Day 257: Good Ahead, Be a Douche

Sometimes you can’t help being a dick. We all have an inner douche just waiting for the right excuse to get out and be obnoxious. For me, this isn’t really all that rare of an occurrence. I am a moody person and about 50% of the time the mood is bitchy, mean or douchey. I don’t know how those super nice people manage to always be super nice. Personally, if I am not a bitch on at least a semi-frequent basis I get a headache from trying to keep it inside. Does it mean other people are happier than me? Maybe, or perhaps it’s just that they are better at hiding their feelings than I am. If that’s case, I’m not sure that’s actually better.

Sure, being nice means other people are more comfortable, but if you constantly hide or bury your own feelings for the sake of others it might actually be unhealthy for you. I’m the kind of person that will get pissed off, admit it, slam a door and then feel better ten minutes later. I don’t let things build up generally, I confront, address, bitch, then move on and it’s kept me relatively healthy emotionally. I might joke about being unhappy and having multiple personalities, but I think I am actually pretty balanced and in the end, I am able to let things go that others cling to.

The husband is one of those people that won’t always own up to being upset about something. He’ll pretend whatever it is does not bother him, all is well and he’ll keep doing it for as long as possible until one day whammo! All that mental and emotional baggage needs an escape hatch and suddenly something that isn’t a big deal seems like one because he’s actually been carrying around anger or disappointment from the last six months. I say screw it, get it out, acknowledge that we all have different trigger points and tolerances. If you talk about the little things, then they never accidentally become big things and the real big things can be dealt with on their own merits.

I might be bitchy and temperamental and not the most easy-going person, but you always know where you stand with me and if you piss me off or do something I don’t like I’ll tell you. I take the guesswork out of relationships and on a certain level that is a really good thing. We all have a temper and at times we are going to redline, the best thing you can hope for is a quick turnaround and the ability to not drag the past and other transgressions into it. Keep your shit to what’s relevant, so try to be a douche more often and life might actually run a bit more smoothly for you. It won’t make you as many friends on the outset and people won’t think you’re super swell and awfully nice, but you’ll not be crying yourself to sleep as much. Get the angst out people, you’ll sleep better for it, I promise.

Day 256: Couple's Communication or Lack Thereof

My husband has the innate ability to fall dead asleep ten seconds after his head hits the pillow. This magical moment happens in the middle of my sentence, his sentence or a natural disaster. I, on the other hand, am a long-time sufferer of insomnia. Our sleep habits are not exactly simpatico which means if I have something to say I damn well better spit it out before he approaches the bed. Couples learn to communicate in their own specific ways over time, learning one another’s habits and pet peeves and the best time to have the serious discussions. I am a talker, Jeff is a . . . I don’t actually know what he is, but he’s pretty fantastic so I guess that’s okay. Considering how different we all are, it’s a miracle any of us learn to tolerate others in our personal space day after day. So how do we do it?

I would be lying if I claimed Jeff’s sleeping habits didn’t annoy me. They annoy me because hours after he is dead to the world I remain awake reading, surfing the internet or just tossing and turning. It also irritates me because this is the time I most want to talk. All the hectic parts of the day are over and we have these quiet moments to just reconnect, recognize one another annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn……….. oh sorry, I dozed off there for a minute. Sadly, I’m joking.

I couldn’t doze off right now if you offered me vast quantities of cash. I’m plenty tired and it’s after midnight, but my mind and body seem to need at least two hours of being in bed before they can switch off. So this means the husband and I are perpetually out of sync. He’s asleep before I get a chance to talk to him and I’m asleep when he wakes in the morning ready to chat my ear off. How is it possible for couples to find a solution to basic problems of communication when we’re not even conscious at the same time?

I guess it’s just human nature to seek out those with whom we are able to build a closeness that doesn’t always require verbal communication. As much as I want to talk to Jeff at night, I know I don’t stand a chance, just as he knows it’s going to annoy me. We have our own unique way of getting all the information out and heard and while it’s not always on either of our desired timelines, it does the trick obviously, because we’re happy and we work as a couple.

Still, there are those nights that I get so frustrated that I’ll punch his arm until he’s awake then pretend it wasn’t me. I’m not being selfish, I just know that as a caring person he would want to be awake with me when I’m miserable and unable to sleep. He’s just that kind of guy. Actually, who am I kidding, I could be on fire and if he hits that bed it’s too bad for me. Luckily for us both, I love him anyway and besides, I’ve got all those other voices in my head to talk to.

Day 255: Why God Secretly Hates Women

Somewhere, written into the human genetic code is a cruel loophole that permanently puts women at a disadvantage. Basic physiology has women fertile at an age no woman should even be thinking about sex, let alone procreating. Sexually, women come into their peak 10-12 years later than their male counterparts. Not a problem if you are a confused lesbian (you know, because she doesn’t experiment until later in life), but for the rest of us it kind of sucks. Women’s bodies retain more fat and have a harder time maintaining lean muscle mass and as we age we look older whereas many men actually become more handsome. If I believed in a God, I’d say these things are evidence that it is a man and He is a sexist.

