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: 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: 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.

Currently Chasing: More than Words

So here’s my dilemma. There is a boy who loves me. Or let me rephrase. There is a boy who says he loves me. There is a difference.

We all remember the boy who loved me so much that he broke up with me over email the day after asking me to marry him. This same boy is also the reason I’m ‘widowed’ on my facebook page. He’s dead to me.

How could we forget the boy who texted me at 9 a.m. on Valentine’s Day last year to let me know he’d have to cancel our date because he ‘got laid’ the night before and felt guilty. All of this after assuring me that he was the luckiest man in the world to have even known me.

We remember the off again /on again boyfriend who loved me so much he slept with – well – everyone.

But here ladies and gentlemen is a man who says it, and also says he means it. What should I make of this?  Some of you say make nothing of it. After all, I’m in Afghanistan and this is NOT real life. It’s easy to say the L word out here and get away with it. Love love love…say it with me. Love love love. See how easy it rolls off the tongue when there is a possibility you could die from a random rocket attack?

Once you start throwing that word around in the states, where you have a better chance of getting struck by lightning twice than you do of a shrapnel wound from – well – anything;, the love words stops being as easy to say. Lo…cal. Lo…w budget. Lo…ok, it's just not working out. That’s what rolls off the tongue in the good ol’ US of A.

But for some reason, shrapnel or no shrapnel, I’m pretty sure this guy loves me. Like, loves me loves me, not just loves me.  And hearing someone say that and mean it scares me worse than the damn rocket attack.

You see, I’m used to hearing people tell me they love me. My parents say it. My daughter says it. My friends say it.  Many a man has said it. However, it has kind of always felt as simple as a hello or a goodbye. I love you is just something you say when you are about to get off the phone with someone. Or something you text before you go to sleep at night. Or something you say to someone after they’ve done something amazing for you.

But this boy…well he just says it. In the middle of the day. For no apparent reason other than he just wants to make me situationally aware of his love. And he says it. Like, he looks me in the eyes and says, I love you. And I get nervous like I should say something back or nod my head or run out of the room screaming … but he doesn’t expect any of that. He just tells me so that I know. And then he goes on with his day. And occasionally he’ll tell me again. Just in case I’ve forgotten. And I know deep down, he says he loves me, and he thinks he means it. Let me rephrase. He knows he means it.

He of course had a life before Afghanistan, and he will have one after. He’s made plenty of decisions since being here that make it both easy and impossible for us to have a future together. I find it difficult after spending so many years in the Navy to make any type of sound decision based on deployment feelings, so I just don’t.  I am anxious to get back to my daughter, my house, my job, my car, my clothes, my hairstylist, my indoor plumbing and my life. I’m also getting ready to go on vacation with a man that I’ve exchanged I love yous with for years and years. Only now I know what love looks like…and I’m anxious to see if I’ll recognize it on this vacation. Or if it will just get lost in the hello and end up a goodbye.

Currently Chasing: the Box

"I'm nobody, until I'm somebody, then I'm that guy." That is what he said to me. He wanted to be significant, but the only thing that makes him stand out in my mind is that quote and his height. Short. Very short. He assured me that not everything is proportionate, and that objects in his pants may be bigger than they appear. And I know he wasn't talking about his legs. I've seen those. They're short.

But still...there is more to life than a big dick and a good catch phrase. So he went back into the box.

"I am more concerned with your success and happiness than I am with my own." That is what he said to me. He was hoping to be significant, but ended up annoying and clingy. And he could never measure up to his words and I was tired of giving him a boost. He had a boat and a house and said I could make myself comfortable in both.

But still...there is more to life than boats and houses. So he went back into the box.

"It took me 30 years, but I finally found the one." That is what he said to me. He wanted to be significant. And he was for awhile. But one day I just couldn't stand the way he laughed anymore. He would open his mouth so wide and he would laugh so hard. He would laugh at a joke before he got done telling it. Before the rest of us had a chance to assure him it was funny. He had a promising career and great teeth.

But still...there is more to life than a career and great teeth. So he went back into the box.

"I couldn't be luckier to have someone like you care about me." That is what he said to me. He wanted to be significant. He could have been. But there was something needy about his words. It festered into an overall neediness that I was too selfish to embrace. He was strong and creative.

