Hey, I'm Not Gay

When I turned thirty, I cut my hair short and never looked back. While I wore it in varying stages of long for my entire life (with it almost to my butt as a young child), I was so relieved when I found out that short hair looked good on me, since I'm lazy in the mornings and it's so easy to care for.

As you may know, I've lived in several other places before landing in Seattle and in every other place I've lived, my sexual preference has never before been questioned to the degree that it has here in Seattle. While I know I'm not a Pretty Young Thing, I've never lived anywhere that when it comes to dating where I cannot get arrested.

Even in LA, the land of the superficial, I could probably do better than I'm faring here in Seattle. Although, it is possible that I may be deluding myself and looking at L.A. through rose-colored glasses. But believe me when I tell you - it's been very disheartening here in Seattle, a city that seems to be obsessed with hair. The men here have way too much of it in my book and that's just on their heads. Facial hair is also terribly out of control in this city and most men look like Grizzly Adams. It's definitely not coiffed facial hair.

Seattle is a city where you will also see women with hair that does not match their age. I am of the mind that as you age, your hair should get shorter and thus more tasteful. Not in Seattle!!

Here you see lots of women with long hair, and about half of them should cut it. Long stringy hair on an older woman is anything but flattering. "Look in the mirror!" I want to scream. But no one would listen if I did; I'd be preaching to the choir. Plus, I'm living in the land of Gortex, where sadly I've started fantasizing about purchasing completely water-proof hiking boots rather than the glam, suede high-heel boots I've been swooning over at Marshall's. The entire city could be on What Not To Wear.

Someone seriously needs to slap me. But, unfortunately, when it rains 7 months out of the year practicality takes over. As a last-ditch effort, I'm trying to save myself from becoming a fashion nightmare.

But, back to Seattle being a sucky place to date. In addition to stopping myself from thinking about Gortex, I've finally figured out part of my dating problem: my very short hairstyle.

In the year that I've lived in Seattle, only women have been knocking down my door.

My housemate recently confirmed my fears and she told me that she too, when she wore her hair very short, was completely ignored by the male species.

Fabulous.

We all know that men like long hair. Yawn. It just so happens that for several reasons, as well as the fact that my hair is super fine, that wearing it short seems to be the best solution. However, I can be proactive and have decided to grow it out to a short bob and see what happens. I'm approaching it as a scientific experiment. We'll see if any of the men in Seattle notice.

Thanks, Canada

After making it through my first year in Seattle at the beginning of August, I have to admit: I wasn't loving Seattle. It's not a very friendly city and I was starting to fantasize about living in other places.

Over the past several days, something has shifted. Not just one thing happened, but a combination of things that helped change my perspective.

On Friday I was excited because I had an audition for a national commercial. While I didn't get a callback or the job, it got my creative juices pumping and made me realize that the Seattle acting market is the perfect size for me given my experience.

Then on Saturday, I visited Vancouver, British Columbia for the day and I'm pretty sure that's what caused the paradigm shift.

What a freaking cool city! And, it's only 2 1/2 hours away. Yay!!

Having a city like Vancouver so close by has given me a new lease on life. I cannot wait to go back.

On Sunday, I auditioned for a play lab for a staged reading and while I don't know if I'll get cast or not - it felt so good to be acting. They were casting for 4 different plays and I got to read for all of them and the response was good. Really good. While I haven't heard back yet, and it's driving me batty, it was a good reminder that it's about the process - as actors we don't have much control on the outcome. We just have to keep plugging away and fighting the good fight.

I've also started writing a one-woman show with my much esteemed acting coach and she's just as excited about my project as I am and I believe her enthusiasm is authentic. She really feels I'm developing something worthwhile and it's nice to not only get the validation, but to be working with someone like her. She's a master at what she does and I feel I've found the perfect person to work with.

Being an artist isn't easy. Most people don't get us and there is no guarantee we'll get the reward.

Thank goodness, I've been inspired to keep going. My eye is back on the prize.

Dating In The Time Of Cholera

I once had a college professor who was a complete moron. I know you might find this hard to believe, especially at a school as prestigious as UCLA, but I assure you: the man was an idiot. During the quarter that I took his Sociology course, the only wise thing that he would mumble on occasion was, "We have to laugh, so we don't cry." This comment seemed to allude to his Mexican heritage in some way and it was implied that he felt he'd gotten the ethnic short end of the stick.

Who knew, this many years later (and it's been many years) that I would take this phrase to heart - particularly in matters of the heart.

