My Own Worst Enemy

It's no surprise to me
I am my own worst enemy
'Cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me

I went to the gym tonight for the first time in over a week.  I was fine once I got there.  I still enjoy the exercise.  I still feel good when I leave.

However, getting there has been a major chore. 

I went last Tuesday night.  Had a good workout.

Then, last Wednesday night, I went out for dinner and drinks with a friend. Skipped the gym.

On Thursday, I got to the gym but forgot my gym bag and gym clothing at home, and came back home.  Didn't go back.

On Friday, I was experiencing painful ovaries, fatigue and irritable personality syndrome.  I took some Midol, crawled into bed and slept all night.  The gym was the last thing on my mind.

On Saturday, I took Abby to get her nails done and then curled up with a heating pad on the couch.  Repeat of Friday night.  The only exercise I got was reaching for the remote control.

On Sunday, I watched television and then battled rude people at Wal-Mart. I guess walking through the store was a mild form of exercise.

On Monday, the "check engine" light came on as I headed towards the gym.  I detoured to get it checked out.  Couldn't find anything wrong.  Decided to just go home and convinced myself the gym would be a madhouse on a Monday night anyway.

Last night, I actually drove towards the gym... and then just did not feel like going in.  Couldn't do it.  Wanted to just go home and be a bum.  Had a kind of crappy day at work and wanted to watch television and do nothing all night, which is what I did.  I watched My Best Friend's Wedding.  I had forgotten how much I used to like that movie.  Sort of.  The soundtrack is awesome.  My favorite scene, which I quote from time to time, is the whole creme brulee versus jello debate. "I can be jello."  "You can never be jello. Creme brulee can never be jello."  I also watched some bad movie on Starz called The Roommate, which was a dormitory twist on Single White Female.

Tonight -- tonight, I went.  I actually got out of my car, got dressed and did my 45 minute routine.  I felt good while doing it.  I felt good after I did it.  I hope I can get back on track.

This phase --  it's typical for me.  I have done this so many times in my life.  I start something and then I lose interest.  I get bored.  I stop doing it.  I do it with hobbies, with jobs, with people, with television shows, with food ... 

I am my own worst enemy.  I don't know why I do it.  I don't have ADD.  I don't lack motivation.  I just get... bored.  The excitement wears off.  The novelty is gone.  I look for something new and exciting to appeal to me. I want some reason for it to be not okay not to do it.  Sadly, the people who love me tell me it's ok to just stop doing things I don't enjoy because they usually do the same thing themselves.  We support each other's indifference.

I always tell myself "this time will be different."

Then, two weeks later, I'm sabotaging myself.  I make excuses.  I hate making excuses.  I get mad when other people make excuses.  Yet, I do it.

I know it's not healthy.  I know it's not normal.

I know better.  

To be honest, I'm amazed I'm still writing this blog.   I stopped after a few months in 2010, after I got tired of doing it.  If I hadn't wanted to try to impress some people/men in my life with my witty prose and wordsmithing, I probably would have quit by now.

Why is it so hard for me to just stick to something I enjoy?

I can do things I don't enjoy.  I've stayed in relationships past their expiration date.  I've given dying friendships many second and third chances.  I've stayed in jobs I didn't enjoy.  I've lived in towns I didn't enjoy.  I've sucked up other miserable unsatisfying things out of obligation, necessity and loyalty.

If I have an obligation, I stick it out.  If I fear disappointing someone, I stick it out.  If someone is relying on me, I stick it out.  I'm very dedicated that way.

But, if it's for me....  If I'm the one who benefits from the efforts, I don't care so much. I give up.  I say "Eh, what's the point?"

Does that mean I don't care for myself as much as I care about other people?

(sigh)

I'd write more and try to figure this out, but now I've become bored with this topic.

The Lazy Song

Today I don't feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay in my bed
Don't feel like picking up my phone, so leave a message at the tone
'Cause today I swear I'm not doing anything
Nothing at all, nothing at all

I have been a bum the entire weekend and I liked it.

I was feeling a little guilty on Friday afternoon about the fact that I had no real plans for the weekend. I felt this pressure -- like I should have plans, something.   But, other than getting Abby's nails trimmed, I had nothing on the agenda.  I didn't make a to-do list.  I didn't make any plans with people.  I didn't pencil or ink anything onto my calendar.  I kept feeling like I should do something.  Like - I have to be productive. Like - I have to go to work on Monday and rattle off a list of things I did during the weekend.  I always ask one of my friends at work every Friday, "Got any fun plans for the weekend?"  I guess that since I put the pressure on him to go do something fun, I have to do the same with myself.

But, as I left work on Friday and headed towards the gym, I realized I was absolutely bone tired.  Exhausted.  I was cranky, crampy, sad and tired.  I wanted my warm bed, a loving snuggle with Abby and some sleep.  I didn't want to work out.  I didn't want to cook dinner.  I didn't want to do the long list of things I usually do on Friday.  And, you know what?  I didn't go to the gym.  I stopped at WaWa and got some soup. Then, I did come home, put on my nightgown and fuzzy slippers.  I did scoop up my little fur baby and love on her for a few moments.  Then, I ate the soup, sent an email to a friend and went to bed.  I was asleep by 7:00 and slept straight through until 3 or 4 a.m.  I got up, went to the bathroom, and then crawled right back into bed.  Had weird dreams.

I was up early on Saturday.  Poked around on the computer, watched some television, wrote a blog, took a shower, got dressed and took Abby for her pawdicure.  We were back home by 12:30.   I stared at my gym bag, trying to talk myself into going to the gym.  However, I decided I wanted to do nothing again on Saturday.  So, I put my nightgown back on and curled up on the sofa with the remote control.  I watched movies and caught up on all of the crime shows I DVR'd for the past three weeks.  I came to a realization that my interest in crime shows has waned.  I fast-forwarded through most of them.  I used to really love Law and Order SVU, Criminal Minds and CSI (Las Vegas).  Now, not so much.  Guess I am just not in a serial killer, rapist and murderer mood anymore.  Good thing.  Frees up space on my DVR.  I've been tinkering with the idea of cancelling cable altogether.  I don't watch it much anymore and I think I can probably watch most of the shows I do like on the internet much cheaper than what I pay for cable.  It's a thought.  Not one I've completely hatched... because I do like watching infomercials and weird alien shows in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I've been thinking about placing personal ads looking for men on the west coast because there's a good chance they'll still be awake at 1:00 in the morning my time when I can't sleep.  Maybe I can get a little midnight sex chat going or something.  Again, another thought I'm just working on.  Not completely hatched either.

