The dogs I dog-slash-housesit for have obviously been watching too much Prison Break while I'm on the computer.
The rule of the house is: if the dogs don't pee when they're let out for their last visit to the great outdoors before bedime, then they are crated. So, the other night I let them both out around 9:30 p.m., and commanded them to "pee!" They looked at me. They licked their haunches. Spencer rolled on my feet. Benny ran back to the side door.
"Benny," I called. "Go pee!" He came back and sat in front of me. Spencer rolled around on his back, and started rubbin his eyes with his paws. As if on cue, they ran to the side door and started barking for me to join them.
As fifteen peeless minutes had passed, I decided to let them back in. I gave them their night time snack, and said "Crate." They both ran in, and I started to zip the door closed.
Dang. No luck.
I tried the other side, and had a little more luck. I couldn't zip the whole thing, but as there was only about one and a half inches not zipped, I figured I was safe.
Around 4 a.m., I started to stir. I kind of needed to get up, but I didn't want to get up. So, I tossed and turned and then I heard this weird sound coming from the crate. "Why, it sounds like the crate is being unzipped," I thought. As soon as that thought cleared my head, the two dogs jumped on the bed and started rolling around. Then Benny ran downstairs, and Spencer curled up next to my face.
I told Spencer I was going to get some parental controls put on the TV, and went back to sleep.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Bookin' Boomers
Two months ago, I saw a posting on Craig's List from a woman who was interested in starting a book club. She wanted it to be a women's book club, and hoped to arouse the interest of "boomers."
I answered her post, and long story short, we had our first meeting last night at Borders. When I first met Rita I was impressed. She was nice, warm and very organized. We talked for a while, and she mentioned that one woman was coming with her husband, but only because they came into town together as he had an eye appointment earlier.
I expected that while we wimmin folk met, the husband would wander around the store, or go buy a coffee, or whatever it is that men do while their wimmin folk are engaged. But no...when the couple arrived, he plopped himself down and made himself comfortable.
When we were all there, Rita handed out a list for us to fill out with our pertinent contact information. When Howard's wife passed the list to him to sign, I noticed Rita looked alarmed.
When we started discussing possible book choices, it was clear that Howard thought he was part of the group. He suggested types of books he wanted to read. At some point, I thought that perhaps I had misread the posting; perhaps the group was to be a mixed group.
In general, this couple was annoying. They are well to do, and made it known. "We have a nice place at 'the Lake.'" All of a sudden, everything was "the Lake" this and "the Lake" that. The wife stated that they had gotten into house swapping, because they loved to travel and since they lived at "the Lake," they had a desirable place to swap.
Then she complained about some guy who swapped a one bedroom apartment for their tony lakeside property. "He sure cleaned up in the deal," she said.
When we discussed when our meetings should be scheduled, we suggested meeting the last Wednesday of the month, as it seemed to work for everyone already. "Oh no" the annoying couple replied. "We travel at the end of the month...every month."
When one lady asked about how a book club worked (as she hadn't been in one before), Annoying Wife started saying "Well, we've always done it like this..." When Rita suggested some ways we could run ours, Annoying Wife said "But I've never done it like that before."
Rita wants the group to be part activity group and part book club. Her proposed plan is to read and discuss a book one month, and take the next month off to go to a wine tasting or out to dinner or other such activity as a group. Annoying Wife said "Well, before we do any activities, we need to bond as a group first." I chimed in, "The best way to get to know people is at an activity where conversation isn't relegated to book discussion."
After the meeting finally ended, I thanked Rita for organizing the meeting, and then quickly drove home to check out the posting. I was right; the group was intended to be women only.
I wrote Rita and asked if Howard was going to be part of the group. "It's kind of awkward, I would think, if the group is intended just for women to say 'Hey Howard, unless you are prepared to wear a dress and go through menopause, I think you need to find something else to do on the third Wednesday of every month...'"
I haven't heard back...but I'm at least hoping that if Howard intends to be part of the group, that he at least dress the part.
I answered her post, and long story short, we had our first meeting last night at Borders. When I first met Rita I was impressed. She was nice, warm and very organized. We talked for a while, and she mentioned that one woman was coming with her husband, but only because they came into town together as he had an eye appointment earlier.
I expected that while we wimmin folk met, the husband would wander around the store, or go buy a coffee, or whatever it is that men do while their wimmin folk are engaged. But no...when the couple arrived, he plopped himself down and made himself comfortable.
When we were all there, Rita handed out a list for us to fill out with our pertinent contact information. When Howard's wife passed the list to him to sign, I noticed Rita looked alarmed.
When we started discussing possible book choices, it was clear that Howard thought he was part of the group. He suggested types of books he wanted to read. At some point, I thought that perhaps I had misread the posting; perhaps the group was to be a mixed group.
In general, this couple was annoying. They are well to do, and made it known. "We have a nice place at 'the Lake.'" All of a sudden, everything was "the Lake" this and "the Lake" that. The wife stated that they had gotten into house swapping, because they loved to travel and since they lived at "the Lake," they had a desirable place to swap.
Then she complained about some guy who swapped a one bedroom apartment for their tony lakeside property. "He sure cleaned up in the deal," she said.
When we discussed when our meetings should be scheduled, we suggested meeting the last Wednesday of the month, as it seemed to work for everyone already. "Oh no" the annoying couple replied. "We travel at the end of the month...every month."
When one lady asked about how a book club worked (as she hadn't been in one before), Annoying Wife started saying "Well, we've always done it like this..." When Rita suggested some ways we could run ours, Annoying Wife said "But I've never done it like that before."
Rita wants the group to be part activity group and part book club. Her proposed plan is to read and discuss a book one month, and take the next month off to go to a wine tasting or out to dinner or other such activity as a group. Annoying Wife said "Well, before we do any activities, we need to bond as a group first." I chimed in, "The best way to get to know people is at an activity where conversation isn't relegated to book discussion."
After the meeting finally ended, I thanked Rita for organizing the meeting, and then quickly drove home to check out the posting. I was right; the group was intended to be women only.
I wrote Rita and asked if Howard was going to be part of the group. "It's kind of awkward, I would think, if the group is intended just for women to say 'Hey Howard, unless you are prepared to wear a dress and go through menopause, I think you need to find something else to do on the third Wednesday of every month...'"
I haven't heard back...but I'm at least hoping that if Howard intends to be part of the group, that he at least dress the part.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Eat Me
Yesterday was a co-worker's birthday. She has helped me swim successfully through the world of data, and so I wanted to get her something special.
But what?
She loves Bath and Body Works, but since everyone knows that, they tend to buy her loads. Plus, she told me she spent about $100 at the last Bath & Body Works sale...so I'm sure she needs nothing in that department.
Hmmm...
I put on my thinking cap (and it sure looked good on me!), and soon I had an idea: I'd get her a brownie from Claim Jumper.We talk about the infamous brownies all the time. How big they are. How delicious. Filled with nuts and chocolate...ummmm.... (after all, what woman in her right mind doesn't like nuts....oh, and chocolate?)
As yesterday was her day off, I had time. I gunned it to Claim Jumper after work, and bought a brownie. Then I gunned it to Michael's and bought some pretty ribbon (and while there, I met a man who used to be a woman...but more on that at a later time). Then I gunned it to Safeway for munchies (all that gunning left me hungry) and a birthday card.
I was set.
I got home and was greeted by my two very vocal kitties. “We hear you brought home a brownie,” they meowed. “Yeah, but it’s not for you. It’s for Lany, so keep your little tuna-flavored yaps shut.”
I squirreled it away, and went about my business. Every once in awhile I would hear a muffled voice saying “Eat me.” At first, I looked around the house to see if I could find the culprit. The only thing I found was a quarter, a cat nip toy and a pair of nylons that Purrscilla stole from me.
“Eat me.” The voice became louder and more incessant. “EAT ME!”
