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Carlos is One Bad-Ass Mo-Fo!

I was in the presence of greatness and I am still reeling in the euphoria of drums, keyboards, bass, and one bad-ass electric guitar!  Mr. Carlos is 69 (perfect!) and has not lost his phenomenal groove with the instrument of his choice of expression.  Let me assure you that the thrill of being so close to the source of such talent and focus is to be invited on a trip with like-minded souls to another dimension.  If that sounds a little dramatic, it is but the night was truly an honor and a blast to the past for this seventies chick!  I would like to add that the drummer is his current missus and she was absolutely crazy awesome on those bad boys!  I am certain that Mr. Carlos has enjoyed the strength and stamina of those arms on many occasions. 🙂

The event took place at the House Of Blues in Las Vegas and I can tell you that there exists not one bad seat in the house.  HoB still offers General Admission and that is where this music-lovin’ chick prefers to boogie to live music.  Down on the floor, I was a mere five-to-six like-minded bodies from the man himself and if you will please forgive my amateur skills (apparently iPhone and Windows have some issues working together), you will enjoy the video.  Three hours of dancing, sweating, and grooving to the sounds of one talented soul communicating to another through the language of music and I was one happy girl!

There is definitely an encore in the near future…

 

Techno-tards Anonymous…

 

What single event has the power to turn an otherwise intelligent, mostly rational and fun-loving human into a shrieking, crying, and moaning female?  What has the capability to literally wipe-out years of creativity, memories, and other important stuff in the blink of an eye?  What rivals the cost of a down-payment on an automobile in attempts to restore the damn thing?  If you guessed a satanic computer virus or worm or bot, or whatever the hell it’s called these days, you would be correct!

On a typical Sunday, I switched on my laptop and went to get some java.  When I returned, cup in hand, I stared at my blank screen in disbelief while the spinny-thingy revolved around and around seemingly in the throes of death.  I was helpless to do anything but cry, “What didn’t I do to protect myself?”  Then the worst part: I couldn’t stop myself from repeating the futile actions of shutting-down and booting-up, over and over again, fully expecting that my system would magically begin working and my belief that it wasn’t anything serious would be validated; life as I knew it would continue uninterrupted.  Denial is a powerful adversary but eventually I had to face the fact that although I have heavy-duty security protection installed and I take very good care of what has become an important part of my daily existence, my system has crashed and I am devastated.  I cannot tell you what, when, where, or how it happened, but after doing everything that I could to correct the situation, I have had to accept the fact that I am completely and utterly helpless when it comes to performing CPR on my technology.  The most that I can hope is that some skilled expert/geek will be able to fix the problem for a cost that will not involve the sale of one of my organs and perhaps life will once again resume a dysfunctionally normal path.  However in the meantime, if it works for drinking why not computing…

  1. I am powerless over my technology and my online life has ceased.
  2. I have come to believe that a skilled computer geek can restore my system.
  3. I have made a decision to turn my frustrated and futile attempts to fix my computer over to a skilled professional (aka geek/savior).
  4. Made a complete inventory of my firewalls, anti-virus protection, and anti-spyware protection.
  5. Admitted to myself that in spite of all of my preventative measures, there are some smart mother fuckers who enjoy wreaking this kind of mayhem.
  6. I will prepare myself to part with some seriously hard-earned ducats.
  7. I will humbly ask aforementioned geek/savior to educate this techno-tard.
  8. Make a list of all recommendations of the geek/savior.
  9. Make all necessary corrections despite painful alterations to my bank account.
  10. Continue to perform all necessary updates and to back-up my files regularly.
  11. Make a commitment to stay current on all necessary improvements and to develop a close relationship with my tech guru.
  12. Having survived a traumatic and painful ordeal, I promise to share my experience with other techno-tards and to not become complacent in the care and feeding of my technology.

Serenity Prayer…Powering off.

