Home

A cell phone is ringing in another room-- once, twice, three times-- the alerting chimes a nuisance to my ears, like a mother shaking her school-aged child on a weekday morning, but I don't have anywhere to go, or anything to do, it's my Thanksgiving break and I refuse to open my eyes, so I try to shut out the bustle of the city, East Los Angeles, the town I was born and raised in, my home again for a week, where caged birds sing at sunup, and neighborhood dogs bark in chorus, where music in English and Spanish blasts from residences and cars alike, and the youth rev their engines without consideration-- they mute television programming and interrupt a good night's sleep-- this is the norm around here, a norm I am no longer accustomed to, my senses spoiled by a quieter environment, the place I've called home for ten years now, my apartment, fifty miles away, tucked in the middle of a large apartment complex near a university, where pets are not allowed and the street hubbub is a short block away, at least that's my estimation if I have to put the distance from my door to the main gate in layman's terms, but I'm not in Kansas anymore, despite my efforts to ignore the commotion, I hear my mother outside, muffled through the walls, which explains why the phone keeps ringing--four, five times-- she's talking to a man, and I want to know who he is; I can't blame someone for keeping me up if I can't put a face to them, he can be anyone, the possibilities are endless, ranging from neighbors to those strolling up and down the street, because my parents talk to everyone, and everyone stops to talk to them, usually to compliment their garden or ask for a bundle of medicinal herbs they've spotted on the other side of the white picket fence, this is a friendly community, and their friendliness is contagious; I greet more people while washing my car in the driveway than I do all month at my complex, but right now I'm being nosy, an inherited characteristic I keep subdued but can activate quickly under any circumstances, which is what I wish I could do with the blankets, command them to extend over my head, because I want to be sleeping, this is my ultimate goal, which I'm losing hope on, especially since rattling pipes have taken center stage in my conscious, making me wonder, Is someone watering the lawn, but it rained last night, I know it isn't my mother just rinsing a pet's dish, either, because the buzzing in the pipelines is continuous, like gallons of water falling from the highest slide in a water park, and I have the urge to check up on this matter, but I crush it by initiating mindfulness, Ignore it, I say, taking a deep breath and focusing on the darkness that is my eyelids, but laughter steals my attention, Who is she talking to, I demand to know again, and a woman with a high pitched voice joins the mix--they're trying to kill me-- she's my parent's tenant, I positively identify, who lives with her family in the one-bedroom rental behind our house, and the exchange proceeds with my mother greeting her son, Hi, Andrew, while the phone continues incessantly--six, seven times-- beautifully muted like stars scattered in a black sky behind a full moon, the morning isn't letting up, this town is running on Energizer batteries, coffee, or, more likely, super-powered DNA, after all, it is composed of immigrants, some who ran across the border like my father, others who hid in trunks of cars like my mother, which means there's courage, dedication, strong will, and work ethic deeply rooted underneath the fruit trees and nopales throughout the yards, and it renews itself and emanates daily in the air we breath, it's the air I'm breathing, calling my name, begging me to rise like the birds, the dogs, the workers, the water from the ground, and I cave, peeling the covers off me, but I halt in the hallway because the sounds I've been receptive to are swooshing in my head, I'm unsteady, it takes a minute for them to settle into a puzzle composed of over-sized pieces, that's when I'm able to pinpoint her location--my mother is behind the house-- I trail her through the back entryway, pushing the door she left ajar, where I catch Andrew standing on his porch, staring back at me, and I worry my bedhead is frightening him so I wave calling truce, then proceed into the crisp autumn day that envelops me in goosebumps, causing the hairs on my body to stand, my warmth piercing the air like rocks shattering glass, and it's surprising to see my mother enduring the chilly temperature, but not startling to see her bent over a patch of spewed soil, Look what the cat did, she says upon seeing me, and by cat, she means a stray, I though I'd hidden Tuxy's catnip, she explains, picking up a flower pot on its side, but he managed to knock it down, and I acknowledge her by responding, Your phone is ringing.

