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: 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: the good men

*This post was going to be about a woman who owns 500 pairs of panties and wears about five pairs a day. Sleeping panties, morning panties, after shower panties, work panties, lounge panties...and so on. But that pailed in comparison to this new phenom!

Ok, so the first time I heard about this I thought it was a fluke. Indeed there might be one guy out there who is a total and complete absolute freakazoid with a crazy obsession, but surely there isn’t a large quantity of them mingling with modern society and decent humans. Or is there?

A few years ago a friend of mine told me she was on a singles dating site. She said that she had been in communication with a very handsome man who had written to her and taken an interest because she was in the military.

His exact words were, “I like a woman who can take control.”

Now, I’m the first to admit that just being a woman in the military doesn’t automatically guarantee that you can take control of anything. In fact, some people are in the military simply because they can’t take control and they need someone else to dictate their entire days schedule to them minute by minute, which other people (also in said military) are happy to do.

But I assume there are those girls who join the military, hard core and ready…TO TAKE CONTROL. And he was hoping she was one of them.

She chatted with him back and forth for a few days and slowly he let her in on his intentions.

“I want you to treat me badly,” he said. “I want you to make me clean your house while you go on a date with someone else.”

This was a far cry from simply being a woman in control.  She wanted to end the conversation right there…but how can you?

“So you are just going to clean my house while I’m out with someone else?” she asked.

“Yep, he said. Like a good boy. And while you are out with another man I want you to have sex with him. And I want you to let him come inside of you.”

“Why?” she asked. (not that she was planning on doing this…or not for his benefit at least…but she had to ask…I mean, didn’t she?)

“Because if I mess up on the house work I want you to force me to (go downtown!)”

*He used different words…but I can’t even bring myself to say them without throwing up a bit in my mouth.*

It was about that time that she stopped responding to any and all email. As you do.

And that was the last I had heard about this type of freak. Until now!

Another friend of mine contacts me recently with the following email:

“I am on a dating website and this guy winks at me and I think he is cute so I shoot him an email and he responds back that he didn’t mean to wink at me because he is looking for a woman who wants a submissive man. So I need to know more, so I ask him if he means submissive as in dominatrix/submissive and he says no – just a woman to take charge. (do you see a pattern here?) So I said, well I can take charge. He said good because my woman would be my world. Whatever she wants would be her desire.  So a few more emails pass back and forth and then he tells me that he would clean for you too. (oh holy shit, here we go. Crazytown.) I would do the dishes, clean your toilets…whatever. So I said, ok cool. (I have to admit I would have said ok cool too. Does he cook? I mean, there are worse things than a guy who likes to cook and clean and wants to make you his world. Like the guy who wants to eat another man’s come out of your Vag…but that is another story. Or no, wait, that is actually this story. Whatever…onward!) So he asked me what I would do if he missed a spot while he was cleaning. Like would I punish him? So I laughed inside but had to know more so I said – well maybe. And he said that was making him hard and excited – so then he asked…what if I had a hard on while cleaning your toilets…and I said, no problem. (Who cares right? I mean, you can have the craziest situation in the world going on in your shorts…as long as you remember to scrub under the rim you are alright with me.) So then he asked what I would do if he came on the floor while he was cleaning, and I told him that I would make him clean it up. Then it just got weirder from there (um, seriously I can’t even imagine) and I had to stop talking to him. Like he wanted to clean in his undies, he wanted to call me ma’am. He wanted to be my property and if my friends were around he wanted me to let him know his place…so put him down in front of my friends. (Oh my god! I do this sometimes…but I usually don’t have permission and I’m definitely not encouraged to do it!)

Her only response to all of this … “dude.”

My sentiments exactly.  I mean, what else can you say? The guy sounds completely awesome right? This is almost as bad as the guy who used to do his 'O' business on my friends chest and then lick it off. Where have all the dudes who don't want to eat seaman good men gone?

 

Currently Chasing: A cure for CRAZY

So I’ve been wondering something. How come no matter what man I ask in my life, be it my brother, my co-workers or my male friends I will always get the same answer to this question:

Why did the two of you break up?