I digress.  I fell asleep around midnight last night (Saturday) and slept in until 8:00ish this morning.   Had a weird dream about a friend sending me a text about a possible love connection and another about binding a ton of training manuals at work with a friend. I didn't immediately get out of bed.  I love waking up on Sunday morning and just lying in bed for a little bit. (This is where a boyfriend would come in handy.) Sometimes, I turn on the TV and lie there.  Sometimes, I fall back asleep.  Today, I did neither.  I allowed myself a daydream of hopping on a bus to Atlantic City and winning the progressive slots and quitting my job.  When I realized that probably wouldn't happen anytime soon, I changed the day dream to that of being granted three wishes by a genie, with one of the wishes being that I could skip the whole gym and diet thing and go straight to size 12 so that I didn't feel this compulsion to justify why I don't feel like going to the gym every day.

I realized that I'm trying to compete with a male friend who is going every day.  He's on a special 12 week program to get hotter-looking for a vacation he is taking in the spring.  I do not have such a looming deadline or goal.  Yet, because he goes every day, I feel like I should be going every day.  It's the competitive streak in me.  I realized I was putting unnecessary stress on myself, however.  I have other things I need and want to do.  Going to the gym every night is not in my plans every week.  I initially set out to go 3 times a week.  Then, I got sick and then told myself that in order to get "caught up", I'd need to go every night.  But, then, I get behind on other things and feel stressed about "going every night".  I decided this morning that my personal goal is to shoot for 30 minutes of exercise each night but it doesn't have to be in the actual gym.  My gym goal is every other day, to give my muscles and body some recuperation time.  Once I allowed myself the freedom (in my head) to go to the gym when I want to -- not with the mindset of I "have" to, I felt a lot better.

I got out of bed, then made some breakfast, poked around on the computer for a bit and then watched the Food Network.  Around 1, I got dressed and headed out into the world.  I went to Wal-Mart.  Big mistake.  VERY VERY crowded.   Some lady cut in front of me in the checkout line and when I told her I was next, she ignored me and put her food on the conveyor belt.  She made a comment to her companion that I was a bitch.  If I hadn't feared getting cut in the parking lot, I would have done or said something.  I ended up going to another lane and getting checked out before her.  I smiled at her as I left the store and she was still waiting on her food to be rung up.  Karma.  I am not going back to that Wal-Mart again.  Luckily, there are 3 more within 15 minutes of my apartment.  If food wasn't cheaper there, I'd go elsewhere.  However, I can save about 20% by going there versus my regular grocery store, even with double coupons.  So, I suck it up once every two weeks.

I came home and did some stuff around the apartment -- laundry, dishes...  Cooked some chicken for the upcoming week's lunches.  Then, I did something I haven't done in a long long time.

I played "makeover".  I got out my rarely used cosmetics and played around with eye shadows, lipsticks, eye liner and mascara.  Experimented with new looks.  Dramatic.  Smoky.  Sexy.  Demure.  Pouty lips.  Wet lips.  Dark dramatic make up.  Subtle make up.  What the hell, right?  I'm a girl.  I do such things on occasion. 

I've been wearing it to work for about a week now but no one has noticed.  I heard that's a good thing -- that make up should not be noticeable.  But, the whole point of the make up was to make people (and by people, I mean men) notice me.  I even wore a black lace push up bra one day this week and the only people who seemed to notice were other women.  I got to show it to one in the bathroom in exchange for a glimpse of her hot pink bra.  It was very Saturday night porn.  The only thing missing was a pizza delivery guy and bow chicka chicka music.  I'm kidding.  She read on my Facebook status that I was wearing a sexy bra.  She said, "Me, too -- look!" and showed me her strap.  So, I then showed her my strap.  We giggled. I even wore a shirt with a plunging neckline.  Next time, I'm going to go for a see through lace top.  (Again, I'm kidding.)

It's now 7:00 on Sunday night.  This is the time I normally take a shower, put away my laundry and settle in for some television before falling asleep and wishing the weekend was longer.  I am going to take the shower.  However, I think the laundry can wait.  I'll put it away tomorrow night.  Or not at all.  I'm feeling rebellious.

I'm still going to settle in and watch some television.  And wish the weekend was longer.

I took a time out this weekend.  I think we all need a time out every now and then.

Let's Talk About Sex

Let's talk about sex for now to the people at home or in the crowd
It keeps coming up anyhow
Don't decoy, avoid, or make void the topic
Cuz that ain't gonna stop it
Now we talk about sex on the radio and video shows
Many will know anything goes
Let's tell it how it is, and how it could be
How it was, and of course, how it should be
Those who think it's dirty have a choice
Pick up the needle, press pause, or turn the radio off
Will that stop us, Pep? I doubt it
All right then, come on, Spin

I've had a tumultuous week in bed.  I'd like to say the rumpled sheets and pillows on the floor are a result of passion.  Sadly, not.  

I've had a hard time sleeping this week.  Slow to fall to sleep.  Hard to stay asleep.  I've been waking up at 4 every morning, wide awake, with no explanation, no matter what time I went to bed the night before. It's like someone or something told me to "wake up." I eventually fall back asleep and then the alarm goes off. I hit snooze so many times that my alarm clock would probably have bruises if it were a living thing.  Nothing too stressful is going on in my life.  Same old same old.  Life, work, money.

Hmm... okay... I have been stressing a lot lately about money, especially after that ad-thing went belly up.  

I called my mom last Saturday night to thank her for the Valentine's Day card I got and to "vent" - something I never do because she and I just don't have that type of relationship - and she turned the call into an opportunity to complain about how much she does for my brother -- from buying him food, to washing his clothing, giving him money, to taking care of his kids when it's his custody weekend.

My brother is 42.  He is fully capable of doing things for himself.  He chooses not to.  So, it made me mad.  I went off on her about how I've been taking care of myself since I was 19 years old and that she needs to stop enabling him.  She got mad.  I got mad.  I hate when I try to reach out to people to tell them I need help and they shut me down.  It's no wonder I don't really trust people to be there for me when I need help.

It could also be hormones.  I've noticed that there's a certain time of the month that I get particularly hormonal, as most women do, and during that time, I can't sleep well either.  It may just be a coincidence that money stress and my mom happened at the same time.

In addition to not being able to sleep well, I've had some random, disjointed, confusing and odd dreams.  Odder than normal (if you are a regular reader and have read some of my past blogs about dreams.)

I had one short dream that I told a man I loved him (romantically) and he laughed at me.  That was the entire dream.  I was wearing a pink top with hearts on the sleeve (hmm, figure out that meaning!) and just walked up to him and said the words from my favorite Partridge Family song: "I think I love you."  He laughed.  I woke up.

In another, I was standing in line in a school cafeteria with a guy who looked a lot like Barry Watson (who is a Taurus according to his IMDB profile.  See my blog about Opposites Attract for more on that.)  He turned to me and said, "We can't be friends anymore."  I put a container of chocolate milk and a thing of jello on my tray and said, "Why not?"  He said, "I had a dirty dream about you last night."  I said, "You had a dirty dream about me and now we can't be friends?"  He said yes.  I said, "That's not fair.  I had a dirty dream about you once and didn't stop being your friend."  He paused, while reaching for a cookie, and said, "You had a dirty dream about me?"  I sighed.  He said, "Was I good?" I shook my head.  "I'm sorry.  We're not friends.  I can't talk to you about it," I said and walked around him in line to pay for my food.  He just stood there with his mouth open.  I woke up.

