What did you do at work today?

Here's what I did!



I love my job.

See how it goes.

Anyone that knows me knows can assure you I’m never at a loss for words, during those awkward moments of silence I’ll bust out something that has nothing to do with anything or use my favorite saying of “so…” but the new guy caught me off guard.

He called after work, I answered and we chatted a bit about the normal get to know you things – how many kids, family married or single, his divorce and our weekend plans. He asked me to spend the night on Saturday, I said I would think about it but I needed to be straight about something – there would be no sex. Which of course led to the sex conversation.

MG: “I’ll be straight with you, there’s no sex until I see test results and I’ll do the same for you.”

NG: “Okay?”

MG: “When you’re in those moments of passion and there’s no condom, I want to know that I’ll be safe – I’m not saying it’ll be done with out a condom, it’s just what I think.”

NG: “I got tested three months ago and haven’t had sex since May.”

MG: “I got tested in August, but we both will need to get tested again – piece of mind.”

NG: “When was the last time you had sex?”

MG: “Doesn’t matter, the test needs to be done.”

Which led into further conversation, one that involved him saying, “While we’re being straight, I’m not looking to just casually date you – I mean, I go into this full force – I want you to be my girlfriend.”

Which leads me back to the first paragraph, the moment that hit my ear a gigantic lump occurred in my throat – the kind that you choke on, you can’t swallow, you can’t talk, you can’t breathe. You just think to yourself, “at this very moment I could die – a really painful, slow death.”

“Is that what you want?”

“We’ll see how this goes. I mean, we just met – you could hate my guts after Saturday.” Diversion, still lump, cough. Still there.

And then went on with normal conversation, but in the back of my head that one sentence – I want you to be my girlfriend – was burnt into my head.

For three years my life hasn’t really circulated around the thought of an “us” or a “we.” Granted, there were small interruptions in the case of CB and somewhat of RS, but never a serious mention on anyone’s part but me. For three years it’s been me, my schedule, what I want to do, when I want to do it. If I feel like having sex, I’ll drive to Madison. If I feel like staying home by myself, taking a bath and listening to girl music, I’ll do it. If I wake up at 7am and decide I’m not going to talk to anyone, I turn off my phone and stay home without anyone knowing the difference. I haven’t had to worry so much about hurt feelings, making time, doing special things, driving to someone else’s place, being their dates at events, meeting parents, making a good impression. Nothing. If this goes somewhere, am I willing to give up all of that for something that could go nowhere?

New Guy.

Okay, scary - but I might actually want to date someone. I met this DJ on Saturday night who is amazingly cute and very sweet - and I got flowers today! It's just a wow, what am I going to do sensation...

Are we ready?

Back in college I did a study on American views for a media class. It was during election time and numerous reports stated that American citizens preferred married, white, Christian (protestants held the number one spot) men who had served some time in a branch of the US Military. That was about 6 years ago - are we ready to change those views?

As many know, Hilary Clinton has decided to run for the Democratic party and also Barack Obama from Illinois. I think both are viable candidates and I believe they should run together. But then, we'll change years and years of history with just the coloring in of an arrow or the punching of a chit. Not only will it be the first female in office, but also the first African American.

All I have to say to this is that I think it might be time, if we stick with what was bargained for six years ago, we get George W. it's time for some Democratic change!

On-line Dating.

I would have to say that on-line dating isn't really helping with finding a boyfriend, but it is positioning me on what I don't want ...

Here's a small list.

I don't want to be with someone:

- Who has hick-characteristics. Congrats on liking Nascar and driving a truck, that just doesn't fit into my world.

- Do not proposition me for sex before even seeing me. Seriously? Seriously!

- Intellectual conversation can take you to point A, but real conversation will get you to B and then to C, which is the place where I take my shirt off.

- Don't be mad at me because I have talked to you for only 6 hours on the phone (at one crack!) - that's a lot of talking time! Especially when you don't participate that much.

- Ask about me, I like to talk but I need you to fill in akward pauses.

