wow,,,,I did didn't I?


YES,,,I DID!!!!!!!




OH'BOY I USE FEW WORDS HERE THIS IS SO COOL AND FAR ABOVE ME,,,I MAY ADD,,,NOT TO MENTION THAT I ACCOMPLISHED ALL THAT IN SUCH A FEW WORD STYLE AND SENTENCE STRUCTURE THAT I REALLY AMAZED MY SELF AND EVERYONE ELSE,,AND,,,,,,, oh,,,,, Sorry,,
I did IT again,,,didn't i???

sheesh...

Okay...so maybe the word "concise" isn't in my vocabulary!

Though I just used it, so obviously that's not true. I know what it means, I just choose to ignore the concept.

Hence why I have less than 1,000 posts. I lump 'em all in to one giant one!

Nah, I just write whatever comes to mind. Short, long, good, bad or indifferent; I just write for the sake of writing.

04-06 (just barely)

I'm a night owl. I was born at 2:00 in the morning, or thereabouts, and I think I naturally prefer the darkness. It's not like I shriek in the presence of sunshine though. In fact, au contraire, I adore the sun more than your average chick. At like noontime though.

If I see a sunrise, it's usually because I'm still up from the night before. While I arose bleary eyed and non-bushy tailed at 5:00 am for nearly ten years, those days are behind me now that I don't work at 911 anymore. Once I left there, I decided that one, the world sucks, and two, I don't need to get up to a sucky world bright and early every damn day.

While I'm slowly changing my mind about premise number one, the second one has embedded itself deeper than a tick in a deer's arse. I stay up until all hours of the night, sleep whenever I damn well feel like it, and time has basically ceased existing in my weird world.

Except that it's still progressing. I see new gray hairs everyday, so it must be true. But I don't worry about them, or the passage of time too much. I sleep when I'm tired. I eat when I'm hungry. I'd have sex when I was horny if I had someone to do that with too, but you get what I'm saying. I kind of like this lifestyle, unconstrained and with virtually no limitations as to what I can do when. It's almost like making love in a deserted location far off the beaten path, or skinny dipping in a lake under the moonlight. There's just something magical about it.

Unless the cops roll up and you have a broken leg and can't hobble out of the lake fast enough and your boyfriend has to talk to the cop who wants you to come out to verify you're okay, but you can't because you're hiding in the weeds naked, so you have to yell that you were just trying to cool off the leg 'cause the cast gets hot and itchy and that really, truly, you're fine and yes officer, you're there of your own volition. Then it's not so magical.

Hypothetically speaking, of course! Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

But the point is, time really is just a waste of time. It doesn't matter in the slightest. Day or night, minutes or hours, yesterday, today or tomorrow, the only thing that really matters is that we enjoy it. All of it. Every friggen moment we can, because who knows when the carpet's going to be yanked out from under our feet and we could just end up taking a dirt nap. Life is unpredictable, we better enjoy it while it's here.

I don't always do it, and sometimes I do it at the oddest times, but at least I do it when I can. That's more than I can say about sex!

04-06 (still...but later on...I was up celebrating my birth hour...actually just couldn't sleep again so I'm back...kinda like Freddy movies!)

Since I wrote earlier about enjoying life, I thought I should maybe list a few things that I've enjoyed in the last 24 hrs. It might provide "THE ONE" some critical clue that he needs to know in order to devise the perfect email to gain my heart.

Hah! Right! Insomnia is a more likely culprit, but anyways, here's the list. It's not all inclusive, but it'll kill a few minutes devising it and maybe I'll be able to sleep afterwards.

Enjoyments I've experienced in the last day:

1. Sleep, ironically
2. Dreaming, while I was doing number one above, and during Chem class. Actually, I probably do it quite often throughout the day. I'm addicted to dreaming, asleep or awake.
3. The money sucking teenager earning his keep by cooking dinner for a change, and even doing the dishes afterwards. He's gotta want something, but he's yet to spit it out. Must be a doozy.
4. Being able to finally pass that slow arse big 'ole truck that I followed for ten miles to class.
5. Three oreo cookies dunked in a glass of chocolate milk at 3:00 am. And then one more, carefully unscrewed, both sides defrosted via tongue action, and the remaining barren wafers submerged for long enough to make 'em gooey but not long enough for 'em to fall apart in the milk.
6. The dog's tail whipping me in the face when I bent down to say "Hey boy. Did you miss me today? You did! You want a treat? Were you a good boy? Did you eat the couch? No? Good boy Trot! Here's your special cookie." Yah, he owns me.
7. The feel of my kitties bellies, soft under my finger tips as the thrumming of their purrs vibrate through them while I move from head to tail down the sleek fur. Is thrumming even a word? I don't know, but that's how it feels.
8. The satisfaction of walking around campus in my Sox cap, Sox championship hooded sweatshirt and Sox windbreaker after coming back to beat the Yankees in the home opener Sunday night to start the season off. Smiling at the morons sportin' the NY logos was even sweeter.
9. The song "Through Glass" by Stone Sour. One among many. My musical taste ranges widely. Depends on my mood. I can go from country to oldies to hard rock to jazz. About the only thing I don't much care for is hard rap crap. The kind where they talk about shooting cops and raping chicks. Makes no sense to me, though neither does opera but I'd rather listen to that than the former.
10. The written word. How could I not mention that?! After pages and pages of writing, I suppose that's about as obvious as a prostitute's love of money. C'mon, they don't do it for the romance I imagine; Pretty Woman was just a movie after all. They can't be that dumb! Or perhaps they can. I dunno. I just know I like to write, so it makes the list. Beyond that is anybody's guess. I have no clue why people do what they do. Hell, I don't have a clue as to why I do what I do! Like make silly lists about non-sensical things. Especially since there's about a one in a zillion chance it'll help me meet "THE ONE". But here's the list nevertheless. I'll blame it on insomnia.

Okay, that'll do it for now. I think I might be able to sleep here shortly. Of course, I think I might fall in love someday too, so don't go holding your breath; I could be back in an hour or two telling you the things I'm going to try to enjoy tomorrow, the list most likely headed by sleep again. Damn insomnia.

04-06 (more than halfway gone now)

I dreamt again! My subconscious must be getting all kinds of pissed off at me or something. Damn neural impulses.

But I awoke with a brilliant idea. I should list reasons why I'd make a helluva "THE ONE" for "THE ONE".

1. I fold a mean shirt in no time flat.
2. I can order the hell out of pizza.
3. I have enough finesse to remove splinters and enough brute strength to chop a cord of wood.
4. Doesn't cost too much to participate in things I enjoy...nature, sex, sleep, sex, reading, sex, writing, sex, etc. Well, you get the drift. Money can't buy happiness.
5. I believe sex is a treasure that should be given to only one lucky person..."THE ONE"...and if ever found, it will be flippin' amazing!
6. I provide hours of endless entertainment doing stupid things that ya just gotta laugh at or you'd have to punch me.
7. I ate a worm for $1 when I was a kid because the boy down the block said a girl would never do that. I showed him! I can do anything I put my mind to!
8. I've been single damn near my whole life, raising my son the right way, taking care of myself and I'm ready to get back in the dating game now. I may have a few gray hairs, but they're well deserved and hidden under a Sox cap most of the time.
9. My heart is true, and so is this profile. I'm about as real as ya get, like it or lump it. I might not be the best looking, the most financially secure, the brightest individual, or the life of the party, but I'd bring a smile to your face in my presence.
10. I talk a whole lot less than I write.

04-07

I had to pick classes for next year today. Sounds simple but so does opening a rootbeer bottle and I can't do that either sometimes.

I did it finally, but I'm not entirely convinced I made the right choices. Instead of chemistry and biology, I'm taking a class on fiction and sociology. The difference in homework is astounding...picture climbing Mt. Everest compared to scaling an ant hill.

I'll have so much more time to do the things that I enjoy though, like writing for one. Ya might have noticed I have a thing for it. I've tried to keep it under wraps to no avail obviously. I figure I might as well leash it up and see where it goes now that it's out of the bag. No since in struggling to keep an itch from itching, better to just scratch the damn thing.

I gave up pursuing a Bachelor of Science degree in psychology with a double minor in Bio and Chem for a BA in Psyche with just a Chem minor. What this means for my future is that I apparently won't be discovering the cure for Alzheimers single handedly, nor will I be swimming in a pool of money behind my luxury ridden home on American Dream Way.

I think a BA in psyche qualifies me for a leg up as a clerk at a 7-11 or something like that. I'll probably be living out of my truck with my laptop plugged into a generator sitting in the back of it, typing away at this profile still looking for "THE ONE" twenty years from now, but I won't be stressed. In fact, I'm pretty excited about my newfound path in life.

Who wanted to have their hands stuck in a bunch of gooey brains all day anyways? What was I thinking! I'm 40. By the time I finished my schooling for neuroscience and became a doctor, I'd be in the geriatric ward resting between rounds.

While I think I'm smart enough to have accomplished the feat, I think that ship sailed years ago. I chose a different path back then, and it's foolish for me to try to follow the dreams of my youth instead of my current dreams. If I'm going to be happy, I need to do what I want to do, not what I think others would approve of or wish for me.

Maybe I'm being selfish for the first time in my life. I don't know. It feels odd, but I know that my final year in college will be way less stressful and I'll still be able to knock that one off "The list of things to do before I die!". Graduate from college. Check.

And with the fairly easy course load, I'll probably have plenty of time to check off a bunch more of the other things on the list too. Hell, I could remove my head from the chemistry books and read one of Lex's novels. He's a writer on here, and a damn good one at that actually, including 4 books to his credit, not to mention the world's longest profile. It makes this one look like a sentence! Hard to believe but I don't lie. Check the forums if you doubt me.

