A Broken Eggshell Kind of Morning

Should I be crawling back into bed world? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?

Call it a Murphy’s Law day if you will but when a series of events begin as soon as you rouse yourself in the morning, late, with no thanks to your alarm, which failed to make a dent in your bad dream, a series of events that foretell a not-so-funny-now comedy of errors to come … you ask yourself that question. Should I be crawling back into bed?

I shake off the late start (now compounded because I feel the need to write this RIGHT NOW), and am determined to start the day off right.

I need a fried egg sandwich … or “sammich,” if you will.

Now, I make no secret of the fact – stone cold fact – that I am not a domestic goddess. I boil. I open cans. I perhaps assemble. I do not “cook.” But I can make scrambled eggs and fried eggs. Usually. I swear.

I put my wee I-must-live-alone skillet on the stove, heat until med/med-high, spray a bit o’Pam in the skillet, grab bread for the toaster, an egg, and cheese. Okay. Skillet heated, I crack the egg on the counter. Dammit. Not the greatest job but it will be fine. Right?

I’m trying to crack open this badly cracked egg to reach the innards (still hungry?) and feel a twinge of dismay as two small bits of eggshell hit the hot skillet. Well, hell. Oops, two more hit.

Well, ____!

Do I give up? Do I turn off the stove and go back to bed? My body and brain seem hopeful for second.

I have court this afternoon. *growl*

I meticulously pick out the shell bits with one hand, holding the kinda sorta broken egg in the other, glare inside the skillet for a long moment to make sure all men down have been recovered, and finally get my egg in the skillet with a sizzle. *heavy sigh*

Please tell me that this step-by-step struggle is not going to continue the rest of the day.

Anyway, if you are wandering downtown later today and see a short, suit-clad female screaming, “MULLIGAN!!!” might I suggest you find cover … fast and quietly.

And for God’s sake, do not make eye contact.

Lordy, Lordy, Look Who's ...

Already freaking out about her birthday this year.

I've been struggling to figure out what I want to do for my big day.  A trip? A day spa? Some sleeping pills?

I'm still undecided but I just added a new possibility today.  I can't believe I hadn't thought of this before.

I think jumping out of a perfectly good airplane might be the perfect way to celebrate.

Of course, I'm still open to suggestions.  I have a few months left before the end.

I mean ... my birthday.

Well That Was ... Anticlimactic

I did it. I plunked down the moolah for eHarmony. 

Yeeeeah.

I recognize a LOT of these guys from other dating sites. Hell, I recognize pictures from other dating sites; pictures that have to be several years old. 

The email I tried to send during the "free communication" weekend, the email that set off my "sneaky" eHarmony vibe when they wouldn't allow it to go through? I now know that it would have gone to someone I've already encountered at Match.com. Someone to whom I'm not attracted.

Does this mean I owe them thanks somehow for keeping me from opening that communication again?

Of course, if they allowed individuals to see their matches without paying, I would have recognized him in the first place.  So, no, no thanks to you, eHarmony.  You're still sneaky.

Then, I saw the "Find New Matches" button. Sweeet!  I clicked.  I watched with anticipation as the timer ticked down from 60 seconds. And then I read:

"Our matching system was not able to find any new matches for you right now."

Well, isn't that a kick in the ole' ego keister.  Now, instead of wandering Grand Rapids wondering where my guy is hiding, I paid way more than I wanted in order to be told by a blinking computer that he doesn't exist.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I realize this is not true and have been recently told that only a very small percentage of people even use these dating sites.  But, still ... 'you're unmatchable at the moment' is not a thing anyone wants or needs to hear. 

Or read.
 

Ah, You're Sneaky eHarmony ... Very Sneaky.

Tonight ends the "free communication" weekend at eHarmony that enticed me to fill out their incredibly long and maddening questionnaire and, thus, throw my singledom at the mercy of 29 "dimensions of compatibility."  I have hurried through the "guided communication" with one individual but we're not yet at the email stage.

And, more maddening even, I chose to skip straight to email (supposedly an option) with another match since time is running out and any guy who claims to like Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series (I believe a rarity among men) deserves to at least have the means of finding my blog.  Of course the means of finding my blog could end in him running far far away, screaming, but ... eh ... the faint of heart need not tarry too long.  Therefore, I wrote an extremely witty (aren't I humble) email explaining a bit about myself and complimenting him on his reading choice then included information on how to find this site.  I clicked send, happy in my decision. I was promptly redirected to the subscription page and a short note informing me that "email" is for subscribers only.  

