THE HAIRLESS YETI AND THE COCKS
The roosters are back again. I don't know what's going on, but ever since some invisible hen abandoned eggs in the office carport, these two roosters seem to be hanging out there ALL the time. One of our realtors came by yesterday and had the shit scared out of her when she opened her car door to be met by a rooster crowing at her. One of the owners commented that she was ready to go next door and have a talk with the neighbors about keeping their animals in their yard. I think we're getting closer to that moment.
Around 10:00 this morning, I was alone in the office and heard commotion once again. It was SO loud! I knew what it was...those fucking roosters! I stormed out the side door out to the screened-in porch and saw them. The two roosters were squawking at each other going insane. I'd had it! I just wanted to work in peace. I hiked up my jeans that were too big, leading me to nearly moon an old woman at the post office earlier because I'd forgotten a belt. I then raised my arms above my head like a pasty, Anglo-Saxon Yeti attacking and charged down the stairs into the carport, roaring.
"GET OUT! GET OUUUUUUTTTTTT!"
The roosters took off running out of the carport, but I continued to chase them into the front yard, arms still raised.
'SHUT UPPPPPP! GET OUTTTTTTTT!"
And then I realized that the steady traffic driving down the road could see this crazy girl screaming, arms in the air, pants falling off and showing crack, chasing roosters. AND I was doing this in front of my office. I ran back inside before anyone came back or called the cops. For all I know, what I'd just done could qualify as a domestic disturbance in this town.
I'm now starting to snap from the rooster-fest. My mind is thinking of evil ways to scare them away without hurting them. I'm thinking about stopping by KFC and leaving a bucket of chicken out in the carport as a warning.
Around 10:00 this morning, I was alone in the office and heard commotion once again. It was SO loud! I knew what it was...those fucking roosters! I stormed out the side door out to the screened-in porch and saw them. The two roosters were squawking at each other going insane. I'd had it! I just wanted to work in peace. I hiked up my jeans that were too big, leading me to nearly moon an old woman at the post office earlier because I'd forgotten a belt. I then raised my arms above my head like a pasty, Anglo-Saxon Yeti attacking and charged down the stairs into the carport, roaring.
"GET OUT! GET OUUUUUUTTTTTT!"
The roosters took off running out of the carport, but I continued to chase them into the front yard, arms still raised.
'SHUT UPPPPPP! GET OUTTTTTTTT!"
And then I realized that the steady traffic driving down the road could see this crazy girl screaming, arms in the air, pants falling off and showing crack, chasing roosters. AND I was doing this in front of my office. I ran back inside before anyone came back or called the cops. For all I know, what I'd just done could qualify as a domestic disturbance in this town.
I'm now starting to snap from the rooster-fest. My mind is thinking of evil ways to scare them away without hurting them. I'm thinking about stopping by KFC and leaving a bucket of chicken out in the carport as a warning.
WE'RE COIN STARS!
Yeah, survived the day and am expecting another busy day. Went to my sister's after work last night to do laundry and help her with an errand. It was so ridiculous because Fletcher and her have this giant coke bottle piggy bank and Heidi needed more money for her new countertops since her bonus was delayed. So me, her and Kylee headed to Lowes and made a spectacle of ourselves dumping change from the giant coke bottle, which took two of us to lift and then we had to put it in the child's seat of the grocery cart to move it, into a Disney princess bucket, then into the Coin Star. We got to know some of the cashiers and were gawked at, laughed at, and sneered at by other customers. It was SO loud and it took us an hour to finish. Kylee read the nearby magazines (including Truckster, which she announced was for boys) and was so good. I dealt with shoving the change into the Coin Star so Heidi could keep an eye on Kylee as she manhandled the coke bottle. My fingers were BLACK afterwards, it was so disgusting. She ended up getting over $800 from it! I'm totally saving my change.
OPEN WIDE AND SAY “ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!”
I seem to be my own worst enemy. Sure that seems obvious if you have ever heard me criticize my looks, which I'm trying to work on just shutting up now. I know I'm really hard on myself, but I also know I'm a work in progress. But I'm not talking about my being my own worst enemy emotionally. I have come to realize that I'm my own worst enemy physically!
I am quite the klutz, or maybe I should say I'm careless. I will trip on air and choke on my own saliva. I have burned my own face; pulled out the oven shelf with no mitts; slammed my left hand in my car by myself; poked myself in the eye numerous times trying to drink from straws; and constantly hit myself in the face with my hands or objects I'm holding because I use my hands too much when I talk. I won't pay attention while driving either. I have driven on flat tires for miles; continued my trip with steam flying out of my hood; ran over logs that I was too lazy to swerve around...all things that likely weren't to safe for my best interest. And we don't even want to go into my disaster zone towards others! I have accepted this and just know that it is part of what makes me who I am. I can get over the cuts, bruises and burns. What I have a difficult time dealing with, more out of brief embarrassment and wonder, is things getting stuck in some part of me.
