Archive | July, 2011

The Big O…

29 Jul

Gee, what on earth could this post be about? Shopping at Or maybe something a bit more risque and bawdy? For those of you that know me even a little I’m a dirty shoe whore with emphasis on the dirty part. So I cannot blame you for any mistaken conclusions on this post’s title.

But alas, this post is about finding an apartment. My place for the last 6 weeks has been temporary – and I’ve made arrangements to share a place with Tamara, a friend from high school who has been held captive in Chicago for IDK a couple decades?!

Tamara is a wild child. She’s gonna rip my inner freak apart fo sho. I can’t wait for her to get here and for us to slap some mayhem all over the Bay Area. And oddly, I’m kinda scared of the damage we’re gonna do.

And while Tam and I grew up in the burbs, and I’ve lived in posh-town for a long time, it’s time for me to abandon the safe and sleepy burbs for a more urban dwelling. But where? Hmmmm. Thinking. Thinking.

*Forehead smack* Of course!! Oakland. (Did your jaw just drop?)

It’s urban, I don’t have to cross any bridges to get to work, and it’s close to family. It’s the biggity fucking O is what it is, yo.

When I told my mother, she started doing research into statistics. Murder and rape statistics that is. SMH. She also said “isn’t that conveniently close to The Rockstar?” Okay, there is maybe just a hair of truth in that…

Yes, this is OAKLAND!So really why Oakland? I guess working in the biggity O for 14 years is one reason. Another is my need to push myself into giving something radically new a try. Going from a sprawling suburban custom home to living in the biggity O is well, pushing myself pretty far.

This weekend, I’ll be pounding the streets looking at not just places to live, but this time, really looking around. Eyes up and focused on what’s in front of me. For me, it’s gonna be an interesting test of what I think I can live with. Or without.


Smoking a stogie…

26 Jul

OK, stogie conjures up images of big ole fat stinky cigars – which then conjures up images of Clinton and Monica doing the nasty with said stogie.

Neither of which are implied in this post.

You see, The Rockstar likes to smoke cigars and I found this great cigar lounge that had these overstuffed leather couches and a pool table. Now I’m not quite sure how I feel about smoking cigars – my only previous experience was in the Caribbean smoking a Romeo y Juliet cigar and it made me quite ill. NO BUENO. So the point of this adventure was to find out how I feel now.

It was like smoking a stick of gum...

The owner of the lounge was very informative and soon The Rockstar picked out several cigars, including one for me. It was a Java wafe, a thin rectangular cigar infused with chocolate and espresso. It was friggin A yummy. We soon hunkered down on the couch with cigars in one hand and a glass of Pinot Noir in the other, which IMHO, went very well with the cigar. And because well, we’re both a couple of boozehounds, we got another bottle of wine and played some pool. FTR, I won the first game. Yay me!

Now in the past the thought of sitting in a smoky cigar lounge would have had me shaking my head and moving on, but I’m liking the new me – the one who embraces adventure and is willing to try things previously considered taboo.

We had a fantastic time and get this: my clothes didn’t stink like a Cuban tobacco roller’s hands. Go friggin figure.

Then we talked…

22 Jul

I don't want to "see" you...

It’s been a little over five weeks since I left. It feels like longer yet it also feels like yesterday. It might have something to do with the surreality of separating after 23 years of marriage. Or possibly because I’ve been busy with this new life.

But over the past five-plus weeks, the husband hasn’t talked to me. Yes, email and text regarding bills and custody of the cabin, but not about why I left or how he feels about it or what the next steps are.

Until last night. When we talked over the phone for the first time. Since I got caught and fled the house.

Now here’s where I have to back the bus way the fuck up.

I joined Twitter last October to promote my blogs. I ended up meeting some interesting people and found a community that embraced my sarcasm and ogled my legs. I guess in large part it was that very attention that I was craving that held the tiny light in the night guiding me toward that fateful statement I made in June.

Ten days (yes, just 10 days) before that fateful night on the dance floor, I started chatting (a lot) with “someone”. The things we found in common was EVERYTHING. It was crazy and dare I say fated but I hadn’t even talked to him over the phone yet – so trust me when I say he is not the reason I left.

But I am now seeing him and I really like him a lot. We’ve gone a bit public on Twitter so if you’re following one of us you probably know who he is and that he’s a badass Rockstar.

