This Blog Is Closed

You can now find me blogging as Lisa here.

Because I hope you'll join me at the new place, that's why.

So long 2008. So long.

Love is just like that sometimes.
You can't hold it in your hand.
You can't make it out of dust.
You can't read the words.
And make it real.

Love is just like that sometimes.
You give it away.
And it comes back to you.
You give it away.
And it is gone.

Love is just like that sometimes.

Define Dangerously

Setting: MathMan and I are sitting, facing each other, at the big oak desk, each at his/her laptop. I've just checked my email and found that MathMan commented on this post at PoliTits.

Me: Ha! Thank you for saying I'm not my mother or yours.
MathMan: (smile)
Me: Maybe next year should be the Year of Living Dangerously....
MathMan: Are you kidding? I thought The Year of Clean Living was a euphemism for that!


Whee!!!

Collector

When I wrote this little post the other night, I didn't notice it at the time, but at least three of these items are related.

1) MathMan jokes that I collect people.
2) My boss tells me that he thinks things happen for a reason.
3) A friend asks me to listen to a song.
4) An old connection reconnects.
5) The Dancer narrows down her decisions.
6) A friend struggles.
7) I have emails I want to answer.
8) I see an old house about to be demolished and it reminds me of something odd.
9) A grey cat just wants to snuggle.

Actually, MathMan corrected me when he read this post. "I wasn't joking," he informed me. I knew that, of course, but it seems like such a funny thing to say. And when he says things like that, I'm unsure of the underlying meaning. Is he saying, "Damn, woman, do you really need all these people in your life?" or is he just pointing out that for someone who doesn't like a lot of material things cluttering up her life, I seem to need to have a lot of human connections.

He's right. I do. Well, actually, I should clarify that statement. I like having a lot of arm's length connections. I do great okay with having friends in the virtual world, but in "real" life, I'm not good about keeping up connections. I lose friends - not intentionally - but because it would just about kill me to make an effort to make plans and actually do something with them. I'm not one to initiate contact much because I'm always worried that I'm bothering someone. And because making and keeping dates would require commitment. Anyone who's read this blog for any length of time knows that I have commitment issues.

So how does that tie in with collecting people? Well, recently I started using Facebook thinking that it would be a good way to stay in touch with The Dancer when she goes to college next fall. The funny thing is, though, that I've also connected there with my blogpals, a local friend, a couple of high school acquaintances, some family members, one of MathMan's colleagues, the guy who introduced MathMan and me, some former coworkers and an old boyfriend. (sharp intake of breath, how could she?) Oh, she could. Relax. He lives halfway around the world from here.

So there is the connection between #1 and #4 above. I collect people (according to MathMan) and so it is a natural reflex that I would want to reconnnect with someone from my past.

Last night I was in our closet and I happened to notice that some cat or some kid had knocked askew a box of old notebooks and journals that sat on the shelf. As I was straightening out the box to put it back on the shelf, I adjusted the box's flaps and saw that an old journal that was given to me by that very same old boyfriend in 1985 was lying on top of the other journals. I fished it out and flipped through it, alternately cringing and laughing at the passages written by my twenty year old self. Ishkabibble, it was painful to read a couple of entries.

So I guess my boss is right (see #2 above), things happen for a reason. The timing of me finding that journal again may fit into that pattern. I was trying to remember a small detail from that period of time and bang! there's my answer. I had actually captured it in that journal.

Now when my boss told me that he thinks things happen for a reason, he was actually referring to the winding path I took to end up working for with him. (He doesn't like for me to say I work for him.) See - when MathMan and I first moved to Georgia, my boss J and I were directors of competing associations. We were friendly competitors. Then he left his organization and we lost touch. We shared one good friend who kept us informed nominally about the other, but that was it. After I came back from the New York debacle to find work in Georgia, I responded to a blind ad only to receive an immediate response from my now boss J who was shocked to find out I was looking for a job.

On Tuesday, J and were discussing my old job. J mentioned that he'd counseled me a couple of years ago to leave that job because my board of directors was driving me crazy.

"Yeah, I really should have followed your advice back them," I answered.

