Hello world...
I am an eternally hopeful girl, one who likes to laugh more than argue. (Though a good healthy debate can be very stimulating) I am a mother who has been single for nearly six years...it has been very important to me to make things happy for my daughter, and that has meant trying to make the right choices in my romantic life. I know so many people who jump into the wrong relationships out of fear of being alone, but what kind of message would that be to my girl? I am not afraid of loneliness...but I must say it's not my preferred state of being.
I am a part of a wide network of wonderful friends, a member of an awesome family, and a force of nature when I need to be. I am hoping to find someone who wants to be a part of these things...someone with self-confidence, a sense of humor that extends to themselves as well, someone with an adventurous heart and an insatiable mind and a sensuous outlook on life. If you exist...and I know you do....drop me a line.

All that being said, one of the great things about growing older is knowing yourself well, and I do. About my tastes in men I have learned that:
Who a person is is much more important than what they look like...
Self-confidence is VERY attractive, but arrogance is not...
Men should smile more in their profile photos... :)
Good conversation...huge. Please don't ask if I'd like to meet you if we haven't exchanged more than a few words. And please try to pay attention to grammar and spelling...it is, after all, your first impression. If you don't care about that, then I'm probably not your girl.

A few of my favorite things...
Monty Python(and most silliness), fresh laundry, Roadrunner cartoons, whitewater, orcas, baking, Tom Robbins, Wilco, sleeping in, rising with the sun, toasted marshmallows, knowing the names of the birds on my patio, spinach, making friends, comfortable silences, talking for hours, bookstores, used bookstore credits, sleeping in tents, LMAO, breakfast for dinner, One Hundred Years of Solitude, kissing, live music, mountains, gazing out the window of the plane, anticipation.

Thanks for reading this far...





Ode To Redheads
By Tom Robbins


Red hair is a woman's game.

The harsh truth is, most red-haired men look like blonds who've spoiled from lack of refrigeration. They look like brown-haired men who've been composted. Yet that same pigmentation that on a man can resemble leaf mold or junk yard rust, a woman wears like a tiara of rubies.

Not only are female redheads frequently lovely but theirs is a loveliness that suggests both lust and danger, pleasure and violence, and is, therefore, to the male of the species virtually irresistible. Red O red were the tresses of the original femme fatale.
Of course, much of the "fatale" associated with redheads is illusory, a stereotypical projection on the part of sexually neurotic men. Plenty of redheads are as demure as rosebuds and as sweet as strawberry pie. However, the mere fact that they are perceived to be stormy, if not malicious, grants them a certain license and a certain power. It's as if ****iness is their birthright. By virtue of their coloration, they possess an innate permit to be terrible and lascivious, which, even if never exercised, sets them apart from the remainder of womankind, who have traditionally been expected to be mild and pure.

Now that women are demolishing those old misogynistic expectations, will redheads lose their special magic, will Pippi Longstocking come to be regarded as just one of the girls? Hardly. To believe that blondes and brunettes are simply redheads in repressive drag is to believe that UFOs are kiddie balloons. All redheads, you see, are mutants.

Whether they spring from genes disarranged by earthly forces or are "planted" here by overlords from outer space is a matter for scholarly debate. It's enough for us to recognize that redheads are abnormal beings, bioelectrically connected to realms of strange power, rage, risk and ecstasy.

What is your mission among us, you daughters of ancient Henna, you agents of the harvest moon? Are those star maps that your freckles replicate? How do you explain the fact that you live longer than the average human? Where did you get such sensitive skin? And why are your curls the same shade as heartbreak?

Alas, inquiry is futile: Either they don't know or they won't say -- and who has the nerve to pressure a redhead? We may never learn their origin or meaning, but it probably doesn't matter. We will go on leaping out of our frying pans into their fire, grateful for the opportunity to be titillated by their vengeful fury, real or imagined, and to occasionally test our erotic mettle in the legendary inferno of their passion.

Redheaded women! Those blood oranges! Those cherry bombs! Those celestial shrews and queens of copper! May they never cease to stain our white-bread lives with super-natural catsup.

***ADDENDUM TO ABOVE PASSAGE***
It has recently been brought to my attention that the reference to redheaded men made by Tom Robbins in the "Ode To Redheads" is potentially offensive and even "heart breaking" to the aforementioned redheaded men. I would like to clarify my position in this regard. I have nothing against men with red hair, and upon re-reading this piece, am quite convinced that Tom Robbins doesn't either. It very clearly states "most redheaded men" and "can resemble..." These are not blanket statements, as the "broken hearted" fellow from Virginia would see them. My character was called into question by a man who, upon doing so, blocked communication from me based on this percieved slight, leaving me unable to directly defend myself. Let it be said that I am actually of good character, and I believe that to be offended by something so inconsequential is a personal choice.

First dates should involve plenty of conversation, and some kind of outdoor setting...