Such is... Life; such is me.

So my "secret love affair" at work has been outted, and the "are we this" "or are we that"s have begun. There is no tabloid scandal... and no inner feeling of shock or pressure; I am just literally laughing at myself!

I have this history of having to prove things, and only wanting things when I can't have them. For example, I will play a man in a "man's sport" until I win... because I'm not supposed to. When my hair was stick straight, I longed for curly hair. Now that my hair has wave to it, I want my stick straight hair back! I never diet, because as soon as I utter the words, "I'm on a diet," I suddenly crave shit I would never want if I were left to my own dietary devices and I gain 5 pounds. When I'm single, I think I want a relationship, and when I think I might be in a relationship, I want to cling to my singlehood.

And now, here I am, dating. A guy who just can't seem to screw this up, and won't seem to let me either! What? Now what's a girl supposed to do? His swooning tactics are beyond masterful. He's so attentive that I bet he could tell you the last time I had pepper stuck in my teeth... My office has given him the thumbs up, and his office gave him permission to continue to see me because I "dress nice and not many women around here do."

I will not deny my self-defeating romantic behaviors. I thought C.F. was more amazing than a starry September sky; all the while knowing he would never be completely available to me. And now that this fella would rearrange the stars of the night sky to spell out poetic messages that only he and I knew the meaning of... I feel myself closing off.

I thought I was over this stupid shit! But, to avoid adopting a negative sense of utter failure... I'm going with the first step... and admitting this is a problem. So do I talk about it with him? Do I grab him and say, "No really! I like you... I just don't know HOW to like you?" Personally I would view that as a fast ticket out the door! But apparently, he enjoys riddles and puzzles, because so far, he's stuck around. Over 30 days. A record for my man-tolerance of late.

To be continued...

Get Dizzy With It

We had another lovely day of cool air and drizzle. Not exactly the kind of weather that inspires you to conquer the world; more like the kind that makes you aim to become a professional napper, or an actor playing someone who's in a coma. Lucky for me, work didn't require much physical energy, just a lot of social shmoozing to recruit volunteers for the non-profit at the college "Service Learning" fair.

My ceramics time was being intruded upon by the volunteer event, and the rain was making the idea of forgoing my clay time rather tempting. I was also craving my Saturday cheeseburger... as I didn't treat myself to one last week because I had dinner plans that night. But, when I got back to my car, I realized that my cheeseburger money was in my pants pocket... freshly laundered and fabric softened. Pffft!

So off to ceramics I went. Feeling lazy, and certainly uninspired. All of my pieces had been glazed and were awaiting firing, so I was going to have to create something. I actually considered making a cheeseburger, because that was what my mind was dreaming of, but I was afraid I would chip my teeth in an attempt to eat it someday. For the sake of retaining my ability to chew, I decided to go with the ol' standby... a few more serving dishes. Easy. Brainless. Non-cheeseburger-fantasy-interrupters.

Suddenly, a few minutes after two in the afternoon, I became very light-headed, and thought I might pass out. There is nothing soft, or cushiony, in the studio... so falling unconscious and cracking my head open like a ripe melon did not seem like a good idea. There were only two of us there at this point, and I was too uncomfortable with telling LeeAnn how funky I was feeling. I hate drama. So, I kept it to myself. I tried to sit with my head by my knees. Tried focusing on breathing. Nothing was working. I've had these spells periodically over the last two years, and last summer I sought medical attention for those symptoms, as well as having pain in my chest. Unfortunately, I had already lost my job, so getting the necessary follow-up blood work to explore other possible causes wasn't an option. And... the Indian Medicine Woman Doctor Lady's constant insistence that I could be pregnant annoyed the hell out of me. I hadn't had sex in over a year, and having someone try to convince me that Jesus would choose me for his second coming, or I was gonna push out a toddler in a walker, was just insulting. I'll finally confess that I have been secretly concerned (for years) that I may be diabetic. I absolutely hate doctors, and always fear that I'll have some incurable, terminal illness, one that requires me to wear an Eva Gabor wig, and wish that I would have joined a band before I became bed-ridden. It's really rather juvenile... but it's my reality.

