Don't Mince Words

Today was the 40th anniversary of the landmark Roe v. Wade decision and my first date of the new year.  Two days from now, I become a less-remarkable 47 year old.  The one constant in my life is the light in my car is the best for tweezing unwanted hairs.

Nutty week, right?

First natural wonder.  If my mom had a choice, would she have…. ?   I’m pretty sure the answer is no because she liked staying home and kids gave her an excuse to be home.    I mean she wouldn’t want the neighbors talking about her.  “I hear she just stays home, watches General Hospital, and drinks.”  If you have kids, you can do all that and more.  As a pro-choice advocate, it’s hard to believe it has been 40 years and we’re still debating what life is.  Well, I’ll tell you, life is staying home, mixing drinks, and watching Intervention.

Listen up Detroit.  I believe focus groups with women resulted in the car cupholder.  Or maybe minivans.  I don’t know what came first, but I’m pretty sure it’s from a woman complaining.  So, we all know the best light is in the car.  Tweezer holders.  Please.  While I am getting older and my eyebrows thin, the hair is reappearing elsewhere.  I don’t have a choice here.

My first date of the new year was with a guy who was also too old to be an abortion.  He called, he picked the place (but asked me if it was a good choice), and he paid.  I had beer and I got to check another dive bar off my must-do list.  Win-win.

Nice choice week.

It’s that most wonderful time of the year….when single men realize they are alone.  Apparently when you combine that with home for the holidays, you have the formula for hot and horny.

About six months ago I was contacted by “Jack” because he was considering taking a job in Santa Barbara.  He was currently in West Hollywood and wanted to understand the social scene if he were to make the move.  I gave him the grim reality and he decided to take another job in Los Angeles.

I received a checkin email from him on the 23rd asking if I was still single and, if so, would I be interested in going out while he was home visiting his parents 30 miles south of me. I told him I was available and suggested we meet at a brewpub I wanted to try in his parents’ town.

His response is the reason why I stay home with my dog.  “You wouldn’t want to chose a place closer to you, just in case we feel like fooling around?”

While we did meet on a dating website, our communications have been totally career and relocation-related until this point.  Very buddy/platonic.  So, I played it off and told him I was flattered, but we should meet, have a drink and catchup.  As you would expect, I never heard from him to finalize the plan. When I used to go home for Christmas, I always tried to line up activities to get out of the house and away from my mother.  If the internet existed, I probably would have dated to dull the pain of being home too.

I just wish Jack had the balls to take me to his house to show me his trophies, varsity letter jacket, and twin bed.  That’s what I call coming home for the holidays.

On December 7th, I had a young coworker come to me about a Facebook post he saw.  “Hey Marna, am I an ass?  A friend just posted ‘Don’t Forget Pearl Harbor’ on his wall.  I just thought it was a little odd,” he stated.

I thought about it, knowing a lot of these kids today, have parents who have not served in any war.  So, I framed my response in the form of more questions.  “Does he have family that was there or maybe in an internment camp?”  No, that was the crazy thing, thought my coworker.  “And, get this – he just became a naturalized citizen two years ago!”  I suggested that he remembers his history well and he is very proud to be American.

Nine days later, I was at/on/around/in Pearl Harbor and I have to say after a long, emotional day of history, we should not forget Pearl Harbor.  And I’m not talking Tea Party crazy, gun raised, “get the Japs” kind of remember.  We have to remember how the act incited a nation, which was practicing isolationism, to support and protect our freedoms.  Our military became stronger, our industrialization got even better, and women worked and supported their families and the men at war any way they could.  Maybe it’s nostalgia, but we seemed like a cohesive nation back then.

When you go to Pearl Harbor, it’s a quiet and respectful experience.  I watched old folks in wheel chairs get pushed up the ramp at the same time as babies in strollers.  We all wanted to see and understand the vastness of this underwater grave and what it represented.

Remember Pearl Harbor, every hour, every day that we live
Remember Pearl Harbor, and the crime we can never forgive
Through the sweat and toil
Through the blood and tears
Keep this battle cry ringing in our ears
Remember Pearl Harbor, let this song keep us strong through the years

I will never forget Pearl Harbor.

Friend Me

Dixie was getting her last walk of the night when I noticed a white car rolling by really slow.  When it parked illegally, I paid more attention while Dixie watered a bush.  A girl I didn’t recognized jumped out of the car and said, “Marna, is that Dixie?”

This woman was introduced to me online a year ago through a mutual friend who thought we should get together because our dogs look alike.  I know that sounds like a crazy-dog-owner-qualifier, but American Bulldogs are sort of rare and their markings vary.  We obviously never made time to meet, but were able to keep up with our dog-related facebook posts.    This was my first encounter with a Facebook person I didn’t know before friending them.

If there was doggie TMZ, I think Dixie would be this week’s IT girl, but for now, she hopes you’ll thumbs up like her.

In the continuing de-evolution of real men, there are arguments that this phenomenon started in the ’70s when divorces increased and boys were raised by single mothers.  OK, then what explains men in their ’60s that behave like… pussies.  In my case, I’m going to blame it on California, again.

I received a voice mail two days after a flight I took.  Here’s a modified transcript:

“Hi Marna, this is Idiot.  You sat a few rows back from me on our San Francisco shuttle.  I smiled at you and you smiled back but I don’t think you recognized me.”

One date.  You have salt and pepper hair and glasses and look like every other 61 year-old in Santa Barbara, that’s probably why I didn’t recognize you.

“I know it was you because you have a very distinctive look.”

Yeah, you don’t find super white skin and red hair easily in coastal California.

“I just though I’d call to tell you I saw you and to hope all is well in your relationship.  Best.  Oh, this is Idiot.”

So, here’s how this would of played out from a confident, east coast guy:

“Marna?” he says with a head tilt.  “It’s Confident Guy, how are you?”

If I act like don’t know him, his response would be, “Oh, I’m sorry, you look exactly like someone I’ve met.”

Confrontation complete.  No sweat.  Hell, his backup plan could of been a debark, tarmac hello. You don’t call two wimpy days later and play out the scenario on voice mail…unless you are a soft beta male from California.