My Red Ribbon Week From HELL!

So last year at the PTA Parent Appreciation Luncheon they had a list posted to sign up for this year's events. I signed up for Red Ribbon Week along with another assistant GS troop leader. She and I hadn't had time to get together, other than the initial brainstorming which included an assembly for the kids with an officer from the DEA. When I bumped into her last week I asked her to email me a list of what she's been working on so we could compare notes and make things happen. I didn't receive anything. I emailed her and received the following message with this schedule attached (I left all the typos so you can see how painfully exhausting it can be to communicate with these people … honestly it was too painful for me to look at so I cleaned it up a little bit):

Hi,

Sorry it took me soooo long to get back to you. I had to worry about green ribbon week 1st. I will try to attach the schedule of what I have come up with. What I will need some help with, is helping the K-3 plant tulip bulbs. And, possibly with the older ones when they tie ribbons on the fence.

I hope you are doing ok. I went in the field trip with _______ [my daughter] yesterday and it was beautiful.

Thanks for your help. I'll try to attach the schedule and plan for the week to see if you have any ideas for fine tuning it.

thanks,

Schedule for Red Ribbon Week

Monday, Oct.20 Pass out strips of red paper to the classes to make chains. Also, pass out pledges to teachers.

RED RIBBON WEEK

Thursday, Oct.23 Do theme of the day. Have teachers pass out pledges. Teachers will get bags of Smarties to hand out.
Friday, Oct.24 Do theme of the day. Hang Friendship chain through school. Hang pledges.
Monday, Oct.27 Do theme of the day. Give teachers book markers to hand out.
Tuesday, Oct.28 Theme of the day. Have 4-6th graders tie ribbons on the fence. Have a box in front hall for canned food drive. Guess how many "Red Hots" in the jar contest.
Wednesday, Oct.29 Theme of the day. Start planting bulbs with K-3rd grades. Winner of " Red Hot" contest announced.
Thursday, Oct.30 Theme of day. Give teachers stickers and Dum-Dum suckers to hand out.

What in the hell do tulip bulbs, Smarties, red hots, and Dum-Dum suckers have to do with drugs? Why are we doing a food drive? Are we planning on supporting the local rehab clinic? Whose Dum-Dum idea was this?

So I respond with the following message:

I thought we were going to schedule an assembly to teach the kids how to fight against drugs? Did you still want to do that?

With the schedule you sent me it appears all the plans have been made. I'm not sure how you want me to help. Please let me know.

Thanks.

To which she replies:

I talked to a few people, and thought it might be hard balancing the line of not freaking the kids and parents out with giving out specific information. It's hard when you have to cover k-6 grades.

So, if you still have a thought about an assembly, let me know. Sorry I've just planned things, I just started working on things because I felt like it was going too be here way too soon.

To which I reply:

We could have scheduled two assemblies, one for K-4 and the other for 5th and 6th. I just don't see anything on the schedule that actually empowers kids to say "No" to drugs and thought that's what Red Ribbon Week was supposed to be about.

I won't interfere with your plans and will sign up on my own for an event next year or with someone else who wants me to assist them.

She called me that night:

"Uh, um, er, you sound upset."

Gee do you think? I'll never put my name on a sign up board with her again. She told me to wait until she was done with Green Ribbon Week. I waited. Then she plans the whole sugar-coated pill event without my approval, and my name is tied to it. I have a problem with that. I didn't say that too her though. What I did say was this, "I keep hearing you say how over-whelmed you are with too many things to do. I'm reaching my arm in the airs saying, 'Pick me to help' and you don't; so I'm tired of hearing people say how over-whelmed they are. How can we do a Red Ribbon Week without mentioning drugs? It's a little bit humiliating to have my name on a board saying I'm running something and I'm not running it. I don't even know what's going on."

She goes on to explain that a few years ago an officer did an assembly and came on too strongly thereby scaring children. I can see this happening. I've worked with police officers for years. Of course they're scary. Why? Because they see ugly stuff every day and it just becomes "normal" to them. Because if they scare kids into staying away from drugs they don't have to wake your sorry ass up in the middle of the night to come pick your kid up from jail for getting caught with drugs … or to deliver a "Your kid is dead from ODing" message to your front door while your standing there in your skivvies.

Nonetheless, having worked with many officers I can tell you this: When my partner and I ran assemblies at the same school we're planning for, no one was scared. They were intrigued. They listened. It was dead silent. We rocked that lecture hall! Just like every other group of people there are police officers who know how to work well with young children. You just have to know who to ask. I've extended myself for that purpose.

She apologizes in a somewhat embarrassed fashion … although it was likely only because she wanted to save face, needs my help in the future, and knows I bust my ass for the school. We hung up.

The next night she calls me again. "I spoke with the principal and maybe we could do a parent's education night to give them information to pass on to their kids." Beautiful! I'm hoping parents already have information to provide their kids. The one's who do have likely already had the conversation with their children … I hope.

I chew on the thought for a day. For a moment I veto it simply because I'm irritated and I feel like the principal, the PTA, and she are patronizing me. Then I think, "What the hell. It couldn't hurt." I call the principal myself to find out exactly what he wants and when he wants it so I can deliver it. I'm working on it now. Hopefully it's not too late to get someone scheduled. I wonder if we'll scare the parents??? *evil laugh*

I'm worried that by having Red Ribbon Week parents are going to assume their children are being provided pertinent information at school, think it's been taken care of, and not talk to their children. I'm also worried that no one will show up for this parent's education night. If schools are afraid to talk about drugs because they think parents are doing it and parents don't talk to them because they think schools are doing it, who's really going to talk to the kids?

What are your thoughts? Shouldn't we be scaring our children about drugs to some degree? They are scary. I want my kids to be very afraid of them. I want them to know what they look like so they aren't morbidly curious when they see them at a friend's house or at a party and head straight out the door to call me to pick them up.

I remember being an elementary age child in San Antonio Texas and being given a packet of information to take home to our parents which included tablets to burn to teach us what marijuana smelled like so we could avoid it. My parents lit them up in the garage and joked how detrimental it would be to my father's military career to have the police pull up. I still remember them laughing! I also still remember the smell of marijuana.

In honor of Red Ribbon Week click here to be linked to helpful information on how to get involved in teaching your children about drugs.

Their Hearts Beat

Tear away a piece of cloth from my body exposing me.
Tear away a hair from my head and watch the root shaft pull it to the ground.
Try to knock me down … again.

Throw things at me.
Words too.

Their hearts beat.

Drive a stake through my heart,
If you can find it amongst the remnants you left.

Call me names.
Tell horrible dirty rotten stories riddled with lies.

Their hearts beat.

Does it give you peace to give me pain?

I walk away slowly over the course of time,
Continuously glancing over my shoulder,
Watching for the final shot that will leave me cold.

Unlike you I feel,
I am real,
I am warm,
I am loved.

Their hearts beat.

Will your relentless anger ever subside?

Pieces of me were given to you.
You tossed them aside,
Stepped on them,
Killed them.

I will not hide so hold my head high and press on.
I must.

Their hearts beat.

The wind at my back,
The sun in my face,
Love in my heart and a smile.

You frighten me for you are soulless.

