How to tell it's time Karin needs a hug.

About 7:15 last night I hit up Mass General. There had been intermittent shooting pain in my left ankle since I finished a run Tuesday; the goal was to secure an x-ray to ensure there were no fractures or tears.

The Walk-In Unit waiting room was empty. The receptionist looked so unthrilled at my entrance that she forgot to process my co-pay. The doctor came out to usher me in as if I had awoken him from a nap.

Thusly weary, Dr. Ollendieck, who vaguely resembled the actor Hugh Laurie, did not choose to engage in small-talk (hallelujah!). He gestured me up to the waiting table and listened to me recite the symptoms. He asked me to remove shoes and socks and watched me do so without comment. Then he took my foot onto his knee and ran his hands over the tarsus and talus bones, with fingers as light as a Fred Astaire slide. Squeezed each of my toes. Traced each protruding vein. All the time in silence.

Sound erotic? (Well, remember the Hugh Laurie scruffy-beard look-alike thing....and, anyone, the great foot-tickler?)

Yeah, not so much. His three grown children and wife smiled down at me from the photo above his desk. My socks had been pretty sweaty. But it was entrancing, Dr. Ollendieck's continuous, benign, smoothing hands. For several moments, I looked down as he concentrated first on the left foot and then on the right, as a comparison, feeling, searching. I couldn't look away, and couldn't think of anything to say.

A reason I quest for a companion, sometimes, is that I miss that bare-skin contact. Sure, a swooping kiss on the clavicle that leaves me kissing the crown of his head. Or something as innocuous as his fingers resting in the cup of my palm as we walk down the street. Or his hand moving from the stick shift to my knee, driving me home from the bar.

Sigh.

By the way, no x-ray was prescribed. Dr. O didn't find anything outwardly wrong.

Wanna bet?

From Barbara Wallraff's Word Court, the "language question or dispute" column of The Atlantic (Sept. 2008):

DEL of Orlando, Fla.: "I am a retired librarian and occasionally, out of curiosity, look at Internet personals sites. It seems that most of the time people who want a discreet meeting say they want a discrete meeting. Webster's New World Dictionary, under discrete, does say in a note, '(see discreet),' but the definitions it gives--'separate and distinct'--are not what people are trying to communicate in their ads. Why the confusion in usage?"

WC: "Most visitors to personals sites aren't there to meet good spellers. Nonetheless...."

Stats: 10/28/08

(With grateful attribution to Miss Bridget Jones.)

4.15 hours slept.

8:22 a.m., got out of bed.

10.35 hours worked.

889.35 points risen by the Dow Jones Index.

2 clients who closed their accounts anyway.

154 openings (give or take 10) of the Politico.com website.

142 realizations, to the point of near-nausea, of how much I want the presidential election to be finished.

1 rainbow over the Back Bay.

4.93 miles of running, in the rain, after work.

15 minutes of nap, in the Healthworks sauna, first.

19 Weight Watchers points consumed after 10 p.m., justified by hunger from the 4.93-mile run....

15 points over today's allotment. (Including total annihilation of)

1 box of GoLean cereal, bought 24 hours ago.

42 minutes to write this blog entry.

28 minutes longer than it should due to wicked-slow wireless connection.

5th night straight the laundry was supposed to get finished.

But didn't.

7 days that I haven't replied to the CFO.

28 times today I've thought I should write.

26 times I decided I don't care enough anymore to write.

2 times I wanted to write him but realized I was too tired.

1 mini-nap while sitting at the kitchen table in the last 42 minutes.

10 chastisements in the last 42 minutes for blogging and eating GoLean cereal instead of going to bed.

Bedtime: 12:53 a.m.

(3 hours later than desired).

Monday-morning humility

So........a Sunday night.......with wine, wine and more wine.

It stands to reason that after such a fruit-full evening, I would wake up post-8 a.m. and remember that Monday is a street cleaning day and I'm parked on a Monday block. Cue up the mad running down Dorchester Street, once again.

What a joy upon getting there to discover the Mazda's right back tire flat to the ground. The conspiracy theorist in me posits that a slasher took umbrage with my Obama '08 bumper sticker, which I stuck on the back bumper last Thursday...the last time I drove it, when all four tires were still full of air.

Or else it was just the tire's time to die. Sigh.

So I went back to my apartment to pick up my backpack, strap on boots, head to the bus. Only to realize that my wallet wasn't in my backpack. After another round of frantic conspiracy-theorizing with my cats about Republicans, I realized I had left it on my friend's dining room table last night....after returning from the liquor store with the bottles of wine.

