Sunday, October 15, 2006
Plate tectonics. A simple linen dress.
Today's lesson--what do these two natural phenomena have in common. Actually, it's not my intent to delve into this riddle at all this morning. I'm simply going to discuss both of the. Or, rather, what I mean to say more accurately is, neither of them.
Where could I possibly be going with this early-morning, dream-inspired entry opener. Simple. Shifts. I'm talking about shifts. Or shifting, as it were. Paradigm? Geological? The always correct answer for the fashion-impaired? No, nothing so grandiose as any of that. I'm just talking about little old me and my current trend towards (finally) growing up and changing how I view the world and my place in it--a little.
So, long time readers of this blog (hellllo...Is there anybody out there? --read this with just the slightest tremble of trepidation as I stand, nearly alone, in the dark cavern that has become my blog.) will/might/ could quite possibly remember that way back in the misty pre-history of before I found myself pregnant with Suzie I had the tiniest little crush on a bass player from town. Maybe crush isn't the right word. Passing interest? No...Unrequited love? Not exactly...Obsession? Yes! That the word! I had a relentless, ridiculous, hopeless, staggering, and ultimately humilitating obsession with a guy who, for all intents and purposes, treated me pretty badly. Nothing abusive really; to be honest, I don't think he was interested enough to be abusive. Mostly it was just me, letting myself be taken advantage of and for granted because I was trying so desperately to win his affection; to win, period.
It ended, quite naturally, about six months later than it should have, when I was nearing the 6 month point in my pregnancy and my priorities had shifted, very appropriately, to where they needed to be focused, taking care of myself, and my baby, and my growing family--and not a bit too early in the uninterested guy's opinion, I'm sure.
So here we are, fast forward two+ years to the present. I've got a gorgeously temperamental toddler and have been so busy giving her nearly everything I've got and dealing with all these libido-suppressing breastfeeding hormones to boot that I've hardly given a second thought to any extra-marital (or marital, for that matter) activities. But all of a sudden something's changed; in the past month I've felt so energized--you know, like really fucking horny energized, almost constantly. I've been emailing quite a lot with an old boyfriend from high school; a guy at work that I've had a mutual attraction thing with for a good four years has really been upping his game (or lackthereof unfortunately); and now, to top it all off, I was visiting the home of the aforementioned unhealthy obsession (not visiting HIM per se, but his landlord, the crazy woman who originally inspired me to begin this blog) and he was clearly, in his own lackluster way, hitting on me.
Something has clearly changed. I don't know if it's my current cocktail of hormones, the pheremones I'm secreting, or just that I've finally lost every last bit (and then some) of the baby weight I've been carrying around but people, and by "people" I mean "men" seem really to have started paying attention to me again. It's an odd feeling, after feeling kind of "momish" and invisible for almost two years. So when this former obsession so romantically emailed me the proposition that we could "you know, get together again, sometime, maybe, if you wanna." a BIG BIG BIG part of me (like, probably close to 120%) thought something along the lines of "you bet your ass I wanna."
In the meantime though, I've been absorbing (as I mentioned in yesterday's much more succinct post) a really great book. The Goddess Rules, by a 20 or 30-something (I'm leaning towards 30-something) British novelist. As I mentioned to Andrew yesterday, I go through phases where I absolutely adore this Bridget-Jones genre of fiction. There's always just something heroic about the normal, usually slightly overweight, often a little mousy title character that gives me hope. In this particular novel, our heroine, Kate, begins a friendship with a fictionalized but thinly veiled 60-something Brigitte Bardot who, despite her advancing age, has clearly still got it. As is the standard course of action in most novels of this ilk the main character will generally be spurred on by some catalyst that encourages her to drop a few pounds (stone, more accurately as she will often, conversely, gain or inherit a more than a couple actual British pounds), get a few highlights, buy some new underwear, and most importantly, dump the cad she's been wasting her time with and who can't give her a proper orgasm anyway, and hook it up with the subtly gorgeous, kind man she's never really noticed but who's (usually) been in love with her for years and years and can rock her world like it's never, ever been rocked. The Goddess Rules was no less formulaic but I guess it just happened along at exactly the right time.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!? SHE'S FINALLY GOING TO GET TO HER FUCKING POINT!
And here it is. I've come to a point, an honest to god, point in my life where I'm no longer interested in having/willing to have sex with any man (woman, person, whatever) that isn't completely adoring of me. No more settling, no more wondering, and no more--god forbid--seducing people into it (or me, as it were) who aren't completely, overwhelmingly, and totally hungry to feel that energy with ME. That's what this former obsession's email reminded me of. Towards the end of our "relationship" everytime we had sex there was this kind of underlying current that he didn't really want to even be there; I'd talked him into it and he was too weak to stop it. How unsexy is that on soooo many levels? And while he was definitely at that top of that pile, it hasn't been entirely different with some of my other past conquests. Not only did the former partner not adore me, I'm not entirely sure he really even liked me; and judging by a recent blog entry of his, I'm not sure that's changed.
Doesn't that sound terrible? And even when it's not that ugly, I'm still not interested in hooking up with someone only to wonder if he'll still be interested, if he'll call me again, blah blah blah. It's all so tired. If that leaves only my husband for the time being, I'm absolutely great with that--he loves me, he can't get enough of me, and he can't keep his thoughts and his hands off me. It's settling to allow for anything else.
