Sneaky, Peeking Spying

I got home from the library yesterday... To a morose and suicidal Scooter. AK. Double AK. Its a freaking nightmare...

I could list for you all the things that he is but that is just a waste of time, and typing skill. I had half a hope that this change in our lives would bring out the good qualities in him, and let him exorcise the rotten ones. But I was wrong, at least so far, eh?

He is a liar. And a cheater. And a sneak. Therefore he suspects these qualities in me, I guess. I spent our entire relationship not doing any of those things. The only thing that even came close was that I once went to a lecture with jackass... And didn't tell scoot I was going with him. I made all the plans, told scoot what I was doing, then later added jackass to the mix and then consciously DID NOT TELL scoot that I was going with this man (Friend, just a friend then). I didn't tell cause I KNEW with omnipotent certainty that I would just suffer for it, and I was doing nothing wrong, so I let it slide... And then suffered two months of crushing guilt anyway before I confessed. CONFESSED!

Confessed to the crime of failing to mention something, it wasn't even really a lie. But that's how I am.

Our entire relationship he's known all my friends, every last place I've gone, looked in my drawers, read my mail, had ALL OF MY PASSWORDS... I had not one centimeter of privacy. Last year, it's been over a year, the last straw came when I found out that he had impersonated me on messenger. Come on! How much lying and cheating did he think I was doing with the messenger that he had the password to, that logged in automatically? With the email that he surfs around in at his pleasure??

That was the last privacy straw...

So, I changed my pass word. And this was finally iron clad proof that I am a lying cheater. After all, why would I need a super secret pass word if not to hide my lying cheating ways from him? I was a little late, a little slow, figuring out that a secret password might be the trick to hiding... He had that down long ago. He had a least 5 email accounts, all with pass words unknown to me. What does he need these for? Who knows... I never spied.

Sneaky peeking.

I once walked into the living room to find the computer screen open to an eBay item I had been looking at 5 hours earlier... Turns out he was going through the history and looking at where I'd been on the internet. A KIND OF VIRTUAL TAILING ME. I have a super secret affair going with eBay. We communicate through auction page views. It's a very complicated code, the way I tell eBay how I love it more than I ever loved scoot... But he figured it out and now he KNOWS. I guess I'll have to break off my eBay affair and just start one with blogger. Wait. Already done.

So, this is the context in which to view yesterday. I refuse to hide myself. I am not doing anything wrong (Not the blogging, not the project, not IM). I live here alone (with my kids) and what I do is really none of his business unless it effects the kids... UM, OK -- #3 saw my butt on the computer screen but truth be told, she sees my butt all the time. Now, if it were YOUR butt, I'd hide it a little more I guess.

Yesterday ~ Before I left the house I cleared my computer history. Why ask for trouble? But when I got home it was full of all the things I look at -- Blogs I read, other stuff. Cause scoot is spying. I bet, if I was a return spier, I could catch him going through my folders and looking at my project. I bet he looked at the project yesterday. Maybe even looked at this blog.

Is it my responsibility to now explain to him what this is all about? Cause that's the overwhelming urge I had. To demand that he tell me what the hell was up his ass so that I could explain why it's not what he thinks. Its my GOOD GIRL gene. It's what allowed me to put up with this shit from him for as long as I did.

He'd point a finger at me, say:

"You are ________________" (fill in the blank: screwing what's his name, doing speed, spending money and hiding it from me, lying, cheating)

and my response was to REASSURE HIM that I am in fact a GOOD GIRL. Reassure him.

Well, here is what I think now. He's seen something that he thinks is evidence of what an awful person I am. And I am just gonna let him think it. All my work trying to prove that I am a good and honest person was futile before, and we were married then. I am not going to keep throwing good explanations down the toilet. He's never going to understand me. And now I don't really care.

All About Jays Super Secret Moves Part TWO

Ok. There is nothing here about Jays super secret moves because I have been sworn to super secretness. and I am nothing if not capable of super secretness... Why this entire BLOG is nothing but super secret stuff! Who are you? Why are you reading this??

I can discuss Jays strangely erotic penchant for snack cakes. He waxes poetic about lickable splats and then goes on to DOMINATE that twinkie. How truly pent up and repressed are you when you feel the need to dominate a snack cake?

More interesting is the question... How truly pent up and repressed are you when you get all turned on because someone else feels the need to dominate snack cakes?

"Blue Faery, please? I'd like to be a twinkie. So I
can eventually be a REAL woman"

Alright, in the interest of fairness I will have to admit, here and now, for all to see. I've got my own little thing for Ding Dongs. But shhhhhhhh! It's a secret.

SPELL CHECKER UPDATE: For secretness it offers me... secretions.

Highway of Death OR How Rituals Rule My Life

Rituals don't really rule my life. I just said that cause it sounded cool.

I am just back from another death defying drive on the HIGHWAY OF DEATH. Used to call up Jackass upon entering the death corridor, to effect my ritual... Now I have so graciously been given the reluctant yet still willing assistance of J. The ritual is simple... It doesn't take much from him to do his little part. Unless, of course, I actually DO die and then it will be tougher. He'll have to take time off of work, travel here, some how manage to commandeer my dead body from whomever thinks it should belong to them, have me cremated and then hurl my earthly remains at a strategic moment from the very top of the Matterhorn Ride at Disneyland, hoping that I'll end up dusted over some ones fries at the happiest place on earth. That could be rough for him but I know he is up to the task.

