The Perfect Man, Not Necessarily Made of Gingerbread

Single women are always forced to ponder upon why we are single, what is wrong with us, and why men don't want to date us.  I usually try to justify that if a guy is not that in to me, then, I probably wouldn't be that into him.  However, I find myself attracted to different qualities in men that are really striking, more than just a hot body and beautiful eyes (although those two things aren't bad, either).  

I recently was running, and noticed a guy with his dog, getting ready to begin his run.  His dog was getting a little agitated by another dog that was running by with its owner.  This guy was cute, but, when I noticed how gentle he was with his dog, it made him that much hotter.  He was petting his dog, really consoling him/her, and it was the nicest, sweetest thing I have ever seen.  One day, at the gym, I noticed a guy who was blond, and nice-looking. When I was leaving, I saw him talking to a little girl, and listening to her very intently.  He actually appeared to be having a back and forth conversation with her at her level.  He seemed so sweet and nice, or else he's a pedophile. There is a guy who has some beautiful tattoos, with one entire very defined shoulder covered in a multicolored image that seems both celestial and demonic.  Nice.  I am a bit of a sucker for guys with curly hair, red hair, and muscles--decorated with tattoos, of course.  

Now, speaking of the perfect man, he is both men in this photo.  I would love to be the center of this Uh-Oh Oreo!  This tour is going to kick some a--, and I can't wait to be in the mosh pit again.  Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction in a co-headlining tour is like a dream--it takes me back to high school/college.  

What's in a Name. . .

One of my favorite books I've recently read is Freakonomics, A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner.  I think the chapter that stands out the most is the last chapter, "Would a Roshanda by any Other Name Smell as Sweet?" I am always curious as to the reasoning behind the names chosen for one's child.  Many of my friends who have children chose names that are beautiful and meaningful.  A cousin of mine named their youngest daughter, Ruby, after his wife's grandmother.  Working with children, I have seen my share of crazy names.  One of my favorite is Floyd Boyd, and this poor child was a "the fourth".  So, there were 3 generations of "Floyd Boyd's" prior to him, and there may be more generations to come.  Working in West Virginia for three years in my training, I was introduced to many Destiny's, Charity's, and Cheyenne's.  However, the best were two sisters, named Egypt and Stormy.  I had a couple of patients named "Stormy".  Recently, I have encountered a child named, Ecstasy.  Yes, kids, this 12-year-old girl's name is Ecstasy.  She is destined for a life in the adult film industry, so, kudos to her parents.  Since she has a sister named, Diamond, they can have a nice stake in the adult entertainment world, with one porn star, and one stripper.  Today, a little boy came in to my clinic, and his name is, "Book".  He actually goes by this name, as well.  I always wonder what inspires people to give such stupid names to their children.  I think if you are going to name your child "Book", it is part of your unconscious desire to be Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, who named their daughter, Apple.  It's like opening the dictionary, closing ones eyes, and and picking a word, and then deciding to name their child the first thing that their finger touches.  Of course, there are the clever parents who name their children things like, "Vagina", "Chlamydia", "Gonorrhea", and I recently saw, "Anesthesia".  The last one is the best--that person is destined to having no personality whatsoever.

Single Awareness Day and the Tale of the Bird Whisperer

So, I survived another annual Single Awareness Day, on February 14.  I feel irritated with how utterly commercial and stupid the whole Valentine's thing is.  My fondest memories are from elementary school, when we made those dumb boxes, had Valentine Cards for all of our classmates, and had a little party where we collected sugary, processed sweets.  Now, I am attacked by television advertisements, consumer specials, and annoying couples. . .everywhere.  Since I am trying to turn over a new leaf and be more open to meeting people in less traditional methods, I decided to take the eHarmony personality inventory.  Every other commercial on the television was showing how these actors are pretending to be people who were "matched" and had been "communicating" for the last 5 years.  So, I thought, why not?  I will see who my matches are for free.  This personality test consists of about 1,000 questions.   Supposedly, these questions are designed to find the real person inside and match everyone appropriately.  However, the questions are the dumbest questions I have ever seen.  It was to the level of, "If you were to be a tree, which would you be and why?"  Then, after you answer that question, there are these follow up questions, like: "I would allow a dog to pee on my trunk, often-sometimes-never", to ellicit one's true personality.  I lost interest when it was time to upload a picture.  I didn't have time, and didn't feel like having some weird dude look at my picture and do who knows what with it.  Since that day, a week ago, I have gotten no less than 30 emails a day, with subject lines like, "It's time for you to meet your match David" and "Don't you want to know what you and Dhiraj have in common?"  Obviously, my answer is no.  Today, they sent me the best email subject line: "Are you a skeptic?"  Yes, folks, I am.  I don't believe that the love of my life is going to be pinpointed on some dating website that uses hot people in commercials who would never need to be on a dating website, because they're hot and everyone wants to date them. So, I may just decide to upload a photo and try it out, who knows.

Nonetheless, I hosted the 2nd annual Single Awareness Day party for a few of my fellow independent, unattached friends, with fried food and wine.  One of my friends, I will call the "Bird Whisperer".  The Bird Whisperer had a family of blue jays who built a nest on her patio.  She closely watched the mother bird constructing a nest, which was a very precise and detailed process.  Bird Whisperer then watched the eggs hatch, the baby birds grow, and eventually, leave the nest.  She became obsessed with these birds, and even photographed every stage of their lives.  She told us a story about one day, when she was going to her mailbox.  All of a sudden, she heard the frantic, distressed cries of a group of blue jays, who had all come together to help the couple.  She looked at the blue jays, and then noticed that one of the youngsters was trying very hard to escape from a neighborhood stray cat.  My friend dropped her mail and ran to the rescue of the young blue jay, by shooing away the cat (who missed his meal for the day), and safely placing the young bird into the tree.  Therefore, she has now reached the ranks of Cesar Milan, with her ability to communicate and understand the cries of the blue jays.  Her sister just calls her a crazy bird lady.

