Cabdrivers dig me

I posted my profile on the Reader Matches… again. I want to test some of the things I’ve learned about myself lately, namely a little bit more self-love. I’m finding dating hard. Are we all who we say we are online or are these descriptions how we want others to see us? WHAT is real. Having dated everyone from the nicest guy in the world who I wasn’t ready for to the socio-path, gambling addict who, according to his Facebook account, is now engaged, I’m beginning to feel that I’ve been in the dating pool so much I honestly don’t know what’s real and who is real for me.

But cabdrivers dig me. Last week, I jumped into a cab and started to chat with the driver. It was an interesting conversation and he shared that his wife is in Pakistan for three months and it’s very hard to be alone for that long. I didn’t “get” the subtext and agreed that it must be lonely…. It didn’t click until I was getting out of the cab and he gave me his phone number. Ugh. And then just a few days later I was in a cab early on a Saturday morning and the cabdriver started questioning my sex life. I had to tell him that he was very offensive and to stop. His response, “We’re just having FUN!” How insulting to be treated like nothing simply because I’m perceived as a slutty American woman who has no morals or boundaries.

Is it no wonder that I’m confused about being a sexual being post cancer and unsure about who’s out there to be trusted with me?

The answer: Quality over quantity

Sorry for my disappearance. My doc switched me from Tamoxifen to Arimidex without much explanation except that in his male-mind this will be ultimately “better” for me — fewer hot flashes. What he didn’t qualify were the tremendous body aches, fatigue and night sweats. Luckily, I went back to my doc, Lisa, at Harmony Health and she researched Arimidex and determined a Chinese remedy to help me combat it. As she said, “You’re going to do something you haven’t done since college!” Hmmm…intriguing. The answer? Mushrooms. Hee.

And, again with no real “western” explanation to it all, I sit here today with no body aches and supremely limited extra-curricular sweating. Sigh. I am grateful!

I suppose I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it is quality over quantity when it comes to life. And perhaps the suggestion seems morbid but I use my sweet, inspirational and all-loving 96-year-old grandma as an example. Her body is old, tired, her siblings and love of her life are gone, and she sits on the couch all day. Waiting. The last few weeks, there is no distracting her via phone calls that “this” is life. Grandma knows better. My darling, darling Grandma…

But she and I… you know, we understand and know more so than anyone else in our family.

Live it. It’s indulging in the wonderfulness of it all rather than the time. I can tell you that with no question.

Personal ad enlightenment

I wonder if I’ll ever date again. I guess deep down I hope to… but I can’t say that right now I want to. I’ve been dating for nearly 30 years — I’ve experienced the joys and craziness of dating in my 20s, the possibilites of forever in my 30s. But being in my 40s, things have come full circle. I’m dating men who have already experienced love in their 20s and 30s and are jaded from long-term relationships. Meaning? They want to party with their much-younger buddies and date much younger girls; they’ve already done serious partnering. 

But these guys have no idea that women in their 40s rock. Here’s something amusing that Andy Rooney, 60 Minutes correspondent, supposedly wrote (never can tell with these email things that get sent around.  PLUS, when has Andy been so sensitive about women?):

As I grow in age, I value women over 40 most of all. Here are just a few
reasons why: A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night and ask,
‘What are you thinking?’ She doesn’t care what you think.

If a woman over 40 doesn’t want to watch the game, she doesn’t sit around
whining about it. She does something she wants to do, and it’s usually more
interesting.

Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at
the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you
deserve it, they won’t hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away
with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it’s
like to be unappreciated.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a
woman over 40.

Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her
younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They’ll tell you right off if you are
a jerk, if you are acting like one. You don’t ever have to wonder where you
stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it’s
not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot woman over 40,
there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with
some 22-year old waitress. Ladies, I apologize.

For all those men who say, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for
free? here’s an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage.
Why? Because women realize it’s not worth buying an entire pig just to get a
little sausage!

 

Isn’t Andy wise? But see he’s like 80 years old (sorry, Andy). or something. He should be wise.

Ok, So where do I fit in? How do my hopes fit in with reality? I guess I’m seeing the dating pool as bleak after seeing the most hilarious Bruised Orange show, I Saw Yous…, at The Spot. They do “dramatic-comedic” readings of the Reader personal ads from the “I Saw Yous” through “Adult Only.” We’re one messed-up relationship society. And while I laughed my butt off, I also groaned in realization that these are my potential dates. And it sucks.

The final last supper, again.

It’s the start of a new week, a new attitude. I already worked out and I’m going to cook and get organized for the week so that I help ensure that I eat right and have time to workout. In other words, I’m taking that major step for me-kind and committing to my body. That being said, last night I gave my body a huge goodbye party by not exercising and eating whatever I wanted. I suppose the problem with all that is that it’s not the first “last supper” I’ve had, which probably relates to some of this weight gain. But it’s easier to blame cancer…

If I’m going to be honest, though, I’ve used weight to hide in — to keep attention at bay, to keep myself safe from emotional connections. It’s all psycho, I know. And I guess I could stay “here” in these 30 extra pounds but there are two things that I can’t live with: 1. The prediction that menopause and Arimidex will slap on (another) 30 pounds and 2. The feeling that the fat girl suit no longer fits who I am inside.

The challenge has always been my commitment level and my discipline toward keeping the commitment true. But I want so much more from my life now. I feel that not making an effort would truly be the end of my happiness, the end of my life. It sounds so dramatic but when your physical and emotional selves are at odds, you are nowhere, you are no one.

And one thing I can bank on, is that I am someone.

Letting go

I cut through the alley on my way home from Trader Joe’s yesterday. Even though the store is a block away, it’s a more direct route to get to my door. And I’ve always liked traveling through alleys. There’s generally no one around and when there is, you feel a bit uncomfortable and suspicious.

When I got to my street and walked past the gangway to my door, I noticed this steamer trunk hiding behind one of the garbage dumpsters. I walked over to take a closer look. It was in really amazing shape and it was clear that it was used for someone’s move from Germany to Chicago. I opened it up to find miscellaneous boxes and decided I had to have this trunk.

I started to drag the big old box to my back steps. It was heavy and I had to use both hands to get it to the stairs. How the heck was I going to defy gravity and get it up the stairs? It took both hands, planted feet, guttoral yelps and some leg power to get it halfway up. I was standing mid-flight, both arms and legs pulling to simply balance the box on the stairs when I realized that I had no more juice in me. I had to let it go.

I wanted it. Bad. But I let it go when I realized that it would be bad for me to struggle up the rest of the way. Why is it that I can’t muster up this same focus and dedication to taking care of me? Why is it that I can’t recognize so clearly that I need to let go of some unhealthy bad habits in order to move forward?

I obviously don’t have the anwers… just the questions.