Social Spying

How to be a private detective and voyeur from the comfort of your own home. That's "Social Networking" for you. I remember when my oldest stepson showed me his Facebook page 3 or 4 years ago. He was so proud of how many friends he had and the volume of comments on his wall. I thought it was kinda weird, but I could see how a 16 year old would like it. Here I am 4 years later and I'm on there. Is it worth it? 2 of my friends kept telling me to get on. I said I didn't want to have my picture or my info "out there." One of my friends has a friend that just has a picture of her eye. Another had a fake name. I succumbed to the pressure and made a profile with a shortened version of my name and a cartoon picture (it was actually the Penelope picture). At first I ignored it, then I got a little bit more brave, I set all the privacy settings, I posted some pictures, I connected with my best friend from grade school, I became "friends" with the boys. I got funny posts from them. They posted pictures. Pictures that included John. Pao was in the background in some. I saw that the camp was completely redecorated to look like my old home. This was less than a year after I moved back to Tampa. I was not as highly self actualized as I am now. The pictures made me sad. The pictures made me mad. I hid the boys so I wouldn't see anything or be tempted to look. After the whole taking John back to court we are no longer connected on fb. 

I've been "defriended". This is known as one of the highest levels of being dissed in Facebook. One of my old co-workers posted a picture of her boyfriend in bed. He was naked down to the pube line where the sheets fell. It was kinda creepy. I don't have much of a filter--I typed "kinda creepy" as a comment. Thusly, I was defriended. At first I felt bad. I had offended her. Now I laugh out loud. Post a picture with a hint of pube and you set yourself up. As for being a voyeur...you know you do it. You see a friend of a friend that you know but don't really like so you click on their profile and it's open and you see the pictures of their husband, kids, house and latest vacation. After the SOB incident, I did some light Googling to look for his wife. She was easily found on Facebook and much to my delight her wall was wide open. I saw her picture with a baby that looked to be between 1 year to 1.5 years old. I saw the lovely home at Christmas and a young boy holding the baby. I could click and see SOB's profile (he did not post a picture) and his wall was wide open (Not very Special Ops). Kinda creepy. I looked at the wife's face and felt really sorry for her. She was smiling with a really cute baby next to her. Not only was he married but most likely this was his child. It made me sad. it made me mad. I thought about how she probably had no idea of the lies in her house. This is an extreme example of "Social" Networking. Learn from this. Dear Readers, next time you sign in on your Facebook account, go to top of page and select privacy settings and click away...

ps One of my guy friends commented on how long my posts are. He said, "it must take you hours to write" and held his hands up to show how long the posts are. I just wrote this one in my mind while taking a shower. It took me less than 5 minutes to type. This is easy.

4 Minds

I recently read this quote in a book: "There are four minds in the bed of a divorced man who marries a divorced woman. It said the quote came from a 4th century Talmudic document. Ain't that the truth? But what if the woman has been married twice and the man has been married three times? Does that mean there are 5 minds in the bed? What about Liz Taylor? How many minds were in the bed she shared with Richard Burton? It kinda creeps me out. I don't want anyone else's mind in my bed! Is it exponential? I just referred to the definitive source (Wikipedia) to see if I had exponential right--

The exponential function is used to model phenomena when a constant change in the independent variable gives the same proportional change (increase or decrease) in the dependent variable. The exponential function is often written as exp(x), especially when the input is an expression too complex to be written as an exponent.

Thanks, that really clears things up. Here's my equation:

Me + (Your crazy ass ex first wife)

             (Your crazy ass ex second wife)  +

                 (My nice ass ex first husband) + You

          (My cheating ass ex second husband) =

Quotes

I was looking at my virtual friend, Sandy's blog just now. She has daily literary quotes on her page that I really like. Today was from Albert Camus: “I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn't, than live my life as if there isn't and die to find out there is.”

It reminded me that I met a friend for drinks while I was in Ft. Lauderdale. He commented that I never mention religion or God in my blog. I told him that was personal. He laughed out loud. Oh I'll write about ladyscaping and lying married men but I won't write about God!

Also reminds me...he mentioned something and said, "please don't blog about this." I only write about things that fit this criteria:

1. If you are an asshole and I write about what you did so the rest of us can learn how to avoid you and your types in the future. If you fall into that category you get to keep your real name. 
2. It's super funny and I give you a totally fake name like Boy #6.
3. I ask my friends that have fake names on here if I can write about certain subjects. There are some repeat characters on here that their identities can be figured out and I would never write anything personal without their permission.

Check out Sandy's blog--the theme is about books, thus the name, You've Gotta Read This. She is a great lady--a Mom and a Wife that is very active in her community. It is about more than just books...

http://sandynawrot.blogspot.com/

Surround Sound

What are you listening to right now? Is it music? The TV? Your family? The voices in your head? It makes sense to listen to things that are in line with what you want to achieve. I have all kinds of music on my ipod. I have experimented and I have found that listening to Rage Against The Machine before I meet with a customer is not a good idea. I just spent the week at a sales meeting with 60 reps from all over the country. I was amazed at the level of negativity. I immediately figured out who I didn't want to sit with at dinner and who to avoid during breaks. Sadly, the majority of them are on my team. The beauty of my job is that I work out of my house and I don't have to go into a building with these people everyday. I deal with them on the phone (love me some caller i.d.) It made me think about the choices I make (and can make) with what and who I surround myself with on a day to day basis. I am not talking about a friend going through crisis. I am talking about people that are constantly negative and drain the life blood out of you. My shrink says "if you want to be successful, you surround yourself with successful people. The same goes for being calm. If you want to be calm, surround yourself with calm people." It makes perfect sense. 

After I told my niece about the SOB story she said, "You really need to hang out with better quality people." I laughed, but there was a lot of truth to that observation.

I can make a choice with music--right now I'm listening to my favorite, Aimee Mann. TV--I have only watched CBS News Sunday Morning today. That is one of the only news shows I watch. I prefer to read the news. I don't watch reality TV (except Top Chef). I have enough reality in my own life. Family--I live alone and I am close with Sulie and my niece, Jackie. I have chosen to not have contact with my older sister (you all didn't even know I had an older sister). The last thing is the voices in my head. I'm not talking about the kind that land you in a rubber room. I am taking about the tapes that play over and over in your head. That subject requires a new paragraph...

