Easy A

I like to believe I'm a morally upstanding person, but sometimes I engage in morally compromised behavior. I'll refrain from driveling on about labeling theory and punishing the act and not the actor, and will remind you of the Eyptian Muslim who said I was the purest and most well-intended person he knew. Yes, me with the sheen of a halo floating above my innocent looking face - that's the image I prefer to have of myself. But there were (are) times when my devil horns impaled my halo. Like the time I earned an easy A.

Back in the day, I worked full-time as a paralegal in a law firm and took law classes at night; I wanted to be a lawyer. Over time, I developed carpel tunnel syndrome and other related ailments and it became increasingly difficult to work, let alone keep up with my school assignments, maintain a household, and take care of an abusive alcoholic husband (ah, Fuckwad) and myself. Even though I only had 4 classes remaining, I dropped out of school because I just couldn't do it all anymore. I was adamant that I continue to work, especially because I wanted to move away from Fuckwad so we tried a 12-hour a week schedule. I continued with that schedule for 4 months, exited the abusive marriage, took a month off to travel to Europe (with noticeable improvement in my symptoms), and then finally gave in and agreed to be taken off work completely. Gone were my hopes of going to law school and becoming a lawyer, but I still wanted to finish those 4 courses.

Knowing I had done the vast majority of the work for one of the classes I dropped, I telephoned the professor and arranged for a meeting at his office. I explained my situation: temporarily disabled and impending divorce from Fuckwad. We had lunch at an Italian restaurant across the street. As we waited for our meal, he confessed that he'd had a crush on me for some time (I'd taken a few classes from him). He also propositioned me to photograph and make videos of my breasts for a pornography website he was developing. At the time, my cup size was KK. Yes, KK; I didn't know that size existed either but it does and I had it. The cup of my bra fit over my head like a snowboarding beanie. How's that for a visual? I briefly contemplated the website thing, but decided against it - probably to my financial detriment. This was about 15 years ago - internet access at home was very rare but quickly on the rise, as was the bulge in my law professor's pants. I thwarted his advances coyly and turned the conversation back to my coursework. We agreed I'd conduct a literature search on a specific substantive legal topic. Then we parted ways.

When I finished part of my literature search, he suggested we meet for lunch so I drove to the restaurant he suggested. He was pleased with my paper so far, but I still had a fair amount of work to do before it was complete. He continued to hit on me and proposition me for his porn site. I wasn't attracted to him, but then I started thinking: how could I use this situation to my advantage? Did I mentioned that he was married with three children? I don't remember all that we discussed at lunch but fast forward about an hour and a half later. He walked to the restaurant and asked if I could drive him back to his office. Sure thing. But then he suggested we stop at a scenic view point close to his office. Sure thing. I like scenic view points. Then he suggested we get in the back seat. Huh? I was deer-in-the-headlights shocked, although in retrospect I should have seen it coming (tee hee hee). I looked at him with a puzzled expression, to which he responded with his hand up my skirt and his tongue in my mouth. Time to take advantage of the situation? Hummmm. We made out for a few minutes then moved to the back seat. He shoved me down, tore off my blouse, unhooked and removed my bra, and sucked on my nipples then pushed up my skirt, tugged my panties off and fingered me before he buried his face in my crotch. There was a whirlwind of clothes and body parts. He wanted a blow job but I couldn't bring myself to do it so I jerked him off instead. His sperm got in my hair. After he was finished, I dropped him off at his office and we didn't see or speak to each other again. Then an A showed up on my transcript but I never handed in my completed assignment. It was like an unspoken "please don't rat me out to the administration" gesture. It wasn't my intent to earn an A this way; but why look a gift horse in the mouth? So much for pure and well-intended. In my defense, I received As in 95% of my classes and all my grades - with the exception of this one - were earned the conventional way.

Zombie Tarot

My Zombie Tarot cards arrived on Wednesday and here's my first spread. Aren't they awesome? I pulled these cards for insight on the past, present and future of my love life:

Past - Kind of Hazards
In Zombie Tarot speak the King of Hazards symbolizes the following: "Steady, reliable, and slightly boring, the King of Hazards is shackled to his material possessions and proud to admit it. Go to him for advice on money and investing and he'll never steer you wrong. Although this person may be a valuable ally in a business endeavor, he can be somewhat distant in personal or family relationships. He may represent an older man looking out for your well-being." Three words to sum up this card: distant, hard work, and business.

Hummm. I haven't decided yet what this means in relation to my love life. Looking at some other information on this minor arcana, this card symbolizes completion of a task, fulfillment of a goal, acquisition of methods that lead to success, achievement of spiritual richness, valuing quality over quantity, learning to enjoy a full and joyful life, and spending money when appropriate to bring more joy. Yep, I've got most of these covered. 

Present - Ten of Wands
The Ten of Wands symbolizes the following: "Why does everything have to be your responsibility? Why does the horde expect you to deliver a fresh meal every night? You're trying to juggle dozens of femurs and mandibles and clavicles, but all this work has left you exhausted and ready to quit. You've got every right to feel overwhelmed, but don't fret--the cycle is ending. A new path will reveal itself soon." Three words to sum up this card: burdens, responsibility, struggle.

Yep, I identify with this card, especially after the Egyptian called me on Saturday. WTF? After an hour long conversation, I asked (begged?) him again to let me go. After he left in March, I had my astrological birth chart done; the astrologer is also an intuitive. We talked about the Egyptain and he felt that the Egyptian would never let me go and that he would always be in my life but he didn't know in what form. Maybe I just need to accept this, because it appears the astrologer is right. Each time I've asked him to get me go, he does for a little while and then he comes back to bite me in the ass. On the flip side, fuck no. He's marrying his cousin. I do feel overwhelmed at times, and I'm exhausted. The astrologer said I'm coming upon the end of a 30 year cycle, when the sun and moon cross paths. It's like the last bloom has died and the new one hasn't come up yet. Blossoming beings on October 23, then I'll start to have direction and feel passion again, and something will be born from their crossing in fall. This new path is in the stars and in the cards. At the very least this card reminds me to not get discouraged and to keep on chugging along.

Future - Page of Hazards

The Page of Hazards symbolizes the following: "The Page of Hazards is too cute to resist--plus, he's giving out killer stock tips. His arrival in the spread is a clue to a new beginning; look for opportunities involving money and education. Just be sure you're not too shackled to your current career or material possessions. Leave yourself the opportunity to lurch in new directions!" I'm not, and I am. Three words to sum up this card: responsible, determination, new beginnings.

But how to relate this to my love life? Perhaps the cards are telling me to focus on my career and to be open to moving to another city, state, or country. I've sensed for years that Settle is not the final city for me. It seems like I'm supposed to keep my options open. Lucky for me I'm already in that mindset. I'm prepared to put my non-sentimental belongings on Craig's List or donate them to charity. Or burn them in a fire pit at the beach. See? I'm open. Yay for new beginnings! Maybe a new job in a different city?

I draw tarot cards periodically, mostly for entertainment value. But sometimes they remind me of something important or help me views things from a different perspective - like even though I may feel overwhelmed I know it will pass or that I can create a new new beginning by being open to opportunities and taking some action.

Penultimate Hoop Jumping Event

Despite my lack of a Man Friday, I successfully jumped through the penultimate academic hoop - the dissertation proposal defense - on Monday, July 16. In an oral examination, I fielded and deflected questions about my proposed Ph.D. research topic: the impact of registered sex offenders on neighborhood structure, processes, and crime. My committee was pleased with my performance so I'm a Ph.D. Candidate now! Wooo hoooo! If I was still working in my Ph.D. department, I'd even get a pay raise from a poverty level stipend to, well, another poverty level stipend. As it is, I work at the university in another department in a classified staff (union) position for which I will never receive a pay raise, but that's not really an issue since I don't plan to be here that long. 

One week has passed and the excitement of becoming a Ph.D. Candidate has waned. I had several celebrations and yesterday I selected my post-Ph.D. travel destination: Greece. I have about one year's worth of work before I perform my final academic hoop jumping event - the dissertation defense - and earn my Ph.D. Then I get to go to Greece. So I'll reassert my request for a Man Friday. I'll get to Greece quicker if I have one.

