Fourth Decade

Plenty of Memories

2011-06-21T00:19:00.002-04:00

At first I couldn't understand why I didn't reach for some Bruce and EStreet music to comfort me on Saturday night when I learned Clarence Clemons died.

Then, I rationalized it must be because I had blown the roof off my collection listening like mad all week long while awaiting news of his recovery from the stroke, and I must just be EStreeted out. As if.

But no, my reality isn't ever that black and white. I'm a Gray, and the murky color permeates my life, my thoughts, as well as my emotions.

There's a buzzing in my head and in my ears that no amount of IBU can take away. Since that moment I heard the news (Thanks my dear friend, Caren), there's a distortion in my world; this wasn't supposed to be. This day, this way, no. Not now. Not ever. But here it is. Now. And forever.

And I needed the silence. I read everything I could find. But I couldn't listen to the music. Even after the global playing of Jungleland on Sunday, the silence screamed for me to listen to it instead. Now I know, it was so I could hear my own words.

The Big Man is gone. And my mother's fragile mortality floats up to the surface, next in line once again on the balance beam of pain and suffering in the forefront of my mind.

My mother is 10 years older than Clarence, but she's been suffering from many causes for 20 years. There's been more bad than good, but, like a light in the murky gray fog of pain, there have been some pockets of relief for her. And I can claim sole responsibility with some pride. Quite simply, I got her into as many E Street concerts as I possibly could.

It only took observing her at her first live show to see that there was some elixir in the air, in the energy force coming off the stage. Well, Amen. Now this was a church service, a ministry, a belief system I could support. You see, nothing I'd seen my mother pray to before or since has the same healing effect that Bruce and the EStreet Band did.

For several hours, the music, the experience, and yes, even the humorous antics of Bruce and Clarence, Nils, Stevie and the gang transported my mother beyond her pain to a place where smiles and joyful noisemaking were all she needed. The reality outside the concert walls ceased to exist.

"I cannot, I will not, I cannot ---- promise you life everlasting, but I can ---- promise you ----life right now!" shouted Bruce during his 1999 10th Ave Freezeout band intro.

This. Could I bottle this? No, it had to be fresh. OK, I could give this to my mother. And I gave it to her all right. Mom "let me drag" her to nothing short of 5 Springsteen concerts. Small potatoes to those of us who have more than 20-30, but to her those 5 were a lot. The Reunion Tour, The Rising Tour (twice), The Devils and Dust Tour, The Magic Tour. There were tickets won on the radio, tickets given by dear friends, tickets bartered, and tickets bought and paid with every penny I had or could borrow.

Hartford, Boston, any chance I could, and even a trip to the floor of Giants Stadium; each time I witnessed the same remedy for my mother's pain: dance, clap, smile, and laugh. Repeat for several hours. I always tried for seats on Clarence's side, because Mom loved to hear that saxophone and see the Big Man strut his stuff.

When I met Clarence at one of many book signings he did, much to my regret, I obeyed the "no photos" rule while everyone else snapped away memories of meeting. But I seized the chance to quickly relay in our 2-minute exchange that his saxophone playing had kept my mother dancing for years despite her ailments. He beamed at that, and told me to tell her to "keep dancing," and that "I'll keep playing as long as she'll keep dancing."

I called my Mom immediately that night, and we both shed some tears for the genuine warmth we felt traveling through the message.

Nonetheless, Mom was done touring. Mom refused to "let me drag" her on the Working on a Dream tour, despite my insistence that I could get handicapped seating for her now and she wouldn't have to climb stairs. Instead, she told me to enjoy the concerts for the both of us, while she slipped in and out of a depressive state of mind that remains today. I went, of course, but I missed seeing her dancing and clapping next to me.

Now, my 79-year old mother's health issues will not be improving, and there's no chance that she'll ever dance again. Perhaps, now without Clarence's soulful horn, it's best that way.

After all, recently she reminded me quite plainly, "We have plenty of memories dancing to Bruce and Clarence."

I know Mom, but I couldn't help wishing for just one more. Just one more.

The GateKeeper

2011-04-28T21:57:00.001-04:00

I still smirk internally when the hypnotherapist calls me The GateKeeper.

I had my 4th hypnotherapy session today. We're spacing them out to two weeks...frankly because it is so damn expensive. But the two weeks also gives me time to see if my mindset is changing at all.

Trying to change my thoughts about food and exercise and the underlying fears attached to them feels a little bit like fine-tuning a radio station to come in clearly during bad weather. The clouds are definitely there, thick and ominous. But I can hear the tune faintly. The drumbeat. A twang of guitar now and again.

Confident
Comfortable
Calm
(In) Control

My four Cs. These words started out as how the hypnotherapist and I agreed I wanted to feel, and would hopefully begin to feel, about food. I have to admit I thought I would notice an instant difference. And I had to pick myself up off the floor when I didn't.

But what I have started to notice is a subtle trend in the rest of my life. The Cs are starting to accompany me everywhere. Especially at work, as my interactions with obnoxious coworkers turn into me standing up for what's right and fighting what's wrong. I noticed it also with my family and friends, and definitely at home with Ricos where I am less and less interested in controlling things I cannot control and slightly more interested in controlling what I can control: my thoughts, my feelings, and what I choose to put in my piehole.

Although we've taken a couple strolls around the neighborhood, it is hard to pick up any steady pace. The roads are horribly uneven without sidewalks. The gym has been looming in the back of my mind. And today in the session, I discovered today's fear of returning to the regular workout is rooted in the fact that I don't want to hurt myself again. The knee pain I experienced last time I hurt myself on the treadmill was tremendous. And the frustration of not finding a knee support brace that fit my leg did a real number on my confidence.

So the takeaway from today was that I could take the 4Cs into the gym, and I could pace myself very slowly and not feel like I have to keep pace with anyone but myself.

And I think I will. I think I will.

After all, I am The GateKeeper.

(Ghostbusters, anyone?)

An Incredible Life to Live

2011-04-05T22:44:00.000-04:00

I always wanted to try hypnotherapy for weight loss, but I kept putting it off due to expense...

No more excuses. I had my first hypnotherapy session today. There will be more, because it will take some effort to remove the negative thoughts that are embedded in my head. I just hope they aren't written on my soul.

A quick summary of the session is that it wasn't much different from a deep meditative state, except someone was speaking.

Over the past few months, my world seemed to shrink. Not unlike putting on clothes that fit you last week, except they'd been shrunk in the dryer and someone forgot to tell you. Or like Alice in Wonderland trying to get out of the dollhouse when she seemed oblivious to having grown too large.

I don't know why this happened to me, but it did. Fear seeped in like flood water and mold grew rapidly.

Fear started to smudge away the edges of my well-painted life. Even the impressionist painting I imagined of my life became something completely unrecognizable. I pretended to myself that it was just the cute little finger painting of a 2-year-old ankle-biter, but I could never really forget that it was the life of a 41-year-old we were trying to pull into focus.

So, once in a deeply relaxed state, the therapist asked me to create a place in my mind's eye where I felt comfortable. Obviously, we've all heard it referred to as "the happy place" in countless jokes or movies that reference hypnosis.

All of a sudden, without any forethought whatsoever, I was in this wonderful field that is far behind the buildings on the grounds of the college I attended more than 20 years ago. And completely out of space and time, my sweet Sena was there with me, even though she'd never been in that field. My subconscious was busy creating my ideal location. And it was far from any technology. No phones. No laptops. No other people. The weather was perfect, not too warm, not too cold, sun shining, light breeze. I felt so relaxed and happy, smiling from ear to ear.

What a great place to be!

The therapist then suggested to me a very subtle body gesture (such as, touching two fingers together) to sync with the happy place. And when I wanted to feel calm, comfortable, [in] control, and confident, I could do so with this slight gesture that would remind me of my perfect place.

When he brought me back out of the relaxed state, I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I was overjoyed that Sena was there. She was right there in my subconscious mind, ready to help me, ready to remind me that I can control my fears, my eating habits, and my level of exercise.

