Warning Boys: Gotcha! (I am Lady, hear me roar);

Everything you think a woman doesn’t know?  Oh, she knows it.

Whether or not we let you in on that little fact, be aware that everything you think you can hide from your Lady you absolutely cannot.  We are observers.  We are analyzers.  We are empaths.  We are perceptive and detail-oriented.  And the suspicion of our male counterparts is innate – we are born protective (think “mother lioness”) and, I would say, just as territorial as our lesser-halves (ha.).

Look, if we’ve decided to be with you it’s because we think you’re the best.  In whatever way is most important to each individual woman (romance, stability, wealth, practicality, attraction), you beat out all your competitors.  You had the flashiest feathers, the sweetest song, the most prevalent battle scars.

Congratulations: you won!  But don’t flatter yourself, it’s just nature.  In the same way that female animals judge the available gene-pool, thus do we.  Though for us it becomes a bit more complex than these physical factors, we too are animals and will protect our property accordingly.

Don’t balk at the word.  It’s how you think of us, isn’t it?

Much of what men try and hide from their women is harmless.  Of course there are more grave situations and hurtful offenses, but what I find my husband most tries to hide from me is something silly, say, eating an unhealthy snack.  What’s even more ridiculous than the fact that he tries to hide it is the fact that he thinks I give a d@mn.  If I, then, point out that he’s got a bit of chocolate icing on his cheek (undoubtedly from devouring the sweet rapidly to avoid detection), he accuses me of “controlling” him.

Really?  Fine.  

Next time I’ll just let you walk around with sh*t on your face.

 

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This is something that I have wanted to discuss for quite some time but have not felt comfortable approaching the subject.  With a little Chopin and the resolve to change my life, I feel like it is something I now would like to talk about.

*Triggering

My Face on Your Milk Carton: or, how I might disappear;

It’s a certain season and time of day that leads me to have unwholesome thoughts, and it is my car that gives validation to my impulsivity.  Alone I fall victim to my thoughts, my only company apart the music – and sometimes not even that.  Were it not for practicality doing its best to ground me, I would travel without end and with no destination in mind.

You see, it’s not a consequence of any consideration or planning, but rather an arrow on a brilliant sign set high above a highway on ramp that makes empty promises.

Pick me – pick me!” screams the silent metal, horrendously loud, ringing in my ears.

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Girl Sings the Blues (because she’s meant to);

Perhaps I have spoken about this topic before I can’t recall – but I will again.  And you can’t stop me.  I mean, I suppose you could just click past my post, but then that wouldn’t be very nice now would it, hm?

When I was a child, I always thought I was most beautiful when I cried.  I mean, yes, there is nothing like a child’s smile (I can see that now), but there is also something so beautifully compelling about a melancholic femme who so obviously bares the weight of many sorrows.  At least to me, that is the sort of person whom I would like to get to know more about, to understand, and to analyze.

There’s nothing intriguing

about a cheerleader;

Now, I’m not insinuating that I had a bad childhood – actually, quite the contrary.  The life that I was privy to was marvelous – don’t get me wrong.  But inside of me there was always something wrong.  I was always different.  At a much younger age than my peers I thought about love, about mysterious adventure, about many things that a youngster should not comprehend.

I cannot recall

ever being innocent;

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The Hollow Woman: or, the way the World ends —

Depression is a funny creature. Just when you think you are in the clear, She sneaks up behind you and pulls you back in.

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot

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A Series of Unfortunate Events: or the plague of the emotional leeches

Recently I have been experiencing major anxiety over my relationships and interactions with my female friends.  As I posted some days ago, I seem to have taken on the role of therapist among them.  This would be okay if just one or another needed advice or a shoulder to cry on at any given time, but it has begun to eat up my whole life.  As a friend of mine put it, they’ve become

emotional leeches

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The Bartender Therapist: or, a harem forming about me

I happen to have lots of problems.  I don’t know if it’s because of this or in lieu of this, but I seem to gather about me women with just as many issues.  Whereas my problems are continuous – and generally kept under wraps – it seems like their lives, on sporadic occasion, blow up in their faces.

All at the same time.

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