My daily testimonies to how life can change in a minute... and other totally unrelated splatterings that amuse me.
"Not all material expressed in this blog represent the views of the blogger or reality in general. The events depicted in this blog may be fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental."
Paul Bunyan has proven himself to be quite handy in the first few weeks he’s been housing with me. So far, together, we have cleared the sun porch of all the scraps pieces of wood and sheets of drywall and created a sitting area out there. He also made a wall for the end of the dishwasher which previously was only covered by a curtain.
The other night he bought steaks and made a fire with hickory out in the fire pit. It smelled sooooo good!! We ate like royalty and sipped wine by the fire as the sun set. It was a bittersweet moment as I realized how great it would have been if I had done exactly that with Minute Man who had built it for me. However, I felt calm and at peace with everything as I realized I’m using the space now with somebody who makes time for the little moments like that. It’s these small moments which make life worth living and I savored it.
Clearing the porch was surprisingly therapeutic. Paul Bunyan did all the grunt work by clearing the large pieces of debris. I just helped with the smaller scrap pieces of wood and the clean up. Every now and then I would come across a piece of trim that had been torn down and think back to when and where it had been removed. A perfect analogy for the pieces of my heart, I thought wistfully.
Paul Bunyan saw me turning a piece of baseboard over and over again in my hands as I tried to recall its story. I tried to remember where it belonged. I wanted to piece everything back together. I wanted everything to be whole again, not torn apart and left in unfinished and forgotten pieces.
I didn’t realize at the time, but the thoughts that were in my head were transparent to him. I thought I hid everything so cleverly, but I guess sometimes I don’t.
“Are you ok?” Bunyan asked me.
“Yeah, I just remembered where this piece goes,” I said savoring the symbolism of the moment.
Paul Bunyan didn’t answer. He just turned away and began to sing a long slow tune. (He has an amazing voice. I listen to him singing often when he doesn’t realize I am in ear shot.) I felt comforted.
As I swept up the debris, I saw all the forgotten pieces, wires Minute Man had trimmed installing lights, pieces of toys Girl Child had lost, dust that had gathered coating all these memories.
Stupid house. I should have sold it when I had the chance, but now I know why I didn’t. All those pieces I’ve been holding on to and I don’t need them. I just needed to save the good parts and discard the damaged ones. I needed to do that for the house just as badly as I needed to do it for myself.
Paul Bunyan and I had done exactly that by creating two piles; one of the good pieces that could be saved and another with the damaged pieces and scraps that needed to be discarded.
I swept up the wires, and the toys and the dust and pitched them into the waste basket. When I looked around me I saw that my environment had transformed. What had been a dumping ground and forgotten construction zone was now a beautiful clean room that could be sat in and enjoyed. Sunlight streamed through the windows and glowed on the pine bead boards. A warm breeze blew in through an open window and dried the single tear that slid down my cheek. I felt warm and peaceful. Everything is going to be alright.
The first night I spent with Paul Bunyan was a test on my nerves. I was alone in my home with a man I had met on craigslist. Granted, his references had checked out and his daughter seemed like a perfectly well rounded kid, but one never really knows, does one? We spent an hour or so just talking in the living room. I began to wonder if he had brought anything with him. So far, I hadn’t even seen so much as a duffle bag. I began to wonder how legitimate this guy really was. Then he looked at me and said, “Do you have a place I can keep my chainsaw?” I felt my eyeballs inflate like overfilled beach balls. My mouth was a dry as sand. I grappled for words, but found none. I only stared helplessly back at him. “Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern washed over his expression. I reminded myself that he was an arborist and this was probably a perfectly legitimate question in his mind. Still, I fought the urge to tell him the only place I could offer storage for his chainsaw was locked securely in the trunk of my car. Instead, I laughed nervously.
