The girls are back. The topic is (shhhhhh) sex. The casual kind.

I’ve been working on this post for, like, EVER and I just can’t get it written.

Probably because it’s about me and (gasp!) sex.  The casual kind.  If there even is such a thing, which I am starting to doubt.

What does “casual sex” even mean?  Less formal sex?  Sex with strangers?  Sport fucking?  Recreational sex?  Is one of these terms an umbrella term for the others?  What are the subcategories? Who decides that the sex is going to be casual?  At what point can formerly casual sex become non-casual sex?  Or vice versa?

Can you see how being a lawyer makes everything more difficult?

Fuck.

Anyway.

It’s hard to write about this topic — I now live in a very small town and people are starting to read this blog (which is awesome and also EEK! vulnerable!) and every once in awhile my amazing son Austin takes a peek (can you say ”awkward”?) — but if this blog is about my “JOURNEY” or whatever, then it would be pretty weird to, like, never speak about sex.  I’ve been single a looooooong time, people.  And I’m not dead.  Sex is an issue.

And casual sex is an issue because (a) I’m me, and my libido sometimes works faster than my brain and  (b) I suck at it, pretty much and (c) I always forget that I suck at it until after I’ve done it.

Here’s how it typically (but not always) plays out with the girls in my brain — you remember them, right – kimmy, Kim and Kimberly:

*******************************

kimmy:  “Woo-Hoo!  He’s cute/brilliant/funny/got a cute dog, let’s get naked!”

Kim:  “Oh fuck – please tell me we aren’t wearing those damn granny panties again tonight… Where’s the bathroom?”

Kimberly:  “Listen up SLUTS — are you fucking serious right now?  You want to get busy with this loser?  I can’t even see what he looks like on account of all the HUGE RED FLAGS surrounding him.  You know, the ones that say [insert red flaggy  things like "Probable Drug Addict" or "I'm 20 years older/younger than you" or  "Sure, I'm Single (tonight)" and/or  "Fuck Me, Everyone Else Has!" or  "I May Look 30/40/50 but I'm Really 13" or  "Hi, My Name Is Bob (my name isn't Bob)" or "The Tin Foil Protects Me From Aliens!" or "I Only Talk About Me!" or "I Can't Wait to Tell The Guys At the Bar About This!" or "You're Buying, Baby!"]

kimmy:  “You’re hallucinating, Kimberly.  I don’t see anything except those beautiful blue/brown/green eyes and did you even see his lips?  Why are our clothes still on? Let’s go, girls!”

Kim:  “She’s got a point about his lips, Kimberly…. I can’t stop looking at them.  I think I’m hypnotized.”

Kimberly:  “Look away from his lips, Kim!  Jesus, this is getting out of hand.  Who the fuck ordered the margaritas?!”

kimmy:  “I love margaritas!  Are the granny panties gone yet?”

Kim:  “Oh shit, the lips are moving and they are saying sweet things.  Can’t.  Look.  Away.  I need to bite that bottom lip.  Come ON Kimberly, can’t you throw caution to the wind just this one little time?”

kimmy:  “Why are you even talking to her, Kim?  She never wants to have any fun.  I think she is frigid.  She fucking enjoyed the year-long Moratorium.  How is she even related to us?

Kim:  “She’s got a point, Kimberly.  You do seem frigid.”

Kimberly:  “One of us has to be frigid…. Listen, we don’t even know this joker — does he even have a name yet, sluts?  This is a VERY BAD IDEA.  No good can come from this.  We will have a teensy little bit of fun and then what?  NOTHING.  That’s what.”

kimmy:  “What if it’s a LOT of fun?  Why does anything else have to come of it?  Why can’t we just have fun?  Honestly I don’t even care what his name is.  What does it matter?  It’s not like we are looking for a “RELATIONSHIP”…. (she shudders)

Kim:  “Did you see his hands?  This could definitely be a LOT of fun.  (tearing her eyes away from him and turning to Kimberly) I kind of agree with kimmy — I mean, I do think we should probably get his name, but beyond that, what is the big deal?  We’re single, we will be careful (she starts rummaging through her purse for condoms) he’s probably not a serial killer — why not go for it?”

Kimberly:  “Nice.  He’s probably not a serial killer…. Then of course we should have sex with him.  I mean, if that is the criteria, why not?”

Kim:  “Now you’re just being a bitch…. FOUND THEM! (holds up the box of condoms, which she has because she is CAREFUL, not because she is a NYMPHO)…. Have you even noticed the kissing?  FIREWORKS!!!!  Oh shit, now he’s kissing our neck…. come ON Kimberly, let’s play!”

Kimberly:  “Yes.  I noticed the kissing. (heavy sigh) Jesus, how do we get into these situations?  He does have nice hands, BUT mark my words, sluts, it doesn’t matter that we’re not looking for a relationship, once this happens you guys will be all “oh, he’s so great, I wonder when he’s gonna call, I can’t wait to do it again, why hasn’t he called?” and then you guys are disappointed and then you regret everything.”

kimmy:  “Can you guys shut up already?  We’re busy, in case you haven’t noticed…..”

Kim:  “Wow.  Look at her go! (turning to Kimberly – who is pounding her head against the wall, while also trying to see what kimmy is up to)  I feel like pounding your head against the wall is not helping anyone and is overly dramatic.  It’s not the end of the world, Kimberly.  It’s just sex.  Let’s talk about it tomorrow (winks)”

Kimberly:  “Lovely….”

—————— 24 Hours Later ——————-

kimmy:  “Oh.  My.  God.  That was amazing.  What was his name again?”

Kim:  (dreamily) “Bob…. his name was Bob….. Not that it matters, since there were so many red flags around him and he’s obviously entirely WRONG for us and we will probably never see him again……… but remember when he said we’re [insert sweet/insincere thing:  "smart" or "pretty" or "hot" or "awesome" or "nice" or "interesting" or "funny" or "a lot of fun"] and remember how he asked for our phone number?  That was soooooooooooooo sweet.  Even though he will probably never call and that is FINE, because he is so obviously not someone we would ever be interested in.  Ever.”

Kimberly:  “Here we go.”

kimmy:  “OUCH! I can barely MOVE, girlfriends!  Bob was a maniac.

