A Post About Nothing – The Seinfeld Edition

When I began this blog, lo those many years ago (two), my Auntie Anne told me that eventually my friends would gently nudge me to write something had it been too long since my last post. She was right. Roxanne is pretty good about it, sending me notes that read: “I don’t mean to alarm you but I think a link is broken on your sight. Nothing has been posted for weeks!” Lynnette is also on top of things, saying, “Jimmie, seriously. What are you doing over there?” Katniss has been known to remind me and most recently, Dammit Todd has jumped into the fray.

Messages of that nature make me realize that I am a lazy creature sometimes. Or a thoughtless one. My reaction is either, “I know! But I was reading this really great book, see . . .” or one of complete surprise. “What do you mean? I have so much to say! How have I not written that down?” Both scenarios prompt me to go to Panera right away and scribble down some words.

Unfortunately, lately I have had no words. Nothing’s wrong, but no one has fallen down in front of me and no one of a questionable nature has asked me for a date. Actually, that isn’t true but lately I’m only interested in throwing myself under the bus, not earnest men wanting my number even though they are miles shorter than me and live 3 states away.

I asked Katniss if she could manage a strategically placed fall-down-face plant right in front of me. She screeched, “Do you not remember the time I fell face first out of the elevator?! With a full Coke in my hand?! That stain in the hallway? That was me! Do not ever ask me to fall down! I will do it, spectacularly!” And then I asked Dammit Todd to fall down, hahahahaha, no. Dammit Todd is the most athletic, agile, coordinated person I have ever met. So, no, he did not comply either.

Essentially what I am saying is my life is a bit dull now. I’m going to Ireland soon (23 days!) and everything seems to pale in comparison. I did buy a new vacuum cleaner. That was exciting. It was a birthday present from my sister and to myself, and yes, I know that last year I was all upset about Miguel buying me old people stuff and this year I went and did it to myself. But you should see how this thing works! My gosh, my old one must have died months ago because I could have stuffed a king size quilt with all the cat hair I vacuumed up. It was horrifying. Let me take a moment here to apologize to all my houseguests of late. I’m sorry you were drenched in fur. While I know that Murphy is a shedder, I had no idea that he left his entire pelt all over the house.

Also, I went to Florida with Freddie. That wasn’t dull but it did rain a whole lot. I managed to burn my backside, every area that I cannot possibly reach with the aloe vera gel, so not only did I cook my skin into bacon, I’m now peeling and I have thousands of new freckles.

Speaking of Freddie, I realize I have not updated you on my friends lately. I asked for prayers for some of them when Poppa was so sick and I now have happy news to report.

Quan is moving to Nashville. Hallelujah, it’s about time!

Freddie is a free woman, meaning Ian is no longer in the picture and hot men can apply here for dates with her.

Lynnette is a mommy now. This was the most unexpected but for at least a little while, Lynnette gets to mother the cutest little boy in the whole world.

And finally, Pee-tah (remember Pee-tah, of the I Almost Saw Him Naked story?) is going to be my roommate. Yes, I know I already have a roommate who buys me paper towels and garbage cans (I know! I got a new garbage can, too!) but, Pee-tah! I already vacuumed all the cat hair out of his room and tried to make it less girlie in there but quite frankly, that is a hopeless task. I am the girliest person I know.

Okay, that’s it, folks. Oh wait, I did have a birthday. I didn’t even bother typing up a list of everything you guys were supposed to get me. I’m 41. Who cares about 41? 41 is officially middle aged, and since I had all the big parties and shirtless men and cake last year, this one slid right on by without so much as a whimper. I think everyone was mightily relieved about that, even me.

I will leave you with one final bit of very exciting news. I’m getting a new roof! Isn’t that exciting?! Apparently some storm ripped through my neighborhood and shredded a bunch of roofs and mine was one of them. If a whole passel of roofers hadn’t repeatedly knocked on my door and offered to fix it once I signed on the dotted line and turned over a retainer (and no, I was not that naïve), I never would have known. I don’t know what I thought those shingles were doing in my yard, but roof damage? No way. So anyway, new roof!

I’m really 41, aren’t I? Crap.

