getting to know you

riding a new trail is an awful lot like going on a first date. minus the agony of what to wear-- and it's also probably best not to sport an oversized sanitary napkin in your shorts, at least until reaching the 'i can eat spaghetti bolognese/lobster in front of you' comfort level. obviously, there is always a risk that what you are confronted with is going to be an overwhelming flop; too tight, too twisty, scary thin bridges over stagnant ponds, or a penchant for white, cotton turtlenecks... all of which makes it incredibly hard not to keep going back to what is familiar; every root, rock garden and worn log jump are imprinted on your wheel. sort of like hooking up with an ex. how wonderfully reassuring then, when your first time on unfamiliar trail, is chock full of smiles, stomach lurches and the odd bruise.

dialogueing for the diagnostically opposed

- have you seen my wallet?

- no.

- but i had it in one of the bags when i brought in the stuff from the supermarket- which YOU unpacked.

- who puts their wallet in a shopping bag?

- well what did you do with it when you put away the food?

- i don't know, i don't remember seeing it (WHO puts their wallet in a shopping bag?)

- you must have thrown it away.

- why would i throw your wallet away? (WHY would you put your wallet in a shopping bag?)

[much rifling through the rubbish bin]

- it might behoove you to identify one location for your sunglasses/watch/wallet/keys, besides the roof of the car/anywhere the labrador's jaws can reach/ in the pocket of something that goes into the laundry bin and subsequently the washing machine...

- ha! i found it. you did throw it out with the bags.

- WHO PUTS THEIR WALLET IN A SHOPPING BAG?

- this is why you shouldn't be so obsessed with tidying.

- (...!...).

saying your vows

repeat after me:

[vigorously elbowing]

"stop snoring!"

"stop elbowing me!"

"well, stop snoring. i can't sleep"

"now i'm not sleeping!"

"but you were!"

"just go to sleep!"

"i can't sleep if you're snoring!"

"if you're sleeping you wont hear me snore!"

"well, just roll over onto your side. when you lay on your back you tend to snore more"

"stop talking, i'm trying to sleep"

"well, stop snoring, i'm trying to get to sleep"

[rolls over]

"now i can't go to sleep...do you think you could turn your alarm clock to face the other way, the light from the numbers is keeping me awake?"

"just close your eyes, then it will be dark"

"it's not the same, i can still see the light and it's keeping me awake"


[mutual sighs]




repeat nightly.

making the announcement: moving on with someone new

when two people inevitably go their separate ways, it is always hard for someone to 'start over'. the familiar quirks or annoying habits are suddenly missed, and these individuals begin to take on a newsweek magazine 'person of the year' quality that is irreplaceable. fortunately, humans, no matter how co-dependent, are fickle, and after thinking that no one could ever live up to my dad's shoes, i was able to find a worthy replacement.

and then she moved to asheville; suddenly i was shopping around for someone else to run with who met criteria for: lethargic pace, parallel neuroses, and compatible views on start times (4am is not an acceptable hour to become acquainted with lactic acid).

and then i moved.

magazine columnists assert that after a couple of rebounds, the 'one' has usually either been right under your nose and/or (subsequently) not what you were expecting. i have officially found myself another blonde to cover the many miles of asphalt with. he gives me a reason to get out of the door (turning the living room into a post-apocalyptic movie set at 5 o'clock every day is too exhausting for all parties), maintains the aforementioned pace due to his dwarf-like inside leg measurement, and also appears to garner the same level of uninvited attention from motorists, pedestrians, and canines, to keep a building site busy for a week.



he is, however, unable to relate to my chafing woes, but will happily sniff at them, or any other runner we happen to encounter.

save the date

wedding season is officially open, and rather than dealing with the "do i have to go?"/power struggle over a suit and tie versus cargo shorts and t-shirt/pouting that there is insufficient protein at the buffet table, the solution to the age old; 'who will serve as my two legged reception accessory' is as simple as 'just add girlfriend'. this is someone who can appreciate the nuances of a bride's decolletage (and doesn't think that means something to happen on "third base"), and agrees with you that the groom serenading his new wife with a little apres-ceremony lounge singing is very sweet, quite brave and totally thoughtful. not to mention that it is perfectly acceptable if your date gets hit on.

and what reception is complete without a little baby break dancing?

