Psycho Killer Qu'est-ce que c'est?

For those of us that aren't necessarily singletons by choice, it can be a bit annoying when one is surrounded by saccharin displays of love being vomited all around.

Some of the worst offenders are stupid jewelry story commercials.

Now I love a nice diamond like the next girl, but when one is cozied up in ones slanket with a dog/cat as ones "date", eating homemade rice crispy treats on a Saturday night, you don't need to be reminded that "Every kiss begins with Kay...."

But I think Kay did a phenomenal job with this commercial. After all, serial killers need love too...



P.S.: When you two are done, maybe you should check on that noise down in the basement....

Someone's bringin' the Seksy back...

The "Slanket"? What's this? the skank version of the Snuggie? There's all kinds of wrong with that name.

Dark Night of the Financial Soul...

OK, so I’ve scaled back on a lot of things lately due to a DRASTIC cut in income.

Granted, I could not completely come down from my fancy espresso drink high and have resorted to the methadone provided by a Krupp home espresso machine bought at Ross.

I haven’t bought any shoes….

Forget Wall Street--you know the country’s headed into financial CRAZY-times when I stop buying shoes. It should be a globally assumed index of the nation’s financial health.

I’ve actually started….ok….God I’ll just come out with it….I’ve start COOKING.

Like from scratch….

Using recipes and stuff.

And dividing and packaging up my creations to put in the freezer and take to work for lunches.

Every little penny pinching household trick taught to me by my parents…that I scoffed at while dining at Morton’s in Los Angeles, or buying my 2nd -3rd drink in one day at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf has now come back to me and been fully embraced.

Hell, I’ve been making my own bread. Low-carb diet be damned...homemade bread is dirt cheap!!

But there’s one thing that’s starting to give me the DT’s….

Just like all things worth addicting over, my first hit was free. I bought a tube of lip gloss and the friendly girl behind the counter handed me a “free gift with purchase”.

When it comes to skin care, I’ve always had good intentions…but the path to hell…paved…etc etc. So I’ve never actually kept up any kind of regimen. I’m pretty lazy. If it’s not food or coffee, I’m pretty bad at doing anything consistently, no matter how much I seemingly want to.

In my “free gift” I noticed a small jar of Lancôme Absolue Premium bx. I shrugged my shoulders and didn’t think much of it. I’d tried face creams in the past, and if I did manage to use them for a brief time, I usually found them heavy, cloying. If they did anything it was usually to clog my pores, but usually it seemed pointless.

I then I tried the potion in the little jar one morning after a shower when my skin felt particularly dry.

Is it ever like the first time?

My skin drank it in like fine liquor. The scent was subtle, barely noticeable…a hint of grapefruit perhaps?

I was in love and didn’t look back. I used it religiously until that sad day when my sample jar had been scraped clean.

This would not do…my skin was already crying out like the parched dunes of the Sahara.

I took to the city streets in search of my fix, anything to get rid of that feeling of stretch parched skin.

And then I saw her, the woman in the black lab coat and Lancôme name tag. I sidled up to her, trying to nonchalantly scope out my surroundings, was there a “free gift with purchase”? Did I need another gold lame make-up bag with the purchase of $28.95 or more?

I showed her my empty jar.

“Do you carry this?” I whispered.

She placed a full size jar in my hands, and I could feel the hum of expectation coursing through my skin.

I reached for my wallet.

“How much?”

“The 2.7 oz comes to $145.”

Holy Mother of GOD!!!

But I paid.

And I couldn’t stop. Every 8 to 10 months I’d go back like clockwork.

I told myself it was a treat. I was now newly single, divorced. I was constantly fighting an internal battle with myself with my ex’s words hanging like a mist in the back of my consciousness. I continually pushed it back, but it clung to my own fear of never again being loved. “No one else will ever want you…”

I was in my late 30’s, and my reflection in the mirror reminded me of that every day. I was looking haggard and my skin dull. But since I’d started using the cream, I’d begun to feel better. It was probably all in my head, but it seemed my skin looked bright….breakouts were happening less and less. And I know that dry feeling was gone. I felt I looked, not younger, but fresher…like I’d gotten enough sleep.

So here I am now, at a crossroads.

I’ve trimmed the fat; I’ve turned my back on so many luxuries. I’ve done the research, I know in my head that anti-aging creams do not really do anything, they’re not worth the money, and I can’t afford it anyway. I just can’t. But I am again staring at a very, very empty jar of face cream.