I am hopeful I can reprogram myself to feeling well again. Because I do have an incredible life to live.

Food Exhaustion

2011-01-29T12:11:00.000-05:00

I am enjoying my first man-less weekend in 6 months (The October trip to California didn't count because I wasn't at home!) and I must say the thing I've noticed most so far is the lack of another person in the house brings about much silence. In that silence, I can hear myself think. My focus is shifted from what can we do together, what are we talking about, what are we feeling, etc. to what am I doing, thinking, feeling, in this moment. I didn't know I was without that, truly. Good to know. I am someone who blends and adapts myself so much to another, not to lose myself as much as to make sure the other is taken care of. It is nice to recognize the difference is there, neither in a good nor bad way. It simply is.

In this silence a thought that has been lingering now comes forward like a scream. I am experiencing something unusual these days that I can only describe as:

F O O D E X H A U S T I O N

Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

I am tired. Of consuming food. And...I'm tired of thinking about what to eat. Tired of thinking about what not to eat. Tired of preparing food. Tired of cleaning up after food. Tired of reading about food. Tired of watching TV shows about food or other people's issues with food. Tired of hearing about food waste in this country and the lack of enough food existing entirely in other countries.

I have begun to have a physical reaction to food. I do not want to prepare it. I do not want to put it in my mouth. I just feel like it doesn't have an appeal, a taste of anything I want. Am I turning into a total malcontent? My God, is this how anorexia begins? I don't mean to joke about a serious problem many people have, but coming from someone who used to EAT her emotions, I would say the idea of not wanting to consume food at all is rather the opposite end of extreme. While I wish this brought about some feeling of happiness, I really only feel exhausted. Because, we must eat to live.

I know ALL about the reasons the body needs food. I think I've just been subconsciously waiting for that moment in the Jetsons cartoon when they press a button and take a pill that tastes like steak and ta-da, they're done with their meal. No thinking, no mess, no time-consuming process.

What? Life is not a cartoon? Oh now you tell me!

Can I Keep a Keeper?

2011-01-18T00:21:00.001-05:00

I have a little more time to expand on thoughts first expressed in A Beef Stew Kind of Love.

It's funny, I used to say "Next!" when the dates and relationships went sour. Now that things are great, I get to say, "He's a keeper!"

It has been a rather profound 6 months for me personally. Adjusting to living with someone again (last time was hmmm 2003 I think?), soaking up all of that love and affection (translation: gaining weight), and rejoicing in that "I'm not alone anymore" feeling -- all of it has been quite a heady experience.

We are settling into our life together. We have movie night. We have I don't want to cook, let's try a new restaurant night. We have morning rituals and weekend to-do lists.

We're finding ways to accommodate ourselves in the tiny 650 square feet shack we rent and occupy with the Chadster, Dunky boy, and Jinxy the Princess. We cook for each other, we clean together, we've purchased furniture items together, and at some point, we'll probably paint walls together. And we'll likely move again somewhere with slightly larger rooms. Yes folks, this is commitment unlike any I have experienced. Not even when I was married did I feel a joint sense of embracing the future together in quite the same way I do now. That fourth decade really manages to pull a number on your grownup genes I think.

With commitment comes familiarity.

One of those little nuggets of familiarity revealed that @Ricos_ and I have vastly different personal clocks. In other words, he's a morning person and I'm a night owl. He's asleep by 9:30 whether he has to work the next morning or not. I'm just starting to feel creative by 9:30 and really don't hit my prime until the witching hour of midnight, and yes, that's despite having to be at work the following morning.

And he's not just being a stickler, insisting on getting a set amount of sleep. He literally tries to stay awake and simply cannot. Meanwhile, I attempt to go to sleep that early and find myself waking up at 3 or 4 am. I'm just not able to sleep that early or that long. Sometimes one of us compromises for the other, and we manage to meet somewhere mid-way, but often I'm crawling into bed long after he's experiencing REM.

I think this difference in our clocks is something to remain conscious about, otherwise a drifting apart might begin. A couple who sleeps together, stays together?

It also took months of finally cohabitating with someone for me to realize, "Hey, what the hell is wrong, I am in pain...nearly every day...." When I was alone, I never vocalized it. But when you have someone deeply connected to you, living with you, noticing your emotions and reactions to daily tasks and hugging you and asking you how you are, it becomes obvious fairly quickly when something is physically wrong.

And now I know that my pain is arthritis, and now I know without a doubt that I cannot stop moving. In fact, a day without movement is a death knell for me. I must move it move it move it. My joints will scream at me if I do not. After all, there is only so much liver-failing Ibuprofen one can ingest.

I went to The Cooper Institute-sponsored site for RA and printed out the stretches and exercises I must do. No wonder I felt so much better when I was exercising all the time. So I have to try to get at least halfway back to where I was exercising/stretching/meditating every day. No longer is exercise about the vanity of losing weight, which believe me, still taunts my fragile soul. But this new exercise initiative is about maintaining mobility, slowing the process of becoming my mother, handling stress, and containing the toxic spillage from the hopeless wreck that is my body.

Luckily, Ricos is on board with it all. Ever the gentle man, he is always ready to help from a simplistic yet embarrassing request with my shoelaces when my fingers can't quite make it happen to the reassuring arm squeeze and encouraging word as I finish 2 miles on the treadmill.

He lets me know in no uncertain terms, that I am no longer alone.

Even, at times, while he is in the next room snoring like a hibernating grizzly bear.

A Beef Stew Kind of Love

2011-01-10T00:48:00.000-05:00

Happy 2011.

Rambling right along.

Ideally, it would be nice, wouldn't it...

...if love made the world a better place.
...if love made me thinner somehow.
...if love took care of financial uncertainties.
...if love made work seem fun.
...if love made me laugh all the time.
...if etc, etc, fill in the blank.

Being in lust of course, absolutely has an inebriated effect upon the senses, but life-long love is often more like hot chocolate that sticks to your ribs on a cold day.

Hm. Hot chocolate. I shouldn't have said that.

Beef stew. *wrinkling nose* There, that's better.

A solid beef stew love is more than just that fairy tale stuff. And yes, sometimes it can make the bad things in life just that tiny bit more bearable. A tiny bit.

But I've got news for you, little spoiled brat in your 40s...

Who me?

Yes, you.

Me?

Yes.

*sigh* Bugger.

Having someone love you, whom you also love, doesn't magically fix all the things that need fixing.

*sigh* Really?

Really.

Time to ~~face~~ fight the symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis. (Yes, already, at my age, for real.)
Time to get in shape, ~~again~~ for good.

Then we'll see about some of the lofty goals. With my life-long, beef stew love right by my side.

ecollageArt and IMHA

2010-11-25T09:29:00.000-05:00

While we all may know someone we'd figuratively refer to as "toxic" or at times we might even feel ourselves full of toxicity, needing to detox from work, life, society, etc., I would like to introduce you to someone who lives with the effects of toxic poisoning and finds a way to make each day count, because she's grateful to be alive.

Melinda is anything but toxic. She's a light of inspiration to me. I met her through Dogster after my sweet Sena died of cancer a few years ago. We shared a sad connection. She'd also lost a beloved Belgian, her dear Mica, to another devastating disease, Immune-Mediated Hemolytic Anemia (IMHA).

While my Sena may have been my best friend, Mica was Melinda's therapy dog. Melinda was seriously injured on the job, and she will always have to face daily challenges to live in the world unlike the rest of us do. A simple task might cause her incredible pain if chemicals are involved, so her world must be chemical-free, which is no easy task. Mica helped Melinda cope with the stresses. Since Mica's tragic unexpected passing, Melinda has devoted her time and energy to raising awareness and funds for IMHA research.

In addition to being an activist, Melinda is also an amazing artist. She calls her artwork a "happy accident." She's taken a craft that soothes her and turned it into some of the most original, beautiful, handmade cards I've ever seen. Here are some of my favorites, including the 12 Days of Christmas...depicted in 12 cards.