The tapes in my head. I am confident you all do it too. I've never met anyone that didn't do it. One of the twins loved to talk about it. He once told me that he would have long scenarios of telling people off (in his head) after he was nice to them. He was the smiley, outgoing twin that everyone loved to be around. I encouraged him to be himself and let people know what he was really thinking. I recently emailed with Annie. She told me that this twin told John that he didn't want to play football at LSU (the scouts started to come to see him in his sophomore year in high school). He told his father (the football crazed man that attended college on a football scholarship) that he didn't like getting hit all the time and did not want to destroy his body before he was 25. I was so proud of him! Okay, that was a total tangent. This is what a day of tapes in my head can sound like...

Wake up. Shit, I should have gotten up earlier so I could get on elliptical. I'll do it tonight. Get in shower. Think about how I dread the meeting I have at 0900. Put on makeup. Look in the drawer and berate myself for all the money I've spent on various eyeshadows, lotions and blush. Blow my hair dry and curse the fact that I am 100% grey and I have to get my roots done every 2.5 weeks to not look 80 years old. Stand and look into my closet deciding what to wear. Think I hate my clothes and I have nothing to wear (yet my closet is bulging). Put on clothes and look at outfit in mirror. Again curse myself for not doing more cardio as I look at my backview. Get in car and pull out on to Dale Mabry. Dodge cars right and left. Mutter "asshole" under my breath. This is all before I meet with my first customer! 

Rewrite.  Wake up. Think how great it is that I wake up on my own and the alarm clock is just a back up. I have gotten up with plenty of time to do 30 minutes on the elliptical. Get in shower with positive thoughts about my 0900 meeting. Open my makeup drawer and marvel at all the choices I have in eyeshadows. Blow my hair dry and love the fact that I am healthy. Open my closet and marvel at all the choices. Admire my sassy outfit in the full length mirror without turning around. Get in car and take Mac Dill instead...

100% Evil

I had a conversation about this today with Polly and Sulie. When someone does something really shitty does it make them a "bad" person? For example, how John conducted himself. Is he evil? Is he bad? He is an extreme example because he obviously has deep problems (I am not being sarcastic. I truly believe he is damaged). I remember really struggling with the fact that I had lived with a monster. I didn't realize good and evil was such a big belief in my life.

Okay, let's move on to other examples. Can a relatively "good" person make bad choices and still be an okay human being? The next example that came up at lunch was Special Ops Boy. Polly said, "What about that guy? He intentionally deceived you." It made me think about things. When I sent him You Are So Busted Email, he replied that he tried to stay away but then he would hear from me and then he would continue. If I knew he was married, I would not have ever talked to him again. That is intentional. And deceptive. I would say it is profoundly immoral and malevolent.

My good friend Birch told me once that when he got serious with his girlfriend he contacted a woman he had been seeing off and on. He said something like: I enjoyed spending time with you. I met a great lady so you and I are not going to have sex with each other again. The lady said something like: Bummer. I'll miss you. Good luck and thanks. Respectful. Adult. Honest.

I think about Spencer. He drove me crazy and he was a bit wacky, but he was not evil. Same for my 1st husband and other men that have been in my life. 

I was telling my sister and friend how a married co-worker from out west put the moves on me this last week. I shut him down by physically picking his hand up off my leg and flinging it away. I wondered what it is that I emit that lures in the married man? Do I have some type of Come to Me Married AssClown pheromone? I am serious. 

I think we all face 100% Evil at least once in our lives. I just need to make sure I avoid it next time. Just like I flung that guy's hand off my leg, I will fling liars and cheaters away!

evil |ˈēvəl|adjectiveprofoundly immoral and malevolent : his evil deeds | no man is so evil as tobe beyond redemption.• (of a force or spirit) embodying or associated with the forces of thedevil : we have been driven out of the house by this evil spirit.• harmful or tending to harm : the evil effects of high taxes.• (of something seen or smelled) extremely unpleasant : a bathroomwith an evil smell.

Barely Breathing

I drove home from Ft. Lauderdale yesterday and made it in time to get to a concert. Sulie and I went to see Duncan Sheik. I have always loved him and this is the second time I've seen him. I ran into my house, did some dry cleaning (put on antiperspirant and changed shirts), brushed my teeth and we left. When we got to the performing arts center we saw that the opening band was an ensemble that played Radiohead songs. Sulie and I decided to sit outside while the opening band played. I love Radiohead, but listening to someone playing screeching violin doing their songs was too much. We saw a group of older people (in their 50s-70's) sitting on a bench next to us. Sulie commented that they were "Rockers". I wondered why they were at the show too. All of a sudden I look up and there is Duncan Sheik. This was his family. We were quiet voyeurs as they kissed and hugged. His Grandma said, "Good Luck Dunky" as he walked away. After he went back stage we talked to his Grandma, Mother and Aunt. They were so proud.

Sulie and I went in and found our seats. It was in one of the smaller halls and we were really close to the stage. 3 young kids (I can say that now) sat in front of us. They were 16 or 17. Two girls and one boy. The boy had a headband on and seemed to be having a great time. Duncan came onstage and started to play. He was so cute. As the show went on he said, "I'm going to play some old songs and some covers." The girl sitting in front of me yelled out, "play some old songs from the album with Barely Breathing on it." He laughed and commented, "I'm going to play songs from the 80's and from the sound of your voice that was before you were born." The crowd laughed. She replied, "My Mom used to play the CD when she cleaned the house." There was more laughter. Duncan (who I've read is a Buddhist, seemed kind of ill at ease) replied, "that is why I make music so people will be more productive." Even more laughter. I heard her little voice say, "no the lyrics helped me with relationships." She had on a jacket that had a hood. At that point she slunk down in her seat and put the hood on. I said, "he didn't mean to hurt your feelings." We were in such a small place it was easy to be heard. I said out loud, "you didn't hear what she said after..." At that point they started to play again. The young girl told me, "it's okay." I started to wonder what was going through her head. The seat was 40 bucks--that is a lot of money for a teenager to pay. What was she hoping for at this concert? Did she want to return to the feeling of safety she had as a child while her Mom played the CD? I thought about his lyrics (lots of them are about heartbreak) and wondered if she was sad. I watched her remove and put the hood back on several times during the concert. When they started to play Barely Breathing I expected her to jump up. She sat still with the hood on her head. I know all the words to the song, but I had never really thought about them...

Cause I am barely breathing

And I can't find the air

Don't know who I am kidding

Imagining you care

And I could stand here waiting

A fool for another day

I don't suppose it's worth the prize and worth the price

The price that I would pay

After the show I let his Aunt know what the young girl had said about the lyrics helping her with relationships. I told her it was cute, but what she said was very sad. The Aunt agreed. I hope she tells her nephew.

So, do you have kids?

