The more things change…

The more they stay the same.

So, way way back in the happily married days a military guy came in to the pound for cleaning day. And was a fantastic worker, which I loved. And fell in love with Fury, a brindle pit who had been there a very long time. He decided to take her, and we all marveled at his strong sexy self carrying her out through the cacophony of barking dogs. Me, Liz, Yeonji, the Korean ajjumas…we all collectively sighed with hearts in our eyes. He was so fucking sexy, strong, loved dogs…mmm.

Time passed. Sam (we got to be social media friends) had to put Fury down but she had a great run. And…I got divorced. And he started flirting.

With ME.

You could never, in my very wildest dreams that day in the pound, have told me he would find me sexy.

But he does! Me!

And just tonight I had a Facebook friend request from someone I thought I may know due to interests (I have a brain like a sieve) and so accepted. Turns out, thought I was hot. 25.

And the current partner is a 31 year old helicopter pilot with an amazingly sexy brain.

Me! Sam thinks I’m sexy! Me! All these young hot men! Me!

But…I’m still thrilled to be viewed as wantable. I still can’t not measure myself outside of the lens of fuckable. Now don’t get me wrong, all those years with LLCAH I didn’t think I was, period, ever. I thought I was disgusting, because why else would he fuck other women? No one would want me.

That isn’t true, and that’s nice to discover. But I still value myself based on my appeal to men. Sam and S**** fucking R***** are both eminently wantable men so the fact they want me means something. Except it doesn’t, at all. But I can’t get away from it still meaning something to me.

And I need to, I want to. While it’s great fun to take a 24 year old home, and it doesn’t actually occur to me anything besides “golly really want to fuck this guy”, it’s a symptom of still being so conditioned. That my worth is my desirability.

And it isn’t. My worth is myself. I am fucking amazing, all on my own, with or without this arguably nice body. It’s been the same struggle my entire life, really- who sees me for me. Very few. And I don’t let them anyway.

Still, Sam. Hot damn. I would never have guessed that in a million years.

It’s fine, this is fine

Cue the meme of stuff burning down, which is actually seriously apropos.

You see, the intersectional circumlocutional folding back on itself forever element of my life is never. Fucking. Going. away.

In fact, it draws others into it. That can’t be true. That feels very true.

Mistake Aussie works at UNC and I’m sure the ex knows him. And the newfound love of his life? Gemma? Know her very peripherally from ANZA. Saw her, I am sure.

Baby Captain (more on that later) writes clever twitters that people Doc (same) loves. Unbeknownst that it’s Baby Captain. I, however, know.

Oh and Doc’s wife super knows the ex.

This internecine life is taking a toll.

Fuck it, why can’t I do stupid things too?

Like S****. Fucking. R*****.

So, the heartbreak being literally painful entry was also about him. 3 dates. Super interesting. Super hot. Aussie with brilliant blue eyes, soooo tall and can toss me over his shoulder effortlessly. Which I don’t really like but we have covered this.

We spent the day before Thanksgiving at the market and eating ramen and I asked him over honestly not expecting much. I mean he was polite to a fault, which is lovely, but doesn’t necessarily mean hot sex is ensuing. And he dresses really, really well- edging towards the dandy. So I shaved my legs but didn’t do- ahem- other things because I expected vanilla vanilla vanilla.

So very wrong. The kitchen counters, against the wall, the couch- so incredibly hot. I think he may have actual crack in his cock, it’s the most magical penis I have ever encountered. I woke up Thanksgiving Day thinking surely it’s a dream, but he rolled over and slipped inside me and Lola sighed and jumped off the bed in a “Jesus again you two?” Manner.

Then he disappeared, hence the feeling like nothing more than holes because we went out and connected and…really?!

But he is back. Again.

You found me, which is rather impressive. There is my hubris again, thinking it’s just me who notices last names on things. Googles. And facebooks obviously, because there you are, popping up like a bad penny I am ridiculously drawn too. Hey I have an extremely hard to spell collection of vowels as a last name, it surprised me you could, I’ll admit.

So hot. Tallllll…so wonderfully tall. You can sling me across you in a fireman’s carry breathtakingly easily and who in the world doesn’t find that hot. Even the woman who hates to be picked up does, maybe expressly that woman. The accent, the stories and the combat and the rugged lines around those snapping blue eyes. Damn.

RUN AWAY YOU MORON.

This man is no good for you, on the off chance this tiger changed his stripes he won’t be down for non monogamy at all, and that’s going to hurt being slut shamed by him. It just is.

You, dear girl, want him to find you special and captivating. And a lot of men do. But this one? Has shown you he does not.

But damn- I want to land him. I want him to fall for me and just…I really am so drawn to him.

Stupidly.

I don’t want to marry him, hell I don’t want to stop my slutty adventures for him, but I would like a companion and I’d really love it to be him.

And that is never.going.to.happen.

But he wants to take me to the beach tomorrow, and I am so excited I’m skipping. It is really nice to feel excited about someone at least, because everyone is so very mediocre. It’s probably a giant mistake but damn the man is so very very hot…

S**** fucking R***** if you break my heart this time it’s my fault. But you are always a fun mistake to make.

