“The electric man looks good today” ~ Sheryl Crow

That line was going through my head as I was cheesing like a fool at the attractive new mailman delivering to my house. Although my electric man is a charming wiseass who was probably a looker in his prime, hes also old enough to be my father. But the postman appears age appropriate and therefore fair game. But in this hyper-sensitive social environment, am I still allowed to look? Provided I keep my hands and unsolicited libidinous comments to myself (or anonymous here), of course. I’m horny but I’m not a creep.

It’s Veterans Day and I’m not changing my profile picture to one of me in uniform because that feels self-serving and attention-seeking. A little too “If everyone else jumps off a bridge”. I may very well jump off a bridge but I’ll be the 1st to go and not because I was pushed, thank you.

But back to the wave of exposure on a long tradition of Hollywood raping each other and sexual misconduct as a whole. I kept quiet during the #MeToo campaign until I read a man’s account of being molested in the military which hit close to home. He chose not to push the issue because it would have been an enlisted man’s word against a high-ranking officer’s word. In my case, I  would have been taking on a Navy SEAL who’s entire squad would have called me a liar to protect their “brother”. Yeah, well they were supposed to be my brothers too. I’m not overly sensitive, I swear. I’m not P.C. Sexually explicit jokes…sticks and stones, bullets and bombs, words cannot hurt me. But this was the one situation I could not overcome. And the one I can’t shake. That was not the enemy I expected to face in a war zone. And this is the first time I’ve admitted this publicly.

I suspect a direct correlation between my likeability and my give-a-fuck. At my age, after all these life experiences, I don’t, so I’m not.

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“Remember me in your lucid dreams as the best you ever…” ~ Michelle Branch

waterfall rapellingMy blind date ended up looking like Zorg from the Fifth Element. And when I handed him my phone to show him “A” picture and he took it as an invitation to flip through more photos, that’s when I tapped out.

My friend asked me about my love life. Well, do you want to know about the man who holds my heart but doesn’t want it, the man I have a crush on who doesn’t know I have a vagina, the man who only wants my vagina, or the Dropkick Murphys roadie who started out promising but then faded away when I wouldn’t respond to his racy selfies in kind.

I also unblocked the Flake. Three months after the fallout, I held out strong but now I caved with his “I miss you, can’t we just talk?”. Out of curiosity, cracking that door open to see if it was safe to come out. It was especially hard to turn him down weeks earlier when he was passing through and asked to see me. I told him in an email that I couldn’t be “just” his friend, that I still wanted him and couldn’t pretend that I was okay with him not wanting me back. “But if you show up on my front lawn with a boom box, I’d consider it,” I replied, rather seriously. Miss me? Prove it. Our few conversations since then have been brief and rather awkward. For a week, I was back to anxiously grabbing my phone to see if I had a text from him in the morning (never did) and considered re-blocking him for my own sanity. He’s also spending 10 days traveling the Pacific Coast Highway without me and I told him not to send photos rubbing it in my face. Because I should be there with him. The walls are up on both sides and it leaves me feeling very sad.

So I hopped a plane to Puerto Rico for 5 days. It was a hell of an experience complete with a trip to the VA hospital Emergency room when I decided to chew on a poisonous plant in the rainforest. I blame my friend for double dog daring me with “Don’t even think about putting that in your mouth…”   The upside to the pain was lips that swelled like a perfect collagen job. Even the doctor remarked (while giving me a steroid cocktail via IV) “Well, your lips do look fantastic”.

I couldn’t resist sending a picture to the Flake, a breathtaking shot of me looking like a total badass, rappelling down a waterfall. He of course responded with a selfie of him at a vineyard in Napa Valley. I didn’t respond but gloated to myself  “I win!”

The roadie hasn’t asked about my adventure or my self-poisoning but offered up more late night photos to which I responded “thanks but I’d prefer we leave something to in-person discovery”.

That same night, a former supervisor from SOCOM who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years and never hung out with outside the job contacted me to ask if I wanted to get a drink. I joked that it was past his bedtime but then we set a date for next week. He was married when I worked with him but he’s either divorced or separated now. And entirely too old for me (although still younger than the 60 year old retired marine “Dos Equis” that I crushed on two years ago). All things considered, I have this foreboding that this is not innocent interest in catching up with a former coworker and already it is feeding into my inner monologue about how men want to fuck me but not keep me. Blame that on my poor choice in men to date but these late night calls out of the blue from recently single (or worse, still married) men doesn’t help. And I’ve never been promiscuous so I’m not sure why they call me. I know I’m a good catch but these men and their transient interest makes me feel disposable.

