The Perils of Love

Is love a fancy or a feeling? 

Our friend Hartley Coleridge penned a sonnet beginning with this very question. 

At first I asked, why doesn't love listen to warning signs, red flags, bells or whistles?  Is love totally deaf, blind and handicapped? (If so, love is a poor bastard indeed.) Love wants what it wants.   Like a greedy child, it sometimes reaches for innapropriate mates to cure itself from some former injury.

We have all fallen prey to love's selfish, misguided desires.

I've decided love is not an emotion but rather a choice the mind makes. 

Sometimes we choose people that mirror a dysfunctional situation we experienced as children.  In choosing someone similar to a distant father or critical mother we inadvertently re-create a similar scenario....as adults we try to "fix" it.

It doesn't work.  We can't fix the past. 

The day I finally got a job, after almost a year of unemployment, love took off and left me stranded.

Without so much as a word he disappeared. 

Previously, I'd had alot of time for love.  I focused on it, coddled it, cooked for it, sacrificed, forgave and re-adjusted to make room for it.

I turned love into a spoiled child.

Was it love or a masquerade?

Hell if I know.  I only know that love won't abandon you when things are difficult.  It won't run out because you can't pat it on the head every 10 seconds.  Love is a sustainable absolute choice no one can chase away.

Was I in love or duped by a masquerader?  (A masquerader can trick you if you're not paying attention.) I won't trash the man.  I was in love with the masquerader.  What's a girl to do?  I'm thinking...go Paddle Boarding.

This is what paddle boarding looks like. I WON'T be wearing a bikini. 

As for my guy, I have one thing to say:

Disappearing acts are for cowards...and tricks are for kids.

Sonnet VII
By Hartley Coleridge

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth show,
It is my love's being yet it cannot die
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.

A Mouse Ate My Car

I thought rats mice only lived in...uh...slums. 
I started my car engine. "Danger Will Robinson" lights flickered on the dash. 

"My car is having emotional problems" I thought.  "It probably needs some kind of service".

 I drove to the gas station.  It's a block from my house, I walked home.

Upon my return I discovered a pool of radiator fluid in my garage. A little dead rat mouse lay upon it.

"Ahh, the little bastard committed suicide" I thought.

Two days later I was informed the rat mouse had eaten:

Radiator hose (1)
Radiator hose (2)
Electrical wiring (my speedometer, gas guage and rpm thingee no longer work)
Vacuum hose (3 inches missing)
Oil dip stick housing

He ate ALL of this in one night...before he died.

His last meal cost me a pretty penny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U36DO_nrJeA

Valentines Day

Most women get flowers.

I received two (2) crates of potatoes. 

(My beau is in the produce business.)

We fill up little bags with red, white and purple potatoes and leave them on my neighbours doorstep(s).  We refer to it as, "potatoing" you.  It's funny.  It's weird.  It suits me.

It wasn't all THAT bad...he threw in some blood oranges and Myer Lemons...and a lobster...some margaritas and a bike ride on the boardwalk.

As a serial dater, my house was at times, filled with so many flowers my neighbours began to suspect I was running a funeral home.

"All those guys... who gave you those things...where are they now?" he responded.

"I dunno" I retorted. 

"My point exactely," he said. 

Everyone has gone crazy.

What do you do when everyone in your life goes crazy?

Ignore...ignore...(that's my favorite solution).

I cook dinner, monitor messages from my mother notifying she is going to turn herself in to the police because of a little credit card problem. 

I have a cold.  I have a headache.  My nose is red.  My mother said she is going to kill herself. 

If I could just get rid of this headache... 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGMHSbcd_qI

Crazy is as Crazy does.

Ring Ring

"Charmaine!"

"John!"

(That's how we greet each other...it gives you the warm fuzzies.)

John:  "Do you have Erins address?"
Me:    "No.  Why?"
John:  (He's a psychiatrist and my favorite Uncle)  It has recently dawned on me that your sister, Erin, has put her ducks in a row.  Assembled, if you will, a trail of blame by calling everyone the night your cousin Michael shot himself.
Me:    I know, that's why I called you. Call Briana, she has it.

Ring Ring

Briana:  John called.  He told me to call the police.  They said they would call back in 30 minutes.  That was 40 minutes ago.
Me:  Call them and ask what happened.
Briana:  I can't, I don't have the number.
Me:   His number must be in your cell phone.  Give it to me.
Briana:  You're right.  It's xxx-xxxx.
Me:  Hi, is this officer Rick?
Officer Rick:  Yes it is indeed.  (I heard the smile on his face.)
Me:  Hi, I'm Charmaine.  You were called to visit my sister because we, my sister and I, were afraid she attemped suicide.
Officer Rick:  Oh....yes of course.  I was just there.  You're sister is not dead.  I mean, she didn't answer the door but neighbours saw her earlier today.

