i had a date(ish)

gather around darlings, i have a delightful holiday tale that is sure to warm your hearts:

(or at least make you laugh/pee a little so SOME part of you is warmish)

i had a “date” last night.

before you get all excited for me it must be stated: this was not a “you’re hot and i want to take you out” date, this was a very old friend in town for the holidays, knows i’m single and rarely get to go out on this type of event, in the spirit of the holidays threw me a bone “date”.

so. you know. go me.

now, before i get too far into it you need to know that in spite of everything i actually had a pretty good time. it was good to be out, it was good to feel pretty, and it was good to not have to buy my own drinks/dinner/lap dances for once (we’ll get back to that last one in a minute).

so the friend in question is/was actually staying at my house for a few days while in town. he got to town thursday evening, friday we hung out a bit before he had to go do some things, then we were both back at my house around 3 (with both spawns) hanging out. 3 in the afternoon. it was actually a little before 3- yes, time is important. you see, between the time he got back to my house and the time i went to take the small spawn to a friends for a sleep over at 5 he was already SIX drinks ahead of me: two shooter bottles of gentlemans jack, firefly on the rocks, three screwdrivers. nothing lets your date know you’re excited about taking her out like getting completely smashed before it even starts.

i get back from dropping the small spawn off and start to get ready. a date is a date and damn it, i wanted to look nice. pretty skirt, nice strapless top, big girl shoes, big hair, big make up, i pulled out ALL the stops. while i’m doing this he has another drink and a bit of green because that of course lets a lady know you can’t wait to be alone with her- a completely altered reality. awesome. (also lets her know that she will be driving for the evening and not able to partake in any drinks herself. even better).

while i’m getting ready i was complimented several times along the lines of “you look hot. it’s nice to have my escort look so hot. you’re my escort for the evening, right? i’m paying for everything and getting sex after, so you’re my escort, right?”

i just love compliments. they make me glow.

yes, i still went through with the date. i’m that desperate. again: go me.

so we decide on a spot for dinner and start the evening out. dinner was actually delightful at a very nice restaurant but we forgot to factor in one thing: a gentleman’s club was on the agenda for the evening and the restaurant we had picked tended to be a little (as in the nile is just a little river) heavy handed on the garlic and onion. PERFECT for an evening of up close and personal with beautiful women (and the supposed sexy time at the end of the evening).

conversation was great through dinner. we talked about how long we had know each other, how we’ve both grown over the years, real, good, meaningful conversation. a little shocking all considered.

after dinner (one more drink) it was still early and the friends he planned on meeting at the club weren’t ready yet so we decided to drive around a bit (after stopping for a coors tall boy). this turned into about an hour and a half driving around in BFE, in pea soup fog, with NO IDEA where we were at. not the worst, but for sure not exactly a nice night out type thing. I WILL SAY: we did use this time to continue talking about things which was really nice. one caveat: you just never know how much is real conversation and how much is “altered state of mind” conversation. not really sure how much of it he remembers or meant. so. yeah.

we finally decide that we’ve had enough driving around and we’ll just go to his buddy’s house and wait for him to get ready to go to the club. translation: we’ll go park out back of his buddies house and attempt teenage car sex until his buddy is ready to go.

oh yeah. i just said that.

two adults. one car. a whole lot of (one sided) alcohol. a fuck ton of awkward.

let me just say: no matter how old you are, no matter how big your car is, no matter what you may think: CAR SEX IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA. add in a little alcohol and GOSH DARN IT, wouldn’t you now, things just didn’t quite go as planned.

we finally head out to the gentleman’s club and the rest of the evening was pretty good. see, i’m one of those girls who LIKES other girls. i think women are beautiful and i truly admire the dancers at the gentleman’s club. they are (with some exceptions) athletic, brave, sensual women who are damn smart and good at what they do. i’ve had many a conversation about this with men, women, and some dancers. they truly are damn good hustlers, sales women, business women and the best ones do this with little to no (visible) effort so that the drooling neanderthals around the stage think they’re being awesome getting this girls attention while she’s making bank and taking money that they’re willingly throwing in her direction. plus: boobies! yes, i said it.

i was able to enjoy a very nice lap dance from a beautiful woman which all the men were jealous of (yes, mine was longer than yours deal with it). i happened to run into a friend i hadn’t seen in way too long and was able to catch up on a little chatting amidst all the distractions. i got to watch boys be stupid boys which is always fun. finally i got to watch my date ingest quite a few more drinks which assured that i was safe from the sexy time at the end of the evening that he had been planning on.

so the “date” ended well enough but i want to point out a few things that really were a train wreck that i managed to ignore.

men: don’t EVER refer to your date as your escort for the evening unless you looked up an ad in the yellow pages, ordered her and had to put a credit card on reserve for the evening to happen. it is damn demeaning, angering, and honestly purely insulting. i understand that all you want out of the evening is the sexy time at the end and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. one way to make sure it DOESN’T happen is to let me know up front in plain english that’s all you think i am/am good for.

don’t EVER let a woman know you can’t afford to take her out but you’re doing it anyway. nothing ruins the evening as quick as “i know i’ll hate myself tomorrow for how much i spend on you tonight.” AWE.SOME. and YES, this was actually said to me.

also, along the same line: don’t ever let your date know you had to borrow money to take her out. FROM. YOUR. MOM. this one didn’t happen to me but it DID happen to a darling friend of mine a few weeks ago. a guy actually had the half balls to say he wanted to take her out for a drink but had to ask him mom for a loan first. if you can’t afford it, find a different option. buy a sixer and rent a movie. it’s a LOT cheaper, less noisy, and more one on one time. plus you don’t have the whole awkward: “he borrowed money from his mommy” vibe the whole evening.

i understand having a few drinks or a little herbal relaxation to mellow you out before a date. WITHIN REASON. getting smashed before she even starts getting ready is NOT a good thing. really. nothing tells a girl you dont want to go out with her more than having to be blasted to go through with it.

