Dear Cute Guy that hit on me today.

Dear Cute Guy that Hit on Me Today,

You and I did seem like we had a lot in common.  And you were really handsome.  (Although, you could probably brush your teeth after lunch, just to heighten the effect.)  You were actually quite savvy about putting out the signals.  In fact, since I'm getting out of a huge mess of a relationship that was over a decade -shit, I almost missed them.  No fault of your own, simply my not thinking AT ALL, along those lines. Bit beat down, and out of sorts, I am.  But, you should know that when I did finally catch on, there really is a part of me that wished I were ready for that.  I think it would have been fun. You were terribly handsome, nice, intelligent.  I wouldn't wait for me though...it's going to be a long-ass while.  However, for a minute you did lift me out of my inner turmoil.   Thank you for that.

Best Wishes Cute Guy.  Best Wishes.
 

The divorce...even though we were never married. It's the longest brake up ever. And I hate it. I'm not glad you're finding yourself.

I'm sad.  Sad because I memorized you.  I let you in to make that permanent mark.  Given my understanding of humanity, those permanent marks are so few. I'm sad that we're a boring statistic....so, unbelievably sad.

I'm embarrassed. Embarrassed by the tears that just start on their own and won't stop, every single time I see you.  How many tears is one person allowed?  This is ridiculous.  The make-up that I put on just smears. Why as I putting the make-up on? Embarrassed.

I'm jealous.  I'm jealous that you are getting every thing that you want, and I have to pick up the slack, and rebuild for two.  That I have to fix everything, and make sure everything is right on track. 

I'm angry.  I'm angry that you take no responsibility for the hurt and disruption you left in your wake.  I'm angry that you see us as being friends. You actually said that.   Seriously?!?  How did you work that out in your head?  Friends?  No, not now. Couldn't be bothered to work on the love...and friends have love, too.  So, no work, no love. It will be a business.

In time it will be a business.... strictly business. 

Frustrated.  I am frustrated because this is a normal thing.  These tears and the mess are an average thing.  There are websites, and books, and groups...all about this thing...this average thing.  And I want this thing gone, I want this thing done.  But, that's not how this kind of thing works.  It sucks.  It takes time.

I thought the thing that I had memorized was better and more special than that.

Boy, was I wrong.

IKEA with the Girls - I have the smallest boobs in the whole group.

Today started off somewhat okay, just okay. I had plans with great friends. My hair still looked good and I had gotten new nail polish.  We can't share a bed, and I woke up alone, and sometimes I do notice it.   We're no longer together, I heard you,  but haven't divided up all the property.  We have to fix the house before we sell it - but we're separate even on fixing the actual house - all separate projects.  Separate and sharing space.  I'm doing what I'm supposed to with the moving on.  And sometimes I can just keep myself busy enough to keep the sadness away. But right now, I am sad. I prefer angry, which is way more productive projectwise.  I don't get to pick right now, which shows up when. But, today the great friends and I went shopping, and I saw all the things that would make our home look so nice.  Then the sting, the prick, I remembered WE no longer have a home.  We have property that needs to be fixed to sell - but not a home.

So, today I am sad.  I no longer have my love, my friend, and I am homeless.

Sometimes a blowjob is just a blowjob. (The phone conversation.)

It is Christmas Time, again.  That's a holiday that never goes away.  Oh yes, the emotions were high this year.  Nothing like a holiday already fired with everyone's weird, built up, scarred shit, and then just add the fuel.  Fanfuckingtastic.  Trying to fool yourselves that you're not leaving THAT much of a scar on the child.  (Secretly wondering if that's what everyone's parents told themselves.)

What's everyone doing for Christmas?  Shit, I don't know.  Right now, it's Christmas Eve and everyone is in separate rooms.  Does that count for closeness if we're in the same house?  That's probably as good as it's going to get. 

