Horoscopes I Can Get Behind

Libra According to Western astrology, I'm a Libra. And very much so: Diplomatic and urbane; Romantic and charming; Easygoing and sociable; Idealistic and peaceable. On the dark side....Indecisive and changeable; Gullible and easily infuenced; Flirtatious and self-indulgent

According to Chinese astrology, I'm a Rooster.
Rooster Just see here: Rooster is very straightforward and rewards others' honesty in kind. If you show your hand, the Rooster will respect you for it. Being noticed and admired is an aphrodisiac for Roosters, and they can go a long time on a few kind words. Roosters also adore being out on the town.

According to West African astrology (my favorite), I'm the Traveler.
The Traveler Infinitely so: The character of those of you born under this sign comprises a marvelous mix of fluctuation and permanence. You have a twofold destiny. Your departure makes your village sad but also very hopeful. So you can expect that your arrival in a new place will raise both fear and admiration. More sentitive than you can bear to be, you must rely on your intuition and go on without illusion. Thus, reconciling your outward and inner travels, you will know how to temper your affections and limit your movements to what is strictly necessary.

HOWEVER! According to BegoniaGraziella's horoscope, I am this:
Courtesean Let the games begin! Libra will try anything once. Twice to make sure they liked it. Three times to be absolutely sure. Libras are mental creatures that believe in living and fulfilling fantasies that they haven't done in real life...which is rare because they have done almost EVERYTHING. They are accident prone, they lose bras, underware, condoms....they also accidentally end up in bed with people. Amazing how THAT works! They are never just ONE sex. They can always feel what the opposite sex feels. Which is why they are rarely clingy, except in rare circumstances when they have been led on, then watch the manipulative side of the scales swing. Who are they really? It depends on what day of the week it is. They believe that life is too short to date ugly people in more ways than one. So if you are being shagged by a Libra, there is a good reason. Whether you are attractive physically, emotionally, mentally or have a fantastic sense of humor, there is always a reason for a Libra to be fucking you. But they HATE vulgarity. They despise feeling like they are on a waiting list to get your attention...worse yet, feeling like they are your groupie. That won't last long, then. But, if you get past all that, expect long luxurious nights talking and playing Strip Tarot or Naked Chess. They are the Graceful Slut...but not slutty and yet accident prone. They are the eternal Courtesan or Concubine. They are sex therapists, porn writers who knows?

And according to Buttrrflyy's horoscope, I am this: Libras gave birth to the term "shopaholic". These folks have every credit card known to man. And while their taste is undeniably impeccable, it can get them in trouble at bankruptcy court. What's really at stake here is a quest for beauty. Enjoying simple but inexpensive pleasures like nature walks and museums can quell the urge to splurge.

shopaholic

Well now. I believe this is what is known as "being cut from whole cloth."

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Musical Interkude

Ass-Kicking Rock and Roll ~ After unknown number of trips to visit the Lovely Cats in Connecticut, I finally have found the radio stations to get me there. 104.1 WBCN from Boston gets me to I84 West with Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, Ranconteurs, Chili Peppers...you get the idea. At the 84 exit, I pick up 106.9 out of Hartford. They bring on the metal. Then there's AC/DC and its ilk out of New Haven once I get off 84 from 99.1. The drive just got a hell of a lot more fun.

Muzak ~ As a general rule, I'm not much of an outdoorsy type o'gal. Because of this, I tend not to pay all that close attention to the change of season outside of a religious context. Logistically, summer is simply the time of year I switch out my black and earth-tone velvets and cashmeres for black and earth-tone cottons and linens. And even when I worked outside the home, I tended to take my vacations in autumn. So, imagine my surpise when I stopped at the rest area on the Pike on the way to the Lovely Cats' only to discover the place packed with people on their roadtrips and family vacations. In my rest area. That wasn't the biggest shock, though. The biggest shock was the musak. Apparently, during summertime, the Pike pipes bad, pseudo-calming music into the women's room. They might pipe it into the men's room as well. I don't know; I didn't check. However, walking into the rest area with AFI's Miss Murder in my head and switching to something that would have been too sweet for John Tesch was enough to strip my gears handily.

Girl Pop ~ Okay, so I don't know the official name of this type of music. Work with me. The Princess Kitten informed me that her favorite rock star was Hilary Duff. Being a good aunt, I managed not to heave right there in her lovely lavender room, nor lecture her on the difference between rock and ... whatever it is Hilary sings. Instead, I made slight corrections to her "rock moves" (tuck the thumb in when you are making that sign ~ again, whatever it is ~ with your fingers. Think devil horns, not ASL "I love you.") She is seven. In five more years, I'm introducing her to AC/DC. I'm the outrageous aunt. That's my job.

Hip-Hop ~ The purpose of today's drive was to see the Princess Kitten's dance recital. Wow. Eleven 6, 7 and 8 year olds all onstage, all listening to the same music, all watching the same teacher do the same moves...and not a one of them doing anything remotely like the child next to them. Looking with our hearts, these little ones were fly! Looking with our eyes ~ well, that was still worth the drive, just for different reasons. If you have never seen this, I highly recommend it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Bye, Bye Butterflies

Butterfly Boy just wants to be friends. Lots of heartbreak from being in the Navy (leave it to me to fall for a former Squid; even when I think they're accountants, there's military in there somewhere)... Long distance relationships that have ended badly...He's too guarded...We're great friends...I am valued...

It's interesting. I have been on the other side of this so often. I realize how carefully he chose his words. How delicately he chose to tread. I appreciate the care he took with me. Having been in his shoes before, I know it's not easy and I recognize when it's done well. He did it as well as it could have been done.

So I think I do have a friend. And, if his words were genuine (as I think ~ hope ~ they were) and not just platitudes, a pretty good one at that. Time will tell.

As the Divine M puts it, at least I can take solace in the fact that I have met my male counterpart in terms of being wary and guarded. Of course, it would have been nice had the person I risked lowering the guards for had been able to risk lowering his for me ~ but I'm selfish that way. :) The fact that he's right only helps so much. Long distance relationships, when neither one is able to relocate, end badly. Hell, my first instinct had been to simply Dear John him instead of asking him if what I was feeling was mututal because of the distance. Let's face it ~ he's scared the hell out of me. So I am proud of both of us for being so courageous. Me for asking and not just running. Him for answering ~ and still not running.

I didn't, however, have the courage to ask if things would be different if we were closer. Some questions, I don't want the answers to.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Love and Other Mushy Stuff

Recently, I have had several occasions to be thinking about, talking about, and mulling over love. Nemeria's wedding. The New York Supreme Court. Online dating. Begonia's relationship. Even JMB's death. What causes people to love? And why are people so nervous about it?

I have always felt that love was a gift. Even if it is not reciprocated ~ to be loved by another person... How special is that? It's a gift I don't think enough people appreciate, understand or value. Perhaps if we did, we could be more gentle with one another.

Our language doesn't account well for love either. I mean ~ "love." What does that mean? Sure, we differentiate between loving and being in love with but how easy is that to confuse? The phrase is still "I love you." I say that to my nephew and I said it to the SGM. I wrote it to appsrus earlier this evening, giggled it to the Divine M and whispered it to the puppies. My first words to Dondon009 (once I knew who he was) were "Oh my God, I love you so much." Yet eventhough I have butterflies for a certain person (Butterfly Boy, as Jaded dubbed him this evening), I am a long way from loving him. Loving is easy for me. Loving isn't. And how the hell are both of those statements truisms? The language fails us.

