Online Dating

You recognize them immediately if you are a people watcher like I am. They behave differently than people on a normal date. You know -- people who either have been friends forever, have been introduced to each other by mutual friends, or maybe just made eye contact somewhere, visited, and were attracted to each other. Not these people though – you can tell them a mile away – this is a Match.Com®, or whatever online dating service they happen to be using at the time, date.

For example, they usually arrive in separate cars, and it is often a lunch date. They look a little lost because they are searching for the person that looks like the online photograph they submitted, which was probably taken 10 years ago when they had hair, if is the man; or didn’t have a mustache, if it is a woman.

Now we will assume that both parties actually show up. That is one of the problems of online dating – the no-shows. This isn’t such a big deal for the man. What does he have to do to get ready for a date – slip into a clean shirt and jeans and show up. I am here to tell you, he doesn’t put 1/10 the effort into getting ready the woman does –- well unless he is gay and that is entirely a different story. But, for the woman, it is more complex. Now unless she is just drop dead gorgeous, and in that case she would be getting more dates that the law allows without going online, the woman had to spend a little time preparing. The dilemma – what should she wear? Something sexy – will he think she is a slut? - something conservative – will he think she is his mother? -- does it make her look fat – maybe he is into fat women! – should she dress up – go casual? By this time she is wondering if it is even worth it. Maybe she shouldn’t have used that Glamour shot picture of her daughter – what was she thinking? She puts on more make-up – feels like a French whore – washes some of it off – changes color of lipstick 5 times because she has changed clothes again. See what I mean, the woman has got a lot of time invested in this “lunch” date and then if he doesn’t show…

Speaking of the lunch date and separate cars …these are all recommendations of seasoned online daters. Always go in separate cars – never get into a car with a stranger and believe you me some of these people are strange. There are several reasons lunch is always recommended for that first date. For one, the excuse, you know just in case he/she is a real dud. The “I have to get back to work,” line is a tactful way to escape the guy/gal that hasn’t brushed his/her teeth in two years or is 20 years older than his/her profile picture. Or on the other hand, particularly for a woman (men have no problem with this) this guy may just be everything she has ever dreamed of (a good-lookin’, smooth-talking son of a gun with a butt to kill for and eyes she could drown in) -- it’s like they’ve known each other for ever and suddenly from only God knows where the hormones (you know the ones that have been dormant since she was a teenager) begin to rage, her toes curl, and she knows for certain that if this had been a dinner date all of her morals would have gone south and she’d be dragging this guy out the door by now. But you see a lunch date saves her from herself -- she HAS to go back to work and magically she walks away with her “I am a lady” status intact.

Now people watchers need to be strategically seated in the restaurant so they can watch the entire “online date” play itself out. The grand entry – the actual lunch – and then the grand finale. The ideal spot for the people watcher, of course, would be where they could both see and hear everything, but just watching is fine – people watchers have an active imagination. Now will this couple walk away like ‘strangers in the night’ – will they touch suggestively – will they move toward each other or flinch away from that touch – and most importantly who will pay? Now this is Ilene’s rule of thumb on who pays the tab. Being from the old school, Ilene believes that the man should pay – but also because she is a modern-day woman, Ilene believes she should at least offer to pay for her own lunch –but only if she likes the guy. If he is a dud – let him pay. It’s the least he can do for wasting her time, particularly if he spent more quality time with the waitress than he did her. Oh yeah, that one always gets the bill! In fact, her ex-husband is still getting the bill for that kind of behavior.

Finally, the best part for the people watcher is to be seated in a position of observation of the final moments of the date. This is that moment we have all waited for – the arrival of the departure. What happens in the parking lot completes the story. Do they shake hands? - ‘That---that ---that’s all Folks.’ That is the end of the line for this couple who never really were a couple. On the other hand, if they give each other a quick squeeze – you can be sure they will probably meet online later this evening – maybe even set up another date – it might even be a dinner date next time! But, if he walks her to her ‘separate car’ and gives her a gentle kiss on the lips, you can bet your bottom dollar, they are finalizing their plans for a hot date in the near future. However, if that kiss lingers and is repeated and repeated again – forget it - everything her mother ever taught her is going down the tube – forget separate cars – forget she just met this stranger an hour ago – forget work (didn’t she have some vacation time coming?) those raging hormones are running the show now. Oh yeah, they may leave in their separate cars, but in the vivid imagination of the people watcher the ‘Match.com® date’ has just begun.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

My Red Carpet Cat

Mi Gato was a gorgeous cat. His shiny black fur glistened against the red carpet background. I am sure he chose our house just because of that red carpet. He was just that kind of cat. You know, one that was used to having the red carpet rolled out for him.

