What the Wildcat and I had going as, “Hey, come down for the weekend!” has turned into “Hey, come down for a week, and get the second weekend for free!”  Driving alone back to Knoxville is getting more and more difficult.

     I didn’t pull out the camera much this past week or so, although, we still did plenty. Friday before last, we hung out at Buffalo Wild Wings and had a blast, thanks in no small part to good company … and lots of beer.

     Eventually, Zacque showed up, although it was fifteen short minutes after Mushy left. We headed over to Baileys where we attempted to hook him up with several interested waitresses.
     “I have a date at 9PM, ya assholes!”
     “Go, Zacque! Have another beer…”
     No arm-twisting required. *snicker*

     Saturday, we took a trip through my favorite place in the world (I’m not telling where!  Nyah nyah nyah!) checking out the scenery and history.
     Since we’d both enjoyed travelling around where her family had grown up the week before, it was natural to return the favor.  We even walked through a few graveyards while trading crazy-family stories.
     Sometimes, even if you’re not close with your family, there are places you can go and still feel close to your roots.

     Later that night, we ended up hanging out with a friend listening to a musician, and had an amusing conversation.
     “How old is she?” she asked.
     “Ahhh, 28,” I replied.  “Why?”
     “She’s so sweet,” she smilled.  “I thought maybe I should introduce her to one of my sons.  She’s so sweet, so I thought she was younger.”
     “Yeah, she’s good like that,” I smiled back, thinking how great it was that she approved of my friends as much as they approved of her.
     “Hmm,” she mumbled.  “And how old is Zacque?”
     “Why, you want to introduce him to one of your sons?”
     Uproariously laughter ensued.

     So nice to be with someone who shares my sick, twisted sense of humor.

     The rest of the week was much the same.  Sunday we were out again.
     ”You know,” she says.  “You really do flirt a lot…”
     My head went, ‘Was I…? Did I…? Errr… Oh, shit, here it comes… ‘
     “…and it’s fine to window shop, as long as you don’t pull your credit card out,” she continued.  She smiled, and gave me a big hug and a kiss.
     That was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. 

     She’s meeting the people I consider family and loving ‘em, customers, friends I’ve known for years, and proving to be every bit as adaptable as I am.
     She’s just as comfortable walking through ticks and briars to find someplace neither of us have ever been, sitting in a Five Star restaurant with wine and too much silverware, going for a swim in a secluded mountain stream, having a conversation with an important client, or knocking back beer and fried food at a football party.

     I was joking around with a friend last year, and said, “Ya know, the kind of woman I need is the one who’ll check me for ticks, and say, ‘Ooh, there’s one! Lemme get him!’ and will actually do it…”
     And hearing, “Die, you damn thing!” after that is just icing on the cake.

     But it’s definitely more fun to check each other for ticks when you don’t actually have any…

     Since Diva hasn’t done a Hottie of the Day/Week/Moment post in a while, I thought I’d take a stab at it…

     Admit it… You know The Bangles song, “Walk Like an Egyptian.”  And if you were male, you have to admit that when you saw the video, you went, “Oh, man, she is hot!”

     Now, I’m sort of a connoisseur of beautiful women.  I see beautiful women everywhere.  I have interesting conversations with beautiful women.  I have fun with beautiful women.  I date beautiful women.  I even marry some of them.
     I have a quirky sense of “beauty,” tho.  I tend to see women four dimensionally… I can look at how they look now, pick them out of the crowd in their elementary school photos, and know what they’ll look like as they get older…
     It’s a neat party trick, and it’s always surprising to see someone who’s gorgeous from day one to day zero… Most people go through the ugly duckling phase at least once in their lives.

     As for this particular 5′2″ hottie, here we are some twenty-one years later, and yep, she could still start a fire… at an incredibly young 48.  
     Yep… for real!  
     The sultry siren turned 48 in January… And if that’s not worthy of recognition, I dunno what is…

     But, I have to admit… That music still makes me throw up in my mouth a little…

Photo 1 courtesy of VH1.
Photo 2 23-Oct-2006 by Jessee Grant, Copyright © WireImage.com.

