THE TOUR D'TRASH
I was just sitting outside reading when I noticed the three boys, around ten, on their bikes in the parking lot below me. A little girl of about 7 sat on the curb listening to them. One of the boys who seemed a bit older was trash talking to the other two, calling them idiots and cussing up a storm.
"Okay, now we're going to race, you idiots! I don't want you pulling any of that shit again, okay?" he asked one of the two other boys.
"Shut up!" responded one of the two.
"Screw you!" shouted the trash talker. "We're going to ride to the other side of the lot and back. First one back wins!" I always wondered why someone has to input "the first one back wins." Isn't that always the case? When does the last one back win?
The little girl gets up and takes her place by the three boys on their bikes. "On your mark....get set...GO!"
The boys take off, the trash talker cussing at the other two as he flies way past them, disappears out of my sight for a bit, then comes back. I hate when the shitheads win. The other two come back looking sad and breathing heavy. The mean boy starts laughing at them, telling them they suck. I'm ready to throw my book at the little fucker when it happens.
From below me, in the breezeway of my building I hear it. Budda-Budda-Buddda. Out shoots this boy on what can only be described as the love child of a recumbent bike and a Big Wheel. I start giggling as he whips to the left and crashes into the curb, making the three boys jump out of his way.
"You think you're so cool? You think you can beat ME?" announces the mutant Big Wheel boy.
The trash talker tells him that he indeed will "kick his ass" at the race. I sigh. There is no way that faux Big Wheel is going to beat any bike. I feel bad for the kid and continue to watch, waiting for the inevitable. The rude one explains their course and the little girl once again takes her place.
"On your mark....get set...GO!"
They take off, and smack my ass and call me Katie if that mutant Big Wheel didn't shoot out ahead of them as if the kid were outrunning the po-po. Knowing this neighborhood, it's quite possible he has indeed learned to outrun them already. I see the mean kid's jaw drop and he pedals faster. All four disappear out of my view for a moment. I hear the skidding of scraped-up, plastic wheels and then BAM! The Big Wheel thingy reappears, flying through the night with all three boys trailing far behind him.
Holy shit! He won! He won! That completely surprised me, not to mention the sore loser who started cussing at him accusing him of cheating. I burst out laughing, uncontrollable laughter, as I replayed the scene in my mind. I wanted to go hug that Big Wheel kid and thank him for reminding me that looks can be deceiving. Instead, the four boys and one girl all stopped and stared at the crazy lady on her balcony, slapping the arm of her chair laughing. Then I felt stupid. I grabbed my book and hastily came back inside. And once out of my sight again, I fell on the bed laughing once more.
"Okay, now we're going to race, you idiots! I don't want you pulling any of that shit again, okay?" he asked one of the two other boys.
"Shut up!" responded one of the two.
"Screw you!" shouted the trash talker. "We're going to ride to the other side of the lot and back. First one back wins!" I always wondered why someone has to input "the first one back wins." Isn't that always the case? When does the last one back win?
The little girl gets up and takes her place by the three boys on their bikes. "On your mark....get set...GO!"
The boys take off, the trash talker cussing at the other two as he flies way past them, disappears out of my sight for a bit, then comes back. I hate when the shitheads win. The other two come back looking sad and breathing heavy. The mean boy starts laughing at them, telling them they suck. I'm ready to throw my book at the little fucker when it happens.
From below me, in the breezeway of my building I hear it. Budda-Budda-Buddda. Out shoots this boy on what can only be described as the love child of a recumbent bike and a Big Wheel. I start giggling as he whips to the left and crashes into the curb, making the three boys jump out of his way.
"You think you're so cool? You think you can beat ME?" announces the mutant Big Wheel boy.
The trash talker tells him that he indeed will "kick his ass" at the race. I sigh. There is no way that faux Big Wheel is going to beat any bike. I feel bad for the kid and continue to watch, waiting for the inevitable. The rude one explains their course and the little girl once again takes her place.
