Life is a Loophole
Created for those
Lost souls in need of
A crash course in
I awoke to the sounds of life continuing to occur despite all of my attempts to set a new sleep marathon record. Twenty-two years ago, drinking ceased to be an option and my FWB pool is a little under-stocked, so sleeping was the winner by default. Allowing myself a break from the world and its blue-pill promises, I was in need of something that could and would take my focus from my thinking and bring it back into my body. Sex is great for this but alas, I am in a bit of a drought at present. The solution to this set of present circumstances is the last thing that I really want to do: get out and connect with the rest of humanity. It amazes me how just showing up is such a magic potion for the single-soul and I will procrastinate, hibernate, and isolate but eventually I will go and be among the rest of my kind. Today is a gift and I must participate in my own life. Scarcity is an illusion and the day is filled with promise. Now to get my ass up and out the door…
I woke to the promise of a beautiful day: sunny, clear, pay-day, and Friday! I got dressed in something cheerful and feminine and knowing that I looked good and felt great, I zipped out into the day. My office routine began at a pleasurable pace and I was feeling damn good about life and work when in walks the financial management team that was slated to present investment options to our staff. No big deal until they started talking about money! Yikes! My brain started a trip down Memory Lane that is the equivalent of Nightmare on Elm Street and I was completely blind-sided! I proceeded to wallow in a soup of self-pity, regret, and if-onlys….needless to say, I allowed the rest of the day to escape by battling fiercely with myself over all of the reasons that I have to be grateful: health, home, career, children, friends, sex (although, not too much going on right now), writing, running, car, etc. The issue at hand is that when I most need to find acceptance, that is when it is the most elusive. My financial disasters of the past are due to many reasons, none of which exist today but I still can carry them around like a bag of garbage, just stinking-up the whole joint until not even I can stand another minute. So in the spirit of recycling, I am donating all of my failed dreams and aspirations of the past to this blog so that I may carry-on with the current and future plans I have been putting into action.
Oh blog, how I have missed you! I began a master’s program in the beginning of July and I am suffering from writer’s constipation. I am in the midst of academic writing and it is literally sapping every bit of creativity that I try to muster. I had thought that I would not suffer this malaise due to the program concentration but that has not been the case. What is it about higher learning that academia insists on leveling every single interesting facet of a field of study into an infinitesimal liturgy of boring details…? Just writing this paragraph, I am boring myself!
At times like these, I wonder why I am doing this to myself once again? I enjoy learning, however, I do not enjoy the hair-splitting that occurs in seeking a mastery of a certain subject. Can’t we just go with our gut and use out natural passion and desire to pursue in-depth knowledge of the discipline instead of having a forced litany of classes and papers and tedium and grades and….
I miss you…
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…
Serenity Prayer…Powering off.
Finally! The scheduled rendezvous arrived and my pump was primed. I had been waiting to get my lips wrapped around this tasty testosterone for quite a few months and although I have been in a relationship of sorts, as the conclusion became inevitable my mind was caught repeatedly wandering to the prospect of rekindling some fire with my former flame. Any healthy female can attest to the truth of the old adage “the best way to get one out of your head is to get another in your bed” and this prescription is strong and is backed by some pretty solid stats.
He arrived early in the morning and my senses were instantly alerted by his aroma, a musky cocktail of light perspiration combined with morning java and his natural deliciousness. After nudging him into the bed and removing what was left of his clothes, I had him lay upon his stomach while I softly kissed his neck and back and then proceeded to his nether regions. First kissing one cheek and then another, I had him maneuver up onto his knees and I slowly began to lick down the crack of his fine ass. Deliberately, I licked south and north and applied a mild pressure with my tongue to the area between his scrotum and that most secret of man-places. He moaned with pleasure as I entered his bum with my firm and erect tongue. I gently stroked his penis while applying a gentle, warm and wet tongue-lashing to his formerly off-limits behind.
For those females who have not yet dared to go where no man has gone before, I cannot encourage you enough to indulge your man with this exotic pleasure. Not only will it trip your guy into the throes of ecstasy but you will be surprised at the powerful aphrodisiac that dwells between the tender balance of his vulnerability and your determination to seek his trembling capitulation.
Thank you, Steven Tyler!
Alas, my morning rendezvous had to be rescheduled. There is nothing like the breakfast of champions to get a girl back on her feet and into the game once again! I have something extra special planned for this one. 🙂
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…?!
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