Thursday, December 14, 2006

Wove is...

...helping your parents finish the latest model so that they can finally start enjoying the holidays! And as such I'm not gonna be able to Wove, Thursday this week. Sorry folks -- see you next Thursday!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

lacking appropriate fear...

I recently learned that there is this whole sub-culture of fear that I'm completely missing. That I, as a single gal, am in far more danger every dang day then I ever realized.

It started with a sitcom. Some single chick almost choked on her dinner, alone in her apartment, and from that point on she was afraid of her single status. I assumed the whole thing was tv fun, but as I asked around it turned out that most of my girlfriends had had these same fears when they were single. Fear of death by "nobody was there to help"! It had never occurred to me to be worried about such a thing, and even after I was informed that I was missing out on this fear fun-and-frolic I couldn't find it anything other than silly.

But now I stand corrected. For today I was attacked by my garden tools. Now I know the fear.

Picture this: a lone woman standing against the world, trying to box up fabulous Christmas gifts to ship east (for remember, I wove Christmas) I go out to my storage shed looking for just the right size box for the task, and when I find it I can't drag it out of the corner. I'm tugging, I'm wrestling, and sure I'm swearing too. Wrestle, swear, tug, curse, repeat until triumphant and/or crazy...

Finally the box comes loose, and at that moment I hear a clatter over my head. So I do what you always do when you hear a clatter overhead. ("you mean you threw open the sash to see what's the matter?" Good guess, but no.) I winced. I closed my eyes, pulled my shoulders up over my ears, gritted my teeth and waited for the impact. Oh, and I probably cursed again. When I heard the wooden thud in front of me I figured the coast was clear and gave my shoulders and ears the "all clear" signal.

That was when the rake's metal end smacked me right on my crown. At this point I'm SURE I was swearing.

Once the little birdies stopped flitting in a ring around my head (apologies to Looney Tunes) I took inventory. At first it seemed like I'd escaped relatively damage-free. A bit later I felt the cold spot on my head's tippy-top and found the little hole my rake-friend had made. But all in all, nothing too terrible. More than the injury, I took away from this experience the fear. That long-overdue fear that the lack of someone else in the house was going to somehow directly correlate to my being killed by household objects or chemicals. Because I'm single I'll be killed by a bookshelf falling on me, or accidentally eating bleach, or not chewing my food completely. I didn't appreciate it before, but now I know that I've been living in a fool's paradise. Each meal I've completed without doing myself in has been a miracle and if I were smart I'd be eating nothing but soup or jello.

Now that I finally have the fear I've taken some precautions. All of the gardening equipment was, of course, chained to the storage shed wall. I sold all of my kitchen knives and donated my cleaning chemicals to Goodwill. I'll cook no more meat for meals because how can I ever be sure that I've chewed everything all the way up? Yes, what was previously a clever little lark just to see if there's someone worth hanging out with has now become an act of self-preservation. I need love to live! Literally!

Gotta go -- I gotta unravel all of my scarves. (strangulation dangers.)

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

It's beginning to look a lot like...

Wove, Thursday!

I know it's all the rage to rage about this time of the year, and though I'd like to be edgy I just ain't. I confess it here and now: I wove Christmas!

But first, my brief definition of Christmas: That month at the end of the year where everyone is their very best them; when you remember favorite times from childhood, when there are decorations and songs and food and parties and everything is just that much better. It culminates with a day where you give presents to your loved ones and stand there grinning like a doof while they open them, and then you eat til you want to be murdered by a benevolent loved one. And then eat more. And more. And seriously? Yes, more.

There's no religion in my Christmas. It's cool with me if anyone else wants to add religion to their holiday, but for me this one (like all the others) is about family and friends and love and happiness, but not about religion. It's also about tradition. Craploads and craploads of cool, sentimental, make you gulpy traditions, my people. (And the food thing, which I really can't mention enough!)

