Pity Party. Attending? One.

I've been in a funk all weekend. There was a wedding this weekend. I was kind of surprised when I was told, back in November, it was coming. Carole and David got a free trip to Las Vegas to be witnesses at the wedding. I'm sure there will be stories as well as copious amounts of photos.

I do wish the bride and groom well. I'm given to understand it's been more than a little interesting to have finally arrived at a Vegas wedding. If you've divorced and reached a point with someone of "do we or don't we", you certainly don't want to go through the divorce process again. So, I hope this wedding is what they want.

Yet, the whole idea sent me into something of a funk. I thought I'd get remarried first. I really did. I did all this emotional therapy to get to a place where I know who I am and what I want out of life. I've been reminded, on more than a few occasions, that nothing on the other side has changed significantly and I am so much better off living as a single. Plus, I am an introvert, as I've mentioned before, and I value, prize and demand alone time. It's me and two cats, which I've grown to accept, sort of.

But how I wouldn't love to share my space with another human, preferably a guy. How I would love to come home and have him cook supper, do wash, bring in the mail, shovel the snow, call the plumber. I have felt as if the last 10+ years have been an exercise in always being "on", wondering when the next problem will happen and having to face it alone. The dating service was an abject failure. I still think that, at some point, they decided that they wouldn't be able to match even half of what I'd like so they just sent all the guys who hadn't dated ever my direction, because I'd have something nice to say in addition to the "What were you smoking when you matched us?" comments.

So, at a time like this, I sit in my quiet living room and wish there was someone whose dirty socks were left on the bedroom floor. I sit feeling sorry for myself. Why me? I come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that guys my age aren't looking for independent women my age. They either want someone to take care of them (shudder) or they want an air-head who will be arm-candy (double shudder). And let's not even discuss the side of my ego that is critiquing my appearance. "Gray hair? Hello? Here's $10. Go get a box of dye."

I took Friday off. It was a smart move. Mike, in the office, is expecting his first child any day now and he will be gone for 2 weeks when that happens. I had one day held over from last year and it was quiet so now is the perfect time to use that up. I went grocery shopping and have spent the weekend cleaning. I've emptied the paper recycling bin twice. I paid all my bills and it's just "me" time although a big black cat has demanded my lap. She knows I just need to know that someone, even if they have four legs and a tail, cares.

The party ends when I get up tomorrow. There is no more pitying myself for what I don't have. Time to move on. Tonight, it will be hot cocoa with a shot of Goldschlager. Tomorrow, it's Cheerios with bananas and the start of a new week.

Beverage:  hot cocoa

Deb

Kitteh visits

I went to visit Val and her cats. No pressure to take them, no not at all.

"I told Dawn that you were thinking about taking them and everyone at the clinic is really excited. They all think you're awesome and really couldn't think of a better person for them."

Did I say no pressure? HEY! Put that screwdriver away and don't tighten those!

Yes, I have actually considered NOT getting any more cats, at least through the end of the year. There is something to be said for being able to linger in places because I don't feel I have to be home. I look ahead at what I may be doing; Scottish festival in Iowa at the end of September, 30th class reunion in LaCrosse at Viterbo College (yeah, yeah, I know it's called 'University' now, but it will always be 'College' to me), and the thought of using up my vacation days with a visit to my daughter, which she didn't know about until she reads this. Plus, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's tossed into the mix.

It is undeniable, however, that I am lonely. I nearly had a heart-attack on Wednesday night. I went to bed at my usual time, but I find I am not sleeping well and am waking up at odd hours and noises. I will swear, on any size stack of whatever religious tome you wish, that I heard a cat jump from a windowsill to the floor. If you have heard it, it is an unmistakable sound; feet hitting the floor. At night, that meant someone was coming to sleep with me. I was so terrified I would suddenly feel the weight of a cat on bed and this "cat" then lying on my legs as they were wont to do. I curled into a ball, pulled the covers over my head and fell fitfully asleep. I have no idea what I really heard. I just know my sense of sound heard something that was translated into a memory that couldn't possibly be happening, or could it?

I walked into Val's apartment and one fled. The other looked at me before going behind the futon. She was, however captured and held while I let her smell me. Then, when there were no hisses or spits or struggles to get away, she was handed over. She sort of looked at me and then lay down in my lap. "She's the lap cat," Val said. She stayed for a good 10 minutes before deciding the petting was enough and she jumped off. (That's how we got Shakespeare. He fell asleep in my arms at the pet store where he was. Well, you can't just wake up a cat. He's obviously comfortable with me.)

