the housebitch

OK, so I've been using my voice now that I found it. I'm trying to ask for what I need, express my feelings and just plain speak more--my goal was to use at least 2-3x the words that I used to. The problem I now face is that I hear myself sounding like a bitch. I seem to be speaking a lot about what needs to be done next in the home. Which makes me sound like a mother.

And although I am a mother, I'm not Andy's mother. And I do NOT want to sound like a nag. But why does no one see all these things that need to be done? As I see it, this leaves me with these alternatives:

1. Do it myself. Yes, frankly I do it best anyway, but what does that teach anyone? That they can continue to leave it to me. No thanks. I feel taken advantage of. Besides, if I just do it myself I will resent it. And we all know that resentment leads to a lot less fun in the bedroom.



2. Let it go. This works temporarily in the case of sneakers in the middle of the floor. Granted there are times when Andy trips over them and then moves them himself. But then there's the case of the closet in which clothes get tossed up onto the shelf. Over a period of time this grows into a pre-avalanche state. Or if no one goes to get groceries, we eat cereal for dinner and my kid eventually dies of malnutrition.



3. Ask for help. No matter how I do this, I hear myself as boss. Why do I have direct my housemates in what needs to be done? The frustrating part is that I shouldn't have to ask (the obvious). I shouldn't have to ask for the same things week after week. Can't everybody just put their dishes in the dishwasher, or run it when it is full? Or think about what dinner will be? I shouldn't be so hesitant to ask when others are quick to ask me to get/do something for them as they lay on the couch/bed because I am up anyway. Yes, because I am always up doing the things that need to be done! This annoys me and makes me feel like a servant. And then I feel guilty when I don't carry out the favor. Hmmph.



4. Leave. I could leave the house for hours and just let them fend for themselves. It's because when I am there I am the superhuman solver of all problems/inconveniences in the home that I end up doing too much. I have to find a way to stop. Ideally I'd like to start working in a great job where sneakers in the middle of the floor at home are the last things on my mind. They'd be better off without me (at home), and I think I'd be better off mentally. But until that job and I get hooked up, I have this little issue to deal with. Or better said, they have me to deal with.
   
   I feel the bitch in me just a-brewing. I need the cure.

who am i?

Who have I become? Well, I guess that depends on who you ask. Don't ask me though, cuz I really don't know. I have too much time on my hands, and too little purpose.

As I am a doer, I am finding myself filling my day with follow up phone calls to companies who haven't done what they said they were going to do, educating myself on how to invest in mutual funds (dry, yes, but essential), turning off lights and electronic equipment that other people have left on, and rearranging everyone's dishes in the dishwasher to achieve maximum efficiency in a load.

OMG I need to get back to work! Before my roommates kick me out!

I am trying my damnedest not to judge other people's ability to relax when there are things to be done. I am trying to remember that one of my goals in moving here was to become more laid back and spontaneous. I am certainly drinking more :) and sleeping in more. And I do have sex more often, though more would be even funner!

Basically, I've been off of work for almost 2 months. I love to work (usually). It makes me feel important, it defines me. In the absence of professional me, I've let myself sink back into the housewife and mother role--yecch--which makes me feel kind of used and unrewarded. And frustrated! Just because I can cook and clean doesn't mean I want to take on those roles full-time.

And I'm not one to speak up (to Andy). Instead I just do it till I'm exasperated, shoot off little sarcasms, then I withdraw. I know that's not a very good way to solve the problem, but right now I am finding it hard to do the right thing. I don't have full control over who I am, so the last thing I feel like tackling is a conversation about who I want to be.

our first fight

For the last 2 years Andy and I have been trying to have our first fight. It's hard to get in a fight when you adore each other to the point of sickening others. But I always thought that you can't really know a person until you have a fight. How they act during the fight and, maybe more important, after the fight, can show you a hell of a lot about someone's character. And when you're considering moving in with someone, this is pretty important shit.

Andy and I never had the opportunity to discover any of this before moving in together. Recently we were 'blessed' with our first conflict.

