Notes from the Red Bird House

I like her. I like her a lot actually. There was a time when I wasn't sure, a time when she liked me more than I liked her, a time when I wasn't sure I was going to like her enough. Then all that changed. I'm not sure when it happened for me. When I started liking her, I mean really liking her. I didn't, then I did. That's about as good as I can describe it. I seem to remember looking at her and seeing her differently. All in one quick moment, just like that. Hmm... Wow... Yes. That's how it was. Now I struggle. I like her more and more. And more and more. Does she like me more and more? I really don't know. Certainly not like I do. Certainly not with the abandon that I do. She is guarded, closed-off, walled. Truth be told, it's a bigger deal for her than it is for me. I like girls, have for quite awhile now. Liking girls is all new territory for her. And it's huge. For a straight or bisexual woman, deciding that she might want to be in a relationshi...

I'm fighting the ADD tonight, so if you're expecting a clear train of thought you might want to stop right now. This is as good as it gets - ten little random statements made as I kill time trying to decide what to do with my night. 1. A year ago I was trying like hell to get over someone I'd never even been under. How stupid is that? 2. They say that hangover severity can be lessened by drinking light colored alcohol. That doesn't do much to explain my day long hangover on Monday. Unless we focus on the one shot of Jager (it was just one, right?) that I mixed in with all the light colored rum. 3. Pizza rolls are better if you let them sit for ten minutes after they come out of the oven. 4. Crickets sound really cool on a warm December night. As do wind chimes on a rainy morning. 5. Maybe if we had You Tube and MSNBC two thousand years ago, we'd actually know what Jesus said and be able to call bullshit on the train wreck that is modern Christianity. 6. Sometimes I ...

Because a friend is having a time and she loves the Top Ten lists... Here's one for today. As always in no particular order... 1. Being happy right where you are is pretty cool. Even when you can think of other places you'd really rather be. 2. When your best friend moves farther away from you than you moved from her, you'll try not to think how long it might be before you see her again. 3. A son's broken leg + no sleep + a shopping trip to the Meijer pharmacy = a bottle of wine. And a wish that you could be there to enjoy it with her. 4. The love of your life coming to your old home town for the first time in years AFTER you've moved away will make you more pissed than disappointed. 5. Cooking with ADD may mean scraping almost burnt chicken and noodles off the bottom of a pan. Luckily, they're pretty good almost burnt and crispy. 6. You'll be happy that you're happy with what you have when your ex-girlfriend who broke up with you because she didn't ...

At first I was pissed. Dumbass. Dumbass. I'd left my rum at a friend's house (again) and it was a veritable night off. A perfect night for a drink, I think. Except... I forgot the rum (again). Then I happened to think about why I left the rum behind yesterday. In the throws of my first massive hangover in nearly ten months, rum was the last thing I wanted to think about. The headache and nausea finally subsided enough sometime shortly before 4pm and I was finally able to pull myself out of bed. As I shut her apartment door behind me, there was absolutely no thought of rum. Ugh... No thank you. Hair of the dog? More than no. Fuck no. Today is, of course, a brand new day. And being twenty-four hours past my first massive hangover in ten months, I'm ready for a drink. It's Tuesday and I don't work until 8am tomorrow. That's reason to celebrate. Well, at the very least it's a reason to drink. It doesn't take much to convince me to drink these days. Sad and b...

She was beautiful last night. And I was lucky. For a brief moment, she was mine (and I was hers). Then I had to pretend she wasn't. I drank myself into oblivion over wanting her. It's easier to just be when I'm drunk. Otherwise I analyze and analyze. And incidentally, I push her away. I hope she accepts this part of me; accepts that I need to know. That I can't live with murky. That I can't live with mixed messages. Tell me and I'll believe you. Do and I'll know. It's very simple. I hate walls. Hers, not mine. I don't have them. My walls are down and all the gates and doors and windows are wide open. I'm ready. I want and I'm not afraid of having. She has walls, very much like a lot of the others. When we started she didn't seem to, then like a lot of the others, they grew and grew. I think it's me, something I bring out in them. I give them fear. Some say I'm too intense; I'm too clear about what I want. I am clear. I do know...