I’m stuck on John and Elizabeth Edwards lately. First his sex tape scandal got me fired up, but the more video and photos I saw of them, the more annoyed I became with a subjective, but fairly obvious truth: Liz kinda looks like John’s Mom. I mean no disrespect. Elizabeth Edwards has been through grueling political campaigns by her husband’s side, the death of a child, cancer, John’s affair, John’s love child and now the sad fact that she’s old and she looks it. John Edwards is a very handsome man in my opinion and Elizabeth is an attractive woman, the problem is that she is attractive for an older woman and he’s just hot.

It would seem that some sort universal force wants women to start popping out babies in middle school, but not enjoy the copulation until she’s 30ish when childrearing, fat reserves and aging are starting to take their toll. Men, free from the physical ramifications of childbirth retain their lean muscle mass, naturally high metabolisms and are free from the hormonal thrashing the body takes as a result of hosting a parasite for nine months. I know I am now the judgmental voice critiquing the appearance of my fellow sisters, but it’s true and it’s not my fault.

We get wrinkles and grays and pot bellies and jiggly thighs and they get character and distinguished. It sucks, but a close-up of Elizabeth Edwards tells the story. In a world in which 15-year-olds now look like supermodels, what chance does the women who actually looks her age have? Undoubtedly John had younger, hotter women throwing themselves at him for years and a lifestyle that kept him away from home for much of the time must have made him lonely. I bet Elizabeth was lonely too, and while she surely had men in her life that found her attractive, probably not the same type overt temptation John faced.

Elizabeth looks like a woman who has lived and she carries both the joy and sorrows in her face an on her frame. She will become older and her adulterous, younger-looking, and handsome husband will either make a life with his mistress or find another to keep him feeling young and refreshed. The lesson here ladies, is to either never marry a man as attractive as you are or to always marry a man who is older. It’s bullshit and unfair and I’m sorry to have to buy into the stereotype, but it’s hard to ignore, it’s written all over our faces.

Day 254: Rediscovering Myself in the Least Likely Place, When I Talk to my Brother

Tonight I talked to my brother on the phone for two hours. This is notable for several reasons. One, we both hate the phone and rarely answer it. I prefer to text and he just doesn’t like to talk to people. The other reason this is significant is that unlike most families, we don’t talk very often. In fact, I have not spoken to him since I visited for two days at Christmas. It’s not that we don’t get along or don’t want to talk, we just don’t have all that much in common and we’re both kind of lazy when it comes to communication. I love my brother, we don’t fight or have disagreements over the way we live our lives; we just don’t feel the need to talk all the time. What happened tonight, however, is also notable because he reminded me that no matter how we transition from children to adulthood, some of us are deeply and permanently connected.

If you’ve read my past blogs, then you’ve likely read other similar messages. I hold onto old relationships, be they familial, friendship, or love and I believe that on some level we remain connected even without constant contact. Tommy is different. We are different. I don’t know that it would be possible to find someone else on Earth who I am more different from than my brother. We were raised from infancy in the same household and fairly similar conditions despite a two and a half year age difference. Even so, if I did not already know that we are both adopted and not blood related, I would believe it to be true. Besides not looking a thing alike, we’re just . . . well, different. So what is it? What is that bond that keeps us connected despite talking only once every one to two months, despite our Mother being dead, despite living in differed parts of the country?

I don’t think I could have answered this question before tonight. It’s not all that earth shattering really, but after talking for two hours about completely random and not emotionally sensitive topics I do feel our bond. Of all the people in the world, he is the only one who grew up in the same intimate world that I experienced. We got our first puppy together, we snuck out of our beds together and played when we should have been sleeping, we experienced our parent’s divorce together, and on and on. He was there from the day I came home and he is still there. True, we did experience some things a bit differently. He lived with my Mother long after I was gone and knew her in a different way probably because of it. I likely have a better relationship with our often-absent Father as an adult than he does. In these ways we lived a bit differently, but growing up, he was there on the same level, enduring, enjoying and just plain experiencing life the same way I was.

We will always have that bond and it won’t matter if we’re talking about the Discovery Channel or cats or our parents, he knows me in a way no one else on the planet ever has or ever will. This man who grew up beside me and in a complete opposite direction from me, is also nearly identical to me. We cried over having to put our dog to sleep, we suffered through our parents' divorce, we endured an awful summer babysitter, and we lost our Mother. As different as we are, there is a part within each of us that so completely understands the other that I don’t think it would be possible to be closer or more alike. I love him for simply existing in the world and for sharing his lollipop with me that one summer day on the backyard swing-set. Some people you can’t outgrow because they grow within you.

