The Days of Wine and Roses

There’re songs and poems about stories like ours with a beginning and middle. An end. 

Glasses of wine, friendly chats, exchanges of books and photographs. 

Fresh.

Dark chocolate, writing and Dickinson, you too? 

Familiar.

Uninhibited over-sharing and blurred lines.

Finale.

What starts off luxuriously slow, simple and simply takes its sweet time turning sad. Then there’s the mess four blind eyes neglect.

Our friendship had a number attached from the first, “I’d like to get to know you from whatever distance you’ll allow.”

We came to know too much. 

Didn’t we, honey?

Things end and tears escape. 

Doors close.

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Over at Thin Spiral Notebook, we were given the word "Wine" and 100 words to use it in our creative writing. Thanks for providing an outlet for us, Tara. If you like wine half as much as I love it, please join in the fun! 

I love this poem. 

And the song's lyrics.

(I need to write more, or get out more, or more something.)

Have You Ever?

(I am using the same picture as A Cup of Jo! because it's perfect!)

I follow a blog called A Cup of Jo for its fashion, design and travel tips, and honest and fun discussions on relationships. Girl stuff in general. I visit at least once a week or so. And as is so often the case with many blogs, some of the best action can sometimes be found in the comment section. Love it!

Yesterday, a post titled “Do You Stalk Your Ex Online?” caught my eye because…how could it not??? If I am honest right here and now, the answer to this question is a resounding “Of COURSE I have."

Go ahead and admit it; you have too.

In the old days, stalking was an inconspicuous drive by right before curfew, or a well-timed hang up after (hopefully) hearing his voice on the [GASP] home phone. I'm not talking about the scary kind that should be taken seriously, and which I am not making light of here. But the innocent, love sick sort. Stalking was pretty simple back then. 

Then some smarty pants developers had to ruin it all with the *69 callback function. And a few years later Caller ID. Darn those two telephone functions. They single handedly wiped out our once easy access to a former love bug’s “Hello. Hello. Hello?” [click]. The sound of their voice setting us back weeks. Maybe it was for our own good.

Now we have Google, and the wealth of information, both written and visual, it provides. Depending on how you look at it, it makes stalking both better and worse. Certainly more thorough. If one had the time and energy, some tech savvy to know how to properly dig, I bet you could find out more than you ever expected and maybe wanted. Am I right?

So that brings me to today.

After reading the post and more than a few of the comments, I decided for whom I wanted to stalk. I am not going to tell, but suffice it to say, I had a huge crush on this guy many, Many, MANY years ago. Thirty-one to be exact, and well before I met the man of my dreams. It lasted for quite some time too. We made out an obscene amount of times, but that's all. Wrote about him just once. (Go ahead. I’ll wait.)

Googling him procured most of what I already assumed. He’s still married to the (ugh!) girl he met when we were hanging out and good friends, lives in the same suburb in which he’s always lived, and has the same job. Oh, and a land line, and a Linkedin account (don't worry, I signed out of mine so he doesn't know). With a PICTURE!!! 

I didn’t recognize him. 

I read through his profile. It was him. I searched his face over and over and over looking for anything familar; a glimmer of the guy I remembered. 

I don’t like this stalking business. Not at all. It’s a memory spoiler.

Trifextra: The Chosen One

This weekend’s Trifextra challenge is to choose one of the pictures here and provide a 33-word response to it. This weekend is also community judged so enter, read the awesome entries, and vote responsibly ;-)

ZeroOne/foter.com/CC BY-SA

Her beauty lulls you into believing she’s sweet,

Until she startlingly shits on you.

Carelessly chosen.

There’s nothing you can do about it either.

She doesn’t care what you think

Because she’s gone.

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Bloggers Note: I have had the unique opportunity to be shat on, by a bird, five times in my life…walking through a completely full library parking lot at college right before a final, on a beach in Hilton Head, SC, at crowded North Avenue Beach in Chicago, browsing an Amish auction in Indiana, and while on a spring walk last year with a friend.

I’ve heard it’s good luck. 

My Addictive Relationship Tendencies

Sometimes you're told things you don’t want to accept; refuse even!

It happens to me.

All. 
The. 
Time.

I have trouble with the word “NO”.

I definitely have documented difficulties with goodbye. And I especially don’t like them when they’re not my idea or I’ve no interest in ending something.

And some connections are just what they are; mostly for the better, some for the worse…

Such is my relationship with Pawel. Radical.

Frank, a long-time, mutual friend set us up. Frank’s known me forever and well, and definitely knows what’s best for me. I implicitly trust Frank in matters of mind and body.

It started very slowly which isn’t how my relationships generally go. But I really enjoyed Pawel so I let him lead here if he promised more attention in the future.

I’ve only known him personally for 4 weeks but had my eye on him for years. I noticed his comings and goings from my gym every single Wednesday. And it was common knowledge he had a string of women.

I wanted him badly. I didn’t care who else he saw.

The thing I really like about him are his hands. They're strong, almost god-like. I do have a thing for hands!

Don’t get the wrong impression of Pawel. He’s really sweet with a gentle demeanor, charming and discreet. He’s not a cad by any stretch.

I was ecstatic as my time with Pawel thankfully grew and I became even more enamored with this man’s skills.

Yes, he caused me pain. And I'll admit, I was embarrassingly vocal about the response his hands firmly touching me caused. But I do love the complicated feeling of the pleasure/pain sensation.

It’s only been four weeks but...

I am addicted to Pawel. It’s a personality flaw, I suppose.

Frank told me today Pawel thought he might end things with me soon.

I was heartsick!

“How could that be?” my throat squeezed out.

“Your insurance may stop covering Pawel’s massages after 8 weeks.”

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This was written for the Trifecta Writing Challenge and the Yeah Write Speakeasy. Trifecta's word prompt is:

Radical

3. a : very different from the usual or traditional