All is fair...

I've been out of commission for a few...years, it feels like, so I'm going to take the time to catch you up on all the insignificance that is my life. Yeah, it's important to me, but may not be to you...I guess I'll let you be the judge. *shrug*

First on the list of importance (I'm not going chronologically, here, FYI) is the fact that I've sworn off men this year. I'm done with the over-bearing assholes who build me up just to destroy me later on. I'm done with the constant questions. I'm done with not being able to make my own decisions, without having to answer to some guy who is, most-likely, only in it for the sex, in the first place. I dealt with a controlling, condescending man for nearly 6 years. I'd leave him, but I always went back, because I was "lonely." Fucking pathetic! He, and others, screwed me over so bad, that I am now a jaded, paranoid mess of a woman. They, however, seem just fine, and take no responsibility for my heartache. It's ridiculous, the kind of pleasure they must get from my pain. Well, hell. No, I can't put it all on them, either. I am, at best, hard to live with; at worst, easy to please. Don't worry, it messes with their heads, too.

You see, from my experience, men have been trained on the ways to handle women for their entire lives, whether through observation, or their own experiences. Then, I come along and blow every preconceived notion they have right out of the water. I don't like the lovey-dovey, mushy crap that most girls fall for. If you profess your love for me the first month (hell, the first six months) that we're together, I'm going to run for the hills, screaming. I don't want to live with you, probably ever. I like my own space. I'm not a recluse, by any definition of the word, but I don't like everybody "all up in my business," either. I like the convenience and ease of a "friend with benefits" type scenario. Don't get me wrong, here, folks. I enjoy affection. I enjoy the idea of a relationship. I'm just not very good at it, it seems.

Or, rather, I'm not good at everybody else's definition of a relationship. I'd be the perfect girl for somebody who travels a lot, actually. Most women want their men close-by so they can keep tabs on them; make sure they aren't cheating, or being otherwise deceitful. I don't. I give everything I have to my men. Every ounce of emotion, good or bad, is thrown at them every minute I am with them. It's draining after a while and I need time to be alone, and recharge. I've screwed up relationships in the past because I wasn't getting that recharge time at home. I was able to find it somewhere else, and we all know how that turns out.

I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. In fact, I'll be the first to point out my flaws; all you have to do is ask the right question. I don't fit in any category, that I'm aware of, anyway. I'm a girlie-tomboy, a self-righteous, self-less, caring, cold-hearted, give-until-I-have-nothing-left, woman. Damn if that doesn't irritate everybody! (Also, I cuss like a sailor and strut in 4-inch high heels.)

That being said, men, as a whole, don't understand how to handle me. I'm thick-skinned, but sensitive; serious, but light-hearted. I'm a fucking paradox within a mystery, within a god-damned bubble. I don't understand me, sometimes, so I get why they are so confused. They probably think I have "daddy issues" and need somebody to take care of me. Wrong! As a matter of fact, that's the exact line that will have me fit-to-be-tied: "I want to take care of you." Fuck you! I've done just fine on my own, so far, I don't need you, so back off that idea, right now. See what I mean? I get riled-up just thinking about somebody telling me that. *calm breath* Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that's right: men and my aversion to relationships.

Let's step off of that for just a minute so I can try to explain myself better, because I'm sure I've been jumping all over the place, and you're probably at least a tiny bit confused. I am serious when I say that I put everything I have into a relationship. I don't believe in fate. I believe that it takes a lot of effort for that fairy-tale romance to blossom, and I'm not about to miss out on that, just because I was too guarded, or because I didn't do everything in my power to make it work.

I've been broken because of that philosophy, but it hasn't changed the way I am. It's only changed how I choose the men worthy enough of my time. (Damn, that sounded conceited in my head, and even more-so when I typed it out.) I don't believe that any person, man or woman, should sell themselves short. Ever. You get what you think you deserve, so if you accept whatever that comes along, because it's convenient, you'll get burned. I know what I want in a man. I will also know, within the first two weeks, whether or not the man I'm with will be able to provide that. I don't lead people on, and I don't hold back.

