Ski Princess, NOT

I spoke with my fabulous cousins yesterday and in the course of our conversation, they mentioned our upcoming holiday together, which will be spent at a ski resort in Vermont.

I am looking forward to the vacation because I love them. I love their kids. We are totally comfortable together and my South African cousin has made cursing an art form.

I am not looking forward to skiing, snow, slush and winter jackets that won't zip up over my bust. Nobody looks good in ski gear. We all resemble the Michelin Man. I used to live in British Columbia, where some of the greatest ski resorts can be found but I never enjoyed it. Oh sure, I'd go with all of my friends and they would talk moguls and black diamonds. I'd wave to them and labour over to the bunny hills where four year olds with green snot would glide past me and make perfect snowplow stops. Not me. If I needed to stop, I

a)fell

b)purposely sat down (not recommended as it really hacks people off who are behind you)

c)or came in contact with a stationary object which usually meant that I laid a fellow skiier out. As I mentioned before, the "other skiier" was usually fresh out of diapers so parents hated me. I was the bunny hill menace.

"Take lessons." Um, yup. Nothing like stating the obvious.

And then there is the gear. It takes half the stinking morning to get the stuff on and there is something about being locked into the ski that gives me pause. I know that if there is great force, the boot will disengage itself from the ski but think about that for a minute. Great force. Bone-breaking, ankle-shattering, ACL-tearing, leg-up-over-your-ears (involuntarily) force. In spite of the fact that I have given birth to two children, I do not have a high pain tolerance. I am also pretty partial to breathing without the aid of a ventilator. From what I understand of the sport, trees do not yield the right of way. So...

Skiing scares me.

There is hope, however. Sistah cousin recently informed me that there are short skis now that behave in much the same manner as hockey skates. (cue heavens parting and angels singing)
I asked her if they came with poles and she said, "Have you no shame?"

Okay, so no poles but I know that I can skate. I used to skate really well. Of course, back then, I had a hockey stick for balance. Nevermind. If these ski skates turn out to be real, I may never have to roll down another bunny hill again.

Note to self: check Victoria's Secret for long underwear to offset Michelin effect.

Date update

Well, it's good thing that my children were with their father this weekend.

I met my date (we'll call him Harley) on Friday evening and we hit it off immediately. For over two hours, we chatted about everything from exes to expectations and I am happy to report that he is articulate, funny and he has loads of hair. Then, I invited him back to my place to see my etchings. He left on Sunday just before the kids got back home.

I need to give my family a minute to digest that information. Could someone please get to my mum and see if she might like a glass of water and help getting the lid off of the Xanax.

Okay, better?

KIDDING!!! I didn't invite him back but if I was Madonna, I would have.

Harley appears to be normal. He is straight, has an ordinary relationship with his mum and I'm not getting a Ted Bundy vibe from him at all. He was born and raised in a different country and thus, he possesses this accent which made me want to run to Victoria's Secret for provisions.

Our coffee meeting was quite good except for the fact that we were so obviously on a first date and I picked the WORST seat in the place. Instead of being nestled away in a corner with a bit of privacy, I plunked down at a table in the dead center and thus, as other people seated themselves, our conversation became the entertainment.

After a couple of hours, we decided to part ways and walked outside where we continued to talk for another 30 minutes. We exchanged numbers and this turned out to be a tense moment of the night. I gave him my cell number and he said, "Let me call the number to make sure that I put it into my phone correctly."

Well, he dialed it and my phone did nothing.

It lay in the palm of my hands like a dead fish and I was positively dying because I knew he was thinking that I had given him a false number. I could feel little beads of perspiration break out at my hairline and suddenly, I looked like someone who is hooked up to a lie detector being asked if they masturbate. Talk about awkward. I stared at the phone in utter disbelief, willing the damn thing to ring. I was chewing on the panic when all of the sudden, we figured out the problem and my phone starts to vibrate and belt out the blues.

Then came time for the goodbye and we looked like we might have been directing traffic. I stuck out my hand at the same time that he might have been going for a hug and we both sort of take a step back and then he sticks out his hand and I go in for the hug and then I'm thinking, "ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS!"

I had parked my car on the far side of the building in case I needed to make an emergency exit which was good planning for a bad date but not so smart for a good date because I found myself having to turn my back on him to walk to my car. I gave him the view of my broad shoulders that, while useful for laying an opponent out on the boards in hockey are not my most flattering asset. And then there is my Grandmother's bum which has afflicted several women in my family, deserves it's own post and has somehow firmly planted itself on the top of my legs. Let it just suffice to say that IT'S NOT MY GOOD SIDE!

