The Runaway Bride

After 2 weeks in Denver I left for the airport. My mother cried in the hallway. (For the record, Peterson women don't cry.) We argue, evade, picket (yes with actual signs) or shout. We do not cry. As her car drove off I watched her wipe the tears from her face as she glanced back to wave at me.

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.

Are Men Homing Pigeons?

Are men pigeons? Must they come home to roost? Um...or are those chickens? (Insert proper poultry reference here.)

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".

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We walked to the restaurant which was really fun and took 5 minutes tops. I don't know why I've never done it before. By this time we were holding hands. But it was for old times sake. The place was packed so we found a seat at the bar to dine. Vern was happy, he introduced himself to the bartender and shook his hand. He introduced me too as if we were celebrities.

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I needed this encounter to pull me out of Evil's evil grasp. The last time I was with Evil I had to threaten to get out of the car to force him to buy me a frozen yogurt. Seriously. He did it, then 10 minutes of silent treatment to make me "pay" for making him do it.

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.

Nancy Reagen suggested that we, "just say no". Dear God, am I a Republican?

The Evil Truth

I've been avoiding "Evil Surfer Dude's" calls for days. Today, I decided to pick up.

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.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyOjIXahLKM
Below is the hit version that makes me dance in the living room. Dance with me, won't you?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHuebHTD-lY

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.