More Fantasy...

I am in the process of moving out Number One and the Idiots stuff. (Long story, perhaps for a post where I feel like crying) At any rate, I was, mere moments ago, struggling with a mattress in the hallway when I remembered one of my fondest fantasies.

It goes like this -- My mother is in my hall way in the middle of the day cleaning everything out of Number Ones room (Again, don't ask) when she stumbles and falls, wedging herself in the hall under the mattress where she promptly suffocates. I return home to discover her dead body in my hallway, already stiffening so clearly too late for CPR no matter how valiantly I may try to revive her (after fetching my CPR mask from the cabinet of course).

This one was so tasty, so beloved, that I used to day dream it even after she managed to get the mattress out by herself. Even after she had erased all traces of Number One from my house. Even after she had packed all her own stuff and moved to South Carolina. Even today, kids.

But then it dawned on me, the nature of irony, as I wobbled and tottered in the hall with the mattress. The nature of irony is that it would be ME that fell, and ME that wedged and ME that suffocated so completely -- stiffened and cooled. ME! I don't wanna die of terminal irony!

So I am leaving that mattress wedged in the hall until someone shows up to help me. Or at least do CPR if I stumble. After fetching the mask, of course.

Tell Me Your Fantasy

I tried to do this thing with The Bartender last night. You know that thing where you tell your partner your secret fantasy, in hopes that they will be understanding and accepting and then DO IT WITH YOU?

It's not that easy to just open up and share very intimate stuff. Stuff you long for. Stuff you need to share with another human being. You risk rejection. You risk being judged. It's risky, damn it

But I'm lonely.

So I decided to tell him my little fantasy and see if he'll do it with me. Cause I'm lonely. and pathetic.

It went something like this:

Penny "Do you know what I secretly long for?"

The Bartender "Huh?"

Penny "Do you want to know the thing that I think about at night, when I'm alone?"

The Bartender "Wait a minute. Are you serious?"

Penny "That thing which most excited me? The thing I day dream about? The thing that sooooooo turns me on?"

The Bartender "(Nothin. He's got nothin.)"

Penny "Here it is. I would like to go to Harvard law school after I graduate. I think it would be fun to just mop the floor with all those stuck up Harvard kids. Dude, that would rock."

The Bartender "That's the most colossal waste of time I've ever heard of."

Alright. I admit that this was a dramatic reenactment based only loosely on true events. But it was based on true events. The reality is much sadder though. Because I do honestly think that would rock. And The Bartender is supposed to say "Yes! Me too!" and then engage in a conversation where we fantasize about beating up Harvard wonks with nothing but our bare intellect. However, he doesn't do this. What he does is explain to me how those kids are really smart and some of them do nothing but study and I'm not likely to be able to do the thing I am saying I'd like to do... In other words he pisses all over my fantasy.

And, Loyal Blog Monkeys, he does this every single time I try to talk about anything. Where has the sweet Bartender gone, you may wonder. I wonder the same thing. I am getting a bit tired of the constant sparring and I'm ready for some shade. (Don't get me started on the origin of shade... Suffice it to say that shade means a spot where I can just be cool and not coated in 6 layers of protective clothing and zinc and emotional SPF 5000.)

So, I inquire: "What the hell is going on with you?"

And the answer came as a bit of a shock. A bit of a slap. A bit of a dash with the old cold water, kids. Seems that I broke his heart. I hurt him. and now he's afraid of me. But not so afraid to stay away entirely but certainly too afraid to be very nice to me again.

Holy Cow and Crap and whatever else suits you.

So I just apologized. I am sorry. I was worried that I was going to be bad for him at the time. And I was right to worry. But is it really all my fault? I was honest with him. Is it my fault that he ignored me and got involved?

No. It's not. IT'S NOT DAMN IT!

But I said so sorry. I never meant to hurt him. I like him. So sorry.

"When do you think I'll get regular girl status again? and we can just act like normal people? Ever?"

and he says he doesn't know. That has to be good enough since I can't make him know, right? By 4:30 this afternoon. I wish it worked like that. But it does not.