I have written of the incidents of things getting stuck in my coo in the past, so I won't rehash that. However, there are other orifices to tend to! And no, I have never had anything stuck up my butt, so you can give your sighs of relief now. Actually, when I think about it, the only other orifice I've had things stuck in were my mouth. I'm fortunate enough to only have things stuck in my mouth every ten or so years though. Let us reflect...
THE WATER PICK
I was twelve years old and about to get braces. However, they first had to put in spacers. After that they put what I can only describe as a metal spider on the roof of my mouth. It was a flat sheet of metal that covered the roof of my mouth and only hung down maybe 1/2 an inch. This stayed up from the four "legs" that splayed out from it and were connected to bands that wrapped around two molars on each side of my upper row of teeth. The thing SUCKED! It was uncomfortable, but worst of all they told me I would get food stuck in the narrow gap between the roof of my mouth and the metal plate. They suggested we invest in a water pick to clear that up.
The water pick seemed to work fine for getting out small pieces of food and so it just became habit to eat, then clean out the gap. That is, until the pizza incident.
My family had ordered pizza one night. I'd had this before while wearing my contraption and had never had a problem. Unfortunately this time I think I was a bit too hungry and a bit too greedy. I took a whopping bite of pizza. As I shoved the slice into my mouth, I didn't realize I'd shoved the majority of it into the gap between the metal spider and the roof of my mouth. I chomped down, withdrew the pizza and then felt that none of it made its way to a chewable place. It was all in the spider. shit!
Being 12, I was of course extremely overdramatic about everything. This was about as bad as being on fire in my mind. I screamed and ran for the bathroom. I tried to shove my finger into the gap, full well knowing it wasn't going to make it in. I ran back out to the kitchen, now crying, screaming that the pizza was stuck in my spider gap. My family did its usual stare they gave me when I was flipping out over something they deemed petty. "Well Heather, use your water pick then." My mother didn't realize how much was in there.
I dramatically flung myself back in the hall wailing like a banshee. I went into the bathroom and grabbed my water pick and went to town. Nothing. It did absolutely nothing. The only amount of water that was going to get that puppy out would have to come from a fire hose. Of course I wasn't going to give up. I thought that maybe if I got the water pick itself in the gap, and not just its spray, this would work.
I jammed the water pick into the gap, feeling it rip open the roof of my mouth, and began spraying. I felt some of the pizza break away. It was working! So I shoved the water pick in further into the gap and sprayed more. More pizza began shooting out the back of the gap and into the back of my throat where I began to choke. I went to withdraw the pick so I could catch my breath and stop choking for a moment. Problem was, the water pick was now stuck in the gap. I screamed loudly, though it was slightly muted since I had a dental device lodge in my mouth. I ran out of the bathroom with the fucking water pick sticking straight out of my mouth, and into the kitchen where I was met with hysterical laughter.
"Ehhh naw unny!" I screamed, tears pouring down my face. Yet of course my warped family that gave me my sense of humor couldn't stop laughing.
"Ehh uck! Omeone elp eeee! ELP EEEEEEE!" I screamed!
My mother finally volunteered to, and through her laughs she helped me wriggle the water pick out of my mouth. It cut the hell out of me, but it was finally out of me. I just left the rest of the pizza in the gap to erode on it's own time. The water pick had gone from friend to foe all in a matter of Dominos.
THE VELCRO
The next incident came about ten to twelve years later. I was somewhere between 22 and 24 and hanging out at my parents' house. I have this really bad habit of chewing on my sleeves. It's become better as I get older, but it used to be so bad that I would chew holes in the wrists of my long-sleeved shirts from gnawing on it. It used to be a really bad habit. Well, let me tell you...that habit bit me in the ass!
As I recall, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V. I was wearing my snowboarding jacket (and no, I've never snowboarded) that had velcro on the wrists so you could tighten them up and not let the snow in. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. I chewed away on the wrist of my sleeve mesmerized by the T.V. Of course, every gnawing session must end, so I pulled my sleeve away from my mouth, only horrible pain ran up my tongue and my sleeve wouldn't budge past a few inches. I ran into the bathroom to see what was going on. With my sleeve still up to my mouth, I opened wide and saw it. A rogue piece of velcro had unwound and looped around one, single taste bud.
How did this happen? I tried to pull it free and felt pain. Okay, I can do this. Just yank hard and rip it free. I did so, but it wouldn't release and just caused more pain. My arm was starting to get sore from holding it up for so long now. I went out to the living room and showed my parents. I was once again met with laughter.
"Well the how the heck did you do that?" Inquired my father.
"I as thewing aww my sleef!" I responded. More laughter.
Teamwork ensued as everyone took turns trying to yank my sleeve free from my mouth. Each time, their efforts were met with a cry of pain. "Awwwwwggghhhh!"
After what seemed like forever trying to free my now numb arm from the vicinity of my mouth, my mother grabbed the scissors. Having scissors coming at your tongue is a very scary thing. You fear that a muscle tick or a sneeze might hit as the weapon is in your mouth, and then I would end up looking like my former speech therapist who had a slit going down the length of his tongue, or his assistant who had no hand, just a nubbin' at the end of her wrist.
