The Office Is Full of Floozies

(I'd apologize for the inappropriate nature of this post but then most of you have read this blog long enough to expect inappropriate . . .)

This is how low I’ve sunk: I went to the ladies’ room a few minutes ago to remove my panties because they are old and uncomfortable, so now I am going commando (with a skirt on) all because I have been too lazy to do my laundry for two weeks. And on my way back to my cube, I walked past the secret service guy who is in the office today preparing the Republican senator for President Bush’s visit later this week. And here I am walking around like a floozy with the breeze blowing across my ass cheeks.

AND.

And I went and told my office mate because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t obvious that I was walking around without panties on (not being a person who generally makes a habit of those types of things [at least in public]), and guess what I found out? She (who shall remain nameless) walked to work from the train station today as her panties crept into her ass crack so when she got to the office, she stormed into the bathroom, tore them off, and threw them into the trash. So there are two panty-less, skirted chicks in my office today. If only the secret service guy knew . . .

And THEN.

I got this email from my friend Raquel when I got back to my chair from the excursion:

HERE'S A RIDDLE TO MAKE YOU SMILE. Pantyhose quiz Q: How many animals can you fit into a pair of pantyhose?

Now, think about it...

Answer: 10 little piggies . . .

2 calves . . .

1 ass . . .

an unknown number of hares . . .

and of course one (1) . . . ahem . . .

Stream of Consciousness

why they are opposite . . . going to be an aunt again . . . the things that make him right . . . forgiving/forgetting . . . i'm sure i'm forgetting something . . . why so sensitive?

I like stories where the timing is completely different from all the other stories, where you’re never sure whether you’re near the end or just the start of another chapter of the story, not even when you pay attention to the timing of where the beginning and the end are. They break the rules, stretch the bounds of story-telling, not to the point of unbelievability—not to the point where they seem to break the bounds of reality—but just to the point where you are never sure what might happen next. You know there will be an end, eventually, but you don’t know exactly where it will come or what will happen when it does—but you know for absolute certainty that the path you take getting there will be highly enjoyable. I love stories like that, to be honest.

Big Things on my Mind

Sometimes a lot of time lapses between posts on this blog because I’m very busy and sometimes it’s because I have something big on my mind but I’m not ready to put words to it. This time it’s the second reason, and there are two big things on my mind.

I have avoided relationships for over three years. I have not wanted to get entangled with another person to that level mainly out of fear. When things ended with the Big X, I had to create a whole new life; over the course of a decade with him, I had lost all of my old friends and he was my best friend, so I thought that was okay. I had become a completely different person—someone who was unhappy most of the time, who had a temper, had lost her sense of humor . . . just not a great person, and not at all who I was before the Big X, and not at all who I wanted myself to be.

I didn’t ever want that to happen again; I didn’t want to lose who I am because of a guy. And I know it wasn’t entirely the Big X’s fault; he wasn’t so emotionally abusive to me that I HAD to give up my friends; he never verbally stated that I was to put him above family and everyone else—it was clearly implied and I was punished with screaming and name-calling if things weren’t the way he wanted—but still, I could have walked away at any point. I could have said no, I’m not going to go along with what you want over my own interests. It wasn’t entirely the Big X’s fault that I became a mean and unhappy person; he didn’t force my personality to change—it was nearly impossible not to pick up his pessimism and mean-spiritedness because that was the only thing I was ever exposed to—but still, I could have walked away at any point. I could have but I didn’t.

So after I picked myself up and put the pieces together again like the Humpty Dumpty of 2005, I decided I shouldn’t get in a relationship with anyone again for a long, long time. And I dated quite a bit, but I either always found something wrong with the guy within the first couple of dates, or they began to talk to me as if they wanted a relationship (using terms like girlfriend or talking about “our future”) and I had my usual panic attacks and ran away. I never had to worry about ending a relationship because I never let it get to that point.

