Can't Hardly Stand It!

It just occurred to me that Morgan Freeman has played God twice now. (Typecasting?)

So we've officially had a Black God twice in four years. Congrats, America, you are finally, truly, liberated.

Oh, wait, but we haven't had a Black president. Or would it be more of a statement to have a woman as Commander in Chief?!? Oh, such radical thoughts!!!

Over the Rainbow

Some guy wrote me through a portal i signed up with. He seemed charming, funny, and sincerely fascinated by what i had to say.

"I just got an email on [the site]," i wrote Denisse. "From Grandpa."

Seriously, the guy looked 69. (He was 49.)

I know this is totally superficial. If he dyed his hair i'd probably feel differently. He is weathered. Tayler Hicks this is not. (Taylor Hicks i'd do everyday, and twice on Sunday.)

I elaborated on my guilt with Denisse. "He's old, dammit," she wrote back. With a "hehe" to follow. Denisse is 27.

Matt is turning 50 next month. Matt doesn't look a day past 41.

You can't help how you feel. Until you read a book, the cover's all you've got to judge it by.

On the other end of the spectrum, you can get all caught up with the cover and not even care to flip the pages. I've been on both ends. So i guess i won't judge. All is fair in love and war, ay?

Someday i'll be grey and turkey-ish, and look back on this day, and sigh.

Love In a Cup

This is my Valentine's mug from earlier this year. Only $5.95 with a purchase of 3 Hallmark cards or more (or something like that. LOL.)

I've always had clear liquid with it. Today i have chai for a change, and voilà! The full visual effect is before us.

How cute! Good to see simple things still make me happy, however brief that sentiment may be.

One anticlimactic note: I'm left-handed when it comes to sipping. Which means the heart is always inverted. Kinda wrong. Second only to a crucifix.

Lycopene Jones

Yesterday i had my first glass of Clamato. What is Clamato, you ask? Why, it's tomato juice allegedly with a hint of clams. Sounds gross, but i'd wanted to try it since Third Rock went off the air and guy-who-played-Harry did a series of commercials for the then-new product Clamato.

"Innovative!" I said. And many moons later, i finally got a taste. I couldn't quite discern any clammy flavor in there. And it's got a funny - i'd say "base note" if it were a fragrance - to it. Kinda like that in a can of Chef Boyardee Italian sausage ravioli. I believe the secret ingredient is called preservatives.

I've had the bottle of Clamato for at least 8 weeks now, and it doesn't expire till Christmas. Go figure.

And i should've known better. Don't reach for tomato juice when what i really want is a Bloody Mary. Lesson learned.

Lunar

Tonight, out of (again) boredom and desperation, i chatted with the alcoholic i met online. By now he deserves a name, don't you concede? Let's call him Marvin.

Marvin claims to have had only one beer this afternoon, and now is considering having another. It is 9:17 p.m. on a Saturday, and the dude's pondering if he should have seconds. Maybe he's not an alcoholic after all.

He still maintains that i'm "nice" (the most hateful word, ever!) and "funny", and still wants to meet me. I'm like, "Dude, i'm an alcoholic! What is wrong with you?" He's like, "I have some alcoholic friends and they're fun to hang out with."

"Alcoholics are dealing with a lot of sadness," i wrote. "Possibly anger too. The fun persona is just a façade to hide behind."

For about five minutes we actually had an enjoyable conversation. He laughed at some of my comments, and i found him funny on two occassions. I used the word "preemptor" and was proud of myself.

I found myself thinking, maybe i should meet this guy. Then he turned stoic on me. All his responses became one-liners. He didn't get my jokes and was unresponsive to playfulness and compliments.

The new line i've recently added to my profile is (and i'm paraphrasing): A good conversation is like a tennis match well played - no one hogs the ball, and the ball is always in the air.

Well the convo tonight was certainly NOT a tennis match well played. I found myself sore from holding the racquet, wondering in frustration, "Where is the fucking ball?!?"

It dawns on me it is unrealistic to expect the kind of conversations JD and i used to have. In the beginning i'd be glued to the puter for hours, hell with sleep. Even after our coupledom ended and we graduated to using the phone, it was always, but always, a seamless exchange at the Wimbledon.

I'm suddenly reminded of an Australian girl i used to chat with in the mid 90's. As a matter of fact i have thought about her on and off in the past years when the topic of kindred spirits crosses my mind.

This was when i'd first discovered chatrooms. We all remember those days. When i met Alice*, we were each married. Apparently i was lonely in mine or i wouldn't be hanging around chatrooms. I wasn't looking for love, just a remote hint of being connected to a better, alternative world.

Alice and i clicked right away. We laughed and totally got each other. I felt totally comfortable with her, and she told me everything in her life, never holding back. She had a few extra pounds on her, and this wonderful vulnerable, genuine quality about her. And she had the most adorable, beautiful little girl called Edith. I even liked the husband. He was cool. Had a sense of humor. I fantasized about traveling Down Under to meet her. Them.

"If you were a guy i'd be falling in love right now," i wrote to Alice.

I promised to make her a crystal necklace (i was quite a jeweler then) but i got a job and it all fell through the cracks. Before long, she got divorced, lost internet access, and we lost touch.

This was, of course, long before JD. To this day i wonder how Alice is doing; what Edith looks like today.

Before Alice and JD, there were a handful of friends i could totally spill my guts with, but not necessarily felt that complete click with. And since Alice and JD, there've been people i can laugh with, carry a decently entertaining convo with. But in the end, i see true compatibility and connection comes only once in a blue moon.

And you know what? The "blue moon" expression is deceptive. For a blue moon is the second of two full moons occurring in the same month. Astronomically, that's rare. But still, not as rare as when i met Alice and JD, respectively.


*Not her real name

Solace

Just when i think i know all there is to know about the crying game (*chuckle*), i come upon an interesting article on depression by Susan Freinkel.

There are way more women diagnosed with depression than men. But some argue the gender gap may not be real. Men, plagued with macho idealism, are less likely to report sadness. Hell, they're less likely to act sad. Instead they mask dispair with rage, which makes for incorrect diagnoses. As opposed to women who have themselves a sobfest.

But the fact that male suicides outnumber females four to one should tell you something.

Men are also more inclined than women to turn to substance abuse. I vividly remember JD telling me 105 times (as if it was only yesterday), "You take away the alcohol, and only depression is left."

As Freinkel writes, in communities that prohibit alchocol - Amish and Orthodox Jews - male and female rates of depression are comparable.

I'm not surprised. If i were an Amish man or a male Orthodox Jew, i'd be depressed too.

Lullaby

I stayed in bed this morning for as long as i could - until my muscles were stiff and sore. Just didn't see a point in getting up. I guess sleeping in excess beats eating or drinking in excess. At least it's calorie-free and free of charge.

Years ago i read somewhere that studies showed people who consistently oversleep tend to have a shorter life. If's as if you can only let your brain rest so much, then it rests forever.

So in essence, each time you go to sleep, you're that much closer to death.

The French were wrong! It's sleep that is the true petit mort.

Even though... we're all dying a little with each second that ticks by anyway.