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.

Tightly.

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.

Syncronicity

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...

Jazz

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.

FILF

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!"

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't...at 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!

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.

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.

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, PJammy...it 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?

Huh?

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

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.

The Start Of Something Good

As I may have admitted before, I'm one of the losers who posted a profile to a well-known singles site. I haven't had many dates from the site, but I did make a good group of friends there.

About once a month, we organize a get-together for the local singles on the site. The one we had last month was at Spiros for the Retro Dance Party. Shortly after I arrived, two guys came in. One of them looked at us, and headed for the bar. (Yeah, I'm kind of used to that.) The other looked at us, looked again, and came over and said something, then joined his pal at the bar.

I didn't hear what the guy said, but apparently he said hi to one of the other girls. It turned out it was my favorite Bill Pullman lookalike from the site, and he was there with his dad. We all kind of gave him the once over, and the girls in the crowd concurred that he was a cutie.

After we'd been there for a couple of hours, "Bill" and his dad got up to leave. Bill came over to me, put his arm around me and told me that he enjoyed my blogs, but that he hoped I wouldn't blog about him being too "chicken" to join us (I'm notorious for that, ya see). He added that he didn't realize that we were having a site get-together that night.

When I got home, I logged into the site and sent him an email, telling him I promised I wouldn't blog about him. Then I promptly wrote a blog entry and mentioned him. Oops. I guess I lied.

Well, I joked with him about it, and he emailed me to say he'd like to take me out for a glass of wine some time to thank me for the "hours" of enjoyment he had received from reading my blogs.

He actually went through with the promise this Friday. We met at the Marina for a walk, and then drinks. Before we met, he stressed that he thought I'd be a "good drinking buddy and companion." In other words, "Babe, this is not a date."

That's okay. I didn't mind - I just wanted to get to know "Bill" better.

I don't know if it was the fact that I felt he wasn't interested in me, or what, but I was fairly comfortable with him. We talked. And talked. And talked. We walked around the Marina twice, and still hadn't run out of anything to say.

We went to The Jib for drinks, and our conversation didn't end. Before I knew it, it was almost 7 p.m. He told me he was enjoying my company - would I like to go out to dinner? I wanted to. SO BADLY. But, I had promised Grandpa Sam that I would meet him at the Nugget for dancing, so I had to go home and change.

Bill walked me out to my car, and we chatted for a minute. Then he turned away. I said "Hey! Gimme a hug!" Normally I'm not that forward, but I felt like I could be with him. He came back, hugged me tight, and kissed the side of my head.

Kissed...ME!

Now, granted, it was the side of my head. He could just be a very friendly guy. Or maybe he had started to change his mind about me. Whatever - I don't care. All I know is that I couldn't stop smiling all the way home.

He has since emailed me to say he enjoyed meeting me and we have to have another adventure soon.

Yes. Yes we do.

I don't think I'll stop smiling any time soon. And that's a good feeling - a good feeling, indeed.

Underwire Support System

When I first moved to Sparks from California to live with Todd, I found out that a co-worker from my California days lived on the same street. I thought "hey! A built-in friend." Not so much. I mean, she was and is a nice girl, but any time I got together with her, I was exhausted afterward. She talked. And talked. And talked. And, I never got a word in. Plus, she would tell the same stories over and over again about injustices at our old place of business. In my head, I would say "move on already!" In person, I would nod and smile, because like I said before, I couldn't get a word in edgewise.

So, our friendship fizzled, leaving me kind of alone. I mean, sure I had Todd, but that was it.

Todd kept after me to make friends. And believe me, I tried. But, as this area is kind of transient in nature, it seemed as if every time I made a friend, that friend would move away shortly afterward.

And then, well, I don't know how it happened, really, but I ended up with a bunch of friends here. And more friends than I had had in a long time. This support system was in place when I made the decision to leave Todd and move on.

The timing couldn't have been better.

