Crotchular Needs

This is how it goes with me. I make a statement; I take a stand. God says "Not so fast, white girl."

Some of you may remember my recent declaration of intentionally empty pants; my Kissing Embargo. No dating, no kissing, no work on anything other than my dreams and goals. Financial goals, spiritual goals, health goals. No men.

I ended up going out on a non-date (I insisted we call it a Social Visit) last night and found myself doing a Jekyll and Hyde all week. Angry that I agreed to it, nervous that it was happening, my heart incredibly sore as it was from recent, re-devastating disappointment from a former lover. But maybe, my dear friend pointed out, it was exactly the reason I should go out.

So I went. I hate being nervous. I had an unsettling feeling of foreboding that it just would not work out and be a waste of time. Turns out I'm psychic, folks. Though he is not a bad person in the least, it was a familiar tune.

He did most of the talking about himself.

When I mentioned my side business I am very passionate about, he was distracted and seemed disinterested.

When I mentioned my own music and writing, twice, he didn't ask anything about it.

Oh but we spent an hour on his business.

He sat there reviewing my email and told me I was longwinded. I fucking KNOW this...I'm a writer. Better to edit out than to reconfigure! But he was the one asking me all these fucking match.com type questions all week - and it was not supposed to be a date. And I'm longwinded.

When I mentioned, during the course of our Divorce-Story-Trading, that I'd legally changed my first name as part of my independence, he stopped me and said "I don't want to know." I stared at him, not sure what he meant. I told him it was nothing sinister or dramatic, just part of m..."Nope. I don't want to hear about it." I felt like I was slapped. That was especially nice.

Within the first twenty minutes of conversation he told me he was well hung; he mentioned porn, dildos, whatever. He'd accuse me of thinking something sexual when I wasn't. I'm not the kind of person to throw a drink in a man's face or publicly embarrass someone, which is maybe something I need to learn, but I wish I’d done just that. Worst part was, I didn’t fully realize what was going on until the next morning. With two glasses of wine in me, no food since soup for lunch, and the tolerance of a pre-teen, I was a little buzzed and courtesy laughing over the sexual innuendo to hide my discomfort.

Three hours of this. For a drink. Not to mention he drank 6 beers and refused to order dinner. Guess he wanted to get lit up and fuck.

I couldn't leave soon enough.

And it occurs to me as I sit here watching Tombstone that I want a Kurt Russell. I'm not a prude. By far. Christ, with the right man, I am shocking :) But I can't deal with these teenager-minded men anymore. I want Kurt Russell. I want a man who knows right from wrong, who might have an edge to him but doesn't behave like he's a victim to his crotchular needs.

But yeah. Kurt Russell in Tombstone. A man who has already manifested his potential, has personal power, a noble reputation, who has faced demons and has gained wisdom from it...not some blazing saddles young hot shot. I want a warrior. A mature role model. I want a hero. I'm holding on for a heeero til the end of the niight! He's gotta be stro....ok sorry.

I just am not training anymore men. My finishing school is closed.

So I guess the Social Visit helped me bring my ideal match even more into focus.

Meanwhile I remain maddeningly celibate.

/cracks open another merlot

Dear Motherfucker

I’ve just turned back from the kitchen counter holding an open bottle of wine and two glasses to share with you, my friend, only to notice you haven’t moved position for years. You are still in the same clothes I met you in, your head tilts at the usual angle, you seem interested in what I’m saying, but you don’t respond to me anymore. You’re silent as a tomb.

I call to you repeatedly. Answer me.

Quit fooling around now!

My smile falters and I put the glasses down.

Can you hear me?

Are you there?

I walk around the counter to your stool and jump back seeing you have no third dimension. You’re a cutout!! My heart pounds. Questions fire along hundreds of synapses, piling up in my skull like a runaway grainery. How long have I been talking to a photo? How many people have watched me talk to to photo? Who tried to warn me? Where is your depth, anyway? Did I imagine everything? And where are you? Who are you?

....a smaller voice asks, Who are you with?

From this distance of time, your big, stupid smile that once charmed me looks so fake that I am briefly more hurt that I wasted my time than I am hurt from being pinned. Pinned by your vapid, self-serving, unconscionable stare.

