Shut Your Mouth!

We’ve all suffered from a good case of foot-in-mouth on occasion…it happens and hopefully without irreversible damage. But what are we to do when those we’re surrounded by are unaware of their verbal blunders? At every turn yet another confidant is attempting to remove a size 24 Shaquille O’Neal sneaker from their trap while we sit on the sidelines and watch the catastrophe unfold. I don’t get it…is it a brain to mouth malfunction that needs repairing? And if so, exactly who do we call for this service?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ll be the first to admit that I have the ability to carry on a conversation with just about anyone or anything that’ll listen. I could yammer on and on to a tree for an hour and be just fine with it. Actually, once in a while I even prefer it. Nevertheless, there comes a time for each and every one of us when we should stop flapping our gums just for the sake of spewing saliva on the nearest unsuspecting passerby!

Somewhere in the midst of “change your ways or we’re not getting married,” (the last marriage - not the first) I discovered the goldmine that lies in the art of silence. I immediately coined it “The 24-Hour Rule” and it’s simple enough that a simian could do it. Pay attention and you can thank me later…

Next time you find yourself caught up in confusion, hurt, anger or just plain stupidity all you have to do is: SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH! Even better yet, shut-it for 24-hours. Stop the outbursts, name calling and irrational thought process long enough to call a time out. Imagine if you will, how trading your personal opinions, emotional baggage and propaganda for an insightful, intelligent and sane conversation is far more likely to suit everyone’s needs and actually garner a positive response. Not to mention the time and effort of banging your head against the proverbial wall is worth walking away long enough to gather your senses.

Thinking before we speak isn’t a novel concept, but certainly one that should hold credence. Our actions and reactions are often dictated by those we communicate with. When we forego rational for emotional we create a chain reaction. In the blink of an eye a snowball transforms into an avalanche, leaving a wave of destruction in its path that no search and rescue team can salvage.

If you aren’t certain if a woman is actually pregnant, for the love of gawd, don’t ask her when she’s due! When your beloved inadvertently makes a quip that cuts you to the core…don’t retaliate with a barrage of insults, but retreat and collect yourself instead. And lastly, don’t make a fool of yourself with a poor attempt at mimicking an accent…its just not good for foreign relations.

Be embarrassed for me…those examples up there were my slip-ups! What’re yours? Does your mouth have a mind of its own, or are you in control of your oral functions? Have you ever had a slip of the tongue that left you wishing for the power to be invisible, or do you battle it out till the bitter end? Misery loves company…share, won’t you?

Simpatico

Last night while  Anthony Bourdain spoke about how he would not buy a Hawaiian shirt, because it was “SO Don Ho”  I drifted off into Snooze Land.   Once I arrived I began to dream…

It was all of the women friends I have had in my life.  They passed by me one by one and I was forced to face the good, the bad, and the bitchy.  To each one I either said Thank you or I am Sorry.  I was forced to see the influence each had upon me and what I think I may have left upon them.  There were some I love, some I hate, and some who are just acquaintances but still as important to me as the air I breathe and my MAC gloss.

I believe I said I am sorry to some of the women in my dream not because I have wronged them necessarily even though I may have, but more for closure.  There are honestly only about three people in my life where a friendship has ended sourly.  I have had heavy heart about each one.  Because for it to go out so passionately must have meant there was a good friendship to separate from.  There was a reason I was drawn to them in friendship.  But, there were also reasons I was pushed away at the end.

I realized once I woke the dream allowed me to find resolution where I couldn’t before and then I realized, I am no longer mad.  They may choose to still carry the Montana sized chip on their shoulders and speak harshly, or shoot me the “Eye of Death” when we pass, but it is time to move on. It is time to cherish the friendship and dismiss the falling out and all the carnage that came from it.

There can be times when women don’t get along well.  We can when we choose to, but I have found that there are times we choose not to.  I believe jealousy and envy play big parts in why women can be so catty.  Some of my most passionate friendships have ended just as passionately.  Somehow they never go out with a whisper but with a big FUCK YOU!!

Granted, I can be a very large and intense Bitch when warranted.  Normally I fear confrontation so much that I don’t say anything until it has gone way too far.  Once pushed into the abyss, my eyes turn red and my blood pressure rises to allow some of the most horrible things to come spewing out of my snarled mouth.  Only a handful of people in my life have witnessed this very ugly, yet some times necessary, bitch on wheels form of me.  I am never proud, but I also never regret what needs to be said.

