Dirty Prom Queen

New Year

2008-01-12T00:16:00.000-05:00

There's not a damn thing I feel sorry for except that I bumped my tailbone on the stairs just now and my ass hurts.

There was a marriage that didn't work and so we worked through it and dissolved it.

There was a man I loved but he told his friends "There's no future between us," and "I guess I'm doomed to fuck her again," so I kissed his ass goodbye. His craven life is as miserable as he deserves.

There was a man I loved and he loved me so we gave it a shot. He is the best. We are crazy happy in love super duper good times.

That is 2008.

XO

Hiya

2007-11-16T21:34:00.000-05:00

I haven't quite disappeared into the ether. I'm not underground or posting under another name, though.

Right now:

The boy fell asleep on the way home from a friend's house so he snoozes on my bed, still in his jacket. I am sauteeing red onion for a quiche in the morning. Mozart violin concertos on the stereo.

I logged into blogger and could barely remember my user name and id. A year ago I was posting like crazy, venting frustration and amazement with the way life was going. These days I don't write at all. Life is no less interesting. But I'm completely consumed with Life that I have neither the time nor the energy. Also, the reasons from the former post. I want my life to be private.

Life continues alternately to make me laugh and throw my hands in the air. People are shit. People are amazing.

Here's a comprehensive list of what I do, in no particular order:
Teach. Mother. Drink. Listen to music. Play music. Read. Tend house. Laugh. Fuck. Cook. Complain. Gossip. Sleep. Eat. Grocery shop. Yogacize. Drive.

In the words of one of my students:
"You know what's behind that cloud?. . .

. . .THE SUN!!!"

A Word of Explanation

2007-10-16T22:17:00.000-04:00

I guess if I say I'm still around, I'm exaggerating.

Sometimes I hit the blog-o-sphere to see what everyone is up to. Generally, though, I'm too talked and thunk out by the end of the day. If I have energy to do something for myself, I exercise or read.

I'm also finding that my rather pleasant life makes less compelling narrative. I have an OK job, a boyfriend who is the best of men, a son who impresses and delights me, amicable relations with my ex. . . . It's not easy to be a single mom, but that's simply the fact of my situation.

I could get into personal details about fucking and love, some of the struggles to reinvent myself over this past year, friends who have disappointed me beyond measure. . .

. . .but there's a problem. There's still one person out there who knows about this blog and may still check it. Earlier this summer I censored the personal details out of consideration for his feelings. At this point, he's simply forfeited the right to know what's inside my head and heart. We don't talk or communicate in any way, by mutual agreement.

I'm not even going to write what I think of him or explain the situation to all of you simply because as he himself once told me, "If you don't want to engage with someone, don't engage with them. Period."

This blog is the last open line he has to me, sorry to say. So that's why I don't say much. I do miss being out there with you.

No News Is Good News

2007-09-22T23:19:00.000-04:00

Stick with me; I'll bring you current by the end of it.

From a recent conversation, I've been thinking about faith and life. Well, the story is longer than that. It had to do with C0wb0y M0uth, atheism, beer, and Republicans.

Anyway, I had to think: do I honestly believe in God? I was raised by a Quaker and a broken Catholic and a born-again Jesus-Screamer, and that meant going to Unitarian/Universalist church. At the start of my marriage I got pretty into a local Methodist church. I was in crisis, and the minister was very fine. Then I passed out of it again.

At this point I could say that I believe Jesus was a philosophical pacifist who was killed for being a formal heretic, but I do not believe that he was the son of God. The Bible? A historical text both wise and flawed.

But where am I, essentially, on the God part? Something felt wrong with not believing, as though that means I am a lesser, less moral person. I don't believe there's a giant Santa in the sky, handing out goodies or coal. I believe in grace, generosity, kindness, gratitude, and love. But not that they're a divine gift from somewhere outside myself. Still, I felt weird just saying, "Nope. No God."

Then I read this by Penn Teller from NPR's This I Believe:

I believe that there is no God. I'm beyond atheism. Atheism is not believing in God. Not believing in God is easy -- you can't prove a negative, so there's no work to do. You can't prove that there isn't an elephant inside the trunk of my car. You sure? How about now? Maybe he was just hiding before. Check again. Did I mention that my personal heartfelt definition of the word "elephant" includes mystery, order, goodness, love and a spare tire?

So, anyone with a love for truth outside of herself has to start with no belief in God and then look for evidence of God. She needs to search for some objective evidence of a supernatural power. All the people I write e-mails to often are still stuck at this searching stage. The atheism part is easy.

But, this "This I Believe" thing seems to demand something more personal, some leap of faith that helps one see life's big picture, some rules to live by. So, I'm saying, "This I believe: I believe there is no God."

Having taken that step, it informs every moment of my life. I'm not greedy. I have love, blue skies, rainbows and Hallmark cards, and that has to be enough. It has to be enough, but it's everything in the world and everything in the world is plenty for me. It seems just rude to beg the invisible for more. Just the love of my family that raised me and the family I'm raising now is enough that I don't need heaven. I won the huge genetic lottery and I get joy every day.

Believing there's no God means I can't really be forgiven except by kindness and faulty memories. That's good; it makes me want to be more thoughtful. I have to try to treat people right the first time around.

Believing there's no God stops me from being solipsistic. I can read ideas from all different people from all different cultures. Without God, we can agree on reality, and I can keep learning where I'm wrong. We can all keep adjusting, so we can really communicate. I don't travel in circles where people say, "I have faith, I believe this in my heart and nothing you can say or do can shake my faith." That's just a long-winded religious way to say, "shut up," or another two words that the FCC likes less. But all obscenity is less insulting than, "How I was brought up and my imaginary friend means more to me than anything you can ever say or do." So, believing there is no God lets me be proven wrong and that's always fun. It means I'm learning something.

Believing there is no God means the suffering I've seen in my family, and indeed all the suffering in the world, isn't caused by an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent force that isn't bothered to help or is just testing us, but rather something we all may be able to help others with in the future. No God means the possibility of less suffering in the future.

Believing there is no God gives me more room for belief in family, people, love, truth, beauty, sex, Jell-O and all the other things I can prove and that make this life the best life I will ever have.

OK, so now the current life story. Today I was driving the highway after a long few hours in Satan's Gaping Maw (Ikea). I was unshowered, driving the truck, listening to the radio, only one window rolled down because the driver-side window won't go back up once it's down. My son is having a problem controlling his temper in class. My boyfriend is out of town. My father is a clown and my mother is dead. Not crazy about my job right now. I sort of have a cold. But you know what?

My life is unbelievably great.

True Friend.

2007-09-03T15:09:00.000-04:00

Last week my grief for my mother hit me at 9:30 on Wednesday night. I felt that now-familiar need to talk to her.

So I sat down and typed a letter to her as though she didn't know the news of the last year or so. I spent probably an hour on the computer, and wrote about two single-space pages. I told her the truth about men. I told her all the complicated details that I would have left out in real life, for fear of her judgment. I explained where I was now, how I think, and where I'm headed.

At the end of it, I realized that all that truth actually needed to be out there in the world for someone alive to know. I needed to learn how to have the guts to share it with an actual friend.

So I changed the heading, and sent it to my college roommate. We aren't particularly close. We were excellent roommates, but not each other's closest friend in college. But she saw me through a lot of man-trouble, so when I got married I asked her to be my maid of honor. Now we see each other maybe every other year. I know we love each other, but still I worried about her reaction.

A day later she emailed me one sentence:

'I am so proud of you.'

What's Happening Now.

2007-08-26T16:20:00.000-04:00

It's so easy. I talk to him for the first time in a month because of a mutual friend's trouble, and I backslide immediately into sadness.

And then I can barely stand how much I miss him. Talking about music and books. The number one sex. The way how there's something about him that has always pulled on a part of my heart, and still does.

In everyday life I profess anger and intolerance for the way he treated me; the way he rejected me only until I walked away; and the way he has reacted to my moving on.

In everyday life I happily spend my time with someone new who is a mature and whole man.

But after just a brief conversation with this former man, I'm fully immersed in what we meant to each other and how much I miss him and what we had. I truly loved him and wanted to give him every part of myself, to an unhealthy degree. We were tremendously close.

For a long time, however, we both said that a real relationship between us wouldn't work. He told me to walk away, and I did. He changed his mind, but I did not.

I'm not saying that I basically revisit my opinions or decisions. Just that it's hard to feel all the stuff, to be in it and understand that it's part of the natural course of a break-up. Sucks, in fact. So that's what's happening now. In the middle of love and loss and sadness.

Single Mom 1, Barber 0.

2007-08-21T16:16:00.000-04:00

Well that was hilarious. I just used the clippers on my boy's hair for the first time. I mean, I used to hack away with scissors when he was a baby to not terrible effect. He's hit the barber exclusively for the past two years or so. Tomorrow he flies to see his grandparents, and I wanted him to look sharp.

So I busted out the clippers.

Now, the only reason I have them is because a friend bought them when he thought his were busted. But they weren't. So I got the new ones. I've used them for my own - ahem - personal use.

But what do I know about clipping a boy's hair? Nada.

As usual, I just jumped in. How bad could it get?

Well, his bangs are hilariously short. But the rest of it looks pretty even and good.

Go go single mom!

Weirdo.

2007-08-16T23:26:00.000-04:00

I seem to remember some meme for naming all the weird things about ourselves. It's late and I can't sleep (too hot!), so this is what I'll do.

1. Scared to look in a mirror at night, in the dark. Just don't know what I'll see. This draws from many many years of slumber party "Bloody Mary" incantations.

2. Have to sleep so the insides of my knees don't touch.

3. Obsessed with efficiency of motion while lathering up during the shower. Down one side, up the other, switch cloth to other hand, etc etc.

4. I hate $20 bills.

5. Used to have an OCD-style habit of clenching my teeth before and after every mailbox or street, while riding in the car.

6. When I smoke novelty cigarettes, have obsession with having too much spit in my mouth.

7. I never finish the crust, but always leave at least a very little piece.

8. One guys used to bite my heel and I loved it.

9. When I was in high school I had a medical thing called Geographic Tongue.

Cripes, is that all I can think of? I am certainly more of a weirdo than that.

No Better.

2007-08-15T22:27:00.000-04:00

I can't extend the energy to get into it, but today was no better, made even worse perhaps because I'm more drained and even less prepared for another day tomorrow.

Spending a life surrounded by little children, mine and otherwise, is hard. My own boy taxes my nerves, and at some point, my fatigue and singlemom-ness clumps together into an exponentially larger pile.

I'm overwhelmed. I'm tense. I don't know what to do with all the cooped up and built up frustration and anger. Hard exercise would help. A thorough and aggressive fucking would help. Getting to vacation (6pm on Friday) would really help.

To bed, then. It's a start.

Days Like These.

2007-08-14T22:21:00.000-04:00

I hate waking up tired. The mood taints everything onward. Even though the day itself brought no calamities, and even some points of pleasure, I was beaten low by the end of it.

A disappointing lip gloss. An inability to find The New Yorker on sale. Having to wait three days until vacation. My pizza order forgotten. . . really, these were the extent of my troubles.

