“I like you so much better when you’re naked” – Ida Maria

(X Rated warning)

“Get your pretty ass up here and ride my cock.”

How did we get here? With Confessions.

Weeks of waking up to increasingly romantic songs that we wanted to share with each other until he confessed it was my Guiness and Root Beer eyes he wanted to wake up to, that he was done trying to pretend he was content acting like the Gay Boyfriend with me. Seduction or courtship, I can’t tell the difference except that if he’s insincere, then I’m a bigger fool than I realized.

So I confessed everything from Afghanistan, to my autistic adult brother to my body dysmorphia, to my frustraring inability to orgasm on antidepressants to my insistence that sex mucks things up and it would never work between us because he’s allergic to cats…and he listened quietly, intently while holding my hands against his chest. When I came up for air, he waited before asking “anything else?”

“I think that’s the heaviest of it.”

“And here is where I’m supposed to agree that it will never work?”

“Something like that,” I think I mumbled as he crushed my mouth against his. I didn’t get to the matter of Faith but the lifting left me tired and I was ready to accept his rest.

I was surprised how aggressive and confident he could be. And relieved at it. He’s a shockingly adept “dirty talker” for a Poet and I certainly never took him for an enthusiastic or skilled eater of pussy. But there it happened, as he held me firm and refused to let me squirm away. He hit me and I clawed him. “You need this, don’t you?” My answer sounded like a starving kitten, so he petted and pittied me with tenderness and assured me he adored me.

We still cracked jokes. Danced. Chatted with his son on the phone. He is capable of making me blush. I awoke to his heart in song: Doris Day, the Vandals,…I shared Angel Olsen, Cigarettes After Sex, Judy and Ella. We traded Ida Maria songs. He said he was struggling to be productive because he couldn’t go more than five minutes without thinking about me wrapped around him.

Likewise.

And I still don’t believe “this” will work.

“Gospel shoes are laced with shackles and chains Fitted for the poor runners of the race” Watchhouse

“Do you kiss all your friends?”

“Just the ones that are you.”

When I announced – in the spirit of transparency – that biting my clit was not my kink but everything else was negotiable, he quickly wrote back “I’m so glad my truck read that to me out loud.. ‘Daddy, what is a clit and a kink?'”

“If she called you ‘Daddy’, she might just be feigning ignorance.”

“Shhhh. I’m still inside her.”

“Check mate.”

I predict we may be best friends a decade from now. That, or we will take an ill-fated trip to Pound Town and both end up hating and avoiding each other at dances. I want to Interrogate him. I think he would even answer direct questions with direct answers: Why did your relationships not work out? Tell me about your relationship with your parents. Do you have siblings and tell me about your relationship with them if you have siblings. What are your thoughts on autism? Are you really allergic to cats or just hate them? Tell me about your disdain for G-d. Is your dick fully functional? Have you ever been unfaithful in a relationship? What medications are you taking? Tell me about your mental health. Are you open to downsizing the toy collection? Strike that question because he could come back with “Only if you are open to downsizing your sequins and crafting collection.”

No, a romantic partnership won’t work between us. But I may not “work” for anyone, so set in my ways that only roommates and platonic friends survive.

Separately, it only took me 40 years to legally change my name but it’s finally done. I was always my father’s child and now I hope he knows I’m legally that as well.

“Can I sing this to you? Got a thing about you…” Nothing But Thieves

‘What are you thankful for?” He asked

“G-D, I love pickles,” I moaned, shoving a spear into my mouth.

“Okay, thankful for pickles.”

It was after freak’oclock at the diner Saturday night with friend- I can call him that now although we met nearly a decade ago on the dance floor. We always connected well there, but only there til now.

Sir Hedgehog (named after his Patronus) is the most not-homeless eccentric I’ve met and he wants to read my blog. I shook my head, ‘I like you and I want you to like me.”

“Your demons won’t scare me.”

‘Because yours are scarier?’ I glance to the deep scars paralleling the veins on his arms. “Actually, they’re not scary. They are full of self pity and it’s unattractive.’

‘Says who?’

‘Kathrine Hepburn.”

He’s lonely, tortured, brilliant, makes me feel good with his self professed addiction to flirting (refers to my style as ‘Paris Vamypre’ and soul as Saint Fancis meets sweet Canadian Wiccan).

“Well, Saint Francis is dropping f-bombs because the sick old cats are spitting more food on me than a fussy toddler. But Paris Vampyre…where were you when I was deciding on a stage name?”

