Monthly Archives: August 2010

Gay for the Day!

I failed.  And I really tried.  I didn’t see a single woman all day besides my daughter.  And I’m not even going there.  I did have a brief chat with one of my daughter’s teachers, but she doesn’t ring my bell, not that one anyway.  Heh.

So, off to the gym.  I was hopeful that I might get to have an entertaining encounter.  I even went in to the locker room, thinking that I could guarantee that I’d not be distracted by anyone of the male persuasion in there.   I hung around in there for a few minutes, just long enough to  start feeling like a creep and moved on, hopeful that my yoga class would have some enticing young ladies.

My trip to the gym actually was a double mission.  Last week I managed to surreptitiously snap a pic of  a bearded cute young man who looked an awful like the third Avett Brother.  I’d recently had a conversation with someone about how camera phones could easily be used to snap pictures of people with out them even realizing it, so I quickly took a picture of this cutie as an example.  While my efforts were appreciated I was told that the picture I got was altogether too blurry for her to confirm that he did really resemble an Avett Brother so I was on a mission to secure a less blurry photo.

Waiting in front of the room for the yoga class to begin I felt like a cast member of the Jersey Shore… I was CREEPIN’ for sure!  As a not-single gal this alone had me a little giggly.  Moments after spotting the Avett look-alike he got on his phone and I was able to snap a quick pic of him talking on the phone and incidentally looking right at me.  It was perfect.  I win!  Mission One accomplished.  Now, to set my sights on a lady.

There were a handful of cute-ish girls, but all of them  younger than the last.  And while I think a 17-year-old boy is about as cute as they come, pardon the expression, the teen gals do nothing for me.  I’m sure there is something to be uncovered by a therapy session in that,  but moving on… Well, not just yet, speaking of uncovered in a therapy session, I did notice that while actually scoping out chicks at the gym I found myself just as critical of other women as I am of myself.   I often wonder if my body image issues are motivated internally or externally, primarily.  In really looking at other women I realized a few things… I think my “ideal” is totally fucked by societal standards.  And even in a gym full of college aged women I couldn’t find a “perfect 10.”  What does this mean? I should chill the fuck out and relax a little and not be so hard on myself.  And if I was a lesbian I think I might be a real pain in the ass.

So…. in to yoga class I go.  Still failing miserably at today’s challenge.  I did try and spend less time grabbing at and eyeing MQD’s ass than I typically do in a day.  And this is saying a lot.  But still not enough to make me feel Ive succeeded.  Throw down my mat and see that Yoga Boy/Avett Bro is right next to me.  He has a placed another mat next to him, presumably for the recipient of his phone call.

And she enters the room.  Cute little blond, crosses in front of me to Yoga Boy/Avett’s Brother’s spare mat.  Awww.  His girl.  Of course.

I spent the next hour attempting to make eyes at this young lady, but it was a huge fail.  She made really screwed up yoga faces, for one, and for two…  the fact that the only time I even kinda thought there was a glimmer of somethin’ somethin’ in my innards was when I could check out her butt from a most interesting point of view (looking through her boyfriend’s legs…)

Moral of the story… I failed.  I love boys.  Boys, men and everything in between.  Today wasn’t much of an epiphany.

I’m a huge fan of  this  challenge.  As a person with fairly shitty self-esteem I have always been one to lay the compliments on thick.  In the spirit of treating others as you’d like to be treated, I suppose.  Living with a  partner that does not play in to my insecurities or come off of a compliment freely or when he suspects I’m digging for one has forced me to be really honest with myself about the need for  a “compliment.”  I’m trying to wrap my mind around a “compliment” being more of a “complement” to the way I see myself, rather than the way I define myself.    In examining the way I seem to crave this kind of affection and affirmation I have found myself being less liberal with the compliment lately so it was a pleasure to live it up today!

I decided that since I am very comfortable with slathering on the compliments to Em and MQD I’d try and give them more freely in my work environment.  This yielded some entertaining results. I’ve made a point of  stopping to compliment something in every interaction with a co-worker the past few days.

To the adorable twenty-something hippiedippy girlfriend of my boss’s son “I love that dress… it looks comfortable, but really nice.”  Her response “I love a long dress.  So I don’t have to wear underwear. ”   Of course.  Of course.

To the cabinet-maker who rents a workshop from my company “I am sure you enjoyed your reunion (his 30th high school.)  I mean, you’ve obviously held up better than the average bear.”  His reply, “You’re not fucking kidding, and I’ve only been divorced ONCE,” as he trolled his dating site.