Which then meant I had to scrounge the change mug for bus fare.... and then an additional $1.45 in nickels to pay for a muffin on the way....as I had socialized the night before rather than grocery shopped, and therefore had nothing to eat for breakfast and no other money in hand to buy something.

Humbled, thrice. Amen.

Distracted, Part III

So the good news is I've rarely touched my computer this weekend.

What this means is:

a) I have a life.

b) I spent the majority of the weekend NOT writing the CFO. Or even thinking about writing him. Mostly because I was distracted by, I don't know, actual life that didn't include him.

Today at 4:30 p.m. I was in the balcony of my church, singing a Bach cantata with the choir and orchestra in celebration of the Lutheran Reformation. Then I listened to a whole ton of Bach, Buxtehude and Pachelbel on the organ. Then went out for Thai food with all the musicians to hash out the music we just heard. I had to actually fight to remember that the CFO was pissing me off.

Am I right that we all do that from time to time.....that it's fun on some level to be upset and indignant...and so rather than letting it go when you stop thinking about, you force yourself to think about it so you can feel upset and indignant once again? Someone tell me if I'm wrong here.

It's very late on a Sunday. I just spent 5 hours drinking wine with a Hungarian, Belgian and Pole--all organists--and have nothing to show for it. But it was time not being in a bad mood.

So.....PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT!

Distracted, Redux

There are benefits to splaying my soul out on the blogosphere. Any time I go a little nutso in this space, I get several e-mails from friends checking in on my mental health.

One boy friend, J from NJ, was especially kind on Tuesday when I said I felt like lying on my bed and crying:

"....so…i take a little break from my crazy day. stream of emailing and calling that doesn’t seem to quit. sip on some coffee and read the latest election news AND your blog. after doing so, I just wanted to hop on a plane and buy you a round of drinks or go for a run together…because it seemed so blue. sorry about everything… "when it rains it pours” is only a truth-tell-all, not comfort. and “this too shall pass” definitely lands flat in an email. Know that you have friends who care about you an awful lot…and hope things start picking up soon.

as for CFO. yeah. done. totally."

Several folks and I conversed via e-mail today over last night's think-tank on the CFO open-relationship proposition.

From a family girlfriend in Minnesota:

"I agree with your friend "M".....although the thought of being someone's occasional booty call could be appealing on certain levels, you deserve so much better than being just someone's "whenever I get around to writing/calling you" cake, as "M" put it so succinctly below. love you lots...

ps - I overslept today too. :)"

Then you've all met Bill's online persona in past entries. In person he's 6'3 and 220 and for years worked as a security guard. He and I went running on Tuesday after the initial receipt, so he got a raw earful about it then. His advice, equally, was to jettison the situation, but more aggressively:

B: How you doing? Make any decisions on the CFO? You really should just ignore him. You deserve better treatment that that.

K: Yeah....I should just be polite, firm, say no, don't settle for something half-assed.

B: BE POLITE? No f**king way. This guy hasn’t earned polite or nice, or even civil. You have a right to be angry. If you do him the honor of actually acknowledging his existence, I’d totally rip him. I don’t think he was honest with you from the start.

K: There is power in calm. If I rationally refute him I think that's more effective than losing my s#*t. It is possible to be cutting and brief.

B: Yeah, but its not nearly as emotionally satisfying as ripping this jerk a new one. He deserves to be made uncomfortable with how he treats people. I say go nuts…

K: Maybe I'll just sic you on him. We could set up a hit.

But the most impassioned advice came from another girlfriend, who has known me for a long while and heard every last blasted story of angst the last 10 years. She's had many herself that I've heard too, and thus rarely trivializes:

"i agree with M. he is being disrespectful to you and to who you are. despite you having admitted to this kind of a relationship, you have also talked closely with him about what you DO want (in openly addressing your profile, for example) and if he cares an inkling, he would put your desires to have something real over his desire to have a tasty little situation with women on both ends who require no work.

love is work, relationships are work and that is why they get deeper and get more rewarding with time. maybe it was easy to be with him because he knew he wasn't going to be held accountable, he could thrive in the superficial stages and have no need/urge to probe to the "if she's sick would i bring soup?" level. he has decided not to do that in his life. that's fine. he can. he has every right. but, honestly, you don't want that life and while you let him play that role in your life, you are denying yourself.