Im syringe feeding and giving IV fluids to the ‘fospice’ cats while we chat. He’s charming. Even before we were friends, I thought so. But as inclined as I am to jump to romantic musings, I’ve decided that we aren’t compatible in that way (despite us both getting irritated with people who talk during movies). For one, he is firmly Atheist except when he’s telling G-d to ‘bugger off” and I am…not? Still angry? G-d and I are still on a break? G-d may not be The YHWH that I was raised on but the nagging feeling (is that an itch called Faith?) that there is still G-d is difficult to shake. Or else I’d have No One to be angry with.

Sonic the Poet accuses me of being full of love and hope. And that is why you can’t read my blog.

Full stop.

Dear Full-of Excuses Wahh My Big Toe Hurts Dude With the Ripped, Smelly Bedsheets and Ill-Behaved Dog (Which is a Reflection on You, Not the Dog):

Ghosting people is immature, insensitive and unnecessary but hint taken. Good luck finding a woman ( other than your mother) who will put up with your neglect and disinterest in anything that doesn’t revolve around you and scratch your itch for importance.

But the experience wasn’t a complete wash: Thanks for the introduction to Fresh Kitchen.

“I’m putting you out of your misery’Cause darling you’re dragging me down” ~Phantogram

Coworker: “Got any hot plans for Valentine’s Night?”

Me: “Yeah, it’s a menage a’ trois: me, the gym and my vibrator.”

Zero effort from Dude. Not a character flaw perhaps but instead a habit that he is not inclined to break. Dating 101: don’t settle and go into a relationship thinking you will change them to fit your needs. I could list all the ways he’s been a disappointment but it’s not worth getting upset by capturing a recount here and now. I’ve openly communicated what I’m looking for in a partner, acts of kindness make me feel cared for. He’s full of excuses.

This morning, I dropped Valentine’s candy on his car before work. He thanked me but doesnt make time to see me – doesnt even mention it – during his days off. He was off today. Has to work tomorrow but will stay up late to participate in a weekly podcast. That’s a priority. Coming to my show last Saturday night was not. Instead I got a text late the next day:

“I hope your show went well”

I replied: “Are you asking?”

To this point I’ve held off on snarky comments but this is also a direct question. Are you asking me how my show went because you care and you are interested in my response as to how it went or are you just passively throwing out a comment past tense to give the appearance of caring when in fact anyone who actually cared would have demonstrated support by coming to the show.

I’m so irritated, I struggle to imagine agreeing to even seeing him again, let alone giving my body to him. But at this rate, he won’t ask to see me and I expect the time between his single line texts to grow longer until he disappears altogether.

Meanwhile, the Cabaret girls are patting themselves on the back for mediocrity. I don’t feel good about how the show went. Also no one was there to support me this time. Yeah, yeah, wah, wah. Nor do I feel like the amount of time and effort that I put in is worth feeling like I got mowed over by a semi-truck the next day. I hurt everywhere.

The depression is raging between the VA pill tweaking. I started back to work, waking up before dawn and commuting. I’m also now syringe feeding the hospice foster cats and staring at a table full of costumes that need to be laundered and carefully put away.

Then there’s the loneliness. What I could use is a foot massage and a fuck.

But not with Dude. He doesn’t deserve it.

I’m getting angrier. It’s a shotgun blast of emotion directed at everything and everyone. My swing-dancing astrologer friend told me it was Pluto and ‘try not to obsess’. I AM trying but thinly controlled dissatisfaction settles over every aspect of my life like a layer of dust that’s building.

All my relationships, friendships, creative endeavors, financial and professional position… I should be grateful. I pray ‘thank you’ out loud and smile in public, trying to believe it. Then in my typical passive aggressiveness, I flick off dicks in traffic but from below the windows where they can’t see me do it.

On The Splendid and the Vile. It took me months to get through a few hundred pages in my cognitive malfunctioning and shortened attention span. That’s hundreds of pages of my life that I won’t get back. It’s evidence that not every book revolving around the facts of World War II is interesting or useful. It’s the equivalent of book 5, A Feast for Crows, in the Game of Thrones series: all backstories and details that don’t matter and characters that no one cares about.

“She’s a Maniac! Maniac! On the floor!” – Awolnation

How was my Monday at work, he asked. “Undeserving of my magnificence!” I replied. Lemme put it this way: I’ve never not given/fulfilled 2 weeks notice but I’ll be hard pressed not to run screaming if something else pans out where I can start immediately.

I deleted 78 contacts from my phone starting with the Pirate after I passed his street, got curious and snooped his fb page I scrolled back until I reached the Facebook Official in a relationship with a woman that I’d bet money on never tosses his salad.

