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: Youth (or wait, nevermind)

Oh yes, it is that time. Monday is my Birthday. 35 years. Holy Moly man, are you serious? And there are all these things around me. Like the new Footloose movie. And the not so new Karate Kid movie. And my daughter still isn’t totally sure who Madonna is, even though Madonna was Lady GaGa even before Lady Ga Ga knew she was a lady!

And I went to a New Kids on the Block concert a couple of months ago and they were more like Old Spices on the Rack. And there are new wrinkles, and more creases, and phones talk to you.

And Kelly Clarkson won American Idol 10 years ago!

I’m reflecting. And sometimes that is scary…and I started to freak out..but then I remembered some things.

1.        I can drive (Kind of)

2.       I can pay my own bills (Kind of)

3.       I can vote (Although I never have)

4.       I am no longer judged for what I wear or what shoes I have on (that’s a lie)

5.       I am a mother (I use that term loosely)

6.       I no longer struggle with my weight and have accepted my body (haha! What a crock of shit)

7.       I own my home (the bank owns it and I pay mortgage, which is a fancy way of saying rent)

8.       I am perfectly fine being alone (as long as someone is with me)

9.       I have savings (thank god I’m not allowed to touch it without severe tax implications)

10.   My glass is always half full (except when it’s totally empty)

After looking at that list, it turns out I’m not so old after all. Still so immature, still flirty with teenage waiters, still text-fighting, still sexting, still a huge gossip, still using the empty-threat method to get my daughter to do what she’s supposed to do, still bribing her with staying up late if she’ll rub my feet, still buying things I don’t need and can’t afford and still making terrible decisions that could ruin the next 35 years of my life.

THANK GOD.  The year is the only thing that changes.

I’ve heard my friends try on clothes and say – “I haven’t fit in to this since high school!”

If I fit in to something I wore in high school, please shoot me! Because this is what I looked like in high school:



Are you fucking kidding me with this starter jacket? Did I know nothing about slimming effects back then? Still can't find me? I'm the one on the left. How could you possibly fucking miss me!



And this is me now:

With less friends, but I've finally got the hang of camera angles!

I went home on leave recently and visited my high school friends. We've all changed so much, but not at all. Yeah, maybe my daughter will never know what a pager is...maybe the only destiny's child she'll hear about is the one growing in Beyonce's tummy, and maybe she'll never know Kevin Bacon as the original bad boy of dance ... but I'm thankful for the years and I like how they've treated me.

At this point I do not feel in danger of growing up. And that's when you know you're a grown up.

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 end of the accent

You ever notice that when you visit somewhere, depending on how long you stay, and how much you love where you’re visiting, you sometimes come back with an accent from that place?

Well that is happening to me. Slowly but surely, I am losing … California. I mean, not totally. I still have the classic over processed, bimboie look and the cheerleader smile, but something is missing. People from California do not have an accent. They just talk. There is nothing distinct or stand-outish about California speak.

There was a moment back in the 80’s when people from Cali would overuse the word “like,” but now the world had adopted that bad habit so we can stop claiming it as a staple of our state. And don’t even get me started on the OH MY GOD phenomenon. It’s become so popular that it’s now an acronym. And it’s widely used and easily translated no matter where you’re from. And we’ve definitely come a long way since gagging each other with spoons.

But in the past few weeks I’ve been asked a hand full of times, “Where are you from?”

This is not a question I am accustomed to fielding. Most people look at me, always happy, always smiling, always fake blonde, and naturally assume I am high. Or from California. But all of a sudden I’m speaking with an accent and it is throwing everyone off.

You see, a good friend of mine, and a handful of my cousins live in Buffalo. Since coming back from Afghanistan, I’ve gone to visit there three or four times. The ticket is cheap and the company is great. But something happens to my voice box when I’m there. And when I return, I sound like a Buffalonian. And sometimes even a God Damn Canadian.  I haven’t pronounced the word car right in months.

I’ve always wanted an accent. Maybe something British or Irish. I could even get down with a Massachusetts or New York city accent. Something hard core. Something unmistakable.  Something that instantly turns me into a bad ass. What I’m not down with is just occasionally pronouncing random words with an accent making people wonder where the fuck I’m from. Like, wow, what the fuck is that you’re speaking? I can’t tell where the hell you’re from? Freak.

