I have no time. You have no time. Does that make us timeless? or simply lacking time? Yes. No. Maybe. Oh crap, I'm really confused now.
Ok, so it's been months since I have contributed, let alone, visited, my own blog. If you must know, I haven't had the time or energy to write -- sad, because it is something I truly love. I know it's one freakin' stupid decision. And although I am exhausted and should be using my time sleeping, I am going to explain my stupidity...at the risk of sounding even more stupid (I am tired after all).
The source of my lack of minutes to savor the things I enjoy in life is an extremely demanding career...and the time-consuming (albeit comedic) attempts at finding that guy who is going to make me want to stop and chill, and give me chills... both easier said than done. There's plenty of other stuff in between too...but for the most part, career trumps all categories these days.
Why don't I take the time to say the things I want to say in this silly blog (which I love), express myself with paint (which I love), spend more time with friends and family (whom I love), and more often call to tell those that I love (that I love them)? I don't have the time...apparently, to live life. I know it's the wrong answer and I want to find the right one.
Thankfully, I am never at a loss for a good epiphany. They tend to hit me when I least expect (or want) them to. Well, I had one this past Thursday. I was at my office desk early...only a couple hours after having left it the evening prior. Wiped and stressed out, I was juggling a really bad work week -- clenched teeth, periodic phone slams and yes -- frequent screaming at the screen while reading email. Oh the drama. As far as "times" go, it sucked. And then I got a text from my dear friend Lola who told me she was flying to Florida as her mom was rushed to the hospital.
Sobering. We were discussing her the evening prior as this woman -- such a love -- was concerned about my job, having been following the NY news in Florida. I remember telling Lola that her mom was an absolute sweetheart for caring about me and that I just loved her. Lola joked that she had told her mom that I sorta wished I was one of the people losing their job but no such luck. We had a good laugh and said we would speak in the morning.
By the end of the business day on Thursday, Lola's mom had passed...in no time at all... All the emails, creeping deadlines, irate executives, everything -- meant nothing. I believe they call this "perspective." The things that suck the life out of my days meant nothing in comparison to the loss of this precious life.
I cried so hard. I cried for Lola's mom, for Lola and her pain...and I must confess, for me. The same thing could easily happen to me...to any of us. We take so many of our joys for granted because we assume they will be there tomorrow. Not always the case.
Where am I going with this? I'll tell you. I am going for the gusto. If I love
you, you sure as hell are going to know it. If I want to eat, drink, buy, kiss, curse, flirt, shop, paint, write, cry and especially, laugh with all of my being -- I am going to do it...today...not tomorrow. I am done with waiting to relish the things and people I love because I don't have the time...precisely because I (actually, none of us) don't have the time.
Lola is a wonderful soul, daughter, and as friends go, she's a love, just like her mom. This is an important time to make sure she knows that...and I hope I just did.
God bless you Mrs. Schmidt...we will always remember and relish the good times with you...and love you. Oh, and by the way...please give my dad a big hug and let him know my job is safe...I know he's following the news too.
Tempus fugit,
Andy
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Who knows? Go figure.
Let me be clear -- I have never claimed to be a genius (well maybe once or twice) but I will say I am a relatively intelligent woman. Which makes it extremely odd that I should utter the phrases "huh?," "I have no clue," and/or "what the $%#@&" every single day.
What is that all about? Truth is -- I couldn't tell you. Mostly everything and everyone confuses the daylights out of me. Go figure. It's gotten to the point where I make that squinty-eyed face (you know -- the one that you typically make when saying "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?") so often that I am afraid my mother will be right and my face will stay like that forever. Which may not be a bad thing. It would save me the energy of having to contract all those muscles to contort my face at least five to six times a day (more if a workday and I am in the office).
What's with being so complicated -- or more specifically -- unclear???? It drives me nuts (as does the sound of nails being clipped but that's for another blog). One of my favorite statements (and I am pretty sure the one that keeps me single) is "Clarity is the most precious gift." You don't have to be the smartest, the nicest, the best looking, the richest -- you just have to be clear! OK...you know where this is going...in the direction of you guys (although there are plenty of woman who are guilty in this arena). "Why do you want to make me nuts?" It's not like I need any additional help getting there for crying out loud!
I have a beautiful friend who is writing a book titled "The Y Chromosome: Why?" Aside from being a very clever and funny name -- it is true. "Why???????"
