Never Wear Spangles to a Biker Bar.

It was Saturday. I run a big singles meetup and we had plans ... I actually went to some trouble because we have a new guy who's pretty cute. I wore a long brown skirt and a brown top with spangles.

This was entirely appropriate for a Saturday night at Leapin' Lizard in Cape Coral. I felt girly, which is rare for me.

It was Deb and the Dynamics (photo above) playing in the inside room. At Lani Kai last weekend they were awesome - the music ROCKED the whole hotel right down to the beach and everyone danced, from little kids to old folks.

At Lizards, the inside room sucked. It is claustrophobic, it has too many doors and too narrow doorways, you can't mingle and if you dance it gets hot as hell. It was suffocating.

A small group of us finally gave it up and went outside with our cocktails. We are more than Sexless in the City - we are the GPBP ... "Good People, Bad Places" type. We swear and enjoy rough bars. You'd never know it to look at us. We look "proper".

Looks can be deceiving.

One of the guys misplaced his keys. I won't get into how. But he misplaced them and we had to try to track them down or someone was going to have to help him find a place to stay. I'm never falling for that trick again.

We thought the keys had been left in another member's car, so we walked through Cape Coral around midnight headed for where we thought the guy with the car was - the Deck Bar, a biker bar.

Three females (one Canadian) and two guys.

I can always measure the crowd at a glance. Our Canadian disappeared into the crowd for her first lap round the bar and emerged rosy cheeked and exhilarated ... she had been hit on immediately.

In a situation like that, it's not so much that you got hit on - but who by. I had seen the crowd, there was nobody I wanted to be hit on BY.

She slurringly insisted I had to come in for "at least one." She was one cocktail short of "I love you man."

I flashed back on that morning after yoga. The muscled masseur had asked if I wanted a massage and I said "I'm Finnish - nobody touches me unless they buy me drinks." Which was a joke, but it felt creepy in hindsight.

If a masseur writes children's books, does that make him Dr. Masseuse? :-)

So there at the Deck I made it a Diet Coke and promptly got hit on by a drunk my son's age. He was fascinated by my top. It was a little like that recurring nightmare where you're in class in your underwear.

"What do you call those ..." he waved his meaty forefinger in little circles too close to my cleavage ... "spangles!?"

Yeah, spangles. Close enough. So sorry I wore that top.

The Canadian was making nice with the owner, who reminded me of the state senator I used to date. I'm going to have a little chat with her later ... or supervise her the next time she drinks.

Anyhoo, it totally sucked from that point on. The Spangles guy kept repeating himself ... that circle talking just wears me out. Being from Michigan, I must be polite at all times.

I especially hate being the only totally sober one. I gave everyone a hug goodbye and split ... those effin spangles bouncing and glittering through the darkness all the way back to my car - which was still at Lizards.

I decided to close off the weekend with a gentler day on Sunday.

I went to Tim's Place on Hurricane Bay. It had been a while. It started off ok ... nice day. Dolphins were out in the bay hunting ... I thought I saw a shark fin. Sharks gotta eat too.

Two women sat down next to me. One was adorable, red hair, perky nose, cute figure, a little younger than me. Her hair was up and there were flakes the size of Special K at the nape of her neck.

I moved my wine as far away as I could and tried not to gack.

Two girlfriends showed up and we sat at the other end of the bar. A big pasty red haired Irishman came over and invited "us" to his side of the bar. He had an eye on me. I said maybe in a bit. I love foreigners; even if they're drinking.

Apparently he was on the cusp of hammered when he braved the trip across the room, because in a short time he was TOTALLY blottoed and he had found a similarly blottoed pleasantly plump young brunette to dance with him.

He was dancing dramatic as a rock legend with a full stadium, dropping to one knee with arms outstretched as the rock (this was the Gecko Band) reached a fever pitch. The brunette mimicked him and they missed each other by four beats on every move.

He reminded me of my ex BF. Remembering many similarly steamy, humiliating afternoons with him being stupid drunk, I turned and told my friends "at least I'm not going with that one."

At one point he picked the brunette up and ... sure enough, they toppled over into the edge of the bar and empty barstools fell like dominoes. Another patron helped her back to her feet because the Irishman could barely right himself.

