Currently Chasing: Shoes

There is something to be said for knowing what to expect.

The last four months have been a complete circus. I became someone I didn’t recognize, got myself into more debt than I would have liked, and there have been broken hearts all around.

The other day my daughter broke a glass. I didn’t clean it up right away, I just looked at it. All the tiny pieces. I told her to be careful. To go put shoes on. It was no longer safe to just walk around freely. I picked up the big pieces, and did my best to sweep up the small ones.

Later that night, without shoes, I walked through the kitchen, and wouldn’t you know it. I cut myself on the tiniest piece. And isn’t that how it always is.

Just when you think you’ve solved the problem of the broken heart…the minute you decide to trust that you don’t have to protect yourself, some little part of it that was left hidden somewhere comes out of nowhere and slices you.

The past cannot leave me alone. Or I can’t leave it alone. Like the glass, I’ve tried to pick up the big pieces and chuck them away..but the slivers, they are never fully gone.

One of these slivers has been a nice distraction. One of them turned in to a full on relationship. One is exactly what it was, is and always will be (lodged in my foot for all eternity most likely), and one other was just a complete mind fuck.

But the thing with the past is you always know what to expect. And maybe that is why I keep walking through that kitchen without socks or shoes.

The future is full of the unexpected. New people I’ve never met. New men who will learn how to break my heart in all new ways. Huge pieces of glass that someone else has already found a way to throw out. New addictions, new baggage, new new new. And unexpected.

Maybe that is why I keep letting my past pretend to be my future. Because I already know what to expect. The heart breaks will be the same. But hurt less and less each time. Emails and texts will be more of a game than a courting. Days without speaking will be a break and not a sign that the world is ending. It’s like a family … all these slivers. It’s like cousins and nephews that you don’t subscribe to on facebook, but then one day in the news feed you learn that one of them had a baby and BAM, you are buying a gift certificate to Toy’s R us and planning a trip out to see the new bundle of joy. Only, you forget to actually send the gift certificate out and use it to buy a Zumba Wii game instead and you can never quite find the time to make that trip happen. So eventually the emails stop. Until a few years later when they comment on a picture of you and then you start a conversation in your picture comments, and everyone else who commented is pissed they did because now they are ‘notified’ on every comment. And you make plans again to see each other. Only, it’s summer, and flying out in the summer is expensive. So you have to wait. And you get my point.

Same thing with these slivers. They are there…waiting to slice my foot open. And as much as it hurts to step on them, I still don’t wear shoes when I’m walking through that damn kitchen.

If you are a new guy who wants to date me … Please just save yourself the trouble and break up with yourself from me already.

If you are a sliver who wants back in my life…well, lovely, I’ve been expecting you.

Currently Chasing: My Identity

My identity has been stolen twice this month. Not only am I spending money I don't have, but other people are wanting to spend money I don't have. Luckily, and not quite sure how, but both banks caught it and cancelled my cards. Pretty incredible. But how did they know? I mean, I was spending hundreds of dollars on bullshit that was both ridiculous and unnecessary, so how did they decide that the last few charges of ridiculous and unnecessary weren't indeed mine? Was someone in the back room watching the charges come through and thinking to themselves ... Plastic surgery? Yep, that's her. Olive Garden? Definitely. 300 in bath and body products? Of course. Random bullshit she can't afford? uh huh. Other random bullshit she can't afford. FUCK NO THAT'S NOT HER! CANCEL THAT CARD!

Whatever the case, I'm thankful. Back in the day people were just fucked. That money was just gone and you were stuck paying thousands of dollars for stuff you'll never see, instead of just paying thousands of dollars for stuff that you can't remember seeing. Now identity theft is so common that they have learned to spot it immediately...that is both sad and such a relief all at the same time.

Now I'm going to start doing something I haven't done in ages. Something completely out of character for me. Something I'm not even sure I know how to manage anymore. I'm going to start paying for things in cash! At least then if someone robs me of it, I know it. It's a physical thing and not a virtual thing. Although physical things, though you can see them and you know they are happening, can sometimes end with you losing your life and never know what's happening ever again. So that's not good.

Damn it...whoever said money is the root of all evil was so fucking right. Everything always comes back to money. How much you have. How much you don't have. and how much you want what others have. What if we just went back to simple trading. But what would I trade if not money? I don't cook? I burned a ton of rice crispy treats over the holiday break. I don't sew or do anything like useful like that. I could give out short stories? I could be a jester? I could entertain. Oh good lord, I don't like the road this is going down. Seems the road wouldn't be the only thing having to go down if we resorted to this bartering system again. So cash it is. Honest work and cash.

I'm protecting my identity here people. Although, these days, I'm not even really sure who I am anymore.

Currently Chasing: Coincidence

So way back in 2005 I met a guy. I mean, I’m always meeting guys, but this was an exceptionally crazy circumstance. More than a year ago I was reminded of the story and I blogged about it here. I’ll wait for you to get all caught up.

So Saturday my daughter has a birthday party. I tell her she can invite three girls. She picks two girls I know well and one girl that I’m not super familiar with. I call her mother and make sure that everything is ok with her coming to the party and then spending the night. Her mother says that it is fine. She mentions that it is her ex husbands weekend with the kids and asks if I can just drop her off at her father’s house the day after the party. No problem. So she sends me his name, address and phone number.

I stare at the name. It’s a fairly common name, not unlike Chris (although it’s not Chris) so I don’t think too much about it. But the address is in the same city as the “Chris” that I used to know way back then so just to be sure I write to a mutual friend.

Me: Hey, so I’m looking at this girl’s dad’s information and I have to ask. This isn’t the same guy from 2005 is it? You know…the air guitar guy? The guy who was growing weed in his house?

Mutual friend: Ha! OMG No. Not at all. I’ve met him, it’s not the same person.

Me: Ok. You are sure right?

Mutual friend: Yeah. I remember that dude, and trust me; it’s not the same person.

I felt some relief come over my body. Not like it would be absolutely horrible to see this guy again..it’s just that we left off on strange terms. Like, him telling me he was falling and love, and me wondering why he couldn’t be bothered to clean out his toilet.

