Take a chance

Life is strange. Life is weird, unexpected, and bizarre. Life is frustrating. Life is sad. 2016 was a year filled with so many emotions. I’ve learned to let go. I’ve learned to hold on. I’ve learned that feelings can grow, and evolve.

I’ve learned that I can love more than I ever imagined. I’ve learned that people can mean so much more than I thought possible. I have learned that some things make no sense, that you just have to accept them, and keep living.




A different way of seeing things

I had an experience tonight that pointed out why it’s important to have friends in other race, age and economic groups to interact with. There is a story within a story, so be patient.

Some background here. I work midnight shift in a doughnut/coffee shop. A homeless guy came in at the beginning of my shift to get out of the rain/get warm. I had no problem with that. I did have a problem when he started bugging customers to buy him stuff. A young girl bought him a sandwich, an order of hash browns and a hot chocolate. A guy bought him a doughnut. I told the manager about it. The guy left, then came back in again. The manager gave him some doughnuts, and told him to leave.

Ok, my shift ends at 6am (supposedly). At 5:45, a cop comes in. He wants 2 doughnuts, but he said his card was already declined elsewhere, because someone got into his account. He tried it, but it was declined. At that point, I had a few dollars in my pocket from tips. I paid for his doughnuts. He didn’t expect it, or ask for it.

When I got home, I posted about the cop on Whisper. A nearby college student messaged me. She told me she was broke, and hungry. I told her to ask on Whisper. She asked me for food. I knew I was going to lunch with my husband to a local sub shop. I told her that if she could get there, I’d buy her a sub. She tells me that she’s a vegetarian. Oh, well.

She wanted me to go shopping for vegetarian food, pack it up, and send it to her. I offered her food, and she turned it down. I don’t have the money to be sending care packages. I just left the conversation then. I offered to help, but I’m not catering to someone I don’t know.

Okay… here’s the other part of the story. I was telling that story to J. I thought it was something different to talk about. I am a middle aged, middle class, white woman. J is 31, black, and is from the “hood” (his word, not mine) We don’t see things from the same point of view.

So, instead of thinking the college girl story was odd, he asked me why I bought a cop doughnuts. I said because his card was declined, and I wanted to be nice. Without knowing about the homeless guy, he asked me if I would have bought a homeless person something. I said, Maybe, but I don’t usually have cash in my pocket there.

He became fixated on me paying for a cop’s doughnuts, rather than the story I was telling about the picky college girl asking for food. Cops are people too. Most of them are good people, and some are assholes. I just wanted to do something nice for a person.

Because J is younger, and black, he sees cops as a threat. I can understand that, because of all the publicized events that have happened in recent history. I do not have any personal knowledge of it. He has told me before that he has had a talk with his teen aged nephew about what to do if he gets pulled over. I find it incredibly sad that such a thing is a necessity, but I know it is.

With my background, and experience, cops have been good people. They do hard work, in bad conditions, for not much money. With his background, he has learned that they aren’t always good, and are frequently the opposite. That because of his skin color, he is seen as a threat, and a target to law enforcement.

My whiteness protects me from some of the harsher realities of life. My middle to lower class lifestyle doesn’t draw attention to me. I don’t know what it’s like to live with a target on me. He has experienced the opposite.

In my mind, when I was telling him about the girl, I thought that was the interesting part of the story. I only mentioned the cop/doughnuts as background to why she was asking me for food. But he latched on to the cop in the story.

He told me that sometimes things like that is where our different backgrounds conflict. He’s right. In his mind, I was probably enabling a racist government agency. In my mind, I was being nice to a guy having a bad night, who just happened to work for the police.

So, I tell a story. He sees something in the story that was background information to me. He saw me buying the doughnuts for a police officer as stranger than some girl begging me for food, then turning it down because she’s a vegetarian.

We all see things from our own perspective. I was in a car accident once. I was t-boned from the passenger side. I saw the windshield glass dropping piece by piece, it looked like raindrops falling from tree branches after a storm has passed. I heard the Amy Grant song playing on the cassette player, even though the dash looked like an accordion. I smelled the overwhelming smell of Calvin Klein’s Obsession. That was my experience. Other people just saw a horrible accident.

I can’t know what he is thinking about things, unless he tells me. We have had several fights because our perceptions of things don’t match. He sees things differently than I do. He doesn’t have my age, and experience.