How are you doing?  Okay.  I'm drinking all of the whiskey in the house, listening to angry music, and some sad music, smoking, and probably not leaving any of the eggnog either.  That sounds sad and stupid.  Does it?  I'm telling you, right now, I feel so much better, way better than the whole last month.  In fact, whoever said that drinking doesn't help was lying.  It totally helps.  Okay, if you say so.  Why yes, I do say so.  I like myself, and I really super like myself when I'm drunk.

What was said?  Oh yeah, it was so confusing.  We sort of did it.  And I liked it.  But, it was super confusing for the other party.  Why?  Well, some people have resided themselves to not being happy here, and certainly not happy with me, the way I think, the way I am, the way I look, etc.  So, the act was very confusing.  And we had to have yet another talk about it. 

Seriously?  Yeah.  I'm worn out.  And how do you tell someone that a blowjob is just sometimes a blowjob...and not to read too much into it.  And that even shitty people can still have some talents. 

What about tomorrow, still going to Mass?  Probably not, I'm going to probably still be drunk.  And if I remember correctly, no one likes drunk, stinky people at church.  And you know I don't believe, but sometimes I do like the idea and the ceremony.  Maybe I'll make it later in the week. We'll just open presents and then sit there, I'm guessing....in different rooms, of course.

Coming over on New Year's?  Yeah.  Can I get drunk and just sleep over?  Yeah, you can even take naps if you want.  Thanks.  You're a good friend. 

Driving Down Memory Lane in My Green Machine

I can't seem to control my memories these days. Things that I want to immediately remember for a conversation quote seem to elude me; and other things seem to come to me for reasons unknown, triggered by the smells?, the glances?, the weather?....And for what purpose? No idea. But, today is one of those days. So, I will record the story and see if I am supposed to get anything out of it other than simply putting it to paper in solid form.

On a recent drive across the large State of Texas to visit family, I had to drive through Big Springs. I lived there briefly as a small child with my mother, in a trailer park. My mother was mentally ill and spent a great deal of my life bouncing from one State Mental Institution to another. I know the town I live in now, the place is old, and gross and scary. And I always felt a certain amount of sadness for my mother being stuck, first in her own head, and second being in that state in a place like that. It is easier for us to dismiss the mentally ill, tuck them away in jail-like quarters. We never seem to take care of those places.

The funny thing about Texas, and maybe the United States in general, is we're so quick to erase out history and develop the newer, the better, the more shiny. In the town I live in now, giant, shiny high rises have knocked down the former lives of so many. You only get to stay if you're considered famous - the building has your name on it. Never mind, that in order for you to be so famous, there were so many other lives involved in your getting there....but, those are not important...just erase them.

But, in the small towns, you can see them. Where the big money and influence hasn't reached yet. The buildings half-broken down with faded signs. But, here in the US those are also a bit funny to me. Nothing here is ancient yet. Our country is so new still. Nothing is thousands of years old. So rather than being kept up like the Seven Wonders, these buildings and spots are more like items you find in some old person's attic with years of dust and cobwebs. Yes, there were lives in those places with stories and memories. Maybe better than the famous. Yes, better.

As I drove through the town, I saw Big Springs Mental Hospital. It was a very old building, but much to my surprise is was beautifully kept. Old architecture with gardens and a beautiful lawn. I teared up a bit. Maybe this was a least one place that wasn't so horrible for my mother to be at. Maybe. There was just a tiny bit of relief there. Oh mother, was this place ok for you? Just this one time?

I didn't have that many memories of this town, just a couple. I think when we lived here, I was maybe 3 or 4 years old. I remember the trailer a bit. We shared the trailer with a male roommate. I don't remember his name. My mother and I slept on one side of the house and the man took the other side. The only things I remember about him were really snip its. I remember one time he showed me that you could eat these parts of the pine tree outside. And I did. It was sticky and very full of pine flavor. And he said that if I was ever out in the woods stuck, this would be a plant I could eat. I remember thinking that was so silly. I had never seen the woods, ever. So, how would I be stuck in them, sometime? But, still I stored the knowledge away, just in case...just in case.

I also remember that he did something my mother did not like. And she was so mad at him, and yelled at him not to do it in front of me, or he'd be sorry. I didn't know what it was, but I knew he would be in big trouble if he did it.

