Middle Aged Dating

Booty-licious.

2012-01-17T14:41:00.000-08:00

I got these boots (BCBG) for Christmas. I'm not a boot person. I'm a flip-flop person.

WAS a flip-flop person.

Praise Jesus (and all God's) for the return of the "chunky" heel.

Spiky heels and pointy toes (all things spawn from the devil) be GONE!

Amen.

What's in a Name?

2012-01-14T12:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I called my fiancé "Gary". (His name is Jerry.)

It wasn't the first time. (More like the 40th.)

Jerry is a weird name. Like the name of the guy living in a trailer missing a front tooth. Sometimes I can't even manage the word "Gary". When referring to him in conversation, to my sister perhaps, my mind becomes confused. I can't remember his name, like some reverse form of Tourette's Syndrome.

I open my mouth over and over again without making a sound like a fish plucked from the ocean trying to breath air. (Please visualize.)

Eventually, I exhale and say, "what's his name" or "that guy I'm going to marry."

My nephews scream, "Oh my God duh, you don't even know the name of the man your going to marry?" The youngest nephew fills in the blank, throwing me a verbal life raft; "You mean Jerry" he says.

"Yes Brody. That's exactly who I meant. You're a very good boy." I say. "Please have some candy."

My mother called my father, "Pete." I was 16 when I learned his name was really Richard. Who creates "Pete" as a diminutive of Richard?

When I call Jerry "Gary"... at least I'm close.

Year in Review.

2012-01-02T22:16:00.000-08:00

I Canyoneered in Utah. I was the fool that attached the backpack straps across my boobs..assuming they were seat belts.

Seatbelts don't work here. Yes, that's me.

I met new friends. I couldn't wait to tell them about the weird Mormons I'd met earlier, like the strawberry blond zombie waitress engaged to the restaurant owner (she pointed him out). He was already wearing a wedding ring.

"Can you believe these Mormons?" I asked.

"We're Mormons," they replied.

Driving past our lodge 12 times, we were still unable to find it. We called the innkeeper. She said, "after the second bend in the road, there is a creek, the road swerves left and then right. You'll see grass. There is a tree...THAT'S where we are located." "Are you Irish?" I asked.

The view of from my bedroom.

My girlfriend, Linda talked to the animals. Until he spit in her face. Imagine Saint Bernard drool...times 50.

We hiked.

We experienced rock formations.

I embraced nature.

Cows were perched in a front yard. I rattled the gate to summon the darling creatures, and was electrocuted... by the fence. I'd like to notify the Psychiatric community: Electroshock does NOT make one less depressed...it makes you want to kill someone.

We became annoyed with Utah, the Mormons, rock formations and high voltage fences. So we drove to Telluride, CO. No mormons were in the Gondola we rode to the top of a mountain for dinner.

I got a new car. It roars, literally.

I drove to Newport Beach and rented a house with a dock and boat.

I took flying trapeze lessons.

I went four wheeling with my nephew. We raced.

He won.

I managed a political campaign. We raced.

They won.

But now I'm on a first name basis with the Mayor. "Hey Murphy", I say when we cross paths.

I'm cool like that.

Hello South Beach...

2011-12-29T16:19:00.000-08:00

...diet.

Dr. Drew: "When did you first notice you had a problem?"
Charmaine: "I don't have a "problem". I can stop "using" (butter) whenever I want."

I had a big Christmas Party. I invited Jerry's kids, grandkids, the baby daddy's, his mother and...

..his X-wife.

There should be a girl scout badge...

I went Martha Steward on their asses. I made adorable invitations, cooked, juried the "ugly Christmas sweater contest". The white elephant was hilarious due to my mens Santa Knickers with matching hat that ended up on my 13 year old nephew.

I made videos for each guest...from Santa.

Jerry dressed up as St. Nick, offering each guest a personalized ornament.

X-Wife: You've done a great job with the Condo. The invitations, the food, such fun...it was amazing. Is there anything you CAN'T do?

Charmaine: Smiles sheepishly.

Why Marry Late in Life?

2011-12-13T23:25:00.000-08:00

To have conversations with my sister (married 20 years).

Charmaine: "Jerry is driving me crazy. All he wants to do is shop. He buys everything. It's exhausting. Last week BCBG didn't have boots in my size. He went BEHIND MY BACK...shipped them from Utah. He is dishonest!

Baby Sister: "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Charmaine: "Eating out every night is embarrassing. The Valet guys know us by name. I'm getting FAT. Jerry doesn't understand women.

Baby Sister: "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Charmaine: "How do you handle the endless, 'You're so beautiful' remarks? Doesn't it get old?

Baby Sister: "I hope you die."

The Mother-in-Law

2011-12-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

The FUN thing about getting married late in life is acquainting yourself with the family that came before you: Kids, x-wives and....

The Mother.

I am marrying into an Italian family.

I spent the afternoon with Shirley making home-made raviolis (including the pasta) for Christmas. It is a 40 year old tradition. She's adorable...but I keep one eye open.

I've seen episodes of Everyone Loves Raymond.

Bowl of flour, eggs, water, ricotta, cheese, parsley and bits of ham.

She made pasta, I made the filling.

ITALIAN Mother: "Charmaine. Place the pasta sheet over the rack, fill with cheese, cover with pasta sheet. Press out the air, dust with flour, roll with rolling pin and release the ravioli".

Charmaine: "It's pretty easy, eh?"

ITALIAN Mother: Silence

ITALIAN Mother: "That's too much filling"

Charmaine: "No problem.Voila."

ITALIAN Mother: "That's not enough filling."

Charmaine: "Oh."

ITALIAN Mother: "You didn't dust with flower."

Charmaine: "Flour, dust thyself upon my raviolis." Dramatic flourish of flour. I giggle.

Husband-to-be: "You have flour on your stomach."

Charmaine: "If it was on YOUR stomach we wouldn't have any left."

ITALIAN Mother: "You'd better be nice to my son. He's my baby, you know."

Charmaine: That's one BIG baby. "I know he's a mama's boy."

ITALIAN Mother: Gazes at me.

Charmaine: "In a GOOD Way."

On the 107th ravioli I thought; Why don't we buy these fuckers at Whole Foods?

But traditions are fun.

On the way out... I gave her a hug.

ITALIAN Mother: "Next time, work faster. The pasta dries out."

(She lingered, sweetly, at the door, waving, until we were out of sight.)

Later, I recalled the strong smell of the Ricotta. It smelled "off". I didn't want to say anything.

(It's Christmas Day and the family is vomiting...racing for the bathroom....)

ITALIAN Mother: "Charmaine made the ravioli this year."

Engaged VS Dating

2011-12-03T11:35:00.000-08:00

I don't have to tell YOU the difference, eh?

Okay, I'll tell you.

The difference is HUGE!

A man that wants to MARRY you versus the man that wants to DATE you ad infinitum...it's like apples and oranges...they both serve a purpose.

The marriage minded man wants NOTHING MORE then to please you. Like the beginning stage in dating a guy (he want's to please you too)...then it wanes to the final stage where you want to KILL him for being such a schmuck.

A schmuck is any man that DOES'NT want to marry you. It's my blog, I get to redefine words.

I'd been "asked" before. My mistake was to say, "no" then STAY in the relationship...forever. Or WORSE, stay in a relationship with some guy that didn't EVER want to get married.

You give yourself to some guy...for free. He get's all the benefits of a "wife" with none of the obligations.

Screw that!

When you say, "yes"...it keeps the ball rolling.

When you say, "yes" your man stays plugged in.

Let's view sample conversations depicting Dating Man and Marrying Man:

Dating Man: "You look nice."
Marrying Man: "Have I told you how gorgeous you are? You are so beautiful. I love you so much. Thank you for making my life so fun. You are just so wonderful and full of life. I feel like the luckiest man on earth. Do you want a Vespa?

That about covers it.

Middle Aged Marrying

2011-11-17T09:57:00.000-08:00

Had you SUGGESTED I would marry (for the first time) at the age of 50...I would have laughed in your face.

Coffee (more like a crisp Chardonnay) would have sprayed from my nostrils.

Uh, thar' she blows: Kendal Jackson Reserve Chardonnay...

My desire to remain single was complicated. I had loved and been loved. I thought I wanted to marry a couple of times (they didn't want to).

A few men wanted to marry ME, (I didn't want to)...

I enjoyed a modest life by the beach and answered to no one. After 20 years I began to wonder if it was ENOUGH.

Something changed.

Job, relocation and a break up. A wall of Rocky Mountains loomed on my horizon, blocking my view of the ocean. Had the ocean lulled me into a coma?

I realized how alone I was, had always been.

My independence, to which I'd been wedded, stopped feeling rebellious, avant guard or unique...it felt like HIDING. A person can hide from intimacy for a lifetime. I was proof!

So I said "yes" to a nice man.

Independence is a state of mind, not a living arrangement.

I haven't set a date. My fiancé bribes me with things like Corvettes. He assures the minute I utter, "I do" he'll buy me a Vespa.

Huh? You've never heard of a woman marrying for a Vespa? I might be cheap, but I'm not free, mista'.

My nephews are crazy about him...possibly, mostly... the Corvette.

Next summer we'll do it...on the beach. Not the "it" for which a drink was named (you filthy minded scoundrel) get married...jeez.

I enjoy being engaged. It's like being married and single at the same time.

...the best of both worlds.

I'm Engaged - Part 2

2011-05-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

He stopped me as I lifted the strawberry to my mouth. It had a ring poised upon it.

(When you're my age you can't see anything unless it's at least 6 feet away.)

We've been dating for 4 months.

