The Conversation

“Max, we need to talk,” Rachel said. “And I think you know why.”

Max sighed. “Seriously? I couldn’t even begin to guess.”

“Just like a guy.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Everything is deteriorating and you don’t even have a clue.”

“Come on. Isn’t that a bit dramatic? I thought you were happy. Just last week you said you had so much fun.” Max smiled as he tried to cajole her back to her normal good mood.

Rachel wasn’t having it. “That was before I realized things were falling apart to the point of danger and possible harm if we continue on.”

“Oh Rachel. For heaven’s sake!” Then Max saw where she was pointing and gasped in alarm.

He took her hand. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea the foundation was rotted out. We don’t have to spend Friday night in a silly old treehouse ever again. Let’s go to the movies!”

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The Pink Cupcake [a dating story]

A couple people have asked about my blog icon photo, so here’s the Saturday night special version. This isn’t a funny dating story with a twist at the end, but a stupidly sad one, or a sadly stupid one. Take your pick.

I had a relatively popular blog from 2004-2007ish. Then I grew weary of the (self-imposed) pressure to come up with funny and/or interesting poasts several times per day. Back then, I grabbed a lot of my topics from the news, including political stuff, and wasn’t afraid of generating arguments; now, I avoid this.

For a while, I tried keeping a super light blog about cats, cupcakes, and shoes only, but it became too boring for everyone, including me. Then my mom died, and my marriage broke up. Those two things aren’t related, but they’re both at the top of the life stress scale. I latched onto the first person who offered emotional support… and I fell in love with him. And he was married ~ one of those who was just waiting to leave when X happened, but then X turned into Y, and then Z. (He’s still there, living in the house with his wife long after X, Y, Z, yada.)

So, to cope I started a new blog, this one. My first poast was March 25, 2011. I didn’t talk directly about my relationship of course, since he knew about the blog too, but I would poast song lyrics and excerpts from books I was reading that alluded to it. Later, after we broke up, I did write a bit about how I felt at certain points, though I’ve probably deleted most of that now. Long-time readers will know him as TMW, short for “the man who broke my heart.”

In 2010, for his birthday I bought cupcakes for us. Not a cake because obviously he wouldn’t be able to take it home with him. I took a pic of mine ~ it was strawberry with a chocolate heart. Later I realized the heart was broken and I thought it was a neat pic. When I began the blog, I decided to use it for my “subtle” profile photo. If anyone asked, I figured I could say I was planning to resume doing cupcake reviews again. But I’m not planning to do that. I just like this photo. It’s held up over time.

Peanut Butter

I stole these 26 questions from Fandango, who snagged them from Barbara, at Teleportingweena. But I have an issue with 26 (yes, including our alphabet, annoying). Twenty-five is a great number, and oddly enough (hehe) so is 27. But 26? Meh! I guess I can think of it as 13×2 and be okay that way. That’s what I’ll do then: renumber the questions halfway through.

1. Share your profile picture.

– Which profile? Here’s one from last year, taken at the happiest place on earth.

2. Who are you named after?

– Paula Abdul.

3. Do you like your handwriting?

– Like Fandango, I used to have great handwriting, but now that I’ve gotten older, it sucks.

4. What’s your favorite lunchmeat?

– Peanut butter.

5. Longest relationship?

– I had a good relationship with my dad from the day I was born until he died in 2013 just before I turned 52.

6. Do you still have your tonsils?

– Nope.

7. Would you bungee jump?

– NFW!

8. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?

– Sometimes.

9. Favorite ice-cream?

– Coconut chocolate chip.

10. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

– That they’re too close to me.

11. Football or baseball?

– Neither.

12. What color pants are you wearing?

– White lounge pants with grey and pink flowers.

13. Last thing you ate?

– Peanut butter on a banana.

1. If you were a crayon what color would you be?

– Ultraviolet, baby.

2. Favorite smell?

– Cinnanommmm.

3. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?

– One of the partners at work.

4. Hair color?

– Light brown plus some silver.

5. Eye color?

– Hazel (this feels like filling out a dating profile now).

6. Favorite food to eat?

– Seafood pasta.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

– Romantic comedies with happy endings.

8. Last movie you watched?

– I rewatched American Gigolo a few days back because it came up on Prime. Saw it over 30 years ago and liked it a lot. Didn’t like it that much this time. I didn’t sense any chemistry between the leads; it was just trashy and sad.

