My Match

I spent most of the winter searching for a cabin in the Catskills. My main motivation is Sasha, my 95 lb Bernese Mountain dog. She is my faithful, loyal companion and she deserves to roam without the restraints of a leash, the confines of property lines, or the bustle of traffic.

I found a fabulous cabin. I knew from the moment I walked in that we were a perfect match. So I made an offer, it was accepted and then the cabin failed the inspection.

I am disappointed but I know eventually I will find my great escape. It will probably require some work to get it exactly the way I want it, and that is hard to do when you have limited funds and no repair skills other than knowing how to hang a picture. So I joined an online dating site in search of a tall, handsome, contractor.  

I joined ZOOSK under the name MonkeyIncognito.  I picked this site because, I see "ZOO" and "SK" (my initials). It MUST be a sign.

I posted a picture that reflected my personality.

And I answered their questions honestly. 

TELL US YOUR STORY:

I am not perfect. I am not 26. I am fiercely independent. I am outspoken. I am competitive. I am a tad compulsive (passionate?). 

I like these things about me. 

Music is important to me. Expressing my creativity is important to me. Living a healthy, intuitive based, spiritual lifestyle is a top priority. 

I like wine and I don't care that my dog sheds. I have learned to tolerate cats.

I only exercise because I want to live longer. I like ranch dressing on salads. 

I am living alone for the first time in my life and I am enjoying it. But I'd love to find someone to do things with when I feel like doing something other than being alone.

I don't have a TV. I'm a good jumper. 

Once, while walking down Fifth Avenue at lunch hour, I dismissed a woman begging while breast feeding her 7-year-old son and then gave $5.00 to a homeless man with two obedient shihtzu's, two cats, and a bunny. I'm not proud of this. 

I think I'm funny, but I'll let you decide.

WHAT IS YOUR MATCH: 

You should be able to post a picture of yourself other than a mirror self image. If you have eyes, please include them. If you have teeth, please smile. If you own a shirt, wear it. I can't see myself traveling to Jersey for a date nor can I imagine myself dating anyone over 60. If you are obese, broken, desperate, lazy, addicted to porn, drugs, alcohol, or gambling, then we are not compatible.

WHAT IS YOUR IDEAL DATE: 

We agree to meet. You show up. I can recognize you from your online pictures. You chew with your mouth closed. You make me laugh.

***

So far only men over 60, from Jersey, have responded. Most are wearing sunglasses.

xo, MonkeyME

I Remember

Kerry Ryan Magann

In the moments immediately following his death, I remember how hard it was to breath. How blood curdling screams emptied my chest and how I sucked... air... in... so that I could scream again.

In the days following his death, I remember the slap of dawn and how I begged to hold on to the night.

In the weeks following his death, I remember how hard it was to eat, drink, bathe, and sleep. How impossible it was to function in a world that did not include him.

I remember how I drove to the beach on my birthday, waited for the tide to rise, and waded towards ripples of darkness. But I couldn't stay under long enough to make the pain go away.

In the months following his death, I remember how hard it was to talk about anything other than my son. I don't remember how I found my way to a grief counseling group but I remember I wore all black. There was one other person in the group - a mother who lost her only son. And I was no longer alone in my grief.

I remember how hard it was to listen. How I would twitch my feet, and shift anxiously in my seat, waiting for my turn to speak. I remember how much she loved her son. And how we cried and screamed and begged and pleaded.

I remember how we blindly stepped into traffic because we didn't want to walk in a world that did not include our sons.

I remember holding on to his scent, his ashes, his clothes, his notebooks. I remember holding on to every tear. And how I was convinced that these things, if held long and hard enough, would bring him back. Because life could not move on without him.

I remember confessing to the police that I killed him. And how they tried to convince me that I did not. I remember discovering his cold, gray, breathless body and how it haunted me for years (it haunts me still).  I remember worrying that as he was letting go, he was scared. And how his eyes, frozen open, pleaded for mercy.

I remember how cancer, and heartbreak, loneliness and fear, pale in comparison to learning how to breath without my son.

He challenges me still.

I remember the moment I decided to live because he could not.

I would watch his son grow. And I too would grow. And all who loved him would grow.

Today, on the 37th anniversary of his birth,  I remember his first breath. I remember how shocked I was that, like his father and my father, he did not have dark hair. I remember how wise and old and wrinkled he looked. I remember how my world changed the moment he was placed in my arms.

I remember so much about my beautiful son. Mostly, I remember how he loved and how deliberately he lived.

xo, MonkeyME