- Looks do count. I admit it. Funny guys can override looks, but not so much on-line.

- If you haven't met me, you can't stalk me. I don't want to talk to someone every hour of every day, especially during the work day!

Why phones were invented.

Let's be honest, I'm not quite the innocent girl. I've ventured into a couple of adventurous sexual experience - I was an soft porn photographer for godsake. But I never ventured into the phone area until two days ago.

With my recent cut-off from Madison, a girl can feel a little lonely at times and her own imagination can only take her so far. After text prompting, I made a phone call and engaged in some long distance attraction. Impeccably mind blowing I might add. I didn't have the balls enough to pull out electric devices, but sometimes the fingers can do the walking especially when the person on the other end tells them exactly where to walk.

Worst pick up line - ever.

Gentleman please note this post.

When you see a girl at a bar who engages in talk with you, do not use the line "I gotta tell you - I have a girlfriend, but ..." Here's your first mistake. You've referenced your girlfriend, but maybe you'll get lucky and a chick will still dig what you're about to say ... But then you add, "you're giving me such a chubby."

Honestly the first part isn't quite as bad as the second part. What are you, just into puberty? Because there are many other words that might actually make the first part the bad part.

Ah. Bowling.

So last night was a double team event, first I had one from 6-8:30, which meant not actually participating in bowling but still showing up after to join in the festivities of drinking and socializing.

The thing about our little league is that there aren't that many good bowlers, it's just an excuse for 60 some people in advertising to get drunk, smoke and hook up with other people in advertising for one night. I participated in all three categories last year, but didn't actually end up going home with one of the participants ever - just seeing him. He's a nice, tall red head that has a mean passive aggressive spark to him which is why it didn't work (see birthday post).

Last night I sauntered in to the bowling alley, dolled up in an ivory dress and my 5" leopard heels and did my rounds of socializing, making sure it was apparent that I was there but not saying anything quite yet to him. Finally after half an hour of waiting, I just came up to him. He turns to me and says, "I have been drooling for the last 1/2 hour since you walked in over you."

Little sayings like this make me question why I'm not dating him. I try to remind myself that he uses the phrases "like" and "dude" a little too much for me and that he has that PA streak, but still he has a lot to offer.

Of course, at the same time there's BG that will be there every week and the dating site has led to a cute interaction again. I had decided to be good and to not multi-date anymore, but with these options it's going to be hard to resist.

Just Do It.

After reviewing my social life with some of my random friends the same message kept coming across, "You're always chasing, never being chased." Which is completely true, I'm the type of person that sets my sights on something and gets it. The last couple of weeks, I've withdrawn a bit and decided I wouldn't chase anymore.

Until today. I thought the best thing to do to get over RS was to simply start seeing someone here in Milwaukee, because I'm not sure I want to date anyone in my industry (the people that I am social with every time I'm social) I signed up for a personal website that some friends have had great success with. I've been sitting back silently watching to see who would get a hold of me and needless to say, none have been quality. You can see who has looked at your profile though, and there is one guy that I kept praying would actually contact me. Well it hasn't happened, so I decided to screw the rule of sitting back and sent him a message. Why not just do it?

End of Story?

I was working away, filling out cards to tell clients that we were so proud of their accomplishment on making the 2007 Book of Lists when my computer made a weird dinging sound. I looked up as my iChat perched at me to either approve or deny a message from RS.

What could it hurt to see what he had to say? Approve. “In Madison or Milwaukee?” It asked me. He’s just not into you I thought, but still found my hands to the keyboard to type, “Madison, why?” I lied.

For the next hour we bantered a bit back and forth but I never said that I’d go up there. I gave him the opportunity to make the trip down to Milwaukee saying that I had a meeting at 3:00 and didn’t feel like driving up to Madison to turn around drive home and drive up the next day (I’m in Madison until Thursday, with trips to Milwaukee in between – or at least was supposed to be, but instead am just going up Thursday). To which he didn’t bite. It dawned on me that the gentleman thing to do would have been to ask me to come up, stay the night and drive the next day, but of course it wasn’t said. Reason? He’s into having sex with me, he’s just not that into me.