     Well, last Tuesday afternoon, I felt really, really tired all of a sudden.  Zacque and I hit Barley’s for a burger and a beer, and by the end of that late lunch, I felt like I was ready to fall over dead.  I came home, and fell asleep until Wednesday.
     Wednesday, I felt like hammered Hell.  My throat was on fire, swollen, and no amount of anything would make it feel better.  Zacque drug me out to Sitar for an Indian feast, which made me feel quite a bit better that night…
     Unfortunately, by Thursday night, I required medical attention for a skyrocketing fever and an inability to swallow.

     Yep … Strep throat.  Bad.

     On Friday, my personal hotti—err, nurse, rather — showed up to assist me with the healing process.  On Saturday night, she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Well, I may be a Kentucky Wildcat, but you’re always a Volunteer!” *melt!*
     Mmmhmm… So I was repeatedly mauled by said Kentucky Wildcat, but she took it a little easier on me than the last few weekends.  Resulting injuries were minor, and can only be described as an attempted suffocation followed by a near drowning.  *cough*  I mean, hey, who needs nose cartilage, anyway, right?  *cough*

     Anyway … *cough* Ahem! … she fixed me up as best she could, kept me hydrated, fed me well, made sure I slept (*snicker*), oversaw my medication (Advil & Penicillin), and took very good care of me… Right down to the point this morning where I hacked out a mass of infection from between my tonsils and adenoids that was damn near the size of a friggin’ marble… I mean, OMFG, no wonder my throat was hurting so bad!

     And so, in feeling a little better, and the fact that we both had lives that we needed to get back to, I was really heartbroken to see her leave today… :-(  *snif*

     And still, I slept some more…

     So, hopefully, over the next couple of days, I’ll get back into the swing of things.

     I don’t get sick often — discounting the maybe-once-a-year sinus issue or something — but when I do, I get damn sick.  And it’s almost always some kinda funky-ass, in-the-wild bacteria, which is probably a good reason for me to stop hanging out in the woods, eating raw meat and wild produce, washing it down with water from mountain streams… but…
     I’ve done it all my life, ya know?

Everybody who knows me personally knows I am not shy, I am not quiet. I am not backward when it comes to expressing emotion. In other words, I am the complete opposite of my Anthony.

Anthony is shy and quiet. He would rather sit quietly somewhere and observe what’s going on instead of being what’s going on. Opposites truly do attract. Our tastes and personalities couldn’t be more different.

I like top 40, rock, southern rock… He is a bluegrass musician.

I like karaoke bars…. He’d rather be somewhere listening to a live band.

I like sushi & other exotic foods…He’d rather have Burger King or Taco Bell.

I drive like my pants are on fire… He takes his time a & enjoys the scenery.

The differences are many, but the love is the same.

Anyhoo… Anthony wasn’t 100% sure about me in the beginning. I think he had been convinced by various mutual acquaintances that I was a complete wild cat and was one to be reckoned with. That, my friends, is just an act.

Still yet, he was gun shy of me enough that even after he had fallen in love with me, he was skeerd to say it. Rather than saying it, everytime he’d come around, he’d have another CD for me and he’d tell me “listen to #8″ or whatever number the specific song would be. All of these songs would be lovey-dovey, oooey-goooey ditties. I got the message really fast and eventually he gave in and told me how much he loves me. What’s not to love, right? I just wanted to share the words to a song and the outcome of his profession of love and devotion to me, his Diva.

The song that captured my heart was: You Are My Flower - Flatt & Scruggs - Circa

It goes a little somethin like this:

You are my flower That’s blooming in the mountain so high

You are my flower That’s blooming there for me

When summertime is gone and snow begins to fall

You can sing this song and say to one and all

So wear a happy smile and life will be worthwhile

Forget the tears but don’t forget to smile

Now, ain’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen in your life? What was the outcome of this?   Well, I went and got more ink.   I am his flower, indeed.

Women are catty.  Especially toward each other.  Especially when one woman has performed an act of woman on woman betrayal.  It is not something taken lightly and is most likely not to be forgiven. 

Over the last several years, I have emerged from spending most of my time locked in the house and being a slave to my life, kids, ex-husband… blah, blah, blah.    I was a young 17 when I married my first husband and didn’t experience the “meat market” type bar scene in which women are all in competition with one another to take some schmo home.  Pu-leaze. 