Each piece of paper is handcut and placed. There is love and compassion in each design. She will even customize a card if you have an idea but lack the artist touch.

If you are a card lover or you're looking for a truly unique gift, Melinda's artwork is a must-buy. I encourage you to check out her ecollageArt shop on Etsy. She also has some gorgeous jewelry, and she has recently begun carrying some chemical-free sweaters and adorable mittens.

Melinda donates 5% of her profits to Mica's IMHA Research Fund.

Permanent links to both the fund and Melinda's Etsy site will remain in the side bar. Please consider them when you're shopping for unique items this holiday season and all year round.

California Dreamin'

2010-11-05T08:59:00.000-04:00

Finally threw the photos from California together...

Enjoyed meeting @redsox1234 and @missmelisamae very much, and seeing Craig Ferguson tape a live show, but sadly missed meeting @premiddleage.

My niece's wedding was spectacular. Looking forward to seeing the movie, starring the happy couple themselves!

If you haven't been to California, you may want to consider a visit. LA, San Francisco, and Napa proved to be too much for me to do in one week, so I suggest you pace yourself.

Rings of All Sizes

2010-10-19T22:31:00.000-04:00

By some glorious stroke of luck bestowed upon me by TheBigGirlBlog, I won a reader appreciation gift. Thank you CeCe!

My surprise doubled when I saw that it was a custom-designed ring of my choosing at Sparklewing!

Nevermind my huge hand. Every woman who sees this ring on my finger ooohs, ahhhhs, and then asks me, "Where did you get it?" I sound like a chanting monk with a mantra: Sparklewing, Sparklewing!

There are many rings in her For Sale inventory that just leave me starstruck. Blueberry? How about Pretty in Pink?

Well guess what, my sweet chicas? You too, could own one of these gorgeous conversation pieces.

Lisa, the amazing creator of Sparklewing, will make your very own custom-designed (you choose the colors!) ring for a discounted $15.00!

1. Browse the Sparklewing site, deciding what colors you'd like.
2. Email her the details, including your ring size, and use the code Lusty (that's me) so she'll know you're a VIP reader of mine.

This special Lusty offer lasts until November 30!

I'd love to see photos of your chosen ring, so be sure to take a photo when it arrives!

Look beautiful divas!

You Just Don't Know

2010-10-15T07:32:00.000-04:00

To the person who felt it necessary to leave me not one, not two, but three rather negative comments about Ricos:

I can only hope you're still reading...

You hide behind the anonymity of the Internet and a false profile name.
You feel you can pass judgment on someone you don't know? Join the rest of the world that I have zero time for.
You're obviously too afraid to say something to me personally, if you do know me.
You're full of wrong impressions based on what can only be your own insecurity.

To those of you wondering how I've been:

I am doing very well.
I am very much in love.
We are planning a life together.
Please, be happy for me. When you are happy for someone else, it comes back to you.

Will I be writing again?

You should more likely ask, do I need air to breathe?

Absofreakinlutely.

Sweet Little Lo

2010-09-27T07:54:00.001-04:00

I made this clip of photos as a form of therapy to pay tribute to a sweetheart rescue.

30-Day Recap

2010-08-29T22:47:00.000-04:00

Someone recently asked me how things were going?

I answered with a lyric: "It's like having every dream I've ever wanted come true..."

@Ricos_ (formerly The LD Man, who needed a new name because we live together now!) sent me this song shortly before we first met. And I melted then, and I melt now.

We've been so busy moving and acclimating ourselves to everything and life with each other, that I haven't really been able to capture it in words. But I've been living every moment to the fullest, I can assure you of that. I've found my other half. @Ricos_ is by far the most interesting and compelling man I've ever met. Even if he never tweets.

It isn't just that he thinks the world of me, although of course that goes a long way in making me feel at ease. He's the friend I've always wanted to do things with.

Go to Boston and see historic sites? Yes. Drive up the coast of Maine? Yes. Go to Cooperstown? Yes. Go to Fenway? Yes. Go to the beach in the off season? Yes. Go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Yes. Go to Ireland, Scotland, Italy? Yes. Yes. Yes. Go live in a remote section of the wilderness and survive off the land, however unrealistic that may sound? Yes! He is on board.

Is there anything I want to do that this man isn't also interested in doing? No! I can't tell you how much I love that.

But it is his endless capacity for understanding, his gentle ways with the animals, and his insatiable, personal quest for knowledge that bring me to the brink of that location in my heart I really never intended to visit again: Love's Cascading Falls. I've been pushed right over the edge without a barrel of hesitation. My previous dark ride has turned wild and full of laughter.

He is not perfect. What a relief, because hell knows neither am I. We all have flaws. What makes it real is that I don't care about his flaws. I love him in spite of them, And in fact, some of the quirks he doesn't like about himself are endearing to me. Like how he rambles a bit after a 2nd cup of coffee. I love that. Or how he needs to tell me again how beautiful I am, apologizing for repeating himself. Or how we need each other's kisses at the most challenging of moments in our days. As if a kiss can sustain our belief that it'll be all right.

Are you kidding me? Repeat on, my love, repeat on. This is the stuff of which dreams are made. Real dreams, not the ones in the movies.

There are problems, there are challenges, and life is not exactly easy right now. I feel so bad for him because he's struggling with some really nasty pollen allergies. And we're struggling with a lousy 1st month rental situation that includes unresolved plumbing issues, electrical rewiring, a broken washing machine, and a landlord who appears to be just a regular joe yet is as out of touch as the previous landlord doctors I had.

I am so fortunate that @Ricos_ has been able to handle all of the issues. Especially, that he is here for our dear 14 year old dog. Lo has some real bad days and some good days left in her. And every day we take stock of her quality of life. She still wags her tail and eats like an NFL linebacker, so we know that although her back legs may be weak, her spirit and heart are strong.

And work...

Well, I have to make some decisions about my future. Short of winning the lottery, I have to decide which track to take and I must admit I'm a little afraid of the unknown.

I've built a team from scratch and they function so well together that it is like a well-oiled machine. Now the company wants me to see if that setup can apply to other sites. The problem is the other sites do things differently, and people there are very happy with the old standard practices. I've never seen myself as the type who could go in and changes things and get people to support it. I'm really much more of a "here's what works for me but your mileage may vary" type of person. That doesn't fly in business.

So if I let go of the development of my team to go on to be the editor across different sites, I take a step out of my comfort zone.

And all the fear comes back to one thing, believe it or not. It isn't whether or not I'm loved, because wow, I've got that covered now - I am loved! And why isn't that enough?

Because I still struggle with one damn thing:

Being fat.

@Ricos_ and I have joined a gym. Lucky for us, this po'dunk town has very few restaurants, one grocery store, and a 24/7 gym. Just what the doctor ordered.

If you know me from my last blog, you know I came to love and even crave my workouts. And you know I reached a point where I said "Even if I never lose another pound, I'm going to at least be physically active."

That philosophy remains, but really...deep down inside....I want to lose pounds. I need to lose pounds.

I have found another chance at love. I want to be healthy for that love to last as long as possible.

"If only you believe in miracles...like I do baby...."

Pack, Breathe, Laugh. Repeat.

2010-07-25T22:58:00.000-04:00

I'm too tired to write coherently. You've been warned.

I had an entire post in my head for days, but sitting here now, I just can't write it out.

Many funny moments between me and (he needs a new nickname) this week. I'm talking side-splitting laughter moments. Really love how much we laugh together.

Anyone ready for Southern Style Rock Band?

GASP: Mid-westerner loves Neapolitan style pizza!

Right now, I'm in a state of limbo. Half-packed to leave and half-preoccupied with the new rental. I really have resisted the urge to just take off and disappear, and I have stuck it out and looked through old letters and memories and pitched what had to be discarded. I couldn't have done this alone. Physically and emotionally draining. Thank God for He Needs a New Nickname. He is so logical and organized. Everyone needs someone like him around!