I’ve been experimenting with other grocery store aisle creams and I’ve yet to find one. They’re heavy, cloying, or smell funny. My skin is breaking out and feels annoyingly dry and once again, at least to me, looks dull.

It is a sad day. Oh. Miss Lancôme sales-girl, how I miss thee!!

**sigh**

What's the Story, Morning Glory?

“Tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition….”

The sun is shining and the air is crisp and cold lending atmosphere to the leaves which have turned brilliant shades of red and gold. All in all, it’s a beautiful Wednesday morning.

As part of my current cost cutting measures (nothing like getting hours cut and having to take a new job with a 25% pay decrease; though I’m very grateful to have a full-time job.), I’ve stopped buying my coffee-house lattes for the most part; and now make my own caramel macchiatos at home.

I’m on auto-pilot in the mornings…I AM NOT a morning person.

Let me reiterate for the person who may someday be my partner. I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON.

Nothing against mornings, mind you….but if left to my own devices, sans employment, I hit my stride after 6:00 pm. Thankfully, having a mortgage to pay means I dutifully haul my butt out of bed just before 6:00 am despite the fact that doing so is completely uncivilized and akin to water-torture and rightfully should be banned by the UN-- just my humble opinion.

Sometimes I do mix it up a bit, choosing the IPod and blaring music in order to shock the neurons into submission and wakefulness; but most morning I turn on the TV and listen to the news as I perform my A.M. ablutions.

So as I’m viewing my reflection in the bathroom mirror and admiring the exquisite beauty that is me in hot-rollers and a worn red fuzzy bathrobe, the words rolling out from my TV start to actually take concrete form in my brain.

“Shooting in a home in North xxxxxxx…..[s]everal suspects break into 44-year old man’s home and shoot him. The victim is currently at xxxxxxxx Hospital having survived the gun-shot. Police have sealed off an area around the victim’s house, searching for the suspects. Two men and a woman…”

AWESOME!!

And, as I’m want to do, I tell myself that while that is the section of town I live in, I’m sure it’s a ways away from me.

While I wait for the hot-rollers to transform me from an aging old maid into the sassy/flowing-maned/divorcee temptress persona I project to the world outside my home, I shuffle with my coffee past the cat, past the dog and out into my living room. Despite my innate aversion to the A.M., I start to open the blinds to let in the morning’s light.

Can I get another “AWESOME”?

Nothing says “Good Morning” like opening up your blinds to view police activity down the block--police cars silently parked at every other intersection all the way down your street. It gives you a special kind of warm fuzzy.

Turns out said incident was just down the block and around the corner.

Good Morning!

Twilight: All That Glitters is not Gold

Seriously!?!?!?!?

They just HAD to go and steal my idea. I mean, of course, in concept, mine was much more aesthetically appealing and held more true to the characters.

I envisioned a whole Twilight Love line: Weres vs. Vamps And I mentioned they would glitter, right?

Not sure if you can have glitter lube though, might be scratchy.

The Vamp



"...Updated by popular request... Yes the The Vamp retains hot and cold temperature. Toss it in the fridge for that authentic experience..."

Do You Think I'm Sexy?

Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure

Every town has a Crazy Cat Lady. She's the one who lives in a tiny house full of feral felines. This 5-1/4'' (13.3 cm) tall, hard vinyl Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure has a wild look in her eye and comes with six cats.

It's a Slippery Slope...

...from here to being the neighborhood cat lady. I am of a certain age--at least it's something I can aim for, right? It's good to have goals.

Finger Lickin’ Good

Text (I have not edited or fixed spelling/grammer) from a recent email exchange I had on an online dating site:

“Gentleman’s” Introductory email to me, we’ll call him “Top-Gun”:

Top-Gun:
You are very gorgeous

Top-Gun:
My name is Top Gun..write me if you are interested in knowing more about me..hope to hear from you... I AM LOOKING FOR A WOMAN THAT CAN FLY A JET..(ME) YOU WILL NEED TO KNOW WHAT BUTTONS TO PUSH , OR YOU WILL CRASH. I am an intelligent, complex, kind, and sincere person. And if you fly me the right way..and if you are a good pilot..the sky is yours.....

Me:
Hello:
Ahhhh.....a jet, eh?

I'd have to say I'm a luxury cruiseliner built for comfort. Powered by steam, I would need someone to keep the fire burning...

Sorry--I couldn't resist. :)

How's your day going so far?

Top-Gun:
I would love to keep you fire burning..full steam...I hope me do not hit any ice bergs...My day is great..I am doin fine...A little lonely... all in all I am a happy camper....You play the Chello???

