Cick on Me


Last week I was asked to submit a relationship article to a magazine based on personal experience with an angle of attracting men in todays society. Based on my "attraction" track record as of late, I spit out my Fruit Loops onto my key board while reading the editors email assignement.

What was I going to write about? Me? What a joke!

There was only one thing to do without really doing it.

This clearly called for a test.

Later that evening while feeling a little warm all over from a glass of wine, I decidedly submitted a profile of myself to an online club touting Business & Friend Connections. It was an offer I received earlier in the day through a NYC Magazine as a "valued" subscriber. So what the hell..I pour myself another glass of wine and decided to go for it. I also have to admit to a inquisitiveness as to what sort of bait I would be. I've been feeling a bit dejected lately, and thought this may even spark some self esteem again...what could it hurt. Right?


Wanting to appear funny and witty, thinking it would attract only the best like minded creative's (although I couldnt fit all of this) my profile went something like to following:

>About me: Fun, sassy, witty......... love humor, business of all sorts, travel (who doesn't) new restaurants, wine, strolling in the evenings, talking, anything art related, the ocean, theatre, dance, museums. A non smoker, 5'7, 119 lbs, three grown children. No warts, moles or funky birthmarks that will shock you when it's "to damn late"...... shave legs on a regular basis. Flossing is my passion.


Down side: I don't cook, I heat.

Looking for: Trendy, creative, cute as hell, down to earth, fun, easy-going type who loves to explore, must love good food and wine , (This excludes any form of hot dish, salads, Spam, boxed wine or wine coolers)

I may be able to spoil you.

No bean bag chairs, black light posters, water beds, ten foot speakers you stole from a drive-in in 1982, no Vegas shot glasses filled with penny's, beer can collections or Budweiser beach towels doubling as drapes. No weird attachments, fetishes, or strange double-life, unless you are a highly paid CIA agent...then you can lie to me...but only then.

No mullets, smoking, gold chains, missing or yellow teeth, no back hair, or overly puffy pubes in "the region," no bowling leagues, no Star Wars or "Treckie" paraphernalia, no hunters, fishers or outdoor types, no beards, no cats or Super Man sheets, no credit scores matching your best golf game. Must own all original teeth and hair with checking account in good standing.

Please don't be rich, just be paid up.

Must not part hair. Must understand what "hair product" is. Must be updated on world events and that does not mean wrestling or Orange County Choppers.

No white undershirts, no "briefs", no Sponge Bob Square Pants shaped bodies, no trucks with light up running boards, Playboy or carpet mud flaps. No pool playing lotto ticket scratch-off types, no accountant types, if you love numbers, don't email. If you have a left brain, don't email. If you need a mommy. Don't email. I will not breast feed you.

*I have added an honest current photo of myself after a bad day with severe PMS and red eyes taken last weekend. So basically you are seeing me at my worst. If this doesn't scare you, contact me and we can possibly move forward.

******
Soon the little Cupid icon in the corner of my screen began whizzing and smoking with hits, making little bow and arrow sounds. I was amazed... It only took two minutes! I have men sending me a "WINK"....so I eagerly opened them up, and about fell on the floor.

This is NOT A JOKE!

Was I not clear somehow?

Am I wrong or is #3 and #4 the SAME guy?.... one shot with a wig??? Who takes a photo with a bird or a violin?? Number two is straddling a dead body, one needs to meet five, so they can get it on and over with, and the one guy...reminds me of Ted Nugent but really pissed off.


These are clearly sex addicts, parolees, mental patients, chronic masturbating confused switch-hitters, trying to get laid ONE more time before they decide if they really ARE gay, ...OMG ...AM I THAT FLIPPING UGLY??????? WILL ANYONE TELL ME HONESTLY???

(I'm now in the fetal position with my lips wrapped around a bottle)

I'm game for any sort of makeover, on TV or off. You can go through my closet, hack my hair, dye it black, ...I cannot live another day knowing that I have gone from being cat-called by tan hard bodied men that I could of had my way with, any summer on Clearwater Beach, only a decade ago.... to this. I decided to remove this silly profile of mine, first thing in the morning. I'm too tired tonight...off to bed, stunned at this new reality. I almost cry myself to sleep.

