Life in 3D- Dating: Am I Being a Guy About This?

            This is pretty much first in Charlotte J’s life.  I was picked up at a gas station.  I know, crazy and just a little cheap, this very attractive young man asked me about my Element while I was pumping gas.  It is a rather unique looking car, after all.  We talked a bit about the car and I told him I just moved here and no, it was not to follow my Navy husband, I’m single.  He invited me to the fair that was in town.  He said it was “Ladies’ Night.”  I had to decline.  I happened to be filling up to go on another date a town or two away.   This mid-fifties African-American woman at the pump next to me said, “I don’t think he was just telling you about the fair, I think he wants you to go with him.”  The guy’s window was open and he called out as he was driving away, “I think you’re right.”  Then the lady said, “Girl, he is cute, you better go get him!”

                But I didn’t.  Like I said, I had a prior engagement.  He followed me.  Wow.  He followed me down a rather busy two lane highway and flashed his lights for me to pull over.  I know, this sounds vaguely stalker-ish.  But this is the South and maybe men down here are just more persistent.  And besides, there is a fine line between stalker behavior and romantic gesture.  I called my girlfriend in my hometown to tell her of this oddly sweet-yet-psycho pick-up and she told me that I should pull over and make out with him immediately.  So I did.  I pulled over in front of a hardware store and I talked to him and gave him my number but did not kiss him. I am not that easy.

He pursued me.  I don’t think you understand how startling that is to a girl like me.  I mean he literally chased me down the road just to get my number. Now this would scare off other woman, but I was incredibly flattered.  I mean, my whole life I have been a dorky over-weight choir girl.  For a HOT, and I mean SUPER-HOT, marine guy to pursue me surprises the inhibition right out of me, not to mention the wisdom.  Other men I feel I had to “talk them into” liking me.   My own husband would barely touch me the last few years so this kind of attention was so………… refreshing.  It made me feel powerful.  Is this what the other girls feel like?  Is this what it feels like to be pretty?

                A week went by.  The other guy I had a date with, well, let’s just say that it kind of fizzled out.  It was not worth the almost 50 mile commute.  And if a man is not worth the commute, he is not worth one’s time at all.  So, the gas station guy kept texting and I finally texted back and agreed to meet him at the Waffle House after choir practice.  No, this is not a scene from a movie, this actually happened.  I had to rush out of church choir practice to have a date with a marine at a Waffle House. 

                So I am at the Waffle House eating my hash browns, drinking my diet coke and I can barely look at this man.  He is devastatingly handsome.  I swear I had to look away lest I melt into warm goo at the sight of his eyes that were as deep and blue as the ocean.  He has that rare combination of dark hair, blue eyes, and a tan because; this is Florida, after all.  He has a goatee, so he is not active military right now.  I think he is some kind of chef.  Everyone is a chef down here on the coast.  But really, I wasn’t listening.

                And here is where I think I am turning into a “guy.”  He is sooooooooooooooooo handsome.  I mentioned his pretty eyes and I love the way it felt when he looked at me.  He was undressing me with his eyes and it did not make me feel cheap or used, it made me feel beautiful.  He also has a fantastic body.  I mean, he is a marine, or was, so he is still in good shape.  He might have put on a little weight working in a restaurant, but I do not care at all.   I really, really think he is sexy.  We talked about our interests, told each other the Cliff notes of our life stories, but all I could think about was kissing him.  I was very nervous.  I am sure this man has sailed the seven seas and has seen a lot of women’s bedrooms in that time.  I feel like a little girl in his presence.  I feel like I know very little of the world of men, sex, and romance.  He probably thinks this is sweet and a bit of a challenge.  What man wouldn’t? 

As much as I was enjoying this portion of the date, I wanted to hurry up with this part so I could kiss him.  I just wanted to feel his muscles and kept wondering what he looks like naked. This is bad of me.  I should have been paying attention, but my hormones were just going crazy and I could not think straight. 

                My date noticed that I kept looking away and asked me why.  I told him it was because he was so attractive.  I just said it.  He had me look right into his eyes and told me, “Charlotte, I assure you, I am very, very attracted to you.  I think you are beautiful, smart, and charming.  Trust me; I am very much interested in you.  I don’t care if you were to tell me that you are homeless and you’ve got nothing to your name but that car in the parking lot and that is stolen, I am still very much attracted to you.”  Wow.  So, the check was paid and we went around driving in my car, because really, I don’t know him all that well, and we went “Geo Cashing” which is some kind of high-tech scavenger hunt.

                And finally, we parked near the Pensacola Sound and made out.  Wow…. It was worth the wait.  That is all I am going to say about that.  I mean, I might be the kind of girl that gets picked up at gas stations but I am still a lady.

                But once again, there is this guilt for being physically attracted to this man.  I think that maybe I should check his resume, or do a crossword with him or something else uber-intellectual, but really I enjoyed driving around looking for the little prizes and deciphering clues for Geo-Cash and really want to just kiss him a lot.  I mean a lot.  And I want to touch him.  I want to touch him an awful lot.  So, am I turning into a guy?  I can’t seem to see past his attractiveness and sexiness to get to know him well because my body is screaming at me to take him.  I am little frightened of this feeling.  I don’t quite know what to do about it.  I think I am turning into the kind of guy girls complain about it.  The kind of guy that just thinks about sex and checking a girl out rather than really listen and try to “get to know” the other person.  I am trying…. Really… I am trying to be a good girl.  But it is hard when I look into his eyes.  God, his eyes.  Lord, help us all.

