Random Memory

So a handful of years ago, I went to visit my family in Cincinnati. My dad wanted to take me to one of his local haunts, a little dive bar in Reading, Ohio. I can't remember the name, but "dive bar" it was.

We go in, he introduces me to the bartender (I'd never been there) and he buys a round. He'd told me that he's got a little group of friends he hangs out with there, and I had a friend in town so I'd invited her to meet us there. Lindsey shows up, and we go off to hang on our own while he kicks it with his buddies. One of these buddies is a young woman, probably only a few years older than me, who Dad says has the hots for him. I think, "Sure, ok, Dad," and don't think about that again.

Fast forward an hour or so. I'm ready for another beer, and so is Lindsey. Dad had told us to just get drinks on his tab. Dad's over chatting with his group, and to be polite I go over and sneak in a quick, "Hey, it's cool to put another beer on your tab, right?" He says yes, but before I can walk away, the young woman he'd mentioned earlier turns to me and looks me up and down. I see the claws start to come out, and will full catty commencing, says to me, "Sooooo. How you YOU know Rick?".

Oh, boy. So thinking I can be a little cheeky I reply, "Oh, I'm just the fruit of his loins."

Well, I severely overestimated my audience. Because she reaches Cat Level 1000 and stares me down. I'm like, "Uh oh, she's about to rip my hair out...". So then I clarify, "I'm his kid."

Lady does a total 180... "Ohhhhh! I didn't know Rick had a daughter!" blah blah blah she's suddenly trying to chum up to me. She notices the tattoo on my arm of the snake eating an elephant from "The Little Prince" (yeah I did my best to avoid explaining that one...), and tells me she just got a new tattoo. "It's awesome! Here, look."

At this, she turns, pulls the waistband of her pants way low, and shows me the fresh Tasmanian Devil tattoo on her butt cheek. Of freaking course.

I'm like, "Oh, cool! Well, my friend's over there, so have fun, y'all!" because there was nothing else I could say about that without turning into a snarky asshole. She realized I wasn't the competition, and I watched her double-down her efforts for the rest of the night. They were not successful,

And that's the story about the time some lady thought I was macking on her crush, my dad, and was ready to start a bar fight over him. Keep it classy, Reading!

A list of things

Here is a by-no-means-definitive list of things that I'm convinced all other 34-year-olds have had at least once that have as yet evaded me:

- A mortgage
- A police record
- A moving violation. I did get a parking ticket once, though.
- On that note, a working vehicle
- A relationship with a degree of permanency
- A vehicle made within 15 years of my current age (owned but not currenty running)
- A salary higher than 30K/year
- A dog
- A perpetually clean house
- Motivation to clean said house
- A passport
- A visit to the West Coast
- A visit to somewhere Caribbean
- A visit outside the US
- A basic idea of what the hell I want to be when I grow up
- A plan for that thing above I don't know
- A desire to go to bed before 11 pm
- A membership to the gym/YMCA/community center
- A kid
- A love of salads
- Getting to that "morning person" stage of life
- Needing breakfast and/or coffee before doing anything else
- That "got my shit together" feeling
- A lack of freedom because of spouse/kids/whatever
- Super-crazy unmanagable debt
- Getting ahead
- A Blu-ray player
- A pregnancy scare
- Having only a few endings left to choose in my personal "Choose Your Own Adventure" book...

I ain't got much. But it's all open-ended from here.

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this.

1995 me and 2014 me are a bit at odds.

OK, Stupid

*I started this draft on 11/10/13 with the full intention of returning over the next few days and finishing it. Then I flaked. I'm leaving it as is. 

Sometime in early 2012 something went awry in the synaptic communication in my brain and I created an OKCupid account. I suppose I had these illusions of there being this horde of Eligible Bachelors hiding within Athens whereby chance had not yet crossed our paths. Perhaps they burrow through the old tunnels below the streets of downtown; our own Classic City Mole People, only they're attractive and have jobs and like cats and beer and own computers. After all, I've only been here 14 [quickly nearing 15 now] years, and I only go to the 6-7 places that pretty much anyone I'd usually like go to as well... So I thought "Why the hell not?" and signed up thinking I'd find these elusive available decent-looking emotionally-mature and not-full-of-BS guys somewhere outside my usual haunts.

 Excuse me while I ROFLMAOLOLOLOLLLLL! 'Cause for the most part, nope. [This is still true.] 

Now, I don't mean that there aren't some good guys on there. I've chatted with some seemingly (I say seemingly because I'm chatting online, which means I can't guarantee what's actually on the other keyboard) normal, nice dudes. Some I could be attracted to, some I'm not, but they're nice nonetheless so what's wrong with just chatting with someone? Maybe I'll make a friend or two, at least. [I've made one new acquaintance that I hang with from time to time in a platonic manner. I did also meet someone else shortly after starting this draft that I've been seeing very regularly since January, so yay for that. And he is very nice. Here is where the old draft ends and where I pick up the story again.]

But, holy shit. The majority of messages I get are, well, nothing special. But many are better off ignored. There are plenty of stories out there featuring folks who've created fake profiles to see what kind of crazy they can find. I'm not one of those, so I figured I'd feature some of the finest in online dating that a regular girl, with a regular profile, gets from "regular" dudes looking for love in all the wrong online places. I suppose in the act of fairness, I should share my profile. Yep. That's me. I like to think I'm not totally off-base in how I've presented myself, but of course without having 10 of my friends over to get drunk and fill all that crap out for me I can't be entirely sure that this is really what I'm like to other people. Either way, it's not a total lie.

