Happy Birthday Hilly! Proof that 40 is FABULOUS!
What? What do you mean she’s not 40? Are you sure she’s not 40?
I’ve barely had the chance to breathe since last Friday when Othurme, UMB, and I sailed out of town on our way to meet Hilly, Karl, Winterheart, and Motley and the rest of the gang in southern California.
I could run down a play by play of all the events.
I could tell you about all the funny things that happened.
I could tell you about the behind-the-scenes dramas.
I could tell you about my experience injecting Dave from Blogography with the gay.
I sincerely enjoyed meeting everyone that came that night to hang out. I got to meet some bloggers I’ve interacted with for a long time, as well as some that were completely unknown to me.
It was a whirlwind of a weekend and I’m paying for it by being dreadfully behind on every project that is in the works.
Oh well. I suppose one must pay the piper to dance to his music, right?
I’m sure by now you have all become familiar with the brouhaha that has taken place around here the past few days.
It was a shining example of how a small misinterpretation can lead to a misunderstanding which leads to accusations, insults, hackles being raised, Jester getting defensive, and lots of people throwing their quarters into the swear jar.
And ultimately, realizations, apologies, and reconciliations.
For the record, I hold a great respect for Lisa and the strength and courage she has exhibited during her struggles with Cancer and the associated woes.
Despite my best efforts to keep my response to her post written in anger from seeming to be a personal attack upon her, many commenters took it as exactly that.
A few people took my post as a license to speculate about the reality of Lisa’s illness or to lob insults at her.
For my role in providing that opportunity, I apologize.
Occasionally it’s necessary for a festering wound to be drained before healing can occur. It is my hope that the infection has been cleansed and everyone will allow Lisa to focus her energies on herself, her family and friends, and the things that bring her joy during the difficult times ahead.
Lisa and I have had the opportunity to speak, and as far as I am concerned the matter is closed, forgiven, and forgotten.
Many of us showed our asses this week, I think it’s time we pull our pants up and get back to poking fun at people who really deserve it: Republicans, Nascar Fans, Fundamentalists, Crazy Co-Worker…
That guy has it coming!
[From Jester: Every so often, I find myself in possession of a story that comes to me from a source outside of my normal circle of blogs. (Shut up, I do too know people outside the PRB!) It happens on occasion that someone I know even tangentially feels the need to get something off their chest in a place where no one knows them or where whatever judgment is cast upon them doesn’t seem as terrible. Today’s post is one of those occasions. Don’t ask me who wrote it, because I won’t tell you. Don’t ask me any questions about it, because I don’t know the answers. I do know that I will pass along any responses should the author wish to reply to comments.
If anyone else out there reading this would like a place to post something anonymously, you can contact me via email on my contact page, Instant Messenger as JesterNCal (yahoo or aim), twitter, or telepathically if you have the means to do so.]
Okay. Not sure where to begin with this. I’ve never really told anyone about this mostly because I suppose I didn’t want anyone to know what a hypocrite I am. And a loser. And all the other bad things I can possibly think of myself. But now that I have royally fucked up my life (and yet hardly anyone knows…interesting…) I need to talk about it with people who have no clue who I am. So here goes my post….
He was larger than life. When he smiled at you, your knees became jello and you suddenly couldn’t remember your name. In the moment it took you to recover, he would walk up to you, slide his hand around your waist and say hello, sending you right back into your former state. Handsome, rugged and charming, I knew exactly who he was and what his game was, regardless of what he did to my undergarments. No sir, I wanted nothing to do with this player.
He had been married a long time. Married, I suppose, was really a loose term, though. Each of them had freedom to pursue whatever options they wanted as long as they returned to their shared bed at the end of the day. I found it ridiculous. Preposterous that people would live that way. Cheapen their love and dedication. Cheapen the institution of marriage. I clung to my husband whenever they were around so that there were no misconceptions about our interest in such games. We all became good friends and during a frank conversation, they let us know that they were well aware that we were not interested. Whatever their personal habits, they were good friends and it was nice to feel part of a group again. I found it easy to be my conservative faith-driven self and be accepted for who I was. They all knew I didn’t judge. How could I? Then someone might look at me…and even then, I knew I was no example of a spirit-filled life. My heart believed, but I often made the wrong choices. Probably like most of us.
About a year into our friendship, something happened one evening that made me begin to question everything.
When saying our goodbyes, (let’s call him) Jim wrapped his arms around me and gently bit my neck. I smiled and waved and went home, replaying that moment for the next few weeks. I knew he was “bad”. I knew his habits. I loved my husband and would never. Ever. But he wasn’t around much, and when he was, he was buried in a book or just not emotionally there. I was so lonely and it felt so good to feel that attraction. I tried not to think about it. I tried to just not participate in the flirting. But Jim always found me in the corner and put his arms around me, weakening my resolve.
The first time was almost silly. We had both had too much to drink and found ourselves alone. I berated myself for thinking I could do something like that. That I would jeopardize my marriage and my family by being unfaithful. I was sick at the thought of what my husband would think. But he didn’t notice any changes in me. He didn’t know. In fact, I don’t think he realized I was there most of the time. All justifications, I know. And so we continued. For a year.
