Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Last night I made Turkey Stock. In the middle of this process I fell asleep on the couch. It cooked for 8 hours. (woops) It was on a slow simmer. When I awoke the windows were coated with steam. There can be no mistake, I smell like turkey.
I was feeling a bit down, laying on the couch with a blanket pulled over my head (it smelled like turkey). And what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Twas the presence of Evil, hell yes, he was here.
I waited, paralyzed. Knock Knock. I ignored it. Then he just walked in. God DAMN-it!!!!
I stared at the wall not hearing a word he was saying descending into a palpable depression realizing that after 7 years of celibacy, I managed to contract a sexually transmitted disease. The kind that won't go away. It's called Evil Surfer Dude.
Springing to life, for a second, realizing this might be a potential blog moment, I snapped his picture, then asked him to leave. (I can't even LOOK at the picture)
Later, I managed to drag myself to the most magical place on earth, Albertsons in Corona Del Mar, for vegetables to finish my soup. I looked like shit. From the corner of my eye I thought I saw my favorite checker, Big John, cutting his eye at me. I walked passed hoping I'd been mistaken... "Hi Char! Are you doing anything for New Years Eve?" He inquired. "Nope." I said. "Ok. I'll be over at 10:00 pm" he replied.
The people in his line laughed. I smiled thinking, I could do worse. With a little dental work and a new hip, he might be alright.
Happy New Year. (Sobs into Chardonnay)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Huh? Why is this guy interested in ME? He's 37. Departing from my rule to strictly date men who are hideously ugly (so they'll be nice to me) I gave him my number.
I'm no "Cougar". But um, before cougars were invented, I dated a younger guy.
When I broke up with him he began throwing pebbles at my window, pounding on my front door weeping. It was all very dramatic. At the time I'd read (ok skimmed) the Birth Order book which suggested the eldest female sibling of a family was the perfect match for the youngest male sibling in another. Total crap.
Here's the thing. Mitch did my laundry. He would come over, pick it up, wash and fold it, then return it to me.
Evil also did my laundry. He wasn't trying to be helpful or provide evidence of his adoration. He was merely so anal retentive he couldn't abide watching me put clothes in the washer without turning the shirts right side out or failing to fluff each, individually, before placing it in the dryer. Because he was so fastidious, when I did laundry in his presence I became maniacal. I would grab it, throw it around, pick articles that had fallen to the ground and slam them into the washer. It was a performance that produced results. a
Evil would fold each piece of clothing meticulously, as I watched...mouth agape. This generally resulted in me grabbing my thong underwear out of his hand screaming, "You don't need to fold UNDERWEAR, you freak"!
I've been single for 5 days. Already I'm reminiscing about Evil. Have I become one of THOSE women? Sweet Jesus. The next thing you know I'll be surrounded by cats.
I'll post his Profile in my comments section because it bored me. I don't want to bore you too.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Bachelor #1. Eleven (11) votes
Bachelor #2. Three (3) votes
Bachelor #3. Four (4) votes
Bachelor #4. (Smelly Shelly's Dad) One (1) vote
Bachelor #5. (Evil Surfer Dude) One (1) vote
For those of you that refused vote, I'm not naming names, Mike, Hedgie, Pacing in the Panic Room, LL, Comedy Goddess, Mama Dawy. P.O.M and Tammy, it's a numbers game.
On the first date, the minute your eyes meet, you know. (When I first met Evil's gaze I thought; "JESUS this bastard is U.G.L.Y." Then he grew on me.
We ate lunch then strolled on the beach. To access the beach we had to descend a flight of stairs. I was wearing (look-at-me-I'm-a-hooker) platform shoes. I also had a torn meniscus. Because of the pain, each time my heel hit the stair I exclaimed, "Mother F*cker". (I said it approximately 30 times.) I could have said, God D*mn Mother F*cker, but I'm a lady.
It turned out that Evil had a penchant for profanity too. (Whew) Hey, I can control it. I mean, I use it...er, occasionally.
My Irish mother swore like a sailor. Since the people in my family were educated (physicians, attorneys, intellectuals, etc. ) I thought evidence of an advanced degree meant pronouncing the "F" word correctly. Irish people have mastered it. The effect is that it's delivery is as offensive as possible. I'm no Noam Chomsky but I think it's due to vestigial remains of the guttural articulations (sounds-like-grandma-is-extracting-phlegm) sounds commonly heard in Gaelic. I will never get it right. (Sigh)
On the beach we accidentally invaded a wedding video. We walked within inches of the video camera, peering directly into it before realizing what we had done. The bride said, "I do" and then Charmaine's enormous head is in the frame. Evil grabbed my hand and we fled, giggling.
Further down the beach we climbed up an abandonded life guard stand. To this day, at age 47, I cannot resist the temptation of an abandoned life guard stand. Especially ones with signs reading, "Keep Away" or "Do Not Enter".
Walking back up the stairs Evil pinched my bottom, "You're right. You don't have a butt." he said. Then he pinched it for the next 6 months until Christmas day when, gazing at him, I had the exact same thought I did when I first looked at him.
Here is my shameless add on plentyoffish.com.
I am a playful, zany, intelligent hard working woman. I'm a little artistic and an independent thinker. (It's difficult to discern if I'm to the left of Ralph Nader or to the right of Attila the Hun) - but only when I'm being tricky.
I like physical and mental challenges, my own space and invading other people’s space. Some of my skills include walking on water, reading minds and levitating small to medium sized objects, but I don’t like to brag about this.