You are dark.
Cold.
Empty.

May the light we created together shine through your darkness.

Their hearts beat.

September 26, 2008

Satan, His Whore, and The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

CAUTION: This blog is like arsenic, but it only tingles for a minute as you exhale. If the sharp words and cursing don't get you the dose of country twang is guaranteed to make you gag.

I wanted to wait to blog on this until I was calm.

I'm still not calm.

*deep breath*

So, it's back to school time. Every mom whose any mom is re-establishing relationships in the "I am Woman Hear Me Roar," "Telephone Chain" of not just a village but let's face it, it takes a whole fucking county of mom's running down the Wasatch Front to raise your children! Thank God for nosey neighbors, gossipy women, and the child communication chain of "Oh my God! What are we going to do when this happens?" bitchfest sandwich! I'm a piece of it. Meet the bread:

Moms.

Women worry. Just worry. That's why we live and breathe; to worry. Once you bake a baby in your belly your body temperature gets to a certain temperature at which point a part of your brain dies, a pop up thermostat engages, and YOU ARE DONE!



This phenomenon called "Motherhood" hits you so hard you freaking forget your name. Although you'll never forget that time you held two children in your arms in the emergency room as they puked all over you and you just sat there unmoved. Hell, you were practically comatose from not sleeping for a week and didn't even smell the wretched slimy mush.

Okay. Let me get back on track. On the 24th of July while playing at the park with the kids I get a call from Vic, the head Girl Scout troop leader.



Do I think scouting is geeky? Yes. But I became an assistant troop leader to dedicate my life to slowing my kid down from growing up too fast and guiding her towards becoming a strong woman.



The moms have lost touch a bit during the summer months as we always do, but with summer break on the downhill slide we are on the phone rebuilding connections and planning for the next year.

I love Vic! She knows everybody who's anybody and feeds me with information I can get NO other way. Why do I need this influx of data? Because as a mother you would kill for ANY information that would keep your children from getting hurt and at any given moment would throw your body in front of a high-speed bus to protect them. Besides, when your kids come from a broken home you learn quickly that if you weren't on the same page regarding parenting when you were married, you certainly won't be for the next … oh, decade. So move on with it, play the game, protect your king, and have counter moves planned steps in advance. Fail to plan? Plan to fail. History is a great predictor of future events. Karma is a bitch. Once you call check-mate, just sit back, smile, and wait for the kill.

Am I evil? Not really.

Vic and I proceed through our usual dialogue comparing notes on life events, bashing the ex-husbands, and giving each other updates on various happenings and who they're happening to. It's not gossip. It's survival for your child. Honestly, if your child is on a play date and you're not along for the ride don't you want to know if there's a gun in the house, if the kid's dad is being stalked by his secretary, if the PTA president might be sleeping with the mom?



This ain't junior high anymore boys and girls. THIS is elementary school. Just call me Mrs. Johnson.

Vic says, "I was with _______[other mom] at the park yesterday and we bumped into ______[Satan's whore]. Are you sitting down?

My response. "Um … Yes … Go ahead."

I did sit down.

Vic relayed the following conversation:

"Did you see my daughter?"

Other mom: "Yes. She's down by the river flirting with teenage boys."

"Oh, I know. I can already tell she's going to be one of those little sluts in high school."

Excuse me a moment.




*gulp*



I'm okay.



It shouldn't be fucking legal to say that about your own child! Isn't that child abuse? Why is it okay to take a back seat to parenting and just project what your child is going to be in four to six years without planning to do a thing about it? IT SHOULDN'T BE! Why do you need a license to drive a car, but any flotation device piece of shit, scum sucking bottom feeder can have a child?

*deep breath*

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, how much class can you possibly have if you bed someone else's husband while he has a wife and two children at home and then try to get her children to call you "Mom" during your elicit affair?



My first clue there was a whore in training was when my daughter approached me at the age of five to ask what French kissing was because she had heard the terminology from Satan's whore's spawn … out of the mouths of babes …



Am I judging? That would be a profound YES! Do I think I have the right? Abso-fucking-lutely! Why? Because I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, raise the children, do damage control for everyone, babysit Satan and his whore, and raise her child too.



My daughter is going through puberty. So too is her step-sister. We've been reading "The Care and Keeping of You" throughout the summer and I've been answering questions she asks in an age appropriate manner. She even asks me questions her step-sister has and then relays the information. Yes, I tried referring the child to her mother. She was afraid. I don't want my daughter to ever think there's something she can't ask me.

*breath*

For the men who are reading, be glad for the fact women talk to each other so much and that some of us even step up to the plate and talk to your daughters. There isn't a man alive, nor will there ever be, who wants to listen to everything we have to say. I don't blame them either. We make ourselves crazy with our minds and words reeling! Making you crazy is just one of the little extra services we offer.

Thanks for reading!

*still breathing*



*and exhale*

The Experimental Experience - Too many thoughts. One blog.

I know I did the "bate" part of this blog some time ago. However, I was NOT AT ALL prepared for the enormity of these life lessons until I sat down to write one day and my head spun around. This may all seem very elementary, but I can guarantee that even being a willing victim … er, uh, I mean player in this game I under-estimated the jaw-dropping moments I would endure. Life has a way of slapping you across the face and saying, "Damn it girl! Pay attention!" My face hurts.

If you're reading this I successfully did the "bate and hook," even if you close the blog now. ;-)

Before proceeding:

DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER

Did I mention this was a disclaimer? I have been told many times after getting to know people, that their first impression of me was I'm a bitch. I've never thought of myself as a bitch. If you continue to read this I will likely sound like a bitch over and over again.

I refrained from personally getting to know any of the people I now write about. This wasn't easy. As a matter of fact, the mission is still not accomplished. Is it ever?

When a woman needs nurturing and is feeling vulnerable, she will bare her soul. I have a very difficult time walking away from this. I've been known to stop the car and help a stranger in need, even if it's via mobile phone with the door locked and the window cracked open.

In spite of what you're about to read, I consider myself a compassionate person. It's difficult, if not impossible to completely detach. This was an exercise in restraint and humiliation for me. My experimental experience ran amuck. I found myself giving a damn about everyone and everything to some degree. That alone was worth the lesson. My feelings were hurt and I started to take things personally.

There are exceptions to everything I say. Almost.

LESSONS:

Children are brutally honest. As adults we tend to blur the lines, create confusion, and widen the infinite shades of gray in the river of reality. Life might be easier viewed in extreme terms of black and white; although you just might miss a lot.

We're all judgmental. I am much more judgmental than I thought. I took a blue collar job thinking it would be a much needed escape from my over articulate life, a way to bury my head in the sand for a while. I haven't thought this much since grad school! My head throbs and my teeth hurt most days. I'm that tired. I want to quit the experiment.

I was embarrassed to see people I knew. Although, the level of embarrassment on any given day would certainly depend on how well I knew them and in what capacity. I was frightened they'd reveal my truth and create hostility in my working relationships. I didn't want to have any working relationships. You cannot not have working relationships. Everything is gray. You have to give a little or you will be eaten alive. By the way, your reaction to reading "blue collar" screams judgment, as did my feeling the need to type it.

