They'll Always Have Paris

My friend and his partner are on their way to Paris this afternoon. Lucky them. They invited me to go along... actually, they implored me to go. "Come to Paris with us!"... "It'll be fabulous, like something out of a movie!"... "This is a great time for you to go! You have nowhere to be, nothing but time!"... "Can you imagine!?! You could totally find yourself there and meet some fabulous French guy and live happily ever after in a beret!"... "When are you ever going to have this opportunity again?"

I've always wanted to visit the City of Light and I know I will someday, though definitely never in July and certainly not as a third wheel.  But who are they kidding?!?  I should go to Paris (not on their dime or else I'd have gone, third-wheel-in-July-be- damned) when I have no idea how I'm going to stay solvent if I don't find full-time employment.  I had to endure an entire evening of peer-pressurized begging last week and am glad they're finally on their way so I can have a little peace.  I have my fingers crossed that they'll bring me back some macarons from Ladurée.

It would be nice if life was like it is in the movies and even though I have major financial commitments, few resources and am entirely self-supporting, I could jet off devil-may-care to a foreign land where I discover myself and, of course, find myself discovered by a local heartthrob, then ride off into the sunset or something.  But I can't.  Who can!?!  I pointed out how unrealistic their pipe dream was; aside from being fiscally irresponsible, it was fiscally impossible, and they just scoffed and said I was a stick-in-the- mud.  Easy to say when you're a corporate VP.  Too bad he's not in my field of work.

It's so funny to me the level of incomprehension among my friends.  I just had to explain to a girlfriend that, no, I could not  do a movie and lunch Saturday afternoon because it's not in my budget and she said "who can't afford a movie and a salad?"  Um, me.  I'll get back to all of those little life extras when I have regular funds coming in.  For my age group, it's very apparent that the buy now, pay later philosophy has run amuck.  But I'm sure my mortgage lender appreciates that I'm pinching my pennies and not running off to Gay Paree with next month's payment.

The Roaring Twenties

Well, who wouldn't want to live in this Marvelous Age???

Spinsters in the New Economy

I've been job-hunting for four months.  I can hardly believe it.  I am working part-time and I actually enjoy my part-time gig.  Unfortunately, I have full-time bills.  And anyway, I suspect I only like it because I breeze in for a four or five hour shift and feel like I head home almost as soon as I get there, taking no burden of  responsibility home with me.  For the job search, I've tried everything.  Turned over every rock, exhausted every networking contact and I am still, for the most part, unemployed.

I've already gone through all of the stages of loss: Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Despair and now, Acceptance.  I'm so beyond feeling sorry for myself and wasting energy on hating my old boss.  I still do, I just don't think about it anymore.  A month ago, I felt like the world was on my shoulders.  I couldn't sleep for all the worrying I was doing.  Unfortunately, I could eat.  And then I would get mad at myself for eating my feelings because it's a lot harder to get a job if you don't look gorgeous.  Isn't that sad?  I think so.  An unfortunate truth.

Two weeks ago I had a call from an old contact wondering if I'd be interested in a new opportunity in her field.  I would!  I was ecstatic!  She emailed the desired skill-set to me; I was a perfect fit.  I interviewed the very next day.  It all went so smoothly, I could tell I was completely nailing the interview and it turned out the interviewer (my would-be-boss) is connected to my very best former boss ever.  So, I knew the amazing reference would seal the deal.  After a two-hour interview, I was exhausted but went home on cloud nine, positive that the universe is balanced and everything always works out in the end.  Or does it?

My old boss called me later that afternoon, all excited, and told me about the spectacular reference she gave me, that the new boss was so enthusiastic about me, and that she was sure they'd be making me an offer before the end of business that day.  She said at the very least, she'd be shocked if I didn't hear something by the next day.  I thought so, too!  I had sent my "thank you" emails the minute I got home and late that afternoon received the "Your reference was awesome, I enjoyed talking with you, let's talk salary" email and thought it was really going to happen.  Well, I heard nothing else that day, or the next, or the next, or the next.  And then it was the weekend, so I waited until Monday.  Nothing.

