I may have a hole but you don’t belong there.
-A friend
It’s a major irritation when questions are answered (or not answered, rather) with questions, especially when the question in response to the question is why.
Some are just paranoid they are being dissected. Others are have such feelings of inadequacy they feel the need to first analyze their own response before providing one. I’m not that complicated. It’s not that serious. If I ask who won the World Series, it’s truly because I am not aware and simply want to know.
You telling me who won the World Series won’t help with some database of questions to be answered so that I might compile them for workable data and run a covert operation to take over ruling all men. I already understand how stupid most men are -- the stress of taking on a job ruling all men would just kill me dead.
I am the type of person you can share random and raw thoughts with. Odd even. You can share with me things you’ve only thought about. Mention to me that when you close your eyes, at times, it looks like little squiggly things are moving around under your eye lid. Talk -- about matters most significant OR insignificant in society. I can even entertain “what if” exchanges. I don’t need an issue to arise and a researched formal report to communicate.
Your babble or opinions don’t have to be perfect, but just speak in English please.
…clear English if it’s not too much of an issue.
And you can change your view mid-sentence. You can forget where you were taking your point and laugh about it. You can take YOUR thoughts and views in a different direction. I don’t care. I won’t judge you. I will instead enjoy the exchange. It’s all about mental stimulation.
It’s all about mental stimulation.
It’s all about mental stimulation.
It waters the roots of my soul.
It’s not as if I am the type of woman to ask where my partner went and what they did the evening before. I’ve already figured out that if they are out with someone else, it will just make them want me even more. I think it’s healthy for them to get out a bit and see what they are not missing.
…and I hope I am not asked where I was the night before either.
I’m not overly-analytical by the time I reach my partner because I’ve had enough to process reading minds, clearing messes, and making things fit seamlessly all day at the workplace. I also try to write in my journal daily to dump thoughts and stress to make my home life a peaceful place.
I’ve said a million times – I want the perfect June Cleaver and Heather Hunter type of situation at home. I am both. What’s the issue? Why can’t I just get it from the rear while reading my National Journal, wearing my black leather apron, making a perfect soufflé and asking who won the World Series?
With my partner -- it is what it is. I say what I mean. There are no hidden meanings or agendas. Pinch me – I am real. I know it’s a rarity.
Don’t obsess yourself with my next “move” – it would have been to your crotch if you had anything of interest to discuss outside of World News or been able to just answer a question without a question.
I just wish that folks would stop being paranoid or intimidated with the train of thought they may witness me use with others in business and some friendships. The way I handle business has nothing to do with my personal relationships - the person I want to unwind with should be and is handled in a very different manner.
It’s amazing how intimidated some can become when dealing with a strongly opinionated woman. What’s even more surprising is that are attracted to my type, hunt us down forever, and then when you decide to give them a roll – they end up in a mental fetal position just overf*ckingwhelmed – insecure. Walking on eggshells they put in place themselves.
My friendships are important to me, but a really smart match for me would understand that if I put half of the criticisms that MATTER into my relationship as I do with my platonic friends, I would likely not want to have a partner at all.
In relationships, extra points are given because there is the thought of entertaining some growth together. Taking a journey together. All of that pink sh*t that happens in healthy relationships. Oh – there are also extra points allowed because s*x is in the equation and this clouds thoughts a bit.
You want friends to be almost flawlessly good crazy because they have to deal with your shit when you talk about the “other” crazies you meet. That’s why MOST people have fewer current and former friends than former partners.
Can I please have a healthy f*cking exchange with someone I am f*cking?
I am exhausted.
Midlife is the older age of youth and the youth of older age.
I’ve heard midlife begins at 40-50 years of age. I’ve heard about late comers who don’t start until around 50. And of course, I’ve heard there are early bloomers who start around 35 – as early as 30 with the newer generations.
I seriously think I am an early bloomer with the midlife stage. I’m bored with most people AND things I’ve found of interest for many years; I’m seriously thinking about business for self, seriously focusing on retirement, very strong foundations in relationships – future, I’m really itching for something totally new in life.
Blah
Blah
Yawn
Yawn
*where was I going with this again?*
Oh!
While we would all like to enjoy remaining in the ever so beautiful half-time of life where things are all comfy and make sense for the larger part – not too far from the start and not too close to the end, never forget that we can run but we can’t hide from midlife and the changes it’s supposed to bring about – just as adolescence could not be avoided to transform us from childhood to adulthood.
Midlife is the phase when we begin the process of becoming whole.
A magnificently, beautiful, scary f*cking thing folks.
What I believe is scary for most is leaving behind most of what we’ve carried in early adulthood. That is, unless we instead wrongfully chose deal with the pain, misfits, and missed opportunities to come because of carrying some “things” and “ways” along with us for an extra bumpy ride that more often than not, causes head on collision with the clearly marked brick walls which prohibit self-development. But just like in the adolescence stages of life --- when going through midlife no one can tell us a damned thing.
