Humor Break Featuring Little Johnny

I love my girl Negril. I rely on her for relatively inappropriate humor because she knows the geography of my funny bone. As I fight a migraine today, I leave you with the ongoing antics of Little Johnny as Negril dropped them in my inbox. I saved the relationship humor for last. Now I'm off to partake of the miracle wonder called "Excedrin Migraine"...

Little Johnny on Beauty Products:
Little Johnny watched, fascinated, as his mother smoothed cold cream on her face. 'Why do you do that, mommy?' he asked. 'To make myself beautiful,' said his mother, who then began removing the cream with a tissue. 'What's the matter?' asked Little Johnny.. 'Giving up?'

Little Johnny on Law Enforcement:
Little Johnny's kindergarten class was on a field trip to their local police station where they saw pictures tacked to a bulletin board of the 10 most wanted criminals. One of the youngsters pointed to a picture and asked if it really was the photo of a wanted person. 'Yes,' said the policeman. 'The detectives want very badly to capture him.'Lit tle Johnny asked, 'Why didn't you keep him when you took his picture ?'

Little Johnny on Inspecting Products Before Purchase:
Little Johnny attended a horse auction with his father. He watched as his father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horse's legs and rump, and chest. After a few minutes, Johnny asked, 'Dad, why are you doing that?' His father replied, 'Because when I'm buying horses, I have to make sure that they are healthy and in good shape before I buy. Johnny, looking worried, said, "Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom..."

And now a break for the Tiger...

I know I just returned to the blog. I know you're waiting to hear what's-up in the land of Her Side and the elusive His Side. But I need to stop by and say something about our nation's current fascination with Tiger Woods' bedroom shenanigans.

Stop it.

Just stop it.

Even if that poor man wanted to reconcile with his wife, our prying-ass nosey eyes are making the man's plight difficult. Not too long ago, I would have quickly recruited myself to team Leave His Triflin Ass. But I slowly find myself creeping to the sidelines of team Make Dat Shit Work. Because folks want the fairy tale ending without the big bad wolf or the evil stepmother.

Not one day in my life will I condone cheating. Even if you spouse is a first-class jerk. Leave their ass first. But I'm all for couples looking for ways to reconcile such breaches before the lawyers get their grubby hands on the assets.

Can we leave the Tiger alone long enough to pay attention to the shit in our closets?

I'll do my best to say-no-more about this, but ooooooooh, I'm just itching to debate all theories from sex addiction to the stress of the good-boy image.

Would somebody be kind enough to stop me from turning this into a series???

Dammit People... I KNOW!

I can just see y'all walking through the blog... staring at the blank walls... kicking at the dust... and shaking your heads about how abandoned this place has become.

Pass me a broom and STFU.

I'm not sure why I haven't been writing. Almost every day, my thoughts lead me to questions, answers, and personal commentary perfectly fit to share with you here.

But my body won't make the trip. My limbs won't cooperate in the terror of sharing what has been going on, what I have been thinking, or my comfort level in walking towards the uncertainty called "tomorrow."
So I stopped in today after taking a trip to The Breakup Diaries.

Part of me keeps waiting to write because I like things all wrapped-up... like the resolution of family issues in a single 1/2 hour TV spot. But this shit is a process. A PRAH...SESS. I'll be 50 by the time I could box this story and present it to you with a bow.

My real goal today:
To break the ice for a return to the blog I love to hate.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 3 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Continued from Part 2, which I had to break apart because it was becomming its own damn book...

= = = = = = = = = = = =

The weekend ended when His Side returned to his cousin's house, tried to call me, but I was on the phone with an old friend that I reconnected with. The old friend was a flame in my late teens, and we've had a good time catching-up on all the changes that 20 years can bring. His Side Lost. His. Mind.... first when the reconnection was revealed through the magic of Facebook friends lists, and then when His Side actually couldn't reach me because my phone was busy. The nerve of me using my phone. Based on the accusation, clearly old friends only reconnect to make plans for hot steamy affairs... right?

Anyway, I take ownership of three mistakes I made in this process:

1. I underestimated the challenge ahead of me and got loose on my watch.

2. I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be for His Side to fight his own personal battle with hope and dissapointment.

3. I didn't take the sage advice to go "no contact" for at least 30 days straight after the breakup. Somewhere deep inside me, a naive hopeful girl believes friendship should never die. Well part of that girl died this past weekend. She needed to. And the next time I see her, I'm gonna slap her in the mouwf.

Everything happens for a reason. (Dammit. Another cliche I couldn't avoid because of the unmistakable truth at its core. But I digress...) Even our mistakes become springboards for lessons that we need to learn. I count this the tuning point in successfully balancing hope wiht disappointment.

I suspect there will be a Part 4 to this series. Shit, I may do like Rocky, forget when to stop making more "parts," and just continue this until I'm too old to box I complete all the transitions that come with the territory.

Holla at me in the comments... even if it's to spank me for being dense. Y'all know I can take it.

A Relationship Public Service Announcement...

This PSA comes with a T-Shirt: STOP BLAMING ME FOR YOUR SHYT.

I believe I've had this conversation before with my BFF Negril. I'm kinda glad we're not in the same office today, because she might be foreced to slap me. In spite of sage advice and hard-earned wisdom, it is amazing how the mind plays tricks while submerged in the middle of a situation. Before today's PSA story comes the conclusion: You really can't do enough to appease a person who wants to blame you for their problems. End. Of. Fracking. STORY.

His Side called me first thing this morning. I'm talking before I oozed out of bed to prepare for the morning routine. I didn't expect to hear from him, because he lost his job yesterday and claimed he didn't want to hear from the rest of the world - including me - for a few days. He only had the job for about four weeks.

"Hello."

"Do you have COMPANY?"

"Wha???..."

That's how the conversation started. Because of course if I choose not to sleep with him, I'm whoring around town looking for random dyck to satiate me.

[Note to self: Don't be offended. Hold it together. He knows you're not a ho. If he really believed that dumb shit, he wouldn't be interested in you in the first place.]

Anyway, his monnologue consisted of declarations of his love for me coupled with a tongue-lashing for having friends other than him. Male. Female. Straight. Gay. It doesn't matter. They all make him feel threatened, like he has to complete for my affections. I was told how I should understand him and his request, because of things that have been done to him before. He went on to lament his life and his mistakes, and rolled right back into what I should and should not be doing for him.

Now I spent most of this monologue rubbing crusties from my eyes and staring at the phone like I just got a call from aliens. I very calmly said fuck you informed His Side that I object to his calling my house for such nonsense and he'll nevah own the right to play Director in my life. I kindly declined the challegne to defend myself against his ridiculous accusations. He apologized, which historically only means "excuse me for a moment, and I'll see if I can implement my mind control in another attempt I have planned for this afternoon."

I feel badly for him. This empathy led me to overlook too much as his girlfriend... and sometimes engage in the fray trying to make things right. And now I'm starting to overlook too much as his "new-found" friend.

