You, Me, and a Bit of Bubble Wrap

So what that he stood about half a foot shorter – he carried himself with such confidence, I couldn’t help but be charmed. Plus, you know I’ve always had a thing for musicians. It was about a year after the end of what had been my only true love affair, and my heart was still out of commission. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t in need of physical comfort, and even mismatched physicality is better than nothing at all. Or so I thought.

He was a great singer, and his charisma made him an excellent front man for his 70’s sci-fi themed rock band. On stage, he looked so capable and cool in leopard skin pants and platform boots, thoughtfully manipulating his electric guitar. I imagined this was the way Sonny looked to Cher, just with more exciting musical stylings. We met through friends, and shyly circled each other in public, sharing a noncommittal laugh here and there. There was minimal chemistry, so months went by with nothing.

It was the 4th of July. I spent the day on a friend of a friend’s couch, getting stoned and watching a Led Zeppelin concert video on repeat, probably ruminating on why my boyfriend had dumped me (that’s all I did for a few years, so it’s a safe assumption). By the end of the day, I needed a fix. I needed to feel loved. It’s funny how from a certain angle, one person’s rejection can look like the end of all possible connection from that point forward. I just hadn’t figured out how to change my vantage point yet.

I took a brief accounting of my man situation, realized I had no options, and got a girlfriend to drive me over to the short musician’s house. We were supposed to have a beer, but then one thing led to another and we were soon having lackluster sex. My friend later mocked me for sounding so disinterested – she’d overheard my bored moans. But I wrote it off. My mind was in another place. I needed comfort, and this was all I could come up with.

A week later, he invited me over again, sans friend. The pretense was that we were going to hang out and drink, maybe watch a movie, but we both knew why I was catching a cab to his place. I let my hopes buoy the rest of me for a moment, too. Maybe this was the start of something good. Surely it was time to be moving on with my life. He was a fan of Boo Berry cereal – how bad could he be?

Once I got to his house, we hung out for awhile, listening to music and drinking beers. We talked about his favorites – Frank Zappa and Steely Dan. We discussed Star Wars, and how difficult it was for a guy to find leopard skin pants. He told me he was thinking of moving on to something a bit more mainstream, like gold spandex. I can’t recall saying anything clever; I was only there to feel like a viable human again. I needed to top up with something approaching affection. It wasn’t long before the conversation devolved into slightly-less-than-heavy petting. It was all going according to plan.

But then out came the bubble wrap, and there went my night.

It was that jumbo type of bubble wrap, where the squishy plastic bubbles are about a half an inch thick, and almost as wide. He had it in a box under the bed; as we kissed, he’d had one hand fishing around past the dust ruffle, and now he held a large swath of plastic triumphantly. There was a new light in his eye. I didn’t like it one bit. We should use it, he told me, hold it between us and try to pop the bubbles mid-coitus.

A few years ago, someone told me that my poker face is shite. Apparently my eyes speak volumes, even when I’m desperately trying to maintain a cool facade. I wonder what the musician saw. My initial reaction was a deep, soul-shaking hysteria. I wanted desperately to point and laugh. But as new as I was to the game in those days, I still understood how cruel such a course might have been. So I remained calm, told him no thanks, and left it at that, anticipating that we’d go back to making out, and the sex might be slightly more than lackluster – maybe even somewhat satisfying.

Instead, my rejection touched off a chain reaction. He heard the laughter in my voice, no matter how I’d tried to hide it, and immediately dialed for a cab to take me home. It was the first and last time a man kicked me out of his bed. We never spoke again.

I can’t say I miss him, but I do miss those leopard skin pants.

 

Content, Content, Content

I just realized that “content” (n.) – the topics covered in a document, and “content” (n.) a state of satisfaction are easy for a reader to confuse if not provided enough context. So let’s be clear; my title means “topics covered in a document, topics covered in a document, topics covered in a document,” NOT “satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction.” Though I wish it were the other way around. It would definitely make for a better Thursday night, that’s for sure.

It’s 9:41pm on a Thursday night, and I’m feeling the pressure. At my day job, a big client needs a full website’s worth of copy AND a very long, very wordy brochure written, edited, and posted by the middle of next week at the very latest. One of my personal clients needs an e-blast written. Another needs several grants written. A third needs several blog posts, while the other just needs a job posting rewritten. As a result, I find myself in serious need of a glass of wine and a spot of vacation planning. To where, I honestly don’t give a damn, as long as it’s definitely far, far away from my cell phone and laptop. Maybe Siberia?

Actually, talking about vacations, I decided today that I’d really like to go to Nepal. Reason? They ride yaks. Look at this and tell me you aren’t intrigued.

YakwithSaddle yak-milk

 

So, what else is going on in my life other than work, you ask? Actually, we both know that you didn’t ask that because you knew I was just going to tell you anyway – let’s be honest, that’s the kind of horrible, non-stop talker I am – but whatevs. Hmmm. What have I been up to?

Well, there’s the personal training. I went twice this week, and will go again tomorrow. He really kicked my butt on Wednesday, too. I was feeling this odd burning pain sensation in my arms that went all the way down to my toes. Eric said that’s what happens when you start using muscles that you’ve never even discovered before. I’m starting to see muscle definition in my arms when I’m just hanging out and not trying to do any super cool flexing stuff. It’s crazy and amazing and I really want it to continue, but I’m going to have to get more dedicated. Tomorrow I’ve got a weigh in, and I already know that I haven’t lost any weight at all since starting this a month and a half ago. It’s OK, since obviously my fat percentage has to have gone down, but if I were working out five times a week and showing a tad more dedication, I’d also be seeing more weight loss.

Other than that, things are going well in my relationship arena with The Man, and our romance factor is looking a little better. We both owe each other more time and dedication in the romance realm, but both of us are concentrating on career and trying to pay off bills. I hope that we’ll both be able to cut back on work and pay more time to life sooner rather than later. For me it’s all about getting the CC bills paid off, then figuring out what I need to do to make the most amount of money in the most reasonable amount of time, doing only things I love. Sounds easy, right? Yeah, I know it sounds absolutely mad, but pretty sure I can make it work. I don’t intend to spend my whole life working just to work more. I intend to be walking to Santiago de Compostela within two years at the very maximum.