Life Without Socks

Does this make my butt look big?

There are key things in relationships that are better left untouched. Questions, that we know, (like the "x- files of the 90's) "The truth is out there"- but should remain OUT THERE. Way out there.

Absolute truth is for Dickens novels of some substantial length. Even the Bible has stories full of people telling lies. Things like "sure it's your baby" and "... of course I'm your eldest son, feel the hair on my arm!" Lying is, well, complicated- and, as I have learned by experience, sometimes necessary. I know, I know, that goes against every grain of John Wayne in your ethical little body- but, heads up, life is no longer John Wayne, and the bad guys aren't waiting for you to count off the three steps before turning and firing. It's a different world and maybe it always has been.

See, I didn't used to be a liar. At the very worst, I was an omitter. An omitter is radically different than a liar. A liar will say "No" when the truth is "Yes". An omitter will omit any answer. I guess another word for Omitter would be Evader, although, I would like to think an Evader is a little bit more tactically evasive than an Omitter, but there are other categories too. Oh, this is all getting so complicated, so let me try to explain using a Steven Spielberg classic and some fun names.

Ruthie is living with Jaba the Nut. She has been with her for several years and is housebound due to the fact that Jaba wishes to be in a traditional relationship where she is the primary breadwinner. She also doesn't trust Ruthie any farther than she can throw her. In my opinion, she has now created her own reality where Ruthie will, in fact, be untrustworthy, but that's another blog. While Ruth is supposed to be home doing laundry, she has a secret meeting with Jill-just-over-the-hill, where they attend Jedi Knight training (a big secret). Jaba comes home after a long day working as a temp at the recycling center in 95 degree weather, in a not so pleasant mood. The following conversation insues:

Jaba: How was your day today?

Now, what a loaded question. Let's look at what all of the possible answers could be-

Ruthie as Princess Liar would say: "Oh fine, I just stayed home watching tv and didn't leave the house." An outright, bold, total fabrication.

Ruthie as Omie (short for Omitter) Wan Kanobie would say: "Well, it was okay, I got to watch Judge Judy this afternoon." Notice how Omie focuses on the truth of the afternoon, completely omitting the morning in the hopes that Jaba will hear Judge Judy and go with that.

Ruthie as Darth Evader would say: "Good- hey darling, would you like a big steak for dinner?" A complete evasion of the whole subject-

and Ruthie as Truth Skywalker would blurt out the whole sordid situation: I went to Jedi training classes with Jill this morning! I'm so sorry!!

Oh, how we'd all like to be Truth Skywalker, but Jaba the Nut doesn't necessarily like the answers of our honest, and bold Jedi in training.

WHAT!!!! YOU DARE GO AGAINST MY WISHES??!-

Okay, okay, kind of dramatic but you get my point. And that's where big butts come in. Is it a "far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done" to tell my partner when she asks about how her butt looks in those pants, that if they were yellow, little school children would try to board her for the early morning ride to classes? What purpose does that serve? I mean, if I say nothing regarding the width and breadth of how the coverage looks regarding her posterior- who's going to tell her? Hank, the guy that services the Xerox machine? Some random server at the roach coach? A co-worker equally nervous about the way her butt looks in her pants? C'mon ladies, let's hedge our bets! I am all for preserving domestic bliss and let me guarantee you, I USED to be a Truth Skywalker- but I am here to tell you- the Federation is dead! The fastest way to find yourself in the outermost polar regions of the livingroom sofa, is to give the wrong answer on the big butt question. They disquise it as a problem with some "other issue" like why the garbage hasn't gone out, or child-rearing differences or the like, but when you chart it back (and you will, be sure of that) it goes back to that morning, when she was getting ready for work, and the -do these pants..- question came up.

Same with the hair. I gave an honest answer about a new hairdo recently and life has not been the same. We slept in separate beds all during our vacation. DO NOT GO THERE! The saga of Star Wars has many cast-members and the character of Truth Skywalker, while noble, didn't get the girl. As a matter of fact, it turned out to be his sister- How's that for a dose of reality?

What?

Last night, while laying comfortably across a clean, soft, pillowtop mattress covered in Egyptian cotton 400 count sheets, I was offered a trip into the land of erotic paradise. It was night, the mood was relaxed, and so... without further hesitation...we both became involved in watching the new crime drama Lie to Me.

