Back in the Saddle

I'm feeling high again.

Came home from work the other morning and Roomy had put the attached postcard on my desk. She was talkin' about me.... Thanks Roomy.

Anywho. Took myself out last night and had a jolly time. It's good not to be desperate. I went to one of our local bars. Fortunately, the owner was there; he's great, and always comps my drinks. Don't know why. Knowing the owner is a good thing because he introduced me to the fellow on my right and we struck up a conversation. I was joined on my left by a dairy farmer, who was also quite nice. We talked cows. I learned a little. Dairy man left and finally so did the guy on my right. After a few minutes, in walks an elderly man wearing a tattered leather coat (his cat got after it). The owner, knowing I'm a firefighter, introduced me to this man: our ex Chief's brother. Well, we got to talkin' and we had a hoot. Finally, this drunken old soul went home to his wife.

I stayed a bit longer on my own, drinking a couple of glasses of water before hitting the road. Then I came home, fixed myself some dinner and went to bed.

I had a great night.

Once again, I recognize that I can feel great on my own, without a man, in the company of strangers. I like it.

Oooh, I gotta get to work. Bye!

Elation Deflation and Balance of Power

Shouldn't have gone to the Head Shrinker the other day. Not that it bummed me out or anything, but going there and analyzing stuff did take me down off my high. Oh well, guess every day can't be stellar.

* * *
I finally won an argument with Rover last night. It wasn't over anything big, but the victory to me was symbolic.

See, he's been after me to grow my hair out. You should know that my hair has been very short for the last four years. Until I finally had the courage to cut it off, my hair had always been my nemesis. It's stringy and doesn't hold its wave. My head is kind of little, and pulling it back makes me feel ugly.

On the contrary, the spiky, spunky hair I've sported over the last several years has made me feel sexy and fun and self-confident--even beautiful at times. So I've liked it short. It's a bit boyish. Some might say dykey, but I don't care.

And neither did Rover. At least, not until he and I started getting more serious. Anyhow, to make a short story long, he wants me to have long hair, says he likes it better that way, that I look better with long hair--much to the disagreement of all of my girlfriends, my hair dresser, RacerEx, etc.

In an effort to be accommodating and flexible (no skin off my teeth, right?), I told him I would grow it out. So that's what I've been doing for many, many months now. Unfortunately, the longer it got, the uglier I began to feel. The uglier I began to feel, the more self-conscious I became. I even took to checking it in the mirror repeatedly just to make sure it looked okay, but it rarely did. Constant checking is just silly behavior.

No matter how much I teased, diffused, gelled, sprayed, fluffed, straightened, brushed, and styled my hair, by the end of the day I always ended up looking like Shawn Cassidy, circa 1970-something.

Enough was enough.

I proposed to Rover that if he would agree to let me cut my hair back off to the cut I like I would purchase sexy wigs which I would wear for him, indoors and out, at his (reasonable) request.

He accepted.

But last night at his house (after my first transitional cut), he grabbed the hair at the back of my head and said, "I'm gonna spank you."

"What for?" I said playfully.

"For cutting off your hair," he returned. I reminded him firmly that my hair was going to get shorter, that I have another appointment in two weeks. "You look so much better with long hair," he continued.

I told him that I had to like the way I looked. And that I like the way I look with short hair. I told him that my self-confidence was more important than his desire for me to have long hair. I emphasized that his continually telling me he liked me better looking some other way only made me feel he didn't like the way I look and that his continued complaints about my hair were making me feel unattractive.

Instead of apologizing, or at least just shutting up, he wouldn't let it go and continued harrassing me. So I clammed up and turned away.

He finally turned to me and made an attempt to appease my silence. He didn't tell me he supported my decision or opinion but continued sweetly about how much he likes my hair long. Jeezus Fucking Christ!

So I let him have it. I told him that I was not Lips (who had grown her hair very long over the that they were together). He said he knew that and countered that he was not RacerEx, either. I told him I knew he was not but that I was not trying to turn him into RacerEx. I continued that I didn't hold a job like Lips, one where I could do up my nails and spend two hours blowing my hair to look perfect because I didn't get it dirty or messy throughout the course of the day.

Finally, I told him to stop criticizing me, that I didn't like it.

But he wouldn't let up.

After some silence, I pulled out something I'd been thinking all along but, out of politeness and fair fighting, had refrained from saying: "You know what? I'm sure you looked better with hair too, but it is the way it is." (He's going bald quickly.)

Well, he didn't like that comment too much, told me what a bitch I was, said that I was fucked up, and turned away from me in a huff. I simply said it was he who was fucked up.

