Question: What do you do when someone friends you whom you do not know?

In people's eternal quest for more Facebook Frendz (TM), people who either met me once or have never even met me at all have recently asked to friend me.

What's the protocol on this?

I don't want to be rude, but just because we know the same people doesn't mean we have to be connected, too. Or does it?

Some day, we'll all be friends on Facebook, and the sun will shine and the stars will align and ...um, I don't think so.

You don't have to be friends with everybody.

And I'm not just talking about Facebook anymore.

Moving three times in three years has taught me something very valuable:

(a) You don't have to be friends with everyone who wants to be friends with you.

and its corollary

(b) Not everyone you want to be friends with wants to be friends with you.

These are hard-learned lessons, people. So take heed: you don't have to be friends with everyone who asks you out, so to speak; but of course you DO need to be nice to them. No need to be an asshole.

It's easy to waste a lot of energy on a match that isn't even made in purgatory; sometimes you click with people, and sometimes you don't. And note bene, you usually know pretty damn fast if you click with someone.

As for (b), there are going to be those friend crushes that just go nowhere. I had me one of those recently. And it hurt like a minor break-up. When I see her, I still feel kind of lame. But hey, if she doesn't get me, then she doesn't get me. If her friend inventory is full, it's full. She has her rights; see (a).

So you move on. And you go on friend dates and you wait to see what gels and what doesn't. And sometimes, things suck a bit. Or a lot. But other times, they click.

And that's magic.

So what is the protocol on Facebook? If you know there's no click there, or you don't even KNOW the person, are you supposed to take a chance on them or just get on with your life?

Seriously, I'm asking.

Comment: So Addicted

Oh man, I am so hooked on Glee. Is there crack in their music or something?

I can't get enough of the music or show, and some of it hasn't even aired yet, but I've pre-ordered the CD like a rabid fool.

What does this say about my life?

I think in an earlier post, I talked about how I was a snobby ACTING MAJAH in college, and that my friends and I were pretty elitist about musical theatre people.

Just give me a minute, I'm choking on a few dozen words.

I wish I'd done musical theatre, so I could be a semi-triple threat, instead of a monomaniacal slight disturbance. Or something.

But back to Glee.

This last episode (SPOILER ALERT!) took the one-hit wonders we and VH1's viewing audience love to mock, and it ROCKED.

Total Eclipse of the Heart? Check.
Run Joey Run? Check.
Ice, Ice Baby? Check.
Physical? Check and mate.

It couldn't have been more fun.

I guess that's the bottom line about Glee: I (we) love it because it's fun. Not saccharine, high school musical fun, and not dark as a Coen brothers movie, but sweetness with a sharp little razor blade hidden in it.

Come on, have you ever seen a character as outrageous as Sue Sylvester, who says things like, "You should be wetting yourselves in shame" to her students? And then does a Madonna video (and pretty well, at that) and says she hates Will Shuster?

I really wish they'd cover Midnight at the Oasis. I'd love to see Sue say "Send your camel to bed" with a straight face.

I'm just sayin'.

Comment: Gym Class Memo

Okay, I know I promised not to talk about the half-marathon, but while I was running, so many things were going through my head. Don't you want to hear all about it? Are ya sure?

I loved being part of a big group doing something athletic.

Because that NEVER happened growing up or once I hit adulthood and got into cruise control. My setting was NON-JOCK pretty much since birth. I've been known to bruise with no memory of an event, and to smack my head pretty damn hard on occasion. (A charitable person once told me I was a small person trapped in a large body, and thus couldn't control my over-sized limbs. I really do have long arms. I saw this picture of my mom, grandmother and I, and I had my arm around them, and I mean it was AROUND THEM. I looked like Partial-Elasti-Girl.)

What I'm saying is, I'm not known for my athletic prowess.

Gym class was torment for geeks like me. We played a particularly sadistic form of dodgeball called "Chasse Aux Canards" (Duck Hunt) and "Chasse Aux Ecureuils" (Squirrel Hunt, even worse). It was, natch, hell.