And the answer will always be:

Because that bitch went crazy.

I’m scratching my head over this.

I’ve had a man ask me for my underwear at the end of a date. A FIRST DATE!

“Hey, you know what would be awesome?”

“No what?”

“If you gave me your panties.”

“Well, that could be awesome, but I use them to prevent chaffing. But thanks for asking.”

I’ve had a man ask me if he could masturbate in his car, while I was in the passenger side.

“Hey, do you mind if I wack it while you’re sitting right here?”

“Um, no, if you don’t mind if I report you to the perve services and they document you and turn you into a blue dot on some predator web site!”

Good Lord!

I’ve had a guy suck his own dick on a web cam while I pointed my camera at my bare feet.

I’ve had a guy tell me that I can’t go to his house because his ex-girlfriend is there feeding the dog that they bought together, and that sometimes she still stays the night, and that yeah, it’s usually in his bed, but he promises, they are so over!

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to a 9mm pistol.

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis with a tape measure wrapped around it.

I had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to another penis? I don’t know what was more disturbing, that there was a second penis in the picture or that I was wondering which one was his. (OR) that there was a second penis in the picture.

I’ve had a guy call my phone and sing ask me out on a first date. He literally SANG  a song into my voicemail. Something creepy about loving me and staring into my eyes. It was some creepy American-idol audition bullshit.

And after all of this, someone can dare say that the reason something didn’t work out between us is because I’M CRAZY.

Come on! I’ve had this conversation recently:

“So what happened to you and Barbara?”

“That bitch went crazy.”

“Really? It wasn’t that you cheated on her with her sister that the two of you used to visit while she was in prison?”

“No, she didn’t know about that.”

“It wasn’t that you used the bonus money she got from the military to produce your own porn movie.”

“No, she supported that.”

“So she ‘out of the blue’ went crazy on you after 19 years of marriage?”

“I told you, that bitch was crazy.”

I bet she was crazy. Because you fucking made her crazy. I mean, how do you think we get crazy? You think it’s really like that comedian says? That one day we are just sitting there all normal and then you ask us what movie we want to see and we answer by saying:

“Um, I think Green Lantern sounds like a good … holy fuck I’M CRAZY!”

We just totally snap? Um, no. We stand by while you fuck our sister that just got out of prison. We stand by while you produce your porn movie. We stand by while you ask for our underwear. We stand by while you masturbate in your truck. (but for the record, I did not stand by for that.) We stand by while you suck your own dick. We stand by while you forget to tell us you are married. We Stand By. And then finally WE TAKE A STAND. And then, you say bye.

Sing this in the tune of Crazy by Gnarls Barklay.

“Maybe I’m crazaaaaay, cause you made me crazaaaaay, I’ll make you as craaaaaazay, as you make meeeeeeeee eeeeeee!”

That’s how I feel. We are only returning the favor, not initiating the craziness. I mean really. Dudes are always just pushing the buttons. Never really accountable for their shit. I would start dating chicks, but you know, them bitches be crazy.

Currently Chasing: A place for my brick

So I’m browsing through my favorite blogs today. Some of them being http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/, http://www.datemedc.com/, and  http://www.citygirlblogs.com/, and my latest obsession www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com.

It was on that last one that I stopped just reading through the blogs for entertainment, and really just listened to the words on the screen. They spoke to me. I don’t usually comment on blogs. It takes a while, and I usually don’t have much to say. But not only did I comment on this blog, but I posted a link to it on my facebook, and then subsequently sent the author a message letting her know I was a fan. (please go there and read this post if you do nothing else today www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com/2011/06/good-grief.html )

This pretty much sums up the point of the blog, which is about pain in life that seems hard to get over.

BECCA: Does it ever go away?
NAT: No. I don’t think it does. Not for me, it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on 11 years. It changes, though.
BECCA: How?  
NAT: I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh, right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda ... not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is ...
BECCA: What.
NAT: Fine ... actually.

