Yeah, That Raven Had It Right...Nevermore, Indeed.

I was picking up A last night and she was telling me about her night.

She hadn't seen some of these friends since last August.

Lots to talk about. Most of A's friends are like my own kids. They call me mom. I used to think it odd when her friends would add me to their facebook profiles, until 2 years ago when I was alone on my birthday. Every single one of them texted or called to say: Happy Birthday, mom. Yeah. Not one forgot.

Many of these kids have, at some point, lived with us. I know all of their parents and I trust A with each one of them.

Trust is big for me. I take so long to build it that I hate to have it broken.

I told A about my new home here and she read the recent posts. She's more of a fan-fiction writer, but she likes to see how I say things as opposed to what I say.

She asked me about Red's trip. And we talked about Smarty and GG meeting R. She thought that meant I really like these ladies. I do. A knows that she and R are the last 2 people I have others meet if I can help it.

A thought I should explain why. I thought not. Then I got a text last night that made me think it's just sometimes easier to ignore things until you can't.

When I was 6, my mom and step-dad divorced. I loved B more than the moon or Mickey Mouse or Shaun Cassidy. With him in my life, I had a total feeling of being loved and protected. Having spent the first 3 years with my grandparents, my mom was a stranger to me. But B always made me feel like I mattered.

I remember sitting on his lap on the last day my mom and I were going to be in Lafayette. I was crying and asked B not to leave. I can remember being ‘that’ kid. You know the one. The one who says they will be the best kid ever if their parents would just stay together. B looked at me and said: I never really loved you; I was just staying close to you because of your mom.

Six-year old me hopped off of his lap, went to finish packing my toys and never told anyone what he said. I didn’t say good bye to him, I don’t even remember actually crying. I just sort of dealt. When you had a mom like mine that was the best way. Four years later when my uncle died, B called the house to offer his condolences to my mom. He called twice and each time I hung up the phone as soon as I recognized it was him.

On the third try, my mom answered. She and B talked for hours that day and I went outside to play. When I got home my mom asked me why I didn’t want to talk to him and I refused to tell her. Then my grandmother called and asked the same question. I finally spilled and let it out. They both called B and he drove to San Diego from Lafayette to apologize.

By that time I guess I had decided it couldn’t matter. I could trust myself and I could trust my grandparents.

And that is why, all of these years later I hold A and R up as the ultimate test of what I think of someone. If you meet them or I tell you to check them out on FB or listen to something they’ve done, you are in. Probably forever. Sometimes it seems like there is no rhyme or reason, but there is. It’s just a feeling.

Last night A told me that I should just say it and be clear about why I am like this: I know that I will never let her down so I protect her from anyone who might.

See what a text from someone who says they love you will get you to thinking about when all you want to do is eat ice cream?

"These Bitches Are Not My Friends"...

Odd title for a posting on "International Women's Day", right?

Well, not really.

Last night someone asked me to be really, really honest about why I am a sex-site drop out (note to self: title of next post is in the bag).

I hedged. I hemmed. I deflected. I lied.

Then I said:

Those people were not my friends.

Let me clarify:

Many were. No, many are. They are my friends. My family. The people I talk to daily if not weekly.

I love them all, which means I love many of you because many of you now watching came from 'there'.

You are a witty, intelligent bunch and I have learned so much from you. Thanks.

But you know me too well.

The truth is that I should have left that site when I fell in love with Chato. I didn't. Did that play a role in our 'where we are now' story? No, it did not.

I stayed because I had so much I thought I needed to say. In all honesty, I'm often so vague that most people probably didn't even know what I was talking about half the time.

But life was good. My blog supplemented me in many ways. Between love, work and regular old life, I was happy. Fulfilled.

Then Chato and I had the 'great Austin trip of 2010' and I was thrown for a loop. I had no fucking idea what to do next. I cried. I didn't eat. I doubted myself. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn't even know. I just knew that I wanted to write through it.

I tried my hand at dating and came away thinking perhaps I sort of suck at it on some level. But no worries, I still blogged through it. I just didn't name names. Maybe the truth was that I wasn't ready. My heart couldn't be in it. How could it, you know?

And then all hell broke out.