..... you are stuck in a cycle that is unhealthy becuase you crave what little he has to offer......you are selling yourself WAY short. being alone is tough, but being a sub-par karin is absolutely worse. you put blinders of complacency on when you keep hanging on to or waiting for him and instead you need to shake it all off and be you....

i am being harsh. yes. but i honestly believe you need to hit the wall here. i would write something short like: Thanks. I don't think anything more will work for me. Good luck.

The jury of peers has spoken. Free advice from people who care: priceless.

I did read the CFO's note again today but with less empathy and tolerance than yesterday.

It was a long, non-sleep week and tomorrow I've got the morning off before a rehearsal, run and cocktail party. So I'll sleep in. Then will probably take the laptop to Cafe Arpeggio, order a red-eye and an egg-tomato-cheese bagel sandwich, and write the man back.

Distracted

Economy tanking. Obama in the lead. Work projects promised and piling up.

Yet all I can think about is how--or if--I'm going to respond to the CFO's e-mail from Tuesday night.

Overslept this morning, out of bed at 8:18. Still took a 12-minute shower, because for 9 minutes I stood with the water running on my back, staring at the soap bottle, thinking about the 100 different ways I might phrase my e-mail:

"What the hell. How long have you been dating her? Why didn't you write me 3 weeks ago and tell me the situation has changed? To tell me you were off the market? If you enjoyed our passionate moments so much, why weren't you missing them enough to write me and tell me? Oh yeah, otherwise occupied."

Then, to myself:

"Like hell you're going to respond. Ignore him. Three weeks? Now that he's in this cozy set-up he can just say mea culpa like he hadn't been forgetting about you? Keeping all his options, of course."

In other imaginary conversations I lecture and rain down guilt with all my evidence of his selfish egoism. Or am terse and blunt (i.e. "Take your suggestion and stick it...."), but with style. Then I wonder why I'm even thinking about it.....and then get intensely sad for a few minutes. Kind of because I have a man who likes me enough....but obviously doesn't like me enough.

Then it's quickly to the fairy-tales.

"It could be kind of cool... The occasional casual date... Still no strings, but a good time. I should be so glad that he's thinking about me..."

If you're just getting the bulletin, I'm bad at ending things. It comes from having had such a good and easy time when we were together. Makes me want to forgive him and deny that, under the surface, I feel he deceived me.

Meanwhile, about 10 minutes ago, my friend M wrote--yes, the one who has heard more than her desired share of this situation. She isn't nearly so ambiguous:

"...the CFO's response angers me quite a bit. Basically his email is saying "I don't respect you and really I just want my cake and to eat it too. Do you mind if I eat it off of you?" A**! I understand that you two believe in open communication and have always been honest but does he realize how wrong it is to send an email like that? Did he READ it first? Clearly not. I'm glad you're done with him and I hope you sent him an email telling him so."

Touché, M.

The longer I wait to answer, the easier I'm finding it to simply ignore the e-mail and see how he responds to that. Two days and six hours it has sat unanswered, even though I've read it 20 times.

It should be so much clearer than this.

Lunch-hour yoga...

....makes it all better.

It just does.

A run after work through the Back Bay on a crisp evening is not far behind.

And a Bach cantata sung with a harpsichord and timpani and the church choir, after the run, helps even more. Even though the market was down another 500 points today and I only slept four hours last night.

And tomorrow means another crisp day available for running.

(Trying to find the God-given bright side, in case you're wondering. Amen.)

Hormones + beer = desire to curl up & stare blankly at wall.

Strange day.

The first tangible effect of the finance meltdown....a longtime colleague in my department was downsized out. (I missed the event and her dramatic exit....on the phone with my sister, deep in conversation about an equally distressing situation in her life, go figure.) To their credit, the CFO and president called the other client service rep and me in to explain that our jobs were not imminently in jeopardy. Unless, of course, things got a ton worse.

This was at 3 p.m. The market dropped a 200-point anchor by 4. Tomorrow the head salesman and I discuss what ex-coworker tasks fall my way. Grateful for my employment at this point, I guess....the benefit of being the only person who knows how to do my job.

So I was already in mid-afternoon tired when this happened, not focussing. Then the CFO -- the one I'm Done with -- reappeared in an e-mail at about 6. Not surprisingly, he apologized for his 3 weeks of silence. More surprisingly, he suggested that he had started "seeing someone a bit," which left him little energy except to see her and watch the Red Sox playoffs. (This is my celebrated ability...to meet men who don't want to be in a relationship until they meet the person they start dating immediately after me.)