So I sent her a message and shared this story:

There was a girl I knew. Her boyfriend deployed. He had it all. High on faith and a beautiful girlfriend.

However, shortly into his deployment he started to find other people attractive and they entertained his flirting. Enabled it.

Much later his girlfriend wrote me and told me this story:

She said that one night she was driving alone on a road and something made her pull over. She said it was God. HE wanted to have a conversation with her. She said HE told her that her boyfriend was not being faithful, but that HE needed her to continue loving this man so that HE could reach him through her. She said she begged God not to make her go through this again. ( she had been cheated on before and it nearly killed her.)

But she said God insisted that this man needed God and the only way HE was going to find this man is if she continued to love him, support him and bring him closer to HIM.

So she did.

When her boyfriend got back he pretended like nothing had happened.

She called him up one day and said, I need to know the truth.

At that moment he started crying. later he said that in that exact moment God spoke directly to him and told him that she already knew everything and he just needed to be honest.

So he confessed everything.

I don't know what became of them. I imagine they broke up and that was that. Or they stayed together and she managed forgiveness. But she'll always have that brick. Either way. I wonder if it's harder to carry it alone, or to try carrying it with the help of the person who is responsible for it?

My boyfriend and I have definitely had our ups and downs. And I am carrying a brick of sorts.

I'm hoping that if/when we decide it's time to move in together, the brick will not become part of our homes foundation. I know I won't just be able to toss it out. But maybe I can use it to build a bridge...that I can finally one day truly cross.

Currently Chasing: The upgrade

I got the new Iphone4! It was time for an upgrade. Or was it?

It's white. I bought a cover for it at the very first Kiosk I saw, and then of course saw a hundred different cases I'd rather have. That always happens. But for now, I'm sticking with the one I originally bought. I've been realizing lately that in life there is always going to be something 'just around the bend' that seems flashier than what you've already got...but you just spent $20 bucks on something you just a second ago thought was the best thing ever...so why are we always so quick to jump at what we think is an upgrade.

Everything fit fine on my other phone. My 3Gs wasn't perfect - it would often tell me there was no SIM card installed and I would have to take off my earring and use the back of it to get the SIM card out, then I would blow on it and stick it back in the slot (that worked for my phone just as well as it works for most things) - but overall, my phone was fine. It made it to Afghanistan and back and I even got $150 bucks on the trade in. That phone was a trooper. But I traded it away, got my new white Iphone4 and that was that. So now I can do cool things like face time, which means I can see the person I'm calling, and I can use the the front facing camera as a mirror if I'm in a pinch. It's all part of the upgrade.

My BF wasn't due for an 'upgrade' until December, but took a look at my pretty-fly-for-a-white phone and decided he had to have one. So we head back to the mall. He gets $180 for his old phone, decides he likes the black better than the white, gets a fancy new case and before you know it we are both owners of a phone that barely gets signal in our either of our homes. Perfection.

So he has it connected to his itunes so he could reinstall of his apps, photos, notes and what not.

"I really hope all of my apps make it over," he said.

"They will," I reassured him.

"Did all of your stuff make it over?" he asked.

"Yes, but I had to delete most of my pictures because my music takes up so much space," I said.

"How much music do you have?" he asked.

"About 1200 songs," I said.

"Geezus! I only have like 100 songs," he responds.

"I like to listen to music," I said.

"No, you like spending money," he replied.

Boy was he right. He told me I should put the music into folders and only put the music I actually listen to on my Iphone and keep the rest in easily transferrable folders that I can add here and there if I need to. I told him I would think about doing that since it sounded a whole lot like organization and in the words of Cee-Lo...Fuck you oo oo.

So I start to doze off and he says something about rubbing his back. I'm so tired at this point, and I have to wake up for work bright and early, so I groggily say something like, "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that."

He pulls out his Iphone, pushes a few buttons, presses it up to my ear and hits play. All of a sudden meatloaf is blaring from his Itunes library.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. You have like three fucking songs on your Iphone and that is one of them?"

"I like that song," he said.