Everywhere I went, people told ME who I was seeing. How did they know? I'll tell you. One person. One person kept telling people everything I was up to, based on what she 'thought' was going on. It's like having a stalker, but better. Was she sharing the news because she cared about me? Nah, lol. If you ask her on a good day she will tell you she can't stand me.

Now, a stalker has no idea what you're really doing. A 'better than' thinks she's got you one-upped.

Cue the eye rolls.

One day, right after Paris, I called my friend and said: Enough. No Mas. I don't want to do this anymore. This blogging thing. I will go to Vegas. Then I never want to see most of those people again. Why? They are not our friends. Or science projects. They don't care if I am happy or sad. Working or not. Keeping to my training schedule or sitting on my couch. They care about silly things like 'top blogger' and who is sleeping with who this week.

They just don't care about anything but themselves. I don't think those things are important.

And then I felt great. Like the sun was all happy to see me again. And I told Red and Smarty and a few others and then I came here. And I designed my space and I sent out notes saying: Come join me if you wanna.

And then I said: I will no longer write things that sound vague. I will write what I want to because I deserve this after years of holding onto feelings because everyone else might be hurt or upset or not understand.

Yeah, that's right. I deserve this freedom to hang out with my friends (you) and say what I feel.

How else can I write about this 'awesome' search? Huh? How? that's right. I can't.

I don't even know if it has been, or will be, awesome. Hell, I don't even think there is a search going on. If there is, it's for what to wear to Yoga tonight.

But either way. I like my new home. Stick around while I decorate, ok?

Resistance Is Futile...Or Is It?

I've spent four years blogging on a sex site.

Did I hide that I was there? Honestly, no. Everyone who knows me either read my blog or at least knew of it. Even my best friend, R, who says he didn't realize 'what' kind of site it was, knew. Silly R.

I learned so much there.

I bet I could blog for another four years and still not be able to really express what I learned.

Some of the highlights include:

When you put women together in any forum, they will bond. Once they bond, honestly, they will share stories about the men around them. Then the real truth comes out.

Many people do not want to cheat on their spouses sexually. They want to talk. They want to dream. They want to be heard. The sex, in many cases, comes after the walls of conversation come down. But it usually is not an indicator of how they feel for their spouse. Yes, this is true even when they fall in love with someone else. Maybe the love changes, but there is still love. Hard to believe, right? Yes, you can demonize people until you understand: They are people.

People want to be heard. In any format. They want to know that their stories are important.

As much as I have written about the need for women to support each other, when they erroneously begin to believe that there is only one man out there for them, they will lose friendships over the perception of who that man is. That is very sad.

It is even sadder when they think they have to become like someone else to attract that man. Sad, indeed.

There are people who are deeply depressed. They put on a 'face' for the public then tell the world how popular they are; how they are a queen bee; how they are a semi-celebrity. The truth? We are human. Nothing more, nothing less. Creating an online persona you can not sustain offline is not good for anyone. It will make you sad. See the theme here?

There is much less sex going on than we all imagine. More to the point, there is much less intimacy. That may be even worse.

Sex sites are nothing more than a place where 'supposedly like-minded people' can get together. They join for one reason, leave for another but usually stay because they learn something about themselves. And it isn't that they want the ease of a quick hook-up.

Yes, I learned a lot. I'd even say that I grew up a bit. Thanks, sex site, for letting me use your site as a playground for learning. I promise to put all that new knowledge to good use.

And yes, I used a quote from the Borg. That's what being there felt like sometimes.

I Am A Woman With A Mission And A Past To Undo...

A is home from school. That's always a cause for celebration. I haven't seen her since January 5th.

This is the longest time in our lives that we have gone without seeing each other. She decided to skip spring break with her friends to come back to NYC. She says she was 'mom sick'. Good, because I was "A sick".

On the ride home today we talked about kids. A says she doesn't want any. Ever. I say that is totally ok, but she's too young to decide that.

I never thought I'd have kids. I was afraid I'd be a terrible mom. Then A came along and we raised each other. The relationship I have with her and R are my two longest partnerships.

A never met my mom. As much as I loved my mom, I chose to come across country to get away from her. And her insanity. As I got older, I learned to have patience for her, but that didn't extend to my buying a plane ticket to San Diego.

After she died I went through all of my baby pics to show A how childhood in the 1970s looked.