Most surprisingly, he and the "someone" were discussing having an open relationship. Hence. He had enjoyed our time together so much he wondered if, once he got a few things sorted out, we could discuss "picking up where we left off" and seeing each other on a mutually agreeable level.

Yes. Getting my brain around this: A scheduled and approved other woman? Sounds peachy.... I could choose not to be the first woman in a man's life, but the second.

(I promise this is not the last commentary on this subject. The brain is moving slowly. And I feel like I got punched in the gut.)

A good thing the day ended soon after with a cathartic 5-miler, in the dark, in the brisk chill, around Southie's Castle Island, with my boy Bill, in from Holliston. (And who, ironically, is the first one who told me to be Done with the CFO, about a month ago....) The legs, still overaching from Saturday's hike, functioned in run mode when they had to, and it felt good. Then we went down to Shennanigans for some salmon filets and beer and talks about our grandparents.

The beer was the last ingredient....combining with the day to provoke the desire: to do nothing but stare, think, and weep a little for reasons I can't articulate. All of which I will probably do when this sentence is complete.

Martha A......89 and still cool

Who is this woman in purple named Martha?


1) A Damn Fine Cook.
( 1a) A Damn Fine Baker of Scandinavian holiday treats.

2) A Child of The Depression.
(2a) Who in turn became a First-Class Seamstress and made all of her daughters' growing-up clothes.

3) A Cross-Country Skier....
(3a) Second only to her skills at Card-Playing.

4) A Church Secretary....who survived the transition from mimeograph to computer and is now the Queen of her PC.

5) A Nylon-shell-wearing Traveler who has seen Greece, Australia, China, France, Norway, Russia, Alaska, Hawaii, and most of the other 48 United States. (Famous approximated quote from 1980's walk down a street in China: "We were packed in so tight that if I had tripped and fallen the crowd would have held me right up!")

6) The World's-Best Photo-Album Compiler.

7) A Snappy Dresser who always has the best tan, the smoothest complexion, and is never in public without earrings and lipstick.

8) A Socialite from Edina, Minnesota, celebrating her 89th birthday today.

9) My Grandma Anderson, whom I love.

It is indeed a fine day!

Update (10/21) from the woman herself, via e-mail this morning:

"Hi Sweetie! Wow! I am truly amazed. Thank you so much. I am so thankful that my health is still so good and it is fun to see how you see me. Quite flattering. Love, Grandma"

Please feel free to add to the comment section below if you, too, have great Martha memories and wishes. Thanks.

Full disclosure

Alright.

So two days into the new self-betterment plan, and

a) I ate a half a bag of chocolate-chip-peanut trail mix last night instead of supper; and

b) running? what running? (aka "why do my knees ache like I walked around with weights on them all day yesterday?)

Nonetheless, I'm joining friends from church tomorrow in the wee hours (5:30!) to head up to the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a hike through some presidential-range peaks. Growing up in North Dakota where the winter snow and wind starts in October, it would be rare to do anything but go pheasant hunting in such weather. So now in Boston, I'm glad for the excuse to go north and see some color, and for the friends that know how to get there and take me along.

Got the sign-off this afternoon from my mechanic that the funny-noised car (low power-steering fluid) is in good shape, so wish the Mazda 626 plenty of good vibes for the drive and I'll talk to you again Sunday.

So here is the entry where I start sounding like a middle-aged woman...

I wrote on Tuesday that this is the week I'm done with the sometime-attentions of the CFO. To top it, life has been subsumed with the details of helping with Obama campaign data entry, church music, and a car making a funny noise. So I haven't yet re-jiggered my match.com profile or left any nights open in the next 2 weeks for dating quests of any sort, even if any were in the works.

Meanwhile, I've gone back to that thing where can I consume a whole box of Kashi GoLean in a sitting and 2 oversized (2!) Milka candy bars in one afternoon. Blech. For me to leave the sole focus of this blog as "dating" is inappropriate for the moment. Not only do I not feel like dating this week (resentment at my erstwhile suitor), but that much sugar in the system has contributed to both fatigue and weight gain that doesn't do much for my self-confidence.

So yesterday, instead, I signed up for:

1) Weight Watchers. (Amen!)

2) The 2009 Boston Marathon, again agreeing to raise money for Children's Hospital Boston. Training will start in December. (Running 30 miles a week and sub-zero long runs every Saturday morning...double Amen!)

