This is, by far, my favorite hair picture.  I’ve left the other runner in for context.  It was the mid-90s, so I think that explains some things.  Kind of.  I ran cross-country my senior year.  At some point I decided to grow my mop out a bit so that I could put it into a tiny ponytail at the top of my head.  Thank God there are no pics of that.  And still…

I know, ladies.  It’s hard to contain yourselves with all the hotness going on there.  To all of you who ask why I keep my hair so short, I think I need offer no further explanation.

There’s one God at the Vatican, but lots of gods in Rome.  I think that’s why there are so many pizza shops.  I’m guessing it takes a lot to feed all those gods, and I’m sure they eat pizza.

It seems everywhere I go I talk about how it’s the best pizza I’ve ever had.  But at a shop around the corner from the Pantheon I truly had some of the best pizza – ever.  Yes, ever.

After a long trip into the eternal city from my home base in Tuscany, I was hungry.  It was the feast of the Immaculate Conception, which meant a lot of places were closed.  I consulted my handy guidebook and made a plan of attack for the evening – starting with food.  Pizza Zaza stood out as a shop in the vicinity of things I wanted to see.  It was worth a shot.

I traversed the city, and was ecstatic that I could find the shop, and ecstatic that it was open.  After going through the motions with the girl behind the counter:  “what doesn’t have meat, I’m a vegetarian, yes I eat cheese,” I picked out a piece with “sola potata” (she seemed worried that I’d be disappointed with only potato), and one with what I thought was onions or leeks or something similar (I just pointed and she confirmed that it was meatless).

Eyes wide, I walked my pizza to the little outdoor sitting area in the piazza overlooked by several churches.

It was a lot of pizza.  I was really hungry.  With the first bite, I realized this wasn’t like anything I’d had before.  The crust was crispy, but thick.  The potato pizza had big, thin slices baked right into a thin layer of cheese, and fresh rosemary.  Only potato, my ass.  It was heavenly.

I finished up my potato pieces and reached for the other.  I took a bite without really looking at it.  WOW!  It almost tasted like cheddar – which I hadn’t tasted in a while – but it was cleaner.  It had a rich, yellow-orange flavor that caught me completely off-guard.  I knew what this was – squash-blossom.  Fantastic!  I was eating squash-blossom pizza in a piazza in Rome on the feast of the Immaculate Conception with an accordion celebrating in the background.

It was so good that, as it began to rain, I sat staring at my pizza until it was so wet that I had to move.  Still staring and eating, I just scooted myself up to the table of ladies next to me, who were under the only umbrella in the little sitting area.  I don’t think I even looked up.

I’d planned on that being my lunch, but, along with the excellent gelato I had about 20 minutes later, and the hot chestnuts eaten on the steps of the Trevi fountain, it also served as my dinner.  Come to think of it, the gods might eat gelato and chestnuts on the steps of the Trevi fountain, too.

“This post has been entered into the Grantourismo and HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition”

This is the second installment of my match.com diaries.  After deciding to give the online dating world a go, I sat down at the keyboard to take the first step from voyeur to active participant:  creating a profile.

I have actually posted profiles on three different sites:  match.com, Curve personals, and okcupid.  The three have slightly different processes for creating a profile, and thus for matching you up with others.  This was a fascinating process.  I got a lot more out of it than I expected.

Match.com takes you through a series of topics, ranging from how many times a week you work out, to where your hot spots are for spending time.  There are 22 of what I call “check box” topics designed to help match you with people who are similar.  These are the religious preference and height requirement sections.  But most of what match provides is room for a lot of text.  You can express yourself in your own words, which, for some is great, and for others is daunting.

With Curve personals you can provide a lot of information using the check box system.  The profile setup takes you through several steps, kind of like TurboTax, to make sure you’ve provided the most complete information. After all, nobody wants an audit on their date.

Okcupid, on the other hand has something like 4,000 user-generated questions you can answer to assure the best match.  Once you answer 25 it tells you you’re good to go, but it’s pretty entertaining to continue on, answering questions like, “should burning your country’s flag be illegal” and “how often do you bathe.”