NEVER. EVER. suggest car sex. EVER.

don’t complain that the girls lap dance was longer than yours. enjoy the fact that you have a woman who is excited to be at the club with you and that you even got to watch her getting a lap dance. i mean how fucking sexy is that? getting to watch a girl get a LONG lap dance and enjoy it? and you complained?

don’t make her wake up in the morning to you flogging the dolphin. wrestling the cyclops. choking the chicken. FUCKING MASTURBATING IN HER BED RIGHT NEXT TO HER.

hmm. sorry. probably should have given you a little warning about that last one.

*sigh* and people wonder why i’m single.

quit(ish)

there’s been so much going on lately and yet nothing at the same time. it’s been good and bad and creative and stressful and boring and all of everything rolled into one hot mess.

this weekend i’ve been laying pretty low while battling a huge round of depression and decision making and general yuk.

i’ve been making so many plans lately and having just as many fall through on me. it’s been hard. i was going to help one of my bosses open a stove shop that he’s been waiting to do for a long time. things stalled on that. then i was going to start my own pay-by-the-day secretarial business and things stalled on that. i found out one of the coffee shops i work at was possibly open for purchase and then that fell through. i’ve applied for mortgages, planned out three businesses, worked at two coffee shops and helped manage two other businesses. i’m learning social media and online advertising for businesses on the fly. i’m taking messages, making appointments, dealing with people who have never met me but still hate me (you should see the hate mail letter). in the middle of all this i’m dealing with a moody teenager and an 8 year old who HATES everything.

i’m tired. i’m stressed. i’m frustrated and i have the window ledge full of empty wine bottles to prove it.

i had to quit(ish) one of my jobs today. i’m so frustrated with this decision. i feel like a huge failure. i’ve never quit before. i made the decision to leave my last job but it wasn’t because i couldn’t do it or i wasn’t successful at it. i left for family and i left on good terms. not so much this time. this time i was a flat failure. the worst part is that it wasn’t even really my failure. i had a boss that had little to no respect for me which makes things, well, impossible. every appointment i set was either ignored or he would be late to. messages i took were ignored. my calls were sent to voice mail (why bother leaving a message when i’m the one that reviews them?). clients would call asking why their appointment was missed or their call not returned and i ended up looking like an incompetent idiot. i HATE being made to look like an idiot. i’m damn good at what i do. DAMN GOOD. but there was no way for the clients to know that. i looked like the bumbling secretary that couldn’t take a message or schedule an appointment without screwing up. i was busting my ass getting advertising, social media, web listings, appointments, taking messages, organizing, trying to make things work smoother and take the stress off him and all it was doing was quadrupling my stress. why am i taking calls at 7am on sunday morning when he could care less? why am i answering his texts at 10pm about appointments or billings when i had tried to reach him all day?

i stopped to talk to him today to let him know where i was at. this is a HUGE thing for me. normally i just pull the plug and walk away. generally there’s a large emotional explosion and a grand finale and no going back. this time i tried to be different. i tried to talk about it before i was at the explosion point. i calmly told him everything i just wrote out above. i told him that i was frustrated but if things could change i would still be on board.

and then there was silence. stone. cold. silence.

so. i left.

there was apparently nothing left to say.

about an hour later i had a text message asking me how to take the call forwarding off.

so. i guess that’s that. i didn’t mean to quit. i was asking for change and a little respect. i guess i got my answer.

so. nifty.

less stress. that’s a good thing, right?

BUT. that was pretty much the last hope of avoiding cubicle world again. the last hope of something that would work out and pay the bills and let me still be a mom. so. now it’s back to corporate robot world. yuk.

and in the middle of all that did i mention my teenager is failing school and my 8 year old is being bullied every day AND failing school?

i guess i’m failing at the staying home and being a mom thing too. awe.some.

and did i mention that i’m still single?

why the fuck isn’t there more wine at this pity party?

SILVER LINING:

i have a washer and dryer installed and working.

i’ve learned how to make a damn good cup of coffee in the last few months.

i’ve learned how to do some awesome local online advertising.

i have my office unpacked and put together.

i have a good house that has kept us warm through some damn cold nights already this winter.

i have a good car that handles winter time like it’s a regular summer day.

i’ve got great people that aren’t ashamed to have a twilight marathon with me.

finally: i’m still able to convince the moody teenager to make an idiot of himself with his friend by doing broadway dance songs on the wii in exchange for zelda time. that’s kinda priceless.

a contest:

so. we're going to play a little game tonight. below are 5 pictures of yours truly. let's play the "guess which one she's the heaviest in" game, shall we?

picture A:

picture B:

picture C:

picture D:

picture E:

and answer is:
picture A: taken 10/2009 checking in at 220
picture B: taken 10/2010 checking in at 203
picture C: taken 4/2011 checking in at 230
picture D: also 4/2011, same weight
picture E: taken 10/2011 checking in at 248

i don't understand my body. in 2 years i've jumped FOURTY pounds. i dropped a bunch a while ago (remember those posts when i was all excited about my wii?) and now i'm back up to my heaviest ever. but i don't LOOK like it. at least to me i don't...

