These powerful women, “maneaters” I’ll call them with true admiration and affection, know what they want, or who and just how to get them. It’s the “mean girls” that slink, rather slither in and abscond with boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands no matter how vulnerable for the taking. The “maneater” in full realization of her power can do the aforementioned, but don’t, and never would. The “maneater” knows her worth and that her worth is more than playing second fiddle as the mistress, even though the mistress gets better jewelry (unless he’s caught). The “maneater” sees the opportunity to strike and the Type A competitor within eggs her on, “win, win, win” but she maintains control of herself and him by not letting him stray, no matter how much he wants to even though she is the object of his now misaligned affection. 

Additionally, the “maneater” knows and respects that somewhere there is an oblivious doe-faced ingénue girlfriend type faithfully unaware of the peril that besets her beloved’s heart and mind. After all, one day the “maneater” may be one of these exclusive girlfriend types, sans the ingénue despite a general fear of all things committal. 

One can only hope?

I wanted all of these things really, they were dreams and I followed them.  My “followership” took me to this current geographical, cultural, and recreational wasteland – for a job, the job I’ve wanted since I could remember.  It was a difficult job to get, competitive even, some might even say prestigious – I was so elated to hear of my selection.  But alas, the grass is always greener on the other side and I don’t enjoy my job and I definitely don’t enjoy it enough to justify my current habitation in the hinterland and all that it entails.

Further, my geographical and occupational desolation breeds a whole host of social ills as well. Lack of friends, lack of eligible companion(s), especially those that are not related to Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde, egomaniacal, or commitment phobic. Otherwise, I would forge an awesome social network of likeminded individuals to create own fun with, but alas, these likeminded individuals are far and few in between and sadly move on quickly. 

So I endure my self-imposed misery with the realization that one, I did this to myself – I wanted this, or so I thought. Two, misery who loves company shall one day again be alone. In other words, this too shall pass or I will move, hopefully both. Three, to avoid a Paxil Valium dependant state, I try to make the best of every moment. Currently, this involves copious amounts of recipe experimentation hypothesizing about gourmand conclusions and the revival of classic cocktails – my latest being the Gin Savoy.

So here’s to Misery!

Prior to now, I would have dry heaved at the thought of wanting only “You” for Christmas.  But I’d love for just us to just curl up in on the couch on a cold Christmas morning and open presents, me in cute red fleece (in my imagination it can be cashmere though) pajamas while classic Rat Pack Christmas music played softly in the background near a warm “open” fire (roasted chestnuts?) drinking a celebratory glass of champagne.  I’d trade it all – the Victor Rolf Flower Bomb, the Pottery Barn Faux Fur Throw, or even the Cartier Love Ring (that’s stretching it) – just to spend Christmas with you.

I missed his birthday, possibly purposely, to which I received the following text, (partly in English and Russian) with so much meaning, if only seemingly just a little….

The Russian: You’ll miss my birthday.
Me: Solneshko (Russian diminutive name meaning Little Sun), I know. I thought about that; I’ll be at a pool party in Texas.
The Russian: Take pictures. Hey, I miss you, but only a little – you were fun and interesting.
Me: Awe. That’s the only way I want to be missed, only a little. And maybe I might miss you too, but only just a little.
The Russian:  The pleasure was all mine. Please have a blast.

La Fin.

He was taller than I remembered and more handsome.  He looked more rested and serene.  

We went to Café Bleu and he ordered the wine, a supremely delicious Rhone. I had the ahi which was spicy but tres bien with the cherry sauce. Great recommendation from our British waiter. Cheerio!

It was Mardi Gras so we silently watched the colorful Fat Tuesday revelers.  There were no beads for us that night, but just like on Sex and the City, one amazing first kiss that tasted of cherries.

I’m not the only one who aliased their dates/ potential mates-what have you a la six seasons of Carrie Bradshaw with her Mr.Big. But what’s in a name really? I liked them enough to date them, but my feelings for them often didn’t reach far enough to warrant them a name, their legally binding name, in conversation with my friends or in my heart.  I called them by their names, which in my mind was a stretch because their name was their ascriptive moniker.

 Sometimes, months, even years would go by and a name would never develop and sometimes one comes around that gets a name, a proper first name like John.

 So what’s really in a name – Significance.

PS – John is not his real name.

Now that we are in agreement on the definition of a date, I started thinking, reflecting, and analyzing that over the history of Datapalooza and its participants (i.e. my dates) there seemed to emerge occupational patterns.

There were the engineers: electrical and software (3); the doctors: family practice (2) and a resident  (he chose cardiology), oh and don’t forget the dentist (he’s a DDS Doctor of Dental Surgery – it counts). And randomly a profusionist.

