Sole Mates (No, it’s not about shoes.)


It’s been said that there is a lid for every pot. I’m convinced, though, that some of us are better suited to being lidless.

When I was younger — much younger — I thought that finding that one person on the planet that fills the void of your other half was simple. You go out. You meet a lot of people. You pick one. Or, one picks you. In my twenties, I went out, I met a lot of people, and some picked me. Four to be exact.

The first was a friend from college who, after a car wreck, moved back home to recuperate. I was the designated letter writer who kept him up-to-date on all the happenings within our group. He read more into those letters, though, than I intended and came back to town about a year later with a diamond solitaire and “plans.” I was clueless. So, what did I do? I ran like hell.

The second was a coworker who, though at the time married to someone else, proposed every few months. I thought we were just friends — not so much as a hug between us – but he seemed to think we were “meant” for each other or some such nonsense. My first instinct, again, was to run, but that’s hard to do when you work in the same place. Fortunately for me, my family decided to move to another state and, yep, I packed fast. A couple of years later we moved back to my hometown. By then, he was divorced and just kept on proposing. I finally started taking him seriously. He disappeared shortly thereafter, started dating someone else and was married eight months later. Some soul mate!

The third one, also from my college days, was and still is an enigma to me. We had a sort of off-and-on love-hate relationship. He proposed when I least expected it — he was in one room and I was in another. His proposal came across like a rhetorical question so I gave him a rhetorical answer. He stormed out and the next day, gave me a piece of his mind — for about twenty minutes. Never saw anyone so mad in my life. Still not sure what all happened there but still one of the few regrets I have.

The fourth one, I married. Shouldn’t have but no regrets with this one. I have a wonderful daughter who is the light of my life.

So why am I rambling on about all this? Well, lately I’ve felt like something is missing. I’ve had 24 years of post-divorce peace and contentment and, for the most part, happiness. And yet, I feel sort of empty sometimes. My child is off on her own now so maybe it’s just empty nest syndrome. I don’t know. I just know that sometimes, something really neat happens that I’d like to share and there’s no one here to share it with. No one that really gets me. I guess that’s the price I pay for once upon a time being young and stupid and fickle.

Maybe it’s for the best. Not all of us are destined to find the lid to their pot. Some of us are probably better suited to being their own sole mate. (Aren’t puns grand!)

I think for me, though, it boils down to not being able to give or be what the fellas I’ve known seem to want — a terminally sweet, utterly speechless, mammary-blessed*, sex-starved, totally subservient, house maid who likes to cook.

Was that me just being pissy? Hmmm.

*Thanks for the reminder, Kate!

 

A Versatile Blogger Award !?!


I logged into my blog a day or so ago and discovered much to my surprise that another, obviously discerning, blogger had nominated me for a versatile blogger award.

Now, I didn’t have a clue what this is all about. Never heard of it. Not sure I want to be a recipient of any kind of award in the first place.

But … thought I should check it out — just in case it involves a trophy, or a plaque, or maybe even money.

No such luck. Here’s the deal:

Rules of accepting versatile blogger nomination:

  1. Thank the person who nominated me (Below)
  2. Include a link to his/her blog (Also below)
  3. Nominate fifteen blogs I enjoy and follow (Belower)
  4. Inform said bloggers about their nominations (That took awhile!)
  5. Share seven things about me (Belowest)

So, thank you Ellen Peterson, wherever you are. You’re a peach!
(http://ellepeterson.wordpress.com/)

The fifteen blogs I’ve nominated:

Preacherswifeintheknow

broadside

Running Naked with Scissors

Diary of a Mad College Girl

Naked Envelope

Air Cooled Underware

Golden Oldie Ads

I Am Not Defined

Humbled Pie

Second Lunch

Heather Christina Schmidt

From Nonsense to Momsense

Rob Slaven Photography

Katie is a Teacher

In My Opinion

Seven things (you never wanted to know) about me:

  1. I was a hippie. (Sort of.)
  2. My guilty pleasure is reading chick-lit, especially British chick-lit. (Do not tell anyone about this.)
  3. I’m claustrophobic and afraid of heights. (Yes, tall buildings are a problem.)
  4. I believe in angels.
  5.  I married a guy with the same last name as mine. Both start with a Mc and when I got divorced, I petitioned the court to let me take my name back. You see, I put two little lines under the “c” and he doesn’t. (Yes, that’s important.)
  6. I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until I was 16 years old. (Not my fault I wasn’t gifted with balance and coordination.)
  7. I like Star Trek Next Generation better than the original Star Trek. (Sorry, Capt. Kirk.)

Well now, all done.

So, should I be having visions of pyramids and somebody named Ponzi?

Hmmm.

To learn more about the Versatile Blogger Award, go to — http://versatilebloggeraward.wordpress.com/

 

So what exactly are the willies?


I wonder, do we use “the willies” instead of just coming right out and saying something makes us queasy? Why would “the willies” be more acceptable than queasy? What does “the willies” mean exactly?

To find out, we do what every good old girl with an Internet connection does — we Google it!

Here’s what we found:

The definition from Wiki is about the record album so let’s take a peek at the def from Dictionary.com:

wil·lies

[wil-eez]  Noun ( used with a plural verb ) Informal. nervousness or fright; jitters; creeps (usually preceded by the ): That horror movie gave me the willies.

Origin:
1895–1900, Americanism ;  origin obscure; compare -s3

Well. I guess that pretty much sums it up!

But the big question is — what gives you the willies?