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just I can only imagine what my mother will say when I tell her that I found a housemate on craigslist and the first thing he asked me was where could he keep his chainsaw.” I watched the light bulb moment happen on his face and was relieved when he laughed whole-heartedly. When he regained control of himself he gently reminded me that it was one of his work tools and I offered up the basement for storage. However, that did not, DID NOT, stop me from sleeping with one eye open that first night. I thought about sleeping with a knife under my pillow, but I knew better than to bring a knife to a chainsaw fight. Still, I needed to feel prepared. Chainsaws often leak gas though right? So I decided all I really needed was a book of matches. Yeah, that way if I woke in the middle of the night with a masked chainsaw wielding arborist hovering over me, I would just throw some lit matches at him until one of them caught and ignited him in an unholy blaze of flannel and leather. (Shut it! It seemed like a sound plan at the time!) I slept lightly that night, prepared to engage in battle at the first sound of a cord being pulled. The next morning, I awoke with gladness in my heart when I discovered all my limbs were still attached. I also discovered that Paul Bunyan wakes up extremely early. He had already spent several hours landscaping my yard and garden, which were heavily neglected. He was in the process of repairing my lawn mower when I spotted him through the kitchen window. I watched him for a few minutes as he tinkered and fiddled. A moment later the lawn mower roared to life, and I chuckled to myself as I imagined what my reaction would have been if that had been the sound to wake me.
I felt something stirring inside me as I realized I might have a Man of the House again to help me with all these things that have left me feeling weary and overwhelmed. I even let my mind wander to other places like what other motors he could get running… No!! It was forbidden. I quickly scratched the thought from my mind. A moment later, he came inside and explained that he needed something to do and that he hoped I didn’t mind if he had taken it upon himself to tackle some of the yard work.
Again, I found myself a little tongue tied but managed to express my approval. I watched as Paul Bunyan started rummaging through the fridge. I saw him pull out last night’s pizza box and remove a piece of cold pizza. Before I realized what I was about to say the words just came out. “I know this really great breakfast place just down the street if you’re hungry.” He hastily lowered the left over pizza. “Were you thinking of going?” he asked me. “I was actually. Would you like to join me?”
Going out to breakfast on my day off is one of my favorite things to do, but I rarely have anybody to accompany me. “Sure,” said Paul Bunyan, cold pizza forgotten. At the breakfast joint we sipped coffee and talked on a wide array of subjects. One of the things about this particular breakfast joint that I enjoy is the cook who often comes out of the kitchen to socialize with the patrons.
That day was no different. The Cook found us and began engaging in light conversation about war and social conformity and government scandals. You know, light stuff.
Just as The Cook was getting ready to move along he turned to Paul Bunyan for one more lighthearted question. “Is this your girlfriend?” he asked. Paul Bunyan did not miss a beat. “I would only be so lucky,” he answered. “Well you should work on that,” said The Cook. I’m not sure how Bunyan replied, because suddenly the only thing I was aware of was the sensation of coffee coming back up my throat. I swallowed hard and hid it with a demur smile. I was right when I said I was about to be tested. I just didn’t think keeping my food in my mouth was going to be part of that equation.
I don’t know much, but I do know that the good Lord above has a cruel and unusually sense of humor at times.
The Mighty Midget (AKA my former house mate) met some bimbo and ran off into the sunset with her. (I love happy endings - but only when they are mine)
So that left me in the position to find another roomie, and seeing my best friend was running low on brothers that needed housing, I was left with no choice but to post an ad on the internet.
I was really hoping for a female housemate this time, but the one person that replied that seemed legit was another single white male. He explained that he was building a house in the north country but had a daughter that lived in this area. He has custody of her every weekend, and he needed a place for them both, just on the weekends, as he would be away at work in the northlands during the week.
I met with both him and his daughter, who coincidentally is about the same age as Girl Child would be now. The guy that showed up at my doorstep in the rain was tall and rugged looking. He had large dark eyes, and an unruly beard, and hair that seemed windblown and weathered. His daughter had a full face with plump round lips and big blue eyes to match.
He explained that he made a living as an arborist but was also building a house, possibly to rent out or live in because he was recently given a piece of land to develop, but first it needed to be cleared. I smiled on the inside thinking I had just met the modern day Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue (eyed) Ox.
I figured if Paul Bunyan would be away all week, and would only be here on the weekends, it was the best of both worlds. I got to keep my privacy and still collect an income. However, part of my heart ached with the thought of giving Girl Child’s bedroom to another little girl.
I know that I am about to be tested. This move could be the very thing I need to mend my broken heart, or it could be the very thing that shatters the remaining pieces.
And so it goes, all good things must come to an end. Trail Blazer and I hit a dead end on the path we were traveling. It was not a peaceful parting. He told me he loved me and I responded by cramming my tongue down his face. I think he was looking for a more heartfelt response. However, I became painfully aware that I was incapable of a heartfelt response. I had to face the grim reality that my heart is still broken. I’m still grieving the loss of my family.
