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I was starting to feel like a stranger after days of being around people who used to know me and still thought they did. Little did they know, I had changed, despite their trying to ignore it. When everyone was gone, we went upstairs to the room we would be occupying for a few more days. Finally, we were alone. There were no city lights to peer into our windows at night, which sadly left me feeling disconnected from the world. I shut the creaky door allowing the dark to swallow our surroundings. He led me to the bed where I laid there delightedly knowing what to expect. I couldn’t see him but felt him quickly reach around and unbutton my pants before their removal. He didn’t bother removing my panties but instead shoved them aside, not saying a word. As he entered me, I took in a deep breath, remembering the familiar rush. I felt at home. Not by the place I was in but from his touch. Knowing we belonged to each other, I had missed him, even if it had only been a couple of days without an orgasm. I tried to glance back in hopes of locking eyes with my lover but he had another agenda. With my hips tilted back towards him, I laid my arms and head on the feather pillow, picturing an orgy around me, lovers caressing me, biting me, and warming up my neck as they whispered lovely vulgar words. Because it was my fantasy, I didn’t allow them to touch each other but only me. Selfishly, I absorbed all the passion for myself. Climaxing a bit too fast, I begged him to stop as I started feeling the pain of continual sex after orgasm. Ignoring my request, he turned the sensation of pain into pleasure once again.
Right now I'm sitting in my fathers office, which is filled with dead animals. Growing up, I assumed every house was filled with taxidermy art but now that I've moved out of Texas and become an adult, I realzie just how wrong I was. Ok, I've counted and there's 11 dead animals just in this room alone. There's a quail, I think, that looks peaceful in midflight. There's two turkeys behind me that look pretty alive accept for the metal prong sticking out of their gut that's attached to the wooden plaque. There's 5 animals with horns that are staring at me too. One has his head turned but I can still see him looking over my shoulder. When I was young I understood it but now I'm throughly confused. Something else that's come to my attention is the reading material suggested in the bathroom. Some have guns, some have trucks, there's even one with camoflague undergarmets. I have no idea why even a Texas woman would want to wear camo bra and panties. I thought about asking my mom but that's just wrong. Well, the woman in the catalog seemed pretty happy about it so I assume there are others like her. Maybe Texas men find this attractive. I'm glad I got out before I found one that did. One thing I've noticed is how funny my parents are. I mean the only thing they ever fight about is who took the last piece of pecan pie and whether or not they should have LoneStar Beer or wine coolers with their fajitas. It's weird though, certain things make me feel right at home like driving down a country road with the windows down although seeing everyone wearing jeans and cowboy boots when it's 100 degrees out seems a bit odd. Overall, the house is filled with kids, dogs, and love, so I'm willing to overlook the stuffed carcuses.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to our Mo’time friend Mrs. Likewise. She will be leaving us and going to a land far, far away. I think they call it Texas. Luckily, she will only be there for a week but as we all know, when you go back home, the trauma can leave you changed forever so the woman we once knew will no longer be the same. This week will entail for her many times of producing a fake smile followed by questions regarding her clothes, hair, and makeup, which after awhile may lead to depression. We know she is strong and will endure the pain no matter how bad it gets. After spending a week in Texas, she may come back to us with a dreadful yet somewhat charming southern drawl. She asks that we excuse her for this too will pass. Mrs. Likewise may feel forced to adorn blue eyeliner but has promised us that this will never happen. We fear she will feel the need to wear too much silver jewelry but she has convinced us that if she does, this will not apply to belt buckles so do not worry. Let us all pray that our friend comes back to us still fun and sexy because a week of trying to have sex at your parent’s house as we know can make you a cold fish in bed. In her case, she has promised us she will continue to have great sex all week no mater what it takes. If dancing occurs, she swears it will not happen in a line, will have more than two steps, and will not be done in cowboy boots. Overall, we ask her now to please wear sunscreen so she will not come back to us a redneck. May she come back to us unharmed and still a bit crazy because her posts made us laugh. All we can do now is hope for the best. I know she will miss you all. Thank you for coming.
A super hero visited me last night. Not your typical super hero, it was Cheap Cologne Man. I lay in bed thinking he would come when I spotted him under the doorframe of my bedroom. Earlier that day we had gone to a really cheap store to buy some toys to occupy spirited toddler on a plane trip we’ll be taking this week. Anyway, cute hubby spotted boxes of imitation cologne, which he made me smell trying to help him make a decision as to which one would grace his muscular chest each morning. To tell you the truth, they all smelled a bit musky, a bit sweet, but overall yucky. After bringing home our purchases, I set the cologne on his dresser hoping he’d forget about it. He didn’t. Last night he walked towards me grinning when he stopped at the dresser, grabbed the bottle filled with what looked like pool water, lifted his shirt…. sprits, sprits…. and then Cheap Cologne Man made my loins ache with four sexy words,” Prepare to be seduced!” He then ran towards the bed jumping on it smothering me with kisses. When I opened my mouth to laugh, the cheap cologne filled my lungs and made me cough uncontrollably. I wasn’t exactly the mistress he was looking for. It’s never the cologne that turns me on but the way he makes me laugh. We made love and ate Chinese food naked in bed. A good Sunday indeed but this morning I hid the bottle. I figure it’s for his own good. No woman wants to be visited by Cheap Cologne Man on a regular basis.
