Browsing Tag

life

Uncategorized

Okay Baby

April 28, 2016

164700554-What-happens-if-a-car-comes

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh you did a buttload of drugs and you feel shitty and you need me to come get you so you can sleep in my bed and cry on my couch?
Okay baby. Love you be there in 20. What’s the address again?

Oh, you want to ride a mechanical bull with no panties on?
Okay baby. I will hold your purse, and film it.

I want to go swimming, can we get a hotel with an indoor pool?
Okay baby. (What no foot stomp required? Thanks baby.)
(See also, can we go shopping at Target for shit I don’t need so I can be supportive and then can you fuck me in a blanket fort…okay baby. Yesh)

Oh, you think its okay to bring your drug dealer to brunch and spend 3 days text screaming at me because I didn’t just say ‘okay baby?’
Okay baby, we done. That one wasn’t okay.

Which is weird considering…lately everything okay baby.

It’s my new mantra, whatever life hits me with, its just okay baby.

Once upon a time my dad was a shutdown coordinator for a huge company.
He would tally the man hours and outside hires to get everything running on budget within the time given. He worked with another man to whom he would show his well calculated specs to.
This man would look them over and religiously say at first “Okay Jonny”. Then it would all slide downhill. “Okay Jonny, I thinks so…I think so maybe. Um no. No Jonny. Just no.”

In my household it became part of our vernacular. Those inside jokes, movie quotes and song lyrics that become a private language between those you love and spend time with. The original back and forth got shortened. And any time the answer to anything was ‘no’, it became, “I think so maybe no.”

I have since changed my outlook on life the universe and everything due to a random trip to New Orleans with Miss No Rules.
There are no rules.

If I love you, I just love you. As is.

You wanna do a thing? Okay baby.

You hurt me? Shrug, okay baby.

Plans for hotel rendezvous? Okay baby.

It works for everything, like tabasco, perspective, duct tape and WD-40. And should be applied liberally.
This is some next level, ‘just roll with it’ shit. And I love it.

What happened is while I was waiting for life to happen, it was already happening. I panned out whilst watching the movie that is my life and saw that with little or no direction, everything was great. We lay in the road and get up if a car comes. Dance to no music or all of it. Life isn’t scripted, and I love the people playing star roles with me right now. Exactly the way they are, messy, funny, honest, belly laughs and sometimes out of control.
We have all survived everything up until this point. Those nights laying in bed with my heart ripped out, I wanted to die, thought I might. But at some point I got back up and back on with the business of living.
And as scary as the new stuff was, it was also really amazing. And it continues to be so, exponentially better.

I always loved this poem…so much that i wanted to be it, somewhere I lost my way.
10848575_1570360723178668_5768107608292919987_o

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Found it again and found the one who makes me feel like he is yesh, and I may…

Planned a vacation with Jason, we must have reorganized things, added and subtracted 1000 times, if once. Now he has to work 3/8 days. No breakdown, no subtext, no foot stomps. We can snuggle and watch movies when you get home and I’ll make dinner. Okay baby.

My friends are all at different points in their lives, most of them younger than me, some of them making right messes out of things BUT THOSE ARE THEIR MESSES TO MAKE. In retrospect all my messes had lessons buried in the shit. Why deny them the same thing just because I actually know better. If it gets dangerous I will pull them out, and they will come with me because they know that I am the Queen of Okaybabyland and if I have to say, no baby, there is a reason for it.

They say things like ‘I love him.’ and I just say “okay baby”. I am not the expert on love, I have a really good idea what it feels like to be accepted and wanted as is. Like a solid friendship, with lust on top. Closer than I have ever been. Feels like love to me. For them? I just know how I love them and hope they find something similar. Someone who just lets them be themselves and says ‘okay, that’s my baby.’

men

The Claiming

April 25, 2016

0755f4a0b0b29ef2f11b322c323ea3fb

My relationship status on Facebook has been non-existent for over 5 years now.

I haven’t been single for 5 years mind you, but I left it blank.

I dated Pimp Daddy for 2 years and never felt the need to claim him, gee I wonder why.
(See the 3rd word in the previous sentence.)

