Category Archives: My Big Book of Me

The elephant in my head moved over a bit, and then things got a little woo-woo around here.

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[Note:  this one is a little woo-woo, and pretty serious, and won’t make much sense if you haven’t been following along, or at least haven’t read my last post about talking with the elephant in my head who wouldn’t let me look at my issues.  and, as always, some of the best stuff is in the post-scripts… enjoy!]
 

So.

I’m still dealing with the fallout from the conversation with the elephant in my head.

She’s moved over a bit and I’m working on stuff.

(and I realized that I love the elephant for protecting me)

(and I also realized that she might be Ganesha, the elephant headed Hindu deity revered as the mover of obstacles and the God of beginnings…. Isn’t that awesome?)

It’s been a difficult time and I’m feeling very raw and vulnerable, but some good things are happening.

Really good things.

I’m working with an amazing woman, who somehow miraculously lives in this tiny village in Mexico at exactly the same time that I do and exactly when I need her the most.  She is a shaman, energy healer, therapist and a saint, probably.  You know how some people just exude love and peace and presence?  She is one of them.  And I get to work with her.

(thank you, universe) 

I think of her as my teacher, rather than my doctor or counselor or healer — as  I have finally realized that no one else (and, no magic pill, apparently…) is going to come along and heal me.  I can be guided and supported, but I am going to have to do the heavy lifting all by myself.

Sigh.

The teacher approaches everything from three (seemingly, but probably not) different perspectives — energetically (chakra-ish), from a shaman perspective and from a more traditional, Western, psychotherapy viewpoint.  It’s perfect for me, because I am more familiar with the Western view (having been the recipient of years of that kind of therapy/self-help), but am open to and have benefitted from energetic healing and am fascinated with the work of the shaman.

And I need help.  So, at this point, I’m open to all possibilities that allow me to live a life that doesn’t involve repeating the same negative behaviors ad nauseum and despising myself until I die.  Alone.  Under a bridge.  Unloved to the end.

(see how I think?)

Just a little drama to lighten the mood…. 🙂

Anyway.

So, it turns out that I have been on the right path!  The teacher is thrilled that I’ve been identifying and having conversations with parts of myself (kim, kimmy and Kimberly, the walls, the monsters, the elephants, oh my!) and writing about it here on the blog, which in turn thrills me, because I am nothing if not a girl who always wants to be the teacher’s pet…. (hello, people-pleasing ISSUES)

And she thinks that I may need to befriend a few more parts of myself.  Which immediately makes me nervous.

There are more?

(and then I start thinking about Sybil, and multiple personality disorder, which isn’t called that any longer, now it’s dissociative identity disorder, but really it’s the same thing and how many more parts can I identify before I start qualifying for a little “rest” at a clinic, which of course I can’t afford because I don’t have medical insurance and..)

And I’m resisting this idea because I’m pretty sure I know what led to my tragically low self-esteem, which, it seems, is the root of everything I’m dealing with now and, knowing that, I thought that all I needed now was to learn new ways to behave, not dredge up the old crap.  Not find new parts of myself to chat with.  Ya know?  Why go over it again?  I’m so tired of my story.  Seriously.

But the teacher explains that it is not enough to have a general idea of when and why things started falling apart — i.e., it’s not enough to say “my parents were alcoholics with huge boundary issues, on top of that, my mother was a  manic/depressive artistic genius and my dad was a charming, brilliant womanizer, and don’t even get me started on the sadistic step-mother, of course I’m fucked up!” — you have to go back and investigate what actually happened.

Fuck.  Why?

(and also, “how can I do that when I’ve got so few memories of my childhood?”)

She says that when there is trauma early in a child’s development, a part of the life force/soul/psyche becomes trapped or locked away.   And while the child/body continues to grow and function, a vital part is left behind and if the pattern is repeated (and it usually is, because for most of us, life can involve some trauma…), the body/soul/psyche  can become depleted, exhausted, unrooted from the source, literally split apart.

And that is where I am, folks.

I can feel the truth of it as soon as she says the words.

I am tired.  I have no passion, no energy, no life force to work with.  It’s depression, but not depression.  If that makes any sense.  When I first met with her I described that I feel unrooted.  Lost.  Like I’m watching this person, in this body that I don’t even recognize, living my life and I don’t understand her.  I don’t know her.  I’m completely disconnected from my body.  I don’t know what I’m doing here.  And not just what I’m doing here in Mexico,  I don’t know what I’m doing on this planet.  I don’t know my purpose.

It occurs to me that this might be far beyond simple low self-esteem issues.

And I’m scared.

So.  The teacher explains that the goal is to try to find out when parts of your soul/psyche/energy were affected by traumatic experiences and to try to retrieve that energy and return it to the whole.  Or release it back into the whole.  Something like that.  In shamanic terms, it’s called Soul Retrieval.

And it looks like I’m going to have to do it…

The teacher wants me to identify when, as a child, I was the most terrified.  This freaks me out because (a) as mentioned above, I have few memories of my childhood and (b) for as long as I can remember, I’ve been worried and scared, so it’s hard to pinpoint which thing has been the most terrifying, when my experience has been that pretty much everything is terrifying.

