Bad Katrina. Bad.

I really don't like not being able to help.

I really don't like how close it is to home.

There's something about this tragedy that feels different from, say, the Tsunami. People are people everywhere and losing your home and family feels the same no matter what language you speak, but there's something about the fact that it happened here that makes it seem so personal. Images from the AP are striking: faces that look like mine, road signs I can read, kids on minivans, American style homes submerged in water. Clicking through a slideshow on Boston.com, I saw an entire family on a roof top, waiting to be rescued. And there's absolutely nothing I can do to save them.

Work felt dumb today. Sure, I sat in my little cube and marketed stuff. I put on a fleece jacket to warm up in the air conditioning while I walked to the kitchen to get a snack. I stood in front of the candy machine, just as I always do, and got angsty about the fact that I wasn't sure what I wanted. Probably about the same time I finally pushed A-10 for a Snickers, the rescue helicopter snapped that photo of the family on their roof.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I'll give blood. I'll donate money. I’ll conserve energy. But the only thing I can do from there is click through news web sites, pray for the best, and be so, so grateful that no one I love lives there. I feel over-privileged. My whole family is safe. All the snapshots that preserve memories from 30 years of living are intact. My toilet flushes. I can choose from 27 different brands of bottled water. Tonight I'm going to sleep in my own bed. Guilt is such a useless emotion.

And what about the city? What about the history? Someone once told me that, when choosing sites to drop the A-bomb, the US Government refused to bomb Kyoto. Seems strangely benevolent for the US to spare a city just because it's the cultural center of a country, but I'll take it. Visiting a reconstructed "ancient" landmark is just not the same. Nature did not have the same compassion, and New Orleans will never be the same again. Will the magic still be there when the water retreats? Did the wind blow away all the jazz ghosts? Can they rebuild the soul of the city with new structures and a clean slate?

My heart is with you, Katrina survivors. I wish I could give you more than that.

Text war with the single chick who dumped me

My friend A. and I were singleton partners in crime, circa 2001. I mean, we had it sooo bad, which was actually really good, since we were both masochistic drama queens. She was coming out of an epic, seven year tale of heartache, and I was coming out of a deep period of self-inflicted man-drama. It was a match made in heaven.

We had a lot to talk about, many reasons to feel sorry for ourselves, and cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. To this day we still get that faraway look in our eyes when we remember the nights spent laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Sarah McLachlan, and chain-eating chocolate chip cookies until .... well, until they were gone.

A. scoured the internet daily to find uplifting horoscopes and anecdotes, just to give us reasons to wake up in the morning, bathe, etc. etc. She found one that became our mantra. Something about how you will most likely heal within five years of heartbreak. So we'd chant "Fabulous in five!" every chance we could; sometimes randomly, after 20 minutes of silence, with a mouthful of cookie. Whatever works, you know?

Those were the glory days.

But, sadly, just as what goes up must come down, so it is that what is already down must go back up. When you're the singleton that finds another boy, there's survivor’s guilt. When you're the singleton left behind there's ... well ... all the more cookies for you.

A. left me on a warm summer night, when she was supposed to be out with another angsty friend, drowning their woes in swanky cocktails. But, instead, she found a guy who was wearing the same exact shirt that she was wearing and struck up a conversation with him. They fell in love about 30 seconds later, and the rest is history.

(Note to A: it was fabulous in five YEARS!!! Not MINUTES!!)

Ah, l'amour. You're right, A. There's just something about a man wearing women's clothing. But I digress.

This whole A-getting-married thing has actually worked out quite well for me, and that's what's important. For example, I was frequently thrown together with her hubby's cute single man friend, who was frequently thrown together with me while we were both the respective third wheels hanging out with the happy couple every other Friday night. Also, A. is quite a stylish clotheshorse who has become more conservative in her married life. So guess who gets her sexy, name brand hand-me-downs? That's right. Moi, moi and moi. I have found that some of the shirts look especially good with cookie crumbs splayed across the chest.

For as happy as I am that A. found the love of her life, and that I acquired a fantastic wardrobe for free, I still feel a little sorry for her and the fact that timing has prevented her from ever experiencing the sport of online dating.

Do I sound cheeky? Funny thing is that I'm not kidding.

I've had conversations with the girl about it, and she's riveted. Fascinated. To her, it's a quaint cultural phenomenon, and something she completely missed out on. While she would never trade in her transvestite husband -- er, I mean, um ... classy wedding band -- just to try her hand at e-dating, I think she thinks it would have been a total blast to give it a go. And I'm not completely sure, but I think she obsesses vicariously through her single friends, just so she doesn't miss out on it completely. What makes me think so?

Two weeks ago, when I hadn't heard from her in about a week, AND while she was in the middle of a wholesome family reunion with nieces, nephews, parents, and home cooked food, I get a text message from her.

A: Have you considered eHarmony?

and then, 2 minutes later:

A: As a deeper online dating experience?

Ohhhhhh, a deeper online dating experience. I could see at this point that she'd been completely sucked in by the mezmorizing marketing machine that is eHarmony. I'll admit, it's hard not to think eHarmony is magic, what with their happy little Aryan couples polluting banner ads all over the internet. I had the urge to tell her that, no matter how brilliant their marketing is, their service is a gargantuan waste of time. At least it was for me, and I've got the battle wounds to prove it. Alas, my poor thumb could not face typing those stories in text via cell phone, so instead I sent back:

Me: Sister, I've tried 'em all.