So the day comes and I’m at the mutual friend’s house waiting for all the girls to arrive so I can load them up and take them to the mall. Then I hear someone shout “so and so’s dad is here.”

My friend assures me once again that it is not the same person. So outside I go to meet him and tell him I promise to return his daughter in one piece. As soon as I see him, I know.

It’s him.

I walk up to him and he looks at me like he is meeting me for the first time.

Him: Hey, hi, it’s nice to meet you.

Me: (staring) um, yes, it is very nice to meet you also. (I say this very, very slow while continuing to stare.)

Him: well, ok, it is very nice of you to have invited my daughter. She is very excited about it.

Me: (staring) no problem. I’m sure all the girls are going to have a great time. (Again, very slow. And I’m sure he thinks I’M HIGH)

Him: do you need me to text you my address so you can drop her off tomorrow?

Me: nope. I have your address. Your ex wife texted it to me. (and I may just remember the way in general seeing as though I’VE BEEN THERE BEFORE.)

Him: ok, well thanks again … (he pauses like he is reaching for my name…so I just give it to him again)

Then he gets in his car and leaves and I turn around with wide eyes while mouthing the words to my friend. (IT IS FUCKING HIM!)

She says something about it being a long time, and he’s cut his hair and gained a little weight since then…but holy shit, we are both kind of in disbelief about the whole thing.

And my name is not that common. I mean, my name may as well be television station. You wouldn’t forget someone named television station. Especially not someone you were supposedly falling for! Then again…he was simultaneously dating Mary Jane and we all know how that bitch fucks with your shit.

I should have just let it go, pretended we had never met before and called it a day…however, I hate being forgettable. So of course I texted him with a teeny tiny hint indicating that it is possible we had met some time in the past.

My text: “Hey, this is Terrina. We used to date.

He writes back about how I looked familiar and he was wondering why I was talking so slow and looking RIGHT THROUGH HIM. (yeah, he put it in all caps just like that.) He mentioned how embarrassed he felt about the whole situation but then added that he was pretty baked back then.

Three other blasts from the past made their way to my phone, email, facebook last week. It’s like the universe can smell relationship all over me and is sending old boyfriends to test my commitment. What the universe forgets is that even my current boyfriend is an old boyfriend so I’m already over quota on that sort of thing. I’ve got enough past in my present. Time to keep looking forward.

Currently Chasing: A cure for Hoarding

I watch the television show Hoarders. I watch it a lot. I am amazed that people can keep that much shit in their homes. In most cases there are dead animals or loaded weapons all over the house. One guy had shit piled up all over his kitchen but would leave his gas stove on for heat. Crazy. Death at every turn! Kids living in these places with clothes and shoes to last them for days, but couldn’t find a place to play to save their lives. Children literally beg their parents to make a change. Child services threaten to take away children, the state threatens to take away homes, or condemn them. Husbands threaten to leave. The house at times is coming apart at the seams due to the amount of bugs/animals/mold/waterdamage/structural damage whatever that is living/breading/infesting the inside. It’s shocking, it’s disgusting, it’s heart breaking, it makes me throw up in my mouth.

Each time there is a professional trying to help these people out. They will bring everything out of the house and then they will begin a conversation that usually goes like this.

Helper: Ok Maggie. We’ve got 17 lamps here. What can we get rid of?

Hoarder: Nothing.

Helper: Well come on now. Some of these lamps are broken and won’t ever work again.

Hoarder: I can fix them.

Helper: What are the odds that you will actually fix them?

Hoarder: I’m not throwing any of them away!

Helper: How about just one. Pick just one that we can throw away.

Hoarder: Damn it. I already told you. All of the lamps stay!

Then the Hoarder stomps out, pissed off and goes into their house to love on their junk and shit somewhere on the floor because there is no running water and meanwhile the helper talks to the camera.

Helper: This is frustrating. She refuses to even part with one lamp. This is going to be a very long day.

I have never considered myself a hoarder. It has always been very easy for me to just throw stuff out. Mostly because in the Navy you move so often that you don’t feel like taking a lot of stuff with you. I have a few things…like my daughters first outfit, her first Halloween costume, some artwork and some photobooks. But for the most part, I don’t hold on to things for very long. I get rid of things to make room for new things. It’s the way I’ve always done it.

But recently I realized I am indeed a Hoarder. But I don’t hoard stuff. Oh no. I hoard PEOPLE!

I’m mortified by this discovery but I acknowledge it. And that is the first step right? Admitting that you have a problem. I made this discovery the other day when me and my friend had this conversation.

Me: Did you see the picture I posted on facebook?

My friend: Yeah, I commented on it, but maybe you didn’t notice because you have a thousand facebook friends.

Me: Whatever, I do not have a thousand facebook friends.

My friend: Ok, nine hundred and something. Basically a thousand.

So I log on to facebook and take a look. And there it is. 948.

So I go to the news section and start reading most recent and she says, you know you can change that so it will only show you the top news. And I said, what does that mean? And she said, it will just give you stuff it thinks you will be interested in reading instead of showing you every single thing people type. And I said, I’m fine with seeing every single thing people type.

She just stared at me.

My friend: Why do you care?

Me: These are my friends.

My friend: All 948 of them?

Me: Well yeah, I wouldn’t have added them otherwise right?

My friend: You can’t tell me you know all 948 of those people.

Me: No, I guess not.

My friend: Let’s go through and delete the people you don’t know.

(This was the moment. She had put all my shit out on the lawn and had asked me to pick a lamp to throw away.)

Me: I don’t want to delete anyone.

My friend: What about this person? You have not spoken to this person in three years.

Me: That is my cousin.

My friend: Um, ok, what about this person? From your first duty station in 1994. There is no way you are still in contact.

Me: She came to visit me last month.

My friend: Well, what about this person? She is just a friend of a friend that you’ve never met.

Me: She and her daughter sent me an awesome care package while I was in Afghanistan.

My friend: What about this girl. Some random Soldier.

Me: I wrote her a letter of recommendation three weeks ago.

My friend: What about this girl? She doesn’t even live in this country?

Me: That is Carly! Are you kidding me? She is one of my blogger crushes. Along with about 10 other bloggers. I’m not deleting any of my blogger crushes!

