Addiction is a Choice

So yes, addiction is a choice. The first time. The second time. By it's very nature... after you ARE addicted... is it really a choice?




I think those choices get harder with each "hit" to the addiction. There are many hidden addictions in life. Some are good, bad and benign. All addictions can, if left unchecked and over indulged, lead to destruction. There are those I dare say who exercise too much to the adverse effects on relationships and social life. There are those who over eat, over drink, have too much sex, have bad thoughts followed by bad actions, and those who abuse substances of nefarious nature.



There are addictions to people, or certain types of people. Attraction to the same characteristics that just never seem to work with your own. At least not for very long. A challenge at first, that adrenalin, that thrill. The danger and frustration hidden by lust and excitement, by hope and persistence.



I have some silly addictions. I will admit them to you. I am addicted to buying nail polish. And mascara. And logic puzzles. I am addicted to face book, and knitting and coffee in the morning. One cup, maybe two. I have that under control.



Many, many years ago, after my grandmother passed away I helped my parents clear out her room at the 'home' and go through all the things. She had moved here from the East Coast with very little. We bought her furniture, new clothes, pretty much everything. We knew, or rather, thought we knew what she had. I was shocked and horrified at how much crap this woman had accumulated in less than two years. She had squirreled away an unimaginable assortment of... well, junk. Junk from other resident after they passed and their families left things out in the hallway. A little five finger discount? Wouldn't put it past her. She had clothes she couldn't fit into. She had paper, cards, the list goes on, and on.



The point to this being, not only was she Crazy, with a capital "C", but she was addicted. Among other things. After seeing all that and realizing I shared DNA with the woman, I have given up being a pack rat. No addictions to "keeping" things. At least not for very long. I could see what she had become, and didn't want any part of it.



So I wonder, when I look back on my life, and see the addictions, quirks and habits of myself... why is it so hard to break the addiction? Why do I keep finding myself on the same path? Men? Yep... same assholes over and over and over. It's a pattern... and addiction. I think I'm often to impetuous, spontaneous, and happy go lucky. I need to stop and think before I leap. Perhaps my addiction is leaping? Or hoping?



I think it's time to rummage through all my nail polish ... and chill out. Now, what color?

What are YOU addicted to? Good? Bad? Indifferent?

Roller Coaster MoJo

Several years ago I went to Florida with my mom and then boyfriend... where we met some relatives from England. Disneyland, MGM, Busch Gardens, hanging out by the pool... all on the agenda.


It was a gray, overcast day when we visited Busch Gardens. The only person who would go on the roller coasters with me was my cousin's husband, Robert. We decided on the Montu... and inverted roller coaster... where the seats are attached at the top and your feet hang freely below you. It was awesome! We had a thrilling and exhilarating ride... when we got off and discovered a VERY short line ( less than 10 people) we couldn't resist and had to go again! And again, and again.

Now, remember a little earlier on when I mentioned it was a gray, overcast day? Here's the part of the story when that little descriptive detail becomes important. Robert and I, on our fourth (and final) time, sat in the front. The ride started off fine with us both looking forward to the trip, while relatives below looked on with both dismay and frustration (while wondering just how many MORE times we were going to go).

Shortly after the ride began, so did the rain. It wasn't much at first, a few drops here and there. As the ride began to excellerate... the rain began to fall a little faster... and hurt a whole lot more! Being up front and travelling about 50 to 60 miles in some of the falls... well, let me just put it this way.... it was like a few dozen hypodermic needles being stabbed into you. It HURT!

It hurt, a lot. So much in fact... that I had to close my eyes. The stinging was almost unbearable. Of course, this was my downfall. Closing your eyes on any roller coaster is NOT a good idea... and most definitely NOT a good idea on your fourth trip round.

