A Not-So-Short Post on My First Marriage Part Deux

WordPress ate my original post. I hope I can reconstruct it. I will give it the old college try.

When I left you at the altar in my last post, I neglected to mention a few key items. There was some dust and dirt in the brief time between October and February.

Before you think it was pregnancy, think again. Becoming pregnant (for me anyway) would prove to be a daunting task. It wasn’t that I dropped out of school. That wasn’t even an option.

No, it was something more serious than that.

I found that I wasn’t in the least bit attracted to my ex.

There was no sizzle, no spark, no hots, nothing. Sure he was nice to look at, but eye candy isn’t going to satisfy you in bed. If you had to grade our chemistry, I’m afraid we would score a D-. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. I was 17, started late, and had an overabundance of hormones and a fair amount of curiosity. It was HIM. I could parade around in front of him completely in the buff, and not get an eyebrow lift. There were other parts of his anatomy that wasn’t getting a lift too, if you catch my drift.

My ex was a weight lifter, and I think that addled his organ. He would have rather hung out with his weight lifting buddies than play around with me, which was rather a change. My previous boyfriends, of which there were many, were all about sex. But like most stupid 17 year olds, I thought I could change him, just by the force of sheer will, charm and talent. I found out later that there wasn’t enough will, charm or talent on the planet to change that guy.

The other thing that began to gnaw at the back of my mind was his over-active imagination, code word: LYING. I found out during our Christmas visit to Connecticut that many of the things he told me in the six weeks before were either gross exaggerations or outright lies. For one thing, he told me he won several weight lifting competitions. LIE. He also told me that 1. he attended UConn, 2. he had three fast cars (thus converting my dad to his side), and 3. I was his first girlfriend. LIE, LIE and BIG FAT LIE. In fact, Number 3 lived right across the street from him. We shared more than a boyfriend. She also had my first name. Later on in this tale of woe, she befriends me, rats me out to the ex, and ends up marrying him. So his second wife had the same name as the first. Talk about creepy.

Of course, there were other hurdles that seemed endearing at first, but were hard to overcome. One was the huge Italian family. My ex alluded to Mafia ties (another LIE) and made it sound like I would be sleeping with the fishes if I didn’t toe the line. They were cool in a way, loud and boisterous, and not as dysfunctional as my own family. It was the first time I ate meals with a real cloth napkin, and also the first time I ate dinner in courses, with soup, salad and entree. At my house, dinner was a scramble to get the best piece of chicken before the younger sib did.

Ex’s Mama ruled the roost, but not her husband. He was one guy with roving eyes and hands. In fact, the neighbor girl with my first name told me that during the time the family was out in my state watching me get married to their son, Ex’s Dad, who decided to stay in Connecticut, was over at her house feeling her up. Eww… That tantalizing tidbit came out much later.

It wasn’t just this. I got the distinct impression that I was being used. It was already clear that he thought only of himself. He thought (very wrongly) that because I was of a certain ethnic persuasion, I should be subservient, like being a doormat is a genetic quirk. (HAH! As you know, I’m the farthest thing from it.) Later on, I thought maybe he picked me to marry was because he might be gay.

During our “engagement,” I turned 18 and so thought I was now an adult. In retrospect, I inherited the adult mess.

So, there was a bit of reluctance and some cold feet when going into this marriage. Our nuptials were scheduled for the chapel on base, by a Catholic priest (obviously, we were both Catholic). Since we were technically still in wartime, the priest waived the usually mandated premarital classes. Had we gone to the classes, I might have avoided a marriage of inconvenience and a first husband. (That’s how I dumped one of my fiances of the future.) My ex was soon scheduled to be transferred to Germany. Okay, it wasn’t Viet Nam, but they made an exception in our case.

Walking down the aisle, my father leaned over and whispered, “If you want to back out, now would be a good time to run.” Being a know-it-all teenager, I didn’t listen to him.

Damn stupid of me.

More later. This is a long and exhausting story!

When Office Sex Become “HO-hum”

For the squeamish of heart, I would skip this post entirely.

I never thought I would live to say this, but office sex has become routine. Mundane. Run of the mill.  HO-hum. Bordering (need I say it?) boring.

