Day after cranky, where now I am zen-cool

OK, the only good thing about a day of crankitude like yesterday is that the next day my irritation tank is pretty much empty. It will take me 2-3 days to charge it back up, so now I'm super cool. I'm Zen cool. You could poke me with a paperclip and I'd be like "cool. Look, there's a tiny spot on my arm now. cool." and maybe I'd even nap a little. (also I post things off-mission.)

I brought in to work cool music to listen to on my headphones. (that's how I can listen to any music that I want here at the office w/out worrying that someone else might not be in the mood for the Ramones or the Violent Femmes -- I have headphones on my head. It's my music, and my music alone.) So right now Prince is telling me all about the rosey-colored hat his sweety wore that one time it rained. Pretty soon he's going to explain to me what he does or doesn't need from a girlfriend. Rumor has it that being either rich or cool is not required. I'm cool anyway.

I decided to have a bagel and red delicious apple (the only kind of apple that tells you how good it's gonna taste in the name -- it's delicious, people!) for breakfast, which is different then yesterday or probably tomorrow, because usually I have a Pepsi and 3-4 handfuls of Cheddar Cheese Baby Goldfish crackers. But bagel plus apple equals coolness, so that was today's breakfast.

I took a little break this mornin' and wandered out to commune with nature. In this case the role of "nature" was being played by a duck couple that hangs out in the bushes by our office (they're the best version of love, people. Ducks should so be the international animal ambassador of love! Screw swans -- they're mean and have hidden secret bird teeth! However I'll cover the duck=romantic thing in some future post.) and a cat that I think wanders down the river bike path from a rich person's house to look for free-range critter snacks. They entertained my visit with much generosity. I think they could tell how cool I am.

There was this guy that I had to call because my boss said "hey, could you call this guy and ask for this thing?" and when I first called I talked to his assistant, who faxed the thing right over. But I had to call back because the thing she faxed looked like a draft copy and when I called back the actual guy answered. (with me so far?) So anyway I explained to him why I was calling and "gee, Mr. owner of the little local business-guy, could you have your assistant send the finished copy some time? No hurry." and he was totally ass-hatty and pissy and told me to have my boss (you remember him -- he's the guy that asked me to make this call in the first place?) call him back. And the reason why? "Because I told you to tell him to call me back." Because I told you to. Like I'm 5 years old and I've asked him "why?" 60 times in a row and all he's got left is "because I told you." SUPER jerky asshat.

Yesterday I would have excused myself for a quick errand, where I would have driven to his office and set fire to all the fancy cars in his parking lot. (because I don't know what car is his, but I know it's fancy and probably black with some kind of asshat ego plate like "culr thn u" so if I burn them all down I get him for sure.) But yesterday I was not cool or Zen at all. Today I'm cool. Today I feel sorry for him that he's so not cool and feel even more sorry for his family since I bet he's always an asshat and I was only super-not-cool for yesterday. (and just a little bit I hope that a duck craps on his head while flying over him today.)

So I'll try to finish that other post again today, because even if it does commit suicide for a second time I should be able to take it in stride. Because I have the reserves to absorb such annoyances today. Today I am keeping my lunch soda frosty in my armpit. Today I am Samuel L. Jackson's pen pal. Today I am friends to the animals and the Prince. Today? I am cool.

Grumble, grumble, murder, grumble...

Woe to be the guy who was waiting at home for me on days like today.

I am cranky. No, sorry, it should be this: CRANKY. I can't exactly explain when it started, and it was probably something very minor. But then websites that I wanted to look at had the audacity of being unavailable! And tools that I need to do my job here at my job were messin' with me! Not working and such! And it got warm enough outside that I was slightly uncomfortable when driving home for lunch! SLIGHTLY TOO WARM! And now I know I'll have to take the life of an innocent bystander before I'm done today. I don't want to, you understand. I have to.

Seriously, I'm normally a pretty jovial person. I'm all light-hearted and cheery and I often make other people's days turn all around just because I'm (as I may have mentioned) goddamn jovial! But then you get a day like today, where it feels like all the annoying things in the world have conspired against me. This kind of day is bad. It's a bad thing. And I become pure, unadulterated evil when exposed to enough of a day such as this.

Oh but see, the evil happens mostly at home. Because that's the thing I love about my home -- nobody there but me! I don't have to be nice to anyone or polite. I can indulge my inner a**hole and nobody else gets hurt. (oh sure, there's the kitties, but they're extremely sensitive to that shift in the air that means "Mama ain't happy!" and they make themselves comfortably scarce.)