The more levels there are in a hierarchy the more difficult it can be to NOT label/categorize and judge because … well … it's easier than taking the time to figure things out and get to know people as individuals. I'm guilty of it. I've labeled students "the jock," "the cheerleader," "the geek," and "the one who's always late" because life is a rush and a blur between classes. Please see "What's In a Name" (bottom) to understand labels that have been blatantly slapped onto the foreheads of people in this blog.

MEN, WOMEN, WARDROBE. GO!

Men:

Those of you who have gotten to know me to any degree are expecting a story right about now. Since this blog is already offensive I'm not going to tell a story here, although I have several. Instead I'll use a movie line, "The average man has a 2-year-old in his pants; that's right, a toddler right there in his Dockers." It doesn't matter if they're an adolescent with simmering hormones or a horny old man with a Playboy magazine in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other! Yes. Some of the articles in Playboy are a good read. That'ssss all I'm sayin' …Feel free to play movie trivia three times over in this blog.

Women:

Women are ruthless! It is highly unlikely that three or more women can share the same space for long without coupling up and doing the power play, otherwise knows as "catty" against the third. Women are also extremely nosey. The military should consider deploying them randomly in the battle against terrorism, you never really know what to expect so you're absolutely sure to catch the enemy off guard! I believe women want to be compassionate but simply have forgotten how in today's chaotic world of blurred roles. More about roles later. Women want to know EVERYTHING about you immediately, so as to understand you. If you don't answer their questions the interrogation will continue.

The only personal information I passed on was I needed the same weekdays off all the time and alternate weekends because I time-share my kids. Anything else was fair game. Schedule me in the middle of the night, early morning, I don't care. The questions flew like the flat side of a Samurai sword against a Suma wrestlers sweat-beaded buttocks.

If one person isn't successful in gaining impertinent data the next shift will take over. This is sounding like a war time process, isn't it? … Are you married? How many times? Kids? How many? Where did you work before this (or 'dees, as The Russian would say).

A woman on a power trip is much more frightening than a man. I did a Google image search for "security" and found an article on a female airport security guard performing body-wand scans referred to by a man as "a minimum waged bitch on a power trip." Hmm … I'd love to switch genders and locations with this guy and shove a security wand between his legs. Seriously! Try to put yourself in the other person's shoes, skirt, or shirt. Said man is a jackass because men aren't supposed to say this type of thing in public! Why? Isn't becoming an adult partially about restraint? I'm ALL ABOUT honesty, but there should be such a thing as decency.

Excuse me …

… that's better …


… moving on …

On the other hand, women will go to the end of the Earth to communicate their power in indirect ways which often come across as psycho. Remember the boiling bunny?

NEVER underestimate the power someone may have just by knowing the right people. After successfully avoiding interrogation the first two days, I heard chit chat between "the twins" (described below). They were chatting it up with an SP (security police officer) as I quietly came around the corner one evening and overheard, "She's off at 11:30 and lives _____." How in the hell did they get that information? I watched him pull out of the parking lot and head to the South Gate, the Base exit I'd use to go home. Like clock-work I was out the door and down the road; or so I thought. Sure enough the SP's hand comes up from his hip, his flashlight is shined into my vehicle and I'm asked to exit, pop the trunk, and open all the doors and the glove box. Yep! In having the privilege of working on federal property you voluntarily submit to random vehicle searches … body cavity … Imagine that. Now you see why I went off of the airport security issue so easily. Ey?

Okay. So maybe you think I'm paranoid. Consider this, if you will: When my background investigation was conducted … did I mention I underwent a background? … you must have assumed … I was flagged as "CAUTION." Me??? Yes. Me. I don't have a criminal background. I do however, have a State Concealed Firearm Permit. Is it really that big of a stretch to think my vehicle would be searched to make sure State Law doesn't bypass The Feds? Stay here a while. I'll leave you to ponder, but don't stay too long or the chip in my head may affect you.

Big Brother IS watching. Have no doubt. "Trust no one." The third, and final serving of movie trivia, straight up.

Women have a whole different way of communicating with each other than they do with men. When a woman says, "Don't tell anyone; I mean it." The first part is sometimes verbalized, depending on the length of the relationship, context, and level of trust. As for the second part, it's more subtle and can mean anything from "please help me spread the message far and wide" to "don't you dare betray my trust." Most women can detect the subtlety in which the messages are delivered. If you're not sure whether or not your message has been accurately received, seek confirmation. This "women speak" is commonly referred to as Gal Code. Most women speak Gal Code. Men should know at least a little Gal Code. After all, women know Guy Code:

Gal Code just might be a topic for another blog one day.

Wardrobe:

Sometimes you have to dress down from your typical dress down day attire for dress down day. What? Yes. I actually went shopping for clothes I didn't want to ruin and dragged the old Earthy Doc Marten Chantell Strappy Sandals out of the closet. After all, they weren't bright and shiny new, but were comfortable as hell and I was going to be on my feet for hours. I decided to have that spaced out hippy-chick-ish appearance, only with hair and make-up.

A seemingly safe platform from which to display my wondering eyes and fake smile! It came as news to me that I'd have to wear a name tag. It's humiliating wearing your name on your chest and realizing some people don't realize you have one. A name. Not a chest. When I return to the educational profession I'm going to make more of an effort to remember students' names, and not just their first names. There are a lot of Jims and Janes out there.

I say, "Fuck!" and "Oh my gosh! You can't be serious!" A LOT in my head! Sometimes I even say them out loud and people think I'm talking to myself. I guess I am.

Just when you think you've seen it all someone WILL prove you wrong! Be glad for this. It means you have faith in human kind. Sorry to be the one to break it to you and good luck with that.

If the boss, and the bosses boss, and the bosses bosses boss like you, you're screwed! Run and run fast! OR … play dumb and over-kill everyone with kindness! Though, "Don't fuck with me" can still be very effectively communicated; read on. 

Life would be a lot more pleasant if we all tried to over-kill each other with kindness. Why does typing that make me laugh?

I have extremely obvious facial expressions and no matter how well I fake nice to people, it simply must be clear I don't care for them … If nothing else please notice the eye roll! If you see the eye roll, DO NOT invade my personal space. I'm Greek and Italian; nearly everyone I interact with personally gets hugged or air kissed. I have a small range of "personal space." BUT, if I'm not involved with someone personally and don't trust them I do not respond well to my personal space being invaded. Maybe this is the result of the semester from Hell. 

After hugging a friend I've known for thirty years I got some VERY bizarre reactions. So, what's a communication guru to do? I watched myself on security footage for the first time since I first placed a stiletto clad foot on the showroom floor. My non-verbals ARE bitchy. I have yet to figure out how to change this.

WHAT'S IN A NAME? ROLES IN THIS GAME PEOPLE PLAY:

We all play our little parts in life, our roles, wear different hats. Following is the cast at the "Class Six" store on Hill AFB, and that's exactly what it says on the building, everything is numbered and/or lettered on Base.