But still...there is more to life than a great body and creativity. So he went back into the box.

I'm starting to wonder about this more to life part? The only other more I've seen is the more where I'm alone with a box of blogs. And there has got to be more to life than that.

Currently Chasing: The ability to not give a shit

I'm dating someone. But not really. I only actually find out we are dating when I've done something to piss him off and he tells me we are done dating. Or he will tell me he's my boyfriend...but only after he has decided to break up with me. Example:

Hey, why are you talking to that other guy?

Um, because we are friends.

Well, tell him you have a boyfriend.

Um, are you my boyfriend?

Well I was until you started talking to that guy. Now I'm not.

Of course you're not. And why did I think I would even have the right to be privy to that information?

We fight. He says rude things. He says no things. He says things that don't relate to the other things. And then he'll decide to throw in an I love you just to really fuck me up. But again, he will only say I love you as he is writing me out of his life.  Example:

Me: So, how do you feel about me?

Him: You know when you put me on the spot to answer that question you never get the answer you want.

Me: So you are going to say you don't like me, even if you really love me, because you feel like there is a spot you're on and now you are under obligation to be an asshole?

Him: You already know I love you, but you've left me no choice but to end this. Please delete me from your phone and your life.

Me: So you're saying you love me?

Him: Yes. I love you. Goodbye forever.

It makes my head hurt and I'm wondering why I'm keeping myself awake giving a shit? If he is having a bad day I will get a text or email a mile long telling me all of the horrible things that happened...in excruciating detail. If I try to comment or give advice, it's not welcome ... and if I say nothing at all, then he'll ask if I want him to just shut up because obviously I'm not listening.

If I ask him to look at something I've done, he will immidiately begin to critique it and tell me how I can do it better...or what he would have done, or what I should work on doing next time. Example:

Hey did you get that newsletter I sent to you? It looks pretty good right?

Yeah, I got it. Your story on page 13 was hard to understand. Your conclusion was trite. Did you mean to make the cover so hard to read? The pictures could have been more organized. Were you in a hurry?

So, you didn't like it?

I liked it just fine as a rushed through version of what I know you're capable of. Send me the next one so I can be sure you're improving.

Yep, I'll do that and then I'll burn out my eye with a cigerette.

So the burning question of course is...why am I keeping myself awake wondering why I give a shit. Well, it's an easy answer. I'm a moth to a flame...only it's not just a flame, it's a gosh damn full on California wildfire.

*Note...being in Afghanistan, with the network the way it is, I am unable to comment on my own blog. But I'm reading all of the comments and maybe it's best that I can't say shit. But to Caramel, who commented below...yes. nail on head.

Currently Chasing: Pleasure not pain, part II

I mean, of course I wrote him back right? I couldn’t not write back. He had tried to make some valid points and I owed it to him to make some of my own. It also just so happens that I’ve been seeing a guy for the past five years who is pretty sure he’s his own main course, so I’m already currently being ‘pushed around the plate’ and can’t really take much more. So I sent him an email.
Me: Wow...! If I wasn't already busy being someone else's side dish, then you know … this might be right up my alley. Because as you mentioned...I have a love hate relationship with relationships.

But the truth is, you, I, us, none of that will be significant after the next two months so it’s all just unnecessary drama.
The photographer wrote back right away: I assure you I remain significant long after the fact :D

Me: ...these kinds of relationships...the kind that start with me knowing they will end...really torture and tear at my self esteem. Why would you want to take part in that? Spend the time you are spending to woo me, on making your wife feel special and maybe you won't have to watch as your marriage falls apart...

The photographer: I certainly don't want to be party to damaging your self-esteem, and you are, of course, right about the misdirection of my wooing skills.

Any chance you're free this evening? I figure I can be a bit more talkative now that you've bruised my ego and have put me in my place.

Me: Yeah...but just to crush your ego a bit more...I'm in love with like seven people already.

The photographer: Yeah, but with me it would be different. JUST LET ME ENJOY THE DELUSION!

Me: You need to learn a phrase. It's one I learned while ago.
"He's not different, you’re not special."