And then it turned out my mother was a sex goddess

No like really. She and my dad shared 40 plus years, happily. He had a stroke, things got hard, he died. It was very traumatic but for my mom she had been dealing with his loss for 6 years, since the stroke.

So when he died she certainly has had very hard days- like me. Caught at a moment just prostrate to grief. But she had mourned him before he actually died due to the stroke, and that helped ease things I think. They made it harder then but easier after- there is no real best answer here.

But my mother has found joy in a series of relationships with men half or more her age. Someone my age is “old” for her😂 My mom is an absolute sex goddess and goddamn if I don’t want that to be my life. I do see myself in her, actually. I see the same incredible beauty (I am just going to call it what it is, we both are very beautiful women) and the same commitment to monogamy and to supporting a man we loved. Only mine just…disintegrated, was never who I thought. And hers died.

And here we are. We shall be happy, happy women. I always wanted to be my beautiful mom, and even more so now. We shall find pleasure wherever we can, with whoever we can, and give it back. I am so incredibly proud of her for the ability to go find happiness- because I worried so much her life would end for all practical purposes with his. But it hasn’t, and she is brave.

Really she has always been my role model, and this phase of her life coinciding with mine is pretty amazing. We can talk about our sex lives and such. And we are so similar-! I love you mom, so very much. And I love you are an amazing 60 something sex goddess with multiple lovers. You (and I) deserve every good thing the world has to offer.

Galadriel

I shall diminish, and go to the west.

Or close to that, I’m too lazy to look it up. No, let’s be precise, I’m too depressed. The razors edge of intellect is a dull foggy thing these days. I hope it can come back.

I was reading June Jordan’s “Poem about my rights”. I’ve been reading lots of feminist literature lately. But all it does is depress me further.

I utterly, utterly failed with my girls. Because I was too frightened to leave, and so caved to the misogyny of their father. Ironically, he has really grown- he is not that man. But he was- oh he was. And I allowed a backpedaling hiding balance on this fence post that will split you kind of feminism.

So they fit in.

So the relatives don’t freak out.

So they are normal- I mean Jesus you already didn’t change your name…

I played by all the rules, and did all the things- hell, I even “kept my figure”. And all this kowtowing to the patriarchy got me…screwed by it.

I say he has changed but that is ridiculous. He buys sex from exploited women. Only his lip service has changed- he was never who said he was. Who he says he is. Who he thinks he is.

But I’m tired. I want the righteous anger and to fight against this oppressive system I just seamlessly joined. I just…can’t.

I want to run away from it all. Be in a country that isn’t my shitshow of a country, but I am not a part of. Be removed from those systems and the care and attention and worry and activism. Just sigh and walk away.

Diminish and go west.

I failed.

Traveling again, Southeast Asia my old friend

I’m in the Philippines with the girls, Cebu. A trip planned as a Christmas gift, that now takes on great importance as Last Trip because Rose is getting married.

Married. My 18 year old who hasn’t finished high school.

I was greatly in denial, I’ll admit it. I did not think she really would do it- move to Washington and marry a man she barely knows to escape here and the drama with the divorce.

But she sure as heck is.

The Philippines is magical, that warm cacophonous Southeast Asia lovely chaos . It makes me happy to introduce it to Rose, who has never been. Geranium and I did Vietnam 2 years ago, LLCAH did not come rather inexplicably then…now I know why. Poisoned even that.

Anyway.

The rain is pouring down, I’m at a bar on the water and the powers gone. Snorkelers are out by the boatload in the silver pinging sea, the sardine run is on and they swim in balls of thousands, swirling through the deep. I should have gone, but I sat here dry and tipsy instead.

As it’s Southeast Asia, we have two resident May-December couples, the typical Old White Dude and Very Young Brown Woman. Neither couple is talking, one couple both are engrossed in their phones (lucky! I have no internet since no power). The other he is on his phone, he snorkeled earlier, she sits pouty and oh-so-young waiting on him. He went to use the bathroom and I was in line behind him, so I know he is an Aussie. Terribly polite, got another candle since “aimings harder for the lasses” and said he would watch the door (no lock, I walked in on him and hollered sorry as our opener to conversation).

Now we are back at our respective tables, and he’s chatting politely with me. She sits statuesque (if someone 4’9” can be called so) in silence. He is quite the erudite gentleman…you’d find him an all around decent guy. To a white woman.

There is something very off here and I’m not articulating it well.But like they say- you know it when you see it.

Traveling again, Southeast Asia my old friend

I’m in the Philippines with the girls, Cebu. A trip planned as a Christmas gift, that now takes on great importance as Last Trip because Rose is getting married.

Married. My 18 year old who hasn’t finished high school.

I was greatly in denial, I’ll admit it. I did not think she really would do it- move to Washington and marry a man she barely knows to escape here and the drama with the divorce.

But she sure as heck is.

