Dating

No, I have no plans to start dating. But, between the data transfer needed and some issues from our latest round of storms, I'm starting to feel like I'm going steady with the computer guy. He's the perfect date: he's pleasant and polite; he's patient with my questions. He doesn't touch me and I don't touch him. He fixes things and generally does what I ask him to do.

Of course, it stops feeling like a date the moment I get out my checkbook.

Most women will list traits like kindness or sense of humor as qualities they want in their ideal mate. Yes, they are important but they're not enough. I think you should aspire to a well-rounded person who can fix or do things, including:

Fix the computer, fax machine, printer and scanner;
Remove the overgrown trees and bushes, plus the rampant poison ivy;
Prepare your taxes;
Manage your finances;
Advise about real estate;
Understand investing and the markets;
Answer your legal questions;
Fix the plumbing and/or electrical problems;
Fix a leak in the roof;
Understand politics and explain its historical context.

I realize it's a pipe dream for all of these talents to come wrapped in a single package. Especially if you expect a sense of humor too.

The husband has many of these talents so I'm not complaining about him. But, his passions are music and golf. I don't tend to have a lot of emergencies or urgent needs in those areas.

At least he's not the jealous type. He doesn't mind that I'm spending more time with the computer guy than with him.

Cleaning Up

Do you ever read those magazine articles that encourage you to scatter rose petals in the effort to be romantic? (They tend to do this a lot in movies.) My immediate reaction is: Someone has to clean that up.

Over the years, I've tried to control my temper and my mouth. When hateful things are said, someone may clean it up but the stain remains.

As a child, I got myself in a pickle more than once. My parents always told me, "Clean it up."

I've cleaned up after the husband, the baby and the daughter. I've cleaned up after dogs. I've cleaned up after my own bad choices. I've spent many hours cleaning up after the oldies.

My current favorite tip is satin sheets, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, etc. I don't own satin sheets. If I did, I would not want them covered in chocolate and cream. Call me a fuddy duddy, but I figured out long ago who gets to clean up.

A Matter of Public Record

I am a huge fan of the Freedom of Information Act. I believe journalists and the public-at-large should have access to court documents, legislation or any information that impacts our country and world. I am one of the people who actually watches C-Span when there's a bill I'm concerned about.

On the flip side, I believe in privacy. It's a pretty tough dance when it becomes personal.

There are different rules for different people. Public figures are fair game. I think that keeps a lot of talented people out of politics, which I find scary. We've scared some of our brightest and brilliant people away from public office because who knows what the opponent might dig up.

Here's the flaw in the system:

If you got married, it's a matter of public record. If you lived with a bunch of people, it's not.
If you got divorced, it's a matter of public record. If you fathered a few illegitimate children, it's not.
If you got arrested in college or later, it's a matter of public record. If you shot heroine between your toes but told no one, it's not.
If your credit is lousy and you file for bankruptcy, it's a matter of public record. If you're cleaning it up, nobody cares.

There are people who live life and obey the rules. I try to be this person but I have broken many of society's rules. I don't know these people who have done it all perfectly but I hear that they are out there.

Work Weirdness

My friend Jan, in response to my post about Clowns, reminded me that she once had a job where she had to dress and act clownish. Not her idea of a good time.

When I graduated from college, I worked in a small ad agency and did a lot of things that they did not prepare me for during my education. Then I moved to the corporate world at the entry level. Yeah! I am a baby executive and I'll earn my stripes. I was hired in the marketing department to do mainly copy writing and some account service. This was the 80s and bank marketing involved a lot of branch openings. So, you coordinate the ribbon cutting ceremony, you arrange the coffee and danish, you get the proper city officials to appear, you coordinate the contests.

At the time, we had a children's savings account, "The Squirrel Account." It had lots of fun things for kids to help them learn about money management, savings and a coloring book that helped them learn some terminology. The Squirrel Account's mascot was Filbert the Squirrel. He showed up at branch openings and charmed the children.

At least twice, I had someone bail on me and I became Filbert at the last moment. I tried very hard not to imagine how many people had worn this heavy, sweaty, disgusting suit.

They did not train me for this in journalism school. But, I did it.

When my maniac dog barks at squirrels, I bark too. I've been a squirrel; I don't want to do it again.

Clowns

Clowns are creepy. I was afeared (crossword term) of them as a child and I have avoided them as an adult. It’s that big, painted-on fake smile. It’s that icky act of trying to be charming but instead it gives me the willies. It’s a bunch of them crawling out of a little car. I did this with girlfriends but none of us put on a wig and big shoes.

When I worked downtown in the corporate world, the circus would come to town at least once a year. It was about 2 blocks from my office so I could watch the elephant and tiger parade as they unloaded. The clowns lead various sections of the spectacle. I looked away.

I actually know people who have clown pictures hanging in their homes and/or in their children’s bedrooms. Don’t be surprised if these children grow up afraid of clowns or become serial killers.

The three-ring circus is not my fave. I get confused with the three rings. Is she going to fall off the trapeze? Is the elephant going to trample someone? Is the tiger going to strike his trainer? Is the kid next to me going to slop some more cotton candy on my lap? Did I truly pay to be this stressed out? My brain is not equipped to keep track of this many things at once.

Once they start bringing in the clowns, I am out of there.

Stormy Weather & Addictions

Stormy, scary weather swept through my city Friday night. I was downtown, enjoying the husband's band in an outdoor venue. I drove home through the storm, watching tree limbs fall and cars hydroplane around me. It was only 6 miles or so but it was frightening.

Our power was on but evidently had been hit during the storm. I ran around resetting clocks because I'm obsessed with knowing the time.

Saturday morning brought calm and clear weather. Unlike lots of people, we had electricity. We did not have cable. I get a little sweaty with the loss of my favorite companion, the television, but I get downright cranky when I can't get on the computer. My cable company is my Internet service provider. Panic attack is the kindest way I can describe it. Manic might be a better word.

I'm the first to admit that I have an addictive personality. Some good; some bad. During my meltdown, I realized that I would rather have my car break down, my telephone service disrupted and my iPod malfunction. Anything other than the inability to get online.

Young People and Music

When our niece was visiting, we spent some time in the car. I tend to go between our country station and the station that plays oldies. In either case, she knew the words and sang along.

My goddaughters know most of the songs from my generation. That's because they've been forced to listen to their mother and me sing loudly and often.

The daughter and the baby are both musically attuned. They come by it honestly. I love it that they can skip around different genres, know every word to the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or Garth Brooks and then introduce us to some group we've never heard of. Correction: I've never heard of it. The husband knows it all.

I was once one of those young people. My aunts exposed me to a little country and a lot of Leslie Gore. My father exposed me to a lot of country. My mother shared her love of Elvis. The oldies reminded me of my passion for hymns, big band music and jazz. I filled their CD collection and they let me share them.

Music transcends time and generations. If you don't agree with me, put a teenager in your car and play some Motown music. They'll sing along.