Above the Asterisks: Updates, maybe journal of sort.
Bri and I went to the Outer Banks of NC for a week for a 40th reunion thing. While Hurricane was churning off shore. It was choppy, windy, and my face got sandblasted every time I emerged from Leviathan's generous lee. It was kinda like sleeping in a big steel hammock. She rocked. I got sand in my teeth every trip to the privy. I did the step thing some. Basic camping. We had a good time, I think. I'm 56 pages into Lancelot Hogben's "The Mother Tongue".
I'm used to camping out of the van. She has a food box, bed, and I took along all books to amuse me. I made it a peaceful journey. Could've enjoyed it more without the sand in teeth effect.
If you like me write me otherwise I won't see you. and if you can tolerate my speech, please do write me.
Subject change: guns.
I don't have a firearm because I know myself, and can get busted easily by wielding a dusting brush. No shit. It was a misdemeanor, marked down from felony. If I can commit a felony with a dusting brush, imagine what havoc I could wreak with firearms. Nothing was done about the kid who made me think I was having a heart attack while harvesting purslane seed. Except maybe by the little assholes' father. Who probably gave him legal advice. He seemed familiar with the system.
So I leave it up to others to kill each other; if Nadir whatever bothers me again, I might attempt strangulation. I have strong hands. Wish they were bigger and testosterone-fueled. Think of Monty Python's bunny. Then remember: I'm mostly harmless. I usually wield a sharp tongue.
I am still off the market for ought but friends and previous lovers. Life's gotten too complicated for me to feel free to start something new.
I have just had to tell too many people this!
I have been through a K+ deficiency that made me incompetent in many ways. It seems to be genetic and kick in after menopause.
Here's the beautiful part: When you are in low K+, you get progressively more nauseated, so you can't swallow pills. You also get stupid and really can't move without retching. Really. Or at least that seems to be how it affects me.
The first time it happened I wound up in the ER with a set of drips in my arm. Potassium IVs BURN. This thing is insidious. It's like a hangover that doesn't end. For all I know only my mother's mother, mother, and I have the problem. It's probably an uptake thing, I'm guessing. So, On a 1200 calorie diet, how to get in 3.5g+ of potassium? And enough protein? And, by the way, I'm diabetic? Go figgur.
Food used to be fun. Now it's all mgs and gs and %s. Is life worth living if all you do is eat things you don't want?
I have found a non-prescription solution, and am slowly returning to normal. Libido still out sick.
Oh, if you like radio "Gunsmoke" I'll like you more.
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Photo Crap: Someone recently commented that my photo looks young. I am lazy and don't update what I look like. They look at that flattering picture that's nine years old. I don't bother to update because I have little interest in what I look like. Yeah, I still look young for my age and get pimples and wrinkles together. My face doesn't look much different. Smile lines. Gravity lines. No crowfoot wrinkles so far. Update: crow's feet have set in. Crepe-y neck and double chin. No intentional tan. I've not bleached myself blonde in over a year. So I'm streaky mouse brown/grey. Or chestnut/silver. My white hairs are very white. At least it's shiny. It's thinning. and getting curly. I don't regularly do more than lipstick. I think it's an over 40 thing. After 40, insecurity causes me to wear lipstick.
The body is another matter. My fat has migrated wildly in distribution, and I don't approve. Is there an option to estrogen therapy? Would it put it back where it used to be when I had those awful menses? Good thing I don't care what I look like as much as I care who I am.
If my looking trendily hip matters to you, I'm not the one you're looking for.
I do wonder what comes up on this screen.
Also the smile is practised. I worked on various forms of it for months. My basic face is glum. What is the best way to look pretty? Develop a good smile. It involves certain hyoid and facial muscles and a particular placement of the tongue. It's the truth, and I'm sticking to it. It works on little kids, too.
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Is there a finite number of questions to ask a potential date /mate that are relevant to getting along in your own bumpy way?
I'm assuming two more-or-less grown-up, out-of the-nest sorts, who may have been through one or more marriages and children, or not.
Most of the new questions I'm seeing are really lame and unimportant. Uhh, IRRELEVANT! New question after new question. Irrelevant. Just not worth asking.. Maybe the new questions are exhausted.
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This is long. If I said I was simple it would be a lie.
Damn! I finally have a good question to submit and can't find where to do it and have to poke laundry.
Do you know how to fold a fitted sheet into a stackable square? Can you do it in under four minutes?
c) I only have one. It gets washed and goes back on.
d) I wad them up and dump them in a drawer.
I think it is a trivial but telling question.
That I have no clue what my husband does for his pay, and don't require it, seems to be a "must" around here. It's like the Mafia Wife. You smile and don't ask questions.
