Here we go again!

It was recently brought to my attention that my ex is now dating a woman he met online.  They're evidently over the moon for each other, he's moved in with her already, and is in love with his "instant family," spending his weekends carting "his kids" to Chuck E. Cheese and whatnot.  And if the trend of my life is any indication, he'll probably marry her.  They all marry the one they date after me.  He always wanted children, so I guess I should be happy that he finally found someone to provide them for him.  Lord knows I couldn't do it.

I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but more than the fact that he's got a new girlfriend, I'm bothered by the fact that online dating actually worked for him.  He's one of about three people I know who've had any modicum of success with the medium, and it pisses me off.

I hate online dating.  I despise it.  I hate the fact that it's superficial and full of nonsense and preconceived notions.  It's an artificial construct that doesn't allow people to really get to know each other or allow people to give each other a chance because too many people will look at a list of interests, likes, and physical stats and think, "nope, not for me."  And that's not fair.  In real life I'm a pretty awesome person, and I'm not terribly bad-looking.  I'm overweight, but I see plenty of overweight women with boyfriends and even husbands - so that can't be all there is to it, can it?

Maybe it's just the area I live in, or the fact that I'm Childfree.  There's nothing "wrong" with me, other than the fact that I take a long time between relationships because the whole process is just a pain in the ass.  And at this age, the pickin's are pretty slim.  They consist of  lunatics, losers, and drunks, or married guys looking for something on the side.

Over it.  All of it.  I've done crazy, I've done loser, I've done drunk (all in one, in one case!), and I've done married.  None of it worked very well.  Crazy loser drunks tend to be abusive, and married guys will always put their wives first (as it should be).  You can't rely on these types of men, and that's such an important part of a relationship.  For if you can't rely on your partner, then what's the point?

Anyway, I was ranting about the whole online dating thing, and someone asked to see what I'd written in my profile.  My account had been deactivated for awhile, but once you log in again you're reactivated and cannot re-deactivate for another week.  So now I'm stuck for a week, and already the bullshit has started.

From "cublookin4cougar" I get this:

Hey there I know I'm a younger guy but I really love being with older women. There a real turn on for me. If you'd like to have some fun maybe we could grab some lunch sometime and talk too see if we could make it to the bedroom ;) lol

Oh, brother.  Yeah, why don't I just jump right into the sack with you?  Now, my friends are offering varying views on this.  Some are sympathetic, but others are telling me, "just go for it!" and "think of it as practice!"

Um. Practice?  Practice for what?  I don't need practice.  Jesus Christ, if you people had any idea what goes on behind my closed doors...practice?  None needed, believe me.  What I need practice in is interacting with men my own age, men who are emotionally available, men who want to treat me like a partner and not just a piece of fucking meat (literally).  I'm not knocking FWB situations, but I'm over it at this point. 

I'm told, "just hold on, it'll happen when you least expect it."

And to this I say, FUCK YOU.  And I mean that in the nicest possible way, because I know when people say shit like that, they mean well.  But here's what I don't understand.  I've been "least expecting" it for the better part of the last 20 years, only about 7 of which have been spent in any kind of actual relationship.  I'm 41 years old. How come some people find their soulmate at 25 or 30 but the rest of us have to "hold on?" Hold on to what? My face as it slides down my skull? My boobs as they travel down to my knees? The handfuls of hair I rip out of my head when I get messages from little pisspots who want to fuck an older woman so they can add it to their resume? Fuck that. And no, I will not go have fun, because little shits like this don't deserve the fun I know how to have.

Shit I think about when I'm drawing anthropomorphized elements

I'm currently illustrating a book about the elements.  I can't really say much else because, well, that's how it works in pre-publication.  I'm not really allowed to talk about it, show it to anyone, or discuss the story.  All part of the whole non-disclosure and being sworn to secrecy lest someone steal the concept.

