How to Stay Single Without Really Trying

The best ways to meet women:

When I was in my twenties, I met all my girlfriends in bars. We were all there. It was our social network. Many of the girls I dated back then, have grown into wildly successful women. I did know how to pick 'em, just didn't have a clue how to hold on to them.

Once you're in your thirties, the women you meet in bars, have a much lower chance of attaining wild success. And by the time you are in your forties, the wild success ship has pretty much sailed. Of course there is the occasional fluke, the I only go out with my friends once every two years, and this is the night, kind of fluke, but lets be realistic. The over forty hanging out the bar crowd is probably not the "A" group.

There are friends of friends, but you have to be careful with that, because if things turn sour, you could be giving up your friends who were slightly more entrenched with her than you, and inviting you both to gatherings, would just be awkward.

There's the Internet. There are tons of "lesbian" dating sites now. I have yet to have one of these adventures turn out well. First there's the email stage. I usually don't make it past this stage because my sense of humor doesn't play well in an email to someone who's never met me. They don't know how to take me, and get all weirded out. I actually had one woman claim I frightened her. Yes, frightened, through email, wow, that's how smooth an operator I can be.
My way of resolving this was trying to meet someone as quickly as possible after the initial interest was shown.

"Hi, Yes I do have my own business, and my boss is an asshole. I think it's great that you love long walks on the beach, and starry nights, and fireplaces. Who the hell doesn't? We should meet!"

I was able to do this with limited success, and upon meeting the women, found I was not impressed, and never feel the need to give false hope, so I kept the meetings short and sweet. "Nice to meet you...bye."

I met one woman who was attractive, which I liked. She had a five year old boy, which I liked. She was nice, and we seemed to hit it off. She was a bit weird, but I chalked it up to nerves. We saw each other a few times, and the weirdness never went away, the odor of desperation crept in, and it occurred to me that she was not the sharpest tool in the shed, also she didn't get my humor, even after meeting me. Not good! After I told her I didn't think it was going to work, I saw a new psycho-scary-head-revolving side of her, that I kind of liked, but still, I thought I'd made the right decision.

There are activities one enjoys, mine is golf. I golf in a women's league. There are 160 women in the league, about a third are gay, and a small percentage of those are single. I haven't made any headway there at all. Of all the women, I really only interact within the same 16 each week, and one of them is me!

There's my job. I meet women, usually women who own a home together, not singles loaded with money who own their home and want the kitchen remodeled, and think I'm all that!

The grocery store hasn't really been paying off, and neither has the driving range, or the ATM machine. I can't really meet anyone at the gas station, because I'm usually weeping while I pump, and those are about all the places I go.

I think over 40 speed dating would be fabulous. I could have 15 or 20 first dates in one night. I can tell within 5 or 2 minutes, or whatever the time frame is that you talk to each participant, if that is someone I'd like to know more about or not.

I'd only have to get dressed up in "first date wear" once, for all those first dates! That's huge!

I haven't heard about this kind of thing taking place around here, although I'm sure I can't imagine why not. I may have to actually be the one to organize it, just so I can do it, that seems like a lot of work, so I'll probably just bitch about it on my blog!

Winnie! The Poo...

Last night after dinner I let the dogs out as usual and when Winston affectionately known as Winnie, came back in, the smell of dog-doo filled the kitchen. Oh my god, he must've stepped in it or something, and he was trotting off toward the rug as quickly as his soiled little feet would carry him. Of course by little, I mean large!

"Winston! Come here!" I called out in a panic. I ducked into the bathroom and grabbed one of the "dog towels" and spread it out on the floor. He walked all around it, careful not to step on it trying to get to me. Finally I was able to grab him and navigate him ONTO the towel. I wiped each of his feet on it, and nothing came off, but the odor was stronger than ever.

Fearfully I looked in the direction of his butt, and lo and behold there it was, lots of it, soft and hanging is his long hair and on his tail. I pulled the towel off the floor and attempted to reach toward the offending end of the dog. Winnie doesn't like anyone including other dogs to go near that area. He has a strange social phobia for a dog. I tried again, he ran away from me.

I gave chase through the living room swiping at him when was within range. He ran around in circles to avoid contact, and little pieces were dislodging and flying all around the room and onto the rugs. I was expending a lot of energy and went through quite a selection of towels. I never worked so frickin hard to do something that so deeply repulsed me in my whole life.