I have this friend named April. We met in middle school and grew up seeing each other in Sunday school too. April’s always been skinny, flirtatious, and downright fun. On my way home from work, just as I passed my favorite bakery, I heard her song on the radio. It’s not her singing but it is her fiancé’s. She’s engaged to someone famous, a singer, so when I hear one of his songs, I know he wrote it while thinking about her. Hearing him sing about her has given me quite a glimpse into their lives together. He sings about the way she looks in the morning, the way she laughs at his jokes, and one song about how he’s become a better man just having her in his life. When she started dating him, I purposely didn’t ask her much about him because I didn’t want too seem star struck, but I was, and still am I guess. It’s now going on two years of being engaged and I’m beginning to wonder when she’ll be willing to take the next leap. Right now she’s content with being someone fiancé. In college, he came to do a concert where afterwards, April was supposed to interview him for the newspaper. Being a journalism major, she was excited for her first real celebrity breakthrough. Shortly after the interview, he asked her to take a job with him. At first, I was sure he was just smitten by her charm but that was seven years ago. It’s funny to think back to when we were in middle school, spending the night at each other’s house and here we are today, I have a cute hubby and a spirited toddler, and she travels around the world with her famous husband. Two separate lifestyles but I wouldn’t give mine up. When the movie “Dirty Dancing” came out, April wasn’t allowed to see it. I had seen the movie, I guess because my parents were less “Christian” so afterwards I called her and told her every little detail. It was like she was seeing it underground. I also remember one night we watched “Sixteen Candles” and talked about how good it must feel to fall in love. Little did we know it’s more than we imagined. I was always curious about the dog they had in the backyard. He was never allowed in the house so I never actually saw him but he would bark at us. I wondered why they had a dog that wasn’t really allowed to be a part of the family. One night after eating too much cookie dough, we got up the nerve to snort some coke. Now when you’re eleven, I guess you still take things pretty literal because we had heard this phrase, “snort coke” so we thought people were getting high off of putting a straw up their nose while drinking coca cola and snorting it instead of swallowing it. We got out plastic cups, our straws, and both sat at the dinner table daring each other to go first. After a quick countdown, we did it at the same time. Instantly, when the pain hit, we knew why we were supposed to “Just Say No to Drugs!” They hurt. I also remember when her parents went to sleep, we would get all excited because it meant we were going to make a number of prank phone calls. Nothing serious, just the typical, “Is your refrigerator running…well you better go get it!”
Good friends are hard to come by, especially when your lives haven taken such drastic turns. She’s driving a Mercedes SUV and I’m driving a family car that surprises me each time it starts. The rock on her ring finger is worth more than five of our mortgage payments. My rock was free because it was passed down to me. Mine has history though, which is worth more to me. When we talk on the phone, I’m amazed at how quickly we’re able to pick up where we ended our last conversation. April called today; she’s just leaving Vegas and tired from making a music video. I told her I was tired too, explaining my sleepless nights and days filled with laundry. We act like we know what the other is going through but the truth is, we really don’t. All I know is that April will always be one of my closest friends, despite her material possessions and the people she associates with. I respect her job and she respects mine because good friends are hard to come by.
First let me apologize. I think I’m drunk. Yep pretty sure I’m drunk but let me explain. Tonight was girl’s night out which means our poor husbands agree to watch the kids while a few of us go out and act wild and crazy. Tonight someone had the brilliant idea to go out for fondue. Yes, I’m drunk because I just pulled out the dictionary to make sure I spell fondue right even though I knew spell check would do it for me. At first, I thought it would be a fun relaxing evening but who ever invented fondue was pretty damn smart and after a few women like us, pretty rich. The whole concept of fondue is that we pay them to let us cook our own food. This is so smart of the restaurant because when we all get home and throw up from undercooked shrimp, we only have ourselves to blame. They start you out drinking but believe me; you actually end up drinking the entire night. The first course was a typical cheese fondue, which had a whole can of beer in it. The next two courses had so much wine in them that I felt like I had downed an entire bottle. Well after some steak, and big ass shrimp, I was pretty drunk. I’m not sure if the official name is big ass shrimp but they were, so technically, it is. The problem with fondue is that they give you two huge forks to cook your meat but you can only cook two things at a time so while one shrimp and one piece of lobster are cooking in the wine, you need to do something to fill the time so you just drink some more. At first, most of us are using proper fondue etiquette by removing the meat off of the prongs and using a fork but by the end we were just dipping the prongs in and putting it in our mouths so with all of us double dipping, it was like one big French kiss. By now, we were all calling our husbands because it had been almost three hours and we were just getting started, plus we were securing rides home. Just when I was feeling good, dessert came which included a lot more alcohol. These pots were set on fire so we all screamed in delight as we dipped our cherries in the chocolate. Ok, count them now. That’s four dishes all filled with alcohol. The way I look at it, everyone benefits from girls night out. Cute hubby always loves it when I come home because I attack him, take my clothes off and let him do anything to me. Plus, I’m just so much more fun, like most women, when I’m drunk. Basically, it all boils down to a few words. Women, alcohol, chocolate, giggles, and in my case, a pretty hard fuck. Woo Hoo!…..who’s on board for next month?
I laughed at myself today because I became aware of something I do that’s just down right silly. Well, at the time, I was thinking that it was life saving but really, my life wasn’t in danger. Anyway, I pulled up to the grocery store, parked, got spirited toddler out and headed towards the door. On my way there, I noticed an armored car, which made my pulse quicken. Naturally, it was right in front waiting for the person to retrieve the money and hop back in. When I spot an armored car, I picture the shoot out that can occur at any moment. I picture myself trying to shield my baby and cover his ears while I’m running for my life only to see it flash before me. On the news, they show me dead but talk about how brave I was taking the bullet. “If only she was wearing better shoes, she may have been able to out run the bullet.” Maybe I’ve watched “America’s Most Wanted” too many times but I can picture a guy in the truck holding the gun, waiting to shoot anyone who approaches and looks suspicious. I think, “what if I walk too close to the truck and accidentally tap it with my purse and spook him into thinking I’m robbing him so he comes out guns ablazin!?” Now the chances of this actually happening are pretty slim and I know that but I’m not willing to be killed outside of Safeway so whenever I see this scenario in my head, I protect myself by going in the other door just in case. In fact, if I spot an armored car in front of a store before I park, I keep driving until I find a store I’m less likely to take a bullet in. Buying bananas just isn’t worth dying over.