When Crackberries Control Your Life

When people bring their kids to see me because of some issue with their development or behavior, they don't usually maintain the social norms that many of us have.  They have waited a year or more to air their grievances about their child's developmental problems and behavior difficulties.  Most of these people are compelled to remain in the clinic for a minimum of two hours.  They can come up with the most irrelevant questions, and, even when you do answer them, they ask the same question again, worded differently.  So, many of the concerned parties are mothers.  Half of these concerned mothers can convince their husband to excuse himself from work to join the party in my clinic.  However, these men are so committed to something, and it is not their wives and children.  They are not even that committed to their work.  They are joined umbilically to their Blackberries.  Now, I have an iPhone, so I understand attachment to a gadget that contains every tiresome detail of my life.  However, when the husbands don't want to listen to advice or feel that nothing is wrong with their children, the Blackberry appears.  The men are anxiously scrolling the dial on the side, like a wheel on a slot machine.  My favorite men are the ones who actually text/email while I am actually asking questions and giving advice.  In fact, they will go as far as to check the thing for texts/emails/instant messages while I am giving my impressions and recommendations.  It's like the Blackberry has taken over the male need for masturbation, or something.  Even in an airplane or at the gym, dudes are tapping away on their Blackberries, with those flashing Bluetooth earpieces/mind-control devices.  I suspect they are really looking at porn or sports, disguised as important business.  Obviously, there is some false sense of importance in the world, when one is constantly checking a non-vibrating Blackberry or typing utter nonsense on that QWERTY keyboard, to seem busy.  

I had every intention of showing one of my favorite Grammy moments, despite the fact that I actually hate the Grammy's and don't usually watch it.  However, the Grammy Copyright Police have removed all videos of "Swagga Like Us" from You Tube--weasels!!!!!!!!!   I watched this dreadful display of music industry mayhem for 3, no, 4 reasons: U2, Dave Grohl/Paul McCartney, Swagga Like Us, and Radiohead.  I can't understand the logic behind the spectrum of nominees, but, the winners are always the old people, like Bob Dylan or Robert Plant.  If I could only have my own music awards show. . .I would allow downloadable videos of performances.

A Glimpse into the Future. . .

Since I am a single woman in my 30's, many of my social outings involve little kids' birthday parties.  I spend many a weekend cavorting with toddlers and preschoolers, sharing thoughts on Spiderman, Thomas the Tank Engine, and cookies.  So, this particular weekend, I was able to experience the Flip-n-Out party.  Flip-n-Out is the magical land of moonwalks.  Each separate moonwalk has a various theme from some Disney movie, with a Sesame Street bouncer designed for brave toddlers.  I entered a very loud area, greeted first by a giant, orange dinosaur.  Many of the children appeared to be afraid of this thing, and stayed away from this particular moonwalk-bouncer.  Children were running amok, and frankly, I don't think I saw the same child pass by twice.  A bouncer inspired by the movie, Cars contained various slides, which inevitably resulted in a crash.  My godson, the 4-year-old birthday boy, was attacked by some crazy 8-year-old.  The Disney Princess castle Bouncer was very popular with the girls, and there were several Princess-wannabes running around.  Many of the kids seemed to lack direction and sort of run aimlessly.  Others appeared to be on some sort of weird high/adrenaline rush from the repeated bouncing on body parts other than their feet.  When it's party time, someone with a bullhorn beckons all involved into a tiny room for pizza and cake.  With stomachs full of partially eaten pizza and various types of cake with sugary frosting, they are back at it in the moonwalks.  God knows how much vomit gets cleaned off of those things--thankfully, they are rubber/plastic.  The 1-year-olds toddle around, searching for Elmo, then crying for their parents while they are actually in the Elmo-domain.  They then get swept either by a random older child or random adult.  Of course, each parent and grandparent is attempting to catch a photograph of each child while in action sliding or bouncing.  With the advent of digital photography, their respective child/grandchild transforms into a blob.  Of course, I had sights on the dude in the Kangaroo costume trying to win the hearts of children with his disturbing costume.  I've always liked a healthy amount of body hair on men, but, when it crosses into species confusion, that is a problem

Jesus Fixed my Hot Rod

I arrive this morning, after a run in the park, to find my rear mirror had been smashed out and my gym bag and cellphone were stolen.  So, some freak can use my deodorant, sweaty towel, socks, and ponytail holder--many of which are soaked in my sweat.  Fortunately, I left my wallet at home, so that was safe.  A kind police officer held a stakeout waiting for me to make the report, after he helped a tow company tug an Infinity G35 out of a ditch.  I discovered that my phone was taken, and was comforted that I had a security code, so all my information was safe.

Luckily, I was able to locate a glass repair company who could fix my window today, which would save the inconvenience of taking off a day from work.  When I got the phone call to inform me he was on the way, I on my caller voice ID thing, "Call from Gonzalez Jesus (Jee-sus)".  It made me so happy to know that Jesus was fixing my car today.  He arrived and fixed it in 45 minutes.  

Since these guys took my original iPhone, it was now time to upgrade to a 3G iPhone.  My big issue is that I have to buy and whole new stand.  Pretty annoying.  But, although I miss my silverback, I am warming up to the new phone.