The IJL Chronicles - Chapter 1

Friends have asked me many times over the past 5+ years to share or even write down my dating experiences. The time has come. So I would like to introduce: The IJL Chronicles. This will be a series (Lord only knows how many!) of true life stories published when the mood strikes. You’re wondering about the title, aren’t you?

I thought it would be poetic justice to use a portion of my “settlement” money to join a dating service. With very little research other than reading a few magazine ads and their extremely positive and successful sounding website, I joined the dating service It’s Just Lunch. Their theory is that we’re all busy people leading busy lives with no time to invest in searching for the right partner. They will do it for you! It’s Just Lunch matches you up with a like-minded person and you invest no more than 45 minutes or so over a taco salad to determine if the two of you have that special spark.

Before I continue, let me say - universally - the only thing I had in common with any of my 12 matches was we were both upright and breathing. And apparently, we are all so, so busy that I never had lunch with anyone – drinks, yes; dinner, once.

My very first date went like this. I got the call from IJL describing my date: what he likes, what he does his interests. Our date was set and I was to meet him at Lidia’s. What to wear? What to say? I went classic with linen slacks and a flowered linen summer top. I was anxious about being early (which I was) so I had a book with me. So there I am – alone at a table with a book in a fancy restaurant – waiting for my first date since 1979. No, I am not kidding – 1979.

Disaster. This man was absolutely obsessed with two things: how much he worked (50 hours per week) and how much water he got in his basement. I listened, I nodded, and I offered various comments. Finally, I could no longer stand his complaining about his lack of time to do anything. I snapped. (Let me point out here, that at the time my three kids were living at home, I was working and I was going to college so I didn’t really have much empathy for a single guy living in an empty house who has no time to do anything.)

I did the math for him. You work 50 hours a week? Well, that’s only 10 hours a day. You commute? Oh, that’s included in the 50 hours? Let’s see. There are 168 hours in a week. You work 50. You sleep 56. That leaves 62 hours do to whatever you want. Hmm, what exactly is the problem?

That left only the water issue to discuss. I learned how often his basement flooded, how much it cost each time, what the damage was.  He told me, in great detail, how he attempted to resolve the issue – over and over – until my eyes glazed over.

Two days later, Hurricane Ivan struck his hometown here in Pittsburgh.

Panty Problems

White lace, black thong. Stripes, flowers, polka dots. Soft ones, scratchy ones. Thick ones and diaphanous ones. We have ones on sale ($1 a pair at Gabe’s) and ones full price ($24 a pair at Macy’s). We have ones that fit and ones that don’t. We even have them marked by event; church, work, special evenings, running, tennis. Not all women have all these panties, but what ALL women have had are Panty Problems.

Yesterday started out like any other Friday. I picked my white bikini hipsters with wide lace trim from Gap. I love ‘em as they exemplify soft, sexy and comfortable. Never had a problem with them so, without hesitation, they were the day’s choice. Now, my normal work day doesn’t involve much exercise. I walk upstairs. I work. I walk downstairs to the kitchen to get coffee. I walk upstairs. You get the idea. All was dandy in panty land, however that was about to change.

Last evening I head off to my part-time job, with a little stop at Talbot’s and Ann Taylor beforehand. That’s when it hit. Panty Problems with a Capital P!

Walking from Talbot’s to Ann Taylor I feel the first little bit of movement – the lace on the right side is sliding downwards. I surreptitiously tug and all is well. By the time I arrive at my job at Williams Sonoma, a mere 10 minutes later, all the elastic ever sewn in those lace bikini hipsters simultaneously gives way. There is no way - absolutely none - those panties are going to stay in place for FOUR MORE HOURS. Do I remove them? Do I wear them? Do I tug all night while hiding in the cookbook section or while standing back in bakeware? Sigh.