Me:
Hello:

LOL - Yes, icebergs would be bad!!

So I see from your profile you're an artist? What medium do you usually work with?

I'd been teaching myself cello, but I'm in need of a new a-string since the old one snapped. I'm also looking for a cello instructor to help me with technique and form...so it's a process.

So, Mr. Jet-Plane, how's xxxxx been treatin' ya?

Top-Gun:
I wrote you the worst email..you are an English major ???
Very embarrassing... I am new to this stuff..this xxxxx thing..so, I am not very good at it. I have been out of the dating loop for awhile...Other than that, I am great.

Me:
Yes, I was an English major, but in creative writing--so we're allowed to be "creative" in spelling and grammer. :)

I hear you about the dating scene....so tell me a little about yourself.

Top-Gun:
I enjoy staying home..I am a family man...single father of twin boys....I was raised by old fashion Italian parents...I enjoy much of the same things you do, I enjoy the Chello, NOT THE CELLO.
Chello is the spanish version of Jello....Hay mannn less make some Chello..ju know..I thought you would know that...(NOT FUNNY??)

with jokes a side, you look and seem sweet, smart as a wipp...

ME:
There's always room for "chello"...
How old are your boys?

Top-Gun:
They are 4 and a half...very handsome boys..good boys...

Me:
Ahhh....like father like sons :)

Top-Gun:
EAT.....CAN I TASTE YOU???

Me:
OK then...looks like this ship has come to port in crazy town.

Top-Gun:
COME ON...CUT TO THE CHASE...AT LEAST I AM FORWARD AND NOT PHONY..I KNOW U LIKE THAT...

Me:
True, but still, there should be a modicum of finesse to it all. Just sayin'...

Top-Gun:
SOOOO, CAN III???????????? Taste you???

Me:
Oh Sweetie..with my luck you're some 18 year old boy trolling the internets :)

Very entertaining though...

I do have to give you credit...you are straight forward. That's refreshing.

Top-Gun:
Love you...Top Gun

_________

And he was soooooo cute. I had high hopes for him. And to think he’s only 41….

Do you think he’d let me be Tom Cruise to his Val Killmer?

And Thank You for the Memories…

Last Wednesday was my wedding anniversary.

Actually, it would have been my 9th wedding anniversary if we were still together. But the more I tried not to think about it, the more that date seemed to creep up. October 28th.

My Ex sent me a text message, asking if I was OK. He said he wanted to make sure I wasn’t too sad, that I should do something nice for myself.

For the longest time, during the divorce, I couldn’t make sense of what he’d done--the lies and deception. How could someone con the person they said they loved? Aren’t you supposed to be a team--watch each other’s backs?

So I deduced that he couldn’t have loved me…I was just a pawn. The idea was extremely painful and spawned alot of self-loathing about my own lack of insight.

Now that there’s some distance, I don’t think that was the case, I think he loved me as much as he could love anyone. But I also think he’s damaged. I truly believe his parents did a number on him, and honestly I hate them. I hate them for what they did to him and to us.

But because of that damage, despite the fact that I believe he still loves me, and I love him to some degree, we can not ever be together. And after everything, to be honest, I can no longer think of him in terms of a sexual relationship. I love him as one does someone who held a special place in you life at one point. I care about what happens to him, but have absolutely no desire to repeat what we once had. That is the past and I would like it to remain there.

A lot of people in my life don’t understand and always ask me why I even bother talking to him anymore. I’ve never had an answer for them.

But as I reflect back, I am grateful to have seen this transformation since the separation.

One of the hardest things about the divorce was the pain I inflicted on myself as I discovered yet another way he had conned me during the marriage. As I unearthed lies, and deception…many of which had been directly advised by my Father-in-law, I was in complete awe of how I had been so stupid.

How could I have not seen it?? How could I have been so stupid…was I that desperate to have not seen it? What was wrong with me?

I felt like such a failure.

But as the feelings during the divorce have mellowed, and for whatever reason my Ex has continued communicating with me, he has once again become that man I dated. I realized this week, that I can forgive myself. If I hadn’t already had a peek behind the curtain, I would say this man, who was my husband, was a decent human being--caring and considerate…for that’s how he now treats me. It is a comfortable, seemingly safe place.

Thankfully, though. I know better now.

I can see why I thought the way I had, I can see why I had formed a high opinion of him. I tend to take things at face value and, as one does with those one loves, I had believed the things he said to me. I had thought perhaps I had imagined his thoughtfulness, or had projected those things onto him. But as I see him once more showing me consideration, etc I am now able to look back at my younger self with more understanding and forgiveness.

