It's Raining Men...Again!

The thing about men is...they are everywhere...God love them.

Tomorrow night, I meet this feller.  (below). 

He owns a restaurant.  He's a bit edgy.  Stay tuned for the rest of the line up.  I think you'll be shocked.  I've changed my attitude about dating...every man that shows up, I think, has something to teach me...about myself.  I'm gonna look at it like free therapy.

The next guy is below.  He's not what he appears to be, which I love about him.

Coming "Out of the Closet"

“Hey Santa! Put on your knickers and come out of the closet!”

How many times have you said THAT?

I did last night. My assistant balked at my use of the term “knickers”. (I thought it was funny.)

I’d planned a holiday event for 550 people. Santa had an oxygen tank. He concealed it beneath his beard.

He was dressing in the coat closet. For some reason, he wouldn’t come out. When I referenced his “knickers” he laughed…then opened the door.

Some people think event planning is glamorous.

I was looking pretty snazzy in my fitted suit. I had a clipboard. I was in charge.

I had 30 volunteers to coordinate, games, a DJ, dancers, food nightmare AND my two nephews who adorably agreed (I forced them) to run carnival games for the children.

Suddenly a tall, EXTREMELY good looking man was standing beside me, smiling.

“I volunteered to help drop off your materials. But now, I can’t leave.”

I lowered my clipboard, for a moment, and smiled back. A few minutes later we were chatting about something and he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.”

“I have no idea why I just did that”, he said.

I began ignoring him. (I had a lot to do.) He left.

But …he came back.

Of course, you know me, I blew him off.

But I thought about it later…considering why I do that? His simplicity and interest- why did it make me freeze?

Then, miraculously, I figured it out.

Event Planning for Pot Heads?

I was hired to oversee an art auction. My client was not “typical”. They were a non-profit organization.

The first indication this would be, um..“different”? It took place in an “alternative” coffee shop.

“I’m okay with “alternative”...despite being conservative.

I’m complex like that.

Some of the artists didn’t show up. My team represented them at their “art stations”. I held out for the artist that sketched lovely drawings of whales...and a couple of Jesus portraits.

I respectfully placed his bio in a cracked plastic frame. There was a reason he hadn’t shown up.

He was incarcerated in the State Penitentiary.

He wasn’t the only one.

I cajoled a volunteer to rep the artist that crocheted….wait for it….lingerie. Hilariously, the cup sizes of the bra didn't match, not even close. The panties (yellow and pink yarn) were thong-style.

After minutes of misrepresenting MY artist, I joined my young volunteer and her unsellable lingerie. She was with an older gentleman (my age) I assumed was the artist.

“Interesting lingerie set,” I commented. “Those leather pouches are cute too”.

“Have you seen the other side of the pouches?” the man asked. He flipped one over, revealing a depiction of a marijuana leaf. (He’d been concealing the leaf in order to increase sales.)

“We have matching lighters, too” he smiled.

I burst out laughing. The young volunteer planner (a University of Denver student and my protege) interjected, “Charmaine, I’d like you to meet my father, Jerry”.

“Are you a professional pot-head?” I asked.

“I’m an archeologist” he corrected.“ I have a business with 20 employees. I have a Vineyard in the mountains. I'm NOT the artist.”

.

“Okay people.” I barked. Let’s sell some a marijuana pouches!  Bonny, please model the crocheted lingerie.  Don't look at me like that."

“This small leather pouch is perfect for a crack rock” Jerry said to a customer.

We laughed... punch drunk.  His daughter watched us, rolling her eyes affectionately.

I whispered, “The customers are going to think we’re high.”

“I know,” he giggled, “Isn’t it great?"

I married a ZOMBIE!

Some things go without saying...

Take your eyes off the knife and I'll tell you something...

I've never cared for my profile...(I have chin "issues".) And I didn't really marry a zombie.

...and I love Halloween. 

Most witches (so you know) need help.  I prefer zombies.

So I made some.

"Wanna' be a zombie kid?" I asked. 

...then poof! Zombie.

Could he be a Zombie model? "Hell yes," I cackled. When you consort with Zombies you begin using bad language.

...another zombie appeared from beneath a bloody grave.

My sister whispered, "Man oh man, weird things happen when Charmaine is here"

We stared back, blankly, and went outside to play "I'm Melting".

As darkness fell... our haunted mansion sprang to life. Fog swirled, tinted with goulish green light. Music from "Halloween" blared from a cracked window. My brother-in-law sat beside the front door..then freakishly...moved.  A little girl, dressed like a bumble bee, shrieked.

"You should NOT scare small children" my sister scolded.

"We won't do it again, " I said witchily

I advised my zombie's: "Scare the hell out of the next batch of kids."  If they're little, go for the parents.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nq6pekM6sZQ

Beanies...Oh Baby!

It happened.

I purchased an article of clothing from Walmart.

It’s not that I'm a snob. (Okay I was.) One of those has-no-money snobs, living in a neighborhood she couldn’t afford.

We’re the worst kind.

I’m currently a volunteer Event Planner for a non-profit organization. (Good-bye Europe.) I visited Walmart to ask the Community Involvement Coordinator for a donation.

She gave it to me.

I don’t hate Walmart anymore.

I bought a turtleneck with matching beanie as an expression of gratitude.

AND a circular loom. I’m knitting beanies for the entire family.

My nephews and I knitted for hours.

Brody (age 11) whispered: “Charmaine, I’m so glad you’re here.”

Love is simple. It requires little…involvement...and respect.

Love,
Charmaine

My Blog into a Movie???

"Huh?"

...was my engaging response when a producer from Blue Orchid films called me about adapting  my dating shennanigans into a film. "You're story is very current" she said.

Back in the day I was dating frequently. The middle aged men...well, it was like there was something WRONG with them. In a cute way.