And the Army notified me today that my appeal was denied. I’m getting the medical boot in the ass out and praying my retirement point calculation comes back with proof of enough time served to get a reach around with that ass-fucking.

I’m 5th in a wait list for yoga tonight. It’s almost enough for me to shrug it off and say “I tried” and pour a whiskey but I think I’m drinking too much. At least “much” for someone who rarely had more than two a week.

I’m looking into ketamine therapy in lieu of the antidepressants. It’s not a schedule 1 drug but it’s also not Vietnam Era formularies that the VA pushes so why do I feel like I have to ask permission disguised as medical opinion for a treatment that would be out of pocket anyway?

“Because you always want to make sure you’re not doing anything wrong,” My Jiminy Cricket answers, “And Because you don’t REALLY want to die yet.”

Was it a kick in the chest, the gut or the head or the heart? As beautiful as ever. I hadn’t thought about him in months because I hadn’t seen him. Then there he was on the way out, me on the way in. He can’t miss my pink hair and I can’t miss those blue eyes that locked on for a moment. I was mid conversation with a coworker. I don’t pause. We don’t wave but that afternoon I got a reply to 3 weekd old New Years day text I sent to him with well wishes. He started with “I’m just now seeing this…” Liar. I deleted it without replying. Ball in your court buddy. Actually no, it’s in someone else’s. Someone who is playing. Maybe playing isn’t the right word. Or maybe it is. I think back on one of the many bits of wisdom my best friend shared with me, about how I defeated myself, thinking ol blue eyes was too attractive for me in the first place.

I can’t say this guy I’m seeing will evolve into anything serious. I cheered inside when he deleted the dating apps off his phone but booed when he put a TV in the bedroom. I’m just a strategic thinker and TVs dont belong in bedrooms.

Called the yoga studio. “It’s a Monday. I know folks need yoga as much as they need Jesus on Mondays” I figured when she said it was a full house, giving me permission to pour whiskey, walk the dogs and go to bed early.

“Sucked into a bagel”

Your Aunt T is back in the hospital and in critical condition and maybe you didn’t hear the news while you were traveling for work but one of your favorite dancers, Twitch committed suicide…

At least my mother waited for me to finish gorging on Chinese food Christmas day before dropping these bombs. I already lost one young Aunt suddenly this year and to find out T was back in the hospital with Pneumonia after a battle of long cOVID unfathomable (shes a nurse and got all the vaccines for reference). So I prayed. Faithlessly but Earnestly.

And then there was Stephen ‘Twitch’ Boss, one of my all time favorite dancers dating back to my obsession with So You Think You Can Dance which my mom used to burn to DVD and send to me in Afghanistan and Iraq. I still have those discs. I was digesting all this and Gen Tsao chicken while my mother’s commentary continued about how selfish it is to commit suicide, particularly around the holidays so your kids can be robbed of ever feeling good around nearly every Western child’s favorite time of year. I say nearly because poor kids experience it differently. Like the year we picked up our tree the day after Christmas from the abandoned lot of unsold trees, took it home and decorated it with popcorn string garland and construction paper ornaments. Maybe there were money problems. Performers between jobs. To be one of the best in the world at your craft and still not be able to consistently monetize it, im guessing. When the pendulum swings from plenty of money to possibly a little too long between gigs, and the holidays creep up. And perhaps there’s shame and the inability to explain to the kids that you can’t provide the standard of gifting or living that they had grown accustomed to. Maybe he felt like a failure. Not every life insurance policy has a suicide clause. I do that homework. I hope he did his. The kids will still be scarred though.

It’s NYE. I showered, did my makeup, curled my hair. I told my dancer friends I’d arrive when the band started at 9. But i sat down in a robe while the curls cooled, staring at nothing. I never got dressed. The animals are medicated but still won’t go outside with the booms so I set the alarm for 3am to stumble through my own meds to let them out lest I have a mess to deal with in the morning.

My best friend S is engaged after nearly a decade of whoring (his words) between relationships that ranged from abusive to Square pegs in assholes (not a typo). I believe he has gotten lucky in ways that most of us don’t in one lifetime. Meeting someone who is not perfect but perfectly compatible. Perfect for him (and hopefully her too). They haven’t set a date but I asked if he would name me his Old Maid of Honor. Sequins gender bender, karaoke host and wedding singer/choreographer, Im down. Many moons ago I found a white polyester pants suit and baby blue cumberbund tie combo that I sent to my now-ex, toxic best friend (the one i refered to here as my Asshole Best Friend) to wear at my second wedding (which also didn’t happen). Well, the marriage unfortunately went forward but the ceremony did not. I wonder what happened to that suit. It was glorious.