Point is, there are lots of things I'd like to do and I think I'm finally going to get the chance to do them. I think I made some hard choices today, but I'm also feeling like sometimes you have to follow your heart instead of your head. I've led with my brain nearly my whole life and look where it's gotten me! I was headed into somebody's head, literally. Now I'm headed into my own to see what I can accomplish following my heart.

Whoa...there's a scary thought. World beware. You've been warned. This might not be pretty. But it should be amusing! And it will certainly be less stressful than trying to learn Chemistry. I'm ready to make some instead, with "THE ONE", if I can locate him. Maybe he'll stop by the local 7-11.

04-09

Only a month left in school before I get to enjoy the summer recess. This mid-life crisis thing's working out rather well for me!

I'm 40 and get to live like a college student, although I don't do beer pong. Or frat parties, or frat boys. Maybe I'm not a college girl after all.

But I attend, and therefore technically qualify, at least for another 395 days. Senior year's coming and I can't wait for the prom. No, not really, but I am excited about graduating eventually. I'm not sure what it'll do for me, but it was on "The List of Things to Do before I Die!" so it's sweet that it's within reach. Especially because the last year will be a breeze since I busted arse the past two.

What will I do with all my free time coming up? Not quite sure yet! Churn out a book hopefully. Besides this one.

Maybe I'll go on a "THE ONE" expedition. Throw a cooler full of bottled water and the dog in the truck, hit the road with "Boyfriend or Bust" soaped onto the back window in big block letters.

Wonder if it'd work? Probably better than my current plan of action, which includes waiting patiently for him to knock at the door with a note from The Big Guy Upstairs authorizing the hook-up.

I searched the house so I'm confident I'm not going to find him sitting in here. The obvious solution seems to be to leave the cave, so that's my intention, once summer rolls around. Perfect timing too.

Warm breezes. Creamies on a hot night. Skinny dipping in the lake or river. Backyard barbeques, bonfires, and baseball. Sunshine and strolls hand in hand. I love the allure of the summertime possibilities.

And I love my friggen life today. More so than yesterday but hopefully not as much as someday. I can only imagine that "THE ONE" would make things even sweeter, although I have no direct evidence to support this hypothesis. I'm listening to the murmur of life's audience.

So I'll remain open to the possibility as I frolic along, content basking in the heat of the sun, warmth in my heart, waiting with bated breath for "THE ONE" to find me. And when he does, we'll make one helluva ruckus enjoying all this free time coming up.

Man do I wish I could start yesterday, but the Chem book still beckons relentlessly for a few more Friday nights. I try to ignore it, but it's like the money sucking teenager...it won't go away until I just deal with the problem. But I created biodiesel this week from vegetable oil, so if I can do that, I can manage to buckle down for another couple of weeks.

After that, all bets are off. I'll be a woman on a mission. Life awaits and I intend to enjoy every damn minute of it!!

04-10

Stop the presses. I left the cave tonight in an attempt to socialize, aka hunt for "THE ONE".

I showered, shaved (just in case), and even threw on a little mascara for good measure. Girls are supposed to wear make-up when they go on the prowl, I think; it's been awhile, like years, plural, but I vaguely recall war paint being part of the ritual.

I opted for light blue Levis, topped with a blank dressy tank, underneath a cute black zippered sweater. I dug out my old comfy black leather boots, and 2 condoms buried in the recesses of my underwear drawer (just in case). A girl's got to be prepared ya know. I'm fixed so conception isn't an issue, but unsafe sex is like playing Russian Roulette in slo-mo. No thanks.

I blew the dust off 'em to check the expiration date, and determined I have two more years to get my money's worth. Good thing. The durable little suckers must have a 5 yr shelf life. I didn't want to have to go into the convenience store to buy them again.

Here's why. Flashback, three years ago. I'd joined the modern ages and switched from internet through the phone line to high speed cable access. A hot young cable guy showed up, a Bostonian contractor with an affinity for hyperactive lab puppies and older Vermont women apparently.

Being oblivious to things like being hit on by young hot cable guys, I didn't realize he was doing so until I found his wrench sitting on my TV later that night and the girls at work convinced me that he wasn't just being a nice polite young man when he mentioned the hotel they'd put him up in for the week. I deluded myself into thinking maybe The Big Guy Upstairs had sent him. I'd been waiting for the knock at the door, and he did have some papers with my name on 'em.

Long story longer, I called the company, told him he left his tool, and he returned the next afternoon to retrieve it. We chatted for awhile while Trot molested him with dog kisses and I considered my own version of an assault. After he mentioned that this was his last stop for the day and he was ready for a beer, I froze on the spot and just giggled. He left.

The girls at work nearly killed me the next day. To remedy the situation, I went to the hotel that night, found his cable truck and stuck a rather creative note on his windshield, basically saying if he ever needed some company to give me a call. He did before I'd even gotten home. I did a few shots of liquid courage knowing what I was getting myself into, and stopped at the convenience store to prepare.

I stroll in and meander up to the counter, and in my quietest voice, I ask the clerk for a package of condoms. She asks what kind. "I don't know...the usual ones" I say, embarrassed. "It's been awhile" I whisper, and she laughs. There are a couple of young guys at the next register, and the clerk covertly grabs the box of Trojans, turns back around and manages to trip and fling 'em across the floor, creating a huge ruckus in the process. The other clerk picks 'em up, proudly displaying 'em to everyone around, and they all watch as I'm now leaning on the counter with my head in my hands in utter agony.

Everyone in the store is laughing as the clerk tells me to have a good night, and I reply "Well, obviously you all know I intend to. Thanks much!" and I walked out three shades of red.

I shoulda known then. Meaningless sex has never been my thing, but it'd been nearly five years and I was thinking the touch of a man might be nice.

I proceeded to the hotel room, and awkwardly floundered my way through the novel experience. After explaining that I don't normally meet strangers in hotel rooms, especially 25 yr olds with killer bodies, we got down to business. That's about the best I can describe it, as it was one of the strangest experiences of my life.

He was freaked because apparently I put feeling into it. How does one have sex without it? Was I supposed to just lay there? I dunno, but it seemed to floor him. Afterwards, I told him that although I'd enjoyed myself, all I could picture was getting to the pearly gates and having God standing there with hands firmly planted on hips, booming "What about the cable guy?!" He laughed, told me he'd never met a girl quite like me (something I hear often) and fell asleep draped over my naked body. I snuck out a few hours later, undetected, with a smile on my face but a sadness in my heart. While physically satisfying, it didn't do much for me otherwise; it meant nothing. Sex shouldn't be like that.

Hence why it's been so long since I've prowled. Not sure why I decided tonight should be the night for another escapade, but I hit the road with the best of intentions at around 11 pm. I made it downtown, parked on Main St. and watched the crowds traipse in and out of the bars for nearly two hours. I never left the Ford.

I couldn't do it. I can't hunt. I can't do meaningless sex. No matter how much I miss the feel of a man's touch. No matter how lonely I get sometimes. No matter that it probably wouldn't be difficult to score a piece of arse. Girls have it easy like that. If you want some, it's available. But at what cost? Self respect?

The cable guy's my one crazy arse antic of this lifetime. I just don't want that to be how it goes down the next time I get naked with a man. I've waited this long, what's a little longer? After all, I have two years left before the Trojans expire!

04-12

I'm starting to get discouraged about ever finding "THE ONE". My revolving profile is spitting out future prospects slower than the Antarctic Little League organization. In fact, I'd probably have more luck finding a pristine white lily emerging from a glistening iceberg at the North Pole.

But I remain ever vigilant, even when I'm looking through the haze of a few Percocets to try to dull the pounding in my head from one of my monthly migraines. They're hormonal, so the good news is I get to trade them in for hot flashes, mood swings, and a decreased sexual appetite when I hit menopause. If I live that long. I'm pretty sure my head will actually implode one of these times. The money sucking teenager will wake up one morning to find me in the recliner with a sidecar looking like one of those freaky, shrunken head voodoo dolls; Trot crashed out beside me, oblivious to my brain crushing demise during the night. Better than dying alone and naked on the bathroom floor I guess.

Today's vice grip on my thinker was tighter than a virgin on her wedding night, though nowhere near as rare. But it was bad enough to require a double dose of magic pills to put a dent in the damn thing. I felt like House momentarily, minus the incredibly appealing smarts, the cane, and a penis of course. The opiate affinity and irritable attitude though? Check.

The impending haze afforded me the opportunity to search for "THE ONE" in an altered state. I figured maybe I'd get lucky seems my judgement was impaired. Hell, with two of them puppies on board, I could mistake the hobo beggin' for change at the off-ramp for Playgirl's Mr. April.

I can't drive on 'em though, so I had to endure the agony of the migraine until this afternoon because I failed my chem exam last week, and I needed to confirm how badly by picking up the proof this morning. Being sick and missing almost three weeks of lecture doesn't bode well at test time. After validation that I was indeed the dumbest one in the class as evidenced by the 41 red inked on the last page of the exam, I strolled out frustrated and popped my two Percs knowing they wouldn't take effect until I was damn near pulling in the driveway. Luckily it's only a twenty minute drive home from school, taking into consideration my superior maneuverability skills on the blacktop.

Ten minutes after I arrived to my awaiting best buddy, the floaty feeling descended upon the throbbing in my head, effectively eliminating any sensations anywhere in my body. Trot however thought we should still run around the circle, and being stoned, I obliged thinking it might be fun to be dragged along while floating. I was picturing the big Snoopy going through Times Square in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

Eighteen steps into it, I realized there was a reason I usually just went and laid down when I took two magic pills. The sweat was running out of me like I'd just had circus act sex, and the salt in my eyes made the dual oak tree branches blurry and difficult to avoid. I caught one in the forehead and about went down like an Ali opponent. If I hadn't been already afflicted and medicated, I'm sure I would have had an instant headache.