Day 253: You Should Know Not to Make a Sex Tape if Anyone Actually Wants to Watch it

Please stop making sex tapes if you are a celebrity or politician. This goes double for anyone that is married, using drugs, secretly gay, or having group sex on camera. Of course, no celebrities or politicians read my blog, so this isn’t going to reach those truly in need of my intervention, but it will allow me to vent. We all have sex, or at least have had sex, if you’re an adult. Chances are, you’re not really that great at it and you almost certainly don’t look anything like people we’d actually be interested in watching have sex. What I’m saying is that most people, even famous types are pretty normal looking and aren’t sexual rock stars. The only thing I can think of worse than knowing Monica Lewinsky kept the semen stained blue dress is the idea of an actual sex tape documenting it (shudder).

I cannot imagine why people who have everything to lose or are famous enough that people would pay money to view a homemade sex tape, would actually make one. For one thing, film stars are constantly ON FILM to begin with, so do you really need the extra footage of the . . . well, nuts and bolts, of the acts? They’re never going to look nearly as hot as they do on a film set with makeup people, lighting experts and multiple camera angles. Just enjoy all your paid for film roles and keep the bedroom antics to yourself. The other issue is that most people just aren’t that great at sex. Sure, everyone has those nights when things just work, but that is not the norm. So chances are, your fifteen minutes of fame are best left to the actual non-sex tape variety.

Another thing to consider is that so many sex tapes are not simply a couple’s fun romp, but the documentation of an affair, or taboo/illegal act. Threesomes or drug use, not good things to put on tape because when it comes out – and it will, that Enquirer paycheck is too much for even your Saturday night delight to resist – you are not just facing embarrassment over your poor performance. In the closet types have NO business filming their secret trysts. I’m not judging you for being in the closet, that’s your business, but if you’re filming your secret gay tryst it’s going to come out and your life is going to be shattered. Screw who you want, man, woman, or both, I don’t care, but don’t film it if it’s a secret lifestyle.

I wonder how many normal people have sex tapes. The husband has suggested it to me (sorry honey!), but I’ve seen my ass and I don’t need that disaster on film. Maybe most of you do tape yourselves, I’m not entirely against it, but the minute I become famous or get elected to office or run for President while I’m married and not-so-secretly having a love child with my mistress while my spouse is battling cancer I’m thinking the sex tapes should be destroyed or stop being made. Then again, I’m apparently smarter than people that run for office (which is sad). I wonder if I could actually get anyone to buy a sex tape if I made one? Probably not, which is a shame, because the husband and I are like the dynamic duo – only we don’t fight crime and neither of us is as feminine as Robin.

Day 252: Dreaming of you

Today I was reminded by a friend just how random our interactions in life can be. We have this idea that our life is this fixed and known quantity. We live here, we work there, these are our friends, this is our family – all these things that seem so real to us and that we take for granted. When you zoom out a bit and get perspective you realize the true and very organic nature of our ever-changing lives. Yes, all those things are your life right now, but who used to be your friends? What was your job? How has your family or home changed? We come in and out of each other’s lives so regularly that we sometimes fail to realize just what an impact it makes on us.

Have you ever dreamed of someone out of the blue? Someone who used to be in your life in perhaps a very significant way? Suddenly, and for no conceivable reason that person is center stage in your unconscious mind. I dream of people often that I’m not close to anymore or that I am close to, but don’t get to see. They come and go in my dreams without any conscious prompting from me. I think about telling them. I’ll wake up and remember the crazy dream and think, I’m going to Facebook Tonya from grade school and tell her I just spent a night in Vegas with her and the girls. It seems like a fun way to reconnect, to ponder why we’re suddenly having new adventures in my dreams when we have not been in contact in real life, but then I don’t. I just feel closer to that person without them ever knowing it.

Do we dream about these people because we miss them, because they represent a time or type of relationship to us? It’s no surprise when we dream about our current relationship or best friend, but it’s those relationships of the past that suddenly become significant once more in our dreams that make me wonder what I’ve missed. Why now? Why him or her or that place? What it really makes me wonder, however, is if they ever dream of me. Did I also make such an impact on their life that at some point they will dream up a whole new adventure with me? I hope so.

I like to think that despite all the bridges I’ve burned and the failed friendships and love my insecurities caused that I left some good and lasting memories with the people of my past. That’s all any of us really want in life isn’t it? We want to know we made a difference, that we were significant in some way, and that we are remembered.