Um ... then don't include the link on my communication page and perhaps inform your newbies that "free communication" weekends mean your slower-than-papaw "guided communication" only.

<narrowed eyes> 

I see your game, eHarmony.  Lure me with the promise of free communication then purposefully make the process so painfully slow that, in order to actually have true communication with any of my "matches," I must become a paying subscriber.  Evil, evil temptress.

Thus, I find myself waffling at the prospect of forking over nearly $140 (yuh-huh, that's what I typed) for three months of services at eHarmony.  Match.com is less expensive.  True, Match.com has not been successful for me recently (obviously), but spending twice as much in order to even see pictures of my matches gives me pause. 

I'm even getting contrary results from the tried and (well, not so much) true methods of divination: the horoscope and uber-eery magic 8 ball.  According to today's horoscope for we cancerous crabs:

If you are buying a lot of lottery tickets or engaging in some other kind of against-the-odds ventures, you need to spend your time and your money more wisely.  Maybe you have reassured yourself by dwelling on the idea that someone has to win, but that isn't necessarily so.  Although what you're going through now might not literally involve the purchase of lottery tickets, you could be taking some kind of risky venture way too seriously.  You are a dreamer, Moonchild, but you can also be quite objective and practical.  Now's the time to let your more stable side take control. [Emphasis added.]

In contrast, I asked the Magic 8 Ball whether I would find "that special person" during the 3 months at eHarmony if I paid for the subscription.  Answer:

Yes.

Oh, the agony at times of having the ability to make my own freakin' decisions!

[Disclaimer: Yes, I realize just how asinine this dilemma is and that there are people in the world, the majority of the world's population in fact, who would relish making it rather than wondering how they will eat or where they will sleep.  I am only silly, not hard-hearted.]

So, as the minutes tick away, I sit, sipping wine, and pondering the frivolity of this expenditure.

I highly doubt any decision will be made this night.  Suggestions, wisdom, and wisecracks are welcome.

Evil Holiday 2010

It's a new decade, lady and gents; therefore, I'll be handling this annual forced recognition of my singlehood ... eh, pretty much the same way I've "handled" it in the past.  With much growling and gnashing of various inanimate objects, which are incapable of protest or screams. 

Except the shredder.  Apparently a shredder can scream.  Loudly.

So, I was sitting on my loveseat (the purchase of Evil Holiday 2009), comfy and oh-so-classy in my pajamas, red flannel robe (I do not kid, sir), and ... wait for it ... uber-sexy facial mask, and thought, "The time is now."

eHarmony. Yep. [Said while making a big popping sound at the end.]

I just spent two HOURS filling out an eHarmony questionnaire that made me think way too much.  And I'm not talking about the typical "what are you looking for" questions of other dating sites.  I'm talking questions ranging from how adventurous are you (eh, define adventurous - sue me, I'm an attorney) to how stable are you (and I loved that "somewhat" was a smack-in-the-middle choice).  I was asked in at least three different ways how important monogamy was in a serious relationship.  Really??  I'm curious to see, just see, the individuals who marked "not at all" to that question. 

What are the four attributes my friends would say best describe me?  Um ... can I have my friends answer that?  Because to say "intelligent" "funny" "loyal" and "caring" myself seems like cheating since it really doesn't cover the "funny girl but can be a pain in the ass" crowd or the "so incredibly sweet even though I've only just met her" newbie who, yeah, really must have just met me. 

And the answers to so many questions about the potential match depend on ... the potential match. 

• How important is your match's educational level? Well, how cute are we talking here?
• How often can your match smoke? Well, does that question encompass only cigarettes (NEVER) or does it also include a cigar a few times a year (totally fine).
• How important is your match's religious views? Um, something the opposite of zealot but not so cynical as to make fun of others who believe differently.  Does that equate to "somewhat"? 
• Are you open to a match who has young children living at home? Absolutely ... providing we're not talking some kid named Damien with a weird numeric birthmark.  Or some mighty brood the likes of which will induce my remaining eggs to shrivel up in some mass eggicide.

See. It depends. 