I merely chronicled what happened...and it was funny.  (You'll have to scroll down to my ancient history.)

The producer and I talked for a couple of hours. 

She waxed on about Demi Moore for the lead (she's looking for work don't ya know) pitching it to different studios which she would require I attend, some innane subplot that sounded like HER on-line dating experience.  (We discovered we'd both been contacted by the same ER Physician living in Malibu on match.com)  I'd rejected him, she'd dated him with less then optimum results. 

She'd lied about her age.

The story line would be a journalist internet dates to find material for a story...ends up falling in love and getting heart broken.

"That's not my story" I said. 

"It's kind of a boring story"  I said.

"My story is better" I said.

You're not supposed to say that when a producer calls you.

Italian Stallion

Maybe not.  But he sure had a large pizza...kaboom.

I had to touch it.

Hell, I just took it.  He didn't know what to do with it anyway.

I helped kids with a street mural at the Italian Fair.  (Always wanted to do that.)

My outfit?  I am experiencing sartorial confusion.  Blending California with Cowboy ain't easy.  One red nosed cowboy screamed:  "What part of Texas are YOU from anyway?"

"The part furthest from YOU." I replied. 

I'm such a bitch.

MORE Cowboys!

I'm back in the saddle. (In more ways then one.)

I was introduced to real cowboys.

My brother-in-law (left) and Gary (right)....faints.

Gary on the left...(faints again) They ride twice a week to rope steer instead of say, watching a movie.

That's Arnold.  He is as kind as a man can be.  He makes most men I've dated look like pansies.

Only two things stand in the way of our love:

A.  He's happily married.
B.  He's 76.

He's not bad lookin' for 76...that's ALL I'm sayin' people.

I met Toots, I mean Arnold, after taking the kids mountain trout fishing. We swung by his ranch.

We met his horse that pranced like a dancer in the sun.  Its pen was pristine. The straw on the ground was fresh. 

Arnold purchased it from a trainer following a broken pelvis problem.  It WAS a racehorse (I knew it) facing a bullet to the head.  He rehabilitated it preventing both from being put out to pasture.

We fed it brown sugar roasted oats. Arnold poured delicious handfuls of what looked like granola into our palms. (I would have tasted it but I was trying to make a good impression.)

Wha the hell are those?  They're...um, steer. They put contraptions on their heads to prevent the creatures from getting rope burn when they get lasso'd. 

Isn't that sweet?  (Please God, never..EVER let Braja remember I'm alive.) Braja lives in India. (No cows were hurt.  I SWEAR!)

The Cowboys treated the kids with fatherly humour...tossing them on horses, pulling them off and letting me corall steer.

At 9:00 PM the men called it a day and loaded their horses onto trailers.We all drank a beer.  Not the kids...they drank Vodka.

Real cowboys...are cool.

I'm Cowboy CRAZY!

There is just ONE thing to cure what ails me...

A Cowboy.

Lookee ratch hyar...(faints).

The thing about cowboys is...they're sincere.

The cowboy is the only varient of man I have not yet dated.

The cowboy above called me.  With a relaxed, confident drawl he said:

"When you're done with those other Rodeo Clowns why don't you give me a call?"

So...after months...I DID.

He suggestively demanded I DRIVE to his ranch immediately.  "Huh...wha?" I responded. "I mean, why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I can't leave the horses." he replied

"How will the horses know you're gone?" I said

Silence

"I had high hopes for you", he said.  "You're soo cute.  If you don't drive to my ranch tonight...forget it."

And so...forget it I did.  Then I met some REAL cowboys.

Where have I been? ... that's a story for tomorrow.

Tune in, won't you?

Love,
Charmaine

Does This Blog Make My Butt Look Fat?

Bloggers...I've grown tired of this self absorption. 

A diary, as it were, that solicits comments.

At first, it was great fun.  A great exercise...but I think I'm done. 

Real life is demanding my attention. 

Gotta go...

Dater Hater

I'm scheduled to go on a date tonight.  The truth is...I can't do it. 

Oh, I can be entertaining.  I enjoy the praise, the attention, the flattery but my heart is elsewhere.

Stupid heart.

I remember when my heart used to listen to me.  But now it seems to have a mind of it's own.

This would be fine if my heart didn't have an IQ of 7.

Dating...YOU, make the call!

Okay people, here we go...

Which one should I go out with tonight?  (Cast your vote...it's not like I'm going to listen.)

They are all hilarious, attentive and intelligent.  I've spoken with each fella and, frankly, laughed out loud...

The cyclist and financial wizard.

He's cute in a I-hired-a-professional-photographer-to-take-this-photo... kind of way.

The business owner that wants to take me sailing.  In a race, no less.

I agree...why choose? 

Old People

Have you ever seen old folks overlooking a beautiful vista, say, at the beach?

Their eyes seem focused on some distant point...lost in reverie.

They appear humble and deflated, perhaps due to loss or lonliness?

We were sitting at the dinner table.  Yea, I brought the King of ignorance to meet the family...only to prove to my mother that, despite the fact I never married, I'm actually NOT gay.

At the dinner table, the King thought it would be funny to ask if anyone had ever been in jail. Because we are a morally righteous family, he expected a chortle, perhaps a guffaw.

My 75 year old mother commented she had been arrested twice.  In my family...that's nothing.  I mean, my grandparents practically met in jail...(It's an IRA thing...freedom fighters.) There are no actual "criminals".  Just political dissidents.

I was speeding at age 17, she was my passenger, the cop pulled us over...made me get in the patrol car.  She got out of our car and tapped on the policeman's window. "What are you doing with my daughter?" she implored. He arrested her for obstruction of justice.

The king asked, so when was the second time?

"None of your fucking business" she said. 

My point?  There is no distant look of reverie in MY mothers eyes.

