I still go on dates... Sort of

I didn’t have to set up a profile to meet this guy though I did pay a sizeable fee. 

His interest profile may not match mine exactly, but that may not be a bad thing after all.

We went out for a meal.  It definitely wasn’t fine dining.  It was a jeans and t-shirt kinda place.  At least it was affordable since he didn’t offer to pay. 

There was definitely no awkward on this date. He was completely relaxed around me.  He obviously felt no need to impress me which was actually quite nice.

I could tell that he liked me but he didn’t exactly whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  Unless, of course, shouting at the top of his lungs, “I gotta poop!” counts.

Similar to eharmony, I did learn the importance of managing my personal boundaries.  Especially when he decided to warm up on my lap. One thing led to another and next thing I knew, a rumbling on my leg was followed by a lively report delivered for all to hear, “I fawted on you!”

In case you couldn’t already tell, he was definitely an extrovert.  The life of the party kinda guy.  Though his extraversion did seem to make people feel a little self-conscious at times.  I (along with the rest of the diners) couldn’t help but stare at the poor, shy gentleman as he exited the restaurant.  His eyes darted back and forth as my date narrated (quite loudly of course), “Look!!  Him done eating.  Him leaving now.”

He didn’t dominate the conversation the entire time.  He was actually quite silent as he ate all my chips.

He was incredibly gracious.  He even thanked me when he confiscated my iced tea to replace his empty juice box.   He expressed appreciation for his cuisine.  Especially the apple sauce.

He was uninhibited and passionate.  He greeted most everyone with a big grin and expressed great interest in their activities.   

I’ll admit, the occasional sensation in my stomach was less like butterflies and more like knots.  I’m not used to being thrust to center stage.  I like to blend in.  The volume of his speech made that difficult.

While the meal wasn’t exactly candlelit, I left with a glow in the inner chambers of my heart that won’t ever fade.  I’d definitely go out with this guy again!

A Dog Fight of Epic Proportions

Why do I find it so difficult to be satisfied with the condition of my body?  Why does my home often feel intolerably lacking in décor and order? I retrieved the mail today.  Thumbing through today’s post, I couldn’t help but wonder if my lack of satisfaction had anything to do with this:

What do you think?

This has led me to my most recent mental meanderings.  We are daily bombarded with images and values that may or may not be helpful ... or ethical... or either for that matter.  Or they may be helpful and ethical but, in my current state, unachievable.  In fact, it would be clearly helpful for me to have a nice new table and chairs from Pottery Barn to accommodate my growing family.  As I think of the new hospitality frontiers served by my new table (that, in fact, is not mine at all) I think I can make a case for a MORE ethical me with my new table!!  (I should rehearse this line and try it out on my husband...) Truthfully, I know it’s not in the budget. 

So I leave you with my question today.  What type of relationship should we have with our culture and what are realistic expectations for us to put on ourselves?  I’d like to think that we can transform culture by living out higher values than what media and advertising have to offer.  On the other hand, I confess that I am far more impacted by these messages than I would like to be.  I’m guilty of piddling the day away lamenting flabby abs and a messy home.  And yet I know that I could be celebrating a host of things with lasting value such as friendships, family, and faith.  I could reserve concern for the things that really matter like justice, equality, and the welfare of others.    

I recall my growing up years and my father’s frequent insistence that I had two dogs living inside of me.  One was a bad dog and one was a good dog and they were engaged in a nasty fight.  He liked to contend that the dog that would win was the one that I fed the most.  

While the larger question continues to linger, for now, I think I’ll pass on thumbing through the magazines...