Happy Happy Joy Joy

I have a bit of a reputation as a pessimist. I prefer to think of myself as a realist with glass half-empty tendencies. But just because I'm not a jumpy claps "Super Fantastic!" kind of girl, that doesn't mean there aren't many things that bring me joy. And it's almost always the tiny moments. Sure, standing on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower makes my face hurt from grinning, but I only get to do that every several years. Every day happy is a bit more reliable. And yet so much easier to overlook. Some things I try to appreciate each and every time:

1) The muffled cracking sound ice makes in a glass when I pour in my drink. And Diet Coke does it, too, before you all mention a 12 Step program.

2) Going to see a movie, getting there in time for all the previews, and they're all movies I can't wait to see.

3) Walking into a bookstore and unexpectedly seeing a new book by the author of a book I loved.

4) Waking up and looking at the clock, and realizing I still have three hours until the alarm goes off.

5) Kissing someone for the first time. And for the 200th time. But the first time is pretty great.

6) A snowy day, a full fridge, a good book, and no place I have to be.

7) Nachos with extra guacamole. Or pizza with extra mushrooms. It's like a cheese-covered Sophie's Choice. 

8) Having a cold beer on my patio after work, in the summertime at twilight.

9) Happening upon a word I don't quite recognize, and looking it up. I realize this makes me a huge geek. A huge happy logophilic geek.

10) A kitty, a couch and flannel pajamas. Or an office, a blog, and a jingle bell tinkling behind me, like it is right now. Some poor catnip something or other is getting the snot kicked out of it.

11) Reading old emails from someone I once loved. This has the potential to quickly take a turn towards the unhappy, so my advice is to keep just the nice ones.

12) Baking for no reason other than to make my kitchen smell all butterysugary.

13) A coffee shop, a good friend, and free refills.

14) Seeing my Mom pull into my drive for a weekend visit.

15) Pancakes very late on a Sunday morning. Or very late on a Saturday night.

16) The hand of someone special on the small of my back. And no, creepy guy at the bar who wants to buy me and my friend a drink, you don't count as "someone special".

17) A stack of new magazines, a cup of tea, cookies, then a nap. Bliss.

18) Having my friends over, looking around my living room, and seeing everyone laughing, chatting and having a great time. Or trash talking each other over some bogus Scattergories point grab.

19) The first strawberry shortcake of summer. Followed about 8 minutes later by the second strawberry shortcake of summer. Who can eat just one serving of perfection? Weirdos, that's who.

20) Making someone belly laugh.

21) Listening to music in a house lit only by candles. This is doubtlessly more enjoyable seeing as how I never developed a fondness for Megadeth.

22) Glass of wine. Jazz c.d. Cutting board. Mezzaluna. This jumps into the Happy Hall of Fame if I'm cooking with someone else. This may be an excuse to have a man roll up his sleeves and feed my borderline forearm fetish. I'm okay with that. Chop the cilantro.

23)  Cupcakes. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting.

24) Finding the perfect birthday card for someone.

25) Planning to do something that scares me. Doing it. Doesn't matter if I do it well, only that it scared me and I did it anyway.

Some of these (1, 4, 9, 17 and, luckily, 20) are part of my day all the time. Others (3, 5, 16 and, thankfully for my ass, 23) are few and far between. But I always notice them, because when it comes right down to it, true joy might just be in the details. Now if I could just do something about #22...

This time it's personal

There it is again. An ad for e-harmony. E-horror is more like it. While I could never do it, I'm in awe of people who put themselves out there. I prefer to meet guys the organic way. You know: friends introduce you, or maybe you meet at a house party, you hit it off right away. You've been talking all evening, he's attentive, he leans in close and says "Hey, this might be a little forward, but can I ask you something? Your friend, the one with the long hair - is she single? "  Good times.  Anyway, not my thing, but I googled some tips for writing an online personal ad, just for research.

1) I'm supposed to choose a catchy user name that says something positive about me as an individual dater, while avoiding a handle that may be seen as overly aggressive or too timid or too generic.

Okay, so "Idon'tlikespooning" is out. So is "LiveswithKitties" or "Likesitontop". Actually, that last one has potential, at least in the short-term.

2) I'm supposed to paint myself  in the best possible light. Seems obvious.They suggest being truthful and humorous, yet modest, perhaps starting with a question to draw people in or by sharing some things I like about myself or that others frequently remark on. Then I'm to write a sentence or two about what I'm looking for in a date or partner.

I think I'm sort of cool, and by my age, honesty is pretty much my best quality, so I think we're good here. What do my friends remark on most? That I'm funny, I know lots of big words, and my boobs. I'll probably  leave at least one of those out.

