There’s been so much drama lately from all the highs and lows it’s enough to make a sane person get a small glimpse into what bi polar must look like.

And it’s not pretty.

Going from one end of the spectrum to the other and back and forth day after day, month after month cannot be healthy for any prolonged length of time. Talk about feeling emotionally depleted from the extremes when all you crave are the lulls and balance of harmony that you once knew.

But that’s the ups and downs of life I guess. It sure is funny the way that old universe keeps trying to tell me something….only I’ve yet to figure out exactly what it is. Especially vexing for a Capricorn who just likes to have the practical answers to things so she can deal with them accordingly and move on.

I’m not just talking about the things I write about like pugs and babies but other things going on behind the scenes that I don’t even delve into here. Things that would be comparable to say….hitting the lotto on the play 5 and bragging to all your friends and family about it…..only on the morning you go to redeem your ticket you realize that you lost it and have absolutely no proof that it ever existed. Even though you won the prize you’ll never get to collect your reward. Things of that nature…

I keep looking for the grand cosmic lesson that I’m supposed to take away from all of this. I know there must be one. But when I actually go to my “quiet place” where I tune out all worldy distractions, when I open my heart and mind to welcome the divine message into me….for some reason the only thing that keeps popping into my head is that Kanye West rap song..

N-now th-th-that that don’t kill me, Can only make me stronger
I need you to hurry up now
Cause I can’t wait much longer
I know I got to be right now
Cause I can’t get much wronger
Man I been waitin’ all night now
That’s how long I’ve been on ya

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me that I missed my true calling as an angry white gangsta bitch.

There’s still time.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 12:48 AM permalink

Oh the joys of Google content search. For the month of October these are just a few of the keyword searches that people typed to get here….I kid you not.

heart shaped asses
brazilian wax pictures
lori truthseeker
why is my pug s tail hanging down?
morning boner videoclips
when guys don t call
french pedicures photos
cheese feet
what to expect at my first sweat lodge
pug mushrooms
are men more honest when drunk
drunk man s words are a sober man s thoughts
big beefy bitches
womens pug flannel pajamas
reasons men don t call it s not that i don t miss you
chrons misdiagnosed
penis cutting
sagging balls
playful humping
men who want to be breastfed
reason why women do not return phone calls from men
when a man gives you mixed signals
what does it mean when a pug tail straightens out
pinky tuscadero
yes there are two paths you can go by
what does it mean when a guy drunk dials you
halloween costumes
snake milker
i was made for lovin you baby
why pugs lick your face
bactrim induced hepatitis’
hairy red-headed men
what does it mean when a guy doesn t call after sex
pug wellies
hairy chests
in my defense i was fucking extremely hard when i said that
dial a goat dating service
what if my dog ate a tampon
kissing with headgear
new dog in family old dog pouting
black juicy asses
pug bong
boyfriends tallywhacker
women are all nuts
creepy guys
slimy pickle fetish
how long should i wait to date again after a breakup?
why don t men call are they gay?

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 09:14 PM permalink Comments (2)

Do you ever wonder how your life might have ended up had you made a different choice at one of those fork in the road moments? Years ago, so many now it seems but not really that long ago I had a crush. I actually had two crushes. The below story was not written by me. It was written for me by one of those crushes. The one I didn't choose because I knew it would never work. Still, I think of him every Halloween because of his dark fantasies and I take out the dark story he wrote me one year. I guess because he was someone who got me in a way that nobody else ever has. He had an innate understanding of who I was at the core without any explanation. It actually scared me at the time, and he loved me like a vampire.

---

By S.P.

The mist rolled across the soft cool grass of Simmon’s Cemetery. It was one of the first rains of spring and Lori had taken her shoes off to feel the moist little fingers of grass dance through her toes. She looked up now and again to see the stars becoming visible in the midnight sky. The clouds were departing for their next appointment somewhere down the road. The darkening night began to show itself more and the moon announced its arrival by bringing the dew on the grass to life in a dance of light.

This was one of her favorite places. The markers were old and the names reminded her of an Old Irish Cemetery. Names like Finnian and McKay read across the moss covered stones. She remembered walking this way before. She remembered the old woman brushing the leaves of her beloved husbands plot. She remembered stopping to help and the old woman’s touch that meant so much as she got up to leave. She remembered that most of all and a single tear streamed down her face to show how much.