Anita: One of the mangers. A very abrupt German woman who assigns all her "girls" a name/label. I didn't realize I was working in a brothel. I thought it was a liquor store, and I "The Cigarette Girl" … name not needed. It took her about a week to come up with mine. Although she was sure to tell me everyone's label prior to introductions. When she finally did approached me she said this, "I don't know whether to call you 'Pretty Girl' or 'Mean Girl'" Then she just stared at me waiting for a reaction. I threw my head back in laughter and said, "I don't care if you call me 'The Bitch." She smiled that day; although she seemed somewhat puzzled by me. Weeks later I'm not sure what label they coined as mine. I'd guess it was my self-proclaimed title. This is a double-edged sword.

The Twins: Consisting of "The Russian" and "The Boss." Two Air Force wives whose jobs are their lives. They're kind of like school bullies who absolutely love testing how far they can push people just out of sheer pleasure of paining them. They've been "doing this" so long they should either be placed on a pedestal and worshiped or put in a laboratory and studied … I can't decide which.

The Russian: She's very nice, but you can't understand a damn thing she says. NO! WAIT! She's not nice at all! I must have just gotten off a late shift, reek of alcohol, and have broken glass dangling from my eyeball! I don't think I ever saw her smile. How can someone live without actually smiling? But, I guess that's what this blog is about. There's a purpose for all of us, even if it's to serve as an example of what not to do. I almost feel like breaking out in song, "To everything - turn, turn, turn. There is a season - turn, turn, turn …"

The Boss: She's not the boss, but would like to think so. Every woman who has worked with other women has known one of these. She holds information captive rather than share it and risk not being the all powerful Genie of the Lamp. There's nothing worse than a cashier, cocktail waitress, or secretary on a power trip. Although not assured, I am more likely to get away with saying/typing this based solely on the fact I'm a woman. This will likely steam more women than men. Yes. This entire blog is a test and may detonate at any moment.

Ingrid: She too is a German woman with a heavy accent. It just dawned on me how interesting it is that you can't understand half of the women who work there and how highly unlikely it is the people who frequent the place care to listen to them.

THINGS I ALREADY KNEW THAT WERE RECONFIRMED:

Although it's a small step between dressing sexy and slutty, some women take a gigantic leap into whore. Honestly! Let me use my imagination; I beg of you! I do not want to see that much skin unless I'm naked and in bed with someone.

There are quite possibly an infinite number of reasons you can't walk around town like this:

'Nuff said.

Never date a colleague! EVER! End of story! No. I didn't "do it again." There's another story here, possibly for a future blog. For now it will suffice to say adjectives such as "pompous" can evoke strong emotional reactions (including vomiting) similar to nails on a chalk board, especially while heavily engaged in the "experimental experience."

I will continue to cringe every time I drive over the James Bond techno, anti-ram, security barrier on the base, waiting for it to engage while I'm straddling it and lift my car into the heavens as if it was receiving a lube job!

AND STILL:

I don't trust the government on ANY level.

I ponder whether human-kind is inherently good or evil.

I wonder as I wander.

Okay so, if you're still reading and curious as to my next professional endeavor, I've decided to return to the world of education because the world is a classroom and I knew a long time ago that I'd be a catalyst for learning, expanding knowledge, wisdom, higher aspirations, and all that jazz. Besides a catalyst is something that is not consumed, or at least that's what Wikipedia says. No, I likely won't cause any molecular collisions (again Wikipedia). Hell, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Science is not my strong suit. Nonetheless, I've decided to submit my resume at a couple of colleges for adjunct positions and am exploring the school districts for opportunities to work with children who have an excuse to, therefore act, like children. I'm also pondering evening GED prep classes at the high school and technical college. I haven't worked with this age group in quite some time and understanding teenagers (oxymoron, yes?) might be good experience for down the road.

I hope this blog made you react strongly in some way; even if it made you angry. I believe anger is a deep seeded emotional response to something raw within us. If you identify it my energy wasn't all for not.

I still have many lessons to learn as a student in this thing called Life.

Thanks for reading.

T

Let Your FREAK Flag Fly!

Okay so, I was sitting around spinning ideas of what to do today through my head when my phone rings. A good friend calling says, "Come to the park with me and I'll buy you lunch."

I immediately said, "No thanks! Feel free to call and tell me all about it!" But they were persistent, I was bored enough to go, and I was hungry, so what the hell? Right?OMG!!!

EVERY FREAK from the city and the surrounding area was there!!!

I saw so many hair colors, piercings, tattoos, naked asses, flailing breasts, and ghetto gold jewelry all I could say was, "God bless America! At least they haven't outlawed that yet!" But, I said it SO many times with an eye roll and throwing my head back, my caller started elbowing me and saying, "They're going to hear you!"

I DON'T CARE! FREAKS ARE FREAKS AND THEY KNOW THEY'RE FREAKS BECAUSE THEY'RE TRYING TO GET ATTENTION!!!

Here are a few visuals so you can relate and feel my horror:







I SWEAR TO YOU, Brooke and ALL HER FRIENDS were there!!!



Is THAT a girl or a guy? Is anyone else confused???







I saw enough cleavage on both sides of the body at the park today to consider taking a vow of celibacy! YES, IF YOU'VE GOT IT FLAUNT IT!!! We all try to enhance our assets! (Pun intended!) But when you've got it all over and people are trying to eat, cover some of it up.



HE WASN'T there.

He was likely at the pool party I should have gone to! Damn it!



Now look, I'm not trying to be a BITCH nor am I trying to place judgment! I have a strategically placed tattoo I can show if I choose without baring all ... same story with my piercing.



All I'm REALLY saying is, DON'T THESE PEOPLE HAVE MIRRORS??? Maybe that should be the next arm of government control ... requiring people to have mirrors in their homes so THEY have to see THEMSELVES BEFORE I DO!!!



One last thing before I conclude my rant.

There was one guy there in the new more body breathable fatigues that they supposedly field tested! It was so damn hot I just wanted to cry for him! They're heavy, they're hot, they suck! If they wanted breathable they should have hired a woman to design them!



Well that about does it for me today! If I've offended anyone with this, I'm sort of sorry ... but, not really ...

Eh, if you're pissed feel free to tell me about it.

Hello. This is your life. You have absolutely NO idea what you’re doing, do you?

As many of you know, I have taught communication classes for the past twelve years at the local university, but have done some contract teaching (written comm., public speaking, business writing, medical terminology, CPR/BLS, etc.) at various community colleges in the valley. I have continued to teach on contract throughout my life experiences: marriage, kids, two full-time careers, divorce, etc. I love it and the hours are fabulous because they allow me to keep an extremely flexible schedule that allows me to be available to my kids at the drop of a hat if/when the need arises. As I've said in a previous blog, I chose to be an educator because I "hope" individuals seek to push themselves beyond their perceived limitations for the purpose of obtaining knowledge they can actually utilize in their lives and in their enduring pursuit of "happyness" (NOTE: not a misspelling). I honestly "hope" to be a tool of inspiration to my students and "give" them something that will benefit their lives. I've always felt that it's my way of giving back to society, throwing something in, and contributing in some positive way.

Again, as many of you know, especially my close personal friends, I had a very negative experience last semester that has caused me to reevaluate what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. People change, the classroom environment has evolved as generations pass through from "Generation X", to "Generation Y," and finally to "Generation God knows WHY?" Add to that one of the strangest cultures I've ever experienced (The Utah Mormon Culture) and it makes for one hell of a ride! But this past semester was a big turning point for me.