I also now know that people who have Narcissistic Personality Disorder are chameleons, and are very adept at projecting charm and caring even though they do not truly know the meaning of those things. So while this new knowledge will prevent me for falling for him again, as I did before, I can understand why my younger, unknowing self did.

I am grateful for this; I tend to be so very harsh on myself. There is something very comforting in self-forgiveness.

With All the Fish in the Sea--This Little Fishy Needs a Bike with Training Wheels

It’s been about a year since I took the plunge and started my journey exploring the whole internet dating thing.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there was reluctance on my part. The residue of past held stigmas concerning the whole process was holding me back—despite the fact that I would, and had defended it to others.

“In this day and age….so busy….stuck behind computers, use the tools you have…” yada….yada….yada.

But reality kind of gave me the smack down.

The truth was that I was alone. A fact I could and can easily forget about when in the midst of friends and family—running about town. But in the quiet of my home it was just me and my dog and the couch. A threesome—yes, but not the kind that stirs the blood so to speak.

The silence was a gapping, yawning black hole of “you will never, ever again have someone to share the blanket with while watching horrible reruns of sophomoric network TV sitcoms and pressing your chilled-to-the-bone freezing tootsies to their toasty ones as they let out a blood-curdling scream”. Because, really—that’s what love’s about.

And, if I’m being honest, in the real world I’m just not gettin’ any lovin’ from the men folk.

This is partly my own fault, and if I listen to my friends, it’s mainly, solely, entirely my fault (there may some exaggeration on my part there). According to my world perspective (And that’s the only one I have to go by), in terms of single/available men, I’m pretty much a stealth female. In all other arenas of life, I get along really well with the opposite sex. I’ve even been known to say “Good Morning!, throwing in a jaunty wave hello.

As a teenager I worked in a steel foundry among very, very few women and completely held my own….in fact they even tried their best to teach me how to play poker on our break. And as they had to re-teach me at the start of every summer, I was astounded at their patience.

But when it comes to flirting, or covert glances, I’m pretty much under the radar. I don’t notice men looking at me. Ever.

I’ve never had a man come up to me and ask me out, buy me a drink, or chat me up. On second thought, that’s not quite true:

There was the man who just last month came up to me on the train as I was heading into work. He was surprisingly tidy and put together for a homeless man, and had successfully streamlined his earthly belongings in one duffel-bag as opposed to an entire grocery cart.

He very respectfully approached me, “Ma’am when you go home tonight to your husband, you let him know that a gentleman on the train thought you were mighty cute.”

And then there was a man who offered to buy me a drink and asked if he could enjoy my company in polite conversation. At the end of which he gave me a $100 bill and thanked me for making him feel like a human being again (we only chatted at the bar, I swear). He apologized that he had to cut the evening short and leave since he was on furlough from prison and had to get back and check in.

One can’t forget my ex-husband. He was a great guy. I did, and still do love him. I mean if you look past the fact that he had Narcissistic Personality Disorder, lied about finances, and forged documents…he was a great catch.

Here’s the thing though…I’ve had more than one friend tell me they see men looking at me.

I was in mid-story, Italian ancestry inspired hand motions flying as I enthusiastically conveyed my thoughts to a good friend when she stopped me suddenly and said, “Did you see that!?!?”

“See what?”

“That guy…he was totally craning his head around to watch you walk by.”

By the time this whole exchange had happen, when I turned he was already gone. I hadn’t seen a thing. But my first thought was that of course he was looking, my friend is gorgeous. Blessed with one of those natural beauties where she looks her best with her hair free and no make-up, standing next to some crazy chick (me) frantically throwing her arms around like she’s tossing pizza dough.

HINT: Gentlemen, next time you’re giving some chick the eye and you get no response, don’t assume she’s just ignoring you. It could be me, and you might have to take me by the shoulders and shake me a bit, to get my attention.

OK…so we’ve established that I have genetic blinders on when it comes to others flirting with me, and should I notice, I chalk it up to them “being nice”. What, you may ask, happens when the shoe’s on the other foot and I see someone I would love to get to know a bit better?

My problem is that in the dating world, there’s this whole expectation that when one sees a person one is attracted to, one must interact. Throw a well calculated sideways glance, held for exactly 4 seconds if the internet is to be believed, and then quickly flit one’s eyes away. Mayhap even smile at said target.

