Cabin Fever - or how a single middle-aged woman talked herself into trying to mix and mingle

I work so hard on my work days that all I want to do is stay home on my off days and vegetate.

I must get out of this apartment.

That's easy enough. I'm off work today. I've already had my run. I'll go to The Galleria. I'll do...what? Find something fabulous to wear in San Diego? What do people wear in San Diego? I'm going to a spa. Should I buy spa clothes? What are spa clothes? Robes? Yoga pants? If I had my way I'd wear gym shorts and my vintage Who t'shirt from 1986.

I won't snag a gazillionaire that way.

I don't want to snag a gazillionaire. I want to snag a guy who might have seen the Who in 1986. I don't really want to "snag" anyone.

Yucky word, "snag".

How can I possibly meet someone shopping? I need to go to a music store, or a lunch counter.

I'd like to meet a man who understands that I went to a shitload of concerts and that the hearing in my left ear isn't that great but I'm too vain to get my hearing checked because I manage and I'm only 50 and I don't want to even consider what a hearing aid would do to my: (1) appearance or (2) career. (How would I manage a stethoscope?)

I'd like to meet a man who won't be freaked out by a woman who says "shitload" once in a blue moon.

I'd like to meet a man who appreciates a woman who says things like "blue moon", but not often.

I'd like to meet a man. There's a start.

I must get out of this apartment.

Little Bo-tique

I've been rehabbing a foot injury and am finally out in the neighborhood again only now I'm walking my old running route instead of running it. Oh, I break into a quasi-trot now and again, allowing myself to think I'm running, but at most it's a little jog to get me past an area absent of sidewalk before I'm hit by an oncoming car or across the street before the signal changes to stop me in my tracks.

Walking obviously slows me down. I used to think I didn't function at my best on "slow". What I didn't know is that not all of me was functioning. I wasn't allowed to fully observe my surroundings when I was running because I was too busy making sure I didn't trip on a tree root or a crack in the sidewalk. I was occupied with not being hit by a car. I had no idea of the scenery I was passing. Walking allows me to pay attention in ways I hadn't considered as a runner.

I live in an upscale neighborhood, Upper Kirby. Granted, I'm a renter in said neighborhood but it's upscale all the same. It sits adjacent to an even more upscale neighborhood, River Oaks, one that is almost entirely residential. My neighborhood is sprinkled with high rise apartments and condominiums, individual homes and restaurants.

During my walks I found a few streets buried deep within my neighborhood that hold tiny specialty shops that must certainly cater to the denizens of Upper Kirby and River Oaks who have the time to shop during the week in a leisurely fashion. The hours aren't posted on many of these stores. They (the shops) specialize in antiques, home furnishings, sewing and knitting supplies, and custom designed fashion. They are tucked away, tucked back, hidden from the rest of the city.

One such store is literally across the street from my apartment complex. I'd never noticed it until I slowed down. It is a dress shop, specializing in couture fashion, per the small sign hanging over the door. Apparently it isn't open on the weekends. Dress forms stand in the windows which (yesterday and today - Saturday and Sunday) are obscured from view by bars. I suppose this is to prevent break ins. I also suppose that the owner of the shop takes any cash home at the end of the day and all that is within is a small collection of dresses, size 0 through 8 (maybe).

Here's the deal. The store is hidden from view. The store is locked away. The store may very well have fabulous treasures inside, but who knows?

There's your rhetoric for the day. Do with it what you will.