A Thousand (and Outta Here)

The time has come.

You’ve seen it coming and so have I. 

One friend said:  don’t stress it, just stop it.  Meanwhile, my brain said I had to give you an explanation of why I’m stopping it while my gut told me to not be an overdramatizing cliché.  In the end I wanted to write 1000 words for my 1000^th post but then feared that might end up being tedious and nauseating to all of us.

(FYI:  It’s 754, give or take a few. Feels long enough, right? Right!)

So instead:   I’m hoping what comes out here on the Friday night before summer, from the 28^th floor of the John Hancock tower looking out onto a purple sunset, strikes the balance.

Starting with me thanking you for reading this blog.  You did.  You let me overuse ellipses and sentence fragments and declarations starting with "and".

You tolerated my training for 4 of 9 marathons ... Boston, Philadelphia and DC and, almost, Stockholm.

You liked my legs. (1000 pageviews, baby.)

You read a whopping 43 posts about my insomnia, as well as all the ones I forgot to tag because I (obviously) hadn’t slept enough.

You sat on my patio with me at 1:24 a.m. and admired the basil and impatiens.  Once we listened to Jethro Tull together and I’ve not listened to them since.  (Have you?)  

You let me sell you on Charlie Brown and Secret Garden and Jason Robert Brown musicals and, occasionally, showed up at the shows.  You saw me buy my first piano.  You believe I can play the piano (don't you?), many without ever having heard me do it.

You tolerated my bikini challenges and my weight loss attempts and my cereal binges (and my copious apologies for them after the fact).   You tolerated 18 (and maybe more) Inexplicable Photos of My Feet and never asked why.  (Still inexplicable, BTW.)  You let me use the word penis as often as I wanted.

You looked at pretty much every photo I have of Henry and Oliver.

You heard me say kissing C-2 is better than just about anything in the world and didn’t throw up because of its idealism….or at least hid it from me if you have.  You didn’t chastise me for going back to him, and back, and back. You didn't know his name doesn't even start with C.  No, I'm not going to tell you what it does start with.

You didn’t ask for more information about the Man from San Francisco, despite my reticence to share details about him.  He is still in the picture, by the way. 

You didn’t give me a hard time for having (at least) 86 weekends where I was without a date.  Or for shamelessly transcribing OKC Instant Messenger chats.

You let me turn 36. Then 37. Then 38.  Then 39. 

You’ve met my mom.  Bobbo.  (The ever-awesome) Martha, on many occasions. The sisters older and younger.  Joshua.  Justin.  Student Driver.  Balint.   Bill.  Cousin J. The CFO.  Many, many others.

You let me bitch about Southie.  And an ancient vehicle I refuse to replace.  And parking tickets.  And parking. 

You took my recommendations for good songs.  Sometimes for good poems.  You never told me if you liked them (or even read them) … but that’s ok.

You went with me to Hungary, San Francisco, west coast Florida, Minneapolis, the North Dakota prairies.

You tasted Pretty Things Baby Tree and PBR and homemade Altbier and Grain Belt and Left Hand Milk Stout and Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  (Yeah.  Guinness should have had its own tag, I'm seeing.)

And for all that, what is there still to say?  But thanks.  For being my friends, my critics, my motivation for observing.  My motivation for drinking too much.  For staying up too late.  For whining.  For chatting with 21-year-old penis-pictures and female wrestlers.  For trying to be good at things.  For trying to get better and for trying to excuse bad habits and for never really trying to sleep enough.

I'm still (sorta) single.  Still thirty-something.  Still renting.  Still in Southie. 

It's time to go. 

You can write me at sage (dot) risotto (at) gmail (dot) com (if we’re not already Facebook friends) and you want to stay in touch.  I promise to write back if you promise not to creep me out.  I promise to tell you when the inspiration returns and when I start writing .... something ... again.

And with that, this blog is over and out.

J

Karin -- May 21, 2012

No more p***** pics! (Can I get an A-men?)

This was sent my way today. It's from 2010. Considering how many penis photos have been gifted to me by men from OKCupid in my lifetime (including this winner), I'm amazed I didn't stumble across this myself already. It says everything I've ever said to the screen in response.

Choice quotes:

0:45: "Come on. Enough with the tricky camera angles on that baloney pony. Man, it is UGLY!"

0:57: "And, yes. Sometimes we save the pictures. But just to show our friends how weird yours looks. And make fun of how much of a douchebag you are."

Please share with a loved one. Man or woman, depending on their needs.

(PS: Thanks, MSF.)

Other girls' (dating) lives

Since my dating life of late has been fairly static, what with MSF around (even if from afar), I fully acknowledge that said details of said dating life are also relatively nil.

So. Well.  This is the time, then, where I direct you to some awesome blogs of women who are writing about their dating lives:

Things Deb Loves .... sharing the nittiest of the nitty-gritty about first and second dates in lengthy, lengthy detail.   Warning:  bathroom humor and much exasperation.   Also, perhaps you have never heard of Freeganism before; read this and you will have.

All the Wrong Cards .... 3 women talk about a bevy of goods, bads, earlies, lates, OKC chats gone right.  The most recent entry contains a reference to a penis made of jello.  I kid you not.

Good Times with Jess ... a local bartender with a boyfriend, a vibrator, 30 pairs of underwear for a weekend ski trip, and a therapist  She's pithy, razor-sharp and overhears a lot of conversations.

Do, please, patronize these ladies' tales.

The younger set

Some days I believe I should pay OKCupid! a commission for providing the bandwith that facilitates the IM chats that so often lead to blog topics.

About 7 last night, I was prepared to explain here how I realized August 31, 2009 was, yes, the last day of my 1st decade living in Boston. A topic meriting dissection. Could open a million retrospective doors.