He took me on a vacation. We did everything I wanted to do including Flying Trapeez lessons on the Santa Monica Pier. We rented a house on the water and strolled on the shore each morning beneath soaring flocks of pelicans. The waves crashed as seagulls chirped over the misty, abandoned beach.

He took me to THE restaurant I've always wanted to visit, Bazaar located in Beverly Hills.

It was amazing. (And I've been around people.)

I've been "wined and dined" by more then one Casanova. This man blows them all out of the water.

I accepted his proposal with grace:

"What the hell," I said,

followed romantically with, "Does this mean I can't date other people?"

I'm Engaged

2011-05-27T23:59:00.000-07:00

He's the fourth man to propose.

I said, "yes".

I have a diamond on my finger.

It's just a ring. Am I supposed to be sure?

I don't trust my heart.

My heart is a liar.

Am I Bad?

2011-04-03T22:59:00.000-07:00

When I say, "bad" I mean I haven't been telling you everything.

I prefer to wax on about the hellish nightmare of dating later in life.

When things are going well, I don't like to talk about it...

When it's easy... It's boring. (Red flag.)

I'm gonna tell this to my next psychiatrist. (If I ever talk to one.)

Things have been going well.

As Woody Allen once said, "When things are going great, I know something TERRIBLE is about to happen."

Love,
Charmaine

True Confessions - Getting Nailed!

2011-03-13T22:11:00.000-07:00

...here’s what REALLY happened on my date with Hamburger.

Prior to the date I noticed my hands were looking a little “sketchy”. I did something I have never done in my ENTIRE life.

I bought press on nails. French manicure style.

Hey, they didn’t look that bad.

I met "Hamburger" at Abrusci’s. After exchanging pleasantries like, “Was that you that honked in the parking lot and nearly ran me over?” I reached for my water glass. The pinky nail on my right hand was missing.

I scanned the table, it wasn’t there. “No big deal”, I thought.

We chatted. He went through his routine, advising I was attractive and that my hair looked nice.

“No, it doesn’t” I said…running my fingers through my hair.

I reached for my wine and noticed the middle finger nail was missing.

“Shit” I thought.

There was obviously a fingernail SOMEWHERE in my hair.

I focused on his eyes like a heat seeking missile; maniacally following his gaze to see where it might pause…revealing the fingernail’s location.

I would have gone to the ladies room but knowing he would look at my butt as I departed seemed like a worse alternative.

We shared delicious Calamari. I reached for bread with my left hand.

You guessed it, ring finger nail…missing.

“This is ridiculous” I thought. He must have noticed by now.

We talked but I didn’t hear a word he said. All I could think about were…the nails. Where WERE they? I mean, did they disappear? Were they in my hair, attached to my sweater? WHERE?

The rest happened as described. He walked me to my car, after taking 10 steps turned around and said, “Show me what you’ve got” in terms of a kiss.

That didn’t work for me. I drove off, peeling the remaining seven (7) ridiculous affectations off my hands…

Hamburger Stand Man

2011-03-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

I agreed to see "Hamburger" last night.

He's owned several restaurants. Now he owns a hamburger joint.

After our first date, I wasn't interested. He was cute, but I didn't like his vibe.

He kept trying to touch me.

Later, following an adventure, I brought my two nephews to his joint for a burger. I had some vague curiousity...

He was shocked and clearly upset with me for having ignored him.

He gave the kids free fries.

That's all it takes to get a second date with me. He brought me to a great Italian restaurant.

He said, "let's see what you've got" before moving in for the second date kiss.

I don't think so...

As my 14 year old nephew would say, "he was denied".

Now he's texting, apologizing for "being frisky" when he should be apologizing for being a moron.

Good Things, Small Package, IV

2011-03-11T22:00:00.000-08:00

That doesn't sound right.

The funny thing about a practically perfect date is that...it's not funny.

He picked me up in his convertible Corvette. (He wasn't driving it last time.)

He was a small man in a fast car.

An incredibly NICE man.

He brought me to an amazing restaurant...again. After dinner we took a bicycle taxi to a hip martini bar. The music was blasting hip hop music. Every other word seemed to be "bitch".

We looked at each other, two old farts in a young persons nightclub...and bolted.

Before the night was over he asked for another date.

He brought me a present from Thailand.

"What kind of present do you get a woman with whom you've only had one date?" He asked.

"It's perfect", I said.

Good Things Come in Small Packages III

2011-03-10T17:41:00.000-08:00

I'm seeing him again tomorrow night.

My girlfriend is wary of him. She believes because he ordered lobster on our first date AND ordered two (2) desserts I took home to my nephews...he is suspicious.

"Real men don't order lobster", she said. "He's trying too hard."

I just thought he was trying to impress me.

But there is a problem. He just returned from Thailand.

It is his 11th trip. I don't get it.

I've been to Thailand. It was an all expenses paid trip. I flew first class. I slept in a pod, sipped champagne. I enjoyed a 5 star river front room with a personal butler. She unpacked my suitcase and drew a bath for me when I returned from riding an elephant.

There were rose petals in the bathwater.

The aroma I selected wafted throughout the room. My particular brand of soothing music played. The pillow I ordered was on the bed.

But here's the thing: It was a place a person should visit once.

There is a distinct underbelly to Thailand. The trafficking of children into the sex trade. The ping pong ball thing. Parts of Thailand turn into a red light district of horror for these children every night.

It cannot be denied. Just hearing about it, having it confirmed, was enough to disgust me. Scare me. Sadden me.

So why would a grown man return 11 times to such a country? It's dirty, people wear masks to protect against the epic pollution. It's grimly exotic. The floating water market is on it's last legs.

I was lucky. I experienced the country like some kind of rock star because I'm an event planner. Photos of me even appeared in the paper. Absurd, to say the least.

There are a million ways to discriminate against people: Race, color and religion.

How about discrimination based on vacation travel destinations?

I met "HIM".

2011-03-07T17:44:00.000-08:00

Our eyes met...a song played in my head:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zc2O4SnUno

It's not really my style. It just happened... to happen.

He calls...

I allow my girlfriends to listen to his voice mails. His voice is deep and mellifluous.

...no woman on earth could resist. But I can.

I'm frightened. Afraid of getting hurt, again.

He's gorgeous and succesful.

I'm stuck...and fearful.

Drag Racing AND Dinner, Oh My!

2011-02-27T14:44:00.000-08:00

If driving 50 mph go karts is considered drag racing…

The track was filled with grown men wearing race jumpsuits, head socks, helmets and racing gloves.

I felt nervous.

The smell of gasoline was in the air and the male racers were out for blood.

I sauntered to my kart in 4 inch black suede boots and tight blue jeans.

The audience pointed and laughed.

A young guy waved the race flag...I blessed myself over my helmet.

After getting passed, I tried harder...Suddenly, my boot dislodged the brake extender. I could no longer reach it.

Taking my foot OFF the accelerator did not occur to me.

I spun out of control.

I pulled into the pit.“How many more laps?” I asked. “One, two?”"About 20." the young man said, grinning.

“Shit." I replied demurely.

"They got nothin' on YOU babe." he said, smiling.

This song began playing in my head: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PTDv_szmL0

“If these guys can do it..” I mused, pressing the accelerator to the floor. Young guys at the track began jumping up and down, giving me thumbs up, and screaming.

“Way to go Charmaine” boomed over the loud speaker.

I was going 15 miles per hour.

I was NOT going to die in a go-kart.

Then my date took me to dinner.

He's cute, yes?...Ahhhh

2011-02-22T08:35:00.000-08:00

He asked me to go snowmobiling this weekend. I couldn't help but notice his "guns".

Very nice.

I like motorcycles. He's manly in a totally HOT Keanu Reeves way! I am SO going to meet him.

Nothing wrong with this picture of him.

Ahhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh. (inhales) Ahhhhhh.

Now WHY did he have to go and do THAT?......WHY??

Hey Big Spender...

2011-02-21T18:48:00.000-08:00

The minute he walked in the room…I could tell he was a man of distinction

A real big spender…

(Cue needle dragging across a vinyl record.)

I sat down at the ultra hip dimly lit bar. I arrived early. Despite my age I still get uncomfortable seated alone at a bar.

My date called to admit he’d be late. (We were both event planners.) Being late… is the kiss of death.

I confessed to the bartender I was meeting a match.com date. I made a similar announcement to the group next to me. They moved in, as if to protect me.

A tall manly guy towered over me, “If things don’t work out, I’ll protect you…if you don’t mind.”

Minutes later an irritating light caught my eye. Some blond 25 year old at the edge of the bar was taking my picture. Wha the? Paparazzi?

He came up; snapping several photos, then asked my permission, retroactively. He claimed to be with a newspaper in New York. (I didn’t buy it either.)

The tall man re-appeared, “Do you want me to deck him?” he said. I was going to say, “yes” but…

My date arrived.

The kid would NOT stop taking my picture. He put the camera on his lap, pointed and snapped away… flash…flash….My date gave him a dirty look. The boy approached and introduced himself.

My date and he were about to enter into a skirmish…

The tall man appeared again, staring into my eyes… “’I can take care of this if you like”, he said.

I looked at my date, clearly uncomfortable…telling me how beautiful my eyes were…

I can’t remember what he looked like…

The tall man that showed up to protect my pretend honor… I could identify him in a police line-up.

Good Things Come in Small Packages...II.

2011-02-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

I'm not finished describing my last date.

I agreed to meet him at my favorite restaurant, Ocean Prime. It’s a hip place.

I couldn’t remember his name. It was either Barry or Jerry.

I called prior to arriving...to advise he might experience difficulty recognizing me. (Due to a hairdressing faux pas… I was now a brunette. )

Earlier in the day my nephew exclaimed, “Ewe, Aunt Charmaine what HAAAPENED to your HAIR? It looks AWWFUL!