I had another post, one that I've been meaning to publish for over a week, that I'd almost finally finished. Almost! And then my day reared it's ugly head and another poor soul was lost to it; the soul of the unpublished post. Now everyone should be very, very impressed that I didn't kill any of the following 3 people who wandered by my desk right after that. They were smiling and cheery and totally unaware of the minefield they were traipsing through. "Tralala!" cheered them as they treekled by, "look how gleeish are we because we have no idea that you're a human bear trap, just waiting to chew off our bottoms!" and they oblivious themselves right by and I DON'T EVEN KILL THEM!

But I don't because I know I can soon go home and grumplemungus around there and get it out of my system w/out actual bloodshed. If there was someone there when I got home, like a partner, I'd have to greet them like this:

"Get out. Get out right now while you still have your life and your precious, precious limbs."

They'd run, but they probably wouldn't run back. Or they would foolishly stay to try to make me feel better and I'd have to spend the bulk of the night burying body parts and scrubbing blood out of the carpet.

Lucky me and lucky everyone else that I'm a single girl on days like today.

Another deal-breaker I wasn't aware of.

So for my J-O-B (gleh) I have to make packets for these seminars. It's one of those things where you're adding names to forms and putting names on labels and naming names on names of namey-things, so you see a lot of names. (alotalotalot of names) Yesterday I'm naming the name-name-names on some namernames and I realized something else that makes me itchy (and not in the good way):

Couples who's first names have the same first letter. I'm talking Bob and Barbara Smith; Chester and Chelsea Jones; Felix and Fiona Farfegnugan. I know this isn't necessarily their fault, and that most likely they didn't scour the globe looking for a mate who shared their first name starting letter. (For those few who DID scour the globe I say SHAME ON YOU.)

I can't really tell you why, but I know that it gives me the heebie-jeebies. I'm heebie-jeebied all over from such things. It brings to mind women w/ jauntily flung shoulder-sweaters and men's thick man-bracelets. Itchy.

And so I have to add "dudes who's name starts w/ "F" to my deal-breaker list. Of course one doesn't get their real names from the site, so I will have to work out some kind of witty way of checking on that in any first emails. After all, I don't want to become smitten with an F-dude. Don't want the heartbreak that is emailing w/ someone and finding out we have oh so much in common ("Really? You sucked your thumb until Middle School too? With a blanky or not? Yeah, I was a blanky-user too!" and then thumpy hearts and musical notes floating around my head and tingly tingles) and then have the guy say "by the way, my name is Franktastic -- what's yours?"

My name is can't love a man named Franktastic. Sigh.

'Cause I'm a WOOOman! Double-ew, Oh, M-A-N!

I can bring home a mower
'semble it with my own hands
And never, never, ever let you
Forget there's no man!

...sorry about that. But if it makes it any better, rest assured that I'll have the song stuck in my head WAY LONGER then you will. Because that's how my brain (never) works.

So today I tell you of how I don't need any man. I know this is a point I've made before. (some people think I make it way too much. Then again, some of those people didn't even own a toolbox until I gave them one, so ha!) Anyway, yesterday was a great example of a day where, except for some mechanical aid from my Dad, I accomplished things oft called "manly"and yet without any penis.

This all starts with the fact that it rains a bunch in Hippyville. Makes things green and lush, but also makes it hard to find time to mow the lawn. And I have kind of a big lawn (like 400-500 square feet maybe?) and also my lawn is about 79% weeds. Weeds, weeds, all kinds of weeds. I don't feel self conscious about it because it was mostly that way when I got there and I just lost the losing battle I was fighting. ANYWAY, all this is just to tell you that I'm trying, this year, to conquer these weeds -- the weed wars I'm calling it -- and the rain is just working against me. I need, right now, to mow and to re-spray some excellent weed-killing stuff on the remaining weed strong-holds so that I can then mow (again) and rake the last of the dead bodies off of the battlefield, and then throw down grass seed and sit back and marvel at my grassy accomplishments.

But first I have to mow the lawn. And it keeps raining.

So yesterday was sunny and excellent and I ran home and changed into junk-jeans and started mowing! I was pushing around my antique gas mower(I call him Clippy the Wonder-Mower!) that was a permanent loan about 3+ years ago. It's old and funky and some parts are a little completely broken, but it works just fine for the thing I need: cut down and bag me some grass and weeds. Along we mowed, munchy-munchy-munchy-Plehhhh... Without warning my old mower friend just passed away.

