now I know

I know what I want. To end it. Tonight helped me to make my decision.

He cooked dinner. It was good! We sat and talked, cuddling and then watched a movie. The entire night, he told me how beautiful I am, that he loves me, how much he values time with me. I wanted to watch "Indiana Jones." He wanted to hold me and synchronize our breathing. I wanted to go home. He wanted me to lie in bed with him until he fell asleep. I was thinking "damn, breaking up with him will be hard" only seconds before he said "I still love you." I refused sex. Refused to lay in bed. Refused "just ten more minutes" before I left. I did NOT say "I love you" back.

Now I know what to do. I just don't know how to do it.

Become more and more of a bitch so that he doesn't mind a break-up?
Do it now, so to get it over with, knowing that he thinks everything is wonderful?
Quit answering the phone so that he knows something is up?
"It's not you, it's me" is very true here. I just know that it is the worst break-up line.

I need to hurry up and figure out my game plan. I've been eating Cadbury Eggs like carrot sticks. The stress is killing my waistline.

"that girl"

I am now "that girl." I don't know what I want. There is a man fighting to be in a relationship with me. He is putting his heart on the line and pursuing me. The ex wants me back.

Now I don't know what I want. A friend described this situation. She said that you can choose to hurt now or to hurt later. Most people choose later.

One Hand: This is a wonderful guy whom I want to love. He makes me laugh out loud, makes me think, and says things that are so unapologetically affectionate that I don't know how to react. I am very attracted to this man and I love to spend time with him. I want him in my life. I want to witness his life.

The Other Hand: I do not want to be in a relationship right now. I don't want to have sex. I don't want to see someone every day (or even more than once a week). More importantly, I can't see how to fall madly in love with someone who doesn't believe in God. I love the nights that I am home alone, doing my thing. I love the freedom of leaving my house messy and wearing my granny nightgown. He wants to share every part of his life with me, but there is a huge chunk of my life that I can't share with him. Church.

It is as if I found the perfect pair of shoes-ones for which I'd been searching for years- and they are on sale. I may never find them again. Unfortunately, they are half a size too small. It is hard to walk away when they are so close to fitting.

So what now?

We hung out on Saturday. There was hand holding, snuggling, and kissing but it was all in public. I didn't let him in my house because I didn't want to have sex. We will hang out tonight and watch a movie at his house. This is safe because it is not private.

Am I stringing this man along? How do you listen to someone voice their undying affection for you and simply sit there quietly?

Are you frustrated with me yet? I am! I guess that I will wait and see.

a cheesy life metaphor part 2

One summer I worked and lived in a National Park. There were woods, mountains, animals, tourists, trails, waterfalls, and encounters with nature that left me like every other city person who encounters nature: full of life lessons and cheesy metaphors.

"That spider teaches me that I should buy new shoes more often!"
"That tree has opened my eyes to the fact that I need to change careers."

Here is one of mine.

The staff of my tiny campgroud cooked a big family meal every Sunday in the diner down the mountain. I decided one week to walk to our gathering down a seemingly short trail that paralleled the road the led directly to my destination. I dressed in my burkenstocks, long skirt, hippie blouse, and tied back my short purple hair (yes, it was as bad as it sounds). I thought I looked hot.

After 20 minutes on the beautiful trail, I began to wonder if I missed a turn. It didn't seem as if I was anywhere close to the diner. I couldn't see the road. There was no way that I was going to walk back UP the moutain, so I tentatively pressed on.

Within minutes, something large rustled in the bushes near me. There were ample friendly black bears in the area, so I froze. A buck walked onto my trail 15 feet in front of me. He was about my height, which is a pretty big damned deer. He looked at me and froze.

For about 1 1/2 minutes (which felt like 3 hours), we stared at each other. I knew that deer don't eat people. They are not usually dangerous. They are, however, very territorial. The buck nodded at me and then turned to face me. It began to snort and puff out its chest, as if it were going to attack.

In that moment, I had to make a decision. I could turn and walk away (uphill, my least favorite way to walk), squat and become small, or challenge the buck. Since I was late for dinner and possibly lost, I stood tall, stuck out my chest, and stomped my burkenstocks in his direction. He ran. I won!!! The trail was mine!! I'd like to think that it was because of my bravery. It could have been the purple hair.

