster he had maimed, and told me he had caught small lobsters and crabs but I didn't see him catch anything because his questions wandered into my fishing knowledge and the husband I don't have anymore.  He started telling me he just filed for divorce from his wife, and I decided it was time to go.  He seemed nice enough.  I just wasn't interested in talking to him about marriage and divorce because he was looking at me in a way that said he found a connection in me and he thought it was worth exploring, but I didn't.  He was lobster fishing without a trap and using treble hooks which was so many shades of illegal and his moral compass wasn't pointing in the same direction mine was because he was doing it, but I watched and felt it was wrong.

A few days ago I wrote about a man that I felt was reading a script when he was flirting with me and not getting to know me.  I thought he was a bit of a player casting a wide net for the most possible results in his search for the right person or a good time.  I was entertained.  It was interesting.  I was enjoying it for what it was and not taking it seriously.  This morning I got a text from him.  I responded.  He responded back, then repeated the very first text as if he was copying and pasting and going through a list.  He would text me throughout the day and ask about my plans.  He'd call me every dessert imaginable and talk about eating me up.  He said he was in my city but he would ask what time it was and what the weather was like.  Yesterday I mentioned I was at the 3rd Street Promenade.  I was.  People watching and a long walk make me happy.  He sent me a text that I'm sharing, because I can.

I can't make this stuff up.  I wasn't heart broken.  He wasn't breathtakingly beautiful.  He wasn't an intense conversationalist.  He wasn't even someone I really wanted to meet.  I was mildly curious about why he wasn't interested in meeting in person.  I wanted to know why my mind was telling me what I knew in my gut.  I wanted to see things through until there was a clear picture.  I don't know what I plan to do.  Part of me wanted to respond angrily.  Part of me gets a kick in him wasting his time on me.  The part of me that felt anger was mainly upset that he thought I couldn't see through his hustle.  At the end of the day, it's not a game.  It's a hustle and he's trying to make money.

On the way back to the pier, I was liked by a really hot profile picture that was actually a woman posing as a man.  It's amazing that she would so clearly know my taste in men. Three days ago she started reaching out to women to compile a list of men to beware of.  She has nine men listed so far with a profile name and a description of their wrongs.  There are scammers, sex offenders, catfishers, and felons.  I just added one to her list this morning.

Yesterday I was determined to go out and explore the Promenade and smile.  I was determined that I would enjoy being in my skin.  I would be in the moment.  I would take slow steps and I would walk swiftly in a pace that felt good to me.  I suppose some would call that interval training.  I was smiling at strangers and getting smiles back.  I even got a high five.  It was a friendly kind of day.

I was still thinking about this scammer and the whole climate of online dating as I walked across the uneven wood of the pier.  I thought I would try ghosting him. I hear it's a thing and I wonder if there's satisfaction in it or if I would feel guilt and shame.  I typically try to be kind and I don't know if I'm ready to confront him or ignore him or just tell him his game with me is over. I'm just as guilty.  I am starting to really enjoy rejections.  It started out as being picky but became control in being able to reject people based only on my choice.  It became an exercise in confidence boosting.

Grace shows up in the most random and beautiful moments.  I found a bench to sit on.  There was a man sitting there already and he didn't seem bothered that I would share a bench.  After a while we struck up a conversation.  We talked about veterans, mental illness, homelessness, dating and God.  We sat through the sunset that was only visible in brilliant rays across the ocean.  We sat for hours and talked about everything in a way that wasn't pressured or uncomfortable and he gave me great dating advice.  I made a new Facebook friend.

A while later while on my way home, I was in a great mood and smiled at a stranger driving to his home.  I think it caught him off guard.  He asked if I knew him and I didn't.  He asked if I needed something and I didn't. I just wanted to smile at him.  After about the 3rd light of driving inconsiderately for others, I offered for us to pull over and we stood and talked for a while.  Over the ocean the cloud cover was dense, but where we were the sky was clear and he pointed out the big and little dippers and told me how I could find cassiopeia.  How awesome was that? We were on different paths, and I made another Facebook friend, but it was great to feel so confident and empowered by a smile at a stranger going in the same direction I was.  There was a shift in our conversation where my choices and perspective shifted his thoughts and perspective.  It felt amazing to be able to create change in just being who I am.

