He knows me.....He knows me not...

So, today is my birthday. I am 42. Yesterday and this morning, my family and friends acknowledge my birthday, each in their own way. I am feeling appropriately loved. I get to work and a little later get a call from the security desk....you have a delivery. I arrive to see a VERY pretty flower arrangement. I know it is from the kids because Mr. Deb doesn’t do flowers. I can’t remember the last time I received flowers at work and proudly carry it back to my desk. As people comment I respond with “Yes, it is nice when your kids get old enough to send you flowers.” The flower arrangement just screams, “You are wonderful and appreciated.” It is simple yet colorful. It is in a nice clay pot that is very domestic and practical. Sitting on my desk it is the perfect proclamation that I am a beloved caregiver.

The as of yet unopened card catches my eye.... I can see myself reaching for it almost in slow motion just like in a movie when you know something really bad and devastating is about to happen. I pull it out and read....”Happy Birthday, I love you!” and it is signed Mr. Deb. WTF!!!! He sends me flowers for the first time in years and they are damned grandma flowers in a clay pot. I see red and envision an animated picture of him with the clay pot crashed over his head, the flowers resting on top of his soon to be coma induced brain! My feelings of anger soon dissolve into hurt.....and then embarrassment. Here, I receive flowers from my husband and I am being a bitch over what type of arrangement it is.....so over-reacting.... Is this another sign of a mid-life crisis I wonder???? Am I being silly? Superficial? “Who cares...” I scream to myself, “He sent you a damned clay pot!”

My mind is whirling with questions. Is the romance over? Does he find my domestic talents more attractive than my bedroom ones? Does he fantasize about me in house dresses holding a pot roast instead of lingerie holding his meat? What’s next – a crock pot for our anniversary? I decide I’m being silly. I will not be this way. It is a nice and wonderful gesture. I will appreciate and value....... “Yes, from my kids” I hear myself say to a coworker who comments and asks about the flowers. No! I just cannot admit that this is what my husband sent me. My embarrassment fades and the hurts turns back into anger but this time a slow and dangerous fuming..... I begin to think of ways I will let my feelings known without actually admitting that I am petty enough to be pissed over this. The Schick Quattro will first go right into the trash. I will then return to Hell (aka Wal-Mart) and come to bed tonight in a pair of Depends instead of bikinis. While in Hell, I will pick up his beer. “Oh, sorry dear, they must be packaging the non-alcoholic brands just like your regular brand...” This list goes on and on in my mind. I almost don’t hear the DING from my blackberry indicating a text. It is from my oldest daughter.... “Hope you like Dad’s flowers.” I quickly snap a picture of them and send it to her with a message along the lines of...”That was so sweet of him. Aren’t they pretty.” Below is her response....

“What the hell are those?! He asked me to call them in for him and told me to specify roses and lilies in a crystal vase! He is going to be pissed....those are old lady flowers in a boring pot!”

My relief and smile are immediate. I do love Mr. Deb after all and can cancel the order for twin beds : )

Taking suggestions.....

As some of you may or may not know - my birthday is coming up at the end of this month. Inevitably I will get asked the question, "What do you want for your birthday?" I am looking for new and interesting suggestions for my answer. Feel free to be creative....

Bull riding, the armed forces, and cute little rabbits - Where do you stand?

As determined in my earlier post, my pursuit of life satisfaction and happiness is going to have to include dealing with several roadblocks to my being, first and foremost, happy with myself. I decided to tackle one of the largest in my mind....and what some might consider the most superficial....the image I see in the mirror. To those that would judge me as vain or say that image is not as important as other personal attributes, I offer this well thought out response....kiss my arse! (Lovin’ my new UK friends : ) I could defend my feelings with an Oprah-like dialogue about self image, realistic goals, and lifestyles for long term health. Instead, I will say that it is impossible to be happy when you risk personal injury by catching unexpected and horrifying glimpses of a “blob monster” of vintage sci-fi film proportion only to realize that it is the reflection of your backside as you step into the shower.

My goal is to rediscover the Deb of 2 years ago. Find the physical statistics that make me comfortable in my body again. Again, I don’t set numbers as my goals, but feelings. I am on a quest and determined. I start by asking myself the questions below to determine how far gone this woman in my mirror really is...

How’s your stats line up?
Bust versus waist - Waist versus Hips - The elevator's maximum weight versus my own? When the second exceeds the first, it is time to consider your options.

