Don't know how the heck I'm so late seeing this crap, but I'm feeling irate after glancing at this news story. The silly (and badly written) headline: "'Who would want to be married to someone who nobody coveted?' Charles Saatchi explains why he's happy viewers fancy Nigella."

Nigella is a TV cook. I've only ever glanced at her show, so I can't tell you about that. I can tell you that she's a nice-looking woman - not drop-dead gorgeous, but really good-looking. I can understand her husband's sentiment. It's not what he said that bothers me, it's not even him. What bothers me is that whole attitude about "having" someone beautiful.

I guess I'm just touchy about relationship ideals. I always have been. The idea that people want to be with someone beautiful or handsome is fine. So is that idea that people want to be with someone wealthy or powerful. The problem (in my opinion) is that if that is all that attracted you to someone, where is the love part? Where is the genuine affection and pure wonder of the attraction?

Women have body issues and men have ego issues because of the beauty-wealth disease. I'm not a man so I can't really tell you what a man feels, but I can tell you about the anxiety a lot of women have. Women worry that when a man is attracted to her, the attraction will only last as long as her looks hold. And before you snicker, haven't you ever heard men joke about trading in a woman for a "newer model"? I have. I've seen it happen. Women know that there are men who won't want a woman who:

• Isn't a certain size or shape (some men want a woman with a butt, some want Olive Oyl)
• Doesn't look good enough to make other men drool with envy 
• Won't do certain things in the bedroom
• Isn't good in bed or "adventurous" enough
• Won't do anything in the bedroom before a certain amount of time or event
• Doesn't have cute feet or the right kind of hair or a dimple on the left side of her face...
• Doesn't have a certain level of education

I am sure that men have their relationship anxieties too. They know that there are women out there who won't date a man who:

• Doesn't have a job or profession
• Doesn't have the "right" kind of job/profession
• Doesn't make enough money
• Makes good money but isn't handsome
• Is handsome but doesn't make enough money
• Doesn't drive the "right" kind of car
• Isn't a "bad boy" or is "too nice"
• Isn't good in bed
• Are too "old-fashioned" (read: gentlemen)
• Isn't into the club scene

The crazy thing is, when a man or woman gets with their "ideal" person, they start to resent the things that made the person "ideal."

For instance, a man will get a woman who is, by social standards, a perfect 10. He should have nothing to complain about, right? Wrong. He will talk about how high-maintenance she is, she's always in a mirror, she doesn't do this or she doesn't do that. Well, duh, you dumbass. You married a woman for her looks, so, probably, she cares more about her appearance than she cares about you.

Then there are the women (and I know plenty of females who live this) who wanted a Mr. Money-Handsome-Swagger-Man, then when they get him all they talk about are his faults. (He's materialistic, he's conceited, he likes to run everything...) Basically, they got what they wanted only to realize he's not what they want.

I don't really get it.

Here's what's always scared me: if a man wants you for your looks, what happens if you lose them? I mean, you'd better hope he learns to love you deeper before you get something like stretch marks, wrinkles or, worse, worse,worse case, cancer or something that is really going to put your body through some changes.

And I really feel for guys who have to wonder if their woman's going to be around when a financial crisis hits. Will she be there when a job drops off? When maybe the money starts to get really, really tight? Will she be there for you if life goes all twisted for him? (Chris Rock jokes to men that when they lose their job, "she may not leave you right then, but the clock is ticking.")

This is scary stuff.

I personally know someone (and I know them very well) whose husband has threatened her for the whole almost 20 years of their marriage. His threat? If she gains over a certain amount of weight, he's gone. When I asked her about it once, she had the best answer. Basically, that's fine with her because when he can't keep her in the right jewelry and zip code, she's out too.

Well, damn.

The best thing (at least for that couple) is that they have made it through quite a bit of time. I think they are going to make it now.

I guess the only good thing about people who live with these crazy expectations is that they wind up with someone they deserve.

