Groundhog Day/ Columbus Day...same difference.

Your comments exude charm dear lady, and the way you issue them is even more charming. You'd make a lovable dictator. As you know, this is the first time I've felt sorry I'm no longer your humble and obedient slave, and however much a monster I may be - your words - I always look back with pleasure on the time you bestowed less unfriendly names on me. Indeed, I often have the desire to earn them again, thus finally providing, with you, a level of consistency in love for all the world to see. But there are more important matters to gage our attention: we are fated to be conquerors and we must follow our destiny, perhaps at the end of our career we shall meet again, because, with all due respect lovely Marquis, you are following in my tracks at a pace least equal to mine...

- from Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Ambrois-Francois Choderlos de Laclos


God I love this fucking book. There's something about the honesty in the deception that gets me every single time.
Now I know...this sounds like an oxymoron.
Wait Nyree. how can you be honest...when you're deceitful?

Well...it's exactly at those times...when you ARE honest. It's a break from being whoever you "believe" you are...or whoever everyone else "believes" you are. It's about satisfying your very basic need. A hunger. Being selfish...which is only the will to love yourself, right? The need is simply.. to be yourself. To experience without judgment. And that's the temptation of deceit. It's a free pass to be selfish...without rules. Because, after all...how can you judge if you're wrong too?

Which is exactly the reason why my childhood friend called me to ask me to meet him in Atlantic City.

"Wait a minute. Aren't you bound in holy matrimony?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm bound. So what?" he asked. Not even missing a beat.

Now, here's the odd part. I wasn't offended. I just wondered what exactly makes men feel so damn comfortable to offer this to me. No game, no sugar-coating. Just straight out...So, would you like to be my mistress Nye?

I'm pretty sure other women don't get this offer as much as I do.

Pretty fucking sure.

To answer this question, I immediately consulted a few trusted Friendmenships and asked what exactly makes me "Other woman..." material.

Here's what I got.

your other woman material .. because you present yourself as independent, hella cool, capable reliable, u talk shyt back and refused to give in ..etc.

if a dude is being smart about his cheatin.. he would want to partner with someone who isn't that sticky.
& your no glue.

Take it as a compliment Nyree... I'm sure he meant it as one.

Trust me .. he'da never called "_ _ _ _ _". And its not because she's more woman than you.. its because he's got less chance of gettin caught with you.

get it?

Yeah. I get it. I'm the kind of woman who retires...owning a beach bar on an island somewhere...and you KNOW...about 20 years ago, she used to be HOT. She's still sexy..in a an older woman way. She's either got a husband just as hella cool as she is, still pats her ass when he walks by. (You know. That couple that makes you wonder...HOW did they meet?) Or she's happily single...and will probably fuck your 18 year old son while he's on Spring Break. Great. Got it.

I'm sorry. I'm getting off-blog here. But I just thought that hella interesting.

You just tuned in because you wanted to know if I bought flowers for my apartment, right? (yes.) Weren't at all concerned about my epiphany...but what color did I choose for the bathroom damn it!!!??(... chocolate).

Ok, fine. Let's start at the very beginning (..if you sang in response.. "A very good place to start..." your kinda gay.)

And actually, well, it started before then but you're quick. You'll catch on.

I was given two very enticing invitations the week before.

One...a tres-chic wedding of a co-worker... the other, a visit with an old friend of mine. Ok. More than friend. What can I say, he was damn good at the more. ANYWAY...

Last week, I found myself with a bit of run-over from the previous weeks tasks...a whole new set of tasks...and no time to do what I needed to do to prepare for the wedding. (Namely...shop. I hate shopping for "a cause". If you know me..you know this. My dress was the same price as a new flatscreen...tube, not plasma.) ANYWAY....

..this is going somewhere. Promise.

So Wednesday, I hit Dr. B. at 10AM. She tells me my ovaries work...they are right where they are supposed to be...doing exactly what they should be doing and I'm in perfect reproductive health. YAY VAGINA!

But then the questions...

"Are you with the same partner...?"

Um...since when? Two years ago??..um...yes. No..I mean...Um.. sort of?

She frowned.

"Do you plan on having children Nyree...?"

Um...sure.

"When?"

In..uh...a couple of years or so...

"Nyree. You're thirty-three. A couple of years..."

What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (I didn't actually say this.)

"Don't wait till you're forty."