I love my Buffalo family, and I love the way they talk, but mostly because they own it. I can’t own the accent because it’s not mine. I feel like an imposter. Like Madonna. Visiting London does not make you a Brit. Good gawd wacky legwarmer lady.

I know what you all are thinking. I’m being way too damn dramatic about this accent thing. But what do you expect. I’M FROM CALIFORNIA.

Currently Chasing: the ability to see what I've been missing

You ever just go through life wanting all kinds of things and then one day wake up and realize, holy shit, I’ve got it; I’ve got it all?

Well I woke up today feeling exactly like that. I mean, I know that part of what people love about this blog is all the self loathing I do, and trust me when I say I’m sure there is more of that to come. But let’s look at the facts:

My day started out with a phone call from my daughter who just wanted to tell me good morning and that she loved me.

I woke up today in my bed, which sits in a room, which is part of a home that I own.

The first thing I decided to put on fit perfectly and looked great.

My hair behaved.

I didn’t forget to take out the trash, or grab the stuff I need to take to the dry cleaners and the post office.

I have money in the bank and a new car.

I have friends who adore me and a boyfriend who changes my air filters, fixes my vacuum cleaner and gets my tv back to working order after my daughter pushes a hundred buttons trying to turn on the Wii.

I currently work at what has always been my dream job, and I interviewed yesterday for another job that will allow me to grow in my career and secure my future.

I have a 401K and a good credit score.

SO WHAT AM I ABOUT TO DO TO SCREW IT ALL UP?       

I mean, that’s what always happens right? Things start going right, you don’t feel like you deserve it, you start thinking something is missing, when actually the only thing that’s missing is your willingness to accept that things are just – good.

All this chasing. Feels nice to pause and see what I’ve been missing.

Currently Chasing: Life more ordinary

Before I left for Afghanistan there were things I loved to do. I loved to shop. I loved to get my nails and hair done. I loved to go out to eat. I wasn’t a huge fan of working out, but I did it so I could eat at Olive Garden on occasion and not end up a house. I loved. I lost. I had my heart broken. I was a big fan of the iphone and I was a master texter.

While in Afghanistan, not a lot changed. I still shopped. I was able to get my hair cut and highlighted. There were a couple of places to go and feel like you were ‘eating out.’ I still wasn’t a huge fan of working out, but did it so that eating the contents of 27 care packages didn’t make me end up a house. I loved. I lost. I had my heart broken. And I was still a big fan of the iphone. Able to use it with the afghan network and continue to text and check my email.

However, in between all of that there were other things going on. Rocket attacks in the middle of the night that you would find out later sent shrapnel through the face and body of a friend. Suicides. IED’s that left 21 year olds without legs and 19 years olds with broken backs. Young girls who weren’t allowed to read or write or get any kind of attention at all without the fear of being beat. Wives thrown in jail for trying to divorce their husbands. Suicide bombs strapped to children. Kids walking the streets , use to the daily sight of men with guns and convoys strolling through their towns.

I’m happy to say that I have returned with what are now 10 pedicured toes and 10 manicured fingers. I went to the mall yesterday to shop. I plan on getting my hair done ASAP. Been out to eat every day since returning…and have even managed to work out a little. I’m sure I’m going to love and lose and have my heart broken. And my iphone has never left my side.

I learned a lot being in Afghanistan, but I didn’t let it drastically change my life, and I kind of think that is the point. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what I have a little bit more, I do. For sure. But I’m not going to hole myself up somewhere and start living like a poverished person simply because Americans don’t understand how good they have it. Quite the opposite. I feel like I, and many many others before me have given of ourselves so that Americans can shop and get thier nails done and discuss Brittany Spears and Lindsey Lohan without feeling like they are part of an oblivious society.  

I never once looked at facebook and thought, wow, my friends are discussing a Tupperware party. How irrelevant. There are REAL things going on in the world people, and all you care about are flexible and extremely durable plastic containers? Really? WE ARE AT WAR! Instead I was thinking…thank God that is what they are focusing on right now. Because that is what America is about. The freedom to do what you want within the law. If you want to worry every single second about the war, burn your own shit to ‘suffer like a soldier,’ stop using fresh water,  start washing your clothes with a rock and a bucket, harden up your mattress, toughen up your meat and ‘appreciate’ your life, then by all means, go for it. But that is not going to make the servicemembers fighting for your comfort feel any better. They fight for one reason. So they, their families and their friends can ‘enjoy’ the damn Olive Garden from time to time.