Yet I was morose and exhausted by 5pm. Right now I despair that tomorrow will be any cheerier.

But fuck, I better get my attitude adjusted before the universe sends me something real to sweat.

My Weekend

2007-08-13T08:12:00.000-04:00

Friday night I met up with the new man of two months (well, known him for two years prior to that). We tried a new restaurant to drink wine and eat cheese, plus the world's most amazing arugula salad. Hit two bars and a party. All would have been fine and hilarious had I not enjoyed the offered novelty cigarette. Whew. I was steered home gallantly and then I passed out, fully dressed. That was Friday.

Saturday I woke up and took many ibuprofen. When plans for brunch were thwarted, he gathered supplies and chefed up awesome fried egg sandwiches. Watched Beerfest. Went to the local bar and played the jukebox. Hung out with friends. By midnight, we were in my backyard, talking on the swingset.

Sunday meant coffee from the ice cream store, and eggs. Zoning out listening to Simon and Garfunkel's concert in Central Park, and the new Amy Winehouse. Hit the farmer's market and bought tomatoes, blackberries, arugula, and peaches. Ate the blackberries immediately. The man went home and I spent the next seven hours reading the Harry Potter. Took a shower and went to bed.

Now off I go to start the week.

Spin Spin Goes The Wheel.

2007-08-08T01:37:00.000-04:00

It's so goddamn hot here. Unhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

At 1:30 am it's 83 degrees plus humidity and I don't have air conditioning.

Plus the boy has been coughing a lot and fussing so that keep me awake.

I start thinking about . . .well . . .everything:

I need a haircut but how short?

What will I get done this weekend?

Who are my friends?

Am I spending enough time with them?

Ebola!!

Can I wear the silk shirt with the linen pants? Will I be hot?

Why is the boy coughing?

There's no Ebola around here . . .

. . .yet!

Should I buy CD's or get an iPod and then a docking station, but do I have the right iTunes?

Christopher Walken cooking chicken hahahahaha. [youtube]

This fucking pillow!

Who does Yoda fight in the last Star Wars movies -- was it Count Dooku in 5 or Palpatin in 6? Both?

Eeeeeeebolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

You get the idea.

Back to the shower to cool off and try again.

Friday Night.

2007-07-27T20:05:00.000-04:00

There is something essentially lonely about being a single mom.

Duh.

In the last week, I've gotten acutely tuned in to the solitude of it. It isn't pretty. When I'm Mommy, it's all me, 100%. There's no one to relieve me or talk to deeply and privately about my worries or confusion. Apparently I compensate by talking to myself at 3am. Excellent.

It's Friday night. Most of my female friends are married. Who can cut loose and invite me out for a drink? Or even, who can I call? Last weekend I arranged a dinner for my married lady friends, but that took two weeks of planning. Of the single moms I know, who has my exact same insanely erratic custody schedule? That is one fucking narrow needle to thread.

Boo hoo, I know. I'm out of a shitty marriage, have amicable relations with my ex, have plenty of money, a good place to live, a supportive employer, a new guy out there, and an inch of bourbon in the cupboard and Deadwood for the DVD.

But if I'm feeling overwhelmed, fuck, I can only imagine what it's like for the 99% of other single moms who don't have one-tenth of what I have going for me.

I'm done complaining. Good luck to you. Hang in there.

Rant.

2007-07-24T21:52:00.000-04:00

You were my best friend, my ally, my confidante, my number one.

In the future, we were supposed to share more good times than bad, more happiness than sadness.

It was supposed to get better.

Now we can't even talk.

I miss you. Do you get that? Do you understand? But I won't be made to feel like shit because all of a sudden you want the one thing you can't have.

I offered you everything. EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!! Everything. And you said no and no and no and no and no and no and no and no and no.

And I was still your friend. I stood by you always. Always. Despite the hurt. I valued your friendship so deeply, so essentially, that I swore I would honor and preserve it above all else that went on between us.

But I guess I was the only one.

Nesting

2007-07-22T19:07:00.000-04:00

Mmmmm what a good weekend. It was the first time in a long time that I was on my own. No boys, young or old, to be found. I had dinner with girlfriends. I cleaned out a lot of crap from my small apartment and put it in storage. Friends treated me to a silly raw fish dinner last night. I blared the Dixie Chicks in my car and drove with the windows down. Today was the farmer's market. I got tomatoes and peaches and flowers and goat cheese. (The way I ate one of those peaches was truly obscene.) I found some new clothes. I read 156 pages of Harry Potter 7. Now I'm going to finish my clean-up, make sure I'm ready for work, take some Tylenol PM, and go to bed.

Tomorrow: The work. The boy.

Did you enjoy this weekend?

Shhhhh.

2007-07-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

At dinner tonight with five girlfriends.

This and that and this and that.

Then the topics of blogs. Someone saying 'I don't know who blogs. Who are these people?'

I had to bite my tongue. I was so tempted:

"ME! I have a blog! I have a good blog! People like me!"

But there's something I've learned. If you want to keep a secret, then don't fucking talk about it.

Oh, but the pride suffers.

This is where we are and this is what it's like here.

2007-07-20T02:38:00.000-04:00

I thought I was over this a long time ago. I thought I was done mourning it.

Someone says "This is never going to work. It's never going to work. It's never going to work," in the most kind, loving, patient way they can for such a terrible message. You hear it but don't quite believe it.

He says it again later. This time it stings a bit, so you shed some tears. For whatever this connection is worth in the present, you keep with it so he has to remind you again. There's no future in this for you. Now you begin to understand and there are more than a few tears, in fact you weep and think Oh God, my heart.

You don't talk about it anymore when you're together, but during your long sleepless nights alone, tears slink down your cheeks and soak your pillow. Finally your mother's voice tells you to just sleep, to get off the hamster wheel of despair, and to spare yourself.

You learn, when you think of him, to sigh in resignation instead of crying. You try to shift your standards to that of a more casual friend: no nightly phone calls, never a letter or a visit when you're struggling. You tell yourself this is right and proper: to depend on others and broaden into a new life. But you still sigh with longing for his company.

Probably you give in and see him again. Parts go well. Other parts don't. You're reminded of the hot furnace he stokes in you, but also the cold isolation of his proclamation. He can't show you he wants you beyond tonight.

This time you sigh out of nostalgia, out of understanding. You sigh because you see it yourself, "This has no future."

So you think you're moving on. You think you've worked through it all.

You begin to connect with someone else. You don't know if you're ready for it, and fight the idea of something new that will be complicated from the start. But there's something worth exploring, so you decide Yes.

Then this other one is back, hard. And now he's saying Yes. Please. Here's everything I never offered you.

And it's you now who has to say No. No I don't want to try. No. I had time. I understood your No and came up with my own. Try not to be bitter. Try to feel clear.

At this point in your life, you believe in what you feel and how you think. You trust your instincts. Your thinking is straight. When you say No, you know it and feel it.

But it's by no means easy. It gives little satisfaction and no joy to say it. This time you're ending it.

And weep again for all you've lost.

And for all you never had.

This is where we are an this is what it's like here.

A Break.

2007-07-17T21:53:00.001-04:00

So I haven't been posting the sex stuff lately.

There is an easy explanation.
Well, two.

OK, three.

The first is that there is someone out there who may be reading this, and he already tortures himself thinking on this topic. There isn't much else I can offer him except the small kindness of not writing about it here.

The second is that there's nothing weird or difficult about my new situation. If I want to tell someone about the new person, I can. This blog is not my only venue anymore.

And the third is that I don't want to invade this new person's privacy, that is, to write explicitly about him without him knowing it.

So that's the deal for now, at least.

FSM

2007-07-16T22:53:00.000-04:00

I found about this last night. Of course, you can check Wikipedia too.

WWFSMD?

Something I Like.

2007-07-12T20:29:00.000-04:00

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

by Portia Nelson

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

Fidelity

2007-07-10T23:26:00.001-04:00

I wonder if I can be faithful. I certainly have a shitty track record.

I hope that my infidelity is a measure of how unhappy my relationships have been, and how unsuitable they have been. Understanding my pathologies about men has been a major task for the past year, so I feel as though I have a grip on how everything up until now has been a variation on a theme.

It started with my dad: inappropriate sense of boundaries; expected everyone else to take care of him, dismayed when he was not the priority; low level of life functionality (managing finances, especially).

I functioned as a caretaker. He depended on me for his emotional well-being. How I felt didn't matter if it competed with his needs. I was taught to value responsibility to others as the highest virtue.

And I've paid the cost with a succession of shitty relationships, a failed marriage, and feeling like an orphan.

Thankfully, I know I've changed a lot in the past year. Hugely.

I'm out of a bad marriage. I've reversed a lot of my backwards thinking, and put responsibility to myself as my first priority. I know and honor myself. I tell the truth, even when someone doesn't want to hear it or may not respond in the way I hope.

I hope it's enough. I really don't want to be unfaithful ever again.

Do you think it's contextual to the situation you find yourself in? Or is it an inherent, immutable character flaw that can't be escaped?

SUP BITCHES!

2007-07-09T21:50:00.000-04:00

I'm not even going to think about whether to write or what this blog means or whatever blah blah blah.

I'm still here, alive, doing pretty well.

I live in a group house. I am back at my job after a three-week vacation. My ex-husband and I are both dating other people. I am dating one of my best friends, someone I've mentioned before. It is both great and a completely complicated car crash. Most people know that I was unfaithful to my ex, including the new guy/old friend. He likes me anyway. I don't know if it was smart to get involved so soon after my marriage. And doing so with this person has really had an effect on another relationship that I really value. Perhaps past the point of recovery. He's really mad. He's really hurt.

This is my life even though it doesn't seem coherent when I write it down. And I'm scared of the blog-obligation. Sometimes I think that it's better not to write to the virtual world, but rather to just live my life in actual time. I don't want to write here if it substitutes for intimacy or taking risks with real-time humans. No offense, guys.

I do miss all of you, though.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

More soon.

A Few of My Favorite Things.

2007-05-17T20:42:00.000-04:00

**I wrote the post at the end of this one but am now sitting down to write again.***

I am a stupid, dumb, insane, emotional, and silly girl.

I have got to come up with a new plan of How To Be. I am vaguely getting there.

OK so I made this new resolution not to be with someone, not to have a thing with anyone. To be alone for now.

And I knew that I was going to have to have a conversation with a particular someone. We met up to hang out. He is whip smart, funny, and great, so I had to keep telling myself I Will Not Have A Thing. I Will Not Have A Thing. I Will NOT Have A Thing.

And then we actually got to the part of the evening when he said 'I like you and I want to have a thing.'

Really? Awesome! Great! Let's go! I dig this guy! Only. . .er. . .

I Will Not Have A Thing.

So I looked at him and said it. I Will Not Have A Thing.

And he got it. He's completely cool with it. He took a chance but it didn't pan out and he's fine.

But me?

