Little Voices in My Head

“Fake it ’till you make it!”This was said to me this morning by one of my many well-meaning family members, and it infurriated me. More on that in a moment.

I am so humbled I could crawl. So dumbfounded I could drool at a moment’s notice. So…ego boosted I may explode! Let me backtrack.

I’ve always said that I would have made a crappy lesbian. I applaud women who are, for they are better women than me. Let’s face it, attraction to women just makes sense. We’re pretty. We (to make a gross generalization) smell nice. We’re great to cuddle with, and to top it off, we have the boobs, and therefore, the power. Not only can we conquer nations, we can rebuild them with a smile. Men? Not so much. Men have the tendency to lean towards that funk smell. (yeah, man funk can be sexy, it’s full of pheromones and stuff, but not so pleasant most days) They’re great to cuddle with when you’re cold cuz hey, human furnaces. But what use is that in August? They do have that certain appendage that makes life worth livin’. *WINK* However, men, for all their faults, have one thing up on women that keeps me batting for the hetro team. Men (another gross generalization commin’ your way) for the most part, are not big balls o’ crazy.   

Not to belittle my gender, and yes, I’m lumping myself squarely in there with the rest of them. Women can be absolutely INSANE. I’ve seen women do some of the most conniving, underhanded, shiesty, sneaky, downright cruel things to others all over some misguided notion of ‘love’ or (in most cases) blind lust. Most of them don’t even know they’re doing it. Some do it deliberately. For instance, I have a girlfriend who, when in a supposed “monogamous” relationship, found her lover in a certain compromising position with another gal pal, (I think the exact position is on page 178 of the Karma Sutra, for those who want to look it up) didn’t break up with her lover. She allowed him to remain in her life and in her bed, simply for the express purpose of punishing him later. She bided her time, waited for the moment he relaxed into the relationship again…then shredded his clothes, dumped them on the lawn, melted his CDs and DVDs in the garage with a propane torch, (actually made an impressive art peice) and repainted his car with bright green house paint. On one hand, I have to applaud her actions, but I seriously disrespect her timing. The moment for that kind of revenge was the moment of discovery, not a year later.

 A guy friend of mine is having issues with a girl who keeps jerking him back and forth over the ‘relationship’ coals. This guy is almost perfect boyfriend material. He’s honest, charming, treats her like gold, takes care of her, (and yes, he’s hot) not to mention he is emotionally open and ready for a committed relationship with her. Yet, she keeps raking him because she just can’t get it through her skull that he’s not going to put up with her back and forth emotional ping-pong forever. Then she wants to cry about it. Boo freakin hoo.

I myself, cannot take compliment graciously to save my freaking life. Yet heaven forbid my boys or my sweetie don’t notice I’ve lost another 10lbs. I simply MUST point it out and wait for them to tell me to go buy more clothes, because it makes me feel good. If they tell me I look pretty, I tell them the bullshit is getting deep, but them telling me to go buy pants that don’t fall off my ass makes me feel good. Totally crazy. And totally female.  

Have you ever looked at a gal pal and wondered, “Why don’t you just grow a pair, put on your big girl-panties, and get over it?!”. Well, they don’t, because women are prone to insanity. Hence the reason I applaud lesbians. Putting ONE woman in a relationship is trouble enough, mixing two in there? Now THAT’S certifiable. Or heroic. You decide.

I’ve spent the last two days off work, at home, taking care of Pammie. I’ve really enjoyed the time with her, yet my heart is breaking. Pammie is dying. God, even typing that sentence makes me weep. I suppose I shouldn’t focus on that. She has Alzheimer’s. It’s been called the silent killer. It’s a slow, malicious, thief that robs families of their loved ones a few simple things at a time. The cruelest part is that Pammie’s case is so much more complicated because of who she was born to be. She was already afflicted with enough pain in her life. She was born with Down’s Syndrome. That always made her unique, wholly her own blessed angel. Sweet, pure, yet…simple. She’s never had the ability to retain a lot of information. So now, the information being stolen from her seems doubly heinous. Watching her forget what happened yesterday, or that tomorrow will eventually come, shatters my heart. Having to remove the knobs from the stove so she can’t play with the burners, or put extra locks on the doors so she can’t wander off makes me want to sit down and bawl for what we’ve lost with her. This is a woman who, when I was a child, used to cook me hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, and take me to school each morning. Who dried my tears when I fell off my bicycle, taught me how to use a latch-hook to make a rug, always found that last elusive word in the find-a-word puzzle books. Now Pammie cries for reasons known only to her, can’t match the colours in a paint by number, and circles the same letters over and over in her puzzle books. It’s the little things you miss.