Complete

He came last night to pick up the rest of his stuff.  I waited with a mixture of anxiety, sadness, and relief.  I had learned a valuable bit of truth: in time everyone eventually reveals who they truly are inside.  Even me.  Although he wanted me to continue to store some of his stuff, I let him know that was not an option.  I needed to have this thing over and done and as it turned out, that is exactly what happened.  It is better to be single than to be in a relationship that based upon need.  I had to face the fact that it impossible to love what you need because the fear that it one day might not being there influences every thought and decision.  Only within the parameters of freedom based upon self-responsibility and self-care does it become possible for a mutually beneficial liaison to exist.

At the time he came into my life, I was facing an inevitable vacancy and despite my awareness, I rushed to fill it at the first opportunity.  He, on the other hand, had nowhere to hang his traveling job hat and I was only too willing to invite him to hang it at my address.  At first glance it appeared that the romance was fortuitous for both of us however, looking back and being completely honest, I know differently.  He needed a place to stay and I needed to fill an emptiness.  As time went on, I began to resolve the vacancy by stepping up and taking responsibility for my wants and needs and at the same time he began to come to a decision of what he really wanted and needed to do in his life and neither of those solutions required the continued involvement with each other!

Now that I have identified my part, I can be on the lookout for the signs of need that masquerade as romance and perhaps limit the casualties caused under the camouflage of friendly fire.  I know I sound completely at peace and mature and philosophical, however, honestly I am still a little pissed.  His deception was overt and ignorant and I can’t help but hear Donald Fagen singing, “You wouldn’t know a diamond if you held it in your hand…”  He definitely didn’t know and I should have had a clue when he threw my cashmere sweater into the washing machine…what a dumbass!  In any case, I have had to unlearn and relearn a lot of faulty information in my dealings with men and the learning curve has been humbling and painful.

So what does it mean to be “complete”?  For this woman, being complete means that the lesson was learned, the casualties were minimal, and both parties walked away without the involvement of law enforcement.  I really couldn’t have asked for more except that if only he had let me keep that 60” television…?!

Being Viking

One of my beloved chick friends (coincidentally, also my Muse) told me one day, “Lady, you are a fucking Viking!”  Stunned by this comparison, given that the Vikes were notoriously fierce, ambitious, and mofo tough, I did a little research on these blond-haired beauties and found that I concur 100% with the Muse’s estimation.  So in the spirit of observation, education, and affirmation, here are a few relatively similar facts between myself and my beloved Vikings!  (Cohen 1)

 

First of all, Viking women accrued property and had the balls to get a divorce and reclaim their stuff if the blondie in question was not true to his horn.   Check!

 

Second, the men got the groceries.  Now, this is what I’m talking about!  Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I hate the dreaded grocery store.  Check!

 

I do not wear a helmet (sorry to burst anyone’s fantasies!) and apparently, neither did those vicious Vikes cover their beautiful tresses with such a ghastly style faux pas.  Check!

 

I am resourceful to the bone; perhaps this talent was acquired by the combining of creativity and uncertain finances but I can make a gourmet meal and a stylish outfit from nothing more than what is in the fridge and a couple of yards of cloth.  I guess the Norse Lords were a bit more pragmatic because they used their urine to cure stuff to make it flammable.  (Damn!)  Check!

 

I know that Bettie Page is my Gravatar but that is because she is absolutely fabulous and sexy and everything that I want to be when I grow-up. However truthfully, I have always been a blonde.  I have the natural shade and coloring of the true blondie with the exception of my hazel-green eyes.  Check!

 

Of course the Norse 🙂 were known for their courageous and seafaring spirit and could kick any tribes’ ass when it came to adventuring. They slept out of doors wherever they chose to lay their blond locks and I love the outdoors too!  I love to camp and hike and run and cook outside (we all know how much better the food tastes when cooked on a campfire).  Check!

 

Those blond-haired beauties were also known for their independent and nonconformist lifestyles.  Entrepreneurs to the bone, they marched to the beat of their own drums, never mind what those other tribes were up to, the Vikings lived the Frank Sinatra life and did it their way.  As an INFP, bam sucka—Check!