my jeans are baggy. my bra is the same size. my tee shirts fit the same. even my damn shoes fit the same. i think my face looks thinner now than it has in a long while and yet i'm checking in at my heaviest EVER. where the fuck am i hiding FORTY POUNDS? you see people flex 10 pounds and they have to change wardrobes one way or the other. i flex FORTY and nothing has changed. umm...WHAT THE FUCK BATMAN?

hurry up- I HAVE TO PEE!

so. i have a house. and it’s an old house. and it needed work. and i decided it needed more work that it *actually* needed. and then i pulled a ham string kicking myself in the ass for deciding it needed more work than it needed.

they say the two worst things you can pick on in a house are the kitchen and the bathroom. guess what two things i did in my house?

the kitchen turned out pretty damn good (minus the hole that’s still in the floor where the threshold is STILL missing).

the bathroom?

*sigh*

here’s the story on the bathroom:

the house has two full bathrooms- one upstairs with a standing shower, toilet sink, and the one downstairs that had a full shower, closet, sink. downstairs there was also a closet in what i’ve claimed as the office.

after the remodel of the kitchen there was no place for the washer/dryer (yes, they were in the kitchen before. no thanks) and i decided, in all my infinite wisdom, why don’t we bust out the closet in the office, expand the bathroom, and add the washer/dryer in there? strike that: initially i thought i would just run lines into the closet for the washer/dryer, THEN i had the bright idea to knock out a few walls.

if you were wondering, here’s what it looks like when you start knocking out walls in a 110 year old house:

that picture was taken on june 23, 2011 when the first work was done on the project. that day the bathroom door was removed (frame and all), the sink was removed, the walls were knocked out of the closet, and the ceiling was opened up.

then the pause button was pressed.

and held down.

and held down a little longer.

i FINALLY got around to hiring a contractor to finish up the work. he came over, looked over the project, looked through the basement, looked over all the plumbing, electrical, everything and gave me a quote of $5,000 and said it would probably be LESS if i paid by the hour instead of a flat bid.

yes, i’m an idiot. i believed him.

his worked started on August 8, 2011. walls were ripped down. the ceiling was ripped down. the floor was ripped out (all three layers of hardwood. yes, THREE.) the plumbing was changed out, the electrical was re-run. the floor was put back in. the walls went back in. things were going GREAT. i was working with mac (the worker bee) on things, talking about where things would go, what we would do with the space, what parts were needed. we had a good process of cuss and discuss working- we would both toss out ideas, talk about what would work, what wouldn’t, come to an agreement and on things would go. it was great. it was easy. it was taking a little longer than i wanted (and a little more money since i was paying by the hour) but it was good. we discussed about me doing the tile work and painting to save money and everything was good with that. i suggested putting in the shelving between the stacking washer and dryer to give me a place to store soap and they liked the idea so much they started using it on other sites. things were going along smoothly.

and then the shit hit the fan.

tim, the main contractor and the official owner of the company started coming in to work. and it went from great to FUCKED UP over night. i was sitting on my couch one of the first mornings he came in doing paperwork for one of my jobs. i could hear mac and tim in the bathroom talking- the french doors haven’t been finished and there’s no door in the bathroom so i could hear everything pretty damn well. the issue at hand was some light switches that mac and i had talked about installing two inches lower than standard to accommodate a recycled mirror that i wanted to use. mac and i had discussed it, if it would work, if it wouldn’t, decided there was no particular reason they couldn’t be lower, and so all the switches on one wall were lowered two inches. no big issue. right? well, according to tim it was a HUGE issue. they were all wrong and needed re-done. i sat and listened to the conversation progress, listened to mac explain why they were done that way, how he and i had talked about it, measured the mirror and decided like we did. and then i hear tim: “well, sometimes when you have a difficult home owner you just need to tell them how it is.”

*ahem*

WHAT? did i just get called a difficult home owner IN MY OWN HOME? did that REALLY just happen? over something that i had discussed with mac and we had decided on TOGETHER? not once during the whole project had i ever insisted on anything. EVER. i tossed out ideas, if they worked, they worked, if they didn’t i was more than happy to come up with another solution. SEVERAL things were changed, adjusted, moved around, made to work. i wasn’t married to one single idea in that bathroom. it was a blank slate to me. and suddenly i’m called a difficult home owner? last i checked? it’s MY house. I’M paying the bills. shouldn’t it be how i want it to be? difficult or not?

from there it went from bad to worse- suddenly the door to the closet (we closed off the original door to the bathroom) needed to be ripped out and changed- $105. suddenly tim needed to do the painting- several hours at $35/hour. suddenly tim needed to do all the tile work- even more hours at $35/hour. oh, and the BRAND NEW COMMERCIAL TILE SAW that a friend loaned me? not good enough, tim decided he needed to go out and rent one. which he then set up on my front porch leaving a huge mess on the porch and tile drips all the way across my hard wood floors that he didn’t bother to clean up. AND? the tile work? worst i’ve ever seen in my entire life. he used CARDBOARD spacers for the tile. really? tile spacers are approx .53 cents for nine million. why the fuck would any contractor EVER use cardboard?

also: why would you leave the cardboard in long enough that the thin set dries and the cardboard is STUCK in the gaps? and it just kept getting worse. a friend came over to help with other projects outside the bathroom and suddenly tim was VERY territorial and flat out rude to my friend. ALSO: “accidentally” switched one of his shit beat up tools for my friends brand new one. classy. another darling friend came over to help me pick out flooring for the bathroom. again tim was flat out rude and actually refused to install the flooring i picked out (and so i had to pick out a different floor which, of course, turned out to be more expensive. *shock*).

the kicker? all this started because spokane remodeler magazine had approached tim and asked if they could feature one of his remodels in their magazine. tim decided mine would be great for that and all these changes and expenses needed to happen AT MY COST. ummm- NO. #1: you should have been doing your best work from the beginning. things shouldn’t suddenly change and need to be the best because a magazine is coming in. #2: if all this needs to happen for a magazine shoot: read: ADVERTISING FOR YOUR COMPANY, why the fuck should _I_ pay for that? if you want advertising for your company? YOU pay for it. we had an agreed price, we had an agreed scope of work. if YOU suddenly decide to change things, that’s not MY responsibility to foot the bill. i could have done the tile work and done a better job. the pictures i took are hard to see but ALL the tiles are off on the alignment- top to bottom, side to side, depth, every way tile can be off. ALL the big 18” tiles were cut the WRONG way (on the rented saw). ALL are chipped and most are crooked. _I_ could have painted and done a damn good job. i did the rest of the house and it turned out beautifully.

and so i fired him. well, that’s not true. i’m a chicken and i am TERRIFIED of confrontation so i actually had two wonderful gentlemen step in and handle things for me. it was rough, tim got very angry and defensive and confrontational- everything i was worried about. but, in the end, he left.

and so the story ends.

HA HA HA...if only.

when the gentlemen fired tim for me they asked him to leave immediately and send over an inventory of what was left at my house that he needed to get back and then someone would meet him and facilitate the pick up. part of an agreement i had with him was that there were some cabinets in my garage that he was going to do work in trade for. after seeing the tile work that he did in trade, knowing that it would ALL need taken down and redone, the gentlemen that were helping me and i decided that tim really should NOT get those cabinets in trade. i bet you can guess how well that went over. there were a few intimidating voice mails, a few text messages (all saved), and finally one last text “see u in small claims court” sent october 3rd. it’s been quiet since then. *knock on wood* all said and done i paid $6200ish for the work that was done. i paid in full, every friday as things progressed. i also paid for the tile, the tub, the sink, the flooring, the lighting, and quite a bit of the plumbing parts outside of his bills. my TOTAL for the bathroom is over $8,000. sounds like a bit more than $5,000 unless my math is that bad.

so. after over 6 weeks (it was supposed to take 4) i had NO bathroom: no toilet, no shower. no washer dryer, no door, no window, unfinished floors, shitty tile work, a busted pocket book and a threat for small claims court. insult to injury: when time picked up his tools after he was fired he left one last invoice for another $600+ trying to charge me for the tile saw rental, additional labor, and parts (some of which i’ve never even seen).

all that drama and i STILL have to stumble up the stairs to pee every time i get home from mommy’s wednesday night out.

here’s the GOOD news though:

since then i’ve had help getting a few more things done- my washer and dryer were installed a few weeks ago, the electrical has all been finished up and switches finally installed, the last light fixture has been installed, and this last sunday the flooring was laid out and cut and prepped to be installed (it needed to flatten out after being rolled up in the corner for too long). the sink has been set into place and will be installed right after the flooring and it’s actually starting to look like a bathroom.

i can’t wait to be able to pee without having to do a jane fonda stair stepper work out first.

so. there you have it: i picked one of the worst projects a home owner can pick, hired a TERRIBLE contractor, spent way more money than i was supposed to, and STILL haven’t finished the project.

excellent.

at least i’ll get to learn how to pee cool designs into the snow soon- winter is just around the corner.

(non)working girl

so. i’ve been promising to write forever and i’m just now finally getting around to it. there’s been a few reasons for delay: 1- time: YES, i’m “unemployed” but i’m also busier than i’ve ever been helping several friends/businesses, chasing kids around, dealing with contractors, and then, of course, there’s always my own ish and the crap stuck in my head. 2- perspective: i’ve had some big shit go down lately. my knee jerk reaction is to write it all down immediately. most of this stuff needs perspective though. i need to be able to step back, process, analyze, think it over, make sure i’m reacting properly, THEN write about it. some if it i’m still not there yet. some of it i’m ready. so. there should be more writing in the next few days (schedule allowing) to get out the stuff i’m ready to talk about. so. all that said- brass tacks- today i’m going to tackle the most recent and the one that’s on my mind the most: money/unemployment.

i was denied unemployment. i appealed. denied AGAIN. the first time they told me that quitting my job to stay at home was not a good reason to quit. AWE.SOME. way to put family first state of washington. so i appealed and waited several weeks. i was certain that it wasn’t my employer trying to screw me over- i mean i worked for them for 10 years, left on the best terms, did everything i could for them. i was sure it was the state being the state and through the appeal it would all work out. then i got fucked up the ass without lube. sorry if that’s a little much, but HOLY FUCK OVER batman. i waited all these weeks, kept looking for a job while i watched what was left of my savings drain away. i kept thinking OF COURSE it will work out. then i called in, did the phone interview with the judge for the appeal and listened to my previous employer twist everything around in every direction possible to completely and totally fuck me over. they insist i quit my job to write. great. you know that thing called a letter of resignation? that thing that i turned in that said WHY i was quitting? the thing i turned in to my boss and is (or should be) in my employee file? funny how no where in there did i say i was quitting my job to write. it DOES say that i was leaving to be with my kids and be a family while i had the chance. YES, i said i was going to use some of the time to write. and cook. and go on field trips. and read. and do art work. and be a mom. and take vacations. and do things with my kids. fuck- i even wrote a blog about my goals for the year and the things i wanted to accomplish. YES, writing was one of those. NO, it was not the reason i left my job. i was honestly so shocked during the appeal that i couldn’t even disagree. i couldn’t believe they were insisting THAT was the reason i left. not that i lost my brother. not that my son lost his step mother and baby brother. not that i lost my dad and watched my whole life get dumped on it’s head in less than 12 months.