Then I toddled into life as a single, grown woman.  It was never my intention to pick up on any dude at all.  We (the Pirates) were always out, and if you saw one, the rest weren’t too far behind.  We generally were out together, as a group, on Wednesday and Friday for close to a year.   During that year I witnessed several acts of sluttiness on various levels and even fell victim once to a chick chasing my fella.  Of course, this chick (as it turns out) has extremely low self esteem and chases anything with a penis.

Even though I’m not single anymore and I have no desire to go back to yesterdrama… Damn if I don’t hold a helluva grudge toward someone in particular that recently not so directly crossed my path.  She was just in the area.  The fur on the back of my neck stood up and my claws came out and if I’m not mistaken, I think I even hissed a few times.  And they wanted me to come out and have a drink in the same bat bar at the same bat time??  Um.  No.  I’ll stay home and watch Burn Notice, thanks!

Expressing interest in a man that another woman has already expressed interest in is a huge no-no.  Even if you are sadly repugnant and shameless.  Wouldn’t you rather keep your girlfriend  (who you know will be there for you for life) than to stab her in the back in order to have a one night fling with a man who is going to talk down about you to his friends and other lovers who know about you?

Kissing another girl’s man when she goes to the bathroom is also a big no-no.  Seriously.  Do you think that his girl isn’t going to find out that you waited until she got up and excused herself from the table, before you not-so-eloquently shoved your tongue down his throat?  If the girl has any real friends, they will tell her about your skanky ways as soon as she gets back to the table.  In general, you will have lost a friend (maybe several) as well as becoming a laughing stock.  (I witnessed this scenario last spring… since I wasn’t involved, it was actually quite amusing).

     Every time your web browser sends a request to a webserver (an HTTPD), the browser returns a code, along with some content.
     Does everyone remember all of the HTTPD Codes?  I’m a dork, so I do…

     So Amanda from Fashionista TV was visiting today, and in browsing her site, I ran across her blog post about HTTPanties for sale from ThinkGeek…

     Given the above list, I can find plenty of more clever variations.  These messages could be extremely helpful prior to coredumping your RAM…. Really, you never want to have an infected Hard Drive, do you?

     How about “412 Precondition Failed” and “503 Service Unavailable” for the frigid?

     Perhaps sex workers could put “402 Payment Required” to good use.

     “303 See Other” for swinging married women who get around.

     “407 Proxy Authentication Required” is a shoe-in for bisexuals, and “409 Conflicting Request” works great if they’re still a bit confused…

     Lesbian consumers also have a number of options, but the best has to be “415 Unsupported Media Type.”

     Of course, “502 Bad Gateway” across the ass is usually a given… But ”300 Multiple Choices” would work well for hermaphrodites, porn stars, and the exceptionally kinky…

     And I can certainly think of a few women who should be wearing “500 Internal Error” …

Tip: Amanda at FasionistaTV

In general, women are emo-kids in adult wrappers.  At least I am, and I know alot of other women (my age, younger and older) that are the same way. 

Everybody has baggage.  By the time you make it into your mid-30’s, if you don’t have baggage, you must not have been doing a very good job at having a life.  Many folks, men and women, by the mid-30’s have been married, had children and (in many cases) suffered through an ugly divorce or split with a significant other.

I for one have dished out my fair share (if not much, much more) of questions as to whether my significant other really loves me.  I’ve tried to push him away several times, because it’s easier to let go and hurt a little than to really fall in love and get hurt ALOT in the end.

 Why did I hit him with the ever present question, “Do you love me?”  “Why do you love me?”????

Because I had a life, a past.  And the experience wasn’t all good.  Not that my life was stricken with hardship on a constant basis, but I was married to a man who had no clue about anything but drugs and video games.   Yes, I chose to stay in it a lot longer than was advised.  Yes, I could have packed up and left.  But, I married him, and I was hellbent to stick with it or die.  He was nice to me when he wanted something from me.  Otherwise, he said little and did even less.

Then I grew up.  I realized it wasn’t healthy and I had to get out.  So, I got out.   But I found out I had trust issues when I finally jumped.  My significant other has NEVER done the first thing to make me think he’s going to hurt or leave me.  He has never done anything but open doors for me and treated me like I am his equal.

Could I accept that?  Simply put, no. 

I ass-u-me (d) that there was no man out there that is genuine.  There was no man out there that could really love me, for rowdy old me.  There was no man out there that really would ask how my day went just because he wanted to share a few minutes together after work.  ETC, ETC, ETC…..  the list could go on forever.