Also I have this sense of loyalty to my parents — I quickly tell the teacher that I’ve never been “traumatized” — I wasn’t beaten or locked in a closet and I always had food and shelter and clothing, I mean, who am I to even complain about anything, really?  So then we have to deal with THAT.  Shame.  No, I’m not like many of the kids that I spent my career in child welfare law trying to “save”.  Those kids were traumatized.  And what about the kids who don’t have food or clean water and die of AIDS?  That’s trauma.  And she helps me see that we all came here (to this earth, to this plane of existence) for different reasons and I shouldn’t trivialize my stuff, just because it doesn’t seem as bad as other stuff.  It’s mine, it’s painful, and I’m here to work on it.

So, we decide to talk to four-year-old-me.  The teacher helps me — she walks me through trying to find the four year old — What is she doing?  Where is she? What is she wearing? What does her hair look like?  What is she feeling?  Will she come back to you? — and here’s what happens:

Me:  (I find her — four year old Kimmy — under a table, in a blanket fort of sorts, holding a doll) — “Hi Kimmy, do you know who I am?”

Kimmy:  nods yes and scoots back so I can sit down

Me:  “I’m you, but I’m all grown up now.  How are you feeling?”

Kimmy:  “I’m worried.”

Me:  “You’re only four, Kimmy, what are you worried about?”

And then it all starts flooding out — Kimmy isn’t talking (umm, obviously, since she’s in my head…) but I’m somehow remembering what happened when I was four — my brother was born when I was barely four and I was excited but then it was scary and there was a fire at my dad’s office and there was fighting and locked doors and my mom was unhappy and she painted a bad picture with a knife and blood and she cleaned out our house when my dad was out of town and we moved away from everything – away from my dad, away from my grandparents, to a new town and she was sad and she was angry and I wanted to stay in my house and I wanted everything to stay the same but she said I had to come with her because I had to help her.  She needed me.  And the baby needed me.  But didn’t my Dad need me? And I didn’t understand.

Me:  (crying)  “Wow. That’s a lot, Kimmy.”

Kimmy:  “Who is going to take care of me?”

And there it is:  WHO IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME?

And then I really fall apart (in real life, lying in the middle of my teacher’s loft office, while she gently holds space for me) and I see that little girl was so scared and she was too young to even comprehend what was happening, much less to soothe herself and she had no one.  All the adults who were supposed to be taking care of her were caught up in their own drama and their own mental illness. And then I start getting mad:

WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME!!!!  I’M FOUR YEARS OLD, PEOPLE.  I’M THE CHILD.  YOU ARE THE ADULTS.

And eventually something comes over me and I start to feel a little energy come back.  And I started to remember that that was then, and this is now and that it’s ironic that my biggest fear has always been “who is going to take care of me?” when the truth is that it’s always been me who has taken care of me:

Me:  “Me.  I am going to take care of you, Kimmy.”  And then I start showing her that we grew up, and we were ok, and we kept taking care of mom and then we had a baby (sweet Austin) and we took care of the baby and he grew up and we kept taking care of mom, and now she doesn’t need us anymore.

Kimmy:  “But I can’t go with you, I have to help mommy and that baby.”

Me:  crying again — she doesn’t know mom is gone.  Is there really some part of me that doesn’t know, hasn’t completely accepted that mom is gone?  And so I try to explain to her that we did help mom, and now she doesn’t need us anymore and that baby brother grew up and now he has his own baby to take care of and we even had a sister after that, and we took care of her for as long as we could and now she is all grown up and has her own little girl.  But Kimmy still doesn’t want to come.  She doesn’t want to leave mom and she isn’t sure about me.

Kimmy:  “How can you take care of me?  You don’t even want to take care of a dog.”

Me:  …… (thinking: well that was a low blow, Kimmy…. but you’re right – everyone in this dog crazy town is trying to get me to adopt a dog and I keep resisting because I don’t want the responsibility of another living being, I’m done with taking care of other people/beings for awhile, I’m tired, I don’t trust myself to meet their needs…. but YOU are ME — I want to take care of you, I need to take care of you and I need your energy.  Maybe if you come back to me, I will find that I have the capacity to take care of a pet, or not.  Either way, I can take care of you.)

Kimmy:  (climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck)  “Are you sure?”

Me:  “Yes.”

Kimmy:  (clinging tighter)  “I’m scared.  This is all I know.  Are you sure mommy will be ok?”

Me:  “Mommy is ok, Kimmy.  And we are going to be ok, too.  Will you come back with me?”

Kimmy:  “Yes.”

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

So.

That was huge.

I’m not quite convinced that the four-year-old is back with me.  But the teacher says to talk to her and comfort her and be patient while my body/psyche try to make space for her.  She says to rest when I need to, cry when I need to and to write all I can.  So that’s what I’m doing.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  I think the picture is the elephant with kimmy… isn’t that sweet?

p.s.s. I realize this is a bit woo-woo, and I’m not asking anyone else to believe in what I’m doing or take a position on shamanic Soul Retrieval or anything else, for that matter.  It’s just me, dealing with my stuff, the best way I know how.  And I’m sharing it with you, just in case it can help.

p.s.s.s.s.  We all have issues with our parents, don’t we?  I felt angry for the four year old, but the forty-eight year old knows that you do the best you can with what you have at the time — my parents were sick for most of the time I was growing up — and they did support me financially and they did love me and they did try and I know they wished they had been there for me (and my brother, and my sister) while growing up because they both told me that while they were alive.  I love them both dearly.  Maybe this should be a whole separate blog post, but it seems to be coming out here…. Anyway.  I don’t want to discount my parents, or my extended family who did, and still do, provide me with unconditional love and a place to call home.  I just need to sort it all out now and put the ground back under my own feet.  And part of that is looking realistically at the bad stuff that happened.

p.s.s.s.s.s.  And if you’re wondering how this post and the woo-woo work relates to the last post and the self-esteem stuff and the repeating patterns of trying to get my needs met by other people (read: usually men) join the club.  I mean, obviously it’s related, I just didn’t pull it all together here.  Stay tuned.  I will work it out… 🙂

p.s.s.s.s.s.s.  One of the very last things my sweet mommy said to me was “I think Mexico is going to save your life.”  I wonder if this is what she meant.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Writing and Not-Writing

The elephant in my head is back and this time she is a little snarky, to be honest.

