This is me today

This morning I walked into a store to buy a coffee.  I smelled you.  I looked everywhere but you were not there.  14 years and it hit me like a punch in the gut.  I saw a man in a car today.  I thought it was you.  It was not.  I think I’m going to see you soon.  I feel it.  And it doesn’t really matter.  I’m OK.  You’re not OK.  My version of the book.

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NOT.

I am moving soon.  It is a difficult thing to do.  The packing and selling and organizing.  Selling some of the stuff in my parents’ house so I can get my stuff out of here and in there.  Log jam!  Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.  And other times I feel like – I’ve got this.  I’m a frigging production manager.

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My father had his shoulder replaced last week.  He looked so awful afterward in the hospital, he scared me.  And I don’t scare easily.  He will be 81 on March 30.  He has been in rehab since Friday.  He is himself again.  If he wasn’t sitting around in jammies and wearing a sling, you’d never know.  Yay!

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I have a new job.  Driving an escort car for oversize loads.  I love love love love love it.  If I have my way, I will never ever sit in an office again.  Unless it is volunteer work of some kind.

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The other day I was escorting a guy whose handle was Big Daddy.  I kid you not.  But I did kid him about it; oh yes I did.  So we’re coming over 691 and I said, “Big Daddy.  See that tower up there?”  He said yes.  I said, “When I was in high school, I used to go up there with my friends and smoke the wacky.”  He laughed and said, “Me too.”  Turns out, Big Daddy went to high school in Connecticut, as did I.  We graduated in the same year.  I met Big Daddy in person at the end of the run.  He looked like my ex.  A little taller and his Buddha was a little smaller.  He had a shaved head complete with baseball cap, bright blue eyes and the same hands.  I said, “Big Daddy.  You look like my ex.  Hey!  You could be my next ex.”  He rolled his eyes.  I get a lot of that.

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I have this dog Dante.  He is some kind of freaky critter.  He is not my Mikey.  This doesn’t mean I don’t love him.  Maybe I feel about Dante how mothers feel about their kids.  You love them all but you love them different?  First I had Dave and he was my baby.  No doubt about it.  Then I had Mike and he was my BFF.  I loved him with my heart.  I still do.  We got each other.  Now I have Dante.  A rescue.  I had the others from puppy stage.  Dante has issues.  He is needy.  He cries and barks.  But he is sweet.  He stares at me all the time.  And he loves me.  And he is playful.  He worries.  I can tell.  He paws at me if I don’t touch him enough, which for him is most of the time.  He throws himself at me.  He tries to sit or lie on my lap.  He weighs 55 pounds.  He hogs the bed.  I have to fight for space.  But I’m a dog person/poodle mama.  I love his screwed-up little self.  But I think I might miss Mike every day for the rest of my life.

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Never heard of Pharrell Williams till the song “Happy” came out.  I freaking love it.  I wish I had written it.  But I never would have worn shorts to the Academy Awards.

Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you know what happiness is to you
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do

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Today, I am happy too.

happy day

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River of Honey

My feelings for you were like a molten slow-moving river, warm honey, thick and sticky.  Flowing into all the cracks and crevices – binding us together.  Right from the start.  Probably because I had known you forever, just waiting for a small lightning strike to warm us up enough to move forward.

I think, in our present time in this universe, sex often comes too fast and clouds genuine true feelings.  Sex, lust, love get mixed up in a big stew pot and overwhelm each other until people can’t tell how they really feel.  I have been guilty of this.  But that didn’t happen with us.  We had love first.  The rest just followed naturally.  With you, I knew.  We had been in each other’s hearts for a long, long time.  All we needed was that one little spark to push us in that direction.  And we went.

I believed in you.  Always.  Right up until the dirty, ugly end.  I thought you would be honest with yourself, just snap out of it.  Embrace us.  Our present.  Our future.  Our old age.  I believed you would look in the mirror one morning and say why am I doing this.  Why am I so angry at this woman who accepts me, admires me, loves me and my family, supports me always?  But that is not how it played out, is it?