I thank Susan Elliott for this great post dealing with taking the blame for our partner's actions. Today's PSA comes from Susan's blog post (which you should stop and read, by the way):

They will not change. There is NO such thing as acting “right enough” or loving someone “good enough” to keep them from doing crappy things. A monster will act like a monster. A cheater will act like a cheater. A liar will act like a liar. And a bananahead will act like a bananahead. No matter what you do or do not do.

The bottom line is that everyone is responsible for his or her own behavior. Do not let someone else blame you for their bad behavior. No one can make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. [Source]

Reminder: Part 3 of my Hope vs. Disappointment series will auto-post tomorrow morning.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 2 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Welcome to Part 2 of The Shittiest Lesson EVAH

= = = = = = = = = = = =

I have been working on Part 2 of this series for weeeeeks. The landscape of this battle changes so often, that my draft posts go stale before I have a chance to dot the i's and hit "publish."

But today I reached a place where I can say something important about the ongoing battle - a battle I never expected to present so many challenges. I have to thank Mark again for forcing me to pay attention.

Most of the time, I'd say 85% of the time, His Side and I have a great time re-exploring friendship without the stress of "working on relationship issues." Those issues became deeply distracting, and we owed it to each other to go to our separate corners to work it out. That 85% represents "Hope." But the other 15% of the time, OH GOOD LORDIE, we take randomly unexpected turns manifesting "Disappointment."

His Side fluctuates between two ends of the spectrum: Deep understanding of how much time it would take for us to come together again in the future and hurt frustration that wants to make it happen right now.

I stay firm on the expectation that reconciliation would take a looooong time, but find myself feeling frustrated at key times that he seems to avoid his personal business with eyes fixed on recreating an "us." Dammit, how is that time gonna come while I'm still young enough to have wild sex if you keep wasting the days on dumb shit?

Anyway, it isn't fair for either of us to dump our disappointment on the other. My style is to go all blue and get motherly about his decisions. His style is to have a blow out until he hits the right button and I go up like a flare.

This weekend was particularly bad. We spend time together every-other weekend, but this weekend he was on a deep romantic mission. He got nasty when I didn't flow with it, and he said more hurtful things than a single human should say in a lifetime. I was floored. And I reacted. Talk about a flare. I think my hair caught on fire.

He continued the rip bouncing back and forth between apologies and more frustrated words. For the first time, I wondered if this was a person I even wanted as a distant associate. I simply told him, "Friends don't treat each other this way, and there's no way I can count you a friend."

It was like the end of an era. It was like breaking up all over again.

Worst of all, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger who evokes fond memories because he bears a striking resemblance to a lost loved-one. Except it's not the loved one, and you have to deal with the reality of who is standing in front of you.

:: breaking the rest into Part 3, which will auto-publish in 2 days, because this is a long one ::

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 1 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Just as Mark prophesied suggested, the war between hope and disappointment started the moment I asked His Side to leave the home. In fact, the hard line I took on the decision constantly drew swords to fight off hope that "well maybe he doesn't have to really leave the house." Memories of the last time we split kept me on track. The in-house split featured him on the couch and absolutely no work done to resolve the root of the problem. Bzzzzt. Not gonna do that again.

I won the first round of the battle between hope and disappointment because reality dictated the necessity of pushing the STOP button and gracefully exiting the ride. Misdirected anger, bitterness, and even rage stole so much peace from the home, and efforts to resolve the problem were met with an increased frequency of bad moments. Sometimes you have to admit when a problem is over your head. And this one was waaaay over my pay grade...

You see, I won't declare Armageddon over routine spats, droughts, imperfections, and petty squabbles. That stuff always exists in relationships where two imperfect people come together and their human frailties collide. I am not going to lose any sleep over occasional nuisances. There ain't enough hours in the day and there isn't enough malice in true love to be that petty. His Side faced issues that only he has the right to tell (or keep to himself, dammit). And I am not one to blow up anybody's business in a public forum. Besides, technically it's irrelevant if he shares or not, because I only have two concerns

(1) How am *I* going to conduct my life and

(2) Does my home currently offer an environment that is good for my boys?

Because really, those are the only two things I can control - my behavior and my decisions.

The entire thought process (at times a small act of mental gymnastics) led me back to a conversation I had with Negril about men/women who simply "settle" in a relationship. Men and women settle for bad mates all the time out of fear... or dysfunction... or plain old stupidity. Shortly before asking His Side to leave, I made a declaration. Out of the blue. No warning. Just a sudden moment of clarity. I WON'T SETTLE FOR THIS. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

There's a fine line between patience and settling. That line is just about as fragile as the distance between love and hate. For instance, a temporarily unemployed husband requires patience. So long as you're in it together, you can overcome. A chronically unemployed husband who prefers TV over the classifieds requires that you settle. Settle for disrespect. Settle for financial hardship. Settle for less than you hoped for or deserve.

The day I diagnosed that His Side and I were facing a chronic condition that needed the shit slapped out of it, I was sold. My hope that we could overcome was drowned by the disappointing realization that only one option existed...

As the story continues:
My first battle to balance Hope and Disappointment ended in a successful decision to split. Next time, I'll describe what happens when Hope tips the scale (in the wrong direction) and leads to an ugly post-breakup episode.

Young love is great, but the grown game ROCKS

I just finished reading an article, "Over 40 and Ready for Love?" Men and women ranging in age from 40 to 79 got their groove back and found love, with some entering marriage for the first time.

Too often, I think, pop culture characterizes the excitement of falling in love as a drink best served during youth. Teens and twenty-somethings are pegged as having the most fun with self-discovery, dating, marriage and even sex.

But in the spirit of the Over 40 article, I find something deeply sexy about relationships as I get closer to my 4th decade on this planet. The fantasy slowly transformed into the experience and wisdom it takes to attract, recognize, and nurture more fulfilling experiences.

In other words, I enjoy earning the right to say "Been There. Done That. AND Got the T-shirt."

Trial and Error: The Beauty of Experience and Learning from Failures

I read a lot of books about finances, business administration, and management. If anybody deserved an honorary MBA based on their library, I'd be that chick. The first time I was presented with the idea that 'we learn more from a failure than a success,' I was hopelessly intrigued. Many wealthy men and women give credit for the quality/depth of their success to memorable failures that shook their foundation, imparted priceless lessons, and sometimes almost broke their spirit. Failures present some of the best opportunities for growth, a unique view of "what not to do," and a powerful springboard for "what to do better/differently next time."

I wholeheartedly believe this concept applies to relationships. Isn't that why we bother with courting, dating, and engagements before jumping headfirst into marriage? We feel our way around the relational landscape, learn how to use the maps, discover how to stay on the road, and stumble upon ways to avoid pesky land mines left behind from all the wars fought in the land.