TEN FUCKING YEARS people. i worked for that company for TEN YEARS. i busted my ass for them. sent my kids to a daycare and had someone else spending more time with them than me. i arranged babysitters after BOTH kids had their tonsils out so i could be back at work. i made them go to daycare sick because i couldn’t take time away. i busted my ass for TEN years for that company. i gave them notice the beginning of november that i wanted to leave the end of december and then ended up staying an extra FULL month while they shitted time away hiring a replacement to train. i did my best for ten years, did my damndest to leave on the best terms, did everything i could just to get royally fucked over. are they that worried about their bottom line? do they really care that little about their employees? i really don’t want to believe that i worked for a company like that for ten years, but this has shown me otherwise.

people have asked me over the last year if i would go back to the company if the opportunity arose. i always i thought i would. i thought it would be great to go back to the benefits, to an employer that was great to me. i had nothing bad to say about them.

NOW?

no way in mother fucking hell would i spend one more day working for a company that could care less and works harder to protect their books than to take care of someone that gave them 10 years.

BIG QUESTION: now what? now what do i do that i have NO savings left, NO unemployment, and NO job on the horizon?

welcome to my stress.

i am VERY lucky that i do have a little money coming in via child support right now. it’s not much, and it has disappeared on me several times before, but it’s something for now. i just need to be very careful with it. i HAVE been working for one business with the potential for payment- i just need to learn to grow a pair and ask for the paycheck. not something i’m good at. especially when it’s a friend. especially when i know business is slow. especially when there’s some trade work going on. especially when i’m so damn good at making up excuses to avoid a potentially awkward situation and ESPECIALLY when i’m just too damn chicken to actually do it.

so. there you have it. poor, broke, pissed off, BUT I HAVE A PLAN! and i have a fucking awesome business name. it’s ironic, funny, and simple all at once. stay tuned for the actual business licensing, domain registering, official branding ish before i drop it out there, but i’m sure you’ll all think it fits me!

struggle

i know i haven't been posting much lately. i have a LIST of things to write about but i've been half lazy and half struggling with how much to write.

there's a BIG topic i want to talk about but i keep battling with how much is too much to throw out there- coming from me i'm sure that's a little strange to hear. it's more along an "airing dirty laundry" line than an embarrassing TMI line. half of me believes that there's healing in getting my side of the story out, and half of me doesn't want my hardest issue out on the web for anyone to run across.

i keep trying to think of a tactful way to cover the issue but the truth can't be half assed or sugar coated so i think i just need to moxy up and throw it out.

in the mean time there's a few random things to throw out there. i'll start kicking my own ass and making myself sit down to write more regularly- there's nothing on the DIY network that won't be aired again later (yes, i'm currently addicted to home improvement shows).

what say you? do you think there's anything that's too personal to share? i've always believed that if it can help one person then there's not...but on this one i'm really questioning that.

do i stick to my guns? share my story no matter how potentially uncomfortable it may make me? edit it? i'm lost on this one...

16 again?

if you had the chance to be 16 again knowing what you know now, would you? it’s a question that’s been around forever. i’ve always said there’s no way in hell i would ever go back again, even knowing what i know now. i HATED my teen years, there was nothing good about high school or any of the things i went through back then.

who would want to go back to 16? even with adult knowledge and confidence? no thanks- i’m good.

well. things change.

last night i was 16 again. knowing what i know now. with confidence. i didn’t think of it that way at the time, but it really was just like being 16 again. and it was really great.

last night i had a chance to have a “re-do” with my first ever sexual partner. back in the day it wasn’t so great and actually left me with several of the insecurities that i’ve battled for years. long story short, he was my first lover and i didn’t have my first orgasm until i got married which was my 10th lover. so, you can tell i didn’t know my body at all back then or how to ask for what i wanted and he wasn’t exactly prepared to put in the time and effort to figure it out back then.

a LOT of things have changed since then. there was a spawn, marriages, marriages ending (mine divorce, his death). there’s personal growth and experiences and self discovery. there have been some EPIC fights, years of hating each other, years of tolerating each other, and here we are 14 years later and i would honestly count him among one of my closest friends. we’ve both been through so much and it’s been interesting to come together and help each other through those things and grow together and help raise our son together.

he came to town a few weeks ago and stayed a few days and we vaguely kicked around the idea of being together again but decided against it. last night he came back through town again and we both decided this time to see what happened.

like i said before, i wasn’t thinking of it at the time as going back to being 16. we did talk about how it had been 14 years since we had been down this road and both wondered how different things would be. details spared: MUCH different (and yes, worth it).

this morning i did get to thinking about it as going back and getting a do-over. i thought about how strong and confident i was last night and how it made everything so different. i thought about all the hang up’s i’ve been carrying with me for the last 14 years and how they really were just two inexperienced kids who really had no clue. it’s been odd today. it’s more thought than i expected. emotionally i’m good. mentally it’s been a trip. and in a GOOD way. i feel empowered. i feel sexy and sensual and confident as a woman. i feel like i don’t have to be so self conscious in bed anymore. all the things that were seared in my mind from those first few experiences don’t have to stick there any more. i can very confidently let them go.

