The start of the New Year {-Fiction-}

For Christmas, Beth got me the complete first season of The Soprano’s on Blu-ray. I got her Nothing. And despite that, she was so happy as we sat together on a Lazy-boy in her uncle’s family room on Christmas Eve with her family.

It freaked me the fuck out.

So I avoided her the next several days at work, and left New Year’s Eve to go up north to my cousin’s house for the start of the New Year.

 

What a fucking mistake that was. I was miserable that week. There was no weed and no Beth.  And my cousins were fucktards who wanted to play hockey all day and party all night. The fuck do I wanna play hockey for when it’s ice fucking cold out? Just get me some weed or Beth already! Yeah the girls and the parties were great but there’s only so much Pabst Blue Ribbon I could drink and bitches I can mess around with.

 

It was a long week for me, and I pretty much regretted going the day I left because without some bud, I would think too much. And when I started thinking too much, I’d always end up thinking about Beth.  

 

She just had this magical way of pulling me in. I mean, yeah I wanted to bang her and all, but it was more than that. It’s always been more than that with her. She was my girl, but she kind of scared me, too. She was just so into me. And it didn’t matter if we were stoned or not, she just wanted to be with me. But the fact was, she deserved more than a Nobody.

 

Instead of telling her this, we’d spend day in and day out together. We’d drive for hours around town and outside of town just talking and laughing and singing. Some days we’d get baked, other days we’d just hang out. She’d lay in my arms on the couch in her parent’s house while watching TV or just looking out the window. Fooling around with her was always so fucking enjoyable, of course, but it really was more than that.  Couple that with the Christmas thing and … I remembered why I had to leave.

 

When I finally saw Beth at work that first day back, I thought for sure we were done. I thought for sure she’d want nothing more to do with me. After all, I didn’t get her a Christmas present and I vanished for a week.  Still, I stupidly asked her for a ride home and she obliged. And then I stupidly told her I loved her when I should’ve just gotten out of the car.

 

The next thing I knew, we were back inside her uncle’s house like a married couple eating dinner with them yet again! What the fuck was I doing?

More from these *fictional* characters here, here, and here.

stick a fork in it

It's Monday so why not talk about stuff that bugs the crap out of me... more specifically, sounds that annoy me:

NAIL CLIPPING in a public area. Do it in the privacy of your own home, asshat.

CHEWING WITH YOUR MOUTH OPEN. Come on. I don't need to wonder if that's peanut butter you're enjoying with your chips.

WHINING. Child or adult, or even cat. Young or old. STFU already.

DORA. If you tell me one more time to "Say it with me" I'll scream.

DIEGO. If you tell me one more time to "Shout it!" I'll cut you.

CAILLOU. See Whining.


HIGH PITCH, NASALLY TONES from the lady that sits behind me at work. I'm not sure how I haven't screamed at her yet.

MOTORCYCLE MUFFLERS. Too loud for my old ears.

COUNTRY TWANGY MUSIC. No thanks.

KIDZ BOP. Really?

TILTW: 7.21-7.27

* Telling Lovie she can "do my hair" if she lets me do hers while watching Little Einsteins is what it takes for her to let me do something... anything... to her hair. I tried braids last weekend that looked super cute until the hair fully dried and the braids shrunk up into her scalp.

* I'm really loving the "I do it all by myself!" stage we're in. Please by all means- DO IT YOURSELF!

* Bath time immediately following dinner is so much easier than after dinner and TV/before bed. That way she can fart around as long as she wants, which has been up to an hour most nights lately!

* Lovie starts back with her "gymnastics" classes on Saturday. I took her out for the summer thinking we'd just go to the park (for free) but it's been insanely hot and we've barely done anything outdoors. I was going to sign her up for soccer (because my kid WILL play soccer) but she's become this jumping bean lately and talks about Gymnastics a lot so... gymnastics it is. Soccer can wait for now.