"Juth do' cuh me!" I warbled.
Snip! My wrist released from my mouth and the blood rushed back into my arm. I ran into the bathroom and opened my mouth. There the remaining piece of velcro hung from the taste bud it was mating with. I accepted that once again it would naturally have to dissolve.
My mom turned to me and asked, "So are you going to stop chewing on your sleeves now?"
I sat down ignoring her, took off my jacket and began to chew on the sleeve of my shirt underneath the jacket.
THE DENTAL FLOSS
Fast forward to Monday. I'd had lunch and felt something stuck in one of my back teeth. I kept trying to get it out, but couldn't. After about ten minutes, it was driving me mad! I'd seen some dental floss in the medicine cabinet at work and ran for the bathroom as I always do. Just floss it out, simple enough. Little did I know it was the beginning of yet another orifice debacle.
The floss was really crappy, very thin and worn. So what? It's still floss. I ripped off a strand, wrapped the end around my finger and shoved it into the problem area. I felt the perpetrator release and went to pull the floss out. Thing is, it didn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. The damned floss was stuck in my teeth! I yanked and yanked, and it wouldn't come out. Go the other way. I let go of both ends of the string so they were now dangling out either side of my tooth. I pulled one end outward rather than down, as if I were sewing. Well it caught and broke off, balling up in my teeth. A wad of dental floss now replaced the perpetrator. I took more floss and try to un-wedge the ball of floss now stuck. Then THAT got stuck! There was no room to pull it out the way I'd originally done so though. I gave up, released the floss letting it hang out of my mouth and went into my mother's office.
"Mom, I have a bunch of floss stuck in my tooth." At least this time nothing was blocking the entrance to my mouth and I could communicate effectively.
She laughed and shook her head and once again, ten years later, went for the scissors and cut the dangling floss out of my mouth as I stood by the copier. The middle was of course still stuck, as well as it's previous dweller's balled up version of itself. My mom had better floss and that got stuck at first, but then it worked and got out the majority of the stuck floss. However it didn't get all of it. I still had some stripped down remnant of floss attempt #2 dangling from my tooth. My mom's floss ran out though, so I took my lunch, drove home and fixed the problem once and for all.
As I ponder my oral adventures, I think to myself, "You know Heather, it's a good thing you're single. Who knows what misfortunes you could endure with a second party." So with that I smile and feel good knowing that being alone is quite possibly saving another's mouth or appendage. It's my unintentional community service.
I am quite the klutz, or maybe I should say I'm careless. I will trip on air and choke on my own saliva. I have burned my own face; pulled out the oven shelf with no mitts; slammed my left hand in my car by myself; poked myself in the eye numerous times trying to drink from straws; and constantly hit myself in the face with my hands or objects I'm holding because I use my hands too much when I talk. I won't pay attention while driving either. I have driven on flat tires for miles; continued my trip with steam flying out of my hood; ran over logs that I was too lazy to swerve around...all things that likely weren't to safe for my best interest. And we don't even want to go into my disaster zone towards others! I have accepted this and just know that it is part of what makes me who I am. I can get over the cuts, bruises and burns. What I have a difficult time dealing with, more out of brief embarrassment and wonder, is things getting stuck in some part of me.
I have written of the incidents of things getting stuck in my coo in the past, so I won't rehash that. However, there are other orifices to tend to! And no, I have never had anything stuck up my butt, so you can give your sighs of relief now. Actually, when I think about it, the only other orifice I've had things stuck in were my mouth. I'm fortunate enough to only have things stuck in my mouth every ten or so years though. Let us reflect...
THE WATER PICK
I was twelve years old and about to get braces. However, they first had to put in spacers. After that they put what I can only describe as a metal spider on the roof of my mouth. It was a flat sheet of metal that covered the roof of my mouth and only hung down maybe 1/2 an inch. This stayed up from the four "legs" that splayed out from it and were connected to bands that wrapped around two molars on each side of my upper row of teeth. The thing SUCKED! It was uncomfortable, but worst of all they told me I would get food stuck in the narrow gap between the roof of my mouth and the metal plate. They suggested we invest in a water pick to clear that up.
The water pick seemed to work fine for getting out small pieces of food and so it just became habit to eat, then clean out the gap. That is, until the pizza incident.
My family had ordered pizza one night. I'd had this before while wearing my contraption and had never had a problem. Unfortunately this time I think I was a bit too hungry and a bit too greedy. I took a whopping bite of pizza. As I shoved the slice into my mouth, I didn't realize I'd shoved the majority of it into the gap between the metal spider and the roof of my mouth. I chomped down, withdrew the pizza and then felt that none of it made its way to a chewable place. It was all in the spider. shit!
Being 12, I was of course extremely overdramatic about everything. This was about as bad as being on fire in my mind. I screamed and ran for the bathroom. I tried to shove my finger into the gap, full well knowing it wasn't going to make it in. I ran back out to the kitchen, now crying, screaming that the pizza was stuck in my spider gap. My family did its usual stare they gave me when I was flipping out over something they deemed petty. "Well Heather, use your water pick then." My mother didn't realize how much was in there.