Finally, there did not appear to be any definitive questions about cooking that would allow me to proclaim my anti-Betty status before some poor shmuck comes over expecting homemade cooking made by someone other than my Papa John (he's an excellent Papa ... he'll even deliver). 

Ah well, we'll see.

Shouldn't I be more excited about this whole process? Yeah, I thought so, too.

Ah well ... we'll see!

The Terror of the Night

Have you ever waked to find yourself screaming? Standing? Walking? All while absolutely positive that something or someone was in the room with you?

I have.  I have night terrors.

Night terrors are not nightmares.  You might wake from a nightmare with a start, but you typically won't wake to find yourself standing on the other side of the bed or walking in your living room, all while completely freaked out and possibly screaming.  I thankfully do not have these often but they are memorable.  I typically only remember a face, or a shape standing over me, or possible a snake in my bed ... and I am positive at the moment of waking that whatever the terror is at that time, it is real and nearby.

According to the American Academy of Sleep Medicine (and, no, I don't take any), about 6.5% of all children may have been affected by night terrors; however, children generally grow out of it.  The number drops to 2.2% of adults.  Somehow, that doesn't make me feel special in a good way.  I look at the list of potential causes and continually shake my head: no substance abuse issues, no post-traumatic stress disorder (unless dating counts), none of the possible medication complications, etc.  I don't know what causes my occasional terror; I only know they occur approximately 4-6 times a year.

Most often, if I have a night terror, I'll wake screaming.  [I'd feel a bit sorrier for my neighbors if any of them had EVER come to check on me ... or called the police.]  I remember waking during a Disney family vacation and finding myself on my knees in bed, screaming, with my then husband trying to calm me.  On rarer occasions, I've found myself standing on the opposite side of the bed in a frantic state.  One time, I was circling a chair in my living room as I calmed down and reminded myself that no one was really there.

Why am I even thinking of this quirk of mine right now?

Because my night terror reached a new level last night that will likely cause me to add this to the "Hi, Doc" discussion at my annual physical this year.  As is often the case, I have no memory of a dream last night other than KNOWING someone was in my room.  I was sleeping on my side and had a pillow between my knees.  The difference this time is that my scream wasn't stopped by me waking up and coming to my senses, my scream stopped abruptly when my head hit the dresser ... three feet away from my bed. 

My pillow was still between my knees. 

Honestly, it was as if I was sucked from the bed Exorcist style, hitting the floor first with my soon-to-be purple booty then the dresser with my head.  I have no idea how I did this booty bed jump.

I only know that I have a sore bottom and knocked noggin.  And a new topic of discussion for my doctor.

A Late Hello to 2010. I Will Crush You.

Yes, it's February. January was around here just a second ago but disappeared when I wasn't looking. 

2010.  A big year for me.  Potentially.  Hopefully.  A purging year, and not in an eating disorder way.  [Binging I could probably master given the right kind (any) of ice cream; the purging just wouldn't occur.]

2010.  A year I'll rid myself of yet another reminder of old failures: I'm getting a new bed. 

*cue chorus of angels*

A small thing to some; a large purchase for me. I've had the same king-sized bed for at least 12 years.  YEARS.  My relationship with this piece of furniture has now lasted longer than my failed marriage.  It has survived a husband, three boyfriends, one particularly unreligious Easter, and, generally, a slew of bad decisions.  It has lived in ... wait ... eight (?), yes, EIGHT homes.  I, and countless others, have hauled that monstrosity seven times.  I, alone, have flipped it through potentially back spasming yet comical maneuvers that always left me feeling oddly powerful.

It's time.

The top contenders at present are a euro-top or a spine align plus queen (made locally in West Michigan).  Yes, a queen.  A full seems a bit sad; a twin is horribly sad.  A queen is big enough for me to sprawl when I feel like sprawling yet also proclaims, "I expect I'll need a two-person bed at some point in the future."  Yes, a queen will do quite nicely.  And, let's face it:  A king is nice, especially when you really don't care to touch the other person, ever, but it tends to take up all the space and is more of a nuisance than a blessing.  Huh.  Takes up space; more of a nuisance than a blessing.  Wow.  No wonder they call it a king; it really is a male.

And I wonder why I'm single.  Ah well, the ultra-plush, two-person bed will be there if/when I need it. 

See *taptaptap* I'm always thinking ahead ...

.....

More 2010 changes to come ...