I should have known that meeting up with my old co-worker would ultimately lead to the usual question as she sat across the table from me at the café on Hawthorne. Azalea is in her 60’s and has the youthful vigor of a woman half her age, with infectious enthusiasm and a very dry sense of humor.

She asked about the book. My health. And then, “So, why haven’t you been dating?”

Ah.

Why did I ever think I’d get out of a happy hour meeting without that question popping up?

“Well, ya know…” I stalled.

Hem.

Haw.

“Because, well, with how much work the book has been… I haven’t showered in days.”

With my other friends, I can brush the question off, divert, change course, distract, sleight-of-hand conversation not unlike a Jedi that leaves them without a satisfactory answer and yet a newer, meatier question to replace it so they forget to come back to the original query.

No such tactic has ever worked with Azalea.

I wanted to say, “Remember 2009? Yeah, like, the WHOLE year of dating hell that I blogged about in detail?” I wanted to say, “Remember the health malfunctions, job changes, job losses, confidence crushing disappointments and blah-blah- excuse-excuse…”

But as she stared me down with those wise, caramel honey eyes – I knew there was no answer I could give her that would satisfy but the truth.

What truth? What possible temptation is there on this planet that’s worth the humiliating public enema known as dating?

Oh, right. Sex.

I mean besides that? Even though that’s a damn good reason. (Also, how sad that even the temptation of SEX can’t convince me to want to try dating again. Either the sex has not been good enough, or the perpetual failures in dating have eclipsed the otherwise awesome, alluring power of a good boning. Something to ponder.)

Honestly? The stakes aren’t high enough. I’m finally reaching the end of five years of struggle to get this book out. Five years of work and I haven’t wanted to be sidelined for anything less than fucking spectacular, rock star, mind blowing, orgasmic sex and relationship dynamics that make my toes curl until I forget my own goddamn mononame.

And what guy wants to live with that kind of pressure?

So. Here I am. Unshaven legs and growing a Fu Manchu mustache that would make any dude proud. My panties are falling apart and I haven’t done laundry in days, and I shower only when I’ve got the time, between book marketing and job hunting. Think that ad would get me any hits on craigslist?

I sighed and looked across the table. Azalea smiled with that quirky grin that means she knows she’s got me.

“I got nuthin’,” I admitted.

She nodded. Checkmate.

So, I went home thinking about it. I’ve obviously been fantasizing about love lately. Imagining the wonder of falling in love again, just, at a distance, from like, the cloisterish safety of my house that I leave only once a week or so.

Azalea’s expression had said everything. I’m being silly. A chicken shit.

Therefore, I drew a bath, poured some whiskey and settled in to shave my legs. Seriously. Needed booze to tackle that task.

The phone rang and I answered with a slur and bubbles leaking over the edge of the tub. It was MeMe, my oldest friend.

“Hey, Lady, whatchya doin’?” she asked.

“Shaving my legs,” I replied.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

And then I knew. Apparently, I’ve put this process off a little too long. Evidently, it’s time to get back out there….

Tags: dating, dating advice, humiliation of dating, IRONY, Portland

Well, the good news is that with the book in print, and the digital already selling and the Smashwords file near to completion – I’m able to let off the gas just a little.

It’s been pedal to the metal for the last several months. Very little sleep and lots of nail biting, stress and soreness from sitting at my laptop for hours on end.

Yesterday was one of the first days I was able to relax and catch up on sleep. In fact, I fell asleep sitting up, drinking a glass of whiskey. Obviously tired.

Strangely, with the pieces finally in play and my efforts turning more toward marketing – I’m feeling unmoored. Adrift. Marketing is not my area of expertise and… I haven’t been writing, which is making me itchy.

In fact, of late, with this drifty feeling of letting a project out of the nest that has occupied a place of priority for more than five years – I find myself in a state of dreamy head fantasies. Filling the gap of creation and imagination with half-baked romantic yearnings and fanciful visions of a much different life. My imagination is on fire, confusing the day-to-day functional necessities with the desire to sit down and gaze out the window.

Which means, I’m not exactly productive.

So with the marketing, continued job hunting, and summer on the horizon – it’s time to get back to some writing, use that abundant wistfulness to create the next set of stories.

But for today, maybe I’ll soak it in. Dreaming about the life I’d love to have, the lover I’d adore spending my time with and the adventures we’d have together. We’ll have a little break from reality, sip some wine and…

I’ll get back to writing…tomorrow.