Kimberly:  “Nice.  Are you complaining or bragging,party girl?”

kimmy:  “Both!  I knew you had a sense of humor under there somewhere, Kimberly….Bobby-boy is very…. flexible…  he might have a speech impediment, though, and did you see those sex faces?  Too funny! ….”

Kim:  “I wonder if I wrote the phone number down right?  Sometimes my handwriting is not very legible.  I should’ve put it directly into his phone, that’s how all the kids are doing it these days.  Not that it matters, because I think it would just be weird if he called.  I mean, why call?  It’s not like we would go out with him again.  We have absolutely nothing in common with him.  He was a really good snuggler though, right?  I mean, not every guy can snuggle for hours like that.  That was nice.  Oh, and remember how he said our hair smelled so good he couldn’t get enough of it?  Sweet.”

kimmy:  “I would totally fuck Bob again.  Who cares if we have nothing in common, we’re totally not interested in a relationship, amirite?”

Kim:  “That seems a little callous, kimmy…. He is a person, not just a piece of meat.  Maybe we do have some things in common, you never know.  It’s not like we covered a lot of ground before, you know.”

Kimberly:  “What a surprise.  Now we’re interested in Bob.”

Kim:  “We are not interested, I’m just saying that he might not be as wrong for us as we originally thought….. were you not there for the snuggling, Kimberly?  That is powerful shit.  There was a connection there, I know it.  Not that it matters, probably.”

Kimberly:  “Um hmmmm.”

kimmy:  “Dude, why are we waiting for Bob to call us?  Let’s call him!  I could totally go for another roll in the hay.  Get while the gettin’s good, right?”

Kim:  “She’s right, Kimberly.  We should probably call him.  I don’t want him to think that we were just using him for sex.”

Kimberly:  “Remember when you justified sleeping with him because it was, and I quote “JUST SEX”?”

Kim:  “Still.  He doesn’t have to know that.  It might make him feel bad?”

kimmy:  “Are you on drugs?  He’s a MAN.  He would be thrilled to be used for sex.”

Kimberly:  (mumbling) “Happens every time.  Every.  Single.  Time.”

Kim:  “It does not happen every time, THIS IS DIFFERENT!  Remember no name in 2005?  It didn’t happen that time.”

kimmy:  “That was horrible sex and No Name turned out to be a stalker named Geronimo, of course it didn’t happen that time.”

Kim:  “Thanks, kimmy (rolling her eyes) …. Who’s side are you on?”

kimmy:  “Hey, I’m happy either way, I am just trying to keep you honest.”

Kimberly:  “How refreshing.”

kimmy:  “Zip it, Kimberly.  Nobody likes a know-it-all.”

——– phone rings ——–

Kim:  “IT’S BOB!!!!!!” (happy dancing)

kimmy:  “Woo-Hoo!  Round Two!” (rummaging through underwear drawer for cute, non-granny, panties”

Kimberly:  “Fuck My Life.” (looking for vodka)

***********************************************

So.  Yes.  Casual sex is almost never entirely casual.  At least for one of the chicks in my head….

And it’s even LESS CASUAL if it happens more than once, regardless of the justifications set forth initially.

Is it different for men?  I think it must be.  And probably for some women.  Some super-smart, independent, completely secure, MAN-HATING, women.  Just kidding.  They probably aren’t completely secure.

Anyway.

It’s an issue.

And I don’t plan on figuring it all out right here in the blog.  At least not today.  But your (NON-JUDGY) input would be greatly appreciated!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  I love this:

p.p.s.  I’m sure some of you are married and are either (a) scandalized or (b) titillated by this post.  I’m sorry/you’re welcome. Just remember, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.  Being single can be fun.  It can also be lonely and confusing and complicated.  Sometimes marriage/relationships look like nirvana to me.  I miss being close to someone.

p.p.p.s.  You do remember that this is a blog and for entertainment purposes — some dramatic license has been taken.  Like, for example, there was no No Name.  In 2005.

p.p.p.s. Ohhhh, I feel the judginess coming my way……. YIKES!

Dear Mom, Remember when you were alive and I was bitchy and ungrateful? Sorry. Love, Kim

Dear Mom,

It’s Mother’s Day here.  Which totally sucks because you’re there.  And I’m not even sure where “there” is.  I hope you are well, Mommy.  I also hope that, wherever you are, they have lilacs and strawberry shortcake and Coca Cola and grapes and babies and convertibles and sugar cookie dough and an unlimited supply of flowy gauze clothing.  When I imagine you, you have all your amazing silver hair and you are tan and you are draped in Marguerite jewels and are wearing some gauzey white stuff.  And you are smiling.  Which makes me smile, and also cry.

I’ve done a TON of crying today.  Mostly about how much I miss you and how much I miss my little sweet pea, Austin.  But also because FUCKING WORDPRESS JUST DELETED THE POST I WORKED ON ALL DAMN DAY.  I know you hate it when I cuss on my blog, but it was a good post, Mom.  If you’re really an Angel or whatever, then you probably know how good it was, because you were watching/listening to me write it and sob uncontrollably.

Anyway.

I can’t rewrite the entire damn post now — it would take forever and I can’t really remember everything I wrote.  I’m really starting to worry about my memory.  Did anyone in our family have early onset dementia or Alzheimer’s?  File that under “Things I Wish I Had Asked You When You Were Alive”….  Along with “Where the fuck is the septic tank at this house?” and “Where are the replacement bulbs for those fancy lights in the kitchen?” and other important stuff.  You wouldn’t believe how often I find myself thinking “OMG I have to call Mom and tell her about this right now!” or “I will have to ask Mom about this…..”  Another memory issue, I guess.  I forget that you’re dead and I’m stuck here without you.  Or mostly without you, depending on whether you’re an angel or whatever.

So.

I miss you.  That is mainly what I want to say today.  I miss you.  I miss you.  I miss you.  I even kind of miss the things that used to drive me NUTS about you — like how you used to eat, like, half of a grape and then put the other half in plastic and then back in the refrigerator.  And how you would always just throw food in the garbage disposal and then not run it….  And how you used to constantly eat corn nuts or do something loud with your hands  — like empty the ice trays or drill a hole in some concrete — while we were trying to talk on the phone  and then you would be all “What?  I can’t hear you?” and I would be all “STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING MOM!” and you would finally stop and then be all “Oh.  Well that’s better, isn’t it!”