So, I managed not to die yet again. Which is stunning, this time really, cause I took a bunch of photos while I drove***. (Police report "Apparently decedent was attempting to photograph a sign which reads 'Stay Alert - Stay Alive' when she lost control of her vehicle and crashed...") ALIVE, ALIVE, ALIVE!

The alive part doesn't surprise me so much. It was the sharp pain I experienced as I passed Cleghorn Rd. That really took me back. Last time I traveled on the highway of death was the day Jackass called, after so much not calling, and started my most recent decline into woe and weeping. So, I half expected him to call me again today with some kind of "Memory Lane" radar supplying the key moment to dial. But the source of my sharp pain was not a phone call but a memory.

Last time Jackass and I were together in a ME&YOU fashion was right freaking there on that off ramp at Cleghorn Road. That's where we sat in the truck and just sniffed each other. Kissed. Wondered what in the hell we were gonna do with our sad selves. Said "God, I miss you" and "Yes, me too."

Wow.

Driving by was like getting smacked in the head by a frying pan. Here's the thing. I did not cry. There was nothing nutty or needy about my reaction. It was just straight up loss. I feel like he's died but he's not been buried (or burned up and thrown off a roller coaster). All of my separation is not imposed by death and subsequent decay... It's imposed by my own decision. My weak and sad parts just wanna get my rational and reasonable parts drunk and then give him a call.

So, respect the death highway. You never know what evilness it will employ to catch you.

***Don't try this at home. It was stupid and I'm a professional.

Can you read the sign? Stay Alert! Stay Alive! PUT YOUR DAMN HANDS BACK ON THE STEERINGWHEEL YOU FREAK!

Post Just 4 JESS

Your comments are gone. Hard to help you without comments... But I have only 2 words for you, you impossibly young lad:

RESTRAINING ORDER

Put it in your notebook. Its good advice.

Project Update

For those of you new to this voyeuristic pass time of watching Penny uncover the real "HER" (or is that "SHE"?) I will say ~ Read the other posts and then you'll know what the hell I'm talking about. Don't be lazy!

The project continues in the shower today. I kept some (Yay, Penny!) and canned some (Also, Yay! cause now you don't have to feel ill looking at them). I do this with a digital camera. Run right out here into the living room to see what I've got.

There is nothing wrong with taking naked pictures of yourself! Don't judge. Further, why should I hide like a masturbating teenager? I'm a grown woman living in my own home doing my own thing, man. So, I unload this pics and they pop up on the screen and in walks number three child. 3.5 years of vast experience under her belt (plus having actually been in the shower with mommy) allows her to immediately identify what's on the screen.

"Hey!" She tweets in a little pixie voice that melts me like velveeta cheese, "Hey, mom! That's your BUTT!" Pointing. To be sure I know she means it's my butt that's my butt and not some passing pedestrian, or the dog or something. "Right there!"

"Yes." I say. "That is my butt."

"Your butt is strange, mom. Very strange." And with that she's gone.

Late Bloomer

I was just working out. (Elliptificating!) I have, growing outside of my bedroom window, jasmine. I planted it there, and trained it around the window for this single purpose:

To lie in my bed, in clean white sheets, in the early spring, in the early morning and smell the jasmine scent blow through my window... eyes closed, arms thrown over my head, sheet bunched around my waist, slightly chilly breasts and utter, total contentment.

So, its not spring, and I live in a spot that is a little like the desert. Arid. I need to go out everyday and water or stuff will just die... or burst into flame. The jasmine is not blooming now. Stubborn little fuckers. But I am running along like a cardio-vascular goddess -- singing Nickelback at the top of my lungs -- when I look out the window and see a bud. A BUD. A hard little green bit of wonderful potential. It sits there, so out of place. Its an anachronism, this bud. But, if I do not get lax in my watering chores, it will burst (BURST) into glorious wonderful smelling bloom in a few short days.

That's me. I'm a late bloomer.

Let me show you...

The Process of Attraction OR Why I am Soooo Freaked About My Body

Provocative is my middle name: Bad Provocative Penny. I have no difficulty with provocation. I can provoke anger, disgust, ardor, tenderness, frustration and jealousy, ad nauseam. So, when I say I have difficulty with my body image, it's not the ability of my body (with me inside there picking out the undies) to provoke a sexual response in men. My difficulty is with the not-so-sexually provocative moments. You can't be ON all the time. You have moments of great ugliness, everyone of us does. What about those times?

I've known women who do not leave the house without make-up on. Without the hair do done to its best do-ness. Spritzed with smelly stuff. ON. All the time. AK! I can't be on all the time, I get tired.

So there has to be some middle ground, some reality, I guess. A place where you can reveal the unadorned you and not worry that it will be judged lacking. That's my trouble. The worry that when the mystical (mythical) girly powers are off, that I will be judged lacking.

It scares the hell out of me. and generally I would call myself the sort of person who is not easily scared... So what does this really mean?

Foremost, I think that it may suggest that I am a shallow person. If I tend to imagine that others will judge me in such shallow ways, doesn't that mean that I judge others in exactly the same shallow ways? HELL YES. That is exactly what it means. I have rudely rejected dozens (If not hundreds) of men OUTRIGHT. Dismissed them out of hand as being not right, lacking in some superficial quality. This is not sexual dismissals but the general social ones of not dancing with or sitting with, chatting with, or considering beyond the quick "not my type" assessment. Of being encased in a protective shield of bitchy-ness which effectively shut out the vast majority of the world without even a slight consideration. Why the hell was I like that?

