What About Dan?

I once read a Victorian-era novel in which one of the characters was described to be “in his hobbledy-hood.” Meaning, the young man was awkward in his skin. Too young for his tall stature and not comfortable in confidence, the young man took a back seat in the eyes of his crush as far as suitors were concerned. His pleasant demeanor was noticed by both her and her family, but nothing much else.

A dear friend of mine has often questioned me about Dan. Almost 2 years younger, almost 2 feet taller, and as good a man as you can get, he is a friend I made in college. I’ve introduced his family to my family, and they’ve always loved each anothers’ company. He and I know each other’s goals, insecurities and passions. He’s called me at 2 am bawling his eyes out. His mom loves the hell out of me and at one point begged me to marry him. So why aren’t we together, one would ask? Hell, he even asked me that himself, the night of my college graduation party.

Since reading that forgettable, un-named novel, “in his hobbledy-hood” is how I have always thought of Dan: well done in the social and civic demeanor, rather well-versed in wines and the world, yet terribly raw in the “comfortable in one’s own skin” department. I’ve never seen him as attractive; always simply awkward and positively delightful in his outlook on life.

This past Thanksgiving, as usual, my mom requested I run to the store for something. When I got back I saw Dan’s car parked in front of the house. I smiled, because that’s how is: he knows my family, everyone feels as if he’s part of it, and quite frankly, the man is spontaneous. So, on his way back to whence he had come, he realized he could stop in on us. And he did.

When I saw Dan I was comforted by his familiar and easy presence. But there was something different about him. His “hobbeldy-hood” was… well, quite frankly, disappearing! That’s right. He was filling out. The awkwardness and lack of confidence was gone. Just like in the book!

Now, I know that it is a silly thing for a woman to live her life pinned on the examples she has read in novels and seen on the big screen. But I will be one of the first to admit that I do (which is probably why I am still single). Seriously, my ideals on love and relationships are screwed up, thanks to fiction and movies. And so on rare occasion, in a pathetic, quiet voice, I sometimes ask myself: “what about Dan?”

I know what you’re thinking, because I think it myself (in fact, this whole blog is turning into a “single, single me” blog – YUCK). You’re thinking that I sometimes think that about Dan because I want to be in a relationship and have no prospects. After all, women always fall back on some guy on the “possible but not preferable” list. We fall back on it when there are no other viable possibilities for marriage - it’s an issue that harkens back to the days of Spinsterhood. [Wow, I could go off on a tangent post on that alone!]

However, I am only writing about Dan because I will see him and his entire family next weekend, and I called him yesterday to tell him it is going to be fun, fun, fun. It was then I started to think again about his “hobbledy-hood,” and how it is disappearing, and realized it was one of those rare moments when I think “what about Dan?” I am pretty confident that I will still consider him just a great, close friend, extended family of sorts. After all, after 9 years Dan’s crush on me may well have diminished, and one from me for him has yet to surface.

Please Don't

Hey Blogspot.com people.
Please don't. That's right. Please don't use that template that has all the polka dots on it. I can't read your shit. I mean, blogs. Seriously. My old and weary eyes can't handle the polka dots + script. Ok then. It's settled. No more polka dots. Right?

Self-Editing

Ha ha ha.

In the wee hours of the night, People. That's when the insanity kicks in. LUCKILY I save it to the C:/ drive first, for self-editing. Seriously!

It's a scary shame the things I've intended to post here. Absolutely shameful. Embarrassing. Things I wouldn't want to admit EVER. To ANYONE. Just sad, lonely crap that, yes even you, my dear few persons (close to my heart) whom I've admitted into this lair, would not want to hear me whining about. Because after all, I've got a good life here. Nothing in the Grand Scheme Of Things that I can complain about.

Hmm. This night is VERY long. I can't believe it's only 11:30p. Seems like 3a - whatup? And.... how old am I again? Oh yeah, 32. So, as a 32 year old, I should probably skip the "whatup?" jargon and posting a lame-ass poem about "being single and to what end?" and call it a night.

But on a further note, don't fret Everyone. I'm only half single. I've got the "cyber boyfriend." Over there. WAY over there in Amsterdam. But coming to a city near you?... in June, supposedly.

OK then. Goodnight.

As Usual...

What the hell am I doing up watching Oprah at 1:30 when I have a business meeting at 9 am tomorrow?!!!