The Philippines is magical, that warm cacophonous Southeast Asia lovely chaos . It makes me happy to introduce it to Rose, who has never been. Geranium and I did Vietnam 2 years ago, LLCAH did not come rather inexplicably then…now I know why. Poisoned even that.

Anyway.

The rain is pouring down, I’m at a bar on the water and the powers gone. Snorkelers are out by the boatload in the silver pinging sea, the sardine run is on and they swim in balls of thousands, swirling through the deep. I should have gone, but I sat here dry and tipsy instead.

As it’s Southeast Asia, we have two resident May-December couples, the typical Old White Dude and Very Young Brown Woman. Neither couple is talking, one couple both are engrossed in their phones (lucky! I have no internet since no power). The other he is on his phone, he snorkeled earlier, she sits pouty and oh-so-young waiting on him. He went to use the bathroom and I was in line behind him, so I know he is an Aussie. Terribly polite, got another candle since “aimings harder for the lasses” and said he would watch the door (no lock, I walked in on him and hollered sorry as our opener to conversation).

Now we are back at our respective tables, and he’s chatting politely with me. She sits statuesque (if someone 4’9” can be called so) in silence. He is quite the erudite gentleman…you’d find him an all around decent guy. To a white woman.

There is something very off here and I’m not articulating it well.But like they say- you know it when you see it.

I don’t have to be happy all the time

So I had a therapy session tonight, just ended. Have I told you about my therapist?? She is amazing. I tried in person counseling, but the therapists, though US trained, were just so…Korean. It didnt work, and also our insurance only reimbursed less than half so it was just prohibitively expensive.

I heard an advert for better help on npr so I looked into it. Wasn’t expecting much. signed up for one free session.

My counselor? Her husband left her for a stripper and he was in the marines for 20 years! How serendipitous is THAT shit?! And it’s really working. I’m getting to where I can forgive myself for marrying him and subjecting my kids and myself to this. Which is huge.

Tonight we talked about happiness. She asked if I was happy when we were married, prior to the finding out. I said I was- I was, really. I classed it as content, and content is good enough for me. She grabbed onto that like a bulldog because therapist, lol.

Yes, I often subsumed my wants and desires for his or the children’s. But honestly? I’m fine with that. I think it is impossible to have a relationship and surely a family if you can’t settle for content over happy a large part of the time.

And I don’t actually WANT to be a person for whom personal happiness is the pinnacle of life. Because I don’t believe that, and I want to consider all these other people on this rock third from the sun.

I think if I’d not married a total slime bag, it would have gone perfectly for me. I should have just married someone as fucking grown up as me, because that is my honest opinion- grown ups realize it isn’t always perfection but can aggregate the total and be content. Content is pretty freaking awesome, actually.

It’s not that I don’t want to be happy. It’s just that I am happy if the people I love are happy and I’m fine compromising for that. I want to. I think we all should want to.

I love my therapist, but I am not changing this. It’s one of the things I like about myself, that I can sacrifice and compromise for the greater good. I just wish everyone could, specifically LLCAH.

On being small

So everyone likes to pick me up. I’m not like a tiny Asian woman, I’m 5’7”. But I am very tiny boned and all, and I’ve noticed a trend in the last 4 guys, picking me up.

I’m not sure I love it. Or even like it. But I also know I’m supposed to be impressed with Feats of Strength. I mean, can’t we just walk to the bedroom? Just because you CAN pick me up because I weigh less than a hundred pounds does not mean you have to.

Also the weight is a real issue, I should be more. I’m always going to small but this has totally fucked with it. I was around 46 kgs for a while…super not cool. It’s better now, at 49-50. But I can control food and eating, while everything else- my own husband, my life- is out of control. So I do. I haven’t got any weight issues or body image issues but I do have control issues as my entire life is out of my control…so I control food.

Like so many things, I see it but am powerless to stop it. The “hey girl let me pick you up” is just another symptom of the underlying issue. It makes them feel good, and manly…so even though I’m uncomfortable I do it. Because them feeling good is more important than my discomfort. And also, I’m quite small and pick-up-able, thanks to all this. It’s like the patriarchy is grooming me or something. Funny that.

When my life begins

My youngest daughter, Rose, adored Tangled. Maybe because her hair never grew since she did sports at such a high level so young (mom fail). Maybe for the awesome music.

But this resonates. I’m out of my tower tower now, running amok I’ll grant you but those choices are finally mine, rather than the choices made with no information on what was going on in my marriage. The lack of choice, of information- that ruins.

You are going along merrily thinking you have a partner…and it’s all shit. There is a third person in the relationship (or like twenty third on my case 🙄) and you have NO idea.

So every decision and enjoyment- adopt this dog, take that trip- is colored and ruined retroactively by the knowledge you never had. Of your own marriage.

I love Lola, but alone I would never have picked her to adopt. A family dog sure, but I never knew my family was over then because well…lies. The trips? The Facebook dinner memories? Lies and disgust. And not just for me, for the girls as well.

But I’m free. The girls? Not so much. Stuck with LLCAH as I can’t afford them. And the betrayal, and the work, is very much the same for them…and I doubt he will do it. Coward thru and thru, that one.