I was laughing so hard I nearly peed.

The bruised knees, asses and egos weren't enough to make them stop - they picked themselves up and continued. A few more missed swirls and the Irishman nearly took out the band's surly sound guy.

Then he dropped to his knees and planted his lips on her round belly - again, with arms grandly to his sides. Like he was blowing on her belly button under her white t-shirt. I was half expecting her to inflate.

What the ... ?? They held the position for a good (that's a stretch) sixty seconds.

My own belly cramping from laughter, I turned to my friend Kayla and said - "I have come to a conclusion ...

Florida is a freak show!!!"

The Land That Disco Forgot

Wasn't sure I was up to going out after work ... but Donna called and I decided I was. David Johnson of the Neville Brothers was playing at CinCin and he is awesome. Wine is $8/glass for a good Riesling ... and yeah, sometimes I deserve to spoil myself a little.

Sally called too. Every time I see her I hope she'll be less of an attention hound. Her husband has been deceased for about a year and she has wasted no time dating any man who asks. I'm not sure why it bugs me so much. I guess it's so in your face ... bragging about two or three dates a day, dressing like a 30s pinup, constantly checking her phone for the possibility of a missed message and wanting to leave any place where nobody hits on her within 15 minutes.

One of the guys she dates looks like a cadaver ... but he's rich.

There have been a few times when I wondered why I don't get the same amount of attention ... but then I'm putting out weird vibes. I know it. My aura has barbed wire and gun turrets - I am terrified of involvement. Sally is in heat and the dogs line up.

She showed up after CinCin was jammed. Donna and I were sitting on a love seat near David Johnson. Rather than stand, Sally sat on my arm on the love seat. No, she didn't really sit - she posed. She was elevated and highly visible to the guys at the bar. She stretched her legs out elegantly and didn't care that she was crowding me.

When a seat across from us became available, I suggested she sit there. She said "no, I'm comfortable where I am." I said we had a fourth friend showing up, if she would sit there, she would save it for her. Only then did she move.

An attractive man asked her to dance one time. Later he came back and asked me to dance. He asked my name, he looked at my left hand and asked if I was married. He was surprised I wasn't. Something about the way he said it ... I was flattered. We talked a bit. He seemed ok.

After I danced with him, Sally was suddenly interested. She followed him out of the building for fresh air. They were out there a long time.

Donna noticed.

I always wonder if I'm exaggerating circumstances. I don't think so. I once told Sally I never wanted to date anyone she had "gone out with" and she said "well, you won't have any dates because there won't be any left." She threw it out like a challenge. You'd think she was 16 not 60.
There is something so ugly about this time of life. Maybe it's the desperation factor. Donna kept saying "look how hard everyone tries."

I thought of my fancy friend who is leaving her wonderful husband because she "doesn't love him any more." Wait until she finds out what it's like to be single at this age.

An older gentleman who was built exactly like my Great Aunt Lily kept staring at me. My Aunt Lily had a tiny head and a poofy body, sort of like the shrunken head guy in Beetlegeuse. (SP?) And she was exactly that unattractive.

Donna and I kept whispering during the slow songs to help prevent unwanted advances ... but this old guy managed to lock eyes like a hungry dog under a dinner table. He was old enough to be my father.

It was hot and loud, I signaled that I wasn't in the mood to dance. Which was shitty because I had danced nearly every third dance with Donna. (During those times Sally had "lain across" the whole of the loveseat with long legs elegantly extended in white Bealls Outlet clearance rack capris pants in order to "save" it for us.)

I immediately felt like shit for blowing the guy off. There was a younger black woman to my right and I looked her in the eyes and said "I know - I'm going to hell." She replied "it took him hours to build up the courage to ask you to dance."

Holy f... I never think of myself in those terms. I think of myself as adequate at best, not some potential heartbreaker. I said "but he looks like my Aunt Lily" and she laughed hard.

I went and asked him to dance. Then I couldn't get rid of him. It was pretty awful. During the slow dances he kept staring at me and I deliberately looked the other way. I could not look him in the eyes.