So...yeah...aversion to relationships: I like my own space. I don't like answering to anyone. However, I am a control-freak, so I want people to answer to me...which is a problem, and one of the main reasons I have boycotted companionship this year. I need to fix that. I've been heartbroken, and it's left me jaded and generally wary of mens' intent. But I still love like I won't wake up tomorrow. *sigh* I get the feeling I'm rambling and repeating myself, now, so I'll sign off.

Thanks for reading.

Four-play

Why is it that when you call in sick, nothing ever happens? No exciting drama. No strange happenings. Nothing. You're stuck in bed with a fever and the sniffles, bored out of your mind! Seriously, is it too much to ask for a little excitement!? Can't someone shoot somebody next-door, or light something on fire? Hell, I'll settle for something simple, like a salesman coming to the door, or the cats playing...

But, no. I'm stuck at home, laying on the couch, watching soap operas. SOAP OPERAS! It's so mind-numbingly dull, if it weren't for the searing pain in my throat and the mucus draining from my nostrils, I'd swear my life was over and I was in hell. And I might just be, at that.

Germs are the devil's angels. They are here for no good reason. They don't sustain life, they aren't necessary for any ecosystem to thrive, and they make us miserable. Our arsenal of weapons does little to kill the minions, and a lot to damage our natural defenses. (My immune system is lazy because of all the medicine that was pumped into my body over my lifetime...) Yet, if we allow our natural defenses to take care of the little bastards, we risk becoming more sick, miserably grouchy, and possibly even dying...

Cache 22 at its finest, folks! And so, the only conclusion I can reach is that germs are contracted to Satan himself, and we have all been infected by the devil at some point. Harsh? Yeah, probably, but that's life, right? Meh. Maybe I'll think more clearly when my fever is back below 100 degrees and my lungs aren't being ripped from my chest with every cough...

TBC

Third Time's the Charm

I woke up about 20 minutes ago, and have to get this off my chest. No coffee. No cigarette. Just a nagging voice in the back of my head that won't shut up.

I'm tired of getting put in the middle of my roommates' marital issues. He pisses her off, and I hear about it; she pisses him off and I hear about it. Apparently they don't talk to each other about their issues...if they did, they'd realize that they're both bitching for no reason.

They are both my friends, and I see both sides of the "issues" they have. I just nod and say "uh huh," a lot. Nothing that they vent about is marriage-threatening, if they would just get it out in the open!

I have a theory: Marriages today are failing so often, because nobody talks to each other anymore. There are too many outside influences distracting us. In my parents' day, they didn't have anything but themselves to cure their boredom. My parents' marriage lasted 49 years, before Dad passed away.

People should have to spend the first year of their marriage with no internet, internet phones, or cable/satellite television. Forcing them to talk to each other, and entertain themselves the "old fashion way."

My boyfriend and I have the same problems as every other modern couple. We went camping last year, and talked for hours on end. It was like catching up with an old friend; sad, considering we've been living together for nearly five years. That was when I realized that we didn't have as many problems as we thought. We just have to turn off the damn TV and computer and spend some quality time together. (Easier said than done, sadly.)

Talk to your spouse. Get your problems in the open. Stop using technology as a distraction from reality, and deal with your life. Get out of the house and do something together. Better yet, get out of town for a day or three. It helps. Take the kiddies on a technology-free vacation, connect with nature. Get a sunburn, and rub aloe on each other. But most of all:

TALK ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS!!!

A Little One on One Time

I was involved with a married man in 2006. The affair lasted for five months, the scars from that affair have been with me for four years. I was 20, looking for attention I wasn't getting at home, and he was 38...ignored at home and looking for easy booty.

