Okay, so, we all know the definition of irony.  The classic definition (or at least dictionary.com’s 5th defintion):  “an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected”.  But, in each of our lives, we have our own personal theories related to events we’ve experienced.

My most recent definition could not-so-concisely be represented in these words - “when a 30-something single woman decides to embark on a new writing project chronicaling the trials and tribulations of her solo life, and then, out of nowhere, meets a man.  A good man.  A sweet man.  A hot man.  A creative man.  And her life is turned upside down.”

Many of you are aware of my latest life twist.  Via Facebook photos, or word-of-mouth, a phonecall or even a face-to-face meeting with the man.  And I’m sure you’re hoping I open up a massive can and spill all the details (Bill S. - I’m talking to you).  But the thing is, single women beyond a certain age have learned a few key life lessons.  And one of those is:  shouting new, exciting experiences to the world in an untimely manner (especially related to dating) can have devastating consequences.  You know what I mean, don’t you, ladies?  Let’s take, for example, a recent re-meeting of mine…with my Navy pilot from the past.  We (he and I) cooed of our new refound love to the world.  Family members rejoiced.  Premature wedding plans were hatched.  The quintessential love storyline buzzed through phone lines and cyberspace, and, in the end, it freaked us both out to hell.  Because, the reality is, no matter how exciting the circumstances, grasping coupledom after years of independence can be a scary prospect - even in the most solitary of circumstances.

So…because I do understand the pain of waiting on juicy information, I will reveal some snippets.  This new man and I met at a sports bar (or so we thought).  That’s confusing, isn’t it…the “or so we thought” comment.  And I would try to explain it, but I’m not sure either of us fully understand the reality of what happened.  But, let me just say, this very blog was a catalyst to our meeting.  I knew it was good for sumthin’!!  Okay, okay, I’ll try to elaborate.  Here’s the deal.  Stephen (yes, that’s his real name) is in a band.  I didn’t know this when I met him, but something tells me a few of you (or more) reading this are not surprised by this reality.  I like me a creative man.  But, no offense to my fellow creatives, most can be a little, well, interesting, possibly difficult.  So, finding someone passionate about what they do who isn’t a raving jackass can be, well, damn near impossible.  But it appears the good ones do exist.  It appears you can stumble across creative, passionate, driven, responsible….and sweet.  Jackpot.  Or so it seems.  Time will have to prove that one way or the other.  Hence the need to hold back a bit.

Alright, so back to our meeting.  My belief is that I randomly met him watching football at The Tavern.  Reality - or so we’re trying to uncover - is that the lead singer in his band (along with his crafty girlfriend), found my blog, read it and decided that the two of us should meet.  And so they made it happen.  Somehow.  We don’t know how.  But it happened.  Of course they deny it all (with suspect smirks on their faces).  So, it’s possible there’s more to this story.  Regardless, it’s a good one, and whether we ever find out the real truth or not, it resulted in our meeting.  And I’m happy for that.

All is going well.  Goo, goo, gaw, gaw, and all that good stuff.  I saw Stephen’s band a couple of weeks ago, and was blown away.  Really…I’m being as completely unbiased as I can be here.  They were - UNBELIEVABLE.  And it appears they are on the precipice of something.  Which, to be honest, is a bit scary to me…but I’m up for rolling with the punches.  They deserve it.  Check out their MySpace music site when you get a chance…I think you’ll understand what I’m talking about:  http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=80721565.  If this link doesn’t work, just plug “pale band houston” into Google, and it’ll bring up the MySpace link.  The name of the band is “Pale” and my little punkin (I know, I know) plays bass.

It’s possible you might have concerns about my book project.  Will she put it aside due to recent events?  Is the whole thing now null and void?  Absolutely not.  In fact, I feel these realities and unexplained happenings are what life is all about.  For early marrieds.  Perpetual singles.  Or those inbetween.  The book will press on.  It just may have a more interesting ending :) 

Talk to me, people.