I say was because I have not really been out to discover if I am still like this. I have been an attached, loyal and monogamous married lady for too many years to know whether I would turn some guy down flat anymore. I'd like to think not but... Maybe it's still there inside me. This bitch.

I think that I have changed in some pretty fundamental ways since my shallow bitch days. Most of that was just a protective coating anyway. I hope that my fear about others is no longer an indication of my own mental state, but more a recognition that people like that do exist (just like rattle snakes, horse flies and biting spiders). In that case there is hope for me. Meanwhile, the project continues.

So, cyber-therapist? What does all of this mean? *** You must be patient, Grasshopper, if you are to ever learn ***

I Have 6-Pack ABS!

I do. I swear. Trouble is that they are encased in a cost-co 24 pack belly. Three kids does things to your skin, or at least my skin. I have the "Look at me wrong and I get a scar" red-head skin. And I once had boobs. Big ones. Now all my bras have knots tied in them so they'll snug up to fit the new me. 32-B (That B is generous, I bet I could go A or maybe even training.) I don't mind that really, either. Except for the skin thing. My teeny ta-tas are in 34 DD skin. CRAP.

So, on with the photo project. I did a couple things today. One was a work-out thing which includes 4 photos, in sequence which reveal how I look to myself while working on the abs. They are a sit-ups montage. SWEET. The other is a misc. shot which begs the question: Which part of Penny is that? Also SWEET. And very frecklish. Freckelishious. Freckelishious-ness.

Then, GOD what possessed me?!? I took two entire all of me naked shots. I have to stop fracturing myself into bits and pieces. Plus, I wanted a picture of my ass for Jay. And this will stun you... I'm keeping them. They are in a folder in my computer right where scoot can snoop them next time he is left here alone. This is progress, friends! Real progress. I feel so freaking hot today I need to stay indoors for fear of attracting amorous suitors of dubious suitability. I bet I even smell good!

Moving right along, cause I am CRAZY BABY, I took some more shower shots. The ones from my perspective were disasters. I am too close to me to get a good photo of anything but my feet. But the arms length ones? I actually kept some of those too! Unless I am dreaming... Wait. I'll pinch myself now and see.

OW!

Ok. I took some photos today of the formerly bad stuff, kept them... Things are looking up! I am going to post my sit-up essay cause I like it. It rocks. Plus it proves that I do sit ups which proves the whole six pack ab claim. Gotta keep it real.

NOTE: I started the spell check which immediately alerted on BOOBS and offered me boobies as prefered... I can only hope it meant the birds.

Sit-up essay photo 1

Sit-up essay photo 2

Sit Up number 3 

Depression

I am depressed.

I know it.

It feels like sick but it's really just depressed... I have the "Heavy, wet, blanket" fatigue, soupy brain, and the need to cry without provocation or explanation. It's a MOOD. I know it's just a mood.

Here's what happened yesterday. I had a tutoring student, which went alright even though I was a little slow (He was slower, seriously slower). But driving home I had this crushing need to just go to sleep. Low grade headache, fuzzy brain, heavy eyed SLEEP MUST COME feeling. I got home and Scoot was here with the kids. I said "If you don't mind I am just going to go to bed." He said "Sure."

I wondered if I am sick... maybe I'm just sick? So, big mistake, I asked Scoot if I feel hot? Put his hand on my forehead, said "Maybe a little." and I was overwhelmed with the need to just cry. I want to be held and patted and told that's its all gonna be fine. I just want an afternoon of small and not in charge me. One single afternoon of "Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you." Scoot is fundamentally incapable of this. I know. And still I stand there so needing it that I almost just said "Hold me." ALMOST.

What I did instead was go into my room and close the door and get in my bed, ALONE, and I cried. Like a baby. Like a crazy person. Like this new, strange me. Like I am crying now.

How do you handle your traitor moods, your traitor emotions? I think this is my biggest challenge, to learn to just be. Be what I am right now. Tomorrow I'll be something different, maybe. But today this is me. And I hate it.

SHOWER FEET 

Moody Two Shoes

Well, let me just say that I have always thought that pissed was gonna be better than wounded. Better to just be angry than to have to be hurt, yes? Makes it so much easier to just get pissed right off.

And, now, maybe I am.

Jackass is supposed to stay away. Because he finally realized that he kills me. That all his little "Hey, look at me" pokes only cause me great distress and pain. This is his huge sacrifice, to give up the little bit of me that makes him happy in return for my own sanity.

We've been in this NEW & IMPROVED way for exactly 7 and a half days. Its been hard for me. I've been mood swing-y. But Jackass has been reassuring me that he can do this, its no trouble for him, he just makes up his mind how its gonna be and WHAMO that's how it is. Like Magic!

So, why then do I hear from him today? Just a stupid little comment on my stupid little blog. Just a little poke that says "Don't forget about me." Don't you dare go on and think about something besides me, Penny, DO NOT YOU DARE.

Miss Mood Swing

If you live in Southern California, or have visited, and if you've ever been to the Orange County SWAP meet or the OC Fair (there in lovely Costa Mesa, just inland from NEWPORT BEACH) you will know what I am about to recollect. For those of you that do not know this, I'll do my best to paint the picture. There is a guy there, little oriental guy of indeterminate age, selling some sort of veggie cutting device. We call him Chop Chop.

He demonstrates this thing while chanting, in a sing song monotone brain rending repetitive fashion; "Back and forth back and forth keep on going back and forth..." over and over and over.


