Have I Got Too Much MOJO?

When did the female become the sexual predator? Or is that just me? Yes, that's right, you pegged it--I'm not getting laid enough. It seems that a rough 'n tumble in the bed with my guy has to be preceded by a moment of incredible significance. Perhaps a restatement of all the reasons we love one another, or the exchanging of Valentines day gifts, birthday gifts, Christmas gifts etc. but damnit...there would have to be a holiday twice a day in order for that deal to fly with me.



Don't get me wrong--I have experienced the theory that sex is better when there are emotions involved. But do they have to be immediate, weighty emotions?! Do we have to always have just finished a discussion about the significance of our relationship in order to get it in? I mean--i love the guy! 24/7.....okay, maybe like...22/7. le'ts be real here. But shouldn't that be enough! Isn't sex one of the perks of working your way to a stable, peaceful relationship??? But for my guy, it seems there must be constant turbulence, and only the coming down from this turbulence turns him on. That's right--makeup sex.

But how about this for a reason to kick our clothes off? We're young! We're cute! We're alive!

My guy actually came out of the restroom yesterday and asked me "what are you doing?"

I was standing on the bed naked for godsake! What more must I be doing?! We were not in a fight, we did not have anywhere to go, why on earth would his first thought be , "what are you doing?"

Humiliating, really.
"Oh I umm...just wanted to see how much my jiggly parts actually jiggled when I jumped on the bed naked."

Honestly now! What do you think i'm doing???

The only thing that could have lead to more embarrassment in this moment would have been if females got erections--because my lord would i have had a big throbbing one at that moment and it's not easy to put your pants back on over one of those!



Maybe I'm just more into sex than my guy is. Maybe I am the guy in this relationship. Or is this becoming an epidemic? Am I not the only one experiencing a switch in the libidos? Somebody please tell me I'm not alone here!

What do you do with all that Health?!

What do we do when the truth would be just too scary? I mean, to tell to another person.
I have posted before about my mother's hypochondria. Just take my word for it--i've known her since before I was born.
There always seems to be something wrong with her. She is hardly recovering from one thing before another another strikes. It has been the cause of much disappointment for my father, myself, my sister.
I can look back at my childhood and pull up many images of myself sitting on my packed suitcase, hearing my mother's soft crying, my father's soft voice, and then suddenly my mother's loud crying "why doesn't anyone feel sorry for me? can't you see im sick!" and then, shortly after, my father appearing in my doorway to inform me that we were no longer going to palm desert for a week, or to Europe for the month.
I remember my father driving me home from school on Fridays, date night for my parents, and him calling my mother on speaker phone, reading her the movie times and restaurant reviews but only getting halfway before my mother cut in, "not tonight. im not feeling so good."

The truth of the matter is that, moments in which other people can and have pushed themselves through it, my mother has not.
After enough date nights, enough trips to Europe or Hawaii were cancelled, my father's infidelity kicked in. And I will say this now, my mother's hypochondria was not, it was NOT, an excuse for my father to do this. There is no excuse, of course.

However, my mother has a new husband now. And when she cancelled on him yesterday he said "i think this is all in your head. i think you could get up and come out." Part of me wanted to shake his hand. When my sister and I heard this, we turned to each other with our eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
"Someone finally said it?" we whispered to each other.
Yes, i wanted to shake his hand. But also, partly, I wanted to shake his shoulders and say "you dont say that to her! Dont you see? She can't handle that!"

What will she think then? That my father's infidelity was her own fault? That she must, in fact CAN, do more, MORE?? I mean more with her life, with her time. The truth is, her health and her house are her life. She is her own biggest problem, it is true. Her physical health is what she has always devoted all her energy and time to. When her friend had a concusion last summer, she continued to go to work, to go to dinners with her friends, to visit her daughter at school. When my mother had a concusion, she cancelled her trip to hawaii. That was scheduled for two months after this concusion. She saw a doctor every week for 6 weeks. She cancelled all of her lunch dates. Her health has always taken precedence. But the word i'm looking for his hypochondria. That is what has always taken precedence.
I don't think she would know what to do without that. She is 53 years old, and no one has ever said such a thing like that to her before "I think it's all in your head."
Is it too late? Is it too scary?

Can We ReBoot Relationships?

I was thinking about the “romantic gesture” in films, tv shows, novels etc. It tends to involve an airplane, a train, a boat, maybe a rocket ship depending on what we’re working with. And we, as an audience, tend to find it over-the-top, predictable, sappy etc.