(P.S. - Still having trouble uploading photos into blog posts, so you’ll have to go to the Paparazzi link to see a pic of the boy)

Yes - I know.  I owe all of you -  my loyal readers - a sincere apology.  I have been severely lacking in the blog-writing arena.  I wish I could blame it on an incredibly busy schedule, but, well, that would be a bold-faced lie.  And I’m not a good liar.  I get all fidgety and red-faced.  It ain’t pretty.  The truth is, with the finishing up of my 2nd book, the editing process and all the other responsibilities that go along with it, I temporarily lost my fervor for the writing process.  I just didn’t want to do it.  No desire.  Like a stale relationship that needs a kick in the ass.

But today, as I hoped it finally would, I woke up with renewed vigor to get back to the one thing that I love.  So, not only will you see and hear much more from me, I’ve also decided to start a new project.  A new book.  One on my terms, aimed at fine folks like you.  No more children’s books for me.  I adore those little readers, but it’s not where my passion for writing lies.  So, what is the subject of this new endeavor, I hope you’re asking?  It’s pretty simple actually.  When you need to find what works, what interests you, where the real humor and endless stories reside, you need look no farther than inside yourself.  And, as you can imagine, the stories, trials and tribulations, romantic foibles, etc. of a thirty-eight year old single woman are limitless.

I think the title - which came to me like a marquis sign this morning - explains quite a bit of what is to be expected from this book.  Single life- the pressures, the joys, the misconceptions, and - something that is important to us all - single or not - what drives and inspires us.

I hope to complete a draft of (get ready for it) No, I’m Not Gay…But Sometimes I Think It’d Be Easier - in the next few months, and I’ll likely test some of the material out on you as I work through that process.  If you have any interesting experiences of your own, pass them on…I’m sure they’ll trigger some more of my own similar experiences as I work through the challenging, wonderful and sometimes frustrating world of book writing.

Take this, for example.  At a recent Christmas party, I was, of course, one of the few singletons in attendance.  Actually, it’s possible Susan and I were the only single gals.  Santa was also in attendance and each person (or couple, in the majority of cases) was asked to sit on his lap for pictures.  When my time came, they called both Susan and I to share Santa’s lap.  I’d never met half of these folks.  And now Susan and I are sitting on Santa’s lap, prompting more than a few sideways glances…and nods that “yes, we too can be cool with the lesbian couple”.  I certainly have no issue with lesbians, for God’s sake, I live above two of them and reside in a predominantly gay neighborhood (also not always the best way to prove your heterosexuality).  But I ain’t gay.  It just is what it is.  And eight years ago, this was not an issue.  Not even a thought.  In fact, I was more often called ‘boy crazy’.  But then I turned thirty, and was suddenly thrust in the position of defending my sexuality.  So, anyway, Susan and I are each sitting on one of Santa’s knees, working hard to make no girl-on-girl physical contact, and we actually had to say “Just friends!  Not a couple!”  Yes, we had to say that.  Well, we didn’t have to, but if we hadn’t, we would have forever been seen as ‘those lipstick lesbians at Christine’s 2008 Christmas soiree’.

Wish I had the picture folks.  If I do find it, I’ll post it.  Because in all the drama of defending ourselves, I didn’t realize that my zipper was undone.  And Susan is upset with the angle - afraid it makes her butt look twice the normal size.  And Santa’s eyes?  Well, let’s just say he looks like we’re shocking him with our larger-than-life asses.  Now, that’s a Christmas card that would get the family talking…

Glad to be back.  Let me know how your lives are going.  Merry Everything!

So, this past Sunday, after a much needed nap, I peeled myself out of bed and drove in the waning light of dusk to my favorite place in the world (if we lived in a world of opposites).  Kroger.  If you’ve been following The Anomalous Life for any length of time, you know my fairly unhealthy dislike of grocery shopping…namely grocery shopping at the Kroger on West Gray.  You probably also know about my somewhat significant change in eating habits recently (to aid my struggling thyroid and, well, you know, because it’s not good to eat peanut butter and gummy worms four times a week).  Anyway, this new, healthy, organic, very adult regimen gratefully pulled me away from the “meat market” (and I don’t mean ground beef and chicken cutlets) aisles of Kroger into the (deep, fresh breath) heart-healthy pathways of Whole Foods.  I can’t say I necessarily looked forward to grocery shopping, but I no longer compared it to pulling out an abcessed tooth…without anesthetic…with rusty pliers.  You get the picture.

