Blind dates - time to let this skeleton out

" People go to casinos for the same reason they go on blind dates - hoping to hit the jackpot.  But mostly, you just wind up broke or alone in a bar" Sarah Jessica Parker

OK, today might be the day to do it.  You know, get one of those skeletons out of the ol' closet.  Discussion forums can be dangerous.  They hook you in with seemingly harmless questions and before you know it, you're spilling your guts out.

Yeah, I know I'm rambling and you're finding it hard to keep up.  So here's the nuts and bolts of it.  I was responding to a question about blind dates in a blogcatalog discussion thread and I was reminded of that single blind date I had.

   

Actually, I tell a lie.  I've had 3 blind dates now that I think of it!  Omg, how could I have forgotten!  Probably because they were all so long ago and nothing that I was particularly proud of.

They were nothing to be ashamed of either but I'd be lying if I told you I don't feel a tinge of... mmm...embarrassment thinking about them.  I mean, it's not something that I would want to broadcast, you know?

So why do I feel embarrassed?  Do I have to answer that question?  Yeah, well I might as well.

I guess it's mostly because I feel a bit of a 'failure' for having resorted to blind dates in the hope of finding the perfect man for me.  It's silly, I know.

It wasn't as if I wasn't meeting men and therefore needed some 'help'.  My workplace was teeming with them but they weren't guys I was attracted to.

I think the idea of a 'blind date' was enticing at the time. Looking back, I think it helped my imagination go on a bit of a joy ride, giving me some of the excitement that was clearly missing in my life at the time.  Work took up most of my energy and kids the rest. 

In fact, it got to a point that I was beginning to feel depressed.  (Gosh, it's all slowly coming back to me now. Damn skeletons).

I'd been to see  a counselor a few years before at the time my marriage was breaking up.  I found him useful and someone whose opinion I respected.  So, years later, when I could see myself starting to spiral down that vortex of depression, I gave him a call.

     

We talked and the gist of his advice was this: There's no reason why you should hold out on having a good time until you meet the 'perfect' guy.  Just relax, have fun and let whatever happens happen.

So I did.  And it released the pressure that was building up and dragging me down.  I was fortunate to have met some really nice men.  Yeah, nice, but my heart didn't flip and I didn't get excited about soaring into the galaxy with them.

I think at least one of them had rather hoped I would but I didn't and I wasn't going to pretend that I thought it might happen someday either.  So, eventually, it all stopped.  The pressure had been released and I had regained my confidence.  Funny that confidence thing - I hadn't even realized I'd lost it!

      

Anyways, that was all a long time ago.  There's a part of me that knows it was all good, all valuable, all necessary. That initial embarrassment I felt at the start of this post has gone.  I was a brave woman for having done it, for taking myself well out of my comfort zone.  And it's helped me realize that we're here to enjoy life and there's so many ways of doing that.

Depending on where you are, emotionally, mentally and physically, you're drawn to different things.  As long as you're not out to hurt anyone, including yourself, you'll find the field green and wide and the playground always open.

It's all part of your journey and every part is just as important and just as meaningful.  Really.  It takes a while to realize that, but eventually you do.  Nothing's wasted, you know.

Now, who am I saying this to?  You or me?  Perhaps both.

Just me, TBT

"To me every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle" Walt Whitman

Einstein was wrong - stupidity is not infinite. I've got it right here in me head!

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe. Albert Einstein

You know how they've asked kids questions like "Where does milk come from?" and to the simultaneous horror and amusement of grown-ups, they say "From the fridge"?

Well, guess what? I was as clueless but a few moments ago.

In all fairness to the kids (yes, it's only since my recent experience that the thought of being fair to kids on this matter occurred to me), milk does come out of the fridge. Certainly it does in their homes and in most homes.

I mean, is the kid supposed to know that it's being asked about the origins of milk? I don't think so. So, quite frankly, now that I think about it, it's a perfectly good answer. No, I'll correct that. It's a perfectly correct answer.

You can tell that my new-found understanding of kids' apparent ignorance is ultimately a backdrop for my own defense in relation to my most recent stupidity.

Oh, let me explain.

I happen to love baked beans, you know the stuff that generally goes with sausages and eggs, although I generally skip the sausages? And yes, the stuff that comes out of a can like this one:

So, you'll understand, won't you, my initial surprise at seeing this

instead when I did a search in Google images for 'baked beans'

Like, oops, there's an actual cooking process involved! 

Well, eh..mm...I knew that.  Of course I knew that.  I did know that, didn't I?  Surely, I did?  I mean,. how could I have not?  Did I really think that baked beans originated in a can?  (Excuse me while I just un-blush myself).

