Hello, friends! Welcome to another “Mis-Matched to Miss Match” episode. I know you were hoping this would be a good news post because I have not written in some time. Sadly, that is not the case.
The subject of today’s blog is a handsome 42-year-old professional. He was downright yummy. He was intelligent and funny, and we hit it off wonderfully. At the beginning, he was attentive and eager to please. He even sang to me while we slow danced. I was in heaven. It was a romantic dream come true! Slow dancing and singing! Just imagine it! Continue reading
Greetings, friends! My mind is stuck in poetry mode these days. So, today, I am sharing my poem, Unraveling. It is one of my favorite poignant poems. If you already have a copy of my poetry book, From 14 to 41, it can be found on page 12.
If you haven’t purchased it yet, I am running a special on all of my books. From 14 to 41, in particular, makes a great graduation gift. It has a great deal of inspirational and thought-provoking pieces.
All books ordered from my website will be signed by me, and I can dedicate them to the loved ones of your choice. Don’t delay, order today!
The last poem I posted, Harvest Day, was written during the darkest time in my life, my unexpected divorce. That’s right, it was worse than going through cancer. Not to minimize the hell that cancer was, because that ordeal was horrible. I knew I would beat cancer. But I did not think I would survive the divorce. I couldn’t sleep or eat. And although I lost a lot of weight, I do not recommend divorce as a weight-loss program!
Eventually, I climbed out of the pit of despair and rejoined the land of the living. I wrote Finding My Way during that arduous climb.
In honor of National Poetry Month, here is one of the poems I wrote in Fall 2011. I wrote this poem, Harvest Day, on one dark day early in my divorce journey.
If there was any doubt that my life is a Greek tragedy in the making, this episode of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” should solidify the notion in everyone’s minds.
This installment’s bachelor is a well-known businessman in this area. So, all I will say is that he was in his early 50s and had blond hair and blue eyes.
Initially, when he contacted me, I turned him down. One of the descriptors in his Match profile did not sit right with me. And I explained in my reply that descriptor was why I was turning him down.
He wrote me a long email in return, clarifying his position and dispelling any incorrect impressions I had. His arguments were good ones. So, I agreed to talk to him.
We talked and hit it off. We wanted to meet. However, he was in Florida vacationing with his kids. We would meet when he returned. Despite him being on vacation, we spoke every day.
Then, my dad had a heart attack. So, I was driving to New York as this intriguing man was about to drive back to Indiana.
God just loves messing with me.
My potential suitor understood, and we kept talking on the phone.
Finally, we were in the same city at the same time. So, after talking for almost three weeks, we met for dinner. We got along splendidly. Our likes and dislikes were the same in just about all areas, including politics and religion. That, in and of itself, was amazing.
He grew up on the East Coast, just like me. Loved to travel. Loved live theater and musicals! Yes, musicals! Where had he been hiding all of this time?
Well, most of the time, he was working, networking or attending his kids’ activities. He had the busiest calendar I had ever seen. He could not plan out more than a week ahead because meetings and events were constantly being added to his schedule by his assistant and his kids. But he swore he would make time for me. And he did try.
In the days that followed, we talked for hours on end, about everything and anything. The conversation never got stale or boring. The more we got to know one another, the more perfect we seemed for each other. The similarities were uncanny.
Drinking and smoking were not issues. Awesome!
His children were older. Another bonus.
He had no pets and had no intention of ever owning one. Thank you, Jesus!
Pinch me already!
Anyway, everything was going pretty well until it was time to meet his friends. That’s when the bottom dropped out.
While Mr. Seemingly-Perfect did not have any pets, every single one of his friends did. These friends were his work colleagues as well as his personal friends. He spent almost all of his time with these people. And from what he told me about them, they were the best friends a person could ask for. I’m sure I would have agreed.
But the conundrum was that they all entertained in their houses. You know, where the animals lived.
If you have not read my previous posts on the subject, my allergic reaction to animals is anaphylactic. So, I can not be around animals. Extended exposure to them could literally kill me.
Meeting his friends out at a restaurant would have been fine. I suggested that. But in the long run, that would not have been feasible or sustainable, as they all loved to entertain at their homes. Each had an elaborate backyard oasis, fire pit, and/or boat, etc.
Then there was his buddy’s lake house. I absolutely love lake houses because I love sitting by a lake, looking out at the water and listening to the water lap up on the shore. And there’s nothing quite like watching the sun rise or set over the water.
That’s one of the biggest things I miss about living in New York. I really miss being close to a large body of water. Growing up minutes from Lake Ontario was a luxury I did not fully appreciate until I moved to Indiana, land of small, man-made lakes. But I digress…
Alas, there were always animals at his buddy’s lake house. The owner brought his pets and allowed everyone to bring their pets too. Well, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
I could not in good conscience ask him to pick between me and his friends. He’s known some of them for over twenty years. If I kept him from them, he would become resentful. And I would feel guilty.
And if he always went over to his friends’ houses and to the lake house without me, I would become resentful. And presumably, he would feel guilty.
We discussed the situation rationally. No compromise was suitable, and he picked his friends.
I will not lie. I am extremely disappointed. But let’s face it; I could never compete with them, the lifestyle to which he had grown accustomed, the boats and the lake house.
How pitiful is that? We can’t have a relationship because of other people’s pets.
Animals are truly the bane of my existence.
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal
I saw this video that Brendon Burchard posted. It’s about how to deal with frustrating people. And I think the timing is perfect.
Considering all of the stress and the craziness of the holidays, shopping and family togetherness, this is a great message for everyone.
He posted the written transcript under it. So, you can read through the bullet points and concentrate on them, if you’re pressed for time.
I wish you all patience and peace during this Christmas season!
What can I say about my dad? He is the most hardworking, loving and intelligent man I know. He would do anything in the world for me, my brother and my mom. He is a good man. Plain and simple. Of course, there are times when he drives us all nuts, but that’s part of his quintessential charm.
