Why did it not surprise me to see you handing out underwear on tv?
The sentence above was a true email that I received from a friend. Later, I would also find out, that a t-shirt that I made with my own face on it, had been in a garage sale, and another friend, in Arizona had picked it up, and wore my face a lot. The t-shirt was his favorite.
Things come back. Are secrets even real?
This past weekend, I went to a friend's wedding. It was to be a camp out as well. I didn't know about that part, and showed up unprepared in my nicest clothes. The kind of shit that I'd wear to work. It was very uncomfortable, actually. But, it's the kind of thing that you do for a friend.
Everyone was happy and drinking. I wasn't going to at first. But, I changed my mind. I am so easily sucked into anything that I think might be an adventure.
I had a beer and asked a hippie if he would go to the Wal-Mart with me to get some more beer and some camping clothes. The hippies don't like the Wal-Mart, and frankly neither do I. However, it was dark, I had already gotten lost once in the tiny town, and didn't want to do that again. So, the Wal-Mart it was.
We went and I picked out cheap clothes from the rack. He started to direct me to the Junior's section. I commented that I had a big ass, so we would have to go to the "Women's" section. I found a cheap jacket from the Just My Size Collection. I started laughing about the label. The hippie trying to share my feelings asked me if that was how I dealt with things, by laughing it off. I already had a buzz, and didn't really want to get into this with a hippie. I did say that sure, I would agree that I dealt with things with humor, but, I would also state that, what else could I do, when they label things like Just My Size?!? It wasn't very clever, nor was it necessary. I know my own size. But, just to make sure that I wasn't ever confused, I had my own very special label. The hippie got some McDonalds to snack on before we returned to camp.
We left the store. Upon arriving, some other hippies really gave my hippie a ton of shit for going with me, and on top of that, eating McDonalds. I went on about my business. Part of me wanted to stay and point out that they were all wearing these wonderfully dyed patterned clothing from places like India, etc. And those were some of the world's biggest oppressed groups, and unless they fucking dyed that shit themselves, they might be worse than the McDonalds. They were supporting the exploitation just as much, if not more, by donning clothing they knew nothing about, but bought because it was colorful and exotic...not that they actually went there and learned anything. I could have said all that. But, I didn't want to ruin my buzz, and you can't change people in a group very easily, and I had only bought a case of beer...it would have taken much longer than a case of beer. Also, they had already judged me, not knowing much about me, which is completely against that whole hippie thing. I would have liked to say, at least the Right Wing side never pretends their going to like you, or let you in...and there's some honesty in that. Yep, there's some honesty in McDonalds. But, again, not enough beer. I left him working it out on his own.
I could tell you everything that happened on that trip, but, I'm just not ready to tell that complete story yet. And it's not the point of this one, really.
Later in the evening, I was drunk. I hadn't been drunk in quite some time. And it was glorious. I felt alive again. I had to piss. And the bathrooms (yes, the hippies/campers had actual bathrooms and everything) were so far away. I was content to be drunk were I was. I went behind a tree.
The problem with being a female, and a drunk female, at that, is that we can't just take our dicks out and have a pee. It's an entire process. The pants, the underwear, the squatting, the holding the pants and underwear forward, the balancing, and the aiming. Not to mention the getting back up, without stepping in you're own mud pee. It's an entire process.
Well, I got most of it. I found that I had grabbed most of my clothes out of the way, but not the back edge of the underwear. But, luckily, I had a handful of toilet paper (because I had bought a package at Wal-Mart, thinking that we were in fact camping, not that we had cheater bathrooms), and I used a bit to soak up my pants tinkle. And I will say that I was more like the hippies than they thought. I didn't litter. I put my soggy toilet paper in the pocket of my Just My Size Pants, until I could find the appropriate receptacle to dispose of it.
Needless to say, it was a long piss. And under the stars, hoping nothing would bite my ass, drunk....I had a few moments to think.
I used to be and adventurer. I used to do things. Why had that stopped? Also, the few back-dated adventures that had come to surface this week, were just that...stunts of the past. And I was drunk, and had peed on myself, and I suppose this was an epiphany of some sorts. What had I become and why?
I suppose it was because I had a child. And I suppose it was because, I know that stunts come to surface, and I had more at stake now...the corporate job, the money, the house.
I was sad. I had fallen into the trap that most people fall into. Know wonder I had gained weight. Know wonder I slept. Know wonder I'm so grouchy.
I've been thinking about this married man that I slept with once. I knew that he was going to be beautiful naked. I knew that. So, I made it so that I would see him naked. We talked about what this was to be. And I explained, very clearly, that this wasn't going to be a relationship. That I did, just want to sleep with him.
Well, short story, we did do it. And he was beautiful naked. His penis was a masterpiece of humanity. Dicks like that don't come around very often in a lifetime. But, then were the calls from him. Sneaking out of his house to call me. Driving around in his car, masturbating to the sound of my voice. I do give fabulous blow jobs, I know that. But, I cut the relationship off, right then and there.
Whereas, I would agree that I can be fun in bed, it's hardly worth breaking up a marriage for. I told him to go home to his wife. Fix that, just fix that. I wasn't sorry that I slept with him...but, I didn't want to deal with breaking up a marriage, and being a step-mother, which is what he would have wanted to happen...only, later to realize, that it wasn't what he really wanted to happen. For both of our own goods, I made him go. I only saw the wiener that one time. (Yes, you did hear a sigh.)
Did I want to become that guy?
No.
I came back with a bit of renewed energy. And all it took was pissing on myself.
The consequences of being me are perhaps a bit scary and maybe even self-centered. Is it the disapproval I fear? Is the influence that I fear?
Hard to say. But, fear can be a complete immobilizer. That's just not good enough for me.
I had a wonderful dream, sleeping on the toiletpaper roll pillows....
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