“Hi Charmaine, I’m waiting for you at a table down stairs. I’m wearing a white jacket.”

“Oh great,” I thought. “He’s one of the waiters.”

His eyes lit up. He had already made reservations for dinner.

When our table was ready we stood. “Those are some high heels you’re wearing.” He commented.

They were high, four inches with a 1/2 inch platform.

My date (Jerry by the way) came up to my neck.

He was already planning our second date. We laughed…the conversation was easy.

He ordered the lobster, I couldn’t decide between the Filet and the Salmon.

“Why don’t you get both?” he suggested.
He forced me to bring home a couple of desserts for my nephews. The truffle sauce on my filet, cost $17.00. In other words, he spent easily over $350.00 bucks

But it’s not the money…it was how he made me feel…like I was worth it.

I’d forgotten…what it felt like.

Waiting for my car, Jerry paid for my valet. I tried to stop him. He would hear nothing of it.
Because I had a headlight out on my car...he led me home.

REAL men come in all sizes.

Good Things Come in Small Packages

2011-02-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

I had the time of my life tonight.

Well, not my actual life. I had a terrific date with a man who was...um, short.

But here's the thing...for some reason, I didn't care.

I was wearing 4 inch heels with a little platform to boot. (Making me 5 inches taller.)

I towered over the man.

Do you think it bothered him? Nope.

We met at an exclusive restaurant.

We had lobster and...well, ya know.

He forced me to take home several desserts for my nephews.

And something so small...something I'd forgotten men should do...he paid for my valet.

I forgot men did that.

Post Date - Holy Shit!

2011-01-29T23:34:00.000-08:00

(I need to work on my swearing.)

I arrived at Ocean Prime at 6:30 PM. The valet guys swooped in.

I hadn’t even called Gene, to confirm our date.

When I walked in he stood up immediately. I had one thought:

“Holy Shit, it’s Robert Redford”.

He was a 59 year old version of Robert Redford.

He pulled out my chair and was in every manner, a perfect gentleman. He had that relaxed, confident energy a lot of politicians have.

When he opened his mouth to speak his voice was a cross between John Edwards and Jimmy Carter.

He arrived one hour early for our date.

We had a delicious dinner, the best of everything.

He grew up on a peanut-farm.

Now he’s a big wig at Hewlett Packard...but played it down.

A man slipped into the seat beside me. (We were seated at the bar.)

His voice sounded like Will Smith’s in the film, 6 Degrees of Separation: Preppy, studied, deeply confident and full of laughter. The restaurnt staff was making a big deal.

He was wearing penny loafers with tassels.

My date went to the bathroom and the man turned to me, “Good evening, my name is Charles” he said.

I was waiting for my car to be returned by the valet...and he approached..we laughed.

We're meeting Friday for drinks.

Follow your Instincts, right?

2011-01-28T09:23:00.000-08:00

I've probably dated more then most.

It's odd since I'm kinda shy. It doesn't feel "natural". I force myself.

Sometimes the men asking me out are dull, mean, hung up on x's or just plain weird.

I've decided to stop thinking...and trust my instincts.

This is my next instinct.

But I have a date tomorrow night. A man 10 years older. He's concerned I'm too young for him and too cute (in his mind).

I didn't mention him because...I don't tell you EVERYTHING. He's been pre-qualified by the woman I work for.

That means blind date.

Expect disaster.

Tune in for the results, won't you?

Man. Man. Man. Goose.

2011-01-24T23:50:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen...The "line up" currently under consideration.

(1) Robert.
He was unexpectedly thoughtful for a 34 year old which is...WAY too young for me. My girlfriend is dating a man 10 years her junior...having the time of her life.

I agreed to possibly meet him ONLY to, um, complete my research (cough cough) and report my findings back to YOU. The things I do for science.

(2.) Blake
He's in law enforcement. I think he's cross-eyed. If he looks me up in "the system"...he'll likely see two of me (it's a cross eyed thing) and learn I'm a dangerous seat belt violator with a penchant for repeat recidivism. (Recidivism is a term only criminals in-the-know...know).

(3) J.R.
This brooding, serious man is compelling. H'e's arrogant. He's a writer. I don't trust his black and white "professional" photo. I've learned nothing appearing on-line, nothing a man says, or the pictures he posts, matter.

You need to weed out the serial killers...then meet.

(4) Kerry - a.k.a. "Goose"
You have to be 6'3" to pull off a nickname like that. He's nice. An unapologetic "mans man". He's an IT Director, which always comes in handy.

Just a few... in the que.

Are Dating Monsters...REAL?

2011-01-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

I’m NOT a fashion model.

(I know…it’s hard to believe.)

I’m just your average middle aged broad, age 49. I look pretty good. I can still turn a head or two... if I hold in my stomach.

What I lack in looks, I make up with a highly developed sense of humor.

Which is why I had to laugh when THIS guy asked me out.

Shrieks….(faints).

A normal woman would have hit the delete button.

I had to know WHY he possesed sufficient confidence to ask me out?

Maybe he was an alternative medical physician or…a friend of Ghandi?

Right?

Wrong.

You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

But sometimes…the cover tells the whole story.

I was kind to him. He was bizarrely sweet.

BUT, because I have no immediate plans to be found decapitated in a shed located in the mountains...

I'm NOT gonna meet him.

Love and Younger Men

2011-01-09T21:46:00.000-08:00

Someone suggested I date younger men. I AM.

One is blond, the other brunette. They're friends. Neither knows about the other.

I can't tell them because they're VERY jealous.

And they both have guns.

The problem is... I have to pay for EVERYTHING.

Tonight, I took them BOTH to dinner at Casa Bonita.

It was a bold move.

As we dined near a waterfall featuring incredibly realistic turquoise water...I engaged in cocktail conversation: "This is the most delicious American cheese sauce covered enchilada I have ever eaten in my LIFE". And...

"The smell of bleach really perks up a girls appetite...don't ya think?"

Keeping up the star crossed "charade" was hell.

After giving Brody $5.00 dollars of arcade tokens, Britt became jealous. I had no choice but to give Britt $5.00 dollars worth...so he wouldn't suspect anything.

When I bought Britt a balloon, I thought Brody was going to shoot him.

I'm not sure if this makes me a bad person.

The truth is...I saw ANOTHER younger guy earlier. We went to Starbucks, Denny's, AND Rockly's Music Store. We played electric pianos, guitars and a ukulele.

It's not the first time.

One of the musicians in the store has a crush on me. Luckily, guy number three (3) is not the jealous type.

He's been looking for work.

But there are child labor laws...

Harley Hal

2011-01-08T19:00:00.000-08:00

He kissed me. (Just a peck...or two.)

This only makes you a whore if you happen to be an Irish Catholic.

He was a good looking man. He became better looking as the evening progressed.

He hailed from 4 generations of Westpoint graduates. All generals in the Airforce. He went to the Airforce Acadamy as an act of rebellion.

We met in a Pub overlooking an outdoor ice-skating rink. The perimeter of the rink was studded with trees covered with twinkle lights left over from the holidays. It was lovely.

As I arrived, I watched him put on chapstick. Talk about wishfull thinking.

He was a gentleman. That is, when his hand wasn't on my knee or trying to pull me close.

But there was nothing obnoxious about it. He'd been married for 26 years. He was successful and thought I was hilarious.

He rides a huge Harley and plays the trumpet.

I love that he plays the trumpet.

He texted me minutes after I left.

He's dating material.

Pre-Date Review

2011-01-06T22:19:00.000-08:00

Let's try a PRE-date review...for kicks.

This way you can witness my glorious optimism. I always think the date is going to go well. (Cue sinister organ music.)

His name is Hal. He doesn't have the "look" of my typical man. He's, um, motorcycley. (New word.)

And outdoorsey. (Can I get a spell check?)

It's difficult to spell words one never uses.

BUT...he's hilarious, an IT guy and persistent. Three qualities I value.

My last date, restaurant guy, texted me this: "Scammer".

I assume because I didn't answer his calls.

Hal, on the other hand, continues to call with a jovial attitude despite my failure to respond. (I think I got a ticket for that once.) He's upbeat, has a great voice...I just KNOW I'm going to have fun.

Famous last words.

Tune in tomorrow, won't you?

Bowling Alley Date

2011-01-03T19:33:00.000-08:00

Bowling Alley Date...are you KIDDING me?

Man oh man...I had a blast.

I'm a fancy girl. Food snob...you know the drill.

It's important to depart from tradition.

After 20 minutes the men in the adjacent alley approached me to offer their arcade game tickets...to the tune of over 1,000 tickets.

Thanks fellas.

My nephew and his friend almost killed themselves...fighting over them. (You turn them in for prizes.)

One of the kids scratched his leg. Did I mention I brought my sister the lawyer? She's does a bit of personal injury...

By the time we left, we were given a gazillion free games, men were flirting up a storm, we were given too many tokens to use, free everything...it was ridiculous.

It's the little things...

Post Date Review

2011-01-02T15:51:00.000-08:00

December 31, 2010 - (CHIP)

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present ….drum roll puleez, the first DATE REVIEW of 2011.

Oh my.

It occurred on (New Year’s Eve).

His eyes did not light up when I entered the room. He talked about his x-girlfriend and his x-wife after I advised, “I’m not really interested in talking about past relationships”.

He was seated at the bar. I said, “I feel awkward about pulling out my own chair”. He lept up.

(It’s part of my new “technique” to educate men how to treat ME.)

He had difficulty maintaining eye contact. Another fella did this before. I didn't like it. When I refused to see him again he frantically emailed me beseaching:

Why don't you likkkke meeee?

Anyway, my first instinct was to ditch Chip. But....