Peace
--Free

Dealing

It's just about 3 something a.m. I haven't been able to sleep for the last couple hours.

Yesterday was rough. I was just having one of those days when my mind wouldn't work right. Couldn't think straight and just felt like my brain was on Delay all day.

It's scary. I feel stuck in a cycle  - do well and fall back. This happened before, but I thought it would get better. I have been doing pretty well for probably a couple of weeks, and to just go a little bit brain blind makes me feel helpless. It's as if I can't count on my body, my mind.

I have an appointment coming up and I am worried about letting my doctor know what's happening. He's going to want to put me back on a higher dose of that damned prednisone. Just when I am starting to lose some of the weight.

This is so messed up.

This is not the way I want to spend the rest of my life. This is not even the way I want to spend another month.

At sometime in my life, I must have said the wrong words or had the wrong thoughts. There is a reason this is happening. If I could figure out why, maybe I could ask God to take it all away.

That Lady Could Sing

This is one of those stories that make me feel so very sad.

Eva Cassidy. What a voice. I had never heard of her until someone on G+ intro'd me to her music. Now I can't imagine not listening.

Go ahead and look her up. You're going to understand how God blesses some people with something special.

Peace

--Free

Feeling A Pull

I don't often write verse & when I do, it's more in the form of lyrics (since there are a few musical souls in this fam). Today, I saw a beautiful photo on G+ that reminded me of my (very) small town place of birth, my first 'boyfriend' and what might have happened. (I don't know whether to be happy or sad that It was only an almost-event.) Whatever. I wrote about it.




Small town downtown
Mine and your town


Big-eyed pretty boy
waiting for a girl like me


This girl good girl
I knew who you are


Touch hand kiss cheek
Love is to be we


Hold hands kiss peck
in daylight then dark


Good Ahhh! Sweet Ooo!
You I and we


More than romance
I are you are we three


Soft round and surprise
He are you are and me


Wow. I still don't know how this makes me feel.

Peace
--Free

The Fitting Room Blues

Yesterday I had it out with a bra in Walmart. This bra:

Yes. The "Genie" bra. "As seen on TV." According to Tristar Products (they rep the item), with the Genie Bra one can "enjoy all-day comfort and support."

Oh... really?

Well, I guess so. I mean, anything would be relatively comfortable after contorting yourself to get into the damn thing. (Side note: I just noticed how much I italicize when I'm pissed off or being sarcastic - in this case, both.)

If I dared, I would post pics of what I looked like trying to work my way into this contraption. I don't dare. I almost need sedatives to let my doctors see this body... But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back it up for a sec.

I went to Walmart specifically to buy a bra. After months of being in denial, I have accepted the fact that I've gained 63 pounds (yes, that much) and that my perky little 38B's have turned into 40C's. (I swear I believe that most of that is just re-positioned fat and not real titty. I dunno.) I have dreams about the day I can venture back into a Victoria's Secret store... For now, I am out of the market for cute bras like...

the "Scandalous Bandeau" from Free People
(my favorite style - EVER)

... and into plain black, white and tan blah-bras. I've even stopped caring about style. I'd wear a slingshot if it fit. (We won't even talk about "pannies" other than to say that I now wear only the boy-short variety. Also found at Walmart. In black, white and grey. I may never have sex with the lights on again. Why I am playing? I may never have sex again. Period.)

Anyway, bottom line is, I no longer wear underthings that can be described as "scandalous," "deliciously teasing," or even "minutely attractive in the barest and most common way possible..." Nope. In just a few months, my entire wardrobe has gone from Working-Gal-Funky to Homebody-Frump. Mature-and-Sexy to Old-and-Slumpy. It's hard to be attractive with this body and no money. Fat and broke. Damn.