Why don't you do what you say?
Why don't you say what you do?
Why don't you do what I say?
Say, is that what you want me to do?
Why? What are you trying to say?
Why not?
Do you not understand why?
And last but not least...Why are you driving me nuts?
I love you but I hate you. I am interested so I am going to ignore you. I'm not into you but kiss me. I like pears but pears give me a rash. We make a great pair but I need to fly solo. Make sure to call me but I won't answer. Marry me...nahhh, I was kidding, I really don't want a wife. Go out with me...oh I can't because I have a wife. ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH! Questa tortura non finisce mai! (This torture never ends.)
S-P-E-L-L I-T O-U-T P-L-E-A-S-E (or I will have to write you off)...that goes if you are male, female, family, friend, colleague, love interest, whatever -- be clear. Some may be saying "Wow -- she's drawing the line in the sand." What I am really doing is sharing what it takes to play nice in the sandbox. And there's the rub...every unclear answer, every indifference, ambiguity, purposeful omission or scarcity of fact, thought or emotion, amounts to someone who really does not want to play nicely with you. Face it -- being clear is also bestowing respect and appreciation. Ahhhhhhh, I'm on a roll...in two minutes I'll be able to connect lack of clarity to global warming ...I already know it is behind the recession, higher divorce rates, less happy people, and loneliness...and quite possibly, vegetarianism. (C'mon can you really trust someone who won't eat a cheeseburger?)
Anyway, I love knowing where I stand -- wherever it is. Doesn't necessarily mean I get what I want -- but it prevents me from wasting my energy on those people, projects and personalities that do not deserve it...and giving all that and more to the precious tesori (treasures) in my life that do. Sounds simple, right? You would think. Who knows? Very few apparently.
Clearly, I am trying to make a point here.
Gotta go (figure).
-Andy
What is that all about? Truth is -- I couldn't tell you. Mostly everything and everyone confuses the daylights out of me. Go figure. It's gotten to the point where I make that squinty-eyed face (you know -- the one that you typically make when saying "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?") so often that I am afraid my mother will be right and my face will stay like that forever. Which may not be a bad thing. It would save me the energy of having to contract all those muscles to contort my face at least five to six times a day (more if a workday and I am in the office).
What's with being so complicated -- or more specifically -- unclear???? It drives me nuts (as does the sound of nails being clipped but that's for another blog). One of my favorite statements (and I am pretty sure the one that keeps me single) is "Clarity is the most precious gift." You don't have to be the smartest, the nicest, the best looking, the richest -- you just have to be clear! OK...you know where this is going...in the direction of you guys (although there are plenty of woman who are guilty in this arena). "Why do you want to make me nuts?" It's not like I need any additional help getting there for crying out loud!
I have a beautiful friend who is writing a book titled "The Y Chromosome: Why?" Aside from being a very clever and funny name -- it is true. "Why???????"
Why don't you do what you say?
Why don't you say what you do?
Why don't you do what I say?
Say, is that what you want me to do?
Why? What are you trying to say?
Why not?
Do you not understand why?
And last but not least...Why are you driving me nuts?
I love you but I hate you. I am interested so I am going to ignore you. I'm not into you but kiss me. I like pears but pears give me a rash. We make a great pair but I need to fly solo. Make sure to call me but I won't answer. Marry me...nahhh, I was kidding, I really don't want a wife. Go out with me...oh I can't because I have a wife. ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH! Questa tortura non finisce mai! (This torture never ends.)
S-P-E-L-L I-T O-U-T P-L-E-A-S-E (or I will have to write you off)...that goes if you are male, female, family, friend, colleague, love interest, whatever -- be clear. Some may be saying "Wow -- she's drawing the line in the sand." What I am really doing is sharing what it takes to play nice in the sandbox. And there's the rub...every unclear answer, every indifference, ambiguity, purposeful omission or scarcity of fact, thought or emotion, amounts to someone who really does not want to play nicely with you. Face it -- being clear is also bestowing respect and appreciation. Ahhhhhhh, I'm on a roll...in two minutes I'll be able to connect lack of clarity to global warming ...I already know it is behind the recession, higher divorce rates, less happy people, and loneliness...and quite possibly, vegetarianism. (C'mon can you really trust someone who won't eat a cheeseburger?)