I remember Sig and I making a pact, a blood oath if you will, that we would never become "those people" who only had sex once a month-you know, the ones who have boring, in bed, lets get to it,  20-minute sex and then fall fast asleep with maybe ten words spent between them. The ones who have chocolate and Cheetos in/on the headboard for sustenance? The ones who make breakfast first- let the dog out first- do the bills first- take their meds first- and yes, have tv with the sex on- I mean sex with the tv on. I remember thinking I would never be there- it sounded at the time like some unrealistic horror movie that I could and would never be a part of. But time erodes even the hardest of rock.

Fast forward tape to "I'm there" scene.

From Here to Senility: a not so epic tale of the anti-supernatural

Scene 1#

The mood is dark and ominous and some weird ancient music (like old 70s music) is playing in the background in another part of the house.  Camera zooms in on the Interior of a bedroom, it is obviously an older persons bedroom as the priority for space has become closets of which there is a whole wall full. Where once art probably hung on the walls, now there is electrical cables that connect TVs, a Satellite Dish Box,and a DVD player. The Television itself perches high in the room dropping ominously over the queen-sized orthopedic bed, complete with a bookcase headboard and built in drawers underneath. The style is mission- heavy, dark and cumbersome. On the headboard rests some arthritis gel, a plethora of prescription medications, a back-scratcher, a TEMS unit purchased at the fair, a half-empty bag of Cheetos, some Werthers chocolate drops and a glass of water. Clothes are everywhere- sweat pants, underwear, socks and a denim shirt or two. A half-bald chihuahua is curled up in the bed next to a wrist brace. The TV is blaring in the background and the cell phone on the dresser reads the ungodly hour of 9pm. Wrapped in a down comforter, we see the shapes of two people. We will call them characters A and B.

A: Have you paid the light bill?

B: I did.

A: I have a doctor's appointment in the morning.

B: Another one?

A: This one is for my hip.

B: Oh, I went for my back yesterday.

A: That's right. How did it go?

B: It's just a strain.

A: Another one?

B: Yea, I stepped out of the car wrong.

A: Poor baby.

B: Hey, do you want to fool around?

A: Maybe. What time is it?

B: About 9 o'clock.

A: That late?

B: Yes.

A: Well, sure, we could... but isn't American Idol a two-hour episode on tonight?

B: Hey, you're right.

A: Maybe tomorrow night then.

B: That sounds great.

A: Love you.

B: Love you too- can you turn up the volume?

FADE TO BLACK

Okay. Maybe it won't make it to the big screen. Maybe it won't even become a made for TV movie, but- I am pretty sure, that all over America, this is what they would call "serious reality TV". What has happened to our drive of youth? Sex for 6 hours at a time, on the floor, on the table, in the limousine, on the limousine- is it all fade to black? Sometimes I think this recession might not be a bad thing. When economic times get bad and we end up losing our satellite dishes, Internet connections and "big boi's toys" maybe we'll all have to get back to basics. Maybe those basics will include nightly sit-down dinners, long conversations and more sex. Maybe we will reconnect with each other in a really consistent and physical way and I don't mean cage fighting or eye contact at the drive up window of Burger King. I know I am an optimist, but something tells me that despite statistics, despite the numbers that show 75 percent of all couples who are in relationships more than five years only have "intimate relations once every month or two", surely it is not an irreversible state of being.

So come on girls! Let's change the "set". Perhaps an anti-pasta tray on the headboard instead of prescriptions, a personal massager where the TEMS unit sits, replace the arthritis rub with cinnamon Kama Sutra oil and the misplaced undies with edible ones. Change up those sweats for lingerie and the back-scratcher with- well, you can't toss everything--baby steps, baby steps. I, for one, will take the pledge. I will not put off to tomorrow, what I can do today. I will become more sensitive, more erotic, more energetic. And so, with renewed commitment to the health of my long-term relationship, tonight will be the first in many amazing 20 minute nights- Unless it's Wife Swap and Super Nanny night. One cannot be expected to sacrifice everything, can one?

Love me, love my town

Have you ever had the experience of falling in love (lust, infatuation, momentary attention) with someone, only to wake up, several months to years later, realizing that somewhere within that euphoria you've quit your career, sold your house and moved into the upper story of an M Night Shayamalan movie? You know, your living in a house, surrounded by crop circles, green aliens are jumping up and down on your roof in the middle of the night and your dog is dead?