"No, see, because then you might not be working here now," J said. "Not to be selfish or anything, and I'm really sorry about some of the things that happened, but I think it all happened so we could finally work together."

He stopped there because he's self-conscious about talking religion and divine intervention with me. He doesn't want me to feel like he's trying to convert me. I laughed and told him it's okay. Heck, one of my favorite movies is Signs with Mel Gibson. And it's primary theme is "things happen for a reason."

Even so, it's nice to be appreciated. And, in a way, I guess I've collected J, too.

And Now the Day Is Done

To all of you.......

Much love,

DCup

All in Good Time

Post ideas for later.....

MathMan jokes that I collect people.
My boss tells me that he thinks things happen for a reason.
A friend asks me to listen to a song.
An old connection reconnects.
The Dancer narrows down her decisions.
A friend struggles.
I have emails I want to answer.
I see an old house about to be demolished and it reminds me of something odd.
A grey cat just wants to snuggle.

Until You're Resting Here with Me

Two nights ago, MathMan went to bed a few minutes before I did. When I joined him, it took me a couple of minutes to realize what was on the television as I puttered about getting ready for bed. Yes, the bane of my wicked love life, (not really) Love Actually was on. And it was one of the funniest scenes. I motioned to MathMan to leave it on. We were both mesmerized for a few moments, as we watched.

Unfortunately the point of the t.v. at bedtime is so that I can go to sleep. I'm all hopped up on amphetamines. MathMan can be out as soon as his head hits the pillow. I'm like Pavlov's dogs. You turn on a Poirot and I'm out in fifteen minutes usually. If we kept Love Actually on, I would have been wide awake until it was over and I'd gotten a little teary at some point. Then I ran the risk of a good, silent cry, I'd get all puffy and then I'd have a headache when I woke in the morning.

See how that works? This is why MathMan calls me Worst Case Scenario Lisa.

"Let's see what else is on," I said reluctantly.

MathMan pushed the button on the remote. Wouldn't you know it - another Hugh Grant movie. Notting Hill was on the Oxygen channel. Oy.

"Poirot?" we said in unison as I slid into the bed next to him and started to futz with all the remotes on the bedside stand.

"Yeah," MathMan sighed. "I feel so dirty watching those Lou Grant movies now."

"Hugh Grant, you goof."

"I know."


One of my favorite scenes from that confounded movie....

Because love can be messy, that's why.

We Interrrupt This Blog for More Sex

Did I ever tell you about the time I got detention in the seventh grade because I got caught coming out of the boy's restroom during track practice?

No? Really? Wow. I'm surprised. That was definitely one of my shining moments.

Would you believe that I went into the boy's restroom willingly on a dare? Of course you would. Well, I did. I was dared to cross the threshold. Seemed like a no-brainer. I stepped over the threshold and then was quickly seized by a couple of boys who dragged me into the bowels of the secret place that was the boys' restroom on the middle school hallway. As an added, and mildly shocking, feature, one of my pals was waiting for me by the sinks. Before I could turn tail and get out of there, he yanked down his gym shorts, exposing his flaccid penis and reddish bush.

Can you tell I've never been able to wipe that vision from my brain? And no, it didn't do a thing for me. I'd already seen a penis up close so I wasn't all that impressed by one possessed by a guy who's idea of sophisticated comedy was to steal the comb from your back pocket, insert it into the front of his jeans and invite you to "fish for it." We girls went through more combs that year....

As I escaped the bathroom, a teacher was strolling by and that detention became part of my personal lore. Oh well. That's the risk you take when you can't walk away from a dare.

Have I learned? Um, not exactly.

This afternoon, I posted what was characterized by my very good friend Utah Savage, a tease of a post. I mentioned sex, but didn't really expand beyond the assumed. Utah wondered aloud about the graphic details. Well, as it turns out, I've dabbled in the past in writing erotica. There was a time when PoliTits was a much racier blog. It's all there in the archives.

Anyway, I decided to honor Utah's request which felt a little like a dare (a new thrill!), even though she did go over to MathMan's blog and beg. (I'd suggested to her that he likes to begged - wink, wink.)

So I created a "secret space" for the graphic details. I'm a little rusty at erotic/pornish writing, but I did my best. I even checked with MathMan to make sure I'd left out no interesting details.

