10 Years Older and Way Wiser

Unfettered, fierce, and fabulous is where I’d like to be in 10 years. Yes, Day 2 of the blog challenge is one of those “live coach” type of questions; which I hate. It’s not that I lack ambition, I have plenty of ambition, what I don’t have is a game plan. Honestly, its enough that I know where the hell I was 10 years prior to now. How the heck am I supposed to where’d I be in 10 years?

To be fair, the question asks where I’d like to be. I’d like to be more comfortable in my own skin. I’d like to be in a place financially that I could support my mother if I needed to. I’d like to have lost enough weight that my knee wouldn’t hurt when I danced. Oh yeah, and I’d love to still be able to dance.

Where I am now and what I’m doing isn’t a hardship. I’m happy. I’d like to not have to work, but the work I do, it’s not taxing. The work-related stress that I have is self imposed. I have major holidays off and the organization is really relaxed about if I need time off, and most important; I’ve not had the same day twice. I’m good right here and if 10 years from now I’m still here—I’m good with it.


“….And I liked it”

Day 1 of the blog challenge is to be about my current relationship. Well, as Katy Perry aptly sang “I kissed a girl.” That kiss was 17 years ago and we’re still kissing each other. Yes, I’m a woman involved with a woman but no, I’m not gay (and cue the head cocking and eyebrow raising).

As I understand it, the term gay or homosexuality means an individual is attracted to their same gender. I’m not exclusively attracted to my same gender. What I am is exclusively with another woman. That’s it. Is it a way to side-step the “stigma” of being gay? Nope, the only thing I’ve ever side-stepped was a pile of shit in the street, and questions about my political affiliation (that way lay madness). I love whom I love and I’m not too particular about what package it comes wrapped in.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to tell you that this has been a relationship that’s come as easy to me as breathing. It probably helps that we were good friends for several years before anything romantic jumped off. In fact, she was a witness to my first marriage. And no, this relationship didn’t torpedo the previous one. However, I will say that the ending of my marriage and the way it gutted me left me parred down to the bare basics. I had no defenses. I was stripped bare to the very essence of who I was. All I knew was that I was a person with this huge gift of love and loyalty to give. I needed someone worthy of that gift who would know the value of it and would in turn give back that same gift to me. Honor, respect, loyalty and love were what I had and what I asked. I prayed for that so hard, and there she was.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a cakewalk. We had both been so damaged by prior relationships and we were risking ourselves and the very friendship that kept us going through the tough times. But because of that strong friendship, a lot of the things that couples new to each other have to plow through weren’t an issue for us. It kind of felt like participating in insider trading. We each knew that the other was a sure thing as far as mate material goes. There were surprises but none of them unpleasant. The hardest part was actually learning how to date. We were so used to just spending time together just hanging out that it was real work for us to actually make formalized plans of a romantic nature. We still have to work at that but at the end of the day there’s nowhere else I’d rather be and no one else I’d rather be with.

True Irony

  1. Irony is a figure of speech in which words are used in such a way that their intended meaning is different from the actual meaning of the words. It may also be a situation that may end up in quite a different way than what is generally anticipated.
    Today I had one of my little moments. I’m 42 years old, I’m allowed my little moments. Not only am I allowed these small moments, it’s almost mandatory that I do so and share it them with the world. So tag, you’re it.
    This Monday morning I rolled out of bed and for once, I know exactly what I was going to wear. Was it ironed? Hell no, but it didn’t have any wrinkles so on it went. If you must know (and you must) I had on black trousers and a cute black crocheted top with a red camisole underneath.  I pull into the parking lot at work, get out of the car and start that hike from the parking lot to the front doors of the building. It’s quite nice actually. I look at the flora and fauna, get my heartrate up a little, and try to avoid stepping on an ant hill. It’s peaceful. Yes, well generally it’s peaceful,this morning, not so much.
    Ten paces into my trek, my undies start to take a journey all on their own. First, the left leg of the bikini brief starts to inch it’s way up over my left cheek. I, of course, do what every woman does and no man ever seems to; I widen my stance and do a little sidestep with a wiggle. In my head I’ve already prepared the explanation should I be spotted, “I was trying to keep from stepping on an ant. They’re such industrious creatures, we need more of that.” The briefs, seem to co-operate and slide back to an acceptable position. Three steps later the left leg starts its slow crawl up and over the left cheek. I again do the widen-sidestep-wiggle. This time Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off is going through my head.  Naturally, I give a little shake (that tune is catchy as hell). The briefs slide back into to place. The rest of the walk into the building is uneventful.
    Fast forward to 10 in the morning and I get up to procure a tasty little snack. Guess what happens? You guessed it, the underwear staged a coup d’etat! Both sides decided they just had to boldly go where no man has gone before and meet in the middle. On their way to unity they managed to snag the one hair I have on my tuckus. (I double dog dare you to contradict that number. You don’t know my life!) It was so unexpected that without thinking about it, I just reached around and put the kibosh on that damn reunion quick, fast, and in a hurry. What I didn’t take into account was the young man standing within line of sight. Before I could say anything he said “I saw nothing.” I smiled and nodded and walked back across the room and out sight. The irony here? I’m opposed to wearing thongs because underwear doesn’t belong in your nooks and crannies. However, despite my feelings on the matter I somehow managed to end up with underwear that aspired to be thongs.