Day 251: Some Childhood Memories You Never Outgrow

I have been in a bad mood all day. Well, not bad exactly, but grumpy, disconcerted, irritable and whatever other adjective you care to throw in, it’s all true. The time I did not spend actively being grumpy I spent trying to figure out why I was so out of sorts. What makes us just “wake up on the wrong side of the bed”? There was no discernible reason until I started to consider the circumstances. Normally, I love Superbowl Sunday. I love football and even when there are two boring teams like playing like tonight, I still manage to find joy in the day, but that didn’t happen. Which is why I dug a little deeper and hit upon the truth: it’s my blog’s fault.

Last night as I lay in bed not sleeping (I am a long-time insomnia sufferer) I thought about what I might write in today’s blog and I decided upon the significance of the day itself. Not the Superbowl game, but what else happened on Superbowl Sunday. Thirty or thirty-one years ago today (Superbowl Sunday, not February 7) my Pop asked my Mom for a divorce. I was five or maybe even four at the time and I didn’t actually hear the conversation. I witnessed the conversation, which is to say, I saw my Dad pull Mom aside as we were leaving for mass (yes, I grew up Catholic, close your gaping mouth) and discuss something I knew to be very serious.

I didn’t hear a word and yet I knew from their body language that whatever it was, it was bad. I could also tell from the way my Mother acted in church that something horrible was happening, but at my age it’s not an easy thing to vocalize that kind of doom. I can still feel that day. I see them standing in the kitchen by the sink, I know it was cold outside, I am aware of my Mother’s stiffened posture and tension all through church service and yet I do not recall a word. It wasn’t until years later that Mom mentioned that she hated Superbowl Sunday because that was the day Dad said he wanted a divorce. It was like a light switch went on for me. I questioned her carefully about when, where, time of day and year and it all matched perfectly. The day I’d been carrying around in my memory as something horrible without knowing why was the day our worlds changed.

As an adult I am able to enjoy the Superbowl without that day haunting me, a feat my Mother never achieved the rest of her life, but this year it did affect me a little. At some point the night before, my unconscious mind must have continued to turn this over and over, working it up to a discontented ball of angst. I woke up and my subconscious mind went to town wreaking havoc on all who dared speak to me. Funny the way the mind works, funnier still that I witnessed something that changed my life completely without realizing what it was and finally connected those dots years later.

My parents remained close and my Mother never stopped loving Dad and never stopped hating Superbowl Sunday. Today I felt a little bit of both and that emotional contradiction cost me what should have been a fun day. Kids see and understand so much more about the world than most parents realize. I think because I am so in touch with my childhood self this is something I never forget and it’s why I know I’d make an excellent parent. It is also why I will never be a Mother. Sometimes the damage we suffer as children seems harmless enough, but those scars can last a lifetime without anyone, including ourselves, realizing it. I remember what it was like to be a child. I rarely remember yesterday, but I’ve always remembered the heartache, angst and joy of childhood. I guess for me, the happiness just wasn’t enough to outweigh the bad.

Day 250: The Hooters Aren't Talking to You, but You'll Never Believe it

Women and men are different. Aside from the obvious, are the behavioral differences around the opposite sex. I’m talking about the attitudes and confidence levels men and women exhibit. I was turning this over in my head earlier this week, but it wasn’t until I saw the Hooters Superbowl Pool Party commercial on ESPN (it’s lost some of its luster, but I still love Sportscenter). The commercial featured four surgically enhanced women about 18 or 19 years of age. Their breasts were beckoning viewers to join the party and it made me think about the type of man that would actually see this commercial and perhaps go. Why do men who have no chance, men like my Dad and yours, who love to flirt with the server at their local Outback actually believe these overtly hot women want to be around them? More to the point, why don’t women react the same way to super hot guys?

Personally, I think it all comes down to self-esteem. It’s the same reason you more often see hot women with less hot men rather than the opposite. As women we don’t have the ta-tas to assume the scorching hot guy at the bar/party/whatever wants to talk to us. Unless he looks directly at us we’re holding off. Men, however, think nothing of crossing a room to hit on Gisele and they’ll do it at 20, 40 or 70 expecting the same results. The annoying thing is, very often they get the attention they’re looking for. Women humor men. We don’t want to be the bitch or the snob so we’ll talk to any man and try to excuse ourselves gracefully after a respectable amount of time has passed. We don’t want the guy to feel like we’re rejecting him even though we’re totally rejecting him!

Men aren’t like women. Men will simply ignore, insult or ask about our friend, all of which work quite nicely to convince us to beat a hasty retreat. Seeing a commercial filled with busty, barely out of high school, beautiful women I knew that somewhere a guy was watching and he believed she was talking to him. She wanted his full attention despite the fact that he is 50+, despite the fact that he’s watching in jockey shorts barely visible beneath his bulging belly, despite his affection for Budweiser and bowling. Yes, those women want him at their pool party and make no mistake if he weren’t already committed to bringing the brats to his buddy’s party on Sunday he’d be in Miami and make those busty girls’ dream come true.