Dad is the life of every party. When his blue eyes twinkle, God only knows what he’s thinking or what’s coming next. He is definitely not the most politically correct person you will ever meet, but he is one of the most entertaining. The songs he wrote for his coworkers’ retirement parties were legendary. He even had backup singers. And those backup singers accompanied me during the retirement song I wrote and performed for him.
People who meet my mother for the first time usually start the conversation with, “We always wondered who could put up with him. Is he like that all the time?”
She answers, “Yes, he is. We’ve been together for over fifty years. And I haven’t killed him yet.”
However, there were times when we wondered if he was trying to kill us. His vacations were death-defying adventures. Seriously. If we didn’t come close to getting maimed or killed, it wasn’t a good vacation. He got several ideas from those nice people in National Geographic. That should paint you a better picture right there.
Imagine if you will a 9-year-old and a 12-year-old and their parents, wearing regular sneakers, carrying no food or water, clinging to chains driven into the side of a cliff with railroad spikes, navigating narrow ledges to reach Havasu Falls at the bottom of The Grand Canyon. Oh, I forgot to mention that we also had heavy camera equipment around our necks. That crazy family was us. We have the pictures and video to prove it.
Growing up, Dad was the cool dad. He rigged up a car stereo and 6×9 speakers in the garage, so we could listen to music outside. He would play oldies or rock, sometimes country. This was while the neighbor across the street was broadcasting Willie Nelson, or the soundtrack from Evita or the soundtrack from Les Mis.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Evita and Les Mis now, but listening to those soundtracks as a child was depressing. So, thank God, Dad’s system was louder. To this day, he still cranks it up loud. Of course now that might be because his hearing isn’t what it used to be.
When he would bring home a new car, the neighborhood boys would come over to “oooh” and “aaah” over it. They’d ask tons of questions that he was more than happy to answer. Then he’d spend the next two hours washing it.
I think I volunteered him to be the DJ for my 8th grade ’50s/’60s sock hop. He lugged his record player, a slew of records, stereo system and speakers to the school. Everybody, including the teachers, had a blast. He even came up with a trivia game and handed out prizes.
In high school, he took me to all of the Father/Daughter Dinner Dances. We danced energetically to the fast songs. And we serenaded each other as we danced to the slow songs. We were quite the pair!
He was proud when I followed in his footsteps and went to GMI Engineering & Management Institute. (It was General Motors Institute when he went there.) I was mortified when I had to explain my Dad’s nickname for me to my college roommate. She answered the phone, and he thought it was me and greeted her, “Hi, Poozlet!”
Yeah, don’t ask.
On my wedding day, we were alone in the bride’s room waiting to walk down the aisle. I was nervous, and he was making jokes trying to calm my nerves. But then he got serious for a moment. He said, “I’m assuming your mother had the talk with you.”
Oh dear God. Did he really just say that? I’m going to die now. Of embarrassment or something. I laughed. Mom and I had the talk when I was ten years old.
“Yeah, Dad. We had the talk.”
I wonder what he would have done if I had said, “No.” I can only imagine!
Mom and Dad came to stay with me when I had cancer. I remember waking up from surgery. Mom wore her usual cheerful caregiver smile. But Dad had what we now jokingly refer to as “Dad Face.”
“Dad Face” is the look he gets when he wants to fix whatever is wrong, but is helpless to do so. Because ultimately, it is out of his control. It’s a very concerned, worried, loving look.
Mom and I learned quickly that we had to assign him some tasks. That way he felt useful and accomplished something.
When I was going through my divorce, “Dad Face” returned. Heck, for a while, Mom even had “Dad Face.” Actually, almost everyone I knew had “Dad Face.” Hard not to since I was sobbing at the drop of a hat.
Anyway, now that Dad’s retired, he’s busier than ever. When he’s not out washing his cars or doing yardwork, he’s fishing. He frequently says, “A bad day of fishing is still better than the best day at work.”
Mr. Catch and Release has said it enough times, we believe him. Plus, he does come back with some really interesting fish stories. However, it still boggles the mind. This is a man who is always in a rush and hates waiting in lines. Yet, he will spend hours, days and sometimes weeks fishing. Sometimes on the shore or in a boat. Most of the time in waders standing chest deep in a stream.
Fly fishing is his favorite type of fishing. Although he sometimes uses corn. Niblets to be precise. From a can. Apparently, it works. He’s catching a lot of fish with niblets. Who knew? Niblets!
And when he’s not fishing, he’s planning meals. Breakfast with his brothers, Old Farts luncheons (his words, not mine), and dinners with everyone else my parents know. Their social calendar is booked out for weeks. They are popular people. Well, I guess with him you do get a meal and a comedy act.
Most of all, my Dad wants me to be happy and feel loved. I consider myself very lucky, blessed, happy and loved because I have him for a Dad. And no matter how old I get, I will always be his little girl.
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
This is the 6th installment of my Mis-Matched to Miss Matched series, and it’s dedicated to just one bachelor.
Bachelor #27 and I shared so many interests, it was unbelievable. Every line I read, I smiled and nodded my head. And no pets! Thank goodness. The computer screen told me that we were a 100% match! Could this be possible? After all I’ve been through already, I hoped, and I prayed.
I’m not revealing his age or profession for reasons that will become clear as you read on.
After a few email exchanges, we spoke on the phone. His voice was velvety smooth, an easy listening radio voice for sure. That first phone conversation lasted two hours. It felt like mere minutes. We chatted like old friends who were catching up after not speaking for a few months.
We met for dinner shortly thereafter. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome displayed impeccable manners and was very complimentary to me.
We had similar hobbies and the exact same taste in music. He was also a muscle car guy. A GM muscle car guy. Thank God he wasn’t a Ford or Chrysler guy. (No offense to Ford or Chrysler guys, but I know GM cars. I don’t know squat about the others.)
Several dinners followed. We enjoyed each other’s company tremendously.
Then one evening, he said, “We need to talk.”
Oh crap. Nothing good ever follows those words. I braced myself.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Maybe his ex’s name is tattooed on him somewhere. Or he’s a convicted felon. A serial killer. Bodies buried in the backyard. I could be next. Mom was right! Or he’s married. Or an illegal alien. Or he works for the Mob. Or worse, he liked “50 Shades of Grey.”