I could feel the tension building over a couple days. It started with the project of building 4 IKEA bookshelves together. It was mildly interesting (and annoying) to see how Andy thought he needed to take control of the project. When things needed to be opened with a razor knife, he had to do it. When screws needed tightening, Andy needed to do it. And nails needed to be hammered by the man too....hmmmm.

I guess I'm more of a feminist than I thought. He knows I'm capable of everything from laying a lineoleum floor to replacing a toilet to selling my own house, yet he needed to hammer the nails.

OK, we survived the IKEA test without any words or hard feelings. Two days later the movers finally delivered my furniture along with my 42 boxes. Needless to say after the long wait I was antsy to unpack and get things in their place. I felt like I'd been camping for 3 weeks.

Yes, I was a little stressed. Andy had whittled his stuff down to 'essentials', and so had I. But we still had stuff that needed a place in some cupboard, closet or shelf. I dealt with his collection of an estimated 250 t-shirts, CDs which filled an entire cabinet, and books and DVDs which filled 4 large bookcases. (Oh yeah, my books filled a shelf.) He dealt with my kitchen gadgets, china and pots and pans I couldn't part with, and my beloved dining room table with 8 chairs.

We managed to find space for stuff. I guess what sent me over the edge was how absorbed he was in listening to some crazy ass podcast for hours, totally oblivious to what I was doing. The one time I asked for help in my hours of unpacking he had said yeah, yeah, in a minute and then nothing... I even tossed my famous black skirt at him--the one I'd worn with nothing underneath that he'd thrown me over the side of the bed and licked my ass in--and he never even noticed.

That did it! I was pissed.

When Andy finally reentered the land of the living (ie, the podcast ended), I was sitting on the couch with steam shooting out of my ears. He said we should get ready soon to go out and meet his friend. Earlier I had really wanted to do this, but now I was in such a foul state that I knew it would be all bad. So I said no and explained why.

Well, Andy got defensive and said You know I would have helped you, all you had to do was ask me. I can't read your mind and I can't be accused of things I didn't even know. OK, you see where this is going...?

I took a few deep breaths and tried to remain calm while I explained what had transpired during his mesmerized state. I topped it off with the fact that he missed the black skirt attention-getting attempt. Just maybe that hit home for him.

Anyway, we forgave each other then, but we still went through levels of forgiving each other. I think in all it took Andy a couple days to work it out in his mind. I think he was a little shocked that we'd had a fight at all. I wasn't. It was a growing experience for us. I can't say I look forward to the next time, but hey, this is life and this life is exactly what I ordered.

insatiable wife

One of things I was most looking forward to about living with Andy was the constant access to sex. I love sex, I crave it, I seek it, it is one of my greatest joys. Sex via Skype can make one crazy over the long term. It's great for teasing, taunting, and relieving immediate tension, but it's just not enough. Eventually we need the real thing.

I am happy to say that I now have it! Andy isn't privy to the Dinamo nickname and its origin, but he is familiar with my sexual appetite. Let's just say he is a happy man since we moved in together. I love to please him in every sexual way and I am usually the initiator, though we are both very affectionate in a physical way all day long.

One of my favorite things to do is to say something really intimate and dirty to him when he is least expecting it, like when we're walking down the street looking in shop windows or something. And then I thoroughly enjoy his reaction. Today I told him what nasty things I think about while he's going down on me. He grabbed me and made some comment about his insatiable wife.

I love those Freudian slips . It's not the first time he's referred to me as his wife. He does it every now and then. I do too, in my mind, but I catch that husband word before I speak it. I know we're not close to married yet, but the fact that these slips happen means that we feel that close and familiar with each other. That makes me warm and fuzzy. And horny.

big promises

I love Andy. His romance is contagious and I'm happy to make his dreams mine.

he wants me

It's a beautiful thing to be wanted, adored, and to be thought of many times throughout the day. Knowing how much he wants me in his life, and in his house, makes me want to give him exactly that. He says it's forever, and it's fine with me if it works out that way, but I'm going to try to focus on enjoying our new life day by day. Gotta get there first!

daughter dilemma

I had the rare opportunity of spending some time alone with Maria, my almost-19-yr-old daughter. Well, as alone as we could be with her cell phone in hand. I tried to get enough words in between her text messaging so that she could 'hear' me. Not sure how successful I was.