While I didn't expect to find myself middle aged and single - guess what? Here I am.

Fantastic.

Actually, no - not really.

When I lived in Los Angeles (where I lived for 18 years), dating was challenging. While I have friends who have succeeded in finding admirable mates, I tend to think of the dating mores in LA and get hives. It's not uncommon to be talking to someone of the opposite sex, say, at a party and for them to be looking past you: to see who better they can converse with.

It's frickin' depressing.

From there I moved to Las Vegas - a place I never intended to live, that in fact chose me. I went along for the ride kicking & screaming, but, once settling in I made the best of the situation and found dating in Sin City to be, well, surprisingly easy.

Even though my banker at Wells Fargo warned me when I first got to town to beware of men on the down-low and men who pay for sex (unfortunately I would later meet one of each variety), I found that any man who caught my eye would then ask me out. It was like...well...magic! I'd never experienced such amazing dating juju in my life.

Life in Seattle would beckon to me and I would follow, and after a few excellent dating years in Las Vegas I would find....in Seattle...

I can't get arrested.

Excuse me? What the...???

Okay, I know I'm over forty, but I look reasonably good. It's not like I'm an old hag or anything. I still think I'm sort of a....catch.

When I first arrived a year ago I tried online dating and met some truly vile men and decided it was time to move on and have faith that a man could appear in another fashion.

I recently got set up on a blind date as some of you know and....nothing. Apparently we weren't on the same page. I seemed to think we had a good time after spending 4 1/2 hours together. To me it seemed like a sign of success. Apparently, I was wrong.

I'm not stupid, and I've read "He's Just Not That Into You." And my friend Seven was kind enough to reiterate that "he's not into you." Thanks, Seven. I needed the reminder.

When I was in LA in April for a friend's baby shower I got together with a former flame and the sparks seemed to fly. He thought it would be a good idea to get together at a time in the near future and take me away on a romantic getaway. When I got home and my hormones had calmed down, I realized that it probably wasn't the smartest idea. My friend and I had attempted to date about 10 years ago and when I took the trip down memory lane, I realized that my agreeing to the tentative romantic getaway was most probably a serious lapse in judgment as Mark (as much as I love him) was hardly a smart romantic prospect.

We spoke again about 3 weeks ago and Mark (who is very sweet) asked me if we were going to take our trip. I kind of hemmed and hawed and well...kind of agreed.

And then today, I'm on Facebook and just happen to notice that he's changed his relationship status to...in a relationship!

You'd think that I'd be happy. Relieved, in fact, and feel that he's done me a favor and that now I can slip out of our tentative commitment.

Hell no!

The very least the motherfucker could have done was told me he'd met someone! We've only been friends for twenty years.

Oh, I was pissed. And, I called him a motherfucker in the email I sent. Followed by: "I'm happy for you and I hope it works out."

What has happened to chivalry? I'm afraid it might be a rhetorical question.

Most likely, it's dead.

Today I'm A Salad

When I first found out there was a Korean spa in the Seattle area, my heart skipped a beat. I was ecstatic. It had been years since I'd frequented such a place and when I made my first visit a few months back, it was everything I'd hoped for and more.

I must say, spending the Fourth of July getting completely pampered was just what the doctor ordered.

Now, if you've never been to a Korean spa before, and aren't European - know that it isn't for everyone. What I mean by that, is that even though you're given a robe, you'll be spending a lot of time au naturel. It's not a tony spa environment where everyone is robed and shuffled in and out of their spa treatments. At this type of spa, you are laid down on a table buck naked before you are scrubbed or moisturized by a Korean woman in a black utilitarian bra and underwear.

After a morning of soaking in the various tubs, sitting in the steam room and sauna and getting a couple of treatments, I ate lunch in the restaurant and then hopped from room to room. The spa boasts room of different temperatures - varying degrees of hot - that all promise different healing properties and are supposed to regulate different bodily processes. All good, of course.

From the way they advertise it, if you spend enough time in each room before you leave, you're guaranteed not only extra vitality and energy, but also years added onto your life - just as long as you don't get hit by a bus when you leave.

After baking in one room that warns against staying in it longer for more than five minutes, I went into the cool room to "chill" and stared at a poster of a penguin family. After all the heat I could take in the rooms, I showered - as told to do by the woman who would be in charge of my moisturizing treatment - and then sat in the dry sauna. I could only stand it for a few minutes before I had to get out. It had been a long day of a lot of heat. I did pop back in (I can obey orders) for a few more minutes before Eve came and got me.