Fasten your seatbelts because Oy vey! the Pilots : Navy helicopter, Marine helicopter –  (Cobra),  Marine plane –  (Prowler),  Air Force – Plane (F-15),( KC 135), Commercial (2)

There was the Marketing VP, the Firefighter (in a kilt no less), the writer who wanted to be a lawyer, the real estate broker turned law student, the chemist, the actor, the Green Guru, the Vagabond, the Russian, and the car salesman turned dealership GM, and the loan officer. Don’t forget the, I don’t really know, well understand what he did – he was super handsome though.

On to the military officers (naturally an occupational hazard): the Infantry Officer (Marine) and the Intelligence Officer (Air Force); oh and hello officer! the cop (3).

There are probably a few that I have forgotten, but I want to thank them too for making my journey clearer (and my belly a little fuller ta-he!)

Simply put, date a lot. Elaborating, instead of waiting for “The One” to appear, date frequently to allow yourself to see quickly who is right and who is wrong, avoiding coupledom just for coupledoms sake.  But more so than just dating, Datapalooza brought about a je-ne-sais-quoi-I-am-the-prize attitude.

Just a few of my personal favorite tenants:

-          Give thanks that you are single ~ your engaged/married friends secretly (or not so secretly) envy your single fabulous life…

-          If you build it, he will come ~ simply stated, like, no love yourself. Do what you want in life and make yourself and yourself alone happy.

-          Say yes ~ (my personal favorite and a rule I live by, unless I’m otherwise engaged) Say yes to every invitation, RSVP yes to parties, just go,   you might be surprised.

-          Don’t wear ugly underwear ~ sexuality is yours – buy La Perla and Agent Provocateur for you, not him. If he’s lucky, he’ll see Victoria’s Secret.

-          Confront your inner cat-lady ~ make peace with your single self and the uncertainty. Forget “you complete me.” – it’s a bit sick and sad and completely unrealistic.

My ex always used to say, “It’s about the story, pup,” to which at the time I always rolled my eyes (partly because I was called pup) and thought was inane, thinking it was an excuse to shirk all life responsibility just to tell some crazy story to anyone with three teeth and a pulse that would listen.  But his stories of working in a chocolate milk factory, or being a mountain guide, or of being an extra in the movie Pearl Harbor garnered new meaning as I was forced out on my own, out of my box, my relative comfort zone.  And so new stories are to be told thus prompting “The List” – the List of things to do before you die. And this is just a smattering – a start.. to living. Cheers!

Go sailing (on a sailboat)
Take golf lessons
Run a 5k (a non-military 5k)
Attend the Marine Corps Ball
Buy a 5 series through the BMW European Delivery program
Buy a pair of Jimmy Choos
Carriage Ride in Central Park
Catch a fish and eat it
Catch a flying fish at Pikes Place Fish Market in Seattle
Colosseum, Rome
Cook a meal with 3 ingredients I’ve grown in my yard
Dance a tango
Drink Eiswein
Drink absinthe
Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich
Drink Chianti and eat gelato in Italy
Drink Ouzo in Greece (and then say oompha!)
Drive the Autobahn
Drive across America from coast to coast
Drive the Pacific Coast Highway through Big Sur
Do my own taxes
Eat a philly cheese steak in Philadelphia
Eat crabs seasoned in Old Bay in Maryland or Massachusetts
Eat fish and chips and bangers and mash in England
Eat sushi in Japan
Eat octopus
Eat Gumbo
Eiffel Tower (Tour Eiffel)
Feed the homeless
Fly in a C5
Fly in a helicopter (military)
Fly in an Air Force plane
Get drenched at Niagara Falls
Get flowers at work (from the love of my life)
Go camping (the cut my toothbrush in half kind)
Go for a sleigh ride in the snow
Go to bartending school (and graduate)
Go Line dancing
Go Salsa dancing
Go snow shoeing
Go surfing
Go to Australia
Go to the Ballet at Christmas and see the Nutcracker
Go to the Kentucky Derby and drink a mint julep while wearing a dress, big hat, and white gloves
Go wine tasting in the Napa Valley
Go to Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Boston, MA
Golf in Palm Springs (with too much makeup on)
Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona
Have a shot of vodka in Russia and say (Nostrarovia!)
Have picture taken (with the love of my life) at the Taj Mahal, India
Have a white Christmas
Horseback riding on the beach
Key West, Florida
Las Vegas, Nevada
Learn hot to say “Cheers” in 12 languages
Make a wish in Trevi Fountain
Make Coq au Vin
Make cupcakes
Make Eggs Benedict
Make hummus from scratch
Make jam from scratch
New Orleans at Mardi Gras
Notre Dame Cathedral (Cathedrale de Notre Dame de Paris)
Own an indoor compost bin (and use it)
Own one outrageously expensive piece of jewelry
Own Crème de la Mer
Pass out meals for Thanksgiving to the less fortunate
People watch at a café in Paris
Plant a tree
Play Croquet
Ponte Vecchio, Florence Italy
Ride in a gondola in Venice (with the love of my life)
Ride on a Harley
Ride on a jet ski
Ride the London Eye
Run across the Golden Gate Bridge (in jogging gear)
Run the Mud Run (Camp Pendleton)
St. Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican, Rome
Scuba dive in the Caribbean
See the Statues of Easter Island, Chile
See blue icebergs (Chile)
See the Atlantic Ocean
See the beaches of Normandy
See the musical Wicked
See the Fall Colors in the North East
See the manta ray and whale sharks at the Atlanta Aquarium
See the Northern Lights
See the Pearl Harbor – USS Arizona Memorial
See a glacier or a fjord
See the Cherry Blossoms around the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC in full bloom
Set foot on 6 continents
Shoot a .22
Ski in Colorado
Sleep in a hut in Bora Bora
Sleep in a yurt overlooking the ocean somewhere
Smoke a cigar
Somberly visit Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum
Spend a week at sea
Spend Christmas in Paris
Spend Thanksgiving – just the two of you
Stand on the observation deck of the Sears Tower
Stay at a bed and breakfast
Swing through the sky on a trapeze
Take a long, soaking bath (with rose petals)
Take a nap in a hammock
Take a pole dancing lesson
Take the Channel Tunnel from England to France
Throw a proper cocktail party, with cocktails, not just wine and beer
Trek around in Yosemite
Versailles Palace (Chateau de Versailles)
Visit BMW Headquarters – Munich Germany
Visit Graceland
Visit New York City
Visit Stonehenge
Visit the Alamo, San Antonio, Texas
Visit Yellowstone
Watch a live polo match
Watch the stars (with no light pollution)
Wear a traditional maillot style swimsuit (with a big hat)
Wear white to a wedding (that’s not my own)
Wear a sari
Welcome a new neighbor to the neighborhood with a baked good
Paddle Board (stand up on a large surf board with an oar in the ocean)
Have a portrait painted
Learn to speak a language and use it
Sit on a jury 
Attend at least one major sporting event: the Super Bowl, the Olympics, the U.S. Open
See the Space Shuttle
Send my mother flowers
Ride a camel
Write a letter to my Congressman/Senator
Learn archery