One day, my mother was at the store, and he told me I couldn't go outside and play yet, because he had to do something first. I was mad. I had my new Green Machine. I started for the door, but he grabbed me under the arms and took me to his room and shut and locked the door. He told me, just a minute and we can go outside. I was really mad then, I was big enough to go by myself. I didn't need him watching me and babying me.

He got something from under his bed and lit it. I heard my mother's car drive up. I knew he was doing the bad thing. And I was so mad at him, I was going to tell. See how he liked that. I turned around, unlocked the door and ran outside. Yelling, "He's doing it again!!! Mom, he's doing that bad thing!!! He's doing it!!! Right in front of me, after you told him not to!!!"

My mother went inside and put the groceries down, and started yelling. They proceeded to fight, back and forth. And I smiled and stayed outside. I had my own parking spot for my Green Machine. I wouldn't let any of the other kids play on it. I also had a plain old, Big Wheel. So, if you wanted to play with me, you could ride that one. But, not the Green Machine. I got on and went down the sidewalk. Faster and faster and faster. Sometimes, pulling the break on the side so hard I might spin around, or I might crash, either was good. But, I was forgotten for a bit and could just play by myself. It was awesome. It wouldn't be until years later that I would figure out that what the "bad thing" the man was doing was smoking pot. And, when I did it, sometimes I would hear my mother's voice yelling at that guy, and feel a tiny bit a guilt. But, not enough, I guess.

I also remembered my Bert and Ernie shoes. Man, I loved those shoes. Bert was one foot and Ernie was the other. I LOVED THOSE SHOES!!!! I wore them with everything, and never wanted to wear anything else. EVER.

One day, at the trailer, there was a knock at the door. It was the neighbor's daughters. They hadn't seen their father or heard from him in a bit and wanted to know if my mother had seen him; she hadn't. They left their contact number and were on their way.

There was a smell. It was so bad. My mother and the roommate thought we might have rats. But, the smell got worse and worse. A bunch of the neighbors could smell it. My mother was a nurse. One morning, she walked over to the old man's house. He had a bad drinking problem, I'd heard them say. I walked with her. I remember my mother gasping as she looked in the window. She bent down and took my Bert shoe off, and threw it at the window. When it broke, there was this wave of smell that hit me like a ton of bricks. I got sick, and light headed and threw up on my Ernie shoe and my other sock foot. My mother grabbed me, and ran back to the house and called the police. Turned out that the old man was dead, and had been for days. he was drunk and threw up and drowned on his own vomit. I cried and cried. And everyone thought I was so sad about the old man's death. But, I wasn't. It was the loss of my favorite shoes. I never said anything about it, but I was so mad at my mother, probably for years. They were my favorite shoes.

That's all I remember. So, now it's to paper. Yes, there were people there, not famous, but they lived, and they had stories.

Still sitting facing the corner, In the Quiet Chair.

I haven't been writing. What most people don't get about me, maybe some do, when I'm not talking/writing it's because whatever I'm not wanting to talk about is a secret to myself. Ok, Ok, now having put it on page, out on the Internet, everyone is going to know. I don't talk when I'm thinking of personal, secret things....the things I keep to myself. That's when I'm the most quiet. So, want to know when I'm keeping my secrets? Watch for when I'm not talking.

I talked to an ex-coworker yesterday. He read my blog. And he wanted to know why I never told him that I was a stripper. I didn't tell him because first of all, I never thought it very interesting. I was a horrible stripper, and only did it for a bit, before becoming a successful waitress - that's where the real money is at. And people like to pretend that there's something different about working in a strip club vs. working in an office. It's not different, same plots and politics. So, I didn't think it made for entertaining stories. I don't really talk much about working in an office either. Neither are the particularly interesting parts about myself; aside from the occasional memory of a instance at either place. To me, the stories where never in the jobs themselves, maybe not even me in the stories, but the people or the events I witnessed to regale later. Hard to say.