Yeah, I deserve to have been so uncomfortable. But then came a point when it would have been mean to let him think I had any interest in him. One day someone his own age will.

The crowd was interesting, Donna sat there mesmerized. In our late 50s, we were age appropriate for the disco Dave was singing. Those were our times, when we were young and vital. However, there were also people our parents' age in attendance. Sometimes it was utterly charming and at others disturbing.

One woman reminded me of my Grandmother, who died last year at 96. Something about the way she held her fingers while dancing reminded me of Gram's mannerisms when she was being flirtatious in the dementia ward.

If you could harness the financial force of all the plastic surgeries in that room, you could live the rest of your life in incomparable luxury. Some people had been lifted, sucked and tucked to the point of being skeletal.

Donna said she will never do that, but you wonder. If you had the money - wouldn't you? I'm sure they see themselves as they hope they look. We will probably do the same. Maybe we do that now.

One handsome middle-aged guy had rented two skanks for the night. His arrogance was unsettling. He was taking pictures of them dancing together in mega-cheap dresses and shoes; he danced between them at one point.

One of the skanks had bandaids on her arm and back. You have to wonder what that's all about. How many condoms makes you safe with that?

You especially have to wonder what he was so proud of ... being able to afford to have women demean themselves on his account? Doesn't that say "I don't have the necessary character to have someone be interested in me for who I am."

Ten years ago I would have laughed. Now I think it's disgusting. Maybe because each of those skanks were once some Grandmother's granddaughter. It hits too close to home.

Maybe I'm appalled because I was demeaned in my last relationship. That will never happen again.

Kept watching a gorgeous hunk of a guy ... maybe 45 years old, about 6'2". I thought I saw him watching me. Then he came over and asked why someone as beautiful as me wasn't dancing. He said he wanted to dance with me before I left. Then he said "you don't remember me, do you!" And I didn't.

Then I did ... Leaping Lizards, end of the bar, about nine months ago? I remember thinking at the time "why am I putting up with shit when there are hunks like this floating around!"

I joked that he was much taller than I remembered. Also more handsome, but I didn't say that. I did say he looked wonderful.

He asked if I was still with my boyfriend. I said no.

He said "you're available then?" I said yeah. Basic clothes over his strong frame had an elegance. He is way too hot, way out of my league.

It sounded like he still has my business card.

After paying my bill, I made friends with the woman who had been so honest about the guy who looked like Aunt Lily. There was an immediate bond there; and it would be really cool if she could teach me some of her moves. I said "I'm Micki like Mouse" - she said "I'm Shirley like Temple". Her friend said "I'm Mary" and I said "like the virgin".

They were still laughing when I left.

China's Instant Karma

Nobody is saying it. So I will.

China has been raining down shit on Tibet since what - 57? More recently to an extent where there is global outcry and protest of the olympics ... China's day in the sun, their opportunity to show "how far they've come".

Well, when you've come "that" far you don't rain down shit on ancient, peaceful, spiritually based cultures ... DO YOU? You don't spend decades destroying temples, killing and imprisoning monks and nuns.

DO YOU???!!!

I just find it interesting that the violence has been rained back down on the perpetrators in such a dramatic way. An earthquake, totally shaking things up, killing the innocent of a country that kills innocents.

I am remembering a photo years back of a fire on a hillside in California where the only home that went unscathed was inhabited by a Buddhist. (I tried to find it online, but couldn't. Oh well, the image is permanently affixed to my memory banks.)

And I recall one of my favorite Far Side cartoons, wherein a white bearded God in flowing white robes is sitting at his computer screen looking at some hapless fool ... preparing to click the "smite" key.

The irony here is that every good Buddhist will be praying for the Chinese who are enduring this profound tragedy. Despite what they have done to the world's most compassionate people.

I will pray too.

THIS BAD ECONOMY IS GOOD NEWS FOR US FATASS AMERICANS

Yeah, she even looks like me. Just a lot younger.

This "despair.com" ripoff cracks me up. I'm putting it on my fridge.

Stay with me, there is a theme here. Not that the way I’m living MY life is any indication of how others might be reacting. But I can’t possibly be alone in this …

GAS PRICES

The gas prices are reminding me of Beyond Thunderdome with Mel Gibson … people riding their motorcycles in a world where gas is about as precious as gold.