Anyway, I love knowing where I stand -- wherever it is. Doesn't necessarily mean I get what I want -- but it prevents me from wasting my energy on those people, projects and personalities that do not deserve it...and giving all that and more to the precious tesori (treasures) in my life that do. Sounds simple, right? You would think. Who knows? Very few apparently.
Clearly, I am trying to make a point here.
Gotta go (figure).
-Andy
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign...
And the sign says "Long-haired freaky people need not apply"... well, that's the sign the Five Man Electrical Band sang about in 1971...but that's not the sign I'm singing about in 2009.
I'm talking about those feelings in your gut that force you to make a major life decision; or that significant song with the cutting lyrics that plays on the radio (and over and over in your head) when you are thinking about someone or something; or that crazy coincidence that stops you in your tracks and makes you say "Uh oh;" or that person poking at their laptop in Starbucks who you drum up conversation with, who happens to have the same name as your mother or long lost friend, which in turn reminds you to give them a call. These signs can make you do the right thing...and sometimes the wrong thing...but they almost always make you do something...irrespective of research, logic, reason or intelligence...simply based on a feeling. Cool. Crazy. Crazy cool.
"Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs. Blocking out the scenery, breakin' my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?"
Was talking with my "sorella-amica" (translated: sister-friend) about this phenomena... She took it one step further. "Karma is always in play," she said. She then told me a story about giving a store clerk back the dollar in extra change he'd handed her, figuring the cosmic forces would bestow her with good fortune in gratitude. "The next day I got slapped with a $75 emergency delivery fee for oil...nice." Her sign from all of this: "Be good to be good, not because you're looking for the pay day." Good sign to heed...on many levels.
I have had many a sign go awry...oddly enough, all related to men. There was the guy who told me his name was "Al" (like my dad) and who was born a day away from his birthday. I was sure he was going to be "the one." And then over drinks he told me he likes to give his nephews a treat and sleep in the same bed as them when he visits. Yep -- the sign said "RUN ANDY RUN -- AND DON'T LOOK BACK!"
Then there was this cool guy who was a serious fan of a major band from the 80s and 90s...great music but not what I typically listen to on the radio. As the relationship swayed back and forth (in my head), jumping in and out of a "is he into me or not" state of purgatory, I'll be damned if the cosmic forces didn't taunt me with repeated tracks from this same band on every radio station I tuned into... My friends said it was a sign...uhhh, no. Classic case of something you may "want" to be a sign but isn't... and lazy DJs. Nonetheless, the probability still makes it pretty freaky. Gotta love your girlfriends at times like this. They are great when it comes to deluding you. They're all "OMG -- like that is totally such a sign." Truth is it's just really good conversation over Cabernet.
On the other hand, I remember talking to my cousin about the man she was dating whose last name, although of a different ethnicity, was eerily pronounced like her maiden name. Yes, she married him...and yes, I told her it was a sign and she would marry him (after her first date).
I often pay attention to signs...admittedly, not road ones...in fact, my sense of direction is pitiful. But my sense of direction in life, and my purpose and the meaning of the people, places, relationships and potential around me are many times driven by signs (mixed with 1 part book- and 3 parts street-smarts).
"Hey baby, what's your sign?"
Can't discuss signs and cosmic forces without mentioning astrology. I am a raging Aquarian...eccentric, creative, passionate -- the works. According to my astrological sign I am in for a year of total fabulosity -- a year the planets have not seen in over a decade. Apparently the past 12 have sucked...and I am not arguing. Well, the significant day for all of this success in love, finances, career and health begins today -- February 4th -- which also happens to be my mother's 80th birthday. Now, I don't know about you, but I take that as a very good sign...
Signing off,
Andy
I'm talking about those feelings in your gut that force you to make a major life decision; or that significant song with the cutting lyrics that plays on the radio (and over and over in your head) when you are thinking about someone or something; or that crazy coincidence that stops you in your tracks and makes you say "Uh oh;" or that person poking at their laptop in Starbucks who you drum up conversation with, who happens to have the same name as your mother or long lost friend, which in turn reminds you to give them a call. These signs can make you do the right thing...and sometimes the wrong thing...but they almost always make you do something...irrespective of research, logic, reason or intelligence...simply based on a feeling. Cool. Crazy. Crazy cool.
"Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs. Blocking out the scenery, breakin' my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?"