 

Everyone hates smelly, sweaty, unbathed humans and the Nords were no exception.  Maintaining an unusual degree of personal hygiene, the Vikings were known for their daily bathing and grooming rituals.  I am known for my love of bathing.  In fact, I do not take showers unless I am out of town.  Nothing compares to a long, hot soak in a garden style tub with candles burning and the scent of bubbles—sublime.  Check!

 

I know that my Muse was being facetious when she compared me to a Viking but after hearing my life story at a speaker event, she must have been overcome and appreciative of her own upbringing and experiences.  I have to admit that I rather enjoy thinking of myself as one of those savage Nordic types and I know that I am exploring strange and unknown territory in regard to my family of origin.  I have lived through the sixties with teenage parents, a kidnapping and molestation at knife-point, a rape, and twenty-plus years with a compulsive gambler; I have had my own struggles with booze and sex and come out on the other side; I have raised three beautiful and intelligent daughters, all three college educated and I just completed my degree last year.  Through it all, I have explored, obtained wisdom, learned empathy and compassion, and now I sit here doing what I love: writing.  Yes, I have to admit that I am a fucking Viking!

 

Cohen, J. (20130. http://www.history.com/news/history-lists/10-things-you-may-not-know-about-the-vikings

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There and Back Again—

I took a walk on the wild side by diving into a relationship.  Congratulating myself on my ability to be vulnerable and independent simultaneously, I dove in with both feet.  Subtly, imperceptibly, I began to make a movie in my head about the possibility of a happily-ever-after ending with this man.  My creative fantasies began to take over and I imagined that this man was everything that I had been missing.  Time for a reality check.  For one thing, I am not missing anything and although we laugh and have great sex, these things do not qualify as a foundation.  After living together for some time, it became evident that this man still has a lot of growing-up to do and I have already raised my children.  As delightful as some of his antics were, he was high maintenance and I no longer choose to expend my energy in that way.  I succumbed to temptation and examined this issue in order to uncover why I am still drawn to these types of relationships—superficial, physical, and temporary.  Not having come any closer to the answer, I am taking a break.  The female/male dynamic is difficult at best and I have found that the highs and lows are exhausting!  I have decided to recharge my batteries (heh heh) and crawl into my bed, solo, and let this shit settle.  As Freud once said, “Sometimes an ashtray is just an ashtray.”

Chick Friends

Never underestimate the importance of your chick friends.  These are the women who hold you when your heart is broken, when your kids have you stretched to the point of snapping, and when that special man (or woman) in your life has you fantasizing about punching them in throat if they say one more word.  These supportive sisters are what keep domestic violence rates in check, don’t break the bank with therapy bills, and keep otherwise sane women from committing hare kare when feeling like you cannot take one more step.  In other words, they are the lifeline that tethers to solid ground and helps to restore our equilibrium without creating damage to ourselves or others.

I have been fortunate to have several women in my life who have been a stabilizing factor when the Shit Fairy comes to call.  At those times, my chick friends have been a shoulder to lean on, a voice of sanity, and everything else of which I am incapable during times of extreme stress.  One such woman uses these opportunities to remind me of facts about myself that seem to be common sense but elude me when the weight of life is feeling heavy (for instance: You are a fucking Viking!).  She asks me rudimentary questions such as: What are five qualities of your sober woman?  Your feelings, are they fact or fancy?  If it’s true, where is the evidence to support it?  Are you posing a request or a demand?  There are many such questions posited to me during these times and although I know the answers, I am unable to recall them on my own.  I used to think that I was a pretty self-contained unit, however, I have discovered that without these women, I cannot see the forest because of the trees—I lose all sense of perspective and I need my peeps to help me remember who I am and what I need to do to take care of myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I could not successfully navigate this Life Journey without the aid of these women who have chosen to link arms with me and together we form a chain of resilience and substance.