Our relationship has been better in the last 6-9 months and part of that is due to the fact that we don't get together much, plus we don't dig into the volatile issues anymore. She holds very high ideals which immediately place my 'racy' lifestyle in her 'wrong' column. Time will right all that as she gets her own dose of reality, but until then, we strive to have a pleasant relationship.

Tonight I needed to bring up the topic of me moving, which I'd like to do in the next year. I wanted to know if she was open to any of my options (translated: which was the lesser of two evils in her mind) I am considering either moving with Christie (my 15-yr-old daughter and her sister) to California to live with Andy, or staying in town and moving in with Rob (whom she despises for no other reason than she associates him with the family breakup--and by the way he had nothing to do with it).

Let's just say this was a no-win conversation. Basically she said that if I moved to California she'd pretty much stop talking to me, and if I stayed in town and moved in with Rob, she'd never come over.

This pretty much nixes out the 2 men in my life. Which leaves me with the following thoughts/ideas:

1. To hell with what she wants, it's my life and I need to go live it. But I risk losing her, which, as a mother, I can't bear. The guilt would eventually eat away at me.

2. Look for a new guy close by that I love as much as Rob, and hope Maria doesn't find something drastically wrong with him.

3. Continue to live without a man in the house. More of the same and I'm getting pretty tired of that.

4. Ask Andy to move here. She likes him, although she thinks he's immature and doesn't understand his paintings. But I don't want Andy to move here. He belongs in LA, that's just who he is. I couldn't ask him to do that, nor would I want to change who he is.

Because there is no immediate answer, I sit here feeling kind of deflated. And disappointed that we had to revisit those emotions when all I wanted to do was have fun and some more mature discussions. Guess that was premature.

to live or not to live...together

As I sit and watch Andy paint over Skype, I think I can't wait to live with him. I watch the muscles of his forearm flex as he paints and he looks so sexy when he's concentrating, standing back from the painting with the brush between his teeth. When I live with him, I can do more than just look. I can touch too!

From where I sit, everything he does is adorable. I am easily caught up in the idea of living together. To have him close every morning and night. To make meals together, go places together and laugh so hard my abs get sore. He'll make us happy--Christie and me.

And then my brain kicks in and I feel afraid. It's been 3 years since I've lived with a man. What if I've forgotten all the reasons that I shouldn't do it? Will I miss my alone time? Will his messes annoy me? Will his lovemaking be good enough? Will he be financially responsible? Will he do something that completely shocks me (in a bad way)?

The struggle between my heart and my brain can only be quelled by one thing (well maybe two...sex is always a remedy). Something my mother once told me when I couldn't choose between two juicy job offers made a lot of sense to me then, and it still does today. I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before: Nothing has to be forever.

Ah, the art of changing your mind. It's every woman's prerogative, right? However, moving oneself and one's teenage daughter 2000 miles away comes with a fair bit of risk. It's not like I can just shoot back home if things don't work out. Thinking about it kind of boggles my mind at times. Other times, I think what the hell, go for the adventure!

The truth is, I'm a long way from a decision. Maybe next week...HA!

better than everything

It's hard to believe that Andy flew home only one week ago today. I still feel him here, but it seems like a month since I could touch his face with more than my eyes.

My heart has stayed with him big time. Even when I'm with Rob, I am thinking about Andy. Andy is the first smile of the morning and my last tear at night.

What I remember as most meaningful about our visit was how comfortable it felt right from the beginning. Talking seemed so much easier in person than on Skype the last 4 months. We covered a couple delicate topics and nobody felt awkward.

Sleeping together was very natural. He didn't snore, he cuddled when I wanted to, and gave me space when I needed it. He didn't mind when I spooned him in the morning or crawled up next to him in the middle of the night, or woke him up by softly touching his face. I could sleep with him forever. It was a dream.