I'm an analyzer and because of this fact I am completely and utterly unable to go with the flow. I'm going to analyze it. I'm gonna have to. It's what I do. I analyze. Everything. Including the flow. Which of course will then preclude going with it. Because you can't go with it and analyze it. It's impossible. Sometimes I wish I could just go with it. Go with the flow and let things come as they come. This would come and that would come. I'd either like it or I wouldn't. I suppose if I didn't like it, I could change the flow. And if I like it, I guess I'd just keep going with it. I imagine that's how most people live life. Not me. I'm not sure when I became this person. Maybe I've always been this way. I think and think and think. And then I think some more. When I'm done thinking, I start analyzing and analyzing and analyzing. I have an insatiable need to understand. Everything. Literally everything around me. So I think and an...

There are quite a few things in this world that I'm good at. Writing is one. Tennis is another. I can also hold my own with basic algebra and shoot a pretty consistent free throw. As with most people, I imagine, I spend time doing the things I do well and avoid the things I don't do so well. It's all about ego protection. Why put ourselves in a position to show the world how awful we are at something? For example, I suck at golf. Thus, I rarely golf. I suck at video games. Thus I rarely play video games. I suck at two-stepping. Thus I rarely two-step. Of course there are a few things that I'm not very good at but I really enjoy doing - hockey and pool are at the top of the list. Dating would also fall into that category. I think. The jury might still be out on that one. I suck at it. That's pretty much written in stone; I'm trying to decide if I like it enough to keep doing it even though I'm horrible at it. Many will tell you that I'm a good girlfriend....

I guess I wish I had one. It's all that's missing from my life. Maybe that's why I try so hard. Too hard. It's difficult wanting something you can't buy, something completely intangible. Something you will know when you feel it, but not a moment before. I wonder if I'll ever like the holidays again. Holidays mean home. I don't have one so I don't have the other. I like to say that New Year's is my holiday. It's about new beginnings and a new year (well, obviously). I like that. I don't usually have all that much hope as the year goes on but each moment, each year, that passes brings new possibility. Maybe this will be the moment, the year, I find it. Home. Highly unlikely, but possible. Christmas is next week. One more Christmas I won't celebrate. That makes too many. I like to say I don't celebrate because it's not my holiday. This is true; it's not my holiday. I am non-Christian. I think I would be this way with or without a...

I remember where I was, where she was, where we were. The moment I knew. Knew what? That there was a possibility. That there was potential. Truthfully, I'd never noticed before. Four months of seeing her daily or almost daily and nothing. Then, something. That day. Right over there. I can see the spot from where I stand. That day she looked up and met my eyes and I recognized something I'd never seen before. Potential. It was a short lived realization, or so I thought. A mere five or six hours later I learned she had a girlfriend. Once again my timing was impeccable. Well, shit... I remember thinking as it dawned on me that they were together. How in the Hell did I miss that? I must have been partially blind and mostly oblivious. In any case, there went that idea. Until I got a text message only moments after innocently exchanging numbers. She was interested on some level and I was apparently in the game. On some level. I'm certainly not about stealing someone's girlfri...

I've learned that I can only handle so much frustration. Right now is not good, not good at all. I'm overwhelmed. My usually easy-going-it's-whatever personality is being pushed to the limit. I am financially, personally, sexually, physically, professionally, and geographically frustrated. Add to that my dead computer? Yeah, that's why the hair had to go today. I just couldn't take one more morning of bed-head or another really long, stray gray hair (to be thankfully plucked by one of my cashiers) or the way it didn't lay right over my ears or the way it bugged the ever-loving crap out of me on a daily basis. Yes, I do recall the "hair pulling" discussion from a few weeks back. That's all well and good, however I am no longer in a position to be in that position with any regularity. Therefore the hair had to go. Today. Now with GI Jane starring back at me in the mirror, I feel ever so slightly less frustrated. If only I could come into some money, ...

