Comic Romance

    Hello everyone! Hopefully, some of you are coming over from Bouquet of Books, my dear sisters blog. She is MUCH better at this than I am. However, here, we have recently talked about comics and the last post was an introduction to my new online dating experience, which is still in full swing. But, today, I thought I would mesh the two. Comics and Dating. 

    If you are coming from reading Jackie's post today, she is showing the letter "M". The coordinating cover is for Midnight Nation. In a previous post, I mentioned that Midnight Nation was one of the first storylines I read as an adult reading comics. It holds a real special place in my heart. My ex, who is still my very best friend introduced me to this comic. (If you want to know what its about, please click on the previous link, or you can check out this one.) After reading Midnight Nation, J. Michael Straczynski became my favorite writer. I will pick up a title I don't normally read, or even care for, if he is the writer. (See Superman Grounded) You have likely watched many a movie or TV show written by Straczynski, and don't even know it. 

     Enough about that. Lets move on to the romance part of this blog. 

    So, a few years ago I met a guy. A really great guy. It just so happened he had a basement full of comics. We had much to talk about on our first date to a little restaurant tucked into a corner not far from the water in Covington, KY. It was a great evening and I definitely wanted to see him again. 

    A couple days after our date, I was at work and with the mail delivery was a manilla envelope with my name on it. I opened it and out slid the individual issues of Midnight Nation. With a note that read simply, "Lottsa Luv". My snide co-worker said, "Thats like flowers to you, isn't it?" But, I didn't care, I was on cloud nine. From the gesture and the issues! 

    Fast forward to after our second date, where at the end, after the good night kiss, Bobby presented me with a trade of the series, so I wouldn't be tempted to open the individual issues. Unfortunately, I lent someone my trade to read, two years ago. The trade cover, is the cover I really wanted to share with Jackie for her A to Z Challenge. But, you can see it for yourself here. 

    I know Jackie shared the cover of the first issue. But, here is a pic of the first issue still with the note. 

<3 

Until next Time.....

438 People Get Married Everyday As A Result.....

    I have been single (unmarried) for 12 years. I have very much enjoyed the single life. I could write a blog about how to enjoy being single. But, I am not. Instead, I am going to commit myself to writing (on a regular basis) about the commitment I made today. I think this will prove a much more entertaining subject.
    After a particularly unfortunate first date this last week and a spotty dating life over the last year, I decided to stop the off again on again relationship I have with online dating and give it a real chance. I signed up for a year on a subscription site today. A very bold move for someone like me. I didn't even keep an address more than 16 months until five years ago. But, I believe if you want something to work, you need to commit to making it work.  I'll spare you all of the statistics about online dating. Like many things in life, we choose the convenient route. We can peruse singles from the comfort of our home, much like a delivery menu. I am not one to baulk at convenance.

    So, for todays entry.......Signing Up!
    Admittedly, this was not a lot of work, as I revived an old profile that had been very successful for me when I lived in Indianapolis. There wasn't much to it, other than a few updates and to start shopping!
    Lets face it. Online dating starts with looks. The picture, as well as a few key stats is what convinces you to click the profile or keep going. I don't really have a type, in this arena, I just want a guy that turns me on when I catch his eye across the room. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. This is probably 50% physical and 50% emotional. And depends on how horny I am at the time.
    So, today, I clicked on a few profiles and sent a few messages. Why not. If I am going to pay for the privilege of communication, might as well use it.
    Now, I am right in the middle of new and seasoned when it comes to this subject. But, I will say, all the hoops you have to go through to get to know someone before the site allows you to talk unaided like real adults, usually takes a few hours or even a day, depending. Well, I just completed the process with Bachelor #1 in a quick two hours. That might be a record for me. Pros to Bachelor #1.... He's hot. He has a similar sense of humor to me. He's a musician. His children are grown. Cons? He lives two hours away. He a musician.

Stay tuned, we shall see how it goes.
In the meantime, I'm going to go and reply to Bachelor #2, #3 & #4.

My Comic History

     It takes you a thirty second visit on my blog to see I do not post often. Oh, I have all the intent in the world to give this regular attention. To share my ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams on an internet blog. Who doesn't want their ramblings to be inspiration for others. Alas, in the mix of adulthood that makes up my life, I just do not give any time to a blog.
    Here we are more than a year since my last post and my sweet sister has given a nod in my direction, for the photos of comic covers I offered her. The resulting traffic has obliged me to post something new. So, if you are reading her A to Z Blogging Challenge for the month of April on Comic Book/Graphic Novel Covers, here is my little behind the scenes for you (without spoiler pictures).