RWH: Longhand {-Fiction-}

I started to ignore her again when she told me she was taking the job. It wasn’t as easy as it was back at New Year’s when I took off for the week. This time, I still had to see her every day at work. It kind of sucked, to be honest. I kind of grew attached to having Beth around. She wasn’t like any of the other girls I’d been with who would open their legs to anyone. And she didn’t freak out when I ignored her. The others would go ballistic on me. Constantly trying to call and talk to me. I don’t know what they didn’t get. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I just don’t want to smoke with anyone else. Why is that so difficult to understand? 

Beth’s last day in the center was pretty awkward as everyone was sad to see her go. At the end of the day, I watched her say good-bye to some of the residents and staff before I followed her out to the parking lot.

“Can I get a hug?” I called as she opened her car door.

She looked at me and tried smiling, her eyes bright and watery. She wrapped her arms around me and buried her head into my chest while I rested mine atop her head, breathing her in. This was going to be harder than I thought.   

“I really do care about you.” 

“You deserve so much more than me.” 

She didn’t say anything but I could feel her shake a bit and I could feel dampness seep through my shirt. 

“I do love you,” she said into my chest.

She broke free from our embrace, took my hand and put a note inside it and closed my hand into a fist to cover the paper. 

Beth turned away, got in her car and started it, and pulled out of the parking lot never looking back.

After I got home and finally smoked a bowl, I unfolded the letter:

Dear Dan,

Our time together was really special to me and I won’t ever forget it…or you… though you will probably forget about me. : (

I tried so hard to talk to you… We had some really good times but when you shut down… it’s hard. It’s one thing to need space or something, but you got to tell a person that’s how you feel …Unless… Maybe you were embarrassed by me or something. I haven’t a clue... I guess that’s my point here. What the hell, Dan? Why couldn’t you ever tell me what was going in that head of yours? Why did you just have to shut me down all the time? If you didn’t want to be with me, that’s fine…JUST SAY SO.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I really do care about you… more than I may let on. I will miss you a lot. I already do. Take care of yourself.

Love,

Beth

More from these *fictional* characters here and here. 

Cheers

A week from tomorrow, I'll be here:

Paradise, if you will.

It will be the first time in four years since hopping on a plane.

It will be the first time in ten years since vacationing without my husband.

It will be the first time in two years, seven months, and twelve days I'll be overnight without my Lovie. (This one scares the shit out of me to the point of making me feel a little ill when I really think about it. I love her so friggin much and it hurts to think about being away from her so I do my best not to thinking about this.)

I'll be meeting up with my BFF/cousin. She's flying in from NYC, I'm flying in from Chicago. Two big city girls, who happen to turn 40 this year, getting away for a long weekend of doing absolutely nothing but lay by the ocean for three days... to celebrate each other and our lives. And hopefully another 40 more years together.

Cheers to 40 years!

the absolute best thing to ever happen to me in almost 40 years... so glad to be doing this trip before my
bday so i can celebrate my actual bday with her by my side. i'm such a sap. and??

i could be making millions right now

There’s a reason why I’m not in a Nike or Gatorade ad.

There’s a reason why soccer teams are segregated into Boy and Girl teams, something that bugged me when soccer finally started getting more popular in this country. Why couldn’t a girl play just as hard as a boy? Be just as awesome? All on the same team?

Then I started thinking about my time as a little soccer star and it hit me: BOOBS.

As small kids, there was always a soccer ball being kicked around either in the basement, backyard, or on TV. And when I was 6, I was finally old enough to join a soccer league. It was the 1970s and I was the only girl in the entire league. At first it didn’t really bother me because I loved the game; plus, I was one little shit of a tomboy who wanted to prove to everyone that I could, despite being a girl, play soccer.

i NEVER wore dresses but .. you get the idea

I like to think that my love for soccer meant I kicked ass at it, but I blew the one chance I had to prove to everyone how awesome I was when I missed scoring at the most inopportune time. It was the one game where coach swapped me from the back of the field to the front in a matter of minutes.

I was on the right side of the field. There was only one opposing team player and his goalie before me, hounding me with questions: “Are you really a gur-url?” “Is it true?!”