I was then ready for my moisturizing treatment. And as it turned out, I had no idea what I was in for.

For fifty minutes, Eve's intent was to moisturize the heck out of me. And that she did.

She slathered me in separate coats (and poured hot water on me in between) of olive oil, milk and honey.  After the honey was applied, she then packed my face with iced cucumber and left me to marinate.

For a really long time. At least 10 minutes, maybe longer. It felt like an eternity. And after a while, I was ready to be rid of the honey and cucumber on my body. Seriously, I had turned into a salad.

When you're lying there, wrapped up like coleslaw, you lose sense of time. It wasn't like I could see the clock - because each eye was covered by a slice of cucumber. What is supposed to be super relaxing, after a while becomes a tad annoying.

Finally Eve returned and hosed me off and sent me on my merry way. She told me not to go near water the rest of the day. I could drink it, but it couldn't touch my body. I was now as soft as a baby's hiney, so I didn't care.

On the drive home, though, I noticed there was quite a slick streak of honey on my left forearm. What do do? I promised to stay away from water. However, I think given the gargantuan ants that I've seen walking around my kitchen and bedroom lately (that I think stowed away in the peonies from the market), that it's safe to apply a damp paper towel to my left forearm. Eve doesn't need to know.

Connections

Usually when I sit down to blog, I have a plan. Something I want to write about, some topic, whatever it may be. Today I don't really have a theme or a topic. I just feel like writing.


Last night I had a dream. While not a recurring dream in and of itself; I've had many variations of this dream over the years. The dream was set on Dayton Road in Redding, Connecticut where I grew up. In the dream, I was looking for the house I grew up in. I was having a difficult time locating the house (I wasn't really walking in the dream, but kind of drifting which of course you can do when you're dreaming) because there were lots of additional houses that weren't usually there.


I was able to locate our next door neighbor's house, it looked the same. But even with their house being recognizable, I still couldn't find our house.


Finally I found it. I've had variations on this dream, where I was in my old house, even though other people now lived there and for several years it seemed like the dream was recurring. It turns out, my mother also had similar dreams.


Sometimes I wonder why I've dreamed about this house in particular, when I have lived in other places and dwellings? Probably, because, this house signifies "home." The place where I lived from the age of 8 to 16.


After to moving to California from Connecticut in 1988, it would take many years for me to return to the east coast. It wasn't until my late Great Aunt Estelle threw herself a 90th birthday celebration that I would return. It was a good 9 or so years later that my parents and I would find ourselves in front of our old house. It looked pretty much the same as it had always looked, although the new owners had painted it white.


Our next door neighbor's house, however, looked remarkably different. Joe Burke and his wife Sharon had lived next door to us for the 8 years we were in our house, with Sharon's two children - Terri and Brian. The outside of their home was always attractive, with some nice landscaping and flowers. All these years later, it was obvious to us that the Burke-Garlock family was long gone. It looked like Sanford & Son had moved in. It was quite ghetto.


Because the appearance of their former home was so scandalous, it was all my parents and I could talk about the rest of the trip and we wondered what had become of our former neighbors. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about Brian Garlock - the son of the family. While I didn't know Brian well, after Terri got married at 18 and ran off to California, Brian replaced his sister as our babysitter. For some reason, the memory I have etched in my mind is of Brian eating Doritos. He would put the entire chip in his mouth and chomp down. It used to make me laugh. I was unable to shake the thought of Brian and found myself thinking about him non-stop.


When I got back to Los Angeles, I was in between jobs and was asked by a friend to fill in for her at Disney while she took a trip to Maui. I was at her desk for a week and on the second day, an email came along with information about t-shirts for the remake of "The Parent Trap" - the movie that Disney was promoting at the time. In the email, it mentioned the name of the person from the marketing company who was supplying the t-shirts. Her name was Terri Garlock.


I called the phone number in the email and an older woman answered the phone. She was Terri's secretary. I told her that what I was about to say might sound strange, but I was wondering if I might know Terri. I gave her my information and 5 minutes later she called back. She was excited and relayed her conversation with Terri. It turned out, that indeed Terri was my former next-door neighbor from Connecticut. The woman told me that when she'd told Terri that I had called, that Terri was so surprised that she nearly ran off the road. I also found out, that Terri was on her way to the Disney Studios and would be there in 20 minutes.