I wasn't really upset. I just wanted to make my point. Tact, logic, and an appeal for sympathy hadn't worked, so what the hell? I don't care that he's going bald. I've never known him with a full head of hair, or at least I don't remember it; and I'm the girl who coined the phrase, "Hair is overrated" so you can imagine how much I care if he, or any man, has hair.

Regardless, I wasn't going to shrink away and roll over just because he wants to put me down, push my needs aside for what he wants.

We laid there in silence for a while until he finally rolled over and grabbed the back of my hair again and pulled my face to his and, after kissing me deeply, said, "That was a cheap shot and I'm going to fuck you until you're sore for saying it."

So I knew I had won. And we had sex. A couple of times during sex he mentioned his desire to see me in new sexy wigs. I told him to shut up, just shut up.

And this morning he joked about his baldness. I told him to shut up.

We kissed goodbye happily and I drove off.

* * *

All right, off to the gym with me.

You Can Always Succeed at Quitting

...that's just another of my favorite sayings.

HDTV Eyes

Ever have one of those days where you see the world very clearly? Yesterday was one of those days. I don't know if it was the quality of sunlight or if it was that the buildings were clean because of the recent storms or if it was better than usual visibility or if my senses were just somehow more acute, but fuck if yesterday wasn't one of the most beautiful days in my memory. I swear it was as if I could see every leaf, every blade of grass, every lamp post, every store front, the small islands way off the coast and all of their small outcroppings of rock, etc. Glorious, glorious day.

I've been in such a good mood lately. Tremendous mood. It's almost as if all the pieces are finally in place. I went to the head shrinker today for the first time since before my trip. We talked about whether or not I should continue. I told her I felt content right now, but that I'd like to explore further some other issues, namely my desire to make some long-term goals for myself, to find an interest or passion and develop it, and to feel more comfortable with my brain power in general as well as my place here on earth as an individual.

We explored how happy I was while I was away on my trip. And I was. The overwhelming feeling on that trip was that I felt good and that I did not miss Rover, that my happiness and moods were independent of him (or at least thrived in his absense), and that I was capable of feeling really good ON MY OWN!!!

That happiness has carried over to my life here at home and I long to nuture it. However, I don't want it to be dependent on another person, namely Rover. I want to generate my own happiness, to live a cheerier existence and not look for the proverbial shoe to drop to dash it all away.

Therapy today was a little upsetting, and I don't want to be upset. I know it might take tears to do some of the hard work, but I really do want to enjoy the happiness I am feeling without analyzing my entire existence to pieces. Perhaps I should just take a therapy sabbatical, give myself a chance to enjoy how I am feeling without pushing for the "what's next" or "now what" uneasiness I so often feel with my life.

I am happy.
I am busy.
I am content.
I am in love.
I feel productive.
I have events to look forward to.
I am being proactive with my social life.
I am not ruminating and overanalyzing everything.
I am drinking much, much less, much less often.
I am exercising.
I have friends.
I am eating better, well even.
I am sleeping at night.
I have energy.
I am interested in my life.

What more do I want right now? Not much. I think I'll go to one more session and talk about taking a break and perhaps scheduling a session for after my return from Italy.

* * * *
By the way, I bought tickets to see both David Sedaris, who I think is hysterical and to see Terry Gross, who a personal hero of mine. I wish I could interview Terry Gross. I should write up a question or two to ask, in case they ask for questions from the audience. I LOVE her.

All right, that's it now. Better go start a load of laundry.

* * * *
Oh yeah, my house is mess. Not really, but it's not as clean as I like it to be. In so saying, I think of you O.K. who once posted about the state of your house and how you don't clean neurotically anymore for the company who never comes. Guess what? Neither do I. Hee, hee. I do want a maid, tho....

Up to My Ass in Aphorisms

Having been brought up by a woman who spoke in aphorisms, I can't seem to get away from them myself. My vocabulary, limited as it may be, is flush with aphorisms. I've even coined many of my own. Here's a sampling of my favorites:

* A little vanity goes a long way (and it does, especially sunscreen)
* Hair is overrated (said mostly to balding or bald men)
* That's just something that's made to break (said in reference to silly accessories on appliances, etc.)
* Output must exceed intake (said to people constantly on fad diets who think they've discovered the only way to lose weight)
* I'm sorry, I was ignoring you (said when someone is talking to me and I'm not listening)
* Do you know how much time in life I've wasted being early?!