I had two simple criteria for my post-Ph.D. travel destination: 1) no arranged marriages and 2) located on the Mediterranean Sea. That narrowed my options. A lot. I heard rumors that Greek men fuck goats, but I'm sure it's a vast, sweeping generalization of one event to the entire population of Greek men. It would be like saying men from Enumclaw, Washington let horses fuck them when it was only one man who did that. But, hey, if Greek men do fuck goats and I don't see it then it doesn't exist, right? It's not like they'd marry the goats. Or would they? I hear Greek women are very independent, so maybe the goats are just more complaint when it comes to fulfilling the sexual needs of Greek men. Or it could be carried over from when Ancient Egyptian and Greek priests would have sex with goats (presumably an incarnation of the god of procreation) during in their rituals. In the Middle Ages, the goat became a symbol for the devil and witches on trial were allegedly forced to confess that they had sex with the devil in the form of an animal. Who knew? 

Awwww...one of the Greek Islands...

http://bestsingletravel.com/images/Greece%20Mykonos.jpg

http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Travel/Pix/pictures/2008/03/18/mykonos.jpg 

http://www.ithakabound.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/Greek-goats.jpg 

Bon voyage for now!

Leatherface Next Door

I'm pet- and house-sitting near Seward Park. The house is one block up from Lake Washington and the third story bedroom has a balcony that overlooks the lake and park. I've set up dissertation camp on the balcony, complete with a table, chairs, an SPF 50 beach umbrella, an ice chest (which holds my dissertation-related materials), my laptop, a potted sunflower, and a large cup of vanilla spice tea. I'm preparing for Monday's Ph.D. General Exam aka my dissertation proposal defense. Finally, I know! Hence my advertisement for a Man Friday. As I work on the presentation that I'll deliver to my committee on Monday, I glance up periodically to gaze upon the serene view of the water and park. Motorboats, sailboats, and jet skis zip in and out of my view. I wish I was out there playing, but, alas I need to prepare for Monday. I'm thankful for the umbrella because it's protecting me from the sun - and rain. After a few seconds of gazing, I take a deep breath and calmly return to my presentation. Until...

Vrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm!!!! Vrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!! What the hell is that noise? It sounds like a wood chipper. I envision the scene from Fargo. (If you don't know it, you can view it on YouTube at (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qWFhDvURLg). Ahhh - the joys of being in the suburbs. After what seems like a couple hours of this constant, loud and penetrating noise I envision myself shoving the wood chipper operator head first into said wood chipper. I call my mom to complain, then remind her of the time when I was studying for an important exam and she decided that was the perfect time to rake the rocks in the planter under my bedroom window. We laughed. We discussed the need to control one's environment at times. Fortunately, this isn't one of those times because the wood chipper keeps on chipping. How much wood do these wood chipper people have? Not really annoyed, but more as a procrastination technique to avoid working on my presentation (much like I'm doing now by writing this post), I investigate the source of the noise: it's a power washer. Well, I certainly don't know my noises, now do I? The neighbor across the street is wearing those pants and boots that fishermen wear - but no yellow slicker and he's clearly missing his hook-for-a-hand - and he's power washing the curb. The CURB! I didn't know that some people in Seattle had power washers (tisk tisk for water conservation), and I didn't know that some people had such high standards for their residential curbs. Hummm. I remind myself that life is based on diversity. Finally the faux I Know What You Did Last Summer fisherman power washer finishes his project. Ahhhhh. Serenity. I can hear the distant muttering of boat motors, people laughing, children calling for their mothers. Back to my presentation. Until...

Grrzrrrrrrzzrrzzzzrrrzzzzzzzz! Grrrrzzzzrrrrrrrrzzzrrrr! Apparently Leatherface lives next door. I hope he's using his chainsaw to cut trees and shrubs rather than turning unsuspecting passersby into the main ingredient for the family's chili recipe. Otherwise, it's Seattle Chainsaw Massacre right next door. I didn't have to investigate much, because the noise is coming directly from my left. I look down into the yard below and lo and behold there's a man with a chainsaw. Leatherface asks me if he can come across the property line to finish cutting hedges. So long as you don't scale the balcony and turn me into chili, sure thing! I attribute my accurate noise detection skills to my many viewings of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre series. If there was a Power Washer Killer series, I'm sure I would have accurately detected the power washer noise. I only viewed Fargo a few times - you betcha! - so maybe a few more viewings are in order given my lack of distinction between the sounds of a wood chipper and a power washer. So long as Jason, Michael, and Freddy keep their distance today, it's all good. Chhhhhhhhh chhhhhhh chhhhhhhh Ahhhh ahhhhhh ahhhhhh.

I need to write about boys. Soon. But now...back to my presentation.

Post Script: With 100% accuracy, I identified the sound of the Blue Angels as they flew over Lake Washington a mere 2.5 hours after I posted this. This is definitely the day for loud sounds. I wonder what other loud sounds are in store for tonight?

Man Friday

Now accepting applications for a Man Friday.

Duties include preparing meals, packing lunches, grocery shopping, doing laundry, dish washing, vacuuming, cleaning, and generally making my life easier.

Compensation is sketchy.
Inquire within.

Lame Pick Up Line

I went out last Friday night to hear some live surf music at Slim's Last Chance (the same venue from the Leopard Dress post). It was a last minute thing and I felt too blob-like to wear my leopard dress so I wore regular clothes: my favorite faded-and-ready-for-the-donation-bin-but-at-least-it-fits black skirt, a blouse, and flip flops. I forgot my flask, so I ordered a Sailor Jerry and diet coke. For $6.50 I got the tiniest plastic cup ever filled to the rim with ice, a jigger of Sailor Jerry, and a dash of diet coke. Seriously, it was just a tad bigger than a bathroom-size Dixie cup. For $6.50. What a gyp. All the tables and chairs were occupied, but there were two empty stools are the bar. One each for me and my invisible friend; if I had an invisible friend his name would be Augie.

I asked the man to my left if the bar stools were taken. Nope. I promptly planted myself on the stool next to him and sipped my tiny drink. Then he chatted me up. His name was John; he's a regular there. John introduced me to the bartenders and some of his friends who were also regulars. Was I in an episode of Cheers? Did everyone know everyone else's names? John and his friend Mike were pretty lit - or at least they accused each other of being lit but I wouldn't know the difference because this was our first meeting. When he'd point out a person he knew, John kept referring to them as "good people." He's good people. She's good people. Never mind the grammatical error in his speech (or perhaps he can't count), but I'd have been surprised if he said "he's a fucking asshole but I love hanging out with him because he trips people who are blind and beats up puppy dogs." Who would say that? His opinion of his friends and acquaintances was like an eulogy on a feedback loop: good people, good people, good people. By the way, there was a hot man with an amputated leg at the show. He was wearing a shirt with a logo for the armed forces amputee games. At first I thought it was a spoof (like the S & M Hello Kitty shirt my friend has) but then I saw his prosthetic leg and realized he probably participated in the amputee games. How hot is that?

Anyway, John was surprised that I was there to hear music rather than eat chili. To each their own, dude. I was getting bored with the conversation but I blew my conversation exit when the opportunity arose: John apologized for monopolizing my time because he was certain that my husband or boyfriend would be joining me any minute. Nice fishing expedition, buddy. I laughed and explained that I had neither a boyfriend nor a husband. He was surprised and asked why. I replied "because I apparently have difficulty identifying good people." I figured he'd understand my "good people" comment. Then he said "you're in your 20s so you have plenty of time." Yeah, multiply that by two dude. When I told him I was 42 he said "I bet you've been married four times and have a litter of children." Wow - nothing more sexy than cynicism with an air of defeat. I corrected his inaccurate assumption: I've been married twice and have no children. He congratulated me for a job well done. According to him, my not having children was the best thing ever. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Thankfully the music started and I thought that would silence him. Wrong. I became annoyed. First, I was there to hear the music. Second, I couldn't hear what he was saying and I'm sure whatever he said ended in "good people" anyway. And third, I wasn't interested in this guy. He's a single-serving companion I met at a bar and whom I had no interest in seeing again. Now if I found him attractive or was drawn to him in someway - like the man with the amputated leg - that would have been a different story.