Andy totally fit into my home. It was as if he had lived here for years. He was so good with Christie--I'll tell ya, that's a quick way to a mother's heart! They talked and joked and it was completely wonderful how everybody got along. He was even great with my dog. Andy seemed more relaxed than I've ever seen him, and just plain happy.

The magic was in the everyday, and that's what I found so incredible. I didn't have to wait until we were in bed making love or out having a romantic dinner. It was in those moments when I'd be driving and I'd catch him staring over at me adoringly. When I offered to make him jasmine green tea and he responded with that's what we should name our daughter--Jasmine Green.

Or, my favourite, when he played Brian Jonestown Massacre's Anemone on his laptop and grabbed me for a slowdance in the kitchen. I couldn't help but remember how much I envied my friend Carol when I heard that her husband used to slowdance with her in their kitchen.

Some things are just signs that way. The one that floored me was when Andy looked at me and said you're better than everything. It was an almost eerie echo from the past. Cam, my deepest love ever, used to say to me you're better than anything.

bittersweet invitation

You know what? I could kind of strangle Rob right now. I'm a mixed bag of emotions.

In the midst of a casual conversation yesterday Rob suggested that I move in with him. That's right, me, my daughter and my dog (I presume) pack up and move into his house. Can you fuckin believe it?

I don't know whether to laugh, cry or hit him over the head with a frying pan.

It mostly makes me sad. Sad that he got the idea about 6 months too late. Sad that he finally feels that way and I don't. Sad that he is putting himself in such a precarious position knowing that I am in a relationship with another man. Is this a last ditch attempt at winning me back? Is he that out of touch with my reality that he thinks I would jump at his offer?

It was only 5 months ago he said he didn't want to come home to a teenager lying on the couch and crumbs on the kitchen counter. Is it because he soon realized his teenage son would be coming to live with him and so he might as well put up with my kid if he has to put up with his own? That seems a little too obvious. Though I must admit he doesn't have a mean or deceptive bone in his body.

I am touched and (only slightly) confused. A minute part of me wants to live out the dream, if only for a few moments--to feel what it would be like to take that all in, to let the dream unfold, to feel that loved by someone and that hopeful for a future with him. Not to mention how utterly convenient it would be for my finances.

But life over the last few months has led me to believe that I need and deserve a bigger life than this. I need to achieve more which means I must explore beyond the boundaries of this little town and the little man with the big, big love. It's not time for me to settle down with him, not now, and maybe never. I feel bad for him.

up, down, off, on

I feel like Rob and I are living on a perpetual seesaw. When I'm really up about him, he seems flat. Then when I (disappointedly) come down from my high, he goes up. We never seem to be on the same level in this relationship. I am frustrated.

Rob is now starting to hint at living together. This comes about 3 months after I needed to hear something like this, back when I needed hope, not reasons why it wasn't the right time, or reminders of let's not get head of ourselves.

Mentally, I've moved away from that plan. Frankly, the dream died awhile ago. I wasn't feeling a level of excitement from him that was anywhere near mine. I'm onto bigger thoughts, new dreams and less dependence on his love for me, which is kind of what he suggested months ago when he asked why it mattered how much he loved me (when what should really matter was how much I love him). He had a point. But so did I.

This summer I have found fulfillment in friends and family. I've spent less time with Rob than ever before, except for sleeping together. I've gone back to my hometown every weekend except one this summer, and have had amazing fun with family and friends. Rob came with me once.

I have broken out of the small town bubble I've been hibernating in the last few years. Starting to feel more in touch with the world and branching out into new things and people, which has been intensely satisfying.

I don't know where this leaves my relationship with Rob. He's done me no wrong. He most certainly is still my comfort, my friend and my lover. But he's not a life partner. My life partner will have an excitement for a future with me--not a blind faith, but strong faith in our love, instead of finding all the obstacles and issues that prevent us from being together.

I want to be ONE with my partner.