The importance 

of anything

is largely dependent on

the lens through which 

you see it. 


Date guy

Date number 2 officially declared a success!

He cooked dinner last night. Then we watched a movie. Snuggled on the couch a little but no touching other than shoulders and feet. 

He has a cold sore which, if our lips were together, would be directly against the spot where I get them. The only strike against him so far (but not really a strike because Abreva!).

I like him. He is quietly calming. And I did feel tingles in the right places. And I liked how he smelled. And he is neat. And I didn’t have to clean the toilet seat before I sat on it. And he is so damn sweet but still a man. And I’m looking forward to seeing him again. And I want to kiss him.

Also, last night I downloaded the Duolingo app and started learning French. Has nothing to do with the fact that he’s French.  Nothing at all. Honest. 

This is so much better

It feels different. Fun. Free. I don’t know if he notices a difference but I certainly do. 

It’s even better, dammit!!!!!

See? That’s why I’m always comfortable going through a shitty time, when I don’t know how things are going to work out, but it seems pretty bad. Because the other side of the fence? Where everything is greener? It’s amazing. 

He didn’t use his safe word even once! I bet he wanted to.

Yeah, it’s that time again

This PMS is going to be the death of me.

Well, maybe not me but I have a feeling it will be the death of someone if everYONE DOESN’T STAY THE HELL OUT OF MY WAYYYYYYY! 


Being a girl sucks.

I never really noticed PMS before. I think being on the pill tempered some of these feelings. Also, let’s face it, until somewhat recently I was always on edge and flew off the handle at the slightest frustration anyway. These days I’m pretty calm, for the most part. Except during the few days before my period. Then I feel I’m constantly on edge and interruption of the status quo makes me want to lash out, I want to cry and vomit and my brain is fuzzy and I can’t seem to get my shit together. Will this end with menopause? And, if so, can we get that started already, please?

(Ironically, I wrote this when I was frustrated and on the edge of losing my shit, and it didn’t post… that’s how I realized they disconnected my phone service again. That, of course, came after I went to my doctor appointment because I am completely out of my drugs and needed the prescription renewed and found out that my appointment was actually supposed to be last Thursday and my doctor wasn’t in. And then I got my paystub and found out that I’m only getting 38% of my shitty ass commission. Not that I need any money or anything. Everything is WONDERFUL!)

{Update a few days later: funny how I didn’t mention that I was thrilled when I went to the pharmacy they said I still have two refills on file so I can put off my trip to the doctor for six months or so, and I also had a pending sale move forward. But those are good things. You can’t mention those things when you’re busy being mad at the world. 😊}

Yesterday and tomorrow 

So… I got horrifically drunk last night. As you can probably tell by my emotional and enraged posts. I needed it, though. Maybe not quite as excessive but I definitely needed to get some shit out.

After I wrote the last post I threw my phone on the floor in the kitchen. Then I turned and whipped my glass of water down the hall and it shattered on the ceramic tile (I have never done anything like that before in my life!). Then I knocked my alarm clock onto the floor and went to bed fully clothed. 

Unionguy texted at 8am and was himself but odd with his eager questions and attempt to be casual. I didn’t know what to say so I shoveled snow for a while and decided I would be straight with him. I said seeing them yesterday felt like a punch in the gut and I needed a couple of days to think. He apologized, said he understood and would give me the space I needed.

Something happened this afternoon, though. Corina emailed this YouTube thing about… I don’t know… finding balance and inner peace and all of that stuff she is into. Then I shoveled snow again and realized that I am good.

I called him into my life almost a year ago and he has been exactly what I needed as I needed it. As much as I want him to go all in with me, the post about Miul and Gem and their spring break week that I don’t get to be a part of tells me otherwise. 

So, I will continue the status quo and when I am really ready something will change and he will give more or I will find the one who will. And I will know I am ready because that’s when it will happen. I truly and genuinely believe that. And it is a relief. 