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more, and my search for the source became ramped up. Then I found it…the brownie from Claim Jumper. “Eat me,” it said. “You know you want to!”
And yes, I did want to. Terribly so. However, my desire to give the brownie to Lany was stronger than my desire to eat it, so I pulled out the ribbon, cut off a yard, and wrapped up the brownie tightly. Sure enough, my ribbon muzzle worked. “Omphgeatohme” was all I heard for the rest of the night, until finally the brownie tired of talking through its brightly-colored hand-made muzzle.
I slept soundly last night, behind the safety of a closed door and ear plugs…just in case the brownie loosened itself from its hand-made muzzle long enough to convince me to take a girl-sized bite from that big old nut-covered brownie…
But what?
She loves Bath and Body Works, but since everyone knows that, they tend to buy her loads. Plus, she told me she spent about $100 at the last Bath & Body Works sale...so I'm sure she needs nothing in that department.
Hmmm...
I put on my thinking cap (and it sure looked good on me!), and soon I had an idea: I'd get her a brownie from Claim Jumper.We talk about the infamous brownies all the time. How big they are. How delicious. Filled with nuts and chocolate...ummmm.... (after all, what woman in her right mind doesn't like nuts....oh, and chocolate?)
As yesterday was her day off, I had time. I gunned it to Claim Jumper after work, and bought a brownie. Then I gunned it to Michael's and bought some pretty ribbon (and while there, I met a man who used to be a woman...but more on that at a later time). Then I gunned it to Safeway for munchies (all that gunning left me hungry) and a birthday card.
I was set.
I got home and was greeted by my two very vocal kitties. “We hear you brought home a brownie,” they meowed. “Yeah, but it’s not for you. It’s for Lany, so keep your little tuna-flavored yaps shut.”
I squirreled it away, and went about my business. Every once in awhile I would hear a muffled voice saying “Eat me.” At first, I looked around the house to see if I could find the culprit. The only thing I found was a quarter, a cat nip toy and a pair of nylons that Purrscilla stole from me.
“Eat me.” The voice became louder and more incessant. “EAT ME!”
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more, and my search for the source became ramped up. Then I found it…the brownie from Claim Jumper. “Eat me,” it said. “You know you want to!”
And yes, I did want to. Terribly so. However, my desire to give the brownie to Lany was stronger than my desire to eat it, so I pulled out the ribbon, cut off a yard, and wrapped up the brownie tightly. Sure enough, my ribbon muzzle worked. “Omphgeatohme” was all I heard for the rest of the night, until finally the brownie tired of talking through its brightly-colored hand-made muzzle.
I slept soundly last night, behind the safety of a closed door and ear plugs…just in case the brownie loosened itself from its hand-made muzzle long enough to convince me to take a girl-sized bite from that big old nut-covered brownie…
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Other V-Day
I suppose Valentine's Day is a good day for someone like Jane Fonda to go on a national morning show to promote The Vagina Monologues. And, I suppose it's also a good day for an aging political activist like herself to spew the C-word on national TV. And by "C-word" I don't mean "cat."
Ah...Vagina Monologues and the C-word...my two least favorite things in the world. Together. On stage. With Jane Fonda...how delightful.
What? How could the Vagina Monologues be one of my least favorite things? Well, maybe because I'm a girl...What? you ask... how can you be a girl and NOT like the Vagina Monologues? Simply for this reason: I think it's an overrated production, and the chronic use of vulgar words in the production does not make it cool.
Oh yes. I saw it. A few years ago, a feminist friend of mine said "PJammy, you have to go see this play! It's the bee's knees!" And, not wanting to seem uncool or against the feminist movement, I said "Sure, sign me up." I went along...and I think I was supposed to be like the other feminist clones in the audience and cheer on the repeated use of the word "C*nt" and "vagina," but I kept quiet. I did not think the chronic use of the "C" word "took back the word" and made it any different. It's still the same old word with the same old vulgar meaning, and watching Eve Ensler utter it repeatedly did not magically change it into something Proud and Bold and Wonderful.
Neither did the repeated use of the "V" word. Yes, I know what I've got "down there." Yes, I know the technical name. However, I do not get any great feeling of liberation or satisfaction shouting it at the top of my lungs. "Vagina! VAGINA!" See? Nothing. I get more satisfaction at shouting the word "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs in the car after some nimrod cuts me off than I do in a roomful of feminists shouting out the V-word.
The thing is, I know I'm supposed to like it. It's not cool for me to admit that I don't. Oh sure, there were a few touching monologues. Overall, though, The Monologues did not speak to me, or give me permission to relish my vagina, or teach me anything new.
I will say this, though: Jane Fonda taught me something new. She taught me that it's kind of gross for an old lady, no matter how made up and plastic she might be, to utter obscenities on TV. Meredith Viera, please note: when I'm old and you interview me on your morning show after my rousing production called "The Penis Chronicals," the only "c-word" out of my mouth will be cat.
Ah...Vagina Monologues and the C-word...my two least favorite things in the world. Together. On stage. With Jane Fonda...how delightful.
What? How could the Vagina Monologues be one of my least favorite things? Well, maybe because I'm a girl...What? you ask... how can you be a girl and NOT like the Vagina Monologues? Simply for this reason: I think it's an overrated production, and the chronic use of vulgar words in the production does not make it cool.
Oh yes. I saw it. A few years ago, a feminist friend of mine said "PJammy, you have to go see this play! It's the bee's knees!" And, not wanting to seem uncool or against the feminist movement, I said "Sure, sign me up." I went along...and I think I was supposed to be like the other feminist clones in the audience and cheer on the repeated use of the word "C*nt" and "vagina," but I kept quiet. I did not think the chronic use of the "C" word "took back the word" and made it any different. It's still the same old word with the same old vulgar meaning, and watching Eve Ensler utter it repeatedly did not magically change it into something Proud and Bold and Wonderful.
Neither did the repeated use of the "V" word. Yes, I know what I've got "down there." Yes, I know the technical name. However, I do not get any great feeling of liberation or satisfaction shouting it at the top of my lungs. "Vagina! VAGINA!" See? Nothing. I get more satisfaction at shouting the word "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs in the car after some nimrod cuts me off than I do in a roomful of feminists shouting out the V-word.
The thing is, I know I'm supposed to like it. It's not cool for me to admit that I don't. Oh sure, there were a few touching monologues. Overall, though, The Monologues did not speak to me, or give me permission to relish my vagina, or teach me anything new.
I will say this, though: Jane Fonda taught me something new. She taught me that it's kind of gross for an old lady, no matter how made up and plastic she might be, to utter obscenities on TV. Meredith Viera, please note: when I'm old and you interview me on your morning show after my rousing production called "The Penis Chronicals," the only "c-word" out of my mouth will be cat.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Cupid
When my brother and I were little tykes, Cupid used to come visit us on Valentine's Eve. We were SO excited, we could barely sleep. We did think it strange that Cupid never visited any of the other children in the neighborhood. My mom said it was simply because they didn't believe.
Believe we did, so every Valentine's Day, the first thing we did was bound out of bed, kneel to the floor, and lift up our bedspread. See, Cupid always left our gifts underneath the bed. Additionally, because Cupid was small and did not have a big old sack like Santa Claus, he couldn't carry too much...so he normally only left us two presents each. The presents were never that big...but always something fun.
I remember one year, Cupid left me some white tennis socks with red piping and a red pom pom on each. He also left me a small lip balm. I was afraid this meant I was too grown up and he wouldn't come the next year, but he did.
I'm not actually sure when Cupid stopped coming by the house with little gifts...and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Because even now as I face yet another flowerless, candyless Valentine's Day, I can't help but smile when I remember a mother and father who loved me enough to devise a delightful little fantasy for two children who believed.
Believe we did, so every Valentine's Day, the first thing we did was bound out of bed, kneel to the floor, and lift up our bedspread. See, Cupid always left our gifts underneath the bed. Additionally, because Cupid was small and did not have a big old sack like Santa Claus, he couldn't carry too much...so he normally only left us two presents each. The presents were never that big...but always something fun.