It's begun. And I am made to listen to eight hours of Christmas music a day. Even better my store manager wants me to say, "Merry Christmas", to all our customers. In my next life, I want to live in a non-Christian country so I don't have to put up with this crap. Argh... Christians. It's been awhile since I've lit them up, but 'tis the season. I hate Christmas for a variety of reasons. I am most certainly not a fan of Christianity, but I can't help but despise the bastardization of the religion. It pains me and I know that's just weird. In my esteemed opinion, Christmas should be a religious holiday, like Ramadan or Yom Kippur. However, those fucking Christians had to go and screw up their holiday. It's their fault. Let's place the blame where it belongs. The Jews didn't fuck up Christmas, nor did the heathen Pagans. No, this one is all on the Christians (well, except the really weird ones that don't celebrate any holidays at all)...

If I list the rules I said I wouldn't break, we'd be here half the night. And I have to work early in the morning. She is everything I'm not supposed to want. Yet... Yet... For some reason, I'm doing all kinds of things I shouldn't do. I know better. I guess. I've thought a lot about rules lately. Rules are necessary. They are. They keep us in line and out of trouble. They keep us on the right side of right. Yet... Yet... Sometimes left is so much better. Sometimes we just need to step outside and enjoy the view from the other side. We know it's wrong. Or maybe it's just not right. Yet... Yet... We try. We try so very hard to resist. We hang out. We have a drink (or two). We talk. We keep our distance. Yet... Yet... Something draws us together. Until we can't resist. And we give in. Just a kiss. It's just a kiss. Slow and sweet. Yet... Yet... There's more. Even with all the rules broken, there's more. Yet... Yet... She leaves. Thankfully ...

I'm having a huge internal debate. Usually when it's time to shave my head, I shave it. No questions asked. Either the mood strikes or I just can't take it anymore, but the result is that same. I get out the clippers and go for it. Right now, the mood is striking and my hair has been totally out of control for days, maybe even weeks. I can't take it. It's got to go. Except... I may want to keep it. And I'll tell you why. People keep telling me to. Yes, I know. I seldom do anything anyone tells me to do. However, in this case they are kind of right. My hair does look cute a little longer. When I shave the sides and let the top grow, I get a lot of compliments. Whether it's faux hawked, spiky, or laying flat, people seem to like it. And I like. Of course, it's a helluva lot easy not having any hair. No thought. No bed head. No worries. I also had an experience this past week that really made me enjoy having hair. Keep in mind that my hair hasn't been t...

I've given it a little thought this morning and I'm pretty sure. I'm just about over the holiday. Yes, I'm thankful. Blah, blah, blah. But the rest just has to go. I'm done and it's not even 10am. What am I going to do today? As little as possible. No family. No celebration. Not that I wasn't invited. I was. And just as I do every year, I turned down each and every invitation. I know my friends mean well, but spending holidays with other people's families really sucks. It makes me sad for something I can't have and likely never will have. I'm cool with that. I face it every day and I don't feel sorry for myself. Ever. It is what I chose and therefore a fact of my life. However, holidays can be a little rough if I don't handle them properly. So how do I handle them? I stay away from those situations that bring stress, anxiety, and sadness. Usually this means being alone. I go about my day as if it was a normal day off. I drink coffee, writ...

The scent took me by surprise. I stood up straighter. My heart beat faster. I knew she was there somewhere, just not that close. Not yet. I was prepared to see her. I knew I would. It was inevitable. I was prepared, ready. I was strong. I could do this. I could see her and not give anything away. Cold shoulder. Yes, that was the correct route to take. Let her be. Leave her alone. Speak only when necessary. Then from behind, the scent washed over me. Unmistakeably her. I had no idea her scent, her perfume, would make me react as I did. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. I should have turned to talk to her. I didn't. My face would give away too much. I spoke without looking up. The scent grew stronger; I think she must have moved closer. She had no idea what she was doing to me, what the scent of her was doing to me. I stepped to the side. Distance. I needed distance. I could not look at her for fear I would reach out to touch her. Finally she walked away and I was left with only...

