I like Halloween. I'm into candy, ghosts (actually, I like talking to dead people all year long), and the opportunity to conduct a work meeting with fake blood dripping down my chin. However, lately it seems like the general creativity of the holiday has begun to degenerate into (yet, another) excuse for women to dress up like wannabe porn stars (except, to actually be dressed). The costume stores are proliferated with "sexy" (slutty) costumes (i.e., sexy police woman, doctor, etc). Whatever happened to dressing up like an interesting historical figure or a clever inanimate object? Sure, it's hard to be a sexy Queen Elizabeth or Rubix cube, and you're not going to get the same kind of attention as the sexy nurse...but I'm talking about dignity, ladies...!...(I must be getting old...that or I ate WAY too much chocolate today).

...while I'm on this chocolate hangover tirade, I have to say, I think we've seen enough pirates to last the rest of the decade...

Tomorrow, I'm going to be a project manager whose been raised by the dead...no costume necessary.

Just for today, I'm annoyed on Halloween.

I'm so busy keeping up with social networking trends, I haven't had time to blog...first Friendster and MySpace...now I'm being pulled onto Facebook and LinkedIn...WTF?! With all this time and energy spent we could all be attending weekly parties in real time. I'm ready to pull the plug on all of it. I'm tired of enabling people to create the illusion of a social life. If you want me in your life, ask me to coffee. If you want to feel connected in a meaningful way, leave the US and join a tribe in Africa (or any third-world country). Otherwise, accept the fact that we are isolated American who bond over television shows and spend your social networking time doing something more productive for society (like blogging about your feelings of rage towards the deterioration of human relationships) or yourself, for that matter. I recommend salsa dancing, but I imagine there are other activities that require face to face communication...(being a salsa addict, I have difficulty thinking of examples...).

The termites haven't returned. I guess they found someone else to torment. That, or they were some kind of pre-Halloween appetizer (great timing). Super Evil Flash Programmer decided to erect a ten foot skeleton pirate doll directly behind his cube. He claims his wife refused to let him hang it up in their house because she has no holiday spirit. I think he has some Hamlet-like (English Major Alert) issue with his father...how much you want to bet it stays up there till Easter?

Jewish American Salsera asked me if I had ever gone on a date with someone I met on Halloween. She says that Halloween is a bad night to go out because the guys you meet are never as cute as they seem when they're dressed up like Johnny Depp...

(giant sigh)...I think the fires are getting to me.

Just for today, I'm all over the place.

Just when everything seemed to be going smoothly...

...I came home on Saturday afternoon to witness hundreds of termites swarming in my kitchen. I've never seen a horror movie about termites, but I have to say it's a pretty effective premise seeing as I jumped out of my skin. I wish I had taken pictures, but after my requisite freak-out, all I could think of to do was eliminate the problem without mercy and I spent next few hours terminating (get it?) the suckers with Windex and Lysol (any household chemical will do). The problem was that no matter how many I slaughtered, more kept appearing like some bad case of acne...

Hours later, I decided to try a different approach: I asked them what they wanted. It turns out they were just feeling lonely and thought I might be able to use some company. Well, clearly I'm a shitty hostess...

I was scared to go home yesterday and had visions of wall to wall termite infestation. Apparently, they had taken the hint (I hope).

Just for today, I can survive a horrifying (if innocuous) experience.

I spend so much time whining about my imperialistic life that I thought I would take a moment to inform whoever cares and/or is judging me and/or could use such judgement against me (Santa Claus?) that I am capable of momentary (however fleeting) happiness [and it's not related to my new purchase from The Gap (don't ask) and afternoon chocolate...k' maybe a little].

No, it's because I feel loved.

There's this Salsa Guy who hangs out at my dance rehearsals who shared with me an abbreviated version of a quote by Mother Teresa.

"It's about the poverty of the west," said Salsa Guy (Latinos have no interest in accuracy...yes, I am judgemental).

I later found on the Internet. It goes:

"In the West there is loneliness, which I call the leprosy of the West. In many ways it is worse than our poor in Calcutta."

Right on, sister (literally)!

She also said:

"There is a terrible hunger for love. We all experience that in our lives -- the pain, the loneliness. We must have the courage to recognize it. The poor you may have right in your own family. Find them. Love them."