I love many, many people. Hell, odds are good that if I am in a relationship with you ~ whatever that relationship may be ~ I love you. Whatever it is that you bring to our relationship, if it's worth me keeping you around, it's worth me loving you for. Simplistic, perhaps, yet true for me. At the same time, I have only been in love a small number of times.

Over the years, I have learned to be careful with the phrase "I love you" because it does mean such different things to people. It makes people a little nervous ~ even if they know what I mean. I haven't said it to any of the guys I've met on my site, most of my fellow bloggers or several of my Girlfriends. It's too easily misconstrued, which makes people ... uncomfortable. Frankly, I think it's a shame. I think we need to be able to say "I love you" far more often. I think if we could recognize what a gift love truly is, it would be one we could share more often, be more comfortable expressing, be more comfortable accepting in and from others.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

...and I Cried 'Cause I Felt Nothing.........

I just received an interesting phone call from my biosister.

BioSis was in an incredibly abusive relationship with JMB from the time she was 17 until she was 28. This was not a nice man. Even after the divorce, JMB continued to be cruel. Twice he tried to kidnap My Heart. The harrassment and threats to my family went on for years. I have literally put my life on the line on two or three occasions to stand between this man and my biosister and her child. My biosister is the reason I became a domestic violence counselor in the first place.

Don't misunderstand me ~ we didn't live in fear or let him terrorize us or anything. The women in my family are made of stronger stuff than that. My father and the SGM were brilliant, too. We took appropriate steps and were smart, not victims. Still, there was always an edge to it. The screen door has always been locked. There has always been a lock on the inside of the bathroom door. My Heart lives in Nevada now and is starting an acting career. The question has been "What happens when JMB sees him?" Things like that.

For me, though, it has been more personal. Before BioSis finally left JMB, I'm the one who gave My Heart ~ at age three, mind you ~ his code word for when it was safe to come out of hiding when JMB would be pounding on the door with a gun before the police arrived. I was the one who talked BioSis into leaving. She came to live with me in CO when JMB tried to kidnap My Heart ~ both times. I'm the one who taught My Heart to yell "This man is not my father" if JMB tried to snatch him off the street. It was a hellish time.

Today we learned JMB is dead. He stopped eating about ten days ago and died surrounded by empty tequila bottles. After 22 years, my biosister and my nephew can stop looking over their shoulders. For the first time in My Heart's enitre life he is free.
I called the Lovely Cats. JMB is the only person I've ever known her to be openly rude to and even then it was only once. Being her, she finally said "It's a sad time." But I told her I don't think it is. There were parts of JMB that didn't totally suck. They were destroyed by anger and pain years ago ~ but they existed at one point. And my faith is such that I believe wholeheartedly that those parts are now free of the anger and pain. I believe wholeheartedly he is at rest and has a peace he never knew on earth. So, if my family is safe, I am able to put down this sword, and JMB is finally at peace ~ I can't quite bring myself to say it's sad.
Mind you, I don't know exactly what I'm feeling. Numb. Shocked. ... ... Glad. I don't know.

I know it's over. Finally.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Three Greatest Sounds in the World

According to George Bailey (from It's A Wonderful Life for you poor souls who might not know), the three greatest sounds in the world are train whistles, plane engines and anchor chains. This is not a stupid man. See, I'm a traveler. I have been aware of haivng wanderlust since before I knew the word. When I was very young, my mother used to tell me that, had I been born in medieval times, I would have bound my breasts and been a wandering bard. To this day, I like the idea. In West African astrology, my sign is the Traveler. That symbol was my first tattoo and lives on my hip as a gentle reminder against complacency.

One year, I was between the ages of six and eight (we were living in Texas so I know the age range if not the exact age), my grandparents gave me my very own suitcase for Christmas. It was dark blue with hot pink flowers (the 70's people, the 70's) and was the most amazing thing I had ever seen, let alone owned. I literally ached to use it. I even packed it, just in case. My parents refused to check me into a hotel in order to try it out. Not even my promises to sit quietly and not leave the room could persuade them ~ TTG!

Even now, thirty years later, nothing gives me the same thrill as buying the next plane ticket or standing in an airport. But it doesn't have to be a great adventure or even have a destination. Sometimes, it's better when it doesn't.

I love to drive. Put the window down, turn on the music and go. It feeds the wanderlust nicely without me having to drop a ton of cash. At one point, again while we were in Texas, I saw two pictures. One was of the California coast. The other was the New England coast. Immediately, I knew I wanted to drive those roads. I even knew how: the West cried out for a convertible; the East demanded a motorcycle.

To and from Nemeria's wedding, I found another drive I want to take again. Route 15. The Merritt. Hutchinson Parkway. It had several names just in the short time I was on it. The trees canopy overhead. The roads winds. The temperature is a good five to ten degrees lower. Even in my hurried excitement to get to Nemeria and my exhausted readiness to get home, I couldn't help but slow down, breathe it in.

Come autumn, I will make this drive. For no reason but to relish it. I have no idea how long it is, where it goes or if it stays that beautiful. I'll find out. And love every minute of it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Pobble Songs

The men I have dated have always "given" me songs. This is not uncommon, I realize. My parents' song was Blue Moon. The SGM and I danced to Bryan Adams' Everything I Do at our wedding. For another, it was Crawl by Nil Lara. Still another decided on Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls. (Anyone want to guess why he's an ex?)

What is interesting though isn't that I have had special songs with men. What is interesting is that I have had the exact same special songs with men. Seriously. Even if, as in the above cases, we had songs that were "just ours", every single guy I have ever dated has given me the following five songs:

1. Lady by Styx
2. Ruby Tuesday by The Rolling Stones
3. The Lady in Red by Chris DeBurgh
4. Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton
5. Killer Queen by Queen

Dear God, what a flattering list this is. Truly. Have you listened to any of these songs recently? Of course, at one point during a bad time I was crying to my biosister about them, telling her that every man told me these were my songs, how much it hurt and she came up with a fabulous reponse for me. She has suggested that, when a man tells me these are my songs, I reply "You're right. And I'll take them with me when I go!" Hahahahahahahahaha ~ easily amused.

Seriously, though, I am always deeply moved when these songs become the Pobble for a man I care about. And I have faith one of these days, I won't have to take them with me when I go because, well, I'll meet someone and neither one of us will go anywhere. Until then, I'll keep taking them back. :) Of course, the fact that any one of them could be my theme song is helpful as well if I'm going to be keeping them. None of them are my theme song ~ but they could be.

So what is my personal theme song?

Indiana Jones, baby. Every day of the week.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Saturday Ramblings on Wednesday

1. Nemeria's wedding: Is this weekend. I head out tomorrow for five days of keeping her calm; last minute shopping; manicures, pedicures and other salon stuff; eating lots of really good food; general girl stuff (yes, contrary to popular belief, I am a girl); and celebrating two of my favorite people. It promises to be a great weekend.

2. Butterflies: I got 'em. And the crazy thing is I got 'em over a boy who lives in California of all places. The thing that sucks is, of all the guys I've met on my site, all the guys who have already asked to meet me or think they are in love with me, even the other guys I really like and want to get to know better ~ this guy is the one who gives me butterflies. And he likes me too, I just don't know how much or if I give him butterflies. At least I know I can get butterflies still/again. It's been several years, several boyfriends, and a couple of friends with benefits since I've had butterflies. I'm a girl but I'm rarely girly. Seriously, though, they're kinda nice. As much as they suck.

