THE SEARCH FOR MR. ADEQUATE
Part XXVIII
By Susan Silver

“Do cry for me, Argentina”

Ok ... here it comes. Confessions, mea culpas, excuses and yes, sigh ... pathetic bids for your sympathy. And I know you loyal readers will give it to me. Sympathy, that is. My dear Editor has given me enough s—t for slacking off longer than I was supposed to.

I left several weeks ago, well eight but who’s counting, because they were doing re-construction of my and my neighbors’ terraces. It is my favorite thing about my place, but it was leaking and there would be no planting this summer. I had no choice.

The unbelievable noise eight am to four pm of the jackhammering, drilling and soddering made it impossible to stay. And the fact that they wrapped the entire apartment in plastic so I could not use the a.c., open a window or see out one made me feel beyond claustrophobic and like the old John Travolta movie ... (Boy) Girl in the Plastic Bubble ... but without the disease.

So, for two weeks, I prevailed upon friends to let me pad around their empty palaces in the Hamptons during the week and I came back to the city on the weekend to water the poor plants and feel sorry for poor me. Feeling totally displaced and anxious. It’s a psychological thing when your “nest” is disturbed.

Actually the near empty city is quite lovely on the weekend, perfect for catching up on movies, or brunching with friends ... none of which I did. I don’t know why. I was wallowing.

Then for three weeks I went to Aspen. This is my favorite place and I go every summer for the Aspen Institute which attracts a collection of interesting people discussing important things. And I do a lot of bonding ... it’s like adult camp and I exhaust my socializing ability in a concentrated fashion ... that is going out all day, every day and night, something I definitely do not do at home.

(Those of you who know me by now know that I am half hermit/ half Holly Golightly. And Holly had a ball in Colorado. And even a date but more about that later.)

Aspen in the winter, alas, has become the Hollywood party I long ago escaped. But in the summer ... it is heaven. The lovely mountains, the clean air evoke an almost spiritual quality. Or maybe I was just lightheaded from the altitude.

Both the people who live there all year round and those who have second homes all seem interested in learning, and are open to meeting new people and new ideas. This makes it ideal for a single person. I have made some terrific couple friends, and a few single women I see every summer and add a few new ones each year. There is dance, music, theater. Heaven.

Yes, I had a ball and was energized and stimulated. I was amused and amusing. Yes, I networked myself silly. But then, it hit me. I want a partner. I clearly do not need one to have a good time, but I want one! I no longer want to be the third wheel, fifth wheel or whatever odd number in the couples group, even though my couple friends are fantastic and make me feel welcome. (Note to self: next year you have to pay back everyone who has entertained you. The little hostess gifts don’t count. We’re talking dinner, or at least lunch. Start saving.)

Here is the scary part. All the talk, up until now, about finding someone and really looking was how can I say this ... bullshit! Yeah, that’s says it. Dear Readers: I WAS NOT REALLY LOOKING. I was pretending to look. I did not really want to find someone to replace LOML (that’s love of my life for you new Dear Readers.) There, I have admitted it. (By the way he called me 3 times out there and I was never in the room to talk and he is away for a month long trip with family that he takes every year so I don’t know what he wanted but believe me it wasn’t what I wanted him to want ... if you get my drift ... .if you don’t ... it’s spelled like M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E!)

The reason I came to this epiphany is the following: I was sitting next to a very cute, younger than I, tall guy at a lecture in Aspen. The reason I know he is tall is that his crossed legs are sort of leaning on mine. I think he is younger because I don’t know many guys my age who wear bermuda shorts and sandals and look so good in them. I say to some friends I’m sitting with that I am “dying of thirst.” He offers his water bottle. I am too embarrassed to wipe it off first, so I take a drink and since we have now swapped spit so to speak, we start talking.

He is the inventor of a major Internet site which shall be nameless except you all know it. He is camping out with the couple he sits with so it appears to me he is single. He is in the process of building what sounds to be an amazing house outside of Aspen. And we are getting along famously. This is fun!

The lecture is by an attractive married guy whom I know. I get up to ask a question, but am cut off by the moderator because of time. I am pissed off because I wanted to ask the question about Darfur and also let the attractive married guy know I am there as I haven’t seen him in years and we always flirt with each other though I do not want anything to come of it. He is a renowned player. And I am not that dumb.

