Wednesday, July 22, 2015

The Phoenix in Me - OR - This Timelord Has Finally Regenerated!

For those of you not in the know, I love Doctor Who. Doctor Who is a Timelord. Timelords have two hearts. I have joked about being a Timelord because that is the only way I can figure I have survived so many heartbreaks throughout the years.

The way I figure it, at any given time, one heart is shattered and in a state of repair whilst the other is blissfully ignorant of the recent breaking and on the lookout for the Next Great Love. Until it gets broken. And then whilst it is being repaired the other heart, now all shiny and new and, without the pesky memory of the most recent heartbreak, is all optimistic and ready for love yet again. And so the cycle goes. But I think the cycle, unlike the proverbial circle, has been broken.

It all began one dark and stormy night...

Or more precisely, one sunny, Saturday morning while I was on my way to get mah hair did. The short version is this: Being unceremoniously dumped in a Facebook message after almost 2 years of dating can really suck the wind right out of your lungs. It can take a vicious toll on a person. I, apparently, was no exception.

For almost 3 months I waffled between ridiculously depressed and unrealistically hopeful. I felt drained. Every. Single. Day. I couldn't separate myself from the Us that we were, even though he very clearly had. (I'm sure it didn't help that we lived - and still do live - in the same building, but I digress.) I poured out my heart through well-crafted, Hallmark-worthy letters, even after it should have been clear that I was wasting my words on a man whose thoughts and feelings I was unable to correctly decipher.

And then one day it happened.

I think it began after a weekend away with my Carissa. It was Mother's Day, and we had a great time with our little blended family of 8, playing in the woods, wrangling each other's kids, taking pictures and enjoying our little slice of life. Some other things took place, too. I'm sure it was also some improv with my Blacklist family, and probably some disc golf with Dad, and a few other much needed reminders of the great many blessings I have in this life that don't relate to a romantic relationship before a gloriously rapid transformation happened.

I was fixed.

In what seemed like an instant, the gaping hole I thought had erupted in my heart - and my life - with a certain someone's departure had sealed itself and left me whole once again. I don't think I was able then, or could now, properly verbalize how good I felt after I had turned that corner. I felt better than I had felt in I couldn't even remember how long. I felt like the me I was supposed to be, the me that I had been BTM - Before That Man. Hell, I was even better than that.

And then, as I flitted about my world in a manic and magical state of post-depression euphoria (why yes, I did set a few friends on Bipolar Watch, just in case), an even more awesome thing happened.

I met someone!

Let me just tell how incredibly, serendipitously, fantastically amazing this man is.

He was my 8th grade boyfriend, for starters. How cute is that? His road from 15 to 40 has been a rocky one, but who's road hasn't. Mine certainly has, for one reason or another. Why would I want someone who's had it any different? He's funny, passionate, smart, sexy as hell, and you know what? As my luck would (finally!) have it, he is everything I've ever wanted in a man.

What exactly is that, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

He loves me for exactly who I am. Simple, right? Yes and no. I'm not a simple gal, you see. I'm a stubborn, opinionated, bad decision-making, questionable parenting, spontaneous, flighty, creative, talkative, mostly ridiculous woman who know doubt has plenty of annoying, even occasionally unlovable qualities. But for someone I love I go willingly and happily out of my way to be the best me I can be. And I can be unbelievably amazing. (Did I mention that I'm also incredibly humble?) Now, this man? He must have glimpsed that potential awesomeness in me because he ended up falling for me, but not just falling. Falling IN LOVE with me.


And I have fallen almost inconceivably in love with him back. He is the most amazing man. He doesn't let a single day, nor a minute, nor an infinitesimal moment, go by without letting me see, hear and feel how much he loves me. And unlike the boys of yore, he actually wants to spend time with me. He even - get this - he misses me when we're not together! Let me tell you, that is SUCH a refreshing change of pace. For once in my long and notoriously laughable dating history I have finally found a fella worth my time because he also thinks that I'm worth his time. Yes, I realize that I should have never settled for less than that, but... hey, you! Shut it!