The majority of my profile views come from guys under the age of 24 looking for casual sex and from middle-aged men with just about zero in common with me (Christian conservatives love me, apparently). Most never message me. Some do the super-basic "hi." thing. Some are funny because they attempt to impress with flowery language and too much flattery (and the majority of these fail hard at it). And some are just WUT. Lucky for you, I've decided to share some with you.(Note: unless otherwise noted, these are the openers these gentlemen sent. Not stuff they said after established conversation, which is why some that don't seem too weird are included. If you wouldn't come up to me and say it to me in line at the bank, you probably shouldn't message it to a rando girl and expect a serious response.)

I present: OKCupid. Ur Doin it Wrong. click the images to see full size

Note the time of that first message. 

Not too weird on the surface, but still... "I only contact once then I press hide..." as the first thing you say to me doesn't really scream "possible romance ahead".

Uhhhhh... thanks?

Oh, yeah. I have this thing here...

Good thing I don't get paid to write. (Well, I kinda do, but it's very specific things so I've generally got a running tally of what to do).

If I did, I'd be one broke motherfucker. And probably homeless. Or at least sleeping on your couch.

I gotta get on it.

How did we all miss this for two years??

Because I shouldn't just post ranting, snark, and self-serving drivel, I bring you a little bit o' awesome.

This was recorded live in Dallas in July of 2011 by Josh Weathers of the Josh Weathers Band. I had never heard of them until today, when this came across the old Facebook feed.

I mean... wut? Me and pretty much every woman I know saw this and considered packing our bags and heading off to Texas. Then I remembered that this and Austin is all that Texas has going for it right now, and my chances of snagging this are zero to nill. Such is life.

Anyway, we can all go home now.

The Wasp

Is not a wasp.

Well, technically it is. This is a mud dauber, I think. It lives in the left-hand arm of a chair on my porch. The chair I got from my neighbor who got it from his mom and it lived in his house for a while before it moved next door with me. I don't know where his mom got it but its history is most likely filled with facinating stories. Who cares about the fly on the wall or the wall itself? The fly dies in 24 hours and the walls are on the outskirts looking in. The furniture is right there in it, immersed amongst every and all life within a space. Furniture is intimate. Our furniture has seen us naked and absorbed our tears. We've farted and drooled and spilled coffee on it. We've laughed at movies, that, when with friends, we deny enjoying lest we be judged. We've found love and then later shattered their hearts on our furniture.

Think of what we'd hear if furniture could talk.

The chair is dirty. I've never taken the time to vacuum it and take it inside, away from the brilliance of day and the wetness of every other time. The porch is covered but it's no armory. The chair is sun-bleached. There's a hint of what might be mold growing in the creases. There is no odor. It's welcoming, the perfect size and cushiness for curling up with a book. That is, if you're a fairly compact human like I am. Would it be awkward for someone else? Is cushiness a word? The chair can't answer that but I know my opinion.

Besides the grime that's collected over the past year (2 years, maybe? I've lost track of so many things...) the chair has the scars unique to those who cohabitate with cats. Cats do what cats do and are skilled in the use of their equipment. In The Chair's case, the cats opened up the edges of each arm so they could someday be a portal to safe haven for a winged insect with only one real purpose in life.

The dauber lives in the left arm. In years past, left-handedness was considered evil and an affliction. This is where the word sinister has its origins. Not in darkness but in leftness. Leftness meant darkness. Darkness meant evil. Evil means the end of life. The dauber, it doesn't fit her.

She should have picked the right side. It's closer to the house and more protected. The TV tray-turned-side table is not on the right, though it should be since I'm right-handed and therefore not sinister. But does it work that way in wasps? If so I imagine that perhaps maybe she's left-winged, since after all that's the side she picked. And maybe if she were human she'd have voted for Obama and supported gay marriage.

I can't see into her nest; the frayed upholstery acts as drapes. I know she's solitary like me. She buzzes in, buzzes out, she sometimes stops to sip at a bead of water- or beer- that's collected on the TV tray-turned-side table. She's a loner, but also like me I imagine she craves just a bit of company. Company that doesn't ask for too much and doesn't tire her out or make her feel smaller than she actually is.

the dauber doesn't ask for much either. She's never shown any real concern with my presence. I sit in the chair, she leaves. I sit in the chair, she returns. Each time she returns, she does a quick buzz around my head. I think she's making sure it's just me there; someone she knows, the familiar face. And then she says a quick hello before disappearing into the armchair cavern she's settled for.

I watch her fly off and wonder if she's happy. It's a simple life, the insect life. Hatch, mature, mate, see the hatchlings off, and die. Still, I wonder how far she traveled that day, and how many more days she has left to travel. I wonder if she'll venture too close to a stranger; and if she does, will that be her end or will she evade the hastily grabbed magazine? Does she like the beer beads I've offered her? I only offer the best. When she comes home, is she relieved that it's me curled in the chair and not the transient neighborhood cat? Or is she simply tolerating me as a good neighbor with a good fence?

The wasp buzzes by for the last time this evening. She retreats into her comfortable place, where though her worries are many she can tend to only herself. Somehow this helps. Tomorrow she'll go out again. It won't be different from today.

The book I'm reading stopped holding my interest long ago. I know this because I've read the same page maybe three times, maybe five, and with each pass it's all new to me. So I mark the page and go inside. I'll watch television and then go to bed, most likely after a brief accidental sleep on the couch.

Tomorrow I'll go out again.