It was at that moment she heard what could have been nothing, but she was sure that it wasn’t. Lori was never one to overreact, but her heart pounded one time too many for her liking at the sound of nothing. Her head whipped quickly around. A single strand of hair crossed her lips. And she stared directly into the face of night. All that was there was where she had been and nothing more.

“What a loser” she said in a quiet voice trying to convince herself that her vibrant imagination was just playing tricks on her again. She turned back to the path and began again at a much faster pace. Not quite a run, but no longer a Sunday stroll.

As her feet glided across the cool green carpet it came again. That noise of nothing. This time she did not look back. Now she only moved faster. And again she heard it. A sound of nothing. A sound that was so empty that it silenced the night and hushed the wind, a sound so vacant that it seemed to even cause the stars above to blink. And as the sound of that impenetrable quiet became louder she stopped.

Keep Reading » » »

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 12:50 AM permalink Comments (4)

Two of the most annoying questions I get asked by people are:

1.) Why are you still single?
2.) After Pugsley are you going to get another pug?

I’ll address each one individually.

Question #1: I can’t seem to leave my house these days without people asking me this question. It doesn’t matter if it’s a family function, a happy hour, run in with an old co-worker, even doctors are not immune to asking me the “Why are you still single?” question. Ok, I get the natural curiosity factor and I get that it’s probably meant as a compliment (though it never feels that way) and I totally get that it’s not the norm for a woman my age to never have been married. And I get that if she isn’t married, then most times she’s out there in a big way dating up a storm trying desperately to find Mr. Right before it’s too late. Maybe she’s sitting at a bar a couple nights a week or has purchased memberships to Eharmony, Match, and JDate.com in tandem. I don’t knock any of them, more power to them. I know people who’ve met their spouses that way and are very happy. I even recommend online dating sites to friends who are looking. But I’m just not…looking or out there. I’m not. Period. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. Maybe I’ve grown too disillusioned at the games and the scene. Maybe I had my heart broken from my last relationship and I got over it but I’m not too anxious to start over and risk that happening all over again.

Maybe I’m still single because the pool of men I’ve been introduced to since the aforementioned last relationship ended has included a sad little parade of commitment-phobes, substance abusers, liars, animal haters, cheats, players, men who don’t return phone calls, and P.S. the guy who asked me the “Why are you still Single” question last is a married man who also propositioned me for sex in the same conversation. Yea, being exposed to a guy like that really makes me want to go out and land a husband ASAP! So that one day a couple years down the road after the hot sex has worn off and I’m home nursing our babies, he can be that married man whose grown disillusioned by the routine and responsibilities of his domestic life to the point that he’s now sitting at a bar having the same inappropriate conversation with a single woman. Then I’m trapped in a loveless marriage and he owns half of my house. Because we all want what we can’t have, don’t we? And that’s what really scares me because a part of me does want it and that means that despite all my years of celibacy and theory and internalizing and rationalizing and vaulting the learned information so I’ll know what not to do next time, I’m still not immune to the trappings of love.

Bottom line is the married guy asked the question because he wanted to know what was “wrong” with me before he decided to proposition me. Was he waiting for me to respond with, I’m secretly a psycho beyotch who boils rabbits on the stove and stalks men like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction?

Maybe I’m still single because I’d prefer my couch and a good movie and my dog on Saturday night rather than having to deal with the depressing pool of rogues out there. To me it’s a no-brainer. Look at the alternatives. I’m still single because I can support myself financially and because I’ve become good at it, at being creatively independent, at finding other means of emotional and physical support in a safe environment.

So sorry to dispel any psycho theories but I’m not a psycho. Okay, maybe I’m a little pyhsco in other ways but I’m not a relationship psycho. The truth is in every serious relationship I’ve had the guy at some point wanted to marry but I declined. Why? Because I knew in my heart that none of them felt right. So maybe it’s as simple as this: I’m still single because after all this time nothing has felt right enough to give up my freedom for. If that makes me abnormal, then I'm proud to go against the norm.

Question #2. My only explanation for anyone who asks me this question (and I get asked this question often) is ignorance. First of all, why would anyone want me to think such an unpleasant thought? Clearly anyone asking this question is already aware of what Pugsley means to me and how much I love him. I can’t even logically come up with a reason why anyone would want to impose this question and introduce the subsequent sad thought provocation in my mind or heart unless they are intentionally being mean-spirited. Again, is it a sanity check? Do they want to see me break down at the very thought of losing my best friend?