I remember one year, Cupid left me some white tennis socks with red piping and a red pom pom on each. He also left me a small lip balm. I was afraid this meant I was too grown up and he wouldn't come the next year, but he did.
I'm not actually sure when Cupid stopped coming by the house with little gifts...and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Because even now as I face yet another flowerless, candyless Valentine's Day, I can't help but smile when I remember a mother and father who loved me enough to devise a delightful little fantasy for two children who believed.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Phil
When I woke up this morning and saw no snow on the ground, despite the local weatherman's prediction, I felt almost joyous. And then I heard the word: Phil says there will be six more weeks of winter.
Well hell.
Of course, I probably didn't need Punxsutawney Phil to tell me that. After all, storm after storm after storm should have clued me into the fact that Spring doesn't want to come early this year. I suppose she's having the time of her life on her Caribbean vacation and is in no hurry to leave her well-hung cabana boy for the dry desert wasteland that is Reno. Can't say I blame her.
But boy oh boy, am I ready for Spring. I want her to come...to bring with her warmer weather, bright sunshine and happy little daffodils. I'm so sick of the cold and the snow and the ice and the snow and the below freezing weather, and of course the snow.
I want to put away my warm woolen mittens and Harry Potter scarf. I want to pack away my snow boots and break out my gardening tools. But nooooo, Phil says I have to wait six more weeks for that to happen.
I'd cry, only my tear ducts have frozen. Guess I'll just sit in front of the heater with a cup of hot chamomile tea, and just be happy that at least LOST is back on TV. Perhaps the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 will help keep me warm while I begin my six week countdown to spring.
Well hell.
Of course, I probably didn't need Punxsutawney Phil to tell me that. After all, storm after storm after storm should have clued me into the fact that Spring doesn't want to come early this year. I suppose she's having the time of her life on her Caribbean vacation and is in no hurry to leave her well-hung cabana boy for the dry desert wasteland that is Reno. Can't say I blame her.
But boy oh boy, am I ready for Spring. I want her to come...to bring with her warmer weather, bright sunshine and happy little daffodils. I'm so sick of the cold and the snow and the ice and the snow and the below freezing weather, and of course the snow.
I want to put away my warm woolen mittens and Harry Potter scarf. I want to pack away my snow boots and break out my gardening tools. But nooooo, Phil says I have to wait six more weeks for that to happen.
I'd cry, only my tear ducts have frozen. Guess I'll just sit in front of the heater with a cup of hot chamomile tea, and just be happy that at least LOST is back on TV. Perhaps the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 will help keep me warm while I begin my six week countdown to spring.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Taste Test
So, even though Cupid has my heart, I decided to pay for a three-month subscription on the other well-known matchmaking site. Today, I received an email from an old geezer. It went a little something like this:
Subject: You look delicious...
...and I want to taste you.
I wrote him back: Drop the Viagra and step away from the computer and nobody will get hurt.
Then I blocked him, because Lord knows I'm not ready to be some old geezer's dinner.
Subject: You look delicious...
...and I want to taste you.
I wrote him back: Drop the Viagra and step away from the computer and nobody will get hurt.
Then I blocked him, because Lord knows I'm not ready to be some old geezer's dinner.
Monday, December 17, 2007
On Being Hot
Last Saturday night, our company had its annual Christmas, oops, HOLIDAY party at Harrah's. Being as it was our very last one, a few of us decided to wear tiaras in honor of this very bittersweet occasion. So, donning our made-in-China tiaras on top of our festively coiffed hair, we made our way into the ballroom.
The party was...dead. I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact that it was, indeed, our last party together. That, or the fact that just weeks before we had been handed our pink slips instead of the Christmas bonus we were expecting. Either way, the few employees that bothered to show up were milling about dejectedly, while sucking on their five dollar beers.
After eating our lukewarm turkey and our watered down cranberry sauce, the Tiara Girls decided to dance. We didn't care that the DJ was the suckmeister of the airwaves. We just wanted to let off steam.
So there I was, on the dance floor with my "date," when a guy from the shipping department decided to join us. We had ourselves a jolly little threesome right there on the dance floor. All of a sudden, Shipping Boy leans over and yells in my ear "Your crown is HOT!" As if to emphasize my hotness, he waved his waist-long length hair as if it was a dancing exclamation mark. I thanked him, and continued dancing.
A few minutes later, he leaned forward again and yelled "I like dancing with two girls!" I said "Hey! Me, too!" He shook his hair again, and lurched some more on the dance floor.
When the next song started, he leaned into me again. This time he shouted "Your choker is SO HOT!" I thanked him. Then he shook his hair and did a few Elaine Bennis moves before shouting at me again. This time he said "You're so freakin' hot on the dance floor! I like the way you dance!" I thanked him again, and in reply he shook his hair like a wild man. Then all of a sudden he started to laugh, and he shouted at me again. This time he said "You know what? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR FREAKIN' NAME!"
I told him that was okay...after a glass of wine, I don't even know my own freakin' name.
The party was...dead. I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact that it was, indeed, our last party together. That, or the fact that just weeks before we had been handed our pink slips instead of the Christmas bonus we were expecting. Either way, the few employees that bothered to show up were milling about dejectedly, while sucking on their five dollar beers.
After eating our lukewarm turkey and our watered down cranberry sauce, the Tiara Girls decided to dance. We didn't care that the DJ was the suckmeister of the airwaves. We just wanted to let off steam.
So there I was, on the dance floor with my "date," when a guy from the shipping department decided to join us. We had ourselves a jolly little threesome right there on the dance floor. All of a sudden, Shipping Boy leans over and yells in my ear "Your crown is HOT!" As if to emphasize my hotness, he waved his waist-long length hair as if it was a dancing exclamation mark. I thanked him, and continued dancing.
A few minutes later, he leaned forward again and yelled "I like dancing with two girls!" I said "Hey! Me, too!" He shook his hair again, and lurched some more on the dance floor.
When the next song started, he leaned into me again. This time he shouted "Your choker is SO HOT!" I thanked him. Then he shook his hair and did a few Elaine Bennis moves before shouting at me again. This time he said "You're so freakin' hot on the dance floor! I like the way you dance!" I thanked him again, and in reply he shook his hair like a wild man. Then all of a sudden he started to laugh, and he shouted at me again. This time he said "You know what? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR FREAKIN' NAME!"
I told him that was okay...after a glass of wine, I don't even know my own freakin' name.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Year That Shouldn't Have Been
I think I've said it every year since I've been here in Reno: This year totally sucked. So, is it me or is it Reno? Seriously folks, inquiring minds want to know.
To top off a fairly stress-filled year, I returned from the Thanksgiving holiday to find I'd been layed off. However, unlike several of my co-workers, I am one of the "lucky" ones who gets to hang around long enough to help transfer clients and files to the company that bought us out.
After hearing this news, I received a link to a news article in our local paper that stated Reno is not the place to be looking for a job in the year 2008. It further stated that companies are not hiring, and those that hired this past year are letting people go. So, good luck to me in finding a job, eh?
Which brings me to my next point: I was told by an outplacement agency that my best chance for being hired and moving on would be to relocate. But guess what? Homey can't relocate because SHE JUST BOUGHT A HOME. And, since no one is buying homes these days it looks as if I'm stuck.
So just start calling me Debbie Downer, because apparently nothing I've written in this journal during 2007 has been uplifting. And it doesn't look as if 2008 will be any better...
To top off a fairly stress-filled year, I returned from the Thanksgiving holiday to find I'd been layed off. However, unlike several of my co-workers, I am one of the "lucky" ones who gets to hang around long enough to help transfer clients and files to the company that bought us out.
After hearing this news, I received a link to a news article in our local paper that stated Reno is not the place to be looking for a job in the year 2008. It further stated that companies are not hiring, and those that hired this past year are letting people go. So, good luck to me in finding a job, eh?