First I have to tell you a little about the house. We had moved from a new home in the country into an Old Victorian fixer-upper. However, the former tenants had tried to modernize this lovely old home by lowering ceilings and installing the 60’s-70’s dull brown paneling which had only succeeded in making it a dark, dank, dreary habitat. I remember the first time I walked into the dining room with its ceilings nipping at the top of my head, the paneling closing in on me, and thinking, “My God, I’ve walked into a box.” At first I blamed it on the red carpet – there was red carpet everywhere. But once I had recovered from my claustrophobic episode, I began to realize that it was the low ceilings and dark walls that gave me that coffin-like sensation. And unlike Mi Gato who recognized immediately what I was slower to comprehend, this gorgeous red carpet had been installed unbeknowingly by the previous tenants for the arrival of the King. Well, and perhaps for the Queen also, because that is the way I felt as I strolled barefoot on its cushiony soft depth across those special cozy spots, that Mi Gato loved so much, where the sun filtered in and warmed both him and our spirits.

But I digress. Mi Gato wasn’t a package deal with the house. I had two or three years to enjoy the comforting presence of the red carpet before he arrived. There are several things, you have to understand about me at that particular time in my journey of life. I didn’t like cats; and I certainly didn’t like indoor pets of any type or description. So when this big black ball of fur arrived at my door on that cold, snowy January day, with the wind blowing like it can only blow in Oklahoma, acting as if he had always lived there; I certainly had no intention on inviting him in. But it wasn’t my decision. The King had arrived at his palace; and he strolled in on that red carpet like I was an intruder that he might let stay if it pleased him or if I served him with the proper reverence. And I did, you know. How could I help it. The King had come home. It had been a long journey, I am sure. He had waited patiently until the palace was ready; and he was sure that its new occupants were worthy of him. But I am positive that it wasn’t so much the house or his new servants that were the deciding factors in his decision to move in, so much as that red carpet – he looked so good lying there stretched out, purring contentedly, and basking in the warmth of the sun. It was like that carpet had been chosen by the universe – years ago - just for him.

He asked for us to call him Mi Gato – My Cat. He never really told us his name. It wasn’t necessary. He wouldn’t come if you called him anyway. He was the King. There was more that we didn’t know about him, then we ever really knew about him. He was the “illusive dream.” I think he had been a writer in a former life. I found 26 pens and pencils hidden under the couch one day. But you know it was during that time in my life that I realized my own potential as a writer and sitting there cross-legged with Mi Gato beside me, basking in the sun; the King and I began to write. I am sure he dictated and I just took the notes, but nevertheless, I wrote; and he let me take the credit for it all. He just laid there; his shiny black fur glistening against his red carpet background and watched me through those squinted green eyes and I never, ever knew what he thought …or maybe I did.
©2005 Ilene Madrigal

Rustling Leaves

There is a different sound in the trees today - just a subtle change - a rustling. Have you noticed it? It is beautiful, you know, this change. The leaves are still gorgeously green, but a bit more brittle than last week; so the change is more evident to the ear than to the eye. There seems to be an anticipation among the leaves as they visit about the coming of Autumn.

Aren’t you curious about what they are saying? Are they like older humans nearing the end of their journey here on earth -- wondering what the next stage of life may be like or perhaps reminiscing about the spring and summer of their life? They speak louder now – the leaves. What has been whispered secretly among them when they were young and supple (that gentle swishing sound) is spoken now with more definition (this rustling sound) as they become more brittle with time and age.

Perhaps they speak about their happiness with their past endeavors; about what they have accomplished together that could never have been done as a single leaf; about their joy of living together in harmony furnishing a safe haven of shelter for the birds and squirrels while they provided a protective covering for the branches and shielded their human friends from the harsh rays of the summer sun, or about the magnitude of their contribution to the great ecological welfare of the earth. Is that what the rustling is all about?

But, whatever it is that leaves converse about as they prepare for the Autumn of their lives, the joy that they have brought me during their short life span can never be described with mere words. It is something felt deep within – that whispers to my soul – something that has afforded me countless hours of peace and joy as my eyes feasted upon their beauty; and for this I am eternally grateful.