3. The Fourth of July: I'm a goob. I admit it. For me, the Fourth of July is about the founding of this country. It's about the men who sat in that hot, sticky room in Philadelphia and risked their lives so we can live in this great country. And it is a great country ~ even with everything that's going on right now. There's a reason one of my few heros is John Adams. In the midst of all the fun, the friends, the cookouts and fireworks, please take just a moment to remember what we're celebrating. As Jaded will understand: I have crossed the Rubicon. Let the bridge be burned behind me, come what may, come what may.... They did an amazing thing. They crossed the Rubicon. They changed the world.

4. Getting my appetite back: No, I still haven't done it. But I have even more motivation than I did before. There is a place here in Woo called The Armadillo Depot and they claim to serve "Real Texas BBQ." Now, I'm skeptical ~ but I gotta try it. It's not decent Mexican food (something New England is notorious for doing badly) but I'll take decent Texas BBQ.

5. Boston: I'm back to writing full-time. This means I am no longer as desperate as I was to get back into the city. I will still go back, don't get me wrong. It's still home and its only flaws (in my opinion) are that the T stops running too early, there aren't enough 24 hour joints and it's an entire flipping country away from California (see Ramble #2). All of which means, I'll get my ass back there as soon as possible. But I'm writing again. And that makes Woo worth it.

6. The Gothic Charm School: We started with Nemeria so we might as well end with her, as well. She sent me a link to the Gothic Charm School. It's over there with the rest of them now. Apparently, I not the only one who appreciates thigh high boots and Emily Post. And that doesn't suck.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

72:20

One hour, twelve minutes and twenty seconds. That's the amount of time that passed between the time I answered the phone and the time I hung it up. For two self-professed phone haters, we ate up some time. We talked about living life and grief and apartments and Boston and riding public transportation and the power of listening and, and, and... The similarities we expected were truly there. The personalities we expected were truly there. The love we expected was truly there. The first words I heard were "I have balls." The last words I heard were "Love you, dear. And thank you."

Thank you. To me. He said thank you ~ to me. This person I have emailed, instant messaged and leaned on from over a thousand miles away. Said thank you, to me. I'm the one who's honored. Never doubt that true affection can grow over a computer link.

Dondon009's voice was the sweetest sound I've heard in a long while.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. But not much of a wine buzz.

Always the Bridesmaid...

This is an interesting time. As I have mentioned previously, I am in three weddings this year. First is Nemeria's this weekend. I spent this morning at Target getting all those things an honor attendant should have with her ~ tiny scissors, emery boards, breath mints, safety pins ~ you get the idea. Angry Girlfriend's wedding is next. I spent the early afternoon designing and picking out invitations for her shower. Finally, last but never least, is my Wonder Twin's wedding. TTG I'm "just" a bridesmaid for that one. I couldn't do right by Wonder Twin's fiancee as her honor attendant.

What makes it interesting, though, isn't the weddings. It's my reaction to the weddings. Over the three or four years since my marriage went sour, several friends have gotten married. I have even been in some of the weddings. And each time, regardless of how I felt about the couple or how strong they were together, I wanted to shake them and scream "Don't do it!"

Until now.

Understand, I still know the statistics. According to the numbers, two of these couples will divorce, will go through the hell I've been through. While I hope that's not the case ~ and don't forsee it ~ those are the stats. However, my change of heart isn't about the stats. It isn't even about the couples themselves. I had the "run" reaction when the Blackbelts got married and they are the strongest couple I know.

The change of heart is about me. My own healing. My own remembering that love can and does exist ~ and is a good thing. Am I racing out and finding a man to marry? Aw hell no. Let's be honest. There's probably a reason the men I like the most on my site are hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. The difference is I can now be truly, deeply happy for my friends. And I'll take that for now.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thoughts on Tim Russert

For the past week, I have been blog-stuck. Don't get me wrong ~ there have been plenty of things to write about: the amazing conversation I had with my fiction editor; the special men I have been meeting on my site; the...not so special but definitely interesting men I have met on the site; Nemeria's wedding; the Summer Solstice; giggling before sleep because my life was just so damn good... You get the idea.

But none of it felt right somehow.

Sunday was Father's Day. It's one of the three days that still consistently sting. My mother sent me a Father's Day gift. Tim Russert's new book. This has certain duality for me. First and foremost, Tim Russert is my single favorite journalist working today. He will go in the annals with the likes of Cronkite and Koppel. The night of the Bush/Gore election when he was sitting there with a white board and erasable markers, I remember thinking "I wonder if he realizes his life is about to change and he's about to become the news' 'It-Man'" Secondly, I am learning he is a good father.

I don't know Tim Russert. I will never know Tim Russert. Six degrees of separation be damned ~ this man and I will never be friends. Which means I have never seen him parent. I don't have to.

When you are raised by a man who loves you, respects you, likes you ~ all unconditionally ~ you know what it sounds like when you hear it in someone else. Tim Russert is a good dad.

He is also an amazing writer. His stories are gentle, almost soft, and yet I find myself wanting more of his stories, less of the stories he is setting up. Yes, I can read Big Russ and Me, the book that started it all. But that's not what I want to read. I want to read more of his stories about his son, Luke, and how the two of them relate.

So, if you are looking for a good book this summer, to enjoy under a nice tree with a glass of whatever, or on the beach, or sitting in front of your air conditioner ~ may I recommend Tim Russert. He' worth it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

PT S..Revisited

FAEE: Guess what I have on my desk?

Pobble: I don't know.

FAEE: I actually have tears in my eyes.

Pobble: *gasp* Is Boyfriend there? Did he propose? Is it a ring?

FAEE: nope

Pobble: A job offer?

FAEE: Try again.

Pobble: I don't know...you're killin' me. Tell me.

FAEE: Guess.

Pobble: O.M.G. is it the book?

The FAEE gave me her desk copy of Test Words You Should Know today. It's a book. It's an honest to goodness, real, actual book. It will hit shelves in 2 to 4 weeks. But I've got my copy in my hot little hands.

We have toasted ourselves, our friendship, our partnership and my grandmother. We have flipped through and examined sentences and paragraphs and oohed and aaahed over the cover. We have laughed over the fact that neither one of us knew what the hell we were doing when we started this process. And now we have a book.

Then it was over to Peaches' place. She rescheduled her evening so that we could stretch out on her bed and flip through the book. She is my fellow word-freak friend. We ate lots of Chinese food and giggled and laughed and talked about how annoying it is when people use apostrophes incorrectly. The inscription on her copy is going to read: To my favorite misanthrope. She's thrilled.

And finally, I was picking P. C. up from work tonight. When I handed him the book, he asked "PT S...who's that?" And, as if I had scripted it, I got to say "Me." Big grins all the way around ~ and he pretended to throw it out the window. Trust me, this is a compliment and means he is happy for me. He's one of those men. ;)

So ~ I have a book. I don't just have a contract or a manuscript. It's a book.

Hot damn. I know I have to sleep again eventually ~ just not yet.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

To Blow Off Steam

"to do or say something that helps you get rid of strong feelings or energy."
http://www.idioms.thefreedictionary.com

Yeah, that's about right. It was a good weekend. Now I can get back to work.

Those are totally steam-less Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Father's Day

Happy Father's Day, Weenie.

I love you even more than I miss you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Saturday Ramblings, Again

* Dancing has always, is and will probably continue to be my second favorite way to blow off steam.

