Sunday, April 29, 2007
Busy, busy, busy
That kid to the left there has just completed 56 years on this planet. It's one of those "nondescript" birthdays - not a decade or decade and a half milestone, but it feels kinda like it ought to be a major one.That's because it's got me thinking about sex. Yes, sex.
Or, more precisely, the last time I engaged in that bit of pleasure with another person. And I'm a little worried. Not so much because it's been a shocking* while, but because the memory of the last time isn't that great.
The guy was an internet acquaintance who'd e-mailed me because I had listed quantum physics as an interest in my AOL profile. After engaging in several e-mails and a few AOL chats we got the nerve to exchange a phone call or two and then decided we needed to meet.
He was pretty brave and made the trip to Oklahoma from Iowa, opting for a hotel. But he only stayed there one night. There was a bit of a physical spark and we pursued our impulses upon returning from an afternoon at the zoo. There weren't exactly any fireworks, per se, but there was quite a loud siren. A tornado warning siren, to be precise. Timed perfectly to... well, you can guess.
About a month later, over the fourth of July holiday, I trekked to Iowa to visit him. There were no fireworks then, either. Both literally and figuratively. Somehow we managed to miss Independence Day fireworks. We did have a moon, though. Which was bright and vivid as viewed each night from his tree house... The sex, though, was perfunctory. We weren't exactly clicking on other levels either, so when I left Iowa, we knew that was it.
I'm not keen on having that as my last memory of sex if it is to be my fate never to roll naked with another person for the rest of my life... or if I were to be hit by a bus next week. I am able to reach back a little farther, though, to a time when there was some damn fine sex going on - you know that scene on the train when Diane Lane is thinking about the illicit sex she's just had in Unfaithful?- it was that good. But doesn't long term memory get shakier with age?
See my problem here?
Now one might suggest I go for a grab and bag, but that's not how I roll. At least... not now. I am fascinated by the evolution of the casual sex my generation propagated, though. I hear terms today like "friend-sex," "fuck buddy," "cuddle pal" and such. Even anonymous sex. It can certainly fuel some intriguing fantasies. However, my generation ultimately discovered, I believe, that casual sex is an oxymoron. There's nothing casual about it.
So that is what I'm pondering on on this, the 29th of April 2007, the day of my 56th birthday, and perhaps pining for a special, er, um kind of package to come knocking on my door?
Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to be happy with a fresh set of double A batteries and....
Sigh.
------
*I'm not going to say how long - each person has their own measure of "shockingly" long - for some it's a week, others months... or a couple of years... or a decade... or whatever... so, I'm not going to say and don't ask.
Posted at 2:30 AM | |
Sunday, April 15, 2007
People, people everywhere
Where are all these people going?
There are times - most often when I'm on the road, rather than in the air - I'm awed by the number of people on the move.
Years ago... years and years ago, shortly after I completed that much anticipated rite of teenage passage which landed me my coveted drivers license, I could besneaking driving back to OKC from a kickass party visit to Norman late at night and not see another car on the highway.
Not so in today's 24 hour culture. The traffic never stops and can be as busy at 3:00 am as it is at 10:00 am sometimes.
At this very moment, I'm sitting in Denver airport on an April afternoon and it's jammed packed with people as though it were the holiday time. My flight from Portland, Oregon was completely full. Every flight going out of here today is completely full - stand-bys aren't making it on.
Is this, perhaps, the way we're adjusting to over-population? We just keep moving and space is not a problem? Could so many people have so many reasons to be traveling at any given point in time? Is there ever a time no-one is on the road? Well, obviously, no.
Excuse me, I have to pause for a rant:
With apologies to friends who have young children, I wish parents of children who are able only to express their displeasure at a decibel level capable of rendering deafness would invest in home child care and leave them there. I get cranky when I fly - it can bring me, a normally calm and patient person - close to tantrum level. It may border on child abuse to subject a little munchkin to the torture of air travel.
End rant.
We're all traveling from here to there - alone in our cars, or alone with a plane full of strangers - for a myriad of reasons. One day, it might be interesting to take a recorder, camp out at an airport or gas station and ask people, "Where are you going?"
Me? I'm going home. The end of a trip I didn't want to make, but was inevitable. It's not the last one of this kind. There will be one more. When, I don't know - most likely sooner than later. And when I make the trip again, I'll be one among many traveling to who knows where for who knows why.
Will there be anyone wondering where I'm going?
There are times - most often when I'm on the road, rather than in the air - I'm awed by the number of people on the move.