I dramatically flung myself back in the hall wailing like a banshee. I went into the bathroom and grabbed my water pick and went to town. Nothing. It did absolutely nothing. The only amount of water that was going to get that puppy out would have to come from a fire hose. Of course I wasn't going to give up. I thought that maybe if I got the water pick itself in the gap, and not just its spray, this would work.
I jammed the water pick into the gap, feeling it rip open the roof of my mouth, and began spraying. I felt some of the pizza break away. It was working! So I shoved the water pick in further into the gap and sprayed more. More pizza began shooting out the back of the gap and into the back of my throat where I began to choke. I went to withdraw the pick so I could catch my breath and stop choking for a moment. Problem was, the water pick was now stuck in the gap. I screamed loudly, though it was slightly muted since I had a dental device lodge in my mouth. I ran out of the bathroom with the fucking water pick sticking straight out of my mouth, and into the kitchen where I was met with hysterical laughter.
"Ehhh naw unny!" I screamed, tears pouring down my face. Yet of course my warped family that gave me my sense of humor couldn't stop laughing.
"Ehh uck! Omeone elp eeee! ELP EEEEEEE!" I screamed!
My mother finally volunteered to, and through her laughs she helped me wriggle the water pick out of my mouth. It cut the hell out of me, but it was finally out of me. I just left the rest of the pizza in the gap to erode on it's own time. The water pick had gone from friend to foe all in a matter of Dominos.
THE VELCRO
The next incident came about ten to twelve years later. I was somewhere between 22 and 24 and hanging out at my parents' house. I have this really bad habit of chewing on my sleeves. It's become better as I get older, but it used to be so bad that I would chew holes in the wrists of my long-sleeved shirts from gnawing on it. It used to be a really bad habit. Well, let me tell you...that habit bit me in the ass!
As I recall, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V. I was wearing my snowboarding jacket (and no, I've never snowboarded) that had velcro on the wrists so you could tighten them up and not let the snow in. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. I chewed away on the wrist of my sleeve mesmerized by the T.V. Of course, every gnawing session must end, so I pulled my sleeve away from my mouth, only horrible pain ran up my tongue and my sleeve wouldn't budge past a few inches. I ran into the bathroom to see what was going on. With my sleeve still up to my mouth, I opened wide and saw it. A rogue piece of velcro had unwound and looped around one, single taste bud.
How did this happen? I tried to pull it free and felt pain. Okay, I can do this. Just yank hard and rip it free. I did so, but it wouldn't release and just caused more pain. My arm was starting to get sore from holding it up for so long now. I went out to the living room and showed my parents. I was once again met with laughter.
"Well the how the heck did you do that?" Inquired my father.
"I as thewing aww my sleef!" I responded. More laughter.
Teamwork ensued as everyone took turns trying to yank my sleeve free from my mouth. Each time, their efforts were met with a cry of pain. "Awwwwwggghhhh!"
After what seemed like forever trying to free my now numb arm from the vicinity of my mouth, my mother grabbed the scissors. Having scissors coming at your tongue is a very scary thing. You fear that a muscle tick or a sneeze might hit as the weapon is in your mouth, and then I would end up looking like my former speech therapist who had a slit going down the length of his tongue, or his assistant who had no hand, just a nubbin' at the end of her wrist.
"Juth do' cuh me!" I warbled.
Snip! My wrist released from my mouth and the blood rushed back into my arm. I ran into the bathroom and opened my mouth. There the remaining piece of velcro hung from the taste bud it was mating with. I accepted that once again it would naturally have to dissolve.
My mom turned to me and asked, "So are you going to stop chewing on your sleeves now?"
I sat down ignoring her, took off my jacket and began to chew on the sleeve of my shirt underneath the jacket.
THE DENTAL FLOSS
Fast forward to Monday. I'd had lunch and felt something stuck in one of my back teeth. I kept trying to get it out, but couldn't. After about ten minutes, it was driving me mad! I'd seen some dental floss in the medicine cabinet at work and ran for the bathroom as I always do. Just floss it out, simple enough. Little did I know it was the beginning of yet another orifice debacle.
The floss was really crappy, very thin and worn. So what? It's still floss. I ripped off a strand, wrapped the end around my finger and shoved it into the problem area. I felt the perpetrator release and went to pull the floss out. Thing is, it didn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. The damned floss was stuck in my teeth! I yanked and yanked, and it wouldn't come out. Go the other way. I let go of both ends of the string so they were now dangling out either side of my tooth. I pulled one end outward rather than down, as if I were sewing. Well it caught and broke off, balling up in my teeth. A wad of dental floss now replaced the perpetrator. I took more floss and try to un-wedge the ball of floss now stuck. Then THAT got stuck! There was no room to pull it out the way I'd originally done so though. I gave up, released the floss letting it hang out of my mouth and went into my mother's office.
"Mom, I have a bunch of floss stuck in my tooth." At least this time nothing was blocking the entrance to my mouth and I could communicate effectively.