Well kids! Thats me. Mood Swing City. Chop Chops song plays in my head endlessly. AK! "Back and forth..."

Open Letter 2 Scooter

Scooter ~

Spying and snooping are NOT good qualities. It is best to respect both the physical and intelectual privacy of others. Feeling curious? You should ask. And also understand that you have no right to delve into someone elses things, thoughts or activities without invitation. If you can not resist spying on me I have only this to say:

You may not like what you discover and any hurt feelings from that are your own fault. AND I don't like it at all. If the only way to keep you out of my private thoughts is bar you from my house... I guess I'm gonna choose to bar you from my house.

SO QUIT SNOOPING.

Shower Talk

I am in the shower. I can not lock the door because number 3 child needs free access to me. What if something important comes up during the 10 minutes I am in there?

Door opens. "Are you in the shower?"

Well, the water is running and the shower doors are clear. So, yes, I am in the shower.

"Do you love yellow?"

That's a better question. No obvious answer.

"Well, I like yellow."

"So, what about blue, and red and purple? Do you LOVE blue and red and purple?"

Hmmm. Can one ever truly love a color?

"No sweetie, I just like all the colors."

"OK! Call me if you need me!"

Slam.

Can I even recall a time where I got to shower alone, uninterupted? Would I remember it fondly if I did? This is better. This is great.

Photos

I have started a kind of photo journal of my body. Started with my feet. Don't question it. Was reassured by J that its not too weird. Whew! Told Jackass, second to last conversation, that I was going to try to photograph the way that tiny bubbles cling to even smaller hairs on my body in the tub... makes me look furry. But if you look closer it looks like kelp or some exotic sea creature or some alien structure or, even better, larvae.

Jackass said "You've crossed a line." I don't know what that really means. I think he was just being funny, not really understanding this photo-body-need thing i am doing right now. Maybe I have really crossed a line.

My self image -- no, scratch that -- my body image is fractured. So fractured that i do not include it in my self image. My self image is all cerebral.

So I am trying to capture these different ways I appear to myself. Heres what happens though. The ones that are attractive, or provocative, or presentable... to those I say HEY SURE. But the ones that aren't? I can them. Can't even stand to look at them. So am I documenting the sexy bits and excising the nasty ones? That is exactly what is wrong with my body in my head. Fractured into bits and pieces.

So I think I am going to have to keep the ones I really dont like, and maybe even show them around. CRAP. I was afraid of that.

Reality TV

Go back, way back and read the list of things I hate. Why? Because I told you to. Duh.

There is a new freaking reality show coming on soon. I saw the add today. Its about BOXING. Holy CRAP. boxing. Would you please come to my house and just punch me in the head until this boxing night mare is replaced by some other kind of brain damage? I thought my life sucked right now. Then I hear this piece of good news.

Did you hear that? That strange clanging sound? It was our country's collective IQ dropping another 10 points. I feel dumber just for knowing about it.....

Spring Cleaning

I dumped Jackass from messenger yesterday. This is something I have meant to do for a long time but it felt like severing a vein. Too permanent. I allowed for the possibility that I could do this thing I love to do with him, every once in a while. But it was a great source of distress. When he was there it was good, but when he was gone it hurt. A lot.

So, I dumped him off. Which is a very affirmative move on my part. Because even if he logs on and comes looking for me, whistling for me again, I wont hear it. If I don't hear it I wont have to try to ignore it. Because if I successfully ignore it then I am in a constant state of "What if??" What if this was the time he was going to give me what I need? What if this was the time it would be good for me and not bad? What if. That's what I do. I do what if and I wish. (I wish I wish I wish I'm a fish)

So I dumped him from messenger. Suffered about 30 seconds of irrevocableness anxiety and pain, an huge conglomeration of WHATIF&IWISH thoughts all collided in my brain and then I LET IT GO. Once you set on a course, once you've chosen, it is senseless to second guess yourself the way I do.

Cleaned out the email, not that there was much. Because I had promised him I would scrub it clean every day anyway. He was not a big fan of leaving behind evidence. So, I had none of the sweet and wonderful things saved there. I had no Shakespeare, no song lyrics, not the one that just said "I love you". I didn't have the one where he described Florence, or the one where he tells me about seeing the sharks. Or any of the ones that just said OCD check -- are you there? Only the last one, which was just driving directions for how to get to USC. But I shit-canned it anyway. So, I cant sit around late at night, crying and reading "Here's how to get there the simple way. ... No more anxious living."

I have, on my phone, 3 text messages from Friday. #1. "How'd the test go for you?" #2 "HELLO" #3 "If you don't want to talk to me just say so and I'll leave you alone"

I haven't erased those because I haven't turned on my phone. But I will. Why not? The one I might have saved and cried over? This one "Vanilla Coke?" or this one "mememememememememememememememe" or this one "abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz" or, probably mostly, this one "Dinner?"

So, I am cooking with the cleaning. Just kicking it's ass! But I stalled. I got stalled and I need to work on this last bit I guess.

I have some stuff I wrote in my draft folder of my email. Dirty stories. (Yes, you read that right) Nasty little stories about sex I'll never have. When I thought them... well you know how that is. When I wrote them. I intended to share them. That was the point. To tell them to him and have him hear them. (Maybe this is all part of something J calls women's mystical powers) Every other time I've done the spring cleaning I have left those stories there. (Or to be exact, whatever stories were there I left there. There have been more than these but those that are gone were told) I left them there because I guess I was certain that the opportunity to tell them would present itself. And I'd want to take it. How sad to have all the pieces in place, motive, opportunity and a willing partner... And to have dumped your sexy little story in the trash? So I never did. And there they sit. OUCH.

