The Postman Delivers

I had the pleasure of turning 44 on Friday. To celebrate I went to a northern Vermont ski area with my daughter and a friend and skied our little hearts out all weekend. Fun fun! Fun, that is, until I went to check out on Sunday and found my car keys missing.

That's when the real fun began. Do you know how many locksmiths are available on a Sunday afternoon near the Vermont/Canadian border? Let me give you a hint - starts with a "Z" - as in ZERO.

Complicating things is that my sexy new 2009 Subaru has a laser cut computer chip embedded key.

Being an optimist, I called every locksmith in a 75 mile radius. Joey the Locksmith offered to come out the next DAY and for a minimum of $225, he would pull out my ignition and cut a new key for me. "I know how to do this better than the dealership!" he bragged. Hmmm ...

Then I called the dealership, or rather, the Subaru hotline, who said they could tow it to the nearest dealership 40 miles away the following day, and then I could pray they could rekey the car the next day. I told this to Joey and he laughed. "Two days at best, trust me on this."

Fools to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in a luxury condo at Jay. The AAA rep was kinder. She suggested "don't you have any friends who can drive up a spare key for you?"

I have to admit, I am lucky to have friends that I would even consider calling to ask for a favor like this - a 300 mile round trip on a Sunday night. Gal pal Cindy agreed immediately but would not arrive for several hours.

I took the down time to call the Postman to commiserate. "Why didn't you ask me to help?" I told him thanks anyway, I was all set. My plans were in place and I didn't want to make him make an 8 hour trek with a 7 am start time at work the following day. I hung up and the phone rang back stubbornly 10 minutes later. "Why don't I meet up with your friend half way so she isn't driving the whole distance."

And that's what we did, so that each person only had half of that 300 mile trek. I was on my way again at 9am today, and home by noon, in time for a root canal (yes, this was a red letter day for me).

"I owe you big time," I told The Postman. "Anything you want." He said a hug and kiss would be sufficient. "Gee, I tried that to get the locksmith to come out earlier and that didn't work." There was no laughter following my joke - I think I have to get him used to my humor. And no, I did not really offer the locksmith sexual favors. I only wish I had thought of it sooner.

Addendum

I just wanted to let you all know that The Postman met me for lunch today and paid me back. So there.

The Postman Always Rings Twice

I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist that blog title. Because my current victim, I mean, person of interest, is a postal worker.

Since I have spent most of my career pumping out millions of direct mail packages, this surely must be a match made in heaven. He is big into live music, seems to be intelligent, doesn't live too far away and has seen a lot of the world thanks to his time in the service (that would be the Navy, not prison). He golfs but does not ski, so 50/50 there.

He has made it past date #3. First date was dinner and shooting pool at a local dive (my selection, honest). Second date, he came to the tavern where I was performing and hung out all night listening (remember Machine Gun Man, who walked out half way through my first song? Yeah, me too).

Then yesterday we went to Portland Maine together for the day.

It went great until he reached into his pocket at the first shop we went into. His face went gray as he realized he didn't have his WALLET.

Now I know what you're thinking. That is the oldest ploy in the book. But I don't think you can fake that look of total desperation. "I changed what I was wearing 3 times because I was so concerned about looking good for you," he gushed. "I left my wallet in the other pants."

So yes, I paid for the day with the promise that he would pay me back for everything.

What choice did I have - be gracious and have the good time we went on to have, or say "no fucking way," and end the day (and the nascent relationship) on the spot. I took the high road.

So in terms of the deal breakers, he does not seem to embody any of them (although I might want to add "wallet" to the list in hindsight). In case you are wondering, I continue to follow The Rules and they do indeed seem to work.

There is just one leeeeetle thing that concerns me.

He seems to be a doppelganger for my ex. I don't mean the bad qualities, but he totally reminds me of him both physically and in some other respects, not the least of which is his employment (my ex worked for Fedex for decades, a kissing cousin to the USPS). He loves to cook. Grew up with a single parent household with his mother and likes to shop. "And no, I am NOT gay," he protests.