Here it is some seven hours later, and I am still not quite right. I had to cancel a visit from a friend to try and nap it off. I've eaten. Rested. Am still drinking water... Tried to hit all of the obvious causes: dehydration, low blood sugar, exhaustion. My last "episode" was within the last two weeks and occurred while I was walking down the hallway maze at work. Again, I was more worried about embarrassment, or an over-reacting do-gooder calling an ambulance and being socked with an astronomical bill... but I think I might have to deal with whatever this is... soon. I'm gonna have to hang up my chicken shorts, and go to the evil man with needles to find out what is going on before I pass out in public wearing ugly underwear. Grandma says you should always wear clean ones in case you get in an accident. I'm happy to report that I do always wear clean ones, but the thought of passing out in front of people is more horrifying than wearing dirty ones. Maybe not.

Anyway...

I did manage to muster up enough energy to move things around in my garage to make room for my brother's motorcycle. He's going to be storing some things in my garage and attic while he searches for a professorship job down state. We haven't been able to see each other much over the past several years, as he's been out of the country, and out of state until recently. The only large item I had to move was my old dishwasher; the only appliance this palace of a house came with when I bought it. I had been wanting to unload it since 2007, but my Honda Civic isn't built for large appliance transport to the dump, so there it sat, for almost two years. I wheeled it out to the curb around 8, and because I live in such an affluent neighborhood, it was snatched up before 9 o'clock! Hell yeah! I'd like to believe a poor woman with five kids picked it up to make her life easier... but I bet it's going to the scrap yard to get $5 worth of malt liquor. What do I care? It's out of my garage, and out of my life.

We can get rid of old shit that we don't have use for rather easily, but we can't rid ourselves of getting old. That's what sucks! When you get to a certain age, you begin to realize that things can start to go wrong; start hurting, stop working, and fall apart. I'm sure it's nothing serious. In fact, the only serious thing about this "gettin' dizzy with it," is my seriously immature phobia of doctors. (Oh... and the needles... do I ever hate the needles!) I've got a job now, so I'm out of honest excuses; and I've always said, "I'm not going anywhere. There's a few more people I'd like to piss off!" So don't you try to make a claim on my 90's era "Booty Mix" ill-chosen CD collections, or come after my new dishwasher just yet.

Here Kitty Kitty!

Just a quick second... I have.

Nice boy is picking me up at 8. We are going to a town an hour away to watch my girlfriend's husband's band play. It's her 40th birthday celebration, and I have not seen her in about 8 years or more. I was maid of honor for their wedding. The one that set them up some 15 or more years ago. I've always had a knack for making Love Connections (yes be jealous, Chuck Woolery!), but suck at making my own.

I've got my hair all "rocked out," and... I'm wearing leopard print panties... YOWZA! I'm not saying I'm planning on being a tad wild... but I figure if I'm wearing these, at least I might think I am. There's a silly little feeling of satisfaction a woman gets when she knows she is wearing something "naughty." And considering about the naughtiest thing I have done in several months is going an entire day without combing my hair, I could use a little inspiration.

Work has been down-right brutal, and I'm more than ready to get the "f" out of this depressed city that I live in! So unless I get jumped by a back-country bum, I should have some well-deserved fun tonight!

HOT Date

I went on my first date in months that didn't involve a bowling alley tonight. Yes, that's right. I said bowling alley. I'm not opposed to bowling...it's just nice to wear more attractive shoes once in awhile.

I honored my commitment by going through what used to be the usual routine of painting my nails, making sure every wardrobe item was cute, and coordinated; subtly sexy makeup and tousled hair... most women can relate to what I'm talking about, but sometimes, like when you've been unemployed and anti-social for almost a year, such routines become mildly foreign. Although I kept my attire fairly casual, it was nice to feel and look like a woman... on a date!

We went to a great sushi restaurant in a town nearby. He was not that familiar with the cuisine, and asked me to tell him what everything was. I couldn't trick him into trying the wasabi... maybe it was my watering eyes that scared him away, although he found my "pain" very entertaining.

My date was with someone I've known, so there wasn't any unpleasant awkwardness. Conversation was easy and comfortable, and he even insisted that I get the spicy tuna roll that the broken-English speaking waitress insisted I would not be able to eat in addition to the "Bento Box" I ordered and basically did not allow me to! I thought that was sweet of him to do.