Did I panic? No! (lie, I did panic for a sec, but I bet everybody does that.) I started going over everything that I already understood about lawnmower physionomy. Sparkplug still attached? Check. Still full tank of gas? Check. Throttle still connected to engine? Check. Etc, etc, etc. Then I called my Dad (the superior motorhead) and he came over and checked my checking and determined that I'd checked the checkable items checkily. We removed the sparkplug (and got excited when it seemed like the connection had been wimpy! Easy solution! But not our solution.) and cleaned it and checked the gap and cleaned the air filter and did a bunch of other things, and finally decided two things: it was not easily fixed (hmmm, pretty much no compression behind the sparkplug. That's bad.) and I needed a plan B.

I sent Dad home for his dinner and came up with my plan B: I drove over to my local department store with sad clothes but excellent tools and appliances (you know who you are) and purchased my first personally-owned lawn mower! It's red (why are they always red? They're always, always, absolutely always red! Except when they're green, but that's hardly ever because mostly always they're red-red-red.) and shiny (which Clippy hasn't been since ever) with baggyness and clean wheels and it's mine-all-mine-all-mine.

When I flagged down the fresh young man to take my pretend money for my very real mower he asked if anyone had helped me and looked shaken when I said no. He then asked if "someone" was moving the car around to the loading area and should we wait for "them." And I said no. And he got kind of lost and twitchy, because here he was in a scary place with the sale of a large, possibly dangerous power tool and no man to discuss torque and engine size and horsepower with. Me? I just watched him twitch.

Once I was able to convince him that I knew which model I wanted, what attachments I didn't want and that I was able to do the paying for it part all by my little, girly self I asked where to pick it up, and drove my very own car around to the loading area all by my little girly self too. And I didn't break a nail or anything! (take that, boy salesperson!) Then I had to go through the same song and dance as I talked the loading area guy to into letting me shove it into the car myself because, after all, I had to be able to get it back out again once I got home, right? I drove me and my mower home and put it together and filled it with the required fluids and nobody was killed or made otherwise dead during any of it!

And I'm not done yet! Once I had put my shiny (it's SO shiny!!) red mower to bed in it's new home I came in to tackle my cloggy bathtub drain. Oh yes, I had to deal with a drainage issue in the same night! And this is not the first night of arguing with this tub. Since Sunday it's fought me, and I've had three mornings of grimy feet and three evenings of ucky toxic goo fumes all over the bathroom. Yet still it refused to let the water fly freely to it's watery home. So I got the big guns. I bought a snake! A drain snake! A red (to match the mower), but less shiny, drain snake and I snaked that drain hoo boy! Snaked it within an inch of it's drainy life I did! And was I successful? Did water flow freely???

No. Super-failed. Big lack of any water zooming about. Today I had to give in and call drain-cleaning specialists.

But that's not the point, people. My point is this and only this: I tackled both the heartbreak of dead mowers and the agony of drainyless drains all by myself. I used tools and devices and contraptions and took things apart and put them together and did the some assembly that was required and everything.

Don't get me wrong -- men can be quite nice. They can be tall and broad of shoulders. They can sport evil-looking facial hair (evil but also nasty!) and rock a sporty shirt/tie combo. Nothing better then a guy who can give a quality foot rub or make a tasty dinner! I like them and sometimes want them and occasionally desire them (dirty!) and am proud that I don't have to need them.

Until someone has to climb a ladder. Screw that sh*t -- Mama don't climb no ladders!

EDITED TO ADD:
Men can be hunky, dashing, manly-hot jet pilots who do tricks at 1 million miles an hour and charm the socks off of both me and Jon Stewart. Woof!

Things I hate about my J-O-B

To be clear, I have had worse jobs then the one I have now. MUCH, MUCH WORSE. I've had jobs that paid far less, jobs that required the touching of food or people's (almost) naked body parts, jobs where I had to stand or walk pretty much the entire time. I've worked for people who would cry when challenged, or people who felt it was good for the overall company if he occasionally screamed at someone until they evaporated completely. There was a fellow I worked for who seemed extremely nice on the face of things, but it turned out he enjoyed to lie, insult and finally go crazy. Which was even more disorienting because of how nice he seemed. On the face of things. See, nice guys aren't supposed to be all those evil things. It breaks the brain when they are.

What I'm saying is that the j-o-b that I currently have is not the worst there ever was, and I know this 100%. I have no confusion over this fact. It's the main reason that a job that was supposed to be temporary 2+ years ago has evolved into something a wee bit more constant -- because it was better then nothing and not too terrible a way to spend the day. And in terms of what I do it's not too hard and the expectations on me are usually not too unsurmountable.