Life in 3D: The Best Antiseptic is Sunshine

I have some lighthearted observations on life in Florida, but right now I am going to talk about healing.

Sometimes you don’t know how much pain you’ve been until you are out of it.  Right now, I see how many things I filled my life with to avoid feeling the pain.  Now, all those distractions are gone and I see that I was just limping along, bleeding from the eyes.

I packed up everything I could not leave behind and my dog and left.  Very brave, exciting, surely that is the opening credits of some “good-ole’-girl-down-on-her-luck-pull-herself-up-by-her-bootstraps” kind of movie.  But really, it was hard and I cried, sobbed actually, when I finally pulled away from my old city.  I cannot articulate how heartbreaking it is that there was nothing holding me to my hometown of more than thirty years.

Okay, to be fair, I could have made it work.  I miss people up there in _____ more than I would have imagined and I think of you every day.  You know who you are. But I could not stay.  I just could not.

So now I am in sunny Florida.  Maybe it is just perception, maybe it is the more southern latitude, maybe the reflection off the sea, but the sun does seem brighter down here.  I wear sunglasses all the time.  And the sunset really is the most beautiful I have ever seen.  However, if you have no one to share it with, all that sun, sea, and sand is just taunting. 

I do have my family.  My Step-mom is due back soon.  We both need her.  Dad and I have been re-working our relationship.  I have not lived at home since I was nineteen.  More about this later.

So what has all this sun and family taught me?

Just today, even though I was married twelve years, my father observed that I am unaccustomed to living in a “family environment.”  I really am somewhat socially withdrawn.  I am not “asking” for a lot of help rather than a place to crash.  My father wants to help me more.  I don’t know how to ask. 

I have not been patient with myself on the job/friend issue.  I am so cautious.  I left ____ to get away from judgment, embarrassment, pity and the rejection of those that were close to me.  I feel reluctant to answer even the most simple of questions like “What brings you to Florida?”  Being that we live so close to a Navy base, people assume that my husband was transferred… if only, if only….  The second assumption is for a job.  Nope, not exactly.  I have some leads, but nothing is for real until you fill out a W-2.  My stock answer is “family” but if they know my Dad, they know that he in good health and not in need of care giving.  I can see it in their eyes, “What are you running from, Girl.”   

And I am willing to tell them anything but the truth: failed marriage, abandoned relationship, job situation a bit shaky, emotional state a bit shaky.  I was a mess.  I left it all behind. 

Remove the ex-husband, the ex-boyfriend, the job situation, the old friends, all of that is removed.  I have no “distractions.”  I feel like a failure and unlovable.  The thing is I would not date myself.  I am not working and I live at my Dad’s house.  I would not date myself.  So therefore, I should probably not be dating.  But I crave that attention in a way that quite dangerous and self-destructive.  I need the protection of my father’s house.  I just do.  Judge me if you will, but it has been a rough year.  Others have it worse, but this is about rock bottom for me.  If you are going to hit rock bottom, might as well be near sand.

Life in 3D: How Did I End Up in Florida?

If you have to lose something big, you might as well lose absolutely everything all at once.  In the last six months I have lost the following:

A husband and a home.  I got divorced and signed over the house I shared with him for almost nine years.

Moved out on my own, first time since aged 22

A boyfriend.  I engaged in a torrid love affair with a younger man (okay, not that torrid or that much younger, but it sounds dramatic)

And lost/quit my job of three years

Moved five states away and am now living with my Dad and Stepmom in Florida

How the fuck did that happen?  Well, I guess that is what this blog is about.

How did I get divorced?   Well… Um… There is a simple, easy answer to that.  An answer I will not tell right now openly, but it is rather cut and dry, really.  The short story is that we wanted different things and the same things all at once.  We couldn’t give each other what we needed and it is no one’s fault.  But still, I feel betrayed and lied to for years and it makes me question the entire twelve year marriage, my self-worth, and my identity as a woman.  Trust me, if you had a divorce like mine, you’d skip town too.

Torrid Love Affair?  Okay, he was only five years younger, but still.  He was damn sexy although not devastatingly attractive.   He just had that special something that made me weak.  He was super masculine, very sexual, strong, and not at all sensitive.  After the divorce, he was exactly what I needed.  I did love him.  Still do.  I REFUSE to call it a rebound, it just did not work out.  We were not all that compatible.

Job Loss? Well, it depends on who you talk to.  We were told that when we got a new computer system that the company were going to eventually have some cutbacks.  I did not see that they were going layoff people, rather I just thought that they would “get rid of” certain people so they would not have to pay unemployment.  I got going while the getting’s good.  Besides, I was so laughably ill-suited to sit quietly in a cubicle and pay attention to close details.