I find it particularly disturbing that casual observers can criticize couples - especially young couples - for "not making it work." There's no friggin manual for relationships/marriage. If there was, we wouldn't have terms like "hook-up" and "side piece" to describe the unfortunate purgatory that folks live in while pretending to look for love. And hell, divorce lawyers wouldn't be able to fart around with the rich and famous. Some might cite the Bible as the closest thing we have to a Relationship Users Manual. But even the Bible makes room for dreadfully-flawed human nature.

I have dated (seriously) since I was 18, but some of those puppy-love, budding love, and mature love stories stand out:

When I was 18, I had a boyfriend whom I loved as much as an 18-year old heart could stand. To me, he was the epitome of what a boyfriend should be, and he never proved anything different. I was the one who broke his heart to experience the sudden newness and freedom associated with attending college far from home.

When I was 26, I fell head-over-heels for an island man and our time together always took my breath away. For eight months, we worked, played, laughed, and loved. The sex was... the... SHIT. Suddenly, when his internship in the area was over, he was on the road to home to marry his ex-girlfriend. WTF? I was devastated. He was my first truly adult love experience.

When I was 28, I married somebody completely outside of my "type." He looked great on paper, but there was no true fire. In fact, I still had a small fire buring for the island man, who I remained in contact with. (What kind of crap is that?) I was compelled by the promise of stability - financial and otherwise - that my ex-husband seemed to represent. Three years and 11 months later, I learned why a resume of practical considerations won't do much to sustain a marriage.

When I was 35, I met His Side. I didn't date at all after my divorce. I was celibate and mastering life as a single mother. His Side looked awful on paper. No money. No assets. Past problems with some still unresolved. And. I. Didn't. Care. I was crazy about him, and he was clearly crazy about me.

We had a wonderful "phone" relationship that resulted in dating, which led to an intimate relationship (OMG, talk about finding extra icing on top of my cake), which led to him moving in. Together, we marveled about the organic, simple-yet-complicated, raw, unadulterated bliss that comes with falling hopelessly in love. Yet here we are in the chaos chronicled here at this blog. I am still in the process of recognizing and embracing the necessary lessons from this one...

In spite of it all, I feel poised to keep living a vibrant life armed with the lessons from each of these experiences. I am thankful for what I learned, primarily what I learned about myself as each of these stories played their necessary role in my life.

The Frickin Point I am Trying to Make Is...

In spite of recent developments as I watched My Favorite Relationship of All Time devolve into chaos, I am deeply happy and satisfied.

I don't have to cry my eyeballs out.
Been There.

I don't have to just accept the chaos out of fear of being alone.
Done That.

I don't have to worry if love still exists or can be a part of my future.
Got the T-shirt.

I'm all grownded up. hehe I am as free as I allow myself to be. I'm as wise as the experiences behind me - according to the degree I opened my heart to receive. And I know fo'sho that the ups-&-downs of living and loving during the uncertainty of youth never EVER felt this good.

Crazy-Making sounds like the funniest term... till you live it.

Oh sweet dear Jesus, Son of Mary and one whom folks call when shit hits the fan... What the HELL just happened??

I asked myself this question a million times during my time with His Side. Keeping true to his ways, he lured me into another useless argument, making me look and feel crazy, right up until the time he left my home. It went like this:


Him: "I sure would live a lot longer if somebody would BLESS ME!"

Me, (turning from the computer screen): "Wha..???"

Him: "Yesterday. Riding in the car. I sneezed. And you didn't say BLESS YOU. I would NEVER do that to you. I always say 'bless you.' See how you are?"

Me: "Are. You. Serious? I was in traffic. I only vaguely remember you sneezing. Now I am responsible for you not living longer???"

Him: YES!

You can only imagine how the remainder of this conversation devolved into one of the most ridiculous exchanges I've ever had with anybody in my life. And the worst part is, this happened with His Side more than I would like to admit during our time together.

It didn't matter what... His Side found something to make my fault. I defended myself against some of the most juvenile and petty accusations - real and imagined. If I ignored him, he would rage for hours about how right he was about the thingy I won't defend... or worse, get angry and escalate to get a better reaction from me.

But here's the kicker. During the course of defending myself, without fail, he eventually said... "Look. Look. See how you're talking to me. Why are you acting like this? You blame me for everything. But Look. At. You."

That, my friends, is textbook CRAZY-MAKING. Because in fact, I did look and feel like a crazy person defending myself against the indictment of forgetting to say bless you. Grown-ass mature men don't initiate such petty conversations. I certainly looked like a crazy fool taking the time to actually respond.

When this passive-aggressive, crazy-making behavior first emerged, I did what most normal people would do: I took a moment to wonder if I was doing something wrong.

"You want somebody else. I can see it."

"You're going to cheat on me."

"You blame me for everything."

"You don't love me."

I was exhausted trying to trace the source of these sudden accusations which came along with his increasingly aggressive behavior and threats. The accusations were a ruse to provide ample excuse for his worsening treatment of me, stacked on top to cover his deteriorating self-esteem.

As one woman kindly put it, 'a crazy-making mate is also suffering, just in a different way.' And I believe every word of that. His Side was miserable. I was an easy target. And on some level I see he regretted that I was unable to provide what he needed to fix things for himself. But really, nobody can. What he needs right now can't possibly descend on him like a blanket from heaven and make everything hunky-dorey.

I didn't catch the signs early as they emerged. I left room for him to get comfortable. "She loves me. She'll never leave." I tend to get stuck with that label, including at work. There's dedication. Then there's stupidity. When somebody believes you're blindly loyal enough to stay no matter what, that is no badge of honor. Don't smile and say "Thanks." It means you are not recognized as dedicated to your own self interests. I believe His Side thought I would never arrive at this step. While I "stood up for myself" during the course of the chaos, I didn't really stand up to the plate with the best solution - which is stop taking the bullshit altogether.

About.com provides this summary under crazy-making emotional abuse:

Emotional abuse is used to control, degrade, humiliate and punish a spouse. While emotional abuse differs from physical abuse, the end result is the same…a spouse becomes fearful of their partner and begins to change their behaviors to keep their partner happy. The happier their partner, the less domestic violence the spouse has to suffer. By the time a spouse identifies the true problem they have begun to feel as if they are crazy. They will doubt themselves and their own sense of reality because emotional abuse is meant to cause the victim to question their every thought and behavior.

The article goes on to offer examples, and I have experienced most. Harassment, intimidation, including countless accusations that I must be cheating.

I'm exhausted y'all. I'm finally truly exhausted because the struggle is over and I can stop fighting. And defending. And hurting. And feeling more disappointed than words can express.

Sometimes I wonder how long it may take His Side to address the addictions and heartaches that drain his life. In reality, he's just a "hurt person hurting other people." Other times, I really don't care because I am relieved that he is no longer searching for that answer on my dime.

His Side is leaving our home but not the blog...