She laughed and shook her head and once again, ten years later, went for the scissors and cut the dangling floss out of my mouth as I stood by the copier. The middle was of course still stuck, as well as it's previous dweller's balled up version of itself. My mom had better floss and that got stuck at first, but then it worked and got out the majority of the stuck floss. However it didn't get all of it. I still had some stripped down remnant of floss attempt #2 dangling from my tooth. My mom's floss ran out though, so I took my lunch, drove home and fixed the problem once and for all.
As I ponder my oral adventures, I think to myself, "You know Heather, it's a good thing you're single. Who knows what misfortunes you could endure with a second party." So with that I smile and feel good knowing that being alone is quite possibly saving another's mouth or appendage. It's my unintentional community service.
ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART START FONDLING
There are many things I want in life. I want to write a book. I want to lose ten more pounds. I want a nose job. I want the skin I had when I was 20, minus the pimples. I want to teach children the Ewok Song I know by heart, as everyone should learn the Ewok Song. I want to buy roller skates and skate around alone at a roller rink to the song "Xanadu". I want to find that perfect hair product that will make my Southern afro tame down and be silky smooth. I want to live in a place full of life and arts and culture with lots to do, yet you walk into the grocery store to buy yet another Lean Cuisine and the grocer knows your name..."Hey Heather!" I want to get this dried yogurt off the "L" key without having LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL typed out all over the place. And of course I want love again.
While many people likely don't want a lot of the things I want, I'm sure everyone wants love. Now don't get me wrong, I have lots of love in my life from friends and family, but I want to be IN love again. I have moments where I miss it, but haven't had a strong desire for it in a very long time. Very recently I have though. I'm not going to pine for it, settle for it, or look for it though. In this world of everyone hitting the bars or going online trying to find the person they're to wake up with every morning, I'm still a believer in the hippy dippy train of thought of fate or destiny. I don't believe everyone has one soulmate, but that we all have many soulmates. Various people who are perfect for us depending upon which phase of our life we meet them in. So while I know I'm not going to meet one of those people sitting at home, or even living in smallish town, North Carolina, I'm not too worried about it right now. I just feel like when that pops into my life I'm going to okay with it finally.
Finally, you ask? Yes, finally. It's not to say that I've never been ready for it. I've been in love a few times, but I haven't wanted to be for a few years now. Heartbreak of course puts up walls whether we realize it or not. I think I'm starting to accept that I pretty much encased myself in my own well of sorts. The ill-fated one night stand I claim to have set off my celibacy streak was just an excuse to put the walls into motion. While I think that it was good for me to take my year off from men and take a look at why I was on the verge of jumping back into my past promiscuity, it also was a way to shelter myself from getting hurt again. Nothing new, nothing unique or anything. We all do that on some level or another.
It was a good first year and I came to grips with certain things that needed gripping, but then a year came and went and I didn't. I went out on a date and hooked up with the guy, which is more than I'd done in a year, but I didn't sleep with him though he wanted to. A few months later I got together with a guy while camping, and once again the opportunity came for sex, but I declined. I didn't want to revert back to my old patterns. I all of a sudden felt hokey and realized I wanted sex to be part of something more. I didn't want to wait for love, but wanted to at least care about the guy. Where was this coming from? Ever since I was 16 and had given up on the romanticism of sex, I didn't give a shit. Now what had happened? Oh my god...I'd somehow become prepubscent in my views on sex!!!
Another year passed and now I'm approaching two and a half years. I'm back at square one since the camping hook up...no sex, no hooking up, no kissing, nothing for over a year now. It's grown quite ridiculous and I find myself wondering what it's like to even kiss someone again? I've discussed this with a couple of friends, guys and girls, and they're like, "Just go out and get some! Just do it!" I used to do that too! Just go out one night with that intention, and it would happen. We do control our own destiny to a point. Part of me thinks they're right, as I became plagued with sex dreams and even dreamt of flying penises one night, which to be honest really distrubed me. Problem is I will go out now and it won't happen. I think I've hit my expiration date. I've officially become sour milk. Yet I know in all honesty my heart isn't into that when I go out anymore. I don't desire sneeking out before the guy wakes up.
I decided to start out slow and try to flirt. I've forgotten how though. What happens instead is I just act like myself and am friendly. I start chatting away with whomever, guys or girls, forgetting I'm supposed to practice flirting. I then end up laughing with them, having fun and forgetting my purpose of practicing. A week or two ago I was at the gas station filling up and noticed a cute guy standing near the door of the store. I could only see his face because my car was blocking the view of the rest of him.
"Okay Heather, make eyes! Make eyes!" So I did. He stared back. I looked down and looked back up and smiled at him and then looked down again. When I looked back up he was gone.
"Excuse me..." He was standing behind me now. "Do you have any spare change?" I looked at him in his filth covered clothes and gasped! Oh my god, I was eye flirting with a homeless man! I called Eylin on my way home to inform her of my fuck up. I was done. I can't even make eyes right!