The Leprechaun Show

My Uncles and Mother came to town.  They are from Ireland. They are short.  They are in their 70's.

They look weird.  They speak with brogues.

My Uncle Peter called from Ireland "Ach sure Charmaine,  if ya woon't kome to may, I'll kome to yow."

And so he did.

My Uncle John, Uncle Peter and mudder drove to California in a white van, filled with 100 classical music CD's.

"Charmaine, would you like to see the luxury feature I've added to me van?"

"I'm interested in technology...so "Sure" I said.

It was a kitchen sized microwave positioned on the floor, behind the passenger seat, plugged into the cigarette lighter. 

That's my family. Beverly Hillbillies meets Intellectual classical musician who happens to be physician...on the side.

When they left town, my uncle deposited several (like a hundred) classical music CD's in my hand.  With each, he commented on a piece of music contained therein. He said, "Ah, look at this one..."Romantic Classical Music".  (The romantic era was a movement in classical music.)

"Aire in the G-string" he said. He peered at my date and said, "Now don't be getting any ideas..mistha".

  

City of Hope

It's a hospital in Pasadena.  A really GOOD hospital. 

Cancer is their specialty.

The physicians are experts in their field(s).  Consequently, they flock to the place.

So...this guy I know had his appointment with Dr. Kawachi yesterday.  I call him Dr. Hibachi.  It's not that I'm irreverant, I adore Hibachi's.

I did the research. It's all going to work out fine.  My guy doesn't know how much I worry.  I lie to him, endlessly.I get upset, act foolish, drink wine and embarass myself over the issue.  He has no idea that my fear guides me lately.

He's made it clear he doesn't need me now that it's all squared away.  In my mind's eye I can see my father and how small he appeared in the hospital bed....he seemed to shrink. A few days later...he wasn't there.

My old boyfriend shrank too when he was in the hospital.  It made me feel protective.  I was there, I held his hand. I grasped his arm from the wheelchair and put him in my car.  I paid the valet (it was a swanky hospital) and I turned up the heat.

Then, when I was in the hospital...I must not have shrunk because I was not on the receiving end of protection.   As if my momentary vulnerability made me anathema to him. When he drove me home he took the top down on the convertible as if we were in a parade.  Sun glaring and me doubled over in pain. To this day he thinks I broke up with him because he put the top down on the convertible.

Being a woman is different then being a man.  As a women, you can't show real weakness.  Fake weakness, perhaps.  Blond bimbo weakness (because it's manufactured) just not real weakness.

When I visited my mother in the hospital, she didn't shrink.  She got bigger.  She started wondering around the sterile halls in the cute green jogging outfit I purchased for her.  Maybe she could do that because she knew I was there to protect her.   Under my watchfull eye...she was safe.

Who is watching over me?  The answer is...nobody.

That's just life. It's a rollercoaster of opportunites missed and grabbed.

Muslims

Hello class.

Let's talk about Muslims,shall we?

Do you know any folks of this particular persuasion?

I didn't think so.

You've probably met them, you just didn't know it.

They drive cars, they don't get traffic tickets, they repair your water heater and shake your hand.

I've met a few, one is on my doorstep now. 

I know about his religion because we discussed it, formerly. He wouldn't dare mention it now.

Don't be afraid of Muslims.  One is repairing my water heater and the one before him took one look at me and said, "I am just now seeing you. Allah told to me to help you pass your car on the smog test:".

And so he did. I passed because he was an engineer in his country and was capapble of tricking the smog test aparatus.He had a PHD in mechancial engineering.  When he arrived in this country he could not find work.  He opened up a garage.

I wondered why he had bothered to be kind and he replied, "In my religion, the sins of the father revisit the son.  If I am kind to you pehaps you will, someday, be kind to my son."

Go ahead, hate on some Muslims...but I'm not going with you.

Women in Church

Do you ever wonder at the absence of women in the Catholic religion?

Women used to be there...but were eliminated.

Priests, even Popes had lady friends and wives.

The back story is the Catholic church eliminated women to prevent the affluence of the church from dissipating.  If a married priest died his property transferred to his wife and family...away from the Church.

Celibacy ensured there would be no property transfer. It was called "God's will".

I don't think God gave people "parts" he didn't intend them to use.

Today, we respect the crimes of men.  You can't go to the Gynocologist (if he's a man) without a woman in the room.

The media referrs to what Catholic priests have participated in as "sex scandals".

But let's name it correctly: "Sex crimes".

My point?  Just that you notice how language is used to re-frame reality.  In this case, soften the blows committed by these men.  (As if they need to be protected.) It's a scandal of course, but the real scandal is nobody seems to be naming these actions adequately.  I'm a little scandalous because I refuse to wear my seatbelt but...

In a criminal courtroom there are victims.

As an injured child, you have to sue the priest in order to find justice. The penalty...is monetary. If you don't have money to hire an attorney...no justice for you. 

The lawsuits are handled in a Civil manner when, in my opinon, the police should be involved.  The police we pay to protect us.  But where are the police? "

Oh yea, they're busy giving me tickets for not wearing my seat belt.

"Good Morning officer, that's a shiny new car you're driving...I'm glad my tax dollars paid for it. Wha? You're giving me a ticket?"

I'm on my third seatbelt infraction and, based on the fines, stimulating the economy.  No need to thank me.

He Won't Just Show Up on Your Doorstep

That's what they say about men.

But it's not true. They do show up on doorsteps. It's happened more then once. (Again today).

They knock on your door out of nowhere, climb the steps...

But so do racoons and mice.

Most times they are genuous, caring blokes...but sometimes they are not. 

You have to locate your broom and chase them away.

I Don't Like Popes.

Maybe it's their funny hats.  Maybe it's because they wear dresses.

...and wedding rings.

I just don't like them. 

They look evil. Lecherous, actually.  It's in the eyes.