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[Warning:  So.  I’m finally back to writing about what is really going on with me. If you’re new here — you should probably go read one of the funny posts…  This one is uncomfortable and itchy and not as funny as the lists, but ultimately better for me, and hopefully my process/floundering around can help someone else out there who is struggling… or just make you laugh, I don’t know.  Anyway.  This was a hard one to write.]

I need to write.

I think this has been established.

Over and over again.

I need to write. It’s what I do. It’s how I process. It’s who I am.
(it makes me laugh, it makes other people laugh with (at?) me, it makes things better every single time)

And, to be honest, somehow, without even really (consciously) trying — I have built the perfect life for a writer who isn’t really a full-time writer yet — I have a job that is basically seasonal — very very busy for 4-5 months and almost deadly slow the rest of the year, I have TONS of free time, my son is in college and, apparently (sniff), doesn’t need me much anymore, I’ve run out of sick/dying relatives to take care of (OUCH), I’m single, I don’t even have a pet to take care of for God’s sake.  There is no reason why I shouldn’t be writing my fucking heart out almost every single day.

Well, there is one reason.

Remember the benevolent and stubborn elephant in my head who tried to keep me from writing when my mom was dying, because she thought it would be too much for me?  She’s back.  She’s big.  And she doesn’t seem friendly…

ME:  “So.  You’re back.  What the fuck?”

ELEPHANT:  (Refusing to look at me, spraying what I can only imagine is delightfully cool water over herself, because apparently the inside of my brain is as hot as my body at this point….)  “Well isn’t this interesting…. she finally notices the blatantly obvious huge mass that is moi.  And we used to think she was so quick.”

ME:  “Who are you talking to?  I’m right here.  I can hear you.”

ELEPHANT:  (Turning to gaze down at me with what I can only describe as a bemused look on her face)  “Who am I talking to?  Who are you talking to?  That is the real question.”

ME:  (eyes rolling)  “Don’t act like I’m crazy, I’m not.  You wanna know how I know? The elephants in real crazy people’s heads don’t like to point out that they are not, in fact, real elephants.  Everybody knows that.”

ELEPHANT: (cocking her head and chuckling)  “Whatever you say, baby girl.”

ME:  “I’m not a baby and it is whatever I say.  I know you’re not, like, an actual “being”.  But you are big and powerful and once again you’re standing right the fuck in the way of EVERYTHING.  I need to write.  I need to write and I need to process and all this Big Scary Stuff is coming up for me and you know it and you won’t move and you won’t even let me begin to look at it.   I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do this anymore.  Didn’t we have that agreement?  Why are you here again?”

ELEPHANT:  “A.  We did have an agreement. and B.  You broke it.  You’re the lawyer, what happens when agreements are broken?  The agreement is over, that’s what happens.  Law 101.  So I’m here.  And I’ve been here for a long time.”

Me:  “First of all, not all agreements are over if one person is in breach.  It depends on the kind of breach and the kind of contract and it’s all very convoluted and there’s never a simple answer, even though people want lawyers to give simple answers and OMG WHY IS MY LAWYER BRAIN ON RIGHT NOW???  How do you think I broke the agreement?”

ELEPHANT:  I said that I would stop worrying and not get in between you and your creative genius if you took care of yourself and didn’t get overwhelmed and depressed and lose yourself again and you said “of course I won’t do THAT again, look how healthy I am, look how I’m taking care of myself, of course you can stop worrying and protecting me from myself, I will never go down that road again, because I know what it looks like, I’m FINE…”  and you were fine, for awhile, sweet pea and then your mom died and you were still fine because you took care of yourself when you felt the grief turn to depression and you hung in there, but then things started changing and you started to lose yourself again and this time you didn’t see it, honey.  And I could see that you didn’t see it, so I came back to protect you.”

ME:  (trying to swallow lump in throat) “Oh. Thank you.”

ELEPHANT:   “Of course.”

ME: “You seem different.  Bigger.  More…. comprehensive?  I think you don’t just want to stop me from writing, you want to stop me from dealing with, or even looking at, the Big Scary Stuff that is being triggered all over the place for me right now.”

ELEPHANT:  “Yes, that’s true.  It’s too much.  You’re not ready.  If you start writing about it and dealing with it, it will overwhelm you and pull you under again and I can’t let that happen.  Better to avoid it altogether, I say.  Too messy.”

ME:  “I know you want to protect me, but I have to do this.  I have to look at the Big Scary Stuff now and I have to learn new ways to do things and I have to write about it.  It’s time.  I don’t want to keep living like this, I don’t want the Big Scary Stuff to control me and fuck things up and keep me from having what I most want and being who I really am.   Please move, please let me do this.”

ELEPHANT:  “I don’t think so.  You’ve said this before, and look what happened.  No, I think you’re better off avoiding it altogether.  You’re fine now, why change?”