Years ago... years and years ago, shortly after I completed that much anticipated rite of teenage passage which landed me my coveted drivers license, I could be
Not so in today's 24 hour culture. The traffic never stops and can be as busy at 3:00 am as it is at 10:00 am sometimes.
At this very moment, I'm sitting in Denver airport on an April afternoon and it's jammed packed with people as though it were the holiday time. My flight from Portland, Oregon was completely full. Every flight going out of here today is completely full - stand-bys aren't making it on.
Is this, perhaps, the way we're adjusting to over-population? We just keep moving and space is not a problem? Could so many people have so many reasons to be traveling at any given point in time? Is there ever a time no-one is on the road? Well, obviously, no.
Excuse me, I have to pause for a rant:
With apologies to friends who have young children, I wish parents of children who are able only to express their displeasure at a decibel level capable of rendering deafness would invest in home child care and leave them there. I get cranky when I fly - it can bring me, a normally calm and patient person - close to tantrum level. It may border on child abuse to subject a little munchkin to the torture of air travel.
End rant.
We're all traveling from here to there - alone in our cars, or alone with a plane full of strangers - for a myriad of reasons. One day, it might be interesting to take a recorder, camp out at an airport or gas station and ask people, "Where are you going?"
Me? I'm going home. The end of a trip I didn't want to make, but was inevitable. It's not the last one of this kind. There will be one more. When, I don't know - most likely sooner than later. And when I make the trip again, I'll be one among many traveling to who knows where for who knows why.
Will there be anyone wondering where I'm going?
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Posted at 4:27 PM | |
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Countdown
I decided to treat myself to a Panera savory and a latte this morning. I threw in an orange juice, too, just 'cause.
I found a table in the back corner near a table of three people who were engaged in a robust conversation. It wasn't hard to listen in - but what I heard, I'm not so sure I wanted to hear.
The young man at the table was quoting a study that had followed retirees and compared the age at retirement to how long they lived. He said, "For every year you work past age 56, you're trading two years of your life."
There may be some merit in that. My Dad essentially retired at 55-56. He recently turned 90 years of age.
The retirement wasn't planned. In fact, I think Dad's lack of work after they made the move to Oregon was a point of contention between my parents for a while. But an inheritance and wise investments ended up fueling a very nice retirement in the long run.
A poor example to set for the kids, though. I've been aiming for the same thing since I began the 8 to 5 in my youth. It doesn't look like I'm going to make it, heh, as of today, I have 20 days to keep the aging clock at bay, if that young man's information is correct.
I'll be winging to the Northwest coast in a few days to see my Dad. It will be bittersweet. My Dad recently underwent chemo-therapy for a cancer that's eating away at him, but it failed.
I'm trying to prepare myself. This will be a goodbye and I know Dad knows that. Our family is pragmatic about such things. It is what it is.
My family is it's own jumble of familial disfunction - close on some levels, not close on most. I forgave my parents years ago for not being perfect parents and I hope I was forgiven for not being the perfect child.
There will be sadness and difficulty in this next week, but it will be tempered by seeing my family together - my niece and her kids - and spending time with them.
Well. I didn't intend this to turn into a maudlin refelction of emotional angst... I better end this before the folks at the next table begin to wonder why that woman in the corner is shedding tears all over her lap-top!
Big breath. We go on.
I found a table in the back corner near a table of three people who were engaged in a robust conversation. It wasn't hard to listen in - but what I heard, I'm not so sure I wanted to hear.
The young man at the table was quoting a study that had followed retirees and compared the age at retirement to how long they lived. He said, "For every year you work past age 56, you're trading two years of your life."
There may be some merit in that. My Dad essentially retired at 55-56. He recently turned 90 years of age.
The retirement wasn't planned. In fact, I think Dad's lack of work after they made the move to Oregon was a point of contention between my parents for a while. But an inheritance and wise investments ended up fueling a very nice retirement in the long run.
A poor example to set for the kids, though. I've been aiming for the same thing since I began the 8 to 5 in my youth. It doesn't look like I'm going to make it, heh, as of today, I have 20 days to keep the aging clock at bay, if that young man's information is correct.
I'll be winging to the Northwest coast in a few days to see my Dad. It will be bittersweet. My Dad recently underwent chemo-therapy for a cancer that's eating away at him, but it failed.
I'm trying to prepare myself. This will be a goodbye and I know Dad knows that. Our family is pragmatic about such things. It is what it is.