Oh and, they cover up the fact that their employees, priests, molest children. 

This is my Easter message.

The "P" Word.

I'm not a big fan of the P word.  It's like the N word, for women.  It exists for one reason: to humiliate and insult.

Don't get me wrong.  I love insulting people.

There are other words, like ass-hole. Ubiquitous words that apply to all of mankind.  Behavior based.  The P word targets women.  The N word targets people of color.They are extra offensive because they insult on the presumption the target is inherently bad.

It's probably safe to say a white man coined both words.

What's the insulting term for a white man? There isn't one.

I have great respect for the power of language.  We think with words.  If no word exists for "bad white man" how does one express it...um quickly? 

One doesn't.  

Imagine my suprise in driving past a sign combining my favorite phrase "politcally correct" (which I'm not) with my most abhorred? Don't ask me the meaning of the hand gesture I'm making. It's my "I'm-a-bad-ass" sign.

I'm certain it means something awful like, "Go Long Horns".

The Suburbs

I went to my friend's husband's birthday party.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY Tom...I know you read this blog.  Sneaky bastard.

I looked like crap.  I recently became older, like John McCaine's wife. My feet are swelling.  I can't afford a pedicure.  I'd smeared drops of red polish on my swollen toes...dismissing the baby ones because..I can't see them.

The party was in full swing when I arrived.

A little tot ran up to me and delivered a hug remembering me from Thanksgiving. (Brilliant child.)

The adorable girl and I played a game.  The game was called, "Say what Auntie Charmaine tells you to say." It's a delightful game.

She tugged on Toms sleeve, "Uncle Tom, did your hair ever have color in it?"

She said hilarious things.  (It's wrong to exploit a child, but man it was funny).

It stopped being funny when I told her to ask a fella with a pot belly, "Are you in your first or second trimester?"

After talking politics with Tom's brother (nobody but me participated) the conversation waned.  I picked up a baseball glove and asked, "Does anyone want to play catch?"

Myself and the men hit the grass.  I was in high heels but gave them a run for their money.  "Jeez, Charmaine packs some heat!" Rick said.

"Welcome to the gun show", I said kissing my biceps.  (My arms are toothpicks)

As Tom threw the ball across the field to his brother I yelled, "Does this remind you of when you were a kid?" He replied, "Actually it does."

Later, when the brothers departed, I tried to leave.  Tom said, "Oh no, you're not going anywhere."  It gave Linda (his wife and my favorite person) a chance to chat.

Why am I telling you this?  Because I want you to know what it's like when a single women visits married people. There is love, warmth, children and honorable men.

There was a neighbour.  "I like your toe nail polish", he said.  "Ahh, don't look at my feet!" I demurly screamed.  He followed me to my car and said, "The next time you drop by I'll give you a flower for that bud vase inside your Beetle. I see you have a Turbo." (He used to race cars.)

"That's right", I said.  My orb shaped vehicle is deceptively aero-dynamic. If you want to race, prepare to lose.

"You're spunky", he said.

"Not really", I replied.

Then I drove away.

I Can't Even Pass a Personality Test.

At an industry event today, we took a sales style/personality test.
I charted my responses and scrolled down to find my "personality type".

It read...."you flunked dumb ass."

My "type" was that of a person who had obviously CHEATED.

When the classifications were read aloud I went to the corner of the ballroom where my friends were huddled having been "categorized".

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to take a test.  (Refuse to be categorized.)

Class dismissed.

Jesus Christ

This is not a post about the Lord.

I was almost home, stuck in a traffic when I saw him. 

Motorcyle cop at 6:00 o'clock (behind me). "Maybe he won't notice my plates?" I optimistically mused. 

Flashing lights.

Me:  "Hi officer, I know why you pulled me over."
Police:  "Oh really, why?"
Me:  "Because you want a date to the Policeman's ball?"
Police:  "No, that's not it."
Me:  "Then there must be some mistake".
Police:  "You're a funny woman."
Me:  "Yea, so they say".
Police:  "I spotted you way back on Iris Street."
Me:  "Oh, so now your following me?  You must really be desperate. 
Police: License and registration please. Why is your registration expired?"
Me:  Cuz I'm broke. 
Police:  "So times are tough eh?"  (Sencing I might be able to capitalize on this...)
Me:  "Oh yes, tough tough tough. He was cute so I scanned his ring finger. But I sensed a certain stupidity.
Me:  "I could never marry a stupid man."
Police:  Parden me?
Me:  "Nothing."
Police:  Where were you coming from? 
Me:  "A meeting with Al Kaida." I knew he wasn't listening.
Police:  "Your registration is expired AND you're not wearing your seatbelt."
Me:  "Shit."  "I mean, Shiate...uh, Muslim.  What about those Shiates officer?"
Police:  "AND your license is expired."
Me: "Wha the Fuc..uh...dge.  Fudge.  Oh hell... just shoot me."

The Financial Times

With a considerable Irish accent my Uncle  implored, "Charmaine, have you read the Financial Times?"

When I hear the word "financial" my mind goes black.  I don't like f-words that fail to end in "uck".  (Irish people like to swear.)  It makes us happy.

For the record...the Financial Times is the paper at your news stand published on pink paper.  It's not all about finance, rather, it's a fascinating paper published in London.  You will learn about what is going on in this country (and the world) if you pick it up.

You will not, however, learn anything about Brittany Spears.

It's the real deal.  (Reporting not dummied down for a third grade audiance.)

The next time you are at the news stand reaching for the New York Times (because you are a thinking person)...look to your right and grab the pink paper...

Then let's talk about the articles you might read like...Learned Addiction.  (Computer game addiction had one couple in Korea arrested for focusing on raising a "virtual" baby while their own child starved to death.)  You don't get "points" on the internet for feeding your baby in real life. 