As for the new rental...well....there's a lot to do. Paint for one thing (I love to paint, especially with dog and cat hair textured paint.) And something MUST be done about the front yard. Take a look:

As you can see, there's some landscaping opportunities. But I can't hire anyone, I have to do it myself. And I know nothing about this sort of stuff.

Mom says I should just plant grass, and the Princess of Sweden says that I should plant geraniums. In August, I don't know what I can find and plant.

Anyone else want to chime in with ideas? I'd like to hear!

The Last Night

2010-07-19T07:21:00.000-04:00

It has been a bittersweet weekend, and yes, life is a bittersweet symphony.

I gave away a lot of clothes that don't fit me. And as a result I've been in need of pants, so I had to go buy new pants and bras one size up. That sucked badly.

I went out with my one NJ friend (I've referred to him in the past blog as Harry Pottypants) and a new girlfriend from the NJ Meetup group. We went to Sands casino in Pennsylvania because H. Pottypants wanted to try Emeril's Burger Joint. It was yummy! And Sands gave me $20 free slots and took it and I won $140 on Wheel of Fortune so I was thrilled that my new pants and bras were paid for in some strange redemption.

However, I came home to find the Rescue Girl Lo had slipped on the hardwood floor and fallen like a deer on ice (you know, all four legs spread out?) and there was clearly a struggle all around her telling me that she had tried very hard to get up but by the time I'd reached her, she'd given up long before. Her eyes were glazed over and she was shallow breathing and I spent most of the 3-5 AM hours Sunday working on her with a massage and just holding her to get her to come back to recognition and back to life.

I went through the entire gauntlet of emotions as I questioned myself about the 5 keys qualities of life for her. This morning she had zero qualities left. The ultimate question was of course, would she rally back or would she continue to fade.

Spoke with the Mr Formerly Known as LD Man early on, and he decided he was all set to go, and he would just head out one day early and be here tomorrow, in case Lo didn't recover. My sweet man, I am warmed by him.

After a lot of sleep and Reiki from my BFF, the Princess of Sweden (or Sweden as we like to call her), Lo was able to get up and stay standing on her legs enough to go outside and pee and poo. But she fell again coming in and I had to carry her to the bed. She ate a full breakfast and has drunk a lot of water, and I do see light back in her eyes, but I'm not sure she's ever going to be stable on her legs again.

I've laid down as much traction as I can on the floors here, with tape and towels and pee pads all over the place. And I have been reading up on what I can do and I need to purchase some baby aspirin for her. But not too much, could make her stomach bleed.

I've reconciled the guilt I've felt over not being here Saturday night, because I'm going to have to leave her for a few hours today, at least to go in, get some work off my desk, and come back. She could have fallen at any time, and I can't be here 24/7.

I have to remember she is the equivalent of 98 years old and every moment is a gift.

So, the good news is that Mr Formerly Known as LD Man will be here by 8 PM tonight. And he assures me I won't have to deal with anything alone, he'll always be here for me. I take great comfort in that. In fact, I've never had that. I've had money thrown at me to handle problems, but I've never had emotional support and a sense that someone else in the relationship was going to be the strong one.

We keep saying if we can make it through this move together, we've laid the most solid foundation for a relationship anyone could imagine. Out of one of the most stressful life experiences, we will have become a united force.

The Last Night

These days, its hard to have a heart
It doesn't matter where you come from, or who you think you are
These days, it's hard just fitting in
Why does someone have to lose, for someone else to win
We're all looking for forgiveness, and someone we can trust
You can wrap your arms around the world
It all comes down to us

This is the last night, you'll have to be alone
I'll be standing right beside you, you can't make it on your own
So walk with me, please, help me to be strong
I'll be the shoulder you can lean on, when everybody's gone
This is the last night, you'll have to be alone

I know, you, heard it all before

There's nothing worst than living less
When you yearn for something more
Makes no sense, its hard to understand
When there's something that should fill you up
Keeps slipping through your hands

We're all looking for answers
We're all down here on our knees
All anybody really wants, is something to believe
Enough is enough, I can't take any more
But I'm standing on your front porch
Kicking down your door
This is the last night
This is the last night

- Bon Jovi

Wild Honeysuckle

2010-07-16T07:13:00.000-04:00

The path I walked today was winding and uneven,
Rocks for stumbling over and branches obscuring the way.
And all was draped in the fragrance of wild honeysuckle.

So sweet, I risked the bees.
I stopped to take a deeper, fuller breath.
I want to be -that- sweetness to you,
I want the scent of me wrapped around your tongue,
cloying intoxication that pulls you closer.

You tell me to be. Be myself.
That I am. And that I will be. Beautiful to you.

I am. Being. Myself.

I am myself, the one who spilled her fears to you.
The one who sometimes cannot bear your glance;
She might liquefy into a puddle of girl goo.

I am myself, the one who sits before you in all of her flaws.
The one who wants to love you so fully,
That she's afraid she'll be swallowed whole.

Loving me is not easy.
But neither is the path where the wild honeysuckle grows.

Moving News!

2010-07-15T08:42:00.001-04:00

"People are never more insecure than when they become obsessed with their fears at the expense of their dreams." Norman Cousins

That quote bears repeating from my last post where I waxed philosophical about sex and relationships and everyone must be too busy with summer pool parties and ~~having sex of their own~~ gardening to comment.

I have incredible news. I am facing fear and living one of my dreams!

We're going to need a new nickname for the LD Man because he's not going to be LD anymore.

He's moving to Jersey!

Do I simply refer to him as The Man now? That sounds highly tacky and egotistical. I like it. Entertaining alternative suggestions of course!

I have to admit I'm under the influence of the Old Spice Man after his hilarious insta-video-twitter replies aired on Youtube yesterday. I seriously suggest you watch them in a new window/tab because you will be there awhile!

LD Man does wear Old Spice, well, Old Spice deodorant at least. I know this because I picked some up for him. Did you know there are one million types and scents? Crazy marketing.

We have too many choices in this country, and people wonder why they're raising spoiled brats who disrespect everything? Ack. I'm starting to sound conservative. Stop. That. Now.

Insert sexy liberal video here, preferably of an SNL-Justin-Timberlake-related skit. Ah....much better.

Wow, am I a tangent-running freak or what?

See, my head is not quite screwed on right these days. It is floating over the Hudson River.

You know, I'm packing. Best I can.

And working - starring as myself, and co-starring as my boss, with guest appearances as another manager while they're both away. Where's my Oscar?

And I'm fixated on LD Man's arrival. NEXT WEEK!

And I'm PMSing.
And I'm retaining cortisol from all the stress.
And I can't fit into ANY of my pants.

So I'm giving them all away and going pantsless.

Or... I will try to buy some this weekend.

Yeah, PMS girl stressed over moving goes shopping for pants. That ought to make the evening news.

But did I mention the most important thing? I am happily living a dream come true!

So I will quit bitching for the moment and smile but you need to smile with me!

OK, if you need smile therapy, a good twitfriend sent me this remedy. (I especially laughed when he got bit in the ass.) Alternatively, if you don't like puppies, there's always the double rainbow guy.

Whoa dude, I'm going to be cohabitating with my love. That's an emotional double rainbow right there.

The Man Who Sticks

2010-07-12T09:06:00.000-04:00

"People are never more insecure than when they become obsessed with their fears at the expense of their dreams." Norman Cousins

We have heard story after tale and philosophy after hypothesis of the man who feigns interest in having a relationship, only to bail on a woman after they have sex. This has sparked the "how long do you wait before..." questions for both men and women, and there is a lot of advice out there suggesting women wait a long time (90 days even) and that she should remember she controls the nookie factor.

I definitely agree with the last point: she's in control until she gives it away. I don't write advice, and I don't have any delusions that the paths I've taken in my relationships are in any way what someone else should do in theirs. Your Mileage May Vary was never a truer statement than when used as a litmus test in my dating experiences.

So what hypotheses are out there about the man who not only sticks around after having sex, but becomes more committed?

I think I've heard one hypothesis...that the man continues to be with the woman only for sex.

