Broken Dreams

Sam works retail. Personally, I hate retail. I hate the hours and the lack of appreciation most large retailers have for their employees; but, I digress (already).  Due to the fact that Sam works retail, his hours are always different and there is no way to get into a routine (I thrive on routine).   Accordingly, there are times when Sam and I have a difficult time finding “private time”.  So we are banging away the other morning, minding our own business (and obviously each other’s), when we hear a large CRRAAAACK.  We had broken the bed.  Shit. 

We both had really busy days to begin so we didn’t think a whole lot of it and kind of forgot about it that day.  That night, Sam got home late and came to bed after I was already asleep. 

Sam requires very little rest.  He sleeps about 5-6 hours a night.  I must at least 7 or I’m falling asleep at my desk (and my eye-bags look like suitcases).   So we are sleeping that night and I wake up and it feels like we are slanting toward one side of the bed.  I had to roll up hill to get out of it.  Sam wakes up too and we realize that we had forgotten to deal with the broken bed. I murmured something about no sex in the morning due to the bed being broken and next thing I know, Sam is out of bed with the lights on, assessing the damage: AT 4:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING. 

Two hours later, and we realize there is no fixing the bed since one of the sideboards has a large crack in it and needs to be replaced. Fortunately, I bought the extra insurance when I purchased the set a few years ago. So I call the insurance company and they send me a 4 page questionnaire to fill out, and one of the questions is as follows:

                “Provide a detailed explanation (at least one full paragraph long) of exactly where and how the problem occurred for each affected items as well as a comprehensive description of the actual event and exactly what caused the damage.  Please be aware that we only will be able to take further action on your service request when we get this information.”   (Worded poorly, I agree.)

REALLY? Ok. You people apparently don’t understand with whom you are dealing….

My response:

                We were having sex (we hadn’t even gotten to the crazy stuff yet), when the bed frame broke. It was approximately 7:00 am, and he was on top and I was on the bottom in the missionary position when we heard a large crack and felt the bed bump. We stopped having sex to look at the frame and noticed a large crack along the left frame of the bed.  When we tried to get it to go back together with the footboard, it wouldn’t go.  So we had to stop having sex and it was very inconvenient. Should you require further details, pictures reenacting the scene can be provided.

In the meantime, Sam used gorilla glue to hold the bed frame together.  I hope that stuff is as good as it claims....

A Hard Therapist is Good to Find

The funny thing about falling in love (after a really long time of lamenting love) is the reactions of my friends and family.

Of course, in the beginning they think it’s just a passing fling (since I am well known for my passing flings).  We all wonder, after such a long time, if I am even capable of the compromises that come with having a close, loving relationship.  In their defense, I’ve been saying I don’t want to be in a long-term relationship for years.   In my own defense…....  Fine.  I don’t have a defense. 

Then my friends and family start to notice things and point them out to me (to show me how wrong I’ve been).  That’s when I began to realize I might be in trouble here….

My sisters, for example, were over for a picnic to meet “Sam” for the first time.  I get a text from him saying he was a minute away and I immediately began to primp - fixing my hair and checking myself in the mirror.  My sister’s jaw drops open.  “Holy Shit! You REALLY like this guy!” she says.  ((Blank stare from me))

Soon after, I go to my mother’s house to drop something off (a few months after Sam and I had started dating). My mother takes one look at me and says, “You look great! Isn’t being in love wonderful?!  ((sigh))  I miss sex.”   ((Blank stare from me))

My friends’ reactions varied from: “This guy really seems to make you happy! Now don’t fuck this up!”   (very nice),  to a less positive reaction. The more I got to know Sam, the more I liked him.  He is sweet, affectionate and very complimentary and doesn’t care who sees it. Some of my friends assumed that I was settling for the first guy that came along after my daughter left (not true, I’ve had others) and basically told me that because I was allowing Sam to sleep and leave clothing here that “this isn’t who you said you were”.  The thing was that I was as surprised as everyone else, but it annoyed me that they felt I needed to remain the same way for the rest of my life.  (Well, excuse me for being fucking complex.) Still others found the affectionate and loving words this man said to me often to be “disgusting”. (Awwww! Someone’s kindness and MY happiness bother you? That is so sweet!  Fuck you very much.)

As for me, I was pretty much a hot mess.  The feelings were coming on fast and furious, fueled by massive quantities of sex and a lot of time spent together daily.  He was even sleeping over! (Something I always said I abhorred!!)  I didn’t want to be away from him (hell, I didn’t want to be out of bed).  I was dealing with past issues with which clearly I had previously not dealt, fighting these growing feelings and trying to talk myself out of it at every turn; not to mention all of these people close to me telling me varying opinions (opinions are like assholes….) and I knew I needed some help.  More help than I could give myself through alcohol and denial.

 So the first thing I did was to call two really good friends of mine and they both said the same thing, “WHAT are you freaking out about?? You do not need to figure out where this is going yet! Enjoy it for what it is and take it one day at a time!”   That worked …… for about a week.