Why I HATE the Cold

1. Shorter days.
2. The toilet seat is freezing.
3. Water takes forever to warm up.
4. I wanna die when I get out of the shower.
5. Applying lotion with my bare hands is self torture.
6. My clean hair doesn't air dry and leaves a wet stain on my shirt instead.
7. I itch and scratch until I see blood.
8. The floor feels like an igloo even if I just tap it with my toes.
9. I wanna scream every time a metal zipper or button touches my skin.
10. I have to wear leggings under my jeans.
11. Jewelry feels likes an ice cube upon initial contact.
12. I have to layer up before I go outside.
13. Headaches from the bitter air kissing my head.
14. My car windows and mirrors have dew or, even worse, frost, that I have to wipe or scrape off when I'm already rushing to work.
15. The car heater always blows cold air in my face before it kicks in.
16. I have to peel off the layers I throw on after I arrive anywhere.
17. Extra layers mean double the laundry accumulated twice as fast.
18. Instead of making me happy, ice cream makes me cold, which makes me grumpy.
19. My feet cramp up at night thus forcing me to wear cozy socks to sleep.
20. Even though I have flannel sheets, I still take minutes to warm up.
21. Changing positions at night causes head-to-toe chills as my body adjusts to new grounds.
22. The dreaded icy trip to the bathroom in the middle of my sleep.
23. I have a permanent runny nose.
24. The wind makes my eyes watery.
25. My nose is always red and cold.
26. My ears are chilly.
27. Raindrops on my windshield at night are tricky to decipher: are they reflecting lights or real headlights?
28. I can't just sit comfortably on the couch in a tee shirt without a blankie or sweater.

Full Moon Hike

I saw an invitation to a full moon hike in Joshua Tree about a month ago on Facebook. It was scheduled to begin at 9pm and last about an hour and a half. I got so excited that I quickly conjured up the crazies that would humor me on this adventure: Jackie and Michael, of course. Without asking them, I called the number on the post and made reservations for three.

A couple of weeks later, I started considering camping the night of the hike. I knew it was hot as hell in the desert but we would survive one sleepover in the wilderness. When I assured myself that it was more sensible to stay at the park overnight than make the 1.5 drive home at 10:30pm, I suggested it to the crazies who ate it all up.

I hadn't camped since I was a kid. My family and I spent many summer weekends in Lake Perris with aunts, uncles, and cousins and the essentials were still sitting in my parent's garage. All we really needed was an overnight pack anyway: chips, beer, a light sweater, and a change of clothes. I wasn't the least bit concerned about the trip until I came across an instant tent being sold at a swap meet. I didn't even know there was such a thing-- preattached legs that you unfolded and extended-- but I wanted it, needed it. It was the only thing that made sense, a tent that practically set itself up in five minutes. It was essential for our late and dark encampment. But I couldn't buy it without researching it first, reading reviews, and watching videos to see if it was worth the excitement. After I was convinced that this tent was exactly what we needed, my mom and I spent two hours looking for my sleeping bag before my dad drove me to Wal-Mart. I paid $80 more for the camping gear there than I would have at the swap meet but at least I knew I could return it if need be.

Beautiful view on our way to Joshua Tree. 

Upon our arrival at Boy Scout Trail, we were invited to take a peek of Saturn through their fancy telescope. Jackie thought they had stuck a sticker on the lens because the image was so clear and perfect, rings and all. I wanted to ask if I could take a picture with my camera but since I wasn't sure it would work (would my lens actually capture a photo through their viewfinder?), I kept quiet. The park rangers then explained the rules for our hike which included no flashlights or flash photography during the one mile trek. The only luminescence available to us that night would be the moon. I accidentally left my camera on the Aperture Priority function as I rotated through them trying to find the best one for the occasion and surprisingly, I captured some awesome shots that would have otherwise been black images. 

Adventurers. 

Joshua Trees.

The moon, not the sun, I swear.

One of my favorite shots that night.

The trail.

Group gazing at the moon.

Paparazzi.

The park ranger opened up with this poem: Robert Frost

No flash, all moonlight.

No long-horned sheep here. 

Ant mound, about a foot in diameter. 

Friends warned us about spiders and rattle snakes on the trail before heading to Joshua Tree. But I knew what to expect. That's why I wore yoga pants, so they could serve as an extra (thin) layer of protection in case they attacked me. But we encountered the real danger on our way to the campsite. 

We saw our share of jack rabbits and kangaroo rats on the road. The bunnies didn't appear the least bit fazed by my headlights or enormity of my vehicle (in comparison to their size) coming towards them. Since they blended with the sand on the edge of the path, they probably thought they were safely camouflaged and continued about standing on their hind legs with their long ears shot straight up. The tiny rats, on the other hand, crossed the lanes as if being chased by cats. 

I think it was Michael who read that bees were attracted to air conditioners so we drove with the windows down. The cooling weather invited my arm to play outside where the breeze helped keep my body temperature down. That was until one of those bugs constantly splattering onto my windshield landed on my hand. So I recruited my limb back inside after giving my arm a good shake. It was a fine thing too because a few moments later, a flying object hit my mirror. The thud was loud and hard. Michael immediately confirmed it had been a bat. Jackie and I only accepted his theory after we caught a handful of animals flapping drunkenly in the beam of my headlights. We had just identified that stretch of land as Bat Country when we heard another thump on the frame of my Jeep by my windshield. 

"Roll up the windows," Michael cried. And without hesitation, I followed through, not wanting a fourth companion on our way to camp. I turned on the AC and said, "I hope you guys like bees."

