It's days like this that I wish I was one of those incredibly self-sufficient, creative types who can grab a sleeping bag and head out for a fantastic solo vacation. I spend a lot of my time alone. This is not a complaint, just a fact. But something about being alone on vacation just gets me so depressed.
There are really only so many pictures you can take of yourself with arms outstretched trying to get a bit of scenery and your own face in the frame. Trust me, it doesn't make for a great slide show.
What I need starting very soon is some kind of vacation with friendly people. Not swinger friendly. Just regular friendly. But it has to be cheap and it has to be fun.
Maybe there could be a little swinging.
It is summer after all.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Doing it for Johnny
I'm a very lucky girl. Occasionally for work I get to check out fairly deluxe events, drink champagne, and eat tasty bite-sized snacks while observing the stylish, the wannabes, and the celebrities. And I watch as people go up to the celebs and introduce themselves, ask for pictures, and chat. Does Matt Dillon really want to talk to people? No really? Do celebrities have a need that the rest of us don't...the need to be recognized and groped by strangers?
Is that enough philosophizing? Yep. I like celebs because you're totally allowed to stare at them at public events. I don't mean when they have their kids at the park or they're waiting for their gyno appointment (ew). But when they're at a party, most likely for payment, it's gazing season. You don't have to avert your eyes or act cool. Which I love because it turns out that I'm an atrocious stare-er. Sitting on a peg stool with a glass of champagne and my flowered tote bag on my lap, nothing could be better.
Is that enough philosophizing? Yep. I like celebs because you're totally allowed to stare at them at public events. I don't mean when they have their kids at the park or they're waiting for their gyno appointment (ew). But when they're at a party, most likely for payment, it's gazing season. You don't have to avert your eyes or act cool. Which I love because it turns out that I'm an atrocious stare-er. Sitting on a peg stool with a glass of champagne and my flowered tote bag on my lap, nothing could be better.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Mystery guest. Again.
"Mystery Guest" is a game sweetly invented by my siblings to draw people to the inevitably empty chair next to their sister (me) at events such as weddings. At formal functions, the tables are often set for 10. With five kids in our tribe, we tend to take up a whole table—except for my guest's spot.
Don't get me wrong. Mystery Guest is fun... especially if we're seated near the bar. As an interesting person walks by, we pull him into the mystery guest seat and each person seated at the table gets to ask a question. But it's the creation of games like this that made me realize that my siblings love me just the way I am and are in no rush at all to find me a spouse.
However, they're not invited to every event I attend, so when a friend was kind enough to invite me to her wedding I was really determined to find a date.
Therefore, once again, I signed up for an online dating service. And managed to stick with it for approximately two weeks before suffering from a ministroke and quitting in a bleary-eyed rage. Dating services are kind of like what I imagine giving birth would be like. Messy, painful, and a little creepy really (think about it--a living creature comes out of your body). You swear you'll never do it again. But you forget. You think: Men are so handsome. They smell great and fix cars. Dating's so nice. So you sign up again and very quickly you realize you've made a big mistake. Again.
Online dating nonsense is like a replay of school days and picking teams. But waiting online for someone to pick you is way worse than kickball because at least with kickball you could see who had a really good team and use the PICK ME! expression to get what you want. Not that the sites don't work for some. But I sincerely believe that the people who meet their spouses online are blessed with a combination of luck, determination, and patience that ensures they would have found a mate with or without mixed media.
Conclusion: Rather than waste another damn dollar on dating sites, I will be starting a new money jar to pay for attractive young escorts for social events.
Don't get me wrong. Mystery Guest is fun... especially if we're seated near the bar. As an interesting person walks by, we pull him into the mystery guest seat and each person seated at the table gets to ask a question. But it's the creation of games like this that made me realize that my siblings love me just the way I am and are in no rush at all to find me a spouse.
However, they're not invited to every event I attend, so when a friend was kind enough to invite me to her wedding I was really determined to find a date.
Therefore, once again, I signed up for an online dating service. And managed to stick with it for approximately two weeks before suffering from a ministroke and quitting in a bleary-eyed rage. Dating services are kind of like what I imagine giving birth would be like. Messy, painful, and a little creepy really (think about it--a living creature comes out of your body). You swear you'll never do it again. But you forget. You think: Men are so handsome. They smell great and fix cars. Dating's so nice. So you sign up again and very quickly you realize you've made a big mistake. Again.
Online dating nonsense is like a replay of school days and picking teams. But waiting online for someone to pick you is way worse than kickball because at least with kickball you could see who had a really good team and use the PICK ME! expression to get what you want. Not that the sites don't work for some. But I sincerely believe that the people who meet their spouses online are blessed with a combination of luck, determination, and patience that ensures they would have found a mate with or without mixed media.
Conclusion: Rather than waste another damn dollar on dating sites, I will be starting a new money jar to pay for attractive young escorts for social events.
Monday, June 15, 2009
It's not a vacation if there's penicillin involved
So I was at dinner with friends and it was mentioned that Spinstermiss has been a little quiet and withdrawn.
It is a blog from a SPINSTER folks, there's not much happening. Don't blame me! That's kind of the whole core of spinsterhood: Cute, small animals; Scratchily-written notes (today's misspelled texts) to relatives; day flowing into day with the seamless monotony of a seamless and monotonous movie...
Actually the spring was filled with sinus infections, near-misses at swine flu, and a general malaise the likes of which women used to expire from in Victorian times, generally diagnosed as "melancholia." Turns out that turning 39 was not pleasant. Really, just as unpleasant as I thought it would be. Just like the first time I had my eyebrows waxed.
There I was, just laying flat in the chair thinking, "yes, this hurts exactly as much as I'd anticipated."
And so it was with the last year of my 30s. My childless, husbandless, career stalled 30s. Poor me. Boo. Hoo.
But just over a month into it, things are warming up and maybe its the heat or the humidity, but my sap is once again rising rather than soaking into the pages of English mystery novels and bodice rippers.
Shut up. I was sick! (and i like them)
It is a blog from a SPINSTER folks, there's not much happening. Don't blame me! That's kind of the whole core of spinsterhood: Cute, small animals; Scratchily-written notes (today's misspelled texts) to relatives; day flowing into day with the seamless monotony of a seamless and monotonous movie...
Actually the spring was filled with sinus infections, near-misses at swine flu, and a general malaise the likes of which women used to expire from in Victorian times, generally diagnosed as "melancholia." Turns out that turning 39 was not pleasant. Really, just as unpleasant as I thought it would be. Just like the first time I had my eyebrows waxed.
There I was, just laying flat in the chair thinking, "yes, this hurts exactly as much as I'd anticipated."
And so it was with the last year of my 30s. My childless, husbandless, career stalled 30s. Poor me. Boo. Hoo.
But just over a month into it, things are warming up and maybe its the heat or the humidity, but my sap is once again rising rather than soaking into the pages of English mystery novels and bodice rippers.
Shut up. I was sick! (and i like them)
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