Shaking, I stomped down the trail to scare off any other animals. The diner appeared beyond the trees 5 minutes later. Here are the lessons that I take from my encounter:

1) When I think that I am the shit, I may actually be a girl with purple hair and no sense of direction. Enjoy it anyway.
2) Even when I plan out my future, I may feel lost halfway through the process. I have to press on beyond my doubts to get anywhere.
3) The things that scare me in the moment usually seem harmless later. That doesn't make it any less scary, but knowing that "later" will come helps me to find a way out.
4) If you walk 2 miles down a mountain, make sure that you know someone who will give you a ride back up.

a cheesy life metaphor part 1

I was listening to NPR while they interviewed Charles Barkley's mom. She said, "Always walk like you are going somewhere."

My walk is a big reflection of where I am in life. This is true for most people, but since I am a female with the body of a linebacker, it is more obvious when my walk changes.

When I am depressed, I am barely aware of walking- losing all grace or sense of direction. When I hate myself or feel ugly, I walk hunched down- trying to take up as little space as is possible. When I feel beautiful, I walk slowly and purposefully. When I am trying to empower myself or trying to feel sexy, I walk strong- like the woman in the picture to the right. --> My shoulders are back, chest stuck out, stomach sucked in, head held high, and my stride is long and almost graceful.

I miss that last walk. It rarely comes out these days. We should all walk as if there is an audience watching us in awe. We should walk as if we are going somewhere.

...

Email: "I am very glad to have you as a friend and I really hope this friendship leads us to something better so I can have the honor of having you back in my heart."

Text: "I just wanted to tell you that you have been on my mind all day today and I miss you so bad"

The ex-boyfriend is not making it easy for me to stick to the plan. It would all be easier if one of us cheated or said something horrible to the other person. Damn.

I've never had a man fight to be with me.

The Sabbatical

Late Saturday night after a distraught man left my house and left me single, I began a six month break from men. This is my sabbatical from dating. I will take this time to renew my sense of self and to enjoy being alone with hairy legs and dishes in the sink. How exciting! Really! I love to be alone! Just not forever.

Why a sabbatical? It becomes significantly more difficult to re-invent yourself while you are in a relationship. That other person has a strong desire for you to be the person that they chose. The woman you were when you started dating. It is tricky to decide to become a vegetarian or to dye your hair when a man wants the familiar version of you.

Sabbatical is my time for a tune up. I will look at other versions of myself and consider a change. I will look at my career and future without the worry of loving a man here. I will eat tacos in bed while watching a movie and picking my toenails. My dog will relax again without a man stealing my attention. The sexy version of me, the woman whose sexiness comes from her inner beauty and empowerment, will emerge again. Without sex.

I am empowered and thrilled for this season! Of course, I am aware that after 6 months men will not magically enter my life and buy me dinner. Six months could turn into years. That doesn't change the fact that I must come up for air. My identity will not drown in a sea of endless relationships.

Why am I sharing a pep talk with you? It is because I need to hear it. The sexy Colombian came knocking on my door last night and begged to get me back. I am trying to do the right thing. We are going to the movies on Saturday, but just as friends. Honestly. Really. No more dating. Right?

Touched by the Grim

A few posts ago, I talked about glimpsing the Grim Reaper of my current relationship. That particular issue hid in the closet never to been seen again. Unfortunately, the friendly little Grim was replaced by an ass-kicking, relationship-ending issue last night.

This weekend I had a wonderful extended date that ended in tears. I felt like Tom Hanks who walked onto an elevator with his girlfriend and walked off of it as a single man.

We cuddled, slept together (the literal sleeping), slept together several times (the non-literal multiple orgasm causing past-time), talked, laughed, went to the mall to watch people's body language and judge them accordingly...it was the relationship from heaven.

Halfway through our shared pasta dish, he began talking about a new subject. That was the end of us.

Have I mentioned on this blog that I am a minister? Yes, I am a super-liberal, sex-loving, fetish convention going, cussing, drinking kind of minister. When dating someone new, especially in the light manner of this last relationship, their faith is not a deal breaker. I can't date someone who worships Satan. I do have to date someone who can respect Christianity.

Respect. Our conversation last night revealed that the hot, young, kind, funny, intelligent Colombian had a strong disdain for Christianity and all religions. He wasn't just apathetic. He went on a faith journey that led him to believe that anyone in a church is an idiot. As he spoke, a scowl crossed his face.