Was talking with my "sorella-amica" (translated: sister-friend) about this phenomena... She took it one step further. "Karma is always in play," she said. She then told me a story about giving a store clerk back the dollar in extra change he'd handed her, figuring the cosmic forces would bestow her with good fortune in gratitude. "The next day I got slapped with a $75 emergency delivery fee for oil...nice." Her sign from all of this: "Be good to be good, not because you're looking for the pay day." Good sign to heed...on many levels.
I have had many a sign go awry...oddly enough, all related to men. There was the guy who told me his name was "Al" (like my dad) and who was born a day away from his birthday. I was sure he was going to be "the one." And then over drinks he told me he likes to give his nephews a treat and sleep in the same bed as them when he visits. Yep -- the sign said "RUN ANDY RUN -- AND DON'T LOOK BACK!"
Then there was this cool guy who was a serious fan of a major band from the 80s and 90s...great music but not what I typically listen to on the radio. As the relationship swayed back and forth (in my head), jumping in and out of a "is he into me or not" state of purgatory, I'll be damned if the cosmic forces didn't taunt me with repeated tracks from this same band on every radio station I tuned into... My friends said it was a sign...uhhh, no. Classic case of something you may "want" to be a sign but isn't... and lazy DJs. Nonetheless, the probability still makes it pretty freaky. Gotta love your girlfriends at times like this. They are great when it comes to deluding you. They're all "OMG -- like that is totally such a sign." Truth is it's just really good conversation over Cabernet.
On the other hand, I remember talking to my cousin about the man she was dating whose last name, although of a different ethnicity, was eerily pronounced like her maiden name. Yes, she married him...and yes, I told her it was a sign and she would marry him (after her first date).
I often pay attention to signs...admittedly, not road ones...in fact, my sense of direction is pitiful. But my sense of direction in life, and my purpose and the meaning of the people, places, relationships and potential around me are many times driven by signs (mixed with 1 part book- and 3 parts street-smarts).
"Hey baby, what's your sign?"
Can't discuss signs and cosmic forces without mentioning astrology. I am a raging Aquarian...eccentric, creative, passionate -- the works. According to my astrological sign I am in for a year of total fabulosity -- a year the planets have not seen in over a decade. Apparently the past 12 have sucked...and I am not arguing. Well, the significant day for all of this success in love, finances, career and health begins today -- February 4th -- which also happens to be my mother's 80th birthday. Now, I don't know about you, but I take that as a very good sign...
Signing off,
Andy
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Few Good Men...
I admit it -- I love men (in spite of who they are). While I am sure that there are plenty of blogs out there written by women who have a less than favorable outlook on the male species...this one (well, this particular entry at least), is not one of them. I believe there are good men...well, a few of them at least.
I just celebrated a birthday...and like all "special days" it conjured up thoughts of where I was last year, 10 years ago, 25 years ago...where I will be next year...which triggered thoughts on "other special days" that happened last year, 10 years ago, etc., in my head... I was exhausted after all that mental math. But of all those days, one in particular sticks in my head -- January 27, 2008. Not my birthday...and thankfully, not anyone else's birthday that I know. It was the day my father passed away and went to that big casino (the one with wall-to-wall "hot" craps tables) in the sky. Now, HE was a good man. A man of unfaultering integrity and honesty, with deep love of his family and friends, a passion for the stock market, and a (loud) bark worse than his bite. Granted, he had his less-than-wonderful moments...but at the end of the day, he was really good.
Every day brings a thought of "Big Al." I keep this fantastic black and white photo of him facing me in my office. He is in his professional hey-day, flanked by two other executives in his firm, scotch-rocks in their hands and smiles that say "this is one helluva life" on their faces. Another time but timeless. I want to be in that photo. And if you ask my mother, she'd probably say I am. Out of the three of his children (btw, my brothers are good men, too), I am most like him. Headstrong, smart, the orator, big mouth, last-word-stealer, caring (and worrying) for those I love, and a frustrated attorney. And a year ago, the one who left her job for a month to be with him while he lay in the hopital on a ventilator. There could be no crueler form of torture for him -- unable to speak. His hands paralyzed by MS so he was unable to write. Can you imagine? Unable to communicate. That alone would kill me. But for him, he had his ways of getting his point across. A wink of an eye (meant "hiya baby"), furrowed brow (meant "caress my cheek, that relaxes me"), tilted head up twice (meant "scratch my head -- it helps me fall asleep")...and the intermittent tear down his cheek (no translation needed).