Now, before I get my ass kicked by some other women, let me say something. I know there are the Big & Beautiful females who look damn good and can pull off sexy that will melt a man's shorts right off. I have those women in my own family. Being that way (being any way) takes a woman years of getting comfortable with her natural body. My natural body was a size 0 (teen-aged years to 20's), size 4 (20's to 30's), size 6 to 8 (30's to 50). I didn't feel really good and confident about my body until I was around 40. Seriously. I knew how to walk and sit and prance and dance - In. My. Natural. State.The size I am now, I can't even cross my legs without getting seriously out of breath. That's not sexy. Hell, that's damn near not even normal. Hate me if you want, but that's how I feel.)

Sorry to get off track. For a minute there, I forgot to tell you what happened in the fitting room at Walmart!

So, I'm browsing the aisles on my way to the underwear section when I see a display of the Genie Bra. My sister and I had been seeing the TV ads and wondering if these bras really were "all that."

The first thing I noticed was the price: $19.99. For 2 bras. That sounded pretty good since I was expecting to pay around $20 for one decent bra. (By the way, Frumpy is cheaper than Sexy.) The other thing I noticed is that the sizes were given as shirt sizes (i.e. "XS/S," "Large," etc.) instead of cup sizes.

I should have had a clue then. The chick on the cover of the box should have been the other clue. 

(Look at her. She's probably a real nice lady, but, oh, how I hate her at this moment.)

Being realistic (mostly) about my the current state of my body, I picked up a "Large" and headed back to the fitting rooms. The attendant/clerk name-tagged as "Sue" had attitude while she led me to a room (Cranky bitch. Acted like she was pissed about having a job.)

Now, the bra itself is not awful looking. Just kind of plain-janey.

Notice that this is a "pull-over" style. That's tricky if you don't want to muss a hairdo. My hair is short & natural, so no problem for me there. My problem was that whoever determined the sizes on these bras might have been a tailor for Barbie dolls at some point. This thing barely fit over my head. No way was I going to try pulling it over my boobs. 

I wanted to ask "Sue" to bring me the next size up, but when I peeked out the fitting room door, she glared at me like I owed her money. (Again - bitch.) I might owe every-damn-body else in the world, but not this heffa.

Skip to size 1x, 2x and 3x. I brought them all back to the fitting room. 

The 1x - no go. It got stuck partway over my head. I forced it anyway, got it over my boobs and almost lost consciousness. I thought I'd have to cut my way out of it, but managed to escape without scissors. Somehow.

2x. I got it over my head okay. Whew. Got it over my boobs with same results as above (except I could take small gasps of air). The bra was on! I couldn't move much and I'm pretty sure that my already high blood-pressure was on the rise. I was kind of relieved about being in the bra at last until I noticed that the bottom part was rolling up. That really hurt my feelings. I never felt so fat. The more that fabric rolled up, the more I felt like a sausage whose casing was coming apart.

3x. Better body fit, but...

Now I noticed the real problem with the Genie Bra: the cup sizes were all the same!

Son-of-a-boogeyman.

I matched the cups of all three sizes and - yep. Same cup size, no matter what. Basically, even if you manage to get the contraption over your head and onto your body, it does you no good if you have more than a handful of boob. I always had and still have a handful - for a good sized pair of hands, but what about someone who is truly blessed? Poor thing would look like she had a frontal hump instead a nice rack. And on top of that, she'd be in cardiac arrest from being squeezed to death.

On the positive side (uh, yeah), for anyone who can fit into the Genie Bra, I will say that it seems very sturdy. The colors are decent and the bras come with removable padding, which is nice for laundry purposes. And, again, you can't beat the price.

Damn Genie Bra. Obviously, the thing is made for a well-endowed doll. I was pretty depressed because there was a time - like a year ago - when I could have fit this bra and worked the heck out of it.

...Sigh...

When I left the fitting room, there was old "Sue." Cow. Just to be spiteful, I stood right near her station and called the manager to complain about her attitude. She ignored me, then rubbed it in by being super sweet to another customer. I hope she gets an all-day toothache. (And, by the way, did you know that Walmart posts the manager's number all around the store? Handy.)

