Looking for Mr. Right Now

So, here's the thing. My youngest son talked me into signing up for eharmony.com. He's concerned his aging mother will find herself doddering and alone with no fallback (so to speak). Or, as he winsomely puts it, what the fuck, you can at least get out and have some dinners and drinks that you don't have to pay for.  True.  But there may be a hidden cost here. Nevertheless, I fell for it.

Oh the excitement. Each morning I get my coffee and log on to see who's checked me out. I'm up to 30  gentlemen so far but I have not been moved to send any of them a "let's get to know each other a little better" email. At least I guess that's how these things work. Hell, maybe if they're interested they're supposed to send ME an email. Nobody has, though, so I guess they aren't any more whizzed than I am. I was leery of just this sort of scenario for two reasons: 1) maybe there really isn't anybody out there and 2) You hang yourself out there and people throw tomatoes, or completely ignore you, neither of which goes a long way to building self-esteem, to say nothing of a "relationship" (I hate that word), or even that free dinner and martinis thing. Man.

OK, I need to be more realistic and open, I'm told. I'm working on that. I think the I've got the realistic part covered - I know he's not going to look like George Clooney, or even Donald Sutherland, I'm not delusional or taking a lot of Xanax. But hair would be a plus, no? (That lets out half of these dudes in a blink.)  Being able to see their toes when standing would be next. (It's narrowing fast.)  We're getting down to it now, warriors, and this is just the physical stuff. Let's face it, the over 50 crowd is stretched pretty thin on hot. Just saying.

So, what's left?  Well, the maybes with blurry pics, but then I start reading the profiles. This is not for the faint-hearted and should best be done with vodka nearby, but alas I plunge on through a wildwood of self-righteous planet-saving, I heart my truck, hunting and fishing, cat love, hiking, and corvettes. I could adjust a bit, I think, wavering... then I go further to find favorites like music is Garth Brooks, Lady Antebellum, a plethora of Norah Jones (usually spelled wrong), TV shows like Lost, movies like True Lies, and my favorite "I don't read much". Then we get to what they really want out of life, etc., and this is standardized pap, usually accompanied by misspellings. At this point I freak out and check my profile to make sure I didn't check the "any" box for education. Sadly, I didn't.

I leave you with "open", then. Yes, I'm a misanthrope but not one who holds grudges. I think the glass is half-full, the sun will come out, and my dogs will love me. I'm open, but not desperate or crazy and people still make me laugh. I'm trying to do my part and I'm still hoping for a free steak and martini anyway.

Hey universe, or perhaps Mr. #31, give me a little help, will you?

Beginnings and Endings

Sunday, the middle part of a lovely 3-day weekend courtesy of Martin Luther King.

Here comes the beginning of a blog that I can say exactly what I think and want to write, unlike the Raven one which should be for Raven clients but which has unfortunately veered into more esoteric territory when it should remain professional and uncontroversial. Welcome to my real world.

Sunny springlike day here in the desert is drawing me outside to plan the garden. This year I'm not putting in seeds of stuff that sound good for you that I never eat, but only things I always do, (and hopefully they rise up like Lazarus which is not always the case with my garden, as it has a mind of its own.) Marla loves this enterprise and spends a lot of time with her paws on the fence planning raids she never makes but it's good for her doggie brain intrigues. There's a lot of dirt and sweat involved with this, but I rather like it. So that's the beginning part.

The ending part is the last chapter of a book I've been writing for years which I hope to finish in the next few days. Finish is a silly word for this endeavor, since then the editing takes place - first by my dearest termagent reader, Christy, a shrewd and ruthless slicer of hyperbole and then by me, aided by those who have an opinion ("That's cheesy, take it out", "he sounds like an asshole", "nobody will ever buy that" and various other suggestions..) All of which are usually correct and incorporated.

Reading back over this, I sound a bit stilted, but bear with me, it'll loosen up.

Love, K