Which brings me to my next point: I was told by an outplacement agency that my best chance for being hired and moving on would be to relocate. But guess what? Homey can't relocate because SHE JUST BOUGHT A HOME. And, since no one is buying homes these days it looks as if I'm stuck.
So just start calling me Debbie Downer, because apparently nothing I've written in this journal during 2007 has been uplifting. And it doesn't look as if 2008 will be any better...
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Pink
Pink is one of my absolute favorite colors. Oh, my new house has barely any pink...but that doesn't mean I don't love it.
When my hairdresser up and left the state last month, I felt lost. She made me an appointment with another hairdresser in the salon, and promised me she was good. Saturday, I went to Crush with some trepidation...what would happen to my hair?
The "new" hairdresser put me at ease almost immediately. She was very friendly (and tall! Really, really tall!) and sat me down at her station. I noticed her jet black hair had a patch of pink at the crown. She asked me if I was going to stick to the same color and I said Yes...but would streaks of pink go with it? She said yes so vehemently I knew I had to do it.
Of course, my pink isn't as pink as her pink...but I had taken her pink as a sign to go ahead and do it. I've been thinking of getting pink streaks in my hair for months, but felt I was too old. However, at the psychic fair, I saw a woman in her 50's with pink on her crown (that must be a new thing), and thought "if she can have a blob of pink in her hair, I can have pink streaks!"
And I love it.
Oh it's pretty subtle. With the exception of one streak that is a little chunkier than the others, the effect is barely noticeable. I was feeling really good about my hair, that is, until I called my mom.
When she asked me what was new, I couldn't help but bubble on about my new pink streaks. And then I heard it. The disapproval when she said "Oh Pamela." But, of course she couldn't leave it at that. She had to go on and on ("How old are you going to be this week? And do you really think pink hair is appropriate for your age?"). I heard my dad say something in the background and my mom said "She's got pink hair." I said "It's not pink...it just has some pink highlights." My mom just sighed, and I had hoped that was the end of it, but she brought it up a total of three times during our conversation, chastising me each time for opting for pink.
So, I guess it doesn't really matter how old I'm going to be this week...in my mom's eyes, I'll always be the girl who does something stupid.
When my hairdresser up and left the state last month, I felt lost. She made me an appointment with another hairdresser in the salon, and promised me she was good. Saturday, I went to Crush with some trepidation...what would happen to my hair?
The "new" hairdresser put me at ease almost immediately. She was very friendly (and tall! Really, really tall!) and sat me down at her station. I noticed her jet black hair had a patch of pink at the crown. She asked me if I was going to stick to the same color and I said Yes...but would streaks of pink go with it? She said yes so vehemently I knew I had to do it.
Of course, my pink isn't as pink as her pink...but I had taken her pink as a sign to go ahead and do it. I've been thinking of getting pink streaks in my hair for months, but felt I was too old. However, at the psychic fair, I saw a woman in her 50's with pink on her crown (that must be a new thing), and thought "if she can have a blob of pink in her hair, I can have pink streaks!"
And I love it.
Oh it's pretty subtle. With the exception of one streak that is a little chunkier than the others, the effect is barely noticeable. I was feeling really good about my hair, that is, until I called my mom.
When she asked me what was new, I couldn't help but bubble on about my new pink streaks. And then I heard it. The disapproval when she said "Oh Pamela." But, of course she couldn't leave it at that. She had to go on and on ("How old are you going to be this week? And do you really think pink hair is appropriate for your age?"). I heard my dad say something in the background and my mom said "She's got pink hair." I said "It's not pink...it just has some pink highlights." My mom just sighed, and I had hoped that was the end of it, but she brought it up a total of three times during our conversation, chastising me each time for opting for pink.
So, I guess it doesn't really matter how old I'm going to be this week...in my mom's eyes, I'll always be the girl who does something stupid.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Line in the Sand
I know. I have a million and one things I need to update this journal with...I simply have not had the energy or inclination to do so. However, I had a heart-tugging conversation with Todd last night, so I have all kinds of stuff jumbled up in my head that I need to see "on paper" (or in this case, screen) to start to make sense of it all.
WARNING: This post contains rambling thoughts, run on sentences, and rabbit trails.
This weekend was the Psychic Fair. When I saw the list of readers, I realized that none of my favorites were going to be there, so I made an appointment with Carrie at The New Pathways for a reading. The earliest I could see her was Tuesday (last night), as she doesn't keep as full a schedule as she once did.
However, at the Fair I was surprised to see Eugenia, a woman I met while taking Risting classes. She is an excellent reader, so I got a reading with her. Long story short: I received two readings in a span of three days, and both basically said the same things (only in different ways).
I asked about my job (and I won't go into that now...that's for a separate post if I have time) and of course my relationship. But this time, I didn't ask about what would happen between Todd and me. This time I asked if there was new love on the horizon. I have finally realized that it is time to move on.
Eugenia said that she saw that I needed to be single for a while, but that there was love in my future. And solid love at that. Carrie did not talk about being single for a while; only that there was new love, but that person wouldn't come into my live until around March of next year. Both said it was time to move on, that the cards revealed that I wasn't loved the way I needed to be loved in this current relationship (duh).
This post isn't really about the readings, though, so I won't go into more detail about those. This post is really about how I was hit with a brick of reality this past week...the readings only served to affirm what was going on in my head already.
Let me first say that I love Todd. I can't imagine living without him, and I probably won't. I think we will be in each other's lives for the duration. However, I just cannot be the "go to" girl anymore.
Facts: he has been dating other women for over a year. He has an online slash phone sex slash hot email relationship with at least one girl that I know about, and from the looks of what I found on one of his profiles, he might even have more than that. And the hardest fact of all: he has been telling me - sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly - for nine years that I am not really the woman that he wants or needs. So, with all of these facts, why is it that he doesn't really understand that I want to put up a boundary now?
Anyway, after these two readings, I realized that mentally, I've moved on. That doesn't mean that I don't occasionally feel overwhelmed with sadness. Or that I'm glad the relationship is on its way to the trash bin. Or that I'm jumping for joy. It simply means that, after nine years of being told over and over again that if only I was more sexual, more this, more that, everything would be fantastic, I realize that even if I was all of that, I still wouldn't be what he wants. BECAUSE HE DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WANTS.
And that became clear to me when I looked at his online profile again last week. He had this whole list of what he is looking for in a woman, and it was so not me (as I believe I've whined about before in this journal). Only, this time instead of taking it personally, I realized that he probably doesn't really know what he wants. Or perhaps it is that he doesn't know what sort of relationship is good for him. I think he just threw something out there that was such the opposite of me because "me" didn't work for him.
So how does this go back to Todd and our conversation last night? Well...at some point he said that it didn't appear to him that I missed him, at least not in the way that he missed me. And I said that I think that's because mentally, I've just moved on. And that hurt him. And I feel bad that what I said hurt him and perhaps surprised him as well. But what I don't get - what I totally don't understand - is why he would think that I want to continue being in relationship limbo with him - especially after nine years. At some point, it becomes time to move on.
In a perfect world, he would love me. Period. With no ifs, ands, or buts. With no "if only's." But he doesn't. And he never did. He always wanted me to be different. And I'm not.
At some point, he also said that I totally don't understand what's going on with him and this girl - that it is so not serious or something like that. But that's not the point, really, is it? The point is he HAS this girl in his life. He visits with her every day online. He sends her gifts. He engages in phone sex with her. He tells her in email how much he desires her. He even told her that he has marked her as his, and gave her a choker to wear to remind her that she is his. So...not serious? Perhaps. But having a girl on the side doesn't do anything to pull us together.
So, yes, perhaps because of the way he thinks (due to Asperger's) he is able to look at this clinically or in a more detached way...but I can't. And I can't be second fiddle. Or even if I'm first, I don't want some other girls hanging out in the periphery. I am totally and completely monogamous. That is no surprise. I've not ever hid that. I've proclaimed it loudly and proudly.
