Saturday, August 29, 2009


"How many times can I break till I shatter?" That's a question I've been asking myself for years. I can even remember one of the first cracks - in one of our favorite restaurants on B Street in Hayward. It happened while we were enjoying a meal, and the words that came out of his mouth cracked my heart almost instantly. "You're not..." this. "You're not..." that.

It became a pattern I learned to hate - meals in public places often turned into a litany of unwanted information - I heard over and over again why I wasn't a good girlfriend.

So why did I stay? Maybe because I also received flowers with note cards attached which stated how important I was to him. How much I was loved. How his life would be empty without me. So many contradictions - my heart would crack, and then be fixed with the Super Glue of sweet words.

In my mind's eye, I could see my heart - every crack, chip and dent. I knew it was fragile, but wasn't prepared for the shattering break that came yesterday. He's getting married. To her.

Sure, sure...she proposed to him - just like his first wife did. I guess this is the magic trick - the one I could not ever master. Making him feel wanted and loved and desired. I gave it my best - but I didn't propose. He proposed to me, about four years after we started dating, then he spent the next six years running away from me.

I honestly thought we'd end up getting it right. After all, he often told me that one of his greatest hopes was that we would. Did he lie again? Intentionally mislead me? I do wonder, as these comments were made all the while he was pursuing her. Or allowing her to pursue him - whichever scenario suits him at the time.

I sit in this mess surrounding me, a pile of rubble that used to be my heart. I had so much hope. I loved him - love him - so much. He never understood that. Never "got" it. Was it a communication failure on my part? Was it that I didn't love him enough? And what was last week all about?

I don't really have to ask that question, because I know the answer. Once again he was feeling me out - ensuring that his safety net was still in place.

I'm tired of being his safety net. I quit.

I'm in dire need of some Super Glue. I am bound and determined that, though shattered, my heart can be put back together. Sure, it won't be the same as before, but it will be mine. I am, and always will be, the sum of my parts. Beautiful, dented, cracked, and used. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Friday Five

1) I used to work out in the morning, but night sweats and a sick cat have been keeping me up nights. Translation: by the time morning rolls around, I'm too tired to get to the gym. So, I've turned to evening work outs. Tonight (or should I say last night?) was the latest I arrived at the gym: after ten p.m. I was surprised to find it pretty busy. On the plus side: the two guys who normally hog the ab machines were gone.

2) Does having a beer after coming home negate any calories spent? If yes, does the fact that it was a light beer change anything?

3) This week was movie week. I saw Julie & Julia, (500 Days of) Summer, Adventureland and I Love You, Man. Ratings: Excellent, excellent, okay, and cute (with extra bonus points for being a Paul Rudd movie). Favorite line from I Love You, Man: "You've been Rushified!" Adventureland was a bit of a disappointment, in that it was clearly marketed as a comedy, but it wasn't actually funny. At all.

4) Dr. Atkins would turn around in his grave to find out I succumbed to a bag of movie popcorn, slathered in a buttery-like substance. He probably wouldn't be happy about the beer, either.

5) I found a Christmas card with money in it. I promptly took it down to the Silver Legacy, and bought a ticket to see Joel McHale on September 5th. While there, I put a dollar in the Wheel of Fortune penny slot machine, and won $1.70. I quit while I was ahead. I bet the casino hates me now.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

There's One In Every Group

The other night, a bunch of my friends and I were at GSR for Ladies' Night. After a drink or two, the band started playing dance music, so we got up to dance. of my pet peeves has to do with guys and dancing. We women don't mind dancing with one another, and in fact we enjoy it. And the guys will just sit at the bar and watch, but not ask us to dance. But there's always some asshole who waits until we get up on the dance floor, then sidles up to us and boogies in the center, as if he is a big stud and we're all part of his harem.

I hate it. It drives me freakin' crazy. And so of course it happened the other night - some doofus who didn't have the balls to ask us to dance jumped in between us during a song, and started dancing. I turned my back on him, and so did my friend Carmen. My friend Tammy, who is probably one of the sweetest women I'll ever meet, felt sorry for the guy and danced with him. After the dance, she invited him back to the table.

As I mentioned before, the guy was an asshole. So, he made some lame excuse about going to the bar to get a whisky (and of course didn't offer to buy anyone at the table a drink, including Tammy who was sweet enough to invite him over). After he left, I said "Oh my gawd" and Tammy started to laugh. She said, "I know what you're going to say!"