But still I groan every weekday morning. Still I find myself repeating my morning mantra from 6th grade, when I had to get up for band practice BEFORE school: "I think I'm sick. Am I sick? I don't feel great, but am I actually sick? I should probably check my temperature, although I don't actually feel warm... I wish I could stay home." And here are the top three reasons why I'm coming down with the plague at 7am, 5 days a week:

Reason #1: I work for "The Man".
It's true, I do. And it's SO "The Man" too. It's this big corporation who's only goal is to make big money by helping other "the mans" make and keep and hoard and squeeze and bathe in big money. They're all about waste and using-up and "who cares?" and "I got mine, screw yours!" It's depressing. I feel like I need to shower and brush my teeth half-way through the day. Only half-way. There's no point in raising questions of "shouldn't we stop printing these 100-page reports every single week?" and "hey, why don't we have a recycling bin?" and "I sure do wish there was a safe place to put a bike in our parking lot so I didn't have to drive to work all the time..." because by saying these things you are a communist slacker hippy freak. And also wasting "The Man's" time. Which is someone's money. Big money. (showering now.)

Reason #2: THE MAN is notoriously stupid.
I cannot calculate how much of my sad, dirty time is spent trying to explain things to the robots working at the Home Office (nest of "The Man") things like "but if we mail this on day A, how can you expect it to be back, signed, and mailed to you and received by you all on day B? Do you know something about the magic of mail that I don't?" I actually had a conversation w/ someone at the Home Office (probably a lovely person, but one who has been very clearly trained that they follow the bouncing ball of the script and they do NOT THINK FOR THEMSELVES! EVER! ON PUNISHMENT OF BEING CRUSHED UNDER A MASSIVE PILE OF EXCUSES!!!) about how we'd sent in a form to update a client's existing bank information. H.O. drone was busy explaining to me that there WAS no existing bank information, and therefore what should she do with this replacement info? In an effort to keep making progress as I brought up the client's accounts on my end I asked her "couldn't you just set that bank information as their bank information?"

"Yeah, I could do that." silence. silence. Hey, is that a tumbleweed I hear rolling behind them on the other end of the line? Rolling by the silence?

"So, would you do that then?" I ask, feeling stupid for having to say it out loud.

"You want me to do that then?" she asks back, apparently not convinced by all that saying out loud that I stupidly did.

"Yeah, that would be --" and then I'm stuck with what to say next, because here I sit, staring at the great gobs and GOBS of existing bank information we have on file for these clients. These clients whom she called me about due to their complete lack of existing bank information. So do I say "great." so as to finish my thought and just hope she can set up bank info? Do I ask her to verify the client info again, just in case she magically pulled up clients with the same names but who live in Texas? Do I ask if I'm being punked? Candid Camera? "Hey," I finally finish up, "could I talk to a supervisor?" I figured it would be good if I freed up this person to catch all those errant tumbleweeds.

Reason #3: Red Tape, Red Tape, Red Tape...
Today, a very average, run-of-the-mill Tuesday, I processed (I kid you not) over 265 pages worth of forms, applications and other assorted paperwork. I had to call and ask some poor soul to send me an original death certificate for their late wife because WE won't take a copy, even though everyone else will. Now that is one hell of a fun conversation to have with a GRIEVING WIDOWER. "So sorry for your loss -- could you dig through your paperwork and mail me yet another piece of paper, which will look exactly like the one you already sent but be a lovely shade of blue? Thanks. Sorry. Crawling down the drain now..." And whenever I start to get the hang of how all this stuff is currently working they send word from on high (chief breeding grounds of "The Man") that they're about to change everything. Not COMPLETELY change it, but enough that nothing will be correct for about a month. This, they figure, will help to prevent any accidental progress that someone could be making.

The people I work with are lovely; bordering on spiffy. They're all good eggs who also want to do their job well. The people I work for are also lovely and seem to value me, which is a very nice feeling. But this job is burning out my inner hope and positivity. Much like boric acid. I think I need a change.

I feel funny

As it turns out, I still have hormones.

I still have tingles and sizzles around cuteness.

When gleefully exposed to smokey-good cuteness my insides do all the things insides are supposed to do, flip-flopping and swirling and whee-ee-eeing.

Why do I tell you this? These things that most would consider not necessary? These things that most would say with that "well of course I can count to 10, cross my fingers, blow my nose... why do you ask?" I say this because I'd not been completely sure.

