Online Dating: Holiday Edition

I've started receiving emails requesting holiday nookie when some pigs, err...men, get to town to visit family. I don't know why I haven't learned to expect this.

Two of them specifically have requested a playmate for their time in town.

"Sure!! I've been wondering what would happen if I stick my penis in one end of a finger cuff and you put yours in the other and we pull. Do you think we'd climax or injure ourselves?" is most definitely not the answer they were looking for judging by their reactions.

And now, I kinda want an answer to that question. I fear that question will remain unanswered unless I run across a couple of willing volunteers though.

I'm sure there are people out there into it but I can't imagine standing around a crowd of holiday shoppers asking, "hey, I need two people with penises to satisfy my curiosity!" while seductively pulling finger cuffs out of my pocket and holding them up.

Actually, I can imagine it. And I'd love to see it happen!

Losing a friend

It's a strange thing when a good friend dies. Everything kind of jumbles and there's this weird disconnect from reality. Almost as if you don't think about it maybe there's a chance it's not true.

But you do think about it. The good, the bad, the weird. And if you're like me, you avoid talking about it until you give yourself repeated migraines and explosive diarrhea.
Because, you know, party is my middle name.

My friend was an intensely private, insecure, flawed, wonderful person. I have so many stories she was a part of. She would have hated having her life told with her in a starring role as the idyllic, perfect friend who is a thing of legend. Hell, she'd probably hate having her life told at all.

She was stubborn and judgey and spiteful and confusing. She made no secret of the fact that I became a little more stupid in her eyes because I am so amused by Will Ferrell movies but we once got into a huge, screaming fight because I couldn't make her understand that 300° is 300° whether it's in an oven, a grill, or a convection oven because she couldn't separate it from the wattage of a microwave being more or less powerful so one minute in one microwave might be the same as three minutes in another because they were different sizes. And at the same time she could be counted on to be my biggest supporter and cheerleader (when we weren't fighting over stupid shit) who regularly told me and believed I sold myself short, dated beneath me, that I never give myself enough credit for who I am, and she treated me like an emotional genius for things that would be her stories to tell, not mine.

She was funny, and caring, and supportive.
We had amazing times together. When she was in the moment, surrounded by friends, she was joy. I sometimes regret, and probably will more so now, that I always took so many pictures because she hated... hated...pictures of herself. She judged herself so harshly that it would put a smudge on a memory that didn't deserve to be there. But she's not here now so I'm glad I have them.

And maybe it's because of that as much as anything that for all of the parties, and the fights, and the good times, and the extraordinary times that I'm choosing to remember me falling out of her car, stone cold sober,  ass first. There I was, ass on the pavement, feet in the car, looking up at her confused and in hysterics and there she was laughing so hard she hit her face on the steering wheel asking, "how do you even do that?" And all the nights we spent getting ready for the night in her little apartment in St Petersburg, singing along to whatever weird song popped into my head. And we rocked those songs. Which, for some reason always included Ohh, Child. It was always in the mix. Like we were partying in the 70s instead of the 90s and 2000s.

At those times, there were no cameras, there were no crowds, there was none of that nagging self doubt that told her she was a burden on everyone else that you could see if you watched her just a moment too long. At those times, she was unguarded and happy.

I hope that whatever has met her in the next life includes a lot of unguarded and happy.

https://youtu.be/_DHRGrIqmb0

Gym and junk food

I went to the gym at lunch with a headache.

I hate Doritos. I can't even stomach the smell to try to get them passed my lips.

What do Doritos have to do with they gym, you ask?

Well, gross smells would be the first thing. And the guy who worked out next to me today.

A guy came in, jumped on the machine next to me and the assault on all of my delicate parts began.

He reeked of Doritos. Immediately, my stomach started churning and my head reminded me that it was there and controlling my ability to function today and thumped in protest. Still, I powered on.

Then he started sweating. I do not know if he had eaten so many Doritos that it was oozing out of his pores or if  Dorito dust just creates a film over one's flesh that intensifies the stench of everything trying to escape one's body, but I was certain I was going to add to the nightmare by losing my breakfast.

I gave up. I walked away. He won the workout wars today. I cut it short and let  him savor his stinky victory. On the machine right next to mine. Because he couldn't have have opted for any of the others that were open for at least ten machines down and not right next to me.

Oh yes, he was the victor today. But I will remember. And I do hold a grudge. And I have a disturbing imagination.

Beautiful Days

Picture it - it's a perfectly beautiful 70 degree morning. The sun is shining, the humidity is low, there's a small breeze carrying the smell of someone cutting grass to start the day.

(Sidenote: I'm torn completely by the fact that that is one of my favorite smells and the recent meme that hit Facebook telling me that that smell happens because the plants are in distress that we are murdering them)

Anyway, I have decided that it is the perfect kind of day to whip open my doors and prop open the back door for the dog so he can go in and out, and hang blankets on the line because how can you not on a day like this?!? Beautiful (if murderous) smells, cleansing breezes, and doggie freedom.  