So we listen to the song...once it's over I begin to doze again...but then with insane alertness I say:

"Have you ever just thought about being a grown up? When I was younger I used to think my mother had every answer. She just seemed so all knowing. Now I know she was just a scared 19-year-old girl who married her step brother. (different story for a different time.) My mom paid bills and took care of me and I mean, I thought she was a grown up, but she wasn't. She probably didn't feel like a grown up for quite a few years after I was born. And when I see bills arrive in my mail, I pay them with money that I earn at a job. And I own a house and I'm a grown up. But I don't feel like one. And my daugther thinks I have all the answers and I don't? For fucks sake I'm still walking around looking for my upgrades!"

I pause there, and wait for his response.

"My fucking fruit Ninja didn't transfer over," he says frustrated.

"I'm so glad I'm pouring my soul out to you and you are mad because you can't virtually slice fruit with your fucking finger."

I ended up laughing about it then, and I'm still laughing about it now...but in that moment I could only think one thing.

Upgrade.

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: the other cutlet

Boobies~
We all love them. Want them. Flaunt them. And there is something to be said for the girl who goes to slightly extreme measures to have them.
Slightly extreme, means exactly that. Slightly. We aren't talking boob jobs! No matter how much we may appear to need one...

And I'll even admit that there are moments of weakness we may begin to feel like desperate times are calling for desperate measures...

But some of us aren't ready to not be able to feel when our tit is hanging out of a dress. Or when our nipple is resting comfortably near our armpit. So for those of us still not ready to take the plunge...there are 'slightly' extreme measures we can take.

Wearing two or three bras is one way. The more the merrier. Keep em coming. Pile those bad boys on...especially the push-up bombshell bras, and you'll be looking like a breasty bimbo in no time. I have indeed doubled up some bras in my day, and it's safe to say, I'll never burst a pad nor will the pad ever 'leak' out of my bra lining. So we are safe there.

Then there are boob inserts...

Not to be confused with these obnoxious inserts...

And this is where our story truly begins.
My friend has some inserts. The first ones that resemble chicken cutlets, not the creepy, crazy nipple ones right above this paragraph.

She wears them every now and then, but only for special occassions, or to make a dress fit better.
The other day she had company. Male Company. And though she wanted to show him around her house and maybe even allow him a peak at the bedroom, she didn't want to clean it spotless, nor did she want to shave her legs. Reasons for this are as follows:

1. If your bedroom is too clean it looks too inviting. If your bed is made with all your fancy pillows and the room is smelling like fresh cotton, a man may feel like lingering there. But if you have no intention of sleeping with him, you want him the fuck out of that room. So she picked up a little, but not a ton. And she found a chicken cutlet while she was barely cleaning. How embarrassing would that be? She hid it in a drawer and forgot about it.

2. She didn't shave. As with the bedroom, you don't want your body seeming too inviting either. If you don't shave your legs, or groom other areas of your body, then you know you won't let hands wander. No shaved legs, no sex. No clean bedroom, no sex. Simple and full proof. Sometimes.

She takes the man through the rooms of her house and then to the bedroom. She walks in, says a little something cliche like, "this is where the magic happens," and then proceeds to escort him out. That's when she notices what he has in his hand.

The other cutlet.

He asks what it is. She says it's a shoe insert. He holds it up to his chest, looks back at her and says sure it is, right before tossing it into the hamper.

I think she could have gone ahead and shaved her legs. Not wearing the boob inserts and instead deciding to go on a date wearing only one bra already sent a clear enough message.

Currently Chasing: Visine

So I went to the Eye Gazing Party, an event where you essentially speed date, but instead of talking and getting to know each other verbally, you just look into each other's eyes for an extended period of time.

Now, some of you right off the bat were quick to judge. You said it was creepy. You said you'd die laughing. You said no one can do that and keep a straight face.

Boy were you wrong. Some of those dudes made it their job to stare. I mean really stare. And I can tell you how hard it is to stare at someone who looks just like this:

It's hard. Especially when he keeps turning his head and trying to do sign language with his out-of-control eye brows.

