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Monday, October 31, 2011

ME & THE MORE MAN

My hair was dark brown then, almost black. It fell mid-neck in rolling, tousled waves. A dramatic contrast to my snowy, white skin, it wasn't unattractive. At age 50, I looked 32. During my younger, blonde years I was pretty enough to intimidate men from approaching me.

It was mid-summer 2001, just months before my father's death in October. I took Dad to the Medical Center for his blood work. Since there was usually a long wait, I brought the newspaper.

The man seated to my left, asked to see the section I had just finished. When I gave it to him, he pulled out a pen and began writing on it. Then he handed it back to me. -- He wanted a date. His name was "Ralph."

I was amused, and showed the paper to my father. He chortled, then smirked. Ralph and I began to talk. He had noticed me there before and thought I was quite a looker.

With hesitation, I gave him my name and phone number. I wasn't attracted to him, but I was depressed and eager for diversion.

I wondered aloud why he was there for blood work.

"Probably V.D.," Dad kidded.

Less than an hour after returning home, Ralph phoned. As we talked, I learned he was a retired contractor who lived in the next municipality to the south. He bragged of his house on the water overlooking mangroves. He was a Mormon who had 4 ex wives and 7 kids.

I've always felt that those who have had multiple divorces should get a clue that perhaps they're not marriage material!

I let him know that I was not interested in anything beyond a strictly platonic friendship. My father required constant attention due to illness. Also marriage just never interested me.

"But I want to get married again! And I have a good feeling about yooou," he cooed.

Ugh, didn't he hear anything I had just said! I could have sworn I felt my lips moving. I repeated my sentiments.

"Oh but I want to court you and change your mind," he declared.

I informed him I had no compunction about dropping men who pushed and pressured me.  He swore he wouldn't.

The Mormon was almost 70. At age 50, Ralph was only the 4th man I'd ever dated in my entire life. Two of the other three, I'd only dated once. In both instances, it was 1 time too many.

We made a date for lunch. I found a neighbor to tend Dad for the afternoon.

Ralph's car was a gaudy red vintage Lincoln Continental with fins. As we walked toward it, he paused to look me over. "You've lost weight!" he exclaimed.

"No, I'm the same weight as always," I replied.

"Well I'm attracted to your beautiful face," he responded.

What an idiotic thing to say to a woman who has never had a weight problem!  But I'd already tagged him as an insincere flatterer.

As we waited on a red light, I made conversation. Old Ralph turned and snarled, "Are you always this loud!" (I was stunned speechless.) Quickly he added, "Maybe because your father is so hard of hearing."

Geez, he could have phrased that more tactfully. Had he said, "Keep your voice down, I'm not as deaf as your father." I would have cracked up laughing. Unfortunately, he was so dour, I found him almost depressing to be around.

Ralph had heart problems and was allergic to poppy seeds.

He confessed he hated reading. And that he had never read a book the entire way through. I told him I was disappointed to hear that. I love to read. Also I had written several unpublished books.

He gave me a look as if to say, "What you? Come on!" -- I assured myself this would be our final date.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you a lesbian?" he asked. "I can't believe that a woman who looks like you has never been married. I'd a thought some guy would have scooped you up years ago."

"No, I'm not a lesbian in a sexual sense. But I enjoy the company of women more," I explained. "Perhaps it's because I was never close to my mother. Also I have too much emotional baggage. Men don't like that."

"They probably weren't strong enough. Well, I am a strong man," he crowed.

I noticed he did a lot of John Wayne swaggering and posturing during our date. He was a big fellow, over 6 ft tall. But he had that apple-on-a-stick body type which I find repulsive.

I repeated that I had no interest in a marriage. Also that I found most people to be disingenuous. And I knew plenty of women who married duplicitous men. The husbands were Prince Charming during the courtship and after marriage they became Mr. Hyde.

"Oh you won't get any surprises with me. I'm just what you see!"

That wasn't much, I thought.

