Speaking of Sexy Bald Men and Romance

Cal Speaks

Reflections on the Best & Worse date of my life

I thought this just may be the one. We had a 50 year history and our expectations were high. After many telephone conversations we really seemed to be on the same page. We were both adorned in rose colored glasses.

I failed the Audition.

No bucket assed kids here but full grown adults in our mid sixties. Surely by this stage in life we could finally just be ourselves.

I arrived at her home and met her at the gate. We hugged. She felt wonderful. I was in heaven. We talked and laughed with nary an awkward silence. I’m thinking things are going very well. This may actually work. I was so confident that I thought it was time to fish for a complement. WHOOPS!

It seems I have some shortcomings. ME SHORTCOMINGS? IMPOSSIBLE! I’m a fucking hunk! How can this be?

Let me count the ways.

I’m going bald so I decided to let my hair do what ever it wanted in it’s final days. Not making a statement of any sort. Silly Me thinking hair would no longer be an issue. 1961 had come and gone.

Clothes wrong color for my skin tone. Huh? Oh please.

Wrong clothes. Basically my entire adult life because of my work and because I loved fashion I was always a very stylish snappy dresser. I even went so far as to sport very expensive “Mod” suits in the sixties. Yes I was a slave to fashion. After I retired I broke free from fashion bondage and wore jeans to show off my very hot butt. Then I got into photography so I started wearing Cargo pants so I would always have my camera with me. I really thought no one would care, after all old folks are invisible. Silly me.

Pants too short. Guilty. But my penny pinching self thought spending money on new pants was folly in case this didn’t work out.

Posture. I must have had good posture as a military grunt. We all stood tall and were able tho march around all looking and standing just alike. Being one that zigged when others zagged the posture of Cheech & Chong had more appeal to me And I imagine the weight of sixty six years tend to beat you down.

She really is a wonderful person. I wanna tell her that I love her a lot but I gotta have a belly full of wine. I will always regret it didn’t work out for us.

My Ideal

Yesterday I was shallow, today I'm good with that. I'm not holding it against myself. But I have been thinking a lot about the power of the imagination and all the things we think we want or need from another person especially if we have an agenda, like getting laid. But the secret life of the mind can be your worst enemy by giving you a certain type you find attractive. It could be a scent. It could be the shape of an ass. But there's something there and you can't deny it or ignore it. And if it's missing, you can't pretend or wish or want and make it so. Maybe it is just pheromones. Maybe it is that simple. Truth is when Tom and I were together I used to breathe in the scent of him in his just vacated pillow or hold a T-shirt he'd worn to my face and breath in his smell. I did once follow an old man down a San Francisco street for blocks because he smelled good. Is this shallow? Is this something hardwired? An early imprint that stays forever? What ever it is it's your ideal:

I'm Shallow, So Shallow

I might be more like a man than I care to believe. I am shallow. I am visual. Let's leave it at that shall we?

And if meals could kill, and I know they can, we might be in for some serious trouble. I think the only thing that might save us is that the meal I cooked was so terrible, we only ate a bite or two, if that. I broiled a flank steak so bloody it was barely warm and yet oddly tough. I discovered that I do not have a carving knife sharp enough to slice butter, let alone a flank steak into the very thin slices necessary for tenderness. It is supposed to be a flavorful cut, though tough if over cooked. I did not overcook it, no I did not. Flavorful, I'm not so sure. I served it with runny horseradish mashed potatoes, and a thoroughly lack luster salad. A cheap red wine, and garlic bread. Thank god for the garlic bread. Oh well.

How about those bankers today? Anybody want to talk politics?

Let me just say this about phantasies--they are better left as phantasies. They have value as phantasies. Probably like dreams. My dreams made real would no doubt kill me. Turns out I'm awful. I'd rather flirt than follow through. I keep looking longingly at my computer. I worry about the news I'm missing. And I am terrifyingly honest when asked a question. If you might not really want to know what I have to say, best not ask me. I'll speak the truth. I hope I never meet anyone like me. I might be more like Maggy than I ever cared to believe. She passed along more than genes to me. I am horrible. I will very likely sleep alone the rest of my like. Oh well.

