my top three qualities

I've done a lot of thinking, dreaming, digging, and general figuring-out about what I'd like to have in a partner. I've read more books than should be legal, I've gone to seminars where the instructors have encouraged us to find out "who's diggin' on [our] bottoms," (I wish I were kidding) and I've spent hours constructively daydreaming of Prince Charming.


One of the useful things I've done, though, was to write down 50 characteristics the perfect man for me would have. Now, that's actually harder than it sounds. I had to get pretty shallow to come up with 50. My list included things like "smooth (aka not hairy) shoulders" and "handy." But the next step was to narrow that list down to twenty. And from there, to five and from five to three.


The three qualities I kept coming back to are these:

smart
funny and
self-aware


(Define those as you like. I have my own definitions, which I'll reserve for another post, if I ever get around to it.)


So recently, I found out that an ex of mine wants to get back together with me. And he's definitely smart, funny and self-aware. But I just don't want to get back together, even though I know he's one of the best guys around. It's not that too much water has gone under the bridge, or that I'm afraid I'll get hurt again or any of that. It's the simple fact that I'm not attracted to him. Eight years ago, when we went out (yikes!) I was 23, and I had a very different approach to men, relationships, and sex. And I think that's where my attraction for him sprang from. And (thankfully) that 23 year old mindset is gone now. And I DEFINITELY don't want it back.


But what does that say about my top three qualities? That those MUST be there, but there is more that I need? That maybe I can't just boil it down to three must-have qualities? That I need to read another book and go to another lecture? (Please God, No.)


The biggest bummer of all is that I haven't told him yet that I really don't want to get back together. He's such a wonderful guy (ladies? anyone in DC?), I care about him a great deal, and I hate to hurt him this way. But I can't hurt myself just to avoid hurting him. Because there is little that is less fun that smooching someone you like, but not in that way.

four limerick oysters

Have you ever heard of a GoogleNope? It's a phrase that, when put between quotations and searched in google yields no results. (Like "Madeline Albright's School of French Kissing," or "diarrhea is tasty" for example.)

I learned the term recently and thought for sure that what I shouted in the shower the other day -- "FOUR LIMERICK OYSTERS, THANK GOD!" -- would count. (It does, kind of, but let me backtrack a moment.)

In Ye Olde Days, when I was an actor, I used to use a vocal warmup that was very extensive and confusing, and was intended to be said all in one breath. The contents of that warm up were these:

One hen;
two ducks;
three squawking geese;
four Limerick oysters;
five corpulent porpoises;
six pairs of Don Alverso's tweezers;
seven thousand Macedonians in full battle array;
eight brass monkeys from the ancient sacred crypts of Egypt;
nine apathetic, sympathetic, diabetic old men on roller skates with a marked propensity toward procrastination and sloth;
ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who will hall and stall at the corner of the quivvy and the quay, all at the same time.

Now, apparently, I must have been dreaming of this warm up because when I woke up, I was reciting it. Except I couldn't remember what four was. (Well, truthfully, I thought four was the corpulent porpoises.)

Anyway, I thought the woman who had taught me this warm up had made it up but apparently it's some Tibetan Memory Trick. So, to my surprise, when I googled "Four Limerick Oysters," the phrase actually exists.

And I was deprived of my long-awaited GoogleNope.

And now I would like some chocolate and a nap.

with a mind like a kitten it's best to stay away from string

Here are things I've been thinking about lately:

1. I was talking with a friend the other day about luxuries, and the gist of the conversation was that while we both take good care of ourselves, we’re (in general) pretty conservative with our money. I pointed out that I have cable, which costs me an arm and a leg every month, but it’s ok because I bring my lunch to work almost every day. (logical, right?)

Later that afternoon, I saw my friend in the hall, toting a cup of Starbuck’s coffee. It was slightly out of character, but I didn’t even give him a sideways glance. He immediately started defending his extravagant purchase good-naturedly. He said, “I know, I know, it’s excessive! But I was thinking, ‘It’s ok because Kate has cable!’”

2. When I remember that My Future Love is out there somewhere, and that he might be thinking or dreaming of me right now in the same way that I’m thinking and dreaming about him… well, that helps to make tough moments in the Now a little easier.

3. I love the Olympics, especially the gymnasts. My favorite part is how they’ll hold their legs up in the air, in a full split, and I sit there (in my easy chair, munching on munchies) thinking that they’re wikkid flexible. I don’t even BOTHER to think about how impossibly hard it is to simply HOLD my leg up in the air, at any angle, for any extended period of time, let alone over my head for more than a second. And, while I’m about as straight as they come, those girls have adorable butts.

4. If Subway sandwiches were a country, I’d move there and never leave.

a theory on dating serially

Yesterday a friend of mine asked herself this (by asking me):  do I take a break from boys for a little while and just clear my mind? Or do I start dating and do it right -- not just date one boy or put all my eggs in one basket?

I learned a lot while serially dating (by which I mean ending one relationship and then instantaneously starting another), but the key theory that I developed (after stopping) was that wherever my first relationship was at when it ended (my last serious was about a 8.5 out of 10, on a completely random and self-generated scale), my next relationship STARTED somewhere pretty close by. (The following guy and I started at about a 6.5 or 7.) That really didn't work for me, because we hadn't earned that intimacy. It wasn't until I had taken some time completely alone (I did six weeks) that my internal intimacy-meter reset to zero.

