Diary of a Network Geek

Yes, I freely admit that I spoil my dog.

I’m going out of town for a couple of days, starting Thursday this week, and instead of asking a friend to watch my dog for me, I’m boarding her at my vet. I’m doing this for a couple of reasons. First, although my friend I usually ask to watch her would be happy to do that for me, I don’t want to put him out that much or for that long. I’ll only be gone four days, but two of those days, he’d have to drive all the way across town to let her out and check her food and water. Frankly, that just seems like more hassle than is right for me to ask of him. Secondly, if I ever have to travel for an extended period of time for work, I’ll want to know that I have a good, long-term arrangement that my poor, spoiled dog will survive. Thirdly, my vet, the Jersey Village Animal Hospital, has about the newest, nicest facility I’ve seen. Honestly, it will be like sending her to a four day doggie spa.

Hilda will have her own private room with its own door to a private, fenced yard. She’s never had a doggie door before, so I’m interested to see how she does with that. If it works well for her, I may just install one at home. But, in addition to having that free access, she’ll be walked twice a day to get her exercise. She’ll also get a bath before I pick her up Monday morning.
I’ve been told that I can bring her favorite pillows and toys, but I don’t think I can get her couch into the back of my car. What? Doesn’t every dog have their own, full-sized couch? Well, I guess we’ll just have to settle for a couple of throw pillows off the couch. And, I’ll bring a couple of her favorite bones, too, so she’ll have something to worry on when I’m not there. (Don’t tell her, but I have a giant rawhide bone for her when she gets back!) Still, I’m worried that she won’t eat while I’m gone. She gets like that sometimes. When I had to go overnight to our office in Louisiana not too long ago, she didn’t touch her food while I was away. So, just to make sure she had something I knew she’d eat, I made her muffins last night.
Yes, I baked my dog apple-cinnamon muffins from a recipe in Cooking the Three Dog Bakery Way. It’s not as good as what she’d have gotten from the Pink Poodle Gourmet, but, since I’m not dating the nice lady who runs that business anymore, it didn’t seem quite “proper” to beg dog cookies from her. Oh, I’m sure she would have been happy to give me enough for the four days and then some, because she’s sweet like that, but I’d feel wrong asking. So, I baked my own instead. Actually, they’re quite tasty. Hilda and I enjoyed a couple last night, while they were still warm.

Now, not everyone may understand the fuss I make over my dog. But, let me tell you, she’s more loyal to me than any single person I know. And, as I’m sure my regular readers are tired of hearing, she was the only reason I came home from work almost two years ago, when I was deep, dark depression and contemplating suicide. It amazes me to think, at one point, I thought I’d lost her because I was willing to listen to a lie. Hilda is my little miracle dog, though, who came back to me from far away to give me that little extra bit of life that I needed to keep me going. So, now, I happily bake her treats to snack on while she’s relaxing at her spa.

Now, I just have to convince one of the cute, young girls who works there to pay a little special attention to my Hilda. Maybe, if I play up the whole “separation anxiety” thing we’ll both get a little special attention…

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.
-Mark Twain

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."

So, after more several weeks of increasing tension and decreasing communication, LK (aka Ms. NewGal aka the Pie Lady) and I aren’t dating. Naturally, I blame myself. I know how I am and I am the first to admit that I am no picnic, no walk in the park. Maybe I just wasn’t quite ready. Maybe I just need some “alone time”. Hell, maybe I’m just meant to be alone the rest of my life. Just me and my Hilda. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but probably the best in the short run. Long enough to throw out more of my ex-wife’s junk at least. I’m sure that must have grated on poor LK even more than she let on. Hey, it grates on me that I have to deal with all the junk left behind by a couple of worse packrats than me. And, even that wouldn’t be bad if not for the fact that virtually everything was a reminder of how I failed there, too.Oh, I know it wasn’t all my fault. It takes two to tango and all those platitudes, but I always blame myself. After all, I’m the one thing that’s consistent between all my relationships. Sure, some of it was bad timing and a couple of rough weeks, but some of it was just the way we interacted. And, yes, maybe I am more angry than I realize. It’s not hard to point to sources of that anger, either. They’re all over my house. I know I’m sort of harping on it now, but it’s really hard for people who haven’t seen it to fathom the volume of junk I have to wade through. 95% of it, of course, is someone else’s junk, too. The detrius of an old life left behind like a snake shedding its skin. All for me to deal with. Alone.