I finally told John that I couldn't hear him and that I wanted to listen to the music anyway, so he tried his best to remain silent until the break. Banzai Surf was great. We chatted a bit during the break, and then towards the end of Aloha Screwdriver's set his friend Mike told me that John was shy and that I would have to be the aggressor in the relationship. Um, what relationship? Then he said that if John didn't get my number, John was an idiot. Was getting my number the only thing that would prevent John from being labeled an idiot? I didn't know him well enough to decide either way. Then I overheard Mike telling John that he better get my number because "she obviously likes you because she sat next to you and talked to you." Wow...that's some deductive reasoning if I ever heard some. Did Mike take into account that the stool on which I sat was one of two seats left in place? Had I sat in the seat further away from John, I would have had beer taps in my face and a guys back at my side. Damn man-logic. Perhaps men would be smarter if they consulted with women before making judgments and assumptions? I'm sure this is true for women too. In any case, Mike teased John about getting my number. Apparently there was a consensus among John's friends about it, because after the music ended I announced I was leaving and John said "all my friends said I should get your number." Wow. Lame pick up line if I ever heard one. If I wasn't already disinterested, asking for my number in such a passive way solidified my disinterest. I explained that I wasn't interested in dating but I gave him my number anyway but he's too shy to call. I wonder what he would say if he does call? "Hi, my friends said I should call you." Think for yourself, man. Sigh. It's amazing the snap judgments we make when we meet people. Even though I remind myself that first impressions aren't everything, they're something. Sometimes you just have to follow your gut's advice. Any my gut's advice says to enjoy the night for what it was, lame pick-up line and all.

Dating Jay: Part Two

After our lovey (note the sarcasm) first date which lasted from Sunday afternoon to Monday morning (see post Dating Jay: Part One), Jay and I spoke on Monday night. He elaborated on what a great time he had with me, and how he planned to come to my place on Tuesday night, "and the next night, and the night after that" because he liked me so much. Uh, no. I explained that I didn't have any free time that week and that I wouldn't be able to see him until the weekend. He wasn't pleased but I made a concession and offered to go to his place that weekend. For a girl who's flown to two foreign countries to spend time with long distance lovers, driving 60 miles to Jay's place would be a piece of cake. He liked the idea, especially because the weather forecast promised thunderstorms - or, as he called it, "baby making weather" - for the weekend. WTF? Date 2 is NOT A BABY MAKING DATE!!! Unless, of course, I was engaging my backup plan of whoring around and getting knocked up but that wasn't (and isn't) my modus operandi. Red Flag Alert! Red Flag Alert! How do I attract these weirdos?! I deflected his comment by laughing and saying that I needed to finish my dissertation before I make any babies. And given that he was shooting blanks anyway, I'm not sure why the idea of "baby making weather" bother me so much. Oh yeah, it was creepy! But my deflection appeased him, and then he quizzed me on just how long it would take me to finish my dissertation. I could feel him adding my anticipated time to completion of my Ph.D. to my age, and him thinking that at 43 or 44 I would still be fertile enough to have a baby. I changed the topic again and mentioned I was really tired. He asked why and I answered honestly: his snoring and having someone new in my bed. I laughed and said that when I visited him on the weekend I'd likely sleep on his sofa or in a separate room. Oooo. This started a lengthy debate.

He proceeded to chastise and lecture me because "the worst thing you could ever do is leave the bedroom, because my mom abandoned me when I was 10 and I have abandonment issues." Red Flag! Oh joy. As a military person, he "could sleep through anything" and I'd "better get use to his snoring" because I "would not be allowed to leave the bed." WTF? I was confused: I would have to suffer through his snoring (and change myself) because he had abandonment issues (and didn't want to change himself). I pointed out the unfairness of his argument, but he was too self-absorbed to see my point. Ref Flag! After 45 minutes of this bullshit, I felt beat down and was in tears. He reminded me of my first ex-husband who was very controlling and possessive. I finally ended the conversation; it was upsetting upsetting, and I didn't want to talk about it anymore. We said our good nights but he wanted me to check in with him the next night; like an idiot, I did. At least he apologized for being a jerk the night before. Then he wanted me to check in with him every night that week; he confessed he'd become insecure and jealous if he wasn't able to reach me or if I didn't check in. Rue the day I forgot my phone and he couldn't reach me. Again, it was like the beginning of my first marriage; the noose around my independence felt tight. Red Fag! All this, and after only one date. It was like we were together for years and I'd done a multitude of immoral and dishonest things for which I had to pay the consequences, yet I had done nothing. Jay also had a massage table at home and wanted me to give him massages. Apparently he wanted a nursemaid too. Fuck that. I didn't want to deal with this.

We were supposed to have our second date on Saturday night. On Saturday morning, I went to the Chocolate Festival at Bell Harbor and planned on heading to his place after that. But the thought of putting fuel in my car to make the journey didn't seem appealing, let alone driving to his place and spending time with him. Ewwww. I called my second ex-husband and my dad to vet my misgivings about the situation. Both of them encouraged me to run like hell away from this guy. At the time I was supposed to start my journey to his place, I called and canceled the date. I told him I didn't want to jump full fledged into a committed relationship; he was appalled that I wanted to see other people and was concerned that having his sperm on ice at UW Medical Center was the main factor in my decision to cancel our date. Yeah, frozen sperm was the deal breaker. Whatever dude. He didn't seem too surprised that I canceled our date; he likes to "lay things on thick" at the beginning. His form of "laying it on thick" translated into desperation and insecurity. And he wonders why he's still single. By now he may have dooped some poor, unsuspecting woman into being his frozen sperm baby-making machine, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be me. Yes, Jay was a real gem. If by "gem" I mean "polished turd."

Boys: The Early Days (Part One)

I was in the processing of writing Part Two of my dating experience with Jay when I started thinking about some of my earlier experiences with boys. I wish I could say "I cannot imagine a world without douche bag men," but I can't. I'm cursed with the ability to be loving, kind, forgiving, compassionate, and optimistic so I believe there's a non-douche bag man meant for me living somewhere in this world. Even so, some of my earlier experiences with boys should have clued me in that men can be jerks.

When I was in elementary school, my parents moved around a lot. Being the new kid in school almost every year, I didn't have many friends. No, I wasn't one of those kids who sat in the corner, sucked her thumb, and rocked back and forth to comfort herself - that was the girl in my seventh grade calligraphy class. But, in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Paris. Paris had brown hair and blue eyes; he was shorter than me. Funny name for a boy, but I thought it was cool. One day during recess, I was jumping rope with some girls. My tube-top dress (hey, it was the 1970's) worked its way down a bit. My breasts were exposed briefly before I pulled my dress back up. Yes, I had breasts in the fourth grade; they were huge by the time I hit fifth grade. Giggling, Paris confessed that he'd gotten a quick peak at my breasts. What was I supposed to do with this information? I laughed nervously and changed the subject. I'm sure shifty eyes on my behalf were also involved. Then, on the last day of school, the thing to do was spray people with shaving cream so he sprayed shaving cream all over my hair. Those fourth graders were hardcore, man. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I saw Paris; I went to a new school the following year. Too bad, because I would have liked to have reported to Paris that my hair was so soft from all that shaving cream. This was perhaps the best and most wholesome encounter I ever had with a boy, sans a few good dates or encounters here and there much later in life.

A few years later, I had a crush on the blonde haired, blue eyed, athletic A.S. whom I'd never met. Yet, I dared myself to knock on his front door, and then ran down the street screaming bloody murder when his younger brother answered it (see May 10th post), but that wasn't really a boy thing; that was a me thing.

When I was in ninth grade (still in junior high), I found out through the grapevine that I was voted the girl with the "second biggest breasts on campus." Erin won the votes for biggest breasts. I didn't even know boys noticed me, yet they were voting on the size of my breasts. Man was I clueless, or what? Humph.

In the tenth grade, the boys were even more fascinated with my breasts so I wore a white sweatshirt to keep them covered at all times, regardless of what I was wearing underneath. I'm still convinced that my mom took my beloved and protective white sweatshirt away from me and burned it, and she wouldn't buy me a new one so I think it was a ploy to get me more comfortable with my body. Anyway, my friend David and I had P.E. together, and we were getting ready to run laps. He stood in front of me, put his hand on the zipper pull of my white sweatshirt (I forgot my t-shirt, so I only had on my bra and the sweatshirt), then asked me "What would you do if I pulled this down?" I just laughed and swatted his hand away. A week later, I was on the swim team. There was no way I was running in front of boys, not with my boobs bouncing all over the place for their amusement. Plus, my breasts were quite large and it hurt to run. As it was, when I was playing baseball in ninth grade, my bra broke while I was running bases. My left boob nearly struck me in the eye. I didn't want a repeat of that in high school. I shared this story with my swim teammates and one of them dubbed me "B.E." for Black Eyes. For the most part, being on the swim team was great. Sometimes David would watch me swim, which didn't bother me. But when we practiced during lunch time, a regular P.E. class would come in just as we finished practice and the boys would steal my towel so I wasn't able to cover my breasts. Boys can be insensitive buffoons. 