I mean, ahem... moving on. Let's see... Oh! The way he looks at me? Melts my heart. Every. Time. He doesn't see what I see when I look at me. He sees this best version of me where my flaws and insecurities are nonexistent because they are me and that makes them beautiful to him. He hugs me, long and strong, never letting go like he's got somewhere else he'd rather be, because he is already there. He kisses me when other people are around. Not just a peck on the cheek either. A sweet, intentional, wonderful but not over the top 'get a room' kinda kiss. But ohmygod, can he kiss me like that, too. And how! Did I mention that he loves me and tells me and shows me and never a moment goes by that I don't feel that love?

I did?

Several times?

Hmm... okay then. Well it's true. He does. And every day since that first day when we reconnected as adults (I won't say 'grown ups' because growing up is overrated and I don't think either one of us will ever willingly wear the title of 'grown up'), ever since that day when unbeknownst to me my world finally took its turn in the direction I had always hoped it would, ever since then I have felt like the luckiest woman who ever lived.

To the one of a kind to my one of a kind.
To my unicorn.
Jason, my love, this blog's for you. <3

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

A word to the Pollinators and Germinators of the world...


I am in a perfectly fine, perfectly content mood!
     (Hey there, you handsome readers, you! I've missed you! Have you missed me?)

What a way to jump back into the wonderful world of my blog!
     (What do you MEAN it's been over a year? Surely that can't be right...)

I was just sitting here thinking about all the idiots out there who've donated their seed to humanity.
     (Why yes, I DO happen to be the recipient of such a humanitarian gift. Twice, even!)

And as I sat and pondered, the thought occurred to me (as it often does) to rant about my ponderance in poem form.

Because that's just what I do.

So here it is! An ode to the ogres and ogrettes of the world who've aided in the population expansion of our good species without taking on any of the responsibility that traditionally accompanies such an endeavor.


p.s. I really have missed you!

Ahem, without further ado...

To the Pollinators, To the Germinators

To the pollinators of the world I'd like to say to thee
It's sure the biggest shame of all you thoughtless spilled your seed
I pray that one day when your seed has lost its strength and power
You'll think of what you've done and missed; may those thoughts make you cower
To germinators like the pollinators do I say
I hope the fruit of misspent youth does haunt your soul someday
I hope that you, with womb grown cold, will one sad day recall
That what you, in your youth, brought forth was more precious than all

It might be harsh but I don't care that comfort I do find
In thinking that the price you've paid will grow steeper with time
That one day, when such time has passed, when your bright dreams grow dim
You'll sigh and wonder why on earth you passed on her or him
You'll think you've made the worst mistake, and you'll be right, my friend
But Time's a bitter mistress and you can't begin again
So there you'll sit steeped deep in misery and sore regret
Wishing you'd never missed out on the life you helped beget

And there I'll be, and others, too, with memories forever
Of precious lives and love well-spent and bonds that can't be severed
First words and steps and heartbreaks, first kisses and I love you's
Milestones you can't quite fathom through second and third hand news
Oh sure, maybe some day you'll get a photograph or two
And you'll lay claim since in that face you'll see that there's some you
But all you'll have are someone else's mem'ry that they've shared
With you, the Pollinator, Germinator, who was spared
The messy, unintended, inconvenience of the wild
And bless'd unique experience of helping to raise a child

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Pick that bar up off the ground, girl OR Why WOWing Wiener-walkers won't win women

Is it Taco Time yet? It probably should be. The fact that I still have enough men to create an encore song should be proof enough of that.

This next fella I have actually dodged around town a few times. Ducked quickly into the nearest aisle in the grocery store, slinked past him undetected in a department store somewhere, and successfully (so far) evaded while surfing the lonely hearts on the interwebs.

There's not a whole lot to say about this guy, except that I really should raise the bar and be a little less accepting of people/things when I'm deciding whether to go out with someone or not. I mean, let's face it. I've knocked my list of requirements down to the bare bones must haves, and even then that leaves the bar so low that all the guys have to do is step over it. I think it's time for the winds of change to blow over me.

He was a former Marine - oorah! - and in the band, WHICH I didn't mind because I like music and musicians. He was into photography, which I love, and some light (video)gaming, which I can abide. His pictures weren't that unflattering, and his personality seemed completely doable. Not, like do-able do-able. Damnit, I know you know what I mean.