I’m not saying live beyond your means, spoil your children and take things for granted. I’m simply saying don’t feel bad about enjoying your life. I may hug my daughter a little tighter and tell her I love her a little more often, but if she wants to tack up posters of Justin Beiber, play her Nintendo, talk on the phone, and obsess about what style backpack she wants, well that’s just fine by me. I’m not going to shove pictures of mud huts at her and tell her that kids her age are walking weapon systems in Afghanistan.

My experiences have expanded since my deployment, but I believe that we fight so that life doesn’t have to change. Now, did someone say Tupperware? I’m a sucker for those airtight lids.

Currently Chasing: Moist Lips

People are poking me on Facebook. What is up with this craze? Did I poke them first, did they poke me first? I don’t get it. What does it mean anyway? There are some people who poke me just so I can continue to think about them long past their relevance…then there are others who poke me just to say hi, and then there are others who just want to poke me, literally.

And my problem is, I can’t stand to have 150 requests or a bunch of ‘pokes’ running down the right side of my screen, so I do what anyone would do. I poke back. I don’t even necessarily know if I want to poke back, or if I need to poke back, but I poke back. I could just hit the X and leave it at that. I mean, would they poke me again if I never poked them again. I’m going to try it. Right now there are a few people who have poked me. I’m going to X out the pokes and see what happens.

So far nothing.

Please enjoy doing something else,  while I enjoy wasting your time. **************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It’s been 24 hours. Two people re-poked me. The others are still waiting for my poke I guess. Not going to happen. I’ve never gone out of my way to poke someone and I’m not going to start now.

On another note I recently received a care package with a peculiar item in. Here is a photo.

Now imagine I am talking in front of a group of people and I pull this out of my pocket, open it up, and apply lip balm. I actually had someone ask, “Is that deodorant?” and you know what? I had to look twice. But no, indeed it is lip balm…and now I can’t stop applying it because of the reactions I get. And It kinda seems like it could be dual purpose. And I’m not talking deodorant. I don’t know, just maybe. Might be fun right?

Uh oh, I just got poked again.  That was quick. That’s what she said. They must want to play with my lip balm.

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: A Real Man

So my friend finally broke up (for the 12^th time) with her boyfriend…and I think this may finally be it. Or we can hope. I told her to email details. So below are excerpts from her email. My responses are in parenthesis.

Email: He started talking about marriage. I told him that I thought he was just saying that to reel me back in, because he said he was planning on us getting engaged last year around Dec/Jan timeframe right after we stopped talking to each other.

(Response: I feel the same way...every time he thinks he’s losing you...or if he's lost you, he always throws up marriage. Like, I was JUST about to ask you to marry me. And then you bailed. I know I said I didn’t like your kids, but don’t act like this is my fault.)

Email: He said that he never stopped talking to me that he was "giving me time and space" because he knew I was so busy. 

(Response: Giving you time and space...are you a fucking treckie? You do not need time and space, you need love and respect. This guy is a total tool.)

Email: We were going to dinner and I waited forever for him to get there and it was freezing outside. He saw me walk out but didn’t bother driving up to meet me.

(Response: Give me a damn break. If you're going to drive the mile, what the fuck is wrong with driving the last inch. Geezus I hate this prick.)

Email: So, we drive to Chipotle and he holds the door open for another girl who was coming in after us, but waited until she got to the door, so it wasn't like she was RIGHT behind us. 

(Response: Holding the door open for the person behind you is one thing...holding the door open when it's freezing cold and causing everyone in the restaurant to get ice boogers under the umbrella of being a gentleman is a fucking douche move. And he's a prick.)

Email: So, we sit to eat and he was talking about going home for the weekend and so I took the opportunity to ask him about that girl that he slept with up there and if he was going to see her because THE DAY that we stopped talking, she was on his FB page AGAIN making all sorts of comments and saying how it was MY loss and he was a good man.

(Response: The fact that there is essentially one girl that you can't stand and he makes it a point to add her into his life the minute the two of you aren't talking drives me bat shit. That's just like me asking 'that man I was dating' not to sleep with anyone else, but especially not that 'one girl he used to date' and him going ahead and having lunch with her and then falling into her vagina.)

