And Now For Something Completely Different (I hope I don't get sued for ripping off Monty Python!)

So, I finally decided to jump into the dating pool. However, since I'm so busy, I have a difficult timing getting out in the world to meet new guys. And because the guys I already know are not available, just friends, afraid to ask me out, or just plain losers, I've decided to jump on the Internet dating train.

Now which Internet dating site have I joined, you ask. Well, I've decided to try eharmony.com. I figured I'd try it for a month and see what happened. If I get good results, maybe I'll stick around for another month. Anyhow, I've already started meeting my matches. They've been chosen for me based on my "personality profile." (The one that took me almost an hour to fill out, and I'm still not sure if I got all the answers right.)

As some of you know, I have issues with height and age. I like men who are at least two inches taller than I am, and I have a problem dating men who are more than five years older or younger than I am. Well, the folks at eharmony seem to feel that I should expand my age limit upwards (if anything should change, I think it should be in the downward range, don't you? Just call me Cougar Carpenter!), so they keep sending me the profiles of 49 year old men. That's okay. I take a look at them, then I delete them.

Eharmony also keeps sending me matches below the 5'8" range! Okay, now I allow 5'10", but I really prefer tall men. The taller the better! They make me feel smaller, more delicate, like a tender flower on the cusp of bloom (ugh! I think I just threw up a little in my mouth!). Moving on. I like a man that I can wear two or three inch platform heals around and still look up at him. At minimum, I have to look him in the eye! (Is this too much to ask for? Tell me. It's really important!) I usually don't even look at these profiles. As soon as I see the height, I chuck 'em. I know it's superficial, but hey! I'm the one who's gonna have to set my beer on his head if I start dating him. You just keep your hairy nose out of it.

Not all the guys I'm being matched up with are horrible, though. There are actually some very cute, sweet, and smart men. I've started sending those form questions out to these ones. (It kind of makes me feel like I'm sending notes in elementary school, though. You know "do you like me--check yes or no" or "Sally Frankman says Joey Milkie said Frances Donovan said Mark Miller thinks you're cute? Do you think he's cute?") After they respond to these questions, I get to send them my likes and dislikes, then they get to send me back theirs. Next we get to ask each other a second round of questions, and then we do something else. I think somewhere around the fifteenth round, we actually get to start writing each other letters. Yippee! It all seems rather complicated, don't you think?

I remember it being a lot easier when I was younger. I'd go to the bar, see a guy I thought was cute, wiggle a little as I walked over to him, and ask him if he wanted to f***! See, nothing to it. But then again, I am 38 years old, and I've never been married, so maybe that wasn't such a good approach.

Well, anyhoo, I think I'll go check my email and see if any of the twenty or so guys I sent pick up lines, I mean, first questions to have replied to me. I'll keep you all posted, and if you're very good boys and girls, I'll try not to bore you to death in the posts.

Ta!

To My Darling Girl

I ran into Jenny tonight, and I told her that I hadn't felt ready to blog. But when I got home I realized that if I didn't blog now, I might never do it. Some of you may already know, but for those of you who don't, my niece Elizabeth passed away September 7th. I miss her.

Most of you never got to meet my darling girl, though you probably heard about her frequently. I often spoke about her health issues, my experiences while helping to raise her, and the incredible things she used to say. I can't imagine not having her around anymore, but I know that's exactly what's going to happen. I'm still going to be here, and she's not.

On the day of her memorial I went to my mother's house, and she showed me a picture that captured Lizzy perfectly: her intelligence and her sense of humor. From the time Lizzy stopped wearing diapers, it was clear she would always have a problem finding pants that fit. You see, she had a large tummy (caused by her illness forcing her organs to squash towards her stomach) and a very small butt. Every pair of pants she owned slid down and showed the crack of her butt. The family took to calling her "plumber butt." The picture my mother showed me was taken at her house. Lizzy had called to Mom from the kitchen saying, "Grandma! Come here. I've got something to show you." My mother went to the kitchen to find my girl on her hands and knees with her head in the cabinet under the sink. She had pulled her pants half way down her butt, revealing a crack almost as large as Dan Akroyd's. This was my Lizzy, my darling girl. She took life's cruelties and turned them into laughter.

It hasn't quite been a month, but I've already started to heal. This is what she would have wanted. I've found happiness in the classes I teach at the university, and I know Elizabeth would have been excited for me. She loved school and her teachers, and I know she was happy that I chose to become a teacher.

Lizzy's ashes are going to be spread around the memorial tree planted at the elementary school she attended. It's highly illegal for us to do so, but we want her to rest somewhere that made her happy, and she was never happier than when she was in school. In this she was very much like her aunt.