So Monday afternoon I called, had to leave a message on voicemail and followed up with an email.  I got a response the next day "I need to connect with so-and-so to discuss next steps, sorry for the delay", etc.  Not a total brush-off, but not exactly encouraging, either.  I had a bad feeling that this person, though a VP and incredibly successful, may not be comfortable having uncomfortable discussions.  It could be any number of things: they're not creating the position after all, my salary request was too high, they're interviewing other candidates, or maybe they really do think I'm great and I'm just antsy because I've been out of work for a third of a year.  Whatever the reason, it's been two weeks and I still don't know whether or not I have the job that they really needed to start last Monday.

I wanted this job sooo bad.  I was so excited about the opportunity and my mind was churning with all sorts of creative ideas for it.  Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll come through after all, but I've really done everything I can do and it's in Lady Luck's hands now.  Unfortunately, she just doesn't like me very much.  My little brother got all of the luck in the family.  I am the girl that nothing ever works out for and I have finally come to accept that.  I have a pretty good day here and there, but I need to temper my expectations a bit.  I want life to be vibrant and exciting and my career to be challenging and rewarding.  I think instead of hoping and wishing that things will be super awesome, I should expect them to be just okay.  That way, when they are super awesome, I'll take notice but when things are just okay, I won't feel so disillusioned.

Oh, but how badly I wanted it to work out this time!

Independence Day for the Single Gal

I had one of the best holidays today.   I turned down every invitation to attend  pool parties, the Peachtree Road Race, a local parade and various fireworks displays around town.

Instead, I slept in a little, made an enormous pot of coffee, had farmers-market fresh blueberries with my yogurt this morning, watched a few historic gems on The History Channel, made a flower arrangement and when I was sure it was going to remain sunny all day, I packed a beachy tote with all the poolside necessities and walked to my neighborhood pool which was blissfully devoid of neighbors with kids.

The appreciation for the day is never lost on me, considering what a history buff I am, and today especially so as it was my first Independence Day that I didn't have to work in about five years.    I spent the day in the sun with my Kindle and then returned home, bronzed and relaxed, to make a very July 4th-appropriate dinner.  Grilled chicken, salad, corn on the cob and (unsweet) iced tea.  Just like the barbecues we used to have by my grandparents' pool when I was a kid, minus the deviled eggs, potato salad, baked beans and the apple pie.  Oh, I miss apple pie.  I'm watching my starches - the corn was a splurge.  Incidentally, "unsweet" is the correct way to say you'd like your iced tea without sugar in the South.  We do know that "unsweetened" is grammatically correct but lobbing off a syllable or two is what keeps us cool in the summer heat - talking too much and too fast has a cumulative negative effect on your body heat; it's not scientifically proven but it's a known fact.  And you never have to specify "iced" either, we rarely take it any other way.  That would be silly.

I live close enough to downtown Atlanta that I could hear the fireworks going off as I watched them on TV.  So I got to enjoy the display without the crowds and traffic.  Honestly, the only thing that would have made today better would be real surf and a few palm trees, but the pool and hot pink crepe myrtles that line it were just fine by me.

Happy Birthday, I Guess

My 35th birthday was Friday.  It went largely uncelebrated though I joked to a friend that there would be a parade, pony rides and face-painting.  Hey, a girl can dream.  I just can't kick this funk I've been in, though I've certainly faked my way through it with friends, co-workers and family, and I'm afraid that my birthday didn't help at all.

I feel like I do a lot of belly-aching about stuff on my blog but you'd never know how sad I was if you knew me in person.  A long time ago, after my grandparents died and I was having a rough time coping at work (and at home,) a concerned supervisor gave me one of those "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff....and it's all small stuff" books and a higher-up sent me a copy of one of those 'fake the fun and you'll start to have fun' popular books.  It worked, I appreciated the gesture and I got the message "don't show your personal shit, it's annoying and unprofessional" and I've lived by it.  I've also learned over the years that people don't care what's on my mind or how I feel, they want to talk about how they feel.  And I've worked in an industry for years and years that caters to others' needs, not mine, so it's only compounded over time and turned me into some sort of weird privately-emotional, publicly-happy robot.