I was feeling peckish.

He claimed to be a "foodie". But failed to order the heirloom beet salad.

I eyed him, suspiciously...he said:

1. I can’t believe you showed up.
2. You look like Giada from the Food Network.
3. Did you used to be a model? (Yes, double chins are very popular on the runway.)
4. You’re terrific and not a bad date, let’s have dinner.
5. I want to cook for you. Bring your nephews to my restaurant.
6. Grabbing my hand trying to kiss me, “I like you already.”
7. You probably have millions of guys. You use them then spit them out. You’re just dating for fun.
8. Running after me…where are you going? I got you these balloons AND a tiramisu to take home....

I dunno. I got bored.

It's Raining Men...Again!

2010-12-30T21:42:00.000-08:00

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"

2010-12-13T15:36:00.000-08:00

“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?

2010-11-16T08:58:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-11-01T23:26:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-10-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

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???

2010-10-07T12:23:00.000-07:00

"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

2010-09-28T07:45:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-09-25T00:14:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-09-23T21:26:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-06-03T17:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-06-02T06:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-01T13:54:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-10T09:38:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-09T06:53:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-08T17:58:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-04T07:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-02T15:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-03-18T16:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-16T17:02:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-14T05:38:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-04T09:05:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-27T13:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-19T12:47:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-15T11:45:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-14T00:40:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-08T19:35:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-02-08T06:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-07T20:17:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-31T11:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-27T15:44:00.000-08:00

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?
a
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).
a
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.
a
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

2010-01-20T21:40:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-20T18:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-19T16:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-18T20:00:00.000-08:00

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.

"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.

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.

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.

The Angry Woman

2010-01-13T06:13:00.000-08:00

Uh...nobody wants to hear from "The Angry Woman".

You have a point. It is, perhaps, more constructive to be adaptive and supportive.

I can make a case for outrage on many things. I was conditioned into anger. It runs rampant in my family. While the things my family is angry about are legitimate...the angry people are not happy.

Being "right" can polarize a person into radical behavior vs. spiritual understanding. Anger can be assaultive and close the heart you are trying to reach.

Hmm.

Like those people who were fanatical concerning animal rights. They were correct in concept but they expressed their opinions by throwing paint on women wearing furs. Trying to get paint out of my hair would never polarize me into your camp. Right concept, wrong action. That's why the movement didn't work.

Like Feminism, it was correct in concept but it's expression was too angry and assaultive to men. That movement didn't work either.

Radical vegetarianism. Right concept again. But Mother Teresa ate meat. Would they judge her too?

It's important to catch yourself before you spiral down too far...in my case, into anger.

You can do the right thing without judging the people that don't. I don't want to be angry at you know who anymore.

In life and love, you never know what you are missing until it arrives. You never know what you have until it is missing. So appreciate what you have.

Hey, look at me...I just transformed into Mother Teresa!

It's important to apologize sometimes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0C_zEuk6fvU

Everybody's Somebody's Fool

2010-01-12T15:44:00.000-08:00

The Nerd called.

His voice was deep and maudlin. He said, "I hope you are noticing my lack of enthusiasm." (It was a play on words from my blog post wherein I compared his enthusiasm on our date to that of a Golden Retriever.)

Here's the problem. Every man I know reads (or pretends not to read) my blog.

The Nerd confessed to reading it start to finish. "You're hilarious," he said.

Humour is a mask. Otherwise how could I go from dancing a jig one day to the pits of dispair after breaking up with my guy because he was three (3) minutes late picking me up at the airport? (Being late is very rude.) When someone has been late EVERY time for a year you can travel from anticipation to anger in a flash.

Him: Why couldn't you just wait an hour, 3 minutes, half an hour? (Interject any span of time.)
Me: Why couldn't you just leave an hour, 3 minutes or half hour earlier?

Picture two Long Horned Sheep on a mountainside flecked with snow in Colorado ramming their heads together.

Yet, there were extraordinary acts of kindness.

Do women really wait around for men? If so, you are responsible for creating the Prima Donna's I currently have to deal with.

Ladies, there is no reason to consent to this. The younger generation is better at separating their physical selves from their emotional selves. But old broads like me, can't do it.

If you look at the animal kingdom (I'm only going here because men use this analogy to prove they were meant to spred their seed with reckless abandon) you will notice only the strongest males gain access to females for reproduction. Male horses, rams, tigers have to fight each other.

Only the strongest prevail, hence making the genetic pool of progeny...stronger.

Now the fat cats don't have to fight anymore.

It takes a strong man to deal with me.

I say picking a woman up for a date on time is NOT weakness. It is showing a modicum of respect. Showing someone you don't respect them is not strength. It is an attempt to require an unecessary humbling or submission.

Some women can play these manipulations to their advantage. You just have to play along.

It's a skill I never cultivated. I don't want to, I don't respect it and I won't do it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NkiyCFt1rs

Return Of The Nerd

2010-01-09T10:36:00.000-08:00

He recently send me a message on Facebook: (Our date was in 2008) "Hey, it's the nerd. First of all, my teeth are tan. Also, i have been trained to untuck and lower. My enthusiasm was significantly diminished by the lack of response, i.e. throwing yourself at me most wantonly, the jersey tomatoes inspired, so i no longer wave 'vigorously' - ever. Anyway, i think a second date is in order.

2skin.E"

Me thinks he found my blog. The little rascal. Below is my review of our first, and only, date in May of 2008. He had a deep voice and an enormous Adam's Apple. That's a wierd thing to say, isn't it? (The things one remembers...) He was jovial and self-effacing. Unlike "The King" he would never accuse me of "bad behavior", call me to "discuss my inadequacies", leave me in reastaurants or insult me just because he could or leave me waiting for hours just to prove how busy he was. I liked him immediately. He would have given me a Christmas Card. He deserves a second date.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I met Revenge of the Nerd at the swap meet. His pants were pulled up WAY too high and his t-shirt was tucked in. He was wearing white sneakers. He had yellow teeth.

But he was as enthusiastic as a golden retriever puppy. I could almost a hear the tail wagging. Thump. Thump.

He carried my 10 bags in one hand, a Boston Fern in the other with my purse slung over his shoulder. He wore an ENORMOUS straw hat. (He looked hilarious). He held my hand until it got sweaty.

When we left he followed my car in a beat-up red Echo. In my rear view mirror I could see him smiling and waving vigorously.

We took the auto Ferry to Balboa Peninsula. He jumped out of his car, walked with determination to the front of the ferry and jutted his arms into the sky. (Simulating the "I'm king of the world" scene from Titanic.)

Oh yea, he was nerd alright.

We visited the "Fun Zone" an amusement area in Newport Beach frequented by 6 year olds. When you play Skeeball the machine spits out coupons used to purchase prizes like superballs and black widow rings.

After pushing a 7 year old out of the way (being tall has it's advantages) we made it to the counter to purchase our prizes. I purchased my favorite...the black widow ring. He purchased the manila envelope stamped with a picture of a rattlesnake. Beneath the picture: Rattlesnake Eggs. Caution: Store in a cool place to prevent hatching.

When you open the envelope a device within shakes with a buzz.

It malfunctioned every time I showed it to people at work... until I opened it. I screamed every time. Who's the nerd, now?

I called my sister to ask if I could send it to her boys. She said, "How cold do I keep the eggs to prevent them from hatching"? (She's normally intelligent.)

He emailed me the minute he got home" "I know the rules say I should wait at least 24 hours but I had to tell you I had wicked awesome time". (He teaches high school math hence the vernacular.)

Seriously. He's a nerd. But he's a confident, unapologetic thinks-he's-a-rebel, nerd.

I like him... but I'll never see him again. He's too skinny.

"White and Nerdy" by Weird Al Yankovich. Click below to see him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6Zc9NyYH-k&feature=PlayList&p=6C00A321AC9BA6A1&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=1

The making of the video with Donny Osmond (below). Even funnier:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vq6OncN6_Fo&channel=alyankovic

"Hi, my name is Bob".

2010-01-09T09:27:00.000-08:00

I was getting out of my car, lugging groceries. He appeared beside me.

He'd been chatting with the neighbours down the ally. The ones whose lives I covet. She is beautiful and blond, he is tall and handsome, their newborn child is precious. Their dog is named Bella, they drive Land Rovers and live in a big house.

No, I'm not stalking them. Here in Corona Del Mar we live on top of each other. Everyone hears and sees everything.

"I was just standing behind you at the grocery store." He said.

"You were? What did you buy?"

(I hate myself when I say things like that.) I mean, why did I say that?
He extended his hand. "My name is Bob. I live a few houses down. I hope to see you around.

Love is a Four Letter Word

2010-01-07T17:18:00.000-08:00

This is a long post. Run for the hills.

I had a great trip to Denver. My brother-in-law picked me up at the airport. He was not late.

On my return to Orange County, The King asked me to call when my plane landed. He could be there in 15 minutes. I called. He wasn't there. I took a cab instead.

Then he arrived at my apartment. "Why couldn't you wait?" he asked. It's a theme with us. Me waiting...eventually getting fed up and leaving. I'm such an evil woman. I guess the fact that he is consistantly late does not qualify as bad behavior.

Always...he goes on about my "bad behavior". How I left his house on Christmas Eve while he dined with is X and children at her house. I baked a pie. I waitied as long as I could.

In Denver I made dinner every night. I invited neighbourhood kids for sphaghetti. I packed Dan's lunch. I made the kids lunch. I helped Brody with his homework. Oops what's that? Oh, Gunnars arms around me, "I love you" he said.

New Years Eve was filled with children. When Aunt Charmaine shows up...so do the kids.