And the list went on. She would suggest someone, and I would immediately get defensive. I may not have a tie that binds me to every single last person on that list of 948, but I added them for a reason. Even if that reason was just so I could stalk their lives or find out what their wives looked like.

And the list use to be longer. But over the years (and even as recent as last month) people have deleted me. They have just hovered over my name and then BAM. Hit the delete button. And it was a simple thing. And they probably aren’t harboring any deep regret or wondering if my feelings are hurt over it.

But I can assure you that even though they are no longer part of my online collection, by deleting me they have graduated immediately to my in-mind obsession. And trust me. Nothing gets thrown out of there either.

Currently Chasing: Recognition

I started a new job which of course means new health care. One of the first things I like to do is set up an appointment and establish a primary care manager.  I kind of just meet with that person and give him or her some background and history so they can START A FILE. I love files.

In the Navy you very rarely see the same doctor. You are all over the place seeing whoever has a couple of minutes to see you at the time. You are left explaining and then re-explaining your medical history to every new person you see. Filling out pages of paperwork almost every time you go to the doctor because stuff gets lost or you didn’t fill it out correctly or whatever.

The idea of having one doctor that I see EVERYTIME I’m sick appeals to me.  Even when I was pregnant I didn’t see the same doctor twice. And they were wrong most of the time. They told me I was having a boy and we all know how that turned out. (For those who don’t…well I had a girl. Who came home in an all blue outfit. To an all blue room.)

So I go online and search for my area and doctors in my area and then doctors who are accepting new patients and I find one. Dr. W. That’s what I’ll call her. I call, set up an appointment, and that’s that. I’ve got me a doctor of my very own.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Or maybe I shouldn’t celebrate just yet.

So I go to my first appointment and the office is literally in a building that looks condemned. It’s behind some restaurant and just dingy looking. However, I am not a ‘judge the book by the cover’ kind of person, so no problem.

I park and walk in. As soon as you walk in you feel like you’ve gone back in time. The carpets are old and so very thin…almost like someone just laid some fabric over a cement slab. There are a bunch of different offices to choose from. I didn’t want to choose any of them. However, I found my office and in I went.

Holy shit. I’m not kidding you when I say that people are literally coming to this place to die. All of the patients were very old. VERY OLD. The receptionists were VERY OLD. There was a sign up that said, I’m doing this job because I can’t yet collect social security. Seriously.

The woman was nice enough. She told me to sign in and have a seat. My appointment was for noon, and I arrived 15 minutes early. Because that is the NAVY WAY!

I sat down and reached for a magazine. Golfing magazines. Readers Digest. Adult Health magazines. Ugh! These are magazines for OLD PEOPLE. Where is the gossip mag? Where is my shape or fitness? I’ll even settle for a People! So I decide to just watch TV. It’s the news, but I’m fine with that. They are talking about how the posted calorie count for some fast food isn’t always accurate. Wow. Shocker. They are calling out places like Chipotle and Olive Garden. Ugh. I hate when people talk behind a friend’s back!

So at some point I hear the woman say, it’s bright and sunny outside. I look out the window. It’s a torrential downpour. And then she says something about August. I’m like…Holy Heck…even the news in this place is old.

By this time it’s around 12:30. I’m still waiting. I begin to wonder if maybe these people weren’t so old when they got here…they’ve just been waiting for 30 years.

I walk up to the counter and ask the woman if my doctor knows I’m here. They tell me that she is just running long with a patient. But they can tell that I’m anxious, so they take me back to get my weight and my vitals. This is like giving you an appetizer in the medical world. Uh oh…this one is getting twitchy…hurry…give her a breadstick so she’ll shut the fuck up while we finish cooking her pounds of pasta!  (Which will end up being more calories than they tell me it is...according to the study.)

So after that they seat me in a room and tell me my doctor will be right with me.

I can hear her in the room next to mine. She’s talking to a man about cereal. He is arguing with her about what cereal is best. Then they move on to oatmeal.  And they are seriously discussing this shit for another 20 or 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the battery life on my phone is dying and I’m pretty sure I should use the last bit of it to call someone and tell them where I am in case this is Twilight Zone episode and I end up stuck in this old world.

When my doctor finally gets around to seeing me (around 1:30) she is … old. She’s nice. She sits down and asks what I am there for. I tell her that I just want to establish a medical history and have a primary care provider. She asks me some questions…takes down some information and puts it in a folder. My file.

It wasn’t ideal by any stretch.  But this woman looked like she had seen it all. Like a grandmother. I would not be embarrassed or afraid to tell her anything. And in the end…isn’t that really what we need from a doctor. Someone non-judgmental who keeps it professional and doesn’t run around to the other ladies gossiping about your lack of self breast exams? Someone who knows you.

I realized shortly after walking out that I had left my phone on the chair. I went back in to grab it and Dr. W. was still sitting there.

“You must be my 1 o’ clock? Sorry for the wait.”

At this point I’m over needing someone that KNOWS me…but someone who at least recognizes me (13 seconds after seeing me) would be nice.

Currently Chasing: Chicken

I’m a very picky eater. Ask anyone I know. If you ask me where I want to go to lunch, I will say Chipotle. If you ask me where I want to go to dinner, I will say Olive Garden…or Chipotle. If you ask me where I want to go on Fridays I will say Denny’s. If you ask me what I’m going to get at either of these places it will always be the exact same thing I got the time before.

Chipotle: Salad, chicken, tomatoes, guacamole.

Olive Garden: Fettuccine Alfredo w/ Wheat pasta.

Fridays at Dennys: Clam Chowder.

If they don’t have Clam Chowder, then I will just leave. It’s what I like. It’s what I want. It’s all I want.

If I venture out and go to subway, it will always be a turkey sub. If I go to taco bell, it will always be a bean burrito.

I do not like seafood. At all. I know you are wondering why then do I go to Denny’s for clam chowder. It’s Dennys!! Come on, you know they don’t actually add clams. It’s just potato soup! Once when I was younger I found a clam in there and I freaked. My father said, “Waitress! Why is there a clam in my child’s clam chowder.” Although he was being sarcastic, it seemed like a completely rational question to me. Like, “Yeah! What the fucking fuck is this chewy thing!” She just stared at us, half smiled and let us continue to marinate in our crazy.

