As I sit here, trying to contain my laughter, I am beginning to think that I might chronicle my adventures in online dating… I think I could write a book on just the correspondence alone.
I finally added a couple of pictures to my “free” profile on match.com… because according to them, it increases the chances of someone looking at your profile. Of course, I can’t send messages to anyone, nor can I see any of the messages that they have sent me, but I CAN send and receive “winks”. This, in itself, can be entertaining all on its own.
Why go out and try to compete with hundreds of women at a club, when I can lounge around in my pajamas in the comfort of my own home, and send winks to cute guys while binging on my favorite snack food and watching reruns of Desperate Housewives or Sex and the City? I tell you, I don’t think life gets much better than this… (just kidding)
Anyhoo, it’s good to know that, even though I am still single, there are apparently plenty of guys out there who at least feel I am special enough to send me a wink. (note the sarcasm)
Not only that, each time one of these eligible bachelors sends some attention my way in the form of an e-mail, Match.com does not neglect to try to entice me with the automated nudge that says: SOMEONE JUST E-MAILED YOU. HE JUST MIGHT BE THE ONE!!!
And then it proceeds to list “why” this person might be the one, based on the similarities in our profiles. For example:
Both of you enjoy cooking.
Both of you enjoy sports.
Both of you enjoy art and museums.
Etc.
(By the way, this was just an example… I’m sure y’all might’ve guessed that the minute you read that one about the cooking…lol )
Now, I can understand receiving this automated message if there is, say, a LONG list of things in common… which in some cases there are, but there is one message that stood out from the rest…
because it listed one thing that made me wonder about whether I have been too picky all these years. Maybe I haven’t been focusing on the right things… maybe finding the ideal traits in a man have nothing to do with character or values. Maybe it’s all much simpler than that.
The reason I say this is because Match.com has informed me that somewhere out there… there is a man who “might be the one” because… are you ready for this?
Because…
WE WERE BOTH BORN IN OCTOBER!!!
Oh my gosh! What the heck have I been thinking all these years? I think it’s time to just throw out my list! Wouldn’t you know that there is a guy who was born in October who wants to talk to me?! I am floored. Speechless. I think my search might be over. Praise the Lord… I have found the one…
Thank you, Match.com!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Blue Steel
As I walked up the sidewalk, my mother’s eyes moved from my feet to the top of my head, as she performed her motherly inspection and greeted me with the obligatory comment about my appearance, “Ay, Lisa, ni te planchaste la ropa!” (translation: You didn’t even iron your clothes!)
“Yes, I did,” I responded calmly.
“Well, was the iron on?” came her sarcastic remark.
Shrugging off the criticism, I asked if she was ready to go. She had asked if I could take her to visit my Tia Licha today.
My mother recently purchased a brand new vehicle, while under familial duress (i.e. her older sister’s insistence). Yet, she refuses to drive on the highway, or anywhere where there is too much traffic… or where there might be construction… and she definitely will not drive in the rain… I’m sure you get the picture.
When we got in the car, she pulled out a slip of paper with the name of a nursing home on it, and said, “Here is where she is.” My mother seems to believe that I have a map of San Antonio programmed into my brain, and I can take her anywhere as long as she tells me the name of the place or the name of the street. I had to tell her that even though the paper did say, “N.E. San Antonio,” I was still at a loss for where we were going. Fortunately, she had a phone number as well. So, I insisted that we stop first at La Paletera since I had been craving a fruit cup, while she called for directions.
We drove into the parking lot, and she reluctantly got off the car after I told her it was too hot for her to sit outside and wait. Once inside, she claimed she did not want anything, and then went over to the freezer and selected a watermelon paleta. Then while I used my best Spanish to clarify my order to the lady behind the counter, my mother made sure to correct what I was saying. Yes, I love my mom.
***
The nursing home was set behind a Family Dollar, a landmark in my mother’s eyes. Walking up to the front doors, I could see elderly people propped in wheel chairs in front of the big glass window. I walked past, diverting my eyes and trying not to let my heart strings get caught on anyone in need of attention. Probably not a good way to cope with all the pain in the world, but neither is going into an emotional frenzy over something I can do nothing about.
