OK Ms. DunThat, Mrs. BeenThere is here and I feel your pain.

For those who haven't met me yet, I'm Mrs.BeenThere and I have been Ms.DunThat's co-conspirator for about 25 years now.I am also spending the week with my parents. They decided to visit me this year in lieu of a vacation. My parents are odd birds. My dad has a PhD and my mom has two Masters degrees. My dad has written four books and is currently working on two more. My mom proofreads all his stuff and is his co-author on a number of articles. They are in perfect health and neither one of them is senile. Nevertheless, once their feet cross the threshold of my house, neither one of them can complete even the most simple task without assistance. They are unable to turn on the t.v by themselves or change the channel. They can't turn on the shower by themselves. They can't find objects that are right in front of their faces. I spend most of my time running around doing basic things for them. It is sort of like taking care of my two toddlers, except my parents are a lot more bossy.

So, here we both are, on the wrong side of 35 spending close to every waking hour with our parents! Becuase of the collective oddities of both of our families, we have to communicate via blog becuase we actually cannot communicate any other way when our families are around. Yesterday I tried to call her in the morning and after about 100 rings her grandfather finally shuffled to the phone and picked up. He demanded to know why, if I was calling from the East Coast, the caller ID showed a number from the midwest. I had to explain I still had my old cell phone that I used when I lived elsewhere. He wasn't buying it. He acted very suspiscious, like I was trying to pull one over on him. I finally got him to tell me that she had gone engagement ring shopping. For a brief moment my heart soared. I fantasized that Mrs. BeenThere had met the man of her dreams and would finally get hitched so my husband and I (who have no couple friends becuase every other married couple we know is horrifically boring) would actually have another cool couple to hang out with. OK, I know, she hasn't actually been on a date in a while so the chances of her finding a guy and getting hitched within 24 hours of the last time I spoke to her are slim, but hey, I can dream, can't I? Anyway, no such luck. She was going ring shopping with her little brother. Who I have known since he was in diapers. Who is now getting married. To an actual adult woman becuase he is an actual adult man and not an fourteen year old. Which means I am really, really old now. Depressing. So, anyway, I get grandpa off the phone (he didn't offer me any toothbrushes) and decided to call her later.

The next time I called her her father picked up. He started droning on about possibly using my name as a reference for some volunteer opportunity he was pursuing. Once again I felt horrifically old when I realized that the same man who used to drive me to the movies in eigth grade now considers me old enough to write a letter of reference for him. Which again underscores the fact that I am one old broad. So, anyway, the worst thing of it was I was just trying to call her quickly to tell her that Lance Armstrong's ex was on Oprah. Did anyone catch that? Lance Armstrong is (after Brad Pitt) possibly the most dangerous commitment-phobe out there. And now his wife was on t.v, presumably to ditch the dirt. Thank god for TIVO becuase her father droned on and on for close to twenty minutes. I was dying.

You know, I'm getting really really sick of Oprah. She always blames the woman for every crappy thing a man does to her. Take the interview with Lance's ex (who, by the way, looks exactly like Sheryl Crow) She is blaming herself for the fact that Lance Armstrong is basically a self-involved son of a gun. The basic gist of the interview was that she was saying that she lost herself in her marriage and became a 'yes woman' who didn't stand up for herself, which eventually led to her divorce.Oprah went into her whole "yeah girl, you women out there better wake up, if your man is mistreating you it is probably becuase you taught him to do that" routine. Ok, sure, I get it, no one is blameless in any situation, but COME ON. What I saw on that stage was a woman who fell in love with a man, sold her house, her car, and her DOG. Moved to France, got pregnant, and was just trying to hold it all together to support the man she loved. She should be blamed because she didn't ask for help? What about blaming him for never OFFERING to help??? A woman gives up a great life for you, has your babies, moves to the land of bad showers, rude people, and chain smokers (ok ok I hate France), cooks your meals and washes your dirty drawers and you never once think to ask "can I help you?" and it is HER FAULT when the marriage tanks!!! Get your ass off that bike and change a diaper already Lance!! Take your wife out to dinner!!Use some of that dough you won at the Tour-de-Fancy Pants France to fund a getaway weekend for her and some girlfriends!!! And what are we supposed to think about him ditching Sheryl Crow? A woman who had a great career, was independent, and was no "yes woman" as far as I could see. It didn't keep her from getting kicked to the curb once bicycle boy had had his fun. Can I get a witness, Ms. DunThat??? Oops, wait, I gotta go, my father is calling me from downstairs. He needs me to turn on the t.v. for him so he can watch C-Span.