So what’s this about me getting caught? Let’s just say, when you lie, you ALWAYS get caught. And I’m a shitty little liar.

Ironically, the husband also knows a bit about The Rockstar. Thank you to former friends for sharing inaccurate facts about him – I mean, wow, really?

Anyhoohaw, last night I talked to the husband for the first time and it was fairly drama free all things considered. In the hubby’s mind, I left him for The Rockstar. And that hurts like hell. But even though I didn’t have an affair while we were still living together, he won’t believe this. So after some finger pointing on the call we talked about the rules of our separation. They are fairly simple today:

  1. The Husband is going to start dating (knowing me, I’d probably like his girlfriend)
  2. We will get financial advice before deciding anything permanent (there’s a decent amount at stake to protect)
  3. I get to use the cabin or house on alternating weekends (and visitation with the puppies)
  4. The Rockstar is not allowed to stay at the main house or cabin (this was said in a somewhat menacing voice)

That’s about it for now. So what does this all mean?! This is going to be a long, long, process. But even so it feels right and while the old me would be impatient to drive this faster, the new me is getting buckled in and comfortable for the long ride ahead. And maybe popping some Dramamine (pronounced of course DRAMA-MINE).

Just get lost…

20 Jul

I love exercise. Basically anything that makes me break a sweat is pure awesomeness. So I made plans to go hiking with someone last Saturday and I said and I quote “I want a long hike.” And for a couple of ironic reasons, I chose Mt. Diablo. I think ‘someone’ may have missed all the irony in the choice…

Anyhoohaw, trouble is I’ve only hiked on Mt. Diablo once. And I think ‘someone’ thought I knew where I was going. Rut roh. I did NOT. But there’s a trail map, so how easy is that?!

I suggested Curry Point, which said it was a moderate hike around 4 miles. Perfect. Not too long, not too short. So we set off to find the trailhead… Of course, the fact I told him to go left (“not Rock City”) and we had to turn the car around should have been indicative of my map reading prowess.

Well we finally get to the trailhead and park the car. Then we both looked at the map.  And then set off without water or trail mix – hell, not even a fresh stick of gum. We started going East on the trail and at some point, we were to hit a sharp left to begin heading back… Well the title of this post is Just Get Lost and that we did.

We didn’t see the sharp left or any sign posts either. When we hiked past a group of grazing cattle I think we both thought “now that’s odd, why would the public be allowed to hike so close to cattle?” However, neither of us thought we read the map wrong.

We fo sho knew we were off the grid when we hit a trailer park and quite literally walked by people’s front doors. Luckily we ran into someone who lived there and asked where the hell we were. Now, this guy is a total idiot. Sans any savant.

Rut roh...

Me: We seem to be a bit lost. We are trying to get back to Curry Point.

Idiot: Well, Morgan Territory road is that way. (Pointing East.)

Me: Oh, I think we’re backward.

Idiot: Have you ever been to Mercury (or whatever the fuck he said – he was referring to another trailhead on Morgan Territory road.)

Me: No, I’m not familiar, but we’re trying to get back to where we parked the car.

Idiot: Well, if you turn left on Morgan Territory you’ll hit Mercury. A lot of people hike there.

Me: Why would I want to go to this trail – the car is at Curry Point.

Idiot: *stares blankly into space*

Me: OK, thanks for your help!

Oh, by the way, he scolded us with “did you not see the signs that said Private Road and Do Not Enter?” Clearly, we hadn’t or we would have been clued in earlier. Which is apropos since I missed “signs” for 10 years… But oh and by the way, going “the other direction” held ALL the signs leading us back to Curry Point and even the famed Do Not Enter signs…

The old me would have whined big time. Pouted and complained. But here’s the thing: the new me took it in stride and saw it as just more time spent hiking with ‘someone’ and being outdoors on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I saw it as an adventure and really didn’t mind sweating like a sticky piglet. Well – maybe I did a little. I am after all, a girl.

The hike ended up around 9 miles and took us a little more than four hours. It was a helluva lot of fun actually and I posit that getting lost is the best way to find yourself.

I’m not crazy…

14 Jul

It’s official. Yay me!

Given my dizzy bitch behavior and recent panic attacks, all my friends and family (well, all but one) said I absolutely must get some “therapy” now that I’ve separated. It’ll help me understand the “process” and give me clarity into what I’m “feeling”.