You used me, you doped me --

you left me, you motherfucker.

The Kissing Embargo

I've climbed down out of the "I have to have a boyfriend" rafters. I was there for a while, wishing and dreaming, putting ex boyfriends in the Pet Semetary and reanimating them just so I wouldn't really feel alone. Cept I am. And I still do. But yeah it's been a veritable plethora of dipping into wells I thought had long since gone dry, huffing fumes and pretending to be a part of someone who is a part of someone else. If it doesn't make sense, don't worry. I'm not trying that hard and I don't care to :)

The strange thing is, I don't know if I will ever find someone. I mean....jesus I am so picky now. I have a whole subset of requirements in spirituality, philosophy, background, education, etc that have narrowed my already limited field (I am socially inept) to .... a vaccuum in space. I'm literally looking for the male version of me, but with a propensity for patience and unflappable calm since I seem to do "Hormonal Mexican Jumping Bean" exceedingly well.

I love the word unflappable.

All that is moot, anyway, because I am now on a Kissing Embargo. I am not kissing any boys (calm down, I'm not kissing any girls either) until a few goals of mine have been achieved. Christ I think this is a 6 month starvation.

AND WHAT ARE THESE EFFING FRUIT FLIES IN MY APARTMENT I HAVE BEEN TRAVELING FOR TWO EFFING WEEKS

Why, you may ask? (about the Kissing Embargo) It's simple.

I am a retard around men I like.

And when I catch the scent of Possible Mate, my retardation exponentially increases and whether that man is worth it or not I will continue being a retard until I've married him or gotten emotionally attached. Whichever comes first. And being a divorcee, I can tell you, the past few relationships I've had were harder to end/cope with than leaving my ex husband. When my tender girlie heart latches on, she will not let go until I've asked to be kicked in the kidneys a few more times, hit me again, Ike, and put some stank on it.

So I think, even though I'm 2.5 years out of my marriage, that I am still a Retard and I need some severe Timeout before I go to something Dumb. /having an unpleasant memory of a dumb thing I did over the last year....cry

It's those flashbacks I want to avoid.

So no kissing for me. It fucks me up. I get dumb and goofy and mentally deficient. Whereas, at my prime, I am just goofy. I will unwittingly think men are worthy of me (or anyone) when they're not. I think I'm less than what I am, then I forget my goals and they get pushed off. So, now you men are getting pushed off. Yeah.

This will last til my next horny season, which will be /looks at watch....mmm 7 days from now.

You have time to pop some popcorn, tuck the kids in, run the dishwasher, and be back in time for the hilarious sequel.

See you in a bit.

A blog about blogging

I want to blog, but don't know what to blog about. It's not that I've got nothing to say; the past week I've been journaling record amounts and enjoying the words that infuse my brain and rattle around until I expel them. It's just that what I have journaled has no place on a public blog. So, weather?

The things that occupy my writing brain revolve around personal growth and things I'm not ready to share with The World At Large.

I can tell you that I did indeed get the job that I interviewed for in Frisco. In fact, I was just there for a week learnin' and absorbin' like a champ. The gloss has not dimmed; this job is still absolutely perfect in this time and space for me. And I for it. I can't believe my good fortune sometimes, so I work hard for it.

In other news, I'm still not ready to buy a house. But my divorce papers came through all finalized, so I am officially free. After doing my finances this morning I am thrilled to report that I am out of the Lean Times for the past three months and am completely on target for paying off the 0% APR deals in the next few months. My personal financial goals for this year and next year are on track to be met. I am well cared for financially and feel once more in control of my world. It's an odd feeling after having been so completely removed from it during my marriage. This isn't hard, and this isn't worthy of such obsession. I feel even more sympathy for my ex's money issues.

I'm in a good place right now. I'm happy. I've just noticed my investments are getting sizable, even thought I considered it play money, I really have to start paying attention now and let it catch fire.

I'm doing it. It's getting done.

What else can I conquer, now? Small business. I'm all over it.

Except for having a loving man to share all of this with, I think I am the happiest I've ever been. Thanks for everything, whoever's up there watching.