It's all a load of bollocks!

How young is too young?

2011-12-13T15:47:00.003-05:00

It's been a while and this is really not much of a post, but I have to share one of my emails from OKCupid this morning:

"Hey I know it wouldn't hurt to ask but you ever considered having like casual sex with a younger person like myself? thank you"

He was 22. Cute as a button. Gorgeous tattoos.
Wearing a bandana.

And I can't abide bandanas.

At least his mother taught him good manners though. I wonder what she would say if she knew he was hitting on chicks her age. Would she be more concerned about his proclivity for older women or his inability to form a coherent sentence? Tough call.

Rejection

2010-11-23T08:58:00.005-05:00

It's so pitiful to read a profile and hang your hat on it.

But rarely do I read about someone and look at their pictures and find both equally compelling. But today I did.

I wrote a witty and engaging email (errr, yes it really was) and sent it with a glimmer of hope in my heart.
Alas, my tiny mind went off into a flight of fancy about the possibilities with this man. His beaming smile and fascinating job and gorgeous hat. It is all about the hat after all. I pictured our first date. It was a tremendous success and it meant that my life didn't ever need another first date in it. Hurrah!

Yes, I have better things to do with my morning, but instead I clicked several times to see who had visited my profile. (I know, I know, loser shield heading my way)

He came, he saw, he did not fall in love.

My profile mentions something about my propensity for growing things. His return note thanked me for reaching out and wished "that your garden blooms wildly next year".
That's next year. NEXT YEAR.

Zzzzzzzing, ow ow OW!!!
Ok, so it was the politest rejection I've ever received, but that barely takes the sting out.

So is it better to reject politely? Or just leave the emailer hanging for all eternity, slowly as each day passes reinforcing the blatant fact that a return email is not coming. Of course one can blame it on a technical hitch or a spam folder, but the heart knows that it's been zinged.

Perhaps it's karma. Last week, I got a really nice email from a good looking, articulate and accomplished man who seemed ridiculously interested in me. I was giddy with it as I read his profile, until I noticed that he is 5'4". That's me in shoes. Low shoes.
I'm sorry short man and wide universe. I just can't be part of a short couple. Awwww, aren't they cute those two little people? Holding hands and looking like a pair of Christmas ornaments.
Nah, I just don't have it in me.

The universe took note and bitch slapped me back. Ow.

Two types of people in the world

2010-11-14T14:49:00.005-05:00

My theory is that when it comes to important subjects, there’s only two ways a person can answer. For example, there’s two kinds of people in this world, Elvis people and Beatles people. Now Beatles people can like Elvis. And Elvis people can like the Beatles. But nobody likes them both equally. Somewhere you have to make a choice. And that choice tells me who you are.” - Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman), Pulp Fiction (deleted scene)

My theory is that there are two kinds of people in the world, those that carefully check the hotel room before leaving and those that don't.

In my day job as a vacation rental owner, I've come across more than my fair share of discarded items. A pair of shoes, neatly lined up under the bed. A sweet little shortie pantsuit hanging forlornly in the cupboard (that owner remembered when she got home and emailed requesting it's return). And, inevitable, discarded undies. This week, I found a pair of black cotton bikinis cavorting with the dust bunnies. The owner was East Asian and sexy, so it wasn't a horrible discovery. The balled up pair of saggy, sweaty boxer shorts down at the foot of the bed was a less exciting find, especially since that particular owner was spindly and spotty and I didn't ever want to be compelled to contemplate his sexual activities.

I cannot imagine staying in a hotel (or a friend's house for that matter) and not giving the room a quick once over before I left. I don't want anyone to discover soiled smalls, snotty tissues or a used welly. It amazes me that that chick left a favourite item of clothing just hanging in the closet.

Now back to the first paragraph. A world without Suspicious Minds would be a little less bright, but I could imagine that better than a world without Dear Prudence or While My Guitar Gently Weeps. (A world without Ob La Di, Ob La Da would be a vast improvement however)

So, I guess I am a Beatles person and I also look under the bed.
Which leads me to ponder if the Beatles/Elvis analysis corresponds with the check/don't check analysis.

Answer if you will:
Beatles or Elvis?
Check or no check?

Come on, my limited viewing audience, this could be a major moment in human anthropology!

Yoga for people that suck at yoga

2010-11-04T10:42:00.004-04:00

I just read a local blog that, amongst other things, advertised a soon to be opened yoga and movement studio in my neighborhood.

Man, how I hate yoga studios!

I am a 43 year old healthy but saggy in places mother of two young children. I'd love to get back in shape, but I am (and always was) inflexible. Going to "beginners" yoga tends to place me with much older women and I feel like a fraud. Going to "regular" yoga with a bunch of lithe twenty somethings makes me want to shoot myself. Since I am anti-gun, my alternative is going home and eating something inappropriate. It's a vicious cycle.

So, I wrote to the email shown on the blog and asked that they consider providing classes for "yoga for people that suck at yoga" please.

But even if they comply with my request, I don't know if I'd make it to the classes.
For some reason, yoga just irritates the crap out of me and I don't think it's simply because I am not very good at it.

It all seems so "holier than thou". Like being a dick all week, confessing on a Sunday and getting absolution at church. Every last yoga person I've known is catty.

So, here's another class folks should ask for:

Yoga for people who are catty when not at yoga but when they chant a few oms they get to feel better about being catty.
I think that's the main reason it's so popular.

I wrote this and then wanted a picture to accompany it, so I did an image search on google: "Weird yoga poses" because I thought that would conjure up an amusing cartoon or two. Not so. Instead, I was bombarded with ridiculously flexible people contorted into ridiculous positions. For some reason, this further fueled my ire and convinced me that people do yoga for the simple purpose of feeling more superior. "What, you can't stick your head up your own arse? How terribly unfortunate".

Given the plethora of spas willing to do a Brazilian wax, and the abundance of moist toilet tissues available in any and all drug stores, no one has the need to position themselves in such a way that they get to stare into their own asshole.

(This miserable old bugger was the least irritating. At least he has the decency to look pissed off.)

Unless, of course, self fellatio or self cunnilingus is your pasttime of choice. That's an idea I could get behind.
On second thoughts, no it isn't. New York also has an array of people looking to get laid so there's need to succumb to a DIY job.

What's that I hear you cry? You're bendy, yet ugly? Have I got a class for you!

Catwoman verus Dogman

2010-01-13T12:00:00.005-05:00

I just started internet dating again.
Scratch that. I just started thinking about the possibilities of internet dating again. And posted a new profile on a couple of sites.

Consequently, I've spent a few hours reading other people's profiles.

And profile after profile after profile has a photo of a man and his dog.
And an invitation to meet "my best friend" or a caveat "must like dogs".

Why do men think this is appealing?
Scratch that too.
I know that women find this appealing.
WHY????

And why is it that a man with a dog is considered desirable and a woman with a cat is considered sad? A woman with two cats is well on the way to becoming a "cat woman" (and that's cat woman, not Catwoman) whilst a two dogged man is even more desirable.

I do not desire a man with a dog, fawning all over it like it's a baby and not being able to make plans after work because their dog does not like to be left alone.
No no no.
Blarrghghghghhgg. (That's me vomiting)

Incredible in bed

2010-01-11T11:18:00.003-05:00

It's been a while. Is anyone still reading???

A friend and I were just chatting online about whether we'd pursue a long distance relationship.
He said that he would only if she was "incredible in bed". Which got me to thinking on this cold Monday morning...

Incredible in bed:
The ability to wash sheets and remake the bed so that it looks like a hotel room.
The ability to rise earlier than I do and come back to bed bringing me a well made cup of tea.
The ability to get into bed before I do, warm it up and not complain about my cold feet.

The list goes on.

Here is what incredible in bed looks like to me right now:

What's so exciting about a chick driving a stick?

2009-08-28T04:02:00.003-04:00

I am coming to the end of my vacation in England.
It's been good. The weather has been cooperative, as have the children and my parents.
Old friends have been marvelous.
For the most part, a success.

I've also had the chance to drive a lot which is good. It's a treat to want to go somewhere and just hop in the car and do so, rather than schlep to the subway or railway station. It's also a fabulous accessory when buying lots of groceries. I like it.