    In high school, while rummaging through boxes in my parents musty and damp basement I ran across an issue of Uncanny X-Men. Like most kids in the 70's and 80's, I watched a good amount of super hero cartoons. X-Men included. So, I read the comic. I'd love to tell you the issue. Or at least the storyline, but it honestly didn't stick with me.
    Fast forward to my very earlier thirties and I still hadn't picked up another comic book. But, my boyfriend at the time, was an avid reader. A few months into the relationship he took me with him to the comic book store. Wednesdays are big days in the comic book world, its new release day.
    Ten years ago, before comics had gained the mainstream popularity they have now, a fairly attractive girl walking into a comic book shop was a big deal. Silence and stares is what I got. I quietly followed behind my guy as he looked through all the titles displayed on the wall. After a time he hands me the three issues he has decided to buy, while he leans down to rifle through some others. I had been prepped on comic book handling. Its like coin handling. As little as possible and very gently. So, I held these three issues, stacked, with a thumb and two fingers. Within a few minutes, I can feel that middle issue slipping. Internally, I start to panic! What do I do?! If I grab the slipping book, I could risk wrinkling it or worse BENDING the cover in my efforts to save it! If I move it from hand to hand, I'll be touching it more! What do I do, what do I do??? Maybe, if I just let it fall, it will glide gently to the floor, landing on the back cover and lay flat. No folding, bending or damage of any kind. And so, it happens. In the split second of panic in my head, the comic slips from between the two I am holding, changing my light grasp of the other two and all three comics FALL TO THE FLOOR!
    Here is the proof that everyone was watching me with every step, as we walked around the store, because the moment those books touched the floor, the entire store gasped! Collectively. I could not have timed something like that had I wanted! My companion turned on me, betrayal in his eyes, "What did you do?!"
    Despite this dramatic first visit, I was invited back. As comics obviously played a big part in my guys life, I decided to sew him a Spider-Man quilt, his favorite character. But, as I knew so little about the webbed crusader, I had to do some research. With movies and mainstream media, we are now all aware that super hero costumes change, frequently. I needed to know what costume I was going to design onto the top of this quit. So, I went to the internet and started my research. The more I read about Spider-man, the more interested I became. And thus began my relationship with comics.
    I started off reading Midnight Nation. Next, was House Of M. And if you plan on going to see Civil War, you might want to read this first. After that, I was hooked. I was at the comic book store every Wednesday picking up the issues from my pull list, buying variant covers and looking at all the new stuff I hadn't previously known existed. A female in my thirties, for the first time in my life, I was reading comics on the regular. I loved it! I devoured certain story lines. Reading as many back issues as I could in one setting. Spider-Man The Other was a favorite and became a pivotal point in my current relationship. But, thats another story for another time.
    Fast forward another ten years and I don't read comics with the enthusiasm as I was before. Although, I will, when prompted get out my many boxes filled, pop them open and start rifling through, as I did recently for my sister. It was like a stroll down memory lane. Pulling out the variant Michael Turner covers from Civil War was heartbreaking. My favorite cover by my favorite artist, which I won't share, just in case Jackie does later in the month. Along with titles I had forgotten about  and set aside with the intent to read again. There were titles, like The Other that marked milestones in previous relationships. I even have the individual issues of Midnight Nation, still bagged boarded and one of them graded, that were sent to me from a date, in lieu of flowers.
    My small, personal comic book archives are somewhat of a scrapbook to me. I just love that in the simplest form, you will be able to see snippets of this at Bouquet of Books this month. And thank you to my sister, for prompting me to read again. <3

I Am Not A Rainbow Sharer, And That Is Why My Friends Hate My Boyfriend.

    When I was little, somewhere around five years old, I remember going for Sunday drives with my grandparents. I would sit in the back seat of our powder blue station wagon and stare out the window as the country side slid by. 
    These Sunday drives were what occupied a little bit of our families time in between morning church service and evening service. We would pull onto the busy road, our farmstead was nestled against, and my Grandfather would take the exit onto the highway, and we would drive north. Up the highway and back down the back roads. Or vise versa. The scene of cornfields, farm spreads similar to ours, and small, corner towns, with small country churches, only changing with the season. 
    I remember looking out the window, the fence in-between the land and the highway, across the new cornfield with little tiny plants starting to poke up, stretching all the way to the blue, spring sky. A rainbow! The colors spelling out Roy G Biv were arched across the sky like a decorative drape. I smiled, excited to see it. I began to raise my arm to point out the window, an exclamation on my lips, and I stopped. 
    If I didn't tell anyone, if no one else saw the rainbow, than it was only mine. Everyone else's silence assured that neither of my grandparents had spotted it yet, only I had. Therefore it was my secret. My secret rainbow. All mine. 
    I lowered my arm and pursed my lips closed. I anxiously looked back and forth between my grandparents in the front seat and my rainbow out the side window. When the rainbow began to slide behind the car, I looked on unabashedly, certain, no one would see it now. 
    We took the exit off the highway and turned onto our rural, tree lined road. The rainbow gone from sight. But, I still had it, locked in my memory. My very own rainbow. 