"You need to think about the future," he told me sternly. "After your father's gone life's going to be really hard. You'll be alone!" he said that in a tone as if the Bogey man was going get me.

My female friends were far more empowering. They all told me to plan on encountering problems. But also added, it would be nothing I couldn't handle. One even warned, "If you marry Ralph, expect to be picking up another old man's poop in 10 years."

"You haven't yet seen what a great guy I can be," Ralph boasted.

What's stopping you? I wanted to scream in his face!

"I'm certainly glad I found you." He smiled. "There aren't many eligible women out there."

"Are you serious?" I replied. "Everywhere I go there seems to be almost as many single women as couples!"

"Yeah, but most of them aren't attractive," he said.

I felt my jaw drop. "Don't you own a mirror?!" I wanted to holler.

Two days later, he phoned and wanted to treat me to a matinee. I bit my lip. There was a film I really wanted to see. If I didn't go with Ralph, I'd have to wait and see it on TV, probably edited to pieces. Reluctantly, I agreed to another date. I'd tell him we're finished after the movie.

The same neighbor (a young mother) agreed to sit with my father for the afternoon.

"Hey," Dad piped up, "after Ralph brings you home, have him come in and fix the bathroom drain. I could do it myself if I was able to get down there."

"Egads, show me what to do, I'll repair it." I insisted. I knelt down and attempted to follow my father's instructions. "Damn!" It was no use, I would have to ask Ralph.

Before and after the movie, Ralph yammered constantly about why we should marry. Despite my arguments to the contrary, or my attempts to change the subject. Ugh!

"Don't you a least want to give it a try?" he asked enthusiastically.

Good grief, you try an hor d'oeuvre, not a marriage! Before the movie began, he walked me to the Ladies Room and waited outside. Geez, did he think I'd run away?

On the way home, he informed me he was a skilled cook. Also we'd have a maid twice a week. -- Had we actually married, he would be paying another woman for something else twice a week! Also I would be slipping him poppy seeds.

I had no intention of agreeing to marry a total stranger. The big mystery in my mind was how this guy ever persuaded 4 women to marry him in the 1st place.

Ralph agreed to repair the bathroom drain. -- But only for a hug and a kiss! I grit my teeth. As with most men, he had that quid pro quo mentality. A trait I detest! He lost one of the parts and had to drive to the hardware store.

I told my father I'd pay Ralph for the part, then I would call a plumber. -- I wasn't prostituting my lips for plumbing!

When I informed Ralph, he claimed he had been joking. He repaired the drain and left.

The next time he phoned, I told Ralph I wanted to end it. My father was dying and I didn't need any additional stress from him!  He did not appear surprised.

Fast forward to the day after Thanksgiving. Around 2:30 PM, I opened the front door to let out the cat. A bright red vehicle with fins caught my eye. I knew that car! I ran up to the landing out of curiosity. Since the street ended in a cul de sac, I knew I'd get another look.

I didn't have to wait long. The driver had turned before reaching the cul de sac. The car approached at a crawl. I looked closely at the driver. He was carefully scrutinizing my house. Ralph! He spotted me in the window. We made eye contact. The car awkwardly lunged forward. Dramatically it speed up! Hurriedly, he drove away. That was the last I saw of the Mormon.

As a child, when I fought with my mother, she'd scream, "When your husband beats you, don't come running home to us!" I often wondered if she battered me in preparation for marriage.

But my father never struck her, nor me. He wasn't the type! He had the cutting tongue with words that wound.

A few decades ago, I read that a 40 yr old spinster has as much chance of marrying as getting killed by terrorists. Still single at age 60, I probably have more chance of getting kidnapped by space aliens. I'm just saying, not complaining. Frankly I've had all the family I can stomach for one lifetime.

I think I dodged a bullet with Ralph. He dodged a howitzer.
 

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

MY DRAMATIC FASHION

I LOVE clothes! I live to wear them. And what would clothes be without accessories? -- Insipid and blah! They are the difference between being dressed and being chic. In a past life I must have been a transvestite. I think they are magnificent looking! They put real women to shame.