* The Lovely Cats was in town for a few hours yesterday. We had the single most Pobble-defining moment possible. She wrote about it far better than I ever could so click here:

The Lovely Cats and the Pobble-defining Moment

then come back.


Yep, that's me. A thigh-high wearing etiquette fiend.

* 3:30 in the morning is not a good time to discover the clean laundry you dumped out onto your bed earlier didn't fold and put itself away.

* Did you know Lancelot was a 12th century addition to the Arthurian legend? (Okay ~ did anyone besides the Lovely Cats know this?) Nope, me neither. Originally, although Camelot still fell, Arthur went down fighting with Guinevere by his side. Now this is a legend I can live with. (The early Christians really had a thing about women being villains, didn't they? Sorry...digressing again...) Anyway, it's amazing what you can learn when you chat with a cool person instead of a Topekan blood-sucker.

* Paraphrasing the greatest joke EVER:

I don't have a boyfriend. I do have someone who would get really pissed off to hear me say that.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!! I am so easily amused.

* I am learning I am bad at writing scripts for slasher films. Too much plot. Too much character development. Too much talking. Silly me, I actually want there to be a reason these kids are where they are and getting chopped to bits. Give me a trashy romance novel anyday. Those folks love talking.

* I want a maid all the time. I need a maid during crunch time. Ugh. Somehow I don't think the elves that steal the sticky notes off my desk are going to do my dishes, though. Afterall, they didn't fold the laundry.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Only In My World, Take 2

I have found an online dating/personals site I really like. The people are more like me, less like everybody else. Admittedly, I have only been on for about two days now but so far, it's good. With one exception.

In two days, I have managed to pick up Yucky Boy. In fairness, I also managed to lose him. It went like this (as I explained to Angry Girlfriend earlier):

Pobble: we IM'd lsat night for about 15 minutes. lots of things i didn't like about the conversation but figured it's IM and what the hell. i didn't have to be rude. so, he tells me he likes blood sucking. BLOOD SUCKING um... no. i make it very clear that i'm not interested. he says ok and we keep chatting. then he tells me he will pay for half my ticket to fly out to topeka, kansas (which is as offensive to me as bloodsucking, honestly)

Angry Girlfriend: Topeka!?

Pobble: in an attempt to be nice (again, mistake) i tell him i rarely leave massachusetts because it has everything i need. now, you and i both know this is BS but i didn't want to go off on him about how effing stupid that was. as soon as i type that i rarely leave MA, he says "we're done here. bye." i say "ta" and think "oh thank god!"

Angry Girlfriend : this is all I can must up in response. I am laughing and amazed and so many other things that there is no emoticon

Pobble: next thing i know i have a comment on my profile from him reading "i feel sorry for this person. she is pathetic." at which point, i refuse to engage. i mean ~ are we adults or in high school? ~ but i do write the webmaster, explain the whole situation and ask what can be done.

Angry Girlfriend: But seriously he is a blood sucking man from Topeka Kansas. Can you be anymore pathetic

Pobble: they remove the comment from my profile and assure me that if i have any other problems with this guy, they will take further action. a bloodsucking guy from topeka kansas who bonds so quickly he is willing to fly someone out to him after a 15 minute instant message. dude...

Angry Girlfriend: wow hmmm wow up hmmm

Pobble: i'm thinking perhaps the webmaster read over the instant message conversation (you know they archive them) and realized that i related the conversation accurately

Angry Girlfriend: Only you Pobble. Me I would get on the same site and meet an accountant.

At which point I snorted my coffee.

Even I could not make this shit up.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

June 15th

I'm going to make my deadline. It was questionable there for a little while, which is an unhappy, very yucky first for me. We ~ the FAEE, my collaborator, and I ~ were all a little concerned. Luckily, we're gonna make it. Whew.

Over the past two weeks, I haven't: seen much of my friends; checked my phone messages; I didn't go to NY to see the Duck and meet new Santa Fe kids (or see Alan Cummins in Three Penny Opera ~ whimper). I haven't cleaned my apartment or my car. I haven't returned the movies I rented at the beginning of crunch time. I have been a bad honor attendant to not one but two different brides and have been a worse bridesmaid to a third.

Over the past two weeks, I have: lost another four pounds; taken care of Lionel and Daisy; had breakfast with the Lovely Cats and her parents; and met my deadline. Luckily for me, I have also instant messaged with Pharmyard and P. C. who keep writers' hours eventhough they are, obviously, not writers. Goddess love them ~ they are always willing to tell me if a definition makes any sense or not when my eyes have started to cross and I just don't know any longer.

So, that's where I've been. Making sure I was gonna make this deadline and instant messaging with two friends who've been awake, willing to read definitions and help keep me sane. Crunch time is over now so I'll be back again. After I blow off a little steam, of course. >:)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Grief Process

According to people who know this stuff, the grief process is generally accepted to work something like this: 1. Denial 2. Anger 3. Bargaining 4. Depression and 5. Acceptance. (The truth of this concept and the psychological accuracy of the process can wait for another post, please.) I have watched it in clients; I have held friends while they lived through it. What I'm realizing is I've never been aware of going through all five steps personally. The deep losses in my life didn't lend themselves to all of the steps. There was no room for denial or bargaining. That just hasn't been how loss and grief have presented themselves to me.

Until now.

The One in VA saw the pentacles.

In all the time I've been Pagan, she never knew until I outted myself here. Even then, she didn't say anything. Then I posted the pictures. Because I am more out here than I am in my "real" life, I didn't worry that the necklace showed around my neck. I lifted my pantleg high enough to show the pommel of the tattoo sword.

And she saw the pentacles.

For her, it is devil worship. It is witchcraft. It is evil. My assurances that it is none of these things have been met with silence. My faith is tainted by stereotypes and frightened teachings. Its beautiful, peaceful, inclusive nature is overshadowed by fear, loathing and misunderstanding.

Prior to this, we would have told you there was nothing we would not do for the other one. Apparently, we were wrong. Her religion suffers not a witch to live and, if I prefer the term "Pagan" to "witch," that is irrelevant. My religion is too important to me (as religions should be, in my opinion) to turn away from.

And so, for the first time, I am dealing with the official grief process.

1. It's just a misunderstanding. Surely this person will be able to see past the stereotypes and demonization of my faith. I just have to find the right words to explain the truth of the matter.

2. What the fuck. It's 2006. Paganism is a beautiful, peaceful religion that has brought me closer to God than Christianity ever did and isn't that the point? Who the fuck is your minister to preach against my faith?

3. Okay, fine. I'll out myself fully, work toward education and breaking down barriers if she'll get it. (Which goes hand in hand interestingly enough with...) I'll go back in the Pagan closet. I'll worship quietly. Just let her get it.

4. She's been my friend since 1989. How can this really be happening? We're on the phone several times a week. We instant message almost every night. I don't want this. Her loss will leave such a hole... My heart is breaking. Oh Goddess, help me.

5. Sigh. Yes, it is 2006. Yes, it's a beautiful religion. And yes, there are still people who don't get it and are afraid. Sadly, the One is one of them. My coming out before I'm ready or going back in the Pagan closet will not change any of that. My anger will not change any of that. It is...what it is. Sigh.

I have no doubt that she will always pray for my soul to be saved from the "evil" that has taken it over. I will always continue to hope that one day she can understand the truth of my faith. And I will look forward to the day when we meet on the otherside so we can embrace in friendship again, having both been "right" ~ neither of us evil or damned.

