Drawing Lines In the Sand.

If you draw me a perfectly clear and straight line saying, “This is the way it is, there is no crossing this line”, why that’s just too tempting for one such as myself. I can’t help it, when someone draws a line, they usually end up watching in disbelief as I reach down without a thought, and smooth the whole thing over with my hand.

After all it’s just a line in the sand to me, and nothing more. All things in life are ever changeable and there are many ways to deal with lines, rules, or challenges. You can step over one and deal with the unpleasant consequences or in my case simply gently reach out and smooth the line into non-existence.

Drawing lines or telling me this is how it’s always been done doesn’t concern me much. I know eventually the winds of time will wreak their own changes even without my help. Blowing the sand every which way until the person who has dug that line with a stick can’t remember them self, just where that line was.

Perhaps it comes with having a creative nature, this curiosity to push boundaries out past their parameters, I don’t know. What I do know is in my world there are no lines to mark my territory.

And yes, those with the most rules are also the most annoyed with me. So be you all forewarned. (Very evil grin)

My desire washed away with the rain.

This man, who can be so interesting and intelligent, can also be clueless. Twice now I have tried to sit with this guy late in the evening at Rush, on the edge of asking him if he wants go back to my place for an hour or two only by then he’s drunk just a little too much, if you know what I mean. Wow, hello?

Sloppy drunk guys…ho hum. He calls a gal over to tell her something and we spend time exchanging glances past this goofy drinking man.

I try to get up. He stops me and wants me to sit back down. I say, “Show me a little attention or why should I bother to stay.” He tries to put me straight, “This is how it is...”, he tells me but he hasn’t heard a word I said. I am bored really BORED. Dance one dance with me for goodness sake, do something, talk to me, because this is getting old really fast. Kiss me. Touch me. Something. He is numb. He is drunk just enough to be clueless. Finally the other gal is able to slip away and I make my exit shortly after.

I’m listening to the rain right now it’s 1:30 a.m. What an idiot that man is! He could have been in my bed right now enjoying my attention. God I love the rain. If it weren’t so late and cold I’d go out there and let the rain fall down on my face. Let it wash away all my restlessness, all my desire, all my passion.

I want to feel alive! Every moment is precious, why piss it away so! Why should I sit around and watch some guy getting sloppy drunk who doesn’t care if I’m even there or not? This guy is on automatic pilot. I’m usually not so wrong about people, am I missing something here? I had a decent conversation with his buddy, who tries to tell me how wonderful this man is. That’s kind of sad now isn’t it. He isn’t trying at all to capture my affections but his friend is off to the side trying to help him out, kind of telling me to hang in there.

This is silly and wasting life on such a broad scale for me. I made myself available to this guy so we could get to know each other. But honestly why pursue someone that doesn’t share the same feelings as I do about him, that is just stupid. He would rather stay at Rush say goodnight to every last person left out there as they leave, while getting plastered, instead of sharing my sweet company.

Poor dear stupid man, you could come linger in my arms, feel my gentle touch turn to passion with your kisses. Sigh, what a waste of a perfectly good evening. Enough of this.

I Can’t Stop Trying.

Lately I've been carrying a heavier load then usual and boy staying positive is hard. You know it's pretty bad when I'm saying that since we all know God gave Jean the happy genes to get through life. My test results came back and they were not what I was hopping for. Oh well I don't have to decide right now what I'm going to do about this information. But it's kind of heavy on my mind right now.

There's that and then lately also the pain has been so unbearable from dancing. The problem is how am I going to improve and be a better dancer if I don’t get out there and keep trying? By today I couldn’t even see straight my back was so bad. What a dilemma, I need to be in classes to learn how to dance and yet the pain is horrible. I can’t dance with other beginners they just hurt me too bad. I want to take WCS classes but part of the reason I stopped was due to my not being able to manage the pain of a two-hour class.

Anyway I think I’m pretty good at covering up my pain but when it messes with my head that’s not acceptable. So I made an emergency visit to my Chiropractor. Damn, I hate it when the corrections make me cry in front of him. I have to say though I feel sooooo much better. After he was done with me, I sighed and my whole body relaxed. I could actually think clearly again! I still hurt but not like before – that’s for sure!!

I’ve been burying my feelings and going to WCS dances lately thinking the more I dance the better I’ll be for the practice. It’s not working. I don’t have a chance to work out what I’m doing wrong out on the floor. Plus my pride is really suffering. Each time I come off the floor someone is pointing out what I’m doing wrong, so I dance more and more aware of how goofy I look but am not sure if what I’m doing is changing it since I can’t see myself.

I pretend I’m fine with this. I dance and keep those feelings bottled up until I become to sad about it that I just want to hide. Naturally I have to keep trying, it’s not in me to give up so easily.

I really need a dance partner again. It’s just so hard to find one that doesn’t want to hit on me. That is usually their motivation in the end and not to just dance. My last two partners had crushes on me and that’s why now they no longer can be my dance partners.