I was like a little kid. I made sure that I was in the right spot to greet Terri when she arrived. We laughed, we hugged each other and we caught up. Terri was pregnant and told me that her first marriage hadn't worked out. She was happily married to husband #2 and I told her to never go by her old house, if she were to find herself in Connecticut, but rather remember the house the way it used to look. She thanked me and told me that her Stepdad, Joe, had told her the same thing. Then, she proceeded to tell me some really sad news.


Her brother, Brian, had been killed in an Amtrak wreck when he was 21. Her mother ran away and no one had heard from her since.


Terri then asked how my parents were doing, and revealed that she married a Jewish man and credited my Dad in making a good impression and actually influencing her choice in a spouse. Way to go, Dad.


It's funny how life turns out. We never know what will happen. Right now a lot of my friends are having babies. It seems like I'm the only person in my group of friends and family without a kid. Maybe it's got me thinking about life, and death. Or maybe it's because my parents (like everyone else's) are growing older and I find myself wondering how long I'll have them around for.


When my Great Aunt Estelle came down with dementia at the age of 94 it was devastating. However, I suppose her situation wasn't as bad compared to some others who are afflicted, even though it was terrible for us. She was as sharp as a tack until she was 94 and died at 96, not knowing who any of us were. Today, I heard from a friend who I've known since I was 5 - who is dealing with her Dad, who has Alzheimer's, and is in a home. She's having a hard time.


Do I have a point here? Not really. Just the thought that we are so connected, whether we realize it or not.

Seattle, A Ginormous Backpack A Purse Doesn't Make

This morning I rode the bus downtown for an early morning meeting. Because parking in downtown Seattle is a complete pain in the ass, not to mention expensive, I take the bus when I’m going into the heart of the concrete jungle.

This morning I noticed when a fashionable young woman, clearly a young professional, got on the bus and sat down across the aisle a few rows in front of me. Her outfit was super-cute and I nodded approvingly to myself, giving her a silent thumbs-up for such a fab ensemble. She was decked out, head-to-toe, dressed to the nines with a professional polish – fantastic leather high-heeled boots, a pretty gray pleated flared skirt and a nice wool coat. In Seattle it’s not unusual to see well-dressed women. The men, on the other hand, as a general rule – are a hot mess.

We’ll save them for another time.

What I did not approve of, was that this well-dressed young woman, instead of carrying a purse or a briefcase (something you don’t see enough of in Seattle) was hauling (and I mean hauling) a backpack the size of Jamaica. It wasn’t a purse in the style of a backpack, say in a nice black leather. Oh no, it was a ginormous, North Face ordeal that you would take on a camping trip with all of the doo-hickeys sticking out of it. It looked like it could carry a small family. And she had to position it so it wouldn’t fall off her lap, which it tried to do. It was awful and I had to divert my eyes.

What was this woman thinking, I wondered? And where are the fashion police when you need them? Seattle needs some serious help.

From riding the bus on occasion, I’ve learned that the backpack to purse ratio, among well dressed women in Seattle, is way too low. If a man is carrying anything more than his cell phone, he will most definitely be carrying a backpack. While not the most attractive look, you will never see a man purse in Seattle. We’ll let the guys get away with carrying their crap in a backpack. I don’t care about how they look – I’ve given up.

But the women? It’s shameful, really. Seattle women need to take a field trip to New York and realize that Seattle has a bizarre fashion sense all its own.

A friend of mine, who also grew up in Connecticut, recently relayed a disturbing fact to me. She said that it’s trendy in Seattle to shop at stores like REI and The North Face – all the places that sell camping gear – and buy the brand-named camping clothes, even if you’ve never camped a day in your life and aren’t ever planning to do so as a fashion statement.

You heard me. Some poor fool will spend their hard-earned dollars at Columbia or The North Face buying a fleece pull-over and waterproof hiking pants just to be cool. As if that’s an acceptable look. And most of them don’t buy the attractive versions of these clothing items or sizes that fit right. You should see these faux camping folk! They look terrible.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t just disturbing to me, it’s downright frightening.

Who knew that it would take me moving here to become a fashionista? I’m on a mission. Stay tuned…

Just Another Saturday

This past Thursday, my friend Debbie and I met at my new favorite Seattle restaurant Tavolata. From there we went to see “Limitless” with our Cinema meetup group. I arrived before Debbie did to take advantage of Tavolata’s fabulous happy hour and have dinner. Debbie arrived a bit later than me. She’s on a weird diet to determine whether or not she has food allergies. So, while I enjoyed my second glass of wine, she downed a bowl of watercress drizzled with olive oil.