“I’ve wanted to tell you for some time now.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“I’m not like other guys.”
At that moment, I flashed back to the beginning of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Those were the words Michael said to his date before he turned into the werewolf. Oh crap.
“I like ************censored*************.”
Huh? I was speechless. Utterly. Totally. Speechless. For the first time in my life, I had no words. None.
This man who I thought could be, “The One,” just confessed his fetish to me. Picture me sitting there stunned. Really stunned. Deer in the headlights stunned.
Hopefully my mouth wasn’t hanging open. I don’t remember. But it’s fully in the realm of possibility.
My mind tried to process the words he had spoken. So many questions raced through my mind.
Here is the unfortunate question that popped out: “Does this mean you play for both teams?”
Disappointed, he answered, “No. I’m straight.”
“Okay.” Meaning, okay, I heard you. But I still didn’t know what to think.
I don’t have a problem with this fetish, in general. It’s not illegal or immoral. And I consider myself an open and accepting person. I don’t judge people’s actions when consenting adults are involved.
“Think about it.”
There was no doubt in my mind that’s all I would be thinking about in the near future. The question remained, “Could I live with it?”
I thought long and hard about it for a couple of days. I researched it on the internet. There were psychological explanations and justifications. All agreed it was a harmless practice. Apparently, it is more common than any of us would ever have imagined.
I finally made my decision. I couldn’t live with it.
I wanted to, because he seemed like a great guy, otherwise. We had so much in common. He treated me beautifully. Everything had been falling into place.
But I couldn’t live with this one thing. It was too big. And he wasn’t willing to give it up.
So, that was the end of that.
When I told my mother I broke up with him, she couldn’t believe it. “What was wrong with this one? You said he was perfect.”
“He had a fetish.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Don’t tell me!”
“No, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know what it is.”
“It’s not horrible. I just couldn’t live with it. It’s not like he murders people or anything.”
“No! Don’t say it! I don’t want to have nightmares!”
“No! Don’t tell me!”
So that, my friends, is why the fetish is censored. I do not want to be responsible for giving my mother nightmares. Since she loses so much sleep worrying about me to begin with, when she does fall asleep, I don’t want it to be nightmares about this particular fetish.
I don’t want anyone he knows to find out either. It’s not like he broadcasts this to his family, friends and co-workers. He was a nice guy. It just didn’t work out.
I think I’m going to watch the Thriller video now. Michael Jackson and Vincent Price—now there’s a perfect combination! Here’s a link to it, just in case you want to see it too. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOnqjkJTMaA
Stay tuned for the next chapter, “The Foreign Contingent.”
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
I try to read my friends’ blogs as much as I can. And I have to admit I was quite surprised by one friend’s blog. “Why?” you ask. Because Michael wrote about me. It caught me completely off-guard. As I read it, I laughed, I blushed, and at times, I wanted to cry. Thank you, Michael!
I received many emails and messages from guys wishing they were cowboys, based on my last “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” episode. Several were laugh out loud funny. One guy wanted to take me line dancing and then saddle up and ride off into the sunset with me. Another wanted to be Roy Rogers to my Dale Evans. One even wanted to demonstrate his rope tricks. Um, yikes! No!
Most mentioned riding off on horses. Apparently, they missed the part where I’m allergic to animals. I have two words – reading comprehension. Sheesh.
Michael’s piece was by far the best thing I read regarding this subject. So, I am posting the link to it. It really is a must-read. Not because it’s about me, because it’s really, really good.
Here’s the link to “Dang!” http://moejoemojo.wordpress.com/2014/04/25/dang/
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
Welcome to the 5th installment of Mis-Matched to Miss Matched. I’m sure you’re wondering if I met a doctor who made house calls, or if I developed an organic relationship with a chemist, or if the cowboy was a stripper or an actual cowboy. There’s only one way to answer your questions. Read on!
Perhaps it was time to have a doctor in the family. Bachelor #21 was a 45-year-old anesthesiologist. We agreed to meet for coffee. He was handsome and dressed like a professional golfer. But he showed up late. And he didn’t bother to text or call to let me know. A lady does not like to be kept waiting. Strike one.
He asked me what I wanted to drink and got in line to order. When he returned, he had more than drinks. He purchased brunch. For himself. He didn’t offer me any food. He sat there eating in front of me. Strike two.
The conversation wasn’t very stimulating. I actually think he could save hospitals money on anesthesia and sedatives by just talking to patients. Boring with a capital “B.”
He asked how long I’d been divorced. I told him several months. I bounced the question back to him. He responded he wasn’t divorced. It was going to be too expensive. He was currently weighing his options.
Well, I eliminated one option—me. Strike three. He’s out!
Bachelor #22 was 50 years old and a surgeon. Another coffee date. However, this one arrived on time, in a black Mercedes. He had a certain air about him as he walked in. As we shook hands, I noticed his bling. Hard to miss it—thick gold chain around his neck, ostentatious rings and a Rolex watch.
But as the Shania Twain song goes, “That don’t impress me much.” Sorry, but I’m more concerned with what’s inside a man’s head and heart than a flashy outer package. Always makes me wonder what they’re overcompensating for. Anyway…
I sensed a God complex as soon as he started talking about his grand achievements. Don’t get me wrong, I admire people who accomplish great things. I just didn’t like how he bragged about them. Plus the fact that he wasn’t interested in me. When I told him that I had published a romance novel and a poetry book, I got that look. It’s the “Oh, you’re an artsy, fartsy type” look. I hate that look.
It didn’t last long. He switched the conversation back to him. He loved to hear himself talk. I admired his perfect manicure as he chattered on.
Fortunately, he had to get to the office.
And I never heard from him again. Thank God.
Fifty-three-year-old Bachelor #23 was a gastroenterologist. Some of my family members were thrilled at the idea of having one of those around. Seriously. My sister-in-law even told me that it didn’t matter what he’s like, I should “take one for the team.”
Can you feel the love??