By the time the ride stopped, so had the rain. I couldn't get to a bathroom fast enough. The next three hours were hell. I tried to be brave and stoic, and suck it up... but I was miserable. The world was spinning uncontrallably. Nothing seemed to help... sitting, standing, leaning... water, food (especially the greasy sausage on a stick my then boyfriend bought me; what was he thinking???)... nothing. I was a ruined woman.

I haven't ridden a roller coaster since.... not so much because of this experience... but I haven't been to many places which have them, nor with anyone who would go with me. I'd like to think that the thrill would still be there... that I could get past these stomach-churning memories. When I hear others talk of adventure rides... I am envious. Yet a little scared. Will I ever get my roller coaster mojo back?

Have you ever had something you loved to do ruined? A little too much of a good thing... something that made less enjoyable? Were you able to recapture the joy you once had?

The Waiting Game




How much time do you think you've spent waiting?



I mean, waiting.... in your entire life? Waiting in a line, waiting at a red light or a stop sign, or waiting on the telephone... put on hold and lulled into a stupor by the instrumental versions of songs that sound familiar, but you can't quite name. Waiting for tomorrow, your birthday or Christmas? I think we spend A LOT of time waiting. We wait so long for so many things, most times we don't even realize we're doing it.



Do you remember being a kid, and waiting for the rain to stop so you could go out and play? It seemed like as soon as the rain started, there was absolutely NOTHING, and I mean nothing, worth doing inside; not a thing on TV, not a book to hold your interest, no good games to play. You just looked out the window at the cold gray day wanting sunshine and playmates. All you could do was wait.



Waiting can sometimes be an exhilarating thing... waiting in a crowd at a concert and watching the stage for any signs of movement; signs that your favorite band was about to take the stage after you bought tickets two months ago! Exhilaration comes from waiting in expection for your first kiss. Do you remember your first kiss? Do you remember who you kissed? How long did you wait for that moment, with that first person? Was it worth the wait? Can you remember the moments before the kiss; the nervous smile, the wanton looks, your faces getting ever so slightly closer and closer? And then.... the kiss. Forgettable or Unforgettable?

Waiting can be an excrutiating thing... when time seems to NOT only be moving slower, BUT somehow in reverse? You wait for the phone to ring after a doctor's appointment... you feel fine, but those days before you get your test results back can be agonizing. There is a little bit of fear in the back of your mind, that you can't quite escape, until you hear that you're okay; no tumor, no cancer, no surgery to fear. How about waiting for quitting time on a Friday when the skies are clear blue and a cool breeze is blowing? It seems as if the day will never end, and all you can do is wait.



Waiting can be an aggravating thing... Have you ever been waiting for someone to call you, and you wait and hope and want, and the phone never rings. You look at the phone, but that never actually makes it ring. You leave the room and try to keep busy, keep your mind occupied thinking of something else; but the phone remains silent. You check for messages, but there are none. The more you want that phone call, the longer you have to wait for it to ring. There is nothing else you can do. You wait.



Waiting is the great equalizer. It doesn't matter when or where you were born. It doesn't matter if your family tree has roots going back to the Mayflower, or you live in a trailer park with your mother and her loser boyfriend, your sister and her three kids, two cats and a dog. We all spend a lot of time waiting, for one thing or another. Those with money might wait in a little more comfort, sure, but they wait all the same. No amount of money, social standing, good luck and good fortune makes anyone immune. We all wait for the same sun to rise in the same sky. We all wait for the dwindling light of dusk to be followed by a starry night. We all wait for days to come and go, begin and end. we all wait for time to pass. There is nothing we can do but wait. Some of those days are slow, some are fast, some memorable, forgettable, or better off forgotten.



So I wonder, what are we waiting for? Right now, is there something you're waiting for? How long are you going to wait? Another day? Another night? Another week or a month? We all wait together; in that we have something in common. A universal and eternal connection.



I don't know about you, but I'm tired of waiting.

Let me hear from you...

Pondering Urinals

Yep, that's right. I've been thinking about urinals, of all things.