ME:  “I’m not fine.  That is the point.  I’m not fine.  I’m very un-fine.  I am tired of repeating the same patterns over and over and over.  Nothing changes if nothing changes, right?  I’m alive. I’m surviving.  Sometimes I’m happy, but I am most definitely not fine.  And it’s not all hormones – some of it is, for sure.  And I’m working with a doctor to help with that.  I feel like everything (ok, most things) that are Big and Scary for me have been magnified and clarified for me in the last few weeks — in a very fucking uncomfortable and miserable way, but THANK GOD FOR CLARITY…. I know what I need to address, finally.  I really do.  And I am ready to do it now.  I really need you to work with me and help me do this, don’t stand in the way.  Don’t steer me away from what I have to do.  Don’t help me numb out, act out, do what I always do…. Help me change.  Please.”

ELEPHANT:  “No.  You’re not ready.  You know how I know you’re not ready?  You can’t even say what the Big Scary Stuff is out loud.  How do I know that you’ve gained some clarity when you can’t even say it?  Until you can say it, it’s dangerous to let you start working with it.  Like, tsunami of pain and shame and sad type of dangerous.”

ME:   “Fuck!”

ELEPHANT:  “That’s what I thought….”

ME:  (pulling myself back together and dusting off my shoulders)  “Fine.  Here’s what the Big Scary Stuff is — I am a huge black hole of needy insecurity.  I don’t even live in my body, I live in my head.  I don’t see what is going on around me because I’m so busy telling stories about it in my mind.  My mind can extrapolate the most amazing and negative stories that you will ever hear from virtually NO information.  [so I should be an AWESOME writer, right?] They are truly crazy and the best part about it is that I believe them….   And all of the stories involve me being unlovable, unloved, alone, doomed, ashamed, scared, useless, lazy, ugly, empty, dumb, a disappointment, failure, a mistake, an imposter and so on and so forth.  And because I believe all those things about myself, I don’t believe that anyone else could possibly value me.  And if they do somehow seem to value me, I question it and tear it apart and suck it dry.  And I don’t know how to give myself what I need, so I try to get it from other people (and, since I’m being painfully fucking honest, “people” = “men”, usually) — and I try to get it quickly because it’s an urgent need at this point — so I manipulate to get it and then don’t trust it when it comes, because of course I’ve manipulated it, so it isn’t real.  And when I can’t get what I think I desperately need exactly when I desperately need it – I can’t tolerate it.  I have to leave the relationship or keep escalating my attempts to get what I think I need and then I become bitchy and temper-tantrumish.  And if I DO get what I need?  I don’t really believe it, because deep down I am positive that I don’t deserve it and that somehow I was just so good at manipulating that I got it.  So I end up leaving the people who do love me, just as easily as I leave the people who don’t.  Because I can’t tell the difference.  Basically, I’m fucked up.  And exhausted.  And depressed.  And I want to learn how to be different.

ELEPHANT:   “Wow.  That’s big.  I know that was hard to figure out, much less admit out loud, sweet pea.  Do you see why I wanted to protect you?  I’m so proud of you.  I will go now, but I can’t promise not to come back.”

ME:  “I know.  Thank you.”

THE END

So.  There it is.  And here I am.  At least I’m writing.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  This was hard to write.  It’s hard to be vulnerable.  But it’s a process and I know it works for me to write/share.  But I’m not asking anyone out there to fix me, so don’t worry about that.  Support is great, though 🙂

p.s.s. or p.p.s. – whatever – Yes, I’m still doing the anti-antidepressant experiment, but am considering going back on them because this hole feels big and it snuck up on me and getting out of bed is hard.  Part of it is the heat.  I’m not kidding — if there isn’t a DSM for heat related depression, there should be.  This heat sucks the life out of me.

p.s.s.  It’s hot and I’ve been inside all day writing (writing!!!!!) – I’m heading to the beach now.  Somehow it always helps.  Look at this cool thing – from Pinterest.  I love Pinterest.

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p.s.s.s.  How is it the end of August?  Ugh.

p.s.s.s.s.  I’m playing with my wordpress theme again…. don’t worry, this isn’t the final choice 🙂

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, The Great Anti-Antidepressant Experiment of 2011, Uncategorized

The worst part about all this is that I’m *not* a lesbian.

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*Dear Reader – I say “fuck’.  A lot.  Especially today.  Just a friendly warning!  Also, I’m ranting.  I don’t usually rant.  Well, sometimes I rant.  Non-ranting posts aplenty can be found in my archives over there on the right side of this page.  Kim”

The original title of this post was a somewhat uninspiring “Status Update.”

And the “update” was that I finally felt like writing enough to sit my ass down and start touching my fingers to the keyboard and making words after, like, 5 months of intense not-writing.

And then I felt a list coming on, and then I started the list, and then I started ranting and lamenting the fact that I am not a lesbian and, well, you can read it for yourself.

Anyway.

It appears that today is the day that I stop not-writing.

Yay?

List of Shit I’ve Been Doing and/or Thinking About Since the Last Time I Blogged:

1.  Becoming a Radical Feminist.

2.  So.  I’m not even really sure what “feminist” or “feminism” means to me, much less what it means to other people, but I think I’m becoming one.  A feminist.  FEMINIST.  Maybe even a Radical Feminist.  And I blame the Republican party for pushing me here.  Fuck them.  And really, fuck men.  Who put them in charge?  When was it ever a good idea to let men be in charge?  Maybe during our early existence on this planet when somehow they got better at fighting off predators?  MAYBE.  But then we should’ve reined them back in.  Because now we have zillions of years of being fucking burned at the stake and controlled and patronized and shamed and used and sidelined and double-standarded and, to top it off,  they’ve destroyed our planet.  Not alone, obviously.  But most major money grubbing asshole corporations are controlled by men and the governments who allow the destruction of their natural resources/our planet are primarily led by MEN.  But I digress…  Mostly they have just completely fucked and enslaved women, literally, for eons and now that we are finally inching out way out of it and into a more equal status quo, Republican men (and Republican women, who shouldn’t even EXIST, honestly) are going batshit crazy with rage at our audacity.  Fuck them.  Seriously.

