Can I Just Tell You?

Welcome to Can I Just Tell You?
Thanks for visiting!

Can I just tell you? This whole site needs an overhaul. My goodness! Thank you for visiting, come back again in a few weeks. I still appreciate your support. :)
 
I love your support. So many of you have encouraged me to keep writing all these years. I took a few years off because I wasn't feeling very confident about my skill and self-conscience about my subject matter. I really appreciate your gentle (sometimes haunting) push to get back on the proverbial horse. My favorite thing in the world is making someone laugh, typically at my own expense. It warms my heart to hear that my silly stories have helped you smile or laugh out loud when you felt like that's the last thing you could do.

 

I also really appreciate the support of many boyfriends who read through my entire collection of crazy and still chose to continue dating. I'm not sure if you felt bad for me or found me charming. Regardless, thanks for the encouragement.

 

I'm going to change things up a little bit. As you may have guessed, from some of my posts, I have aspirations of writing a book. (Or two, three, or four… We'll see.) Anyway, all of my stories, up to this point 8/3/15, are true and happened to me. I'm thinking about adding some characters to my stories and playing around with fiction writing. You'll be able to tell the real stories from fiction. I think. ;-)

 

I'm not sure what my books are going to be like, yet. I've always enjoyed reading fiction but, maybe non-fiction is the right path for me. I'm pretty confident with the voice I've developed in telling my silly stories and would like to continue to write in that tone. I know I'm going to start off slow because, as you know, self-discipline has never been one of my stronger qualities. I may try to play around with other subjects, too. Stay tuned.

 

This site is meant to make you laugh through stories that you may be able to relate to whether it's sour love, a cooking disaster, a social faux-pas, etc. So, bear with me as I stumble through my experiences, hopefully, more gracefully than the actual event, but just as funny, and either share the lesson or just make you laugh out loud.

If there's ever a story that really hits your funny bone or makes your day, let me know. I'd love to hear from you.

So, sit back, put on your reading glasses and enjoy.

Please, take a minute to sign my guest book. It seems I have readers from around the world. I'd be more than happy to put you on an update list so you'll know when I have a new post. Cheers!

  

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Saturday, October 10, 2015

Driving Range

I had been practicing my golf swing like it was going to cover my rent this month. I bought clubs, I felt obligated to get up to speed on how to use them. I've been told I'm a natural and I'm not shy about letting people know. I went to the driving range, where I was supposed to be playing in my first tournament, a few weeks before the big day. I should probably tell you I haven't been sleeping well for weeks. I think it's my mattress but, I may just have a lot on my mind. I'm slightly anxious about work because I know that it's non-stop from now until June. By April, I'm usually at my wits end. I digress.

 

So, I went to the range REALLY tired. I wanted to just get through it, see the range, and maybe practice putting. I went alone. (I usually do.) I hit my longest drive ever. Over 150 yards! No witnesses. There were some high school boys kibitzing a few stations down who didn't notice. I felt like yelling, "Hey! Did you just see that???" I knew they would have looked at me like I was crazy. Jury's still out…

 

Anyway, some man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel parked himself right next to me. I was secretly hoping he'd start clapping if I hit it that far again. Instead, he took a look at my form (that my favorite golfer had helped me with) and suggested I make some adjustments. He also suggested I use my irons instead of my driver. His reasoning was that the irons were easier to control and master because they are shorter and more rigid. He said, "If you can get that right, you'll hit your driver better." Who am I to argue with someone that old? I assumed the guy knew what he was talking about.

 

Well, wouldn't you know it? I have the patience of a 5 year old on Christmas morning. I hit with the irons for a few shots, saw that the ball definitely wasn't ever going to get past 50 yards so, I switched back to my driver. Remember I told you how tired I was? I had slept approximately 3 hours. When I set up with my driver, I stood the same distance from the ball as I stood with the iron. I didn't readjust. I wanted to drive that ball to 200 yards. I twisted so much, my shoulders were practically facing the opposite direction. I held that driver tight then swung with all my strength.