Ladies... men have it easy in so many ways... they generally look better as they age, a man can be unmarried and be called a "bachelor" but a woman is a "spinster". Men generally have better upper body strength, they don't have menstrual cramps, they don't give birth and they seem to carry a little extra weight better than most women. A man with gray hair is "distinguished looking", a woman just looks like she needs to find right shade of hair dye. Men can pee standing up.... whoa! Now, is that really such a bonus?



Sure, it makes peeing in the woods a better deal for the guys... but seriously? Would a woman really like to pee at a urinal? Guys.. don't you ever feel self conscious? Don't you wish for a little privacy? Why don't they put urninals in stalls? Aren't there just a lot of awkward moments? What's the most embarrassing that's happened to you, or that you know about?



At least with women, once the door closes, so does the talking, unless of course we're out of toilet paper and need to ask if someone can spare a square.



As a woman, I like my personal space... and I like my personal space a little better with a seat cover and automatically flushing toilets. But I settle for privacy.



What things have you ever thought would be great to have... that would make your life a little easier? Something you were envious of? Are you glad things are the way they are?



Yep... I sure do like having a door closed and locked when I gotta go! Sometimes it's those simple things in life....

Damn Right Rubenesque

What makes a woman Rubenesque? "Quite frankly, beautiful women come in all shapes and sizes. And today, when most people think of an attractive woman in the fashion sense, they usually imagine a slim-hipped waif with hollow cheeks, narrow shoulders, and a rather unremarkable bustline. This is what commerce has brainwashed modern society into believing is the ideal woman. It is a lie, propagated by marketing forces and fashion designers who use the obsession with a slender female form as a means to earn millions of dollars selling weight-loss products and other health routines. But some of us know better. There is another female form that has been idealized for centuries. She is the familiar hourglass or pear-shaped woman of wide hips, an ample bust, plump cheeks, soft-full lips, and a generally healthy profile of alluring curves and crevasses. She is the Rubenesque Woman. Elegant. Cultured. Educated and Beautiful. In fact, the very word "rubenesque" originates from the adorable plump women so frequently put to canvas by Renaissance Master Peter Paul Rubens. Rubens paintings were so treasured because he painted the lovely women that he saw around him. In Ruben's time, what are today called plus-size, ample-bodied, full-figured, or pleasingly plump, were considered very attractive, if not the most sought after of all women. A firm heavy bust, complimented by shapely hips were physical features that women of Ruben's day could be proud of. In fact, the fashion of those times exaggerated these very features. Even slender women struggled into agonizingly tight-fitting corsets and brassiers that held the mammaries upright so as to enhance their God-given curves."

I love that reference: "Rubenesque". It's much more polite than saying fat, lol. So yes... I would definitely consider myself rubenesque. Does it matter? Sometimes I'm surprised when men find me attractive... but damn! I'm thankful there are a few good curve loving men out there. Or maybe.. size doesn't have a thing to do with it? Are there somethings that transcend appearance? What do you think? Have you ever been attracted to someone "unexpected"? Someone you "normally" wouldn't be... someone outside the typical. Did it surprise? Open you up to more possibilities? Would you NEVER be interested in some who isn't "thin", "socially acceptable" someone you wouldn't "bring home to meet mother"? Hmmm....

Don’t you hate it when someone lies to you??? I know I detest it. Now, this isn’t to say I’m perfect and that I’ve never lied, I have. Haven’t you? Haven’t all of us?

So here we all are, online, where anyone you communicate with could be anyone! They may not be who they say they are, a woman could really be a man, a man could be a woman, and someone who says they are tall could really be short. We’re all here for our own reasons, and some of us are very honest, and some of us are not.

Duped, Hoodwinked, Scammed, Mislead, Fooled, Beguiled, Bamboozled, Deluded, Deceived, Tricked, Betrayed and Bluffed.

Don’t you hate it when you fall into one of the above categories?