…especially those who mistakenly see the identity crises that comes along with midlife phase as a time to recapture their youth instead of what it is – time for wholeness -- the time for awakening.
I believe my desire to listen to loud rap music with heavy baselines for several weeks was no coincidence. But I think I have since snapped from that craving as there are quite few things as successful in jolting one back to reality as driving along and receiving a call from an unfamiliar number, accidentally dropping your cell under the seat while driving while blasting Ms. New Booty by Bubba Sparxxx & Ying Yang Twins (er – yes, I had to look that up on the internet since I’d only listened to the chorus) only to finally get the phone and find out its your boss calling. I must admit switching feverishly between Nelly on the radio and my favorite Madeleine Peyroux CD and enjoying them EQUALLY for the past four weeks or so was a bit upsetting within.
Peaceful – and parts “fitting right”, I felt great this morning enjoying Diana Krall for my commute to the office.
Finding it cute (again) that early 20-something’s find me sexy, pretty, attractive, blah blah blah in venues filled with women their age. Recently I managed to pull out a couple of my shorter dresses and taller heels – more so because I’ve lost enough weight to fit back in things I have not been able to wear in some time. Nothing trashy of course, just ultra femme and sexy. They notice what was beneath the suit all along. I don’t need reassurance OR give a sh*t what someone that age thinks, especially since they are not too long ago getting through adolescence themselves – not able to find their arses with both hands. Nevertheless, I still love flexing my mean walk with stilettos and long overly moisturized legs for all to see, I’d prefer stepping with my partner on arm.
Within, I’ve found myself far more sexy and powerful in a suit and always will.
There are so many other situations that come to mind wherein I have found myself outside of where my “inner character” feels most comfortable and WANTS to be over the past few months.
The familiar is always easier though moving into what’s more comfortable is what we should allow to happen.
I realize this stage is an awakening -- you actually must give up who you have been to become who you should be.
No one is perfect – we have all had our turns cooking chicken at a fish fry; and though I at times appear to take this transition about as easy as it might be for some trying to herd cats, I look forward to what the gardens of whole adulthood have to offer.
Come on life – throw it at me!
I think.
*snicker*
(Copied from elsewhere)
1. Rigidly maintain that you are always right, even when you do not have all the facts!
2. Never apologize, even when you are proven wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt!
3. Be relentless in rubbing it in when you are proven right!
4. Dogmatically maintain that you know your partner's motives better than he or she does!
5. Assume that your partner should understand your needs and should respond immediately without being asked!
6. Totally ignore your partner's priorities and insist on your own!
7. Operate on the assumption that your partner's s*xual need cycle is identical to yours!
8. Add deep psychological meaning to your partner's s*xual disinterest, and take it very personally!
9. Do not ever admit hurt, but go immediately to the expression of anger!
10. Identify your partner's character flaws and family secrets and use them to make a point when logic fails!
11. Use guilt to manipulate, to get your own way or to punish!
12. Become proficient at catching your partner being bad, but do not ever comment if you catch him or her being good!
13. Cut no slack, yield no ground and push your argument until your partner walks out the door... then follow the coward!
14. Do not let go of the past, rehashing your version of it as often as possible!
15. Cling very very tightly, claiming that you will surly die if you are ignored!
16. If you are not a clinger, then stay emotionally/physically distant, and show no signs that you really care for your partner!
17. Make promises, but never keep them!
18. Be factious so you partner never knows when you are being serious!
19. Always make excuses for your bad habits!
20. Insist that what you have to say is always more important that what your partner is saying, so interrupt!
21. Pretend that you understand what you partner has said, even if you have no idea of the point that was being made!
22. Act as though you do none of the above and it is your partner who must make all the changes!
Okay. Just another day in Virtues life with odd things happening.
In preparation for the Saturday night fight, I decided I wanted fresh tilapia with a West African/Caribbean rub and fried plantains.
*yes, feeling a bit cultural*
So, I journeyed all the way to a mom and pop store in Greenbelt, Maryland to purchase my herbs and spices and then ventured into the hoods of Langley Park, Maryland.
*When in the hell did the Central Americans take OVER that place? There WERE a few Africans here and there, but just dayum! *
So the strong winds on that evening blew me into a large Latin grocery store that has fresh tilapia swimming in the tanks – TONS of them so that I might pick and chose my feast for the evening.
I stood and pointed and cracked a smile as I watched the fishmonger flirt with a young Latin girl who clearly wanted nothing more than a discount on her selections.
I then watched in terror as be pulled my fish from the tank and clubbed them twice in the head each to kill them. He removed the scales, clipped the fins and then gutted the belly area. As l left the store, I noticed the girl from the fish counter tossing the fishmonger’s number on a nearby shelf with a huge bag of fish in hand.