Every now and then they had to remind people that there was no touching allowed. If you are an "Arrested Development" fan then just imagine the jail scenes where they yell "No Touching!" Yeah, it was something like that. Although why was that even almost happening. I mean, would you want to reach out and grab this:

Not unless you want an STD on your finger.

For the most part though, it was a good time. Very interesting. 40 men and 40 women lined up and faced each other. Every other person was seated. They did this so that people weren't temped to glance over at someone else while they were supposed to be eye balling the person directly in front of them. Men kept complaining that the lights on the walls were keeping them from really being able look into the eyes of the women. Literally they were verbally telling the girls, "It's no use. I can't see your eyes." They were really taking this seriously. I guess I was too. At one point, even though you are supposed to stay totally silent, I heard a guy whisper to the man getting ready to sit across me "Watch out dude, she means business." 

I guess I did. Although most of the time I was having internal conversation:

"My feet hurt. I'm going to lean on one foot and let the other one rest, then lean on the other foot while the other one rests."

"My drink is empty."

"My straw just fell on the ground....can I pick it up without breaking the stare?"

"My fucking feet hurt."

"This guy is an axe murderer. I can totally see him in an episode of law and order."

"I want to check my phone. Would that be rude to just glance down at my phone while this dude is staring at me."

"Lazy eye."

"I'm going to cut my feet off and walk on my ankles."

Some people were easier to stare at and I had very little head conversation during those times. It was just pleasant. I mean, imagine staring at this:

Not hard to do.

Overall it wasn't an unpleasant experience. However, it's not something I'd do again. My friend did not make a love connection, but we did get our photo snapped about a dozen times by a random eye gazer who happened to bring his professional camera and SB 900 flash to the event.

That particular guy was already a bit off. Raving to island beats in between stare sessions.
Add a camera to his already crazy stare and needlesstosay, I'm sure my friend and I are on the internet photoshopped into his online family albums.

Currently Chasing: The Eye Gaze

So in my quest to be a good friend I have come up with the ultimate way to help my girl meet her Mr. Right. I decided to sign us up for an eye-gazing party. Since I'm already off the market, I'll only be participating as a way to offer support, and also as research for my book on what is wrong with men, perfectly titled, "What is wrong with men?" And also because I want to blog about the event, and tweet about it, and brag that I found parking in DC.

Eye Gazing is kind of like speed dating except instead of talking to someone for eight minutes about bullshit like what do you do and where are you from, which to be honest no one will remember by the end of the night anyway, and which most people lie about, you just stare into a strangers eyes for two minutes.

YOU STARE AT A STRANGER FOR TWO MINUTES. And sometimes you are even encouraged to hold hands. 

After the staring and hand holding, which lasts for a total of 45 minutes, you have drinks and mingle.

The idea behind this is that the eyes are the window to the soul and that by looking into someone’s eyes for two minutes you can tell if this is someone you can imagine yourself dating. 

Before the event begins there is a person who will explain to you a little bit about eye contact and body language so you can send the right signal and give off the right vibe.

My issue is not with the eye contact. As a journalist I make eye contact all the time. My eyes have a shit ton to say. And they often make a far better impression than whatever would come out of my mouth. But there are people that I don't even want to walk past, let alone hold handswith while gazing into their soul window. I mean, "I think you are amazing," could look a lot like "I want to rape you" depending on the face those eyes are attached to.

But I'm willing to give it a try for the sake of my friend. Although she has already asked if she can use the Kung Fu Panda Stare.

I told her if I'm going to endure this evening for her she better not scare off her potential husband with a panda stare or the stare of someone desperate to get married.

Your stare just asked me to marry it!

I will of course let you all know how it goes. I've been staring at myself in the mirror training my stare to say I’m not available. So far all it has been saying is I need to try botox.

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: The distance from here to there

I’m not really big into sports. When I was growing up I was picked last for most teams, and sometimes just not picked at all. Literally there was a time when a dude chose to play with a handicap of six against seven rather than pick me to even out the teams. I guess no one being there to retrieve the ball would have been about the same as me being there to not retrieve the ball. However, I was always a big fan of the men and women who played sports so naturally, I became a cheerleader. But the fact remains to this day that if all teams in all sports just kind of went away, my life would not be affected at all.

