Caterwauling

It’s even harder still for wannabe ‘hos.

A friend was joking the other day that she feels like her cherry has grown back, it’s been so long since she’s gotten any. I laughed entirely too long and hard at that joke, because there are women who are willing to pay $3,000 for hymenoplasty and all they have to do is move to D.C. to be in the presence of America’s least-eligible bachelors.

I’m glad I (mostly) sowed my wild oats in my 20s, as it’s getting scary out there. It’s more and more challenging to find someone else (*knock on wood*) who’s drug- and disease-free. (“D&D free,” as those of us used to put on our old-school personal ads in the City Paper.)

What’s scary is how many people won’t tell you what they have or what they’ve been exposed to. Everybody acts like everything is fine, even if you ask them directly. I’m glad to drag my happy ass to the cooter doctor to get an updated bill of health if someone wants me to, but it’s hard to get the favor returned.

I do admit that I met one who laid it all out on the table and said, hey, you need to know about this. And it reminded me of an old female friend of mine who had to make the same admission to someone she was dating, and how her then-boyfriend flipped out and headed for the hills. I was able to be way more mature about it and be glad that they cared enough about me to let me make an informed decision.

And it’s interesting, the pressure it puts on you. I mean, I don’t necessarily HAVE to like somebody to sleep with them, but to sleep with them with potential risks involved that protection may or may not guard against? I remember wishing we were all young and stupid again. It seemed so much easier back then.

Anyway, I bring all of this up because it’s been in the news lately that a reported 1-in-20 Washingtonians is thought to be HIV-positive, with 1-in-50 believed to have AIDS.

Now, if that doesn’t scare the boojabbers out of you as a single-and-looking person, well, it should.

It’s difficult enough to find a halfway decent relationship these days. But since it seems that everything ends, and usually unceremoniously, there’s that extra-added burden that the relationship (I use that word loosely) goes belly-up AND you walk away with a lifelong souvenir because you were LEGS-up.

I’m in the generation where you find out you “only” have a rash or an unwanted pregnancy and it’s like, whew, at least it wasn’t anything serious. Shit, if I’m not going to die from it or have it forever, it’s a cakewalk by comparison. (Mmm, cake. …)

By the standards of the newest report, if 20 guys answer my personal ad, one of them will be infected with HIV and might not even realize it. Great. Sorta threatens to put a kink in a girl’s plans to stay D&D free.

When I say I want “sex to die for,” now I apparently have to qualify that remark!

I don’t know. Is the report all hyperbole just because it’s new and shocking? Or could the problem be even bigger than what we’re hearing? In any case, anyone who wants to date me can feel free to show up with roses and the results from a recent doctor’s visit — I’ve been fortunate to make it this far without anything itchy or terminal and I’d like to keep it that way.

But back to that personal ad, perhaps I should emblazon my health on it. “Sure, I may not be a size 2 with inflatable double-Ds, but damn it, you can get your freak on and still be able to sit down without your asshole feeling like it’s ablaze. Get me while I’m (not scorching) hot!” 😉

I feel like I’m high right now, but it’s a good thing. I’m a wee bit delirious but that big hairball of stress in the middle of my gut and the knot between my shoulder blades are slowly starting to unravel. I have a long way to go, but today I actually feel better than I have in a long time.

Today is the year anniversary that we buried my grandfather. I went to a holiday grief workshop yesterday, sponsored by my church, and it was actually not too bad. I personally don’t care much for the so-called mental health arena, having worked in it, but this chick was all right. I got to cry and light a candle and listen to others who were hurting just as much as I am.

I haven’t cried in a year. Haven’t had much opportunity, or maybe it’s that I didn’t give myself one. And that’s where I kind of dug the counselor who ran it — we talked after the session, and while she’s a representative of the church as well as her profession, she had no problem calling bullshit on stuff we’re “supposed” to say and think.