Used to be I had crushes on people. I was the crushiest of crush havers, both on the impossible and possible. I'd get them on tv people, on movie stars, on rock stars. I'd get them on UPS delivery dudes (rock those brown shorts!) and the tech guy I worked with. But I'd get them. And frankly, I'd enjoy them!

I like crushes! They're simple (no need to worry if you should do something because when it comes to crushes you should never, ever do something) and fun (ooh, tingles much like I fell asleep on my hormones wrong and now they've gone all pins and needles!) and remind you that lust is fun and possibly sex might be too -- something to think about someday. Yeah, I'd crush at the drop of a hat. A cute hat. On a cute person, worthy of a good crush.

Then one day it seems like I stopped having them. I became crushless.

I'd still find people attractive, woofy, even hot. I'd still appreciate a solid butt (oh Daniel Craig, newest of the bonds, why can't James spend the entire movie walking in and out of the surf in tight trunks?), good face, stuff like that. But no tingles or racing wows or that goofy grin for no reason except hormones. Crushless have I been.

After a while I figured this is what it's like when there's been nothing hormonal for a while. The system gets used to it, the same way people tell me you get used to not eating sugar or drinking caffeine. (crazy, crazy people who would deny their body these gifts of wonderment because they are crazy and also hate their body and never want to experience the true joy that is an icy, frosty glass of Pepsi. Crazy.) I figured that such an adjustment would probably just make things easier, and that if there was nobody to get a crush on anyway then what did it matter? Best to not be frustrated.

But not so! Because last night there was this guy and guess what -- cute! Guess what else -- crushy cute! Actual shades of smittenness, with little flutters of "oh gosh and golly!" swirled in like fudge! Yes, it was a lovely evening of "ooh, did he just make eye contact?" and "hey there, he chuckled ever so slightly at something witty that I SAID!" plus "why oh why will nobody else mention how awesome I am? Work with me, people!" All in all, a very nice and spicy way to spend an otherwise average Thursday evening. And so nice to get the sizzles back.

And now, the exciting conclusion...

(I don't know why I set myself up like that. Such pressure! What if this conclusion isn't so exciting? Or it may be kind of exciting, but it's not really a conclusion... Yeah, I really should have called this something like "just in case you were wondering..." or "oh, and by the way this is the uneventful ending of the thing from before.")

So when last we saw our hero (that's me) she was all irritated with Yenta.com, sending them an angry email demanding to know where they got off charging her for another 3 months when she was pretty sure(ish) that she'd done something that had made it cancel or something. How Dare!!! This after her total ambivilence about whether or not to sign up for 3 more months, or to instead take up snow kyaking or space table tennis. (in space no one can hear you foul.)

DAY ONE:
Femtastic: I can't afford another 3 months. I need that money for other things! Also I'm angry that what I thought was happening was either not happening or I was confused. Both things that make me angry! And besides, hasn't this all been kind of a waste of time? Yes, I'm absolutely sure that I'm going to fight this until they give me back my money and cancel this additional 3 months!

[stomps off in a huff. At least until she gets 2 steps from her computer, where there is this big bin of mail and things to file, and she has to climb over that and then there's the laundry basket and other things... don't trip... don't fall...]

DAY TWO:
Femtastic: I can't believe they haven't replied to my email yet. Absurd! Where is their pride in giving good customer service? Oh, I am so gonna yell at them in the next email. And I'm writing that next, scathing email right now!

[sees that new episode of Heroes is starting.]

Femtastic: OK, not right now, but really soon. Probably before I go to bed. So Scathing will it be!

DAY THREE:
Femtastic: Oh boy, now it's been even longer and they haven't replied, and I'm gonna write them and yell and Oh! Looky! I got paid! Well, that's good. That's gonna let me do a couple of things I couldn't do for fear of that $60 coming out of the bank account. So glad that I was paid, and hey I should go now and buy that new CD by (insert name of musician who makes CDs). Also I want bagels and $30 of clearance anything from Target. So I will have to write the scathing (SO SCATHING!) email later toni- tomorrow. I'll write it tomorrow because after all my shopping tonight I'll be sleepy. But tomorrow, it is SO ON!

DAY FOUR, FIVE, SIX:
[Femtastic goes to the beach with her family for a super-cool Mother's day weekend and also Granny appreciation gathering and has a really good time and just doesn't even care about the $60 or the scathing email, because look how pretty the sunset and how sparkly the shiny beach stones!]

{Time Passes...}

DAY ELEVENTY-THREE:
Femtastic: So wait, who was I scathed at again? I know I was scathed at somebody... Starts with a V? Or an E? Maybe starts with a C... Sigh. The fire, she is gone. I am too tired, and it's been too long. And I got paid, so I guess I'll do another 3 months of Yenta.com after all.