The past couple of years have been hard. Maybe harder than I wanted to admit. My MS has started to take my brain and strength...as it's supposed to. And time and fate have taken some friends and family, as it too is supposed to. Well, the MS has also taken people from me...You really do find out who's in it for the long hall when you turn gimp, sure do. I had to quit working, a couple of people died, I've gained weight, etc., etc., etc. My doctor thinks I need counseling. Oh, that old thing again. I've been enough times in my life to know what they're going to say. I actually know already what to do. So, given my current state of finances, I don't really see the need to spend the money on things I already know. I just need to be quiet a little while longer, that's all. Quiet and distracted by things unimportant. There's been a lot of grief there, these past couple of years. So, is it the depression acting up again? Is it the MS, playing with my brain. Maybe. Or maybe, I've just needed to be quiet. Quiet thought and the grief process go hand in hand.

I was always loud and funny, and an ace at deflection. I'm not sure just how many people I've encountered actually know just how very sensitive I actually am.

I'm not ready to write yet about all the things that are mine, that I'm grieving about. I will, just not yet. I'm close, but just not yet. And even if I wrote it all done, would it really be that interesting? Would it make me feel better?

And these past couple of years, I'm not the only one who's been grieving. I've been watching a dear friend in the process of loosing his mother. I love this man, very much, such a good friend. And I'm only just able to watch and talk. But, I'm not magic, I can't wash this pain away for him. So, I find that there are certain unfair inadequacies in friendships. I've watched as my father lost his sister, his mother, and now is brother - the last of his nuclear family go. And no really concrete words exchange between us, because we're just not that close. I watched another friend take care of her ex-husband, who had a stroke after o.d.ing on drugs. She did it so her children, who are still busy growing up, didn't have to do it. (This one story was super admirable, and amazing.) I bought BBQ sauce from New Jersey because a gaming friend needed the money, and what doing what he could to survive. I watched neighborhoods flood and the burn, people loosing friends, family members, pets, homes. I even watched the Government argue over the most ridiculous items for what?....the betterment of what?...the moral structure of the nation?, the world? Yeah, good luck with that. I'm not sure we truly ever had morals per say. Just awesome oneupmanship.

Boy, I do sound depressed...all doom and gloom. But, that's not all of it. It's really not. There have been babies born. And some neighbors helping neighbors. My hair actually grew out a bit. My home is good, my man is good, my child is good. So, not it's not all doom and gloom. I'm not at my whits end or anything. I'm just quiet about the secret stuff. And when I'm done being quiet, I will talk about it. But, not today.

Today, well, I wrote this. And today, I'm going to gather some items for the people who recently lost their stuff in a fire. Today, I've got some stuff to do. And when I feel like talking, I'll let you know.

I have the flu...the story of the gingy amputee

I've had the flu for about a week now. It feels like a month. I can't keep track of the days vs. the nights. What time is it now? Did I take a bath today? Did I eat? Should I bathe? Should I eat? The boredom of it all...listless, feeling like shit....not caring too much that I'm bored, but then completely overwhelmed by being bored. Thankfully, I have TiVo to remind me what day it actually is by my recorded series manager and reality shows. Yes, thank God for that.

Being high on fever, my mind wanders. I opened a thing of applesauce, and almost put it in my cup of Miso soup. In my head that seemed normal, completely normal....catching myself at the last minute...feeling like I needed to check myself and realizing that I just needed a spoon for the apple sauce....and, rebelling completely against the feeling that it was still the right action to put it in the soup. Yeah, I'd better not drive anywhere right now. Better not....but, jesus, I feel like shit and am so bored. I don't have anywhere to go, but my own sick head. I want to smoke, can't. I want to eat pie, can't. I can't do anything. Even the cats are yelling at my blank stare. No, kitties, I can't change your cat box right now. Yeah, just go on the floor. The guys won't help me with you, because I'm the one that brought you all home. And you can't just go outside, you all took off your collars, remember? Just a few days. I feel like shit.