I sprung into action. I made a New Years Eve party, I bought noise makers, silly string, tiaras and helium balloons. I did my famous scavenger hunt. The kids ran around the house squeeling. The fireplace was crackling.

They decided to inhale helium from the balloons (my sister accused me of corrupting her children) forcing them to parrot what I told them to say like, "I hope when I hit puberty my voice will change". I took them to this trampoline place. Trampoline dodge ball where Aunt Charmaine morphed into a soccer mom.

"Kill them" I heard myself say. "Now is not the time to be polite".

The little boy on the opposite team, a brilliant dodge ball player, waved me into the game. I was going to annihilate him.

He annihilated me instead. He threw the ball so hard it knocked me over. I had nothing but admiration for the lad, except that he cheated. He was so good, he didn't need to cheat. "The ball hit you, you're out!" I yelled. "Whose running this show", I thought. Where are the adults?

Who knew that my tiny nephew, Gunnar, smaller then the other boys,the kind that writes love songs on his guitar and sneaks up to say, I love you"...would be the one to knock their socks off? It's not size. It's tenacity. That's him below with my beautiful sister. He kicked their butts. He was a poised...focused warrior. Our team won against Herculean odds.

I was proud of him. He had justice and fire in his eyes

On the way home he was bemoaning the fact that the other team had cheated. The injustice of it. One of the cheating thugs had red hair. Gunnar asked Chandler, his 15 year old cousin, how could they cheat like that?

"Don't worry" she said. He'll never get anywhere in life. He's a ginger.

Ginger is a derogatory term used in Evergreen, Colorado to describe people with red hair.

I'm not politicaly correct. I laughed. I'm a little "gingery" myself.
I

Brody rushed out to the car as I departed for one last kiss. "He doesn't do that with anyone" my sister said.

The car pulled away and he chased us. We pulled away again, he chased again. He let me kiss him TWICE! My mother returned to say, "I don't want you to go".

Still, I was excited to depart and see my King. We all know how that turned out. Big fizzle. When we got back together recently he texted, "Call me when you are prepared to discuss your character flaws."

Well try this on King. Call me when you are prepared to apologize for yours.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kuna7sC5ek&NR=1

Music and Lyrics

2009-12-29T11:33:00.000-08:00

It was a stupid movie that featured Hugh Grant.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8AU2n6hf24&feature=related

My mother once mailed Hugh Grant pictures of me, advising that I was perfect for him.
Now all the Hot shots of me in my 20's are gone. But it's a funny story. The fact that my mother believed what she saw on TV.

Below is "the song". The best woman in the world, Charlotte Vale Allen sent me her recipe for Chicken Divan and I'm gonna cook it for my nephews. All is not lost. Oh yea, I forgot to mention...The King dumped me.

You don't know who your real friends are...until you need them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2vS49_v4ZlU

That's him. Just a playboy I'm thinking now.

A Christmas Story

2009-12-26T01:29:00.000-08:00

"Simba...Remember who you are."

Sometimes you need family to remind you.

After a last minute change, heart broken, I spent Christmas with my local family: My Aunt and cousins.

Christmas is about family.

It was the best Christmas eva! Moments after arriving at the Brentwood style mansion owned by my cousin Dara (nuclear scientist) and her husband Tom (attorney) I was brought to the backyard to meet Molly (age two.) She was squatted, like a dog, on the backyard patio, having removed her diaper and pants, she pooped on the ground. Yep, right there on the Mexican Tiles.

"At least she didn't do it in her diaper. We're trying to potty train her", my cousin said.

"When Molly turns twenty one (21) I'm going to tell her what she was doing the first time I met her." I said.

An hour later the little cherub wrapped her arms and legs around me and it was love. I carried her around in my arms until they hurt.

Her twin sister, Clair, had white-blond hair twisted into curls and airy whisps like a fairy sprite from A Midsummers Night Dream. If she'd had gossamer wings you'd be hard pressed to imagine they weren't meant to be there.  No two (2) twins could have been more dissimilar. One born with a clenched fist, the other with dreamy stars in her eyes. (It was the little hell-raising adorable devil child most drawn my way.)

I haven't seen my cousins or Aunt in years. I was busy. I made up excuses.

My Aunt couldn't believe I showed up. She is the woman that emmigrated to America with my mother when they were 23 years old. She married my mother's eldest brother. She cooked a delicious rack of pork marinated in garlic, Rosemary and Thyme with roasted vegetables, Au Gratin Potatoes, Butternut Squash, Sauteed Kale and Homemade rolls slathered in butter, parsley and garlic.

Everyone had a story to tell about the first time they met me, as if they knew I felt disconnected. Andrea (cousin Gavin's wife) recalled meeting me when I was 19. She said I was cooking in Aunt Mary's kitchen. I exclaimed, "I don't know what to do! What does Saute mean? I don't know what Saute MEANS!" (Funny because my mother and I started a catering company a year later.)

The kids opened presents, jumped and screamed.

The house was perfumed with delicious aromas, kids squeeling and running wild with dogs poking their noses into this or that. I was feeling the love. For the first time, I needed it.

We watched a video on a TV screen larger then my apartment, of the girls singing in a Church Christmas Pageant. It was hilarious.

I called my little sister Briana. My phone was passed from person to person. "God I just love her," my cousins chanted. Cousin Thurlow called in on speaker phone, "Merry Christmas Molly. Merry Christmas Clair." The girls gravitated to the sound of his voice, touching the phone like it was magic.

There was Prosecco, dessert and conversation. Tales from our mutual pasts and present day updates. It was with this family I spent many childhood holidays. We played in the mud. My father sprayed us with a garden hose as we ran in circles...shrieking with delight. Later, after our father's died in close proximity...we lost touch. Their father was my Godfather. He had a heart attack while cycling with my cousin Thurlow. Thurlow tried to revive him. He died in his arms. His mother, like mine, never re-married.  Maybe real love ruins you.

Life and sorrow got in the way. I stayed away for 20 years.

My sweet cousin Elva sat me at "the kids table" and read a story aloud from a childrens book.  A 45 year old woman read a 48 year old woman a book called, Gerald the Giraffe Can't Dance. See, Gerald was "different". He needed a "different" song to dance to. My cousin paused and gazed at me. We giggled. Time seemed never to have passed.

Except certain people were now bald.

My Aunt Mary (Mary is my middle name) and Cousin Dara begged me to stay the night. "Don't go Charmaine" they trained one of the two-year olds to say. (The air mattress was already on the living room floor and Molly, naked, was jumping up and down on it.)

On my drive home Elva called: "I love you," she said. "Thank you for making Christmas special this year. You changed things. We've never had so much fun. You're such a bright light," she said.

How lucky am I? I'm broke...but I feel rich.

Balancing Eggs...even when you don't have them anymore.

2009-12-25T01:58:00.000-08:00

I have a scientific obligation to inform you that the whole "can-only-balance-an-egg-on-its-end-on-the-day-of-the-Winter-Soltice...is a lie.

There is no abject gravitational pull. Of course, I already knew that. but, ahem, I wasn't sure...so I tested the theory because I will go to unknown lengths to...um, help you.

So I balanced the egg the next day. It took me 30 seconds. It had nothing to do with gravity...it was just a good egg. Alone in my kitchen, I could do it.

I tried it with other eggs. It didn't work. The point is, it's important to know when you are being lied to. There is only one way to find out. Test. Use your mind, not your heart. Of course this is a metaphore for my life.

Don't people understand metaphores anymore? Have we all become lazy and literal?

Eggcentric

2009-12-21T16:19:00.000-08:00

The man I date teaches me new and amazing things every day. In fact, as the months pass, I can literally feel my I.Q. rising.

Todays lesson was: "Did you know that you can only balance an egg on its end during the Winter Soltice."

"Really?" I said sarcastically.

"Yep. My Aunt Polly used to do it every year. Google it." he said.

It took 3 seconds to debunk poor Aunt Polly.

After ending the call, my scientific curiousity got the best of me. Hey man, if Aunt Polly could do it.... I snuck into my own kitchen and...er...pulled out an egg.

I checked the glass doors and windows...(I didn't want to be caught in this absurd excercise.)

Hot Damn. I did it. It's been upright for 5 hours. I swear to God, no tricks.

Have I channeled Aunt Polly? Is the theory true?

Tommorrow we will put Aunt Polly to the test.

You can't get this kind of hard-hitting news reporting on Channel Four (4).

This is Charmaine reporting from the kitchen, debunking myths as a public service to you, my gentle reader. Tune in tomorrow, won't you?

A New Reserve

2009-12-14T18:55:00.000-08:00

I won't be weak like I've been before.

I won't walk away from things or people I fear.

I won't walk away from love. But I think, with regard to love, it may be too late.

Such horrible pain I feel, but wondrously happy to know that I can indeed feel love. I can. And I can fight for it too.

I don't think I'll win. But I WILL die trying.

I guess it's all normal for you. Love is just a consequence of living for most people. Not for me. My heart has been dead for 28 years. The day my father died, I was done. All the battles I fought and won afterward...the lawyers, the doctors, trying to finish college, starting a business...my life was not my own. There where other people to think of. My family. It was alot for a 20 year old to deal with. But I did it. Something in me died.

I've made a mess of things. Love. The minute I saw it...I pretty much wanted to slit it's throat.

Love can hurt you. Love can destroy all of your dreams, your entire life really. So I've spent my life...fighting against it.

SSP (fellow blogger) asked me if I'm okay. People are always asking me if I'm okay these days. It fascinates me.

But somehow...in my current weakness...I know there is strenght. Admitting weakness is a form of strenght.

But then you have to get up and fight again. Fight for your life..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i31KAYUWRSc&feature=related

Jesus Christ, Superstar!