Even though there are women out there who hate me, loathe me, probably would be happy to see me meet a very painful demise, I currently have some of the most fabulous women in my life and I don’t know where I would be without them.  One friend I have had for over fifteen years whom I consider to be as close as a sister.  Some I have known less than a year or for just a few years that have had such a positive influence on my life, it is indescribable.  Some women I have never met and yet they touch my life daily.  To them, I say Thank you.

And hope that I have given to them a fraction of what they have given to me.

And to these fabulous women I say one last thing.  You guys are much prettier and smarter than the girls I am not friends with anymore.  I am just saying.  OK, now that is done, NOW I am over it all.

Has a friendship ever gone sour for you?  Was it calm and mature or catty and bratty?  Do you feel the same now about it as you did when your friendship ended?  Share with us today your stories of current pals and long lost compadres.  Please don’t make me start singing, “Thank you for being a friend…”

I want a new girlfriend!

I want to have a dinner party. Provided I give a few months notice, I can guarantee I would have a kick-ass dinner party with the best guests and friends on the planet. I know, because the last truly kick-ass dinner party I’ve given was for my fortieth birthday. That was last January. It’s been awhile!

Here’s my problem. My closest friends all live hundreds, if not thousands of miles away from me. I have two exceptionally close friends in Nashville. Years ago, I had a large circle of female friends. I had seven bridesmaids when I got married. I had a different circle of 6-10 women who would show up for Wednesday night dinners when I was married. It was an open invite night and whoever showed up, showed up. It was dedicated to be women only and my husband accepted it because it gave him the perfect excuse to hibernate in the bonus room with his computer games.

That’s my preference, still. Low key, no pressure, come by if you can. There will be food and good beverages. There will be interesting conversation. Laughter is all but guaranteed. I liked not knowing exactly who would show up. I liked watching my friends meet other like-minded, yet different friends. I also enjoy an occasional girls night out, dinner, throwing darts or just chilling at home with friends.

Over the past years, that circle has dwindled. More specifically, I pruned my friendship tree because some of those relationships were toxic. I lost about four of those women in the divorce. Three more moved away. Two got married and decided that single friends were no longer worthy of their free time. One rededicated her life to Jesus. One became a major drug addict. You get the picture. My dinner table is close to empty.

People change. I am not oblivious to it. Basically, I woke up one day and realized I was missing the joy previously known with my girlfriends. I reached out and met some of the most amazing women ever put on this Earth. I met them in Maryland, California, Texas and North Carolina. Others from Louisiana,Seattle, New York , New Hampshire, Michigan and elsewhere traveled to meet me in Tennessee. I have soul sisters scattered across the country. Phone, texts and emails are great for the day to day. They do not allow for random Wednesday night dinners.

What’s a smart, yet single woman to do? I used a social networking website to attempt to meet quality women in my geographic area. I didn’t send out invites willy-nilly. I put substantial thought into what I could glean from their profile. I invited five and only two have responded. That was two weeks ago. I even went so far as to invite one to join me and another local friend to hear a band play. I think she may have thought I was an axe-murderer. Or something.

I tried another social networking site geared towards dating. I figured, “Hey, who better for a friend than someone who is obviously seeking to meet men.” They are single and they have time to socialize. Brilliant, right? Yes. Well, except for the deterrent of “must be male and have photo to contact this user”. Plenty of fish, my ass. Seems to be a bunch of women only in search of sausage.

Being a *cough* sausage lover myself, I mean no ill will. It is simply my personal experience is that most women over the age of thirty are closed off to the possibility of truly extending their circle of friends. The last person who responded to my face to face invitation to friendship was 23 at the time. She was literally firing my company and I invited her for beers and hot wings. Voila, a priceless friendship was born!

I was on the verge of placing a free ad on Plenty of Fish. So much so, I decided to just take the plunge and go for it. My profile at the moment reads as follows: Wanted, girlfriends. I am single, fun, bright, occasionally hilarious and have no desire to explore lesbianism. I have no bi-fantasies, no boyfriend with whom I secretly want to extend a threesome and I have no hidden agenda. If you are relatively sane, have a sense of humor and desire for a genuine connection to another female friend, contact me.