People like to be around happy people and seem to like to be around me and invite me to parties and such.  But the conversation never gets much deeper than what we're eating, drinking or wearing or how great or horrible the last movie we saw was or general silliness.  I'm the Queen of General Silliness.  Inevitably, someone hits a rough patch, wants someone to talk to, I take the call and genuinely listen and care.  But since the tables have turned and I find myself in a sad slump, there's no one there to take my call.  I told a girlfriend a few weeks ago, "I'm embarrassed to say this out loud, because it's such a cliché for my age, but I'm really lonely and I'm really scared that I always will be."  She made a joke, I said I was serious, I started to cry, she said that I needed to learn to love myself.  She can fuck off.  But, I thought, this is the wrong audience (she's unhappily married) so I need to talk to someone else.  But then I got a joke from the happily married one about how much their dog loves me (he does) and too bad people would talk if I wed a three-year-old Boxer.  That didn't make me feel any less pathetic.

I'm not even talking about marriage here, by the way, just companionship.  Someone to go to a movie with.  Someone to go out for breakfast with on Sunday mornings, someone to go to a baseball game with and maybe go on a hike or something.  Someone to talk to and tell funny stories to and listen to as well.  So I thought I'd talk to my best gay friend and his boyfriend, they'd have to understand!  No.  They thought I was talking about sex and when I clarified that that's not what I'm looking for, they were both dumbfounded and disbelieving.  He said "So, basically, you just want a friend."  I said "I guess so, but more like a friend who really likes me."  And then he dropped a bomb and didn't even know it, he said "But you have friends, lots of friends."  And that was the moment I realized I don't have a single true friend.  And that's why I'm so lonely.

True, I'm lonely because I'm getting old, I'm not meeting people, my clock is ticking and all that, but I'm lonely because I have the world's worst friends.  I can't remember the last time someone asked me to do something that didn't specifically benefit them.  The nice husband of one of my girlfriends has a lot of single guy friends.  I was at their house for dinner earlier this month and he said he should introduce me to some of his friends and see what happens.  She said "No!  Who will I hang out with if she gets involved with someone?!  I'll never see her!"  Before you comment, it has nothing to do with not wanting to introduce me to the wrong guy - she really, truly is that selfish.  She meant what she said exactly as she said it.  Don't take her toy away!

So, here I am, thirty-five.  Single, sad, aging, unsupported, directionless.  My mother forgot to mail my birthday present and said she was sorry it was going to be late.  I said "Don't worry about it, it's late every year, I usually get it after July 4th, you're just keeping up the tradition." and she got mad and yelled at me.  My brother forgot my birthday; my dad had to call and remind him, and he said my card was in the mail.  My dad accidentally had my present shipped to his house instead of mine and he and my stepmom are traveling until the end of the summer, so I can drive the hour and a half to his empty house to pick up my birthday present.  He was genuinely sorry but it just seems to be the way things go for me.  Thank goodness for my little sister.  What would we do without them?!?  She was my birthday angel - she made sure my gift arrived on my actual birthday and made a big fuss over the phone.  It made me think of a picture of the two of us on my 10th birthday: I had just gotten my dream bike that she somehow successfully kept secret for weeks.  Looking at the picture, I can still hear her approaching on tip-toes, asking in her sweet voice "do you like your birthday bike, Meg?"

I didn't have any cards in the mail on Friday or Saturday or any day last week from any of my friends or family.  The phone wasn't ringing and I had no text messages or e-mails.  About a dozen or so people on Facebook did wish me a Happy Birthday, but I hardly know any of them.  The day rolled around and my dance card was totally empty.  No brunch, lunch or dinner invitations, no offers for dessert or cocktails.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Maybe birthdays aren't supposed to be celebrated after a certain age?

I didn't want to feel pitiful, so the afternoon of my birthday, I sucked it up and started calling around to see if anyone would go out to eat with me.  There is a restaurant in Roswell, The Brookwood Grill, that I love and have loved for well over a decade and I know it's not the most sophisticated thing to crave, but all I wanted for my birthday was someone to go to my favorite restaurant with me and let me have the world's best chicken tenders (seriously, they really are amazing) and maybe some ice cream or coffee after.  But I couldn't find a soul willing to come to my side of town.  I had a few hesitant "can you meet us in midtown?" or "can you drive out to *insert far away suburb*?" and one, just one "sure, I can meet you for dinner but we have to go somewhere I can take my new dog" which relegated us to one patio at a quick service restaurant where I had soup and salad because that's all they have.  Not even close to my birthday wish.  At least I wasn't by myself, I guess.  I wish I was the type who can eat alone in a restaurant.  I just can't do it.