He helps shake me up at times. I need to see things from his point of view. And he needs to see mine. Yes, I have feelings for him. But I think one of the reasons I get upset if I think that he’s gone, is because I would be losing the one friend who opens my eyes to things. He shows me that there can be other ways to see things.

I’ve had friends in England and Wales who point out differences. I thought that saltine crackers were universal. I was surprised to learn that they aren’t. I didn’t know. I try to learn, but I will still see things from my own experiences. It’s just how we are.



I don’t get it

I don’t understand people. I don’t understand how they get enjoyment from lying to people who have never done them any harm.

One example happened just the other day. Some guy started talking to me on Whisper. He told me he was 27. He also sent a picture of a very fit, white guy.

A few hours later, I see a post where he says he’s 31, and looking for someone to cheat on his wife with. So I replied how funny it was that he aged 4 years in a couple of hours. A woman messaged me, and told me that he claimed he was 31, and had sent her pictures of a fit, black guy. When she asked to see his face, he blocked her.

So apparently, this particular guy is a catfish. He had tried to get me to send pictures of me, and I wouldn’t. I didn’t like the vibes I was getting from him. I especially didn’t like being called “babe”.

I posted before about asking my husband for an open marriage. I had one particular guy in mind for that. But…as soon as I asked my husband, this guy ghosted me. It seems it was just a game to him. He got me to want him, but he just wanted to make a fool out of me.

So, yeah, he got me. I was a fool for believing anything he told me. I hope he enjoyed himself. I’m just glad that I didn’t actually develop emotions for him. I just wanted to have sex with him.

Why do people lie? I have a difficult time lying. It just isn’t in my nature. Other people couldn’t tell the truth if it bit them on the nipple.

I just texted the guy who made me ask for the open marriage. I honestly don’t want him anymore. but I want to know why he did it. Was it to laugh at my expense? Was it just to waste his time while he was at work?

He probably won’t answer me. Cowards never own up to their actions. But I had to ask. I have a feeling it will just be one of those things I’ll always wonder about.

I’m mostly an honest person. If you ask me a question point blank, I will probably answer honestly. There is an 99% chance that it will be the complete honesty. So, I don’t understand liars. Why jerk me around?


I am fat

No, I am not putting myself down. I am describing myself. I’m a big woman, calling it plus sized, queen sized or me a BBW doesn’t change the fact.

I actually had someone get offended because I called myself fat. She was angry because I used the word. I have a mirror, I am well aware that I am a big person. What right did she have to get angry on my behalf?

It amuses me when someone throws the word “fat” at me like it’s an insult. It doesn’t hurt me, it’s just a word. It only shows how unintelligent they are. That’s the worst insult they could come up with?

I tell them that, yes, I am fat. And my fat ass gets more action than they do. They usually shut up after that. They can’t think of a come back.

What is even more annoying, is when people act like I am not allowed to be happy. That no one could possibly love me, or want me. I have been with my husband for 24 years. He has loved me completely the entire time. He still gets turned on by me. I get hit on/flirted with often. I’m actually surprised how many men enjoy bigger women.

I know that being overweight is not healthy. It would solve several of my health issues if I lost more weight. But being fat does not mean I’m miserable. It doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy life. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have sex either. I don’t do many things that thinner women can do, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy what I have.

I have noticed something. The people that like to mock me for being bigger, are the ones who are usually miserable with themselves. They have to try to tear someone else down, to make themselves better. I will never understand that.

Yes, I am fat. I also have green eyes, and long hair. It is one part of my being. It does not define me. You want to know something else? I’m also sexy. Because sexy isn’t a size or shape, it’s an attitude. I enjoy sex, and people are drawn to that. And for some reason, that makes people angry.

I am what I am, no one said you had to like it. I live my life by my standards. My husband’s opinion of me is basically the only one I worry about. I am my own kind of beautiful. If someone doesn’t agree, they can keep it to themselves.





Turning it off

I wish there was a way to turn off feelings. I’m so tired of feeling too much. I’m tired of loving too much. I’m tired of hurting my husband because I can’t control who I love.

I’m tired of being hurt because of the people I love. I’m tired of people telling me that I’m important to them, but their actions prove the complete opposite. I’m tired of someone wanting me to hold on to them, when they do their best to hurt me.

I’m just tired. I’m tired of being used. I’m tired of people wanting what I can no longer give.

I’ve started to withdraw from everyone. I’m trying to let go of things. I don’t have the energy to deal with people, and the emotions they bring with them.

