A tweet of mine: I’m even sexier now than when we met.

According to a recent survey by the TV shopping channel QVC, women reach their prime when they are 31 years old.

It noted that the average 31-year-old still has youthful beauty, but she also has more confidence and a better sense of style than her teenage and 20-something counterparts.

The survey carried out by the American television network polled over 2,000 men and women in the United States.

Of those polled, 70 percent cited confidence as the main factor in contributing to a woman’s attractiveness. Sixty-seven percent marked that good looks mattered most, while 47 percent equated stylishness with beauty.

Next year I will hit the big 3-1, the magic number when women are deemed to be at their most attractive.

Apparently, I’m in my prime. Hmm.


Haiku for the best friend who ghosted me:

Our souls were thirty (ish).
You were “Mark,” I was “Heather.”
Now we are no more.

Sometimes I read the missed connections on Craigslist.  These are my favorites from Christmas Day:

haiku for the holidays – m4w

Remember my Love,

every day of the year

can be our Christmas.

Come to me now and I will blanket you in my tenderness and affection the whole year.

I will care for you all of the seasons; devotion has no calendar.

You make my highest self shine through and fill my days and nights with the meaning

that I find when your sweet hand is in mine.

A kiss on your forehead is my drug.

Christmas Love – w4m

Your smile unlocks the door to my heart

Your gentle touch opens the window of my soul

Filling me with unimaginable bliss

Making the distance between us disappear.

Merry Christmas;)

A Christmas Wish

May the love and joy

Felt in our universe

Find its way to you

Know that a part of that

Love comes from

My heart

To you

Merry Christmas 😉

haiku for the hapless – m4w

Just me and the dog

with no plans or place to go

beyond the kitchen.

Stores and movies and parking lots are not looking so inviting today.

Even (my refuge) the gym closes early.

I am ready though. Food, drinks, music, good reading and maybe a fire (in the fireplace).

That’s the plan for the next few days. Rest, rinse, repeat.

It’s harder than you think to bake just one cupcake.

haiku for the hapless – m4w

Your picture postcard

tells me that you’re doing fine.

Where’s the “Miss you” part?

I’m sure I must have said, “Have a great time and don’t worry about me”.

But now I regret it. A lot. I should have said, “Please say you miss me every day, and can’t wait to return”.

Even if that’s not totally accurate. That would feel much better.

I told you I am a man, not a boy and that it would be fine as long as you wanted to travel; that I would be just fine.

What a crock! I’m surprised I believed myself saying that.

If you can’t come back sooner, can you at least say that tropical beaches and fresh organic food sucks?

Crab meat stuffed macaroni and cheese, and homemade tomato soup with half-n-half await your return.

hapless haiku hijacked – m4w

Poetry flaggers

get no pleasure from hating.

They want attention.

Too bad that last posting upset someone so much.

It wasn’t about her/him anyway, except to her/him.

Because they are all about her/him.

re: haiku for the hapless

you are intriguing

wondering who you could be

beautiful poems

a true gem of the missed connections section

haiku for the hapless – m4w

The Winter Solstice

marks the shortest of the days.

All my nights are long.

I do not look forward to the nights when you are no where near by me.

The hours and minutes may count the speed of the planet and the seasons,

but my time stops completely when I climb in alone ‘for the night’.

Scanning the room with my senses, I realize that there are no ticking clocks anymore

to lull me into rhythmic breathing,

and my own heart’s beat cannot seem to find a comfortable speed. I force myself into evenly measured breaths,

making my stomach rise, pause and then fall on command.

There is no water for miles, but my memory searches for the sound of the coastline,

and the lullaby of waves on the shore.

haiku for the hapless – m4w

Pike Market madness

Begins around eleven.

Crazed Christmas shoppers.

Shopping, pushing, blocking, glaring..

(I love how the ‘Holy-daze” brings out the ugly American in people.)

I am not surprised when the vendors seem tired or annoyed with the hoi poloi that they

rely on for their livelihoods. But I am surprised that they show it!

If my income depended on strangers buying my wares, and not those of my 150 ‘market competitors’,

I’d be a LOT nicer, and more charming than they are.

Seriously. If you want my $24 for something I do not really need, at least act nice.

(I say ‘act’ because some people just aren’t nice. Sorry. They are not.)

Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe it’s the last Saturday before the 25th… but in the meantime,

would you mind not bumping me aggressively so you can get at your impulse purchases?

Honestly all that decorative stuff will still be there for you without having to push me..

I said “Fuck” for the first time on Thursday.  I am 29 years old. It was Thanksgiving.

I saved my F-word virginity for you, Douglas James Warren. I saved it for you. I’ll never forget what I yelled to into my phone as I left a message for you, a message you may never listen to.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! I am so upset, Doug. I can’t believe you. Fuck you!!”

How can someone who loves me so much, hurt me more than I can bear?

When we broke up, we promised each other that we would do everything we could to stay friends. Maybe not best friends, but good friends. Maybe forever.