Whatever.

I ended up buying a few $5.98 bras in different colors by Simply Basic

On my way out, I stopped by the display just to take a peek at what a size XS/S looked like. I left the store feeling damn near suicidal.

Peace

--Free

Breast Check Reminder

Ladies, this is the best breast-check reminder ever:
I just about broke my phone trying to download the app.

Peace
--Free

What's Wrong With Being "Old-Fashioned"?

I am a little bit sad and a whole lot happy to say that one of the BFF's - "T" -  is "in love." Let's not think about the fact that I am jealous as hell. (By the way, I told her that and she laughed, so we're okay with it.) What I like most about T's love groove is that it's old-fashioned. The slow courtship, the falling deep, the whole thinking-about-the-future thing - it's just something I haven't seen a lot of for a long time. Matter of fact, my mom and dad's relationship was the last old-school kind of  love I'd personally known of.

I was telling all of this to a younger (40-something to my 50 years) lady. I'm thinking that, since we come from a similar cultural background and aren't a thousand years apart in age, she would understand what I meant. She didn't.

I explained to her that, to me, old-fashioned meant showing respect when approaching a person. Courting them with some real kindness and sweetness before you put on all the intimate moves. Learning to like them before you start sizing up what kind of house or car or job or bank account they have. Trying to see how you might fit into their life before you invade their life. In other words, just taking things a little slow. I mean, what's wrong with the whole, "I like you, do you like me?" kind of approach? That's way better than the usual, "Hey, baby, you looking so fine." Hell, it's more mature than that.

My friend looked at me like I was Jim Jones holding out a cup of Kool-Aid.

"Are you serious?" she asked me. (And she was serious.)

"Yes, I'm serious. Don't you want something real and mature and hopeful," I asked her. "Or do you want the sorry old pickup lines, lies and too fast to be good kind of thing?"

"Tell you what I want," she said. "I want a man with a job - a good job. He's got to look good, and he's got to have some swagger. You can keep that old-fashioned mess for yourself."

"So, you don't care if a man respects you or cherishes you - as long as he looks good and has bank?"

"Not only do I not care, I don't give a real good damn."

Well, at least she's honest. (You might notice that she is not one of my best friends.)

We talked about it a little bit more. Basically, she wants a image, not a man. She wants whoever looks good to anybody who might notice. I didn't ask, but I wonder what she'd be willing to put up with to have that in a man? I mean, could he beat her ass? Could he not really even care about her as a person?

I see so many women these days (my age and younger) who are into that "I gotta have a man" mode. They don't care if it's a good and decent man or not. One lady I know actually admitted to me that she does not feel "complete" without a man. What the hell is that about? I mean, to me, there is a difference in feeling "complete" and feeling "completed." I think we all want to feel completed. But, no, this friend says that she just doesn't want to be alone. To top it all, her preferred "type" is one with (I swear, she told me and another friend this) "A little bit of 'thug' in him." She's fifty-three years old, so this is not a youthful phase she's going through. I believe she's just a little bit crazy.

There are other people I know who have settled down with someone they are not happy with. They stay because it's "safe" inside a relationship. Or they stay because of kids - which I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, I think stay for the kids, but sometimes I wonder what good is an unhappy parent? You might be teaching your kids about commitment, but what are you teaching them about joy? So, that's a tough one and I change my mind every few days or so. But I really hate people who are just in a relationship only for the sex or money or laziness. Why be in a relationship if your soul isn't?

That's not what old-fashioned love is about. At least, not the way I know it. All I have to go on is my parents' relationship. (And let me disclose that my parents ended up divorcing, but they remained friends and never stopped respecting each other. Not ever.)

My father was an Air Force man. He was from small-town Arkansas. He was raised to love and respect his parents, especially his mother. (My mother always said to look for a man who loves his mothers and sisters. That didn't work out with my ex, but that's just him.)