Suddenly I heard screaming from behind and turned to see a ball flying toward me.

It was my time to shine… my time to prove to everyone that I deserved to play an offensive position.

The ball flew closer to me, and soon it was just me and the goalie; all I had to do was stretch my leg out at the right time for my foot to tap the ball past the goalie.

But instead my leg and foot completely missed the ball.

Mortified, I still kept playing and stayed with my team in that league as the only girl for several years. I was, after all, one of them; we ran laps together, we scrimmaged together, we conquered (or lost) together.

Soccer was my life.

Then one day, things completely changed: I woke up bleeding from my crotch; my stick straight, thick hair started getting curly; and I had boobs that required an actual bra opposed to an undershirt.

I was 10 years old and often got leering glances from men my father's age. It was quite disgusting and humiliating, and I soon quit playing soccer because of the lingering looks to the front of my shirt and the teasing I heard when I ran during practices and games. 

I hated my boobs so much.

Ole

Please go HERE to read the re-write of this post.

When we were small, my dad used to play soccer with us in the alley behind our house on summer evenings as the street lights came on. There was always a soccer ball being kicked around either in the basement, backyard, or on TV. We even went to a ton of Chicago Sting games where we chanted “Let’s Go Sting!" and, when they scored, threw around wads of confetti that we spent hours the week leading up to the game making from newspaper.

from google images. my favorite (Sting) player.

When I was about 6, I was finally able to join a soccer league and compete. It was the late 1970s. I was the only girl in the entire league, and I loved it because I loved soccer.

 

I like to think that my love for soccer meant I kicked ass at it, but I always seemed to end up playing a defensive position... save for one particular game. The coach had me switch positions with a midfielder and then with an offensive player in a matter of minutes. I was on the right side of the field. There was only one opposing team player and his goalie before me. Suddenly I heard screaming and turned to see a ball flying toward me.

It was my time to shine.

It was my time to prove to everyone that I deserved to play an offensive position.

It was my time to score.

The ball flew closer to me, in slow motion, and now it was just me and the goalie. All I had to do was stretch my leg out at the right time for my foot to tap the ball past the goalie.

But instead my leg and foot completely missed the ball.

I was mortified and avoided eye contact with everyone as I ran off the field to be replaced by someone who deserved to be on the field in an offensive position.

Still, I stayed with my team in that league as the only girl for several years. For the most part, being the only girl became an issue only during our practices because I inevitably always had to be  member of the Shirts team (versus the Skins team who didn’t wear shirts). But other than that, I was one of them; we practiced together, we ran laps together.

Soccer was my life.

And then one day, things completely changed: I woke up bleeding from my crotch; my stick straight, thick hair started getting curly; and I had boobs that required an actual bra opposed to an undershirt.

I was 10 years old and often got second glances from men my father's age. It was quite disgusting and humiliating and I soon quit playing soccer because of the teasing  I heard when I ran laps.

I hated my boobs so much… still kind of do, today.

bubble chasing girly girl best get ready cuz she will be kicking that ball around soon! ;)

Please go HERE to read the re-write of this post.

before 40, again

In January I started thinking about things I wanted to try to accomplish in the nine months I had left before turning the big 4-0.

I updated the list at the end of April. And now, a month and a half before turning the big 4-0, I'm updating again because I have a hellacious headache and can't really think of anything else to write I can it's Monday and that means it's LISTICLES time! (comments in RED are from April, comments bold and in PURPLE are from today)

* finish Lovie's 1 year book (up to 9 months now) and 2 year book

 

* go down two pant sizes (not even close to this- ugh) (down one size and am pretty sure i'll make it down TWO! by my bday)

 

* get new wedding/anniversary bands for our 5 year wedding anniversary in June (we'll have been together 12 years) (this is happening but hasn't yet since it's not June so can't cross off yet) (done!)

 

* start being more active again- walking when i can, taking the stairs (haha. no... hahahahahaha. ugh) (it's been like a 100 every day for ever now- fuck activity!)