“I want you to notice when I’m not around…” ~Radiohead a-la Postmodern Jukebox

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself?”

Not today, is my usual response but the last two days, I considered it an option. Not the best option but as an analyst, of course, I consider ALL options and Full Stop was one of them.

Was it because the man I love remarked flippantly that he “didn’t feel like making the drive” to visit next weekend? Or that he was considering playing in my backyard in the mountains without inclination to include me? I had been pulling punches since our fallout two weeks ago because he took what I told him in confidence and not only held it against me (“Your insecurity makes you unattractive”) but also threw it back in my face. He JUDGED me. He made me feel so ashamed. So I don’t tell him what I’m feeling now. He doesn’t want to hear it and I don’t want to give him ammo to use against me later. Some friendship, huh?

But the last two days were so dark. A friend text this morning to say “Smile! I love you” and I snickered at his uncanny timing because I was doing the opposite. He joked, “I felt a disturbance in the Force.”

But that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? My friend “L” is staying with me for a few months following a bad breakup. He seemed okay until two nights ago when he found out his ex was seeing someone else. He told me this today. Told me he hasn’t slept in two nights and he is deeply depressed. Bingo.

Empathy strikes again. I share his pain like it’s my own.

The Universe, I’m told, is full of vibrations, frequencies, which I don’t understand but I know this: These vibrations are like metaphysical dog whistles: What one person may not “hear” at all may cause others pain. Saying I suffer from being an empath sounds hokey, like someone suffering from the supposed ghost pain of fibromyalgia. These ailments cannot be scientifically “proven” so they must be psychosomatic, right?

I read Psychic Shielding for Dummies last year and admittedly the techniques haven’t worked for me. Or maybe it’s a Catch 22? Maybe I have to be in a better place physically and spiritually in order to manifest a shield but I NEED a shield because I am physically and spiritually vulnerable!

Not vulnerable. Sapped.

I fondled the bag of rocks and “wish” I had been toting round my neck for two weeks. In a fit of frustration, I tore it off and threw it across the room. Feeling sacrilegious, I apologized and put it back on. Then I lit a sage bundle, set it near a lit candle and walked outside to nurse a whisky while the space fumigated. Walked back in 10min later to see the bundle on fire. Well, that should do it.

I am the worst “witch” ever.

But there is a small comfort in knowing where these feelings are coming from and knowing that the root of the problem is external. Why am I bleeding?? Oh I see. I’ve been shot. A psychic bullet sponge.

If the pain is not entirely mine, it doesn’t hurt less. I exhale every drop of air in my lungs and pause, willing my heart to stop. Just. STOP…

“I’m not alone cuz the TV’s on yeah…” Jimmy Eat World

I helped him pack out and he left at 3am. But he said “Goodbye” so that makes it okay. And maybe in a few weeks, months, I’ll really be okay with it, not take it so hard, so personally. Because my rational mind says it’s not at all personal but my heart aches for the friend that could have been. I wanted to help him, to hold him, to erase and shield him from all the hateful, hurtful abuse he’s suffered over the months from a poor emotional investment and in doing so, heal myself. Those who know and love me best have told that both my greatest strength and weakness is my heart.
I woke up alone in the house 7 hours later with the intention to keep to my usually peaceful weekend morning routine starting with good coffee and a breakfast. But the skillet sits cold on the stove because I’m not hungry. And coffee right now would only aggravate my anxiety, I tell myself. Because I am feeling anything but peaceful. I’m just feeling alone. And sad.
So I turn on the TV LOUD and give my dog a hug.

