Opportunity knocked

Cheese, sometime last week, started a blog. I had explained to him that my blog is a place where I can get the things out of my head that I need to get out. He thought he would try it.

He challenged me to find it. The other night, I asked for a hint and he gave me the key.

I don't know if I have mentioned that he already found this little slice of internet (to steal a phrase from Miss Britt) and I asked him not to read it. The difference is, that I didn't tell him where I was, he went out and found it. As far as I know, he hasn't read a word.

I found his. I started to read. He briefly asked me to stop then gave me the go ahead. It didn't take me long to finish since he deletes almost as fast as he posts.

What I found there nearly ripped me in two.

I found a man in whose shoes I have walked many, many a time. I have worn them. I have waded in them. I have wallowed and slept and been blistered and scarred by them.

Only this time though, this time was different.

The pain described wasn't from someone in his past, it was me.

I've never really had the opportunity to see myself so clearly through someone elses eyes before. To learn how my confusion leads to hurt and confusion. I always thought I hid it better than that. I read his descriptions of me, and how he defended me against his own words. I heard myself in his voice. So many, many times. All of his posts were about me.

And knew that I have treated him, without meaning to, the way every man who has ever hurt me treated me. I heard the echo of insecurity. The whisper of hoping for more. The ghosts of the ones I don't talk about. The memories of the ones that I do.

It has all left me cracked. And dishing out the treatment that broke me.

I was shocked. And hurt. If I were his friend, I would hate me. If I were a stranger, I would tell him to run away and find someone real and strait forward. I would tell him that there are plenty of nice women out there who will treat him better and with whom he can count on their feelings. If I were a friend or a stranger reading his words, I would think of myself as a person who would treat him better. I would think myself better than me.

But now I see myself in a different light. It is stark. Harsh. Cruel to my imperfections and revealing of my dents and dings. I feel stripped naked. Low for hurting the way I have been hurt. Ripped apart and left pulsating on the sidewalk.

I am not angry at him. I am angry with myself. He, apparently shares my affliction of seeing the good in people. Of seeing how he could be treated if only I were whole.

I thought about both options. About where to take it from there. My first thought was to walk away. To set him free to find someone who will treat him right. Better.

Or I could give it more effort. Stick some bondo in my dents and treat him the way I know I can. Offer him the same courtesy he has given me and try. I know I'm not going to change over night, but I could put in some effort. And, like always, if it doesn't work, I can't say that I didn't try.

But above all else, I want to stop hurting him because I only think of myself. And how life is affecting me. I'm not sure when I became so selfish, but it won't hurt me to stop.

Reading his words gave him a whole new dimention. I am intrigued. And that is a good thing.

The next day, he said that he had reread his postings and decided that it would be better if I didn't read the rest. I let him know that he was too late; that I had already read it all. That I wasn't angry. That it was a good thing.

I definately needed that wake up call.

I don't get it

So, apparently, there's this trend about regarding brass knuckles. My friends, they are into it. And I can understand in the case of the Mafia Mollies (one of the teams in the Reno Roller Girls league) being as because you know, they are gangster themed and all, but I don't really get it otherwise.

And that's fine, I'm into many things that most people just don't "get". Like my deep and abiding love of Mr Potato Head. Difference is, I suppose, that Mr Potato Head has never broken anyone's face and it isn't a felony to collect him.

That's not the point. I recently splurged on a button maker. That's right. I can make buttons, bottle openers, mirrors, all sorts of pointless shit people can't seem to live without. I bought the maker so that I could make schwag for my favorite derby league and maybe other people too. You know, because I don't have enough hobbies. I think it will be a good advertising medium for Bubbly Creations too; when I can afford to buy mirror backs.

That is also not the point. I was designing the buttong for said Roller Derby league. I got the Stiff Broads. I got the Bang Bang Betties. I am working on the Mafia Mollies. Their captain said that she would like just their name and a pair of brass knuckles.

I googled.

I found the usual. Nothing sur.. What the fuck? I found brass knuckleswith quartz crystals sprouting out of the top of them. With TEETH embedded in them. As the handles of guns and umbrellas (actually, the umbrella was kind of cool) Boot heels and patterned with Hello Kitty. Candle holders. Cork screws.Purse handles and tattoos. SILICONE IMPLANTS OVER SOME LADY'S CHEST. but worst of all, I think, was this...

If you are picking me out of a lineup, you are too late

Cheese's daughter was in town again this weekend. Since he had been gone for a week, he discussed scheduling with her mom ahead of time so that he could spend time with both of us. Friday night with me, and Saturday night with her. And the days, of course, were hers.

Since I wanted to spend time with Cheese, I also spent time with her and we had a nice time. We ran some errands and watched a couple of movies, and prepared for the Easter BBQ planned at the House of Cheese. Since I was forewarned of her visitation, I did not freak out in the least at spending 2 strait days with a 4 year old and I simply said , "thank you" when she told me (and often) that she loves me. ( EEK!)

I did not stay the night at his house Saturday night even though I was invited because I still think it inappropriate for the Mini One to be seeing us sleeping together and such.

Fast forward to Sunday. The ex has decided to stay another day so Cheese asked her if it would be ok if he spent the night with me. He was very polite about it and definately gave her the option to say "no". She was ok with it which was really cool. He's off again this morning for who knows how long so it was nice to get a little bit of alone time in.

But at some point, when I wasn't hearing she asked. She asked if the MO could go to my house with him.

He explained to her (again) that I am not comfortable with that. He backed me up and said that I didn't want to get too attached too soon in case things don't work out between us. She replied (and with an understandable point) that if this was the case, I shouldn't have met MO at all.

We all know I agree with that, but things sometimes happen that are out of my control (heaven forbid!! lol)

Then she said one of the most horrible things I have ever heard.

She said that the reason she is ok with MO staying at my house is that she has met me and knows she could pick me out of a police lineup.

I am horrified. Not because she is talking about me being in a police lineup but because I am aware of a bone chilling truth.

If you are picking me (or anyone!!) out of a lineup, it's too late. Your kid has already been hurt. There has already been damage done that may have been prevented if you had just made a different choice. Identifying me in a lineup, seeing justice done would not bring back her innocence or worse, her life.

No, I am not a complete stranger. My face is known and (mostly) trusted in the household. And I would NEVER harm that child. never. But I like to pretend I'm one of the good guys. And I can't believe that anyone would consider it safe for their child to be at someone's house just because they can pick them out of a lineup. Because it's not just strangers that pose dangers.

And no. Being bosom buddies and life long friends doesn't make me safe either. and yes, I am safe. And no, it's not like MO would be left alone with me.

It's the thought. The thought that I (or anyone) is safe because I am known. Because I would be recognized...

shudder.