attached white female seeking same or different, for various activities

finding an eternal partner to argue over which way the loo roll should be placed is easy. weeding out the potential girlfriends who will bring you colouring books and soup when you're home sick, versus the ones who bring you grief, drama and just make you sick, is not yet available as a feature on eharmony.

once you have secured that "first date", it's a fine balance between personifying the single white psycho and coming on too eager for BFF-dom, versus feigning nonchalance and losing the interest of your future "three-hours-at-the-coffee-shop-talking-about-anal-bleaching" buddy. however, trying to discourage further contacts with a boring and/or attention seeking female who thinks that puns are the epitome of wit, proves to be more challenging than not punching her antithesis; "super-bubbly-girl-who-claps-her-hands-in-delight-(repeatedly)-and-somehow-manages-to-verbalize-the-exclamation-point-at-the-end-of-each-exuberant-statement".

and so the interview process begins; will this person reject me when they find out how overly neurotic and sensitive i really am (will i want to throttle her for being that way too?), does she exhibit the comittment to drive to another state just to go to the outlets- of which only 5 of the 325 shops will be hit? will she make a good running buddy and share the bodyglide? can i convince her to strap on a bike helmet and start building up a collection of 'trail bruises'? can she match my stories about peeing in the car/hedge/on myself?

our "date" ended with an emergency stop at mcdonalds for an evacuation of the chicken saag consumed at lunch. as far as i'm concerned, bodily functions on a "first date" suggests the beginning of a long and entertaining friendship.

don't judge a book

if a hot pink sign on top of a vinyl sided warehouse reads: "thorobred lounge XV", it could easily indicate the local meeting spot for stable owning kentucky blue bloods sporting gold pinkie rings the size of pencil sharpeners.

probably not.

resistance is futile when it is time for "i-used-to-be-so-blonde-my-hair-turned-green-at-the-swimming-pool" to get the skunk stripe touched up with a few highlights. finding that "just right" salon/stylist/coffee shop sans poncey italian units of measurement/vietnamese restaurant with a kick-ass pho soup, is more challenging than locating a decent spot to sleep amongst a family of bears. and uber pricey/monochromatic/malnourished salon vidal sasoon; london is just as skeptically viewed from across monmouth street, as any converted victorian building-to-business "parlour" with frilly curtains and shrink wrapped pensioners asleep under the dryers.



this salon had a disco ball hanging in the centre (and very knowledgeable, skilled stylists with a mutual appreciation for all things low brow).

now if i can just find a gynecologist with something non-mirrored to stare at, on their office ceiling.

and they lived happily ever after...taking the piss

the second wave of weddings for us 30-something-comittment-phobe-procrastinators-worried-about-gynecological-dessication is ready to come crashing down onto the shore of holy matrimony in '08/'09. make sure you heed your mother's advice and don't eat too much cake, hit the water half an hour early, and wind up with stomach cramps. weddings are the industry du jour; every grown up little girl's moment in the spotlight. so why not cross off old/borrowed/blue and head to michael's instead of david's (bridal) and DIY yourself a little tie dye ensemble?



should a bride decide to go for the kind of theme that has a "TM" on it, then the options are limitless. lady and the tramp suggests you incorporate helium balloon dog paws into your centrepieces, bouquet and doorway decor.



i was desperate for an invitation to an acquaintance's friend's alice in wonderland wedding (before the simpson/wentz pseudo-celebs made it uber trendy and cool)- there are a couple of candidates in my circle who would vie for the role of 'caterpillar high on herb'. of course a series of characters to match the wedding party's personalities might not go amiss- perhaps a conveniant way to identify the seating plan with the seven dwarfs...



or grumpy, sleepy and funshine bears...



completed with bride and groom cake toppers, using roger hargreaves' inspiring little miss (scatterbrain) and mr men (mr messy) for the hard core anglophiles...





for the post-modernists who are seeking something more contemporary...



or the "recovering" lot who have pointed to their elephant in the living room and given it a giant tongue kiss...



whatever category of "ism" they might fall under...



while i take the whole vow/til death us do part thing seriously, i would have to say a take the piss theme is probably more my style. obviously something scatalogical would be a bit low-brow (and predictable). instead; the kind of chocolate tiered tower to put any woman with PMS (or even menopausal sans ovaries) into sugar shock at first sight. with that said, a heart shaped cake, split into pieces by an axe (several axes even), and a little plastic figurine (i would even concede to a precious moments stylized "me"), in a pair of dri-fit running shorts and supported arch athletic shoes-- leaping off the cake towards the nearest airport departure terminal. of course "excess baggage" (the matching kind when you're in your 30's), might be more appropo.

seek, and someone else will find (for you)

matchmaking; it's like playing god, cupid or joan rivers.

i have had one "success story" involving a hike, roller coasters and two people with a likeminded appreciation of bodily functions. however, i think i may have just scored another one via text, for a girlfriend 3 time zones away. see below for an example of my sales "technique."

