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dysfunctionalwomansdigest

Sanity is overrated!

In Transition

I have been going through a series of difficult transitions.  First, the acknowledgment of being a maturing female in a youth-centered culture; secondly, the awareness that there are no “do-overs”; and third, that some precious friendships have reached a crossroads and are destined to travel a different path.  All of this has me pondering my finite human existence and the difficulties I encounter when preparing to make way for imminent change.

 

As an end-stage baby boomer, I have had the advantage of being young enough to remember the sixties and seventies and legal enough to have embraced the eighties and nineties.  In essence, I have been blessed with four decades of bad-ass music, social and political turmoil and upheaval, and iconic trend setting fashion (not to mention the sex and drugs!).  All of the aforementioned has fostered an attitude within myself of “I will never be that old” in reference to previous generations and I have remained true to this philosophy, however, the world began to change and despite my lack of permission, I entered another age demographic.

 

Although I have been told numerous times that I do not look my age, I subtly began to notice that something had changed when men began to look past me and focus instead on one of my lovely daughters.  This was a shock at first and I had to recognize that my girls were growing up and that I was becoming older whether I looked my age or not.  This rite of passage was not so difficult due to the motherly pride I possessed in my beautiful and intelligent daughters, however when I noticed that my expensive anti-aging moisturizer was now being modeled on a teenager, I had to draw the line!  I wrote to that company and told them how ludicrous and insulting to have chosen someone so young to market a product obviously geared in development and price to a more mature and prosperous audience but they didn’t respond.

 

One of the more important revelations in this life juncture has been the awareness that “someday” is today.  I will not have a “do-over” and I had better make the most of my remaining youth and ambition while I still possess my blessed health.  I took up running and ran my first half-marathon four years ago and I am planning my next within the year.  I have always wanted to travel and I am still single so becoming a solo traveler is a little intimidating but I am up for the challenge.  I have reached the stage where I am unwilling to compromise my values but wise enough to not sweat the small stuff. I have developed an infallible voice of knowledge and maturity that allows me to choose my battles and not make mountains out of mouse turds!  I wouldn’t trade this priceless facet of my experience for ten more years of youth and knowing and embracing my convictions is an invaluable state of being and has been a more than acceptable trade-off.

 

The transitioning of friendships has been by far the most difficult.  This is not to say that the friendship has ended, it is in the changing of the dynamic that is so clumsy.  On one hand, the point of the human experience is to grow and change but on the other hand, not all humans are destined to grow in the same ways or at the same pace and in some cases, the path may take such a turn that you are tempted to go back but you cannot, it is not the same.  The best option available may be to wave once in a while, shouting out a word of encouragement or two and all the time reminding yourself of how blessed you were to have shared that part of your journey.

And Another One Bites the Dust…

He said: I miss you.

She said: I miss you, too.

He said: When are you coming to see me?

She said: When do you want me to?

He said: Are you serious?

She said: Of course!

He: Hmmmm…let me think about this; there are no hotels; Matt is my roommate…

She said: Nevermind…I know you don’t really want me to visit you…I was just fuckin with you

He said: You fucker…No, I really do want you to come and see me but how would you get around?  I am working 12 hours a day and you would need to rent a car and then the closest hotel is 40 miles away…and you can’t stay here because I am sharing a room with Matt…

The End

 

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…

No, No, NaNo!

Not too long ago, I did something irrational and against my natural tendencies: I signed up for NaNoWriMo and attempted to “make” myself write a novel in a month.  For some strange reason, I assumed that if I had the titles to all of my chapters the words would flow from my brain to my fingertips and then voila’! poof!  a novel would be born!  Not so easy as it turns out, and not so cathartic; the act of writing is a purging of the soul and NaNo is an emetic for the gut.  Both may be productive but only one displays the potential for beauty.  And vomit will never be beautiful, no matter what is being regurgitated; think splatter art versus Picasso…need I say more?

