The Last Date

"The King of Produce", renamed "The Escape Artist", sent this picture from our final date (where he left me in Long Beach) .The sad thing is he was the one who kissed correctly. A great kiss can shadow misdeeds. Just not THIS many.

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He attempted to re-open communication emailing something about sending Peonies (my favorite flower). Then he announced they were "out of season". If EVER there was a time to follow through, this was it.

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I shot back; "Tell the Peonies on my desk they're out of season". I further explained:

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"You can't even open a car door for a lady for fear it will compromise your masculinity. If you sent me flowers, surely you would be impotent within hours?"

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"The Gardener" forever re-named "The Playboy" since he lost ALL interest in gardening and replaced it with a singular interest in trying to separate me from my clothing, took me to breakfast and tried to hook up my digital converter. It didn't work. He left to watch the Laker game with his pal.

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The man has skills. You know the type; they grab your hair when they kiss you.

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I'll be bald by the Fourth of July if I don't end things.

The Radio Show

http://mythreesons-briana.blogspot.com/

Above is missing footage from the famous hip hop radio extravanza.

That's me and my Nephew bustin' some moves.

As you can see, Auntie Charmaine 'ain't that cool. But she tries.

Groan.

I Would Have Married THIS guy!

Well, may not marry marry... Listen won't you?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqNkWa1KlAY

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The "official version... is below:

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

This gentle giant remains a hero among the people of Hawaii. That’s him playing the Ukulele. (You have to learn to play if you are raised there.) The intent is to keep the indigenous culture alive despite modernization. (But the Ukulele came from Portugal.)

The potato didn’t come from Ireland either. Life is so confusing.

He was massively obese and kind. Still, I find him enormously attractive. Throughout his life he promoted Hawaiian rights and Independence. Like my grandfather with the IRA...he was equally effective.

Hey man, I’m not dating. I have to talk about something.

Kindness in whatever form it arrives is breathtaking. You can’t help but sense it in him.

It can’t be taught.

Like him, people I run into still talk about their “dead dad”. It’s weird. I never hear them speak with angst about a dead mother. The more distant father...haunts us.

Enough Men

Dating is not heaven:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gjlNn0mG8Y
The playboy (a.k.a. Gardener) is calling. (There he goes again...third call this morning.) But I'm sick of his Prada shirts, Versace shoes and Rolex...yawn. "I've driven a Porsche Carerra since I was 16" he says. He drove so fast it made me scream. I punched him in the arm and demanded "Let me OUT of this car IMMEDIATELY".
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He refers to me as "his girlfriend" after three dates. His last girlfriend was 23. I advised this made him an idiot. He said I was jealous explaining, "a man gets away with what he can".
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Still, there were moments. (I know he's lonely and misguided. ) One day we were discussing the global economy. A look crossed his face. "Talking politics with you is so sexy" he said. He grabbed me. "Slow down. Why don't you pace yourself already?" I said. "Because I'm over 45" he responded.

One day we were driving down the street here in Corona Del Mar. The roads are narrow. There are unwritten driving laws in these parts. He correctly pulled to the side waiting for a woman to proceed so we could pass. We waited...she wouldn't move. Soon several cars were behind us. Still, she would not move. (Obviously not a local.) He blew up, got out of the car and walked to hers calling her an unspeakable name, flailing his arms and yelling.
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A man mowing his lawn stopped to watch...waiting to intervene. I made apologetic sign language signals to the woman followed by charade gestures that communicated..."I know he's an ass, but back up so we can all get past." When she failed to respond, I confess, I got a little mad too.
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She rolled down the window, "Are you going to yell at me in front of my kid? I'm a lawyer you know" she said. He replied, "Okay, give me your business card bitch". "I don't really practise law anymore" She said.

I felt humiliation and anger at the same time.

After 10 minutes in the street I told him to make a gesture to back up (he did after I told him she was calling the police). Then she moved. (I live here, I know the rules. She should have moved...trust me.) Still...
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I could have excused the power stuggle if he handn't used the C word.