"What, that I hate guys like that?"

"Yeah. As soon as he came up to us, the first thing I thought was 'Oh PJammy is going to be so mad!' My instinct was to protect him from your wrath!"

I said, "Tammy, you are just so nice. You always do the right thing." And then I realized that really, all my friends there were nice. "Suz, you're really a good hostess. And Joni, everyone who meets you falls in love with you. And Colleen is so motherly...." I stopped. "Oh fuck!"

Tammy said, "What's wrong?"

"I just realized that I'm the bitch in the group. Every group has one...and I'm it, aren't I?"

Now remember, these are nice women, so they all used different words. "No, you're not a're just confidant." "You're strong!" "You're blunt!" Oh yes, all sorts of different words for "bitch" were was nice of them to try, however there was no disguising it - I am the bitch of the group.

I am not sure I'm happy about that, but the reality is that every group does have one. In this case, I'm it.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Faux Sex with the Ex

Your ex really isn't your ex until you have sex...isn't that right? I swear I heard that somewhere before...maybe just in my own head. But, it's kind of true, right? Almost every woman I've ever talked to has had sex with her ex.

Now I'm one of them.

Well, kind of. Let me explain... Hunky's new girlfriend doesn't want him to have female friends. Of course, that includes me. We still occasionally chat online, but basically we no longer talk on the phone, and emails are few and far between. As he was my best friend for eleven years, it's kind of odd not to talk to him any more.

Two weeks ago, he called me when he was in the car on his way to an appointment. He didn't have much to say - just wanted to let me know he was thinking of me and hoping all was well. We chatted until he arrived at his destination. Surprisingly, he called me again when he left his appointment. We talked some more, and I almost invited him over for tea, but something stopped me.

I visited my parents that weekend, and when my mom asked if I'd heard from Hunky, I told her the story. Then I added that I almost invited him over for tea, since he was near my place, but didn't. She asked me why I didn't, and I said I wasn't sure - maybe I just wasn't sure it was appropriate.

I thought about my conversation with my mom, and the next time I had reason to email Hunky, I told him that I had almost invited him over for tea. Then I said that if ever wanted to catch up in person, he was welcome to come on over. And Hunky being Hunky, he actually did email me to let me know he'd be in my neighborhood again; was the invitation still open?

It was, and today was the day. I worked this morning at a temp job, and had not eaten so I was famished by the time I got home. I made lunch for us both, as it turned out he had not eaten yet, either.

Over lunch, we talked. It turned out he and Girlfriend had an argument last night, and it continued on this morning. We talked about that, and one thing led to another led to another and at some point it came out that he was still attracted to me physically. Or sexually. Or both.

Next thing I knew, we were naked. Well, I was naked; he was half naked. And then we had faux sex, which in my definition is sex without vaginal penetration. Because, let's face it - if naked body parts and orgasms abound, it's sex. Maybe not real sex, but it's sex.

Afterward, he asked me if I felt guilty. Nope. Not one freakin' bit. It would have been different if I knew Girlfriend and felt some sort of loyalty to her. But I don't know her. And, it would be different if she allowed us to be friends. But she doesn't. guilt here. Only the afterglow of pleasure.

Of course, there is one more thing - and that is that it was simply sex with the ex. It's not going to turn into a huge romance. He's not going to leave Girlfriend for me. It's simply sex - and that's something I'll have to figure out if I'm okay with.

I think I am, but you know it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Just call me "Marci"

One of the best temp jobs I ever had was through OfficeTeam, so when I was laid off in December, the first thing I did was sign myself back up with them. Last week they called and asked me if I would would work a short-term temp job this week. I jumped at the chance to get back to the top of their list, so I said yes.

The job is as an order taker (you know how I love taking orders...) at a convention in town at the Peppermill. But, I was warned that I was only an alternate. So, I was to show up this morning at 7, go through training and then wait around for two hours to see if I was needed. I hate to admit this: I was hoping I wouldn't be needed. Not because I didn't want to work - no I want to work. It's because this little piddly two-day job will screw up my unemployment. And as someone who hates dealing with those numbnuts, I was hoping I would get sent home.

But, Marci S. did not show up for work, so I was given her name tag and put to work taking orders. It was okay, but slow. So. Very. Slow. There were eight of us, and as we pretty much spent most of the day waiting around for people to give us orders, I am quite surprised they kept all of us there until quitting time.

