Getting to thanks.

Lame, right? It's like anything else in my life: a big woosh of activity and then.. stop. Like I was having Sunday morning coffee about a month ago with Neighbor Geoff and he had just gotten his new iPhone 4s. ALL I WANTED after that was an iPhone 4s. I called the Best Buy daily and then every other day and then every week and then.. nothing. Meh. How many stupid questions can I actually ASK Siri, anyway? It's not that I have patience waiting for the fervor to die down, it's that something more shiny got in the way. What, I can't say, but I am easily distracted and sometimes an effort just isn't worth it.

I have been MIA mostly because these last couple of weeks have just about killed me work-wise. Just about. Like last night I had this throb on the side of my head that I was sure was a stroke, but now it's gone because I am past the thirteen hour days and ready to jet off to a warm and sunny locale. So when I get home after a thirteen hour work day, the last thing I'm thinking of is sitting down to tell YOU folks about it. You don't want to hear about how I have to bite my tongue when I'm on the phone with a moron (or sixteen). Or how after ten hours of non-stop work with nothing in my belly but string cheese from eight hours before you're pretty much on autopilot, knowing you can't stop for at least another two hours. Or how my cats run away when I get home because I have become a stranger to them. Or how I haven't been to the gym since last Friday despite still getting up at 4am to go to work instead. Or how yesterday I'm not kidding you EVERYbody was an asshole. EVERYbody. What the fuck? It's the holiday season, you jerks. Have a little joy. Fuck.

No, you don't want to hear about it. And I'm wondering if you even want to hear about what awaits me just one week and one day away.. Do you really want to know that I will be doing the polar opposite of what I went through the last couple of weeks - laying in the sun, drinking my weight in free booze and luxuriating in a complementary bathrobe and fuzzy slippers while I sip coffee on the deck overlooking the blue blue of the Caribbean? Probably not. But yeah, that's where I'll be. Missing the goddamn cats because I'm getting soft in my peri-menopausal state. Thank goodness for Neighbor Geoff and his theory that single people need to take care of each other. And each other's cats.

This vacation couldn't come soon enough, either, since it's been raining like a big fat whore and I honestly don't know how much longer I can take this. It's always flipping dark outside. And my eye doctor suggested I try bifocal contacts during the rainiest week of the year. It takes about a week to get used to (not being able to see) them and this particular week seemed like as good a week as any.. right. The only time I have seen daylight this week was in my (pretty frequent, actually) dashes outside to grab a smoke. I haven't even had time to visit my Deli Boy boyfriend. Anyway, I could see fine out of them in the office and I could read stuff and they were pretty much treating me like a bifocal should, until I got behind the wheel of a car for the drives to and from work, and then LOOK OUT. Seriously. Shapes with pretty sparkly lights, that's pretty much all I could make out. Luckily I could drive to Orenco blindfolded (but there really is no accounting for mad pedestrians that wear dark coats and dart into traffic on poorly lit streets..), so, you know, I made it, but by Day five I just said Fuck it and ripped them out of my eyes and put my old ones back in. Monovision: it works for me. Sorry, Doctor.

So hey, it's Thanksgiving. Let's be thankful for what we have and we are able to do. Let's be thankful that I'm off that desk because I'm not kidding you I would have committed a homicide if I had to spend one more day on it (that's right. Homicide. Pre-meditated murder. I would have thought it out, planned accordingly, and followed through. No case for manslaughter whatsoever.). And let's be thankful that I will very soon be very tan, very drunk, and very happy.

Ready

So I have a friend who is, like me, in her mid-forties. Divorced for a while, no kids in the house, living the dream. Recently she started dating a guy that is about the same age, maybe a year or two older. He's a good guy, I know this because I pretty much know everybody these days and he has a good name. They have been taking it slow. And when I say slow, I mean S-L-O-W. They barely make out and it's been two months since they started dating.

Very recently she had to broach the subject of taking things to, uh, the next level. Because seriously, kissing after two months is stretching it. In my opinion. I mean, for God's sake what are you waiting for?

I get being cautious, and I get developing a relationship and then when you DO finally knock it out it's just about the best thing since sliced bread. But I also get being in one's mid-forties and having had lots of ... life experiences... and subsequently having needs. NEEDS. And I most definitely get knowing what you want and asking for it.

So the question is, at what age does one stop being considered a tramp, or forward, or fast, or whatever you want to call it? At what point can you say, "Look, it's no secret I've had a lot of sex in the past, and I would like to continue that trend now that I've found a really good guy, so can we just get it over with already?" without sounding like you are some kind of nympho? I believe strongly in letting one's true feelings and desires be made known to (whoever cares to listen) a potential paramour, so I wonder how other people (particularly the potential paramour) might feel about being so... forthcoming?

I think it shocked the new boyfriend, but at least he knows what's up. I mean, in this case, it isn't ALL about the sex part, but the sex part IS important (and in some cases, it IS all about the sex part, but that's not really what this is about), and I just don't see what's wrong with getting it out there on the table and letting it be known. I mean, what guy wouldn't LOVE that?