so. for how much i argued against ever going back to 16, as much as i swore that i would never want to do that or experience that again, it was a very good thing. i’m really glad i did.

what would you do? would you go back to 16? i know not everyone would have the same good experience, but would the chance be worth it?

the story of asshats and fish...

so. here it is, 2 am, my sleep schedule is completely FUCKED at this point (since when does a 1 hour nap at 2 in the afternoon keep you up all night?). it sounds like the perfect time to catch you up on a few of the promises i’ve made but haven’t kept...what better place to start than dating horror stories?

all for you darlings. ALL FOR YOU.

harland williams:

i started this story the night it happened, FIFTY SIX DAYS AGO. jaysus, how have you guys not beaten me for my slacking on writing?

harland williams- it wasn’t actually HIM, but i swear it could have been his identical twin. i was at my fav bar for my usual wednesday night band support and even though the WHOLE BAR was empty, this jackass had to sit next to me and start being the typical out of town business man looking to get laid. his friend was kinda cute/nice but this guy...holy hell.

so he’s hitting on me, doing something that we’ll call flirting, trying to buy me drinks (no go- i’m odd like that- i’ll buy my own, thank you very much). this guy is laying it on, i’m being a bitch, he’s not getting the picture. at one point he flat out said: “i’m horny. i could either go to the strip club and back to my motel room and jack off, or you could save me the time and money and just go back with me now.” gee. how can a girl resist such an offer? he’s laying it on, trying to tell jokes, trying to impress me, telling me about his big shot job (hey BANK OF AMERICA...your asshole employees are GREAT company representatives in public...AWESOME). he is just not taking a hint. i’m flat out making fun of him, not holding back on the bitchy comments, making fun of his company and he finally gets pissed off and says “FINE. I FUCKING GIVE UP.” and then exits stage left to the bathroom. i let out a sigh of relief, the adorable bartender looks over and asks if i shot him down to which i said “he finally gave up.” jackass comes back from the bathroom, sits down, and STARTS ALL OVER AGAIN. i literally looked straight at him and said: “since when does giving up mean doubling your efforts?” the jack ass STILL kept trying.

when you make the bartender laugh it’s a good night. he laughed a LOT that night. i decided that since the jackass wasn’t giving up i was going to be a true bitch and have a little fun with it. harland williams ended up staying til closing, racking up a good tab, and tipping well in effort to try to impress me. when he FINALLY left (alone), the bartender asked why i convinced the jackass to stick around instead of letting him heading off to a club or back to his motel. my answer: “well, he can go to a club and spend his money there or stay here, run up a tab, leave a good sized tip, and provide us entertainment. this way the bar got more money, you got a good tip, and i got to make fun of someone all night. win-win-win.”  i take care of my bartender.  he puts up with my obnoxious self inappropriately hitting on him every wednesday. getting him good tips is the least i can do.

i WILL admit to feeling guilty the next day about being such a bitch. i ended up emailing harland williams (at his work email since the asshole gave me his card) to apologize. i don’t do bitch well.

the silent guy:

this, as the best are, is a plenty of fish story. this guy seemed normal at first. we emailed for a while, he seemed smart, had some good jokes, somewhat decent conversation. i will admit that he seemed like he might actually have the potential of a non-train wreck date. i should know better. he wants to get together for lunch but doesn’t let me know until 2 pm. i suggest drinks and we agree to meet for cheesecake/drinks downtown that night at 9. i get there right at 9 and i sit at a table alone and wait. and wait. and wait. and since i’m waiting, i go ahead and order a drink. if nothing else i’m totes comfortable sitting at a table out alone any day of the week, so it doesn’t bother me too much that it’s looking like a no show.

oh, how i wish that’s how the story ended. the guy shows up TWENTY MINUTES LATE. awesome start. he introduces himself then he sits down on the bench NEXT TO ME. umm...how the hell are we supposed to talk? not only that, he shows up and crappy jeans, a faded out untucked button up shirt, SLOUCHES on the bench next to me and looks like he hasn’t combed his hair in a few days. awesome first impression. so he’s just sitting there. and sitting there. the waiter comes over and asks if he’d like a drink and he just sticks with water. what’s the point of meeting for drinks if you don’t drink? we could have met for coffee or ice cream or a million other things. so we sit there awkwardly.

i try to ask a few questions, start a conversation which is DAMN hard when the person is sitting next to you. all i get back are 1-2 word answers and nothing else. spiffy. in the middle of it my son calls to check in on me and a darling friend calls to see if i need rescued. i’m trying to stick it out. FULL EFFORT. it’s just awkward and quiet and strange. fuck it. i finish my drink and tell him it’s time for me to jet. i go up to pay the bill and the waiter looks at me a little strange, asks how it went and all i can say is “get me the hell out of here.” the waiter cracked up and handed me my tab. kinda pointless at that stage of the game, but i went out the BACK door and hauled ass out of there. the guy actually emailed me the next day to argue something i had tried to start a conversation about (yes, there really is an organization called the IAVA- iraq and afghanistan veterans of america. look it up. support them.) nothing about how it went, no awkward attempt to make it better, nothing. just an argument. winner.

fister guy:

the answer is in the name. do i even need to tell this one? FINE. ok. another plenty of fish guy- go figure. this guy is a little off from the start. high strung, PTSD from one too many trips to the sandbox. he likes telling me about how he loves to be violent, play rugby, hit people...AWESOME. sign me the eff up. i’m trying to carefully let this one go. i try ignoring emails, phone calls, i remove him from chat (and block him). i was able to put him off for a while, but he was damn persistent. so. one day we’re talking on the phone...keep in mind i haven’t actually MET this guy in person yet. just chatted. we’re talking along, his questions are starting to get a little uncomfortable.