If YOU were on a dating website (even if you're married) what would YOUR profile say? There is a prize involved. The winner is going to get something GREAT. My first blog award. Possibly one of Evil's Christmas presents. I can't decide.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
I’m a straight forward and honest man with very strong family values. I'm an adventurous person who enjoys traveling abroad (when I can afford it) and being on the go. I work out at the gym 3-4 days a week, as keeping in shape is important to me. Looking to meet someone to have fun and laughs with... make friends... and then see where things go from there. Physical attraction is important no matter how shallow it may appear at first. I'd like to meet somebody with ‘tons of spirit’ and loves life!!. Doesn't matter if you work out at the gym or not, however pride in how you look, how you carry yourself, having integrity, a sense of spirituality, passion and humility are all a major plus in my eyes. There is so much more to me that I can not cover here. If you are interested, please drop me a line. PS, If you need a reference or check my background, please let me know and I will get you in contact with my mother as she was the one that put me up to this. (LOL) :)
I had to sign up to meet you, and now here is this box, mocking me with questions. Ok, last count I had the correct number of appendages. I am slightly more interesting than I appear in your rear view mirror. I don't believe everything I think.I possess a keen appreciation for beauty in all forms, connecting me to the universe. I care deeply about my son, the union of man and woman, self-expression with pen (ok, computer), my sport, and more (yes, more).In search of a loving, lasting relationship for a warm and blessed journey.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I sent every last scrap of the 13 lb. Christmas Turkey to the turkey I was dating. I was so angry at the time (I didn’t tell you the half of it) I gave him every last morsel.
Anger makes me “giving”.
I woke up this morning dying for a Turkey sandwich, All I had was a bare turkey carcass. I skipped to the market and bought a Turkey Breast Roast.
After slaving for days on the original turkey I decided, forget that! I’m gonna wing it.
Herb Roasted Turkey Breast
2 ½ lb. Turkey Breast Roast (skin on)
Thyme and Sage
That's it. Chop the vegetables, throw them into a roasting pan and place the roast on top because you can’t find your roasting rack. Drizzle with olive oil, salt, pepper and TONS of Thyme. (Seriously, you can’t over do it.)
Look. I have too much Thyme on my hands.
Pour in some chicken stock and a little white wine. Rub a bit of softened butter on the roast with copious amounts of salt, pepper and Thyme.
Don’t strain yourself.
(I don’t know why I’m like this.)Drink some wine. Rub roast with softened butter. Roast at 350 for 45 minutes. Baste. Another 45 minutes and…
Be still my beating heart.
The house smells like heaven, turkey sandwiches for days, "Evil" is gone and there is peace on Earth.
PS: I won another photo caption award. I tend to win when there is ZERO competition. This one was held by "Crotchety Old Man".
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tupperware? The cheap fake Tupperware? How did you know? It's what I've always wanted.
How romantic. I gazed down at my knife set, then at Evil's jugular.
The finale. All I could say was, "Evil, did you ever consider ASKING me what I wanted?"
Other gifts included a Salt and Pepper shaker and a hideous $8.99 black plastic wall clock.
Charmaine: What made you choose a black plastic clock?
Evil: It's matches your keyboard.
Charmaine: My keyboard isn't black.
Evil: The bench is.
Charmaine: You bought a clock to match the bench below my Keyboard?
After the wrinkle cream he could have offered me a black diamond and I would have thrown it at him. I packed up his left overs and pretended to fall asleep on the couch. He left. The minute he was out the door I miraculously sprang to life to life and called a friend.
Then I emailed Evil and broke up with him. "I'm not your mother" I said. "Where did you get this stuff anyway?"
"K-mart" he responded.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
There was a knock at the door. Evil walked in and made a U-turn. “I need to get something from my car” he said. When he returned he had a gift bag containing Christmas presents.
Evil is the cheapest man I've ever met so why do I have a gift mountain? I had mentioned that I needed a poinsettia and he brought that too. Wha? He's LISTENING to me? This is not Evil, this is an alien.
“Why did you do this and where is your mother ship?” I demanded.
Then he took me to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory. Compared to where he USUALLY takes me, it was the Ritz.
We returned to my house, watched a movie and then he left.
Tsk….tsk…you vulgar people (you know who you are and that I love you for it). But saying a thing and doing it are two separate acts.
Below is the gift I got him. It's a shirt. (I mean, I HAD to.)
Not only can I rap, but I can wrap...
And this. It's a $10.00 gift certificate. Whose cheap now? (Hey, quit looking at my hand. I'm NOT a hand model.)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
His favorite thing to say was, "Girl, why you always Doggin' me?"
Chris and I lived in a Dorm (on the same floor) at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He gave me guitar lessons or we just visited. I think I used to drag him around town including, once, to my mothers house. He was a tall, kind young man. His gentle nature and warm laughter made me feel safe. Chris was my friend.
We're rappin', huh, we're rockin' to the beat.
Friday, December 19, 2008
My girlfriend, Kim, is applying for a Security Clearance. Why she gave my name as a reference, I will never know.
Here's the problem: I have a slight problem with male authority figures.
It started when my former boss, Ken, challenged me to vocabulary competitions in the board room. He frequently lost but he was my boss. I let it go. Until...THAT day.
He copied me on an email. I responded incorporating use of the word phantasmagorical. (I had beat him in the "competition" with that one.)
"Dear Charmaine, ACTUALLY... the proper use of the word is phantasmagorial," he responded.
I replied, "Ken, if you used something more sophisticated then your third grade level spell check, you would know the proper term is phantasmagorical. But since you are watching, I will carry a pocket dictionary at all times, to protect myself."
"Charmaine, You'll need more then a pocket dictionary to protect yourself from ME."
The next day we were upgrading computers. Ken had given the old computers to friends. He asked if I wanted one:
"But Ken, we're not allowed to take the old computers," I said.