OK, I'm back.  No, not recovered.  Can you possibly recover from something as dumb as that?

Anyways, here's what got the whole thing started.  

I had a thought bubble featuring baked beans, seeing as I like it so much and I simply wanted to write a post about baked beans.  And I thought a nice picture of the old-fashioned cans (which I haven't personally seen) would be rather nice to go in the post.  The rest you know.

Anyways, I did eventually find a nice old picture, much nicer than the one I'd imagined and although it's got pork with the beans, it's just a really nice picture, thanks to photobucket.

Now, doesn't that just warm yer cockles?  Almost makes me forget my immeasurable stupidity. Sheeze!

BTW, you knew where baked beans come from, didn't you?

Blog posts and comments - Why bother?

Being new to this blogging thing and all, I've been in for a few surprises, one of which I'm going to mention here.

I've been visiting other blogs and when I've felt inclined to leave a comment, I've left one.  My comments are almost never one-liners, unless a post was so stupendously brilliant, I was left speechless, or wordless, I should say, and so far, that hasn't happened.  I'm not ruling out the possibility.  In fact, I eagerly await the post that shall floor me thus.  It would be a riveting experience, I'm sure of it.

But, to come back to where I was going, I've been leaving comments, all of them thoughtful and polite.  It's a shame I didn't keep a copy of my comments or I'd include them here.  I will in the future (keep a copy, I mean).

Anyway, of the 5 comments that I left, here's what happened (checking back 2-3 days later):

Comment 1 - No response

Commnet 2 - The owner of the blog changed my name from Thought Bubble to Peter, saying he doesn't like people using keyphrases in their name (why not,  not that using a key phrase was my intention to start with?) but because he liked my comment, he was allowing it to appear (now, wasn't that kind of him).

He did invite me to provide another name though but I really can't be bothered. I mean, I certainly wouldn't go around changing someone's name and then gratuitously suggest they submit another name for my approval if they didn't like the one I'd given them.

Besides, if he'd cared to visit my blog, he'd have gathered I'm of the other gender. 

Comment 3 - No response

Comment 4 - I got an email notification of another comment following mine (yes, by this time I'd discovered I could get email notifications of follow-up comments) but when I went to check back on all the comments, mine had mysteriously disappeared. (A glitch or a deliberate deletion, I wonder?)

Comment 5 - 'Thanks Thought Bubble.  Welcome aboard' (That's it?  I gave you something to think about and respond to in my comment.  Weren't you interested in engaging in a discussion or did you think that your post had said everything that could be said on the topic? )

You know, I thought the purpose of comments was to engage in a discussion which the post had set up.  I mean, I really think that a post is a stimulus, a trigger, a STARTING POINT, a doorway, a window, a platform for the altogether more fulfilling and educative business of DISCUSSION.

I don't see a post as the completion of it's author's thinking on any subject but as the beginning of her/his thinking, or at least, some point along the way of their thinking.  As such, it INVITES DISCUSSION not just PASSIVE AGREEMENT or INANE PRAISE.

Perhaps I'm visiting the wrong blogs.  (If you happen to be reading this, please point me to blogs that you think might be of interest to me or simply tell me what blogs you love visiting).

Don't get me wrong.  Praise a post or a blogger if you wish.  But please do more.  Please think and add your thoughts, no matter how weak or incomplete they may be. I'm sure any decent blogger and any decent commenter would appreciate the fact that you've taken the time and made the effort to engage in a discussion.  I know I would!

OK, I realize that not everybody will want to leave a comment (they're called 'lurkers', I've read somewhere) and many are only able to write one liners - perhaps a self-imposed limitation as they go on their frenzied blog hopping (in which case, I wonder, why bother?) .  But that is better than nothing, I suppose. 

Besides, I'm done with my rant now. I'm smiling again.  See:

Image from zazzle.com

An email to S

Oh S

This is soooooooo exciting... http://www.foet.org/

Generating and distributing our own energy...there's

a video of him talking when the site downloads.

I was talking to GJ the other day about how it would

be so cool if somehow, everything that each of us did,

like breathing, eating, thinking, walking, sitting etc

(things that we do naturally and effortlessly) could be

converted to some form of currency that could be

distributed to others and which would 'pay'/be exchanged

for all our needs, creative and otherwise.

Actually, as I write this, I realize that being creative

IS how we survive!  Creativity is not an option only

available to a select, so-called 'talented' few.  It is, in

fact, who and what we truly are!

We must stop thinking that creativity is some special

thing that most of us don't have.  Rather, we must

learn to see that our life, our survival, depends on our

creativity.