Finally, he laid down and let me finish trying to clean him up. I was down to wash cloths by that time. Then I had to run around with a scrub brush and soapy water looking for all the little spatters throughout the kitchen and living room. Ah, the joys of pet ownership. Tomorrow, Winston is getting his summer hair cut!

Virtually Me

When I joined facebook...I was a little afraid it might eat my life. I set up my profile and kind of left it for a while. I collected a few friends and went in there every so often to accept things, and add new applications, it was all pretty manageable. I even started a "green patch" to help save the rain forest. That is a worthwhile use of my time while I drink my coffee in the morning.

Recently, someone, I won't mention any names here, sent me an invitation to YoVille. A virtual town where you create your virtual you, and wander around interacting with others, trying to make some money so you can fix up your apartment.

Okay, this seems kind of fun. I have an apartment, very plain and boring with a living room, bedroom and kitchen. No one pees in YoVille. There's a coffee shop, and when you buy coffee you move faster. There's a diner, where you get your energy, a clothing store so you can look hip. They have a furniture store for all the stuff you need to make your place cool, and a flower shop. The night club where you can go buy a drink and things get blurry and your character is harder to control, and a widget factory where you work. You can only report to work and get paid every six hours (real time). It takes a long time to get enough coin to buy what you want, but you can also earn money by playing tic-tac-toe, or rock paper scissors with the other cartoon people.

When I went to make my virtual me, I had issues with the choices they offered for a female virtual person. My AOL weemee is a girl, and it looks pretty much like me...


Note the short hair, the well hidden breasts, but they are there, and of course the ever-present coffee cup letting people know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is me! I even change clothes to suit the time of year.

In YoVille, none of the girl's hair choices looked anything like my hair! None of the clothing options were clothing I'd wear, and even the super curvy body shape (the same for all the girls) did not resemble my body at all. I decided to use the male character, so it would at least be close to what I really look like. I named my character "tom-boi". Boi is the gay way to say, boyish girl. Not in the bull-dyke, I want to be a guy, kind of way, but in the, I'm a girl who does stuff boys do, kind of way. Anyway...this is what I ended up with.
So, I'm confusing some people in the game. Some of the young girls come throwing themselves at me, so I tell them I'm a gay woman, and they scatter like roaches. It's actually funny to watch. I went to the nightclub, and said, "Hi, I'm a lesbian. Did anyone notice a gay bar in town, because I can't find it?" Little virtual people actually ran away from me! Some left the bar completely. I had this large empty radius around me, so I made my character dance.

Despite the cold reception I've gotten in YoVille, I am addicted to the game. Why? Because it's about fixing up your place. That's right down my alley. Here's what I mean. When you start, your bedroom looks like this:


Now, my bedroom looks like this:




So, Obviously I have been working hard at playing my virtual life. Of course, sacrifices must be made, so my real life is in a hopeless downward spiral. The virtual me is just as obsessive-compulsive as the actual me. Why would I do that? Tic-tac-toe anyone?

Offended By the Easily Offended!

Political Correctness; I am for it, and against it!

When it comes to stereotypes and broad generalizations, I think we all know that that's wrong, but we also know that most stereotypes are based in fact. It may not be true of all of the people in that classification, but it's true of a lot of them, or was at one time.

When it comes to advertising slogans, spokes models, or signage, all kinds of groups protest all kinds of things. The same is true about characters in the media. Casting the stereotypical gay guy, or construction worker, or Beemer driving ass-wad, pisses people off. I get it. I even understand it, and would like it to change. But when it comes to humor, let it go a little, I mean come on. The funniest stuff is based in fact, and the fact is, the stereotypes are at least partly true...admit it!

Not all men are only interested in sex. Not all fathers try to get you to pull their finger. Not all mother-in-laws are horrible control-freaky-bitches. Not all hillbilly's have had sex with a family member. Not all gay guys secretly want to be Barbara Streisand or Cher. Not all CPAs are socially inept nerds. Not all rednecks are homophobes.

I can't tell you how many times I've almost been run off the road by a vehicle, and before I could get a visual of the driver, I would say to myself, "Please don't be Asian, please don't be Asian", and when I finally see the driver...Asian! Do Lesbians really wear a lot of flannel shirts? Maybe not as much now, but there was a time, and most lesbians I know still have a flannel or two in their closet...

I was at a party a couple years ago with a bunch of lesbians, and had recently relocated from California to the very lesbianish uptighty community of Northampton. I was telling a story which required me to describe a t-shirt. The ribbed tank top kind, which my friends and I always called a "wife-beater". When this expression came out of my mouth it was like that scene at a party where the needle scratches across the record and everything stops, and people stare at you in disbelief and horror. I was immediately scolded for my use of that term, and I scrambled to correct myself, and finish the story which suddenly seemed stupid and pointless.