Email: But, he doesn't answer.  So, I asked again.  He finally said no that he was only going to see family and would not be seeing that girl.  So I asked why he didn’t just say that in the first place and he said it was a stupid question.   

(Response: I hate that he tells you your questions are stupid. His face is stupid.)

Email: I told him it wasn't stupid because he was the one who friended her again the day we stopped talking, and he was the first one to unfriend me. He's the one saying we are back together but he has yet to friend me on FB.

(Response: I really hate that we feel like we aren't really in a relationship until facebook tells us we are. In the future men are just going to invite us to some big fancy outing, tell us to dress nice, get on one knee, pull out their smart phone and ask if we'd like to change our status to engaged. "OH

MY GOD...YES, YES! He really loves me!")

Email: He didn't say anything.  I asked again and he just sat there ignoring me.  So, I was laughing inside telling myself this is just typical and thinking how funny it is that he's gone from ignoring me on the phone to ignoring me to my face!  

(Response: I hate being ignored. And I've mostly always hated that guy. And remember this wise advice I got from a man recently: Just because everything seems right, doesn't mean that nothing's wrong, which doesn't really apply to this situation where everything felt wrong but you occasionally still thought it was right, but it's wise advice you should remember.)

-Love me.

Currently Chasing: Ice Cream Cake

So I’ve been, like always, working out and trying to lose weight. I can lose my ID and my room key daily, but I can’t lose weight to ‘literally’ save my life.

I got a hair cut the other day … It will look great in a couple of weeks when it has grown out a little. And I ordered a pink hoodie and am trying to get permission to wear it with my PT gear. And I got to thinking … why am I cutting my hair? Why do I wake up every day and apply eye makeup? Why do I want to wear a pink hoodie instead of my blue Navy hoodie? Why do I care if I weigh a couple of more pounds than I should. Who cares? Other women, that’s who.

Women do not dress up or care about their appearance to attract men. I mean, in this place I could look like a lagoon creature and still land a man. And for the most part we don’t dress up and care about our appearance for ourselves. (and I’m not talking basic grooming here.) Because for the most part, we should be happy with ourselves, as we are. Naked and with no makeup. We all truly accept ourselves EXACTLY the way we are right? Of course we do. So, if we are happy with ourselves just the way God made us, and men will like us even if we barely resemble a women, then why do we go out of our way, even in a war zone to be ‘pretty.’ Because other women are looking, that’s why.

The other day a girl walked out of the bathroom and didn’t wash her hands. Immediately we were all aware of the situation and thinking to ourselves…good GAWD, what is her problem? We didn’t want her to wash her hands for her, we wanted her to wash her hands for US!

I worked out the other day. I knew I didn’t have much time before I needed to get back to the office, and I probably wouldn’t have enough time to shower. It wasn’t a hard workout, and I didn’t sweat much. But I still felt ‘guilty’ for not having enough time to shower. Finally my roommate says, oh good Lord, you don’t have time, it’s no big deal. I won’t tell. And that’s all I needed to hear. (although I just told on myself.) I wasn’t going to take a shower for me. I was going to take a shower for HER. The minute I knew she wasn’t going to judge me, I was dressed and out the door.

When we look at magazines with celebrities and they are on the worst dressed list … it’s probably because they tried for once to dress for themselves. No makeup. Shit that doesn’t match … who cares right? They were happy with themselves. But being happy with yourself is overrated. The world needs to be happy with us or we get slaughtered.

Just like my Canadian friend said, “When you walk into a room, the room doesn’t come to a stand still because of your personality. You’ve got to wow them with your looks…and if you are wowing the women, then the men are putty in your hands.

Men however have more leeway. They can be slightly overweight. They can be going gray and they can even be very average looking. None of that matters if they have the one thing women are most attracted to. Power. Is your man someone? Do people look up to him? Does he fit in well with any group of people? Is he successful? Is he confident? Do people answer to him? Can he make you feel safe? Is he a provider? I can handle a fat ass if I tell myself that he’s not fat, he’s just ‘protective.’

We want to feel safe. And the more confident, successful and powerful your man is, the leaner, prettier and sexier you need to be. Not because he needs you to be, but because other women need you to be. If they think they are prettier, they will take a chance. How many times have you heard …

“He cheated on you with who? She’s not even attractive.”

Or you’ve heard a guy say

“Why is she with him? He’s not even that attractive.”

