Thermostat

Been off the grid lately, not necessarily depressed, but off the wagon, so to speak.  Eating like a pig and drinking like a fish.  So, in my food and booze induced stupor, I found little inspiration to write.  I may be exaggerating the liquor stupor for effect, so don't go calling Candy Finnigan yet.

I've decided enough is enough and have cut down on my caloric intake at least.  Even started running on the treadmill with the aid of binaural beat meditations.  Then I got a nifty little game for the Wii called Just Dance 2, which has sent the treadmill back to dust bunny land.  I hate to say it, but my new found determination doesn't come from a desire to be healthy, but to be HOT!  I'm tired of seeing these chicks on TV looking so good when I know I can, too.  Yes, even at the tender age of 52.  I've seen women who look far older from the neck up with these fabulous bodies.  Pisses me off.

So, while I'm in this never ending quest for a relationship of the non plastic variety, I'm not sure I want to find a man who loves me just the way I am now.  If I'm to be honest, I'd rather be desired than be romanced sometimes.  I want men to see me and say God DAMN!!  Which is what I thought when I saw this mega hot guy coming out of my lobby and into the parking lot this morning.  All I saw was the back of him, his gorgeous, muscled arms, the still wet hair on his neck, sinewy legs, tight ass...  I couldn't have cared less what he looked like, although he is probably handsome, but that BODY!  Whoa!  Memo to me:  Girl, start thinking according to your chronological – not your mental – age.  He's way too young for you.  [Oh, but the possibilities!]

Anyway.  Relationships vs Freedom.  This annoying duality has plagued me all my life.  I have had two long term relationships and they have been great.  But, I also enjoy that wonderfully free time in between.  What to do?  I am quasi determined to hold out for the real thing.  However, I got two intriguing calls this past week which made me think.  One was from my ex on his birthday.  Another from one of the skeletons in my closet.  Both short term options, but do I want them?

If I ever settle for short term, I prefer someone with whom I don't have a history with. What would be the point?

The thermostat is on high. Maybe it's just menopause.

You've got to be in it to win it

January 16, 2011

A blonde finds herself in serious trouble. Her business

has gone bust and she’s in dire financial straits. She’s

so desperate that she decides to ask God for help. She

begins to pray… “God, please help me. I’ve lost my

business and if I don’t get some money, I’m going to lose

my house as well. Please let me win the lotto.”

Lotto night comes, and somebody else wins it.

She again prays… “God, please let me win the lotto!

I’ve lost my business, my house and I’m going to lose my

car as well.” The Lotto night comes and she still has no

uck.

Once again, she prays… “My God, why have You forsaken me?

I’ve lost my business, my house, and my car. My children

are starving. I don’t often ask You for help, and I have

always been a good servant to You.

PLEASE let me win the lotto just this one time so I can get

my life back in order.”

Suddenly there is a blinding flash of light as the heavens

open. The blonde is overwhelmed by the Voice of God Himself…

”Sweetheart, work with Me on this… Buy a ticket.”

I like to think of myself as an antisocial butterfly. I certainly know how to make friends, talk to people and, generally, be the life of the party. I am not a dull person. If I am at a social function, I am not the girl in the corner, nursing a drink and looking uncomfortable. And yet, I don't like going out as much as I used to.

I am a homebody at heart. I prefer to stay at home with a good book and maybe a bottle of wine. I like watching movies with the kids til the wee hours. I don't mind going to sleep early on a Friday night if my body demands it. If given the choice between party and home these days, sadly, I would pick home nine times out of ten. Unfortunately, men don't usually come knocking at my door and say, “Hi, my name is So-and-So, and I'd like to ask you out on a date. Whaddayasay?”

New York City Lotto uses a catchy slogan for buyers: You've gotta be in it to win it. So, like the joke above, I've decided to buy a ticket! I have decided to accept (almost) all invitations thrown at me lately, with the understanding that there are men outside of my door who may be interesting to look at and who may want to know my name.