...and so we find ourselves as members of Yenta.com once again. And since I did pay for it I went ahead and took a renewed look around, with new, renewedy eyes.

But that's something for the next post.

Cliffhanger!

Previously on Unlikely In Love...

Femtastic: Oh crap, I have 24 hours to decide if I want to do any more Yenta.com. Help me, readers out there, help me!

Readers: Keep going, you can do it, don't give up the dream, if you don't love yourself then how can anyone else love you, never let them see you sweat, you're soaking in it, etc...!

Femtastic: Wow, I'm so glad that my readers came through with their suggestions. My readers are awesome... I'm gonna cancel Yenta.com...

And now, Unlikely In Love, Season Finale Cliffhanger episode, now with more "Wowsers!!":

Femtastic: Yeah, even though the readers who had an opinion had the opinion of "don't stop yet, and maybe even make those marketing bastards at Yenta.com come through with the 6-month free service!" I'm still gonna cancel because funds are tight (damn you, Uncle Sam! And also your friend the cracker of heads in Ford Escort station wagons! And the gas companies too! rant, rant, rant...) and because I'm just not sure this avenue will work for me and plus also second guess and lose all confidence and and question my every move and wonder what the hell I'm thinking and other really bold, dynamic things that could go through someone's head...

[Femtastic goes to her computer and futzes around with things over at Yenta.com. Femtastic finds the "want to cancel your subscription?" button, conveniently located hiding right under a rock behind a couch under a sheet in a locked closet marked "radioactive waste - do not enter!" and almost, barely, pretty much doesn't but practically does click it. But doesn't click it. Mostly.]

Femtastic: I'll decide about this later on, like maybe right before midnight tonight.

Next day...

Femtastic: Crap, crap, crap, I never went back to Yenta.com! I'll bet they totally charged my credit card for another three months! Crap!

[Clicks through the website and finds what sure looks to her like her subscription has been cancelled. Seriously, she really did look and see stuff saying "you're not subscribed anymore. You want to play, you gotta pay beotch. We don't love you anymore." but in marketing-eeze. She breaths a sigh of relief and vows to think of it no more that day.]

Next day...

[She probably mowed her lawn, or there may have been a movie or a nap. Or a movie about a nap? I'd see that movie...]

Next week day, which was probably the next day or the one after that...

Femtastic: I'd better write the post about what I decided to do about Yenta.com. For my loyal readers, whom I hate to leave hanging. [type, type, typity-type, pithy cute things that are witty and clever and which I will be oh so smug about having written...] Let's see, what was the exact wording from the website that said that I was no longer of the body? Why, I'll just go to the site and see!

[clicks to Yenta.com, where they welcome her with open, loving arms and ask "where have you been the last couple of days? What did you do this weekend? You look like you got a little sun -- did you get some sun?" and in no place say that she isn't signed up. Femtastic checks the subscription status page, and where she was really, really sure that it said "nobody here loves you until we get more money!" it now says "we love, love, love you so much -- at least for the next 3 months. Oh, and thanks for that $60 that we took from your bank account."]

Femtastic: Damn you, Yenta.com! I wish I could quit ya! (winkies to everyone who got that.) I'm writing such a strongly worded email like you would not believe!! You'll be sorry, you will!

[writes an email that could possibly be referred to as "scathing" or at least cranky. Sends the email. Eagerly awaits the apologetic reply. Waits, waits, waits...]

TO BE CONTINUED...

WILL Yenta.com ever reply to Femtastic's email?
WILL she get a refund on her subscription charge?
WILL she ever find love, online or offline?

STAY TUNED! (for like, a day or so. Nothing like January of next year. Seriously, blink and I'll be back.)

It Could Be Worse, Chapter Two...