At Last

This could have been Cal and me had I been the guy--the one on the make, and Cal had been me, the girl in this clip, things might have turned out very differently. (This of course presupposes that you leave out the fairy godmother) But then we might have had a couple of kids and then he might have needed to find himself, and I might have resented the infidelity and then we wouldn't be having this experience. So I'm through thinking "What if..." I'm starting to think the timing couldn't be better, at last.

The Effects of the Savage One on a Young Man

Cal sent me these two photos to show me the effect I had on him. The first picture is of Cal a few months before he met me, the second is a photo of Cal a few months after meeting me.

This sweet, innocent young man was toyed with by a careless, wounded girl and then she disappeared.

I hope the old woman is no longer careless because she doesn't want this man to have to join the French Foreign Legion.

.

Travel to France as a couple is another thing all together

Am I Swearengen or is Stella? You Be the Judge.

Okay, I might be a little Trixie too. But Stella left this plum in the comments to Sitenoise's Soprano Swearing Opera. I now give you profane tidbits from my all time favorite HBO Series, Deadwood. In the meantime I'll be on my knees. Scrubbing the fucking floors, what the fuck did you think?

I'm a Little Shorter, But Good To Go

There was no cautionary tale, no warnings of dire consequences. There were lots of questions. Like, "Do you have an agenda?"

Yes, yes I do.

Are you willing to compromise?

Hummm, maybe. It depends on the compromise. I've done an awful lot of compromising. I thought I was through with men. I thought my libido had died. I was fine with that. I'm happy in my own company. But I have never been loved by a man in a way that was satisfying to me. I just might have the chance, at last. I think I'm ready. But who knows? We have yet to meet again.

Can you be vulnerable?

Hummm. (eyes widen) That's a very good question. So far this a prolonged flirtation. Chemistry is so mysterious. When we were young there was plenty of chemistry but so little knowledge. Now there is a lot of knowledge, a lot of experience, but we are mysterious creatures, wounded, carrying baggage. How can I know without an embrace with my face against his skin, maybe against his neck, where the pulse pounds, maybe then I'll know more. But I like him. I love our history and it's absence. I'm glad I disappeared after that one long afternoon forty nine years ago and left him wanting. But that has been my history with every man in my life. I was left by two fathers, three brothers, one boyfriend. That seemed like set in stone pattern to me at that age. I would never let it happen again. I could see the writing on the wall. I never loved a man who took me seriously, or supported my passion for something other than him. I was conquest, accessory, prey, the cleaning lady and cook, the laundress, but never valued as a women with strength worthy of respect. Never valued for my talent as a writer. Never read. Cal has been reading. I don't hold back much in the blog. I pretty much tell all--at least what interests me, what pisses me off, what I worry about. It's all political one way or another.

Can you give a little?

I can probably give quite a lot. The question should be, will I want to?

The Sopranos, uncensored

for those of you watching the sopranos on a&e, here’s what you’re missing.



the sopranos, uncensored. from victor solomon on Vimeo.

this is every single curse, from every single episode of the sopranos, ever.

Head Shrinking All Day Monday

So in my absence, I will leave you with a bit of Utah trivia. Utah is the number one consumer of antidepressant medications in the nation. Yes, the happy valley isn't so very happy. I wonder why the Mormon life isn't as satisfying as it's cracked up to be? That's a rhetorical question.

Another little factoid. I have a friend who has a friend who is the oldest of forty children. Yes, you read that right--forty fucking children! His father only needed three wives to reach this startling number of offspring. Two of his three wives had sixteen each. Yes, dears, each of these two women bore sixteen children the old fashioned way--one at a time, out her vagina. Now think of the number of cousins this man must have.

I have a friend who grew up in a modest sized polygamist family, but her daughter has thousands of cousins. Yes, thousands as in many thousands. Three or four I believe, but this is kind of like billions of dollars, after you get to the b for billion, what's a few hundred b and s for billions more?