I mean, let's face it. I spend nine hours at work, one hour commuting. As far as men are concerned, there aren't many candidates at my job, and those who look good are either too young or too married. Besides, I prefer dating someone who earns more than me.

Mind you, even though I grumble and complain when I receive an invitation, I have a great time when I go out with friends. I enjoy the dancing, drinking, loud conversations and jokes. I have a ball. After I get there, that is. Otherwise, it's like going to the beach for me. I hate going to the beach. I love being at the beach, the warm sand and refreshing water. Lying on my towel with a good book. Good times. It's the planning I don't like. Making the commitment, packing the cooler, preparing sandwiches. Finding a good parking spot. Returning home drunk and full of wet sand. I just realized what a disturbing analogy this is to dating, what with the wet sand and all. But you get my point.

In a typical 6/49 game, six numbers are drawn from a range of 49 and if the six numbers on a ticket match the numbers drawn, the ticket holder is a jackpot winner—this is true no matter in which order the numbers appear. The probability of this happening is 1 in 13,983,816. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

How many single women in their fifties do you think are playing lotto tonight?

The first syllable in Diet is DIE!

I was not born to cruise salad bars.  Instead, I will increase the incline on my treadmill.

Hunting and Gathering

January 5, 2011 

Manhunt?  What is that?  I've never hunted anything, let alone something as big as a man! I'm not tooting my own horn when I say I've never actively engaged in the pursuit of a man.  Seriously.  I am, by nature, shy.  My friends will probably laugh so hard at this that beer will come out of their noses, but it's true.  Oh, I'm very friendly, and at times the life of a party.  But that is with the people I ALREADY know.  My friends come to me as my men do, by chance.  Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?  Is that old-fashioned thinking?

I spent the weekend at a friend's beach house with some very good friends.  We were all gathered on the porch talking -- what else? -- relationships.  My good friend Carlos stated that when he was single he was actively, if not desperately, looking for a mate.  He was becoming increasingly frustrated because he could not find the perfect woman for him.  So much so, that he finally -- sort of -- gave up.  He was always on alert, but his heart was just not that into it.  Around that time, he was invited to a party which he reluctantly attended and BAM! there she was.  MS PERFECT!  They have been married for over 10 years and are annoyingly happy!  I 
love them both.

Also that afternoon, a good friend who is recently divorced made the following statement:  "I have already asked the Universe for the man I want." 

That is a very metaphysical statement.  It's also very true.  When you want something, anything, just ask the Universe and a process will go into motion to get you what you want.  Always.  Matthew 7:7, "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you”. The other part of that metaphysical law: after you ask, detatch yourself from the outcome.  No thinking how it's going to happen, when it's going to happen or why hasn't it happened yet?  This is exacly what happened to my friend Carlos when he gave up on 'hunting' for a woman, she materialized because he wanted her.  Another word for this is praying


I am sure Nora will find her perfect man.  She's definitely having a wonderful time and enjoying 

her life in the meantime.

After I returned home, I read this article on the internet: How to Make 2011 your Year for Love by Barrie Dolnick.  http://yahoo.match.com/y/article.aspx?articleid=5729&TrackingID=526103&BannerID=710175.

In this article, Dolnick gives some advice for finding a man. One of them is very similar to what Nora did. You light a candle and sit in the middle of the room. You read out loud from a list of everything you want in a mate and then you blow out the candle. A little hocus pocus for me, but, if the whole ritual thing is what works for you, be my guest. It's still the same metaphysical concept of asking the Universe for what you want. Don't forget, after you blow out the candle, detach yourself from the outcome.

The advice I found most interesting is act 'as if' you are already in a relationship. What? Be sexually frustrated, walk around grumping and cranky, muttering under my breath about the friggin' toilet seat being up, AGAIN? Perhaps the author can modify that to, act 'as if' I'm in the perfect relationship. That's better. She's advices to get your act together, learn to cook, clean out the unwanted stuff in your closet to make room for you-know-who. In other words, prepare your home for a possible intrud – ahem! – man.