So, as the leaves rustle about preparing to burst into the flaming colors of Fall, I, too, begin to anticipate the Autumn of my own life, and I murmur softly, “Thank you, my dear friends, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

Writer's Block

Have you ever noticed that you can be having The Most wonderfully creative time in your life, then wake up one morning and suddenly can’t string two words together that make sense? Humans identify this phenomenon as writer’s block, but I suspect there is something much more sinister happening.
Now this is what bothers me. About the time I think, no I know, I could write a daily column or at the least a weekly column for a newspaper because I have so many ideas flowing so fast that I can barely get them on paper, bingo I wake up and nothing – nada -- no ideas, no flow, just a blank void. Now we all know those ideas are out there somewhere. Surely they aren’t sucked up through one of those black holes into outer space. Or maybe they are. Perhaps that is the answer to the age old question of black holes. Possibly black holes are just giant suction machines sucking ideas right out of our brains while we are sleeping.
…Or maybe we never really have an idea of our own in the first place. Perchance beyond the black hole is where all ideas are filed away for future reference, and those moments of clarity when creativity flows at warped speed are just blips in time when the universe siphons out a little creative juice to unsuspecting humans making them think they have been brilliantly inspired.
I can visualize it all now – the Head Librarian (excuse the pun) sitting at a desk in the dark, dank Universal Library beyond the Black Hole directing all the little Library assistants about with a casual wave of the hand. “Now let’s see – Oh Yes, there is Ilene. Why don’t you slip her some juicy ideas? See what she can do with them. Will she write them down? Will she share them with others?” Then they all watch with baited breath to see what happens. And Ilene, true to form, rushes around greedily sucking up everything they dribble into her brain, scrambling to put it into words that will feed the minds and hearts of her unsuspecting audience. Then just as she begins to think she has some potential as a writer, that great Librarian smugly issues the order. “Pull the plug!” And whap, those creative juices dry up quicker than one can blink an eye.
Can’t you just see it all from here – that great Librarian and all the sniveling little assistants rolling in the aisles, laughing hysterically at their great cosmic joke on Ilene or any other unsuspecting human that they have chosen to taunt that particular day.
Seriously though, I have always believed, along with the great King Solomon, that there is “nothing new under the sun.” That everything ever thought, let alone written, has already been thought or written. That there are only a certain number of universal ideas known throughout the ages and at one time or another, someone else has had the same exact thought or idea. The difference is that when we receive this information for ourselves, we utilize our own experiences and express the ideas from that viewpoint. Therefore, we believe, as do our readers, that we have a completely new thought, but in reality someone else at some other point in time has just expressed it from their own perspective. Another cosmic joke, I'm sure. Teachers call it “busy work.”
Nevertheless, sometimes those ideas just flow and sometimes they don’t. I really don’t know why or what one should do when a column is due and the creativity is all dried up and writer’s block has us in a choke hold -- except maybe ramble about the Universal Library of Ideas hidden beyond human reach and mystery of the great Black Holes and just wait until that ostentatious Head Librarian issues the order to once again whet our appetite with a few juicy tidbits of ideas and start our creative juices salivating once again.
©2005 Ilene Madrigal

New Kid On the Block

I was just commenting to my son this morning about how sometimes it’s difficult to get your foot in the door when you’re the “new kid” on the block.

I came here from Oklahoma where everyone waves – sometimes for no reason at all. In fact, Okies can get quite offended if you don’t wave back. We lived on the main street of a very small town in Oklahoma – 250 people and 200 dogs -- so everyone “purty much” (how’s that for an Okie expression) knew everyone. I loved to sit on my upper deck and have breakfast, but so many people drove by and waved on their way to the Coop, that often the flies got more of my breakfast that I did because, of course, I had to wave back. Sometimes they would holler “Good Morning” (the people, not the flies) or even stop by and chat for a moment. So I guess what I am saying is Oklahoma is still a “tip your hat” “Morning Ilene” kind of place, and I didn’t feel that same familiarity here when I first arrived in North Carolina. I even felt that people here were a little “stand offish.” I would smile and speak and more often than not get no response. It was like they had to check me out first – the expression denoted the feeling – “Why are you smiling or speaking to me? -- I don’t know you!” That didn’t stop me though. I kept smiling at, speaking to, and occasionally waving at complete strangers.

So the day I started my new job in this foreign land of North Carolina, it was with a bit of trepidation. How would I be accepted? One thing I knew for certain though, I was going to be me. I was pleasantly surprised at how friendly people really were at the job site, but there was still an underlying feeling of being the “new kid on the block.” I was different. I don’t drink sweet tea. That is probably the number one thing that sets me apart from everyone here in North Carolina, but that is another story. So, I began to make a concerted effort to learn names and acknowledge everyone with a cheerful “Good Morning” as I passed by. I did refrain from waving for which I am sure they are thankful. And guess what – these North Carolinians began to welcome me to the block. A “Come play with us,” “Happy Birthday,” “Join us for dinner,” attitude began to develop. And so, little by little, the new kid on the block began to be accepted.

There remains, however, that familiarity among the locals that makes this new kid remember she was not born here -- which I wasn’t; and although I love it here and North Carolina feels like and is my home now, I am still an Okie, born and bred. So “ya’ll,” I want to thank you for accepting me for who I am and welcoming me, the new kid, to your block; but just know I will be still “tippin’ my hat and waving” when you invite me to your house to play.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal