If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Ain't it the truth? We look back on past mistakes and always wish we'd known better!
Love is blind, right?
Wrong.
I think we did know better...but we made the (subconscious?) decision to pay no attention to the little niggling doubts dancing in our heads...to not listen to the voice of reason that whispered the truth.
We don't want reason, only passion. No doubts, only desire.
The summer I was 19 turning 20, I fell for a bartender. (I know, cliche!) Maybe it was the mountain air...I must have been light-headed. I was crazy for him despite everything. Despite the fact that the first day I saw him he was wearing his sunglasses inside the room where we were attending a wine course. Despite the fact that I found him locked in his staff bedroom with my best friend a month later. You would think I would have known then...that he just wasn't the boy for me.
You would think.
Three months after we "broke up", I moved to our Nation's capital. He lived there too. I agreed to meet him at a local pub. Can you imagine? We fell in love, moved in together and I shared a magical Christmas with his family. A year later, he cheated on me with the receptionist at his office. (I know, cliche!) I won't go into the rest of that sordid tale, except to admit that I forgave him and took him back when he said all the right things. And then he did it again. What's that old saying: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Uh huh.
And then there was the boy who really was too young for me. He wasn't as smart and clever as the men I usually fell for. But he had the lushest lips and the sexiest green eyes. He had briefly dated my younger sister (much more age appropriate than me) when they were both in high school, but I ignored that little warning. My sister wouldn't care. She had never really thought of him as more than a friend.
He and I had a lot of good times together. We hung out at my place, talking, laughing, flirting...the tv on as pretense. We went to my brother's football games and sat together, our knees touching. I made the first move, I'll admit. Tipsy on beer and the frivolity in a university bar, I kissed him suddenly on the dance floor. On the way home that night, overwhelmed by desire, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. I felt like the lead in a John Hughes movie.
I fell hard and fast. My mother was horrified. Things got weird after we slept together. To be fair, he was very young. One night he was oddly quiet. When I asked him what was wrong, and demanded an answer, he offered up, "I think I slept with you to spite your sister."
I started to wonder what was wrong with me. Had I always had such terrible taste in men? I scanned my history to try and exonerate myself. Sure, I had a thing for bad boy rock stars when I was younger, and then there was that 26 year old chef who almost seduced me at the tender (and virginal, I might add) age of 18, only to leave me high and dry next Sunday Brunch. There were a few sweet talkers in my early 20's, but I didn't love any of them...
This wasn't my fault! I couldn't have known.
Mmmhmmmm?
Oh, and my beloved little sister was super pissed at me too.
And then I met Jay, who became my partner of the last 13 years and the father of my two children.
He showed up three hours late to my 27th birthday party. We'd only been seeing each other 2 weeks, and I was so excited for all my friends and family to meet him. I had bragged about him, convinced he was different from all the other boys! He was smart (always using big words and with an answer to any question I had). He was sensitive (he got teary at the end of Babe, when the farmer says, "that'll do Pig, that'll do."). He was cool (he knew all the words to Pink Floyd's album, The Final Cut).
Oh, he eventually arrived...rushed in with a big bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and a bottle of wine, and with the perfect excuse.
He always has good excuses. For coming home late. For getting fired. For forgetting to pay a bill or pick up something at the grocery store. For never calling his family. For not remembering plans I've made. For forgetting to ask for the day off work for my birthday or the kids' birthdays. For wasting money. For drinking too much.
And they really are good excuses, for the most part. Just not good enough for me.
But I chose this man. I love him, and I will always try to keep that love alive, burning hot and true. And he loves me, just as fiercely, and despite all my own flaws.
I don't even know why I get so angry. When I've calmed down, I can see...that all the signs were there from the beginning. I knew who he was right away. And I know, it could be a lot worse.
I could have ended up with one of those other jerks.
And, as my horrified mother would tell you, perhaps I did know better, but I've always been a bit of a Drama Queen. What's love without great suffering?
Rather boring, I'm sure.


Shannon TreanorNovember 29, 2008

I'm So Happy I'm a Girl!!