I met David in junior high. David had long brown hair and brown eyes; he was a little taller than me and was half-Italian. He marched to the beat of his own drum - he was part goth, punk, and hippie. Even though I'm pretty sure he took part in voting on my breasts, we became friends in tenth grade. We walked home from school together, and occasionally took detours to get Chocodiles at the convenience store. We were 15. One day close to the end of the school year (May 15 to be exact - and I remember that because the next day was a very important day in my life, and it's an anniversary I still celebrate with my mom), we went to David's house after school. We watched VH-1, he showed me his pet rats, I met his dog, and we talked. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he put his hand on my chest and pushed back so that I laid down. While we were laying side by side on his bed, he ran his hands across my chest and then my breasts. I froze, like the quintessential deer in headlights. What the heck was going on? I thought "I guess this is the day I learn to kiss someone." He had a girlfriend before so I'm sure he was experienced. I, on the other hand, was not. We were fully clothed, but he maneuvered himself on top of me. I didn't object but I'm sure he could feel my heart pounding through my chest. He told me that he liked it that I was pretty and "not a ditz," like other pretty girls he knew. Thankfully, I didn't learn how to kiss that day. I wasn't ready for that stuff. At the end of the next school day, I was waiting outside the side entrance to our high school. David asked me who I was waiting for and I answered honestly "my mom." He nodded and smiled, and continued on his way. I felt like an asshole, but I had other things to deal with that afternoon and my mom was on her way. After that, we didn't walk home together and we didn't talk much. Maybe I wounded his precious ego by unintentionally dismissing him? Who knows? David, I suppose. But I still liked him enough that I wanted to lose my virginity to him. I didn't see him over the summer, and during the next school year a friend of mine took it upon herself to write David a letter telling him that I liked him. That didn't go over too well. I remember crying. David and I would look at each other - sometimes he would stare at me during class - but we didn't speak much again. It was too awkward.

For my 16th birthday, my friends and I went to Disneyland. I met Eddie. Eddie had brown hair and blue eyes, and was the same height as me. I don't remember where my friends were, but Eddie and I hung out and went on various rides. We stopped by a fence that separated us from a ride, and he romantically asked if he could kiss me. My first kiss! I cleverly said "I've never kissed a boy before. I haven't kissed a girl either." I guess even then I was open-minded. Eddie and I kissed - it was so slimy and weird. At the end of the day, we exchanged phone numbers. His family was from Florida, and they were in Southern California on holiday for two weeks. He called me the next night and asked if I could come to the beach with him, but my parents said no. Eddie and I never spoke again. Our relationship was doomed from the beginning, given our geographic barrier. Oh well.

My best friend (the same friend who wrote a letter to David - damn her) and I were 16 when she acquired a boyfriend named Bill. Bill was a few years older than us, and seemed nice enough but there was some buzz that he wasn't that great of a guy. One night he came over to my home, under the guise of wanting to speak with me about his relationship with my best friend. We chatted for a while, I showed him my architectural drafting designs (I wanted to be an architect), and then I called his girlfriend. While I was on the phone with her, he thought it was perfect time to whip out his penis. While I didn't approve, I couldn't help but look at it because I hadn't seen a penis before, other than the time I accidentally saw my dad's when he was standing naked under the door jam during an earthquake but that was different and I certainly didn't want to stare at my dad's thingy. Ewwww. The head of Bill's penis looked like a mushroom top, and the shaft had veins! What's a girl to do? I poked it and quickly petted it, but then asked him to put it away. He did. Aren't men great?

I met John in high school; he was a combo of goth and punk who wore eyeliner and nail polish. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and was the same height as me. He always wore Levi's with holes in the knees so I gave him the nickname of Mr. Holy Knees or MHK for short. We liked each other and always said hi when we saw each other, but I'm guessing the whole "not cool to be with a smart girl" thing got in the way. Or maybe it was more about dealing with the aftermath of his crystal meth overdose. Regardless, we dated for a week or two right after we graduated from high school. We hung out, listened to music, and went to different places like the movies or the county fair. One night, we got partially naked. He ate me out and then told me seductively that he couldn't "be the only one giving." John and I stood naked from the waist down, listened to The Cure, and embraced each other while kissing. But when his penis started rubbing on my clit, I completely froze. He was perceptive and noticed that I wasn't "ready." I guess as a 17 year old high school graduate, I should have been a lot farther along in the sexual education department, but I wasn't. I'd been felt up, kissed, and touched a penis, but that was it and I wasn't ready to become more knowledgeable yet. After that night, we stopped dating. Surprise, surprise. I guess boys want to spend time with girls who will fuck them, but we remained friends and I got him a job at the pizza place where I worked.

Then there was Dean. Dean was my dad's friend and was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. I'd known Dean for at least 10 years, but when I was 17 (he was 27) there seemed to be some sexual tension between us. Sometimes he would stay with us for months at a time, and I always liked it when he was there because he was funny and liked weird music. He also taught me a lot - like how to parallel park a car. I still thank him when I have to pull my car into a tight spot. After an evening with John, I strolled in around 4am. Dean was in the living room watching television, so I perched myself on the sofa next to him. After asking me about my night with John, Dean smacked my pubic area and told me to be a good girl with my "pee-pee." I assumed he meant vagina. On another night, Dean gave me a seemingly innocent back rub while I was resting my back on his chins, but then he started caressing my chest, letting his hands go further down my blouse. I was confused. Why was he touching me in this way? I wasn't sure what to do, but then there was a creak on the hardwood floor, so he withdrew his hand. Phew. On another night we went jogging; he told me his favorite part of a woman's body was the spot between her vagina and anus. Then, as if I didn't know where that spot was on my own body, he reached between my legs from behind and pinched me there. Did I mention he had a girlfriend? Even at age 17, I was already attracting weirdness into my life.

Eric and I met at the pizza place where I worked. We liked each other and were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few of months. Eric was tall, had short blonde hair and blue eyes. We held hands and kissed, went to Knott's Scary Farm, went camping with my family, had dinners with his mom and step-dad, and even met his elusive dad for dinner - all was good. And he didn't pressure me for sex. He was still in high school and I had recently graduated, so he was a year younger than me. My first "younger man." Hee hee hee. John started dating an older woman so I teased him about it, and he teased me about dating a younger man. Anyway, I had long, naturally white blonde hair that Eric loved, but a couple months after I turned 18, I had it cut above my shoulders in a much more sophisticated style. I still remember Eric's expression when he saw my much shorter hair: like someone had just killed his puppy and made him eat it for dinner. He was so sad and disappointed. I didn't know he was thinking "Now I have to break-up with her; what's the best way to do this?" I didn't see him for a couple of days, but it was around Christmas time and we were both busy. I was working extra hours at a record store and he was still working at the pizza place, so I didn't think anything of it. Then, while I was away for Christmas, he put my Christmas gift through the mail slot of my front door. When I called to thank him for the gift (a beautiful, silver bracelet), he broke up with me. I wasn't particularly heart broken that our relationship ended, but I was dumbfounded that he broke up with me because I cut my hair. Over the years, my hair has gotten darker so even if I hadn't cut my hair way back then, and even if we stayed together for a several years, he probably would have dumped me when my hair got too dark for him. He later found a girl at his high school with long, blonde hair, and he dated her. I say again, aren't men great?

And then stuff gets weirder. To be continued...

To My Biggest Fan

It was so great to see you last night! I hope you had a wonderful birthday celebration; I'm glad I got to share part of it with you. You look amazing and vibrant, as always. To answer your parting question: I didn't have sex with him. I enjoyed talking with him, we closed out $9M, and then continued our conversation - just conversation - in my car since it was near freezing outside. Burrr. I was intrigued by him and his tattoo of a scorpion, especially given my recent experience with Jeff the Scorpion. When it was time to part, he shook my hand, said it was nice to talk with me, and that he'd friend me on FB. I like rollin' in at 3:30am once in a while. It seems the later I stay out, the younger I feel. :) I wish you a fabulous birthday weekend!!

Love, Me

Source: http://www.pinksith.com/2009/07/happy-birthday-pink-sith-blog-oh-yeah.html 

Jeff the Scorpion: Feelin' Sadie

Meet Jeff. 

This is Jeff - the black thing above the rock

Jeff is my nephew's pet.

Jeff is a scorpion.

Isn't he cute? Yeah...real cute.

My nephew's being deployed to Afghanistan in fall and will be gone for nine months. Who will be Jeff's caretaker? Moi. Why? Because, like an idiot, I offered. It seemed like Jeff would be an easy pet for whom to care: no walks, no poop clean-up, no stringent feeding or watering times, no barking. He lives in an aquarium and eats crickets sold at pet stores. Easy peasy, right? Uh, no. I also have to "play" with Jeff. Gulp. "Play" means "let him walk on my body." Ack.