You’re probably thinking, “Why doesn’t she just do it in her house? Doesn’t she have a bed?”

For the uninitiated, yes, we do have a bed. Several of them, now that many are empty because of nest evacuation by the little birdies. We also have a hide-a-bed in the basement, but there’s a brigade of centipedes down there, and I don’t spend much more time other than running to the laundry room and back.

We also live in a house that is largely windowed with no window treatments. The upside is that the cat doesn’t have to scratch his way up the drapes to get to a window sill. The downside is that everyone, including God, the meter reader and the retired doctor neighbor down the street can see inside straight to the back yard.

Office sex used to be exhilarating. There was a bit of taboo in having sex almost in public, along with incorporating inspiring moves among the furniture usually not conducive to sex. (Ever do it in a standard office chair? That takes some imagination.) We would hurriedly clean up. Sometimes, we would forget the box of Kleenex and have to run willy-nilly (heh, heh… willy?) down the hall to get something to absorb body fluids. (The poor leather couch!) Then there is the fact that we buy Febreze by the case, just to get rid of the lingering odor of sweat and stuff. We own the building, so we can do whatever we want. The business doesn’t officially open until 9, so we would usually make hot nasty love between 8 and 8:30. Our walls are paper thin, but that psychologist who leases the space below my husband’s conference room is never there at that time of day anyway.

Yesterday, while putting my clothes back on, I thought, “Hmm, this doesn’t feel quite as exciting as it used to.” Perhaps it’s because we’ve overused the space. It used to be kind of thrilling in a weird way when the one employee who has been trying to catch us in the act shows up at 8 a.m. to see what we’re doing. It was quite hair raising when the workmen came at 8 to make repairs on the roof and they weren’t scheduled until 9.

I’m thinking a change of venue might be in order. Hmm… I wonder if we can get into a nearby now-closed sports arena?

I’m opening up the floor to suggestions.

More Recent Dreams

I again had a dream about my best friend in high school. I dreamt that my daughter was going to his college and was in one of his art classes. This is not possible in the real world. My “friend” (if you can call a person that after not speaking for 25 years) teaches in a college in the middle of Texas. My daughter wouldn’t go there if she was given several million dollars. My daughter is rather artistic in some ways, but not in his medium, so that’s another issue. I hadn’t been thinking of him, but as I’ve said elsewhere, every so often I’ll have a dream about him. In this one, he was giving my daughter a grade (B) and I was in the hallway. He didn’t know we were related. If he ever did meet my daughter, he’d know. That’s because she’s pretty much an exact mirror image of me, only 35 years younger and a bit prettier.

I also had a dream about one of our employees. I dreamt that he had died. I don’t dislike this employee, so it’s not like I want to see him offed. He’s probably approaching 60 or so, and he’s been loyal enough, honest and trustworthy. However, his game has been a bit off, if you know what I mean. He used to be fairly sharp, but now he’s mind-numbingly tedious. My husband can’t stand to speak with him anymore, and will bolt from the office if he knows this person is coming in. That leaves him to bother the rest of us with his stories we’ve already heard.

I kind of feel sorry for that guy. He’s alone, has no wife or girlfriend (who’d take him?) or children. The economy is rough here, and he gets a lot less hours than he used to, so he’s financially strained. I can see why he’s sort of depressed and a downer to speak with.

I wish I had dreamed of California. I wish I’d have dreamed of hot sex with my husband. I hate dreaming of death.

Hoping for Hair

Because of my genetic disposition, I’m a person who has never had a lot of hair. Because of my age, I’m finding that I am suffering a case of female pattern baldness.

There are some definite drawbacks to not having a head full of hair. First of all, I can’t use a scrunchy to put my hair into a pony tail. I don’t have enough hair to support a scrunchy. I don’t have enough to put into a barrette or comb, so now I have a drawer full of beautiful hair clips I can’t even use. I’m now relegated to the baby-girl section of the hair care aisle in the local CVS. Believe me, it’s not attractive for a woman of my age to be sporting plastic barrettes in the shape of butterflies.