As for what I'm looking for in a partner, hmmm. I really enjoy guys'  forearms. This is weird, I know. Some girls like a nice bum; me, I'm a forearm aficionado. But most men have two of those, at least so long as we're not counting Def Leppard drummers, so it hardly narrows the list of candidates.
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3) Add a flattering picture of myself. Look for a recent picture where I'm the central focus, with a nice smile. Avoid pictures where I'm drinking.

Okay, so no prom photo. Too bad. Pale blue tulle is a good colour on me. The last photo I willingly posed for was when I renewed my driver's license, and even then I didn't want to. I typically avoid cameras like someone in the witness protection program.  Except when I'm drinking, ironically.

4) Avoid bland cliches like "looking for someone to share my life with" or "I like dining out." State my interests specifically.  Be descriptive about things that are important to me.

So no walks in the rain or being a people person, then? Just as well; my hair does not look good wet. And while proper punctuation is quite important to me, I fear that might send the wrong...wait..what...did you just fall asleep while you were reading that?

Okay - keeping these tips in mind, here goes.  I will never actually use it, but here's what my fake ad might actually say:

"Wordsandwinefan" - Have you always wanted to have wings and beer - in Morocco?  Me too! Also me: very early 40s, never married, green eyes, curvy. My friends rely on me to crack them up, but I'm looking for a guy who simply makes me smile. I've found that interesting conversation is one of life's most enjoyable pleasures. Well, that, and cheese. My perfect weekend usually involves good coffee, a great bookstore, and pasta, but I won't say no to mini-golf.  I love modern design but live in a 107 year old house. I love independent movies, but have seen "The Hunt for Red October" at least a dozen times. I'd like to meet someone between 38-45 who's easygoing and curious. About the world, food, books, and me. You don't have to agree with me on everything, but you need to be passionate when you're telling me why you don't. Tall is great, kindness is essential, and a touch of wanderlust is fantastic. If you can have a great time whether playing Wii with friends or drinking cheap wine at 2am on a rooftop in Rome, let me know.

I suspect my ad, were it ever posted, would receive responses pretty much like the following:

From: "Likestheladies2579"

Hey there. I noticed your ad, and I think we'd hit it off.  I'm not really into books or movies, but I do really like driving my Lexus. That's an expensive car. I mostly spend my weekends working out or going to whatever bar is hot. Gotta stay current, you know. Being "kind" seems sort of girly, but I wouldn't hit a woman or anything. I don't really "get" travelling to weird places, but I just got back from a sweet trip to Vegas with my boys. What happens in Vegas, am I right? Anyway, if you could, send a full body shot so I can see if curvy just means boobs and ass or all over. You can't be too careful with these things. I'm not overly tall, but no one has ever complained when they're lying down, know what I'm saying? Oh - it says very early 40s. Don't suppose that's a typo, is it? Not a deal breaker, since you look much younger. And hey - the girl in the background in your profile picture - is she single?

You know you want it...

Wasn't feeling inspired this week. Post Christmas blahs? Maybe. Sugar crash? Probably. Then, like a gift sent by angels from heaven (slutty angels who are likely commando under their feathery wings), there it was. At the checkout. The February edition of Cosmo. And just like that, I was inspired.

Okay - it's back, baby! The magic number. 75. As in "Bad Girl Sex. 75 Very Naughty Moves to Try on a Man." Bring it. The usual assortment of role playing, public nudity and something involving a spatula. Although, one girl referred to her "inside knuckles". Do you suppose her hands are on backwards?  I had two  favourites: first, whip out an old Halloween costume and put it on. The costume in question was a (no doubt slutty) police outfit. Seems easy, fun, a bit silly. I have two old costumes in my house. The track-suited Sue Sylvester from "Glee", complete with hacked-up wig of questionable fiber content, and a giant purple crayon. You're getting hot just thinking about it, am I right? Pervs.

My second favourite tip was from a girl who suggested buying vibrating underwear that your boyfriend can operate via remote control, and wearing them to the movies. True, the warning at the beginning of the movie doesn't specifically mention turning off your lingerie, so they probably can't throw you out. But I can hear a cell phone vibrate 3 rows over, and  I have to assume there's some sort of buzzing sound associated with remote-controlled underwear. Do you really want to explain to the usher how that wasn't a text you were getting during "Yogi Bear in 3D?"  Hey, Boo Boo, indeed. And how does one launder those? My washer is a pretty swank, front-loading, energy-efficient number that practically makes me waffles, but I don't think it has a "Vibrating Panties" setting.