I've been hanging around this website since 2003 or-04, and have found 2 or 3 good relationships, a couple that went sour, and a lot that petered out before they began. That's okay, I think. I've read a lot of profiles, and learned a lot about what other people think like. I'm guessing that they, like I, are putting their best selves forward. We can all check each others' linens later if it becomes relevant.
The three words: I am ironic, iconoclastic, and literate, mostly.
Call me "negative" and I will downgrade you in my estimation of your depth of ability to look hard at the world. I just find neither Truth nor Beauty to be all sweetness and light. Not to denigrate sweetness and light. I like them right well. I just know that they are not good for painting over disgusting truths or dark, twisted beauties. How many sides does a question have? Often more than twenty, I've found for some.
The "details" section is inadequate. I am married 18 yrs. (who'd a thowt?), and intend to stay that way with this husband indefinitely. He has health insurance. This marriage's contract included a non-monogamy clause. Read that again. I married someone who is as non-possessive as I. It's NOT a "lifestyle", ThankYou. I have a history of sexual infidelity, and I refuse to lie about it anymore. I exercise that agreement with great caution and discretion. I did not at all for the first five years. Non-monogamy does Not equal Promiscuity. I was polyamorous before there was a word for it. Probably why I haven't contracted anything (except Chlamydia, maybe once, 25 yrs. ago.) ever. I am cautious when it comes to exchange of bodily fluids beyond saliva. There: You've been warned. I'm not casual when sex is part of the question. No. I've aspired never to become a disease vector.
I am always open to friends who want a walking or talking buddy. Ehh, that's how the best things begin. Longest is Mom. Friend and Boss (not for 22 yrs.) sort of combined at the same time. Hard to explain.
I wot well that I'm not meat for most men's palates. But for some I seem more than mete. Tasty, even. If you understood that pun, send me a message immediately. Definitely, even. Such are few and far between, and usually live somewhere far away; like 2 or more hours.
I am a huswif. I "cook and sew, make flowers grow" and do laundry (Stains are a specialty. I get into "things". I've gotten blood out of a turquoise shirt without damage. Wish I had done better on that Tilley. Definitely send a message if you know how to get tomato leaf stains out.).
"Self summary". Self-advertisement. This is tough for someone who's her own harshest critic. I'm supposed to say what's lovely about me?! To cause someone to want to meet me?! That's bragging and boasting, the very things that have gotten me in trouble with people since I was 3, and learned to tone down by age 10.
I have a fine sense of fun, if you're a geek. I'm not a computer geek, I'm a biogeek. 'Fun' is a word as ill-defined as "love" and "friend". Fun is identifying mushrooms, moss, lichens, wildflowers, birds, and insects, and looking up their particular habits, habitats, and life cycles. Cultivating some of them. Watching birds nest, and babies fledge. I have held a fledging cardinal in/on my hand, and thought my heart would stop with wonder. Watching turtles, frogs, and fish, and looking up theirs, though most of those are familiar.
Microbiology and genetics are fun. Blood borne pathogens are fun. I can have fun doing home repairs in the company of a friend I love, such as my husband or neighbour who knows what I'm doing. Or gardening, or building something. I triumphed over my toilet with strength and WD 40. I'm pretty good with adhesives, too. I will fly kites, though I'm out of practice.
I got to liking well the guy who helped me rebuild my (necessary) deck in the middle of nowhere when I was 28. Not in any romantic way. He was admirably inventive and competent. "Competent" is, by the way, the highest of praises. As "useless" is condemnation. "Inventive" is competence an order of magnitude better when combined. Jim Starley (may he always please his lady) slung a fiberglass roof under an open deck to channel the water away from the foundation. I got good with a hammer and familiar with creosote. In retrospect, I should've stayed there. The guy I left for was a bad one. (Note to self: Do NOT MARRY NEW ENGLANDERS!) I think I'm safe from that now, but might fuck up again if I'm eighty and forget my past.
"Like" is default for acquaintances. By the time I think of you as 'friend', Agape has made her magic. English is too short of words to distinguish between 'have warm fuzzy feelings and want to hang out with you with no sexual anything involved' (like my friend up the street), whom I love, and 'I'd like to get to know you better with an aim to bedding you sometime if it works out that way.' There's 'I'd fight to the death at your back for what we believe in.' or '...because I don't want to live without you' love. All we've got is 'love' for all kinds of different feelings. Cripes. English words are sometimes such a blunt instrument. And specifically defining one's friendly feelings can only come out long-winded and clinical. Not friendly-sounding.