The Show

Blush, mascara, concealer, powder
must apply them all so thickly
to hide the lines, the dark circles
of life
Put on the face to face the audience

Review the script
run the blocking, hit the marks in your mind
memorize the inflection of each word
get the tone and tenor-just so-
so that the crowd falls into the farce

Stitch the skirt, press the shirt
cinch the belt tight, contain the bulge
so the flaws don’t show
shove feet into shoes that leave no prints on the stage

Time to give the crowd
what they crave
Start the show again
Show them all of the you that they want to see
never never let them see
what’s behind the painted smile

Let them clap
collect the roses
bow to the “brava!”s and “bravisimo!”s

Alone in your dressing room
when the throngs have gone
may you strip bare and cry
mourn for the one you hide each day
as you give the world all they ask of you.

Here it is. Those of you who asked, but didn’t want credit for your q, I respect your privacy, and thank you for taking the time to text, call, email, and ask in person your questions. Those of you who asked and didn’t wish to remain annonymous, thank you double for having some stones. *clapping* The first three were asked by several people, so no one got credit. Enjoy. Oh, and there is a bonus, last minute submission at the end. You’re welcome.

1. Where HAVE you been lately?Short answer?
Working and taking care of other…stuff. Between twelve hours at work, which means I’m outta the house for over fourteen a day when I work and other stuff, I haven’t had much comp time. Granted, I only sleep on average 4-5 a night, so that leaves me between four and five hours awake to burn, but I try to spend some time with my family, my boys, and my sweetie.

2. What’s up with the hair?
I cut it. See previous blog about donating it to Locks of Love. I also dyed it, because I fucking CAN. You like? Great. You don’t? Great. Bottom line is that I like it. So…there.

3. How are you handling life after divorce?
Most days I give it five outta four stars! Then there are the days that something will cause me to revert to previous head space, and I need to go hug someone who is safe to me. Those days are getting less frequent though. So, I’d have to say, I’m handling life after divorce just as swimmingly as I would any other life. As best I can.

4. Why are diamonds a girl’s best friend? *asked by Robbie*
I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never been fond of them much myself. They are cold, unappealing, colourless rocks to me. I’d rather have a nice emerald, onyx, garnet, pearl, or sapphire. Something with warmth. I think the expression of ‘girl’s best friend’ though, can be attributed to a woman’s desire to have some tangible representation of permanence in love. Hence the reason engagement and wedding bands are traditionally diamond adorned. Since diamonds cannot be destroyed except by another diamond, even by the ravages of time, they are quite symbolic. (the only way your marriage/relationship can be destroyed is by yet another one) Then again, that’s just my take on it, and it kinda makes women look a bit shallow. *shrug* I just don’t like them much. There go some more points off my ‘girl card’.

5. Why are men obsessed with boobs? *asked by Ian*
Why do I always get these questions? Ok, nearest I can tell, in my extensive and exhaustive research…*rolling eyes* men are obsessed with boobs simply because of the challenge involved in getting their hands on a pair. Men don’t have boobs. *some have manboobs, but that’s another blog* So getting their hands on a pair to play with, either temporarily or with the regular, is a challenge. It takes skill. Charm, wit, not a lack of planning, and considerable luck. Women, however sexually inclined, have their own pair. So playing with another set…not so much of a thrill.

6. Do monkeys have opposable thumbs? *asked by Rich*
Yes and no. I know, that’s a complicated answer. Let me expound. The opposable thumb is defined as “able to oppose, or turn back against the other fingers”. Now: Gorillas, Chimpanzees, and some lesser apes have this ability. *as do opossums, koalas, and the Giant Panda*, but alas, most true MONKEYS, do not. Some Old World Monkeys do…but they are largely extinct. And I only had to look up the Giant Panda part. Sweet!