My mother was a beautiful woman. She was a very maternal kind of person, if that makes sense. She loved to care for my dad and their family. She felt like he was the man and should be allowed to feel like a man. (Please, don't give me any feminist crap here. A woman can be strong without trying to out-man her man.)

My parents were a team. My father let my mother be good at what she was good at and she returned the favor. Sometimes, Mom was good at things that most men are "supposed" to be good at. For instance, Mom ran our finances. Daddy used to say that Mom could make a dollar out of fifteen cents. He'd give her the little bit of spending money (and G.I.s didn't make a whole lot of money) and always be amazed at what she could do with it. He loved to brag about how Mom could feed and clothe eight people (there are six of us siblings) and make it look so easy.

My dad, bless his heart, was not one of those men who was mechanically inclined - or whatever you call people who can repair and upkeep things. The big joke in our family was that whenever my dad did take something apart to fix it - say, a lawn mower - there'd be parts left over when he put it back together. (Believe it or not, most of time, whatever he fixed did work afterwards!) Now, I say it was a big joke, but it was a silent joke. My mother would have (as she'd put it) slapped the taste out of our mouth if one of us said anything to Daddy about his workmanship. She would look the lawn mower, or whatever, and go on and on about how "her man" could take care of stuff like that. She'd be acting like he had adjusted the world on Atlas's shoulders.

And they just loved each other. Just that simple. It wasn't anything complicated, as far as I could tell - just love.

I used to watch my parents do that thing where lovers look at each other across the table or a room. I didn't understand it until I fell in love myself for the first time, but I always know that that look means you've got something special with someone. My inner gauge for how I feel about someone now is when I want to give them that look. (Well, that, or when I get that melting feeling in my stomach when I think of them. With my first serious boyfriend, I knew I was feeling something the day I fell down some stairs while I was thinking about him. It happened at school. He'd been nowhere on my mind until we passed each other in the hallway just before I had to take the stairs to my own class. I was feeling so goofy-good! Man, when I went down those stairs, ending up with my skirt all up around my waist, I think I dang near busted my ass... The worst thing wasn't the falling, it was thinking how stupid I'd look to him if he saw. I couldn't even think about it and him at the same time without feeling so embarrassed.) Anyway.

So, I just want that old-fashioned kind of love. I want the man who is attracted to me, then begins to like me, then begins to want to know me better. I want the man who just wants to spend time with me because he likes being with me. I want to make him laugh, feel good about himself and feel good about life. And I want him to feel the same way about me.

Trust me, I've known the smooth talker. That didn't work because words alone won't sustain love. I've known the rich guy. That didn't work because money won't sustain respect. I've known the guy that pretended to be everything he really was not. That didn't work because real love can't be based on deceit. Real love is honest and maybe a little painful. It's awkward and it can be confusing and even kind of scary.

Old-fashioned, new-fashioned. Maybe it doesn't really matter as long as we find something real. I think my BFF has found that. That heffa!.

(I love you, T. Be happy.)

Peace
--Free

Working the Phones

Sitting here stuck on the phone - holding, holding and holding - and playing around with G+ while fighting a really strong craving for a cigarette. (Oh, and my doc, who I do love to pieces, has no-no'ed my taking a higher amount of Wellbutrin.)

The G crowd have been trying to help me out with phone choices. I was due for my upgrade, but I am still broke as a dropped glass. I picked (no surprise coming) the Samsung Infuse. Mainly because it only cost me a penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. I had that or the Captivate to choose from. A penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. (Hey! Right in my budget of... a penny!)

I'm a little bit scared now, though. Made my choice, put in the order, and NOW I'm hearing some crappy stuff about it. Too freaking late. If it drives me crazy when I get it, I will have the grace period to change my mind. The way I figure, it cannot be anywhere near as bad as that Motorola Backflip I once had.

Oh, wait. Did I ever blog about that? If so, I'll hit that rant again because it will never get old. Not as long as that electronic demon-thing still exists.

The Backflip. Where do even start?