And, there it is. That word. “Alone”. Again. And again and again. Or, perhaps, still. And, that, I know, is my fault. Never really letting anyone in because if I do, I know they won’t like what they see. As is partially born out by this particular personal tragedy. A sadly self-fullfilling prophecy. I guess the question for my therapist now is “why?” Why should I have internalized the belief that I’m not good enough when bottom-feeding scum who cheat on their spouses and have jobs only because their parents have connections feel so good about themselves? Certainly, until I answer that question, I’m not really ready to be out dating, am I?

Well, at least answering that question, in part or in whole, will give me time to clean my house the rest of the way and lose some weight and just generally improve myself.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after."
   --Ernest Hemingway

No, I’m not talking about “that time of the month”.

It’s hurricane season again. Yeah, already. I mention this because a fairly heavy tropical storm has already started up and is smacking Florida around. So, if you haven’t started thinking about how you’re going to survive this year’s hurricane season, you better start.

First of all, let’s talk business, okay? Do you have a plan yet? Better get one quick. Really quick, at this point. What are you going to do if your business gets hit? Where are you going to set up shop while you get your damaged location fixed? Who’s going to staff that temporary location? What about your data? Who’s in charge of protecting it and getting it to a secure location in the event of a disaster?
Don’t know the answer to these questions? Better figure them out in a hurry. Oh, don’t think it’ll happen to you? Check this story on Computer Business Review Online. A lot of those folks didn’t think it would happen to them, either.
Need help with the questions? Oh, yeah, those few, little questions I fired off are just the start. This article on Continuity Central has all those and a whole bunch more that will keep you awake at night until you answer them. It won’t write the plan for you, but it sure will let you know where the holes are in your disaster recovery plan.
Still need help? I recommend checking out SunGuard. I’ve used them, professionally, before and they’re very good at this sort of thing. Very good.
Now, what about you and your family? Considered that yet?
I remember last year when Katrina hit, followed by Rita. It was a disaster with a capital D. People were panicking and running. Gas stations ran out of gas. Grocery stores ran out of canned food and bottled water and batteries. You couldn’t buy a generator at any price. It was a real nightmare. And that was just a close call. Imagine what it would have been like if Rita had actually hit us here in Houston. Right.
So, now is the time to lay in that canned food and the water purification tablets and the batteries and candles and … Well, there’s a lot of stuff, isn’t there? Luckily, there are a lot of different lists and guides to preparing for a hurricane. All you have to do is start now, while it’s still easy. I’ve found links to do-it-yourself hurricane survival kits at Southcom, Hurricaneville, and the Tampa Bay Government website. Also, if you have pets, check out the Pet Survival Kit at the Tampa website. I like the Hurricaneville one because it’s a downloadable PDF file that includes pretty good advice about hurricanes in general and not just what stuff to get to make it through one. It offers practical advice and has good general information about tropical storms and hurricanes.

Personally, I prefer to use solar and dynamo power over batteries when I can and I have that stuff I got last year. I still need to get more canned food and, maybe, some MREs. Never did get that shotgun, either. Not to mention the gas cans or the first-aid kit. I did get a book on First Aid for Dogs though, just in case. And, maybe it’s time to get a couple decorative oil lamps, too…
Excuse me while I exorcise the latent survivalist in me. I know it seems crazy now, but when I’m sitting pretty after the next hurricane, all you Houston readers will be stopping by for coffee, since I’ll be the only one with any!
Seriously, though, folks, it’s never too early to start planning.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else."
   --Booker T. Washington

In a world of easy to digest pop culture, even “hacking” is easier.
Now, according to this article on WashingtonPost.com, someone has setup “point-and-click hacking”. Now, even script kiddies and Windows 2003 server admins who call themselves “Director of IT” can “hack” systems!

Okay, okay, again, this might not be fun for everyone, but I am a professional geek! It’s fun for ME! Now, have you bought any yummy dog treats from Pink Poodle Gourmet yet? Your doggie deserves a good Friday Fun treat, too!

Well, I survived my trip to the sweaty, stinky armpit of the South.

The flight over was fairly uneventful, though it did start out with an ill omen. At the airport there was a helicopter that had a collapsed landing strut that had caused some fairly severe damage to the whirlybird, including bending the blades on the main rotor. Very bad and very expensive. Little turbulence on the flight over in spite of warnings about bad weather. Though, I have to admit, I’d have been more comfortable if my pilot hadn’t been taking short naps along the way. I know we were on autopilot and all, but the idea of crashing over those swamps in East Texas and Louisiana just are not my idea of a good time.