I have had to postpone my date with Cal for a day. He was perfectly charming about it. I have a plumbing problem. Of course this plumbing problem would be in my sparkling and probably sterile as an operating theatre bathroom. The rooter guys will tromp in with their wet muddy boots and stand in my tub to root that drain, and I will have to start over. I'll need all day Tuesday to clean up after them if I'm lucky enough to get scheduled for Tuesday. And so far in the big room, the one I live in, the one with the big brass bed in the middle of it, I have only gotten around to the cupboard and drawer cleaning. I've had two dogs full time as the snow melts and the mud gets a little squishier. It comes into the house caked between their toes. The rugs and the floor will have to be cleaned after Melea gets home tomorrow night from her vacation. Then I won't have Roscoe for a day and will have a better chance of actually getting the floor clean and possibly having it remain that way for maybe 24 hrs with minor paw cleaning. And I'll be changing the bed at the last minute just because. Wipe that smirk off your face. He might feel faint and want to lie down. I am cooking you know.

Then there is the cooking. Since I have postponed my date with Cal for another day, I will need to shop again. By Wednesday, the strawberries will have wilted and so will my lilies. I may change the menu anyway. Not everyone loves eggplant.

Blog Rolling Paul Krugman

I have done it, so can you. But if you haven't read this, from Conscience of a Liberal--check it out. As I'm sure you can tell Krugman is my economics go-to guy, plus, I think he's sexy. Smart, outspoken men are a turn on.

From "The Pen"

One of the most important recommendations by John Conyers in his 487
page recent report "Reining In The Imperial Presidency" was to extend
the statute of limitations on the crimes of Bush and Cheney, to allow
a fair opportunity for them to be actually investigated by a real
prosecutor. Of course the Justice Department was entirely derelict in
enforcing the law as to them while they were still in office. To
fully preserve and protect the rule of law, the statute of
limitations must be extended now.

And sure enough, just the other day Cheney was out there gloating
about how the statute of limitations was expiring on some of their
most egregious offenses. For example, the midnight putsch to
institute a regime of illegal wiretapping occurred in early March of
2004, not quite 5 years ago. We certainly did not expect Alberto
Gonzales, who conspired in all of this, to enforce the law when he
was attorney general, did we?

Extend Statute of Limitations Action Page:

And while we're on the subject of Dick Cheney shooting off his
unwelcome mouth again, we never expected you to "make nice with
terrorists", Dick, as you so contemptuously smear any alternative to
a policy of slaughtering thousands of innocent civilians in foreign
countries and destroying their cities. No, Dick, we expected you to
NOT stoop to beneath their level, which has made us all decidely less
safe for the future.

In truth, if we count all our senseless casualties in Iraq, Dick,
more died on your watch since than died on 9/11, which you dismally
failed to protect us from in the first place in your arrogant
insolence. Or was it deliberate treason, so you could justify your
war to seize Iraq's oil fields? No, Dick, we were never expecting
everyone in the world to "love" us, but we sure could do without a
couple extra generations of millions of people bent on mortal
revenge.

By, the way, did anyone else catch the story of Cheney throwing out
his back moving his OWN boxes? What is a former vice president doing
playing his own moving man, unless all those boxes contained
incriminating evidence he would not allow anyone else to even touch?
Must have been a lot of such evidence to throw his back out like
that.

On a happier note, we are pleased to report that Thursday we
completed the latest round of shipping of the new "Convict Dick & W"
caps, the ones with a little embroidered cowboy hat hung on the "W",
intended to ridicule the original cowboy from Connecticut himself,
who always looked about as at home on that fake Crawford ranch as Zsa
Zsa looked on Green Acres. So if you have not requested yours yet,
you can get one from the return page after you submit the statute of
limitations extension action page.