My family is it's own jumble of familial disfunction - close on some levels, not close on most. I forgave my parents years ago for not being perfect parents and I hope I was forgiven for not being the perfect child.
There will be sadness and difficulty in this next week, but it will be tempered by seeing my family together - my niece and her kids - and spending time with them.
Well. I didn't intend this to turn into a maudlin refelction of emotional angst... I better end this before the folks at the next table begin to wonder why that woman in the corner is shedding tears all over her lap-top!
Big breath. We go on.
Labels: Life
Posted at 11:17 AM | |
Friday, April 6, 2007
I like ham, too
I don't celebrate it, being the atheistic heathen I am, but I like the candy and goodies that come along with Easter. There was lots of chocolate sprinkled throughout the office at work today.
I also like boiled eggs and when they are decorated in festive pastels, it's especially nice.
A friend sent a few Easter pics today in an e-mail. Even though I'm not a fan of babies or Easter - I had a distinctive "Awwww" moment with this one:
Due to bug spraying in our office, we got to leave an hour early, so I guess it's a bit of holiday leave. My plans are to indulge in my favorite passtime (that which will never be spoken of here) this evening then do my taxes this weekend.
Each year my refund shrinks a little more which is in direct relation to how long I procrastinate getting the tax returns done. I'm leaving town next week for a family gathering, of sorts, therefore it's a must I get 'er done this weekend.
Somewhere in there I'm sure there will be a pork product. Preferrably a spiral-cut honey baked ham sandwich, but I'll probably have to settle for bacon at brunch on Saturday.
At any rate, to my handful of readers - have a nice Easter. Whether you celebrate it or not - it's spring - that's reason enough to do something special, no?
I also like boiled eggs and when they are decorated in festive pastels, it's especially nice.
A friend sent a few Easter pics today in an e-mail. Even though I'm not a fan of babies or Easter - I had a distinctive "Awwww" moment with this one:
Due to bug spraying in our office, we got to leave an hour early, so I guess it's a bit of holiday leave. My plans are to indulge in my favorite passtime (that which will never be spoken of here) this evening then do my taxes this weekend.
Each year my refund shrinks a little more which is in direct relation to how long I procrastinate getting the tax returns done. I'm leaving town next week for a family gathering, of sorts, therefore it's a must I get 'er done this weekend.
Somewhere in there I'm sure there will be a pork product. Preferrably a spiral-cut honey baked ham sandwich, but I'll probably have to settle for bacon at brunch on Saturday.
At any rate, to my handful of readers - have a nice Easter. Whether you celebrate it or not - it's spring - that's reason enough to do something special, no?
Posted at 4:28 PM | |
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Set my ladies free!
A few months ago I underwent a transformation of sorts. I'd been o-d-ing on TLCs What Not To Wear and felt compelled to launch a minor makeover on myself.
Looking back on it now, I can't help but wonder if I hadn't been temporarily possessed by aliens. It was so out of character.
But in all actuality, it more likely had to do with a bit of "aging crisis" that had begun to niggle away at me. I am such a cliche.
At any rate, this compulsion spurred me to actually get a pedicure for the first time in my life, my third manicure ever, girly make-up on my face and the purchase of
bras.
That last item there is what really makes me feel I should plead insanity. You see, I gleefully abandoned the boob straitjackets and liberated my girls a hundred years ago when we women liberated ourselves back in the late 60s. NINETEEN-sixties, mind you.
I eschewed all efforts of Playtex to convince me to lift and separate for nigh on to thirty years. Now, granted, having been what my Dad referred to as Oklahoma's answer to Twiggy, my little buds really didn't need the support. But, somewhere in my fourth decade I bloomed.
No problem, though - I got really clever at clothing myself in a way that didn't make it so noticeble that I was going commando, boastful that "I don't own a bra" and incredulous at other women who avowed they woudn't be caught dead without their bra on.
Then a few months ago, after a trip to one of my favorite playlands, I saw a picture of myself and I wasn't happy with what I saw. There was a frumpy woman grinning back at me. Eek.
This was followed by a near revelatory experience with Stacy and Clinton reaching out to me from the glowing tube in front of me showing me a shining path out of Frumpiness into Hot.
Before I could fully comprehend what had happened, I was sitting on a bar-stool in Las Vegas with painted fingers and toes, mascara, waxed brows, and wearing a Victoria's Secret Very Sexy bra 'neath a form fitting red shirt.
And someone said, "You look hot!"
Yeah - that felt pretty damn good.
