Strange Milestone...

This month I will have been celibate for an entire year. The main reason why, though significant, is not fit for public consumption at this time. Suffice it to say, I have been actively avoiding dating and interacting with men in any sort of romantic way. I just didn't like who I felt I had to be in order to attract and keep a man. I felt like I was constantly visiting with my grandparents, you know, always on your best behavior, covered in a thick veneer of respectibility and detachment, because god forbid I'd let a man see the real me. It's always easier when someone rejects your false self, you know. I didn't like that I had to pretend to be this jaded 30-something single gal in order to not scare men away. Because, lord knows, desperation is a smelly perfume. Not that I was desperate...just earnest.

I just got tired of the cycle, the charade, the endless rejection for one bullshit reason or another (although, not every man I've dated was like this...you know who you are...). I got tired of the abject fear of letting someone in and losing them, chalking up another failed relationship to endlessly dissect with friends over beers and cigarettes. I got tired of feeling like that was all I was talking about with my friends. Men, sex, love, breaking up, heartbreak. Enough. I went into hiding...leaving only for work, school, and the odd beer out with really close friends. I was too tired to deal with anything else. Too tired to put on the fuck-me heels, jeans that make my ass look good, and the low cut top. Too tired to flirt with Mr. Right Now. Too tired to give out my number and take their calls. And I was sure as hell too tired to go out on actual dates.

And you know what? It's good. It's good that I'm unfettered and alone. I like figuring out who I am alone. I like figuring out that yes, I would like to maybe get married in the future (not only just because I like cake and that people will say nice things about me) even though for years I denied that I did. I like that I have 2 cats that are like my babies and give me a reason to not sleep all day. I've discovered that I'm a really clean person and that, yes I do like all that Martha Stuart and Real Simple stuff. And I'm realizing that I don't really want to date a guy that at just has a steady job and health insurance. I'm not ok with dating a guy in his 30's who smokes pot every day and likes jam bands. I'm not ok with dating a guy who doesn't get along with his family. I'm not ok with dating significantly younger men. I don't like motorcycles and I don't like guns...even hunting rifles. I still like guys with tattoos...or those who want tattoos, but I'm starting to realize that I want someone mature, stable, funny, and NICE. And I'm ok with sticking to what I want in the long term and not settling...even if it means I don't get married till I'm 50.

Be the Change of which You Speak

Those of you who know me, know that I'm not particularly religious and overt displays of one's religious views often make me uncomfortable, but today I read a story in the Star Tribune that truly touched me. Shit, it even choked me up a little. Here's a snippet from Sandwiches from a Savior:

"Every night of the year, Law, 64, is on the streets of Minneapolis in a van packed with sandwiches for the homeless. The painted words "Love One Another" festoon the red van. While Law doesn't preach, he takes his born-again Christian beliefs seriously.

"I truly believe that God put me on this Earth to help the poor," he said. "I will do that until the day I die."

Last year, the retired Minneapolis schoolteacher distributed 85,000 sandwiches to hungry people. This year, he's on track to hand out 170,000. Because of a serendipitous encounter with a former student, volunteers at more than 100 Twin Cities churches will make 200,000 sandwiches this year for Law.

It is what Law does, and who he is. The kitchen of his Edina condo holds two freezers. Three more sit in the living room. His bed is covered with coats he is collecting for the homeless. He says he makes 70 stops a day on his mission to feed and help people, stealing an hour or two in the middle of the night to snooze in the van and napping at home before he hits the road again."

This man does this on his own dime and time and works with a group called 363 Ministries that doesn't get nonprofit status for simplicity's sake. I know Christianity is filled with people that truly live according to Jesus's teachings, yet all we hear about lately are those who spend their time hating their neighbor, killing in the name of God, or seeking to keep down those they view as "sinners." It really does warm my heart that this man simply doesn't sit back and bemoan the problem of hunger and the homeless and impotently wishing "someone" would fix it. He's out there, in the shit, handing out sandwiches, buying prom dresses, and helping people pay their light bill. He's not just handing them off to some faceless bureaucracy, but actually serving according to his beliefs. He is an example to everyone, Christian or no.

I'm an Excellent Driver...

So, I got pulled over tonight for a traffic infraction and was let off with a verbal warning because of my perfect driving record. Don't worry, I haven't missed the irony in this situation.

Driving Life Lesson: You'd be surprised that you can get out of most tickets just by acting slightly ding-y, saying that you're really tired and anxious to get home, and then apologizing profusely. Oh and it helps when the cop's not a dick.

Egg Pie

This is just a quick notice to let you know that the best quiche in America, possibly even the world, is made at Queen City Bakery in Sioux Falls, SD. Seriously, that quiche would make Julia Child slap Jaques Pepin right in the mouth.