The next day an IT guy dropped by. The task of matching serial numbers to the defunct computers fell on me. I had serial numbers, but no computers. I didn't know what to do. Finally I just said:
"Ken took them."
An hour later doors slammed, people rushed past my office glaring at me with hatred.
I called the Ombudsman office, suspecting Ken might retaliate. I learned this office is used to advise your boss he has a "snitch" on his hands.
I was called into Kens office, and fired.
Ironically, days earlier a video was circulated from the President of Rockwell Semiconductors. His pointing finger warned, "ethical behavior is your responsibility". If you overhear a secretary making a personal phone call, it's your duty to notify management." (He didn't say what to do if "management" was stealing computers.) I was confused.
Ken and I were called to HR for mediation. "I'm a pragmatist," Ken said smugly. "I simply cannot tolerate a non-team player ". WTF?
I didn't know Ken was friends with the Vice President. The Vice President had been caught having sex in his office with a Marketing Coordinator.
I can still see Ken strolling into my office; "God I love my job," he said. "I get paid over 400K and I don't really do much".
When I hear about the bail-outs, I know it involves corruption from the top down.
Investigator: Does Kim have any aliases?
Investigator: Has Kim ever conspired with Foreign Nationals to over-throw the government?
Charmaine: No. I mean, not that I know of. ha ha
Investigator: Has Kim ever had a negative experience with law enforcement?
Charmaine: She got a speeding ticket once. I was with her. But it wasn't what I would call a "negative"experience.
Investigator: What do you mean?
Charmaine: It was a fun experience. The police officer was a hoot.
Investigator: We consider all encounters with law enforcement to be negative.
Investigator: What can you tell me about Kim's alcohol consumption?
Charmaine: She's a drunken whore. We're event planners. It's a job requirement.
Charmaine: I was just kidding.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wait for it. Right now the thought of seeing Evil Surfer Dude has me in ill humour. In fairness, there was a time I contemplated marrying the man. (See tomorrows R-rated post.) I want to offer you some history, Cover your eyes, no small children puleez.
Let's take a break from dating, shall we?
This is my nephew Brody. I love this boy in a way that astounds me. His mother, my kid sister, (the one I lived to torment) is an attorney who generally exhibits sound judgement. Alas, she allowed her husband to take him to the barbershop today.
After. Ahhh. Mothers beware.
If you check blogs, check out "My Baby Sis -The Lawyer" to read her true confessions including how she dropped Brody on his head.
My mother dropped me on my head too. It's a family tradition. I think. I can't remember. For God's sake I was dropped on my head. Show some compassion.
Monday, December 15, 2008
be traumatized to learn that I eat cows.
Braja (who lives in a small village in India) unbelievably posted her profound and abiding love for cows (she owns one as a pet) on the very SAME DAY I posted my recipe for Veal.
Braja. I beg you, PULEEEZ do not read the post below. Don't do it. Really, stop right here. I see you going for your mouse. I'm not kidding, STOP. For the love of Jesus, Buddha, Allah... STOPPPPPP!!!!! (faints)
On a dating note: In a moment of weakness (drunken stupor) late last night, I sent "Evil Surfer Dude" an email: "I want to see you one last time."
I awoke this morning in a panic so violent my leg shot out and I fell off the couch. Picking myself off the floor I stumbled toward the computer. Please God it was just a dream, right? I hate "Evil Surfer Dude" I would NEVER send him an email. Rushing to my hotmail, I clicked the "sent" folder... a blood curdling scream. Ahhhhhhhhh
Evil and I broke up weeks ago. One day I simply couldn't stand the sight of him. Everything he had done wrong hit me at once.
Here's the problem...it's the holidays and I was feeling kinda lonely and...um...I remembered there was ONE thing that Evil didn't do wrong.
He's coming over on Friday.
Now I realize, that uh...technically speaking this might be considered a "booty call". But I am so NOT that gal. I have never been on either side of the "booty call" phenomenon. I don't have a booty TO call.
I'm "uptight". I practise the "three (3) month" rule. No Hanky Panky" for three (3) months. Prior to "Evil" I practised the No Hanky Panky until the wedding night rule for about seven (7) years.
"Evil" counted down the days. "Hi Charmaine, it's day 63". "Hey Charmaine, we're on day 74, you'd better get ready".
He will arrive and I will likely have that visceral, gut wrenching disgust for him rise in me again and slam the door in his face.
But I'll keep it at bay until he gives me my Christmas presents.
VEAL SCALLOPINI WITH BROWN BUTTER AND CAPERS
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup flour
1 lb thin veal scallopini (less than 1/4 inch thick). Pound the hell out of it to make it thin.
1/2 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 1/2 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
1 1/2 tablespoons drained capers
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
Heat a 12-inch heavy skillet until hot, add oil and heat until it shimmers.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Fill with the mixture. So cute.
Hit each with a drizzle of olive oil and bake at 400 degrees until beautiful aromas arrive. This should take around 25 minutes.
Sprinkle fresh herbs for shameless beauty points. (Faints again) Next time add extra Parmesan on top before you bake to achieve a hard Parmesan shell.
I'll be honest, the tomatoes are not really to die for but they're cute. Next time we are making Veal Scallopini with brown butter and capers which IS to die for. I was raised eating veal. I assume because my mother was attracted to the fact the baby cows had to suffer. But that's another post.
Cya. Gotta see a man about a Tomato.
Friday, December 12, 2008
When their eyes met their was a spark!
When their lips met their was lighting!!
When their hearts met,.. their was thunder!!!!
My response to his hopeful message was: "Ahhhhh
hhhh". (Breathing in) "Ahhhhhhhhh".
