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Albuquerque to Zanzibar

My public persona was shaping up, consorting on the Internet with food banks from Albuquerque to Zanzibar. If she was planning to make a living, believe me. I don’t know how. She was giving away the store for free. When she wasn’t staring at her computer, she spent hours  social networking, which meant filling up her time writing one-liners. I’m not sure what else she did except stare out the window to a row of garbage cans in front of our condo, or go to EDD meetings, something called Experience Unlimited. The general idea was that everyone in the room collectively had lots of experience, but no jobs. Together they wanted to figure out how to change the equation. She went to get answers and to take notes. She was religious about it.  She could win a ten-mile race for one of those diabetes or multiple sclerosis fundraisers if she trained hard. I don’t think she would. Bicycling for fifteen minutes in the workout room was her idea of a  “physical fitness routine.” Me? I had other things on my mind. Like the possibility of my boyfriend moving away from the Bay Area. I had several bad marriages with a long hiatus in between, swearing never again to get involved with anyone. Instead, I focused on developing hobbies, volunteering in the community, making regular social dates to go walking, listening to music. There were any number of things in the Bay Area that didn’t require a committed relationship as the price of admission. But then I got stupid. Out of curiosity, I signed up for a dating service. That’s where I met him.