Clearly I’m not living in a fantasy world; I know the day will come. Obviously I am going to be devastated and will allow myself to fall apart and grieve and honor and pay respect for the appropriate amount of time. Whatever appropriate is, I won’t know until it happens. And if I’m supposed to sit here and dwell on that thought, maybe I will break down so instead I adopt the attitude to enjoy every day as a gift and live in the present and not “go there” because I can’t. And why the fuck should I except for the times when people put me in this spot by posing the question?

But people, don’t test me on this, it’s cruel. This is one you don’t know until you live it and feel it. This is one that you have to follow your heart on, nothing I could predict or even want to consider at this point in time. I work in rescue and the one thing I’ve learned is that anyone who loses an animal has different lengths of grieving time before they are able to open their hearts and homes up to love another without the fear of feeling all that pain over again when it still feels so raw. One day I imagine you wake up and you say to yourself, the amount of love I will get from a new companion will outweigh the amount of pain I’ll have to deal with again. But it’s a personal choice and should not be made until one is ready in heart and mind to reach that point. Not much different I suspect from the love and loss we deal with in human relationships. For some the best thing they can do for themselves is to jump right back in with someone new to help heal the wounds. For others, I guess they need a lot more time before it will ever feel right again.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 06:00 AM permalink

Everyday is an exercise in sanity…and to be quite honest at the end of each night when my head hits the pillow and I run through the day in review I am always baffled at how I managed to maintain my marbles, keeping them in tact (at least I think they are) given there is so much craziness in the world that surrounds me. I must either be really resiliant or stark raving mad.
I go about my little life trying to keep to myself and do what's expected of me. Try to be a good daughter, sister, friend, dog mother, employee, coworker, pug rescuer, blogger extraordinaire, animal rights activist, parishioner, citizen, et all.
Inevitably along the way, I will let somebody, somewhere down in a sweeping squall of disappointment.
Usually myself.
The reality is, no matter how hard I try I keep feeling like it’s never good enough.
I try to see the good in life and in others even when they challenge me beyond reason…the truth is I challenge them too, because I give a shit...
I push people I care about to make difficult decisions utilizing tools like factual logic and tough love.
I wake up and look in the mirror and lately I keep hearing Steven Tyler singing back at me. Something about all those lines and my face getting clearer, the past is gone.
I try to stay optimistic in a pessimist society with a realistic perception…but it ain’t easy.
There are the things that get me down:
dog killers, animal abusers, doctors who don’t know jack, bad dates, no dates, stress.
There are the things that are missing:
Sex, love, babies, real estate. [at this point I'll settle for the real estate]
There are the things that help:
Happy hours, how Pugsley yawns in my face when I try to kiss him just because he’s so…puggy, weekends, pedicures, shopping. Benedryl. My DVD collection.

There are things known, and there are things unknown, And in between are the Doors. - Aldous Huxley

In my world, everything is a fucking chess match with bargaining chips and negotiation tactics, knowing when to hold, when to fold, and when to walk away. There is always a strategy at the helm of the ship and I long for simpler times when I could go for just one week of still waters. One week without having to deal with power struggles, control dramas, stroking egos, appeasing the agendas of others or battling wounded pride. I could go for an afternoon of sitting on a porch sipping lemonade and nothing else. I think I need a vacation.

And as if all that weren’t enough to contend with, just because I happen to be born female by luck of the genetic draw I have to constantly deal with my inner estrogen playing nasty tricks on my heart and mind. I have to work extra hard to ward off the mental trickery and sappy images that the uninvited hormones invoke.

Example:

Normal reality brain
The affair has ended. It didn't work out. No explanation. No closure. Period. Done. Time to move on.

Estrogen riddled brain
Cut to: Scene from Dirty Dancing where Patrick Swayze tells Baby he’ll never regret it and then she says she’ll never regret it either and he drives away as “She’s Like the Wind” plays and they both silently but valiantly move on with an unspoken understanding of what they meant to one another, with total peace of mind, clarity of purpose and reason..

Some days I really hate being a girl.