So I’m at home, about to draw a bath and prepare for a big event tomorrow, typing up my blog and smiling to myself that the addiction is broken. Hey – if you’re not into me, you’re not worth fucking me. End of story – period.

Just not into you.

So after shuffling through old items yesterday, I stopped over at the local Home Depot and picked up some wood, some pain and some nails, bound and determined to make a lovely set of shelves for my living room.

As I cozied up to paint I popped in STC as part of my normal weekend routine, season 6. I laid out paper and the wood and began to paint as Carrie began to dater Berger. As the first coat was drying and my hands, arms and face were covered in black and red paint, Miranda spoke about her date with another lawyer who hadn’t called in two days. She asked Berger what he thought he meant and he told her that he just wasn’t into her and explained that if a guy wants to come up, meeting or not, if he likes you – he will. I can’t believe I forgot about that bestseller book from years ago that was collecting dust … in some box. I continued to paint and smiled to myself, the easiest advice that makes life so simple and I forgot about it.

Well, tonight I put on another coat of paint and assembled my very own, homemade media center (it was supposed to be a shoe rack, but the holes weren’t big enough – eh, you win some you lose some) only to find that I scratched the paint off the wood in a couple of different spots. I began to search for a new paint brush (I was also lazy last night and didn’t clean them, thinking they were only a buck, I’d buy more) and as I rummaged through my craft box for a thin brush I found it – the book.

The pink and black item that, while grossly over priced – especially at the time I bought it, offered the easiest point of advice … if he doesn’t call, email, write; if he doesn’t linger or the relationship ends and he’s still having sex with you after no comment of re-commitment, it means, plain and simply, he’s just not that into you. Ding, ding.

Saturday night was now explained, RS was now explained, and even in later arguments of the ever allusive CB was explained, when it comes down to it – they weren’t that into me.

I try not to be a game player at all, but I realized I need to stop the chase – I’m always into them. The next guy will be the one to call, to ask me out, to do all the things that classy love affairs include – end of story.

Old Stuff.

On Sunday I went over to my dad’s to finish cleaning up the bits of my life that remained strewed about his basement. I had lived with out these things for four months, so in reality, I probably should have blind folded myself and thrown it all out – but instead I spent three hours going through plastic containers that reminded me of old things.

There were pictures of me and my best friend Rachel who moved home to Australia years back, we were so happy then. She was in a crappy marriage, I was 19 and 20 so we pretty much got drunk at either of our houses after work. We shopped, we ate, it was great. Then there was picture of Di and me from our wild crazy summer that made me smile and ache all at the same time. As I continued to dig the pictures got older – there was pictures of exes, both good and bad, pictures of old vacations. I could spend hours looking through the box full of the memories, but I stopped when I realized that it was all in the past. I kept a handful of them and threw the rest out.

Then there was the lock box that I kept, that didn’t actually lock and I had no clue where the key actually was. Inside the box were more random memories, so I tossed them. I decided that it was time to stop relying on my past and keep it where it should be, only in my head, to disrupt my daily routine.

I finally narrowed down my crates of belongings into 10 garbage bags and three containers. As I drove back to my flat, I decided that it was good that all the old stuff was going away and that today would be the start of a brand new me.

Friend to BOYfriend?

This weekend was quite … not sure the words for it.

In normal fashion, I met out a couple friends for lunch, drank a bit too much and passed out – but not before making a drunk dial to BG, who – also in normal fashion – didn’t pick up.

Later that night I met an old friend out for another cocktail. We sat and joked like normal, but then the liquor hit a bit too hard and he said what every girl has wanted a good-looking guy to say to her, “I can’t believe you’re single. You’re so beautiful, so kind, you’re so the girl that every guy wants to marry and have a family with. I don’t know how else to say this, but for the past two years I’ve been in love with you.”

