Two kinds of women

I heard some pretty solid truth on an old Law & Order episode the other day: "There are two kinds of women in this world: those with breast cancer, and those who are scared to death of getting it."

Right on, Lt. Van Buren. I hear that.

In just a few hours, hundreds of women, their families, friends, coworkers and even some pets will wake up to "race for the cure."

This annual ritual is a milestone in the battle against breast cancer for many, a blessing and celebration of survival, and a rite of passage for others.

Here in Cleveland, for the past three years, those who take part in the Susan G. Komen event have had to be pretty resolute for the cure, myself included.

As I type, rain is coming down in buckets, and as she has for the past few years, Mother Nature will continue to dump on the shores of Lake Erie for another 5k.

The pink will be covered with plastic bags, raincoats and umbrellas, but the army will assemble! It's  just a little water!

I'm always moved by the faces I see at the Race for the Cure: strong women who would probably say their lives weren't extraordinary before their diagnosis, but ordinary, typical, filled with husbands, kids, work, meetings, groceries and Browns games on Sundays.

Then, those words. All the air leaves the room. I can't imagine. I'm in "group two" of Lt. Van Buren's reference.

So this morning at 9 a.m., they will lace up their shoes, put on as much pink as they can find, and celebrate their forever-changed lives.

And the hope is that I and anyone else in "group two" will never have to know what it feels like to be in group one.

I won't be at the race this year, but my heart will, along with people I love and admire.

I will be thinking of them, each doing their part to help find a cure for cancer, so maybe someday there will still be two kinds of women in this world: those who fought breast cancer and won, and those who will never have to go to war.

Pic from the 2014 Race for the Cure, where my coworkers and I broadcast live in the rain!

Now, because you can't hear it enough, EARLY DETECTION IS CRITICAL!!!

If you've been putting off your breast healthcare because of financial concerns, MetroHealth Medical Center, University Hospitals, and Cleveland Clinic all offer free mammograms to uninsured and under-insured women.

Do you TBT with purpose?

Once a week I consider posting a photo on Facebook for Throwback Thursday. It always seems so self-serving, though. Like, who among my FB friends is truly interested in the photographic evidence of my Strawberry Shortcake Halloween costume when I was six(ish)? Incidentally, that costume was one of my favorites from childhood for several reasons. First and foremost, I got to wear red jeans. I lived in jeans then. I live in jeans now. I buy dresses and they look really pretty hanging in my closet over the kitten heel shoes that I also purchased for no apparent reason other than to gather dust.

As it turns out, that particular picture got liked more than most of my other photos. A lot more. I guess if a little validation/ego boost was what I was going for, mission accomplished. That's cool.

When I participate in the art/phenomenon/ritual of #tbt, I try to pick a photo from my past that's relevant in some way, one that serves as a tribute or homage to a person, place or event.

Easter's coming up? Better dig up that picture of my brother and me staring at the camera like a pair of bad eggs with nothing but disgust at the situation. Always a classic.

So to that end, it's Thursday, I'm back on the blogging, and I'm doing it with much inspiration from my friend Jess who is a rock star on her own kicken' blog! She's super strong, smart and sophisticated. I'm the one on the right.

This is a picture from the runners' expo the day before the 2015 Cleveland Half Marathon. Jessica had worked so hard to get there, and we were enjoying some free swag. The calm before the run. You can read about how it all turned out here.

Do you TBT with purpose? And coming soon... my compulsion to take too many pictures of my cat!

Manhunt?

I’d be lying if I said I’d never tried online dating before. I have. A couple of times actually.  Back when there was a little more of a social stigma that came with it.  Your mother asks, “Where’d you meet?”  My cover?  “A blind date.”  Not technically a lie.

This time, I’m older and wiser.  And older.  I’m single and ready to mingle!  Oh God.

But which electronic singles club do I choose?  There are so many now!  During my first foray into the world of profile pics and witty one-liners, I think there were only two:  the free one, which was, let’s face it, designed for one thing and one thing only.  And the one you had to pay for, which was, let’s face it, designed for women with weddings on the brain.

I opted for the one that took my money in my 20s, and I am returning to the same site in my 30s. 

I have to say, things have really changed during the decade since my last unsuccessful attempt at landing a husband.

For starters, the price has gone up, in more ways than one!  Thankfully, I make a little more money these days.  But how much dignity will it cost me to sift through potential suitors? 

After just a few days into the process I had some kinks to work out.  The site I chose sends me six potential matches every day.  It wasn’t like that in the early 2000s.  A girl looking for a fella could shop to her heart’s content from a seemingly endless list of bachelors.  Not anymore.  Now, she gets six a day.  These lucky lads are selected by a computer that claims to use your well-crafted answers as guides.  I’m not so sure.  I set parameters:  no dudes who live more than 30 miles away.  This was not a random number, it was offered to me by “the system”. 

As I quickly discovered, the “system” pretty much doesn’t care what I said, because the first batch of studs selected just for me all hailed from places that weren’t even in my state.  One even lived in Canada.  And while that’s just a few hours’ drive from my doorstep, I don’t think I want to meet him at a coffee shop halfway.  So this had to be fixed.  I took a second look at my filters.  “30 miles”? Check. “How important” is this limit to me?  Very. 

And then the shaming began.

I didn’t think it was possible, or ethical for that matter, for the dating site to chastise me for opting out of all the potential mates living more than 45 minutes (give or take) from my apartment.  But chastise me it did!  I now live with a little yellow triangle with an exclamation point in it at the top of my home page.  It’s a daily reminder that I’m too picky.  And if I click on the triangle, it basically tells me to lighten up, guys that live five hours away could make wonderful dates.  Thank you, site, but I think I’ll shop local.

Which brings me to my second speed bump on the freeway of love:  kids.   I set a filter stating that I would prefer gentlemen without offspring.  I know, it’s a tall order at this point in the game, but if I get to be choosy, I would prefer silence over the pitter patter of little feet.  I’ll spare you the usual clichés about the difficulty of just taking care of myself.  I will never be Marissa Tomei stomping my foot, screeching about my biological clock.  So no kids.

The second AND third batch of boys?  Fathers. Nearly every one of them.  I thought the site was kidding.  I once again clicked over to the filters to double-check myself.  Under the glow of the yellow triangle from my first go ‘round, I discovered that my filters were indeed set to my specifications.

Site 3, Meg 0.