Then, I had that dream that I texted a photo of my vajazzled private parts to everyone I know.  I still worry about that one.  I've checked my phone.  Luckily, I haven't done any sleep vajazzling or sleep texting. 

Thursday night, I had a stress dream about work.

Last night, I had a dream that I was giving a presentation on relationships (thus the song choice for this blog) in a conference room at a hotel.  At least, I'm assuming it's a conference room in a hotel.  It just had that vibe too it.  I had a huge flip chart on a stand that said, "Men and Women.  Can They Really Talk To Each Other?"

In the room, there was a beautiful woman with different shades of blonde hair, the Barry Watson lookalike, a woman from work that I see in the halls but don't really talk to, my college friend Kelly, and my friend Heather Marie's husband Jason.  I also know this wasn't work because I had one of those remote control thingies in my hand that controlled the Powerpoint presentation from across the room. We don't use those at work. I clicked the clicker and an image of a magazine clipping came up.  It was a "letter" to the person who gives romantic advice in a magazine.  

It said "My boyfriend doesn't listen to me.  He always talks about himself.  If I tell him I'm having a bad day, he ignores me and tells me about his worse day.  Will we ever be able to talk about serious things or should I assume he's going to be selfish forever?"  I read the letter to the class.  

The blonde kept playing with her hair and looking at the Barry Watson type.  The woman from work was texting on her phone.  My friend Kelly was smiling at me but not saying anything.  Jason made some smart allecky comment about the woman's first mistake was telling the guy she was having a bad day because men didn't want to hear that kind of stuff.  So, I decided to play off of Jason's comment.  I asked everyone in the room for their input, but stared specifically at the Barry Watson guy.  He shrugged.  The blonde spoke up and asked if we were allowed to have alcohol during the session because she was dying for a glass of wine. I ignored her and moved to the next slide, which listed statistics from some sort of women's magazine about men and women and the topics they deemed acceptable as conversation starters.  I pointed out that "bad day" wasn't even on the list.  Money, family and illness were not on the list either.  The top three were weather, television and sex.  As soon as I said the word sex, Barry Watson-man spoke up and said, "So, what about dirty dreams?  Can men and women talk about dirty dreams?"  I sighed angrily and threw my remote control at him and walked out of the room.  I woke up.

I've never had dreams pull in previous dreams before.  This is new for me.  I've had the same dream over and over before, with slight changes each time, but I can't recall having a dream that picked up something from a previous dream.

I haven't had any dirty dreams about any men in my life lately.  At least, if I have, I don't remember them.  Usually when I have a dirty dream, it's a faceless man.  Maybe because my mind (and heart) are hesitant to inert an actual person into such an intimate and private situation without some sort of feeling that the person feels the same.  The man is usually a representation of my ideal man.

Now, I'd love to think there are men out there fantasizing about me.  I might be more apt to keep on going to the gym if I knew my efforts were paying off. 

Walt Disney once said that dreams are wishes your heart makes.  I think I've quoted that on here before.

Obviously, my heart wants a Barry Watson type to have dirty dreams about me. 

And I want a job discussing relationships. And someone to care about my bad days.

I'd say it's pretty dead on.

Photograph

I see your face every time I dream
On every page, every magazine
So wild and free, so far from me
You're all I want, my fantasy

Oh, look what you've done to this rock n' roll clown
Oh oh, look what you've done

Photograph
I don't want your photograph
I don't need your photograph
All I've got is a photograph, but it's not enough

There's the expression that a picture is worth a thousand words.  

But, what if the picture is of some man's private parts?  His junk?  His package?  His man meat?  His love muscle? His one-eyed wonder worm? His snake?  (Want to know exactly how many words I can come up with for penis?)

On NEW GIRL on Tuesday, Schmidt took a photo of his penis and texted it to CeCe and then called her and asked, "Did you get my junk mail?"  Schmidt is a total douche and it is pretty on course for something he'd do.  However, do men really do that in real life?

Yes.

In the past few weeks, I've discovered that a few of my female friends, at some point within the past few years, have received a text from a man which contained a photo of his dangling part.

I haven't.  I don't know if I should be proud... or disappointed.

I'm totally baffled by the thought of it, to be honest.  I can't even imagine being so completely brazen enough to take a photograph of my girly bits (plus, I'm just not that flexible) and texting them to someone I'm interested in.  Not while I was sober.  What would the expected outcome be?  Disgust? Admiration? Amazement? Shame? Ridicule? Lust?

"Oh, Bevy, thank you so much for the beaver shot.  I am in love with you.  Let's run away to Hawaii and you can show it to me in person."

Yeah, right.

So, do men think that sending the pixels of their little friend to some woman will generate the same kind of response?

"Oh my god!  I am so smitten.  Take me now you wild beast.  Bring it to me.  Now."

Now, I can see if two people are seriously involved.  SERIOUSLY involved.  Meaning that they have probably already introduced their boy and girl parts to each other.  I can see it as a private joke. (Or would that be a privates joke? Snort.)  "Thinking of you" kind of stuff.  I'm all for the private joke.  That would definitely be a keeper.  Especially if it was kind of funny, too.  Maybe his little friend wearing a patch like a pirate?  Or decorated like a cyclops?  Or candy cane...  Something creative.  Something that would crack me up for years to come.  Ooops, did I say me?  How did I get into this little fantasy?

I'll be honest.  I've become almost obsessed with the whole concept.   I've been asking male friends if they'd do it.  In general.  Not to me specifically.  Although, there's a small part of me that gets a little excited by the thought.  But, then I get a little wigged out, too.  I mean -- what do you say to someone after that happens? 

"Thanks!" seems insufficient.  "You rock!" - too casual.  "I want you" - too serious.  "I can't find the zoom on my phone.  What is that?"  OUCH!

Is junk texting the modern equivalent of the "I like you.  Do you like me?  Check Yes or No." boys used in grade school?

If a guy texts you a photo of his pocket pal, do you have to reciprocate?  Do you get fancy?  Do you schedule a Brazillian?  Do you look for some place that still does Glamour Shots?  

I guess one could see this as an act of amazing daring.  If a man is willing to go out on a limb to show you his woody, maybe that means he has uber confidence and is up for anything?  Or is he just a closet perv who gets off on rubbing lotion on himself, tucking his bits and pieces and dancing a la Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs?