I choked back my Bud Light a little bit and took a deep breath and wondered what the right answer was to the question. I could kick myself, he’d be a great boyfriend – but he’s an even better friend. Should I take the chance or should I just be content in what I have. I grabbed his hand, smiled and said, “Wow. Okay.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, apparently this was not the right answer. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t actually say that I wanted to go out with him and be with him. If I did, I would be lying and I would hurt our friendship. I tried to make it up, “No, I mean, I love you too.” Apparently this at least inched my foot away from his balls a bit as the pain seemed to subside.

We left the bar and hugged. I walked home in the crisp night, too many things reeling through my head at the given moment. I wanted clarity, but I couldn’t get it and now I didn’t know even how to get it.

In the past when things arose I just rang up Madison – I’d have sex, I’d drive home and think that what happened was exactly what I wanted. Now I couldn’t even seek the guidance of a good lay because I am done with being blown off.

I laid in bed for the next two hours, barely sleeping and waking again for the rest of the night. Finally in the morning I took a bath, my cat sat on the edge purring and I thought to myself that I would be completely content being with him and perhaps that would be exactly what I would need to get over RS.

Waiting until 10, I picked up the phone and called him. He drearily woke up, “Morning babe.” I smiled. “Hey, wanted to chat with you” I said. “Last night.” He choked. “Yeah, last night. What you said to me was great, and I’ve thought about it …”

“MG?” He stopped me, my heart sank because I knew where this was going, “Yeah babe.” He cleared his throat. “I had a bit too much to drink, I think we both know that we wouldn’t work.” Awkward silence.

“I don’t agree. We’ve been great friends and I think that …” I started.

“No. I don’t think that. I was just trying to sleep with you. This isn’t going to affect our friendship right?”

“Of course not, I mean – who do you think I am? You know me.” I uttered back, my heart was in my stomach. I didn’t even know how to fix this. “So how are you this morning?”

“Tired. I’m going back to bed – I’ll call you later.” And he never did.

I gotta get cable.

I think it’s really easy for us to judge other people on their behaviors and actions and criticize them for their mistakes; however, this is life.

That being said. Fuck George W. Bush. I try to make this blog about my life and not about politics or religion, but fuck him – and if you don’t agree let me reiterate that this blog is about me and my decisions, I’ve decided to not back him. On New Years I was at my dad’s and watched the names of Wisconsin soldiers who died the past year scroll across the screen. Two things hit me, the first being that these were just kids. The screen replayed over and over, 22 years old, 21 years old, 20 years old, 23 years old. These are young adults that went to war for our country, to be a hero, and they were taken away. The second thing that hit me was just thinking about how many of those people that didn’t die are so messed up. My sister’s ex-husband is psychotic, often threatening to kill himself or her when he returned from the war. Granted, part of this is just him but I’m sure the fact that he wielded a gun for 4 years and saw people, both supposed “enemies” and countrymen die, had a little something to do with it. Her current boyfriend, also a former Marine in Iraq is more stable but still wakes up to nightmares. He won’t discuss how many people he killed or how many people he saw die.

And then there’s a kid from my high school that is standing trial for a murder allegedly committed by him and 2 other fellow soldiers. He’s 21. He has a 2 year old daughter. He was one of those kids in school who never ruffled the water. When it became news that he, of all people, was coming back to the states to face the charges we were a small town in shock. At this point I look at George W. Bush and can’t help but blame him, this kid could have grown into a fine young man, had a fine family, had a life – but his service to his country cost him everything. Yes, it was a decision he made to join, but life could have been so different.

So send 21,500 more of our young men and women to war, but know one thing – the majority of American citizens don’t look at these veterans as heroes, they look at them as poor people that have lived their short lives fighting a war that they didn’t belong in. Or look at them as young bodies in cold wooden caskets, and go to bed every night knowing that your daughters are fine but you’ve ruined other people’s lives.