All of these sites let you post your profile, and also select the profile components of the person you’re looking for.  Unlike the others, okcupid has a weighted system, in which you can indicate how important the answer to the question is, on a scale from mandatory to irrelevant.

About the time I was halfway through my second profile, I realized that I’ve never really sat down and tried to define myself this way.  I’m not entirely sure how I feel about defining myself through a series of check boxes, but I’ll tell you that the Curve process made me stop and think a bit.  Aside from telling me that my usual “flicktastic” username contained profanity, the Curve profile asked me to choose from a list of “important things.”

The list included “Attending Religious Services Often”, and “Having a High Sexual Drive”.

Apparently I’m not that concerned with “Keeping the House Neat and Clean” or “Giving to Those Less Fortunate”.  Apparently.  Of course, I also didn’t check “Having a High Sexual Drive,” even though (close your eyes, Mom) that’s actually pretty important.  So, apparently I’m also a little concerned with what I’m putting out into the world.  Which is interesting, as I’m finding that maybe what I’m putting out into the world isn’t exactly what I want to be putting out.  Take the pictures I chose for my profile, just for example

Each of the sites allows for a certain number of profile pictures.  On match it’s 5, on Curve it’s 25, and on okcupid it’s 10.  You choose one picture that displays first when people are searching through profiles.  And although I’m a fairly photogenic person, I have repeatedly chosen pictures for my online profiles that I feel best highlight my personality, and not my looks.  I think that’s a good thing.  Screens out the people who are just looking for a pretty face, or ass.  But in the last week alone, I’ve had a friend, my mom, and a woman I’ve been dating use the word “scary” in reference to pics I’m using.  My mom even went so far as to ask, “who are you trying to scare off?”  Now that’s an interesting question.  Here are the pics.  Tell me what you think:

Yes, maybe a little scary.  Maybe I’m a little scary.  Maybe I see myself as a little scary.  It kind of looks like that’s what I’m putting out there.  And it’s all about what you’re putting out there.  More to come.

Here are a few questions I get on a regular basis:

“How do you know you’re a lesbian?”

“Why aren’t you writing as much?”

“How do you stay so thin?”

Here’s the answer:  girls.

Superman has kryptonite.  I have girls.  At least that’s the way I’ve seen things for quite some time.  Sure I have bouts of self-doubt, and sure I have moments of deep loneliness.  I work through those.  But there’s something that really, really can stop me in my tracks and make me abandon all sense of rationality, reason and pretty much anything else.  Girls.  More specifically, beautiful women.  Beautiful, intelligent, articulate, athletic women just knock me flat.  And if there’s an emotional/spiritual connection in addition, it’s like I find myself in a movie where everything else becomes background and then fades to black – while my heart pounds.

I don’t blame them.  I blame me.  I get distracted.  And I get nervous.  Which means I spend more time thinking about things other than writing, and I get so nervous that I burn off anything I eat.  So I’m pretty sure that makes me a lesbian.

It’s kind of annoying (not the lesbian part).  Here I am, a somewhat accomplished, intelligent woman who has been trained in the art of logic.  I have systematically developed the left side of my brain.  On top of that, I’m one of the most introspective people I know.  I’ve embarked on a journey to cultivate those things that are important to me, going as far as abandoning most everything that tied me to any one perception of myself.  And still, I find myself throwing caution to the wind and diving ass over teakettle as soon as I feel a connection with a pretty girl.

Damn it!  What the hell is that about?

I like spending time with people.  And when I can get over my nerves, I really like spending time with the beautiful, intelligent women.  I’m not so sure, however, I can be responsible in these situations.

When I left for Italy, it was in response to the little voice.  I heard it loud and clear, and I listened.  It was a rare moment of clarity, and I embarked on a journey to listen to the little voice as much as possible, and see where it led me.  As a result, I’ve been able to hear it and listen to it more and more.  Except when I’m clouded by the lovely and befuddling fog that surrounds women.  Then, either I’m unable to hear the voice, or (more often) I’m willing to debate and ultimately disregard it.  DANGER!  DANGER!