As I was rubbing the now protruding knot above my right eyebrow and thinking maybe it'd divert the sweat around that one eye so I could see the rest of the way home, Trot suddenly yanked me completely off my feet. This time I did hit the ground. Unbeknownst to me, while I was tending to the bite of the oak tree, an unsuspecting man came running around the corner.

Living in the cave suits me just fine, but Trot has suffered the consequences of the seclusion, so he's a bit excitable around people, to put it mildly. Before I knew it, he'd reached the end of the leash in an attempt to say hi to the attractive athlete, and I lay on the sidewalk with my arm nearly dislocated still holding tight to the blue plastic vessel containing Trot's containment, barely.

The kind stranger didn't mind getting licked by the dog while he helped me to my unsteady feet, inquiring about my welfare as he did so. I tried to mutter "I'm okay" but since I'm unfamiliar with vocalizing under the influence seems I'm usually alone in the cave, it came out sounding like "ome alay". He questioningly says "You need me to help you home to lay down?" with this weird look on his face.

I realized right then, hey man, he could be "THE ONE". He picked me up, and now he wants to take me home to bed! I responded to his advance by saying "Well, you ARE awfully handsome but the money sucking teenager will be home any time now. Can we go to your home instead and put me to bed?" I think I might have even winked at him, but it could have been just the oak tree knot throbbing.

He laughed, and again asked if I was okay. Trot was still circling like a buzzard over a carcass below, entwining us in the leash briefly. As I untangled myself from the poor guy who had the unfortunate luck to run into a stoned, lonely, crazy chick with a hyperactive, overly friendly lab, I vowed to never again leave the cave after two Percs. I bade the kind, handsome stranger a heartfelt "Yank thoo" and staggered the rest of the way home.

I'm still going to keep my eyes open for "THE ONE", but not when I'm higher than a kite on meds. Snoopy can have that gig. I'm cool with being bedridden temporarily. Plus, maybe someday I'll find "THE ONE" to tuck me in and kiss my oak tree lumps when I have a migraine. I think I have about another ten years or so before menopause. It could happen.

Of course, a pure white lily could suddenly sprout from an iceberg at the North Pole tomorrow too.

04-14

Perfect weather here today with nary a cloud in the sky; the sun beaming down upon the crackling river that winds its way through the Vermont countryside I call home. I love watching the billion little glints of light sparkling like diamonds on the surface of the fast moving water. The mountains are shedding their blankets of snow in the annual spring thaw, the swollen streams emptying into the rivers, overflowing their banks on occasion and spilling into farmer's fields everywhere.

The twinkling phenomenon dancing on the river also reminds me of lightening bugs on a dark, warm night in one of those big open fields. We used to catch them little buggers in jars as kids, holes poked in the top to prolong our self made glow toys, while we raced through the tall grass joyfully scooping unsuspecting victims into our traps.

I miss those innocent times, when happiness was as simple as the smell of just bloomed flowers and long grass, the sound of laughter muted quickly by the swaying reeds, the feel of the sun or wind on your face as you race along with not a care in the world. Except maybe to catch fireflies, or hurl yourself off the banks of the river in anticipation of the cool splash that awaits your entrance into nature's drink.

And that feeling you get in midair, before you hit the water, no turning back once you've left solid ground; like time passing, or death, some things can never be undone. So you better make sure you know what you're jumping into, especially in these parts. Hidden dangers lurk beneath unknown waters, from rocks to viscious currents that have already claimed one dear friend too many. But if you know the area, the beauty that can be found here is utterly amazing.

I've often despised Vermont and berated my home state for its lack of activity, but this same quality is what also gives it the wonderous appeal that I adore in secret. I treasure the landscapes and scenery, the serenity that can be heard in the quietness of the seclusion, the natural wonders that lie just around every bend, whether it be a turn of the mountain road, or the curve of the raging river, rushing along unstoppable in its journey.

It's poetic really. Almost like life...on an unstoppable course...both dangerous and purely perfect at the same time. I struggle to know the path I'll take and what I'll find downstream, but I can't know what fields I'll flood, what devastation I'll inflict upon innocent victims, what joy I'll provide for wonder filled admirers. I just have to flow along, allowing the brightness of the sun to beam down upon my heart and soul.

Perhaps "THE ONE" will espy me from afar, like a rushing river bejeweled with sparkling glints of light, dazzling in its beauty, entrancing in its mere existence. I silenty run my course, waiting for the unknown to come into view, unstoppable on my path. Alone for the time being, but you never know..."THE ONE" could be waiting on the riverbanks just downstream, getting ready to take the heart pounding, gut wrenching leap of a faith. A girl can dream!

04-16

Attempt at socialization by a near agoraphobic chick, take two.

I decided after watching the Sox game end in limbo half way through the ninth inning, due to Mother Nature's torrent of tears down in Boston, that I'd brave the storm raging outside my windows to take another stab at the going out thing. The fact that the money sucking teenager popped in during the seventh inning stretch to inform me he'd be spending the night at his pal's house to kill bad guys until the wee hours had a slight impact on my plans for the evening.

Prior to his revelation, I was resolved to spend yet another Friday night going over chemistry mechanisms, except now I have the task of simultaneously keeping tabs on my favorite group of guys at the same time. Our ace Beckett pitched tonight and didn't disappoint, giving up only an unearned run on a freaky play, but the boys answered a few innings later to knot it up at one. There it remains until tomorrow night, and I'll be tuned in as usual, of course. That's what agoraphobics afflicted with a Sox obsession do on Saturday nights, and damn near every other night actually.

But tonight I decided to challenge my agoraphobic nature once again. When the game was finally called, I realized there was still plenty of time to head downtown and search for "THE ONE". I threw on a pair of black jeans, the trusty black leather boots that have walked many a mile both sober and half drunk, and a long sleeve black top with black leather cuffs and collar, which is also conveniently equipped with a V neck to display my minimal cleavage, purposely enhanced by one of those fancy push-up bras mom sent me for Christmas. She sooooo wants me to find a man!

I topped off the all black somber outfit with my black leather jacket, an American flag adorning the back, and looked like I was ready to trade in the indoors Harley, aka the recliner with a sidecar, for a real Harley. I certainly looked the part. I heard the melody of "Bad to the Bone" echo somewhere in the distant recesses of my mind as I threw my ID, cash, and the two Trojans with two years left before spontaneous decomposition into my interior pocket. I zipped my smokes and lighter in the breast pocket, patted Trot on the head and threw him a rawhide treat out of guilt for abandoning him, and made my way to the Ford, agoraphobia be damned.

The unexpected Vermont spring weather of last weekend did an about face this week turning chilly once again. I opened up the bottom door of the apartment building and nearly got sucked out by the vortex of wind rushing past the heavier than hell monstrosity. I about tore my arm out of its socket trying to keep it from flinging me off the three steps that wrecked my ten year 911 career when I did nerve damage to my arm after falling down them three years ago, yanked by the over-exuberant puppy I so adore.

I figured I could possibly avoid a similar fate by bounding OVER the three steps in a single leap, feeling a tad like supergirl in the process before landing on the soaking wet concrete below. The trusty black leather boots have soles worn smooth by years of abuse, and thus provided no traction for my 170 lbs of ungracefulness. My fat arse was on the ground in about 2.2 seconds, becoming a Bounty quicker picker upper immediately. I leapt up like I'd just fallen in a puddle, abhorred that I'd managed to wipe out yet again, although at least this time only my tailbone hurt and it was pitch black out so nobody could see my ineptitude at dismounting stairs.

The driving rain was pelting me in the face as I ran tenderly towards the truck, the wind effectively giving my shoulder length long hair a two foot radius around my head. The swirling provided a temporary relief from the pelting action on my face but also effectively blinded me. By the time I made it across the parking lot in the direction of the truck, I had morphed into Cousin Itt. I don't know how he was able to see where he was going, because I sure couldn't.

A loud thud announced my arrival as I ran into the side of my black pick-up cloaked in both the blackness of night and my hair mask. I climbed in finally after struggling to find the key hole in the dark and battling the unruly strands whipping my eyeballs, then tried to fix the mop of dripping hair in the rearview. My arse was wet, my jacket weighed fifty pounds now, my hair was everywhere, and I hadn't left the driveway yet. This was starting out well.

I thought momentarily of abandoning the brilliant idea, but I'm like a pitbull when I get something stuck in my head. I said I was going out, then dammit, I'm going out!

I drove downtown, parked once again on Main St., and observed hardly a soul traversing the sidewalks in front of the twenty or so bars that decorate the main thoroughfare. It looked deader than Tiger Wood's bedroom after his grand unveiling. I spotted two drunk guys staggering out of one bar, quickly followed by two skantily clad, young, just as drunk women. One guy turned around and put his arm around his presumed girlfriend's bare shoulders in an effort at chivalry in the pouring rain. The other guy made a mad dash for the nearest overhang up the block leaving the girl in red to fend for herself. Bet she wished she'd had a black leather jacket with an American flag on the back right about now!

I sat in the truck for about an hour, smoking cigarettes one after the other, and battling myself on whether I should actually go into one of the social sites. I watched the occasional bar patrons emerge, wind their way to the next establishment, and disappear into the adult playground of the desperate and unloved. Could I really fit in with that crowd... the desperate and unloved? Unloved sure, but desperate?

