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!

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!!!!

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!

I’m staring at the keyboard and it’s staring right back at me. It’s a motherfucking impasse y’all. Time to write about sex.

I’ve been staring at the keyboard for, ummm, hours.

And it’s been staring right back at me.

The keyboard is strongly suggesting that I “write something already”.

I’m politely suggesting that the keyboard can kiss my sweet ass.

It seems we have arrived at an impasse.

A stalemate.  A standstill.  A good old-fashioned standoff.

(Oh the drama…..)

Well.  We were at an impasse.  Then I decided that I wanted to write something.  And I decided that my decision to write something has nothing to do with the fact that the keyboard has been taunting me mercilessly.

Win/win.

(ha)

Oh alright.  The keyboard totally won.

Fuck.

Now what?

How about a list!

THINGS THAT I’M THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW THAT WOULD PROBABLY BE GOOD TO WRITE ABOUT IF I WERE MOTIVATED TO WRITE AN ACTUAL BLOG POST, WHICH I’M NOT.

1. I’m all twitterpated because the Moratorium is officially over and there’s a nice man here who might be a little bit sweet on me. (Note:  yes, Virginia, “twitterpated” is a real word, mostly.)
2. Is it just me or does being on a beach make everyone horny?
3. Honestly (as I’ve mentioned previously) it isn’t the beach, it’s the ocean.  And it isn’t just the ocean, it’s any body of water.
4. Rain also puts me in the mood.
5. Snow is also fun.
6. So there it is, all precipitation turns me on.
7. OMG am I having my sexual peak right now?
8. Oh, who am I kidding.  I’ve been having my peak since I was 17 16.  (One benefit of being an orphan at 47 is that you don’t have to pretend you didn’t mess around as a teenager.)(Not that my parents harbored any illusions that I was a sweet, demure girl.)(Plus I told them I was sleeping with my boyfriend at age 17, because I was POSITIVE we were going to get married.  Reasonable, right?)(That might have been the date of my Dad’s first heart attack… we will never know.)
9. Hmmmm, there seems to be a theme developing here…
10. Anyway.  So it’s fun to be twitterpated, but here’s the thing, I’m living in an episode of “The Bachelor”…  Seriously, there are about 10 American/Canadian women and 1000 Mexican women for every single, decent, person with a penis in this town. 
11. And this is a resort town. 
12. A small resort town.
13. So why would a guy who has his pick of hundreds of attractive, tan and horny women “settle down” with just one of them for any length of time?
14. Vacation romances are awesome, but what do you do when you live in the vacation spot and maybe want more than a vacation romance?
15. Not that there’s anything wrong with vacation romances.
16. I mean, 12 years ago I had the vacation romance to end all vacation romances.  My friends affectionately refer to it as my “vacation romance on steroids”.  It was awesome and, ultimately, a sad chapter in my life.  It probably should have just stayed a vacation romance.  On a lighter note, I would never have found Puerto Morelos without that vacation romance, so there.
17. I have no idea what I’m trying to say here.
18. Yes, I do.
19. Am I up for a vacation romance?
20. That is the question.
21. Probably!
22. That is the answer.
23. That Moratorium lasted a long time….
24. Here’s another thing:  When one is a blogger who talks about shit like “What if I told the truth on my Match.com profile?” and “I’m depressed and grieving and probably crazy“,  and “Oh yeah, I’m having a relationship with a pretend-Buddha iguana who doesn’t know I’m alive” — when exactly does one roll out the fact that they write a blog chock-full of intensely personal shit to a potential love interest?
25. Fuck!
26. Probably “never” is the right answer, which means “Right away!!” in “Kim’s world”…. 🙂
27. Also.
28. Probably not a great idea to brag (in a very public forum, i.e., your practically- internationally- famous blog) that you’re awesome at anything, much less fellatio.
29. Note to self:  Remember how it’s good to under-promise and over-perform?  Yeah.  This bragging thing is a problem, at least in theory. (wink-wink)(OMG there I go again!)(oh, for god’s sake, this is entertainment, yall.  not “the truth”.)(supposedly).
30. Jesus Christ, what have I done here today?