So certainly dieting and running is not nearly as sexy as banter with random Craigslist dudes who may or may not be married. But I've found in the past that when my physical well-being is at its peak, so is the libido.....and the happiness of self that is more attractive than anything.

As for the accountibility that came with agreeing to blog about my love life, so I hope I will have the same accountibility to better myself on a couple other levels. Not the daily ups and downs but I will definitely tell if I get off track.

Game on!

Speaking of open options....

Found in my e-mail inbox this morning from an address I didn't immediately recognize:

Hey ,

How are you ? How was the balance of your summer ? Whats new with you ?

D

And then it came back to me. Early July. My random Craigslist posting late one night about being lonely at home with my cats. Answered by this gentleman, producing racy banter that lasted several days before necessarily ending....primarily because I suspected he was married.

So he has held onto my e-mail address for three months and picked a random Wednesday in October to re-emerge?

So I ask, why don't the people I care about keep my e-mail address and ask how I'm doing from time to time?

Sheesh.

Done.

For a girl who hasn't dated in what feels like two presidential election cycles, last weekend was pretty darn social.

The aforementioned Organ Tuner incident Friday. A baby-shower BBQ for 25 for C&A on Saturday. The reemergence of a certain urologist from Indianapolis -- church friend last seen in 2003 -- that led to a Sunday lunch date and walk through the Public Garden.

I even attempted some valid networking later that night: drinks at Enormous Room via Opus Affair, a group that brings Boston artists together for a drinks outings. Risking egoism, I give myself points....I dressed up pretty, went by myself, knowing no one. Which proved to be a tough nut. The crowd stood in tight twos and threes deep in conversation; I downed one potent vodka drink, met one striking professional baritone, and left an hour later.

So, 9 p.m. Sunday instead found me over at M's apartment in Jamaica Plain. M is my girl gossip friend.....listening to months of ranting about Another Man solidified her credentials. In return she shares details of her own relationship (with a Republican!), itself full of aggravations. This summer, after six months of dating, M learned that her man saw this "relationship" much differently than she....as in, casual and not for the long-term. She's still deciding what to think about this but they're still together... which has produced months of fodder for our conversations.

In the meantime, I admire her: since they're only "casual," M has a side affair going on, just ramping up and very fresh. And which falls much closer in tone to my thing with the CFO. (Who, by the way, has been persona non grata for 13 days.) This is what we hashed out on Sunday, lounging on her bed in our socks, like a slumber party: lots and lots and lots about "casual dating," and what one should expect.

Speaking of the CFO, I left my conversation with M deciding I'm done with him. Done. Done. He ended his last message with a "talk soon." I've always believed that as a professional casual dater, if he wanted to end it, he would end it without a lot of fuss. But he has not tried to reach me, and he has not replied to an e-mail I wrote last Thursday.

However, he is continuing to post ads on Craigslist; joking with M, I bet that he was. So as we chatted I typed the words "playful" and "fit" (2 of his favorites) into the personals search engine. And sure enough, one titled "Sweetness" (another favorite) appeared from October 5. Using his writing style, language, overt exclamation points, neighborhood. Looking for playful, fit, ladies to keep warm with.

On the terms of our arrangement, this is certainly within his rights. Maybe I'm just jealous that he's driving for other dates and I haven't felt like it. Maybe I've lost patience with the arrangement. Or certainly expected that as casual as our arrangement was, he'd periodically check in before checking out entirely. M theorizes that he isn't cutting things off because he's trying to keep all options open. Well I'm hardly thrilled to simply be someone's open option....or maybe I was and maybe, again, I'm just done.

One of my favorite song lines ever comes courtesy of Semisonic, in "Closing Time": Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. Whenever something new starts I never want to think that it will end with me ultimately dissatisfied....yet in many cases, that is the case. There must be an end to be a new beginning.

Which is why I'm done.

Too obvious

Can you meet someone who is too perfect for you?

Occasionally I come upon a man who proves to be a) both gregarious and polite in conversation; b) a musician; c) lanky and muscular....and oh joy, also a runner; d) at least remotely interested in Christianity; e) the kind of person who goes out to Tealuxe and asks if he can bring me back a cup of coffee, despite only having met me moments before; f) all of those things and in my age range; and g) ostensibly single.

Then something always reveals itself as a caveat.....and in this case the man lives in Ooltewah, Tennessee and rather likes it there.