I decided we should just go ahead and meet up. I don't have time for the lengthy, drawn-out rigamarole of dating. Ain't nobody got time fer dat! And because - as you have all borne witness to - I have excellent decision-making skills - we planned to meet up for a hike through the woods at Black Hawk State Park. "Oh, the place where they dumped that poor girls torched and chopped up body?" Why yes! The very same.

Makes great decisions *points at self.

I seriously wasn't worried. I was even less worried when I saw him. I'm going to call him Bear. One, because I think that was his name on the dating site, and Two... because I can't remember his real name anymore.

As I got out of my car and started walking I could see a man walking toward me.

(He was not, for the record, holding any sort of trophy or Golden Globe.)
I foolishly thought for a split second that maybe this was not, in fact, the man I was meeting. That thought quickly faded as I remembered just how awesome my dating track record had been. Bear ambled toward me, looking much more... corpulent... than his pictures might have led me to believe. And, call it the curse of a faded memory or 20/20 hindsight, but looking back I can only see a slightly more modern version of one of the Croods. He was thick - beyond thick - and his head was gi-freaking-normous. A bit of a neanderthalic brow. Yeah, I might have made that word up, but I know you can picture it, can't you? He had chubby wrists. Wrists, I tell you! Wrists should not be chubby unless you are still counting your age by weeks or months. He was a few dozen pounds from being a full on mouth breather. Actually, we were in the vastness of the outside world. He probably was a mouth breather. Hi-five for dodging that one!

That was really all I needed to know about him right there. I know that might seem shallow, but you see, friends, there must be the slightest, tiniest, most miniscule bit of attraction between two people, and in reciprocal fashion, for any sort of relationship to form. Either that or I have serious depth issues, but I don't think that's the case. Anyway... so we started off on our hike. I had my camera with me because it was an picturesque, sunny, midafternoon fall day. The light and shadow was amazing within the trees. I was sure this photographer was going to be as enraptured as I was, furiously snapping picture after picture. "Isn't this just amazing? I mean look at it! I love photographing nature." His response? "I actually just really like studio photography where I can control all the elements."


He couldn't even see a fraction of the beauty that I was overwhelmed by. I'm not opposed to dating people with differing opinions, but seriously? Maybe if this guy stepped out of his hobbit hole more often he might find beauty in the brightly lit, unsuffocated external world. Just sayin'.

We trudged through the woods for what after that seemed like an eternity, chatting about the military and finding more and more dissimilarities (in my opinion). The best was when we got back to our cars, though. That's when I found out the most important bit of information.

He lived with his mom.

Of course he did! I mean, why wouldn't he? Okay, here's the thing, and maybe this is my downfall. I am just too damn old - as are the men I'm attempting to woo - to abide dating a man who has become comfortable just kicking with his mama for an undetermined amount of THE REST OF HIS LIFE. Sure, things happen. Parents get sick. We lose our jobs or fall on hard times. Get your ass BACK UP and move back out! Oookay... *slides soapbox away. Sheesh. Yeah, so we had a mini convo about him walking his mom's wiener dog and other boring stuff. And then way too much conversation about Assassin's Creed and video games and at that point I was praying for a stray bold of lightning to part the wispy clouds of that bright blue-skied sunny day and part my skull. Thankfully that strike didn't make its way down from the heavens, but an end to the conversation arrived, and that was good enough for me and we parted ways. With a hug. I can't help it. I hug everyone. I must stop that. Because as Bear wrapped me up he... ugh... I shudder to even recall the memory. As Bear gave me a parting hug, he... moaned. *shudder

Blegh! Who does that? I'm sorry, but it's creepy. Even creepier if you look and act like Bear, and even moreso if you barely know a person. Men - do yourselves and your women and lady friends a favor. Do not - I repeat - DO NOT ever moan audibly as you hug a woman. Unless she has her hand on your naughty bits, in which case that's an entirely different story. Just... just don't, mkay?

So there you have it. The story of Bear and the Woods. Fit to be told around the campfire for scary story sessions. I'm available at a very reasonable rate.


NEXT TACO TIME: Wow, you're muscles are so muscley OR More evidence that Gingers have no souls.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Wow, your bobblehead collection is so cool OR "Don't bring me dow-own... Brrrruuuce!"

