Omar

Today Omar Sharif kissed my hand.

Exhibition(ist)

On Saturday, if I can get off work in time, I hope to be attending a cocktail reception and private viewing of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art's King Tut exhibit, and I am quite excited, because 1) I think the exhibit will be fascinating, and I've been longing to see it since I heard it was coming here; 2) I will be going with my father, and it is not often we get to do things like this together; and 3) I get to dress up and look pretty.

Tonight I modeled a little black dress and black strappy sandals for my lovely friend Andi, and I have her full approval on my attire, which is a relief because my sense of style is somewhat on a par with my desire to go bunjy jumping...neither one makes much of a blip on the radar screen of the frogg's personality, I'm afraid.

(Andi has just asked me if I am writing about how gorgeous I am again, and that makes me wonder what people must think of me from reading my recent blogs! I must sound terribly shallow and conceited. I am not, but I guess you'll have to take my word for it. You'll also have to take my word for the fact that yes, I do look rather gorgeous in the little black dress. I didn't say I wasn't vain, now, did I?)

A Song And A Poem

I like the song "Memories" by Eisley.

And here's a draft of a poem I found in my writing files the other day. Did you know I had it in me? I had forgotten.

Long days of gray
and the black night slips
into an endless spring
that is waiting to arrive
on a cold mountain.
The black branches of a lone dogwood
are bursting with delicate white
snowlike blooms
as they coil against a darkened sky.
The rain birds fly overhead
and I see for one moment
a well of blue
falling upward in the midst of a swirling storm,
but I can't see to the bottom.
I don't know if there is one,
but the birds go up and up,
a fluttering of white,
and I lose sight of them as the well disappears
into the gathering of clouds,
which smothers the blue, takes it away,
but the echo remains in my soul,
like the shadows of the rain birds
etched into the twists and turns
of the wild dogwood tree that stands
in the midst of a sudden field of green and gold
under a cold mountain.

What Is True?

The other day, I observed a grown man literally jumping up and down like a child who's just been told he's going to Disneyland, and when I asked him why he was so happy, he told me that the woman he loved--who is not his wife, but he calls her that because "that's what she is to me, and I'd marry her if she let me"--had left him a voice mail simply saying that she loved him.

Another man on the same day told me stories about what men talk about in "the locker room" when women aren't around, and how the fact is that men are dogs mostly because they can be, wanting what they don't have and taking what they can get.

Our conversation reminded me of the time I was walking down the boulevard next to the beach in Pattaya, Thailand, and seeing the middle-aged white (probably married) men walking hand in hand with Thai prostitutes as if the women were their girlfriends and as if there was love between them, instead of monetary compensation for unslakable lust.

Then yesterday I happened to read a short story in the latest issue of a literary journal, that was all about how various men sexually abused the young girl-protagonist.

Finally, I remembered the recent wedding of a friend, and how, as he watched his bride walk toward him down the grassy aisle under a springtime sun to stand at his side in front of a rose-strewn gazebo, he couldn't stop smiling or wiping away tears.

Of all of these stories, which is true?

I wonder sometimes what on earth I'm waiting for, and if it is worth it after all, and that makes me sad, and a little angry as well, that I should even have to wonder this. I know it isn't sex though; that would be easy enough to get if that was all I wanted. But it isn't; never has been. (I'm greedy-I want all or nothing, and sex is not all.)

I just don't know if what I really want is out there, and that's because I don't know anymore which story is true.

Ulysses

I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known-cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all,-
And drunk delight of battle with my peers
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.

--from Tennyson's "Ulysses"

Happy Birthday To Me!

Well, the big day is here at last! I am 30 today.

Thanks to my friends and family for putting up with me all these years...here's to you being able to put up with me for many more years to come! Or perhaps to me changing into a nicer, more humble, less vain sort of person, whichever is easiest. (Ha! Herculean tasks either way, it sounds like to me! Well, what would life be without its little challenges?)

Anyway, I love you and I just want you to know that I appreciate you loving me. Thank you.

On a totally unrelated and less serious note, I scored my first "30 and how come you're not married yet" comment today when I visited my parents' church for lunch! Woo-hoo! Let's see how many more I rack up before the day is over! It can be a little game I play...the trouble is, I don't know what I get if I win. Hmmm. Oh well.

Ciao for now--hopefully I'll be seeing some of you for dinner later on tonight!

Guide to Flirting

Kudos to BeautiPhil for turning me on to the following link:

SIRC Guide to Flirting

SIRC being the Social Issues Research Center, but I'm sure you knew that. I mean, doesn't everybody?

I'm oblivious when it comes to flirting, I think. Unless it is quite blatant, and then I think it falls under the heading of being "hit on." This is according to one of my co-workers, with whom I was discussing the subtleties of differentiation between flirtation and hitting-on. I wasn't aware til then that there WERE differences, but apparently there are, and they are subtle. So you really have to be up on your flirting etiquette, and that's where the Social Issues Research Center's Guide to Flirting does such a remarkable public service.

For example, its advice for those interesting in workplace flirting is invaluable:

Careful observation of colleagues is the best way to discover the unspoken flirting etiquette of your own workplace - but make sure that you are guided by the behaviour of the most highly regarded individuals in the company, not the office 'clown', 'groper' or 'bimbo'.

That's right. The SIRC doesn't pull any punches, kids. Stay away from the office groper, please!

The Guide is actually pretty exhaustive, covering everything from appropriate places for flirting (pretty much anywhere, as far as I can tell), who to flirt with (someone who is likely to return your interest), how to do it (eye contact is key!), and how not to do it (and for this one I have to include another quote):

Some men...blow their chances by carrying on a conversation with a woman's breasts, rather than looking at her face.

I desperately want to make some funny comment about this, but I am laughing too hard. I myself can think of at least one time when my breasts were asked out on a date (I believe I've mentioned it before). Not a great way to get the ladies, men. At least, not THIS lady!

(A better way is calling me up at the store where I work and pretending to be a customer who has a crush on me, and asking me out. If you are convincing enough, I will be so flustered that I will say ok. I know this because a co-worker played this joke on me yesterday. I still have to think of a way to get him back! Any ideas?)

Anyway the Guide goes on (and on and on) about how to flirt successfully, but I leave it to you to find out for yourself. Visit the link, and enjoy. It's quite educational, on so many levels.

Thanks again, BeautiPhil. I owe you one! What would I do without you?

(That may or may not be flirting--read the Guide to find out!)