I've been thinking about this so much this week that I had a dream last night that I went out and vajazzled my vagina (well, not the actual vagina -- just the skin area on the exterior) and then uploaded the photo to everyone in my address book in my cell phone.  EVERYONE.  My insurance agent, my doctor, my co-workers, my boss, my friends, Abby's vet....  EVERYONE.   And I did it on purpose.  Like someone dared me.  I woke up before I could see what the results were.

"Oh Bevy.  How brave.  How cute.  How did you get them to stick?  Want to come over later?  I can play connect the dots."

A girl can dream.

He's Got That Super Bass

He a muthaf*ckin trip, trip, sailor of the ship, ship
When he make it drip, drip kiss him on the lip, lip
That's the kind of dude I was lookin' for
And yes you'll get slapped if you're lookin' ho

I said, excuse me you're a hell of a guy
I mean my, my, my, my you're like pelican fly
I mean, you're so shy and I'm loving your tie
You're like slicker than the guy with the thing on his eye, oh
....
Boy you got my heartbeat runnin' away
Beating like a drum and it's coming your way
Can't you hear that boom, badoom, boom
Boom, badoom, boom bass?

Blog post # 200.  Can I get a woot?

I had an interesting discussion with someone a few weeks ago about male-female attraction.  It started with me being in a bad mood and making the self-deprecating comment that men just aren't attracted to "girls like me".  Then, I corrected myself and said, "Guys I want to be attracted to me aren't attracted to girls like me."  I was in a bad mood. I was meaning "girls who aren't a size 0." I'm over that now. I know I'm fierce. I can probably, if I really put my mind to it, attract the right sort of guy.  Still, it was a good conversation starter.

This led to a fairly lengthy discussion about what is and isn't attractive to males and females.

There's a quote:

"Men fall in love with their eyes, women with their ears."
~ Rita Mae Brown  

Just like scent, attraction is a personal thing.  To be honest, all of the men in my life whom I've been attracted to -- seriously attracted to -- didn't have extraordinary looks.  A few were what most women would call attractive by regular standards.  But...  for me... it's the other stuff.  The sense of humor, the intelligence, the soul.  The overall person.  I've met some actor-handsome men in my life who did absolutely nothing for me because once they opened their mouths, I fell out of crush mode.  As I've gotten to know men better, their attractiveness increases in direct proportion to their ability to make me laugh, think, and feel good.  I want to walk away from them feeling like I do when I leave the gym. If they can do that, then they are way ahead of the pack.

I even have little tests that I do with men when I meet them to see if they can match me in the sense of humor, brains and personality areas.  When we're both in our 90s, bald and toothless, it's not going to matter what we looked like when we met.  It's going to matter that we can keep each other entertained.  I always mentally apply what I call the "bomb shelter" exercise.  

When I meet a man, I try to envision what it would be like to be trapped in a bomb shelter with him for an indefinite amount of time. (Like BLAST FROM THE PAST.)  Will we have enough to talk about?  Will we struggle to  make conversation?  Can we take each others' minds off of the fact that we're stuck indefinitely in a bomb shelter?  Or will we be sizing each other up as dinner for when the canned foods and MREs run out? (In this case, I'm screwed because as we all know, fat equals flavor... and I'd probably be a tasty dish.)

I think I've mentioned on here before that I had a crush on this doctor who  comes to work and does presentations.  At first, it was totally superficial.  He is an attractive man.  However, as I got to know him over the course of several months, emails and visits, I started to lose that attraction.  He seemed carefully crafted - like he had created this super charming persona.  He said all of the same jokes.  He knew the right time to drop in a reference to his son.  He would mention his prowess (Donny, are you reading?  I said prowess!) on the golf course, in tai chi...  then to make himself more human, he'd toss in that he had a weakness for peanut butter cup blizzards.  I was a smitten kitten for all of ... thirty minutes... which is about how much actual personal interaction I had with this guy over the course of several months.  I was embarrassed that I had entertained thoughts of happily ever after with some guy who never really asked about me and didn't seem interested in me outside of "how many new clients can you help me get?"  Our interactions were friendly but never beyond that.  In order to truly "fall" for the guy, I'd have to get to know him.  That barrier was never really crossed.  Now, he's just some guy who comes to work every now and then.

Men, and I'm speaking generally here... and I'm not a fan of generalizations, however tend to make a decision about women based on appearance.  I had a male co-worker once who had himself absolutely convinced that he was in love (he actually said the words "I am in love with .............") with this lady who was a salesperson and who would come into our motel to try to sell things or try to convince the manager to buy things. The only interaction he had with her was based on her products and lasted less than 15 minutes each time she came.  She came every other month.  Usually, when she came, she would talk to us as a group.  She and he were rarely alone.  I probably knew more about her than he did because I was the one who would walk her around on property and make small talk with her while she reviewed our cleaning supplies, pool supplies, etc.  I knew her boyfriend's name, where she grew up, that she had a small child, etc.  I mentioned my male co-worker to her to see what her response was and she was like "Who? Oh, he's nice." No sparkle of interest. 

As soon as she'd leave, he'd corner me and want to know what I found out about her.  I realize he was building a fantasy in his head about her based on the information I was giving him.  I was doing the legwork for his masturbation sessions.  Even telling him about the boyfriend didn't stop him from concocting some major fantasy in his head.  One day, I asked him why he was in love with her.  He said that she was gorgeous.  That was the first thing he said.  Not that she was nice, funny, smart, caring.  She was gorgeous.  I looked at him and asked him if he was serious.  He said that he was.  I asked what about the boyfriend.  He said he didn't count until they were married. I remember pushing at him, because I made it my mission to cure men of believing they are in love with women based on looks alone, for more.  He hardly remembered the details I had given him about her.  For him, it was all about the looks.  He told me, "Our babies would be cute."  Seriously?   I never did get through to him and the sales rep was eventually replaced by a man, whom I'd take great pleasure in oohing and aaahing over in front of my co-worker just to annoy him.  I'd say, "Oh, I think I'm in loooooove with Ryan...."  He would roll his eyes.  

My co-worker eventually met a woman who looked nothing like the sales rep and married her. They wrote their own vows.  His had nothing about looks in them.  He loved her for her sense of spirit, her friendship, her loving personality...  I know he wasn't really in love with the sales rep and it had been a crush, but it taught me a lot about how much importance guys place on appearance.  I've met a few other men in my life who have professed strong feelings for total strangers based on appearances so I know it wasn't a fluke that my friend felt the way he did.  It just amazes me that they don't want to get to know the whole woman first.  I can't even imagine looking at a hot guy and convincing myself that I had feelings for him without getting to know him better. I'd have to talk to him. Have to.  

But, that's just me.  I'm sure that if I was knock-down drop-dead gorgeous, I'd be supporting the idea that men can fall in love with women they don't know based on looks.

Ha!  Yeah.  No.  I'd still want the "You make me laugh.  You make me think.  You had me at hello."  (oops, channeling Jerry Maguire.)  Now, I still want the guy to think my green eyes are rocking, my ass is fine and that my boobs (which, sadly, are now a whole cup size smaller) are a motorboating fantasy.  But, I don't want those to be the first things a man lists as the reasons why he loves me.  LOVES me. 

