I have been proposed to multiple times. Most of the time in jest, or maybe I just took it that way. I make a mockery of that type of commitment but secretly crave it. I love the idea of a white picket fence, the big family, tons of kids, a supportive, loving, funny husband. Lots of family and friends, community, it all appeals to me.

Just burnt a tick with a lighter. He was found creeping on my bed and this Land of Smokey will not allow for creatures that suck blood and possibly carry diseases. Tick Fever is no laughing matter.

Latest proposal comes from The Adventurer, a little romance I had about two years ago. Met him at one of my former places of employment. Such a bad ass and at the same time intelligent and street smart and kind. We had a very chaste three week romance until we parted ways. Things never got beyond PG 13, and yet we still chat and communicate to this day. He's always held me in high esteem, though I believe its just because he met me in a very chaste moment of my life, thus this clouds his opinion (or that's my very own convoluted stream of thought and paranoia). We've always had these very intense chats on FB, where we joke around about starting a commune on a farm, far off in some mountainous region, where we grow our own food and school our kids... religious LSD trippin' hippie shit, what else?

When he was here we took off to some far off islands where we relaxed together with only our voices to keep each other company. On the way back he spotted a huge snake crossing the road, which he caught with his bare hands; the picture I took shows the snake draped on his shoulders, the snake's head securely held between his left index and thumb. Fearless would be a good word to describe him. Also reckless in a very calculated way. A real man in the sense that he hunts and he can look inside your hood and diagnose what is wrong with your car, fix shit with his God given hands, while speaking to you on an intellectual, rational level.

Lanky, with a schnoz that would make a yenta or two proud, multi colored eyes, shockingly straight hair that shoots up at odd angles. A crooked smile and a gentlemanly way. I always felt like his type of man doesn't really exist anymore. A Man's Man.

I'm going through a dry spell right now, can you tell?

Chicken and Cheese

The French dude whom I had a little romantic sexual Internet rendezvous with a couple of months ago is here for ten days. I met him IRL this afternoon, today. He's a lot more fit than I thought and I was a lot more bloated than he thought. Was not feeling sexy or good looking at all. He's single, unattached, does not live here, is good looking and successful, and I've already seen his dick, he's perfect candidate for a week long rendezvous, 'cept for the fact that I'm bleeding to death, heavy cramps and all. Oh life, you never cease to amaze me with your perfect abilities for cockblocking.

Also for the fact that I feel as though I am not ready to be with someone intimately. This dawned on me only a week or so ago, and I have been pondering since I read about the concept in an autobiography that I am currently reading. Although at the same time I crave physical contact with someone. I crave satisfaction and reactions and contact and connections.

On the other hand, I might be sort of infatuated with a friend of mine. He's my buddy and yet I've been having indecent thoughts of him while gazing at his lovely, deep warm eyes and sculpted biceps. We had the perfect moment set up last night and yet neither one of us acted on it. I feel as though each of us is waiting for the OK, Come Hither command from the other one, but so far no one makes a move. Maybe its all in my head and I'm getting my cables crossed. Either way its nice spending time with him and all of his weirdness (because he is an oddball, although I feel as if lately all I date are Oddballs).

I Meart You

Had a mini meart attack... typo, but it's staying! No, not really; my meart did not implode or stop beating. It's still beating apathetically because it is cold and alone and lonely and just wants a good round of healthy sex, perhaps a spanking.

So, 2010 came and went pretty quickly, eh? I felt like I lived three different lives at one point; oh wait, I really fucking did. I felt like I was living a real life segment of a series like Friends or Seinfeld or Two guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place. Different jobs after a couple of months, different guys all the time, new friends, old friends, odd situations, World issues, mid to late 20's problems, parental issues, etc. I learned some important shit and was able to actually remember it to actually recall it later, at a time like this auspicious moment on my very public blog (not).

I believe I did a lot of maturing in 2010, did a lot of growing up and putting on my big girl panties (they are large, beige, seamless, cover all of my rather large bum and are up to the navel). I made a lot of good decisions that have made me very happy and relieved. I do notice that I am not as sweet and naive as I used to be, that I have lost a certain softness I used to carry in my face; it has been replaced by a hardness of the features, a shrewd eyed stare with a calculated smile.

Time doesn't pass by without leaving some sign of his passing.

I finally, cut things off with the Creative Hustler (which is probably the worst nickname I have ever given anybody, ever). He's too fucking intense and intense and intense and passionate and irrational and imbalanced. The freak in me fucking loves that but the rational, pragmatic me (who is, to be honest, a total wet towel) knows that I've been in these sorts of relationships and they're always fucked and intense and Way Too Much Trouble. He almost brainwashed me into having goodbye sex. Sneaky conniver! I kinda really wanted to, but I just know that it would cost me at least another 2-3 months of uh, passion and I am just ready to be done with it.

