Saying Goodbye to a Dream

I grew up secretly dreaming of becoming a ballerina. My sister and I would twirl around our living room floor and practice our “moves.” It was a rather silly pipe dream now when I think about it.

1. My parents were against dancing. I don’t think they would be morally opposed to going to a ballet themselves, but they never would have allowed their daughters to take ballet lessons. Ballet is after all a form of dance.
2. I have no natural grace or elegance. None. No kidding. I’m a chunky klutz that always dreamed of being more lithe and airy than I truly am.
3. I have no “moves.” Seriously, have you ever seen me dance? Few have and lived to tell about it. I’ve got no sense of rhythm or general idea of how to move to music at all. Never have had. It’s rather sad.

So, truth be told, I don’t really think I missed “my calling” to become a dancer. I just think my thoughts on becoming a ballerina were merely a dream aspiration - one that I couldn’t pursue even if I had wanted to. I'm not bitter or angry about it either. It was just NOT meant to be, and the world is not weeping over the loss of the next Pierina Legnani.**

A few years ago, I went to a few ballet performances here in Indianapolis and loved every minute of it. I finally got the see The Nutcracker live and more modern works like Dracula, etc. It was mesmerizing and wonderful! I was ecstatic!

Soon after my friends and I opted to purchase season tickets to the ballet. This was our first time buying season tickets for ANYTHING, and it was exhilarating! We went to one magical performance on our season pass, and then the Indianapolis Ballet Company went bankrupt and closed down. It was so sad. (SIGH!)

But when I think back on it, it was also rather hilarious. It was certainly NOT hilarious that a company went under, we lost our investment, most importantly dancers lost their jobs, etc. But it was comically ironic that the first time we had ever paid for season tickets for anything, the company goes under. Hmmmm...perhaps this is why I’m still hesitant to buy season tickets for anything else? 

Tonight my friends and I are headed to see another ballet, Swan Lake, and I confess, I am giddy with excitement and anticipation. I've been twirling around my apartment all morning in preparation for this evening's performance. However, I now consider myself a patron of the arts rather than an active participant, which I think works out best for everyone.

**DISCLAIMER: I have not become a ballet history expert in the past 24 hours. I just googled something about ballet yesterday, and Pierina's name was mentioned as one of the greats. So I'm still not ready for the ballet category on Jeopardy! or anything like that. HA!**

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

Breaking up is hard to do…especially when you don’t recall how you got hooked up in the first place. Odd as it may seem that day is rather a blank slate for me. One moment I was free and untethered, carefree as a bird. The next moment, everything changed. Suddenly my whole world revolved around him, and we have been cosmically connected from that day on.

Isn’t this what every woman dreams of? To find that special someone who comes in and sweeps her off her feet? To be pursued and chased? To be loved for herself alone? Naively, I thought that was what I wanted, too, but I’m not so sure about that any more. It always looks blissful in the movies, but it’s much less romantic than Hollywood lets on, believe me.

You see, I had my doubts about him from the beginning, but he seemed so sure about us. He was convinced that we belonged together, and his confidence was alluring. I found myself falling under his mesmerizing spell. Call it karma or fate, I was drawn to him. What is a girl to do?

I tried to end our relationship three times. I tried to make it clear that there was no room in my life for him, On my third attempt, I thought that he understood and got my message loud and clear. I was sure it was the end of us, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

But then he showed up 4 days later, acting as if he had never left my side, and despite my best attempts to ward him off, I could feel myself being drawn in yet again. He’s a stubborn brute really, and I’m not sure what the attraction is that pulls us together, but I know of it's power. Even now, I think we’re done, but I know that he might reappear at any minute reminding me once again that we are one, and I’ll be putty in his embrace once more. I’m weak. I can’t fight him off anymore on my own.

Thus, I finally opted to seek out some more professional help. It was time to admit that I couldn’t sever ties with him on my own. I felt trapped and needed help in removing him from my life and putting boundaries in place to keep him from returning once more.