So I once again give up and tell myself to just stop. Let things happen as they're supposed to. We see what happens when I put effort into it. So I go back to accepting the celibacy year that has unintentionally snowballed into much longer. Back to wanting to wanting sex to be a part of something more than a casual hookup. Back to the sex dreams, which have unfortunately become pure in themselves, the most recent one involved being dry humped.
I know it will happen at some point. I know there will be love again someday too. Until then, I will be patient, enjoy life, and wear my wrist brace because my carpal tunnel is inflamed from taking care of business myself.
While many people likely don't want a lot of the things I want, I'm sure everyone wants love. Now don't get me wrong, I have lots of love in my life from friends and family, but I want to be IN love again. I have moments where I miss it, but haven't had a strong desire for it in a very long time. Very recently I have though. I'm not going to pine for it, settle for it, or look for it though. In this world of everyone hitting the bars or going online trying to find the person they're to wake up with every morning, I'm still a believer in the hippy dippy train of thought of fate or destiny. I don't believe everyone has one soulmate, but that we all have many soulmates. Various people who are perfect for us depending upon which phase of our life we meet them in. So while I know I'm not going to meet one of those people sitting at home, or even living in smallish town, North Carolina, I'm not too worried about it right now. I just feel like when that pops into my life I'm going to okay with it finally.
Finally, you ask? Yes, finally. It's not to say that I've never been ready for it. I've been in love a few times, but I haven't wanted to be for a few years now. Heartbreak of course puts up walls whether we realize it or not. I think I'm starting to accept that I pretty much encased myself in my own well of sorts. The ill-fated one night stand I claim to have set off my celibacy streak was just an excuse to put the walls into motion. While I think that it was good for me to take my year off from men and take a look at why I was on the verge of jumping back into my past promiscuity, it also was a way to shelter myself from getting hurt again. Nothing new, nothing unique or anything. We all do that on some level or another.
It was a good first year and I came to grips with certain things that needed gripping, but then a year came and went and I didn't. I went out on a date and hooked up with the guy, which is more than I'd done in a year, but I didn't sleep with him though he wanted to. A few months later I got together with a guy while camping, and once again the opportunity came for sex, but I declined. I didn't want to revert back to my old patterns. I all of a sudden felt hokey and realized I wanted sex to be part of something more. I didn't want to wait for love, but wanted to at least care about the guy. Where was this coming from? Ever since I was 16 and had given up on the romanticism of sex, I didn't give a shit. Now what had happened? Oh my god...I'd somehow become prepubscent in my views on sex!!!
Another year passed and now I'm approaching two and a half years. I'm back at square one since the camping hook up...no sex, no hooking up, no kissing, nothing for over a year now. It's grown quite ridiculous and I find myself wondering what it's like to even kiss someone again? I've discussed this with a couple of friends, guys and girls, and they're like, "Just go out and get some! Just do it!" I used to do that too! Just go out one night with that intention, and it would happen. We do control our own destiny to a point. Part of me thinks they're right, as I became plagued with sex dreams and even dreamt of flying penises one night, which to be honest really distrubed me. Problem is I will go out now and it won't happen. I think I've hit my expiration date. I've officially become sour milk. Yet I know in all honesty my heart isn't into that when I go out anymore. I don't desire sneeking out before the guy wakes up.
I decided to start out slow and try to flirt. I've forgotten how though. What happens instead is I just act like myself and am friendly. I start chatting away with whomever, guys or girls, forgetting I'm supposed to practice flirting. I then end up laughing with them, having fun and forgetting my purpose of practicing. A week or two ago I was at the gas station filling up and noticed a cute guy standing near the door of the store. I could only see his face because my car was blocking the view of the rest of him.
"Okay Heather, make eyes! Make eyes!" So I did. He stared back. I looked down and looked back up and smiled at him and then looked down again. When I looked back up he was gone.
"Excuse me..." He was standing behind me now. "Do you have any spare change?" I looked at him in his filth covered clothes and gasped! Oh my god, I was eye flirting with a homeless man! I called Eylin on my way home to inform her of my fuck up. I was done. I can't even make eyes right!
So I once again give up and tell myself to just stop. Let things happen as they're supposed to. We see what happens when I put effort into it. So I go back to accepting the celibacy year that has unintentionally snowballed into much longer. Back to wanting to wanting sex to be a part of something more than a casual hookup. Back to the sex dreams, which have unfortunately become pure in themselves, the most recent one involved being dry humped.
I know it will happen at some point. I know there will be love again someday too. Until then, I will be patient, enjoy life, and wear my wrist brace because my carpal tunnel is inflamed from taking care of business myself.
IF I COULD TALK TO THE ANIMALS
When I lived in Kentucky I lived in the true country. The town had a McDonalds, Subway and pizza parlor where I saw a 20-year old mother blow smoke into her newborn's face. There were two dollar stores, and then there was "downtown" which consisted of a police station where all the cops smoked inside when I went to get my car inspected, and city hall. That was it. The rest was rural homes and empty land. I lived in a log cabin on five acres and enountered Japanese wasps playing with my eyelashes, a calf rescue which touched my heart, and witnessed my mother's dog bring back a cow spine and skull on two separate occasions when playing in the woods. I thought I was used to strange, rural animal encounters. So imagine my surprise to move somewhere that is small, but by no means "rural", and having my own wildlife exucrsions.