So here you have it, folks. After His Side had one-too-many and crossed some lines, I asked him to leave my home. He's packed and ready for his move on Sunday.

I took a hard hard line on this, and it stands as one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I am living the Battle Scars story right now, because I see where both of us picked up enough baggage to arrive at this place.

:: His abusive father.

:: My uber-independent mother whose biggest hope was for me to be intellectual and ambitious.

:: His ex-wife who cheated endlessly and then ran off with his kids.

:: My attraction to things that are broken.

:: His 18-year military history of watching things we hope to never see.

:: My tendency to batten down the hatches when I feel like things are out of control.

In the midst of the chaos, in the center of the storm, at the intersection of battle scars and exit wounds... I stand there still in love with His Side. But I do not like who I am with him when his baggage manifests.

Do you understand what I just said?

My biggest problem really isn't him, because I am not in control of - nor responsible for - his life. I don't like who I am with him. When I get angry. When I push too hard. Or even when I feel afraid... I don't like that woman. She looks like a stranger. And there's no peace in her home. There's too much turmoil out there to welcome any turmoil in here. In spite of the race I still need to run, I paid the price to reach an unbelievably positive place in my life. And when I am her... that person dealing with him, I am momentarily set back. I'll give my life to you. I'll share my life with you. But I won't sacrifice the spirit of my life for you.

I aspire to living an honest life that is full of... well... LIFE. Colorful. Sincere. Energetic. Authentic. Peace. Love.

With tears in his eyes and without clear understanding of how he keeps arriving here, he agrees with my decision and wants to go do what's necessary to fix his broken spirit. I know for a fact he is more than able to transform his life. As I reflected on the past year - when some of the biggest changes occurred - I see where unforgiveness has robbed His Side of precious life. He is stuck on a small but piercing set of past hurts that literally haunt him. I don't use that word lightly. I can physically see and spiritually sense when the movie reel starts playing. Reality exits. He doesn't even talk the same, as if paging through the book to make sure he has his useless references correct. He gets lost in a frame of reference that paints everybody "here" with the same ugly colors as those "there."

When the painting is finished, he admits to hating the result. Worse, he admits that breaking that chain has eluded him. I have an idea...

I wish him the gift of forgiveness, especially since the short list of those he needs to forgive includes his name. For me, learning to forgive helped me enjoy the "right now." I can love (or hate) every moment for exactly what it is... not for how it reminds me of pains from another place and time. Nobody gets this 100% right, but I bet my batting average would land me in the hall of fame.

Nothing is ever a total loss. I am grateful for what I learned about my strengths and weaknesses. Even more, I am shocked, amazed, and utterly thankful to see how the crushing weight of unforgiveness can affect a human soul.

I love ya, His Side. If this journey you are about to take on your own leads you to the wholeness you crave, I suspect you'll have a friend waving, cheering, crying, and celebrating where the road merges back into the life you hoped for.

Do I Hear a Blog Nomination???

Click the image to join the nomination party for Best Group Blog, Best Sex and Relationships Blog, Blog to Watch, and Best New Blog.

Because you can never get enough inappropriate humor involving the nether regions...

Nursing Home...

Ethel was a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors.

Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerated her and some of them actually joined in.

One day Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Clarence stepped out with his arm outstretched.'STOP!' he shouted in a firm voice.. 'Have you got a license for that thing?'

Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. 'OK' he said,and away Ethel sped down the hall.

As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted 'STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?'

Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him. Harold nodded and said 'On your way, Ma'am.'

As Ethel neared the final corridor, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, Butt- Naked, and holding his 'You-Know-What' in his hand.

'Oh, good grief,' yelled Ethel, 'Not that Damn Breathalyzer Test again!'

[Sent via email by a very close female friend who apparently knows I could laugh myself silly over a wrinkled johnson getting a toothless blowjob. - Author unknown]

How do you complete a puzzle when you purchased the last one and some of the pieces are missing?

The answer is... YOU DON'T.

Many years ago, in the midst of my own divorce, I read a fantastic book that spoke to something I needed to understand. The book wasn't a stellar representation of world class writing worthy of the Oprah book club. But it did exactly what it needed to do and explored a simple point: Forget what your math teacher taught you. Two halves don't make a whole. Not in the land of relationships.

In fact, two halves make a hot mess. The blind leading the blind. A train wreck waiting to happen.

I couldn't resist sharing this thought after catching this gem over at Getting Past Your Past:

"When damaged people marry, they begin to resent their partner for not making them whole. – Robin Norwood

From the movie “Jerry McGuire” came the phrase “you complete me.” But, the truth of the matter is that no other person can complete us when we are incomplete and damaged and have not dealt with that damage.

We cannot leave to someone else, the work that is our own.

We cannot rush into relationships hoping to keep our mind off the fact that we are damaged or need more to be complete. We will never find that completeness through another person or a relationship or a job or a situation." Read the entire post [here.] It's worth the read...

I literally took 3 years off after my divorce. No dating. Not even a little bit. Not even physical contact and certainly not sex. In fact, I ate lunch with a male coworker twice towards the end of those three years. That was the closest I came to bothering with idea of dating.

I was on a mission to discover what "whole" meant. I found out, and I liked how it felt. I freed myself from the notion that "whole" meant "perfect" - and thankfully so - because "perfect" is relative and otherwise not attainable. "Whole" comes down to experiencing true, deep, and sincere satisfaction with who you are as a person (inside) aside from any dissatisfaction with things that objectify you (such as weight, hair color - because those things don't define your human value.)

As I told one of my bestest bestest girlfriends yesterday, I learned how to say "I'm proud of myself" without feeling guilty.

"You know what. I used to think it was bad to say. But I am proud of myself... not for being the creator of my essence, but for accepting the essence that the Creator gave me."

His Side was the person who ended my 3-year strike. In fact, we met almost 3 years to the exact day that my ex-husband walked out of our home and into the sunset - well - the sunset of his mistress' tits. hehe But anyway ...

More and more often, I find myself reminding His Side that I am not responsible for making him whole. Because more and more I see him setting me up as the punching bag for his fears and insecurities. The moment he feels fear or gets insecure about something, I can confidently predict he is about to find a petty flaw to lay into me about. If you're having a personal meltdown because I left a closet door open in a rush to secure some TP for a bathroom emergency, you need to make an adjustment buddy.

But the truth is, I don't believe much in coincidence. While I am nobody's savior, I know my trials and tribulations make me an effective vessel for understanding and helping those struggling with the same.

Without going into detail or starting another post, His Side will have an opportunity to chase his wholeness without offering me up as a sacrifice to the Gods of Broken Spirits. God I love that man. Like any other intervention, sometimes you have to offer a kind of help that isn't wanted... especially when it's time to spare your own health and sanity as a borderline accomplice named Enabler.

His Side Finally SPEAKS!

All you folks didn't really think I was here. I'm a real person. Her Side didn't make me up in some kind of schizophrenic dream.