And so today, I visited an ENT, who gave me great hopes that together we can rid me of this immortal sinus infection. He believes we can take preventative measures to keep my infection from returning and end this vile parasitic relationship. I am thrilled. Sadly, this is my longest-running relationship in like forever, but, alas, it really needs to end. Honestly, I’ve never been quite so ready for a breakup. BRING IT!

Jane Eyre: Not Quite Transfixed

I wanted to love this latest film version of Jane Eyre. I really did. But I recognize that I probably walked into the theatre with overly HIGH expectations.

·     Jane Eyre is my favorite book of all time. There may still be a book or two out there or one yet to be written that will challenge this ranking, but until then, Jane Eyre sits on top.

·     I first saw a preview for this film months ago, and the hype has been building in my head ever since. I have mentally been preparing to see yet another take on this my favorite text.

·     And then there was a delay in seeing the film because it was not widely released. I had to wait 3 weeks until it came to Indiana. (Oh the agony!) The delay only mounted my suspense and eagerness.  

·     I like the actor playing the male lead role of Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester. Michael Fassbender, a German-born Irish actor, has been on my radar ever since Hex. Don’t judge me. Fact: I have a thing for the supernatural. It is what it is.

·     I watched several film clips online times before I got to see the film in its entirety. The clips (like this one) mesmerized me and gave me hope. (Sigh!)

Alas, it was a false hope, and the film did not deliver.

1.    The sparkling chemistry between the lead roles in the film clip (like the one linked above) WAS the extent of the passion in the period film. Thus just watching the clips would have provided me with the best of. So sad!

2.    Some of my favorite lines and scenes in the book were ignored or twisted into unrecognizable dialogue.

3.    I found the LOST-esque visits between Jane in the present and Jane in the past to be rather wobbly and dizzying. I started to wonder if Mrs. Rochester would appear as a smoke monster in this version? It might have actually worked, too, and then that would have been something to talk about.

4.    I dislike the taint of 21st century ideals on 19th century literature. Everyone seems keen to portray Jane as an early feminist, as if that was the author’s sole intent with this work of fiction. I recognize that Charlotte Brontë isn’t here to confirm or deny any such theories. Personally, I have always read Jane Eyre as a love story, but call it feminist rhetoric if it pleases you.

When I left the theatre, I was disappointed. I had wanted so much more from this film. But honestly, I will probably relent a bit and feel less strongly about it upon further acquaintance. In due course, I’ll buy the DVD and add it to my collection because I’ll need it to complete my set, of course. In a year or two, I will find more merits within the piece that will partially redeem it. And eventually, another film will spring up and cause me to delight in this 2011 version even more.

Call me fickle, but I rather see it as my dwindling expectations. Perhaps, I’ll expect less the next time.

I Am a Rotic...

I read and re-read classic books about the ongoing quest for love.

I watch romantic films and epic love stories.

I stir with the lyrical voices of the romantic poets.

I listen to love songs and sappy musicals with a heartfelt sigh.

Yes, I’m a rotic. A romantic without a man in my life. I dream, write and hope to find a love of my own one day. I want it deeply. I crave it. I long for it, and yet it has eluded me completely. It baffles me. It frustrates me. It ticks me off. It teases me, and yet, it seems forever a part of me. I find I can’t completely turn it off. I’ve tried.

I can tune it out for a period. I can avoid chic flicks and run from Masterpiece Theatre. I can hide the poetry and lock away my favorite books. I can drown out the sounds of Michael Bublé in my head with some Nickelback.

But it doesn’t change who I am. I’m a passionate thing. I feel deeply, always have. I can run from that desire and pretend the ache does not exist. OR I can simply accept the longing as part of who I am. It doesn’t define me entirely. It’s just another aspect of my personality, my character.

Hello. My name is Melanie, and I’m a rotic/romantic, but it is just a slice of who I am...