I am a very anniemal ichanthrope. I understand the earth and its life forms well as any non-specialist. I ran a non-chain family pet shop for 12 yrs. Worked it for 20. Pet shops are almost as crazy as waitressing. A waitress is between the cook and a hungry customer's food. A pet store keeper is between a customer's money, love for a non-human, and conscience, maybe. Keeping pets ain't cheap. I've been called upon to do it. Ask "Stumpy". I amputated a cockatiel's plainly gangrenous foot. Sterile razor blade. I observed sterile dressings changed often. (God bless Kim.) He healed cleanly , I built him a suitable peg leg, and gave him to a very sweet lady who was a regular (she'll buy more bird food [cackles mercenarily.]), and thought he was just dishy. Stranded in the field with nothing, I wouldn't do anything blatantly stupid, and would probably be the best untrained person to call for, since my first aid kit is always up-to-date and comprehensive--for first aid. I haven't a veterinarian's training or access to useful drugs, even if I do know how to use most of the basics. Useful information on the more advanced ones is denied me by their cabal. How they stay expensive, yes?
I love beads and shiny things. Not all that glitters is gold; cheap plastic glitter glitters. Swarovski is excellent. Value is in sensible investments. I am not fooled. Glitter is fun. It's part of merriment. When I feel festive, I glitter up. Then I get it all over, and it makes me smile.
There are investments I hope will sustain us when we're very wrinkled (not lately). I want us to retire to the Marquesas.
Self-summary...I can't make up my mind what I want to eat or wear sometimes, and yet can be utterly decisive in an emergency. Calm and cool and make sure all are safe. I shake later. Just sit down and quiver all over. After all I can do has been done.
I regularly have one cat and a standard poodle sleeping 'round me, comforting and drawing comfort from me. My bonny wee beasties love me as I do them.
I can't answer most 'yes/no' questions. Truth is seldom absolute, and the grey area is where conciliation (peace/love/joy) lies.
People here are so disconnected except for their short web. I don't have a defined web, so I pluck at theirs. My web is big and random. (I identified with Charlotte. I once 'spun' a web of nylon thread and many knots all over my bedroom. I was 8 or 9. It's tougher than you think.
Trying get around to sewing medieval clothing instead of just designing it.
Trying to write something interesting. I'm not satisfied with my words so far. Not just the ones here.
Cooking, laundering, cleaning up.
Pining for the middle of nowhere, and slowly accepting that where I am is what I get. (see top of list)
So, enjoying what's present and wondering what's next.
Okay, I'm good with tools. I'm good at seeing a problem, assessing its degree of trouble, figuring out how to best and/or easiest fix it, and deciding whether it's worth doing. All this is highly subjective, but most people like what happens when I work on something. Even if it's stubborn, at least I tried, and didn't make it worse. Good monkey. (pat pat)
Backing vans and cars into tight parking in one try. Mostly. Really neatly. Frontwards is a toss-up. Drive better than park.
I'm good at whatever I turn my efforts to. Not necessarily brilliant, but good. Or at least okay. Except social skills. People are incomprehensible. Why I can't tell you what women want. And I'm not the Wyf of Bathe.
Massage. I went to CCMT, with a lot of shiatsu practice, passed the NCETMB with colours, the NYS exam, and let my certification lapse because my studies went further than most of the teachers' who were offering CEUs--for a steep price, of course. I don't like bullshit. It was a sign we had over our office in the pet store. 85% mumbo jumbo version of things I already know + 15% (maybe) new ways of looking at things I'd forgotten. I was trying to find a way to exercise my calling. Now I'm a renegade. You find me. Not I find you. My house is messy. My table and sheets are clean. Always.
My table has always been duly consecrated to healing. I know she's supposed to be inanimate. I supposed so at first, but she has a character. How I met her is a way long story of slip-ups. But how do you meet your table, say you're not going to name it, and suddenly the name 'Sheila' appears in your mind? I don't know any 'Sheila's. Haven't since Middle school and she was a snot. I've since learned to listen for her. When necessary, she may say things I don't exactly hear. Mostly she's quiet. I sometimes sleep on her, because she's peaceful; and she likes it. Don't ask me how I know that, either.
Being short, greying, and 55, I am unabashed about asking tall people to reach things for me. "You look like you could reach that can from the top shelf. Would you please?" No tall people? I will stack things up, or when able, scale the shelves.
I talk to strangers. Try to find a happy thread in common, and connect briefly. Unless they obviously don't want to. But I try to at least look at them and smile. I think/hope most people like being smiled at. And I am prone to going as far as to say "Nice beard." to men who have one of those. Mmm. Beards. Long, soft, rough or silky. Beards. Not just moustaches. They creep me out. Brent did that one day and I had an "UUUGH!!!" reaction that I never have to him clean-shaven or fully-bearded. My father wore just a moustache, and I certainly didn't like him at all. No sexual abuse, just abuse or disuse. I have no idea why I like full beards.