It happened to be the appropriate moment to compare our experience with that of Rory's from Gilmore Girls. There's an episode in season one when she's driving in a rush to her new prep school, cutting through a forest or whatever lies near New Haven, Connecticut, and a deer hits her car and imprints his antlers on the side of her Jeep. The difference was that we had Michael warning us against touching my vehicle's body for fear of contracting rabies instead of searching for the injured critter like Rory and her mother eventually did.

The conversation carried on when we spotted something on the road up ahead. I thought it was going to be another dead rabbit but Jackie and Michael thought it was some kind of bird. How they came to that conclusion I don't know because it looked like a white piece of paper in the shape of a triangle to me. It wasn't flinching so I didn't slow down. But right before I went over it, the thing rose and spread its wings, wide gray ones with white stripes or edges, right in front of my headlights. We screamed in unison and I ducked my head between my arms holding on to the wheel at 10 and 2. On the verge of hyperventilating, I opened my eyes after I was sure I hadn't struck anything else. We couldn't believe why this thing on the ground, an owl, according to Jackie and Michael, had come alive before us instead of flying away sooner. My poor little heart couldn't take it. I was giving myself a panic attack thinking about how I had taken my eyes off the road. I was lucky to have been driving through a deserted popular desert due to the 100 degree weather. I hadn't expected much of a thrill on this trip but I guess I should have. Nature has no plans but I sure did. I needed a drink!

At last, we settled down at the site of our choice being that we had the entire park to ourselves. We set up camp in five minutes, thanks to my handy instant tent, and quickly took in the serenity that was Joshua Tree at midnight. Coyotes howled at the moon and we sat quietly with bottles of Orange Wheat and a bag of chips under the starry sky. 

Instant tent: unfold legs, extend legs, done.

Camping promotional model.

Caught in the moonlight. 

Michael's camera captured the sky beautifully.

Sunrise.

Roughing it.

Can you spot him? 

It seemed wrong to pack up and leave the park by 9:30am the next day so we attempted a hike. We walked for an hour before we made the sound decision to turn back since the temperature had already risen to the three digit mark. We saw some pretty neat creatures on the way, though.

We fell in love with this little guy soaking up the sun. Jackie loved his human pose.

We thought he was albino but Michael noticed the neon colors on his sides.

Jackie and I were in awe of his froggy legs. 

Stairs + 100 degrees = sweat.

Surviving.

Pretending it's cute hiking in the desert in August. :p

Nest.

Another little guy. I absolutely adored the bright colors on his side.

Until next time, Joshua Tree. We'll be back soon.

What a Wonderful World This Would Be

Because my sister accepted her first official position as an Associate Clinical Social Worker since finishing grad school in May, celebrating this next accomplishment was a must. While I was thinking inside the box, BJ's and spinach dip, Jackie was dreaming big. She found a bar online in downtown L.A. that specialized in rum, upbeat music, and a twenty dollar membership fee. My natural response to that, of course, was, "What?! I have to pay to get into a place so I can buy a drink?" 

But my sister wasn't relying on my company to commence this new stage of her life. Aware of my home-body tendencies, she and her best friend since middle school started primping with an ETA of 45 minutes. So I contemplated the day's menu: Friday night out or Friday night mani/pedi. I reminded myself that I'd towed my Steve Madden pointy black heels for a reason. I wanted this, especially after returning to work following a two month hiatus and dubbing the past five days The Longest Week ever. I was in desperate need of recharging my batteries and a savory cocktail and music to feed the soul sounded like the perfect remedy I had envisioned. Leaving the killjoy behind, I went to my room to prep my face for the night time look. 

After picking Brenda up, we headed downtown with dread for obvious reasons: traffic and parking. Traffic I could tolerate but it's the parking situation I cannot stand from an ethical standpoint. It's ridiculous that every trip to the hub of L.A. requires what should be called an entrance fee, anywhere between four to twenty-five dollars, just to leave your vehicle in a lot to go spend more money on dinner, drinks, or dancing. Luckily, though, said club was a block east from L.A. Live, far enough from the pedestrian congestion, with a parking establishment directly across for the bargain price of ten dollars. Unbeknownst to me, Jackie had already paid for her membership from home, which allowed up to seven friends to tag along, and we were in quickly without a hassle. $30 spent and the fun hadn't even begun. 

Cool painting outside the club.