He’s this graying, (dyes his hair) short (5’7 with shoes) little man with massive (and oddly shaped) fingernails and fingertips – they are almost alien like.  I am not the only one who has noticed or commented on his fingers so don’t think it’s an extremely weird statement. He walks extremely fast around the office – so fast in fact that anyone following and attempting to keep up has to run/skip.  But his quick walk is loudly accented by stomping and hip twisting that rather resembles race walking.  

Physical descriptions aside, the real eye roller is that he is a just a crude vulgar obscene shock value un politically correct little man.  He has a fascination with butts but more so the words ‘anal’ and ‘anus’ and ‘ass’ . When asked, “Hey John, how are you?” he replies “Just got two cocks up my ass but other than that I’m great.” Or if you tell him you had tofu for lunch, he’d say “I’d rather eat the asshole out of a skunk.” He says the QA guy, let’s call him Dane, smells like ass and butt – but even still that’s pretty tame though. My coworker, let’s call him Tom, and I were trying to see if John could go a day without using the words, ass, anal, or anus – still waiting.

What’s more, John often just walks, well stomps in and says random stuff to his employees like “Hey, (lets call him…) Stew, do you remember your first blow job? Well this query is a lot like that.” Or as a greeting to me (complete with a squint and evil snort) for instance “You looked F’cked up today.”  Even better, imitating holding up two cantaloupes at the supermarket hand gestures, “My wife wants to change the kids daycare, but I like it because the Mexican girls there all have giant titties.”

John invites his male employees (subordinates seeing as which he’s the Vice President) to the “titty bar” complete with the disclaimer “My wife knows. She only gives it to me once every 3 months so this is my release. Say, I’ll buy you a lap dance.” Also, John calls his female executive counterparts “Cunts, fat cows, dirty whores and bitches” on a daily basis – luckily not to their face, yet…

John has an obsession with the Mexican culture – primarily the Mexican women and the hookers he frequents in TJ, as he so eloquently puts it.  He has even expressed his wish to be married to a Mexican as opposed to his white wife from Michigan (he too is white from Michigan).  His body language and movements soften, and he giggles (like a pimply brace face pre-teen Do-you-like-me? Check Yes or No giggle) when he speaks to my Mexican coworker, let’s call her Rosa; so much so it could almost be considered cooing.  Speaking of speaking, he speaks Spanish to Rosa, well attempts to.  Ironically, he’s always speaking Spanish (in meetings, in the hallway, or by the proverbial water cooler) and making fun of the “gringos” (everyone else) to Rosa (she’s not amused) when they try (or should I say forced) to speak Spanish – I resist and just speak French instead. Parlez-vous Anglais? Ok.

I regale my roommate with the daily accounts of my office torture – her answer is always the same, “You’re boss is an asshole!” Yep – one that stomps around in $400 Bruno Maglis.