If I go to jack in the box, which I love! I will only get tacos and curly fries. Nothing else. No jack burger or jack sourdough, or jack burrito, or jack shit. Just tacos and curly fries. Minus the cheese. I’m not a big cheese fan. I’ll eat nachos and pizza and even grilled cheese, but if you give me a cheeseburger, I won’t touch it. I will never eat a three cheese anything. If something has white cheese, you can forget about it. If it’s ‘the cheesiest’ anything…no way. If it’s double cheeseburger hamburger helper. No way! One cheese in my cheeseburger hamburger helper thank you. Not double.

So when people want to take me out to dinner and they suggest a new place, I’m always skeptical. As was the case recently when my friend offered to take me out to a place in DC called Againn. Turns out she had won a gift certificate to the restaurant and asked if I would like to go and help her spend her new found $100. It is one of Washington’s top 100 restaurants and I heard ‘grill’ in the description, so I thought…it will be fine as long as they serve chicken. I can pretty much go anywhere and just order chicken. This is what I do at Red Lobster, which is the worst place to go for a person who does not like seafood or cheese…because everything is extra cheese here, extra fish here, extra smelly here, extra cheesy there.

So I go to the website and check out the menu.

First let me say that I’m always weary of a place where they don’t let you choose your sides. You know those places where they group everything for you? Ugh…like they know what the fuck I want with my chicken.

Anyway, I go to the dinner menu and this is the first thing I see:

BRAISED SHOULDER OF SHENANDOAH LAMB 27.
french lentils, swiss chard, spiced yoghurt

Oh my God! Fucking yuck.

Um, you’ve got to be kidding me? Braised Shoulder? What the fuck is that? I don’t want to eat a shoulder!!

So I continue to look for the chicken and I see:

CONFIT OF MUSCOVY DUCK LEG 25.
basil risotto, roasted spring onion, smoked tomato

Goddammit! Really? Duck leg? There is a lot more being smoked here than tomato!

So I continue looking and:

CHICKEN LIVER MOUSSE 9

Ooops, someone took a shit on this and it didn't change the taste.

Ok, now they are just kidding.

And then:

BEETROOT SALAD 9.
naval orange, pickled fennel, ricotta salata, spiced walnuts, honey dressing.

Beetroot? Oh my god! Send me back to Afghanistan where I can go to TGI Fridays!!

But then I saw this:

House made Bangers and Mash.

This looks like a freshy casterated penis.

I thought that was just a song about a penis and balls sung by that dude from Get Him to the Greek.

Needless to say I never found the chicken. Or the will to live on the same planet with this top 100 restaurant. I can only assume that number one on the list sells cheesy fish testicals.  

Currently Chasing: Something to fall back on

What happens when you don't know what the fuck you're doing?
When your brain isn't working and you get really selfish and you start feeling entitled?

It's like that episode of sex and the city where Charlotte starts to freak out thinking something bad is going to happen to her because relationships all around her are failing:

Carrie Bradshaw: What makes you think something bad is gonna happen?
Charlotte York: Because! Nobody gets everything they want! Look at you, look at Miranda. You're good people and you two both got shafted. I'm so happy and... something bad is going to happen.
Carrie Bradshaw: Sweetie, you shit your pants this year. I think you're done.
And true enough, nothing bad happened. But I'm not Charlotte fucking York, and this isn't a movie. And I just feel like, something bad is going to happen.

I had a 'conversation' with my boyfriend the other day. He and I have been in an on again, off again relationship for the better part of five years. We've lived together, not lived together, lived near each other, lived far from each other, and have even tried living for each other. And no matter how we've lived ... our relationship seeemed to be a disposable yet recycleable entity.

We always left a door open so we could return to each other without the knowledge that there was some repressed rage. Like this girl has:

So the other day when we decided to 'have a talk' no one raised voices. No one said words that would hurt or sting, and no one was verbally pistol whipped.
The comment that started it wasn't even meant to start anything...but I can see how it did.

Me: I can't wait to swim this summer.
Mr. Big: Yeah, I don't have a pool where I live.
Me: I have three.
Mr. Big: We had a pool at our old place.
Me: Yep, but you never used it.
Mr. Big: You and your daughter did.
Me: Yeah, after you left us. (I need to drink less)
Mr. Big: ..........................

And that is how he stayed for the rest of the meal. Silent. He pushed some food around his plate but didn't eat anything.
I ate every bite because that is what I do. However, I was proud of myself for not asking for more breadsticks.

Then we went back to his house and did this thing we do where I talk, he listens, but doesn't respond or look at me. I tell him I'm going to leave. He acts like he doesn't care. I stand up and walk toward the door...get my shoes on and start gathering all my stuff in a dramatic way...Then I walk out the door and wait for him to send me a text that says he's not good with his words and that this is how he acts when we argue and he knows I need for him to communicate, but that is hard for him. Before he finishes that text, I'm already walking back through the door demanding he fight for me.

At that point there are some hugs and some apologies and then he warms up the food he didn't eat from earlier and plays some call of duty.

The point is, nothing was really wrong. It was just me creating drama. Pushing and pulling buttons and talking myself in and out of him. When I talk to my friends about it, they all see how much he's trying to change and they tell me that they see us together...forever.

Charlotte York: I always knew she'd marry Big.
Samantha Jones: You thought that after the second break up?
Charlotte York: Yep.
Miranda Hobbes: After the fifteenth?
And if you ask my friends...they'll still say yes. They see it. I'm just wondering if I see it the same way I used to see it. Or am I just so sure that something bad will happen that I'm just kind of pushing the universe to go ahead and ruin something for me. Or am I in fact daring it to?

I haven't shit myself this year, so I don't have that to fall back on.

Currently Chasing: Passionate Kisses

And since then I am because you are

And since then you are I am and we are

And through love I will be you will be we will be

I read that today and thought. Wow.

I am because you are.

I AM because YOU ARE.

When is the last time you felt like that about someone? My daughter feels that way about me because it’s true. She is because I am. But have I ever felt that way about a man? Do I even have the capacity to feel that way about another human being?