Trail Blazer treated me like gold and if it were up to just my brain I would have stayed with him forever. But when I tried to respond with my heart it felt like trying to drive a car that was out of gas. I knew where I wanted to go but I just didn't have the means to get there. Trail Blazer called me out on it. “Do you think you’re ever going to let anybody in?” he asked. “Yes. “ I replied, knowing full well he was looking for more information. “So you’re aware that you have a plate of steel armor over your heart?” This is where the lava started to rise inside an inner volcano.
Trail Blazer’s parents recently moved to Florida and I was a little hurt that he did not introduce me to them before they left. After all, we had been dating for over two months and he only introduced me to one delinquent friend. Now it was my turn to call him out. “Well, I think it would be easier for me to open up to you if you didn’t keep me separated from the other important people in your life. Was there a reason you didn’t introduce me to your parents before they moved to Florida?” And this is where things got ugly. “You lied to me about your blog being anonymous. So I didn’t feel like you were ready to meet my parents.” “WHAT???” (Lava exploding like rockets out my ears.) “My blog is anonymous!”
“That’s a bunch of crap.” “I told you a month ago when we had this conversation that I wrote about the people in my life but I never used real names. Plus, I haven’t even shown it to you, so how would you know if it was anonymous or not?” “What about the blog you said you posted with the book you made about us?” “It’s anonymous!!” “You’re lying!!” Inside my head was a visual of Trail Blazer standing at the mouth of a now very active volcano. I took a minute to try to collect myself. I knew I needed to put immediate distance between us before I shoved him into the fiery pit of death.
“I think you should leave now.” “Fine! But if you have any respect for me, a guy that has treated you well and was falling in love with you, you will remove any post about me and leave me out of all your future posts.” Silence, deadly, spine-chilling silence, like the sound of volcano ashes hitting ruined earth, settled around us. Finally, my eyes rose to meet his and the following words were spoken with an eerie calm that broke the stillness. “Or how about this? How about you go fuck yourself?” I said with the fire of a hundred angry volcano gods burning in my eyes.
“You got to be kidding me!! You lie and then you get mad at me?!!! What the fuck is wrong with you?!!! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK!!” Trail Blazer yelled as he stormed out the door. That was the end of the road for Trail Blazer. He tried apologizing a day or two later, but it was too late. The steel plate over my heart had already turned cold again and the only sound he heard from me was the sound of volcano ash hitting the trail he blazed out on. And the moral of this story? Don’t. Fuck. With. My. Blog.
Well the results came in and my vagina is as healthy as I thought!! Trail Blazer also produced a clean bill of health and we have moved forward into unencumbered sexual encounters!! Seeing I can’t make babies, safe disease free sex was our only concern.
However, before we got there we had one more hurdle to get over.
When I visited my doctor I told her that I was experiencing a phantom itch “down there” and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was causing it. She said everything looked “healthy” so I was really confused.
Finally, I mentioned the problem to my boyfriend and the look of guilt on his face was unmistakable.
“Well, it might be the condoms,” he confessed.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“Well they’re loaded with spermicide and anti-STD lubricant.”
“You waged chemical warfare on my vagina without telling me and all you have to say for yourself is, sorry???”
“I can buy a different brand?” he offered.
“Sure and good luck finding a partner. My legs are closed for business!’ I retorted.
(Of course we all know that with my sexual appetite this was an empty threat)
A few nights later, Trail Blazer produced a new condom. (We were still waiting for my test results to come in.) Instead of the chemical warfare Trojans, he now produced a Lifestyles condom.
Oh goodie! I was so pleased, I couldn’t wait to try it out!!
Afterwards, Trail Blazer was sited using the word “wow” half a dozen times times. Finally, when he was able to form sentences he told me that the Trojans felt like trash bags compared to the Lifestyles.
“The condom was so sheer it felt like I wasn’t even wearing one,” said Trail Blazer. “It was so much better!!”
My vagina and I were in full agreement! From that point forward, the phantom itch ceased to exist, which brings me to the point of this blog.
Ladies, do not let yourselves fall victim to chemical warfare on your vagina!! Be aware!! Ask questions. Demand to read the ingredients on the damn condom!!
Hey, I wonder if the people over at Lifestyles need a spokesperson??