Caio bella

So it's 3:08 a.m. here in lovely Milano and it might be one of the few times that being a spinstermiss ain't all it's cracked up to be. While generally spinster travel involves lots of doing whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want, and often kissing exciting new lips owned by interesting and unusual international lips, there are hours like this that it might be nice to travel with company.

This trip, filled with visions of great new eyewear from the Mido trade fair, has involved tons of rain and a head cold that promises to make flying home this morning a literal headache. But there have been bright spots galore that would never have happened had I a husband keeping me home, including sitting here at 3:12 in my skivvies writing this note.

Brightest spots:

The food. Yes, I'm a bit of a foodie and I've earned those pounds this week with gnocchi and gorganzola cheese, risotto, risotto, risotto. And this delicious new candy bar, Lion Well, new to me.

The sights. While Milan is far from the prettiest city in Europe, it is really, really old which is always interesting for someone who lives in a relative young chit of a nation. And the Duomo lit up a night is really breathtaking.

The men. No one on Earth will look at you like a man in Italy. No where else can a nearly 40-year-old woman who opts for comfort over style get the patented Italian-man-on-the-street sexy look. Rowl.

The shopping. Didn't do much buying but did quite a bit of coveting of fancy boots.

The men II, the visitors. What's more fun than a man on the road on business? Set free from the constraints of happy home life, these packs of men have money to spend and adventures on their minds. Get your mind out of the gutter...these are the folks who will keep you safe at 2 a.m. while you're looking for that crazy jazz bar. He's like a celibate (mostly) sugar daddy. Lovely.

Youth, Schmooth.

Ok, this might sound crazy, but I'm thinking it's a great idea for the spinsters of the world to unite and demand a special dispensation for entry into the retirement village community. Although many of us don't yet reach the requisite 50+ status, we could bring lots to the senior community.

Including the following:

- Oh you crazy kids. Spinsters are a wonderful stand in for no-show kids. We'll stop by seeking advice, casseroles, and how the heck to iron a shirt without adding in new wrinkles.

- Widow transition assistance. This is terrible, I know. But it's true! Some women have been married for a long time. And then their husbands go off to that 19th hole in the sky, leaving their aged brides totally unprepared for the single life. Who better to help them with the transition into the solo scene than a life-long single gal?

- Daddy issues, anyone? Sadly, our married sisters sometimes head to the 19th hole in sky leaving their husbands bereft and looking for a slightly younger model. If that's your thing, well great. Old balls don't really do it for me, but whatever floats your singular boats.

So I'm off to buy a keen Alfred Dunner getup and some sassy walking shoes in preparation for the great day when Spinsters find their freedom in the lands of the golf cart as primary transportation.

Real Stupid

That's it. I'm officially done with "reality" television. Just finished watching the season finale of Top Chef. And yes, I have a crush on the "cheftestant" Stefan that borders on unseemly. But really, he was far and away the best chef in what certainly was a lackluster season.

And yet he didn't win. With his gloriously kissable smooth pate and delicious continental cuisine.

Ridiculous.

It strikes me as even more ridiculous that we as a viewing public allow reality programming as a genre to continue. It's not only dreck. It's dreck that's been manipulated for maximum crapitude.

Yes, I wrote crapitude and I'm sticking with it.

Even my dog is disgusted. And the cat hasn't come down to watch since week five.

The funniest thing about the whole situation, to me, is that I've made it my life's work to avoid reality. That's my raison d'etre. It's what makes a Spinstermiss a true Spinstermiss. Reality has nothing to do with my world, happily free from the carpool, the hubby's business dinner, and all of the other things that people drone on about while pouring coffee at work. (Marrieds: what you say sounds like this to us: Blah, blah, blah. whah wha whingie blah blah. We're really just looking at your jewelry. Good job with that!)

KMA reality.