Do you ever notice that sometimes you are with someone for such a long period of time that you stop doing things that used to give you the feeling those words above inspire?

Like maybe you just stop kissing. It seems like such a small thing. You still hug. You still cuddle. You still hold hands. You still touch each other on the smalls of your backs while waiting in line. You still lean up against each other while deciding what you want from the dollar menu.

But you don’t kiss. Your lips don’t meet. And if they do it’s brief. It’s definitely not tongues swirling all which ways. So into the kiss that you don’t even care that he didn’t shave and now he is performing harsh dermabrasion all over your chin, upper lip and neck region. So engrossed in each other’s mouths that you can’t tell if he’s breathing for just him, or for you both.

A co-worker told me that grade school girls took a survey and answered that kissing was more intimate than blow jobs. Although that is a horrifying declaration, as a thirty something adult, I’m in full agreement. I mean, as a mother I of course don’t want my daughter kissing, hugging, blowing … nada. Zip. Zilch. I want her to have an affair with books. I want her to fall in love with mathematics. And I want her to long only for Apps for her Iphone.

But if someone asked me now, what is more intimate…a blow job or a kiss. I would have to say a kiss. Now, what takes more work, what has the ability to make you physical ill, what makes you wish you had no teeth…a blow job.

But what makes you feel connected, what makes you weak in the knees, what takes your breath away? . A blow job. A kiss.

Cher said it best, “it’s in his kiss.”

So if you aren’t really kissing…then where is it? A blow job?. A sweet gesture? A foot rub? Is it in his words or in his actions? Should you just let things ride and hope the kissing comes back or should you just try to sneak them in when he’s watching sports and his mouth is already open because so and so just missed a crucial shot?

I want to be because someone else is.

The happy ever after is sealed with a kiss right? Or is that just how he wakes the princess…and then from then on it’s just blow jobs the ever after?

Currently Chasing: An Oven big enough to hold my honesty pies

I've noticed a problem with writing this blog. It's public. People used to ask all the time, don't you feel crazy about putting some of your personal business out to whoever feels like clicking on this page? The answer was always a clear and easy, no. There were people in my life who would ask not to blogged about, there were people who didn't mind as long as they were given a code name, and there were people who were just as open about their lives and the goings on of it all as me.

But something has happened recently that is causing a bit of a rethink on my part, and I'm nervous. All of a sudden people who I didn't think were reading my blog, are, in fact, reading my blog. Even if they aren't personally logging on and looking at the words for themselves, they are being briefed on its contents. So conversations that normally go like this:

Random Person: hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: well, that is incredible, I'm sure you are better off the experience, welcome home awesome servant to our country.

Now go something like this:

Random Person: Hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: Hmmm, I didn't realize Canadians were members of the local population. And also, I read your blog on the type of 'photos' you've been taking and receiving. And what's going on with that guy who is in love with you? Are you going to see him again? Nevermind! Don't spoil the ending..I'll read about it later.

And so wow. There it was. I do try to explain to people that I take certain liberties with this blog, and often embelish things for the sake of entertainment, and that things aren't always exactly what they appear to be. But for the most part...the blog has become a place where I can accurately convey my feelings on most things. And it's not on a time delay. It's how I feel about whatever, right now.

And now it has become something else as well. A lie detector. One of two things are going to have to happen in my life. Either I start getting less honest in my blog, or I begin getting more honest in my real life.

It used to be a joke with me and the friend of mine who helped me create my blog. I would say, "I can't write about that!" And he would say, "Yes you can! That's what makes the blog great!" and I would rationalize it all in my head with one simple realization. "The person I about to blog about doesn't read my blog anyway, so it doesn't matter." And on with the detrimental-to-someone's-self-esteem blog I'd go. That bit me in the ass once with some guy I met at the gym who was some kind of computer genius who hacked into my facebook profile, got my blog address, and began reading. One of the first entries he read was about a guy from the gym who wouldn't stop being a creepy stalker. And the crazy part is, he commented on the blog to let me know he read it, and it didn't phase him one bit. He was still a creepy stalker, only now on a whole new level. Especially since his apperance in my blog made him feel more relevant in my life.

Now I'll say, I can't blog about that, he/she reads my blog. And my good friend will say, hmmm, fine, just wait a month or two and then blog about the story as a flashback. But whether I blog it now or in a month from now, people are going to know when it's them you are talking about. And others (who know you in real life) are going to be able to put two and two together and figure out who you are talking about...and that kind of defeats the purpose of a blog I can use to vent about things I wouldn't actually say to those people.

So I've made my decision. I like my blog. I'm going to keep writing it. And I'm going to remain true in what I write here...which means I better get busy baking those honesty pies ... and people who know me, know I dno't know how to bake, so these things may not taste as great as they look. But don't worry, you can always wash it down with a Chaser.

Currently Chasing: The Book End.