That being said. I need to get cable so I'm not faced with the decision of watching the presidential debate, One Tree Hill or the Antique Road Show.

Times are a Changing

I didn’t wear a winter jacket all last week. It was 50-60 degrees, the air wet and warm. A cozy sweater turtleneck and a pair of heels. Just how I like it. This morning I woke up at 8 and headed to my back porch for a crisp morning smoke. There was frost every where. I sighed as I went back inside. Times are a changing.

I balled myself up on my couch, looking at my dirty livingroom and bedroom floor and curled up to my favorite weekend past time, Sex in the City marathon. All through season 2 I contemplated life like it was 3 years ago, when I had my girl here and our lives patrolled around laying out by the pool, working and meeting boys at the bar. Those were the times, she lived in the same apartment places and was just a walk down the parking lot, we had so much fun.

Now she's in Iowa, married with a gorgeous daughter and contemplating single life again and I'm still in Wisconsin, working like a dog and contemplating how times have changed.

As I entered season 3, I snuck out to my back porch in my tshirt and yoga pants and invited the cat into the mid-morning outdoors. Now the frost had melted.

By near end of season 3, it was getting cold again as I bundled up in my robe and checked my phone, silent.

The night before I was drunk and texted messaged RS, stupidly. At first it was promising, then it demised right around the same time Carrie stopped seeing Big at the beginning of season 2. The last message from him explained he'd be spending the night at his parents, I responded with not even a word, "K" and went to bed. Here it was, now 8:00 and I had heard nothing. At this same point, Carrie's affair was finally admitted to Aidan and she was alone. It dawned on me, I didn't want to be alone.

I finished up the season and was wide awake at 11:00. I took a shower. I'm not sure if it was because the water was hot but a twing hit my head and I felt like I wanted to cry.

I can count the number of times I've cried in my life on two hands, what was happening to me? I arched my head back into the warm water and the pain subsided for the moment as I scrubbed up and cuddled back in my robe.

When I woke up this morning I looked at my apartment, my closet was pure perfection from organization and Good Will would be happy with my current donation. I put on that old pair of jeans I found at the bottom of a box and put on my heels to another day.

As I straightened my hair and applied lip gloss and mascara I realized that my new year's resolutions are all wrong. It's time to stop pretending and bending over for everyone else - because when you're always in that position you're going to, of course, get fucked in the ass. It was time to take charge of myself and start living to make me happy. Those plans don't include RS right now, they don't include spending more time with my family or dressing nicer, they include learning to say no. The hardest part for an addict. The conclusion is, I guess, that that's what I am.

As I walked out of my apartment into the cold air, I snuggled my scarf and slowly wondered if I should go back inside and get my jacket. Nah, I thought, it'll be warm by noon.

Ponder.

Obviously the majority of people don't think the RS situation is good, I called JF to see his opinion, and it turns out every one is sick of the story. So I called the one person who I knew I could vent to and who would give me the advice I need.

"Let me vent." I started and explained that the conversation with RS was a miscommunication and I drove to Madison to have sex. Then, in her true fashion she says to me the one thing that really kicks, "Hey, if you spend your life making others happy the one guarantee you have is what?" I blankly stood silent on the other end, not really sure of the response, I wanted to say "Other people happy?" but I knew that wasn't right, "You guarantee you'll be miserable." Hmmm.

Things to ponder. Why am I driving to Madison? Is it for him? No, it actually isn't. I go because I want to get off. I go because I like the time, I go because I, me, this person typing, wants to. I don't go because I'm afraid he'll never call, I go because I don't want to say no. So am I doing this one little thing to make myself happy? The sex part does, yes and it is for me. The heart wrenching, what is happening doesn't make me happy though. Catch 22.

A Woman and Her Numbers.

So a comment by JBS got me thinking, he wondered why I would drive so far for so little and I started thinking about it.

Primary response is, while temperamental he is, I do cum - multiple times with him and if he can't provide it through regular means, he'll get me there with other ways. But really, I could find that in Milwaukee. So why do I?