Needing a Do-Over

I’d like to go back in the recent past and re-do a “getting to know you” moment. I’d like another crack at that conversation, a second chance to make a first impression.

I didn’t say anything I regret. I wasn’t rude. I wasn’t unkind. I wasn’t much of anything really. I clammed up. I was quiet and a bit reserved without trying to be. I listened and responded appropriately, but I was not myself at all.

I was more Jane than Lizzie.

Call it nerves of attraction, I guess. I was intrigued. I was curious. Very curious. But I’m not sure I portrayed that what with my catatonic pose and serene demeanor. I shut down and retreated into my head out of angst. I did little to contribute to the conversation other than a nod or two, a trance-like smile and a couple of yes or no answers. I gulped and seemingly swallowed my personality.

I’m laughing at myself. I am. And while I don’t know if I’ll ever get a do-over with this particular person, I’d like to imagine I could…

The Brits Do It Again

I had trouble falling asleep last night. I just lay there with a silly grin on my face, my mind a million miles away. I was in love. In love with yet another British series, Downton Abbey. The first episode aired last night on PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre, and I was immediately captivated by the twisting story lines, the 1912-1913 era, the English country house setting, and the riveting characters. It was pure magic.

Now I have confessed more than once that I am a period film junkie, and if it’s British, all the better. Yes, I do have a weakness for all things British, and my travels “across the pond” have done anything but cure me of my obsession. Truly, my affliction is even greater. A film shot using the English landscape now causes me to reminisce and sigh with a near-homesick tingle in my throat. Even if I didn’t visit that house, walk those gardens or photograph those particular sheep, they still seem familiar to me.

Fact is that I’m a lost cause, and this series has left me incorrigible. SIGH! Oh well! This is who I am, and this girl is eagerly anticipating the next installment on Sunday, January 16th and until then will dreamily linger with bated breath...

Just My Opinion...

I recognize that the Times They Are A-Changin’. Sure, fads and fashion trends come and go, modesty standards adjust, and things continue to evolve. Over the centuries, standards of decency have fluctuated back and forth. I get that, but sometimes, I really don’t like what I’m seeing out there.

I find myself shocked to discover what young women are wearing today and what pictures of themselves they are willing to post on Facebook and other sites. I KNOW, this officially classifies me as old, but I can’t help it. I’m concerned about them, I’m curious where their parents are, and I’m even a little bit embarrassed for them.

I don’t consider myself a prude. I have my limits on what I would personally wear in public – enough said! And no, I don’t want us to go back to the era where it was indecent for women to show their ankles and 10 layers of clothing was deemed standard attire even in the middle of summer. I love the freedom to choose my own style and be my own person. BUT, sometimes I think we females take our liberties too far…

On the flip side, I CANNOT and WILL NOT excuse men who look, touch or take more serious advantage of these same young women who believe it is their right to have maximum skin exposure. But I am also a realist, too, and I believe that you get results (just perhaps not what you wanted) when you dangle meat in front of a hungry predator. Don’t set yourself up as bait! Be smart!

I’ve Never Met Someone I Couldn’t Live Without

I’ve always considered myself a romantic, but I’m not sure I fit that classification any more.

I love to read classic novels by Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell and E.M.Forster. I marvel at the deep connections forged between characters and am struck with the monumental, often selfless love I see housed within those yellowed pages. I can’t get enough of romantic, period films, often based on novels by the same authors above. I smile, dream and sigh viewing my kindred spirit heroine on the screen as she seeks a love to call her own.

And while I’ve loved before, once or twice, it was never like it is in the novels or in films. It wasn't meant to be, but my life continued on, and my wounded heart always recovered. Fact is that I don’t know if I want that burning kind of love that the great romantic poets wrote about. I love to read their magical rhythmic lines, but I don’t know if I want to taste the kind of love I can’t live without.