Then it got weird.  The man seemed to know my sister too well. (I've always suspected my sister was an escort or something like that...to pay the bills.) He said he lived in her neighbourhood.  He said things like, "Can I talk to you off the record?"  "Yes," I lied. (There is no off the record with me.) He said he'd arrested her before for stabbing some guy.  "What?" I said.  "If she stabbed someone isn't that attempted murder?  Shouldn't she be in jail?" 

Officer Rick:  "Well your sister was an attorney.  She knows how to work the system.  The neighbours want her out, she does things like put speakers in the window sill and blast music at 2:00AM to piss them off... her house is in forclosure.  She smokes meth by the way.

Me:  "Huh?  I wonder how she meets her mortgage payment."  (I was secretly, bizarrely proud of my sister for blasting her stereo.) 

Officer Rick:  "She doesn't pay the mortgage.  In the interim there are men...alot of men."

Me:  "How do you know?"

There was something smarmy about him. He was too familiar with me. I felt something may have "occured" between them. Call me crazy.

To my sister:   You are still a member of this family.  You have a million apologies to make  Still, none of us want to see you dead.  I remember when we were young.  You were smart, clever, beautiful and as ambitious as you were cruel.  I can see you, ...back then.  You're wearing a poncho with ridiculous dangly things. Look, there we are...rushing toward the slip and slide shrieking with laughter.  There is only one way back... tell the truth and resist feeling sorry for yourself.  Stop taking drugs and...uh...stop stabbing people.

Find your way back...homeward. I'm waiting.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdLF5yujWHA

Love,
Charmaine

Are Men Inherently Bad?

Ah...you know me.  I've dated half the State of California. 

I consider myself an expert.  (Tongue in cheek.)

Jenny Sanford was on the air speaking about her husband Mark Sanford (he's the guy who cheated on her with a woman from Argentina.)

After the story broke (he was with his mistress in Buenos Aires) which some reports say was paid for by the State of South Carolina, he confessed in a news conference.

Then he called his wife, his political advisor.  He did not apologize, rather asked, "How'd I do?"

He wanted her feedback on his public apology. 

She did NOT stand by her man.

She filed for divorce...you know the story.

What I found interesting, at the end of the interview, is that she remarked they were being cordial and as compatible as ever for the sake of their children.  One of her four boys just had a birthday...

Being cordial and compatible for the sake of kids.  Maybe children need to know when daddy is a lech.  Maybe a man who is a liar does not deserve compatibility?  I don't know. 

I know it's important not to shame a parent in front of kids.  But if we ignore bad behavior, gloss over it in front of our children...don't we somehow encourage more of the same?

Are men inherently bad? My answer is no.  Not even close.  Most men, like women, are pretty decent. 

I was talking to my brother-in-law last night.  (I'm broke, out of money and out of time.)  He said, "Just tell me when I need to pick you up.  I'll build a bedroom for you in the basement.  Just say when."

When you become angry over bad men you're called "bitter".  In my opinion, it's the end result of being cordial in the face of bad behavior.  Your tolerance gets turned back on you and, as a woman, you are asked..."why aren't you being more cordial?" The wives of  many politicans stand and smile sweetly.

It delivers the wrong message.

They must want something.  And whatever it is, their silence is the price they pay.  (Hello wife of John Edwards.) She defended him in the face of a love child...until he punched her in the ribs...milimeters from the location of her breast cancer.  Finally, she speaks.

Jenny Sanford is not silent with the media...just in front of her kids so Daddy is not disgraced there. 

Maybe he needs to be.

Thoughts?

Dad

Dear Dad,
Things aren’t going well around here. You know, since you left.

In fact, since you left, everything has gone to hell.

We’re adults now. We’re independent, strong, never needed you. We’ve moved on.

That’s what we’re supposed to say.

But it’s not true Dad. None of it’s true.

In moments of weakness, it’s you I turn to. You’re the one I need. It’s your voice I long to hear.

I remember when you died. I talked to God. I said, “don’t take my father, take me instead.”

I have a blog. I shoot down men for sport. If I had a dollar for every opportunist that wanted to link, content share or otherwise advertise here…I’d be rich.

I’m not rich Dad. I won’t sell out. I’ll say what I want…

I love you. Please don’t be dead.

I wanted you to spring back to life and save Erin. But you won’t. You insist on being dead.

The wreckage is here in my lap.I’m not you. I'll keep fighting.

It gets harder...every day.  Nobody helps...I guess everyone is busy.