I’m sure I’ll figure something out. I always do. Having said that I’m more determined then ever.

Watch out you men, Jean has her game face on, and is ready for action!

The Best Thanksgiving Ever

My first apartment was like one long hallway with a huge monster of a space heater at one end and a porcelain clawed bathtub at the other. Curiously each walled off corner of this apartment had holes in it. Well no matter, I loved the place, holes or no holes. The bedroom area was doorless so I hung big old golden velveteen curtains across the entryway, scooping up and tying them back with cording to hang in heavy folds. I set my plants by the two large front windows that overlooked the street below and settled in to enjoy this place that was all mine.

My home-sweet-home was located in a house above a family of four settled deep in a neighborhood of poor struggling folks like myself. Coming home I would see many of these people on their front porches smoking and drinking beer, just trying to cool off from the day’s heat.

I loved my apartment, all except the rats that is. I don’t know if you know this but rats are daring creatures. Unlike shy little mice that scurry away the moment you come upon one, rats will come right up and look you in the eye, sizing you up, and wondering if your even worth the bother.

There I’d be, brushing my teeth, and up would pop a rat from the hole where the piping to the bathtub came through the floor. What nerve those darn things had! Once the lights were off you could hear their little feet, those little claws skittering across the kitchen floor. I quickly learned the rats could get in the cupboards, anywhere high, and liked anything remotely food related. (I even tried putting stuff on top of the fridge) Soon I was keeping everything from cereal to boxes of Mac and Cheese in the fridge.

All of this didn’t matter -- this was my place, all my very own. In celebration of my wonderful apartment I invited my family over, minus my brother who was serving up his own Thanksgiving as a cook for the 82nd airborne in Italy.

Well this was Thanksgiving Jean style that was for sure. Barbequed ribs, biscuits and calico beans. We sat around a folding table placed in my living room and poured out the wine. There was my Mom, my sister Margo, my boyfriend and one of his roommates, who we referred to as the drunk Norwegian. And holding true to his name our Norwegian friend was getting happily plastered.

Margo was joining him fast. It only took a glass or two to get her tipsy and giggly. They were great entertainment to watch and as the afternoon progressed everyone moved to the living room chairs and couch to chat. Just about the time there was a lull in the conversation up came a scurrying sound from behind the walls. It startled my sister and I knew if I said the word rat she’d probably be flying out the door in fright with my Mom right along with her.

So that day my rats became squirrels and I told everyone they had nested somewhere in the rafters under the eves. And as we sat listening to my walls make noise we finished off that wine and found a few more things to laugh about.

I’ve never quite been able to pull off such a wonderful Thanksgiving as we had that day, but the memories come to me every so often, and I smile remembering the sticky barbeque sauce everywhere and those pesky critters who shared my apartment.

I’m having the best day!!! Got a call this morning from my sisters middle child who is five. He tells me, “Hi, know who this is?” And after I tease him and guess wrong...not Batman, not Harry Potter...he tells me, “Niko!”

I hear my sister Margo yell in the background, “Three minutes left on the calling card”. So Niko gets right to the point. He tells me, “For my birthday next time, don’t send me gum, I want a dollar. I don’t like that hot gum”. I laugh. I sent him cinnamon gum. Now that he’s five I guess money is much more important. We’re chatting about his cat when the line goes dead.

Oh man, I’m just bursting with happiness over that three minute conversation. How special, how dear. God I love my life!

Here I was just thinking about my sister! We’ve never been that close but I was just writing about a past Thanksgiving with her in it. And look at that I get a call. Freaky good karma vibes, man.

What Are You Thinking?

“Boy, you sure are a talker”, I tell him. Know what he says? “Of course. I talk when I’m nervous”. And here I thought I was the only nervous one in all this.

It surprises me because he comes across so confident all the time. The first thing he does alone in my presence is take off his shirt so it doesn't get wrinkled and lie on my bed. You should have seen my mouth drop open. Oh my God, I think…wow!

But I ask you people what did fate just send me? I can see the powers that rule the heavens discussing me to each other. Fate turns to Destiny and says, “She’s just so stubborn. She refuses to open up her heart for even a minute.” Destiny shakes it’s all knowing head. “You know what we need to do, we need to place temptation right under her nose. Give her someone she can’t just walk away from or ignore.”

Fate gets all excited and starts jumping up and down. “I know! I know!”, Fate cries, “Make it someone who is outgoing, super friendly, and a big talker.

Destiny nods it’s head in agreement. “He’s gotta be playful too, that will really get her good! She’s not use to letting her hair down and having fun.” They both laugh. “This aught to be good. I can’t wait to see this!”

So here I am. [Excuse me while I take a moment and wave up at Fate and Destiny…] ”I know your up there I tell them, you can’t fool me!” I’m convinced they just love to stir things up for me. They have filled my life with so many ironies lately you’d think I’d want to shake my fist at them, but I’m delighted!