We met for drinks. We had a great deal in common and were never at a loss for words. He was genuinely interesting.
For those of you who know me, you know I only drink one drink if I will be driving later. One. Count it. One.
“Have another drink.”
“No, thank you. I only drink one drink.”
“Oh, come on. Have another.”
“No, thank you.” No means no!
He yelled to the bartender, “Another drink for the lady.”
I looked at the bartender. “I don’t want another drink. Can I have some water?”
The doctor insisted, “Give her another drink.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t drink it.”
“Well, I ended up with the water and another drink.
“You haven’t touched your drink.”
“I told you that I wouldn’t.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“It’s not a big deal. But you’re making it one. When I say I’m not going to do something, I mean it.”
“It’s just one drink.”
I’m sensing major control issues. “I’m not drinking it.”
“No. Thank you for the drink that I did order. It’s time to call it a night.”
He continued to contact me afterward. I told him to move on.
Anyone who is that obsessed over getting me to drink something that I clearly don’t want has serious control issues. I can not even imagine what he would be like concerning important things. Yikes!
I met Bachelor #24, an R&D Chemist, for dinner. The 50-year-old was interesting…on paper. In person, I felt like I was conducting an audit. If you’ve never been prepped for an audit, Rule #1 is: Stick to the facts. Rule #2 is: Do not elaborate.
It was like pulling teeth. Some answers were one word. Others came in sentence form. Short sentences. I ended up talking most of the time because he wouldn’t.
At least the food was really good. And I even had leftovers for the next night. So, it wasn’t a total loss.
I gave another chemist a try. Number 25 picked the same restaurant as the last one. Wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Nevertheless, I knew the food would be good. So, I met the 42-year-old for dinner.
This guy didn’t have any problems talking. He never shut up. But it was all negative stuff about his ex-wife. The language he used was downright ugly. It was offensive to me as a woman. Granted, she might have been exactly as he described her. But I did not want to hear it. I’m certain the couple behind him didn’t want to hear it. The woman kept giving me looks. She even followed me into the bathroom.
“That guy you’re with is a jackass.”
“Agreed. It’s a first date.”
“Hopefully your last too.”
“Yes. As soon as the check is paid, I’m out of here.”
“I’d leave now if I were you. Slip out the back door.”
I laughed. “My sweater is on my chair.”
“I’d forget the sweater. Leave now.”
“It’s a really nice sweater. It took me forever to find it.”
Luckily, he paid the check while I was powdering my nose. I invented a friend emergency and made a quick exit.
Gather around the campfire for Bachelor #26. I don’t know what it is about cowboys that intrigues us women. Maybe it’s the rugged look about them. Or the fact that they seem to be able to handle any problem that arises better than MacGyver. Or perhaps it’s that they have manners and tip their hats. Or maybe it’s just the tight jeans…
Although this 50-year-old bachelor had a real job during the day, his passion was his ranch. Our phone conversation was so exhilarating; I violated my “no pets” rule. The tone of his voice was incredible. I had to meet the man on the other end of the phone. Despite the fact that he had dogs and horses.
Ladies, he did not disappoint. This rugged, clean-shaven hunk of a man wore a black fitted cowboy shirt to highlight his toned upper half. His jeans were broken in in all the right places. And his boots were polished nicely.
Big & Rich’s song, “Save A Horse [Ride A Cowboy],” played in my head. Goodness! Is it hot in here or just me?
He was absolutely fascinating. The hours flew by. We were the last people in the restaurant. The waiter vacuumed around us. We took that as our cue to leave. It was a delightful evening.
As a gentleman should, he walked me to my car. He leaned in, gave me a quick hug and kiss, and he was on his way.
As I watched him walk to his car, my throat started closing up. I grabbed two Benadryl and my emergency meds out of my purse and swallowed them all quickly. I drove toward home (and the hospital), Epi-pen in hand. Just in case.
The coughing and wheezing subsided after about thirty minutes. At least I didn’t have to use the Epi-pen, and I didn’t end up in the ER.
It also meant that no matter how fantastic he was, or how well we got along, or how good he looked in those jeans, there was no chance of a relationship with this man.
I told him the news. He said that he regretted not kissing me deeply. Dear Lord, if he had, I have no doubt that I would have ended up in the hospital. Although, that would have made one heck of a story.
Stay tuned for the next crazy episode, “I’m Not Like Other Guys.”
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
You are going to love Judy’s piece. I didn’t expect it to impact me as deeply as it did. You must hear it for yourself. Here is a link to her interview.
Get your tickets online. If you wait to buy them at the door, you must pay by cash or check.
Today’s second spotlight is shining brightly on Anna Walker! Her story touched me deeply. And I’m sure it will impact you too. She has had more than her share of adversity. How she continues to handle it makes her an inspiration.
To learn more about Anna, check out her interview with event organizers.
And don’t forget to get your tickets!
To learn more about this talented blogger, check out her interview!
If you haven’t bought your tickets yet, today would be a great day to do it. Today, 20% of ticket sales goes to Partners in Housing!
To learn more about Terri, check out her interview with event organizers.
If you still need tickets, buy them as an Easter gift to yourself!
Today, I get to shine the Listen To Your Mother spotlight on myself! My piece is about Mom and me. Some lines are so funny, I can hardly contain my laughter. So, I guarantee you will laugh out loud. I just hope I can keep it together during my performances!
I reveal several things in my interview with event organizers that I have never discussed before. So, if you want to learn more about me, click on this link!
Buy your tickets today! They’re going fast, and you don’t want to miss out!
I guarantee that you want to be in the audience to hear what Rebecca has to say.
Here is her interview with event organizers.
Get your tickets today! They’re going fast!
What a pleasure it is to cast a spotlight on Marge Summers. Her piece was so hysterical, I couldn’t stop laughing. She had us all in stitches. I can’t wait to hear her piece again. Because who couldn’t use a good laugh?
Here is her interview with event organizers. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/15/cast-spotlight-marge-summers/
If you haven’t gotten your tickets yet, there’s still time!
