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The things they will do

Laughter is what drew me first to him, aside from the quirkiness he portrays, both at and away from the piano.

There is nothing better than lying in bed with someone and laughing. Something that I haven’t experienced with someone in a long time.

We climbed into bed late at night and lay there talking, facing each other. He reached over to pull me close and I pulled back and grinned.

“Sing me a song!”

Without hesitation, he started singing Andy Kim’s “Rock Me Gently”…after the first verse, he stopped, thinking it was enough.

“Keep going” I demanded. “Finish it.”

The greatest thing is that he did.

He lay there in bed, next to me, with a priceless look on his face, singing “Rock Me Gently”, chorus and all, with soul, with pizazz and hand gestures.

At 1 in the morning.

When he was done he goes “You’re making me sing for my supper, aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes I am.

Now, he seems to save the song at his evening gigs, for after I arrive.

I got a little bossy the next day, when we had a conversation about the things men are and aren’t comfortable doing, for fear of portraying a lack of manliness to others.

We took a shower and I handed him my razor and the shaving cream.

“Are you man enough to shave my legs?”

And so, he did. 

Good thing he didn’t cut me, I was laughing so hard, I was shaking.

I had my nail polish sitting out on the counter in the kitchen. I pointed to the polish and put my leg up over his, handed him the bottle…he opened it and started painting my toes.

He’s got these wide piano man hands, that were all awkward and clumsy with a nail polish brush. The frustration and murmurings under his breath that came out of his mouth in the following fifteen minutes (yes, it took him that long) as he tried painting my toes a hot red color (he picked), most of it ended up all over my skin, some on his leg and ALL over his hands. I led him to believe there was no way to get the red polish off his hands except just “time”…alot of “time”.

Imagine the panic in his face when he thought he’d be playing a gig that night with red nail polish all over his fingers..


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A big diet

I’m on a diet. I have been for a while. I kind of broke down on the money diet when I bought this MacBook but it is a necessity and am looking forward to writing it off on my taxes for my business as well as using it to do better business.

I’ve had to put myself on an itunes diet. Because my credit card kind of added up to about $50 worth of music last month. Yikes. Instead, this month, I’ve been going through old cds and loading them in…feels like new music since I haven’t listened to some of it since 1990.

My man diet is kind of mediocre. Okay. I broke the man diet. I like the piano man alot. I like that I don’t feel smothered in a big old relationship thingy. But like that we enjoy our time together and I laugh my head off. And he doesn’t think I am weird. And although he is totally weird, I totally get him.

I also have no interest in any other men. I don’t pine for Ohio anymore or wish things were different. I definitely don’t miss psychotic Steam. 

I am on a diet from yelling at the kids. But it’s hard when my 7 year old just doesn’t “hear” me. Yesterday she was cranky and when I begged her to stop, she cried “it’s because with Daddy, we went to bed at nine or ten every night!” (their bedtime at my house is 7:30ish).  We’ve had some good talks the last few days, the girls and I. We talk about how hitting each other or throwing the tape measure across the room at one another, is a BAD IDEA. And I explained that if they were grown up and did that, depending on the circumstance, they could go to jail. For instance, if they were at the local CVS and decided to throw some massive tape measure at some person walking down the aisle, the police would be called and they’d probably get hauled off to jail. Same thing at home. You throw the tape measure, storytime, tv, Polly Pockets and arts and crafts get taken away (yes, arts and crafts taken away are the biggest punishment, apparently) and you go to “jail”. “Jail” in our house is the hallway. There are no toys. No windows. Nothing to do or see. Just a chair and the rug and a mirror to look at your jailed face. Unfortunately, they’ve made do with the mirror and come out of “jail” with a great comedy act they’ve practiced for the last fifteen minutes, in the damn mirror.

I am on a diet from stressing out. On my list is applying for a very stuffy art association membership. I went to the art auction a few weeks ago and about 98 percent of the work, was plain vanilla to me. It was ridiculous. The few pieces I loved that were unique and colorful and stood out, went for pennies. The boring local landscape pastel watercolors and oils, went for thousands and thousands. So, not so sure my work will fit in. The date of submission is the 5th and I am seriously considering on excusing myself this year from applying and waiting until next year, merely because I have 5 other events I am planning and painting and marketing for. The art association is juried for membership. Which means I have to have signatures of other artists who can vouch for me that I am good enough or something. And I submit original work. And I hand deliver it. And then they call me to let me know if I should either a) celebrate and leave the paintings for a year or b) come pick up my work with a big reject stamp on my forehead as I walk away.

It sucks since the sign to the association is across the street from my front windows. If I don’t get accepted, it will continue to stare me in the face, shouting “FAILURE!”

Just to save face, I may bag it for now. And save me some time in the midst of all the shows coming up.

I am on a coffee shop diet.

Back when I was working outside the home years ago, I spent about $30 a week on coffee from Starbucks. And on occasion now, I pick up a good latte or something at a local shop here, for $4.00.