One Tuesday ago, in a blogging land far, far away...

"I am getting notoriously un-Tuesday like. Hmm... what to do about that... well, crap. I was hoping somewhere in the world it was still Tuesday. Nope. And since time machines don't exist (that we've seen/experienced yet)(is there a Doctor in the universe?) I'm completely out of luck. But you know what? I don't care. It's all good. You're getting a blog anyway, dammit..."

Just like Alderaan, that blog faded into oblivion a long time ago. But guess what? It's Tuesday! Again! Can you believe it???

(Okay, so now it's Wednesday.) Ahem, so yeah. Let's try to get back into the swing of things, shall we?

... I started to tell you guys about the next fella in Taco Time. And just as a warning, ladies, he is still out there! On Yessir. And horror of all horrors I accidentally clicked on his profile once. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear. He had a new picture, and on my phone it was so tiny. But I knew as soon as I saw that miniscule picture blow up to...well, a little bit bigger than miniscule, I knew right away that I had made a terrible mistake. Now don't get me wrong, he wasn't abusive, or cruel, or inherently evil or anything. He was just crazy. That's all. A little cuckoo.
I first met him as I've met most of the men in Taco Time: on a dating site. I think it was Yahoo personals, which is now defunct after having merged with Match. I should feel worse for knowing that since it means I've been around that dating scene that long (*cough9yearscough) but I'm going to gloss right over that.
He had a decently nice looking picture and seemed like a not awful kinda guy. Maybe he was a little too into video games and yeah, maybe he watched a little too much television. Not even the good kind. He lived on a diet of sports center and adult swim. And Aqua Teen Hunger Force? Meatwad? A floating shake with magical powers? Good God, man. (And may God have mercy on the souls of any of you out there who can honestly say you like that show. I'll be praying for you. Just sayin'.) But hey, after talking and/or chatting for a bit and especially after that big reveal that I was currently pregnant - yikes! - he still wanted to meet up and go on a date. I chalked that up as a win and on a date we went.
Actually, I'm pretty sure the first time I ever met him was when we met up behind Best Buy in Davenport while he was getting his new radio installed. In his Dodge Neon. That was just like my Dodge Neon. Matching matching! And what a guy. Hell, what a girl! Back door on the first date! Haha. Yeah, no.
So after he got his stereo taken care of we went back to his place. His narrow, dank, dark, dusty (the light was so sparse than when it did cut through the space you could see the little dust particles flitting about), cramped apartment. But hey, wow. You've got an awful lot of Mallards bobbleheads all lined up around your tiny kitchen. And wow...

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Why I shouldn't be allowed to watch Parenthood alone OR What happens when I start up to late at night.

I've spent entirely too much time watching episodes of Parenthood tonight. (It should be noted that the current time as I'm writing this is 0334 on Wednesday.)That damn show should come with a warning label.

What that means to you folks is that I'm emotional, and I oftentimes find myself writing in times such as these.

What you are about to read might be any or all of the following:  sad, sappy, crazy cat lady, tmi, revealing, pathetic, honest, courageous to admit, bold, old news (if you know me well), news to you (if you don't), whiny, empowering, oorah, silly, unnecessary to post for all the world to read, necessary to post for all the world to read... I could go on.

One time there was a friend of mine that said I should stop posting all these whiny sappy blogs, and "maybe that was my problem." That person is no longer a friend (for that and several other reasons). Because this is MY blog, and what better place to put such ramblings? I'm not forcing anyone to read anything, but if they do? Hey, maybe they'll learn a thing or two, about me or even themselves. What can I say? It's cathartic putting these things/feelings out into the cosmos.

I feel the need to announce that I am not depressed, just... in a post-Parenthood reflective state of mind. Like corn, this, too, shall pass.

This is a post on a blog that I haven't opened publicly because all the posts were to a certain person. That person isn't... (it sounds awful to say, but...) deserving of the attention I've been paying him with my precious free time, so I'll be done with that. Or at least done with dedicating it to him. It's possible I'll be sharing some of these past entries here in the future as well. In the meantime, readers, friends and family - read at your own risk. You know, or don't. I'll still love you.