This time is different though, as I am sure you can tell. Because I dumped him from messenger, I procured from him a promise not to speak to me any more. The door has been firmly shut and the only thing that will open it again is if his wife is no longer his wife. The only way that is likely to happen is if she dies. Odds of that happening are slim (and quite horrible to contemplate). So, why would I hang on to these stupid stories?

Because they represent a part of me that I've only just figured out. And it scares the hell of me that this was it. This was my shot. I didn't take it and now its gone.

He said we'll always have the yard sale. That was a day where I fell on my face in such a comic way that he will laugh at the memory of it always. What I didn't say was I'll always have that day where you looked right in my eyes and said "You know how I feel about you, right? You understand." while I was squished up tight against the first man I've ever really loved and felt like I was finally finished, completed, whole, home.

Done Wallowing

Ok. I am done. I indulged it and now I am done with it. This situation is the absolute best result because it ends in a way that allows me to have some respect for myself and to keep some respect for him. Not another single option gave me that. So I am done with the self pity and moving on to the rest of my day.

Yard Sale

He said "We'll always have the yard sale."

because the scar onmy knee, on my body -- my traitor knee --is there to remind me every time I see it that I once had a person who so understood me that he felt like a part of me and now its gone. and the wind blows through me.

Do I See Clearly?

All I want to do today is back it up somehow. Go back to a day when none of this shit was there, to when this was the best thing that had ever happened to me, not the worst. Trouble is that I know that all the wishing in the world will not make me a fish, or a frog, or whatever feelingless little thing I wish to be. I feel so ripped off. How ironic that when I finally and firmly fall in love it has to be like this? I've heard the term love sick. I never understood how love could make you sick. Now I see clearly...

Pain Killers

I just had the most intensely painful experience of my entire life. I feel as though someone just beat the life out of me. My stomach hurts, my head hurts... It's almost 2 in the morning. And I am empty. a shell.

I told him tonight "Maybe its better, maybe it needs to be nothing at all any more." and he asks "How can you say that? If 10 seconds of silence hurts you, how will a life time feel?"

I said "Its the worst fucking thing that has ever happened to me."

He doesn't understand how nothing can better then not enough. Because nothing hurts him and not enough hurts me. Its him or me.

I want him to understand though, so I say "It's like smoking. You decide you're not going to do it any more and for the first few days its hard. Its the hardest thing you've ever done. But then it gets easier and easier until you don't hurt any more and you never smoke again."

Does this explain anything?

"With you. Its like quitting, and going through all the pain and all the struggle. Then you kick it, and you're done. And then you start smoking again. Its like quitting over and over and over."

So for the first time he really heard me say how bad it hurts. He says "Cold turkey is one sided. Its all about the addict." I say "Yes."

"What about that poor pack of cigarettes, used to you holding it. Who gives a shit about the cigarettes."

Silence. Its the truth. This is the problem with being addicted to a person with a heart and feelings... Cigarettes don't miss you when you're gone.

And he cried, I could hear it. Said "I think I like the addict more than I like myself right now." and I am shot through the heart. Do you know how much pain I would rather feel myself than to ever contemplate what I've done now? To him?

He quit for me tonight. He said that it was clear to him that this what I need and he is giving it to me. Letting go. So I can heal up and move on. And all I want is him. I don't care how bad it hurts, I don't care how wrong it is. Just give me my boy back. Because in the end he was willing to take the shot for me. And that only makes me love him more, puts more distance between us.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

I had a friend tell me, in the best advice sorta way, that I just need to have a different perspective -- think about it differently -- with Jackass. Cause Jackass is all "lets be buddies cause it hurts too much to have none of you"... (I am not some dessert to be portioned up on the Bad Penny free diet plan... I'll just have TWO bites)

So, this advice is good. I admit this. However, I was convinced that I could never have this change of perspective. Too crazy sick in love. Doomed to failure, from the beginning... Then Jackass lied to me. At first the lie was very painful. But then it dawned on me what it really meant.

He is just fucking with my head.

This is not the first time I have had this thought, this suspicion. But it is the first time I've had proof. There really is no other explanation for why he would tell me he has not read the email when he had read it. Royal head fucking. Wow.

At first I thought this was the sort of thing that would unhinge me. If you'd asked me "Hey, Penny! What would happen if you knew to a certainty that Jackass was just messing with your head?" My answer would have been something like... I would go to bed and cry for days, never, ever to get over the total annihilation to my soul of having been so vulnerable to a person, so open, so honest, only to discover that he was screwing with me like some kind of evil boy lighting ants on fire for fun.

So, yesterday, when I realized that he had lied and I contemplated the implications... I was ready for this reaction. I got ready for the depression. The pain. I braced myself. Waited. But nothing like that happened. So I opened my eyes -- here's the scene:

I am standing, braced, prepared for the crushing death that I can SEE clearly coming right for me. It's falling, right on me, I can not get away. Its Dorothys house, man, and I am the witch in the funky shoes. SO I throw my arms up, close my eyes and scream "NOOOOOOOOO!" Thwack. The house lands but I feel no pain. I guess that I must be dead and it happened so fast that I never even felt it. So I open my eyes. And see that some how the house lined up just right. Door wide open, lined up just right with me and I am unscathed. Total destruction all around me but I have not
a single scratch.