I've been called home-wrecker, whore, tasteless...but I don't care. I don't regret it. Let me say that again, I don't regret it. I learned a lot from that man, and the experience. He brought me out of myself. I was terrified (shy doesn't quite cover it) before him. We spent nearly every night at his house, while his wife was at work.

He never made promises and I never expected anything from him. I loved him. Stupidly, yes, but I did fall completely in love with that man. He loved me, but he never told me he'd leave her for me. I knew better anyway. They never leave their spouse. I've seen enough lifetime movies to know better.

His wife eventually found an email he had written to me. Our love came to a very abrupt end.

My boyfriend knew about it, long before I confessed. It took weeks of crying to convince him to stay. It's been four years, but the respect he had for me hasn't healed. Not completely. I don't blame him, though. It was my actions that caused his heart ache. I wouldn't trust me anymore, either.

I tell you that story, to tell you this one:

Since about a year after the affair, I've been jokingly telling everyone that I am going to write a "How to Cheat and Not Get Caught," handbook. We'd all share a good laugh, and joke about the things to be included. I never thought I'd get ever get published, so I thought, "What's the point?"

I'm going to do it. I'm going to write my handbook as a series of blogs. You can call me tasteless, you can complain, you can tell me it's immoral. I don't care. I figure, if it's going to happen, anyway, the less pain you cause, the better.

"What they don't know won't hurt them."

It's Only Kinky Once...

Where do I begin?

What is my first topic going to be about?

Should this be another one of those whiny, "woe is me" blogs? Or an insightful, uplifting blog?

I have no idea...

What the hell am I doing on the computer at 11:30pm, writing about nothing, anyway? Shouldn't I be sleeping? Yes, I should, but I have mild ADD, and absolutely terrible insomnia. There's always a reason (excuse?) for not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.

This is Julie and Julia's fault, actually. I finished watching the movie, and decided, for an unknown reason, I should start a blog. Everybody else is doing it, right? I give it six months, tops, before I lose interest and move on to some other out-dated fad. Of course, there's always the chance that I'll stay interested...but that's slim, at best.

Besides, my life isn't glamorous, exciting, or any other uplifting adjective. It's average on good days, and up the creek without a paddle on most others. (Oh, look! A "woe is me" blog, it is!)

I live my life one day at a time, and always look on the bright side of things, even if "bright" is merely a weak star on a moonless night. (Or is it the uplifting one? I'll figure it out eventually.)

I used to be what is now referred to as "emo." I grew up, realized that everybody has problems that nobody wants to hear about, and stopped complaining about much of anything. Life moves on, the world keeps turning, even if you don't get out of bed in the morning. Every individual is forgettable. Even, and especially, those who believe they are not.

I culled my life of people who had forgotten me, and stopped taking on the problems of others. I made a resolution (one that started as a New Year's gig, and has been going strong for nearly five years) to make myself happy for a change; to do what I want, when I want to do it. The only person I matter to in the end, is me, so why should I look out for anyone else?

It backfired at first, but eventually everybody adjusted to my new attitude. My friends, the ones that matter, understood my selfishness, and let me get away with murder...for a little while. I've since been able to balance things better. I'm no longer a doormat, but I'm not always the shoe, either.

My long-time boyfriend was the one who had the hardest time adjusting to the "new" me. We fought, a lot, for a few months. He eventually realized that I wasn't his enabler anymore, and we are stronger than ever. I love him. I live for him. Mostly, though, I respect him. And that's what really matters, kids. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

If you're in it for the long haul, that's what will get you through. It's not trust (Sorry, Dr. Phil!), it's respect. If you respect your spouse, you won't cheat on them. If you respect your boss, you won't find vague excuses to call in. If you respect your parents, you won't be reluctant to answer your phone when your mother calls, just to say hello.

I suppose that's enough verbal diarrhea for the moment. It's taken me nearly 45 minutes to write this (Transporter 3 is on and Jason Statham is quite distracting), and I have more important things to do after all.