3.  Yes, Mom, I appreciate the irony.  After years of teasing you about being a man-hater, it appears that I have finally seen what you were struggling with.  Not men, per se.  The entire fucking patriarchal system.   I’m sorry you’re not actually alive to say “I told you so, Kimmy!” in person, but believe me, I can hear you.  And I love you.  And I miss you.

4.  And I’m not a man-hater.  I love my son. (Even though he thinks he is a Republican right now, which, I have to say, is a bitter fucking pill to swallow.)  And a few other select men who haven’t been total assholes over the course of my life so far.  I love the possibility that better men will come out of this period in our cultural growth.

5.  I’m serious, I don’t hate men, generally.  But my level of tolerance for their bullshit is extremely fucking low at this point.

6.  Also, my hormones might be acting up.

7.  But fuck that!  Why do I have to apologize for having hormones?  I hate that I even felt like I had to throw that in.

8.  Exhibit A of how they have criminalized BEING A WOMAN.

9.  The worst part of all this is that I’m not a lesbian.  Yep, I’m annoyed out of my mind at fucking men and their fucking attitudes and total bullshit and yet I’m still attracted to them.  THEORETICALLY, I guess.  It’s been awhile since I’ve actually had that twitterpated feeling.  You know, the feeling which generally results in ill-advised casual sex that I rationalize that I can handle because I’m a modern woman unfettered by cultural bullshit expectations that I don’t really like sex and “shouldn’t” be having it outside of marriage and/or the possibility of a second fucking DATE.

10.  Oh.  And I should mention that part of my own personal Radical Feminism revolves around the fact that women have been complicit in our own doom.  We accept.  We ask for fucking permission.  We ostracize and belittle and shame other women who don’t fit into the entirely unrealistic (it turns out….) vision of the perfect woman that MEN have imposed upon us.  We don’t stand up for ourselves or other women.

11.  And the only way we succeed is by pretending to be men. “It’s a man’s world.”  “Don’t show your feelings!”  “Never let them see you sweat!”  And we do it.  WE DO IT.  And we still don’t get paid the same, treated the same, promoted the same.  And if, somehow, a miracle happens and we do succeed?  “She fucked her way to the top.”  “She’s a ball-breaker.”  “She’s a bitch.”  “Her poor children.”

12.  How am I not a lesbian?  Honestly.  If only it were a choice….. 🙂

13.  Deep breath.

14.  I didn’t know that whole “Radical Feminism” thing was coming when I started writing today, I promise.

15.  Well, I knew it was brewing.

16.  What else?

17.  Oh, in addition to becoming a Radical Feminist, or whatever, I went back to Colorado (Colorado!) for a few weeks.  It was AWESOME!  There’s nothing like being with family and old friends to ground you and remind you of who you are, who you were, unconditional love.  That is the hardest part (for me) about living so far away — no one here has known me for any length of time.  They only know the Kim whose life has totally changed in the last few years and who doesn’t know what the fuck she wants to do.  They don’t know Lawyer Kim who worked her ass off for years.  They don’t know Mommy Kim or Married Kim or Kim who lives in her own house, or Kim who drives her own car, or Kim who loves Prince (a/k/a College Kim!) or Kim with a house full of dogs and a cat named Max, who is the only cat she’s ever loved.  It’s ok.  It’s just weird.

18.  When I’m in Colorado, I want to move back there.  And when I’m here in Mexico, I can’t imagine leaving.  So there’s that.

19.  Which doesn’t make anything any easier.

20.  Thinking about moving back to Colorado made me consider the fact that I have pretty much the perfect situation right now, in many ways.  I have a job that, for the first time in many years, isn’t horrifically depressing and doesn’t take up my entire life.  I can do my job and still have plenty of time to do other things.  Like, for example, WRITE.

21.  So that’s what I’m doing.  And I started today.  Yay!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  guess what else happened when i was in colorado?  new baby.  quinn maxine  who is my second cousin, arrived super-early and scared the crap out of all of us, but she is beautiful and is doing really, unbelievably, well and weighs 4 lbs. now!

p.p.s.  i’m not sure where i’m going with this whole “Radical Feminist” thing, i mean, i’m not saying women are “better” than men or that all men suck, i’m just saying that the centuries of oppression of women have totally sucked and fuck you, men for benefitting from all that and trying to keep us “in our place” even today.

p.p.p.s.  i’m pretty sure i’m going to have to re-think this whole lesbian thing, as i will probably never have another “date”/sex opportunity with a man after writing this…. i really didn’t want to become a bitter man-hating woman but the republicans have pretty much forced me into it.  a waiting period and ultra-sound to get BIRTH CONTROL??????  changing the time-stamp on the texas vote on the abortion bill??????? and those are just the most recent events…  fucking outrageous conduct leads to outrageous consequences.

p.p.p.s.  i haven’t even been able to process how i feel about our government spying on us on account of the republicans, but i’m pretty sure i’m a little upset about that too.  stay tuned.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know you haven’t posted on your blog for 5 months and then it’s National Margarita Day and you read something heartbreaking and raw and then you decide to write something yourself.