So what really happened while that pizza got cold in the kitchen? Well, it's out there, but it's password protected. If you're interested, email me. If you'll keep my secret, I'll keep yours. You'll have a pretty accurate account of what we call hot married sex around here (why you'd want to know is something only you can answer) and I'll know that you're brave enough to ask for access to the info. I won't even shame you for it.

You can reach me at dcup84 at gmail dot com. You can simply put "password" into the subject line of your email and I'll know what you want. You'll get an email providing you access to the more graphic blog (no pix, only words).

And you and I? We'll just act like we don't "know" each other that way and no one will be the wiser.

Hot Married Sex - Now New and Improved!

(This post may include some adult content. If any of the Spawn are reading this, please be advised to go away now or forever wish you had.)

Back when I was nubile young thing, all supple skin, and fresh muscle, I heard tales of a woman's peak sexuality. Sure, sure. How could I top what I was up to back then? (Seriously, we're going there so you might want to leave.)

Well, I have something mature to say to the twenty-year old me. "Nyah, nyah, nyah, sister!"

We're not talking quantity, mind you, but quality. And, um, intensity. I've had a couple of moments today where I wondered if this feeling is normal. I quickly dismissed those worries because I don't care! Normal or not, I'm sticking with it as long as it lasts.

On my drive home, I had barely completed phoning in a pizza order when my mind wandered to my nether regions. What the heck was that? Desire? I checked through my head, sifting through the thoughts about work, writing, the holidays, traffic. Nope, nothing there to stop the tingling. (Look, I warned you.)

I started to dial up MathMan and then stopped. Maybe a surprise would be fun. I'd have to let him know what I wanted before we got too far into the pizza he was picking up. I hate sex on a full stomach.

He arrived home shortly before I did and came into the garage as I was exiting my car. "I'm back for the pizza. I wanted to make sure the table was clear before I carried it up," he explained. Now was my opportunity.

"I'm feeling a little anxious," I announced. Now I ask you - what is sexier than using a line from Beetlejuice to convey that you desire your partner?

MathMan's eyebrows shot up. This is not the thing I usually say when I first get home from work, after a long commute. Usually the first thing I say is "Jeez, I've gotta pee!" or I'm bellowing some offending child's name just prior to an order to clean something up.

Things got a little dicey as I discovered that Resident Evil was watching television in our room. I kept up the hints to MathMan, though, instead of simply acquiescing and missing a chance to get naked with him. That feeling wasn't going away. The tingling required an answer.

In very short order, children were redistributed, handed slices of pizza and told to watch television in the living room for a while. MathMan and I disappeared, music was turned up to what we thought was an appropriate volume and clothing was shed.

Fortunately, we'd remembered to lock the door because there were at least two attempts by someone on the outside to come in. Their knocks were answered with a convenient "we're discussing holiday gifts, you'd better beat it!"

Even those minor interruptions couldn't put a damper on the action. The desire was rewarded with the earlier-mentioned intensity. Yowza and thank you.

Later, a bit breathless, MathMan and I sat down to our own dinner. Resident Evil sashayed into the kitchen and asked about the holiday gifts we were "discussing." We were a little slow to respond.

"You weren't talking. I know what you were doing," she announced, her voice dripping with disgust.

MathMan was the first to respond. I believe I was choking on my pizza. "Well, next time, don't stand outside the door," he admonished.

But, oh, she was quick. "There better not be a next time!" she shot back.

MathMan and I just looked at each other and smiled.

P.S. This morning, we discovered that one might not have to be listening hard at the door like a little sneak to hear the creak of the bed. Bent over the desk? Now that's much quieter.....

I Blame Hugh Grant

Two related events this week helped bring into focus one very important thing. I still have some unresolved relationship issues.

I blame Hugh Grant.

(1) Earlier this week, on the Rachel Maddow Show, her friend and colleague Kent Jones mentioned a study that concluded that watching romantic comedies can negatively affect how you view love, sex and relationships.