The problem with the horrible break-ups is that they shake me to my core.  They make me question myself, my judgment.  How can I put my trust in men who can come after me like this.  Two marriages, a big handful of long-term relationships.  Only a couple of them have ended really badly but they are enough to make me question myself.

I am loyal.  From the top of my head right down to the tips of my toes.  When I love you, I love you.  There are no excuses, exceptions.  I am in my relationships, in my life, for the long haul.  I will love you pure and deep and always.  This loyalty causes problems for me.  I never give up.  I believe in the goodness of people.

But I am smart and not too old to learn.  Unfortunately, part of this learning hardens a little corner of my heart.  I do not like that at all and work very hard to warm her up and put her back to her original softened state.  I don’t want to have a steely cool heart.  I think the depth and breadth and pure amount of love and passion I experience in my life is directly correlated to the happiness I feel.  So I work hard to find balance.  To protect myself and to feel it all.

You will never read this.  But I have written it.  One of my blogs that flows effortlessly from my fingertips.  Like the most true ones.

The good you was the best man I have ever known, probably better suited for me than any other.  That made it very hard to let you leave and to make you go.  The bad you was one of the worst men I have ever known.  I’m glad you’re gone.

I don’t miss you at all.

I will miss you always.

On being single

I got married for the first time when I was 24.  I did this because my friends were doing it and I felt like I needed to get it out of the way.  Also, his parents said if we lived together, they would disown him.  And it was 1980 and more than anything in the world, I wanted children.  He treated me terribly but I married him anyway.

So after about 8 or 9 months of marriage, he stood up in our dining room where six people were sitting around the table eating and getting pleasantly smashed, and hit me over the head with a beer bottle.  And you know what?  I didn’t leave him.  I didn’t leave him the next week either when he got up first thing in the morning and shoved me into the bedroom wall and onto the floor.  Instead I pulled myself up and heaved his sorry butt into the closet.  I’m ashamed to say it took 7 or 8 times before I left him.  I was embarrassed.  I thought his treatment of me proved that I was unlovable and I didn’t want anyone to know that about me.

I moved back in with my parents for a few months and then got an apartment.  And in 1985, in order to prove that I could do this marriage thing right, I said “I do” to another terrible choice.  This one wasn’t bad or not nice.  He just wasn’t the right guy for me.  And when I felt it all coming unglued after about five years, I talked him into buying a very expensive house so we would have to stay together in order to afford it.

So anyhow.  Marriage – not a fan.  I know many more married people than I do unmarried and I don’t see a lot of relationships that I would find acceptable for me.  Actually none.

I have spent the majority of my adult life in an unmarried state.  I am a survivor of the heterosexual wars.  And I wish it didn’t have to be a war – but it certainly appears to be.

This is who I want.

Someone who is smart, funny, strong enough to not be afraid of me, self-assured and self-sufficient, someone with kids would be nice, someone who does not feel for any reason that he should ever tell me what to do, a man who loves sex, employed or retired with enough money.  Doesn’t have to be a lot, but enough.  And someone who loves my dog.  A man who reads books and can hold up his end of a lively debate.  A man with intellectual curiosity.  A man who can lift heavy stuff would be good.  Someone who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.  Maybe a nice Italian guy who grows his own tomatoes and basil…

These are things that attract me – physically.

Baldness, crinkly smiley eyes, height, a man who smells good.

None of these physical characteristics are a deal-breaker for me but its what I notice first.  Just sayin’.

I am a happy person.  I will be happy whether or not I find my dream guy.  I think of this man like frosting on my cupcake.  My cupcake is good but it would be better with chocolate heart attack frosting.  If you need this recipe, let me know.  It is delicious and rich and creamy and very high in cholesterol.  You probably shouldn’t eat it very often, but you can if you want to.  If I don’t want my man telling me what to do, I’m sure not going to give orders to anyone else.   If you really want the honking frosting, then eat it.  I won’t tell you no.

If you are reading this, you probably know me.  Consider this a singles ad.  HAH!