 

Can I just tell you? I hit the side of the green mat and my club stopped there. The shooting pain that surged up my wrist and arm had me seeing stars. I honestly thought I broke my wrist. It hurt so much, I considered lying down on the cement walkway. Shockingly, I did not swear. Really. I dropped the club, grabbed my wrist, and practiced Lamaze breathing. Had I been wearing baggy clothes, my driving range neighbors would have thought I was going into labor.

 

I still had half a bucket of balls! As you know, I'm born and bred in New England. I'm a Yankee to my core. If you think I was going to let my $7 go to waste, you are sadly mistaken. I paid good money for those balls, I was going to go through them if it killed me. I tried to hit a few off the tee. It was pretty clear, immediately, that wasn't a good idea. So, I went to the putting green.

 

That was much easier. Sort of. My drive is natural, my putt is atrocious. I practiced there for about 45 minutes, using only 1 of my 25 golf balls. I had to finish that bucket of balls. I went back to the driving range. The old buck was still there. Yes, I was definitely cursing him, silently. F-er.

 

I could barely hold the clubs. I didn't dare pick up the driver and stuck with the irons. Gently and gingerly. When the last of the balls sailed out of my pen, I breathed a sigh of relief. I did it.

 

I had posted a couple pictures to Tinder. My golfer "liked" them. Of course, I had to text him the story. He told me to "enjoy the journey!" Ouch. Wouldn't you know it, the tournament was cancelled and, 3 weeks later, my wrist is STILL sore!

Sat, October 10, 2015 | link          Comments

Friday, October 9, 2015

Laid-back

I've been going back and forth regarding my Tinder profile. I've gone from using all 100 characters of text to a blank slate. I've added sexy, fun photos to photos of me at my godchild's christening. (I'd like people to know I am not afraid of church.) Now, there's one full body shot, conservatively dressed at Easter this year, one cooking with my godchild, and the rest are close-up pictures of my face. I'll keep those up for a while.

 

My first description was, "I'm laid back, love live music, and all things 80s. I'm pretty active. I tried rock climbing and boxing this year and fell in love with both. So fun. I like to read. I'm reading Sick in the Head by Judd Apatow. It's really good. You should read it, we could start a book club. I moved to the suburbs from Boston. I'm finding it hard to meet fun people. That's what I'm looking for, let's hang out. Who knows where it will go? Who cares? Let's go for a beer, rock climbing, or listen to some live music together." That one got the most traction and attracted my favorite golfer.

 

Then, I transitioned to, "I'm laid back, a favorite aunt, and love live music. I moved to the suburbs from Boston. I'm finding it hard to meet fun people. That's what I'm looking for, let's hang out. Boston or 495/rte9 area. Who knows where it will go? Who cares? Let's go for a beer, hit the driving range, or listen to some live music together." That didn't get me anywhere. I added, "No naked pictures, please." but, deleted it shortly after I hit Save. I didn't want anyone to think I was a prude. I should probably put it back on there because in my advanced age, I really don't want to see any nudey shots.

 

As you can see, my Tinder profile includes the description "laid back" in my list of ways to describe me. Can I just tell you? According to my people (family and close friends), I am NOT laid back. I've described myself that way for years! Apparently, that just isn't the case. Most just said, "No." when I asked whether or not they'd describe me as "laid back." One wrote back, "I feel like you're laid back…until you're not." Hmm. I know there is a lot of love in the responses even if it seems hard to recognize…

 

So, my new profile reads: "Normal. Kinda funny. Not a cat person. Seeks same. Maxed out after 2 push-ups. I'm hoping you can do more. Let's get to know each other over a beer or at the driving range." They could all agree on that. We'll see where that gets me.