 

* do something ALONE at least once a month- even if it's running out to Target (this has happened a couple times! and even though i was home alone while the hubs and Lovie were out, it was still ... nice!) (ongoing/done!)

 

* get out to a dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse with the hubs alone (it's our favorite and we haven't been since days before Lovie's birth) (done!)

 

* take a weekend trip to NYC to visit my BFF/cousin - alone - to celebrate our 40th birthdays (she's 6 months older than me) (should be booking this trip today as a matter of fact- WOOT!) (2 weeks from today, i'll be packing up to head back home from our Fierce and Forty trip to Paradise for a long weekend!)

 

* start knitting again- and reading more (reading more when i can but that knitting thing? not sure when the hell that will happen) (no. the only reading i do these days are blogs and no knitting either.)

 

* start writing more again (this is ongoing here on the blog- though not much fiction) (ongoing/done! including fiction!)

 

* and, again, the number one thing to do before turning 40 is get myself healthier (this is ongoing. i've already gotten a physical, gotten a mammogram and i'm trying to eat better.) (ongoing/done! lost nearly 25 pounds to date, eating healthier)

 

TILTW: 7/14-7/20

* Just because she's uber girly girl and wants to dress in a "princess dress" (tutu) and wear a "super power bracelet" (slinky), doesn't mean she can't play with tools. Make a mama proud, she does.

* If you peel a bit off both the narrow and wider ends of a hard boiled egg and blow into the narrow end's hole, you can un-peal the egg very easily. Youtube it if you don't believe me.

* I'm in desperate need of a pedicure. shudder

* Two weeks from today, this moment, I'll be up in the air in an airplane getting ready to meet my BFF/cousin in Paradise for a long weekend to celebrate that we're Fierce and Forty (she is already, I will be in September).

RWH: The Secret Sits {-Fiction-}

“…um, I’m kinda new to all this.”

“You’re a virgin?” I rolled back on to my side, smiling. No way could I have scored a virgin. No fucking way!

“Well yeah, but…” she covered her face with her hands. “I’m just not that experienced with any of this.”

I gently kissed her head. “That’s fine.” Are you shitting me?

She just laid there.

“Can we... still? Kiss?” I asked. I mean, what the fuck? You’re not 12.

We started making out more and it was good and nice but really? What the fuck? This chick was 22 years old with a huge set of knockers. How the hell could she be “new to all of this?”

I didn’t deflower her for another month.

We made out a lot. We took off our clothes and came so very close more than once, but I didn’t have condoms and Princess Purity didn’t either. Fuck, I wanted to get laid so bad. And I hated fucking condoms. So I went down on her. More than once. And she gave me hand jobs. More than once. Did she go down on me? No. Little twit never went down on me. I mean, how about you give a little with all that take, right? One day after we smoked a bowl and started kissing, I even tried pushing her head down. She looked at me in horror so I told her I was kidding. But really? What the fuck? I can’t get my dick wet in your pussy or your mouth?

So I started ignoring her. Like on New Year’s. I just took off for a week with my cousins. Yeah I thought of her, she was my Beth. But she wouldn’t go down on me and there were no condoms, and I was gonna explode if I spent more time with her.

The week after New Year’s we talked in her car after work one day. She cried and told me she really cared about me but that she couldn’t take the “lack of communication.” She asked if she should drive me home and I agreed.

We got to my place and just sat for a moment with the car still running.

“Just go,” she cried. Her face was all wet, her eyes all red and puffy.

“You really want me to?”

She didn’t answer me, wouldn’t look at me.

“I love you.” What the motherfucking shit did I just say?!?

She didn’t look at me, thankfully, so I opened the door to get out and she grabbed my hand, holding it so hard I sat back down.
 
“Please don’t leave,” she whispered through her sobs.

We hugged and wiped each other’s tears.

This piece is a continuation of last week's piece. Both fiction. I'm stepping outside of my comfort zone big time by trying to write from a male's point of view.