Gone Fishin

So, having decided I'm ready to date... and being a woman of action...
I've informed my friends I'm available to be set up (in a good way). And then I joined a dating site. Well, actually, I joined TWO dating sites. And the first thing I learned was that the free ones work just as well as the costly ones (I'm not paying, thank you). The second thing I learned was that dating websites are popular BY REGION. So the one that works for my bff in Philly just ain't cutting it here in my neck of the Western Woods.

HOWEVER, there's another free one that my awesome housemate introduced me to, and It's called PlentyofFish. Aptly named. And then I discovered that there are RULES. UNWRITTEN RULES about using dating websites. Like-- the boys I'm emailing with all asked me a deeper relationship question ON THE FOURTH EMAIL, so apparently three good exchanges are the magic number. And boys may ask lots of leading questions about places you like to go and things you like to do... but they don't actually ask you to DO ANY OF THEM. And on the public conversation threads, questions for girls to answer are actually answered JUST AS OFTEN BY BOYS. They just don't read directions, do they. And not only that, but the boys who come across via email as "shy" seem to have gotten favorable rating stars on their profiles more often than boys who come across as Lotharios or jocks. You know how it goes-- the quiet ones usually have a lot more going on than the braggarts.

Luckily, I also got some great advice, and some great pumping up of my ego, from two of my favorite male friends, before I went fishing for boys on the interweb. And, they tell me that since THEY are boys, too, their advice is very good indeed.

So, per the advice of happily married male experts everywhere, I am being a bit selfish, very self-confident, and I am calling all the shots MY WAY. It's quite fun.

And as a result, I am now looking forward to meeting someone (who sounds really cool, very intelligent, and has an awesome motorcycle and a really cool job fighting fires and setting up aid stations after natural disasters) in a very public place to walk, talk, and find out what kind of vibe I get from him in person-- later this week. And this is after telling him I'm divorced and I'm worried about his self-esteem. Nice, huh?

I've also been invited on a hike by another nice-sounding local man, who is definitely in better shape than I am, and has now reassured me TWICE that he grew up in a household where his mom worked and his dad raised the kids, and so he's really into equality. But I'm going to run that one by some friends first. It's not as public as I'd like for a first meeting. But it's a hike I've never done in an area I told him I like hiking, and he's already made two other semi-suggestions that I vetoed. I'm really glad he keeps trying. He sounds nice. And that's to say nothing of Kirk, who lives on a farm and raises organic wheat grass for smoothies. He's shy.

The rest of the advice, which I'm keeping carefully in mind-- per my tendency to care a lot about others' well-being-- is that apparently, it is good for boys to cry into their beers over a woman once in a while. And that I'm worth going to a lot of trouble for.

Whyever it is, this advice TOTALLY freed me from guilt, worry, or nerves while "fishing." And I expect it to continue to serve me well in actual meetings with boys, and even potential SECOND MEETINGS WITH BOYS. (Look out, Trouble! I'm coming to visit, and somebody else is paying the tab!!) I love my friends.

The most bizarre thing I've learned about dating websites is that 90% of the men on them (at least in my age group) are divorced, and 75% of those have their kids on alternating weekends. Don't know why that surprised me so much... All these divorced men with kids in their early thirties.

And I find that while I'm not sure I want to make babies of my own, I don't mind the idea of occasional visits from other peoples' babies. And I have more respect for the guys who put it RIGHT OUT FRONT that whoever dates them has to understand that their kids come first. As well they should, I say! However, I'm also just as glad that the two guys I'm probably going to meet soonest don't have kids. Or so they tell me.

And the photo I used on my profile? It's of me on the beach in the middle of winter. I'm bundled head-to-toe, but I'm also totally happy because I'm on the beach. So these guys aren't picking me for my bra size. I'm sneaky like that.

So, you know, adventures in dating. I'll keep you posted.

At the Root

I've been working to strengthen my Root Chakra lately. (Strength is important-- particularly when you've got a cat lying on your arms and you're trying to type.) It has been a roller-coaster couple of weeks, and the timing for having my Root Chakra nice and strong couldn't be better.

Calamity comes in all shapes and sizes, and a bunch of my dear friends have been faced with one calamity or another in the past week or two. And it's a relief to support them all without having to also feel all their pain for them. At this point, I've done enough work as a Life Coach to be able to separate what *I* am feeling on my own behalf from what I am feeling on SOMEONE ELSE'S behalf.