I find it very odd that I have to go on the computer to find people who are willing to be real. I mean it’s odd because I really don’t know if those people are real either but I’d like to lie to myself and say that all of you are. I guess because I don’t lie, I assume everyone else is honest too. If you lie in your blog, than please keep lying to me and tell me you don’t lie. Blame it on the blazing sun that has fried my brain slowly out here in the desert but I’m starting to crawl out of my skin. The women disgust me in my life these days. Not the women that are related to me but the ones that claims to be my friends. I’m half to blame I guess because I claim to be their friends too. I don’t feel like anyone I associate with lately can be real. I mean all the chitchat is getting on my nerves and I want to get down to the nitty gritty. There’s talk of shoes, food, diaper rash and the worst in my book, husband bashing. I swear I can’t seem to meet one woman out there who speaks highly of her husband and that pisses me off. Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I’m frumpy, unhappy, and sexless, in fact just the opposite but maybe I’m the only one. Cute hubby and I love each other enough to never say anything disrespectful of the other in front of anyone. I get so confused when I hear others doing this because it just bashes the institute of marriage. I guess these women think that spilling their guts out about how much their husbands irritate them is being real but I just want to shout, “Don’t tell me, tell your husband!” I know a good friend would maybe just sit, listen, and be supportive but I have to be true to myself first and say that I’m choosing from now on not to participate in this garbage. By participate, I mean listen to. These women want things from their spouses but don’t have the nerve to tell them specifically what they want or need. Instead they roll their eyes and give them sarcastic remarks or just ignore them. I know men do this too but I don’t hang out with husbands. Yesterday I was with a friend who complained the entire time I was with her. Sex, laundry, bills, everything apparently he did wrong. She said basically that she doesn’t even like him so when it comes to sex, she just can’t bring herself to do it. I think it’s sad that they don’t get real and talk about things that bother them but instead let them bottle up. In a movie I saw recently, the couple at the restaurant was referred to as the “dining dead” because they were at that stage where they went out but never said anything to each other. We’ve all seen them but I wonder how it got to that point. Or worse, why did they let themselves become comfortable with it. I understand that things pile up and that can put a splinter in your union but I’ve come to realize that my marriage comes first, even before my child. I know some people would disagree but I believe the best thing I can give my son is the gift of seeing his parents happily married. If I’ve settled in my marriage than I’ve chosen to settle every day and I’m not willing to do this. I guess what I’m saying is that just once I’d like to be with another mother this week that says something positive about her husband. I’m beginning to feel isolated and alone yet still surrounded by people.
As I did my morning walk through of the house to pick up the remnants of the weekend’s tornado of toys, clothes, and dishes, I noticed four areas of my house that reflect who I am. First, there’s the area just below the bathtub. From the looks of it, I spend a lot of time there, which is true. Upon stepping out of my liquid haven, I usually try to find an open area for my feet to fall, an area that doesn’t have a book, a magazine, or a glass that once held water. From this you can tell I devour novels while quenching my thirst from the night. Usually this is where I spend my mornings alone with a few candles and pink foot scrub that smells like lemonade.
Next, I move to the kitchen and recognize the one spot I spend most of my time near, and that’s right in front of the coffee maker. There are little black specks on the hard floor where I usually fill the coffee maker in hopes of a better day. The counter top has barely visible stains where I clumsily fill up my mug before putting in my contacts. To the left are books that reflect not my cooking abilities but my hurried lifestyle, most of the titles have “fast” or “in a flash” in them. They’re stained with the exact recipes they suggest I make. If you open the cabinet just above it, you can see large mugs, some are funny and some are just practical, my favorites are both.
After making coffee, I head over to my desk that’s too small and turn on my computer that’s too slow. The glass desktop is no longer visible because my personality has spilled on top of it. The computer is surrounded by more books, except these titles are a little dry, the “Western Garden Book” and “The Oxford American Dictionary” to name a couple. Oh and there’s a stack of New Yorker magazines that I’m usually in too much of a good mood to read yet too guilty to just throw away.
After turning on the computer, I head back into my bedroom and notice my nightstand that exudes more of my lifestyle. This spot I think shows you what I’m like at night. There are two book lights for obvious reasons and again more books. Although these books cover up the dusty nightstand so they serve more than one purpose. They’re usually about two subjects, God and sex. Both fill my spirit and soul yet I wrestle with both sometimes. Between the books lies jewelry, mainly earrings taken out just before lying my head down on my feather pillow covered by a starched white linen pillowcase. I love my little spots. My personality and moods are different in each area of the house yet still the same all together.
I told him I was too tired. My eyes were barely open as I tried to finish up my work, eager to get some rest. I suggested he go into our bedroom and help himself to ease the pain of wanting me. I sat in front of my work trying to ignore the sounds of the porno he used to make it a quickie. I heard two women in there with him. Just from their cries, I could picture their faces. They had inhabited our bedroom on a couple of lustful nights before. I sat there trying to hold myself back knowing I didn’t have the strength to even walk to the bed but it was driving me crazy, the sounds of my husband enjoying two beautiful women. A mock threesome was going on without me. My nipples hardened as I rose trying to clear my desk before going in to join them but it was too late. The two blonds had already finished him off. Full of frustration I went to bed disappointed that I missed the fun. I guess sex was on my brain as I approached the next stage of sleep because my dreams were full of it. I dreamt of meeting him and flirting with him like it was the first time only this time he was the aggressive one. After a few drinks, he slowly slid his hand between my warm legs. I suggested we leave the bar and head to his place. I think it was during the car ride that I became his succubus. I could feel his skin just like it was real because it was and he was lying next to me having dreams of his own. He was on his side with me behind him, my hands starting to caress his back. I slid my hands down, going for more. He woke up not realizing I was still asleep and kissed me. It was this weird fantasy/reality moment that was surreal. He was excited I had changed my mind and was willing to please me, disregarding my earlier complaints of exhaustion. While on top, I felt him pull at my hips. Reality started to kick in when he whispered in my ear. I’m not sure what he said but it was better than my fantasy. Unless moaning counts, I never said a word. Afterwards, I collapsed, exhausted, on his chest with him still inside me. He rolled me on my back for more becoming my incubus.
