Blue Dress Diaries 1- In Which It Begins

So, after three years and more of this tumultuous on again, off again relationship, I have found myself a single gal.  Am I ready to start dating again?  Most likely not, but the best cure for an old love is a new one, and Dr. Phil talks about earning your way out of relationships, and I certainly did that with this one.  Let my therapist (and my sister, who seems to take an unhealthy amount of interest in whose beds my boots are under) worry about that.  You jump off then you build wings, or some optimistic bullshit like that, ala Ray Bradbury.

Great guy, gonna love him til I die, but sayonara, baby.  Vaya con dios, see ya on the other side.

An interesting thing about the universe is how when you are open to things, things come to you.  Case in point- I woke up one morning with a wild hair and The Wheel of Fortune, and I decided it was time for me to actually do something about wanting to be in a relationship.  In the next three weeks, I went on dates with six different men.  Two of them I actively sought out by placing an ad on a questionable website.  250 distinct emails later (minus the 10% for spam one of the dates said I had to give), not a single cock pic, and I had it narrowed down to two.  A cock pic might have helped, guys.  The other four were happenstance, random chance, a matter of timing, I guess, and you coulda knocked me over with a feather.  I would not have said there were even six single men in Denver, let alone six who would be interested in me, and me in them.  More to come, I am sure, but that’s letting the carriage run right over the horse and not really here nor there, for now.

Some funny shit has happened to me in the past few weeks, and if I don’t save it for posterity, I will regret it later.  So, I announce- The Blue Dress Diaries.

Original name?  Not so much.  I’m okay with that.

I have a great blue dress.  It’s cerulean, to be exact, a wrap dress that shows off my good bits and goes far in forgiving my worst.  The color is beautiful on summer skin, and my Mohican blood gives me that all year long.  It also gives me a propensity to diabetes and alcoholism, so let me take what pleasure I can from it.  It’s all occasion, dressy enough if a first date springs for a nice dinner, but casual enough to not be out of place for afternoon coffee.  Two dates in, it dawned on me that instead of freaking out about what to wear, I could ease my anxiety a great deal by just wearing the same gorgeous dress on every first date I have til I’ve had my last, a fat bulge bursts out of it, or it falls apart.  I’m hoping one of those happens before the others, because getting fat(ter) is not gonna help my chances any, and I don’t want it to be long enough for the thing to become rags.  I don’t think there are batteries enough in the world.

And because I’m me, and on the theory that I might be a writer, and if I am not letting it all hang out all over the place it festers and rots in my brain, I decided to write about it all.

I have to say, I do not think a woman needs a man to be complete, nor do I feel incomplete without one.  I also think, though, that it is complete bullshit, and a great disservice to single people of both genders, that our society teaches that admitting you would rather be with someone than not makes you weak, or unfulfilled, or somehow less of a person.  I am strong, with a very full life, which I mostly love, at least today, and I have great people in it.

Eventually, though, I would like to have (another) husband, and I am not going to feel bad about that just because those bitches fucked their way across New York City  for all those years.  And PS, they all ended up married, or in a monogamous long term relationship, at least.  I’m a great wife.  I cook like mutha’ fuckin’ riot, I’m not jealous or possessive, would prefer to have sex twice a day, and while I like to snuggle and be affectionate, I feel no need to be attached to my man’s hip.   I have a metric ton of issues, too, but I believe love covers a multitude of sins.  I don’t think it’s wrong to want to love someone, to want them to love you back.

Sister, Sister

I dreamt of my sister last night, in all her tawny wildness.  She was always like that, not quite tame, not quite knowable.  Fierce and ferocious, tender and soft, all together.

Yesterday she turned 31.  She wouldn't talk to me to hear me say, "Happy Birthday" to her, though I do wish it for her.

In the dream, we raced through a verdant meadow.  "Wait til you see, Mandy," she cried over her shoulder at me, long blonde hair flying in the wind, dimple gleaming.  We raced and raced, never tiring, and the sun matched our pace, always sunset, orange and crimson on our dusky summer skin.  She stopped suddenly, and fell to the ground in a graceful heap.  She was always like that, too.  Beautiful as she moved, easy in her own body.  Me, I was never graceful like that.  I couldn't stop, I kept going, and she called at me to stop, not go too far.  The far end of the meadow was dark, a dark gash looking like a toothless mouth in the side of cliff face.  A golden mountain lion appeared, and screamed into the dying sun.  My heart stopped for a moment, truly stopped, and my sweat turned to ice on my skin.  My sister lay in the tall grass, and she giggled softly.  "I told you, Mandy" she said in my head.  I turned to run, and again her voice in my head, "Don't run.  They'll see you.  They'll chase.  They'll have to."  Wise, so wise.  "Come and lay in the grass.  Lay so still, and you'll see."  I dropped down near her, the native grasses swallowing us both whole.  We lay as still as dirt itself, warm in the sun.  Soon, a musky scent filled our nostrils.  I almost wiggled, but her voice in my head stilled me.  "Wait."  Wet sandpaper against my skin, purring so loud it rattled my bones in my ears.  The lions had come.  "I told you," her husky voice said, in my head, and I was in bliss.

I think you must both be a sister and have a sister to understand the particular torment they inflict upon each other.  A true mystery, how you can love someone soul deep, and hate them so bitterly, at the same time.  A bright mirror, and a dark one, two halves of a whole.

The End of an Era

Really? We have spent the last three and better years in and out of love and in between and you can't even spare me 10 minutes to answer an email that was VERY important to me? Funny how you show right up, ready to play the knight in shining armor when I don't ask or want you to, but you have never managed, not even once, to be there for me in any form when it actually mattered. I never ask you for anything, and this is why. You think you are not mean because you don't hit, but you are and I have always forgiven you everything, but not this. You are relegated to acquaintance only.

And go fuck yourself.

This is Love

 

Max and Lola, who are pretty sure they are the cat's pajamas.

What Gives You The Right?

I am going to tell you what is so insidious about monitoring where people go online, especially in their own home, especially in their own computer.  It is akin to invading a person's thoughts, as they make one connection to another, skipping blithely along the world wide web.

Dear neighbor,

I apologize for "borrowing" your internet but it seems mine is no longer my own, and having to make justifications for what websites I visit when just does not jive with me.  I'll bake you some banana bread, okay?

Yours,

~M

*sigh*

These things  are definitely my own fault, but I'm learning as I go.

 

If I had to, I could go without my television for a month

Well, I don't even watch television now, so it would be easy! Computer, and cell phone, however, carry my life's work around in them, so I would be pretty desperate without them.



Besides, all the best shows can be downloaded!

 

Ahem - What is the best way to get someone's attention?

I like to show some cleavage and use my natural assets, like most red blooded American women. What, that's not right?