Russell Brand is this year's Fun Fearless Male. I think he's incredibly funny and, as a result, quite sexy. And he's smart; any man who refers to himself as " a simpleton of sexual semiotics" gets my attention. Plus, he says the worst pick-up line he's ever used was "Get in the van". That's just funny. Me likey.

"10 Romantic Moves That Guys Actually Dig." Always useful information. Except for one thing. The tips are courtesy of Brian Austin Green. 90210's David Silver. Who spent like 19 seasons trying to get into Donna Martin's pants. Are we entirely sure we want to take his advice?  Thought so. He does have one good tip, though. Loading the fridge with his favourite snacks and drinks is romantic. I have to agree. Any guy who either shows up with, or stocks up on, Popcorn Indiana Kettlecorn, a six-pack of Stella or a bottle of bubbles, and KitKats is pretty much gonna get french-kissed within an inch of his life. As soon as I have some kettlecorn.

What a guy really wants to do on Valentine's Day. Nothing. Word.

Oh dear. Page 85. The new ad for Katy Perry's celebrity perfume, Purr. Now, I like Katy Perry. I think she's cute as a button, she took on Russell Brand, and she's sweet in interviews. Except, um...



I know enough about marketing to know ads are supposed to make the consumer aspire to what they're seeing. So this'll really grab the would-be tranny jungle aerobics instructor hooker crowd by the disposable income.  And Katy, clearly cockstruck because of all the Russell Brand brand sex, agreed to this mess. My fear, of course, is that someone, meaning well, and knowing my love of both perfume and kitties, will think this is just the gift for me. Let me put it this way: I don't care if it's the best-smelling thing since Hugh Jackman's neck, if any guy walked into the master bathroom and saw this on the vanity, I would expect (nay, insist) that he leave immediately, never to return because of my shame.

"How to Make Him Better in Bed." They refer to the sexual style they call the "human jackhammer". Here's a tip. Don't love having sex that way? Stop sleeping with guys you meet at keggers. I think you'll find there's a very high concentration of jackhammer enthusiasts at your average frat party. Subtlety comes with age. Problem solved.

"The A-Cup Revolution" regrets to inform me that a University of Vienna study found that smaller breasts are more sensitive than larger ones. When contacted for comment, my ample bosom has this to say: "Fucking liars, the Viennese". Complicated dance moves as well.

In the article "25 Fun Things to Do With Your Guy", they suggest logging onto the site Pandora, picking your favourite group, then your boyfriend's favourite, and the site will mash the two styles together to come up with music that has attributes from both bands. This sounds cool, but can't possibly work all the time. What if I love The Pussy Cat Dolls and my boyfriend loves Rush? Wait - bad example. This would never happen. I could never date a Rush fan. But I am absolutely logging on later and trying it. If the site crashes, it was me. Trying to see what happens when a Pantera fan and a Belieber find true love.

I don't always do the Cosmo Quiz, but this one caught my eye. "Can He Read Your Sex Signals?" Most of the questions presume you have a boyfriend so, being single, I had to reflect on my previous relationships. And then once I got back from the therapist, I took the quiz. Oh dear. Turns out, and I'm quoting, 'there's no way in hell an average dude could [figure out my] super-vague signals. Out of a possible 10, I scored a 2. As someone who would like to date again, this is worrisome. Because if I suck at giving off signals to an actual boyfriend, how is some poor guy who barely knows me ever going to know I'm game? Balls. Maybe alcohol makes me a little more obvious. I'm going to do a few shots and take the quiz again. Granted, the quiz does give maximum points for trying to meet a guy by "adjusting" my shoe while sticking my bottom in the air, so perhaps I need a second opinion. Maybe Seventeen has a quiz this month...

Friend speak

I'm a pretty honest person. My friends know if they want a sugar-coated opinion, I'm very likely fresh out of sugar. But sometimes, we're not honest with our friends. We're saying one thing, but secretly hoping they get what we really mean. Kind of makes you wish friends came with a decoder ring, huh? 

What your friend says: "You have a big personality / you're so much fun / you're the sparkliest person in the room".  What she means: "You're a loudmouth. No wonder no one asks you out - they can't get a word in edgewise. Shut the fuck up".

What your friend says: "He just wasn't the right person for you". What she means: "You'll die alone".

What your friend says: "I'm sure you didn't do or say anything to turn him off". What she means: "You totally said or did something to turn him off. Shut the fuck up or you'll die alone".