I have to meet him next week because we have some transactions we need to get done. I just want to give him his shit and get my shit and EJECT right out of that scenario. But he's going to want to have a beer and talk. Maybe not. Maybe his manhood won't allow him to hang with the woman who just dumped his ass to the curb. Oh bla bla bla, the poor, little, easily hurt MALE EGO. What a pile of barely held together manhood, its a miracle they don't strut around naked, cocks erect, thumping at their chests.

I'm obviously dealing with some shit, can you tell? So, I'm reading the silliest, cheesiest but probably very true, book titled Single, and it is very true that I hide it when people come over because it is a bit embarrassing. Hi, I'm SINGLE but I'm coping, kinda. Stupid, of course because I have always been a strong person and I don't like having to read self help books because I feel I am perfect and don't need no stinking help. But this I am reading, -and gagging through. A couple of the suggestions were laughable, but I'd just skip through the parts I felt were too corny. It's like the bad medicine you have to take or some other terrible analogy (you can't have your cake and eat it too, what the fuck is that all about? Who buys a cake they can't it? Silly!).

And ok, he has a girl he's been shagging. So much for that. On to the next or maybe I'll just conform myself with having a cat as a boyfriend; he's by my side at night when its cold, at all the right moments. What else can I ask for? Maybe this is it, for now. A cat boyfriend. At least he is flexible (and by flexible I mean he can lick his balls, can your boyfriend do that?).

There is always something there,

something I am grasping at

but cannot reach.

It's 3am, shouldn't I be sleeping,

dreaming of things?

Occupying my mind

with important things?

Close my eyes and sigh,

the cat is on my toes,

and no one anywhere

is doing what I hope they would.

So, that was that. Let's give a little applause and usher in the next contestant (as if there is even a next contestant! They're all cowering in fear in the corner of the studio, crossing themselves repeatedly). I'm not saying that there aren't any pretenders to the throne, it's just that it blows chunks to go back to ground zero and start dating apathetically again. I hate pretending to care, pretending to be interested, and that is what people usually do on first and second dates (and barf barf barf). I just want someone fresh and exciting and different. I want to get slam dunked by pheromones and this crazy desire to get naked and feel each other and propel ourselves to greater heights. I want an a passion that doesn't consume, but creates.

The thing that I realized (and maybe I had realized it before, but had forgotten along the way) recently is that it has been nice to be on my own, to be this single woman, but I've also missed having someone to share my life with. The minutae, the ordinary, the sharing of unicorn dreams and glitter and Wayne's World and silly inside jokes and pet names. A partner in crime, an explorer of thoughts, a buccaneer of feelings. I'm co-dependant, but at the same time crave this independence, or this respect as a woman. I don't want to be tamed.

I don't want to be subdued, to be underestimated and under appreciated. R-E-S-P-E-C-T and all of that other suffragette chatter and bra burning, but at the same time I want him to open doors for me and think about me as this tender creature who does get overwhelmed at times and who does need male help. I want him (whoever this Make Pretend Dude is) to be a Man, capital M and not a boy, not a boy/Man either. All right, maybe 65% Man and 35% boy.

Whatever, truth is I don't know what I want and it wasn't more evident than this weekend when I got into a fight with The Creative Hustler (and we'll call him that because he free lances and gets his money where he can) over my indecision regarding "us". I sent him to hell at 2am and then he shows up at my house at 5am grabbing tit and kissing neck. I play dead like the good opossum that I am but he wanted to talk about us and our relationship and what the fuck has been going on all at 5:30am of course. I tell him to go to bed and that we'll speak in the morning, but he gets intense and I mumble something or other to his stupid fucking questions and he gets incensed, puts his clothes on and walks right out the door, which I lock angrily right after him, good riddance! He calls me a couple of times and it gets ugly. I don't go back to sleep til 7am. I'm done with this buffoon and his bipolarity and insanity. He's driving me insane and the drama is not worth it. The entertaining factor is gone and its getting messy and its time to bail the fuck out. Bail bail bail!

Hey so, ya wanna get high and watch a movie with me? Why the fuck does it seem like I am dating my cat. Fuck this shit. Let's cuddle.

A sudden sense of desperation set in. "I don't know what to do," she thought. Her mind raced over the things she should be doing, would be doing had she not taken that hit from the pipe sitting conveniently on her left hand side.

--------------------------------

The thing about the guy I am dating is the following: he never lets past issues be. He brings it back up in a joking manner, but the truth is I KNOW he isn't kidding. I know he still thinks about it obsessively. Why even bring it up at all if it is a subject that is not even relevant anymore? I'm searching for the EJECT button in a half assed manner, curious as to how far this train wreck of a relationship will go. It is my own little socio-emotional experiment.