You’d think the romantic in me would want it, even if it was just for a moment. I could write about it for years to come – discussing what once was and what might have been. But the realist in me is more alive than when I was young. I’ll always have a flare for the dramatic, that much is true, but reality reigns me in more often than not. Stories like Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet are no longer romantic tales to me. Taking your own life because you can’t be with the one you love is not the kind of love I want to experience. Is that really love or an obsession?

I’ve never met someone I couldn’t live without. That might seem shocking, but I mean it sincerely and kindly. I’ve met and known some incredible people that I’d miss dearly if they weren’t here on this earth with me. I consider myself blessed to have them in my life for as long as GOD allows, but I’m not ready to throw myself on the sword should they depart this life. I will mourn their passing, but continue on, I must.

Maybe I’ve grown too practical, too no-nonsense in my mid-thirties. I imagine that my younger self would find me harsh, unsentimental and cold, and above all, unromantic. But I’m not dead inside. I’m not without feeling. I still yearn for a love of my own. I do. Honestly, I don’t know how to stop wanting that something more, and I probably always will, but I have learned to live without it. Life has gone on, day by day and moment by moment despite the lack of a potential mate, and I'm finding my own happy purpose along the way. Life isn't all romance, and my life certainly isn't like any novel I've read or movie I've watched. Real life is so much more.

While love has eluded me, life has not. I embrace it passionately as I am gripped by the MAKER of life and the ONE who defined love in the most incredible way possible.

So in truth, I need to rephrase my earlier statement about how "I’ve never met someone I couldn’t live without." I have met someone.

JESUS CHRIST is the ONE -- the only one I can’t live without.

Pest Me No More

I love those “smile” boxes that arrive in the mail, don’t you? Amazon.com rocks!

Today, my new shipment of Black&Decker “Ultrasonic Pest Repellers” arrived in the mail. I’m using an earlier version of these plug-in repellers at present, and I figured I was due for an upgrade. Fact is that I’ve had to resort to killing a few spiders that had made their way indoors recently, and I seem to remember something in the product manual about decreasing effectiveness over time, and so I’ve reinvested (less than $12 for a pack of 3).

Now admittedly, I don’t quite understand how these gadgets work exactly. I’m not an engineer or a scientist. I just work with brilliant people like that in an attempt to absorb their knowledge. HA! But somehow, these small devices emit ultrasonic “noise” that continually fluctuates and disrupts pests (such as large bugs, spiders, mice, etc.) and drives them out. The Black&Decker theory is that, “Pests are repelled because they cannot adapt to the constantly changing array of complex ultrasonic and sonic sounds.” In essence, the pests go crazy, and so they move out or choose to set up residence elsewhere. Sounds great, right?

Well, since my first purchase of this product more than 2 years ago, I’ve read the online reviews, most of which are not positive. Apparently this product does not work for everyone or every pest situation, but it has suited my needs just fine. OK, so it is not 100% effective at keeping the invading arachnids from entering my domain, but I have encountered fewer spiders since I installed the gadgets, and this is a clear case where less is more, in my world.

Truthfully, I don’t care about actual percentages or how the device may or may not keep elephant-sized rats at bay. This is rather unscientific of me, I realize. But somehow I feel better having the little white boxes plugged into my wall outlets, and that, my friends, makes it worthwhile to me. Sure, I recognize that I am relying on my feelings vs. actual scientific data, and perhaps this peace of mind I am feeling is all just in my head. I know that, but it doesn’t matter. I FEEL BETTER with my little friends plugged into my walls, and that is all the proof I need.

More Beautiful You

I really like this video/song, which just reinforces what I was trying to say in my blog earlier today. Good stuff! Thank you, Jonny Diaz!

Alaska Is Sounding Better And Better…

It’s hot out there. I walked to my car in sauna-like temperatures and humidity this morning just before 6:30 AM. That’s craziness! This girl doesn't handle high humidity well at all.