Moving to Florida: Basically, I had nowhere to go.  I lived in my hometown in the moderately large Midwestern city most of my life.  Thirty-plus years and after I left my husband and my job I had nowhere to go.  I felt like I had not contacts or prospects.  It was a very lonely and desparate time.  I cried every single day.  I was alone in my little crappy apartment I was going to lose and I felt as low as one can be.  I did have friends.  The boyfriend might have taken me back and might have let me live with him, but I thought that was a bad idea.  I found out my job was going away the day before I was to visit my father.  He picked me up at the airport and as we were driving along the shore with the sun shining and the water so blue and inviting, he asked, “Why are you fighting so hard to stay in ______?”  I did not have a good reason.  So I went back “home,” settled my affairs and left. 

I moved down to Florida to be with my father because I felt if I didn’t I would die.  I know that sounds dramatic, but that is how I felt.  I believed I was a danger to myself and others if I stayed with no support and no job.  It was either Florida or suicide. 

For a time, I believed (and told everyone else) that this was the best thing to have happened to me.  Who else has this kind of opportunity?  Who else can pack up just the bare essentials, leave the rest behind and never look back?  I have a once in a lifetime chance to get a new life.

But… I liked my old life.  I miss it.  I miss my husband and the life we had together. 

I miss living independently and spending time with the boyfriend making plans for our new life.

But I am here now.  I am making the best of it.  The job market here is no better or worse in my hometown.  I could not afford to live in that apartment anymore.  I am emotionally fragile and very, very vulnerable and I need the protection of my father’s household.  I need the mothering of my step-mother.  I am trying not to be a drain on the family, but I did need a place to crash.  I start a part-time job next week which will be at least some income and I can help contribute to the household.

Even though my family loves me, I can’t help but feel like a loser.  Because really, I have lost a lot.  I mean a lot….. Most of it wasn’t really “my fault” but it is still gone. 

Yes, it is beautiful down here and I am loved.   But I am still a little lost, a little frightened, but at least I am safe.  My family will not let me drown in troubles.  I needed to be rescued.

What I really need is Jesus and a Job.  More on that later.

Life in 3-D: Body Image. The Advantages of Not Being a Pretty Girl

"God help you are an ugly girl, but too pretty is also your doom, cause everyone has a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room."  - "32 Flavors" Ani DiFranco

I was not a cute baby.  Come on people, you know that not all babies cute.  You know it, society knows it, even the baby's own mother knows it.  I looked like my father when I was a baby, which would have been fine....if I were a boy.  I had fine light brown hair that was more or less fuzz on a round head, chubby cheeks, and way too intense light eyes that belong on any child.  To top it off, I had a profound speech impediment, kinda big for my age, socially awkward and a little defiant.

All that is different is the speech impediment went away.

As a child, whether it was true or not, I believed I was rather masculine looking.  My mother, in an act of nothing short of cruely cut my hair short when I was about six making matters that much worse.  I have not forgiven her to this day.  NOt only did I look even more boyish, I missed out on all the grooming rituals young girls engaging in like braiding or even holding back a friends long hair at the drinking fountain.  I was the only girl in my class with short hair.  There are pictures so I did not imagine this.  I believe this just compounded my social isolation.

Teen years did not help.  I was a "late bloomer," shall we say.  Even to this day that term seems embarrassing and euphamistic.  I was also overweight but not in a womanly, shapely kind of way.  So yeah, boys didn't really like me.  This was okay, I suppose, because I was so emotionally and physically immature that I did not really like boys that much either.  I guess I liked them in a theoritical kind of way like way one thinks they might enjoy the Carribean but have never really visited.  One might listen to reggae music, see people return from cruises with tans so the Land of Boys did exist, I just had never been there and as far as I was concerned was a mythical and mysterious as Shangri-La.

Here's the thing.  And if I believe the flatterings of my classmates, I think it is true.  I look about the same I did in high school.  If anything, I am about two to three sizes smaller than when I graduated high school.  Where most people have gained 40 to 50 pounds since high school, I have lost it, but I am harldy thin.  My skin is clear, very few lines, not a lot of skin damage, and Lord knows I have not had any children to wreak havoc on my body and accelerate gravity in any way.  I tease that is just Mother Nature's way of tricking some unsuspected sperm donor into believing I still have a few more years of beauty and fertilty left to sire and heir.  At least I keep my hair dresser in business by covering up my roots lest my graying hair gives me away.

So, what is the benefit here?  What is the upside of social isolation and lack of experience with the opposite sex.

I am still trying to figure that out.  Even coming out of a 12 year marriage, I am still rather innocent, "sweet," and woefully ignorant of men.  I believe that this makes me a danger to myself and others.  I am the weak and wounded of the herd and men can smell fresh meat.  This is going to get me in trouble.

But if you have never been pretty, you can hardly mourn the passing of that beauty.  If you were not a pretty teenager, you don't mind if you don't look like a teenager anymore.  If you were a size 24, (God, I hate to see that in black and white, much less on sewn in my jeans) you think you look pretty hot as a size 18.  Here is another thing I did not realize.  Men in their 30's (and up) are less concerned with a little extra pounds as much as the attitude that comes with it.  I have never learned how to be unapproachable.  If a man says I am beautiful, I want to believe him.  This is a good and bad thing.  I might have to start to be more selective.

In earlier entries I tease that all that time without a date gave me time to develop a personality and a sense of humor.  And yeah, if people care enough to look past it, they see that some of those jokes can be defense mechanism.