In theory I can see the validity of that, and I do think some men would definitely do that. Especially if the woman is conveniently located, and the man doesn't have a lot of other prospects.

But I know people who had sex early and went on to marry and are still married 20 years later. Are they really such an exception? Could it be that all that's needed is communication to keep a relationship on solid ground?

I don't know, truly, and I'm simply pondering. I'm secure in what I have found, yet people keep asking me why everything is happening so quickly if it is the real thing. It makes me laugh a little bit, and it frustrates me a bit too. I guess I'm the only realist/fatalist who is living in the moment because it could all end tomorrow?

So, OK, what about the man who lives far away, thus the woman isn't convenient, and he could probably find a woman to have sex with any weekend he wished? What is the reason that man decides to stay with the woman he had sex with early on?

Could it possibly be because the chemistry between them is amazing? Is that the exception to the rule? I've also heard such things as "early sexual chemistry fades" or "the relationship becomes solely about sex."

I've never experienced fading sexual chemistry (it is either there for me from the start or it isn't), but I have experienced a relationship deteriorating only to sex. In my case, it involved a man who lied to me (well, he lied to himself as well) about wanting to start a life together, so much so that he showed me blueprints of the house he'd build for us to live in and asked me to help pick out the type of skylights and wood color for my own office.

What I'm beating around my bush to say is that without sexual chemistry, I personally cannot have a relationship. That's just at the core of what I want. So I'll risk a relationship dwindling into "the only thing in common is sex" zone in order to obtain that which I know is harder to find: long-lasting intricate commonalities.

I don't have a vast readership to gain a wide range of opinion on this, but if you find yourself reading this, I'd love to read your comments. After all, people are commenting about my new relationship to me, so I would expect some people to have something to say here. But this isn't about me, it is about what works for each of us. There should be as many options as there are people on this topic.

In the end, the hell with what society tells you is right. At least at my age, I think. What works for you and the one who holds your interest is all that matters. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The First Visit

2010-07-07T09:20:00.000-04:00

How did the LD Man's visit in Jersey go? Take a look...

The photos don't do the visit justice.

Our time together was perfect, even when it wasn't, if that makes any sense.

The minor mishaps (the bathroom floor falling apart under his feet, for example) turned into vehicles for better understanding of each other, how we handle stress together, and our unique ability to any situation into a laughing match. We have a combined thirst for knowledge that keeps us asking questions, quietly reflecting, and then discussing.

Here's why I am crazy about this guy: he says what he means and means what he says. He talks the talk and walks the walk. Yet he's not arrogant or aggressive in his behavior. He's a regular Joe with an extraordinary capacity to listen, feel, and verbalize his thoughts. He hasn't been emasculated by the feminist movement (thank God), yet he isn't a misogynist either. He is decisive and he knows what to do in just about any situation, yet he appreciates hearing another opinion and isn't afraid to agree to it. He has a wicked sense of humor and some incredibly deft moves in the bedroom. He's a nerdy-geeky guy who likes documentaries, history, and mythbusters but also knows baseball, how to play the guitar, and can cook. Does it get any better than that?!

Yes, I have found the last single 40-year-old man worthy of my affection and attention, or to be more accurate, he found me. I sure hope there are other single men like him out there for single women who are about to give up hope of ever finding someone who understands them and STILL wants to be with them.You'll just know it is right when you know each other's flaws and you still feel "he/she is perfect for me."

He'll be back in 20something days -- to help me move, if you can believe that. I didn't ask, he offered. And yes, we are already looking into ways to turn this LDR into something much closer and fulfilling. I like that idea very much. I suppose he'll need a new nickname then.

It may be too quick for some people and it doesn't follow the rules of dating, but we've both been risk takers all our lives. And I have to add we're not kids anymore who don't know what we want. What we want is to enjoy each other's company!

I can't help but spout a favorite quote of mine from Harry, in the iconic rom-com When Harry Met Sally:

"When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with,

you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Taking Stock

2010-07-02T09:42:00.001-04:00

I have been completely self-absorbed which oddly enough, left little time to self-reflect.

The logistics and preparations to move consume me in such strange, messed up ways. I stop communicating with people. I stop writing. I start to traipsed down memory lane with each book and CD and DVD I pack as if I have all the time in the world to reminisce. I don't know why I do this.

I tried not to do this, instead just putting them in a box quickly. But I saw one that I really didn't want to own anymore and that was it, before the dogs could bark "hey what about dinner," I was sorting out every single item. I strongly feel that moving is NOT the time to take stock of what you've accumulated, yet that is exactly what I do. The added pressure is not a good thing.

The LD man arrives tonight. We are both excited 40-year-olds who are feeling 20 years younger. Let's hope we don't pull a collective muscle in our exuberance. There is a sense between us that this feels so right that we don't have big fears left, just nervous anticipation.

Of course, reality never matches what the mind conjures. However, psychology/philosophy is always telling people to "envision what it is you want and you will bring it to you." We've been envisioning for 2 months; time to put our cards on the table.

I've never had a man in my life who wanted to put me first. Even typing it, it feels like a selfish thought when taken out of context. Yet here is a man who wants to do (and is doing) exactly that. I'm not talking about putting me before himself, because that's a warning sign of co-dependency and we all need to take care of ourselves first. But I'm talking about being first before someone else or something else in their lives.

I've played 2nd fiddle to some workaholics. Admirable was their love for their jobs, but unfulfilled for me to be their secondary love interest. I've also been 3rd, 4th, and even 5th to other people in their lives. Again, understandable, expected, and admirable as parents and children must often come first, and who doesn't want someone who takes care of their elders/offspring, but I always felt left out and then guilty for wanting more for myself.

So, it really is a brand new feeling to hear and see a man who lists me as his #1 priority, AND I get to feel awesome about it. Right now, along with his long list of compatible traits (including but not limited to his very important ability to quote 80s movies and lyrics), I would say his interest in me is what sets him so far above any of the other suitors I've had in the recent past. And likewise, my curiosity for him is limitless. He reads like a book I never want to put down.

For those of you concerned about my safety, thank you. Trust me, I'm old school at this, and I have all precautions in place. And I'll be tweeting regularly. Feel free to follow the feed, but I won't be tweeting JUST to tweet. I hope to hell I'll be a little too preoccupied instead!

So, you'd like to know the weekend's timeline? Well, I'd guesstimate, 24 hours from now, we'll know if what we've been thinking we feel for two months is real. And 48 hours from now, we'll know if we can stand each other's company when the excitement wears off a bit. And 72 hours from now, there will either be a content new couple in the world or two frustrated people destined just to be friends.

My eyes are wide open. Time will tell, my friends. Time will tell.

To My Babcia

2010-06-25T08:21:00.001-04:00

Babcia (or as we used to spell it Bopche),*

Everyone in the family says they feel your presence. I don't discount that, but I don't feel it myself. So for what it is worth, I wanted you to know I've been thinking about you lately. Maybe that's my way of feeling your presence.

This is a tough time for Mom. She remembers your death and can't enjoy July 4th. I know how she feels; Sena died July 9, 3 years ago.

But we dramatic Italian Poles are always dwelling/honoring the past and those gone. Let's move on to happier news...

As you know, your great granddaughter is going to marry a Polish boy. He's a sweet guy, and the family is thrilled and you likely are as well. Or at least your reaction would be a better one than when I told you I married a Turk whose ancestors were from the Caucasus Mountains in Georgia.

I do believe your exact words at the time were "Bah! Can't trust a Ruskie." I knew there was no point in arguing that the two were completely different. WWII had scarred so many mindsets across so many ethnicities. Of course, interestingly, our divorce had to do with his lack of trust.

But, I wanted you to know that I've met a good guy too, a Polish guy. Not 100% but you know, mostly. He was born here, but he knows the important words: pierogi, chrusciki, and kielbasa. And when he caught me wearing a bandanna on my head the other day (on skype), he called me his beautiful babushka-wearing peasant girl.