I think the rules change when you pass the forty mark. I think that when you pass thirty, you are so relieved to not be in your twenties anymore that it takes a little while for you to figure out who you really are and what you really want. And then when you pass forty you really don't care what the reaction is going to be so long as you get the message out.

Let's hope for my friend's sake that the boyfriend isn't freaked out by this and is, instead, impressed that she would go ahead and tell him that she's ready. Because you can't get what you want if you don't ask for it, right? And anyway, how would she know she wants to keep him if she hasn't kicked the tires a little bit..?

Obligated, but I just can't be bothered.

Has there been quite a bit going on? Yes. Did the Ducks beat Stanford Saturday night and in the process thereof, did I practically have a stroke and burn out the batteries on two phones texting? Indeed. Have I mentioned that I'll be in Mexico three weeks from now working on my tan and already have a January Palm Springs trip on the agenda? Maybe. Am I feeling philosophical about all the signs and signals that are being thrown my way by the universe? Definitely. Do I have a few things that I really should do today before being buried alive in work this week on a crazy-busy high maintenance desk? Absolutely. Am I going to write about any of these things?

No.

Instead, I'm going to give you a recipe for the easiest chili on the planet. It's on the stove now, and I started it like six minutes ago.

I use a lot of Morningstar Farms meatless products because when I was five my dad told me I didn't know how to buy meat. Those sort of things stick with you when you're a kid. I'm really bad at buying meat. So I just don't.

I use the MSF Grillers Crumbles (it's fake ground beef) (but it's all protein) but you could certainly use ground turkey if you wanted. I brown it in a stockpot on the stove, throw in whatever spices are handy (today it was chili powder, cayenne, garlic powder, salt, cumin, and cinnamon), throw in a can of black beans, and a can of chopped tomatoes (I actually found a can of Rotel tomatoes and chilis in the cupboard that still had another year left on the label and used that instead today, mostly because I didn't buy any tomatoes yesterday). Stir it all up and let it sit on low for however long you feel like it, maybe an hour or two. I threw in a couple of tablespoons of ground flax seed too because Gay Neighbor Geoff gave me some last week and it's never a bad idea to keep the product moving.

So there's dinner for the next three days or so. And it's actually pretty healthy, when you consider we need all those things to function properly.

Don't say I never gave you anything.

A tan will hide the dark circles, though.

The cats didn't let me have that extra hour of sleep this morning. They barely allow me to sleep until 4am as it is. Right now one of them isn't even letting me blog.

I think the only thing "Falling Back" does to me is set a precedent to get up EVERY weekend day at 4:45am. That's not good. Sooner or later there will be dark circles under my eyes.

Booked for Mexico, and with less than a month to spare. A teeny tiny window of opportunity opened and luckily that Marita found it - fare through Phoenix (way better than the Texas airports) for less than $850. Like $320 less. Sure the flight back leaves at 9am on Saturday with a four hour layover, but I'm a cheapskate and there is NO WAY I was going to pay $800 for airfare alone on this trip. The pluses are that I get to hang out with that Kimberley on Friday (and I even get to spend the night, though I'm not sure her cats are okay with that) and I won't be home in the middle of the night on the following Saturday. Oh and I get to actually be at the same resort as that Marita and Dave (and Marta, of course!) for the first time in ever (we did do that Isla trip, but technically it doesn't count because we had to buy all our own drinks). So on top of getting crazy tan (I talk a good game, don't I?) I get to hang with my favorite people. And I only have to wait like three weeks or something like that before I go.

Which means I have to tan in earnest. I started yesterday at the Cut Rate salon, but I really hate laying in a tanning bed for flipping 20 minutes, so I'm thinking I'll probably re-up for a month at the super fancy expensive one. It's way more convenient considering I'll be in Hillsboro for the entire time I am tanning (save the next three days).

Anyway this wasn't supposed to be about the Mexico prep. It was SUPPOSED to be about the cats and how suddenly I care about things and hate leaving them, and every time I see a wild animal out and about (chipmunk, deer, rat, crow) in potential peril of getting run over, I think of the kitties and I get all sad like somehow they would ever be able to get out of the house and race immediately to the busiest street they could find and then something horrible would happen. Because isn't that what inside kitties would do? Just like when you drop something, anything, it automatically lands UNDERNEATH something? I used to be so carefree and unaffected by the plight of others (okay that's not really true, but I HAVE been known to not give a shit about anyone but myself...). Now every time I see a carcass on the roadside or a chipmunk wondering if now would be a good time to run across the street, I think of my kits and how that could be them. Whose idea was it for me to have animals to begin with?

Nearing the time to have coffee with my neighbor (I've been up for hours, been to the gym, the Dutch Bros, showered... still killing time talking about nothing) but I figured after the barrage of posts from a couple of weeks ago, I'd keep up the trend. Sorta. Seriously, nothing is going on. Except, you know, Mexico.