2009-12-13T14:50:00.000-08:00

I made a mistake.

I don't know why I did it.. Let this post erase the former.

I was on the ground, literally face down on the carpet.

Then he arrived... then her...and countless others. Like they knew. My nieghbors.

They all asked about Dan. I'm nothing more then a conduit to him. I'll deliver the goods.

That is...if we ever speak again.

I just want to know...when did he become Jesus Christ and when did I turn into Mary Magdalene?

Crimes of the Heart

2009-12-11T01:17:00.000-08:00

There weren't any. He had no interest in the woman.

Nobody will convince me the blond at Thanksgiving was not flirting with my boyfriend. But flirting is not a crime.

The minute The King read my blog detailing my suspicians about her, he came over, climbed my stairs and declared, "Don't you know you're the only one?"

"No," I retorted.

"I love you," he said.

"Yea well," I replied... (I make intellectual remarks like that.) .

I've been loved by men that never gave me a minutes cause to wonder...where are they now? Because they thought they loved me, they let me run over them. I'm not proud of this, I'm just saying I've done it. I always knew I needed someone stronger.

You never know if you're "the only one" unless there's a ring on your finger. And even then, you don't know.

There is a time limit. Mine is one (1) year. At my age, years accumulate like dog years.

I don't waste time. One year is reasonable in order to discern character.

We laugh so loud I need to close the windows.

Oh crap...it's raining. I live in a bungalow with no insulation. The rain falls on the roof like pebbles crashing upon a tin roof. Impossible to sleep so...I'll keep talking.

1. He calls my mother when she is lonely. He talks to her because I don't want to. He takes the time. She adores him. (She doesn't adore anyone.) She is the Patron Saint of irrascible bitches.

2. He calls my little sister too. Just to say, "hi".

3. He fixes my computer and installs my christmas lights. When I cook, he pays for the ingredients. He washes my dishes (he LOVES washing dishes). He fixes my light fixtures. He can, literally, fix anything. It's miraculous. He even helps my neighbours. It makes me proud.

Like I'm gonna let a guy that loves to wash dishes get away?

4. When we go to a neighbours house for a party he is charming and jovial. He makes comments about my beauty, jokingly. He always holds my hand where ever we go. He kisses my hand. As a duo, my neighbours are endlessly fascinated.

5. He'll watch Gone with the Wind with you. He cries at films depicting families experiencing heart break. He's impressed by the fact my father was an Eagle Scout. (Of course I love that about him.)

6. His father calls him every night. His Uncle calls him every day. He is present and available to his family.

7. He does NOT take any of my shit. And people, you don't know, I can be irrational and attacking. He doesn't retaliate...he simply walks away. He arrives at the doorstep with a handfull of band-aids. He drops them into my hand and says, "I knew we could patch things up."

He goes for the laugh, perhaps to hide the pain and fear, like I do. I understand this. It's who I am.

I haven't had an easy life. I tend to look for the worst, expect the worst...see the worst.

This strategy has worked well. It's helped me maintain ambivalence in every relationship.

It's not a good thing.

I have to challenge my misconceptions, see the worst and move past the negatives I invent in my mind. That is, if I am ever to experience happiness. I can't run away.

Don't try to protect me. I'm no shrinking violet.

Whenever I differentiate myself from a doormat, people call me a "bitch". When I fail to judge, people call me a "doormat".

If I cared what people thought...I'd be in trouble.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBiGrHc0Xy4

Why I'm not married.

2009-12-07T08:31:00.000-08:00

Just to catch you up...The King and I got back together. We discussed my misconception that he was interested in the temptress from Thanksgiving above. He wasn't. She's beautiful. Her grand kids are beautiful...

She's not a temptress. I was wrong and I'm ashamed of myself.

I guess I have a jealous streak.

I never did before. I guess knowing I'm a plain Jane..compared to her, .just caught up with me. (Okay, I'm not so bad for a women who is almost 50 and not surgically altered.)

That's me and my lovely friend, Linda. I love her. She is all that is good and kind.

Tonight we went to a party at my neighbors home. The King and I had a grand time.

"How did you guys meet?" someone asked. I responded, "Oh, you know, we met in prison".

Did I just hear a pin drop?

I watched our new friend from across the street be dismissive of his wife. He adores The King. (We had coffee with him and his wife before the party.)   Her husband said something like, "aren't you going to change before we go?". She was wearing sweat pants.

She didn't say,  "why in the hell should I change my clothes to suit some fantasy of yours and cooperate with your need to have a sexy wife after we have been married for centuries and have children? Sure, I'll change my clothes...the minute you grow hair on your head."

That's what I would have said.

THAT'S why I'm not married.

She left the party early, instead.

Jesus.

The King kept calling me "Charlene" all night and once, "Sara". I forgave him for that one...it was his x-wife's name. If anything, I was flattered.

It hurt my feelings that... after all this time, he couldn't remember my name.

I love him, but I can't keep my mouth shut. The draw bridge is going up....clank clank...if it does, I swear to you...it will never come down again. "I will never love again"...hey, look at me, I'm a Calvin Klein commercial. Did I ever mention that he, Mr Klein himself, offered me a job? I was 20ish. I said "no". Actually I didn't...I just failed to respond to the offer. I thought it was too good for me, I didn't deserve it so I walked away. I'm still doing it.

Jesus Christ God, where was I when you were handing out the manipulation gene? You gave me high cholesterol instead? Dirty bastard.

God is a dirty bastard. You heard it here first. Now...go and spread the word my disciples...

But look at me... You call that an earlobe? I was born pre-maturely...I knew there would be ramifications.

Everyone knows that when you're born pre-maturely there will be a pumkin on your cheek. I'm talking about the mutant earlobe remification.

I should say something like, "love sucks". That was me five minutes ago. But I've spent the day thinking about it. It doesn't suck.

I was so hurt before. Years before. I thought I'd never recover. I couldn't even cry anymore. I felt nothing.

He showed me how so don't you dare say a word against him.

If you do, remember that I'm Irish. Genetically, at birth, we instinctively know how to make car bombs.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14nD-QMjFvI

Woops

2009-12-01T12:44:00.000-08:00

It wasn't a guy knocking. It was my neighbour. She was worried about me.

I mean, seriously...

I'm not the type to be a victim of love. I'm ambivalent, remote and aloof.

The book I'm reading, Blink, purports that peoples' understanding of themselves is often so wrong as to be laughable. Our self-definition(s) are so manufactured they border on the hilarious.

It means the reverse is true. I'm vulnerable, I care what people think and I'm plugged into you.

You should have seen me with The King. My eyes scanned him, up and down, like a lecherous old lady. I'd start at the top of his bald head then scan down to his calves. I thought he was perfect. Arms, legs, hands...personality, lips and wit.

I hope someone loves me like that someday. See's me like that. Head to toe, perfect. They may have, I didn't notice.

It's not healthy to want someone...

It won't happen again. From now on I'll just pretend to be vulnerable. Like her (the one from Thanksgiving). She obtained it all, the mansion, someone elses husband...the brass ring. But still, her house was cold. Trying too hard to be "cool" cold. Mexican tiles with brown leather sofas cold. A fireplace with no fire cold. Ever-Ready fake wood cold. Adultress cold. No boundaries cold. Looks innocent but isn't cold.

I'm not as intimidated as all that. I wouldn't want to be her. I'm not the adultress type. Plus, I'm more interesting...better read and when I'm not lying, I'm honest. I'm just not streetwise...like her. And I would never steal your husband.

I'm a Janis Ian song right now.

I may not be happy, but I'm respectable.

The plants are all dying and the house is a wreck. My cell phone is dead...I'd better do something.

Secret Agent Man

2009-11-30T20:51:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iaR3WO71j4

(I always thought the song was called; Secret Asian Man.)

Okay. I'm done. He's knocking on my door. I have to go.

Not him. A different him.

Apparently...I'm irresistable.

I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

Tom Bailey

2009-11-30T09:38:00.000-08:00

Where in the hell did HE come from?

Did you read his comment on my last post? He said I was not "emotionally stable".

Self aggrandizing fucker.

But maybe he's right.

I'm reading this book called, "Blink". It's kind of a stupid book about rapid cognition and the snap judgements we make in fleeting moments.

It's about thinking without thinking (my favorite thing) and why our instincts are right. (When they are wrong we are thinking too much, looking at evidence that will betray us.) The author, Malcom Gladwell, sites the time the Ghetty Museum almost bought a fake statue.

It looked authentic...it was in good a shape. Too good to have been in the ground for 200 years. The experts wanted to believe...

Moments before the deal was done another expert was called in to authenticate it. His first words were..."It just doesn't look right."

You have to trust your gut.

I'd met her before. My first thought was...homewrecker, selfish self-serving disingenuous homewrecker.

I ignored my instincts.

She married a wealthy man, She had an affair with him...ripping him away from his wife and kids. (I'm not excusing him...I'm just saying I don't respect either of them.) Then BINGO...she's divorced and living in a mansion. Then she went for my boyfriend.

I was there for Thanksgiving. I'm never going back. She put the moves on my boyfriend, doe eyed and innocent...on the way home he and I broke up.

She's not innocent. She's fucking brilliant.

She's got at least 15 years on me but looks half my age. Plastic surgery and a trainer will do that. She pretends to be vulnerable. Her act is a scientific marvel.

You should have seen her, bending over in front of the stove every time my boyfriend was in the kitchen. She was wearing one of those belly necklaces...I don't know what they are called.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iaR3WO71j4

The last day of feeling sorry for myself.

2009-11-29T09:44:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly you dissapear.

You're all over me when I'm witty, kicking some man ass or punching some guy in the gut...

What are you so afraid of? My sadness?

Don't be scared.