I'm really hopeful about this relationship, and I find myself wishing he could meet you. In fact, I haven't felt this mature and straightforward about an involvement with a man in a long time. The bad ones had always involved me compromising in some way (some big ways, I hear my friends shouting) that ended up harming me.

Many fears have fallen away. The urge to find someone, just anyone, has disappeared. I started out on this new blog thinking I'd have a stable of men for the summertime, I'd tossed out the idea of a serious relationship, and looky looky what I ended up finding.

I haven't had to compromise anything for this man. He's acting like a man with all the right intentions to be in a long-term relationship. I haven't had to rely too hard on his words alone or spend a moment second-guessing because he's so decisive and straightforward with his actions. I know exactly how he feels about me, and I know exactly what he wants in life.

So maybe just maybe, I could find the happiness I had once more when I was a romantic, 20-year old and married to that Ruskie. Except it'll be better, because I'm much older and wiser now.

What do you think Babcia? Maybe, if the spirit world is smiling upon me?

*Grandma in Polish

My Rental Is a Bad Romance

2010-06-13T12:45:00.000-04:00

When I moved here about 5 years ago, it was to live around the corner from my ex and start the next chapter of our relationship together. The housing situation was supposed to be temporary and by no means was I supposed to foot the bill of renting a house 100% alone. But that is exactly what I have done.

Living here now is like being in an unhealthy relationship that you realize you need to get out of, yet you just can't seem to pull yourself away from the comfort and inertia that has a hold of you.

The large picture window and the view of the lake is incredible, no doubt about it.

But to stay here just for that view is the equivalent of staying in a relationship just because the man has a nice ass to look at. If his personality is crappy or his right arm is falling off and needs duct tape to stay together, and he ignores your requests for help, can't we all agree that it might be in your best interest to move on?

So I am moving. Writing it down makes it a very real plan for me.

To even see the words makes my stomach clench with fear and anxiety, not because of change, but because the sheer logistics of it flip me out every time I have to move. And then the physical aspect alone is exhausting. But, in the end, I am a Sagittarian and we love new places and new experiences. A chance to start fresh is like painting on a blank canvas.

I'll be moving from one small lake to a slightly larger lake, so I will still have the water to soothe me in the 3 seasons and hopefully dump some lake effect snow in the winter. I won't have a view or a large picture window, but I'll have a working fireplace and a very tall stockade wooden fenced yard for the dogs. It is black bear country, but I don't think I'll be having any encounters with them personally. I'm certainly not looking forward to seeing them hit by cars or shot during the brief hunting season.

There is so much to do as anyone who has moved knows well enough. I honestly wish I could afford a large dumpster and just trash 80% of what is in this house. I haven't bought a new piece of furniture in years and that isn't likely to change. Maybe I can find some used furniture from family and friends. Best to get into the new place first and see what might work.

During all of my decision-making about whether or not to move, the Michigan man has been a very solid rock. He hasn't tried to push me one way or the other, and he has always just listened to me rant about the current deteriorating house that the landlords refuse to repair.

In discussing my disbelief about the Michigan man's solid supportiveness with a southern friend, she brought home a solid point. He is acting the way a man SHOULD act, and the only reason it seems so unusual is because hardly anyone ever acts with integrity anymore. Just take a look all over the news to see reports of people acting shamefully and without a sense of right/wrong. I know I sound almost conservative rhetoric there, but I'm as liberal as they come. Liberal never meant you can act carelessly.

Nineteen (19) days until I pick up this solid man at the airport. Let's hope my back holds up. *grin*

Here is a shot of the Freesia that are opening up and looking lovely.

Tuesday Was Rough

2010-06-12T11:27:00.001-04:00

On Tuesday, the ex (long, long, over-and-done-with relationship of which I'll post up in the archives as soon as I get around to extracting those posts out of the other blog) MMS'd me a photo of his beloved English Springer hunting dog with the words: Percy's dead.

I loved her, more than I loved him (but that's the case with me and most people). And he knew well my attachment to our dogs, having lost 2 to cancer while together. He told me because, in his rather guilt-ridden, altered state of mind, (I quote): "We were a family back then."

The news of her death sunk me low. Her death was tragic, not a natural passing. And he was 100% responsible for it which made me want to rail at him, for ALL of the things that are his fault. But I didn't. I suffered quietly, sobbing at work, complete with a bloody nose due to the uber (yes that's a German word perfect for the company) dryness of the office air. And this hit on a day in which I had to fight louder and longer than usual at work to make my editorial opinion heard by people who simply don't want to understand.

To compound the emotional state I felt, when I got home, I had an argument with my pet sitter who was coming in regularly to let the dogs out for mid-day potty breaks. The result of that argument? I am no longer paying a pet sitter, and I've probably been blacklisted on the local pet-sitting circuit as a difficult client with a difficult dog. To which I say, I've DONE THE JOB and I know how to do it well.

Mr Michigan checked in on me to find me a bundle of moodiness, the first of such he's ever experienced from me in our two-month courtship. I just needed a good long cry and to be alone. So, I briefly told him about the day, in no real dramatic fashion, just a straight-forward here's what happened today rundown. I told him I felt sick and needed to lie down.

While I was sleeping off the foulness, he secretly ordered these to arrive the next day:

They are 30 stems of Freesia and they arrived as buds. I have been looking forward to watching them open.

He is officially deemed a very sweet man.

Emotional Spill

2010-06-07T08:49:00.001-04:00

Framed within a window, the view seems so idyllic. What's not shown here, in this lakeside snapshot around the corner from my rental, would drive people away.

Life is like that too sometimes.

You can section off one part of your life that is going so well, it may as well have seceded from the rest of your life.

But just like an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, eventually your toxic past experiences are going to leak into that partitioned paradise you've created. And all you can do is try to contain the damage.

In an unexpected early round of "Just How Into Me Is This Guy Anyway," I had a mini meltdown yesterday. Most of it was brought on by unexpected car repairs that will cost me a small fortune, but then for some reason I started channeling really lousy thoughts from my previous relationship (such as there's no way this guy is for real and I should just prepare myself for the worst) and placing them into this new experience with The Michigan Man.

Um, hello light and breezy sailboat? Meet the dark submarine that's going to torpedo you into pieces if you don't get the hell out of the way.

All I can say is that luckily I recognized it before it got too twisty yucky bad. But it definitely required some open honest conversation. And I didn't hide from the task. I told him what was going through my head, and he took it in stride. In fact, he said "I'm just as taken with you now in hard times and I'm not going anywhere."

So for those of you who feel it is best not to share how you're feeling with a new guy, I hope that works out well for you. For me, I have to be straight with him. Otherwise, I'll always wonder where I stand and if I'm standing there for the right reasons.

Sex & Baseball

2010-06-05T14:00:00.001-04:00

Yes.

I said it.

The two most enjoyable topics between me and The Michigan Man.

Oh we talk about MANY other things too....

The oil spill, being liberals in mostly conservative families, how religion controls the minds of many, the thunderstorms of summer, how long can Chad play frisbee (forever), mowing lawn, repairing cars, fixing bathrooms floors when your landlord won't, reading paper versus on screen books, the creative writing process, finding inspiration to write, taking photographs, how emotional highs cannot be sustained indefinitely and how a middle range of contentment must eventually take hold, living on a farm together, paying off debt, taking road trips, traveling overseas.

All of which I thought looked wonderfully artistic as:

But I can't imagine not talking about sex and baseball. Like death and taxes. Only much more enjoyable. Those are going to be the glue that hold us together. And I like that. A lot.

Speaking of neither sex nor baseball, I was invited to another spanking party tonight. I don't want to go so I am not going. I think the novelty may have worn off, but I know for sure I can't imagine me starring in Sweat and The City. Blech. I think the city is only for me during the 3 other seasons. Yes, I'm a priss I guess.

But the invitation did bring up the question about whether or not I should share recent activities with Michigan. I fear no topic with him oddly enough, so I did, last night, after a stiff Boston Absolut and a few rounds of online backgammon.