Ironic that I -- after all those years of fighting to get the last word in -- wanted nothing more than for him to shut me up. Of course, I couldn't shut up... I kept talking -- right through to his eulogy which I delivered with complete composure while my insides were tormented and bleeding. He would have wanted that "big presentation" -- the words, the imagery, the lengthy recounting of favorite "Dad" stories...he would have wanted to see his little girl with the big mouth make him proud and not lose her shit. I could hear him say "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree"...and I will always hang onto those words.
So, as I reflect on what this date and time of year represent to me, I cry, I get that sick pain in my stomach and an ache in my chest that love lost (any love) brings, and yet, I find happiness. He is a part of me...and I know that he is watching me like a hawk. And frankly, with him up in heaven, anything is possible (the man could negotiate any deal). He wants me to smile, to live a good, honest and passionate life, laugh loudly and speak my mind...and yes, he definitely wants me to find my own "good man."
So Daddy, this blog's for you. I've got my money on the pass line because there is no chance that I am crapping out with your hands on the dice. And while you're at it, give me a $100 "yo" because I'm feeling lucky.
Love a good man...it's heavenly.
-Andy
I just celebrated a birthday...and like all "special days" it conjured up thoughts of where I was last year, 10 years ago, 25 years ago...where I will be next year...which triggered thoughts on "other special days" that happened last year, 10 years ago, etc., in my head... I was exhausted after all that mental math. But of all those days, one in particular sticks in my head -- January 27, 2008. Not my birthday...and thankfully, not anyone else's birthday that I know. It was the day my father passed away and went to that big casino (the one with wall-to-wall "hot" craps tables) in the sky. Now, HE was a good man. A man of unfaultering integrity and honesty, with deep love of his family and friends, a passion for the stock market, and a (loud) bark worse than his bite. Granted, he had his less-than-wonderful moments...but at the end of the day, he was really good.
Every day brings a thought of "Big Al." I keep this fantastic black and white photo of him facing me in my office. He is in his professional hey-day, flanked by two other executives in his firm, scotch-rocks in their hands and smiles that say "this is one helluva life" on their faces. Another time but timeless. I want to be in that photo. And if you ask my mother, she'd probably say I am. Out of the three of his children (btw, my brothers are good men, too), I am most like him. Headstrong, smart, the orator, big mouth, last-word-stealer, caring (and worrying) for those I love, and a frustrated attorney. And a year ago, the one who left her job for a month to be with him while he lay in the hopital on a ventilator. There could be no crueler form of torture for him -- unable to speak. His hands paralyzed by MS so he was unable to write. Can you imagine? Unable to communicate. That alone would kill me. But for him, he had his ways of getting his point across. A wink of an eye (meant "hiya baby"), furrowed brow (meant "caress my cheek, that relaxes me"), tilted head up twice (meant "scratch my head -- it helps me fall asleep")...and the intermittent tear down his cheek (no translation needed).
Ironic that I -- after all those years of fighting to get the last word in -- wanted nothing more than for him to shut me up. Of course, I couldn't shut up... I kept talking -- right through to his eulogy which I delivered with complete composure while my insides were tormented and bleeding. He would have wanted that "big presentation" -- the words, the imagery, the lengthy recounting of favorite "Dad" stories...he would have wanted to see his little girl with the big mouth make him proud and not lose her shit. I could hear him say "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree"...and I will always hang onto those words.
So, as I reflect on what this date and time of year represent to me, I cry, I get that sick pain in my stomach and an ache in my chest that love lost (any love) brings, and yet, I find happiness. He is a part of me...and I know that he is watching me like a hawk. And frankly, with him up in heaven, anything is possible (the man could negotiate any deal). He wants me to smile, to live a good, honest and passionate life, laugh loudly and speak my mind...and yes, he definitely wants me to find my own "good man."
So Daddy, this blog's for you. I've got my money on the pass line because there is no chance that I am crapping out with your hands on the dice. And while you're at it, give me a $100 "yo" because I'm feeling lucky.
Love a good man...it's heavenly.
-Andy
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Winning Numbers
I don't know about you, but the 2009 number is pretty amazing to me...especially when I start to do the math...
- Nearly 45 years since my mother gave birth to...well, me.
- 24 years since I graduated college (I was 10 and a genius...ok, it was worth a shot).