At the time I made that decision, my life came crashing down around me. I got laid off. My mom's health took a turn for the worse. And of course, even though I was the one that made the decision to end our relationship, the decision had really been Todd's in the first place - he just couldn't or wouldn't let go. I had to sever the ties that kept us bound to one another, and that was probably the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

And even though this time in my life is probably my darkest hour, I am surrounded by friends. These people constantly surprise me with their generosity and love. For example, I was going to have to quit my Thursday night class, because it is money that I shouldn't be spending right now. But, my classmates didn't want me to leave, so they take turns paying my way, week after week. My ex-co-workers invite me out for lunch and insist on paying my way. And just when I think I can't stand another moment alone, someone calls and invites me to a movie or out for a walk or over for belly dancing.

It may have taken me years to find some friends here in Reno, but the time put in was well worth it. I couldn't ask for better friends - and for those of you who are reading this, I thank you. You've been a lifesaver in ways you couldn't even imagine.

Dancing With My Grandpa

Another girls' night out at GSR...and I wanted to dance with someone other than the girls. I sent a little prayer up to God. And God, laughing at me all the while, said "Sure, PJammy. I will get you a dance partner," and he promptly delivered me Grandpa Sam. Now, Sam is old hat. We've seen him there before. Normally he focuses on my friend Colleen, but tonight he only had eyes for me.

I know I've said it before: The grandpas love me. I don't know what it is about me - my mentholated perfume, my stockpile of Poli-Grip, or my bagful of hard candy, but they love me.

So, Sam and I danced. And danced. And danced. Sam asked me if I had kids. I told him no. His eyes lit up. He said "I could really fall for you since you don't have kids!" Damn. Why didn't I say I had a litter? Huh?

Sam continued to woo me all night long (well, until the bus from the assisted living place showed up, anyway). He asked me to go out dancing on Friday night. I know - every woman's dream is to have a date on a Friday night, huh? But, is every woman's dream to have a date that she will have to tuck into bed at eight p.m.?

Anyway, Sam kept at it, and I have to admit, there's something about a guy who is persistent. I took his email and phone number and promised I would call.

Yes, I know what you're thinking, but I will. I promised.

And then from across the room I saw him: Biker Dude. Only, tonight he was dressed up as Cowboy Dude. He really likes to keep a girl guessing. He spun me around the dance floor a time or two - dang, he is a good dancer. Actually, Grandpa was a good dancer, too, but he stepped on my toes a few times and said "oops" while he giggled like a girl.

Yes. He giggled. I have to admit, that was kind of cute.

As the evening wore on, my friend Steve decided it was time to go. And so did just about everyone else. I got up to walk out with them, and Colleen said "What? You're leaving? Don't you want to dance with Grandpa anymore?"

I told her that Grandpa had gone home, because it was time for his nightly medication and intake of oxygen. So yes, my girls night out came to a close.

Just as well. Grandpa tired me out.

Booty Call

I have a smashing new dress that some was probably made in some third world country, because it only cost $6 at Ross. Still. Six dollars. Score!

The thing is, this dress is perfect with a pair of black wedge heels that I have. But, when I went to put on the dress to wear to tonight's girls night out, the dress spoke to me. At least, I think it was the dress. It said "Do not wear me with shoes. Wear me with boots."

"But it's spring! The sun is out! Boots are hot!" I muttered out loud.

"You're damn right boots are hot. That's why you're wearing them with me instead of those wedge heels."

"Dammit dress," I said. "Hot as it temperature, not hot as in looks."

"Haven't you ever heard that a woman must suffer for fashion? Quit your whining and put on the damn boots, girl!"

And then, the dress began to hit me over and over again with the paisley ties attached at its side. "Okay, okay! I give up! I'll wear the boots."

It looks like the dress won. I'm wearing the boots. I just hope it's worth it.

Sex Like A Man

Now, I'm not one to read relationship books, however a friend felt the need to pass on the book "He's Just Not That Into You." As it's a relatively short book, I read it in about two hours.

I dunno - I'm not going to poo poo the book. It had some great advice and I pretty much already knew that stuff, anyway, and lived by it. But, being fresh into the dating scene after 10+ years, it was nice to have the refresher.

But - the other day I saw the rebuttal book "Be Honest - You're Not That Into Him Either." And at the bargain price of $2, it was mine.