He never called me his girlfriend even after we moved in together, even after I got pregnant and then fired, rendering us gypsies. Even after I got us out of that mess and every subsequent mess after that.

He wasn’t that important.

End of story.

There was a method to my madness, or a reason for it.

I remember one day when ex hubby and I were fighting. I’d run away from home and was sequestered in a Pepto Bismol pink room above a strip club surrounded by everything I could possibly jam into my Jeep, including my laptop thank fuck. I was using it for evil, posting passive aggressive shit. Obsessively checking my relationship status on Facebook to see if maybe this was the time it would actually be over. It wasn’t. I mean, he DID dump me on Facebook that week, but it didn’t last.
And so it went, different locales, always the same game.
Is it my turn or hers?
Where am I sleeping tonight, and watching my status obsessively to assess how bad things were this time.

If I left 7 times I left 20. If he dumped me 17 times he dumped me 57. The center didn’t hold. It was never my circus and they weren’t my monkeys.

My monkeys fly.

And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck them.

Every time I start shit talking my exes, I hear Sophia from the Color Purple.

“He ain’t worf it.”

“Don’t trade places with what I’ve been through. Sat in that jail, sat in that jail till I about done rot to death.”

I did. A few times. And I was always the key.

Hell can get pretty comfortable if you have been there long enough.

But I was the key, the key to leaving, the key to the locks in my life.

The secret is all inside your head she said to me. The answer is easy if you take it logically. I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free. There must be 50 ways to leave your lover. ~ Paul Simon

The leaving, I have that down. Being left? Got that too, don’t want it but I get it.

But what about the in between?

How in the good lord’s name do I deal with that?

Where is that fine line between belonging with/to someone and territorial pissings?

Once upon a time I posted a profile pic of me in a doorway, wearing The grey dress. My corner of the internet exploded, compliments flying everywhere. But the one I fixated on was from Young Un. We had an inside joke about ‘man pants’, jeans I owned that hung off me rather than hugging my curves. He posted under said grey dress pic that I was beautiful no matter what I wore, even in my man pants.

It was the first time I had been claimed publicly by someone I was with, in what felt like forever.

And it felt amazing.

The Poet did the same, a few times, and it always elevated me. I felt wanted, like he was announcing his presence in my life. And I liked it.

I realized, I had lived without it for so long that I no longer need it, but I kinda want it.

With the new one, good god I wanted to brag. But I would restrain myself, mull over the comments I was leaving out for the world to see, and if I felt they might offend someone…inbox or not at all.

We talked about it, he makes it easy to talk about everything.

“I’m scared.” I said.

“It’s okay baby.” He replied.

I wanted to climb the air traffic control tower at O’Hare and announce how smitten I am with this man.
I told him that too.

“Okay baby.” He said.

Shortly after we each got called out by mutual friends…”so you seem really happy, what’s his/her name?” They already knew. I am so transparent it’s like trying to hide elephants inside a greenhouse.

I don’t want to hide anything, I don’t keep secrets nor am I one.

So I said it, out loud. Posted upon the Facebook that “I am smitten as fuck with Jason King.”

Took him nanoseconds to comment underneath “and I am smitten right back.”

And in that moment I allowed myself to be happy. Still am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

men

Hot Neighbor and Humble Pie

April 10, 2016

8a06e34c74cd97966b252b17b8abbb19

It seems that I’ve been chasing angels
for what seems the entire of my life.
Amber, Run Heaven

See also “angel came down from heaven yesterday, (s) he stayed just long enough to rescue me”.
Jimi Hendrix

Hot Neighbor brought pie and wine the first time he came over.

We were both kinda awkward, didn’t know each other very well.

My how things have changed. We now eat cheesecake.

We do however, still call sex ‘pie’.

I re-posted The Dress a few weeks ago, and contained within is “An Ode to Hot Neighbor” wherein I hadn’t met him yet, but he looked at me like I was a goddess even in my sweatiest sweats. He still does that. He came over last Saturday right after the Hulk apartment incident. I opened the door, crying and he lunged forward and caught me in the best hug, he then drove me and my Sunshine to work.