Hats galore, exotic costume jewelry, gloves, scarves, and lots of shoes with personality and pzazz, that's my closet! Rather closets, plural. And for a really extreme change, I've a variety wigs in many lengths, colors, and styles.

My gloves are all lengths, some are fingerless. My boots come in every style, some with fringe and faux fur. Over-the-knee boots are my favorite! The 1 in a white snake print is the most awesome! Plus I love anything that looks like a costume. I have shoes with fins, and a pair with braided tassels around the ankles. I have tiger and zebra leggings, too. I don't just wear clothes, I have fun with fashion! I'm the only 60 yr old I know who has a Bond Girl section of her wardrobe.

For a woman who has struggled with shyness and self-confidence issues her entire life, I am certainly a bold dresser.

When I was younger, frequently I was asked, "Are you a model?" After I hit middle-age, I have often been asked, "Were you ever an actress?" The answer is no on both counts. I was too self-conscious about my imperfections. Years later, I've met women who are professional models. I didn't find them all that attractive. I thought to myself, "Damn, I should have gone for it!"

Don't get me started on my collection of purses. Speaking of purses, I really don't spend that much $$$ for all of this, because I rarely throw anything out! Passion is the reason I buy clothes. Everything eventually comes back in style. Classic clothes never go out of vogue. I'm always combing new styles with the old.

Another reason I've never married is because the poor guy would never get any closet or drawer space. Plus I'd throw out the man before I'd part with the clothes I love. Friends have actually called this a sickness.

At my advanced age of 60, I've acquired quite a collection over the decades. I've been a creative dresser all of my adult life. Why limit your style when there's a fantasyland of couture. I've never understood why people choose to dress boring. Yes, I'm familiar with the phrase, Mutton Dressed As Lamb. And I've made some concessions to age, but not many.

Why should I! I'm trim and youthful-looking for my age. I'm somewhere between the frump-a-dump brigade and the young-tarts-on-parade. Besides, you don't stop being who you are just because you get older.

Egads, whatever happened to make-up? Everywhere I go, I see nothing but dish-rag faces. Yes, there is the popular argument that make-up creates a phony image. Yet, I've always felt it's far worse to be phony on the inside. And most people fall into that category, I've found.

I purchase most of my cosmetics at the Dollar Store, occasionally from Big Lots or Walmart. On rare occasions I buy it at the Drug Store. You don't have to spend a lot of money to look presentable.

A (questionable) friend told me I look like I try too hard. I replied that if I didn't, I'd look as bad as everyone else!  Liberace used to say, "I dress up to me, not down for everyone else." -- That is my philosophy, too. And I say, "You are out there or you are nowhere." Dianne doesn't do dowdy! And I'll never understand why people go out in public looking like crumb-bums.

In my opinion, jeans should only be worn for mucking out barns.

Some have commented that I look like a Stepford wife. I prefer to think of it as AARP Barbie. My mother used to say that I dressed like a visiting celebrity. And my stepmother used to tell me I looked like a freak from Mars.

I've always prided myself on having good fashion sense for a white woman. Black women take their appearance seriously and know how to dress! Some have actually asked me for fashion advice in clothing stores. I'm flattered! I've purchased more than a few items from Black women's catalogues. You could say I'm an equal opportunity shopper. I certainly shop all over the map for bargains.

Some of my most unusual and prized pieces come from thrift shops or consignment stores. Actually I'm paying the same amount there (often more) than what I used to pay for new clothes in my 20's.

Back then, a $15. dress was for a special occasion. I've never been into designer fashions. I can't afford them. Also I think they're a big rip-off. You're paying an outrageous price only to enrich some overrated designer. -- And I don't allow other people to dictate to me what I should wear! Clothes should be an expression of the individual wearing them, only! Unfortunately most people seem to lack imagination. And they take no pride in their appearance.