Extend Statute of Limitations Action Page:
http://www.peaceteam.net/action/pnum933.php

And on the same return page from the action page above, you can also
find the new local county prosecutor lookup, which we are using to
call, write and email local district attorneys, asking them to bring
murder charges against George Bush and Dick Cheney as urged by Vince
Bugliosi. If any resident of your county was killed a war based on
false pretenses, Bugliosi says that district attorney has grounds to
bring murder charges. At the top of all these pages, there is a link
to a terrific YouTube video you can watch on this of Bugliosi's House
testimony.

The local prosecutor initiative is an important long term back up
action, intended to keep the heat on at the same time for a special
prosecutor at the federal level.

IMPORTANT NOTE: We are not asking anyone to file a "formal" criminal
complaint yourself. Common sense tells us that a state prosecutor
will only act, in the exercise of their OWN discretion, if they
believe there is a non-frivolous case to bring. But by speaking out,
we can let them know there is community support for them to do so.

Please take action NOW, so we can win all victories that are supposed
to be ours, and forward this alert as widely as possible.

Imagine a Woman

Late yesterday I visited the Ageless Hippy Chick where I found this:

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is a woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman who trusts and respects herself.
A woman who listens to her needs and desires.
Who meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman who acknowledges the past's influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and wisest voice.

Imagine a woman who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs a personal spirituality to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman who honors the body of the Goddess in her changing body.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her life-energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

“Imagine a Woman” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995

IMAGINE A WOMAN II

Imagine a woman who is interested in her own life.
A woman who embraces her life as teacher, healer, and challenge.
Who is grateful for the ordinary moments of beauty and grace.

Imagine a woman who participates in her own life.
A woman who meets each challenge with creativity.
Who takes action on her own behalf with clarity and strength.

Imagine a woman who has crafted a fully-formed solitude.
A woman who is available to herself.
Who chooses friends and lovers with the capacity to respect her solitude.

Imagine a woman who acknowledges the full range of human emotion.
A woman who expresses her feelings clearly and directly.
Who allows them to pass through her as naturally as the breath.

Imagine a woman who tells the truth.
A woman who trusts her experience of the world and expresses it.
Who refuses to defer to the thoughts, perceptions, and responses of others.

Imagine a woman who follows her creative impulses.
A woman who produces original creations.
Who refuses to color inside someone else’s lines.

Imagine a woman who has relinquished the desire for intellectual safety and approval.
A woman who makes a powerful statement with every action she takes.
Who asserts to herself the right to reorder the world.

Imagine a woman who has grown in knowledge and love of herself.
A woman who has vowed faithfulness to her own life.
Who remains loyal to herself. Regardless.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

“Imagine a Woman II” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995

Saturday Song

Yes it's true, I have a worrisome heart, and troubling ways. Do I need a man who can love me the way that I am? I've never known one who could...

The Republicans Have a RNC Chairman To Make Them Proud

This from the Washington Post:

Michael S. Steele, the newly elected chairman of the Republican National Committee, arranged for his 2006 Senate campaign to pay a defunct company run by his sister for services that were never performed, his finance chairman from that campaign has told federal prosecutors.

Federal agents in recent days contacted Steele's sister, a spokesman for Steele said yesterday.

The claim about the payment, one of several allegations by Alan B. Fabian, is outlined in a confidential court document. Fabian offered the information last March as he was seeking leniency for himself during plea negotiations on unrelated fraud charges. It is unclear how extensively his claims have been pursued. Prosecutors gave him no credit for cooperation when he was sentenced in October.

Fabian's claims emerge as Steele begins his new role at the RNC, where he oversees the raising and spending of hundreds of millions of dollars in party money. The former Maryland lieutenant governor has faced questions about his handling of campaign money in prior elections and was twice fined for missing filing deadlines.

Reported by Washington post staff reporter Henri E. Cauvin

Almost Blue

I know, you've heard it before, but I am...

Don't Know Why

This is a song that reminds me of the girl/woman I was. The girl who always left. I was always on the run one way or another. I sure hope I've stopped running.