OK, so when you're not doing something, but you're surrounded by it, you tend to become observant. You see things that you're sure the rest of the people (the ones doing it. (giggle.) not that "it".) don't see. Here are some examples that make being "in wove" a little less of a goal:

1. Dude and chick walking along, Dude's arm slung super-cool around the chick's shoulder. He's walking her through the place (name the place: grocery store, mall, County Fair, etc.) and he's really being cool and she's really aware of his coolness. He's macho, not even looking where he's going and she's smitten, with googly-eyes only for him, and that's when he walks her straight into a pole or tower of boxes... Super-cool...
2. You're sitting in a coffee place or restaurant or somewhere that couples go to be coupley and you hear this: "Do you wove me?" And then you resist the urge to chuck-up in your coffee or salad. Nothin' worse then that relationship where one must constantly be told their woved, right up until the other forgets why they ever said "yes I wove you." in the first place.
3. You're the second person to notice the very, very married guy checking out the uber-hotty college co-ed. The first person? Mrs. Married Guy. Now Cranky Mrs. Married Guy. And you know that she's noticed him how? Your eyes met hers as they were moving off of the soon-to-be-late Mr. Married Guy. At that time you determined it's too time consuming to have to give the witness' statement and you beat feet elsewhere. As the cries erupt behind you. Via Con Dios, Married Guy. Via Con what-were-you-thinking Dios...

I'm sure there will be more such observations in the future. Hey, is that a movie I can see anytime I want to without having to check with anybody else first there in the distance?... (evil grin visualized here.)

Either I'm cynical or she's CRAZY.

Beautiful Dreamer is playing the field again, bless her big, old, squishy heart. It's not that she's ditched the previously happy-find-dude, but since he lives out of town (a 45-min drive) and they're not overly serious yet she decided there was no reason she should stop keeping her options open. This, by the way, is one of those rare times that I totally agreed with her!

So through her online dating site of choice (something like "Big Ol' Fans o' Jesus Who Are Lookin' for LUV.com") she's got another 2-3 guys on the line. She's quite skilled at this! One fellow is what she would call "forward" or what I would call "Run, Run, RUN AWAY from the crazy man!" We are clearly coming at this from very different perspectives.

What do I mean? OK, here's a good example. She's not yet met this man, OK? I think it's important that we establish this fact and refer to it often. (don't worry, I'll handle that part.) So far it's been some emails and a few phone calls. During a recent phone call they were making plans to meet. Meet for the first time, remember!

Many options were tossed out, including a drive to the coast which is about an hour away. At which point he starts on this very bizarre train of thought:

"Of course if we go to the coast for dinner we'd be there pretty late. We'd have to drive back late. Unless we stayed the night? I have friends who live on the coast and I'm sure we could stay there. Or we could go to a hotel? Of course we'd get seperate rooms. Or if we didn't I assure you that I'm a complete gentleman. I mean even if you ended up lying in my arms you'd be totally safe..."

In the space of one paragraph we go from "hey, we should meet some time." to "I promise I wouldn't grope you too badly if we slept in a hotel room together. You know, that first time I ever meet you." Gah!

Or there was the time they were talking on the phone (probably about how they couldn't pick eachother out of a line up, seeing as they have NEVER MET) and Mr. Quickie McQuickerton announces that he (on a walk as they chat) has arrived at his dream house. He then proceeds to describe this house, it's features, price, location etc., because she needs to come by at some point and look at it and decide if she likes it too, since they couldn't live in it if she didn't like it. Once they'd met. Ever. Since they haven't yet met at all. EVER.

Oh, and also that she has a kid named (false name now) Kate and he has one named (also false name) Kaitlin, so "they'd have two Kates." They. That family would contain 2 Kates. That family that hasn't actually even met yet, but please let's be sure to contemplate the name challenges and pick out the house and practice the story of how we met to tell our Grandkids, assuming that we ever do meet. BECAUSE WE HAVE NOT EVEN MET YET!

She tells me these stories and she's all a giggle and a twitter and a piffle and preen and "isn't he cute? Isn't he sweet? Isn't he duckie?" Where as in my head I'm thinking "isn't he stalkie? Isn't he clingy? Isn't he the guy I'll be giving a statement about after he meets you, claims you and then kills you in some terribly romantic murder suicide!!!!" I sure won't be able to say to the news anchor from Channel 5 "Gosh, it sure was a surprise. He didn't seem at all like the type." Man oh man does he seem like the type! Look in Wikipedia under "the type" and we might be able to see what this guy looks like, for I'm sure he's pictured proudly.

I don't know exactly why her pursuits for online wove are so much more productive then mine. I'd ask her if she's doing anything special, but I can't tell her that I'm doing anything at all, so that's out. But I can't help if wonder whether part of the difference is deep-seeded in our ways of looking at this stuff. Because she finds each new facet cool and fascinating, where as I'm seeing the prologue to a Lifetime movie-for-women around every corner.

Oh well, maybe I am making murderous, calamitous mountains out of nervous, twitchy little molehills. If not I guess I could get up at her memorial service and tell everybody "I told her so." Once they've actually met. (shudder...)

With apologies to the Clash.