I am on vacation

Yes, I am on vacation. Not at a tropical island, not in Vegas, not on a singles' cruise (something I probably should do considering I'm hurtling at the speed of light toward middle age.) I am at my parents. The plus side: They live 15 minutes away from the beach, and there is a thriving downtown with quaint stores and big city nightlife. The down side: There is a cold front, I have no access to a car and nobody wants to do anything.
That is not entirely fair. On Saturday night, my sister and her friend took me out to a biker bar. We were going to go to a nice club but there was no parking so we left. The allergy fueled flu that I'd had in New York had settled into an easily ignorable cold, so I grabbed the chance to go out. I danced to a few songs, dodging the 'octopus arms' that occasionally reached from behind me to secure the bump and grind position. There was a lot of cigarette smoke which I guess aggravated my condition because I couldn't speak for the next 24 hours and now I think I have walking brochitis. But at least I was out there.
That was the only time I've been out for three days, except when my dad brought me to the QwikMart to get some Tampons, where he stayed in the car, but gave me $4 to buy his Merit Menthols. I don't drive a car, and my sister doesn't like leaving the house during the day. I wake up in the morning and play Scrabble with my brother. My mother asks me what I'm going to eat. I watch old movies on TV, and watch my grandfather shuffle back and forth to the bathroom. This morning he brought out a cigar box filled with new toothbrushes and asked me to pick one. He says there's more where that came from, that he's got 100's of them. I play with the dogs for a little while. I read, and sometimes I take a bath.
I am 36 years old. I am on vacation but it looks more like i've checked into a hospice. This stuff only happens when you're single or in a stagnant relationship. Can anybody else relate? Mrs. BeenThere?

Last Monday my ex-Boyfriend pretended he didn't know me and the next night I had to work as a bathroom attendant.

Yes, this is true. As you know, my ex left me in the dust just a little over a year ago after 5.5 years. What you may not know is that I also left a teaching career to write and walk dogs. I also had to pick up some cater-waiter jobs. So here's how it went down: I was entering a restaurant to get a piece of lemon meringe pie. I was in my dog walking uniform, which that day was old droopy beige cords (with a tomato sauce stain on back of leg), scuffed sneakers, and weird sweater with pompom drawstring. Most importantly, I had on no make up and my hair was tied up and windblown; the top of the hairdo looked like a shark fin. That's what I was reminded of when I looked in the mirror after. Anyway so I enter the first door, there is a little hallway between the first and second door, with a glass panel to my left, through which sits one table where both diners are approx. 3 feet away from me. As I'm opening the second door I glance at that table and see my ex BF sitting with his ex wife. (They were seperated when we met.) He looked up at me too, we locked eyes for a moment, and then he returned to the conversation he was having with her without missing a beat. I guess the coward didn't have it in him to acknowledge me after spending 5+ years with me, after all she didn't know who I was. I don't even think she really knew I existed, as I realized later he was hedging his bets and dividing his emotions between the two of us our whole time together. Watching them was like watching a mental picture I had created that now moved on it's own accord. It was just sheer post traumatic pain.

Then I went to the corner store and bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked them. I have not heard from him and I guess after this, I never will. And if I do, I will be an idiot for talking to him. Then, at 11:30 at night, I got a call from a catering co. that wanted me to work for them as a bathroom attndant the next day. Yipee! I hadn't really worked for them yet, so I had to take the job to insure they would call me again.
The sad thing is, that when I saw him, I still wanted him. After 14 months. Oh God, I hope I don't get famous and he reads those words. I guess I can replace that part about wanting him with, 'He looked like an orange troll, I don't know what it was I saw in him in the first place.' My friend Sally told me if you're relationship (or breakup) with a guy seems like a Lifetime movie, it's probably not healthy for you. So I must listen to her.