We must also stop seeing creativity as the ability to

produce things of a quantum leap order.  Instead, we

must understand that every act we perform is creative

because it is unique to us, regardless of how many

others have also performed a similar act.

We must return creativity to its orignal meaning from

which it has been hijacked!

Anyway, although Rifkin is not necessarily talking about

my idea of 'natural currency', he is talking about some-

thing that is shaping the way we move forward.  He's

also written a book, The End of Work, which you can

find at his website.

Trust you are enjoying the peace and gentleness of

this soft Sunday, TB

May the rain wet my brain and wash away my modesty

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head. 

Rain by Shel Silverstein

 

How much do I love the rain?  Lots.  Lots and lots.  Especially when it falls on the hundreds and thousands of leaves on the huge fig trees and the sound of its drops ricochets off them.  Ah, what a glorious sound that is. 

And especially when it pours out of dark clouds hovering above this spot of the planet that I happen to be occupying, wrapping me in a cozy solitude. 


Well, I took my clothes off and danced to the rhythm of its gentle crackle.  Oooh...wasn't that daring of me!  But what a deliciously beautiful and nurturing thing to do.  I'm sure the rain approved. 

I happened to watch a documentary some time ago about why we humans wear clothes and when we first started wearing clothes.  Apparently it's got to do with the steady loss or lessening of body hair which began happening some billions of years ago. 

But, it wasn't just to do with the loss of hair.  It was also to do with maximizing mating opportunities.  You wanted to be able to attract a mate and how else to do it without standing out from a tribe of similarly looking dour faced homo saps?  (Ever noticed how you never see a smiling homo erectus?)

So emerged this insanity we now call fashion or, if you want to be posh, couture, and its glorified pimp, haute couture. 

Yep, first we were preoccupied with survival against the harsh elements.  Then we wanted to make sure we found a suitable mate who would help protect us and provide reinforcement i.e. children.  And then we needed to distinguish ourselves from other groups that had similarly organized themselves, the Jones, for example. 

We used clothing to help us along the way without realizing that we were empowering it to such a degree that it began to rule us.  All hail the demigod Fashion! 

Along the way, we got ourselves into such a pickle. What to cover?  How much to cover?  How to cover without really covering?  How to show without telling?  How to tell without showing?  And all this of course got wound up into the disquieting art of seduction. 

     

That's when religion stepped in and decided, well, if there's going to be slaves, we'd better get ourselves a decent share.  Thus was birthed the modern idea of modesty. Perhaps the rain might wash it away??

The life I never lived

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count but the life in your years"  Abraham Lincoln

 I never got on a jet ski even though I'd been hanging out for it for years. Well, not consistently. It wasn't an everyday thought. More like a, 'Oh yeah, I've wanted to do that' whenever I saw a jet skier grate the water.

I never skinny dipped in the moonlight although I'd thought about it often enough.

I never got to an Eric Clapton concert or played at the Montreux Jazz fes even though I rather fancied myself doing both.

I never got round to telling my ex what a mean-spirited, hypocritical piece of junk he is and I'm glad I didn't. He isn't and I sleep peacefully at night.

I never got over my fear of snakes and I'm insanely unsure that I ever want to.

I never made an obscene amount of money. All of mine was PG approved.

I never got paid for sex or sexy poses.

I never told a white lie. All my lies were rich with color - blue for telling about things I had when I didn't, green for pretending I was enjoying something when I was hating every moment of it, red for saying a person was right when I knew they were so hopelessly wrong, yellow for pretending an idea was mine when it wasn't, purple for making out I was someone I wasn't, orange for stretching an already bloated lie and black for pretending that none of it mattered.

I never made a move on a guy.

I never learned Latin and French and German and Sanskrit.

I never got on television, oh, except when I was filmed as part of an audience in some modern cultish social justice event.

I never learned Kung Fu or the samba or even tried zumba though they all tickle my imagination.

I never went on a world cruise, checked out the glaciers in Iceland or secreted myself in a Himalayan ashram.

I never did what Sharon Stone did at the restaurant in the movie Sliver.

I never strolled along the Champs-Elysees in the arms of the man I was unashamedly and unreservedly in love with. Nor have I found him yet.

I never came up with anything quite as exciting as the Bose-Einstein's condensate or Pranav Mistry's sixth sense technology, or as moving as Carlos Santana's Europa or as riveting as Klimt's Kiss or as tricky as Jenga or as satisfying as raspberry jelly. It would've been awesome if I had.




I was afraid I might get quite despondent when I first started this post.  Instead, I find myself rather excited about the prospect of fresh dreams :)

 "A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams" John Barrymore