The club seemed to be the ideal place for an introvert like me right from the get-go. It was pretty dead, perfect for my claustrophobia, but I guess it was still early when we arrived. The DJ's welcomed us to an island we'd never been, with Caribbean tunes, tropical printed shirts, and straw fedora hats worn by the bartenders. We had been transported to Havana, Cuba in less than five miles and were loving it. We studied the drink menu where all the choices were the right answers. I was deciding between a Mai Tai, Pina Colada, and Rum and Coke. But in the end, I chose a Pina Colada with its promise of pineapple juice and coconut flavors that made my mouth water. And it did not disappoint. My first sip took me directly home where the flavors of a vanilla raspado I had often purchased from the men selling shaved ice in my parent's neighborhood resembled the sweetness of my drink. I was definitely in my happy place, possibly even my new favorite place, but it was too early to tell.  

Brenda and I followed Jackie outside to the patio with our drinks in tow. Two walls were covered in mirrors to make the quaint area look bigger than what it was. There were some shingles on the roof but it was mostly uncovered. Cliques filled every space. Some smoked cigars but most drank from straws inserted in coconut shells, talked, laughed, and danced. Everyone minded their own business, whether they were with their significant other, on a date, with friends, or coworkers. Brenda noticed quickly that most males wore coats which we deemed weird because guys didn't tend to dress up that much to a club. But I concluded that they had enough money for the membership so they could afford to dress to impress. By no means were we complaining, simply admiring. And not only did the opposite sex look attractive, they also turned out to be polite, like the one with three drinks who excused himself when he cut through us to get to his posse. It appeared we had stepped into a perfect world, where people honestly respected one another while having clean fun. That's when I started to believe in the perks of a members-only club.

View from the patio, looking up.

After killing our first round, Brenda put the pressure on Jackie by stating that we were going to burn the cocktail calories by hitting the dance floor. I didn't care, I loved dancing, but Jackie panicked, especially when we were the only ones grooving.

Besties since 1995.

Slowly, more dancers cramped our style. An older couple showed off their advanced salsa moves, a tall white couple with two left feet didn't let that stop them from shaking what their mommas gave them, white girls in tight black dresses with enviable physiques moved side to side, and a Hispanic couple made me wish I had a partner to dance with again. 

Selfie attempt #1: too dark.

Selfie attempt #2: too bright.

Selfie attempt #3: problem solving.

Selfie attempt #4: problem solved. 

During the second round of drinks (water for Jackie, she had the passenger-friendly vehicle), a couple of guys asked us to dance. They were younger than us but supposedly possessed degrees from various UC campuses as well as private universities. They claimed to be lawyers/entrepreneurs, web designers, and film makers. We learned even more about each other by switching partners and talking about work and familial backgrounds. At one point, the youngin with the green eyes I was conversing with excused himself to get a drink of water. He apologized for the interruption but I laughed it off, thinking it was funny how thirsty he must've been, never considering the possibility he'd been desperate to get away from me; I admired his honesty and dedication to hydration. I took the moment to rest my feet and reapply my lipstick when a tall and slender African American male offered his hand and swept me to the dance floor as soon as the DJ switched to reggae. He bent a foot down to talk to me, which made his long braids fall over his shoulder where I caught a whiff of the pomade he used to keep his tresses impeccable. Even he claimed, too, to have studied at USC and was a self proclaimed movie producer (Oh God. It just hit me: he might have been famous and I forever lost my opportunity at having a lot of money.)

I was completely aware that the men, young and old, could have been bullshitting us about their education and careers. But it just didn't seem likely because they weren't selling themselves. We were simply using our jobs to fuel conversations and establish commonalities like every human being seeks when meeting new people. They shared their dreams and accomplishments and so did we. Our exchanges about politics, music, and Mexican roots created an easy dialogue. The creepy, just-got-out-of-jail feeling that usually came along with guys at bars was absent that night and that realization was great. It was evident that the people who joined this club did so for their love of meeting other professionals and networking within a setting where they could practice what they learned at their last salsa lesson.

The lights came on in the middle of a song and we were all surprised at how quickly the time had passed. I had been sleepier when I first hit the floor than at 2am. The African American man seized the opportunity to ask for my number but I gently declined by expressing my gratitude for him dancing with me which he respectfully accepted without a fight. His reaction took me by surprise since I'm used to some guys begging and pleading for contact information. But Mr. Black Man was a gentleman. We said our goodbyes with a hug that culminated our brief encounter. He took a seat by his friend and I rejoined Jackie, Brenda, and our new friends shortly before the bartender officially kicked us out. We walked out together and chatted a little more outside until their Uber picked them up by the side of the curb.

Once in our car, Jackie, Brenda, and I agreed that the celebration had been a success. Jackie claimed to have been stimulated by the fact the all of the dudes we spoke to were (supposedly) educated and seemed to be following their career goals at their tender ages of 26 and 28. Meeting them had been stress-free because they never made a move or asked us for our numbers, although that might have been due to the number of times Jackie and I stressed how much older we were than them that probably turned them off. Maybe not. Maybe they were really focused on their goals and simply wanted an enjoyable night to recharge for the hustle the next morning. Who knows. But we were glad we were able to drive home without breaking hearts or broken hearts ourselves.