- Seven years since the love-of-my-life-turned-you-know-what-of-a-fiance walked (not down the aisle -- thankfully, actually).
- One year since I lost the real man that mattered in my life (my dad).
- Nine years since I started at the prestigious Merrill Lynch (a company I thought I would retire from).
- Eleven days since Merrill ceased to exist (as we say in Italian -- disgraziata!).
- Five days since my last date with a really great guy with potential.
- Two days since my cancelled date with really great (well-not-so-much-really) guy.
- Three hours since same guy called to apologize and was reinstated to really great guy status.
- And way too long since my last post.
But here's the deal -- 2009 is a powerful number and despite economic collapses, rising unemployment, men who are, well, men ...and all the other uglies this world offers up too readily -- it is a time to be hopeful. And I am. And if you are going to be friends with me...you better get yourself on board...imagine this world if we were...dare I say it? Happy? Do you know what a formidable force we'd be? Staggering really.
I was talking with one of my beautiful friends about new year's resolutions and in joking (actually, I was quite serious) I said that I was ready for 2009 and armed with guns blazing...I was attacking life and wasn't going to take any prisoners. I mean it. At nearly 45 I have decided that there is no way-no how-no chance that I am going to live any aspect of my life "afraid" to: do something, be me, say what I want to say, love the way I want to love, or find the love I want but more importantly -- deserve. No prisoners...got it? (I actually scare myself which in a way is breaking my resolution.)
My beautiful friend agreed, adding "once you are happy, the rest just falls into place...we need to be happy and take chances." Smart gal (duhhhh, that's why we're friends, c'mon!)
Take chances...what's the worst that could happen? Sure, someone might blog about it [sinister laugh]...but someone may also revel in it (and that someone may be you).
As much as I am not a fan of John Mayer (although I do believe he wrote "Your body is a wonderland" about me), I was listening to the radio while driving and noticed that the lyrics of one of his songs was spot on...
"Take all of your wasted honor. Every little past frustration. Take all of your so called problems, better put 'em in quotations. Say what you need to say. Walkin' like a one man army, fightin' with the shadows in your head. Livin' up the same old moment. Knowin' you'd be better off instead. If you could only...Say what you need to say. Have no fear for givin' in. Have no fear for giving over.You better know that in the end. It's better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say again.Even if your hands are shaking, and your faith is broken. Even as the eyes are closin', do it with a heart wide open."
...and that my friends, is what I needed to say...
Happy 2009...it's going to be a lot better than you think.
xo, Andy
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Strong and (not-so) Silent Types...
Strong women, like espresso and a good stiff drink are not for the faint of heart... and what I am learning is there are a lot of men who are not up to the challenge but profess to be "manly" men. So why, when given the opportunity to be strong, direct and dare I say -- clear -- with these "strong women," do they run away (often screaming in a high pitched voice and flailing their arms)? C'mon -- finally you have someone who can take it (and dish it out)...someone who might even enjoy a good verbal (and perhaps, physical) joust -- what gives?
I'll tell you what gives... and keeps on giving... the "helpless, sexy chick" persona. How do I know this? I did a test (don't try this at home).
Control Group A: Gal dates a guy and behaves her normal, charming, witty, intelligent and wonderful self. They talk, smile and laugh for hours and hours and demonstrate the verbal and physical signs of two humans interested in each other. Political, societal and personal conversation ensues...what doesn't ensue? Dinner and a second date. Sorry, contestant # 1 -- you ARE STRONG, SMART AND SCARE HIM!
Control Group B: Gal dates a guy and behaves in a slightly different mode. Although still her wonderful self, less smarts and more cleavage is exhibited. Laughter abounds, at everything HE SAYS...and she dummies down the conversation to Britney's documentary and challenges of said cleavage when you are trying to do yoga...and "oh yeah -- didn't like Osama just win the election or something?" Angels sing on high, little hearts (and other things) swim around his very being...he is in lust. Add in a couple of suggestive texts and gal is asked out for second date. Success! Actually no -- not success.
This is a little nuts...but it is a social experiment so I justify it in the name of science.That said, the American Journal of Pathetic Dating wants to publish the results of my experiment but I decline...much like I declined Bachelor #2.
