Just Wonderful

1 04 2013

There is something wonderful about waking next to him.  He’s the night owl (to use the hackneyed term) and so I am always awake first. He’s not always snuggled up to me, and not always adorable, but he is always wonderful.  I lie and bask in his presence, his warmth.  I get fuzzy when he cuddles me, although that is almost without fail moments after I have decided to get up and run to the bathroom, so I push the discomfort to the back of my mind and settle in for a few minutes (at least) of snuggle, teddy-bear time.  I study the lines in his face and the colors in his quickly growing beard.  His face is never smooth after a night in my bed, even if he shaved just before arriving the night before.  Hell, I take note of how much hair has grown on his shoulders since I last got a good look.  I watch the progress it makes down his back.  Yeah, I’m dating a hairy dude.  All the better for petting, and there is something delightful about chest hair tickling my nose.  The hallow of his shoulder is my pillow.  My boobs are his and he finds them in his sleep with an efficiency you would not believe. So I throw my arm around his shoulder and cradle him to me while he squeezes me close and murmurs nonsensicals.  Sometimes he speaks and I get to peak at his dreams.  Generally, they are naughty and I get a good laugh and an idea or two for some fun.  Sometimes I wake him up.  Many times I don’t.  I like to let him sleep, and soak in the warm, and feel loved and coveted when I get to be a teddy-bear.  I know this is a reflex, but I makes me feel good.  I feel set to burst when I get a good squeeze, when he won’t let me get up, when I am grabbed and positioned the minute I lay back down.  Just one day a week now, just one.  And I feel wonderful, and loved, and desired, and needed.  Because he spends his one day with me.



16 03 2013

I like to imagine winning the lottery sometimes. Or just a millions dollars.  I’m not all that greedy.  But i like to think about what I would do, and I’m sure for the majority what I would do would be pretty boring.  I wouldn’t set off to travel the globe calling no place home and having no ties (but believe me I would totally pay to take the massive world wide cruise I’ve head about because cruising is freakin’ wonderful!) and writing my memoirs, because who the hell would ready my memoirs?

Okay, maybe Oprah and a bunch of lonely, drama starved housewives, but there are far more interesting, far more twisted life stories out there and I would just feel a pretender amongst them.

Regardless, I think the first thing I would do would be to finish my living room while my grandmother was off on a short vacation (that I would have paid for of course).  You see she has a serious case of the DIY bug, and our house is constantly under construction in some form or another.  We play musical bedrooms, re-purpose rooms, knock down walls, put new ones up, and typically run out of money about 3/4’s of the way through.  Right now, that mostly finished room is the living room that is sitting in what was once our car port.  It’s a nice room. Kind of small, kind of dark, and there is still some mudding and sheetrock-ing that needs to be done (not to mention the floors and the paint and the finishing touches on the electrical), and I would really, really feel good about myself if I could throw some money at it, and a weekend or two, and get it spic and span for my grandmother without her having to lift a finger (and risk throwing out her back again in the process). Given that we are a DIY heavy household, that wouldn’t be all that hard.  It would mean paying my dad for his labor, no doubt, but he is generally okay with being paid in cigarettes and Monster cans.  It could be done even without the million or the lottery money, but I am a poor community-college student, trying to pay down my own debts.  It would take a while to work up the cash.

But if I had seemingly unlimited funds?  Oh the things I could do.  Not only could I finish the living room, I could furnish it.  However, you all must know that that is not where this would end.

Oh, heeeeelllllllll no.

Because I have noticed something.  Something about my family.  Okay…. something about my dad and his mom.  He keeps moving back in. Now, here is the situation, so that it is clear what I mean by that.  I live with my grandmother, almost always have (there was that one year, but that is a story for another time), and my dad?  Well, he comes and goes.  But he is never gone for long.  Don’t get me wrong, he hasn’t been moving in and out for the entirety of my life.  There were a few years there when he was settled when I was young, and a few more a little later, and a few more after that.  But it doesn’t ever last for long, and eventually he moves back in.  And the problem that I am working towards, the one that I would employ a  lot of this fictional money to fix, is this:  Eventually my grandma will die, and then where will he go?

