The Inner Floozie: Thing of Beauty #068-101

On my way to work, when I'm on time, I pass a big, old black woman.  She wears her hair in dreds.  Her arms rest on her standard issue cane, metal with a padded crook.
Every time I see her, I smile and say, "Good Morning."  There are lots of strong women up here on Sugar Hill.  I'm glad I landed among them and that I can say I'm from Harlem.

When I was looking for this place, I was seriously considering the health and safety of my own self when I'm leaning against the building waiting on Access-A-Ride. My own mother can navigate this environment and so can Woody Konopack. Rex Visigothis appropriately called Woody's birthday a Geezerpalooza.  Since all those Elders found their way here for cocktails and cupcakes, it looks like I'm set for my golden years - which was one of the main criteria when I was looking for a new, permanent home.  It had to be situated so that I could get around easily if I had a permanent hitch in my get-along. Recovering from that surgery on my shoulder alone in the rental apartment gave me an idea of what to expect.   I also got an idea of what to expect from a woman who used to wait for Access-A-Ride up near my work.  She propped herself against the building a leaned on her cane too.

Access-A-Ride is a paratransit service provided by the NYC MTA

While it is entirely sensible to make provisions for my upcoming dotage, and I'm sure that Velvet is glad to know I won't be as big a burden to him as Vagina Dentata is to his father, that lifestyle is twenty years away (knock on wood).   The good news about the apartment is that all of the reasons that make it an excellent place for a little old lady make it perfect for me now.  If you look at the situation from a Law of Attraction perspective, everything worked out beautifully because I was absolutely clear about what I wanted in a permanent home.  For my next trick, I need to develop that same level of clarity when it comes to a man.

The men that have shown up on my radar over the last few years have provided an excellent opportunity to identify what I don't like in a romantic partner.  Max the psychic life coach often talks about how we find our way to clarity by identifying contrast.  Since the Universe simply responds to the energy coming from us, we get what we vibrate - when you're vibrating contrast, that's what you get.

Ever since I first started floating last summer at Gigi's, I haven't met a man who could be a man in my life, much less the new apartment.   There have been men here who would definitely be offended to know that they didn't count as a Man.  Woody sort of does because he's not gay and he's not related, but it's been clear for some years that Woody and I are not going there.  Ergo:  Woody falls into essentially the same category at my dad, my brother, Buzz Kill and Ralph the Super.  Add the guests at Woody's birthday party and there have been several men here now - but nobody who counts as the first man in the new apartment.

As much as it would be nice to think that the next man is the last boyfriend, I have a feeling things aren't going to work out that way.   Before coming to the realization that pretty much every defining characteristic of a Player could be applied to me at some point in my history,  I was entertaining the idea of younger men.  Until recently, though, I had always thought of younger men in a finite sort of way - rather like the Banker or that cute little socialist from a couple of years ago.  It's gratifying to discover that younger men find me attractive, but I had dismissed the idea of a younger partner primarily because I figured most guys would eventually want to be with someone who could have kids.  Maybe that's generally true, but it's not always true.  Either way, there's no reason to anticipate the ending of a relationship before you've even started a relationship.  Or met a man, for that matter.

So when I've been doing Law of Attraction stuff with Max, and thinking specifically about a Man, I've been clarifying, focusing on and giving attention to a relationship with a man who would stand beside me as I enter the Grandma Zone.  A Grandpa to my Grandma, as it were.

Seeing my neighbor in the morning as she waits for Access-A-Ride, and walking around the city with Woody who also needs to prop himself up against a building every few blocks to stretch his leg and rest  (he says it's Sciatica, and maybe it is but I'm betting the discomfort has something to do with him having Polio as a child), I can say with certainty that I'm nowhere near the Grandma Zone.  

Upon consideration, I've decided that Woody might as well be the first man in the new apartment.  It may not be a romance, but I couldn't ask for a better friend - and he is, without doubt, a man.  And there must be something between us since people often assumed we were married.  Woody has many fine points, but I have to confess I was horrified that anyone would think we were married.  It's as bad as when Punk Patriot came to New York the first time and one of the moms from school thought he was my son.  Although I'd already decided he was much too young for a dalliance, having somebody ask me if he was my kid was enough to squash the any ideas I might have entertained in that direction.

In any case, if Woody was the first Man in the new apartment, that takes a lot of pressure off any potential romance which is a good thing.  And since I did have that date back in March, not to mention the afternoon with the banker - I'm definitely back in circulation.  Only this time, I've let go of my preconceived ideas, self-imposed limits and the notion that I'm ready to go out to pasture.  If I'm not careful, somebody might think I'm a floozie. That's got to be a Thing of Beauty (#068-101 h/t Jennifer at realia).