And that brings us to golf.  My bf loves golf. If he could marry his driver I’m sure he would have. In fact, golf already takes half of his income, so in a way, he is married to golf, and cheating on golf with his driver. And also cheating on his driver with his putter. And let’s not even talk about the wedge!  He loves golf so much that when he deployed to Iraq he refused to leave his golf clubs at my house for fear that if something happened to our relationship while he was gone, I may take it out on his damn clubs!

I don’t love golf, or even understand the obsession with spending $900 on a stick. But last night when he suggested going to the OG (Olive Garden) I knew he was buttering me up for a trip to GG (Golf Galaxy) and that translates to a long night where I stand around pretending to care while watching him feel the texture of every single shirt in the store to find one that breaths and has perfectly placed sleeve seams.  

He also likes to examine, pick up, and swing tons of different clubs. After he swings them he says, “that feels good.” Then he puts it back. Then picks up another one and swings it and says, “that feels good…and very light.” What drives me bat shit though is that he never buys anything. He has the money, and he has the desire…but he is also a bit frugal, and the thought of spending that much money on anything is a decision he doesn’t make lightly. It took him five years to finally buy a new car. He identified the car he wanted in 2007. Spent all of 2008 doing online research. Test drove it 150 times in 2009. He finally bought the car in 2010 at a 0% interest rate. And he still isn’t 100% satisfied that he made the right choice.

I decided I wanted a new car on a Monday. Shopped on a Tuesday. Purchased my new car on a Friday.

So here we are at Golf Galaxy. He has me look at a club and then another all the while explaining the differences between the two.

“See. This one has a thinner club face than that one. This one is also very straight. Currently mine are closed. I used to draw to the right, so I used a corrective club. But now I’ve learned to hit straighter and need a new club. But not today. Maybe another day when I’m ready to up my level. I need to hit these clubs on the range to make sure they are what I want. I’ll come back tomorrow and not buy this club again.”

He wants to me care. He wants me to be passionate about this ‘sport.’ Clearly, he wants too much.

However, I do try. So we are standing there and he is looking at some clubs (that he won’t buy) and I look past him at a sign, and I begin to read it out loud.

“Are you still using Aluminum?” I read to him in the form of a question.

He says, “no.”

So continuing to read the sign I say, “Are you now using forged component? “

He looks at me with a light I have never seen before, right before realizing that there is no way in hell I know what forged component is. Then says, “Where the heck are you getting that from?”

There was a moment there though…where I was speaking his language on his level. And then it was gone. So after we walk the entire perimeter of the store, after he looks at all of the spikes on each pair of shoes. After he hits 20 or so balls with different clubs, after he checks out the hats and the socks, we finally head toward the door.

Then we stop in front of the glass counter. Inside are golf GPS devices. There are courses from all over the world entered into this GPS so that golfers can determine the distances to the flags so they know which club to use to cover the yardage. He has been talking about getting one of these for ages. He downloaded an APP on his iphone … but his phone often dies before the end of his game…and if I happened to text during the game, reading my text kicks him off the APP. So needlesstosay it’s not very convenient. And also, he’s afraid, not as accurate as he would like.

There is another device he’s been raving about that doesn’t require constant updates as more courses become available. It’s not a GPS. Instead you aim at the flag, or whatever mark you’d like to find out the distance to, and you click a button and the screen tells you the distance to that object. It even takes into account hills and high and low points. But it’s kind of expensive and something he will have to think about for the next seven years before committing to the purchase.

So I tell the guy to wrap it up and I buy it for him.

Within seconds, it doesn’t matter that I have no interest in learning to golf. It doesn’t matter that I don’t actually know what forged component is, and it doesn’t even matter that the one time I went golfing with him I chose to sit in the cart and text the entire day. Nope, none of that mattered. This one purchase really brought us together. I was able to embrace his obsession with golf, and for once he wasn’t mad at my inability to resist an impulse buy.