I'm not saying I have been the perfect mate. I probably haven't been. I'm not a nurturing person, and I know he needs that. I need vast amounts of time alone. I am not the best communicator about my feelings. And yet, while I am lacking in some areas, I feel that I did not get credit for the areas that I tried to change - just for him. And even though I changed some things...it wasn't enough.
I'm sick of not being enough.
I want someone to think I am enough. I want someone to accept the type of love I have to give.
I am sorry that he's hurt by my wanting to move on. And it hurts me as well to move forward without him as my boyfriend. However, for my own peace of mind, it simply is time.
I shouldn't feel guilty about that.
WARNING: This post contains rambling thoughts, run on sentences, and rabbit trails.
This weekend was the Psychic Fair. When I saw the list of readers, I realized that none of my favorites were going to be there, so I made an appointment with Carrie at The New Pathways for a reading. The earliest I could see her was Tuesday (last night), as she doesn't keep as full a schedule as she once did.
However, at the Fair I was surprised to see Eugenia, a woman I met while taking Risting classes. She is an excellent reader, so I got a reading with her. Long story short: I received two readings in a span of three days, and both basically said the same things (only in different ways).
I asked about my job (and I won't go into that now...that's for a separate post if I have time) and of course my relationship. But this time, I didn't ask about what would happen between Todd and me. This time I asked if there was new love on the horizon. I have finally realized that it is time to move on.
Eugenia said that she saw that I needed to be single for a while, but that there was love in my future. And solid love at that. Carrie did not talk about being single for a while; only that there was new love, but that person wouldn't come into my live until around March of next year. Both said it was time to move on, that the cards revealed that I wasn't loved the way I needed to be loved in this current relationship (duh).
This post isn't really about the readings, though, so I won't go into more detail about those. This post is really about how I was hit with a brick of reality this past week...the readings only served to affirm what was going on in my head already.
Let me first say that I love Todd. I can't imagine living without him, and I probably won't. I think we will be in each other's lives for the duration. However, I just cannot be the "go to" girl anymore.
Facts: he has been dating other women for over a year. He has an online slash phone sex slash hot email relationship with at least one girl that I know about, and from the looks of what I found on one of his profiles, he might even have more than that. And the hardest fact of all: he has been telling me - sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly - for nine years that I am not really the woman that he wants or needs. So, with all of these facts, why is it that he doesn't really understand that I want to put up a boundary now?
Anyway, after these two readings, I realized that mentally, I've moved on. That doesn't mean that I don't occasionally feel overwhelmed with sadness. Or that I'm glad the relationship is on its way to the trash bin. Or that I'm jumping for joy. It simply means that, after nine years of being told over and over again that if only I was more sexual, more this, more that, everything would be fantastic, I realize that even if I was all of that, I still wouldn't be what he wants. BECAUSE HE DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WANTS.
And that became clear to me when I looked at his online profile again last week. He had this whole list of what he is looking for in a woman, and it was so not me (as I believe I've whined about before in this journal). Only, this time instead of taking it personally, I realized that he probably doesn't really know what he wants. Or perhaps it is that he doesn't know what sort of relationship is good for him. I think he just threw something out there that was such the opposite of me because "me" didn't work for him.
So how does this go back to Todd and our conversation last night? Well...at some point he said that it didn't appear to him that I missed him, at least not in the way that he missed me. And I said that I think that's because mentally, I've just moved on. And that hurt him. And I feel bad that what I said hurt him and perhaps surprised him as well. But what I don't get - what I totally don't understand - is why he would think that I want to continue being in relationship limbo with him - especially after nine years. At some point, it becomes time to move on.
In a perfect world, he would love me. Period. With no ifs, ands, or buts. With no "if only's." But he doesn't. And he never did. He always wanted me to be different. And I'm not.
At some point, he also said that I totally don't understand what's going on with him and this girl - that it is so not serious or something like that. But that's not the point, really, is it? The point is he HAS this girl in his life. He visits with her every day online. He sends her gifts. He engages in phone sex with her. He tells her in email how much he desires her. He even told her that he has marked her as his, and gave her a choker to wear to remind her that she is his. So...not serious? Perhaps. But having a girl on the side doesn't do anything to pull us together.
So, yes, perhaps because of the way he thinks (due to Asperger's) he is able to look at this clinically or in a more detached way...but I can't. And I can't be second fiddle. Or even if I'm first, I don't want some other girls hanging out in the periphery. I am totally and completely monogamous. That is no surprise. I've not ever hid that. I've proclaimed it loudly and proudly.
I'm not saying I have been the perfect mate. I probably haven't been. I'm not a nurturing person, and I know he needs that. I need vast amounts of time alone. I am not the best communicator about my feelings. And yet, while I am lacking in some areas, I feel that I did not get credit for the areas that I tried to change - just for him. And even though I changed some things...it wasn't enough.
I'm sick of not being enough.
I want someone to think I am enough. I want someone to accept the type of love I have to give.
I am sorry that he's hurt by my wanting to move on. And it hurts me as well to move forward without him as my boyfriend. However, for my own peace of mind, it simply is time.
I shouldn't feel guilty about that.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Hell To Pay
Let me ask you, single women of the world, would you REALLY want to carry on a conversation with someone nicknamed "Hell To Pay"? Doesn't that name just connote someone who is divorced, and spends all his spare time trying to get revenge on his ex-wife?
Well...that's what it sounds like to me, anyway.
I'm one of those chicks who signs into Acme Dating Service and forgets to sign out. So, last night while I was sound asleep, curled up with the dogs I'm house-sitting and my 16-year-old cat, some guy decided to message me. Instead of the usual niceties, the first line I see in the IM when I sit in front of my computer this morning is "What the hell is up with your blog?" (Speaking strictly of my Acme Dating Service blog, because you all know this blog rocks!)
The next well-written line was "Well?" That was followed by a "Never mind."
Never mind is right. Who wants to chat with an aging, combative, and obviously bitter man? Not me...and I'm imagining not many of you.
I am glad I wasn't in front of my computer when that friendly little missive was sent my way.
Fellas: let this be a lesson to you. If you really want to chat with a woman, try being nice. And if you really want to meet someone... I mean really... then try a neutral nickname.
Well...that's what it sounds like to me, anyway.
I'm one of those chicks who signs into Acme Dating Service and forgets to sign out. So, last night while I was sound asleep, curled up with the dogs I'm house-sitting and my 16-year-old cat, some guy decided to message me. Instead of the usual niceties, the first line I see in the IM when I sit in front of my computer this morning is "What the hell is up with your blog?" (Speaking strictly of my Acme Dating Service blog, because you all know this blog rocks!)
The next well-written line was "Well?" That was followed by a "Never mind."
Never mind is right. Who wants to chat with an aging, combative, and obviously bitter man? Not me...and I'm imagining not many of you.
I am glad I wasn't in front of my computer when that friendly little missive was sent my way.
Fellas: let this be a lesson to you. If you really want to chat with a woman, try being nice. And if you really want to meet someone... I mean really... then try a neutral nickname.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Where are the tears?
All day yesterday, I held back tears. I'm surprised I was so successful in holding back, because I was only working on four hours of sleep. It's amazing what one can do when one really tries.
I counted the hours until I could go home - not so much to get some rest, but mostly so I could cry. After I clocked out, I couldn't get to my car fast enough, for I knew I could cry in my safely and loudly in the car. However, on the drive home the tears didn't come. My eyes did get watery a few times, but no real tears. So, then I counted on having time to cry at home.
I wasn't able to, though, because shortly after I walked through the door, Todd came downstairs and started getting dinner together for the both of us. He had gone to the store and bought us both salads, because he wanted to have dinner with me. When I asked why, he said "because I enjoy having dinner with you."