I am doing the right thing. But I'm pouty and bitchy and annoyed and sulky about it. Waaaaaaah it's not what I waaaaaaant. And I'm lamenting Not Having A Thing as though I'm not also responsible for that decision. This is your choice, so live with it, WryGirl! Suck it up! Do the work!

Then maybe you'll truly get what you want instead of just what you want right now.

Oh, but I also wonder if I'm an idiot for passing this up.

But not really.

*****There are a bunch of real topics I could write about, but I'm not in the mood. Moving out of my old house. Friendship. Loss and Transition.

But what I'd really like to write about is the great sex I had. Oh -- haha-- that's right. I haven't had any great sex in about, er, for-fucking-ever! So I'm going to just remember some nice, general moments.

Heavy making out, then he wordlessly gets up on his knees and parts my thighs.

We're spooned in bed. He's behind me and he pulls my top leg back an over his so he can enter from behind.

He pulls my hair. Whenever. For whatever reason.

As foreplay, he pushes me onto the bed, pushes up my skirt, and smacks my ass.

He reaches behind me, pulls my bra tight, and runs a hand over the taught fabric stretched over my nipple.

He bites my ear and I say 'OW!. . .Do it again.'

I tell him I read a spanking story on the internet for the first time and it got me hot. He offers to spank me. He studies up and does it right.

He forgets the one item he was sent to buy because of the insane blowjob I gave him in the car.

OK now I'm just torturing myself.

It's all good. I miss it all.

Apt Metaphor.

2007-05-15T22:13:00.000-04:00

Today I taught a young girl how to jump off stuff.

She's slight, reserved, and easily spooked.

There was a structure that she scrambled onto, but then didn't want to just scramble off of again. She asked for my hand so that she could stand up. Wobbly and hesitant, she straightened her legs and stood.

She practiced standing for a while, sometimes venturing to almost let go of my hand.

Then she said she wanted to jump off. She still held my hand and she plopped down.

She climbed back on.

Again, the shaky standing, the hand-holding, the plop.

We did it a few times. Every time I had to remind her that she had just done it, that she knew she could.

Finally she let go of my hand. "Can I jump?" I said yes. She wanted me to have arms ready to catch her. She plopped off again, but this time on her own.

You would not have believed her grin.

Climbed up, got ready, waited for me, jumped off.

Same grin.

Climbed up, got ready, told me to put my arms down. Jumped.

Climbed up, needed my hand, let go, jumped.

Climbed up, pointed me to back up but with my arms ready, jumped.

Climbed up, pointed me to stack back but with my arms ready, jumped.

Climbed up, needed my hand, held on, and jumped off the other side.

Climbed up, held my hand, jumped off the other side.

Climbed up, let go of my hand, jumped off the other side.

Jump. Climb. Jump. Climb.

On her face was a touching mix of fear, happiness, and determination.

She didn't know how it would go each time she climbed up, but she always asked for what she needed to feel safe. Then she jumped.

Right.

Got it.

Tidy Up.

2007-05-14T21:57:00.000-04:00

So I never would have guessed it, but grooming is pretty relevant now.

I could be naked at any time, unexpectedly.

Let's leave out the option of actual sex, because I've sworn off that. The whole scenerio of stripping, laying myself flat on a cool set of sheets and being climbed on top of -- totally not the issue! It's not like I'm going to take off my top, and need to worry about someone noticing my underarm stubble -- that is, if he isn't already fixated on my breasts. Irrelevant! Oh -- or making sure that my bush is trimmed to allow for easy entry -- I am so not considering that.

Well OK I'm thinking about it right now for a minute.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

What I mean is finding myself on a virtual stranger's roofdeck and deciding to climb into the hot tub. Who planned this? Not me. My modesty causes me to pause for a moment, but hell yeah, otherwise I'm in. But, like, I still want to look tidy and trim and pretty. Hair sprouting everywhere? So totally not my look.

But clearly there are new opportunites for us single moms when the kid is at Dad's house. Hot tubs! Roofdecks!

And by the way, I am so not thinking about that easy entry thing.

Gotta go.

Mike Brady Wanna-Be

2007-05-11T20:59:00.000-04:00

So a word about my new landlady/roommate.

You're groaning already. Yes, we live together and she also owns the house.

She is an architect.

Did you ever see the Brady Bunch movie? Mike Brady keeps designing buildings for his company, only they all look like his own house.

Every design element of her renovation is completely wacked. I can't have cupboards because she didn't plan for the window or the overhead pipes. That kind of thing. She ordered all new eco- watersaver toilets and I got the first one. I flushed it about 45 minutes ago and I think it's still filling, drip by drip.

Fuck! Agh! Idiocy!!!!!!!

My Next Brilliant Plan.

2007-05-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

First of all, I'm not sleeping with anyone. I'm not dating anyone. And anyone who might have been on the horizon, past or future, is out of luck. I've made an executive decision and I'm trying it on for size right now: I'm going to be by myself for a while. Some may call this a regression to my old celibacy pact. Well, OK, I guess that has merit. But the difference is that I'm not going to seek or cultivate a relationship, not just sex. Sex is out too, by the way.

So call it a Loneliness/Celibacy Pact. Haha.

I have no real interest in being lonely. That will just happen, I bet.

I have no real interest in being sexually frustrated. That will happen too.

What I really want is to change. I want to stop looking toward other people for groundedness or balance. For 30+ years that's what I got from my mother. Then I looked to various men.

Let me give you an example: if I like a man, my mood depends on whether or not he emails or calls me. No no, let me re-state that. My entire state of mind, my inner peace is shattered if I don't hear from him when I think I ought to. That's just a small example. I'm easily and disasterously unhinged by factors and relationships outside myself.

I need to learn how to be centered inwardly. To know who I am, to determine this new life without regard to what anyone else thinks or feels. To trust myself beyond all others.

Another example: last summer my grandmother basically called me a drunk and a bad mother. I actually tried to sit down with her later and engage her in a conversation about it. What??!!!?? Who the fuck does she think she is and more importantly why did I actually consider her opinion, when in my heart, I know she's dead wrong?

I don't know if I'm saying this the way I want to. But you don't have to completely get it. I do. I need to be alone, with all the implications.

Yippee. What a fucking blast.

Bang/Pow.

2007-05-08T20:57:00.000-04:00

Well only, like, a million years later and once again I have internet.

I'm in my new apartment. Sitting on the floor with the keyboard on my lap.

This place, still going through renovations, is a complete mess. So far it's a positive move, though.

Got a couple personal things (read: fucking) that I've considered but am going to say 'no thanks' to for now. One was an impetuous idea that needs to be ditched. The other is fairly significant but the timing is wrong. I do, after all, need to spend some time alone and figure things out. It's the sort of thing that when I don't get a phone call, I start getting wiggy. If I know that I'm not balanced or thinking squarely, I can't really go any further. I'll explain more soon.

Now I go a-searchin' for the box of forks.

Yield.

2007-04-30T20:49:00.000-04:00

Tonight I'm cleaning up this empty house and packing up the last carload of stuff. Tomorrow I'll put the airbed in the car and go to work.

So this computer will be off-line for a little while until I figure out a new connection.

Rearrange your sock drawer.
Read a book.
Buy a new lamp.

See you soon.

Save Your Liver; Skip This Post

2007-04-25T22:55:00.000-04:00

If you're the guy who says he isn't reading this blog anymore, then stop now. The following will make you slightly anxious and queasy.

-----

You've been warned.

-----

OK then. Are you sure?

-----

I thought that tonight I might not sleep alone. I thought there might be someone to curl up behind me.

There was also the smart, responsible choice of sleeping alone. And that's what I'm stuck with.

I told him that I would ask him only once not to go. Please stay. He kept to the agreement we made, and moved toward the door. I didn't ask him again. He left.

Ooooh and I'm pissed. I'm hurt. I'm lonely. It's not what I want. Really really really. I wanted skin and sweaty temples and all the stuff that I seem to so keen on writing about but have sworn against in my emotional chaos. The pop of a hand on my ass. Jesus, I want that. A body pressed full-on against mine.

We had a full discussion. We both agreed. But I forfeit. I give up. I want take-backs, when it doesn't matter what I said before.

Tomorrow I'll wake up glad that my life is less complicated. I'll be relieved that this isn't something I need to worry about. I'll teach, and eat take-out, and pack my stuff.

But oh my god oh my god how I want that thing tonight.

Smackdown.

2007-04-23T21:54:00.000-04:00

I mean, really. Who can write about sex when she's a working single-parent who's moving in five days while simultaneously selling another house? Come on.

Well OK.

Something funny happened. I was out with my friends on Saturday night at the bar we all know well. The bartenders know my name and face, and with whom I will show up. So we were outside while the boys smoked. For some reason the bartender and I made a crack back and forth about something and the next thing I know, he smacked my ass.

!!!!!!!!!

Now, this is a big guy, maybe 250. He's got a big palm.

And I'm a sturdy girl who likes a smack.

Sounds perfect, right? Maybe a little hot?

"Yeah, baby, you think you can have this?"
"Get on the bed."
"Ooo playing tough guy."
"Shush. Now get on there." Shove. Smack.
"Oh!"
"Yeah, that's right. Take it."

Ha. Not so much.

He hit me so hard I fell across a table and had to catch the railing to keep from falling down. He walked back into the bar. We were all laughing so hard I almost fell over again. Hilarious.

**Thankfully, he hit the side of my hip so it didn't actually hurt as much as it could have.

Voyeur.

2007-04-19T21:35:00.000-04:00

When I was younger, I used to imagine being watched. It's happening again. I'll brush my teeth, wash my face, check the mirror, pad to my bedroom, and get undressed. The whole time, I'll imagine that someone is wordlessly watching me, noticing every little movement and fine detail. They watch, and they love every motion. The way I use my hands turns them on. My face, clean and nude in the mirror, looks beautiful. Simple gestures are a turn-on. I'm not pretending or posturing, just doing my normal routine and in it, someone finds me fascinating and gorgeous.

I can't tell why I do this. Does it dispel loneliness? Is it a gesture of kindness toward myself, to see beauty in even the mundane parts of my life? Is it a pathetic longing? What is this need? To be merely watched? Or to be seen?

The News

2007-04-17T20:51:00.000-04:00

The last few days have been nutty. I've had family visiting, a work project to finish, music to play. The week looked hectic, but the family left early so I had tonight alone with the boy. Tomorrow night's plans have changed, so I'll have that time too. Maybe it's not so nuts and I'll get some packing done.

For in 10 days, we move.

That's right. We're out of this house. Make ready the escape pods. We flee this old spacestation for a new world!
-----
A few nice things happened today. A co-worker gave me a bottle of top-shelf liquor! I was offered almost $20k over the asking price for the former house!
-----
Been thinking about playwords. You know, the words you say but don't mean when things are hot and fast:
No.
Stop.
I shouldn't.
I can't.
and my favorite:
Don't you dare.
That one has particularly pleasant associations. Oh, the things he dared.