Because despite all good intentions, hard work to stave off the estrogen induced hallucinations and honest effort to change that which doesn’t work or exist, life is just not as it appears in the movies. The reality is: Happy endings are not always had. Sometimes Baby stays in the fucking corner. There is no such thing as a heterosexual man with a name like "Johhny Castle" who prances about the Catskills in a black shiny leotard. In real life the plot is never neatly wrapped up in a 2 hour climax complete with full cast and dance ensemble. And men cannot magically, by their sheer awesomeness alone bring women to orgasm in 30 seconds.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 11:27 PM permalink Comments (3)

I left my hotel for San Francisco International airport at 7:30 AM. By 8:00, I had arrived at the American Airlines terminal. I hate traveling alone, especially flying but it had to be done to get home to the Sausage. Didn’t it?

Curbside check in. Two bags. Piece of cake.

At the security check I took off my sneakers and placed them in a plastic bin along with my bag. The security attendant stopped me and told me I have something in my bag that was more than 3 ounces of liquid. It was a tiny bottle of liquid make up that I forgot I even had. The scary thing is they stopped me for a 4 ounce jar of make up that wasn’t in a clear plastic bag but their x-ray machine scanner neglected to spot the lighter I had just inches away, in the same bag.

Nice. So the terrorists won’t be able to wear make up on board but they can still carry on a lighter that’s capable of blowing up the plane.

Shoes back on and plenty of time to wait for boarding to my connecting flight in Chicago. Just enough time to sit and eat a banana, blueberry muffin and coffee while checking my Blackberry.

On board, I waded down the long aisle to seat 30B. By the luck of the draw, I was seated next to a very tall, dark haired, large-necked, hairy-chested hottie. Hmmm, maybe this flight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Once in flight at 9:30 AM, I opened up my New York Times to the Sports section, compliments of the Fairmont Hotel and began reading about the NFL draft. I was very taken with the fact that Walter Thomas can squat 800 lbs and bench press 470. The man is enormous but he has a sketchy past so we’ll see.

As it turns out, I start chatting with the hottie and found out he was traveling back from the Ad Tech conference as well. We talked about our mutual interests and exchanged business cards. I told him that our companies should be talking and working together. Even while in transit, I was still doing business….sort of. What a profile. What thick dark hair. What a milky white complexion. What nice big feet…

Time flew and we snuggled under our respective red blankets, put on head phones and got cozy for the in-flight movie, Charlotte’s Web. I confess in that moment of vulnerability at 30,000 feet up in the air as we watched Charlotte A. Cavatica languish leaving Wilbur and her Magnus Opus of an egg sack behind, my eyes welled up in tears and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had visions of trolloping off to the bathroom and joining the mile high club with Tall, Dark, and Hairy. Or at least slipping my hand under his red fleece American Airlines blanket to grip him with a warm friendly hand.. What can I say...air travel makes me a little crazy. As do the tall, dark, and hairy.

His long legs kept brushing up against mine. Since my legs are short I let him use my space, which allowed for some extra contact. Everything was going rather nicely until we started noticing that we were circling O’Hare for what seemed like forever. The pilot came on and made an announcement.

“Well folks, it looks like they’re experiencing high traffic down there so we’ll just circle up here for a little while until it’s clear to land.”

I proceeded to talk to TDH and squeeze in as much as I could before landing.

The pilot comes back on 5 minutes later.

“Well folks, we have some unfortunate news, the runway traffic is too heavy for us to land at this time but we don’t have enough fuel to keep circling so it looks like we’re diverting to Milwaukee to refuel.”

People started screaming and panicking. A symphony of “Are you fucking kidding me’s” could be heard playing in unison from the front to the rear of plane. Half the people on that plane, including myself had connecting flights to make and not much time to make them. Diverting to Milwaukee would surely put a cramp in our flight plans.

It seemed like a bad joke. Totally surreal. I looked over at TDH and in a very calm voice and with an assuring but coy voice he calmly shrugged, “Milwaukee’s a cool town”. Somehow I didn’t feel panicked. The thought of being stranded in the cheese and beer capital with Mr. TDH didn’t seem so bad at all. Maybe we’d have to hang out and keep each other company. Maybe we’d have to share a car….or a meal, maybe even a room. Hey, people have to stick together in times of distress.

Just then the pilot came back on.

“Well Ladies and Gentleman, we do have some good news for you now. We do have clearance to land at this time, thank you for flying American Airlines.”

Everyone started laughing and clapping, great gasps of relief were heard throughout the fuselage. I guess it was best this way. Everyone was scampering to get off the plane and make their connecting flights. I lingered and kept chatting with TDH. But I lingered too long, realizing I only had 20 minutes to get from gate K over to gate G. We said our goodbyes and planned a follow up meeting in CT in one month.