(You know what I don’t miss, Mom?  The way you used to put your bare feet all over my dashboard.  That was gross )

I love this picture of us — partly because it was probably the last fun day that we had together and partly because that is how you always used to hold me when I needed to cry.  You would pull me close and put your arm around me and play with my hair and tell me that no matter what awful thing was happening, it was all going to be okay.  I remember that when I was little  I used to fall apart every time I came home from a long visit with Dad.  I don’t know if I was sad to be leaving Dad or happy/relieved to be home with you, probably both.  Anyway.  You never asked me to explain, you just held me like that until I was done.  And I remember the day that we were sitting on your kitchen floor surrounded by debris from some home improvement project you were working on and we were talking and I finally realized that my marriage was over.  I was so ashamed and so sad and so scared and you crawled over all the crap on the floor and held me and stroked my hair until I couldn’t cry anymore.  You told me that it was going to be okay and that you would be with me and that Austin would survive.  And you were right, Mom.  Eventually it was okay.  And because you were there for all of us, Austin was okay too.  Thank you, Mom.  I don’t know if I ever told you how much that meant to me or how much I appreciated all the times you took such good care of Austin when his Dad and I couldn’t.

I wish you were here to hold me like that now, Mom.  It’s hard to be here without you.

Anyway.

Remember when you were alive and I was sometimes bitchy and ungrateful?  You were probably thinking “Oh, she’s really going to regret this shit when I die, just watch!” and you know what?  You were right.  YOU WERE RIGHT, MOM.  There, I said it out loud.  I hate that I was ever bitchy to you, especially when you were sick.  I hate that I took so many things for granted, Mom.  I hate that I didn’t thank you for every single thing you did for me before you died.  I’m so, so sorry.  I know that you already know all this, I just wanted to say it out loud.  I’m sorry.  And I love you, mamacita.  And I miss you.  And Happy Mother’s Day.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

kimmy

p.s.  this is really just between me and my mom, so it feels a little weird sharing it, but WTF, i share everything else with you guys.

Another place, another train. RIP MCA. Also, another list!

I am so saddened by the news that Adam Yauch - MCA of the Beastie Boys passed away.

He was my age.

FUCK YOU, CANCER

I’m not going to pretend that I’m any kind of authority or super-fan of the Beastie Boys or Adam Yauch - I’m not.  But some of their music forms the soundtrack of my youth and I still listen to it today when I want to remind myself of what it felt like to be young and vibrant and so alive.  “She’s Crafty” and “No Sleep til Brooklyn” are probably my favorite BB tunes and both rank high on my “most played” iTunes list, with “Intergalactic” close behind.

Heavy sigh.

Anyway.

What else?

Oh, it’s Cinco de Mayo!  Seems like a good time for a list!

FIRST ANNUAL CINCO DE MAYO LIST WRITTEN IN MEXICO, WHERE THEY DON’T REALLY CELEBRATE CINCO DE MAYO EXCEPT IN GRINGO BARS:

1.  It’s Cinco de Mayo and I’m in Mexico.  Which would be way more cool if Cinco de Mayo wasn’t a holiday that the Mexicans make fun of other people for celebrating.  Still.  It’s a holiday in my book….

2.  It’s eleventy-seven million degrees fahrenheit here today.  And it’s not a dry heat.  So instead of beach blogging, I’m bed-blogging with 2 massive fans pointed directly at me.  This is totally drying out my eyes, but making my hair fly around like I’m a supermodel at a photo-shoot, so that is cool.

3.  I could turn on the air conditioner, but then everyone would think I am a total wuss.  Air conditioning is a sensitive issue here, you guys.  For one thing, it’s expensive.  The electric utility here has some bizarre rate system that no one can explain to me, but basically it seems that once you hit a certain point of usage, the cost per unit of usage goes really, really high for the rest of the month.  To get around this, many houses are built with 2 or more electric meters, so that no individual meter hits the dreaded usage level.  My house has 2 meters.  The problem is that (a) I don’t know which meter corresponds with which part of the house (and therefore don’t know which air conditioning units are on which meter) and (b) I have no way of knowing what the dreaded usage level is by looking at the meters.  So that is confusing.

4.  But the real issue is that people judge you on whether or not you can stand the heat.  The thinking seems to be that people who can’t stand the heat are obviously inferior to those that can and also that if you can’t stand the heat, you should probably go the fuck back to where you came from and leave the whole “living in Mexico” thing to the professionals (and the Mexicans).  This seems a little harsh to me– a person who hasn’t adjusted to heat + humidity YET.

5.  Oh – I’m alive!  (No thanks to Typhoid Fever.)  About 5 days into the 10 days of antibiotics I started to feel like I just might make it and now I’m feeling enirely human again.  Yay.

6.  Big changes here at Casa de Colores – I’ve moved myself out of the big suite area in the back of the house and I now have a RENTER….  Weird, right?  It’s kind of a great spot for a renter, though.  It’s pretty much a studio apartment back there with a brand new refrigerator and microwave and a separate entrance, etc.  It’s weird to have someone in the house – especially when I’m used to running around half-nekkid in the god awful heat and to playing my music extremely loud when I’m showering, cleaning, cooking and/or writing.  Which pretty much covers everything I do in this house.  So there’s that.  But it also means that I’m getting a little bit of income to offset the cost of living here.

7.  Which is good, because I’ve decided to live here!

8.  Well, you know, KIND OF.  I’m having a hard time making any kind of firm committment to anything these days, but I’m mostly sure that I’m going to try to live here, like, for real.  At least for most of the year.  I have to go back to Colorado to take care of my stuff, my Mom’s stuff, etc. for at least a few months this summer and then I hope to come back in September/October and to stay through until at least next summer.

9.  I’m still trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to support myself here, but (SPOILER ALERT) it might involve (shhhhh) practicing law again.

10.  OMG – the monsters in my head are having a massive rally against the aforementioned (shhhhh) practicing law again, so I can’t really discuss it now, but YES, I think it is going to happen.