Everyone is so starved for legitamate attention they need computer game "points". 

Let's give each other points...shall we?   Points in the real world for behaving well when being politically correct has numbed everyone into oblivion.

Meeting Planners Annonymous

Hi.  My name is Charmaine.  It's been almost a year since I planned my last meeting. 

"HI CHARMAINNNNNNNE!"

Last night I attendede a little gala (industry event) hosted by MPI.  (Meeting Planners International).  Okay, so it wasn't a GALA per se.  It was an event at the Discovery Museum in Santa Ana with a silent auction. 

They had strolling tables (these are girls dressed in ridiculous costumes around which a table is built).  They move throughout the space and serve hors d'eouvres on...uh...their table which basically looks like an enourmous skirt.  I used to want to BE a strolling table.  You can't be a strolling table if your over the age of 25.  Life is so unfair.

It was a remember-youth theme. Tray-passed hors d'eouvres were "kid" inspired including shot glasses filled with ketchup and 5 french fries poking up like sticks, grilled cheese triangles, mini-corn dogs, baby sliders.  It was a cute idea that should have remained "an idea". 

I appreciated going along with my new work colleague, the lovely, the heavenly (in more ways then one) Kristin.  We worked together formerly.  Watching her, having blossomed into a gifted planner, was a real treat.  I knew her when she was just a grasshopper in the crazy world of event planning. I felt like a proud mama. 

After the event we skipped off to The Geisha House. It was a dissappointment. But when a strolling table bores you...you're obviously hard to impress!

The Perils of Love

Is love a fancy or a feeling? 

Our friend Hartley Coleridge penned a sonnet beginning with this very question. 

At first I asked, why doesn't love listen to warning signs, red flags, bells or whistles?  Is love totally deaf, blind and handicapped? (If so, love is a poor bastard indeed.) Love wants what it wants.   Like a greedy child, it sometimes reaches for innapropriate mates to cure itself from some former injury.

We have all fallen prey to love's selfish, misguided desires.

I've decided love is not an emotion but rather a choice the mind makes. 

Sometimes we choose people that mirror a dysfunctional situation we experienced as children.  In choosing someone similar to a distant father or critical mother we inadvertently re-create a similar scenario....as adults we try to "fix" it.

It doesn't work.  We can't fix the past. 

The day I finally got a job, after almost a year of unemployment, love took off and left me stranded.

Without so much as a word he disappeared. 

Previously, I'd had alot of time for love.  I focused on it, coddled it, cooked for it, sacrificed, forgave and re-adjusted to make room for it.

I turned love into a spoiled child.

Was it love or a masquerade?

Hell if I know.  I only know that love won't abandon you when things are difficult.  It won't run out because you can't pat it on the head every 10 seconds.  Love is a sustainable absolute choice no one can chase away.

Was I in love or duped by a masquerader?  (A masquerader can trick you if you're not paying attention.) I won't trash the man.  I was in love with the masquerader.  What's a girl to do?  I'm thinking...go Paddle Boarding.

This is what paddle boarding looks like. I WON'T be wearing a bikini. 

As for my guy, I have one thing to say:

Disappearing acts are for cowards...and tricks are for kids.

Sonnet VII
By Hartley Coleridge

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth show,
It is my love's being yet it cannot die
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.

A Mouse Ate My Car

I thought rats mice only lived in...uh...slums. 
I started my car engine. "Danger Will Robinson" lights flickered on the dash. 

"My car is having emotional problems" I thought.  "It probably needs some kind of service".

 I drove to the gas station.  It's a block from my house, I walked home.

Upon my return I discovered a pool of radiator fluid in my garage. A little dead rat mouse lay upon it.

"Ahh, the little bastard committed suicide" I thought.

Two days later I was informed the rat mouse had eaten:

Radiator hose (1)
Radiator hose (2)
Electrical wiring (my speedometer, gas guage and rpm thingee no longer work)
Vacuum hose (3 inches missing)
Oil dip stick housing

He ate ALL of this in one night...before he died.

His last meal cost me a pretty penny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U36DO_nrJeA

Valentines Day

Most women get flowers.

I received two (2) crates of potatoes. 

(My beau is in the produce business.)

We fill up little bags with red, white and purple potatoes and leave them on my neighbours doorstep(s).  We refer to it as, "potatoing" you.  It's funny.  It's weird.  It suits me.

It wasn't all THAT bad...he threw in some blood oranges and Myer Lemons...and a lobster...some margaritas and a bike ride on the boardwalk.

As a serial dater, my house was at times, filled with so many flowers my neighbours began to suspect I was running a funeral home.

"All those guys... who gave you those things...where are they now?" he responded.

"I dunno" I retorted. 

"My point exactely," he said. 

Everyone has gone crazy.

What do you do when everyone in your life goes crazy?

Ignore...ignore...(that's my favorite solution).

I cook dinner, monitor messages from my mother notifying she is going to turn herself in to the police because of a little credit card problem. 

I have a cold.  I have a headache.  My nose is red.  My mother said she is going to kill herself. 

If I could just get rid of this headache... 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGMHSbcd_qI

Crazy is as Crazy does.

Ring Ring

"Charmaine!"

"John!"

(That's how we greet each other...it gives you the warm fuzzies.)

John:  "Do you have Erins address?"
Me:    "No.  Why?"
John:  (He's a psychiatrist and my favorite Uncle)  It has recently dawned on me that your sister, Erin, has put her ducks in a row.  Assembled, if you will, a trail of blame by calling everyone the night your cousin Michael shot himself.
Me:    I know, that's why I called you. Call Briana, she has it.