1. Have you seen my hair lately? WOA! I ran into a friend the other day, and he was like: "Hey, Mel, is that you under all that hair?" NOT a pretty sight.
2. My skin is naturally oily anyway, but all this humidity is giving me more than a healthy glow. Southern girls might glisten, but up here, we Yankee girls sweat. Again, it's not quite the charming visual one would hope for.
3. I can't breathe. Seriously, it's like you want to hold your breath on the way to the car because the air feels toxic and unbearable. It's not that attractive to always be gasping for breath really.

All this Midwest heat and humidity madness is making me think about moving across the country. Alaska sounds pretty good. I like nature (minus the spiders and bugs). I could survive in the wilderness, right? Although, I might be somewhat intimidated by the idea of running into a bear. Hmmmm...it’s not sounding like a very good story to me. Thrilling and more than a bit exciting, but I might not survive to tell the grandkids.

Bears or humidity? I'm still pondering the choice...is there an option B?

The Countdown

We are now at T minus 12 days before my oldest niece gets married at the age of 20. I’m psyched and giddy with excitement for Janet and Chris. It’s really big news for my family since it has been a few years since we have had a wedding to celebrate. It will be like a family reunion of sorts as two lives merge into one. I can’t wait.

However, as the single, never-been-married, never-been-close-to-marriage aunt of the bride, I confess that I have some personal concerns that I feel the need to get off my chest.

• When you get lapped by the next generation, are you down for the count?
• Are your chances of matrimonial bliss gone for good?
• Should you just get 5 house cats and call it a day?

I hope not. I mean, for one, I’m more of a dog person really, and secondly, this “old maid” with romantic inclinations doesn’t want to stop dreaming of the possibility. I’m not ready to throw in the towel yet. In fact, I am currently willing to review any and all applicants and referrals that present themselves as eligible candidates.

My requirements are not too rigid, I don’t think:

1. Single: I am no home-wrecker, and polygamy doesn’t really appeal to me either. 
2. Male: Non-negotiable. Sorry, ladies, I’m just not that into you.
3. Human: I’ve considered the android idea, but I don’t think I’m there yet.
4. Mortal: Vampires relationships might make for great fiction, but I’d prefer that my spouse and I grow old together. And then there is that whole “will he or won’t he bite me” thing that would nag at my very soul.  

Look at how broad-minded I am. I've left lots of room for potential options. :)

So, yes, it might be a little weird watching my niece get married before me, but, hey, I’ll have a great view of the whole event since I am one of her bridesmaids, which is pretty special. Fact is, I’m one lucky aunt really.

Pursuing Art

Last week, I participated in an amazing open-dialogue session all around the subject of “art.” It was an incredibly refreshing experience, and I’m so glad I was invited to join in this invigorating conversation with such talented and creative women.

Now I haven’t read Makoto Fujimura’s Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art and Culture yet, but I’m adding this book to my list of must-reads for the near future. Our host, Charity, had read Fujimura’s book, and I think it fueled the arrangement of our discussion.

Can’t wait to see what GOD will do...

I Am a Girl

But there are some who doubt that I am a REAL girl...

1. I don’t collect shoes. Sure, I like cute styles, and I try to meld cute and comfy together, but my aim is to avoid pain. 3-inch heels might be adorable, strappy sandals might be irresistible on the shelf, but neither are for me, even though I could use the added height or flare. No, I seek out comfort in Skechers or Dr. Scholls. If the shoe fits well, I’m a fan.

2. I don’t like flip-flops. Never have. First of all, they are clearly a safety hazard to those of us who are prone to klutzy behavior, and secondly, I don’t like how they separate a person’s big toe from the rest of the team. Why can’t our toes just learn to get along?

3. I don’t care about name brands. If I like it, and it fits on both my body and my budget, I’m sold. It doesn’t matter if I’m shopping at a consignment store, Target, Wal-mart, JCPenneys or Goodwill. I look at tags to decipher the size not popularity.