11.  The supporting of myself will also have to include some other stuff because, at least right now, the (shhhh) practicing law again is very, very part-time.  I think the other stuff may involve WRITING for MONEY – just not the kind of writing for money that I dreamed I would be doing, i.e., the best-selling novel kind of writing for money.  Oh no, this kind of writing is more the internet content and/or freelance article writing kind of writing.  Not nearly as glamorous, but more likely to pay actual money sometime before the year 2020.

12.  This is kind of a major announcement (Announcement!).  I probably shouldn’t have buried it in a Cinco de Mayo list.  Whatever.

13.  Have I mentioned that I’m about to be an Aunt again?!!!!  My brother and his wife are expecting their first child in early June!  I’m so excited and I’m also a little bit sad that our artistic genius Mom (with great hair) won’t be here to enjoy this new baby and his/her little tiny twinkle-toe feet.

14.  There’s more, but I can’t tell you about it right now.  Ha!

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  sometimes i just feel like i’m writing you guys letters instead of “blogging” — is that wrong?  there’s also a lot of pressure (ok, it’s internal pressure, but still…) to be either (a) somewhat profound or (b) funny when i write and sometimes i can’t come up with either of those things.

p.p.s.  a baby!!!!

And now I have Typhoid Fever, practically.

And by “practically”, I mean that I don’t technically have Typhoid Fever, but for a day or two I was pretty sure I had Typhoid Fever and my symptoms are remarkably similar to Typhoid Fever (according to the world wide interweb) so really whether I technically have Typhoid Fever or not is not the point.  I practically have it.

Technically I have a kidney infection.

A really horribly bad kidney infection!  With fevers and chills and fatigue (oh my!) and muscle/joint pain and sick tummy.

I’ve had it for, ummmm, almost three weeks.  But I just went to the Doctor on Friday, naturally.

Why the delay in seeking medical attention?

On account of how I’m not that smart is the answer to that good question.

Let’s see.

Instead of going to the Doctor I spent weeks trying to figure out what was wrong with me by doing two things that are almost never helpful (a) talking (read: complaining) to friends about it and (b) researching medical stuff on the internet.

Here are the medical conditions that I tentatively diagnosed myself with over the past two weeks:

• Cancer, obviously.
• Fibromyalgia — the muscle/joint pain was truly horrific and I still might have this….
• MS — because I’m from Colorado and everyone gets MS in Colorado plus I have some symptoms.
• Chronic Fatigue Syndrome — I was really really tired.
• Flu
• Strep throat — I had a sore throat the first week into this.
• Menopause — well, pre-menopause — I thought I had that menopause fog + extreme fatigue + I thought I was having hot flashes when it was just a deadly high fever…..  I’m not kidding.
• Rheumatoid Arthritis — have I mentioned how much my muscles and joints hurt?  A lot.
• Dengue Fever — actually a friend suggested that I might have this and, of course, after reading about it I was convinced that I totally had it.
• Malaria — I have none of the symptoms, but it seemed possible since I live in a tropical place.
• Drug Addiction — because I might have taken a few pain pills that were not prescribed to me.  I was taking them for menstrual cramps.  Which is like amputating your arm because of a scratch – overkill.  Anyway, then I stopped taking them and the horrible muscle/joint pain set in and I was all – Fuck!  Withdrawal symptoms!  Now I know exactly what heroin addicts must feel like when they try to stop!  Which, in hindsight is hilarious and sad.
• Brain tumor — on account of the incredibly awful and unrelenting headache that lasted for fucking ever.  In fact, it’s back again today after a brief respite.  So the potential brain tumor is still on the table.
• Depression — Ahhhh, my old friend Depression.  Here’s how I feel when I’m really depressed:  headachey + no energy + body aches and pains + foggy thinking.  And here’s how I’ve felt the past few weeks:  headachey + no energy + excruciating body pain + foggy thinking.  Oh and a HUGE FEVER – which should’ve tipped me off that I wasn’t just reaching a new low in my experience of Depression and it probably would have, if it had occurred to me that I was having a high fever, instead of occurring to me that I was having menopause-related hot flashes.  Also, I’m not even menopausal.
• Lyme disease — turns out they don’t really have that in my part of Mexico.  STILL – the body pain?
• Meningitis — the headache was really fucking bad.  And my neck hurt.  And I had a fever.
• The Plague — don’t laugh.  You can still totally get it.  Just probably not here.

Anyway.

A friend finally got tired of listening to me moan and groan and insisted that I go see a Doctor fortheloveofGod.

And while I was at the Doctor’s office I remembered this little tidbit of (it turns out) crucially important information:  about 3 weeks ago I thought I had a bladder infection, so I took some antibiotics that my Aunt had given me (I know) for three days, after which I concluded that everything was fine…..

The smart Doctor (who appears to be 12, but tells me his son is celebrating his 15th birthday soon) suggests that we do some blood tests and a urinalysis.  And I say “what are you testing for?”  And he says “Dengue Fever, Typhoid Fever [and some other stuff]….”  And I’m all “What?  Typhoid?”  And he was all “Yes, your symptoms are consistent with Typhoid.”  So I went home and researched Typhoid Fever and became 1000000% convinced that I had it.

And I might have made a big deal about it and told my sister about it and made it sound all dramatic.  Not that I had to do much to make it sound dramatic, I mean, you don’t hear “I have Typhoid Fever” a lot.  And then I told some other people who I hoped would feel sorry for me and maybe feel bad that I had been suffering while they were just going about their lives and not calling or writing me.  And that kind of worked on everyone except my fucking sassy, Virgo sister who was all “shut up, you’re not dying right now….”  Which is what I love about her.  And also what pisses me off about her — sometimes I just want a little bit of loving attention.  Is that so wrong?

Imagine my surprise, then, when I went back to get the results of the lab tests and the smart Doctor says that I don’t, in fact, have an exotic tropical disease, but I do have a bad infection and it is most likely in my kidneys.  And also that it is the result of the bladder infection that I didn’t treat properly.  Oopsie.

Color me embarrassed.

And color my sassy, Virgo sister amused.

