Wednesday, May 27, 2009

It's In His Hug

About a week or so ago, I joined a new dating site. A guy from there emailed me and totally cracked me up. We corresponded for a while, then moved to the phone. After our first phone conversation, we knew we both had to meet.

And meet we did, today during his lunch break. When he walked into the joint, looked at me and smiled, I have to admit my heart did a little flip inside my chest cavity. We talked and joked, and before we knew it, his lunch break was over.

He asked if he could walk me to my car, and I said yes. We talked for a while, and I knew he had to leave...but he just couldn't. And I didn't want him to. He asked if he could see me again after he got off work, and I said yes. We made plans to meet again.

When we met later, he was disappointed to learn that I am going away this weekend. He said he really didn't want to wait until Monday to see me again - so I invited him to go along with the girls tomorrow night to hear a friend of ours sing at The Polo Lounge. He seemed up to it, but hesitant. I don't blame him - it's always difficult to meet the friends, and meeting them on the second (or would that be third?) date is probably daunting.

He walked me to my car, and there was that awkward moment... you know the one. We were both standing there, and he moved just a little closer and then asked, "Can I hug you?" I said, "Of course!" And before I knew it, he hugged me.


My heart fluttered and my loins went crazy. He smelled good. He felt good. Add that to the good things going on in my body, and I felt like I hit the jackpot.

Oh I know it's just a first date. And this might not even amount to anything... but I'm hopeful. And that counts for something.

Happy Anniversary

If Todd and I stayed together, tomorrow would have been our eleventh year anniversary. We almost made it that far - but of course, did not.

I've been on edge all week, feeling close to tears. It wasn't until today that it hit me why. It always surprises me when the sadness about this failed romance hits me. I guess because there are times I feel so strong - so healed. And then I realize that really my heart was only put together with a Bandaid - and the thing about Bandaids is they're temporary, and need to be replaced now and again.

There are times I really miss Todd. I miss watching "our shows" together. I miss drinking morning coffee with him. I miss his voice, and seeing his emails in my inbox. I miss the safe way he drives, and the how he might occasionally surprise me with flowers. I miss his three-four phone calls a day, just so he could hear my voice. And I miss knowing that much about someone - knowing so much about a person that you just KNOW what's going on without a word being said.

When I think about these things, I cry. But there is a remedy for this: thinking about the things I don't miss. And it's that list that keeps me moving forward - that helps me heal and move on.

And so I move forward, hoping that some time in the future I will be celebrating a new anniversary. But until that happens, I'll be mourning the old.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


The pagan community in Reno/Sparks is quite large. However, as large as it is, the opportunity to actually learn and grow is small. For the longest time, there was only one person who taught classes - in anything. Then a new guy came into town advertising the fact that he taught Wicca classes. I told my Black Hat Society ladies about it, with the disclaimer that I hadn't met him and couldn't vouch for him, but he was new and his classes were cheap, so why not check it out?

Check it out they did. And those taking his classes love him.

Flashback to me (this is my blog after all), and since Cupid has done me wrong, I took my business to Plenty of Fish. And on that site, a guy messaged me asking me out on a date. It turned out the guy was none other than the new guy in town - the guy some of my ladies were taking classes from.

Well, as these things go, I was supposed to meet him, but he got called out of town, then my mom was hospitalized, and blah, blah, blah, a month later, we still didn't meet. I gave up on him.

A week ago, I went to another apprentice's house for Thursday class. I knew something was wrong the minute I walked up to the door - it was too quiet. I rang the bell. A man came to the door, and I told him I was there for class with S. He said "S. isn't here, but you're welcome to come in and wait for her." I said no, if she wasn't there, class was obviously somewhere else and I was going to have to track it down. I thanked him for his kindness and left.

Last night I received an email from Mr. Wicca Teacher, asking me if I was still interested in meeting. It turns out HE was the one who answered the door. He is renting a room from S., and when he asked who the hot chick was at the door, S. told him and he said "I was supposed to go out with her way back when..." So, we have a date this coming Thursday.

I'm glad that was one of the few nights I actually dressed up for class, instead of wearing my gym sweats and gym perspiration. Just goes to show, you never know who you might meet in this biggest little city...

Monday, May 25, 2009


On the nights that I don't want to listen to Coast to Coast AM, I turn on the local (if you can call Sacramento "local") NPR radio station to listen to jazz while I wind my way to dreamland.

I love jazz music. Now, I probably wouldn't be able to rattle off artists and their corresponding records, singles, and hit pieces. No, I'm not that prolific. All I know is that I like it. Jazz music just transports me - it takes me to different places in the world and different places in time.

On Saturday night, the particular pieces NPR played took me to rainy Portland, Oregon. I could just imagine myself walking down the streets, the rain drizzling down. I remembered a little vegetarian cafe I ate at while there, and an art store I popped into. The music surrounded me with my memories of Portland - it was the next best thing to being there.

Earlier last week, the selections played took me to New York City. The frenetic energy. The panic felt when my friends and I were afraid we spent too much time at the restaurant and might miss the opening act of Rent. The nights spent in the hotel with the window open, listening to the city sounds below.