I drove home without ever stepping foot out of the Ranger. I'd escaped the house but not the truck. Maybe tomorrow night after the Sox wrap up today's abbreviated game I'll attempt it again, but tonight just didn't feel right. Perhaps it was the wet butt, or the dreary atmosphere, or maybe the agoraphobia has an iron grip that I'm incapable of breaking.

I may be doomed to observing the socialization practices of others from afar if I can't force myself to get out of the damn truck!! In theory it seems so easy. In reality, it's like I'm trying to budge 170,000 lbs into action, not 170.

I'll figure it out eventually, maybe, hopefully. It's either that or hope "THE ONE" spots me weekend after weekend smoking all alone in my truck and inquires as to my strange voyeuristic quality. I always wondered what it would be like to date a cop.

SMOKES ??

04-18

They say money can't buy happiness, but I bet it can sure take the sting out of misery.

As a single mom of a money sucking teenager that has worked hard to support her son throughout his seventeen years, I have become an expert at managing money. I'm the type of person that gets easily annoyed if overdue adorns the invoice. I pay my bills, I buy the things I need, and I go without the things I want if I can't afford them. It's how it's supposed to be when you live responsibly. Want vs. need.

I've put food on the table and a roof over our heads. It might be Kraft mac and cheese and corn dogs some nights, but we eat steak a fair deal and the kid isn't withering away. It's amazing how much a growing boy can consume. He's six foot plus, so I'm hoping his spurts have subsided and his appetite will level off sooner or later.

While I certainly have provided the necessities of a comfortable lifestyle for my unappreciative son, I've never had the luxury of having money to spare. I often wonder how I would get along if money wasn't an object, and I'd like to think I wouldn't change too much, but I don't think that's true.

I'd certainly have a much easier time acquiring a social life if I had the funds to fund it. It's difficult to do stuff with people when you can't afford to do stuff. I know what you're thinking...do stuff that doesn't cost money. Sure, that's an option, but for how long? Eventually, your friend will want you to go to the movies, or out to lunch, or on a weekend trip to Boston to catch a game. It's hard to decline on the grounds of poverty, but the only other option is to allow the other party to pay, something I'm too proud to do. So I beg off on the invite and after awhile, they stop asking. Fast forward through the past seventeen years and I've effectively managed to isolate myself from all things social in nature.

While I don't regret spending every nickel I've ever made in raising my son and taking care of the things that need to be taken care of, I often daydream about what it would be like to just say screw it and spend the allotted phone bill money on something frivolous and unnecessary, like a massage or getting my nails done; you know, "girlie" stuff that might help me attract a man, but I don't think I could sit there and enjoy it knowing that the phone bill wasn't getting paid! So I don't do things like that. Does it bother me? No, not entirely. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to not have to budget so precisely, to be able to afford the things that some women get to enjoy. I mean, I am a woman, or so it says on my ob-gyn's chart.

My mother tried to tell me all along that I could get a man to help me with these things, to contribute to the monthly bills and take some of the stress out of my life. But I wanted to do it on my own, to prove to myself that I was capable and responsible and independent. Because a man wants a woman that's responsible and capable and independent, right?! Of course. I'm stubborn like that. I can do it dammit. I don't need no stinking help!!

Well, I succeeded, but at what cost? I wanted to do it all alone, and that's exactly what I accomplished in the process. I get to pat myself on the back now because there's nobody else around to do it for me. I'm all alone, with the bills paid, but not a friend in the world to grab lunch with or share the joy of a Sox game with. I've survived but not prospered, spent but not invested, and lived but not loved. Was it worth it? Probably not.

In fact, I'd give all the money in the world to do it over again. If I had any, which I don't! I'd forego a perfect credit record for more fun. Maybe I'd have met someone to help me all these years and maybe together we would have prospered. I'd like to think it's not too late, but I wouldn't bet a nickel on that, even if I had a spare one!

While money may not be able to buy happiness, it sure to hell would make misery a little more bearable. Guess I better get back to the Chem books. The college degree and the propulsion of the money sucking teenager out of the nest next year should help with the financial situation. I'll only have myself to take care of, and perhaps I'll get a job providing enough cash to even have some fun, after I pay the bills of course! Some things just don't change. I hope the alone part does, but other than that, I don't have any regrets about living a responsible, independent life. Okay, I lie, maybe a few...but what are you going to do, sue me? I don't have two nickels to rub together. Go ahead!

Point in all this...if you have money, appreciate it. If you don't, do the best you can. Does it matter to me whether you're rich or poor? Not a bit, or should I say two bits. I don't live in a box or a mansion, I just live. Alone, for the time being at least. But like my financial situation, maybe that'll change in the near future. A girl can dream.

04-20

It's nearly 3:30 in the morning and I'm still up trying to cram for my Organic Chem exam on Wednesday night. I've come to the conclusion that I'm more likely to sleep with the entire Yankee team than to ever work as a chemist.

I've been studying mechanisms for the last ten hours and I have no greater understanding of how to turn an ester into a ketone or add a benzene ring to a carboxylic acid than I did ten hours ago. But I do know how to turn a perfectly functioning brain into a gelatinous pile of mush. Add high concentrations of organic chemistry to it!

I wonder if the professor will accept that as one of the answers on my exam for a question I have no idea how to answer correctly. I'll draw a little picture of my brain (with a label, of course, since I'm no Picasso) and then I'll put the little arrow indicating an addition of something occurs, and I'll label it Chem 142 exam, and then I'll draw a picture of my brain with OH attached to it for the product. OH is indicative of an alcohol being present, which may just spontaneously occur after this friggen exam. Hell, he might give me points for creativity, ya never know. And at least he'll know I know what an alcohol is!

And although I know what it is, in reality, I rarely ever drink anymore. How rarely, you ask? About as often as I have sex, which is also coincidentally about as often as the Olympics roll around. And I don't mean bi-annually either, if you consider winter and summer; I'm talking once every four years!

But I might make an exception after three hours of cruel and unusual punishment Wed. night and go throw down 6 Alabama Slammers. Those things taste like a zippy fruit punch but hit ya like a full blown upper cut that'll put you on your arse in no time flat. With the hiatus from the inebriation effect, I'd probably be crying in my toxic Kool-Aid over my failed chem exam in two drinks. That wouldn't be good.

I could stick with the trusty Kahlua and milk which couldn't give me a buzz if I drank a gallon of the stuff. I've tried. I just gained eight pounds from the milk and pooped for three days straight. No Alabama Slammer drunken stupor induced no matter how much Kahlua I consume, so it's safer for unsuspecting males everywhere if I stick to the mellow drink. But if I'm trying to forget failure, even after a few years, I don't think I could afford the number of drinks it'd take to accomplish the feat drinking Kahlua.

I can't stomach the taste of beer, wine, or champagne. It gives me that disgusted ewwww face that's so appealing to observe on someone else, especially if they're not drinking or eating anything, just merely looking at you. So although they'd get me drunk since I've never drank them, unless I'm on some whacked out reality show that's going to pay me thousands of dollars to consume 'em, that's a no go.

I could always just do shots of Jager but I propositioned a guy I hadn't seen in twenty years the last time I did that. I happened to run into him at closing time leaving the bar, literally, since I was drunk. I think my exact words might have been "Whoooooa. Dave? Is that you?" looking through my one open eye and seeing two of him. "I haven't seen you in twenty years. Can you give me a ride home 'cause I'm twisted on Jager and I really need a man. You're a man still, aren't you? I can't see very good right now but I can still..." Well, you get the drift.

Thank God the money sucking teenager had reneged on his proclamation that he'd be spending the night at a friend's house. Having him sitting on the couch in the living room playing Playstation II didn't bode well for Dave. Poor guy thought he was finally going to accomplish what he couldn't twenty years ago and ended up with the cold shoulder yet again. He gave me his number before he left and told me to call him but I was too ashamed of my drunken proposition to take him up on the offer. Like I said, I don't consume liquid courage often.

Truthfully, I don't really want to go out and get drunk. What do I really want? I want to learn organic chemistry in less than 48 hours, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen. I guess I just want to have a plan of action for when I fail, how to soften the blow. Alcohol seems far more accessible than a shoulder to cry on since "THE ONE" remains elusive. I'd take that hands down over any drink, but I'm not sure that's an option right now.

Of course, there's always the slim chance that I might actually pass my exam and be skipping to the truck afterwards, but I think that's about as likely as finding "THE ONE". Or being able to walk after 6 Alabama Slammers on Wed. night. A girl can dream.

04-23

I had to pull an all nighter the other night!

No, I wasn't working off years of sexual frustration on some poor unsuspecting college boy I seduced with my old lady charm. But thanks for asking.

I had to write a 15 page paper for my Psyche motivation class because apparently I lack said motivation. Which is why I took the class...thought I might be able to acquire some there somehow. As we near the end of the semester, it's apparent that it didn't work. I waited until the day before the paper was due to actually start writing it.

In my defense, I was busy studying for the damn chemistry exam! I bombed it big time, and I was so frustrated that I forgot to put my brain reaction (brain plus chem exam equals brain on alcohol in chem equation form) down on the answer sheet for one of the questions I didn't answer. The absolute best I can do is a 50 if I got everything that I tried to answer right. The chance of that is none, so realistically, I got about a 20, if I'm lucky!

Now I should say that usually the average grade is around a 55 or 60 so that isn't as low as it actually appears, but it's still failing! And way aggravating for a perfectionist such as myself.

The truth is, I can't understand the damn stuff for the life of me. Perhaps I missed some key concept somewhere along the way, or I'm just too stupid, or maybe I abused too many chemicals in my day, effectively frying the brain beyond repair. Who knows?!

