enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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Why do I even try? ;)

I believe that I must continue with the online dating thing simply to have fodder for a future comedy routine. :)

Conversation recently completed:

Guy: Poke
Me: You've spent too much time on Fac3book. Don't you think that "poke" might be misunderstood on a dating site? ;)
Guy: Yeah. Is there a Fac3book group, or something?
Me: I wouldn't know. By the way, there's nothing in your profile, other than that you like to talk about celebrity gossip. I have to tell you that with me the conversation would therefore be very short.
Guy: Is this a brush off? I have many other attributes.
Me: OK. What are those attributes?
Guy: Geez, I didn't know that I would have to sell myself.
Me: Well, how do you expect someone to become interested in you?
Guy: ?

I know, I know, I probably scare the crap out of men. But, really, "I didn't think that I would have to sell myself?"

HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! Did he think it was drop a quarter in a machine and poof! girl arrives at door? His picture is one of those, too, in which the guy's face is completely indistinguishable, and otherwise shielded by a baseball cap. I've learned on dating sites that baseball cap in profile photo means no hair (just as, as a male friend has informed me (with regret for the women), excessive cleavage displayed by a woman in her profile means ding ding ding single mother). I have no issue with baldness, but I do rather like to at least see that the guy has a face. This is especially true if the only interest he feels is worth sharing is an interest in Par!s H!lton's sex life.

Hmm...

In other, more gentle thinking, I heard a lovely interview this afternoon with a religious and philosophical thinker and poet who died today or yesterday: John O'D0nohu3. I was typically transfixed, and delighted to discover yet another pocket of gentleness in the world. I loved what he said about looking for beauty in life (NOT physical beauty, glamour) as an essential daily act, about beauty as a force. Exactly. I loved the lilt of his Irish accent, his word selection. Sad to hear that he died at the age of only 53.

So is tonight's pub night on? Well, C. told me yesterday that he might like to go. He hasn't called me all day, however, so I'm guessing that he ended up going for the walk that he had tentatively scheduled with a girl in whom he is interested. I'm not entirely sure if I want to go alone to the pub, so the pub night is probably not on. No worries. I've been exceptionally tired today - no doubt a leftover of the hard workout yesterday - and have been doing laundry and other odd jobs all day. I suppose that I can do more of them.

Ooh! I do wish that I had been friendlier to the guy at the cycling thing yesterday. But then again, what would he have done? Probably nothing. OH well! It would be a bit awkward to set up a date in that class, anyhow, since he has no idea if I'm single. I can't imagine a guy asking someone out in these circumstances. But I suppose that you just never know. I'll make an effort to get his attention next week, at least by smiling at him.

Tomato sauce

Yesterday in my hurry to get to the hair salon after spinning I rushed through my brunch, jumped in the shower, slipped on some jeans and an old sweater, and ran off.

When I got home from the rather posh salon I discovered that there was a big patch of dried tomato sauce on the butt of my jeans, since I'd slipped on the same jeans that I'd been wearing at the food bank on Thursday. Oops!

Oh well. I think I smelled OK. Hopefully the hairdresser did not think TOO badly of me. ;)

I think that's it, or almost it. My mind has again been emptied. I should have gone out to the art gallery today or something. I was feeling very tired and sort of flat as I mentioned above and so did not plan to do anything. But then every Sunday on which I behave in this way I end up feeling so badly that I didn't at least TRY to get out and do something.

Next week, however, will definitely be different. It is the poet scientist's birthday on Sunday and he has invited me to join. We had a weird time together at the food bank. His behaviour made me feel vaguely uncomfortable, but I tried to work away from him and otherwise made light of everything. He revealed whilst we were walking to the food bank, much to my chagrin (I do not want to know these things), that he found out over Christmas that his girlfriend has a massive debt problem (rolling credit card debt from excessive travel a few years go) and that therefore she will have to sell her condominium to begin paying off the debt. He seemed very sad about this, and otherwise was very peevish. He bought me a lollipop on the way home (long story), and when I got off the bus at my stop I saw him staring out the window at me mopingly.

I hadn't written about that before, as I'm more than a little bit aware that I seem to be complicit in his mind game playing with himself over me versus his girlfriend. I am definitively not interested in dating him, and I definitively like his girlfriend. I do not want to be in the middle of this. Why can't we just be friends? I value his friendship very much. Apart from C. he's pretty much the most intelligent and interesting person whom I know in Ottawa, and I appreciate his genuinely kind and generous nature when it comes to his charity work. Without him I would not have connected with the Childr3n's Aid, which I think will prove an important experience in my life.

I'd already agreed to come to his birthday party, however, so I can't get out of it now. I'm bringing the lemon meringue pie. For some unknown reason he had remembered from more than a year ago that I make a mean lemon meringue pie.

I know, I know, I really need to wade out of this. And go after young, red-haired, hot-body cycling dudes who clearly have no issue with my advanced age. :) I will not lie and pretend that my ego is not involved in this at all, that even though I would never do anything about it - and feel horribly guilty for the feelings - it does feel good on some level that the poet scientist still likes me. I know, I know, I ought to slap myself over that. It's not good. I don't like it. And lord knows, re. his girlfriend - and I said this, outright - I haven't always managed my own money well. We are ALL flawed. I feel on some level that I will win if I can pursuade him that the grass is not greener. Really, though, I think that after the birthday party I am going to have to back out of seeing him for a number of months. I don't want to be in the middle.

Sigh. I am just not good at this stuff.

OK. Well, back to washing my bedding, all of it -pillows, comforter. I love this so much. There's nothing like climbing into a fresh, sweet-smelling bed. Given my asthma I should be doing this FAR more often than I do. I don't want to think about the mites in my pillows. EEEW! :)

5:03 p.m. - 2008-01-13

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