I know this. It’s not that I’m so socially stunted that I don’t know what’s expected. The problem is that by the time I regain control of muscle and brain function after seeing a potential target, I’m probably 4 blocks away from him (Please refer to post #2 – Mid-Life Crisis is this Season’s New Black and the flight-or-flight impulse).

Hence the online dating.

And where do I find myself a year later? Well, at least I still have my dog.

And the couch.

Did I mention I just got a new kitty?

Online dating. The word “dating” might be a bit of a misnomer. Online Interviewing, perhaps?

I had a fabulous, and very successful one night stand, but that was as close to dating as I got. Unless you count flying 3,ooo miles for a recap with previously mentioned O.N.S.—that’s kind of like a second date, right? Second implies plurality. Date becoming “dates”?

Yep…it sounds like a stretch to me as well, and I really like(d) the guy.
So when it came to my, as of present, online dating experience let’s break it down:

PROS – Since it’s on the computer and not face-to-face, I did not feel the need to run, and therefore met some candidates of the male persuasion.

CONS – I met some candidates of the male persuasion that left me going – WTF!?!?!?

(Con’t)

"I'm dating a woman now who, evidently, is unaware of it."
— Gary Shandling

Mid-life Crisis is this Season's New Black

I did not see this coming….Nope, back in my early 20’s when life was still an open road, and adventure was to be partaken in and explored, I did not see myself entering my 39th year alone.

I would be lying if I didn’t say that this is bittersweet. Life threw me for a loop, and gratefully, also gave me the strength to survive and get myself out of an abusive marriage—for my sanity and my physical well-being.

It wasn’t a conscious picture mind you; it just lingered there in the back of my mind, in the “things-you-take-for-granted” file. That at almost forty years old I would be married, with children, raising and nurturing a family.

For a variety of reasons we did not have any children. And again I have my reasons for being grateful that I did not have children with my ex, but that’s not to say I didn’t want to have children.

At 39, the reality is that I have to start cozying up to the idea that I may not ever have children. And the thought is a bit devastating.

And then there’s the whole dating thing…it’s DEFINITELY different!

Being that I am painfully shy.

I hide it well.

Behind the persona of a sassy divorcée, drinking cosmos at the bar and flirting with the waiter as he serves another round, I entirely lose my functioning brain when confronted by a cute boy/handsome gentleman.

Friends, having spent many an evening as I entertain with bawdy humor and quick wit, vehemently deny that I’m shy…how could I be? Wasn’t I the one who introduced them to the “rabbit” and other toys for their personal pleasure? Me…the girl who survived over a decade in Los Angeles, who can converse on a myriad of topics, who has done her share of traveling and has lived overseas…I’m shy?? Until the inevitable happens…

I see him from across the room, in the next cubicle, or making my latte and I’m paralyzed….struck by that elusive “something” that is attraction. Head down, freshly flushed face; I whisper to my companions “…he’s kind of cute!”

Anyone who knows me well, is quite familiar with the Jekyll/Hydian reality of my brazeness when in comfortable surroundings and paralyzing ineptitude when in the throes of attraction.

Oh yes, Gentle Reader…my immediate fight-or-flight impulse upon the discovery of a cute male in my vicinity is to hide behind my cascade of hair and run as quickly as possible, hopefully without drawing any attention.

Needless to say, it's hard to embrace ones inner hussy when you're lucky if you can squeek out a "Hey..." when passing your current office crush in the hallway.

**sigh**

The Man Behind the Curtain

Cinderella called—I think she wants her fairy-tale back since I seemed to have royally messed things up. But as a lovely parting gift I got to keep the dress, the slippers and a rhinestone tiara. Every girl needs a sparkly tiara, right?

As an L.A.-wife, I made the ultimate mistake in terms of marital bliss--I asked what was behind the curtain. And being the type-A person I aspire to be at times (see I can’t even do that right. I’m really the “curl up by a roaring fire with a cocktail-type personality, but every once in awhile I decide I should get all proactive and whatnot) I found out.

Subsequently, I’ve gone from Cinderella dreaming the American wedded dream while stuck in traffic near the 405 and Ventura interchange, to feeling like the Wicked Witch of the East having just discovered a Midwestern farmhouse squashed upon my person.

A major headache without the benefit of pretty, sugar-rimmed cocktails from the night before.

But the whirlwinds of divorce have finally settled for the most part and I now discover myself in the emerald green environs of the Pacific Northwest trying to work through the residual after effects of the last 12 years and figure out what’s next on the agenda.