Anyway.  It's been a long, arduous project, full of frustration, reworks, missed deadlines, and a LOT of dust.  I love the way pastel looks, but it is a very, very dirty medium.  For this reason I am thankful I have a studio space.  

So while I work, I have a lot of time to think.  I listen to music, draw, and think.  I also talk to myself a lot.  Working on a project is a great way to sort through things I might not otherwise have time to mull about.

This afternoon I was thinking about this person in whom I am interested.  His name is, well...I've been referring to him as "He Who Drinks My Coffee," and I think for the purpose of this blog he shall remain such.  I'm pretty sure this individual is currently attached.  Married, perhaps.  Not sure.  In any case, I found myself handing him my number yesterday afternoon after weeks - months, perhaps - of admiring him from afar.  We'll see if he calls.  I'm not holding my breath.  He did, however, deliver my forgotten coffee shortly after I gave him my number.  So if nothing else, he's thoughtful if not available.

As I am wont to do in these situations, though, I started really overthinking my behavior.  When he stopped over with my coffee, I found myself prattling on and on and on about various things that interest me.  In retrospect, however, I don't think any of them made me seem all that appealing.  I talked about my power tools, for the most part.  And moulding.  How romantic.  I appeared dressed in my cruddy art clothes - jeans, t-shirt, apron, hair in a messy bun with a pencil stuck in it, and pastel dust everywhere.  I'm sure he was like, "she got THAT dirty in a matter of half an hour?"  Serious Pigpen action, only in technicolor.  

It was hot out.  I started to sweat.  So I talked about power tools, home improvement, moulding, self-employment, and coffee while streaking ultramarine blue pastel across my sweaty forehead.  So attractive.

I hope he IS married.  At least then he has a convenient excuse to not reciprocate interest, rather than trying to figure out a nice way of saying, "sorry, fat manly artists aren't my type."

Oh well.  Back to work.

The thing about being a blogger is that you have to actually BLOG

...and I don't.  At least not on a regular basis lately.

In my defense, I've been extremely busy.  There have been jobs to work, projects to finish, contracts to honor, houses to clean, studios to reorganize, blah blah blah.  Not that I haven't had things I'm dying to prattle about; I just haven't had time to properly compose any extended rants.

Perhaps I should think about revisiting the virtues of brevity, hmm?

Blogs don't kill people

I hate guns.

It's a known fact to anyone who knows me.  I hate guns.  I don't care what application they're used for.  I hate them.  They scare me, and I think America's obsession with bearing arms is out of control.  Now, before you get all "I KNOW MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS AND THE SECOND AMENDMENT BLAH BLAH BLAH" on me, just hear me out.  I'm not encroaching on anyone's rights.  But in the wake of yet ANOTHER mass shooting, another contribution to our standing as one of the most violent nations in the industrialized world, is it possible that the second amendment needs a little...reexamination?  Let's just try and remember that the second amendment was written in a different era and with a different context.  I'm pretty sure that it wasn't written so that we could all protect ourselves from other people also exercising their right to bear their arms in public places.  Right?

When I managed a gas station two blocks from the notorious Cabrini Green housing projects in Chicago back in the mid-90's, I had a gun in my desk - a loaded 9mm.  I never opened that drawer if I could help it, and every time I had to, my stomach flipped.  Just the sight of it made me so nervous I'd want to throw up.  I told my boss the first time he showed it to me that I wasn't going to touch it.  He said, "well, I keep it in here so if you ever have any trouble when you're in here counting money, just use it."

"Just use it."  Like I'd even know how to hold the goddamned thing, let alone SHOOT it at someone pointing their gun at my head.  My office was just slightly bigger than a supply closet; anyone doing said gun-pointing would be doing so at extremely close range - likely pressing the barrel between my eyes.  I told my boss, "look.  If I'm in here counting money and someone busts in here with a weapon demanding I give it to them, they'll get the money.  Fire me now if you have a problem with that, because I (a) do not know how, nor am licensed to, shoot a weapon, (b) don't trust myself to be quicker than a criminal high on crack and adrenaline within reach of several thousand dollars, and (c) value my life more than a Shell station.  Sorry."  He laughed and said he understood, but he also said I was being silly.  "Anyone can learn how to shoot a gun," he scoffed.