I think there's more, unbelievably, that I could write about this but I've already spent far too long on it and really need to get back to the family.
1 Comment(s)
Where could I possibly be going with this early-morning, dream-inspired entry opener. Simple. Shifts. I'm talking about shifts. Or shifting, as it were. Paradigm? Geological? The always correct answer for the fashion-impaired? No, nothing so grandiose as any of that. I'm just talking about little old me and my current trend towards (finally) growing up and changing how I view the world and my place in it--a little.
So, long time readers of this blog (hellllo...Is there anybody out there? --read this with just the slightest tremble of trepidation as I stand, nearly alone, in the dark cavern that has become my blog.) will/might/ could quite possibly remember that way back in the misty pre-history of before I found myself pregnant with Suzie I had the tiniest little crush on a bass player from town. Maybe crush isn't the right word. Passing interest? No...Unrequited love? Not exactly...Obsession? Yes! That the word! I had a relentless, ridiculous, hopeless, staggering, and ultimately humilitating obsession with a guy who, for all intents and purposes, treated me pretty badly. Nothing abusive really; to be honest, I don't think he was interested enough to be abusive. Mostly it was just me, letting myself be taken advantage of and for granted because I was trying so desperately to win his affection; to win, period.
It ended, quite naturally, about six months later than it should have, when I was nearing the 6 month point in my pregnancy and my priorities had shifted, very appropriately, to where they needed to be focused, taking care of myself, and my baby, and my growing family--and not a bit too early in the uninterested guy's opinion, I'm sure.
So here we are, fast forward two+ years to the present. I've got a gorgeously temperamental toddler and have been so busy giving her nearly everything I've got and dealing with all these libido-suppressing breastfeeding hormones to boot that I've hardly given a second thought to any extra-marital (or marital, for that matter) activities. But all of a sudden something's changed; in the past month I've felt so energized--you know, like really fucking horny energized, almost constantly. I've been emailing quite a lot with an old boyfriend from high school; a guy at work that I've had a mutual attraction thing with for a good four years has really been upping his game (or lackthereof unfortunately); and now, to top it all off, I was visiting the home of the aforementioned unhealthy obsession (not visiting HIM per se, but his landlord, the crazy woman who originally inspired me to begin this blog) and he was clearly, in his own lackluster way, hitting on me.
Something has clearly changed. I don't know if it's my current cocktail of hormones, the pheremones I'm secreting, or just that I've finally lost every last bit (and then some) of the baby weight I've been carrying around but people, and by "people" I mean "men" seem really to have started paying attention to me again. It's an odd feeling, after feeling kind of "momish" and invisible for almost two years. So when this former obsession so romantically emailed me the proposition that we could "you know, get together again, sometime, maybe, if you wanna." a BIG BIG BIG part of me (like, probably close to 120%) thought something along the lines of "you bet your ass I wanna."
In the meantime though, I've been absorbing (as I mentioned in yesterday's much more succinct post) a really great book. The Goddess Rules, by a 20 or 30-something (I'm leaning towards 30-something) British novelist. As I mentioned to Andrew yesterday, I go through phases where I absolutely adore this Bridget-Jones genre of fiction. There's always just something heroic about the normal, usually slightly overweight, often a little mousy title character that gives me hope. In this particular novel, our heroine, Kate, begins a friendship with a fictionalized but thinly veiled 60-something Brigitte Bardot who, despite her advancing age, has clearly still got it. As is the standard course of action in most novels of this ilk the main character will generally be spurred on by some catalyst that encourages her to drop a few pounds (stone, more accurately as she will often, conversely, gain or inherit a more than a couple actual British pounds), get a few highlights, buy some new underwear, and most importantly, dump the cad she's been wasting her time with and who can't give her a proper orgasm anyway, and hook it up with the subtly gorgeous, kind man she's never really noticed but who's (usually) been in love with her for years and years and can rock her world like it's never, ever been rocked. The Goddess Rules was no less formulaic but I guess it just happened along at exactly the right time.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!? SHE'S FINALLY GOING TO GET TO HER FUCKING POINT!
And here it is. I've come to a point, an honest to god, point in my life where I'm no longer interested in having/willing to have sex with any man (woman, person, whatever) that isn't completely adoring of me. No more settling, no more wondering, and no more--god forbid--seducing people into it (or me, as it were) who aren't completely, overwhelmingly, and totally hungry to feel that energy with ME. That's what this former obsession's email reminded me of. Towards the end of our "relationship" everytime we had sex there was this kind of underlying current that he didn't really want to even be there; I'd talked him into it and he was too weak to stop it. How unsexy is that on soooo many levels? And while he was definitely at that top of that pile, it hasn't been entirely different with some of my other past conquests. Not only did the former partner not adore me, I'm not entirely sure he really even liked me; and judging by a recent blog entry of his, I'm not sure that's changed.
Doesn't that sound terrible? And even when it's not that ugly, I'm still not interested in hooking up with someone only to wonder if he'll still be interested, if he'll call me again, blah blah blah. It's all so tired. If that leaves only my husband for the time being, I'm absolutely great with that--he loves me, he can't get enough of me, and he can't keep his thoughts and his hands off me. It's settling to allow for anything else.
I think there's more, unbelievably, that I could write about this but I've already spent far too long on it and really need to get back to the family.
Comments:
Had a feeling that if I stopped by today, something would be here. I guess I heard that echo bouncing around the canyon....!
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