Ring Ring

Briana:  John called.  He told me to call the police.  They said they would call back in 30 minutes.  That was 40 minutes ago.
Me:  Call them and ask what happened.
Briana:  I can't, I don't have the number.
Me:   His number must be in your cell phone.  Give it to me.
Briana:  You're right.  It's xxx-xxxx.
Me:  Hi, is this officer Rick?
Officer Rick:  Yes it is indeed.  (I heard the smile on his face.)
Me:  Hi, I'm Charmaine.  You were called to visit my sister because we, my sister and I, were afraid she attemped suicide.
Officer Rick:  Oh....yes of course.  I was just there.  You're sister is not dead.  I mean, she didn't answer the door but neighbours saw her earlier today.

Then it got weird.  The man seemed to know my sister too well. (I've always suspected my sister was an escort or something like that...to pay the bills.) He said he lived in her neighbourhood.  He said things like, "Can I talk to you off the record?"  "Yes," I lied. (There is no off the record with me.) He said he'd arrested her before for stabbing some guy.  "What?" I said.  "If she stabbed someone isn't that attempted murder?  Shouldn't she be in jail?" 

Officer Rick:  "Well your sister was an attorney.  She knows how to work the system.  The neighbours want her out, she does things like put speakers in the window sill and blast music at 2:00AM to piss them off... her house is in forclosure.  She smokes meth by the way.

Me:  "Huh?  I wonder how she meets her mortgage payment."  (I was secretly, bizarrely proud of my sister for blasting her stereo.) 

Officer Rick:  "She doesn't pay the mortgage.  In the interim there are men...alot of men."

Me:  "How do you know?"

There was something smarmy about him. He was too familiar with me. I felt something may have "occured" between them. Call me crazy.

To my sister:   You are still a member of this family.  You have a million apologies to make  Still, none of us want to see you dead.  I remember when we were young.  You were smart, clever, beautiful and as ambitious as you were cruel.  I can see you, ...back then.  You're wearing a poncho with ridiculous dangly things. Look, there we are...rushing toward the slip and slide shrieking with laughter.  There is only one way back... tell the truth and resist feeling sorry for yourself.  Stop taking drugs and...uh...stop stabbing people.

Find your way back...homeward. I'm waiting.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdLF5yujWHA

Love,
Charmaine

Are Men Inherently Bad?

Ah...you know me.  I've dated half the State of California. 

I consider myself an expert.  (Tongue in cheek.)

Jenny Sanford was on the air speaking about her husband Mark Sanford (he's the guy who cheated on her with a woman from Argentina.)

After the story broke (he was with his mistress in Buenos Aires) which some reports say was paid for by the State of South Carolina, he confessed in a news conference.

Then he called his wife, his political advisor.  He did not apologize, rather asked, "How'd I do?"

He wanted her feedback on his public apology. 

She did NOT stand by her man.

She filed for divorce...you know the story.

What I found interesting, at the end of the interview, is that she remarked they were being cordial and as compatible as ever for the sake of their children.  One of her four boys just had a birthday...

Being cordial and compatible for the sake of kids.  Maybe children need to know when daddy is a lech.  Maybe a man who is a liar does not deserve compatibility?  I don't know. 

I know it's important not to shame a parent in front of kids.  But if we ignore bad behavior, gloss over it in front of our children...don't we somehow encourage more of the same?

Are men inherently bad? My answer is no.  Not even close.  Most men, like women, are pretty decent. 

I was talking to my brother-in-law last night.  (I'm broke, out of money and out of time.)  He said, "Just tell me when I need to pick you up.  I'll build a bedroom for you in the basement.  Just say when."

When you become angry over bad men you're called "bitter".  In my opinion, it's the end result of being cordial in the face of bad behavior.  Your tolerance gets turned back on you and, as a woman, you are asked..."why aren't you being more cordial?" The wives of  many politicans stand and smile sweetly.

It delivers the wrong message.

They must want something.  And whatever it is, their silence is the price they pay.  (Hello wife of John Edwards.) She defended him in the face of a love child...until he punched her in the ribs...milimeters from the location of her breast cancer.  Finally, she speaks.

Jenny Sanford is not silent with the media...just in front of her kids so Daddy is not disgraced there. 

Maybe he needs to be.

Thoughts?

Dad

Dear Dad,
Things aren’t going well around here. You know, since you left.

In fact, since you left, everything has gone to hell.

We’re adults now. We’re independent, strong, never needed you. We’ve moved on.

That’s what we’re supposed to say.

But it’s not true Dad. None of it’s true.

In moments of weakness, it’s you I turn to. You’re the one I need. It’s your voice I long to hear.

I remember when you died. I talked to God. I said, “don’t take my father, take me instead.”

I have a blog. I shoot down men for sport. If I had a dollar for every opportunist that wanted to link, content share or otherwise advertise here…I’d be rich.

I’m not rich Dad. I won’t sell out. I’ll say what I want…

I love you. Please don’t be dead.

I wanted you to spring back to life and save Erin. But you won’t. You insist on being dead.

The wreckage is here in my lap.I’m not you. I'll keep fighting.

It gets harder...every day.  Nobody helps...I guess everyone is busy. 

Change of pace from dating.

I entered a writing competion.  I placed in the top 40.  Not great.

The great part is that writers made comments.  Just on a blog...no biggee. My point?  My point is when you tell the truth, your story will be legitimately heard and understood.  Here, we make fun of men and laugh. But in real life, I write about tragic things.  Below are some comments.  They're not funny...you will likely run for the hills.  I would if I were you.

I'm flanked by two strange bedfellows. Humor on my right and sadness to my left.

Lena said...
This piece is full of emotions. I can practically feel the pain. Really good work. Liked it.
Preeti said...
It is sad to dream about the death of someone you love. Maybe it is the manifestation of a deep-rooted feeling you are never going to belong to each other.
Hmmnn... poignant and melancholic.
Very well written.
Ayodele Morocco-Clarke said...  (Read one of her horrific published short stories at the link below.) http://storytime-ayodele-morocco-clarke.blogspot.com/
You have in tight constraint effectively conveyed the ache of immense loss. Fab!