Prior to this he had left approximately eight (8) messages on my cell per day.Don't get me wrong, I enjoy enthusiasm. I really do. But say, after the seventh time I don't pick up.... shouldn't it infer I don't want to talk?
Checking my messages:
Enthusiast: "Hi Charmaine this is…"
Enthusiast: "Hi Charmaine this is..."
Enthusiast: "Hi Charmaine this is..."
I'm not a cruel woman. I just have a short attention span. Please don't say the exact same thing...if you don't want me to hang up.
Eventually we talked. And talk he did until my cell died. I confess to having had two glasses of wine (and a Tylenol PM) which miraculously helps the time fly.
Enthusiast: "The first time I had sex with my High School girlfriend was..."
Enthusiast: "Bla bla bla"
Enthusiast: " Bla bla bla."
Me: Fails to respond. Sound of heavy breathing. SNORT.
(I have sleep apnea.)
The next day he called, "Meet me at the Mexican Food Place on the right after crossing the bridge onto Newport Boulevard.
I've lived here a LONG time. I had no idea where he meant. But I could get there.
I arrived to learn that this man drove 1.5 hours from San Diego to meet me at a fast food dive.
He said, "Wow, you are nothing like I pictured. I had no idea you would be so hot". I appreciated this remark. I'd had my hair done the day prior.
When I arrived my hairstylist commented, "Jeez. You are totally Blonde and your hair is fried". I said, "I know. Just fix it".
Apparently "just fix it,” means dye the clients hair black.
We placed our orders. He told the girl behind the counter the order was, "to go". Huh? "Where are you taking me?" I said. "It's a surprise" he responded. "You'd better not try to abduct me cuz I'll kick your ass" I said affectionately..
His plan was to take our disgusting lunch and drive to the Balboa Auto Ferry (sit on the bench as the Ferry drove back and forth) and eat it.
I imagine he thought this was clever. (I had mentioned that I like the water.) But I live here. The Auto Ferry is a means to an end, it’s a way of getting from point A to point B. I like it, for sure, but the smell of diesel fuel as locals glare at me from behind their car windows as I eat lunch like a refugee from Afghanistan with no place to go doesn't really work for me.
He paid the Ferry boy an extra 10 bucks for the privilege of allowing us to go back and forth on the Ferry. The kid tried to give the money back. The Enthusiast was demonstrating that he was a big spender. The burrito in front of me begged to differ.
Now here's the thing. I told "The Enthusiast" about my blog. (Note to self: Don’t ever do that again.) I told him I would not write about him or post his picture.
I did not post his picture so, technically speaking, I am not a total liar. Right?
He's 48 and owns an investment firm. He was previously a Motivational Speaker.
I believe it. I've hired plenty.
In our first conversation, however, I became irritated. In planning our date it became clear that he intended to spend the entire day together.
This sent bolts of panic down my spine.
He suggested we meeting for coffee, stroll on the beach, drive over and hop on a gondola for some wine and cheese followed by dinner.
I met him at my local Starbucks.
He rushed to meet me in the middle of the crosswalk for a hello hug. That was cute. We walked to his filthy dented car. Not so cute.
I soon learned he did not have a gondola reserved. He did not have lunch/dinner or any other manner of reservation. He had no plan what-so-ever.
I don’t mind taking charge but not after a man tells me he has it under control.
The irony is that I’m a planner by profession. But honestly, I don’t like to plan a first date.
I know I'll come up with a thrilling surprise, like trapeze lessons, then the guy will show up with the prosthetic arm he forgot to mention.
I maneuvered the date from beginning to end. I began…turn left and lets take the car Ferry to Balboa Peninsula. Turn right. Park. Walk this way. Look up there, how about lunch at Newport Landing? Good? Good.
During lunch he told me his life story. All 48 years worth. Now, there is nothing wrong with that. Really there isn't. But there is a problem.
I can’t take my eyes off his yellow teeth.
I can’t even focus on what he’s saying. I’m mesmerized, transfixed, TRAPPED in my own secret world of thoughts about his yellow teeth. And they are playing.. non-stop... in my head.
They sound like this; “In this day and age is there a reason to have yellow teeth? Why does he have yellow teeth? Why are they so pointy? Weird. He looks like a werewolf” He’s talking about his first wife now…. I’m thinking, "All you have to do is go to the drug store for Plus White. It costs, $5.00 bucks? Does he not have $5.00 bucks?” He’s telling me about his terrific kids now. They're in the theatre... All I’m hearing is; “He has employees, is it possible that not one has mentioned his yellow teeth as a professional courtesy? I would tell him if I worked for him. But I could never work for someone with such perplexingly pointy teeth. Is that how his wife died? He gave her a"love-bite" and it ended in a blood bath?.
My thoughts cascade down a slippery slope to not-so-very-nice thoughts; “he’s not 5’10” he’s 5’8” why lie about it? Is that a stain on his shirt? Who dresses this man? You get the picture.
Surprisingly the date lasted 3 hours. He asked me out to see Camelot playing in L.A. I said yes. Then I cancelled last night. I'm still pissed off about the Gondola.
I was looking forward to that.
Restaurant Date Review
Newport Landing Oyster Bar and Grill
I used to come here when I lived with Bill (10 year man). Frankly, I don't know what I ever saw in the joint. But I was younger then. It has live music and is a seafood restaurant. I thought the fish sucked. Have I mentioned that I am a food snob? Snobs aren't actually supposed to use the word "sucked" when critiqueing restaurants. But I do. Cuz I'm special.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A glimmer of hope, a spark of attraction and then CRASH! ... sound of breaking glass and a hubcap rolling into the distance ....
This self-described "Bad Boy Gone Good", called me, irritated that I failed to return his call last night.
"Were you talking on the phone ALL night?