You might say, “Not your problem!  He’s a grown man and he can fend for himself.  He has skills, he knows how to employ them and given a good shove, he probably will.”  And you would be absolutely right.  But, you see, I just can’t.  I am aware of that aspect of myself, I will not live in denial.  I come from a line of women and men who just can’t let their family or friends take life’s punches alone.  We take in strays, we very nearly run a boarding house actually for those down on their luck, need a hand to hold for a while, wading through transitional periods, and have no where else to go.  We deal with them sleeping on our couches, eating our food, smoking our weed and cigarettes, not helping with the housework, and never shutting up and giving us a moment’s peace, on top of being a drain on our limited finances.  We’ve had them steal from us, we’ve chased them to state boarders to get our stuff back, we’ve let a lot of our missing tools go with a shake of our heads and a mutter about so-and-so, but when the next one wanders by telling us of their woes, sometimes never looking for a hand-out, legitimately planning to do this that or the other to help themselves, we make an offer.  You don’t want to do that, don’t put yourself through that, you shouldn’t have to live that way.  And then there is another body on our couch.

So I know that I can’t and, when the time finally comes, won’t be able to turn my dad away when he is finally, again, down on his luck.  But I don’t want him living with me while I’m trying to live my life, probably raising a family.  I don’t want him in the guest room for five or ten years, bringing his girlfriends over to stay for a few days or weeks or months.  I don’t want him borrowing my car because he sold his when he had no other options and then buying up a junker that runs and just needs some TCL before it’s a great car again.  I don’t want to be my grandmother.

Here’s what I am willing to do – I’ll put his ass to work.  Aside from a back that troubles him sometimes and his worsening eye sight, my dad is in great physical condition for his age, so I am not afraid to hand him physical labor.  If I won the lottery or had a million dollars I would buy up a few properties, rent them out, and give him the job of property manager/maintenance-man.  I would deduct his rent from his salary and let him live one of the houses if he needed to.  I’ll manage it with or without the lottery.  It will just take longer.

My dad isn’t the only one though.  I have friends.  Well meaning, motivated friends who really just need a leg up in the world to get their lives in shape.  Maybe I’m an idealist and it would all backfire on me.  Maybe my friends would just end up with a few failed businesses and owing me thousands that they would never be able to pay back, but I would help them anyway.  I would fund ariannaoftheblack’s doggie daycare.  I would buy the property (I totally picked it out already) and waive their rent for the first year or two, and give them some start-up cash.  I would buy nightly her mobile weld-shop equipment and give her some start-up cash too.  I would probably rent houses to both of them.

I would put a large sum into savings, an IRA, I would get a CPA to invest it for me.  I would do all the things you’re supposed to do with your money to ensure that you have enough to retire comfortably.  I would ask for  a demotion at work, dropping to 20 hours a week, taking a pay-cut just so I could spend more time at my community college learning things I want to learn and not things I need for a degree, so that I could travel and not feel like I were abandoning my co-workers to chaos.

I probably wouldn’t move out immediately, but I would tell my grandma to evict the couple living in our mother-in-law’s apartment and let me move in.  I would take some semblance of autonomy, and pay rent, but not leave her alone which I know she fears.  At least until my boyfriend asks me to move in with him somewhere.  That, I’m sure, she would find acceptable and be happy about.

I would pay off my debts (which aren’t much) and my car.  I would try to convince my boyfriend to let me pay off his debts (which are less than mine) and to let me pay something towards the car he is so lovingly struggling to keep running.  I would take him traveling with me ❤

I would take my whole family and him on a series of cruises and vacations.  I would pay for my sisters and my brother to go with us, though they live half way across the country.  I would ask them where they wanted to go and make it happen.  I would give them all money for college.  I would invite my boyfriends family to go too sometimes, and pay for the bulk of it.  I would take a lot of pictures.  I would give my dad a nice camera with which to take pictures.  I would forget the cameras in a suitcase, and spend all of my time interacting with the people I love, forgetting to take the pictures.


3 02 2013

Wedding. Short-stack has some insecurities, the same as all of us.  She deserves nothing but support.