Personally, I’m less embarrassed about driving a beater now. One of my friends jokingly called my 10 year old Saturn (with less than 70,000 miles!) my “Uranus.” It’s paid for! It gets more than 30 mpg!

Also I read that “frugal” is newly cool. Whodathunk?

But I try not to drive it at night or on weekends. I have been dabbling in alternative transportation … those things I did when I was twelve. I’m riding my bike and WALKING. And it’s fun. And I’m feeling like a kid again.

I don’t hit the couch every night after work, I hit the sidewalks! I had forgotten how many details you miss when you’re behind a steering wheel. When was the last time you rode a bike … took your feet off the pedals and let them just dangle as you happily flew along?

And I notice that every time I ride, I can go a little further. And my ample ass doesn’t hurt so much.

If I had more money and there was less traffic down here, I’d probably buy a Vespa. I foresee certain areas being full of bicycles and Vespas – just like Italy. As Eddie Izzard says in one of his stand-up routines, “cool people on scooters saying CIAO!!”

And if we’re all starting to ride bikes and Vespas and keep the guzzlers parked, that’s good for air quality. That’s good for the earth, for all sentient beings … the critters, the babies, the generations to come.

Of course, during the snowbird months in Florida, there is a word for people who ride scooters and motorcycles; roadkill.

FOOD PRICES

When I need groceries, I grab my fabric food bag and ride my bike to the grocery store. (See a previous post on what plastics are doing to the environment. It will break your heart.)

I don’t take groceries for granted like I used to. I still want to get out of there for less than $30 – which isn’t easy. However - with one fabric bag and a bicycle outside instead of a car - it is essential.

OK, if you have less money to spend on one of life’s essentials, don’t you INVEST that money WISELY? The South Beach Diet has taught many of us the meaning of empty carbs … that sick, lifeless feeling you get from eating garbage. Crap in, crap out. No pun.

Now you can continue to eat white flour and sugars and it’ll just make you more hungry and thirty bucks is NOT gonna cut it. Also you’re going to miss more work and have to see doctors for shi* you did to yourself and die years sooner than you might if you took care of yourself.

Well, maybe you aspire to being a burden to your kids. I don't.

For snacks at work I buy organic carrots in the teensy bags. I don’t buy lunchmeats, I buy hormone & antibiotic free chicken breasts and cook ‘em myself. Put them in South Beach wraps. And then there’s the organic high fiber cereal and pasta. Holy shi*, the box is half the size it was last time I bought it – but the nutrition is solid.

If food is going to be that expensive, I’m going to buy HEALTHY food. I am voting with my wallet. I am investing in my life.

CUTTING COSTS

All it takes is a good pair of scissors. They save me $190 a month.

I save $90 a month by grooming my dogs myself. Yeah, I do a lousy job, but I get a little better every time. I use a comb and scissors and the girls have grown to enjoy it.

A friend at work suggested I use Johnson Baby Shampoo instead of dog shampoo. "No tears!" It costs less, leaves their fur far fluffier and seems more soothing than pet quality shampoos. So far, so good!!

And I save more than $100 a month my doing my own hair. Last night I did highlights with a kit and went nuts with the scissors. It’s shorter, it will frizz nicely in the high humidity and I save major bucks.

I get better at that every time too.

LET'S REVIEW THE RESULTS OF THIS AWFUL ECONOMY:

Gas is so expensive some of us have taken to walking and riding bikes. (Benefits: Less pollutants in the air, improved health/weight loss.)

Groceries are so expensive some of us are eating healthier because we refuse to spend good money on bad food. (Benefits: Less garbage in the pantry, improved health and longer, happier lives.)

APPRECIATION IN GENERAL

Most of us don't take anything for granted any more.

Seems like nobody is whining much about their jobs these days. Well, a little standard griping on Mondays, but not much more than that.

Anyone who has a job is blessed.

Or a roof. Or ....

The ex-BF has a new bitch already.

Saturday I picked up the last of my stuff from the ex-boyfriend's house. I've been working such long hours lately that was my first real chance. Having that hanging over my head was just a horrible, icky feeling. It would be like walking back into an evening frozen in time.