Here’s the rub:  I know that if I fight against this part of me, it’ll just get stronger.  But it’s become more and more clear to me that I’m missing something that is leading me to make the same mistakes over and over.   And I’d like to stop making those mistakes.    So what have I been missing?

This week, I made a pretty big realization:  for some reason, I’ve developed a story line that has me living my life alone.  For years I’ve been repeating things like, “I will probably end up alone,” “I never want to change my life for a woman,” “I’m in no place to be dating anyone,” “it’s safer for everyone if I just don’t date.”

I’ve believed that, in order to be true to myself, I need to be alone – to a large degree.  That to be a strong woman, I need live a singular existence.

I do recognize how important it is for me to be comfortable in my own skin; to not NEED to be with anyone; to not NEED external validation.  And I have more work to do in that area for sure.  But this is something different.  I’ve been believing that, if I make a decision based on my desire to be with someone, it’s automatically invalid.  That wanting to be with someone to the degree that I would want to change my plans to include them in my life is somehow a sign of weakness.  And in believing that, I’ve belittled the idea of being with another person, and come into conflict with myself the second I found someone I wanted to be with.  I hadn’t realized that.

In fact, until this week, I never really considered that wanting to share my life with another woman could be a valid priority for me.  I wanted it, but I discounted it.  How sad!

But this week, as I was checking boxes to indicate my priorities and preferences for online dating sites, and wondering why I haven’t moved on to the next leg of my travels, I started to make sense of things.

One great lesson I learned while I was in Italy came on my last night in Venice.  I’d spent an incredible few days seeing the city, eating fantastic food.  I found myself in the hotel about to sit down to write about my day, and I physically turned to talk with someone who wasn’t there.  I wanted to relive the experiences of the day.  But I was the only one there.  That’s really great for writing – but not so great for emotional stability.

I value shared experience.  I write to share my experiences.  I publish for others to resonate.  The times I’ve been most happy in my life are when I feel connected.  I love playing softball.  I loved playing rugby.  Being part of a team makes my heart sing.  The jobs that have made me most content and brought out the most passion in me have been those where I am connected to a community of people with a common experience.  Why would my personal life be any different?  I don’t know why I would ever believe that wanting to have someone to share my life with is shameful, but that’s how I’ve been living – for a long time.  As an apologist for myself and my willingness to adjust my plans to include the possibility of a relationship.  Because I didn’t see that it could be an important priority for me, in and of itself.

I’m someone who loves deeply and values connection with others.  Usually I see those things as my greatest strengths.  But every time I find myself attracted to someone, I tell myself I won’t sacrifice, won’t compromise, won’t change whatever it is I’m doing with my life.  Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life.  (Which is more often than I care to admit.)  And it’s possible that all of those grand statements about what I won’t do have kept me from having an authentic experience with myself or anyone else.

I don’t talk about my relationships very often.  I don’t want my friends and family to know how much I’m affected by another person.   That means I act differently when I’m with someone, like I’m hiding something.  Being ashamed of being in a relationship isn’t so healthy I think.  (I mean, I’m not a shrink, or anything, but I think I’m fairly solid on this point.)  It’s totally possible that I’ve doomed my relationships by isolating myself, as a way of not sharing what I see as weakness.

By ignoring the importance of my relationships, I’ve been invalidating a very critical part of me.

Talk about being self-loathing!

The reason I haven’t been writing isn’t girls.  It’s me.  The reason I came back to Portland is because I valued the potential for a deep connection with a wonderful woman.  The reason I haven’t moved on to the next leg of my travels is that I haven’t heard the little voice telling me where to go.  It’s possible that it’s a little unhappy that I ignored it last time I heard it.  But it’ll be back.  And I’ll be more likely to listen this time, because I won’t have to argue with it about my priorities.  Women aren’t kryptonite, and my desire to share my life with someone isn’t a weakness.  And that realization is a great gift.

Yes, this is me.  It’s one of the summers I danced with Jacques d’Amboise.

My hair was so awesome that one of the costuming women accused me of using a fake bun.  Nope.  I just have amazing volume.  Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.