I used to pity people who didn’t know love, but now, I envy them. Loving hurts. Wanting someone you can’t have hurts. Having those feelings hurts the one man who loves me completely. He’s the one person I never want to hurt, but I do it constantly. I hate myself for that.

I just want it to stop. But I can’t make myself let go. I think the feelings leave, but all that happens is that I bury them for a short time. They always resurface.

I suppose my solution would be to cut them out of my life. But I can’t seem to do that. I don’t know why. Part of me needs them. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Knowing what to do, and actually doing it are two very different things. One day I will let go. I just have no idea when it will happen.


I don’t remember the first time…

You hear about love at first sight. That didn’t happen to me. I don’t remember the first time I saw David’s face. He was a customer at Denny’s. He was attractive, tall, with blue eyes, and brown hair. He had a strong resemblance to my favorite actor, Jimmy Stewart.

He always sat at the counter, and I talked to him as often as I could. I should have known something was different about him when I spent my entire break, standing there, talking to him. But I didn’t notice.

In hindsight, I flirted with him for months. I liked him, he was funny, and he had just come back to Delaware from south Florida. I was homesick for Miami. He was also navy. My family is/was heavily involved in the military, so that made me predisposed to like him.

1992 was a bad year for me. David was the one good thing that came out of that year. We didn’t start dating until January of ’93, but I got to know him in ’92.

I fell in love with my husband at Denny’s. It happened gradually, naturally. I can’t tell you when exactly it happened, because I don’t know. I do know that on on our first date, I knew that I’d marry him.

Sometimes I feel kind of cheated. I didn’t have that thunderbolt moment with him. I had a small ember that grew to a steady flame. Our relationship has never been Hollywood typical. I asked him out on an impulse. I was shocked when he said yes. Our first two dates were disasters. He proposed to me over the phone.

I look at him now, and I see the changes in his hair, I see the lines on his face, I see how much he resembles his mother. I still see the love for me in his eyes. None of the other stuff matters.

Twenty four years later, and the love is stronger than it’s ever been. We’ve been through some bad times, but we are still together. So, I don’t remember the first time I ever saw his face, but he is forever etched in my heart now.



In the winter of 1986, I was 18. I was in my first year of college, and dating a guy named, Bob. I had no idea that my future husband was stationed in Jacksonville, Florida. Or that the second man I would love, hadn’t even been born yet.

February of 1986, my first boyfriend dumped me, by note. He handed me the note before chapel (mandatory) so that I couldn’t even ask him about it. He didn’t have the balls to tell me himself. February of 1986…J was born. I was getting dumped when J was a newborn.

When I think about the age difference, it seems so strange. It ultimately doesn’t matter, because there is no way we could be a couple. But, just the thought that I was 18 when he was born is bizarre. He’s a month older than the nephew who is like a son to me.

My husband is ten years older than I am. He was in high school when I was in kindergarten. Yes, that sounds strange too. But I met him when I was 25, and he was turning 35. The age difference didn’t bother me at all then.

Fast forward 24 years…the age difference does matter now. Time has taken its toll on both of us. We can’t do the things we once could. The once a day sex has become once or twice a week now. Forty nine and fifty nine are so much different.

When I first discovered that I loved J, I was 46. He was 27. Besides the fact that I was already married, and loved my husband, the age difference shocked me. I wasn’t so amazed that I loved him (even though I was blindsided when I realized it), but that he loved me back was incredible.

Winter of 2017, I am 49, J will be 31. I still love him, although the love has changed form so many times. Does the age difference matter? Sometimes it does. I had an entire lifetime lived before he even took a breath. He has always lived with the internet, and cell phones. I remember TV having 6 channels, and I was the remote. I can’t always see things from his point of view, and he has no memory of events that affected my life.

Life is strange. We put so much importance into things like ages. But, why? Does it really make a difference? I think maturity is more of an issue. Some people are old souls, and are mature at a young age. Some people never grow up. Physically, the age difference is an issue. If I had met my husband when I was 15, and he was 25, that would have been a problem. If I had a physical relationship with J, age would be major issue.

Age is just a number after all. It only describes the amount of time we’ve been alive. It doesn’t take into count maturity, or life experience. It also doesn’t account for a connection between two people. My husband is ten years old than me. He is also my soulmate. J is 18 years younger than I am, and we have a strong connection that I can’t describe, or explain.

The numbers do matter, but they aren’t really as important as people make them out to be. Humphrey Bogart was 44, and Lauren Becall was 19 when they met. They married, and stayed that way until his death in 1957. Sometimes that spark is the most important thing.