On a different note, have you ever noticed that, if you tear the lettuce apart for your salad, that you actually end up touching every single piece of lettuce that you will eat? Interesting... at least, to me.

Losing Streak

People, I never lose stuff. I only misplace it for a while. But lately, it feels like the dot com boom and me losing. How, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

"Dot com boom" refers to the days of taking cabs EVERYWHERE. In the dot com bust we took the old Public Trans a lot, you see. But all of the sudden, lately I have been whisked here and there via the taxi cab. And each time I do, I realize soonafter that something is missing.

First, it was my newest fascination: The Perfect Black Sweater. And yes, folks, it was THE PERFECT Black Sweater. I wore that MF day in and day out before I even saw it show up on the credit card bill. A Perfectly cut, Perfectly fit Banana Republic ribbed black turleneck. And then I wore it over a cut tank, and it was hot in G Bar, and I took it off. And the bar closed. And I had a super-no-uber cute guy on my arm when leaving but apparantly the other arm was not holding The Perfect Sweater. The next day I figured, due to cute guy sleepover, that Perfect Black Sweater was tossed aside somewhere. After all, I never LOSE things. But a month + later it has yet to show up in the apartment. I figure it was left in the cab, but no one will ever know for sure.

THEN! Just when I thought it was over, and I had begrudgingly paid for the Perfect Black Sweater that was already lost, I recieved a gift. A beautiful Hot Pink Cable Knit Cap. As in ski cap. It was super cute, and turned heads (for good or bad reasons I could never discern, but after the last experience before LOSING IT, I think it was for the good). And I wore that puppy out. Out a lot. And then I went bar hopping. And after-partying. And met the guy with the fucking green corduroy blazer (see Were They This Cute When...?). And the next thing you know, 2 weeks later it is cold, and I need a hat, and I begin searching the apartment for HPCKC. Nowhere. Nowhere!! And it is still nowhere.

So. For the girl who thought she never had a losing streak, the girl who thought she never lost anything (only "misplaced it for a while"), HA. HA HA HA. And bummer.

To the Perfect Black Sweater and the Hot Pink Cable Knit Cap: I miss you both SO MUCH.

Animal Kingdom Update

So I have completed my post as Official Director of the Animal Kingdom of Alameda. I am happy to report that the potty training went well: only zero-to-2 accidents a day (vs. a 3+ when I arrived).

Cat on the Prowl: total score in the cat and mouse game - cat: 7, mice: 0. That's right, people, in the span of 8 days I tossed 7 mice in the garbage. Only later did someone question whether or not I put the still barely alive ones out of their misery. I asked "how could I possibly put a half-dead mouse out of it's misery? Shoot it? Pick it up and break its neck? Both of those options are beyond my capabilities." The response: "Flush it down the toilet." Are you kidding?! That would seem like more torture to me. And is that legally allowed?? Oy.

The final success in Animal Kingdom: Learning that taking the puppies for a 30 minute power walk (rather, they hauled my 130 lb frame around the old naval base), they ended up sleeping for 2 hours. 2 hours! What a boon.

And hey, where'd my font changing capabilities go, Blogger?!

Poor Little Rich Girl

Hmm. I was just reading Craigslist's Missed Connections and found a post by the same name.

Made my realize that is what I am: rich in health as well as fantastic and giving friends/family. I love having lightbulb moments.

To all of my friends who check in on me here, thank you for coming into my life, and for sticking around. I'm glad to pay you back in "my" way. Whatever that is.

xo

Am I at the Zoo?

I am housesitting in Alameda and it is like the Wild Kingdom over here. I have a 2.5 month old puppy (NOT potty trained as previously advised), a 4 month old basset hound (WAS potty trained until he decided to take advantage of my presence and shit under the dining table), and 3 cats. Last night one of the cats was howling at 1 am, I went downstairs to find that he had mutilated but not killed a mouse, which I had to grab with paper towel by the tail and throw outside.

Needless to say, the house reeks of puppy urine and I was at a boiling point today. Finally a friend brought me to my senses by simply saying "they are just puppies, they only know what their owners have taught them" so on my way back from the office I stopped and bought them treats and now I take them to the backyard every hour, force them to pee, then praise the hell out of them.

OK, off to bed, because Bob the cat (the cat that was obliviously sleeping on the couch next to the mouse fiasco) seems to think it is very important that I am up by 6:30 every morning, and makes sure I am by walking on me and drooling on my face. Joy.