"On your mark....get set...GO!"
They take off, and smack my ass and call me Katie if that mutant Big Wheel didn't shoot out ahead of them as if the kid were outrunning the po-po. Knowing this neighborhood, it's quite possible he has indeed learned to outrun them already. I see the mean kid's jaw drop and he pedals faster. All four disappear out of my view for a moment. I hear the skidding of scraped-up, plastic wheels and then BAM! The Big Wheel thingy reappears, flying through the night with all three boys trailing far behind him.
Holy shit! He won! He won! That completely surprised me, not to mention the sore loser who started cussing at him accusing him of cheating. I burst out laughing, uncontrollable laughter, as I replayed the scene in my mind. I wanted to go hug that Big Wheel kid and thank him for reminding me that looks can be deceiving. Instead, the four boys and one girl all stopped and stared at the crazy lady on her balcony, slapping the arm of her chair laughing. Then I felt stupid. I grabbed my book and hastily came back inside. And once out of my sight again, I fell on the bed laughing once more.
MY WISH LIST
I'm just forewarning everyone that I took a Vicodin. We all know I hate painkillers and won't take them except in dire situations, and my back is screwed right now. Anyways, I have no idea where this will go under the influence of it. With that, I start.
As I drove home listening to talk radio today, I listened to one of the hosts saying that her girlfriend just broke up with her fiancé because he wouldn't go "downtown," but expected her to. I completely agree with her decision, but wondered how she got engaged to someone who wouldn't do that? As the calls came in, most people were saying they were willing to sacrifice that to be in a relationship, married, etc. I was appalled! Why would anyone deny themselves that, man or woman? And as I stewed on this I recalled my email conversation with my friend, Isaac yesterday.
It all started with me sending an e-card to some friends that stated, "If prepared just right, I'd make love to a burrito." Isaac laughed and somehow the conversation led to us talking about what "our types" were. He stated that at this point in life, he just wants a sweet girl who is not crazy. He felt that when you have a "type" you close doors. I agreed somewhat, but said "I like dark hair, striking eyes, no moustache (beards are good though), and doesn't do coke or heroin." Then it went back and forth and our "types" turned into wish lists. My list grew, as did my stories of why. The following is my Wish List...
I've dated all types, but I prefer dark hair (absolutely no redheads), striking eyes, and no moustache. I'm kind of a fan of non-ZZ Top beards and stubble, but it can't be a lone moustache. He must have all his teeth or at least give the appearance that he does. Taping paper teeth to his gums doesn't count. Trust me, out here you have to be specific about the teeth.
Of course there are the basic things like honesty, monogamy and loyalty. I'm not into being cheated on or lied to. It's just easier to be honest and not create hurt. No need to delve more into that since it's something we all want and understand.
He will say something when I sneeze. It doesn't have to necessarily be "Bless You". It can be "That tomato ain't ripe." Just say something that isn't mean. He will laugh at stupid things. Anyone who knows me, knows my sense of humor and that I laugh at the simplest things. He will laugh and not be offended by poo humor. I don't talk about it ALL the time, but for some reason I find it extremely amusing and does come up more than the normal person. I know the time and place for it, so he need not be scared I will make some comment about filling up the bowl to his parents the first time I meet them.
He is affectionate and not afraid of PDA. I've dated men who are paranoid about holding hands or kissing in public, and it drives me nuts! I'm not going to be tacky about it, but I think there is nothing wrong with PDA. It warms my heart to see couples that aren't afraid to be themselves that way. He will be passionate in bed, not boring or close-minded. He should also be passionate about something outside of the bed. Most of the men I've been with have been creative in some nature and are passionate about their art, music, whatever it might be. I like that so long as they retain who they are and don't lose themselves or their priorities in it.
He will have friends of his own, but enjoy mine as well. I like someone who has guys' nights and is cool with me going out with the girls. When two people are totally reliant on each other this leads to nothing but trouble. The relationship a person has with their friends speaks volumes and I want someone who cherishes them. To me it's about two lives coming together and creating a parallel path without losing who they are in each other.