Minor Hallucinogenics

12 01 2013

I found this article on how single doses of hallucinogens can cause significant changes in personality a while ago and it has been popping up in my head every so often since.  I’ve been told that weed/marijuana/pot/dank/what-have-you is an hallucinogen, and I tend to believe the information though I haven’t done any research on it myself since I am prone to auditory hallucinations when high.  I get trapped in my head most of the time, and usually end up apologizing for being quiet (which my boyfriend scoffs at – he usually ends up apologizing for “talking my ear off”), but I’ve come to a few realizations since I began smoking/ingesting.

I got really stuck on the concept of death not too long after I started (mind you I started a little over a year ago – late bloomer here) and was often terrified and awestruck circling the idea of “nothing.” When rejecting the idea of an afterlife, which for a while has felt less and less real, how do you quantify “nothing?”  How do you imagine being dead?  Ant and I had a few conversations on the subject while I was going through this phase.  He doesn’t understand why people fear death so much and when I said it was a scary concept he laughed a little and asked why.  I answered by saying it wasn’t like a video game and not knowing was scary.  He was very happy to point out that it was like a video game.  Your character dies and for him it’s over. That whole section was gone, kaputz, game over, black screen, return to previous save.  But he was wrong, because I am not the character.  It doesn’t matter how involved the game is, whether or not you have save points to return to or if you have to start over at the beginning, how emotionally connected to your characters you are, when GAME OVER flashes I am still here.  In my video game I am not the character, I am GOD!  A little dramatic, but true.  I made my point, he conceded, cheerful as ever.

Still, I suddenly find myself more connected to these ideas than I ever have been.  I used to tell my friends that I was blessed with the ability to NOT visualize things, things that tended to make them cringe (spectacularly ugly people or their parents having sex for instance).  But that has changed.

I feel like my world is suddenly in 3D, and the backdrop that was once projected onto a screen before me has come to life.  I looked up yesterday and saw birds flying and felt for the first time that they were suspended in air.  I know it sounds elementary, really the most basic of basic concepts, and I didn’t realize that I hadn’t thought about it until that very second, but I don’t think I ever had.  I was absolutely sober in that instant. It was beautiful.

When I’m high this happens repeatedly, quickly and I can’t verbalize it at all.  The ideas slip away too rapidly and aren’t at all relevant to what the people surrounding me are doing, and my mouth and throat just don’t function the way they should.  They hit me again later when I’m sober and it’s like walking into a wall of cold air.  I’d like to think this is for the better, and that these thoughts are a sign of some enlightenment that I am working towards, that maybe in this gray area of young/mid adulthood I am becoming a better person than I once was, but who can say?

On Aging and Looking Back

5 01 2013

I guess I qualify now as being in my mid-twenties as opposed to my early twenties, but I don’t see much of a difference in my lifestyle.  At least not when I’m looking at myself in a vacuum (or next to my boyfriend who has a similar living arrangement), but when I see some of my friends and co-workers deal with their own issues and drama I get an eerie look at both sides of this coin. 

Very few of my co-workers are over twenty-one, and I’ve noticed a larger propensity towards inter-office dating and friend-making, neither of which ever seem to end well.  They meet each other for lunch on workdays and spend some weekends at one person’s house drinking and smoking the days and nights away.  They opt for the short shifts in order to go teach themselves code or catch up on sleep even while they beg for more hours.  They get mad at their co-worker friends for considering a transfer that would net more hours and possible advancement, something clearly in their friends favor, because they don’t want to miss them or see them less. And the confuse SENIORITY with AUTHORITY.

My mid-twenties friends are having kids too early, getting engaged, facing custody battles, and fighting tooth and nail against oppressions that I can’t feel or help them with.  They’re worried about paying their rent and their utilities and their food. Feeding their families and trying to keep their parents alive until their weddings at the very least.

They see a weekend of drunkenness as an escape from their shadows for just a little while. They crave company and attention because they are on their own for the first time, they seek solitude and quiet because their families are stifling in ways never felt before during their teenage years. They’re facing existential crisis because they’re now beginning to wonder what career will fulfill them the most, allow them to do the most with their lives, how to balance work and play and still provide a good future for themselves and the families they may one day have.