Is that true or not? Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I've learned, though, and should have come to expect is that every time we call it off (well, that makes it sound like it happens a lot - basically, we've been on two breaks and there were about three other times I tried to make a break of it during our 9 years together, but he convinced me that he loved me, so I stayed) he is extra attentive.
Yesterday, he called me about three times at work to make sure I was okay. Then he bought us dinner. Instead of forcing me to take a cat over to my new place (he's dying to get rid of the cats), he seemed to realize that I really needed some sleep, so instead of bugging me, he encouraged me to go to bed early.
But back to my tale of tears...Lucky for me, he had an Asperger's meeting that night, so when he left, I thought "Finally. Time to cry." But those tears I had been holding back all day and all during dinner did not come.
I went to bed around 7 p.m., thinking that once I was curled up in the safety of my bed, I would be able to let loose.
I was not able to.
Where are the tears? Why won't they come?
If I could just have one, good, solid cry, I could begin the arduous task of moving on.
I counted the hours until I could go home - not so much to get some rest, but mostly so I could cry. After I clocked out, I couldn't get to my car fast enough, for I knew I could cry in my safely and loudly in the car. However, on the drive home the tears didn't come. My eyes did get watery a few times, but no real tears. So, then I counted on having time to cry at home.
I wasn't able to, though, because shortly after I walked through the door, Todd came downstairs and started getting dinner together for the both of us. He had gone to the store and bought us both salads, because he wanted to have dinner with me. When I asked why, he said "because I enjoy having dinner with you."
Is that true or not? Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I've learned, though, and should have come to expect is that every time we call it off (well, that makes it sound like it happens a lot - basically, we've been on two breaks and there were about three other times I tried to make a break of it during our 9 years together, but he convinced me that he loved me, so I stayed) he is extra attentive.
Yesterday, he called me about three times at work to make sure I was okay. Then he bought us dinner. Instead of forcing me to take a cat over to my new place (he's dying to get rid of the cats), he seemed to realize that I really needed some sleep, so instead of bugging me, he encouraged me to go to bed early.
But back to my tale of tears...Lucky for me, he had an Asperger's meeting that night, so when he left, I thought "Finally. Time to cry." But those tears I had been holding back all day and all during dinner did not come.
I went to bed around 7 p.m., thinking that once I was curled up in the safety of my bed, I would be able to let loose.
I was not able to.
Where are the tears? Why won't they come?
If I could just have one, good, solid cry, I could begin the arduous task of moving on.
I am 32 Flavors and then some
I'm not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say...
Ani DeFranco
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say...
Ani DeFranco
When I listened to this song on the way home tonight, the one line that really hit me was "I did everything that I could do."
Sometimes I think about the accusations thrown at me by Todd, and I think "Well, yes, perhaps I could have done that..." And maybe I could have...but the truth is, I did everything that I physically and emotionally could do, based on my perception of safety and comfortability within the relationship.
"You could have contributed more money to the household."
"You could have had more sex with me."
"You could have been..."
Maybe.
But not really. Because doing so would have drained me in a way I am not sure I could recover from. What Todd doesn't understand, and never did (and I don't know if that's due to the way Asperger's has his mind wired, or due to miscommunication on my part, or some sort of dysfunctional melding of the two) is that I can't - won't? - give fully when I'm not secure.
And in this relationship, I wasn't ever fully secure.
There were things I was secure about: I knew he loved me. I knew we were best friends. I knew he would support me in my endeavors. The insecurity laid in the threads that unraveled around us; the threads that were snarled and torn at because he always wanted "a better fit."
So while I may occasionally beat myself up about the things I wasn't and the things I didn't do, I am also fully aware that emotionally, I had reached my limit of what I could do.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Out of Time
I had maybe four hours of sleep last night...if that. I need to get out the door to go to work, and yet, I find I can't move.
Last night marks the end of my "romantic" relationship with Todd. It was brought on because I found two pieces of evidence that he is having relationships with two other women. According to him, he hasn't (yet) met them in real life, but it was obvious from what I found, plans are in the making.
Both girls appear to be part of an online BDSM/alternative lifestyle community. One calls him "her daddy," and has a whole blog dedicated to him. The other signs herself off as "Gracie, XXXXX's Nevada Girl" (the x's represent his online name, which I will not share with the world).
After my last entry, we sort of settled into some sort of "wait and see" holding pattern, both of us believing that things would get better when I moved out. After all, the times we've lived apart have been the strongest times in our relationship. However, admittedly I never really could forget that I'm not really what he wants, and so because of that, I saw evidence of that almost every day.
Last night was the last straw for me. I can't deny it anymore, nor pretend that at some point in time, he will come back to me wholeheartedly. It just isn't going to happen.
While I didn't handle the initial confrontation well (I never seem to), after an hour or so of going back and forth, I think I finally got my real point across: I can't be in any kind of romantic and/or sexual relationship with him. He doesn't get that it just hurts me too deeply.
He kept telling me he loved me and he doesn't want me out of his life, and all the other things I've heard for over 8 years. The thing is...love isn't enough. I want to know that I'm the person - the right person - for the man I'm with. It doesn't strengthen my already low self esteem to be with someone who has a roving eye and is always looking for that "better fit."
He said I don't understand him. And he's probably right, in the sense that I don't understand him completely. I do, however, believe that I understand him better than most everyone else in his life. I've learned a lot about living and loving someone with Aspberger's Syndrome, and I feel I've adapted as well as I can to the idiosyncrasies that present them self. But it's a cold, hard fact that I am unable to understand how someone can love me and supposedly want to be in a relationship with me, while pursuing other women.
I suppose that's what is called "polyamory," and this girl is as monogamous as they come.
At some point, he said "What do you want from me," to which I eventually responded that I want what he just can't give: total love and acceptance, without feeling that he's settling. He can't, though. I mean, he accepts a lot of my personality flaws and deals with them well. What he doesn't accept is that I'm not, as apparently these other two are, "his little girl," or "his slave."
When asked what I expect, I told him that there will be no more physical contact. No more kissing, no more sex (to which he said "Well, it's not like there's a whole lot of that going on"), no hand holding, no sitting in his lap...in other words, no type of physical contact that indicates we still have a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship. He doesn't understand - I can't do it. He is angry that I can't do it. Or maybe frustrated. But whatever feeling it is, he is unhappy that I am unable to be in a "friends with benefits" type of relationship.
I think the reason he is so upset is that, in his mind, he feels I am abandoning him. I told him I'm not; he is my best friend. No matter what his faults (and of course, that's all I ever write about here; I never write about the good times), he absolutely is my best friend. He's the only person that seems to "get" me. He is my cheerleader. He is my rock. And he'll still be all that... just not my boyfriend.
Oh, I'm not under any delusions that the transition period will be easy. I know from our past try at it that it won't be. The difference is 7 years have passed since then. I am no longer under the impression that, once apart, he will all of a sudden have that "Aha" moment where he realizes I am the one for him. That moment is not going to come, because I am not that person for him.
And so, with all of that, it is imperative that I get out of here as soon as possible. The electricity and water should have been turned on yesterday in my new home. I was not moving fast because of the "no electricity" deal. And then he was notified that he would have to go out of town, so since I was going to take care of the dogs, it seemed weird to move in for two nights and move right back in here to take care of the dogs.
But maybe after last night, it's not weird. It's time.
Now if I could just find a guy with a truck...
Last night marks the end of my "romantic" relationship with Todd. It was brought on because I found two pieces of evidence that he is having relationships with two other women. According to him, he hasn't (yet) met them in real life, but it was obvious from what I found, plans are in the making.
Both girls appear to be part of an online BDSM/alternative lifestyle community. One calls him "her daddy," and has a whole blog dedicated to him. The other signs herself off as "Gracie, XXXXX's Nevada Girl" (the x's represent his online name, which I will not share with the world).