This club definitely had a unique vibe, different than anything I'd ever experienced. Jackie said it reminded her of a happy hour place she frequented in Oakland where status didn't depend on the car you drove but what you had between your temples. One of the guys gave Jackie his business card before heading home and that's how I would describe this members-only club: a networking bar that allowed you to destress after a long work week with a dose of rum, tropical beats, and intellectual conversations. I think I have discovered the answer for peace on Earth.

"Oh, what a wonderful world this would be..."

Incredible Sinking Me

Gilmore Girls

Season 4, Episode 14- "The Incredible Sinking Lorelais"

foreveryoungadult.com

Lorelai: You know, there are very few times in my life when I find myself sitting around thinking, I wish I was married. But today, I, I'm happy, you know? I like my life, I like my friends, I like my...stuff, my time, my space, my TV...

Luke: Yeah, sure.

Lorelai: But, every now and then, just for a moment, I wish I had a partner, someone to pick up the slack, someone to, uh, wait for the cable guy, make me coffee [breakfast] in the morning...

sporcle.com

Online Dating: #WINNING or #FAIL?

Day 1- Today I built my profile. I uploaded three of my best pictures, none of them recent so I hope my smile hasn't aged although my hair has grown. I received 12 matches right away which made me laugh. I wanted to email some immediately just to be silly but decided to be a lady and be chased. I chose to give those I gave thumbs up 24 hours before I wrote something... maybe.

Day 2- I woke up to an email invasion that began last night and went on until about 8pm tonight. It stressed me the heck out. Seeing all those new messages come through nonstop felt like a thousand screaming students trying to get my attention. I wanted to cover my ears and yell SHUT THE HELL UP!!! So I closed my laptop. All the profiles had started to sound the same, anyway. I couldn't differentiate one guy from another. I did, however, pinpoint two more qualities I didn't know I wanted from my future partner. I'm not sure I want to date an Asian or African American. The cultural differences might be too great for me to want to work with. Plus, I like the idea of being able to communicate with his parents and joke with his siblings in Spanish. Also, I am now sure I don't like sleeve or body tattoos. But what do I know. Ultimately, a higher being is going to decide who is best for me.

Day 3- I was very courteous by replying to most who sent emails--that was me trying to be open and not judge appearances too much. I know, too, that the wave of suitors will die soon.

I had one concern: because most of my matches are in their 30's and 40's, I pondered over their pictures with friends and family and couldn't help but feel like I'd be intruding in their lives if a relationship were to develop. These guys had lived almost half of their existence. I asked myself, How would I fit into his life now? Would his friends accept me? Would his family like me? Not only did I have to win him over, but everyone around him. Ugh! It was so draining just thinking about it...

Day 4- Today I received great advice from my friend Peter after I vented my online dating concerns. He said that sites like Match.com are just a tool for meeting people, and that's when a lot of the pressure came off. He made me rethink this whole experience. For a minute, it seemed less scary with the potential to be fun. He also told me it was okay to be selective. As previously stated, I didn't want to ax men based on their looks but as I scrolled through matched profiles, I just knew I could not look at some of those faces or bodies day in and day out. Unfortunately, and I feel like a snob saying this, but yes, I'm referring to chubby males like the one who wasn't embarrassed to bare his hairy chest for the site. Also, I was letting some 40+ dudes cut through but not anymore. I really thought about it. The older the men are than me, the longer I'm going to remain single because they will die before me. So no, I will stick with my 40 year old cutoff and hope for a younger one so we can die together. As of today, I might have one "date" with a could-be grandpa. I am neither happy nor proud of this statement.

Young Women Paired with Older Men

Why do guys insist on asking specifically where I live and if I live alone? Really? I guess they think I'm stupid like other women they have apparently met. They also want to know my real name and phone number so I can text them to say hi and tell them about my day. Why would I text a stranger about my day? Why would he care? I believe I need to meet him first in order to decide if I want him to be part of my life. #irritated

Day 5- I refuse to call meet-ups dates. They're not dates. I'm meeting these guys for the first time. That being said, I'm meeting two different males (they're also not guys since they're over 35) on two evenings, back to back. I'm not excited, maybe because I'm not attracted to them, but going back to my original thoughts, how will I know or not if there's a connection if I don't go out with them? My initial inclination was to go out with everyone who asked, but after these two set-ups, I'm going to have to start being selective. I was chatting with one who seemed nice but I'm already "booked" so let's see if he'll wait. I'm chatting with another one my age. The messages feel forced on his end but let's see if he'll also wait until I'm done with other plans.