At that point, Val got the other one out of hiding. She struggled a bit so Val calmed her down and then I offered my hand to smell. She looked at me but didn't want to be petted, so she was let go. Val and I talked about their care and their personalities and then Val got the recalcitrant cat again. This time, she allowed Val to place her in my lap. The ears flicked back for a minute or two but when she realized the ear and chin scratches were offered, she was fine. She only lasted a few minutes in my lap, but she's not the lap cat the other is.

By this day next week I'll either have 2 new friends or be getting 2 new friends. Labor Day weekend is an good time. I am clearing my calendar of any ancillary engagements that I can spend the weekend bonding. My house is empty. I am empty.

They won't be allowed into the basement until they are used to the upstairs and used to me coming and going. I have to wash the kitchen and bathroom floors and one more litter box. Both are quite chunky which neither Betsy or Rascal was which will be quite different, but they do love to sleep with their owner. I realize that is what I miss the most, rolling over to find a purring cat. Pillows are no substitute.

Yes, you can hear the not quite 100% completely sold sure right now in my voice. Am I talking myself into this? I don't quite know. Only Shakespeare was a sure thing. Everyone else was an "am I doing the right thing". There were no regrets once the cat was in the house.

As I huddled under the covers last night (What is this with a night temperature of 53 degrees in August?), the idea that I'd have foot warmers again gave me a better sleep than I've had in several days. I am a cat person.

Beverage: Prince of Wales tea

Deb

The fish in the sea are swimming belly up.

I tried to contact the next guy sent to me by the dating service. I got his name right after July 4th. I hadn't gone to dinner with the end of May fellow yet. We all know how that went. He has not contacted me since July 11th and I have no idea where I put his phone number so it's win-win.

My first attempt with selection number 16 was on the 19th. I called and got a "This number has been disconnected" message. Ohhhh-kay. I waited 15 minutes and called again. Must have dialed it wrong because it starts ringing and continues ringing and ringing and ringing. I don't know the number of rings before I ended the call. I waited 90 minutes and called again. Same thing, only this time, I counted. I figured 10 rings with no answer is sufficient.

I would have tried that next week but Rascal passed away and my mind isn't in the mood to make small talk with someone I don't know. I waited until the 26th and called him again. Ring, ring, ring. I hung up, looked at the phone and dialed, very slowly. I'm beginning to wonder if I have the right phone number. Could I be consistently transposing a number when I dial? Oh! What's this? A busy signal? Well, that's more positive than empty rings. I'll just call back in an hour and then I forgot.

I tried to call on Wednesday of last week. It rang 4 times and a man's voice answered. I said, "Hi! I'm looking for Marc. My name is Deb Montague and I'm calling from The Right One." Click.

I sat in the chair in the office and looked at the phone in my hand. There have been a lot of firsts in this dating madness and this is one of them. I didn't even know how to react. Was I calling the right number? I was ever so precise in pushing the keys. If it was the right person, was he screening calls and, because he didn't know my phone number, not picking up? Who doesn't have a voice mail box set up in this day and age? According to the rules of the contract you signed when you joined, you must agree to at least talk on the phone with the person whose name you have received. Even if I knew, up front, that the match was terrible, I went to dinner or coffee with the guy. Has this new name met someone and is in avoidance mode or have they, like me, struck out so many times with this place that they figure what's the use?

"There are plenty of fish in the sea." I'm not sure anymore. Haven't certain fish stocks crashed? "You have to kiss a lot frogs before you find your prince." Yeah, well, you have to find the frogs to kiss first. I think global warming has decreased their ponds and I'm not interested in wandering into the stagnant swamps currently available.

So, I'm giving up. Officially. You read it here, folks. Nothing to see. Move along smartly. When you can't even find a guy you'd like to hang around with, you realize there are worse things than going to movies and concerts alone.

I don't have to laugh at lame jokes, be appalled at lifestyle choices I'd never make in a million years, or wonder if I'll have enough cash to cover the tip. I don't have to throw that one back or spend 20 minutes looking through my closet for just the "right" top. Yeah, for all my bluster about how my idea of fashion is "it's clean", I do spend time considering if I want to wear the tee shirt or the polo shirt.

Although I'm going to be lonely and studies show that married people live longer than single people, I'm going to stick with my imaginary boyfriend. He returns phone calls and picks up after himself, loves the cat and can make a really good chicken dinner.

I'm thinking my requirements of "walking upright and breathing" were too relaxed.

Beverage: Blackberry tea

Deb