I knew there was a reason I never felt too sorry for poor people. Sure, they don't have food, shelter, or The Gap...but, in my limited experience, they do seem so much happier than 90% of CostCo shoppers (except for the ones in line at In n' Out...). Nothing personal against the west...we're just way overfed, overshopped, and under-connected.

Just for today, I feel loved and in a good mood.

I yelled at Super Evil Flash Programmer today because (for the millionth time) his response to my enlightening him on the SOF (State of Fucked-Upness) of a website, (aka, The Thing That Doesn't Work Ever Since That Other Thing Was Fixed) was not to my satisfaction.

"It worked yesterday."

Ok...? So, uh...not very proactive (in my opinion).

Needless to ask (unless you have a compulsive need to point out the obvious...like I do), but why does what happened yesterday matter when something different is happening today? I pointed this out to SEFP, except I did it in an exasperated state of freak-out (now I'm turning verbs into nouns...that is, if to "freak" is a real word). In other words, I wasn't very nice about.

SEFP's response was to appear very amused by my momentary state hysteria, which makes me suspect that he's not nearly as irrational as he likes to appear. I told him he'd better give the programming elves who live in his cube a raise or else start training his rabbits how to use the computer (and then how to program) because someone's gotta pick up the slack...

I'm starting to think that I attract men in my life who not only enjoy the regularity and ease with which I can sometimes overreact, but who incite it. Tonight, Relentless admitted that he says things to either make me laugh or become angry (very endearing). It's usually something perverted involving a shower and mentioned within the first five minutes of our conversation. After that, it's an uphill battle to adulthood...he claims that if he were really interested in me would use a wiser tactic to get me into the bedroom...(who needs to star in a sit-com when you can live it?). The point is...why do I talk to Relentless? No, actually, the point is...why does God hate women and me in particular? No...the real point is, that there is clearly no such thing as control over life because why would I choose to put up with this abuse? (God, I'm boring...)

Do angry women really provide that much entertainment? If that's the case, how do I go professional with this gig?

Just for today, I can look at my reactions.

The coffee machine broke this morning. Apparently, it was Cool Accountant Lady's "worst nightmare." I told her if that was her worst nightmare, she's doing pretty well...still, I can't say it got my week off to a rollicking start.

Another disappointment: My company is taking us on "The Price is Right" next week and I was all excited until I looked at the prize list for that day. Really, what am I going to do with a year's supply of cheesecake and a tropical living room set? My plan was to win a car or something like...good, sell it on Craiglist, pay the taxes (prizes are declared as income...total jip), and put the rest in my Freedom Account...another dream blown to bits like that bag of popcorn I left in the microwave for too long (well, in that case the entire bag turned black...but you get the deal).

OK, so in an effort to move away from the self-pity (which I have to say, provides a lot more creativity that "positivity"...no offense to Oprah, Deepak, and those other humorless successful people), I have spent the day pondering some wannabe profundity [courtesy of my pretentious English-major, wannabe "important" writer days in college (I began my short stories with a quote from MacBeth or Hamlet...hey, at least it wasn't T.S. Elliot...what was that guy talking about?)].

Here goes (ready?): Despite whatever is going on, today, like every moment of my life, is unlike any other that will ever come again. I will only be 35 and 7 months and and 8 days once in my entire life. My emotions, painful and otherwise, combined with my body's current state of sleep deprivation, excessive intake of sugar, caffeine and microwave popcorn (the third bag was edible), will never walk this cloudy overcast corner of the earth in quite the same way...for better or worse.. Tomorrow, we will all be a little bit different people...or maybe a lot...and next year we will all be in different circumstances (I hope), breathing different air (probably more polluted) and wanting different things (though, I have a feeling it will still be coffee and cute dresses).

Just for today, I can be bummed on a Monday.

Between Relentless and Socially Inappropriate (more on him below) I have gotten an earful lately about How Men Really Are (do I have a sign on my forehead that reads, "Seeking To Be Jaded?!!"). It seems that because I enjoy the brotherly company (at least, that's how I see it) of men who lack boundaries (and I, apparently, lack boundaries of my own) I have been given a floor-to-ceiling Malibu-mansion style window into the psyche of men seemingly incapable of having a relationship with a woman that precludes ushering her in (and soon out) of the bedroom (am I making myself clear?).