Nonetheless, a pleasant surprise. It was about 8 on Friday night. I had gone to my church to rehearse on the Steinway for my gig there Sunday morning. Patrick was in the balcony, in t-shirt and jeans (yes, tall and lanky), tools in hand, standing over several dissembled panels of the pipe organ. I yelled out a hello, and he waved:

"Hey there! Elaine told me the piano player was probably going to stop by while I was here so I guess that's you? Hi!"

He was the organ tuner, up from Richards, Fowkes in Chattanooga. Southern drawl. We then talked for over three hours.

It started about five minutes after I arrived, when Patrick asked if I were from the Midwest. (Based on my accent? I've been getting that a lot lately....) Which led to the revelation that he grew up in South Dakota and attended a church college -- Gustavus Adolphus -- near my own and sang in the choir there. Which followed a long discussion into the repudiation of his Wisconsin Synod church upbringing and recent stints as a music director.....all while he was on a 13-foot ladder fine-tuning the cymblestern. And asking me to help pull the stops to make sure it was working properly.

There was no inference of anything forward. But as Patrick and I uncovered mutual interests, mutual acquaintances, favorite Bach pieces and in turn got no work done.....I found myself wondering if he were single. And at the same time wondering if he wondered the same about me. (Partially because, well, obviously I had no better place to be on a Friday night that at church, talking to him.) I thought if, by chance, something came of this conversation it would be too perfect. The organ repairman and the pianist get friendly over the keyboards. It would be a story to tell the kids.

Well, here I am on Monday and it is obvious Patrick and I had a conversation in the church balcony and nothing more. It ended at 11:30 when I handed over my business card and said he should call me up for a drink the next time he came back to Boston. He replied that he would, although he tends to only get up this way once a year. And we shook on it.

Too perfect. Probably most perfect that it didn't have a chance to go bad.

Happy Thoughts, redux

When I put air in my car's right front tire last night, it stayed full.

The New York Stock Exchange is closed now for two whole days.

And I'm going for a 5-mile run on the Charles, right now.

Hallelujah.

Happy thoughts.....

1) Handel composed The Messiah. Apple created the iPod so I could listen to "Let Them Break Their Bonds Asunder" while sitting in an office tower

2) Bach composed Goldberg Variations. God, with props to my mom, gave me the ability to play them. First Lutheran Church of Boston years ago bought a Steinway grand piano, which gives me a place to play them whenever I feel like it.

3) Jim Henson created The Muppets, including Beaker, the dangerous lab assistant. My cousin Melanie found this video of him singing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" with himself and, eventually, blowing himself up.

4) Humans created the New York Stock Exchange....which ultimately provides me with an income....and which, for about 30 minutes has trended upward ever-so-slightly. Continue to buy, folks. Continue to buy. Thank you.

5) Water tastes good. It is also free.

Happy thoughts? The comment section is open, folks. Add your own....

Cranky, part deux

It has come to my attention that I posted three days in a row about my stomach not feeling well. (And this is four.)

Perhaps this fact confirms my official entry into the land of middle age....when one's personal health tends to become the main topic of any conversation.

Trying to get uncranky

Too bad I had such a good weekend. Truly. No dates but four outings with four separate social groups. As the memory of most of them have been blocked out by a so-far sub-par week involving truckloads of s#%! that you've already read about.

(Oh my. I sincerely wasn't going for a pun on my gut-rot. Hell. Let's leave it in.)

However, another shout-out to my friend A, dependable as always, and her recommendation of the Banana, Rice, Applesauce & Toast diet. She sent the idea last night at 5:15 p.m. and by 6:45 I was at the grocery store, unpeeling and eating the fruit as I walked out. As Wikipedia so kindly puts it:

"The BRAT diet consists of foods that are relatively bland, easy to digest, and low in fiber. Low-fiber foods are recommended because foods high in fiber may cause gas, possibly worsening the gastrointestinal upset."

Whether my bug has run its course or A is just wicked smart, nonetheless. Today is definitely a better day.

This also could be because the Dow was actually up for about four hours and I had only one crying client on the phone as opposed to four. Or that I met some nice Southie folks at a Southie for Obama Debate-Watching Party last night (and that Obama did OK). Or that after a week of bloated hiatus I went to yoga at lunch. And tonight I get to lead a church choir rehearsal and play piano for a couple hours.

There's still the matter of that perpetual flat front tire ..... grrrrr ..... tomorrow, I guess.