I have a good friend that had been telling me for YEARS that I needed to go see a professional to deal with my disdain of all things romance.  She thought I protested too much and simply had trust/abandonment issues that I hadn’t dealt with (Ya think??) and that I could work through them with the help of a professional.  (On a side note, I have been to therapy twice before in my life.  The first was “couples therapy” with my ex-husband.  After the second session, the therapist looks at me and says “I really think you need to find your own therapist.  Your husband has many issues to work out on his own.”  [RED FLAG! RED FLAG!]) 

This time, I went to see “Bob”.  Bob is a well-known psychologist in the area and I had heard his name before as a man that doesn’t mince words and speaks very openly (Yay! I can swear!).  He sounded perfect for me! What I didn’t know at the time was that Bob specializes in sex therapy. This became evident during out first appointment.  Bob and I met twice.  The first time we talked about my boobs for about the first 20 minutes.  No really. Bob was having a field day with my past sex life and analyzing the fuck out of me and trying to figure out what was wrong with my current sex life (NOTHING).  It was almost Freudian in nature in that while I was trying to talk about my trust and intimacy issues, Bob wanted to talk about the impact growing large boobs at 15 years of age and all of the sex that I have had in my lifetime had on my trust and intimacy issues (quite a bit as it turns out, along with a few other little events like my ex-husband leaving me and our infant daughter in the middle of the night). I know it sounds like a creepy couple of therapy sessions but it actually wasn’t.  In the end, I really like Bob, and I would recommend him to others, if just for the entertainment factor alone.

So here’s the thing about therapy.  Seldom does the therapist come to any epiphanies for you.  More so, the act of going to a therapist makes you more insightful about yourself and any epiphanies are yours to find. So while Bob obsessed about my boobs and my sex life, I would leave his office and start thinking about the important shit.  If I had taken the time and effort to go to therapy, didn’t that mean that I was ready, willing and able to make the changes for which I was seeking the therapy in the first place? 

 

The answer, clearly, was “Yes”…..

 

There. I said it.

One year ago today my daughter and I left for the long trip across the country to take her to college….

 

Shortly after I dropped my daughter off at college and flew back home, I was really getting into the groove of being an empty nester.  Granted, it took me a few weeks to get used to not having my daughter around with whom to argue; but eventually, I brought my gym equipment into her room, surrounded myself with friends, family and copious quantities of alcohol, and was happily moving into the next phase of my life.  I worked hard and I played hard and was happier than a pig in shit. My daughter came for visits for both Thanksgiving AND Christmas, so I was getting adequate amounts of “me time” and “daughter time”.   Just when I started to go through withdrawal from my kid, she would come home, piss me off and then leave.  Life was grand!

So I proceeded through life for the next 4 months, happily living my life and writing my blog and flirting both virtually and realistically. For the first time in the better part of 20 years, the focus was on me again….FINALLY!!  ME, ME, ME!!

Fast forward to January 2013 (((place squirrely fast forward noise here))), and the holidays, with all of their anticlimactic fervor, are over;- and it’s fucking cold outside,  boring and fucking cold. I decide it’s time to begin to address some things in the house that I felt I had neglected over the years.  I decide I want to do some home improvements in my kitchen….

About a year or so prior, a guy that (apparently) I went to high school with (I don’t remember much from high school) friend requested me on FB and around the same time, started reading Antics.  At that time, I was getting a whole lot of friend requests and I didn’t think much of it.  It just so happened, however, that the guy that friend requested me worked for a large home improvement store and (not angry about this), was pretty damn cute.  EUREKA!!

Keep in mind that I have always considered myself to be the world’s biggest cynic when it comes to love.  My friends and many who read my blog would agree with me.  For the past 20 years I have dated (short term), and even had one tumultuous longish-term relationship; but for the most part, I have been alone in raising my daughter and found love to be a messy, annoying emotion.   I found that sex without all of that silly emotion to be exactly what I was looking for and I was content to happily live my life without love. 

So, I begin to text said hot guy for any information/discounts he can give me, things progress from there and, Lo! and Behold! the naysayer of all things romantic, the purveyor of pessimism for all things passion, FALLS IN LOVE.  

There. I said it.  For the second time in public, I said it. 

For me, it’s been a bit of a rocky road, I’m not going to lie.  I actually fought it in the beginning tooth and nail. I didn’t think I wanted it, needed it or could possibly stand it.  I spoke to friends, family and even saw a shrink. But, it happened and here we are.

So, I guess the Antics blog will change a bit from here on out.  I will always write about my life, including the “old days”, but I will also have to change gears a bit and proceed from my life that is here and now.

So this is the rest of my story…..

Table for One

Do you know what I can’t stand (other than bigots and bad grammar)?  Whiny single people. What’s worse than that? That would be whiny single people on Valentine’s Day.