I dont know where I stand with Dude or even where I want to stand. He’s not a chore to date, and that’s saying something for me. And Yet, I need “more”. IVe been meditating on my long-standing non-negotiables list for days. He says “goodnight babe’. Is that enough for me? From one busy adult to another, is it?

I keep rewatching Everything Everywhere All At Once (a Chrimmykkuh gift) and come away feeling like maybe the alternate ending Jabawocky with the Gaga fashion sense had it right all along: nothing matters. I was on a plane on the anniversary of my father’s death. For a date that I never forget, that fact didn’t occur to me until now. I think I’m still not ready to ween off the antidepressants but I sure do miss orgasms. And I am “sucked into a bagel”…

“Walking in Jerusalem just like John”

I feel like I’ve been gone forever and it’s still not long enough.

But I missed my zoo and they were lost without me.

My mom was in pretty poor shape when I finally got back into town to see her. Proud, silly woman had been bleeding heavily since her surgical suture split open when i found her, pale and slumped in achair with a maxi pad stuck to her bleeding site. Got her cleaned up. Blood stop powder got the worst of thr bleeding under Control. The color came back to her cheeks and by the next day the doctor was no longer concerned although she should have asked my sister to take her to a clinic days ago to have staples put back in.

Home this weekend aftet unexpectedly long hours without a day off in weeks. Like deployment minus being bombed and with a nice bed. I had hoped to have an evening free because dancing everywhere I travel is a must. The opportunity was there but not the time. But I had a few hiurs, a rental car and a middle eastern driver’s chutzpah so I took my boss on a quick out and back to Jerusalem. We only had time to see the Wall and I was shocked to see how much room the men’s side had while women were crammed elbows to assholes, shoving for a chance to touch the Wall (or take narcisselfies of themselves pretending to pray against it). I rolled up the tiniest of notes and laid my head for a moment against The Rock and that was enough for me. Although I desperately hope to go back. Maybe go dancing. Walking in Jerusalem just like john. I vaguely remember that song as a child coming from a bluegrass background. Don’t recall who sang it and not motivated enough to look it up but my gut tells me perhaps Ricky skaggs..

But I was not just like john. I wore my grandmother’s head scarf and dressed conservatively but the rest of the week I flaunted pink shaved hair even though I covered my tattoos up until hours before heading to the airport. I remember international travel being a pain in the ass but this was to the nth degree and I think I will dread it from here out since I’ll never have the money to fly first class or even upgrade to a seat that leans back with room to stand up at the bulkhead.

Back to the office today after a weekend of cleaning and refusing to let jet lag get the best of me although about of asthma turned into bronchitis turned into laryngitis. Still I managed to record the dumbest video for my holiday cabaret show that I missed. A bouncing Star of David headband and may jumping up and down on a hotel bed singing Hava Nagila and Barbra Streisand’s absolutely cracked out version of jingle bells. I heard it went over well as silly as it was at the show and I’m debating on making it public although misinterpretationHate speech speech seems inevitable if I do.

I haven’t seen the tattooed Jew, the one with all the reptiles, since before UT i left toen for.work but we stayed in touch. I asked about seeing him this weekend but he remained non-committal so I’m pressing on with other plans and I haven’t forgotten that I’m going to add words like ‘considerate’ to my redraft of my Non Negotiables (in a partner) list. He may be fun for a while but I do want someone who is more enthusiastic about me, which always makes me think of that curse that Charlie put on me when he said “you’ll never find someone who loves and adores you as much as I do”. Men might be interested but none have been enthusiastic or as attentive. I want them to try harder, courtship, continuous, just like I always promise to wax my legs and give enthusiastic blowjobs. Didai ever tell you that Charlie wrote me love letters every weekend? He was an early riser, getting up before me, making coffee and sitting sit on the sofa surrounded by my pets and write me poetry. He is a talented writer. I saved them all. And he still writes me on my birthday and what would be our anniversary even though we’ve been split up for Years. He set the bar in almost everything but the sex and chemistry ..Maybe that’s where the curse lies. Or maybe he just taught me to hold out for someone who puts in the extra effort of care and consideration that I want.
Sleep is calling…

“With the looks to kill, and a steady handPistoletta heeds no man” – North by North

Rough towels, ugly outdated decor, and a room I can’t get warm enough. I’m listening to 40s jazz and swing and thinking how much the same this view was back then. Was the clarinet always so jarring or is it just not what I need to listen to right now? The mountains are shadows in the white gray haze of snow and cloud. After nearly 30hours awake, I slept 15 , functioned for two, and fell out for another 5. Then I began bleeding again. Germans can make decadent booze and chocolate but women still have to finger fuck themselves because tampons don’t have applicators. I debated briefly on leaving the vibrator behind during This work trip to save myself embarrassment at customs but that inner debate lasted under a minute. Is a woman expected to starve for weeks because there’s no discreet way to hide a vibe and extra batteries? Fact: You can’t blackmail someone with nothing to hide. And I assume you’ve already seen me naked.