This business alone could make me abandon Minneapolis altogether for the prairies and strip malls of Eastern South Dakota.

Alabaster*

This coming Wednesday my parents will celebrate 37 years of wedded bliss. They met in high school (set up on a blind date by my mother's friend, who initially wanted my dad for herself) and married 5 years later. In a year where celebrities are marrying for publicity and gay couples seeking to marry are accused of undermining the sanctity of marriage, my parents will celebrate "making it work" for almost 4 decades. Even though their union wasn't (and still isn't) all hearts and flowers, they're still hot for each other (gross) and still go on dates (slightly less gross). When I was very young, they almost didn't make it. Teetering on the edge of poverty which was exacerbated by my dad's poor impulse control regarding credit and a fondness for Windsor, my mom packed her bags and we moved into her parent's creepy 100-year-old house for six months, telling dad to either get his shit together or sign the papers. Thankfully, they worked it out and continue to fly in the face of the nation's divorce statistics. Their marriage is a testament to love, patience, and perseverance.

Happy Alabaster Anniversary, mom and dad (even though you don't know, and will never know, about this blog)!

*Alabaster is the traditional gift for the 37th year.

Patience

I've never been a particularly patient person. Most people, including my mother, blame this on my being an only child. As much as I hate having my few character flaws (cough) blamed on the circumstances of my birth, I'd have to admit that this is probably true. I mean, it's not like I ever had to fight for the attention of my parents, and while my parents couldn't afford to spoil me monetarily, they certainly spoiled me emotionally (wait...that sounds bad). Although, my threshold for bullshit has waxed and waned as I've gotten older, I've found that, yes patience is a virtue and it will be rewarded, but you know old habits die hard.

Things that I have no patience for:

• Standing behind old ladies at the supermarket or bank
• Long voicemail messages.
• Standing in line in general
• People who ask questions about the menu at a fast food restaurant. Really? It's all crap and it all tastes the same and I only get 30 minutes for lunch, so make a fucking decision or bring a damn sandwich.
• Any songs over 3 minutes or that has more than 3 guitar solos.
• Professors who lecture the obvious in a graduate level class. If you don't know how to write a research paper in AMA format by now, graduate school is not for you.
• Getting stuck in the right lane at a red light behind someone who is not turning right. Fuck you.
• People who come to work sick. Your incessant coughing makes me stabby.
• Farmer's markets...especially those women who butt in front of you to ask if those cucumbers are locally grown and then proceed to have a 30 minute conversation about their locavore coming-to-Jesus moment with the seller. Die in a fire.

What tries your patience?

Wells Fargo, Making You Crazy By Doing Their Jobs

I've been a Wells Fargo customer for many years...since 1993, as a matter of fact, and have never had any complaints (other than the fact that they have iron-clad loan conditions...but that's my problem, not theirs). Well, recently, I had reason to believe that my PayPal account had been hacked, which put my financial well-being in jeopardy. After closing the account, I notified Wells about the possibility of fraudulant activity that may, or may not, happen and that they should refuse PayPal transactions after July 4th. Well, I didn't realize that I had made a purchase on Etsy from a nice lady in Tennessee on the 20th (not the 4th), so of course, Wells Fargo being the well-oiled mega-banking machine that they are, issued a stop payment against the $20 transaction and opened a fraud case.

Sigh.

Well, fuck. I hit the reply button like Mike Phelps hits the bong and told them that I had authorized that one transaction, but nothing else (thankfully, no haxors tried to buy whores or $400 gaming systems or whatever) and that they should reverse that stop payment. I also notified the nice lady that Wells Fargo is the rotwieller of fraud prevention and apparently have lightning fast typing fingers and that I was trying to straighten it out. The next day (!) I recieved another e-mail from Wells that the stop payment was deleted and I thought that was the end of it.

Now, because I'm obsessive about balancing my checkbook, I checked by balance and noticed a $20 credit in my account. WHAT THE FUCK?

Double Sigh.

So now, because Wells is so happy to serve me by making sure 14 year old boys aren't buying hydroponic equipment with my paycheck, I have to write the poor Southern lady who makes nice soaps and lotion to check her PayPal account for rescinded funds and then call the Claims department to find out what the hell is going on. Not only that, I'm probably going to have to figure out a way to re-pay the nice soap lady for my lavender soaps without involving PayPal. I'm thinking this will involve a cashier's check or money order (god, it's like 1996 all over again), unless she has a Wells Fargo account and then I can directly transfer money into her account.

Now, don't get me wrong, I heart Wells Fargo for taking a possible $20 fraud case seriously and being so johnny-on-the-spot about it and everything (and they don't even charge a fee, take THAT Bank of America), but I can't fucking believe I have to do all this running around for $20.