Buck: A review...

If the horse I chose tells the tales of my soul then here it is: I select the ones that are broken, but cannot be fixed. I will give my soul plus a pound of interest to the devil to prove them wrong that we can do the work, but in the end a deep dark blackness sucks our soul dry and that is the world of dressage...and of life

Fewer and fewer they become...

Oh, how life has changed. Not since my departure of a place known as EPSACC, has my life known such a curve. I embrace it and run my hands along the rough edges of my future, savoring each splitter as a lesson; wondering how can I apply this to my next lead. I take what I have learned from my dancing days and apply the inherited shrewdness to all. There are times when I feel like my business partner fucks me and others when I know he is.
The table has been swept clean. There is no more need of discussion at this round table, for it feels rather square these days with lines clearly draw as opposing angles try to intersect.

Dear Noggie...

I just wanted to say Happy Birthday. I know it's nearly 22 years later, but I still miss you. All these years later and I'm still saddened we never got to share one together. My mother told me how hard she'd hoped I would be born on your birthday, but don't worry. I made up for my early arrival with 27 hours of back labor. That ought to start to settle the score between mother and daughter.
At times I miss you so much and wish we could talk, but at the same time I'm glad you are not here to share in the disappointment I feel towards my life.

Through the steps of my life I have been told by a couple of mediums that you are closer to me than I think and that I only feel your presence when I open myself to it.

Thank you for keeping me safe from him. You were the only one willing to tell him to stop. I remember you in your debilitated state threatening to hit him with your walker. It's the only time anyone ever stood up to him simply because it was wrong. The bastard still has the balls to wish me a Happy Birthday and I am proud that I can keep my response to myself, although I am blessed with your wit for an insult, " I'm so glad you can acknowledge your 15 second contribution to my existence".

And here it is. I feel as though I'm not allowed to respond in that manner because I am told I would sink to his level. This is why I wish you were here. What would you tell me? I'm at a point where I'm sick of hearing all the same old, "you're a better person than that." or "Oh, Shelly."

I guess I can't have a meat and potatoes conversation with him because I'd throw the whole plate at him. But I digress....

I think of the picture of you at Echo Lake in Colorado with your riding boots and pants. I hope I make you proud. You are loved and at times very, very deeply missed.

So tonight in honor of all that you were and have been to me, I raised a glass of Drambuie. To Noggie!

I hear crickets

My mind is a muck. I can't believe it's almost May and I'm posting my first blog of the year. Even more _________ (mad libs moment here for ya folks) is my last blog I bitched about how little I blogged in 2010.

At a minimum my life has shifted in a direction that ultimately I know I allowed my energy to spin. It is the law of attraction. I am ok with where I am at in my life and at times I can go so far as to say I'm content.

This is a moment of transition. The road feels familiar beneath my feet as I know this trodden path well. Those that chose to follow are the ones I see as loyal, and the ones that stay behind I hold no bad bones with. There are moment of panic, and I would love to set the record straight, but it's not my broken record to fix.

Here in the country side, at night when I awake in a cold fear induced sweat, I let the night noises creep in. There are owls, and other things turning over dried leaves. It allows the earthbound moisture to seep up. It is spring here and there is a newness in the air.

I try to embrace it, but sometimes it's so big I don't think I can fit my arms around it. I await a birth of my new life, but first I know this garden is overgrown. I pulled out the poison ivy without having to itch too much. In it's place I've planted my future. I wait for growth and in the meantime listen to the company of the crickets on the sleepless nights.

Heavy heart for the holidays

Holy shit fuck batman! I've only posted 30 blogs this year in comparison to last year's 73. There is only one lame ass excuse for this blatant laziness. I've gone and fallen in love. While it isn't perfect (or even a year old yet), it seems to be going well, or at least as well as any other disaster can go. But I've made a commitment not to blog about the relationship here and I'm sticking to it. Also on this list of new things are monogamy and church. There are moments when my dreams are littered with the days of living the single lifestyle and a secret longing for it; and more cats.

So, if I'm blissfully madly and deeply in love, why the fuck do I have such a heavy heart? Same shit different year, really. If I blog about work it's the same shit different day song. The horses; well really? Even I know as a writer how hard up I am for material when I blog about the boring horses. But family; especially the dysfunctional three ringed circus I come from, well now.... that's good blog fodder.

I wonder if it would bother me so much if his family wasn't so perfect. I mean they get along. They don't go for months or even years without speaking and no one in the immediate realm is estranged. This is so outside my norm.

I have been a grumpy pout butt lately, and learning that SD is moving to the other coast and his girlfriend following stings a bit. Then there is Pimpett and Hubby who I've heard nothing from. And Sorority sister who only called me two weeks before her wedding to see if she could have back the wedding dress that she gave me. Oh, and SSRT de friended me on facebook. An old client of mine is getting married, and it all just makes me think where the fuck is my life going.

Enter stage left: The Holidays. Ok, fuck you. Every year I feel like I get hit by a truck so this year I'm going to be smoking more pot, drinking more booze and getting back on my meds. Fuck it. If I'm going to have a cocktail party, I'm going to have a COCKTAIL party. I'd like to think I'm taking a preemptive strike here to beat out the holiday blah's but no, they still managed to bite me in the ass.

I think maybe it was triggered by his perfect family extending a holiday invitation to my not so perfect family. Would my mom go? Would she bring my brother? How about my anti social aunt? Should I invite my sister even though hell would freeze over before she came? What about my dad? Christ I'm a selfish asshole sitting here wondering about my family and what they're going to do for the holidays. Some people don't even have homes or food or heat. Forget a fucking holiday.

