The Wrong Way To Facebook

So the Giant and I are friends now, right. And, as is my custom, I grant myself permission to tease him relentlessly. It’s how I show my lurve, y’all. If I’m not teasing you, at some point, it means I don’t give a shit about you.

This week, the Giant has been posting a lot of… Well, not very manly statuses on facebook. In particular, something about how he almost cried watching SVU and another one about how he lit a candle in his room — but not just any candle… His Yankee Candle Company Sugar Cookie candle. Oof. So, I’m busting his balls for acting like a lady and it’s funny because there’s nothing about him that is at all feminine.

I feel like I can crack jokes with the Giant and it’s fun and playful. The Giant had been severely cock-blocked that night at a bar and this dude, (let’s call him Clue by Four) one of the Giant’s friends, was busting his balls about it, except he wasn’t really funny. Something about how the Giant should ‘take his finger out of his vagina.’ (more…)

Little Spoon

I’m soaked.
The rain this morning is ridiculous,
the bottom eight inches of my too-long jeans look
like they’ve been dipped in buckets.
It’s dark and the thunder is actually rolling –
– it seems like years since I’ve actually heard thunder actively rolling.
The lightening is sparking across the sky
Electric fingertips, shooting to one another
touching for a moment and then disappearing.

I don’t want to be at work.
I want to be in bed, under down blankets.
I want to be curled up in the crook of an armpit
I’m always happiest as the little spoon
the curve of my hips fitting into you
like a lovely, dreamy, sleepy jigsaw puzzle.
Lazy, heavy arms under and over me,
The subtle wriggle-thing that I do to get closer –
– closer, still… no, closer.

Instead, I’m here.
At my desk with a cup of coffee for now
and a Dr. Pepper for later. My feet are cold.
There’s a tornado watch, just announced on the
soft rock, retail-friendly radio station.
I can’t help but tilt my head.
I see all the work on my desk, but my mind –
– my mind is in bed, smelling your skin,
tracing your strong hands with my bitty fingers,
sighing my bitty sighs while you breathe
thick, heavy, sleepy breaths into my hair.

If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend.

I’m famous, man.

Check out the die-hard cheering fans at :50 seconds!

What we thought would be a couple of hours of cheering my mother and the other walkers on, turned into nearly six hours of woooo-ing and clapping and passing out candy and holding up signs.

It was really so fun and you can just tell, when you do something like this, that it really MATTERS to those participating.

Today is the final day of the 3-Day and my mom will walk 20 more miles today. The boy and I are headed into the city around lunchtime to have a picnic with my best friend and then we’ll go over and meet my dad for the closing ceremony.

It’s going to be an emotional day, for sure.

Pretty

I’m grateful on a daily basis that I have a son because when I see the pressures that abound today — the unrealistic expectations for beauty that our daughters are forced to grow up with… it makes me angry then sad, then fucking enraged.

As incredible as my parents were — there wasn’t a lot of pressure on me to be any certain feminine way — I still remember stuffing little cotton balls down the front of my bathing suit, pretending that under the stretched teal fabric, I had soft breasts. I was probably only about six or seven at the time, but I remember it… And even now, the pressure to be thin, smooth, firm, clear, clean, trim — it’s enough to make someone begin to hate themselves. (more…)

Found

I pulled this from my Tumblr account, originally posted there back in May. This… This is the story of my life. I choose unavailable men and attract… this kind of guy.

I can’t remember the last time I actually sat at my computer and wrote something in word. There was a time when that’s the only place I would write.

I go through phases where I do a lot of handwritten, um, writing. And my most recent writing phase has been, at best, sitting at the computer and spitting something out without rereading, proofing, whatever. Just —pew— then post.

But I opened Microsoft Word today, with the intention of sitting down to write.

And I found this, in the recovered document area.

He kissed me goodbye and walked toward his house and then pivoted and cupped his hands into a heart shape on his chest, over his own heart. Then, he extended his arms outward, still in the shape of a heart, and peered at me through this heart, then pressed it back into his own heart.

I nearly vomited in my car.

And if that wasn’t enough, after he did that, he just couldn’t take it anymore and ran back over to my car – I swear to god, he ran like a half child/half super fag – this giant of a man, flitting his arms as he pranced over to my driver’s side window and he shoved his entire upper body through my open window and, with both hands on either side of my face, kissed me. It was unnecessarily romantic for a lunch date.

I realized, as I drove away, that he had just killed my boner for him.

This is the story of my life. Men who are head over heels for me and me… Like… Totally grossed out by them.