From there I snapped out of my dreamy state and ran to my gate taking out a few people along the way. No time to grab a sandwich or slice of pizza like I’d planned. They were already boarding for Westchester County when I arrived at the terminal. I shuffled on board the tiny American Eagle with single seats on my aisle and before I could exhale we were taking off for White Plains. It was 5:20pm Chicago time and I was scheduled to land in NY at 8:30.

The second flight was boring and somewhat dreary, not to mention uncomfortable. Every time I drifted off to sleep I was awakened to my neck flopping over. It seemed like it would take forever to land. I had my car service waiting to pick me up and drive me back to my car which was still at the office, another hour away from home. It was a long journey but I was focused on getting home to the sausage.

I started noticing something seemed off after the pilot told us we’d be arriving in White Plains in 15 minutes but that was ½ an hour ago. We seemed to be circling the sky again and I could see the airport lights through a blanket of thick fog. The pilot came on my stomach sank.

“Folks, unfortunately mother nature isn’t cooperating with us tonight. The fog is too thick for air traffic control minimums and we’re going to circle up here for a little bit while we wait for the weather clear.

Fuck!

So close and yet so far…I had a very bad feeling about this. We hovered above the airport for a good 20 minutes and he came back on again.

“Well folks, the fog is just too thick for us to land at this time and we don’t’ have enough fuel to wait so we’re going to have to divert to Albany to refuel.”

Balls!

A business man in front of me became very irate. I thought he might cause trouble or lose it and go off.

Before we knew it, the pilot stepped on some gas and we went blasting full throttle off to Albany through a blinding lightening and fog storm. I felt like he was going really fast because if he didn’t we might run out of fuel. What else could it be? It no longer felt like a plane ride, it felt like a ride at six flags.

I closed my window and wondered WTF would happen next. Would someone freak out and have to be calmed? Would they be able to refuel and then fly us back? Would the weather clear, would it be clear enough to land in Albany? Would we run out of fuel mid air?? As soon as we landed in Albany, everyone powered up their cell phones to call home while we waited for word from the Captain about when we would be flying back to White Plains.

It was 9:30 now, I called my car service and the dispatcher, Bill told me my flight was cancelled due to the fog. He told me he heard it wasn’t flying back to Westchester until 8:00 the next morning. I listened in disbelief..

Just then the captain came back on and confirmed what Bill had been telling me. He said we should go into Albany airport, get our bags and that there would be announcement with what American Airlines was going to do with is.

“Bill, I’ll call you back when I figure out what’s happening.”

Inside, everyone scampered to the nearest Rent a Car desks, ticket agents, train schedules, and baggage claim. Several sketchy men approached me asking where I needed to go and if I wanted to share a rent a car with them back to CT area. I declined and said I was going to wait for the announcement.
Fortunately my bags came through the carousel unharmed. I would have been really fucked if I lost my luggage, so I was thankful for that.

I made some phone calls and assessed my options. I called Bill from the car service and asked if there was anyway they could drive out to Albany to get me. He said it was over a 2 hour drive and he didn’t have any drivers who could go that far on short notice.

I waited with a small group of people by the American Airlines desk and asked them what they were planning to do with us. They put one older woman up in a hotel for the night. Others got rent a cars but the airline would pay for them. As for us, the agent told us he was working on getting a bus or van to take the 6 of us back to White Plains. This sounded like the best option for me. I quickly got to know my fellow weary travelers. There was an older woman with long blonde hair who had been working on her dissertation and she had a son in law school. She lives in Hopewell Junction and offered to drive me to my car when we got back to Westchester. That was a good plan B but I was still hoping the car service would wait for me. There was a younger Pilipino girl, a pre med student who was very sweet. She gave me a kudos bar after I explained that I hadn’t eaten since 9:00 in SFO. The group was rounded out with Middle Eastern looking woman, another woman in her 50’s say who had car sickness and had to sit in the front, and an older man in his 70’s from Rockland County.

We waited and waited for the bus to arrive. The airline agent assured us we’d be in good hands and be shuttled back to White Plains. When our ride came, it was a big rickety white van with just enough seats for all of us and a very unhappy driver. He also couldn’t’ speak English very well and none of us felt like he knew where he was going. Before we took off, some other guy who was presumably the driver’s boss poked his head in and whispered to us to tip him “very well”. The older man, becoming rather crotchety proclaimed, the airline should tip him! The boss explained how the driver had to leave his new wife to drive us on a 6 hour round trip and it was the best they could do.

