Date #4 with Mr. Major Potential.

Our similarities: comparable tastes in music, identical full-time single parent statuses, insatiable appetites for art,  and we both “live” in a place where the new Heinz ketchup packet makes up the front page news.

He also skateboards AND has the ability to breakdance…

What more could a woman possibly ask for?

After passing three McDonalds and two Walmarts on Date #3 in an effort to find something meaningful, fun, and worthwhile to do, we had concluded that ART was in the future for Date #4. Since the art scene in our area primarily includes Kincaid look-alikes and a copper holly leaf sculpture, New York City became our destination.

I needed to be on my best behavior and not screw this up…

So, ~130 miles/2.5 hours later (car and train ride), I found myself in a building across from the Empire State Building reveling in artistic expression at its best (a video of a man nailing his foot to the floor, an 8′ x 10′ painting of Stephen Hawking in space…with a 2 foot drool strand hanging from his mouth, and a chandelier sculpture made from plastic forks). I was in my element and loving every bit…and my companion’s eyes and smile.

Since it was across the street, after being forced to remove my belt and step through a metal detector, I took the two required elevators to the ESB’s observation deck with the object of my affection. There we fought off the arctic breeze, wiped our noses, and tried to figure out which bridge was which, while one rug rat killed our romance with “Mom! Look a Foot Locker! MOM! LOOK ANOTHER FOOT LOCKER!”

All day I had forgotten one necessity: food. For breakfast, a handful of wasabi peas and coffee. Lunch, coffee. Dinner (sort of), one piece of cheesecake and coffee. I needed a post dinner snack. Olives.

The martini: dilute alcohol with…alcohol. That’s the basic recipe.   2 1/2 oz gin, 1/2 oz dry vermouth, 2 olives.

Over my first, we discussed how the 80′s made everyone lame including the greats: Billy Joel, David Bowie, and Robert Plant. During my second, he confessed how proud he was for not smoking around me all day…evidence of self-restraint, a quality I sometimes admire. This was one of those times. Mr. Potential told me that he tried but couldn’t partake in my love for spiked vermouth and primarily drank beer and whiskey. Okay, so not everyone’s perfect.

I said, “That’s understandable. I wish I could like beer.” (Not  completely a lie. This would bring me closer to mainstream society.) My fingers lovingly, gently, yet with possessiveness, swirled the contents of my glass. “It’s basically alcohol diluted with alcohol.”

He advised, “Be careful with those things.” Famous last words.

My green eyes aimed straight for his Caribbean-flavored lifesavers, but had to take a moment of rest. My lids shut and reopened in the middle of kissing him in a familiar place. A place 130 miles away from NYC. A place better known as my kitchen. In a standing position.

More than 2 hours had gone by since sitting on that bar stool. I was in another zip code, another state. I had succeeded in doing something many scientists have spent years dreaming about. This was not a black out. I time traveled and without the use of a machine!

…but with 2 martinis??? Could I possibly have become that efficient??? Had the bartender drugged me??? It’s possible because after only 4 dates my counterpart stated, “I’ve seen you drink three times as much and…” Oh boy.

How much damage had I done? He claimed that he still found me awesome. And if I don’t remember committing any unsavory activity, did it actually happen?

In conclusion, it could have been worse…or maybe it was.

Filed under: Inebriation Alley
by Lonna
3 Comments »

In preparation for my next memoir Slackers, I’ve forced myself to spend time with a pathetic soul that I had once known on an intimate level. ME. The 23, 24, and 25 year old ME. It’s all about ME. Thankfully, the man I’d been then dating (The Crustacean) was, is, and always will be a hoarder. He graciously allowed me to borrow the letters I had sent him during our two year dating period. Initially, he had wanted swap letters, but his were “lost” (via scissors) soon after our last break-up…my attempt to remove, forget, and progress before a straight jacket fitting became necessary.

Last weekend, they arrived in water resistant packaging.

Three inches! Pretty Impressive!

