Kites and such

Today, my Yahoo quickie horoscope reads, Your kite is stuck in the tree. And trying to get it down just isn't worth it.

Ah! That explains it then. My kite is stuck in a tree. Forget for the moment that I don't have a kite, and that kite-eating trees, while plentiful in Peanuts comics, are not indiginous to the canyons of Manhattan.

Oh, you say, but you're not supposed to take these things literally! To which I say, and why not? Where's the fun in assuming loose associations to blatantly literal statements? Poppycock!

Teehee

And on that amusing note, a comment about my weekend in Nova Scotia, and traveling in general. I find, without being too obvious about it, that I have much better luck in finding men who find me attractive and wonderful and sexy and all sorts of great stuff like that when I'm not in New York. Now, I love the Big Apple. Figure I'll stay here for quite a while more. But I think -- and girls, feel free to agree or disagree heartily -- that the men here are used to, or rather, expect, a certain supermodel standard of physical beauty that is not in the same abundance outside the tri-state area.

There are gorgeous women tripping over each other in every bar and restaurant within the five boroughs, but get outside a little, and you too may find yourself (as Misa and I termed it in song) "floating on top of the pretty pool."

Now, I've got a pretty fair opinion of myself, when I'm not being told differently by family members who shall remain nameless, but to be told by a member of the opposite sex that I had a "great body" -- well, I got warm fuzzies. Mental, as well as physical.

And you know what? I do have a great body! I can do a triathlon with it, or an all-day bike/hike in the Nova Scotian highlands. I can step-dance and swing dance and ice skate. I can hold my little munchkin nieces or nephew, and comfort a friend with a hug. It's a super body. And it's nice to hear when others agree, even when they know nothing about all that other stuff.