I wove the whole friggin' time! I wove:
  • Watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" on tv and cranking the volume during all the songs
  • That Peppermint candy flavor of ice cream that you can't seem to get any other time of the year!
  • Tromping around the tree farm du jour (except "of the year" rather than "of the day" but whatever) looking for the tree with the right amount of space between the branches for the long ornaments
  • The look on my Mom's face the first time I put on Nat King Cole's Christmas album just for her
  • sitting with my dad at some ungodly hour of Christmas morning, having both finished and wrapped our final Christmas projects, now basking in the lovely white glow of the Christmas lights on the tree, which is itself totally overwhelmed by beautiful packages.
I could so go on and on. It's sappy and gushy and I get gulpy and I know everyone likes to complain about the cost and the consumerism and the stress and all of it, but to them I just feel bad, because they're doing it wrong. My Christmas? It's awesome. Happy Holidays, everyone, and Happy Wove, Thursday.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Bored and therefore evil...

This is taking FOREVER. How did anyone ever get this idea funded? I mean, just imagine the pitch:

"It's gonna be a massive online matchmaking system! People will create detailed profiles spelling out exactly what they want from a mate, and also exactly who/what they are! Then we'll bring them together and they'll get to know each other gradually, so that they don't make actual contact unless sure that they've got that special something."

"but how will these gradual meetings work?"

"Oh no, they won't meet. No, they'll send endless lists of pre-created questions which will be answered from a pre-created list of responses!"

"Oh, I see. how long will that part of the process last?"

"Only 8 or 9 years!!! And then they'll know for SURE that they've found their soulmate! Assuming that they haven't already snapped and bailed on the system in preference for 2 martinis and a blow job in the bathroom of the closest danceclub." Crickets. Tumbleweeds. Other metaphors of "crappy idea reaction scene" inserted here.

So far I've been really good. I've answered questions honestly, asked them that way too... But I am, at heart, a person who enjoys to mess with the system, people. I can't be expected to behave for too much longer, especially if the process is going to take forever and make me feel stupid in the meantime! No, I fear soon I'll snap and finally take the advice of The King: I'm gonna mess with someone.

But how to do it? Ahhh, that's the rub. (Ooh, how about one time I'll craft all of my responses in Shakespearean jargon?) You must understand, first, that though the system provides you with pre-crafted questions, I believe they do offer the option of crafting one on your own, so I'm assuming I could craft all 5! Here are some ideas:
  • Ask 5 questions all centering around what the person looks like. "how round is your nose? Would you say your teeth are larger than average? Do you now or have you ever sported a mullett? (if so, do you feel really bad about it in hindsight? Would you promise never to do it again?)..."
  • Send them the "stalkers special starter kit" of questions: "What is your car's make, model and color?" Give a brief but recognizable description of yourself? What is the address of your work and your normal working schedule? How heavily would you say you sleep? Are you allergic to chloroform, duct tape and/or handcuffs?"
  • All riddles! Or limericks! Haiku?
  • The princess package. "How many times a week will you bring me presents? You will pump my gas, wash my car and change my oil, right? How pretty am I? How 'bout now? How 'bout now?"
  • The Vinnie Barbarino tribute: "What? Wheah? When? Who?..."
  • Truly evil: do the least politically correct questions EVER. I think it would go a little something like this: "I'm sure you're white, but how white? Which do you prefer: limo or hummer? How many wars do you think the jews have started?"
I'll try to be good, I really will, but I promise you this: just like Oregon rain, reruns and the next celebrity divorce, sooner or later it's gonna happen. And to the poor dude who has to figure out what to do with it I can only say I'm sorry -- I was just so dang bored!

Monday, December 04, 2006

"Why for art thou so single?"

I touched on it briefly early on, but the question of why I've spent so much time as a solo player has come up a bit. It's a tough question for me to answer because I'm not actually in charge of this issue (much as I hate to admit that) so this is gonna be a speculat-a-thon, but here's what I think.

I should preface everything by saying first that I have a very, very healthy ego, 'kay? I don't think I suck. I honestly do think that I'm pretty impressive, and that there are things about me that rock. I feel the need to mention this because I'm now going to spend a bunch of time talking about what repels people from me, and that kind of focus will cause the average person to think "Wow, I wonder if she's loaded the entire gun or just the one bullet?" But you guys aren't the average person, so I know you won't be putting me on a necktie party watch list, right?