I did what any woman would do. I tugged. I pulled. I walked ever so slowly so as not to have the panties fall even faster. I extolled the virtues of the new All-Clad D5 cookware with my back to the wall so customers couldn’t see what was happening. I gave out recipe website ideas (I like Williams-Sonoma's recipes) for slow cookers with my hands on my back hips trying to hold the depleted panties in place. It was exhausting I tell ya. Finally, the store closes and we clean up and lock the doors. That’s when I gave up. I walked to my car without caring who saw what. By the time I unlocked the car door, the only thing holding up those hipsters were my slacks.

Thank god a panty problem doesn’t happen often. You’re wondering if it has happened to me before, aren’t you? Yep, at my son’s 2008 college graduation. I ran several blocks down Massachusetts Avenue in the pouring rain, holding my shoes in one hand and holding up my panties with the other. A dress just doesn’t cut it when you’re having panty problems.









 

Body parts

In my 8+ years in the record business, never did I once ask anyone to autograph any part of my body. Not after lunch with Pete Townshend. Not after late night drinks with Keith Emerson. Not even after bowling with Rod Stewart. So how is it that I asked a local writer/author to autograph my hand?

My friend Tracy invited me to her Book Club last night to discuss "The Paris of Appalachia" and meet the author; Brian O'Neill. So off to Aspinwall I went. Now, I know what you’re thinking if you’re from the South Hills: “You went all the way to Aspinwall?” Yes I did! And it’s lovely!

Surrounded by copious amounts of good food, cold drinks and men and women (yes, a co-ed Book Club evening), Brian regaled us with stories from and about the book. Funnier in person than in his columns, Brian had us laughing with tales of book distribution, bar conversations and more. He is witty, self deprecating and – no surprise – a natural storyteller.

About the book: It was released last fall after four years. Among the reviews, the Pittsburgh City Paper says “…reading Paris is like talking with the funny, knowledgeable guy on the next barstool. The conversation might wander a bit, but if you're like me (or like O'Neill, judging from his book), that's a great way spend an afternoon.


Paris is on sale at Bradley's Books and Aspinwall Books, and O'Neill hopes to handle orders through his Web site (www.parisofappalachia.com) soon. For now, he says, he's using an unusual distribution system: ‘I'm pretty confident this will be the only book available both on Amazon and at Gus' ice-ball stand.’”

Now about the autographed body part: The evening was winding down, people were milling about drinking and talking. I began to think about my little blog (and its devoted 4 followers) and thought this would make a perfect entry. But wanting to spice things up, I thought perhaps a photo will do – but of what? It hit me while watching Brian autograph books: He could autograph my hand and I’d take a photo and post it. Great plan. One hitch. How do you photograph your own hand when your arm isn’t long enough?! A quick, late night phone call to my friend Mo (who just happens to be a freelance photographer) and she agreed to take the photo and email it to me. Thanks Mo!

Read the book. I’ll know you’ll love it.

Long time friends

What's so awesome about friends?  Well, there is no sibling rivalry.  You don't live together.  They don't care if you are fat or thin or if your roots are showing.  One of the best kind of friends, I think, is the kind who can pick up right where you last left off - whether it's been five minutes or five months. Usually, they have known you a very long time and you don't have to fill in any blanks.  I had dinner tonight with just such a friend. It made me thankful to have known her for over 24 years.  I have several friends like that and I hope you do too.

Changing your life

It's hard.  Changing your life.  Regardless of the reason, it's hard and it's slow and it's lonely and often times necessary.  But on those days when the change seems too good, it's all worth it.  Today is one of those "great" days.  I accepted a new job at PricewaterhouseCoopers. 

On March 1st, I will begin a job that is tailor made for me.  One that will challenge me, stretch me, and move me forward.

Today is a good day for change.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is definitely NOT a day for singles... Old couples, young couples, happy couples were in abundance today while I was out and about.  Only at Eat 'n Park could you find singles (all with a book I might add) sitting in their very large booths, reading and eating. (Should we have all sat together, so we weren't alone?)  Reading selections included Sybill, a dark looking goth type novel (the book was too far away and my eyeglass Rx isn't that strong) and of course my selection, The South Beach Diet.  More about that later.  Note to self:  Should one really chug a large chocolate milkshake and the All American Burger the night before The South Beach Diet.  Just wonderin'.