This phone was so awful that when I took it into the AT&T store here in town, one of the reps saw me coming and said, "Keep that thing away from me. It's cursed." (I was really looking pretty fine that day, too. The rep was a cutie himself. I'd been hoping he was going to crook his finger and say something Marvin Gaye-ish. Nooo... That man saw that Backflip and looked like he was ready to throw holy water on me.)

Yeah, that bad.

Soon as I told him I was there to return The Thing, the rep and I had a whole comedic routine going. We decided that the Backflip was so bad that it could actually poison anything else within about 10 feet. The rep warned me not to put it in my purse or it would make my money disappear. (Um, too late - the ex did that already.)

"Don't hold it, lady. You don't have gloves on!" (heh  heh) He actually took it from me only after getting a tissue to hold it with. The way he looked at it, it could have been slime from a crime scene.

Yeah, that bad.

Of course, I had to go through all my complaints for the rep before I could process a free replacement. That was easy. All I had to do was look at the list of what any decent cell phone should do, at minimum, (things like dial, ring, hang up...) and scratch it off the list. This phone was so bad that sometimes the only way to disconnect a call (if you were able to make the call) was to take out the battery. I'm not playing with you.

Uh huh. That freaking bad.

And, of course, whenever a customer complains about a phone (even when the rep knows you're not exaggerating), they have to run it through its paces. Just to make sure. Okay, so the rep dials a number. The call goes through (and I'm thinking, "Son of a boot!"). Then... the phone won't disconnect. Woooow!  I just about started shouting like I was in church. Vindication,  oh sweet vindication!

So, yeah. That's how bad the Backflip was. Even Motorola didn't want it back. They knew they wouldn't be able to pass that piece of crap off even as a three dollar re-furb. (The rep admitted to me that AT&T had stopped displaying the phone about a month after it came out. THAT BAD!!!)

Anyway. I am hoping the new phone won't be a lemon. Even if it is and will only dial numbers beginning with "8" on Wednesdays between 6 a.m. and 6:55 a.m. when it's sunny out with no chance of rain - it cannot be as bad as the Backflip.

Yeah. It really was that bad.

I will have to let you know later how the new phone works out (if it works at all). For now, I have moved up in the call-holding queue to spot number 3. Pray someone comes on the line soon, because if I hear Barry Manilow's "Mandy" again, I'm going to smoke a piece of carpet.

Peace
--Free

Day In the Life of A "G"

I'm about as "G" as Oprah. I got swagger, but not street swagger. I can't even go into Mountainview without locking down the doors. And Mountainview (our version of the 'Hood) is nothing like rolling into the hard side of Phoenix or South Oak Cliff. The one time I passed through Oakland, I almost fainted when some guy walked up on me to ask what time it was. I was damn near ready to clutch my pearls... So, yeah. I'm about as G as Carlton from Fresh Prince. No shame in my game.

(Now, how in the hell did I go off on that rant? That's not even what I logged in to blog about...)

Oh, I know where I meant to go with that thought: I'm not a G, but, I am a G Plusser.

Okay. I'm kind of back on track now. (This is just how my mind works these days!)

Sooo... I'm taking some time (after my morning exercise) to catch up on my Adds overon G+. When people add you to their circles, I think it's kind of rude to wait too long getting back to them. Even if I'm going to "ignore" them. Best they know right off.

I am "meeting" some very cool folks. Artists and photographers (I know what I like); Scholars (I might not understand it all, but, damn! Smart is sexy); Christians (my brothers & sistas); Non-believers (still my brothers & sistas - long as there is mutual respect); Funsters (yeah, they are there) and Munsters (hmmm).

Today is a strange one. I am not only checking in online, but I am busy with other stuff, but mostly around the house and on the phone and digging through some stored things.

Because.

I am ...

Going to make an attempt to write again.