I have to come to terms with the fact that I am apparently; ugly.Yes, a pathetic woman who has gone temporarily insane on a mere two glasses of Harris Teeter wine she picked up while buying tampons and Chex Mix the day before. .... Stay tuned..it's early yet..

Associated Press: Minnesota Bill would make Tilt-A-Whirl official amusement ride of state.

One ride on the carnival midway could earn the state of Minnesota's seal of approval.



State Rep. Patti Fritz, DFL-Faribault, has introduced a bill designating the Tilt-A-Whirl the official amusement ride in Minnesota. Fritz said it deserves special attention because it was invented in their town.

.... "Minnesotans like to have fun, and it's a fun thing to do.'' Minnesota already has a state muffin (blueberry), a state drink (milk)

Here I go again, poking fun at my very own birth state. These Minnesotans really know how to have fun. Since moving away I can honestly say that I am just now starting to "see the light." I came up with a photo of MN people having fun."

These guys look like they are in Grandmas basement on Christmas. SO MINNESOTAN!!

Man saved from floating ice slab on the Mississippi

"One witness said the man looked like the Statue of Liberty as he tried to keep his footing atop the ice slab amid the strong winds and fast-moving current." ~ Minneapolis Star Tribune

"Sitting with her husband Monday afternoon at the kitchen table at her mother's Mississippi River-side house in Anoka, Sue Hillberg glanced out the window with her coffee in hand and quickly turned to her husband and said "Ya sure, there's a kid floating down a river slab again," and then called 911. The "kid" was a 19-year-old Anoka man who was taking an unwelcome ride on a wide, smooth slab of ice that had broken off as he stood on it along the shoreline somewhere upriver, according to authorities in Anoka.

Ok people, again have to comment on another Minnesota story because nobody here in North Carolina ever believes my "back home" stories. This is yet another prime example of:

A: How damn cold it is in what...almost April? Cold enough to "ride" an ice slab down the flipping Mississippi River? What gives? Like, didn't this kid have bus fare? Did he drop a shoe?

B: How casual onlookers can "glance up" from the breakfast table and comment.."Ya sure, another floater thar Daddy."

Scandinavian Minnesotans can be overly casual during any emergency or what would be, to others, a thrilling event. Flat, emotionless. Nothing ruffles the cold prickly feathers of these Northerners. (I am a freak of my family because I have a personality. Nobody knows what branch of the family tree I was spawned from and that is just fine by me.)

When I was little my grandmother hardly looked sideways when my dress caught fire in her kitchen. All I remember her saying was .. "Ya sure, there ya go again, you betcha, always messin' around. Roll a bit will ya?"

I think she threw flour on me.

When my Grandmothers brother died, she didn't go to the funeral because it was "wash day." (Tuesday...Monday was "soak" day...) On my wedding day my Grandmother called my Mother saying they were going to pass because "Daddy was too hot, and she was waiting for a stool".

Sadly everything for a Norwegian revolves around stools (not the bar kind) and weather. Imagine your whole social life, events, births, weddings and funerals revolving around if you took a poop yet that day (cant leave the house until producing a good solid BM)... and what the weather was outside. (Too cold, too muggy, snowy, misty, foggy, sticky, mosquito-ey) Yes Minnesota DOES have mosquitoes big enough to rape a chicken, but I don't consider it "weather."

But all weather and stools tossed aside if you tell a Norwegian the Scandinavian Buffet on West Seventh has Lefsa on special for $2.99 with Moose Steaks and Mushroom Sauce, Lye soaked Lutfisk and Yulekage bread ...., watch these tall lanky blue eyed creatures high-tail it to the car plowing through 12 foot snow drifts with a walker screaming "Ya git outta me way thar now bitch!!"

Being frugal was anther Minnesotan Scandinavian trait they are proud of.

I assume it stemmed from having to make rations last all winter, and seasonal work.

Frugal. Nice way to say cheap.

My Grandparents were SO cheap, I recall at age 10 watching in horror as my grandmother loaded her purse while eating out, with all the leftover bread, cracker and salt packets, and lettuce from under a pear salad. (Pear salad is what you find on hospital food trays in Russia and airlines in about 1978. One leaf, one half Bartlett.)