Oh dear. Let me stop here to tell you that my list of favorite movies includes Love Actually, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Hitchcock's Suspicion (okay, not exactly a romantic comedy), A Room with a View, Crossing Delancey, I Capture the Castle, and Moonstruck.

Ahem.

The gist of the study is this:

"The problem is that while most of us know that the idea of a perfect relationship is unrealistic, some of us are still more influenced by media portrayals than we realise."

Here is an example of what the study found:

"Marriage counselors often see couples who believe that sex should always be perfect, and if someone is meant to be with you then they will know what you want without you needing to communicate it."

Regular readers of this blog know that one of the big issues MathMan and I have is that I'm not good at telling him what I want. I'm an active member of the "If You Don't Know, I'm Certainly Not Going to Tell You" club. And frankly, he's not been so hot about speaking up either. We're working on it.

Hugh Grant should be ashamed of himself. Seriously. The man has a lot to answer for. It's quite possible that some of the things wrong with me are the net result of watching all those lovely movies. You know the ones. Two people meet, feel an instant attraction/loathing/face some obstacle (hey, there's got to be some tension or what's the point of the story?), then they realize that they are falling beautifully in love, the obstacle is overcome and they live happily ever after. They always look fabulous, have perfectly tousled hair and are backed by a mostly decent pop soundtrack with just enough hip oldies sprinkled in for effect.

When I pulled up the study for this post, this paragraph made me wince a little. I'm embarrassed to even think about the implications of this.

Students watching the romantic film were later found to be more likely to believe in fate and destiny. A further study found that fans of romantic comedies had a stronger belief in predestined love.

Now were I lucky enough to actually walk around with a light bulb over my head (I mean, what a cool accessory!), it would have glowed bright when I read those lines. The events of the last year are still fresh in my mind. When I did what I did, I thought that I'd actually found the person with whom I was meant to be. And he wasn't MathMan. When did I actually conclude that MathMan wasn't THE man for me? Come on, really - is there a THE for any of us?

And now they tell me that this confounded, silly belief in predestined love is because I have a penchant for light, mostly British, romantic comedies? Where were these smart people a year ago? Had I known the possible cause, I would have sought out a cure. If necessary, I would have sat through back-to-back showings of Saving Private Ryan, Hamburger Hill, Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket and Von Ryan's Express. Would that have undone the silly ideas I'd absorbed from romantic comedies?

I'm making light of a serious subject, aren't I? I know that's inappropriate, but I just can't help myself. As I've navigated - successfully and unsuccessfully - the last nine months or so, I've resisted the kind of real reflection that I must do to finally understand what it is exactly that I think I need.

I must ask myself the hard questions. I have to know what it is about me that makes me want more, different, new. I have questions about passion. How do I define that? Am I realistic in my expectations? And what can I do to help our relationship be closer to what I think it should be?

Once I can answer these questions, then I can figure out how to communicate that to MathMan.
That would be a real breakthrough for us.

(2) The second thing that happened this week was that I watched another movie (I know, it's turning into a real theme here). I watched Little Children. In short, the movie is about two married people who have an affair, decide to run away together, blah, blah, blah. Wanna know how it works out? Yeah, kind of like last spring's fiasco starring......Me and the other guy!

In the scene where Sarah, played by Kate Winslet, explains to another member of her book club how her views on Madame Bovary had changed over time, I stopped what I was doing and really paid attention. I was riveted. Now, I don't mean to suggest that what I feel or have felt was misery, but the unhappiness that she describes is something I can relate to.

The movie made me chuckle in a sad way because the ending was so familiar. Mind you, my reality didn't involve castration, missing children or an unfortunate skateboarding incident, but the movie depicted the sense the you are on the brink of something that has been building only to have it - poof! - disappear in nothing more than a second. A word. A choice to stay with the familiar. The risk can only go so far........

Thinking on that movie now, it's like the antidote to the romantic comedies. It did a fabulous job of depicting the falling in love stage, the hot sex/growing closer stage, and the oh, yeah! I have a family and a spouse! stage. It's effective because it leaves out the one part that makes the romantic comedies so dangerous.....There is no happily ever after.

At the end of the movie, the main characters return to their lives and carry on. To do what? We don't know. But you can bet it's a tricky re-entry into normalcy.