A Week of "Fishing"

My marriage disintegrated about a year and a half ago and the last eighteen months have been spent alone with my boys. Conversation that consists of polysyllabic words and doesn't involve plot lines from Clone Wars or Thomas the Tank Engine was starting to feel as lost as the holy grail. At the urging of several friends who undoubtedly were tired of hearing me whine, I decided to start dating again.

Not being a fan of the bar scene, my options for meeting eligible bachelors are fairly limited. So in a moment of not so quiet desperation, I signed up for an online dating site. I picked the one that claims to be just like the fancy expensive one, just free. Let's just say the old saying is true. You get what you pay for.

The first interaction I had was a twenty-seven year old. His profile picture showed him hunched over a video game controller with a look that said, "I am concentrating really hard". The email  he sent was short, sweet and to the point.

"I hope you will message me back. I really love older women."

For all you twenty something men who are using computer dating sites in the hopes of reenacting the show Cougar Town, I have a few tips for you. First of all, the only thing that Courtney Cox and I have in common is that we both have an immature ex-husband. Second, do not use a picture that says, "I live with my mom". Third, and this is a big one, do NOT under ANY circumstances refer to us as "older women". You will NOT, I repeat, NOT get laid. It just lets us know in advance that you have mommy issues.

Bachelor number two was a forty one year old soldier who was originally from a west African country. At first he seemed nice, and incredibly polite. Then we went on our first date. We met in the parking lot of a local strip mall with the intention of going for coffee. Upon meeting he asked if I would like to go to dinner. (Dinner at a real restaurant? Without my kids? Let me think about that for a minute. Sure!) Over dinner it began to get creepy. He started making plans for trips he wanted to take me on. It was the day before Thanksgiving and he asked me what I wanted for a Christmas present. Needless to say, as the evening went on, more and more warning bells were going off in my head.

The next day I got a text message from him. He called me Shannon. For the record, my name is Sharon. I even have a signature line on my text messages with my name on it. Not to mention that I had told him what my name was in an instant message before we even met in person. Here's another dating tip. Calling us by the wrong name under these circumstances says that you really aren't paying any attention to what we say. Needless to say, bachelor number two was kicked to the curb.

Then there was bachelor number three, a forty five year old insurance salesman with two daughters. His profile indicated that we had similar interests, so when he sent me a text asking if I would like to meet for coffee, I agreed.  I was about fifteen minutes away from Starbucks, so I suggested meeting there.  He told me to meet him at Arby's.

I am a coffee snob. The fact that I suggested Starbucks should have indicated this. Arby's, while being a place to get decent fast food, is not really noted for it's excellent coffee. To make matters worse, he ordered himself a large coffee, and a small for me.  For the next two hours, he talked at me. Once in a while I did get a word in edgewise, but then he would interrupt me to show off his knowledge on the subject at hand. When I said I was looking at a new net book, he responded that what I really needed was a laptop. Funny how he knew this without even knowing why I had made my decision. On and on this went until I finally had a chance to excuse myself.

Later that day I received a text message telling me how we had such fantastic chemistry. "Were we on the same date? Because I was thinking if I had to wake up next to you every day, I'd put a bullet in my brain." was my response. Needless to say, I didn't hear from bachelor number three again. Thank goodness.

The next morning, I deleted my online dating profile. Maybe my standards are too high. Maybe I'm looking for something that doesn't exist. However, I got enough experience dating in that week to hold me over for quite a while. In the meantime, I am brushing up on my Clone Wars and Thomas plot lines.

Somebody Please Tell Me Organization is Over Rated?

This year,  one of my New Year's resolutions is to get organized. I may be in over my head. To say that I am unorganized is quite possibly the understatement of the century. I know where everything is. At least, what state everything is in. Of course seldom leaving New York narrows the possibilities down considerably. You know that person who is constantly digging in their over sized, over stuffed purse, looking frantically for their phone, keys, lip balm, lunch...that would be me. My  friends have gotten panicky calls asking them to let me in places where I've left my phone behind. Most of them double check now before we go any where, just to make sure I have everything that I came in with.

Another resolution was to rebuild my career. It was one thing to be disorganized, when I had a husband to pick up the slack. But now that I am solely responsible for the day to day running of the household, we may be in trouble. This is the kind of situation where my kids go to school without pants or wearing sandals over their socks in December. So to start my resolution off right, I have been researching the subject of organization and work-life balance. I have read dozens of  magazine articles, blog entries, Internet sites all claiming to be able to take the maelstrom that is my life and turn it into a sea of tranquility. Yeah, right.

The most common suggestions are making lists and keeping calendars. Lists, in theory, are a great idea. The problem is, I forget to write things down. On the off chance that I do manage to make a list, it gets left on the table for the cats to play with. Seriously, I can not remember squat. I forget to return important calls. I forget to take food out of the freezer to thaw for dinner. I forget to go to appointments. Seriously, it's a huge problem. (See: Children going to school without pants)

Calendars can work well, as long as you remember to not only write stuff down, but to actually look at them once in a while. I have a great calendar on the kitchen wall that I love. It has a grid for each member of the family.  Every now and again I even look at it. I tried using an electronic organizer. I thought that setting it to beep to let me know when I had an appointment might help. It worked when I remembered to enter data. Unfortunately Stone decided to play with it. He got mad that it wasn't a video game and stomped on it. The screen shattered, and all the time I had spent painstakingly entering all of his occupational therapy and speech therapy appointments went down the drain. Chances are it would have ended up in the bottom of my purse anyway, never to be seen again. They could do an archaeological dig in my purse. I'm betting there is a lost tribe of pygmies living in there, eating my granola bars and making long distance calls on my cell phone.

I may just be a hopeless case. But at least at this exact moment, I know right where my cell phone is. Um, we are in New York, right? Can somebody call me? Please?

The Beginning...

Once in a while someone will ask me why I use "The Mad Canner" as my alter ego. It's rather simple. I can food and I am insane. I never intended to fall into this persona, a hybrid of earth mama nurturer and rabid dog. Three years ago, I had a comfortable urban existence complete with funky apartment, hip job in a pet store, and a membership at the local health food co-op. Then we decided to move back home to upstate New York, to help take care of my mother. My now ex-husband and I picked up the pieces of a breaking marriage, our two kids, and way too many pets and dropped them all in a trailer park in Theresa, New York.

The culture shock was overwhelming at first. I still remember the night my oldest son, Fox, asked me if we could get takeout Japanese food delivered for dinner. His eyes brimmed with tears as I explained that not only would there be no more delivery, there were no Japanese restaurants in the entire county. The look said one thing. "Where the HELL did you bring me?"

With only one car, my career was the first casualty of the move. So to make ends meet I had this delusion that I was going to have a huge garden and preserve the harvest to eat year round. There is one thing I did not take into account. I do not have a green thumb. In three years and countless tomato plants, I have harvested exactly one tomato. Thank goodness for the Amish produce stand half way between my house and my parents' house. Cheap, organic produce that I don't have to try to grow. I picked up a Ball Blue Book, dug my mother's canning supplies out of the attic, and went to town.

Eventually my marriage went the same way as my career. So now it's just me and the boys. Fox is almost twelve. Stone is almost four. We have two dogs, Stella the pug and Sofie the puggle. Our two cats are Fionna and Chairman Meow. We also have two rats, Oz and Xander, a bearded dragon named Karma, and a goldfish named Squiggy. I'm currently trying to start over in the world. Learning how to balance work and home, rebuilding my career, finding way my way in the dating world. This is our story....welcome in.