Last semester: From day one a male student (6'5" and burly) chose to be disruptive and disrespectful, chit-chatting endlessly with his friends, and heckling me as I lectured often interjecting sexual comments in an effort to publicly bully and humiliate me. As the semester progressed I spoke with him in front of his peers, one-to-one, and in the presence of the department chair to make it clear his behavior was inappropriate, unwelcome, intimidating, and bordered on sexual harassment. During his more extreme bouts I even asked him to leave the classroom on a couple of occasions. The last week of class while I was seated on a stool behind a podium and surrounded by students, therefore rendering me incapable of moving to any large degree, this student pushed his way through the crowd so he was next to me and rubbed himself up against me in an obvious effort to intimidate me.

Following this incident I contacted my direct supervisor who I had been keeping informed throughout the semester, explained that I thought it would be extremely beneficial for this particular student (and some troubled friends/classmates of his who drew to him like magnets) to receive a firm lecture from the department chair himself regarding common courtesy, showing respect for instructors, appropriate classroom etiquette at an institution of higher learning, not to mention the basics of sexual harassment. She said she'd speak with the chair but wasn't hopeful he'd agree to taking such action. While speaking with her I also chose to elaborate on the fact that taking NO action would send the message, to our next generation of leaders, that not only are their actions acceptable but being personally responsible was a thing of the past. I ended the conversation telling her point blank, that if this particular student chose to press up against me again he'd get a knee to the groin hard enough to drop him and likely ruin his opportunities for ever fathering a child. She said she wouldn't blame me.

My final thoughts on the experiences of last semester are, why give the best I have to someone who is only going to piss on it?

Fast forward to present day: I typically don't teach during the summer months. They reserve those classes for full professors with tenure who are being paid regularly and may as well make themselves productive. Being bored, not wanting to dwell on the negative experiences of the past, searching for new opportunities, and hoping to add a little variety to my life I decided to apply for several jobs. Some of you may have read the blog about the position at the prison with the warden's office. I chose to cancel that interview. After all, I'm looking for positive changes in my life and maybe a more simplistic approach to life. After much searching, I decided to take a job at the Shopette on Hill Air Force Base. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's basically a mini-mall (similar to all mini-malls across America, although NOT in Utah) where military personnel can purchase odds and ends, coffee, cigarettes, and booze. Yep! I'm the cigarette girl!



I'm the new kid, I say little (if anything) about my personal life and I certainly haven't announced my professional or educational accolades to anyone. I just smile and am friendly to the customers and staff (in spite of the cattiness that rears its ugly head when there are more than two women within close proximity of one another … and I just let that roll of my back). I do my job and leave at the end of my shift knowing full well I'm leaving everything behind me. I don't have to go home and grade papers, field telephone calls and email messages from students, reiterate the same principle time and time again (not because it's difficult, but because no one gave a damn to listen the first time), and if someone does by chance sexually harass or bully me I'll simply page a manager or Security Police (and we've actually had them escort people off the base before). In short, I don't have to deal with a whole lot of drama.

I get to use the fabulous gym without fear of running into my students like I did at school, I get to make casual conversation with people I know or am getting to know as they come and go from the facility, and I'm guaranteed to be out of there when the clock strikes quitting time.

I don't love it or hate it … I really haven't been there long enough to go either way … I just do my thing, smiling throughout the day, and then I'm off!

Nonetheless, I do have a few concerns. Is what I "do" a reflection of who I am? Because I'm the cigarette girl instead of the educator with fancy certificates in dusty frames hung across the wall, does that make me less appealing in the eyes of … anyone? In some ways I feel like I'm right back where I was in high school working at the mall. But all my life experiences since those innocent years will never allow me to be the naïve girl, dressed ever so fashionably, strutting across the sales floor without a care in the world.

It's nice to know that I can go back to teaching if/when I decide. I've also put out some feelers to other colleges, tech schools, and even explored the world of tutoring. Regardless of where I go or what I choose to do I'll always be a woman with a petite physical stature; both which can be perceived as weaknesses or vulnerabilities.

Have any of you ever made a drastic change in hopes of giving yourself some breathing room, some peace in your life? Did you regret it or was it beneficial?

How much does a person's job effect your perception of who they are?

Will there ever come a day when a person isn't judged, intimidated, or treated differently based on their gender and/or physical size?

The Single Gal & The Pickel Jar

From the moment I sat in the sand by the monkey bars in fifth grade holding hands with James, through many school dances, senior prom, college dating, frat parties, engagement, marriage, divorce, and back to dating, the vicious circle continues of whether or not you really need or want a man in your life. As of late I've read many blogs discussing commitment phobic men, cheaters, break-ups, psycho-bitch chicks, and strategies for successful dating. I, like many other women, have given all of these topics a lot of thought, possibly too much.

Upon my return to the dating world after a decade with one man in my life I was amazed at how dating had evolved. Online dating was now more socially acceptable, if not safer and preferable to meeting men while out and about town. Group dating was nixed because people were too busy with their individual lives to actually make room for an entire group of six ;) and having a guy actually pick you up at the door was NOT even a consideration until a minimum of six to eight weeks of dating them and a serious analysis of how long you thought the guy would really be around. Was he "relationship" material? Was he safe enough to invite over to watch a movie? Do you like him enough to allow the neighbors to see yet another car in your driveway ... The questions go on and on ...

I've been in the "single again" category for 5 1/2 years now. During this time I've taken many dating respites to "find myself," get grounded, and then return to dating promising myself to do it all differently the next time around. Sadly not much changes.

Turn the page.

So my kids like pickles. Yeah pickles. About a month ago I bought one BIG jar of pickles.



I couldn't open the lid. I borrowed a neighbor's husband to try to open the jar, and even started considering dates that might be acceptable pickle jar opening material. The neighbor's husband couldn't open the jar. I briefly pondered what their sex life might be like considering this guy couldn't even open the BIG pickle jar.

Isn't strength one of the traits we consider during dating? I know physical strength isn't EVERYTHING, but certainly that's part of the initial attraction. Doesn't every woman kind of want a man who makes her feel safe? My mind begins to wander and for a moment I consider asking the wife beater across the street to open the pickle jar. Then a messy image of shattered glass and a pile of pickles crosses my mind and I decide to forgo the wife beater.

A couple days ago my father came over to my house and I asked him to open the pickle jar. He's always been my hero, a strong man, and enjoys helping me out from time to time so I figured this was a grand idea. He couldn't open the BIG pickle jar. We both laugh and just stare at this enormous jar of pickles I'd purchased. Before my grandfather passed away he had made an industrial strength jar opener which my mother has in her kitchen. My father directs me to bring the pickle jar over during my next visit so as to give that a try.

Yesterday I decide to pay them a visit. I jump in my car, put the pickle jar between my legs, and begin driving to their home. I get stopped at a red light next to a man in a big truck. He peers down at me with a strange and laughable expression on his face. I feel like jumping out of my car to see if he can open the pickle jar; but the light turns green and again I'm off to my parents' home.