Okay, maybe not that extreme, maybe more like a scene out of Deliverance, a old-man-boy playing the banjo while looking funny at your sister, or maybe more like Footloose,"dancin? We don't allow no dancin' in this town.."

Whatever your scenario, mine was bad enough to be a combination of all three! I didn't know what I was headed for. It was love for goodness sake. Love isn't rational, love isn't predictable, love also doesn't have eyes, ears or an anus for dumping out the "S***t"that someone tells you about the "quaint, village life" of their home town. I'd like to say my youth and inexperience played into it, but I had owned my "house on the hill", the one with cathedral ceilings, skylights and a view of the lake and rocky mountains for 18 years. Not a ton of youth there unless you think I bought the place simultaneously as the obstetrician was spanking my naked butt on the day that I was born. Not so, of course. I was a full-fledged adult when I bought my cosmopolitan dream-home, in my cosmopolitan dream-town. I built a career where my hours were 3-6 every day and two months off in the summer. I had a dog or two, a child or two and a car or two. I had a swimming pool and a Madame X who, while not a red-hot fling, was fun to watch movies and go to bookstores with.

Then along comes a temptress, a siren, (okay, a round gal who looks somewhat like the chick on the old Nestle Coco ads) and crash! I've fallen. This woman lives states away. "States away will never work long term" I reason. We talk on the phone and meet up once or twice. I begin driving...weekends....all weekend. Once I stayed for 45 minutes only to turn around and drive home again in order to make it to an Easter Egg Hunt for my kids. I am insane. I am certifiably insane and not able to make rational decisions when I am offered the deal of a lifetime: "Move to my quaint hometown, buy a house and live here forever."

"OKAY!" I jump without even so much as checking into the school system. I begin house-hunting, not even noticing that every other person in the town has no chin. I start negotiations with a Real Estate agent, paying no attention to the fact that a vortex is beginning to open right in the middle of town square. I put money into a local bank, not realizing that the Jr. CEO of that bank is Nathan from Children of the Corn or that all of the children have blond hair, red eyes and no expression.

I did try to rethink things for a minute or two while I was trapped in my car by a giant rabid dog, but once the Hitchhiker came by and shot him with a concealed weapon and a few local zombies dragged the carcass off to eat it, well, I forgot all about it. As a matter of fact, I reveled in the idea of small-town life. I loved the way all of the straight women wore aprons, smiles and big hair- of course, I never saw a live lesbian, only a sign burned into someone's lawn that said "GIT OUT DIKES" but I didn't think it pertained to lesbians as "dyke" was spelled incorrectly- I actually was so insane that I thought the sign was a protest to the idea of impinging Dutch water systems.

So, I sold my house, packed up the kids, and moved to a quaint duplex. It was located just down the street from the Alzheimer's retirement center and overlooked a mom and pop auto-wrecking lot. The Real Estate agent (his name was Jason or Freddy or something like that) assured me that it was in a nicer part of town, several miles away from that crazed, chainsaw-welding guy I may have read about. Thank heaven's for that!

Soon after, I bought a nice little coffee shop downtown. As the former proprietor (not from this town) caught her tires on fire as she was speeding out of the parking lot after throwing the shop keys at me while leaving my final payment for the shop on the counter, I began to question the wisdom of this move.

I had started to notice things. Things like, how come most people in this town were never seen during the day but the Walmart was packed at night? How come the town seemed to be enclosed perpetually in a gruesome fog and there were no health food stores nearby? How come everyone had signs in their yard that said "Bush for 4 more years"? And finally, how come bats keep circling my neighborhood and what the hell were Nutrias?! I could have tortured myself with these thoughts and others- but instead I just decided to move. I rented the house to a nice man who claimed he was the servant of some kind of Doctor from Germany. I sold the coffee shop to someone planning to turn it into a coffin shop (which was a good thing considering I never had a customer come in for coffee in the six months I was there) and finally, I left my infatuation in San Fransisco (along with my heart, as the song goes) during a Rockabilly concert she forced me to go to along with 157 of her cousins, all with blond hair and red eyes.

Call me a prude and stuck up- but as the saying goes, you can take the goul out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the goul. 

The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker?

Relationships.