There are the usual cast of characters asking for dates.

No one interests me.

I'm retired.

The Hand

I went from having too much thyme on my hands to:

Too many bandages on my hand to:
How do I get this off my hand?

I went crazy. I ripped the bandages off my hand because the tape became filthy. (Rumaging in a vegetable garden does not help.) You need to wrap "the hand" in a plastic bag when you shower. (As if you can keep water, or anything, from sticky tape.) You can't. Life is dirty.

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I felt compelled to hide "the hand" behind my back in embarassment. When I visited the grocery store it appeared I was concealing a weapon:

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Clerk: "Just take the groceries. Don't shoot."

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Charmaine: " Okay. See ya' tomorrow."

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I professionally (Uh...) re-wrapped "The Hand".

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I heard another "crack". Words ricocheted like screaming bullets down the dimly lit street where I live:

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"Ahhhh! God Damn Mother Fucker!!" (sound of doors slamming and windows closing)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0dMBqtGtOU

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My Hero

I have a new Hero. His name is Rick. We've been friends for years.

He is the best friend of MY best friend's husband. We are "third wheels".

We attend their family events. My friend's little boy calls me "Auntie Charmaine" and Rick is "Uncle Rick". Sometimes the lad calls me to thank me for something stupid, like hiding Easter Eggs for him. It's so cute. I save his messages. When I arrive at their home he leaps into my arms. The same way my nephews and niece do. Except Aiden. He's too big for that. He hugs me then lifts me into the air.

When Rick emails me, it freaks me out. His name is Richard Peterson... my dad's name.

I think I'm getting emails from beyond the grave each time. They don't have email in heaven, do they?

Rick called Mohammad (the cabbie who has my cell phone in Los Angeles who has been courteously answering my incoming calls). Rick paid Mohammed $60.00 to drive my cell to his house. Mohammad gave Rick a 50% discount to return my phone. (And you thought Muslims were bad?) Rick told me not to worry about the 60 bucks, it's on him. a
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That's what a man does. He takes care of business, without being asked.

I'm so lucky. I have a small handful of terrific friends. I have a great sister, brother-in-law, nephews and Chris, my wonderful friend in Denver. I have a best friend, Linda, who is trying to save my soul and did I mention my neighbours? I have one, Dan, that just comes over when I'm not home and paints my house, gives me new garbage cans and repaves my walkway. Isn't that crazy?

Real men. Someone is reminding me what they look like. Thank God, Allah or whoever.

Right about Mr. Wrong

I'm not a complete moron.

No more dating!! These bastards are trying to kill me.

I'm responsible for giving them the opportunity.
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I don't know when I turned this dangerous corner. But I did it. It's my crime. Let's blame it on "these hard economic times". The leaders of the "free world" blame everything on that. Why not me?

Sadly, I don't see a "bail out" in my future.
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See below? These are radish sprouts from Charmaine's Farm. They are so damn cute in their simplistic beauty.

Below are sunflowers. I got them for the little boy who lives next door. It's his job to water them, yep...I do it. Behind his mothers back, we secretly planted 30 sunflowers all over her front yard. They're the 10ft high variety. (Hee hee) The child is five. We giggle secure in the fact our secret is flat out hilarious. I remember my first sunflower. As I watched it grow...it was like magic. I'm so lucky. I get to see this little boy's eyes light up when he confronts the 10 foot tall sunflower. ( I told him if he watered it, it would grow as tall as he would be when he got older.)

This is my lettuce, basil, eggplant and cilantro. I haven't even shown you my tomatos.

Evil Surfer Dude told me I did not have a green thumb. Don't worry, I'll never see him again.

The only one that MIGHT get a second chance is convertible black Porsche man. The one who helped plant my farm then broke my finger. It wasn't his fault. It was the underlying tumour. The thing I liked most was that the little boy who lives next door ADORED him...crawled over him like a Jungle Gym.

Men are irresistable when children adore them.