The industrial strength jar opener actually works and the BIG pickle jar is FINALLY open! We're all very excited and briefly discuss the millions of dollars that could be made had we patented and sold the industrial strength jar opener. I even suggest the name "BIG ASS PICKLE JAR OPENER." We celebrate the opening of the BIG pickle jar with a glass of wine, and of course a pickle.

After my visit I have to drive home with the BIG pickle jar. Fate is against me and I hit every red light between their home and mine. I get more strange facial expressions and am puzzled at how many trucks are on the road this particular day; or are there always that many driving about town and I just never noticed before?

Turn the page.

I have a date and need to get ready. I begin pondering the usual things that go through a girl's mind as she prepares for a date and then I stop for a moment and say to myself, "Sometimes a girl just wants to know a guy is going to be around long enough to open her pickle jar."

Another Dating Disaster ... A.D.D.

Okay friends, I decided to take the easiest way out of this and simply post the last bulletin I put up as a blog. I'm still receiving comments via private messages and some sniveling whiny remarks taking this VERY personally! Too many men took my challenge to "MAN UP" as an invitation to woman bash to me personally. So NOT cool! Unfortunately, or fortunately, I'm not sure yet, they DIDN'T read my DISCLAIMER!!! So I blocked some and deleted others ... I win ... YAY me!!!

TO SOME WHINERS WHO HAVEN'T BEEN BLOCKED OR DELETED YET, IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY POST IT FOR ALL TO SEE SO I AND OTHERS CAN COMMENT BACK!!! IT'S CALLED A DIALOGUE!!! IF I JUST WANTED TO HEAR A LECTURE (MONOLOGUE) I WOULD HAVE ASKED FOR ONE!!!

By the way, I was right about my prediction regarding Speedy which you can read as a post on my page. I REALLY can't believe I'm going to say this, but I AGREE with him!!!

Here it is. Comment away guys and dolls!

**********

After further consideration, let's just call it ADD ... I do believe in a somewhat twisted way it fits! ;p

My thanks to ALL of you who chose to MAN UP and respond!!! Kudos to you!!!

Following is my original bulletin; the summary of responses are at the bottom:

**********

"NEXT! Would Bachelor 987 please step up to the plate?"

I'm posting this as a bulletin rather than a blog because NO MAN IS EVER GOING TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION PUBLICLY!!! As a matter of fact I'm NOT going to hold my breath that I'll get ANY male responses ... other than maybe Speedy who will say he's never been in that position ;p

BUT, if you choose to MAN UP and answer, I dare you to post it on my page, or just message it to me.

Okay, here goes nothing:

If you go on a date, she's not into you and doesn't want to see you again, how do you like to be told? Is there a nice way to break up? (I'm talking "just dating" break up, NOT "relationship" break up ... that's a blog for another day!)

Disclaimer: This is NOT directed towards anyone in particular on this site who I may know personally, have met briefly, a friend of a friend, or even those of you I may have spoken to ... I'm catching a lot of heat for my "Women are the new men" headline, but it stays ... at least for now ;p

T

***************************************

Summary of responses:

The majority of men said, there's just really no easy way to go about it. As much as I appreciate ALL of their responses, most of them were not willing to say, "This is how I'd like to hear the news that she's just not into me." However, without exception they ALL said "dating sucks" or made similar comments which made me feel like all of my girlfriends and me might not be aliens after all! YAY for us!!! I knew we weren't ... but you know the whole Mars Venus "thing" (Thanks Peppa!) ...

Two men differed from the crowd.



The first said, at the end of the date just simply say, "It was a pleasure meeting you but I am not feeling a connection. Thank you for getting together and best wishes."

I like the honest approach, however speaking from a woman's perspective, and a petite one at that, if their angry text and email messages are any sign of how they'd respond face-to-face I think women should only date if their packing a firearm.

I'm sorry to say this but men can be mean and SCARY!

The second said:

I'm going to paraphrase because this guy had A LOT to say: Be nice, but honest. Tell him the things you DO like about him and then tell him you don't have any feelings for him and never will. If the guy has it together he will not pursue you anymore. If you continue to see him and don't tell him he'll just lose all respect for you and end up hating you for wasting his time, energy, and playing games.

I think I like it, but would still do it from a safe distance.

I'll likely blog all of this later for any of my blogger friends that care to comment further!

Again, thanks to all the guys that chimed in!

Dating 101

Bachelor 1: Calls every morning at about the same time for four days. He is SO full of himself and sharing information CRITICAL to my knowing how fabulous he is that I can hardly get a word in edgewise. During our last conversation he says, "I'm going to be in your city today [as if we lived hours apart] and might be able to break free for about 30 minutes to meet you for a cup of coffee." I pause to see if he'll specify a time or if I'm expected to keep the entire day open, just in case he can "break free." He doesn't. I tell him I have a busy day planned and don't really know what the afternoon will bring (thinking this will encourage him to specify a time). Nothing. He continues to talk, and talk, and talk and tells me that he's flying out to California the following morning, to Vegas from there, and likely his life won't settle down until sometime in August. So I say, "Well, when you're back in the city and feel like scheduling a time to meet give me a call." Finally there's silence on the other end of the line. So I continue, "Or if you're too busy, that's okay too." I'm not being bitchy, just using my regular conversational voice and hoping for some sign of recognition that I might have a life too. I really don't expect or care to hear from him again.

Three days later: He calls. He wants to tell me that if I'm not interested in meeting him that's really too bad because I seemed like such a nice person. WTF??? Are we breaking up? We haven't even dated yet, let alone established that we ever will. I explain that I am in fact a nice person, thank him for noticing, and elaborate on the fact that he hadn't tried to schedule an actual date with me, maybe based on all the chaos involved regarding his travels for work. I explain that I usually expect a specific time when being asked on a date and don't keep an entire afternoon open for anyone. He attempts an apology for being "pushy" (try passive-aggressive or just plain stupid) and says he'll call me mid-week to give me a couple days to plan my schedule for a specific time and place. OH, and please let me mention he's 45 ... Sheesh!!! Getting a date for prom in high school was easier than this!

Bachelor 2: Messages me frequently over a period of a couple of weeks although messages border on flirtation they're friendly at best and I don't perceive there to be any interest in an actual date. We even speak on the phone once or twice at which time I express that I despise the dating game and feel like if two people want to meet there's certainly an adult way of going about it. I even "vent" a little about bachelor number one. Then I receive "THE" message. "Are you interested in me as more than a friend?" How does one answer that without having actually met the person? I respond with "I guess we'd have to get together to see."

Several days pass: Probably three (NOTE: Clearlake Jerk will have a field day with this!). I receive a message stating, "I give up. I can't seem to keep anyone's attention long enough to actually get to know them." At first I start to feel bad, then I get kind of pissed and respond with, "You can't get a date without asking someone on one and scheduling a time and place."

I used to think dating was exhausting. But it's the actual tutoring adult men on how to go about dating that's the real drain. Aren't men supposed to know this kind of stuff already??? If not, there really needs to be a class!

Okay ... so it's like this ... I have an interview at the prison.

Oh Dear God, what have I done! I applied out of morbid curiosity and sure enough they called to set up an interview today. It's basically the same job I did for SLCPD quite a few years back (feel free to chime in and message me my friend from way back in the day) ... You know who you are! And read on as the irony in all of this only builds ;-).