He will not be a "yes" man. If he disagrees with me, he will tell me so. I believe in trying to be open to another's feelings and viewpoints, but I don't want someone who'll just agree with me because they think they should. I want to be challenged. I want to be open to new things and enhance my life. I want to be encouraged to try new things.
And this sounds really stupid, but he has to wipe his butt well. Isaac of course took that to be a "tossed salad" reference, but I had to explain, as I do now. My ex-boyfriend would take really quick poops. He was in and out of the bathroom like wildfire when he had to go poo. I told him he couldn't possibly be wiping his butt thoroughly. One time when we were having sex, I grabbed his butt cheeks and my mind freaked out that I needed to be careful where my fingers grabbed because he probably had a dirty butt. So, oh future mate o' mine…wipe your damned ass nice and clean!
Does he exist? I have no clue, but if not, there's always that burrito.
As I drove home listening to talk radio today, I listened to one of the hosts saying that her girlfriend just broke up with her fiancé because he wouldn't go "downtown," but expected her to. I completely agree with her decision, but wondered how she got engaged to someone who wouldn't do that? As the calls came in, most people were saying they were willing to sacrifice that to be in a relationship, married, etc. I was appalled! Why would anyone deny themselves that, man or woman? And as I stewed on this I recalled my email conversation with my friend, Isaac yesterday.
It all started with me sending an e-card to some friends that stated, "If prepared just right, I'd make love to a burrito." Isaac laughed and somehow the conversation led to us talking about what "our types" were. He stated that at this point in life, he just wants a sweet girl who is not crazy. He felt that when you have a "type" you close doors. I agreed somewhat, but said "I like dark hair, striking eyes, no moustache (beards are good though), and doesn't do coke or heroin." Then it went back and forth and our "types" turned into wish lists. My list grew, as did my stories of why. The following is my Wish List...
I've dated all types, but I prefer dark hair (absolutely no redheads), striking eyes, and no moustache. I'm kind of a fan of non-ZZ Top beards and stubble, but it can't be a lone moustache. He must have all his teeth or at least give the appearance that he does. Taping paper teeth to his gums doesn't count. Trust me, out here you have to be specific about the teeth.
Of course there are the basic things like honesty, monogamy and loyalty. I'm not into being cheated on or lied to. It's just easier to be honest and not create hurt. No need to delve more into that since it's something we all want and understand.
He will say something when I sneeze. It doesn't have to necessarily be "Bless You". It can be "That tomato ain't ripe." Just say something that isn't mean. He will laugh at stupid things. Anyone who knows me, knows my sense of humor and that I laugh at the simplest things. He will laugh and not be offended by poo humor. I don't talk about it ALL the time, but for some reason I find it extremely amusing and does come up more than the normal person. I know the time and place for it, so he need not be scared I will make some comment about filling up the bowl to his parents the first time I meet them.
He is affectionate and not afraid of PDA. I've dated men who are paranoid about holding hands or kissing in public, and it drives me nuts! I'm not going to be tacky about it, but I think there is nothing wrong with PDA. It warms my heart to see couples that aren't afraid to be themselves that way. He will be passionate in bed, not boring or close-minded. He should also be passionate about something outside of the bed. Most of the men I've been with have been creative in some nature and are passionate about their art, music, whatever it might be. I like that so long as they retain who they are and don't lose themselves or their priorities in it.
He will have friends of his own, but enjoy mine as well. I like someone who has guys' nights and is cool with me going out with the girls. When two people are totally reliant on each other this leads to nothing but trouble. The relationship a person has with their friends speaks volumes and I want someone who cherishes them. To me it's about two lives coming together and creating a parallel path without losing who they are in each other.
He will not be a "yes" man. If he disagrees with me, he will tell me so. I believe in trying to be open to another's feelings and viewpoints, but I don't want someone who'll just agree with me because they think they should. I want to be challenged. I want to be open to new things and enhance my life. I want to be encouraged to try new things.