After finding out about this scorpion play time, I reconsidered my offer. Let a scorpion play on my body? No fucking way. Scenes from Sealab 2021's All That Jazz episode flashed through my mind: Captain Murphy got stuck under a soda machine, then Ben (the scorpion) stung him repeatedly and laid eggs in his belly button, and then the rescue toaster collected Captain Murphy's teeth and made a tooth necklace. Well, I didn't have soda machine or a rescue toaster, so the odds were good I wouldn't meet the same fate as Captain Murphy. Even so, I was afraid to play with Jeff. Plain and simple. Sure, Nephew had been playing with Jeff for as long as he's had him and Nephew's still alive to tell about it, so it couldn't be that bad right? Yikes. My fear of Jeff compelled me to take on the challenge. I could overcome this fear.

Nephew is in California for a month for training, so I picked up Jeff, his habitat (an aquarium), and two live crickets on Thursday night to give this whole scorpion-pet-sitting-thing a trial run. Better one month than nine, right? If I couldn't handle one month then Nephew could make alternate arrangements for the nine months. Nephew put the aquarium in the back set of my car, we seat belted it in, and made sure the top cover was secure. Then Nephew gave me a quick once over of how to care for Jeff: keep him in the warmest room of the house, mist his habitat once or twice a day, feed him a cricket or two every few days (if the crickets are still alive after a couple days, "break their little legs"), and play with him every couple of days. To get him out of the aquarium: corner Jeff on the side of the aquarium with a flat rock that he could climb on. To get him back into the cage: let him climb off my body and onto his castle which I would then use to put him back into his aquarium. With this wealth of knowledge, I drove Jeff home.

I glanced in the back seat every so often to make sure the top was still on the aquarium. It was. Phew. After we got home, I set Jeff up in the living room. Then I attempted get him on the rock but I thought I was going to squish him. I kept trying and eventually Jeff climbed on the rock, but then he was sooooo close to my hand that I freaked out. I set the rock and him back down in the aquarium before he could scale my arm. I taped aquarium top more securely to the aquarium, so he or the crickets had no chance of getting out. I'd prefer not to be stung by a scorpion while I was sleeping. Lucky for me, I was still pet-sitting Milish and sleeping at her house on Thursday and Friday nights - a stay of execution of sorts.

On Friday night, my friend and I went to the day spa to relax. I was so relaxed that I fell asleep quickly and slept through for nearly 7 hours - a rare thing these days. Then I realized I had to go home and play with a scorpion. Gulp. Then I saw a text message from Nephew and we exchanged these text messages over a 3 hour period: 

Nephew: "How's Jeff treatin ya?"

Me: "He's good. Got him on the rock but not yet in my hand. Getting there. :)"

Nephew: "Ya he's been movin quicker lately. Just push him on your hand, he'll go on." 

Me: "Ack. Ok. I can do it!!"

Nephew: "U just say ack?! I believe in u. LOL."

Me: "Ack!! :) I believe in me too. I can do it. I will do it."

I had taken care of Milish and delayed going home as long as possible, but I had to bake cupcakes for my friend's birthday festivities, so I had to go home sometime. Just in case something went horribly wrong with my upcoming encounter with Jeff, I wanted to bake the cupcakes first. What if he stung me and I was in too much pain to take the cupcakes out of the oven? No. Cupcakes first. Then Jeff.

Nephew: "Stfu with the ack haha. LOL. It's a scorpion who's name is Jeff. You'll be fine. LOL."

Me: "Yes, he's deceptively innocent. Until he jumps on my face and stings me in the eye. :) I will overcome my fear after I take a shower."

Nephew: "Haha u got it."

Ahh, my encounter with Jeff delayed again. What if he stung me and I had an allergic reaction and needed to call an emergency rescue team? Better to be clean and good smelling. Plus, what if Jeff didn't like the way I smelled? Can scorpions smell? Yes, showering first seemed best. I cherished my shower, just in case it was my last. Then I delayed a bit more by doing some internet research on how to handle scorpions and how to treat a scorpion sting or pinch. Not surprisingly, nearly every website said not to handle the scorpion unless it was an absolute necessity, like cleaning its cage. Great. Thanks Nephew. But another website had information on less harmful scorpions and how they could relatively safely walk on people's bodies. There were many photos with scorpions perched on shoulders or arms. Yes, Jeff must be one of those less harmful scorpions. Based on the sting/pinch treatment information, I had antiseptic cleanser, ointment, and ice packs at the ready (and they will remain at the ready while Jeff is in my custody).

I turned on music, then was concerned that Jeff may not like the music I was playing so I kept the sound low. Can scorpions hear? Seems I need to do more internet research. Then I remembered that Nephew left a pair of his shorts at my place, so I put them on for good luck.

Me: "You left a pair of shorts here so I just put them on in hopes Jeff thinks I'm u :|"

Nephew: "Wtf. He's not some dangerous ass creature hahaha. You're wimpin out haha"

Yeah, maybe not to Nephew but Jeff was a "dangerous ass creature" to me! And I was totally wimping out and Nephew called me on it. I read that a soup ladle was a good instrument to remove a scorpion from its habitat, so I tried that instead of the rock. I liked the ladle better because it had a long handle to separate us.

Jeff in my ladle

 Me: "My heart is pounding. Ack."

My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it would come out of my chest. I was as excited as I was afraid. There's a fine line between fear and excitement. Even so, I couldn't bring myself to let Jeff on my hand so I made a towel barrier. I had another dish towel and a spatula next to me, just in case Jeff tried to escape and I needed to wrangle him.

Jeff of my lap with a kitchen towel separating us

I let Jeff run around on the kitchen towel, and he kept walking to the edges so I had to turn the towel around and around so he'd have a place to walk. Letting them drop from a height could injure or kill a scorpion, so I didn't want Jeff to fall. I put the towel on my hand and he sat there and then continued moving about. Then I put my hand close to him, but still couldn't bring myself to let him come on board my body and I pulled my hand away.

I sent the above pictures to Nephew. His response?

Nephew: "Pussy"

I thought I was making great progress: zero to scorpion on towel on my lap in less than 2 minutes (let's just forget about all the time I spent delaying even getting to this point...). That was pretty damn good in my book. I put Jeff back in his aquarium.

Me: "Baby steps. I had him on a towel in my hand."

Me: "Next time I will let him run on my hand."

Then I thought about it. Pussy? Was he challenging me? He was certainly calling me out. Maybe I was being a pussy, and I'm no pussy. Fuck. Today would be the day I let Jeff walk on my body. Shit. Maybe I am a pussy? Nope. I'm not a pussy. Damn it, Nephew. What the fuck? Okay. I could do this. Ack! I used the ladle and a spoon to get Jeff out of his aquarium again - two utensils work better then one because you can nudge him with one and he can run into the other one. Then I maneuvered him on the towel, which was on my hand. Then I let him rip. Ahhhhhhhhh!

Jeff getting ready to walk on my hand
See how his tail and stinger are curved up?

Plop...he's on my hand! My heart was pounding and my arm and hand were shaking.

Jeff navigating my hand
His tail and stinger are still up

He's on the move...
See how his tail and stinger have relaxed?

Nephew says he likes body heat 

Just cruisin' along

And now he's on my thigh

I was so excited by the turn of events that I sent Nephew the following messages:
Me: "I love him!!! His little legs feel so light and soft of my skin."
Me: "All it took was you calling me a pussy...LOL."
Me: "And I didn't shit in your shorts. We're all happy now."
Nephew: "Hahahahahaha. There ya go. If he moves too high just put your hand in front of him. He'll back it up. Haha."
Me: "His pincers and stinger seemed relaxed when he was on me. They seemed more at the ready when I was scooping him up."
Nephew: "Hahaha ya he gets pissed when he has to leave LOL. They like the warmth from your skin."
Me: "I even called my dad to tell him I survived. LOL. He's concerned because he thinks I'm gonna get a tattoo of a scorpion. Dork."
Me: "I'm gonna get Jeff a mister today. I'm excited about playing with him tomorrow. :)"
Nephew: "Oh u don't have to do that Aunty. Haha I already am. Haha"
Me: "Who knows. I'm crazy enuf. LOL."
Nephew: "Haha right LOL. Before I leave I'm debating what I'm gonna get done first on my tats. If I have enough I'll do my side and back yeaugh"
Me: "Let's go to my place in Everett and get tatted together!"