After dinner, he drove me back home, walked me to the door, and left like a gentlemen. What? That still happens? As he walked away... he asked when we could do it again. So maybe the only real HOT part of the date was just the wasabi... but I'll take that over a bad bowling alley date, any day.

Week-end Update and Sexual "Snippets"

I confess to slacking a bit in keeping you strangers abreast of my goings-on, but I am happy to report that it is due to finding myself legitimately consumed with my new-found employment, as opposed to my former state of laziness.

This week I was able to put my wondering-mind skills to productive use, by concocting a mildly genius plan to score a much needed grant to fund a future project, and therefore increase the odds that a few of us, including myself, can look forward to an income after September ends. When you've spent the majority of your working life employed by those who do not appreciate your inability to see obstacles, it is beyond refreshing to find your solution-seeking brain is appreciated. I really think I have found not only a job that pays the bills, but a job that allows me to truly excel, and therefore bring increased success to the honorable organization that so graciously hired me.

Secretly, however, I have engaged in intermittent email silliness with my ex across the hall. He works for a separate, contracted establishment as well, so I don't think the thought police of the business that owns the building has us under surveillance just yet. Since running into each other over a month ago, we've gone to lunch, and have a scheduled dinner next week. He's a great guy, whom I get along with very well. We have enjoyed trying to piece together whatever madness transpired between us some 15+ years ago. I remember going to his sister's wedding and having his ex-girlfriend go bananas when he asked me to dance to "their song." I can't recall which one it was, but it was a Journey song. He remembers my ex flinging my car door open while he and I were making out in a parking lot after drinking too much beer at a rock-n-roll bar. Maybe that explains why my poor soul ex wound up marrying a half-crazy bitch.

I began today with my latest Saturday routine: fixing myself breakfast in bed, and watching "Mistresses." I was rather upset to see my pretend TV boyfriend sleep with his should be girlfriend's friend. Now what? Is that going to spoil my hopes that they fall deeply in love and have sex a lot so I can see him without his shirt on? I won't be a happy girl if that is the future story line.

After my exhausting morning of laying in bed eating breakfast, I took a nap. I might have felt some sort of shame for being so lazy on an almost-warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, but everyone I spoke with on the phone today had either already napped, or planned to nap within the hour. Sometimes we must seek comfort in our "sins" by rationalizing them with an "everybody else is doing it" thought process.

Once I got up and combed my hair, I prepared deviled eggs, and au gratin sweet potatoes for tomorrows Easter dinner at Grandma's house. She of course insisted I didn't have to bring anything, like she has every holiday for the last 20 years. Apparently I am not the only one in denial of the fact that I am a grown-up, and therefore capable of contributing to family dinners. It's nice to feel young, always... but not twelve! I love cooking, almost as much as I love eating, so I happily prepare at least two dishes for each and every gathering. In fact, I might seize this opportunity to unload some black olives that I will never eat and bump my offerings up to three.

Lately I have reverted back to my battle of deciding what level of comfort I am actually comfortable with regarding sex. It's that battle between maybe, maybe, wanting to find someone to actually co-habitate with and maybe, MAYBE, have a kid with... and... just enjoying the fact that I am a self-supporting, educated-decision capable, adult woman with her own "needs" that feels she deserves a little physical attention (read hot sex) once in awhile... if not once a week; and ideally once a day! And since I have chosen to take the "later in life" approach to entertain the idea of MAYBE having a kid someday, I have run into yet another challenge. Guys my age like to get vasectomies. Great! Now what's a girl to do? Seems my ex across the hall thought it necessary to randomly divulge the fact that he is "snipped." Now, I have no immediate intentions of claiming to be serious with him... but, what am I supposed to do with THAT information? Complicated. Life seems to get more enjoyable, yet spontaneously more complicated the older I get.

Although I did put all of my deviled eggs in one "basket," I have yet to figure out what to do with my theoretically reproductive ones.

And while we are talking about eggs, (yes this is a very twisted stretch of connection) have a Happy Easter my adorable readers!

S'now Big Deal

I did my "Spring Cleaning" yesterday, despite not having ample sunshine to inspire my ass to keep moving. I had to settle for the 80's channel on the satellite radio. I washed and rehung all of the drapes, swept and mopped every moppable floor, vacuumed behind the couch, and swept down the abandoned spider suburbs from the ceiling corners. My house was sparkling Spring fresh!