“Caring is Creepy” ~ The Shins

“Cardinals mate for life”, I recall him saying as I smile and watch the feathery couple bounce across my backyard, my dog and cat mutually disinterested.
And that is the word for him: Disinterested.
I thanked G-d for him too, literally. Just a few months ago, I thanked G-d for bringing a someone into my home who would be a friend, assist me with chores made difficult by my wavering health, he even said he would dance with me. I didnt ask, he offered. He set my expectations so how can I be at fault for believing? Innocent until proven guilty, truth until proven false. I especially trusted him because he also served and veterans generally dont fuck over other veterans. Be patient, my mother advised me. He was going through a divorce and a rough rebound. His head isnt screwed on straight, we agreed. Still, he disappeared for 2 months. Not a word to ask how I felt, how the latest surgery went. Nothing. I finally text him to ask “Do you still live here?” If I were a landlord, his shit would have been in the street. But I wanted a friend, not a tenant. He knew that.
He apologized, said I was “right about everything” and he would make it up to me, we would be friends. The first week, he did make an effort. We hung out, watched movies, talked, laughed, drank wine… but then he disappeared. Into his room without explanation. For two days, I hear his phone, text and email alerts, going off every few minutes at all hours. It’s maddening. As an empath (I dont know how to shut off the “give a fuck” no matter how often I read tips on Shielding) I continued to knock on his door and ask how he was, try to coax him out. He eventually got frustrated and “I’ll be out of here in 15 minutes” he announced as I stood there stunned. Later, he text to ask if he could stay through the month and be out in August. I”m not an asshole so I agreed although it’s difficult for me to share my pesonal safe space with someone who is not my friend, and I told him that.
Today he announced he’s moving to Atlanta, his apartment will be ready Monday. Total abandonment and a few months rent-free storage. He realizes it but just as my “Give a Fuck” wont turn off, his wont turn back on. So I wished him well and said if he regained his humanity later, to feel free to look me back up and re-friend me on Facebook. I’ll probably never hear from him again.
Less than 2 weeks between (what appeared to be a sincere, determined) “We WILL be friends” and “I’m leaving”.
I had a nightmare last Sunday night too. THe worst I’ve had in over a year. I went to bed happy after a dance and woke up 5 hours later screaming into my pillow, wishing to G-d I had someone to hold me. He was being reclusive in his room and I tried to coax him out. Of course, I’m too proud to call a friend or ask for help but here was this “friend” 10 steps away and I wanted him to come out. Hang out. Talk to me. Watch a movie, have a glass of wine and laugh like we did two nights earlier. A friendly distraction. But he only got irritated and left the house.
So I pushed him out. The “needy roomate” has a bad dream and wants a hug but I’m not on his short-list of people he cares about. But his phone goes off every few minutes with an incoming text or email to which he readily responds. That nightmare clung to me for two days. I hovered on the verge of a panic attack and was late to work, distracted, irritable, kept disappearing to the bathroom to cry. Granted, I’m surrounded by cohorts with some degree of PTSD but what do you say when they catch you red-eyed? I had a nightmare.
I feel so stupid. To be this upset, to feel so rejected and abandoned by someone who I hardly knew, even after 5 years of social media acquaintance and the shared venn diagram of social circles. Not “as advertised” certainly. But I was emotionally invested. Hey Empaths, how do YOU shut off your “give a fuck”? Can you? I’m not asking G-d to make me different in this sense, but some control would be nice. Like faucet valves, adjusting to a comfortable emotional temperature rather than being scalded or numb. Balance? Shielding? Advice?

Popular advice is to surround yourself with only positive people, cut negativity out of your life entirely. Isn’t that selfish? Everyone can’t be “up” all the time. Mother Teresa had bad days, years in fact. Would you cut a good person out of your life to save yourself? But because of this thought, I tell myself “Don’t call for help. Don’t bring anyone down with you.” So I hold it in (or spill it here, to an anonymous audience of none). Is that healthy? Somehow, I think not…

Hey but the good news is, I can return to walking around the house naked.

“My tears dry on their own” Amy Winehouse

I quit the swing scene several months ago because it had gotten too Scene-y. Young men wanted to dance with girls their own age and men my age-ish wanted to dance with the young girls. If you stood us all in a line, it doesn’t matter who is the better dancer. It matters who is young and thin and cute. I’m pretty. But I’m also in my late thirties and covered in tattoos which can be a little intimidating I realize. I’m more of a pussy cat than a kat von D. Maybe that’s not entirely true either but I AM very nice.

But tonight was a big dance and I decided to go. I was having an “okay” time until a guy…lemme preface to say this guy hit me up on Match.com 18mos ago. He is a swing dancer, recognized me, a high school teacher,  a crossfit stud and looks damned fine in a kilt. He asked ME out. But for whatever reason, he changed his mind. Backed out. Made an excuse. But I still saw him at dances, sometimes alone, sometimes with an age- inappropriate female. I asked him once if he brought one of his students to dance. Har dee Har har. Yes he’s part of the Scene. Still, we would dance, joke, chat casually. Tonight he shows up, gives me a hug and introduces me to his fiance.
What. The. Fuck.