"Um. uh" (I was talking on my cell for 3 hours. I probably have a brain tumor)
"Are you dating other men?"
"I'm talking to them."
"I guess I should go back to match.com. Maybe you're just not that interested and we should forget the whole thing."
"Not exactly but...yea.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
We met at my favorite restaurant (230 Forest) in Laguna Beach. He was sitting at the bar sipping a dirty martini.
In person he resembled Mel Gibson. Sitting down he was quite handsome. Standing up he was approximately 5' 4".
After a delicious dinner we walked to the Surf and Sand Hotel (Splashes) for a night cap. We ordered coffee drinks. I haven't ' had a "coffee drink" since I was 21. Remember them? "Mexican Coffee please".
The waiter arrived with our "coffee drinks". We took one sip, immediately looked at each other and said:
"I hate coffee drinks".
We called Raol over to advise him of our discovery. We requested to exchange the coffee drinks for glasses of wine.
Raol did not understand this concept. But eventually we got our wine.
When Raol returned with the wine I said,
"I hate wine". I would like to exchange this for some whiskey, please".
Raol stared at me for 2 minutes without speaking.
My date cracked up.
I'm seeing him again tonight.
Southern Comfort is a tall drink of southern man. Oddly, he does not drink. His best side is featured here.
When we spoke I was impressed with his manly voice and endearing Southern accent.
Wanting to impress him with my knowledge of "all things Southern" I mentioned that I had lived in South Carolina for a year. I pointed out that I had asked out Bubba Mactintosh to the Sadie Hawkins dance when I was 13. (...trying for cute here.)
He responded, "WHAT?" "You may talk to a Bubba, you may have lunch with a Bubba but you do not ask OUT a Bubba!
Sensing Bubba's were bad...I replied; "It was more of a science project really. Ya know, to study the indigenous population like say, an Aborigine in Australia."
"Huh?" he responded. "You went out with a Bubbarigone?"
I liked him immediately.
We met for dinner where I realized that some people are best enjoyed on the phone.
We sat down at the Sushi Bar and my date asked the sushi roller, "What's your name, son?" (Only people from the south talk like that.)
Sushi guy replied, "Eddy." My date replied, "Now I know that's not the name your momma gave you".
"My name is Eddy Kasatoba buta mosta people call me "Casanova"; sushi guy said.
Casanova, looked at me and asked, "what you name?" I said, "Charmaine". "Ewe you Chow Mein ha ha. " The manager buzzed in to my left ear and said, "No! You cha-ming ha ha". (charming)
Casanova and the Manager did not leave my presence for the entire date. Not for a split second. They invaded the date completely. Maybe it was because I was speaking Japanese, I know a few insulting phrases (which is no easy task in Japanese). Casanova was teaching me more. At one point my date said something and I replied in Japanese with the equivalent of "Shut up, little boy". Casanova was on the floor. We laughed and laughed...
At the end of the date the manager presented me with the bill. "Japanese twadition, lady get biwl" he said.
Those crazy Japanese.
Later driving home, there appeared to be something slightly "off" with Southern Comfort. He played Country Music in his BMW and sang so LOUDLY that I had to say, "Um. Could you please lower your voice?" I mean, the man was literally screaming.
He said something about making a record. He was a wealthy investor. I've met more a few of these guys with tons of money and too much time on their hands because they don't work. These fellas sometimes think because they inherited tons of money it indicates they have talent. Sadly, the ones who make records, invent things or write books, never do.
We drove back to his house so that he could show me his "invention". The only reason I agreed is because he lived one block me.
His invention consisted of a unique treadmill to be used by older people with fractured hips, knee or ankle replacement surgery who were in rehab. I expected it to have additional safety features, handles and padding.
The treadmill was your run of the mill treadmill except instead of having a smooth surface to walk upon the surface simulated the haphazard uneven cobble stone street of a third world nation.
"So you're trying to kill the old bastards?" I said? At the very least, one of them will break an ankle" I said.
"No, it's meant to strengthen their ankles" he said.
Proving, yet again, my theory.
Corona Del Mar, CA
Okay. Run, don't walk, to Nagisa in Corona Del Mar. See "Casanova". Tell him "Chow Mein" sent you. Ask him (for me) if he is single. I had a great time with the staff and sushi makers. I even took their pictures with my date's iphone.
I had Tataki and my date had 6 orders of yellow tail. See pic above...he's got places to put it. Then we had baked yellow tail CHEEK which was...er....good once you got past the weird bones.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Indian Summer asked me a year ago. I was too shy to meet. He contacted me recently out of the blue. I thought, what the heck. It would be fun to see if his ears really did stick out like that.
As soon as we sat down for lunch he described the type of a woman he was looking for, namely, someone who was not needy. He said, based on my skill at pushing men away (after all I'd kept him at bay for a year) that I fit the bill perfectly.
Huh? Wha the? Where did that come from????
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The reprisal of past dates ends tomorrow. Note: See post below this one entitled The Lyin' King if you are a middle aged broad like me.
(Press play button on lower left of this box. It's right there. A little grey triangle. )
I arranged my company's Christmas party at Romeo Cucina in Laguna Beach.
I arrived early so I sat down with the restaurant employees to help fold napkins. This is where I met The Younger Man.
I showed the lad how to fold a napkin into fan. What can I say, I have skills.
I'd hired a video company, Boogie Heads, for entertainment.
I thought the idea was more then hilarious. My colleagues didn't seem to agree. I guess people don't want to make a fool of themselves in front of their bosses. Oddly, I can't seem to avoid it.
Convincing my co-workers to join in was like pulling teeth. The Younger Man (the restaurant's piano player) jumped in to my rescue. We made 12 videos. Eventually, everyone joined in and had a great time.