Since my boss died I NEVER thought I'd have anything to do with government/police work again. He used to defend me against anyone I'd piss off in the Mayor's office (and the list was long). I always came out of it smelling like a rose (to the dismay of many) based on his willingness to put his neck (and sometimes I think his career) on the line for me. I just don't know who my humorous sidekick and life saver would be??? ... What if I really tick someone off??? I'd be working out of the Warden's Office so would I be bullying the Governor's office staff??? That could make for some GREAT fun!!! And, OHHHHH the irony, for those of you who know my personal life stories ... I'm laughing on the outside, cringing on the inside, and in a very twisted way looking forward to this interview next week.

I think the part of the job description that worried me the most was tracking inmate activities. I don't mind putting a badge and a gun in the hand of some twisted guy or gal that wants to do that sort of thing for a living ... sorry Phil and other said friend ... (someone's gotta do it) ... but inmates??? ... only if I'm packing!!!

This is hysterical ... and comes at such an interesting time in my life ... LOL!

I'll keep you all posted ... Ladies and Gents MANY, MANY, MANY Dirty Martini's will be necessitated by this experience!!! Bottoms up!!! Let's meet at the firing range and then go for cocktails! Who's in??? ;p
And OH how my mind reels at the thought of seeing last semester's groupies locked away and peering through bars ... Mwahahahahaha!!!
Peppa, Pink was right! I do have a feisty evil nature that is hilarious and appropriate ... especially regarding this vision!!! I will sleep well tonight! ;p

Layers of Life

Behind a layer of stone,
my heart pulsates.

Barbed wire twisted and turned,
in chaotic fashion,
surrounds this mass.

Yet only one wire penetrates,
the layers of stone, tissue, blood,
stopping at the center,
from which life leaks,
to the rhythm of the throbbing pain.

On the surface are visible cracks,
to which the blood rushes,
in an attempt to fill and heal.

The bumpy layer of scar tissue grows,
increasing the size of this organ,
adding more protection,
making it thick, hard, and less penetrable.

I am not a lover of love,
for I despise being vulnerable.

I am not a lover of hate,
for it devours this life sustaining organ.

Infection circulates throughout my being,
it muddies the soul.

May 31, 2008

Road Rage, Hook-ups, or Speed-Dating?

So I'm driving home from the upper east side cucumber sandwich PTA luncheon and heading down I-15 at about 75 mph. I hear the car next to me beep. I figure it's a road rager and ignore it. I hear the beep again ... and again ... and again. I look over, it's a cute guy, he gives me the head nod, winks, smiles, and holds his cell phone up telling me to call him, all the while driving and giving me hand signals to try to give me his number. I block my number and proceed to call. I asked him if he typically tries to pick women up on the freeway and he tells me that I caught his eye and he couldn't help himself. Although we both could have been killed I force a laugh. Are we doing this now? Or are there really some men walking among us that are really relationship seekers? He didn't throw out any "hook-up" lines, asked how long I'd been single and whether or not I enjoyed being single, and said he was tired of single life. Then he asked if I'd call him tonight. Any thoughts?

Cougars ... I am woman. Hear me ROAR!

Yesterday while at a BBQ on the upper east side of somewhere everyone has far too much money than they know what to do with; I found out that an old girlfriend of mine (two years my senior) had recently remarried a 25-yr-old guy, was expecting a baby (as if one wasn't enough ... LMAO ... j/k ... those of you who know me well know that I HAD to say that!), and was living her happily ever after. I'm truly happy for her! Her first husband cheated on her with anything in a skirt so she took half of his very productive business earnings and started over; although they remain friends like grown-ups of shared children should. (NOTE: For those of you who don't believe she deserved half, tell it to someone else who hasn't been in the same predicament for fifteen years trying to work from home to run a business, raising two children, and otherwise holding down the fort regarding anything and everything regarding bills, children, finances, etc., thereby supporting and allowing her husband to pursue his business trips to make the millions while bringing home God knows WHAT as he got into her bed to make supposed "love" to her.

Now before I begin saying ALL (because believe it or not there is SO much more I have to say on this topic ... stop laughing Pink, Kar, Merc, JB, JJ, Stan the Man, and anyone else who knows me all too well ... I love you all!) ;p ... I like to consider myself a fair person regarding most topics and therefore want to share an opposing viewpoint with you. I've pasted an article in written by some Canuk who, by the way can bite my half-Greek, half-Italian, well-rounded, perfectly proportioned ass! We'll get to the ass-biting, nibbling, or whatever your (hopefully) well developed and fully creative imagination can picture. Please feel free to let your imaginations fly!!!

Here's the dimwits article and link because God knows I wouldn't want to take ANY credit (Ugh ...) for HIS words: http://www.nerve.com/dispatches/murnighan/cougar/

On first glance, nothing appears strange. There are thugs at the door and you pay a $5 cover to a woman with big hair. The bar is pretty large — big enough for two small dance floors — and even though it's early it's already almost packed. The walls are lined with mirrors and guys with thumbs in their jeanpockets; on the dance floors, women groove in pairs and the occasional guy substitutes an unfortunate swaying motion for dance steps. But when you get your Molson and lean back against the bar to scope out the crowd, that's when it hits you: the women here are not your age. Or they're your age and up — up and up. Up to your mom's age, and beyond. And then you finish your beer, order another one, maybe chug that one too, then wait for one of the women to talk to you.

In Canadian slang, they are called cougars: women in their thirties, forties, fifties, maybe even sixties, going after men a decade or three younger. I am one of these men, and I've taken an hour-long bus trip into an industrial suburb of Toronto to find myself at cougar central: Blue Suede Sue's on a Thursday night. There are other bars and other days of the week when a younger man can go out and expect to meet older women, but Thursday is the cougar night of choice, and Sue's is the hottest prowling ground.

Cougars in Toronto, despite the behavior of the mammal in the wild, tend to travel in packs. And, if you didn't know better, you would probably think they were groups of women from your office, in the midst of a hot Ladies Night out on the town. They are full-figured and dolled up in open blouses, push up bras, bustiers — outfits whose singular intention seems to be to say, "I have boobs." Acid-washed jeans are also de rigueur, and almost no one has denied herself the possibilities of hair bleach, teasing and spray. It's cougar night, all right, and they're out — many even wearing leopard skin.

THE END (of him ... in more ways than one I hope. I seriously doubt he'll ever get laid again, unless he's looking for a dimwitted female twenty-years his junior, which many men are. I have NO doubt THIS arrangement would of course be OKAY with him).

By the way I looked pretty damn hot in the bustier I wore to the Cher concert in Vegas and all the flamers were buying me drinks as we danced in the isles!!!

Let me begin with his talk of "boobs." Every man, in fact many women, look at boobs. I do! I'm not a lesbian, but I look! It's almost as if our eyes are magnetically drawn to a woman's cleavage, especially if they're up there and looking good (as are mine by the way). For those of you who haven't yet had the pleasure of knowing me well, I'm not bragging AT ALL!!! I simply am able to ascertain for myself my strengths (a.k.a. "'ass'ets") from a hole in the ground (a.k.a. my non-strengths) ... yes, I'm making up words again ... I just don't like the word "weakness" even though we all know we have them ... ;p

Next I would like to address the leopard print all us Cougars are wearing ... and yes, I have some in my closet as I type this.

