The Secret

I am shoving aside my copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" to again page through last year's hit pop-psych phenom, The Secret.

I'll tell you what the secret is ... all men are fucking pathetic. I don't need a 198 pages of tripe to tell me that.

Especially today, after a coworker accidentally dashed my recent short-lived hopes when she came into the office with some Dirt. "You would not BELIEVE who I just saw at the Chinese food joint with a blond bimbo on his arm," she gushed. It was a friend of hers who had just left his wife, and unbenownst to her, had asked me out on a date just a few days ago. Just another fucker who at least I got advance warning to bail. This one never even got out of the starting gate.

This on the heels of a late night phone call from PAL who bewilderingly asked me if I would get together with him to play guitar, specifically a tune that I would have called "our" song a few months ago. I was like, um, would that be with or without your girlfriend in the room? I mean, what fucking phase is the MOON in right now?

So back to The Secret. For those of you who have not read it, it does have some interesting theories. For those of us who have been in therapy for years, you will easily recognize its concept as cognitive behavioral therapy. Basically, your thoughts control how you feel, so you best think good thoughts.

The book describes it one step better. You are a radio station transmitting on a certain frequency. So it's up to you if you are playing Jazzy Lite Hits or Gothic Death Fugues. It's all up to you. You decide what tune to play and the universe plays it back to you. It's that simple.

So I try to imagine what frequency I have been emitting to bring upon me the pantheon of fools I have endured these last 3 years. Have I been broadcasting a request for drunken cruel thoughtless losers? What would the call letters for THAT station be?

So I will again read through the dog-eared pages and review the highlighted text. "Your Wish Is My Command," the genie promises. In the future, I'll have to be more careful what I ask for.

Waiting for Columbus

Many of my friends are married and in their 40s and 50s. They listen to (or read) my dating stories with amazement, much as I'm sure early astronauts returned to earth and told their wives and kids about their adventures. "Are you sure it's safe, going up in that rocket?" they'd ask in amazement.

Most share with me that they could never ever do it, that they would rather die alone than dive head first into the world of dating again. To help them better understand the ship of fools on which I sail, I have categorized my potential paramours into 3 categories:

1. The Tragically Single - This is the life-long bachelor. He usually has reached his 40s and is proud to never have been married and is childless. Ladies, if you think you can change him, you are delusional. You do not reach this stage of life remaining unmarried without it being a single-minded (ha!) and deliberate effort. Trying to inject yourself into his universe is an exercise in futility. Especially doomed if you have children as they can relate better to your pets or your PC than to anyone under the age of 18.

2. The Devastatingly Divorced - This guy has been married at least once and sometimes twice. Usually he had not been married for long. Regardless, there is often much bitterness and enough baggage to employ a Red Cap for a lifetime. Either has gone years without dating or is barely divorced - either way, he still is just not ready for this. There can be a lot of overlap with this character and the Tragically Single.

3. The Paralyzed Parent - Shares custody of his kids with an Ex who keeps the custody schedule in a locked vault in an encrypted file. Despite the divorce, she manages to completely run her Ex's life by dictating when he can see his children. Unable to make any plans further out than 48 hours, just in case his parental services are needed. Unwilling to introduce even a long-time girlfriend to his kids because he "doesn't want to confuse them."

So let's see, never married; married then divorced with no kids; married then divorced with kids. They all suck. But what other options are there?

I hear rumors - more like fairy tales, or unicorn sightings. A business acquaintance was divorced at the same time I was. We traded divorce war stories on a business trip together shortly after my divorce was final.

10 months later I get an email from her announcing her name change. Yes, she managed to get remarried in those 10 months to a man with 2 kids, in her home town, to a guy she had known in high school. They were now happily married and living together with their Brady-like blended family.

After re-reading her email, I called her angrily and left a message on her voice mail. "How did you do it?" I insisted. "How does ANYONE do that?"

Put this in context. I have been living in Splitzville for going on 3 years. As anyone who reads this blog knows, I have no trouble meeting men. In those 3 years, I have not introduced a single boyfriend to my kid or had a date for the company Christmas party or family wedding, any of the hallmarks of being a "couple." If I were honest with myself, perhaps I would categorize myself as a #2. How damaged am I? How ready would I be if Mike Brady materialized tomorrow?

"Just stop looking for a while," gal pal Michelle suggested today. "Have you thought about getting your MBA? That would be a nice distraction!"

But since when does giving up result in success? After all, didn't Christopher Columbus finally find what he was looking for? Just when the entire crew was ready to give up and turn around, didn't they find the passage to India?

Well, maybe that's not the best example. Maybe Michelle is right. Maybe I need to board a ship full of Italians and sail for parts unknown. Now that's a ship I'd gladly board.

Hello, God, It's Me, iPhone

So MGM is not one to get shaken off easily. I got an email from him this a.m. He went to a trade show where my company was exhibiting, even though I was not there.

He went up to one of my employees who was working the show, and talked her into taking a photo of him in front of the booth.

I am immensely grateful that he did not disclose his identity to him, so horrified I would be to be associated with this odd person doing such an odd thing.

His bizzaro email:

"So if ((name changed to protect the innocent)) tells you how great it was, casually ask if she took any pictures. She got at least one - it was me standing next to the poster. I asked her to take it and show all her friends at work, maybe email me a copy - but actually I just wanted her to take one of me for you, and now it's up to you to get a copy."

"Be casual about it, don't worry about letting on (I didn't 'out' you to your friends from work - I figure when you're ready to introduce me to your friends, you will.) But get a copy."

So yeah. Weird is as weird does. What do I expect from Mr. Best Ad Ever on Craigslist.

And not to be out-done, Spaceman called me last night, invited me to play golf with his league today, then called back this a.m. to un-invite me.

Now one other funny thing about him, other than his complete lack of manners, is his iPhone. It mis-dials easily. So I frequently get calls from his pocket. After he called to cancel, his iPhone called back. I whistled loudly to no avail. This happens frequently enough that sometimes I just listen in case something interesting gets said. I can hang on as long as I like - the iPhone will not hang up once it inadvertently dials me.

You know - now that I think of it, the iPhone has called me a few times after Spaceman has called to cancel on me. Could it be ... the iPhone is ... his CONSCIENCE?

I imagine conversations like, "There, Tanya. Are you happy? I blew her off again. Now let's go dancing." But usually I just hear the wind blowing or the sound of fabric brushing against the receiver.

If only the iPhone could talk. "Hi, Kathy? It's me, iPhone here. I gotta tell you. You can do a LOT better than Spaceman. You know the golf league? Bunch of drunken losers. You're much better off hanging with your kid tonight. Oh, gotta go. Call you later!"

Completely apropos of nothing, let me share with you the blog of a business associate I had dinner with last night: www.livingoprah.com

It's interesting enough - but what is really interesting is that this blog has generated so much interest, she now has an agent, book deal, TV appearances, etc. She's living my dream!

So please, loyal blog readers - share this with anyone (who doesn't know me) and get the word out. My blog is much funnier than hers. And why give Oprah more media coverage than she already has.