We found my Tia Licha, lying in her bed with her bed sheet curled up in a ball in her lap. One of my cousins was there for a visit as well and happily greeted us as we entered the room. My mother immediately took note of the rolled up bed sheet. “She does this at home, too,” she said as she smoothed out the sheet and soothingly told Tia Licha to cover herself.
A helpless look of confusion flooded Tia Licha’s expression, as she searched my mother’s face for a clue of what was going on. My mother pulled the blankets over her, and encouraged her to stay covered, while Tia Licha simultaneously began rolling up the sheets once again, exposing her frail little body.
My mind floated back to the lady I knew as a child, the one who was infamous for being the life of the party. There was never a dull moment in her presence. There was always a story to be told, or a joke to be cracked. At one time, she was a robust, full-figured Latina, proud of her curves and shamelessly boisterous about her sexuality. Hard to believe she was the daughter of my ultra-conservative great-grandmother.
In her entire life Tia Licha never lacked the attention or company of a man, and her coquettish nature enticed everyone around her. The mere mention of her name was enough to bring a smile to your face as you anticipated the laughs you would surely have while spending time with her.
She was one of the main attractions at family barbeques and other events. Escorted by the strong but silent Tio Montes, her gregariousness was never too much for him to tolerate. I believe her confident laughter was probably what captured his heart in the first place.
She was vivacious, full of life and love. A woman so confident that she had no qualms about draping a towel or a garbage bag around her neck, while she sat in the yard and doused her graying hair with blue dye, never neglecting to cordially greet neighbors passing by on the sidewalk. I would usually be standing barefoot beside her, wondering why she always chose the unnatural purplish hue called blue steel. To my naïve, untrained eye, she looked the same no matter what color her hair was, wearing her blue jelly espadrilles and large gold jewelry purchased in one of Mexico’s border towns, her talkativeness painting the afternoon more than the blue dye splashing on the concrete around her.
The day was never boring with her around.
***
Now here I was sitting beside her bed, helping my mom smooth out her blankets, while she continually rolled them up, conspiring to stuff them in her purse and return to a home that is no longer hers. “Ten. Hechatelas a la bolsa y ya vamonos a mi casa en la calle Ruiz.”
(Here. Put these in your purse, and let’s go to my house on Ruiz street already.)
Even after years of having to rely on her daughter’s 24 hour care, her mind plagued by senile dementia, she still manages to remember the street she lived on for so many years when she was married to Tio Montes.
His passing in 1986 left her available for one final companion, and when that one passed away, she still had offers from another at the age of around 80! But by that time, she was finally content to be alone. Her laughter began to fade, and her only desire was to return to the house that Tio Montes had left her so that she could live out her final years. But for some reason, she ended up living with her daughter, and the house on Ruiz street became decayed and dilapidated. Sadly, the beautiful elaborate furniture Tio Montes had lavished upon her during their marriage eroded from rain damage and other elements that infested the deserted home.
Still, despite what her mind is going through now, I know that she vividly recalls happier times spent living in that house. I believe that memories are etched into a person’s heart, and a heart knows what a mind and voice cannot always articulate.
So, in the midst of her confusion, while she sits and rolls up her sheets repeatedly, the memories of her strength and independence pull at my heart strings, and it’s all I can do to keep from obeying what she says. In my mind, I can see myself driving her home, where she can sit on the porch and tell me funny stories, the sunlight on our toes and her laughter illuminating the yard with more color than the Mexican clay pots holding her plants.
“Yes, I did,” I responded calmly.
“Well, was the iron on?” came her sarcastic remark.
Shrugging off the criticism, I asked if she was ready to go. She had asked if I could take her to visit my Tia Licha today.
My mother recently purchased a brand new vehicle, while under familial duress (i.e. her older sister’s insistence). Yet, she refuses to drive on the highway, or anywhere where there is too much traffic… or where there might be construction… and she definitely will not drive in the rain… I’m sure you get the picture.
When we got in the car, she pulled out a slip of paper with the name of a nursing home on it, and said, “Here is where she is.” My mother seems to believe that I have a map of San Antonio programmed into my brain, and I can take her anywhere as long as she tells me the name of the place or the name of the street. I had to tell her that even though the paper did say, “N.E. San Antonio,” I was still at a loss for where we were going. Fortunately, she had a phone number as well. So, I insisted that we stop first at La Paletera since I had been craving a fruit cup, while she called for directions.
