and haven’t posted in 2017 until today. sir…if you still check here, yes i think of you daily. no, i do not have access or the freedom as i have in the past. yes, i’m mostly ok. missing you in ways i didn’t think possible…kitten
As I’ve mentioned in past posts, I’m definitely of a certain age 🙂 as in didn’t grow up in the age if computing, MTV launched whilst I was in high school, mobile phones weren’t existent as we know them today, there weren’t “faux” celebrities or even reality tv. Well there was National Geographic and shows on PBS here in the States.
Even before I discovered the joys of riding a bike without a helmet or organized sports, the library was my favorite place of entertainment. Anyone remember encyclopedia’s and when they were updated every 18-months? That’s how you learned about everything, different countries, plants whatever. The hardbound volumes of books now replaced by Wikipedia and the Dewey Decimal system now algorithms embedded in Bing or Google or whatever search engine.
All of this flashed through my mind when I got word that Miss Marple, passed away yesterday. While I’ve been a voracious reader for as long as I can remember, Miss Marple; she, she is the librarian that I hold all others in comparison to. I first met her when I was in kindergarten and she was the beautiful, young librarian of my (first) elementary school. She was captivating and she loved teaching us kids about books and the dewey decimal system. She introduced me to Mrs. Piggle Wiggle when she discovered I could read at a higher level as a 5-year old. When she handed me my first library card, typed and very “official” I placed it in my pee chee with great reverence. Even though we moved away a few years later, whenever we were in the old neighborhood visiting, we’d stop at the library (back then the school library was also the community library so it was open most days and later than school was in session) and she would greet me as if I were an old friend. Showing me new authors or introducing genres as I was ready.
In high school, once I had my own car I would find myself driving to her library every so often for a visit. It was then I realized that when I first met her, she was literally 4-months out of college and three weeks into her first job. Her youthful enthusiasm was genuine and her love of reading and books ran deep. She had a way of imparting that love and passion to countless minds, young and old alike.
While I was sad to learn of her passing, I couldn’t help but smile when it was shared that she passed away while reading in her favorite chair; a stack of books in various states of being read on the table beside her with post-it notes stuck to them with notes on who to recommend a book to or why it would be a good book for the library. So much like her. But what made me giggle was her son saying that in her reading room were several, unopened kindle’s and nooks on the shelves. well meaning gifts from patrons that thought she should get onboard the whole e-reader wagon. what a rebel she was.
rest in peace miss m. godspeed…
at the start of this month, Rougedmount had posted about the silencing of Unloving You. the post was well written, spot on and made me unbelievably sad for many reasons. yesterday, for the first time in weeks, i had the chance to start to catch up on reading the blogs i follow the most, maybe even comment here and there, and after reading said post i decided to go through the “blogs i follow” list to clean it up so to speak. granted, there were a few i knew had signed-off for good, and i needed to remove them from the list, as well as a few that have gone dark but the blog was still “alive” and not deleted by the blogger. if it’s a blogger that i’ve taken an interest in and or hope they find their voice again, i’ll keep them on the list until the next review.
so i was saddened to find that another blogger seems to have fallen prey to the same fate as Unloving You. Grey Matters Tales of a Proper Villain. His blog no longer exists. and we have lost yet another talented writer, with a depth for capturing the complexities of every day real life and the very human emotions and feelings of love, lust, longing, anger, heartbreak. all of it. he also displayed a wicked sense of humor and the arrogance to know what he was good at and the all too human frailty of falling in love with the right person at the wrong time. he too has had blogging haters, trolls continually post in his comments or even attempt to
engage attack and vilify him when he’s left a comment on one of my posts.
i don’t know if he’s gone completely as i hope he’s lurking in the interwebs, cultivating his next alter-ego/pseudonym in order to launch his new and improved venue for his musings. and if you are out there, i hope to stumble upon your gifts again.