But if that was the case, then how could I churn out a 15 page paper in a mere 14 hours on no sleep after failing a chem exam? If my former drug use was the source for my failure of chemistry, why am I getting A's in all my other classes? Logically, this doesn't make sense. Nor does the answer that I'm too stupid, since I just told you I'm getting A's in all my other classes.

I guess I'm stuck with answer one. And since there are no do-overs in life, I'm going to have a helluva time figuring out what I missed. We've covered an awful lot of damn material in these past two years and I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday.

Now I know what you're thinking...bag the chemistry thing. But here's the thing...I hate admitting defeat. I feel like a giant loser when something kicks the crap out of me. Because it doesn't happen very often. I'm usually able to deflect kicks like a female Bruce Lee, except that's a poor analogy since I can't physically kick over the cat (still, despite the Tai Bo fiasco).

But my point is, because don't I always seem to have one, that I struggle with knowing when to keep trying and when to give up. I'm not a quitter. I'm definitely more of a not starter.

This strategy is 100% effective in that I'm never forced to quit, because I repeat, I'm not a quitter. Of course, this option is not so effective in the long term. It tends to negate such things as, well, I dunno... living life.

So, I have to start some things, and I chose Chemistry. It may have been a bad choice in hindsight, but like I already said, there are no do-overs in life. If there was, I'd be sitting here with more than a nickel in my pocket, and I'd buy a chem tutor.

I don't know the solution to my dilemna, nor do I really care right now. My paper got done, I flunked my exam but I knew I would, so it's not a tough pill to swallow, and it's Friday night. I'm not going to study Chem, because honestly, what's the point?!

I'm going out instead. Or that's the plan anyways. Maybe I'll meet "THE ONE" and he'll whisk me off to a deserted paradise, aka a shack with a bed, and we'll get busy for the weekend.

Hey, a girl can dream.

04-25

I saw "THE ONE" this weekend! Of course, Trot's cold nose nudging me in the precise location of the crick in my neck from falling asleep on the couch disrupted the whole thing, but it was nice while it lasted.

I never leave the house so the dream state apparently will be the only place I ever spend time with a member of the opposite sex. I've completely given up on ever finding a man. The whole process just seems so overwhelming and non-sensical to me. I don't grasp the concept of "dating", nor do I understand why anyone would want to date me. So what the hell is the point in trying. It's kinda like the chemistry concept.

Or maybe it's just my "Woe is me" week. Not surprising seems they usually coincide with the monthly migraine visits and the resultant opiate induced fog that follows. I'm probably the only woman in the world praying for menopause, especially seems my sex drive should diminish. It's a real biotch to have the thing stuck in overdrive with no outlet to unleash the power. Seems like a cruel joke to equip me with the damn thing and then not be able to put it to good use! It's sorta like sending the most badarse fighter jet we have to patrol Amish country 24/7. Just doesn't make sense.

But so many things in life don't make sense. I saw a little boy the other day obviously very sick. He probably had cancer and not long to live by the looks of things, but he was beaming like no tomorrow. He was playing and laughing and so full of life despite his difficulties. And then five minutes later I saw a guy in a Beamer with his thousand dollar suit on, screaming at his wife I presume, as he berated her for not picking up his drycleaning while she was out running the errands today. She missed one of the things on his list apparently as he was spouting 'em off. "Did you at least remember to get the wine for the dinner. I bleeping told you my boss was coming tonight, you bleeping worthless..." and I had to crank my radio to drown out the tirade.

It disheartens me, and as I drove home I literally started crying, which is not something I do often. Maybe if I smash a knuckle real good working on the truck, but other than that, I tend to keep it pretty well bottled up. It seeps out at strange times though. Like yesterday. I felt bad for the boy, and for the woman who had to put up with that man. But most of all, I think I was crying because I felt bad for feeling sorry for myself. I sit here and complain because I don't have a man. It's my own damn fault. I gripe about being broke, and yet I'm blessed with a home and plenty to eat and so many things we all take for granted everyday. I cried because I should be happy and I'm not.

I don't think "THE ONE" will make me happy. I don't know what will at this point. Tequila's worked pretty well in the past, but that was then and this is now. I'm not 20 anymore. The type of fun I had back then isn't the type of fun I'm looking for now.

The problem is, I don't know what fun is any more! Somewhere I lost that, not because I don't have a man, but because I don't have a life. I was busy being mom for seventeen years and forgot how to be Kristy.

Guess I better figure it out pretty soon or I'll never get this jet to Iraq where it belongs. Amish country is pretty and all, but c'mon now. I don't belong there. Hell, I don't know where I belong. The only place I really feel comfortable is in the recliner with a side car, trusty Trot by my side, or in bed dreaming about "THE ONE". Which is where I'm going now.

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. And maybe someday I'll have a shoulder for the days when tears run rampant. They happen. Life can't be all shiits and giggles or the alcohol industry would collapse. Can't have that. I'm counting on seducing some drunk guy to get me back in the game someday. Not today, but maybe someday. A girl can dream.

04-26 1:00 am

Another late night rant from your hostess sans the mostest. I wouldn't want the mostest if I had it. Wanting is good. The bum sleeping in a box on a cold winter night would probably beg to differ, but in general, if the basics are met, then I don't think you have much to complain about, in theory.

We all seem to complain about what we lack, myself included, and forget to be thankful for what we have. I think I fall victim more than I'd like to admit, especially this past week. It's akin to spinning your wheels flinging mud everywhere when you're sitting on your axles in the rut...you're going nowhere fast. And getting filthy in the process.

Better to get out, hook up the winch, and pull yourself back onto solid ground first. Of course, you're screwed if there's nothing solid to hook onto. This past week, that's how I felt. Like I was trapped in a giant mug bog, no trees in sight, buried up to the axles and spinning my wheels hopelessly.

I wish I could say I got out, but I'm still stuck. I stopped gassing it though, and I've decided to lay down and take a mud bath. I hear it's good for the skin. Women pay big bucks for this kind of treatment in high society. I figure I'll work within the budget and make lemonade out of lemons at the same time!

So while I'm laying here reacquiring a youthful complexion caked in proverbial mud, I'm concocting a plan to get off the knoll that's impeding my run. I figure if there's no solid source of stability to hook onto, I'm gonna have to MacGyver my way out of this. I'm resourceful so I'll figure something out. I have a 4WD truck, a dog, a Craftsmen tool kit, a credit card and two condoms that have two more good years on 'em. There must be a solution in there somewhere.

I'll get unstuck somehow, after I pretend to be the incredible hulk breaking the mud caked shell ensconsing my body now. Bet the chicks in the beauty salons don't get to do that for two hundred bucks. Of course, I imagine most chicks don't emulate the incredible hulk either, but he was pretty cool back in the day, and I'm not like most chicks if you hadn't figured that out yet.

Which begs the question...even if I do get unstuck...who the hell is going to want a mud covered crazy chick? Well "THE ONE" of course. Duh!

A girl can dream.

04-27

After a beautiful, sunshiny, sixty plus degree day suited perfectly for playing in the mud, I awake this morning to a torrent of wet, white stuff raining down, covering the newly thawed ground and coating the freshly blossomed branches of the birch trees and red oaks that dot the scenery. The pine trees sag under the heavy, cold blanket of white just days from the month that evokes images of flowers. April snow showers screw up both the rhyme and my plans to go to class this morning. I decide not to hit the slush, and sleep in instead. Gotta love Vermont!

Well, you don't 'gotta' love it, but it sure helps if you're stuck on a rut in the mud in the middle of nowhere! And then Mother Nature decides to coat you in snow just for fun. Splendid!

I, however, being an optimistic pessimist, have devised a superb plan to free myself. Using yesterday's aforementioned implements, I think I can do this. To recap, I have at my disposal: a credit card, 2 condoms, a tool kit, and the dog. And of course, my highly functioning brain equipped with mad MacGyver skills.

I'm putting the credit card in one of the condoms, along with a screw from the truck (removed with a screwdriver from the tool kit) and a note that says "Hi. This is my dog Trot. He's cool. He can lead you back to me. I'm a hot babe in a 4WD truck trapped on a rut in the mud in the middle of nowhere. I have a ten thousand dollar limit on this credit card and there's a better screw than this one waiting if you hurry. The expiration date on the other Trojan I'm holding is 2012. Please cum quick! Cordially, former spelling bee champion but inept driver, Kristy"

Okay, so the hot babe part is a stretch if he isn't "THE ONE", but I'm an optimistic pessimist I told ya already, so in this fantasy he is and we ride off happily ever after into the mud bog together. In reality, I figure once I get regular Joe there, the credit card will convince him to let me hook onto his rig with the winch temporarily, just to get me back onto solid ground, and I'll pay the kind stranger and be on my way with trusty Trot by my side.

Hey, ya never know, it could work! A girl can dream!

04-28

It's still friggen snowing! Gotta hate Vermont! Geez, enough already. Does Mother Nature not get the concept of springtime...

While the blanket of white looks cool, I'm not thrilled with digging out the winter jacket and boots I just put away last week. Not to mention that when it warms up, it's going to make a heck of a messy mud season. The dog tracks accumulate quickly in both the house and front passenger seat of the truck and I'm constantly scrubbing spots! Not that I really have anything better to do. I suppose I should be thankful for small novelties.

Although I'm pretty sure I'll be off this rut in the near future and then I'll be plenty busy going nowhere fast. Well, I'm going somewhere, I'm just not sure of the final destination yet. I'm thinking we'll just get in the truck, trusty Trot and I, and head out for parts unknown. A cooler full of bottled water, an atlas (I'm old school), my laptop, and a crazy brain attached to an open heart; how could it not be an adventure of a lifetime?