Many American men I have met in person or via their online profile have expressed an opinion that driving a stick shift is sexy. Why is that?
Given that 99% of the cars here are stick, that means that 99% of British women must be sexy and that is plainly not the case. Just wander around any branch of Roys of Wroxham and you will see hard evidence of this fact.

We don't even call them sticks. We just call them cars. The daft things that you people insist on are labelled "automatics" and, in my opinion, they are for dummies.

Driving a car with a manual gear box isn't difficult in the least, so why is it sexy?
Is it that the chick in question has to grab a penis shaped object in order to make the car go?
Probably, given the number of youporn videos featuring skinny women impaling themselves onto the gear stick and displaying considerably more thigh strength than the average bird.

But doesn't that make all men that drive sticks sexy too?

Having driven an automatic briefly in LA, the main difference I've observed is that driving a stick requires that you concentrate. Which, given that you are in control of a lethal weapon, is probably appropriate.

Although, having a manual allows you to drop down into second, hit the accelerator hard and overtake a car quickly when you haven't really got room to. And I used to like doing that. Before I started ferrying kids around and turned into a nervous nellie.

Anyway, driving has been fun. I shall miss it.
Back on Tuesday...

Just say no!

2009-07-31T08:53:00.003-04:00

Did anyone in the entire history of the modern world ever look cool in a bandana?

I don't think so.

Bandanas and dew rags look stupid. Please, world population, resist the urge to put them on.

Lazy is as lazy does.

2009-07-25T21:42:00.003-04:00

Brace yourselves - about to bash yer peeps again...

Here's an inquiry:

Say you had a decent sized 700 square foot apartment on the third floor with large windows on both sides and a delightful cross breeze on a relatively calm day and quite a substantial breeze on a windy day like today. And say it got a little warm.

What would you do?

If you were Danish, or Hungarian, or French, or English even, I can say from recent experience that you would open all the windows and let the fresh (as it can be in Brooklyn) air in.

If you were American, on the other hand, you would keep the windows shut as tight as a virgin's twat and turn on the air conditioner.

What a lazy-arsed bunch of lazy-arses. You people would rather be doused in mechanically cooled air rather than open a window because if you open it you'll have to expend more energy to close the damned thing later. Horror of horrors!

No surprise for guessing who invented the remote control.

Newsflash: Air conditioning is not essential. If it was essential, it would be used world wide and it just isn't. On top of that, it's bad for your health and even worse for the environment. The New York subway requires that you carry a sweater when the outdoor temperature is 85 degrees because it's so unbearably cold on the train. There's a budget deficit, yet no one can quite arrive at the startling fact that the subway doesn't need to be 60 degrees. Bunch of divvies.

Summer gives you an opportunity to wear less clothes and drink more water - cool yourselves down people. And turn off the freakin A/C.

Girls will be girls. Boys will be boys.

2009-07-19T09:58:00.004-04:00

It's very hard to find a moment to record one's thoughts when the children are rampaging around, chores need to be done and friends should be seen before we leave for our summer hols in England.

Things were busy enough even before last weekend's spanner in the works. (Err, that would be wrench for you Americans)

Last weekend, the kids started scratching. There had been several outbreaks of head lice throughout the school year (which is what happens when you let the white people in, but that's a story for another day) and we were very relieved to have escaped the trend.

Or so we thought.

The scratching increased and so, at an event in the park with a bunch of other parents from school, I asked my friend to check their heads. I'd been looking, but it's one of those cases that if you don't know what you're looking for, you really don't know when you've found it.
Long story short - lice it was.

I immediately went to the nearest chemist (err, drug store. I am practising my English for Blighty next week) and bought 3 boxes of Rid and texted the kids father to meet us at our house.
When he finally showed up, he went into a google frenzy and announced that the product was poison. Well, poisonous beyond the obviously desired poisonous-to-lice-ness. When you read that a product is designed to be used only twice in a lifetime, you kinda know that you don't want it on your kids head.

Alternate options were explored and, to cut another long story short, we spent 4 hours and $330 at "The Lice Lady" in Carroll Gardens having the buggers combed out.

I'd love to say that that was the end of the matter, but I've had to comb their hair out myself every other day since and have to continue to do so until two weeks have passed. Fun it is not.

Now my children, as you can see from this:
have the most glorious heads of hair. We refer to them as having afros, but in fact they don't at all. In size and, to an extent, shape, they do, but that's where the comparison ends completely. They don't have an inch of kink in their hair and in fact the smaller kid has many straight strands on his beautiful head. What they have is very thick, very curly, very soft, hair. (A bit more kink, and the lice might have left us alone hence the comment at the outset)

I love their hair. It's like a trademark and the quickest and easiest way for me to tell a fellow parent which kids belong to me. I've said a million times "the ones with the hair" and everyone knows who I am talking about.

Last week, almost everyone that heard of our woes said "you're going to buzz their hair right?"

Nope. Not me.

Yes, combing out that hair has been a bloody nightmare. Yes, it would have been easier to just shave it all off. But so what that it would have been easier? New York is too full of choices made for children that are easier for parents - more about that another day too, since that's not the topic of this particular little rant.

Here's the topic: If they had been girls, noone would have thought to make the suggestion that I shave their heads. If they were girls, it would just be assumed that we would deal with it as is - or maybe at the very most have a trim to make life a little simpler.

Because the appearance of girls is important, apparently, and the appearance of boys is not.
Boys should not trouble themselves with the way they look. Girls should not dare to forget it.

Got that? Because it's practically set in stone and perpetuated by even the most "thinking" of people.

And yet you thinkers complain when your grown men can't be bothered to put on a decent outfit to go out for dinner. Or, when they go overboard in adulthood at the chance to actually consider their appearance, you complain that they are metrosexuals and won't get out the bathroom.
You complain that your girlfriends won't climb walls or get themselves dirty.

And you will complain when your girls are hairdressers and my boys are engineers.

Newsflash for New York women.

2009-07-12T18:47:00.003-04:00

OK, I have a newsflash for all women living in New York City.
If you are not already sitting down, you might want to take a seat because this news is startling and might cause fainting or other physical signs of distress.

Ready?

Brace yourself because this might come as quite a shock to some of you...

OK, here goes:

It is not compulsory to partake in yoga classes simply because you live in New York.

See, I said it was a shocker.

To all those women busy trying to bend themselves into impossible positions not because they want to, but because they thought they were somehow contractually obliged to by dint of their chosen city of residence (gasps for breath) let me release you from your imagined obligation.

If you Internet date and live in New York you may be particularly convinced that yoga is a mandatory activity and that normal life could not be sustained without it.

You would be mistaken.

And here's another newsflash:
Yoga is not the only way to exercise. You can run, or swim or even walk. You can meditate if you so choose, but it doesn't have to be done whilst inexplicably staring at your own ass.

Almost every freaking chick I know does yoga. Some do it casually, some regular, some almost religiously. Several even teach other buggers to do it.

Once in a while, I succumb to the badgering of various of these friends and I take a class. It irritates the shit out of me. The teachers invariably are the kind of people I would hit across the face with a shovel if I thought I could get away with it. (My own dear yoga teaching friends notwithstanding. Although I have to confess that if I took one of your classes I'd probably feel the same way about you. Sorry)

You have to do it more often they say. But why? I don't like doing it.
When I discover that I don't like an activity, taste, person - whatever the case may be - I do my darnedest to avoid them/it.

This pressure to don comfortable, yet stylish clothing and make like a downward dog is particularly strong in the white community. A white chick in New York not doing yoga may feel as if it is her against the world.

But it is not. I ain't doing it either.

Namaste.

New Photo and annoying results.

2009-07-09T21:43:00.004-04:00

I just changed my profile photos and now the lead one is this one:

Can't decide if I look cute or just plain old though. My besties on facebook are saying the former, mostly, so I will roll with that.

Anyway, it's given my Nerve dating profile a new lease of life since I've been viewed a couple hundred more times since the change (pushing the 18,000 views mark which is tragic when you consider that I haven't met anyone that I want to have a relationship with).

I've been hotlisted by a few oldies though, so maybe the old airheadgenius photo was a bit too young and flattering. I've also got a few new emails today.

One guys email seemed reasonably promising so I checked out his profile.

Deal breaker. Fatally flawed. Not even going to get out the gate.

