I chose carefully the thumbnail photo of myself for this little post because it’s a picture of me that shows a woman’s dilemma: love to hate that kind of guy, hate that they love that kind of guy. Or, at least that’s the conclusion I draw from a Huffpost column by a middle aged widow, “Why I’m Alone.” The piece reminds me in large part of Flibbertigibbet’s frequent postings about her dear departed Jay and subsequent closet moments. I’ll be interested to hear/read her reaction to this woman’s reasons for not having a man in her midlife, some of which, btw, sound a little like “sour grapes” to me — “no one can take the place of the special man I was with” — yeah, right. It seems to her there’s a dearth of special men out there, but what I wondered is how many special men are going after a bitter and dowdy middle aged woman who will always be comparing you to a benchmark set by a dead guy she’s idealized the hell out of. But maybe that’s just me and maybe, as MCARP says, your mileage may vary.
Speaking of Mike C, he seems to be holding out well in the absence of longrydehome, whom I’m told is out of the country. He’s bought himself a new stereo and is marveling at the technological advances in the 35 years since he last bought a stereo. All is calm for Mike as long as he’s not in the stream of life and he’s got his animals and warm, fuzzy red blanket.
There seem to be more creature comforts on 15th Street than in a cave on a cold mountain, but perhaps satori can be found wherever you are. I sure as hell wouldn’t know.
I still really don’t have time to do much blogging other than this hit-and-run, driveby stuff and I’ve got photos from Tulsa to sort through before I can talk about last weekend, if I can get to it at all. I’m running hard trying to drum up some business so I can keep paying for the internet, so if you know of someone who needs a good and honest lawyer at rock bottom fee schedules, please send them to me. I really need the work/income.
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