It's hard to know how to pick the perfect mate, as a matter of fact, it's damn near impossible. First, your eyes are setting you up by going "hmmm, she's perfect" well, I've got news for you, your eyes know nothing. All they ever want to do is look. They don't want to talk, dream, touch or be touched or be served coffee in the morning. Also, the eyes are total assholes- they will turn on you faster than anything. Take the first morning you see something the eyes have had the deciding vote on, get up, out of bed, sans nothing including combed hair, brushed teeth, or clothes. If it doesn't work for the eyes at that point- they run interference with the whole rest of the body. The ears can't hear a thing, the stomach is churning relentlessly, the heart is stopping on and off and the head is going through dread-lock.. that's a term of dread, not a hairdoo. The eyes have made a pact with the mouth just to get her out of here. The mouth engages "well, I guess you best be off to work, I know I have a long day- I'll call you." The body is now assisting the eyes by ushering (USHERING?) the poor girl out of the door. Bad scenario. This is why the eyes should not be allowed to vote.

Same with the ears. The ears will listen to anything. The woman has no home, no car, and no clean clothes. The ears hear her say sweetly, softly, and with a voice like honey "I've had some recent hard times, but I just got a phone interview yesterday for a great job and they've asked me to come in this week. I just need a friend to help me out." Your ears are hearing seduction. They enlist the eyes at this point (who were not allowed to vote, but got shuttled in through the back door by the ears) "Nice, sweet" shout the eyes. The brain picks it up. "Sweet? Sweet? Like babies and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm? WE should help her by falling in love with her!" "Falling in love? I LOVE TO BE IN LOVE." the heart is immediately on board and when the heart is on board- the libido is in the life raft rowing right beside. She moves in and three weeks later she is still watching soap operas on your couch. Plus, there is not as much "intimacy" as the libido thought. Libido starts the rumblings "Kick her out, she's a freeloader!" The eyes pick it up "yeah, and she don't look so good." The heart is more reluctant "Aren't we in love, won't we get married and live together forever?" The mind has a different opinion now, based on sneaky found facts. "Wise up simpleton, she's had other girls here while we've been to work, you've pulled out your wallet one to many time with no reciprocation. Dump her."

Next we turn to the heart who botches up everything. The heart picks out someone who can't be loved, but should be. The eyes like her, the ears like her, the mind knows it ain't going to happen and the libido is utterly frustrated. This unrequited love, but with fringe flirts, can go on for months or years. The eyes do start to wander- they need immediate gratification and the libido pays them to see what else is out there. The ears join in half the time- listening for signs of attraction from someone new, but the other half of the time, working for the heart which is hoping for a sign to say she's starting to swing their way. Finally the mind has to put a stop to it, using the old "there are other fish out in the sea" message along with " we are losing everything holding on to this dream". Since everyone besides the heart is bored- there is a mutiny and the woman who can't be loved, but should be, is gone.

Finally, it is the mind's turn. The mind rejects the eyes jumping up and down at every nice pair of eyes, legs, dance moves, hair, smile. The mind logs in those things to a central data base. The mind uses the ears to record answers- not just voice tones. "how do you feel about children? Do you have a job? A car? A lover? The ears record answers for the mind. The mind put's the libido on hold pointing out the fine messes that it has gotten them into before. The libido isn't happy, but is forced to keep it's opinions to itself. Finally the mind consults with the heart. Well, the heart always wants what the heart wants. There is always a dialogue. Sometimes the mind wins, at which time there is a mutually respectful, loving, healthy relationship in which the heart can also thrive. Sometimes the heart overrides the mind in which case the mind leaves a diary, makes sure a will is in order and has the body take martial arts (just in case) you see, the heart is a fighter- physical, emotional and everything in between. If the heart has dictated the relationship, the mind works overtime to make sure that all thought, research and knowledge as to what to expect is in place. The mind is no fool- but sometimes the mind snaps. Okay, a lot of times the mind snaps. So, reviewing everything possible to insure relationship success- what is the most plausible chance to achieve Nirvana? You're asking me? After 7 or 8 eye relationships, 4 or 5 ear ones, 5-6 libido relationships (give or take a few), one mind one (boring) and 3 or 4 hearts where I nearly died, you're asking me. After all of these relationships and all of these years my best advice: arranged marriages. Good Luck- and if you have a better formula, do write in.