Whole Foods is great…but there’s only one problem.  It ain’t cheap.  And it doesn’t carry my little ladies’ favorite brand of kitty litter.  So, as fate would have it, the grocery store hater now has to make two stops…one being the pricey prima donna palace, and the other…the packed pick-up joint. 

Since Sunday night’s trip was driven mainly by my gals’ need for more than a centimeter of kitty litter, Kroger it was.  I did mention that it was a Sunday night, right?  The night which, in the West Gray grocery world, is on par with the grand opening of Hyde in LA or Pure in Vegas.  In short, parking spaces are scarce and tempers are short.  That’s why, when I saw a space up front that didn’t have a handicapped sign in front of it, I felt like this dreaded errand may not be so bad after all.  I pulled in, powered down my newly rebuilt Honda (that’s a story for another time), and stepped out with my head held high.  Not high enough, however, to miss the large handicapped sign painted on the ground beneath my car.  Shit!  I rush back to the Honda to get back in line behind the throngs of others vying for the limited spaces.  But in my rush…as I threw open the door and swung my body toward the driver’s seat, I miscalculated my height, and, well, I rammed my head, with remarkable force into the unforgiving metal - just below the outer edge of my right eyebrow.  Crack!  Literally, it made a noise…a loud noise…and I briefly saw stars, right before the searing pain set in.  I grabbed my face and slithered into my seat.

My first thought:  “Ouch…ouch…go away, pain.  Please, go far, far away…”

My second thought:  “My God, I have to go in this grocery store full of hip-dressed suitors, flashing solid proof (in their eyes, at least) that I am a victim of domestic abuse.”  I abhor you, Kroger.

The small goose egg hid itself fairly well under strategically placed makeup, although I constantly pulled out my compact mirror - sure that my damaged noggin would soon turn an uncoverable shade of black and blue.  Of course, fellow shoppers assumed I was checking myself out to ensure a “competitive edge” amongst the hords of single sassies.  When in reality, I was working to save myself from the looks of pity or passing suggestions for nearby ‘women’s centers’.  Had the scenario presented itself, I had a prepared rebuttal:

“I DON’T HAVE A DAMN HUSBAND…HELL, I DON’T EVEN HAVE A BOYFRIEND!!”  That should shut ‘em up.  But folks want to believe the dramatic…they don’t want to hear about the unfortunate meeting of an innocent Honda door frame and a slightly accident prone lassie.  They want the dirt.  If it ain’t a husband or boyfriend, maybe it’s a jealous lesbian ex-girlfriend.  Yeah, there’s the dirt.

No matter…I picked up all the groceries before the growing bump became too noticeable and I raced out of the parking lot.  I needed Kroger in my rearview mirror - fast.  Kroger! (Newman!)  Argh!

Once home, I packed away all the groceries…all except a frozen bag of edamame which I carefully placed on my sensitive, swollen (that sounds risque) brow bone.  I’m two days out now, and still a bit painful to the touch.  But I’ve realized something.  Maybe Whole Foods is worth every penny…maybe it’s time to switch the girls to organic, unscented litter.  Maybe…

Well, it’s official.  I am finished with my second children’s book.  The last edit (approximately the 4th edit) is complete and has been turned over to the talented Barbara for layout and eventually (thank you, Jesus) printing.  Come early next semester, Journey to Gunk Junction will join its sister book (Journey to Pansophigus) in 5th grade classrooms across the region.  Bless their poor little 10 to 11-year-old souls.

As fate would have it, this long-awaited moment can not immediately be celebrated with a cold, frosty beverage.  Why?  Because we live in a world of irony.  And I am oft showered with its head-shaking gifts.  Its latest sweet offering?  The beautifully swollen and incredibly painful lovliness that is strep throat.  So tonight, instead of basking in a festive celebration with friends and family, I will gargle hot salt water and pop my 3rd dose of Z-Pack (a pill that, although magical in its healing ability, can wreak havoc on an already fragile system…I’ll spare you the horror of elaboration).

I will, however, likely be feeling close to 90% by the weekend.  I’m encouraged by that timing.  And I will celebrate right up to the edge of relapse.  I’m dangerous like that.