I am single. I am single by choice.  Maybe it’s because I refuse to settle for the wrong person just to have someone, or perhaps I find compromising a pain in my ass; but either way, it’s my choice. I truly don’t understand people that find their self-worth in having a boy/girlfriend.  If someone is desperate to have someone on Valentine’s Day then they should go ahead and settle for someone with whom they have nothing in common, someone who hogs the remote control or a loser that treats them like shit - and have a wonderfully romantic day!

As with most things in life, you have two options: Feel sorry for yourself for the hand that this big, mean world has dealt you; or, see yourself as an intelligent, independent happy person and TREAT YOURSELF for Valentine’s Day. 

Here’s how:

First, understand that Valentine’s Day is basically a Hallmark holiday.  If someone doesn’t show their sig-other how much they care about them on a daily basis, they are an idiot and don’t deserve to have a sig-other.  That being said, I like chocolate.

Second, decorate your home with hearts and flowers for February, regardless of whether you have someone in my life or not.  Don’t see it as a glaring reminder that you are single, but a wonderful reminder that you are loved by your parents, siblings, kids, your friends and yes, even your pets.  Show those people that love you when you are at your worst that you love and appreciate them for it. Make them little treats, buy or make them a card, or just tell them that you love and appreciate them.  Valentine’s Day does not have to be just about lovers but just about love.

Most importantly, love yourself first (I don’t mean in the physical sense but if that makes you happy when you wake up in the morning, go for it). We have all heard it a million times and it’s true: you will never find someone to love you if you don’t love you.  Every year on Valentine’s Day I do something special for myself.  Last year it was a massage and it was probably one of the best Valentine’s Days I have ever had (remember, there are nearly always openings at the salon on this day because all of the attached people are out to dinner or whatever).  I had an awesome massage late in the day then went home all warm and mushy, had a glass of wine and a nice dinner, read a great book and relaxed for the evening. I didn’t have to argue with myself about what to watch on TV and I was not disappointed in the least in the gift I had received. 

This year - this evening - I am getting a facial (insert dirty joke here and see footnote on facials). I scheduled it months ago and have been looking forward to it ever since.  Again, Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be a reminder that you are single, but more a reminder that you are loved and that you love youself.  

And now for my advice to men for the day:

Whenever I tell certain friends that I am scheduled for a facial, they giggle. Of course they are thinking of the dirty sense of the word.  I typically giggle too because most of the time I have the sense of humor of a 17 year-old boy; however, I am here to tell you men the truth: women don’t enjoy your kind of facials. If you have been with a woman that told you she did, she lies.  She is trying to look either cool or freaky in bed but either way, she lied to you. If you are a guy and you are into that kind of thing, you really should date a porn star. Porn stars don’t like it either but they don’t really have much of a choice if they want to get paid.  Your girlfriend/wife can thank me now.

 Have a great Valentine’s Day everyone, particularly if you are single!

Last Saturday Night Was Wild

Last week I did something that I have not done in a really long time.  I don’t feel bad about it.  Why should I? I am a single, adult woman.  I work hard, take my responsibilities seriously and rarely do anything for myself.  I decided that it was time to do something for ME.  Here’s how it went.…

It was Saturday night and I was restless.  I had not been out in a really long time and I’ve had little contact with the opposite sex of late. I needed a change in a bad way.

I don’t know what hit me but I was lying on my bed reading a book and I looked at the clock. Nine o’clock on a Saturday night and I am home alone reading?? What the hell is wrong with me? So I jumped out of bed and threw open my closet doors with purpose.  I start flinging clothing onto my bed like closet-vomit until I found the perfect outfit.  Small, comfortable, displayed the parts I wanted to display and hid the parts I didn’t.  Satisfied, I walked out.

I chose a place I hadn’t been to in as long as I could remember.   The last time I was there it hadn’t ended well and I left disappointed.  I knew that would NOT be the case on this night.  I admit I did open the door a little tentatively; but I put on a brave face and ventured inside.  The place smelled a little funny.  Pungent, a little like incense and a little like a kind of cheese that I couldn’t put a name to.  I assumed it was all the dinners they serve and decided to ignore it.  Eventually I got used to it and couldn’t smell it at all.

I started to relax and finished my beverage while I looked around the place and took in the sights when I decided to go outside for a smoke.   I hesitated, perhaps for a bit too long, when I spotted what would eventually be my trouble of the night. The first thing that popped into my head was “a cool drink of water”.  I don’t know why, but it did.

I was a little taken aback.  The entire thing was fast and furious and completely unexpected - particularly in that place.  But, I wasn’t complaining and I wasn’t looking back!

By the end of the night, after the sweating and the grunting, the rubbing and the caressing, the dirty talk and the sweet talk, I was completely satisfied and happy! I didn’t regret what I had done, didn’t care what people thought!  I smiled as I looked back over my shining clean refrigerator, complimented myself on a job well done, shut the door and went to bed.  I had even killed an hour. 

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: I like to live my life with no regrets.