Approachable

A friend once told me long ago that I was unapproachable. It was one of those moments that stuck with me. I took the assessment with a grain of salt, but gave the idea serious thought. Being unapproachable isn't necessarily a bad trait. It can keep people who aren't worth my time away. I do have impenetrable walls built up that will never come down, as all strong people do. I know my mind and speak it. I'm self-confident, most of the time. You could call that unapproachable, I suppose. Ironically, the same friend later decided that I was approachable, but I think that had more to do with a change in him than in myself. But I find myself thinking about the approachability factor a lot lately, because for quite some time, it seems everywhere I turn, all sorts of men (and women, too) find me approachable. I'm not looking for it. I've had enough man trouble in the last year to last me a good long while. But there they are, offering themselves up, one after the other.

I used to marvel when friends would tell me stories about propositions, escapades, etc., and wonder why I didn't find myself in those situations. Now, I have to ask myself if it was happening all along and I was oblivious to it. That could be. Or has something actually changed? Am I giving off a pheromone that's drawing them in? Do I look different? Walk differently? I don't think so. Am I just more aware of people and their motivations? Yes, I think I'm getting warmer with that one. It does make life more interesting, if perplexing.

Every day should be like yesterday

There was nothing missing, that I can see. First thing, I hit the Y (friends in tow) for some BodyPump punishment. Good stuff. All revved up, I rushed home to hit the sheets for an afternoon of another type of exercise that's good for the bod. How does he come up with that stuff? Lordy, have mercy, it's a miracle. Had to rest my eyes for a bit and woke up STARVING. Off to Lonnie's for some dogs that make your heart hurt, they're so good.

Fully sated and with my strength back, we test drove this kick-ass roadster. I looked gooooood in it. Maybe it'll be my new toy.

Next, we explored the Mellwood Arts and Entertainment Center. Wow. I'd been meaning to go because a friend has gallery space there and is selling his art, but I had no idea. This place is amazing. It's in this enormous former meat-packing plant, and I didn't realize it was so extensive and successful. Literally hundreds of artists, working and selling their art, a restaurant, fitness center (not sure why they have that there). There was a big concert going on there and we hooked up with a couple of our music-loving friends for a bit. It's mostly a hacky-sack and patchouli crowd out there, and I wished I had my camera to capture the scene. Next time. The place was a bit overwhelming, but I did focus enough to get a beautiful gold, silver and amethyst bracelet.

But wait, there's more! We hooked up with Twink and got our eat and drink on down at the neighborhood mash-up. Moved the party so T could sing karaoke and we could all people-watch -- very satisfying. We all promised each other we wouldn't stay up til 4 or so like last time, but it wasn't to be. After T serenaded us one last time, headed back to the house and it got hysterically wrong and revealing and I laughed my ass off. (Oh yes, I have pictures, Twink. Of course, they incriminate everyone.)

Believe it or not, did some other fun stuff in there, too, but suffice it to say, what a Saturday! I have high hopes for Sunday.

Life is good.

One of life's greatest pleasures

is getting a shy guy to open up to me. Like tonight. A shy guy is a rare treat to treasure. Not full of himself. Not brash (yet). Afraid, but at the same time, seeking, eager to find someone who understands, who can listen and safeguard what is heard. I understand shyness. I wouldn't classify myself as shy anymore. More reserved, until I decide I like you (I don't like many people, so not bloody likely), or trust you (highly unlikely). But I know that feeling, listening to others open up and thinking what you would reveal about yourself...but, no. The key is to make him laugh. Once I get that laugh, the real one with the crinkly eyes and nose, and the key eye contact, I've got him. We've got our inside jokes, we're both best one on one, playing off each other's sarcastic remarks, raised eyebrows and the occasional wink. (Never underestimate the power of a wink.) And a shy guy knows his revelations are safe with me. Shy people have the finely honed skill of knowing who can keep their damned mouth shut because they understand the value of personal information carefully offered, piece by precious piece. He can tell me how old he was when he got in his first fist fight and who landed the first blow and how it felt. What specific, peculiar physical sensation he has when he gets so angry, so irate, that he's about to go off. What actor he'd want to play him in a movie about his life, and why exactly? What he'd do with his life if he won the lottery and his best outrageous money-making, pie in the sky ideas. What his greatest disappointment in life is so far, and a few of the ideas that he thinks about right before he falls asleep. Why he REALLY pushes himself so hard to excel, competing against his personal best every day. It's wondrous.

Botulinum Toxin Type A

The Botox party was all I had hoped for -- and more. Well, I guess it was less funny than I thought it would be, but weirder, so it evened out. Pinkie T and I prepared with a couple of cocktails and headed over, late, as usual. Dr. brought along one nurse and two assistants, one of which had evidently partaken of quite a bit of the miracle drug. Even though she couldn't seem to move her (admittedly smooth) face, she didn't scare off everyone. Kinda looked like Bo Derek -- like a 53-year-old woman who's had a lot of sticking and pulling and smoothing and what not.

After we all had a couple more drinks (I watched to see if Dr. would drink -- he didn't) and got a bit more relaxed, we sat through the spiel. I took the opportunity to check out everyone's skin. The youngest person there couldn't have been more than 21, and she was so tan she looked kind of purple. Apparently, she is addicted to skin treatments, though, and it's a good thing because she's going to be a leather-skinned hag in about four years. Everybody else actually looked pretty good and I wondered why we are all so hard on ourselves.