I have found myself bewildered in an environment filled with strange young people and strange, more worldly thoughts than I have ever experienced before.  I’m a fan of it overall, and I do what I can to look back with fondness for my early-twenties and to disregard the longing.  Most of the time it works well, easily, effortlessly you might say, and some times it crushes me.  What can you do, right?

Mr. Sexy Hooter (or Night Owl…Either Way)

5 01 2013

I have an issue.  See, my boyfriend and I run on different schedules, him being the night owl and me…not.  The fact that I work at 8am every day is a hindrance, but I have also simply never been one for late nights.  I get bored far too easily unless I’m reading or doing something (which I am generally not fond of doing in the dark of the morning), and if I’m reading it is only a matter of time before I notice how dry my eyes have become and I decide to turn in, tired or not. 

Ant doesn’t have this problem.  He sleeps in late and stays up until the wee hours doing all manner of things, getting to know the internet.  The boy has 12,000 likes in Stumbleupon. The counter stopped tracking individual likes when he hit 10K and now just updates every time he gets another thousand.  He’s also my crafty, project guru who just build an infinity mirror clock – deigned, built, and programmed as his final project for his degree.  He was in love with that for a few months, and now it has come to mead.  Tasty, tasty mead.  I approve of his project.  I love hearing about them, and believe me he loves talking about them!

Back on point, we then have the problem of how damn comfortable the boy is.  He’s skinny and bony, and I don’t know how he is so comfortable, but every time I get to use him as a pillow I begin to fall asleep! If I believed in soul mates and one-true-loves I might call that evidence towards Ant being mine.  One thing I always wanted in a beau was for me to be welcome, encouraged, and enticed to lay on them and relax in the same way that What’s His Face from Zombieland wanted to tuck a girl’s hair behind her ear.  It’s a little hypothesis of mine that most people have some trait that they want in a partner more than anything.  It may not be a deal breaker and they may not always get it, but there is something they want.  Seems reasonable enough to me.

Anyway, I found mine, and I sleep wonderfully when I have my most loved pillow.  I do fall asleep a touch too quickly though, which is a real downer, particularly when he in a mind to “burn the midnight oil.”  I’m missing a sleep over tonight because of it.

Realistically, I did start dozing off around 9pm.  By 10:30 he was asking if he should head home and let me sleep, so I straightened myself out and said one more episode (of an hour long show).  Then I had to let him go and it sucked hard monkey cock.  I don’t want him to be bored and he doesn’t want to keep me up all night, so it’s just as well.  I can let go every once in a while since this doesn’t usually happen and more often than not he stays over anyway watching ahead and pressing the magical Stumble button.

Of course, the minute my magical pillow leaves my comfort and drowsiness fade away leaving a too active mind that wants to pout despite the “best of intentions” logic behind the whole thing.  At least I get time tomorrow to track down a birthday present 😉

The Lucky are Confounded.

30 12 2012

I’ll admit to anyone who asks with a big. childish grin on my face that I am lucky. I won the boyfriend lottery.He’s sweet to me, considerate, loves to cuddle, and says that even on a bad day the few evening ours we have together brighten his day, remind him where his priorities lie, and melt his troubles away.  I get homemade chocolates, cookies, monstrous brownie/cookie combinations that make me gain 20lbs. He doesn’t notice the extra 20lbs, except when my boobs look especially squishy and alluring. He picks on my friends mercifully, laughingly, and in all the good humor that friends should be picked on.  We cuddle, we snuggle, we cook together, we talk, we stumble, we watch movies and anime and silly SciFi TV shows. We get high, sometimes we drink (or I drink), and we have lots and lots of sex. And in two and half years we have never had an argument. We’ve had discussions on sensitive topics and not so sensitive topics, and many discussions about how satisfied we are sexually.

See? I won the lottery.

So when I see my female friends going through guy after guy, jerk after jerk, I really don’t understand.  While I know that it’s true my boyfriend is not really of average character (though he tells me he is), I am stuck wondering how it’s possible that my friends can attract so many unseemly ones.  My friend Nightly in particular.