I’m going to continue making my choices as I go, checking in with my good and bad feelings as needed and my life will be wonderful, because in the long run it always has been wonderful and always will. I don’t have the benefit of hindsight in this situation yet but some day I will look back and understand that it all unfolded in the right way and the right time. Just as it always has and always will.

I am good. I love me. I am enough. No matter what happens with anyone else, I am enough. The rest is just gravy. 

Damn. That feels fucking good. 

Numbers game

Let’s compare and contrast my former opposite-gender relationships, shall we?

Ex1 (1987-1990) We were 15ish when we got together. I told everyone I didn’t like him, he told someone he liked me, five minutes later we were making out. We had fun together, we were equal somehow, perhaps it was what they like to call ‘horny’. I never did particularly like him in public, he irritated me when other people were around. We broke up and got together a hundred times. I screwed around on him because I was afraid he’d screw around on me because everyone told me that’s what people do (I watched a lot of soap operas and read my mother’s romance novels). I liked him better when I couldn’t have him. We slept together twice, the first time I fell in love with him (the night before he went to university), the second time (three months later when he came back) I was over it.

Ex2 (1996-2001) – I was 24, he was 38. He owned the house I rented with a couple of friends, I thought his age meant he was mature and knowledgeable, I loved his dad (like a dad). I was fresh from the nest, he was insecure enough that he thought it was hip and young to have an adoring fan by his side. He was disappointed I was chubby and thought it was important that I not be. He wasn’t the person I thought he was, we got over it at about the same time.

Ex3 (2002-2006) – I was 31, he was 36. We met online the day after my friend convinced me to sign up a profile on a popular dating site when online dating was still relatively new. He was from the same place I was, he made me laugh, his penis was beautiful, he got me and he didn’t require me to lose weight – it was fate. We were so the same. It was an outrageous roller coaster ride and I constantly tried to get off. He helped.

Ex4 (2006-2007) – We dated for a short while after I left Ex2, we had an incredible meet-cute. We smoked a lot of pot, he was a child, he was fun but he was a child.

That’s it, that’s the list. I have had well over 30 lovers since, before and in between. I fall in love at first site but I fall out of love even quicker. The trick for me was to find someone I could fall in love with over and over. I only fear that has run it’s course.

Ex5 (2011-    ) a.k.a. Mil, this story is yet to be told.

Me and Kevie

Mil met Kevie when we were home this summer. I glanced back and him quickly, wondering if he knew, if he could tell the impact this man made on my life. I had mentioned him once, when we were first dating and talking about past lovers. Or I made a comment on my blog or something. Either way, Mil wasn’t impressed in the story of Kevie all those years before, but he was so upset about it I’m sure he gapped it. He’s pretty good at that.

Kevie is the man I had an affair with for a month or so way back in 1996. My uncle’s best friend, pretty much my dad’s best friend (after, not so much before). He is about 25 years older than me. I find him as attractive today as I did back then. I don’t wet my panties for him anymore but I still remember the man I used to brush against, we’d speak in flirty innuendo, a wink, a giggle, knowing looks, it was pretty hot. (Hey, I had crushes on older men my whole life. Kevie was a good man and I needed to have sex with him.)

But we both grew from our short, intense little affair. I seduced him, if you want to know the truth. He was the first non-teenager I had convinced to sleep with me. My favourite part of the whole affair was when it was over, it was over. We didn’t talk about it after, we didn’t argue or debate or morn. It ran it’s course, he started dating women his age and I went out into the world to try that shit again. It was fun!

Kevie was dick zero. I didn’t lose my virginity to him but it was the first time I didn’t feel awkward or bored or dirty after. It was the first time I felt my vagina had more power than just a place for some guy I barely knew to plug his dick in. I didn’t have to take whoever would bite, I had a lure. I didn’t have to pretend I was awesome by writing strong words and descriptive sentences, I could just make snappy allegories and everyone would think Iwas awesome by default. Like now.