9. Favorite holiday?

– Loved Fandango’s answer, but I’ll go with New Year’s Day.

10. Beer or wine?

– Neither. Alcohol triggers migraines.

11. Favorite day of the week?

– Sunday.

12. Three or (four) favorite bloggers you want to learn more about?

– Anyone who plays along.

13. Added info you didn’t know you wanted.

– Buy my books!

Tsunami

Art by Annija Veldre

I thought it was you
Drowning me in words,
Said and unread,
Spilling over my head;
You blamed my mother
And the tide takes the dead.
The waves roll relentless,
Caring not of despair,
Crashing past joy
And agony the same.
At the end it’s all smooth,
A glassy blue plane,
As if nothing existed
And maybe we didn’t–
Why not walk into it;
Why not give in?
Sand hot and glistening
Hides bulleted bones
As well as pink stones.
And one wave grows stronger;
One ghost comes home.

Tipsy

Is it the wine making her tipsy,
Or the way he holds her gaze,
How he leans close and listens?
Even when she speaks in whispers,
He hears what she has to say.

The calypso music swirls her dizzy,
Or is it the wine making her tipsy?
They dance on the cold night sand,
Kiss in the blush of dawn,
A thousand lifetimes in one day.

His depth of darkness drives her on,
His mania whirls her crazy–
Or is it the wine making her tipsy?
Maybe she was sent to save him;
Maybe they’re both past damned.

Promises broken, promises made:
She grows giddy with his fusillade
Of excuses, but she understands.
Is it the wine making her tipsy?
Maybe just the clock’s soft ticking.

She drinks alone in her kitchen,
Windows misty, grey rain dripping;
Her mind circles ’round his mischief–
The walls go crooked, dipping, slipping…
It’s just the wine making her tipsy.

*

I’d like to thank Kiwinana for sharing her lovely poem yesterday and introducing me to a new poetic form Anapeat, which in turn inspired this poem.

A Bit Of Pontificating

It’s been a while since I said anything controversial and pissed people off. I shall attempt to remedy that right meow. 🐱

Like everyone else, I believe I have achieved the perfect balance between extremes. Almost no one categorizes herself as a loony lefty or a rightwing wacko, though we can all easily find some (if we so desire), label them, and mock. I’m no exception and neither are you. How does that feel? 😂😂😂

We all want to be special. We like to think our ideas are exciting and unique, but mostly they’re not. So sad. Sometimes we get jealous and irritated at people who, for whatever reason, have staked a claim to fame, so we criticize them. I do. You do too, right? I probably could find a hundred better uses of my time. Even checking the news now is mostly a waste of time, since it’s almost all repetitive garbage about our horrible POTUS and celebrity fluff.

Did you catch that last sentence? Like most reasonable people, I think the POTUS is a deranged, narcissistic moron, but you may have also noticed I don’t spend much time talking, poasting, or tweeting about him. What’s the point? I wouldn’t be saying anything new or interesting, and I’d just get myself all riled up. For nothing. I’ll make my preferences known on my ballot.

Note that I’m not criticizing people who spend loads of time focused on hating the Prez. Go for it. Some folks make a living that way, but even if you don’t and you’re having fun, great. I don’t find the hate-follow to be enjoyable ~ in fact, I try to block the things I hate. The entire Trump family is blocked from my twitter feed, and I only wish I could block them and the KarJenners from regular news as well. I actually consider them on the same level, though I guess Kylie is richer than all of them because… lipstick?

Maybe I’m just jealous. I admit it might be nice to be a beautiful billionaire. I’d at least be willing to try it for a year, hey. If it didn’t work out, no hard feelings, I’ll leave with a nice parting gift of $100M, okies? And all the clothes and plastic surgery, natch. 😀

It’s been almost 6 months since I deleted my Facebook account, and I find that my peace of mind has increased accordingly. I encourage everyone who feels stressed by the level of hate and negativity online to consider giving up Facebook ~ it really is a pit of despair. I’m not talking about the ads and scammers, which are bad enough, but your friends. Yes, them. Your friends are depressing. I’m not making this up ~ there have been studies. No, I’m not spoon-feeding you links; you know where Google is. If you have a bunch of sad friends talking about their sads, it will tend to bring you down. If you have a bunch of shiny, happy friends poasting about their perfect lives, you’ll get down about that, even if you suspect they’re faking it. And then there’s all the relentless arguing about shit that doesn’t matter in the context of friendship. Do we really have to engage in vicious name-calling with friends of friends, people we will never meet, over abortion, gay rights, immigration, etc.? Why?

