The Flugel Gourmet

I can’t take a man seriously who complains, gets so heated that he starts stomping his feet and shouts with a vein bulge in his forehead, tells you what’s wrong with you and your family, simmers down enough to be silent for a bit ….and then with the pink elephant of tension in the room, farts. Without even trying to be smooth about it. Or apologize for shitting his manners out of the deal since we currently can’t speak without him needing me to adhere verbally to the script.

I mean if you gotta toot your flugel horn, whatever, but if this is some way of asserting defiance to some sort of relationship respect issue then I guess I’d better check my side of the bed if you need tougher ammo when you get REALLY angry.

Duck or Take the Hit

This relationship for me lately is hugely like a game of dodgeball.

Things could be wonderful for a moment. There could have been a beautiful compliment, moment, or maybe a nice bottle of wine involved. Everyone’s feeling good. We’re on our individual computers, me enjoying my good buddy Dorothy Hopkins and the wares that we’re exchanging for Farmville. He, playing the Sims on his computer.

I’ll have a weak moment and think that it’s ok to break the barrier and make a comment on something from the social network. I’ll have noticed that two particular folks on the site that we went to junior high school with seem to have found each other in adulthood and appear as though they are in the upswing of a relationship. Much like us! Only we didn’t find each other on Facebook…my guy hates Facebook and things it is the epicenter of all that is evil. In fact, when it comes up in conversation, he usually loses control and mutates into a spitting llama.

But I try anyway. Either that or I forget how fruitless and dangerous it is to mention anything regarding the site. If I’m doing anything other than simply playing games on Facebook, then apparently I can’t be trusted.

So I mention this couple….how cute it is….and he fixates on the fact that when I was 14, I made out with the guy. Ok, true. I did that. It wasn’t even fun at the time….the guy was a bulldozer, very forceful but whatever…bygones to me. I don’t care and if I did then maybe it’s something that I’d need to work out in therapy.

I mentioned back that I was pointing out that it’s cute….two other people hooking up later on in life. We’re adults….aren’t we past that who kissed who back when Duran Duran was super popular stage? Can’t it be something non-competitive and not the least bit serious?
Dodgeball. Either I’m trying drastically to get out of the way because I’ve mentioned something from 1984 or else I’m going to get smashed with the ball. And in most cases, once the dodging starts, the ball is going to hit me anyway.

It’s too bad that I didn’t use better discretion and allowed the funness of the moment dictate my words. Because then he started down the ladder of descent slowly but no doubt, without any other aim except to reach the bottom. Now I’m hearing about how there are a billion ex-boyfriends in my life. Yes, I am “friends” on Facebook with exes. We aren’t talking daily. Or weekly. Or monthly. Sheesh, lucky if it is as regular as an insurance paid pap smear.
But my words are as good as a used car salesman’s around here. My partner is a well intentioned man. Just too bad that his emotions and mind are warped a bit due to calluses from his past. What can you do with someone who won’t believe you or stop policing your every sentence?

I have learned that there seems to be a lot more that I should not say than I should share. I never know what memory bomb is going to blow an evening, a weekend, a good part of a week into shrapnel.

I miss my Self. I miss my freedom to think and speak without the Thought Police turning my home into a prison. I’ve learned how to work hard to just be quiet and hope that Hurricane Offended will blow by without ripping off too many roofs.

The only thing these fights allow me to do is to leave the house with my girl and head to Borders where we can pretend for a couple of hours that the world is right again. Where the bargain bins are full of life. Where people smile and the lights are golden happy colors. Where the little man in our bodies shuts off the cortisol switch.

I had an alternate day of beauty, awe and stress. It is my children and my memories of hope that have given me the most pleasure today. But that is for a different post.

The Scissors Czar

If you can name a noun – any person, place or thing, I guarantee you, mate and I can come up with the super harshest way to fight over it. Not even a noun. How about a piece of grammar? Oh sure, we could do the whole I before E except after C rule but that’s an obvious one. Mate enjoys CORRECTING any perceived faux pas with his RED MARKER VOICE during any fight. I personally find it so irritating that if the world were run on cortisol, I’d have the monopoly and be super rich. Also, super spent because cortisol is just so dang exhausting. I’d also be a highly paid entertainer since my left arm would blow up with 95mph blood rushes barreling through as soon as he starts nitpicking.

I’ve got loads of fun things to think about today. If my Humanling were donuts, tomorrow she’d be a dozen. I can’t wait to give her a fun birthday! At least I hope to. My older daughter, Miz Eye, is currently carrying my GrandFetus and had her very first doctor appointment today so I am anxiously awaiting to hear all about it!

However, as I skip along my travels in Bright Spots in my Life, I run smack into the Scissors Czar.