I did have a 3rd date. With…let’s call him my fellow inked He-brew for now. It was brunch and again, he was assertive and affectionate in ways that appeal to me… Like how he reached for my hand (instead I threaded my arm through his) and he pulled me closer, reaching his arm over my lap and practically scooping me into his. He also introduced me to his pets (not counting reptiles and tarantulas, he nearly has as many cats and dogs as I do which is also a good sign except if we were to ever combine, we’d need acreage. And I think I passed some test by not being afraid to handle his snakes (no pun intended that time). He didn’t try to make a play for sex after and I guess I’m okay with that. His bedroom might not have been made, or his animals might not be the semi considerate housemates mine are (no animals in the room while nookie is going on and some pets never got taught that). But in the days that followed. I found myself wishing he would be more thoughtful (my friend’s word). At least say he wanted to see me again before I left if my schedule allowed (it didn’t but I wanted him to express a want to see me again)..and when my mother went in for surgery and complications kept her there even after I left for an extended work trip, i wanted him to remember that and ask how she was doing, how I was doing, offer to pray…Dave checked on me and asked about my mom every day and continues to. When my ratchet straps broke when I was securing my footlocker, I wanted him to offer to come to my rescue not “wish i could help”. My deliberately worded reply: “My friend came to my rescue.” 1. Because it’s true and 2. I wanted him to know that despite not needing to be rescued, I feel cared for when someone offers. I like him. We have enough common ground that its spooky and making time to see him doesn’t feel like a chore. I want to see him instead of pushing it off because I’m tired, don’t feel social, would prefer to be watching a movie covered in pets or dancing naked by candlelight to Heilung. But as I was on a plane heading away from those I love while the one I love the most is still in a hospital, and all he had to say was “Safe travels”.

Note to self, before December 29th, take a tip from the Honey NotTonight self assured playbook and add new line to my Non Negotiables list acknowledging that this gypsypritzeh requires more care and consideration befitting a Queen from a worthy King.

Sweet like justice, karma is a queen -Taylor Swift

Maybe it’s too soon to let my internal dialogue speak. But if Taylor swift can get away with it (but how long has Taylor Swift been single?) Do I need to act goofier and sing “What what? In the butt!” and pretend I love all kids to include the disrespectful psychopaths in training that cuss out their teachers and beat small animals to death. So you’re a breeder? Congratulations.

I had a promising second date with a guy that I had a lot of quirks in common with. He was also assertive and gentlemanly in all the right ways. Decent kisser and yes, against my intentional pile of clothes on the bed because I had no intention sleeping with him on a 2nd date, there’s something about going 8 mos without sex that makes me ask “Why?” Why do I still hold onto this outdated, inherited standard of righteousness? I’m a 46 year old divorcee who doesn’t connect quickly or often so why am I acting like I’m still saving myself for my next marriage?

But he’s a breeder and reacted oddly (or maybe normally) to my inner turned outter voice remark when kids were still screaming like wild animals In the street after 10 o’clock at night when I have to be up For work 4 AM. Yes I am a fuddy duddy Chronically cranky from lack of sleep And want to spank them and Tell them to send their parents To come find me. So maybe no 3rd date now.

Speaking of, my bf S is engaged. 10nyears after his divorce and two long term “not quite right” girlfriends, he’s chosen well. She’s agreeable to the point that feels a bit Stepford but no red flags and she’s ‘wife material ‘ as he puts it. That may not sound sexy or flattering but I understand what he means and agree they are good together. Unless she experiences a freak accident causing brain damage that drastically alters her personality, this will be the.one he grows old with.

Which means I’m one step over to becoming Dorothy Parker and dying alone in a nursing home.

I impassively watch couples holding hands crossing the street and wonder, when was the last time someone held my hand on a date? Has anyone ever held my? I don’t believe anyone ever has.The only thing that came close that I can recall was C Who would rest his hand on the small of my back, possessive and protective. .I liked it.I think probably more than I would like someone holding my hand captive while our palms sweat against each other. Holding me captive while other parts of our bodies sweat against each other is a different matter.