I had been building a profile (or two) with the hopes of casting a pick up line in an email and hooking a great guy to spend time with.  I had been hoping my endless selfies would prove I am who I say I am and I had been looking at profiles (mainly because I like looking at handsome men) and trying to imagine tomorrow and next week and a comfortable future of companionship because I can be alone but I don't enjoy it.  I had a night of learning that sometimes all it requires is a warm smile and a willingness to respond with kindness.

Pen Pals and Communicating for the Sake of it.

I had pen pals as a kid.  I picked out stationery and carefully wrote out each word, phrasing each thought carefully because writing in ink means I would often have to start over.  I would spritz a bit of my favorite perfume in the air and fan the letter in the mist so it was scented and keep fanning until the strength of the scent was less aggressive.  (I do the same thing when I put on perfume.  Spritz and walk into it because too much would make anyone sick.) I would send pictures and cute shaped confetti.  I haven't hand written a letter in a long while.  Email has taken over. Correction: Email, messaging, phone calls, texting and social networking have taken over.

I won't date military men, but received an email with many great questions from a soldier on deployment this morning.  It came after my thoughtful rejection.  I gave him a solid block of undivided attention in responding to his first email. I was upfront that I wouldn't date him, but I don't mind writing to him.  He's worth the carpal tunnel because I will always respect military men and have a soft spot for our military on deployment while I get to do whatever strikes me as amusing. His email reminded me of being a kid and teenager with the thought in my handwritten notes.  He had many well thought out questions that were designed to get to know me and many that were superficial but detailed in a way that felt genuine.  That's so hard to find online.  I still won't date him, but it was more about what I think or feel than when I might be free or some witless banter about looks and when am I available to meet for a date that might end in groping.  I'm only sharing three of his questions.  The rest are mine and I will enjoy them alone.

This first question made me question myself in a way that forced accountability for my choices: Are you a player or for real?

I'm not a player.  Not really.  I'm not in a dating relationship with any one person.  Not yet. I'm talking to several people.  The people I'm still talking to that I'm not really interested in were given a flat out rejection but were persistent enough that I don't mind chatting from time to time.  I remind them that I won't date them fairly often, but I also haven't blocked them and respond to my emails.  Actually, I respond to almost all of my emails.  I'm likely to respond, if only to say I only date men in my age range and city.  Otherwise I'll start chatting and keep it polite if disinterested, and eventually the conversation fizzles. I think some men crave rejection and like blatant disinterest. It was suggested I should just ignore people I'm not interested in and I may start doing that, but then I'm also having fun in exercising my right to say no.  Maybe I really am too nice.  At the same time, false hope is quite evil. I am looking for a long term monogamous relationship.  I'm also being picky because I'm trying to listen to my gut and the reactions I feel in my body.  I admit to ignoring some of those feelings while I sip on an Original New York Seltzer (because it's like drinking my childhood) but I'm not silencing them.

This question is about what I like about me and it wasn't him telling me what I should value based on his opinion: What's your best attribute?

I usually say my super power is in my love of writing.  If you ask about my personality, it's my optimism and ability to redirect my mood for the most part.  If you ask about my body, I'm likely to point out my legs.  I love my legs.  Or my ability to handle pain and disappointment.  I like what my strength looks like now that I've seen it.

This question was about an obvious desire to give me pretty things that would make me smile.  This was about my choice and I liked being asked: What color of roses do you like?

Fire and ice roses.  I love the dual tone roses that are blood red and white.  Or the ones that are pink and orange.  I like the tips of the petals in contrasting colors, but my favorite flower is the California Poppy.  I love a field of orange flowers that wake with the sun and close with the moon.

I'll respond to his email tonight.  There will be a day of doing what I must, a night of doing what pleases me, and in the end I'll write to my new pen pal.

Handwriting is a dying art.  I still write in cursive, but I also spent nearly 20 years scribbling out every thought in my mind when I was journaling.  My handwriting is messy and flows from cursive to printing to block letters.  It's full of my personality in the way it flows without rhyme or reason. Like me, my writing just is.  Don't question it, just go with it.