Animal print has been in fashion from interior design to clothing and accessories for decades! And if you look good in it WHY NOT!!! It's on the runways, the red carpet, in the park, on your clutch, around your neck (I'd like to use one of my silk leopard print scarves to cut off the Canuk's air supply) ... Here are some examples for your viewing pleasure:

Ladies, if you don't have at least one pair of leopard print panties I suggest you drop whatever it is your doing RIGHT NOW and run, don't walk, to the nearest lingerie boutique! And guys ... here's a note for your little black books or spreadsheets I hear many are keeping now ... we wear them because we feel sexy going out with the girls, to the grocery store, and home alone!!!

YES, you guessed it! I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it!!!

Can you say, "YES, YES, YES!" worn with a pair of black jeans and my off one shoulder black and brown tiger striped top!!! Mix and match ladies! GO WILD!!!

One of the many scarves I was discussing to use as a strangulation device earlier ... I'd imagine they could be used for many things ... ;p

I would wear either of these in a heartbeat!!! Even to pick up my children at school, strut through the parking lot at the grocery store, or many other number of places (Although beware the horny senior-seniors as per previous blog!) ... Although, I'm not 18-years-old or anorexic and I have boobs! There's that word again ...

Red carpet, red lipstick, and does she look like she gives a damn about what anyone thinks? I'd say she looks and feels quite fine!

So ladies and gents, Urbancougar is not a stigma, it's a sophisticated species of female who seeks the pleasure of younger males ... possibly because they're more likely to cling to you like a pup that knows it has something that's NOT worth losing! ;p

Maybe we enjoy the freedom of the hunt, have overcome the taboos related to sexual identity, embraced our true selves, and now want to live our lives to their fullest throwing away our own baggage and not wanting to deal with anyones! When you start a new relationship you should be ready for adventure, know what you want and NOT be afraid to go after it! Certainly we all have pasts and issues that need to be addressed from time to time; but why not celebrate a new lifestyle with a woman who is strong and proud enough to not only wear it but BE a true COUGAR!!! Good luck finding that kind of strength and passion in a woman twenty-years your junior!

Life it too short to waste time NOT having fun, not being passionate about whatever or whoever you are! Ladies, embrace your bodies, embrace your style, if you don't have a style create one! I'll shop with you ... it's SO what I love! And Gents, maybe you'll be smart enough to join the craze of hot COUGARS everywhere who are shouting from the roof tops, I've lived, I've learned, I've loved and I want to grab ahold of life and enjoy it for all it's worth!!!

We ARE women! Hear us ROAR!!!

Have you ever had your heart crack open after a simple question?

Some of this is my writing ...
Some of it is not ...
None of this is logical to a man, so if you are a man, you might as well stop reading!
All of this is emotional and probably the reason women sometimes appear to be cold hearted bitches, when in fact, quite the opposite is true.

A friend says to me, "You seem sad."
Three little words.
But in my mind I think:

We are not going to do this.
I can't share.
I can't catch-up with you.
I can't even really speak.
I can't talk, because if I did, if I told you I have/haven't slept alone in ___ years,
If I told you I often miss ___________ so much I want to die,
If I told you the things I did today just to stay busy enough to keep from crying,
If I told you that my heart hurt so much at times I want to rip it from my chest with my own little hands, I would fall apart.
And I don't have time to fall apart because I'm too exhausted trying to hold it all together for everybody else.
And it's not that I'm not happy to see you, because I am.
But, I wish that you would go home so the choice to talk and fall apart would go away.

So I say, "I'm fine."

What Are Your Dealbreakers?

After reading yet ONE MORE article on Dating Deal Breakers, I thought it best to hurl/verbally vomit some of what I read and some of my thoughts onto the screen for your entertainment, perspectives, or total disregard ... whichever you please ...

DEAL BREAKER: A non-negotiable in the dating world for the purpose of potentially becoming involved in a relationship. A deeply ingrained mindset, quality, attitude, belief or issue a person has that simply will not fit with your lifestyle or otherwise is intolerable to you.

I'm NOT talking about little things that can be simply addressed and slight alterations that can be made to accommodate both parties, like "they make a funny noise when they chew." I'm talking about a particular characteristic that, once revealed, makes you realize there is NO WAY the two of you can have a future together.

Now every person must have their own PERSONAL set of DEAL BREAKERS (although women are likely more consciously aware of their "list." Here are a few in my communications with others, dating experiences, and reading that I've found to be pretty universal:

* They have a criminal record. (I've actually had guys get offended when I ask them this question. I don't understand, as I am willing to answer any question I dare to ask.)

* He's a major mama's boy. (A man only has room in his heart for one woman ... although most have room for many of them in their bed ... Certainly you want someone who loves and respects his mother; but when your honor is at stake do you really want the added pressure of wondering where the chips will fall?)

* He has a history or has shown a tendency toward ANY kind of abuse (mental, emotional, physical).

* He's got anger issues (with or without the abuse ... NO ONE SHOULD EVER HAVE TO FEEL BELITTLED OR INTIMIDATED)!

* He shows a complete lack of manners (When you're on a date and you actually feel the urge to reach across the table and cut their food for them, that MIGHT be a sign you should have stayed home).

* He's terminally immature. (Age itself isn't an issue. However, the ability to have an intellectually stimulating and emotionally appropriate conversation IS an issue.)

* He's emotionally unavailable. (I was in one relationship for far too long that taught me a very important lesson. It is MUCH more painful to feel alone WITH someone than it is to feel lonely alone. When you're feeling lonely alone you can actually do something about it, like get together with friends.)

* You don't feel an ounce of chemistry with him. (It's either there or it isn't. Sometimes you can feel it the first time you hear their voice, sometimes the moment you see them, and still others after there's some type of physical interplay. If you're not "feeling it" by the second date, there's really no point in wasting each other's time.)

* You're hopelessly incompatible with one another. (You want kids someday, he never does; or he's mid-40s and still hopes to have kids and you've already done your part to contribute to the 2.5 American-family children statistics; or you want to marry a Jew, he's Catholic, etc...)

* He cheats on you. (DUH!!!)

* He's married. (DUH!!!)

I would love to hear other perspectives on deal breakers.

In addition to the list above, here are a couple of mine:

* He's Narcissistic and/or controlling.

* He can't just have fun with you whether it's a card game, sports, or a conversation regarding a political issue because EVERYTHING IS a competition and HE MUST ALWAYS CRUSH YOU!
* He's Passive/Aggressive and you're constantly trying to figure out what's going on in his head to the point it becomes exhausting!

* He's afraid of your ex. If this is the case be sure to give him your ex's address, pretending it's yours and give him a date and time to show up with a bottle of red wearing something sexy ... midnight is usually a fairly safe bet! If you're really twisted be in the area with a video camera to watch the fire works, and if you have even an ounce of empathy left within your being, a mobile phone to dial 911 if things get really ugly. LMAO!