So I drove home nearly settled on the idea that I am just going to stop seeing The Bartender. All the sweet endearing parts are absent. I am left with SPF 5000 and a feeling of weariness. Last night we didn't even have dinner. So it's time to just throw in the towel and let it float away. Time to face reality. Time to quit beating myself up.

Then at 12:30 am the phone rings.

He tells me he meant to leave me a voice mail. I ask should I hang up so you can do that? He says no I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and to have a nice night and I'd really like to see you on Thursday. But mostly I miss you. And I'm sorry that things got weird. And I've missed you.

There's the sweet Bartender.

Next time I see him I am gonna tell him my fantasy where I'm the judge and I stand up in court and yell "Rusty, take him away!" Hopefully he'll say "Can I be Rusty?" cause that's what I call FUN.

Every once in awhile it's good to remember how small we really are...

Squirrels are closely related to chipmonks...

Speculation Consternation

Meet a new member of the Bad Penny Cast: Miss Kitty. Ms. K is my best girly friend, in all important girly friend ways. Recently she packed up and moved -- She is the reason I must now brave the Highway of DEATH -- away. So she made some new friends. (Of course I would never suggest that Bad Penny is replaceable, so these new friends were pale substitutes at best.) I was glad for her. It's hard to move and feel isolated. And nice to have lots of friends.

But somethings gone dreadfully wrong and Ms. K has no idea what.

Another friend of mine and I were discussing our daughters and observed the age old FACT that girls are mean! We were both "Best-Guy-Friend" girls, neither one hanging out with other girls too much. Her daughter seems to be the same type. My Number Two daughter is not. She's a girls-girl and recently had her first mean girls experience which left her wanting to move far, far away because "My friends aren't my friends anymore!" The idea that this is a temporary condition was suggested and I said "But it just happened to Ms. K." and she's a grown woman!

My darling, wonderful, sweet and good Ms. K has been summarily dismissed as a friend with out explanation... left with nothing to explain it but speculation. I am here to tell you kids, SPECULATION** SUCKS.

I am also recently dropped head first into a vat of speculation. I'm no good at it. I always speculate the absolute worst thing. Then I tell myself "That's silly! Give this the benefit of the doubt" ... but the worst possible thing thing creeps back in. Which is why its nice to just be told something, anything. To be provided with an explanation.

Pick one! I'm not your friend any more because:

You smell bad.
I hate that my husband is always looking at your ass.
My girlfriend hates you and I like her better.
You said a terrible thing and I can't forgive you.
You stold a hundred bucks from me.
I'm afraid to care more because then you could hurt me.
You chew with your mouth open.
Whatever...

There's a reason. Pick one.

But even in the absence of a reason I began to wonder about the nature of friendship; the nature of love. Is it really all about what you do for me? Is it all reciprocity and score keeping? Or is it some thing more than that, something outside ourselves?

And, at least for now, I decided that friendship and love are gifts. They are not given with the expectation of getting something back. They're gifts. And just like I am not one of those girls that takes everything I ever gave you back because we are breaking up, I am also not one of those girls that's gonna un-give my friendship. Or my love.

It was a gift.

** I cannot help but define speculation as the application of a speculum... sorry. I'm twisted.

I am an OLDER Woman... (Yikes)

The Bartender is younger than me. 5 years younger. Is this enough to make any sort of difference, really? It certainly feels like it this morning, kids.

OK, now don't jump to salacious conclusions. Even if I were the sort of girl who'd kiss and tell there's not that much to tell. Except that we stayed up 'til after four freaking a.m. What possessed me?!?

We watched a movie, which was fun. Ate pop corn, also fun. Then switched to music and some insanely maddening bicker about the UNRUH Act and whether or not men are really injured by Ladies Night promotions... and then WHAMMO. Its four in the morning and reality strikes in the form of Number Three at 6:45 ~ wanting breakfast.

Oh Blog Monkeys! I am tired.