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  all y’all are awesome.  thank you for your kind comments/notes on my last blog post.  i love the internet and you people who somehow found me and don’t mind that i say “fuck” a lot.

p.p.s.  my smarty-pants “English Teacher” cousin told me that “p.s.s.” isn’t even a thing.  it’s “p.p.s.” whatever.  🙂

p.p.p.s.  i still have no plan (no Plan A and no Plan B) but my tan is really coming along!

p.p.p.p.s.  please tell me i’m not the only one who says “twitterpated” (or thinks it?)

We now return to our regularly scheduled program of me beating up on myself. Oh joy.

I hate my brain.

Not the part that is keeping me alive and that allows me to read and write and walk and hear and talk.  That part is fine.  I hate the part that just keeps chattering away about every single little thing and finds fault with pretty much everything I do and/or don’t do and/or think about doing.

Believe it or not, I ‘ve actually gotten 1000% better at disengaging from the uber-talkative part of my brain that is crazy and hates me thanks to the amazing book, “The Untethered Soul” and my therapist Carolyn (who recommended the book and is, well, awesome).

 HOWEVER

I find myself unable to disengage from it today, when the topic seems to be:

THINGS YOU WERE GOING TO DO WHILE IN MEXICO VS. THINGS THAT YOU ARE ACTUALLY DOING, A DISAPPOINTING COMPARISON, KIM.

Heavy sigh.

Things I thought I would be doing while in Mexico included the following inspiring and motivational and healing things:

• Writing.  A lot.  Every day.
• Doing yoga — on the beach, in the square, at one of the 8,000 yoga studios in town, including the one pretty much right across the street.
• Eating only healthy foods and refraining from alcohol.
• Engaging in brilliant brainstorming sessions which would lead to a wonderful vision/plan for my life ahead.
• Walking the streets of Puerto Morelos befriending the locals.
• Walking the beaches of Puerto Morelos and thereby discovering myself, like all those women in all those books about women discovering themselves by the sea….
• Snorkeling.
• Did I mention writing?
• Reading literary fiction because, hey, I’m trying to be literary, right?
• Practicing Shiva Nata — I can’t explain it here, see the link.
• Going on adventures to find hidden beaches with lovely beach trash and thereby finding myself, see above re: women finding themselves on beaches/by the sea.
• Frolicing in cenotes — perhaps ziplining across them to show how I’ve conquered some fears.
• Having a visionquest.  Whatever that means.

Things I have actually done while in Mexico include the following mostly meaningless and pedestrian things:

• Began and ended a relationship with Sue, the pretend-Buddha iguana, who was completely unaware of our relationship status at all times.
• Somehow avoided doing yoga, despite the fact that it’s available pretty much 24/7 everywhere in town.
• Read a bunch of zombie novels (a/k/a NOT LITERARY FICTION)
• In keeping with the zombie theme I watched 1.5 seasons of  The Walking Dead, my new favorite TV series EVER.
• Watched the first season of an American Horror Story — yikes!
• May have watched a few Real Housewives of Beverly Hills episodes….
• Barely blogged.
• Obsessively read everything I could find about Whitney Houston’s death. 
• Walked into the ocean a few times.  Kind of swam.
• Watched a few movies.
• Eaten meat, fattening food, Diet Coke and yummy alcoholic beverages.
• Got the electricity in the house turned back on, got cable/internet hooked up, had laundry room torn down and rebuilt (roof caved-in sometime between November 20 and January 19), prepared for and hosted Mom’s non-memorial service/party, had houseguests for a week, had the rotting front fence torn down and replaced with a nice wall + gates rebuilt, had propane tank refilled, located septic system for potential hook-up with new city sewer system…
• Watched a lot of  TED talks.
• Helped to prepare for and volunteered at local charity bazaar.  Delivered leftover clothes to church in colonia.
• Started a Zazzle store (which hasn’t been opened to the public yet) for some of Mom’s artwork.
• Read some other non-literary fiction books.
• Researched things like “freelance writing” and “travel writing” and “teaching english as a second language” and “how to make money from anywhere”…
• Walked the beach a few mornings — the local beach, not a hidden adventure type beach.
• Went to a girlfriend’s house and watched the new episode of The Bachelor last Monday night.  (Which is totally dumb because I already know who “wins” and surprise!  it’s the bitchy girl who everyone else hates!  Go figure.)