And what do I wake up to?

Snow.

Seriously?

And here I thought that the reason I didn't haul my spring/summer wardrobe down from the spare bedroom was because I was too lazy. Turns out my inner-meteorologist told me it would be a waste of time. I thought it was odd that my furnace was running. Surely once it's the second week of April temperatures can manage to be higher than 58 degrees!

Oh... yeah. I live in the state that's apparently too broke to afford Spring. Now I'm left to wonder if my many tulips, daffodils, iris, and whatever other flowers I planted last year, are permanently damaged from the chill of snowflakes on their newly green leaves.

I'm gonna be a good sport, kind of, and look at this morning as an opportunity to officially retire my black high heel boots for the season. I have honestly missed them, but the thought of strolling downtown on a sunny afternoon during my lunch break had been tip-toe-ing through my mind. "Patience is a virtue," so they say. Well, I waited, semi-patiently, some ten months to find a job... I suppose I could wait a few more weeks for Spring. Sigh.

Soapbox Confessions

I think to say you have "grown up" you must learn the art of forgiveness. I know most people expect you to grow up by your mid-twenties... but, hey, we're all different; and some of us really seem to like doing things the hard way.


I'm happy to say, that at the "young" age of 35... I truly started growing up. When we let the pain of the past wrongs, or the embarrassment of past mistakes control our minds, we prevent ourselves from living life in the present, let alone having any hopes for happiness in the future. Unfortunately, although time stands still in our hearts and minds... we still physically grow old. Bullshit, I say!

Anyway... I've had the pleasure of running into several people I hadn't seen in over 15 years, in the past several months... people that may have not seen me at my best. And how could they have? I was an emotional mess when I was young! And after talking with a few of them, most of us were! I might be turning into a "super sap" in my old age... but there is something truly beautiful, and liberating, about forgiving people for simply being human.


If you were to have asked me, even five years ago, if I would ever consider opening the lines of communication with my very absent father... I would have said "hell no!" and maybe even told you to kiss my ass! But somewhere along my journey through this crazy little thing called "life," I realized that every single one of us has had some sort of struggle, hardship, tragedy, or emotionally devastating event occur in our lives. I realized that maybe my dad wasn't a dad because he literally couldn't be one... maybe he didn't know how. I'm not going to say that his lack of involvement in my life didn't hurt me, and I'm not going to say that exchanging a dozen or so emails with him magically erases any past wrongs or regrets. What I will say, is that just about anyone will tell you that life didn't quite go the way they planned it to... and I don't believe that anyone intentionally makes bad choices. They do what they know... and do what they can.



Does this make it right? Of course not. But if we spend our lives keeping score of who was "right" and who was "wrong," who was "good" and who was "bad," we immediately slam the door of opportunity... the opportunity to love and to learn from other people. The opportunity to forgive. The opportunity to have peace and forgiveness; true happiness in our lives.



Yesterday does not matter! We cannot change the past. We can't change the things we wished we wouldn't have done or said, anymore than those who have hurt us can. But what we can do, is accept things for what they were... what they are... and forgive. Most importantly... forgive ourselves.



Of course I wish that things could have been this "easy" when I was younger, but if I hadn't gone through my own hard times, who's to say I would be the person that I am now? And although I do think it's sad that it took me this many years to be able to talk about those "terrible" things that held be back from being truly happy for so many years... I'm very thankful that I can now say, I just plain don't give a shit! I punished myself for things I had no control over, things I didn't do, things I didn't ask for... and if being blatantly in-your-face honest prevents someone from taking the hard, and painful path... or suffering a life in painful silence... I'll risk the gossip... the "oh my God can you believe?"s...



That's me. A peace-love-and-happiness-can't-we-all-just-get-along kinda girl. And if you haven't noticed, I'm not apologizing for that anymore. I'll proudly stand on my soap box and let you make fun of my obnoxious eighties hair, shake your finger in shame about the guy I shouldn't have slept with, or wonder why I didn't "make something of myself" sooner... because I know if you're reading this, you've got a big heart in you, somewhere (smile!)...


Uh-oh! That big fat clown is coming across the stage now with that big, shut-the-fuck-up cane...