Anyone.  Including James Holmes, a quiet, brilliant neuroscience fellowship student.

By now everyone is familiar with this name and the tragedy associated with it.  And already the gun nuts are out in full force.  "Guns don't kill people!  People kill people!"  Whatever.  The guy couldn't have taken out 12 people and injured 60 others with a steak knife.  And the most ridiculous comments I've seen are coming from these people who insist that "if only someone had been there with a gun, they could have stopped this guy."

Really?

This guy walks into a crowded movie theater, tosses a couple canisters of tear gas, and then just as the audience is trying to process what's going on, he opens fire with an automatic assault rifle, spraying bullets into the auditorium.  Chaos ensues.  People are bleeding.  People are dead.  People are screaming, running, throwing themselves on the ground, pushing each other out of the way.  It's dark.  The flash from the gunfire is blinding, making a clear shot likely impossible.  I don't care if you're an expert marksman - this is not target practice.   And unless the concealed-carry laws include automatic weapons, no civilian with a Smith & Wesson snub-nose revolver is a match for a heavily-armed, well-armored massacrer on a mission.  You might as well be carrying a cap gun.

Everyone likes to think they're Chuck Norris, but the truth is that NO ONE knows what they would have done in this situation.  Think of every bad thing that's ever happened to you.  Was it what you imagined?  Did you react as you thought you would?  Probably not.  Everyone likes to think they're a hero, or that there's a hero out there who'll save us from the bad guys, but superheroes are only in the comics and the movies.  Get real, stop speculating, and for God's sake - stop fantasizing that another gun would have solved the problem.  


The truth: guns kill people.  Guns are weapons designed for that very purpose.  And as long as we continue to think that more violence will cure violence, we're deluding ourselves into a false sense of security.  The United States has one of the highest rate of gun deaths in the world.  I could spout statistics at you, but I'll let you do your own research.  It's not hard to find.  And it's not easy to ignore.  


The gun debate in this country will never end.  But really - how many people have to die before we come to SOME kind of conclusion?

Weddings in the park: I have something NICE to say about that!

Two years ago I posted about the trend I was seeing in weddings that bucked tradition, and how I much preferred a casual affair over black-tie swank.

I still feel this way.

And in fact, about halfway between the time that post was written and today, I got engaged. The engagement has since been broken, but my wedding was going to consist of me, my groom, an officiant, and a laptop streaming the event from a beach in Thailand. I was going to wear a white halter dress, a la Marilyn Monroe's famous grate scene, my groom was going to be in shorts and a polo. And shoes? Who needs shoes on the banks of the Mekong river? Puh-leeze! If nothing else, it gave me a really convenient excuse not to have to endure the angry throngs upset that I refuse to let the DJ play either the hokey-pokey or the chicken dance at my wedding.

...

 This past weekend I had the great honor of attending the wedding celebration of Jennifer and Chuck Weber. Jennifer, the engine behind All Things Jennifer, is one of Buffalo's favorite bloggers and an all-around most excellent person. I have spent the last couple of days trying to explain to people just how much fun this wedding was, but I find myself getting flustered when trying to decide on a starting point. Do I start with the beautiful view from Porter on the Lake Park? The bounce house? Do I start with the bride's fabulous outfit? And even then, do I start with the red tulle petticoat, or the red hi-top Chuck Taylors? Do I start with the zombie vs. soldier cherry chip cupcakes? The TATER TOTS on the dinner buffet? The "guest book" involving Jenga tiles and a dictionary?