I guess a lot of it has to do with numbers. A friend and I were talking 2 years ago at a bar when I started to mess around with #1 again, "Why do girls mess with their exes? I don't understand the philosophy." My response, it's a matter of numbers baby. I will "reuse" people so that my number of partners doesn't go up. I'm not sure why really, but I know what I'm going to get and I don't ever have to blurt out a huge number. In honesty, my number is 6. It was really uncomfortable having filled a hand and switch to another one, granted I've been having sex for 12 years now and it's not really that big of a number for that amount of years, but it's still weird to think about.

I'm not saying that I don't know people whose numbers are way higher than that and that I think less of them, it's their comfort level and their prerogative - it's just not mine to have it be that large.

Out of the six, I still talk to two people that I've had sex with - #1 and RS. #1 is now in a relationship, which takes that relationship off the shelf, so it leaves me with a decision to up my number for the sake of sex or go with what I know - that's how I justify my trips to Madison.

But it's just not sex numbers that a woman guards. Someone women won't reveal their age, their weight, their size. I mean it's just a thing with us and numbers I guess!

5 days in, Resolutions blown.

I will be classier. I said. I will take time for me - to the gym over the lunch hour! I said. I will stop the affair. I said.

Five days in and I've gone to the gym twice over lunch, still packed in 28 hours in 3 days, and couldn't find the spine to say no to dinner with my mom because I'm exhausted (I'll get to that point in a second).

And because I'm exhausted, I went to work in jeans, tennis shoes, a sweater and a baseball cap. I didn't even shower. That's not classy at all.

And I'm exhausted because (if you couldn't tell from the last post) I went to Madison last night. As I drove I told myself it was the last time, so what if it was just one more? I can walk away after this. It's like his dick is meth or crack (which isn't funny I know, but damn that thing packs a punch). I tried, I really did, not to go - but he draws me in like a moth to a flame.

Sex, sex, sex. It's all I was thinking about. The kissing, the cold wall with my warm body against it, the groping and ripping off of clothes. I spent Wednesday night trying to calm my nerves myself, and after an hour and a half I just gave up. Then the texting started yesterday.

Everything was telling me not to do it - a friend called me about a class at 8:00, so I'm bantering over text while trying to rearrange our schedules. Then I agreed to go, his roommate was headed out for the night, and I get a call from my dad's girlfriend freaking out that she hadn't heard from him (he has shingles and got diagnosed with a bad infection) and she wanted me to see if he was okay (my brother and sister live next door, I live 1/2 an hour away - why me?) so I'm calling my brother trying to get him to go next door and see, all while blow drying my hair and putting on clothes after my angry-girl bath. At 9:40 I call my brother back, he hadn't even gone over yet! I insisted he go there now and paced the floor for another 10 minutes, then - giving up, I got in my car and started to drive to Madison. My sister called shortly after to say all was fine, I called his girlfriend back, to which she promptly told me that he had called after she got off the phone with me (an hour and a half earlier than the conversation we were having I might add). 1/2 way to Madison, the exits were closed due to a bus turnover, I got lost but still found my way back to the express way.

I arrived at 10:50, got naked, got off and he had an "IT" episode three times. I assured him it was nothing, he looked apologetic. I tried to leave and he grabbed me close. We talked like we normally did. Nothing was different, I was still confused.

So much for those resolutions - hey, there's always next week. And Darth, no talk back - I read your post on resolutions! :)

When IT happens

Here’s a post for all you guys on when “IT” happens – you know your hitting it hard and heavy and suddenly go limp, or she’s naked kissing up on you and you can’t get it hard. Now, this is alcohol besides, because women totally understand the “Whiskey Dick” as my fellow friends have entitled it – either it won’t come down or it won’t go up – this is for that straight in the moment times.

She will tell you, “it’s not a big deal” and “really it’s okay” as you make excuses from, “I have a lot on my mind” to “this never happens.” But how about whether it is a big deal or whether it really is okay?