So, I went to Coldstone on my way home, bought a small birthday cake, and made at least half of my wish come true.  I got in, called my little sister, cut a piece of cake for myself, opened my present over the phone with her and we laughed and laughed and I thought "well, that wasn't so bad, maybe it's just all about perspective; I had a great birthday with the best sister in the world even if it was just over the phone."

But the phone call ends, the house gets quiet, and I eventually become acutely aware of how alone I am.  I started to feel sad about how uncelebrated I felt and I cried myself to sleep.  Presents, schmesents, I really just wanted some chicken fingers, a little ice cream, a hug and someone to ask if I liked my birthday.

Don't Eat Your Feelings, Sally

I knew the ice cream was an ill-fated emotional purchase when I was at the store.  I knew the marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers were a bad idea and that I would never actually make the s'mores, not to mention how bad they looked in context with everything else in my basket.  I knew that there was no way I could explain the THREE bags of potato chips to the cashier and was praying that she'd think I was preparing for some sort of sleep-over for my non-existent kids in my non-existent family.  I wondered what the personal trainer in front of me was thinking about my junk food on the conveyor.  But, hey, I also bought some granola bars and almonds.

And then I got home and was ticked that I let my feelings do the shopping.  I don't think I've ever, in my entire life, bought three bags of chips in one trip to the store.  At least I can say I didn't eat it all but for half a pint, I was pretty sure that Ben & Jerry were right there with me.  Defeated, disappointed, disillusioned, disenchanted, disastrously off the diet wagon; they feel my pain.

I've had a really rough couple of weeks and I'm starting to wonder if it's all rough weeks with just a few bright spots here-and-there.  And the bright spots are really only there so we don't all become a sisterhood of fat, hairy, angry old maids.  I'm sure things will look up if I can land a job, miraculously lose 15 pounds, win the lottery or, or.... buy more ice cream.  Too bad eating salads doesn't trigger serotonin production.  I'd be a waif.

People DO Change, Redux

Not to dwell in the past but I had one of those stereotypical crappy Mondays today.  It was really bad.  Shoulda'-stayed-in-bed bad.  Office Space "Somebody has a case of the Mondays" bad.  I know that somewhere, someone had a far worse day than I but I'm so bitter that I can't see past my own pitiful problems.

I have gone through a few rounds of interviews for a big-deal job for a huge mega-corporation and got the "thanks but no thanks" email today after filling out the "obligatory affirmative-action form" - are they allowed to tell me that they aren't hiring me because of my race??  Because it's a majority?  Seems weird to me.  That drama was followed by a text from my best friend backing out on our plans to go see Mary Poppins at The Fox on Thursday (which we'd had planned since January) because her 9-month-old has "been fussy" the last few nights and she can't leave her at home with the dad for a few hours because he won't be able to sleep well that night.  It really amazes me.  I know that I'm their only single friend but they must not realize that none of my other friends are single so I do actually have a point of reference for such things.  Of all of my friends with offspring, they are the only ones who are always freaking out.

Mother Theresa, I am not.  Can you imagine?  "You have malaria, child?  Oh, yeah, well I have to go stag to Mary Poppins, so get over it."  So, it's not exactly that bad.  But then.....

The "He's Just Not That Into Me" ex-boyfriend got married over the weekend.  She can have him, seriously.  But why does this kind of news always kick you when you're down?  Why never on the day that you win the lottery?  I had secretly hoped that they'd not make it through their engagement so I could say "see what a jerk he was!?"  Mr. and Mrs. Jerk are now on their honeymoon in the tropics and will be residing in their new home in Dallas, TX upon their return next week.  They are not registered because "with each other, we have everything we need."  To quote Christian Siriano, "I think I just died from barfness."