I looked at her that night and said “I am not doing right by him, making him listen to me cry over other boys when he is right here and treats me like gold.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind” she said. And for a second I believed her.

He was here through the Giant recovery, just holding me and listening. Giving me pep talks and much needed perspective.

I’ve been standing in the forest screaming at the trees again.

I fucked up.

Is no bad. I make fix now.

I wrote an article yesterday about all this wonderful unconditional love I get from my girls, and I do. We all deserve a love like we have for each other, as messy and strange as it is and we are.

But, um wait. I have boys in my life like that too. Men actually, good ones.

Hot Neighbor. The one I call Home. And a new one, the Blue-collar to my Ballerina.

Blue-collar messaged me shortly after I put up the aforementioned article.

Him: I just wanted you to know I love your newest writing….and I know you’re still having some good and bad moments….but I am enjoying seeing you with that fire in you more….very proud and happy for you Flash….

Me: It’s you too. You treat me like gold.

Him: Love you’re more precious than any gold.

Me: As are you darling

Him: Thanks sugarpants

He calls me Flash. He is the factory worker to my stripper and together we make the premise for Flashdance. I could spend the rest of the article explaining the subtle private language we have begun to develop, but it’s ours. He makes me smile and giggle and sigh on the regular. Yesh, yesh he does.

He is also making an 11 hour pilgrimage to buy me tacos in Chicago whilst I have a two hour layover. That is the stuff memes and dreams are made of.

The one I call Home maintains vigil. Popping in every now and again when my Facebook statuses or profile pics get too morose. He keeps up with this blog. (Hi honey). He was with me when the false soldier/bouncer debacle happened, offering advice and keeping me from beating myself up too badly. I came to peace with that horrid situation in lightning speed thanks to him. Actually the article I wrote about him called Sexual Healing was the catalyst that launched me out of that relationship. Thank you honey.

And what of Hot Neighbor?

He was here last night for proverbial pie. We broke in my new We-Vibe.

I had a mini epiphany while we were talking and smoking in the afterglow.

“I can sex friend like a champion” yes, I meant to put the R in there. “But if I get an inkling of ‘relationship potential’ I turn into a retard.” (The way Zach Galifianakis says it in the Hangover)

I do, I become less of myself, I start pulling back and trying to be what my idea of what they want, and I am normally wrong, because um…THEY PICKED ME IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE. Old conditioning makes me feel like they want a watered down version of me, but I don’t like me watered down, neither should any man I want around. Its science.

I slipped up and cited the Giant again, after I promised myself I wouldn’t.

I apologized immediately to Hot Neighbor. Said I felt like I misused him and took advantage.

His response? “Sarah, you treat me like a prince.” And here I was thinking I was being douche aka myself, my messy crying self.

Geographically speaking it is impossible for me to always look cute when he is around. We live across the alley from each other, he does see me in my sweaty sweats, morning hair, racoon eyes from the night before. He has held me while I cry and shake and get boogers on his shirt and he just keeps coming back, checking in and serenading me.

Also geographically speaking it is impossible for me to be around the other two, but if they were here I think we would make fine sex friends.

So basically I have 3 men in my life who actually love me as is. Why was I sad again?

I am smiling as I eat this piece of humble pie, washing it down with good coffee and good karma.

12924606_669717959833732_5890424144203940062_n

 

 

 

unable to even

After the Flood

April 4, 2016

I have cried and come enough the last few weeks to end up drowning in all of it.

The levies broke and I got washed away. Trying to get my bearings and figure out where I am and where I want to be.

Now everything is a salty/sex-and-tear stained soaked mess and I’m trying to figure out what, if anything, is worth salvaging. Picking through the flotsam, hanging some of it out to dry. Fighting the urge to throw it all away.

Ain’t nothing making any sort of immediate sense at all and I’m losing my mind.

Saturn has gone retrograde and the life lessons and déjà vu are coming in such rapid succession I can’t pull back far enough out of the feels to see the big picture.

8 planets are heading into retrograde. That’s a lot of planets. Honestly, I don’t know what it all means to have them moving backwards like this, except I feel like I am running up the down escalator. Fighting for every inch of climb. It just started and I am already tired.