If You Could See What I See

2007-04-15T22:35:00.000-04:00

Nevermind the photos. This is what it's really like:

I pull the oxford cloth shirt off, and straighten the cuffs from how I wore them rolled up all day. Search the closet for an empty hanger and put the shirt away. Take off the faded cords and toss them in the laundry. Slip off the socks one by one. Run my hands down my black crew neck. Wonder what it would look like to someone else, maybe clingy? Pull it off over my head. Stand in my black bra and black underpants. Remember what it was like to be seen like this. Try to feel beautiful, to admire myself. Is my ass supposed to be the width of my chest or my shoulders? Cock head side to side to consider the view in the mirror on top of my bureau. Choose a pajama top from the drawer, then close the drawer. When the top is on, notice my nipples showing through the white fabric.

Remember. Remember what it's like to be seen.

Sit down and write this.

Friend:Boy and Friend:Girl.

2007-04-13T19:25:00.000-04:00

Tonight is supposed to be my accomplishment night. I'm to pay bills, and pick up the house, and blah blah blah. So far I have read Entertainment Weekly and listened to the Dixie Chicks. You can't imagine my fatigue and sore-throatiness. So don't even try. You're trying, aren't you? Fucker. Fuck. You.

My friend is out on a date tonight with a girl he really likes. Let's send good vibes his way, folks. Just think of him as WryGirl's friend:boy.

You know, a lot of people ask me about this guy. Isn't there a thing between us? No? Whynot? He sounds like a great guy, WryGirl. He's single and a great guy, right?

For one, it would, on his part, complicate his relationship with a mutual friend. On my part, it would completely fuck up my relationship to that same friend.

For two, I just really love being friends with this guy, and he feels the same. We're really really good at being friends, the kind who bring each other chicken soup and dust you off after too much stupidity. I already know the things that would drive me nuts if I had any connection to him beyond friendship. People think "Well, we love each other so much as friends, shouldn't we try to be boyfriend/girlfriend?"

No.

Don't be dumb.

That's What.

2007-04-12T21:11:00.000-04:00

Whatever you're thinking, I've got it covered.

Guess What?

2007-04-11T22:29:00.000-04:00

Guess What 5

2007-04-10T20:46:00.000-04:00

Guess What 4

2007-04-10T06:38:00.000-04:00

decisions, decisions . . .hmmmmm

Guess What. . .3

2007-04-09T15:48:00.000-04:00

Me Think Maker!

2007-04-08T23:22:00.000-04:00

Well hot damn, I've been tagged with a Thinking Blogger award. Or two, as I've just found out.

Lenore of Enchanted Palms says: WryGirl's journey through marriage/separation/starting over. She manages in so few words to convey so much. Great reading that illustrates that so often, just life itself is the most compelling story.

And J UnderCovers says: WryGirl at Dirty Prom Queen holds a special spot on my blogroll because it was her blog that first drew me in and started me blogging. She's been busy lately and not posting as much, but in fits and spurts over the last year, she's given us amazing insightful peeks into the difficult times she's gone through. It's not all downer material though, and when she's funny, she's wicked funny.

I'm pretty amazed and grateful that you guys are still reading, still tuning in, and still finding something to respond to when this has been a particularly dark, hectic time around here. Really, I should publish some outrageous photo of my nipples, but oh well, sorry too bad for you. Suck it.

The rules of the Thinking Blogger meme go like this:

"Should you choose to participate, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging. I thought it would be appropriate to include them with the meme. The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,

2. Link to this post here for the origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog)."

OK so who hasn't been tagged yet? Of course I'd say AlwaysArousedGirl, Secret Brain, Figleaf, Chelsea Girl, Shay, Gadfly, Storm. Oh wait, Storm always makes me hot. Is there an award for that? Um, OK has anyone said PostSecret?

Next time, more photos. No nipples, sorry. Against the rules of the house.

Guess What? 3

2007-04-08T09:09:00.000-04:00

Guess What I'm Up To? 2

2007-04-06T22:50:00.000-04:00

Guess What I'm Up To?

2007-04-06T22:45:00.000-04:00

Oh Come Now.

2007-04-06T10:20:00.000-04:00

The most recent news is that I don't get any action, even in my dreams.

Yesterday I treated myself with a manicure and a haircut before going for my Swedish massage. My 90-minute Swedish massage. My free 90-minute Swedish massage. I've had massages before, and even a bad massage is pretty fucking great. And this was a very good one.

First of all, it's amazing to me that within ten minutes of meeting me, a stranger gladly starts touching all different parts of my body. Nevermind it being weird for me, which it was for a moment. But for her to just jump into intimacy and contact -- I don't know why but I found it impressive and touching. haha no pun intended.

The gal was tender but strong, with a supple touch. Even as she worked my muscles with one hand, the other hand seemed to caress me, to stroke me. It was healing in a few ways. And I'm sorry, but is there anything better than having your feet rubbed? If my eyes could have rolled farther back in my head . . .

Later on I went to a bar hoping to sit at said bar and order some garlic rosemary fries and some pizza, but fuck it was a whole happy hour scene. I scammed a chair from two guys and chatted with them for a while. Firefighters and paramedics. Their nurse friends turned up too. I decided to bail to get some real food, and said goodbye.

Then went to a favorite neighborhood gourmet biker bar and pulled up a barstool. The guys on my left talked bikes. The girl on my right wept as her date sat and listened. Probably she wanted a baby and he isn't ready. Something simple, I'm sure. I ate lots of steak. Finally a new couple took the weepy couple's place and we talked movies.

And on to my dream: my bookclub decided to have a lesbian orgy. I brought my vibrators but didn't know how to jump into the action, so I just wandered around feeling rejected and aimless.

Hunh. Wonder what that means?

Proof Positive.

2007-04-04T20:19:00.000-04:00

So I had this bet with a friend that I wouldn't get hit on by April 1.

I slapped the shit out of that bitch bet.

My friend is incredulous and baffled, and somewhat skeptical, it seems.

But then we went out last night.

We went to a club for a show, and hit the bar for a beer before the opening act. Three of us, two guys and me. The bartender asked B. what he wanted, and got it. The bartender asked D. what he wanted, and got it. Then the bartender walked away and helped another customer, completely ignoring me. Both of my friends were stunned. "What the fuck was that?"

To which I smugly replied, "See? Invisible."

Go Girl.

2007-04-02T21:37:00.000-04:00

My cousin is getting into colleges these days. She was accepted at her first choice, and her long-shot, Harvard. Now she has a hell of a choice, but she's pretty excited.

I mean, who wouldn't be?

Well, me. As I talked longer and longer with my uncle about her situation and how thrilled she is, I felt myself sinking lower and lower into self-pity and envy. I want that back, the thrill of the future, the unmitigated happiness. I was severely jealous of a seventeen-year old tomboy. My life is hard. Hers is happy. I'm sad. She's happy. I'm confused. Hard! It's hard!

Then I remembered: this is a girl who spent her entire teenagerdom witnessing and tending her mother's multi-year battle with terminal cancer. My cousin, before the age of 16, held her mother's hand and watched her die. This is a girl who takes honors and AP courses. She works hard. Her life has been hard.

So who's going to begrudge her some joy? Not me. I'll gladly slump along for a while if the universe will finally give this girl her due.

General Generalities.

2007-03-28T22:32:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is my last day and my second job. I'm actually not that sad. Mostly, I'm tired and want my solo evenings and Saturdays back to myself. It's hard to explain without getting incriminatingly specific, but it was a job that fulfilled a niche dream that I had for a long time. I tried it, liked it, got done with it. Bonus that I made a good friend.

My husband moves his furniture out this weekend, and we will have reconciled a big money thing. I really need this straggling on and on to be over. I can't believe we decided to separate all the way back in November and we're still doing big pieces of it.

All I can do it eat. I've re-committed to red meat but that doesn't stop me from eating everything else within sight. Just keep your hands away from my mouth. About five minutes ago I sat in the kitchen eating chips and dip. Gross. Yummm. Chomp chomp. Now time to go to sleep and store all that fat in my ass.

'night.

An Old Oath.

2007-03-27T21:03:00.000-04:00

"I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane and not mad -- as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth -- so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane -- quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot." -- Jane Eyre

A few months ago I made an oath of celibacy because I knew that it would be best for me.

So far so good. Now is not the time to revisit the idea, due to the, you know, insanity.

Onward.

Rant.

2007-03-26T21:01:00.000-04:00

I really can't stand this stupid ex-husband of mine. What a putz. I can't depend on him for the smallest of things, like remembering the stuff that our son needs when he goes to school. He makes an appointment with the mediator and gets the time wrong. He's disorganzied, forgetful, and lax. Basically, if I want it done, I still have to do it myself. There is no part of him that I enjoy anymore, and that's really too bad. I know he's smart and funny, but I can't see it. I am so done with this. I wish that I didn't have to be connected to him, but I will. My consolation is that we're still working through logistical stuff, but soon our lives will be markedly separate. His stuff will be gone. We'll settle the money.

But not soon enough, baby.

Sucking It Up. Being Happy.

2007-03-25T10:12:00.000-04:00

I'm just not going to feel sorry for myself about last night. 'What,' a certain friend would say, 'do you have sand in your pussy?'

This said friend and I found a phenomenal bistro, laughed at the antics of my 24-year old co-worker, and ate terrific food. He took me to a new bar that is very cool. There were $3 Grolsch. More hilarious conversation. Later he told me that the very pleasant man to his left, although with a pretty girl, had been checking me out. My friend's phone rang with a message from a girl he knows, so we went off to see her. A very meek boy liked me but couldn't work up the nerve to ask even my name. Turned out the girl had issued a booty call to my friend, but he still left her until later in order to drive me home. He is the best of men.

So I think my pal got laid, which although left me feeling left out, I am glad for.
I was careful with my drinking and didn't get sloppy or silly or blabby. I kept my wits.
Boys did some admiring, but it was easy for me to follow my judgement and not get tempted into something stupid. I went home alone, which was the right and intended plan.
Our city's bars are smoke-free, so I don't feel like a smoked ham.
I had a great time with my friend eating food, drinking, and kidding around.

So what am I complaining about? Suck it up. Be happy.

The Truth

2007-03-25T03:03:00.000-04:00

It's 3am. I've arrived home alone for all the right reasons.

This sucks.

Yeehaw.

2007-03-24T08:58:00.000-04:00

I swore all day yesterday that after my 50-hour week, I would plop at home after work, eat cheese, and watch The L Word, but more importantly, get to bed by 10, 10:30 at the latest.

Well, the subway was all stupid, so I got home an hour later than I wanted. By the time I fixed some cheese scrambled eggs and popped in the DVD, it was at least 9:45.

Let me say a word here about my video choice: when I created my Netflix queue after my husband moved out, it seems all I chose were lesbian foreign films. A couple domestic like Kissing Jessica Stein, which was only OK. Who knows why? Maybe I'm bi-curious. Maybe I've forfeited on the notion of a normal boy/girl relationship. Maybe I'm bored.

Basically The L Word is a lesbian soap opera. Strangely, the only explicit sex has been straight.

My conclusion, though, is that I don't want a lesbian relationship either. What it made me want was fucking. That's all. Oh God the conversations, the negotiations between people: no thanks. Am I wrong in thinking that dating is a fucking nightmare?