"It's not my favourite look on you." This one can actually have a few meanings. It can mean: " I really like those shoes/ those jeans/ that top, and they look good on you, but if you buy it/them, then I can't". The second possiblity? " I'm bloated, I feel a zit coming, I don't think I'm ever going to have sex again, and the fact that your boobs look so good right now is pissing me off".  Third option? "Moo". This one is a crap shoot. Decode wrong at your own peril.

"We'd love to come; let me just check with insert-husband's-name-here and find out if we can get a sitter." What she means: "I have a man who loves me, regular sex,  brilliant, happy child/ren, and you don't. I don't love those jeans on you. You'll die alone." Or, she could just mean she'd love to come, but her husband might have to work late and the teenager next-door is booked three weeks in advance. I might be overthinking this one.

"My opinion of him really isn't important. If you like him, and he makes you happy, that's all that matters." What she means: "He's a complete jackass, you could do so much better, I'm pretty sure he has a drug problem, and he has repeatedly tried to feel my ass. You'd be better off dying alone."

Your straight male friend says: " You think he's hot? Really?  He seems like a bit of a tool..." What he means: "He seems like a nice guy. And you clearly like him alot. Why don't you think I'm hot? You did in college. Man, we totally should have slept together".

Your gay male friend says "You think he's hot? Really? He seems like a bit of a tool..." What he means: "For the love of Neil Patrick Harris, are you blind? I'm 97% certain that he's gay, with a plus or minus error margin of 3 percent. The gays are bad at math, but that could mean he's 103% gay".

Naturally, I'm simply providing this as a public service; my friends have nothing to worry about. I love those jeans on all of you, I think he's fabulous, and you have never said or done anything to make a man change his mind. And I'll die alone.

Dating by the numbers

Dating. It's been the number one topic for my friends and me lately. Other than what we were going to eat next. Haven't talked about dating this much in a while, mostly because I'm not sure I'm built for it. But I am sure of this: dating, or at least the way I view dating, is much different after 35.

For today's purposes, let's define dating as repeatedly spending time with someone you like and are hoping to get to know better,  romantically. Definitions are important. I once thought I was seeing someone casually. So did he. Except my definition of casual was we'd see each other once, occasionally twice a week. His definition was that we'd see each other once, occasionally twice a week. Because he was seeing 2 or 3 other people on the other nights.

In my 20s and even early 30s, I wanted to be wooed. Grand romantic gestures, extravagant plans - these were the things I wanted in a relationship.  Didn't get 'em, but wanted 'em. Now, who has the time for grand gestures? And I'm so tired at the end of the week, I kind of don't want to commit to something too far in advance. Some of the best evenings are spur of the moment. It doesn't mean a guy likes you less; it means there's nothing he'd rather do tonight. Fine by me. That being said, it is awfully nice to have something to look forward to, but don't make plans you aren't going to keep. I used to brush it off as "no big deal" if I got cancelled on, not wanting to be that girl, even though I was seething inside. It was always a big deal, jackasses. 

Forget what I just said. I do still want to be wooed. But the manner of woo has changed. There was a time when it meant fancy dinners and gifts (the eye-watering "Obsession" by Calvin Klein comes to mind). Now, it means getting extra green olives on the pizza because I like them, or remembering how I take my coffee. Because anyone can pull out their Visa; thoughtful gestures that show a guy's been paying attention are much harder to come by.

I think we all go through it, but I wanted to date "that" guy. The hot one, the coolest one, the emotionally cruel one. I usually didn't, because everyone else wanted to date him, too. But the thing is, I've realized that cute and kind is the new hot. And the new coolest. Emotionally cruel isn't the new anything. Boy, would the romantic landscape of my 30s have been different if I'd figured that out a little sooner.

I always wanted to "do something" on a date. I mean go out, have dinner, cocktails, see a band. And sure, those things are great. But I sometimes wonder if part of the excitement was knowing that other people were seeing me on a date. You know what? Staying in is a date. I have an awesome house, a great tv, and a fully stocked bar. And my couch is the best seat in the house. Plus, you can totally make out with the girl who brings you your drink. Try that at the Fireside. I'm worried, though, that buying my house has sent me even further into dating Siberia, making me seem "too settled" for most men. Several guys I know assured me that "a chick with her own place" is a bonus. Hasn't proven to be the case. Not even with all the HD sports channels. Fuck. I pay too much for cable and I'm still not getting a kiss goodnight.