After my last entry, we sort of settled into some sort of "wait and see" holding pattern, both of us believing that things would get better when I moved out. After all, the times we've lived apart have been the strongest times in our relationship. However, admittedly I never really could forget that I'm not really what he wants, and so because of that, I saw evidence of that almost every day.
Last night was the last straw for me. I can't deny it anymore, nor pretend that at some point in time, he will come back to me wholeheartedly. It just isn't going to happen.
While I didn't handle the initial confrontation well (I never seem to), after an hour or so of going back and forth, I think I finally got my real point across: I can't be in any kind of romantic and/or sexual relationship with him. He doesn't get that it just hurts me too deeply.
He kept telling me he loved me and he doesn't want me out of his life, and all the other things I've heard for over 8 years. The thing is...love isn't enough. I want to know that I'm the person - the right person - for the man I'm with. It doesn't strengthen my already low self esteem to be with someone who has a roving eye and is always looking for that "better fit."
He said I don't understand him. And he's probably right, in the sense that I don't understand him completely. I do, however, believe that I understand him better than most everyone else in his life. I've learned a lot about living and loving someone with Aspberger's Syndrome, and I feel I've adapted as well as I can to the idiosyncrasies that present them self. But it's a cold, hard fact that I am unable to understand how someone can love me and supposedly want to be in a relationship with me, while pursuing other women.
I suppose that's what is called "polyamory," and this girl is as monogamous as they come.
At some point, he said "What do you want from me," to which I eventually responded that I want what he just can't give: total love and acceptance, without feeling that he's settling. He can't, though. I mean, he accepts a lot of my personality flaws and deals with them well. What he doesn't accept is that I'm not, as apparently these other two are, "his little girl," or "his slave."
When asked what I expect, I told him that there will be no more physical contact. No more kissing, no more sex (to which he said "Well, it's not like there's a whole lot of that going on"), no hand holding, no sitting in his lap...in other words, no type of physical contact that indicates we still have a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship. He doesn't understand - I can't do it. He is angry that I can't do it. Or maybe frustrated. But whatever feeling it is, he is unhappy that I am unable to be in a "friends with benefits" type of relationship.
I think the reason he is so upset is that, in his mind, he feels I am abandoning him. I told him I'm not; he is my best friend. No matter what his faults (and of course, that's all I ever write about here; I never write about the good times), he absolutely is my best friend. He's the only person that seems to "get" me. He is my cheerleader. He is my rock. And he'll still be all that... just not my boyfriend.
Oh, I'm not under any delusions that the transition period will be easy. I know from our past try at it that it won't be. The difference is 7 years have passed since then. I am no longer under the impression that, once apart, he will all of a sudden have that "Aha" moment where he realizes I am the one for him. That moment is not going to come, because I am not that person for him.
And so, with all of that, it is imperative that I get out of here as soon as possible. The electricity and water should have been turned on yesterday in my new home. I was not moving fast because of the "no electricity" deal. And then he was notified that he would have to go out of town, so since I was going to take care of the dogs, it seemed weird to move in for two nights and move right back in here to take care of the dogs.
But maybe after last night, it's not weird. It's time.
Now if I could just find a guy with a truck...
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Can't Breathe
It really shouldn't have come as such a big surprise. One would think that by now, after 9 years, I would realize that I'm not the person Hunky wants. However, I didn't really realize it until today.
What made today so special? Such a turning point?
I came across one of his online personals. I had actually found it a few days ago, but being new to the site, I hadn't really clicked around to explore more fully. I saw his picture, read his opening line, and sexual preferences. I thought "Yeah, that's my hunky," and moved on.
This morning, I went to the site to see if there were more people on it from the area I live in. Hunky's was the third profile from the top, so after reading the first two, I clicked on his again, mostly because his is a familiar face and seeing it made me smile.
What I read next took the smile completely off my face.
Without going into too much detail, he basically wrote he was single (kind of true, but not really), looking for a Long Term Relationship with someone who, after 8-10 bullet points, definitely was not me. Someone who was submissive. Someone who was ready to move in with him and be his slave and/or submissive. Someone who...blah, blah, blah, definitely wasn't me.
So if he wants someone who is so totally not me, why has he been with me for 9 years? Is it laziness? Is it that I'm just a warm body to keep him company until the real thing comes along?
What is it?
Oh, I know he tells me he loves me. He can say it until the cows come home, however after reading what he really wants in a mate/girlfriend/lover, it's so the completely opposite of me that I don't know what the hell he's doing with me, let alone believe that he could actually love me.
No wonder we have problems.
I have definitely been a fool in love before, but I don't know if I've ever been this much of a fool. Nine years worth of fool.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can see now that moving out is the best thing for me. And probably for him, too. That way he can stop wasting his time with me and move on.
And maybe I can move on as well.
What made today so special? Such a turning point?
I came across one of his online personals. I had actually found it a few days ago, but being new to the site, I hadn't really clicked around to explore more fully. I saw his picture, read his opening line, and sexual preferences. I thought "Yeah, that's my hunky," and moved on.
This morning, I went to the site to see if there were more people on it from the area I live in. Hunky's was the third profile from the top, so after reading the first two, I clicked on his again, mostly because his is a familiar face and seeing it made me smile.
What I read next took the smile completely off my face.
Without going into too much detail, he basically wrote he was single (kind of true, but not really), looking for a Long Term Relationship with someone who, after 8-10 bullet points, definitely was not me. Someone who was submissive. Someone who was ready to move in with him and be his slave and/or submissive. Someone who...blah, blah, blah, definitely wasn't me.
So if he wants someone who is so totally not me, why has he been with me for 9 years? Is it laziness? Is it that I'm just a warm body to keep him company until the real thing comes along?
What is it?
Oh, I know he tells me he loves me. He can say it until the cows come home, however after reading what he really wants in a mate/girlfriend/lover, it's so the completely opposite of me that I don't know what the hell he's doing with me, let alone believe that he could actually love me.
No wonder we have problems.
I have definitely been a fool in love before, but I don't know if I've ever been this much of a fool. Nine years worth of fool.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can see now that moving out is the best thing for me. And probably for him, too. That way he can stop wasting his time with me and move on.
And maybe I can move on as well.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Dreaming of a Dud
I have an active dream life, however it's rare that a dream really hits me and stays with me for a few days. So, imagine my surprise when I had one of those dreams the other night.
I'll spare everyone the details, because I don't think anyone likes to read or hear about other people's dreams. However, the gist of the dream was that a guy I know in real life, Vince, had grabbed at my butt. I remember being repulsed and then...interested. Somehow, we ended up laying on some grass, him on top of me (yes, we had our clothes on!), with his right arm over mine, and our right hands clasped.
In my dream I thought "This is really nice...why have I been avoiding it for so long?"
Of course, when I woke up I analyzed the dream. "Why would I dream of Vince," was the main question going through my head, especially since he's mad at me and hasn't talked to me all summer.
At first I wondered if I had latent romantic (or sexual???) feelings for him. But then I thought about Vince...and realized that couldn't be it. Vince is a nice guy, and actually not bad looking. But...yes there is a but. In fact there are a few buts: He can't spell, which is on the top of my pet peeves list. He was laid off of his job months and months ago, and decided not to get another job, but instead become an "artiste," so of course he has no money. (Not that I'm a gold digger, but I notice I tend not to respect men who don't work...(as Rabbi Lapin - America's Rabbi! - states, women are drawn to men who not only can take care of them, but want to take care of them). And, the clincher: He's single. At age 46.
Okay. Let's not focus on the fact that I, too, am single and forty-something. I fully admit I've got issues...the main one being I like, no need, lots of time alone which doesn't bode well in relationships.
So, then, why the dream? Well...why not the dream? I suppose it had nothing to do with Vince at all, and instead had to do with the fact that as much as I pretend I don't...I really DO want that feeling of security with someone.
I don't have that right now. Oh sure, I know...hunky loves me. He could say it a thousand times a day, and yet right now, it wouldn't be enough. Kind of difficult to feel secure with someone who is dating other people, who always has his eye out for a better fit.