I might not have been a cute kid, but I do believe I am a beautiful woman.  Please don't hate me for thinking that.  Yeah, I am tall and "built like a brick shithouse," whatever that means.  I think depending on the connotation that might be complimentary.  I don't know.  The thing is, I guess you can't miss that which you have never had.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wxxbh8ti1UA&feature=related

What I Learned from the Sea

I went to the beach with a heavy heart.  So full of sorrow that I thought the weight of my troubles would pull me down to the sea.  I thought the sun would be good for me, let it wash over me and that barely helped, so I jumped in the water.

So I went out into the Gulf.  The ocean was as warm and bubbly like soup.  I walked out deeper and deeper out in the water.  I thought of the book "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin where the character suffering from a similar condition of disappointment swam out into the sea without the intention of swimming back even though she was so proud of learning how to swim just that summer.  If I recall, it was even at the end of summer that she pulled this stunt.

I am not saying I am sucidal, so don't be calling any stress centers on my behalf, I'm just saying I know what it feels like to want to be welcomed into the open arms of the sea and feel its watery embrace and have water fill my lungs as hope had once filled my heart.

But instead of giving in, I stood my ground.  I walked out to the water was up to my shoulders and just let the waves come, just to see what it would feel like.  Funny thing about water and sand, it is in constant motion.  You cannot stay in one place.  When I tried, the waves crashed over my head and I got salt water in my eyes and choked a bit.  Salt water in the lungs, even just a little bit, stings like hell.  There is nothing romantic or literary about drowning.  Kate Chopin and her character are fools!

I looked across and I saw a woman about the same distance out as I was and she is just bobbing along.  And I ask myself why?  I am surely bigger and stronger than she is.  I am a great swimmer, I was just not trying.  She is calm and peaceful and I am being whipped around like a scarecrow in a windstorm, flopping around too scared and too stupid to get out of the weather, more scared than scary, but "holding his ground."

Or you could just let go and let the waves save your life.  (As the posted signs on riptides by the beach.)

So I let go.  I let my feet up and and just floated.  I found that if I just moved my limbs just a bit, by treading water with just the the minimal amount of effort I could stand my ground better than I could by standing.  Instead of fighting the sea, I danced wit it.  I let go, not swimming, not kicking or flailing, but just letting go.  I believe in myself and my ability to just float, to survive, I could make it.  And I could be in the sun, strong, and with just a little more effort, I could not only just stand my ground, but gain distance.

If only I didn't fight so damn hard. Stop fighting who I am because I am scared, because it is easy, because it is safe, because it is expected of me to underachieve and push away love because I feel like I don't deserve it.

I know this seems very dramatic and "exhausting the metaphor" but this helps me to write it. I hope it might help someone who might read it.

Don't fight the waves.

Why there is not Midnight Train to Florida and other wisdom derived from pop songs.

Why there is not Midnight Train to Florida and other wisdom derived from pop songs.

                There is no Midnight Train to Florida, or Georgia, or hardly anywhere in the South.  When my father moved to Pensacola about three years ago I tried to find a train south and there pretty much aren’t any.  I could go through New Orleans or go through Washington DC.  So, there is no Midnight Train to Georgia, because, to my experience, there aren’t any trains to Georgia, or Florida for that matter.

                Then there is the very song “Midnight Train to Georgia” is all about retreat.  Basically, the man in the song “He couldn’t make it, so he’s going back to life he knew before….He found out the hard way, dreams don’t always come true.” All the other songs I have heard about leaving are all about retreat.  I don’t know if I’m retreating as much as reinventing.  Right now, I feel like there is as much to look forward to as I am leaving behind.

“LA Song” by Beth Hart is also about leaving heartbreak and sorrow.  She needs to leave all the liars and find some kind of “home.”  There is even a reference to the subject suicidal contemplation.  She sings about a gun calls the “lucky one.”  The listener can’t help but conclude that leaving town is an alternative to suicide.  “Man I’ve got out of this town…out of this pain… and out of LA.”   But when she gets to Alabama she finds another man to “take her in” and finds just as much heartbreak and liars.  “It’s a different place, but the same old thing.”

“It’s all she loves, It’s all she hates. It’s all too much for her to take.  She can’t be sure just where it ends, or where the good life begins.”  In the first few two verses and chorus, she uses “she” as if the girl in LA is someone else.  In the last chorus she says, “I can’t be sure where it begins, or if the good life lies within.”

So everyone out there who reminds me “wherever you go, there you are” I know, I know.  But I NEED to reinvent myself.  Or rather, I need to brush away my fear, my fear of myself.  I mean this honestly and without pride: I am a complex, intelligent, multi-faceted person that grouses at conformity, not only the very idea but also because I know I CANNOT fit in.  I know, I’ve tried, for thirty-five lonely failure ridden years.  And I wonder how much of that loneliness and failure is because I was not being my “authentic” self.  How much was it because I was not following my true nature, “God’s will”, even, for my life.  Unfortunately, (or fortunately depending on one’s perspective) I believe I am supposed to be a writer.  Damn it!  Why can’t I be destined to be something concrete and with a steady paycheck?  Often I wish I were “called” to be something else, something that wouldn’t make me so goddamned “deep” or intimidating where I have to feel every little emotion.  More on that later.   