I’m outta that horror stew for good. I know there are folks who get into the same (or worse) mess on Twitter, but I’m not one. I don’t jump into controversial threads, and my own little tweets never go viral. Exiting FB didn’t cure all my problems, but it was a nice start. I’ve exited many other online time-wasters too, such as Instagram. And guess what? I don’t miss taking constant pics of my food. Gawd, that was silly.

I’m trying to stop reading comments on news articles because they’re just a magnet for trolls and other nasty types. I condemn any publication that allows anonymous, unmoderated comments in order to boost clicks. It’s just wrong and encourages racists and misogynists and all manner of bullies to spew their hate. Whenever I see one of these creepsters, I do not engage, but use whatever means available to block them from engaging with me online. I know that’s not everyone’s way (and didn’t use to be mine either), but I find it works best for me now. The more you feed them, the more they will return. It’s a universal law.

I guess that’s enough pontificating. For now. Kinda got into it… might do moar soon. Consider yourself warned!

Song Lyrics Sunday: Car

I loved the Cars from the moment I heard them on the radio. Ran right out and bought their first album. Every song was fab. And same goes for their second album Candy-O, released in 1979. I especially like “Double Life.” Lyrics written by Ric Ocasek.

*

It takes a fast car lady to lead a double life
It takes a slow star lady if you want to do it twice
You take your backseat rumble
Take your front seat wife
Takes a fast car lady to lead a double life
It takes a light foot lady to lead a double life
It takes a good book maybe if you want to do it nice
When you idle at the stop light you better get the signal right
Light foot lady, you need a double life
Well, lift me from the wonder maze
Alienation is the craze
And it’s all gonna happen to you
You think it’s a phase
And it’s all gonna happen to you
When you drive in the haze
It takes a freeway lady to lead a double life
It takes some leeway lady if you want to do it twice
Neon blinking on the street
Everyone is bittersweet
Freeway lady, you lead a double life
Well, lift me from the wonder maze
Alienation is the craze
And it’s all gonna happen to you
You think it’s a phase
And it’s all gonna happen to you
When you drive in the haze
It’s all gonna happen to you
[…]

*

Poverty

I can’t seem to forget you
Or what you seduced from me;
Not talking about my broken heart,
But the vanished hopes and dreams…
I’m much poorer since I met you.

Fungible People [RDP]

What a coincidence that fungible is one of the prompts for today… I was ruminating (moo!) on the concept last night, using a lot of words and metaphors, but never coming up with this one. Fungible is always used with things like money and oil, not people ~ but why can’t it be used with people?

One of the reasons I’m becoming more introverted with age is due to my feeling that so many people view others as interchangeable objects. And I dislike this obviously. I had the sense as a young mom that other moms were my “friends” only because it was convenient. Once it stopped being convenient, the friendship dissolved. Example: I thought I was close friends with R, and we did many fun things together with our kids, but then she needed someone for a carpool and I couldn’t do it, so she asked A, who could. I literally never heard from R again. I was easily switched out with another person. Fungible.

I find it interesting that almost all my Facebook “friends” have disappeared since my exit. I basically have the same friends I had pre-FB ~ a handful of writers and meatspace peeps. Those FB connections were a pile of meaningless fluff, nothing to any of us, and only a way for Mark Z and the advertisers to rake in bucks. Since I’m not special, I’ll presume to say it’s the same for everyone. Just so you know.

After my divorce, I had the silly idea that divorced men would also be looking for the right person, not wanting to make another mistake late in life, etc. But this is mostly not true. They are looking for anyone who vaguely fits into a mental cutout they have labeled “girlfriend” (or “hookup” as the case may be). Anyone who fits will do, and if she leaves, he’ll easily replace her with another, or try to. We’re all fungible.

More and more, I only enjoy interacting with my family (and a few close friends): as the mom, I’m not fungible. No one can take my place. No one has ever replaced my mother. I still think about her every day. ❤️

My Boo

He is mostly sweet and cuddly,
A soft and friendly buddy,
Who purrs and chats,
A lovely cat…
Yet every so often
He launches a stealth attack,
A furmissile of teeth
And vicious rippy claws,
Once, twice, and done…
Then back to being my
Little boo boo honey bun.

😍❤️🐱