So we'll see where this goes. I'm nothing if not an optimist.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I keep getting plaintive emails from Lonnie Ray. They are more succinct and spaced apart so I give him credit for listening in part to my last tirade. I've moved on; he just didn't get the message!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now's It's Just Getting Silly

When I was 12 or 13 years old, my 18 year old sister went out with a guy a few times and then no longer wanted to see him. She was not much of a dater so even by age 18 she had very little experience with the task at hand. So she and my mother - who now I realize was criminally negligent - concocted a scheme by which I would call the gentleman in question to tell him to shoo.

The women in my family are famous for their rather distinctive low speaking voices. So even despite my tender years, I sounded very much like my older sister. And since both my mother and cherished older sister said it was OK, I pretended to be her when he called. "You sound funny." He caught on quickly. "I just have a cold. Sorry, I don't want to see you any more. Bye!"

I'm not sure what I got for the dirty deed. Knowing my older siblings, it was probably a hit of blotter acid or a six pack of Heffenreffer. Either way, I see how incredibly inappropriate it was for my sister, let alone my fucking MOTHER, to recruit me for this deception.

However, at this very moment in time, I am wishing I had a little sister.

Because Lonnie Ray is absolutely, positively, driving me CRAZY.

Two days ago we made plans for dinner Thursday night (see previous blog). Today while I was running errands, my cell phone rang and I let it go to voice mail. I figured I would return calls when I got home after lunch. As I was fixing my salad, my home phone rang, which I again ignored. Shortly thereafter, my cell phone rang again. After lunch, I saw that yes, all three calls within that one hour period were from LR.

I called him back - "Are you OK?" he asked plaintively, "I'm sorry if I'm annoying you."

"Is something wrong with YOU?" I replied. He then reconfirmed our dinner plans, said (yes) I miss you (!!!!!!) and hung up.

Not 30 minutes later another phone call. I was busy mopping the floor. "Why can't you come down tomorrow night instead?" Um, job? Family? Commitments? Plans with SANE people? I had already told him I have a crazy work schedule so this question was spurious.

Then as I logged in to check email, a message from him which he sent after the 4th phone call, with a follow up question from our last conversation not 25 minutes previous.

I am carefully considering how best to dispatch him. Paul Simon's song did not cover this one. If my sister had a phone, I would call her and ask for payback. It's a bitch.

Miss you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This was the real subject line of my last email from Lonnie Ray. As my eyes scanned the row of extraneous punctuation, I was concerned. What? Only 50 exclamation points? Truly, he must not care for me any more. But as I counted them once again, I can see that all 70 were still in place. Phew!

I approach it like a game - by phone, by email, I try to get him to elicit another sentiment than "I miss you." I don't think that my daughter, as a needy toddler when I traveled on business, was as mournful at my absence as LR. In a 10 minute phone call yesterday, he EASILY uttered this phrase 10 times. I tried to find out more about his day - what he did, who he saw, how work was going, etc., but he is completely unable to redirect from this singular thought. This isn't conversation - it is a volley where he will state the phrase until I repeat it back half-heartedly.

I have been trying to keep LR at bay. I hate to cut him lose entirely. His statement of "I hate to drive" is raising its ugly head as the last two times we had plans he cancelled when he had to come here. On the other hand, if I'm in his neck of the woods, it's fine. This might make for an easy exit: "I sold my car! I"m sorry! I can't possible make it down to your place." (click).

But Thurs. I have business in Concord so we are getting together for dinner. He suggested an Italian restaurant I knew of. "Oh, that sounds great! I love Italian food. See you then." Somehow this straight forward statement confused him. "We don't have to go there. Whatever you want!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!." I believe he is thinking so hard about his next iteration of "I miss you" that he wasn't listening. After reinforcing that I liked his choice, he got it. I .... LIKE ... I-TAL-IAN ... FOOD .... OOOOOOOOOOOOO KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK???

Fortunately I have to return home after dinner, thus making for a short evening.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning that I am on vacation the last two weeks of April and am looking for something fun to do. "I can't take any time off from work but you can come down here. That's what you'll do." I politely declined and he repeated it as if he didn't hear me. So I got out my 2x4 and hit him with it - no, I am actually looking for something ... FUN ... TO DO - I DO NOT WANT TO SIT ALONE IN YOUR EMPTY APARTMENT ........ OOOOOOOOOOOOO KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK????