Marrying for Money

So I'm all in favor of Obama's efforts to improve our economy. As someone who has enjoyed two economic collapses in the publishing industry in the past 2 decades, the president can count me in for an effort to reinvigorate the nation. With this kind of positivity projecting from my every pore, I can't help but wonder why the president has to go on ahead and give married people a significantly higher tax break just because they're married.

Harumph.

Don't married people already get enough breaks? They get cheaper car insurance. The get death benefits. And they almost always have people to go with to weddings, christenings, and birthday parties. In theory, they also deeply benefit from the division of labor inherent in living communally. 

A single person has to bring home the bacon, fry it up and in the pan, and never ever let themselves regret that they didn't get themselves a man.

Oooh, that was chee-zee! I used to love that commercial when I was a kid. Think it was for a hair product. But I still get a total urge to put on a cocktail dress every time I make a BLT.

Darn cute babies

So a friend just found out she has fertility issues and it's not looking good that she'll be reproducing any time soon. Or ever, really. And since I'm the most self-centered person on Earth, this immediately ties back to me and my own lack of fecundity. It's really time to start making peace with the idea that I'm getting older and I've made no effort whatsoever to find a mate and have a family. As a result, there is a very strong likelihood that I won't be getting married or having any babies. Which I pretty much thought everyone did and it was just a matter of time until Mr. Babymaking Right managed to track me down at my house, breakdown the door, fix the door, court me, marry me, and impregnate me before disappearing in a mysterious accident that left me lonely, but with a lovely set of twins and an enormous insurance settlement to comfort me. Could it be that I've somehow gone wrong in my assumptions?

Why Ben & Jerry why?

I guess I really can't blame Ben & Jerry for making such a delicious ice cream that is way beyond my resistance. But I do. They have to know that minty, full-fat ice cream is potent. Then, if you blend it with chunks of chocolate cream cookies it's just beyond my level of resistance. But how was I to resist. I mean, it's not my fault that I couldn't find the naan bread in my grocer's freezer and there were compelling yellow discount signs that drew my eye to the frozen desserts section.

So, it was a bargain step closer to type 2 diabetes, which is nice. And now I have to get on a plane on Friday. A Delta plane, which has some of the smallest seats in the sky. Which may or may not be able to contain my fat ass. When I land in Utah, I will spend two days surrounded by movie types and wanna be's--particularly those West Coast matrons who have bizarre facial work. The result is that from the back they look like hot 20-year-old chippies. But then they turn around and their face has been botoxed and augmented to the point that they look like they've recently taken up beekeeping face first. Yikes.

Coffee: A good idea gone awry

So I was listening to this report on NPR about how coffee help spurred the age of reason or the age of enlightenment. I wasn't listening super carefully. But either one would be a good improvement from the haze I'm currently in. So I've coffeed it up for the past two days...one cup each day with a pack of swiss miss hot chocolate in it to make it a little special. And it's been great during the day. But now, at 2:14 a.m., I really miss the whole sleeping thing. It's always been one of my great pleasures. And particularly now, when I'm not smoking, barely drinking, and a good seeing to is a vague memory, sleeping has been a reliable pleasure in life. Which I'm denied. 

I'll tell you this much. Being up after 2 isn't fun if you don't have one of the following things:

1. A good book

2. A good man

3. A variety of drinks

4. Your smoke brand or variety of choice

5. A dramatic deadline

6. An inspirational cause

7. A long distance to cover across an unfamiliar territory

8. A minimum of a trilogy's worth of movies that you are watching from beginning to end as God intended.

9. One or more hysterical friends to be bailed out of a situation that will provide a good, entertaining story at future late nights.

10. One or more hysterical friends who are bailing you out of a situation that will provide a good, entertaining story at future late nights.

So maybe not drinking a mochalicious coffee each day means that I won't be the next great philosopher. But who knows, perhaps people were happier drinking their small beers and wine throughout the day, living life at a slower, less enlightened or less reasonable pace. 

Ok, they were unbathed, untoothed, and frequently dead by 35. And don't get me started on the stink factor. But a society with a widespread, large scale buzz is still pretty interesting.