Current mood: blah
Category: Life
I’m afraid I don’t have any witty insights today, I’m just gonna ramble until I get tired of typing. I just feel very “blah” today, so I reckon my entry today will be equally “blah“, as demonstrated by the “blah” beginning of this. I’m lacking in the Literary MoJo department but it’s time I check-in, so here I write. Blog Therapy. I’ve been trying to find new ways of expressing myself but I haven’t found any yet. For health reasons, I need to find a constructive hobby, like, pronto! I picked my nose so hard the other morning that I made it bleed for several minutes. I think my overzealous nose-picking incident was a disgusting manifestation of not releasing my pent-up negative energy and a serious cry for help. Since exercise is against it my religion, writing a mediocre blog entry will have to suffice for the time being. Hardcore, blood-producing nose-picking just doesn’t seem healthy to me.
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Yesterday I celebrated my 13th year anniversary at my job; hired June 10, 1997. Not bad eh? I’d forgotten all about it until I came in to work yesterday with a cute, sparkly sign taped to my office (translation: cubicle) wall with my name and anniversary date on it. It made me feel good and festive. So much so in fact, that I bought a bottle of my favorite wine after work yesterday. As you can imagine, the after-effects of my VERY late night “occupation celebration” almost made me late for work this morning. Frankly, I don’t even remember my drive to work but I got there safely, by the grace of God. As soon as I got to work, I put my head on my desk for about 20 minutes in an effort to regain composure. It didn’t work. So I pulled up my first e-mail and stared at it for another 20 minutes until the computer screen suddenly became too bright for my sensitive eyes. I found a nifty pair of sunglasses that I put on, then I stared at that same e-mail for yet another 20 minutes. I’m sure I looked like a damn fool when my supervisor came to my desk to wish me a ‘happy belated anniversary’. I offered no explanation for my shadeyfashion faux pas, except to say, “I’m trying to convince my stomach contents to stay put.” She required no explanation but wisely suggested I keep my trash can close. Sage advice.
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I didn’t go out at all last weekend. Aside from my niece’s graduation (Magna Cum Laude thank you very much), I barely left my bed. It was a super low energy weekend. However, I was unduly influenced to go out the weekend before, after spending several weekends away from the club scene. I had a good time, as always, but I wasn’t feeling as social as I normally do when I go out. I caught up with my girls on their lives, the latest stories and juicy gossip. We all marveled at the extreme lack of desirable romantic potentials. Apparently, we stumbled into The 2010 Janky Men Expo. Actually, the overabundance of janky men wasn’t an issue because I don’t go out for that anyway, I go out to ‘let my hair down’ and socialize with my girls. Think of us as “The Soulful Sex in the City” chicks with less money and more spice. We danced. We drank. We laughed. We had a great time. Then walks in a perfectly-shaped, tall, statuesque beauty, along with her two Hobbit-short & stubby ‘stepsisters’. I must admit, she was beautiful and I’m not always the beacon of confidence but I give props where they’re due. She was a show-stopper to be sure and I enjoyed watching her work the room. She seemed to notice and acknowledge every curious glance at her and she worked it, even though most of the curious glances came from seriously handsome-deficient mud ducks. I’m sure every man that interacted with her that night, felt like a king to have someone so gorgeous acknowledge them……something I doubt happens to them very often. I’m sure of something else too, this show-stopping gorgeous creature was born male. And yes, I’m sure. Even without benefit of medical records and a thorough physical examination, I’d bet you $100 that I’m right. Call it feminine intuition. I didn’t mind though. I’m always fascinated at some of those transsexual transformations. My girlfriend and I debated for a minute but I couldn’t have been convinced of anything else unless I was PROVEN to be wrong, which seemed unlikely given the circumstances. She even went over to talk the chick to see if she could detect anything suspect in the voice. She came back to our table and said, “Okay, you’re right, something’s up with her.” As a matter of fact, one of her [my girlfriend’s] insignificant exes was the recipient of some of the androgynous attention that night. When he and ‘she’ interacted, we giggled like schoolgirls as we imagined what would happen after the lights and clothes came off. I told my friend I didn’t care who ‘she’ takes home, as long as I get to watch the WHOLE thing from beginning to end. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with a little innocent flirtation, even if the dudes didn’t know she was a dude. After all, most folks are mere aberrations of who they want to be when they first meet someone anyway. The deal-breaking relationship short-comings don’t generally come out that first night, so what’s the harm? A beautiful “woman” feels good about herself and a homely man gets the attention he would never get from ‘another’ equally beautiful woman. Everybody wins, right? I imagine the heterosexual male side of that equation might disagree with that assessment.
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Though some seem unconvinced, I was born female and still, the transsexual nightclub experience draws some personal parallels for me. // See, I’m EXACTLY who I present myself to be, even in the very beginning. My problem is, the person I am seems to change from one minute to the next. So a person that chooses me as a mate, chooses a mate that’s somewhat changeable, a mite erratic, definitely rAnDoM° but never boring. I don’t think that’s a bad trade-off. I’m faithful, trustworthy and dependable, just a bit unpredictable, that’s all. Why can’t that be a good thing? Who’d want to come home to the same boring person every night anyway? I’m like fifty women rolled into one and none of them were born male (unless you’re into that sort of thing). I guess I do see how being unpredictable might scare some folks away. I see myself as being fascinatingly multi–faceted but others might see me as having frightening multiple personalities. Either way, I know I’m a good woman and a loving person that occasionally suffers from a silent-but-deadly brain fart. No harm, no foul. I’m an onion…no, parfait, with many layers. And the best part is, stripping away those layers won’t result in my partner becoming an unwitting participant in the real-life version of The Crying Game.
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