I kept up with a bit of the transformation - mainly in my wardrobe, not so much in the make-up and manicure department - until today.
Today I could no longer tolerate the discomfort and restriction of the contraption cinching me in underneath my blouse. In a fit of angst, I unhooked and released my girls from their incarceration.
Nothing feels better than that first second of liberation.
Looking hot at the cost of my comfort will have to take a back seat for a while. I know I have inner hot, heh, and the world will just have to be satisfied with that.
Now I just have to figure out how to transport the bra home inconspicuously...
[[UPDATE]] I walked out the office without my bra - it's sitting on top of my computer's CPU underneath my desk. The cleaning folk will just have to deal.....
Looking back on it now, I can't help but wonder if I hadn't been temporarily possessed by aliens. It was so out of character.
But in all actuality, it more likely had to do with a bit of "aging crisis" that had begun to niggle away at me. I am such a cliche.
At any rate, this compulsion spurred me to actually get a pedicure for the first time in my life, my third manicure ever, girly make-up on my face and the purchase of
bras.
That last item there is what really makes me feel I should plead insanity. You see, I gleefully abandoned the boob straitjackets and liberated my girls a hundred years ago when we women liberated ourselves back in the late 60s. NINETEEN-sixties, mind you.
I eschewed all efforts of Playtex to convince me to lift and separate for nigh on to thirty years. Now, granted, having been what my Dad referred to as Oklahoma's answer to Twiggy, my little buds really didn't need the support. But, somewhere in my fourth decade I bloomed.No problem, though - I got really clever at clothing myself in a way that didn't make it so noticeble that I was going commando, boastful that "I don't own a bra" and incredulous at other women who avowed they woudn't be caught dead without their bra on.
Then a few months ago, after a trip to one of my favorite playlands, I saw a picture of myself and I wasn't happy with what I saw. There was a frumpy woman grinning back at me. Eek.
This was followed by a near revelatory experience with Stacy and Clinton reaching out to me from the glowing tube in front of me showing me a shining path out of Frumpiness into Hot.
Before I could fully comprehend what had happened, I was sitting on a bar-stool in Las Vegas with painted fingers and toes, mascara, waxed brows, and wearing a Victoria's Secret Very Sexy bra 'neath a form fitting red shirt.
And someone said, "You look hot!"
Yeah - that felt pretty damn good.
I kept up with a bit of the transformation - mainly in my wardrobe, not so much in the make-up and manicure department - until today.
Today I could no longer tolerate the discomfort and restriction of the contraption cinching me in underneath my blouse. In a fit of angst, I unhooked and released my girls from their incarceration.
Nothing feels better than that first second of liberation.
Looking hot at the cost of my comfort will have to take a back seat for a while. I know I have inner hot, heh, and the world will just have to be satisfied with that.
Now I just have to figure out how to transport the bra home inconspicuously...
[[UPDATE]] I walked out the office without my bra - it's sitting on top of my computer's CPU underneath my desk. The cleaning folk will just have to deal.....
Labels: Life
Posted at 4:09 PM | |
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Passages
So. Here I am on a beautiful Sunday sitting in one of my town's local Starbuck's and I'm kinda pissed. My original destination had been our town's local Panera because it has free wi-fi. I was hungry for a bacon-spinach egg soufflé and a cup of java. However, my timing was off - the church crowd had descended so there was not a parking space to be found.
Undaunted, and with a back-up plan, I headed to the west-side Starbuck's. No church crowd and Willie Nelson crooning "Blue Eyes Cryin'" on the Starbuck's radio, I ordered my tall latte and a wildflower honey almond bar. I'd settled into a comfy chair, whipped out the lap-top, and when I attempted to access the wi-fi - I was greeted with the home page of Starbucks - T-mobile - no free wi-fi....
WTF??
Oh, well. Just a wee setback in my inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness.
I have a birthday coming up at the end of this month. I step over the ridge and complete my 56th year of life. The cliche is inescapable - time is moving way too fast.
I attended a fund-raiser on Friday. I got embroiled in a conversation with an acquaintance that had me inwardly screaming "stop, stop now!" but, outwardly, I was helpless to change the conversation's course. We went from menopause to hysterectomies to hormone replacement therapy to osteoporosis to arthritis to our various chronic aches and pains. It was old people's talk and I wanted to run screaming into the night.
The next day a friend and I strolled around our town's campus shop area. It's Parents Weekend this weekend so there were many students and parents strolling around, too. In one kitchy shop, mother's and daughters were pawing through some of the latest fashions - all retro late 60's early 70's styles.