Spinster Thought of the Weekend

"Don't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad, sour sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetest part of life, if for no other reason."
— Louisa May Alcott (Little Women)

Killer Diller

Not entirely unrelated to my last post, I just found out that my favorite snack food has been discontinued.  So long, Mt. Olive Petite Snack Crunchers!  I hate it when stuff I love gets discontinued. Like when you find the best nail lacquer or the perfect lip stick only to return to the store and not find it waiting excitedly for you to take it home with you.  I know there are better pickles out there, but I don't like a big, whole dill pickle and the cut pickles get kind of soggy and I don't like the texture of the inside part of the pickled cucumber so the petite whole pickle was made for me.

Guess I'll have to move on to gherkins.

Single Gal's Menu du Jour

Ever wonder what grown-up single ladies eat in a given day?  Too exciting for words, I'll let the images tell the whole story.

Don't be jealous.

I promise to eat a salad tomorrow.

The (Almost) Forgotten Rejection

A short-but-sweet story of rejection and flesh-eating insects.  I met a guy about 10 years ago at a party somewhere in Atlanta in the dankest heat of the summer, so it must've been July or August.  The house was in the Virginia Highlands area and the owner had apparently never heard of citronella candles.  That was the moment I learned (even though I am a native and should know better anyway) to always carry some kind of bug repellent in my bag when I go out if I don't want to look like I've had an outbreak of chicken pox the next day or worse, expose myself to West Nile virus. Stupid mosquitoes.  He was kinda cute and I remember sitting on the host's porch, slapping mosquitoes on my arm and drinking sangria with him for a while.  We exchanged email addresses but not phone numbers for some reason.

He emailed me first thing the following Monday morning and we exchanged a few emails back-and-forth.  I kept waiting for him to ask for my number or something but he didn't.  The emails got progressively longer as we continued our chatting and I came home one day that week to an email that read "No thanks, I'm done.  You talk too much."  Rejection is a regular part of career dating but even I have only heard that line once.  Most guys just fade away when they aren't interested and, honestly, that's completely fine by me.  I don't need to have every personality flaw pointed out when a guy is telling me he won't be calling me again. No need to add insult to injury.  Of course I thought it was incredibly rude, I still do, but I have to give the man props for backing out the minute he recognized a vital compatibility error. I really do talk a lot.  Of course, now I think it's kind of funny and he hadn't even crossed my mind in years until the subject came up at a friend's house tonight.  I can't even remember his name.  I've always imagined he joined a monastery in Australia and took a vow of silence.

On Being Dorkish

The absolute BEST thing about working from home is the constant stream of old movies in the background.  Thank God for TCM and Robert Osborne.  I'm a self-professed dork so it should come as no surprise that my TV, when it is on, is tuned to TCM or The History Channel most of the time.  I'm convinced that today is a special treat just for me: all day (grown-up) Shirley Temple movies.  Yay!  The windows are open to natural air conditioning, singing birds, wind chimes and gorgeous sunshine to boot.  And there's not a soul around to bother me!

Rounding out the relaxing work/ movie day with a little Mexican fare and Margaritas with close friends in Midtown tonight might make it the perfect day.  I don't know a lot of people my age anymore who love old(er) movies and I certainly don't know any gals who love The History Channel and I don't really get it.  I always have something to talk about - especially with guys.  There isn't a fella alive who wants to listen to a girl talk about running errands or shopping and cooking or even work or their intuitive pet cat.  Honestly, there's not.  His interest in all that junk is only temporary and is relative to your attractiveness (Demetri Martin explains that here).  But I have kept so many conversations going with "oh, yeah, I think I saw something about that on Modern Marvels!"  Seriously.  But keep the Shirley Temple talk on the DL...that's a gals-only topic.

So, People DO Change?

I'm sure all women (at least my age and younger) have read He's Just Not That Into You and can unequivocally vouch for the truth in those pages.  I think Liz Tuccillo is hilarious (and didn't get enough credit for that book). I completely understand the basic concept.  If he doesn't call or commit or whatever it is that he isn't doing for you, with you or to you, he's just not that into you.  SO true.  And, likewise, fellas.

As a serial dater, I'm really not that hurt when he's not that interested and we part ways.  I'm usually not that interested in him, either.  I'm picky.  But when I have dated someone for a significant period of time (for me, three months is in that category) and we stop seeing each other, I'd like for him to move to another continent and never call me again.  That's what I really mean when I tell someone to "drop dead" - inside I'm saying "I hope you move to Antarctica", not "I hope you have angina."  I have to stop saying that to people.