As I wanted to work, I smiled at just about anyone who walked by the table. "Please sit down and give me some orders" I silently urged them. One guy saw me smile, and sat down. "Hello....Marci. Wait. Is your name really even Marci?" I laughed. "What makes you think it might not be?" "Oh, I go to enough of these things to know that someone always ends up with someone else's name tag."

Now, everyone at the table had the correct name tag but me. How he pegged me as wearing the fake one, I'll never know - unless it's just as simple as I don't look like a Marci. Anyway, we chatted a bit - he was there to talk to the Big Man at the booth, who actually wasn't there when he came by. But, for the rest of the day, he chatted me up on and off as he kept hoping to meet The Big Man at the booth.

I'll tell you, though, this guy wasn't the only person who liked Marci. As I mentioned, we were not busy at all. So, it came as no surprise when one of the booth guys came up to us and said that he wouldn't need all of us tomorrow. He told the woman sitting next to me that he would not be needing her, and then he pointed at me "But you! You I need. Can you come back tomorrow?"

Dammit. Yes, yes I can.

I'm not really sure how I was picked over the woman next to me. The only thing I can think of is that while wearing the mantle of Marci, I did a pretty good job. I didn't eat any of their samples. I didn't stray away from my station. I smiled encouragingly at people, hoping they'd come sit at my desk so I could take their orders. So, it turns out this Marci girl is a pretty good worker. And apparently fairly well-liked.

But she sure is going to screw up next week's unemployment claim.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Lizard or Redhead

When Chris Costa took his third set break of the night, a guy came up behind me, put his arms on my waist, leaned into me and with his lips almost on the back of my neck he said, "So is it a lizard or a redhead?" Um. Huh?

I must have made oogly eyes at my friend Carmen, because she raised her eyebrows and looked at me. I asked the guy to repeat himself. "Is it lizard skin or a redhead?" He kept his hands on me, and his mouth was so close to my neck while he spoke that the words almost felt like kisses. Then he said, "Please push my lips away from your neck."

I didn't move, because I was still puzzling out the question. Lizard skin or redhead? Okay, I get the redhead thing - I have red hair. But...lizard skin? What was lizard skin? Was he asking me if my dress was supposed to be lizard skin? Or was my skin lizard like? I dunno, because while I was thinking about what it was that he was asking me, he pulled away.

He told me I was sexy, and then walked away to join his friends - an odd conglomeration of men. One old black guy, one middle-aged black guy, and a very blond, very young surfer dude.

My friend Carmen quizzed me. I told her I had no idea what he said to me - he was obviously buzzed. We made a couple of jokes about it, and then started talking about our regular girl stuff. We could see them all staring at us while we talked, and could tell they were going to make another move - we rolled our eyes and waited for it.

Sure enough, all three sauntered over to the table. Mr. Lizard approached me and said "I'm sorry about kissing your neck." Now, the thing is, he didn't kiss my neck. But apparently there was some sort of bet thing going on, and not wanting him to lose (because I'm nice that way), I said "No problem! Kiss away." His eyes lit up, and he approached me from behind again. Then I felt it - his lips on my neck. He kissed me three times, and I could see Surfer Dude talking to my friend Carmen. I could tell she was giving him a hard time, but couldn't hear what she was saying.

Mr. Lizard invited me to join him at Nikki Beach. He said there was music and dancing and he was sure I'd enjoy it. I told him there was music and dancing where I was, so I was going to stay put. He tried to entice me with his beer (yep. His beer - it would have been much more enticing had he offered to buy me my own). I smiled sweetly (well I tried, anyway), thanked him, and said that Carmen and I were enjoying the music here so we were staying. He said okay, but if I changed my mind he would be there waiting for me.

When they finally left, I asked Carmen about Surfer Dude. She said she had asked Surfer Dude what was going on. He said "Mr. Lizard is trying to get your friend's panties wet." She said "What, is she fucking 15-years-old? It takes more than a kiss on the neck to do that! Haven't you guys learned anything? Don't you have any game?" She said Surfer Dude laughed, but backed away.

And it was obvious that none of them had any game. Oh they tried, God bless 'em, they tried. What he didn't know, though, was he couldn't have done anything to get my panties wet, because I wasn't wearing any.

Just call me Britney. Now I must go - I hear K-Fed calling my name.