I threw caution to the wind and just hit “post” to the direct and honest approach. What I really want is for YOU to write a new synopsis for me. Surely, I will get at least a few good options to try from my Eve-101 family. I’m going to post them without fear and report back in a month on the results! If your ad results in meeting one decent friend, I will be sending you a gift card for TooTimid.com. Consider it my way of sharing a very different type of joy.

Question of the day…how do you go about meeting new people you actually wish to know in the day to day? Is there a secret password that I didn’t get, a lost memo or some decoder ring that was lost in the mail? What is YOUR theory on why people are so closed off in this day and age?

Loathe Thy Neighbor

It can often take a miracle to locate the seemingly perfect neighborhood. A quiet suburbia locale with immaculately manicured lawns, awe inspiring views, and perfectly pressed citizens who pride themselves on their humble abodes. A community that would cause Stepford wives to hang their heads in shame by the baked goods and well mannered offspring that reside behind rose bushes and plantation shutters on Utopia Way. Finding such a gem is like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow…or is it?

Although we can choose where to dwell, we can’t choose those who inhabit our vicinity. Unfortunately, most communities don’t come with a warning label that you may inadvertently find yourself living within an ear shot of domestic violence or the never-ending frat party. Not to be outdone by some of my personal favorites: The Anti Pooper Scooper, The Trash Nazi, The Amateur Knife Thrower and the creator of The Dickmobile.

Home is where the heart is, except when besieged by unruly, rude neighbors, in which case heartburn and heartache will ultimately reign supreme. Surely one would realize that being cordial to those who stroll along the same sidewalks would be at the very least polite. What is not neighborly however is having unknown cars towed and dialing 911 to report a disturbance before you’ve even unloaded your 1973 child abduction minivan! Such impetuous actions will do nothing more than cause turf wars, and there are those who are just itching to go to battle with ill-mannered newcomers.

Like a lioness stalking her prey, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the resident snitch since his arrival. Within days he’d managed to peak my curiosity with his collection of hundreds upon hundreds of white office storage boxes that were suddenly lining my adjoining driveway. Q-Ball doesn’t appear to be the accountant type or one who would be so organized as to keep every receipt and tax record since he acquired his work permit. As a matter of fact, he more closely resembles someone who’s just been released on parole. What could possibly be in all of those boxes?  Body parts, souvenirs from his victims, excess license plates, perhaps?

And then along came Saturday and the mystery was solved.

Startled awake by the rumblings of unknown voices, I was shocked to find that my quaint little cottage had become a parking lot that likened the border crossing into Tijuana. Blurry-eyed and without an ounce of coffee, I could barely ascertain the likes of what appeared to be strangers rummaging through the unmarked mystery boxes. My inquisitive nature had reached maximum capacity…what could Hannibal Lecter Jr. possibly be in possession of that the habitual garage sale goer would find of interest?

Upon closer inspection it is more probable than not, that my neighborhood peddler is of the illegal kind…more specifically, one who has hijacked a 99 cent store. Not only is the suspected former Property of the State selling off his goods that “didn’t cost him a thing,” but he’s chosen to pawn off his hefty assortment of panty pads, toothbrushes, shampoo, razors, body wash, Pringles and Nutri-Grain bars all for the low-low price of 1 dollar each.

Now, being a glass half-full kind of gal I’m reaching deep to find the upside to my newly acquired resident flea market. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I will no longer be burdened with the chore of stocking my Emergency Preparedness Kit. Seriously, I’ve decided that if there’s an earthquake, I’ll simply loot the looter! As an added bonus, with his stock of Depends, running water to flush the toilet won’t be an issue either.

Needless to say, I’d welcome back The Peeping Tom with a fresh basket of homemade cookies, a glass of warm milk and open curtains…at least he didn’t disturb my sleep or plan to pay his rent with a monthly swap meet!

Am I the only one living amongst questionable characters, or do you reside on Perfection Place? Is Nosey Nelly your neighbor or do you fear walking the dog after dark? And most importantly, who’s watching your neighborhood watch?