I dated a guy in 2004 for three or four months.  He was so unbelievably difficult.  He hated crowds, he hated any corporation, he hated pop culture, hated chinese food, hated food with seasoning in general,  hated all of the music that I listened to. He was pleasant at parties and all my friends loved him.  (That was sarcasm.)  He hated sarcasm, hated going to the movies, hated going to concerts, hated "defined" relationships, hated pets, hated holidays, hated kids, hated couples, hated dining out, hated the internet.  It was like dating a good-looking unabomber. Wondering why we went out for three months?  One guess...the one thing he did like.

He had no job, no home, a beat up old car, no money and no direction in life.  (I feel like I need to stress here how handsome he was.)  I'd had my fill of his miserable company, so I broke up with him.  And over the years, he has resurfaced every now and then, usually for one thing.  Thanks to modern technology, he connected with me on facebook.  Thanks to consistent stupidity, I "friended" him.

It was great at first.  Same miserable guy, he moved to Texas.... not Antarctica but good enough for me.  And then he started to evolve.  And I did NOT like it.  He started his own company.  He bought a new car.  He bought a DOG!  WHAT!?  Three things that flew in the face of his annoying beliefs.  And in my ability to believe that I'd at least dodged a bullet when we didn't work out. Then, the worst thing happened.  He met a woman and fell in love. And it's all over facebook.  He loves everything.  They recently went on a few weekend trips together, they dance weekly at the salsa club (seriously!?!) where they met, he brought her home to meet his family, they take loads of "happy couple" pictures and now they have bought a house together and have announced an engagement.  So, the truth is, he's just that into her.

So many times I've wanted to comment "but you always hated that" but I can't do it.  I can't do it to the girl he does love and I can't do it because I really am the girl who loves everything and I am too nice.  I love everything that he hated and deep down inside, beneath the "drop dead" is a little kernel of gladness for his crummy evolution.  And beneath that kernel is another one that knows he's in love now, but in a few years, he'll probably be back to hating everything.  As a girl, though, no matter how sure I am that this guy is one miserable party-pooper, I can't help but wonder what it is that she has that I didn't?  I hope they'll be very happy together.  And I hope their new home is in Antarctica.

Image credit: Megan W Photography http://meganwblog.com   

Liberty

I put in my list all the busy, useful independent spinsters I know, for liberty is a better husband than love to many of us.

~Louisa May Alcott

Journals

I have a problem.  I buy journals like I'm preparing for an apocalyptic shut-in and I plan on coming out of the other side of it with the tome of the ages.  Wire-bound is my preference.  And, sadly, this isn't even all of them - just what was in my craftio (craft room/ studio).  I also love portmanteaus.  Meanwhile, I never have anything handy to write on so all of my grocery lists are written on the back of junk mail envelopes in eyeliner pencil.  I'm way too embarrassed to show you my pen and pencil collection.

Please don't submit me to Hoarders. I need another 30 years, a few more crazy boyfriends, a handful of pets and some sort of substance dependency problem first.  Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Lady Head Vases and Missing Hats

Sometimes I really feel blessed to be single.  Most of the time I don't, so I'll just relish the fleeting moment while it lasts.  I have an interview later this morning (just for something part time) and it's supposed to be another really beautiful Spring day in Atlanta so I'll enjoy spending the early afternoon hours in some of my favorite antiques shops and then home to make some super cute greeting cards for Mother's Day. 

I love antiquing alone because I'm not rushed, I don't have to explain or entertain and I can intimately examine every single salt cellar to try to find one I don't have. (My favorite are the pressed glass variety.)  I'm really on the hunt, though,  for Lady Head Vases which I think are the cutest.  I have one, but it's a vintage baby and not a cute retro lady.  I have never, ever seen one in person in a store.  Scads of them online but there's something about the excitement of seeing one in the flesh...er, ceramic.  There's just something so alluring about oodles of flowers bursting out of the top of your head.  Speaking of gals without crowns, I wish women still wore hats. But I guess we would look pretty silly with the tees, yoga pants and flip flops that seem to be standard attire in the burbs anymore.