Then we discussed tattoo stuff a bit more. The funny thing is, I hadn't considered getting a tattoo of a scorpion until my dad expressed his concern over it. I have five tattoos already; they represent inner growth from two significant transitions and I've just passed through another one that started about 2 years ago. For the past few weeks, I've been entertaining the idea of getting another tattoo to mark this transition. I rather like the idea of a scorpion tattoo. I imagine him perched on my right shoulder, above my angel cherries tattoo. Maybe his pincer could hold the cherries' stems? That I imagine him perched on the angel cherries side is significant. My right shoulder has angel cherries and my right forearm has a regular cupcake. My left shoulder has devil cherries and my right forearm has a skull cupcake. Right side = good. Left side = bad.

I view my experience with Jeff as overcoming a fear; as something good. I was afraid of Jeff, so I offered to take care of him and play with him so I could confront my fear (and take care of Nephew's pet, of course). I usually do well at confronting my fears (especially when someone calls me a pussy) and I tend to carry on in the face of fear. Like scorpions, sometimes life pinches or stings but I will not let my fear of getting hurt stop me from living. Read: ain't no asshole gonna keep me down. Perhaps Jeff will pinch me or sting me in the coming month or in the fall when I begin caring for him for nine months. He's a scorpion - that's what scorpions sometimes do. If I get stung, I'll pick him up again the next day because that's what I do. At the moment, I cannot think of a better symbol for life, transition and confronting fears than a scorpion. Yes, I'm feelin' sadie (see post What's In a  Name?).

Video of Jeff

Dating Jay: Part One

Last year, in the wake of the Egyptian's departure, I joined Match.com to expand my mate-finding options. According to advertisements, 1 in 5 relationships begin via dating websites. (Note to self: 80% of relationships start offline.) As in meeting people in general, I heard that I'd have to mine various bits of coal in order to find my diamond. In the time I used Match.com to meet potential mates, I mined a lot of coal but didn't find my diamond. Not even a diamond in the rough. Perhaps I should have tried longer? I'll share some stories and you tell me. Here's one:

Jay was a real gem. I received the following email within a few hours of joining Match: "My name is [Jay] and I would love to know yours. Your profile is absolutely outstanding. You seem very much like the kind of fun lady I am looking for. Where in the southern CA did you come from? I was born in [redacted] but went to high school in [redacted]. If you asked me, and I realize that you didn't LOL, our profiles seem to resonate well with each other. I am curious to see if we would get along as well as I suspect. Naturally this is where you post your vote since it takes two to tango. : ) Not that I have ever tangoed before, but I would love to learn with a willing partner. So....would the lady care to dance? Cheers," [Jay].

Hummmm. Yes, my profile was absolutely outstanding. I couldn't agree more. Yes, I'm a fun lady. He's very perceptive. Or I was able to portray my funness (is that a word?) in my profile. Intrigued, I read his profile. He was right again: it was like we could have written each other's profiles. Why I decided to post my profile the day before I left for my 10-day trip to Oahu is still a mystery to me (oh yeah, I figured it would take a while before men saw and responded to my profile, newbie that I was) but Jay and I exchanged a couple of emails in the 18 hours before my flight. He wasted no time asking for my phone number. Was the man stalking the new postings? Apparently so. In the essence of saving more time, I gave it to him. He called and wanted to meet me that day because the wanted to "get [me] while [I was] still fresh" (code for new Match.com meat). Red flag? How long had this guy been on Match.com? Geeze. Mae was picking me up in a few hours to take me to the airport so I didn't have time to meet. Instead, Jay and I talked for nearly 3 hours while I picked up a package from UPS, and then prepared and packed for my trip. I enjoyed our conversation, but had a inkling that he was a bit too intense and serious. Not that "intense" and "serious" are bad things, but sometimes I feel drained after being around people who are both intense and serious. But, because I tend to look for the good in everyone, I disregarded my "too intense and too serious" judgement. Turns out he lived on Oahu for a few years so he gave me a list of places he thought I might like to visit. That was cool. On the way to the airport, I told Mae all what I knew about Jay, sans the too intense and too serious stuff since I disregarded it. Jay sounded potentially promising.

While I was on Oahu, Jay and I talked numerous times, and sometimes for several hours. He instructed me several times to be a "good girl." Uh, red flag? I hadn't even met this guy and he was already trying to regulate my behavior. I'll do what I damn well please until I'm a committed relationship with someone, thank you very much fossilized carbon man. He also suggested I stay away from the "bad" part of town; locals and tourists were afraid of the northwest part of the island due to some violent events that happened in the 1970s and 1980s. Me, afraid? Nope. I was intrigued. My travel book said the area was safe despite the bad press, so I went to that part of the island and had a marvelous time lounging on the uninhabited beaches. So what if I looked over my shoulder every now and again to make sure I was safe?

One night while I was driving from the North Shore back to Honolulu (I went to the North Shore a lot), he sounded very down so I inquired about it. Out came the "I get depressed because I'm not married and I don't have kids" spiel. That's a lot to lay on someone before you met them. Red flag? I appreciated his honesty. As a woman who's aging herself out of her childbearing years, I understood about his desire to have children but at least he had the ability to father children at virtually any age. His eggs weren't dying as we spoke, now were they? But did I say that? Hell no. I was new to dating, but didn't feel the need to drag down the conversation with my "dying eggs" and my "potential to birth only mutant children."

Although we did have some serious conversations, I tried to keep things on the light side by answering his previous-relationships questions honestly but very briefly. Divorced twice: abusive marriage followed by sexless marriage. Most recent lover will marry his cousin. Ex-boyfriend set fire to my car, etc. I shared these blips while laughing about my crazy luck with men. Then I lightened things up more by giving him my newly developed pre-dating quiz: 1) Do you have a problem with alcohol or drugs? No, but he took a lot of prescription pain meds for his back. A couple of his discs were crushed during his stint in the military. 2) Do you like Rush (the music group)? (The correct answer is "no"). Actually, he liked Rush but assured me that he wouldn't make me see them. Phew. I could not and would not withstand another assault by Geddy Lee on my vision and ears. 3) Do you belong to a culture or family that requires you to have an arranged marriage to your cousin (now expanded to non-relatives)? No. Excellent. We could continue talking.

Even though I tried to keep things light, he talked a lot about his childhood and how his mom "abandoned" him. Uh, another red flag? In his mom's defense, it seemed that she had a problem with drugs and, when he was 10 or 11, she left for three days to sort out her shit. 35+ years later, Jay was still discussing "abandonment issues" in therapy. That he was in therapy (three times a week) sort of frightened me, yet I felt like a hypocrite because I see my therapist once or twice a month, depending on what I'm working on at the time. Dude's got some issues if he's in therapy three times a week. Holy shit. But far be it for me to pass judgment. At least he was getting help, but I didn't think I wanted to get involved with someone who had so many issues. At some point, Jay told me that he'd been on Match.com since 2004 - seven years! Either there was something wrong with the women he'd been meeting, or there was something wrong with him. Red flag? Why didn't I run for the hills? Despite some of my misgivings, I had a date with him anyway. Always looking for the good. Sigh. I returned from Oahu on a Wednesday and we had our first date on Sunday.

He lived about 60 miles from Seattle, and, quite frankly, I didn't want to drive anywhere to meet anyone so he came to Seattle to meet me. Because we had talked so much, I felt somewhat comfortable with him picking me up at my place. (In the future, I didn't do this. Always meet first dates somewhere else.) At the last minute, Jay asked if he could bring his dog on our date. I thought "Whatever, dude, but I'm not having a threesome with you and your dog and your dog cannot come inside my place" but instead I said that I liked dogs, so it was okay with me. He had a black lab. I like black labs, or any colored labs for that matter.

Since we planned to go for a walk, I wore jeans, and blue blouse, and sneakers. When he approached my door, he was obviously pleased with my appearance by the smile that spread from ear to ear. Apparently a lot of women lie about their looks, post old photos, etc., but he said I looked better than my photos. He also looked like he was ready to take me right then and there. He greeted me with a warm hello hug, and a kiss on the cheek but he was ready for more. I tempered his advances by saying "It looks like you're ready to throw me on the bed and have your way with me, so we'd better go." I put on my jacket and we left. Date rape averted.

