Please Excuse Sassy Sundry

Dear Blogville,

Please excuse Sassy Sundry’s lack of posting of late. She has had a hard month.

It all started when her car’s windshield wipers failed on her during a snowstorm. Thankfully, she hadn’t gotten far, and so she was safe, but she had to fix them. She was hoping to get through the toughest part of winter with her old jalopy with the Peacemonger sticker on it before making the decision to go car-free. To do that, she needed to replace the wipers. Also, the headlight that had decided to die on her. So, she brought it to the shop. Turns out that it wasn’t just a simple repair, and it was going to cost her four hundred Benjamins to fix. Two hours after begrudgingly telling her mechanic to go ahead, her grease monkey called her. “The good news is that we made the repairs,” he said. “The bad news is that my next customer backed into your car and smashed the front end.”

For three long weeks, she endured endless commutes, becoming intimately familiar with the bus (she has not yet succeeded in securing employment that would make the car-free lifestyle manageable). She left every morning at Satan’s Witching Hour and returned home exhausted. Blogging about anything other than, “Tired. Grumpy. Wish to kill people” was untenable. When she finally got her car back, her joy was unfettered. At last, I can blog again!

Not so fast, the Technical Difficulties Banshees deemed, for that Saturday, her Internet connection (the free one) came to a bitter end. It took two weeks for the high speed (ha!) Internet people to save her from her plight. Now, at long last, she has the keys to the Information Superhighway once more. She hopes to get back up to speed with you all soon.

Please forgive her. The weather is cold, she is tired, and her heart is heavy. She misses you all dearly.

Signed,

Sassy’s Third Person

Life, Liberty, and ROUNDHOUSE for Jesus!

Confession time. After seven long years of Dumb W’s war-mongering horror show and one long year of presidential debates, this political junkie finally overdosed on the whole thing. I just wasn't able to bring myself to obsess over the primaries.

For one thing, I didn’t really like any Democratic candidate. Hillary Clinton voted for the Iraq War and took a long time to back down from her support of it. I don’t think that Barack Obama has the experience necessary to lead the country. John Edwards doesn’t stand a chance in a national race. And, in addition to being a very late convert to a pro-choice position, Kucinich is a bit of a odd one. With choices like these, it was hard for me to get excited.

For another thing, I no longer live in New Hampshire. I figured that my primary vote will come too late to make much of a difference. Without much at stake with this vote, I thought that I may as well vote for a woman for president. It’s about time. That settled in my mind, I pretty much stopped paying close attention. I already knew that I'd vote for the Democratic nominee. It's their race to lose, right?

Maybe not. I might not have been obsessed with the primaries, but I wasn't completely out of the loop. In the last couple of months, Mike Huckabee caught my politically lazy eye and made me nervous. And damnit, if he didn’t win the Republican Iowa Caucus. Huckabee has charismatic charm reminiscent of another right-wing fascist fellow. Americans are suckers for charm, no matter what kind of anti-science, anti-choice, anti-secular society, anti-immigrant, anti-gay, anti-everything-that-we’re-supposed-to-stand-for face it masks. We had eight years of Reagan, and Dumb W rode on those coat tails. Huckabee is a problem.

Like I said, he got my attention. Among other things, I knew that he had been running some ads with Chuck Norris. I thought it was something of a joke, rather like that blender guy. But after watching Huckabee’s victory speech, I’m not so sure. Yes, that was CHUCK NORRIS standing right behind Huckabee when he gave his victory speech in Iowa—and it wasn’t a gag on Conan O’Brien. There was no lever. Does America really want a president, however charming he may be, who stands tall with Chuck Norris? Life, liberty, and ROUNDHOUSE for Jesus! Really?

Oh shit.

Travels with Fluff: Where in the Hell is Carmen, San Diego?

Happy New Year! Not much new here. Went out, drank too much, and spent New Year’s Day on the couch watching movies, thinking that it was about time I did my promised Fluff post. As some of you know, Little Sassy Schmoozer dragged me off to San Diego in November for a big conference. What a taskmaster! She had me glad-handing so many people, and she hardly let Fluff and me out of her sight to do the tourist thing. So, the pictures aren’t so good—and they’re all in the Gaslamp Quarter—but here they are.

Fluff went to Lee’s Café for breakfast one day. Lee’s Café is a rather amazing place. It’s a Chinese diner, meaning that they’ll do your eggs any way you like, or you can get Chinese food. You can also get cereal.

When Young Coworker and I followed Fluff into Lee’s, there were about ten men of various ages and backgrounds hunched silently over coffee and food. We knew we were in for a treat. It was fantastic.

An “Authentic Irish Pub” in San Diego. Because California is so like Ireland.

Yeah, yeah, Wyatt Earp.

Yikes! Fluff thought that maybe Fluff was illegal. We gave them the slip.

That’s it. I hate Little Sassy Schmoozer. She doesn’t let me have any fun. My Memphis friend and I are discussing taking a little trip somewhere exciting sometime soon, however, and LSS is not invited.