Of the 10 ethnicities up for grabs for his potential date, he had chosen but 3.
Note to my little tiny readership, lest any of you be Nerve daters jonesing for one airheadgenius: I have no interest and very little respect for anyone that cherry picks their dates based on ethnicity.

More on this later, but first I must do the dishes and put the children to bed.
Whilst you're waiting, what do you think of the new photo?

Bloody idiot

2009-07-08T22:17:00.003-04:00

I am so mad at myself right now.

Today, the small people and I ran errands in the morning, then met friends in the park in the afternoon. The errands involved schlepping to Home Depot with the granny cart and picking up various DIY items for the house and yard.

Whilst over in Bed Stuy, we did a quick reccie of the large and seemingly glorious outdoor pool at Kosciusko and then, having walked home, mosied over to a playground near BAM.

The point here is that we were walking (or scooting in the case of the smalls) for a couple hours.

And here's why I am a bloody idiot:

I have a killer sunburn. The entire area above my shirt - a scoop in the back and the chest - is a deep, unappealing brick red. The forecast was for the high seventies so, stupido that I am, I thought that not applying sun screen was no biggie.

Wrong.

How many times have I made this same mistake? About a thousand.
How many years does it take for me to embrace the fact that I am a white person and that I burn very easily? Apparently more than 42.

We were supposed to be going to said outdoor pool tomorrow and the beach on Friday. Which will not help matters remotely. Unfortunately, it was an airhead dominant day.

Tweeted

2009-06-26T00:13:00.005-04:00

Just a quickie...

I haven't had much of a chance to write anything - clearly - for the last week or so. It's the last day of school tomorrow and there have been myriad school events, plus work, plus chores so it's been hectic.

But I just had to make a little comment on the day that Michael Jackson died.

WTF is wrong with the world when we hear about fellow entertainment industry celebrities having "tweeted" their feelings about Jacko's death??? Celebrities that were, apparently, actual friends of his.

Now, his death may not be important in the grand scheme of things - in a world with wars and famine - but it's still a death. I would have thought that making a statement about it if you were indeed one of his pals, could be done with a little more gravitas than 140 characters on Twitter.

I can't stand the fact that at least two major networks on their evening - supposedly serious - newscasts, spoke in solemn tones about poor deceased Michael and used the expression "Tweeted".

Yeah, it's official - I hate the new face of social networking.

Cravings

2009-06-17T20:23:00.003-04:00

Toasted bagel with cream cheese and lox
Warm croissant with butter
Waffles
Yorkshire Pudding
Molten chocolate cake
Scones with clotted cream
Jamaican Pattie
Jam doughnut
Custard Tart
Shortcake
French bread
Jacobs cream cracker
Digestive chocolate biscuits
Tarte tartin

The list is endless.
Coeliac disease sucks.

Dumb and Dumber

2009-06-10T22:44:00.004-04:00

Just browsed through Crate and Barrel's sale offerings.

There's a pretty umbrella for a decent price advertising itself as "eco". I was interested to know what that meant when pertaining to umbrellas, so I checked out the blurb.

I learned that one of its features is that it's "waterproof".

How delightfully useful for an umbrella!!! I would hate to order it and find that it's not waterproof and is actually made of paper.

Full disclosure when purchasing a product can be a very good thing. For example, in England where the government is not in the pocket of the food corporations, it is required that a bag of peanuts contains the allergen information "this product contains nuts" . Silly in that instance, but of course overwhelmingly useful most of the time.

But surely we can assume that a fucking umbrella is waterproof?

(This brought to you by the "Stop dumbing things down" bureau)

Bad Facebook Karma

2009-06-08T21:54:00.003-04:00

I don't like having my photograph taken.
Not because I don't like my appearance because, quite often, I do.
I just don't photograph well. I am blonde with freckles and very pale skin which, as mentioned in an earlier post, tends to misbehave. I look washed out more easily than my dark haired and/or dark skinned friends. Put me next to a brown person (like my ex) and a snapshot will leave them glowing and richly toned and me looking like Miss Haversham.

Animated me is attractive. 2D me doesn't hold up as well to scrutiny.

I would never post an unflattering photograph of anyone online - friend or foe. It's just such an unnecessary thing to do. Many a time, I've downloaded photos of family and friends gatherings on to my computer and then de-shined people or removed a zit in iphoto before sending the pictures on. As far as I am concerned, it would be rude not to. An erstwhile friend (now frenemy) of mine was at my house for dinner and she, as is her wont, was taking pictures almost constantly. Mostly of herself. I asked her not to take pictures of me, but sure enough she did and I wound up tagged on Facebook looking atrocious. The chick in question is a model and so not only beautiful, but photogenic and used to posing. Plus a decade younger than me. On the day in question, I'd had about 2 hours sleep and looked exhausted, hence my quite firm request to be left out of the shots. Sporting, it wasn't.

In the last two days, two different individuals posted photographs to their Facebook pages and then tagged the subjects.
One of the subjects was yours truly.

I look like battered shite in both of them.

I am a firm believer of "what goes around, comes around" and publishing shabby images of someone is not a cool thing to do.
These women both have highly unenviable lives. I can only say that karma's a bitch.

What does your arse look like?

2009-06-07T11:28:00.002-04:00

I had a conversation the other day with a friend of mine - one of those typical mummy conversations when you compare notes about doctors and childbirth and after care and all the rest of it. It's not something I talk about all that often, but I recently had an MRI and a confirmation that I have some weird consequences from my two c-sections.

My friend said something about how difficult it was to heal after her second child since she had been given a giant episiotomy. No news there since you Americans are an impatient bunch and tend to slice completely gratuitously. (Note to Americans, it's much better to tear than to slice)

"Apparently they cut all the way down to my butt"

Again, not unlikely.
Stupid, but not unlikely.

The bit I don't get is "apparently".

Now, apparently I have severe scaring that has resulted in my bladder, uterus and abdomen being fused together. Yikes! Yuck! Yowzer!
Whatever.
I have no choice but to deal with "apparently" because I don't have medical imaging equipment in my house and, even if I did, I wouldn't know how to use it.

But if I had a giant scar running from me snatch to me arse, I wouldn't be content with that little snippet of information to be unconfirmed and left in the realm of "apparently". I mean, it's a body part - right there and opportunely placed for perusal. It's not as if you have to take an inconvenient train ride to get to it.

So, to my friend with the scar on your perineum, if you are particularly bendy, throw your legs over your head and have a look! Or go old school 70's orgasm class and squat over a mirror.

Where's your sense of adventure woman??

The government encourages poor people to be ugly and childless.

2009-06-03T18:09:00.003-04:00

I have poor people health insurance. Well, kinda.

NY State supposedly doesn't want any child to be without health insurance so there's a low cost option open to everyone and it's free to some, depending on income. It used to be low income, but recently they changed it to low/middle (at least if you consider low to be in the 25K range and middle to be in the 50K range. We are not talking Bill Gates's version of middle here)

And some bright spark realised that if you want to keep kids healthy, you'd better make sure their parents keep breathing sufficiently well to raise them and keep them safe.
Hence Family Health Plus.

Family Health Plus is a mixed bag. On the one hand, the co-pay is $5, but on the other, not so many doctors take it. My doctor of 14 years takes it as a specialist (rheumatology for what it's worth) but not as a primary, so I had to switch. I gave her a list of doctors in her very large group that accepted my insurance and asked her to recommend someone.
She did.
I assumed that she did so because she thought he was a good doctor, but since meeting him and discovering that he is a total whack job, I am now wondering if she just picked the best of a bad job.

Anyway, he might be a story for another day.

Today's story is: poor people need not have children and they need not be beautiful.

Why's that then? I hear (at least 1 of you) cry.

Well, in the past few weeks I've had a few of my mysterious ailments identified and consequently have discovered what is and what is not covered by my health insurance...

Covered: birth control.
Free free free. At a value of $50/month. Now, a regular HMO like Oxford, for example, does not cover contraception. I remember pre kid days paying $50/month and kicking myself for not picking up freebies when I was home in England. But God forbid poor people should have more children, so the government picks up the tab.

Not covered: Retin A.
I have crappy skin. Have had since the age of 13 and, given that I am 42, looks as if I always will. It peels. It overreacts to environmental pollutants. It breaks out once a month and generally misbehaves. Am I good candidate for Retin A? Most certainly. Am I going to get it at $187 a tube when it is not covered by health insurance? Most certainly I am not.