I am finally going to get back to writing and maintaining this blog. The reason I havn't been writing is due to my chair. I tried to make a cozy writing area for myself. I bought a new rug, chair, and even hung up the painting that I had bought for my ex before he left me. It had been sitting in my closet for over a year. It is a lovely painting, and it is mine now. It is probably the most 'high class' thing that I own, which gives you an idea of who I treated better, him or myself. Anyway, the chair. It is one of those round, nest-style chairs and it is so comfortable, that when ever I sat down, I didn't feel like writing; only like watching TV or maybe reading. I had planned to do some writing this weekend, and was so depressed come Sun. night when all I had to show for the weekend was an empty DVR and a trail of cookie crumbs that had worked their way down my front and lodged themselves in my navel, that I started to feel really bad about myself. Not just because I havn't been able to write, but because my butt got bigger. Just when I was about to roll across the room into the bed, I found a new position in the chair that felt like the perfect writing position. I am hoping that this is a turnung point to get me out of my slump. I am in the position now, and here I am writing. So anyway, about dating. I havn't really bothered to update because it's been so boring. I had two dates, both of whom I compared with my boyfriend and who came up short, even though my boyfriend was an asshole. He did have other attributes. The first date seemed promising; I met the guy at a catering event, we exchanched numbers and then both saved eachothers numbers wrong. He actually tracked me down by calling the catering company! But then, on the date, he was a bizaare composite of annoying personalities. He kept talking about Bush, Russian literature, and 'faggots.' His voice was high and his teeth were shriveled and blackish, I can't believe I didn't notice that before.
The second date was fine; it was with an ER doctor who was short and bald, but not George Costanza short and bald. But he was pretty young for me, 30. We had a good time talking, but I didn't feel much of an attraction. Anyhow, he invited me to a concert and something else. Then I told him I was 36 (he thought I was about 32) and then I never heard from him again. Those are the only dates I've had in the 14 months since the breakup.

Tomorrow I am going to try to start the Perricone 28 day diet so tonight, I am sitting in front of Grey's Anatomy with a fork and an Entemen's cake. I have eaten one third of the cake. Like an alcoholic who sucumbs to the fantasy of a last drink, the reality of my pig out session is disappointing and filled with self-loathing. It is a Valentines cake. So I know I will keep eating in an attempt to get rid of it. Pigging out should be left to those who, like my roomate, can exercise a modicum of self-control. I've already gained 8 pounds this season. But I did, on a high note, have a blind date the other night. For those who are counting, that is date number two since the BREAKUP. Not bad, you know, for a 36 year old. Let's see, that's an average of 1 date every 7 months. At this rate,

Sometimes it seems that just when you start to feel a little bit better about something, fate intervenes to bring you back to a place of misery The following event is real, not fictionalized, as you would be inclined to believe.
As I may have told you, shortly before the breakup, I had given up my career as a dance teacher to pursue other career options. The breakup ensued, and I spent six months of government subsidized unemployment on the beach and under the covers watching Ellen and reality TV. I presently spend my days walking dogs and writing. That's right, careerless and mateless in one shot. Oh well, c'est la vie, I gave away my ticket for a normal life long ago, in college, when I started dating unavailable men. BUT THIS IS WHERE IT STOPS!
Anyway back to the point- Manhattan is a condensed sity. There is so much to see that it is not hard to avoid a particular area if necessary. I used to live with my BF on 64th and West End. So the area on West End between 50th and 80th Streets is basically a blackout zone. (The blackout zone originally included Manhattan, then the entire west side, and has shrunk in time. Not that I'm over it.) The other day, I got a pet sitting job within 10 blocks of the old apartment. I literally closed my eyes in the street as I walked close to the apt. we had shared, risking walking into a stranger or a lamp post. I kept my head down past the neighborhood restaurant we visited on lazy Sunday evenings, where I liked the the fried zuccini and he liked the linguini a la vongole. I got up to the apartment, set up my laptop and played tug of war with the dog. The apartment is a top floor penthouse, with a wrap around balcony. I know, I know. I am staring out the window when it dawns on me that I'm actually freaking looking at the apartment we shared together for almost SIX YEARS, the apartment that he in all probability, still resides at. Then, as if a divine being placed them there itself, I see to my right a set of binoculars. For about two seconds I tried to talk myself into forgetting about it and going to see what was on the Lifetime Movie station. Instead I picked up the binoculars, and with my hands in a death grip, heart pounding, tried to see if I could scout out our apartment. I mean this is a year later guys, I don't know what kind of horrors I could have seen. Turns out I can't see into his apartment, which is a good thing, because even if I could have seen so much as a one inch sliver, I would have stood there in a death grip watching for an elbow, anything, like some 1980's movie voyeuristic loser.

Newman check out the pic