This Could Be Why I Don't Date Much

This is a real email I received a few years back when I tried an online dating site, exactly as written:

I will like to talk I like you pic

Chuck

Need I say more? Once I stopped laughing hysterically, I had to print it out. I came across it when I was cleaning out my office the other day.

My Black Angel

I don't believe in angels - not the biblical, guardian sort with wings and harps. Rather, I'd prefer to interpret an "angel" as a healing presence, physical or not, an indication that if there is a power bigger than ourselves, it somehow manifests itself into something tangible.

This is the story of how Misha, my cat, my little black angel, came into my life.


I'd been struggling with some stressful life events, the end of a relationship and loneliness. I'm lucky enough to have a terrific support system of friends and family, but even so, sometimes it's tough to be single and living alone.


My birthday is in late October, about a week before Halloween. That year, (just over 11 years ago), a couple days before, one of my friends stopped by my apartment to pick me up for an early celebratory dinner out. As we walked out the front lobby door to her car parked on the street, a black cat seemed to materialize out of nowhere and made a beeline straight for me. In a neighborhood, on a busy street, where household pets are seldom seen wandering - a desperate, mangy, emaciated, pathetically-crying long-haired black cat. He wrapped himself around my ankles and I reached down to pet him. All I could feel was bones covered in fur. "This cat is nearly starved to death." We had a dinner reservation to keep, I was not supposed to keep pets in my apartment, my friend wanted to leave. We left him there on there on the sidewalk in front of the building, even though he kept trying to follow me, even into her car.


I couldn't stop thinking about leaving him like that. He was starving, he could get hit by a car, it was cold. When I got home later that night, I tried looking for him, but he was gone.


The following night, I was sitting in my kitchen, talking on the phone with my aunt, who happens to be a cat-lover like me. Now, a bit of background information here: my apartment at the time was a third-floor walk-up in a 100-year-old building with an enormous wood porch on the back that went down to basement level. Altogether there were more than twenty apartments. My kitchen's back door opened to that porch.


The conversation came around and I found myself telling my aunt about the cat, and how bad I felt for leaving him. As I was telling her about him, I heard "meowing" at my back door. "There's a cat at my door!" Unusual, as I was in a third-floor apartment. I opened the door, and there he was...he walked in and made himself at home. Sniffed around, tail up, and hopped up to curl up on my bed, as if he belonged there.


Apparently, I had little choice in the matter, he had chosen me to be his person. And that was that. I'm also his only person. It quickly became apparent this cat had been badly abused. Physically he was in appalling condition. His paws were abraded and bloody, there was no fur left on his belly, he was fur-covered bones. He would not have lived much longer.


Much worse and much sadder was his reaction to humans. He was, and is, ok with me, for the most part. Even I had to earn his trust. It took him over a year before he would even sit on my lap. At first, however, he was absolutely panic-striken at the sight of an older woman. He would go into what I call "scary Halloween cat" mode, hissing, back up, growling. He is not a mean cat, just frightened. There's been improvement with time, but strangers still unsettle him. He usually disappears upstairs in my house and goes to his "nest" there, or under the bed.

I named him "Misha" after Mikhail Barishnikov (whose nickname it is). When healthy, he is a good-sized, elegant, long-haired black cat with beautiful green eyes and I had discovered that he loved to run and leap in great, graceful bounds when playing around! Inspiration for his name came from watching a ballet program on TV.

About a year after he came into my life, I was critically injured in a traumatic car accident. I was incapacitated, extremely ill and spent months recuperating at home. Misha practically glued himself to my side, curled up next to me, or on the back of the sofa, always where he could see me. He still sleeps next to me, purring quietly. When I'm home, he's nearly always in the same room. I get the feeling that he's "guarding" me and find it somewhat comforting.

We've had some personality and behavior issues to work through over the years, Misha and I. In many ways, I relate to him on a personal level, dealing with the outfall of abuse. Injured hearts and spirits do not heal completely; the scars can last a lifetime. We can be given a reprieve, surrounded by love and kindness and stability. Pets can help that healing process. He's given me the responsibility of making sure he will never experience abuse or neglect again; in return, I am the recipient of the special unconditional "love" and comfort that Misha brings to me.

The Worst Valentine Gift

I'd dated Mike for several years, so this wasn't an instance of not being familiar with my preferences. Honestly, I am really quite easy to please and appreciate gifts, especially those given with thought behind them. I am so sentimental. That, much more than cost, is what touches my heart the most. Hndmade gifts or cards, anything as long as it's given with honest, loving consideration. However, sometimes there can just a little too much good intention.