I asked you to never, ever unfriend me on Facebook again. I told you that it would kill me if you did. You promised me that you wouldn’t.

You unfriended me three times when we were “just friends” because you were afraid of heartache, because you couldn’t see me with another man. It was childish, but I forgave you. You loved me that much.

Now that you’ve unfriended me a fourth time, it’s me with an aching heart. You broke your promise. Emotional pain is the worst kind of pain. No band-aid can fix this wound.

Not only did you unfriend me, but you have also most likely blocked my number. That’s what makes this hurt even more than a broken promise, a fourth unfriending.

We were texting back and forth about your father because he has cancer and had just undergone his first chemo treatment. I had just lost my grandfather to cancer. I know what it’s like. I wanted to let you know you weren’t alone. I wanted to tell you to not make my same mistakes, as I lost a grandfather I barely knew.

You texted me your girlfriend had been in a funk ever since I picked up my dress at your apartment – the dress that had disappeared in your closet. Even though it had been her idea for me to drop by. I texted back that I had been in a funk, too, because you had been “weird.”

At your apartment, we talked about your father, your new band, my work and my knee. I let you know I was healing after our break up, but that I wasn’t back to good yet.  That I still want to puke every time I think about meeting your new Sara(h). I told you: “I will get there, but I’m not there yet.”

I had asked you if you still thought we could be friends. You said yes, of course. You said you’d like to meet up for coffee on the weekends sometimes to talk. I said that would be nice.

As I left your apartment, I told you that I (still) love you. You told me that you (still) love me. It’s become our way of saying we’re OK, that we’ll get off this roller coaster, like all the rides we’ve been on before. It’s not the same love we had during our relationship, but it’s what we had left.

Back to that text. I wanted an opportunity to talk through that funk, but not through texts. The last thing you texted me was: “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is the day that never comes.

You didn’t call me the next day. You never called me back.

I called you a week after “tomorrow” to tell you through tears that I had almost died that day. I called you once, I called you twice, just in case you hadn’t gotten to the phone in time. You didn’t pick up, so I texted you “Call me?” You were the friend I turned to when I got into a car crash, you were the friend I turned to when I fell in the parking lot, and you were the friend I tried to turn to when I had a near-death experience.

A week later, when you still hadn’t called me back, I texted you again. I asked you if you were avoiding me. I’m not your priority anymore, but I thought you’d at least get back to me, eventually. I thought you’d want to know that I was OK. I hadn’t been run over by a car, but I could have been. It was a traumatic event.

That’s when it hit me: You weren’t just avoiding me, you had burned our bridge.

I’m a reasonable woman. I am not a nightmare ex-girlfriend.

I think my picking up my dress freaked your girlfriend out. I think she gave you the line: “It’s either her or me.” I’d expect you to choose her. She’s your girlfriend. Except, I’d also expect you to call to let me know that we needed a break, that we needed some space. That your girlfriend needed more time before she’s OK with our staying friends.

We’ve been friends four or five years. I’ve lost count. We bonded over “Survivor” and misfit childhoods, of all things. I helped you through your divorce, you helped me through my anxiety. We were there for each other. We were best friends.

As your best friend, I coached you on newspaper design, I babysat your daughter for free, I supported and promoted your band, I wrote a letter of recommendation to help you get a new job, I helped you find and move into a new apartment and I convinced you to get your first colonoscopy at age 52.

After your colonoscopy, you told me: “You may have just saved my life.” I replied: “Let’s hope that I didn’t.”

Now we’re not even Facebook friends.

I am sincerely trying to heal from our breakup, but it’s hard to do when you moved on to a new relationship so quickly – with another, younger Sara(h). You told me it would take you two years to get over me, but in two months you were already Facebook official with another woman. That was harder than the breakup itself. I found out on my sister’s wedding day.

That call I never got? I was going to tell you that I when I picked up my dress, you were both insensitive and overly sensitive at my being there. It offended me. You told me, “Don’t cry” when I showed emotion while talking to you. Excuse me for finding it difficult to be in your apartment again after so long, the one that your girlfriend now shares with you! You told me, “No kisses” when we hugged goodbye. I wasn’t trying to kiss you. I wouldn’t do that to you or your girlfriend.

Friends don’t do that.

When I called you on Thanksgiving, I had just connected the dots. I’m not stupid.

Your phone didn’t ring. It had me leave a message.

Fuck you.

“A soul mate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are.” -Richard Bach



So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

A Missed Connection:

I was driving home on 132nd Street around 6:30 p.m. tonight, and happened to look over at you just as you looked over at me. It was so instantaneous that my heart skipped a beat. I looked away and smiled, and wondered if you’d felt it too.

I tried to drive side-by-side with you again, to get another look. I couldn’t do it. There I was — playing cat and mouse with a handsome man in a white truck with lumber in the back — on Valentine’s Day of all days! It seemed silly. What was I going to do? Wave? It’s not like I could introduce myself and ask for your number.

Whenever I got close, I chickened out and dropped back. I’m sorry I chickened out.

I wanted that second look, that second skipped heartbeat.