"displaced seattle liberal, about to invest in her first mountain bike, working on a master's in social work, and is subsequently looking for a new project (or person) to take care of. allergic to wheat and cats".

"tall, athletic, low maintenance, outdoorsy female; she will never expect you to buy her a coach purse or tampons".

"tall, leggy blonde who runs. just purchased a high end mountain bike, another one with a master's degree in social work (yeah, yeah, these are the people who will look after you when you've lost sphincter control), skin like porcelain china."

"short, somewhat effeminate, persian refugee. enjoys ballet, opera, and is desperate to be mothered. god awful dress sense, so a great choice for a girl who likes makeover challenges".

of course i can always blame (or thank) my mother for my current status.

whats your laundry style?

match.com and it's other "swfwithgsohand5cats" on-line personals cousins may consider revising their initial 'personality compatability inventory lifestyle questionairres'. it would appear (through rigorous lunch table polling), that lack of synchronization in individual methods to achieve clean and orderly undies, are the primary risk factors in the 'happily ever after' sweepstakes. pollsters revealed that the act of doing laundry can span the continuum from the severely autistic; ordering of genres (shirts, trousers, daytime, bedtime), colours, % of viscose present, to the mildly obsessive-compulsive, ultimately devolving to pigpen from the peanuts cartoon proportions (also known as "go to the store and buy new underwear when you run out of clean/have turned clean inside out twice already").

disharmony can begin even before the selection of 'delicate' or 'regular' is made. the two camps comprise of the "soiled linen chefs", who make laundry broth (turn on the water and add detergent) before considering adding their unmentionables. versus the "throw everything into the crockpot and just add water" profile. the former have an alphabetized list of why it would behoove anyone to create a wet, soapy environment before incorporating other elements.

future predictors can also be found amongst the 'spray and stain' nazi's; 'to spray once the offending item has been removed so it can seep in until laundry day' or the; 'to not spray until laundry day where everything is methodically doused in bleach before immersion' is the pressing question. this can also be expanded into the attitude taken towards sweaty workout clothes and socks; 'hang to dry' versus 'sit proving like smelly, damp bread dough amongst the other clothes in the hamper' until laundry day.

compatability probability also needs to take into account the pouncers who wait to hear if the spin cycle has stopped (or like my mother, pre-empts the spin to ensure no creases are ever left), to snatch out all items with an underwire and technical wicking fabrics that must drip dry or die over any dead body, before going into the dryer. then there are those of us who habitually cant be bothered to take 30 seconds to tear off and use an anti-static cling dryer sheet (and passively-aggressively enjoy hearing their non laundry doing partners complain that they feel prickly and electrocutey?).

in the interests of word count and attention span (and frankly ironing is such a boring, waste of time) the bigger minefield of "folding the smalls" is the true litmus test for a couple's longevity. there are some, lets call them "all males", who insist on throwing their cotton boxers, t-shirt style cotton boxer briefs, dress socks, athletic socks and possibly even a few undershirts in one drawer, willy nilly. then there are their domestic counterparts, commonly identified as "most women", who sort the two styles and fabrics of boxers into separate piles, and further segregate them into their own drawer, away from the socks. note: even one missed laundry cycle by "most women", will see "all males" (not be prompted by the obvious visual cue already laid out), to proceed to chuck in sports socks/athletic socks/swimming shorts/belts into the formerly orderly drawer.

and this may be why, in countless therapist's offices, disgruntled housewives (or in bars and pubs), aggravated husbands, are complaining that they have to do all the laundry, or hear about how they are not doing any. ultimately, opposites attract. obsessives need their slackers so that they can be in charge, and slackers need the anally retentives to ensure that they have clean underwear they can find.