I got back last night from a work meeting. It was 5 days in Ft. Lauderdale. It was the first time I met several people from other parts of the country since I have only been with this company for 3 months. I had forgotten how to answer one of my favorite questions, "So, do you have kids?" It usually happens at a reception when the asker and me both have glasses of wine in our hands. The asker has just told me about their family and they have just lobed the ball into my court. I know this next comment will make most of you laugh out loud...I am really private and I hate questions about my personal life. Seriously. On here I am anonymous. Anyone reading this that knows me is a friend that I feel comfortable sharing this stuff with them. I had some fantasy scripts in my mind when I was asked the question (over and over all week):

• "No, I don't have kids." I smile at the asker. Their face gets serious as they think, "poor thing." I keep smiling as I think, "I know you are feeling sorry for me and wondering if I am barren which by the way, I know I am not."
• "No, I don't have biological kids, but I have 3 stepsons, well they are ex-stepsons after their father fucked a 29 year old, didn't get a house out of my name and I had to take him to court so now he won't let the boys talk to me anymore..."
• "No and can you believe I was on the pill for more than 20 years? I guess it proves that shit works!"
• "No, but it doesn't mean that I am a child hater or a freak, so please stop looking at me like I am."

It is weird. With personal questions I am usually very direct with my answers. With the kid question, I feel like I need to make the asker (or me) feel better. I found myself adding explanations to my answer (this was usually to the woman asker that I liked). I wanted to let them know I'm okay. I've been married and I'm fine. It usually goes something like, "No, I was married and my ex's sons lived with us 50 percent of the time. It was a good experience. They are in college now." If I was lucky the asker smiled and didn't ask more questions.

Drinking away memories

March 19 was my wedding date with John. Note to self...don't get married the day after your birthday. Not that you want to plan for divorce. Just keep that shit separate.

I had a party Friday night. Yep, that was 3/19. It was a house concert with my friend Amy Dalley. I had done one before that was great fun. Friday the 19th ended up being a weird day. Tons of people cancelled at the last minute (there is a lot of respiratory stuff going around) and then there was Dan the Romanian...(I think I will have to save that one for later). I got nervous in that fear of having a Peter BradyParty
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Peter%20Brady%20Party
so I made several mistakes:

• I didn't eat
• I drank Pinot Noir. Lots of it. Fast.
• I didn't drink water.

Not as many came as I would have liked but we had a great time. As the night went on, I would have those flashes in my mind of pictures. I would see me and John on the beach getting married in Jamaica, standing under a waterfall with him and being on the plane smiling. There was a really pretty picture of us (it was one of the pictures I put under the Armada tire and backed over it several times) that I kept seeing. I remember him putting the ring on my finger (you know the platinum band I tied with ribbon to his rearview mirror?)

I just reread that paragraph and I hope that you too, Dear Reader, see pictures in your mind. If not, please send me a confidential email and I will seek help. My niece, known on here as Jackie, made an observation about the blog. She said, "You go along really good and your totally done with the John thing and then something comes up and you bring it back in." I laughed when she said that because I know what she means. Isn't that the way memories are? I go for days, even weeks and I don't think about him. Then I look at the calendar and I'm wasted. 

We ended up staying up until almost 0400. Let's just say Dan the Romanian can also be known as Dan the Misogynist. My neighbor removed him and drove him home. We drove to Gainesville yesterday to see Amy play. I have to say for 45, I RALLIED! 

If you don't know Amy Dalley's music, please check her out. She is on itunes and CD Baby. If you scroll to the bottom of the blog I have a video attached. Her lyrics tell stories. Some happy, some sad. She has known some AssClowns.

http://www.amydalley.com/Xindex.html

Why Chicks Dig Vampires

Okay, I was just flipping through the channels to watch something while I eat dinner. Twilight was on. It was the part when Bella meets the family for the first time. I started to think about why women love the Twilight series. It hit me--

A Vampire Never Cheats!

They stay together for life. Edward is totally into Bella. He never looks at other girls.  (sidebar--when I checked into the hotel in Lafayette the last time I was there to go to court I checked in as Bella Swan). The books are written poorly. The movies are completely cheesy, but I love them (me and millions of other women all over the world). When I was in London a few months ago there was more of a rage for Edward than there is over here. 

Maybe that is the type of guy I should look for next. Kinda pale. Socially awkward. Never sleeps. Can't be in the sun.

Sandra Bullock

I have always loved her. She is beautiful and goofy and that is a fine combination. People tell me that I remind them of her--not the looks, but the mannerisms. So...I was sick when I read that Jesse James cheated on her. People, I am trying to avoid falling into the All Men are Pigs way of thinking. There are some things to consider. I am not blaming her in any way (look I talk like we are friends and we had lunch last week) BUT...

• His ex wife was a porn star. 
• He's the West Coast Chopper guy. 
• He's been married 3 times (no offense to my readers that have been married more than once. Penelope can't cast stones)
• The whole "Bad Boy" thing

It made me think of Red Flags. Did Sandra see them with Jesse? Did she wonder about the porn star? Were there things that just didn't seem right but she convinced herself it would be okay?

Unsubscribe

Don't you hate it when you get annoying emails from a place that you've only bought something once from them online? I always select the do not send me information section. I still get bombarded with emails. Pottery Barn can be just as annoying in email as they are with the catalogs. I was just "unsubscribing" to a few. It made me think about friends, lovers and acquaintances. Wouldn't it be great to be able to go online and unsubscribe to a relationship that isn't working (romantic or friendship)? I can see it now:

For Lovers

What would you like to do?

1. Discontinue the relationship completely
2. Still allow occasional sex, but no commitment
3. Texting and emails only
4. Occasional dinner, but only when I am bored. Don't call me, I'll call you. 

For Friends

What would you like to do?

1. Discontinue the relationship completely
2. You can leave me an occasional voicemail, but don't expect a call back

• Would you like to give a reason for unsubscribing to this friendship?

Yes, you talked about yourself the whole time. When something big was going on in my life, you wouldn't remember or care to ask questions. You complain all the time and frankly I find you to be mentally exhausting.

44

My Mom had a heart attack at 44. I remember visiting her in the hospital after she had open heart surgery. I thought she was so old. 

In the back of my mind I dreaded 44. I wondered if something bad would happen to me at 44.

Tomorrow is my 45th birthday...

Psychic Income

I heard that phrase on the radio today. Psychic Income. The guy said it, but did not define it. I didn't need him to--I totally got it in the context of what he was talking about (i.e. a crummy paying job that he loved).

Psychic Income: the level of satisfaction derived from a job rather than the salary earned doing it.