The kid was adorable. Despite being young enough to be my son, the wee lad asked me out. I said "no". He was 25 years old for Pete's sake.
Later, I actually regretted saying no after a friend gently suggested, "It's for the best you did not accept the date. He's young and you know he would have only wanted one thing."
I thought, he probably wants the same thing my 50-something year old dates want.
(press play button on lower left of box)
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Still in reprisal mode. I thought I'd go easy on ya and give you a short post.
The man above speaks like Borat's twin brother. He sounds just like him: “You want make sexy time?”
We had some language difficulties.
His profile indicated that he was from LA.
When he wrote to me he told me he lived in, Bosnia. Yes, that's right. Apparently its quite lovely. a
He’a physician…you know how I love the doctors! (See Dr. Cop-A-Feel) post.
Our first correspondence went like this:
Dear Charmaine, i went reed your profiterole (profile)...you are wired (weird) but interesting...by the way I am in Bosnia on mission...rest you will find in my nutshells...tells all.
Dear Borat, I’m not sure what your nutshells are telling me.
Dear Charmaine, I didn’t think you wild (would) respond. My nutshells telling you lot.
After further misuse of the word "nutshells" which, for the record, I was interpreting in a profane way, Borat told me that I was smart and this could scare a man, but not him.
I knew this was the kiss of death.
And it was.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
He brought me to a shooting range.
I took a class, taught by a toothless red neck (I'm being kind). We proceeded to the target range where I fired 4 rounds.
I excused myself to the disgust of the instructor who clearly thought I was un-American.
I decided to get over it. To get through the day I would buy the man lunch. (He paid for the gun class so I guess it was fair). I was over it. I WAS!
I had dated her SON. I had been in her last house (she wasn't home). I'd even been in her refrigerator. I know how she marinates her barbecued chicken!!
Favorite Quote: "I'll have an iced tea and the Main Lobster please"
Monday, December 1, 2008
I have a car but not a garage so basically I’m in the same boat.
He insisted on picking me up. But’s it only date 2.
"I'll meet you there" I said, defeating any hope of remaining obscure because he already had my address.
Cast of characters:
1. 90 year old founder of a non-profit
2. 2 Attorneys
3. Flight attendant and her much older husband
4. Me and the Christian Playboy
Odd mix, like trail mix. (A couple of old nuts and one dried fruit.)
I felt the evening took a dive when my date revealed an alarming resemblance to a laughing Hyena. (Laughing out of proportion to the humor in any remark, especially those of the blond stewardess).
I felt out of place. Too much small talk. I can participate for 5 minutes. Then, I need meat.
I excused myself at 10:30. He walked me to my car. The next morning he called to remark that he loves talking to me and can't wait to kiss me.
One more thing. He lied about his age. His match.com profile indicates that he is 57. He's REALLY 60.
Question: Is he too old for me??
Restaurant Review (*) One star
It wasn't a restaurant, rather a wine cellar. The event was catered. Silver chafing dishes filled with Bratwurst, Sauerkraut, buns, potato salad and coleslaw.There was live music, art work featured on the walls, a cigar and wine tasting room. It's a cool place.
Random thought: Can a person who likes classical music (me) ever get along with a person who doesn't (him). Answer below. (It's Pavarotti and James Brown singing together)
Youtube of the Day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCIyzNISw1Q
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I love my best friend too in a way that astounds me. She is a born-again Christian. I am a card carrying heathen.
The party is a pot-luck. I've tested recipes for days.
My friends sister-in-law was married to Jim Jannard for 7 years. He's the guy who owns Oakly.
Needless to say, it is a high falutin' affair. I'm one of the peasants who gets in.
It's always interesting. An impressive mansion with no one in particular who wants to talk to me with the exception of my friend, her husband and the other orphan, my friends husbands best friend, Rick. His Uncle invented Rebar. He and I, orphans and best friends of this couple, oddly, share the same last name.
Once a year I drift into this world of affluence.
I have one true friend whom I admire despite our religious differences. She goes to church. I am a pagan.
On the Eve of Thanksgiving I would like to thank God, if there is a God and I'm not saying that there is, for my best friend Linda.
If a Christian and a Pagan can love each other... anyone can get along.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
We were on the phone discussing the upcoming weekend. I agreed to attend a Jr. college football game.
In return I wanted to drive to Mexico the following day to get drugs. Hee hee. I love saying that. I wanted Lipitor. (I ran out.) I no longer have insurance.
A diatribe ensued. In a raised voice he declared, "If you think for one minute I'm going to sit in traffic for 4 hours to cross the border you'd better think again...bla bla bla...I snapped and hung up. (The border is 20 minutes from his house. There is no 4 hour wait.)
It hit me at once. For the 100th time.
He cannot not, will not, do anything I want to do.
Clarity arrives in small moments.
I just had a little accident. That's the thing I did AGAIN.
A car was blocking my garage. There was room to get out if I changed my exit tragectory.
Then I started talking on the phone (forgot about the car) and....bang.
I pulled back into my garage and started shaking. There was no reason to shake, I'm an old broad with terrific insurance. Why was I shaking?
I returned to my house to pen a note to leave on the windshield. I couldn't write. My hands were shaking.
I was angry. So many folks park behind my garage, blocking me in, it makes me mad. I have not spoken up. I leave an occasional note on a car saying, please don't park here. The usual culprit is the man who lives behind me who initially made a stink about me parking in the ally. I stopped and, mysteriously, he began parking in the ally with a vengeance.
I returned to inspect the damage. To my surprise there was no damage to the black Mercedes SUV save a smear of paint from my silver Beetle. (Man oh man, I love my Beetle.)