This blog was inspired by reading some posts on another website where some guy was asking for advice on how to ask out this "super hot" (thus why I quoted Super Bass as my song) girl in his chemistry class that he was "in love" with.  The females gave him reprimands that she's more than her looks and suggested that he get to know her first.  The males gave him advice about getting her drunk and "hitting it".  I thought that despite the age differences and generation gap, some things never change.

A good friend recently commented to me that I was sexy.  (It was another woman.  A straight woman.)  I just laughed it off.  She said, "No, seriously.  Your smile.  Your eyes.  Your sense of humor. Your self confidence. If I were a guy, I'd be all over you like white on rice." 

I asked her to move to California and marry me. 

Doesn't Smell Like Teen Spirit

The smell of your skin lingers on me now
You're probably on your flight back to your home town
I need some shelter of my own protection, baby
To be with myself and center
Clarity, peace, serenity

I am in search of a "signature scent".  A good scent.  Something that when people smell it, they think of me.  Something that is not like everything else out there.  Clean.  Fresh.  Totally me, though.

Over the years, I've had perfumes that I wore for a certain period of time and they became "my" perfume, my "signature scent", but right now, I'm currently without one.  I've been trying to find one, trying out different things.

Scent is special.  You can't just walk into a store and pick up something and take it home and be happy with it.  Each person's body chemistry is different.  So, I like to go into a store, try on something and then take it home and see how it smells an hour or two later.  Spraying it on those little strips of paper doesn't help.  The paper isn't skin.  It doesn't have hormonal or chemical changes that change the scent of perfume.

I was talking to a new hire a few weeks ago and he, the little romantic that he is, was telling me about how he could remember the exact scent his fiance was wearing when he met her and how it imprinted on him.  That's the scent he associates with her.  He said that most men are that way -  that they may not know the "notes" or the ingredients or name, but they will remember what a woman is wearing and that will stick with them.  I told him about my little pheromone experiment from the summer and he laughed and said that if I was trying to use it with men I already knew, it was probably worthless because they had already associated some sort of scent with me. Great! I hope it's a good one.  I'd hate to think that there's someone in my life that gets all mushy every time he smells the garlic I had in my lunch when we met.

When I was ten or so, I went into a GC Murphy's department store (did all of you have those where you grew up?) and sprayed myself with some cologne from head to toe, in an effort to smell more adult.  I went home and my mom gasped and said, "You smell like a French Whore.  Go wash that stuff off."  Now, I had no clue what a French Whore was but I figured it had to be a bad thing since my mom was making me wash.

Fast forward to Junior High - I was a Love's Baby Soft girl.  Sweet, soft, cloying.  I can't smell the stuff now without gagging.  It's too flowery and too sickeningly sweet.  But, I loved the pink color and the girliness of it. I like being a girly girl.  I may not always act it, but I can rock the ruffles and lace if need be.

I started college wearing Jovan's White Musk.  I wore that my Freshman and Sophomore years.  It was very subtle. 

In my junior year, I discovered the "expensive" stuff.  I wore Beautiful or Eternity for Women all through my junior year and senior year.  I remember sneaking into a guy's dorm room and spraying Beautiful on his pillow hoping it would remind him of me, but his roommate said I overdid it and it made him sick and he had to wash his bed linens to get rid of the scent.  Yeah, I'm sure I probably ruined the guy for that scent. For life.

After college, Eternity was pretty much my go-to for years.  Occasionally, I'd go back to Beautiful.  I worked in a motel and there was this regular named Danny who would come into the lobby and call out "Booooooteeeefullll" every time I worked.  I asked him how he knew the scent and he told me that his ex-wife used to wear it.  He and I went out on a date once and he kept telling me how much I smelled like his ex-wife.  I don't think this was a good memory.  He never asked me out again.

I experimented with some others -- Tresor, Red Door, White Diamonds, Happy by Clinique... but none of them really lasted very long.  My mood would change and out would go the perfume.

Mid 90s, I discovered "Freesia" by Victoria's Secret.  I loved loved loved that body spray.  Light and floral.  Not too clingy.  Didn't make my allergies flare up.  Inexpensive.  It became my "signature scent".  Friends commented on how much they liked it.  Then, it got discontinued.  Gone.  Poof.  Go figure.

I tried Bath and Body Works and sure enough, they had a Freesia.  It wasn't the same Freesia as Vickie's but it was close enough.  I wore that well into the middle of this decade.  Then, guess what?  They decided to stop selling it too.  I'm like a perfume jinx.  

Since then, I've been kind of "lost" in the scent department.  

I don't like overly floral scents.  I tend to prefer citrus or spice over floral.  I don't like heavy scents.  I like light and fresh. Clean. I like smelling feminine but I don't want to smell like a French Whore. Whatever that really smells like.  I'm thinking sex, cigarettes and baguettes.  Not exactly what I want to smell like.  I don't want to smell like food, candy or chocolate chip cookies.  I don't want to smell herbally and medicinal. I absolutely cannot stand that patchouli stuff.  I worked in a daycare with this woman who wore patchouli.  It made me sick.  She also didn't shave her legs or armpits and had greasy hair.  And heavy body odor.  Patchouli scented sweaty body odor.

A couple of months ago, I went to Bath and Body Works and walked around the store spritzing all different kinds of body sprays on me.  (My mom's voice kept ringing in my head. French Whore. French Whore. French Whore.)  I had something tropical on one arm.  Japanese Cherry Blossom on another.  Something citrusy on my neck.  I'm sure I tried at least 10 different scents.  They all combined into a mind numbing cloud of scent that made my allergies go crazy and my head hurt.  I had to take a shower as soon as I got home.

One day at work, a friend put some chocolate chip cookie scented antibacterial gel on me.  Ack.  That stuff made me want to gag too.  I had to take a shower as soon as I got home.  I kept smelling it for days afterwards and realized it was on the cuff of the hoodie I was wearing.  I had to wash it too.

Someone gave me some lotion called "Nighttime Tea" for Christmas (from B&BW) and I really like it.  Soft, light, feminine.  However, it only came in lotion or body wash form and was only sold at Christmas time.  I've been using it on a regular basis and have gotten some, "Oh, you smell nice" comments.  Sadly, my skin absorbs lotion like a sponge and by 10:00, the scent is totally gone.  I have a small bottle and reapply it, but I want a body spray, dang it.

I've been volleying back and forth for the past two years between three scents - white citrus (Bath and Body Works), Sea Island Cotton (Bath and Body Works) and Dream Angels Heavenly (Victoria Secret) - trying to find the one I like the most and which seems to be liked by others the most.  Every now and then, I'll change things up with some L'Occitane Cherry Blossom or lavendar-vanilla body spray by DOVE (yes, the deodorant people.)