The fear is that if I truly was MYSELF that I will no longer be loved.  But being loved for someone you’re not is not love either.  To quote “Defying Gravity” from Wicked:

“Too long I’ve be afraid of losing love I’ve guessed I’ve lost.  Well, if that’s love, it comes to much too high a cost…Too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep, it’s time to trust my instincts. Now it’s time, to leap.” 

No one retreats to Florida.  No one “slinks off in defeat” to the Sunshine State.  No, people ASPIRE (and retire) to paradise.  Okay, so it’s six paces from the sun in July and August feels like an armpit, but still.  Orange, peach, and pecan trees in your backyard!  And the beach and sun and surf!  Like my father jokes, “We don’t live in paradise, we live across the street.”  I have a crappy job here in Indiana, I’m sure if I can find an equivalently crappy (probably better) job down in Florida.  Besides, I can work on the book we know I have in me.  Maybe all that sunshine will loosen my fingers and get some black on white.  All this drama in my life has to happen for a reason, I mean come on; this stuff happens complete with sitcom timing.

“And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.  To those who ground, me take a message back from me…. I’m defying gravity….So if you care to find me, look to the (Southern) sky.”

                One last nugget of truth from U2’s “Walk On.”

                “The only baggage is all that you can’t leave behind.”

                “What you’ve got, they can’t steal it, no they can’t even feel it.”

                “I know it aches, and your heart it breaks, you can only take so much….walk on… you’ve got to leave it behind.”

               

Defying Gravity - Wicked (With Lyrics!)

U2-Walk On Lyrics

Beth Hart - LA Song

(1973) Empress Gladys & The Pips "Midnight Train To Georgia"

Life in 3D: Who am I? Mrs. Somebody.

I spoke earlier about stripping away everything that you put on to project an image to others of who or what you want people to believe you are.  Perhaps that is even what you want to be. 

The first identifier was how I identified as a wife.

I was Mrs. _____.  I got mail addressed to that person.  I loved him.  God, I loved him.  There will always be a part of me that loves that man and that love will not be snuffed out until the very breath in my lungs is snuffed out.  Jesus, we were married.  We promised to love each other forever, and I know for my part, that I will always love him.  Any man that dares to try to love me has to understand that.  But anyone who has ever been in love before, truly, madly, deeply in love knows that either you will always love them or you never loved them at all. 

Love was not the problem.  A very prideful part of me hopes he still loves me too, at least a little.  I don’t think my heart can bare it if he erases me totally from his life and his heart like I never existed, like we never existed.  But the problem of who I am is not my love for my ex-husband.  The problem is that I loved him more than I loved myself.  That is never a good thing.  I never thought I was good enough for him.  He was too smart, too accomplished, too handsome, too respectable to really love me so when it fell apart, a part of me isn’t really all that surprised.  Love can be a rock that is cornerstone, or it can be like sand and sift through your fingers.

I identified too much with being “Mrs. _____.”  Charlotte J was lost.  I allowed myself to be lost to his shadow.  It was comfortable there and I didn’t have to shine because he did it for me.  He was an engineer, had all kinds of degrees and I was privileged just to hang on his arm.  In fact, I thought I embarrassed him because I was too fat, too ugly, too dumb, too loud, and not nearly sophisticated enough.  Whether that was true or not, that was how I feel.  Charlotte J was not good enough, so I would borrow prestige from my husband and hang on to him as much as I could.  Because what would I be all by myself?  Who would I be if I was not Mrs. _______.

We soon will see.

Life in 3-D: A Dream Deferred.

Ever since my friends first started having babies, like a freaking decade ago, I soon realized not all women are created equal.  When a man’s buddy becomes a father, he realizes that the new dad will be less available for late night drinking and spur of the moment road trips to Vegas. For girlfriends, it is way more intense.  Enjoy that Baby Shower, ladies, because this is the last you will see of your mother-to-be friend as you know her.  Her life and your friendship will never be the same. 

Of course, each new mom changes in different ways.  Some have a spiritual awakening and the girl you used to call when you wanted to do something poorly advised and spur of the moment now might be going to Bible Study or volunteering at VBS.  And the old friend is left wondering… what the hell?  I’ve caught the girl on her knees before, but that was totally by accident.  (Sorry… blasphemous humor).  Or some women really let themselves go.  Like they have broken up not only with the hairstylist but have also blackballed Lady Clairol.  Come on, Ladies, this is America.  You don’t have to go gray or have saggy boobs if you don’t want to.  This is the land of at free and the home of the Wonder bra.  And this is why I lie about my age.  I am not embarrassed of my age; I am embarrassed of others of my age.

Why Baby and Pregnancy Facebook Updates Make Me Ache.

If I “tagged” you in this post, it is because you responded to my Facebook post on this topic earlier and I wanted you to see my “full” response.

My first edit was some kind of funny, but also kind of mean jokes about mothers and the rest of female population.  But that is not where my heart is.  Sorry, this is not very funny.

I am posting this even though it is kind of personal… but… telling the truth, being open and honest is what really resonates with my “readers.”  Here it goes.

Women say when they have a child; their lives are never the same.  I am sure that is true.  I can only imagine that every aspect of your life alters and you even your memories fall into the category of before and after kids.