4. I don’t wear lots of make-up. In fact, most people think I don’t wear any. Fact is that I do put it on, but a few hours later, it is gone. Apparently, I have pores the size of potholes and super-absorbent skin. As we speak, scientists are trying to recreate my skin in a lab for further testing...

5. I’m not crazy about purses. Yes, I usually have one on my person most of the time, but it’s usually black, purchased at Target, and kept in use until the handles break off or the fabric rips. A purse is a necessary evil, a must-have for every woman, but I don’t have a stash of them in my closet to rotate based on the season, my mood or my current outfit. I’m just not that girl..not usually.

So the idea of me purposefully buying a blue Coach purse doesn’t jive with what people know about me at all -- even I am stunned by these recent turn of events! All I know is that one moment I was innocently meandering along looking at flea market wares such as hand tools, rusty farm equipment, tableware, old books and antiques. When all of a sudden, something happened, my heart was beating faster, and I was captivated. It was like a spotlight from heaven was shining down on that purse, and I was drawn to it. It had my full attention. I handled it fondly, caressed the handle and checked the label to establish what I already knew. Yes, it was a brand new Coach purse for $35.

I quietly put it down. I told myself I didn’t need it. I’m a practical girl, first and foremost. What am I going to do with a blue Coach purse? I already had a perfectly good black purse waiting for me back home. I walked away and continued scanning other vendors’ products, but that purse was not done with me. I told myself I would check back on it later. If the purse was still available, I might reconsider a purchase of it. The whole “if you love it, set it free” ideal was swimming around my head. If it is meant to be, it would be waiting for me when I returned.

And so it was that on the 5th of July in the year 2010, that I, Melanie -- the girl who doesn’t like name brands or frivolous purses -- became the proud owner of her very own blue Coach purse for $35 and verified once and for all that I am a REAL girl.

As Paul Harvey would have put it, “And now you know the rest of the story.”

Girls' Night Exit

On Saturday night, I joined my friend Sheryl and 2 of her friends for a girls’ night out on the town. It was a fun evening and meeting Heather and Holly proved delightful! I like finding new kindred spirits along the journey.

We started our evening at Maggiano’s for some family style fare. YUM! I haven’t eaten there much at all in the past, and so all of our shared selections were new to me. I discovered that the stuffed mushrooms were mouth-wateringly tasty, and the chicken and spinach manicotti was extra delectable with all it’s cheesy goodness. Can you tell that the diet was kicked to the curb for the evening?

We next headed to the cinema to see Exit Through the Gift Shop, a quirky documentary on Mr. Brainwash(MBW also known as Thierry Guetta) and other street artists such as Shepard Fairey and the elusive Banksy. Truth be told, this was my first introduction to the world of street art also known as graffiti, and I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the film was more comical than I thought it would be and highly enjoyable. For me, the film raised blurred some lines and brought up questions about reality and truth. The online buzz indicates that I am not alone in my query. Who’s truth were we hearing, etc.?

In defense of the film and whether the documentary was real or not, one film reviewer (Ty Burr of The Boston Globe) said:

“I’m not buying it; for one thing, this story’s too good, too weirdly rich, to be made up. For another, the movie’s gently amused scorn lands on everyone.”

Quite true! I just wonder who really has the last laugh? HA! Real or not, it was entertaining!

We finished up our evening at the Cheesecake Factory for some dessert and coffee. You all know better than to ask if I indulged in coffee or not. Hee hee! But I sure enjoyed the blueberry white chocolate cheesecake along with our conversations. It was a fabulous, flourishing finish to our night out! Thanks, girls!

I’ll leave you with a funny quote from the movie, which I just had to jot down: “It was behind my expectation.” (I think he meant to say it was BEYOND his expectation. HA!)

Sex and the City 2

I recently went to see Sex and the City 2 with a friend, and I came away realizing how unlike Sex and the City my life is.