We spent the rest of the evening doing two things…

1.       Doing internet research to make sure we got the best possible deal on this device.

2.       Figuring out the distance from the couch to everything else in the house.

However, without that machine I knew the distance between me and his heart was 0.

Currently Chasing: A joke, perhaps. Perhaps not.

I love going on cruises. I’ve been on four. Two within the last two months. All you can eat. Sun and fun. Overly priced but very STRONG drinks. Life is good on the ship.

This trip was even more significant because I went with a man. Normally it’s me and one of my best friends floating around, getting drunk, singing Karaoke every night, dancing at the night club all night, stumbling to our cabins and then sleeping in the following day and doing everything over again. It’s a blast…but at some point we end up looking around and wishing we had a man to share it all with. Don’t get me wrong, we’d usually find a stand in! But we always figured a cruise with someone you really care about (and of the opposite sex) would really just make the experience.

So when I booked the cruise for me and my guy I was hopeful. Having spent the last nine months apart, I wasn’t sure how spending a solid week together was going to fare. We had spent five years on and off, learning everything about each other and I had hoped that at this point I could do the things I needed to do to prevent the parts of his personality I wasn’t so attached to from showing up.

But I failed before we even left Maryland.

You see, I planned the trip in January. We took the trip in April. Plenty of time for us to make sure we had sunscreen, bathing suits and even relatively flat tummies. I guess what I forgot to tell him was that in addition to those much needed items, he would also need one other thing.  A passport. Or at the very least, a birth certificate. I decided that telling him he needed these documents at the convenient time of, um, 11 pm the night before we were supposed to leave seemed ideal.

It wasn’t.

He was annoyed. And rightly so! I was annoyed too. Why had I not mentioned this? I mean WTF right? But why does this man not have his birth certificate? I mean, isn’t that a better question? Who knows. He did what any man does when he’s in trouble. He called his mother – a call she loved getting at 11:30 pm I’m sure – and asked if she knew where it was and if she could scan it and email it to him. Luckily, if his mother did know where it was (she didn’t) but if she did, she would have had the skills and technology necessary to do what he asked. Most mothers I know would not. So good on her.

Back to the story. No passport. No birth certificate. NO GO.

So he gets online and starts looking shit up, making phone calls, playing the active duty military guy who just wants to serve his country and do the right thing and POSSIBLY get on the cruise ship without a birth certificate? Not possible.

By this time it’s almost midnight. He is running up and down the stairs going through boxes of papers and really searching for that certificate, which tells me one thing. He loves me right? If he didn’t he would have said, fuck this trip. I’m not going. And you’re stupid, get out of my house.

But instead he was actively looking for a way to get on that ship with me. And he was doing something else as well. Trying to remain calm. He didn’t seemed pissed, just concerned that we weren’t going to be able to go on vacation. This was a different side of him than I had seen in the past. And I liked it. However, me appreciating his patience wasn’t getting us on the cruise any faster. So I did something I thought would help. Went to sleep. (on the couch.)

Somewhere in the night I went upstairs and climbed in the bed. He made room for me. Good sign. When the alarm went off at 6 a.m. I was surprised.

“Did you find your birth certificate last night?” I asked.

“No, but I have an expired passport and a military ID,” maybe that will work.

I decided it best to say nothing at that point. Just start getting ready for the flight that would take us to Miami for the cruise.

We spent most of the car ride to the airport and most of the plane ride in silence. I hoped that even if we couldn’t get on the ship, he would still want to spend a couple days in Miami. He had paid for the plane tickets and I had paid for the actual cruise. I didn’t get insurance on the cruise and the web site made it clear. If you do not have the proper documents to board, then you will NOT be getting on the cruise ship and you will NOT be getting a refund. Yikes. Not good odds.

Upon landing I went to the restroom to freshen up.

“How do I look?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It depends on whether or not we make it onto that ship today.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Then he said,

“You should still go if I can’t get on. You deserve a vacation. You can sleep in and lay out in the sun. It will be relaxing.”