I called my sister, an attorney, who told me to make a run for it.
Disregarding this legal advice, I wrote a note in wobbly handwriting. In my house I heard her car departing and ran after her to give her my note which included my phone number.
I felt good about this. That is, right up until the point that I realised that this woman might be "one of those" people who takes advantage. (Like the old man who had hit me formerly) She was "oh no-ing" and "oh my-ing" despite the fact there was no damage. Just a smear of paint. We both ran our hands over the smudge of paint which dusted off beneath our fingertips.
Something tells me this won't be the end. I'll tell you why.
My last accident (a man backed into me in his Porsche Cayenne). He advised his insurance company that I hit HIM. Wha? After hitting me he left the scene. I chased him down. I confronted him. He walked around my car (I had a smudge of paint on my rear fender and he said, "AH HA". Insinuating that I was an opportunist trying to make him take the rap for the tiny bit of damage he caused to the front of my car. It was nothing. Because of his denial I began to shake. He had backed into me...it would look like it was my fault.
I sent his insurance company a detailed drawing of what occured. He made up an entirely different scenario. It was his word against mine. I learned that such people exist.
I just wish I would stop running into them.
What happened today is what happened before only different.
I suspected a woman, for no reason, of being dishonest. I was the one who hit her.
If that man had not formerly suspected me, It would never have suspected her.
It would have never entered my mind.
Monday, November 24, 2008
A few months ago, like 100 Days in Bed, I had it all. A great job, lots of dates and was traveling the world.
Then everything changed. The job went away, I stopped dating to focus on a man wrong for me. I had a surgery which plummeted me, prematurely, into menopause in my 40's. Everything that seemed to define me, went away. My hair started falling out, my doctor advised I see a cardiologist (I am the same age my father was when he died). I didn't go. My skin changed, my remaining hair frizzed and I started having hot flashes every 10 minutes.
In my own way, I've been practising my version of 100 Days in Bed. I've been avoiding everything. I have nothing like her excuse. Sometimes the need to avoid pain can cause you to hide. It's not healthy. But I can't stop.
In my case, I've been hiding from mortality and menopause. The biggest problem is my hair. So superficial. I always had great hair. Now I don't. I'm taking hormones and I'm worried about cancer because my mother had cancer and I know I shouldn't be taking hormones.
With the immediate nature of the onset my body objected in a manner akin to a woman who had a hysterectomy. I went from normal...to zero hormones in one day. If I'd known this, I would never have agreed to the surgery. If it had been you having the surgery, I would have found out. But it was just me. The aftermath is that your body temperature escalates, you're face turns bright red and you sweat profusely...everywhere. Imagine this occuring every 10 minutes. It's not subtle. It's unstoppable and beyond embarassing and uncomfortable. You can't sleep, go on a date or have a 5 minute conversation. I decided to get relief with hormones. But secretly, I'm terrified of what is happening. I don't want to face it. I won't go to the doctor.
So I hide. I don't see my friends.
I believe that this is self absorption. Feeling sorry for myself is not the answer. Intellectually I know this.
So I'm going to need a couple more days in bed.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
While I was away in Denver "The Vern" was watering my plants. I wanted to avoid potential drama if he turned on my computer, saw my address history, noticed my blog name (it has my real name) and started reading about himself.
With each new address I entered, one of the existing addresses would fall off the bottom of the list.
My blog address was at the top. It took hours.
Talk about a guilty conscious.
When I'm on a mans computer I look in his window for a history of what he's been searching for on the internet. I'm sneaky. So far all I have found is that the men I date seem to have a penchant for gambling. Vern gambles on sports and Evil gambles on horses. But I'm not really dating either anymore. They are dying a natural death.
I don't understand gambling. I won't do it. I will, however, gamble with someone elses money. Once, in Vegas, Vern gave me 50 bucks. On penny slot machines I won over $800.00 in a couple of hours. He lost 3 grand.
My luck has to do with one thing. Being able to walk away. It's what makes me good at my job. When negotiating with suppliers on a clients behalf I'm willing to walk away. The suppliers can feel it. I almost always get what I want. I save clients alot of money this way.
In negotiating matters in my own self interest... I lose the ability.
I tried it at the swap meet last weekend. I offered less money for a mandoline (vegetable slicer). The woman in the booth knew I really wanted it. She would not budge.
I did walk away. I did find a cheaper one but I realised...I can only use my powers for others and not self gain. That makes me a good witch, right?
Here is what appeared on the screen when I typed in my blog address:
There is a problem with this website's security certificate.
The security certificate presented by this website was issued for a different website's address.
Security certificate problems may indicate an attempt to fool you or intercept any data you send to the server.
We recommend that you close this webpage and do not continue to this website.
Now people. Despite this scandalous message, I am NOT trying to fool you. I think this message occured because I forgot to type in the www. prior to the address. Duh.
Try typing in your own blog address without the www. See if it happens to you. Then report back.
Next blog entry will be interesting. I promise.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Don't look at me like that. Someone should slap me.
I sent him a three page break up email (so immature). In it, I detailed the ways in which we were not compatible. He ignorned my words.
As usual my teleportation device proved to be fully functional. Bam, he was on the doorstep a few days later. He declared his love.
But you can't go backwards. Even if you want to. In a way..I wanted to.
A few days before this I went on a date with "The Vern" who, as mentioned, stated that we would make a terrific married couple. He loved me for alot of years. We went on one of our famous progressive dinners. All the best restuarants in town from Splashes to Studio. But it wasn't the same. We could not go back.
It made me sad.
You have to get rid of the old in order to make room for the new.
At first I was embarassed. Then I realized that you can revisit the past as many times as you like in order to get it right.