Look Doc. If I'm forty with no children, chances are, I made up my mind around age thirty-seven. You PRACTICE baby making in your twenties..you don't actually DO IT you frigid-ass cold-speculum-wielding Fallopian tube controlling bitchcake! Who the fuck appointed you high priestess of pro-creation? YO MOMMA TEETH SO YELLOW SHE SPIT BUTTER!!! (OK. I didn't say that either. But I thought it ...LOUDLY.)

I walked out the office...feeling a little like I wasted her time.
"AND STAY OUT TILL YOU GET KNOCKED UP...YOU WASTE OF OVUM..."

However, I stuck with the glass-half-full version. I've got great twat, tastes great, less filling, functional and clap-free...it's more than most college girls can say... which is comforting.

Thursday, I find myself in a class full of women, taught by a woman. Her name is Zuta. And she's going to put us through an hour of boxing hell..and she'll smile while you hate her. But you'll love her next week.

She's right. This week, I love her, and I'm going back for more...but last week...Zuta and my GYN could have taken a long walk off a short cliff. Hand in fucking hand.

Friday, I realize I still don't have a dress...so I find one. And I open my email to..."Hey. So are we gonna get a drink or what? I've got new music I know you'll love..." (Translation. Are you ever coming over so I can blow your back out?)

... shit. Haven't seen him in a LONG time. Wow.

Wow.

Maybe I can JUST have a drink. Maybe...just a drink? What's the harm?

I whip out the paper.

Pro: Fantastic "more". Con: That's all there is.
Pro: MIND BLOWING "more". Con: THAT'S ALL THERE IS.
Pro: He's divorced! Single even... Con: You're not.
Pro: ... Con: This would make you a cheater. Verb.
Pro:... Con:And you JUST got a squeaky clean twat report.
Pro:... Con:Being single in the winter AIN'T fun.

Now. Some truth-juice.

The fact that I had to write this list meant on some level..I'm just not happy where I am...so I whip out another piece of paper.

I title this: WHAT HAVEN'T I TRIED/TALKED ABOUT IN THIS RELATIONSHIP...

And I realize that I need all of these in one place...I head downstairs and get a black journal with "Write It Down" written simply on the cover.

..and I let it rip.EVERYTHING...even some things I won't share here. (I'm open..but not stupid..and believe me, Indiana Jones couldn't find it) And I came up with?...Ultimately...Boredom. If you don't share common interests with someone, eventually, you do nothing with them. NOTHING. Or...you just do what you want...alone. Or your DYING to do it with someone else who shares your interests... And THAT ...my friends,...leads to trouble. Though the temptation of being selfish...

I replied.

"This might sting a little, but I assure you, I mean this. I have to tell you, I think you're a wonderful (lay) person, ...but I will not have that drink with you. The nature of our relationship has changed on this end. One day we may be in the position to enjoy each other again. Maybe. Feel free to shout me out though... and maybe I'll see you around..."

My phone rang immediately with confessions of it's more than "more".

No it's not. Otherwise... it would have been.

Odd. Didn't expect the reaction. It sorta reminded me of the reaction my nieces had when we took their pacifiers away.
They went ape shit. But after a while...they forgot all about it. Because, simply, they never needed it...

..yes. It stings.


ANYWAY, the wedding was beautiful...makes me want one (until I remember the hell the bride went through on the planning...) My date, perfect. Dashing. A great dancer.

As for the hall closets...nope. Called my mom...didn't visit. (Turns out..she loved the call.) My twin nieces voices and songs make me not want to make that decision when I'm thirty-seven. Didn't get around to Claudie...but I will. These keep in touch thingies are getting easier. And finances... FORGET IT!

However, I did bring lunch everyday (and snack!) AND I didn't touch the debit.
Not even when I bought the dress. (And let me tell you... money means something when you are counting out twenties...) And that list I made in my new book? I talked it out, without all the distractions. Felt great to get it off my chest though. We'll see what happens...but hey. I'm a realist.

... There's a chance I just may end up doing your son on Spring Break.

However, I'm really gunning for the bootie-pat.


So in conclusion....


I'm afraid I have to do this week over again. Sorry. I half assed it.
Hey...it happens, right? I'm all over it this week though guys...

All over it.

-Nye

P.S.
No, I didn't take the childhood friend up on Atlantic City..duh. Even if I could...
I believe anything before the engagement ring is fair game. But husbands? No thanks.
He made his bed...

P.S.S.
My company's health plan is changing...and my GYN doesn't accept the new insurance. Good fucking riddance.