nina turns 40

cB and I have already passed one big compatibility test--that of traveling together, which was a blast, so I'm really looking forward to see how we do with the next one: cooking a thanksgiving feast together. We have to go separate ways on Thursday, so we're planning our dinner for Saturday, and the bird we're stuffing will be pheasant rather than turkey. If our cooking styles mesh as well as everything else has so far, then I'll have plenty to be thankful for.

I don't subscribe to the "love means never having to say you're sorry" school of thought. I think love means not only saying you're sorry often and sincerely when you f*ck up, but also truly showing it by changed behavior, which is a rockier path that will surely lead to more f*ck ups. Pues, asi es la vida. If all else fails, you can always post it on your blog.

I must confess the stories I most enjoy reading to my young son are the same ones I enjoyed hearing as a child: Pokey Little Puppy, I Can't Said the Ant, A Child's Book of Poems.

From the converts are always the most fanatic department:

I was one of those people who shunned online personals. If I was going to meet someone, I was sure, it would be "organic" and "natural" and not contrived; certainly not something I would shop for on a web site. But who can help browsing through the personals? Especially those craftily marketed ones on Salon? And of course browsing led to some very interesting profiles, which led--remarkably quickly-- to finding the perfect match. Even if you don't get as lucky as we did, I found online dating to be incredibly enpowering. Instead of the old fashioned passive feminine role, I got to choose the guys I was interested in, make the first contact, and decide whether or not I wanted to continue. For a relatively shy person like me who isn't about to to just ask that cute guy at the coffee shop for a date, I found the personals to be just the right medium to make me feel safe enough to go for it. In the end, I was much bolder than I would have imagined. He put out the message in a bottle, and I was smart enough to recognize a good thing when I saw it and grab hold. And you can bet your minivan I'm not letting go.

Went to see Frida with cB last night and was pleasantly surprised that little miss Salma was able to pull off a ballsy role like Frida quite respectably, even if the makeup department did skimp on the mustache. Made me miss Mexico. A lot. Large wistful sighs kept escaping during scenes set in courtyards or drunken fiestas or kitchens. I can't believe it's been 8 years since I've been there. Haven't even so much as put my foot across the border into Tijuana. It's funny how the two years I spent there loom larger in my memory and imagination than any two gringo years before or since (with the possible exception of the first year of my son's life). That's what I love about travel (or having a kid for that matter)--it makes you wake up and pay attention.

I laugh now to think I wasn't really looking forward to turning 40. You see, I had no idea that the universe was concocting a special surprise for me, to be gained only upon reaching the end of my 40th year: the end of the quest for man of my dreams. And the best part is he was just there waiting for me in the last place I ever thought I'd find him.

Like bored underemployed office chicks everywhere, I love to flirt with delivery folk. The cute Costa Rican bike messenger, my buddy Michael from Airborne, the office supply van driver, doesn't matter; I'm an equal opportunity flirt. Interesting thing is, I've discovered I like to flirt with the women as much as I do with the men. Which leads me to my recent conclusion that yes, sex does get better as you get older--you're less uptight about everything, and can enjoy it more authentically without thinking it has to be a certain way to be acceptable. Plus, of course, you've had lots of practice...

Although I hate losing the long daylight hours of summer (I live in Seattle, not quite land of the midnight sun, but pretty close), I love it when the trees lose their leaves in the fall because the architecture of the branches against the sky is so beautiful to me. There are certain trees in this city that it's worth going out of your way to see this time of year, too, like the one at the northwest corner of Broadway and Yesler.

I miss getting letters. I was searching through the mess in my closet the other day looking for my passport for a weekend trip to canada, and I came across boxes of old letters, everything from love letters sent by a high school boyfriend to newspaper clippings mailed by my best friend in Mexico, and I realized I don't remember the last time I got an honest-to-goodness letter from anyone. I'm actually considering getting a prison penpal just to savor the joy of a physical envelope landing in my hands again--something tactual, and worth saving in a box. I guess I'm feeling nostalgic for older technologies now that I'm taking the plunge into blogging after years'--decades really--worth of the passionate pursuit of beautiful journals and free flowing pens.