Again, it’s not like he’s the love of my life. It’s just what it represents. What was wrong with me? I’m looking at his fiance and wondering this. Like When Harry Met Sally: it’s not that he’s getting married, it’s that he didn’t want me.

I left early. The place was stupid crowded and smelled like a high school gym full of unwashed jock straps.

I’ve replaced Swing with Salsa and bachata anyway which I’m doing fairly well at and so far, the other dancers are more accepting and personable. If there is a Scene, I’ve been invited to be part of it.

On another note, have you ever heard that the grocery store is a great place to meet someone? With this in the back of my mind, I’ll drive out of my hood to what I refer to as the Fancy Publix. I’ll stop after work when I’m in heels and a pencil skirt. Likewise, I see men in slacks and collars recently unbuttoned. None pay me or my salad and hagen daaz any mind.
As I’m unloading my groceries into the trunk, a blacked out sedan rolls up and the window rolls down. Dred locks and a grill like Lil Wayne, he asks me if I could use a friend. I have a lot of friends already, I say. How about a Loving friend? I have one of those too, I lied. But I smile and say thank you anyway and have a nice evening.

I need a distraction. Desperately. Dear G-d and a wish on the waxing moon, please please please… I don’t want to be a sexual camel anymore!

“Take these lips, I’ll never use them…” F.Sinatra

I almost titled this post “Will someone just come over and eat my pussy now?” but I dont really want that. Yes, I want someone to touch me. All hands, lips, tongue and hair, I want to be naked and sweating and enjoying orgasm after orgasm while pressed against the body of a man but a PARTICULAR man and therein is the catch.

My life is a b-rated rom-com. Tragic becuase like Shakespeare in Love, the comedy is there all along but the tragic ending is unpredictable and leaves you sitting there like “What the hell just happened? He DIED???”

I was celebrating not being dead below the waist these last…4? 6 weeks? I think of him often but resist reaching out. Because I had a distraction. The first person I have been attracted to since ‘him’. But I dont like to poop where I eat so I just fantasized about this quiet, reserved man at work and wondered if he was a freak under the ties and proper button ups. When he powered through my spicy adobo pork at a work-place potluck a couple weeks ago, sweating without protest like Ben Stiller’s character in “Along Came Polly” (romcom sans tragedy), he endeared himself to me and I began to to brainstorm ways how I might ask him out, or at least elicit the infomration from a third party if he would be interested in going out with me. By now, he was working elsewhere, no longer in the same building and I thought “Fair game!” Finally, tonight was the night, I decided. I had plans to meet up with coworkers after work at the American Legion and decided I would ask a female acquaintance of mine, one who used to work with him, if she thought I had a chance and if so, would she pass him my number.
Turns out, she and I were the only ones who showed up. Perfect! Uninhibited girl talk ensued and for an hour, I listened enthusiastically while she told me all about her amazing new boyfriend who she had been with for three months and counting. He wasnt her ‘type’ because he was reserved but oh-so-affectionate and crazy about her. He even started taking salsa lessons because he knew dancing was important to her. I immediately chirped “Wow! He’s a keeper! I wish I could find that!”
Then I slid into the question I wanted to ask…about this guy. Ive always been interested but didnt want to date a coworker but now that we arent coworkers anymore…do you think he would consider having a drink with me?
She turned 30 shades of red and replied “That’s who Ive been dating for the last three months.”

A friend once advised me that a closed mouth never gets fed. You have to take a chance. Ask. What is the worst that could happen? He’s not interested? No. The worst that could happen is he recently started dating someone else, the person you just asked to set you up. With her boyfriend. And turns out, from everything she just told you, he’s every bit as amazing as you imagined he would be in your fantasy world.
Oh but wait! It gets better! I played it off and after the initial awkward moment passed, she was oblivious to the depth of my disappointment and continued for another HOUR to tell me more about how wonderful he was: how it all started, the romance, how he is surprisingly a freak in the sheets. (the quiet ones always are, right?)
She talked. I smiled. I screamed inwardly “Please G-d make it stop, just get me OUT of here!”