The old me would totally scoff at that idea. I mean, I didn’t talk to any of my friends or family before I blurted out on the dance floor “I don’t want to be married…” so why would I open my head for shrinking and mind fucking now?

Well, cuz the new me is more open minded… 😉

So I made an appointment with a psychologist to evaluate the level and depth of my need for counseling. It was today. She told me she would ask questions that had nothing to do with my medical history – things like “so what prompted you to blurt that out right then?” and “have you ever said or done anything inappropriate before?”

Anyhoohaw, after talking to me for 30 minutes she said “I’m not hearing that you are upset about the separation or worried about the process… what I’m hearing is that you have anxiety and aren’t breathing. Does this sound about right to you?”

Maybe just half-insane?

She said it in this way that made me feel both relieved and understood. Leaving my husband wasn’t easy but my biggest problems right now are stemming from the stress of the last year in coming to this point.

I don’t sleep well, I’m restless, and I’m not breathing right (she says this is normal thank fucking gawd) – all contributing to symptoms that have made me feel debilitated and embarrassed to a large degree. I mean c’mon now, I hyperventilated in front of someone recently (I will NOT go into details on that one!)

So as I search for meditation classes to find some fucking zen, I can say with absolute certainty “I’m not crazy”. Well, not any more than normal.

Being a woman…

11 Jul

It seems there is something in the water. Besides fluoride and microscopic E. Coli that is. Maybe it’s really not our hormones or our peri-menopausal state, but almost ALL of my gal pals have either separated, divorced, or are thinking of doing something drastic. But frankly, I just don’t think it’s related to fluoride.

Take my vice president for example. She told me I’m the poster child for positive change (I looked over my shoulder at that one… “me?”) – which inspired her to change her hair style, buy new eyeglass frames and commit to losing that stubborn 20 pounds.

Fuck Aunt Flo

However, in all seriousness, almost every one of my female friends, who are in their forties, have all told me that they too have felt restless, questioning, emotional, angry, dissatisfied etc etc. Not necessarily because of any lover in their life, but life in general. I read up on these feelings.

It’s female mid-life crisis. Without the sports car and comb-over. And it’s supposedly tied to our hormones. Great, it’s not bad enough we have to deal with Aunt Flo and her passel of bitchy behavior and crying jags, but we also have to deal with out of control mood swings, night sweats, and mid-life depression. Super awesome maxipadness.

Fran Liebowitz said it best: Being a woman is of special interest only to aspiring male transsexuals. To actual women, it is simply a good excuse not to play football.

The Sagittarius woman…

6 Jul

I used to joke when people asked me what my astrological sign is. Instead of answering, I’d mock “Closed For Repairs” or “Caution, Curves Ahead”.

Except I’ve really been giving it a lot of thought lately. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been paying much attention to myself over the last ten or so years. Maybe it’s because I’ve always believed life isn’t just what we have in the here and now, and that I really was shot in the back with an arrow back in the 1700s. Or something like that.

Either way, I hadn’t looked at the personality traits of my sun sign since I was a wee gurl. Way before I got hitched. So in my quest to know a little bit more about me, I read up on my sign. Kinda prophetic since I had been ignoring all sorts of signs for a long time. But reading about the traits of Sagittarius women resonated very much with me.

I do love tattoos...

“Freedom is so important to Sagittarius that they will actually make decisions based on the amount of freedom that is given by the choice they have made, as a result, sometimes a good opportunity is turned down because of it’s high commitment… They have a vibrant, expansive personality that is free like a bird… full of curiosity… but if she gets unhappy or bored, she won’t bother to fix any problems, she will just walk out and never look back…”

Holy shit. How the hell did they know this about me and I totally forgot? For those of you who know me even a little, doesn’t this sound just a bit familiar?!?

But what does this refreshed understanding of my sign mean to me today as a suddenly separated woman intent on figuring out my life? I’m not sure. I mean earlier this year I thought I was an Ophiuchus. Then I thought the axis shift meant that most Sag’s and Cap’s were now in the same bucket. Who really knows. What I do believe is that the typical traits in the standard Sag woman remind me of the girl I used to be. And it means I’m one step closer to being truer to myself. And that’s pretty damned empowering.