Margarita step threeOh hellooooooooo.

Hello blog.  Hello blog people.  Hello world.  Hello to the part of me who has always been a writer but who doesn’t always get to write.  Today is your lucky day, sweet pea.  We are writing.

Why now?

Honestly, it has a lot to do with this http://therumpus.net/2013/02/it-doesnt-mean-very-much-at-all/ — not the feminist part, but the part about how she writes and I flinch and my brain tries to cover my eyes but I can’t stop reading because it’s so so so so goood.

And also because it’s about feminism and sexuality and how women are supposed to hide their sexuality, apologize for it, repent, speak in hushed tones, play a game.  What would it be like if we were allowed to revel in it like the boys?

Anyway.

I mean, I have all these thoughts about it (sexuality, specifically mine), but I can’t even write them down and say them out loud because (eek!) I’m a woman! and (gasp!) I have a son! and (the horror!) I live in a small town! and (egads!) what would people think?!

So.

Mostly I just love how that woman writes and she inspired me.  I didn’t really plan on exploring sexuality or feminism or anything.

Actually.

On the other hand, I do have some, ummm, situations that I want need to explore in writing, but can’t/won’t/ok might because of the aforementioned fucked-upness about women and sex (but probably mostly because of the small town)(which I should probably get over, right?)(or move…)

So don’t try to make me.

Other than to say that my entire life might be a cliche right now.

In other news – hello!

I’m still in Mexico, y’all…!

And, in keeping with tradition, here’s a list of shit I’m doing/have done/am thinking about, etc.:

  1. It’s National Margarita Day (in the U.S., but we’re celebrating it here too)(I haven’t started drinking yet, FYI…)(I don’t love tequila, but I do love lime and all things lime-related, so, I guess I’ll have a margarita today…)
  2. Did I tell you guys about how I went back to Colorado for Thanksgiving and my one week trip turned into almost 5 weeks because I was also applying for my visa that allows me to work in Mexico and Mexico just changed their entire Immigration system but forgot to tell their employees how to do it and I just happened to be one of the first people to apply under the new system and no one in Mexico or  Colorado knew what to do?  Limbo.  It sucked.  But was also awesome because Colorado and amazing son and family and friends.
  3. It was weird though because Colorado was warm.  I only saw like 10 snowflakes one morning out of the entire 5 weeks.  I love it here,  but I long for a quiet snow morning with hot tea and snowflake contemplation and warmies.
  4. Anyway.
  5. Then I came back and my first renter arrived (from Norway!) and she turned out to be batshit, certifiably, fresh out of a mental institution and obsessed with the end of the Mayan calendar crazy….  For. Fucking. Real.  She had a lot of names, but one of my favorites was Mooki.  Luckily I’ve had some experience dealing with people who are actually nuts, but Mooki was kinda scary.
  6. And now I play “Words with Friends” (a/k/a Scrabble…) on FB with Mooki’s ex-husband…. ? (Who appears to be terribly good looking but also “in a relationship”… just my luck.)(He’s also pretty good at Scrabble…)(Which makes him even more attractive….. HEAVY FUCKING SIGH.)
  7. I like smart men.
  8. Ha. Oh God.  I can just imagine what you’re thinking.
  9. So.  What else.  My son is IN LOVE for, I think, the first time and it’s very cute.  I’ve stalked the girl on FB (naturally….) and she seems cool/smart/pretty.  He’s funny.  He says she’s stubborn and dramatic.  I tell him that she is perfect for him because he has so much experience with me as his mommy.  He laughs and agrees.  God help me I adore that kid.
  10. It’s hard because she’s probably going to break his heart.  It’s nothing personal!  I just mean,  statistically speaking, she’s probably not going to be “The One”, so I probably should just skip the getting to know and like her part because of the whole “bitch broke my sweet pea’s heart” part, right?
  11. Is being a mother ever going to be less fraught with emotion?
  12. Is that even a proper sentence?
  13.  I LOVE MY JOB.  Remember how much I hated practicing law?  That’s how much I love this job.  I’m making ZERO money so far, but the people I work with are amazing and the clients are interesting/annoying/hilarious.
  14. Ohhhhh, wanna see the Studio apartment at my house?  It’s very cool and people who have visited seem to love it!  I have it listed on FlipKey and Airbnb – here’s a link:   https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/686258?preview=true
  15. Come visit!
  16. My sister and niece came to visit and it was awesome and they left with a DOG that they adopted from foster care here in PoMo… I’m not kidding.  It was a fun visit, but way too short and also, the dog thing??  It took up a LOT of our limited time.  Still.  Everyone is happy now.
  17. My 30th (THIRTIETH) High School Reunion is coming up.  WTF????  Don’t know if I can go yet.  Must diet.
  18. I listen to KBCO out of Boulder, CO every morning via the miracle of the internet — I love it because I love the music and I love hearing the weather report and the traffic report and going “HA HA!” and sometimes they make my whole day by playing one song.  Today it was this one:

How did I get here? Once in a lifetime… 🙂

xoxoxoxo

kim

p.s.  are you happy now irene?

p.s.s.  yes, natalie, i know there is no such thing as a “p.s.s.” but i like it, so i’m gonna use it.  get your rules off my writing!!  xoxoxo

p.s.s.s.  i’m a little giddy because I WROTE SOMETHING!  FINALLY! it’s been awhile and this isn’t even a real post, but still…

p.s.s.s.s.  you were nervous when it looked like i was gonna talk about sex and stuff, weren’t you?  admit it.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Yes, this is a new blog theme. And yes, I’m a little cranky. Surprise.

