Life is a Bowl of Cherries

Sorry. I'm really just sitting here eating a bowl of cherries ($3.99 at Safeway today) and couldn't come up with a witty title. I'm betting though, pretty much everyone who's written a blog has used that as one of their titles before. Regardless--they're good--sweet. But a lot of work, considering the whole stem/pit thing. And your fingers get stained. But as they say--nothing worth the trouble is ever easy. Or something like that.

Maybe that should be the title of this entry. Nothing is ever easy. Especially meeting men. Last night I had some work friends over. And we started to chat about--of course--men. And standards--for picking one. The usual: tall, funny, kinda bad--all came out. Then it was my turn. I don't know that I have what you'd call typical "standards" when choosing a mate. Not in the way they have to look anyway. I did contribute one thing--I said "they have to love what they do."

And then all hell broke loose. Both women pounced on me with questions like "Do you like your job?" "Shouldn't they be more than their job?" "Who cares if they hate what they do, as long as they're happy with you!" Clearly--I had struck a relationship fodder nerve with this one. Why shouldn't I want to be with someone who is passionate about what they do? It means they've got confidence. It means they'll be still somewhat independent and not all about the relationship alone?!! And yes--I have LOVED what I do. Just not right now. Which is maybe why I'm not dating. I'd want them to want me to love what I do too!

Do you love what you do? I hope so. Maybe part of the problem was these two women work at "McDonald's" with me. Maybe everyone who works in these civil servant jobs loses the passion about work--but puts it into their personal life instead? I'm new to this cubical world--so I'm still hanging on to the "joy b/w 9-5" as an important part of my life. Granted, I don't have much b/w 5-11, but still--I want to love my job. It's what is unique to me and who I am. Without a man. (I know, shallow--what am I if I'm not a TV producer? Good thing she's not a mother!)

In unison they both added--"You're just too picky!" Picky? Me? When it comes to men? Picky? I don't consider myself picky--I just said I don't have a "type"--instead, I have high expectations! And what's wrong with that? Typically it wouldn't bother me when someone says something like that "you're picky"--but true to the title of this blog--one of the gals who said it-- knows my ex. And like my yoga teacher--I didn't know this until AFTER we were working together. Picky? Immediately my mind snaps into hyperdrive. Did he tell you that? Did he think I nit-picky'd him to death? (I like creating words) Now--I like this woman we'll call Twin Lynn--but I don't know if being friends with her is a good thing for me right now. (and yes we resemble each other, brown hair, brown eyes, only she's skinny. I have curves where you're supposed to.)

TwinLynn asked me to go out for a drink recently. Reluctantly I said yes. I said no to two earlier invitations. She made it hard to say no--citing my lame social life and needing "to meet someone new to forget that loser!" (actually she said "You just need to get laid to forget him." What?) When we went out, we talked about some things--things that hit me in a funny way. And not funny "ha-ha"-- funny "strange." I don't want you to think I'm paranoid as well as hypochondriac, but I started to connect some dots--dots that caused arguments when PP and I were together. Here--get out your pencil.

Dot 1. I remember he had a female friend who was a massage therapist. And he often spoke of going to her home for massages. I would naturally, as girlfriends do, give him a hard time-joking about happy endings at these secret liaisons--and ask why chain massage spas weren't good enough? That night, TL mentioned casually, "I have a home massage therapy business with a few regular customers." Hmmm.

Dot 2. Then she started talking about a devastating and fast move out of the house she was sharing with her boyfriend. Was this the "friend I have to help move Saturday" he spoke about? It started an argument with us because we had plans--and when you help a woman move--and  you're a man--and you're not related--and your girlfriend doesn't know this friend--something's up.

Dot 3. The bronze medalist in the "you can't make this shit up" category of this wonderful night out with the twin-- we were at a bar listening to a band. I said "I've only been here once when PP's old band played here." To which she casually replied--"oh yeah--I drove their drummer to Oakland once." I pretended like that wasn't a big deal. That everyone drives a drummer to Oakland. But, excuse me WHAT? I dated the lead guitarist and I didn't drive any band members anywhere, EVER.

Dot 4. On the way home, she lectured me about how hard relationships are and you "can't force someone to be someone they're not." So, are you starting to see a picture? After a few more dots were connected--like her best friend being the person who books the bands at this bar--and earlier stating "PP always told me he hated his job"--Mine started to spell out the word "cheaters."

Did they sleep together? I don't think while we were together--but maybe when we were done? Or maybe she IS the reason we were done? Doesn't matter now. But I do think, although we work together, a friendship may be tough. And maybe that's what I should be more picky about. Who I let in. Am I letting my imagination ruin what could be a good friendship? She's oddly too obsessed with my love life. Or maybe I'm oddly too obsessed with hers? But then she did bring a chocolate cake and a dozen cookies to my house last night--leaving them with me to eat and get fat(ter)?

Picky. Maybe. I just swallowed a pit.