A woman wants to be happy with a man.  Companionship, intimacy… yes, please.  But sometimes getting her to accept that not all men are the same is a real challenge.  Even if she knows it’s true.  Her past may be a horrible, scary monster that must be slayed before she can go on.  It can be done if there is room to work on these things in the relationship.  If not, it’s doomed, go on.

Men can carry the same baggage, but due to ego and other manly things, it may not be as apparent.

     Ok, I’ve been getting a lot of “weird” comment emails lately, many from women asking bizarre questions about dating, relationships, sex and men in general.  I’ve been trying to decide whether or not to answer them, because quite honestly, some of the questions are pretty uncomfortable.

     I got an e-mail from an ex (like the majority of mine, we’re still friends, or try to be, at times) the other day, talking about her issues with a guy she’s been seeing.  I realized that sometimes it’s difficult to separate the person you know from the person she is now, even it’s been quite a while, but I tried.
     I asked a few friends, “Hey, was this too mean?” and let them read my response.  After I’d already fired it off, of course.

     A few of my female friends adamantly declared, “You should blog that!”

     So … here we go…

     From e-mail:

From: Confused
Date: August 8th, 2007 at 8:07AM

It’s definitely wrong to expect any man to make things better.  That’s something I have to come to terms and deal with … hopefully learn from and move on.  Except …..

You meet a man who’s kind, interesting, humorous and exhibits all these great characteristics. He puts no heavy pressure on you.  You *do* appreciate the effort he’s putting into the relationship and let him know that. 

But then after a while, he gets comfortable/complacent and changes.  The wine and dine/ conversation changes to the beer/ belching/ farting/ cursing and eventually belitting.  Why????  Is it something I caused or was there a sign I should have noticed in the beginning??  In any case, at that point a woman can’t be expected to accept that.

I really don’t think I overanalyze.  I wasn’t expecting anything… It started as  spending time with a friend, and developed into a relationship which I didn’t push at all.

I don’t think I’ve ever asked “tell me you love me”.  If I felt the need to do that, either I’d be insecure in the relationship or in a situation like I was with Mr. Slimebag (I already knew the answer).

You know, I just realized that I’m more upset with being blindsighted than I am with him.  And maybe I’m overthinking a bit because I want to understand why guys do that?

What do guys want???

     Ok, typical thing, right?  A woman breaks up with a guy she’s been seeing, then starts the whole self-doubt and confusion bit…
     But is it ever really that simple?

     There are always two sides to a story… And honestly, in most cases, only half of it makes sense to a guy.

     In cases where ”relationships” are going well, sometimes there’s a sudden, gigantic detour into “crazy,” leaving a guy going, “What the f$&* just happened?”
     To me, it’s always ironic, in those situations, when women will come back filled with self-doubt, questioning everything from the relationship to themselves, when that was exactly what caused the diversion to begin with.

     And I’m not saying it’s “always” like that, either… It’s definitely a “sometimes” thing.  It’s just an ironic situation that happens to have been on my mind for about six months.
     So I responded, perhaps a little harshly, and with gigantic generalizations…

     I’ll tell you what guys want … We want someone to be with, to be happy with… Easy … do you really think it’s any more?

     You certainly do the dating persona … showing your best, until you become yourself … I guess you think it’s easier to be yourself once you get to know someone, know that they’re there. 
     I’ve just always been me… nothing more, nothing less.

     You always overanalyze things…

     Your version of “Tell me you love me” is passive-aggressive. “I’m starting to have feelings for you,” “I think about you all the time,” “Would you ever get married again?” ”I need you,” ”You’re like a drug,” ”You’re the only person I can trust,” ”I’ve never felt this way before…”
     Those are all pushing towards getting him tell you how he feels.
     Then you get the, “I love you,” which is a hard thing for a guy to admit anyway, and your interest subsides. “You’re obsessive.” “You want more than I want.” “I can’t handle being responsible for your happiness.”
     You can’t be happy … You have to keep asking questions, pushing buttons, and trying to screw things up.

     For guys, it’s different.