If you're new to Travels with Fluff, check out the link under Favorite Posts. Fluff gets around.

Tacky Holidays

My family values the art of giving the boobie prize. Rather like participants in the Tacky Gift party (which, sadly, did not happen this year, due to my friend’s freak beauty parlor accident, requiring pins in her wrist—now that she’s recovered, I’m thinking about throwing a re-gifting extravaganza in January), members of my family relish obtaining something hideous, wraping it up beautifully, and bestowing it upon our loved ones.

This year, I went with the holiday food basket. On a run to the supermarket, I spied Spam with Bacon and just couldn’t resist. I got quite a few curious looks when I placed these fine items on the belt.

I then wrapped them up like this and placed my gift under the tree.

Since I often bring home the good food for the holidays, my parents didn’t suspect this basket. The pork rinds got an especially hearty laugh. The folks plan to re-gift the love by serving up these goodies without comment to my sister and brother-in-law when they celebrate late Christmas with them.

And, lest you think that we confine the fun to gifts, behold the Christmas Hand.

One year, my father gave my mother a hand cookie cutter in her stocking. The next year, she dutifully used it, and a hand appeared among the gingerbread people display. We now demand its presence. This year it looked especially creepy.

Aren’t you glad I don’t celebrate the holidays with you?

Merry Christmas and Happy (Early) Year of the Mouse!

Received from a Chinese publisher. I love this.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy (early) Year of the Mouse!

Holiday Dating: Nice Dates with McAlmost and McGuyIUsedtoKnow

One evening in early December I somehow managed to online chat with both of these guys at the same time—and had agreed to go out with each of them. Wistfully I thought if only I could somehow combine parts of them, say McAlmost’s hilarious sense of the absurd with a dash of McGuyIUsedtoKnow’s wonder at it all, I would hit romantic paydirt. Paydirt, alas, I did not hit, but I still had a good time on my dates with these guys, and here are the stories.

Dinner and a Walk with McAlmost
Have you ever had one of those dates where you had a great time but just didn’t feel that desire to become someone’s special friend? Well, that was me with McAlmost. I suppose anyone after the McWorstDate would have appeared to be Prince Charming, but I really did enjoy my date with McA. Witty, smart, and an actual grownup, McA was pretty darn close to the closest thing I have to a type. What’s more, I was apparently pretty darn close to being his type. I’m not sure what it is about audio/other-type-of-computer engineer musicians, but they leap out of the screen for me. As my sister says in her best commercial voice, “If you like being an audio engineer and a musician, you’ll LOVE Sassy.” I don’t know. I can’t explain it.

In any event, over a yummy Indian dinner in Davis Square, McA and I bandied about stories and anecdotes, talking so long that we shut the place down. We then went out for a wintry walk about town, chatting and laughing some more. It would have been perfect, except that we were missing that ever-elusive chemistry. We got to the T stop at the end of the night, and we proceeded to gab for another fifteen minutes or so, shared a brief hug, and then parted ways.

Very Late to My Date with McGuyIUsedtoKnow
McGuyIUsedtoKnow didn’t recognize me for my shorter hair when he sent me what had to be the sweetest initial message I’ve ever received from an online guy. That’s the thing about McGIUK—he’s really sweet. So sweet that he waited for forty-five minutes for me when the lovely MBTA bus let me down. Yes, I was horribly late for this date. On my way, I almost wish he’d told me to forget it. I wasn’t sure if I could go through with seeing him again.

Back in the day, I had aspired to be one of those lovely, airy, peace-loving women who do Yoga and run around fire circles to celebrate the full moon. I know, funny. I’ve since learned that I am not one of those women, that I have what I call “sharp elbows” in my personality, and I’m too much of a skeptic to run around a fire circle without rolling my eyes at least a little bit. My intentions can be a bit pointed. I had given the hippie woman the college try, though, and it was around the height of this experiment that I had met McGIUK.

I don’t know how else to describe McGIUK other than to say that he’s a male version of who I wanted to be. He’s (very) smart and an activist, but he’s also a sweet, airy, Reiki-practicing man who runs around fire circles to celebrate the full moon. I didn’t know him well, but he was loosely connected to a peace group I hung around with years ago, and we had talked a few times. When I saw that he’d checked out my profile, I had a feeling I knew who he was, and when he sent me a message saying that he sensed that I had an open mind and an open heart and that he’d love to know me, that confirmed it.

I replied to his message thanking him for being so sweet, and I told him that we used to know each other a few years back. He replied that he’d sensed a cosmic familiarity about me. Wasn’t it just regular familiarity? I thought somewhat meanly, and I turned it into a joke in my message back. When he initiated an online chat session, it was apparent that he did indeed remember me but hadn’t gotten the joke—but he was so sweet that he charmed me. Or, rather, there was something about my resistance to his charms that made me feel like a bad person (what’s wrong with me that I consider “sweetness” a character flaw?). I felt compelled to give it a try.