For now, there are many reasons I worship quietly. Why I'm not "out" many places but here. The grief process is only one of them.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

'Nuff Said

It will be legible if you click on it...


Those are Wiley's Thoughts and Pobble's Life. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Answers

Again, thank you for the very, very nice things you said about me, my shoes, my tat, my shirt and my boobs. We all thank you. Now, I have gotten some requests for information about where they all came from. The boobs are genetic so I can't help you there. As for the rest of it...

The t-shirt comes from one of our own ~ Cracker Lilo. I am not skilled enough with HTML to get the cafe press link here. For some reason, it's fighting me (and it's winning) so, here is the address: http://www.cafepress.com/scarylikelove Cut, paste and shop. She has linked the shop to her site as well so you can always click here: Cracker Lilo's Porch and follow her lead. She beat the evil HTML code in a way I just couldn't.


The shoes are a brand called "The Highest Heel." Here is my favorite place to buy them: pretty, pretty shoes


And the tat. My beautiful, beautiful tat. *sigh* The genius behind that is Natan at Darkwave Studios or Lightwave Studios. Here's how you find him: Natan


Those are Pobble Thoughts, getting by with a little help from her friends. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Pictures

I'm being brave and posting pics here ~ and pics actually of my face. Okay, of my calf, my boobs and my face. If I'm gonna do it, I might as well do it, right?


Fire symbols tattoo. There it is. As promised.
Isn't it bee-yoo-tee-ful?










And the boobs. In a t-shirt designed by Cracker Lilo (I can't get the link here but trust me ~ you NEED one of these shirts!)












And finally ~ Me. The Boston Pobble. Full-face and everything.








Those are Pobble Thoughts (with a comment or two from Cracker Lilo!) That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

21 was a Very Good Year

Today is my Dear One's 21st birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dear One. I love you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you iced tea and cake.

Brought to You by the Letter F

Aisha T. stole this from Barry and I am stealing it from her. You have a letter and pick 10 things you like in your life that start with that letter. She offered anyone a letter who wanted to participate. I got the letter "F". At first, I panicked. F? How many things can I possibly like that start with the letter F???? Friends, French toast, flowers, the Foo Fighters... Surprisingly enough, I love and value many things that start with the letter F. It wasn't easy limiting it. So, here are some of the less obvious ones. In no particular order and without further ado...

1. Fountain pens. I adore my fountain pens. If you don't know the joy of writing with a fountain pen, you are missing out hugely. Trust me.

2. Fire. Fire is my element. Fire is my comfort. Fire is my strength. My new tattoo (pictures to be posted soon, I promise) is made up entirely of fire symbols. Even before I was Pagan, fire was mine and I was its.

3. Freedom. Of speech. Of thought. Of religion. Of choice. Of...whatever. It is one of the few things I would actually be willing to fight for.

4. Flirting. It's fun. It's all in the eyes, the well-turned phrase and the subtle touch. It's a great way to spend a conversation.

5. Funky. If it can be described as "funky" I have it, want it, or appreciate it. Mainstream and I have little in common. Funky and I are old friends. This is not to be confused with "funk." Interestingly enough, I'm not a huge fan. But funky...yeah, I'll take that.

6. Foolishness. Is there anything better than being foolish with your friends? The world needs more foolishness.

7. Fetish. Insert your own description here. Use your imagination. You'll probably be right on the money. ;)

8. Forgiveness. Without it, I'd be screwed on so many levels.

9. Freaks. In my world, this is a compliment.

10. Flying. I'm happiest in an airport. Travel is one of the single most important activities for me. It is, afterall, about the journey...

There you go, Aisha. Ten things about the Pobble that start with the letter F.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Why I Write This Blog

Perhaps the title should be Why I Can Write This Blog.

Because men and women have fought and died to give me the right to be as brazen, as outspoken, as politically incorrect, as judgemental, as vocal as I want to be.

This could be a very long post. It won't be because I have to get off my Pobble butt and go into town this morning. Instead, I will just say thank you.

To the men and women who fought and fight for our freedoms.
To the mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, daughters, sons, kith and kin who wait for their soldier to come marching home.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. Buy one for a vet, instead, though.

Annoying in an Amusing Sort of Way

Lionel and Daisy have finally stopped pooping in my guest room in an attempt to bring my Dear One home. Now they are pooping in my closet instead.

Summer has come to Worcester. Last week, it was low-60s. Today it was high 80s. No adjustment period at all.

Now that it is warm, the windows are open, allowing me to hear my neighbors. Including the young man who spent most of an hour today singing "doot-doot-doot. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! doot-doot-doot. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Off-key, may I add.

One of my neighbors has the same phone as I do. I answered my phone three times today when it wasn't actually ringing. When I finally ignored it, I missed a call.

Lionel has learned to take the lid off the trash. He then hangs over the rim and rides the barrel down, Indiana Jones style, dumping it out all over the kitchen floor. I wish I had a video camera.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I Want...

...to go home. I moved to Worcester in order to write and with the promise of a novel coming out early next year. For reasons that would take too long to explain here, I am neither writing nor is my novel coming out early next year. Yes, I'm still writing the nonfictions but they aren't what was worth leaving Boston. I'm frustrated, pissed and want to go home.

...a job that will allow me to live in Boston and write. Somewhere in the city has to be a job that pays 35-40K and doesn't include working until midnight or dealing with human crisis. There has to be. And I want it. I don't even care what it is. It'll get me home and keep me writing.

...to meet a man that has a personality, isn't in a 12-step program, isn't trying to pretend he's still 25 and yet still enjoys living the city life. And I want to meet friends that match that description as well. All my friends are getting married and moving to the 'burbs. There's nothing wrong with it if it's your thing. I did that. And I was miserable beyond words and description. Yet I cannot possibly be the only mid-30s, single person in the area who still enjoys a more alternative scene.

It has been a week of introspection and reflection. These three things are the only things that came up lacking in any way. That ain't damn bad. In fact, it's pretty damn good. Now, I just gotta fix 'em. Thoughts, suggestions, phone numbers of cute cousins from Massachusetts, and job offers are more than welcome. ;)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Not-So-Gory Details

Two days before my Dear one came to visit, I found a small lump in my breast. I called the doctor and made an appointment for this past Tuesday. Then I made the decision not to tell anyone. A lump can be so many things. In the end, I told my Dear One, the Muppet, and Peaches because I had to look them in the eye between finding the lump and the appointment. Looking them in the eye made it feel like lying, not just keeping my own counsel. I will not lie to them.

On Tuesday, the doctor feels the lump and sure enough, it's nothing. Whoo-hoo! Life continues for the next ten minutes. Until she gets to my lungs. Then the roller coaster drops again.

Now, she was great. The Lovely Cats and the Tom Cat apparently had at least one conversation about why a doctor would tell a patient something like this. Why she wouldn't just have said something innocuous. In her defense, she tried to play it that way. That doesn't work for me. I am a control freak. With an active imagination. A bad combo for innocuous. So why did she tell me? Because I asked. I said flat out "I don't want my imagination to go somewhere it doesn't need to go and I'm gonna feel like an idiot if I'm worried about cancer while you're looking for bronchitis. What are we looking for here?" And God love this woman; she told me the truth. She was "concerned" about cancer and wanted to "rule it out." You know what? This I can handle.