I want you to know that I got my woman's back from this day - actually long before this day - and forever more.

But I found out for a fact, last night, that she has a really big issue with reference to sleep. First of all, she thought I was snoring when I really had a bubble caught in my throat. I wasn't snoring. I wasn't sleep. I was checking the health of the inside of my eyelids. She stole the fucking remote while I was in the middle of my health check.

Her Side interjection: That fuckhead was SLEEP y'all.

But anyway, she claims she was joking while asking "ARE YOU READY TO GO TO SLEEP? So I had to check her for establishing my fucking bed time.

Her Side interjection: It was 4am.

But any-fucking-way... On a Saturday night, after running around and acting a fool together all night, how da' hell does she have a problem sleeping when she can snore through a thunderstorm in the woods with no tent? So I carried my ass downstairs.

Everything was fine until about 5:30a when she decided the FUCKING DOWNSTAIRS TV WAS TOO LOUD FOR HER BEAUTY SLEEP. So this is what she does...

She stomps on the fucking floor and I think Armageddon has begun. I didn't panic and didn't answer... Until she hollered downstairs. Mind you, we have intercom phones. What need for the phone when she has lungs like that? I had no idea...

So I turned the TV down.

Her Side interjection: After yelling up the stairs like a Beyotch.

So I hear her go to the bathroom. So I thought. She throws the dog in the fucking hallway and says "Go downstairs to your FATHER." and slams the door.

Her Side interjection: Cause the dog shit on the bedroom floor while I was sleeping.

And to my surprise, it goes to show she has a very good heart, 'cause she had planned to leave the shit in front of the door as a booby trap for me to step in. How do I know? Cause she TOLD ME SO.

It goes to show, that she really loves me so. And couldn't wait to hear the squishy sound of dog poop between my toes.

And that lets me know that she loves me so. And that's it for the day.

Peace. Be cool.

An now, a short break for some inappropriate penis humor

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Randomness that just might break the strike rule... but fugh it...

Operation Save the Kidneys
His Side straight stopped drinking. Just stopped like ::snap:: that. He certainly wasn't a raging alcoholic, but balance was certainly missing. He simply detoxed. Drank lots of water. Went through the kidney pains, and *poof*.

Power Couple
We've really rallied over the past few weeks. We were productive - attacking important items on the to-do list and feeling the high of what happens when partners prove their union has power behind it.

De-Stressing Through Resolution
Together, we recently closed a long-standing legal issue that kept His Side on edge. He approached with trembling hands, and I held those hands as I told him it would be okay. Somehow, I just knew it would. In about 10 long but amazing minutes, the problem was solved and he was free from the worry. Years of worry. I saw a marked change in him that day. The stress dissipated like fog under the heat of the scorching sun. Without trying to sound cliche, it was amazingly like God smiled on us that day.

What's Mine is Yours
I noticed something about His Side. Not really noticed - but discovered just how deep it runs. He shares everything with me. It doesn't matter how big or how small. It could be his last bite of food or the only paycheck he'll see in weeks. He makes sure I get some, most, or all of anything he has. I mean anything. The gesture is always without thought or hesitation, and he doesn't take anything from me to "make it even."

And before you go getting all sappy, in spite of all that His Side does right, I may still be forced to kill him if he doesn't show his face on this blog in a minute. Now go back to what you were doing while I sharpen my knives.

Semi-cheating my way out of a strike...

I know I'm on strike. Stop looking at me funny. I just need to stick a single toe over the picket line to share what I thought was a FANTASTIC article about assessing the health of your relationship (past or present). The author, Susan J. Elliot, offers 10 evaluation factors that hit the damn nail on the head.

If you're pining over an ex, use the checklist to see if you're deluding yourself about wanting them back. If you are already in a relationship, use the checklist to see if you need to run screaming into the night.

= = = = = = = =

THE CHECKLIST:
Recheck: Was Your Relationship Good for You?

SOURCE:
Getting Past Your Past (Blog)

AUTHOR:
Susan J. Elliot,
Lawyer, Counselor, and Author of Getting Past Your Breakup.

Have you noticed something friggin MISSING around here???

Me too. I'm talking about His Side and his view of the world (from the Mountaintop of Wisdom that exists only in his head).

See? Did you see that? I just threw some snark out there... and it was like a tree falling in the woods with nobody there to hear it. No reaction from His Side, 'cause he's over on the sidelines drinking a cup of Gato.rade with a thumb stuck up his ass.

In other words, I am officially on strike until His Side says something... anything... on this blog.

While you're waiting, how about taking some time to read this blog post, plus the interesting (and sometimes heated) conversation that followed in the comments:

Blog: The Breakup Diaries
Post: Birthday Gift

Bad Boy, Bad Boy... Whatcha Gonna Do... (Part 2 of 3?)

No bitter relationship debate blazes hotter than the discussion of a woman's attraction to Bad Boys. In fact, I witnessed quite a few nerds with high-water pants and pocket protectors explode into a messy heap trying to contain their angst about women falling for the stereotypical Bad Boys. So here's Part 2 of my yet-to-be-numbered series on Bad Boys. [Catch-up with Part 1 if you need to]...





Now I am quick to dismiss the culture of "every problem/attitude/behavior deserves a psychological name and new drug treatment." I frowned at that idea once energetic children received labels and got medicated into a stupor. I jumped ship completely when "Road Rage" received it's own designation... and yes... even it's own drug. I don't even want to talk about my reaction to the warnings on depression drugs, which include "depression" and "suicidal tendencies." Give me a friggin break.

In fact, I go so far as to suspect that most labels slapped on folks come from two major sources: Xenophobia (fear of others who aren't "like us"), which I believe leads to believing everything different must be bad, and Laziness (such as a parent who would rather use drugs than proper diet or discipline to handle a child's behavior). If I go off on that tangent, y'all will be here all day. Moving on...

But to do this series justice, I took a detour into the world of psychology to see what explanations exist for Bad Boys and the women who love them. Without injecting more of my personal opinion, yet, I offer you a few findings:

The features people talk about when describing a bad boy are closely related to those of Antisocial Personality Disorder, a specific classification of personality pathology found in approximately 3% of adult males and 1% of adult females.

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 4th Edition Text Revision, individuals with this type of personality pathology fail to conform to societal norms, are often unlawful and sometimes violate the rights of others. They tend to be deceitful or manipulative, especially if they believe their tactics will result in personal gain. In addition, they display impulsivity, irritability, aggressiveness, disregard for safety, continuous irresponsibility and lack of remorse. Although the bad boy or girl in your life might not meet diagnostic criteria for this disorder, the mere presence of certain features may lead to dysfunction in their school, work and private lives.