No no, kids, don't make the foolish mistake that I made...he IS real. You may be lucky enough to never cross paths with this Species of Anger, but make no mistake….he exists.

And his name is on my mailbox!

How exactly will you know if you see him? Check for these signs below:

~He will have a SAFE.

~He will give you the last digit of the safe and tell you that wherever the dial is, you can turn it to the last digit this way and open it if you need to.

~He will make you subscribe to the idea that he trusts you and eventually you’ll up the ante and get the 2 year subscription that allows you to go in the safe Just Because you are trusted so much.

~You have never actually gone into the safe without his asking for something because well, it’s his Stuff and you don’t need anything in there. But you know HOW to.

~He makes this strange noise a lot. It comes from his butt and it sounds like “GWORT!”

~Your 11 year old asks for a pair of scissors in order to complete a homework assignment. You can’t find any in the house but you know where they exist. The Holy Scissor Trilogy is in that safe, in its original plastic package with plastic snap for extra protection against theft or loss. You turn the dial, the way the Permissions have previously allotted. Handing scissors to the child, you close the safe, putting it as was so that little curious hands do not try to emulate the hands of their Fair Princess Mother and get into the safe.

~You hear a burst of anger! The Red Marker Voice is coming! It exclaims words like “underhanded” and “sneaky”. You know it is wrong, the child isn’t underhanded. She’s Left-handed. DUH.

~But it continues on. You are to be SHAMED for SNEAKING into such a world of combos, scissors and the net of guilt is thrown upon you. You are branded a sneak and a jerk even though the scissors are being used right out in the open. Although you have the combo and the permissions you were never supposed to USE IT!!!!

~The scissors you were using disappear. And the child must finish her homework with either her canine teeth or a sharp steak knife. Being vegetarians, you opt for teeth since proper steak knife etiquette has not yet come to this town.

I warn you children, be mindful and aware!!! The Scissors Czar can creep up on you like a sudden power wedgie in the dark! However, if you are listening, he can be heard in one of two ways…..

You’ll hear him rustling through a box of truffles that you gave him and he will eat them without so much as a mumbled Thank You…or…

You’ll find yourself sentenced to a auditory blast of “GWORT!”

There's no Need to Fear, Saint Fluffy Puff is Here!

Did I say balance?!? Silly me, allow me to clarify…..Balance on a tightrope that has one solid thread left and is on fire. Did I mention I was in platform shoes and my safety net is made of a bed of nails?

One thing that I am grateful for about myself is the Buoy effect. You can hold me down momentarily. But it is my nature to take my surroundings and buoy up and find a way to enjoy moments and enjoy life. Unless….unless there is a constant barge parked on top of said buoy.
I am currently either breathing in fog that makes me forget what language is, particularly what I’ve said and what it actually means. Or perhaps I am living with someone who takes my words, dips them in acid, distorts the shape, meaning and intention and throws them back to me so that I have no clue how I could have possibly caused the feelings in the other person to be so offended and ugly. Either way, there’s a door here and Fog hasn’t allowed me to find the knob.
I know life is better than it is right at this very moment. It can be infinitely better in the very next moment. Bridging the gap, owning it and breathing it is another action altogether. I love magic, I adore serenity and if a feeling glitters, I want to roll around in it and get it in my hair.

So eventually today, because my mate has decided to be defiant and try to soldier on through his physical pain and not ask for any help (due to the argument weather), I left the house and went where….????? To Borders!!! Because Borders and I are having an illicit affair. You’ll see. Borders WILL marry me someday.

I was really looking for gifts for my Humanling, who turns 12 tomorrow. How exciting! Unfortunately though, our home looks like Who Did it and Ran emotionally. Humanling has asked for no fighting for her birthday. I am going to do my part to hand it over on a silver, gold and chocolate platter! Hopefully if mate gets into a miffy tiff, there will be a phone booth nearby for me to jump into and change into Saint Welcome Mat so that I can handle his air barbs without reacting. But I can only do so much….so whatever you do, don’t hog the phone booths tomorrow. I promised Humanling some peace.

So while out today, I sorta accidentally found Enrique Iglesias in my hand. For $9.99. A penny more and I’d have to haggle. Enrique is a good sport though….he willingly sang to me all the way home…in Spanish AND English. There is something about the passion in his voice that makes me not even care that I don’t know if he’s making fun of my mom or not in Spanish. It’s all good. He can roll his “R”s.

I had my doubts I’ll admit…only because have you ever gotten so jazzed about a CD and then listened to samples on Amazon just to find out that what you’re hearing is two steps below ‘Eh’? I could swear I did that with this CD. But for the price, I gave Enry the benefit. Totally worth it for me. I love the duet he does on “I Can Feel Your Heartbeat feat. Nicole Scherzinger”. So much give and take, twisting, intertwining, like there is nothing in between the two voices. Whew. Got lost there. The link provided (Enry’s name) is for the deluxe version, which has eluded me. I had no idea or else I would have gotten that one. Apparently unless you party at i-tunes or Target, you ain’t getting’ it.