My last day at his house had included YET ANOTHER afternoon of hell out on the water off Sanibel with him blackout drunk and abusive. I told myself "not even ONE more night of this." I packed it up, I didn't even care what I left - I grabbed my dogs and went home.

His year-round home is 1400 miles away. If I want a part-time relationship with an abusive alcoholic, I'm sure I could find someone who's local.

I packed it up. I didn't even care much what I left, I grabbed my dogs and got outta there.

Well, retrieving what's left has been hanging over my head for more than a month.

You can feel the "shots" in what they pack and how they pack it. He dropped it all at the front door. Some of the stuff wasn't even mine (a pretty t-shirt of his daughter's which I couldn't have pulled over one boob let alone two) ... stuff from the fridge (like fresh ... well it WAS fresh ... horseradish) and Newman's popcorn with extra fiber. A box of All-Bran, egg noodles. Does this imply he thinks I'm full of ...?

Some of this leftover stuff was second-hand from my nurse friend who came down with her doctor husband to visit a few months back. They stayed in a lovely condo and she handed me bags of leftovers the night before I took her to the airport. We are both packrat hoarders who despise waste.

She had everything labeled and dated in tidy little zip-locks ... noodles, maplenut candies, probably seven bucks worth of stale leftovers if you were forced to replace them and buy new. Nobody would ever make you do that.

Bad Randy had bagged it and left it all in heaps by the front door.

Oh, and ANYTHING related to the dogs ... except for the spots on the carpet.

He also left the Christmas gift he gave me - a short, poofy thermal robe made of mega-thick fleece that made me look like a gay grizzly. Inappropriate for my fat ass and wholly inappropriate for the subtropics.

While I think he paid full price, I bought identical robes for my mother and daughter-in-law for Christmas for $10/apiece at Bell's outlet. Maybe they hate me now for the Michelin Man effect ... except that it's still cold where they live.

I texted Bad Randy that I had just got around to getting my stuff - the house was fine, nothing important in the mailbox ... I couldn't remember which locks to lock (he has so many) and he texted back. He sounds very sad and very angry. We are not capable of speech, only texting.

He sent a photo of his new Shih Tzu ... he didn't waste any time finding another dog. A 6 year old rescue he got after getting back to Michigan.

The new dog actually hurt worse than anything. Of course we will be systematically replaced.

He loves our (MY) Shih Tzu, gave her sweetened antibiotics by mouth back when she was tiny and fragile and we weren't sure she'd survive.

I couldn't even bring the girls with me to pick up my stuff, I knew I'd cry because they'd be so happy to see the house ... thinking he was there. And he's not.

My Shih Tzu used to sleep snug as a bug on the bulging curve of his beer belly/inflamed liver as he leaned back in the LaZ-Boy flicking through four channels at once.

So aside from getting my SMALLER AND INFINITELY MORE PORTABLE KAYAK back, I'm grumpy. He didn't intend for me to take that. It was in the shed and there are black snakes around back and nobody has been out there for more than a month. I thought "Lord knows what's gonna be in it when I pull it out" ... nothing.

Managed to get it into the Uranus (what my friend Jim calls my Saturn) with the back seats folded forward, stole an old bungie to secure it and I was off.

Driving back my trunk lid kept banging on the kayak and then came a horrid buzzing in the passenger seat. Where I had dumped all the bags.

Then I realized he'd gone through our "stash" and packed my vibrator too. I had mixed feelings about that. Well, it was fairly expensive and it has been a very long time. If you want to talk GOOD sex, you're talking years.

Now I'm only happy when I'm watching girly movies with my bitches or eating chocolate or out at Bunche Beach kayaking like I did for a few hours yesterday.

Or just riding my bike out there for a sunset like I did last night. Apparently I am 12 again.

There are much worse things than being alone. The worst is being in an abusive relationship. There is no greater loneliness.

Bigots, bare feet and dealbreakers.

I met Shelly about 8 months ago. Her husband died a year ago. He was very sick for a very long time and I think the sex died YEARS before he did. She was chompin' at the bit.