(Note:  This post has nothing to do with Frida Kahlo (as far as I can tell…) but she looks cranky (I think it’s the eyebrows?) and I’m cranky, so the picture resonated with me and voila! here it is, on my blog, without permission from anyone.  I’m sorry.)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this except that I just spent HOURS trying to find a new blog theme that worked better than the old blog theme and I finally found one I kind-of-sort-of like and I installed it and I feel like I should write a post acknowledging that yes, the blog looks different.

So.

Yes, the blog looks different.  I kinda like it.  I wanted to make it easier to navigate and easier to see the comments and also to leave comments.  Let me know your thoughts, por favor.

In other news:

UGH

There is no other news.

I’m a wee bit cranky, y’all.

For one thing, I think my body and brain are very confused about the fact that we don’t live where there are seasons anymore.  Colorado = 4 seasons.  Mexico (as far as I can tell) = 1 season + some rain sometimes… Last year was the first year I pretty much totally missed winter (except for a few weeks) and now I’ve also missed Spring and am missing Fall.

I hate missing Fall in Colorado.

The days are warm and the nights are cool.  There is excitement in the air.  The quality of the sunlight is different from any other time of year.  It’s completion, harvest, preparing for winter-time.  Fall has always been my favorite time of year.

So I’ve been a bit down about THAT and also just in general.  I mentioned to a friend that I was down and that I was not sure why and she was all “ummm, you’ve had a few losses recently…?”

Oh yes, loss.  Now my mood makes a little more sense.

In the “totally obvious” category is the loss of my artistic genius mommy (who had great hair!)(and who I miss every single damn day, damn damn damn damn) and then there are the other losses — my home, my career (yes, I hated it most of the time, but still, a career of 20 years is over and that is hard in it’s own way), my son (not dead THANK GOD but away at school and, because of the douchebag who stole all my shit, I got to spend virtually NO time with him before I had to come back to Mexico), my home was violated by a person who masqueraded as a friend, double-whammy, and then another friendship that meant a lot to me seems to be over for reasons unknown to me.

LOSS.

It hurts.

And I hate the conversations that go on in my head about this shit:

*****

Me:  “Mom died and I’m so sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “Everyone dies.  You knew she was sick, you had plenty of time to prepare for her death. She’s in a better place. Move on.”

******

Me:  “I miss my baby boy!  It’s like an ache that never goes away and I just want to see him.”

Asshole in my head:  “He’s 20.  He’s in college.  He’s fine.  Why are you living in Mexico if you’re dying to see him?  Kids grow up.  Get over it.”

******

Me:  “I can’t believe that pendejo pretended to be my friend and then systematically stole all my stuff and tried to rent my house to other people and still lied when I conronted him!  That hurts!  I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.  I feel violated.”

Asshole in my head:  “It’s your own fault, you idiot.  You should never have trusted the pendejo.  Everyone else knew he was a bad seed.  You deserve what you got.”

*****

Me:  “I miss my friend.  I’m sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “You have other friends.  If she were really your friend, she would tell you what is wrong.  You don’t need this drama. Move on.”

*****

You get the picture….

 

Here’s what I want to say to the asshole in my head (and anyone else who thinks like he/she does):

“What you say may be true, and it still hurts. It’s not the end of the world, my life isn’t over, I’m not spending every day lying in bed just waiting to fucking DIE, but it still hurts. So here’s what we’re going to do, you are going to shut up and I’m going to acknowledge the pain, wrap my arms around myself and tell myself everything will be ok, it’s just a little pain, and then I’m going to go the fuck on with my life and try to keep remembering that you are just an asshole voice in my head who clearly wasn’t loved enough as a child.”

🙂

And yes, I realize that I’m talking to no one but myself.

Is that weird?

xoxo

kim

p.s.  so, the pendejo is still “at large” but i finally received the electric bill that he racked up while living here (electricity is very expensive here) — $500 — so that sucks, but i’m glad to get it because once i pay that bill (ouch) the last of HIS damage will be accounted for and over.  expensive lesson.

p.p.s.  i haven’t been to the beach in AGES which makes no sense since that is why i wanted to live here.  i’ve got lots of reasons but none really make much sense.  not sure what is going on there….

p.p.p.s.  partially i haven’t been getting out much because it’s HOTTER THAN FUCK here.  but if i went to the beach it would be breezy and cooler, so that is dumb.

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Filed under grief, My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Writing and Not-Writing

So. I’m back in Mexico. Seriously. (And now I can write a bestseller, probably…)

I don’t even know where to start this blog post.

So.

I’m back in Puerto Morelos…. (yay?)

If you’ve been following along, you know that I just left Puerto Morelos in late June and that I was planning to spend a few months in Colorado and then return here to start my NEW JOB (!!!) in the fall.

And you also know that I left my house in the care of someone because everyone knows that you can’t leave a house empty in Mexico.

And you might know, or have guessed, that the someone that I left in the house was a person who I had previously (and erroneously, it turns out) referred to as “a nice man”….

CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING ANOTHER SPECTACULARLY BAD DECISION REGARDING A MAN, KIM.

Turns out this man is not a nice man.

(which I knew or should have known before the leaving-him-in-my-house decision)

He is, in fact a con man.  A drug addict.  A thief.  A pathological liar.  A sociopath.