Hello? Are you there?

Bachelor number two (2) is already in the wings. I won't be deliriously happy...but I'll be safe. Safer.

He's not as dashing as our friend, The King. He is, however, more sincere. The right guy is always the one you least suspect, don't notice at first...but he stays...there is not a thing you can do to dissuade him.

He's a brilliant artist, kind and compassionate and...slightly crazy. I understand crazy. I understand HIM. Weird. He's all fire and passion. Yet, there are moments when is kinder to me then anyone I've ever known.

Train wreck alert.

I need a break from heartache. It's depleting. It made me say something I have not uttered in years...I said, "Dad, help me".

He didn't respond. Dead people are like that.

They never speak up.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIEryklWT6M

THAT Kind of Guy

2009-11-27T12:02:00.000-08:00

He's the kind of guy that says, "I love the Kaleidoscope that is you."

He's the kind of guy that, despite being big and strong, cries when he talks about his dead grandmother or at movies depicting a dying child.

He doesn't have to "act" macho. He IS macho.

He's the kind of guy that says, "You're beautiful," when you're not wearing make up. "I love your pimples," he says.

If you yell at him; "You're a terrible driver!" he's the kind of guy that replies, "I love when you yell at me."

His confidence is unstoppable. When you're in his arms you're inside a fortress. It's a bliss I've never known. I wanted to be there...forever.

He's the kind of guy that bribes you to help yourself. He bribes his kids too. Bribery works.

He's the kind of guy that says, "I won't be late this time." Then he is. It's a psychological "fuck you" in my humble opinion.

If you're in his arms having a hot flash (getting his cheek sweaty) he says, "I always wanted a woman to be hot for me."

I'm grateful...this Thanksgiving because "THAT" guy is my boyfriend.

Woops. I spoke too soon. He picked up his tools and left. We had an argument. I said some things. I took him to my friend's sister-in-laws house for Thanksgiving. We were in a mansion surrounded by zombies. So much money...you should have seen the place. I'm the only one that acknowleged it. She looked at me with disgust when I said, "your house is beautiful". I remember where she lived before. I guess your not supposed to remember.

Our millionaire hostess was flirting with him I think, with pretend vulnerability. She told us her life story with her last billionaire husband. The vulnerability that women convey mesmerizes me. I know it's false because when it's REAL...all you do is try to cover it up.

She never said a word about her life...until my tall strapping boyfriend was there.

I miss Lynn.(Her mother) Had I been granted access..I would have saved her.

I don't think you know the effort it takes to save someone from this crazy healthcare system. You have to take on doctors, learn everything about the malady your loved one is facing (so they respect you).

Then you have to fire the physicians that behave as if your mother/whomever is already in a coffin. You have to find watch dog organizations to oversee them (they hate that). But everyone performs better when they know someone is watching. You have to show up, make a million calls, ask the radiologist to give you a few months of anti-naseau meds because they are not covered by insurance. Sit on his desk, flip your hair....do things you would never do because life is on the line.

You'd do it again...if you loved someone.

So you call other doctors, nurses, hospice joints to get the goods on who IS the the right physcian. You don't stop. Not ever. Then you find him. The right physcian...the one that treats your loved one like a human being and it works. She lives. (exhales)

"Don't you know you're the only one?" he says.

No I don't.

Then I escalate things, end things because I don't think I could handle getting hurt or rejected by him. I love him. Love is a stranger to me, I don't know how to behave. All I know is how to protect myself, you, my sisters and mother...anyone really...even him.

I'm abnormally good at endings. This time, he did it.

The little boy next door is singing "Jingle Bells" beneath my window. His Golden Retriever is smashing against my gate...Life goes on.

Swine Flu and Other Tragedies

2009-11-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

When I majored in Biology, the notion that a virus could jump species was unheard of. I didn't do so great after transferring to the Molecular Dept. "The Recombinant DNA does what?" You want me to splice it? Where's my lab partner?

Oh yea, he dumped me after my stupid Chlorine gas accident.

I faked a car crash in order to get out of taking my Organic Chemistry final. I smeared white makeup on my face so I would appear more... "tragic".

"Professor, I simply can't go on. Can't you see the blood has drained from my face? I'm going to faint.

Then, once, I missed a Ballet final. My professor was from the ABT. "If you miss one performance you're out," he said. I missed a performance and went to see him afterward, head hung sorrowfully to announce, "I'm sorry I missed the performance. I have cancer," I said.
a
I belonged in the Drama Department.
a
As a child I directed plays on the front lawn. My reluctant cast included my younger sisters. I staged bike crashes, poured ketchup on their faces, turned their bikes upside down...spinned the wheels to convey a sence of immediacy. I positioned their little heads hanging over the curb.

Eventually I was in a community theatre play. My sister, in retaliation, sat in the front row.

The Denver Post and The Rocky Mountain News were there. It was review time.

I had a death scene. It was my moment. I had to die in an evening gown, rolling out of a chair, onto my head and ultimately collapsing. It was ludicrous. Eventually she was howling. I was dead on stage and joined her, laughing so hard I cried. Ahh ha ha ha. Snort.

The audience was silent. My howling sister and the snorting corpse on center stage pierced the quiet.

I don't know which is more painful... watching a video of that performance or the procedure, filmed by my gynocologist to treat Endometriosis that featured my ovaries through a laprascope. Ewe.

(Faints)

I Had a Dream

2009-11-20T09:40:00.000-08:00

Nighmare really. I dreamt you were dead.
a
I know…it’s a terrible thing to say and confess.
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In my dream, one of your kids called me. I showed up at the funeral. I felt out of place and stood in the back.
a
I know you think I’m stupid. If you’re ever in the hospital in real life, you’ll appreciate this stupid Molecular Biology drop out. Test me. No don’t…I can save you. I've done it before.
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Then the procession. People walked by the casket. Open casket. We all stood in line.
a
When I reached you, I climbed in.
aa
I grabbed your arms and tried to make them go around me.

It wasn't easy to get in there. I was wearing heels. And looked terrific, by the way.
a
Someone screamed.

It was just a dream. Don't get all crazy.

Oh, here she is again. The Golden Retriever from next door. (Like she knew I was feeling a little blue.) She's in my bedroom with a pair of underwear in her mouth. She's trying to escape to the front yard.

I'm tackling her. We're in a tug of war. "Cassie, let GO of my underwear"...tug tug tug...

She looks at me, I look at her...we both crash into the wall beside the door. Wha...now she's fleeing with my flip flop...kerplunk down the stairs...she wants me to chase her.

I love that dog.

Sonnet # 9.

2009-11-19T19:38:00.000-08:00

Let's start with my favorite sonnet, shall we?

I'm so excited.

Here we go. It's just Shakespeare...not rocket science.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may kee
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.

Here's what it means, according to me:

Are you afraid of dying dumb ass? If you are, that's fine. But people will still morn you.

If you forgot to have children...you're supid. In a childs eyes we live forever. Don't you know that?

As a woman, your beauty is fading minute by minute. The fact that you don't use it to hook some man is a crying shame. You murder your own importance by not using it. It's a crime. You don't love anyone...bitch.

Okay, next time we'll go line by line. I'll be more literary. I'll tell you what each word means, like "issueless" in this sonnet. It means childless.

I won't swear next Friday. I swear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdXGC3UL6kg

"Don't," he said.

2009-11-19T09:44:00.000-08:00

"Don't come back here" he said, arm outstretched and hand flexed like a traffic cop trying to stop a truck.

He was in my bedroom, dressing after a shower.

"How sweet," I thought. He's afraid if I go back there he will be overcome by desire and we'll be late for dinner.

I tried to go back three (3) more times.

"Stop" he said.

Then I smelled it.
a
I'm the only person in America that could turn a fart into a romantic fantasy.

Tune in tomorrow, won't you. I'm going to recite (write down) a Shakespearean sonnet every Friday. Are you still there?

You won't get bored cuz I'm going to explain them.

Don't roll your eyes at me. It will be fun.

Is it Friday yet?

I'm so excited...I'm watching the clock. Tick tick...what's taking so long?

The sonnets are all about love. And loss. Regret, adoration and tragedy. Things we experience yet never speak of.

In other words, life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbQPxJ10KWs

What's YOUR Motto?

2009-11-18T15:08:00.000-08:00

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark.

Okay. I’ve altered. So shoot me. You still have to love me. It’s the rules. Didn’t you go to the school of Shakespeare?

I noticed I was the only one there. I hoped you were invisible… like everyone else.

I knew you weren’t there. But I felt you coming. It’s the reason I checked out of the school of Shakespeare. I had to find you. I had to.

Too much literature and romance can screw a person up.

Now you’re here and I don’t know how to deal with you. I guess you’re love. I’ve been in the dark for so long; maybe my eyes can’t see anymore? ...is that you? Then I retreat to my friend…darkness. (He’s a bastard, by the way.)

You’re smarter then me. Not in the classic sense, the streetwise sense.

I run away. You tolerate this. It’s a ridiculous habit. I don’t want to repeat this mistake. But I do because there is something you don’t know about me.

Something I’m trying to say…

Okay, I’ll just say it. The only reason I feel like I’m alive at ALL is because I became good, a long time ago, at keeping an emotional distance. “I don’t care what you do, do whatever, it’s nothing to me. You can’t hurt me.”

That’s my Motto.

I don’t feel that way anymore. Still, I want my Motto back. It’s hiding under the couch, down the ally or beneath the bed…I can’t find it. You keep cleaning my house so my Motto is running out of places to hide.
a
Stupid Motto.

Never-around-when-you-need-it Motto.