I think that's very good advice, not just to find a man. I think it's very good advice to find yourself. Anytime there is too much clutter or two many activities in your life, you don't have much time for yourself. You don't care that there isn't enough food in the fridge. Mind you, you go out of your way to feed your children or those friends coming over, but you? You'll eat whatever.

In the morning you skip breakfast, you'll throw on anything you can find that is half pressed and doesn't smell. Forgot to shave? Wear pants. Makeup? Later. Your room may be a mess, too many knicknacks around the house, too many clothes from twenty pounds ago which you refuse to throw out because YOU WILL lose that weight.

Living 'as if'? That's actually pretty good advice for self. For preparing to be in a relationship with yourself. And I believe that is the most important relationship. Before you can enter into a relationship with a man, you need to enter in to a relationship with yourself. You need to recognize who you are, and love her.

Then you can work on that intruder.

2011

A new year.  I resolve nothing!  I'm not going to join a gym, not going to call Jenny Craig.


I'm going to live one day at a time as I've been doing for the past fifty one years.  It has worked thus far.


Going to the beach for the weekend with two girlfriends.  I know that doesn't really help me in the 'manhunt', but it helps my PARTY!


Happy New Years y'all.

Mechanical Allegories

December 29, 2010


There is a joke that says that men are like parking spots, all the good ones are taken. Well, that depends on what you consider a good parking spot, my friend. At my age, I have given up circling the mall looking for the perfect spot when I go shopping. I actually look for the furthest spot, preferably in the shade. You probably think this is some kind of metaphor about how my priorities have shifted and my standards have lowered now that I'm older and it is more difficult to find men. Well, let me tell you, finding men – at any age – is as easy as “walking” into a chat room and typing, “Hi, my name is Lolita and I'm here to party!”


The reason I started parking far from the entrance to the mall started as and oft-suggested technique to get a little extra exercise into my day. You've read about it: park far and walk, climb the stairs instead of the elevator, shower in pairs. I may be wrong about the last one.


Anyway, I started to park farthest from the entrance in order to burn 7 calories, now I do it because it's convenient. As soon as I roll into the mall, I turn to the right or left and, voila! There, all along the border of the parking lot are scores of empty parking slots. This, of course, does not apply to holidays. I park, preferably under a tree, I close my car and I walk to the battlefield, passing scores of circling cars with annoyed chauffeurs inquiring: “Are you leaving? Are you parked close? HELP ME, PLEASE!!! I NEED TO SHOP!”


How far is it to the mall entrance, anyway? Has anyone done any research as to how many SECONDS you have to walk to the nearest door? Is that much shopping time lost? It takes an average of 61 seconds between parking far away and shopping bliss versus 71 seconds of circling. If you don't' believe me, check out Ivan Peterson's Math Trek.*


No one ever fights over a parking space at the fringes of the mall lot. No one, that is, except during holidays, that time of year when some people tend to feel lonely and depressed. Well, some people. I park far because I choose to, not because I have to.


Anyway, enough with that metaphor. On to another one.


When I was a young woman, I had my preferences as far as men went. They had to be very tall, very thin and preferably with dirty blonde hair. It so happens, most of the time that was the type of man I attracted. Opposites attract, you see, since I'm 5'4" and quite tanned. I have had two marriages and one long-term relationship since then. Only one was over six feet, none had blonde hair. With time, one realizes that what is attractive is not always on the surface.


These days, I smile inwardly when I hear young women talking about, "I don't like black men." "I hate like fat men." "I would never date an Asian guy." What? It's like going to a buffet and picking the same thing over and over. Me? I'll take the smothered pork with collard greens, the sausage lasagna and some Kung Pao Shrimp, please. And for dessert?


I'll have a parking space in the shade.