Do you remember in “The Wizard of Oz” when Toto grabs the end of the curtain, pulls it back only to reveal the truth about the wizard? Well on Friday, spirited toddler revealed the truth about a metrosexual in a similar manner. There’s an area he enjoys playing in at the mall. It’s a tiny area with three rides that can become activated with two quarters and a willing parent to give them to you. Anyway, just behind this area, is one of those fun photo booths that print out a strip of black and white photos of you and who ever is willing to squeeze in there with you. Well, spirited toddler and I usually sit inside, make silly faces and look forward to putting into his daddy’s lunch the next day for a surprise so when he saw the booth near us, he ran over and pulled back the curtain hoping to jump inside. I followed him, pleased with our mall routine but was stopped by what I saw. A metrosexual inside. Alone. We excused ourselves, pulling the curtain back and waited our turn. After a few seconds, he appeared from behind the black curtain anticipating the arrival of his new pics. He tried not to look at me, which made curious. He waited for his pictures to be printed while we snuck inside for our turn. Well what the metrosexual didn’t know was that his pictures were still on the screen we were to be looking at. There he was all muscular and pretty in plaid with clean hair and puckered lips. That’s right, puckered lips. He was making kissy faces. In one shot, he was winking and in another he was blowing a kiss. Spirited toddler was ready to put in the money but I was stalling him because I was really enjoying laughing at the sight of this pretty man making a fool out of himself. I’m not sure if he was sending them to his girlfriend or if he was just in love with himself. Probably both. Either way, he was screaming high maintenance, which is such a turn off.
Last night I laid on the couch when the boys went to get some dinner and I realized an all too familiar feeling of anxiety crept back into my life. It was quiet in the house as I was reading my book. I could of course hear myself reading but the stillness just got under my skin. My breathing started to quicken and I could feel my muscles tighten in an attempt to remain calm. I guess the road rage incident and the person rear-ending me this week triggered some deep shit. I don’t want to get in my car with spirited toddler because I want to keep him safe, which in my mind lately means away from cars and angry drivers. Now, I know this is an irrational fear but it’s still real in my head today. As I was driving to work I burst out crying because I realized that every time I put on the breaks, I was looking in my rear view mirror to make sure the car behind me was indeed stopping and not using my car as their brake. The constant tensing up and gasping when they came close became exhausting. Last night when the boy’s left, I had a mini panic attack thinking, “what if cute hubby didn’t buckle his seat belt right?” Or worse, I had this picture of them being killed and me being left alone. I felt so isolated and insignificant all at once. I hate it when someone causes me to stop living peacefully and apparently the two screaming crazy women who came at me with their car have left me full of anxiety and fear. Now I know that anxiety is just fear of losing control so yes I’ll admit it, I’m scared that the two most important people in my life will die and leave me. I can’t live like that but I’ll tell ya, today I’m having to really control my thoughts which seems funny because my thoughts are reminding myself that I’m not in control. I don’t want the crazy people in the world to stop making me optimistic but it’s been hard today.
I told cute hubby what’s been going on in my mind these last couple of days but I’m not sure he really gets it, which leaves me feeling a bit crazy. He’s so good though because he really listens to me and hugs me even though I know he doesn’t understand. Writing about it helps.
We sat in a circle while we were instructed to give our first name plus and adjective that described us, starting with the letter of our first name. For example, I was sitting next to Nice Nora and to my left was Lovely Lisa. Nora was nice but Lisa was not so lovely. Our leader was last and she said her name was Mischievous Marilyn, and she was. Mischievous Marilyn had diamond shaped glasses and enough flab under her arms to cover a small baby but don’t let that fool you. She was a bully. A bully in the nicest way because you didn’t even realize you were being bullied until you were handing over your check to her. She preyed on us crazy housewives to buy her Tupperware. First of all, I think I was the only one who actually didn’t want to be there. All the other crazy housewives seemed so thankful to be out of the house that they would of accepted an invitation to a pick-your-own-casket party if given the chance. Did you even know they still sell Tupperware? Well they do and I should have three lovely pieces delivered to my house soon. I swear, Mischievous Marilyn could have sold you air. She was a smooth talker with a smile. I couldn’t help but feel like she was nicer than my own grandmother. She was so good that this year will mark her 32-year of selling the stuff. Does anyone really need a Tupperware container just for cauliflower? Well three women at the party did. I don’t even eat cauliflower but Mischievous Marilyn almost talked me into buying one. As I shamelessly placed my order, she grabbed my arm, and asked me if next Wednesday would be a good time to host my own party. I laughed but she was serious. The little old lady even pulled out her palm pilot to pencil me in. I don’t think I had ever seen an old lady with a palm pilot. Anyway, I pride myself off of my ability to be frank and not get suckered into things but with Mischievous Marilyn, you’d do anything for her and she’d lead you into believing she was doing a favor for you. I did say no but she told me she’d call me tomorrow to set up a date. The fun part about Mischievous Marilyn was that she got us to play these games. Of course the games involved writing down things in our pantry that needed organizing but if you won, you got a nice orange peeler. Did you know they made such a product just for peeling oranges? Well they do and I ‘m the proud owner of one. One lucky but crazy mother got a key chain because she wrote down 13 food products that could be placed into the “FreezeSmart Starter Set.” Damn, I was so close! I’m not sure if it was the free food, the games, or the gifts, but by the end it seemed like we were all drunk. Mischievous Marilyn had fooled us into thinking we were all happy organized housewives. Well if we weren’t already, she could make us in 7-10 business days.
My mirror started lying to me. I looked right at her and she tells me I look ragged and tired. I get right in her face in hopes of shutting her up but she comes back even harder and tells me I’m old by showing me a gray hair. I pluck it, saying, “ah ha!” But by the time I turn around, she puts it back in; only this time towards the back of my head, hoping I don’t see it. I catch it and pull it out. I get out of the shower and there she is, right in front of me again. She says I’m flabby and need a breast lift. I ignore her, put on a push up bra and make a mental note to stop watching so many reality TV makeover shows. I start to blow dry my hair and try to ignore her. It works, but only for a minute. I start eating breakfast but I can still hear her in the back of my mind. She starts to get under my skin so I go back in to confront her. Without listening to me, she has the nerve to point out a spot that the sun left on my face after spending time with him. Yes, now I regret not protecting myself but I tell her I have no regrets for the time the sun and I have spent together. I pull out the concealer and cover the brown spot. She hates that I can do that. I begin to feel her waiver so I get out the mascara, to reveal the truth about my eyes. She gets nervous. She knows I’m starting to see right past her lies. I run to get my brush while I’m feeling better than her. I start brushing my hair but there are tangles. Damnit. She laughs, mocking me but I stare her down and keep detangling. It was a face off. I won’t let her lie to me again. I know the truth. She can tell I’ve stopped listening to her so she pulls out the dirtiest trick in the book and lies to me about my weight. Damn, she was good. I’m going back in. Only this time, I’m equipped with corvette red lipstick. I put it on. Right in front of her face, I tease her a bit more by adding lip-gloss. And with a touch of eyeliner, the truth is finally revealed. Ah ha! I beat her again. Just to show her whose boss, I go back in about an hour later and spray on some of my best perfume. She doesn’t even blink, but just gives me an evil glare. I beat her this time but I know tomorrow she will try to lie to me again.