"Yeah she's heaven on the eyes But boy she's hell on the heart..." ~from "Hell on the Heart" by Eric Church I've grown tired of women. I've been officially a lesbian for roughly a dozen years and I'm done. I can't take it anymore. Women suck. I don't want to like them or love them anymore. I don't want to believe a word they say. I don't want to feel the softness of their skin or taste the gentleness of their kiss. I don't want to be tortured by the scent of their perfume or by the look in their eyes. I don't want them to choose someone other than me. And I most certainly do not want to watch them walk away. I've done too much of all that. I'm tired and frustrated and wildly out-of-sorts. What I want is for them to leave me alone until they know what they want. Trust me, women don't have a fucking clue. They think they do and that's their problem. They think they have their baggage under control; they can ...

I have maybe a half a dozen rules that I live by. I also pretty much adhere to the Ten Commandments. Not because I fear Hell and eternal damnation, but because they just seem like the right thing to do. So, yeah... Six rules. Maybe eight at the outside. Keep that in mind as I make this next statement - I have broken three of those rules in the past ten days. Three. Fifty percent. That's a lot, I think. It's not like I set out to break all these rules. It just sort of happened. I knew what I was doing. I'm not going to fall back on the "I was drunk" excuse. Nope. I was drunk (no denying that) and I knew exactly what I was doing. And I thoroughly enjoyed every moment. Before you get excited thinking I'm going to tell you all about the rules I broke, I'm not. Hell no. I may be all about speaking my truth, but I still get to have a few secrets. In this case, I'm going to have three. Three fun little secrets. Wow... Yeah. Fun. My rules are just a way to kee...

It's very rare that I say too much. On those occasions, it seems okay in my head, then... Regret sets in about five minutes too late. Take tonight, for example. It seemed so clever. Definitely my A game. Three successive text messages that pretty much told The Tale. I was cool. For five minutes. Before panic set in. I did successfully render the recipient speechless, which was more or less my goal. Sort of. I wanted a response, just not the one I got. Of course you can't say I wasn't clear enough. Oh, no. I was clear. Crystal, in fact. I probably never should have re-read my cleverness. I was smug, confident even. Until I took one more look. Oh, man. Are you kidding, Stacee? Where in the Hell did your filter go? And where was that line you said you were NOT going to cross... again? Yeah, she may be gone for good. By her own admision, she was trying to be good. Then you send that and that and that? Smart. Real smart. I sincerely hope I didn't push her away. Of course had...

I don't know why I never noticed before now. Maybe there is purpose behind this, I really don't know. According to iTunes, the song played that night. THAT night. And it hasn't played since. That seems odd. I used to play it all the time. I'm sure I have since that night more than a year ago. I'm sure of it, but iTunes doesn't lie. If there was a song for that night, this was it. Other songs remind me of her more, remind me of us more, remind me of that night more, remind me of the days that followed more. "Rescue Me". I didn't know I needed rescuing until her. I didn't know God or Faith or Grace until her. Through her (and through God) I learned everything and I found myself saved. Not saved in the Christian sense. In the sanity sense. In the Faith sense. In the Grace sense. In the Hope sense. "What do you do when the path leads nowhere? When you need someone to be there Now you're afraid of what's gonna come And now there's n...

I should have turned the light off eighteen minutes ago. It's 10:18pm on Tuesday night. I'm alone. The house is quiet. It's ready-made for an early night. If I went to bed right now, I could get eight hours sleep. I guess maybe that's the problem. I've slept barely eight hours total over the past four or five days. I honestly can't remember the last time I slept through the night. Two weeks? I don't know. Benadryl helped a little for a few days. I never slept long and I slept fitfully, but at least I slept. Then it stopped working. My mind overpowered it and the insomnia returned. I'm always tired, but never sleepy. It's a weird feeling, like I could stay up for days. I occasionally rationalize that maybe I just don't need sleep anymore. Maybe my body has changed. Maybe I can function on only two or three hours a night. Maybe that's why my body doesn't sleep; it simply doesn't need it. All this sleep deprivation has started affecting ...