And that’s why I like my new church — it’s non-denominational and they focus more on us fixing ourselves to lead better lives as opposed to really bopping us over the head with Bibles.

The thing I took out of the grief workshop was that grief is a new part of our lives, like it or not. It’s something we have to juggle in and deal with. And grief never really goes away — but our relationship with it changes.

I think the thing we all forget is that most of us just power through the tragedy because we have to. We get our bereavement days and then everyone wants us to be back to normal. But what happens when we’re ambling along just fine and — boom — the grief washes over us at some random moment? Do we get to take more bereavement leave? Hell no — everyone assumes we’re over it, and we have to hide it or try not to let it impact us too much.

Hence, we have to figure out how to accommodate it when we’re already overloaded. And if it means we have to scale back on deadlines/pressure ’cause we’re just not mentally all there anymore, so be it.

Particularly helpful was when the counselor said to me, “You’re stretched too much in your thoughts.” It’s simple but fitting — when you’ve got to take care of so much and all sorts of pressure is on you, of course you’re going to feel guilty for not being up to par in current activities or doing enough to revere the memory of the loved one you lost.

It’s funny — I saw a lot of the attendees at church today. I tried to say hi to them and asked how they were doing. And everyone acted like we’d never met, which I highly doubt it’s because I’m not memorable, so I’m not sure what that was about. I just know we all had a really hard afternoon together yesterday and I just wanted to say hello and, in doing so, let them know that I had them in my thoughts, too.

I’m sure I’ll have something to say about today’s session after I’ve had some time to process it, but in the meantime, I have to go shopping for a kid I picked off of a wish tree. I used to work in Human Services, and we really counted on people donating toys to the kids in foster care.

I’m trying very hard to not say, “And who gives a fuck that I’M not having Christmas?” and instead I’m figuring that if a small donation from me will give someone a special moment this holiday season like I myself am so desperately seeking, well, therein I will find my own joy.

The only thing I worry about is that, when we did toy drives, we saw the occasional birthparent selling the toys on the street for drugs. Here’s to hoping the little boy (who is the only person on my shopping list this year) I’m playing Santa for will get and love whatever it is I can do for him. Because nothing is worse than waking up on Christmas morning, even at this age, and not having a reason to believe in magic.

In any event, speaking of magical appearances, I ran into a friend today and I was musing that, wow, I was out till the wee hours last night, and I still made it to church on time. Damn, I guess that makes me devout! 😉

To go with the crazy-busy week, I’ve booked an equally insane weekend. Keeps my mind off of the things that would otherwise be corroding the remnants of sanity I still have. (And there ain’t much.)

I can’t believe some of the crap that happened this week. Well, actually I can. And man, am I exhausted. Every day is an uphill battle — all I want is a little bit of fucking peace once in awhile.

I never wanted to be one of those women who wrote off men as jerks. I know that I’ve met some of their representatives, and I’m trying really hard not to think that the whole lot of them are exactly like their ambassadors. But maybe I was wrong. I don’t know — I guess I’ll keep trying till I’m proven right that all the good ones aren’t already taken.

I am heading to church today for a workshop, then I accepted an offer to go to a movie and dinner down in my old stomping grounds. It’ll be nice to get far, far away from reality. Damn it — bring back the writers, ’cause this having to rely on myself for original entertainment is getting old!

In other stream-of-consciousness news, you know what I hate about not living alone? (Besides the other 20 obvious things.) I can’t pee in the shower. I mean, I could, sure, and it’s not like one of my life’s goals or anything that I’m failing to fulfill. I’m just thinking how awful and disrespectful that would be, and I’m presuming the courtesy is being returned. But still.

Today I found myself irritated that I have to keep the door shut now when I’m in there, which steams it up and makes it impossible to give any life to my mop. And then I thought wow, now I have to wash my ass first and THEN go empty my bladder — how counterproductive is that?

Yep, I’m a classy chick like that. No WONDER I can’t seem to find a good man to appreciate me! 😉