I'm a bit melancholy today. Don't know why. This is the ugliest time of year here. Where snow hasn't quite melted, it's covered with bits of dirt and debris. Walkways are filthy with winter-fall--the bit's and pieces that continue to drift down from the canopy of trees during winter storms but are hidden until most of the snow melts. And all my walk ways sink a little deeper into the ground each year so that now they are a boggy trail--wet and muddy. It was just like this when I moved back here from Santa Barbara. I cried as I drove into Salt Lake and then got to the house. Compared to Santa Barbara this is a very ugly city and this is it's very ugliest season. It's overcast today, and I'm tired.

I feel kind of sad. Don't know why... Maybe it's just the anger and helplessness I feel about the mess we're in and the idiocy of the party out of power, working so damned hard to make sure we can't climb out of the hole they dug for us. I'm not sure why I feel this way.

Paul Krugman: My Favorite Blogging Economist

Today in his blog at the New York Times Krugman says:

Appeasing the centrists

Atrios is right, though I’d put it a bit differently: centrism is a pose rather than a philosophy. And to support that pose, the centrists are demanding $100 billion in cuts in the economic stimulus plan — not because they have any coherent argument saying that the plan is $100 billion too big, not because they can identify $100 billion of stuff that should not be done, but in order to be able to say that they forced Obama to move to the center.

Which raises the obvious question: shouldn’t Obama have made a much bigger plan, say $1.3 trillion, his opening gambit? If he had, he could have conceded to the centrists by cutting it to $1.2 trillion, and still have had a plan with a good chance of really controlling this slump. Instead he made preemptive concessions, only to find the centrists demanding another pound of flesh as proof of their centrist power.

Dickhead in a Wheel Chair

What I want to know is, what he was really doing that made this kind of apparent helplessness possible? How can we assist in making sure this injury puts him in the home until we can put him in the big house where he can regale his fellow inmates with tales of the time he water-boarded that friend of his who apologized for getting his face in the way of Dick's shotgun? And who is the poor woman in attendance? How helpless he looks. Smacking his gums together. Waiting for her to put his foot rest down. What a prick. Shut the fuck up Dick. We don't want to hear what you think. We just want to watch you wither and die, you evil old bastard.

Romance Among The Bipolar Set

There are many triggers and symptoms of bipolar disorder. If you're one of the older bipolar patients, say over forty, you've been living with the disorder for a long time and probably know what to watch for. Not the least of which is falling in love. There is a swing we notice where libido is either a trigger or a symptom. And "inappropriate sexual behavior" is on all the lists of triggers and symptoms. So is compulsive shopping.

So I watch myself carefully and avoid department stores like I was a recovering alcoholic and the department store was my favorite watering hole. I take my libidinous pulse now and then and find that my romantic heart is barely beating. And for many reasons I have not been shopping for anything more lovely than a used pair of jeans at a thrift store . I have been flirted with by a younger man with a quick wit and charming email style. I was tempted, but found myself believing that this attraction was more than likely the acting up or out of my bipolar disorder and nothing more. So my heart has remained in the deep freeze.

Life goes on. And 49 years later this boy is now an old man who has reappeared in my life. It was not his sexual aggression at eighteen that got us into bed, it was my sixteen year old self that did the aggressing. I was the sexual predator. I took what I wanted and left him without a word, without a backward glance. Oh, I thought about him, but I did not call, I did not return to explain my behavior, my moving on, my craziness. I did not look back and wonder if my carelessness hurt him. It seems to have left him whole and healthy. And my crazy life went from wild and free to a long string of failed romances, failed marriages. He on the other hand did all the things one would expect of a good man. He joined the Army and served in Germany. He traveled, he married, he raised two sons. He married again and raised two other children. He has a relationship with his grown up children. He seems to carry with him into old age the same kindness and gentleness he had as a boy.

Now he has found me again. His family is raised, his children grown. He lives alone in his house 60 miles from my house. And my libido is revived and revving. And I wonder is it love or lust or just bipolar disorder?