But I was just thinking, if my fascist and annoying phys ed teachers could see me now, they wouldn't nearly fail me. No Ds for me, no bronze patch in the Canadian Test for Physical Fitness. (The bronze patch just looked BROWN. Sad.) I have a fucking medal, bitch! (and bastard, let's include them ALL)

So suck it, gym teachers of my past! I'm not a complete klutz.

There, I feel much better now. Thanks.

Comment: A Goal Post (Hyuk. Sorry.)

I realize I'm milking the whole half-marathon thing, but a person doesn't always have things to crow about. And I'm a-crowin'.

One of the challenges of being the Primary Caregiver Monkey in a relationship (Ayun Halliday's term; fabulous, of course) is there's always a lot to do but not much recognition at a good job done.

So many PCM moms and dads do a lot of thankless but important things that are vital for their offspring's health and happiness. They often do much for their partner as well.

But the thing about parenting is, there's no grade. You don't get paid, you don't get promoted, you don't earn any gold stars or medals. (Did I mention I got a medal at the half-marathon? I really like it.)

And something that really makes a person happy, according to much of what I've read, including Kristin Maschka's book, This is Not How I Thought It Would Be, is achieving a goal. Maschka's definition of ambition is the ability to master a skill and be recognized for it. We all have ambition. It's part of who we are as a species. We all want to be recognized for achieving something that challenged us.

Parenting does not hold that recognition. (At least, not for many years.) ( And that's if you're lucky.)

So deciding to do something challenging, but with a clear goal and strategy with which to achieve it, has been really quite delightful.

If you had told me last year that I'd run a half-marathon this year, I would have scoffed.

Truly, a great scoffing would have ensued.

But I did it. And I'm happy about it.

Because it's something I didn't know how to do; I worked at it, and got recognized for it.

And that's just nice.

I'll write about something else tomorrow. I promise.

Comment: More Marathon Musing

Okay, so it was super duper fun to run a half marathon. Way more fun than I expected.

Probably because of that whole, get a goal, work towards it, achieve it, be satisfied.

Then start the whole cycle again.

This seems to be a recipe for general happiness.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I'd write more, but I'm exhausted, and my daughter needs me to re-tuck her in.

More musing later.

Comment: Shout Out to Midge AND Triumphant Comment: Suck it, Middle Age!

I did it.

I ran my first half-marathon. At age 43. In the rain. So badass.

Impressed yet? Doesn't matter. I did it for myself and I am happy for myself.

I claim this marathon in the name of middle-aged hotness and fierce strength with sexy calves.

It was seriously so much FUN.

And a big part of that was because my sister came with me. She drove eight and half hours to be here for about 18 and then she drove back. That's seriously badass. It was the best gift ever, and she's really good at giving gifts, btw.

We pretty much talked the whole way. And we held hands when we ran down the hills, and across the finish line.

It was seriously one of the best times of my life.

So I dedicate this post to my sister: Midgie, you're the very best there is.

And at the risk of sounding like a cheesy yearbook entry, thank you for the greatest run ever!

Comment: A Cure for Boredom

Transitions are always difficult, even when they're positive ones.

I'm finding myself at the cusp of multiple transitions: my children are growing up and needing me less, I am having more time to myself, and quite frankly, it scares the crap out of me.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. (I always do.)

But what I'm also seeing is that we've now lived in our new adopted city for nearly a year, and the hyper-get-up-and-go of the first six months is long gone, and the dreary winter is just gone, and suddenly the summer is looming.

And I see my kids doing all sorts of things, while I...wait.

For a job, for a playmate my own size to come over while my kids play, for a project to become my passion.

Because that's what I need: a project.

My husband, ever the pragmatist, suggested I paint the inside of the house.

Not a bad idea. It would certainly keep me busy.

But I guess I was kind of hoping for something that wasn't solitary.

Am I going to have to like, start a book group, or something? And would it be so bad if I did?

A summer self-help group for moms who are in transition? (I believe Mothers and More has that covered, at least technically; how I miss the Pasadena chapter! The only chapter out here is in the burbs, and urban mamas such as myself are not going to schlep all the way out there to hear a nutritionist tell us what to feed our kids.)

So. Hmm. I guess I'm going to have to get some inspiration and get off my ass and do something.

Which would be interesting.