This was part of the joy of distraction today after another morning in Rotten Relationshipville. Mate has insisted on couples therapy, which may or may not help. I tend to be a tad skeptical, but am open to being corrected. I think needing couples’ therapy after only a year and a half together is a raging red flag. It’s tough to see the depth of feeling and love and openness at one point, just to have the window slam down on both hearts as they try to slip in just before the gap closes.

So windows, hearts, farts and the phone booth. Tomorrow is Humanling’s day and she deserves a carefree day to feel joy, fun and less like a mediator.

In the meantime, here's a eyeball's taste of Enrique.

Tsunami from Across the Room

He only hears “Oh…honey…” from across the room as I am on my laptop and he is in bed playing the Sims on a DSi.

What he doesn’t know is how loaded “Oh…honey…” really is.

It means … I love you.

It means …. I want you right now more than you can even fathom. You just had surgery so I can only think about it for now. But know that you are wanted and desired every moment that I look at you and every moment that I’m not.

It means My mind has been so full of decisions about us and balancing it all out but something always pulls us back together like fiery magnets..out to love through hurt and hurt through love, then figure it out ….breathe into each other and try to find the calm waters until we both decide to drown in each other beneath the surface once again.

It means “I remember you. The boy in the barn back in 1983. The one that I connected with and risked punishment for coming home in the dark for. The first one to unlatch the door to hormonal spikes, the same one that who does it to me now, still, raging more than I could even know existed.”

It means “I can’t imagine this life without you.”

“Oh…honey…” I love you.

You didn’t ask, but I’m telling you.

Lovin' Eleven

How I would simply adore to write a witty and decadent post to start off this new year! What a gorgeous number – 2011! I’m not sure how it will play out as there are too many things on the sometimes porous/sometimes closed for renovations mind.

I am currently doing one of those things that I find super fun and relaxing – exchanging virtual farm wares with my good buddy, Dorothy Hopkins. I double screen, side by side, to write and gift, all at once. That displays one thing that I’d actually like to change within myself and have been trying to slowly get away from…too much multi-tasking. Once, (meaning, my whole life) I thought I was fabulous at the art of doing with 2 arms what I should only be able to do with ten. I can finally admit at 41 that I sorta suck at it. That means I only half hear someone when they are talking or half do my work while trying to research for my radio show. Many times, it results in that cake that is burnt on the outside and gooey on the inside. Even as I write this post, the Honey is bringing up stuff over and over again and talking so I’ve had to put it aside until there is silence.

Ah….silence. Sometimes silence means doing housework. But then mother’s guilt is softly rapping on the door as Humanling makes a snowman, all by herself outside. I’ve always been quite the pill when it comes to hanging out in the snow. I’m more of a snow wuss than snow bunny. I like sledding. For 10 minutes. Then I want back in the house with a book or the internet or kitty litter. Whatever gets me back inside. But right now, just perhaps I’ll throw on some jeans and surprise her with a snowball. I’ve thrown enough of them on Farmville. Time for a live wire!

Ok, post Snow Dude Idea…..as I got ready to go out, Humanling came in. However, she was greeted with the choice of me going back out with her or she could have hot chocolate with marshmallows! She’s a kid. Marshmallows win even if they were on a raw onion sandwich.
Perhaps this year is about being direct with figuring out what I’m about. And balance. I’m creeping more and more toward those things that I heart with all of my human emotion…writing being one of them. But wait! There’s more! I just have to get there.

I’m currently reading a book by Marc Allen, who will be on my Scorpion Equinox show in a couple of weeks. Small, tiny book, but KA-BLAM! Explosive with amazing and simple ideas.
I will read more. I will write more. And yoga yoga yoga.

But again, Balance.

I enjoy silence. A LOT of silence. Honey likes to share a lot of thoughts. Emotions. News flashes. Wind directional changes. Wind from his hindquarters. Sports tidbits. And. And. And.
So we need balance. I like having someone who shares. I like having time to read and write. The ebb and flow is essential to my nature.

I’m usually more of a Samhain-Intention type of person more than a January 1st chuck wagon dragger. But I’ll admit there is something to that shiny new year that does make me want to molt.

Key words this year for me will be magick, direction, action, balance, serenity, love, open heart and spirit.

And now after writing that, I should probably write it in my journal so that it will be available to happy slap me on a daily basis, lest I have a moment of Rotten Evil.

Happy happy 2011 to all of you, lovely lovely readers.