The men that I actually do find myself interested in aren’t generally interested in me romantically. Even if they “adore” me, they don’t want to date me.

What gives Cupid?

Hold on to your tits, girls

Today, right now, my mom has started on her journey.

From her blog:

Many of you know that I am a breast cancer survivor. I have been breast cancer free- and without breasts per se for 2.5 years now! I had immediate reconstruction after a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy due to being a carrier of the BRCA gene- but the pathology found cancer that had been undetected in mammograms and even a breast MRI. So this year is the 3rd year I will walk in the 3Day 60 mile Susan G Komen walk for breast cancer.

Let me tell you this: my mom is one fucking tough broad. I went with my mother on the day that she went to the doctor to have that lump looked at. I drove her there and stood by her side, stoic and strong while she leaned into me and expelled heavy tears onto my shoulder. It was so scary. (more…)

A little something different…

God, I love these two girls. They’ve really stumbled into something incredible. I wonder if they’re just as cool and funny in real life.

Busy hands

You’d think with all the moving this week and the super busy (entertaining) Friday night I had, I would be empty-headed and not so damn pensive… Typically, I’m happiest when I’m busy because I can’t dwell on things and overthink things.

Today was perfect. I was ready for work today. I got a lot done. Ordered some business cards for an existing client and started work on two new projects for new clients. Got home in time to sit and be still for a bit before I got the boy off the bus. He’s reading on the back porch right now, “It’s a REAL chapter book, mom. The pictures are only there every five or six pages!” And I’m… being pensive.

I should quit nosing around the internet and looking into the corners. I should write — I have this big project I’m doing a barter with my great friend, Brent Walker. I’m doing some story-writing for a new project for him and in exchange, I’m getting a photo shoot!

But today, I need to make my new room mine… I’m clearing out the bookshelves that are in here currently and filling them with all of my books… The old, dusty editions of books I’ve read dozens of times… The few complete series I’ve got… The new books that are just as special to me. And then, when I have this bookshelf done, I’m hanging paintings. That’s something I never got around to doing at my old apartment — the walls were plaster and impossible to hammer into — that, or I’m a weak little girly girl. Or something.

I got my bed put together last night and spent the night under my familiar down comforter with my kajillion pillows. It was really what I needed… Feeling so very restless lately, I literally sank into my bed and slept like a dream last night.

So today: Get the bookshelf situation done. Hang some paintings. Then write. WRITE. It’s time to write. I’m ready to flex my muscles and weave webs. I love fucking weaving webs.

It’s really pretty today and I’m still feeling pensive and melancholy but not quite so emotional.

Oh, also… I talked to the Giant last night. It was really good… I asked him if I could be his friend again, later… When things weren’t so hard for me. Of course, he said yes. “I’m sad. I love talking to you. I’ve lost a friend.” I apologized for being crazy and he reassured me I wasn’t crazy. He took all the responsibility for things landsliding the way that they did. He’s mad at himself that he was reckless with my heart — he never intended for it to be like that. He’s kind and he understands me and I think, after time, we’ll get back to a place where I can be comfortable being his friend again.

We are the most reckless with our own hearts.

I’m familiar with how protective I am of the people in my life. My son, my friends, my family… Shit, even the people who used to read/comment on Date Wrecks… All the faceless names that I recognized as “mine.”

I really don’t understand why I am so reckless with my own heart. I have always been a leap-then-look type and I both love and hate that part of who I am.

It’s great when things are unclear and what you really need is for someone to come elbow their way through the crowd and fucking make shit happen. I am THAT girl. It’s one of my strengths. I don’t wait and watch and ponder shit… I DO things. I find ways to make things happen.

But in my personal life, I jump… (more…)

Scattered.

Ooof. What a weird week. Moving, confused feelings, jealousy, weird date, fun party, babysitting. Seriously… I feel like I have been all over the emotional map this week.

Let’s start with the moving. It’s done. I’m spending tomorrow rearranging things, unpacking, organizing. I hope to be totally in and settled by Wednesday. The blisters on my feet are healing, but still really hurt. However… on Thursday (or maybe it was Wednesday night?) the Giant said something to me that… I just wasn’t expecting it.

“Truth time: there were several times I wanted to kiss you when I was helping you move.” (more…)

Protected: Nomad Mother

I miss MySpace on days like this

Because it would be awesome to be able to choose my mood from a drop down menu and plaster it on my fucking page.

Jami is… moody.

Jami is… irritated.

Jami is… frustrated.

Jami is… better than.

Jami is… impatient.

Jami is… unreasonable.

Jami is… fucking this shit and going on a god damn date tonight.