* http://www.maa.org/mathland/mathtrek_12_12_05.html

Quiero que me hagas el amor

December 27, 2010

This evening, after work, I was at my usual hangout: the supermarket. I'm moseying around aimlessly – as I refuse to ever write a list of what I need. This leads to buying too much of what I don't need, and very little of what I do need. There is an inordinate amount of mature couples tonight, I notice. Not necessarily elderly, but older. Tired. Bored. Sick of each other. A particular couple catches my eyes – and ears – because they are American. Not just American, NEW YORKERS. That accent is unmistakable, probably because I share in it. But my version has a little Puerto Rico in it, knowhattamean?

Anyway, the husband (I am asuming, as no one else could be this sour looking next to a woman) is walking next to his wife, discussing the prices of various luncheon meats. He seems offended that prices have risen a tad since the vietnam war. So he's walking, with that waddle that so many gentlemen seem to acquire with age, and he's mumbling to himself and/or his wife, whoever listens.

At this point, the supermarket speakers begin to pour forth a song by Ednita Nazario, "Quiero que me Hagas el Amor." Lyrics follow:

Ednita Nazario

Quiero que me hagas el amor

No necesariamente
Tiene que ser ahora
No necesariamente
Tiene que ser urgente
Pero una furia loca
Pone mi sangre ardiente
¯Qué será? ¿Qué será?
¯Qué será? ¿Será el amor?

No necesariamente
Tiene que ser aprisa
Pero hoy quiero abrazarte
Perderme en tu sonrisa
Hazme llegar al cielo
Con un latido eterno
Lento, lento, lento

Quiero que tú me ames
Cómo si fuera única
Quiero que me acorrales
En el rincón más íntimo
Y enredada a tu cuerpo
Te robaré el aliento
Quiero que me hagas el amor
Quiero que me hagas el amor

No necesariamente
Tiene que ser perfecto
Deja volar tu mente
Entre el amor y el sexo
Bajo esta luna blanca
Danza feliz mi cuerpo

No necesariamente
Tiene que ser legítimo
Quiero entregarme toda
Y que sea recíproco
Hazme temblar el alma
Hasta la luz del alba
Furia, calma, furia, calma

Quiero que tú me ames
Como si fuera única
Quiero que me acorrales
En el rincón más íntimo
Y enredada a tu cuerpo
Te robaré el aliento
Quiero que me hagas el amor
Quiero que me hagas el amor, oh, oh
Quiero que me hagas el amor
Quiero que me hagas... el amor

For those of you who don't know Spanish, get a translator! I understand you may lose a little in the translation, so I will give you the gist of it.

This is a woman who's, shall we say, in need?  She starts slowly, calmly telling this man who may or may not be her significant other, that she wants him to TEAR IT UP! She's basically saying to him: “Dude, you're a lion, I'm a gazelle. Any questions?”

This desperate crescendo gets increasingly less figurative as the song builds up (if you'll pardon the oxymoron). In any event, the song is pretty hot and to the point, which makes me take notice of the men (of course) again, but, as I stated earlier, it was oatmeal and prune night at the store.

I start thinking about these men and how they would have responded to this request if they had a few years (okay, a few decades) less on their baggage. The men were all pretty much healthy (they were walking, weren't they?), many had a full head of hair and strong arms still. I wondered about the come hither look my New York husband would give his lady, how their bodies would warm up and their neurons would start to fire. Furia, Calma, Furia, Calma! I stopped myself short of imagining the end of the song, if you knowhattamean. I did not need to throw up on the nice polished floor.

Since I am obviously still a very sexual person and it doesn't look like my drive is going anywhere any time soon, I can't help but to wonder: what's it gonna be like when I'm moseying around the supermarket next to my waddler. Am I going to be a sex-starved housewife, blaming the produce for being so provocative? Who decides when I stop having sex? A man? Really? Depressing.

I'm a hopeless romantic, I don't want little bursts of adventure. I believe in love and marriage and so on and so forth. I want a man to share the rest of my life with, someone I can live happily ever after with.

As soon as my divorce is finalized.