Often I purchase broken costume jewelry at 2nd hand stores. I get out my hammer & pliers, and pull it apart. I use the pieces to create a new original design on a metal hoop. Whenever an earring breaks, the other 1 becomes a pendant on a chain. Or I use some colorful or lacy ribbon and create a choker.

I've made headbands and necklaces from old belts. I've even created turbans from old pairs of pants! I love using my imagination. Plus I've always been into recycling.

About half the men I've dated wanted to pick out clothes for me. -- That's a dumping offense! Because it's a form of control. As a child I was forced to wear my mother's gad-awful taste. I call it carnival cutesy. And as an adult, my stepmother was constantly trying to impose her taste on me as well. Hers was frozen in 1962. Plus I'm really not interested in anyone else's input.

After the back-to-back hurricanes of 04, I often heard said that possessions don't matter, only people really matter. I vehemently disagree! My things were there giving me comfort and happiness when other people couldn't be bothered. This has been true my entire life.

According to that silly dramedy THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA, at size 8 I'm a fat girl. I moved into an 8 around my mid-40's. Suddenly I discovered I had curves and cleavage I never possessed as a 6!  I wasn't stick-like anymore. That 10 lbs went to all the right places. I like my body better, now.

Although when I shop in the Junior section most of the tops are cut almost to the navel. (And these are for school age girls!) Most of the young ones don't have anything to put inside them. My breasts are spilling over. Sometimes I use a lacy camisole bra for coverage, sometimes not.

At age 60, I feel more in my prime than I did at 30. I don't care what anyone else thinks. This is my time at last.

A year ago I had my height and weight measured by a nurse. She marked me down as 5'7. I told her that had to be wrong! I've been 5'6 my entire life. Certain my feet were bare, I made her measure again. Still, I was 5'7! -- I've always thought one is supposed to lose height with age!  But the funny thing is, since my father died, I actually feel taller.
 

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

THE BIG S's

At age 17, my father took me on a weekend cruise to the Bahamas. Seconds after we departed ship in Freeport we were besieged by little boys with outstretched palms. All demanding, "Paper money or big coin with eagle."

We brushed past, leaving most behind. But 1 little boy followed us and was persistent. My father reached inside his pocket and pulled out a nickel. "This is big American money," he told the kid.

The boy snorted and chortled. He quickly ran back to join his companions.

My father turned to me. "You and I have a big "S" on our foreheads for SUCKER," he said. "And so does everyone on our ship."

Fast forward decades later. During my 50's I discovered the "S" for SUCKER is also synonymous with SINGLE woman. Dealing with a business or service people was eye-opening to say the least.

Back in Stuart, 1 of our nicer neighbors was a single woman named "Gertrude". My father always laughed at her because she paid through the nose for everything. "They see her coming and adjust their bills accordingly," he used to say.

Once, I asked her, "Do you ever feel some of these workers take advantage?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let me put it this way," she told me, "Whenever they find a woman alone in a house, they see $$$ and a pigeon. You have no idea. You still have your father. But one day you're going to find out!"

Woe, did I ever!

Gertrude, a seasonal resident, was planning to move to Florida full time. She was in the process of renovating her ancient kitchen. A thoughtful person, she purchased a bag of cookies for the workers. After gobbling them down, they were still hungry. So they ferreted through her cabinets until they found some Pepperidge Farm Sausalitos she had been saving for dessert.

"You just can't be nice," she lamented. -- That was an understatement!

After my father passed, I made many expensive mistakes due to ignorance. I imagined my Dad standing there in spirit and labeling me his favorite "S" word STUPID! I used to assume that most in business are ethical. I've found it's closer to 50-50.

Shortly after his death, my garage door broke. I phoned the company with the most impressive ad. Also the one that stressed their honestly. Not only were they expensive, they were unable to repair the attached light. Friends were shocked by what I paid. For HALF that money I could have bought a brand new door with a light included. They informed me.