Admittedly I can identify with aspects of a couple of their personalities. But Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, Samantha and I just don’t have a lot in common with each other, and I don’t think we could really be friends. Sure, we’re all women interested in men, pursuing a career, defining our role within our family or network, but there isn’t much else we share.

I never watched the show on HBO and have never caught an entire episode on reruns either. I’ve watched snippets over the years and did catch the first film on DVD, which had some charming moments. In fact, over all, I thought the first film was all right. But after viewing the second film, I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss much by not becoming a fan of the show and watching the series.

The writing might be decent and perhaps even clever at times, but the show does not match my definition of what a woman is. This ultra-modern feminist is crass, crude and derogatory to both sexes, and that doesn’t spell entertainment for me. Maybe you could argue that the writers have merely turned the tables on how men objectify women by reversing the scenario! I’ll admit that there might be some truth to that, but regardless, this film did not provide me with viewing pleasure. I wanted less not more. And I seriously wanted to just go home and take a shower afterwards.

I’m a nugget person. I try to find the redeeming qualities in just about anything I watch, read or encounter, but I really struggled with this film. Sure, I found a couple of things I could pull out, but I had to really search for them, buried deep within. Call me a prude, a moralist, an old-fashioned girl or a goody-two-shoes, but there just went 2 hours of my life I can’t get back.

Missing A Part of My Self

I recently received some rather devastating news. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready, but the facts were there, and I was forced to face them. I’m coping as well as could be expected and am just holding back the melancholy and depression, but it hasn’t been easy to adjust or acknowledge reality. I’d much prefer to go back to the way things were before and live oblivious to the truth, but we can’t go back and live in the past.

I always knew that this day would come, but I thought I could easily hold it off until after I turned 40. I thought I had time to mentally cope and brace myself for future alterations. Unfortunately, that is not to be the case. I’m there already. It’s time to embrace the truth. I’m currently only 4 feet 11 and 5/8 inches (sniffle, sniffle). Yep, I’m now officially under 5 feet tall. SIGH!

I’ve lost part of my self, and I don’t think I’ll get it back. I’m shrinking, and it’s not the good kind of shrinkage that I’ve been working so hard at. No, the inches lost are all height, which basically means that I’m getting more and more compact and losing weight is going to be more difficult. Just great!

But life must go on. I can’t get my pinnacle back. My peak days are gone, and all the wishing in the world cannot return my glory days to me. It’s time to let it go and walk on as tall as I can manage. Perhaps I need to stop sporting my ballet shoes and sporty extra-comfy Sketchers and go straight for the platform or stiletto heels. Yeah! That’s me. Next time you see me, I might be limping your direction or have a seriously sprained ankle or two, but I’ll be walking proud and tall. HA!

Update: Facing Facts

An interesting thought occurred to me today in relation to a previous blog post. I haven’t heard from anyone about the fact that I am not wearing glasses this week. Not a peep! I have mentioned it to a couple of people in passing, but I always brought it up in the conversation. Probably because I thought they were looking at me funny because I feel funny without 4 eyes now. PARANOID!!

Now I think I look like a completely different person. I’m sure of it. So I’m trying to get reacquainted with the stranger in the mirror. But I guess in reality, there isn’t much of a change at all. The glasses are basically an accessory on a face they already know. HA! I'm the only one with issues here, and for some reason, this just makes me laugh!

Is it Dr. Phil who says that we would be surprised to discover how little people are thinking of us? Meaning that people aren't obsessing about me and my glasses. A bit disheartening but there it is. Hee hee!

Facing Facts

I’m trying disposable contacts for the first time in a couple of years, and so I’m trying to get used to my face again.

I’ve worn glasses since the 2nd grade, I think. It started with the specs for reading only. Little Miss Bookworm needed them a lot as I read every Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, and Hardy Boys book at the local library. I would wear them in school as needed, but I would whip them off as soon as I could. I didn’t want to be teased or known as four eyes.