Blah. One of my "dates" is acting like he's 16. He keeps messaging me to say hi and how he's the luckiest man in the world. The poor dude is basing these feelings on a mere cropped photograph of me. I've also gotten two, Good morning, sunshines, and I can't stand that.

Day 6-  Every guy seems to say the same thing. "You're beautiful." "You have a beautiful smile." I get it, first impressions. But it's also unoriginal. I told my friend how I thought the older they got the more mature they'd be but no, they still act like 20 year olds waiting to get laid.

Had my first meeting today. Wasn't bad looking. Really smart. But no spark. Meh.

Day 7- Met up with a gentleman eleven years my elder. I feared he'd show up with flowers and he did. It was only a single white rose but I felt like Anna Nicole Smith walking into the bar and restaurant with the flower in my hand when there was no occasion to celebrate me. There wasn't much to talk about. I ranted for the sake of him having a reason to stare at me. He stroked my hand. And told me our meeting was fate. I need to ask a ton more questions to avoid unpleasant meet ups like this. I literally wanted to run out of there.

Day 8- How do you let a smitten man down? I didn't know. So I called the expert. My sister made it very clear that I must not use qualities that could be "fixed" in a subsequent meet-up as excuses to avoid going out again. I needed to express discontent with lack of chemistry and/or connection. And to end with, Good luck. I have a feeling it won't work but I gave it a try. We'll see.

Day 9- I do not like men I don't know calling me Babe, Sunshine, or Sweetheart. 

Day 10- Keeping checking-in to a minimum. Replying to less and less men. Taking rain checks on a few offers. Might have a meeting tomorrow to determine missing "chemistry" before axing him. Have become completely picky with matches.

Day 11- Possible meet-up #2 with the hiker was a fail. He predicted he'd be too tired after work. I can take a hint. So I made it a Day of Me where I cleaned, cooked, and wrote. It was very relaxing, just what the doctor ordered.

Day 14- Guys lie about their age. Either that or marriage, kids, and divorce really ages them :/

Day 17- Men are stupid. One of the profiles said, "You must like sex." A keeper at age 40. Another stole a black and white modeling pic, one that had nothing to do with his name, BigDawg, or something like that, and set it as his profile. Counting down the days until I cancel my account. I know I can do it now but I'm trying to "close up" some "deals" without having to give away my number, which hasn't happened yet. Go me!

Day 18- Eek!
I just turned away a dude who seemed to be very sweet but never made a move.

Day 23- Two "dates." Call me a slut. I could tell the first would be a stubborn alpha male from his messages. When he stood up to greet me at the coffee place, the first thing I thought was, You're too skinny. I told my sister that his waist was as big as one of my thighs. I want to feel protected by a man's body, know that I'm safe emotionally and physically in his arms. That doesn't mean I want him to be overweight. But just like I discussed with my friend, he can't be skinnier or prettier than me because you pose the risk of losing him to another woman. I wouldn't say this guy was more attractive than me, although his unchangeable physique was a turn off. As we talked, there were several times I felt he cut me off to go through a questionnaire Match failed to incorporate into their system: Did I read books? What shows did I like to watch? I could feel the conversation coming to and end after hour number two and he obviously felt the same way because soon after he closed our meet-up with, Well, we both have things to do... Yes, yes I did, another meeting later and most likely so did he. We walked out and although it wasn't a deal breaker, he drove a Mustang. I concluded to my sister that he seemed more like a potential friend, someone to hang out with in L.A. 

The second dude looked like he was still in high school despite being my age. His face was as soft and clear as a baby's bottom with a slight hint of a mustache coming in. He wore a plaid shirt with loose fitting jeans, just the way my male friends used in the year 2000. He had a baby face whose eyes could not lock with mine so I knew I'd have the upper hand if there was ever a relationship between us. When our food came, he stood up abruptly to wash his hands without formally excusing himself. I might have caught a, I'll be right back, but I just remember looking up and thinking, Where the hell is he going? He talked about his biology background and how he's always been a science geek. I tried keeping up with the terminology from his work but really had no idea what he was talking about. He downed his burger as if he'd been starving, leaving me with half of mine still on my plate. Then he ordered dessert which was the size of a small cake. I thought I was free after he paid the bill but he still wanted to get to know me. So we walked around the plaza's parking lot twice since there was no where else to go. We talked mostly about family before he dropped me off at my car. He asked for my contact info but I was very doubtful this was the guy for me. I don't know, I guess I wanted to feel a spark or expected either of these guys to be special if the conversation went on for six or seven hours, well into the night, losing track of time. Because my heart didn't go pitter-patter, I couldn't do it. I didn't give him my number.