I have to admit, I'm not through the whole book yet. The author, though a Ph.D., is not as entertaining as the author of HJNTIY (although he thinks he is). And, he doesn't really make any points or offer clear guidelines - he just throws a bunch of info out there. And maybe that's a good strategy - for some.

I did, however, finish reading the first part of the book which is about sex. The author discusses women's needs, points out the obvious (women process and respond to sex differently than men), and focuses a bit on the sexual revolution and how it (not his words) fcuked up relationships everywhere.

As he points out (several times): Go ahead and have a one night stand, but be prepared for the aftermath (to include being labeled as easy, and the ever present post-orgasm regret). He fully acknowledges that the double standard does exist, and basically tells women to suck it up (amen brother!) - it's not going to change any time soon.

So, while he gives the reader tips on how to "have sex like a man," he also fairly clearly states over and over again that it is biologically impossible for a woman to do so. That as much as she'd like to fool herself into thinking she can, she really can't. Oh sure, he doesn't state it as simply as that - he uses a lot of rhetoric and scientific studies and a comparison of rats to voles (rats = men and voles = women - yeah, I thought you'd women like that rats thing, I know I did).

What it boils down to is this: women have sex drives. But, the hormones that are activated during and after sex trigger affection and facilitates a sense of attachment. So as much as we might like to have that wonderful no-strings-attached one-night stand, we kind of aren't capable of it. We either feel like "sluts" (80% of women polled felt that way after a ONS), or try to get him to commit to...something.

After all the bad news, the author gives out a couple of suggestions to help alleviate post-orgasm regret, however that part of the chapter is titled "Raise (Your Standards) and Reach (For Love)." As you can tell from the title, he's really not advocating the one-night stand for women, even though he is pretending to.

So you may be wondering, "Does PJammy have a point?" Yeah, I'm kind of wondering that myself. I guess my point is, being as I've only had one sexual partner, I sometimes consider the one-night stand. I sometimes just want to move on, even if it's just sexually. Yet, at the same time, I have been cautious because I was afraid I might end up placing too much stock into it, and pretending it was something else.

Armed with the knowledge I gleaned from the book, I'm guessing that a one-night stand probably isn't for me. But, a girl can still dream, can't she?

Keep 'Em Coming

Wow. Today was a good day for my ego. I received not one, not two, but three compliments - all from guys. Okay, sure, one of the guys is gay. And the compliment really kind of came from his mom and he just passed it on. Still, I am going to count it, especially since it had to do with my looks.

You know, after reading some of the blogs today I think some of you really need some compliments thrown your way. Or a hug. Or both. (And in the case of one particular blogger, I think a lap dance is necessary - but believe you me, I'm not volunteering!)

Because you know what? Compliments can really turn a person's mood around. Not that I was in a bad mood today - nope. Not at all. But I was in a focused mood today. I concentrated on paying bills, cleaning house, and getting things in order and getting myself to class. So, when these various compliments came my way during the course of the day, I just found myself smiling like an idiot.

And who doesn't like a smiling idiot, huh? Oh. Yeah. Maybe a lap dancer...

Meditation Makes Me Horny

Apparently this is true. How did I discover this? In a very public setting known as the Church of the Inner Light.

See, one of my Black Hatters called me this morning to chit chat about a group issue (or non-issue in my mind). Then we got to talking about other things, and she told me that she was going to the Sunday meditation held at the Church of the Inner Light (also known as The Mystic Rose or Reno Psychic Institute). She said "You might be interested...Walter might be there."

Well, that's all she had to say. Next thing I know, I was dressed and ready to go.

Interestingly enough, she and I pulled into the parking lot just about the same time. We got out, ventured in together, and sat down. No Walter. Oh well.

Pretty soon Ed began guiding those few of us who showed up (turns out it is freakin' Earth Day, so most of the regulars were at the ED celebration) in meditation. He began with what I believe was probably the basic grounding and centering stuff. Fine.

After about 15-20 minutes of that, he told us that today we would focus on releasing our fear. Then he guided us in an exercise to facilitate losing our fear. When we were working on our first chakra, all of a sudden I felt this lurch in my loins. Huh? I tried to ignore it.