I’d drive my car off of the cliff if I could figure out how to release the parking break and get my head out of the car without being thrown over the cliff with it. I don’t want to actually be in the car when I drive it off the cliff because I’m much too optimistic for that but something drastic needs to be done because the world seems to be against me. I have some anger that needs to be vomited out so bare with me here. On Monday, I took spirited toddler to the doctor because he is sick with another ear infection plus a rash. Afterwards, I drove through Walgreen’s to drop off all three of the prescriptions to be filled letting them know I’d return in an hour to pick them back up. An hour later, I pulled up to the window, paid, and got my prescriptions. The pharmacist was speaking to me through the muffled microphone about his fear of one of the drugs he had just given me. He began telling me that it was controversial and that he just got off the phone with the doctor because he wanted to discuss it with her. I was interested in his thoughts because the doctor led me to believe it was harmless. He discussed it’s addictiveness and blah, blah, blah…. all of which I needed to hear of course. All of a sudden, the car behind me starts violently honking their horn. I looked behind me and couldn’t figure out why they were honking. I proceed to continue talking to the pharmacist when he stops, looks at me, and glances at the car behind me and asks me if she hit my car. Being confused, I looked back and say, no she hadn’t. While looking back, I saw her flick me off and honk the horn again. One woman gets out of the car and starts approaching mine while the other edges her car forward in an attempt to bump mine forward. Jabba the Hut (sorry, spell check doesn’t cover this one) starts yelling at me that she’s in a hurry and I need to go inside since I’m taking so long. Well, the problem is I need to hear all the important medical information the pharmacist is telling me. Her screaming caused me to freak out from fear so I turned around and said, “I have a sick, sleeping child in the car so I am not going to go inside. If you’re in such a hurry, you go inside!” The pharmacist is trying to scream at her but he’s inside speaking through the glass and muffled microphone so it didn’t help much. The screaming match went on for way too long before I was able to move forward. What amazes me is that two grown women could have the nerve to be so tacky and scream at a mother and their child who had every right to get their medication. My last response was, “this isn’t MacDonald’s!” I know it’s not the mature thing to do but I was provoked plus I had spent all morning with a sick toddler, which would provoke any mother. By the time I had gotten home, the pharmacist was on the answering machine apologizing to me because he felt so sorry for me. I was hoping he had called to tell me that he poisoned them and they were dead but no luck. To make matters worse, today I was at a stoplight, someone rear-ended me…. again! Ok, that is the fifth.... yes fifth time someone has hit that car. Two times someone has rear-ended me and driven away, which left me feeling so violated. One time I returned to my car after grocery shopping to find see that someone backed into the door and smashed the entire side. Of course, the culprit was nowhere to be seen Well, you all know about the last time, when the car wash people wrecked my car leaving me with a rental for over a month. And today, at another stop light. Luckily, she actually pulled over with me to make sure the cars were all right and exchange information. I started to cry, for obvious reasons. She got out and I heard the magic words, “don’t worry, I have insurance.” I couldn’t get out of the car because for some odd reason, my seatbelt had tightened up so much, I could hardly breathe. She started to cry when she saw me crying and she screamed when she found out I had spirited toddler in the car. The fire truck had to come just to cut me out of my own seatbelt. I was gasping for air because it was so tight. This accident was different though, she hugged me when I got out and I hugged back, not because I cared for her but because I was finally free and I need someone to comfort me. Everyone was okay but I’m just so sick of other people ruining my day. Now I’m home with a sick toddler because I’m afraid to go out into the world because it’s filled with mean hurtful people who are against me. I know I sound like a baby but I want my mommy!
I think I have a barista fetish. It seems I can’t help but flirt with whoever makes me a coffee drink. Last week at Barnes and Nobles, this adorable man behind the counter asked if the drink he was making was for me and I gave him some annoying answer like, “yes it is. Will you make it special for me?” Of course, not everyone knows how to respond to my coffee flirtations but I can tell you I’m a regular at most coffee houses in town. There’s a guy on Campbell Ave. that can make the best Americano in town and in my sick mind, I fool myself into thinking that he only makes the good ones for me and the rest of the public gets watered down drinks. There’s a guy on that same street, who always puts a cherry on my mochas. Believe me, I’ve watched and he doesn’t do this for everyone. I’m sure it has something to do with the wink I give him when he puts the cherry on top. One of his coworkers knows how to tame a French press into submission, which every woman with a pulse would enjoy watching just as much as I do. This fetish doesn’t just stop at coffee houses, it even spills over into my own home. The smell of coffee brewing in the morning pops me right out of bed. I usually can’t wait to see who is making it even though it’s always the same man. Every time I see him, I have to give him a pre-tooth brush kiss because it’s just damn sexy how he makes my coffee. He’s all blurry eyed with crazy hair and more facial hair than I’d like but those are the things that make me love my coffee man. I know Chai doesn’t have coffee in it but it comes from my coffee house, therefore making it part of the family. Anyway,at our favorite Irish coffee house, there's this lady that makes a killer Chai so I always compliment her too. Last week I told her how much I loved her tiny little nose ring. She acted like she had heard that line about fifty times but I still enjoyed every sip. When I’m feeling adventurous but lazy I go through a coffee drive thru. This is not quite as exciting because leaning out of the car to grab an espresso makes me feel foolish but like any addict, I’ll do what it takes to get that fix. The problem with the drive thru is that you can never actually see the person making your drink. For all I know, they pour it from a bottle, which would make me run in horror. All through college I actually was the sultry barista behind the counter but let’s face it, giving just isn’t as much fun as receiving.
