This time with feeling...

Okay, so the last post was not much of one I know. But I panicked that I might not make it home in time to publish something substantial, or at least worthy of the six of you that read this. And how bummed would I have been to lose my challenge on day four? I mean I'd at least set the over/under on March 15--and, yes, I might even take the under, knowing me and all.


For a few years now, I've been obsessing over the fact that I'm going grey. Look, I even brought it up two years ago (almost exactly). Well, this past fall, I did something about it: I gave in and started coloring it. I know I have several friends that were singing hallelujah because they don't have to hear me moan about it any longer. And while I'm ecstatic that I don't have the straggly grey hairs sprouting up all over, I'm actually quite devastated. You see, I've always really defined myself by my hair. Not totally and completely defined myself by my hair--yes, I am so much more than just my hair, I know, it's just hair--but being a redhead was unique, and people were always so envious of the color, and it was all mine and I didn't have to get it out of a bottle. It was something that made me standout ever since I can remember.


Yes, I know there's a lesson about vanity in here, but dammit, that wasn't a pill I wanted to swallow, yet. Again, I know it's just hair, but I loved it and loved the fact that it was a beautiful and untouched gift. That's not to say it's not still beautiful, it is (Lynda, if you're reading this, I LOVE MY HAIR), it's just that it's not the same now and I do have to get it out of a bottle. I do feel very silly and vain to say all of this, because I know that there is so much more about me that makes me stand out and makes me who I am, and that I should be beyond thankful that I have my health and an amazing life (and I am, believe me)... but every once in awhile the vanity sneaks in and reminds me time is ticking.


I've read and reread this post a couple of times now, hesitating to post it. It was supposed to be a light-hearted quirky post about how for years I've been complaining about my grey hair and how much grief I have for lost youth. But this is an age-old story (I can't stop thinking about Narcissus), and that maybe I have a harsh awakening in store. Just like this one time in college I had a random thought about how much I loved my ears, weren't they just so cute and perfect? Yes, I actually thought those thoughts, and later that very same night, I swear it was the same night, I was playing a game of Ghost in the Graveyard with my sorority sisters and as I was running through the darkness, a treebranch came out of nowhere (well, it came out of a tree) and sliced my ear. There is much more of a story there, but the moral was: hey, Van Gogh, don't love your ears so much, because it's just an ear. And if you don't stop being so vain, you might end up in an emergency room getting your ear stitched up, and by the way you won't be numb so you'll feel every stitch. How do you like them cute and perfect apples?


On second thought, I take it all back. It is just hair. Don't be ridiculous, I don't love it (unless you're Lynda, in which case I do love it, let's just not tell anyone, we'll keep that our little secret...), and I'd be... GULP... fine without it. Yeah, totally. Who needs hair? Nope, not me. Note to self: You better keep your fingers crossed that reverse psychology works on the Universe.

Staying true to my word

And totally counting this as today's post. I do have more to say, however. Stay tuned...

Chugga chugga choo choo

Internets, I owe you a few stories. At some point I may get to them, or maybe not, but I probably will, just not tonight. I tell you this just so you know that I'm skipping over some of the details of life that happened during my three month (or five month, depending upon how you count it) blogging hiatus. Those stories are relationship stories and for the sake of today we'll just say I had one and then it ended and now I'm back online (both in the blogging and dating sense).


I find myself turning online dating into a science and I now have several tricks up my sleeve that I can employ to increase traffic to my profile. The real art would be increasing the traffic of the guys I actually want to date to my profile--I'm finding that part slow-going. I'm also finding some very interesting patterns. Actually, they've been happening in pairs so they probably can't be considered patterns, just coincidences, but they are interesting enough to make me take notice. In all the years I've been involved in online dating I've probably screened well over 1,000 profiles of potential mates and never have I come across a locomotive engineer... until last week, when I was matched with not one, but two. That's right, two train conductors ON THE SAME DAY. And then the next day, I was matched with two postal carriers for the first time ever. It's like I'm being matched with secondary characters on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.


Another thing I'm finding are the number of men with kids out on the market. I'm getting to be of an age where the possibility of dating a divorced father is more the norm than the exception. I'm keeping an open mind about it (just like I'm keeping an open mind about dating people in careers that are on the brink of extinction), but what frustrates me is that on the dating site, people don't have to declare their parental status, but they do have to answer the question: "Kids at home?" Over the past couple of weeks, I've been communicating with two guys who have kids, and have them at their homes 50% of the time and guess what? They both answer "No" to question "kids at home?"