That's how it was. It took me 4 hours to realize that I am not even going to cry about it. Trust me when I tell you that I am far more surprised by this than you are.

The thing that I wanted so much, it was a good thing to want. Connection, true depth and appreciation of intellect, honesty and vulnerability. All of these things remain pure and desirable. But I never really had them with him. It was just an illusion. So, not being with him is not actually a loss. So why cry?

Punk Rock Girl Kicks ASS

I had a rather upsetting day. A few emotional moments where I felt a little off balance. So I responded by dressing like a 16 year old pain in the ass punk rock chick for school. Very short, tight black mini with a big black zipper up the front, black leather bondage belt that clanks with metal stuff when I walk, black t-shirt with hand cuffs on the front (Fetish), and 4 inch heel stripper shoes with little silver grommets and satin bows. This improved my mood instantly. But, to understand the actual effect of this attire you have to hear about what comes next.

I go to school with adults. All of whom have advance college degrees. All except me and a few others -- you see I tested my way through a college degree with out ever sitting in a class room. Actually, I dropped out of high school, too, and that's the frosting on my student cup cake. So. There I am. Drop out no degree girl in the black clanky belt and stripper shoes. But I ate the teacher alive tonight.

Most nights I sit quietly and bite my tongue. But today I was in a mood so I let him have it. When I raise my hand he cringes. I never ask questions that I do not know the answer to. At least not of him. And there are times when he'll be feeling a little cocky and he'll slap me down. This is the best. Because I am not wrong and he is not right and once this has been shown with no degree of uncertainty he has to admit to not only being an idiot, but to being a cocky idiot at that.

Now before you start to think that I am ruthless and without a heart... I will say that the death blow was dealt privately. I let it go in the class room discussion but addressed it at the break. To which he said, not for the first time but now for the last, "Yes, you're right." I told him that I was REALLY sorry for being such a pain in the ass. Pointed out that he never had to see me again. Unless and until we end up in the same court room. And you gotta know that is a day he will not remember fondly either. Because once were in court, someone will be paying me to kick his ass...

More Jackass, what else is there?

He told me today that he has not read my email... This is the reason why I have no answers to questions I've asked. BUT... Do I even want to contemplate the but? But, he also said "So you only got a 90 on your practice exam... You're gonna fail."

Problem is this. The info about the practice exam and what I got... It was in the email. The email that he said he didn't read. I don't even want to think about that. About the idea that he is just playing with my head in such a horrible way. But I guess I have to think about it now. If we are very lucky, I wont cry.

All About Jays Super Secret Moves

I was sent to bed last night with the instruction to "Dream about Jays super secret moves." Now, if I could dial up dreams this one would be high on my list along with the one where I am a US Supreme Court Justice and the one where I can fly. Oh, and one where Im a rock star.

But, alas, I can not dial up dreams. I don't even know what I dreamed about. I'm not even sure that I slept. I woke up early this morning wondering what the hell Jays super secret moves were. When would I see them? Are they anything like my super secret moves? Would they still be super secret once we'd told?

So then I spent some time thinking about how I'd like these moves to turn out. Which is just punishment. Punishment for getting distracted by flirting with this guy that used the word Hyperbolic. If I have a weakness its these yummy words. What's the first one that I can chalk up to Jay? facetious . Yum.

But it is punishment none the less. If I strain my teeny little brain I may be able to think back (way back) to the last time I had sex. It was in the year ought three. thinking to the last time I had sex with someone that was not scooter? wow. The strain of that is enormous. smell that train transformer smell -- my synapses are frying. I was... counting on my fingers... shaking my head sadly... 22 years old. and drunk. Very drunk.

Well, this is fun. While were at it lets just try to think back to the last I had sex that resulted in anything but a slight feeling of disgust? Ummmm. Impossible.

So, laying in my bed and having a good think about Jays super secret moves (Which if I had to guess will involve pouring beer on himself) is just punishment.

Metro-sexual guy and I were talking about my current condition. He says "Girl, you are going to have to dust off the kootchie." Ha ha ha ha. Mad laughter. So little attention there that I'll have to get some Endust and clean up? Sure know how to make a girl feel... pretty.

So now, in my own mind, I am dusty kootchie girl. and it sucks goat.

This thing with Jay is fun, but it doesn't really represent reality. How can it? I asked him to be my boyfriend, said "I need someone to call baby." I know the thought that went through his mind "What does she want from me? What does that mean? What will I be expected to do? NO!" But that is just a recognition that this interaction does represent a kind of intimacy. That is why its attractive. and it is on a level that I can have some respect for right now.

We're talking about smells. How he smells. But isn't that just one of those superficial things? One of the things that distracts your rational brain? a thing like knees... or the right pair of jeans... or a sparkling belly ring. Things that scream attend to me and ignore the substance. Ignore the substantive, gloss it all with superficiality.

So for now I guess I'll just be distracted by this thought "What the heck are Jays super secret moves? Gimme."

Gimme gimme gimme.

Please.