What’s my “range” South of the Border?
Can I still put my panty hose on standing up? Yes, as long as no one breaks my concentration. Reach the buckles on my shoes? If this ever becomes NO, I will ditch the heels for a pair of SAS sandals which I will wear with reinforced-toe support hose. I don’t deserve sexy shoes if I have to sit down to put them on. Paint my own toenails? Yes, thank God, because my feet are too ticklish for anyone else to do so. Determine grooming status without use of a mirror? Whew, again – I’m good here - no heavy lifting necessary to maintain personal hygiene.....

Could I still enter the military?
Stand at attention and not look like a linebacker? Oh, come on...you’ve all seen those women who can no longer put their hands to their sides due to the Luv Handles they’ve accumulated. For me – the day I can’t touch my own thighs – call the firing squad and just shoot me. Achieve and maintain “stealth” status while wearing pants? While I accept that I will never walk silently in a pair of corduroy pants again, I shudder at the thought of hearing the same sounds coming from my favorite jeans. When the inner thigh reveals 2nd degree friction burns after running after a wayward toddler or is first place your pants show wear and tear, it is time to address the issue.

And finally, are things hot and heavy in the bedroom?
Does it feel as if a third entity is between the two you during sex? No, he hasn’t introduced jello into the love-making...or a midget – that extra is just a little more you than usual. Does he decline to be on bottom as a form of self defense? Instead of “Ride me like a cowgirl” you now get “Oh, no babe – its okay – I just like the view from up here better.” Do they make “long reach” extensions for these? The question you have on your list for your sex toy rep because the rabbit just can’t quite get to the burrow any more. Fortunately, these are not reality for me....yet...

So there you have it – the questions I used to evaluate how far gone I am. My conclusion is that while I have lost a bit of ground, I’m not as far gone as I feared. It’s nice to do a self-examination and get better results than expected. While corduroy may be lost to me forever, a cowgirl hat and boots just landed on my shopping list : )

Things to ditch when your baggage is over the weight limit

During my life's journey the past several years, I've discovered a few items that are not worth the space and effort they require to bring along. I thought I'd share my thoughts on a few of them...

Those needing no explanation include selfish friends, impossible standards, compulsive liars, fat free cheese, non-alcoholic beer, and christian romance novels. The last one...I mean really - no sex before they get married in the end - just pass me the smut.

Now for a few things so useless they require a bit of a rant to clarify...

Thongs - I've read these are the most comfortable underwear for any woman.....once she gets used to them. Are they kidding?!?! Well, after I get home from having to have the damned thing surgically removed from my ass-I'll evaluate its comfort rating. Honestly! If required to wear a string for underwear, I'd be more comfortable commando.

Brazilain Waxes - Yes I researched these so shut up! First, they take everything from front to back and I mean everything. I could deal with that because that's why I'm there, right? However, the technician - licensed and trained mind you - then takes tweezers to remove everything the wax missed. WTH! Hello...what is the purposed of being licensed and trained if she misses getting it all with the first level of sadistic torture and is now btw my legs plucking away with a magnifying glass and tweezers? (NOTE: Things that should never be seen through a magnifying glass to be covered on a future post.) I'm also told that you should let "growth" occur freely for 4 weeks prior to waxing to allow suffcient length for the wax to take hold. Are they f'ing kidding?!?! I am going to go through this humiliating experience to only let it grow ALL the way out, become a cave woman, so they can repeat it??? I've heard the recorded screams of a woman getting this done and all I have to say is pass me the Schick Quattro.

People who tell me to "stop and smell the roses" - I get tired of people telling me to slow down and enjoy the quiet moments. Screw that! I shouldn't have to conciously enjoy them. The quiet moments make themselves known-its quiet so nothing competes with them, right? Its is when there are 27 things screaming for your attention that you have to keep your focus. Perpetually calm people, regardless of their method (yoga, meditation, good drugs) don't have to worry about juggling things the way I do. No yoga or meditation is going to help me balance a checkbook with twice the debits as credits, accomplish 30 hrs of work in 15, or get my size X backside in a size X-2 pants. (Note: Meds might help but reference orgasm post for that decision). My point is this... No one who ever overcame the true adversity of life's stressors would casually waive them off as normal or routine afterwards. They acknowledge each one and walk carefully around them in the future - giving them the respectful distance all good fighters give worthy opponents.