Jay was hungry so we stopped at a fish and chips place on the marina. I wasn't hungry so I watched him eat but stole a chip or two, and fed some to the birds. Then we walked along the beach at Discovery Park. Due to the injuries to his back, he had a handicapped placard so we scored beach-front parking. We walked along the beach and chatted, with his dog in toe. Dogs weren't allowed on the beach, but he didn't care and took him on the beach anyway. A rule breaker...promising? At one point, I stood on a log and looked at the Sound, then he hugged me and said "it feels like there's some finality in this." Some finality? Huh? "What do you mean?" I inquired. "Either this is it or you're the last person I'm ever going to care about." I smiled, hopped off the log, and thought "What the fuck? Either I'm really quite amazing and wonderful and he wants me badly, or this dude is really desperate." Despite my ego, perhaps the scales were tipped well towards his level of desperation. Another red flag? Was I blind? Apparently so.

After our walk, we ate Thai food at one on my favorite places. The man was a wuss on the spice factor. Couldn't even handle a 2. Pussy. Yeah, I judge sometimes. Jay was discharged from the military several years earlier due to his medical issues (crushed discs and all), apparently before he served any time in Thailand and acquired a taste for spicy food. Not only was he a spice wuss, he asked for more details about my first marriage [the abusive one, see The (First) Night I Almost Died]. I shared a couple of mild examples, then he stated it was my fault that my first husband was abusive towards me and that I must have done things to bring out my first husband's abusive behavior. What, we were in the stone ages? Or back in the days when a husband could not "rape" his wife merely because of their marital contract? Knowing the full history of my first marriage, I can say with a clear conscious that I did nothing to instigate his abusive behavior. He was insecure, jealous, controlling and had a problem with alcohol. I unintentionally condoned his abusive behavior by tolerating it for so long, but I did not instigate it other than occasionally trying to defend myself. I was mortified that Jay suggested the abuse I suffered by my first marriage was my fault. What a douche. Why was I still sitting at the dinner table with him? Oh yeah, that whole "looking for the good in everyone" thing. Man, that comes back to bite me in the ass a lot. I told Jay that I would not accept responsibility for my first ex-husband's bad behavior and changed the topic. If I'd been more with it, I could have asked him what he did that led his mother to abandon him, but that would have been mean.

After dinner, Jay took me home and I (stupidly) invited him up. His dog stayed in his truck. Poor doggy, but dogs are not allowed in my building. We chatted for a little bit more, then he kissed me. I had to admit that he was a good kisser. He took off his shirt (nice chest and arms, by the way) and asked me to rub his back. What, am I your nurse? To my own disgust, I rubbed his back for a while. As if I was obligated since he drove over an hour to meet me and paid for my dinner. Then he tried to disrobe me and shoved his face between my legs. What the fuck? Things went fast when you started dating in your 40s. Even so, I didn't appreciate his advances so I deflected the situation by saying I was tired and needed to go to bed because I had to get up early for work (which was true). Then he asked if he could stay the night, because it was late, he had a long drive ahead of him, and didn't want to fall asleep on the road. First date sleep overs? Ugh. I totally caved and said he could stay the night. Yep, I'm too damn nice. My first husband used to tell me all the time that I was "too damn nice" and damn it he was right! I suggested to Jay that he sleep on the sofa. He suggested he sleep in the bed. Sure, fine, but with clothes on. I could feel him stomping all over the doormat that I was already becoming during this first date.

If allowing myself to be a doormat wasn't enough, the fucking dude snored like a jackhammer and severely disrupted my sleep. I may have slept a total of 5 minutes the entire night. I wasn't comfortable with him sleeping there. I wasn't fearful, I just didn't want him there and I was mad at myself for letting him sleep in my bed even though we had our clothes on. And sleeping with my clothes on was uncomfortable too. When he'd wake up, he'd start touching me and I'd feign like I was asleep. At one point, I was so frustrated by his advances and my apparent inability to ask him to leave that I cried. Middle Eastern man had only been gone a few weeks and I was still sad about his departure, but knew I needed to start dating. Even so, I was conflicted and missed Middle Eastern man and Jay wasn't helping by being creepy.

The morning couldn't come soon enough. After I prepared myself, Jay offered to drop me off at work. Whatever. Fine. I worked at the UW Medical Center, so it wasn't like he would know exactly where I worked. And it beat taking the bus, right? And I learned more valuable information. As we approached the medical center, Jay informed me that his sperm was on ice there. A blank look came across my face. I blinked slowly. My breathing slowed. Then it hit me: what a connection! I worked in the medical center and he had frozen sperm there! We were like peas in a pod! Soul mates! We should have sent out the wedding invitations right then and there! He was receiving $80 a month in disability because of some military-related injury to his testicles that necessitated putting his sperm on ice because he was unable to shoot out live sperm. We'd be rich in our old age with this extra $80 a month. We'd save money on birth control until I entered menopause. And even better was that he really could father children at any age, even after he was dead! Um, note the sarcasm. It's unfortunate that his manhood was challenged because he couldn't shoot live ammo, but this was a lot of information to share on a first date. With this new information, I was exhausted. I wished him a good day, patted his dog on his head, stepped out of the truck, thanked him for the evening and for taking me to work, and walked to my office. Jay said he'd call me in the evening. Gee, I couldn't wait.

To be continued...

Lucky Charms: Shit Penny

I've been pet-sitting a lot this spring. No, I didn't lock myself out the house again (see Spare Keys). I've also been finding a lot of lucky pennies lately (see Lucky Charms), and found a few more pennies since that post. I found another one today, on the floor of the bus. But yesterday pet-sitting and lucky pennies merged in a strange way. I was walking Milish (star of Spare Keys) and she took a crap in a planter on the outskirts of the local high school. When I picked up her pile of poo, I received a special surprise: a penny! It wasn't in her poo, but was about 3 inches to the left of it. I contemplated leaving it behind since it was probably laying in a place where other animals pooped and peed, but my superstition about having bad luck if I didn't pick up a penny far outweighed the potential grossness of picking up that penny. Naturally, I picked up the penny. I would have good luck that day. This penny came at a good time, because the Egyptian called me (whether intentionally or accidentally, I'm not sure) about a hour before I took Milish for her walk, but I was sleeping so I didn't answer my phone. Thinking of the shitty situation in which the Egyptian I found ourselves, and other shitty situations to which I've been a part, the penny reminded me that good things come from shitty situations and with luck (persistence + opportunity) everything will be okay. I sent a wish to the Universe that the Egyptian would find his way, and that I would find mine. Later I sent him a text acknowledging his call and saying that I hoped he was feeling better. I haven't heard from him again. Good or bad? Who knows. In any case, the penny I found next to Milish's poo is now my favorite lucky penny.

Lightening Things Up

Given all my "serious" posts of late, I need to lighten things up.

I recently read a lovely and enlightening article in the Huffington Post about Demonic Deville, a clown you can hire to stalk and torment your children before their birthdays. Deville will send threatening text messages, leave menacing notes, and make scary phone calls to your children to let them know the end is near. Muah ha ha ha ha (<--- evil laugh). The threats culminate with Deville throwing a pie in their faces. Here's the news article: Demonic Clown

Demonic Deville

Source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/08/evil-clown-birthday-surprise-dominic-deville_n_1499369.html?ref=mostpopular

I want to have children just so I can hire Deville to scare the bejesus out of them. Deville looks scarier and creepier than the clown from Stephen King's It. When I shared this story with my dad, he assured me that I wouldn't need to hire Deville because he would provide the service for free. Sweet. And I wonder where I get my sick and twisted sense of humor...it's been inflicted on me since I was an infant, or probably since I was in the womb. He probably read A Clockwork Orange to me as a bedtime story (and if he did, I would have liked it). For one of my dad's photography classes, he took photos of me after he or my mom threw a pie in my face. I was probably one or two, so I was defenseless against their attack. My parents have photographic evidence of this and it's displayed prominently in Grammie's den for all to see. Why would they keep such inflammatory evidence? I have since implanted my own traumatic memories of this event, but have never discussed it in therapy. Probably because I enjoyed it. Who wouldn't like a pie thrown in his or her face? And my parents claim it was more of a "gentle placement" than anything else.

On another note, a couple weeks ago my friend BB sent an email to me and some friends with the heading: "[phelan's] childhood picture." Hummm. I thought "this could be interesting" since I've known her for about 8 years and she doesn't have any childhood (aka blackmail) photos of me. Or does she? I guess childhood and blackmail photos are not one in the same. Rather than a photo, the email contained a link. Hummm. I was more intrigued. Unaware of what lurked on the other side of the link, I followed it. I found the photo below.