I like camping in a tent, and I'm sure there are desolate, deserted places throughout the US that I can hole up in for a few days undetected. I have a 4WD remember, and mad MacGyver skills. Perhaps a hot land owner will find me copping a squat on his property and invite me in for a much needed shower. I'll tell him my tale while Trot rambunctiously slobbers all over him and the rest will be history.

I'll be sitting in the county poke with another funny anecdote to add to the book. It'll be great!!

I doubt I'll find "THE ONE" on my little adventure, but he isn't here so why not go anywhere but here. Sounds like the logical course of action, despite what my parents, family, kid and shrink think. Okay, I don't have a shrink; I'm not crazy enough to let 'em diagnose me as crazy!

Actually, the situation just seems to be right, with things falling in to place just so to make this whole absurd idea an actuality. It may have started out as a proposterous notion but it's now nearing feasibility proportions. The more I ponder it, the more appealing it seems to be. Why not? I'm not getting any younger. And "THE ONE" could be out there just waiting for me to drive through his little town.

I've got two months to kill and forty years of doing the safe thing to make up for...how much trouble could one crazy chick and a dog get into touring the country alone?

Aaaaaaaaah, a girl can dream!

05-01

Mayday! May day!

I'm not issuing a SOS call, although I could probably use a social life preserver. Not sure they make those though, and even if they did, I'd need someone to throw me the damn thing. Last I knew, Trot fetched stuff, not the other way around.

But seriously, I think they call the first day of May 'Mayday', or maybe I'm just losing it, which is a distinct possibility. Of course, I think
I lost it years ago. You'd think it'd be around here somewhere since I never leave the house, but no sign of it in all the usual hiding spots. I mean, realistically, how far could it go?

Of course, it might help to know what "it" is. This might explain my unsuccessful search. I don't know what the hell I'm looking for!

Sorta like "THE ONE".

I theorize it could be happiness, or companionship, or excitement. Or it could also be a pint of Ben & Jerry's Karmelsutra ice cream, but doubtful; I'm pretty adept at locating those suckers! Ask my ample arse.

At this point, I'm thinking it probably escaped out the back sliding glass door to the porch that remains a cat's width ajar through rain, sleet, or snow. I cater the only 24/7 feline diner serving an all-you-can-eat buffet of Iam's original chicken flavored delicacy. Perhaps one of the regulars snagged it after a free meal, and whisked it off to parts unknown.

Which is exactly why I'm working on the master plan to escape the diner for the summer and start an 'it' expedition. I'm thinking the search might be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles if I don't know what it is, but I'm hoping I'll recognize it when I see it. I had it at one point, so I must at least subconsciously know what it is, presumably. This assumes I ever had it to begin with though, and I'm not even sure about that after this long being without it. Seems like a foggy memory.

Sorta like sex.

Maybe I'll get doubly lucky and find that on the road too, along with "it". I could always stop at one of those interstate restareas where the big rigs stop for the night. I'm sure if I knocked on enough semi doors, one lonely trucker would want some company. I'll have Trot to stand guard outside to make sure the dude doesn't get more frisky than I'd like, although I'm not sure I can teach him how to open a truck door in less than a month.

Maybe I'll stick to the "it" search and skip the molest a trucker plan. I've survived this long without a piece of arse, what's another few years. Plus, if I find it, I might be able to use it to lure "THE ONE", which will lead to sex eventually. Sure, it's the long route, but I'm a travelin' fool. Or I will be soon, hopefully.

A girl can dream!

05-02

I was having a fairly in depth conversation with my imaginary shrink today and discovered that I have some off-the-wall thinking. She advised me that I should probably seek professional help, preferably a non-imaginary person. I told her to get bent!

What can she do...give me an imaginary arse whooping? Bring it on biotch! I grew up with three brothers. I can take an imaginary punch!

Hell, I took a real one from my little brother last night when I told him about my absurd plan for a summertime adventure. He concurred with my imaginary shrink. Despite the fact that my little brother isn't so little at six foot and easily pushing 200+ pounds, I took his shot in the ribs like a real trooper. Good thing he was just poking fun at me or I'd still be getting x-rays at the ER.

I treasure my little bro almost more than life itself, and I'd gladly lay down my life for his any day of the week if it came down to it. He'll support me in any decision I make, even when he's worried to death about me! This is one of those cases.

I get it. It's a crazy idea. A 40 year old crazy lady and her dog taking off for two months to parts unknown looking for it, with absolutely no clue as to what it is! I'm flabbergasted myself! Part of me feels like I should apply for a name change to Dorothy and start calling Trot Toto. If I see a flying monkey or get a craving to buy red high heels in the next two weeks, I'll call off the whole plan on account of mental defect. But other than that, I see no reason why I shouldn't do this, despite what my little brother and imaginary shrink think.

Well, I actually see plenty of them but ignorance is bliss and sometimes you just gotta throw caution to the wind. Hell, take your chances, tug on superman's cape, pull the mask off the old lone ranger, and mess around with Jim. Because really, I mean, ya never know. Even though they say the chances are slim, Slim kicked the crap out of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown and he was the baddest dude in town. Stranger things have happened.

If I meet an untimely demise on my travails, as my loving and loved dear little brother unrealistically fears, I'll have died living, which is way better in my opinion than continuing to live dying. While I know that may seem like merely a matter of semantics, it's really not in my twisted and warped brain. There's a huge difference.

I know what I seek isn't out there, it's in here, but I lost sight of it somewhere over the years. I intend to entice it from the perpetual seclusion by luring it out with novelty. Who can resist checking out new scenery, especially when you got some crazy chick going "WHOOOOOA Trot, check that out. Now that's cool!"

I expect to be saying that quite often as I tour along, wind in my hair, static on the radio station forcing me to insert the Jim Croce CD for the eightieth time, dog slobber flying out the passenger side window as I tour along belting out Bad, Bad Leroy Brown!

Man, this girl is gonna dream tonight! 'Cause why the hell shouldn't I? And if she's crazy enough, maybe she'll even follow them to unknown places. Hell, I might just meet "THE ONE". I'll be sure to make a good impression and give a proper introduction:

"Hi. I'm Dorothy and this is my dog Toto. We're not in Kansas anymore, are we?"

05-04

I feel like a mad scientist rubbing my hands together at mach speed with an evil little glint in my eye, muttering "Igor, I think the plan is woking perfectly!", followed of course by the mischievous little snicker.

It's probably a symptom of my insanity, but I'd prefer to consider it as a consequence of finishing classes today. Only two final exams to ace before I can hit the open road and put this school year behind me. I have nine days to study for them so I should be golden.

I had to make a tough choice today though regarding school, but I think I made the right one so I'm good with it. Weighing my abhorrence of failure against my need to be treated "the same" as all the other students despite being twenty years their senior, I opted to take advantage of my 'special circumstances' and accept a do-over for Organic Chemistry. This effectively means I get to re-take the class next year on the slide, and take the final next May, avoiding a failing grade on the permanent transcript.

While I sort of feel bad about using my "age disability" to skirt a D or an F, I feel pretty confident that I'll use the given accomodation to learn what I need to learn, which is really more important to me than the actual grade. Plus it means I'm not stuck studying my arse off pointlessly for the next three days to take a final I stand a snowball's chance in hell of passing. I'd say that's a win/win situation! Especially since I've proven that studying cannot actually decrease the circumference of my arse.

Running on nothing but dreams, bottled water and beef jerky for a few months might do the trick though.

And now I'm that much closer to making that prospect a reality. Classes are done after I go give a quick speech this afternoon, and while that task is about as pleasant as whacking a bee hive with a baseball bat, I can float through it with the thoughts of the summer fun that awaits.

So many possibilities...so many roads to take...ones less traveled, ones I've been down before but never really took the time to admire. I can't friggen wait!!

Now if I just had an Igor to mutter to about the plan coming together! Trot just ***** his head to the side when I utter such strange utterances. What can I say? I can't help it that I'm not your average girl/mad scientist!

I wonder what kind of future I can create?!?! A girl can dream...

Hey...it's loads better than naked and alone on the bathroom floor right? I say go for it!!!

Exactly!! I'm going to prove her wrong if it kills me!

I'm making plans now...

You go girl! I've rarely regretted anything I've DONE, but surely regret a lot of what I have NOT DONE!!!

Agreed! Like Nike says...Just Do It! Not sure what it is yet, but dammit I'm gonna do something! I wonder if they allow dogs on rollercoaster rides?

Good grief!(as charlie brown might say).

Dear Misswright,

I cannot believe you have sat in front of youre computer and typed into the mingle2 poetry web form, this huge amount of text, with the risk of it dissapering into hyperspace, as soon as you click on 'post reply'. I have often sat in front of my computer, and typed in some brilliant stufff over the course of a couple of hours, only to find that it dissapeared as soon as i clicked on 'post reply'. I reckon you must of created some office document and then copied and pasted into the web form. Either way, i take my hat off to you. Are you OK?

yours Sincerely,

D. P. Jones.

Thank you for your concern.

Other than being slightly warped, I'm fine. Apparently you didn't read all of it!

I don't sit in front of my computer. I sit in my recliner with a sidecar with my laptop on my lap. And I type a blurb each day (or so) on my profile. Once a week (or so) I copy and paste in onto here so that there's a running log of my insanity.

What can I say?! I enjoy writing...my profile's not "typical", and neither am I!

That wouldn't happen to be a Red Sox hat, would it?

05-05

Apparently "a girl can dream" has become my tagline lately. It's fitting, I suppose; I am a dreamer, and it's certainly true and accurate in the physical sense. Of course, so is "move over bacon, there's something meatier", but I didn't choose that for my new tagline surprisingly. I save that for cutting in on the skinny chicks on the dance floor.