7. Which LV is your favorite?
The Amazon is my favorite. Granted, Leroy, Muffy, Yenta; they all have their high points. All very helpful in certain situations, but word for word, I have to say that the Amazon has the most influence on me. I can feel her pacing in her cage at the end of a long day, just waiting for that one person or event to set me off enough to let her out to play. I can feel her sleeping soundly in her corner at the end of a good one, content to play another day. She’s ever present, and omniscient. The other LVs? They are pretty much in their own little worlds, only brought up when needed, but the Amazon is always there…waiting.

8. Which boob is bigger?
The left one. She says hi.

9. Most fucked up thing you ever saw? *asked by Mag*
My own reflection as I realized that I had to either get out, or die trying. My faced looked like a distortion of relief, shock, fear, and strangely…hope. The fucked up part is that no face should ever have to look like that. No one. It sickens me that I did.

10. Worst movie ever?
Rest Stop. It was SUPPOSED to be this great horror flick about a couple that stops at a rest stop on a road trip and slash and dash ensues…but no. It has a disjointed plot, and introduces a secondary plot that has NO basis in the ‘movie’ reality whatsoever, and it ends on a cliffhanger that left me…not angry, as cliffhangers tend to do…but glad. Glad that the movie was FINALLY fucking OVER.

11. Why do we park in the driveway and drive in the parkway? *the next few were asked by Eric. He’s curious like that.*
I have no idea. I actually have to fall back on my tried and true sarcasm bit here. I’m thinking it’s a severe bastardization of the English language.

12. What household item do you skimp on?
LMAO, what household item DON’T I skimp on? I live with my folks, so I don’t purchase many of the ‘household’ items. When I was doing that kind of thing, the one item I tended to put off until the last minute was paper towels. I never could understand the purchase of wasteful paper products when washing a real towel was just as easy and so much better for the environment. The EED loved the things though, so I did buy them. In bulk. But I tended to ‘forget’ them a lot…

13. What is your favorite flavor of Jell-O?
Ew. I hate Jell-O. If I ever contract some horrid stomach bug, and am put on a clear liquid diet at the hospital. (which means all I get to eat is broth, popsicles, and Jell-O), I’m going to be stuck with broth and popsicles. I know, I know, Jell-O is supposed to be SOOO tasty and comes in SOOO many flavors; I couldn’t possibly have tired them all, right? You’re wrong. I hate the texture, the smell, even the colour of all the flavors. It really is the mouth feel that gets to me though. I just can’t STAND the way it feels in my mouth. It’s slimy. If I don’t like it, it’s just not going in my mouth. End of story. However, I have been known to suck down a few Jell-O SHOTS. Something about putting liquor in the Jell-O changes the consistency. Then I only like the lemon-lime flavor. And I have to be very very careful about how many I consume. A drunk Carissa is not a good thing. Ask anyone who’s experienced it.

14. If you were trapped on a deserted island, which voice would you eat first?
Good one. I’d probably eat Muffy first. She annoys me the most, and would be the least useful. Shopping and boys are NOT two things I’m likely to encounter as ‘lifesaving’ skills necessary on a deserted island. Leroy has brute strength and lots of street smarts. Yenta has life experience, cooking skills, and is a Holocaust survivor, she can help out. The Amazon is an AMAZON. Those three are SO going to get me out alive. Muffy? Not so much. Bitch has gots to go. Girl Card not going to help much there.

15. Describe your perfect date.
Not really a question; but it intrigues me. Ok, I could just blow this one off, give a smarcastic answer like “has already happened” but…honesty is the policy here, so: the perfect date to me, would be a complete surprise. No planning on my part involved. I just want to be told: “Be ready at 5, wear something casual.” (or dressy if the plans call for it) Or, “Pack a bag for the night.” The “date” would pick me up, (or rather, I would pick HIM up, as I have this thing about driving) and we would go somewhere I had no idea we were going to be, do something I had no idea we were going to do, and just spend some time together. The events aren’t important, but the time is. Oh and there must be lots and lots of touching. J I’m all about the touching. Hand holding, his hand at the small of my back, in my hair, wherever. It’s even better when it’s in public, because it tells me he’s not afraid to show he’s with me. Now, if we’re talking ‘1^{st date’…then the touching isn’t as important, and actually, should be kept to a minimum. I do have SOME standards. But a date with my sweetie right now? Oh yeah, lots of touching is a must. I can’t help it, I crave the contact. It helps that I can’t seem to keep my hands off the man!}