This is considered "Fancy" food in Minnesota, right up there with Tuna Casserole, Tater-Tot Hot-dish and Goulash with Bars. There I sat with my little brother and 2 cousins in 1977 sporting my Donny Osmond T-shirt and bell-bottoms horrified that someone from my school was there and watching this freak show. Worst case scenario, Mike King. I LOVED HIM!

"This will make a nice little sandwich for Daddy." she would whisper as I slunk down lower in the plastic lined booth....mortified.

Shortly before my 18th birthday I fled the "ice family".

I moved into a cool condo with two friends, and bought a ticket to Europe with absolutely NO agenda.

I felt like such a free rebel flying across the globe with $600 and a borrowed backpack housing one GIANT can of Aqua Net hairspray, some clothes and a passport. (the hairspray I soon ditched in a back alley in Hallstatt Austria along with razors and lip gloss)

I enjoyed the new habit of eating what seemed like expensive decadent chocolate (Toblerone) for breakfast, while sleeping past 9:00 in Venice, Germany, Santorini, Switzerland, Athens, Milan, Paris, Rome, Corfu...all while getting drunk on Ouzo and fine French wine each night, tearfully watching the sunset over the Adriatic on a hillside in Greece by myself, realizing there IS a God, and it's not my parents God......

.......smashing plates on others heads while dancing on dirt floor bars in Corfu, skinny-dipping my tanned youthful self in a rough black Sea at 3am, while kissing a sinfully beautiful boy from Jamaica who wore nothing but a sharks-tooth necklace...ahhh...going topless on Greek beaches while screaming (in English to several confused locals) "Ok People...it's "Beer O'Clock!!!" ....who, I am quite positive, wanted to send my American preppy white ass right back to where I came from.

At any rate I am glad it wasn't ME floating down the river on that ice slab today,and that my Grandmother wasn't the one who spotted me.

Today is Tuesday, and it would be wash day.

She would just walk downstairs saying "ya sure you betcha....damn kids".

Lefsa

INGREDIENTS

18 baking potatoes, scrubbed
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 cup butter
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon white sugar
4 cups all-purpose flour

Roll into balls and chill overnight. Roll out paper thin and fry on a high heat skillett. Add cinnamon and sugar, roll and knock yourself out.

Yulekage A traditional Scandinavian Christmas bread that has raisins, candied fruit, and is seasoned with cardamon.

Where does my money go?









(click to enlarge )

Here is a picture of my kitchen at 1pm.

Then again at 5pm the same day when I am $300 dollars POORER.

All I seem to do is buy food...and lots of it; for three teenagers.

When I ask "what happens to all this food"...nobody admits to actually eating any of it. That's $600 a month PLUS the "run and grabs" in-between. Five Popsicles mysteriously disappeared yesterday. I ask each child "who did this?"... and I get the smart-ass response... "Like we eat Popsicles..???

I look at the dogs who stood blinking at my feet. Nope. Wrong kind of hands.

I love my grown up embryos, but I have decided that since I exist mainly on Zone Bars and water, when they move out I will have roughly $8000K extra annually to spend frivolously on yours truly. I am simple to please...really. (No man need to complain.) Skip the jewelry, flowers and undies...(Only need to look good flying across the room anyway) And please me with any of the following.

My new expenditures will be:







Books (does anyone else love the smell of these?)

Tea (I'm odd, I during other peoples tea when I have 400 lbs in my house)

Facial fill products (I look like Howdy-Doody with no lips)

Paper, notebooks and cool pens (told you I am easy)

Airline tickets to Europe bi-annually (I need a co-traveler)

Organic food

Wine 

Waxing (Regular)

Good underwear (always)

Gas for monthly beach trips (alone with M&M's I don't have to hide in the china hutch)

Zone Bars

Meet a man I adore and buy him ties.....

Leave Me Alone!

I can always tell when I get up on the wrong side of the Memory Foam and this weekend was no exception.


I woke up wanting to be left alone.