In junior high and high school, I wore glasses more frequently but rarely for pictures and certainly not when a cute guy was around. By the time, I reached college, I wore them all the time for safety reasons. It was suddenly more important to see where I was going, be able to take notes in lectures, see who I was conversing with, etc., and so vanity got kicked to the curb. I’ve worn glasses steadily ever since. Well, I did wear contacts for about a year, but that was 4 years ago. And I tried a sample pair 2 years ago, but opted not to fill my prescription.

But now I think I’ve come full circle. I feel funny without glasses now. I’m not used to seeing my face without them. In a way, glasses have become a crutch, another way to hide, and so without sporting them, my confidence fizzles a bit. Suddenly, I don’t know that girl in the mirror, and I’m not crazy about the face she has either.

But with or without glasses, it is still the same face, and it’s time to face that fact. (Pun intended!) So now in essence, I’m vainly wanting to wear my glasses because they hide my face. Even I don’t understand me at this point! I’m such a goober sometimes.

Anyway, I'm pleased to report that I've worn my contacts for 4 days straight now -- wearing them longer each day, and so far, I have survived. I'm still not quite sure about the girl in the mirror, but that's another issue to tackle some other day. Hee hee!

I See a Short Stranger in Your Future

My fortune cookie at lunch the other day read:

A short stranger will soon enter your life with blessings to share.

My friends and I all laughed, and then the joke for the rest of the day was that we were all scouting for a short stranger for me – a single male, to be more precise.

Later that evening as I went for my daily walk/jog, I spotted a short candidate. OK, the truth is that I spotted his 2 beautiful dogs first. Come on, they were big dogs, and every one knows that I’m a sucker for big dogs. I really wanted to run over and pet them. But then I noticed who the dogs were “pulling,” and so I did take a second nonchalant look as they got closer to me. No, we didn’t meet and fall madly in love on the trail, but I did say hi (probably with a dorky smile on my face), and he said hi back. It wasn’t quite the magic I hoped for, but you know, we were just passing each other going in opposite directions on the path, and so you never know. But for now, I’m keeping my options open. Hee hee!

But getting back to my lunch conversation, I feel the need to relay some new information that I learned at lunch that day...about women who are NOT vertically challenged. You see, I’m short (and obviously THAT is not the breath-taking news you are waiting for here). AHEM! Anyway, what I learned was that tall women struggle to find tall men to date/marry because short women are also on the lookout for tall men. OK, so it’s not mind-blowing here. It kinda makes sense. I just didn’t know it was such an issue, but two of my lunch pals were tall, married women, and they shared stories with me. My eyes were opened to the challenges tall women face.

I didn’t realize that tall women resent short women who pursue the only prospects these taller women can dance with respectively in heels. I had no idea, but I am happy to report on the dancing score that I would be no competition to a tall women in heels -- no competition AT ALL. I am completely unable to move to any kind of rhythm in a less than sporadic manner, and so I would not be an ideal dance partner anyway. HA!

But as a member of the pint-size league, I confess, height is attractive. I mean, just the fact that a guy can reach something on the top shelf is sexy. But as much as I joke about height and needing a tall male in my future, the truth is that I’m just 5 feet tall, and so someone with 5 or 6 inches on me is quite tall to me. So, in reality, I’m not really out to marry a giant or steal the heart of the last tall single male. I’m not. I’m not that girl.

But that being said, I’m also probably not gonna walk away from the love of my life just because he has more than 6 inches on me. HA! Can you just picture it? Me standing on a chair so I can look into his eyes and tell him as gently as I can that I can’t marry him because he is too tall, and I would feel too much guilt because there are far too many single tall females in search of a such a man with height. It would be so sad, and you know I don’t like to see anyone in pain, and so I would do what I’d have to do.

And hopefully, all my tall single girlfriends would still talk to me and come to the wedding!