My friends know just how much I was dreading this date—some of them asked my why I was even going. “Well, we know each other, and he still knows a few of my friends. How can I be the bitch who turned him down for a date? Who wouldn’t want to date McGIUK? He’s so SWEET!”

Well, meet we did, forty minutes later than originally planned, and I’m glad that I went through with it. We had an interesting conversation about things I don’t normally talk about on dates. I don’t know too many people these days who still work in the nonprofit sector. The years and all of the crap going on in the world had altered his understanding of possible change, and he was seeking some kind of employment that would allow him to pay the rent, but his basic optimism remained undimmed. It was refreshing, and he made me think.

Unfortunately, our time together did not convince me that we would make a good couple, and I think perhaps he felt otherwise. Our goodbye was a bit awkward. I do sincerely wish him a lovely, peaceful woman who will run around fire circles with him to celebrate the full moon. He’s a wonderful guy, and he deserves to be happy.

Epilogue
I did have one more date this holiday season, but I don’t entirely know what the story is there yet, so I’m not going to jinx it. Suffice it to say that I panicked a bit, but I didn’t completely lose my mind this holiday season. Instead I took advantage of holiday dating to branch out (OK, too far in a couple of cases) and see what’s out there. This isn’t the time of year to find the perfect date—but it is a great time to experiment. And even if things don’t work out with the last date, January’s coming, and that’s often when I find a guy who’s just right.

Holiday Dating: My One Hour and Fifteen Minutes with McWorstDate

Before he became McWorstDate, there were warning signs. McWD’s profile indicated that he was into polyamory (I’m not—in nursery school I declared, “Sharing is damn yucky stuff!” I’ve learned since then, but there are still some things I don’t share), and it didn’t look as though we had all that much in common. All the same, he seemed quirky and fun, and you just never know.

Now I know. Our date lasted one hour and fifteen minutes. We had agreed to meet for hot chocolate at a chocolatier’s in Harvard Square on a Sunday afternoon. McWD had arrived before I did, but didn’t snag a table before they filled up, and so we had to get our hot chocolate to go instead. We ordered, and I pulled out my wallet to make the obligatory gesture to pay for my drink. McWD let me pay for him too. We decided to wait for a few minutes by the candy counter to see if a table would open up. He wanted to talked about what a ripoff the high-quality chocolate was.

When it became obvious that we were going to strike out on the table front, we left. “I’m starving,” McWD said. “I really need a sandwich.” Then why didn’t you ask me to lunch? I thought. He led us into an Au bon Pain, not the big one in the square (bad enough), but a little hole in the wall next to a Bertucci’s. There I watched him eat a sandwich and drink a container of milk, as he told me about different people he’d dated from the web site. He then said, “I’m surprised my profile didn’t freak you out.”

I’m freaked out now, I thought but said something more polite. After he finished, we agreed to go to the Harvard Book store. “Where do you usually hang out in the bookstore?” he asked.

“Oh, usually the fiction section. Sometimes I check out criticism or poetry, but mostly I just stick to fiction.”

“Well, I really like the erotic section there,” my date said exactly thirty-five minutes into our first less-than-successful encounter. Not only did I find this comment to be a bit sketchy, but I also found it to be just plain odd. The erotic section in this store is one skinny little shelf, and so far as I can tell, it has mostly best-of collections. Odd pick, that one.

We wandered around the front of the store a bit before heading back to the fiction section. “Oh there’s your section,” I said to him, pointing out the little shelf right before the fiction.

“Did they move it?” he asked, surprised by its location.

“No.”

There, in the section, was a best-of gay men’s short fiction or something like that, featuring a ripped torso on the front cover with a book covering the goods. “Oh my god, that man is hot,” McWD said lustfully. “There is nothing like a really hot man’s chest.” Drool was practically dripping off his chin.

Excuse me? I know you are Mr. Polyamory Man, but you are out on a date with ME! I don’t want you talking about men. I don’t want you talking about other women. I want you to be talking about ME! Tell someone else about the bod!

“Yeah, that is one hot faceless torso,” I said and wandered into the fiction section. My date picked up a book, one I had actually enjoyed, and I said so. He found a damaged copy and decided to try to get a discount on it. “I used to work in a bookstore,” he said knowingly. Just then, his phone rang.

He answered it. Then he proceeded to talk for about fifteen minutes in the store. I nearly left, but for some reason, I didn’t. Instead, I wandered about the store pondering just how bad this date really was. He finished talking and then walked over to me and explained that a friend of his was contemplating dating her professor and she really needed advice. OK.

Next he went to the counter to try to procure a discount, only to be informed that discounts apply to the last copy only. “We have four available now,” I heard her say pointedly.

We left the store, and I informed him that I needed to go. He walked me to the T, gave me a weak hug, and then left to get his bike. I stayed down in the T station for about five minutes, walked back out and did some shopping. I got an e-mail from him saying that although the sparks didn’t fly that it was great to meet me. Yeah.

Next Post: Nice Dates with McAlmost and McGuyIUsedtoKnow