Apparently, it didn't bother Harley. We went out again on Saturday....

Coffee and a Chat

Tonight, I'm throwing caution to the wind and going out on a date. Actually, it's coffee and a chat. I think there is a difference.

I am hoping that this feeling in the pit of my stomach is just the flutterings of nervous anticipation and not some intestinal disorder because my luck seems to run along those lines.

I met this man online through a popular dating service. Look, I know what you are thinking because I've already been down that road and there shall big no big "L" branded on my forehead tomorrow. Apparently, online dating has come into its own and I am hip.

So there.

Okay. The truth is that the whole process feels so unnatural and forced but how else does the late thirty/forty something crowd meet new people. Bars? Not a chance. Besides the risk of being referred to as a coug, I feel a little sad watching my generation dance enthusiastically to the strains of "YMCA" (with the accompanying arm gestures) and "You Shook Me All Night Long". It was one thing to be young, a little tipsy and looking for nothing more than a shag. It's quite another to witness my tribe shaking their ample behinds, a little tipsy and looking for a SPOUSE.

IN A BAR.

So we resort to the world wide web, which has some significant pluses. They make you spend hours filling out questionnaires and personality profiles and from this lunacy, certain facts are discernable.

Is he a smoker or not? I can't have a smoker because I am still too new at the non-smoker thing.

Is he deluded a Republican? I can't relate to Republicans. I look at George "terrah" Bush and Michael "I feel it in my gut" Chertoff and I find myself wondering if they would appear less bizzare if they conducted their press conferences sporting big doobies and dreadlocks. Mon.

Has he ever been married? Any man who reaches the age of 40 something without walking down the aisle at least once has issues:

a)gay
b)unnatural relationship with Mom (close or conflicted)
c)serial killer

In any case, I think it's wise to steer clear.

Besides this pertinent info, a big plus is that the dating profiles come with pictures. People can talk all they want about getting to know a person's soul through meaningful dialogue...blah, blah, blah (and I bet they read these)but there is no polite way to say, "You're fugly". Click on a profile and don't like the shot? Delete. Clean, simple and nobody spends time on a shrink's couch.

I have to admit that I was totally freaked at trying this method. But, since I've clearly established that trolling the local pub is not an option and finding my true love in the produce section of the Piggly Wiggly is soap opera fodder, I'm going to give it a shot.

My son has asked me to find a boyfriend who likes to do guy stuff and who has a ten year old son. My daughter has put her request in for a boyfriend who will buy her a pony.

I'm just happy to meet with someone who wants absolutely nothing from me except coffee and a chat.

My first meme

I am about two months new to the blogging phenomena and so, I haven't had that much exposure to this freaky language and the inside jokes about Html and RSS. I have a list of folks on my Google reader and I've often seen the terms like "tag" and "meme" and "linkback". I have just found it all very confusing so I made like an ostrich and chose to ignore (until I found the time to query the urban dictionary, that is).

Well, I can't ignore it anymore because Maggie, a fellow neo non-smoker, tagged me and invited me to participate in my first ever meme.

So the theme of the meme (do they rhyme?) is Blogging Tips. Again, being so new to this, my tip is likely to be about as useful as Cox Cable's customer service. So here it goes. My comments are below each tip.

1. Look, read, and learn.
NeonScent

Has not helped me to glean the meaning of meme. Note to self: must find bifocals.

2. Be, EXCELLENT to each other.
Bushmackel

Of course. Spam and hatemail are evil.

3. Don’t let money change ya!
The Random Forest

WTF?!! Gosh, I don't know where to spend the dollar I've made so far. Coin laundry? Nope, too expensive. Vending machine? Ditto. Tooth fairy payments? Nope, inflation. I've got it! Quarter candy machine for 5 candies that taste like soap! Yeah!

4. Always reply to your comments.
Chattiekat

This has stumped me. Do you reply on your own blog or head over to theirs or email? How, I ask you, how?

5. Blog about what you know & love.
Sugar Queens Dream

Same advice for novelists and so far, I suck in that area.

6. Alt tag your images for added search engine exposure.
Fracas

I do not speak Greek. I'll add "alt tag" to that elusive research I've got to do.