The six of us piled into the van and took off for what should have been a 2 hour drive. The older man slipped the driver some money and asked to be dropped off in Tarrytown diner which forced us to take a longer route back to the airport, causing us to back track off of 287.

The car sick woman asked the driver if we could stop somewhere for food, It was like a surreal scene from a movie. All the younger people were helping out the older folks, helping them in and out of their seats and making sure they got food first. We looked out for one another taking care and commiserating in our long perilous journey home. About 20 minutes into the trip, the driver pulled off into a Roy Rogers at a rest stop along the way. We all went inside and ate rubbery cheeseburgers and soggy fries, not saying much to one another, just wishing we were home. The driver came in and it was the first time I’d gotten a look at him. Under the bluish fluorescent lights of Roy Rogers, I could see that he was very stern looking and of Middle Eastern descent. In a very cold voice he told us if all wanted to continue we should get back in the van and eat on the way.

We filed back in one after the other, helping each other as much as we could to keep spirits up. Back on the road, the driver took out a portable DVD player and turned it on and handed it to seat behind his. It was a music video of a Middle Eastern woman dressed like a belly dancer singing in a high pitched voice over some sort of whining even higher pitched string instruments and cymbals. It was all too much after 16 hours of travel. Like nails on a fucking chalk board. I was just praying someone would turn it off. TURN IT OFF for fuck’s sake I was saying inside. But one of the passengers seemed interested in the culture and the DVD and tried chatting up to driver to warm him up. His answers were short and scary.

“Where are you from?”
“Afghanistan”
“Oh really, how long have you been here?”

“One week”

“What is the woman on the film singing about?”

“She singing about Love. She want to be with her husband.”

FUCK! How did I go from Tall, Dark, and Hairy to Small, Dark, and Scary?

The reality of the situation set in. I didn’t know if he was just fucking with us or he could have been a member of Al Qaeda for all we knew, but here we were a bunch of clueless Americans trapped in a rickety old van with a pissed off Afghanistan dude who didn’t want to be there with us….all he wanted was to be home with his wife and we were keeping him from her, delaying him for hours. And you could tell he was not happy. He was very serious and very quiet.

Several of us started getting irritated at the older man who was insistent that he be dropped off first but was taking us way out of the way and pissing off the driver. For all we knew he could have pulled off the side of the road, dumped us all out and turned around. Or worse.

I closed my eyes and started daydreaming about how the Milwaukee trip may have turned out much differently. I was thinking of how happy I’d be to sleep in my own bed and to nuzzle up to sausage once more. It was about now I started calling my car service again, every half hour on the hour letting them know when I was getting closer.
12:00AM – tell Bill I should be there by 12:30 and to have the driver waiting.

12:30AM – tell Bill I’m about a half hour away now and should be there by 1:00.
We didn’t arrive back at Westchester until 1:30. Thankfully we arrived in one piece and my loyal driver was waiting for me in a nice cushy Lincoln town car to take me back to my car.
Phew
There were a few times I didn’t think I would make it back at all.
I was never so happy to see my simple little country abode, and my Sausage.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 09:48 PM permalink Comments (5)

I’m afraid I don’t have any sweet and sappy heart-shaped cookie cutter stories for you today. Nothing that involves red roses, hallmark cards, dark chocolates, romantic dinners, or making love by candlelight with Air Supply playing in the background. If you like, I can tell you about Pugsley’s anal sacs that are backed up again, this guy I want but can’t have because he keeps dicking around, a couple new wrinkles I found, or the enchanting evening I’m planning on having later with myself and a fresh set of double A’s.

I feel so discriminated against. Why isn't there a national holiday that celebrates being single and ones relationship to oneself? Isn't that just as important, if not more than having some lollipop couply thing that doesn't even exist crammed down my throat every year?

I'm not bitter, I'm honest. The reality is, I was trying to recall how long it’s been since I’ve had a sweetheart on Valentines Day but it’s been so long now that I can’t even remember the year. I do remember the last time I received flowers at work though, it was 1999. This year on Black Tuesday, I’m kind of numb to it all. I mean people lose limbs, arms, legs, and eyesight all the time. The point is they learn to adapt. Many times a guide dog is involved to help them navigate their way through life.