Here ends my post on why the government encourages poor people to be ugly and childless.

Attached and looking for a date

2009-06-01T23:33:00.003-04:00

Another email today from an attached man looking for a fling.
Not my particular cup of tea, but I am not about to get into any moral judgements here.

The thing that kills me about it is the photos:

9 times out of 10, the man posts a picture of his naked chest shot, usually, in the bathroom mirror.
Now, presumably, this is to preserve his anonymity.

Maybe the marriage has broken down. Maybe the couple no longer has sex. Maybe one or both of them is seeking a shag elsewhere.

But they still know what the other looks like naked don't they???

I haven't had sex with my kid's dad for over 5 years, but I would recognise his naked chest in a heartbeat, even if he was decapitated.

Imagine the conversation:
I saw your chest on Nerve.com
Nah, that wasn't me. It just looked like my chest.
I know what your chest looks like - I've been looking at it for the past 5 years.
Ah, you can't say it's my chest. Chests all look the same.

Post your freaking kneecap sucker. Your wife doesn't have a clue what your kneecap looks like.

How bad can a life of solitude possibly be?

2009-05-30T23:20:00.004-04:00

Today, I got a couple of new chaps in hot pursuit over on the rancid cesspool that is Nerve.com.

One seems quite interesting, but he lives in New Jersey and, let's face it, I ain't messin' with the Garden State. The other makes me want to commit to a life of celibacy.

According to his note, he thinks we would "get a long".

Get a long what???
Get a long stick to beat him over the head with whilst screaming "why did you not pay attention at school???" maybe.

A snippet from his profile was attached to the email. At least, I assumed it was a snippet, but alas it transpired that it was his profile in all it's succinct and misspelled glory.

Brace yourself, dear reader...

"im i do professiounal carpinter artistic wood craftis"

Please let English be his second language! Also, dear ether, let his first language be whatever the fuck it is they speak on Mars.

I can't... I just can't... (shakes head dispairingly and slinks off to bed)

Complacency, aka other parents are annoying.

2009-05-29T11:54:00.004-04:00

There are few things more demoralising than complacency.

I've had a few instances in the last week or two where an idea of mine - or of someone elses for that matter- has been met with great enthusiasm, but when it comes to actually pinning down the details, everyone goes AWOL.

At my kids school, I am chair of the Community Building Committee.
It is a thankless task.

One of the main grievances that parents seem to have is that they don't get out. They have no life. Everything they do revolves around the children.

Yet, given an opportunity to do something about it, these same whinging parents shrug and adopt that sneering-nose-turned-up-expression, heave out a tired "nah" and confess that they just can't be bothered to participate.

Question to all you parents out there: Do you know how to have a piss up in a brewery?

These same people complain about how busy they are. How can you claim to be busy AND claim to have no social life? If you look up the definition of busy, it won't say "sitting at home on the sofa eating Dorritos and wishing you'd never been born".

Is there a memo that goes out when you have a child that says "thou shalt be miserable"?
If there is, I didn't get it.

Thank fuck.

(Yours irritatedly, airheadgenius, who is actually genuinely busy and is still going out tonight)

Things you did not know you needed aka very expensive gadgets

2009-05-27T12:25:00.004-04:00

For many reasons, I get an inordinate amount of junk mail. Part of it is the legacy of catalog shopping tenants. Part of it is from when I assisted my kids daycare with various purchases and made the mistake of having them shipped to my home. And part of it is from my tendency to waste time buying things online.

If you buy something from a particular catalog and if you are not careful, you will get all that catalog's affiliate businesses bombarding you with product offerings. Which is how I happened upon Hammacher Schlemmer. Now, I would never buy from this company - the name alone is off putting enough - but I do get a peculiar satisfaction from flicking through the pages of their weird and wonderful products and considering who on earth it is that has a use for them. Who is it, for example, that buys a portable gel seat weighing a not inconsiderable 2.5lbs and costs $60?
Or, the hands free over ear reading light??

These people are in the business of creating and identifying a new problem in order that you might then buy something to solve it.

Now, you can have your over ear reading light for those days that there's a power outage. Although, you'd better buy yourself a key ring with a laser light attached so that you can shine light A in order to find light B, when the overhead light is not working. Or, maybe you could get one of those gadgets that find other gadgets when you clap your hands. Attach that to the key ring with the light so you can find the other light when your main light isn't working. And you might want to buy a receptacle for the gadget finding gadgets because, don't forget, if you buy one you get one free.

And on and on it goes.

Barely useful products for unlikely scenarios.

So, imagine my surprise when I see this beautiful offering:

Isn't it elegant? Reminiscent of the Sydney Opera house.
I assumed it was some kind of portable pop-up sun shade for us light skinned beasts. At further inspection, I realised it was too big to be pop-up and was possibly for the beach house set.

Fair enough - it's still rather elegant.
And then I noticed the price tag.

$35,000! The price of a nice car or, in certain locations, a decent house.

What the fuck is up with that???

And even if it was worth that kind of money, which I am sure it cannot possibly be, does HamSchlem really have that customer? I can't picture that somehow - the same person jonesing for extendable toenail clippers that also has 35 thou to drop on a sunshade???

What a world.

Girlie Men

2009-05-24T19:18:00.003-04:00

I can't get excited about a man that says !!!
Even if he's written "you are beautiful!!!!"

"You are beautiful" is elegant and delivered with sincerity

"You are beautiful!!!!!!!" is written by a fratboyfuckwit with the maturity of a high schooler.

Ditto anyone that refers to themselves as a "boy" or their potential date as a "girl".

There's this one man aged 47 with a handle something like photoboy. How frickin old is he going to be before he embraces manhood??? (err, I can use multiple punctuation marks because I am in fact a female)

And those men looking for a girl. What's up with that? Girls go to school. Girls live with their parents. Girls wear training bras. There is a slight possibility that he, and the many other men that do it, are pedophiles and are genuinely looking for girls, but if their age parameter is 25 and up, then they need to reconcile themselves with the fact that these "girls" are in fact women.

Being called a girl is yet another reminder that females are not the ones making the rules. Imagine referring to a 50+ businessman as a boy?

I am not a girl. I am a woman. And have been one for a couple decades.

So, if you've arrived at this blog from Nerve.com and intend to write to me, please don't be looking for a girl and don't be using too many exclamation points.
Thank you.

Young people, sex and slop sinks.

2009-05-22T06:44:00.005-04:00

Rumour has it that women of a certain age are no longer interested in sex.

I beg to differ.

But with one major caveat - all will be revealed.

When one is a bright young thing, sex is about the most fun one can have. The proverbial sex drugs and rock n roll is where it's at for those fresh faced folk. Why? Because they have yet to live long enough to discover the sweet satisfaction one gets from a simple pleasure.

Teenagers and twenty somethings are not jaded. Life has not given them lemons, which is good because they don't have a frickin clue how to make lemonade.
No complex decisions have had to be made.
Shit is not deep.

As one matures and has worked in the same industry for a decade or so, an unexpected snow day, for example, can lead to delirium.
A surprising low gas bill engenders utter delight.
Or imagine the joy when the leftovers from dinner are perfectly suitable for the children's lunch the following day, leaving a full ten minutes of "extra" time in the morning to savour a cup of tea and read the headlines. Bliss.

It's not so much that an older woman has stopped liking sex, but rather that she has found many more new and nuanced ways to gain pleasure.
Sex is good and fun and fulfilling, but so too are any of the above.

To that end, imagine my delight yesterday when Prince, my most valued and trusty plumber, installed a utility sink in my cellar! (Can you stand that he's called Prince?? It is really true)

Oh the joy.

For the past 3 years, I've had to do all my "slop work" as I believe it's called in either my sumptuous deep stainless steel kitchen sink or my grand and spacious two bathroom sinks. All three glorious, but unsuited to rinsing paint brushes or dealing with unsavory underwear incidents (my 5 years olds, not my own). The cellar steps have been crying out for a wash down, but I've not had the heart to traipse up and down the stairs refilling the bucket. But now, chores like that can be done in a flash.

I am giddy with the excitement of it all.

Now, as mentioned at the outset, I like to have sex. It is definitely up there in my top 5 fun things to do, however it's been a few years since it's been my be all and end all. One only has energy for a certain amount of activities and, very often as life becomes more and more complex and awash with responsibility, true joy is gained when a "to do" can be moved off the list.