I'm writing more. I can tell because my new blog site tells me that I've written nearly as many blogs thus far in November (it's the 17th) as I did in the entire month of October. I think it's a good thing. I'm not sure what's motivating me - The Words, assuredly, and one particular blog subscriber who loves to wake up and read me with her morning coffee (let's just call it that). But there's more. Time? Boredom? Confidence? Stories to tell? I suppose it's all of the above. I go through rough periods, like I do with the gym and working out, when I just don't wanna. I rebel against it and simply decide not to. Sometimes I don't feel like speaking my truth so I don't. I fill my time with other things, such as reading (as painful as that can be for me), watching mindless TV, venting to friends, downloading music, and effing around on FaceBook. The days slide by and I'm left wondering what in the Hell I did to pass the time. At least when...

"If you look at the women I have loved or intended to love..." I made this statement in a blog I wrote a couple days ago ("What I See") and something keeps bringing me back to it. I don't remember thinking much about it when I wrote it. It didn't matter at the time. It's not where my focus was. Now, I can't seem to forget it. "If you look at the women I have... intended to love" . That's the part that keeps coming back again and again. Intended to love... Yes, it's possible. Because I was going to love them. I was. If nothing had changed. If they hadn't left. Yes, I would have loved them. Eventually. At the time they left, I wasn't in love, but I was falling. I intended to love them one day. And if they hadn't left, I would have. If you pay attention, there's a moment when you know. When the falling starts. Not too long ago I found a blog I wrote on my Blackberry but never posted. It was too early, said too much. She...

Tonya said just the other night that I hadn't written a Top Ten blog in a long time. That got me thinking. I didn't know what to write about. It's not easy coming up with ten witty statements on the fly. I kinda put it on the back burner and went on with my week. Then the weekend hit Thursday afternoon at 3pm. When you have Friday and most of Sunday off, the weekend is allowed to start on Thursday afternoon, just so you know. And that's where we will begin. In no particular order, the Top Ten Bad Decisions I Made This Weekend... 1. After a superlatively long day at work on Saturday (when you have to get up frightfully early for a store meeting on Sunday), do not accept an invitation from a friend to hang out for A drink. Four (or was it five?) drinks and one trip to Whataburger later, you'll fall asleep on a really comfortable couch only to wake up after a mere two hours sleep holding a pretty girl you probably need not be holding. 2. When sitting among friends at a...

"Starin' at you takin' off your makeup Wondering why you even put it on I know you think you do but baby you don't need it Wish that you could see what I see it when it's gone" from "Fast Cars and Freedom" by Rascal Flatts I get asked ALL THE TIME about "my type". There are a lot of assumptions out there. For example... * I like brunettes with dark eyes (nope) * I like brunettes with light eyes (nope) * I like blondes with blue eyes (nope) * I like blondes with dark eyes (nope) * I like red heads with dark eyes (there was the one, but nope) * I like beautiful women, preferably with nice tits (nope... all those girls are just my FRIENDS) * I like athletic girls with tight abs and kick-ass muscles (nope) Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. And nope. My caution - don't make any assumptions about me. If you look at the women I have loved or intended to love, they are as different as night and day. Blondes, brunettes, nice tits, no tits, blue eyes, brow...