For Mature Audiences Only

Recently some friends of mine got married.  I love to hear stories of how couples met and how they decided that marriage was their thing, so naturally I grilled them about their story.  They met online, which really seems to be the way to go anymore.  I mean, every time you turn around you find someone who met their someone on a dating sight.

I pondered over internet dating for a while and after some time, decided that it sounded fun.  It was a lark – what was it going to hurt, right?  I marched on over to that dating website on a Sunday afternoon and I threw up a profile.  First, though, I ruminated over how I wanted to present myself and over what I’d ideally like to find.  I decided that negativity was no way to begin so I gave myself the name of Happy; then I decided that I’d like to weed out anyone who wasn’t on the same page as me spiritually, so I explained that I’d need the interested party to put God first.

There was a section titled “You should message me if . . . .”, and I wanted to do this right, too.  I asked for bravery and niceness and then said the following:

I can definitively say who shouldn’t message me:  the guys who say “wow, I bet your body is amazing” or “how do you feel about making out with 25 year olds?” or “I am stuck in Nicaragua where my mum is dying and I need $3000 to save her and I love you, please wire money.”

See, this is okay, right?  Overall it was kind of light and happy and fun.

This is what happened on Monday:

I didn’t think I would ever find someone half as cool as me, but I think you might be able to measure up.  Seriously, you really do seem like a very sweet nice lady.  Anyway my name is XXXXX and I decided you should shoot me an email.  Oh by the way, when a big fat man comes and puts you in a bag at night don’t be scared.  I told Santa I wanted you for Christmas!

Pertinent Facts – age: 27, height: 5’6”

Kind of sweet, definitely original, and although I had no interest in a 27-year-old little person, I was flattered.  I messaged sweetly back and moved on, thinking, “This isn’t so bad.”  Y’all, let me tell you, Monday I peaked.

This is what happened on Tuesday:

Hello, how would you feel about a guy if he called you an amazon as a compliment?

Pertinent Facts – age: 27, location: Istanbul, Turkey

I’m looking for a good woman who would like to f— and hang out sometimes.  I’m sorry if that’s forward but I’m honest. You interested?

Pertinent Facts – who cares?

Doesn’t a good massage sound fun? I’m a great kisser.  Ever had a full body massage?  Like a sensual massage, not one for your health lol.  Sounds fun, doesn’t it?

Pertinent Facts – Religion: Christian, and serious about it

Did you have lucky charms for breakfast?  Because you look magically delicious!

Pertinent Facts – Married

You are 5’11”?  I bet your feet are amazing! What size shoe do you wear?

Pertinent Facts – Professional photographer, business info attached

I gotta tell you, Tuesday pretty well took the wind right out of my sails.  I examined my profile thoroughly to see if some pervert had hacked into my account and changed my lead in to “Please Message Me If You Want All Sex All The Time.  🙂 🙂 :)” To my surprise, my profile read exactly the same as my original posting.  Also, my pictures had not been tampered with. This was again a surprise as I fully expected to find that someone had photoshopped my head onto to Pamela Anderson’s naked body and loaded those pictures.  But no.

This was certainly a dilemma.  My girlfriend told me you’d have to weed through a lot of low-hanging fruit to find the good ones but I was getting slightly nauseated at all the fermented pieces I was attracting.  Hurk.

A couple more days, I decided.  I could hang on for a couple more days.  Maybe something fabulous would come along.

And then this happened on Wednesday:

I love your profile . . . a lot . . . kiss me . . . . hold me  . . .  touch me . . .  let me kiss you . . . .hold you  . . . . touch you . . . .make you very turned on . . . . excited and yes  . . . more, much more

Pertinent Facts – age: 62

And then this happened on Thursday:

Dear Happy –

We are sorry to see you go.  We’d like for you to take a brief survey and let us know how we can manage our site better so as not to lose valuable customers like you.  If you change your mind, you can always come back!


The Dating Website

In all fairness, no 25-year-old person from Nicaragua messaged me.  That’s something, I guess.

And in case you are wondering – all of this here?  True story. No lie.  No exaggeration.

I Will Never Be The Same Again

Dammit Todd and I went to the movies last week. I always have to go early so I can catch all the previews, the second best part of every movie.

During the previews there was a sudden flash of something on the screen. I couldn’t tell yet what it was but I knew it was huge because every estrogen-filled hormone in my body stood to rigid attention in an instant.

