Match.com and men

So, I’m a single woman in her mid-fourties.  I’ve been alone for 4 years now, and I’m ready to move on.  That said, it’s not the simplest thing if you’re not a bar-hopping type of gal.  So, I’ve succumbed to the internet-dating-matchmaking-are-you-kidding-me institution.

You will run into every kind of “guy” on this thing.  It doesn’t seem to matter if you have made it known on your profile that you live in a certain area, and are looking for matches within a 50 mile radius of that area.  Men from across the country will contact you anyway.

One such gentleman was a romanticized, eager fellow, who assured me that he would relocate for the right woman.  On the second day, he let me know that it was very likely that I was that woman.  On the third day, he closed off his profile, stating that he wanted no contact from any other women.  He made it clear that he was completely smitten with me.  This was in the face of several emails letting him know that he was moving too fast, and that I was not in the habit of becoming attached so easily.  After one such email, he replied with a request for more pictures and a reiterated desire for my cell phone  number.  I had to refuse to answer any further contact.

Another man who was 15 years my junior said he found older women sexy, and suggested I get in touch if I was curious.  I guess he thinks that my elevated age would cause incontinence of the brain, and I would simply be extremely flattered.

So the latest one is well-spoken, intelligent, sweet, and interesting.   – Uh huh.

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Coke & Harry Potter

So, I’m sick this weekend.  The whole weekend.   You know the kind.  No shower-sit-in-the-same-spot-on-the-couch-for-hours-on-end weekend.  My throat is so raw, I can hardly stand it.  I get online to look for advice, and I’ve decided something:  don’t get online to look for advice.  Everything that people advise are the very things that will KILL me.  Yes, drink lots of orange juice for a sore throat.  That good ol’ vitamin C is just what the doctor ordered.  After the Vitamin C kicks in, we can rush you to the ER to treat the back of your throat for burns.

The first day, I was sipping Coke.  It really seemed to help, but I certainly know that it’s not a healthy choice. When I was looking for advice, I found one website that said something about the ills of 1 sip of coke, and how many ounces of water you needed to drink to offset that one sip.  The second day I tried Vitamin water – (Power C!).  It helped, but to be honest, the Coke helped a lot more.  So, I went back to it.  I immediately felt a modicum of relief.

This takes me back to my first pregnancy, when I had morning sickness.  I was having trouble keeping anything down, and I told someone that the only thing that sounded good was cottage cheese.  “Don’t eat THAT!” I was told.  “Cottage cheese is protein, and protein is hard to digest, so you’ll get sick!”  It made sense – but my craving got the better of me, and I discovered that cottage cheese was the only thing I could keep down.

So, I’m sick, and I have picked this very weekend to get this way.  “This very weekend” being the weekend that the Family Channel has chosen for it’s “Harry Potter” extravaganza.  I have been immersed in the Saga of Harry Potter – how does Lord Voldemort breathe with those slits-for-nostrils, anyway?  And I sort of wish they hadn’t named Dumbledore that; it makes me think of Tweedledum or Tweedledee…

…at least it wasn’t a Saw I – IV weekend…..

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India hear my cry

My brand new HP Printer has just guzzled through 4 1/2 cartridges of ink for 143 pages.  No joke.  I don’t even know what it’s doing with it all – certainly not printing pages.  Instead, it prints a few teasers, then shoots out half-assed jobs that are unusable, unless all you were doing is printing directions to the nearest Tastee Freeze.

This led to the 1 1/2 hour delightful conversation to Raj at HP.  Poor Raj was only doing his job, but I wanted to both sit down and cry and strangle him through the phone.  I can’t remember the last time I said either, “what?” or “could you please repeat that?” so many times in one conversation.  You know that thing that happens, where there is this enormous long silent pause, and then you find out that “Raj” is waiting for YOU to respond – while all along you have been waiting for him…?  During one of those I actually could feel my hair grow.

Raj said that there was no problem with the printer, but that there may have been an issue with the ink cartridges being old – even though the date on them was 2013.  He said they sometimes sit around the store for quite some time….to which I replied that he should take into account that a total of 6 cartridges have been bought for this printer.  “However,”  I said, “I’m willing to try the cartridges again, if you will send several replacements.”  “No,” he replied, “That will not work.”

“So you’re saying it’s NOT the cartridges.”

“No.”

“So it IS the printer.”

“Yes.”

After another very long, excruciating pause, he asked if I thought I should receive a refund or a replacement.  I said that a refund sounded simpler.  He agreed – but after another long pause seemed to like the replacement idea better.  He put his manager on, who said that someone would call back tomorrow, since it was Sunday.

What the heck – I don’t like to print anyway.

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Hello world!

I have this calendar.  “A New Earth”, it is entitled.  I bought it because I liked the beautiful pictures.  Whatever.  Each month also has some sort of “wisdom” saying.  This month (April) has this amazing picture of a forest in the spring with all these purple flowers like a carpet laid out under the new green branches.  The narrative reads, “Being aware of your breathing takes attention away from thinking and creates space.  One conscious breath is enough to make some space where before there was the uninterrupted succession of one thought after another.”

Hmmmm……..now, I didn’t go to the forest to test this out.  It seems like the kind of thing you could do anywhere, right?  But when I take that “one conscious breath”—-other thoughts begin, immediately.  I cannot be conscious of my breathing without thinking of the One who gave me this breath, this life.  No only gave me life, but gave me Life.  I think of what each breath, in and out, represents to me – to Him. Yes!  My life is meaningful to Him!  It MUST be; why else would He bother?  And why would He sacrifice so very much – for my conscious breath?  Especially when I spend each breath running and straining for things that nothing to do with Him.

There is that bra at Victoria’s Secret – I already have this, but I NEED this new color.  I’m pretty sure that it will make a WORLD of difference in my life.  I would like some new really cool pens – the kind that cost a pretty penny, but make writing checks and such easier.  I’ve never been to Hawaii, and this is becoming an embarrassment.  Bellevue-ites don’t skip out on Hawaii – it simply isn’t done.

So, I think I need to breathe.  To learn to breathe.  But I think I’ll take lessons from Switchfoot instead of my calendar.

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