Sometimes I dress oddly, because it's what I feel like wearing. I don't dress for others, mostly. Except to pass. As my husband says "You're spending the money. Whom do you have to impress?!" I do clean up nicely (I've said that before.), and have a closet full of semi-elegant things I never wear now that I'm older, fatter, and a huswif. I also have clothes no one else could have. Ankle length satin-lined black wool cloaks don't turn up often at the thrifts. I made mine when I was 20.
Otherwise, I'm mostly unnoticeable. A tile in the floor, a brick in the wall, unremarkable. It's easier that way. Looking normal/lower on the food chain, lets me be more subversive. Heh-heh.
R.I.P. Martin Gardner, "Alice"'s annotator, maker of puzzles, and all-around genius. Leela will never find another such.
Movies? The Princess Bride, Braveheart, The Sound of Music, 1776, Oklahoma!, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Dirty Dancing, Fried Green Tomatoes, Thelma and Louise, Fiddler on the Roof, To Wong Foo..., Wallace and Grommit. I don't watch movies to think too hard to guess at some message someone wants to send encoded. Movies are for fun. Except I like Kurosawa. That I'll think for. No war or horror movies. Don't bug me about it. If people put the energy and money that they put into movies into love of all sorts, we'd have to be a different species. Gibbons get close to getting it right. They probably like romantic comedies.
Music: Early, medieval, baroque, some old folk, some new folk, early rock. Nothing terribly clangorous or over 90 db unless it's pipes. I dig pipes. Scottish, Uileann, Northumbrian small, balkan, I <3 pipes. There's a kid down the street. He practices outdoors, I hear it, I drop everything and go sit on his lawn.
Hip hop/rap/ugly noise tends to make me violent and want to smash whatever is making it. It's an honest organic response to it. (talk story if you ask. I had to leave a shop in Northampton, MA, because I found myself wanting to kill speakers.) Not fond of anything whangy-twangy or whiney-waily, but can tolerate it if the lyrics aren't stupid. This is subjective.
Food: Garlic and onions are vegetables, not condiments. Meant to be consumed in quantity. Cheese is mandatory often. Meat is fine, but not essential. My husband is very much a carnivore, so I cook for him. I can be content mostly vegetarian, as long as I don't have to worry about feeling guilty for my occasional very intense protein cravings, or sausage and pepperoni on my pizza, where meat is a nice condiment. On something I shouldn't be eating anyway. In general, I like food prepared well. Not keen on mollusks except scallops, and loathe most crustaceans except shrimp. No gastro- or cephalopods need fear me. Otherwise, if it isn't moving fast enough, or a pet, it's dinner. Dress it properly, and with enough onions, garlic, cheese and tomato sauce, it'll taste fine, right? That was a joke. You might need yoghurt and herbs, instead. Butter? Sour cream? ;-)
Having grown too familiar with the local Chinese fare, am cautiously (limited capacity for capsaicin)exploring the extensive menu of the local cheap Thai restaurant. Ample servings, reasonable prices. "Can you make it just a little spicy?" Bri goes for very spicy, sweats, turns red, and enjoys an endorphin rush. I just want to enjoy the flavours. I can't handle any capsaicin heat since Nov.2014. I somehow contracted Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease, a virus which normally strikes children under 5. They get over it in 10 days. I couldn't eat anything for two wks. and still was on only soft food for 2.5 mos. Yule and New Years were a real gas. My mouth peeled green like a zombie's skin, and still doesn't feel normal. I cannot eat anything hot without pain.
Or did you mean "would not willingly do without"?
My several nearest and dearest.
Hot running water.
Books or writing to read.
NPR and BBC World Service (good radio. No Passport. (My notarised Birth Certificate has no serial #).
And, of course, wi-fi.
Wildflowers, birds, fungi, and bugs.
Music and poetry. Unix geeks. Musicians. The nature of truth.
My family and friends. How best to care for all those I love.
The nature of love.
How to get rid of ants, rats on my porch, and squirrels.
How to consume less, and how global warming is changing everything.
And cosmology, but the others keep me pretty busy.
I like tofu. Plain, with a little KCl. S'wunnerful.
I can't type. I can spell, but not type. Blame patchy school history.
The sound of a cello can make me groan with directionless desire.
Guys who have specified that they are only interested in women younger than they are, even if I qualify, are automatically written off as jerks. Really. If all a guy wants is someone younger (esp. no older than 3+ yrs. younger) than he, I think he's possessed of very sick values, and vain or insecure to the point of icky. There are other (sometimes even younger!) men with whom I'd probably have more more fun. Bye-bye.
You are frolicsome, and easy, good-tempered and free; and you don't give a single pin, me boys, what the world thinks of thee. (not entirely true, but one of my favourite song lines)
(For romantic purposes) You aren't young ynogh to be my son nor ould ynogh to be my father. (okay, 15 years either side of me)
Something about me resonated with you. Tell me what.
You don't fit these narrow parameters but want to ask a question or be friends.