Guess what? My membership with Yenta.com expires very soon. Extremely soon. OK, TOMORROW soon. I happened to wonder exactly when I signed up (because it seemed like it had been a little while) and so I peeked over there and noticed that under "End Date" it says 5/4/07. Which is another way of saying tomorrow. A really specific, direct, clear way of saying "you're going to have to decide about doing this again tomorrow, dufus." (the 'dufus' is silent)

I'll be honest -- I wasn't really ready to make this danged decision again. Heck, it feels like I was trying to figure out what to do about Wove.com only a few months ago! (ha.) Now I'm back here again wondering if it makes any sense to spend $60 for another 3 months of contacting nobody and having nobody contact me. (Who says I don't have a positive outlook? Bah!) Then again, here's the curveball for this time around: this particular website advertises that if someone is a member for 6 months and does not find wove (and really, what would be the odds of that, right? Crazy talk!) they'll get an additional 6 months for free.

As itchy as I get at the idea of throwing another $60 down this rabbit hole, I can't help but wonder if that might not make it worth it. After all, I do like rabbits. And I think I'd like the idea of getting another 6 months that are pressure-free. Just having this sitting in the background, waiting for that magical email saying "hey, I'm a young, handsome, brilliant and witty millionaire who has spent the last 10 years studying abroad and now wishes to find love. Oh, and I love to cook, love the Muppets and just happen to have a disease which makes chunky women look absolutely irresistable to me. What's your sign?" [Open For Business]

So I know I'm not giving you guys much time to chime in, but I need your help. What should I do here? Opinions? I've sent an email to the people running Yenta.com to make sure that I'm understanding their pitch correctly -- I'd hate to commit to another 3 months (and a wad of cash which could be buying me monthly chocolate, which you can always count on) only to be told "oh gosh and golly no, that offer only applies if you pay for a 6-month membership, not 2 3-month memberships. That's not how the math works. You're screwed. Thanks for calling and have a nice day."

But assuming that the offer does apply, should I stay or should I go now? After all, if I go there may be trouble. Then again, if I stay there could be double! So, my darling friends and fellow readers, let me know. Should I stay or should I go?

UPDATE:
I heard back from Yenta.com and they tell me this:

"Oh gosh and golly no, when you signed up 3 months ago we weren't making that offer so you do NOT get 6 months for free if you don't find wove after the next 3 months. Even though we truly do believe that if you do this for 6 months and don't find wove you should get 6 free months. We're confusing like that... And have a nice day."

The grande scheme of things

There's this job and I want it.

More then I want a partner I want this job.

More then I want to be skinny so as to better be worthy of a partner I want this job.

More then I want to be sexually refreshed before I die so as to make sure that if there is an afterlife that no snotty angel says to me "really? One person? And you lived to be HOW OLD? And he was an A-Hole too, right?" and then tch, tch, tch's at me and shakes his halo-sportin' head I want THIS JOB.

Just so you understand where the search for love or lust or nooky or whatever falls in the grand scheme of things, it goes like this:

1) happy in my own skin
2) friends and family to be happy and healthy
3) life pursuit (job, career, whatever) that is important to me and makes a difference
4) not be poor. (I don't need to be rich, but I don't ever again want to have to pick between a new mop or dinner.)
and finally...
5) a partner. Or a membership to the chocolate of the month club.

But right now, just about more then anything I want this one new, excellent job.

I won't give too many details -- suffice it to say it's a job that would have many of the things I sit and dream about while at my current job. It would provide me with a feeling of personal pride in my work. I could do something creative with my time. I'd have a stinkin' cool title. (I cannot tell you how high on my list of career priorities "cool title" sits. The day that "Web Master" became an actual title on people's business cards I cried just a little bit. I'd love to be something with "wizard" or "Lord" in it.)

Here's where I'm in "pit of my stomach full of angry pit vipers" stress mode. I applied to this job something like a month ago. I did the whole sh-bang; the resume, the cover letter, samples of my previous work... I was at least impressive enough for them to say "Interesting... Tell me more..." (but in the special hiring manager lingo, dontcha know.) Oh and I gave them more. More awesomeness! And then I knew that I'd have to wait.

And wait. And wait...

I know what you're thinking: "if she would put as much attention and energy and desire into spicing up her love life as her work life this woman would be rolling in dudes!" I think it says something important that the idea of putting this level of interest into my love life just makes me feel tired. Or maybe it's just that a dream guy hasn't showed up, where as the dream job has.

Still, one dream thing at a time. Let me land this big fish and then we'll see what else is floating out there. (come on monthly chocolate!)