He had even saved what I like to call Section II, Part C of his holiday gifts. For our first Christmas, I made paper dolls. In this picture his Halloween costume protects his identity.

Reading over my words, I suppressed my gag reflex. Who in Hell is this person? Her handwriting’s alike, well neater and way more legible, but obviously from the same hand. She does recycle paper, and overuses the word coffee, so she must be ME. But what she says…MY GOD!

“I miss you. I really miss you! I hate this. It shouldn’t have to be like this! And I fear that now we’re going to see each other less and drift apart….I just feel lonely without you here.”

Translation: I’m half a person. Without you, I’m only 1/4.

She was not a teenager. She (Lonna Cottrell) had already dated handfuls of other men and had a degree in Biology with visions of medical school. He lived a distance away, but we had managed to spend mostly every weekend together, and yet I STILL felt the need to fill him in on my minutely thoughts.  Some letters were postmarked 2 days apart.

As if the pink, purple, and red envelopes with upside down stamps weren’t enough, I had written I love you inside the flap so when The Crustacean opened them that would be the first thing he saw. Crazy.

I just want to slide my hands through a time warp and shake this chick.

After our first breakup I had written…

“You and I are worth one more try. Please don’t give up on me. I will stand by you through everything. I will do anything for you.”

Everything? Anything?

These naive words came from the same person who wanted to see Avatar until she found out it was a love story. I’ve spent the majority of the last decade sounding like Dr. Gregory House from House M.D. or Christina from Grey’s Anatomy. Have any of those characters ever uttered anything similar? No.

I would have dumped myself 3 times too.

That person (she) has long left the building, but reading over the past has rekindled a desire for romantic love. I’m not sure I believe in that sort of love, but I want to, I really want to. That’s progress. I miss the electricity, not the stupidity.

Yes, I no longer desire to be the Ice Queen. Only, the Dairy Queen. Hopefully someday, I’ll be able to meet myself in the middle. Optimistic, even-keeled, AND with a spine.

Filed under: My Torturous Thoughts
by Lonna
5 Comments »

My goal: to make this post about my recent near-death experience as non-cliche’ as possible, because all such scenarios are the same. In every single one, someone nearly dies, but doesn’t.

(Boring.)

Please forgive me for my methods.

December 31, 2009

Dear Ronnie Reaper (a.k.a Dan Death),

I apologize for leaving you stranded on New Year’s Eve. I hadn’t expected you so early.

It wouldn’t have worked out. We have nothing in common. I enjoy breathing. I like my heart beating, and blood running through my veins. Digestion even brings me joy. With you, I can do none of those things. In fact, you’ve led me to a conclusion. I’m in love with someone else. Myself. Thank you for reminding me.

The picture above was Route 55 at 7:20 AM covered in icy slush. Moments before our date, I had taken this with my phone, and planned to paste it on Facebook, so all of my friends could feel sorrow for me about my daily commute to Philly. Once again, I buried my mind with self-pity. Now, when I gaze over the photo, I will think of you.

For your memory, and with the help of my daughter, I’ve recreated our time together. An online scrapbook preserving our brief affair.

My last meal would have been a slice of Bologna and three cups of coffee.

I locked the door to the home I despised (only for its size), hopped into my car (represented by the blue convertible in the photo below), dropped my daughter off at her Aunts, and didn’t even walk her inside.

Imagine no salt, ice falling from the air, snow covering a highway packed with New Jersey drivers. My eyes closed for a microsecond and my car began to slide off the right side of the highway. My gut reaction was to turn the wheel in the opposite direction.

My Corolla spun, so I pulled the wheel the other way with no response. I had no control. None. I became merely a spectator.

My eyes met another car’s headlights probably a car length away. Previously, I had wondered what my last thought would be. Would I think of my daughter? Would I think of a past unrequited love (not to be named because I’m still alive)? Or would I just think, “OH S**T!!” and have adrenaline overwhelm me? No. You, Mr. Reaper, helped me answer that. I only thought, “Really?” as in “Today? Now? This is it? That was all?” Then, the car in front of me started to slide in an attempt to avoid the impending head-on collision. Neither of us needed a vehicular head-butt.