It’s because women are obsessed with looking better than other women…and most men don’t understand that going to the gym for a hundred hours isn’t going to make them a better father.

I guess what I’m trying to say is … I wanted ice cream cake earlier today, but I also found out that a friend of mine is seven pounds thinner than I am. And we can’t have that now, can we? … Either we are both fat, or no one is.

Currently Chasing: Unscheduled Pillow Fights

There is a big difference between guys and girls. And it’s not just our junk, I can tell you that. There are several reasons why I envy men. They can stand and pee. I tried that once in a dark port o john and didn’t realize the seat cover was down and I ended up pissing down onto the seat, which led to the piss spilling into my underwear. Very comfortable for my 20-mile walk for breast cancer.

Another reason I envy men is because … they get along. When a man walks into the room, another man does not eye him up and down and immediately text his friend to comment on his ugly belt. They accept each other and they work together. If there are two good looking me in the office, they do not vow to hate each other and compete constantly. Instead the work together and get every girl in the office involved in a three way. Men are team players.

Men have also mastered conflict resolution. When there was a problem in the office recently … it took three non-confrontational women four days to tip toe around the subject and come up with 332 different flow charts, 47 excel spread sheets and 13 power point presentations to address the issue. One man went in to the room said “Knock Knock,” to which the people in the room answered, “Who’s there?” to which he replied, “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” And done. Everyone realized they were acting like pieces of shit. The women stayed pissed for another 12 days and the men went and out and had non-alcoholic beer. And the attractive men probably went out and had threesomes.

*on a side note, what’s the point of non-alcoholic beer. Why bother with the calories and the carbs if you can’t get a buzz and make bad decisions? It’s just not worth it.”

But there are some things I don’t envy.  Recently we were at a function and one of my roommates and I (I have five roommates total) were talking to some of the guys about our living arrangements. One of the guys said, yeah, the other day I walked into the room and tried to be quite and all of sudden I heard, BBBBBBBBBBARRRRRRRRRRRRRmmmffffffFFFFF! It was the loudest fart ever! The guy next to him jumps in and says, oh that’s nothing. The guys in my room snore and then fart. It’s a never ending process of air passage.  Then another guy chimes in and says his roommate throws the light on any ol’ time of night and chats online to his people back home at a normal volume no matter what time it is. Another guy says that it’s the same in his room except his roommate is always chatting to a spouse and they are always arguing at loud levels in Spanish.  (My friend Katie always does Charts, so I’m trying it out as well. Just in case you need a visual.)

Then they look at us and say, what’s it like in your room.

I said, “The other day I knew my roomie wasn’t sleeping well because I could hear her turn over in her bed and tug at her blankets.”

They said, that’s it? I said, “Yeah, but they were fucking loud blankets! I was like, shut the fuck up with those blankets bitch! People are trying to sleep in here.”

They just stared at me.

I said, “seriously, it’s so quiet in our room. No one is farting or snoring . And even if people are online chatting, they will use the keyboard instead of talking…so at most we hear a bit of click, click, click. Or maybe angry typing…clickityclickityCLICKITYFUCKINGCLICKITY.  How do you say Clickity in Spanish? One of the guys responds, “Maybe you girls are just too tired from the unscheduled pillow fights to notice what happens after the lights go out.”

Yeah, that must be it. Either that or we are tired from talking shit about each other all day.

Currently Chasing: A few more pounds

So I’ve been getting hit on out here…mostly by twenty somethings who weight one hundred and twenty something pounds. What is the deal? What is it about skinny guys that make them want to take on some heavy junk like me? I’ll crush you dude!

Don’t get me wrong. They are cute, with their tiny little abs and their tiny little asses. But good lord, I’m not looking for something I can wrap my arms around, but I am looking for something I can wrap my head around…and this whole little guy, big girl thing is throwing me for a loop.

When we are walking down a dark alley, or you know what…let’s get even scarier, when we are walking down a dark alley in motha fuckin Afghanistan…and someone walks up on us, I don’t want to throw you behind me as I lock and load on some insurgent. And I also don’t want to be standing behind you if you decide to sacrifice yourself for me…CAUSE THEY WILL STILL BE ABLE TO SEE ME BEHIND YOU.

Maybe I’m being too hard on the little guys. After all, they are the ones stepping up to the free throw line right? Although recently a rather freakishly tall man has made his way back into my life, which is a good thing, but the majority of men who have been trying to court me these days would have no business being on a court of any kind.