Hello? I am a minister. He met me while working at our church. The faith in Christ part of my life pretty much IS my life. As strange as it sounds, my faith in Christ informs everything, including how I attend fetish conferences and say "fuck you" to the world.

That was the end of us. He was fine dating me while thinking that my entire life's work was a joke. I was not okay with that.

Goodbye, sweet boyfriend. Goodbye, hottest straight man I may ever kiss.

I am now on a six month break from men. This is actually something I've wanted to do for a while now. You may now look forward to charming posts about anything but romance. You are my accountability.*

*I hold the right to cancel this dating sabbatical if Prince Charming knocks on my door and offers to mow my lawn.

No, it is not the same.

I have a complaint. The problem is that this complaint cannot be complained without a great amount of explanation. I am now asking you, dear reader, to just go with me now and pretend that what I am about to say is perfectly normal.

So I was at my first sex fetish conference (I told you to go with it, remember?). This is not an orgy or even a porn-worthy event. My clothes stayed on all night and I did not leave with new toys, outfits, or interests. I went in my church clothes and stayed in them all night.

Believe it or not, it was educational. The first 2 1/2 hours of the evening are spent listening to someone lecture. One of the speakers writes books. Okay, he wrote ONE book and the rest was erotica, which I don't read or count as literature.

Here is the complaint. The speakers for the night promoting their lifestyles of 1) polyamorous families 2) age play. That didn't bother me because I was ready to hear things that I did not agree with or feel comfortable hearing. The problem is how they promoted themselves as members of society.

Polyamorous groups are pretty much people who date, love, live with, and/or screw a lot of people. After their explanations, I decided that they just create churches. Instead of worshipping God, they screw. All other aspects are the same as church- the need for community, learning about yourself by investing in others, learning to communicate, blah, blah, blah.

Age play is the thing where grown people dress in diapers and their partner gets off on treating them like a child. Sadly, they did not explain much of this topic. It was the reason that we went to the lecture. I really wanted to see a grown man in a diaper.

My boyfriend and I both love to watch people (observe human nature, NOT watch them have sex). Sex fetish lectures are a GREAT place to do so. We are not kinky or obsessed with sex. It was more of a "how can you NOT go to a sex fetish conference about age play?" kind of evening.

I did not expect to care as much as I did about the subject. No, I don't care about polygamy or age play. Since David (in the Bible) was a man after God's own heart and he had hundreds of wives and whores, I didn't find myself condeming these folks. I just don't agree on an emotional level.

Toward the end of the lecture, the main speaker went into the rights of people in polyamorous relationships. He was trying to be inspiring, to draw the crowd into community. "If your fetish is to dress like a horse, I will stand for you. If your thing is to wear diapers, I will stand for you. We must stand together for our rights. Like members of the gay community, we face opposition and discrimination. There will be a day when sticking a ponytail in your ass and acting like a horse will NOT get you fired. It is who you are."

Hold on. Whoooah (pun intended). My bullshit and anger meter went off the scale. It is cool with me if you like to put on a diaper and be fed through a bottle. That is NOOOOOT the same as being gay. I just knew as this speaker spewed his bullshit, a baby girl in China began to cry because someone made it all the more difficult for her to be adopted by two wonderful American daddies.

Fetish is not the same as gay. Stupid, stupid, diaper wearing whore of a man. A fetish is an act that you are drawn to while experiencing sexuality. It happens in the bedroom. When you go to the office, you don't wear your horse outfit. The governement will still let you get married in a diaper. Those are preferences. They are all formed through life experiences. (no, I don't have any fetishes)

Gay and lesbian couples are not fighting for the right to wear costumes or have orgies. They are born loving one gender. When they decide to buy a house, get married, adopt their baby from China, and be a normal family, there is a 330 lb man with a horse saddle strapped to his back asking to be accepted just like the gays.

Damn it, dude! Shut up and keep your kink in the bedroom, where everyone else keeps sex! Leave the large oppressed gay population out of your campaign! It is not the same!

Red Pee and Pretty Beaches

My attitude last week improved. The UTI rose up and bitch-slapped me for another 5 days.

Here was my magical weekend:

I went to the beach with my boyfriend. My expectations were low. I pictured a cheap motel 30 minutes from the beach, greasy seafood out of a Mom & Pop restaurant, and internal panic as I looked for a restroom while we were enjoying the miracle of the ocean. These are great things, especially if you consider the age and lack of income of my sexy host.