^{Bonus/ last minute question!Do you regret your marrige?
To ask that assumes that I would ever regret something I learned from. From my marrige I learned that I am stronger than ANYONE (espically myself) ever thought I could be. I learned what I DON’T want in a relationship. I learned what it really takes to make a partnership work. I also learned that family and friends are more valuable than any treasure on the planet and not to take them for granted. That when push came to shove, I am capable of making the right choice. That I could survive the worst thing anyone could ever imagine. So no, I do NOT regret my marriage at all. It was the right decision for my life at that time. I won’t divilge all the details of that decision; as even 6 years later, those details could still hurt those I love, but suffice it to say, there are no regrets there. The only regrets I have in my life are hurting those that I love, and that’s something that I struggle with every day to make better. I can’t fix it all, but I can damn sure try.}

I used to be in gymnastics. Bettcha didn’t know that about me, huh? Granted, I was 5, and my mom only enrolled me in the class so I wouldn’t be SOOOO damn shy anymore, but I digress. The bottom line is, I WAS at one time, a budding gymnast. My favorite apparatus was the balance beam. Something about walking across that little plank of wood wrapped in cotton and rawhide just thrilled me. The precision and concentration it took to just walk without falling off the damn thing appealed to me. When I finally did a cartwheel on one, I nearly lost my ever-loving, 5 year old mind! (which might explain a few things about me) Balance in almost all its’ forms has appealed to me ever sense.

After divorcing the worst spouse…EVER, the only thing the LVs and I could fathom to do to celebrate was, naturally, (everyone say it together now!) Paaaaaarrrrrrr-Tay! Of course, we all disagreed as to what KIND of party to throw. Leroy was in favor of beer, strippers, and lots of violence on the TV. Muffy wanted something more ‘no guys allowed, slumber party with the gals’, and Yenta, well…she was voting for a nice, civilized observance of the day. Something like a nice meal with candles, wine, and lots of chocolate. So I split the difference.

I invited My Boys, (Ian and Robbie) The Slappahoes,(Heather and Alex, and their hubbies, Chris and Josh, respectively) and of course, The Sweetie, out to Fisher’s Landing for an evening of drinking, s’mores, and one HUGE bonfire.

The evening did not go exactly as planned, but I do have to mention, that this is not exactly a bad thing. The evening was even better. We had all planned to meet at 8, but life got in the way, and all the players didn’t arrive until 9. Oh well, that gave those of us that were there at 8 a chance to wander around a bit and scope out some driftwood for the fire…and get started on the drinking. Ok, if I’m going to be honest about it, it gave ME a chance to get started on MY drinking. This will come back to play later in the story. At nine, THE BOYS finally arrive and the party gets into full swing.

Chris and Josh build the bonfire up with the quickness and we all make a round of toasts along the lines of “Ding Dong, the Douche Be Gone”.  Those of you who are easily grossed out by ‘romancey type’ stuff, skip down to the **. I have to share one toast with you. The sweetest thing I’ve ever heard came outta my Sweetie’s mouth that night. (Other than the “I love you” thing, DUH) He said “Here’s to the best revenge ever. He doesn’t have her anymore.” I nearly melted on the spot. Total puddle o’ happy sappy goo. Naturally, my immediate reaction was to drink heavily because I don’t do ‘emo’ time well, but, oh yeah, he got thanked later. Lots.

**End of ‘Skip Point’.  As the night progressed, I began dragging out all those little remainders of my ‘marriage’ that had been left in my house. Wedding/old photos, a copy of my marriage license, (can’t burn the original, dangnabbit) my old journal, and some other odds and ends. Needless to say, we all had a grand laugh at some of the stories behind the old photos, and destroying some of the odds and ends was…therapeutic to say the least.  