Today’s Listen To Your Mother spotlight is shining on Kim Gummere! She is a talented writer. I wish I could share the topic of her piece, but that’s against the LTYM rules. So, you will just have to come out to hear it in person!
Here’s the link to Kim’s interview with event organizers. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/14/cast-spotlight-kim-gummere/
If you still need tickets, click here. https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
I am pleased to introduce my fellow cast member, Becky Wood! I was lucky enough to be paired up with her for our “getting to know you” session. Among other things, we learned that we both love chocolate, and we are allergic to cats. To learn more about Becky, check out her interview with event organizers. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/09/cast-spotlight-becky-wood/
Get your tickets today! Prices go up from $16 to $20 on April 15th! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Her piece is laugh out loud funny! She is also a NW Indiana Listen To Your Mother alum.
Check out her interview with event organizers. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/07/cast-spotlight-kerry-rossow/
Get your tickets now! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Today’s Listen To Your Mother spotlight shines brightly on Kate Gehan. Kate and I share an interesting geographic coincidence. We both grew up in New York and now reside in Indiana. Her piece is wonderful. I can’t wait for all of you to hear it. Here is a link to her interview. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/04/cast-spotlight-meet-kate-gehan/
Come join us on Sunday, April 27th for one of our live performances. Get your tickets for $16 now. Prices go up to $20 on April 15th! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Today’s Listen To Your Mother spotlight is shining on Stacy Gray. I had the pleasure of sitting next to Stacy on audition night. We were surprised and delighted to discover we both made the show. What were the chances of that, considering all of the women who auditioned? Here is a link to her interview. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/04/02/cast-spotlight-stacy-gray/
Tickets are currently available for both shows for $16. But ticket prices will go up on April 15th to $20, so get your tickets now! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Today, I am honored to feature Caroline Hoy Myers! She is another fellow LTYM Cast Member.
I was totally blown away by Caroline’s piece. And I can’t wait for you to hear it as well. Her story touched my heart and my soul. Here is the link to her interview. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/03/31/cast-spotlight-caroline-hoy-myers/
It seems fitting to feature Caroline today, because today is her birthday! Happy Birthday, Caroline!
I sincerely hope you join us for an afternoon of wonderful stories and tales about motherhood. Get your tickets now! They’re selling like hotcakes! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Amparo de la Peña is the first cast member to be featured for this year’s Listen To Your Mother Indianapolis show! There will be two performances this year. They are on Sunday, April 27th, at 1:00 P.M. and 5:00 P.M., at the Indiana Historical Society.
Although I can not reveal the subject of Amparo’s piece, I can tell you, I related to it personally. I guarantee many of you will too. I am looking forward to sharing a stage with her.
Here is her interview with event organizers. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/2014/03/30/cast-spotlight-amparo-de-la-pena/
Tickets are currently available for both shows for $16. But ticket prices will go up on April 15th to $20, so get your tickets now! https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
March Madness is in full swing here in Indianapolis. We’re almost down to the Final Four. The news reports claim that fans’ madness will bring in approximately $20 million to the city. That’s great financial stimulus. But not one dime of that will come from me. I will watch some of the games. I just won’t pay to do it.
Warren Buffett and Quicken Loans won’t be paying up either. The $1 billion they offered for a perfect predicted outcome in all of the games in the NCAA Tournament is safe. But wouldn’t it have been something if there were contenders still in it? Oh well, there’s always next year.
Despite the fact that I have lived in March Madness territory for twenty-one years, I have not developed the intense fever that prevails at this time of year. I’m sorry, fellow Hoosiers, but the sloppy, hot and sweaty basketball look just doesn’t work for me. On the other hand, I could watch football all day. Much better uniforms.
I blame my primary lack of interest in college sports on my college, which did not have any competitive sport teams. Truth be told, I graduated from an institute—GMI Engineering & Management Institute. When my dad went there, it was called General Motors Institute. Picture a bunch of geeks and nerds studying. A lot. Hey, it is in the heart of Flint, MI. We didn’t have much choice. Walking to your car in the parking garage was a death-defying experience.
I think there might have been some GMI intermural or interfraternal sport things for the jock/nerd combination guy. I didn’t really pay attention. I was busy studying and trying to figure out which boy to date. It was a predominately male student body. So, us girls had plenty to choose from. But I digress…
My dad adopted Michigan State as his alternate alma mater. Go Spartans! My brother always roots for the University of Michigan. Go Wolverines! Mom and I aren’t sure if he does that just to annoy my dad, or if he just likes them for some other reason. Whatever the case may be, they both root against Notre Dame and Duke.
Mom and I will root for Michigan State or the University of Michigan, if we’re watching. On the occasions when they play each other, Mom and I do our best to represent Switzerland.
When I do watch the games, I root for the underdog. What they lack in alumnae funding, they make up for in heart. I love when the little, often ignored school beats a powerhouse. Those are games I can sink my teeth into. They’re fun and exciting to watch. And the press loves to feed us the heart-wrenching background stories of the players and their struggles. Talk about good reality television.
Unfortunately, there aren’t any underdogs left. But both Michigan State and the University of Michigan are still in it. So, all I have to say today is: Go Spartans! Go Wolverines!
Copyright © 2014 Suzanne Purewal
This is the 4th installment of Mis-Matched to Miss Matched. You always hear men complain about women who post old pictures of themselves on dating sites. Well, I’m here to tell you, men do it too.
Although I usually go for the nerdy type, I decided to throw caution to the wind and give Bachelor #15, a professional athlete, a try. He sent me a poem about rose petals and the morning dew before we met. Not bad, but not great. I gave him kudos for the effort and agreed to meet him.
His profile stated he was 48 years old and a non-smoker. The pictures might have been from when he was 48, but he ended up being 58. And he definitely smoked. Why smokers think they can hide their smoking from non-smokers, I will never know. We know. We always know.
I asked why he lied about his age.
“Would you have agreed to meet me if I said I was 58?”
“That’s why I lied.”
“Well, unfortunately, that makes me wonder what else you’re lying about. You lied about smoking too.”