Yet I learned enough from my single days to know that unattached fucking does not make me feel good, or less lonely, or satisfied. Also, that if you don't know someone pretty well and trust them, sex can't possibly escalate to the level I want. It's like sitting in a high school class once you've earned your PhD. B-o-o-o-ring and pointless.

Hey, but I've got toys! And this is why I didn't get to sleep until after 11. The power trio. Got them all buzzing, spinning, hopping and it seems I am back on the right track.

That is, if waking up and doing it all twice over again is any indication.

Can't Win.

2007-03-21T21:35:00.000-04:00

A friend and I made a bet in early February that I would get hit on by the end of March. I said it wouldn't happen, that guys don't hit on me. The stakes?

I'll get $1000 if I'm right.

And no, you people don't count. Sorry.

I've spent some time out, and so far my theory has been proven true. To be fair, I haven't tried the real social bar scene, and am told that the bet would be over in five minutes if I were going to the right places. Ha, I say.

But now I'm beginning to realize the Catch-22. If I win the $1000, I'll have to use it for therapy to resusitate my crushed self-esteem. If I lose: no $1000.

Only ten days left.

Fell Flat.

2007-03-20T23:16:00.000-04:00

So last night I decided a month was long enough. Time to get off. Neither you nor I can believe it had been so long.

I started off by trying to find some decent free porn on the 'net**. Made due with Tony Comstock previews, then took to bed. I started off slow and deliberate, easing off when it seemed a climax was imminent. What I was working toward was the slow, rippling effect of sheet lightning, as when you're on the plains and can see the flashes trip across the horizon, one after another. It really took all my will. Finally, in haste, I grabbed one of the other vibes and went for it.

Too fast. Too hard.

Sure, it worked.

But it was no firestorm. More like the bulb pop of a Kodak Instamatic flashcube. Puh. Done. Eh.

Oh well. Nevermind. Another time.

**Recommendations welcome.

It's About Time Someone Said So.

2007-03-19T20:41:00.001-04:00

You are the World

Completion, Good Reward.

The World is the final card of the Major Arcana, and as such represents saturnian energies, time, and completion.

The World card pictures a dancer in a Yoni (sometimes made of laurel leaves). The Yoni symbolizes the great Mother, the cervix through which everything is born, and also the doorway to the next life after death. It is indicative of a complete circle. Everything is finally coming together, successfully and at last. You will get that Ph.D. you've been working for years to complete, graduate at long last, marry after a long engagement, or finish that huge project. This card is not for little ends, but for big ones, important ones, ones that come with well earned cheers and acknowledgements. Your hard work, knowledge, wisdom, patience, etc, will absolutely pay-off; you've done everything right.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Fantasy.

2007-03-17T23:44:00.000-04:00

When I was in my early twenties, I lived with my boyfriend for a summer. He was a messy, duplicitous, and selfish man. It was one of those hot/hot relationships; we were always fighting but unable to stay apart. Our arguments made the diabetic girl across the hall cry.

But there was one night when he woke me, just barely, from deep sleep. He slowly and gently fucked me, gave me my orgasm, and then turned me back on my side to go back to sleep.

Neither then nor now do I have an explanation.

When I think of it though, my mind goes a step further these days.

I'm alone in my house, asleep. It's late. This man I know has a key and lets himself into the house. He slips off his shoes so he can tiptoe upstairs. Silently he slips into bed with me and wraps himself around me. Maybe I'm wearing a t-shirt, so his hand snakes underneath immediately to cup my breast. I'm quickly awake and glad he's here. Neither of us speak. I turn toward him, our bodies pressing together like a full-length kiss. His hands are in my hair. His lips are on my face. My arms are around him and I'm filled with selfish relief, and I have the metal image of my body finally relaxing into limp compliance. He's here so I can shed my roles as single parent, working professional, hassled ex-spouse. In fact, he'd kick those girls out of bed if they showed up here. Me, essential and unconcerned for anyone else, for any other moment. That's who I can be, who he expects. He makes love to me deftly and silently but for the ending chorus of release. Tangled around each other, we fall asleep. The lonely girl closes her eyes and drifts away. I rest easy.

Photo

2007-03-16T22:04:00.000-04:00

This is my look at the end of the week.

Wednesday Evening.

2007-03-14T21:53:00.000-04:00

Holy fucka fucka it's been a long time.

For one, I've been holding down two jobs, at approximately eleven thousand hours a week. For two, I'm a single mom now. For three, any spare time has been spent getting sick with some bullshit or another. Can you say hello to the yeast infection from hell? Bonjour!

For four, I've had just enough to drink to start spewing again.

Ah, I miss this.

Most nights I come home and am too damn tired to write or read, even.

This is the last month I'll work both jobs and although I'll miss the retail, I think I can hold on the bitchin' friends I've made. Also, I'm in the midst of making decisions about where and how to live. The conclusion is to share space with another single mom; I hope it will be cool (versus the big freakout by my son).

And considering this is theoretically a sex blog: . . . Nothing much to say in that direction. There is the inevitable demise of an old flame, which both hurts and sucks. I know another guy who is pretty to look at, but lacks in both smarts and humor and good sense, so no fucking thanks. I don't even bother masturbating, because truly erotic fantasy entails the possibility of fulfillment, and I ain't got none of that. It's not that I want someone to help make decisions or to get me through this next phase of life; I actually like the autonomy. The problem is feeling as though I'm out of touch with the woman, the sex/fuck side of myself. That's understating it. That part of me doesn't exist right now. There is no one telling me about my sweetness, my beauty, the softness of my skin. No one seeks or desires me.

Part of the reason I haven't been writing is the limits of my schedule. But I also don't want to talk about what I don't have and what I miss. I'm happier with my life than I have been in a long time, but I'm also lonely. I'm only halfway toward resolving my fucked-upedness. I'm tired.

Come here. Bring me a beer, a book, a donut. I miss you.

Short and Sweet

2007-03-02T21:41:00.000-05:00

All kinds of minor but absorbing health problems, too much work, too much life.

If I had any kind of energy, I would write more but . . .

actually, if I had any energy I would masturbate and then if I had anything left over for you guys. . .

Crawling back into bed now.

Oh, but have I ever mentioned the genius of Organic Oreos?

Back In The Game.

2007-02-21T07:31:00.000-05:00

Wow, OK a week since I last wrote. Let's catch up.

It's Wednesday morning, and the lovely morning sun keeps me from sleeping late. I'm taking a mental health day and keeping the boy at home. The plan is to get some shit done, such as bills, and to figure out what this boy needs.

The weekend was a great one, full of friends, music, sex, food, wine, and cheese. Having my friends over for late-night hanging out with a fire made me happier than I have been in a very long time. People asked me how I was, how's the separation going, and I truthfully answered 'Great. I'm happy.' It was such a relief to say it. It was such a relief to feel it. My life is not just better, but good.

And yes, I did say sex. As candid as I can be, I'm not going to get into the details too much, only: POW pow pow pow POW POW. Yes yes, it's good to be touched and desired, to hear tender words, but really, let me just say fucking is good. And this fucking? Really fucking great.

Then I picked up my son on Sunday and it has been one car crash after another. Tantrums. Tantrums with me, tantrums with his teachers. Made us all cry with frustration. Then it turns around and starts affecting my work, and I feel like a professional fuck-up because I'm letting my co-workers down and distracting them from the million other things they should be doing. And I don't know how to handle this kid. Boot camp? More leeway? He's tired and stressed, confused too. There's no small measure of sadness and anger he's feeling. Like, duh. I, in turn, feel terrible, awful really, for putting him through this.

So I'm taking today to figure things out with him, get the groceries, pay the bills, make some phone calls. . .get back in the game.

Home Sweet Home Update

2007-02-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

Today we all got to go home early because of the weather, and my evening job was cancelled.

A night to myself! I spent most of it moving things around the house, and cozifying this little space ship of a room. I'm much happier in here than in the big bedroom, so this is where I'll stay. I hung up some pictures, moved a little furniture, and sucked the dust bunnies into the big black vacuum cleaner. It all makes me much happier.

I just got up and took a photo of where I'm sitting as I write.
I'm getting up from that exact chair, undressing, and putting my little head on that pillow right there.

Goodnight.

And here's the lamp. The blessed, glorious lamp.

2007-02-11T22:50:00.000-05:00

Did I really go through all this just so I could buy a new lamp?
So I could eat mushroom soup by the fire after filling the entire house with smoke because I closed the flue instead of opening it?
So I could drink a beer or three more with friends without having to call home?
So I could masturbate in the house alone?
So I could eat cheese and hummous and bread for dinner?
So I could flush the toilet at night without fear of someone waking up?
So I didn't have to look at the stupid crap he liked to collect?
So I could happily think of a sex life that explicitly excluded him?
So I could sleep late?
So I could spend less money on eating out now because life used to be so streesful I couldn't be bothered to cook?

Is that why I spent thousands of dollars on therapy and mediation fees? Did I do all that work over the past year just for these reasons?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Light Dork.

2007-02-06T18:09:00.001-05:00

I'm so happy.

On my way home today I stopped and bought a lamp. No big thing, a $90 Pier One lamp. This is my first purchase in about 10 years that is for my home that I could buy because I love it, without consulting with someone. It is a big bulbous silver lamp with a drum shade; it looks perfect on top of my mother's old Stickley bookcase.

Out with the old! In with the new!

Let's hope the trip to the grocery store goes as well.

Juice boxes for all!

The Hateful Mac.

2007-02-06T06:55:00.000-05:00

Tuesday morning. Still not getting laid. Up early but no snow to delay school. And when I drive to work, I have to risk Fleetw00d Mac on the radio. I mean really, why do we still have to listen to them? Did they not make their 'We're Fleetw00d M@c' point? Are we not over this yet? Please, people, enough. Stop requesting the Fleetw00d M@c. We're done.

Schubert too. Can't stand that guy.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

2007-02-04T15:47:00.000-05:00

Unbe-fucking-lievable.

I took the boy on the road for seven hours on Friday through the rain and slush and traffic.
I made sure to connect with my ridiculous grandmother, while we were visiting family.
I suffered his horrendous temper tantrum and refusal to sleep last night.
I got less sleep than when I'm home.
We drove home today.

All so that my husband could gather and pack all his shit with the boy out of the house.

I got home an hour ago. He packed up maybe a third of his stuff, and from what I could tell, it was his desk drawers. This was the weekend, not for moving all the stuff, but at least to get it all stored in his bedroom so that he wouldn't have to come back until he found .

Very, very, very little has gotten done. I could have killed him if he didn't start crying when I confronted him.

Done. Done.

Done, fucker, done!

Trolling for Panties.

2007-02-01T22:07:00.000-05:00

OK so what if I've had a headache most days this week. And there's that time on Wednesday when a kid threw up into my hands. I've certainly not had enough sleep. Hey did I mention that cold? Well it moved right the fuck into my chest. Oh! Let's give a shout out to my son who completely lost his shit and kicked a teacher.

What's that you say? My marriage? Right-o! My husband and partner of 10 years moves out this weekend.