Inertia tugged at the rear of my vehicle and forced me into the median…and the accompanying ditch-like crevice. The other car miraculously corrected itself. No metal collided. Not a single human was harmed.

Ron, I hope there are no hard feelings. It’s really nothing personal. Give me a call and maybe we can get together and hang out, in 60 years…

after I’ve

had more sex

drank more

coffee

vodka

gin

and

vermouth

read Anna Karenina again

learned to pole dance

married Andy Samberg

sent the kid off to medical school

and

topped The New York Times Bestsellers List

Love,

Lonna

Well, not really…

but

ANOTHER BEGINNING

**no toys were hurt in the making of this**

Filed under: My Torturous Thoughts
by Lonna
5 Comments »

(Although her daughter participated in this epic event, the author insists that this review remains unbiased.) An Accompany Publishing Musical Play adapted from “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens (to clear up any confusion). The date, Dec. 16th. The place, a school auditorium in the middle-of-nowhere’sville. Presented by the 4th and 5th grade chorus.

Before delving in, I would like to put out a suggestion to all in charge of such elementary school functions. Prior to the beginning of a show, advise the audience to “please silence all cell phones and babies.” The amount of infant screaming affected my ability to hear the actors and robbed me from some of my enjoyment. It may also be nice to enforce all people with abnormally large heads to sit behind those with smaller heads. Because of my seating arrangements, picture taking was rendered impossible.

The plot centers around Scrooge and Marley’s City Gym. Scrooge wants to sell the gym and replace it with the unforgivable–a candy store! This was followed by ghosts’ visits from various time periods in the history of the world. A herd of cheerleaders represented those from the future.

The set design was impeccable. The backdrop resembled Van Gogh’s Bedroom in Arles except with barbels and treadmills. Cardboard candy canes lined the perimeter. I was concerned about the carrying-capacity of the stage with 296 chorus members packed like husbands at the mall on Christmas Eve. How much weight would the stage actually hold, and could those children inhale and exhale in such an arrangement?

The acting was predominately believable, but at times I was under the impression that a few were reading lines from the backs of their hands. And the ad-lib that  Marley’s Ghost committed was difficult to understand. I think he was mumbling, “Blah, blah, blah, ARGHHHHHHHHHH!!! Blah, blah, blah, ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

With hits such as “Doing Something Smart,” “The Taste of the Sweet,” “Pumping More With Each Beat,” “Portion Control,” and “Twelve Days of Fitness,” how could one deny the show’s brilliance.

On the first day of fitness, my trainer made me do, one yoga tree pose.

Nevertheless, the violence was disturbing. After Scrooge shredded the contract belonging to the Evil Candy Moguls (two adorably SWEET young ladies), the girls beat him to a pulp with the paper. Because Scrooge resembled Tiger Woods, I suspected that this was an attempt to attract the Elin supporters, but an insider insisted that this was part of the script before the golf philanderer’s hobby hit the headlines.

The back-flipping aerobics instructor was impressive, but did they really have to make the kids run endlessly around the auditorium? The fake muscles were also a tad too unrealistic.

During the performance, I had also worried about the musical’s message; that working out and staying fit are the only important things in life; that there is no merit to lounging in front of the tube playing video games; that being bored is bad; that candy is evil. But I was comforted at the end when all of children left the stage intubated with lollipops.

One chorus member stood out above the others. She was in the third row on the right side, had large moon-like eyes, a Blair Waldorf headband, and mouthed to the person next to her, “I’m trying to find my mom.” With a voice and a face such as hers, angels are undoubtedly jealous. This child’s mother must be one proud lady.

I was glad that I attended and can honestly say it was worth a George Washington. This year’s production was 100% more memorable than last years, which I don’t remember at all.

It may be to late to say Merry Christmas, but it’s never to late to say…

MERRY FITNESS EVERYONE!

Filed under: Familial Fragments
by Lonna
2 Comments »