I took a pay cut for the job I have now. I did it for the psychic income. I traded being on 4 planes a week, working for a wackjob,living in Marriotts, wondering if the taxi driver is going to hurt me, eating bad room service, drinking wine to go to sleep with the constant time zone changes, and feeling like a visitor when I got home (you get the picture--I saw Up in the Air and totally identified with the main characters) for sleeping in my own bed, eating food I cook, seeing friends/family, working for a guy great at a great company and actually feeling like I live in Tampa.

I'm going to remember Psychic Energy when I am balancing my checking account next time...

Deep Thoughts with Penelope

• Why do I think I hear my phone ringing when I'm in the shower, but I don't hear it when it is actually ringing?
• Where do the expensive socks go--why is it that I can't find the Smart Wool or Thorlo in the dryer, but I can always find the Target 10 for $6.99 socks?
• Why do I own 10 pairs of black pants that are all very similar and the same size? How did they get into my closet?
• Why do I think buying yet another purse will make me feel better?
• Why do my cats run really fast with a "Must Get to Other Room Now!" look on their face just to get there and lie down?
• Why do I have 5 different email addresses, 3 places someone can leave me a voicemail and 2 Facebook accounts?

If You Can Read This...You're In My Way

Some days everywhere I turn I feel like I am hit with negativity. Not today. 

I've written about Bess the Book Bus before and I am gonna do it again...there is no way I can have a negative thought today thinking about this little guy and his smile. This picture was on my friend Jenn's Facebook this morning (hope you don't mind me lifting it Jenn--I need it to make my point).

She decided she wanted to make a difference and she is doing it.

Jenn does great work and needs all the help she can get. Please vote for Bess the Book Bus. It is only a couple of clicks!

http://www.refresheverything.com/BesstheBookBus

Love his t-shirt

Dora and a Whora

I was getting ready to go to bed and I heard another piece on Rielle Hunter. Now I'm going to have nightmares. In case you haven't seen them yet, let me share one of the pictures from GQ:

Notice Dora, Kermit, and Barney...that is just SICK and WRONG! I'm going to use a word I haven't used since 1986.  This woman is a SKANK!

Tooskinnyfatsmartdumbrichpoor

I sing in my car. Loud. I don't give a shit if someone sees me. I have direct eye contact with other people at stop lights. I smile at them as I get down. I just drove home from St. Pete and it made me think of a man in my not so distant past that would say, "do you have to ruin it by singing?" (say out loud with a not so manly, nasally voice). Ew. Ironically, my ex husband told me that the way I sang songs in the same voice as the singer made him laugh and it was one of the things that endeared me to him (for a while at least). As I was channeling Bruce in the car just now it made me think of all the things some men had told me not to do or that they didn't like over my last 25+ years of dating (if dating is what you call it). 

Let's list them, shall we?:

• Singing in the car
• Eating nectarines for dinner
• Not eating dinner
• Eating too much dinner
• Not drinking enough
• Not being tan
• Dumb
• Being too skinny
• Being too fat
• Flossing (yes, one ass wipe said it wasn't sexy--I was in the bathroom doing it and he walked in!)
• Laughing too much
• Too smart
• Joking too much
• Not making enough money
• Being too serious
• Working too hard
• Not liking gambling or Vegas
• Making more money than him
• Reading too much (that was one of my favorites and it came from more than 1 guy)
• Wanting to be alone
• Liking the beach
• Not caring about registering for a fricking china pattern, silver, etc.
• Not liking or caring about the Bucs, the Saints, the Rays, the Astros, but liking the Lightening
• My taste in music
• The fact I love Florida. That's where I want to live. Period.
• Crying at the end of sad movies
• Waking up too early on weekdays
• Sleeping too late on Saturday
• Talking to the DVD when the actor is doing something stupid or it's scary (I don't do it at the theater. Much)
• The fact I've never had children
• Caring too much
• My  politics

That felt good. Notice I did not list the Mutha Fuckas' names that said it? It is a small pool of repeat offenders spanning from 1982-Present. I have decided I am going to quit calling people out. Unless they really deserve it.

Need a title...thinking, thinking....

got it!  Tooskinnyfatsmartdumbrichpoor

Breaking Up

I just tried to break up with the Sunday N.Y. Times. They can't get it right. My paper is delivered 50% of the time. I have the missed delivery number programed in my cell. I had done my part. It was direct billed to my AMEX. I paid on time. They didn't deliver. I had it. I was breaking up. Oh she poured it on thick. We are sooooo sorry. Please don't break up with us. We will do better. We didn't mean it. Then she said she would credit my account for 2 months. Now we're talking. I told her if it happens again I'm gone. I mean it. 

Hot Tub Horror

I get scared when I get in the hot tub alone at night (big mama I know that's a fear for you too). I get in. I get all comfy. I sip my vino. I'm feeling keeno and THEN...I start thinking about all the shows I watch: Dexter, Criminal Minds, Law and Order SVU, Medium, Numbers. The list goes on and on. My imagination goes wild. It's usually a guy that comes along the west side of my house with an axe. A gun would be too loud. One night a possum was in the bushes and it scared the shit out of me. I ran in the house and locked the door.  Tonight I figured out my game plan if this ever happens. Picture this: I'm all sassy with my cute bathing suit and wine. Axe Man comes up and says something like, "I'm going axe you just like your scary shows." I look at Axe Man and smile and say, "Nah, you don't want to do that. I am right on the brink of meeting a great guy. THE ONE. If you axe me that will fuck it all up."  I ask if he would like some vino? He accepts. I run in and fix a glass while deftly hitting the alarm button for the police. I go back out and he's in the hot tub. In his boxers. Axe Man is a gentleman. I hand him his wine and notice the axe is leaning against the rail.We discuss THE ONE I'm going to meet. Axe Man confides that he's had some issues with dating as well. I nod sympathetically as he tells his tales of woe. Just as I am worried that the conversation is dwindling a cop jumps out and grabs Axe Man. 

The End

Short Cuts

Yesterday, I came out of the grocery and I wanted to go to a small bookstore that is diagonally across the way on a one-way street. I was at the stop sign looking longingly at the bookstore that was right there but I could not go left on the one-way. I knew I'd have to go right and zig zag through side streets to get back to the bookstore. I considered going left and chancing it. This area has tons of cops (lots of restaurants around). I decided not to risk it. I could get a ticket or cause an accident just to save a few minutes. As I weaved through the side streets I thought about short cuts. 