But hey fine, I'm rolling with it, feeling boisterous and wry about it all. I'm game. I'm in there, fully submerged in my life and kind of invigorated by it. 'Another day, another adventure,' I thought upon waking this morning. I'm good. Cruising the highway with the music blaring, not having any idea where I'll wind up.

Until.

Until.

I went to pack for the weekend and remembered that it was kind of important to do laundry when I got home because I have no clean underwear. Let me rephrase. I have no clean First Tier underwear. I have to go trolling for panties. Here are the cute ones that are, like, two sizes too small (pre-baby purchase). Here are the old old old ones with elastic that is -- wait -- what elastic?

But I'll tell you what's more depressing than the lackluster state of my underwear drawer:

Pulling down the fancy lingerie box and realizing that the only reason I'm opening it is for the inauspicious occasion of Laundry Day.

No one's getting laid. No one is snooping around, looking for fun. There's no hope of touch or desire tonight or tomorrow or the day after or the day after that or the week after that. Warm friendly hugs are what I have in store for the forseeable future.

Oh that's a desolate feeling, my friends.

But one that I choose to submit to, I guess. Technically, I could go out tomorrow night and do my own trolling, or have my panties trolled, however that metaphor is less awkward. There is just no fucking way, though. I know too much. I want too much. As a friend said, once you earn your PhD in fucking, you really can't go back to undergrad. The cheap and easy encounter wouldn't actually solve anything.

So I'll just run my fingers once more over those closeted silks, shimmering ghosts waiting in my closet. They'll wait. I'll wait.

Ugh.

Weekend Wrap-up.

2007-01-28T21:42:00.000-05:00

So what's going on this weekend. . .

A lot of work. Today was my only day off. I have to say that keeping this busy is good and interesting, but completely exhausting. I came home last night for dinner, and by the time I went to bed, my sneezes had morphed to a full-blown cold. I took meds last night and got to sleep late this morning, but I still feel as though I've been hit by a truck. Just that deep muscle tired. There was a lot of flopping around today done by me. Some useful stuff such as cleaning the bathrooms, some fun stuff such as making valentines with the boy, and some gratifying stuff such as making a very pretty leek and chevre quiche for breakfast this week.

Plus sneaking to the bathroom to masturbate.

I'm having frequent anxiety dreams about where I'm going to live. Like, duh. Last night it was about finding my room (#9) in a boarding house. Turned out I was on a pull-out couch sharing space with two other women. Ugh. Please, no.

Therapy reminded me that I don't have to focus on the future and 'how will I get through it' lamentations. I have been doing it. Just looking to the past year, I've made a lot of progress and have gotten myself through some terrible times. I've been confused and brave and sad. But I'm moving forward.

But I'm tired and snuffly again. Time to sleep.

Misc.

2007-01-25T20:46:00.000-05:00

Today was a tough day to drag my ass out of bed at 6:30. I was just too tired. In that vein, I'm keeping it short and sweet tonight so I can get to sleep early. Or masturbate. Whatever.

This afternoon's mediation was as bad as it's going to get, I think. Considering how it could have been, I shouldn't complain. No one threatened to put a hole in the wall or anything like that. We just got surly and snippy and generally less than courteous. We are clearly so tired of being together. I can't stand his face or his gestures or little voices or affectations or complaints or issues or stupidity. Get out!

I got my renewed passport in the mail today and I look only slightly like a felon.

You all should know that I read and enjoy all the comments, even if I don't respond. it's simply a matter of time (not having any). I don't email or IM for the same reason. Also, my life is pretty complicated and tiring. And Josh, thanks for putting yourself out there; I can guarantee, though, that I have neither the energy for nor the proximity to you that you probably deserve. And I haven't ruled out women. We smell good, and might provide a welcome reprieve from the disgustingness of men***.

***which, a friend has noted, I seem to relish.

The New Plan.

2007-01-23T22:08:00.000-05:00

So I was at retail work tonight doing some such mindless thing when I had an epiphany:

I can date women.

That's me: the celibate lesbian.

My God, it has to be easier, right?

Oh wait. Eleven million male bloggers say otherwise.

What do you know: not so great today, either.

2007-01-22T19:03:00.000-05:00

My only consolation these days is that someday in the future I'll look back and say "That was terrible, but hey look! I got through it." Frankly, not much of a comfort.

I really wish someone would show up. All these friends who ask how I am or how they can help are certainly nice. But I want the Grand Gesture. I want someone who, when I tell him or her how badly I am doing, will fucking get in the car and come to my goddamm house immediately with maybe eleven bottles of wine. Or bourbon. But no one does. They all hang back and wait to be told what to do.

Besides, it kind of a mom or dad thing to swoop in unbidden, and I have neither of those, really. No siblings, either.

Fuck, it's bleak and lonely today.

Touch.

2007-01-21T19:32:00.000-05:00

One of you suggested a massage, or some safe touch. That notion has stayed on my mind.

I lie awake either at night or in the morning and think about hands on my body. And of course, the first context I think of is sexual. Climbing near-naked into bed, having hands reach for me to draw me close, then a mouth on mine . . .

Yes, that sounds fine right about now.

But then I remember that part about being touched without having to give anything back. I dial back my mind and think of a massage. Theoretically it sounds terrific, but too clinical since I don't know her face or her hands or even the room.

So the next scenerio to cross my mind is being touched by a friend. But hell, I don't trust my male friends to keep it platonic. And I'm not that intimate with my local girlfriends.

But those women and men are out there, who know me and love me. Who would, if they saw me, wrap their arms around me and hold hold hold on to me until they were holding me up.

And that's where I end up, imagining my friends gathered around me to lay their hands on me, lending me whatever I need, but most notably being present and connected to my struggle. Then I understand that I am getting this, with every email and call that these far-flung friends send my way. All I need to do is ask. They are here.

2007-01-21T00:41:00.000-05:00

Your results:
You are Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)

Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)		85%
Inara Serra (Companion)		75%
Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command)		75%
Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)		70%
River (Stowaway)		65%
Derrial Book (Shepherd)		60%
Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic)		50%
Jayne Cobb (Mercenary)		40%
Wash (Ship Pilot)		40%
Alliance		35%
A Reaver (Cannibal)		15%

You are good at fixing things.
You are usually cheerful.
You appreciate being treated
with delicacy and specialness.

Click here to take the Serenity Personality Quiz

What In The World Can I Title This?: How Well I Am Not Doing.

2007-01-18T17:21:00.000-05:00

Frankly, I don't know how to talk about my life these days. It's crazy and painful and hectic. I tell myself to buck up, get through the next thing, don't worry too much, and don't get mired down in emotion. Plus, I'm so damn tired by the end of the day, that all I can do is the routine household stuff, then go to bed. My friendships have all suffered for my lack of time and my unwillingness to think or admit how badly I feel.

I started teaching full-time while still working some evenings and Saturdays at retail, something like a 56 hour week. Husband and I still live together, but in separate bedrooms. We are moving through mediation, and are close to a draft Separation Agreement. The plan is for him to move out by February 1.

We are getting along well and able to make a lot of good decisions about how to separate our lives. Some choices are difficult not because of their substance, but because they are existential questions about who I am at my core, and how I will shape my future. Splitting up from my partner of 10 years feels surreal, disappointing, sad, and exciting all in the same moment. The ambiguity of the future usually scares me, and I try not to think about it, but that's probably how most people feel all the time.

My son is ok, definitely aware that things are changing. School, sleeping, and eating are all going well, and he's healthy.

Brushing my teeth last night I thought that I could see the tidal wave of a breakdown on the horizon. It wouldn't be long, I thought, until it overcame me and I was going to spend a lot of time sobbing or weeping. I've just been going too long on sheer willpower; something was going to give.

Cripes, I didn't even make it out of the bathroom. The wave hit.

And today it's all I've been able to do to not cry at work. I just think to myself "I'm not doing well," my eyes brim with tears. But I kept it together until dismissal. Then my supervisor looked directly at me and asked how I was doing. I lost it. Shit. I hate crying at work.

But I'm not doing well. I need help. I need my mom but I don't have her anymore so I also have to think about who can help me and then ask them. Do you think that is easy for me? It is not. Also, I don't really know what I need. Life to be different. To stop crying. Money. Hope.

Oh well. Oh well. Oh well.

Time to throw the pasta in the water and get dinner on the way.

Next.

Two Updates

2007-01-15T20:28:00.000-05:00

I think I've been understating how difficult and strange it is to be living in the same house as my husband. We decided to separate at the beginning of November; now it's halfway through January. Imagine breaking up with someone and still living with them two and half months later. Fuck, man. I'm really unhappy with this. After a week alone, I am acutely aware of how stressed, annoyed, and frustrated I am with this situation.

Also, I take back every hesitation about the new vibe. It's fine. It's good. We're going to be friends after all.

Scroll Down for the Sexy Bits.

2007-01-14T22:03:00.000-05:00

It's 10pm on Sunday night. I just came home from seeing Children of Men by myself at the theatre. Too bad I forgot my white hat. Man, that is a good fucking movie. Generally I don't get too deep into movie reviews, but I would say to see this one. The plot is exciting and executed with emotional poignancy, and has a cool futuristic shabbiness to the production.

But don't worry, this isn't all about movies.

The boys came home yesterday. Seeing the little one was purely joyful and fun. We hung out all day playing games and legos, and hugging. I made homemade mac and cheese, which of course the boy didn't want because it wasn't Kraft. We were together again today at the train museum. Right now, and believe me I know it will fade, I am really glad to have him back in the house waking me up for pancake breakfast, prattling in the backseat for a cheesestick, and spontaneously offering over pizza 'Mommy, I love you.'

There is a nagging thing, and that is that I am worried about his height. Up against the wall where we mark such things, it seems he hasn't grown since June. OK OK I'm actually fighting against pure panic and wigginess on this one. Don't know what to do.

Having the big boy at home is a pain. I can't do anything but think of him as a big messy lunk of a person. Boring stories. Lazy habits. There is so nothing there most of the time. Over the past two months there have been flares of caring and compassionate feelings, but they're few and far between.

What I felt for the past week was a fledgling life of my own, full of work and new habits, trying something new here and there. And suddenly, PLUNK, he comes back and I'm pulled backward into the morass of separation and still being tied to and tired of this marriage. I want to be done with it. At the same time, I'm glad it's taking some time because I've had enough space to re-evaluate some of my decisions about money. As in, 'step up, buddy. I'm not paying for everything' decisions.

But this isn't all about the boys, either.

So I mentioned a new toy a few posts ago. It had a good virgin run (thanks, you). Since then, though, I'm not that pleased with the curvy bit. Also, I can't easily prop the base on my ankle so my hands are free. Damn, I wish you could try such things before buying. The texture is very good, and since it's silicone, I don't have to worry about pthalates or whatever those dudes are called. I feel as though I'll have a giant box of toys just to find the ones I like. Is there a freecycle for this stuff? I'm a tough consumer, though. I'll get my money's worth. Oh by the way, Liquid Silk is da bomb. No odor, no taste, not stringy.