We went on to different chakras, but many times we kept returning to the first (base) chakra, and every time we did, I got hotter and hotter and...whew. I almost couldn't stand it. Finally the meditation ended. I almost whispered a sigh of relief.

Ed went around the room and asked each one of us what we "recognized" happening in our bodies. I was the second one up: I certainly couldn't say that releasing my fears suddenly made me horny. Or could I? Nope. I couldn't. Instead, I volunteered some different information, and we went on our merry way.

Then he got to the last person, who was the only guy in the audience. The guy said that he felt "a fire" in his base chakra. Ed said something about that being the kundalini, blah, blah, blah. And, suddenly it hit me. I wondered if this guy's "fire" was similar to mine?

And nope I didn't ask him. I prefered to keep my fire a secret from Ed and the rest of the class.

Afterward, my friend and I went out for coffee, and sitting and talking in the sun seemed to cool down the fire. Thank goodness - I wouldn't have wanted to ambush the barista just because my chakra had been awakened!

Bad Guys and Boxes

Last week, Todd told me he thought I needed him to be the bad guy. He said he didn't think that was fair. My response was that I didn't need him to be the bad guy - but that I realized finally, after ten years of being together, that I wasn't the bad guy.

We went over some old territory - how he often told me if I was only this or only that or did this that our relationship would be miraculously better. I told him that I tried for years to be more x and more y, only now I realize I never stood a chance - I mean, how can a couple be successful when one part of that couple won't let the other person in?

Like I said, old stuff. Rehashed before. What's new is that I found a box of cards, all from Todd. Every time he sent me flowers or gave me a card, I put it in the box. Out of sentiment, I guess. Or perhaps I kept it because it was tangible proof that somebody loved me. I don't know - but I have it and today I went through it.

In our conversation last week, Todd said that I was never right for him - that there were always problems, and his mistake was trying to make it work - and in holding on to me for so long. So, when I came across that box of cards I knew I probably should wait a bit before looking through it. But, obviously, I didn't.

Today I read about 50+ cards from him - many of those given to me in the first five years of our relationship (which makes sense; the box was packed when I moved to Reno). I read cards from him saying how he couldn't wait to marry me. And how he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with me. And how he was so lucky to have me in his life and that he treasured me above anything else in his life.

And so here I am, sitting in the ruins of this relationship. He's moved on. He found someone else to treasure. To love. To have forever in his life. And because of that, he threw me aside. Yet, he's not the bad guy?

If he knew all along that I wasn't right for him, then why did he write me all these cards saying how right I was for him? Doesn't that make him somewhat of a bad guy?

What really gets me riled up is that if Kim had not come along, he'd still be stringing me along. Writing love notes on cards. The truth is, he just did not want to be alone. And so, yes, he is the bad guy - not because I need him to be, but because he led me on in both word and deed so he wouldn't have to be alone.

While that behavior certainly doesn't merit his being included in America's Most Wanted, it does warrant some revilement and a certain measure of disgust.

And me? I have a box of mementos, a broken heart and a fervent wish that one day I can forgive myself for being so foolish for so long.

Scaredy Cat

As I've mentioned ad nauseam, a group of us single local ladies from Cupid meet at GSR once a week for dancing and drinks and a little bit of storytelling. Interestingly enough, I've seen a Cupidian guy at the bar a lot - he always has a bottle of beer, and seems to hit on the ladies that actually sit at the bar (there are a lot of tables and couches and stuff around the bar area).

Well, I see this cat there almost every week. And, this cat has seen me. Has he ever come up and introduced himself? No. Bought me a drink (hey, they're free!)? Nope. Has he asked me to dance? Of course not. What does he do instead? He sends me an eye contact. WTF? He has seen me live and in person, but nooooo, he wants me to email him (because he's a cheap b*stard with a non-paid membership).

Yeah, good luck with that buddy. I look at it this way: if you didn't have the guts to speak to me in person, the emailing thing just isn't gonna work for me. Toodles, noodle!