But I still took my charge to call The Bartender at an appointed time (OK, I'll tell you it was 9:45, lucky bastard!) because his alarm clock is currently not certain if it really wants to be an alarm clock at all anymore, or just a paper weight.

So I dial, and there's no ring... Cause his phone is OFF. And it's still off.

Perhaps he will think that I've nearly killed him as well. When he finally wakes up. Late for work.

Will She or Won't She Lesbian Quandary @ an End

Ever since making the enormous mistake of loaning her car to Number One and the Idiot boy friend and then trying to hide the subsequent hit and run debacle from me, Angel has been MIA.

Not a peep.

So I'll relate our last in person interaction as I think it was THE LAST ever.

Angel comes walking in my back door, no knock.

I said "Hey, not even my longest girly friend does that!"

"You told me to use the back door. Heh."

"But you should knock! What if you come walking in and I'm naked?"

"That's when I'll finally get cha." She winks. I swear she winked.

"I'm gonna get a boy friend and we're gonna do it, a lot, in the kitchen. That'll show you."

"Promises, promises..."

Truth OR Dare

Right this very second there is a game of truth or dare going on in my kitchen! 5 little girls (Number Two, Number Three and 3 friends) are spinning an empty apple juice bottle and playing the age old game. When it started I thought "What the HELL!?!" but decided to listen in...

Lets listen in together.

"Truth or dare?" Oldest neighbor girl asks.
"Truthy." Number Three responds.
"Is it true you like your mothers cooking?"
(I can not hear the response over my own mad laughter)

"Truth or dare?" Youngest neighbor girl asks.
"Clean dare!" Number Two responds.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
Number Two runs into the room I am in and gives me a big MMMMMMMMM kiss smack on the lips then runs back to the kitchen and proclaims "I grabbed her just like this!"

Oh dear, Blog Monkeys! I don't remember truth or dare being quite like this. I hope it stays that way. What are the odds?

Foot Porn

If profile views were legal tender I could get me a nifty thing or two with $1292.

The Noodle Dog

Last summer Number Three daughter was looking at a picture book with kittens and puppies in it.

"Hey Momma!" Tweets she. "Look at this dog!" Pointing at a wrinkly Shar Pei puppy in a basket. "It's a NOODLE DOG!"

"A noodle dog?" Hmmmmm, I've never heard of noodle dogs before...

"Yes," she nods authoritatively. "You eat them. They're delicious."

Days of Dead Deer

Well, I'm back. I've been trying to think up an interesting title for my vacation and you're looking at it. How many mangled deer can you stand to see in one afternoon? I am not exaggerating if I say I saw 472 million road-killed deer in the last 10 days.

OK. Maybe I am exaggerating. But only a little bit.

They were EVERYWHERE! On the interstates. Along the state routes. Piled up like cord wood next to peoples drive ways. It was sickening.

I also spent some time with my gramma. This is an interesting woman. When my brother and I were young she insisted that we call her Donna instead of gramma. I insisted she call me Penny instead of Debbie. We are still in this mode.

"Now Penny. Who are your sisters again?"

"I don't have any sisters, Donna. Just the one brother, your grandson, Nickel."

"Oh, Debbie, you do to have sisters. There's Dorothy and who else?"

"Nope, not me."

and then this one:

"Penny, look here at this photo of you and my mother."

"Thats not me Donna, that's my mom."

"Its you, Chris."

"No. I was not even alive when this photo was taken."

"Well, maybe its Dorothy."

"Who is Dorothy?"

"You know, your sister."

"Oh, yeah, her. Maybe it is."

I did have a few moments of deer envy. So peaceful to just fling yourself into traffic.

1270... profile views. I feel slightly less lonely. Slightly. You?

Loop...

I am having a truly strange first day back. I wanna say it's all hormones. Dratted, dreaded girly hormones. But then I heard this silly bit of a movie my kids are watching and it struck me:

"I feel as though a loop has just been formed... and I'm not in it."

Ah, yes. That's it. Disconnection.