I do issue a warning at the top of blog stating this blog is not for the easily offended, and is for the socially retarded, and this is why. I have a rule, it is a universal rule for humor, or it should be. The rule is: If it's twice as funny as it is mean...it's okay to say!

The accuracy of this chart is heavily dependant upon your "sense" of humor. My blog fits neatly into the blue when I write it. I follow the rule. If you are heartinsanfrancisco who's sense of humor is my sense of humor's identical twin, you know that this is true. If you are someone who does not share my humor perspective, some of this may dip into the yellow for you. I'm still okay because I did issue that warning I mentioned earlier. If you think that I am in that grey area, well...we aren't a good fit dear reader. Perhaps you should seek you humor elsewhere. Don't leave mad, just leave!

Lesbian to English Dictionary

Lesbians have a culture and a language all their own. As a lesbian, you don't realize this until you are trapped in a room full of straight people and try to engage in conversation with them. Not small talk, but a real conversation.

In season 4 of The L-Word this was demonstrated by a game of celebrity played by a room filled half with lesbians and half with straight men and women. Celebrity is a game where everyone writes down the names of celebrities on separate pieces of paper, they are all thrown into a hat. Two teams are formed, one person on the team draws a name and has one minute to give clues that would lead the team to guessing the name.

The two different cultures didn't even know many of the other's "celebrities". Yes, they are all famous, but more famous within different groups.

I have always found that being around my lesbians is so much more enjoyable to me because they "get" me. They understand my references, and my humor and they can accurately assess what I'm saying.

Here's what I mean:

"Face" Your Fears

When I was a wee lesbian of four, my older wiser five year old friend, Satan, dared me to pet a neighborhood stray dog that was busily eating a bone. It was a black retriever mix, and we had always had dogs and I had no reason to fear this one. I reached my hand out toward the dog, and faster than you could say "years of therapy" that dog was attached to my face, by it's teeth. To my bottom lip to be exact, and it did not want to let go. I thought to myself, what should a four-year-old do in the situation? So I let out a blood-curdling scream. Kimmy, the evil five year-old ran towards my house, yelling for my mom. We were in the neighbors yard raiding his rhubarb prior to the dare.

My mom came running out in her robe with her hair up in curlers, swinging a broom, and bellowing some kind of sadistic war cry as she pummeled the animal into releasing me and getting the hell out of Dodge. I could not have been more embarrassed, but since I was in dyer need of saving, I decided not to make a big deal out of it at the time. She ran to the Kimmy's house with me in her arms. I had hopes of revenge in my tear filled eyes, but instead a wet wash cloth was jammed into my mouth, and Kimmy's Dad was frantically driving us somewhere while my mother said things like, "What happened? No, don't talk!" We got turned away from a couple places before finding a doctor willing to stitch me up. Even then, doctors were afraid of law suits and facial stitchery was a dangerous area for them.

I told you that so I could tell you this. I love animals, I've always had dogs and would risk my life to save one, even one I don't know, but if a dog is acting aggressively towards me, I get scared.

When I was in high school I had a friend named Sally. Sally was cool, she played the guitar, she was gay, in fact you could say she was the Melissa Etheridge of our neighborhood. She had a dog. A large German Shepard named Bear. Bear was always on a chain in the side yard. Every time a group of us would walk past Bear, everyone would greet him, "Hi Bear." they'd all say walking by while he sat and watched the line of girls pass, but when it was my turn, the phrase wouldn't even be halfway out of my mouth, and he'd spring at me, held back by the chain, straining and growling and barking at me. I did not know what I'd done to offend him, but thanked the heavens for that chain.

One day I went to see Sally. I arrived, and went to the front door to knock. I was standing there after knocking and peeked around the corner to get a visual of Bear. He was not there, but he had to be...I knocked again, no answer I turned to go down the stairs and who came trotting around the corner to greet me? You guessed it. Bear, unfettered and larger than life. The second I saw him, I felt the rush of adrenaline course through me. I must've been beet red. I said to myself, this is it, I'm going to die now. I decided since I was surely about to be eaten alive, I'd let him start with my hand, so I held it out... as an appetizer. Bear sniffed it rather than digging right in, and then licked it. Slowly, I sat down on the step and began to pet him. We became friends, he never growled and barked at me again, what the hell was that about anyway?