And then the dream:

It's Thanksgiving and we're all at my boyfriend's parent's house to eat. We're eating off of a robin egg's blue china with a thin gold rim. My mother has brought pumpernickel bread and we have toasted it. There at the end of the table lined up from left to right sat my dad, my brother and my sister. They turned and smiled at me as I served them their bread.

Later that morning I was off to the Dr's office because it was time to put the goalie back in. As I'm waiting to have my annual and learn how far my HPV has progressed I started to think about my dream.

My eyes buffed up and my vision became blurry. As I wiped away the tears and choked back a scream I wondered if that would be the only time I'd see my family this holiday season.

Pitty Party

So late at night and alone with my thoughts can be an especially dangerous place if I'm exhausted because I've worked a lot of overtime in the past week. There seems to be no light at the end of this tunnel as we found out in order to save the house we need nearly 20K by Sept 24th. It's all that looms on my mind. I'm not even working all this overtime for a fun goal. It's not even my bill, but I still haven't gotten mad at him.
I got a phone call from a girlfriend about to get married. When she met my boyfriend in a drunken stupor she gave me a wedding dress. Beautiful thing. Tried to sell it on Craig's list for money for the house. Well, I got a phone call and she needs it back because the dress she ordered won't be in on time and she hates to be an Indian giver, and she doesn't want to go out and spend $500 on another dress to wear that day. And of course this now has my wheels turning.
I'll admit more than I'm bummed out that all of my girlfriends are getting married, is the fact that I haven't been invited to a single wedding. So here comes the pitty party....

Am I that old? That bitter that I can't be fun at a wedding?
I remember the last one I got invited to. I was seated at the singles table. When I looked around me all I saw was a bunch of fat chicks or really old, and a crazy cat lady. I thought " I sure as shit don't belong here." I felt like the pitty invite. An afterthought. I thought I have too much to give not to be with someone, and there is this sinking doubt in my mind that no matter how hard I bust my ass and give my all, the only thing I'll get in the end is alone.

Girl Talk

There is nothing better than a buddy. Even better when that buddy is into horses and you can sit and vent about all the equine frustrations of your life and actually have someone understand what you are saying. Now add a little alcohol and you have for an interesting night.

I'm nicknaming her Topless because she had a horse named Duckie and changed it to Oliver. In the process of changing his name I said she should keep it Duckie and let his show name be What the Duck. Well, my boyfriend thought Topless would be better. For shows, "And in first place riding Topless..."

The plan was simple. Look hot so guys would buy us drinks. I warned her I've been gaining weight so my boobs are pretty big. I agreed to put them in the window. She couldn't believe how big they were. So we hit the bars last night in my old romping stomping ground.

We started at the local Irish bar because she wanted to hear a brogue. While there I saw someone I knew from my really crazy days ie senior year of high school. Sent the poor boy running and he had every right to haul ass away from this shit show. Yikes what a train wreck I was as a teenager. He didn't say hi and neither did I because I wasn't sure if he wanted me to. Some guy ordered us a round and then didn't pay for them. But it got even better when the conversation turned to transgendered persons and whether or not it was ok. He told a story of how a friend of his picked up a "female" hitch hiker and got a blow job. They decided to go to a hotel to have a little more fun. When the woman pulled out her dick, the guy shot her. Hi, my name is Michelle and I'm out to have fun tonight; not debate the ethics and rights of transgendered individuals, and if this is your way of propositioning for a blow job then your game needs work.

Then I took her to the city's best kept secret. A small little out of the way hole in the wall kind of a bar. It wasn't crowded and you could actually hear one another inside. Topless was tickled pink to learn that they had Shafer on tap for a $1.50. That's my girl.

Now she wanted to go to a bar that I am not a fan of. However, I believe live and learn so off we went to Stash's. A young crowd of drunken fools was to be found inside along with a few more familiar faces. And I was lucky enough to run into one of my favorite bar tenders. Guy from New Orleans. Tough nut, but can be gentle as a pussy cat. His persona is one that says don't fuck with me, and it's well respected around town.

In the process of hanging out with Topless I was reliving the glory days of slutting it up. Part of me misses the old days when if you slept with one guy from New London you slept with half the city. I explained to Topless it was like a collection and New Orleans was the missing piece. The last man standing if you will and for which I am grateful. I don't think every stone needs turning in this case.

We also ran into another one of my victims. Poor bastard. Always kinda had the deer in the head lights look. I explained it was really weird because he didn't come. Topless in her sage advice said he looks like the type not to come at all. She might just be right.

The evening continued and led into shots. Now when one says they want something light I assumed they meant clear liquor and not dark liquor; not a sissy shot. So, lemon drops it was. The night started to get rough. We decided to call my boyfriend.

Well since I don't have to drive let's have more shots. Bad idea. Topless really started to earn her nickname when she started to lift her shirt and show how she could fit her whole hand inside the cup of her bra.

It was like my night in shining armor showing up in F-350. His diesel engine was the most comforting sound when completely shit faced. Up we piled into his truck were Topless continued in her antics and showed off her tattoo. Better yet we found out how freaky she really is. The swaying motion of the kidney rocker did nothing to reduce my desire to throw up so about half way home I let lose all those lemon drops.

It ended the next day when I had to ask my mom for a ride to go get my car. She was not happy to learn that I had gotten that drunk. Icing on the cake. Topless also had to do the walk of shame in front of my mother because she forgot her i-Touch in my car.

I'm grateful I can go out and have a wild night, but only once in a while.