The Canadian has left the base. He did, however, leave me with a book that he thought I might enjoy: The Red Queen - Sex and evolution of human nature. Why he thought I would enjoy this book, is beyond me. It’s possible he was talking to me about it one day and I was nodding and smiling, but actually zoned out and staring at his muscles, and it all may have led him to believe that I was more interested than I really was.
Here are a few of the chapters:
Genetic Mutiny and Gender
Polygamy and the nature of men
Monogamy and the nature of women
The self domesticated Ape
There are indeed some great quotes in this book. “If women didn’t exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.” –Aristotle.
And the book has a lot of good points. “If powerful men had their way, women would probably live in harems like seals; that is certainly the lesson of history. If most women had their way, men would be as faithful as albatrosses.”
However, according to the book…women are more faithful for really one reason…every time they have sex, they could get pregnant. And women can only have a child with one man at a time. The fear of becoming pregnant by another man other than their partner and their loyalty to family keeps them faithful.
A man can also plant a seed every time he has sex…only he doesn’t have to worry about a watermelon growing in his abdomen. He can just continue to move around, relatively fearless. The number of single moms across the country prove that men don’t feel like having a baby means they have to stop bedding other women.
This book also had a particular section I found interesting regarding gay men.
“Although homosexual men, like most people, usually want to have intimate relationships, such relationships are difficult to maintain, largely owing to the male desire for sexual variety; the unprecedented opportunity to satisfy this desire in a world of men; and the male tendency toward sexual jealousy. “
Basically heterosexual men would be as likely as homosexual men to have sex most often with strangers, to participate in anonymous orgies in public baths, and to stop off in public restrooms for five minutes of fellatio on the way home from work if women were interested in these activities.
Then it went on later to talk about being thin.
“Thin became a prejudice in the 1950s, a myth in the 1960s, an obsession in the 1970s, and a religion in the 1980s.” – Roberta Seid.
So one thing seems obvious; there is no preference for average. However, a female can be rendered infertile by a body fat content of below 15 percent. So if you’d like to avoid getting pregnant…just get super skinny.
It used to be that thinness was a sign of poverty…now we are breaking our banks to appear broke? According to the book, thinness has become what fatness was: a sign of status.
Overall the book seems to be interesting…although it only seems to reinforce what I’ve known for some time. Men cheat. Women want to cheat but are scared of getting pregnant. Women continue to want to lose weight. And men don’t know what they want.
I don’t know that I want to continue reading this book. It’s scary if it’s true. When I first began reading the book it caused me to wonder if he and I really had anything in common. It led to this conversation.
Me: So, I was looking at that book and, wow. I don’t even really understand enough of the words to know if I like the book.
Him: You get the idea of it though right?
Me: Well, yeah, but there are so many ideas of it. Why are you reading stuff like this?
Him: It interests me.
Me: If you and I went to a bookstore together and met back at the counter, you’d have Encyclopedia volumes and a book about the history of your nation and I’d have a book on how to be a stand-up comedian and a thin for dummies guide.
Him: Is that your idea of a joke?
So yeah, intellectually, not much in common. He’s young … but definitely not dumb. I’m not half as interested in reading the rest of the book, as I am in visiting him to return it.

Currently Chasing: Someone ready to step up to the plate

This must be the time of year when all of my mistakes come back out to play another round of, “can we come in.” I mean, don’t get me wrong, I get it. It’s cold outside…and I’m not heartless. So come on in all of you bad decisions, let’s have hot chocolate and talk about the good times when you broke my heart and left me to bleed out. It’s going to be a blast.

So my ex who broke up with me over an email after asking me to marry him the day before decided to send me an email. It has an MP3 attachment. It was a song by Eminem. It was on someone else’s album, so he didn’t think I would hear it unless he sent it. He was right.

So I listened, and as I did, I got more and more pissed.

The song is essentially about Em falling for some girl who just changed her mind and dumped him.

So I sent him an email:

Me: So this is like my song to you?

Soldier boy: I don’t know. But it kind of sounds that way huh? If you were the guy.

I reminded him of the first half of the song Space bound Rocketship, also by Eminem, that he had dedicated to me early in our relationship. It was basically just a song about how in love he was with this girl and he prayed that she wouldn’t rip his heart out once he handed it over.

I made sure to let him know that only the second half of the song applies now.

Lyrics: so after a year and six months, it’s no longer me that you want, but I love you so much it hurts, never mistreated you once.

He responded:

Soldier boy: Yeah, every time I listen to that album I think of you. Just like when I heard this one yesterday you came to mind. Stay beautiful, beautiful. Cupid must’ve put a curse on me!

I responded and told him that I did adore him but that I’m moving on.

He wrote back saying that he hopes it all works out because I DESERVE IT.

OH MY GOD! There we go again with that damn phrase!

So I wrote back.

Me: Maybe the next guy I date will ask me to marry him, and then change his mind! Ha! Kidding…who would do that?  Don’t worry, I’m just giving you a hard time because YOU DESERVE IT.

Soldier boy: WOW!! I’m going to the bridge now ….bye.

So that’s when he decides to give me dating advice.

Soldier Boy: If you stop catching feelings for guys like me it will leave openings for good guys to show you some attention. Also if you weren’t involved with guys that you know aren’t the ones, wouldn’t you pay a little more attention to the ones that are?

He goes on to say that basically I should avoid all persons with a penis. No matter how good he is or not. He tells me that Mr. Right is out there and I know it and he knows it and my friends know it and WTF EVER!

Then he makes a Forest Gump reference about a feather falling in your lap and let fate decide. He ends it with Love ya, PEACE and Love, Peace and Love!

I say something like, thanks for nothing.

Then he writes back and says that he wishes me the best of luck and that he is sorry that he came into my life, left and then returned trying to be a friend. Then he signed off with  - stay safe.

So I wrote back.

Me: Yeah, it’s confusing – you are like a scab that I keep peeling. And so, it’s better that we aren’t friends. No need to respond. Thank you for the song and the advice. Goodbye.

Of course he writes back.

Soldier boy: Have to respond to that one. Sorry. So you can talk to virtually everyone who fucked you over in the past but not me? Really!? Whatever. No need to respond, nice to know ya, goodbye.

And I should have left it at that. But he doesn’t get the satisfaction of having the last word here.

Me: You know what, you’re right. But usually it is after more time goes by. And they aren’t giving me relationship advice. You were the same as me. You spoke my language, you complimented me. You said everything I wanted to hear and I finally thought, this is it. You changed my idea about love. I started to believe in fate. And then you did what you did and it was cold hard truth. Love didn’t exist. It wasn’t fate. You weren’t in love and what I was feeling was for nothing. Do you know what it’s like to believe in something and watch it die? I don’t know why you think it was easy for me. And now you get to write and say you are happy and that maybe I’ll get there…just don’t date any man at all, and then you end it with a ‘good luck kiddo.’ Then you tell some jokes and hahahahaha wasn’t all that shit we talked funny and pointless . It wasn’t funny to me. It was my FUTURE, and you were part of it right before you toyed with it. You crushed me and I believed in you.

He didn’t write back. I don’t know if he even read it and I don’t care.

Yesterday I got an email from a guy who has been admiring me. Turns out he and his girlfriend back home are in an open relationship so it’s cool with her if he gets a girlfriend here. Do I have a sign on my head that makes people think that I’m ok with always being a side dish? I’m a main course…just waiting for someone to step up to the plate.