I don't know why it's so important to me.  I guess I feel like I'm missing a piece of my identity.  Maybe I should create my own scent -  call it Butterfly.  It would have freesia, sandalwood, orange, cherry blossom...  hmmm... Yeah, I think that would probably smell bad together.  I guess I just want something that makes people think of me.  I know that I have scents that I associate with people.  I ask people all the time what they wear so that I can connect that scent with that person.  There have been times when I've been feeling a little lonely for a friend (or a memory) and have gone to the store and spritzed their cologne on my wrist just to be close to them.

A few weeks ago, I was in a store and the cashier said to me, "I really like your perfume!  What are you wearing?"  I had to think for a moment.  I hadn't put on any perfume.  What she was smelling was the fabric softener on my clothing.  I laughed and said, "Gain!"  She laughed, too, and said, "The commercials must be right then!"

Hmmm....   maybe I'll just dab some Gain behind my ears and see how that works out.   I did say I wanted a nice clean scent. 

Unrelated - my next blog will be #200.  Can you believe it?  Most of them written in the last 9 months!

You Make Me Smile

This is not my official blog for the day.  I have another idea in my head for a real blog for today.  However, while I was cleaning the apartment a few moments ago, the song "Smile" by Uncle Kracker came on the radio and I don't know how I've overlooked this song.

I've decided it has to be one of the perkiest little songs I've heard recently that totally sums my definition of love. Romantic love.  

This is what I want.  This is what I will use one of my wishes on when the Genie shows up and grants me three wishes.  (It also involves someone who also feels the same.  I have to clarify that.  I can see my wish turning into some Twilight Zone episode where I fall in love with someone just like the song below and then he ends up being an axe murderer, gay, married, and/or some other state of unavailability.)

So, I'm sharing the lyrics.  Come back later for my "real" blog for today.

Clicky for the video.

You're better than the best
I'm lucky just to linger in your light
Cooler than the flip-side of my pillow (that's right)
Completely unaware
Nothing can compare to where you send me
Lets me know that it's okay (yea, it's okay)
And the moments when my good times start to fade

You make me smile like the sun, fall outta bed
Sing like a bird,
Dizzy in my head
Spin like a record,
Crazy on a Sunday night
You make me dance like fool,
Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold,
Buzz like a bee
Just the thought of you can drive me wild
Oh, you make me smile

Even when you're gone
Somehow you come along just like a flower pokin through the sidewalk crack
And just like that
You steal away the rain
And just like that

Don't know how I lived without you
'Cuz everytime that I get around you
I see the best of me inside your eyes
You make me smile
You make me dance like fool, Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold, Buzz like a bee
Just the thought of you can drive me wild
Oh, you make me smile

(Oh, you make me smile)
Oh you make me smille
(Oh, you make me smile)
Oh you make me smille

My Infinite Playlist

Listen can you hear me
Am I coming in on your frequency
I got a story
Subject of the plot, you and me
And when you're sleeping, and when you're waking
And when you're feeling good
I'll be the thing that, you want to sing back
Stuck in your head like I knew you would

I wanna be your favorite song
You can turn it up, play me all night long
I wanna be your favorite song
La la la la la

I like going to the gym.  I know, wow, right?  I have the hardest time talking myself into going.  By the end of the day at work, I have to give myself a serious pep talk to go.  I can usually think of at least 5 other things I'd rather do and at least 2 of them involve crawling into bed. 

But, fierceness doesn't happen without some effort.  And I'm not in a position to indulge in one of the two things that require a bed due to my current relationship status. (I'll let you think about that one for a moment.)

I'm no stranger to the gym membership.  I was 10 years old the first time I went to a gym -- or what my small town of Dunbar, PA (population 1100) called a gym.  Someone put some exercise mats and weights in a room above the fire station and let people do exercises there.  I remember going a couple of times at my dad's urging to "get out of the house and get the stink off of [my] butt".   I felt very Olivia Newton John a la "Let's Get Physical" and wore a sweatband around my forehead and everything.  Good times.    

In college, my roommate (the one who tried to get me to indulge in promiscuity) and I would brave the "weight room" after our classes to get some exercise.  I would go to work out and she would go to stare at the football players. Then, later, I had a membership to both the YMCA and the local rec center when I stayed in Marietta after college.  I even took swimming lessons to try to learn how to swim.  (Yeah, that didn't last long though because I couldn't get over the fear of putting my face under the water.)  

When I moved to Columbus, I had a membership at a women's only gym that had a few old machines and dirty dressing rooms.  Then, I joined one of those fancy meat markety types that are open 24 hours a day.  I would go at 9:00 at night and be the only woman in the gym.  It would be me and all of the guys working out before they went club hopping.  Then, the place closed down and I ended up at another woman's gym, one with a pool.  I discovered a love for water exercise.  I rarely ventured out of the 3 foot zone and never got my head wet, but I could do exercises like it was no one's business.  Me and all of the grannies in saggy bathing suits.  That lasted until I moved to Virginia.

Now, I'm back at the gym again.  I really do enjoy it.  At first, I was a little hesitant.  I haven't touched a machine in years and was a little worried about being the biggest person there.  I didn't want to get all sweaty in front of size zero babes and lunky hero types.  Luckily, the people in my gym are all shapes and sizes and no one even looks at me when I'm there.  Ok, true, this is probably contradictory to my desire to stop being invisible to people (and by people, I mean men) but I'm happy to be invisible at the gym.  I don't want people staring at me and wondering if I'm going to last.

However, it was like riding a bike.... an exercise bike. I quickly re-acclimated to the machines and their purposes.  I go in, do my thing, listen to my music while I'm there and go home.  I leave in a great mood.  There's a bounce in my step.  Energy in my blood.  I feel more attractive and more alive.  I like the way my butt looks in my spandex blend exercise pants and when I'm on the elliptical, listening to my music, I sometimes shake my booty.  Wiggle it.  Just a little bit.  I sometimes pretend that there's someone behind me on one of the treadmills who enjoys what he sees.  It's a fantasy.  But, it's my fantasy.  Exercise is a bit of an aphrodisiac for me.  I do feel more... you know.... twitchy after a good workout.  Sometimes.  Depends on my mood and the music I was listening to.

This brings me to the real subject of my blog.  Music.

I downloaded all of the songs on my computer's hard drive, from all of the various "mixed tapes" I've made over the past few years, onto an MP3 player.  I take that MP3 player with me to the gym.   At first, I kind of enjoyed the randomness of all of the music -- slow songs, fast songs, love songs, hate songs... but then realized I was having a hard time keeping stride and rhythm when "HELLO" by Lionel Richie would suddenly come on after a good solid heart pumping few minutes of "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees.  I cleaned out my MP3 player last weekend and now only have songs that motivate me while I'm working out.