I’ve been dating the MF now for nearly 3 months, and within the last week or two I’ve felt like things have turned some kind of corner with us. I haven’t been able to put the words to it even in my own head and certainly not to the MF himself. The best I’ve been able to do is tell him how I feel about the sex, and I’ve been telling him that a lot—maybe too much. I mean, it is really just great. Everything fits together just right and I am very satisfied—more satisfied than I have been in the past. But I don’t want to give him the impression that I’m in this for the sex because you know what I can’t hide from myself anymore? My feelings run deeper than just casual sex. I’d be lying to myself if I said that was all this is anymore. Maybe it started that way for me, but it’s not that way for me anymore.

I’m still scared as hell, though. I now find myself in the middle of that thing I’ve spent 3 years fearing: A Relationship. And I don’t want to end it just yet. But I’m still scared, and I’m trying to put words to why and see if they are reasons I can fix, or if this really just won’t work. I hope I can fix all the fears, but I don’t know that that is true, which is probably the biggest fear of all: What if I invest my efforts into this thing now (something I’ve really avoided doing so far)—get through such scary things as him meeting a couple of my friends, for example, or God forbid make myself vulnerable to him—and in the end, there are other things that just can’t be fixed? What if I do all that really scary and hard work and it’s all for naught? What if I let him hurt me? Or I hurt him unintentionally because of all my stupid fears? I couldn’t live with myself anymore.

So for now I just tell him about how much I love the sex, and not about how much I love everything else.

Oh. And the second big thing on my mind? An unsolicited IM from my sister which hurt me very deeply, so deeply I’m not ready yet—even though it was sent over a week ago—to discuss it here, or with her for that matter. So . . . to sum up: I’m afraid of getting hurt by or hurting the MF; and I am deeply hurt already by someone who I’ve considered one of my best friends in these last couple of years. The two of those things together is enough to make me re-think the philosophy by which I’ve lived my life from 2005 to 2008.

Translation: It may be awhile until my next post again. And I probably need a shrink.

A Short Missive on Tights

One of the things about working at the State Capitol is that there are cameras everywhere. Between just the fact that it is a government building and the fact that we now live in a Homeland Security Rainbow Alert world, there is nothing you can do anywhere on the campus of the Capitol without being recorded. Now, I’m sure that most of the time the state cops who are monitoring those cameras are unable to actually watch what is going on in range of all the hundreds of them. Still, as a rule, I try not to pick a wedgie or fix my bra anywhere in the building except for inside the four walls of the bathroom stall. (And I’m not even sure that the bathroom stalls don’t have cameras…) But yesterday I was wearing some tights that kept falling off my ass. This is because I recently lost over 10 pounds and they no longer fit properly (yay me except for the expense of buying new stockings). However, this also means that periodically throughout the day until I get around to buying some new black tights, I have to stop somewhere out of view of people and yank my skirt up under my armpits, bend over, and slowly work the extra material that has now gathered down around my ankles back up to my hips where it belongs. (And do so without causing a run due to my icky winter-time fingernails.)

If I do not do this, I risk walking down a long hallway in the Legislative Office Building while my stockings slowly fall all the way down my legs and rest—crotch exposed—between my ankles while I try to crab-walk to the nearest bathroom. And there are always dozens of people in the LOB hallways just waiting for someone like me to do something embarrassing so as to entertain them. No, this has not happened yet. Almost, but not quite. What has happened is that I’ve had to duck into an empty conference room or office, close the door, and perform the skirt-lifting, stocking-tugging ritual described above. All the while knowing that there’s a chance that just maybe some state cop down in the control room is sitting there calling his buddies over to ogle and laugh at me. And should that happen (or should that already have happened), then I will forever be followed around the building by the monitor-watching cops, just waiting to see what I might do next. Still, it can’t be helped. I’ll have the state cops ogling me in private any day over dozens of legislators, lobbyists, and staffers pointing and laughing in public at my bare ass shuffling quickly away from them.

Plus I'm sure I'm not the first person to be doing something inappropriate in private while the Staties silently witness down in the control room.