There was a second flash and with a thunderbolt it hit me. I sucked in a breath so hard that I ingested a piece of popcorn from the couple’s bucket in front of us. My ovaries flared into an explosion and then melted in a fiery blaze. I was irrevocably and helplessly disolved into a puddle of teenage longing.

I turned to Todd, my eyes huge, and stared beseechingly.

Already beaten and resigned to his fate, Dammit Todd sighed, “Fine, we’ll go.”

You guys, look what’s coming!


It’s going to a long, miserable, glorious wait!

Injury – Sniffle

Y’all, I got injured last weekend.

I know what you are thinking.  I know you are remembering my last post in which I told you that Woney and Squash and Nurse Bananahammock and I were going to drink like fish, and you are thinking “serves her right, big lush”.  And I’ll be honest with you; this is exactly what happened in my kitchen Friday night:


Then this is what happened in my kitchen Saturday night:


And then this is what happened in my kitchen Sunday night:


And yes, a good time was had by all.  Let the record show, though, that no bad decisions were made during any of these drinking incidents (unless you count my signing up and paying for a half marathon a bad decision.  I am still unsure.)  As I told you last time, I didn’t get to 40 by being a dumbass.

However! On Monday, when nothing happened in my kitchen at all, when none of us had a drop to drink other than water, when the sun was shining and when we were all calm and slightly subdued, I got hit by a car.  Not my car.  Me.  *I* got hit by a car.

Let me tell you the story.  See, Woney and I were dropping Squash off at the airport and as I was hugging her good-bye, I noticed that the area in which I parked my car was being encroached upon by a minivan with an old woman at the wheel.  I thought to myself, “She’s awfully close there,” but then continued my sayonaras  and arriva dercis with Squash.  I made to return to my car and noticed that the old lady was even further encroached in the space where my back bumper sat.  To avoid a tight squeeze between our cars, I walked around the front of my car to get in.  As I did so, she gunned her motor, racing up to speeds of a half a mile an hour and she hit me.  A person.  She hit a person.  With her minivan.

Ooh, I was Not Happy!  I smacked her minivan and said “badword, badword, badword, LADY!” And do you know what she did? She gave me a finger wave and drove off.  Like, “whoops, toodles, ta ta.”  I’m here to tell you that her version of a finger wave after that sort of accident and my version of a finger wave after that sort of accident are two different finger waves.

Y’all, I was injured.  I had not been drinking (again, not a dumbass), was totally in my own lane, was hugging a friend good-bye, and some nefarious wretched old person injured me.  Probably I’m going to keep the nature of the injuries to myself until I see what kind of sympathy I can get from all of you, but ow.

And then!  It gets worse! I have another story.

So Murphy, who is a bit of a slut, very much enjoyed the company of my nice new and old friends this weekend.  All attention, all the time and Murphy is happy.  Typically I’m alright with that as there’s only so much ear rubbing and fur scratching one person can give.  Its only when he settles down into comfy Murphy, all wadded up amongst the covers, that I enjoy him the most.  In those instances, when he’s snuggly and warm and purring, I’d rather have him all to myself.  That’s the best Murphy, see.  It upset me ever so slightly that Murphy decided to knead his biscuits on Woney’s blanket during all the girl movies we watched.  I got a little indignant when he snoozed away the hours on her knees, but again, he’s pretty free with his love and I guess that’s what you expect from that sort of cat.

Seamus, though, is the one who did me in – this is the really injurious part (you see what I did there?).  For three and one half years I have waited for that cat to come out of his shell.  I’ve been patient, giving him peas and treats and space.  I just knew that my persistence would eventually win him over.  His shyness was the whole reason I adopted those two varmints in the first place.  Well, his shyness and the hopes I could make him overcome it.  I’ve waited for the day he would tentatively and shyly creep over to my side of the bed, settle himself in the crook of my arm and snooze away.  And he did do that.  He did.  BUT WITH WONEY!

Now I love Woney, don’t get me wrong, but are you f-ing @#$$%@#@ kidding me? I said “badword, badword, badword, SEAMUS!” Want to know what he did?  He gave me a finger wave and went to sleep.

Feel sorry for me, won’t you?