Will YOU accept this challenge??!!

I’m going to do my best.


Hola Peeps,

As some of you know, I’ve been in a little bit of a funk lately. A writing one, especially. So I decided I would try to do this thing called the 30 Day Blog Challenge. Yes, it’s just like the IG Photo a Day Challenge, but with words! For those of you who have a blog, and would like to do it, great. For those of you who are Blogging Virgins, perhaps you can use this as a fun way to start your creative engines, also great. Here is the list:

Day 01: Your current relationship, if single discuss how single life is going.

Day 02: Where you’d like to be in 10 Years.

Day 03: Your views on drugs & alcohol.

Day 04: Your views on religion.

Day 05: A time you thought about ending your own life.

Day 06: Write 30 interesting facts about yourself.


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Pole Appeal

Pole dancing is everywhere, or so it seems. You see it in music videos, FB statuses, Huffington Post, movies, TV shows, and strangely dorm rooms of co-eds. Yes, what used to be something that was relegated to dive bars, and dicey neighborhood “clubs” is now something that has become mainstream. Hell, there is even a women’s church group that does pole-dancing for the Lord. (Seriously, can you imagine twerking in The Spirit? Making it clap for the Holy Ghost? No, just no.)

What happened? What is really going on? Well I’ll tell you folks, all kidding aside; pole-dancing is an amazing feat of acrobatics set to music. No joke, a talented dancer can make her body do things on a pole that are nothing short of breathtaking. A woman’s body is already a visual feast, add to that a sexy costume, sensuality and a killer beat and thus my friends you have the recipe for awe-inspiring. I don’t know of a woman who, having seen good pole work, won’t want to do it herself. It’s just amazing to watch.

There isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t at some point in her life fantasized about having that one moment in time where her very presence commands the attention, admiration, and avarice of everyone in her sphere. Picture it: You walk into a room looking and feeling your best. Your hair is glossy. Your make-up, unnecessary. Your body is beyond sick and your outfit will hit Instagram in .5 seconds. You stride toward the middle of the room and people give ground. Right when your platform stiletto heel hits the cleared floor the bass beat drops. You step, pivot, plant your feet and bend at the waist swivelling at the hips so that your hair sweeps out in a glorious arc that has your back arching into the perfect position to accentuate your legs and derriere.  Now tell me that image wasn’t hot as hell!

You know it was and you know that that exquisite moment can be achieved. When you’re part of a moment like that the rush is akin to any drug induced high. It’s like pure distilled essence of sexy and to see that feeling reflected back at you in the gaze of your audience is better than sex, chocolate, and new shoes. It’s a heady brew and good pole-dancing is all this times 10. Simply put, it’s a visceral embodiment of the very essence of female sensuality and women understand that the minute we witness it. And having witnessed it, there’s a number of us who want to experience it. The fact that its a hell of a work out is the rationalization that makes society feel better about it.

No, I don’t want to dance with somebody…

I wonder how many women aren’t comfortable taking this kind of approach?


Hey Kids, I know it’s been a while since I last wrote, mostly because I’m busy writing ridiculous statuses on the Book of Face, but last nights Creep Encounter was too much to write down in a simple status. More so, what I felt about last night’s Creep Encounter was too much to put in a status. 

Like most women, when I go out with my friends and we’re at the bar, we’re focused on having a good time. The drinks are flowing, the music is bumping, and if you hang out with my crew, the singing is LOUD. We will sing every part of a song we know, and go hard at that one part we REALLY know. It’s all to the good. However, we also have to deal with unwarranted and unwanted attention. Most of us don’t go out to attract men, we go out because we like…

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20 Bartenders Reveal What Your Drink Says About You

I do wonder what the bartenders think of me when I order a shot of Patron XO or Baileys.

Thought Catalog

Consensus? Basically that anyone who orders a Jager bomb is an idiot. But apparently, so are people who order Blowjobs! Read more on this Reddit thread

 image - Shutterstock

image – Shutterstock

1. You’re just ordering this because you heard it in a rap song, aren’t you?

I find that people who aren’t “real” drinkers order drinks that they’ve heard in rap songs. When Drake said something about Moscato, which is a sweet white wine, I suddenly had an influx of tough looking dudes ordering Moscato. I give them the drink and they look at me like, WTF, I’m like that’s what your dumb ass ordered!

2. Dayum, girl.

Long Island Iced Tea: I want to get fucked up.

3. You’re probably going to jail if you drink a lot of this.

As someone that formerly worked at the DA’s office, it seems like all crimes start with Bud Light. Not miller, not…

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