Men that refuse to understand Women - These men whether encountered at home, at work, or in Hell (a.k.a. Wal-mart) are simply not to be tolerated. How hard is it to understand that I am not a man walking around minus "equipment" and plus boobs? The X marx the Spot on my map while the Y is their target, however, many men just do not get the differences between us. For example...

1. I know from experience your aim is good enough to hit smaller targets with your "tool", so it is totally unacceptable that you cannot pee without getting some on rim and floor.
2. Your toys are not the center of my universe so no, I will not give up my spot in the garage for your bike. And no, it doesn't matter that only REAL MEN ride a Roubaix.
3. If we are in a meeting at work and you cannot stop talking to my chest, I will start talking "down" to your braintrust.
4. And finally, when behind me in the check out line don't look at me with that "smirk" just because there is a smut book, lacy bikini undies, and a Schick Quattro in my basket. Those are all for the benefit of my own Y-man at home who at least makes an effort to understand me : )

Would you sacrafice orgasms to be happy?

Last night, I had the prerequisite drink in hand and a worn out man asleep in the recliner (tired from work though, not sex). The baseball game was over so I began contemplate the question "Am I happy?" Should be an easy answer, right? Not so apparently, because after 30 minutes of debating it - I still didn't know. I have a good man, a healthy family, semi-secure financials, a few good friends to call my own, and dogs that love me unconditionally. I listed these things in my mind over and over. I decided I definitely should be in the "happy" range but just couldn't make myself say the words. I know the adage that one should be happy in one's life, but never satisfied to the point of complacency. I am NO where near the satisfied mark as I've loss serious ground on the self-esteem scale the past year or two, but why am I not happy since every thing else is all good? It brings the question...."Can you be happy with your life if you are not happy with yourself?" Obviously, for me....the answer is no, I can't. That sucks since I am a VERY long way from being happy with myself. I beat myself up a bit for allowing my faults to roadblock my life's happiness, then accepted that I am going to have to just get off my ass and address the issues....sigh...why can't I just be ignorant of my flaws and therefore happy? I realize I could make things simple, take a pill that would put me there. Tempting at first thought, but I couldn't have what I started this posting off with....a relaxing drink...and sex would become a chore rather than a pleasure. Sober and sexless....why bother? I'll stick with unhappy for now : )

Sharing the Journey

"I don't mind turning 40. In fact, I'm looking forward to the next decade. I weigh less than I did when I was thirty. My kids are older and more independent. I am back to school and earning my degree. I just started a new job. I feel great.....younger than I have in years!"

Those were the fateful words I uttered on my 40th birthday, approximately one year and 347 days ago. It was a mistake to brag that I wasn't upset with my new "milestone." Little did I realize that instead of resting on my mantle as all good trophies of life's accomplishments do, this one - the one of my reaching the magical age of 40 - would end up around my neck dragging me down into the mire of answering the questions such as "what have I done with my life up to this point, what am I going to do with the rest of it," and perhaps hardest of all to answer - "who in the hell is that woman in my mirror?" Revisiting my "brag" above, I have to admit to being 40 lbs heavier, consistently stressed by my older and "independent" children, an online college drop out, and at a job - like many - endangered by today's economy. I look like crap and feel twice my age. It seems that I've lost the "treasures" I listed that day. In my struggle to discover their hiding place, as well as that of new rewards, I find myself encountering daily challenges and obstacles, victories and defeats. I decided, on a whim, to share my experiences and thoughts as I seek out the illusive "XmarxtheSpot" on my life's map. That spot where all the blood, sweat and tears of raising a family, working a job, and trying to stay true to yourself become worth it. Where you finally find what you've spent your life looking for. Like many, I don't know the true nature of this treasure I seek - only that I can't give up searching for it.

Throughout my posts, I will be honest - almost brutally so and at times you may want to scream TMI, TMI!!!! Sensitive souls shouldn't come along. Judgemental ones are not invited. I want honest, resourceful, smart, and "real" travel companions who can claim to have at least one vice of their own. Chocolate, expensive uncomfortable shoes, cigarettes, some form of alcohol, an erotic romance novel and/or vibrator - if your survival pack would not inlcude as least one of these, go back home. This trip's not for you! However, if like me, you need a separate bag for your shoes and think life is always better when contemplated with a drink in hand and worn out man beside you - let's get this journey started.