Antisocial Personality Disorder is difficult to treat and tends to be chronic, but there are some options. The first step involves helping the individual realize that they have a problem and may benefit from treatment. If they are willing to seek professional consultation, a primary care provider or mental health practitioner can assess for a diagnosis, contributing issues and make appropriate referrals for treatment. Often, treatment for antisocial features entails recommendations for one or more of the following: individual therapy - particularly cognitive behavioral therapy, group therapy, psychoeducation and/or medications. [Source: April 14, 2009, Psychology Today, "A Prince Charming Your Bad Boy Is Not"]

(Okay, so how did I know I would find some type of disorder, counseling, and/or drug treatment when researching Bad Boys? ...But I digress)

Nando Pelusi Ph.D. drops his own opinion on the women who seek Bad Boys. He seems to believe that long-term vs. short-term relationship values and the "fantasies" women read about in romance novels have women... well... twisted... into wanting a Bad Boy to reform into a great mate:

A love of boldness helps women find strong males as mates. Secretly they harbor the fantasy of turning their genetically gifted cads into loving dads who stick around long-term, long enough to help raise the kids. Think Warren Beatty and Keith Richards; fairy tales sometimes come true.

But wait; don't all women want a kind, understanding guy? Of course; it's just that nice isn't a high-caliber turn-on in the short term, unlike bravado. Says Kruger, "Women want their emotions activated." And audacity grabs attention, even if only in the service of marshaling good genes.

A clue to female psychology emerges in a study examining the cheesy best sellers that set millions of women on a Harlequin high. The male protagonists are invariably studs on steeds who morph into devoted dads by novel's end. That is, the women get the best of both worlds.

When women want it all—great genes, and a reliable breadwinner—the odds of finding satisfaction grow slim. It's human nature to want it all; what man doesn't want a gorgeous young woman who is equally devoted to having sex and washing his car? But it's a slightly elusive proposition, because in reality we have forced choices. [Source: Psychology Today Magazine, Jan/Feb 2009, "Neanderthink: The Appeal of the Bad Boy"]

(I can't argue with the underlying implication that women can get fixated on changing their man into who they think he should be. But I don't believe the phenomenon is reserved for converting Bad Boys to Good Boys...)

Rhonda Oliver [Dallas Relationship Psychology Examiner] believes the explanation lies simply in the "roller coaster" and unpredictable nature of Bad Boys:

Bad Boys exude an arrogant, macho-istic, “gangsta” dominance of untamed masculinity (M. Fitzgerald, askmen,com) , which serves as a type of intoxicating attraction to women who like men who live on the edge. Some sport tattoos, the more tattoos the better. If muscles accompany those tattoos, watch out! The psychology of it all is the challenge of "pursuit and conquer". Women who are attracted to the "bad boy" persona tend to be extreme risk takers or seem to dangerously live on the edge. Consultant Psychologist, Petruska Clarkson posits that women have a sexual attraction to bad boys (B. Vaszily, 2006). The movies have, for decades depicted the "Tarzan" image of rescue and protection. Women tend to associate a type of "sexy ruggedness" with the bad boy image.

The thrill of unprecedented, uncertainty is an added attraction to the adventure of relating to a bad boy. The unpredictableness is much like a roller coaster ride's thrill. Remember when you embarked on a roller coaster for the first time? Lack of not knowing what to expect adds to the excitement. Women are "fixers" by nature. The challenge of taming a "bad boy's" roar to a big cat's purr will validate the bad boy's love for the attracted woman. Relationship with a real man, who seemingly breaks all the love rules or makes them appear more exciting, will attract women who are looking for adventure. Living life on the edge is attractive for some….especially the rescue part. There is a thin line between danger and passion. Instinctively, women desire to be pursued by a strong, sexy man of their fantasies and dreams. [source]

(I won't bother with the depth of the cheap stereotype that Bad Boys and tattoos go hand-in-hand. Lord how I hate that...)

One doctor, Donald M. Black, wrote an entire book dedicated to Bad Boys and Antisocial Personality Disorder. According to one editorial review of the book:

"...ample new evidence from genetics and neuroscience supports a biological cause for antisocial personality disorder (ASP), lending truth to the adage "some people are simply born bad." ASP is intimately connected to many of society's ills, including crime, domestic violence, drug and alcohol abuse, and even rape and murder. For men with severe ASP, life becomes an opportunity to break all social and moral rules without remorse. But there are ways of detecting warning signs in troubled children, and there are procedures, various combinations of medication, psychotherapy, and social institutional interventions, to prevent and treat ASP." [source]

(Damn. The definition of Bad Boy goes from tattoos to merciless criminal...)

Anyway, I hope to end the series with my personal interjections on the unfortunate stereotypes that pollute the debate, on my specific theories on why certain women seek Bad Boys, and very personal experiences with the Bad Boys I've encountered.

Bad Boy, Bad Boy... Whatcha Gonna Do... (Part 1 of 3?)

Whatcha gonna do when we come for you...

No bitter relationship debate blazes hotter than the discussion of a woman's attraction to Bad Boys. In fact, I witnessed quite a few nerds with high-water pants and pocket protectors explode into a messy heap trying to contain their angst about women falling for the stereotypical Bad Boys.

The blogosphere is loaded with outbreaks of heated exchange about "the good guys finishing last" and I call bullshit on most of it. Far too many of these outbursts feature psycho-babble about women with low self-esteem who cling to Bad Boys while "settling for less" - and worse - enduring all kinds of abuse. Lemme introduce a few points that I hope to break-down later:

The Hypocrisy of "Bad Girlism"
Most of the "good guys" complaining about empty black books perpetrate the same level of discrimination against "good girls." They want "Perfect 10" beautiful women who know how to have a good time. Why not take a second glance at intelligent Plain Janes? In other words, the good boys who complain about dateless nights are ignoring many of the good girls available on Friday nights. Hypocrite much?

Values and Offerings
Without a doubt, we typically chose dates and mates based on current desires and values. My ex-husband looked great on paper. I valued that. I wanted a family man with a great job. I wasn't overly concerned about head-over-heels love or great sex. I didn't think the first was necessary and I had already had tons of the other.

Years after the fiasco marriage ended, I realized I wanted to be madly in love and have great sex. That doesn't mean I dropped the other values, but I adjusted my scale. Money can never compensate for romance and intimacy (unless you're Donald Trump), so my sweetheart... well... let's just say he's looking for work right now but the rest is TIGHT.

Good and Bad Defined
While sniffing around the internet for more blog dialogue about "Good and Bad Boys," I came across Ndel's definition of each:

Good Boys: He’s nice. He has a good job. He brings you flowers. He is faithful. He is honest. Okay, three out of five ain’t bad. Momma said he would be a nice boy, from a good family. Hopefully, a doctor, but not a lawyer. A banker, but not a broker. In insurance, but not in assurance. A police officer, but not a security guard.

Bad Boys: He’s dangerous. He’s fast. He runs with the wrong crowd. He’ll get you in the wrong way. He won’t be faithful. He’ll leave you, or even worse, he’ll leave you with no money. And a vaginally disfiguring disease.