Yesterday, my erstwhile booty call sent me a text message. I almost replied because a booty call is long overdue, but then I decided against it.
How could I commit an evening to sex when I have the possibility of getting those cellar steps clean???

(The youngsters amongst you are wondering what it was that you ever found appealing about me. The middle aged readers are jonesing for a utility sink.)

Since the plight of the single mother is to multi-task, the booty call doing me from behind as I wash the stairs would have been just about perfect. Wish I'd thought of that last night...

Tell the truth - do you really like to swallow?

2009-05-20T20:13:00.003-04:00

Since I threw caution to the wind and confessed to not liking garlic, consequences be damned, I am now going to confess to another substance I am not too fond of ingesting:

Jizz.

There, I've said it.

The consistency is foul. It is the same as a bucketload of snot. It slips down your throat in a nauseating fashion and it's all I can do not to throw it back up.

Bleuucchhchhhhhhh!

Nasty. I am turning my nose up at the thought.

I love jizz for it's life creating capability, in tandem with the wonderful egg as discussed previously, and have two delightful offspring to attest to it's marvelousness.
But since my need to procreate has been fulfilled, I don't care if I never encounter spunk first hand ever again.

Up my snatch. In a condom. On my body.
All well and good.

Anywhere near my face. Yak.
In my mouth? No thank you.

Tell the truth oh cum guzzlers out there. Do you really genuinely actually like it???

Garlic

2009-05-19T21:46:00.001-04:00

I don't like garlic.
I don't like the taste and I don't like the smell.
I've been pretending to like it for years, but I just don't.

Saying you don't like garlic is like saying you don't like sex.
Unthinkable for an evolved person.

I like sex.
I don't like garlic.

Judge me as you see fit.

80's music? I should cocoa.

2009-05-18T21:14:00.001-04:00

SO many people write on their internet dating profiles that they love "music from the 80s".

One guy wrote to me the other week - sorry honeybunny, I forgot to respond - and his profile says that he loves to go out dancing to "any music from the 80s".

I instantly conjure up Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet et al. Frankly, I'd rather have my eyeballs tattooed.
They were kind of cute at the time, but even as a teenager not really my bag.

The early eighties had the last vestiges of punk - the musically more interesting variety like The Stranglers and The Damned both of whom I saw at the bloody marvel that was the Ipswich Gaumont. And then there was ska.

Now, if someone is into The Specials, or The Beat (not the "English Beat" you annoying fuckwits) then we could have something to talk about. If they can sing this

or this

Then we're talking.

Alcohol

2009-05-16T21:31:00.001-04:00

You know, I hate to say it but I think I am going to have to give up alcohol.
I sincerely hope that the British government isn't reading this as they will insist that I surrender my passport for sure.

I started drinking aged 13 - buying cider from the off license and drinking it at the local rec.

By 15, I was spending significant amounts of my weekend in the pub.
By late 16, I spent pretty much every evening there.

Given that back then I was an even smaller person, I had a substantial tolerance for alcohol and drank many of my friends, males included, under the table. My propensity for speed and weed didn't seem to curb my alcohol consumption either.

For some reason, when I went to University, the desire to drink heavily left me and, contrary to what the rest of my friends were doing, I barely drank for the next couple years. Post graduate education got my drinking back up to speed though and the weekends of my Masters degree are mostly hazy.

Cut to New York and a group of Irish friends and things went from bad to worse. There's a couple of stories here - maybe for another day - but suffice it to say that sobriety didn't feature very prominently in this phase of my life.

My tolerance began to wane when my I started living with my ex - the kid's dad. He barely drank and so my tendency to open a bottle of wine in the evening started to be eroded. Four years of pregnancy and/or breastfeeding wiped alcohol out of my system and then celiac disease brought my capacity to withstand the effects of drink to non existent.

Gluten must be the substance that absorbs alcohol because being gluten free makes one what my people call "a lightweight". I asked my brother if he found that celiac had affected his tolerance in any way. He said "no, it's about the same" to which my sister-in-law burst out laughing and said "oh yeah - that's why you threw up red wine through your fingers at the PTA meeting right?"

(Yes folks, PTA meetings in England feature alcohol)

These days, if I drink more than a couple glasses of wine or even one large vodka and tonic, I am half cut.
It's not good.
I like being drunk, but I like it to be purposeful and after a long night of partying. Not just because I am a lightweight.

Last night. I was at a gallery opening and merely sipping wine and making conversation. After that, I went out on a date.
It wasn't until this morning when I realised that I had bent this poor chap's ear incessantly with, mostly, utter bollocks.
Because I hadn't drunk much, it didn't really occur to me that I was somewhat impaired and my usual not-very-conversationally-filtered self had ditched the filter completely.

Sorry 'bout that!

I am too old to be getting drunk by accident so perhaps it's time to just let the alcohol go.
The mere thought of it has me gasping for a vodka and tonic.

Hair hair everywhere.

2009-05-15T14:54:00.003-04:00

This plate was designed by Ana Mir, my friend. Google her for she is a bloody marvel.
I wish I could make it bigger. It features a pubic hair on the rim...

I just finished cleaning my rental apartment as I have guests arriving this evening.
Short term out of towners.
I am Hotel Hello.

If there's one thing one doesn't want to find in a hotel or similar, is hair.
Someone else's hair.

Head hair is unappealing. Pubic hair abhorent.

Other people's hair is the bane of my life.

It sticks to everything - even after the linens have been washed, the straggly little fuckers cling on for dear life. Dark hair is, of course, the worst because it shows. And what is it with women that they insist on having long hair? Have short hair for a change you sheep like clones.*

But why is pubic hair so distasteful? In reality, and depending on the specific area of the body it came from, it's probably more likely to be clean than head hair. Not everyone washes their hair daily after all, but most of us at least give the pubes a seeing too with some soap on a regular basis. (If it originates from the arse region, then of course my argument holds very little water. Arse hair is not clean, esp under a microscope. One would imagine. Haven't actually investigated)

A friend of mine complained that an ex tenant had left pubic hair EVERYWHERE. The tenant was black, with short hair.
Errr, that's just head hair honey and you're not very bright.

Back in art school, aged 19, I was reviewing my portfolio with my pervy ceramics teacher. He turned a large A2 page and on the back - framed in a sea of pure white - was a long, thick, black pubic hair.
It wasn't mine, but my boyfriends.
I have never, nor probably shall I ever, grown a black hair - pubic or otherwise. I coughed, in the hope that the force of my breath would blow it away, but it didn't.

My teacher said "that's not yours is it?"

I flat out died. Internally. In the way that only teenagers can.
And from that day forth, I've had excellent pubic hair portfolio management.
In case you care.

* European women have short hair quite often. Apparently we don't fall quite so hard for the culturally determined pre-requisites assigned to our gender. Yay European women!

"New and improved" aka you are eating crap

2009-05-14T11:07:00.006-04:00

I feel like hammered shite today.
Drained.
Anaemic.

At school this morning, both children presented me with the hole in their backpacks where their lunch bags should be.
I had left them adorning the kitchen counter.

No biggie for a "regular" kid because they can just get school lunch. My kids have celiac disease though so it's a minor drama.
The principal, in this instance luckily, has a husband with wheat intolerance so she's reasonably familiar with the diet.
I asked if she would help the kids pick out a gluten free lunch from the cafeteria.

My children are jubilant. Like "It's Christmas" jubilant. "You are the best mummy in the world. Thank you thank you!" From the 5 year old.

Yay, today we can eat unadulterated crap like a regular kid! Yippee!

Where am I going wrong??
Tonight's bedtime story will be Fast Food Nation.

I skipped breakfast and am now snacking on one of their lunches. One item is a Stoneyfield Farm Organic Yogurt.
Healthy right? Healthy wrong.
I noticed the other day, in the supermarket, that the company makes the claim "20% less sugar than the other children's yogurts"

Whoop de doo! How about making it out of yogurt and fruit? Without sugar?
Whoaaaaaaaa! Yeah - shoot me, I'm a radical.

You can always replace sugar with aspartame I hear you cry. At least that way, if you die alone your body will take longer to decompose and it won't be so revolting for the people that find you. Every cloud and all that...