The last few years I indulge in good coffee beans, I pay more, but in the end I am making good coffee at home and not spending $4 a pop.  And today, I was out with the kids and wanted to stop off and get an iced coffee. Instead, I went home, poured the cold coffee remaining in the coffee maker from this morning, into a glass of ice, added half and half and sugar. Wah-lah. Saved myself $4.00 and the potential to buy many many pastries, had I entered the coffee shop.

I am not on an ice cream diet. Nor am I on a root beer diet. Which means, I am definitely not on a root beer float diet. 

I could go on…

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Over July 4th, my friend Kat was having a friend come and visit from Germany. She has known him for many many years and way ahead of time she mentioned wanting to set me up with him.

In my head I am thinking three things:

  1. I am not dating anyone
  2. I am not dating anyone who lives overseas, what is the point?
  3. I am not dating anyone

But still, she convinced me to agree to meet him at least, we would all go out and drink and have fun and I could see what I thought and see what he thought.

But then, I started to wonder if this guy was coming to town with expectations from her.

And in the end, it was so.

I was grateful because when we met for the first time at the piano bar (for an hour, because they had spent the previous 24 hours in bed together, reuniting) I looked at the guy and thought “what on earth was she thinking?”


At all.

Not long after, her friend went back to Germany and Kat and D came over when I made dinner. We drank a few bottles of wine and ate Chili Rellenos and caught up on the excitement of the July 4th week, which was full of drinking and bbqs and fun.

The first thing out of her mouth when she arrived was “I’m sorry, I think I slept with your date!”

He was SO not my date. I was skeptical in the first place, as I am at any time that someone suggests setting me up with someone else.

I did go for a walk and dinner with someone I’ve known for a little while the other night. I like that it isn’t this instant gravitation with him, nothing intense, but a slow moving of appreciation, fun and lightheartedness and surprises…information is natural and ongoing, hilarity is surprising and a gift in it.

I realized at the end of the night, from what I have known in knowing him as long as I have, he has little pain in his life and for that, I feel relieved. I realize I gravitate towards people who have things to work out, who are healing as I have been. And I supposed it’s because I feel an empathy and kinship towards them for that reason. I put myself in a position to want to be there when they are healing. And though I realize it isn’t my place, by being with them and caring about them, I put myself there. And in a way I put myself in a position to hurt along with them and want to be help heal, when I realize, I can’t. I can’t because people heal on their own. The fine line between loving someone and supporting them in their healing is tough for me to separate with actually feeling like I want to help or heal them.

I find that the times we’ve crossed paths, me and my date guy, I can’t stop laughing and that was true for our night out the other night. No pressure, it’s kind of fun. A friendship where we are wondering what it would be like to actually make a plan sometime to do something fun, instead of random encounters on the sidewalk or beach. And it was nice being dropped at the door at the end of the evening with a near high five and wave and going in on my own and getting in my own bed and sleeping there alone through the night.

Nothing pressured. Nothing heavy.

On another note, regarding my past, Chef, who I wrote about early on in this blog (alot are not on here because I didn’t add them when I went from blogspot to wordpress) called and left a message the other night. It has been almost a year since he called me to tell me what exactly he thought about me and listed what he thought was wrong with me (and this was after three months of silence after we broke up). After that particular conversation, I wrote this post called “Dear Chef”. It was my goodbye to him after he told me to never contact him again, ever. To not write, to not call, nothing.

That was complete closure for me and I am still weighing whether or not I will call him back. I feel that his reasons for calling are for himself, as he maybe is going through some sort of emotional crisis or self exploration. Not because he actually cares. In looking back at our history, he would call exwives and exgirlfriends and even talk to strangers to help him with his healing and what not, part of his recovery process.

Privately, I saw it as a way he would feed his ego and when I was with him and he called others for that, it hurt my feelings. It hurt my feelings because he never wanted me like that, never needed me like that.

After he left the message the other day, I mentioned it to D and he asked how I felt about it. And my response was that it brought back a remembrance of being with someone who most of the time didn’t want or need me, someone I nearly begged for love and questioned often in my head to him “why don’t you love me?”

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More photography

In the spirit of photos, I thought I would share Blue’s little bout with the camera on the beach the other day.

She was “a-whining” so I handed her the camera and went back to my book.

She spent the time hammin’ it up for herself, apparently.

I didn’t realize until I just downloaded the photos.

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UPDATE: just in.

In answer to some of the comments on the previous post, I don’t block the emails because I want to read them if he is taking the time to write and send them…that way I know what frame of mind he is in. If I get an angry one (and I have gotten an angry few that I have not posted here), I want to know he is angry. If he is going to kill himself, I want to know. If he is going to show up at my house or threaten or whatever, I want to know what is going on in his head. This email below sounds normal to some but to me, it is this passive aggressive non-stop thing that is really bothering me. There is no point for him to send this, he has been having a one-sided conversation with himself for weeks now.
Here it is, just in:
I was just thinking of you and hope you had a great weekend. I had a great one. This was the first weekend this summer that didn’t end in torrential downpours and it was nice. I hope you, the girls, your Mom, your Dad, his girlfriend and your sister are all well. I also hope you’ve been able to do a lot of painting and it’s going well for you.
Take care of yourself.