Am I crazy in thinking that if you have kids (who are considered your dependents) and they stay in your home at any regular frequency (be it 10, 50 or 100% of the time), the answer to that question is "Yes?" I understand that answering yes to that question is probably a huge liability for you and would make several prospective women not give you a chance (just like maybe some of them wouldn't give Mr. McFeely a chance), but it feels like false advertising. If you have to postpone your dating life for a week every other week because you have to "be a dad that week," or you can't talk because you are putting the kids to bed... uh, buddy? YOU HAVE KIDS AT HOME. Plain and simple. And this isn't about me not wanting to date dads (not my preference, but they aren't all bad, and I'm trying to keep my mind open) it's about me wanting to know who I'm dating and not being misled to think it's someone else.

Shoulding

If there's one word I'm trying to eradicate from my vocabulary today, it's should. I should have gone for a run, or hit the gym--I'm six weeks away from the Boston Marathon. I should have gone to the store this weekend and picked up things to make dinner for the week--cereal for dinner does not a well-balanced diet make. I should be working tonight--the next two months are going to be hectic with work, I'm just not sure I'm going to be able to stay afloat. I should, I should, I should.


Whenever my brain heads to shouldville, I tend to shut down. It turns everything I could do into horrid chores and then I choose to rebel against myself and not do them (ahem, should call the plumber to fix the dishwasher, anyone?). So when I walked into my house after work, I went upstairs, lay on my bed and immediately started beating myself up for all of the "shoulds" I should have been accomplishing at that very moment. There was so much noise in my head, that after about 15 minutes of me verbally accosting myself I jumped up; declared "Enough!"; grabbed my laptop, wallet and car keys; and headed out the door. I'm not at the gym, and I'm not at the store. Obviously, I'm not working. I'm also not eating cereal, and in reality, I'm not worried about the fact that I'm running the Boston Marathon in six weeks.


In the midst of my mental Civil War, I realized that the only thing I should do tonight is what I want to do. So, I drove myself to my all-time favorite Seattle spot (which happens to have Wi-Fi), ordered myself my favorite grown-up cocktail and fabulous "not cereal" dinner, and decided to blog about it. My crankiness has faded and I'm happy (and well-fed), and this is how it should be.

Commitment

It's the start of a new month. And while I'm on that topic, holy crap?! How is it already March?

I'm the kind of person who is methodical about things. Freakishly methodical. There was a time when I wouldn't get out of bed unless the time was a multiple of five (I've relaxed on that little trait, and now I just don't get out of bed). Likewise, if I go on a health spree and decide to change my eating or workout habits I will never start mid-week; I'll always wait until Monday to make the change. There's something about the nice, clean, fresh start that delights me.

So, as I sat here astonished at just how fast time is actually flying, my thoughts wandered to ye olde blog and the Internets and I thought about how I really do want to write more. And what better way than to create a challenge for myself? And it being the start of the month and all why not use my freakishly methodical mentality to push myself into a blogging challenge? And, lo, a habit is born. Or at least force fit into my life. Whatever, I'm gonna write and you're gonna like it, because I'm making it my goal to post every day in March. Yes, Internets, you read that correctly. EVERY DAY. Including weekends.

I even went so far to declare my crazy intentions publicly by adding myself to the blogroll at NaBloPoMo, a haven for other bloggers who have committed themselves to be chained to their blog give the Internets a month's worth of gold in the form of blog posts. And the fine folks at NaBloPoMo offer support, too. In the event you need an idea for a post, they offer monthly themes and daily prompts around that theme. March's theme is "In a Word." I'm not going to lie, some days you might get a one word post and, yes, I will totally count that as a post. You know why? Because I'm the boss of me. But knowing me and my freakishly methodical brain (and my verbose tendencies), you might be the winner of a month full of LMNT. You, in a word: lucky.

You could throw your challenge flag, but the ruling on the field will still stand.

Guess what? ANOTHER BRAND NEW POST! We'll technically, this post isn't new. I actually wrote it on November 19, but because I already posted once on that day, I just drafted and saved it with the intent to publish a day or two or 96 later.

A couple of notes, 1) this post references my other post from November 19, so you might want to reread that (unless you read it every day for the 95 days between postings anxiously awaiting my return), and 2) I do have at least one more Bronco related post coming your way... and I hope you're on the edge of your seat because that one is the mother of all posts.