A storm rolls in and we call it a night. It’s an early night. I had a kitchen pass in the form of a pet-sitter but nowhere to go. I sat in my car and cried at my luck.That’s my luck! I didnt want to go home but I had nowhere to go. Plenty of friends but no single friends. I could go somewhere else, anywhere else alone to grab a bite and have another drink but my face was a wreck now.

So I drove home. Crying the whole way.

Get home and the dog and his crate was covered in shit and piss.
My elderly incontinent cat was also covered in shit and piss.

I clwaned the dog and his crate.
Then I bathed the cat.
All the while thinking “This is my life. Friday night. Alone. Lonely. Cleaning up shit and piss.” And what will I do tomorrow? Oh, I’ have plans and I’ll stay busy but I will clean up shit and piss again and go to bed alone again.
And the next day. And the next night.
And the next week. And the next month.

I couldnt decide if I wanted wine or liquor. So I’m drinking both. Cheap wine with whatever was left, about two shots worth, of whipped vodka in a 7-11 sippee cup with a lid.
And typing this.
I havent taken a Xanax in probably two months but the wind has been knocked out of me and I dont think I have the energy to do anything at all right now. Even if I had options.

I’m attending the Army ball next month with a few coworkers and invited my dance partner along (who’s super-cool girlfriend isnt the insecure, jealous type) to be… not my date but my wingman. We will be amazing on the dancefloor and he advised me to wear a ‘fuck me right now!” dress that would have every man in the place forgetting about their own dates when they see me.

Thankfully, my shattered crush wont be attending as my coworkers date but she admitted they woudl have a quickie before she leaves for the ball and then fuck the rest of the night when it’s over. He’ll probably just hike her sequined gown up and tear her panties off. That’s what he was doing to me in my mind these last two months.

But I will look amazing and still go home alone.

Did I mention he’s taking salsa lessons for her?

Fuck. You. Life.

Now who do I masturbate to?

Goodnight. That is all.

Goodnight. Haven’t said that in a while.

Did something else I haven’t done in a while too. Meditated. Prayed. Ritual. Anointed, engraved “YWH” and his initials into a white, a black and a silver candle (silver for the moon). Also took a ritual bath. I didn’t try to focus on anything in particular but rather NOT focus on certain things in particular. I didnt even write out a prayer for the altar.

The new foster dog was mesmerized by the candles. Stared intently into them. I thought “Ritual meditation. A 7 month old puppy is doing it right and im not”. Struck me funny.

The candles have about an hours life left. I let them burn down. Its part of the process.

My skin is warm and smells of neroli, rose water, lavender, doves blood…and some other oils and herbs I steeped into the bath. I almost considered adding a teaspoon or two of Winterberry green tea from Teavana into the tub. Ive become a tea whore since cutting back on coffee. Someone could literally drop a car payment in that place. Its ridiculous. And Im drinking their kool aid. Er, tea.

In bed now. Dog is passed out and I should be too.

A friend asked why I hadn’t blogged in a while and its because rather than being cathartic, to write about what I am going through is more like slicing open the fresh sutures of a deadly wound.

Not yet.

So for now, I will simply wish you well on this Leo Moon and goodnight…

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“I’m nobody’s baby” ~Judy Garland

Its not always a sex related fantasy. For instance, today…I go to work, then to a dance class, then the grocery store. And I imagine as I drive home that you and kids are waiting for me there. You help me with the groceries and I give you a deep grateful kiss with a promise of more to come. I pour a glass of wine amd start preparing dinner for everyone…its so blissfully domestic! Of course the daydream stars you because you are who I want but if that isn’t in the cards then someone else who is exactly like you might suffice. Maybe even a couple inches taller 😉

Im home and the moon is enormous. Lights up the entire yard. I light candles and put on a Judy Garland record and start dinner. Its just me and the fur alone in this big house. Im relaxed, content, a Mona Lisa smile on my lips. But lonely. I wish I had someone to talk to, sing to, crack jokes with, dance with, cook for, come home to…Is that so much to ask? I send that one up to G-d quite a bit these days.

This picture does the moon no justice. Its shining through the palms and reflecting off the water.

Im just being sentimental.

And then as if reading my thoughts, Judy starts singing “I’m Nobody’s Baby”…

“I’m nobody’s baby
I wonder why
Each night and day I pray the Lord up above
Please send me down somebody to love
But nobody wants me
I’m blue somehow
Won’t someone hear my plea and take a chance with me
Because I’m nobody’s baby now”