Bernita said...
Bleak.
JaneyV said...
The frustration of loss that need not have been. Well told.
Aimee Laine said...
Such sadness! That was a great read!
Aniket said...
To not be able to be there for the final goodbye to the person you love...unimaginable pain. The heart needs closure.
Very well told.
Craig said...
I think this one is about the loss of possiblities.
Sarah Laurenson said...
Loss and heartache. Achingly rendered.
Charmaine said...
Preeti,
You're right. Dreaming of death is not literal. Our subconcious speaks to us in metaphores.
pjd said...
For some reason when I got to the end, I was unsure about "could have saved you." After overthinking it for a bit, I figured the narrator had dropped out of molecular biology to become a priest, and that was the salvation he (she?) could have offered. I think that was not was you were writing, though.
Scribblers Inc said...
It's the gaping void of "could be's " and "could have's "...
moving indeed...
Kartik said...
The sadness!
laughingwolf said...
somber...
Laurel said...
So sad. Big loss, no closure. .
Tara said...
Very emotional piece. So sad
Four Dinners said...
Emotionally bleak and actually left me feeling genuinely sad.
Beautifully written.
Deb Smythe said...
I'm feeling the heartache and regret. Well done.
Betty Gordon said...
Sad but moving.
james r. tomlinson said...
With MLK Day right around the corner, I couldn't help but notice your opening line and chuckle. You've managed to tell a believable tale, yet I was begging for more: What type of disease did this person have? In what way could the narrator have helped?
Chris Eldin said...
I, too, am left with many questions. A tragic tale of loss, nicely woven.
Katherine Tomlinson said...
Filled with authentic emotion, emotionally told.
catvibe said...
Echoing the others here. Very emotional and sad.

I'm glad they said that. But anger underfoot. I keep trying to stomp thngs out, like an insect beneath my boot.  Smash..smash.  But like weird bugs and their crazy exoskeletans...my anger springs back to life.

Date 1 - Bad Boy Gone Good

Repost...I'm out of material people...but that is no reason for you to be deprived of my dating journey.
Date 1- March 27th, 2008
San Chi Go, Laguna Beach

We irreverently met for sushi on Easter Sunday. The "Christian Playboy" had been to church. He went to Church on Good Friday too. He invited me.

“No thanks” I said “You go pray for us both...and have a good time”.

Oddly, the man doesn’t strike me as a Christian. He says things like, “Oh my GOD”! Isn't that against the rules?
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He’ll probably want to have pre-marital sex. I don't trust Christians.

He brought me a present. A kitchy plastic watch. After adjusted the links he brought it to me a few days later with a card and some cookies. (Some women get diamonds).
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I'd considered bringing a present to our first date. I pondered brining a purple plastic egg filled with fish oil tablets. You know, to help protect his heart. I realized I would have to dip into MY stash of fish oil tablets to accomplish the joke. I'm no spring chicken either.

Joke aborted.
a
He was in a car accident and was "rebuilt". Part of his abdominal skin was used to cover destroyed calf muscle.
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Favorite Quote from my Date (he pointed to his calf and said): “If you look here you can see my belly-button”.

And I did.  Ewe.

NEW FEATURE!!!
Utube of the day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=of3ZdK8aKqQ

Restaurant Review (***) 3 stars SAN SHI GO
This place is on the non-beach side of PCH but overlooks the water. It received rave reviews from many sources. I wasn’t impressed. The Sushi chef was similarly unimpressed by my attempts to speak Japanese. CP liked it. I had the “Backflip Roll”, and 2 other rolls. How many rolls are you supposed to eat, anyway?

I'm in love

I just thought you should know.

He's 81.  I'm done.  He is wonderful beyond wonderful. I asked him to marry me.  Yes I did.

Okay, so the reason we were speaking in the first place has to do with the fact that a friend of mine has prostate cancer. Lou, my next husband, hounded me all day after I initially contacted him (he has a support group) regarding  Prostate Cancer.

He tracked me down like a blood hound. 

A really affable grand fatherly blood hound.

We spoke for hours.  His interest is in my friend.  He wants to call him or have him call him.  (That sounds like an improper sentence.) 

Cancer is scary.  Not only for the one with it but for those of us who surround it/them. I want a quick fix.  I want it to be over.  I thought Prostate Cancer was no big deal.

I was wrong. 

With or without my "guy" I will attend the next support group.  I will listen to the guest speaker and more importantly...meet Lou.  Then...I will launch an assault on my supposed  "guy".  I'll make him talk to Lou. 

They will become fast friends. 

Then I'm gonna marry Lou.

He said I was scary smart. He wants nothing more then to help my friend. 

He's on a mission.

I Want Your Love

No words tonight my darlings. Just this video...and  people call me a feminist.  I am, it's true, but there is another side.  A woman has many "sides"...

My  heart was innocent until now.  You know...because you watched as I dated multitudes.

I used to want to be president of the United States...now...I pretty much just want to be a drag queen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrO4YZeyl0I

Captain Cage

Re-run week. October 3, 2007

I cancelled "Asian Persuasion" at the last minute and slipped in Captain Cage. Captain Cage is a private yacht captain in Newport Beach for a major celebrity. (I'm not supposed to say who.) My date was an Englishman in his 50's. Okay, his boss is Nicholas Cage. Lord knows I can't keep a secret.

We met at Blue Water Grill in Newport near Lido Isle. When I arrived my wine had been ordered and was waiting on the table.  Appetizers were on their way. "Thank God you're not going to starve me to death like some of my other dates"...I thought....but it came out of my mouth. I have no filter.  What can I say?

The captain was a nice bloke, asking frequently, "How am I doing?" and less frequently, "Will you marry me?".