     We find a woman — she’s beautiful, she’s demure — and she seems to have her head and her heart in the right place. All wrapped up in a nice little package of sweet and sexy, confident and secure.
     We want be strong for her, so the first thing she does is start showing her emotional side and strokes our ego by appealing to our protective nature.  Then she gets distant as she wrestles with the fact that “I can take care of myself,” ”I don’t need anyone else” and starts to pull away.
     Things start to break down.  The more she wrestles with herself, the further away she goes, and the more frustrated we get.  We can only get to know her as much as she’ll show us… And she’s the same woman, but now she’s upset all the time… 
     We keep trying and trying to be strong… but the more she gets upset about every little thing that comes along, the more she pulls away, the harder we try to be there, to make her happy… to help… to fix it…
     And she resents it, begins spouting the typical, “You always want to fix everything!” “Some problems you just can’t fix!” garbage, because she’s terrified to think that someone might be able to look through all her crap and baggage and actually give a damn about her.

     And it’s frustrating as f$&*.

     Somewhere along the line, we get desperate, and start attempting last ditch efforts and ultimatums.  The more she’s around, the more she begins to see our usual nature, along with a new “manic” that we’ve gained from trying to deal with her moods…
     Pretty soon, nothing works.  Every single damn thing we do is an excuse for why, “This isn’t going to work,” regardless of the fact that we never would’ve been like that had she not been so f$&*king fatalistic…

     Okay … sorry … never mind.

     I don’t know what guys want…  *smirk*

     So I asked a few other female friends for input…

     “Oh my God!  That was raw, but not harsh!  Damn, you really understand women!”
     “How can you know all of that?  There’s so much of me in there… That reflects a great understanding of women far beyond anything I’ve ever seen from a man!”
     “Exactly!  Why don’t other guys understand that?”
     “You are brilliant as ever!  You pegged us!”
     “No, you weren’t mean.  You were honest.  You really know women!  Thank you!”

     So, basically, I’m told that I understand women… that I know how they think… and understand why they do things… but hey, if that’s true, then why the Hell do I keep getting screwed over?

     Sorry, but if that shows “great understanding” on my part, then the Universe really is stacked against us…

     Minding my own business (putting the last minute touches on a Interworx backup script), when I get another pathetic e-mail, complete with personal attacks:

From: “Michael aka Capt. Howdy”
Date: August 3rd, 2007 7:13PM EDT 

i was interested in [HerNameRemovedToSaveEmbarrassment] but after see that she went out with u i relise how bad her taste in men is. i mean what exactly does athletic mean thses days? and are women really attracted to receding hairlines? and 2 think i used to like older women. i mean you’ve got bi written all over you. your really in touch arnt ya? if i ran into you on the street id make sure to watch my asshole. you kinda look like a craked out tony soprano. well was fun messin with ya, and isnt it a shame u cant do anything abut what i just said. lol chump

     Wow.  The only reason you’d have to “make sure to watch” your “asshole” is because your head’s planted so firmly up it.  What else could you possibly see from that position, besides whatever you didn’t chew up quite well enough the night before?

     It really shows superior bravery — hiding behind a monitor, keyboard and a fake name — spouting off that kind of trash because I happened to go out with someone you were interested in, doesn’t it?  Ever think maybe the reason she didn’t out with you is because you’re a complete and total asshat?

     I lead a public life, “chump.”  I actually go out most nights, I meet women, I speak to them, and sometimes — Ooooh, ahhh!  ;-)  I’m guessing you don’t get the chance often… I mean, it’s kinda hard when you’re sitting at home stroking your keys… *cough*

     And really, asshat … You misspelled “seeing,” “you,” “realize,” “these,” “to,” “aren’t,” “I’d,” “cracked” and “messin’/messing.”  
     Get past the second grade much?
     They usually teach you what SHIFT key is for after the third…

     I do wonder who I‘ve pissed off to deserve all of this…  But hey, I’m on the way out the door, anyway, so who gives a damn, right?  *grin*

     More fuel … Bring it on. 

     “Hi, I’m Mark.  Can I borrow your breasts for a few hours?  I’ll give ‘em back….”
     *blank look*  “Are you serious?”
     “Unless you wanna let me hold ‘em for a while…”
     *laughter*  “If I could get rid of them for a few hours, I’d be so happy… I’m actually getting tired of carrying them around!”
     “So I can hold ‘em for a while?”  *grin*
     “Ready when you are…” *smile*

     Any questions? 

     Have a good weekend.