I started the antibiotics last night.  I can’t say that I feel amazingly better today, but things are looking up.

I haven’t been out of the house yet today, but by God I just wrote a blog post, didn’t I? 

xoxo

kim

p.s.  i don’t really have a p.s., but it’s tradition, so……

Thirteen things on Friday the 13th. Yes, another fucking list.

Look.

I think I’m doing pretty good to have already published one list-less post this week, under the circumstances.  And the circumstances are that I CAN’T FUCKING WRITE.

So here’s another fucking list:

1.  I realize “fucking list” is ambiguous.

2.  I re-wrote my “ABOUT” page today.  That was hard.  I hadn’t revised it since the very first day of my blog – you know, back when I had a job, my artistic genius mom (with great hair!) was alive and my son still sometimes lived at home.  Heavy sigh.  So many changes!  Big ones!

3.  I went scuba diving on Tuesday for the first time this year.  It was my friend Linda’s first dive ever.  She’s in her 60′s!  She did so well and I am so amazed at her passion for life.  I hope I’m still trying new things when I’m in my 60′s.  I also hope I look as good in a swimsuit as she does.  Holy shit.

4.  Diving helps me put things into perspective.  I can’t really put it into words right now, it just does.  The ocean is vast, I’m small.

5.  Then I got a really bad sore throat/head cold and laid in bed for two days.  Being sick is no fun.  I wanted my mommy.  Which is weird because my mom was not the kind of mom who took really good care of you when you got sick.  She would be like “here’s some Coke and some grapes, call me if you need anything” and then she wouldn’t answer her phone.  STILL.  At least I used to get to tell her I was sick and she would at least feign sympathy.  I miss that.

6.  On the other hand I got to watch a bunch of Six Feet Under episodes.

7.  WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT SIX FEET UNDER WHEN IT WAS ON TV?  What else have I missed?!?

8.  I have cable (“Cablemas”) here in Mexico, but I don’t have many U.S. channels and I can’t figure out how to increase the volume on my TV so I never watch it.  Note to self:  Cancel Cablemas!  I rely on iTunes for my television/movie viewing.  Which is great and also very expensive after awhile.  I need to figure something else out.  If I stay here I will look into getting some kind of satellite service.  That’s what all the Canadians seem to be doing.

9.  Have I mentioned that there are lots of Canadians here?  There are.  And now I kind of wish I was Canadian.  It has a certain cachet.  Exotic, but not too exotic.

10.  And I read the book “Happy Baby” by Stephen Elliott. (No, that’s not an affiliate link, I don’t know how to do affiliate links)  I loved the book, but it’s definitely not for everyone.  It’s disturbing.  While it’s not the entire thrust of the story (or maybe it is) the main character spends way too much time being bounced around the juvenile justice system — foster care, group homes, locked facilities and horrible bad shit happens and his guardian ad litems (3 or 4 of them) sucked.  Which triggers all my shit about being a guardian ad litem and feeling like nothing I did could help and that the entire system sucks.  The author was in the delinquency system from age 13-18, so I’m guessing much of what he’s writing about is based on his real life experiences.  Anyway.  If you dont mind graphic violence, drug use, BDSM and straight up sexual abuse, check it out.  Let me know what you think.

11.  I haven’t been in the sun since Tuesday and my tan sucks.

12.  I’m wondering if 2012 is going to be the year that I finally get my shit together.  Whatever that means.  It’s already mid-April.  Or, it’s only mid-April.

13.  Wouldn’t it be funny if I finally did get everything together and then the world really did end on December 21, 2012?  No.  No it wouldn’t.

xoxo,

kim

p.s.  it just occurred to me that perhaps i should use the whole 2012/end of the world thing as motivation to write.  i mean, i want to write a book before i die, right?  who am i kidding?  even that won’t work.

p.s.s.  note: i haven’t been locked up inside my house for two days.  i had to go out to get popsicles.  twice. 

Post-Moratorium-Kim is a lot like Pre-Moratorium-Kim, it turns out.

I wish I hadn’t written that last post on the Thursday of Mysteries.

I suppose I could just delete it and pretend like it never happened, but that seems disingenuous.  Plus some nice people commented on it, so just making it disappear seems rude.

Still.

Ugh.

It’s been bothering me.  A lot.  Especially the part about how it seems like I hate men.  Or penises.  Or both.

The truth is that I don’t hate men or their related equipment.  At all.

I think what I hate right now is me.

(That’s a tough one to say out loud…)

I hate how I came up with this “Moratorium” idea, then substantially complied with it (lawyer words for “I didn’t even do what I agreed to do, but I mostly did it and I think I get credit for that.”) and then it was over and – voila! – I’m still the same as pre-Moratorium-Kim, except with another year of sad shit to come to terms with.

Pre-Moratorium-Kim had good intentions for the year of not using love/the search for love to avoid other important shit.  That Kim thought that she would focus on loving herself and loving her life and she would deal with all sorts of nagging issues that she had been avoiding for so long and then she would emerge at the end of the Moratorium as someone much better equipped to find/be in a relationship.  With a man, who has a penis, which she doesn’t and never has, hated.

Ha!

Silly Pre-Moratorium-Kim….

In her defense, Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no clue about what those 12 months of Moratorium were going to bring.  She had no idea that her artistic genius Mom (with great hair) would have the sneaky kind of ovarian cancer that goes to the brain and then fucks things up from there.  She didn’t know about the brain surgery, the paralysis, the Gamma Knife surgery… She didn’t know that she was going to become a for real full-time caregiver.  She didn’t know that the time she had imagined spending doing meaningful things to figure out her own shit was going to be spent trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and/or spent lost in angst over how much she resented the burden of trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and then more angst about the awful shameful resentment.  She didn’t know how her son’s graduation from High School was going to pull the last remnants of the rug that had been her life out from under her.  That it would leave her reeling and unmoored and so, so sad about things she can never change.  She didn’t know about the packing up the house and putting life in storage.  She didn’t know about the homecoming in Mexico, the fall, the broken hip, the midnight flight back to the USA.  She didn’t know about the hip surgery, the horrible rehab center, the night her sweet mommy would ask her if she was dying and she would reply “no” because she was unable to comprehend that “yes” might be the answer.  She didn’t know how it would feel when the not-knowing-something turns into knowing-something and that something is that your sweet mommy is dying in front of your eyes.  Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no idea that instead of spending time figuring her own shit out, she would be getting up in the middle of the night to slip into/onto her mom’s hospital bed and crying on her mostly unconscious mom’s shoulder begging her to stay and telling her it was ok to go.  She didn’t know her Mom was really going to go.