And this sounds really stupid, but he has to wipe his butt well. Isaac of course took that to be a "tossed salad" reference, but I had to explain, as I do now. My ex-boyfriend would take really quick poops. He was in and out of the bathroom like wildfire when he had to go poo. I told him he couldn't possibly be wiping his butt thoroughly. One time when we were having sex, I grabbed his butt cheeks and my mind freaked out that I needed to be careful where my fingers grabbed because he probably had a dirty butt. So, oh future mate o' mine…wipe your damned ass nice and clean!
Does he exist? I have no clue, but if not, there's always that burrito.
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
When I was in elementary school, I remember being made to watch a documentary about a woman with no arms who'd taught herself basically how to do everything with her feet that she would have otherwise used her hands for. I was fascinated by this and began practicing writing my name with a pencil between my toes, picking things up with my feet, etc.
I never really had much use for this little talent, but instead used it to entertain friends showing them on rare occasions, how I could light and smoke a cigarette simply using my feet. Oh, and there was of course the time I had breast reduction and couldn't use my arms for a bit. The trained footwork helped out then. Then I woke up old this morning. I have no idea what I did to my back while I slept, but I am in hell and it hurts like a bitch to bend over and pick things up.
My office mate had printed some stuff on my printer and apparently a page fell on the floor. It was obvious it was there, but he just left it there and took off. It was bugging me, but I can't bend over. "Heather, use your feet...." murmured the Obi-Won-like voice in my head. My feet have the force.
And with that, I quickly picked up the paper with my toes and brought myself into half a tree pose to transfer the paper from my feet to my hands. This is awesome! I think tonight I'm going to practice putting on makeup with my feet.
I never really had much use for this little talent, but instead used it to entertain friends showing them on rare occasions, how I could light and smoke a cigarette simply using my feet. Oh, and there was of course the time I had breast reduction and couldn't use my arms for a bit. The trained footwork helped out then. Then I woke up old this morning. I have no idea what I did to my back while I slept, but I am in hell and it hurts like a bitch to bend over and pick things up.
My office mate had printed some stuff on my printer and apparently a page fell on the floor. It was obvious it was there, but he just left it there and took off. It was bugging me, but I can't bend over. "Heather, use your feet...." murmured the Obi-Won-like voice in my head. My feet have the force.
And with that, I quickly picked up the paper with my toes and brought myself into half a tree pose to transfer the paper from my feet to my hands. This is awesome! I think tonight I'm going to practice putting on makeup with my feet.
PUSH AND YOU SHALL SEE
While at work yesterday, I was summoned to a meeting between my husband/wife bosses, one of the superintendents, and the realtor who would be selling our homes at a future project. The goal was to go through potential house plans and pick out six that we would begin building for a subdivision we are taking over. Simple enough, I thought. As I sat there and listened to everyone drone on, I wondered what the hell they were thinking with some of the choices they were looking at. Some were old fartish and boring. You must first understand that I work for a high-end homebuilder who until the market slump was specializing in extravagant custom homes. We were now taking on our first "affordable" housing project.
At one point in the meeting, the bosses turned to the superintendent, five years my junior and asked him what features his wife was looking for in a home when they were looking a few months ago. "Schools, price and location," he said. They reiterated their question. What FEATURES was she looking for? He responded, "No features. Just schools, price and location." The realtor commented schools were the number one thing younger couples were looking for.
I cleared my throat and said, "Can I tell you what I would look for?" Everyone but the realtor looked at me like I'd just farted. I could tell they thought my opinion worthless. I thought it was possibly related to the fact I currently don't own a home. "I HAVE owned a home before you know." They stayed quiet.
"I don't get all these Masters on the Main. If I had young children, as our target demographic does, I wouldn't want them on a different floor. I'd want to be able to run into their room if I heard the baby crying. Or if a toddler gets up, they shouldn't have to go downstairs to get me."