What are some of the songs on this list?  I didn't think you'd ever ask.

So Alive - Love and Rockets

My head is full of magic, baby, 
And I can't share this with you. 
The feel I'm on top again, baby, 
That's got everything to do with you.

Jump Around - House of Pain 

Feel it, funk it, amps it are junkin'
And I got more rhymes than there's cops that are dunkin'
Donuts shop, sure 'nuff I got props from the kids on the Hill
Plus my mom and my pops
I came to get down, I came to get down
So get out your seats and jump around

Good Vibrations - Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch

My body is healthy
My rhymes make me wealthy
And the Funky Bunch helps me
To bring you a show with no intoxication
Come on, feel the vibration

Yeah, can you feel it, baby?
I can too

Finally - Ce Ce Peniston

Finally it has happened to me right in front of my face
My feelings can't describe it
Finally it has happened to me right in front of my face and 
I just can not hide it.

None of Your Business - Salt N Pepa

If I wanna take a guy home with me tonight
It's none of your business
And she wanna be a freak and sell it on the weekend
It's none of your business
Now you shouldn't even get into who I'm givin' skins to
It's none of your business
So don't try to change my mind, I'll tell you one more time
It's none of your business

I Get Excited - Rick Springfield

No, baby you don't look that nervous when you bite your lip
You keep 'em open when we kiss, you're a hypocrite
You got my body dancin' tango in three-four time
This angel's gonna spread her wings tonight

Poker Face - Lady Gaga

I wanna roll with him a hard pair we will be
A little gambling is fun when you're with me (I love it)
Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun
And baby when it's love if its not rough it isn't fun, fun

Baby Got Back - Sir Mixalot

'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it
And I'd rather stay and play
'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong
And I'm down to get the friction on

Geek In The Pink - Jason Mraz

I don't care what you might think about me
You can vibe without me if you want
I could be the one to take you home
Baby we could rock the night alone
If we never get down it wouldn't be a let down
But sugar don't forget what you already know
I could be the one to turn you out
We could be the talk across the town
Don't judge it by the color, confuse it for another
You might regret what you let slip away

Upside Down - Jack Johnson

Who's to say what's impossible?
Well they forgot this world keeps spinning
And with each new day
I can feel a change in everything

Bubble Toes - Jack Johnson

I remember when you and me mmm how we used to be just good friends
Wouldn't give me none
But all I wanted was some
She's got a whole lot of reasons
She cant think of a single one
That can justify leaving
and he got none but he thinks he got so many problems
Man he got, too much time to waste

I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not
And who I am

There are many more but those are some of the songs that I heard tonight. 

They give me motivation, inspiration and keep my booty shaking while I'm achieving fierceness.

I have to admit I had a bit of a bad week.  I've been in an off and on funky mood this past week.  Blame hormones.  Blame work.  Blame it on the rain.  Blame the bout with bronchitis.  I was in this constant state of feeling like I needed a hug and a warm blanket.  I was making excuses left and right for not wanting to keep on with this fierceness thing.  I made some poor food choices.  I was feeling down on myself.  I wanted to say the hell with it all and just go buy a muumuu and call it a day.  The eye opener was stepping on the scale and seeing that I gained 5 lbs.  Now, I seriously considered not weighing in.  I was feeling heavier, bloatier.  But, I couldn't be one of those people who hide and avoid the bad news.  I needed the reality check.  Now, do I think I really gained 5 lbs of actual weight? No, but it depressed me anyway.

I didn't go to the gym last night.  I stopped at Farm Fresh and as an act of self-punishment bought a bag of salad and made myself eat it dry for dinner.  The bad thing about this is that I have no desire to eat salad for awhile.  Luckily, there are other veggies and fruits.  I then took a shower, cried a little, cursed myself a little and went to bed.  I was asleep by 9:00.

Then, this morning, I woke up and decided I could keep on whining and making excuses or I could put on my big girl panties and deal with it.  I chose the panties option.  They are pink with hearts. 

Tonight, this lady came up to me at the gym and told me she had been watching me for the past few weeks and that she noticed some changes in me and that she was so proud of me.  She's an older lady - a motherly type.  That made me smile.  I thanked her and she said, "Keep it up girl!"  I smiled all the way to the locker room.

I think I made the right choice with the panties option.

One Night Stand

taking a moment just imagining i'm dancing with you
i'm your pole and all you're wearing is your shoes
you got soul, you know what to do to turn me on
until i write a song about you
and you have your own engaging style
you have a knack to vivify
and you make my slacks a little tight
you may unfasten them if you like
that's if you crash and spend the night 

....

curl your upper lip up and let me look around
ride your tongue along your bottom lip and bite down
and bend your back and ask your hips if i can touch
well they're the perfect jumping off point
for getting closer to your butterfly 

I have a confession to make.  I've never had a one night stand.

Hello, my name is Beverly and I'm 43 years old and I've never had to do the 4:00 a.m. walk of shame.

NEW GIRL was about one night stands last night.  Jess wanted one.  She couldn't do it.  She becomes emotionally involved.  I can relate.

I've often fantasized about having a one-night stand (and why is it called a "stand" when you spend most of it lying down?) but the truth is, I don't have it in me to do it.  I'm a lot like Jess.

In college, I had a roommate who was a bit more experienced that I was.  I was the stereotypical good girl.  I wasn't ashamed of it.  I had morals.  I didn't sleep around.  However, my roommate would encourage me to step outside of my shell.  Shake off the shyness and insecurities.  Walk the wild side.  I couldn't do it.  She would introduce me to men, take me to bars and parties.  I would strike up conversations with people and get to know people, which wasn't her goal, her intent.   I remember she gave me a Trojan condom our Freshman year -- it was in a purple foil wrapper - and I still had that condom when I graduated 4 years later.  It became like a "good luck charm".  I'd carry it in my purse or pocket every time we went out.  It's probably a good thing I never actually used it because I'm sure there had to be an expiration date and if I had used it, I'd probably be the proud mama of some college kid right now.

Now, I know I talk a good talk.  I allude to being way more experienced that I am.  I like talking about sex, thinking about sex.  If I were a George Michael song, I'd be bursting at the seams right now about how sex is natural, sex is fun, sex is best if it's one on one.  Ah....  one on one.  Monogamy.  And we're right back to emotional involvement.

I don't like to lose control.  I also don't like the idea of being someone's "story".  So, one night stands are a nightmare for me.  The whole unknown thing.  What if he's a sicko? A pervert? A maniac? What if he chains me to his radiator and plans to make a woman suit out of me?  What if he is just doing it on a dare?  What if he makes fun of me?  What if... what if... what if....  Story of my life.  What if...