After the lecture, I go back to my seat briefly, pick up my stuff and rush outside to see the lecturer without saying goodbye or exchanging numbers with the cute guy I was sitting next to.

So boys and girls, let’s review. I do get a hug and a private 10 minute tutorial on Darfur from an attractive married guy that I don’t even want to be single and available ... and lose out on what potentially could be a real person date with the other probably available, cute and successful guy who seemed interested in me. Only this time, a little light goes off. That was stupid! What was I thinking? Hmmm ... maybe that has been a pattern I should now break.

In Aspen, when they learned about “The Search”, I had a lot of interesting conversations with young women who all had met their husbands on the Internet. Successful, attractive career women in their late thirties or early forties were all focused on finding a mate and making babies. It was in the air. It wasn’t desperation. It was just a fact. Things are more fun when they are shared. The beautiful homes are shared experiences in decorating and entertaining. I want that! Noah was on to something, folks. Two by two. These young women are focused about doing something about it. Maybe I should too! Remember, I liked being married. I am just too lazy to go about it properly.

Though I was fixed up on a date by one of the couples. Actually the husband of the couple. Unsolicited, totally a surprise. Very nice, but you can’t ask a guy what another guy is like ... they don’t really know. And I didn’t want to discourage him from doing this again. So I went, with no information at all. Well, that’s not really true. The night before the date, the wife of the fixer up guy said, “this guy is not your type at all, but he’s good guy.”

He was not my type at all. The pants worn under the arm pits were the first clue. But he was really smart and kind of fun and it was a perfectly enjoyable date. I am glad I went. But I want my real partner now! NO MORE DATES please! I want him fully-formed perfect for me, and available. PLEASE DELIVER THIS PERSON TO ME AND IMMEDIATELY.

I am now stomping my feet. And it’s not a pretty sight.

“Home sweet home”

When I return home from Aspen, I usually turn off the phone, read all the newspapers I missed and recharge my battery which has run low socializing ... as I only have one half a battery, remember? “Hermit” half kicks in. This time it was more like a total melt down. The new Harry Potter didn’t even help.

To put this in some context: When I got back home, the construction which was supposed to be completed or near so, was not. They had screwed up the cable so my computer didn’t work and I couldn’t get any TV. The wall inside the kitchen was now on the floor as they had drilled through something by mistake. There were mice droppings everywhere and exterminators had left sticky traps all around.

For several days I lay paralyzed in bed amidst the mess (because I had taken everything off the shelves so they wouldn’t break from the vibrations) listening to the noise, smelling the fumes, coughing from the dust and then ... I HAD A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. I recommend it highly. It can be empowering if you don’t want to make friends.

I had the workmen tear down the plastic wrap around the windows so I could see out. I told them to please not shout at each other when they were two feet away, to not eat their lunches outside my bedroom window, and, to yes ... stop the damn whistling!

I started glaring out the windows. Workmen avoided my eyes. I called the maintenance company continuously. I called the architect several times a day and eventually I cried. He promised everything would be ok. He is coming Monday to fix everything that is broken, missing, or wrong. Crying works. And it feels so good.

Finally, it was over. This weekend I got out of bed. (Although going alone to see ‘Primo,’ the one man devastating show about the Holocaust, was not a good choice for re-entry. Unless you value the idea of putting things in perspective. Hmmmm.)

Next week the housekeeper comes to help me put everything back on the shelves and clean up the mess. The cable guy is coming to install a longer cable cord as it has to be rerouted. The flower man is coming to replace the broken planters and clean and paint the boxes for next summer. I will order a new dishwasher as it is clear that the flooding means this one is beyond repair ... and I am slowly coming back to the living.

I sent the two precious boys (ages 2 and 4) in Minneapolis T-shirts that read “Someone who loves me very much went to Aspen and sent me this shirt.” And today I got a call from them and heard lots of “thank you’s” and we did the “I love you more’s” and I am smiling.

The best step is writing to you Dear Readers and the next step is writing down what I want in a mate. (Several people in Aspen told me they believe in visualization and making manifest your wishes. It worked for them. Even the blind date did that. That’s how he got rich and perhaps me for a date ... she said modestly. ) On my list, I will be really specific, because “smart, successful and funny” obviously isn’t enough ... wearing his pants at waist level clearly must be specified.

Next week ... we’ll catch up with all of my gang who have also gone through some transformations ... and yes ... we will laugh again! At them, with them ... who cares? We laugh!!! We’re back!

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