Music 4 Today 4 Juan

Bad Religion ~ Materialist

(Aside-- Hey Jay, Bad Religions bass players name is... Jay)

You're obsessed and distressed and you can't make any sense
of the ludicrous nonsense and
incipient senescence
that will deem your common sense useless
this aint no recess
I want to believe in you but my plans keep falling through
I know I have to face the harshness, grin and bear the truth
and I have to walk this mile in my own shoes
and I'm no fool

I'm materialist
a full blown realist
physical theorist
and I guess I'm full of doubt
so I'm prone to hear you out and refuse
I'm materialist
there ain't no fear in this
It's time for all to see
so don't talk of hidden mysteries
with me
Mind over matter
it really don't matter
if the streets idle chatter
turns your hearts strings to tatters
flatter hopes don't flatter
an soul batter wont congeal
to mend a life that is shattered into shards
was it in the cards?
The process of belief is an elixer when you're weak
I must confess at times I indulge it on the sneak
but generally my out looks not so bleak
and I'm not meek
I'm materialist
a full blown realist
and I guess I'm full of doubt
but I'll gladly have it out
with you
I'm materialist
I aint' no deist
it's there for all to see

so don't speak of hidden mysteries
with me
like Rome under Nero
our futures one big zero
recycling the past to meet immediate needs
and through it all we ramble forth
to persevere and climb
our mountains of regret to sow our seeds
I'm materialist

Tuesday... then Wednesday... then Thursday...

I made a prediction that I would hear from Jackass on Monday. And I was wrong. I went to bed Monday night thinking "maybe he is gonna leave this alone and it's over, finally..."

I know that is an abdication of responsibility. I can't make my behavior depend on his behavior. I know that. But it's easier when someone else does that for you, you know? Easier. It's just like the "You can't quit, you're fired!" "You can't fire me cause I quit!" interaction. Easy to do it when you've really got no other choice, hey?

That was Monday.

Tuesday I got the flippin email. Wouldn't you know it. and I ignored it. I thought "I just better figure out EXACTLY what I want to say before I clink that reply button and answer him." but the damage was done by then wasn't it?

Wednesday I got the flippin phone call. All of my resolve flushes down the toilet in one piss saturated whoosh. Chit chat, like one minute... and he says "I just wanted to know if you're still riding with me."

Well, I'd like to know that too! Wonder who could fill me in on that bit of info cause it's clearly not my brain that's gonna figure this out. CLEARLY. So, I said "I've been thinking about that. I'll let you know when I decide."

That was some good thinking there. Resolute, firm, in control. I did everything but cry and say "Please love me." Now I am a freak again and it's all down hill from here.

Weds. night the messenger window pops up. He's whistling. and like a very good girl, I come. And like a very stupid girl I get sucked back into the crushing interaction that leaves him feeling happy and me feeling abandoned and bruised. Dude. Bruised.

What did I learn? That its hard for him to have zero contact with me and he's not gonna dump his wife and run off to South America with me so... I just have to be around when he wants me but I have to be quiet when he's got other stuff to do. Sounds simple, eh? Oh, that and the current masterbatory thought of me includes white cotton panties, knee high athletic socks and wet hair. See ya.

Gosh! How can I resist that? I say "Holy crap. I miss you and it suffocates me. Cause I love you and this is all fucked up, and it hurts me too much to just do a little here and a little there and pretend like were buddies just cause it makes you feel better." But he thinks that having zero contact is crazy, afterall, he doesn't like it.

and I said "You own a fragile little part of me." and he says he'll try to be careful. Don't be careful, jackass, JUST GIVE IT BACK.

I have not heard anything since then. And that's the killer. I sent an email that basically layed my soul bare and said PLEASE tell me what you intend to do here, either way, because waiting for you is just not good for me. Please. and I've heard squat. nothing. nada. zip. crap. I could go on but why?

and now, instead of being resolved and healing I am tormented and crying. Is that love? No. I think he just needed me to say it to him. To say "Yes you're still on my mind and yes there is no one else, and yes I love you." Now he's all better but I am bleeding from ripping the scab off again.

It's Saturday... should I make another prediction?

Brain Tumor Diagnosis...

The ad at the top of this BLOG is offering to diagnose my brain tumor. Whew! I am so relieved to have that taken care of.

Courage

Here is my idea of being the most amazing sort of fuck you can be. (I know that fuck is not really the right word but it's versatile, you can use it for many things and I am using it today to describe Scooter)

Scooter is at the house today, hanging out with the kids. I went to the library to kill time and let them hang out. Get home. Scoot says "You got a call from Cedric, that's the guy you tutor? Number two daughter answered it and hung up before I could get to it."

I said "She needs to quit answering the phone if she cant wait for you or take a message."

He said (This is key) "I know. I told her not to do it."

Just then, Number 2 comes through the door and I let her have it "Damn it. How many times do I have to tell you not to answer the phone unless have permission?" Scoot is STANDING IN THE ROOM while I am yelling. Then he walks away.

Number 2 says "But mommy, I had permission." Now, generally, my parenting style is a united front approach. Generally I want to say "Don't expect me to believe that your father is lying to me." But, damn. I had that sinking feeling. So I said "You asked Daddy if you could answer the phone?" and she said "No. He TOLD me to."

!!!

This is the equivalent of picking up your kid and using them as a human shield. Not only did he tell me that she had done it "before he could get to it" but he stood there and let me yell at her. And I bet that he would have let me call her a liar if I had been so inclined. Rather than have me be pissed at him for not taking a phone message. I said "Hey, she says you told her to answer the phone."

"Yeah, sorry."

"You just stood there and let me yell at her for it."

"Yeah."