Nightly and I have an odd sort of history.  We were high school friends (both in our early-mid 20’s now and moored in the common purgatory of bad jobs, college, work, and adult drama that encompasses that time period) of the same “clique”.  We spent lunches together surrounded by other outcasted girls.  She had her set, I had mine and we mingled companionably.  She dated my dad (story for another post) for a few years after high school, and we got to be very close while living together. I have watched her waste her time with unwashed douchebags (not my dad), men who never grew out of their late teens (my dad), nearly move to Boston to be somebody’s full time submissive, meet her knight in shining armor and find him to be no more than a cheating drug dealer who needed a full time nanny, and flip through the deck of varied men she’s met at school and online. 

She tried to date for awhile after mister cheating-lying-prude, but somehow she always seemed to find the guys who wanted to go too far too quickly, either wanted their hand down her pants and vice-versa on the first date, or started saying ‘we’ and buying her expensive things, planning for a future. 

And then she meets this guy through a friend in her welding classes (yup, lady-welder).  He’s shy and sweet and funny. He likes to come over and talk and be lazy and can be easily badgered into cuddling. He tells her he isn’t looking to become anybody’s “something special”, and she’s okay with that…

…Until she’s not.  Because she’s falling in love, a month and a half in.  When she asks me what she should do, when did I know I was falling love?  I tell her that puppy love lasts about 4 months to set a bar.  When she starts talking about maybe ceasing contact I tell her she should talk to him because making that decision for him would be rude.  Maybe my advice was wrong, maybe I should have held my tongue.  But when she got drunk and the temptation the was too strong, the need to speak her feelings too urgent, she spilled and he left. 

We sprung an impromptu New Years party on him at her apartment.  She gave us permission but him no warning.  Still, everything was going swimmingly despite the 7 people in a very small one bedroom apartment.  There were Girs and White Russians, girls flashing the party, the Man Friend in question dropped trou and showed off his undies for reasons I can’t remember, there was a brief but intense showdown with the Nerf Mavericks. 

Nightly danced.

It was a wonderful day and evening.  Nightly danced in her bellydance garb, and flirted with the veil.  She did a tarot reading, fell into a serious psychic trance type thing.  Energies were high and strange and the air danced or maybe that was the screwdrivers. 

And then she decided to talk to him. And then he left.  And nothing I could say would stop her from blaming herself.  An hour or so later he called and they talked.  Then he dropped the bomb, and only I was left there to see. 

The guys in the weld shop at the college, her buddies, most of them claimed to have slept with her.  The friend who introduced her to her Man Friend made her out to be the class slut.  She was shocked and sick. Physically sick, heart sick, soul sick.  She asked me questions for which I have no answer, cried because she had none either. 

Why do they only want her for sex?  Why is a pussy on legs all they see?

A few things to know about my friend.  She could care less about sex, but exudes sensuality. She aims to please in all ways, wants always to satisfy her partners to whom she is unflinchingly loyal.  She is tall, big breasted, big hipped, and small of waist.  She is intelligent, nerdy, and enthusiastic.  I’ve called her a hurricane before as a compliment, but she often lately takes it to mean that she is overwhelming.  She tries to tone herself down. She needs company, despises loneliness, and is living alone for the first time in her life.

To me she is the embodiment of the goddess.  As I am my own goddess in my own ways, there she is across from me, the corporeal symbol.  Everything the goddess stands for I see in her. 

So why is it that not one man, even ones who have known her for over a decade, can see her as more than warm body with greats tits and ass?  Or really, why is my dad the only one, despite how unsuited the two of them are?  Why can this only be seen in hindsight?

Am I really so good at manifesting the things I want that I made the perfect boyfriend? If not then why does she have so much trouble?  Is it the fundamental differences in our character that make me repel the sex-crazed douches?  Because I’ve never tried to date one.  Not once.  I’ve turned down some very sweet, very interested guys before because I just wasn’t feeling the chemistry.  Am I picky?  Should I tell her to be pickier?  Is it the curse of the giant boobs?

I really just don’t know.