I love these advertising campaigns that make a "shoot yerself in the foot" claim:

"New improved taste!" - because it used to taste like crap.
"New improved texture!" - because it used to feel like crap.
"New whitening capability" - because it didn't use to clean yer crap.

Here's a new advertising campaign. It could be applied to just about any product in any store:

"Buy it SUCKER!"

Snatches, youporn and the indignity of womanhood

2009-05-13T21:36:00.004-04:00

* My apologies for the image. It's by Finnish artist Mimosa Pale and is a vulva taxi. Go ahead, take it for a spin.

So, as mentioned in the earlier post, today was undignified day.

Men complain bitterly about the prostate exam. To women.
"You can't believe how much it hurt". To women.
"Man, it was embarrassing". To women.

Before motherhood, one's vagina is a precious temple. An ode to femininity. The root of all pleasure to be enjoyed and shared and treated with love and respect.

During pregnancy, one's snatch becomes merely a portal to someone else. A means to investigate the smaller human within.

More people go diving up yer snatch in pregnancy than at any other time in your life* (Notwithstanding our dear prostitute friends)
The first few times a latex gloved hand starts poking around, it gives you some pause. By the 40th week, you could care less if an entire hospital department formed an orderly queue and took it in turns to manipulate your various orifices. (Orifi?)

Gynaecological exams are less of a big deal postpartum, but they remain undignified whichever way you look at it.
You feel like a right plum with your legs in stirrups, maintaining a conversation about your menstrual cycle with the top of someone's head.
It's not something anyone would elect to do.

Today's little expedition into the recesses of my body involved sticking some foreign oject through my cervix and wriggling it about just enough to cause pain but not enough to kill me. The precursor to that instrument was the dear old speculum.

Which brings me, as so many things do, to youporn.
A regular reader will know that I have a morbid fascination with youporn.
It's crapporn. Pedestrianporn. Amusingporn. Depending on the day.
The other day it was obgynporn. Some bright spark thought it would be a good idea to film a woman, dressed in white lace stockings, being given a gynaecological exam by, of course, another woman.

I can sense crotches rising as I write.

I understand the fascination with all things female and all things snatch. Of course.
But once the brim of the puss has been breached, and the camera focuses on the love canal (I appear to be channeling a romantic version of Zeitgeisty) then it's just any old pink tube. It could be an oesophagus, a bowel, any few inches of several miles of intestine.

In other words, a pink tube is a pink tube is a pink tube.

Here's a thought for all you obgyn speculum gaping snatch lovers out there. Attach two fake moustaches thusly () to the screen of your telly and watch an episode of House. It'll knock yer socks off.

Sick, sicker, Sicko.

2009-05-13T07:09:00.003-04:00

This is my fifteenth year in America.

I watched Sicko last night - and yeah, I know I am a bit late in the game here.

Most of my years here, I had a regular, full time, well paid job and a good insurance policy. I knew that millions of americans didn't have health insurance, but not the specifics of it since it didn't affect me.

Maybe 18 months ago, I got laid off from my design job in the garment center for the second time.
My big fat very well paid job had gone to a medium sized reasonably well paid job, to no job.
Cobra was $900 a month, so I skipped it.

My kids got Child Health Plus and I hoped for the best.
We spent the summer in England, so I got my pap smear done, lots of free contraception, dental exam and eye test done for free on the National Health Service.

CHP is supposedly available to everyone. It is an incredibly convoluted process and involves dealing with an agency that seems to deliberately employ fools to fuck up your application. Recently the earnings parameter's changed so that the upper income limit is much higher. In theory, anyone can get the insurance and it's just a matter of whether or not you will have a monthly premium. In reality, many applications get rejected and coverage is denied. My youngest son's policy got cancelled due to a clerical error and, even though it was the agency's fault, it took 3 months to get him reinstated. The agency claimed that my income was too high. Although it wasn't too high for my older son to be covered. As much as I may experience mood swings, I am definitely only one person.

Anyway, back to Sicko. And a 2 year old that died because she couldn't be seen by a hospital physician not because she didn't have health insurance - she did - but because she wasn't at the HMO's hospital.

The richest country in the world allows it's children to die at the doors of a hospital because the paperwork doesn't jive.
That is shameful.

Americans life expectancy is lower than in Britain. It is apparently the lowest in the Western world. Infant mortality is higher here than in Cuba.

What the fuck is going on??

Why don't you people fight for a change? How can you be complacent about this situation? Is it, like me, that you are (un)happily employed and just don't understand the extent of the problem, or is it that it's someone elses problem?

I don't think it will ever change though. Not least because policy makers are never going to have to spend 3 months struggling to get their child insured by CHP or similar. To the people in power, it's all a very abstract concept and, in theory, support networks like Child Health Plus work perfectly well so they see no reason to change.

I am about to go get a horrible procedure done on my mysteriously bizarre body that seems determined to develop obscure and medically interesting conditions.

Thankfully, today at least, I am insured.

Adsense and Skanky Hoes (Or is it Hos? Or Ho's? Ho knows?)

2009-05-12T09:51:00.006-04:00

How funny is adsense?

When I spoke of sex, they offered me dating sites.
When I wrote about single parenting and sex, they sent me single parent dating sites.

All seems reasonable right?

Except the other day when they volunteered to find me a sex offender.

And then yesterday, with "whore" in the title, they've got themselves in quite a tizzy.

Whore's might need the following apparently:

*Sensitive Skin Detergent - perfect, given the amount of chafing on a regular business day.
*Neurosurgery - a harsh judgement, but not entirely without foundation.
*Vein Physician - all that standing must lead to varicose veins for sure.
*Scent air - to rid themselves of that smelly John smell.

But now here's where they lose me:
*Hydrogen Sulphide Removal - for the entire house no less.
*Mold Testing and Removal
*Air filter face masks.

Just how skanky do they think these hos are???

Can't they recommend La Perla or a day at the spa? Come on adsense, give these poor woman a break. I almost said throw them a bone, but realised the folly.

Man I miss my peeps... need some English people to laugh at daft shit with.

(Real blog post to follow later in the day. Got to go steal something from Home Depot and then paint the hallway. Where's a big strong man when I need one???)

On being a whore - loosely speaking

2009-05-11T22:23:00.002-04:00

One of my least well known and most well formed personality traits is that I vacillate between supreme self confidence and absolute despair that I am not worth a damn. The former expects compliments and the latter craves them.

To that end, I am a comment whore.

Chime in. Have your say. This is your moment to shine!

Come on people. It's like an Essex girl on a Saturday night: free and easy.

Losing readers, aka how shitty is anal sex?

2009-05-10T23:32:00.004-04:00

I wonder what will happen to my readership now I am just me, airheadgenius, and not part of Date Machine?

The blog thoughts that have been popping into my head the last couple days seem to lean quite strongly to actual me, not even airheadgenius, which means that the content isn't quite as risque as it might have been if I'd had zeitgeisty to spar with.

To that end, I'd best talk about anal sex huh?

I was having a conversation about it the other day with my friend, who it should be stated has never indulged in the practice.
Her dad had told her (err, yes her dad. We are already in fucked up territory) that he couldn't imagine anyone wanted to sleep in a bed that was covered in shit.

Uh huh.

His disgust at the notion of anal sex was tied up pretty strongly it would seem with his distaste for gays in general. Although it didn't appear that he knew any.

But here's the thing about gay men. And by the thing, I mean "the thing" as in the stereotypical view:
They are a tidy people. A well dressed people. An over design, coiffured and stylish people. If one is, as stated, determined to roll with the cliche.

So it amuses me to think of "them" partaking in a practice that could lead to a disastrously soiled Dwell range sheet set. A skid mark on an Eames chair. A scmear on a shag rug. I can picture the scene - two lovers entwined in a passionate and horny embrace only to find themselves horrified, post orgasm, to discover the crap carnage on their condo.

But of course, it doesn't happen

And, coming back to the original premise, if having anal sex routinely wound up in a shit haemorrhage (English spelling!), would it really have caught on?

I think not.

I've more to say on the topic, but real me has just noticed the time and will feel like hammered shite at 6.15 if I don't go to sleep directly.
Nightie night beautiful people. Do keep reading...

(p.s. the image is entitled "Complex Shit" and is a giant inflatable turd sculpture by Paul McCarthy. Absolute proof, if proof was needed, that being born in Utah messes with you head)

Me and My Anatomy

2009-05-09T23:48:00.005-04:00

It is sick how much I love Grays Anatomy.