 It's all a bit much to try and sort out, and I end up prattling for a while before I wonder if I'll ever be able to recall all the details that made this a most excellent event. Just when I think I've covered it all, I remember the reply cards with song requests hanging around the DJ station (when's the last time you went to a wedding where they played "Gin and Juice?"), the hand-decorated mason jars that held a healthy amount of drink, and the karaoke (that I sadly had to miss thanks to my early morning wake-up call the next day). Even the presence of a million small children (something that normally brings me a fair amount of stress) didn't faze me, such was the fun I was having.

 Look. They had TATER FUCKING TOTS on the buffet. Nuff said. Best. Wedding. Ever. 

This, my friends, is what weddings are all about. Never once did I look at Jennifer and see the familiar shell-shocked, glazed-over, I'm-so-exhausted-but-I'm-going-to-fake-it forced smile I've seen in other brides. Not once did I see her dragged around by her mother. There was no formal reception line. No structured wedding party intro. No bridezilla. No long, drawn-out ceremony involving readings and sermons. There was no shoving of cake in each other's faces. Just two people, very in love and wanting to share that with 100+ of their friends and family by throwing a super fun party. Every wedding should be so devoid of pretense and obnoxiousness.

 Say what you will about tradition, but I'm always in favor of bucking it - particularly when it involves tater tots.

 Congratulations, Jen and Chuck! May life be long and merry for you both!

Just another waste of legal resources

...and a few more dollars for the psychotherapy industry for these poor people.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/14/paul-rusconi-malibu-artist_n_1516299.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009

I just can't wrap my head around this whole thing.

1. Who would think to accuse a GAY man of raping his DAUGHTERS?
2. Who would BELIEVE it?

I fucking hate people sometimes.

Slime, Slime, Everywhere Slime (and BEETLES! STRAWBERRY SAUCE IS BEETLES)!!!

Pink Slime. It's what's for dinner.

I've been reading with a fair amount of amusement as people freak out about "Pink Slime" in their ground beef. It's gross, yes, but no grosser, honestly, than anything else most people eat.

This is not to say I'm not outraged at the idea of Pink Slime - I am. But I avoid it by not eating ground beef of unknown origin. What strikes me as ironic is that he same people who are freaking out about the Pink Slime are probably feeding Happy Meals, hot dogs, and white bread to their kids.

And speaking of pink....

Similarly, the whole outrage over the recent revelation that Starbucks uses carmine (extracted from crushed cochineal beetles) in the strawberry sauce used for frappuccinos and smoothies is equally as silly. I dare say if you're horking down that sugar and fat-laden crap, a common ingredient used in TONS of red-colored foods is the least of your worries. I get that vegans are a little bummed that it contains an "animal product," and I respect their dismay over having to skip the treat as a result, but the whole "cruelty" and "ew gross" freakout is what annoys me. Please. What did you have for breakfast? Examine that first, look at how many artificially created chemical ingredients went into it, and then talk to me about how "gross" it is that there are extracts made from beetles in your food coloring. It's an EXTRACT. It's not like Starbucks is tossing handfuls of beetles into the blender when they make a drink. I mean, really, people. Get a fucking grip.

I'm not trying to be unsympathetic. In previous posts I have made it very clear how I feel about the food situation in this country, and how I have made the commitment to eat closer to the earth and eat meat of only reputable origin, to support local farmers, et cetera. So I get it.

But here's the issue: strawberries are not pepto-pink, and yet people who want strawberry-flavored things want them to look that color. And so they must be enhanced. Artificial colors are created in labs by scientists and are not a natural food source. The harvest of cochineal is a sustainable source of income for the Central- and South American communities who make their livings plucking the bugs off cacti. So in essence, Starbucks is helping people and staying consistent with their mission to promote sustainability, and are using a source that is harvested from their natural habitat and not raised in a factory farm. But they've managed to piss off another segment of the population in the process.

So. I guess it boils down to two fundamental points.

1. Pick your battles.
2. You can't please everyone.

And life goes on.