“So, you have trust issues?”
“Only with people who lie to me.”
“No, not everybody does.”
“You’re kidding yourself. Everybody lies.”
“I’m talking about important things. There’s a big difference between telling a friend her butt doesn’t look big in her new dress when you’re already at a cocktail party and lying about facts, like your age, if you smoke and if you’re really divorced.”
“I am divorced.”
“So, one out of three isn’t bad in your book?”
“What if I had done the same to you?”
He appeared annoyed with my question.
“Seriously. What if I showed up and was ten years older than I said I was?”
He muttered, “I’d be pissed.”
“There you go! So, you don’t like to be lied to either.”
He tossed back the remainder of his drink. “I’m not getting laid tonight am I?”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I respond, “Not unless you pick up someone on a corner on your way home.”
On that note, he got up, threw some cash on the table to cover our drinks and left.
Strike three. He’s out!
The next contender was a salesman who advertised his age as 49. He turned out to be 54. The ironic thing was that he looked better in person. A lot better.
“Why don’t you have a more current picture posted?”
“I figure if someone likes me heavier and with gray hair, then they’ll like me thinner with darker hair.”
“So it’s like a test?”
“Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“The jury’s still out.”
I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was trying to figure him out. So, I asked him to tell me about himself.
Big mistake. He droned on and on about all of the “important people” he knew. He dropped so many names that I tripped over them. But he didn’t have any stories about doing anything with them. Boring with a capital “B.”
My theory is that he hangs out at St. Elmo’s on big event nights and introduces himself to everyone who walks in the door. That would explain how he “knows” the rich and famous.
When he wasn’t bragging about the people he knew, he pointed out his designer clothes and how he only wore the very best. He proceeded to rattle off all of his favorite designers and stores.
Okay, I’ll admit that I watch Project Runway. I’m familiar with high-end designers and fashion. I’ve shopped in the boutiques and stores in New York City, and I own a few nice designer items. But I don’t talk about them, ad nauseam. Sheesh.
Bachelor #16 never got around to asking me much of anything. So, that was the end of that. The jury’s verdict is in: Guilty of being a boastful, materialistic, narcissistic jerk.
Bachelor #17 was a 46-year-old entrepreneur who owned multiple residences in several states. We had a great deal in common. At 99%, we were almost a perfect match according to Match.com’s algorithm. He was a thin, handsome man, with a full head of black wavy hair and a smile that could knock you over.
No coffee or drinks for this guy. He went straight for dinner. A girl has to eat, so I agreed.
As I entered the restaurant, I searched for the dashing man in the pictures. Imagine my surprise when instead, I was greeted by an 80-pound heavier Mr. Comb-Over. The smile was still there. Thank God for small favors.
After chatting for a few minutes, he revealed that his pictures were from ten years ago. All I could think about was shaving his head. The comb-over look is wrong on any man. Period.
Our date went well. He was easy to talk to, and we had no shortage of topics to discuss. At the end of the evening, he insisted on buying my books. So, I signed copies for him, and we agreed on a second date.
The second date went just as nicely as the first. He gushed over my poetry book. He even started quoting some of my work. How refreshing that a man was taking a genuine interest in me.
After that date, he started reciting other people’s poetry to me over the phone. Then the texts started. Lots of texts. Late at night. First, it was rambling poetry. Then, it morphed into sexting. Obsessive sexting. I told him to stop. He didn’t. His sexting became more graphic. It gave me the creeps. I told him I was done and not to contact me again.
He was hurt and didn’t understand why.
I did not want to upset this creepy, obsessive, stalker kind of guy. So I told him he reminded me of my ex-husband and left it at that.
He bought my story, hook, line and sinker, and left me alone. Thank you, God!
Bachelor #18 was a doctor. We were the same age. Match decided we were a 100% match. Imagine my mom’s reaction being something like, “Oh, a doctor! I hope this one works out.”
The doctor and I chatted on the phone and agreed to meet for coffee. Since I don’t drink coffee, I ordered hot chocolate.
He was shier than I had anticipated. And he wore a Panama Jack style hat that he never removed. A wee bit eccentric, perhaps. But I’m used to eccentric. The conversation went pretty well, but he had to leave after an hour. We agreed to meet again.
The next time, it was for a drink. And again, only for exactly one hour. My instincts were telling me something was rotten in Denmark.
And sure enough, I was right. After some relentless questioning, he admitted he wasn’t divorced. He was meeting with me when he should have been watching his son play soccer.
Slime ball. “So, you’re a liar, a cheater and a lousy father? What a sad excuse of a man you are. You’re despicable.”
“And I guess you’re little Miss Perfect?”
“I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not perfect. But I don’t tolerate cheating, and I don’t date married men.”
I wished that my glass had been full. I could have made a dramatic exit by throwing the contents in his face and storming out. Alas, there wasn’t a drop remaining. So, I just grabbed my purse and left.
Bachelor #19’s profile indicated he lived in Indianapolis. We hit it off over the phone. He asked to meet somewhere around South Bend.
“That’s almost three hours away. We can wait until you’re back in town to get together.”
“Um. I live in Chicago.”
“Your profile says you live in Indy.”
“Yeah, I can’t find anyone nice in Chicago.”
Really?? “Chicago is a huge city. And it has tons of suburbs. I think you need to try a little harder to find someone in your area.”
“Nope. I’ve looked. There isn’t anybody.”
Red flags are popping up everywhere. If this guy can’t find someone in all of Chicago and the surrounding areas, something is seriously wrong with him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do long distance relationships.”
“You could move up here. I’ve got a nice place. You could stay with me.”
Riiiiight. Not on your life, buddy. I watch CSI and Criminal Minds. “I’m not going anywhere. Good luck to you.”
A 28-year-old salesman was pitiful Bachelor #20. His profile stated he lived in Dayton, OH.
“I’d like to meet you for coffee sometime.”
“Sorry, I don’t do long distance relationships.”
“I live in Castleton, IN.”
“So, do you work in Dayton?”
“I work in Indy.”
“If you live in Castleton and work in Indy, why are you saying you live in Dayton?”