It's not you.

It's not me.

Actually, it's kind of you. 

You, and every other guy that came before you.
Every guy that ever cheated on me. Every guy that never treated me the way I deserved. Every guy that ever left me for another girl. Every guy that wouldn't leave another girl for me. Every guy that ever let me down. Every guy that ever broke my heart. Every guy that ever hurt me, on accident or on purpose. Every guy that swore he'd never hurt me like the ones before and then did anyway. Every guy who tried to hide me. Every guy who wouldn't fight for me. Every guy who never saw me for the amazing person that I am. Every guy who said he saw me for the amazing person that I am and still let me go. Every guy who didn't stay. Every guy who didn't turn out to be the man he said he was. Every guy who didn't turn out to be the man I said he was.

It's all of you who've helped me to doubt myself, sometimes on a daily basis. All of you who've helped make it easy for me, on more than several occasions, to foolishly look past the amazing, wondrous blessings that fill my life and see something missing instead. All of you who've helped me to forget that I actually love the me that you've passed up, and that there's nothing I could have done to make any of you stay because this - look around - this is how things are meant to be. For now.

Okay, so maybe it's a little me. But I've had a lot of help. I don't think I want your help anymore.


Sunday, March 3, 2013

Sappy Sunday

So I'm somewhat notorious for my sappy sadsack posts. But I like them. Sometimes. And I like my writing. And I'm trying to hold myself accountable for the things I've set out in this most recent one and by sharing it here with all of you it kind of feels like I'm doing that.
The who doesn't matter. It could honestly be anyone. It's the thoughts behind the words that really matter. I think. Anyway, here goes. The umpteenth and final (hopefully) goodbye to settling for less than I deserve.

It is.

It's seriously pathetic how I wait around to hear from you.
You don't ask me to. You probably don't even know that I do it. But I do. And it pisses me off. Makes me very upset with myself.
It all goes back to this blog I wrote over 6 years ago. The gist is that I always sell myself short in matters of the heart. I have a feeling that this is my lot in life and that I'm destined for nothing but this same old thing forever. Really kind of believe that. Part of me likes that my emotions run so deep and strong, and most of all unrequited. It means that it's truly a gift I'm giving to someone and not just a ploy to get something I want (although I'd be getting love, but that's not what I'm talking about). The other part of me just thinks that I'm an idiot.

I wish I could stop it. I wish I could control who I fall for or attach myself to. I wish I could walk away when I should without feeling like I was making a mistake. I wish I could put my worth and my ultimate happiness in the forefront of my mind and act accordingly. I wish that I could view the men who don't choose me - for all of the many valid and obvious reasons - as passing ships and turn my eyes toward the horizon and wait for the next one to come my way.

I wish I could just not care.

But I can't not care. I don't know how to shut that off. And I certainly can't learn how to care less about or get over someone when they are still around. Even if it's just email. :-(


It's too hard for me to chat with you and think about all that we've done and been and shared, too hard to know the nice things you think about me and to think about the possibly serious things that you don't think about me that I wish you did. Too hard to not spend time with you like we used to. Too hard to watch you choose unhappiness - or at the very least a blase, unfulfilling life that lives below your hopes and dreams - over happiness, no matter what the rationale.

I care about you too much to watch that. And for whatever reason I care about you too much to not be hurt that I wasn't enough to make you choose... me.

It's dumb, I know. Even if you could, if you were in the position to make such a choice, there's no guarantee that you would pick me anyway. You've said before if you were single again you'd want to stay that way for a long while. I didn't change that. It's not my fault, though. I'm trying to remember that, but it's hard. Because I see and think and feel things about you, about us that... clearly aren't there. Call it the curse of the creative mind. No matter how deliberately I steel myself against these feelings and speak truth to my heart about my worth and why I need to move past you, as soon as I get word from you all of that resolve disappears and an unrealistic hope and optimism takes over and I'm lost in thoughts of you and us again.

Who says the things you say to me and acts the way you do with me and chooses something so much less for himself? I don't understand, and I have to stop thinking that it's something wrong with me. Because I don't honestly believe that I'm that flawed. I am, don't get me wrong, but not enough to be unworthy of what other people have and what so many other people seem to take for granted.  I want to be THAT person for someone. That special, that prized, that cherished... THAT person that some man somewhere feels beyond lucky to have found to call his own.