But ultimately the past has to be discarded. Maybe the better word is released.
We have to release people...sometimes.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
She told me that she felt she would never see me again because she was going to die. She told me that she thought "I was wonderful".
My mother is not warm. She's hilarious, entertaining and social. We love each other but we don't say it. We don't hug or kiss. We never have. So in the intial stage of my departure, I was off balance, moody and sad by this uncanny display of emotion.
After attending two Halloween parties the night of my departure with my adorable baby sister and her scrumptious children, where the wine was flowing I was wisked off to the airport.
On the plane I sat next to some Hollywood high roller who bought me more wine.
It was a late flight. I took a cab home around 1:00 AM. I was a little sad. Usually Vern would have picked me up. I got home but did not sleep. I had nightmares about my mother.
At 8:00 AM the next day Evil Surfer was on my doorstep. I was bleary eyed and irritated that he would come over uninvited. I wanted one day to decompress from my family and the wine.
He brought steaks, veggies and all the items he wanted me to cook that night. I don't know about you but I like planning my meals. We worked out and before you know it we were having fun. We were doing what we always do...work out, play frisbee and cook. I landed some fun trick moves like catch the frisbee behind your neck, under you leg...etc. Evil was so impressed.
After dinner we were prone on the couch and he popped the question. "How do you feel about spending the rest of your life with me?" There was no ring so it was not a real proposal, merely a fishing for a will-I-get-a-"yes" when I produce the ring.
Because I am deliriously romantic I replied, "Do you mean will I allow you to torture me for the rest of my life?"
That's when I heard the clip clop upon the stair. Of course, It was Vern.
Vern had sent me an email the night prior advising that he thought we would make a wonderful married couple. Wha?
The next day all hell broke loose.
I went from two marriage proposals to single. Ladies and Gentlemen, I've got skills.
When I had my date with Pool Boy I was not really available. Not really. I needed the marriage proposals from these two men to force me to consider if they were what I really wanted.
The moment they asked was the moment I knew.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Vern called and asked to see me.
He had arrived on my doorstep twice last week. Both times "Evil Surfer Dude" was in the house. I shushed Vern away. "Evil" accused me of infidelity. I'm the wrong girl to accuse wrongly. What they say about jealousy is true. It pushes you away. So...
I let Vern come over. I let him come over because he called to remind me of the Sandcastle competition on my beach yesterday. He remembered that I like this stuff. He did not try to join me, merely reminded me. "Evil" knew this too. He didn't call, but he was expecting me to arrive at his house. I stood him up.
Vern arrived. It was awkward. We walked to the beach to see if any Sandcastles survived the night. Some did. Then we drove to Laguna Beach. It was a gloriously sunny day. We decadently had a margarita at Las Brisas overlooking the ocean in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday. He wanted to tell me something.
I'm not a particularly warm or sentimental woman. But when I saw Vern's lower lip tremble my heart sank. I will never forget the pain on his face. He grew silent, the way one grows silent before they cry. I reached out and squeezed his leg.
It was what I suspected, but had forgotten. The night we broke up, we had gone to a birthday party. At the party a man had asked the birthday girl to marry him.
Vern and I fought that night. When I left his house he screamed "You're timing could not be worse.!"
I'd had my suspicions at the time. He confirmed them. He had planned to ask me to marry him that night.
We returned to my house. Then, as if reading my mind, he asked "Would you like to go to Gulfstream and share your favorite salad?" Vern remembers what I like. I thought, "Praise Jesus. Normal food, there will be vegetables and wine tonight. Thank you God".
This encounter with Vern doesn't change a thing. Still it's nice to know that he wanted to marry me. Tonight, he hinted at marriage again...testing my response.
I should get an award. An award for saying "no" to more proposals then a woman has a right to expect.
Friday, October 3, 2008
He alerted me to the fact that I am depressed. I'm isolating myself, not really looking for a job the way I should and..."losing it" in general.
I know he's right.
He told me that I'm "changing" and that woke me up.
I recently happened upon a blog authored by a young woman who lost her job, lost a cousin due to murder and then her mother went a bit mad. This young lady spent 100 days in bed before crawling out of the morass.
I have nothing like her excuse, still I understand. It's easy to feel sorry for oneself when you feel alone. But I'm not alone. I'm merely making choices to become alone. It's totally different.
I told "Evil Surfer Dude" that being depressed was a perfectly natural response to my current state of affairs. He said that he thinks it's menopause.
I don't know much about menopause except for the fact that I am in it before my time. I'm in my 40's for God's sake. Most women experience this gradually. Mine was immediate. There was no gradual reduction in the production of Estrogen, it was an immediate full stop. My body is objecting. I'm out of work and going to the doctor feels like a luxury I can't afford.
If this were you, who ever you are, I would kick your ass and tell you to find a doctor who works with women on such matters. But it's me.
And that's all I have to say today.
Below is my song of the day. I sent it to Evil Surfer Dude the other night when my hormones were flashing. You don't have to say it. I already want to kill myself. I'm gonna get over it. If I'd had had a child, I would have liked the litte fella featured below to be my son. There go those hormones again. Dang it.
Below is the hit version that makes me dance in the living room. Dance with me, won't you?
You already know my penchant for classical music. Now you know I adore little DJ fellas and dance music. Did I ever tell you that my kid sister and I used to think we were black? Despite the conspicuous lack of junk in the trunk, she and I never resisted an opportunity to dance like we were sista's. She was better. In fact, she might indeed be black cuz white girls can't dance like that.
In a politically correct world, are you allowed to say "black"? I find it insulting to have to use the term "African American" because a person of color can be from the Caribbean, Fiji, Cuba, Jamaica, Domincan Republic..all sorts of places.