Not that I hit the dance floor very often. While I love music, and I get the wiggle in my jiggle going after a few drinks, I haven't had one in years. I can't dance sober and I can't carry a tune for the life of me, even though I belt out the lyrics in a riveting solo whenever I feel the burning desire, which is basically whenever a good song comes on the radio and there's no audience in sight. This despite the fact that I don't have a musical bone in my body, although I do possess a tympanic membrane in my middle ear which sounds sorta musical.

Blaring tunes can wipe out all thoughts from an addled brain; the louder, the better. I use this recipe to drown out negative thinking, something which we all fall victim to at some point or another. Depressed people suffer terribly with this syndrome and wallow in a miserable pit of despair a majority of the time. I swear that instead of a prescription for some funky, faux happy pills, they should prescribe concert tickets to the person's favorite band, with seats perched directly in front of the speakers for maximum decibal absorption. This and getting a dog would surely put them on the path to recovery.

I've never been diagnosed with depression, but I'm not crazy enough to let 'em examine this wacky brain either. I could probably be diagnosed with all kinds of disorders and syndromes. Who couldn't?

The way I see it, you just are who you are. Depressed people are sad. Anxious people are nervous. Manic people are happy. They're mood disorders, and moods change, regardless of which one predominates. I'd rather be a raging psycho than be a medicated zombie, although the latter sounds kinda cool if I add my unique Cousin Itt morphing ability to the mix. I'd look really funny shuffling along with my hair draped over my face!

I'm not trying to make light of mental illness. I'm sure I suffer from it, actually. I think we all do in some way. But my point is, we can do something about our moods. Music can have an effect. Pets can. Exercise can. People can. Everything can, and does. So if I'm in a "bad" mood, all I have to do is blast some Fleetwood Mac or Ozzy or The Veer Union "Seasons" or whatever (yes, I have quite a varied taste in music depending on my mood, which changes, imagine that!).

I have angry music, happy music, sad music, dancing music, and a few songs that make sweet rhythm in the bedroom, although I haven't heard those in a loooooooooooong time. I might not have a musical bone in my body, but I definitely add the notes in an effort to keep whistling dixie on my journey through this mixed-up, ever-changing world. Who needs drugs? Especially since if you add alcohol, you could start playing the Jello theme song in the background, and I'd dance to it.

I have good days and bad days, but cranking tunes sure makes those bad days easier. I highly recommend it. That and dreaming. 'Cause you know...

A girl can dream!

05-08

Exams loom like a thick curtain of smoke in a back alley card room, though they're not quite as deadly. While they don't possess the carcinogens and lung tissue evaporators that second hand smoke does, they do float ominously above my head, causing concern in an off-handed way.

Yet like the gamblers that ignore the toxic haze for the chance at winning big, I too am willing to put up with the annoying fog for the greater good. Except in my case, I won't be walking out of the smoke filled room with a thicker wallet and a few frustrated buddies. If all goes well, I'll be cruising out of Vermont with another successful year of college under my belt, but no pissed off people left behind. Kenny Rogers, eat my dust. I equate him with that song about knowing when to hold 'em or fold 'em, and when to walk away or run; well that and my Uncle Gary whose a dead ringer for the old-time country crooner. Uncle Gary and Aunt Laurie were quite the travelers now that I think about it, so there's another example of how logic is cyclical.

I'm thinking about touring, with exams looming like smoke, which evokes images of gambling, which triggers an association of a tune by Kenny Rogers, ultimately conjuring up a memory of my Uncle Gary, who just happens to be a travel guru. It's a sign from The Big Guy Upstairs, I tell ya! Either that or it's just another shining example of how a twisted brain functions without knowing it's dysfunctional! It makes complete sense, does it not?! Well, to me it does, and I guess that's all that really matters since I haven't met "THE ONE" yet. Technically I'm supposed to be looking for him, although I'm pretty sure these little rants aren't endearing droves of potential mates to heighten my chances. Perhaps that's the plan Sherlock!

I'm thinking I'm supposed to find him, not him find me, although honestly I have no idea how the love thing works. If I wanted to be politically correct, I'd have to say "we mutually find each other with no party bearing any more responsibility in the matter, in case of future animosity that might inspire legal action and negative repercussions both financial and emotional". But that'd be getting a tad bit technical for the likes of a dating site, and again, I'm not sure it would increase my attractability factor, which already hovers at about a negative twelve thanks to the near-poverty designation and the Cousin Itt metamorphosis. And that's without weighing in my admitted altered thinking. A crazy, poor, out of shape, 40 yr old recluse stands virtually no chance, even with a creative streak a mile wide. Attracting "THE ONE" is about as likely as being dealt a royal straight flush while I breathe in second hand smoke in a back alley card room.

Ahhhh...cough, cough, sputter, sputter..a girl can dream!

May 9th: Mother's Day

As a mother, I arose at the crack of noon to the teenager coming out of the shower draped in a towel. He popped his dripping head into the bedroom to say "Happy Mother's Day Mom! I'm taking off with my friends in ten minutes!". He knows just what I want, God love him; solitude, peace and quiet, and a sunshiny day would be perfect.

I awoke to a blizzard this morning. Well, maybe not quite a blizzard but snow flakes are flurrying dammit. I guess two out of three ain't bad, though I can't friggen believe Mother Nature is screwing us mothers everywhere being a mother herself. What the hell man, or woman in this case?!

I also awoke from a dream where I got a kiss goodbye after a date with my cousin's ex-boyfriend from twenty years ago. Talk about a blast from the past. I haven't seen the guy in ages and he shows up as a date in my dreams and plants one on me. I, of course, was delighted until I had to go tell my cousin and she got mad and stormed away shouting "Now you're going to marry him! I wanted to marry him!".

My thoughts in my dreams were "Hmmmm...could Mike really be "THE ONE"?", quickly followed by "Why not? She's got her husband and the life already. When is it my turn?" Next thing I know, I'm returning home to find a note from Mike saying he had a great time, miraculously signed "I love you". Talk about a flucked up dream! I blew him away on one date! Like that'd happen.

Well, that and me actually finding "THE ONE" makes it definitely REM material, and not of the waking state. My son wishing me a happy mother's day upon the opening of my dreary eyelids washed away any hope of actually having had a date recently. Back to reality sucker, time to rise and shine, or at least try to manage a dull gleam.

I'm pretty thankful that I have a kid and not a man though. I get to be treated like royalty today by the little guy I've raised to near manhood. With his 18th birthday a few months away, his journey through childhood nears completion. That's something that makes this blustery cold day feel a little less frigid.

A man, on the other hand, wouldn't be doing me any favors today. Not that I'd let him, today or any other day. I'm a giver, not a taker and I feel funny being the center of attention. After so long taking care of myself and the boy, I don't handle being taken care of too well. I think that's why Mother's Day only comes once a year. It won't send me into cardiac arrest to be the pampered one once a year. A man might try to pamper me constantly and I just can't have that!

As the kid approaches the flight deck though, I wonder if that's the reason for amping up my "THE ONE" search. I'm pumping anabolic steriods into that sucker it seems, and I surmise it has something to do with the pamperee leaving. I'm worried I won't have anyone to take care of. Funny, I thought I was supposed to be looking for somebody to take care of me for a change, and now I learn that might just be a false facade so that I can continue to cater to a male's every want and need. My return? Unconditional love, but of course.

I have it from my kid. I'd like it from a man. Then again, I'd like to be sitting in the sun right now in my front yard, but unless I want to be the mold for a snow angel, I'm stuck staring out at the white flecks swirling by the windows. Maybe the kid will take the dog out to pee all day so I don't have to step foot in the stuff. It's Mother's Day after all. A mom can dream.

05-14

Classes are done!!! Can you say 'supercalafragilisticexpialidocious'?!? If the spelling's wrong...sue me! I don't think spell check would recognize that word, although I wouldn't really know since I don't use it. I could be wrong; it's happened once or twice before!

Actually, it happens a whole lot more than that, like on my chem final. I think I was wrong a whole bunch on that damn thing...I bombed worse than Timothy McVeigh! But I aced the Psyche one, so technically the A and F average out to a C, which just so happens to be average! Yeah! I'd say that's about as accurate a description as you can give me. I'm average. Above so in some venues, below in others, but taken together, I'm not the greatest but I ain't bread and water either. And yes, I know, ain't ain't a word. It is in my book. I bet it shows up in spell check though, unlike supercalafragilisticexpialidocious.

I love that word! It's probably because "Mary Poppins" was the first book I was addicted to. My mom read it to me multiple times a day, because I was as insistent and unrelenting when I wanted something back then as I am now, so I had it memorized before I could actually read. It really tripped my parents' friends out actually. They'd sit in amazement as I flipped through the pages and "read" 'em off word for word. Little did they know I wasn't as smart as I looked, a fate that still holds true to this day, although I don't look particularly smart, per se. Not sure exactly what particularly smart people look like, especially seems I've never actually been around too many of them. Hell, I'm never actually around anybody, smart or dumb, but that's about to change.

Classes are done. Did I mention that already? Probably so, but it's worth repeating. I'm so friggen happy I think I could almost pee rainbow colored urine. If I could, I know exactly what I'd do...travel around and make a ton of money showing off my new found talent. I'd be rich and famous! The Skittles people would be calling me in 2.2. Oh wait, I guess that might conflict with the "Taste the rainbow" slogan. Scratch that idea.