From that point forward, I would get 3 estimates whenever possible. I was determined to turn that "S" into SAVVY. But I was still too trusting. Even when I went with the lower price, workers cut corners or pulled numbers on me. When you are naive, people take advantage.

I hear this repeatedly from my single friends. Many of whom have been alone for decades. Women whom I consider to be savvy.

"I could tell you horror stories one right after another," Margaret used to say. "When you're part of a couple they're dealing with 2 people. They talk differently to you if you're alone. When there's a man in the picture they're more intimidated."

Actually that depends on the man. I recall when I had my bedroom set delivered from a 2nd hand store. (It's a gorgeous old Spanish style that was probably quite expensive, new.) The pieces are well-made and heavy wood which may have been a factor. Also the guys may have been having a lousy day or have had a negative experience with someone else earlier. Still, that's no excuse. Anyway they were oozing attitude.

I commented to my father that I was sorry I instructed them to place my chest of drawers to the right of the window. It looked wrong, there.

"Just tell them to move it when they come back up," he replied.

I pointed out they didn't come across as the accommodating type. I dreaded to ask. They already seemed resentful.

"Oh it's their job," my father insisted, "go ahead and ask."

I politely did.

"Well then you move it!" the 1st man snapped nearly biting my head off!

I felt my jaw drop. I looked at my father as if to say, "How about some backup here? Are you going to let this guy talk that way to me!" Dad was staring at the floor, eyes darting back and forth as he looked down. He had distanced himself from the situation. I bugged my eyes at the guy in an angry stare. Acimoniously, the man moved the drawers.

I've had my property damaged by workers. Who, along with their bosses tried to shift blame on me. I've had business owners tell me that I didn't have the merit to criticize their workers. I've been screamed and sworn at by people I've hired, also insulted. And several have even derided my housekeeping. I am not the type whose naturally inclined to give anyone a hard time. For this reason, I'm an easy target.

No matter how valid the reasons, if you complain and you are a woman, you're automatically a bitch! Even if you do it in a polite, non-accusatory way, it's called being a sugar-coated bitch. But if you say nothing, they really bulldoze you and take advantage. In other words, you are deliberately placed in a situation where you can't win. -- So you really have nothing to lose by being a relentless bitch.

Also I live on 1 small fixed income. I can't afford that kind of nonsense or any expensive mistakes.

I've had so many downright horrible experiences the big "S" on my forehead was beginning to stand for SCHIZOPHRENIC as in the paranoid variety. I began to loathe hiring anyone to do anything. Seems there were always problems!

Eventually, I found I've had to threaten people with the nasty big "S" word SUE, as in lawsuit!" -- It's quite effective! Also I've threatened to call the media and write letters to the editor. And now I have the Internet, too.

I save the business cards of everyone with whom I've had a terrible experience as a reminder. Also I'm quite vocal! I don't hesitate to warn other people.

These shady types think they're smart and slick when they slip their fingers into your back pocket. They're just slimy as well as stupid! Because in the long run they are going to lose a few fingers.

Whenever you deal with a business, there is only 1 big "S" they should ever want to see on your forehead. It should stand for SATISFACTION.
 

Monday, October 3, 2011

THE BACK DOOR HURRICANE OF 99

 
Here I am again in the midst of the most stressful time of year. The heart of hurricane season. The same yearly issue! I have no one to board up my windows, should one strike.

The boards are all cut & marked. And yes, there are men willing to do the job. -- But only for an obscene amount of money! I'm a woman alone. Gouging seems to go with the territory.

I belong to several groups, and have let it be known what I am seeking. But only for a reasonable price, gougers need not apply. Other single women have slipped me phone numbers. "Call so-and-so," they told me, "Don't worry honey, he'll take care of you and he won't gouge you."

Most of the so-and-so's don't return my calls. Or they tell me they don't want the job, soon as they learn I own a two-story house.

The 1st time I was in a similar predicament was the Fall of 99. I wasn't alone, my father and I had just moved here the January before. A bad boy named Floyd was stirring up trouble in the Atlantic. A category 4 hurricane, it looked like our paths were bound to cross!