But, maybe it makes a bit more sense after a second glance. Who usually makes a Dramatic Gesture? I can round up a couple films: As Good As It Gets, Something’s Gotta Give, The Way We Were. (Why do 2 of these involve Jack Nicholson? I’m watching a series of his films right now)
So who is it that always makes the dramatic gesture? Jack’s OCD character walks on the cracks in the sidewalks and touches the dirty doorknobs to get to Helen Hunt when before he wouldn’t leave off polishing his silverware just to acknowledge her existence, he wouldn’t look up from watching the lines in the sidewalk to look out for obstacles in Helen’s way. He travels to Paris for Diane Keeton on her birthday when before he wouldn’t walk from his bedroom to her’s, in the same house, to sleep beside her.
The people who would not, could not, for the longest time just make all the small efforts—the small, nondramatic gestures—those are the people that make the big ones. They have to add up all the little gestures they missed out on, and try and calculate some gesture of equal worth.
I’ve received a few dramatic gestures, I suppose.
A guy who my mother made no effort to hide her dislike for, came to my home with a giant bouquet of flowers when he knew my mother was home, would open the door, and knew allll about what this guy was coming to apologize for. He waited in the kitchen with my mother, her silence and her judging eyes until I was ready to come speak to him. Up until then, he had made a point of staying away from my home.

Well...he didn't look Quite like this.




Another guy drove two hours to see me after I left him because he wouldn’t drive twenty minutes to see me before. He always had me coming to his place.
Sure, these are not as creative, not as romantic of gestures or as full of querks as those in the movies, but they were made up of all the little gestures I didn’t get before.
Unfortunately, in my experience, this was not sustainable. It is simply an event provoking an event. I leave the guy, and in the emotion of that event, he buys the flowers, he gets in that car. But, let’s face it—I am still the same girl when all the hype is over. I am still the same girl who didn’t, for whatever reason, stir up in them the impulse to do the little gestures. The emotion which lead to the big gesture was not a regular one, so the gesture won’t be regular either. And the truth is, even if I did get flowers every day--that's not what I need. I need someone who can enhance my life a little bit every day.
Whether the guy thinks there is a chart somewhere on which i put a gold star everytime he makes grand gesture, and just looking at that star holds me over for a good month, or, whether he just doesnt think of it at all--i've always found, he falls back into his old ways.
It’s just like giving a slow computer a reboot. Every once in a while, you get so fed up with it to the point you shut it down and then—BAM—it comes back at full speed. And….within a week, you are smacking it again trying to get it to just do the simplest thing!
I don’t need a grand gesture every couple of months. I need the little, decent, seemingly plain and boring gestures that can take place every day.
How sustainable are grand gestures, really? Do we have any good Grand Gesture stories out there?

A Little Jiggle and A Smile

I love the comradery of joggers. Now I'm talking a specific kind of jogger. I myself do not have one defined muscle on my body. I am more of the "softer" sort, if you will. So, if you move like a goddamn butterfly, please jog on the opposite side of the street.
No, the type of comradery I am talking about is between those joggers who you can tell are not, really, joggers. The ones who jog because their doctor lowered his glasses and made a gesture something like this



when the patient reported his exercise routine. Or lack there of one. Or the joggers that do it for cholesterol reasons. Maybe the joggers who are the brains behind some big operation and there is a Gala coming up in their honor and, shit, suddenly they have to be a body behind the operation as well, in a sultry evening gown and well, satin just don't look too good on a belly.

I would know. I am the above sort of jogger. And this is the sort of jogger I am talking about. Things jiggle when I run. Parts of my body actually protest. The soft, sort of chicken-fat like area under my arms and on my calfs swing back and forth, trying to escape the rest of this body that has clearly committed itself to some project, "jogging" that well, these soft parts just want nothing to do with. I can actually see my underarms jiggling in my peripheral vision. That's how much they want out of this deal!

I am talking about the joggers that have a particular look on their face. Nose all snarled up like they've just walked into a porta-potty at a carnival.


Eyes bulging out of their head like they're witnessing a carcrash.


And thoughts that go a little something like this. "This sucks, this sucks, this sucks, F**K, this sucks! Who knew my body could be in so much pain? And still be moving? Oh! What was that? A new pain? I didn't even know i COULD have pain there!"