I saw a gingy on the television. I've never been a fan of the redhaired. Not really, at all. Yuck. White pasty skin with bright read hair....seems so wrong. Like the color wheel of human evolution got offended by something we did, or somewhere we went....yep, got pissed off and made the gingies. Oh, don't get so made at me....it's just a personal preference. And of course, there are exceptions to every group, even the gingies. It's just super rare that there's a hot gingy....I didn't make the fucking rules. The color orange doesn't look good anywhere but on a fucking orange, and maybe the sun....but, that's it. I didn't make the rules, sad gingy.

I knew a gingy once, when I was homeless. I chose some pretty bad places to be...anywhere but some place that used to be home. I don't remember his name. He was a drug dealer, and had been in prison. Not a high level dealer....not hanging with the likes of me. A bit white trash, and he was an amputee. His right arm just didn't have a hand. He was short and thin. And his one arm was just a bit smaller than the other, and it just stopped, no hand. It was slightly rounded around the edges of the nub, and normal pallor. It just looked like it was normal that way, all short and nubby, but your brain knew it wasn't normal and something seriously wrong had happened there. I did stare sometimes, wondering things like how the blood flowed in less time. I never wanted to touch it, like I might catch the nubbiness of it. And watching him move around with it. Yeah, he could move around with it, but he couldn't write with it....let's be reasonable....thumbs just do come in handy for some things.

I think it was some farm accident. Which is kind of funny in itself....all the accidents with farm equipment. You'd think we'd learn to turn things off before we put our hands in.

We got along alright. He told me once, when he was drunk and making a pass at me, about his sexual prowess with his amputated stump. I was a bit drunk, too. He told me how he would put his stump inside of the chick, and how much they loved it. I just blew it off....guys always like to tell stories of all the "awesome" stuff they can do. Blah, blah, blah.....That ole story again, like a broken record.

Years later, I was working at a bar. It was dark, and late, and I had my tray full of shots and beers. Holy shit. There was the gingy amputee, right there....the night lights passing back and forth over him. Even though it didn't seem like it, I was along way away from where I was when we knew each other back then. Yeah, I could be a little more picky about the company I kept. I had some things to loose now. I didn't want to have the reunion. I didn't want to have the so what are you doing now talk. Jesus, he still had a nub and red hair. The crowd was growing anyway, and it was dark, and I was busy. I could avoid it. I kept an eye on him, off and on, to see where he was, to adjust my space to not be in his.

Behind the wait station, I watched him wave his god damned nub in the air for service. Wow, another thing a nub was good for. I remembered what he said about women and his nub. Nub fucking.

I never saw him again. But, seeing the gingy on TV brought it all back. I used to work at a pretty sleazy porn shop for a bit. But, I couldn't remember any amputee porn. There had to be some, given all the other complete craziness I've seen....there had to be, right?!?!!

I called a trusted friend. This friend is trusted because I could call up and ask questions about things like amputee porn, and he would still love me, and not hang up the phone.....now, that's a friend.

I told him about the gingy amputee guy I knew. And what he had said. My friend searched for me, and sent me a couple of links to view.

And there it all was, all laid out, people with nubs having sex...using their nubs to have sex....nubby projectiles. I watched all the links a few times each...my mind turning them over and over.

I wasn't turned on. Maybe because of the harshness of all these examples of nub sex. I had to wonder if there was some kind of softcore nub porn with a back story of love that might get to me. Maybe, but, I doubted it. If someone I loved suddenly had a nub, could I do it? I'm not sure I could. And then how sad is that?....What kind of asshole am I that I couldn't even had nub sex with someone I loved? I would just be grossed out and tell them no. What kid of asshole was I?

On the other hand, what kind of pervert are you to want to fuck a nub? Do you have to put everything weird in every orifice just because there's a hole there? We are really stupid when it comes to sex. Now, I can't get all holier than thou.....but, we are ALL pretty stupid when it comes to sex.

I was horrified and fascinated and giggled. Stupid fever. Stupid nub fuckers.

I'm so glad I was never drunk enough to have sex with that gingy amputee. Still got a few things I can look down on.