Since I moved back to Tampa I had taken quite a few. I would not buy groceries and cook for myself. It made me so sad to prepare a meal for one. For at least the first year, I would get take-out or dine on my specialty--Chardonnay and Tortilla Chips. I also stayed to myself. Many of my friends worked for the same company that had laid me off (and John still worked there). I shut myself off from all but a few close friends. I was not willing to make the effort or open myself up to friends. The biggest short cut I took came to men. I thought I was so smart in my efforts to avoid being hurt (and Dear Readers this has been blogged about ad nauseam).

Sidebar: I just looked ad nauseam up to make sure I spelled it right. I found this little jewel--Seeing how often ad nauseam is misspelled makes some people want to throw up. English writers also often mistakenly half-translate the phrase as ad nausea.

This Latin phrase comes from a term in logic, the argumentum ad nauseam, in which debaters wear out the opposition by just repeating arguments until they get sick of the whole thing and give in.

I just wanted to get here!

A Fun 6

I write most of my blog posts in my head. I get an idea, I outline it and think of my ending in my mind. I usually do it while I'm driving. I drive a lot with my job. I mostly write with my computer on my lap while I'm watching TV. Lots of times I get ideas when I am talking to my friends. A few days ago I found a crumbled piece of paper in the console of my car that had "Fun 6" scrawled on it. It was a note I had written after talking to one of my old managers. He lives in Dallas. We were talking about dating. He described to me how he has stopped being so picky. He used to be super picky. When he lived in Ft. Lauderdale he went for the typical Broward County type of girl : Blonde, big boobs, super skinny--you know the look. This day when we were talking on the phone he sighed and said, "Ya know, I would be happy with a Fun 6." He had dated for superficial reasons and it backfired. I knew exactly what he meant, thus the scrawled note. 

I've never like the number rating of system. Sidebar: Alex (known as the bald headed bastard, introduced earlier on the blog) once told me with a straight face, "You know, if you got your teeth done and boobs, you would be a 10." I was 28 and had not quite developed my backbone (or my boobs). I'm not sure what I said back. He went on to tell me how he would generously pay for these "improvements". Ironically, I am no longer the skinny girl I was at 28 and I now wear a 38 D (all mine thank you). I also had my teeth capped several years ago (with my own hard earned money). As a child, I was given tetracycline which causes graying of the teeth when given while they are still forming. 

But I digress, my friend had something with his Fun 6 comment. It made me think about what I look for in a guy...when I start the list in my head I keep going to the "nots". (you know--not a liar, not a cheater) I can hear Lynn telling me that the mind can't filter out the "nots".

I'm going to go eat my breakfast and ride my bike and see if that gets the "nots'' out.

Men and Smells

I love a Man that smells good. Conversely, I loathe a man that smells bad. I met Betty and another friend (thinking of code name and cartoon) for lunch at Macaroni Grill yesterday. Our waiter, Jeff, had on cologne that smelled like a combination of Brut and ASS. It was bad. I still have a headache. We did everything we could to keep him away from the table. Limited eye contact, telling him we knew what we wanted and spewing out our orders so he would write it down and vacate. 

Here he is...we had lots of rain yesterday but no flood warnings:

Yes, that would be a 3 inch gap between the bottom of his pants and the floor. 

It made me think of how smells remind me of guys from the past:

• Drakkar Noir--1986 Tim (I will smell it at Macy's and it still reminds me of him)
• Soap--1989 George
• Cool Water--1992 Alex
• Dillhole had a scent but I forgot it. I think that is good.
• Whatever I liked that I bought him as a gift---2005 John (and I threw them all in the trash when I moved out. Chrome was one of them)
• Chrome--Spencer 2008

I think it works the same for women. I used to wear Coco by Chanel everyday of my life (now I only wear it once in a while). Dillhole would tell me for years if he smelled it he would look up and expect me to be standing there. Now I'm a Hanae Mori girl. My Mom wore Shalimar. Anytime I smell it I get scared, happy, and sad all at the same time. It reminds me of smelling her as she would hug us goodbye before she and my Dad went out on a date. Shalimar reminds me of being left with a babysitter.

The boys loved Axe™.  They would beg me to buy them the latest scent when I went grocery shopping. I always said yes. They would run home and put it on and then ask me if they smelled sexy. Funny, yet disturbing.

My new favorite commercial:

Six Degrees of AssClown Separation

Today I get an email from Sulie that says:

He has a connection between a connection of jch

Let me translate--Sulie was on linkedin. JCH is one of her contacts. The subject of this particular email was Paul B. He was a guy I dated for a short time in the early 90s. Here we are in 2010 and JCH (being the mover and shaker of the Tampa Bay business community) is connected on linkedin to a guy that is connected to Paul B. Funny. Ironic. Disturbing. 

Let's go back in time and reflect on Penelope circa late 1993. I had been living with Alex (aka the bald headed bastard--there may be some blog material on him later). We decided to be apart and evaluate things (i.e. I move out and we break up). I moved into a cute little apartment complex. One day I am walking into my place carrying tons of bags from Target with my new apartment purchases. I see a guy walk out of his apartment and he's kinda cute. I smile and say hi. About an hour later my doorbell rings. I look out the peephole and it's cute neighbor. I open the door and he has a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He introduces himself as Paul. We chit chat for a few minutes, I take the cookies and I thank him. The cookies looked homemade. I ate a couple as I unpacked. As the days went on, I saw Paul in the workout room. He had recently graduated from UF. He was an attorney. He was cute. He asked me to go out. I said yes. We made plans for Friday night. We went to a restaurant that was close by. We had a great time. We went back to my place and listened to music and talked for a few hours. We made out a little bit and I sent him on his way. We had several other dates. As I got to know Paul, I heard about his life. He was in and out of foster care his whole life. His mother was bi-polar and had drug issues. She named him Paul after Paul McCartney. He had awful stories of foster care. It was heartbreaking. When he was 16 he was placed in foster care with a very religious family. It ended up that the couple became his "parents". They could not legally adopt him since his birth mother was in and out of his life. Paul told me he would keep his suitcase packed for the first 6 months he lived in their house. The woman (she later became who he calls Mom) would unpack his things while he was at school. Each night he would pack his things again. He was so sure this home was not permanent. Heartbreaking. Super long story short, he grew to trust the family. He also began to go to church with them. 