One of the major changes I have noticed with every new mother is that their children are first and foremost in their mind.  Their attention is forever divided. Sometimes I feel when I am talking about petty work crap, new fashion trends, boys, or even the crisis in the Gulf (choose one, they’re all pretty fucked right now) I feel as though I am just filling the air with noise when the care and nurturing of the little humans they have bore to the world are so much more precious and important.  Who gives a shit about leggings, really?

There is a gap…. I would even say a chasm of difference between women who have children and women who do not.  It as if we can hardly relate.  Women without children know what free time is.  We probably have a whole beauty regime where mothers, especially of small children, just hope to get a shower in a day.  Women without children still probably have a working gag reflux and are still repulsed at vomit and feces.  And yes… it does bother us when you change your baby’s diaper on our upholstery or bed.  Put down a towel, for Christ’s sake.  I’m serious.  It grosses me out. 

I think both camps have a “grass is always greener complex.”  A world without children is probably neater, posher, and probably less smelly, and a world with children is probably busier, more hectic, less selfish, but probably a lot more love.  You belong to someone and they belong to you.  I am typing this currently in my one bedroom apartment with my dog.  All I can hear is the air conditioner and people going up and down the stairs outside in the hallway.  I hear mothers complain “I can’t hear myself think.”  That is all I can hear.

You want to know why I can still spend so much time on the treadmill. Why I fight gray and gravity like the Nazis on the Western front in a grainy WWII movie we watched in high school?  It is because I am trying to trick Mother Nature and suitable real-life sperm donors in believing in my fertility and desirability. I am not saying that once I get knocked up I am all a sudden going to let myself go.  I think I will always have a love/hate relationship with carbs and I refuse to gray until I am good and ready… which right now I believe is just as soon as I step into my grave. 

I know my Biological Clock is ticking.  I can even hear it now over the air conditioner and the people in the stairwell.  My boyfriend, I’m sure, hears it too.  He is younger than me and I don’t want to force the issue, but I feel like it is still there.  I don’t want to burden him with my fertility, but it is always in the back of my mind.  Before him, I did not purposely exclude men who had children, but men with vasectomies definitely gave me pause.  Even if they did it for their ex-wives, they did have a surgery that would prevent any future generations for a reason.  Yeah, it can be reversed, but still.  Why would they want to get mixed up with a woman like me who definitely wanted children?

My ex-husband I, for various reasons, were never able to have children.  Damn shame.  Really.  We can play the “what-if” game, but it is fruitless… like our marriage.  Sorry, gallows humor.  People say “Well, you’re lucky you never had kids.”  I know where they are coming from, but be 35, single, and childless when you didn’t intend to be the latter two and then you tell me how lucky I am.

Nursing women say that there is a way a newborn cries that makes their milk flow even if it is not their child.  Believe it or not, and I don’t know if this is a psycho-somatic thing or what, but I feel that tug too, only it is tugging at nothing.  There is just this physical pull in my chest to want to help the baby out in some way even though I can’t.  Maybe that is just primal, like the instinct to suckle, flinch, or stop at a shoe sale.  There is also this little crook in my waist where my nephew when he was little used to sit and wrap his legs around me laying his blonde little head on my chest.  He wasn’t mine and I refused to get too attached, but when he was a baby, he looked so much like my ex that it made me ache.  I believed the child loved me in some family sort of way and it hurts to know I will probably never see him again.

I knew I was falling out of love with my ex-husband when I no longer looked in his eyes and imagined what our children would look like.  I no longer imagined an angelic blonde boy and a fiercely beautiful dark haired girl.  There was a point when I looked at him and our future was cloudy.  That is when my heart started turning away from him and I knew the end was near.

My future is unknown right now.  I feel as though I am on the right path as long as I don’t fuck it up.  I have to not let fear or insecurity get in the way of a good thing.  I have to have faith.

Now what I see in my lover’s eyes and I hope this doesn’t scare him, are the babies we would make together.  We are arguably more genetically similar so it is not so much of a guessing game.  I see fiercely beautiful, tall, strong, intelligent, most likely willful, green-eyed, dark-haired children.  I anticipate his nervousness and pride holding his own newborn baby.  I know he would defend his family against all that assails us and love us with the same passion and dedication he has for everything else worth fighting for in his life. 

That is in the not too far distant future (hopefully) but I don’t want to get ahead of myself here.

And yes, of course I am rushing it!  (More on that later.) 

**** I had a boyfriend when I first posted this.

Life in 3-D: Dieting – “Food Fight”

This is my new “working title” for my memoir/blog thingy.  “Sporting the Triple D’s” although funny and suggestive, it is not all that dignified and, quite honestly, might attract the wrong demographic.  Besides, the girls get enough attention already.  And I am not really a triple D, anyway.

I am posting this for posterity.  I am posting this to be accountable.  I am posting this so people might get a bit of insight into what food addiction is and to anyone else who has ever felt this way, you are not alone.

So, I started out the day okay.  Actually, had a pretty good food week thanks to my friends of “Southside Chub Club,” and a supportive work friend.  I got a few decent workouts, a nice long walk.   I had lost six pounds feeling great.  I even restricted my grief about my divorce to a single package of m & m’s.  Then about 1:30 pm today, the freaking wheels came off.