(P.S. I don’t actually know what allegories are or if I used the word in the proper context but I’m awesome so it doesn’t matter.)

(P.P.S. Vagina.)



Unionguyism #1

I met this guy who had just moved to town and he asked me what people are like here.

I said, “Well, let me ask you this: what were people like where you used to live?”

“They were a bunch of assholes. Everyone complained all the time.”

“I guess that’s pretty much what people are like here.”

And if he said people were friendly, or criminals, or idiots, the answer would have been the same. What we see in others comes from within.


P.S. Unionguy likes everyone.

P.P.S. Mil thinks everyone is an asshole.


He sits in the lobby, humming a song only he can hear. He is slight and frail, but his greetings of “hello sweety” or wave for anyone who passes are all the proof you need to know that he is gentle and strong, a matriarch of wisdom and old fashioned goodness.

The celebration of his 100th birthday last month seems to have been both a milestone and the clearance of another life hurdle. Yet, as any over achiever will attest, such victories are usually followed by a sense of loss and uncertainty. What next? For Jack the answer is death.

Not the grim extinction of a life unlived, but the natural culmination of a task completed. He is ready soon. He is tired of overcoming blindness, loss of hearing, declining mobility. He is alone in a population of 100, he misses his one true love and longs to be with his angel in heaven.

This time last year he was whistling his way to the market. He saw sunshine through the clouds, and spread brightness and optimism everywhere he went. Now he sits.

Is he a man without purpose, though? It might take some reminding from time to time but he still has the power to deliver joy to anyone who walks by. He fills my spirit bank every day; I collect it and invest it as long as I can, so I can share the wealth of Jack after he is gone.

So, let me tell you about Jack. Jack is the mold. You know how people say god got it right and then he broke the mold so it could never be repeated? Jack is the mold.



Let me tell you about Jack

Jack is 100  years old. He lives at the retirement community where I have worked for about a year. Jack’s birthday party was a huge bash with lots of old friends and relations, even some media. I got to see old pictures and hear stories about how deeply he loved his wife and children; one cousin even told me that everyone used to call Jack a “ne’er-do-well” but showed them all what a good man he was.

I told several people my favourite story about Jack: a few weeks after I started working there I decided to run to Subway for lunch, I hopped in my car and drove the two blocks to the shops. And as I drove I saw Jack, more than 55 years my senior, who was walking to the shops instead. What a show off, yeah? And when he walked by people shouted “Hello there, Jack!” (Ask me the secret to living to 100 again?)

After his party, though, Jack was exhausted. Lunches and long lost friends and television interviews really seemed to take their toll. I asked him if he was okay and he said he was tired. We chatted about his brush with celebrity and he remained his humble self and told me that he owed it all to his wife, who was an angel on earth and is now an angel in heaven. He told me he was lonely, his eyesight was failing, he couldn’t even read a newspaper or watch tv. Everyone he knew kept dying and he was so much older than the people around him. I squeezed his hand in support but we both knew there was nothing I could say to make that better.

Over the next several days I watched for him, called out a greeting as I passed by, introduced him to my guests as our resident celebrity who danced in a recent advertisement for the residence. I was happy to see his energy and spirit return, slowly but surely. He can’t walk to the shops any more but he still gets around. Last week, as I was having a heated debate with the photocopy machine, I could hear him whistling and saying “hello sweety” to staff and residents as they walked by. I immediately went over and sat down next to him.

I said, “Jack, do you know how special you are to the people here?” He shrugged his shoulders. I said, “Jack, do you know why you are so special?” He shook his head. I said, “You make people feel good. By saying hello, whistling a happy tune, tipping your hat to a gentleman and stepping aside for a lady to pass. You are an absolute pleasure to be around and I’m so glad to know you.”

So, let me tell you about Jack. Jack is the mold. You know how people say god got it right and then he broke the mold so it could never be repeated? Jack is the mold.