The day I ever behave like this, ever sell my kid down the river in order to avoid some minor discomfort... the day I ever do a thing like this is the day I hope people line up to slap me. One right after the other. Just slap me until I'm dead. Cause I don't even want to live if I am ever such a coward, such a fuck.

Music 4 Today

Jewel ~ Near You Always

Please don't say I love you

those words touch me much too deeply

and they make my core tremble

don't think you realize

the power

you have over me

and please don't come so close

it just makes me want to make you

near me

always

please don't kiss me so sweet

it makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow

and please don't touch me like that

makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow

please don't look at me like that

it just makes me want to make you

near me

always

please don't send me flowers

they only whisper the sweet things you'd say

don't try to understand me

your hands already know too much anyway

and when you look in my eyes

please know that my heart is in your hands

its nothing I understand

but when in your arms

you have complete power over me

so be gentle if you please, 'cause

your hands are in my hair but my heart is in your teeth

One From the TOO MUCH Information Desk

I was hanging out recently, with my girl friend... Number One daughter was there, looking at a book and wishing she hadn't come over with me.

Me (to friend) "I just need someone to make out with. That would fix me right up."

#1 "Jimmy'll make out with you, momma." Snicker. She is punishing me for not taking her home.

Friend "Who the hell is Jimmy?"

Well, Jimmy is a miscreant friend of my oldest daughter. Technically I suppose he is a man but only technically. He is an adolescent... miscreant. They are all miscreants, even the ones that Eddie Haskell me. And knowing that he would gladly come over and make out with me is TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I did not need to know it then and I don't want to know it now.

Turns out, oh holy hell, I am MILF. I guess that's better than being "that bitch" or something else equally nasty (kids today prefer the C word). But on the whole I'd rather not be MILF either. It's creepy.

Number One's boy friend has given me some suspicious looks recently. She said "Oh, mom, if you knew what he thought he would DIE." Something about my hair.

I had a friend in high school. (Yes, I had friends...) He was strange. Wore a tie sometimes, always seemed too old -- kind of an Alex Keaton thing, remember that? He was crazy sick in love with my mother. That grossed me out at the time, and to be honest, it still does. Does this mean that my daughter is grossed out too? I don't think so. I think she likes it. But, dude, it grosses me out.

Shower Poetry

I stood in the shower today,

watching the water run down my legs.

My feet look a little tan

against the white tub,

shiny and wet.

Water beads up on the polish on my toes,

shiny and wet.

The ring, sparkly pale green flower gem, on my second toe on my right foot,

shiny and wet.

It looks so good,

so shiny and wet.

I wish I had a camera, so I could show you...

****************************************************************

I shaved. Cut myself. Wondered why am I shaving? shaving my legs from the ankle to the hip, for no one but me to notice. It is sad when you feel sexless, wrapped in all the other things you (mother, friend, student, teacher, writer, maid, cook, bottle washer) are. But this, I think, is worse. To stand in the shower feeling so lovely. Thinking that your feet, with the ring and the polish and the carefully pumiced soft heels, just a little brown... Thinking that they are so sexy, the way the water runs down. Visually so nice. But who is looking? Just you.

It is in this way that I am so misaligned with everything. Not just the shower moments but all moments. Filled with motive, lots of motive, but no opportunity. Where was the motive when I had the opportunity?

Fun with Hyperbole

I've been watching a series of lectures on the web. Important cerebral professor guy stuff. Part of it includes little workshops where exam questions are offered, you do them, then you turn on the prof in the Real Player window to tell you what your should of come up with.

So I am cruising along... not doing too bad for my first exam on this material... When prof guy gives me a question with the word HYPERBOLE in it. First, let me say that I love hyperbole. I love the word, I love the device. I use it all the time. For instance, if I like you I suggest that I am going to get your name tattooed on my ass. My ass is not that big kids! I don't have room for everyone I'll ever like. (Jackass FREAKED OUT when I said this to him. Does he really think I am going to get ink done on my ass in his honor? What is about me that makes men feel so... Special?)

Second example, I am always threatening to throw myself off the roof. In complete isolation from knowing the rest of me, I guess this can be a little disconcerting. After all, there are people who DO throw themselves off of roofs, over silly things. I don't do... I just SAY. That's the fun of HYPERBOLE! Why, I could engage in the endless pursuit of hyperbole for 23 hours a day for THE REST OF MY LIFE!!! (If you get that, if that makes you laugh... Well then I have to marry you)

But Prof in the Box, he's never seen the word before. And to this I have only one thing to say: Don't mess with things you don't understand! He pronounces the word, TWICE, like this: Hyper-Bowl. HYPER-BOWL. Dude. This is a crime against English. A crime I say. What would possess a person, who is claiming to educate me, to so mangle a word? Could he define it? Does he even know what language he is speaking?? Ak! I am so distressed by this that I must THROW MYSELF OFF THE ROOF. Right after I get his name lasered off my ass.

Music 4 Today

Unknown Road ~ Pennywise

so you're currently content with your surroundings

you possess a vague sense of accomplishment

but when you had to give did you get conservative?

do you think that all the years that passed you by

were all well spent?

pictures of everyday life spark memories

and certain things pull triggers in your mind

what would be different now if you were there than here?

what passages, what fantasies lie just beyond the unknown road?

ever get the thought you were mistaken?

ever think about the stones you left unturned?

more chances slip away, with every passing day

suffering with cold you're so afraid you might get burned

and wondering can take its toll

and wondering can rack your skull

and wondering can send your imagination up a tree

wondering what fantasies lie just beyond the unknown road