I've Got Your Back

My back is killing me.  This morning I realized that it's been bothering me for a few days and I tried in earnest to get to the right spot.  I felt like a bear in a cartoon making friends with a tree trunk.  I can't afford a massage right now and I tried to remember the last time someone rubbed my back.  I'm embarrassed to admit, I think it was the last time I paid for a massage: late March 2008.  Over two years ago.

So, score one for the marrieds - someone is there to watch (and even rub) your back when it's sore.  Maybe I'll try to put some Icy-Hot on it or fire up the heating pad.

Au Naturel

One of the GREAT benefits of being a single gal is not shaving regularly.

Of course, that's also a great way to stay single... and anyway, it's time to start wearing shorts and sundresses again!!

Saving "Old Maids"

While scouring the interwebs for fun facts about Old Maids, I stumbled upon a popcorn site.  Apparently, Old Maids are also "kernels that fail to pop and are often found at the bottom of the popcorn bowl" and can be rejuvenated because "water in kernels is what causes popcorn to pop, so all you need to do is re-hydrate the dried kernels."

Thanks to David Woodside's book What Makes Popcorn Pop? for bringing to light another dimension of shame to the public image of an Old Maid, grainy or granny.  I'm gonna go re-hydrate myself with some gin and store myself in a cool place for a while.

Image credit: LIFE Magazine, February 1947

Bird-Watching and Birds-Who-Watch

My grandmother passed away 10 years ago.  I really can't believe it's been that long.  I loved her so much and my heart's been broken ever since she passed.  She was cool, beautiful, eccentric, a real neat gal. 

She was an ice cream scooper at Crescent Park in Rhode Island as a teen in the 1930s, she met my grandpa when he was on shore leave during WWII and won a jitterbug contest one time.  She had a laugh that would make your belly tickle on the inside until it gave in, no matter what sort of mood you were in.  She loved wearing silly hats and working in her garden, enhanced every holiday to the last detail and made clothing and all sorts of swell crafts.  She saved pencils and rubber bands until the former was sharpened down to the ferrule and the latter was petrified.  And she loved to watch birds. 

She wasn't a member of the audubon society or anything but she would bird-watch for hours by the pool in the backyard.  She had a thing for cardinals and there was a little stained glass one suctioned to the sliding glass door that overlooked the porch where we all napped in the summer heat, the pool where we swam until our skin pruned and the garden she tended.  After she passed on and the house was sold, the bird was left on the door.  I have no idea if the widow who bought the house kept it there but I hope she did.  It just didn't seem right to remove it. 

I'm sure I'm anthropomorphizing a little but every now and then I'll see a red cardinal - in a tree or perched on something or flying somewhere and I think of my grandmother.  All of her quirks and characteristics, every birthday, every Christmas, every Easter egg hunt, every single experience, her smell, her voice, her laugh, it all flashes in a matter of seconds.  And it's usually when I need to remember that there was once someone who I loved so unconditionally and who loved me back even more. 

This morning I went into the kitchen to make some coffee and caught a glimpse of red out of my big kitchen window.  There was a little, vibrantly-bright-red cardinal hopping up and down the path to my front door from the stairs that go up to the parking lot, along the edge of my kitchen garden.  I stood there and watched her hop up-and-down and back-and-forth for a few minutes and then she just hopped off into the woods to join some other birds, I presumed.  And I kinda felt like my grandmother was just dropping in to say hi.

The Story of Carl & Ellie

I might as well come out of the dork closet early on: I am a HUGE Disney and Pixar fan.  If I could move into the Magic Kingdom, I would.  I'm not a pin-trader or a figurine-collector and I don't attend conventions but I am a professional memory-collector. 

The first movie I ever saw in a theater was Mary Poppins with my mom.  The first time I got scared at a movie in the theater was during Night Crossing, resulting in an unfortunate spillage of an entire box of red hots, with my mom.  The first 3-D film I ever saw was a Chip & Dale/Donald Duck cartoon with my beloved, dearly missed grandparents.  The first drive-in movie I ever experienced was a double-feature of Snow White and something else that I fell asleep during, with my entire family.  (They still have drive-ins here in the South and they were rampant in the late 70's/early 80's.)  My first record was Mickey Mouse Disco.  I remember walking down Main Street USA for the first time in 1981, holding my little sister's hand.  I had my first panic attack in a bathroom stall in Fantasyland behind Peter Pan's Flight on my 30th birthday.  See the pattern?