Then came the part of the party that I had to be told about the next day because I just don’t remember much of it. You see, I had been drinking these really great mixed drinks that The Boys had made. I don’t know what was in them, but let’s just say that they were a BIT stronger than I’m used to, and they made a ‘repeat appearance’, twice, on the ground at my feet during that time. Apparently I revealed quite a bit about my marriage that I wasn’t expecting to reveal! Thank god I had this party amongst friends I know and love and can trust with my very life. Trusting them with a few secrets is no big feat.

After waking up the next morning at the Sweetie’s pad, (and no, I did NOT drive. No one leaves a party I’m throwing without a Designated Driver. Drinking and driving is a big ball of stupid. There is no such thing as ‘hey, I only had a few, I’m good.’ One is too many.) my stomach decided to abandon ship AGAIN, and I promptly decided that I am cured. Freedom tastes a bit like ass, but ya know what? It also tastes a bit like heaven.

Leroy: Finally. After 5 fucking years, 6 fucking months, and 23 damn days, and 10 long-ass hours, The Female got rid of the Douchebag! I could dance a fucking jig, I really could man. Not that I was counting or anything, but SHEEEIT, it’s been a long time commin’.

Yenta: Language, you ape! Yes, Bubbie is rid of dat horrible man for the legal ways, but she still haf to keep eyes in her back of head.

Muffy: OMG, I know, right? I nearly DIED when they called his name in court and all looked around for him like he was gonna show up and all! As if he could care LESS about the divorce? I mean COME ON! The douche couldn’t even be bothered to return a phone call, one of those summons thingies, certified letter, blah blah blah. Like he’s going to have driven his tushie all the way to NC just to raise a ruckus? SOOOO not.

True, but he always say he never let Bubbie divorce him, he just make wit da shoot. “Much less trouble to just kill you” he say. All da time he say dat. I tell you true I fear for Bubbie all morning till dat nice judge sign da papers.

I’d have liked to have seen his ass show up in court. Oh yeah, that bailiff with the big piece woulda made NICE work of his sorry ass. You can bet on it.

GUYS! Can I get a word in!

Sorry Bubbie. We just so happy for you.

Dayum, Female. We’z just kinda happy for your ass, ya feel me?

Yeah, I get that, but you’re confusing the rest of the world, they don’t have the update yet.

Sorry Sweetie! We’ll shut up. Kinda. Well, after what I just said anyway. And what I’m saying now….Yeah.

Thanks.

So as you readers have probably guessed, the divorce is final! As of 10am yesterday, I am free. It wasn’t easy, as I found out TWO minutes BEFORE I had to take the stand, that not only was I the only person in the damn court that day who’s divorce was going to be complicated, but I was also going to have to testify. Yeah, I had to take the stand and tell the nice Judge that yes, I have tried to, *REPEATEDLY* find his sorry ass and tell him that since he dropped the ball and didn’t file for divorce like he said he would, I was going to. Then the court got a nice laugh when I answered the question of, “To your knowledge, do you or *insert Ex ElDouchebag’s name here* have any physical or mental defects or disabilities?” with, “Well, I don’t know about HIM, but I don’t.” Hey, I swore on a BIBLE to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth to the best of my ability. That answer is the best I had. The Judge even chuckled a bit at that one. So ten minutes later, The Judge signed off on the divorce, and I walked out of the courtroom smiling. Shaking a bit, because yeah, I was terrified. Yenta had a point up there. EED always swore he’d kill me before he’d let me divorce him, but I was smiling. I went immediately to the Social Security office and got a new card with my now-legal maiden name back, then to the DMV and now have a shiny new licence! Today I went to work, *on my day off, no less!* and changed my name on all my paperwork THERE too. Not that I’m at all eager to have my maiden name back in full or anything…no…not me…not at all…

Last night, my boys and my sweetie, all indulged me with a couple of congratulatory shots, many hugs, and even more kudos. I’ll probably throw a ‘ding, dong, the douche is dead’ party later on next week, but last night, the pre-party was just perfect. Thanks guys. Right now, I’m taking my happy, and very very divorced tushie to bed where it belongs!

I Forget
For the first moments
in the morning
I forget.

I forget the tasks of the day ahead,
and the trials of the day I’ve left behind.

I remember.