Phelan's Long Lost Childhood Picture?
Source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/73913334/zombie-garden-gnome-walking-dead-back

Oh. My. God. She's right! It was my childhood picture! I had just taken a sip of my tea, so I had a mouth full of hot liquid which I nearly sprayed all over my computer monitor because I began laughing so hard. I nearly choked, my eyes teared up, and a bit of the liquid came out of my nose, but my monitor was spared.

If you want your own zombie garden gnome, you can order it by following this link: Zombie Garden Gnome, but they're on back order so you'll have to wait. Drats!

Next to come: my (fortunately very limited) dating adventures with Jay! If you're married or otherwise coupled, you will be thankful because this dude is what awaits you in allegedly "greener" pastures. I'd rather date the zombie garden gnome than Jay.

Hot Chocolate

I was at Chocolati (cayenne hot chocolate = yummy) last night and feel the need to report that I saw one of the most amazing looking men I've ever seen in Seattle. Of course, he was brown. I resisted my initial desire to inquire if he was involved in an arranged marriage. I even paraphrased the question in my head: "Hi! I'm Heidi. If you aren't already married to your cousin, will you be participating in an arranged marriage?" If he said yes, my plan was to beat him down in a fit of displaced anger, but then I thought better of it: he had a very muscular upper body with big, bulky arms and a very lovely broad chest and shoulders. He would have crushed me in five seconds flat. He was taller than me, probably around age 25 or 30, had short black hair, and amazingly long eye lashes protruding from his big brown eyes. Yes, I was salivating. If I was my friend BB, I would have needed a bib. He was reading alone so I'm guessing he was single (as if reading alone in Chocolati = single; and I call myself a scientist...humph) but given my current state of frustration with brown skinned men, I just admired his molten hot chocolate yumminess and left it at that. Baby steps...

Leopard Dress: Part 2 pf 2

So, after my venting yesterday (Cougar Nights: Part 2) it's time to continue the leopard dress story. For the first part of the story, see Leopard Dress: Part One. Creative titles, I know.

And now for part two of the leopard dress ...

I was at Slim's Last Chance and someone was eyeballing me from the end of the bar. I smiled at him, then turned my attention back to the music. I could still feel him staring at me, so I glanced over and smiled at him occasionally. Eventually he walked over to me and asked if he could buy me a drink. I smiled and nodded yes. (Score! I wouldn't have to go in the bathroom and secretly use the alcohol in my flask to top off my drink. How I hate spending my money on alcohol - spending men's money on alcohol is okay.) He put his arm around my waist and led me to the empty bar stool next to his. Aaron and I talked (yelled?) during the entire music set, with the whole gettin'-to-know-ya chit chat. He had a rugged looking face (not stomped-on-with-golf-cleats rugged, but he had some minor acne scarring), but was good looking with short dark blond hair and brown eyes. He was a little taller than me with an average build. He'd already had a few drinks, after a long day at work. He's a mechanic at a car dealership. We had a great conversation as I sipped on my free Sailor Jerry and diet Coke.

When the Hillbilly Hellcats came on, I wanted to pay attention to the music because I went to Slim's to see them. So, I swirled around on my bar stool, turned my back to Aaron, and watched the band. Aaron started massaging my neck and shoulders. It felt good, so I didn't stop him. Then he ran his hands down my sides and slipped them down the back of my dress and found the top of my shapewear (busted!) When he started caressing the outer sides of my breasts (one of my favorite spots), I nudged his hands gently away with my arms, so he caressed my ass instead. He ran his hand over my collar bone and pulled me toward him so my back was on his chest and whispered in my ear one of the most romantic things I've ever heard: "Let's go to your car. I want to fuck you right now." I turned around and smiled at him, ignored his comment then focused my attention on the Hellcats. I came to see the Hellcats, and I was going to see the Hellcats damn it. Plus, after my encounter with Carwash Boy (see Southern Comfort at the Carwash), I already decided that I didn't want to be a hook-up girl. Even so, I let Aaron continue to explore my body and he eagerly enjoyed my topography.

When the music ended, he suggested that we go to my car. By this time, the man had already felt every inch of my torso so there was no way he was date-able material, and I really struggled with the whole hook-up girl thing. I thought "This isn't what I'm looking for, so why do I want to invite it into my life? I should be assertive and say that I'm not interested in hooking-up but that he could call me if he wanted to take me on a date." Then I thought again: I let the man explore my body while sitting on a bar stool in front of him, for anyone who was watching to witness. What a fucking tramp! I obviously didn't want to date this guy, or I would have played the game. And, well, I was trying to stop loving my Middle Eastern man and was in a self-destructive mood, so why the hell not?

Aaron and I went to my car. Under the sheen of the street lamp, he pressed me against the side of my car and kissed me hard, pinning my arms above my head with one hand and running his other hand along the side of my body. Aaron's hand went up my dress, then two men walked past us. Suddenly, Aaron froze, then his hand came out from underneath my dress, he removed his tongue from my mouth, and laughed and said "Sorry, man." "No worries," one of the guys replied as they laughed too. Aaron and I must have looked like we'd gotten caught with our hands in the cookie jar. We crawled in the back seat of my car and made out for a while. He penis came out (surprise, surprise) and I said I didn't want to have sex in the car. That was my passive way of trying to stop things before they went to far, but I wasn't very successful. He suggested we go to his house. I agreed.

He hopped on his Harley and I followed him in my car to his house in West Seattle. Yes, I guess I'm crazy. For a brief moment I thought "What the fuck am I doing? I don't even know this guy!" but I never felt any weird vibes from him and wasn't afraid. His house didn't have much furniture, but what he did have was from the 50s, which I loved, I didn't see any apparent torture chambers, so that was good. We made out on the sofa, on top of a green sleeping bag which I guessed was his son's because there was a Happy Birthday Dad card on the fireplace mantle - check out me and my sleuthing skills! His penis came out again (why do they do that?), and I insisted we use a condom (what is it with men and their disregard for condoms?) He was either too drunk or had erectile dysfunction because his dick wouldn't stay hard. He ate me out, then disappeared for a minute.When he came back, he was carrying something that looked familiar. Was that a vibrator?! Hell yeah. He turned it on and stuck it in my pussy, moving it in and out slowly. I briefly wondered if he cleaned it first, but it was too late. It was already in. I hoped any disease carrying bacteria or virus had died long ago. He fucked me with the vibrator, I sucked his cock (who knew where it'd been...ewwww), and we fooled around for a while. Then he passed out on top of me...and started snoring. Great. I laid there naked, staring at the ceiling, with a snoring naked man passed out on top of me. How I hate snoring. I never feared for my life, but I began to fear for his. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him, and he eventually woke up. It was about 4am and he had to be to work by 8am. He suggested we go to bed. I didn't particularly want to sleep over, but I was too tired to drive home, so I followed him to his bedroom in hopes of getting some sleep.

Aaron wrapped his arm around me and pulled my body against his. I felt like I was caught in a spider's web and I was his prey. Then I felt sad because I missed snuggling with my Middle Eastern man (we used to sleep like pretzels; I still miss the feel and smell of his body against mine while we slept) and I was on the verge of tears when Aaron's snoring brought me back to reality. I thought "What the fuck am I doing here?!" But the sound of the human chainsaw continually disrupted my thoughts. It was like a dysfunctional meditation practice, where I focused on the sound of Aaron's snoring to help redirect my thoughts. I nudged Aaron periodically to quiet the snoring beast, lest I take a chainsaw and hack him to pieces. The sound of snoring brings out violent tendencies in me. I didn't know what time it was, but thought it would be rude to leave. Rude? What was I thinking? It was a hook-up and nothing more.

I didn't sleep at all. When Aaron woke up, we'd fool around for a bit and then he'd fall back asleep. I'd endure his snoring, plot his death, then shake him so he would stop snoring, then he'd snore again, I'd plot his death again, and repeat. When would he get up to go work?! Ugh. Finally, he woke up for good and I'd soon be released from his clutches. His dick was fully functional, so we fucked for a while (yes, he wore a condom). I didn't care enough about the encounter to try to achieve an orgasm. I was tired, ready to leave, and wanted him to get off so I could be on my way. I stared at the ceiling, thought about the things I wanted to do that day, etc. Finally, he shot his wad into the condom and it was over. We both got dressed, he asked for my number (why bother, really?), and we went our separate ways.

I don't know if my leopard dress is really lucky, but I do know it takes a lot of self-confidence to wear it. If meaningless hook-ups are a good thing, then it's lucky. When I wear it again, I doubt it will help me attract dateable men. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll have another leopard dress story to share soon.