“turns out that when you catch a cold and develop laryngitis whilst going through chemotherapy, there’s a likely chance you’ll get really sick. so take care” words the cashier at the local bartell’s said to me…8-days on, no relief and another chemo session in a few days. haven’t been blogging (duh) or reading but will be back and look forward to catching up on all you bloggers i follow. soon.
Most of my life, okay, all of my life, I’ve always been “one of the guys”, a tomboy, the wing-girl, the girl that the guys at the bar cozy up to, talk to in order to get into the pants of the girls that I’m hanging out with. Or the gal that the guys hung out with because I was easy to talk to and could make them look “safe” to the gals they were checking out when we were at the local pub catching a game. And I’ve always enjoyed that role, particularly when hanging out with the guys. It gave me such fascinating insight into the way men behave and think.
Believe it or not, it has always served me well. Being a gal that played sports, specifically as the only girl on a team, it has served me well. Socially and professionally. I have worked with professional athletes, c-suite executives and a couple that are now ceo’s of very public companies. I’m friends with many of those same men. Just friends.
I was thinking about that the other day, and I believe it’s because I am not a threat to the women in their lives or them. The women don’t see me as a threat or rather know that I am only a friend or a colleague because I don’t meet the standards they have in their own minds of what a mistress or the other woman would look like. Certainly not an overweight, middle management soccer mom. And the men, these men, some whom I know intimately (as friends, not in the typically associated intimately way) they don’t have an interest in me for the same reasons. I’m just this gal that they know and or work with, sometimes both that has not betrayed a confidence nor have I ever used our connection for favors. If I have ever sought tickets to a sold out event, I’ve always paid my way. I’ve never asked for a referral or for swag etc. It’s not my way, never has been, never will be.
As I was out with a friend and the frenemies (they deserve a post all their own) tonight, it struck me how much they really don’t know me. They are long time friends of my friend Wen (Wendy), they tolerate me as I’m a bit too direct, too average for them. And yet, sometimes for grins and giggles, I will accept the invitation from Wen to join her and these women (there’s a whole group of them-all trophy wives) because it’s entertaining.
There are two specifically that are mean girls. Yes, just like the movie with Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams. They were likely very popular in high school and are gorgeous, trophy wife types in middle age. They are well educated, well heeled and married to driven, successful, wealthy and good looking men. And yet they are clearly not happy because everyone is a target, a target to their ridicule and disdain. For the life of me, I have no idea how Wen became friends with them in the first place. No, wait, that’s not true. They all met and bonded over children born around the same time and were part of an exclusive mommy & me playgroup started in infancy. And until 3 years ago, Wen was a trophy wife as well, without the attitude or lineage, but I digress.
They make no bones about the fact that they believe that my darling husband’s issue with my weight is valid and my own fault and that as a plus size woman, I have no right to expect him to be attracted to me. They openly mock me when I order the patty melt with fries and ask for tartar sauce on the side. They are the two out of the group that love it when the local soccer dads swarm around us to pay attention to them. They are the two that when we go out as a group, if our bar tabs aren’t paid for by some men they get so offended they can’t believe it and get upset. And yet, they are two of the most naturally beautiful women I have ever met. For a plus size gal like me, they embody what I have always wished I could be. Tall, athletic, not overtly slender, normal appetites, flat stomachs, nary an ounce of pudge and breasts that look as if they’ve never nursed. Gorgeous skin, naturally full eye lashes and stunningly beautiful eyes. And yet their caustic personalities and the need to make sure every female around them knows she is inferior to them makes them so ugly.
As one was bragging about all of the men that hit on her, and how she feels sorry for fat women that don’t know what it’s like to have a man really lust for you, desire you and genuinely want to be with you, she looks directly at me, with pity. God, if she only knew. If I could only tell her about him and the last time we were together and I squirted and came so much I had to call housekeeping after he left for a complete change of sheets. Or that he fucks me so thoroughly and completely that the stories we share when I am blushing or giggling I’m thinking of him and not some former lover of my past. I have never been compelled to tell my secret. Ever. But that night, I wanted to in a momentary flash of wanting to make them shut the eff up.