 And that’s about it.

I’ve had no grand epiphanies.  No great revelations of my life’s purpose. 

I’ve been here 5 weeks (as of today) and I’m pretty much exactly the same confused, sad, grieving person who arrived here on January 19.

Actually, I’m worse.

When I got here, I believed that my Mom’s estate would be a source of funds for my immediate future — not a lot of money, but enough to survive until I got back on my feet after not working for a year.  A week after the non-memorial service/party we found out that, due to an unfavorable court decision, there is no money in my Mom’s estate.  Zero.  Probably less than zero after everything settles out as there are no funds and her two houses to maintain + medical bills pending.

I’ve got no income, no savings, no assets left to sell, no retirement plan to raid.

I hate to sound all negative-newt-ish, but I gotta say that I’m feeling pretty fucked right now.  Oh, and my son is in his first year of college.

So.

Total panic and paralyzing fear have taken over for grief and depression.

And that might explain why I’m not out discovering myself on a deserted beach right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  wow.  heavy shit.  when i started writing, i didn’t know i was going to end up here, in the darkest of the dark.

p.s.s.  i’m not suicidal, nor am i homeless (for now)(but really, my family will help) but i am scared and right now i don’t see the way out.

p.s.s.s.  for the love of god, please don’t write and tell me to think positive and that this lack of a job/money/home/future is really just an opportunity for growth.  it’s scary as fuck.

Dear Madison, the bad news is that girls are mean. Love, Aunt Kimmy.

My niece Madison is almost 7.

She’s scary smart and drop-dead gorgeous.  And I’m not just saying that because I’m sometimes her favorite Aunt.

She is in first grade and is having her first broken heart caused by (here’s a surprise…) MEAN GIRLS.

This makes Aunt Kimmy want to kick some first-grade bitch ass, but, as a former child-welfare lawyer, I’m categorically against violence against children, supposedly.  So I’m going to do what I do and write her a letter instead:

Dear Madison Grace,

I know you’re only almost-7 years old, but there are a few things I think you should know right now, sweet pea.

The first is that you are smart and beautiful and sweet and kind and complicated and a great organizer of hand sanitizer bottles and a happy dancer and a kick-ass Chinese jump roper and a picky dresser and an independent artist and a feisty athlete and all sorts of other amazing and wonderful and complicated things.

Everything that you are makes you worthy of love, Madison.  And here’s something else that you might not understand until you are a LOT older, but I wish you could understand today:  Even if you were none of the things that you are today, you would still be worthy of love.  You are so loved, just because you are alive.

The bad news is that girls are mean.

Boys can be mean also, but girls seem to have been born with the innate ability to be exquisitely mean, especially to other girls.

Sometimes they don’t know they are being mean, but, unfortunately, most of the time they know exactly what they are doing.