In a meeting today, I observed a newly engaged young woman extend her arm out, holding her hand far enough away from her body so she could size up her precious gemstone from different views, watching it sparkle and dance under the fluorescent light. She seemed entranced in another world of walking down aisles, dancing to Daddy's Little Girl, tossing her bouquet to an eager crowd of drunken women. There she sat, playing with it, twisting and turning it on her finger. Sometimes she would place her left hand on her chin, resting it there very deliberately with the ring facing outward in a contrived movement for all to behold. She was in her own little world, she was at peace.

Next to the bride-to-be sat a young woman all dressed in black. She had red cat scratches on her pale left hand that had no ring. She sat slumped down in her seat so her low rise trouser pants revealed a black sunburst tattoo on the backside of her outer left hip. Her short spiky hair was dyed jet black matched her onyx nail polish and eye make up. She yawned a lot but not because she's been staying up late at social gatherings. I’ve never seen her smile.

I know exactly the kind of ring I want someday. I don't want yellow gold or white gold. I want platinum. It should be at least 1.0 carat and I don't want round, pear, or marquee shaped. I want square -- Princess cut. Although emerald cut would be nice too. Bonus points if it comes in a little aqua blue colored box.

It makes me both inferior and superior that I am not betrothed with a sparkly bauble to prove it. On the one hand, it’s empowering to know that I am not controlled by some overwhelming and unnatural force that society defines as a woman’s worth. I am busy making my own shit happen. I can buy my own house and have my own child. I am responsible for my own orgasm...The princess cut would be nice but it's no longer a must have, it's moved way down on the list into the "nice to have someday" section. Like maybe after I’ve gone the adoption or sperm donor route on my own, and I’m 45.

But what's really scary is there is something inside of me that identifies with the thing of darkness, with the girl in black who never smiles and yawns all the time.

Engagement rings -- the crowning benchmark of love, commitment, and devotion. A one way ticket to babies, shared mortgage deeds and a lifetime of security. On paper at least. The women in relationships who don't have them but want them can turn into Gollum from Lord of the Rings if they aren't carfeful, a doomed tormented disfigured troll damned to a hellish existence fixated on the all consuming urge to get the Precious......at any cost.

Pugsley has this silky spot on the side of his face that I like to kiss, where his cheek mole with 2 black whiskers poking out resides. It smells strongly of Pug ear there. To me, there is no finer smell in the world than Pug ear. Except for maybe Pug feet or Pug belly. Someday I would like to bottle it up into a fragrance so when I need to be comforted I can have access to that smell. I think I'll call it Precious.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 06:13 AM permalink Comments (10)

Is it very wrong that I see a striking resemblance between my Pork Tenderloin dinner last night and the male phallus?

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Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 08:04 PM permalink Comments (8)

I had an awful, disturbing dream last night. One of those nightmares that makes me wish I didn't remember my dreams so vividly. Sometimes the images or memory that my mind conjures up involuntarily are so horrific that I simply can't have them floating around in my head. Ever. Not to mention the hours I spend analyzing how the hell they got in there to begin with or what they really mean, symbolically. What kind of fears or traumas am I suppressing in my real waking life to come up with this shit in slumber?

Am I subconsciously torn up inside because I fear death, love, life, loss, happiness? Do I worry that I'm not good enough, that I'll end up like my parents? That I'll never be loved, never realize my dreams or my full potential? Do I question my own morals or beliefs? Do I wonder about a friend’s loyalty or suspect that they have somehow betrayed me? Yes. Working out all of those anxieties in my sleep would be considered normal bedtime follies for me.

But this, there was no reason for THIS dream. And that's exactly what made it so disturbing and frightening.. Because I couldn't reason with it.

I was driving home on the same road I always travel and every few feet there was a dead dog in the road. First a grey Terrier, then a German Shepherd. The third dog was a tiny little Pug, only it wasn’t dead but badly maimed and bloody lying helplessly in the middle of the road. Still moving but it had a broken leg and was unable to get itself up out of the line of traffic. Cars kept zooming by just barely missing...

I pulled over ASAP and ran up to see the pug. It was a tiny little female. Her nipples were swollen and sagging like she had been nursing a litter of puppies. I ran back to the car and got a blanket, put it under her belly like a makeshift sling stretcher, hoisted her up and put her in my car.