Monday, August 10, 2009

I am Cougar, Hear me Roar

Ever since this Cougar thing has been featured in magazines and on TV, I have to fend of 28-year-olds like crazy. Their emails are all very pointed, and are frequently crude. However, I do admit that there is this one guy from another site who contacts me regularly, and I do keep writing back. I think I keep writing because he seems kind of naive and friendly and lost. These qualities make him endearing to me.

This particular young man lives in Carson City. He recently moved back after being away for a few years, and wants friends. The thing is, he's shy. Or he says he is shy. I find myself believing him, though, because as a fellow shy person, I recognize the syndrome.

In today's email, he asked me if I was at the Nugget in Carson last week. I told him that I was and then asked him if he saw me. He said that he had, or at least, he was pretty sure it was me. He said "I only saw half of your face, but your boots were damn sexy." I told him he saw someone else - that I was wearing tennis shoes. He said "Uh uh - I don't think so." I laughed. He had me.

So, now that he knows I wear sexy boots in the evenings, he is being bolder with me than he has ever been before. He still hasn't asked me out - but I can tell he's working his way up to it. He is just having trouble actually asking the question - he keeps dancing around it.

I could make it easier for him and guide him to the question. I'm not, though. My purpose isn't to torture him - I'm really just trying to figure out how to respond to him when he actually does ask. Do I really want to go out with a 28-year-old guy? Or is it really such a big deal? I mean, he definitely has the Cougar-expectation: he's said enough to me for me to glean at least that much.

Am I a Cougar? I guess I could say "yes" and find out.

Sunday, August 09, 2009

Dead Man Flirting

Graveyard dirt. Believe it or not, it's a key ingredient in many spells. Unfortunately, graveyard dirt isn't easy to come by. You can purchase it in stores, but who knows if it really came from a graveyard? And, if you've been to a cemetery recently, you know that most graves are covered with grass, so digging up dirt would be a desecration of sorts.

Another little known fact: to be used effectively, graveyard dirt must be obtained ethically. That is, with full consent of the deceased. It helps to aid the Goddess Oya in this endeavor - and there is a way to do that as well.

I've had need for graveyard dirt on several occasions recently. I decided it was time to do a little research so I could stock my cabinet with this much needed and hard-to-come-by resource.

I thought of the perfect graveyard, in my hometown of Fremont. There is a little cemetery not far from Ohlone College. When I was a kid, we often walked our dog there, and spent time honoring those long since gone. Some of the graves date back to the early 1800's, and we assumed there were no family members left to visit. So, we'd visit instead.

This weekend was the perfect time. I helped my dad at the flea market (conveniently held at Ohlone), and after I was able to excuse myself, I went to CVS to get the last needed requirement: wine. See, Oya likes her gift of nine pennies to be doused in wine - specifically, red wine (that's my kind of Goddess!). I grabbed a four-pack of Merlot, checked out, and drove back to the cemetery.

At the entrance, I called to Oya. I let her know I had pennies and wine for her and asked to to allow me entrance. Before I could finish, I swear I heard Oya say "What are you waiting for! Give me my pennies." So, I did. Then I left the wine at the foot of the stairs. I heard her say, "Don't cap the wine!" I made sure to keep it open, because I certainly did not want to piss her off.

The next step was to talk to the spirits. I let them know why I was there, and told them a bit about my history and what I planned to do with the graveyard dirt. This is the part that can literally take hours. I was hoping it wouldn't, as I had to get back to my parents' house to check on my mom.

I walked around, and visited graves. I spent a lot of time with those who were veterans, hoping that our mutual connection of service would grant me permission. I sensed that a former Corporal in the Army wanted to grant me permission, but his wife did not want him to. I walked around some more. Some clearly told me to move on. Others were eerily silent.

I saw one grave that someone had clearly been at recently, and not in a good way. I talked to the pair (sisters, it looked like), and apologized for the state someone left their graves in. I looked around for a garbage can so I could clean up, but none was found. I moved on.

I visited grave after grave. I talked to many, and didn't make much of a connection. Finally, I asked Oya for help. "Oya! I'm having trouble locating a helpful spirit here. Is there somewhere I should be looking at specifically?" Oya answered me with the help of a squirrel. I saw him poised at the edge of a gravestone, and then he ran. I wasn't sure which grave to check out, the one he started at or the one he ended at. I decided to check them all out.