All sat silent except the realtor who exclaimed, "Exactly! That's what I hear from a lot of clients." The others sat silent. My boss's wife turned to the superintendent. "What would your wife want? What features work for your kids?"
I wanted to scream, "Why does my opinion not count?" I decide to take another approach. "Another feature that is very appealing to some of my friends who are married or have kids is having the laundry room by the bedrooms so you don't have to lug it up and down the stairs."
"Exactly!" said the realtor. "I hear that a lot too!"
My bosses wife retorted, "Yeah, but I spend most of my time in the kitchen." I leaned back sighing in frustration. I wanted to remind her she was 50 with kids who were 17 and 22.
I may be crazy, but I felt like because I'm single with no kids, my opinion didn't matter. This infuriated me beyond words. I stayed enraged over this all day yesterday. My mother, whom I work with had encountered her own enraging moment and while doing my laundry at her house, we were both venting and I felt a bit more validated after expressing my frustration. My mother knowing them, and definitely not one to side with me because it's me, agreed that it sounded like that.
A recent study recently surfaced saying that people who are married, particularly those with children, are promoted more in their companies than single people because companies think it shows a sense of responsibility and stability. This is shocking to me from my experience of dealing with bosses who leave early because of their kids all the time, or call in sick because their kid is sick. I have no one to come home to, so I can stay late. I can put in the added effort. Yet this study all of a sudden seemed true to me because some guy whose wife wants to have baby 4 because her eldest started kindergarten, has a more valid opinion than mine because he is married with kids. It disgusted me. I don't get why one's opinion, worth or value is equated to the status of their family life?
My frustration and anger carried into today. I worked myself into such a point of anxiety; I thought I was going to vomit. When I got home, I instead blew ass. And with that release came another. Oh my god, who cares? This feeling overwhelmed me, filled every piece of my being and with that came an intense sensation of happiness.
Sure I am not the woman I'd dreamt I would be when I grew up. I don't have the husband and kids. However, I had the white dream wedding. I had the husband. None of it was me. To this day, I hate how it ended, but I also know I'm happier than I would have ever been in that relationship. He's married and happy. I'm single and happy. I feel like that even at almost 35, I have the world at my hands and there is an exciting possibility around every corner.
I know a lot of people love their lives with their spouses and kids, and I'm glad. It makes me happy to know others are truly happy. The world would be a better place if everyone were at that point. However, I realize it's okay that my dreams might not fit into that "demographic", that "stereotype". Society doesn't have to interpret who I am or what I should have. My life is odd. I am odd. I like the oddities. And what I want might be odd. It would take an amazing man to change my mind about marriage, but I'm all for a lifelong commitment and babies with someone. I'm even open to non-traditional baby ways.
Who gives a fuck how it all happens? I just all of a sudden feel this thrill for what I have and what awaits me. I know there will be love again, that doesn't worry me. It would be great if it were sooner than later because, honestly, I'd love to get laid regularly again. But besides the sex, I really do love love. I love waking up and laughing with some stinky-breathed man who I trust and love and want to wrap my arms around and rub my "just-fucked" birds' nest hair into his face. I love the inside jokes, the giving, the struggle. I love the whole process. And I love that as a single, 34-year and 11-month old woman, I have lived life to such an extent I know I'm not sacrificing "what if's" or "I wish I would have's" for my future mate.
I'm not the woman I dreamt I'd be. I'm glad. I'm stronger, more independent, more playful and I've experienced more than I ever thought I'd experience. And I'm not done yet, damnit.
At one point in the meeting, the bosses turned to the superintendent, five years my junior and asked him what features his wife was looking for in a home when they were looking a few months ago. "Schools, price and location," he said. They reiterated their question. What FEATURES was she looking for? He responded, "No features. Just schools, price and location." The realtor commented schools were the number one thing younger couples were looking for.