These are the types of joggers that I love to see. We've got that scary look on our face that i described, but when we pass each other, just for a moment, we smile. A pitiful, difficult, sympathetic, raise of the eyebrow (like hey, somebody made you endure this torture too huh?) smile. But that we can smile, through all that misery, what Comradery!

Laxatives and Taxes

Do you ever feel that someone gets offended if you do not do things their way? As if, by doing it a different way, you are suggesting the way they go about it is wrong?

I struggle with this with my mother often. My mother is...fragile, for lack of a better word. She sees at least one doctor per week for a foot, stomach, back, head problem, or you name it. And it is an unspoken rule that she does not do anything for atleast 24 hours after a doctors appointment. Well, actually, it is a Spoken Rule. She comes straight home and, she has said this herself, "oh no, i dont do anything after i see a doctor," and she lays in her bed and asks not to be disturbed.
But, of course, she is disturbed. The pool cleaner shows up that day and asks if we want the pool heated yet, the receptionist calls from a doctor's office to confirm next week's appointment, I come in to tell her a package has arrived for her. You get it, the world goes on. And, inevitably, if the world goes on just a little too long--usually after 4 consecutive "world" happenings--too many phone calls, too many workers showing up at the house, my my mother begins to cry and she pleas, but yells "why can't everyone just leave me alone! I've been to the doctor today!" And then she shuts herself in her room.
These are just the facts. I am not stating my opinion on whether this is a good or bad way for her to go about things.


However, I am having a colonoscopy tomorrow. And you don't need to tell me I am too Damn young for such a thing! Boy, don't I know it. Don't I also know that I will never be able to show my face again to the actually quite dashing young pharmacist who had the honor of giving me the detailed instructions of my pre-operation "cleansing" if you will. I'll be drinking a jug of chemicals that will move a person in many ways if ya get my drift. Anyhow, Dr.Dashing got to give me the low down. And seemed to require I look him in the eye and nod after each direction. Okay, that's beside the point. I simply find a new pharmacy.

But I came home, I drank my delicious lunch of broth and jellow (they've got me on an all liquid diet pre-procedure) and my mother came to ask about the preparation. I told her all about it, and then began to repack my purse.
"Where--where are you going? Are you going somewhere?" My mother asked.
"Yes, i'm going to file my taxes," I answered. "It's the only day this week i'll get the chance to."

"After all this stuff today?" Her eyes were very wide, "And before this big procedure tomorrow."

"Well, yes. It's inconvenient but, the World doesn't stop just because I'm having this done tomorow."

This was when my mom stuttered, shook her head and folded her arms and said "I --I--I know the world doesn't stop! I, I know that, Okay?!" And left the room.


She will cry, and ask "why won't everyone just leave me alone?" But my words, under the same circumstances are "the world doesnt stop."

I didn't mean to push that bruise on her, you know? To tap that delicate, already tender spot on her. But, I wasn't going to do things her way so as to avoid offending her, I had to file my taxes, damnit. I had to keep up with the world.

Thank goodness Vodka fits the requirements of this clear liquid diet. Cheers!

NoteWorthy

This morning our housekeeper, Victorina, came to my door. Her black t-shirt was soaking wet and so was half of her head.

"Su mama no esta bien, tiene problemas con su corazon," she said. "Your mom is not well. She is having problems with her heart."

Apparently my mom felt faint in the shower. She had just spent ten minutes applying some slimy substance to her hair meant to do a million magical and rejuvenating things, when suddenly she saw orange spots and her heart beat a little too fast. Our housekeeper, Victorina, heard my mom sigh. Just a sigh as if she'd finished a run to the top of a hill. Victorina went into the restroom, timid as hell (can you imagine knowing you're about to approach your entirely undressed employer) and found my mom leaning her head against the shower wall, panting and holding one hand over her chest. Victorina stepped into the shower, her shirt getting drenched in the water, and put my mother's arm around her shoulder, and held my mother around the waist and led her out of the bathroom.

"My hair, it's still in my hair" my mom patted her slimy head, barely able to keep her eyes open.

So Victorina walked my mother to the sink, pulled a bench up to it, sat my mother in the bench, tilted my mother's head back into the sink, and rinsed out my mother's hair.

Then my mother was willing to go lie down.

This was when Victorina came and got me, and went back to work, vacuuming, cleaning the windows, and emptying the dishwasher, All in a wet shirt.

What a moment.