To sum things up, all of the struggle is real but the illusions and delusions very seldom represent anything close to reality and this where my “true blue’s” are most vital.  These are the women who have taught me about friendship through their actions and I have been fortunate enough to be able to reciprocate the same support and encouragement to these chicks, when needed.  In fact, the paradox in all of this “we” stuff is that I often receive so much more than I give when I am called upon to help a fellow sister sift their way through the shit.  We become like the navigation system on an airplane: never on a perfect path but always in a constant state of correction.  The same is true of growing and evolving humans and the only difference between arriving at our desired destination or being stuck, is the inclusion of others in our lives to help us correct our path; in turn, we may be equipped to help others when the occasion arises.

More important, this is where the rubber meets the road in my chick friendships and gone are the days when my life was filled with energy-drainers and tour guides to Crazy Town.  I celebrate my chick friends as often as possible because I wouldn’t be who I am, or where I am, without them.  These are the women who I have chosen as my family and they rank of high importance in my life; after all, the dudes will come and go but my chicks will be there until the day I die!

The Relationship

Update: this is so much harder than I anticipated!  After spending countless and compacted hours together, the irritation could not be denied.  Those little habits, and big ones,  (you know, those that first escape notice) are now glaringly in full frontal view and not only make a female want to scream but their realistic human-ness does not allow the luxury of being able to avoid looking at myself and certainly helps to explain why I have consistently chosen such a rich fantasy life!  The casual liaisons do not require so much work or soul-searching and their impact is minimal; however, this relationship is a different animal and I don’t know if I have what it takes to hang in there.  Someone once said that if you really want to see where your spiritual maturity lies, get into a relationship.  Apparently the saying that “if you spot it, you got it” is more than a euphemism, it is a rip-the-band-aid-off truth…ouch!

To be continued…

Existential Exhibitionism: Part VII

She looked around; it was definitely time to get some projects completed.  As a single woman, the never-ending compilation of “male” tasks was always an issue.  Who in their right mind would ever want to spend their Saturday cleaning and organizing the garage?  Not to mention the yard work!  She practiced her procrastination skills as if they were an art form; until the day the notice came from her HOA.  These “memos” were certainly helpful in keeping the neighborhood nice, but what a pain!  Ah well, there was no escaping the mundane tasks of life and they could certainly be a bitch and it was time to quit whining and get busy or the HOA would have its hands in her wallet.

She dressed in her cut-off shorts and a tight-fitting tee, tennis shoes, and sunglasses; she was ready to tackle the mother!  Stepping into the yard, the weeds and other debris were everywhere so she set about getting the proper tools from the garage and began to work.  She had been at her task long enough to produce a light sweat and as she wiped the moisture from her eyes and face, she poured a light stream of water down between her butt-cheeks…ahhh, refreshing!  The bottle of water she had stashed in the freezer in preparation for this particular task had come in handy and she liberally poured some down the front of her tee.  As she looked around, she definitely was making progress but there was a lot left and honestly she would rather be doing anything else!

As she continued to work diligently at her task, she was oblivious to the man who had been studying her industrious form.  Feeling that uncomfortable sense of being observed, she looked up to see a good looking man, about six feet tall and nicely built, smiling at her efforts.

“Can I help you?” She asked sarcastically, aware of her wet tee shirt and her shorts which had the appearance of sweat in her butt-crack; normally, she would have never been caught dead in this predicament but it was yardwork and she was annoyed; who the hell comes to your fence and just stares at you without offering to help?!  She decided to allow her irritation to show through, unfiltered.  “If you are selling something, the answer is ‘no’ and if not, either pick up a shovel and help me or hit the road.”

Much to her surprise, he came through the gate and picked up a rake and began to clean up the weeds she had feverishly hoed.  She watched him casually, every now and again, wondering where she had seen him before and as she accepted his presence in her space she noticed his finely chiseled features and small, tight butt.  He had a way of smirking that allowed her to suppose that she could imagine what he was thinking about and she decided that maybe her appearance was a bit more enticing that she realized…?  As she continued to slyly study him, she decided that he was definitely doable and she was determined to find out if he was all that his looks seemed to promise.  They continued to work for a while in silence until finally she decided that at the minimum she would offer him something to drink.

“Would you like to come inside for a cold drink?  Is this your way of doing your Boy Scout deed of the day?”  She teased.