With that, enjoy.
--
While I'm all fired up and raring to take on Seattle and the apparent cadre of apathetic Bronco fans that live here, I should also mention that the Commish and I went to a Blankity Blankhawks game (yes, during my two month blogging hiatus--hi, present day LMNT here. Yeah, before my most recent three month sabbatical, I guess didn't write for the two months before that. Can you believe it? I mean, THE NERVE! Internets, I'm deeply sorry to have deprived you. Really? How DID you muster the strength to carry on each day? You are very strong and resilient. I like that in an Internet. Okay, as you were). And just because it was a Blankhawks game, doesn't mean that it wasn't still Bronco Sunday, so like a true and faithful fan I donned my orange and blue.

We had seats on the aisle and at some point I told the Commish that if I were to see anyone dressed in Bronco gear I would have an uncontrollable knee-jerk reaction to yell "GO BRONCOS!" at them. In a city of enemies, it's heartening to find a comrade with whom to share a special moment, you know? A few minutes later, I spot a man coming up the stairs in a Bronco's sweatshirt and I nearly peed my pants. I start cheering and clapping the minute I see him, and as soon as he gets within high-five range I shout out "GO BRONCOS!" He looks me up and down, and essentially blows me off by asking, "Where are your colors?" I sat there dumbfounded. As I already mentioned, I was wearing orange and blue. Orange and blue. What are the Broncos' colors? ORANGE AND BLUE. There's my colors j-hole.

Oh, poor Commish. I became so incredulous and then fixated on what was wrong with this dude for the remainder of the game (3 1/2 quarters). By talking it out--mostly to myself--I came to the conclusion that he must have been color blind, but one would think that if one was color blind, one would know better than to make any comments about the colors one CANNOT see.

Needless to say, every time that idiot travelled up and down the aisle, I fought my reflex to cheer for the Broncos and completely turned my head away. Oh yeah. I showed him.

Note to self: Outward appearances are not what they seem. The Seattle-based Bronco fan must earn your trust.

Is this heaven?

Yes. This is a NEW POST. Yes, a BRAND NEW POST. A BRAND NEW POST from LMNT. And, no, it's not going to be a post about not posting (for three months, yes, I know, I think the half-dozen of you who are still willing to read my ramblings have not let me forget that. So, ta-dah! This one's for you).

Remember when I remodeled my kitchen? Remember how I bought new appliances? Remember how one of those appliances was a dishwasher? A nice, new, shiny, stainless steel $600+ dishwasher. Yes? Well, the first time I ran the dishwasher, I noticed a puddle of standing water under my sink. Now I ask you, what would any normal homeowner do upon finding a puddle of water under their sink? Call a plumber and have it fixed immediately? Is that your final answer? Ha. Hello, I'm LMNT. I know I haven't posted in three months, but you do know me, right?

Oh, I did call a plumber to have it replaced, it just took me two-and-a-half years to make that happen. But don't think that the dishwasher just sat around not being used for those two-and-a-half years. I put it to great use as the world's nicest, newest, shiniest, stainless steeliest (and spendiest) drying rack. That's right, for the past two-and-a-half-years I've been washing my dishes--and by washing my dishes I mean using my dishes and then leaving them in my sink because I HATE DOING DISHES and then finally washing them when the pile becomes unbearable--by hand and drying them in the dishwasher. That's part laziness, part tolerance, and part aversion to technology. I mean, it's been seven years since I've had a dishwasher.

We could go down the road analyzing why I didn't call the plumber, but we're not going to, because today I called a plumber, and he came to my house to fix the leak, TODAY! Note to self: if you call them, they will come. In fairness to me, I've actually called a couple of plumbers, none of whom worked out. But today, John C. Reilly the plumber showed up (short diversion: the Commish and Monster have used the plumbing company I called for work they've had done before and they've talked about John C. Reilly's doppelganger the plumber. When I opened the door today, there he was... I half expected Will Ferrell to pop out from behind the shrubs).

So, John C. Reilly the plumber diagnosed my dishwasher dilemma and a little bathroom faucet drip and it turns out he's going to come back tomorrow to do all of the work. Which means tonight I'm using every single dishwasher safe dish I own because tomorrow I'll have the complete deal: nice, new, shiny, stainless steel, $600+ washer and drying rack all-in-one.