“I don’t want my coworkers to see me on here.”
“Why? If they’re on Match too, what’s the big deal?”
“Idk. I’m embarrassed.” (Idk is “I don’t know” for you non-texting readers.)
“That makes no sense. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You need to update your city, or you are never going to find a match.”
“I’m afraid they’ll make fun of me.”
Wow, kid. You need to grow a set. “Forget about your coworkers. If they make fun of you, they’re not your friends. Change your city.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You need to surround yourself with positive, supportive people. You need to do something to boost your self-confidence, or you’re going to get eaten alive out there. That pertains to your business and personal relationships. Whatever your story, you need to get your head on straight. It will make a world of difference.”
“You seem nice and smart. Will you meet me?”
“No. You’re too young anyway. Change your city, and hang out with positive people.”
“You’re welcome. Best of luck.”
The more dates and interactions I have, I realize that I should have gone into psychology. These guys need serious help.
Here’s some free advice for everyone—be honest. It is the best policy.
Oh well, back to site I go. Stay tuned for the next episode, “Doctors and Chemists and Cowboys, Oh My!”
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
Yes, friends, I will be performing live! I am thrilled to be part of the cast of “Listen To Your Mother!” What is “Listen To Your Mother?” Well, click here to see what it is all about. http://listentoyourmothershow.com/indianapolis/
As you can see from their website, I will be reading my own original work on stage, along with thirteen other creative women.
There are two shows on Sunday, April 27th. For show times, tickets and more details, click here: https://tickets.indianahistory.org/Info.aspx?EventID=1
Ticket prices go up after April 14th, so get your tickets now! Hope to see you there!
Welcome to the third installment of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” If you missed the first two installments, this series is about my adventures on the Match.com dating website. The subjects for this post were younger than most. I debated whether I should entitle this article, “Searching for Mrs. Robinson” or “Hot for Teacher.” Initially, I wanted to call this “Hot for Teacher.” But the more I wrote, the more I liked “Searching for Mrs. Robinson.”
You could tell Bachelor #11 was trouble by his profile picture—an all-American boy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You know the kind—trouble with a capital “T.” I refer to him as a “boy” because he was a 24-year-old college student, and technically, I am old enough to be his mother.
“Came across your photo. Couldn’t resist. Please give me your number.”
“Sorry, but I think you should look for someone more age appropriate.”
“I don’t mind. Give me your number.”
“Well, I do mind. You should find someone your own age.”
“No, you’re what I’m looking for. You’d make a good teacher, I bet.”
“I’m not interested in teaching you anything, except for, possibly, manners.”
“That sounds kinky. Give me your number.”
Sheesh. “I wasn’t trying to be coy. I’m not interested. Good luck finding a match.”
“Find a dictionary and look it up.”
“Are you a librarian? Do you wear those tight skirts and your hair up? I’d like that.”
I’m sure you would. “I’m not interested. Good luck finding a match.”
Next up was Bachelor #12, a 35-year-old consultant.
“How are you? I am hesitant to reach out to you. Mainly because I am putting myself in a position to be ridiculed and/or rejected. But, my hope is that you will respect my candor and honesty, as opposed to being offended.”
“Well, you haven’t offended me yet. And I appreciate candor and honesty. So, go ahead.”
“I really haven’t been very active in the dating scene and/or on this site. So, I found myself wondering ‘why am I on this site?’ the other day. I truly couldn’t answer that question, lol. However, I think I’ve realized that I want something new, exciting, and…not boring. I want to meet a woman at least 5 years outside of my age bracket, who is interested in a professional, vibrant, intellectual, witty, younger man.”
“You have piqued my interest. I don’t mind dating a younger man. So, that’s not an issue. And I definitely agree that a relationship should be exciting, not boring.”
“Now, here’s the catch. I’m not wanting a serious relationship. Not dead-set against it, but just not prioritizing it. I am very focused on my career and have goals to accomplish (just as you do, I’m sure). In all honesty, I’d love to meet a woman who craves and desires a younger man…even if she’s never been with one. I have a feeling that ‘older’ women appreciate a younger man’s intimacy, so long as he is energetic, passionate, and unselfish….oh, and privy to what will make her feel ‘euphoric’. Actually, that last one should probably be a pre-req for both sides, lol.”
Euphoric? Well, who wouldn’t want to feel euphoric? And when was the last time any man wanted to make me happy, let alone euphoric?
I reread his reply again, just to make sure I understood him clearly. But, then I got distracted by the whole “energetic, passionate, unselfish” bit. If any woman deserved a man who was energetic, passionate and unselfish, it was me. Visions of satin sheets, rose petals and candles flooded my mind. Then, I read it again for good measure.
I have to admit that was the best soliloquy I’ve read that boils down to, “I just want to have sex. And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
And while I attempted to entertain the idea of this euphoric opportunity for a split second, my mother’s voice was screaming in my head, loud and clear. “Are you crazy? Have you completely lost your mind?!?”
Fear not, Mom. I want to be in a serious relationship, not be some young stud’s booty call. And in all honesty my friends, I did not want to endure the inevitable, extremely awkward lecture from my mother. So, you’re asking, “Why on earth would you tell your mother?”
I wouldn’t have to tell anybody. If Mr. Booty Call lived up to expectations, I am guessing everyone who saw me or spoke to me would notice my new, improved blissful state of being. You know that state—you are floating on air, the sun is always shining and everything is happiness, butterflies and rainbows. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be exactly like that. Although it might be worth it to test my theory! (Just kidding, Mom.)
Anyway…I wrote back to Mr. Booty Call. “I am flattered. But I am not interested in that type of relationship. However, I must compliment you on how eloquently you expressed the bottom line. I’m sure there is a woman out there who will be happy to oblige.”
“I sincerely apologize if I’ve offended you.”
“You didn’t offend me. Dating sites aren’t for the faint of heart. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“Thank you. I wish you all the best on this site and in your other dating endeavors.”
Unlucky Bachelor #13 was a self-proclaimed virgin at the age of 30. He was a computer specialist. I know, cliché. But it gets even worse, so keep reading.