I long to throw my head back and have a gorgeous mane cascading from the centrifugal force in the breeze behind like ribbons of chocolate satin. I wish I had enough hair to French braid. When I was a hippie back in the olden days, I started wearing my hair in tiny braids lined with beads, before it ever became fashionable to do so. Now, if I were to braid my hair, it would only be as big around as a pencil. I could probably thread a bead through it, no problem.

Lately, I’ve been shopping for wigs and hairpieces, but I don’t want to spend a lot of money. Hairpieces are a definite touchy subject with me. You have to have enough of your own real hair in order to clip one in. I don’t. I don’t think I have lost enough to go all-wig even part of the time.

On the other hand, hair loss means I haven’t shaved my legs in years, and I only shave my underarms once every six months. This is a definite perk. There’s nothing so disgusting as to see a sea of hair waving like a grassy plain on a lady’s legs. (Sorry, although I am partially French, I don’t get the au naturel look.)

What has been happening within the last couple of years is that my pubic area is beginning to bald, and in the most unlikely of places. Instead of my bikini line being bare, it’s the area right in front. I look like I’ve given myself a bad shave in my sleep. I know the trend for young women (and men) these days is to shave that area completely. I don’t get it. The upside to bald pubes is that there aren’t any gray ones to look at and bemoan.

Why am I discussing this? (Besides trying to pump up my readership with the totally odd and wacky post?) Because of this post by my friend. It appears that he has way too much hair, even though he’s approaching my age.

I commented that I would love to have a transplant of that hair, and he thought my comment was funny.

It wasn’t meant to be.

I was serious, Quill.

Now I’m depressed.

All of My People Have Died, or I’ve Become Grossly Uninteresting

True, this week I’ve been beset with a terrible cold. I’ve also been busy with life and have not been able to post as much or as thoughtfully as I have in the past. However, I’ve just checked my WordPress stats (now that I have found them in what is now the “brand new” WordPress) and found that my readership has dropped down to ZERO as of today.


Not even a visit from MIB? (Okay, I know where he is. Busy with his own life too. At least he had the decency to email me.)

I also see from the stats that my two biggest article draws ever were on posts about having sex in the office. (Just as an aside, since I’ve been sick, I haven’t felt amorous enough to make whoopee anywhere, much less at the office. Now that my health is taking a turn for the better, I should investigate this and report on it soon. Perhaps I can move from the conference room to another location.)

Our other venture online seems to be suffering as well. I don’t know if it is because everyone has spring fever or if some of my peeps have been kidnapped by aliens. I’ve noticed that the number of other writers’ posts has diminished, too. Perhaps the government should conduct a study. There are studies on other things a whole lot less important.

I think I’ll take advantage of this lull in the action. However, it is raining and will be raining (they say) until Tuesday, so that precludes digging up dirt in the yard or a round of golf. This means I am trapped indoors, where I may have to *gasp* clean the basement, work on my book or my violin playing. (I’m so bad. With all three of those things.)

Anyway, this is a shout out to those who will listen, or those still with a heartbeat.


Hope you all have a great weekend.

Various Items Someone Should Invent

1. Smell-o-Internet. If Al Gore really wants to win another Nobel prize and make his claim to fame, he should honestly consider this. Just think of the possibilities. My internet boyfriend could smell me. I could smell the bouquet of a bottle of wine before purchase. Or you could smell flowers, or chocolate, or big honking donuts without leaving your desk. If people could smell porn sites, maybe they wouldn’t go there. If we could smell garbage, maybe we’d do a better job recycling.

2. A recorder for people on hold. Ever wonder what those people are saying while they are sitting on hold getting madder and madder? A two-way hold button would be a fantastic invention. While the caller is on hold, the phone will also record any noises they make. This would be a wonderful marketing ploy. I could take all of those conversations and put them on the internet or on CD and sell them. Like “Girls Gone Wild” except everyone would have their clothes on. This would be taking entertainment to a higher level than regular reality shows.