We chatted quite comfortably, ate 4 appetizers and sipped 3 white wines. Hiccup. We gulped down a giant glass of water and went for a stroll by the bay. (To walk it off). Captain Cage pointed out his favorite boats and tried to kiss me.

Walking back we ran into his friend sitting on his porch. Captain said to his friend, "Isn't she lovely?" (Referring to me) The friend looked at me...and failed to respond. I thought..."bastard". It didn't slip out of my mouth. I have SOME control.

He walked me to my car and asked for another date after advising he would be leaving for Puerto Vallarta the following day for 3 months. "My boss wants the boat down there," he said.  "Nick is going to take his horrible son and obnoxious young wife.  She barks orders at me as if I were a butler.  I believe she used to be a cocktail waitress.  Nick's son wears black nail polish. Nick asked if I wouldn't mind parenting the lad a wee bit in his absence. Nick goes through yacht captains every six (6) months if they take this suggestion. I won't make that mistake." 

Captain Cage was fired a week later.
Restaurant Review

Blue Water Grill, Newport Beach, CA
This is the kind of food my parents might have shared on their first date. Old style. Things like fried prawns and clams served in a pueter collander of tepid broth perfumed with a hint of wine and garlic. It's the kind of place that probably uses dried parsley. Not bad but...old. The crowd was older. I guess I'm older too.

The Lyin' King

Re-run week. 12/4/08

In preparation for date number two (2) The Lyin' King and I emailed furiously.
a
It was fun, fast and flirtatious. At one point I "sensed" he was looking for something else.

Like a job.

Why would I think this you ask? Low self esteem? I don't think I'm attractive enough to sustain a man's attention?

He sent me his resume.

I'm and Event Planner. He's an attorney.

In order to steer the conversation away from employment I said things like, "You know most of the men in my industry are gay".

He responded smarmily, " I enjoy the touch and feeeel of a woman wayyyyy too much to ever go THERE". (Why do men talk like that?)

I quickly retorted, "Well, if you would please consider BECOMING gay, it would demonstrate that you are highly motivated".

That worked. Unfortunately, there was still the problem of his resume on my desk.

The first line began, "I recently lost my job due to layoffs...".

I send it to my sister (an attorney) and here is what she said:

"Charmaine, people rushed into my office to see what was the matter because I was laughing so hard". I was reading his resume. "I began to chuckle at the first line and by the time I got to third page where he states, "I was was quasi legal councel for... " I was on the floor.

She contacted the California Bar Association to find he had been suspended for stealing a clients money to pay office expenses. He was no longer allowed to practise law.

Restaurant Review

Old Vine Cafe - Drinks -*** (3 stars)
This little place is located in Costa Mesa in a strip mall called The Camp. I met him there. The President and Vice President of my company were with me. (They wanted to get a look at him.) We were all having a glass of wine when he arrived. It was awkward, he was uncomfortable and would not join us so we departed.

Mesa - Dinner -**** (4 stars)
The place is hip and FILLED with beautiful young people who appeared to be from L.A. Amber candles glowed hither and thither. The President of my comany showed up with her gorgeous, much younger boyfriend. Again...awkward.

I had a delicious concoction of lobster and shrimp in a foamy butter broth. It arrived in a bowl covered in foam with a red lobster shell head poking out of it as if to suggest it was having a nice bath. I dove into that bathtub head first to find succulent pieces of lobster and shrimp.

Who cares for men when there is such food to be had?

Duck...Duck...Goose.

It's re-run week. Join me, won't you?  (There is some profanity so eject here in order to preserve your inner landscape.)

9/29/08
"Evil Surfer Dude" dropped by Saturday.

He arrived with a plan. An Evil plan.

We were going bowling.

Don't get me wrong, I like bowling.  But after taking me to dinner the previous evening at what can only be described as a homeless shelter...it wasn't really working for me.

We drove to Fullerton where he was raised. We argued over where to dine for lunch. "Dine?" he queried. We picked up sandwiches and ate them on a bench, like homeless people, across from a lake he frequented as a lad.

Blood thirsty ducks hovered upon the lake.

After flapping out of the water, one walked right up and bit my leg. 

With compassion in my heart, I stood up and walked away. (I'm always the "bigger man".) The killer duck followed. As we strolled around the perimeter of the greenish man-made lake... the abnormally overweight duck chased alongside in the water honking obnoxiously and eyeing the fingers of my right hand."Quack quack, me see finger snack," he said.

a

"Evil" took my hand. In an unprecedented act of chivalry he made eye contact with the duck and said, "Fuck off".

Being a woman of pristine upbringing and character, I might have addressed the duck differently.  "Mr. Duck, you'd better watch it. I know a Chinese Restaurant that would like nothing better then to change your first name to Peking. Plus, where did you learn to speak English anyway, a brothel in Thailand?

Watching a grown man swear at a duck is ridiculous.

a

As a child,  if a kid came over to our house they would eventually begin to use the "F" word too despite being raised well.  They rightly suspecting if they did NOT, they simply would not be understood.

a

Johnny: "Mrs. Peterson, may I have another glass of milk?

Mother: Fails to respond

Johnny: "Mrs. Peterson, may I have another fucking glass of milk?

Mother: "Oh, certainly Dear."

I once offended a date with a judgmental remark.  He raised his voice and said, "F you, bitch".  Then he watched, glaring into my eyes waiting for my enraged response.

I batted an eye, gazed at him and demurely responded, "Please, that's what my mother says to me when she's trying to be NICE."

Restaurant Review

Subway, Fullerton, CA

Despite having dated this man for several months and building up a remarkable tolerance to Salmonella,  what I ordered gave me a stomach ache.  Run for the hills.  Shortly after this, with regard to "Evil Surfer Dude" it's exactly what I did.