 

The first man to comment said, "I'm not sure this is going to work out if you're only kinda funny. I only drink beers with hilarious people." That got my attention. And a smile.  So far so good. #teamtinder #lookingforakeeper

Fri, October 9, 2015 | link          Comments

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Hanky Panky

I have a love/hate relationship with Tinder. On one hand, I'm super annoyed I'm not finding quality people and on the other hand, I'm loving the crazies. For the stories! Last week, I met someone really nice and handsome but, incredibly annoying. I couldn't take it anymore and had to let him go after date 4. The string of texts that followed my "good luck to you" text were shocking. First of all, he thought I was "the worst!!!!!" for "dumping" him. (Umm. Four dates, no one saw anyone naked nor was there any inappropriate touching.) I was tempted to reply but thought it best to keep that door closed. The rant continued for two more days. Including, letting me know he told his 9 year old daughter that "some people just aren't worth getting to know." Again, four dates. Why is your 9 year old asking when she's going to meet me?

 

I did feel really bad. On date 3, he informed me, as I sat down at the bar, that he was going to get a kitten. I nearly choked. "Of course you are," I thought. I hate to say it because many of my nearest and dearest friends are cat people. I am not. In fact, a man with a cat is a deal breaker. I had cats as a child, I love animals. (Love may be a strong word. I like animals. Note: the first thing I wanted to be, as a child, was a veterinarian.) There are a few cats I really like besides Garfield (I only like him because I can draw him). I love my mom's cat, Miss Kitty (that she doesn't like, must be genetic), Pearl, and Mr. Bojangles. Anyway, he was going to get a kitten for his daughter. Her mother doesn't like cats either. By the end of the date, he said he wasn't going to get the cat because I had clearly stressed that it was not something I supported. Yes, I did feel terrible then, too.

 

I am not an awful person because I don't like cats. Of course, there's a story. My dad passed away in February 2005. It was the darkest time I've ever experienced in my life. I felt like I was living in a permanent gray cloud. I resigned from teaching and sold my house. I was dating someone at the time who had two cats. He also liked to cook. He had an apartment in Brighton that I visited regularly. As you know, I'm kinda particular. I'm slightly OCD. (I've managed to tone it down over the years, thankfully. Now, I'm really good at compartmentalizing.) Anyway, I couldn't help but notice the cats walking over the kitchen table with the salt bowl on it (that he was always pinching from while cooking). At first, it didn't bother me terribly. However, in my distraught state, I started to notice the cat hair everywhere. After my dad died, every flaw, everywhere, was on a megaphone. (That hasn't gone away.)

 

On his birthday, we were supposed to visit his mom in Plymouth for lunch. I had gone over in the morning. He wanted to celebrate his birthday under the sheets. We were in his room and I glanced around. The cat hair looked like it was inches thick. Then, I remembered when one of my friends was pregnant, she didn't clean the kitty box because the fumes are potentially toxic for the fetus. My wheels started turning full speed. My dad had just died, the cat hair was everywhere, and I got it in my head that the cat hair was going to get inside my vagina and make me sterile.

 

Yes.

 

Can I just tell you? I know. It got even crazier, if you can imagine.

 

So, I'm lying there. My face was probably white from the thought of those ridiculous cats making me sterile. (Maybe they did. I'm still childless.) Plus, I knew I wasn't crazy about the guy. What did I do? Start crying, of course. He asked me what was wrong. I said, "I can't help but notice how dirty your room is." He looked around and said, "it's not dirty." Then I wailed, "You're right! It's filthy!" And burst into hysterical tears.

 

Needless to say, the ride to Plymouth was quiet and the last time I visited.

 

Anyway, I've never gotten past it. I'm just not a cat person.

 

After I "dumped" the last guy, I met someone else who looked like he was a little more fun and less annoying. As we played the texting game, he asked if we could meet for a beer but go Dutch. Against my better judgement, I said, "Sure." Then, he asked if I do the "hanky panky." My head fell into my hands after I read it. Of course, it made me laugh. But, I just shook my head and thought, "I can't win." He proceeded to tell me he can do the hanky panky with himself anytime but, would prefer a partner. Awesome. Then, he said I better not send him my number unless I'd like him to send me "a sweet pic that would pass my audition." Ummm. Why are men such creepy pants??????

 

There has to be one normal one on the site… #teamtinder

Tue, October 6, 2015 | link          Comments


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