It's not like I think it has any artistic merit, or mind expanding capability, but I love it nonetheless.

A bit of background:

One of the main things I miss about England is the telly. The music programmes are fabulous, as are a lot of the weird comedies. The comedy dramas are hilarious and of course the costume dramas are the best in the world (although not my bag)
We've recently gone Pete Tong of course as the inventors of the worst versions of reality TV, but roll back 10 years or so and UKTV was where it was at.

So I can't say that I really liked cable when I got here. I tried and tried to find something reasonable to watch and thus I became a documentary addict, which was at least educational. But after a while, I got sucked in as one does with this medium and found myself watching increasing amounts of crap that I had no interest in.

This little obsession culminated in a show about an unfortunate woman with a 200 lb tumour. Although, of course, it was a tumor.
I watched with morbid fascination as this giant beast of an appendage was delicately sliced from her diminutive frame and listened with trepidation as the booming narrator speculated on her chances of survival.

The tumor was removed. She survived.

They showed her afterwards and I am ashamed to say that she didn't look all that and a bag of chips. I'd expected a transformation a la those reality shows where they give some homely chick plastic surgery and make her look like a drag queen. Instead, she just looked tiny and frail and in need of a few dozen pounds of tumor back.

I knew I'd gone too far down the TV road when I was disappointed in and disbelieving of actual reality. So I cut my service.
This decision neatly coincided with our move from a condo to a temporary rental as the derelict house I had bought (anohter madcap scheme) was being renovated. Temporary stretched out into a year and I got more than used to not watching TV at all.

(Note to all: humans are a much more productive species if they don't have TV)

But then along came a Netflix pop up ad, and I was reeled back in.

I watched movie after movie after movie - all the ones I'd missed since parenthood - and then moved on to TV. Entire seasons of crap!
Including my beloved Grays. Now, if you watch a dozen or so episodes in a limited time frame - say over the course of two or three evenings - you will find yourself becoming weirdly involved with this characters. Now I am nowhere near sad enough to claim that they become like family (errr, no I am not!) but I do find myself wanting to know what they are up to.

Is Izzy Stevens going to die next week, for example? I am not sure I can wait until next Friday to find out. Maybe I should miss the whole season on purpose and then pull an all nighter and overdose on it? Poor sad fuck that I appeared to have become.

Private Practice is just plain stupid though. Did anyone see the last episode?? (I've been doing clearing up the cellar patrol and needed lots of telly to keep me at it) It was the most ludicrously ridiculous thing I have ever seen.

There is a tiny glimmer of hope left for me I guess.

X marks the spot - or who's in your photo?

2009-05-08T23:45:00.003-04:00

Over on Nerve.com on the personals page, I just saw a featured listing of a guy I went on a date with once. There's him smiling at the camera with his arm around a woman. her face has been blurred out.

Charming.

You all know the debacle of this week where I blogged accurately, yet unkindly about someone and he busted me...
Well, he used a photo of himself gazing lovingly at someone. An ex someone.

When you are selling your house, you are supposed to remove most of the personal items from the home and clear the clutter. This is so that the visiting family can imagine themselves in your place as if it's their place. Apparently, a too personal decor can be off putting to a potential buyer - not just some whack wallpaper, but, for example, too many family photos adorning the walls. The brain tells the buyer that someone elses family lives there and thus the sale is scuppered.

So, take that same brain and imagine the impact where a dater markets themselves using an ex as a placeholder for their potential new lover?
See, screams the photo, I can stand by a woman with my arm around her, smiling. I am a good guy.

Wrong.

You are a fuckwit.

Now, I've no idea how men feel in this scenario, but I would venture that many, if not most, women don't want to see photos of the ex at this, the earliest stage of the game. Or learn what their now boyfriends face looked like when he was daydreaming about the one before.

But what if the photo you have next to your ex is the best photo in the bunch? Is that a good enough reason to use it?

My photos on Nerve are getting a little past their use by date given that they are almost 2 years old and some people are fond of telling me that I am fast turning into an old hag. My best most recent photo was taken by my ex on a family day out with our children. We're civilized like that, at least from time to time. I am beaming and I look super cute. My children look even cuter.
Now, I would never post a photo that included them on my profile page, but it feels like horribly bad karma to cut them out of the picture, even if I was to duplicate it first.

So I stick with the same photos.

As I am writing this, photos of me and the kids and friends and family are popping into my head. And each photo conjures up a specific memory. Of good times mostly, because after all that's what people photograph, but some tinged with sadness because those specific situations with a couple of very significant others did not pan out the way we expected. It's hard to imagine that images of people with so much hope about a future together can become distant memories.

My take: You can't make space for a new partner by cropping the old lover out. So, don't try to.
But, if you must, at least do it professionally...

Putting two and two together.

2009-05-07T23:16:00.006-04:00

I blogged over at Date Machine on Nerve.com for about 9 months - as mentioned.

When the blog was first published, my photo was on the main page of the site advertising this new and (they hoped) exciting dating confessional.

My photo stayed up for a few months, but was replaced with a model's face eventually. A couple of the other bloggers complained that it wasn't fair - and I guess it wasn't. But somehow, the shot remained in their promotions to the extent that someone described me as "the face of Nerve".

Whatever.

Now, you'd think with all that publicity, that any and all of my correspondents* on the internet dating side of Nerve would know all about my blogging persona. But in fact they did not.

(* someone just "corrected" my use of correspondents and suggested I meant correspondence. I didn't. Neither did I mean to use the latter here. Further indication of a dodged bullet)

Many, many times I received emails from men asking if I knew that my photo was all over the site. "You're on my sign up page. Did you know?" or "Your photo is everywhere - do you get paid?" Err, yes and yes.

Once or twice, I explained why they'd seen me so often, but mostly I didn't. My blog persona represents facets of my personality, of course, but is very far from the entire picture so it seemed politic to keep schtumm.

Real me spends 99% of my time putting at least two people's needs way ahead of my own. Because of my particular circumstances and the way I currently make my living, many people's needs come ahead of mine. My kid's dad even gets taken care of ahead of me. You may find it hard to believe, especially if you are a hardened reader of my blog, but real me (in deed at least) is a pretty selfless individual.

So blog persona me - aka airheadgenius - gets to be an asshole some of the time. She gets to be blunt and offensive and dismissive and rude. Because if I didn't have an outlet for that kind of energy, real me would probably lose my mind.

And if you don't like it, honeybunnylambchop, you know exactly what you can do.
Conjure up a sentence with a word that means sex and a word that means not on.
And do it.

The cost of doing business, aka Are you cheap?

2009-05-07T09:09:00.003-04:00

Someone just hotlisted me over on Nerve.com so I checked him out.

Reasonably good looking. Salt and pepper hair which can be sexy.

But with a massive no-thank-you dealbreaker at the bottom of his profile.

When I check out a profile, I tend to scroll through it lightening quick and, if something jumps out at me, I re-read it with more concentration.
Hence my tendency to start from the bottom up.

The final paragraph on this dude's profile was reasonably lengthy and contained an elaborate explanation as to how he internet dates.

He may as well have been waving a flag that said "I am a cheapskate"

He loves winks and smiles and the like, but as a standard member he cannot reciprocate. For those not in the know - and again, why the hell should you be - standard members can look but not touch. Well, read but not write. Or something.

Anyway, Mr Considerate goes on to say that if a woman is interested, she should drop him a line and he will then respond. Standard members get to return email for free you see.

Mr Even-more-Considerate has covered all eventualities and realises that some women may be standard members also. He invites them to post to his blog in order to make contact.

How abundantly generous!

I once watched a program about matchmaking services and the men were charged $30,000 to have matches found for them and dates set up. At that price tag, I can well imagine it would be prudent to find a way to circumnavigate the fee.

But Nerve.com costs approximately $1 a day. Or, for the commitmentphobe where the thought of a recurring monthly fee just sends them into paroxysms of fear, you can buy a bunch of points for a one time fee of $10 and thus facilitate email writing.

Now, if a GROWN ASS MAN cannot step up to the plate with these pitiful sums then frankly, he isn't even worth a minute of my time, let alone a date. Hotlist be buggered.

Ah well, at least I don't have to worry about explaining my disinterest, since he's not going to write to me!