We drove into the parking lot, and she reluctantly got off the car after I told her it was too hot for her to sit outside and wait. Once inside, she claimed she did not want anything, and then went over to the freezer and selected a watermelon paleta. Then while I used my best Spanish to clarify my order to the lady behind the counter, my mother made sure to correct what I was saying. Yes, I love my mom.
***
The nursing home was set behind a Family Dollar, a landmark in my mother’s eyes. Walking up to the front doors, I could see elderly people propped in wheel chairs in front of the big glass window. I walked past, diverting my eyes and trying not to let my heart strings get caught on anyone in need of attention. Probably not a good way to cope with all the pain in the world, but neither is going into an emotional frenzy over something I can do nothing about.
We found my Tia Licha, lying in her bed with her bed sheet curled up in a ball in her lap. One of my cousins was there for a visit as well and happily greeted us as we entered the room. My mother immediately took note of the rolled up bed sheet. “She does this at home, too,” she said as she smoothed out the sheet and soothingly told Tia Licha to cover herself.
A helpless look of confusion flooded Tia Licha’s expression, as she searched my mother’s face for a clue of what was going on. My mother pulled the blankets over her, and encouraged her to stay covered, while Tia Licha simultaneously began rolling up the sheets once again, exposing her frail little body.
My mind floated back to the lady I knew as a child, the one who was infamous for being the life of the party. There was never a dull moment in her presence. There was always a story to be told, or a joke to be cracked. At one time, she was a robust, full-figured Latina, proud of her curves and shamelessly boisterous about her sexuality. Hard to believe she was the daughter of my ultra-conservative great-grandmother.
In her entire life Tia Licha never lacked the attention or company of a man, and her coquettish nature enticed everyone around her. The mere mention of her name was enough to bring a smile to your face as you anticipated the laughs you would surely have while spending time with her.
She was one of the main attractions at family barbeques and other events. Escorted by the strong but silent Tio Montes, her gregariousness was never too much for him to tolerate. I believe her confident laughter was probably what captured his heart in the first place.
She was vivacious, full of life and love. A woman so confident that she had no qualms about draping a towel or a garbage bag around her neck, while she sat in the yard and doused her graying hair with blue dye, never neglecting to cordially greet neighbors passing by on the sidewalk. I would usually be standing barefoot beside her, wondering why she always chose the unnatural purplish hue called blue steel. To my naïve, untrained eye, she looked the same no matter what color her hair was, wearing her blue jelly espadrilles and large gold jewelry purchased in one of Mexico’s border towns, her talkativeness painting the afternoon more than the blue dye splashing on the concrete around her.
The day was never boring with her around.
***
Now here I was sitting beside her bed, helping my mom smooth out her blankets, while she continually rolled them up, conspiring to stuff them in her purse and return to a home that is no longer hers. “Ten. Hechatelas a la bolsa y ya vamonos a mi casa en la calle Ruiz.”
(Here. Put these in your purse, and let’s go to my house on Ruiz street already.)
Even after years of having to rely on her daughter’s 24 hour care, her mind plagued by senile dementia, she still manages to remember the street she lived on for so many years when she was married to Tio Montes.
His passing in 1986 left her available for one final companion, and when that one passed away, she still had offers from another at the age of around 80! But by that time, she was finally content to be alone. Her laughter began to fade, and her only desire was to return to the house that Tio Montes had left her so that she could live out her final years. But for some reason, she ended up living with her daughter, and the house on Ruiz street became decayed and dilapidated. Sadly, the beautiful elaborate furniture Tio Montes had lavished upon her during their marriage eroded from rain damage and other elements that infested the deserted home.
Still, despite what her mind is going through now, I know that she vividly recalls happier times spent living in that house. I believe that memories are etched into a person’s heart, and a heart knows what a mind and voice cannot always articulate.
So, in the midst of her confusion, while she sits and rolls up her sheets repeatedly, the memories of her strength and independence pull at my heart strings, and it’s all I can do to keep from obeying what she says. In my mind, I can see myself driving her home, where she can sit on the porch and tell me funny stories, the sunlight on our toes and her laughter illuminating the yard with more color than the Mexican clay pots holding her plants.
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