That girl (yes, "girl", because it feels that juvenile).that someone will fight to keep, will fight to have, will fight to NOT have to keep secret. I understand that I am not that girl for you. It's fine. My timing sucks. Luck is not on my side. My dog ate my homework. All of the above. But... I guess it doesn't make anything hurt any less.

You really can't fight for me? Not even to me, just in talking, just between me and you? I told you tonight (silly me, I thought you just wanted to see me and hang out with me)(what DID you think I wanted to talk to you about?) That I was going to say goodbye. "I love you, goodbye", to be exact, and you just took it. Like I was telling you I wanted fries with that. Ok, cool, no problem. Just that simple. No please don't go, no wait, no hey now, let's not be too hasty...nothing.


That's it? Ok.

I guess that really must be it. Maybe it's easier for you this way, easier for your life, easier for her. I suppose I get that. Because if I really was any of the things you've ever said that I was, I'd think you wouldn't let me just fade away. Like you are.

I don't think anyone can really know just what it is that I am capable of when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm beginning to think that I'm the only one who ever will.

You've opened up more with me than you have anyone (I think) in recent years. Last chance...what haven't you said? What do you think about this, about me? How does all of this make you feel?

Anyway, answers/thoughts/inputs would be nice, welcome & appreciated. I suppose, however that they aren't necessary. I'm saying goodbye to you because I can't see another way out of this. Typical literary case of unrequited love. Correct me if I'm wrong.

~ h

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Oh, THAT girl... episode 3

I've decided to include my THAT girl stories in my book. They'll be inserted randomly throughout as little snippets that might explain why it is that I'm still single. Because let's face it... it's going to take an almost astronomically rare type of man to willingly walk in and sweep this (*gestures to self) off her feet.

I went in town to do laundry last week. I no longer have a washer and dryer here at home, and I honestly can't imagine that the floor in the kitchen of this house (which is where the laundry hookups are) would even be able to bear the weight, so it's probably a good thing I don't. Anyway, laundry tends to pile up with a quickness. I was way overdue to get some laundry done, as is often the case, and I filled up my ridiculous Chevy Cobalt (more stories on that at a later date) and trekked in town to the super huge mega load laundromat.

The place I like to go to is the old local Scrub Pub. They got rid of the bar (which is a damn shame, I'd say) but they have these massive 6 load machines that I love. I didn't grab all my laundry, just the mainstays and all the socks and underwear I dared to dig for. It was nice only using two of the six-ers instead of my usual four.

Now here comes the good part. I just so happened to be wearing my favorite jeans (that do awesome things for my butt, or so I've been told). And my favorite bra. And, as I do every day, underwear. And I really wanted to wash those things. Like, right then. I remembered that I had a running skirt in my car from some day weeks back (yes, I meant weeks) when I was planning to go work out.


I proceeded to do what any savvy gal in my position would do. I grabbed the running skirt and headed to the 'mat bathroom. "No you didn't." Oh yes I did. I got mahself nekkid and stripped out of my pants and my skivvies and slipped into my running skirt commando. Nobody in the laundromat seemed to care, though, as I strode out of the bathroom in a new outfit, holding the old one in my arms. Maybe it's because it was an amazing idea.

I'm just gonna go with that.

It didn't stop there. After I had finished folding my clothes and tucking them neat and tidy into my baskets in an awe-inspiring fashion - having used less space than when everything was dripping over the sides like when I arrived - I realized it was Free Pie Wednesday at Village Inn. Hell yeah I deserved some pie!

And off I went. My girls swinging free and a breeze between my knees. A commando on a recon mission. My target? Pie. (Okay, so going commando doesn't make me a commando. I am a Marine, though. I think that gets me honorary commando status. )

That's it, really. Laundromat nudity and hippie pie eating. Maybe it's all normal. Hey, that's cool. Normal is... alright. I guess. But if I had to bet, I'd say this was just another instance where THAT girl struck again.

Mmmm... pie...


"What do you mean I have to buy a drink?
The sign says FREE pie!"