THAT GUY YOU NEVER DID, BUT ALWAYS WANTED TO.

O.K.

The griping, complaining, bitching, moaning, whining can end.  I’m back.  Yet to reveal more crap about my life that nobody really should know, especially if we shop at the same Safeway…..

I’ve grappled with starting an anonymous blog, so I can actually fling some real meat out there to bored housewives and lurking men.  But I’ve decided that I’m too tired and grumpy and just don’t give a shit any more. (Note the already terse language).  Stop now if you offend easily.  This won’t be dainty.  I’ve decided not to care about taking heat for my blood, umm, blog….and the nicey nice days are effin OVER!  They bore me.

Today’s topic of interest that actually peaked my interest enuf to get me writing again:

THE POWER OF THE NON-HOOK-UP

Indeed, if you have ever suffered from “Holy hell, I wish I’d done that guy when I had the chance – itis” then you may relate to this post.  The holy hell comment is immediately followed by the “& now it’s too freaking late” remorseful sigh.  Pity party follows.  It’s too late because you’re married, which is also followed by a pity party.  But I digress….

This FaceBook thing.  People, it’s damn dangerous.  Sure, it can be all warm and fuzzy, hooking up with chums from elementary school, long lost teen buddies, long distance family and friends of every ilk.  However, there looms an alluring threat!  It’s a trap, and I fell into it today like a junkie wallowing in a kiddie pool of cocaine.  I ‘ran into’ a….guy.  A blast from my past who, for all intents and purposes, has been absent from my life for a quarter of a century – but not entirely absent from my mind.  My sick mind!  Gawd, you and your sick-o wackin’ mind! This “guy”, and let’s just call him “Mac” was a high school pal who I’d had a lot of laughs with, but I was far too innocent and naive to ever let things escalate. Myself, my nickname in high school was “Mary Pure.”  STOP laughing, all y’all bitches, and you know who you are. Anyway, I was a very chaste young lady, religious, thought of my body as off limits for godly reasons as well as the empowering Janet Jackson philosophy of “What have you done for me lately?” Whatever, it worked.  I made it thru high school a virgin, and not even to 3rd base. (Naa-naa-nee-boo-boo).  Mac and I and another gal pal of mine traveled as a group.  And when I went into the hospital my junior year with complications from my chemotherapy, they were the only ones from my school who had the guts to “drive downtown” to the hospital to see me.  He (they) earned mega points in my heart for that and those points still hold up today.  Back in the ice age of 1979 it was still rather taboo to have cancer.  To be sick and bald.  No one shaved their heads in sympathy, there were no ‘walks’ or ‘runs’ or support groups. You groped thru cancer primarily alone, and for me, that was a 3 and a half year churn up a long, slow hill with primitive chemo from hell.  From hell.  For nowhere else could generate that kind of torture.   Aww, waaa waa waaa….knock it off already! A couple of years after we graduated, Mac and I hung out some.  But oh, did I forget to mention he was my first real kiss?  Oh my god.  Somehow, and do not ask me how, I got him back into my bedroom at my parents house and we ended up on my waterbed!  Yes, the 70’s strike again. And my mother, The Warden, I cannot tell you where the hell she was because that woman could pinpoint my whereabouts at any given moment waaaay before the days of the GPS.  Hell, my mother WAS a GPS.  And I feared her.  So post high school, Mac and I had a couple of ill fated dates, the last one taking place in his parent’s hot tub.  In retrospect, all I could remember about Mac was, “Man, he liked to fight.”  Verbal bantering, bratty come backs, just kinda difficult.  And I was not then, nor am I now, a fighter.  I like to have fun.  No bickering, pleeease.  Yawn.  Soooooo, to the here and now.  Mac and I jotted a few lines back and forth on FaceBook (DEADLY FaceBook) and then he gave me his number so we could have a decent exchange like human beings instead of asking relentless questions and penning responses.  So I, in my adolescent glee, grabbed the phone as if I needed air and the receiver was a fully charged oxygen tank with my name on it!  Mind you, at this point I’m simply eaten alive with sentimentality and curiosity.  His FaceBook photo was damn ass cute, too – so I would be lying if I tried to play this off as all sweetness and light.  It aint.  But I am married, to a more than gorgeous guy (I married up, way up) and am NOT looking for a fool around. When Mac answered, I kid you not, I began giggling.  Giggling! He sounded the same, so I had to moronically blurt that out while feebly attempting to control myself.  “Ooo, you sound the same!”  WHAT a jackass.   We played catch up for almost an hour.  I had forgotten what ended our last date.  He had not.  He remembered many things I had forgotten which was amazing to me.  Of course, that also flattered me, and so the descent into feeding my dish doing, laundry toting, boring ass housewife ego came into play.  Feeding that beast…it’s the same beast men have, only men often do a piss poor job of controlling it.  Look, I know when I’m a-huntin’.  I recognize the need to be pined for, remembered, lusted for long after the fact.  And today when Mac fed the beast, with many subversive remarks and even a few obvious ones, I was not only hunting for it, I was out for the kill!!  For a few minutes it was not about the kids, their maladies, the schedule, the GD chores.  And to hear him admit that he laments missing our chance to “hook up”, well dear friends, my beast hung up with a belly full of satisfaction.  And Mick Jagger says you can’t get no.  I was satisfied.  So much so that I went to the gym and did 5 miles up hill faster than ever before, smiling with every step.  And that was wrong.  I should NOT be happy about talking to Mac today.  I should NOT be enthralled with that conversation.  I should be on my knee’s begging forgiveness from the Lord and my husband.  But I am not.  Instead, I’m writing this.  Because I know I cannot be that different from other people.  Could I be such an evil freak, as to garner so much titillation from this questionable Mac encounter?  Hell, I don’t know.  I’m glad Mac doesn’t live in my town.  Our paths will not cross.  And the best part of that is that we get to “wonder” for the rest of our lives what would have happened if our timing had been different.  Owww, the fire down below can never be put out!   And that’s the beauty part – sheer beauty!!  Theee most gorgeous kind of pain!  That squirming in your chair kind. Our Lego’s will never click together (ah, you can take the slut out of the mom but you can never take the mom out of the slut!) – I told my husband about the e-mails and even the phone call.  He’s so used to my male friends that it did not phase him, God bless his little heart.  And for all I know, he may read this and YICK on that!  No thanks. And if my hubby had penned this instead of me I’m certain my initial reaction would be, “Why you son-of-a…how DARE you…”  Bottom line is this:  I am glad that Mac and I never got together in that special yummy way.  He was a fantastic kisser, so I get to take that with me.  And if we ever speak again perhaps now that I’ve vented in this forum I can contain myself somewhat and not gush like a spaz.  Yes, spaz.  I got out my old yearbooks today, too.  I transported myself to another time.  A time when I did not have so much on my mind, or so much on my plate.  A time when I did not know the all consuming love that we mother’s have for our children.  That love.  It keeps me in line, period.  I am not willing to risk the sanctity of that love for anything, which I made clear to Mac today….tho, while still mentioning to him that I do enjoy playing my piano naked…..

It’s powerful, that Non-Hook-Up.

I firmly feel that wanting something that you cannot have is a good thing. After all, you can’t have everything.  Where would you put it?  (Bo-Ann, get it out of the gutter.)