We caught up, I filled her in on my week and she filled me in on hers. We had a good old time catching up and then walked a block and a half over to The Big Picture – one of the coolest places to watch a movie in Seattle. The Big Picture has private rooms and that’s where we met up with the meetup group. Debbie and I were drinking water while the rest of the people were enjoying their cocktails (The Big Picture has a full bar). I’m counting points and had already consumed all I could allow in good conscience at dinner, so it was on to water and lots of it. This would prove to be a mistake, when during the climax of the movie, I had to run out to pee.

One of the fun things about this venue is that there are several lounge areas with couches and oversized chairs on which to socialize. Before the movie started, we chatted with some of the other meetup folks. One guy who we’d been talking to, sat himself next to me in the theater. I found him to be extremely friendly and just a tad creepy. He told me he was sure this would prove to be my movie. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he seemed harmless enough and I didn’t feel the need to bolt.

On the other side of Debbie sat Michael. When we arrived, he was chomping on some pizza and we chatted with him. It turns out we’d both decided he was just delightful. We enjoyed the movie.

Tonight the cinema group is seeing “Jane Eyre” and I invited Debbie. She said yes. From a conversation I had with Debbie this morning, I learned that she has a crush on Michael. I could see why. He’s a cutie-patootie. And while, I admittedly also had a crush on him – was willing to sacrifice my crush and pimp for Debbie. I’m that kind of friend.

Yesterday I’d noticed that when Michael had rated the meetup, he’d also made a comment saying he had a great time at the movie with the people he saw the movie with; that would be me and Debbie. It looked like things were boding well for Debbie and Michael.

So, today, I decided to send Michael a note letting him know Debbie and I were going to the movies and invited him to join us. I made sure to mention in the email that I wasn’t stalking him (this is Seattle and I didn’t want to freak him out by being overly-friendly) and I also mentioned that he might already have plans and that “Jane Eyre” is kind of a chick-flick.

While I was emailing him, I still had the meetup page open on my computer and went back to his profile. That’s when I saw it – and got the biggest laugh I’ve had since arriving in Seattle.

Michael also belongs to another meetup group. Namely, the Another Gay Social Club!meetup group. After laughing my ass off, I wondered how I – such a huge fag hag – didn’t see this one coming. Maybe this is why I’m a fag hag, because I’m drawn to gay men even if it isn’t obvious. Our impression of Michael was that he was fabulous. He was cute, friendly and chatted us up. I shake my head in shame. How could I not have known? He isn’t obviously gay, so I had such high hopes for him and Debbie. He was dressed in sweats that night, but didn’t look sloppy. On the upside, he might just be the fabulous gay friend that Debbie and I are both looking for.

Now Steve, the guy who planted himself next to me at the movie is another story. While friendly and a bit out there, comes across as a mess, physically. When Debbie and I were talking this morning (Debbie is a native) and were comparing notes, she was being polite and laughed when I told her what I really thought of him.

Of course, Steve is interested in me. Isn’t that the case, when as a woman, you couldn’t be more disinterested yourself? Steve has been emailing me since yesterday. His initial email was, to say the least, interesting. He told me that I’m a Ferrari disguised as a Prius. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He then made a reference to “Limitless,” which is about using full brain capacity in his opinion and drug addiction in mine, and it seemed to me was suggesting that I’m not reaching my full potential. Anyway, that’s how it came across and I found it annoying since he doesn’t know me. I asked him if he’s a life coach.

He’s not a life coach. He’s a self-proclaimed Metaphysician and follower of Tony Robbins. Um, puke. While I have nothing against Tony Robbins personally, people who are followers of anything other than themselves don’t bode well with me. And to introduce oneself as a Metaphysician, I find to be spiritually arrogant and somewhat fishy. People who are truly enlightened don’t advertise.

Hey, and I’m a Shaman. Let’s meet for drinks. Not.

I know this may sound a bit harsh, but have you noticed how almost all of the spiritual kooks out there are men?

Really, I’m not bashing men. I’m not a hater. I like men just fine. It’s just that in my observation, it seems that when some of them start off on a spiritual path or are well on their way (as in “My name is now Swami or Baba Whatever” since they’ve denounced their given name and have started wearing all white and a turban and they’re as white as their turban), combined with the male ego and hubris (often one and the same), they think they rule the world. As if it isn’t bad enough already.

Steve came on way too strong for my taste and I had to tell him to back off. Fortunately, he took it okay and is respecting my wishes to stay away.

Ah, just another day in the life of Yours Truly.