Not only did my NaNo experience completely fall flat but the end result was to squelch any inspiration that may have translated itself into written expression.  It was as if the well had run dry in anticipation of the unreasonable demands that would be placed upon it and in an act of self-preservation, its waters completely evaporated.  Alas, one more attempt to force authentic creativity bit the dust but I did learn something of value: I can trust my process.  I do not have to focus so intently on the end result because if I trust the process, the end result will naturally arrive and that little epiphany has freed me from my paralysis.  I have been beating myself over the head with frustration due to my inability to perform as expected and I now realize that just as the butterfly must squeeze itself from its cocoon in order to wring-out the blood from its wings, so I must struggle, rest, and squirm as the writing continues to emerge on its own timetable and in its own way.

Writer Lady

Since I’m a grown-up lady

With stories bursting in my mind

I will sit and write all night long

Oblivious to the time

The world drops off around me

When keyboard meets the hand

And dimensions never heard of

Are now at my command.

Impossible does not exist

When under my control

Imagination is the limit

Until the tale is told

I wield a nuclear pen

And time is obsolete

Reality has slipped away

And creation sits at my feet!

Shoot the Weiner!

When I say weiner, I do not mean an actual weiner but the dog next door.  I am an animal lover and I would never harm one of our furry friends but the persistent barking of an untrained dog is enough to drive any woman over the edge!  Something as innocent as sitting in the backyard, under the shade of a Chilean Mesquite and enjoying a nice, hot cup of joe in the morning cool is almost nonexistent since my new neighbors have moved in next door.  The new resident is well aware of the disturbance of her animal and insists on talking to him as if he can reason this issue out with her and come to some kind of mature conclusion and decide not to bark at the person he sees everyday going to and from work, cleaning up the yard, taking out the trash, cleaning the garage, etc.  I have thought about squirting him with a water-bottle when he is being particularly annoying but I have my doubts on its effectiveness; I have tried borrowing my daughter’s dog and with earplugs in place, I let Wilma run up and down the yard for two hours which naturally caused the little critter to bark spastically the whole time.  My thinking was along the lines of aversion therapy and although the little fur-ball was tired, he was back on his game the very next day without even a hoarse note!  I feel like taking a gun and shooting the little bastard but he is otherwise pretty cute and I realize that I might be underestimating the effects of some additional tension in my life due to my ongoing state of sexual abstinence.  Oh, the trials and tribulations caused by the weiner… what is a girl to do?!

Supply and Demand

What is more annoying than fingernails scraping on a chalkboard or that slick of donut oil left on your tongue?   Nothing with the exception of that certain type of edginess that is only a result of not getting laid.  Lately, I have been experiencing some irritation and edginess and although I have experienced these feelings a time or two before, in the past I have been able to promptly remedy the situation and get back on the beam.  Once in the solution, I have always been able to pick up where I left-off and carry-on for a while until those edges and urges came knocking at my door once again and I would add another chapter.  This time, however, has been different.  The reasons are many but the main one is that I have met someone that I really, really like and who seems to not only embrace my free-wheeling nature but his personality is conducive to a complimentary partnership.

All of that being said, why the edginess?  Simple, I am experiencing a time of sexual abstinence due to His traveling occupation and although I am an independent and self-contained unit with excellent problem-solving skills, I am not desirous of seeking to remedy this situation in the usual manner; in other words, I am not craving any other sexual partners to help with my attitude adjusting and I am somewhat adrift in this unfamiliar territory.  As a prospecter by nature, I seldom narrow my options so severely, however, this is different and so completely out-of-the-ordinary that it has me a bit unbalanced…and baffled.  I don’t, as a rule, back myself into such a tight or limiting corner and as unnerving as it feels, I have a sense that there is no other solution.

How this has occurred, I do not completely understand but at some juncture I experienced a connection with a “Him” that has gone far beyond the sensory realm and has left me so physically, emotionally, and spiritually satisfied that I just know that anything else will be a poor substitute.  There is a term for this state of affairs and it is called “supply and demand” and it is not usually a voluntary situation but is instead orchestrated by those who would primarily benefit by capitalizing on limited supply.  As an experienced consumer who has purposefully stepped into this particular circumstance, I am intrigued and mystified by my deliberately chosen state of lack.  I might have even tripped upon a phenomenon which runs the risk of my retracting all of my earlier romantic cynicism…? I will keep you posted on its progress…

 

 

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.

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