I didn't really intend this to be a love letter to Disney but, honestly, it's been my longest commitment next to my little family.  I have even refused to continue dating men who take a political stance against Disney.  (To be honest, I generally don't date men who boycott stuff just to be "cool" or controversial.)  And you don't want to get me going on what a visionary Walt was and how thorough the Imagineers are or how detailed Pixar is.

So as I was putting my blog together this morning, I had UP playing in the background and just hearing it playing brought back the flood of emotions I felt when I first saw it.  Only five minutes into the movie and I'm bawling, my throat is killing me and my heart is at once breaking for Carl & Ellie and in love with Carl & Ellie.  I'm not giving anything away but this movie fully captures the essence of life and love in just a few minutes of frames.  The most artful and tender way to tell a love story I think I have ever seen.  Ever.  More impactful than a two hour movie.  No dialogue, just the unspoken narrative of beautifully animated character development.  I. Was. On. The. Floor.

It amazes me how affected I am by this scene every single time.  It's just so expressive that I can't help but turn to mush.  The love Carl & Ellie have for each other and the love the animators must have had for these characters just shines through.  I need to remember to put this movie in when I wonder what it's all about, what the meaning of life is.  It's the story of Carl & Ellie.

Shabby Blogs

I have to give a shout-out from one Meg to another: Shabby Blogs made my blog so pretty that it's almost worth checking in to read my whinings, n'est-ce pas?

If you have an affinity for Megs, follow both of us on Twitter: Shabby Blogs Twitter (you can find the Twitter button for yours truly to the right). If you only have an affinity for cute, free and user-friendly blog spiffer-uppers, that's fine, too. My feelings won't be hurt. Well, only a little, anyway.

Spinstery Things

I became a spinster almost 9 years ago when I surpassed the accepted "marriageable" age of 26. I became aware of my spinsterhood when I turned 30. I became acutely aware of it last year when my girlfriends started some sort of fertility pandemic and all became pregnant with their thirds. Uh, not to imply that babies are an infectious disease.

I'm unofficially in my mid-thirties. In fact, I filled out an online form earlier this week for something-or-other and it truncated my selected age to the "late thirties" category. I think that's really harsh - I'm two months away from 35 and I hardly think it's fair to apply "34" to "late-thirties" but whatever.

Last week I visited one of my married girlfriends for the day. Actually, all but two of my girlfriends are married. And all but one of the marrieds have kids; the one that doesn't has two dogs, three cats, a bird and a very immature husband so we can really lump her in with the rest. So my girlfriend (who lives in a beautiful house on the lake) said she really envies how free I am. I keep hearing this. I don't get it. I saw no dungeon there. No chains. No gates keeping her in. What's the deal?

She misses being single. She misses taking off for the weekend with friends. Misses not having to make arrangements with babysitters, dog sitters, house sitters, etc. to be free and 'experience life' and stuff. But the thing is...I don't do that, either. My last spontaneous weekend road trip was in 2007. My last FUN weekend road trip was in 2006.

It got me thinking about how little marrieds know about singles. Or, at least how little my friends know about me. If she only knew how monotonous yet stressful my life is, she'd be thankful for her ball-and-chain (plus, her husband is adorable and super-sweet to her). And then it hit me: I realized she's not at all envious, she's "reverse-sour-graping" me! My spinstery life, my situation, makes her uncomfortable and she doesn't want to make me feel bad, so she makes her situation pale in comparison to my {{allegedly}} vibrant, swinging single life.

I thought if I actually detailed to my friends what my day-to-day routine (or rut, really) looks like, I'd lose 'em all! They'd be so disenchanted. Tuesday I watched 8 consecutive episodes of Law & Order SVU, then I baked a potato, made a cocktail and watched MORE TV. Not because I'm "free" or because I'm "so lucky" to have "so much time" but because I'm lazy, I'm in-between jobs and it was so much more appealing than sending out more résumés. There isn't anyone around (not even family) to keep me in check and it's not like my phone is ringing off the hook with potential employers or suitors these days.

But, yes, I am free to hop in the car and take a road trip this weekend. All by myself. With little money and no destination.