“The whole point of going on the cruise is to get drunk and make out!” I said.

“You still can,” he said. “After all, you’ll be a single girl.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

So finally we are in line waiting to get through security. I hand them my passport, which aside from a god awful picture (which if I hadn’t known was me, even I might consider suspect) my passport was accepted. I’m a citizen. Yay me.

My guy handed the agent his expired passport then quickly shoved the active duty military card next to it and smiled his most pleading smile. I smiled a pleading smile too. The man looked at us both, looked down at the passport again then back at us and said,

“Enjoy your cruise.”

AWESOME! We made it on the cruise. And guess what, we had a great time.  We watched the shows, got sun raped, ate to our heart’s content and drank the days away. We played a lot of blackjack. By the end of the cruise I was up 100 and he was up almost 250.

And besides that second to last day at sea where in addition to my Mojitos I began eating the mint leaves that accompanied the drink, it was a good trip. I mean, do the math…10 drinks. An average of 5 leaves per drink. That’s about 50 leaves sitting in my stomach. Not to mention the alcohol. And then the steak and triple chocolate dessert. Needless to say I was in the bathroom the entire night and into the morning.  A very minty puke fest indeed.

But overall, the trip was a total win.

“How do I look?” I asked, as we were leaving the ship.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Like always.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Currently Chasing: A different channel

Ok. I have a question. How often do looks rule out over actual personality and connection? I’m watching the final episode of the Bachelor and thank God I have short hair, because if not I’d have to have someone hold it back while I throw the fuck up.

I’m sure not all of my readers are fans of this absurd and ridiculous show, so let me just sum it up. Guy meets really skinny beautiful girl and falls in love instantly. Then spends the rest of the season pretending to connect with other people for the sake of the show.  But here’s the thing. He never  even truly connected with the skinny beautiful girl. All of the other girls try desperately to prove their love. They swim with sharks, jump off cliffs, ride elephant, zip line through the jungle and do whatever crazy fucking thing he wants them to do. But this skinny beautiful girl, he spends the whole time proving his love to her. She doesn’t have to swim with sharks … instead she gets a helo ride to a mountain top, falls asleep during their dates and overall is just a total snore fest.

He wants her because he can’t really have her. She wanted to win the game, and she did. But they never really had a connection. And he is just that shallow. And like most men he craves what he can’t have. She is literally telling him on a daily basis that she doesn’t think she can do this. That she wants to leave. That it is all too much for her. And he is fighting tooth and nail to keep her. Every moment is a forced and awkward conversation.  And every single thing he says to her is a cheesy line out of a bad movie.

“You are my forever.”

“I love you so very much.”

“Please make me the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

All code for –

“I’m a shallow piece of shit and you better not gain weight.”

He picked pretty over personality and connection and he is suffering the consequences. Watching them on TV is hard. They are not right for each other.  He just keeps telling her how beautiful she is. Not how fun she is, or how smart she is, or how amazing she is, but just that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. I mean, is that really all it takes?

Get skinny….get some boobs, shiny white teeth and a tight dress. Walk out of a limo and tell the man you want that you don’t love him and don’t know if you ever could…and you are automatically THE ONE.  Make sure you don’t want him, you don’t connect with him, but are just too damn pretty to walk away from and there you go.

But the other girl. The one that he didn’t choose. The one he had a connection with. The one he had so much fun with. The one who made him laugh and smile. Well, she was a bit chubby…and in the end, she didn’t get the guy.

Now , am I saying that he chose the skinny beautiful girl just because she was skinny and beautiful? Of course I’m not saying that…she also made it clear that she was a locked door and that she wasn’t really into him like he was into her…and that sealed the deal. Maybe if the chubby girl held back…told him she wasn’t that into him…dyed her hair and lost 20 pounds, she would have been wearing a ring right now. Instead she was just a great girl, who loved a man the best she could, gave him everything he could want and made him feel like the only man in the world.

What a loser. But trust me. She’s definitely not the biggest loser in this story.

Maybe she can burn a couple calories running as far away from that douche bag as possible.