When no one was looking last night, I got a phone number. And even if anyone was looking, I'm sure it appeared innocent enough. Just a pretty, seemingly straight girl and a cute, little lesbian exchanging numbers. Maybe they both need friends or someone to hang out with. Yes, I'm positive that's exactly what it looked like. So you know, appearances can be deceiving . I know why I wanted her number and I'm reasonably certain she wanted mine for the same reason. Oh, we'll hang out. But not with the intention of becoming friends. I know better. "Hanging out" usually leads to something else in my world. Especially when the players (pardon the terminology) seem a bit too curious about each other. For example, I don't recall what my friends were wearing the first time I ever saw them. And well, she remembers a certain pair of khaki shorts and yellow t-shirt. This is scary (in a good way for everyone except her current girlfriend), because she's right. Pl...

I think I had an anxiety attack last night. I woke suddenly out of a drugged and drunken restless sleep at 2:14am. My mind whirred irrationally. Thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts. One topic to the next, again and again and again. I couldn't breathe (of course that might have been due to an overdose of depressants), my heart raced as if I'd had too much Red Bull, tears filled my eyes, and I reached out desperately into nothingness. I wanted what I couldn't possibly have. Peace. I wanted peace. Stillness of mind, heart, and soul. I wanted to be home. To hear my dogs in the next room and the wind chime singing softly on the front porch. To get a drink of water in my kitchen and look out the window at the night sky. To crawl back in my bed under my white down comforter and fall silently back to sleep. Instead, I was here. Lost and out of breath. Confused and irrational and out of control. I got up. I laid down. Tossed one way, then the next. This side of the pillow and that...

Historically, my friends have assumed that I'm single because I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. Yeah, that's bull shit. Plain and simple bull shit. I'm no coward. I may live my life in fear of almost everything, but I never give in to it. That is courage. Some say that courage is the absence of fear. I say courage is doing what you need to do in spite of the fear. And I do what I need to do each and every day. I face my fears and take a step forward. I can't argue with my friends too much, though. Their statement is right about a lot of single people (and once upon a time it might have been true about me). The world is filled with cowards. I see them and talk to them daily. Cowards never stand in their truth; they posture against it. They are a front, a caricature. They are a tough exterior, a mask. They run. They hide. They dodge. They lie to themselves so much that they start to believe their own lies. Their truth is a lie, a shield,and deep down they know ...

It fades. Never soon enough, though. That's just a fact. One day the missing and wondering and pondering and thinking stop. Life picks up where it left off. Except for a few memories. But until then... a hole is left that must be filled. With anything. Rum. Sunshine. Conversations with old friends. Work. The crunch of gravel underfoot. Writing. Sleep. Music. Mindlessness TV. At least that's how it works for me. Others may let go sooner; forget faster. Lucky them. I'm not sure that will ever be me. It's nearly inevitable. There's going to be a modicum of loneliness as they disappear from my world. Transitioning what once was into what is no longer is rarely easy for me. I guess that's because I live passionately and jump freely, often with little forethought. If that means filling a few holes on occasion, so be it. It's okay because I have few regrets. And everything always seems to work out as it should. Eventually.

I realized a brief moment ago (as I was pondering what I'd write about tonight) that I tend to keep things a long time. For example, the scrubs I am currently wearing were 'stolen' for me by my ex-girlfriend's boyfriend when he was a resident. In mid 2003. That's more than six years ago (yes, I know you can do the math) and I'm not certain these things are meant to last that long. The VS panties I'm wearing are from the same era, though I will admit they probably need to be replaced. I also own a really comfortable (and paint covered) sweatshirt that I got my sophomore year of college. In early 1989. That's twenty years ago. Good God Damn! That's a been a few minutes. Let's see, what else do I have? My favorite jeans were bought for me in May 2002. I still have the UGGs that I bought in Tamworth, New South Wales, Australia in 1988. I have three sweaters that I conned my mom into buying for me around Christmas 2001. I have the long-sleeve race t-s...