We sprang into new topics for discussion. My blog, the people in NYC, and his overall level of curiosity. He enjoys when I share something I've written, but he doesn't feel an overwhelming need to read everything I write, he doesn't mind that I write about him, and he would like to meet the people in NYC sometime.

Hmmm, he didn't miss a beat with his calm replies.

The dreaded "where have you been all my life" cliche did poke its head up, uttered by him, stunned into silence by me. I hope it is not the kiss of death for this budding relationship.

Because to be even more cliche, he could be the yin to my yang. The sex to my baseball, the baseball to my sex.

(27 Days...)

Grounded?

2010-06-02T07:05:00.000-04:00

Can someone please tie me to something solid? Where is my fellow Sagittarians who know how hard it is to stay grounded? Hit me upside the head with a dose of reality, will you? Because here's what I'm dealing with....

When there's a sexy, 39-year old ~~never married~~ ~~with no kids who loves dogs~~ baggage-free man out there in the world thinking about what color flowers best match your eyes (purple, apparently), many thoughts run through your mind:

Is he gay?
How is it that he's still single?
Have I finally won the lottery?
Where has he been all my life?
How do I survive the next 31 days until I meet him?

And then when he randomly text messages "You're beautiful, don't you forget it," in the middle of your work day, your inflated head just detaches from your body, and it suddenly feels like you're floating over the Hudson River.

Grounded? Oh yes. Of course. I'm staying grounded. Right.

Kicking Doubt in the Ass

2010-05-30T11:38:00.000-04:00

This may be the lingering effects of watching Sex and the City 2 last night, or the fact that it is my TOM, but this morning I woke up feeling old. Ancient. Perhaps I should start applying yam facials.

And I woke up with a mild case of the "How Can I Possibly Sustain LD Michigan Man's Interest?" Writing all that down in Communion really set it into reality. This guy is really into me. And all of that advice out there about how to keep a man interested, and how you shouldn't tell him everything, and how you should play a few mind games, and how impossible it is to sustain interest long-distance. Blah blah blah blah blah.

You know, we are our own worst enemies. Which was so bloody obvious in that over-the-top ridiculous movie. Please, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha, what do you have to be insecure about? Grow up, stand tall, and rock the life you've been given, you fictional NYC women you.

I will not be anything other than myself. And if interest wans, then interest wans. If I'm giving 100% and the best I can give, then I have no need to worry. All I can do is make sure that I'm happy and I'm getting what I need. And if I am my usual giving self, and he recognizes and respects that, we should be all right.

Talking myself off the ledge. This has been fun. See, loving myself can be such a wonderful thing.

Carry on with your usual enjoyable Sunday. I've got some ACs to install (ugh) and some Red Sox to watch (yay).

Communion

2010-05-29T16:49:00.000-04:00

Where the hell have I been?

Good question.

As best as can be described, I have been in communion.

Not Holy Communion, for all you Cath-o-holics.

But communion of the deepest kind. And I've come up for air. Sweet intoxicating air.

com·mu·nion
Pronunciation: \kə-ˈmyü-nyən\

Etymology: Middle English, from Latin communion-, communio mutual participation, from communis

Date: 14th century

1 : an act or instance of sharing

3 : intimate fellowship or rapport

I have been in communion with myself. Spending some serious 1:1 time with numero uno. Loving myself is hard work, you know that? Ever try it? Really, you should. It is good for the soul to love yourself.

And...

I have been in communion with the LD Michigan Man. When he began dedicating some valuable after-work time to getting to know me better, I decided to do the same rather than blow him off for some local flavor instead. The DVR'd shows could wait, the blog could wait, baseball could be watched simultaneously, and sometimes, even the sleep could wait.

What we found:

An ability to talk on the phone for hours without an awkward pause even though we're two people who really cannot stand to be on the phone.
A combined love of music that seems interwoven with our lives.
A combined love of travel and history.
A deeper love of baseball than we originally realized.
A man who thinks and plans ahead for all possible opportunities.
A woman who is wicked afraid to fall again.
A man who is incredibly patient and not at all slimeball. (The hurt woman in me keeps wondering how this is possible.)
Two people who, in one month, have inspired the other to start dreaming again about things each had thought were out-of-reach in their respective lives.

I dropped ALL of the others in the stable, and never even cringed for a moment over them. Easy come, easy go.

But LD Michigan might be a keeper. For the record, I say might because I'm trying to stay level-headed, not because I sense a single red flag. You know me, I wouldn't keep red flags to myself.

Am I a little wary that I don't see any red flags? Surprised, yes. Wary, no.

We meet in 32 days, and then we'll know a lot more.

Until then, I am enjoying this communion, and as he and I both agreed, "we might as well fly while we feel we can."

Mid-Western Man to Visit Jersey

2010-05-18T06:40:00.000-04:00

I have managed to eCharm another mid-western man to come visit me in New Jersey. Seriously, Governor Christie should thank me. Perhaps with a nice little rebate or something.

Long-standing friends will know that last year, I had a mid-west eHarmless (not to be confused with my own unique brand of eCharm) visitor who didn't last long in Jersey, choosing to be taken to the airport early in fact, because he just couldn't handle being around my dog. Yeah. Whatever. And months later, we all came to the conclusion that perhaps he was in the closet gay when my moves and vivacious offers to him while we were out in Vegas came to naught but frustration on my part.

Well, the LD Michigan man, my Mikey Lowell lookalike, is most definitely not in the closet. He's a man's man. Nor does he live with his mother. Sad when this is actually a rarity. Sign of the economy or age-related? As previously mentioned...

The LD Michigan man. My age. Loves baseball. Looks a bit like Mikey Lowell! Very good chance we'll meet, perhaps during the July 4th weekend. Hard to know more without eyeballing. Gives good cam eyeball though.

He's quite decisive in his pursuit of me. Ticket is booked, plans are set. I love that feeling. So refreshing. And he's quite determined to see if his interest in me is sustainable face-to-face. We've been rather matter-of-fact about things for the most part, basing our previous experiences on meeting people online and long-distance; we know it could go from vibrant to dead within 24 hours of meeting.

Yet hope springs eternal that we might all find someone with whom to pass the idle hours of life. After all, I'm a Red Sox fan and he's a Cubs fan. We know what it is like to put energy and effort into something and believe with all your heart that it is possible to win.

And just in time to remind me of this, the peonies in the front yard are blooming.

And the lake sunsets are reminding me why I continue to pay rent here.

Demo Girl

2010-05-17T02:24:00.002-04:00

I have been so busy that my life is falling apart somewhat, like ever-so-slightly frayed edges of a well-worn favorite t-shirt.

Dishes need to be done. ~~Jungle~~ Lawn needs to be cut. Bills need to be paid.

Even notably, my DVR hates me, straining at the seams with over 70 recorded shows to watch. And then there is the half-finished series The Tudors on Netflix that I long to get back to.

Who am I kidding? When will I ever find the time?

Is this what happens when someone has a social life? There must be some way to balance it all.

This weekend I was a "demo girl" for a presentation given by The Actor. As previously mentioned...

The Actor. My age. Sincerely warm, sweet guy who has a spanking fetish ... Likely to be a friend and nothing more...

The presentation was about spanking for fun. Spanking with humor. Yep. For real. These people are great. They know how to laugh. They know how to communicate. They don't give a bloody Effin about you being thin, fat, tall, short, bald, purple, blue, orange, gay, or straight. And they just happen to have a hobby that is a little bit different from, oh say, playing softball.

Anyway, I was asked to help out with the presentation, because I would make a great "demo girl" apparently. And why was that? Well, I guess my facial expressions and my honest, genuine curiosity would be great for new people to see. I'm thinking more along the lines that "fresh blood" draws a crowd. The Actor likely needed new demo girls after wearing the old ones out!

This is likely the closest I'll ever get to being a model/actor/performer in any way shape or form. Although I still need to try karaoke, so there's still some small chance I'll make it big in the karaoke world.