Neighbors

Note found taped to driver's side door of the car this morning in my (as you soon will guess, unsuccessful) attempt to drive it to work:

Look @ your right front tire -- almost flat. :-(

The 101 (Warning: adult content)*

Perhaps this fixating on the number of blog posts is now officially tiresome on the third try. But hey. Today was another market tanker. The stomach ailment remains despite introducing Pepto Bismol into my diet. Dirty laundry remains unwashed and lying in piles across my bedroom floor. This girl is NOT in the mood for romancing. Much less writing about how nice it would be, on a cold October night, to know someone waiting at her apartment.....cooking dinner and changing the cat litter.....drawing a hot bath....

Sigh.

With this cynicism in mind....trying to ease the pain of another round of account liquidations this afternoon....I came across Daily Intel, the gossip blog of New York Magazine. Like any blog, it features routine updates along with an unmoderated reader comment section. Except that in this case, the commenters become the bloggers in a weekly feature known as "the sex diaries".

Yes. Blog commenters are invited to submit, for publication, a journal detailing their sex lives over seven days. Today, it was the "Self-Obsessed, Emotionally Detached Hedge-Funder". Twenty-five, heterosexual, single, male, harboring issues with anxiety, anorexia and sleeplessness and the variety of drugs he takes to combat all three. Feeling no irony, evidently, in printing this on the second day of a market free-fall.

*(When I suggest this is for adults only, I mean it. It is, after all, a sex diary, folks, and the man did have sex a couple times that week and explains it graphically one of those times. So enter at your own peril and level of comfort.)

Perhaps I post this to show where my relatively tame romantic quests fall on the spectrum of the blogosphere. Or that it is difficult to find a date with a normal, honest man in the city while working in finance. Or to relate to the fact that the author spent three occasions that week on Facebook, ogling his ex-girlfriend's profile and hating on her new boyfriend. (We've all been there, I'm sure.)

Or found myself oddly distressed at the following comment, coming after a particular outing with a new girl who obviously wants to see him:

"I get a call from her again while I'm at work. This is not good. Though it makes me feel great when I know someone wants me, because I'll never let them have what they want. "

As I always say, it's rough out there. These are some of the availables, folks....

100 = 50 twice

I could tell you more about my day. It was fabulous! and included:

--Staying in bed til noon surrounded by unfinished laundry from the weekend. The pervasive headache. My apparent food poisoning (from when? why? what the hell?) and all its enjoyable side effects.

--The Dow plunge and yo-yo. Panicked clients calling to ask if their bonds were safe. Panicked clients liquidating their equity portolios. Staying at the office until 7 p.m. to send them e-mail reassurances.

-- Republic pundit Bill Kristol having a yuk with Sarah Palin on my favorite editorial page. A McCain stump speech on Obama's "character" as the Dow tanked on the screen next to him in real time. Knowing I promised to make Obama cookies for a debate-watching party tomorrow night and haven't yet bought sugar or flour.

--Just wanting to sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.

I so wanted something more enjoyable to share with you for this 100th episode of Single in the City. Maybe some special guest stars. Some nostaglic summaries.

But sometimes the situation calls for levity, particularly in this charged political season. I encourage you to investigate my new favorite blog (after Jonathan Martin and Ben Smith on politico.com):

Top 50 Swing Voters

"Presidential Campaigns know that the key to any election is the ~30%of American Voters who classify themselves as Independents. Independents are also known as “Swing Voters,” because given enough transparent pandering, enough public appearances with Aging Action Movie Stars, or enough sappy stories about pregnant single mothers pulling themselves up by their bootstraps while holding down three jobs, Swing Voters can swing both ways.

"In order to pander effectively to these tiny groups of Swing Voters, Presidential Campaigns break them down into easily digestible stereotypes, or demographics. In the 2000 Election, for example, Soccer Moms, The Religious Right and Elderly Floridians with Impaired Vision elected George W. Bush. But by 2004, Soccer Moms were replaced by Security Moms, and Lunatic Fundamentalists took the place of The Religious Right. And one cannot misunderestimate the importance of the Flip Flopper Vote in 2004, which propelled George W. Bush to his second term.

"So, as a public service, here is a taste of who will be choosing our President this time around."

Recent faves include The Procrastinators, The Ninjas, The Women with Unfortunate Muffin Top Tattoos, The Predatory Lenders, and The Anonymous Sperm Donors.

Incidentally, today's group is the prescient (#35) Pot-Smokers--The Forgotten Demo. Good idea. Maybe I should invade the demographic for a medicinal hit to get me through tonight's bathroom trips and baking attempts.

