a catch or a fumble?

Although I think I have reasonable self-esteem, I still couldn't help but wonder why I have recently been desribed as a "catch" lately.

One was Elizabeth*, who spotted me in Best Buy a couple of weeks ago when I was checking out the gaming systems.  I had finally decided to replace my obsolete Playstation 2 and was attempting to choose between an XBox or Playstation 3.

She commented that I would be really popular with her ex-husband's (Nerdy Husband's*) doctor friends, as they always complained that their girlfriends/spouses didn't like playing video games.

This all got me wondering what constituted a "catch" to the opposite sex, and which of these attributes I offered. And no list would be complete without a comparative "not a catch" list.

This is what I came up with:

Pro-catch attributes:

• Not needy or jealous
• Doesn't drink - an economical and convenient designated driver
• Prefers flowers to pricey gifts
• Doesn't insist on dragging males to clothing stores
• Doesn't force males to stay home on weekends
• Can cook reasonably well if incentivized
• Doesn't want children, but tolerates existing ones
• Can hook up her own stereo, DVD player, and gaming system
• Owns a reasonable collection of draughty lingerie
• Rumored to have a sense of humour

Anti-catch attributes:

• Likes riding motorcycles after midnight, sometimes sans helmet
• No money or inheritance
• Usually sleeps until 10 - 11 a.m. on weekends
• Occasionally quiet to the point of moodiness
• Not tidy (but can finance regular house cleaning)
• Excessive cats in household at times
• Needs occasional solitude, both in and out of domicile
• Watches practically no television
• A bit of a tree-hugger
• Not particularly thin

I still have no idea how this measures up, but I make no apologies for the anti-catch attributes.  

* See Key to Characters at right.

swingers

Several days after my encounter with Nerdy Doctor* at the bad movie fundraiser (Horror Remix), he called me at work. I fear his timing wasn't good, as we were testing all the new policy changes and kept encountering mysteriously buggy links. So I rather hastily accepted a lunch invitation from him the following Sunday.

It didn't go particularly well. At least, I didn't think so. I was late, I was tired, I didn't care for the venue. It was miserably hot. But at least we had a couple of things in common to talk about; cars, mostly. Recently he swapped his Cadillac XLR -a car I'd rather fancied - for a squarish and unattractive Dodge Charger. 

I didn't ask him about his private life, and he didn't ask about mine.

A few days later, I was invited to one of Nerdy Doctor's movie nights, although not by him (a girlfriend with a ticket decided not to go, and said "just pretend you're me").  Occasionally N.D. would buy up a large portion of tickets for a new movie and invite a lot of people. A few times, he bought up the entire showing. He would never take any money for this largesse.

I arrived late and never even saw Nerdy Doctor until the movie was over. He wasn't alone; he was with Kelly, for whom he had allegedly left my friend Elizabeth. They weren't acting particularly interested in each other.

This led me to think that his motives were as follows: being someone always needing to be in a relationship of some sort, he would quietly line up a replacement before calling the current relationship quits. 

These types always remind me of jungle animals swinging from vine to vine. The next vine is always in view and waiting for them. Before they let go of one vine, they have a grip on the next one. I don't know if this is a sign of neediness, a fear of loneliness, or both.

Being a symbolic vine doesn't interest me, even if the vine-grabber is single and bringing home seven figures a year. Even if he got rid of that dog-ugly Charger.

* See Key to Characters at right.

blue Monday* and no frozen yogurt

If told about my day today, my nephew Christopher would have commiserated by saying that Mondays "bite hard".

If it had just been a long day - I got into the office a little before nine and departed around nine, missing my 7:00 shaolin class - I could have coped with that. But there were also crashing computers and unwelcome phone calls from my Mortgage Lender from Hell, wanting to know where a document was (I'd had to send it to Estranged Husband** for his signature, as he didn't have time to prepare a quit claim deed regarding Chez Melina). 

I had returned the document Priority Mail, so they should have received it Saturday at the latest. But this company loses documents more often than they retain them. I'm still planning to ask them to produce my original mortgage note just for the fun of it.

Things didn't improve when I left. As I drove away from the office, I realized that the air conditioning in the car wasn't working.  This was the air conditioning I had totally replaced last month for a rather large sum of money.

The last, crushing, final blow came at the frozen yogurt place near my house.  They had the utter nerve to run out of my favorite flavor - cake batter - and the first runner up, chocolate. So I had strawberry yogurt for dinner and went home in a sulk.

* Originally the day before Mardi Gras, as many medieval celebrants would get shitface and hungover just preparing for the next day.  Later on, it applied to laundry done by hand, which literally took days. Blue Monday was the day the wash went through the bluing cycle, since many detergents yellowed clothing.

** See Key to Characters at right.

hehehe

there's only one catch...

... it's full of English people.

While doing my morning surf - my workday habit is to spend a few minutes surfing before getting down to unraveling the latest policy changes - I spotted this article at Concierge.com.  

10 Things Not To Do in London

Although it's well-researched, I'd also suggest that one visit Harvey Nichols instead of Harrods (nicknamed Horrids by the locals).  Harvey Nicks is like Neiman Marcus, but with edgier fashion.

But at the end of the day, I'll take Scotland over England any time. Perhaps it's the Celtic gene. I always want to go around asking "If I risk my neck for you, will I get a chance to kill Englishmen?" at inappropriate times*.  

In case you're wondering, I am indeed doing some vacation reconnaissance. I suppose I should start looking for my passport.

* A line from the film Braveheart, which I cannot watch without sniveling during the last hour. So I watch the first hour and a half, then switch it off.