While many definitions seem to focus on looks (nerd vs. hottie), money (doctor vs. janitor), or chivalry (opening doors vs. grabbing crotch), Ndel gets my standing ovation by nailing the heart of the matter:

But let’s expand the definition of Bad Boy. It really includes men with high levels of toxicity of all types – emotional and physical.

And to me, that's the point. So many of these Bad Boy debates are polluted with stereotypes of the hopeless nerd vs. the leather-clad bike rider, and too many participants are arguing from specific bad experiences with a certain "type."

I've dealt with toxic men in all forms... from Bad Boys to those with the appearance of a textbook gentleman. I have also had wonderful experiences with others, including a Bad Boy during my youth who I drove to his probation check-ins (and ultimately returned to jail years after we parted).

So in the next part, I hope to deal with the stereotype and get back to examining "toxicity" as the better foundation for determining what's "Bad" for relationship health.

How childhood advice killed many adult relationships

This blog post came to me as I drove to work today. Seriously. (Damn I watch too much Grey's Anatomy, but I digress.)

Anyway, I thought of the four major bits of advice that my mother offered about marriage/relationships:

1. Men want a lady in public and a freak in the bedroom.

2. Keep your hygiene tight.

3. Don't be dependent on anybody. Be an independent woman with your own stuff so you can take care of yourself.

4. Men are intimidated by smart women. You'll probably need an older man to appreciate and keep pace with you.

Some of that information is useful, or at least backed by a reasonable principle. But do you see what's missing?

Don't see it? Lemme take you to a conversation I overhead in the ladies room between a young teen and an older bitter hag woman:

Honey... Please. Forget about the fantasy. Find yourself a rich older man and get yourself some money. My husband is a pain in the ass.

Do you see what's missing from this advice?

Just in case your brain is functioning at the same level as the nearest coma patient, here's one more try. This came from a slightly older woman as I lamented during the lowest point of my failed marriage:

Marriage isn't great. You're just supposed to be content, not necessarily elated. You raise the kids and have a partner.

What's desperately missing from the stories we pass down is what a strong partnership can and should be. Relationship advice from bitter adults is loaded with warnings... and flags... and hurt... and sirens... and selfishness. How in the fucking world do we hope our kids find love when we made marriage seem like a black hole of despair? How do we skip over the lessons about the giving nature of love right to the "get yours or get out?" How do we roll our eyes at romance and wonder why girls and boys invent words like "da hookup?"

This is where I admit that I am a lucky sonofabitch. My man and I somehow managed to come out of such mine-fields with deep faith in the power of love. We didn't buy the hype that marriage is a booby-trap and life-long love can't exist. We still fight the demons that cling to our clothes as we sprint away from the lies and experiences that almost broke us. Shit, sometimes I give him the side-eye as a potential cheater only because his anatomy features a twig and man-berries (or because I'm overcome by demonic PMS). That's the baggage, ladies and gentleman, that we need to spare dumping on the next girl or boy who just might grow-up to make a great spouse if we let 'em.

Slow Your Roll, Wild One

So I walked into this blog with my guns blazing. If you happened to mosey into the joint while enjoying the scenery and eating an ice cream cone, you probably felt like you stumbled into into a bank robbery. Not the quiet ones of today with concealed weapons and sissy notes to the teller. I mean the old time heists complete with horses, gun battles, chases, and those sexy spurs.

You see, HisSide isn't computer savvy, but he surprised me several months ago with a fantastic suggestion: "Let's start a blog about our relationship and tell folks all the stuff that others won't admit to."

This was shocking pillow talk coming from a man who thinks the internet is evil. (Seriously. He does.) I was drooling over the idea. I often complain about the useless nature of the sugar-coated love stories that elders tell younguns to help promote relationship bliss.

"What? You never had a single fight your entire relationship, grandma? That is awesome. You really love each other."

I dislike such nonsense. I once lost an eye when it dislodged from the socket during an eye-rolling episode in reaction to a story much like that one. (I'm better now. And I'm also kidding.) Never fighting means you were never engaged with enough passion to bother. I bet grandpa argued more with the mistress than grandma. (Damn. Did I say that?)

So I eventually managed to actually start the damned blog, and my timing was fantastic. As you can see from the archive, me and HisSide were fighting. Not once, but in a chronic downward spiral. Now that I've been here for a minute and my guns aren't blazing, I must slow down long enough to say: The man with which I share this blog is my best friend, an endless source of laughter, a die-hard protector, and one of the greatest joys of my day. He has flaws that make me think twice. And some of those flaws even robbed numerous days of peaceful existence.

But guess what? My shit stinks too. Some of that criticizing I do has a lot to do with my human flaws qualities such as impatience and selfishness. (Yeah, I admitted it. Can you?) While improved communication skills (and such) can be learned by two dedicated people, you can't "learn" friendship, love, compatibility, commitment, or the blessedly-balanced sexual and non-sexual "chemistry" that leaves two people stuck like glue inside and outside of the bedroom.

See you back here next time.

HerSide History: Part 0 - Introduction ('Cause Big Mark made me do it).

I love love love reading the comments at this blog, and Big Mark's recent comments reminded me of something important: Y'all don't have any historical context for the rantings on this blog. That's probably because I finally got this thing rolling while HisSide and I were in the middle of some energetic conflicts. I skipped right over the "how we met" and "why I'm in love with him" -- straight to the "why I wanna stab him right now."

So in the spirit of fairness, I will run a series called "HerSide History." Those posts will feature something about our past, starting from how we met, and run right up to where we are today. That's only fair since our relationship isn't just a series of fights and flaws taped together like poorly executed gift wrapping. We may even sprinkle in our own personal histories to thicken the plot. Past relationships, family histories, and all that jazz certainly play some kinda tiny role in how we relate.

HisSide will eventually mosey into the room, and give his own history lessons along with other things. Last night he made another pledge to finally say something. It's like he wants to create an air of suspense, so when he finally walks into the room, we'll all scream and grab at his clothes like he's a rockstar.

::rolling eyes::

I just know if he doesn't speak soon, I'm gonna tell everybody what happened to his jeans a year ago when he yelled for me to stop the washing machine... because he had a clothes washing emergency [just kidding honey... kinda...]

Just when you thought I disappeared...

... I returned from another week away (business trip) and tippy-toed back into my own blog. I used the back door like a common cat-burglar, hoping folks would forgive me for leaving 'em hanging.

Vacation week to Vegas with Dickhead was interesting. A good kinda interesting. We enjoyed ourselves like friends do.

But my business trip just a week after returning from Vegas was a different kind of eye-opener. Or eye-closer. Depends on how you look at it. 'Cause the results are more like a cringe than a grin. A week apart from each other led to soul searching. My return quickly led to disagreements ala sparring Hollywood couples rallying barreling towards divorce and citing the uber-ambiguous excuse "Irreconcilable Differences."