But this I couldn't keep quite so close to the vest. There are a handful of people ~ you know them ~ who would never have forgiven me. So I went straight to the Muppet. Once I got home, I started making phone calls. The only person I missed was Nemeria. (Parenthetically, how can one be friends with someone since the fourth freaking grade and not have her phone number? I don't know either. But I digress...) Things got a little emotional with the Muppet and the Lovely Cats but nothing extreme. None of us are panickers and, while we are all comfortable with emotions, we do not let them rule the day.

I went for the x-rays. Treated myself to a pedicure. Listened to Pearl Jam's Alive at full volume many times. And called for the results. Which you all know and brings you up to date. Today, I spent the day dressed to the nines, hanging with the Muppet, celebrating the fact that we don't have to fight this fight.

There you have it. Thank you for the outpouring of support. One of the things I had wondered about was if, Goddess forbid, this went another way on me, how I would possibly tell all of you. I even wrote the post so that I could write it while I was still calm. It has now been destroyed because all is well. I like the ending though so am going to use it here. The sentiment is as true coming from a healthy Pobble as it would have been coming from a sick one.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. My love for you is absolutely free.

Especially for Traci

* nicotine patches: $50.00

* doctor's copay: $20.00

* parking ticket: $25.00

* dinner for the Muppet, Peaches, and the Pobble: $42.00

* long distance phone calls to the Lovely Cats, the Divine M, the One in VA, and my Dear One: $17.00

* learning that the chest x-rays ordered by a concerned doctor are clear: Priceless.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Good Odds

What exactly are good odds? I've been thinking about that a lot today. Are 50/50 good odds? What about 49/51? Or does it have to get to 51/49 before they become truly good? And who gets to decide?

I think that odds ~ like beauty, art, and pornography ~ are in the eye of the beholder. Each of us has to weigh them, measure them, and, finally, decide for ourselves. Personally, I don't know what good odds are. I do know I'll know 'em when I see 'em.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Becoming...WHAT?

I had an unexpected thing happen last night. The Muppet, Peaches, Yahoo Billy and I met up for drinks. Then, Muppet and Peaches went home and Yahoo Billy and I went back to his.

As I sat on the edge of his bed, I found myself thinking "Yeah ~ he and I are pretty much done here." To the point that, I even said later in the evening (appropriate to the conversation, of course, because I am more often than not, an appropriate Pobble) "Yahoo Billy, the joy of being pretty indifferent to each other is that we don't have to try to impress the other one." He didn't even try to argue the point. So, he noodled on his computer. I grabbed a t-shirt and crawled in bed. A few minutes later, he joined me. And that, my friends, is when it got really interesting.

We talked.

I gave him some advice on a situation with another woman (he has been so outmaneuvered, poor thing.) He asked questions and really wanted to hear the honest answers, not the fuck-buddy answers. I even let him in on my theory that boys are stupid (see above mention of being outmaneuvered) and that girls are psychotic (yeah ~ re-read that same sentence.) He tried to disagree but couldn't quite. We have agreed we are in no danger of falling in love with the other one and are quite happy about that fact. We get enough of that from other people (guess which sentence you should now re-read????).

And somewhere between him walking into the bar last night and getting out of the Pobble Mobile this afternoon ~ we started to actually become friends.

I admit it. I'm shocked.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I Miss Him Too but Enough Already

Back when I was married, we had a dog named Quinn. Quinn was completely trained and very housebroken. However, the first several days after my ex would go on a deployment, Quinn would poop all over the bedroom. After taking him to the vet to ensure there was nothing wrong, the vet told me that dogs often do that so the scent will bring the lost member of the pack back home. It was messy ~ but sweet.

Lionel and Daisy are not housebroken. Based on their past trauma and age, I've decided not to push the situation. Hell, I've been excited that they now, more often than not, hit the puppy pads. Or at least get close enough to the puppy pads that I can tell they tried.

Until now.

In the two days since my Dear One left, the only possible option for poop is my guest room. Usually in the corner where my Dear One left his stuff while he was here. I take them out. They pee and poop outside. Then we come in. And within an hour, there is more poop in my guest room. The puppy pads are dry.

On the one hand, I'm glad to know that Lionel and Daisy are capable of bonding to this extent. On the other... Bleach and I are becoming very good friends.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Week in a Vacuum

I had five days with my Dear One. They were wonderful. There was lots ~ lots ~ of culture shock. Partly it was country mouse/city mouse stuff. Partly it was Southern v. New England stuff. He opens doors. He helps with packages. He says "ma'am" and "sir" to everyone. Everyone. Even people close to his age. Even to the Muppet and Peaches. I couldn't quite make him understand that he was meeting my friends as my friend ~ therefore their equal. And he couldn't quite understand why I would want him to be "rude" to them if they were my friends.

It was a week of firsts. His first 2-person, $100 dinner. His first cab ride. His first lobster. His first time in the audience as an adult, not one of the school kids. His first glass elevator. He enjoys glazed duck. Not so much lobster. Newbury Comics on Newbury Street was cool; Harris Comics in Salem was cooler.

The Boston Public Library, the price of parking and crossing the street while dodging traffic are all a little intimidating. The Pobble in her element rather than in Santa Fe or online is, perhaps, a little intimidating as well. But he may not be willing to admit to that one. ;)

Last night, we watched a movie and the dvd extras. While we were watching the extras, I fell asleep. In the guestroom. On the futon. When I woke up, every light in my apartment was off, the door was locked, the dogs were on the futon with me and he was asleep...on the couch. He refused to just stretch out next to me, to wake me up, or to climb in my bed.

Tonight, the apartment is a little too quiet. Just a little too big. There will be no bedtime hug, no reason to keep an ear out for a sleepless friend. Even the doggies keep going to the guest room and looking in, as if they are expecting my Dear One to be in there. Still, plans are already being made for next year's trip. And I'm already looking forward to getting my arms around him again.

I'm also looking forward to a long, hot bath and my sexy pajamas tonight, too, though. Putting my life on hold is fun but it's always nice to get back to it as well. And I know my Dear One understands.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Quickie #2

After being emailed and called by several concerned friends, I went to the news and saw how bad the flooding is in Massachusetts. That should reassure you ~ I had to learn it on the news. The babies and I are unaffected so no one need worry. If this changes, I will let you know. Otherwise...no worries.

Now I'm really gone. My Dear One is on his way. And 20 is legal, right? >:)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Quickie

You know your houseguest who is arrving tomorrow is 20 when...

* you have to rearrange the alcohol in the refrigerator to make room for the Kool-Aid

* you panic because all you can find are your sexy pajamas

* you have to move the condoms off your dresser, where they are in plain site, and put them with your tampons, which aren't

* you are more concerned about hiding your toys, PVC and thigh boots than when your mother was in town

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Not Scary ~ Scarce

So, I was just looking at my calendar and realized I am going to be MIA for a little while. Tonight, the Muppet and Peaches are here then Salem for supplies tomorrow (as cliche as it may seem, if you know how to look beyond the touristy crap, it really is the best place to get good quality stuff); a tutoring gig on Sunday; and my Dear One arrives for the week on Monday. SO! I'm outta here for a while.

Isn't it funny ~ I'm not bothering to tell my mother or biosister that I am out of pocket for the next ten days but you people ~ y'all I check in with and reassure about my upcoming silence. Gotta love our cyber lives and cyber friends.