I just laughed to myself.
So finally, I made my way back to the kitchen to work on my rub. Into the food processor went several cloves of garlic, a nice thumb of ginger, a whole white onion, fresh parsley, thyme, and a bit of rosemary, 2 Brazilian orange habanero peppers, African country onion powder, fresh ground African country pepper, some African peanut looking things that smell like “weed” but are made just for fish seasonings (by the way, I cant pronounce or spell the actual names for any of the African seasonings, so bear with me).
I removed my fresh fish from the wrapper and then wondered just how hung over I was from my night of debauchery before, because I thought I felt one of the fish moving. I announced to my guest that I thought one fish moved and it was suggested I just get a glass of wine and calm down.
…so in the sink the fish went and I started to rub the cold water against them and it happened again – the same fish moved.
I then noticed the eyes of the same fish bulging out. Yes. The fish was scaled, clipped and gutted (though not all the way through the “chest” bone and this f*cker was still alive). I cringed.
This was inhumane.
While I have been preparing fish with the heads off for many years, I now appreciate the flavor that comes when you cook it with the head on and how it had finally come back to haunt me.
He was alive.
Couldn’t scream. Just flop a bit.
It was a f*cking disgrace.
While I have been fishing and hunting for years, the thought of the painful journey this poor fish had to take because of the flirty fishmonger was making me nauseous.
I called for help and someone came with a wooden spoon.
A wooden spoon with a hole in the middle people! Oh yeah. That should REALLY help the situation.
Even after several minutes of reassuring I wanted nothing to do with the fish. Hardcore he was and I feared he might come back to haunt me in my dreams, or even worse – in the form of an awful tummy ache for days to follow.
I prepared the fish almost 40 minutes later and made sure to NOT eat that particular fish.
I was TRAUMATIZED.
..And just think – I felt sorry for the fishmonger – I can’t WAIT to get back there and tell him about himself.
Him was NOT dead!!!
..okay not quite a full week but writing about these folks might serve as better therapy.
I am not the type to back track and rekindle romantic relationships with folks from my past, but I ran into an ex 14 years after the relationship ended on good terms – he had a new and extremely sexy flair with his maturity.
The Lenny Kravitz type of sexy.
…and not many of us would turn down Lenny.
So here we were 14 years later, adults -- with an all new fire hot attraction and magnificent chemistry. I figured – what the hell! We are grown folks now – let’s have fun and look up later to see where it goes this time!
We had several great dates, but I held off on sex for a while watching to see if he might really be worth my time and energy.
In the meantime, we had fun, fun, and more fun.
And from no where the strangeness began. Or, I noticed the strangeness rather.
I noticed that he’d visit the bathroom quite often not to urinate, but to wash his hands about every hour or so but mostly if others were around.
But even if an hour had not passed – he would make his way to the bathroom right after meeting someone, shaking hands, or just having any sort of contact other than sitting in the one chair he preferred over the others, taking things from my hands to his, or holding hands with me while I was cooking - but I noticed he only held hands with me while I was in the kitchen.
So, one evening while we were there entertaining a few friends at my home I purposefully walked in the bathroom to ask him why he washes his hands so often – that’s when I saw him with the bleach cap pouring a bit of bleach on his hands. He’d gotten the bottle from under the sink. He explained to me that bleach was the only thing that could kill the germs that others have – and while he was quite comfortable being near and touching me it was really necessary when in contact with others.
He then went on to suggest I use it when in contact with others. Admitted that he puts a small amount of bleach in his bath water each night. Also admitted that was not the original bottle of bleach I had under the sink since he’d used it all previously. And explained that he normally uses bleach wipes that he keeps in his car in case he is not in a residence where he might find bleach under the bathroom sink – which was his preferred method of hourly hand cleansing.
The confessions of this germophobe were just too much for me to take. I made a very quick exit from my newly rekindled relationship with Lenny Bleachboy Kravitz.
I think writing about whiney or inadequate former partners, red flags that just made me bolt from the relationship or potential friendship, folks I’ve run across who are as entertaining as watching paint dry, and just screwed up or hilarious situations from my past - none being my fault (unless provoked), of course -- just might restore me to my normal bitchiness and awareness that I just need to spend more time alone – cause no one else deserves me (I meant that in a positive way people *chuckle*).
Maybe I will share an experience every week or so.
Here goes…
Low Pressure:
I have an ex who did not own a toilet plunger and was likely incapable of using one if he did (he wouldn’t be the last man I’ve attracted who would have this defect).
I seriously considered buying him one for Christmas with a pimped out wooden handle to match the god awful rims he had installed on his Range.