Okay, fast forward to Paul (25) and me (28). He was gung ho to "do it". So we did. Over and over. It was his favorite thing to do. At that time, I was working the weekend program. I would work 2 twelve hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday  and get paid for 36 hours. It was the same 7 nurses both days from 7 am to 7pm. We were a really close group. There is something about coding patients the minute you walk in the door and dealing with death that brings you together. I was the youngest in a group of all married women. They lived vicariously through me and my dating stories. One Saturday night Paul and I did it 7 times. It was crazy. I told him I needed a break and I had to work the next day! I told my co-workers during lunch. They were dying. The next week I went on a trip (I think it was to the Outer Banks). When I returned to work the following Saturday there was a homemade banner in the locker room that read "Welcome Back 7 Times Penelope!!!" I died laughing as I changed into my scrubs. I worked at a teaching hospital. One of the fellows from Pakistan said to me in a thick accent, "So Penelope, what is this 7 Times?" Marsha (the banner ringleader) was standing behind him cracking up. I took a deep breath and told him it has to do with a training program I was in for a marathon (I used to run, but there was no marathon in my future). He walked away and I pinched Marsha as she cackled. Marsha referred to Paul as The Christian. They made Mary Magdalene jokes about me.

Let me get to my point--Paul had that very religious upbringing. He would love to "do it", but he would always have guilt after. He was so conflicted. It got to be very challenging and I told him I couldn't do it anymore. There was one night that he literally started his guilt talk before he was (how do I say it diplomatically...) separated from me. I quickly got up and put on my clothes and told him it was not  going to work. The next day I told my married co-workers. They roared with laughter as I told them, "I pushed him off me, I got up, put on my thongs and left". My stories were a source of great humor.

I would work during the week to get extra hours and to go into overtime for extra cash. I have always been a Capitalist. There was a new nurse, Michelle, that one of my friends (Betty) was training. One day Michelle tells Betty that she is dating a guy named Paul. She gets tears in her eyes as she tells Betty that Paul saw her schedule with my name on the calendar. He told her we dated and apparently shared the fact that we had slept together. Michelle cried to Betty that she couldn't understand that he had slept with someone before marriage (she was very religious and had definite opinions about sex before marriage). She told Betty how they prayed about the fact that he was not a virgin (Dear Readers, he wasn't a virgin when I got to him either). Michelle failed to do her background work and missed that Betty was my best friend. She also started flapping her jaw to other nurses that were my friends. I'd had it. I looked at the schedule and saw we would be on the same shift. We had morning report in a conference room. I stared at her across the table. After things calmed down in the morning, I found Michelle and asked her to come with me to the lounge. We sat down at the table. I told her I understood that she was dating Paul and I confirmed that I, too, had "dated" Paul. I told her that I had many friends and I was really disappointed to hear that she had been discussing my sex life with them. I told her she made a big mistake in opening her mouth and that she needed to focus on patient care instead of my personal life. She sat there speechless. When I finished she told me she was sorry. I just got up and walked away. Luckily, I didn't have to work with her much. It wasn't that long before she put in her notice and quit. 

I have not thought of that guy in YEARS. He was a mere blip on the Penelope screen of AssClowns. So today I find out that JCH is somehow connected to him via linkedin. Hilarious. I looked Paul up the web. He is a partner in a local law firm. He is still handsome in a clean, cut lawyer kind of way. (One time I called him a lawyer and he said, "Penelope, I'm an attorney).  Sidebar: I told Phil K (Bulldog divorce attorney) that quote. He laughed and said, "I don't give a shit what you call me and as long as you pay me." LOVE PHIL! The website for Paul's firm also had a personal section in his bio. It said he had 5 children with his wife Michelle. I laughed out loud. 

I looked at his picture and realized I had forgotten what he looked like. If he was sitting at a table in the same restaurant as me, I wouldn't recognize him. I doubt he goes to restaurants if he has 5 kids. I look at the title of the post and wonder if Paul meets the criteria to be a member of the AssClown Clan™. Probably not. He was a guy with a horrible childhood doing the best he could. I still like the title of this post and I try to find ways to use AssClown any way I can.

I may have to retract that last statement. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet I found that Paul is on Twitter. I read his tweets. It was all about working out, the Gators, his kids, and religion. He never mentions his wife. Yuck. He may be an AssClown....

Vietnamese Maria

I woke up in excuciating pain. On a scale of 1-10 it was a 15. I look up and a Vietnamese woman is looking down at me. She grabs my hand and asks me to describe my pain. I tell her my back is on fire. She tells me to hold on and immediately there is a doctor in a scrub cap looking down at me. They speak about what to do and the Vietnamese nurse walks away and is back almost immediately. I struggle to read her name tag. She smiles and says, "hi, I'm your nurse, Annie." She is hooking up something I recognize immediately--a PCA pump (Patient Controlled Analgesia--a pump to administer IV pain medication at a constant rate and the patient can also hit a button for a extra kick during allowed time limits). Her hands are flying as I am crying. She looks at me and says, "Who is John?" At this point I don't recall talking--just crying. I said, "Why?". She said you kept crying and saying, "Where's John, I need John." I closed my eyes and said, "My husband. I am in the process of a divorce. An ugly one." I point at the pump and ask hopefully, "Morphine?", she smiles and says, "No, even better--Dilaudid." (10X stronger with less side effects). She told me she heard I was a nurse (an anesthesiologist I used to work with was the one that put me to sleep.) I was getting ready to open my mouth to thank her and I blacked out. I woke up in my hospital room and it was dark. Sulie and one of my friends came in. I was out right away. The next morning I woke up to find Dillhole sitting in the chair next to my bed. I had the surgery 5 months after moving back to Tampa. He was worried about me. I looked at him and remembered him carrying me up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment 10 years prior when I was sick. That was back in my size 6, 125 lbs. days. The days leading up to my back surgery he would come over to the condo I was living in and rub my back while I laid on the sofa crying. We would eat Chipotle and watch movies. He told me I was no longer the happy, laughing girl he once knew. I told him she was gone. He told me she was just hibernating.  He reasoned if I could get over him (meaning him--Dillhole) that I could get over John. Back to the hospital--I just stared at him thinking, "Wow, Dillhole is here to check on me" (he has been called Dillhole for so many years by my sister that I truly think of his as Dillhole). He asked how I felt--I remember saying, "ok" and then I started to fall asleep. I felt him kiss my on the forehead and heard him walk away.

I flashed back to this memory of April, 2008 today. In my job I call on surgeons and operating room  nurses. I was in an O.R. today I had to cut through the recovery room. I saw an Asian nurse and I smiled as I remembered Annie my Vietnamese nurse. I was so gorked that night, but I remembered her name. I called St Joe's the next week and asked for the recovery room. I described her and said all I knew was Annie and she was Asian. The woman on the phone said, yes, she's Vietnamese, so am I." I asked for Annie's last name. I wrote her a thank you note. I told her how I knew how tough it is to get an order, find a pump, get the drug from the narc drawer and hang it. She did it all in record time. It makes me think that God had a sense of humor when I was sent a Vietnamese Maria. I don't think I got that until today when I had my recovery room memory.