7. Blogging is supposed to be fun, Don’t let it stress you!
WherewasI

Okay. I would be lying if I didn't admit that there is some self-imposed pressure to blog every day.

8. Don’t be afraid to comment on other bloggers sites!
Not Your Typical Granny

Comments good. Lurkers just one step shy of stalkers (kidding).

9. Post at least once a day!
Basenji Mom

Agree but who the hell can be interesting EVERY day. Except, of course for my blog roll. They rock. And Maggie's "quit meter" just tickles me every time I see it.

10. Have an informative About Me page
Marcus at willifordblog

But not that informative because the world is full of fucking CRAZY people and all I need is some guy showing up on my doorstep calling me a man-hating feminazi and asking me if I like to be spanked.

11. Blog it because it's too interesting/amusing not to share.
maggies mind

I will say that I'm always surprised at the email that I get on posts that I think are crappy.

And, here is my tip:

12. Keep a pen in your purse, car, pocket protector, whatever because blog material happens every single day and you need to write it down so you don't forget. Then take those scraps of paper and throw them in a bowl. When you are stuck for an original idea, pull one out.

I sound so brainy, don't I? Truth is, Steph gave me the tip. She doesn't blog (she is lurking goddess) but if she did, she'd be invitd to speak at BlogHer,(my secret dream...right up there getting a chance to say, "I want to thank the Academy....").

So there you have it. My first meme. I'm supposed to "tag" several others and show some "link love" but I don't know precisely what either of those terms mean so
Blog on!

Oh iPhone, I have coveted thee

I bought an iPhone.

I didn't mean to get one.

Really.

And yes, I know how insane that sounds.

But I have coveted the idea of this phone since last March when I attended CeBit in Germany and people were talking about it like it was really going to be manufactured.

It's like that with all the cool gadgets that Apple makes. I can remember salivating over the iPod when it debuted. It was $400, though. My budget at the time did not allow for fun stuff beyond a piece of Double Bubble. I was pregnant, nesting and trying to figure out how to smother my husband in his sleep.

So, I waited and I coveted.

There are 4 iPods of various sizes and capabilities in my household, now. My kids and I have all of the accessories for car and home. I can't believe that I went to the gym with a huge portable CD player around my waist like those ridiculous fanny packs you see on tourists in Europe. Remember the Walkman? My children don't even know what that is. And to think that I personally experienced the 8 track tape, 45's and LP's.

Holy sidetrack batman.....back to the iPhone acquition...

I was determined not to jump on the hype bandwagon even though the phone looked awesome. Touch screen, user friendly (imagine that), with every feature one could possibly imagine. Yes, there were some known limitations and the price was enough to give anyone pause. So, I told myself that I would wait for the price to drop and for all of the bugs to be worked out before I bought one. My BlackBerry would have to do.

Then, my daughter gave my BlackBerry an impromptu bath in a melted McDonald's McFlurry. It's a long story but I want you to picture keys that stay down when you press them and never come back up again. Sugar is an amazing glue. And my phone started to smell a bit sour.

I will say that the BlackBerry is an unusually durable item. Mine was dropped several hundred times with no problem and even after the run in with the ice cream, it still worked but it began to develop a host of issues. I'm still amazed that it ever powered on again after the trauma.

Of course, all of this meant that I had to get a new phone. Sam's had a great deal on BlackBerrys but by the time I made the decision to get a new one, they had sold out and my particular club would not be getting the 8800 in again. Ever.

I went home the night of the Sam's visit, logged on to eBay and placed a bid for an iPhone. The auction was to end in one and a half minutes so I knew that I probably wouldn't get the opportunity to counter bid. I did not expect to win.

But, I did.

Oh shit!

OH SHIT!

I was stunned. I tried to get my mind around the amount of money that I had just spent on a phone.

I had terrible, racking buyer's remorse..

...for about 15 seconds.

It arrived this past Monday and I love it. I really, REALLY love it. I haven't been this excited about anything since the ink dried on my divorce decree.

And here's the icing on the cake. I activated the phone and my new data plan costs $20 a month. It used to cost me $64.99. I just knew that couldn't be right so I called AT&T. They confirmed that my savings would be $47 a month with tax AND I get a bunch of text messages in my new plan. My iPhone will have paid for itself in less than a year. Makes me a tad verklempt.

Now, I'm eyeballing the MacBook Pro. Coveting, actually.