What was the weekend? A WONDERFUL 5th floor room in a beachfront hotel with our own balcony (low rates in March!). The view was beautiful and we had direct access to the calm, empty pre-busy season beach. We stayed next door to the superb restaurant where we ate high priced seafood and he knew exactly what to order. After dinner, we laid on a sleeping bag next to the waves. Cuddling, dreaming. Even the weather was perfect!

Icing on the cake? Um, no. No icing needed and no icing experienced. It was more like hot sauce on the cake. The damned UTI. Pain increased, sometimes resulting in chills and a shallow desire to die. On top of that, the magical bladder pain pills from Dr. "I don't give a damn" turned my pee BRIGHT red/orange. That isn't an issue unless you have a man who gives a lot of attention to your crotchal area. And every ounce of your pee now has the bright clothes-staining properties of easter egg dye. Most of my magical beach weekend was spent sitting on a toilet cringing in pain, wiping endless traces of bright orange pee, or showering to clean and re-clean my nether-regions.



Ah, romance. Nothing builds a relationship like cuddling at the beach and making your boyfriend look at the crazy colors of your pee in the toilet.

Dear World...

Fuck you.

Yes, that is the kind of day I had today. Aside from a precious two hours when I led teenagers in games, I really just wanted to tell the world to fuck off.

It started before I left my house. I forced myself awake and drudged into the kitchen to find some simple food that I could take directly back to bed and eat while sitting in the warmth of my covers. Who pissed me off first?

The dog. The lazy dog that will lie in my bed for hours watching me get ready, clean the house, or do work without moving a muscle. This morning she decided to jump out of bed with me, forcing me to walk with her outside in my skimpy nightgown and wait for her to poo.

Fuck you, dog.

It continued on my way to work when I found myself following the only car on earth that takes the same five ass-backward turns that I take to get to the same tiny town from my unpaved street in the middle of nowhere. That car decided to drive 20 miles under the speed limit the entire time.

Fuck you, cheap sedan.

I arrived to the office to listen to the judging tone of our secretary. She has been tired and sick of work lately. That causes her to see me as lazy because of my odd hours and freedom to go home when I feel bad. Of course, she isn't there when I am working until 11pm twice a week. Today, she was particularly passive-aggressive.

Fuck you, secretary who I normally like but who really pissed me off today.

THEN at work, the janitor dropped by my office to complain about a particularly dirty building. Apparently, a group that is totally unrelated to me used the building and left it a big mess. Oh no, now the janitor has to clean. It was somehow my fault.

Fuck you, janitor.

Lastly, my body hates me. I managed to have cramps AND the beginning of a urinary tract infection at the same time. When you add the diuretic effects of the 3 cranberry pills I took to ward off the UTI, I was in pain and en route to the bathroom all day.

Fuck you, body. Why do you have to get a UTI every time I accidentally sneeze on my underwear while going pee? I miss the days when I earned UTI's by excessive masturbation. That was at least fun.

Now I am home, showered, and ready to give a final "Fuck you" to the world today. My hope is that the Tylenol PM kicks in quickly and that tomorrow begins void of my inner angry bitch.

Everyone thinks about it.

You readers are so dirty-minded. No, I am not talking about sex! (this time)


Actually, I am thinking dirtier. Today I realized that at 31 years old, I am just as fascinated with poo as I was as a toddler. I read somewhere that between ages 1 and 2, we all discover the miracle of our own poo. The process of potty training increases our interest, although at that time children learn that poo is not good, but dirty. Some people are taught shame during potty training, which I think haunts them for life.

Today I am voicing what no one else wants to admit. Poo is a really cool thing. No, it is not cool in a sick or twisted way. I don't even like movies with stupid bathroom humor. As soon as I am done with my business, I flush everthing away just like everyone else and then use my scented soap to make it seem as if I never pooed in the first place. After all, women aren't supposed to have any gross bodily functions, right?

I am talking about that split second when we stand over our toilets and look in fascination. This happens for me after a significantly large movement. How did that just come out of my body? I was walking around with that inside me just five minutes ago and suddenly, there it is! Should I weigh myself and see if I lost any weight? Are my organs now rearranging themselves with all of that extra space inside of me?