Day 28- Today I cancelled my membership. It feels like a body was lifted off my shoulders. I didn't like the site and I told them so. I didn't like how there were no filters. I was being "matched" with people who shared my birth month, enjoyed eating out like me, and liked cats too. Those were the deep connections Match raved about establishing within its members. Also, my preferences, especially age, ethnicity, or having kids were not respected, like men my father's age liking my profile and sending me winks. Anyone and everyone got through. I couldn't believe I paid for a service that made it easier for men of all walks of life to approach me; it was 100% worse than going to a bar or a club. I had assumed that paying for an actual dating site would have improved the quality of guys to go out with. But as always, the guys I liked never contacted me.

One aspect of this experience I didn't consider before starting was how much time you had to invest into reading, skimming, and axing profiles. I learned quickly that I simply had no patience for it. I felt unproductive being on Match, much like using Facebook. I didn't want to spend my vacation on a computer. I wanted to be out, living, experiencing, exploring with my friends, my sister, and my family. I didn't want to waste time having brunch or dinner with men I did not know rather than people I actually liked. I realized after the last two outings that I no longer wanted to take another moment from my break to be with strangers. Either this was the wrong site for me or I just wasn't open to the idea of online dating yet. It was probably a little bit of both. I know these types of sites are going to remain popular so if I ever feel the need to head in this direction again, I'll know which route not to take.

---> #WINNING

Summer of Me

I decided to take my two month vacation and turn it into The Summer of Me. I didn't have travel plans, my sister was fifty-five miles away, and my friends had their own families to take care of. So instead of sulking over my loneliness, I would venture on my own. I had always envied people who dined by themselves so I would just go to P. F. Chang's like I'd been wanting rather than waiting for someone to go with me. I could also visit The Living Desert since no one would be crazy enough to join me in the 100+ degree weather. The idea of waking with the birds, making the long drive as I watched the sun rise, and touring the zoo at my pace seemed peaceful. Since I have friends out there, I could check in with them afterward and see if they'd be available for lunch. If not, I'd just grab a bite by myself. With time on my side, I'd have the schedule to toy with a dating website and take advantage of my friend's Meetup group so I could network and possibly not have to eat alone the entire time I was off.

Summer of me. 

The constant pressure of being single drove me to join Match.com. This missing aspect of my life had been sitting heavily in my heart, head, and shoulders for quite some time. Some of it was due to societal pressure, another part came from my own self torture. That is why I had become bitter and anxious. I wasn't even worried about my biological clock anymore. I had gotten past the idea of wanting or having kids and concentrated solely on the companion aspect of a relationship. I wanted someone to come home to, cook, and travel with. Because of this, I was upset my vacation was going to go to waste since I didn't have a boyfriend to explore the world with. So I went against every cell in my body and joined the online trend (Read my explanation here: Where Art Thou?). I was hesitant about whether or not it would work for me because I was going in forcefully with a negative attitude. But I built my profile anyway. The winks, thumbs-up, and messages poured in instantly. The notifications invaded my email, forcing me to scan my matches and read endless profiles that eventually blended together. It seemed like every one of them had kids, were family oriented, and well traveled. They liked to dine out, be outdoors, but also stay home. And they all wanted the same thing--someone goal oriented, adventurous, confident, with a go-with-the-flow kind of attitude. One of those was a firefighter. He was ten years my senior, had three children, the eldest in college, and lived in San Diego. I knew I didn't want to meet him but replied to his messages anyway. Until one of his questions stopped me in my tracks.

"What is important to you?"

Summer of me.

The firefighter had rambled so easily about his kids, career, side job, and family as being important to him. But I couldn't think of a single answer. Not one significant thing popped into my head. It was the first time I felt inadequate as a partner, even to a hypothetical one. For so long, I had deemed myself driven, successful, and independent but wasn't so sure I believed that anymore. My family and job were obviously important but I didn't want to give the run-of-the-mill kind of answer. I loved my car but was disgusted at how materialistic and immature that would sound to a heroic family man. Firefighter message aside, I dug deep, determined to find a unique response that was real and true to me. After a moment, I conjured up a list that included writing, taking care of my body, and learning to cook healthier. Embarrassed and apologetic for what I took to be a juvenile response, I clicked Send. Dissatisfied with my ability to answer, his question, "What is important to you," played in my head like a CD programmed to repeat.

Summer of me. 

I met with a man from Match for a hike, another for dinner, and a third professed his love to me. None of them made my anxiety go away. I worried because I was shedding pounds as fast as I did when I ended my eleven-year relationship. I was moping around my apartment playing, "What is important to you," for the second day in a row when I walked past my bathroom. I caught sight of a book, The Opposite of Loneliness, that sat on top of the toilet tank and I thought, I need to start reading again. And following immediately after, I need to start writing. Suddenly, a sense of urgency came over me that made me question my recent hobbies. Facebook? Match.com? Really? What the hell was I doing wasting my life away on those useless, self-deprecating, narcissistic, egocentric websites? I needed to read articles about writing and find a publisher for the short story I'd written a few months ago so I could put my MFA to work and finally become an author.