Do you smell?

2009-05-06T12:42:00.009-04:00

For those of you not in the know - and let's face it - why the hell should you be? - one of my many job descriptions is landlady. (Not of the Bet Lynch variety mind you)

Yesterday, one of my short term subletters left the studio and I went in to get the bed linens and clean the room. As I opened the door, the sweet smell of perfume was breathtaking. Actually, it was a pretty scent and so wasn't unpleasantly overwhelming, but it was powerful nonetheless. I wondered what the woman must have smelt like up close.

Which got me to thinking about the way I smell.

I use an unscented shower gel and unscented deodorant. I don't use perfume or cologne. My shampoo smells nice, but no doubt that fragrance dissipates pretty quickly. (I've repeatedly tried to pull my hair far enough under my nose so that I can investigate this, but it's not long enough and I am started to look like I have a bizarre form of OCD)

So, the bottom line is, that I smell like me. Unadulterated me.

Once in a while, I will buy a perfume or acquire one from a friend or as a gift. I will flirt with the idea of being fragranced and spritz myself with it for a day or two, but it's never a lasting habit.

Our sense of smell is apparently the biggest trigger of memory. If I smell cinnamon Dentyne chewing gum, for example, I am instantly transported back to 1980 or so and my first real boyfriend. Lavender reminds me of my grandma and she's been gone for over 30 years. My extra mother smells of Opium as does every inanimate object that has spent more than 5 minutes in her presence.

And I smell of me.

Have I rendered myself unmemorable?

Now for a cheeky image. Warning - it may effect your concentration:

2009-05-05T19:24:00.003-04:00

I am a middle child.
I lean towards the "hard done by"

First borns will be thinking "get over it already"
Middle children will be wiping away a tear
The youngest is too busy thinking about themselves to entertain a notion about anyone else.

There are instances where feeling hard done by is overwhelmingly justified - think New Orleans after Katrina.
There are instances where feeling hard done by is just plain ludicrous - think Heather Mills.

I blogged for Nerve.com for 9 months. Enough time to gestate and deliver a child.
Pregnancy is a thankless task. So is blogging for Nerve.

Actually, my "fans" such as they were, were lovely. My detractors even offered light entertainment. The trolls were annoying, but what more can you expect from a troll?

The pay was shite.

Now I am blogging for myself. Blogging into the wind to borrow a phrase from a friend of mine.
And thus I am doing it for free.

Already blog ideas are popping into my head and I am giddy with the excitement of it all.

Unpaid.

I've got ideas on things to write about.

Unpaid *

Coming up with topics to post on Nerve was getting to be a drag.
But until today it wasn't clear why that was the case.

The light has dawned though. I'd rather be unpaid than badly paid.

* in truth, so far I have earned 37 cents. Great oak trees from little acorns grow.

Giving good email

2009-05-04T21:44:00.000-04:00

It occurs to me that I am deciding on dateablility depending on the quality of the emails I receive. The emails that appeal to me are witty and entertaining and they are the ones that I take to the date stage. But what if someone just doesn't have good writing skills? With my formula, they are toast. With me at least.

One of my best friends in London is fantastic company - witty, engaging, hilariously funny. But her emails are pedestrian.
If she'd written to me via the Internet we would never have made it to the great friends stage. And that would have been terrible.

But how else to decide? How can one tell if there's a witty conversationalist trapped in the body of an ordinary emailer? Maybe the dull emailer just doesn't have good typing skills and his thoughts flow faster than he can commit them to paper? Screen I mean.

I've exchanged several emails with one man and there seems to be no flow developing. His profile is interesting, his photos are appealing, but his command of the written word at least, leaves me cold. To pursue or not to pursue that is the question.

See, I could give the not-very-engaging writers the benefit of the doubt, but risk a dull date. Or I could continue with my strategy and risk passing on the man of my dreams simply because he's a 2 finger typist.

The main issue is, and to quote Aaron Neville, "My time is too expensive"
If I went out every night, I could blast through a ton of suitors - witty writers and otherwise - and find the one I want. Like getting a new job.
But at $12/hr, it's not such a viable plan.

I was wondering why I've gone out on dates with so many writers. Can anyone say "duh!!!"
I guess I have to give this more thought...

What's in a photo?

2009-05-03T10:57:00.000-04:00

I've been corresponding with this guy on nerve.com
He seems interesting.
The emails haven't been especially witty, but that's probably a good thing since so many of my correspondents have been busy being clever and not busy being kind or considerate.
We have some common ground as far as our interests go.
He's quite good looking. And tall, which is always good.

But I can't quite bring myself to schedule a first date with him.

Why not?

Because his lead photo is absolutely utterly revoltingly off putting.

There are many shots on his profile page. Some reasonable. Some definitely appealing. But his main one features him laying on a bed, stomach down, with his head on one side, demurely smiling at the camera. It's coy and contrived and would be bad enough if a woman did it, but to see a vision of a simpering man is more than body and soul can cope with.

I could vomit.

I am debating whether to tell him that it's not a good photo to lead with. My opinion being universally accepted of course.
And then I could set up the first date.

Otherwise, if we meet up, this coquettish image will impregnate my brain and be superimposed on his real life face.
Which wouldn't be good at all.

What to do, what to do?

(This brought to you by the Bureau of Meaningless Minutiae)

Free Sex Offender Search

2009-05-03T09:31:00.000-04:00

I've been pondering the "monetize" possibilities of blogspot since I signed up a few days ago. I'm wondering if the 87 people that landed here yesterday could all be persuaded to click on different advertising links and generate a little cash flow on my behalf. Couldn't hurt could it?

To that end, I've been paying attention to the adverts in the side bar and was amused by this one "Free Sex Offender Search".

Is it just me, but doesn't that sound as if one is seeking a pervert?

Desperately Seeking Sex Offender?
Roll up Roll up
Get your Free Sex Offender Here!
Buy one, get one free
Hurry, while supplies last

(This brought to you by adsense_needs_to_choose_their_titles_more_carefully.com)

Can you hear me now?

2009-05-02T01:18:00.000-04:00

This falls under the heading "drunk blogging".
Of course I can see the sense of it - the kids spending the night with their father in Manhattan.
It's an inevitable conclusion to a relationship that hit the skids many years ago.

But I don't like it.

There are certain definite advantages: I've just got home, at least half cut, and I haven't had to hand over $60 or so to the babysitter. I've had a pleasant evening with my friends. (http://elite-beats.com/) for those of you stalking me. I have to retrieve them at 11 am tomorrow morning, so can wake up at 9 instead of their usual 7.

All these things are positive.

But I don't like it.

When I jumped on the motherhood bandwagon, I anticpated that I would live with my children. Nothing in the love affair and the subsequent conception led me to believe that this was a temporary situation. I didn't sign up for a part time gig.

So, as much as I have no desire to live with my ex, nor rekindle the relationship, I don't like that my children and I are in separate homes. Albeit a temporary engagement.

I don't like that my family is broken.

(Nor am I thrilled with the fact that I have the munchies and have already consumed most of a giant bag of blue corn tortilla chips)

Yes, we don't live together

2009-05-01T19:53:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, when internet dating one has the option to choose whether or not your prospective date has spawned children or not.

The options are:

No
Yes, we live together
Yes, we sometimes live together
Yes, we do not live together

I've noticed of late that a fair number of men opt for "no" and "yes, we do not live together".
These same men very often are looking for women in the late 20s to mid or late 30s age range.

Now, if a woman has a child or two, and is within that age range, chances are those children are young. Or at least not old enough to live on their own. This is particularly true of women in urban centers such as New York where the likely age for having ones first is 30+

So, these men would prefer that their prospective date has young children and doesn't live with them over having young children and living with them.

Something is deeply wrong with this picture don't you think beautiful people?

For example: there's me - option 1 - the youngish and lovelyish airheadgenius, going about my business and raising my two children, aged 5 and 7. I am responsible, amusing, capable, hard working and a whole heap of fun.

Or, there's "alternate-me" - that would be option 2 - who has given birth to a sprog but elected to not raise them. Not even have them live in the house.

How on God's green earth is "alternate-me" a better option?

Oh "alternate-me" sounds like more fun I hear you cry.
Oh yeah, she's a barrel of laughs - so flighty and fun that she decided to give away her offspring.