Saying Yes to The Big Easy

Traveling is good. It can stretch you out of your comfort zone and as a result, invite change. Transformation.

When I got on the plane for New Orleans, I felt a rush: I’m in an airplane. I’m going somewhere. I’m going to experience something new.

When a friend of mine told me that she was going there for a conference and asked if I wanted to meet her there, I hesitated for a moment. New Orleans? Isn’t that one of the most extroverted cities in the United States? I don’t know…

“Sure! Why not!” I said a moment later.

Who am I to say no to an opportunity like that? Sometimes an introvert has to push her anxiety aside to go meet life. Give it a big hug (and you know how I appreciate a good hug).

Was I transformed? No, not like in past trips I’ve taken. But it’s a fascinating part of the world. The only other southern state I’ve been to is Kentucky and I do so appreciate Southern hospitality, Sugar. Delicious food, sultry (I prefer this word as opposed to soaking, which I was) weather, local architecture…it’s good for the body, mind and soul to be out of your regular routine and shake things up a bit.

However, I could have done without the rowdy crowd mentality and the activity of drinking-likker-in-the-streets: “HELLO LADIES!!! YOU’RE CHINESE, AREN’T YOU!!!” Uh, no, we’re not, but we’re not going to stop and tell you that. We weren’t even on Bourbon Street, which we studiously tried to avoid.

As the plane took off on the connecting flight home, I gazed down at the twinkling city lights below. So pretty… I wanted to turn to a traveling companion and say just that; I wanted to share that experience with someone. And when I looked out and up at the stars, I wanted to have someone to look at those stars with me.

Crap. Now I was sad.

It happens.

Sometimes you just have to accept that your emotions have a life of their own. Respect them, and they’ll respect you. The more you try and fight what you don’t want to feel, the more you betray yourself. Emotions are constantly flowing throughout you in varying degrees. So go with the flow, I say. (But please seek help if you’re feeling entirely overwhelmed.)

Perhaps I was wrong after all. I’ve had a delayed, mini-transformation, because today, I was gloriously happy. But that’s another story.

A Squishable Man

I happened to notice that Joe Manganiello has a very defined, well-formed physique.

I thought having an eight-pack was physically impossible, but according to Google images, it’s not. As much as I appreciate Joe’s physicality, I think hugging him would be like hugging a brick wall. I suppose you have to decide for yourself if the brick burn would be worth it.

That’s why I was doing a Google image search. I wanted to see if he was always made out of bricks.

Yes, sometimes I spend my evenings doing intensive research like this. What of it?

And if I’m such a thorough researcher, where’s the image of him, you ask? Well, I didn’t want to exploit him more than he already has been. The guy is more than his muscles, right…??

Anyways, I discovered that I couldn’t find an everyday, average body on the guy. He wasn’t always so sculpted, but apparently, he has always been…healthy.

I actually prefer a man with a little bit of squish to him.

I’ve talked about the subject of hugging before. Wine Guy was a 9 out of 10. Yes, he disappeared on me, but I still have to give him his props. But he wasn’t a perfect 10. That score goes to a guy I met briefly at a dinner party, years ago. I almost forgot about him. When we hugged goodbye, I discovered that his whole body was made out of memory foam.

Ah…

I have no idea what made him that way. He was deceptively normal looking.

“He was so soft…” I remarked to my then-boyfriend, who strangely enough, had nothing to say in response. Nor did he have anything to say about my hand gestures as I tried to further describe the guy’s squishiness.

The only things Perfect Hug Guy and Wine Guy had in common were their average weight for their height (about 5’7″) and that they probably didn’t work out at all.

Hm.

This may warrant some further intensive research.

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Postscript: It has come to my attention that I have been spending way too much energy wondering about the location and appearance of my future man/men. The fact is, there is no telling when he/they will show up. A gentle nudging from my friend Mae woke me up. It’s a good thing, too – disappointment was beginning to chip away at me.

So I’m redirecting my energy towards the here and now and giving nonexistent men a rest. I have more pressing issues to deal with anyways, like finding a new job, so from now on, my future posts won’t be about me getting impatient for that guy who is running super late.

I guess he’ll just have to catch up to me.

Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind

Four score and twenty years ago, I asked a guy out on a date.  Well, it was more like: “Next time you’re in L.A., give me a call if you want to hang out.”  I know.  Being proactively vague is a gift.  We ended up being together for 18 years.

Needless to say, I haven’t been on a date with someone new in quite a while.  When I became newly single, I had no interest in dating – it wouldn’t have been a good idea until I found my own footing again.  But I’m ready now and…rusty.  Extremely rusty.  It doesn’t help that I didn’t date that much before my last relationship.

Yesterday, I asked Wine Guy:  “Would you be interested in meeting for coffee sometime?”  Wow, I get more skilled as the decades fly by.  Wait.  Now that I think about it, it probably would have made more sense if I had asked him to meet up over a glass of wine.  Anyways, he said yes, we exchanged numbers and…now what?  I didn’t lock down a day and time.  Was I supposed to do that?  Why is this so awkward?  I feel like I just went on a job interview after being out of the workforce for twenty years.  Hi!  Please hire me!

Clearly, I will be muddling through this whole dating thing until I get the hang of it.  Or not.  In the meantime, I respectfully and cautiously join the rest of the muddlers out there.  Here’s to us.