I quote Jason Mraz's song Butterfly above.  The song gets me twitchy. (Jess used the word twirly.  The both mean horny.)  I think this song captures the essence of the desire for someone unknown, someone mysterious, the fantasy of the one night stand.  A little dirty raunchy sex.  Breakfast in the morning.  Wait... breakfast in the morning.  Hmmm... okay... maybe it's not a song about a one night stand.  I mean, breakfast?  What man makes the one night stand breakfast?  I may have to rethink my fantasy here.  You know I do love a man who makes breakfast.

I've had fantasies about one night stands.  They usually, because I am who I am, don't involve bars, though.  I've had fantasies about picking up guys in bookstores.  On the beach.  In music stores.  Housewares stores. At work. At the post office.  In Vegas.  At the airport.  In clothing stores.  At the gym.  At the library.  In school.   Yeah... none of that smokey bar stuff. 

Sadly, my fantasies evolve.  Blame the romance novels, chick flicks, love songs.   I can never just stop at the one night stand. 

I meet a guy in a bookstore.  We both reach for the same book.  Our eyes meet.  We make some small talk.  The chemistry is there.  The connection is there.  (insert bow chicka bow wow music) He is visiting from out of town.  He is looking for something to read on the plane ride home.  We end up at his hotel.  Lights dim. Insert sounds of heavy breathing.  (No "slurping" sounds like in that reality show Joe Millionaire.  Anyone remember that one?  He took a woman into the woods and the show inserted subtitles of their lovemaking sounds and it said "slurping" .  The woman was appalled that the editors implied that she was the one doing the slurping.)  I stumble out of the hotel room in the middle of the night, carrying my shoes. (Why do women always carry their shoes after a one night stand?)  My hair is messy and my make up is smeared.  This is where it's supposed to end.

In my fantasy, however, he shows up at work the next day as the guest speaker, the new client, the potential new manager, or the future President of the company.  I'm tasked with showing him around.  It's awkward at first. Then, we talk. We laugh. We flirt. We bond. I show him the blind spot in the training room where no one can see what's going on and quote funny statistics about masturbation at work.  He tells me that I have to forget about the one night stand because we might work together.  I tell him the company doesn't have a policy against dating co-workers.  He then tells me some story about how we'll never work out and he'll always treasure the night we had.  I doodle his name on my note pad and weep privately every time I hear some mushy song.  I end up quitting my job and moving to a city far away, which then just happens to be the city where he lives and we run into each other in a bookstore.  We reach for the same book.  We laugh.  We live happily ever after.

Yeah, see -- one night stands are so not for me.

However, I am in the process of changing.  

In addition to getting fiercer and getting a butterfly tattoo (yeah, I finally decided on the kind), maybe this is the year I have a one night stand.  And only a one night stand.

Yeah, right.

And unicorns and glitter will lose their appeal too.

Time After Time

Lyin' in my bed I hear the clock tick
And think of you
Caught up in circles confusion
Is nothing new
Flashback warm nights
Almost left behind
Suitcase of memories
Time after

Sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me I can't hear
What you've said
Then you say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

Several years ago, while trying to get over someone, I discovered the movie the Lake House.  It stars Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock.  It's about a lonely doctor who rents a lake house to find peace from her life.  She strikes up a relationship with a troubled, lonely architect through letters they leave each other in the mailbox at the lake house.  They fall in love, discovering that they each fill a void in each other's lives.  They also discover that their paths cross several times.  It's a love story about finding a soul mate and destiny.  The twist is that they are living 2 years apart.  She is in 2006.  He is in 2004.  It seems impossible that they will ever meet.  A huge part of the movie is based on events that happen on/around Valentine's Day.  Each Valentine's Day since I discovered the movie, I watch the movie, and daydream about a love that crosses time barriers.  I consider it a modern Somewhere in Time.

I love the whole idea that two people can meet and fall in love through written word and common philosophies.  Two lonely hearts - brought together.  By a house, of all things.  There's also a dog involved but the dog is a minor contributor.  They are two fairly normal, successful and attractive people.  They should have no problem finding someone to love and to love them.  However, there was always something missing that they didn't realize was missing until the moment they met.

I imagine that is how my own love story will be some day.  It won't involve a lake house.  A dog.  Or crossing of space and time.  I wouldn't be opposed to Keanu Reeves but I have a feeling he won't be trolling Virginia Beach anytime soon.  Besides, I fear he'd call me "dude" and I fear I'd be inclined to drop Bill and Ted references, which would spoil the mood.

I digress.  I imagine that my own love story will involve meeting someone who has been looking for me his whole life, without realizing it.  I imagine filling a void he didn't even realize he had until he met me.  My laughter, my heart, my soul, my unwavering support, my unconditional love....  it will lift him up and make him a better man.  He will feel better being with me.  He will discover that his life is more colorful, more meaningful.  Because of me.  He will make me feel things I didn't think I could feel.  He will be a friend, a playmate, a partner in crime, a lover and confidante.  I will champion for him and he will champion for me.  Our lives will be better together.  I will be a better person.  He will be a better person.  He'll have less fear and more hope.  I will have that calm confidence that comes from knowing our meeting was meant to be.

Yes, I'm a romantic.  I've always been a romantic.  In a world of hardened cynics who mock love songs and all things mushy, I hold firm to my beliefs and convictions. Unicorns and glitter all the way.

It will happen.

Today, someone asked me, "Why aren't you seeing someone?"  in a tone of voice that indicated that they were shocked I was single.  I felt flattered.  Most people seem to think I just don't care about those things.

It started innocently enough.  I joked with someone about waiting on my flowers to arrive (it is Valentine's Day, after all.)  Now, there is no one to send me flowers. I really wasn't expecting any.  However, it was fun to joke about it.  My new hires were out of the room and I was all alone, trying to decide if I should go to the gym after work or go pick up a prescription that Rite Aid keeps threatening to cancel out if I don't pick it up soon.  

Someone noticed I was alone and stopped to chat.  While chatting, I made the comment about the flowers.  The person said, "So, are you seeing someone?"  I laughed and said that I was not.  They said, "Why not?  You're a great person."  They added a few other compliments which I thanked them for and then tried to change the subject.

"No, really -- there has to be someone," they said.

I said, "Oh, there is someone."  I just smiled.  This perked the other person up.

"Who is he?"

I just smiled and said that he was out there and would some day find me.

Of course, it wasn't the answer they wanted.  They wanted a name.  Me, too.

I wish I had a crystal ball or some way to know who this person is and when he'll find me.   It's a shame that all of my mushiness is not put to good use.  I feel in my heart, though, that he is out there.  He has to be.  There is someone for everyone, right?  He might already be in my life for all I know, and we just haven't reached our "discovery" moment of that our lives were meant to mingle.

However, until it happens, I will watch the Lake House every Valentine's Day and daydream about the "What If" in life.  I'll cry a little, too, because it's that kind of movie.

Happy Valentine's Day.   Love should be celebrated every day, every way.  However, I think of today as the "birthday" of love and it deserves some special attention.  

Doesn't everyone and everything on their birthday?