I don't want you to sleep over. Not all the time. When I was younger, it was sort of a badge of honour if a guy spent the entire night. Don't get me wrong; I'd really like a little chat, maybe a snack, before a guy has one foot in his pants and the other on his gas pedal. But let's get this out of the way right now:  I sleep hard. I wake up looking like an extra from "28 Days Later". Why would I do that to someone I really like? But if you stay over on the weekend, I can promise Belgian waffles and piping hot coffee. Just do both of us a favour: unless you have a Gorgon fantasy (no judgement)  you might want to sleep with a pillow over your face. Or invest in a sleep mask. It's for your own good.

I don't want to talk numbers with you. Not that mine are in any way horrifying, unless you're my Mom,  but I don't want to know if yours are a bit Sheen-ish. Why are we so eager to share sex math when we're younger? Here's all you need to know:  enough to feel like I have a firm handle on things, not so many I have a standing prescription for the morning-after pill. However, dating horror stories are another matter. Bring 'em on. If you can't laugh about your romantic mishaps, you can always laugh about mine.

There is one thing that hasn't changed, unfortunately. I still want a guy to do the asking. It's not that I'm old-fashioned; it's that I'm a grade A chicken. I realize this goes completely against how I want people to perceive me:  independent, strong, forthright. And most of the time, I am. But I'm also the girl who took a friend to prom because the first guy I ever asked out turned me down. Thank God; it'll make for a much better chapter in my inevitably best-selling autobiography.

And by the way, I did consider asking a guy my age for his take on the differences in dating women over 35, but then I realized pretty much every guy my age who's looking to date would say "there are women over 27?" Never mind.

The kid I never had

It's going to be surprisingly snark-free today, gentle readers, so if you need a dose of bitchy, I'd suggest checking out an old post. Today, I am feeling a wee bit sentimental.

Back in the day, I used to be a nanny. My young charge was a pig-tailed, giggly 18 month-old cheese enthusiast who liked colouring, going down the slide, and visits to the park to see the ducks. She also, more disturbingly, enjoyed ripping up countless picture books with a zeal then more commonly reserved for works by Salman Rushdie. Luckily, her penchant for destroying the written word was gone long before her baby teeth.

I don't get to see her very much these days, but she and her mom and I went to Starbucks today, and it's still a bit weird for me to realize she's not a little girl anymore. My instinct was to wait with her while they made her drink, rather than go grab a table. Never mind that she could very likely pin any pervert who approached her, then make a citizen's arrest, all without messing up her hair or spilling her frappuccino.


Even after I stopped being her nanny, we'd go to movies together. "101 Dalmatians" was the first one. I remember pouring Smarties into the skirt of her little dress once she sat down, turning it into sort of a built-in candy bowl. She knew the movie was a cartoon about lots of dogs. During the previews, a trailer for "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" came on. She looked at me and said, in the most accusatory voice a 3 1/2 year old can muster, "Dis is not da movie!" I explained that sometimes, they showed you a little bit of another movie in case you wanted to come see it another time. I could sense her displeasure with this lame-assed explanation as she waited for the oft-promised puppies, quietly eating her Smarties. I suspect to this day, she's never seen "Robin Hood", seeing as how that jerk delayed her Dalmatians enjoyment.

Being a Disneyphile, she received a Beast doll from "Beauty and the..." fame the year the movie came out. This doll came as the Beast, but a quick removal of his little furry gloves and his face mask turned him into the handsome prince. Whenever anyone would try and remove his mask, she would lose her four year-old shit. I like to think that even then she realized, sometimes, handsome ain't everything.


She's 23 now, a truly beautiful young woman, proudly wearing her X ring and telling me I totally have to creep her handsome boyfriend on Facebook. You're right, sweets, he's a fox. I always knew the cute little kid would become a pretty young girl, but I am forever amazed by the kind, smart, poised, and accomplished woman she has become.



And, best of all, she still thinks I'm cool, even though I no longer try and make her laugh by wearing beaver teeth I've fashioned out of cubes of Havarti.  She once drew a picture of her family; she and her mom and dad were crayon drawings; for me, she had cut out a picture of supermodel Stephanie Seymour. Stephanie and I have little in common beyond a shameful love of long-haired musicians in our younger years. Best picture ever.

I don't know if I'll be lucky enough to have a kid of my own. I hope so. But I know this - I could only hope to have a daughter as wonderful as her. Her parents have done a terrific job raising a great girl, and I thank them for trusting me enough all those years ago to let me be a part of her life. They're the ones who truly have a right to be proud of her, but I'd like to think a tiny bit of who she is today is because of the days we spent together, feeding the ducks, eating cookies, and rocking out to Depeche Mode and Grace Jones, me in Doc Martens and she in a diaper. I love you, kid. Just stay away from my lipsticks.