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A hazard of living alone, is being stuck in a dress.

It seems my boobs have grown or my back fat got fatter or something.

Or maybe it’s my ass pushing up towards my back. (what’s better, a fat ass or back fat?)

It’s all that sitting around and drinking in the summer and eating chocolate and fringe fruit on the beach.

And then I go home alone with no one to help me un-stick my zipper.

I find myself stuck and consider two things.

1) sleeping in dress until the morning when I can get my neighbor downstairs to do it for me.

2) cut myself out of the damn dress.


Bras are good for the most part.

They push me up.

Keep me from going down.

Keep things together.

Give a little cleavage.

Some padding for the cold days.

But going for a steady hour long walk in the summer, pushing my 5 year old in a stroller that is too small for her (but I swear, I will cram her in there as long as I can just to get a good walk with her every now and then) and wearing a bra, is just way way sweaty.

On the way home yesterday from our 4 miler, the sweaty bra kept riding up.

And then we ran into a fellow artist on the street. And I wondered if it had ridden all the way up to my neck. I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and just pulled at it to get it adjusted.

To “get myself out of an embarrassing situation”, because it was obvious that I was “adjusting myself”, I blurted out “this damn bra keeps riding up on me”.

Thankfully he laughed.

Yeah, I’m a wiz at making things less embarrassing like that. Huh.


Since I am on the topic.

I hate wedgies.

note: yeah, I wish that were me in the photo. but I Googled “push-up bra” and got that.

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Dear Chef

I just wanted to say that I am sorry about how our conversation went on the phone a few weeks ago. I was stunned that your first call to me in over four months was to analyze, judge and criticize me. You had absolutely no right, considering we are no longer involved. In fact, you had absolutely no right, regardless of that.

I think I expected a bit of healing instead of resentment and anger from you…you don’t forgive me, for whatever it is you think I did, I did nothing wrong, any more than what I feel you did wrong…you don’t give me your blessing, perhaps it was your way of attempting to let me go, because I don’t need your blessing…I did nothing other than stand up for what I needed and wanted and I do believe you knew deep down it was coming at some point, no matter how much you didn’t want it. I didn’t want it to end either, but it really was time.

Anyway, it was very difficult to hear you in a place that wasn’t of any sort of understanding or peace about the situation, as if your desire was to say things to hurt me in that phone call. It didn’t, it just disappointed me.

The fact that I am seeing someone new, yes, so what, maybe it is my M.O., but really, how often were we together? Twice a month? In the evenings? After your two rounds of golf each day? And besides, didn’t all three of your marriages end because you had found someone new, while you were still IN the marriage?

My life is none of your business. I found it shocking that you would criticize me considering your history. I mean, you were married three times. Divorced. You abandoned your children. You nearly drank yourself to death.

We all want and need companionship. Changing our ways in each relationship and hopefully having it be the last one, a good one, is always a hope and it happened that you and I weren’t able to do that with each other. Whether the involvement is soon after a breakup or years later, is one’s own decision and not anyone else’s place to say that it is the wrong thing.

I hoped that you knew me well enough and watched me enough and understood me enough, that everything we went through, the growth I was going through in the last few years, growth I attribute a strong amount to being with you, was actually pulling me away from us. There came a time when being with you wasn’t okay for me anymore for a variety of reasons and I think you saw that more than you care to admit.

I loved you so much that I found I was compromising simple needs that I had and as a result, I was unhappy. What I wanted for me and my girls in a relationship, was not possible with you anymore, as what I needed evolved as I settled in to my life. They need to be included and in the end, that was one of the biggest things out of the big things standing in the way. Another critical thing that I never said that I feel I need to say, is the feeling of vagueness and dishonesty I felt with you…your non-forthrightness, in every day things that were becoming more apparent and difficult for me. I couldn’t understand it and I couldn’t handle it.

I will end with saying that when I think of you, I think of the man I loved and still love, the man who steadily was there for me when I went through the greatest part of healing in my life, dealing with the divorce, handling issues with the abuse I lived with, and gaining a strength deep inside that I never knew I had, as a mother and a woman…strength I never thought I could muster. You are a good friend and I love what you mean to me. I never expected to part ways and stop speaking. I do suspect that was better for us though, in the end.

If you ever want to connect in a different manner, when you are ready, please do call. I refuse to get into any sort of confrontation with you or analyze everything to death, because I don’t feel it would be productive for either of us in moving on.

I wish you well, I hope all is well with your mom and kids and the rest of your family.

(note: this is after I received two voice mails from Chef a few weeks ago, both sounding like totally different people, asking me to call him. I discovered he’d been reading my blog and he decided to call me not to say hello after all these months, but to analyze my blog and my life and Steam. He was very angry still, that I called things off after months and months of trying to make it work again. I told him I wouldn’t have a conversation with him about it. I recently sent him this email and left him a message letting him know I sent it. I got a message back from him saying he will be deleting my email without reading it and for me to not contact him again. So be it. He definitely has his own ideas of what happened and doesn’t think he had anything to do with them.

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