The thing that hit me when we got to New Orleans was the damage still from Katrina. We drove for almost three miles from the little airport where we landed before we started to get to intersections that had working stop lights. Most of the houses that I saw were either empty, or had blue tarps over the roof as an attempt at some temporary repair. I did see some FEMA trailers, but most of them were in a big parking lot where they were totally useless. Apparently, that’s the latest outward sign of a bureaucracy gone terribly wrong. The thing that really got me though was the messages spray painted on the abandoned homes and buildings. Most of it was in some sort of rescue-worker code, but on one house the message was clear: 1 pony DOA, 1 dog DOA.

I spent the entire day Thursday watching data copy. Yep, about as exciting as watching paint dry or grass grow, but people keep interrupting any reading or writing you might be doing to ask what’s going on with the server. (“Uh, the same thing that’s going on when you asked the last fifteen times, you slack-jawed Luddite.”) Then, right when everyone starts to scatter near the end of the day, the data finishes and I can actually start doing real work. A whole hour’s worth of real work before, you guessed it, I copy data back to the new server from the backup drive. Woo. Yea. Oh, the exciting life of a sysadmin on the road.
But, I kept reminding people that I had no rental car and needed a ride to the hotel and/or restaurant, hoping that they wouldn’t abandon me. It went about like this:
“Um, you know, I still don’t have a rental car or anything so, I’ll need a ride to the hotel, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re not leaving yet, right?”
“Yeah, hold on a minute.”
“Ah, so, since I don’t have a rental car are you going to be driving me?”
“Wait, I’ve got something better than a rental car for you!”
“Better?”
“I’ve got the shop truck for you!”
“Ummm…”
“Of course, you’ll have to put gas in it. It’s on ‘E’.”
“Right. Great. Thanks?”

So, yes, I drove the shop pickup truck that they use to make deliveries and, yes, I filled it up. Thankfully, I grew up in the greater Chicagoland area and only had to stare down one guy who looked like he was going to beg for money at the ratty, little gas station I stopped at in the trashed-out neighborhood where the Holiday Inn I was booked in was sadly located. Now, keep in mind, I used to work in the hotel industry. I never worked in Housekeeping, as is evidenced by the current state my house is in, but I did learn what a hotel room is supposed to look like in great detail. This particular Holiday Inn did not meet Hyatt Hotel’s standards. In fact, it didn’t even have the faintest idea what that standard might possibly resemble. Sadly, it was still not the worst place I’d ever spent the night while on the road. After all, the sheets were clean, there was an extra roll of toilet paper, and no used band-aids on the floor. Yes, it can, in fact, get that bad. I did, however, have to plug in every electrical appliance and light. I only had to kill a single cockroach, though, so it all works out. Besides, it was the only room available anywhere close to that part of town.

The next morning, I got down to the nitty-gritty of actually moving the PCs and users to the new server. It went like clockwork. Well, after I got the first few problems worked out and everyone finally had the right security rights. But, freakishly, considering all the things that have gone wrong in the past on these little junkets, I was done by lunchtime. So, I just had to hang around until my plane left at 8:30PM. At least, I managed to slip out for my favorite Southernism, the oyster po’ boy. After that it was just killing time cleaning up little detail things like verifying the backup scheme and updating the anti-virus files, until it was time for the crawfish boil. Now, you might not think that a damn, Yankee carpet-bagger like myself knows what to do with a mess o’ mud bugs, but, surprise, I do. Though, I didn’t eat as many as locals, I did know to suck the head. By then it was getting on toward 6:00pm and I was itching to get to the airport and make sure I had a seat on the plane home. I rode back with the most back-country, redneck sounding guy you ever want to try and listen to, but he was really very bright and, in his own Southern-fried way, quite articulate. In fact, it was everything I could do to keep from imitating his swamp drawl after a bit.