“I think our marriage is like a violin.” “Oh?” he says. “Ya, you’re the bow, all lean and tall and I’m the violin with curves. We need each other to make the best music. I need you to play me because without you, I’m just played staccato which gets old. You the bow, make me play beautiful music.” He says, “I think you’re an organ?” “Really, why?” I ask. His response was this, “you’re full of hot air but somehow I’m still attracted to the sound.”
At this time I jumped up, spanked him, and tackled him on the couch. We laughed and wrestled until we were on the floor for an embracing love fest. Lately, when cute hubby gets naked, he asks me to do weird things like punch him in the stomach so I can feel just how hard his six pack is. Usually I roll my eyes and tell him to get over himself but watching his peacock performance cracks me up. Yes, his body is like a Roman statue but he doesn’t need to know this every time he takes his clothes off does he? Well, the answer is yes. Yesterday, he came out of the shower wearing a towel skirt, which always makes me want to rip it off and snap his ass. Anyway, he came asking me once again to punch his gut. This time, I gave it all I had, which still wasn’t much, but it pleased him. I must tell you that I found it to be totally creepy. I told him “never to ask me to do that again.” Sometimes when we’re playing in bed, he wants to try some wrestling moves on me too. Let me tell you first that he was state champion many years ago, like ten years ago and thinks he’s still got it. Point is, he’s older now but still wants me to think he’s great at it. I play his silly little games and let him pin me to the ground occasionally but he gets mad when I don’t take it seriously and laugh hysterically. Come on, how hard can it be to pin a tiny woman like me in some weird leg lock? Well let me tell you…. I can get myself in a leg lock just trying to shave my legs in the shower. On Friday, we were at a restaurant when he stuck his arm up on the table so I could get a better glimpse of his flexed bicep. “Oh my god, do we have to do this again?” I said. Well, I refused to squeeze it while I was eating my chicken sandwich. I reached under the table and gave his thigh a quick squeeze instead. I’m pretty impressed with what he usually shows me even though I act like I hate it. Actually, I’m impressed that he still tries to impress me after all these years. I’ll let him keep up his manly puffing of the chest rituals but he’ll always have me wrapped around his finger.
I realize now that my curiosity lead me right into the trap. I had left an ant trail scattered with a few baby crickets hoping to catch something. It only took a few hours before a spider showed up. He began showing his appreciation for the food by making beautiful webs each day. At first, I noticed them from a far but then I decided to confront him. I asked him if the webs he was designing were intended for me and He confessed that they were, which flattered me. I guess I got all caught up in the beauty and wanting more when I invited him a bit closer that day. I encouraged him to reside on my front porch for a while so I could get a better look. Occasionally, I’d glance through my peephole and see his work. I was impressed. For him, the signal would come when I would turn my front porch light on every night around 7o’clock. He would get busy while I sat inside wondering what he would leave me next. I loved all of his webs, full of intricate details that the sun would pick up like glitter. I never would touch them though. I feared breaking one of the elegant silky threads, therefore ruining the entire piece. I knew that one broken line could break the symmetrical relationship. The fact that he made them just for me is what turned me on. But slowly, my spider started trying harder to impress me. I could sense his impatience and knew he was expecting a bigger response from me each time I saw his art but I couldn’t keep up with his expectations. One day, while I was cleaning my home, my haven, I walked right into one of his webs. It tasted bitter, full of hatred and lies, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Not the love that I had envisioned. It happened so quickly. I was caught up, trying to free myself. I was bigger than a cricket so I knew I had a chance, but still, I struggled. He must have snuck in when I left the door ajar I thought. I didn’t see him make the web I ran into, which made me wonder if he purposely lead me into his graceful trap, hitting my face, and making me recoil out of disgust. I tried to pull the invisible threads from my face but they left their imprint on my senses. Even when they were no longer there, I felt their presence and shuddered. Before, I had enjoyed his webs from a distance, where it was safe, but this was just too close and it felt awful. He knew he wasn’t allowed inside. Damn him. That was the rule; I was to admire him from afar and that was all. I knew he was in my house now, which made me angry. Although I never saw him again, I realize my anger must have eventually pushed him back out the door. He stopped leaving me webs, which left me feeling lonely in an odd way. Next time I’ll know better and be fearful of them or else be willing to suffer the consequences.
Abnormally large breasted friend invited us over yesterday so our kids could play and we could catch up. Yes, don’t worry, she did manage to kiss me three times. A hello kiss before I was even in the door. A goodbye kiss as I was gathering my things, and a kiss at the car. Kisses on the cheek mind you, but still just as annoying. For someone who doesn’t have sex, she’s sure a sexual woman. I know she doesn’t have sex because no matter when we get together, she manages to talk to me about it and ask for my opinion. We talked about birth control a bit when she said she practices family planning. I said, “Oh, that’s not the safest way so be careful.” She said, “Oh sure it is if you do it like we do and never have sex. Then it’s the safest.” She said she prefers it this way so I don’t know why she wants to talk about it every time we’re together. I bet she’s really not. Anyway, she said she really wasn’t attracted to her husband so she didn’t want to sleep with him. I guess there’s something about my personality, which makes people feel comfortable with telling me personal things. Of course, I love being everyone’s counselor but I should start charging that way I can pay off my credit cards. Anyway, we were inside chatting while the kids were fighting over toys when I noticed out of my peripheral vision, their dog. Now Buddy is quite a large Labrador so you can’t really miss him but I was trying to. In the corner, he was humping his bed. I tried to look my friend in the eyes but finally I started to laugh. She threw a shoe at the dog like nothing ever happened while continuing our conversation. Ok, I understand that the dog is an animal, therefore he must procreate like the rest of us but this pillow humping continued for about half an hour. It went something like this, “Buddy, stop humping the pillow!” Then she would throw something in his direction to break him from his sexual haze. I’d giggle and make a joke before trying to concentrate on her sexless marriage but not two minutes later, he’d be at it again. Finally, I said, “Maybe you should take his girlfriend away?” Well, she took the shameful pillow away which made Buddy pout so she felt guilty and brought it back. She asked if we could move to another room. I guess the dog need some private time. As I left, I gathered up my now disturbed child who witnessed the event and left without looking Buddy in the eyes. Bad dog. At least someone was getting it in that house. He of course seemed to be the happiest member of the family.