The photographer: Ok, now you’re just making me sad.

Truth is I didn’t want to make him feel unhappy. I just was tired of being the reason behind my own unhappiness. Like I told my friend K the other day, my life is a nightmare and it’s all my fault. It seems like everyone is just afraid to be alone…even for a few moments. I haven’t had time to feel alone here. I’m constantly surrounded by people, and friends back home are sending letters and emails and packages full of love. I don’t have anyone right now that I can call my own, but it doesn’t mean I’m alone. Maybe there is someone out there for me. Or maybe I’ll be the one continuing to grasp at straws.

Currently Chasing: Pleasure, not pain

I don’t even know where to start this blog, which is always the case when something totally ridiculous happens.
So I’m in Afghanistan and I run into a fellow photographer and we are photographing the same event. I ask him for his card so I can be sure to get his photographs…because he may have caught some moments I didn’t catch, and …his camera is bigger. Not that size matters. Just saying.
So he gives me his card and he’s off. He contacts me a couple days later and sends me all of the photos he took. There are some of me just standing there and a couple of me shooting pictures. I notice that I’m in PT gear…and I begin to wonder…how did he know my name? How did he know where to send these photos? Why did he take so many pictures of me, and why was he being so proactive and sending photos before I had time to write and ask for them. All of it together caught me very off guard.
Long story short, it turns out he did know me … I played a small part in instructing him in the art of journalism, and …wait for it…he reads my blog. Then he does something I clearly expected. He hits on me. So I do what girls normally do in that in that situation. Went to stalk him on facebook.
I wasn’t a friend of his, so I requested him as a friend and then started to look at pictures that weren’t locked. In most of the pictures I couldn’t see past one thing … a wedding ring. While I was looking through his facebook profile photos he must have seen the friend request pop up in his email because he immediately sent me an email that said, no-no…that’s cheating. He suggested we get to know each other the old fashioned way, and I agreed, but not before asking the question…”are you married?”
Of course he was/is. He assured me his wife and him were distant and not very happy, which made me jump for joy and want to bed him immediately. Um, not. So I wrote him back:
Me: “So you read my blog and you know how I feel about this sort of thing, and you would still bother to hit on me? And also, why did you take these pictures of me in uniform? I look fat and awful.”
The photographer: “Well, I just have a propensity for pretty girls, which I guess gets me in trouble…I’m grasping at straws.”
Me: “So you’re saying I’m thin enough to be a straw?”
My point is I couldn’t believe this was happening … again.
So the next day I come into the office to find this email:
Subject line: And this is how I spent the last hour
Email content: “=A brief philosophical treatise on why you and I should enjoy the next two months, guilt free=

As I get older, I find myself growing a more and more epicurean appetite. This is undoubtedly the result of a combination of life’s events, not the least of which is having spent three of the last five years in the dirt, frequently coming to very close terms with human mortality. In a single phrase, my desires could be stated thusly: seek pleasure; avoid pain. While the former is certainly an easier achievement than the latter, it often simply boils down to expectation management.

I am at least moderately familiar with your written works, and I know you have an aversion toward – yet somehow a proclivity for – being a side dish. While I have little doubt you would make a thoroughly enjoyable nine-course meal (and that’s not a remark), circumstance often narrows our course, and like it or not, we are treading along the edge of the appetizer bar. (And now I’m super hungry. Awesome.)

There is a significant distinction between forwardness and honesty; while I am almost always forward, my track record with honesty is less than unblemished. This is what lead to the end of my first marriage, and seems quite likely to end my second.

As you noted, I do plan to return to my home upon leaving Afghanistan. I already know I have a shiny, new basement bedroom waiting for me. I am hopeful, as always, but not entirely optimistic. I, for one, would hate to head home and watch the marriage finally disintegrate knowing I had missed out on the opportunity to experience a little something with you while I was here. Self-destructive thought process for sure, but a process nonetheless -- my process.

Again, in the name of expectation management, there can be something quite enjoyable about a fleeting romance and in taking advantage of each day as it passes – it allows us the rare opportunity to read the expiration date on a relationship. Perhaps not a great thing, but it allows us to make decisions with our eyes open and to enjoy a dozen or so devil-may-care weeks.