So, I got to the airport, and home, early. My girl got me from the airport and we drove to the far ends of the Earth to get my car from the West Houston Airport where it was not only safe and sound, but looked like it had been washed! Apparently, those stories I’d heard about torrential downpours in Houston while I was away were not exaggerated. By the time we made it back to my house, it was about 11:30PM and Doc had gone to bed, but my Hilda was quite glad to see me. Either that, or she’s learned that Ms. NewGal always brings yummy dog treats with her when she comes.
Oh, while I was away, I also managed to get some reading in, so I finally finished A Better Way to Live and started a trashy novel called Seppuku. I suppose I’ll try to review those when I finally get caught up!
(Oh, and by the way, the boss said I could put down Ms. NewGal’s milage on my expense report, so she’ll get a little something more than the pleasure of my company, which is all she claimed she wanted when she volunteered. Gotta’ love it!)

Looks like I’m hitting the road again. Damn.
You know, mostly, if everything is arranged all nice and all, I like traveling. I especially like traveling on someone else’s dime. But, I hate having to hit the road for business at the last minute. This time, I’ll be swapping out a Windows 2000 server, including a data copy, at a remote location in far less time and with far less notice than I’d like. The sad thing is, I’m getting used to that with this job. How does that phrase go? “I’ve done so much with so little for so long that I’m now qualified to do anything with nothing.” Hmm, maybe I should add that to my resume under “qualifications” or “Skill set”. And, I was just telling Ms. NewGal tonight on the phone that I’ve been making the impossible probable and the improbable common place for more years than I can remember. It’s not too hard with Windows, since any moron can handle a point-and-click interface then call himself a Director of IT, claiming that he can manage servers. But, I’ve done it with Windows, Netware and Linux, with a little Solaris and even VMS thrown in for flavor. And mostly at remote sites where things often go wrong. Very, very wrong.

As further evidence that I’ve been doing this too long, when I pulled my toiletry kit out from under the sink, it was already stocked with almost empty containers of every thing I use on a regular basis. Enough after shave for a week, a couple of good gargles of mouthwash, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, the last bit of deodorant. I even had shampoo and conditioner in there from the last place I stayed at, just in case! And packing my clothes took all of fifteen minutes, too. I normally plan for one extra day, plus any special circumstances, so, I have three days worth in there, just in case. It’s going to take me longer to pack my toolkit and carry on bag than anything else. And that’s only because I have to slim down in case I have to fly back on a commercial flight. My boss is flying me over, which is actually sort of nice, but there are thunderstorms expected for Friday afternoon, so I may be flying back on a commercial flight. That means time wasted in an airport. In fact, an airport I spent the night in once. The part about all this that sucks, though, is having to go back to the little podunk airport to get my car when I do finally get back into town. So, I’ll be dragging my sorry, tired butt from either Hobby or Bush Intercontinental over to, basically, Clay Road and Highway 6. Yeah, the opposite side of town. Just so I can drive back to my house, which I will essentially pass on the way to get my car. The only upside there is that Ms.NewGal volunteered to pick me up and drive me to my car. What a sweetie! Of course, it does get her closer to me faster, but she claims she didn’t even think of that.
Thankfully, Hilda has a keeper for the next couple of days. And, in case Doc has to work late, I’ve asked one of the guys from work I trust to come let her out at lunch on Thursday and Friday. Hopefully, she’ll go out and not make a mess at all. Not that she ever has since she was a pup. At least, not unless you count the times she was being ignored while I was at the office during the prelude to my divorce. Oddly, she’s not had a problem since she’s been back. Imagine that! Must have been the company.

So, now, it’s off to queue up the coffee and the Friday Fun post. If I get the chance, I’ll moderate comments, but, I might not until Saturday morning, so, please, be patient.
It’s going to be a Hell of a trip, so pray for me!

If you have dogs, you have got to see this!
You may have seen what you think of as fancy dog cookies in PetSmart. You know, the ones that are shaped like bones, but have frosting on them. But, I am here to tell you these are low rent compared to what the nice people at Pink Poodle Gourmet and Design have. I mean, go look at these things and you’ll see. They look almost too good to give to your dog. (Sorry, Hilda.) They’re better looking, and tasting, than a lot of cookies made for people. And, yes, before you get all wierded out by the fact that I ate dog cookies, they are made from all human-edible ingredients. They’re also quite tasty. At least, all the ones I’ve tried personally are, but I haven’t risked any liver flavored ones yet. They do sell from the website, but, you might want to find a local supplier so you don’t have to deal with shipping. (You can sniff them out at their webpage.)