Have a great week. And yes, expect a post (or two) on the week with my Dear One.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Scary is in the Eye of the Beholder

Many, many adjectives have been used to describe me. Some good, some not so good. Some (and these tend to be my favorites) that were meant to be not so good but that I took as compliments (bitch and arrogant come to mind without even thinking hard.) Recently though, the word "scary" has been coming up. Now, this is going to create its own category, I can already tell. The category of Adjectives That Should Be Insulting But Aren't Somehow and Really Aren't Meant To Be Anyway So Screw It And Enjoy. I find it amusing as hell. Most of you have seen the one picture of me that I have posted and, although you can't see my face clearly, you can tell that I'm just kinda round and cute. I'm wearing men's pajamas for heaven's sake. And trust me ~ I'm even cuter in person. Scary would not have been the first word, or even in the first ten words, I would have used to describe myself. Bad-ass, yes. Scary, not so much. Apparently, I would have been mistaken. The sound you are now hearing is my evil laugh...

It started one of those nights I nearly had a date with Drama. One of the people in the group I was hanging with is sweet but Innocent. At one point, I said "I scare T so badly." And he came back with "Yeah. You really do. But I like it." A very innocent, innocuous exchange.

But it came up again when discussing my fire tattoo with a friend. She said "Oooo ~ that's a little scary. But that's okay. You're a little scary." And I thought nothing of it. Then I was talking to yet someone else about a place I'm considering taking my Dear One while he's in town and I said "But it's a kinda scary neighborhood" meaning I wasn't sure I wanted to be there after dark. The other person's response? "Yeah, it is. But you're scarier." Wait. I'm scarier than an entire neighborhood known for its crime rates???? Dude... Then there is yet another conversation with still a fourth unrelated person in which I mentioned an attraction to a mutual friend. Her response? "You'll scare him to death if you tell him. But that's okay because I know he likes being scared by you."

Hmmmm....

Skip forward a few days. I'm instant messaging and noodling on my computer because I have no idea what Time Value of Money means and therefore cannot write a sentence on it. So, instead of researching, I'm noodling and complaining to a friend. The noodling takes the form of those stupid quizzilla tests that show up on our blogs or posts every so often that I recognize are stupid but am totally addicted to anyway ~ and these things are scarily (we have a theme here so...) accurate, sometimes. First, I check and see What Song You Should Strip To. Turns out it's Closer by Nine Inch Nails (which is one of those scarily accurate results. If you know the song, you understand. If you don't, you can find the lyrics somewhere else. This is my first and hopefully last official edit because of Dreamer.) Why should it be Closer? Because When you dance it's a little scary ~ and a lot hot.

This is finally getting out of hand. Luckily, quizzilla has a solution. A test to find out How Scary You Are. I, of course, take it. The answer? You Are Scary. You are so scary, you even sometimes scare scary people. When I share this result with the One In VA (with whom I am instant messaging) she laughs and says "yes, but Pobble we all knew that already."

Uncle! I give in. I am, apparently, scary. Who knew? Besides the folks who write the quizzilla tests...And the guys I scare (but who like it)...And all my friends... Okay, so it would seem I am the only one who was unaware that I am scary. Maybe knowing it will make me less scary... Or not. >:)

Those are scary Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Dodging Bullets

Twice this past weekend, I kicked open the door, hollered for Drama and told him I was home. Both situations were similar in that they involved a person who is becoming a friend of mine and a person who is already a friend of that person's. (Points if you followed that) Drama had moved in with them long before I ever came on the scene. Now, Drama and I are old friends but I spend as little time with him as possible these days. Apparently, he has missed me.

Yet again, I have chosen the people to be my friends well. I have been able to remove myself from the situations and turn my back on Drama without the two women I want as friends getting upset in the least. If anything, they both understood and encouraged it. Plus, it gets me away from their friends, who apparently haven't gotten as tired of spending their evenings with Drama as I have gotten.

*Whew* That's all. Just...*whew*


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Updates

People have been reminding me that I have mentioned things intially and then never followed up with them. Therefore, let me bring you up to date on some of the ongoing points of interest. If you could really care less then just skip this post. I'll try to be more original in the next few days.

RJ ~ Is alive and kicking. Yes, it's been three weeks. He's even growing his hair back. So nyah on the doctors! Prognosis is no better ~ except that he's past three weeks so every day is a blessing.

The SAT/GRE book ~ Is hitting the shelves in July. They moved it up a month. This is very exciting. I'm even planning to postpone my June visit to the Basement until July so that the Divine M and I can go into a bookstore together and see the bitches in their natural habitat. :)

Online dating ~ Is ... something. I think it's a good thing I started with Yahoo Billy because I would have run screaming in the opposite direction if it hadn't been for him. (He deserves his own update, I suppose ~ we instant message but haven't found time in two really, really busy schedules to see each other again. Still, we're working on the whole getting to know each other thing. He's still kinda boring but we'll see.) Why would I have run screaming? Here's why: Yahoo Boy #2 and I emailed twice. Then he asked to meet my mother while she was in town. YBs #3, 4 and 5 all gave me their personal contact information ~ including phone numbers ~ and asked for mine within the first two exchanges. And finally, the apex of the story, YB #6 emailed me first and at the end of his very first ever email to me stated that, while looking at my picture, he couldn't help but realize our babies would be beautiful. Um...no. Folks, I have intimacy issues! What the fuck, people!!!!! Who are these guys????

My weight loss ~ Is going well. I am happily and healthily in size 12 jeans. Whoo-Hoo!

My tattoos ~ Are going to be fire symbols down my left calf (flames, a sword, a triangle and a pentagram, all worked in together in a really cool way) and a raven flying under a full moon. The fire symbols will be in color. The raven will be a black and white with, perhaps, some very, very dark blue. Ask Peaches; she's designing it.

I think that's everything. If I have forgotten anything, just remind me. And thanks for reminding me about all of these. :)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

"Evil Things Are Attracted to Dark Places..."

I have decided I am the nicest, cutest, sweetest, most caring sadistic misanthrope you are ever going to meet. A friend once gave me a bumper sticker that read "Evil Shouldn't Look This Good." The Pobble Mobile wore it proudly until Columbine (I was a local at the time) at which point it stopped being quite so funny. My profile even says I'm a quivering mass of contradictions.

My ex-husband and I met while my pendulum was swinging away from being bad-ass during my teenage years. After we got married, I spent a lot of time being a good wife, a good woman, a good wait-er, the good reason to fight the war and come home. I do not begrudge any of the choices I made. Those choices, however, denied a part of who I am.

Recently, I have had occasion to remember that there is this other side of me. This side that is bad-ass ~ if not teenage, any longer. That is edgier. That isn't quite so good.

I am not cruel. I am not negligent with people. I will go out of my way to be kind to people. Maybe that's the joy of having ignored the bad-ass for so long. I can find the balance between the good and the bad-ass at this stage in my life. I am so aware that I do not have to choose one or the other. My favorite word is (and has been for a very long time) "both." And I am reclaiming my Both.

This doesn't suck, I gotta tell you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Beautiful, Beautiful Man

Once again, I have been honored enough to witness the culmination of a dream. My friend, B, is a black belt. And he was beautiful. B is the husband of my other friend whose black belt test I got to witness (her braid is still one of the most magnificent things I have ever seen) and the three of us have always confounded people ~ almost from the very first night we met. The three of us are nearly always in physical contact. Kissing B is as natural to me as playing with my own hair. If you didn't know us, you would be hard pressed to tell which woman he was married to just by watching us interact.