Blah. Who wants to open a million doors. The topic seems insurmountable to someone who, despite the waves of weddings / anniversaries / birthdays this time of year, has found it taxing to wax reflective about anything lately.

(Which accounts for all the photos, btw. Maybe later today, after completing the 1st day of the 1st month of my my 11th year -- all those 1's! -- I'll be inspired. I did begin it by rising at 6 a.m. for a 7.7-mile run through the streets of Southie ... and the sky was empty and the breeze crisp and the legs feel good. Who knows.)

Meanwhile, when doing my ritual Monday peek on OKC to explore who might have viewed my profile over the weekend, up popped a window from a 25-y-old dark-and-handsome. A-ha! Younger man.

You've been here with me. Very few such hellos turn out promising. But I was in the mood to talk to someone, so I returned his "hi!" It was an inauspicious start.

Karin: So, what's up with you?
D&H: nothing i was just looking at your profile and figured i'd shoot you a message
K: That's kind, thanks.
D&H: you're welcome

Sigh. The drama.

We soon discovered we live just a few blocks apart in Southie. Then he picked up steam by citing adjectives from my profile. Flattering me.

D&H: so kissable and feisty huh? not a bad little combination
K: Well, I try. Thanks.
D&H: you're welcome

Sigh.

He revealed himself as a dental school student. Me as a lapsed creative writing MFA. Then, to the meat of things, so to speak, following the standard script ... or man following his libido:

D&H: what are you looking for? so what brings you here?
K: To OKC?
D&H: Yup.
K: It has varied. Depends on the time and the mood.
D&H: haha well what about recently or now?
K: I've been a bit ambiguous lately. Other parts of my life very distracting and frantic.
D&H: i see
K: I think I'd like to pursue something more relationship-like, but hard to get it started with other stuff going on.
D&H: ya...
D&H: would you be open to something more casual?

Naturally. Welcome to my life as a 36-y-old woman on OKC. Men in their 20s who want something relationship-like with me, especially if I intimated I wanted it, are rarer than Republican congressmen from Massachusetts.

K: How casual is casual?
D&H: i dont know really lol
D&H: wine and a movie
D&H: followed or interrupted by some passionate sex
D&H: we live so close i figured it might work out well for both of us... and i have a thing for cute older women (well older than me)

I'm a cute older woman. Who knew?

(Stay with me here.)

K: hmm. Kind of a one-night thing, you're saying.
D&H: no, not at all actually
D&H: unless thats all you wanted.
D&H: i was thinking kind of a steady thing, or whenever we both felt like it
K: Yes. Well I suppose that would depend on if we got along or not.
D&H: well of course
K: Of course.

And thus commences my favorite revelation.

D&H: i have never been with someone over 30... and I want to very badly
D&H: and you seem interesting, smart, and very cute
K: Oh? Tell me more about that.
D&H: more about what?
K: Desire for women over 30 .... what drives it?
D&H: idk what it is.. maybe the maturity .... or letting them be more in control
D&H: i have always dated younger women
K: Ah, I see.
D&H: you have a beautiful womens body
K: Thanks.
D&H: and i yearn for that
D&H: and someone to just take control of the relationship a little

So this is new, this men in their 20s thinking that women in their 30s have figured out what they want and want to control things. Most guys that age that want to talk to me mostly want to discuss the size of their penis and how they will use it to control me.

I thought I might tell him that, really, my greater desire at the moment is to have a man who wants to take care of me, so that I have someone to help me keep my (currently) thin grip on the list of responsibilities that makes up my life.

But didn't want to cut off his idealism. If he will be worth it, he will be swayed by this argument in person. So I next suggested that perhaps we meet for a drink before we do anything else and he suggest the time and place. I get this sense he thinks it is the minor formality necessary for him to perform so that I'll agree to jump his bones. He may or may not follow through, but:

D&H: that sounds good to me
D&H: you would be fulfilling my greatest fantasy!
D&H: thats gotta be kinda exciting for you too right?
K: You're funny.
D&H: i am!
D&H: do you have any fantasy i can help with?
D&H: haha something tells me you can handle it
D&H and you want to

Oh, to be 25 again and be that hopeful.

TMI

It was certainly only a matter of time before someone on OKC would contact me using his penis for a profile photo.

That time was today, 9:03 a.m. Briefly online, reading an e-mail from a man in California with whom I'm conversing about my family being from Minnesota ...

... and up pops a chat window with an erect penis.

"hello"

(followed 14 seconds later by)

"did u see what you did to me?"

I was so taken aback I logged off the site. 

(Ugh. Make it go away.)

But tonight I was online again, and once again, the same (47-year-old) penis appeared:

"hello"

(followed 21 seconds later by)

"did u see how hard you made me?"

Shouldn't have been shocked. I recognized the handle of the sender; he sent e-mails 2x last week.  The first: to say I was a good-looking woman.  The second: suggesting I am "really hot," and that he wanted me to know he had "NINE INCHES TO SHARE."

Sigh.  At the time, ignored it. Which usually makes such folks go away.

No. He really meant to share it with me. 

I've thought about clicking on his profile to flag it for inappropriate content.  But surely this would only encourage him, thinking I'm checking him out.

The joys, the joys.  One more attempt and I might have to go all Lorena Bobbit on him.

Spam Poetry

Not to be ornery,

but I am the only woman

--as a woman going for fourth-and-long on the dating field--

who finds an e-mail inviting me to "save the day for romance" and pay to attend the Boston Bridal Affair at the Hyatt Regency

as outlandish as an e-mail

promising to enlarge my penis?