The Lonely Hours

There is something about the middle of the night that pulls you out of a deep sleep to remind you that you are in fact alone.  I experienced it early in my separation.  There were nights when I would wake up and the feeling of loss would grip me and wake me.  It was a physical emptiness that squeezes uncomfortably until you can't sleep through it.  It gnaws at your insides because even in sleep, your body knows that something is wrong.  Something at the core of who you are is broken and alone.  Your arms and legs reach out for comfort and you wake because it won't be found in your bed, or your home or any of the other places that once brought peace. I sleep really well now.  The sleep I had during the early separation was much like the sleep I had for most of our marriage.  I was used to staying up with a crying infant or toddler.  I was used to waking up because my autistic kids have insomnia from brains that don't usually slow down.  I was used to waking up and feeling alone in the quiet.  Now sleepiness takes hold around 10 and every single morning, my eyes open naturally around 6.  I wake up and stare at the soft light filtering through the curtains.  I listen to the water flowing from a tiered waterfall into the pond outside of my window.  I hear birdsong in the trees, and the soft deep breathing of the child who is next to me half of the time.  I wake and there isn't a list of tasks to do and expectations to meet.  There is joy and presence for the moment I am in and there is a blessing of wonder and muted excitement.

I was always a light sleeper.  I would hear the soft cries of an infant and wake to tend to his needs. I can still hear the suction from a refrigerator door opening while half asleep when my kids have been sent to bed. I have started to switch my phone to "do not disturb" when I go to sleep because emails and text messages will wake me.  I would like to think I can be counted on to be a friend at any time in an emergency, but not when you are up and bored. For the right person, I would be happy to be boredom relief.  For the right person there would be giddy surprise at a late night call or text. But I don't currently have a right person.

I wake up and most of my dating site messages come in between 2 and 4 in the morning.  I get some likes and emails right around 10 at night.  Early in the morning, I see plenty of people online and looking.   When my kids are with me, those are the times when they need me most.  We're shuffling feet out the door for school, or settling in for the night.  We are sleeping and enjoying quiet moments of hugs and laughter.  And I get pings and bells and alerts because there is someone in need of the busy sounds of life that are filling my home.

When my kids leave, I will often find myself at the beach.  I have always been a water baby, but when I had kids the ocean became a terrifying place where I remembered every time a wave crashed fear into me.  I remembered being in the ocean and the man that worked his way closer to me with each wave until his hands were groping through sea salt and my own innocence.  I remembered the many times my autistic children wandered away and the fear that I might lose a child took that joy and washed it out to sea in a riptide of fear.

When I wake alone, I enjoy the solitude and work on tasks to do and consider what I would like to do.  It's an endless option of finally doing what I want to do and not being accountable to anyone. I can go where I want and stay until I decide I've had enough, and I don't need to make sure someone else is okay with that. I can eat as much or as little as I want and there is freedom in that as well.

When I'm talking to strangers that find me attractive, I hear their list of demands and remain silent.  I hear their constant need for approval and attention.  They want to know that I care about their pictures or how they spent their day and I feel the needy hands reaching and take a step back. They are so self involved that they rarely notice I don't reach out to them or ask more than polite questions.

They like to ask what I like to wear because they have a preference for skirts and dresses that has nothing to do with my sense of style or comfort.  This tells me they are more visual than empathetic. This tells me they will care what I look like to others.  I'm not looking to be recognized for my looks when I have thoughts that jump out and demand attention. I haven't found a worthy audience except this blog.

I hear them ask if I like to cook.  I respond that I like good food, even if I have to make it.  I hear them not say that they need someone to cook for them and care for them.   I don't mention that I make a mean hollandaise and will whip up eggs benedict if the mood strikes.  I don't tell them I cook most of my meals from scratch with fresh ingredients and have a love for French and Italian styles because I don't want to sign up for a relationship where someone else never feels like I might want them to cook for me.  My loneliness is a tender friend to me when compared to servitude and I can sleep at night knowing I'm content with a tuna sandwich for dinner.