A category 5 can completely destroy your house. So a category 4 hurricane is nothing to dismiss. Our home, was the only one in the neighborhood, (probably the entire Treasure Coast) that wasn't boarded up. In fact we didn't have boards, period! And this house has large picture windows everywhere!

My father was still recovering from his heart attack and triple by-pass. I asked him what we were going to do????  He shrugged, and said he didn't know.

"So we're just going to die, then?" I responded sardonically.

He took a deep breath. "This happened suddenly, so we're stuck unprepared," my father lamented. He repeated he didn't know what to do. Then he calmly sat down in front of the TV to channel surf as usual. -- As if a category 4 hurricane was not storming toward us!

I was ready to rip my hair out!!! I wanted to shriek at him!!!

Retreating to his dome of denial was the typical way my father handled problems. His philosophy seemed to be that an issue was not really a problem if you don't acknowledge it. I saw this my entire life!

Frantically I ran upstairs and grabbed the phone book. I called every single agency that dealt with Senior citizens and asked for help. Couldn't they send someone out here while we still had some time? I was given lots of phone numbers. Before long, they were giving me each others numbers.

Frustrated, I tried calling the TV networks. I was able to get through to only one. The 1st question they asked was, "Don't you have neighbors?"

I told them this wasn't the 1950's ! Neighbors don't care if you end up as a battered piece of bloody meat hanging from a tree! And this was a Republican neighborhood, too. -- I may as well paint a target on myself, climb on the roof and wait for the hurricane!... They me gave a list of numbers I had already called.

The network had been my last hope. It was getting late. The hurricane was supposed to strike during the night. I decided that when it hit, Dad and I would just huddle in the bathroom downstairs and hope for the best.

Before moving here, my father vehemently insisted that Vero Beach never got hurricanes due it's location on the map. And he always said that hurricane season was over by Oct. 1. -- Both were dangerous misconceptions!

Had it not been for the hurricane, my Halloween decorations would have been up.

I slept little that night as I listened to the winds. At the 1st sound of a crash, I planned to get Dad and we'd go downstairs. But it never happened, soon all was quiet. There is a God!!! The hurricane had shifted direction during the night, sparing us.

Neighbors unboarded their houses. The sun was bright and we were all elated. -- Then came a nasty lass called Irene!

Shortly after the Floyd scare, Irene would be upon us as a category 1. Unlike Floyd, it would be coming over land. No one bothered to board up this time. A back door hurricane, and a category 1, no one expected it to be much.

Irene struck during the night. I heard the winds whipping around furiously! The electricity went out! The lashing winds intensified. I began to get nervous. I sat up in bed, listening and waiting. My room was pitch-black. I heard a crash outside!

The following A.M. after the storm passed, we had no running water. We used a well then. (I always thought that water tasted skanky!) Due to no electricity, our well didn't work. But we had bottled water, which we had to use sparingly.

Irene was a wet hurricane rather than a wind one. Which I thought strange because it came over land. But I found out that's typical. Anyway, we were back to owning waterfront property. Our street was now a canal. We even had a large pond in the back yard. Also a good-sized tree had been blown down.

I took a bucket and walked out to our new pond to get some water for washing dishes and flushing. Our neighbor saw me and let us use his hose. -- It would be an entire week before our electricity was restored.

We ate cold canned food. That October was a hot and humid one. I remember putting on my bathing suit to shower under the hose in our back yard.

But some good came of this ordeal. My father paid the exorbitant amount required to get us switched to city water. (We noticed others in the neighborhood doing likewise.) No more skanky-tasting well water, yuck!

Also he hired a man to measure our windows and cut marked boards for each. My father assured me there would be no problem finding someone to put them up. Lots of people would do it for a reasonable price. -- Another one of his misconceptions!

The next 3 hurricanes (all higher than category 1) I would be enduring alone.