(yes, it was as awkward as me putting a kitty picture in my blog)

*NOTE: while i may be a trashy little trollop in life i TRY to appear a little more mellow and reserved when first meeting/talking to potential dates. i try like hell to keep any sex talk out of it for as long as possible. i know...doesn’t seem like me but there it is.*

so. the guy is talking along, questions are getting a little risque, i’m trying my best to avoid or give half answers then the BIG question hits: what are you into sexually?

*sigh* great. excellent question to get from someone you haven’t even met yet. so i try to brush it off: “oh, you know, mostly typical stuff, nothing to out there.”

all’s well and good, right?

his response: “i like fisting and rough sex.”

ummm...

fisting?

is that really even a thing?

don’t bother checking youporn. it IS and you don’t want to see that.

who the hell drops FISTING? to someone you’ve never even met? isn’t that something that if you’re into it you date someone for a while, get to know them, sleep with them, one day, a few years into things, maybe suggest some new porn, wait for their reaction, see where it goes from there?

YOU DON’T JUST DROP FISTING ON SOMEONE. in any way shape or form.

confession: while i avoided this guy like the plague after that i DID agree to go out with him on bin laden day. i mean, he did several tours in OIF/OEF and deserved to celebrate, you know? do what i can to support the troops. and NO, i didn’t see if he was serious about being into that.

and the saddest story for last, the one where i find out i have ZERO gaydar. did your heart just break a little too? so depressing.

i was invited to a masquerade ball for autism a while ago. an actual BALL. big gowns, masques, ALL OF IT. so i decide to go, get the dress, do the hair, nails, ALL OF IT. i hand made the masques even (they were AWESOME if i do say so myself- take a look:)

i ask an adorable young guy to be my escort for the evening, make a masque for him, rent the tux, the whole shebang. we looked ADORABLE together. so much fun. at the last minute my darling gay friends decided to attend the ball as well. this is VERY important. at the end of the evening my date isn’t feeling well and decides to leave. i’m a touch disappointed because he is delicious (although he was NINE when i was giving birth. creepy cougar much?). he leaves and my darling gays decide to let me in on something: he’s playing for THEIR team. if it had been any other friends i would have called bullshit, but i have a feeling their gaydar is pretty well tuned. insult to injury? another friend who was there came over to chat a bit and she ALSO had the gardar going off full force about my date. me? i had NOTHING. i turns out i have NO, ZERO, NONE, NOTHING when it comes to gaydars. i feel defective. like i should be on the reject clearance rack at the back of the idaho walmart. so depressing. i would like to point out that there is not actual evidence of my date being gay, but how can you question SEVERAL people with proper working gardars? *sigh*

so. that’s all of them lately. there was one guy at the bar that did a drive by “i just wanted to let you know you’re nine different kinds of fine.” but not much more than that. things are depressingly quiet on the dating front.

i still can’t believe i slacked for FIFTY SIX DAYS. i really AM a professional slacker. damn.

the good, the bad, the excited

well, there are MANY updates waiting to happen- don’t worry, i’ve kept a list of all the goings on so you won’t miss out on all the shenanigans.

BUT: the biggest update:

I BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE!

that’s right- me, the gypsy, the girl who has moved 11 times in 11 years (soon that will be 12 for 12). the girl who swore buying a home was not in any plan in any future in any way.

A HOUSE. a real house. a 1901, covered front porch, back deck, 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, dining room with a small bay, purple kitchen HOUSE.

i’m still a fuck-ton scared of it. i mean- this means if the water heater shits out _I_ have to replace it. if there’s a leak in the roof _I_ have to repair it. when the lawn needs mowed...well, you can bet your fucking panties i’m calling someone else to do that last one. but it’s MINE. i can knock out walls or rearrange the kitchen (both of which i’m planning). i can PAINT it, rip up carpet, dance nekkid, ANYTHING I FUCKING WANT TO.

but. you know me. for every good there has to be a wrench in the works...here it is:

i called my brother the other day to wish him a happy birthday and he mentioned that one of his friends had let him know i bought a house. why hadn’t i let him know myself? well, because i knew something like this would happen. i’m chatting along, telling him a little about the house, how i’m nervous to buy it, how it’s a TON of money to spend all at once, and he drops this bomb:

“well, it’s not like it’s your money anyway.”

yes, asshole. i realize it’s not _my_ money. i realize i did not earn this money, this is not a nest egg that i saved up for years to make a purchase like this. i realize that this is my fucking lottery ticket. LUCKY FUCKING ME. you fucking asshole. i’m damn well aware of where this money came from. and, more than anything, that makes me extra nervous to spend it because i means that much more to me. i’m that much more on alert about buying a house my dad would be proud of. he always said he wished he could buy me a house and take care of me, and now he’s doing it. i want to make sure to pick out the best house i fucking can and make the best use of the money he left me. it’s been a HUGE pressure to me to not let my dad down. i realize that this is death money. i realize that several people died to provide me this opportunity. i’m more than well aware of that fact EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.

i remember more than once when my dad helped me move he would just shake his head and look around and be SO UPSET looking at the places i was going to call home. more than once he chewed my ass for picking a place he thought wasn’t up to his standard. he was always worried about me having a nice roof over my head. this is his way of taking care of me. it’s a shitty fucked up way, but it’s happening. and i want to make damn sure that it’s one he would approve of. in my head i know he’s still skeptical. he’s a dad. i know he would be looking around, poking at things, worried about something or other falling apart on me. but i also know that he would be so proud that i’m giving my boys a place of their own. i know that after the last two moves he learned to trust me that i can take ANY place and make it a good home for my spawns.