I’m being myself in the most unexpected ways and it feels so good. Thanks guys!

He’s still talking to me, and when it gets real quiet he asks me what I’m thinking about. Fate and Destiny giggle looking down at us, “Oh man, what’s she gonna do now? I can’t wait, this is going to be good.” Destiny winks at Fate.

While I was doing my laundry I watched an old repeat of the TV show Malcolm in the Middle and laughed my butt off. It’s the one where the Mom, Lois, takes dance lessons and brings Ress, her second oldest kid, along.

Ress is a riot. At first he’s mortified by all the old ladies and repeats over and over to himself, “It’s just like touching a dead person”, to get him through this ordeal. But in seconds he over comes his horror when these old ladies start bribing him with money to get him to dance with them. Vying for highest bidder, Ress makes a killing each and every class.

Meanwhile Lois is feeling like the belle of the ball, twirling and swirling around on the dance floor with her instructor. What she doesn’t know is just how dreadfully awful she really is, and as we watch her dance we are viewing things from her perspective. She is wonderful and graceful. At the end of the show her kids play back a video made of the dance class and we see the reality of how Lois dances. She stumbles around and even knocks a few people out as she passes by.

I laughed so hard because I’m Lois! Yes that’s me. Dreadfully awful on the dance floor but having the time of my life.

As I watched this repeat today I made a mental note to ask my new love interest if he could coach me in my West Coast Swing basics. I think I will take all my WCS basics classes over again if I can find the money. Looks like I won’t be dancing anymore WCS out in public for a while that’s for sure! After watching Louis I’m a bit mortified and can’t help but laugh at myself. This is so me, too funny!!

I feel gooooood!

Oh yeah, I feel good. I finally am feeling better. (Aside from the low-grade temp. and infection I’m fighting off – but believe me that’s nothing) Oh my lord I have been so sick for the past three and a half weeks it’s not funny. After a good talking to from my naturopathic doctor to go see my regular M.D. for retesting I’m back on track.

Yeah, yeah, so I have to give myself injections closer together, now I know. It’s worth it to get my energy back and free me up from all the pain. One thing we’d all missed in this was my lack of absorbing the magnesium shots without extra Taurine.

Anyway, watch out, I’m roaring to go, all you Tango guys!

Speaking of dancing, I had so much fun at Rush last night. Dancing as much as I wanted. I was in heaven. I’m back to my positive happy-go-lucky self again. No putting on a brave face, acting as if I’m just fine. It’s so hard to be totally me when I’m struggling with my body, pretending all is well. I was a mess at the beginning of this week but I’m back on track. Thanks Doc!

It certainly helps to have the occasional company of an interesting man in my life. I love being kissed by this guy and I love touching him. Each time he sees me he greets me more and more whole-heartedly. I’m glad to see him being himself. There are so many things I’m learning about this guy that put a smile on my face.

Last night, walking up and bumping straight into him to greet him, saying “hi” in the crowd, beside the busy dance floor, amid all the noise, that was a fabulous moment. For me to be myself and he doesn’t mind that I wander off seeking attention elsewhere. Later happy to see me again and giving me a kiss on my return. All perfect moments to me.

These are the moments I place in my treasure chest called memory. Ready and waiting at anytime for me to pull each out, one by one, when I’m forced down by the weight of my damnable weak body. These times are happening less and less for me.

How I wish I could wave my magic wand, tap myself on the head, say the secret words, “Presto chango”, and poof have limitless energy. Well you never know it could happen even without magic words. I think if you have a positive attitude anything is possible.

Tango had it's way with me again.

I lost my mind dancing with Burak last night. I keep replaying it over and over in my head. The Tango sizzled. Each song we sped faster and faster to as fire flew from the depths of my soul. The world disappeared and there was only my reaction -- he moved and I responded. Nothing but the music and his movements existed for me. I followed his lead, flying by the seat of my pants, feeling as if we were plunging head long down a steep mountainous incline, if we stumbled or hesitated we might go crashing out of control. He allowed me free rain to follow the music.

Passion welled up in me and I stomp my heels as I stepped. I was pushed to the edge and yet I still managed to keep up with him. The dance was impossibly fast. When the music stopped I let out this big sigh of pleasure.

He laughed and I laughed. I was a bit weak in the knees. I was completely satisfied. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and told me, “Good dance” -- I just grinned. My hair hung limp with the perspiration of my exertion and I knew I probably had smudge lines under my eyes from my mascaraed lashes. But to hell with it I was undone and absolutely blissful about the whole thing.

When the men see me dancing this way they want to be next in line, perhaps to see if they can produce some of this same passion from me.

But I turned them down as I sunk into the closest chair, throwing my head back with relaxed satisfaction. The dance is my lover and he has just had his way with me, I take a moment to savor this feeling.