We have to make choices everyday. Some of us make great choices, good choices, okay choices, and bad choices. Our past experiences and our expectations and goals and desires all influence how and why and when we make choices. In order to make choices, especially good choices, we need information. Information helps us decide what to do, what to believe, and guide us. So what happens when you are given false information? You got it, you don’t make the best choice for yourself, or others… and you fall into one of the above categories.


o Liar
o Charlatan
o Scum
o Faker
o Beguiler
o Misleading
o Fraud
o Impostor
o Phony
o Pretender
o Quack
o and yes, an Asshole

If you fit any of the above definitions, and you intentionally lied to benefit yourself, shame on you.

I guess I often fall into the category of being duped, etc. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as honest as I am. Sometimes I think I’m too honest. I give and reveal too much about myself. I should hold back a little more, and make sure the person I’m communicating with is “worthy” of my trust, and my honesty.

I have an undying sense of Hope. I hope my days will be filled with kindness, I hope for a better future, I hope for good times, I hope for love and friendship. Even when my hopes are dashed, the sense of Hope just creeps back. Just when I think I should give up all Hope, it always seems to come back. I can’t escape from having Hope. Hope is sometimes not a benefit, as I’ve been duped several times, and I’ve been very forgiving, too forgiving, why? Because I had hoped and believed that the person in question couldn’t possibly be that rotten, the deceitful, that misleading, that dishonest. Because I hope, I put my own needs aside, and let myself get taken advantage of. But I still Hope that one day I’ll be wiser. I guess sometimes I should just know better.

My Life Is a Daily Experiment In Bad Decisions.

And so it would seem.

I was laid off from my job earlier this year. I live in my parents basement. I am divorced. I am jobless. I am counting my pennies (literally). I am single. I am hopelessly single. I am afraid of my future. I am haunted by my past, well, some of it. You know... those bad decisions. I am a lot of things. I am mostly scared, and tired.

Bad decisions are like a snowball. What if that snowball starts to roll and pick up a little more snow? What if that snowball gains a little speed and heads down a long steep hill? Well, you're smart enough to figure out where this analogy is going. I try to figure out how I got here. I am smart, intellectually. I am funny, and bright. I make people laugh. I have a good sense of humor, even if it is on the sarcastic side. I am sentimental, and moral. I am a lot of things. I am mostly tired of following the rules and not getting ahead. Being the good person doesn't pay the bills. To be fair, I am also opinionated and moody. I show my emotions, I often think I'm right, and I like to be in charge. I am easily depressed and frustrated. I am a dweller and moper. I also try to get over it and move on.

Bad decisions are like dominoes. You knock one over, and it knocks the next one over, which knocks the next one over, and so on. You're smart enough to figure out where this analogy is going. I have made a lot of bad decisions in my life. To be honest, a lot of them have been about, well.... men. Perhaps, to more direct, not so much men, but love. Actually, those bad decisions have been made for the pursuit of what I thought was love. Looking back, I feel emptiness about those men. I feel foolish to have wasted that time and energy. I feel foolish to have made those decisions to move, to take a job, to live with or marry someone for what I thought was love. I suppose I thought I would get what I was giving. I got it all wrong.

I should have spent more time making decisions that were good for me, and not decisions that made me available for someone else. I should have made decisions that focused on my career, my life, my finances, my education, on me. Indeed, I should have known better. Yet, here I am, in my parents basement. A few years after a divorce from a fairy tale marriage and a nightmare ending. Still here after loosing a job that was a really a shield and an easy "out". A place to hide from my career as an Interior Designer. I chose to work in a jewelry store as a customer service representative because, to be brutally honest, I was afraid to fail at something else, after the failure of my marriage.

I should have known better. Yet, here I am. Any decision I make seems to be a bad one. I could blame the store that laid me off, the economy, the President, my parents, the men. I know where the blame lies. What do I do know?