I’ve had this conversation with a couple of my friends… the first time it happens ever to a girl they do ask their other female friends if it’s normal – to which the girls normally reply that it happens. But what is she thinking? I can tell you that I say those things, but really I’m doing it to ease your ego. Because, to me, it’s not okay and it is a big deal.

I like it when a guy cums, for 10 minutes or so he’s sensitive to touch, rendered useless except to lie there in your combined sweat and breathe. Sometimes they even become more truthful – ask them any question and they non-chalantly reply.

I usually blow it off the first time and try to get you going again. If it happens again, or continually, we do wonder if we’re not attractive enough, tight enough, shaved enough, good in bed enough, etc. but we don’t want to ask those things because it may be just other things going on and we don’t want to hurt your feelings.

The first time it happened to me with RS I was in shock, I told him it was okay and not to worry. He still did. The second time it happened, I told him that I was a little bugged since it had so recently happened before hand, he explained everything on his mind. Then there was the time it happened when we were screwing at my place which lacks doors and therefore the cat felt the need to walk between his legs and purr, performance anxiety. And then there was the last time when he toyed with me to go to Madison after he found out his roommate would be out for a couple hours. I came twice, but he kept losing his hard. At one point he explained that the bed squeaked too much, I told him to lie on the floor then. When he couldn’t get it up I told him it was really okay, I had cum so it was worth my drive, he explained that he doesn’t like to hear people have sex and he was paranoid his roommate would come home. I jokingly grabbed my clothes and said, “Because then you would have to explain what you were doing, or with who?” He looked down at the ground and said, “That’s not it at all. I just don’t want him to hear the bed or you moaning. It’s definitely not that I don’t want him to know.” Then he muttered something about religion and I left.

Hope that helps - but don't get paranoid, have a legitimate explanation.

Sex.

Why, oh why does the thought of sex take up so much time in my day? They say men think about it all the time and now I know how they feel. I'll catch a smell, I'll see a great butt walking down the street and it's all I think about.

So I've been listening to angry girl music. Angry girl music rocks.

The Fire House

Last night I joined a friend for a co-workers going away party at the new location of “The Firehouse” in Milwaukee off of 35th Street and Forest Home. After a couple of cocktails it dawned on me that the new me might not be good for business. In this industry (Advertising) people are surrounded with fake things - images, taglines, articles – that they don’t want their extra time being filled with more fake things. It’s hard enough to take the cat by the horns and believe things that come out of people’s mouths than to be filled with more fake people.

I was me, in a bit better garb, and it worked just fine. In front of me stood what we like to call “The Whales” – the big catches with lots of people and lots of money, and while I appeared professional the cocktails in my system didn’t make everything I said necessarily that way. And it worked.

Me in nicer clothes may be all the classy I need.

When do we stop being fake?

My New Years resolution – to be more classy. As it was pointed out, it’s not like I’m trashy or anything. Yes, I know and understand this. And as I get ready to go out tonight, I think to myself, “When do we stop being fake?”

This comes to my attention as I’m looking for the bra that makes me look like I have the perfect 36Cs and not the actual ones hanging from my chest. The one that gives me the perfect cleavage and sits correctly on my shoulders with out back fat or hang overs.

When I found the tan bra with the maroon accents and put on the underwear that sucks my belly in just a little bit and then put on the boots that make me look 3 inches taller than I actually am while not being slutty.

This fascinating question dawns on me while I’m applying the eye shadow that makes the tiny speckles of blue in my green eyes stand out and as I’m applying the mascara that lengthens my short lashes.

As I flat iron my wavy blonde hair, noticing my roots are already starting to show and people will now know that I wasn’t born with amazing blonde hair with light brown accents. As I line my lips, just above the line to make them bigger and right after I applied the plumping lip gloss.

As I do the dip and tuck to help out the bra and fasten the zipper on the boots I wonder if I look classy. What I realize is that classy is not fake. And while I do plan on toning it down this year (I did well, except for the wood comment at work …) I also remember I can’t forget who I am.