Holding Off on the Hug Jamboree

As many of you know, I am currently involved in a long distance relationship. While my mans and I have a pretty decent handle on emotional closeness, sometimes I just miss the physical touch of another human being. Not sexual necessarily…just…bodily contact with another adult-type person.

Now, now, stop raising the eyebrows; I would never, I repeat, NEVER cheat on my boyfriend. But the other day whilst surfing along the cyber waves I came across an article about something that gave me pause…“cuddle parties.” Of course I had to investigate further.

So I ended up on a site appropriately named oc-cuddle.com. These people came across like touch-pushers; going on and on about how unhealthy it is to not be getting your daily dose of nutritious and delicious man-handling. Uh oh, thought I. Am I going to become a touch-anemic?? Do I need the kind of relief only a G-rated hug jamboree can bring??

But the deeper my reading got, the more deeply disturbed I felt. I quickly realized this stuff = not for Trista. And you know I don’t like to feel creeped out alone, so I am going to drag you down into the world of squeeze-soirées with me! Whee!

First off, you’ll want to know that these folks do have some ground rules, 15 of them to be exact. You can read them all on their site, but I decided to discuss a few of ‘em with you. (My commentary is in red…)

• Pajamas stay on the whole time. - This ain’t no nekkid party folks! Thems down the hall…

• No SEX. (Yep, you read that right.) - Again, may I refer you to that party down the hall…

• Kissing and nuzzling, as well as other forms of touch, are allowed, but you must ask permission and receive a verbal YES before you touch anyone. - Now, when they say other forms of touch, do they mean “got your nose!” touching, or “oops, I accidentally pinned you down under me with my hand on your vagina!” touching? What’s the difference you ask? You are so not invited to my cuddle party…

• You don’t have to cuddle anyone at a Cuddle Party, ever. - Sweet! All you voyeurs out there, you can go to watch people…hug…that oughta be a hoot.

• NO DRY HUMPING! - Are you getting the asexual vibe here? Cuz I am starting to…

• If you’re in a relationship, communicate and set your boundaries and agreements BEFORE you go to the Cuddle Party. Don’t re-negotiate those agreements/boundaries during the Cuddle Party. (Trust us on this one.) - “Well baby, I know I said I wasn’t gonna touch no one’s boobalies but yours, but look at that woman’s boobalies! No baby, really…would you just look at her luscious…where ya going…?”

• Get your Cuddle Lifeguard On Duty or Cuddle Caddy if there’s a concern, problem, or question or should you feel unsafe or need assistance with anything during the Cuddle Party. - Your cuddle lifeguard? In case you are drowning in a sea of pathetic? And what is the caddy for…to bring you a four iron to clunk people in the head in case the freaks go native on you?

• Crying and giggling are both welcomed and encouraged. - Just not at the same time, because, well, that’s creepy…even for gropers-r-us.

• Be hygienically savvy. - No one likes doggy breath in a puppy pile!

Anyhow folks, you get the idea. I know I am being a tad harsh, but what I found in my exploration filled me with a hard core case of the heebie-jeebies. I realized something about myself while perusing the site, I really am not comfortable with the idea of rolling around on the floor with a bunch of pajama clad strangers.

So what kind of people DOES this concept appeal to?

I mean, really? Instead of creating intimacy with people in your life, you have to pay 30 bucks to be touched by an unfamiliar?? I suppose I should be proud of y’all for making your way out of your grandma’s basement, but come on! This doesn’t seem like pro-touch healing to me, but more like a scam that is feeding off the lonely and socially stunted.

Maybe the founders are right…maybe we are living in a touch-deprived society. But thinking about that statement makes me want to go pick up my kids and hug them…not pay to pet a stranger…(especially the kind of strangers willing to hand over money to be fondled by people they don’t know…)

So, to each their own and all that, but this is one social scene I shall not be exploring further. I will look fondly to the day when I can be spooned (and get forked) by my boyfriend again, but until then the only snuggling up I am going to be doing is with my own pillow. And thanks to cuddle.com I feel 100% better about the waiting.

So my friends, what do you think about this? Are you just a fluffy-wuffy cuddle bunny looking for a place to get petted? Or are you thinking this is perhaps a wee bit creepy? Would you pay 30 smackers to get touched by a stranger? Do you believe that grown-ass adults should get involved with something called puppy piles? I need to know!

« Previous Page — Next Page »