Summer of me. 

It was quickly unveiled how consumed I had become for the desire, need, and want of a husband. I had practically internalized this search where ever I went: on the road, at the store, in the supermarket, at restaurants, at the clubs, on the street, in my apartment complex, during hikes. My goodness! I had turned into an obsessed, miserable freak. I envied couples, young and old, for having a special someone, even if just a temporary one. And I often wondered why I wasn't worthy of the happiness my friends seemed to have by having found their significant others. After all, I'd been a good girl who followed the rules my entire life. The only place left unscathed by my deranged ways had been online. That's why I joined Match. I wasn't excited at the idea of meeting people via a website. It was just my last resort. But it felt like another job and I didn't want to work during my time off. Rather than looking forward to AllThatAndMore69's messages, I cringed at notifications and replies from my so-called matches. I dismissed my repulsed reactions as not having found "The Right One" yet and thought I'd change my tune when I finally made a connection with a more "Special Someone." But it wasn't the lack of a guy in my life that had me miserable and anxious. The book in my bathroom had made it crystal freaking clear. I simply wasn't happy with myself. I had lost all focus of my personal goals and dreams, like that of writing and publishing a book. I had let go of what was important to me only to be able to check off the next item on a to-do list I had created in my late teens. I had accomplished receiving a BA and MFA. Marriage was next. I had long followed this plan that it didn't occurr to me to adapt, change, or edit it after my break-up .

Summer of me. 

I was ready to rewrite that list. I was done with the stupid husband tunnel vision. Instead, I was going to start reading because it helped my craft. I was going to start writing and looking into publishers I could send my short story to. That meant rejection letters were in my future but I didn't care because I'd be following my dream. I was going to learn to cook healthy chicken recipes so I could have ample delicious options to choose from by the time I went back to work. I was going to continue hitting the gym with a focus on ridding of my belly fat so my six-pack could come through. And I would look into learning to use the 4x4 gears in my Jeep so I could take my baby off-roading like she was meant to. That was my new list. It was short but those were the things that were important to me at the moment. I knew now that I could always go back and add, change, or delete items to meet my heart's desire.

Summer of me. 

I logged on to Match.com and changed the settings. I did not want any more notifications sent to my email. I checked my Yahoo account frequently for deals, friendly messages, and housing listings and did not want notices from so-called matches to get in the way of my productive days. Once the month I had paid for was over, I'd cancel my membership. Until then, I'd check the site sparingly.

Summer of me. 

I don't think it was a coincidence that two of my former high school friends contacted me on the day of my revelation. They're both married now so there wasn't that creepy notion that they were looking to hook up. One of them invited me on a hike since he knew that was one of my favorite pastimes. The other suggested we go off-roading. And thus my happiness began. I had barely changed my attitude and without effort, some of the important things were already coming to me. Diego would help me maintain my body and health and Gabe would give me my first off-roading lesson. It made me happy to know that my old friends still thought about me despite their busy lives. It was even better that they knew me so well to suggest interests that I loved. I was elated to see them again after YEARS. To think that I had been so worried at the beginning of my vacation about not having anybody to hang out with. Now here I was, attracting friends and meaningful activities because I had changed my attitude, because I had refocused my life back to ME.

Summer of me.

I provided the following advice to a friend many times before: You'll never be able to make someone happy unless you are happy yourself. It's obvious now that I wasn't practicing what I was preaching. But that's because I thought I was content. After all, I had my degrees, a career, a savings account, and my dream car. What else did I have yet to accomplish? Finding a man to make my boyfriend to become my husband, of course. Mr. Right would solve my problems by contributing to my housing budget and being the companion I wanted for travel. But I was mistaken. Because these were all the wrong reasons why anyone should want a husband. Because I was just looking for a tool, not a partner, to help me check off items on a list, a list that had long expired, a list whose contents I hadn't realized were not longer important to me.

Summer of me.

"What is important to you?" That was the simple question that led me to refocus on the important things to me. I will find happiness, not by measure of accomplishment, but by the continuous pursue of dreams I will continue to have throughout my life. And if a man with similar ambitions and work ethic comes along the way, then maybe he can be a candidate to be the one to steal my heart. He'll have to aid and motivate me always just as I know now I will too.

Summer of me. 

With a renewed perspective, I sat on my under-utilized couch and did something that didn't come easily to me: I relaxed. I watched a talent show with my portable devices out of reach and even laughed out loud a couple of times with the audience. Then I went to bed and watched a movie. I fell asleep happy, eager to get to work on the important things in my life.