So that’s about it. I would like to spend some time with you and enjoy your company. I think we are similar enough in spirit and passion to have some really enjoyable times together, even if only for a brief moment. But I make no promise nor have any expectation beyond that. I won’t promise you the world. I won’t propose and then send you a ‘never mind’ text message. I’m not looking to fall in love and run away to Paris -- il ya trop beaucoup de fromage dans cette ville, anyhow. The only thing I would promise is to spend the next nine weeks doing my best to make you smile – and occasionally laugh. I think it’s a decent promise, and it’s certainly honest.

In closing, this is the first time I have attempted to win a girl over through gratuitous use of logic and literary prowess. So in a sense, you’re my first. And they say you always remember your first.”


I was impressed with his writing skills. Even the $10 words were well used. And I will say this…the line “Seek Pleasure, Avoid Pain” really made sense to me. But what did he think the ultimate demise of a relationship with a married man would bring me? Awesomeness? Epicness? A feeling of being whole and complete? No. It would bring MOTHER FUCKING PAIN. Duh?
I should have just deleted the email, but I couldn’t. Instead, I wrote back.
To be contined…

Currently Chasing: An Answer to Why I Suck

There’s something I don’t understand about women. It’s something I don’t even understand about myself. It’s fucking ridiculous actually. Why do we put up with stupid shit and settle for men who make us want to shoot ourselves in the face?

And guess what else we do.  After said love of our life shits all over us, we talk a bunch of shit about him to our friends. I do this all the time. I fucking do this in my blog. I talk/write a bunch of shit about how retarded and douchie he is. I tell the world that I can’t stand him and that I will not put up with what he has done.

Meanwhile I’m fucking texting him asking if we can get back together, or if I can come over and pick up a couple things I left there, or if I can just suck his dick while he plays call of duty. Whatever. Just please let me be in your presence!

And simultaneously all of my friends are applauding me because of how well I’m handling everything. They are high fiving me and telling me that I’m a strong independent woman and I don’t need that asshole bringing me down. And I’m right there saying, you are so fucking right! Fuck this guy. I don’t need him. He was such a waste of my life. I DESERVE BETTER.

Meanwhile I’m still stalking him on facebook and wondering if he’s going to unfriend me and messaging every girl who comments on his status to let her know what a dillhole he is and that she shouldn’t get involved with him because he’s only going to destroy her heart, her trust, and her reason for living. “Run for your life Girl!” I’ll scream.

But simultaneously I’m asking said guy to come over and talk because I just really think we can work it out. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US.

Case in point:

I want to lose about 20 pounds. So I say to this really sweet guy I like once I reach my goal weight of 145 I’ll be happy. So about seven minutes into the conversation he says, you know at 115 you would look emaciated.

“yeah, that’s why I don’t want to be 115. I want to be 145.”

Then he said, “At 120, your face would still be sunk in.”

“Um, yeah, what is your point? I don’t want to be 120.”

Then he says: "You know at 125 or 130, with your frame, you would be really lean with a tiny waist. And your ass would be perfectly round and tight."

To which I respond, “ …………..shock…………..awe………….”

You’ve got to fucking be kidding me? I just told him I wanted to be 145, which admittedly is thinner than I’ve EVER been in my whole adult life…and he suggests I lose an additional 15 pounds?

FUCK YOU.

So I tell my friend about it. She agrees with me that this guy is a bag of assholes.

So the next day when he sent a text telling me I took his statement wrong and that he didn’t mean it, I should have told him to shove it up shitter, but instead I wrote back some flirty bullshit and brought women back 20 years in the process. Why am I always forcing women to (D)E volve?  

I’ve done this in the past as well. You spend so much time convincing all of your friends that some guy is a total waste of your time and that he should die…and then you bring him to your fucking block party and expect everyone to just forget that they spent four hours holding your hand and comforting you while you blew snot rockets and cried trailers of tears the night before.

Men are not that strong ladies … the weakness is in us!

But guess what? We are good enough, pretty enough and smart enough to actually move on! And these guys who treat us like we are replaceable just need to become background noise. Now excuse me while I hit the gym, I’ve got 35 pounds to lose. Then he’ll love me.