My type has pretty much been the same for quite some time. Tall and heavier than me. At 5’6 and 160, that doesn’t seem like an outrageous request. Ok, maybe a bit more than 160, but hopefully by the time I leave here I’ll be around 145-150 and then that will open up the door for a few more of these 12-year-olds, but goodness. I think that anyone looking at me would be like, damn, that’s quite a bit of woman right there…let me gain a few pounds and ask her out.

There are a couple of positive points I should bring up about these lean stallions. When they send pictures, it is hard to find a flaw. The abs are usually very defined and there is nothing hanging somewhere it shouldn’t be. But that is also the case with victims of malnutrition. And a lot of these guys have tattoos that end up unintentionally wrapping around their bodies because they ran out of room. Trust me, every tattoo I have has PLENTY of breathing room. There is a guy here who has already lost 30 pounds since being here. He’s been skipping meals and working out twice daily. That is a hard regiment to maintain, so he recently gained a few pounds back and he’s been depressed about it. Two months ago he was heavier and happier, and in my opinion a more well-rounded person, no pun intended. Now he’s just skinny and miserable. And now, at two pounds less than me, completely un-dateable. Not that I was considering it, just saying.

If I have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable around you, I’m going to go out on a limb and say; it’s just not going to work. The Skinny Brit I’ve made friends with may read this. Don’t worry love; I’m talking about all skinny guys, except you. (Wink wink.)

Currently Chasing: The Road Less Traveled

It’s not late. In fact, it’s around 8:30. I’ve finished packing for my big trip. Five bags, including my carry on. As I sit in my hotel room and stare at all these bags I realize there is not really much of me inside them. Sure they are full. But what are they full of?

Some shit that will keep me alive, some shit that will keep me occupied and some shit that will keep me feeling like a girl. Tinted moisturizer and all. Granted, whatever I apply to my face will most likely melt immediately, and whatever I do to my hair will be ruined by sweat and Kevlar. But that doesn’t matter. Putting on makeup and doing my hair is some sort of routine, and I’m maintaining it.

Although I don’t know why. It seems absolutely pointless to bother with my appearance these days.

Yesterday a very nice gentleman that I’ve seen around the hotel for the last few days stopped me in the hallway. He said,” I don’t normally do this, but I just have to tell you that you are smoking hot.” He went on to say that he digs girls with short hair and that I have caught his attention on every occasion. I thanked him for his interest and told him I appreciated the compliment. Then he asked me how long I was going to be around and if I’d like to get a drink with him. I told him I wouldn’t be around long but that if I saw him and his friends downstairs at the bar that possibly I would join them for a drink. He said he was hoping he could spend some one on one time with me …

That’s when I felt like saying … hmmm, just the three of us then? You, me and your wedding ring?

I’m getting the feeling that being attractive and fun these days equates to also being amusing and temporary. There also seems to be a misconception that these fun, attractive, amusing and temporary women don’t mind that equation one bit. But I have a problem with it. I’m half tempted to dump the makeup and the hair products and whatever else I have in my bags that keep me resembling something fuckable. And instead just walk around being a total bitch and telling people to fuck themselves.

A member of my unit even pulled me into the office and said he’s worried that I’ll end up getting sexually assaulted or something because I’m cute and people like to be around me…add that to the fact that I trust people to too easily and I’m polite. I guess all together that’s a recipe for rape. Even with all the things in these bags that are meant to harm, hurt and even kill others I’m still not going to look scary or even remotely intimidating. Especially not with Lancome light beige powder on my face, Pretty in Pink eye shadow on my lids, cream and sugar lip gloss on my lips, and lash blast mascara on my eyelashes.

Most people have never seen me mean. Even my current ex boyfriend who dug my heart out with a spoon still gets occasional emails that say “Hi, just wanted to write and say I hope your life is miserable. Hugs and kisses…Love me.” Even when I’m being hateful I’m nice about it. And it is coming off less and less like personality and more and more like weakness.

I’m going to get taken advantage of. Over. And. Over. AGAIN.

The other day in class a guy started off the lecture by reading a Robert Frost poem. It was “The Road Less Traveled.”

I think what I need to do is pick up all five of these bags and begin searching for that road less traveled, because this one isn’t making a bit of difference.

But I’m going to keep the makeup, just in case Mr. Frost is waiting for me at the end of the road.