There are more, but I can't think of them right now. Some of RacerEx's which I like are:

* A cheap tool is no bargain (very true)
* I like a woman who achieves her beauty through loads and loads of make-up (said in jest)
* I have three words for you: conditioner

And so on. Care to contribute any of your own?

All Creatures Great and Small

It seems to me that men are indeed simple creatures. I'm not being pejorative, either. I envy their simplicity. I often joke about how women need fluffy beds, soft covers and pillows while men are content to sleep in a hole in the ground. Not that they're not happy in a comfy bed, but it's truly just not a requirement. Of course, there are always exceptions....

* * * *

I used to use sex as means to lure my men in. The promise that I will do anything seems a tantalizing carrot. The idea that they are allowed to do anything their imaginations desire, even if they never get around to doing it, seems irresistible.

When RacerEx and I were splitting up, he told me that things hadn't panned out sexually the way he had envisioned. He thought we would do more swinging, said he felt he needed it, and was disappointed when I did not show more enthusiasm/interest in something I had initially put before him as something in which I was willing to participate.

Unfortunately for him/us, my willingness to explore that avenue was limited by my ultimate dissatisfaction with it. I guess I'm just not a sex for sex's sake kind of person. I find it boring and unfulfilling. It was like that with DodgerEx, too. Every time we swung I became disinterested in the middle of the sexual activity. Part of it, I'm sure, had something to do with the fact that I don't cum readily and the pressure I felt to fake it to please my audience. It just became a chore for me.

I think I still use sex as a lure. Right or wrong, it's just part of who I am, part of what I feel I have to offer a man that another woman may not. After all, I have met countless men (not surprising considering my profession) who are oppressed and dissatisfied sexually because their wives/girlfriends are either completely unreceptive to certain acts or do them only begrudgingly as a favor or out of duty. I'm not saying it's the wife's fault. Perhaps the fellows are bumbling buffoons in bed. Perhaps, and more likely, there is and has always been a communication problem. Who knows. All I know is men generally don't get to explore their fantasies with their wives/girlfriends and often stray when that potential carrot is dangled in front of them.

Don't get me wrong, my lure is not disingenuous. And I don't use is to steal someone away from their partner. But if I detect a mutual interest, I deftly make my position known. Indeed, I am willing to try anything at least once Of course, I do have certain limitations: no scat, no corpses, no cutting, and I'm really not good at role playing--although I will dress the part. But I haven't found those limitations to be a barrier in any way. I genuinely like it all. And I like pushing the limits.

* * *

There is a point to all this talk. And my point is Rover. I lured him in as I always do. My declarations that I would do anything with him have unleased in him a well-spring of ideas for exploration. In turn, my desire for him continues to be whetted and I find myself reaching for every new carrot he dangles before me. I have met my match.

* * *

I am content. Satisfied. Sated. For the first time. I feel whole.

The Wonder Years

Of course, life with Mitch was in no way perfect.

As his best friend would later describe him, Mitch was a "crazy maker." He was also a bit of a slave driver. Definitely Type A.

My best example is probably the wood pile. Mitch never threw anything out--Depression Era mentality of sorts, I suppose. Over time, he collected scrap lumber--good, large pieces, to be sure--but collecting lumber means storing lumber, and, because the garage was already packed to the hilt with other things he had saved, that meant hiding the wood pile in some obtrusive place on the property.

Now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with saving scrap lumber. I have a pile of it myself--a small pile with only good large, pieces and a couple of small ones--and it lives in my garage. What was so disconcerting about Mitch's wood pile was that regularly he would decide it needed to be moved to some other unobtrusive location. Again, not a big deal, right? But when one has moved the wood pile from one location back to the first location and then to a third location, then back to the second location and then back to the first location, etc., it gets to be a bit much.

Chores with Mitch were serious business. And I'm not talking taking out the trash (which NoName and I also did each week). Chores with Mitch were weekend projects. Weekends were not for relaxing, they were for working. And work we did.

When people ask me where I grew up, I joke that I grew up on a work camp. Actually, in retrospect, chores with Mitch are quite funny. When we used to whine and complain, he would say, "Some day you'll thank me for this!" And he was right. I am a good worker to this day, skilled in sundry manual labor tasks, able to wield both hand and power tools comfortably, not afraid of hard work or long hours.

I am indeed a product of my environment.

A Rose By Any Other Name Indeed

A pseudonym will not do him justice.

* * *

After Dad left, Mom dated around for a while. Nice guys, I suppose. Kind of a fast, fun crowd tho. There were a couple of race car drivers, a married guy, and one who wrapped paper around a couple of his fingers and recited a cute poem about crows while he made the paper disappear and then reappear: "Fly away Peter, fly away Paul. Come back Peter, come back Paul."