I didn't do what I intended to do today. I decided I was too tough to be a pussy. I'm not great with vulnerability. Especially with strangers. And I was not going to walk into some random doctor's office and admit that I'd fucked up my life so badly that I needed prescription pharmaceuticals to help me deal with my inability to deal with the consequences of my fuck up. That's a rough one for me. Of course when the anxiety gets so bad that you can't sleep or eat and you begin wishing you didn't have a failure complex about tying knots, it's time to take some action. So instead I decided to buck up. I'm going to give it one more shot before I admit defeat and medicate away my problems. I'm not even considering counseling this time, which is what I usually do. I've counseled my problems several times. I like counseling. Mostly because I like analyzing. Who else in my life is going to play along with my overwhelming desire to analyze if not my sh...

I'm always struck by East Texas. Truly, you just gotta love it. It's so ridiculous at time. Actually, a lot of the time. When I lived there I thought it was hilarious (when I wasn't fearing for my life). Now that I live somewhere else, I find it even more hilarious (and I don't even worry about my life anymore). When I visit, I find myself stopped in my tracks on occasion as I'm reminded just how different East Texas. If there is anyplace else like it one earth, I've never been there. For those of you who have never been to East Texas or for those of you in East Texas who tend to blend easier than I do, here is a short list of quintessential East Texas-isms. As always in no particular order... 1. Who wears a trucker cap that says, "I [heart] Jesus"? I'll tell you. Some lady walking around the duck pond at Spring Lake Park on Friday morning. If you have to advertise.... Eh, forget it. 2. Where can you get stared down by a four year old little girl i...

I'm sad tonight. I'm not going to lie. After twenty-four hours in my old hometown visiting friends, the last place I want to be is where I am. I don't hate it here, but I don't like it either. Yes, one day it'll be better; it'll feel like home. I am so fucking tired of everyone placating me with that wisdom. I am also so fucking tired of placating myself with that wisdom. And, you know, it's true. Given time, Texarkana will seem less and less like home and Austin will seem more and more like home. I get it. I do. I've done it before. Once upon a time, Muskegon, Michigan was home and Texarkana was not. A few years later, I left Muskegon behind me for good. It's all good. It is. I'm over it. Home is where I am. Where I am. Period. The End. What if I don't want this to be home? What if I don't want to leave Texarkana behind? What if I don't want to be here? What if I don't want home to be where I am? What if I want home to be where ...

I thought about writing tonight. Then I thought better of it. I'm tired. It's been a long week. Seven days of retail hell in a row tends to take it's toll. Mix in trying to have a life? Yeah, it's exhausting. I can write in any shape, but I can't write well in any shape. I figured I'd cut my losses and skip it for tonight. It's too bad, because I had several pretty nifty topics to discuss. Such as... 1. My kryptonite... Heard the song, 'Superman', by Five for Fighting and the idea came to me. Write about the ONE THING that always brings me down. Sounds powerfully uplifting, doesn't it? 2. Homesickness... How being around all my new Austin friends that have so much history together makes me homesick for my friends back home that I have so much history with. 3. Christmas and the Holidays... Always a good topic for me. I haven't railed on the Christians in awhile. I really need to get back at it soon. 4. My non-gym phase... I'm lazy. Enough ...

I just christened a new friend "Sweetpea". I used to use it interchangeably for almost anyone, including one of my young male associates who immediately blushed. I can still see the look on his face as he repeated, "Sweetpea?!?" with such innocence. Yeah, I guess twenty-something males from Atlanta, Texas aren't used to their lesbian assistant managers using affectionate nicknames. Little did he know I also called the dog Sweetpea. Somethings are just better left a mystery. I learned this first hand. When I first started using "Sweetpea" I used it (wow... that didn't come out quite right) on my girlfriend. She was Sweetpea. So often that we bought each other Sweetpea scented lotion from Bath and Body Works for each other for Christmas. It was pure happenstance and really quite sweet. Then we got a dog. OK, I got the dog. She ended up liking the dog a lot, loving her even (please don't bring up Norah to either one of us... It's almost that t...