There have been times that the music has brought me to heart places instead of physical places - when the notes open up the rawness of losing my last love or the heart-wrenching moment I realized he was cheating on me. Sometimes the notes strum a strong desire of wanting - playing my heart and opening it up to love. Other times, the notes take me to childhood, to lazy afternoons spent laying on the grass and watching the clouds go by.

Sure, many nights I spend my last waking moments listening to George Noory fielding calls about Big Foot or shadow men. But I think my favorite nights are those that take me to magical faraway places right before the sandman hits.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009


Yesterday I was at the bank, and I saw a wickedly handsome guy at the counter. His daughter was standing next to him - and, as I don't have kids or am familiar with kids, I have no idea how old she might have been. Eight? Nine? Ten? Somewhere in there. She was as cute as he was handsome, and obviously loved her dad.

Me? I was digging her dad as well. He was probably the handsomest guy I've seen in a while, but in a bad boy sort of way. Wild hair. Sunglasses around his neck. Soul patch.

When he smiled and joked with his daughter, I could see his personality as well. He was definitely a guy I would have liked to have gotten to know. However, in the crowded and busy bank, all I was able to do was smile - and think "Man, now that's a FILF!"

Monday, May 18, 2009

Gramps and The Witch

A few Wednesdays ago, Gramps asked me to meet him the following Tuesday to practice dancing together. I told him that I could not, as I was scheduled to teach that night. He asked me what I taught, and without even thinking about censoring myself, I said "Tarot."

He gasped. Literally. Then he momentarily stopped dancing with me. He collected himself, and said "Piepa, you don't teach Tarot, do you?" "Yes, I do," was my reply. "Do you have tarot cards?" I laughed. "Of course I have tarot cards! I can't teach tarot without them!"

He tsk'd tsk'd me, then said I shouldn't be fooling around with that "stuff." I didn't say anything else, and he continued to dance with me during the night.

Later, though, he said, "Well, you can't meet me next Tuesday - how about Thursday instead?" I said "Sam, you know I have a class on Thursdays! I can't go."

He said, "What sort of class do you take?" Then, before giving me a chance to respond, he said "Oh, I probably don't want to know, do I?" I said, "Nope. You really don't want to."

He didn't leave it alone, though, and kept bugging me and bugging me. Finally I said "Okay, do you really want to know?" He said yes. I said, "I take witchcraft classes on Thursdays."

His eyes bugged out and he stopped breathing for a minute. Then he slapped me on my knee and said "PJammy, it's been nice knowing you," and almost ran away.

This past Wednesday, he was there. The girls asked me if I thought he'd ask me to dance. I said no, he would not. And he didn' least, for quite a while. He asked every woman there to dance, and even circled our table a few times - but the girls were mad at him on my behalf, so their steely-eyed glances shooed him away.

After a couple of hours passed by, I saw him ask a woman to dance. She said no. He walked around looking lost, and finally came up to me to ask me to dance. I said "Me? Really? And here I thought you weren't talking to me!"

When we were dancing, he asked me why I would think he wasn't speaking to me. I just smiled. Then he smiled and said "Well, are you still taking those witchcraft classes?" I said, "Yes, I am." He asked me if they worked. I said, "Well, you're under my spell, aren't you?"

To his credit, instead of running away he laughed. But he didn't ask me to dance again!

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Am I Sweating or Glowing?

It's freakin' hot outside, and of course my swamp cooler isn't hooked up. So, I'm walking around the house naked, hoping to cool off. I think it's working, expect that I keep sticking to my desk chair.

Note to self: call plumber tomorrow to have swamp cooler hooked up.

Other than forced nakedness, today has been a fairly good day. I watched Taken, compliments of Redbox. Liam Neeson never disappoints. Never.

When I returned Taken, I rented Passengers. I haven't yet popped it in the DVD player, though - I'm waiting until the living room cools down. I'm sure after seeing Liam Neeson take out a small Army of Albanians, Passengers will be a disappointment. Still, for a dollar I don't expect I'll be too terribly disappointed.

Speaking of disappointment, I think I need to stop engaging certain guys in conversation. It appears that some guys think I'm a pimp - they keep bugging me to find out more about my friends. I'm tired of getting notifications that I have emails, only to be disappointed when they aren't really for me - they're to find out more about who I hang with. So, either these dudes need to start paying me to get information and phone numbers, or they need to get a set and contact these ladies on their own.

I vote for paying me. I'm all for pimping out my friends for money. Or wine. It sure beats unemployment.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Powder Puffs

When I called my parents last week, my dad asked if I could come up a day early. He was going to need my help with mom. As I'm not working, I really had no reason not to go a day early, so I said yes.

My dad wanted to be sure I was strong enough to guide my mom to the bathroom, so he could man their booth at the flea market. So, when I arrived on Friday, my dad let me do a test run with my mom to the bathroom.