Yeah, that's right. This G is going to use this down time to at least try to do something that might help my brain work better. I'm not even thinking that anything I write is going to make sense (I mean, look at this post I'm writing), but it gives me something to think about other than smoking.

Also today is a day to get some of my financial papers in order. And personal stuff, like trying to get the divorce started.

Wow.

That's a painful word.

Divorce.

This means I thought we loved each other (and maybe we did), but love doesn't cover everything (not the nasty, bitter words and names I've had to hear) and everything doesn't cover love (not good sex, bad sex, not wishing and wanting, and not fear of being alone).

Yeah, so.

I guess it could be more painful. It would have been, way back when I first left. I hadn't even realized that it's been over 3 years of physical separation and almost a year of total separation.

Wow.

Do I feel hesitant? No. Maybe back when I thought there was even a sliver of hope that things would get better, could get better. But not after he just wasn't there when I was at my lowest.

I remember when I first got sick. I had gotten out of the hospital but the meds were really doing things to my emotions. Even with my family surrounding me and trying to keep me together, I felt like he should have been here. No matter what the cost, the way, the what-the-hell-ever - he should have been able to pull himself together to be here for me. And he wasn't.

While I was feeling like my whole world had really come apart at the seams, he was somewhere drunk and helpless and probably sleeping with someone else. And all I could think was how I had never been helpless when he'd needed me. I had been the one to work and pull our shit together. I was the one who was willing to turn my back on my family and friends to be with him. I was the one who gave him my body, my mind, my heart, my money, my jewelry, my love, my love, my love. I'm beginning to think I gave him my health. God knows the stress I went through for 3 years could not have been good for what was obviously fermenting inside my body. I gave him everything I had to give and he couldn't be there for me.

So.

Anyway, I fell out of love with him before all that happened, but I stopped loving him when that happened. Now, I don't feel much of anything. (Is that cold or hard of me?) I don't wish him ill luck or anything. Matter of fact, I kind of hope that he has found someone to be with. No one should be alone, and I sure don't intend to be. The idea of divorce is painful because it means that I failed myself.

My life now has to be about getting completely healthy and whole. And if I mess around and find myself in love again, well isn't that what it's all about? If there is no love, there really is no purpose. Love makes everything else real.

Okay, now that my thoughts have skipped to the freaking lou all over the place, I need to shut down and get back to my half-assed multi-tasking.

Peace
--Free

Oh, yeah - because I'm sappy and always emotional, I have to include some music. How about a little Aretha? This song is kind of how I feel all the time...

Life's A Beautiful Mess

My life is becoming a freaking nightmare. So much has happened to me today. At least two things anyway.

And I don't mean to complain about my life, but I can't help it. Maybe I shouldn't call my life a nightmare. Maybe it's just a bad daydream (is that possible?) and I'll wake up with drool on my chin and my world intact... For the time being though, my life kind of sucks.

One thing that happened was a job that almost was. I got all excited about it because God knows I've been  hoping and praying for something good to break: better health, some strength, good love... At this point, I'd even settle for better problems.

Today, out of the blue, opportunity knocked in the form of a potential job offer. Great job, great people, within my comfort zone, but... out of my damn zip code.

What happened was, an old friend of mine (actually a guy who once proposed to me) got in touch today. I will call him "Lou." Said I'd been on his mind for some reason (yeah, there has to be a reason because he's now married to someone else, damnit) and he hunted me down because he had news. The news is that a friend of ours is working for an old boss of ours (seriously) and, while traveling, ran into Lou in Denver airport and got to talking about old times and old friends. Somehow, my name came up (I don't want to think about how). This guy mentioned to Lou that he wished he knew where I was because I'd be "perfect" for a position  coming open in the company.

I was kind of excited at this point  - partly just because of hearing from "Lou" (why'd I pick a fake name that I hate for a guy I used to be so crazy about?) and partly because of the possible job. And I was a little scared because I still hadn't told Lou about my current medical issues. Like me, Lou talks a mile a minute. It's probably why we were always so hot for each other. No, that's not why. I think it was his eyes. I have a thing for eyes.