I polled some very splendid specimens of the female persuasion who happen to be friends of mine (no bias involved I assure you). Want to know what seems to be a common theme? Perfectly SWELL guys who are totally intimidated by these gals...or maybe just lazy. What is it? Fear of rejection? An aversion to female fabulosity? Love of lonely nights? Or perhaps, she should not have made the first move. Ahhhhh, there's the rub! For when the gal makes the first move she is quickly put into the "strong" category. "Eeeeeek" he cries. "I can take leprosy but not strength!!!!!!" Or is it as simple as, dating takes a lot of work...you need to invest of your time and self -- it is rarely "KAPOW" in your face in the first five minutes...it takes time and energy...and quite often you have to get off the couch (well, sometimes).
Brothers, please take my advice: life is way too short...grab the smart, sexy, strong girl and don't let go...and if you are REALLY lucky...she might even have good cleavage and know the president-elect's actual name and when he takes office. How scary is that?
Strong and (not-so) silently yours,
Andy
I'll tell you what gives... and keeps on giving... the "helpless, sexy chick" persona. How do I know this? I did a test (don't try this at home).
Control Group A: Gal dates a guy and behaves her normal, charming, witty, intelligent and wonderful self. They talk, smile and laugh for hours and hours and demonstrate the verbal and physical signs of two humans interested in each other. Political, societal and personal conversation ensues...what doesn't ensue? Dinner and a second date. Sorry, contestant # 1 -- you ARE STRONG, SMART AND SCARE HIM!
Control Group B: Gal dates a guy and behaves in a slightly different mode. Although still her wonderful self, less smarts and more cleavage is exhibited. Laughter abounds, at everything HE SAYS...and she dummies down the conversation to Britney's documentary and challenges of said cleavage when you are trying to do yoga...and "oh yeah -- didn't like Osama just win the election or something?" Angels sing on high, little hearts (and other things) swim around his very being...he is in lust. Add in a couple of suggestive texts and gal is asked out for second date. Success! Actually no -- not success.
This is a little nuts...but it is a social experiment so I justify it in the name of science.That said, the American Journal of Pathetic Dating wants to publish the results of my experiment but I decline...much like I declined Bachelor #2.
I polled some very splendid specimens of the female persuasion who happen to be friends of mine (no bias involved I assure you). Want to know what seems to be a common theme? Perfectly SWELL guys who are totally intimidated by these gals...or maybe just lazy. What is it? Fear of rejection? An aversion to female fabulosity? Love of lonely nights? Or perhaps, she should not have made the first move. Ahhhhh, there's the rub! For when the gal makes the first move she is quickly put into the "strong" category. "Eeeeeek" he cries. "I can take leprosy but not strength!!!!!!" Or is it as simple as, dating takes a lot of work...you need to invest of your time and self -- it is rarely "KAPOW" in your face in the first five minutes...it takes time and energy...and quite often you have to get off the couch (well, sometimes).
Brothers, please take my advice: life is way too short...grab the smart, sexy, strong girl and don't let go...and if you are REALLY lucky...she might even have good cleavage and know the president-elect's actual name and when he takes office. How scary is that?
Strong and (not-so) silently yours,
Andy
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Isn't it ironic?
Yeah sure, I'm not the first to say it...and either is Alanis Morrisette for that matter...but I'll be damned if it ain't true. Life is pretty freakin' ironic. And here are some perfect examples that prove my point...
I along with my fellow forty-something sisters, battle the dating world, which has morphed dramatically in the past couple of decades. Back in the day, the name of the game was "find a husband, have kids or die" -- and now, years later, with our own homes, money, lifestyle, freedom, and babies out of the equation -- the notion of someone to date and "just have fun with" is far more compelling than having a husband. Ironic. Ya know what else is ironic, I think I am thinking like a man. Isn't it ironic? A little too ironic.
Next ironic item. A few months ago I bought the cutest little puppy -- a three-pound Yorkie-poo/would-be-purse-accessory named Allie. I had such visions for Allie. She was going to peek out of her LV carrier wearing a rhinestone collar and cashmere sweater and look all cute and glam. Of slight, Kate Moss-of-the-canine-world-stature, she was to grow to a mere six pounds. Oh the sample sales at which we could score! What happens? My dog is 18 pounds and totally butch. I'd describe her as more NASCAR than Narcisco Rodriguez, more Mets bullpen than Badgley Mischka, more Lee Toughriders than True Religion. Listen -- I love this dog more than you can imagine -- but you have to agree -- it's ironic.