I held her hands and walked backwards to the bathroom. We did fine together. We got to the bathroom and my mom said "you'll have to lift up my nightgown." I did, and asked my mom if it was up far enough. She said, "Yes, and now you can see my powder puffs."

Powder puffs. This is what she calls her buttocks. And I couldn't help but find myself feeling both amused and sad.

I can't imagine what it must be like for her to have lost so much of her independence. She can't walk on her own, and now is confined to the couch downstairs. She can't get upstairs to her bedroom. She can't get to the bathroom on her own. She isn't even able to wear regular clothes any more - nightgowns are the only thing she can wear, and I think my dad actually changes them for her, as she can't put one on by herself any more.

But in her loss of independence, I see how much my dad loves my mom. He is so patient with her and loving. He changes her nightgowns. He takes her to the bathroom. He no longer sleeps in his room, and now he sleeps on the recliner downstairs so that if my mom needs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he's there to guide her.

He doesn't complain, and yet I know this has got to be a strain on him. He's older than she is, and yet he keeps going. He doesn't get to sleep through the night any longer. He takes care of my mom and the house. He cooks all the meals. Does all the gardening. Takes pictures of the garden so my mom can see that everything is still in good shape.

And I guess this is really what love is... it's not beautiful like in the movies. It's raw and it's painful and it's time consuming. And yet, there are powder puffs - soft, round cheeks that remind me of a woman who may not be the sex symbol she once was, but is still fiercely loved and adored by her husband.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Let Me See Your Hands

Last Wednesday at GSR, a guy I call "Prince" (because of his slight build, propensity to wear cowboy boots, and uncanny resemblance to the pop star) asked me to dance. He said he was tired of dancing with his sister and her buddy. I would be too, so I said yes.

We danced for a couple of songs, and then he walked me over to my chair and thanked me for being his dance partner. Then he said, "I would like to ask you to dance again sometime...but please, let me see your hands first." He held his up in front of him, and asked me to do the same.

I did.

He looked at them and said "Thanks, was nice knowing you, but no way!" Then he walked away.

I know what it means when a woman gauges a guy's hands. But what the heck does it mean when a guy asks to see a woman's hands and measures them for size?


Help a sistah out...I'm lost.

Monday, May 04, 2009

The Wrong Kind of Anniversary

Yesterday marked my fifth month of unemployment. I thought it would last maybe three to four months at the most. I never counted on my job search lasting for five months. Or longer, as the case now is.

I've been working in some form or fashion since I was a little tyke. Daily chores at home, graduating to working for my grandparents, and then to babysitting and then to my first "real" job at 16 working as a Dining Room Girl (I know -very PC) at the Masonic Home for Adults. At 17, I went into the Army, and have pretty much been working steadily ever since.

Five months without a job - and without hope of a job - is really draining.

Unemployment messes with my sense of self worth. It dampens my spirit more than I would care to admit to. And, it's just not fun.

I know as a working stiff, I used to say things like "Oh it would be so nice not to work." Let me tell you, it is not. Maybe it is if one is wealthy and doesn't have to worry about bills and food and healthcare. But, six months after being laid off, I can say that my once uttered words do not ring true to me at all.

What I wouldn't give to be getting up at 5:30, just so I could be ready to walk out the door at 7:00. What I wouldn't give to be stuck in the Spaghetti Bowl on my way home from hard day of work. And what I wouldn't give to do it all again four more days in a row...

Believe me, if you have a job, thank your God(s) for it. You don't know what you're missing, and for that, be grateful.

Easy? Really?

Those of you who know me know how much I like my teen angst movies and TV dramas. I can't explain why I do - or wait, I could explain, but you know, I guess I'd just rather not. It's a guilty pleasure, and you know, we all have to have our guilty pleasures. Teen angst is mine.

There's a show I like to watch online called "The Secret Life of an American Teenager." The lyrics for the theme song are:

"Falling in love is such an easy thing to do.
Birds can do it, Bees can do it..
Let's do it - Let's fall in love!"

The first few times I heard this song, I thought "How lame! Falling in love is not easy." But you know what? The song is right. Falling is love is easy. Almost too easy. The difficult part is staying in love.

I do think it's easier for a young person to fall in love than an older person. See, the more hits in the heart, the thicker the barrier is, making it a little harder for Cupid's arrow to penetrate easily. Still...once someone makes up their mind they are ready to fall in love, they will.

Oh, I'm not saying they'll fall in love wisely - I'm just saying, if one really wants to fall in love, they can because it's freakin' easy to fall in love.

But is it, as the fairy tales say, true love? Eh...probably not. It's a romanticized version of love, and a lot of time it doesn't have staying power. Sometimes, though, it does.

The staying power of love isn't readily apparent in the beginning, during the honeymoon stage. Nope, it comes later - sometimes much later. Do you still love the person after they enclose you in a Dutch oven (see? I do watch too many teen movies). Or after you see them pick their nose for the first time? Or after you find out their dirty little secret? How about after they are diagnosed with an awful disease?

Yeah, it's only when love is tested that it is revealed to be lasting or not. Until love is tested, we can only hope we chose wisely in the first place.