Mitch wasn't like the others. When she finally brought him home to meet us, they'd already been out on a few dates. I remember padding down the stairs in my pyjamas as they walked through the door after their date. I was curious to meet this man she hadn't let us meet until then.

My first impression was, "My god he's old!" Mom is 30 years my senior. Mitch was 15 years hers. I guess that made him all of 50. But he was an old 50, I think.

His face was round and friendly. Unusual. He wore metal-rimmed glasses too large for his face. What little hair he had left was a browny-grey, combed over thinly across the top of his head.

I don't remember much about the meeting. I think he may have mentioned he owned a sail boat. The prospect of sailing excited me. I think not much later he and Mom went away for a weekend. When they returned he had bought for each of us a drawing tablet and a large, coiled lolly pop. My drawing pad had a hippo on the front of it and was round, shaped like the hippo's rump. The lollypop was twisted white and purple. With those gifts, I was smitten.

What I do remember distinctly is that many years later, when they'd be fighting, arguing, yelling over something, I'd sit in my room listening to the screaming, hoping that if they got a divorce that I could go live with him. He was every bit the father that Dad had never been. And more. He was lovely. Wonderful. I am proud to have had him as a part of my life. I am lucky.

Aside from leaving my father, dating, living with, and later marrying Mitch was the 2nd smart decision my mother made. For that, I give her much credit. We were all lucky to have him.

Condemned to Relive It?

PB often reflects on the past. Funny that I used to spend so much time dwelling on my past, but have seemingly lost interest in it.

Now I contemplate the future. Although less so lately. I'm kind of content with the right now right now.

* * *

I didn't like my childhood. Still don't. That's part of the reason why I never wanted children and still have none (as my eggs grow old, it is probably too late). I wouldn't wish childhood on anyone. Not mine, anyway.

I was a product of rape, or so my mother once told me--even if she denies ever having said so now. My father raped her. More like forced her, I guess. She was planning on leaving him, unbeknownst to him, and didn't want any more children with him. He refused to raise an only child, having been a miserable one himself. So he forced her that night. And I was conceived.

Not that I wasn't loved. Actually, from the moment I arrived both my parents loved me more than they loved my brother, NoName, a very sad fact indeed. NoName was the object of my father's fury. My father himself had been abused by his step-father, and so, in keeping with tradition, he was impatient, short tempered and down-right abusive with NoName. It wasn't the beat-you-up kind of abuse, but it was physical--excessive spanking, haul-off-and-hit-you reprimand, screaming, etc.

Dad was/is an alcoholic. An angry drunk. The violent kind.

He and mom argued loudly from time to time. My most vivid memory before kindergarten is of an argument going on downstairs while I huddled, sobbing, in my brother's arms on his bed.

I sometimes question whether I liked NoName back then. In watching the old Super 8 movies Mom had converted to video tape, I look at him with a sense of... what is it? contempt? no, that's too strong a word... disdain? no, not really. I'm not sure what the word is. Dislike, I guess. I just know that even back then, at the age of 3, I didn't really like my brother. But that's another story.

Mom finally left Dad. I don't think I ever really missed him. He traveled a lot on business, so he hadn't really been home that much before he left. All I knew back then was that with him gone the house was finally quiet.

Mom has made many foolish and cowardly decisions in her life, but leaving Dad was one of her smartest. For that I give her credit.

So Far, So Good

Ever since I decided I'd start working out again, I've been doing very well. Making the decision to work out at night if I didn't get to it in the morning (instead of just not working out at all) was the right one. Amazing how long it took me to figure it out.

Spent the "weekend" with Rover. We finished our "date" at the gym. We went together yesterday, too. Very good. Much better than the sitting around and drinking like we'd been doing before. He has much to do before we leave for Italy.

* * * *
So I'm still feeling very good. Relaxed. Not stressed about things with Rover. Funny how good my intuition is. It knows when things are right or wrong. He admitted to how fucked up things between us have been over the last year or so and how he really thinks we're going to have a good year, a good two years, a good three years. He's very optomistic. Somehow, I believe it. Each of us finally seems on the right track, both individually and as a team. It's nice.

I don't have much to say, really. Just want to memorialize the good stuff instead of bitching all the time. Perhaps now I can get back to some better writing. We'll see. Anyhow, I've got stuff to do.

Later.

Nothing's Wrong

Everything's good. Really good.

I'm happy. For more than a week solid now, I've been happy.

Go figure.