I was sitting on the floor reading out loud to spirited toddler when I felt someone looking at me. I looked up to see a man with his elbows resting on his thighs. Feet pointed in my direction. He had olive colored shorts, a white long sleeved t-shirt and an espresso colored tan. The sun streaked his hair. I looked him up and down and was pleased. I especially liked his Jesus sandals. Now I’ve never seen Jesus but I bet if I did, he’d be wearing sandals like these. I kept reading but began enjoying his stare. I looked directly in his eyes. He smiled. I didn’t smile back but looked behind me to see whom he was smiling at. I realized all his affection was indeed intended for me. I couldn’t stand it any longer so I smiled and wondered if someone was going to kick him off of the computers because he obviously wasn’t using them. I moved to another area of the library but felt his presence follow me. I liked the feeling of him watching me. In fact, I wanted to go right up to get a better look and tell him I thought he was beautiful but I resisted. He was younger than me, which made me even more intrigued. I walked outside to our car parked under the tree that had placed its exhausted limbs on the roof; giving us some much needed shade. Spirited toddler was placed in the backseat before I kissed him and shut the door. After straightening myself up to walk to the other side of the car, I saw him across the street trying to unlock his bicycle. He seemed to be in a hurry, occasionally glancing at me with strained eyes. At one point, our eyes met for an uncomfortable amount of time. I breathed in the sexual tension, enjoying the few seconds of curious desire. As I slowly walked to the other side of the car, he began to approach. My heart started beating. Hard. I licked my lips. I opened the car door and got inside, trying to escape whatever he was going to say to me. I knew nothing good would come of a stranger’s affection, even for the day. I’m not sure if I left the door ajar on purpose but now looking back, I’m pretty sure I did. I could hear his words leaving his mouth. He told me he thought I was beautiful. I smiled, thanked him and said, “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you.” He understood. Driving home, I thought about him, which made my hips ache and nipples harden. I needed to go for a run. The heat was unbearable but I didn’t let that stop me. I ran until I couldn’t feel him. I got in the car and filled my body with water. Being aware of the blood pumping through my veins, he came back but I was too tired to keep running so I sat there in silence and enjoyed him.
Spirited toddler has been acting strange lately. He likes to play this game like he’s going somewhere but then shortly comes back. He will carry things with him, tell me he’s going to school or work or the grocery store, than run around the couch and tell me he’s come home. It’s quite funny but then I started thinking about how and why he keeps doing this. This morning we completed our daily routine when it hit me. Leaving our house is quite an event and coming back home is too. You see if you’re the one leaving, we all walk you outside, shower you with kisses and wave to you until you’re no longer in our sight. Anticipating your arrival, we may go to the door and see if you’re there or even look out the window until someone spots you. When you’ve been spotted, we run outside to greet you in person before we guide you inside and tell you we missed you. This routine also involves kisses. I’m pleased he doesn’t like playing the typical games like peek-a-boo but likes leaving us and coming back for love. For now, I’ll keep clapping my hands and ask him how his day at work was. Sorry, I’ve gotta go…. will you walk me out?
The time has come. He must move on. We all chanted as a family, “No more diapers! No more diapers!” It didn’t work though. Well, he joined in with us, which made three people singing about diapers in my house, but it didn’t have the effect we were looking for. The potty is just two feet away. Teasing him. Frustrating me. He wants to make us proud but doesn’t know how to do it. Yesterday, I jumped for joy at the site of a tiny puddle at the bottom of the cold plastic potty but later I caught him shaking his sippy cup inside so I realized he had made the sippy cup go potty for him. Now, I’ve taught a dog to use the bathroom outside and that was pretty easy. I guess because they were already used to their bodily functions and you just push them out the door until they get sick of getting pushed and they just give up and go outside. For my dog, I didn’t need to bribe him with stickers or candy. Plus, I never had to read one book to him about the subject either. He spoiled me. Now before any seasoned veterans give me advice, I must tell you I’ve heard it all. I know he’s just not ready but the chanting has caused him to hate his diapers so it may have backfired at me. I’ll wait another week but in the meantime, I’ll be reading books about toilet paper and “you’re a big boy now.” The hard part is setting the example of washing my hands afterwards. In the public restroom, of course but in my own house, let’s face it. No one really does this. Do they?
Look, I’m sick of fighting with you. Can’t you just let it go? No, I’m here for a reason whether you like it or not. I know but I just get sick of you. Can you maybe give me a week off? How about you take a weeks vacation and leave me alone? You can get into a lot of trouble in a week. I promise I’ll be good. I’ve known you way to long to know you’re never that good. Stop trying to get me to do things I don’t want to do. I want to just have some fun while I’m young. Can’t you see I’m begging you? You’d have fun for a while and then you’d regret it. No, I won’t! Come on, can’t you see it my way for once? I’m not here to agree with you but to set you straight. I hate you. Just leave me alone. Why do you keep screaming at me? Because. You’re not listening. Well, I’m tuning you out. See? La, La, La. You’re acting like a child. Well, ignore me then. You know what’s right but you’re too stubborn to follow my advice and then you regret it. Stop it. I’m not listening to you. I’m going to listen to my friends Ernest and Julio tonight. Ya, that seems to be doing the trick. Warm, red, burns a bit…yes, I’m starting to drown you out. Wait. Shit, I can hear you again. Ah, another glass will make you go away again. Even if you ignore me, I know can hear me. Conscience? Yes? You suck. I’m here to help. Well, you’re not helping ….GO AWAY. I’ll hide under the covers so you can’t see me. I’ll just yell in your ear louder. Fuck, I’ll go run with headphones on. You can’t escape. Fine. Oh, one more glass and I’ll be asleep and you’ll be gone until morning. Yes, I can make it just one more day. Don’t give in. I’ll be waiting when you wake up my dear. I hate you. You'll love me in the morning. I doubt it.