This comes as I ponder a relationship with an ex. I posted once “Exes are Ex’s for a reason” and preach it to Di as she deals with her divorce yet here I am, afraid to be alone in this world that I am considering it. Funny how an email finally reminded me he’s a bit on the passive aggressive side. “she was really cool & cute too. Oh well, such is life with my luck I guess,” he writes in discussing what happened at my birthday last week. A slight, undertone to what I did to him just 10 months ago.

JF and I talked after my birthday last Wednesday, “Don’t get into a relationship just because everyone else is. That’s not you. You’re great. Get into a relationship because that’s what’s good for you, that you really connected with someone.” He gets me, I don’t understand how because I try so hard to be someone I’m not at times. “Are you okay?” He asks me after I tell him RS just cut ties, “Yeah, I am. It was just sex.” I respond. “I know you think you need to be tough, but not with me MG, not with me.” “It sucks” I tell him.

And it does. It does because he knows how I feel, how I’ve felt for 4 years, that’s why I’m his go to. When things aren’t peachy keen in Madison, it’s a phone or a text and a “Hey, what are you wearing?” and I’m on the road and at his door. It sucks because I want him to be the nice girl that he appeared to be, that he appears to be. The poor 36 year old guy that loves his family and has had his heart broken too many times. The poor guy that just wants to hold someone. The truth is – he is that guy, just not with me. It sucks that I’m not good enough. That I’ve never been good enough for anyone. My first “real” boyfriend told me when I called off the engagement, “You’ll never find anyone to love you. You were lucky I pretended.” The last three guys haven’t even been straight, some part of me thinks I turned them, but the reality is I don’t believe in that – you’re born that way.
I’m a fixer. I put energy into fixing broken things, like lights and paneling and gas stoves. Like businesses that need more work, friends that need to be near someone to love them and take care of them, boyfriends and lovers that are eternally broken and need the right path. Then it disappears, the lights turn on with a flip of the switch, the paneling no longer squeaks when you walk on it, the gas oven turns on. The friends get on their feet and find boyfriends and girlfriends, the boyfriends and lovers finally get the self esteem and leave to do better.

That’s why I am alone, too many broken irons in the fire and every time I fix one – it seems to get sold.

But that’s who I am, that’s not fake. What’s fake is that I pretend it doesn’t hurt. So I’ve adjusted my breasts, buckled and zipped my boots, re-plumped my lips, grabbed my fake Fendi and I jump into the car of one of my friends that doesn’t need fixing – the one thing out of everything right now that isn’t fake.

So Starts the New Year

On January 1st I went to the grocery store and purchased a Mt. Dew on my way out. I always down one of the 20 oz bottles and it tells me every 6th one wins, though none ever do. I get in the car, take a breath, twist "BUY ONE GET ONE" - the new year is starting to look up!

It's 2007

2006 did not end so well. On the 30th, I texted RS. I figured that if I was going to behave in 2007, might as well misbehave up until that point - except I got shot down. Turns out ending the affair will be more on his part then mine. So I deleted him from every aspect of my electronic life.

I went by E & J's for the game (Pack vs Bears - Pack won) and left at 11:00, cozied up with the cat around 11:30 and fell asleep at 12:10, after an empty inbox told me that everyone was too busy to wish a poor girl at home alone a New Year (yes, that's a pity party for me).

On Monday, went by the family to celebrate my older brother's birthday and dorked around with my niece on my back as her horse, on my shoulders. I forgot what it was like to spend time with her. We ate chocolate cake and ice cream and freaked her out when my brother invited her to blow out the candles on his cake and they re-lit themselves (oh we are so funny).

Tuesday I worked a bit even though we had off of work, cleaned my kitchen and decided that I would repaint it myself since it's been 4 months since I took the place and I was still awaiting the landlord's to finish it.

And today is Wednesday, we'll see what the new year brings.