Socially Inappropriate is a gringo (i.e., brave) salsa dancer who once asked me if girls get hot and sticky "down there" when they dance...hmmm, so uh...gross? Like the name implies, he claims "honesty" as a foil for a perverse outflow of an interior monologue that like a David Lynch film straddles the line between amusing and repulsive [kind of like Relentless...what, is this some sort of new age courtship?...as phony as roses and chivalry are, at least they don't make you puke...at least not right away].

Listening to these guys is kind of like watching a horror movie (not a David Lynch movie, more like Night of the Living Dead). I'm trying to cover my eyes, but it's really tempting to peek out. Were I interested in anything other than dance partners who offer undeniable entertainment, I would run like the wind, but like a cultural anthropologist studying the mating practices of a species that seems incapable of successfully procreating, I'm gathering data and taking notes. Sure, the idea that Men Are Dogs, isn't a new concept, but as a writer...really, this stuff is writing itself...

"All men are motivated by one thing," said Socially Inappropriate to me on Sunday night. (Do I even have to say it?) "And that is pussy."

He then proceeded to tell me about how his last fling wasn't "enough" for him to consider as a serious relationship. Hearing that from someone who uses words like "shy-gina" really brought full closure on all the relationships where men have made such blanket "It's Not Me, It's You" proclamations (how come I don't meet the "It's Not You, It's Me" guys? Do they live in New York?). Because I'm not the slightest bit interested, and, therefore, not blinded by hormones, co-dependence, or the emotional baggage of a distant father, I can see clearly what a crock this line about his affair really is (can't believe I just ended on a passive verb...my college writing tutor would rip me a new one). Wow, rejection really is God's protection (usually, I hate that expression). Stay strong, sister! You've been mercifully spared...

From talking to Relentless about his thirty-odd years of single-dom and ten years in Salsa World, it doesn't come as any surprise to hear that most Latino men are hell-bent on embracing some archaic 19th century/third world/ghetto (however you choose to define "backward") attitude towards women, all in the name of creating some kind of wannabe imaginary harem. Really, Hombres, don't you realize that you live in the US of A? This is where Sex and the City was written, filmed, and televised to a wide audience. This isn't fucking Mexico where men get away with murder (literally) and treat women like cattle...I mean, we've got jobs and power and education everything...my family isn't expecting a dowry, and I'm fairly certain I don't need to be an a polygamous family to keep a roof over my head. The steady clash of cultures is interesting, to say the least...

In all fairness, Latino men have to survive in white America and all men did come out of a woman who may or may not have had all her marbles...but still...

Just for today, I'm so over it...

Need I say more?

Just for today, I can face challenging situations.

I told Salsa Guru the other night that I wanted an action figure of him and he looked at me like I had just suggested he dismember his tool...I had no idea that action figures were so emasculating to their subjects...

Just for today, I can say the wrong thing.

Yes, I know. I've relinquished my "attitude of gratitude" for the familiar experience of feeling victimized by the life I've unconsciously co-created (damn New Age philosophy).

Am wondering if my marital status would be different if I were more desperate. If I really felt that the single life wasn't worth living I might be more motivated to do things like raise children and be a "wife," and maybe then I would meet someone "appropriate" (i.e., someone willing to have a meal and see a movie)...if not equally desperate.

My sister thinks that all she has to offer a relationship is her good taste (she's wrong...not about the good taste part). I don't know what I have...faith in a soul mate connection? And, really, what use is that? A good mother affects the future generation. All a good soul mate can do is empathize with your bad childhood and agree that Gonzo was an underrated muppet...

Things did pick up this afternoon when Super Evil Flash Programmer (he's been promoted) told us about the time he attempted to say something in Portugese that he learned from his Brazilian Wife to Baked Goods (he likes cupcakes A LOT). However, SEFP "accidentally" ended up asking Baked Goods to have sex with him in the most vulgar way possible...(hmmmm...are there really any accidents?).

Just for today, I'm still not happy...but am cool with that.