(and those are the nice words for him)

(motherfucker is one of the bad words for him)

(also pendejo and cabron)

And in the four weeks that I was away from my house, he (a) hot-wired my car and was stopped while driving it and now it is impounded by the Federales and I will probably never see it again and (b) cleaned out the house — stole all the appliances, TVs, electronics, the AIR CONDITIONER, pretty much anything that could be relatively easily removed from the house and sold, including my hot pink yoga-fucking-mat.

(the yoga mat?  that is just mean.)

AND

(c) the dude rented my house to another family.

Yep.

Miraculously (in my opinion) the other family just happened to ask a friend of mine to help them move into my house.  And my friend was all “what the fuck?” and “let’s call Kim!” and “dude, where are all the appliances?”

And that is how I found out.

(and, oh my god, i couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap my head around it, kicked in the stomach feeling, intense shame and humiliation and what-have-i-done? and oh mommy, i’m so sorry, so so sorry and the motherfucker was STILL calling/texting and telling me everything was great and, in fact, he had been working on the house and preparing it for when my family was going to visit in a few days…)

And I fell apart for lots of reasons but mostly because I didn’t know what to do because I had less than $200 to my name, which is not enough to buy a plane ticket to Cancun and especially not enough to stay in Mexico and not enough to replace anything stolen.  And then I realized that once I deposited a check I would have a little bit more — enough for a plane ticket one way — but still not enough to stay/replace anything.

(And if I go to Mexico now how will I get everything taken care of in Colorado and I can’t afford to make two trips and I haven’t spent any time with Austin and his birthday is coming up and all my shit is still in storage and I need to sell some stuff to survive until the job starts and I need to go to the doctor and get prescriptions and I can’t live in the house with no refrigerator and FUCK and I have so much to do in Colorado, how can I go to Mexico now?)

Anyway.

So I bought a one-way ticket to Cancun.

And my amazing friend Mary picked me up and let me stay with her and she came with me to kick him out of the house when no one else wanted to get involved because the dude may or may not be a drug dealer (or worse), etc. etc.

(The point is that I couldn’t find anyone willing to just go talk to the police with me (as I do not speak spanish) so I had to get him out of the house without the help of the police.  I was terrified and Mary was all “fuck it, I’ll back you up, let’s roll” (she’s, ummm, in her 60’s) and so we did.)

So we just walked right in and I was totally going to keep my cool and not escalate the situation (just in case he was psycho) and then he smiled and said “Kim!  What a nice surprise.  What are you doing here?” and tried to hug me.  And that is when things, ummm, escalated on my part.

GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE.

(SCREAMING at the top of my lungs and shaking like a leaf)

“What are you talking about?”

GET THE FUCK OUT!  WHERE ARE THE REFRIGERATORS?  WHERE IS THE AIR CONDITIONER?  GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!

“No no no, just calm down and I tell you what happen.  Someone broke in and robbed the house.”

LIAR!

“Listen to me, can I talk to you right now?”

NO. GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

“Can I call you later?  Can I come over later when you’re calm down?”

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

You get the picture…..

And then he left.

Of course there is more to the story. There always is. 

I’m leaving out the best parts that serve to illustrate WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT I AM to have trusted him in the first place (because they are super embarrassing and I’m ashamed and also because they will probably be the parts that make my book a fucking NYT best seller…)(but mostly because they are embarrassing and just go to show that I am in serious need of continuous therapy to deal with issues like:  Exactly how little do you value yourself if this kind of behavior is acceptable, Kim?”)(Although I could write a better book than 50 Shades of Grey with my eyes closed, so maybe I could turn my extreme shame into a bestseller and thereby finance my lifetime of therapy.)

I’ve filed a police report (thanks to the nice lady at the laundromat next door who speaks pretty good english and agreed to get involved and translate for me) and the nice detective (Sweet Jesus, there is a whole other chapter for the book — in a Hollywood story all of this bad shit would have happened to me to teach me a lesson and so that I could meet and fall in love with the handsome police officer assigned to my case — in real life, the officer/detective is kind of short (but cute…), barely speaks English, is probably married and thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever met…. WHAT. THE. FUCK.???) tells me to be patient (aarrrgghh!) and that they have leads on where this guy is and that he will be arrested soon.

Anyway.

Lots of stuff to think about/write about.

I’m penniless in Puerto Morelos but I have amazing friends here (super special thanks to Mary and Linda for opening their homes to me and having my back!) and I am so lucky that people saw what was happening and got in touch with me.  I’ve learned a lot.  I’m not dead.  My house is standing.  All my mom’s beautiful artwork is intact and exactly where I left it.  It could have been much worse.

But still, it was pretty fucking bad.

I will feel better when the bad guy is behind bars.

(fun fact:  in Mexico you are GUILTY until proven innocent — they jail you first and ask questions later….yikes)

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  it’s hotter than the sun here.  i’m not exaggerating.

p.p.s.  he took my yoga mat.  what kind of scary drug addict/dealer steals a pink yoga mat?

p.p.p.s.  i don’t blame people for not wanting to get involved/translate with the police, this is a small community and things can get weird when the police are involved and there were all sorts of rumors flying around about how big and bad and horrible the guy was and people were worried he would see them as “enemies” and come after them, i guess.

p.p.p.p.s.  the nice detective called me “voluptuous”  (he knows that word in english… suspicious, right?) so it’s good that i can’t really afford food right now.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized

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!

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