I mean, what am I saying. I came hard last night with the new vibe and the old purple one in action. So hard I simultaneously saw stars and my eyes crossed. What am I being so picky about?

Perhaps I'll always be unhappy with the vibes as long as I'm wielding them alone.

But I'm using them again, at least. The soda has felt pretty flat these days and it has me worried that I'll slip back into complacency about sex. It's hard fucking work to keep up a feeling that is so seldom embraced and returned, like keeping a revolving door going with no one inside it. It's there, though, and sometimes it jumps up and surprises me into getting off.

That's the deal. That's the business. Goodnight.

The Boy.

2007-01-10T23:00:00.000-05:00

Let's summarize.

Now I work two jobs, totalling 56 hours a week. I'm tired. Sometimes I start to feel sorry for myself and how harried I am.

Then I think, 'OK bitch, change something' and I realize that I'm not that unhappy, exactly, just stressed. Life is looking more as I'd like it to.

But it's been many days. I miss my little boy.

That's the short update and the reason I haven't been writing.

The Ultimate In Toys.

2007-01-07T12:18:00.000-05:00

All of a sudden last night I got hot. Just fell immediately in love with the idea of getting off. I busted out the now-overflowing shoebox of sex toys and jumped onto my bed. I didn't play coy, but got right to rubbing myself with the smallest of the vibes. Pretty soon I got all wildcat on me with three vibes in various states of involvement. It was good. It worked out.

But afterward I wondered, why do I need three separate vibes? The rabbit, theoretically, could do the clit and cunt work of two, but in reality, it doesn't work that way for me. I don't like the little ears so I wind up using two vibes. Then if I want some ass play, I need another hand or vibe. Is it possible to hold three vibes? No. You have to bend your leg and prop one against your heel. I specifically looked for a two-in-one vibe at the store last week, but all they have is the ever-fucking rabbit. What I need is some sort of three-pronged mechanism I guess. Something that can fuck me, work my clit, and then sometimes simultaneously work my ass. But it would also have to go at each task at different speeds and tensions. Does such a thing exist?

Oh.

Right.

It's called a man.

Oh Right. This Happens.

2007-01-06T13:31:00.000-05:00

As I've already mentioned, the boys of the house are away on vacation.

So what did I do? I stayed out late and crashed on a friend's couch. There was good Mexican food and a few beers, many more for him as the birthday boy. He really tied one on. I was glad to see him sitting in his favorite bar, drinking as many beers and Jager shots as he could; I knew he was having the birthday he wanted.

Did I have a good time? Hmmm. To a point.

When I recently started being out in the world as a woman who was separating from my husband, I became highly sensitive to my male friends touching me. I couldn't reliably discern between affection and more than. I wondered if my male friends had a different, more charged view of me. He was one of those friends but it didn't make a difference in wanting to hang out with him. I randomly speculated that I would have to have a preemtive talk with him sometime, but I never followed through. We were cool.

Last night, however, the more he drank, the more I got the boy vibe. He was never inappropriate. He never crossed the line. There was nothing tangible to point to. However, if I could have, I would have drawn wavy pheromone stink lines coming off him. I didn't have to fend him off but I feared I would have to, and that was the problem. This is exactly the dynamic I don't want in our friendship. To avoid it, I know that I can't hang out with him when he's drinking a lot, and I may need to hold him at a slight distance.

Rats.

If it's an issue, I'll deal with it. But I really hope it won't be.

**I should say that in a sober state of mind, he can be absolutely trusted. There are many real-world reasons why he will not lay a hand on me. I bet that if I talked to him about last night, he would be somewhat embarrassed that I sensed what I did.**

Update

2007-01-05T15:00:00.000-05:00

Internet, done.
Darvocet, done.
Trashy magazines, done.
Goofy emails, done.
Eyes Wide Shut, done.
Chips and Dip, done.
Son's arrival in vacationland, done.
Nap, done.

Time to hit the shower, throw on some rhinestones and some blush, get therapized, then onward to birthday dinner. Gosh, how could tomorrow get better?

Friday's Agenda

2007-01-05T08:53:00.000-05:00

Today the boys left for a week's vacation in warmer waters. That leaves me here alone with a sprained ankle, worrying about my boy rocketing through the sky in a big metal tube. Yes, I basically understand how jet propulsion works, but it seems a shaky premise when the passenger in question is my small boy.**

Aha, but we have a plan!

First: seeking wisdom and growth through the internet.

Then, Darvocet and staring at the ceiling and reading trashy magazines.

Forthwith, Eyes Wide Shut and chips and dip.

Later, therapy.

Onward, birthday dinner with a friend.

Somewhere in there I'm sure I'll get a nice phone call that son has planted his feet firmly on the ground.

**yes yes I know all about the statistics of air travel being safer than cars. But when was the last time a car plummeted, on fire, from 11 miles up in the sky?

No HNT

2007-01-04T08:14:00.000-05:00

Morning.

Yesterday I rolled my ankle and fell. Although I doubt anything is broken, I'm laid up enough to not get the camera to take a picture. In fact, I'm going to roll myself sideways and back into bed.

Go to osbasso.blogspot.com to catch the other nekkid people.

Happy Blah Blah Blah. . .What?

2007-01-02T21:39:00.000-05:00

As mentioned previously, I thought the end of the year would eat big fat donkey caca, but in fact,

it did not!

Things came perilously close to crashing and burning.

In the end, though:

I got warm fuzzies.
I got to yell WOOOOOOO!
I got to wear a party hat.
I got the Happy Happy Number One Fuck Me Breakfast.
I got new toys.

Yes, gentle readers, the year went out with a bang and we are grateful.

Dark-n-Glossy

2006-12-27T22:07:00.000-05:00

I had this idea that I wanted to go dark brunette. Don't ask why, only that when girls want a change, they change their hair.

I went to the hairdresser and did a whole semi-permanent color. The hairdresser and I both looked glum by the time she started drying it. Too light.

I got back in the chair and she whipped up a new batch. A dark batch. And then she let me sit a good long while with my hair in a soupy mix.

I've got the more dramatic look I wanted: dark eyes and hair, fair skin. It's good, no?

Fuck You, 2006.

2006-12-27T09:43:00.000-05:00

Even through its last days, 2006 is determined to Yankee Swap me a big bag of poo. I had one nice thing this week, a massage, and I had to cancel it today so that my husband and I get to mediation with the lawyer.

I mean, come on.

Nevermind that I had to spend the last five days with my ridiculous mother-in-law and my lackidaisical sister-in-law. Nevermind that the house remains a mess and I'm the only one who will deal with it. Nevermind that my ass has gotten fat from pie.

I just wanted to get touched. I knew that would help.

I'm not asking for much, not even for someone to pull my skirt up and get a feel of my ass. Not even for someone to pull my hair aside and kiss my neck. Not even asking for someone to bury his face between my breasts, or legs.

I know those are big things to ask for, to want, to expect. I just wanted to get halfway there today, to space out and relax, feeling someone else's hands rub the stress and sadness out of my muscles.

There are four days left. Maybe 2006 will throw me a bone yet.

Christmas.

2006-12-25T18:55:00.000-05:00

Folks, for those of you looking for something interesting to read, I got nothin' for yuz. I have a houseful of the husband's family, a toddler, all the cooking, and a mother-in-law who can't stop burning pies.

The best part of today was a mid-morning nap wrapped up with some self-love focused on three characters: me, a boy, and the Toys of Babeland.

Am I allowed to write that, much less do that, on Christmas?

Not In The Mood.

2006-12-22T14:18:00.000-05:00

I'm not in the mood to deal with my son (oh yeah, honeymoon over).
I'm not in the mood to go to the grocery store.
I'm not in the mood to change the sheets.
I'm not in the mood to clean the house.
I'm not in the mood to work all day tomorrow.
I'm not in the mood to shop.
I'm not in the mood to wrap.
I'm not in the mood to do much other than drink 'nogg and stare at the Xmas tree.

So fuck it. That's what I'm going to do.

Up All Night?

2006-12-20T23:06:00.000-05:00

It's late and the thing I should do is do the bedtime ritual and go to bed. It's 11pm and I've had two glasses of bourbon and therefore not sleepy. No sir. Couldn't sleep if I wanted to. Could probably rally to do something else, though . . .

Misc.

2006-12-18T21:25:00.000-05:00

My son and I are having this total love affair these days. He wants to kiss and hug again and again. We're all lovey-dovey. "Mommy . . . I love you" volunteered just because. Considering he's 3.5, I better enjoy it while I can.
___________

Is it gross to hear my husband flush the toilet while using the electric toothbrush? Is this a guy thing -- brushing and peeing at the same time? Ick. This is also a man who tries to justify not washing his hands after using the bathroom because he 'only uses two fingers to hold himself, and they don't get peed on!' Just watch, the next guy I date will be some hypochondriac hand-washing OCD stockbroker.
___________

God, I miss kissing. There's the first contact, lips touching, and then the inevitable pull toward each other as it deepens. . .you grab his coat lapel, he cups the side of your face. . . and then you both tighten your grip. You can hear him lightly groan, and he hears you gasp or an escaped whimper. You alternately think 'Oh I could do this forever' and 'Please O please fuck me soon.'

That is, if the kiss is any good.

Saturday Night and I'm OK.

2006-12-16T20:27:00.000-05:00

I spent the day working, which I love. Lots of people out there buying wine and cheese for parties.

But it feels as though every damn person on the planet, including my husband, is at a Christmas party tonight.

But hey! Guess what! This is another growth opportunity to acclimate myself to a new life, where I'm not always out and having fun and even, gasp, feeling alone (but not lonely, not yet).

Also, the hit counter jumped past 100,000 in the last day or so. To celebrate, here is a spontaneous photo.
___
OK I just posted the above five minutes ago and I need to come back and edit it. Really, this whole Bravery thing feels worn thin, er, worn bald like a bad radial tire. I was at work helping what I thought was an adorable gay couple with their purchases. We talked about the stuff in the store and what would be good for the party, and I distinctly thought, 'wait, are they flirting with me?' Can they do that? Well, yes, actually. I'm not wearing a wedding ring anymore.

And this completely unnerves me, as first mentioned in a post about a month ago about my male friends touching me and how it feels suddenly strange. Friendly? Sexual?

I was out with some of these friends a few weeks back, and on our way home, we stopped in at an ordinary bar. My friend left me at the bar for about ten minutes, and old memories came flooding back. Oh right: Guys don't hit on me. I'd like to think it's because of my intimidating beauty, but closer to the truth would be the way I carry myself: Don't approach me. Time and again I've been told that I have a stand-offish manner with strangers and project a kind of cool judgement. It's not untrue; I usually do size people up pretty quick, and most of them are wearing the wrong shoes.

I'm not a grinning bimbo at the bar. I don't want to meet everyone there, but should we begin to talk, I can hold a good conversation with even a four foot pile of drywall.

The hypocritical piece of all of it is that although I often dread male attention, when I don't get it I miss it. I want to be wanted but only so far. I don't want to have to reject or make choices or take risks. I want the flirty fun and the admiration, but no obligation.