Currently Chasing: Control

So…it has been said by several different people in several different places that when women get together they all begin to “link up” with each other. Their bodies begin talking and they are like, hey you wanna bleed today? I don’t know, what about tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow’s cool. Heather, is tomorrow good for you? Let me just check with Susan … Yep, all good. Let’s Bleed. It’s going to be a blastie blast.

But it’s not a blastie blast. It’s a nighty fucking nightmare.

I’m currently away from home and will be away from home for quite a few months. My plan is to remain single, remain celibate (those two work quite nicely together) and then my third thing … remain sane. Single, celibate, sane. Simple.

Well let me tell you what’s going to drive me insane before I even take the plane ride to the land of camel spiders … three periods in a month, that’s what.

I decided before I left home that I was going to get a year’s worth of birth control pills. It just made sense. Even though you really can’t call what I do being ‘on’ birth control. I would take a pill Monday, forget to take one Tuesday through Thursday, Take two Friday and Two Saturday and then drop Sunday’s pill down the drain on accident.

However, after getting here my feelings changed. I didn’t want to bother with the pill and there was no reason I needed to. It was just one more thing I had to remember to do every day, and trust me, I already had too much shit to remember. I already had to remember that on PT days I needed to wear Blue shorts with a brown command T-shirt, a white reflective belt (not the yellow one I spent 12 dollars on, but the white one that was issued to me for free after I spent the money on the other one) my camel back at least half full of water, my arm band ID holder and my ID, all while remembering that I have to be to PT at 6, which actually means 5:45, so I have to catch the bus at 5:25, which actually means 5:20 … and don’t forget my camera because there may be a surprise award ceremony immediately following PT even though no one knows and the person receiving the award is at medical. So yeah, Pill who?

So when my period came out of the blue one fine Wednesday morning, I thought to myself…ok, not the most convenient thing in the world, but doable. It’s fine. This seems to be around the time I should be getting it, so I’ll just go with it. It should only be hanging around for two days, three days tops. I bled for seven days. Eventually it stopped. And I thought, ok, well that was pleasant, but at least it’s over.

Until two weeks later when a girl in my office informed me that it was ‘about that time’ for her. That night my body informed me that it was ‘about that time’ for me as well. YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

So there we went again. Not to mention that the whole time I’m taking this ‘time’ for myself, I’m also shoving every sugary snack I can find down my throat and straight into my bloated belly. So that’s awesome.

After a few days it ended, but not without me deciding to take some corrective action. I decided to put myself back on the pill. With all the lack of scheduling and control in my life at this moment in time, It would be nice to have control over something, even if that something is as simple as my bodies decision to drop unfertilized eggs. So that next unbloody Sunday I decided to start taking my pills again.

There are pills that do a lot of things. Pills that help fight HIV. Pills that cure Polio. Even pills that help with the fight against cancer. But those aren’t THE PILL. The reason it’s THE PILL is because men feel like if you take it they can fuck you without a condom.

HELL YEAH, NOW THAT’S A PILL!

So it’s been two weeks and needless to say, I need to take three pills tomorrow and two Saturday. It’s good to be back in control.

How motivated are we by money?

Have you ever paid for sex? And I’m not talking about in relationships where you feel like you’re paying dearly. And I’m also not referring to the thousands of dollars women drop on IEDs. Impossible to Emulate Devices.

What I’m really talking about is paying cold hard cash for the mash.

And would you be willing to pay your spouse for sex if it somehow improved your love life? I mean, do we really ever do anything that won’t somehow make us money? I think we can all agree we are a society motivated by money.

So why did I find it odd the other day when I heard about a woman who charges her husband for sex. She made up a sexual menu. He could have whatever he wanted on the menu, even Rump Roast. The only thing she asked in return was that he paid for his selections. Every sexual act came at a cost.

I also read a magazine article that suggested men pull out $200, lay it on the nightstand, and tell their ladies they can ‘earn it.’ The article said that most of the time women feel obligated to have sex. But by showing them the money, that gives them a WIFM (What’s in it for Me) they can’t refuse.

Some guys feel like they are paying for sex one way or another, so why not just pay for the kind that doesn’t have three kids from a previous marriage and $400,000 in student loans attached to it. I can’t say I completely disagree with this theory. I’ve never paid money for sex. But my heart has had to pay a hefty price more than once when it came to falling for men who only really wanted a sexual relationship. I wish they would have just ‘put the money on the nightstand.’ At least then I would have known exactly what I was in store for.