Like a heartbeat… drives you mad…In the stillness of remembering what you had…And what you lost…And what you had…And what you lost.*

Forgive me father for I have sinned and I have no plans on stopping anytime soon. In fact, I think I want to stop being so fucking virtuous and start thinking/believing that I deserve some happiness too. Taking it when it presents itself. Being a good girl and worrying about people who couldn’t give a fuck about me is no longer serving me, nor my ego/heart/logic/vagina aka the Royal We.

I am not a saint, at some point every saint had a choice.

If Saturn goes retrograde, and he has, does that mean he stops being an asshole?

Sadly, the answer is no. If it’s even at all possible Cronos the Titan becomes and even more titanic alcoholic dad swinging a belt with ferocious strength and deadly accuracy.

Ow.

The fuck?

The actual fuck, seriously now. Not cool universe.

 

“Oh baby you almost got a hysterical tear filled panic attack induced ear full of crying girl yesterday. I hit a fucking wall, after I thought I couldn’t hit it any harder. I sprained my soul I cried so hard.” I said.

“Next time….call me. Cry and wail and scream….we don’t even have to talk….just know you won’t be alone. And those walls serve a purpose….” He replied.

“It is time for a big upheaval methinks violently tearing things down so I can rebuild and the universe is swinging the wrecking ball with my name in it.” (Please let this be the truth.)

“Let that fucker swing baby.” (I love it when he calls me that).
He proceeded to send me his phone number, just in case. The world needs more of him, MY world needs more of him.

 

I didn’t post on a Sunday, I think I have missed maybe one other Sunday ever. I didn’t know what to say.

I have 14 documents open on my laptop. 15 if you count my Opus, but the filth and the fury contained in there is for print only.

All these tidbits and opening paragraphs, some just a link to a meme and a working title.

I can’t seem to make sense of anything. And everything is so rapidly changing. Things that were the truth last Monday morning have ceased to be tangible or real.

I drunk texted the Poet in one last attempt to free his head from his ass, to no avail.

I slept with the Giant for an extra week to attempt the same thing and also because um …mind boggling lightning sex. Nope, just got passed over yet again for the safehaven of a traveling waitress.

Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions, I keep my visions to myself. It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams and…Have you any dreams you’d like to sell? Dreams of loneliness…

(Of what you had and what you lost)*

Friday/Saturday were cluster-fucks of epic proportions.

Took a Friday night off work to go to a birthday party with friends. Got lost, got rescued by a man I have harboured a tiny crush on for a decade. We were flirting, then we weren’t, then we were again. We had a date and then we didn’t and now we do again.

I went out for lunch the next day with friends from the previous night’s birthday revelry. With the intention of going to a tattoo shop re-opening. Said shop has taken over the Hulk’s old apartment and converted it beautifully into a tattoo studio. I haven’t been there since he left last July. Thought I was okay.

Nope.

I made it up the stairs. Everything was so different. Eyes wide open, taking everything in. Every time I blinked flashing right back to couch snuggles and kitchen renos, unpacking boxes and then packing them again. Face love from his brown dog. Knees shaking at the bottom of the stairs, confessions into his jacket on the back steps. Biting my hand to stifle moans having afternoon sex and knowing how thin the walls were. Choking back tears when he left.

Caught a mutual friend’s gaze in the middle of this. He was looking at me with that “are you okay?” stare. His eyes and mouth conveying pity mixed with concern. I turned on my heel and ran down the stairs. I was not okay with this.

Took me 45 minutes sitting in the parking lot to start seeing/breathing normally enough to leave.

I think my writer’s block yesterday came from my inability to articulate the why I was so sad. I still don’t know exactly. Each snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty (Stanisław Jerzy Lec ) so does every drop of rain in a flood.

When the rain washes you clean… you’ll know, you’ll know*

Time to get clean, learn to swim in this or else I’ll drown.

I’m ready for things to make sense right about … now.

(*Dreams, Fleetwood Mac)

 

 

 

error: Content is protected !!