Cheers!

(Which, incidentally, ran 275 episodes...to which I aspire, at the very least.)

Shout-out for the marrieds

It's late, but a quick shout-out tonight to my friends C & A....and those aren't just anonymous pseudo-letters. We're good enough friends that we sign all our e-mails in initials only.

Tonight's a good night to bring them up...it is C's 33rd birthday....and this is the 99th post on this blog. (C-cubed?) A is his wife of 9 years. And I just returned full from wine and dessert at their apartment in JP. See, they're the kind of friends who elect to spend a quiet evening at home and then invite you over to share in A's homemade apple pie.

As a single 30-something, it is a great relief to have married friends who I like to be with. You know, when you can hang with either the husband or the wife or both, and it's cool. C & A have been friends to me in so many ways over our six years of acquaintance that I'd probably need a separate entry to have room to elaborate fully on each of those ways. But in short:

Dating counselors. Spiritual counselors. Running buddies. Walking buddies. Fellow altos. Fellow rabid proofreaders. Fellow lovers of Dietrich Buxtehude. Creative cooks. Creative bakers. Shorer-uppers in bad times. Always up for a celebration in good. Welcoming, always, everywhere. No bottom to the well of generosity.

Since I know they read this I'll embarrass them no more. But happy birthday, happy anniversary (in 2 weeks), and happy new baby (in 5 weeks) C & A (and B) in JP.

Working on the sexy and sassy.

A few moments before midnight. The laptop and I are patio-hanging in the damp chill, waiting for showers to start up again......as it is, the drip-drop off the eaves is already as steady as a snare drum cadence.

We've been waiting the last hour because I can't seem to get my writing mojo on tonight. Combined with a lack of dating mojo and some economic toilet-dwelling....oh yah. Yesterday I promised you smart and sexy when I reappeared and, damn, I'm trying to work on it.

But must confess. I haven't shaved my legs in two weeks. Neither smart nor sexy.

(Yuck. While true.... I promise I'll keep my body hair discussions to a minimum once I actually get out on a real date again.)

So now I'm wondering if I can loop the CFO into my Friends who are Boys posse. Last week I noted that, when on our most recent outing, he offered to look at my Match.com profile and give his input on what turns him on and what just doesn't work. I downed the last of my beer and said, "sure!"

We haven't talked much since. But last night he reappeared in my inbox. In addition to being busy (ramping up with the school year it seems) he mentioned being "stressed about personal finances." Not comforting to hear from the money guru. But I'll score him points: he ended the message with a cheer for my Minnesota Twins and a promise that he was off to find my profile.

I heard back from him tonight again and he indeed did his homework. Firstly, that I wrote well and playfully. (A favorite word of his....) Then...that I should think about rotating my picture selection weekly. And then:

"I have to say there are a lot of very nice looking women between 34 & 36 so the competition appears to be stiff. The North Dakota, Lutheran, Christian thing doesn't exactly capture the sexy, sassy, fun side of you that I think you want to project. Not sure how you do this, but a rewrite would be a good start .. do you ever look at other profiles? You might find some helpful hints there.

"Maybe rewrite the last paragraph to be about your perfect first date instead of talking about successful past dates.

"And maybe the tag line .. "you could be the next contestant" try something different there."

Well, must say I feel schooled. Like the professor grading an essay, who starts with, "Your overall concept is great!" before red-xing all but the topic sentence.

I am a North Dakotan Lutheran Church woman. I know there are other Lutherans in Boston who might find North Dakota women interesting on geography alone.

Although. think of how the CFO knows me and how, he purports, to enjoy me: as a girl he met from a Craigslist posting who is willing to make out with him in public. (Yes. True. This is me.) Our conversations since then have touched sports, politics, music, economics, family, and (yes) church with true earnestness..but it did. All. Start. With. Talking about sex.

So I could poll for an opinion on his opinion and get riled up about him dissing my background but, truthfully, I'm thinking this was good to hear. Sometimes women do really want to know what men have to say about what they want and this is one of those times. The CFO likes to be with me (remember? Five dates?) and he has now said what it would take to get his attention if he had had to track me down in another way. He's cool with hearing about my church and why I go there, now that he knows me.

But before that, he wanted to talk about sex.

Thinking about things this way, at least for a few days, could be a shot in my limp, cold non-dating arm.

Hey. Maybe he and I could make a date out of the rewrite? Stranger things....