And so I was tired from all the energy I (gladly) used in support of my friends coping with life-crisis stuff... but I wasn't emotionally overwhelmed or incapacitated by all the grief. And I'm really proud of myself for that.

The Root Chakra, by the way, is the one in charge of our connection with the Earth, our sense of security and belonging, our financial and physical well-being, our safety, our solidity in whatever we are trying to accomplish with our lives, and our groundedness. (is that a word?) And each chakra has a specific "right" attached to it-- like the right to bare arms, only that isn't one of them. For the Root Chakra, you have the right to be here; and the right to have.

It was a weird sort of awareness for me to realize that I've spent most of my life working really hard to make other people look good, and help other people achieve their dreams/goals/successes. And I've spent the last several years not really believing I had a right to my own success, or to use my skills and experiences and abilities to make MYSELF look good. No wonder it's been so hard to find a good-paying job. I never felt like I deserved one!

Over the past few weeks, I've made a point of focusing on my Root Chakra, and being grounded in my right to have, for a few minutes every day. And I can feel the difference. I'm a lot better grounded than I was a few weeks ago. Thank goodness, considering all the challenges that have come up since then.

Even the visit to the Family Farm couldn't have been better-timed. OH-- and I finally broke down and bought some freeze-dried nettle leaf capsules (instead of relying solely on my home-brew nettle tincture)-- and they are SO controlling my allergies with NO side effects!!! YAY for uninterrupted sleep!! (Except of course, that Abbigale continues to throw up a little too frequently this week, and I had to jump out of bed an hour before my alarm so I could give her some tummy meds-- which did work this time, thank goodness!)

Muckelicious

Today, I mucked out a barn.

Back a few months ago when I dreamed of myself doing this, I woke in utter disbelief that such could EVER be true. I mean, this is ME we're talking about. But today, it was. I actually volunteered.

See, through one of the random blogs that I follow-- maybe it was one about urban homesteading, or no-- maybe that one about sustainability and farms or, well, maybe one of my "tiny house" blogs-- anyway, I found a link to this one Family Farm. And discovered that they need volunteers, and they give you a whole talk-and-tour to get you familiar with the farm and the jobs that need doing.

And I thought-- Hey. I want to create a mini homestead/garden/farm someday when I've paid off my debts and have enough money to buy a bit of south-slope land... Maybe I should get a better idea of what I'm getting into. Maybe I should find out what it's REALLY like to have an organic garden and some goats and chickens and sheep, etc.

So today was Orientation Day for volunteers at the Family Farm. I love it out there. It really reaffirmed that what I want is attainable, and that I'd be happy having it. It also reaffirmed something I already knew-- Goats like me. I mean, these were just generally friendly goats and all, but... seriously. Goats like me.

It took two hours to meet all the creatures and see all the watering buckets/troughs/etc that need regular cleaning and filling (one of the four approved jobs for volunteers on the farm-- mucking out the three barns, the chicken coops, and the mini barn that houses Waldo is another). Then, since I did drive a whole hour to GET there, I decided I had time to muck out one of the barns. And I did have time. What I didn't have was stamina.

So the biggest, stinkiest, most-in-need-of-mucking barn has three sections. I did the biggest one. And I couldn't do any more. In fact, I'm really glad my blister didn't get a blister. I'm even MORE glad I thought to bring my work gloves. And I'm glad I didn't fall asleep on the drive home from the farm. Since I was the one driving. But seriously, I was that worn out. Muck is heavy.

I've got some researching to do for them from home, and I think I'll try to make it out again in a couple three weeks to do something slightly less intense like watering the chickens or something. I'm definitely going back. And I'm definitely sleeping well tonight. Just as soon as I rinse out my nose with something that doesn't smell like the month-old backside of a male goat. Apparently, the male goats stink more than the females. Made perfect sense to me.

And when I get my own land, I'm starting with vegetables. And herbs. And a couple of fruit trees. And maybe a few chickens. But nothing that requires mucking. Or castrating. And I learned that I need to add an "egg-cleaning station" to my dream home design. And probably a small barn to store all my gardening equipment, my spare bales of hay, my chickens, my wheelbarrows, and the muck I buy from my neighbors once or twice a year.

sigh... Who knew bliss would smell like THAT?!