“Well, I was watching you and I thought that you might want some help but I wanted to test your bitch factor first—before I had a chance to ask, you beat me to it.”  He said with a sly boyish grin.

Not exactly certain where she had scored on that test, she decided to ignore the comment until she had figured out if she even cared enough to know.  Entering into the cool house, they were both sweating profusely and she couldn’t help but smell his musky, delicious aroma.  He smelled like Man, and it was good!  There and then she made her decision to have him and have him she would!  Not caring to know anymore, she went with her gut instinct and offered him the opportunity to shower off the sweat that glistened so sensationally on his face and arms.  He was a mixture of lean muscle and deeply tanned Marlboro Man roughness; his green eyes were piercing within the contrast of brown skin and white straight teeth and he had a habit of flicking his tongue to the outer edges of his mouth when he spoke.  Almost subconsciously, she found herself imitating this tongue-flicking gesture and she felt herself getting more and more turned-on as she sensed the heat between her legs…she could really use a spray of that water bottle now!

He politely accepted the clean towel that she held out to him and followed her down the hallway to the bathroom.  As she closed the door, she heard him turn on the shower and begin to disrobe.  Hmmm…should she or shouldn’t she…he was a neighbor and in the name of hospitality…?  Oh hell, yes!

She stripped down quickly and being certain that she heard him enter the shower, she quietly let herself in and in one swift movement she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped inside.  He didn’t appear to be too surprised but the look on his face was definitely pleasing.  Taking one long survey of her naked body he simply remarked, “I can’t believe how much of a hottie you are…” to which she simply smiled.  Without a word, she began to wash him gently all over his chest and arms and then his back; she tenderly scrubbed his small tight ass and softly reaching between his legs, she lightly rinsed his scrotum and his anus.  He was beginning to harden so she continued down his legs before turning him around to finish.  Then while he watched, she began to wash herself never once taking her eyes off of his; she filled her washcloth with foamy body-wash and began to wash her breasts and stomach while gradually moving below her belly-button.  Once she reached between her legs, she put the washcloth aside and grabbed a hold of his hand and began to guide his movements by allowing his two fingers to explore her lips and finally she led him to her clitoris and showed him how to gently circle it without actually touching it until she was ready.

He dropped down onto his knees and after raising one of her legs and positioning it onto the small edge of the bathtub, he began to lick her by lightly flicking his tongue over and all around her clit…it was absolutely and incredibly hot!  She felt the adrenaline rush inside of her as the urge to explode mounted; she wanted to stay there forever, teetering on the edge of pleasure and capitulation, it was bliss!  She felt every cell of her skin responding and she writhed with physical pleasure that only comes from the excitement of a new partner and the freedom of no expectations.  The orgasm that followed was so deliriously explosive that she embraced it and held it until her quivering legs could not support her any longer.

“Well, if I had known that being a Boy Scout was this rewarding I would have become a lifetime member.”  He murmured sensuously and appeared to be very pleased with himself.  She looked at him and smiled and still she said nothing; talk is overrated at times like these and what she wanted to do to him did not require conversation.

She turned off the shower and toweled him dry; gently guiding him to sit in the chair in her bedroom, she knelt down on the floor and began to massage his penis which was hot and throbbing with desire.  She could tell that he wanted to be inside her but she was calling the shots and she would decide when, or if, that was in his future.  For now, she rubbed and tickled his hardness with her tongue and taking him into her mouth she consumed him until he could hold back no longer and he gave her the precious price of her desire which she swallowed with great satisfaction.  Leaving him like cooked spaghetti, she lightly rose to her feet and dressed.  His eyes followed her every movement and seemed to beg the question of “What’s next?”  To which she simply replied, “That yard is not going to clean itself; let’s hit it!”

 

Moral: A good worker is worthy of his hire.

“She”

she creates men in her mind

she creates relationships in her head

hoping they will lead to her heart

and somehow become real

because people are seldom

as wonderful as she wishes they were

and never as loving and caring as she desires

and it is just too lonely to

be alone in this world…

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