Okay, I was set up to fail.  First day of my period, just throw out any good eating plans out the window.  I was feeling crampy, cranky, slightly anemic and needed caffeine, calcium, and red meat.  After popping my third dose of Midol by noon I needed a latte and a burger real bad. 

So I hit the BK with the bf and I should have stopped.  But no.  Then made the bf his favorite, tacos.  Still if I would have stopped there, I would have been okay.  I would say at this point, 6:30 pm, if I would have stopped eating for the day, I would have averaged about and estimated 2000-2200 calories with probably entirely too many fat grams, but okay.  Nope. 

I then went out with a friend.  I guess we were “celebrating” or something my divorce.  Except, I didn’t really feel like celebrating.  I mean, I have moved on and I am better off, blah, blah, blah, but it was still hard.  I know I will want to celebrate in a big way soon (details for “Flame Your Old Flame Night Part II” to come) but not today.  So, we went out and I had two huge margaritas, mozzarella sticks, and French fries.  And a note about the fries:  Absolutely ridiculous portion sizes, okay?  A basket of fries for $2.49 was more like a bushel of fries.  So...I don’t know how many calories I consumed just after 7:30 pm.  NASA computers are still working a number with so many place values. 

Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about the mudslide and the shot of vodka.

Yeah, that is insane.

Am I making too much out of this?  Is this just a bad day?  Was it just a bad day while on a diet?

If I didn’t just describe the “taste” of green is a lemon lime Mr. Misty.  That is way too close of a relationship with food. 

And now, I am anxious…. Seriously anxious, like nervous, worried, a little jittery and nauseous thinking about all the “good times” I am supposed to have this weekend.  Boyfriend is taking me out to this really nice dinner.  Finally, the “pretty dress date” at this cool Argentinean restaurant.  I am already worried about what too order.  Not excited, worried.  Perhaps if I hadn’t consumed 10,000 calories today I could look forward to it like a normal person.  Another happy “event” is the State Fair.  Fucking State Fair.  It was my idea to go to the State Fair and I love it, but all the food.  I know a funnel cake is in my future.  It is evetable.  Perhaps I can just walk and sweat it off in the 100 degree heat.  I might be okay for that day. 

So now, I am already planning how to deal with the caloric overload.  Tomorrow---black coffee and water with lots and lots of walking.  Okay, probably coffee with cream (as usual) some yogurt, salad, and some kind of protein source.  Fasting on my period is a bad idea.  I barely want to move for four days anyway under normal conditions, God help me if I don’t eat too.

No one should feel this emotional over food.  God help me.  Anyone out there flip out over fried food like this?  Who describes the flavor of color?  Really?  People who fail the psych eval for bariatric surgery, that’s who.  Thank God that I got my act together enough to lose enough weight that I no longer qualify because I was too crazy to get the surgery. ***For the record, anyone who has had this surgery, you are brave!  It is NOT the easy way out and I applaud your efforts.  But really, how did you pass that stupid psych eval?  WTF?!?!?! 

So help me out.   Anyone obsess about food like this?  Anyone obsess about the food that you have eaten and the food you haven’t eaten yet but know you are going to anyway?

This is why I know I need to go back to OA (overeaters anonymous) because I will not lose the weight if I still have a relationship with Food and right now that relationship is dysfunctional.  Sure, I can lose the weight for awhile, but I know Food and I will get back together.  It is a love/hate thing.  I also know that food has a numbing affect on my emotions and I have been feeling so many feelings (good and bad) that I want to shut them off and I do that with Food. I just need to be brave enough to feel those feelings, not the fat grams. (Capitalizing “Food” making it a proper noun is not a typo)

So, I hope you, dear reader, do not judge too harshly.  Neither should I be let off the hook.  I need to be accountable for my actions.  Besides, you can check out my ass and know whether or not I’ve been cheating on my diet.  As we all know, you can’t hide a weight problem.  Even if I were “skinny” if I still obsess this much over food, I won’t keep it off. 

So, Food, really…. We need to break up already.  Again.  You are FUEL for the body, not food for the soul.  You are not a drug.  You are not a salve.  You will not rule my life.  Need to stay well proportioned in my plate and in my life.

Format of the “Sporting some Triple D’s.”

I am going to divide up my entries in three categories: Divorce, Dating, or Dieting.  Out of those three categories will be subsets.  Example:

Divorce: Living Alone 

Divorce: Who Gets the Friends?

Divorce: How to remain friends with an ex without a restraining order?

Divorce:  What is the statute of limitations for favors for ex-wives?

Dating: He’s so not my type.

Dating: Why the fascination with capes and go-go boots? The Wonder Woman chapter.

Dieting: Body Image- The Tankini.

Dieting: “Date Calories” still count.

These are just some ideas of future entries.  Some are already written I just want to parse them out bit by bit.  At some point I will do a search and see what I wrote most about and therefore find my true obsession.  Will it be: Divorce (heartbreak) Dating (sex, love, and men) or Dieting (body image and food).

I have writing under a “nom de plume” and I am changing the names of any and all “involved” but other than that, this is all true, at least the trust I remember.   I have no desire to defame or implicated any “innocent” men including my ex-husband, my current serious boyfriend, and some other “romantic friends” who might not have even realized we were my “romantic friends.”