Like slamming a revolving door... I used to call her Hot Friend #2 back in the day. Oh, she's still hot and still my friend. I've just given up on the monikers. She is Nic. It was a random thought in my head that became my FaceBook status on Monday morning. Her reply involved the impossibility of slamming a revolving door. And that became the spring board for this blog. Ah futility... I do love thee so. I'm getting used to it. I can even laugh at it these days. So, what was my reply to Nic? Something about dating. Yeah, dating and futility. Soul sisters in my world. And very much like trying to slam a revolving door. It seems possible until it's impossible. You gear up, give it a good go, and whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. What happened to the slam? Keep trying, but it's not going to happen. Now, I'm not trying to make any of the exs feel like assholes (please keep reading me). What is is very simply what is. I accept that. What's not meant to be is not meant to be...

For some reason I decided I needed a little music while drinking and fucking around on-line tonight. I pulled up the iTunes and listened to my most recently downloaded song (a recommendation from a friend... uh, yeah... It might be her favorite, but wow.... not so much). When I hit the forward button, "I Believe" by Diamond Rio began playing. I looked at my screen. The last time that I listened to that song? October 5, 2008 at 12:16pm. That would have been shortly after she left and just before I started to believe. Did I play that song on purpose that day? It's doubtful. That day it would have seemed random, just the iTunes on shuffle. Today it doesn't seem so random. That day. And again today. That day I didn't know belief was right around the corner. Today, it's all I have at times. Well, belief and faith (just look at the tattoos on my left calf). If I'm honest and stand in my truth, I thought a lot about her today (and yesterday, too). Somehow wheneve...

So, I added this gadget to my Google homepage. It's a Magic 8 Ball. Back when I was an HR Manager, I had an Obi Wan Kenobi Magic 8 ball. I don't think my store manager realized that I ran most of my big decisions past Obi Wan. He and his 'Star Wars' wisdom guided me. When I stepped down, someone else packed up my office and my trusty Obi Wan disappeared. I miss him to this day. That's why when I saw that Google had a Magic 8 Ball gadget, I added it immediately. I often need guidance and truthfully I've been a little lost since Obi Wan went away. I'm not so certain about my virtual Magic 8 Ball. It's favorite answer is "uncertain, ask again later". Are you kidding? How can it not know? It's only purpose is to KNOW. Obi Wan always had an answer; I never had to get back to him later. For example, I just went back to my Google page (just to try to prove or disprove my point) and asked, "Will the Saints win tonight?" Magic's answer...

I did something recently that I swore I would never do. I'm not sure why I was so insistent that I'd never do. Yes, I'm a girl. I am. Quite. I like being a girl. I'm just not girlie. Well, I guess I'm tomboy-girlie. Some like to call me "tweener" (ugh). Others like to call me "butch-lite" (double ugh). Personally, I'd prefer not to be categorized. Once you get lumped, people start making assumptions. I may have super short hair, wear baggy shorts and backward ball caps, and I may even smell like a guy (occasionally... more on this in a moment), but I am decisively female. You probably won't catch me wearing heels and a short skirt very often, but never say never. You could and you might, given the right occasion. Very simply, I am Stacee. No more, no less. Most say it's just plenty. Anyway, I digress. I'd been out of perfume since some time this summer. I'm not sure why I procrastinated spending the money. I love it when peopl...

It's almost comical, really. If I put my emotional mind to bed and just think intellectually. Rationally. What are the fucking odds? Truthfully, in the deeper, darker recesses of my mind, my intellectual mind, I knew it was going to happen. I didn't let myself think about it; I didn't want Thoughts to Become Things. But I still knew it was going to happen. Because it always does. It doesn't matter how good it starts, how wonderful they think I am, or how happy I make them, the result is always the same. They leave. Without a fight and without any supposed wrong doing on my part. One day they are there and the next they are not. And I am left to wonder "what the fuck?". I search my heart and soul, replay scenes, re-read text messages and FaceBook comments, analyze, analyze, analyze, and I still end up confused. For once, just once, I'd like to fuck up big time so at least I could understand and know why they chose to leave. My rational mind can explain anyt...