“I would be honored if you would be my Padmé Amidala to my Anakin Skywalker.”
Heavy sigh. “Sorry, but Anakin becomes Darth Vader. And I don’t feel like fighting any wars against the dark side. I wish you the best and may The Force be with you.”
“You could be Princess Leia. I could be Han Solo.”
He did not have a picture posted. So, unfortunately, at this point, I’m imagining he’s probably more like Jabba the Hutt. And I have a strong aversion to chains. And I would not be caught dead with a pair of Cinnabons covering my ears. “I’m sorry, no. I wish you luck in finding a match.”
“I’ll be anyone you want me to be. Just name it. I have an awesome costume collection.”
Oh yikes. I’m sure you do. I pity this kid. “I am not interested. However, in the future, when contacting other women, I suggest that you be yourself. Save the characters for later.”
Call me old-fashioned, but I think you should know the guy’s name and perhaps meet him in person before delving into role playing fantasies and discovering whatever else he is hiding in his closet. This poor guy is going to need the full power of The Force behind him to find a woman.
Oh ladies! I wish I could post Bachelor #14’s picture. He was a very handsome man. In his profile picture, he was impeccably dressed in a classic black tuxedo. That 28 year-old could have had a spread in GQ, or any other magazine his heart desired. He was absolutely, positively gorgeous and quite the catch for someone. An MBA wasn’t enough for him. He’s currently pursuing a law degree.
“I would love the opportunity to speak with you.”
Why couldn’t you be ten years older? “Thank you. But I think I’m too old for you.”
“Please don’t dismiss me yet. I am looking for a mature woman. I’m not interested in needy, clingy girls. I’m looking for a woman who I can have stimulating…”
Oh geez. Here we go.
“Conversations. I’m looking for a woman who I can have stimulating conversations with. Sorry. My finger slipped and it sent before I was finished.”
“I like intelligent conversations on a variety of subjects. I’m looking for a sophisticated woman who can hold her own and would make a good impression at black tie events, law firm events, symposiums, etc. You seem to have a wide range of interests, you’re educated and you’re very attractive. I need someone like you by my side.”
Searching for smart arm candy, are you? Now that’s something that would be great on a resumé — Intelligent Arm Candy, well-versed in a variety of topics.
“Thank you. But this sounds more like a job than a romantic relationship. I am not the right woman for you.”
“I’d like to object. I believe you are.”
Seriously? You objected? “Sorry, you’re overruled. We are at different stages in our lives. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about. This is not open to debate. I wish you well.”
“Thank you for your time. Best of luck to you.”
At this point, I’ll take luck or The Force. Whichever works more quickly…
Stay tuned for the next chapter in my ongoing saga, “Bait and Switch.”
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
Today is World Cancer Day. And I am pleased to announce that I am 12 ½ years cancer free. When people asked me today how many years I have been cancer free, I’ve been rounding up to 13 years. That is what I posted on my Facebook Page. But for this blog post, I decided not to round. Perhaps because I need to express “the half.”
When we were children, we always gave our ages in halves. Back then, those milestones were important. As adults, we round. Sometimes we round up, other times, as with our ages, we round down. Of course some adults pretend to forget their ages, and others refuse to acknowledge them entirely. However, I just realized at this very moment, “the half” is important again.
It’s funny how something as basic as time becomes so critical, especially when one does not have much of it left. Or the perception of living on borrowed time comes into play.
I am one of the lucky ones. My cancer was caught early. The tumor was removed, albeit in multiple surgeries, but nevertheless, it was cut out of me. The radiation treatment afterward was otherworldly. In my opinion, the treatment and subsequent side effects were worse than the cancer. But I, like so many others, persevered. I moved forward, slowly but surely.
The scar left much deeper wounds than I anticipated. Due to the multiple surgeries, the incision did not heal properly. Even scar revision surgery did not work. For quite some time, all I saw when I looked into the mirror was that scar. I felt ugly and broken, exhausted mentally and physically.
People made unbelievable comments about my scar. “Frankenstein” came up frequently. One of the commonly used phrases was, “Well, it’s not that bad.” Never once did I ask anyone how bad my scar looked. So, the unsolicited comments made the situation worse. My brother thought their comments were as ridiculous as I did. He decided to mock them. He would joke, “Oh, it’s such a pretty scar!”
I have to say he made me laugh every time he said it. Thank you, Timmy.
Humor is how my family deals with adversity. And it helps. Tremendously. And it keeps everyone in the hospital wondering what we’re up to in our hospital room. And when the nurses and the rest of the staff started laughing, it would carry into other patients’ rooms. Laughter is contagious. And it is good for the soul. And that’s not just a line I’m trying to feed you. It works, and it’s a gift that keeps on giving.
I honestly don’t know how I would have gotten through those dark days without my loved ones and the laughter and mayhem they created. I can not thank my family and friends enough for their love and support, and the seemingly endless stream of “Get Well” chocolate.
Today, I am praying for each and every one of you who has been touched by cancer. I hope that you feel the love, peace, happiness and understanding that I am sending your way. All I ask in return is that you celebrate a part of each day with a little laughter, whether it is for a half an hour or a half a day. Because halves do count.
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
“The written word is flat without passion.
A piece of artwork is just a bunch of squiggly lines without passion.
You must have depth.
You must have emotion that comes from deep within.
A raging fire!
A burning desire!
An intensity that you can not deny.
A feeling that refuses to be harnessed.
That is why I am pursuing my passion!”
Copyright © 2013 by Suzanne Purewal
I have created this blog, not only to share my own thoughts, passions and dreams, but to also provide an outlet for others to share their stories as well. From time to time, I will feature guest bloggers who will delve into their passions. On other occasions, I will interview individuals whom I find fascinating for one reason or another.
So this will not be a blog for just writers and authors. You will read about people with a wide variety of interests. My hope is to share stories about how individuals have been able to take the adversity in their lives and translate it into something positive and uplifting.
Life is short, my friends. So starting today, get out there, and pursue your passion!