When I was 10, I discovered what punishment was when I was grounded for the first time. It wasn’t real punishment until it started to snow and I wasn’t allowed to go outside to see it. It was the first time I can remember it ever snowing in Texas. When I was 11, I discovered the guilty feeling of lying. I forged a progress report because it said, “Michelle talks too much.” When I was 12, I discovered what it felt like to have menstrual cramps. That same day, I discovered true embarrassment when my dad asked me, “so, did anything new happen today?” At that moment, I knew my mom had told him and I wanted to hide under my bed. At 13, I discovered true loneliness when I cried in the bathroom at summer camp because I was homesick. At 14, I discovered what it felt like to have someone I know die. That same day, I discovered that my dad was human when I saw him cry for the first time. At 15, I discovered I wasn’t unbreakable when I broke my collarbone. At 16, I discovered what it felt like to give a piece of myself away. That same day, I discovered he wasn’t worth it. At 17, I discovered that everyone hates you when you’re the boss so I decided I didn’t like being the boss. At 18, I discovered true freedom when my University was an eight-hour drive from home. I also discovered, an eight-hour car trip alone can cause you to have really weird thoughts. At 19, I discovered my parents at my dorm room for a surprise visit because they had found out I had been having sex. At that moment, I discovered pure confusion. Later, I discovered they had found a condom box under my bed from when I came home over the Christmas holiday. They proceeded to tell me, that if I kept “sinning” they wouldn’t pay for college. I “sinned” that night, twice I think. At 20, I discovered how a woman felt between my legs. At 21, I discovered the feeling of waking up and thinking, “I’m never going to drink like that again…so help me god.” The next day, I discovered I lied to myself and I was okay with that. At 22, I discovered it sucked having a real job. At 23, I discovered going to grad school would stop me from going back to that real job so I did. At 24, I discovered what it felt like to stand in front of 300 people and declare my love to someone. Later that night, I discovered that fighting with your husband felt pretty much like fighting with a boyfriend. On the way to the airport, I discovered I had lost the passports. At 25, I discovered what it felt like to lose someone to cancer. At 26, I discovered what it felt like to be a stranger in a strange city while trying to make my way around town. At 27, I discovered the horrendous pain of childbirth. At 28, I discovered I liked writing.
During church, we held hands. I squeezed his and lifted it up to my lips for a sweet kiss. Our intertwined fingers rested on the pew in front of us. I looked at his hand, how it held mine. My fingers stuck out in between his like a child sitting on the couch with legs sticking straight out because they’re too short to bend them at the appropriate spot. I noticed his veins and the wedding ring he constantly fiddles with. It makes him look even sexier. My fingers started to go numb so I released his and slid my hand in his pocket. I felt his thigh while his hand went to the small of my back. While holding the hymnal, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. Going to church together is always an activity that brings us closer. I don’t know if it’s the singing, the worshiping, or the cleansing but whatever it is, it feels good.
We left and went to brunch at a fancy hotel just for fun. Sunday afternoon, in heels and a black dress eating eggs benedict and feeling satisfied. The palm trees outside were swaying in the wind while the people were lying outside the pool. I wanted to jump in, dress and all and cool off. At home again, we disrobed and climbed back into bed. I can’t remember the last time we made love with the lights off. There’s just too much of my lover I want to see. I need to see his face, his shoulders and neck when I nibble them. He says, “you know, you’re more beautiful now then when we first got married.” I love him. We laughed, played, giggled and flirted while he was inside me. I love the way I feel when he’s a part of me. When he leaves my body, I miss him and my body longs for his return. He lies there while I put my favorite black t-shirt on and head to the library book sale. People were hungry for books. Exploring every kind of literature that filled the musty bookshelves. Just being there somehow made me feel full of life. I looked around and wondered if I was the only one who had just been made love to.
Cute hubby came home with his ego in his pocket and a new speeding ticket in his hand. He seemed scared to tell me but to tell you the truth I was just thinking it figured. Our car problems are driving me nuts. Just last week, I hoped in the truck, looked toward the rear view mirror to apply some lip-gloss but there was no mirror. Nope, just a half inch square where the mirror used to be. I’m assuming the heat melted the glue. I searched the car for the mirror and set it on the dashboard. Damn, when did that fall down, I wondered. That’s three down and I’m pretty sure our car only had three mirrors to begin with. The two side mirrors are kind of rigged with epoxy and some hidden tape, which of course looks tacky. And as you know, my car just came back from the fix-it-shop so we don’t need to even go there. I told him we’d just have to sell our cars and find new modes of transportation to relieve our troubles. I pictured him walking all the ways downtown in his starched white shirt with cufflinks, which made me laugh. People would think he’s a Mormon on a mission because he always looks just that innocent. Well, I guess if he doesn’t mind looking like a Mormon boy, we’d need to find him a bicycle. Yea, he could ride my pink bike all the way to work. I could surprise him with a basket for the front to hold his cases. Plus, if we ever get a small dog, he would fit in the basket too but I guess he wouldn’t be taking the dog to work. I don’t think they have bicycle parking in the Lawyer only parking lot though. I guess he could lock his bike up to someone’s bumper. Maybe a nice defense attorney could loan him his Mercedes bumper. Oh, I know, how about a scooter? He could get a new cherry red scooter and look very European, although carrying files in your lap while holding on may be hard. The problem with scooters is that you really would get no respect. I mean lets face it, you see a biker and you slowly steer your car over to the side a bit because you respect their space. They’ve even made bumper stickers just for the bike/car relationship. “Share The Road.” And we do. When I see a scooter, I think, poor kid, can’t afford a car. I’d rather enjoy our public transportation. I have this urge to get a little too close to scooters and tap their bumper. Do scooters have bumpers? Anyway, you know, not to hurt them but to let them know that I’m in charge here and don’t let your scooter push me around. I sure would hate someone to bully cute hubby with his or her SUV so maybe a little defensive driving wouldn’t hurt.
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