I was loaded with an extra dose of PMS infused snark and nobody need bother me. I showered and put on my rebel outfit (no bra) and left for the coffee shop. Any guy who stared down my nipples I wanted to flip off and it felt good.

I’m at one of those nasty crossroads in my life when everyone either pisses me off on a regular basis, or I just want to hate but can’t because they are too damn good looking.

This weekend was not the weekend to get a call from my “potato-salad- eating- spray- on nylons- in- a- can- skin- tag- infested- hair- on- my- face ex-mother-in-law” either.


I want to be left alone.

The last time I saw Lillian, I was privy to overhear her wicked remarks through a closed door after paying $900 to fly her alcoholic ass to darken my doorway in the first place...then try making a beautiful pancake breakfast for her the next day, complete with a light dusting of powdered sugar, strawberry’s, a perfect cheese omelet with an orange garnish while smiling.

I deserved a damn Oscar.

I sort of regret the spit thing though.

When I feel like this I know I need to depart town and swiftly. "I need to get away" I say. My friend curls her lip and says… “OMG…. you just got back from NYC…!!!

“That was work” I snap as I stir my giant mug of coffee shop tea. Bagged crap tea. I own a tea company and I drink others junk. Whats up with this? I stair into my mug...this is like drinking wine from a box and calling it a wine collection. Bagged tea is dust from the floor. I saw the film so it must be true.

I am pissed about tea today.

I know what I need to do. The ocean. Now. I need to load my car and drive 3 hours due East until I see water and old men in ass floss. I need 12 Zone Bars, Diet Coke, my laptop, yoga clothes, i-pod and scads of Kleenex.

Crying. There will be tons of it..

It happens at any moment these days and for no apparent reason.....or when I am feeling sorry for myself. I cry while walking, eating, reading in public, on fountains ledges, on airplanes, in car ramps, at Target, the vet, doing laundry, yoga, writing, driving (real bad there) while peeing (maybe it’s the water sound that triggers it) and at the dentist while watching the fish in the scummy lobby fish tank next to a pile of Lego's.

I cried last week on a subway in NYC, from Grand Centeral to Columbia station.... and was horrified to see some guy is sketching me. He puts his hand up when he discovers he is caught and says “Please, continue, you are beautiful….”

I will no doubt run into this sketch of me crying as a astounding watercolor when I am 50, hanging In some art gallery in Manhattan entitled “Sybil Rides the Subway.” It will win scads of awards and a postage stamp will be created after me in honor of all pre-menopausal 40 year old women suffering hormonal shifts world wide.

I will then try to prove it was me in the picture, and how I deserve some of the money. By then I will have undergone another one of my transformations and nobody will believe it is me because I will probably have hacked my hair short or dyed it black.

I love to cry in hotels best because nobody knows me, and I can get it all out.. and when I pay $300+ a night I can do what I damn well please. I cried last week when I heard the girl in the room next to mine, screaming with body smacking pleasure with cocoa -the- pool boytoy, shrieking and yelling.." hurt me-yes-there-oh Gawd-don’t stop..oh….. God….. I’m coming-yes-oh gawwwwd…spank ..yeessssss, yessss…yessssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want this. I hate her.

As fate will have it, I ran into her all weekend in the elevator. She has great shoes and smells good. By night three I wanted to crash through the damn sheet rock and watch what the hell she does to get this sort of hot and sticky consideration.

I cried at Rockefeller Center, fifth Ave and at The Gap, sat in bed later in my underwear and socks wallowing in self pity while eating a bowl of cold chicken noodle soup from the 24 hour deli next door. I watched FOX News and cried, drank wine and cried, Did 100 sit-ups and cried, until the pleasure couple next to me begin to bang on my wall to shut up already.

Apparently I was disrupting them with my sobbing and honking.

Never mind that I may be in the midst of a violent gang rape; although you may not hear me complaining about this after the through-the-wall-foreplay I was so cruelly made subject to all weekend, or I could have been drowning in the bathtub.

Noisily.

I bang back and start to moan and rock the headboard in simulated raw sex. They suck.

I smiled and went to bed.

I will get over my sobbing sessions, I will change my hair, I will change my life, goals, outlook, and decorating styles a zillion times I am sure….but for now people, just leave me alone.