“it’s not like it’s your money.”

FUCK YOU. fuck you for shitting on such a big event for me. fuck you for not realizing how much time and thought and emotion i’ve put into this. i know it’s not what he wanted me to do with the money so therefore it must be the wrong choice. i know i was supposed to not quit my job, invest in college for the kids, make smart decisions.

WELL GUESS WHAT: THESE ARE FUCKING SMART DECISIONS. and they’re the RIGHT decisions for me. NOTHING can replace time with my kids. nothing can replace having a whole summer with them. NOTHING can replace giving them their own spaces to OWN.  they won’t have to move again. they won’t have to share a room. they can decorate, paint, make it THEIRS. i never had that when i was a kid. sure, my mom bought a house, but i wasn’t allowed to decorate it or put up things i wanted or make it my own space- i want that for my kids.  i want the quintessential hollywood kids room with wacky paint and posters all over the wall and a mess that keeps you from seeing the floor. i want them to have ownership and security.

and i ran out of steam about half way through that.

brass tacks: it’s the RIGHT FUCKING DECISION FOR ME.  IT’S A GOOD DECISION FOR MY KIDS.  i am damn well aware of where the fucking money came from.  i’m well fucking aware of how it isn’t really mine, and i’m making the smartest use of it that i can. i KNOW, hands down, that my dad would be proud of me for doing this.

back to the excitement:

I BOUGHT A HOUSE! i’m writing the check out for it today and i will OWN it, free and clear! i’m so excited

rant

dear plenty of fish guy:

can i just say how delighted i am to find out that your sleazy “not into casual sex” asshole self found me “sexy hot”?

why OF COURSE i’d love to stop by your office this afternoon and play dirty secretary with you in your obviously bustling successful office that allows their partners/managers to be online in the middle of the day chatting in completely sexually demoralizing ways with complete strangers.

i of course find it endlessly flattering that based on five pictures of me all from the shoulders up, you find me (and my deliciously sexy legs) to be such a complete and total turn on.

how can a girl resist such a temping offer as to be ravaged in a strange unknown warehouse by a complete stranger who has represented himself to be such an upstanding citizen? how did you know that was my secret fantasy for the day?

good luck finding someone else to entertain you during your oh-so-busy work day.

i hope you get locked in the supply closet and rot there.

not your arm candy OR dirty secretary,

(if i had that job, i'd quit)

me

houston, we have a problem

and now, back to your regularly scheduled crazy:

we have a problem.

ps: this blog is about sex, so if you don’t want to know things about me, you’ve been warned.

i’m not one to keep quiet about people’s freak flag. i get it, we all have one, i’m not judging (yes i am) but that doesn’t mean that i’m not going to take every opportunity i have to let EVERYONE know about the ones i run across.

i call it a public service announcement. where would we all be if i kept quiet? you’d be in for some unfortunate surprises in the bedroom is where.

tee shirts.

i love them. they’re an EXCELLENT invention. ring neck, v-neck, long sleeve, short sleeved, I LOVE TEE SHIRTS.

except during sex.

now i get it. some people are uncomfortable with their body. TRUST. my birthday suit is NOT in tip top condition. i understand stretch marks, wrinkles, unfortunate lumps when you twist and turn. hell, some of us have unfortunate lumps when we’re laying completely flat and still. i get that not everyone is comfortable baring all.

BUT.

this doesn’t make keeping your tee shirt on ok. in any way. even if it has some witty saying for me to read during said sex. and it SHOULD take longer for said sex than it takes for me to read any witty saying. also: although there are some things i enjoy reading over and over tee shirts are not one of them.

if i have to strip, well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. TAKE IT OFF.

ALSO: if you’re oh, say...30 and maybe, perhaps...oh...a hockey player, in incredible, delicious, hard body shape (pause for drool) WHY ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR SHIRT ON?

there’s one simple reason: it makes the exit that much faster.

oh, i wish i was kidding.

i don’t care how good the sex is. i don’t care if you last two hours (not kidding on that one, there’s your TMI for the day). i don’t care how good all the kissing and (pause again for drool) all of it is. if you keep your tee shirt on the whole time and you can be out my front door less than 5 minutes after the grand finale- THAT IS NOT OK.

i will offer one allowance: SOCKS. men, listen up: YOUR FEET ARE FUCKING NASTY. i know some of you aren’t complete assholes- some of you actually know what trimming your nails means. some of you even willingly get pedicures. for that, I THANK YOU. you are allowed to take your socks off and have your bare toes in the same zip code as me. the rest of you: YOUR NASTY JUNGLE FEET SHOULD BE KEPT UNDER WRAPS AT ALL TIMES. i don’t want your nasty nails scraping my legs. i’ve had some expensive ink work done and i dont’ want to get gangrene from a nasty scratch and have to have my leg cut off. KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON. ALL THE TIME. fuck, i’ll even let you break the socks with sandals rule for that one.

everything else goes though. EVEN THE TEE SHIRT.