A note about my ex-husband:  He really is a gem.  Yeah, I’m pissed.  I am heartbroken our little life didn’t turn out like either one of us wanted.  I believe we both miss the comfort and companionship we shared for a number of years.  The last two were a little rough, but I don’t want to paint the whole 12 years as terrible because they weren’t.  We both had the best of intentions.  The ex is actually kind of encouraging this writing venture.

 His reasons are two-fold. One is that he believes I do have some talent and that I would benefit from writing about this experience and we believe that the “world” might benefit from my “refreshing perspective” about the whole divorce, dating, and dieting thing.  He sees me as a victor and a survivor and, like me, believes others would benefit from my experience.  Someone needs to tell “my side” of this weird-ass divorce because really, this is not typical.  Trust me.  His second reasoning is a “return on investment.”  We kind of made this “deal.”  He first offered in the unlikely event that I become rich and famous of this shit and end up on Oprah (not Jerry Springer, because we’re classy) he asked for 2% of the profits.  I suggested he get a good lawyer because I teased that I knew I had a good one.  He then offered just that he get his 401k back.  (I got half of his retirement in the divorce which I am entitled to according to state law.)  I thought that was fair.  Of course, if published I would mask his identity.  I do love him and always will.  I do not wish to “punish” him or mare his reputation because, really, this is no one’s “fault.”

Love:   What is love, afterall?  Sometimes in a new relationship people say, “I’ve never felt like this before.”  I believe that is true.  Each couple reinvents love for themselves and each other over and over again.  More on that later.

To reinvention (feel free to toast whatever glass of beverage to the screen at this time.)

                My family and even some of my friends believe that I am not “angry” enough.  They think I should have “gone for everything I could get.”  Others think I am some kind of gold digger/whore and my ex is some kind of victim.  Come to my itty-bitty apartment and again tell me what kind of gold digger I am.  As for the second part?  Go fuck yourselves because I’ve hardly been giving it away, alright?  Even my father said, “You have been going without love for a long time, Charlotte, and you deserve some romance in your life.” I don’t know if he is encouraging me to get laid or anything, but I think he is saying “You are 35 years old, I can’t wait for a grandchild forever.”  I could be putting words in his mouth, but still.  Neither my ex-husband, my father, nor my new boyfriend thinks I am a “bad girl,” I don’t know why anyone else would.  And really, I think they would be more of an authority and have a lot more to say on the matter if it were true.

But I digress.  I still think I would like to EARN my way to Hell rather than get there on a technicality.

Life in 3-D: Divorce, Dating, and Dieting- The Inaugural Blog.

I was having dinner with an old high school friend of mine recently.  We were catching up, talking about our lives, perhaps even engaged in some minor non-goal orientated harmless flirting (or maybe I imagined the flirting). Anyway, we started talking about our various creative endeavors.  My friend asked me what I was working on.        

          My mind went blank.  I abandoned my first novel project about Evangelical teens and haven’t written much else in months.  Hell, I haven’t even finished reading a book since November 2009, the point that life as I knew it began to unravel. 

Despite my woefully poor output, I still wanted to impress my former classmate who had definitely grown into his looks.  Time had been good to him too.  I wanted so say something smart, something deep like I was writing about the “human condition” or “deciphering the intracies of the human heart.”  However, I had been so wrapped up in my life I hadn’t been able to write anything more meaningful than a Facebook status update.  All I could think about was my impending divorce, the guys I was “talking” to and how many calories were in the sandwich I just ate. 

          Yup- Divorce, dating, and dieting…

          The three D’s are pretty much my obsession right now.  I do manage to “work” 8.25 hours five days a week at a less than challenging job that barely pays the bills.  I do think of others: family, friends, pets, what have you, although I have totally sucked at sending cards lately.  Hallmark has sent me nasty notes about my negligence to sentiment.

          But yeah… other than the 3 D’s, I’ve got nothing.

          Fuck it.

          You know what?  Someone has already written Ulysses.  Fuck Ulysses. Did anyone ever read Ulysses, really?  I mean a few hard core English majors might have it on their shelf, but have the read it?  Screw James Joyce. (Not really, but I did enjoy Dubliners).  And Little House on the Prairie?  You know what?  If I were an innocent young girl struggling and persevering on the New Frontier, I’d write about that.

          But you gotta write what you know.  And what I know is this:

Feeling and Fat Grams

Hunger and Horniness

Misery and Nachos (love you, Brother).

          I don’t know where this is going.  What I post will probably stay “light” with will (hopefully) still have some poignancy, resonance, and humor.  In the unlikely event this were to be published, I would write some more of the revealing and relevant nature of the 3 D’s.       I have no desire to embarrass my family or defame my ex, but if you go through some hardship or weirdness and still retain some semblance of sanity, one has an obligation to humanity to testify.  So here I go… I am testifying on how to survive a marriage, the break of a marriage, how to find love again, and how to gain and lose fifty pounds about three times.  If I devoted a fraction of my time and effort into my profession as I do in how to get thin or get laid, I’d be a CEO.  Maybe I’ll just write about it and get famous/rich on that.  Because, really, can you put a price on great sex or what it feels like to fit into your skinny jeans? 

I encourage encouraging comments. J  I know we’ve all been there: heartbreak and back breaking efforts to zip up too-tight pants.  Please… enjoy… for what it’s worth.