Why Internet Dating Will Never Work For Me

I made a small confession of affection last night. I did it the way we do in the digital age: e-mail. All day, I've been awaiting the response. In my mind, it seemed such a large gesture. In his inbox, it's just another message that, if time, may get answered. As it is well into the evening and my inbox is empty, I think I'll go the face-to-face, answer-me-now-or-leave-me-forever route next time.

Home Is Where Someone Else's Stuff Is

Lately, when no one is around, I've been stopping to stare at each room in my house from the doorway. More and more, I feel this is home. Much of that feeling I attribute to the presence of Kirsten's furniture. She's making a life transition, and that means I get to house her wares until she's settled again. I joke to her that I'm never giving certain items back, like the rug and that green chair, but eventually, I know I'll have to. Until then, I'll capture moments from the doorway when the light hits everything just right and think, this is mine.

"Maybe it's ringworm,"

Kirsten said after I pointed out a red dot on either side of my neck just above the collarbone.

"Ringworm!" I dashed to the bathroom mirror to take another look. "How would I get ringworm?"

"You can get it from stress," she replied.

Stress. God dammit. If those seventh graders have given me ringworm, I'm gonna be really ticked off.

"Let me look again." Kirsten took a better look under the light above the sink.

"That's not ringworm," she stated indignantly, as if I had been the one to suggest it in the first place. "That's from your jacket or something."

Of course it wasn't ringworm, I never said it was, but it did make for some nice drama on an otherwise quiet evening.

Reso-fucking-lution

Bdoc sent this guest entry a week ago, and I was reminded of it last night at the gym when I had to park a mile from the building because of the resolutioners. When will they just give up on getting fit? At any rate, here's another rambling from my potty-mouthed sister. Earmuffs, please.

That’s what I call them. I bet jdoc didn’t contemplate that she would have an X-rated blog site once I became a guest blogger. Nevertheless, that’s what I call them. For those of you who can’t read through the blaring sailor talk, you might refer to them as Resolutions; as in New Year’s. Or maybe you could refer to them, as I do, as RFLs.

I have to admit that I don’t have even one. Not. One. I will forever and consistently have the goal of losing weight, getting in better shape, getting on the cover of Self magazine (or at least LOOK like I could be on the cover). Those goals, for me, don’t end at January 31 at 12 midnight sharp like every other short-timer at the gym who is taking up precious time and space on the elliptical runner from those of us that are loyal and there YEAR ROUND!!!

So I’m not even counting those in this list.

Additionally, I don’t need to work on keeping in contact with my sisters more often. Last year jdoc and I decided that we were going to be better about keeping in touch. I think we accomplished that. After all, she can’t even answer the phone because of all the minutes we’ve used. I figure, as long as jdoc and I keep driving our cars, we will always be in touch. And cdoc calls every 5 minutes when she’s not working so I know I’ll never lose touch with her.

I guess my RFL for this year is to be able to think of a RFL by next year. To recap, here’s my list of RFLs:

1. Find a RFL for next year.
2. Buy a computer so I can stop plaguing jdoc’s fans with the random ramblings of her sister….

A Body of Knowledge

It should have taken twenty minutes, but an hour and five soaked towels later, pal and colleague, Greg, had the new parts correctly attached to the toilet tank. Maybe it was the wine from dinner, the trace of caffeine in our decaf coffees, or the fact that we work with 7th graders, but I'm sure the job took longer because of the giggle fits every time we read "ballcock," "lock nut," or "nipple" in the written directions for the job. We also enjoyed shouting out these words to Greg's wife, Paula, in the other room each time she asked what we were laughing about. I thought that I needed help with these home project because of my general lack of skill and ability in all things home-related, but now I realize it just wouldn't be as fun giggling in the bathroom alone.

Uninvited House Guest

From my January horoscope:

Neptune will remain at the very bottom of your chart, positioned in your fourth house of home and property, for many years to come, but will now become one of the fixed planets in the star pattern I discussed above. Neptune is associated with water and problems associated with floods, water contamination, and mold, to name a few examples.

Let's see. In September, the sink backed up and I had to call a drain specialist. Shortly thereafter, I discovered that the shower was leaking into the basement through the tile, and just last week that disaster was solved. Two days ago, the flapper in the toilet decided to start leaking, and when I tried to remedy that problem, I couldn't get the fill valve to catch and the tank just kept filling and filling and filling. After shutting off the water and tinkering with the parts a bit, the flapper now works if you hold it down for twenty seconds and the tank fills to the waterline. But only, I am sure, until I replace the corroded and rusty parts. And after that? Only Neptune knows, but I'm sure he'll have the pipes bursting in no time.

How I know my brain is still on break even though the rest of me had to go back to work

"I have a hankering for Indian food. Do you know of a good place?" Kirsten asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "I do. It's in St. Paul and called Taste of Thailand."

Pause.

"Oh. But is that Indian?" This follow-up was kind and undeserved.

"Actually. No. It's not." What does one say after that?

This conversation was yesterday, but today in front of the seventh graders, my reasoning skills had not much improved. Luckily, their grogginess rivaled my own and we got along just fine.

Waxing Philosophical (And I'm Not Even Drunk)

We cannot help but hope to become better. And to me, the state of becoming seems like a nice place to be. No final resolutions, just ever and always becoming. I'm gonna unpack my things, settle in, and call it home. For whatever purpose and to whatever end, becoming is the Thing. With a capital T.