While submerged on a pillow-top bed in front of a large flat-screen HD television, I stole an opportunity to measure and weigh my own observations over the course of our two-plus-year relationship. From the hammock in my mind, I saw how Dickhead's general problem with jealousy is much more about a more specific struggle with bitterness and anger. Too bad he hasn't mastered the art of seperating our existence from the pool of past hurts in which he continues to do the backstroke.

The spark for his fuse can be a simple misunderstanding or a too-long look from another man. His nature is to flare up - and fire off - before really thinking about where his fool ass is going. He has brilliant moments of clarity where he recognizes the behavior, but dark lows when it comes to controlling it with knowledge.

Dickhead's combative nature left me with a decision to make. Do I trust he's dedicated to healing the areas where the fuse was born? Do I believe he'll consider the professional help he talked about? Do I hold onto the truth that his own combative dad and years in the military left literal and figurative battle scars that can heal? Or do I acknowledge my love for the man but keep it moving since combat and peace can't coexist?

I have been leaning - basically falling - to the side of "keep it moving." I don't subscribe to the school of changing anybody... not even attempting to change those who want to flip their script. Too many men and women carry false hope of change into relationships. Changing a person just isn't an option 'cause it isn't fucking possible. BUT... I have also seen people, like my father, change a destructive nature and really thrive in the beauty of life. How do you ignore the fact and faith that people go through transformations in life?

Damnit. Is that just rolling the dice???

Kinetic energy represents the power of something in motion. Potential energy represents the possible power an object possesses. The kinetic energy of Dickhead's path has overtaken what I see as the potential energy to overcome his personal demons. Waiting on the sidelines is less and less an option for me. If that battle stays on the same path, you'll see this blog become The Breakup Diaries, Part II.

I believe couples should fight through trials. The divorce rate proves that people don't have any fight left in them, or understand the enduring commitment that should come standard with "true love." But when do you abandon ship? In a moment of perfect clarity, can you balance the nature of mature love against your threshold for patience (and possibly pain)?

Who knows. Shit. I'm in the same boat with you. I can speak from a mountaintop about my experiences. On a good day, you may even mistake my wisdom for the Wise King Solomon. But experiences teach new lessons each day. What do you keep and what do you throw away? Eat the meat and spit out the bone. What about the damn gristle?

Some days, I feel about as sure as a stilt-wearing clown walking down the side of an icy mountain.

The story continues...

On Vacation

Greetings! We're on vacation right now, but we'll return on March 17, 2009. Vegas Rocks!

Green-eyed jealousy and irrational rage - Dickhead outdoes himself this time.

Dickhead perpetrated an epic fuckup this weekend and the whole sordid evening changed the landscape of our relationship. It ended with my very calm and resolute words, "I can't do this. I don't want to be with you anymore." So now lets rewind the tape.


A mutual friend invited us to a dinner party. The dinner party was to celebrate his father-in-law's 68th birthday who Dickhead and I never met. We packed-up my nine-year old son and made our way over. I was actually excited, and you would be too if you ever tasted the mom's cooking.


Anyway, we arrived and met the birthday boy and other guests. Things seemed fine until Dickhead started doing tequila shots and another couple arrived at the party.


Dickhead immediately doesn't like the husband. Sure. The husband talked a little too loud. He was a bit flamboyant. And he kept getting church calls like he was the Pastor of a huge congregation with a direct red phone to God's private office. But so what? We're in somebody else's home meeting their friends. Social grace and basic laws of socializing dictate that you make small talk and keep dat shit moving.


Long and short - Dickhead starts slumping in his chair and staring glaring at the husband during a three-minute conversation about cell phones old vs. new. He appears to be seething about stupid cell phone small-talk. I see this, give Dickhead a smile, take his hand, and say, "Sweetie. You look like you need a cigarette. Come on outside with me."


What happens next? Arnold Alkie almost falls down the porch steps on the way out and finally stops stumbling in the middle of the street. And the house isn't really that close to the street. The stumbling was acrobatic and poetic as I marveled over how he stayed on his feet. (Note to self: Dickhead is a ballerina). I had to quietly call him about TWENTY FUCKING TIMES from the side of the house to get him out of the street. When he finally moves, The King of Stunted Social Growth loses his damned mind on me outside. Really. Out of the blue, he cussed me out about talking to the gentleman at the party. Reason? Because "I can see he wants you."


"But I'm here with you, baby. I don't know what you're talking about."


"But I can see it. You're gonna be WITH HIM!"


"I don't even KNOW him."


Thinking to myself, "If I didn't think I would end up on the news, I'd slap every tooth out of your mouth and make you search through these white garden rocks to retrieve them."

But my body went into appeasement mode to stop the tide I saw rushing towards the shores. This drunk asshole is losing his mind over small talk at a dinner party... the same small talk his dumb. ass. was having with the man's wife. And when he went into ranting how "he wants you and you're gonna be with him..." I knew it was time to grab the kid get get outta there before he could embarrass me beyond showing my face ever again.


I apologized to our friend, who I straight up told that "Dickhead had too much to drink and was tripping again." I apologized to him. Gave beautiful smiles and good-byes to the rest of the house, and left with my heart in my feet. Our other friends hadn't even arrived yet, and once again I had to implement Plan Damage Control for a crazy fiance who took his drunken jealousy out on me.


I honestly don't see how else I could have handled that situation. I was almost whining - almost begging him to calm down. It was like watching myself in a movie, except I was in the audience screaming, "Leave him you dumb bitch!" That night, on the way home, that's exactly what I did. I broke up with him.


He's the love of my life. He's still in the home. And we're still friends. But intimacy will cease as we return to "friends" and he takes time to work out some issues - ones that I wanted to help him bear but can't anymore. I don't want to be an enabler. I especially don't want to be a target, and I actually feel relieved. Right in the middle of feeling guilty for being so happy about the decision, one of my closest girlfriends said this:


"You were able to make that decision without second-guessing yourself because your actions originated in love, honesty, and purpose."


I couldn't find better words than that. I love Dickhead, I live honestly with him, and I see the deeper purpose of him getting over his frightening jealousy while outside this relationship. The pull of his problem was starting to weigh me down. He made me the object of his irrational jealous behavior and the load simply got too heavy. So for now, I'm a best friend helping her Dickhead male friend deal with some issues.


He is overly concerned that this is the end for us. I want him to recognize this as a new beginning for him. There is not "us" so long as there's an angry, unstable, and unhappy him.


He may breeze through here and talk about this. I am pretty sure a history of cheating ex-wives and his own insecurities over his joblessness are major factors - but the depth and fire in his reactions speaks to something even deeper.


I thank you for reading. As a woman, what else could/should I have done after the jealousy fuse was lit?


Bonus PS: Dickhead reads all of these posts, so it's not like we're talking behind his back or anything. He knows very well that I find just the right words to describe the depths of his insanity.