I over heard one mother talking about how she'd wished she'd hung on to the wardrobe of her college years "It's all back in style." I whined to my friend that the popular fashion today is what my 95 lb. 20 year old self would've been wearing, but would look ridiculous on this nearly 56 year old 145 lb frumpy frame.
Is she feeling sorry for herself? Oh, well, yeah. She is, a little. But I think really what's happening is that I'm more nostalgic, really, for the youth that I once was. I love that kid.
When I see folks my age who seem to have become resigned to their age and who have lost touch with that youth they once were, I get a little scared that I could become one of them. They've disengaged and seem older than their years would indicate.
I guess that's what happens when someone hits a "mid-life" crisis, huh? O lder men seek out younger women and older women pay a visit to the plastic surgeon... We're wanting to recapture that youth we once were.
I'm not about to visit a plastic surgeon, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it for a second or two (ok, "You Make Me Feel So Young" is now playing on the Starbucks radio... who ordered up this soundtrack for my day, huh?)....
While I'm currently navigating some twists and turns of life in the elder lane, at the end of the day I'm pretty happy with how I've turned out. I love that I have friends who span a wide range of ages and I'm certainly determined to not go gently into that good night, if you will forgive another cliche. . .
This birthday will pass just as the 55 that have come before it. The dings and dents of aging are what they are - a part of life to be dealt with, but the young girl who occasionally winks at me in my mirror will continue to encourage me and inspire me live young, keep learning and stay engaged.
I'm convinced that's the path to the fountain of youth, so let that be my birthday gift to you, dear reader. May you have as many as I have and many, many more...
Undaunted, and with a back-up plan, I headed to the west-side Starbuck's. No church crowd and Willie Nelson crooning "Blue Eyes Cryin'" on the Starbuck's radio, I ordered my tall latte and a wildflower honey almond bar. I'd settled into a comfy chair, whipped out the lap-top, and when I attempted to access the wi-fi - I was greeted with the home page of Starbucks - T-mobile - no free wi-fi....
WTF??
Oh, well. Just a wee setback in my inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness.
I have a birthday coming up at the end of this month. I step over the ridge and complete my 56th year of life. The cliche is inescapable - time is moving way too fast.
I attended a fund-raiser on Friday. I got embroiled in a conversation with an acquaintance that had me inwardly screaming "stop, stop now!" but, outwardly, I was helpless to change the conversation's course. We went from menopause to hysterectomies to hormone replacement therapy to osteoporosis to arthritis to our various chronic aches and pains. It was old people's talk and I wanted to run screaming into the night.
The next day a friend and I strolled around our town's campus shop area. It's Parents Weekend this weekend so there were many students and parents strolling around, too. In one kitchy shop, mother's and daughters were pawing through some of the latest fashions - all retro late 60's early 70's styles.
I over heard one mother talking about how she'd wished she'd hung on to the wardrobe of her college years "It's all back in style." I whined to my friend that the popular fashion today is what my 95 lb. 20 year old self would've been wearing, but would look ridiculous on this nearly 56 year old 145 lb frumpy frame.
Is she feeling sorry for herself? Oh, well, yeah. She is, a little. But I think really what's happening is that I'm more nostalgic, really, for the youth that I once was. I love that kid.
When I see folks my age who seem to have become resigned to their age and who have lost touch with that youth they once were, I get a little scared that I could become one of them. They've disengaged and seem older than their years would indicate.
I guess that's what happens when someone hits a "mid-life" crisis, huh? O lder men seek out younger women and older women pay a visit to the plastic surgeon... We're wanting to recapture that youth we once were.
I'm not about to visit a plastic surgeon, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it for a second or two (ok, "You Make Me Feel So Young" is now playing on the Starbucks radio... who ordered up this soundtrack for my day, huh?)....
While I'm currently navigating some twists and turns of life in the elder lane, at the end of the day I'm pretty happy with how I've turned out. I love that I have friends who span a wide range of ages and I'm certainly determined to not go gently into that good night, if you will forgive another cliche. . .
This birthday will pass just as the 55 that have come before it. The dings and dents of aging are what they are - a part of life to be dealt with, but the young girl who occasionally winks at me in my mirror will continue to encourage me and inspire me live young, keep learning and stay engaged.
I'm convinced that's the path to the fountain of youth, so let that be my birthday gift to you, dear reader. May you have as many as I have and many, many more...
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Labels: Life
Posted at 7:51 PM | |