Why am I single, single, oh-so-single? Allow me to start with a funny story. I work in an office with 7 older men in professional roles and all supported by very capable, talented, intelligent women, including myself. Tonight was our holiday party (walked out w/ a book on how to do Yo-yo tricks -- not bad for the classic holiday "hey, take my bag of crap!" gift game!) At my table were 4 of the professional guys from the office and one of them starts the evening's conversation by announcing that I'm the only person in the entire office that scares him. And my reaction? "Cool!!"

I don't mean scary like I'm packing heat or have a reputation for throwing copy machines. What we're talking about here is that I'm no shrinking violet. I'm the person in the office who is most intimidating, whether it be my big personality, my absurd level of confidence, my mouth or my "jump in and fix it" ways... I've been taking care of my own crap for so long and I really hate being held hostage by the lack of a partner, so I've worked really, really hard to be able to solve any problem that comes my way. Like picture me carrying a TV up a ladder rather than ask for help, ok? That's how far I'll go to prove I don't need someone else to live my life.

Most guys don't want that in a mate. They want someone who needs them, and that's just not me. They want someone who will depend on them and that's probably not me either. They want someone for whom they can be the hero, and I'm my own hero. Cape, shiny boots, secret identity (true confession: I cried watching Moulan Rouge. But at the time I wasn't wearing the cape.), the whole shebang. I will happily be 1/2 of a team, but I'll never, ever take a back seat. (For one thing, it makes me carsick!)

All of this bravado has definite drawbacks, and I'm not even talking about being single here. I have a terrible time admitting when I've screwed up. I'm loud and I talk without thinking too often. I've made an olympic sport of speaking candidly; my friend's wife seriously doesn't like me; I am that person that some folks cringe at the very thought of.

But most of these same people would also come to me first if they needed help or saving or support. They know that when I tell someone that I've got their back it means something, and it's good to have. I'm loyal like a St. Bernard, fiercely protective and absolutely fearless when I think I'm in the right, even if on someone else's behalf. ESPECIALLY on someone else's behalf. I truly believe there's practically nothing I can't do (except cook.) For me to be able to proudly look myself in the eye each morning I have to be someone that I would be impressed with, and to me that's absolutely worth the trade-off.

So all of this is what some poor schmuck out there has to be able to deal with. I know such guys exist as many of my friends and family are such guys. They're a rare breed and often they're plucked fast, so I know how tall an order this is. But heck, I got time. For now I'll do the driving myself.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

The latest.

OK, so we're waiting to see if McFirsty ever comes back, but in the meantime we've got a new player. We're calling this new fellow Maestro (seriously, I'm not telling you where the nickname comes from until the wedding night post!) and he seems promising. He definitely talks a good game and he mentions friends, family and music among those things about which he feels strongly, so I'm in that "hmmm, tell me more" place here. Sadly he is yet another vampire. And I'm about ready to draw the line on this pictureless thing!

Because honestly, how do you not worry that there's something tragically wrong if they won't show you a single picture? I mean, I'm no supermodel, artist's inspiration or movie star and I took a damn picture! In that special way that is me I will take the absence of information (such as a picture) and turn it into the worst possible scenario (such as "man's skin melts when exposed to air -- unimaginative friends call him "Skippy the all-muscle dude!") I also go to all the standard places of panic: obese, nasty comb-over, werewolf-level of body hair, "shower, what's a shower?"

I will, in the next week, decide if I should limit my matches to only those folks who have pictures. If any of you have a recommendation about whether I should make such a limitation let me hear you.

But for now I sent off my standard 5 questions to see what Maestro says. I wonder sometimes if I should pick 5 different questions, but since realistically I am gonna compare any matches against other matches it seems like it makes the most sense to have the same questions each time. Otherwise I'm just comparring apples to Volkswagons.

In short, I'm now playing the waiting game for both McFirsty and Maestro. Ball's in your courts, boys!