Am…musings

Because my neighbor Marsha and our friend Kelly did a supreme job of making me feel guilty …. because I’m an optimist … and mostly because I believe God plays jokes on us occasionally, I met Match-Herb for drinks tonight.

I was hoping for an ogre. He isn’t. He’s also a very, very nice guy. And nice absolutely makes a difference in my book.

Of course, I did have a good giggle on the phone with Marsha on the way to Harpos where Herb and I met. Also, hysterical laughing ensued during my drive home as I thought about H-E-R-B. And … I grinned all the way to the bathroom after the cute guy at the table next to us asked me (while Match-Herb was in the bathroom) if we were on a first date and for some reason I felt the need to share my name dilemma. (And here I’ll interject with another Damn It … where the heck are the cute boys asking me questions when I’m not on a date??? And couldn’t Match-Herb have taken a little longer to get back from the bathroom so the cute boy and I could have talked longer? Seriously?!?)

Despite the laughter (and the cute boy), I kind of like you-know-who. But, obviously, I’m still a little hung up on the name. Now what?

*Keith (and Jadea who noticed Keith’s funny comment), the rogue “n” the title is just for you!

Sure … there are the obvious reasons why I’d like a man in my life … opening jars, reaching things on high shelves, cleaning gutters*, among other things I won’t mention here because one of my co-workers cringed when I just mentioned kissing in the Match-Herb post.

Sopping up my basement last weekend in the wake of Ike’s remnants – and in the process, assembling a wet/dry vac all by myself – got me thinking along these lines. It also reminded me of the thing that makes me feel most alone in my aloneness … folding sheets.

In my family of three, two of us always folded sheets together. While I’m pretty independent and, as I’ve mentioned before, subscribe to the belief that it will happen when it’s meant to, not having someone here to help me fold sheets makes me … just plain lonely.

*P.S. Thanks to Dad-Herb for cleaning my gutters before the deluge.

Twice this week, I see a couple walking with their dog. The first time, my smug, slightly competitive side says, “they are walking awfully slowly.” The second time, I realize their route is an enormous circle – I imagine twice as long as my normal two-mile walk.

My competitive side kicks in again and I decide I, too, can walk this circle. Today was the day.

I feel good about a quarter mile past my normal half-way point when it dawns on me … the rest of the circle is REALLY far (no wonder that darn couple is walking so slow!). I look for a street that cuts through … my competitive side rationalizes that the meandering couple must have some sort of shortcut; they can’t walk all night, right?

I find a street and feel good about where I’m headed, but my sense of direction is definitely un-MacGyver-like. A bit later, after seeing the same street name a few times, I realize I’m completely lost in a twisty, curvy subdivision.

With my stomach growling and an old blister from my first few walks in my new shoes twinging, I’m thinking of my options. It seems pathetic to call my parents who are about 20 minutes away. I feel bad bothering my neighbors – especially when I’m not sure how to tell them to find me.

Then it occurs to me … my nifty iPhone has GPS-like capability. I pull it up, punch the “locate me” button and voila … a map to get me out of this maze.

How cool is that? (Although I have to say it’d be much cooler if it cooked breakfast and prevented my old blister and a fresh new one from howling by the time I limped home.)

Of course, even with my circles in the neighborhood, I doubt I walked as far as the slow couple … definitely not MacGyver like at all!

Match.com is a fairly anonymous place. Some people include their first or last name in their screen name, but it’s not common.

I recently received a wink from hrad—. His profile was interesting so I sent him an e-mail. Turns out … much to my dismay … the “h” stands for Herb.

Before you go accusing me of having something against the Herbs of the world, let me say … my dad’s name is Herb.

My dad is a lovely man and a great dad, but … Herb? It’s not like Bob or Mike … I don’t really know any other Herb’s and I’m not sure I’m ready to date one.

After several days of waffling I got over it enough to return Match-Herb’s e-mail. He replied with his phone number (typical for guys who don’t like to type). It took a few more days and LOTS of friendly goading from my neighbor to call him.

He seems nice and we had a fairly good conversation, but honestly, I can’t stop laughing every time I think about H-E-R-B. Sending him e-mails … dialing his number … writing this post. I start to giggle and eventually I’m hysterically laughing … the kind of laughing that make you feel a little silly if you’re doing it all by yourself.

Of course, if I could limit the laughing to when I’m alone, it might be ok, but I’m thinking the giggles may become uncontrollable if Match-Herb and I go on a date. And I’m pretty sure I AM NOT going to be able to kiss him.

Yeah, I think this one might be doomed from the start.

With gas prices sickeningly high who isn’t gobbling up all those helpful fuel-reduction tips (except that one about driving under 60 mph – something I’m simply not capable of)?  My gas-related hint isn’t really going to save you much cash, but it truly was a revelation for me yesterday. 

I was driving a rental (an incredibly posh Lincoln MKX), with my mom (aka Shar) riding shotgun because our cars were in the shop.  As we pull in to top off the gas tank, I ask Shar if she can see the car’s gas door in the mirror on her side.  Shar says nonchalantly, “Can’t you look at the fuel gauge?” 

What?  I look at the dash and there it is  … a cute little arrow next to the fuel pump symbol directing me to the driver’s side gas door.  And no, this is not some snazzy feature on the Lincoln according to Shar – there’s apparently one on most vehicle gas gauges and I’ve never seen it.

“Shut the F up,” I say to Shar … about four or five times just for good measure.

One reason I’m amazed by this is because I’ve had to get back in, restart and move plenty of rentals or borrowed vehicles to be on the right side for the pump.  It’s always annoyed me.  Also, I will mark my 21^st anniversary of driving in about a week (as a side note, my dad had to teach me because Shar and I almost threw down on a few occasions over her passenger-seat driving).  I’d think she – or someone else – might have shared that helpful hint with me in all of those years.

So … I’m curious to know if I’m the only one who didn’t know.