Out of nowhere came this mean white rooster, he flew into the backseat of my car while the door was open. I kept trying to get to the pug but every time I tried, the rooster kept pecking my hands not letting me near her. I kept trying and he kept pecking me relentlessly and violently. It was like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock film. Soon my hands were bloody and raw from the pecking attack. And I couldn't get to the Pug to help her. I was so distressed when I awoke that I couldn't fall back to sleep.

It was the kind of dream you wake from and just need someone to hold you. To burrow your head into a broad shoulder and listen to him tell you that everything will be alright. Only there is no him. So instead you fumble in the dark reaching out for something else to hold onto. The pug, pillow, a friends reassuring words of "don't worry you’ll have that someday."

But "someday" sucks. I need it now. Now, awake and alone at 3:00am in the fetal position when thoughts of someday can't console the cold sweats and sort of nightmares that chill you to the bone. The kind you can't reason with. Because sometimes there is no reason, just a basic mortal need to connect with something as perfectly flawed and not quite so vulnerable as yourself.

See, I talk all bad and tough, but even I have my "I'm a girl and I just need to be held" moments. I don’t think that makes me weak, I think it makes me human. A female human missing the warm touch of another human. I hope those who have it don't take it for granted. I know I won't if I ever have it again. Someday.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 07:44 AM permalink Comments (5)

I think I’ve figured out exactly why it is that I’ve had a hard time with men in relationships. It’s not that the sex isn’t hot. Most of them couldn’t even keep up with me. The last one I sent off to work in the morning walking bowllegged with hemorrhoids from too much straining. It’s not that I’m some closet bitch. I never nag or try to threaten their freedom in an attempt to emasculate in any way. I never try to change who they are at the core of their being. That’s not me. And it's such a mistake that too many women make. I want them to feel free and manly because it turns me on when their behavior exudes that kind of confident readiness. I’m all about building them up not tearing them down. But it’s not wide-eyed naivety to feed their ego. It’s selfish to benefit me in the end because I know if I do, I’ll get what I want.

No, it’s because I am so freaking intense. I Love like a vampire. Feasting on their flesh. When let loose, my love is indestructible and knows no boundaries, it has a life of it’s own, becomes it’s own entity. I would probably drink their blood if they asked me to and would be most happy worshiping each other in dark rooms cloaked in plush red fabric with high vaulted ceilings and ancient fireplaces. I’ve drawn blood giving hickies because I get carried away with their flesh in my mouth.

I don’t really crave blood in a physical sense, but metaphorically. Their lifeblood. When I love and want, my blood lust is eternal and I think it frightens them, it’s overpowering. Too intense, too deep. Most men can’t handle it. Oh sure they like it for a time, in the beginning when its all new but then sure as female vampires can lead a normal life and even marry, eventually they exhaust their husbands. It would take a super strong mortal man to be able to stick it out with me for eternity. Not sure that he even exists in this century.

I am a nocturnal creature and could easily subsist on the blood lust that feeds my unnatural powers: heightened bodily functions and the ability to physically transform. Maybe that’s why I instinctually always go for the neck and am secretly attracted to men with ruddy complexions. Like a bubbling caldron of lust, sprinkled with herbs and magic potions, a witches brew.

When they don’t love me back with the same intensity, it’s disappointing and I become disenchanted. The spell breaks. I know it’s unfair to expect that much passion and desire, not all men (or women for that matter) have it in them. I know that I am a rare breed. And it would be silly to think my dark prince will cross oceans of time to find me like Vlad Dracula found his Elisabetha 4 centuries after the impalings and false word of his death sent her plummeting into the black river. A dark fantasy from too many romanticized horror films I suspect.

But we women love big sweeping grand gestures, don’t we? The Nosferatu are always making these whether transforming themselves into a wolf, showing up at your window floating on air engulfed in a billowing cloud of fog, or brainwashing you just by staring deeply into your eyes. I should be dating a f*cking vampire.

When I was little, I never had the Cinderella or Snow White fantasy. Mine was Dracula, the Dark Prince full of passion and longing for his beloved. The prize he cherished above all others. He would show her by biting her sensually in the neck. Drawing his own blood from his chest inviting her to drink. To become like him, showing his world to her. Making her one of him, immortal. But then only to discover that he couldn’t because he loved her too much to condemn her.

Yeah, I think a little Bram Stocker might be in order tonight. The passion of Dracula, a romantic tale of humanity, love and despair.

Posted by Lori in Tales from the Dark Side at 07:33 AM permalink Comments (12)