3. Since I’m on the subject of phones, another handy invention would be a zapper placed on your telephone for telemarketing callers. Since a lot of these are automated, it would have human and mechanical capabilities. For humans, it would emit a high pitched noise before shocking the caller with an electrical current of enough voltage to send the person flying across the room. For the automated callers, the current would be much stronger, as to permanently disable the server and hard drive of the offending computer caller. My bet is that the telemarketing bizz would show a sharp decrease in the workforce.

4. Vitamins that don’t smell. I hate vitamins because they smell, and I know I should take them. I become highly nauseous when opening the bottle and can barely choke one down with eight ounces of water, a piece of toast, a half cup of coffee and a small glass of orange juice. After all of that, it still feels like it will come back up. You’d think the vitamin manufacturers would want to sell more vitamins, not less. A hint: chocolate flavored vitamins! Make mine Godiva please.

5. Squirrel birth control. If you saw the army of squirrels around here, you’d know why. Why is it that we look at rats like they’re rodents, but we look at squirrels like they are a fluffy little animal? Get with it people! Squirrels are rodents, the same as rats!

6. Garden burgers that taste like real meat. Tofutti that tastes like Ben and Jerry’s. Bran cereal that tastes like anything except twigs and bark.

7. Cars that wash themselves. I haven’t washed mine since last spring. Part of the reason is because I’m too busy to go to the car wash, even the automated one. Another big reason is because every other day some sort of precipitation falls out of the sky, thus making my car just as dirty as the day before. A car that gives itself its own oil change would be a good idea too.

I have more, but I think I’d better go back to work now. I can see a Part II in my future.

Spamography by Akismet

Who is Akismet, and why does such a beautiful name belong to a spam catcher? It should belong to a goddess.

My Akismet spam catcher is getting more interesting by the day. At first it was catching non-sensical spam but lately this is what I’m getting in abundance:

“sexteen chat rooms punk rockertips for teen housesittersdoll teenteen french kissing tipsyoung teen girls skinny and nudebikini panties for teensteen bedsetsyoung teen body photoin indiana program teen volunteerfree mpg exploited asia teenyoung teen girl in pantielegal teen lesbianteen driver car rental torontoaustrian teen girlsteen dvd moviesnormal weight for teen girlslittle bald teen small pussy girlteen abductions4 teens die in crashpunk teen bedroomsteen fucking bondageraven from teen titans 2003fuskers teen girlsbible scriptures for teenschatting lez teenteen charissameasuring teen gay storiesmamma mia teenhard teen analleading cause of suicide among teensconvince teen to stay in schoolpanties for teen girlsblack teens interracialafrican american girl organization teen workingteen dance sexy videoteen drug use in new zealadnworld war two teen fictiontyni teensjones sadie teenclip kinky teen videofree sims 2 teen stuff3 pics gallerie teens that fuckteen driving monitorinnocent cute teensteen dream youngteen all anal series videoyung littel teen fucking clipsnon nude teen bikini photosmiss teen nj 2004pisces teen horoscopemeida impact on teensmanage money teenwebcam girls teengay teen viedo01 girl hot teenyuong teen slutschew’s teen uniform bsolute bikiniass round teenhypnotized teen videoi want 8 teensindian teens kissingtop teen abooksexploited teens asia taimail free teen cinemavideos of horny teenscan a teen breast feedjapanese teen with big boobsyourg teen hot kisses hairpale teen pussy opentop teen young modelscollege teens bookbang joeyflirting tips for teentrixie free index teenfree canadian teen porn moviegay teen cum loadpolish teen pantoesteen dating violence factsexploited teens asia tvlovely teen tgpteen bra lacedaughter mother teenpopttery barn teenraped horny teenlemonade teens kate oilforced asian teen sex picsorgasm teens videosdry ice teenmilk teensexhibition teensfree teen galleiresfree pics teen speedoarina russian teen modelfree asian teen sexpublic access teensnude real soft teentiny innocent teen teaselocal gay teensfree love test for teenporn teen lesbianteen cloth storebig tit amateur teenfree naked young teen “

I don’t know what any of it means.

Some other things it’s catching is web advertising for Viagra, Cialis and Tramadol.

I get spam emails for the same medications. I wonder if the spammers know I’m a female? Probably not.