Currently Chasing: A Fresh Start

I hate starting over. I also hate continuing to cry over things that I have the power to change, but fuck it…here we go!

Whether I’m writing an email and it mysteriously deletes before I send it or I’m updating a status message that refuses to upload.

I hate redoing something I’ve already done. I don’t even want to get old tattoos touched up. I went through the pain once. I’m NOT going to do it again.

I hate it even more when I have to redo something I hated doing in the first place. This is the constant case for two areas of my life: Dating and Weight Loss.

I love being in love. But I hate the process. This is usually why I tend to fall in love too fast. I just want to skip all of the beginning shit and get to the part that feels familiar. I don’t want to worry about every single thing I say…or if I’m going to talk too much and end up saying something that makes you rethink ‘us.’ Or talk too much about an ex, or talk too much about a future, or talk too much about my past. I’m tired of redoing the beginning of a relationship. I just want to move to the part where we’ve accepted everything about each other and now we are living together in happiness. And trust me, that part won’t feel like a redo, because I don’t think I’ve actually ever experienced it.

The other thing I hate redoing is losing weight. Before I came on this deployment I weighed about 160 pounds. As of last month I had gained about 11 pounds. So today when I weighed myself and I was at 166, you would think I would be happy. But I’m not. Because it’s still six pounds heavier than I was before I came here and I hate STARTING OVER. What’s even more sad is that my friend was afraid to tell me how much weight she’s lost since starting this deployment because she knew it would just depress me. She even tried to say she only lost weight this past week because she had to get a root canal. Poor girl, she’s trying to make excuses for her weight loss so I won’t feel bad that I shoved 20 frozen Reece’s Pieces down my throat.

Another friend tried to offer me some advice. He said, don’t look at it as starting over…just look at is as a continuation. Ok, well that’s fine, but I don’t like to ‘continue’ doing something I’ve already fucking done. It’s crazy that my goal weight is now the weight I was before I left, when before I left my goal weight was 10 pounds less than that.

Tomorrow cannot be a repeat of today. I need to mix it up.  I cannot continue to eat too much, fall too hard and complain too often. I don’t need to start over. Starting over would just lead to the same place I am right now. Instead maybe just restart.

Currently Chasing: A Full (of shit) Moon

So just got back from watching Eclipse, the latest installment from the Twilight phenomenon, and let me just warn you there will be some spoilers in here…so heed the alert.

First of all, let me just say Fuck. Fuck everything about this movie. I mean, there is a reason the main characters aren’t really human. I would believe that vampires and werewolves exist before I would believe that the love portrayed in this movie exists.

Can you please let me know if you’ve ever been in the middle of, or even on the outside looking into, such an extreme love triangle? Edward loves her. We get it. We don’t need a breathy, hesitated 25-minute monologue every hour to remind us that Edward wants to save her soul and marry her and love her forever. GEEZUS, we get it. What I don’t get is this insatiable love that Jacob has for her. And also why he always needs to talk through a stiff angry mouth. Even when he’s telling her he loves her he’s angry about it. And quite dramatic actually. Like…”Bella, you have the right to know what’s going on. I’m in love with you. Grrr. And I’m angry!”

So Jacob FINALLY gets that kiss, right before Bella punches him in the face and breaks her hand on his cheek. Since when are werewolves made of steel? So SuperJacob and Edward are all in an uproar over her and who she’s going to choose and what she’s going to do. And they are just hanging on her every word and once again the entire movie revolves around saving her life and kissing her ass. Jacob tells her he’s going to love her till her heart stops beating and Edward can’t get a wedding ring on her fast enough.

So my friend sends me this text about the movie:

“I know the love that they show in these kind of movies is not realistic. But do you think there is anything close? I know you will probably say no, but love varies with every person and every relationship right? And it is all about what you put into it and get back. I would think if you loved someone hard and they loved you the same way back that it would compare and seem like the love in the movies. Don’t you think so?”

To which I replied, “Nope.”

To which my friend replies, “So what’s the point? What am I looking for? Am I fucked? I just told the person I once thought was the love of my life that I was not in love anymore. If there isn’t that kind of love out there than what the hell?”

And I promptly respond, “First off, it’s then, not than. If there isn’t that kind of love out there THEN what the hell, not THAN what the hell. And that is the point. You make a choice to put it all in and get it all back. She chose Edward. She’s not going to go fuck Jacob because it feels good. She’s sticking with her choice. You don’t get the kind of love unless you give it. And us mortals, we can’t give it.”

“Or won’t give it,” my friend responds.

And then adds that he’s done being gay.

I tell him that there are people who love like that, but the objects of their affection usually end up in a freezer.

In the end, it’s a good thing that Jacob was always half naked. My friend said it distracted everyone from his gayness. I say it distracted you from noticing that even the characters couldn’t ACT like they were that in love. Love like that is nearly impossible to feel and even harder to fake.

Unless you belong to the list of guys I’ve dated recently. But they haven’t really been human either.

Currently Chasing: A Break

I've complained a lot about hating the District of Columbia. When my friends ask me to meet them anywhere near there, I cringe. When I know I'm going to have to park, I take anxiety medication. If I know I'm going anywhere near Dupont Circle, well, I just shoot myself in the face.

Even my GPS tells it like it is. I type in an address in DC and right away it says, preparing to get . LOST!

But for two months before I left Maryland, something wonderful happened. I started learning my way around DC.

So when my friend asked me to meet her near the Pentagon (and then jump on the metro to China Town) I said cool. I can do that. I can find the Pentagon. I own the fucking Pentagon. There was essentially no traffic on my way into DC and I was feeling good about the trip. I arrived to the Pentagon in record time and we proceeded to make our way to the metro.

I don't take the metro a lot, so I had to get a pass. I put my twenty in the machine, typed in how much I wanted to add to my card, and stood by. ERROR. The machine didn't have enough change for my twenty. Ok fine, I have a ten in my purse, just give me back the twenty and I'll use the ten. But the refund button wasn't working, and all of a sudden the machine said, out of bills, and that was that. My money never came back out. I HATE DC.

I tried to calm down. My friend knew I was heated. She offered to give me the twenty bucks. I said forget it, used a different machine, got my card, and we're off.