She is tall, blonde, sweet and near perfect; she proceeded to lose another 15 lbs. making her maybe 2% of her age group who are that thin and that beautiful.

Still reeling from the shock of turning 60 a few weeks back, she has been dating anyone who will ask.

We were out on a friend's boat - I call him "Good Randy", as opposed to "Bad Randy" - my ex. It was me, Shelly, another girlfriend and a retired cop. At one point he was telling your classic cop stories and bragged about "running all the niggers out of my town - even the big sports stars."

I gasped.

Good Randy turned from the helm and laughed it off. "He's not bigoted at all."

How would Cop react to my plans to vote for Obama? My inner Buddhist said to keep my yap shut.

Shelly's been out with him a few times. Her biggest concern that afternoon was whether his hair was real. Good Randy told her it was a weave. We weren't sure.

Over the past coupla weeks, Shelly continued to date him. And about four others.

Last night, after week two of brain-crushing radio & tv script deadlines, I found it impossible to stay home. I could have had a date but I can't take the pressure. I don't think I'm over my alcoholic yet. The wounds haven't healed. But I won't stay home alone if I'm lonely!

I decided to break my own rule and head out to the Fort Myers Beach bars with Shelly and our peeps.

We met up with our core group ... Good Randy, Bigot Cop, the girlfriend who's married to a gay guy, etc. Met the gay husband for the first time; gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek and he recoiled.

There was another stiff looking couple present ... the man looked detached and had beautiful eyes. I assumed he was the real partner of my friend's husband. The one I had heard about. He could not stand the place or the people. HIS wife was well-dressed and completely miserable.

The men were obvious in their cautious attempts to maintain a discreet distance from each other.

Gay or not, having two sets of mismatched spousal units made everyone uncomfortable and incredibly dull. Yeah, I know - you'd expect exactly the opposite.

Shelly and I wandered off to the other beach bars. She knows them all.

By the third waterfront bar, Shelly gave me an opportunity to express my opinions about indiscriminate dating. She thought it was odd that I won't date unless there is a huge mental connection - or a lot of whining and guilt. (Them, not me.) I would just rather stay home with my dogs.

We agreed that neither of us respect anyone who would fall in love with us quickly. It was so Rodney Dangerfield ... wouldn't want to join any club that would have us as a member. That was our breakthrough moment that transformed us from acquaintances to friends. We shared a deep, dark secret and a big laugh.

Then we started talking about her guys. I asked if she knew the retired cop was a bigot. She hadn't overheard that particular conversation on the boat. I told her about it and she was appalled.

I suggested she analyze those she's dating - her eyes lit up and she asked "make a list?" And I said "yeah, an Excel spreadsheet if you like! These are the core qualities ...

They should be in good health.
They should CARE about their health. (Good Randy has recovered from lung cancer and continues to smoke.)
They should not be whores.
They should make at least as much as us.
They should OWN at least as much as us.
And most important, they should be someone we could see spending the rest of our lives with. Why waste our time???"

She liked it. Besides which, it caused the instant removal of several from her list, lessening her confusion.

The bar was The Cottage. I loved it. You could see the waves coming in, little shimmering threads of white against the darkness. Guitar music and a happy laid back crowd.

I went to the john and brushed my hair. On the way back I was hit on by a very tall good-looking lunatic wearing a shark's tooth wrapped in leather. It was as big as my head.

He reminded me of Dog the Bounty Hunter and had a nickname ... can't remember for sure. Dave something. All long-time locals have nicknames.

His wasn't quite on a par with "Fuckin' George" - who actually has that printed on his business card.

Dave tried to buy me a drink. I said Diet Coke, he said the bartender would throw him out if he asked for that. I said "come sit with me and my girlfriend" and pointed in the general direction of our table. He said he'd be there in a minute.

I enjoy characters. Shelly does too. As fate would have it, he was too drunk to find us. He was tall enough that I could see him looking, but I wasn't intrigued enough to stand up and wave him in.

Shelly and I walked back to our core group at our core bar. Everyone moved around so we could position ourselves (??)

Good Randy has a habit of trying to pimp us out.

Shelly and I sat next to each other and the cop sat across from us.