I'm enjoying the breeze as I work. My dog is enjoying the freedom of in and out. He randomly checks in for love. And I absentmindedly give him love. 

What a lovely day. 

IN ANOTHER PERSON'S WORLD! 

BUT NO! THIS IS MICHELE WORLD. 

My little furry fucker comes back in for love, and I started petting him with my foot as I continued typing stuff. 

As I was finishing up what I was doing, an odd reality started slipping in. The dog's fur didn't feel right. The dog's size didn't feel right. Hell, the dog's shape didn't even feel right. 

Fear seized me for a moment. I froze.

What. The fuck. Isundermymotherfuckingfoot?!?! 

It was like a scene from a really bad horror movie. My leg was in mind air, my hands clenched the arms of the chair. I held my breath. And I looked down. And I shreiked. I threw my body back. I may have slobbered. Or peed. Or maybe it was gas. It was a mess of movement and sound. 

And the strange cat that welcomed itself into my house and my affections looked at me like I was a total asshole before he ran out of the room and hopefully out of the house. 

And finally, Max let me know he was upstairs curled up in my bed as I heard him sluggishly drop to the floor and slowly not rush to protect me by barking from the top of the stairs. 

Because he cares. 

And will I have learned anything from this?

Unlikely. 

Paranoia and creeps

I have two stories that I don't think I shared with many people...they come together but it's hard to tell one without the other. So it gets long. One is hard to tell because it's entirely offensive and the other is me losing my cool. And I don't lose my cool often so it burns me when I do. In any case, it's been nagging at me lately and it finally clicked last night that it's because Easter is coming and good Friday and the Monday after are when these stories happened...

So, part one:

A few years ago I volunteered at a food pantry three day a week after I was laid off. There were a dozen or so people that volunteered there but there was only an older couple and myself that were there every day.

Initially, the couple was incredibly friendly. And they remained friendly but they were also creepy and angry and paranoid. The sort of people that could have stepped into The Visit and pulled it off spectacularly.

They were always freaking out, for instance, that a couple of the ladies who did the paperwork when they were there would always come over and check.out what kind of food we were bagging up that day because it changed every day. And that couple would flip out. "I don't know why they don't trust us. We do everything by the book. I swear I'm gonna say something next time. They better learn to mind their own business. They keep looking over here." And of course because I was there everyday, I took the brunt of their nuttiness. A number of times I called the director of the program because I was concerned they were going to start snapping at people and hitting them with canned goods and milk.

Part two:

Good Friday blind date.

My friend will forever swear that she wasn't trying to play matchmaker. I will likely never believe her mostly because he fit into the same bizarre place most of my blind dates have. Completely unlikeable and, well, worse. At the very least, she was testing the waters hoping for a click.

She made dinner and had us over. He was 20 years older (or looked it), was in dirty sweatpants and ragged tee-shirt. Unshowered. Rude. Hillbilly know-it-all stupid. Judgey and racist. And that was my impression before he opened his mouth. I was shocked my friend, being who she is, could stand to be around him.

I ignored him as best I could through the evening.

Finally he looked at me and asked, "you a n+**&r lover?"

My jaw hit the floor. I'm certain my eyes must have been as big as saucers when I looked at my friend for who knows what. I could see she was a bit shocked too and that may have been why I finally found my voice.

I responded, "I tend to date men who don't offend me."

"Oh, well women who do their nails like you are usually into the blacks."

My natural nails. Painted a pastel orange. I thought it was kind of spring-y and easter-y.
But nope, apparently it was a warning bell to bigots that I might be into "the blacks".

He was arrested a few months later for crank calling 911 to report non-existent fires. And that is pretty much the mentality I expect from a bigot.

And the stories come together:

I was telling the people at the food pantry about it. The grandparents from The Visit were off doing their thing creating more paranoia for themselves because they actively avoided actually participating in a group conversation when they happened. But they would listen. And they would hear bits and pieces. And they would judge. And they decided that I was insulting the black guy we volunteered with. And I kept hearing them complain as we were talking.

I finally snapped. I looked over, raised my voice and told them, "nobody was forcing you to be here. You've excluded yourselves from every opportunity to get to know anyone. You actively dislike everyone. Go home. Go home and decide if you really want to deal with this"

Then I felt bad. Or scared. I mean, they lived on a farm... I could have been chopped up and fed to the animals. Or both...I probably felt both. Maybe a little shame, as well, for having lost my cool.

Anyway, the anniversary is coming and it's bugging me. Hopefully it'll pass on Tuesday.

And I'll offer two sound pieces of advice -

First, if you think you're walking into a set up and your first thought is "why would my friend think I'd be into a creepy, racist slob (there's probably some double standard in thinking some people look racist)?" do what you have to do to leave now. Shit your pants so they kick you out, grab the nearest knife and cut a finger off, or start snot crying and spew gibberish. Anything.

Second, if you're volunteering with people who are determined be be nasty even after the program director has tried to cool them, pull back. Reduce your own time there, find another opportunity, save your sanity. And your cool.