Her: Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuut!

Me: AND I was wearing your clothes while I was doing it!!

That shut her up. I'm not sure, but I think that means I won.

Online dating: a retrospective

Everyone who does online dating thinks that their experiences would make a great book. I think this could have been true pre- Bridget Jones. But, brilliant as it was, BJ launched the whole genre of chick-lit, which still makes me cringe. Everything has been done. It would be tough for some girl who's "laid back and athletic" and who also "loves wine and romantic walks on a beach" to create a compelling novel to stand out among the chick-lit slush.

Even still, do I wish I was Helen Fielding so I could have been the one who paved the way to the exploitation of 30-something singletons and their reckless attempts to find love? Totally! But I wasn't.

That being said, I'd like to share factoids from my online dating history that would go in my book, if I thought such a book would, in any way, be different from all other books just like it (seems only fitting to commemorate my FIFTH TIME on Match.com with such a list):

• About 4 years ago, everyone in my immediate family had a profile. Weird? uh-huh. Especially because:
  
  
• I found out the hard way that reading your own father's profile on Match.com is a very, very bad idea.
  
  
• The third person to write to me was my high school boyfriend.
  
  
• I signed up the 2nd time just so I could do it along side my friend, who swore she would write a book about it with me.
  
  
• One jaded night, after 2 huge sundaes, she recommended that the title of our book be Fat and Fucking Single.
  
  
• I asked my friend about the list of traits she was looking for in a man and she said, "pulse."
  
  
• She brought some dude dressed up as a bottle of Colt 45 to my Halloween Party. He was quite a catch.
  
  
• She's getting married in three weeks, so enough about her.
  
  
• The first guy I met in person called me his muse and gave me a glass jar of flower petals he picked off of about 4 bouquets of flowers. He was fun until his 5th drunk dial. NEXT!
  
  
• I totally can't remember the second guy I met in person.
  
  
• The third guy I met in person was "biologically" 7 years older than his profile stated and, oh, "did I mention my 9 year old daughter?"
  
  
• Same guy said he had just lost his invisible pet rock. Invisible. Pet. Rock.
  
  
• The fourth guy was very late, but stood right under the window near my table for 20 minutes talking to someone he knew.
  
  
• The fifth guy was cute and endearing, but he was emotionally unavailable.
  
  
• The sixth guy was cute and endearing, but I was emotionally unavailable.
  
  
• I know several women who are online dating, and all have warned me of at least three guys to avoid.
  
  
• The second guy I met this time around blogged about our date, in detail.
  
  
• I'm pretty sure this means that I have free reign to blog about him in mine?
  
  
• Too late, just did. ;)
  
  
• One of my best friends hooked up with a guy from Match who went out for a cigarette, came back 3 hours later, ate everything in her kitchen, left a 12-inch string of toothpaste in her sink, and was wearing her pants the entire time.
  
  
• I know of seven people who met on Match who are getting married this year.
  

Back in the eSaddle Again

I'm a Quicken addict. Everything that I have spent my money on in the last 7 years is all tagged, logged and tucked away in my Quicken archive. If you're also a user, you are familiar with the feature that automatically fills in a register entry as soon as it recognizes to whom you are making a payment. It'll provide the full name, amount, category of expense and memo that you logged the last time you gave the payee money. Saves gobs of time.

You can imagine how "amused" with myself I was yesterday when I logged my payment to Match.com, only to find the memo I wrote the last time I sent them money: "I'm never doing this again!"

Shyah. Sing it, sister. I know the feeling.

So I did a search for "match.com" in my archives to see just exactly how many times I've done this to myself. Here's what I found, in chronological order:

1. December 10, 2001. $24.95. Memo: "Here's to hoping!"
   (Note from self now, to self then: Your optimism is endearing. And kudos for signing up even when there was still a stigma! You're a cutting-edge, e-dating goddess!)
   
   
2. July 31, 2002. $24.95. Memo: "I can't help it. He's so cute."
   (Note from self now, to self then: He actually was cute when the picture was taken 25 pounds ago.)
   
   
3. January 31, 2003. $24.95. Memo: "Last time. I swear."
   (Note from self now, to self then: Liar!!)
   
   
4. June 11, 2004. $24.95. Memo: "I'm never doing this again!!"
   (Note from self now, to self then: Stay on match.com! Don't date the fuckwad! BACK AWAAAAAY FROM THE FUCKWAD!)
   
   
5. August 4, 2005. $50.97. Memo left intentionally blank.
   (Note from self now, to self 3 weeks ago: This time will be different, I'm so totally sure.)

Most people, when thrown from a horse, are applauded when they get back on the horse. The trick is to avoid making the same mistakes again. I'm off to a good start -- you'll see that I signed up for 3 months this time, saving almost half the monthly subscription rate! It would appear that I've gotten better at math since I first signed up four years ago. (Note from self now, to self 30 minutes from now: Put that in your profile! Math is SEXY!)

To my loving blogger audience: Wish me e-luck! Send prince charming vibes! No fair sending whack-job vibes just to read horrendous date stories here! Remember: Karma can kill!