He is one of the most beautiful people I have ever known. Last night was ... amazing. He shone. And I was so proud of myself because I didn't even cry ~ until I saw him wipe his eyes after he received his sword. At that point, how could I not weep with him? Weep for his strength and pride and hard work and dedication. Weep for his beauty. Weep for this man I love who had done this amazing thing. So I wept. And his beauty shone right through my tears.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Things I Don't Quite Understand

1. Funnels. I was refilling my oil lamps and wanted to just let the funnel stay in the lamp while the oil dripped. But you can't do that. You have to hold the funnel up just a little bit in order for it to drain. I kinda get why ~ but not quite.

2. Why I gave the guys my friends and I hung with last night at the bar a fake name. Yes, Backseat S. did it first. But so what? These were really cool guys. They didn't deserve to be introduced to Bridgit. They deserved to be introduced to Pobble. Still, not knowing who they were and that they were cool, I guess it made sense for me to give them a fake name ~ but not quite.

3. What is up with all these guys on yahoo personals putting pictures of themselves without shirts on up there in their profiles? It shouldn't really make me feel a little skeevy. I suppose I should be grateful. It lets me know what I'm getting right up front. But it doesn't ~ not quite.

4. Why the woman I just met said such not nice things to me about the mutual friend who introduced us. I mean ~ you are meeting me because we are both friends of this person. What in God's name makes you think you can trust me to keep my mouth shut? I don't know you. Eventhough there was alcohol involved, I would never talk like that about the Divine M or the Lovely Cats, booze or no booze. And certainly not to a stranger, no matter how much I liked her. So I want to write it off to the drunkeness of the evening; I just can't ~ not quite.

5. When I became so neurotically independent. My neighbors were joking that I needed to come up with a code so they would know when not to knock on my door in case Yahoo Billy or Chuck or someone was over and it was ~ ahem ~ inapproriate for me to have unexpected company. I nearly threw up. I will go to them. I will give out my email addresses, my phone number, my web site. I will sleep in their beds; wear their t-shirts; and use their toothpaste. I will arrange my schedule to fit theirs. No problems. But do not ~ do not ~ consider coming into my space, meeting my babies, sleeping in my bed or snuggling on my couch. And yes, I understand that the last few people I've been with had a really hard time letting me have my own space and continue being my own person so it sorta makes sense that I'm having this reaction ~ but not quite.

6. Who is reading my blog. According to my counter, I have had almost 100 hits in the last two days. And all of three comments since then. Let's say...12 of those hits are me. And three are the folks who left comments. That's still almost 85 hits that I don't understand where they came from. I should just relax and enjoy the fact that I'm getting hits. But I can't ~ not quite. I want to know. :)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Kiss Me, Kate

I hate men! I can't abide them even now or then.
~ Cole Porter, Kiss Me Kate

Confession time ~ I don't really hate men. I actually like men. Some of my best friends are men. I find them aesthetically pleasing, useful for lifting heavy things, and often amusing. Apparently, men like me as well. This is not a bad thing. Usually, anyway.

As arrogant as this sounds, generally speaking, men tend to have one of two reactions to me. Within six months of meeting me, they either a) believe themselves in love with me (to the point that I have actually said to guys after knowing them for days "Don't fall in love with me" and had the response be "I think it's too late" bless them, isn't that endearing?) or b) want to chop me up into small pieces and bury me in the backyard. Luckily, there are exceptions to this rule. I find the men in category a incredibly sweet and try to be as gentle as possible with them. I find the men in category b somewhat amusing, actually, and just try and avoid them. I find the men in the exception category to be my dearest friends and the men I count on the most.

So what has me quoting Cole Porter quoting Shakespeare? The fourth category. The class of men who move from category a into category b. They are the ones that make me hate men. They are incredibly frequent. And why do I hate them? Because the exact same behaviors that made them think they were in love with me in the first place are the behaviors that make them want to chop me up into little pieces and bury me in the backyard.

The flirtation. The un-tamed-ness. The passion for life. My willingness to write for a sexy men's magazine. My refusal to go gently into that dark night. The tight clothes and the free laugh and the fuck it attitude. The belief that it is truly better to regret doing something than regret not doing it. My free spirit.

Sometimes, men think that they are allowed to demand I change those things simply because they believe themselves to be in love with me for being that way in the first place. When they discover I disagree with their assessment of the situation, they have to hate me for it. Which I hate. Which I do not find sweet or endearing. Which I do not treat gently. Which I do not value. Which is very difficult to ignore. Which gets me quoting Cole Porter quoting Shakespeare ~ which always makes me just a little happier in and of itself.

Disclaimer time ~ this post is not about my Dear One, any of my fellow bloggers, my Muppet or any other man who is worthy of being mentioned here.

Those are Pobble Thoughts (and grrrrrrrs and frustrations and ventings.) That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

In A Nutshell

I haven't had much time to post this past week, although I wrote a lot of posts in my head as events took place. They are all very long. Instead of writing them, here is the past week:

*My mom was in town. It was a really good visit. The Lovely Cats came in for lunch one afternoon (remember, we've been together since we were 15; she and Mom go WAY back); we went into town and had Indian food with the FAEE; Mom and I organized (almost) every inch of my apartment; and I learned that the things I have let go of over the last three years have, for the most part, truly been let go of. Quite nice.

*One night after Mom is in bed, I'm happily noodling on my computer (catching up on my blog reading if not my blog writing) when I get an instant message ping from Jaded. And TTG for Jaded because within moments, I get pinged by my Dear One ~ who, in case you have forgotten, is less than pleased with Yahoo Billy's existence (and no, my Dear One does not read this blog regularly) ~ and Yahoo Billy himself. Jaded helped me juggle this particularly interesting situation quite nicely. This is why I love Jaded. This is why I don't have a web cam.

*Appsrus nearly outted my blog to my mother. She informed me she thought it was very endearing that he calls me The Pobble. I immediately emailed him and reminded him that my mother does not even know this site exists. He not only apologized but he gave me a cover story (meaning lie) he was willing to tell my mother if necessary. This is why I love Appsrus.

*My Dear One is coming to visit me. In two weeks! For five days! We are very excited. And yes, I will keep my hands off of him. (God...Dreamer reads this...ah well...)

*I have decided to get at least two and possibly three more tattoos. This was a particularly interesting post in my head which may actually get written one day. For now, I'm just trying to catch up from being away for so long. Trust me though ~ they're gonna be cool as shit.

*I have also decided every single man in Worcester looks exactly the same. It's a little depressing.

*There's a great dive bar/rock club, Ralph's Diner, in Worcester which is going to make my self-imposed exile here much better. If you are curious as to the Pobble's preferences for hangouts, check out these two links:

Ralph's Diner

The Union Blues Club

Then re-read my profile, especially the part about being a quivering mass of contradictions. :)

*My guest room is going to become my den of iniquity. Every Pobble House needs one. This is another new decision.

While it doesn't read like it, it's been a very interesting week.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Laughing At Myself

You may have noticed Dreamer leaves me comments. Or you may have visited her blog ~ The Shallow End of the Wading Pool. She is seventeen and one of "my" kids. The same bunch that gave me my Dear One. She will go days and even weeks without reading my blog.

When does she read them? When I post about working at the porn store thus using the word "cunt" not once but twice and when I post about ... ahem ... sleep snuggles with a man I have just met.

Only in my world, folks. Only in my world.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.