Penelope is the 5th Beatle

You know I love to change the words to songs. Today Yesterday came up in my shuffling of songs...

Yesterday,

I let AssClowns get into my way,

Now it looks as though they’re married or gay,

Oh, Google them before you play...

Suddenly,

I'm not as naive as I used to be,

Now that the AssClowns stay away from me,

Oh, busted them so suddenly.

Why they

Had to be AssClowns, I don't know, they wouldn't say.

I said,

I Googled you, now I long for you to go away.

Yesterday,

I let AssClowns get into my way,

Now it looks as though they’re married or gay,

Oh, Google them before you play...

Why they

Had to be AssClowns I don't know, they wouldn't say.

I said,

I Googled you, now I long for you to go away.

Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm.

Taking the Virtual Hinges Off

Last week I had a meeting with a quirky customer of mine. She is a surgeon in her late 40s. Ironically, I met with her right after I received an email reply from a certain person lacking a moral compass. His name will no longer pass my lips or fingertips. My stomach was in knots and I could feel my neck blotching. I took a deep breath to get my mind right and put on a smile (there is no time for sad face in sales).

Back to my meeting, this lady (let's call her Dr. Quirky) is very outspoken, loves to cuss (more than me!) and is hilarious. She sweeps into the room and gives me the once over. I get a compliment on my jacket. She complains about her day while I nod sympathetically. Next thing I know she is telling me about her twins. They are 7 year old girls (you guessed it--IVF). Apparently, the night before, one of the twins was being a "little bitch" (her words--I don't speak that way. About kids.) and was sent to her room. The little girl kept yelling and slamming the door. Dr. Quirky told me she walked out to the garage, got a screwdriver and hammer and stomped back into the house. She promptly took her daughter's door off the hinges. Dr. Quirky carried the door out to the living room as her daughter yelled, "you can't do that, only Daddy can do that!" I was laughing so hard, telling her, "no way!" as she kept saying, "you're God Damn right I did!" The door stayed off all night much to a little 7 year old girl's dismay..

It made me think about privacy and secrets (I swear I won't get all dark). My friend was just telling me another one of those "Facebook ruined my marriage" stories. We've all heard them--the spouse connects with an old flame, it starts with idle chit chat and then...BOOM!, they're banging. I have 2 old college boyfriends as friends on fb. One, I am also friends with his wife (she has no time for fb and he shares his account with her to laugh at pictures, etc) the other attended my first wedding and we have remained friendly for the last 20 + years. I love that 2 of my old boyfriends are good guys that are married and mature.

Is technology to blame for a lot of the stuff going on right now? I think of my Mom circa 1972 with her teased up hair, head-to-toe polyester, cig and Tab™ in hand. She would not have time to diddle on Facebook. She was ironing my Dad's boxers, recreating the roast from the cover of Southern Living and cleaning up after us. I read a stat the other day that people spend an average of 2 hours a day on social networking sites. What does that mean about our society? I have a FB account (2 actually--1 for Penelope and 1 for the real me). I look at it on my phone between appointments. I know I don't spend 2 hours on there. People, I got shit to do--don't you? This blog is another example--I made a vow that I would not do this if it felt like work. I type and think fast. Most of these are written in my head while I am going about my wacky day. 

I am all for privacy, but I think there may be a need to take the virtual hinges off the computer. Like my friend that looks at her husbands Facebook account or my other friend that reads her husband his texts when he doesn't have his glasses on--if you are together, you're together. There should be boundaries and privacy, but not secrecy (which to me = lies).

The Real AssClowns of Tampa Bay™

Last week I told my friend Birch about the latest installment in The Real AssClowns of Tampa Bay™. He called me today and said, "Penelope, you're like a Nam Vet. You go into Midas to get a new muffler, a car backfires and you hit the ground." (I love my Birch). He goes on and says, "This turd is insignificant, but he got you where you hurt." Birch was absolutely right. I am looking for Charlie around every corner!

When I meet a nice Man and we decide we are going to go steady, I am going to have to say, "Nice Man, I wanna go steady with you but I am like a Nam Vet at Midas. Please don't backfire around me."

Recrap

I get emails with the daily word from Urban Dictionary. The word for today is very fitting:

March 10: recrap

To sum up a discussion composed largely of useless bullshit.

Person 1: "Tell me how the staff meeting went."
Person 2: "Allow me to recrap..."

I am officially done with recrap. I experienced a bit of a set back last week...I refuse to stay stuck in anger. 

Back in the Saddle Again

So I called my lovely guy friend, "24'' today for some cheering up. He lives outside of Memphis. He is a nurse practitioner, was in the Navy for a few years and he's brutal (I say that with love). We have always spoken frankly about relationships and sex. I tell him my latest story. I was laughing so hard while I was listening to his response that I forgot why I called. Here are some of the profound encouraging words from 24 (imagine with a total Tennessee accent):

• Shit man, you let him ride bareback? Go to the doctor tomorrow and get Levaquin 500 mg for 3 days. That shit will knock anything out...well, except for the herp. (Thanks 24, like I hadn't thought of that. I'm allergic to Levaquin but I can do Cipro. That will kill any anthrax too)
• Then he proceeds to what he knows about vaccinations in the Navy...well, he (as in SOB) gets tested all the time for the HIV, he also gotten the hep vaccine, but you know hep C is virulent shit. (Right, I've had the Hep B vaccine too).
• He then asks me did you do a visual exam of his junk when it was in your hand (well yes I did, it appeared to check out, but the lights were dim)
• Then he proceeds with the whammy...if he met that chick who's now his wife while he was in the Middle East he might have the Black Hand of Bagdad!

It sounds like a really gruesome call, but it was very funny. I laughed until tears were running down my face. He said go to your Worried Well Woman Visit ™ tomorrow, get swabbed, get prophylactic drugs and don't do that again! He said to consider it a "cheap lesson".

Morale to the story: Use a Saddle Next Time

Magellan, GPS and Tampons

My friend Scott sent me this joke (he gets to keep his real name because he is REAL).

 A man said  to his wife one day, 'I don't know how you can be

  So  stupid and so beautiful all at the same time.

  'The  wife responded, 'Allow me to explain.

  God made me  beautiful so you would be attracted to me;

  God made  me stupid so I would be attracted to you  !