Without another major writing project on the horizon (or at least not one with a deadline), I will have plenty of time to reevaluate my current career, social life, and other general major life happenings.  This is not good.  Too much thinking about such subjects can lead to the “what ifs”:  What if I hadn’t left New York?”; “I hear Seattle’s a great place to dig in your heels”; “Maybe I should have been a dog groomer (allergic), a chef (can’t really cook), or a rock star (can’t play an instrument)”.  What AM I doing with my life????

But let me “turn that frown upside down” for a moment.  I can go to New York if I so choose…momma’s got some contacts.  And I love dogs, but I don’t want to swim in their hair all day long.  I just signed up for Kraft’s email list…I can try out some fabulous fatty meals.  And GET THIS…I finally picked up my guitar from my parent’s house…the one I never learned to play.  I also found someone who has agreed to teach me.  How long he will be able to handle my complete lack of musical knowledge, I don’t know.  But I will give it my all, folks.  And one day I will play in front of an audience (of two to three family members).  It’s all about the dream…fanciful goals…and complete insanity.

Look for me in the neon lights…of New York…or Vegas…or possibly Cali…maybe even Houston.  Who knows.  The world may soon be ready for a pie-makin’, dog bathin’, guitar strummin’ diva.  And when they are…I’ll be there waiting…with a Z-Pack in my gullet and a smile on my face.  Cheers, my friends!

Did you earn your right to bitch? Or to praise or defend?  If you voted yesterday, then the answer is a resounding “YES”!  I assume most of you reading this did your civic duty…there were record numbers of voters at the polls and I applaud you for being one of them.  If you chose not to exercise that right, well…I think I’ll keep my mouth shut on that one.  This is America, and it is your choice to forego that right.  It’s not my place to judge.  I mean, hell, maybe you had better things to do, like sleep, or get stoned…or, in your defense, maybe you were halfway across the world building a clean water system in a needy African village.  Nah.  Folks like that likely mailed in their ballots.  Because they realize how important it is to be involved in electing who represents our nation around the world.  But, like I said, I think I’ll keep my mouth shut.

So, how did it feel?  When you gave the volunteer your name, and followed the pointed finger to the voting station?  How did it feel when you finished, and walked out, shoulders back, through the field of signs and throngs of exit pollsters?  It felt good, didn’t it?  Admit it, it felt amazing.  Because you voted in an historic election.  A black man on the ticket for President.  A woman for Vice President.  It was history before the results came in.  And however the pendulum swung, it would be history the day after.  YOU were a part of that!  You.  Whether you sit here today deliriously happy or sorely disappointed by the outcome, we are embarking on a new era.  Both candidates proposed change.  It is badly needed.  And I hope President-elect Obama will begin to steer this slightly damaged ship in the right direction.  Whatever your political leanings, we all want what’s best for this country.  Be proud that you were part of a democratic process that so many around the world can only dream of.

I don’t envy the soon-to-be Commander in Chief.  He has some steep mountains to climb and high expectations to contend with, but let’s do our best to support him.  It’s in our best interest.  We don’t always have to agree.  But we can be open-minded to new possibilities.  We clearly haven’t faired too well in recent years, and more dramatically in recent months.  New ideas…new approaches to old problems might bring about some good.  We’ll see.

The speeches by both candidates last night were truly amazing.  McCain was incredibly gracious, and I believe, humbled himself by the election of our first African-American president.  McCain is, first and foremost, a proud American.  He was part of history, and I truly think he ‘gets’ that.  We saw a side of him last night that was missing during the endless campaign.  It was nice to see him back.  And Obama’s speech was inspiring, humbling as well, and seemed to seek the uniting of those who supported him and those who didn’t.  He mentioned Dr. King at one point, and this morning I plugged “I Have a Dream” into the search feature on YouTube.  I watched that historic speech, and goosebumps popped up all over as I realized his dream had, in large part, come damn close to reality.  Dr. King dreamed of a day when his four young children would ’live in a nation where they would not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character’.  Take a look at the speech when you get some time.  Sometimes it’s good to check back in to the bigger picture:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbUtL_0vAJk.