Soon after I moved to High Point, I was listening to a morning radio show based out of Greensboro. The morning host was talking about how he'd hit a deer that morning on his way to work and felt awful about it. People were calling in sharing their own "I hit a deer" stories when this strange woman called in. She spoke about how her and her husband were driving one night and a deer jumped out and they hit it. They got out of the car to check it out and the deer was still alive, but suffering. In her own words she said, "Well, my husband hadn't brought back that much deer meat from hunting season that year, so I said 'Honey, this deer hit US, so we're going to eat this deer.' The deer lay flailing about and wasn't dying, so they went to their trunk to get jumper cables. They then proceeded to strangle the deer until it died, shoved the corpse into the trunk, took it home and ate it.
I was aghast at the concept that someone would 1) strangle a deer with jumper cables and 2) then shove it into their trunk to take home and eat it. I was wondering what the fuck I'd gotten myself into moving here? Only time would tell.
As mentioned in previous posts I had a squirrel suicide dive into my wheel only to find him laying on the side of the road one paw clutching his hear, one paw reaching to the Heavens; had a pygmy goat make the same suicide attempt; and endured a wild turkey sitting in my mother's window at the office. This place is slightly creepy, yet strangely entertaining. Then the other night it started up again.
Monday night my mother and I worked late. The printer is in her office and I was standing there waiting for a presentation to print out when I first saw the man's head pass by her window. I jumped back, shocked. The man then passed around the corner and into her other window. He walked very slowly looking down. His torso revealed itself, as did his hands and that's when I saw it...a knife! This man was walking around the perimeter of our office holding a fucking knife!
"Mom! That guy is holding a knife!"
Before I go further you need to know that we work in front of a Muslim mosque. No biggie. I don't think anything odd of it. Next door to us is a mini Muslim commune. It looks like a house from the front, but it goes back about 1/2 mile long. They keep adding onto it and the kids sometimes run around with their dogs in our yard. They also have chickens and roosters that make their way onto our office land. Then I notice he's not just walking around with a knife, but is stalking the wild turkey that sat in my mom's window a week or two prior. He is slow and sly, holding his knife as the wild turkey investigates his surroundings.
So I make my knife exclamation and my mom laughs at me. "Oh Heather. I'm sure it's not a knife."
I remind her of the time we were in Myrtle Beach a few years ago and I saw a fin swimming about 100 feet behind her, and was cussing at her to get out of the water. She swore I saw a "wave" and I was muttering, "Get out of the fucking water." She finallly did. Everyone else saw the fin and the masses ran out of the water onto the beach as more swimmers saw the fin. The fin happened to be connected to a dolphin that performed a lovely flip in front of the now beached crowds, but STILL...I wasn't exagerating. Once again we were in that same place.
"Mom! LOOK!" I yelled.
She turned and gasped. "Holy shit! It IS a knife!"
The man who we assumed was our commune neighbor was stalking what was possibly the dinner he raised. I got very upset by the knife-wielding neighbor stalking the turkey and said I was going to pound on the windows, like THAT would stop him. We watched him follow the turkey to the mosque. They rounded the corner and neither has reappeared since. I'm hoping if he got the turkey, that the turkey also got him. It's the former vegetarian in me.
So today my mom calls me on the phone. "Come here now! Animals!"
I run into her office and look out the window. There before me is four or five baby turkeys! It's the cutest thing ever and I'm shocked. There is no mama around. I grab the camera and run outisde and start shooting pictures. They are the cutest things ever, yet I am fearful that Mama survived the Muslim and may attack at any moment. I snap a couple of shots and hear rustling and jump, turning around to check out the area around me. No Mama turkey.
"She's dead!" my mind screams. I counter back, "No she's not. She's sleeping somewhere."
I take a few more shots, flipping around convinced that Mama is going to attack at a moment's notice. Alas there is no Mama and I am sad.
I go back into the office and get started downloading the baby turkey pictures. A moment later my bosses' wife walks in announcing there is more wildlife in the carport.
"There's a rooster in the desk in the carport!" She announces.
I know this rooster. I've seen and heard it many times before. In fact, on Monday, the turkey killing day, I pulled up to a rooster in the bushes that then came out to my car. I was afraid that if I got out of my car that it would peck me. I beeped my mom on the Nextel telling her there was a rooster outside my car. She laughed at me and asked what she wanted me to do? So I honked. I honked at that rooster and made the cock move. He started doing the pigeon towards the bushes and I ran. I ran like the dickens.
So upon hearing the rooster is in the desk, I grab the camera and ran outside. Damned bird was in the desk hiding behind some cardboard. I snapped his butt twice. He wouldn't come out. So I started making chicken noises, but he didn't move. What would make him come out? So there in the carport I squawed "Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo!" He froze. I now understand he froze out of "She's a fucking moron" rather than fear. I gave up and walked in.