One of my favorite pics is of me and my mom in what I thought was a moment right after childhood. My entire life I thought of that picture as me and my mom after our first few minutes together.

I guess I romanticized it.

As an adult, I learned that no, that wasn't right. That picture was of me and my mom when I was about 4 months old. Right when she had the first of many breakdowns. It put my childhood and its chaos into perspective.

Here was this woman who, at 27, had planned to have a child for years. Then, when I came along, she wasn't prepared.

Sometimes, I get very defensive when I feel my parenting is called into question by people who don't know me and A on any sub-superficial level.

I think the reason is because I have raised both myself and an awesome daughter.

One who could go anywhere she wanted this week. And where she wanted to be was home. With her mom.

She puts my life into the kind of perspective no other relationship can. For that I am always going to be thankful. And spoil her.

(post title: "So have I for you"...Nikka Costa)

And Then...A New Start.

I thought about posting this really great intro. Then I deleted it.

Then I posted a mediocre entry and yes, deleted it.

The truth is that I am not sure how to start this new blogging life so I am just going to dive in.

I'm clueless.

A good friend of mine recently said that I am "consistently inconsistent, securely insecure, and genuinely human". She's right.

The truth is that I'd love to be Wonder Woman. I'm not.

The truth is that I'd also love to be able to say that I am the only person who has ever had a love turn to something else. That I am the only person who can't get certain things right. The only person who sometimes wants everything to stop for a few minutes while I figure out what's happening.

The truth is that I'm not Atlas. I don't have to carry the world on my shoulders. I learned this in therapy.

No, I starting learning this when my daughter, who was five at the time, said: You don't have to be perfect.

Always.

She was right. But I still kept trying. Right through to a second marriage to someone I knew wasn't right. My heart told me that we were great as boyfriend and girlfriend but that marriage would change all of that. I was right. Unfortunately, 9/11 created a lot of marriages. Some great. Some not.

We made great roomies. I just felt we needed to be able to be more to each other.

Then...March 2008. My whole world changed. I tried to fight it but sometimes you really are at destiny's mercy.

Fast forward to today and I have learned something very valuable: You can never 'unlearn' things you wish you never knew.

You can't unlearn that you aren't loved. You can't unlearn that your passions lie in a different direction than someone you love. You can't unlearn that sometimes love just isn't going to answer all of your questions. Even if on many levels it puts your heart at ease. There are so many things that so many of us can't ever unlearn. I am sorry.

It isn't my fault, but I'm still sorry.

Where did I learn all of this? On an adult site. Why? That's where I was when my life changed.

To be honest, I am not singular. I know many people who can tell you the same story. Some of them are my friends. Some are not.

I don't have to worry about their stories here. I only have to, for the first time in years, worry about my own. It's spastic, honest, brutal and silly. But what it will try not to be...for once...is vague.

And that may be the scariest part about this.

Don't Need Another Perfect Line...

You could be dead.

Or hurt.

Or living a fantastic new life somewhere warm.

Or just living the life you had when I knew you.

You could be anywhere.

But you weren't where I last saw you. Or where you saw me.

Come to think of it, maybe we weren't there, either.

Maybe we were already gone and didn't know it.

Or maybe we were just waiting.

I'm starting fresh. Like you said we should.

But you could be dead. Or I could be.

Nah, I'm sure we're alive. If for no other reason than I believe in the hope that only children have a right to hold onto.

Just because.

(photo image from goggleearth.com image databank; uncredited)

You've Got To Know When To Hold 'Em...

Four years.

That's how long I've been blogging.

I've done it all. Politics, humor, relationships, parenting.

Love found and love lost.

In all of that time there has never been a time where I could write for myself. I always hedged. Always.

Depending on who was reading, I'd get a lot of push-back for the things I said.

If I seemed unhappy, I was asked why and I didn't always know the answer.

If I seemed happy I was asked why and I couldn't always share.
When I came back from Paris recently I just knew it was time to change. Time to go. I waited until a number of us went to Vegas and decided it was the right time.

Kenny Rogers knew what he was talking about.

Time for a fresh start. Time to remove the vague writing and metaphors. Time to just write what I want.

I'm a bit scared. What if I can't do it? What if, like my first post was afraid of four years ago...I have nothing to say.

Oh, well. Never stopped me before!