Because we are civilized, poo is not a part of our everyday conversation. I am glad for this. We should continue to ask "how are you?" and not "how was your poo this morning?."

That doesn't change that fact that at least once a day, we revert to our toddler selves and stand in awe of what our bodies can do. If it is an especially amazing day, our personal poo encounters may come to mind hours later. We smile to ourselves.

A measure of the quality of your relationships is whether or not you have someone to help you celebrate an especially awesome poo. Deep friends do this now and then. People in nursing homes brag about it regularly. Proper southern women suppress their poo celebrations, which is why I think that they are so judgemental and spend so much time baking pound cakes (which, ironically produces a lot of poo). Lonely people have no one to tell about their poo.

We are all thinking about poo. We are all amazed by it, even if only for a second or two. I find joy in friendships that allow space for a good poo celebration.

I hope that you, too, have poo-worthy friends. After all, your body is a miracle. Someone should love you enough to listen, make a face, and roll their eyes. A true friend will compare it to their poo or ask what you had to eat. Everyone deserves that kind of love!

Thank you, Eve Ensler!

A few quick updates: Hot boyfriend has had breakfast at my house twice now. So far, this new breakfast companion is just right. Please let it last!

Our Grim Reaper, Austin, has taken a back seat for now. They never went to a lawyer. I told Hot Boyfriend that I didn't like the decisions that Austin makes. He listened. It was dropped. When I get a chance, I try to mutter "what a fucker" when Austin's name comes up. I am sure that this genius plot of muttering will open Hot Boyfriend's eyes to my wisdom, causing him to find non-thug friends. Not.* For now, our relationship Grim is tucked away into the closet.

Now for today. I LOVE Eve Ensler.

Last week, my boyfriend and I went to see "The Vagina Monologues." If you have not heard about this play, it is time to crawl out from under your rock and catch a performance.

Hot Boyfriend loved the play, as I thought he would. He didn't simply think it was interesting or funny. The play seemed to change his attitude toward me.

Since then, he has given much more attention to my vagina. He thinks that my body is a wonderful, amazing plaything. How is this different from any other horny man? He now has a desire to simply know my body. I've never experienced this before. Thank you, Eve Ensler!

*I still think that we should bring back "not. "

a glimpse of the end

Damn. Every relationship has little moments where I get a flash of what will eventually be the end of "us." It isn't a reason for a break-up, but more like the Grim Reaper. If you see one of those creepy guys in a dark cloak, you aren't dead yet but it is time to start making arrangements.

Sometimes that Grim comes in how a man treats me in public (or private). With others, it is repeated bad grammer or stupid Republican views. A few times, it was a phone conversation that left me with an unshakeable feeling that they were lying to me.

I had my glimpse today with the new hot boyfriend. Grant it, he is 22 and I am 31. That is not exactly a formula for a long-lasting union.

The Grim-Reaper:

Today he called to cancel our plans. That is no problem at all.

Problem. He cancelled because he was going to a lawyer's office with his best friend, Austin. Austin is our Grim Reaper.

On a Tuesday night, Austin found trouble in a city an hour from his house. Someone tried to run him over. I am sure that he was completely innocent in the situation. Not.* Austin was very upset, so he called for help. By the time that my Hot Boyfriend got there, the trouble passed. My sweet, nurturing Hot Boyfriend took Austin (who dresses like a thug, by the way) home.

Today, Austin asked Hot Boyfriend to take him to a lawyer. He wanted to see if he could press charges against the thug who tried to run him over...but only if he can get money.

Really? How did Hot Boyfriend think that this was a good idea? How long does it take you to realize that your friend is an idiot who belongs on Jerry Springer? Why didn't Hot Boyfriend say "hell no, I will not go to a lawyer with you....leave it alone." How do you find trouble on a Tuesday night?

This thug of a best friend likes to pick fights, thrives on drama, and has no judgement. With him, Hot Boyfriend seems to lose all wisdom. I just became the girlfriend who hates the best friend. The end is coming.

We will talk about it tonight. Did I mention that Hot Boyfriend is non-violent, but if he is thrown in jail with the beloved Austin, he can be deported? No more hope of citizenship?

I am feeling very 31 today. If you were good enough to read this entire post, here is a treat:



I told you he was hot.

* That is the first time I've said "Not" in that manner since 1996. We should bring it back.