Good Randy made a joke about my boobs; that far into the beverages, boob jokes happen. I had grabbed his ass earlier when he said something about giving me his seat, so all is fair.

There were maybe eight other acquaintances at the table when the Cop made a sideways remark that I felt was disrespectful of Shelly. I turned to her and whispered "it's bad enough he's a bigot - did you get a load of the socks?"

She sat up lightly to look and plunked back down. "MY GOD!"

His weave was only noticeable if you looked from behind, the "Bigot" thing was bad, but mid-calf white socks - in Shelly's discerning criteria - were the death blow.

She said "HE IS OFF THE LIST!!"

It made me think of a great date I had last weekend. We went to Sanibel, had brilliant conversation, glorious weather and no shortage of shells. (I customized a mirror frame with them - it turned out great.)

I didn't care that he was a few inches shorter than his profile stated. Didn't care that I was a little taller. My waist is far smaller than his. Good 'nuff. I can still feel sort of girly.

The afternoon held no need for me to remove my shorts and reveal my fluffy white ass. I felt our imperfections were fairly equal.

Until I looked down at our bare feet as we sat on our towels chatting.

Mine are bigger than his. Stompers. Gunboats.

Idiocy knows no age restrictions. I will see him again because I enjoy his conversation, but we can never be anything meaningful because of my own insecurities.

Uma Thurman wears a size 10. I wonder how she deals with guys with smaller feet ...

From plastic soup to recycling plastics... and people.

If this photo doesn't break your heart, you don't have one.

I watched PBS last night for two hours - I would have been better off watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was two hours of why lions and elephants are disappearing and why birds in remote areas are dying. Why there is "plastic soup" in areas of our oceans that should be pristine.

I couldn’t track down the PBS program, but I did find part of the information they used:

http://patagonia-under-siege.blogspot.com/2008/01/plastic-killing-fields-pacific-ocean.html

I found the photo on that blog.

Search “plastic soup.” Spread the word!!!

I vow to be even more attentive to purchasing only recyclables and recycling everything I can. I will drink from glasses, not plastic bottles. I will get my groceries in paper bags and recycle those. I am already riding my bike for short errands.

None of it seems like it’s nearly enough.

Carl – the vulture we rescued last week – didn’t make it. The doctor at Crow Wildlife Rescue on Sanibel explained that the infection from the broken wing was too great. That he’d had a few good meals, pain management and loving care. She thanked us and said there weren’t many who’d go to all that trouble for a vulture.

He was a soul. He was suffering. We did what was right. We’re sad.

Speaking of sad. Got weak before Christmas and - after many months apart - I walked back into the big strong arms of my favorite emotionally abusive alcoholic. Of course it didn’t last. Of course I'm back at square one.

I left him during a blackout last month and still feel a little guilty. Well, hell - it'll give him something to obsess. A reason to drink.

I suspect bipolar as well, since I can almost see a cloud passing over him, transforming him from fun and charming to moody with rage.

This time I refuse to hole up and mourn. That’s so stupid. So much of the pain is more loneliness than loss.

Went out with a shrink earlier this month. Brilliant guy – warm – a little too intense. Gave me a bit of a tic, but it’s so hard to find people who are capable of intelligent conversation. I just held my finger on it. (The tic.)

We met at Starbucks twice. He came on fast, intense … I listened to my vibes this time, kept a distance and even backed off at one point - cancelling a date. I said I had vibes that there was someone else in the picture.

He believes in vibes and intuition. That's a rare quality, one of the things I liked about him.

He called me a week later, in the morning, as if he had something urgent to tell me. My vibes were right … he met someone else … wanted me to know, made a big point of it. He sounded surprised (disappointed?) when I told him I was very happy for him and wished him the best.

This was sincere, I really didn’t care. I wasn't staring at my cell phone, I was having fun with friends last weekend.

He seemed like a lot of work.

OK. How big is the ego of someone who expects an acquaintance to be crushed after a coupla coffees? He didn’t even need to call, it was sort of annoying.

Maybe I’m destined to be alone for the rest of this lifetime.

Maybe that’ll be just fine.

My biggest fear is I'll die alone in the condo and no one will know to take care of my dogs.