When you come back, Motto, things are going to be different around here.
a
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWaKbGPilPQ&feature=related

Dr. Cop-A-Feel

2009-11-18T11:54:00.000-08:00

This is a re-posting of my third or fourth date...a timeless classic.

I charmed the 59 year old physician from India with my spectacular knowledge of his country, Salman Rushdie, Ganges River issues and the whole Hindu/Muslim thing.

I fascinated him with my understanding of Nehru, Lord Mountbatten and Edwina. (I studied, uh hem…prepared for the date.)
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My Uncle (an Irish intellectual/physician) called to offer relevant material such as current events in India and Pakistan so I would "have something to talk about”. (Dating for me… it takes a village).

I added my own unique contributions such as reciting Shakespearean sonnets.

“Why would you memorize sonnets for no reason? " he asked. Trying to sound like an intellectual I responded, “Just cuz”.

He was smiling, grabbed my hands and rubbing my arms. “I had no idea we would have so much in common” he said.

There would definitely be a second date.

Doctor Cop-A-Feel picked me up for Date two (2) in his shiny Lexus. I slipped into the car and met a confident grin that insinuated…."You think I'm sexy, don't you?”

One had to admire his confidence. (He was a nice but "sexy" did not spring to mind.)

Soon we were gliding down the Pacific Coast Highway. I adjusted my passenger climate settings, jacking down the temperature because I was sweating. I already knew he was too old for me. I did not, however, know I was having a hot flash.
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We arrived at Sapphire Grill in Laguna Beach, a hip new restaurant. Rivers of women, alone and in pairs watched...looked, strolled and trolled.No one was getting their hands on my doctor.
a

We drank wine for hours waiting for our table. We had an excellent meal. The doctor was giggling and enjoying my sparkling conversation.
a

He ended dinner with “Would you like to come to my house for a night-cap” “or was it “would you like to see my etchings”? I don’t recall because of the wine haze. "Sure…hiccup…why not? " I replied. I forced myself. I HAD to get over my shyness. (You have no idea what an uptight prude I am. Really, you don't.)
a

He gave me a tour of his overly decorated mini-mansion.

After pouring two amber glasses of desert wine we strolled to the tiny couch in front of a gargantuan plasma screen.

Then…it happened.

It’s what I dread, the second date kiss.

I’ve been known to bob, weave, accidentally trip...ANYTHING to dodge the terrifying second date kiss.

This time I was going for it. My date had been married for 24 years. It would be a well rehearsed kiss.

Seconds after our lips touched, with the focus of a pit bull, the doctor attempted to suck every last drop of blood from my lower lip. I couldn’t believe it. The sheer pain of it.

I moved, adjusted, pulled back and in every manner available to me... tried to shake him loose.

If you can visualize me pulling away from his face…my lower lip stretching out between us because he would NOT LET GO.

I thought for a second, maybe this is some new technique? But my eyes started tearing up… I couldn’t take it.

After extricating myself and tracing my lips with my fingers to check for blood, he looked at me seriously and inquired, “Are you breasts real?”

I tilted my head to the side like a dog responding to a high-pitched whistle. Uh...“yes”.
aa

Then, in a moment I replay in slow motion in my head, the man reached out and grabbed my right breast.

It was no fondle or any manner of caress, it was a grab.

“You are correct” he said. "They are real".

My mind was in a swirl. I didn’t know how to respond. I was speechless. I looked him in the eye and said intelligently, “I can't believe you grabbed my breast”!

With a considerable Indian accent he retorted, “Eets ok. Omm a doctor”.

I laughed out loud.

Then I went home.

The next morning I saw it in the mirror as I was brushing my teeth. There was a purple bruise on my lower lip.

Doctor Cop-A-Feel gave me a lip hicky. Wha the?

Restaurant Date Review
Sapphire Laguna
http://www.sapphirellc.com/

It's a place to be and be seen. Just try to get a reservation on Friday night. Go ahead. Try.

The vibe is cool and casual. Lot's of locals. I had the braised short rib perched above a potato and celery root puree peppered with pieces of caramelized parsnip and carrot. It was lightly perfumed with clove and melted off the bone. Despite devouring it completely, the effects of drinking wine for 2 hours straight were upon me. I might have actually had the Duck.

My Dad

2009-11-17T19:16:00.001-08:00

Hey Dad. How are you?

Why are you dead? I thought I'd never get over it. You know, when you died? Just the thought of you missing my entire life. It makes me mad.

I tried to sue the moronic Cardiogist that killed you. I did all I could. I was too young.

Mom's okay.

Rent Me.

2009-11-15T22:50:00.000-08:00

Due to these hard economic times, I had to lower my rates.

During a mid-life crisis, I dyed my hair brown. Considering my new career path... should I have opted for blond?

My hair color is as unstable as Uranium.

Trying to "act sexy" when uptight AND of Irish descent sitting on a van bumper in a neighbourhood where drug deals were taking place...was no easy task. Did I mention "unstable"?

What was I doing there? Oh, you know...just advertising ~~picking up a piece of furniture~~. I was with "The King". Unlike most men, he likes to read about himself in my blog. Most men go ballistic. (Like their mother is reading my blog.)

Talk about a guilty conscious.

Speaking of new careers: I tried to become a famous rap star but it didn't work out. (See below) My nephew and I rap on a hip hop radio station.

When Auntie Charmaine comes to town...let's just say my nephews are introduced to new experiences.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHwjL-tgPf8

Turning Point

2009-11-14T23:58:00.000-08:00

There are turning points in every relationship.

My "turning point" generally includes a left turn, sending me through the guard rail, over a cliff and onto jagged rocks below.

"Soaring through air I exclaim, "Wee, this is fun. I'm flying".

Crash!

I tend to take my eye off the road.

Mesmerized by the beauty of the landscape, I drive directly into it. It only hurts for a minute.

The King and I drove to pick up an Armoir he generously purchased for me. (Very unlike me.) It wasn't expensive enough to ingratiate me (a little over a hundred bucks at a consignment joint) but appreciated! There was a time I NEVER would have allowed a man to buy me ANYTHING. I don't need help.

Maybe I do, just a little.

We rented a van and proceeded to the warehouse.

It was located in a sketchy neighbourhood.

We witnessed a drug sale. The drug pusher was a woman wearing pajamas and slippers. (You NEVER would have suspected her.) The client looked like walking death. He watched us. He knew we'd witnessed the transaction. He was too drunk to care.

Skid row types limped past, taking swigs of Vodka. Folks meandered looking forlorn and homeless. A granny shuffled past with a grocery cart. A man slept on a plot of grass.

I felt nothing but compassion. I wasn't afraid in the least. I said, "See King? Without friends or family (and unemployment insurance) that could be me. Nobody cares about these people."

The King took me by the arm. He opened the passenger door and whispered, "Please get in. It's not safe here. I don't want anything to happen to you."

That was my turning point.

If I wrote a note to God (below).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4Xd435coD4

Charlotte Vale Allen

2009-11-09T13:44:00.000-08:00

She's a writer. She was relevant in my life. She lived next door. I loved her middle name. I still do. I mean, my middle name is Mary.

I didn't know it at the time. I was 15. Later, when we reconnected, I knew.

http://www.charlottevaleallen.com/on_writing/

She knew my mother. The hell of my mother.

Her first book was called, "Love Life". She survived abuse. Then she became a woman's advocate.

I remember the day she brought the manuscript of her first novel to our house in Connecticut.

She was consequently published 36 times.

She adopted me and my two (2) sisters. She took us everywhere.

She was glamorous, beautiful, impudent and brilliant. Now she is mostly kind.

I'm lucky. Not lucky in love. Lucky in other ways. I get to know interesting people.

The Lyin' King

2009-11-09T11:56:00.000-08:00

(Another reprisal. What can I say? I have nothing new to report.)

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The Lyin' King's match.com name is "Blue Eyes Looking for You".

In the first paragraph of his profile he admits lying about his age. (What's the point if you're going to confess?)

He asked me out. I said I would agree if he changed his profile to reflect his real age. He did.

After making an "honest man of him" we met at Bandara restaurant in Corona Del Mar. I go there on match.com dates.

The receptionists are beginning to look at me funny.

We met for drinks to test his theory that women want to kiss him after one Martini.

If you know anything about me ...you KNOW I disproved that one.
He was very good looking.

It was one of those dates where the man tells you who he is as opposed to BEING who he is...like reciting his biography. "I'm this, I'm that, I like walks on the beach".

He's a lawyer. I like lawyers. Really, I do.

When I returned home he called to say how much he enjoyed meeting me. He said I was warm (obviously doesn't know me) and attractive. Then today, at work, another email. He sent "virtual flowers" and expressed how lucky he felt to have met me. Then more...and MORE emails. I had to return a call to the IT department.

"Your emails are congesting the network," said Fred.

"Shut up Fred," I demurely responded.

He's coming on strong...I like it. But I've learned not to get my hopes up. The minute I do...CRASH.

One of the first things he said was, "I was recently layed off".

Question: Is that a Red flag? I'd hate to be judged similarly.

Wait for round two. The part where he asks me for a job.

I Miss Him

2009-11-08T18:29:00.000-08:00

I don't know why I run away. I go days without speaking to him.

I'm conflicted. I think I shouldn't be dating a man with a minor child. I think his kids should be up and out before he get's involved with me.

I think of them before I think of myself.

Then I look at a picture of him.

Heart melts.

I want to be Jewish.

2009-11-07T08:42:00.000-08:00

That's a weird thing to say.

I've been to Israel. I climbed the mountain.

Do I have to be Barbara Streisand? Yentle? Read the Torah?

I never read the Bible but the Catholics let me in.

Check out my friends video below (if you need a laugh).

http://bernthis.typepad.com/bernthiscom/pick-me-pick-me-pick-me.html