A Single Middle-Aged Woman...

I agreed to go to my daughter's this evening to walk her dog as a favor. I get there and there are all these police cars lining the drive. No biggie, I keep going. I leave my purse in the car with a sweater over it because I'm just going upstairs, get Sadie, walk her long enough for her to relieve herself, get back in the car and go home. I get out of the car with my daughter's apt key in my hand and lock the car door with the flip switch by hand and just as I'm closing the door, I'm cussing myself. Yep, left my keys in my damn purse! Well, I have a spare car key in my apt, way the hell across the community, but my apt keys are in my purse too! Well, our community has a courtesy lock out service whereby the security guys will go to the office, get a spare apt key, and let you in your apt; so I call them. They arrive but they are not allowed to drive me in their vehicle to my apt though. Did I mention my apt was way the hell on the other side of the commun...

A few years ago I went into my office and found the following poem. I can't remember if I found it printed and lying on the desk, or if the computer was on and the document still open on the screen. As I read it, I remember thinking what a sad little poem it was. There was no atribution and I wondered who in the world wrote this lovely little, haunting poem. Later that day or the next, I showed the poem to my daughter, who at the time was maybe 16 or 17, and still in high school. I asked her if she downloaded it or found it in a book. Much to my prideful surprise she admitted she had written it. That was my introduction to the talent that my child possesses. She is a gifted writer. Moody as hell, sometimes, but those right brain thinkers are a beautifully, weird bunch. I love them all, even the ones I did not give birth to. I asked her if I could share with you that poem titled O She, the Dreamer, and along with it a link to her budding blog. She has many, many journals full of th...

I just left one of those outlet malls. You know the kind where they have all sorts of designer stores with supposedly good deals. My friends warned me to be careful. I argued , "You don't understand. I hate shopping." The deals would be so good I wouldn't be able to pass them up, I was told. I'm not a normal girl. I hate shopping. I forced myself to go into the stores. One after the other. Yes, some of the deals were pretty good. I could have bought a Coach bag, not a wallet, a real purse, for around $100. OUTRAGEOUS price for a purse but for Coach, that's pretty good, real good. I love purses. I actually had the hundred bucks in my account but I'm not one of those girls who will sacrifice the water bill, or gas money to carry an empty purse. I don't care whose name is on it. Besides, I refuse to crawl in that box. You know the one with all the pretty labels on it. No thanks. I'd rather not fit in. I fought back wave after wave of nausea. I asked m...

I'm a little tipsy so keep rhat in mind as I ask, wouldn't it be cathartic when one is out in publix to, for one tme, say exactly what one was thinking? Such as...if one was at a drive in hamburgwr joint,the old-fashioned kind with carhops, and their sign said turn your blinkers on for service. When what they really meant was turn on your hazards, and when they fussed at you for turning on your blinkers,which in actuality one cannot turn on but One blinker at a time, one might yell at them in an uncharacteristically condescending tone explaining the differnce between blinkers and hazards? How's that for the mother of all run-on sentences? By the way, this scenario was merely a figment of my imagination brought about by a sign I read at such a joint and in no way reflects the genuine stupidity of said burger joint or of the author of this email. I fantasize about having the freedom to express, just once in my life, my negativity unfiltered.

Coupla thots... I think it's admirable that you hate to hurt anyone's feelings. It's evident from her unwillingness to communicate with you anymore that her feelings were hurt pretty bad, and it makes me glad to know that you feel regret for that. It's what a real human being, in my opinion, is supposed to feel. I'm sad though, that you cannot realize your hopes and dreams of being with her. It hurts like hell when our options are taken away from us; only they aren't taken away are they? That's victim thinking at it's best. We behave in a manner, make choices based on our own selfish desires, that ultimately result in those options turning their backs on us. I was speaking to a friend of mine yesterday about this very thing regarding being in a relationship with a person again; which at this point in time I see, feel, have no desire for. We were bandying about the philosophy of how anxiety affects our abilities to relate to others. I have suffere...

She wakes from the animated , sexy dream about him again. He's one of two men she's ever dreamt about like that. The dreams come so easily, so unexpectedly. They set her mind to wondering "what if" thoughts. She doesn't want to think "what if" thoughts about him; especially not him. Telling herself she won't be like all the other women in his life...not the ones who raped his trust, and not the foolish ones who chase him. She loves him. He loves her. They are friends. Just friends. Friends who have an inappropriate amount of sexual tension between them. He was so animated and funny and uninhibited, which made him nearly irresistible. He danced naked in front of her. Not a serious, seductive male stripper kind of dance. He danced a playful, teasing dance, wagging his naked penis at her, enticing her to do fun things to it. She laughed. She fought to resist. She felt pulled towards his dancing naked penis as if it were the negatively ...

...happened at the theatre tonight and on the way home. I met Scrooge at one of my favorite theatres here in Dallas, the Angelika. I like it because they feature unusual, thought-provoking (does a hyphen belong there?) and well made films. Tonight our intended feature was "Milk," starring Sean Penn. It was playing in Auditorium 2. It was scheduled to begin at 4:35 p.m. It was my pleasure to order a cup of $2.45 drip coffee and people watch as I waited for Scrooge to arrive. There was an especially attractive gentleman in the coffee shop whom I wish now I'd had the balls to make up an excuse to speak to. I let fear snatch yet another of life's offerings for an experience from my grasp. But, that is a story for another time. Upon seeing Scrooge through the wall of plate glass windows I texted him to come buy his ticket from the kiosk. It is much faster that way. Overlooking the time I wasted texting as opposed to just getting up, going out the door, and telling him t...