Anyway.

Lou goes on and on, telling me about this job and the company... Oh, it was just going to be such a good thing for me. Working for an old boss I really respected. Perfect because of the whole supply chain tie-in with my customs brokerage experience, my experience as a trainer, and yah, yah, yah. And, oh yeah, because our former colleague is in pretty tight with all the 'suits' at this company. He's practically one of the suits, except he's just not a suit kind of guy. The only possible downer is I'd be up against another really sharp guy within the company who was hooking for the position. Then again, I do have 15 years with a freight giant. This sh*t was getting complicated.

I digress. I always do.

When Lou took a breath, I asked which local hub I'd be working out of (as if I'm already hired because I get these bursts of confidence that make me know I can fly without wings). I don't mind either of the two major hubs, but I hate the small one and I loathe any office-based brokerage. I'd rather be around the actual freight and near the on-site Customs agents.

Good news! The job's not at the small hub or at an office brokerage.

Bad news :-( The damn job's in Tulsa. Tulsa's not in Alaska.

You ever have one of those rollercoaster kind of moments? So high you can hardly breathe, then dropping so fast you get stomach cramps?

Yeah.

And why?

Because I am terrified. Terrified that my brain doesn't work right anymore. Terrified of failing, falling, freaking the hell out. And terrified of being terrified.

The worst thing is, I had like a manic moment of panic and broken-ness right there on the phone. I started babbling about everything and anything except the job. Of course, Lou knows me well enough. Don't you hate that? When someone knows you so well that you can't cover fear or shame?

My secret is out with Lou. I told him what's happened to me. We spent about two hours on the phone. He gets it. He gets why I'm scared. He gets why I'm feeling so closed into myself. I even sent him a pic in Messenger because he just refused to believe I'm rolling my fat ass around, packing 200 pounds! (Bless him, he lied and told me I am still beautiful. Bless me, I told him he was a lying shit, but I love him anyway.) And how I miss Lou. Man, I really effed things up by letting him get away. At least his wife sounds like a keeper. She better be since he deserves only the best. (And, for those wondering what happened with me and Lou and the proposal, there's a reason I declined. Lou and I would have been terrible together. We're too much alike. I need someone like me, but not like me.)

Like I said, my life is a nightmare. It's going to get better.  Lou told me two important things today. One was that sometimes life is a mess, but just the fact that we are still here to live it makes it a beautiful mess. (See what I mean about this man?) The other thing he told me is that I might ought to be thankful for what I'm going through. He says that something wonderful could come out of it all.

So, I am going to keep praying and exercising and not smoking and doing all the little brain games. Maybe Lou is right about something wonderful coming out of this beautiful mess of mine.

Oops.

I almost forgot to mention the other thing that happened today. My bestest friend (J) called me because she knows I'm having this random period-like situation, complete with some cramps (I didn't answer because I was sleeping through the cramps and a cigarette craving, holding a hot pack to my stomach and praying I get in touch with my doc to raise the dose of my Wellbutrin before I start smoking pieces of carpet). The thing about me and my phone is that I'm always leaving it in another room or accidentally muting the ringer. All three of my best friends (J, B, and T) know this about me. They also know I'm kind of loopy these days and they worry about me. If I don't answer my  phone, I get a voice mail warning to call or text them back. I don't call or text back within a half hour or so, my family starts getting calls. It's a little embarrassing, but I love those bitches.

Anyway, when I didn't answer the phone, J left me a silly message, doing her vocal interpretation of Tammy Wynette's "Hard To Be A Woman." She called my sister later and found out I was okay. I woke up and listened to her really, really bad singing on my voice mail at least three times. I forwarded it to the other two Besties. Then I went back to sleep. LOL (I know my friends & somewhere in Houston and in Amsterdam there are a couple of women trying to decide if they are going to upload J's vocals to YouTube.)

Peace
--Free

And, remember...