Plus that's about as likely to happen as me finding "THE ONE" anyways; in other words, it'll happen when hell freezes over. And although it freezes here in wonderful Vermont, and it virtually feels like hell somedays, I think I should try to find a different talent. Maybe writing. Or grass evaluation.

I have nothing to do for the next three months. Good thing I've mastered this skill or I'd be bored in a very short time. Like now. I'm bored already. I have a bunch of things I could do, but I'm busy doing nothing right now so they're going to have to wait their turn. I'll get to 'em when I get to 'em. I love my life!!! I'm not sure I could love it more. Okay, I am, but it feels good to say that, so I'll go with it. Technically I think "THE ONE" is supposed to improve it, but since I haven't met him yet, I'll be just supercalafragilisticexpialidocious all on my own, because Mary Poppins taught me early on that a girl should dream.

05-16

I woke up this morning stiffer than a pervert in a peep show.

While I wish I had been out last night impersonating Stella and getting my groove on, truth be known, I spent the day yesterday moving furniture. The only window the AC unit fits in happens to be in the small bedroom, formerly occupied by the money sucking teenager. He's hating life now since he's been relocated to the larger bedroom that hosts the 24 hr all-you-can-eat cat buffet. No more listening to Nixon and Sox, or any of the various neighborhood patrons, crunch away at 3am when I'm trying to finally get to sleep. Not to mention that being on the third floor during the summer heatwave makes that room turn into a virtual sauna, minus the little vat of water to ladle onto the pit of hot rocks, although I did keep a water bottle handy to spritz down at 4am when I was still battling the insomnia, completely soaked in a pool of sweat. I won't miss that! Poor Jake.

I didn't get the house completely redecorated, but I did tucker myself out sufficiently, and the thought of going out to find a piece of arse never crossed my mind once on a Saturday night, so it must be true that moving furniture helps relieve sexual frustration. It also makes muscles that don't often get used scream in agony the next morning. My back is hollering right now. It's saying "Nice job moron!", but luckily it's migraine week so the Percs should stifle that loud mouth shortly.

I figured it'd be better to get it done right off in case I don't get to flee the premises. While the plan to hit the high road has had some colossal collapses, I haven't given up hope entirely. It's kinda like searching for "THE ONE". I don't think it's going to happen, but I'm still trying to work it out somehow. Even if I get stuck here for the summer and can't vacate my living hell, at least I can sit in my air conditioned room and toil away at the keyboard without drenching the damn thing; the living hell won't be so torturously humid.

I still hope to adventure and expand my horizons, regardless of where my ample rearend parks. I have the entire summer to alter my perceptions, my physical status, and my attitude. A heaping of sunshine, a dose of fresh air, and some interaction with good people should be an effective remedy for whatever ails me.

I'm pretty sure they have those things here in Vermont, so if I can't detour temporarily from this particular path, it's not the end of the world. I think that happens when the main muscle starts screaming at me instead of all these little minor ones. They're just letting me know I'm still alone, still alive, and still unbroken.

That's a line from Lynyrd Skynyrd, by the way. I like these ones from Whitesnake instead though: "Here I go again on my own. Walking down the only road I've ever known. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone. Here I go again on my own." In fact, that's the tune that the nice lady tells you to enjoy while you're waiting for me to answer my phone.

I'm praying it'll be accurate and I'll get to be touring soon, but if I'm not, at least I'll be chilling in the icy comfort of my new little bedroom, and dreaming in dryness. Because you know a girl should dream, but only boys should have wet dreams.

sorry you're not taking your badly needed road trip

I can feel the heart, see the humor, and know the mind.
This was all nice to read to unwind...

The last two entries to the ever-changing profile that's about to become never changing. Or maybe rarely changing. After nearly three months of rotating random thoughts and still not a peep from "THE ONE", I'm changing tactics yet again.

I'll put up your typical "I'm so great. I love everything!" profile and see how that fares. I suspect about as well as this did but I don't give up easily. I think E-karmony was full of crap when they said I was unmatchable. Odd, sure, but unmatchable? Nah, "THE ONE"'s out there somewhere. Doubtful I'll find him on here but ya just never know, so I'll concoct a "normal" profile and perhaps attract a "normal" guy. Might be difficult since I'm not your "normal" girl but difficult isn't impossible. Impossible would be trying to convert me into a Yankees fan! Not going to happen! Finding "THE ONE" might. Maybe. Someday. Hopefully.

A girl can dream!


05-20

I woke up this morning not knowing the day of the week. I checked the calendar because I've yet to reach "whip out my handy-dandy, high tech gadget with my all my critical life needs on it" automatic status yet. Sure, I coulda checked the cell since it has everything under the sun on it. Hell, if I want to know the temp in China or how fast I can swallow an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Karmelsutra ice cream, I'm golden!

To think, back in the old days (meaning my youth, which wasn't really THAT long ago!) you had to get up and change the TV on your own, and if you didn't know how to spell a word, you looked it up in the dictionary. If you didn't have a stop watch handy, you counted by one thousands, even if you got to six hundred and seventy six one thousands. Then you divided by sixty, in your head, and knew how long you could skip rope for on one foot, and you really didn't care what time it was in China. You were lucky to own a watch and know the hour here in the good 'ole USA. Mom's yell indicated dinnertime, and dusk's approach signaled it was time to wrap up the ballgame and watch all the neighborhood kids scatter to their respective houses, lest they get a whooping for coming home late.

Nowadays, the only thing scattering is my brain, in a million pieces; more accurately, about 2000, which coincidentally equals the number of puzzle pieces now adorning my makeshift-expanded desktop in the dining room. I've been obsessing over it for three days, and while I've made some progress, it's not nearly complete. I like it because I can't find the answer on my phone/high tech, handy-dandy gadget thingie.

It's old school fun. Kinda like me. I still believe in true love, loyalty, honesty, doing the right thing, quiet times and peaceful surroundings. I relish warm spring nights and barbecued chicken and potato salad, the sound of the crack of the bat and cheering in the stands, and the way the air smells after it rains. Maybe I'm nostalgic, or just "old", or maybe I'm just not used to this fast paced, everything at your fingertips world we live in now.

I want to go back to the way it was back then, but lo and behold, I can't. The damn world won't slow down, and I fear we'll all soon be spun off into the abyss, like a feather thrown on the turntables of yore, the ones that used to play Cheech and Chong records.

But I can go forward in naivete, and refuse to fall prey to the "I want it all, and I want it NOW! mentality". I'm gonna kick back, or hulk forward actually, over the puzzle table and get lost in a lost pasttime. Maybe I like it because you're searching for specific pieces to make the big picture, and I know that when I'm done, I'll see it clearly, provided the dog didn't scarf down a couple. If only life could be so concrete.

I don't know how long it'll take to get the puzzle done. And I really don't care. I have all the time in the world since I'm on summer vacation. Plus I lost count somewhere around four hundred ninety seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-one one thousands. And it might take me a minute but I could still tell you how many hours that is... without my cell!

May 23

My wedding date. Not this year, but maybe some year. I just always thought I would get married on May 23. Don't ask me why. Of course, I always thought I'd get married, have kids, buy a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs and live happily ever after. My fairy tale certainly didn't play out in the real world. I've yet to experience the anxiety associated with wobbling down the aisle in a fancy dress and heels, and I live in a run down apt. surrounded by riff-raff. I spit out a kid despite the lack of a wedding ring, and although I'm about to send him packing off into adulthood soon, I most certainly am not living happily ever after. I'm hoping for happily someday maybe.

Maybe my fixation on this date for the elaborate ceremony is just my strange link to my youthful fantasy that can't possibly come true now. Sure, I could conceivably find a man, but the likelihood of marrying him at my age is decreasing rapidly, and the likelihood of having children with him is non-existent seems I'm fixed. One son driving me crazy is about all I could handle, especially considering it's such a short trip. And I'm talking around the block short, not cross country short.


Point being...I've long since let go of the fantasy of falling in love with prince charming and getting married to live in bliss for eternity. I'm still holding onto the one fine detail that I can control however by reserving this date as my wedding day, if I ever find anybody stupid enough to marry me.

Not that I wouldn't make a helluva wife. I'm sure I'd be the cream of the crop, but I'm not sure I could deal with a husband. After flying solo for what seems like a lifetime, (gee, probably because it has been! duh!) I'm thinking sharing a cabin with someone might cause me to jump from the plane without a parachute in midflight. I should mention I'm terrified of heights so it'd be an agonizing decision, but I'm thinking I'd be bailing in no time.

I probably shouldn't be stating this on a dating site profile seems I'm supposed to be telling you how wonderful I am and that I could make you happy for the rest of your life. I'm thinking I could swing a night or ninety, but your whole life? What if you live until your like ninety! That's another 50 friggen years in my case. I can't stand to be around myself for that long, how can I possibly think I can spend a half a century with someone. Anyone. Not just a man. I'm a loner. Always have been...always will be. So why did I pick a wedding date when I was kneehigh to a grasshopper?

Beats the hell out of me but every year on this date I get the overwhelming desire to put my hair up in a fancy do and say I do. Thank God it doesn't last long! I'm thinking marriage isn't in the cards for this chick. Neither is a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence.

I'm jaded now. I don't like people much and I'm thinking I'll end up in a shack in the woods somewhere with a gated twelve foot high barbed wire fence erected to keep out potential intruders. I doubt any man out there wants to be a part of that fairy tale! Sounds more like a bad horror flick, trapped in the middle of nowhere with strange old me, an admitted pessimist with no faith in love.

But who knows? Stranger things have happened. Maybe some year on this date I'll be teetering in my heels, fancy dress trailing behind me as I make my way to an equally crazy man standing at the end of the aisle. He'd have to be nuts to want to marry me, but a girl can dream!