Then there are the guys who pay … and don’t feel like they got their monies worth. A friend of mine bought the bed I currently own. I’m sure he didn’t plan originally on just doing that out of the kindness of his heart. I mean, when is the last time someone bought you a bed that they weren’t planning to share with you? I’m sure he’d of rather taken that money to Baltimore. At least there he could pay to play.

Plenty of my guy friends have admitted to having paid for sex, but it’s all the same awkward “I only did it once” story.

“We were in a foreign country and I couldn’t understand what she was saying and by the time I realized, I had already fucked her, so I had to pay.”

Or …

“She would have done it for free, but I felt bad because she is saving for medical school.”

Or my personal favorite …

“I thought I was just giving her a ride home, and then all of a sudden she asked if I had the money and I didn’t, but by then I felt like I was under contract, so I went to an ATM and got the money … but it’s not like I wanted to do it, especially when half way through our business some guy came into the room and asked if she’d be able to drive him to the liquor store later. Awkward.”

Yes, awkward. But which part? The part where you didn’t want to do it, but physically left the house to get money? Or the part where she was 350 pounds of paid for love?

But really, who am I to judge? And my conversation with a good friend pretty much summed it all up for me today.

“There are people paying for sex? Who are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know, just people,” I told him.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Where are they going to get it?”

The bank my dear. The bank.

Currently Chasing: Pineapples

So when it comes to semen … is it really true that what you eat can change how you taste below the waist? And does penis or ball size have anything to do with the taste or consistency? Will fruit and veggies make a man taste like a dream? Do heavy meat eaters taste like nightmares? I guess yes, if nightmares taste like battery acid.

These are the questions that go through my mind lately as I’m sitting through boring power point briefs. This is what I think about while the rest of the world is busy being productive members of society.

I’ve heard a lot of talk recently about pineapple. But let’s be clear. You can’t just eat a piece of pineapple and then think you’re going to taste like a fucking sweet tart. Chances are, unless you are eating it, or drinking its juices on the regular, you are still going to taste like Ajax.

Semen for the most part is never going to taste like a bowl of fruit loops. If you are expecting a mouth filled with warm almond butter, you’ve got another thing ‘coming.’ However, letting your man get to that point and then just throwing a towel at him, or worse, throwing up on him, just won’t do.

This was the case for a friend of mine.

“So I’m with my girlfriend last night and she went down on me for the first time,” he said.

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“No. It really wasn’t,” he quickly added. “I could feel that I was about to come and then all of a sudden she just … moved. But I was already so close to coming, so it just kind of happened.”

“Oh, um … did she get you a towel?” I asked.

“Yeah, but does that even matter?” he asked.

“Well did you talk to her about it?” I asked.

“Hell yes,” he said. “But she told me she just doesn’t like the taste.”

And there it is. The taste. My favorite episode of sex in the city deals with this exact subject.

Samantha is going down on a man and he comes in her mouth. Right away you can see by the look on her face that the taste equated to milk gone bad. The next time they are together, she refuses to go down on him. He asks her why. She tells him that he has funky spunk. He doesn’t believe her. So she tells him she will do it one more time and let him taste it. If the taste is good enough for him, then it’s good enough for her. He agrees. She goes down. He comes. She lets him taste it. The look on his face confirms that his jizz tastes like sweaty pit cheese. But he chokes it down and whispers, “It’s good enough for me.”

But sometimes the taste isn’t the only problem. The consistency and amount are also common complaints. My friend was talking to me about her husband. She said his penis is only three inches (HARD) but his balls are huge. She said she doesn’t have a problem with swallowing except that his cum is very watery and there is A LOT of it. Sometimes she has to swallow mid way through. Wow. I do not envy her one bit. But I’ve also met men who can’t come at all due to medication and mental blockers…so what’s worse? Funky spunk, too much spunk, watery spunk, lumpy spunk or no spunk … Let’s be honest. I think it’s the three inch (HARD) cock.

The point is if you expect your woman to finish the ‘job’ then try to sweeten the deal. Try eating right, try lifting a weight or two. But in your attempt to down fruits and veggies, avoid asparagus. From what I hear, that makes you taste like … well, asparagus. Towel please.

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.