I am also a girl, Madison.  And as much as I wish it were different, I know I’ve been a mean girl at times.  Not in first grade.  In first grade I was an outsider, so I was the one the girls were mean to.  Actually that was the case pretty much until I got to high school.  Before then I was always the new kid, I was taller than all the boys and most of the girls, I wore huge thick glasses and had stringy horrifying hair and a big gap between my front teeth and my clothes were weird.  (I blame my mother for almost all of these things, by the way, even though that isn’t fair, you’ll blame your mother for a lot of things that aren’t fair either also, sweet pea, trust me…)  My point is that I have a LOT of experience being the target for mean girls.  Then one summer I “blossomed” and got contacts and figured out how to fix my hair (kind of) and I got my teeth fixed and then all of the sudden I wasn’t an outsider as much.  In fact, all of the sudden I found myself kind of “popular” and then guess what, Madison?  Then the other girls who were still outsiders (for whatever reason Madison) were mean to me.

It’s weird, Madi.  Because other than the stuff on the outside of me, I was exactly the same person.

Anyway.

It makes me sad to think about it, but what makes me more sad, Madison, is that I’m 47 (a really big number, sweet pea) and guess what?

There are STILL mean girls.

There were mean girls in college, mean girls at my first job in marketing, mean girls in law school and SUPER MEAN GIRL LAWYERS at my first job at a law firm.  It’s crazy, Madi!  Then I had a baby and I had to go back to work (which broke my heart and also saved my life) and the other mommies who didn’t have to go back to work were mean to the mommies who did have to go back to work?!?  Then the girls who didn’t have babies were mean to the girls who did have babies because they thought the girls who had babies didn’t have to work at being a lawyer as hard as they did.  Crazy, right?  And now I’ve had a career full of mean lawyer girls and I kind-of moved to this new town in Mexico, where everything seems perfect on the outside, but really, Madison, the truth is that there are still mean girls, even here.  Older, more sophisticated and tan mean girls.

I realize that this may seem to be a depressing story, but I was saving the really good news for last, Madison:

Not all girls are mean.  And some girls that who seem to be mean, really aren’t.  And you’re going to have some awesome girlfriends.  And those girlfriends are probably going to save your life one day.

Even though it doesn’t seem like it now, Madi, you’re going to have some awesome girlfriends.  Trust me on this, honey — you will have some of the best times of your life with your girlfriends. 

Your girlfriends are going to change throughout your life, baby girl, and each one is going to teach you something amazing. 

The girls who don’t want to play with you in first grade might be your very bestest of friends in the fourth grade.  The girl who steals your boyfriend (note this, sweet pea:  no girl can “steal” a boy, it turns out boys sometimes go where they think the most shiny toys are, they can’t help themselves…) in middle school might be on your basketball team in high school and turn out to be the only person who understands your abiding love for Justin Bieber (besides your sometimes-favorite-Aunt Kimmy :)). 

For every mean girl you run into, Madison, there is another girl out there who is going to adore you just the way you are and be thrilled to be your friend. 

For every girl who says “you’re not invited to my party”, there will be another girl who says “teach me how to dougie, girlfriend!”.  For every girl who laughs at your outfit, there is another girl who says “here, try these shoes with that skirt”.  For every girl who is jealous because you’re so pretty and smart (and, sadly, there will be a lot of those, Madison) there will be other girls who know that being pretty doesn’t change the fact that life can be hard and being smart is not always the best thing for your social life.  For every girl who snickers at your broken heart, there will be another girl who says “he wasn’t good enough for you!”

And even though it may seem impossible to you right now, believe me when I tell you that you already have some of the best girlfriends ever — your mom (she is a girl too!), your grandma, your other sometimes-favorite-Aunts — we are all girls who love you no matter what.

So, here’s the deal, Madi.  Try to forget about those girls who don’t want to play with you today, even if it makes you sad. (It’s ok to be sad, sweet pea, as long as you know that, in general, being sad about other people’s behavior usually doesn’t change anything).  I know if you look around you will find some other girls who do want to play with you, but just don’t know how to ask.  Find those girls and be silly and sweet and happy first-graders.

I love you Madison Grace (with the beautiful face!) and I will always be your girlfriend.  Like it or not… 🙂

Love,

Aunt Kimmy

Sue (the pretend-Buddha iguana) is into games, apparently…

(Preliminary note:  I’m blogging from Starbucks.  In Cancun, Mexico.  I love the internet!)