I talked to all those spirits in the immediate vicinity of the squirrel sighting. The only one who engaged with me was one Richard "Dick" Valencia. He died in 1999, at the age of 74. His wife had not yet joined him, but her name was already engraved on the headstone next to his.

I told him what type of spells I wanted to use the graveyard dirt in: Protection, Love and Banishment spells. He said "I can help you with protection and maybe banishment. But, girlie, I can help you more with sex than I can with love." He was joking with me - and I so did not expect that. We "conversed" for a while, and he continually flirted with me. I asked him if his wife would mind if I took dirt from his grave, and he said "Who cares? I want you to have it." So, I took two handfuls of dirt and left him nine dimes in return.

After leaving the nine dimes, he was delighted. He said, "Take more dirt!" I told him I'd only feel comfortable taking another handful, and that's what I took. He told me he liked my red hair. I thanked him. We talked for a few more minutes, but since I had the dirt and had left the dimes, it was time for me to go. Before I left, I kissed his gravestone. I swear I felt him blush.

He escorted me part of the way out. When I felt he was no longer with me, I said good-bye and thank you to Oya, and left. I knew, though, when I got home I'd have to check the Internet to see if I could find out any information about him.

Tonight I checked, and I found him easily. It turns out his nickname was "Muscles" and he was apparently really well liked. I could tell that, though, from his spirit. He headed "The Big Dick Golf Tournament" in the Bay Area, and was an avid sportsman, hence his ability to readily admit the dirt from his grave could aid with protection. And, I do imagine that his sportsman-like physique probably did make him a big hit with the ladies, so perhaps he wasn't joking when he said he could help me with sex magic.

Either way, as read about him on the 'Net, I felt him next to me again. He didn't say anything, though, he just seemed to delight in reading his obituary. Plus, he seemed to just enjoy my company.

It's kind of sad that the only guy enjoying my company this weekend is a dead man, but I'll tell you, I'll take what I can get. After all, a compliment is a compliment, no matter who it comes from.

Thank you, Muscles. It was nice talking to you.

Friday, August 07, 2009

One Thing

Even though I know
I don't want to know
Yeah, I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds
--Finger Eleven, "One Thing"

True Sight. It's both a blessing and a curse. It's the one power I have that I have been using since I was a little girl. I have almost always (almost) been able to tell when someone is lying. I also know when something is being hidden. And, I quite frequently know the story behind the story, without ever being told.

When I decided to move out of Hunky's place and into my own home, we both thought it would be a good thing for our relationship. The original plan was to just start dating again, with the hope that since we weren't living under the same roof, we would be better able to start mending our relationship.

But, I knew he was dating other women. He didn't talk about it, but also wouldn't deny it if I asked. I knew his routine inside and out, so when something was different, I knew. I would know if he threw a play party at his house. Or if he went out on a simple date. I knew the differences, and I didn't want to know - yet at the same time, was glad I knew so I could deal with it emotionally.

At the end, I knew that it was over before he would even admit it - both to himself and me. I was his safety net, knew his foibles and eccentricities, yet loved him anyway. He could not be sure that would be the case with his new girl, so he held on to me "just in case." But I knew...and he knew I knew...and eventually admitted it and we parted ways for good.

With the exception of other witches who are good with Arte of Glamoury or Abjuration, I just know things about people. It's not a psychic ability, as I don't see the future or the past. I just know things, like someone's history or why they are the way they are. I know when a guy is interested in me, but afraid to make another step. I know when a guy is not interested enough to make the next step, even if he says he is. I know when a guy is lying to me (again, most of the time - there have been a few exceptions). I do not make it a habit to call people on this stuff, unless there is some reason for me to so. Most of the time, I just take the knowledge and use it to make my next move, whatever that might be.

Lately, I've made a few mistakes with men. Errors in judgment...maybe. However, in the exit interviews I've conducted with my psyche, I realize that I knew. Of course I knew. I was just testing my boundaries and my newly found freedom. Perhaps I was also exercising a little wildness. Or allowing myself to experience new things by picking the right people to do that with, still knowing in my bones that these were just play dates, and nothing to hang my hopes on.

The thing is, while I just know things, I don't know what to do next. How best to proceed. My magical mentor suggested a few things...and I'm pondering those as well. Yes, the gift of True Sight is both a blessing and a curse - but it doesn't help me predict the future, so my next move is still a mystery to me.