File this under "isn't it ironic" too ... I am not the least bit technically inclined. In fact, I have a hard time opening a lock with a key (I wish this was an exaggeration)... I fight with my BlackBerries (BOTH of them)...I curse my laptops (BOTH of them)...I don't watch DVDs out of principle (plus I can't get the player to work)...and I definitely shun text messaging (which makes dating in 2008 a challenge). Sooooo, what happens? I start my own blog. Ironic, technically speaking.
Let's talk about this irony. I buy a beautiful new car -- shiny, sexy and white -- representative of my fresh start in life...and with this car comes six free months of SIRIUS satellite radio. The very idea of paying for the radio made me laugh out loud (for you texters - that would be"LOL")...anyway, it was free and I wasn't going to use it -- but what the heck. So what happens? I fall in LOVE (for you texters, that would be "LOVE") with channel 37 -- The Strobe -- non-stop disco...DIVINE! I would sing along to the likes of Sylvester and Evelyn Champagne King, and simply daydream about the days of waiting on line to get into clubs, drinking sloe gin fizzes and dancing the night (and morning) away! Pure bliss. So when the six months were up and I was faced with paying for my disco fix, I coughed up the credit card and renewed. Last weekend, I get into the car with my friend and tell her excitedly "you have to listen to this fabulous station -- it's 37." We click through and see 36 and then 38 -- but no 37. Huh? It has fallen off the face of the earth. Yes, as part of the merger with XM (sp?), they'd off'ed 37, insisting that 7 -- "The Best of the 70's" would offer the same music. C'mon -- are they SIRIUS? Apparently yes...and this whole situation -- quite ironic.
Ironically yours,
Andy
I along with my fellow forty-something sisters, battle the dating world, which has morphed dramatically in the past couple of decades. Back in the day, the name of the game was "find a husband, have kids or die" -- and now, years later, with our own homes, money, lifestyle, freedom, and babies out of the equation -- the notion of someone to date and "just have fun with" is far more compelling than having a husband. Ironic. Ya know what else is ironic, I think I am thinking like a man. Isn't it ironic? A little too ironic.
Next ironic item. A few months ago I bought the cutest little puppy -- a three-pound Yorkie-poo/would-be-purse-accessory named Allie. I had such visions for Allie. She was going to peek out of her LV carrier wearing a rhinestone collar and cashmere sweater and look all cute and glam. Of slight, Kate Moss-of-the-canine-world-stature, she was to grow to a mere six pounds. Oh the sample sales at which we could score! What happens? My dog is 18 pounds and totally butch. I'd describe her as more NASCAR than Narcisco Rodriguez, more Mets bullpen than Badgley Mischka, more Lee Toughriders than True Religion. Listen -- I love this dog more than you can imagine -- but you have to agree -- it's ironic.
File this under "isn't it ironic" too ... I am not the least bit technically inclined. In fact, I have a hard time opening a lock with a key (I wish this was an exaggeration)... I fight with my BlackBerries (BOTH of them)...I curse my laptops (BOTH of them)...I don't watch DVDs out of principle (plus I can't get the player to work)...and I definitely shun text messaging (which makes dating in 2008 a challenge). Sooooo, what happens? I start my own blog. Ironic, technically speaking.
Let's talk about this irony. I buy a beautiful new car -- shiny, sexy and white -- representative of my fresh start in life...and with this car comes six free months of SIRIUS satellite radio. The very idea of paying for the radio made me laugh out loud (for you texters - that would be"LOL")...anyway, it was free and I wasn't going to use it -- but what the heck. So what happens? I fall in LOVE (for you texters, that would be "LOVE") with channel 37 -- The Strobe -- non-stop disco...DIVINE! I would sing along to the likes of Sylvester and Evelyn Champagne King, and simply daydream about the days of waiting on line to get into clubs, drinking sloe gin fizzes and dancing the night (and morning) away! Pure bliss. So when the six months were up and I was faced with paying for my disco fix, I coughed up the credit card and renewed. Last weekend, I get into the car with my friend and tell her excitedly "you have to listen to this fabulous station -- it's 37." We click through and see 36 and then 38 -- but no 37. Huh? It has fallen off the face of the earth. Yes, as part of the merger with XM (sp?), they'd off'ed 37, insisting that 7 -- "The Best of the 70's" would offer the same music. C'mon -- are they SIRIUS? Apparently yes...and this whole situation -- quite ironic.
Ironically yours,
Andy
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