I'm not sure what will be next, but I'm rooting for a pony to appear in the toilet.
Soon after I moved to High Point, I was listening to a morning radio show based out of Greensboro. The morning host was talking about how he'd hit a deer that morning on his way to work and felt awful about it. People were calling in sharing their own "I hit a deer" stories when this strange woman called in. She spoke about how her and her husband were driving one night and a deer jumped out and they hit it. They got out of the car to check it out and the deer was still alive, but suffering. In her own words she said, "Well, my husband hadn't brought back that much deer meat from hunting season that year, so I said 'Honey, this deer hit US, so we're going to eat this deer.' The deer lay flailing about and wasn't dying, so they went to their trunk to get jumper cables. They then proceeded to strangle the deer until it died, shoved the corpse into the trunk, took it home and ate it.
I was aghast at the concept that someone would 1) strangle a deer with jumper cables and 2) then shove it into their trunk to take home and eat it. I was wondering what the fuck I'd gotten myself into moving here? Only time would tell.
As mentioned in previous posts I had a squirrel suicide dive into my wheel only to find him laying on the side of the road one paw clutching his hear, one paw reaching to the Heavens; had a pygmy goat make the same suicide attempt; and endured a wild turkey sitting in my mother's window at the office. This place is slightly creepy, yet strangely entertaining. Then the other night it started up again.
Monday night my mother and I worked late. The printer is in her office and I was standing there waiting for a presentation to print out when I first saw the man's head pass by her window. I jumped back, shocked. The man then passed around the corner and into her other window. He walked very slowly looking down. His torso revealed itself, as did his hands and that's when I saw it...a knife! This man was walking around the perimeter of our office holding a fucking knife!
"Mom! That guy is holding a knife!"
Before I go further you need to know that we work in front of a Muslim mosque. No biggie. I don't think anything odd of it. Next door to us is a mini Muslim commune. It looks like a house from the front, but it goes back about 1/2 mile long. They keep adding onto it and the kids sometimes run around with their dogs in our yard. They also have chickens and roosters that make their way onto our office land. Then I notice he's not just walking around with a knife, but is stalking the wild turkey that sat in my mom's window a week or two prior. He is slow and sly, holding his knife as the wild turkey investigates his surroundings.
So I make my knife exclamation and my mom laughs at me. "Oh Heather. I'm sure it's not a knife."
I remind her of the time we were in Myrtle Beach a few years ago and I saw a fin swimming about 100 feet behind her, and was cussing at her to get out of the water. She swore I saw a "wave" and I was muttering, "Get out of the fucking water." She finallly did. Everyone else saw the fin and the masses ran out of the water onto the beach as more swimmers saw the fin. The fin happened to be connected to a dolphin that performed a lovely flip in front of the now beached crowds, but STILL...I wasn't exagerating. Once again we were in that same place.
"Mom! LOOK!" I yelled.
She turned and gasped. "Holy shit! It IS a knife!"
The man who we assumed was our commune neighbor was stalking what was possibly the dinner he raised. I got very upset by the knife-wielding neighbor stalking the turkey and said I was going to pound on the windows, like THAT would stop him. We watched him follow the turkey to the mosque. They rounded the corner and neither has reappeared since. I'm hoping if he got the turkey, that the turkey also got him. It's the former vegetarian in me.
So today my mom calls me on the phone. "Come here now! Animals!"
I run into her office and look out the window. There before me is four or five baby turkeys! It's the cutest thing ever and I'm shocked. There is no mama around. I grab the camera and run outisde and start shooting pictures. They are the cutest things ever, yet I am fearful that Mama survived the Muslim and may attack at any moment. I snap a couple of shots and hear rustling and jump, turning around to check out the area around me. No Mama turkey.
"She's dead!" my mind screams. I counter back, "No she's not. She's sleeping somewhere."
I take a few more shots, flipping around convinced that Mama is going to attack at a moment's notice. Alas there is no Mama and I am sad.
I go back into the office and get started downloading the baby turkey pictures. A moment later my bosses' wife walks in announcing there is more wildlife in the carport.
"There's a rooster in the desk in the carport!" She announces.
I know this rooster. I've seen and heard it many times before. In fact, on Monday, the turkey killing day, I pulled up to a rooster in the bushes that then came out to my car. I was afraid that if I got out of my car that it would peck me. I beeped my mom on the Nextel telling her there was a rooster outside my car. She laughed at me and asked what she wanted me to do? So I honked. I honked at that rooster and made the cock move. He started doing the pigeon towards the bushes and I ran. I ran like the dickens.
So upon hearing the rooster is in the desk, I grab the camera and ran outside. Damned bird was in the desk hiding behind some cardboard. I snapped his butt twice. He wouldn't come out. So I started making chicken noises, but he didn't move. What would make him come out? So there in the carport I squawed "Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo!" He froze. I now understand he froze out of "She's a fucking moron" rather than fear. I gave up and walked in.
I'm not sure what will be next, but I'm rooting for a pony to appear in the toilet.
