Tuesday, February 10, 2015

By Opening My Mouth

The stories of her relationship with her parents as she was growing up made her landfill of insecurities a reasonable enough byproduct. It was hard to picture the girl driving the car today as an athlete and a Homecoming contestant in high school.

But then it was probably hard to imagine me as the dorky girl I had been in school with the perpetual fever blisters, the clumsy gait, and goofy demeanor. That's not even bringing up the frizzy dishwater blonde hair I attempted to tame by plastering it down with AuqaNet while wet, creating a kind of helmet effect around the scull with a crackled frizzle poking down toward my shoulders, ending in split ends down my back.
In the pre-politically correct climate of the time and of small towns in general, it was common for my complete lack of either grace or guile to garner me the title of retarded and the chants of such from my peers.

She was smoking cigarettes while driving; mad at me for something. It didn't have to be something I understood, because it was all really about my overconfident demeanor. My background had not afforded me much training in humility. After all, what does one learn of modesty of physical beauty when one has none to deny, to demure? No one had been as surprised as I when I miraculously glided into my late twenties complete with stilettos and good hair.

Now she was saying to me "How do you think it makes me feel?!?!"
"How do you think it makes me feel that when people meet us when we are together 95% of them are attracted to you and only 50% of them are attracted to me?! And then when they talk to us 70% of them are attracted to me and 70% of them are still attracted to you. How do you think that makes me feel?!"

I was never sure how that was supposed to make HER feel. She gained ground as guys got to know her...
But what is said to ME is that I LOST 25% of men (previously finding me attractive) by...
Not that I needed all men to be attracted to me, or even 95%... but to lose attractiveness my opening my mouth??

As I reconciled myself with that
I suggested she try wearing clean clothes and showering more often.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Necessary Bummer

"Tired of all parties involved making a mess during sex? Try the new majic sheath towel!
 It works just like magic to dry up messy 'wetness' during sex and keep anyone from having those even more messy orgasms that come with regular sex. In many cases it can also squelch those annoying 'hard ons' that men are always getting!"

Just go to any pharmacy, Walgreens, gas station, pretty much anywhere but the hardware store and ask for "Condoms". Wetness absorbency you can count on.  

The previous fake ad is #notaboutmatt, and not about any one person, but condoms as a whole. I once asked a boyfriend (someone I was actually dating, so again #notaboutmatt) if he kept glasses of ice water inside all of his condoms. 

Friday, March 28, 2014

Gas Station Story

It was a gorgeous late afternoon, still light, but no longer hot enough to complain about.
I was rushing from an afternoon meeting that had gone overly long by turning social, heading back to my apartment. I was moving again. And way behind on packing.

I pulled the truck into the end stall at a Quik Trip and started pumping gas.
Soon a man, dressed in dirty clothes approached holding an empty cup.
He stopped at a respectful distance and said "Excuse me."
I was close to the amount I planned to fill the tank so rather than leave my spot to dig change from my ashtray I said "Just a minute." 

He waited there patiently with his cup while I finished, hung up the nozzle, reached into my truck and the dug change out of the console, which I then popped out and dropped into his waiting cup.

...At which point he looked at the coins and said "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!"

Photo by Benjamin Hedrick Photography
"I... I thought... you....?"

"OH!! Oh No! I...I just... I just got off of work, that's why I'm all dirty. I had the cup... I was going to take it inside to get a refill.... Oh nooo. You thought. You thought I.... I was just going to ask if you were single... like if I could have your number... I was going to ...get a refill... in this cup..."

We were both so embarrassed. 
I told him I was moving. I didn't give him my number. He did pour my change out of his cup into my hand. We parted ways.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Awwwww...how sweet is that? (Re-defined) *explicit language

I told a lover he was just too big for me.
That wasn't a first, but the reaction was:

The next time he was over he said he had gotten a ruler and measured down 5 1/2 inches so he would know where to stop without hurting me.
...So ...uniquely sweet...
Then he added the very clever idea of wearing a cock-ring at the mark so he would not miss the line.

I suggested a tattoo, cause you would never forget then. Maybe each girl could have their name at the right depth line for them?

Like Me here, Gina here, Carrie here...

This idea is such a good one (Not the tattoo, the ruler and the ring) I had to share it, since I know I'm not the only one who goes through this. (Believe it or not.)

Measuring ... how sweet is thattttt?

Thursday, March 20, 2014

5 Random Thoughts of the Week:

1. During Coffee Talk with one of my girlfriends we came to the conclusion that it's not a good sign at all that we have incorporated the fairly new word 'rapey' into the vocabulary.
As in "He's.... ok... it's just... he's a little rapey, you know?"
That really shouldn't be a word, rapey, but it's a reality, so it's a word.

2. Even if I think what he's saying it absolutely absurd, if I man talks with passion and confidence there's a good chance I'll still think it's kinda sexy. Even if it's really really Not.

Photo by Notley Hawkins 
3. Leave something if you want to be remembered. A book. A song. A mark. Even if that something is a thought I wouldn't have had without you.
That something should NOT be a mess.

4. My life theme, I'd rather regret something I did than regret something I didn't do.
I want those memories, the ones that come with doing a full body paint photo shoot while pushing 40; being on an art team that gets a reaction for better or worse; writing the things and saying them out loud that maybe should have been kept to myself.
At least it's a story.
"When making decisions, choose the one that will make a good story."
This does not carry over to random sexual partners. Each partner leaves me some residue; some sparkles, some smears of soot. I'm not wasting canvas space.

5. I think I like twitter finally. It completely eliminates the need for 'inner dialog'. It's not like FB where you make sure it's interesting to at least part of your audience and (please) don't post back to back to back all day long, making all of your posts watered down, annoyances, or sound like requests for more attention.
Nope, this is twitter. You just say whatever pops in there. Like no one is reading it anyway.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Shorts on Crazy part won

It was as if you asked him over for dinner and his response was No, based on the that after dinner he would possibly be expected to clear his plate... and from there end up being the dishwasher, and eventually kitchen manager of the restaurant you might build in the yard; until one day, not being able to take it anymore, he walked out mid-shift causing the restaurant to fail and you to have nothing.

And if that sounds crazy, how much crazier does it sound to walk away having heard only that you can't cook?

Why is it so impossible not to internalize rejection that doesn't even belong to me?
I wasn't...
But somehow the point becomes, for me, that I was told no... even on a question I never intended, wanted to, or did ask.

Love Actually?

He had the look of a former high school wrestler. Fighting off the weight of aging with too many work outs, too many weights, an over abundance of enthusiasm for all things that implied lifting, not spin classes.

The sheer mass of facts about various things he rapid fired for hours at a time were both impressive and exhausting.

Did he ever consider chilling out? Sinking deep into the couch, with a drink, watching a Hugh Grant movie? Would he sit and watch something so mindless? Something with no impact, nothing to discuss, debate, or consider?

Could he just be quiet and cuddle up, his slightly cushioned flesh, layered over coerced muscle mass, being the perfect body to lean into?