I feel a little bit sad for Pre-Moratorium-Kim, she had such high hopes, such good intentions and then look at all that happened instead.

And now I hate myself a little less for being in pretty much exactly the same situation as Pre-Moratorium-Kim.  We didn’t really have a chance, did we?  It was months upon months of reacting to what was happening with Mom.  Maybe I should give myself a break for not fixing my own life last year.  I just hope that all the not-fixing-my-life made my Mom’s last year a little less awful.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  it’s so weird how i start out writing one thing and end up somewhere completely different.  i don’t know if this post makes sense to anyone but me, but i guess that is ok.  i feel a smidge better than i did when i started writing.

p.p.s.  i do really hate that Thursday of Mysteries post.

p.p.p.s.  i had Easter dinner at cantina habanero’s here in pto. morelos.  cheeseburger and fries.  very strange.  i am really missing my family right now.  on the other hand, i went scuba diving for the first time in 3 years yesterday!  it was amazing.  i love being underwater. (and being able to breathe while underwater)

Apparently today is the Thursday of Mysteries. Why I’m publishing this “post” being the first. Mystery, that is.

The internet tells me that today is no ordinary Thursday.

What?

Apparently it is one of the following: Maundy Thursday, Holy Thursday, Covenant Thursday, Great and Holy Thursday, Sheer Thursday and/or Thursday of Mysteries.

I guess today is special to people who are Christian because it’s a Christian Holy Day Commemorating the Last Supper of Jesus Christ with the Apostles.

I just like the name.

THURSDAY OF MYSTERIES!

THURSDAY. OF. MYSTERIES.

THURSDAY OF MYSTERIES….

Just knowing that it’s the Thursday of Mysteries makes me feel like I need to write something, even if it’s just another bullshit list:

The First Annual THURSDAY OF MYSTERIES list of things I find mysterious and/or other stuff:

1.  Why do boys love their equipment so much?  I mean, seriously.  I’ve never met a man who didn’t exude some sense of pride when talking about/using/showing/touching/scratching his equipment.  I like my vagina.  I do.  But I don’t feel the need to talk about it (very much) to anyone and especially not to someone who doesn’t have one.  Like, it’s not something I want to lead with, if you know what I mean.  I raised a son and I don’t remember ever emphasizing to him how great his penis is and how he should try to work it into casual conversation.  That would be weird.

2.  This is on my mind for a couple of reasons – (a) the Moratorium is over and I am once again reminded that men like for me to act like I think their penis, in particular, stuns me with it’s unique beauty and that no matter what else I’m doing at the time, if I would only just look at their penis, my life would be better and I would want to have sex  and (b)  my morning beach walk now involves walking past the newly-opened clothing optional swingers resort (NOT KIDDING, YO) in town and just the other day I was lucky enough to catch a beach volleyball game in progress.  A mostly nekkid beach volleyball game.  Oh, the pride and joy those boys had just knowing that their penies were on display in front of God and everyone else.  I’m sorry dudes, even if I think you’re hot and even if, somehow, your penis in particular is so gorgeous that I can’t drag my eyes away even for one minute, the instant that thing starts flopping around wildly while you attempt to spike the volleyball it’s all I can do to stop myself from laughing out loud.  Not “LOL”.  Real laughing.  Out loud.  They are silly.

3.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love men.  And that is another mystery.  Why do I love men?  What is not a mystery is that the first thing I love about a man is generally not looking at/talking about his penis.  I want him to have one, of course.  And I would like it if the one he has is, ummm, not itsy-bitsy (there, I said it, size matters.) but I don’t even want to know about that if his mind doesn’t turn me on.

4.  Back to the nekkid beach volleyball game.  Ummmm, here’s another mystery:  why do some women enjoy getting sand in their cookies? I mean, they must enjoy it because there’s really no other reason to play beach volleyball with a naked cookie.   It’s basically like putting a sponge into the very fine beach sand.  Ouch.   It’s not like a guy who wasn’t interested in you after seeing the whole rest of your body naked is suddenly going to go “Jesus, look at that cookie…”  Amiright?  Yikes!  Hopefully the resort offers a power washer for post-game use. (I really hope my son is continuing to ignore my blog, if not, sorry honey!)

5.  Anyway.

6.  “It must be your skin, I’m sinking in.”  Why am I in love with the song “Glycerine”?   I don’t even know who sings it.  Wait, it’s Bush.  (So apparently I have a theme going here today — just kidding, no one has a bush anymore.)  I don’t know when the song came out, but I’ve been playing it obsessively for at least 10 years.   I’m in love with the lyrics.  “I’m never alone, I’m alone all the time.” Oh MAN, I just googled it and (a) I had some of the lyrics wrong, but I like my version better and (b) OMG, I didn’t even know that this beautiful man sang this song, I don’t know how I feel about that. (Oh holy fuck, he’s singing it in the rain…. you know how I feel about precipitation….!!)

7.  “When kindness falls like rain, it washes her away.”  Speaking of lyrics and precipitation and mysteries, how is it that Adam Duritz (don’t tell me you don’t know who Adam Duritz is… just don’t) hasn’t realized that he’s my soul mate yet?  I’ve known it for years.  I want to kiss his eyes and take his whole fucked-up brain and put it inside me.  Not down there, just inside.  And then I would have two fucked up brains, but one of  them would write the most exquisitely painful lyrics:

Surprise surprise I miss your hair, you miss my eyes

And all this solitude is my confidence eroding

So we slide inside of someone’s mouth and someone’s eyes

Until there’s a sound of something intimate exploding…

(Counting Crows “Carriage” – Hard Candy)

8.  Am I the only person who goes to concerts and is pretty sure that the singer is singing directly to her?  July 2009, Counting Crows,  Red Rocks Amphitheater, Adam Duritz and Me.