Dinner was great. She didn't eat much because she had just been dumped via Facebook (more to come on that later) so she was feeling all broken up with, which translates to, I'm not eating shit because my stomach is already full . OF PAIN.

After dinner, we went back to our vehicles. I drove home. Easy Peezy.

About a month later, I head back out to DC to have dinner with another friend. In fact, it was memorial weekend and she wanted to meet at the Hudson. I'd never been there, but I took a chance. I drove out there, found a great place to park, walked a couple of blocks to the restaurant, and proceeded to have an awesome meal.

My friend even paid the $71 tab (which was unexpected) and I was feeling so good about the evening that I tipped the parking attendant $15. I drove out of the lot and could feel I was getting lost. But low and behold I just followed my instincts (which for once didn't steer me in the wrong direction . literally) and viola, I was out of DC and back on the 50 headed home.

I felt like I had conquered the world. DC, you are my bitch. I might even be able to find my way into George Town to visit my girl Dee. I mean, I'm king of the fucking world.

So my friend J is renting out my condo while I'm gone, and she calls me up last weekend to deliver some news. I had been caught speeding on New York Avenue by a traffic camera in May and it was going to cost me $50. The camera photographed my vehicle and that picture was sent along with the ticket. I couldn't really see my face in the photo due to the fact that I was looking down, most likely because I was texting.

Well that's bullshit DC, but you know what, I'll pay your $50 because I'm a patriot and I know the money will most likely go to a good cause, like more traffic cameras. So I tell J to just go ahead and pay the ticket and take it out of the rent. She says ok. The next day she calls me and tells me that another ticket came. This time it was for April.

Are you kidding me! So basically the only two times I felt comfortable going to DC and I got speeding tickets both times! And she tells me that they already sent one notice (no they fucking didn't) and so this ticket was doubled. $100!

"What do you want me to do?" she said. "Just pay it and take the money off the rent?"

"Fuck no! Send me the fucking information and I'm going to tell those assholes I'm not fucking paying that shit! They never sent me anything and fuck them."

"Are you sure you want to deal with it?" she asked. "I could just pay it for you and you'd be done with it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked. "That place is a fucking miscarriage! I am going to call them and tell them I'm a fucking patriot! I HATE DC. I'm going to give them a piece of my mind. What were the dates again? I wasn't even in fucking DC during those times! I never speed. Someone else was driving my car. And the metro took my money! And the steak was a little tough. FUCK DC."

"So I should go ahead and pay it then?" she said calmly.

"Yeah, but write fuck you in the comments."

Currently Chasing: The Taste of Thin

I have been working out a lot lately. But it’s not by choice. I paid for some personal training sessions, and now I’ve been so lazy in previous months that out of my 28 sessions, I’ve only used eight. That leaves 20 half-hour sessions, and with only 19 days left to use them, I’ve had to shift myself into overdrive. I’ve even started doing some hour-long sessions. I can feel it all literally killing me.

The problem is, for every bit of working out I’m doing, there is a Twinkie standing by waiting for me to use it as a throat swab. All of the working out I’m doing seems to be for nothing, and it’s pretty damn depressing.

My friend let me borrow the Zone Diet book. It sat in the back of my car for five days. When it did finally make its way into my house I used it as a paperweight. She asked for it back a week or so later. I told her I wrote down all the recipes I wanted. Truth is I actually had to search a bit for the book. It was under a box of Twinkies.

This type of sabotage is normal for me so I don’t know why I even bother still talking about it. When I was pregnant with my daughter I would eat dinner on the way to dinner. When I delivered my daughter I weighed 265 pounds. Yep. That’s right. And no amount of hair dye was covering that up I assure you.

I was approached by a guy who was not afraid to call a baby ugly. And also was not afraid to call a big-boned girl “FAT.”

He got me into shape…(I can’t say back into shape, because there was never really a shape to begin with.) So I’ve been down to that 150 range. I’ve had a glimpse of a petite me. But there’s another petite I prefer; a Bon Appétit.

They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels. But have you ever tasted a taco from Jack in the Box…or cold stone ice cream on a hot day? It’s irresistible. And yeah, I’ll go home, strip down naked, look in the mirror and cry later; turn around, stare at my butt and go into a full on emotional breakdown, but for some reason it still doesn’t stop me from asking for extra bread and a dessert menu.

Because there is shit that tastes as good as thin feels. And today it was 27 skittles.

Currently Chasing: Cows

I shared this story with my students the other day.

There once was a beautiful girl. Only everyone told her she was ugly. And in this place where she lived women weren’t showered with diamonds to prove they were loved, instead, their families were showered with…cows. That’s right. The more cows you pay for your wife, the more popular and beautiful she becomes to other women in the village.

Just like how in this day and age women walk around flashing their wedding ring (the more bling, the more love), women in this village would go around bragging about how many cows were paid for them.

“I’m a five cow wife,” said one woman.

“I’m a seven cow wife!” bragged another.

So this woman walked around getting made fun of every single day.

“You aren’t even worth half a cow,” said one woman.

“You’ll have to give yourself away,” said another.

One day a man came to town and got all the women talking. He was very handsome. He could have his choice of any women in the village. In fact, some of those bitches may have even paid a cow or two for him! He kept seeing a shy woman around the village who wouldn’t make eye contact and who would run away every time he was around. He went to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.

Her father said “you can have her for one cow.”

The man refused. He said he wanted to pay 10 cows for her. Her father was astonished. Why would anyone want to pay 10 cows for his ugly-ass daughter? Only, she wasn’t ugly. She just needed to believe she was pretty. And how could she not be if such a handsome man was willing to pay 10 cows for her!

When word spread all the women were jealous. And she was able to walk around the village with her head held high, for she was a 10-cow wife.

A couple weeks after I told this story to them I was having an off day. They all got together and each drew a cow on a piece of paper. 12 students; 12 cows. They presented it to me. They told me not to be sad because in their opinion I was a 12-cow teacher!

Only guess what. I would of rather have had diamonds. No girl these days wants to be associated with a damn cow, especially not 12 of those fat things. Geezus H! Those students will never learn.