And now I operate at a fairly consistent zero.  It's made it easier for me to really reassess, and to be On My Own. It's taken me out of "we" mode and back into "me" mode.  Zero has allowed me space to tackle some other demons, instead of always being focused on boys boys boys and what was going wrong (or right).

It took a lot of effort, a lot of nights at Lisa's house, a lot of girls' nights out (to non-guyish events) and even some turning down of dates until my sabbatical was over.  

And it was totally worth it. 

But that was my experience. Since I know my friend and I are pretty similar (at least in this regard), I recommended it to her.  And if it's not what she needs/wants or it doesn't help, it's only six weeks.  And if she doesn't do it, it's no skin off my nose.  All I really care is that she's asking the questions.

I try to look at being single this way -- today might be my only chance to be completely single. The next guy I meet could be Mr. Right, and then what?  I might have to stop sleeping diagonally. 

Gasp.

naan scents

I bit into a green pepper the other day (not my favorite salad veg) and I swear it tasted like homeless people smell.

I suffer from a new disease: Skirtus Rotatus. This is caused by wearing skirts one or two sizes too big and carrying a big, heavy bag. The friction between the two makes one's skirt turn around and around and by the time one is at the subway, one doesn't even know which end is up anymore.

This weekend I'm going out of town. So of course that means I got my Time Out delivered on Wednesday instead of Thursday, so I'll have one more day to read about all the stuff I'll be missing. Sigh.

My favorite players for the Brooklyn Cyclones, Lucas Duda (or "Duuuuuuuuuudaaaaaaaaaa" as we called him from the peanut gallery last year) and Albert Pujols (or "PooooooooooooHoooooooles" as we screamed and then giggled ourselves silly) have since left the team. I have a new favorite player, though: Kirk Niewenhuis. (Say that one three times fast.) He's turning 21 tomorrow (8/7/87) and he hit a double on Monday night when I was at the game. (Sadly, that's about the only actual play of the game I remember. Oh, that, and catsup beat mustard and relish in the race along the sidelines.)

I passed a guy today who was clearly trying to get away from the people he was with so he could pick his nose in private. Unfortunately, the place he chose to be private was right up against the window of the restaurant, where all the passers by could watch him dig for gold.

I'm not getting enough sleep. That has nothing to do with what I write, I'm just taking this opportunity to complain about it publicly.

additional vacational highlights(onal)

Incoherently, I bring you:

1. There was a really cute guy at one of the wineries we were visiting in wine country. Cousin Brian set up his camera to do an automatic picture of us, but I opted for the talk-to-the-cute-boy route, and asked him to take it for us. I show up with a smile that is somewhat more electric than the situation warrants:

And then, of course, I had to take a picture of the "vista"...(That's the cute guy in the corner.)

2. Don't forget that Ella (age 6) had headlice. So since I was staying in her bed, I was pretty convinced I had it, too. That meant a large number of hours were spent scrutinizing my head. I didn't find a single louse, but I'll tell you what -- I have a LOT more gray hairs than I thought I did.

Not happy about that.

3. Late-ish one night, on our way home from picking berries, Piper (age 3) fell asleep in her carseat. After a rousing chorus of Europe's Final Countdown (and the hysterical laughter that ensued), she woke up and said, "Stop. You're making me drool."

4. Guess which gate my flight from O'Hare left out of.

K7. (I wish it were K8, though.)

5. In Seattle, four thirtysomethings rode the swings. Three of them wanted to get them going in unison, but I know all about what happens to bridges when soldiers march over them without falling out of step, so I wasn't about to join in. I did, however, hit The Bumps. (kind of freaky at this age.)

6. Thursday night, before leaving Portland, we went to a concert at a pick-your-own berries farm. The objective was to get some berries to take home, but I found that the most efficient method of transport was just to store them in my mouth (and eventually my tummy). They were so amazingly good right off the bush!

7. Seattle is a strange city. (I say that with love.) There was a huge fire in 1886 (maybe 1889. I forget and am too tired to look it up) and afterwards the city said, "gee, this hill sure is steep. Let's regrade the hill and then rebuild the city." And the merchants all said, "Um, no. Rebuild my store or I'm leaving." So they rebuilt all these buildings, knowing full well that they were going to have to raise the streets and sidewalks after the buildings were built. So the city told them all, "OK, we'll rebuild, but somewhere between 8 and 32 feet above your current ground level, there's going to be a new ground level. So plan for that." And within the next 25 years, that happened. It's kind of crazy.

Anyway, they rasied the streets first, and left the sidewalks ten feet below. (Meaning that you had to climb a ladder to cross the street.) Eventually, they covered over the sidewalks with new sidewalk, but the construction was really fast and things aren't exactly connected to one another.

Basically, Seattle is held together with spit, luck and perhaps some rat poo.

8. We had an incident at the Wauconda Motel. It was truly worthy of its own post, though, and I hope I can get to that in the not too distant future. Let's just say that the Surgeon clan is not particularly welcome there in the future...

homina homina homina

Because I have a ton of things I want to write, I haven't written a single thing. Instead, I will regale you with the other word game we're playing at work. The three-for homonym game. Name any homonym you can come up with that has three different spellings.

To wit:
your/you're/yore
main/mane/Maine
there/their/they're
pair/pare/pear
way/weigh/whey
to/too/two
for/four/fore
where/wear/ware
right/write/rite
scents/sense/cents
or/oar/o'er
rain/rein/reign
meat/meet/mete
poor/pore/pour
haze/hays/heys

and my favorite, the four-for:
do/doo/due/dew