Dont Mince Words

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Dixie was getting her last walk of the night when I noticed a white car rolling by really slow.  When it parked illegally, I paid more attention while Dixie watered a bush.  A girl I didn’t recognized jumped out of the car and said, “Marna, is that Dixie?”

This woman was introduced to me online a year ago through a mutual friend who thought we should get together because our dogs look alike.  I know that sounds like a crazy-dog-owner-qualifier, but American Bulldogs are sort of rare and their markings vary.  We obviously never made time to meet, but were able to keep up with our dog-related facebook posts.    This was my first encounter with a Facebook person I didn’t know before friending them.

If there was doggie TMZ, I think Dixie would be this week’s IT girl, but for now, she hopes you’ll thumbs up like her.

In the continuing de-evolution of real men, there are arguments that this phenomenon started in the ’70s when divorces increased and boys were raised by single mothers.  OK, then what explains men in their ’60s that behave like… pussies.  In my case, I’m going to blame it on California, again.

I received a voice mail two days after a flight I took.  Here’s a modified transcript:

“Hi Marna, this is Idiot.  You sat a few rows back from me on our San Francisco shuttle.  I smiled at you and you smiled back but I don’t think you recognized me.”

One date.  You have salt and pepper hair and glasses and look like every other 61 year-old in Santa Barbara, that’s probably why I didn’t recognize you.

“I know it was you because you have a very distinctive look.”

Yeah, you don’t find super white skin and red hair easily in coastal California.

“I just though I’d call to tell you I saw you and to hope all is well in your relationship.  Best.  Oh, this is Idiot.”

So, here’s how this would of played out from a confident, east coast guy:

“Marna?” he says with a head tilt.  “It’s Confident Guy, how are you?”

If I act like don’t know him, his response would be, “Oh, I’m sorry, you look exactly like someone I’ve met.”

Confrontation complete.  No sweat.  Hell, his backup plan could of been a debark, tarmac hello. You don’t call two wimpy days later and play out the scenario on voice mail…unless you are a soft beta male from California.

I was vegan for six months before I moved to Santa Barbara.  I fell off the wagon when I began to date a guy who could cook and had a gas grill the size of a double wide.  Carne asada was my new best friend.  That relationship ended, buy my affair with meat continued.

One thing I did without just fine in Santa Barbara was sex.  I recently decided that if I could go 18 months without sex, it was probably time to rethink the vegan thing.  Bill Clinton went vegan and like most everyone, the only thing he missed was cheese.

Cheese is my gateway drug.  It’s my favorite dinner as a single girl.  Couple of crackers.  Couple of slices.  Glass of wine.  2000 calories later, I’m looking at the cheese wheel more passionately than I do my vibrator.

So, I dove back into the plant-based life and decided to avoid the fake vegan cheese too.  The first 45 days were great but I fell off the wagon while on vacation.  What was my first infraction?  Cheese?  No, it was god’s most divine food:  bacon on a BLT and it was heavenly.  Once in Hawaii, my personal cheating best was ahi poke.

If I were in a 12-Step program, my sponsor would tell me I’m doing good avoiding situations that expose me to cheese.  Now if I can avoid men that cook, I should be able to maintain the lifestyle.