  

John used to say (insert annoying Louisiana accent), "Baby, how can you be so smart and so beautiful, but so bad with directions?". Lafayette was built with a river going diagonal through it and the north/south and east/west dividing roads all had names that changed 3 times. He used to call me "Magellan". One day after I have lived there for ~ 6 months, I got lost finding my hair salon. I called them asking for directions. I got turned around and it made me late. I called him crying (I'm not usually a crier, but this particular day it happened). He came to the salon while I had color in my hair and asked for my car keys and smiled. I asked, "why?" He said I would see. When I went out to the car to leave there was a new GPS set up in my mini. I called him and told him how lucky I was to have him as a husband and how much I loved him. 

Give me a normal town with the coast was a guide for direction and normal diving streets and I can get around. I know Tampa, St Pete and Gainesville very well. Give me a town with a mucky river messing things up and stupid road names like Pinhook (doesn't that sound like something you need to go to the Health Dept to get rid of?) and I will get lost.

Another joke from same email:

 A man walks into a pharmacy and  wanders up & down the aisles...

  The sales girl  notices him and asks him if she can help him.

  He  answers that he is looking for a box of tampons for his  wife..

  She directs him down the correct  aisle.

  A few minutes later, he deposits a huge bag of  cotton balls and a ball of
  string on the  counter.

  She says, confused, 'Sir, I thought you were  looking for some tampons for
  your  wife?

  He answers, 'You see, it's like this,  yesterday, I sent my wife to  the
  store

  To get me a carton of  cigarettes, and she came back with a tin of  tobacco

  And some rolling papers; cause it's  sooo-ooo--oo- ooo much cheaper.

  So, I figure if I  have to Roll my own .......... So does she.
  

I have never asked a man to buy me tampons but this makes me laugh...

The AssClown Clan™

I went to dinner with Polly last night. She was analyzing things of late and had me run through my relationships since college. She astutely pointed out that I seemed to have similar results with each guy and they all seemed to come from the same clan--The AssClown Clan™. It made me think about what I really would like in a Man and why have I been settling?

I'm really good at envisioning things. I moved back to Tampa and I knew I wanted a 1920's bungalow with a porch swing on a brick street. Less than a year after moving back, I closed on my house. It was built in 1926, it has a porch swing and it's on a brick road!:

When I was little, my Dad would take me hunting and fishing with him. There was never any doubt when we would go out that we would catch tons of fish. If I was aiming at a target, my Dad would whisper in my ear about lining up my sights and missing was not an option. Here is a fine polaroid of 10 year old me with poor Mr. Cottontail. and yes, that is my own .22 leaning against the table:

Sulie and I went fishing one day and caught 22 bream (that would be a type of fish for my girlie girl readers) in a couple of hours. We just did it. Sulie would catch one and I would take them off the hook and throw them in the bucket. We were so proud when we ate them for dinner.

When does that "I Can Do Anything" attitude go away? I love when you see a little kid get excited to push the button in the elevator or holler when a dump truck goes by. How does it go from that excitement to, "shit, I have to wait for the elevator" or "that dump truck is spewing dirt all over my clean car." Thinking about this made me look through baby pictures.

Look at Sulie. So cute. I think she is 4 and I'm 6 in this one (I used to have a mole on my face that was removed at 5). I could look at this picture so many different ways--I think it is hopeful...Sulie grows up to be an accountant that is working on her CPA and I'm a R.N. She loved baby dolls and I loved to climb trees. We shared a room with twin beds and Cinderella wallpaper on one of the walls. We would play Name that Tune in the dark and I once split my chin leaning over to hit her! I had to get stitches where I hit my chin so hard on the bedside table. The sucky thing was my Dad was the doctor that put in the stitches. He yelled at me the whole time for trying to hurt Sulie while the nurse held my sweaty hand. 

I think I remember when the "I Can Do Anything" feeling went away. My Father died in his sleep when I was 11. He was only 54. It was pretty devastating. Sulie was 9. She kept walking around the house saying, "where's Daddy?" as my Mom cried. Things seemed pretty sad after that. My Mom shut down. I don't remember much. Sometimes Sulie and I will piece together memories from that time. That was my first memory that Men you love will eventually leave.

I've seen this picture plenty of times and I never noticed I had his tie around my neck. My hairdresser sucked! I wish I still had the mole...I would be so mysterious.

It is weird how you learn certain beliefs and they stick with you. Polly's questions last night made me realize how I keep picking out Men that seem different (i.e. different hair, eyes, body types, professions) but they all seem to have similar core values and links to the AssClown Clan™.

Gotta love being raised in Florida. What the hell am I drinking? It looks like iced tea, but I can't stand tea. 

My friend (known as Betty on here) told me how her son brought her coffee in bed today. I commented he was on the road to being a good husband. He is so sweet. One day I met Betty and her kids at one of those paint your own pottery places. He saw me drive up and came outside to wave me in and walk me into the store. Is that nature or nurture or both? I think Betty has taught him right. Unfortunately, his father (lowercase "f" intended) is a member of the AssClown Clan™. That is another post for another day. Because I lost my Dad so young, did that mean I didn't get to see the right "model" of a Man to look for? (Sidebar--Betty lost her Father at a young age too). 

I've got my education, I have a great job, my own house, car, friends and a fabulous relationship with my sister...why is the Man relationship thing so challenging for me? I know I have made some poor choices. Why do I keep doing that? At work I am savvy--I don't trust anyone (as far as lying customers), I assess things and I am almost always on target. The same in any other facet of my life. Why am I so willing to accept shit when it comes to guys?

Lynn has told me over and over to envision the Man I want to have as my companion. I keep going back to the shallow shit--hair, blue eyes, tall with muscles, smart, funny, reader, big schlong...I don't ever put in the really important things like honesty, integrity, family, etc.

One of my future blogs will be Building the Perfect Man for Penelope. I see that I have an opportunity to adjust how I am thinking. I envisioned my house and I got it (and the 2 before it and my first condo). The same with my degrees, jobs and salary. 

I go back to my appointment with Lynn when she had me talk about what I really wanted and to describe the feeling. It still makes me nervous in the comfort of my own home. The last time I remember lying in bed with a man and not being afraid was with John. Look where that got me. By afraid, I don't mean like he is going to strangle me--I mean emotionally afraid. I would wake up and his smile was the first thing I saw. He would say, "Good morning baby, I love you." I believed. Just like my Dad had a heart attack and died in his sleep; the illusion of John went away that fast.

I always like to tie these posts of with a pretty bow. I don't have one tonight.