And so that dream probably sums up where I am relationship-wise right now...insecure and hoping someone will grab at my butt.
I'll spare everyone the details, because I don't think anyone likes to read or hear about other people's dreams. However, the gist of the dream was that a guy I know in real life, Vince, had grabbed at my butt. I remember being repulsed and then...interested. Somehow, we ended up laying on some grass, him on top of me (yes, we had our clothes on!), with his right arm over mine, and our right hands clasped.
In my dream I thought "This is really nice...why have I been avoiding it for so long?"
Of course, when I woke up I analyzed the dream. "Why would I dream of Vince," was the main question going through my head, especially since he's mad at me and hasn't talked to me all summer.
At first I wondered if I had latent romantic (or sexual???) feelings for him. But then I thought about Vince...and realized that couldn't be it. Vince is a nice guy, and actually not bad looking. But...yes there is a but. In fact there are a few buts: He can't spell, which is on the top of my pet peeves list. He was laid off of his job months and months ago, and decided not to get another job, but instead become an "artiste," so of course he has no money. (Not that I'm a gold digger, but I notice I tend not to respect men who don't work...(as Rabbi Lapin - America's Rabbi! - states, women are drawn to men who not only can take care of them, but want to take care of them). And, the clincher: He's single. At age 46.
Okay. Let's not focus on the fact that I, too, am single and forty-something. I fully admit I've got issues...the main one being I like, no need, lots of time alone which doesn't bode well in relationships.
So, then, why the dream? Well...why not the dream? I suppose it had nothing to do with Vince at all, and instead had to do with the fact that as much as I pretend I don't...I really DO want that feeling of security with someone.
I don't have that right now. Oh sure, I know...hunky loves me. He could say it a thousand times a day, and yet right now, it wouldn't be enough. Kind of difficult to feel secure with someone who is dating other people, who always has his eye out for a better fit.
And so that dream probably sums up where I am relationship-wise right now...insecure and hoping someone will grab at my butt.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Summer Favorites
These are my favorite things about summer:
Sun until 9 p.m.
Sun up at 5 a.m.
Big Brother.
Psych (this Friday, bay-bee!).
The Closer.
Top Chef.
Hell's Kitchen.
And my new favorite (da, da, da, DA)...Confessions of a Matchmaker!
That's me...Living life in my easy chair!
Sun until 9 p.m.
Sun up at 5 a.m.
Big Brother.
Psych (this Friday, bay-bee!).
The Closer.
Top Chef.
Hell's Kitchen.
And my new favorite (da, da, da, DA)...Confessions of a Matchmaker!
That's me...Living life in my easy chair!
Stray Cat Strut
Tonight, hunky took me to Dolce, Grand Sierra Resort's newest "designer" restaurant. Owned by Mike (gag) Boogie of Big Brother fame, I have to say that despite his skankiness, the restaurant is pure class.
It's beautiful inside; walls of fire and water, fantastic music, an inviting menu and fantastic service. They also have a great by-the-glass wine list, and I had the Dolce Meritage...ummmm good. Hunky had the Pacific Rim Riesling, a riesling we both like, but one he has sort of grown out of.
After a fantastic dinner, we began our trek through the casino floor to the great outdoors. We passed what used to be the Hilton Theater, and saw a big sign advertising the Stray Cats concert in August. "Stray Cats!" I exclaimed. "I wonder if it's the Stray Cats with Brian Setzer or just the Stray Cats?"
"Go up and ask. No one is waiting in line."
So, I did. I went up and asked. The woman behind the counter assured me it was Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats. Next thing I knew, I was plunking down my credit card for two tickets to see the Stray Cats.
I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. Hunky and I saw Brian Setzer about two years ago, and I just about blew my wad then. But Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats? I won't be coming out of this concert with a clean pair of panties, that's for sure!
It's beautiful inside; walls of fire and water, fantastic music, an inviting menu and fantastic service. They also have a great by-the-glass wine list, and I had the Dolce Meritage...ummmm good. Hunky had the Pacific Rim Riesling, a riesling we both like, but one he has sort of grown out of.
After a fantastic dinner, we began our trek through the casino floor to the great outdoors. We passed what used to be the Hilton Theater, and saw a big sign advertising the Stray Cats concert in August. "Stray Cats!" I exclaimed. "I wonder if it's the Stray Cats with Brian Setzer or just the Stray Cats?"
"Go up and ask. No one is waiting in line."
So, I did. I went up and asked. The woman behind the counter assured me it was Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats. Next thing I knew, I was plunking down my credit card for two tickets to see the Stray Cats.
I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. Hunky and I saw Brian Setzer about two years ago, and I just about blew my wad then. But Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats? I won't be coming out of this concert with a clean pair of panties, that's for sure!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Where is...???
I'm going to miss Hunky, there's no doubt. But there are certain idiosyncrasies I won't miss. Like the fact that he appears to blame me every time something goes missing. Yesterday was a great example.
I was minding my own business, when he shouted up the stairs "Where are my glasses???!!!" "Which glasses," I asked. "Your sunglasses or regular glasses."
I hear a heavy sigh. "My regular glasses," he says, in that voice that lets me know I've just asked the stupidest question on earth.
"I don't know. I haven't seen them."
Another sigh. "Fine," he says in that dismissive voice that lets me know he blames me for their disappearance, and is now angry that he can't find them.
I went into the bedroom to see if they were by the bed. Nope. Then I remembered that he went to a movie night at a friend's house and would have taken them with him. "Honey, you took them with you to the movie night. Are they still in your car."
Again a sigh, this one letting me know that once again, I have managed to ask a very stupid question. He answers me as if he is speaking to a two-year-old and says slowly and carefully,"I checked the car already, and they are not there."
Even though this isn't my problem, I know he has made it my problem, so I went downstairs to help him look. I saw his jeans on top of the dog crate, and they were on top of a bag he had brought in from his car. "From his car..." I thought, and opened up the bag. What did I see inside, but his glasses.
"Here they are," I sing out, victoriously. He looks at me, mumbles thanks, and starts to walk away.
I call him out, though, on his tone that blamed me for the missing glasses. He didn't really apologize, just kind of mumbled that yeah, in that case it was him, but normally I am the one that misplaces his things.
So. Not. True.
And that, my friends, is the one thing I won't miss...the daily blaming me for missing items, only to find out that in 9 out of 10 cases, he is the one that misplaced the item in the first place.
I was minding my own business, when he shouted up the stairs "Where are my glasses???!!!" "Which glasses," I asked. "Your sunglasses or regular glasses."
I hear a heavy sigh. "My regular glasses," he says, in that voice that lets me know I've just asked the stupidest question on earth.
"I don't know. I haven't seen them."
Another sigh. "Fine," he says in that dismissive voice that lets me know he blames me for their disappearance, and is now angry that he can't find them.
I went into the bedroom to see if they were by the bed. Nope. Then I remembered that he went to a movie night at a friend's house and would have taken them with him. "Honey, you took them with you to the movie night. Are they still in your car."
Again a sigh, this one letting me know that once again, I have managed to ask a very stupid question. He answers me as if he is speaking to a two-year-old and says slowly and carefully,"I checked the car already, and they are not there."
Even though this isn't my problem, I know he has made it my problem, so I went downstairs to help him look. I saw his jeans on top of the dog crate, and they were on top of a bag he had brought in from his car. "From his car..." I thought, and opened up the bag. What did I see inside, but his glasses.
"Here they are," I sing out, victoriously. He looks at me, mumbles thanks, and starts to walk away.
I call him out, though, on his tone that blamed me for the missing glasses. He didn't really apologize, just kind of mumbled that yeah, in that case it was him, but normally I am the one that misplaces his things.
So. Not. True.
And that, my friends, is the one thing I won't miss...the daily blaming me for missing items, only to find out that in 9 out of 10 cases, he is the one that misplaced the item in the first place.
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