Vanity

He grinned and asked me for the millionth time:

A- So what’s a vanity appointment?

I hadn’t planned on him clinging to this term so tenaciously and was fresh out of responses or quick evasion. There are times I just want to lay my head down and cry these annoying feelings, away.

Or level him with the truth to the point that he stops making it so much harder for me.

J- Oh just another appointment designed to make me feel better, because I’m stupid in love with you and think I might die from the frustration.

Ok, maybe honesty is not the best policy.

But…

I’ve waxed, painted, shaved, sweated and augmented this body of mine to the point of no return. My beautiful Songbird is going to bleach him out of my hair later today. I have some ridiculous spider-leg-like eyelash extensions that have given me an incredible break from the daily grind of eyeliner and I’ve made peace with my body aching from the exercise that soothes the misery the absence of his body, creates.

A- So what do you do for a vanity appointment?

J- Shhh….. don’t worry about it. It’s not important.

A- Gynecologist?

J- Umm, that’s not vanity, that’s necessity.

A- Massage? Hair?

J- That’s next week.

I’m not kidding. My self care movement is more self-soothing than pampering. I’m not spoiling myself, I’m looking for any and everything that might help ease this overwhelming burden.

Insanity is the act of doing the same thing twice and expecting different results. I surpassed insanity a few months ago. I’m a glutton for punishment and I absolutely should not see him. But I do.

I tried yoga last week, and just felt fat and inflexible. Not soothed and with far too much quiet time to obsess over the sexual highlight reel of him and I. Not good. No more yoga, thankyouverymuch.

I tried going to bed early to quiet the urge to text him, only to wake up at 2 in the morning, with a head full of words and paralyzed hands. Constantly tempted to write him into my sheets, with my mother in my head:

M- Manifest what you want. You need to remember who you are. You’re a powerful woman and you need to focus on that and it’ll get easier.

In light of all the starving children, abused animals and current political dumpster fire, it seems awfully shallow to beg the universe for a man.

But….I’ve had some mortifyingly honest moments with him. I have begged and I’m not at all ashamed to admit it, nor do I believe for a second that it won’t happen again.

I sat across from him and his freshly shaved neck, my mouth dry and my panties…. not. Doing my best to not make eye contact while asking about his week. Making small talk and avoiding the crackling awareness between the two of us. Not trusting myself to speak while making a concentrated effort to breathe through my mouth because he smells so good I want to die a little. My train of thought has derailed. I laugh nervously. I don’t know who this lady is, but she’s beyond reach. I don’t trust her to speak.

Looking at him is like staring at the sun because he’s so pretty it hurts. Spending time with him makes me sympathetic to drug addicts. I get it. As bad as the fallout hurts, I keep going back for another fix. He knows it. It’s written all over my face and it’s silently acknowledged. I’m ignoring the fact that he told me he’s talking to someone else because ignorance is so much more blissful than the painful truth.

Just call me Captain Obvious of I-Don’t-Want-To-Think-About-That Island. I’ll be over here sipping my delusional cocktail, ignoring the quickly approaching Tsunami.

Oh and painting myself better… one vanity appointment at a time.

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Tall Order

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I ran into him yesterday and was struck silent. My nerves were on edge and I could hardly breathe. He smiled at me and my resolve liquified. He leaned in and the words fell right out of my mouth.

J- My God you smell good.

This is why I need a filter. He looks confused and I’m trying to delicately back-pedal. There’s just no getting around it. I love an artificially fragranced man. No natural essential oils, either… No. I love me some after shave, die for even the most basic dollar store cologne, and heaven help us all if he’s ironed. I have vices, I admit them.

Sometimes it’s better to just admit to them and move on. I do my best to squash these natural inclinations, to no avail. You want what you want and there’s no getting around it.

My mama is a firm believer in list making, and this is no exception.

  1. I want a man who makes me laugh when I want to slit his throat. I realize this is a specialized skill, but if you can make me laugh when I’m furious, nothing bad will ever happen. I’m a happy person by nature and would much rather fuck than fight… so this is a skill that will make your life pretty damn spectacular as well.
  2. I want a man who can fix things with tools. One of the hottest things I’ve seen recently, is a man searching for a tiny replacement screw in the gazillions of drawers at the hardware store. He found it… and I could hardly speak. Men with man skills are my jam.
  3. I need him freshly shorn. I’m capable of handling a beard these days, but it needs to be more manicured hedge than broom. A million bonus points for silky soft man face.
  4. I need him artificially scented. No patchouli, no lavender and NO Old Spice. I’m not attracted to naturally scented anything, hippies OR men who smell like my dad. Beyond those guidelines, anything goes. I don’t have a favorite cologne, but any is better than none. Hell… soap has been known to blow my mind lately… so this is an inexpensive vice to exploit.
  5. I need him to love his mama. This is one of those old fashioned vices that I can’t seem to quit. I loathed my mother in law and my ex did too. It only took away from our life, and I wish I’d been older and wiser so that I could have tried harder to build a healthy relationship with her. The older you get, the more you realize how priceless those people really are in your life. If I’m going to commit to a man, I’m going to have to want to hang out with his mom.
  6. Faith isn’t important to me, but I have found that the Christian boys are just as dirty and dishonest as the heathen atheists. I don’t care what someone’s faith base is, as long as they don’t force it on me or mine. Jesus is like your penis. Keep it to yourself until I ask for it.
  7. I need for him to know his way around the kitchen. Men who cook are my achilles and I am powerless when it comes to a perfect medium rare steak. If he can tie on an apron and blow my mind on a dinner plate, I’m going to thank him in ways he’s only dared to fantasize about. You cook for me: I burn for you. It’s a win-win situation.
  8. Can he dance? He needs to. I don’t care if he looks like an elephant in roller skates, I just can’t be the only one bumping and grinding while I get the dinner dishes done. Miserable chores are made better by a little ass shakin’ and I want the guy who can’t help but dance with me if I’m gettin down.
  9. I’ve been celibate for 5 years. I need to not be anymore. Along those lines, I want He-Who-Can-Keep-Up. Don’t whine about needing sleep or having to work the next day… life is short and I’m insatiable. You’re welcome. If he can’t or won’t, I don’t want him.
  10. Last but not least… I need him to be a very good man. The one nobody can believe is single. That guy who opens doors, puts the toilet seat down and says please and thank you. Manners, integrity and a quiet masculine strength that doesn’t need to be loud or aggressive to be perfectly obvious.

I’m pretty sure you’ve realized the same thing I have after reading this.

I have a better chance of finding a unicorn growing out of the soil in my garden, and we’re still buried under 4′ of snow.

A new kitten or a fresh tattoo sounds a million times better and FAR more likely to be a perfect match, so if anyone has any suggestions for either, let me know!

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