The purple girl won some kind of peel thingie in a drawing, which seemed to involve scraping her face with a blade. It looked awful but she said it felt good. Then, Dr. got out the Botox needles. One gal who looked about 21 but later told me she was 31 wanted her forehead lines erased. She just plopped down in a chair, leaned her head back, and Dr. put about seven or eight injections across her forehead. She stayed pretty calm but said it felt like fire, and when she got done, she looked like she'd been hit with a waffle iron.

I was thinking maybe I was the only one who doesn't really have a "skin regimen." Neutrogena soap and some Oil of Olay lotion is as elaborate as I get, not the $300, 7-step process or whatever the hell we're supposed to do. I confessed to my skin sins and got squealed at; apparently, they all thought I had the best skin there. So there you go. Get you some Oil of Olay. I think it's about six bucks at Target.

T wavered and then she went for it. She just wanted it right between her eyes for her "elevens." It was only a couple of injections, but after the second one, a huge river of blood ran down INTO HER EYE. Oh, yeah, it was gross. Ugh. While I watched, I felt myself furrowing my brow in disgust, so my elevens are probably worse now (ah, irony). But she remained stoic, got all cleaned up, we ate pizza, and then hightailed it out of there because she had a headache. Uh, yeah, because you just had needles stuck in your head!

Took T to the DQ for some burgers and fries and bonding to dull the pain and she perked right up.

I didn't get my pits done. I did ask about it, but Dr.'s never done it before, so he's supposed to call me with more info later. I'll probably have lost interest by then, but we'll see. T's supposed to see results in about a week.

Dreamy

I had a dream the other night that has really stuck with me. Partly because I got decent sleep that night. Here's how it went. Somebody had given me a ticket that I could use to go to a play. I walked up to this beautiful building, where several plays were all starting at the same time. I could go to any one I wanted. But I had several bags of stuff with me and a baby. The baby was squirming so I looked for the nearest door and went into a play called Highland. The seats were almost all filled. I found an empty one in the balcony and sat down, but was completely perplexed about what to do with my baby. All of my belongings were falling out of my bags as I shifted around and tried to find a place for the little one.

As the play started, I heard someone typing behind me. I looked back and saw a woman, probably in her fifties, typing on a laptop. I swiveled around a few times and gave her "that look," but it had no effect. Then she pulled out a cell phone and started giving orders to her employees, still typing away. Nobody else seemed to notice. I finally said, "Hey, why are you working on a laptop in here?" She looked genuinely confused, and we got into a shouting match, with me suggesting she go out to the lobby, and her saying she didn't see what the problem was. Still, nobody else paid much attention.

The woman with the laptop never did leave. She kept working and I spent the rest of the play picking up my stuff and trying to keep my baby occupied.

Were both women -- the one with the baby and the one with the laptop -- me? Hm, both were alone, that is, one had only the kid and the other had only the computer -- no friends or partner.

This month's goals: Bench press 150 lbs. and be able to snap a dude's neck between my steel thighs

I find myself with lots of time that I had been spending doing something that I will no longer be doing (if you follow) so I'm becoming a gym rat again. It's been quite awhile since I've worked out (no, I'm not proud of that), and when I do, I tend to go full force. A couple of friends and I joined together and I'm so excited that I have waaaaayyyyy more stamina than I thought I would at this point. I'll drive them insane with this, I'm sure, and they'll stop speaking to me and shun me as the bossy freak that I am, but until then, I'm gonna whip them into shape! I'm back!

Advice

Always have a beautiful friend who:

Has a beautiful pool.
Lets you come over anytime.
Invites you to bask on the deck while she pours your beverage straight down your throat for as long as you can stand it.
Beware The Shark at this beautiful gathering, who will shout, "When's the naked pool party?" three to five times before everyone else tires of ignoring his loutishness and shouts back, "Never!" because The Shark is the most slimy, unattractive male at the otherwise beautiful party and the last troll anyone wants to see naked or vice versa.
When The Shark leaves, do your thing with the rest of the beautiful people.

Oh, and if you need a laugh, go see Strangers With Candy. So wrong, it's right.

I'll sleep on it a little longer

I was just telling a friend today that I was wondering if it was time for me to pop out a kid, but THEN another thoughtful friend sent me this. Hmmmmm.

PET RULES

To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.

Dear Dogs and Cats,
The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run. I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"niture.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3. Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8.Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and...
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.

The stupid

This park is across the street from my office building. I am so embarrassed for my city today.

My funny gangsta

This halfway house volunteering thing is great. I don't know why this little white girl gets along with these guys, but I do. This made me laugh the other day: One of the tables was leaning and the teacher asked the guy sitting there what was wrong with it. He says, "It's all gangsta." Okay, maybe you had to be there, but he's a hulking, heavily tattooed, fairly scary-looking gangsta, and we were sitting there giggling like little kids.

Eat me

You Are a Jam Cookie

On the outside, you project a straight-laced, innocent vibe. But on the inside, you're complex, exotic, and full of flavor.

What Kind of Cookie Are You?

a.m. haiku

on the couch no sleep
fell to my knees and stayed down
coffee, babe, coffee

SWF

Is imitation the sincerest form of flattery? Or is it just downright creepy? I recently met a girl who seems sweet (good), nutty (good), funny (good) and a bit obsessed with me (not sure about this one). So the last time I saw her, she had dyed her blonde hair brown because she loves my brunette hair and wanted to look like me. Yes, she did tell me this. She was cute as a bug as a blonde and is even cuter as a brunette, but really? I'm wondering if the next time I see her she'll be wearing green contacts and a padded bra?