*how tacky? Pimping out the Range Rover was definitely a breaking point for me in that relationship*
Unfortunately what he did have was low toilet water pressure and I’d have to assume – small plumbing (luckily his natural plumbing was not small or there is no way in hell I would have put up with that nonsense for the few months that I did). Mind you – this was a new condo/apartment community so I just couldn’t understand why his toilet just couldn’t take the pressure after several months of me pretty much living at his place.
Just so damned delicate. Just as delicate as his truck that he would not allow me to off-road. WTF? That’s what the damned things are for – NOT rims, DVD players and satellite television.
…anyways.
I should have taken that as an indication of this guy’s eggshell ego that I was soon to crush at the end of us.
He would call maintenance whenever the toilet pressure slowed a bit – at ANY time of the day or night – and he would call and call and have the request listed as an emergency. It was so bad his community threatened to start billing him for extra calls since they told him he simply needed a plunger.
The culprit, according to one of the maintenance folks: My tampons. His precious little toilet couldn’t take the ever so soft cotton of my Tampax Pearls I suppose. I was amazed it managed to take the turd boulders I would drop while he was sleeping.
When he requested I place my USED tampons in a bag so that he might take them out at the end of the night or as needed, I announced I just needed to stay home or somewhere else where things could flush right during my time of the month.
*ick – who in the hell wants to do anything with a used plug other than pull on the string and let it drop down the hole?*
So -- I refused to use the bag.
And -- He didn’t want me to go home.
The maintenance folks and his wallet were very happy that my period only lasts 2.5 days. You will hear another story about this guy, likely under the title "Hairaphobe - The Guy Who Finds Each Strand”.
Next up: Bleach Boy (I think).
*My new t shirt I will be sporting once I start dating women only*
While I will admit to having a high-powered telescope and night vision goggles at the house in Maryland – I must make it clear that I didn’t select or purchase that equipment AND I am not really a peeping tom.
…well, not anymore.
But if I still were a peeping tom, I would definitely find only one person (okay – 2.5 persons) out of the 5,000 employees at my office worthy of getting my sneaky peeks. Before I tell the story of what just happened, know that the 2.5 persons I may find attractive were NOT in the vicinity.
There is a guy in my office that makes me feel a bit uncomfortable when our eyes meet. He just has a chilling vibe about him – not a good chill, but a bad pervo (let’s call him BP for short) type of vibe instead.
A few moments ago I left my office to grab a grilled cheese sandwich and noticed BP headed my way. I messed around with my Blackberry and then started looking inside of the mostly empty offices on my right in an effort to just walk right by without acknowledging him.
I wasn’t really paying attention to where my eyes were, but instead were my eyes were not – MEETING WITH HIS.
So when I finally focused, I met eyes with a guy from a nearby division and another from a division two floors down.
…and then I realized I was no longer scanning offices, but I had a direct view and hard stare into the men’s room. They were a bit humored by the fact that my neck was turned fully sideways in position of what I am sure appeared to be most comfortable for a blatant mid-day men’s room peeping session.
Even BP wore a sh*t eating grin. While it appeared crystal clear that I WANTED to check out who was standing at the stalls in the men’s room – I was really avoiding BP.
I know they think I am a peeping tom. There is no reason for anyone else to think otherwise. I think I’ve actually embarrassed myself at the workplace and am sure the men will chat among themselves about this.
I’m sure this will story will resurface at my farewell party from this place.
I hid my Silver Bullet (SB) from myself a while ago in an effort to not desensitize my lifelong friend down below.
…I mean, SB is definitely a hard act to follow and I thought it might be nice to even the playing field a bit.
So, away she went.
I started to miss her more and more as time passed so a few weeks ago I started searching for her. I searched and searched to no avail. I totally made a hot shitty mess of the entire third floor, pulling out things I hadn’t seen in years – all the way back to high school photos. Shoe box after shoe box, pocket after pocket in search of my friend.
I asked my sister who often stays at my place, though I realized how odd it is to ask if anyone had run across your personal stimulator. I am sure some of you can understand moving to that level of frustration in your search to find a very dear long lost friend.
Oh, but SB is a truly irreplaceable companion.
She does not require much – just two AA batteries, one hand to guide the way, and a quick rinse when done. And she brings so much joy to me. What was I thinking to push her away? I assumed I had to suffer the consequences of my poor judgment and try to find a replacement for her – so I gave up on my search. I thought of all the great things we’d done together. How magnificent she made me feel on my very worse days. I almost shed a tear and realized a new friend would never fill her shoes.
*sigh*
But finally, the sun came out and I was given a second chance. Last night I ran across a small Nordstrom bag containing several empty boxes from my Shu-Uemura line and tons of receipts – and there she was sitting there all shiny and pretty.
She wasn’t angry that I’d left her alone for so long; she just wanted to jump from the bag and be my best friend again.
We spent last night together without interruption. We will never again part.