He Who Hesitates

For those of you who are sick of hearing/reading about it (ahem, I think I mean you, O.K.), skip this entry or you might just groan and roll your eyes... or worse yet, you might just vomit. At the least, you'll probably want to yell at me, or just give up reading about my pathetic life, but, for me and for those of you who are amused by my idiocy, continue.

* * * *

I'm a bit befuddled by Rover's latest behavior. He's being normal. Sweet. Enthusiastic. Unguarded. Inviting. Inclusive.

He made plans in advance for this coming Sunday. He wants to come over for Super Bowl Sunday and invite his friends.

He checked his calendar to schedule our next road trip and then noticed that I would be going to Italy very soon and so instead told me that he'd like to come with us, that he probably would. When I suggested he come the first part of the trip rather than the last part in consideration of the weather here and his ability to work at the River possibly hindered by early Spring rains, he did not get defensive, but told me what a good point I was making and that I was probably right.

What's going on? What's wrong? Hmmm.

The last two nights we spent together, when he woke up in the middle of the night to go pee, he took me in his arms and embraced me and told me how much he loves me and told me what a good time he was having with me.

He told me, to his own embarrassment, that he really wants my mother to like him. I told him she hadn't offered up her opinion to me. He told me he felt that was a bad sign. I did not tell him I've been telling her that I didn't think there was much of a future with him (and that is what I have believed to be the truth).

He told me we're going to have a great year, a fantastic year.

He told me I am the primary person in his life and that we are dating. He told me, more than once, that I can have him forever, that he knows he will want to be with me for always.

He talked about going to the River with me this summer--Lips' territory.

* * * *

What is going on?

I am befuddled. Hesitant to let myself believe.

* * * *

This talk/behavior started while I was gone. Was it that he missed me? I don't know. When I got back, I told him I thought things between us were going badly. He disagreed, but I insisted. Things were going badly for ME, if not for him. Did he not hear what I was saying? We talked for hours. He did not give up, listened, tried to understand, heard what I had to say. It was a good talk.

And then we had a great trip.

* * * *
What gives?

While the Worst Are Full of Passionate Intensity

Funny thing keeps happening lately. Rover is being really great. Is this just the good cycle, soon to be followed by the ever-shitty? Hard to say. This time, he keeps making declarations of wanting to do things with me. This time, he has a list, a long list.

We'll see.

A Man, A Plan, A Wig

So I'm driving with Rover down to L.A. to surprise Mom for her 70th birthday.

When I asked him to go, he asked if I didn't want to make a "weekend" out of it and stop and spend the night in Monterey. One condition: I wear my "school girl outfit" on the drive down.

Agreed.

But I have a better plan. I weaseled out of the dress-up drive, fixed my outfit a bit and have decided on the following:

After our day in Monterey, I will drop him in a bar and leave him there. I will go back to the hotel on my own, don my modified outfit: off-the-shoulder black sweater, mini-mini plaid skirt, fish net stockings or white over-the-knee stockings (I haven't yet decided), my knee-length black high-heel boots, my black wig, and, of course, loads and loads of face-changing makeup. I will then head back out to the bar on my own, sidel up somewhere within his view, and let the evening unfold as it will.

Sounds like fun to me.

Stomach In Knots

Hate having food poisoning. Missed a day at the office because I was up intermittently all night last night. Almost vomited in my hand on the way to the bathroom. Yikes!

Anyhow, the trip is wearing off. Funny how quickly experience fades. Looks as if a bomb went off in my bedroom with all the unpacking and sorting, etc.

Bought great boots and two leather coats in Barcelona. Barcelona is fantastic. Edinburgh and London were so-so. Edinburgh was the better of the two.

Christmas was fantastic, too. Loved hanging with RoomyEx and her family. It came to a sudden end, however, when the brother in law got drunk and started arguing with the Mum. He demanded we leave right then and there (about 10:00 p.m. Christmas night). We left the next morning, one day ahead of schedule. Mum has sworn she'll never speak to him again. Ah, family.

Don't feel much like posting. Feeling kind of crummy with my stomach.

Gotta take down the Christmas tree, too. I have YellowDog today. That always makes me happy. Anyhow, gonna go. See ya.

I'm Baaaaaaack

Holy cow! Did I have the best trip in my life? I sure as fuck did.

Can't type much now tho because I started vomiting about half-an-hour ago. Ah well, hopefully it's only a 24-hour food bug.

I love traveling with RoomyEx. Not a cross or strained word between the two of us. I was feeling so good I wanted to stop taking my psych meds.

"That's what all crazy people say," laughed RoomyEx when I expressed my feelings out loud.

How right she is.