But then again, who wants never to be touched or wanted or desired? I'd like the hot and sweaty stuff too, just not the requirements of negotiating toward or away from it. I'd like to jump into someone's bed with whom I automatically feel intimate and safe, do all the bendy stretchy spanky bits, then jump back out, toodle-oo! An impossibility.

Oh right. Plus I'm celibate for the near future. OK. Done. There's my answer.

You Didn't Ask.

2006-12-15T13:30:00.000-05:00

My husband and I are in separate bedrooms. We started mediation last week with an attorney we both like and think will get us through this separation moderately intact and with our asses as unviolated as possible (or, I should say, as preferred under these specifically unerotic circumstances).

I felt itchy and funny earlier this week so I took off my wedding ring. As an experiment, not long-term. We had figured we would talk about it sometime. I never bothered to put it back on and yesterday I noticed that my husband had taken his off too, I thought in response to me. Goddammit it actually bothered me, brought up sadness and loneliness, duh, as another landmark in this uncoupling (that's a $111.97 therapy word for you all). When we finally talked last night I said 'hey I didn't take off my wedding ring as some kind of mandate about wearing our wedding rings.' And he said 'well I only just noticed you took yours off. I took mine off because it seemed time.'

"Oh. OK. Great. I'm glad we're in such fucking accord and this is so clearly not breaking your heart. No, that's fine." says Idiotic Pride, "but I am a FUCKING CATCH! Do you mean to say..." Humph. Huff. "...that you don't want to be with me as much as I don't want to be with you?"

I crack me up. I am an insane person.

**Currently I am enjoying the palliative effects of ginger ale and The Smithereens.**

Whew.

2006-12-15T09:45:00.000-05:00

Ok I'm just going to recommend first off that all of you get a flu shot because you do not want to get hit with what's going around.

It spanked me hard and not in a good 'yeah baby' kind of way. Two days of pukin', chills, aches, sweating, stomach cramps, dry mouth. . .you get the idea.

On the upside, you should check out Radiolab.org at wnyc. It's a good show.

If I was smart, I'd cancel my haircut appointment today. But since I'm vain, I probably won't.

The Worst Thing In The World.

2006-12-14T17:51:00.000-05:00

Throwing up.

HNT: Fashion Victim

2006-12-13T20:01:00.000-05:00

Most of the time I dress pretty normally for a stay-at-home mom. Wool trousers, blouse or sweater. I generally buy Banana Republic.

Yesterday I went to the thrift store to consign a bag, and looked through the clothes. I found a sweater and a skirt that belong to My New Life, which is actually closer to who I am than this Current Life.

Today I wore the sweater and a different skirt and a pair of Wellingtons for the rain. I felt as though I looked exactly like myself: funk prep.

Shirts Worn By Men I Won't Fuck

2006-12-12T20:31:00.000-05:00

Going back to a conversation I had with my Not My Boyfriend**:

If you were in a bar, and single, which t-shirts would totally turn you off?

I will not ever ever fuck you if you are wearing a Bush/Cheney shirt.
I will not ever ever fuck you if you are wearing a Joe Lieberman t-shirt. Probably, in fact, I will shoot you in the face, as you are an underling of the undead and probably undead yourself.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing a Howard Stern t-shirt.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing a 'Free Mumia' t-shirt.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing a sports team jersey.
I might fuck you if you are wearing a 'The sports team from my region is superior to the sports team from your region' t-shirt.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing a Budweiser t-shirt.
I will fuck you if you are wearing a Natty Bo or PBR t-shirt.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing a 'Remember 9/11' t-shirt.
I will not fuck you if you are wearing an eagle with American flag t-shirt.
I will fuck you if you are wearing an eagle, American flag, rose, and Virgin Mary t-shirt.
I will fuck you if you are wearing a t-shirt with a superhero except Superman, Robin, or Plasticman.
You will fuck me hard if you are wearing a t-shirt with an Alan Moore character on it.

And if you are wearing a t-shirt with Underdog, Magilla Gorilla, or Ironman on it, I will fuck you twice.

** You should all know that my Not My Boyfriend gives Double-Bacon-Genius-Burger birthday gifts. Thanks.**

Right Now.

2006-12-11T21:34:00.000-05:00

What would I go for. . . .

No foreplay meal. Food and wine makes me sluggish so I'd say right now I'm not hungry so I'll pass on eating together as seduction. Except oysters! Scratch all that. I'd go for a dozen oysters!!

OK so we have some oysters. Good. Now what? Mmmmmm, how about some music? Yes! I've got it! We'll listen to records on the livingroom floor -- old Phoebe Snow and Jim Croce. Then, um, you start to undress me? Maybe we wrestle. Ack, no not this time. Oh! I'm wearing a skirt with tights and you start sliding your hand up my leg while we're talking. You don't break the thread of conversation as you slowly tickle the taut fabric between my legs. That's good, I like that. Then, er, wait. Is this kinky enough? What's going to be the thing about this time that will keep you returning to the thought of it? What's the hook here?

Do you rip my tights? Nah, too frisky. This is a more relaxed vibe. Do we need a prop like a camera or a mirror? Let me think for a minute. . . . . ..

Well fine maybe I'm not in the mood for some crazy, kinky scene.

In fact. . .

What I'm more thinking of is the opposite. I'll tell you that it's been a while, intentionally. I've held myself off the market and am feeling a bit shy and reserved, now that it comes to it. I'll ask you to lead me into it, to be my guide back to myself and that part of me. You're a little unnerved -- pressured? -- at having to step up a little more. But as I've been telling you this, we're still kissing and your hand is still under my skirt. I think we're facing each other.

As you begin to ply me with your hands and mouth, you'll feel my body open to you, albeit slowly. Your tongue tickles my ear a little but not too much before you go for my neck. A girl can't be a virgin twice, but this will have the same feeling: I'm uncertain and reserved but wanting help in pushing past that into the scheming, bold, red molten hot center of myself.

So you patiently undress me, waiting until you sense my impatience, my readiness for the next step. You'll test your own will by going slower than you need so as to give the animal urge in me room to step forward toward you. You become almost demure in your kisses so that I will push my face forward for more. Your hands retreat so I'll grab them back to me. Oh I forgot to mention this all goes out the door at the point that you get to see my breasts. They overwhelm you. They floor you. You revel in them.

Hmmm, where are we at this point? probably still on the livingroom floor, but I want us to move. The Oriental rug will hurt my knees. I'm going to say that we get ourselves red-faced and grinding on the carpet, I've loosened up and clutching for more, and then you say 'OK dear, enough of this. Come to bed.' And you lead me to wherever that is.

Do I need to go on? Or can you take it from here?

One Year.

2006-12-11T11:23:00.000-05:00

Today is the one-year anniversary of this blog.

I'm not making a big deal about this, but I want to send out a heartfelt thanks to all of you for reading along and tuning in.

I Can't Tell.

2006-12-10T09:06:00.000-05:00

So about this celibacy thing:

True, choosing whether or not to get hot and sweaty with someone isn't really too much of an issue right now. I'm still living with my husband, after all. It's a fairly lonely experience to sleep alone in the same house with someone you've been with for ten years, so when I fall asleep, I console myself with fantasies and memories.

Yet I wonder if I'm doing myself a disservice, cancelling out the benefits of celibacy, namely, self-reliance. Do escapist fantasies keep me from tuning in to and accepting loneliness? As in, if I really wanted to get full value out of this, would I be disciplining my mind as well? What a tall order it would be to not only isolate myself physically but also mentally. Isn't that our nature -- to crave connection?

Where are the inappropriate boundaries of where I let my mind go, of what I think of and with whom I do it? My erotic essential nature wants to be recognized even if it is currently untapped. Even if you don't drive your car for few months, you should go out and start it and let it run just to keep it charged. There are pieces of me that I don't want to forget, or even worse, deny.

So I'm going to crawl into bed and remember a late night, my lover's body in the light of a single candle, and his sweet and tender care.

Quickie.

2006-12-09T00:14:00.000-05:00

This week I've considered and accepted another job, celebrated my husband's and my birthdays, started mediation, worked, yoga-ed, taken care of my son. I'm tired. That's why I'm out of touch. Falling. . .down. . . .. . .now.

Me, The Insane Person.

2006-12-06T21:26:00.000-05:00

At 4:45 today I was leaning on my car and breathing deeply. My son clambored around the passenger compartment, yelling and weeping. I had shut him in there.

When we left his school, he demanded to go to a restaurant for dinner. I said no, so he refused to walk any further. I picked him up and carried him. When we got to the car, he threw another tantrum, screaming that he wanted to go back and try walking nicely. By this point the only safe thing I could do was to get him in the car and shut the door so I wouldn't hurt him.

Then I'm stuck there feeling completely unbalanced, and humorless. That's just not me. And that is the problem with motherhood: not the tantrums or the weeping or the sleeplessness, but that at time I feel like an entirely different person.

I've recently started a job with incredibly cool women (hip glasses, clogs). None of them have kids. I don't think this is a coincidence. Either they are cool so they didn't choose motherhood, or they didn't choose motherhood and are therefore still cool. I'm getting back to that center of being my irreverent, testy, fun self, but moments like these, bracing myself to turn around and deal with the tempest in the car, I feel it all slough away and it's just me, the insane person.

**I got him out of the car, let him walk nicely along the sidewalk, and helped him back to his carseat.

Dirty Prom Queen

New Year

Hiya

A Word of Explanation

No News Is Good News

True Friend.

What's Happening Now.

Single Mom 1, Barber 0.

Weirdo.

No Better.

Days Like These.

My Weekend

Spin Spin Goes The Wheel.

Friday Night.

Rant.

Nesting

Shhhhh.

This is where we are and this is what it's like here.

A Break.

FSM

Something I Like.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

by Portia Nelson

Fidelity

SUP BITCHES!

A Few of My Favorite Things.

Apt Metaphor.

Tidy Up.

Mike Brady Wanna-Be

My Next Brilliant Plan.

Bang/Pow.

Yield.

Save Your Liver; Skip This Post

Smackdown.

Voyeur.

The News

If You Could See What I See

Friend:Boy and Friend:Girl.

That's What.

Guess What?

Guess What 5

Guess What 4

Guess What. . .3

Me Think Maker!

Guess What? 3

Guess What I'm Up To? 2

Guess What I'm Up To?

Oh Come Now.

Proof Positive.

Go Girl.

General Generalities.

An Old Oath.

Rant.

Sucking It Up. Being Happy.

The Truth

Yeehaw.

Can't Win.

Fell Flat.

It's About Time Someone Said So.

You are the World

Fantasy.

Photo

Wednesday Evening.

Short and Sweet

Back In The Game.

Home Sweet Home *Update*

Light Dork.

The Hateful Mac.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Trolling for Panties.

Weekend Wrap-up.

Misc.

The New Plan.

What do you know: not so great today, either.

Touch.

What In The World Can I Title This?: How Well I Am Not Doing.

Two Updates

Scroll Down for the Sexy Bits.

The Boy.

The Ultimate In Toys.

Home Sweet Home Update