It was very interesting. The stage. The lights. The audience (about 20 people) all seated as if they were going to watch a play.

The part of the presentation that involved me was really short, and it was about using music. How appropriate is that considering I list music as one of my Six Things I Can't Live Without? Anyway, I got spanked to the drumbeat of Foreigner. Yes. That 80s group. I've Been Waiting for Girl Like You. Hilarious, isn't it? Good. It was supposed to be. I laughed nearly the whole way through it. In the end, a great stress relief.

At the party that followed the presentation, there were a lot more people dressed up like gods and goddesses and angels. Apparently it was a theme. A man approached me, said he liked my demo, and then we started talking about other types of kinky stuff. And before you know it, I was also trying flogging. It was an interesting thuddy smacking noise and honestly felt like a really nice back massage. I'm sure someone who gets it on the front of their body wouldn't have the same review.

I met many more people. Everyone was so warm and friendly.

And then my heart skipped a beat. I saw a dead ringer for a young Rick Springfield at the bar.

Tall, thin, long black hair, dark eyes, wearing black. Our eyes met for a long long time across way. I didn't have the nerve to go up and talk to him until just before I was leaving. I really had to push myself. I took a deep breath, stood next to him while he was looking elsewhere.

I let out my breath, "Hey..." as if I'd just run a marathon and when he turned toward me, I leaned in close to his ear so I would only have to say it once, "You are by far the sexiest man here tonight." And I quickly stepped back, prepared to go, so he would know I had no intention of taking up his time or anything. I really was leaving with my coat on and everything.

He smiled a genuine grin, and asked, "Can I please kiss your cheek?" OhMyGod, slight accent.

Of course, he hadn't asked for my number, or in this group's case, email or profile name.

In hindsight, it would not have been inappropriate if I retorted, "Which one?" or just turned around and bent over. Instead I said "Sure." Leaned in, he kissed it, said thank you, I said you're welcome. I stepped back and left as quickly as my feet could take me.

I don't know what in the hell that was. A severe case of Cinderella complex or what? Was I hoping he'd come after me on the stairs up to the street and profess his lusty need for a fat chick in a red bra, lace stockings and black wedge heeled boots? He didn't.

I barely made it home awake. The ride out of the city after a night like that is just simply too damn long. I need a chauffeur. But once I was home, I did dream about the Rick Springfield lookalike. You can take the spanking demo girl out of the romantic setting, but you can't take the romantic out of the 80s wild child.

Building a Stable

2010-05-12T01:26:00.004-04:00

So this is really new for me. With that promise to live in the moment 3 years ago to my dying dog, believe it or not, I've been on a mental, emotional, and physical transformational journey.

Now, as I see it, I have 10, maybe 15 GOOD years left. You know what I mean? As in, in 15 years if there's an earth left, I'll pretty much be left to the company of animals and friends, rather than men. And that's perfectly OK with me. So it's time to just toss the traditional relationship idea off to the sidelines I think.

Most of my life, I haven't taken great care of myself, but that's changed. I also have a family history of poor health, but hopefully I can stem the tide of that somewhat with knowledge my mother never had in her life. So yes, in conclusion, as I see it, I have that short window left to really just get the hell out there and enjoy life. And since no one knows when our number is up....right?

And in symmetry with the blog change, I began, almost by coincidence, to actually, really enjoy life. Not just suffer through it, not just live to work, but work to live.

Part of the reasoning for the cheery outlook is definitely that this seems to be the moment of lust, because there are men coming out of the woodwork...not to just email me, not to just IM me, but to meet me. Eyeball to eyeball. And this is a first.

I have two friends who have always told me men flock to me. I have always thought they were ridiculously misguided, loving friends, and I would always retort, "I don't know if that's true, but they sure don't stick around do they."

But since I've let go of the waste of money sites (eHarmless, Matchless, and ChemstryNot) and focused just on the free OKCupid (yes sometimes I bash it and call it OKStupid) and on the network of people I've met in NYC, I have so many guys interested and some many interesting guys that I almost don't know how to narrow down the field. I feel like I'm betting on a Kentucky Derby race and some are contenders for the Triple Crown.

I just compared my dates to thoroughbred horses. Oh boy, can someone get me a Mint Julep, a Blackeyed Susan, and a Belmont Breeze please?

Honestly, I am not writing to brag. I'm writing to document in case I forget who they are!

The young cub. Much too young. I test-drove him. He's a winner in the feel-good, sex buddy category.

The blue-green-eyed finance man. My age. Handsome as hell and out of my league. This guy makes me laugh and feel sexy. Potential summer fling material, starting as soon as next week.

The LD Michigan man. My age. Loves baseball. Looks a bit like Mikey Lowell! Very good chance we'll meet, perhaps during the July 4th weekend. Hard to know more without eyeballing. Gives good cam eyeball though.

The LD Minnesota man (formerly Mr Real Potential). My age. He's a Red Sox fan, you may recall. I also said my date with him was the best date I'd been on since 2006 I think. But I shifted him into the nothing but a "when in town on business dinner hotel romp." His real potential went out the door when he told me he wasn't able to think about a serious relationship until he moves back to Jersey (next year). I'm still friendly with him because he was honest with me. He could have strung me along for the sex.

The Actor. My age. Sincerely warm, sweet guy who has a spanking fetish when he isn't an extra in various NYC-filmed series. Likely to be a friend and nothing more, although I've earned the nickname "demo girl" from him. More on this to come.

The Kinkster. Lives around the corner, less than a mile. Funny guy. My age, divorced, working 3 jobs to support 2 kids. Test-drove him. He qualifies as a nice, wild FwB and he buys breakfast. Bonus.

The Musician. Another young cub. Has toured the country and Europe playing music. Yet to meet. Perhaps this weekend.

Trust me, if you're wondering how you're going to follow along, I'm wondering how I'm going to keep them straight in my head and my date book.

Then again, 3 could come up lame, 2 could blow out mid-race, and 1....well, all it takes is one, right?

So who is your early money on?

Welcome

2010-05-10T22:30:00.003-04:00

Welcome, welcome, welcome...

Find a cozy spot and oh, could you pass me that half empty wine bottle?

We've still got some unpacking to do, but I think it is starting to look nice around here.

For those diehards who still want to get an email every time I post, how is it you're reading this right now? Haha, caught you! But seriously, if you must get an email instead, message me. It seems blogger will send an email to a FEW (less than 10) people each time the blog updates. This can work while I figure out what happened to Feedblitz. (I think it went the way of the non-free.)

I'll reserve these select email slots for those of you who are afraid of the web for one reason or another or who just simply don't have time to figure out what an RSS feed is or how to bookmark this blog in your browser.

Yes, I love you that much not to spill wine over it.

I have been so busy since I stopped blogging...
busy building....
a stable....
of....
men....

Next post, promise.

Freshness Dating

2010-05-08T17:03:00.001-04:00

I think this blog is about as fresh as a just-picked strawberry. That’s right; not quite sweet enough to eat yet, but give it a day or two and ohmygoodness is it ever going to taste delicious.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my old blog. It has those crazy dates I've survived over the past three years. And my longing for my sweet dog. And those crazy days of exercise. That blog is like a comfortable 3-year old sweatshirt with holes in it. But just like that sweatshirt, there’s a time to wear it and a time not to wear it. And I think I’m entering a new season of crazy; a time in my life when I’d rather wear lingerie and boots than sweatshirts.

I almost named this blog Not Your Sister’s Blog, because I wanted to make my sister laugh each time she saw it, and I wanted to warn remind her that she may read things in here she wouldn’t know about her sister otherwise.

My trips to the city are becoming more frequent. My dates in general are picking up in pace. My dry spell seems to be ending; too early to tell. There doesn't seem to be a relationship among any of them, but I am really learning to be at ease with that and like I promised my sweet Sena, I am living in the moment.

It is the 1st summer of my 4th decade. Are you ready to join me while I have some fun? A new acquaintance of mine has stated that this will be the Summer of One Lusty Sagittarian. I am so ready. Bring it on!