I guess I have to give Mike some credit, there was definitely some thought behind the gifts he gave me for what ended up being our last Valentine's Day together (that wasn't the catalyst, we just grew apart). He was a good guy, and really touched me with some sweet gestures in the time we spent together. Like after I mentioned once that I would get my ears pierced if I ever got a pair of diamond earrings, he gave them to me for my 35th birthday. I had to overcome my extreme dislike of needles; it was a traumatic event to get the piercings, but I still think of how thoughtful that was every time I wear them.

Unfortunately, I'd put on a bit of weight due to aging beyond 30 and some medication I was taking at the time. Maybe I should have seen it coming when he gave me a "low fat" cookbook for Christmas.

Here's some advice to the lovelorn, however. A romantic Valentine's gift is not a too-small Lycra workout outfit and a "Lite" Milky Way bar. (I don't believe they still make those. Good.) It brought tears to my eyes, but they were not happy ones. Ouch. Thanks, boyfriend, for the not-so-subtle hint to lose weight.

I'm sure there's a moral to this story, and I can certainly understand the angst involved in picking out the "perfect" gift, especially for Valentine's Day. I think the poor guys, especially, are under the gun. Give me anything lovingly and with affection, and I would be happy (this is coming from someone who's been nobody's Valentine for the better part of her adult life). However, a gift pointedly acknowledging a disadvantage or fault such as a weight issue...probably not a good idea.

In retrospect, it's pretty funny now, but I certainly did not appreciate it at the time. What did I do? Well, I returned that damned outfit to Target, went to Victoria's Secret and got myself a sexy little black silk ensemble. Much more flattering. I still have it.

Spending someone else's money

Last evening, I tagged along with my young friend Sarah to help her pick out furniture for her first apartment. We went to Nebraska Furniture Mart, the country's, maybe even the world's, largest furniture store. On her list: a sofa (a necessity in the event of parties and guests) and possibly coffee table or bookshelves.

It ended up being kind of fun, at least for me. Too bad we didn't have a camera because it seemed pretty amusing the way we were systematically, and simultaneously, trying out each sofa for comfort by sitting or even laying down on it.

I think we must've tried out a couple hundred sofas. It was surprising how many (actually, most) really aren't comfortable at all, and cost was not necessarily an indicator of comfort or attractiveness. One in particular would've been good for a "Kodak moment" - it was enormous and pillow-endowed, built for freakishly tall people, I think. My feet stuck straight out off the edge, I couldn't reach the floor. Basically I pretty much disappeared when I landed in there amongst all those pillows! Sarah had to rescue me by pulling me up and out of the engulfing upholstery.

She ended up finding one she liked, although there was a more "girly" one that she might have preferred. However, taking into account untidy and rambunctious friends, she choose a classy, darker colored, more durable and comfortable one, which seemed more practical. A very cool, multi-functional coffee table was chosen, as well.

I have concerns that she feels a bit squeamish about the expense. I've been there a few times myself! I did try to assure her that at least this sort of purchase is rather an investment, and one she will not have to make again for a very long time.

All that sofa-testing and shopping was a lot of work! We were feeling some hunger pangs and ended up grazing at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffett afterwards. Of course, I ended up eating too much.

Anyhow, I hope she enjoys her new purchases and discovers how cool it is to have your own place, your own stuff and the freedom of living on your own!

Inspiration, anyone?

So...as I'm pretty new to this blogging stuff, I could use some topic suggestions. I still need to figure out why my photos aren't importing and fiddle around with "personalizing" my blog - making it all organized, pretty and stuff.

I've been known to be quite humorous, creative and even talented when it comes to writing...I think the subzero temperatures have caused my brain to resemble something similar to a raspberry ICEE.

The French say "Au revoir"...

"Until next time." I hate saying goodbye. There is something too final about it, especially when it comes to bidding a dear friend farewell. Our friends have done a good job of documenting Jillian's "victory tour" and multiple going-away goings-on, so I will keep it simple.

Jillian, you have become a dear friend, in spite of the significant age difference (at least literally :) and relatively short time we've known each other. Thank you for being a shoulder to lean on, a sympathetic ear, a wiper-away of tears, a giggle-instigator, a nourisher of appreciative taste-buds, and an anchor when I sometimes go off the deep end!

Good luck in your exciting new adventures. Au revoir, my friend.

Pathetic

Sometimes I wonder if I could screw up any more? Honestly, I try so hard to "do the right thing," often at the cost of my own happiness or comfort. This time has been difficult because I'm dealing with too many emotions and situations and it just went past my comfort level. I'm usually pretty good at being "unflappable" (as my boss calls me) but my defenses broke down this time. Too much information, too vulnerable. Me being whiney and pathetic. Inevitably, it seems I manage to make a mess of things anyway. Among other issues, I've probably alienated, hopefully only temporarily, a couple of friends that I care very much about.