    Thirty-five years later, I have lived a string of romances with the wrong guy. The "wrong" part, punctuated to my friends by my unwillingness to share the good stuff. As a woman and seasoned dater, you learn quickly that with the wrong guy, the positives are only an intermittent string of occasions. As these were so few and far between, like rainbows, I never wanted to share them. Keeping them locked inside, to hold onto, forever. 
    After three years with the right guy, I am still guilty of the same. Someone who was commitment phobic, like me. Who had a difficult time sharing his feelings, like me. Or showing much of any intimate, positive emotion, like me. Therefore, after a couple years in, when we both start opening up, creating those loving, positive moments, I am desperate to hang onto them. 
    Sure, I throw a tid bit or two to my closest BFF's. But, the bulk of it, I hide away like a squirrel who stashes a winters full of food. I just can't bring myself to lessen the intimacy of it, by sharing it. 
    On the flip side, when I am angry, or when, as men do, he does something stupid, I share, share, share till the cows come home! Desperate to vent. To hear my friends agree with my frustration! To get it out and shout at someone, just so I don't blow up at him. 
    And so here we are. Three years in. And my friends aren't fond of my boyfriend. Because, I am not a rainbow sharer. 

I Can Fake Kindness

(This is my first post on my new tablet. HOPEFULLY, paragraphs will be allowed. Fair warning, I still cannot seem to locate a spell check button.)

"How are you today, young lady." Her voice was gentle and kind like the grandmother she probably was. I continued with the transaction. Ringing up her purchase, bagging her item. It is almost effortless to be kind to someone kind to you.
"Do you have a larger bag I could have," she asked. Continuing to explain the item she purchased from a vendor and the inadequate bag he gave her.
"Of course I do!" I assure her reaching for a large plastic bag. Than I remember the gift with purchase reusable tote bags we have. She may not have purchased the target item, but her kind voice was enough to qualify, to me.
She was ecstatic at the brightly colored bag. She blessed me again and again and I really just enjoyed making her day.
I turned to my waiting audiance, my assistant manager, Jake and my friend, Bobby. Both standing in shock, mouths agape.
"See!I can fake kindness." I yell. Demonstrating a previous accusation.

Nice, is not a word used to describe me. I am perfectly ok with this. However, as I explore the world of online dating, men continually request women who are kind. This really put a kink in the whole thing, for me.
But, lets be serious here. If us women are known for an ability, its FAKING. We fake happiness at unexpected houseguests, we fake liking that family member, we fake being neighborly, we fake knowing whats really going on. And youre all waiting for me to say it, we fake orgasims. So, why not kindness?
But, here is my question.....isn't "fake" kindness still kindness?

Everyone Needs A Job

When I was very young, I wanted to write. Poems, I was certain would be my natural specialty. In my scrapbook, I still have my first recorded poem. I wish I had a unicorn. I would ride it all day long. Odd that never panned out. In middle school I wanted to be an astronaut. I couldn't spell astronaut, so it was simply a verbal response. And highly influenced by the movie space camp. In high school, it was a lawyer. I wanted to wear tailored suits, sexy heels, argue with men and make a lot of money. In college, I landed a part time position in the school library. A combination of an early application and seven years volunteer service in libraries. This was the closest to my dream job. The librarian, Art was a perfect boss. Scolded me for walking around barefoot. Looked the other way when I ate behind the counter. Must important expanded my meager knowledge of book repairs. I was already reattaching loose pages and rebinding books with crude materials and sloppy technique. Art ordered an array of professional materials and guided my work. I loved it. Restoring documents could have been my profession. Until I made one of my classic bad decisions. Fast forward nineteen years. I'm a successful retail manager. The profit I bring my company every year is staggering compared to some of my Co workers. I pride myself on my ability to spot new talent and train up accordingly. I've cleaned up many an underperforming store, with this company and others before. I am content. I make a nice living. I was content. I say in a darkened theater three days ago watching a movie preview on the screen before me. A young boy on a selfish quest unintentionally effects the lives of strangers. Bettering their lives. At least, that's what I perceived from the preview. As the random photos of a wide variety of people only unified by their smiles or contented faces dotted the screen, I silently slowly began to redirect myself. Hello, my name is Cynthea. I'm twice divorced, been single forever. A mother of two amazing children with their own gifts. I started my adult life shy. Afraid to go to the grocery store by myself. I married my first husband because he wanted to. Oh and I was a princess and didn't want to work. I also had never been educated on finances and economics and believed if you had A job you automatically made enough money got everything you ever wanted. I was pretty upset when my husband showed me his paycheck. I married my second husband for essentially the same reason. Than. I got a clue. I'm the front runner. The leader. Organizer. Director. I walk into a situation, access and delegate. Follow up. Verify. However, when this all stops, when that life runs out... Nothing I accomplished (through my job) will matter. Not to anyone but some wealthy corporate execs. I want to be the silent person no one knows that provides that smile. I want to PROVIDE. I want to get my hands dirty. I want to work in relief. When I get home after a long day at work, I don't want my contentment to come from knowing all the sale pricing is done. The store made 10% over plan today. The planner is set. I'd like to know one less family will be homeless today. Forty people will fall sleep with full stomachs. A child learned to read and write five new words today. And I was a part of that. I understand I'm not going to submit an application, hop on a boat to Bangladesh and cure disease and famine. I understand I will have to start at the bottom. I also understand any skill set is valuable. And I too can make a difference. With my hands. *Not only is this obviously my first post, it was created on my phone. With little exploration of features. Also, the page isn't allowing me to reach the spell check button. My apologies. It will get better. ;)