His wife knew about most of it. In fact, she was involved several times. She approved the involvement until he began spending more time with me than with her. Then she cut it off abruptly. We tried to abide, but were unable to distance ourselves from one another. I think that’s when the countdown began.
The end came, as we knew it would, after a weekend away. We had managed to escape our families and spend a blissful four days alone together. This was to be a goodbye, in my mind. I would fade away and stop calling. Stop visiting. Stop being anything to him. Our relationship had deepened exponentially and we freely admitted loving one another. This might very well kill me, I thought. Neither of us would ever leave our spouses, however, and there was just no point to our relationship. I was so sure I would be a fling. Just another one of his women. It would have been easier. I begged him to get back to his regular games and break my heart so I could just be through with him. But he wouldn’t. He saw no one else the year he was with me. There were moments…only moments…when we almost spoke out loud what we might be willing to do in order to be together. But the reality was what it was and our time needed to end. Our drive home was quiet and tearful. We said goodbye, promising to be friends. Just friends.
I found myself unrecognizable. I had developed habits of lies and betrayal for no purpose other than to be devastated when it all (predictably) came to an end. The tragedy of forbidden love and the reality that I really didn’t like myself anymore have come together, bringing me where I am now-on my knees. I used to be the “good” one. The happy, friendly and non-judgmental person who loved everyone and believed that every person deserved respect and caring. I finally liked myself.
My dearest friend doesn’t understand why I can’t be at her home. Because I am in love with her husband. And he with me. I find myself trying to reconnect with my own husband and see in him all the things that Jim was to me. There are rumblings in our circle about the nature of our relationship. It’s quite possible they might get back to my husband. More than anything, I am a blubbering mess and can’t tell anyone why I am so crushed. Why I am so unworthy of any caring or respect. Why I should just disappear.
I know what I’ve done. I deserve what I get. I’ve lost a love. I don’t know where to go from here. I guess I’m just lost. Doing the right thing would have been much easier had I done it from the beginning.
You all keep emailing me saying, “Hey! That chick is HOT! Who is she!?”
And I keep saying, “Umm… didn’t you read my last fucking post!?”
And you all keep saying, “Umm… There were words on that post?”
At any rate, Tracy, my special guest on The Jester Show tonight (7pm Pacific/10pm Eastern), sent over some more pictures for your
arousal perusal… I added them to my Flickr Account.
You can call into the show at: (724) 444-7444 and use the call id: 20116.
Oh yeah, there might be another show on before mine… some little thing that I think Miss Britt and Avitable have talked about. I don’t know anything about it though, since they didn’t link through to me or anything.
Hey all – Running out the door (this working thing kicks my ass) and quickly want to remind you that Lucy from Lucy’s Dilemma is my guest tonight on The Jester Show. (Ignore that auto link. Must. Change. That.)
You can find me at Talkshoe.com. There’s a link in my sidebar that will take you right to tonight’s broadcast. Join us at 7pm Pacific Time (that’s 10 on the East Coast). You Aussie’s will have to figure out what time that translates to. It makes my head spin.
I’d like to leave you with my Thought of the Day, courtesy of John Lennon:
My mom didn’t want to marry my dad. She had her sights set on another man (who turned out to be gay) and did her best to dissuade my dad. He was persistent, however, and eventually got her to agree to marry him. Their birthdays are 12 days apart. They grew up 12 miles apart. They were both 20 years old on .
I just can’t even imagine. At the age of 20 I was just starting out in my first apartment away from home. I wasn’t out to anyone.
I was born in 1975. They had just turned 23. My brother was born when they were 30. I’m 33. I could right now have a 10 year old child, had I followed my parent’s path.
I grew up an anomaly in my neighborhood. My parents were still together. Even now, most of my friends and peers are children of divorce.
My parents are celebrating their 36th anniversary today. They spend 24 hours a day together. Every day. In close quarters. I don’t like ANYONE that well.
That picture above is one of my favorites ever taken of them. I’m guessing it was the fall of 1980, and only because I sort of recognize the landscape as a house we moved out of in 1981.
I could totally be making that up.
Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!
There is a very touchy subject around here. It’s been the focus of more than one heated argument, especially lately.
You see, UMB and I have very different memories of what date constitutes our anniversary.
It’s not as simple as whether we count the day we met or the day he spent the night and never left.
I clearly remember the following:
So… If I can read my calendar correctly, Memorial Day 2002 was Monday, May 27th. Which means that we met a week before that, May 20th. The night he stayed with me and never left was the 25th.
Therefore, if we want to have the argument about whether or not we celebrate our first date, or the day he basically moved in, we’d celebrate either the 20th or the 25th.
Why then, does he swear we met on his mother’s birthday, May 10th and he stayed forever on May 15th?
And why, if he feels so adamant about it, did I not receive a single flower, card, comment, or jewelry on either of those days?
I realize we could dispense with the argument by celebrating all of those days… the 10th, 15th, 20th, and 25th, but who the hell can wear that much jewelry?
Happy Anniversary, UMB!
Mr. Fabulous should watch his back.
Be careful not to drop the soap, Fabby.
Wait. You’ll like that.
I’ll come up with something.