Okay, okay, you caught me. This is actually a shameless plug for the darling woman that I’ve been seeing. This amazing lady has run her own business for more than two years and paid all her bills with it. Obviously, she works very, very hard at her business and her product really is amazing. I mean, I understand the rudiments of making a cookie, dog cookies even, but what she does… Well, it’s the difference between me building with Lincoln Logs and her building 30 storey sky scrapers. Really, I cannot urge you enough to go check out her work: Pink Poodle Gourmet and Design And, no, this is not a bribe to get more pie. Though, it’d be well worth it. Her pie is delicious!

She made me pie.
I mentioned off the top of my head the other day that I liked apple pie. I explained how my sister used to make me apple pie for my birthday every year when I was in college because she was the only family near me at my birthday and I loved apple pie. So tonight, when she came over just to hang out before going out of town, she made me an apple pie. Crust from scratch with stars on it and covered in course sugar and as sweet as anything can make it.

We just sat with the television on, though we didn’t watch it really. Mainly, we looked at each other. Somehow in two days I’d forgotten how beautiful she is. How captivating her eyes are as they shift from blue to green like precious gems from a lost kingdom swallowed by the encroaching jungle. Her deep, throaty laugh makes me want to be wittier and more charming than I have a right to expect to be. I’m learning to smile and say thank you when she tells me how handsome I am. I don’t see it myself, but, then, I’ve never seen my good qualities as clearly as those around me, so I’m learning to internalize it.
Hilda, of course, was jealous. Oh, she was put off for a bit by the treats that came with the pie, but we both knew it wouldn’t last forever. Doc was around early on, but made himself scarce when it was so obvious that we were going to end up ignoring him anyway, poor guy. But, honestly, who could compete with an almost six-foot, blue-eyed blonde that makes me apple pie from scratch?

Oh, one small note, though, she found the blog. She admitted it to me this evening with a guilty red-faced look. Apparently, she’d been Googleing my name and, well, up it popped. She read some, but felt guilty and stopped. But, she fessed up right away, so I told her to go ahead and read. After all, it’s nothing but sunshine and light right now anyway. Besides, she said she liked my writing…