To the project manager who routinely turns in his paperwork late or not at all.  “I noticed you had all your invoices coded, that really saves me a lot of time, thanks so much.”  His response “Did you get engaged?” As if that was the only possible reason for my sunshine disposition?  I imagined responding “Nope, just the d-squared, p-squared combo. ”  (This would be my profane and not at all romantic shorthand for deep-dicking, pussy-pounding… ahh such a romantic I am….) But instead, I just said “Nope… I must have put my ring on my left hand this morning…”

To the gal that rents the property next to us “I’m sure you’ll do a great job on your exams, you’ve worked so hard.  I love that shirt.”  I should have stopped at “so hard” re: the exams.  Because “I love that shirt” just spilled out because I was on a roll and I immediately realized that you could cut ice with her nipples and the fact that I had said “so hard” and alluded to her chest all in one breath had me snickering like a 12 year old boy.  (Which is admittedly how I spend much of my time…)

The pièce de résistance was when I very genuinely complimented my boss.  I am the go-to gal for computer related help in our office.  I’d been having a fairly annoying afternoon in relationship to a new piece of software we’re using and I remarked as such as he passed by my desk.  Ever helpful, he said “You know you can just double click on the cell and it won’t do that….” and he came to stand slightly behind my desk chair.  I double clicked, had the desired result and in my excitement turned my chair and went to playfully backhand him in the leg and said “Well, HOT DAMN! Look at you!”  This was my own way of saying “Geez, thank so much for this time saving tip, aren’t you smart and savvy?”  And it might have come across like that had I not spun my chair around and back-handed him in the junk.  Whoops. Always classy, even in the face of my classless sense of humor he just walked towards the coffee maker and resumed our previous conversation.

Compliment Day was a good challenge day.  I thought a lot about why you choose to compliment people and how it might make them feel.  And, of course, why I seem to want them and yet I dismiss them from most people.  And how maybe there’s a reason I finally found a sidekick that doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean… so when he does say “Wow, you look nice” it makes my heart beat fast.  Good stuff to think about…. and we’re only two weeks in to the book.

Day 13: Write a letter to a mass murderer.

Today’s Challenge:  Send a letter to a mass murderer.

Bizarrely I found a website with multiple addresses for writing murderers of all shapes and sizes.  I perused it for a but, hoping someone would jump out at me.  Well, not literally…

I am not a stranger to sending letters and newspaper clippings, books, magazine subscriptions, bible verses and computer printouts of the Koran to inmates.  But this challenge was tougher for me because I wasn’t sure I really wanted to interact with any of these “murderers.”  But one man’s name caught my eye.  For a bit I thought it was cheating, skirting the real goal of today’s challenge… but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that to some, he is a mass murderer.  But not to me.

Dr. Jack Kevorkian
4870 Lockhart St.
W. Bloomfield, MI 48323-2533

Dear Dr. Kevorkian,

Just a quick note to tell you that I truly admire the work you have done to help people of all ages maintain their dignity.  I’ve never understood how assisted suicide is any different from a patient’s right to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate.)

I read this quote about your time spent incarcerated “Listen, when you take my liberty away, you’ve taken away more-something more precious than life. I mean, what good is a life without liberty? Huh? None.”  I think it’s interesting in that it applies to the interminable period some of us may spend while waiting to die just as well as it applies to your time spent within our “legal system.”

I was actually not writing to ask you anything about your legal troubles or anything relating to euthanasia at all… I actually had another question entirely.  You’ve received a lot of press in the past decades.  And almost 50% of the time you are wearing a blue sweater.  Did you do this on purpose?  Because you bear a pretty startling likeness to Mr Rogers whenever you wear a blue sweater.  And I can’t help but think that has helped your cause along the way.  I mean after all… no one would accuse Mr Rogers of being a ruthless killer.

All my best,

Kelly

Just sayin..

This challenge was a particularly well timed challenge.  I think the question could be taken in two very different ways, and I’ll do my best to answer it in both ways, in an effort, of course, to maintain my status as both a slacker and an overachiever.  My apologies for being several days late in writing up my challenge results…

What’s my type?  As in what type of boozer am I attracted to, or interested in conversing with at a party?  Well, that’s an easy one.  All of the above.  A decade as a bartender and I never really tired of boozy flirtation and sloppy jackasses.

My very favorite, my “type” of boozer?  It would have to be a cross between Mr Nice Guy and a Sleazeball.  A dirtball with a heart of gold?  A nice boy with a mouth like a trucker? Sold.  I’ll take him, as-is.

And what type of Boozer am I?  Well that can be answered quite easily from the options above… the Clever Brunette, of course.  And the one that licks Fluevogs.

And that likes to get dressed up…  this was moments after I realized I could actually pull my fishnets up all the way to my ampits.

For a spell I was the kind of gal that liked to wear an eye patch….. I’ll have to bring that back…. it was a good look.