(But the first time this happened was when I masqueraded as a security person during Prince’s sound check at the old McNichol’s Arena in Denver [November 3, 1988, if you must know...] and we [Prince and I, of course] totally had a moment before I was escorted out of the arena by the actual security people.)(This makes more sense when you know that I worked for the Denver Nuggets at the time and our offices were actually in the arena, hence my ability to “borrow” a red security jacket + walkie-talkie.)

9.  Why am I writing about music today?  I had no idea that was where this list was going, but as long as we are going there.  PRINCE!!!!

10.  How has it taken me 4+ hours to write this “post”?  (Answer:  youtube + google + rabbit holes)

Happy Thursday of Mysteries, y’all!

xoxo

kim

p.s. I don’t really know if I’m Christian.  Which probably doesn’t shock anyone, especially God.  But, for various reasons including the fact that I’m a cultural lemming, I tend to celebrate Christian holidays.  But I really don’t think anyone ever mentioned this whole “Thursday of Mysteries” holiday to me.   Which sucks, because hello, anyone who knows me knows that I just love mysteries.

p.p.s.  The real mystery is why the fuck I’m publishing this “post”…

p.p.p.s.  Which isn’t all that mysterious – I’ve been SO STUCK and had to write something, even if it’s all crap just to know that my brain can still spell words and put them into things like “sentences” and “paragraphs”.

p.p.p.p.s.  Plus I really wanted to get to Post Number 90.  And I did.  Woo-hoo.

Things they don’t tell you in books about grief, but probably should, according to me.

(NOTE:  This is really more of a “rant” than a “post”, but, frankly, this is all I’ve got today and technically it qualifies as “writing” [according to me] so, ummm, here goes.)

Here’s the thing.

I’ve read a lot of books on grief and grieving.

Some of them are helpful, others are not.

They all mention “denial” and “coming to terms with the reality of death”-type stuff, but they don’t seem to really capture just how fucked up it is to wrap your head around the fact that someone who was HERE is now NOT HERE and, moreover, will never be HERE again.

We all think we know what “death” means.  I mean, everyone knows this basic fact of life, right?  And then it happens and you’re all ”what?”.

Or, if you’re like me, it’s more like this:

“WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?”

and

“No no no no no nononononooooooooooooo”

and

“Wait, did that seriously just happen?”

and

“No. No, it didn’t.”

and

“OH FUCK, IT DID REALLY HAPPEN?”

and

“Why are these people just going about their daily lives like nothing has happened?  Don’t they KNOW?  WTF?  Why are the banks even open?”

and

“Now what?”

and

“I’m just supposed to keep living?” 

and

“IS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE!?”

and

“FUCK.”

and

“OMG I can’t wait to tell  [insert dead person's name] about this bullshit.”

and

“Oh.”

and

“Oh. My. God.  That picture just fell off the wall…. is [insert dead person's name] trying to tell me something?!  What?  WHAT?  I DON’T SPEAK DEAD PEOPLE LANGUAGE, DAMMIT!”

and

“Ok, I’m a little creeped out that [insert dead person's name] is probably here, right now.  Does he/she watch me on the toilet?”

and

“Maybe [insert dead person's name] is not, in fact, dead.  Maybe he/she is just hiding….”

and

“Fuck.”

and

“Oh look, it’s Dead Person X’s favorite movie….(happy/sad moment) and there’s Dead Person Y’s car and here’s Dead Person Z’s favorite restaurant/song/shoes/tree/flower/beverage and on and on and on and on”

and

“THIS ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE.  MAKE IT STOP!”

and

“Fuck me.”

and

“What does death even mean?”

and

“I’m scared to die.”

and

“How could [insert dead person's name] leave now?  We weren’t done yet.  There’s so much more.  And what about [insert every single thing you thought you were going to have time to share with the person who is now, evidently, dead]“

and

“I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT TO THIS BULLSHIT, GOD!”

and

“If one more person tells me that [insert dead person's name] is in a “better place” now I will, in fact, become violent.  WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT [insert dead person's name]?  OF COURSE HE/SHE IS IN A BETTER PLACE, I’M CRYING FOR ME, ASSHOLES…. WHAT ABOUT ME?  I’M SURE AS FUCK NOT IN A “BETTER PLACE” NOW.”

and

“I am officially the most selfish person in the entire world, and possibly the entire Universe.”

and

“If I had been a better person, this might not be happening.”

and

“Fuck.”

and

“I’m going to be a much better person now….”

and

“OMG, [insert dead person's name] would shit if he/she saw how dirty my car is right now!”

and

“What if I forget what [insert dead person's name] looks like?  What if I forget the sound of his/her voice?  His/her laugh.  The way he/she walked?  What then?”

and

“Oh fuck.  I almost went a whole day without remembering that [insert dead person's name] is gone.”

and

“I’m pretty sure this is just a bad dream.”

and

“WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?”

***********

And it goes on like this for quite some time.

Around and around — I believe it happened and then I don’t believe it happened and then I actually forget about it for a while and then something reminds me and the grief is fresh again and it’s as if I’ve never felt it before.

I know that it ends at some point.

My Dad died in his sleep 15 years ago and I’ve recently realized that I’m no longer surprised when I remember that he’s gone.  It still hurts.  I miss him all the time.  But I  am finally resigned to the fact that he is gone.

Not so with my sweet grandmothers and my artistic genius Mom (with great hair) — all of whom died in the last three years.

I find that I’m not at all convinced that they are truly gone.

And yes, I know that people you love are never truly gone because they live on in your heart and blah blah blah blah…..

But really, they are gone.

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  YES, as a matter of fact, I am still taking my antidepressants

p.p.s.  have I mentioned that I’m struggling with writing?  aarrrrgggghhhhhhh!

When all else fails, write a list, right? Here are 32 mostly true things about me, right now.

I’m alive.