Surprise!
I’m sure many of you are fully expecting me to say that my alleged date on Saturday was, in fact, a very elaborate April Fool’s Day joke. It was not. It was, in fact, not only quite real, but quite good.
Saturday afternoon, I got a haircut and the $100 detailing done on the car, which took longer than I’d thought it would, so I just barely had time to scoot home, wash up and change before going to church. I opted for a high level of casual in relaxed-fit Gap khakis with a white DKNY, long-sleeved shirt, lightly starched. After some debate and a check with Matt for spiritual guidance on my choice of shoes, I opted for black cowboy boots instead of the Cole Haans. My date is an inch, or so, taller than I am, so I figured the extra height couldn’t hurt. I cleansed my car of all heavy metal and replaced it with Sting, Bonnie Rait and some other mellow favorites. No Sade or Nina Simone, though, per the helpful suggestions or my gentle readers.
So, at church everyone was asking about my plans. In fact, I had a veritable legion of folks who seemed to know what I was up to that night. Matt checked me over to make sure I’d done okay, as did J.’s new girl L. The general consensus of opinion was a thumbs-up. I have no idea what went on during the service because, honestly, I was beside myself with nerves. First date in over ten years makes a guy a little nervous, you know?
So, with Sting’s Brand New Day in the CD player, I raced over to her place as soon as church was over. She lives over by Minute Maid Park, so there was a bit of traffic, due to the Astro’s exhibition game, but it wasn’t too bad. What was bad, however, were the directions that I got via Yahoo!Maps. They were fine right up to that one, illegal, left-turn onto Franklin. Thankfully, I’ve driven all over Chicago during construction season, so circling wide and around to get where I actually wanted to be was not a big stretch for me. Also, I called her to get pointed back in the right direction. I parked in a loading dock at her building, per her instructions, and met her out front as she was walking her dogs. The first thing that caught my attention was how blonde she was. I spotted that two blocks away. The other thing was how tall five-foot eleven was when you got up close. Yeah, she’s an inch taller than I am,when I stand up straight. Still, she was at least as good looking in person as she was in her pictures, so, all was well. (She said more or less the same about me, later, so, don’t think I was the only one worried about that!)
We took her dogs up to her apartment and I got the nickel tour. She runs her business out of her home, so she had an industrial oven, a bunch of baking racks, and assorted high-end cooking gear all over. Naturally, she had an enormous kitchen. She actually lives in a loft in a building that, except for the nice, wide halls, reminded me of places I’d been in Chicago. In fact, that was one of the reasons she like this building, because she used to live in Chicago and it sort of reminded her of there. So, yes, she lived in Chicago for nine years, working in catering, mainly, and she knew the edges of my old stomping grounds. In fact, she said that would be the only part of the country that she’d consider moving to again. Oh, did I mention that she took me by surprise with a kiss when I met her?
Anyway, after that it was off to La Vista, a little Italian place that she knew. It’s quaint and used to have a strictly BYOB policy, and they maintain that even though you can get wine there now. Apparently, it was run by a friend of hers from high school and was more wildly successful than he’d ever imagined it being. Who knew? But, here is where it got interesting. At this restaurant I noticed the difference between this one and everyone I’ve ever gone out with before. We ordered our dinners and I ordered a glass of iced tea. Well, our salads came, but my tea didn’t. I was willing to quietly ignore that, as long as it didn’t end up on the bill, but she caught our waiter and told him to get it for me. Honest to God, no one has ever been that attentive to me before, ever, much less on a first date. I thanked her, of course, then told her that I’d been willing to let it slide. And how thoughtful it was of her to catch that for me. Dinner was, of course, wonderful. Sadly, if we’d had dessert we’d be too late to catch a movie, so we skipped that and were off to the giant Edwards MarqE to catch a late show.
We got tickets to the 10:30PM showing of Ice Age: Meltdown, but we were cutting it close. The lines were too long at the candy stand, so, while she ran into the ladies room, I hit the quarter vending machines to feed her self-confessed sweet tooth. Generic Sweet Tarts and plain M&Ms for a buck’s not a bad deal at the theater, so I carefully filled my hand and waited for her by the door to the ladies room, feeling rather like a pervert. She came out and saw what I had in my hand and started giggling like a little girl. She grabbed my free hand and gobbled a couple of the candies while dragging me into the theater. She hesitantly lets me choose where to sit in the darkened movie house and I quickly point to two seats in the middle of the row in front of the main aisle. When she sighed with relief and called me a man after her own heart, I knew I’d done good. She hates climbing up to the higher reaches of seats as much as I do. Cool. I automatically lifted the middle arm between the two seats, because, well, just because. That, too, met with her instant approval. We dropped into our seats just as the last preview was ending and the main feature was starting. Perfect timing!
I won’t review the movie, but Ice Age Meltdown was hilarious. We laughed the whole way through. Great first date movie.
After that, it was back to her place for some mellow music, more talking and, well, stuff. It was at this point in the evening that I found out she was a published poet and a very accomplished photographer. Her black and white photos of Paris looked like they could have been hung in a gallery. I also got to know her geriatric basset hound and her two miniature Dachshunds. When I finally left, she sent me out into the world laden with her gourmet dog biscuits as a peace offering to my own dog. Also, she figured a bribe might get me back into the house.

She’s braving my house for pizza and a movie Tuesday night before heading out of town for a trade show. Next week, the Saturday before Easter, she’s going to come to Mercy Street with me. Apparently, she wants to meet the man who gave me spiritual advice about my shoes.
In short, I think I’ve got a winner. Now, if I can just get used to being fawned over for a change, and learn to take her compliments without a skeptical side-long glance, everything will work out just fine.

So, I’m about to call Match.com a bust, right?
I mean, I’m getting nothing, even with the rewritten profile. Zlich. Hardly even a returned e-mail for pity’s sake! Then, suddenly, I’ve spent hours on the phone with someone and I’m promising to call her back tonight, after my walk with Hilda and my weekly chat with the parental units. Never know, do you?
She’s nice. Has her own business making dog biscuits. Has three dogs, but no kids. Older than me by almost two years. Taller than me, not that it matters. Blonde, blue-eyed. Self-sufficient, self-sustaining and self-supporting. In short, nothing at all like my ex-wife. I’m waiting to find out what’s wrong with her, honestly. Must be something there that doesn’t add up, right? I mean, could I have hit a jackpot here?
She said she’s tired of the “players” on Match.com. I laughed. I’m about as un-player as they come. Tragically unhip, disturbingly upfront and with very little left to hide. (Hey, even a priest has a past, kids. Mine just involves two tattoos and an ex-wife.) So, we’ll take it slow and see what happens next.
I expect it not to work out, eventually, but, then, I’ve been a bit of a pessimist lately, haven’t I? Though, realistically, I expect this process of getting out into the dating world will involve a lot of failure before I start to get a little traction. Comes with the territory.