I discovered a new Blog (A Cup of Coffey) recently and fell head over heels with her Playlists. She had made a fabulous one of women covering songs that were originally written or sung by men. Wow!
I spent the next two hours creating my own version: Girls Can Do It Better.
It, too, is all songs sung by women that were originally written and sung by men. Needless to say, it rocks!
You can imagine what almost all the songs are about....love. The loss of love.
I don't doubt that men love. I'm sure they fall madly in love. I can guess that their days could become consumed with thoughts of the one they love, and I suspect that they suffer heartbreak as much as women do......but I am still convinced that women just do it better! Who can agonize over one little word the way a woman does? Does a man really make a pact with himself, "If I wait and make dinner or do the dishes or study for the exam or paint my toenails BEFORE I check my messages, he will have called...there WILL be a message from him..." Do you know of any boy that FORGIVES the way a girl does? Who keeps going back for more? And even when we've had enough....the love is still there. It has become a part of us. Changed us. So, we write about it. A poem, a story, a song. Or we paint or sculpt our passion, and make it real. We cut our hair, lose 10 lbs, feel terrible, feel like dying. We moan and cry and scream and regret. We are desperate to KNOW what the fuck went wrong! We hate. We blame. We even pretend (for a while) that we don't give a damn. Our capacity for Passion is what makes us different than men. (I'm not going to say better, I've decided...just different) Sometimes, our love is renewed. We get a second chance. Mostly, though, it fades away...the pain and the heartbreak, and becomes something else...a fond memory. Really, after enough time, women look back on every love fondly. Not necessarily fondness for the one we loved, but for ourselves..the way we were then. No matter how broken our hearts have been, we loved BEING IN LOVE.
And so, with great gusto, and often forsaking all lessons learned, we do it again! Plunge into the next great love affair!
Heart first!

While We're On the Subject....

My daughter was sick all weekend. A high fever and throwing up and now a bad cold.
I think I may have caught it. Surprise, surprise, since she slept with me the whole time, her thin arm thrown over my neck, her skin so hot I felt burned.
At work today, I whined a lot, and cleared my throat and made a big deal out of drinking hot lemon ginger tea.
"I can't be sick for the plane! That's the worst!"
Hmmm, I think I need to reevaluate what the word "worst" might mean.
I am leaving on Friday for a 10 day trip to visit my sister in London, England. I am not taking my husband (who really really deserves a vacation) nor am I taking my children (who don't).
I get to do WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT for 10 days! (well, I may have to run ideas by my sister and mother, who will be there too.)
If someone said to me two months ago (before this trip was planned)...okay, if a little fairy said to me, "You can have a free trip to London to visit your sister, but there is a condition...you will have a bad cold while you're there."....would I have taken that deal?
You bet your ass I would have!
I am going to bed early now, pumped up on ColdFX and a crapload of vitamin C, and I will wake up tomorrow and NOT COMPLAIN!
I am one lucky sicko.

You Know You're a Brat When...

2. You whine and complain and moan about having a sore throat, and now you're getting sick and this is just awful because you're leaving on Friday for A TWO WEEK HOLIDAY TO LONDON, ENGLAND!
Your life is just soooo terrible.

You Know You're a Brat When...

1. You bitch at your husband for working so much.
(But you have no problem spending all that hard-earned money. On your daily $4.00 latte, and your fucking French manicure, and a gazillion Webkinz for your bratty children.)

I am so self-centred sometimes

Honestly.
I just reread my last post. Good grief.
It was definitely past my bedtime, if I didn't edit myself for character flaws!
I guess that's just part of telling the truth.
I certainly come across as a bit of a brat. Only calling people and having sex if it's fun for me!
I'm not always like that. Some of my close friends would even tell me that I sometimes give too much of myself....even at the cost of my own sanity. I am a bit of a sponge at times. I soak up other people's shit. Not very pleasant for me.
Hmmm, am I sounding like a brat again?
I told my mother a month ago that I was going to write a self-help book, aimed at women aged 30 to 50 (?) called "Don't Be Such a Brat: realising just how good you've got it".
Perhaps I shall "downsize" my book plans into the next couple of blog entries...
Should be interesting, and a bit eye-opening. Scary....I'll be tarred and feathered by all the feminists, no doubt. Not to mention by quite a few of my stay-at-home mom friends....
Ah well, for some: the cost of beauty...for me: the price for truth.

After Midnight I'll Say Anything

First post on my new(er) blog:
Pretty pretentious blog name, eh?
Ah, well, you know I'm big on the truth....most of the time.

Truth tonight:
I should have phoned my dear friend, Melissa. I told her I'd call earlier this week, and I still haven't. She is pregnant. Her first baby. A wonderful reason to call. We'd have lots to talk about and a lovely conversation, no doubt. But I haven't called.
Sure, I could come up with a hundred excuses. But really, I coulda called.
So why haven't I?
It's like sex sometimes. I don't feel like it. I just don't. But then, I just decide to go for it...and I have such a great time! Why don't we have sex every day, I ask Jay! I love it so much!
But then days and days go by without doing it again.
Brutal.
And it's the same with phonecalls.
I'm not avoiding any of you. I just don't feel like it.
But I know that if I do call, I'll have a great time. I'll love it!
Hmmm....
How to motivate oneself to fuck and to phone?
Not at the same time, of course.