Is that true?  What if this is all an illusion?  What if I’m really in a coma?  Or in suspended animation on a spaceship on my way to Jupiter?  What if all this is just one second of one minute of a daydream that the “real” me is having?  What if I’m really a fruit fly?  Do fruit flies grieve the loss of their parents?  I’m a little speck of life on a big blue planet rolling through a vast universe.  In the big scheme of things, do I matter?  Does anyone?  Anything?  Are there other beings out there who pity me for the teensy tiny life I am granted?  Do they wonder if a little thing like me grieves the loss of her parents?  Do they wonder why I bother to do anything given the ridiculously short amount of time I’m allotted to “live” on this one lonely planet in space?  Maybe I’m an ant, in an antfarm, on a little boy’s dresser.  Maybe I’m his favorite ant.  Maybe he’s never noticed me.

Everything is relative, it turns out.

But I digress…..

What I meant to say is that “Hey, I’m still alive and I haven’t abandoned my blog, despite convincing evidence to the contrary!”

And I also meant to say that I’m having a ridiculously hard time sitting down and writing anything meaningful, interesting, or even coherent.

But I long for connection.

So here I am.

And here are 32 things that are mostly true about me, right now, in this moment:

1. I don’t like Mondays.
2. Which is weird, since I don’t even have a job to dread going back to on Mondays.
3. I don’t like March.
4. I’ve never liked March.  In Colorado, March is the month that teases you into thinking the long, dark, cold days of winter are over and then slams you with a snowstorm from hell (or two) just so it can laugh at your naivete.  I’m not sure how I feel about March in Mexico yet.  So far it’s not my favorite.  The bright, sparkly high season is coming to a close which feels like a relief and also like sadness.
5. I miss my son.  I think this is the longest stretch of time that I haven’t laid eyes on him in his entire 19 years of existence.  I don’t like it.  I don’t care that he probably likes it, that it’s normal, that this is what happens when kids grow up and go away to college.  I don’t like it.  It’s not fair.  When will this feel ok?  I think NEVER….
6. I hate this cheap computer.  Now the “r” key is sticking, which is uber-inconvenient.
7. I love my new salad spinner.  I don’t love that it cost, like, $30.00 and I had to go to 5 different stores in Cancun to find the very last one left on the shelf at Walmart.
8. Yes, there’s a Walmart in Cancun.  I know….
9. I’m annoyed with Sue, the pretend-buddha iguana.  He’s very inconsistent.  I think he’s just not that into me anymore.
10. I miss my Mom.
11. I’m thinking about learning how to make jewelry.
12. My Mom made amazing jewelry so, of course, I acted like I wasn’t interested in learning how to make it and then she died and now I’m all “What the fuck?  How do I not know how to make this cool jewelry?” and “What an asshat daughter I’ve been.”
13. I miss my car.  It’s a PT Cruiser convertible and it’s zippy, and I’m super-cute when I drive it (according to me…)
14. I’m not cute when I drive Mom’s old blazer here in Mexico.  The paint is completely trashed, the tires are usually flat and it makes a lot of weird noises.
15. I miss my  sassy virgo sister.  She always makes me laugh.  She makes me laugh on the phone, too, but it’s more fun in person.
16. I’m obsessed with the song “Somebody That I Used to Know” by Gotye.  It’s a catchy tune, but what I love about it is that it is true.  Sometimes people come into your life and suddenly your life revolves around them and you can’t imagine that you ever even had a life without them and then, eventually, they somehow become just someone that you used to know.  Everything changes.  It’s weird.
17. I’ve recently learned that there is such a thing as a “Pick-Up Artist” and there are books for men to learn how to become one of these things.  So, because I’m insanely curious about it, I’m reading one of these books.  I probably need to dedicate an entire blog post to this, but for now, let me just say that it’s (a) very interesting and oh-so-different from the books written about dating/relationships for women, and (b) somewhat insulting and (c) completely clear that I’ve totally been “Gamed” over the years.
18. Oh, I also read that “Fifty Shades of Grey” book that everyone is talking about.
19. It’s good, but I’ve read MUCH better erotica, FYI.  (Anne Rice, for one, is a master of the genre.)
20. I’m as shocked as every other wanna be author (and publisher) that this book is making such big waves.
21. Who knew the market was ripe for some light BDSM and lots of email flirtation?  Ummm, E L James, I guess…  You go girl!
22. My nerves are on edge because my neighbors (a) have a new baby who cries all the time and (b) have a 2-ish year old son who is totally unsupervised most of the time and when he’s not unsupervised, he is being spanked/beaten….with a belt.  And everyone gets in on it, including his brother who can’t be more than 8 years old… Oh hello to my issues re: my career in child welfare law and any kind of violence.  It’s horrible and it’s gotten to the point where I have decided that I’m going to at least go talk to someone at the Department of Families here in town.  I realize there are cultural differences and I know I’m super sensitive to this stuff, but I am concerned for these children and I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing.
23. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to try to stay here in Puerto Morelos.
24. Which seems odd since I can’t imagine going anywhere else at this point.
25. Except to Ft. Collins, Colorado, because that is where my awesome Aunt (and related family members!) and my son are — but what would I do there?
26. What am I going to do here?
27. The truth is that I have tons of ideas of things to do here (or things that can be done from anywhere, so I could live in several places) but it seems that I have absolutely no motivation to make any of those things actually happen.
28. I’m working on trying to understand why I’m so lacking in motivation.
29. It’s not pretty and it’s part of why I’m having trouble writing.
30. Because then I would probably have to say out loud what is really going on.
31. And then I would probably need to get back into therapy ASAP.
32. Which would be better than being paralyzed and sitting on the fence, most likely.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  for those of you trying to live your lives vicariously through me (you know who you are!)  i’m sad to say that you’ve probably made the wrong choice….  there’s just not a lot of hot action around these parts, if you know what i mean!

p.p.s.  ok, here’s the deal, the nice man who i mentioned previously (a) was not all that interested after all, and (b) had to leave town.

p.p.p.s.  nonetheless the Moratorium is still OVER, so there’s that. 

When I woke up this morning I didn’t know who Joseph Kony was. Now I can’t unknow it.

A friend posted this video on her facebook wall this morning.

I was curious.

Thirty minutes later I was speechless, sad, afraid, outraged, sickened, heartbroken.

But mostly I was in awe at how much of a difference a few courageous people can make.

Joseph Kony and the LRA must be stopped.  I pray it happens soon.

Please watch the video and share it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc

xoxo

kim