So yeah, this has got to end soon. I'm wearing the characters off my keyboard for "1/!"

Perfect 10

I recently joined a new online dating site that features a means by which other members can "rate" your photo. It breaks down the ratings by age group. The good news is, guys ages 32-41 dig me. Those under 32 not so much.

But who cares about them. So not to hold off any longer, here are my ratings as of today:

So it is good that guys in their late 30s dig me. More so than guys over 40. And who cares about the ones in their 20s - they practically need a babysitter.

And who are these women who are rating me? I thought I was spending too much time on these dating sites! They rate me more severely as men the same age. Bitches. They're just jealous.
In case you are wondering, here is the photo they are rating.

I looked at the "top 500." Most are blonds in halter tops, I could do that. And their average rating is about 8.34 so my rating in the mid 7s is pretty good.

Anyone who knows me know I am a stats Nazi. These are very small sample sizes. The confidence factor is pretty low.

So wish me luck. I may not be perfect, but I'm better than 73.4% of the rest of the people out there.

Friend without Benefits

Sorry I have not been blogging as frequently as I used to. I've been busy doing useful things like sobbing alone in the bathroom stall at work.

I unexpectedly broke down at an event this weekend. As I walked into the building I had a flash back to the previous year at the same function. I had spent the evening bewildered as PAL refused to sit with me, and left early without telling me (see earlier post on this topic from, yes, a year ago). I honestly had not thought about him or the event in months and have even had some mildly enjoyable social occasions with him recently. Moving on. Or so I thought.

Before he walked through the door, new girlfriend on arm, and marched over to introduce her to me. I smiled sweetly, said hello and asked her to repeat her name. Chit chat ensued, and as the drink in my hand emptied I decided to let loose.

I pulled him aside and whispered in his ear, "I'm going to be an asshole now." And proceeded to tell him how this event will always remind me of how badly he treated me days after we spent the night together for the first time. How much his rejection hurt me. Then I turned on my heel and walked away as he said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Miserable fast forward to the next day when I once again had to deal with the sight of him at work. I avoided him until it was unavoidable. "I had that coming," he said. Then just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he added "I thought we were just friends with benefits! That's all! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

This second affront sunk in overnight. But suddenly it all makes sense. Talk about your misaligned expectations.

But it's too small a town to hold a grudge. Winter will end soon and with it will end running into him on a daily basis. But the bigger question is, how did this blow up the way it did.

I'm cool!

I've moved on!

But other than the notorious poison pen letter in the chicken soup, I never had an opportunity to tell him -- face to face -- how much he hurt me. Perhaps this vetting will allow me to finally close this chapter and move on. Or in the words of my bible, HJNTIY, "Friends don't make you cry into your pillow at night."

Good night PAL.

Build Your Own Dream Date

When I was a child, I had a picture book of animals. The pages were divided in 3 so each critters body was split between head, toros and feet.

Look! An elephant with the legs of a giraffe! A hippo's middle with a ostrich's head! A kitty with a dog's bottom! What fun it was to dream up my own special creatures.

Upon recent reflection, I realized I still need that book as a woman dating in her 40s. So many men ... so many good traits and so many flaws. If only I could build my own dream date!

After a recent call with girlfriend MM, complaining about the recent needy weirdness from Lonnie Ray, she suggested I put together the opposite of my list of deal breakers, namely, deal makers.

And now, for a listing of what good parts I would take from each of my last several year's worth of dates:

Lonnie's taste in music. Spaceman's smart-allecky sense of humor. Jesus' intellect. PAL's humanity. Erik's love of family. Wild Thing's bank account. And how can I leave out - Machine Gun Man's, um, singular physical attribute. Oh, to combine them all into one wonderful person!

But I know it is unrealistic to think I could get all of the above in one single person. I would be happy to settle for one with even just two or three. Or at least a personality transplant for Machine Gun Man. Now that would be an animal worth creating.