I cleared my throat and said, "Can I tell you what I would look for?" Everyone but the realtor looked at me like I'd just farted. I could tell they thought my opinion worthless. I thought it was possibly related to the fact I currently don't own a home. "I HAVE owned a home before you know." They stayed quiet.
"I don't get all these Masters on the Main. If I had young children, as our target demographic does, I wouldn't want them on a different floor. I'd want to be able to run into their room if I heard the baby crying. Or if a toddler gets up, they shouldn't have to go downstairs to get me."
All sat silent except the realtor who exclaimed, "Exactly! That's what I hear from a lot of clients." The others sat silent. My boss's wife turned to the superintendent. "What would your wife want? What features work for your kids?"
I wanted to scream, "Why does my opinion not count?" I decide to take another approach. "Another feature that is very appealing to some of my friends who are married or have kids is having the laundry room by the bedrooms so you don't have to lug it up and down the stairs."
"Exactly!" said the realtor. "I hear that a lot too!"
My bosses wife retorted, "Yeah, but I spend most of my time in the kitchen." I leaned back sighing in frustration. I wanted to remind her she was 50 with kids who were 17 and 22.
I may be crazy, but I felt like because I'm single with no kids, my opinion didn't matter. This infuriated me beyond words. I stayed enraged over this all day yesterday. My mother, whom I work with had encountered her own enraging moment and while doing my laundry at her house, we were both venting and I felt a bit more validated after expressing my frustration. My mother knowing them, and definitely not one to side with me because it's me, agreed that it sounded like that.
A recent study recently surfaced saying that people who are married, particularly those with children, are promoted more in their companies than single people because companies think it shows a sense of responsibility and stability. This is shocking to me from my experience of dealing with bosses who leave early because of their kids all the time, or call in sick because their kid is sick. I have no one to come home to, so I can stay late. I can put in the added effort. Yet this study all of a sudden seemed true to me because some guy whose wife wants to have baby 4 because her eldest started kindergarten, has a more valid opinion than mine because he is married with kids. It disgusted me. I don't get why one's opinion, worth or value is equated to the status of their family life?
My frustration and anger carried into today. I worked myself into such a point of anxiety; I thought I was going to vomit. When I got home, I instead blew ass. And with that release came another. Oh my god, who cares? This feeling overwhelmed me, filled every piece of my being and with that came an intense sensation of happiness.
Sure I am not the woman I'd dreamt I would be when I grew up. I don't have the husband and kids. However, I had the white dream wedding. I had the husband. None of it was me. To this day, I hate how it ended, but I also know I'm happier than I would have ever been in that relationship. He's married and happy. I'm single and happy. I feel like that even at almost 35, I have the world at my hands and there is an exciting possibility around every corner.
I know a lot of people love their lives with their spouses and kids, and I'm glad. It makes me happy to know others are truly happy. The world would be a better place if everyone were at that point. However, I realize it's okay that my dreams might not fit into that "demographic", that "stereotype". Society doesn't have to interpret who I am or what I should have. My life is odd. I am odd. I like the oddities. And what I want might be odd. It would take an amazing man to change my mind about marriage, but I'm all for a lifelong commitment and babies with someone. I'm even open to non-traditional baby ways.
Who gives a fuck how it all happens? I just all of a sudden feel this thrill for what I have and what awaits me. I know there will be love again, that doesn't worry me. It would be great if it were sooner than later because, honestly, I'd love to get laid regularly again. But besides the sex, I really do love love. I love waking up and laughing with some stinky-breathed man who I trust and love and want to wrap my arms around and rub my "just-fucked" birds' nest hair into his face. I love the inside jokes, the giving, the struggle. I love the whole process. And I love that as a single, 34-year and 11-month old woman, I have lived life to such an extent I know I'm not sacrificing "what if's" or "I wish I would have's" for my future mate.
I'm not the woman I dreamt I'd be. I'm glad. I'm stronger, more independent, more playful and I've experienced more than I ever thought I'd experience. And I'm not done yet, damnit.