Actually, Sue (the pretend-Buddha iguana who lives on my wall) is totally fucking with me, but I didn’t think I should use the “F” word in my blog title.

In short, Sue completely disappeared for a few days.

He wasn’t just missing from his usual spot on the wall.  He was nowhere to be found.  He wasn’t anywhere on the entire wall.  He wasn’t on the roof of the bodega.  He wasn’t in the bougainvillea tree/bush.  He wasn’t on the roof of my house.  He wasn’t in my house.

I was concerned.

This iguana (or one who looks a lot like him) has hung out on this wall for years.  And then, right after I wrote about him (and blew his pretend-Buddha/pretend iguana cover?), he disappears into thin air?

Coincidence?

I think not.

There’s really no reasonable explanation for his sudden disappearance other than the one my brain came up with:

Sue is mad at me.

(It has to be about me, obviously) 

Perhaps he doesn’t like the name Sue?  Maybe he didn’t enjoy how I described him as icky and not cuddly at all?  It’s possible he is upset that I doubt his Buddha-nature.  Maybe he was freaked out by all the attention?

Anyway.

I’ve spent more time than I really want to admit looking for this damn pretend-Buddha iguana.  Missing our little unspoken connection every time I looked out the living room window into his creepy peeping-Tom eyes.  Wishing I had not gotten so close trying to get a better picture of him.  Wondering if I had ruined his happy home on the wall with my attention/staring contests.

Mourning the loss of the imaginary relationship I had created in my mind.

(Hmmmm, this seems familiar….)

I went out at dawn this morning, thinking perhaps I could catch him on the wall before the day warmed up too much.  No sign of Sue.  I checked again at 8:00 a.m. when Carlos the construction guy and his sons came by the house.  Nada.  I looked around again at 10:00 a.m. as I was leaving to pick up a friend to take to the airport in Cancun.  No Sue.

Then, about five minutes later, I returned to the house to get the sunglasses I had forgotten to bring. 

And there he was.

Sue.

Just sitting there.  At his usual spot on the wall.  Pretending not to notice me.  Acting like nothing has happened.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, SUE?!  WHY ARE YOU TOYING WITH ME LIKE THIS?  LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!

You can see his response in the photo above.

Nose in the air.  Refusing to acknowledge me.  Evidencing nothing but callous disregard for my feelings.

And now I’m angry.

FUCK YOU, SUE.  I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOU.  YOU’RE AN UGLY, SPIKY IGUANA AND I’M NOT THE LEAST BIT ATTRACTED TO YOU.  FURTHERMORE, WE HAVE NO INTELLECTUAL CONNECTION.  I’M NOT EVEN SURE YOU HAVE A BRAIN.  WHAT A WASTE OF TIME AND ENERGY THIS COMPLETELY PRETEND RELATIONSHIP HAS BEEN.

Again, this seems familiar…

And now I’m sensing a lesson.

Fucking pretend-Buddha iguanas.

YES – I see that sometimes I assume things are about me when they totally aren’t.

YES – I may have, occasionally, ignored reality and created a fantasy relationship and then been crushed when the actual relationship bore no resemblance to the fantasy.

and

YES – I’ve probably  “pursued” relationships with people (read: men) who I’m not really attracted to physically/intellectually simply because I wanted to “win” i.e., “not-lose”.

But why this lesson now, Sue?

I haven’t dated in eons (a year).  I’m completely shut-down (I did notice a nice-looking man reading an interesting book on the beach next to me yesterday).  And I’m totally unattractive (I’ve lost at least 10 lbs. since I’ve been back on anti-depressants/in Mexico).

Oh.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  I had no idea where this post was going when I started it…. and that is why I love writing even when I hate it.

p.s.s.  These aren’t exactly new lessons, FYI.  I guess I needed a refresher course?

p.s.s.s.  I love mocha frappuccinos!