Suburban Goddess

“Haha! You sold out!”

“Shut it.”

“Who took that picture?”

“I did, you schmuck. I’m a PHOTOGRAPHER.”

“Well, you didn’t do such a good job; it’s BLURRY!”

(sigh)

Have you ever disliked someone you’ve never met? Have you ever disliked them so much that it made your stomach turn? I mean, it’s not really fair to that person, because you don’t know them. But the things you’ve HEARD, they were not favorable. So you automatically have this stigma, this bias, against that person. And you desperately try to put that bias aside and save your judgment until you can see for yourself what this person is made of. Because I KNOW, you cannot rely on the opinions of others, and I would hope that someone would not judge me until they have given me a chance.

Again, the high road is a very, very hard one. Good thing I just bought a 4×4.

After being put in one hell of a bind Friday, I decided I need to make some new friends at all costs. So I broke down and did the very thing I make fun of everyone else for; I set up a MySpace page. I figured if it was good enough for more than half the planet, I can’t deny it anymore.

So here it is. I know a couple of you readers out there have a MySpace page, too, so I’d appreciate it you’d make me your friend so I don’t look so pathetic….

So here it is. MySpace.

It’s rained here every day for the past two weeks, making it impossible to cut the grass. So I was highly irritated when I found a notice in my mailbox from my new homeowners’ association:

“Please cut grass and treat for weeds.”

When am I supposed to do this??? In the pouring rain? Or should I take off a day from work (which I kinda need to go to so I can PAY the HOMEOWNER’S ASSOCIATION). And they just had to throw the weed thing in as an extra little insult. Bastards. So first thing this morning, with the ominous rumble of thunder rolling in the distance, I jumped out of bed and headed to the garage to get the lawnmower.

Across the street, the neighbor apparently had the same idea. So we both rolled our mowers out of the garage at the same time, each of us standing in our driveways. I don’t know why we just didn’t acknowledge one another with a wave, or feeble little “Hi,” but in true nosy-neighbor fashion, we would just steal glances at one another to see what the other was doing.

Now, let me preface this with an obvious statement; I’m a woman. I’m a woman who has lived with a mechanical engineer for the past six years, so when something broke, all I had to do was whine until he couldn’t stand it anymore and would get up & fix it. But now, I’m on my own. Which became frighteningly clear when I pulled the handle back and attempted to start the lawnmower.

Cough, cough, cough, WHHHHHEEEZZZEEEE, sputter, putt putt putt pffffftttt….

Nothing.

I don’t know if guys find it funny to watch a woman struggle with the upper body strength it takes to pull-start an engine, but I do. It’s really quite amusing, when IT’S NOT ME. But I’m the competitive type, and I hate to be outdone by a man, so I dug in my heels and pulled again. And again. And again. And again.

Cough, cough, cough, WHHHHHEEEZZZEEEE, sputter, putt putt putt pffffftttt…. (a small cloud of white smoke trails from the engine.)

Meanwhile, Neighbor deftly pulls his little lawnmower string and VROOOOMMMM!!! It roars to life.

Showoff.

I see a rivalry taking shape……

I’m a psycho magnet. I can’t help it. I’m drawn to the hopeless romantic type, but these usually aren’t the stable guys. In my love life, I’ve had four men try to commit suicide when I left them. I’m not boasting here; it’s not because I’m so great, it’s because they were just that messed up.

The first one was my very first boyfriend. I was fifteen. He called right before he was going to take a bottle of pills. Of course, I was young and stupid, so I stole my parent’s friend’s car and drove fifteen miles to my boyfriends house. I didn’t even have my license yet. When my parents found out, I was grounded for a month. By the end of that month, my boyfriend had dumped me for another girl.

I should have let him take the pills.

The second was my first truly serious boyfriend; the long-haired punk guy. I thought he would rise above the crappy existance he’d been dealt, so I hung in there as long as I could until I realized he would never be able to kick the drugs. He was a bit more dramatic; he held a shotgun to his mouth. I spent an hour trying to “talk him down.” He finally passed out from the alcohol and narcotic combination, and I took the gun and hid it in the woods as he slept. Looking back, I could have been killed in that situation, and it was stupid of me to think I could help him.

The third was my first ex-husband, who truly sailed off the deep end. They found him in the corner of a room naked, curled in the fetal position. His father had to break the window to get in the house. I don’t know what his poison of choice was, because I never spoke to him again after I left him. The only reason I know about it at all was because he called my mother.

But the fourth one, it touched me in a way I’d never been touched before. He was a bullshitter; he told so many lies to make himself look better, that I couldn’t believe anything he said. So one day, he just didn’t show up to work. A few hours into the day, the secretary rushed into my office to tell me she’d received a call from the hospital. Furious, I called his cell phone and left a fifteen minute tirade about how I was sick of his bullshit and if he really DID try to commit suicide and this wasn’t a cry for help, that I hope he succeeded.

He really had. I felt like the worst human being on the planet.

This person, and that experience, changed my life. Thankfully, he lived.

I call it the “tragic flaw.” Everybody’s got one. One thing in their past, or their subconscious, or buried deep in their heart… it’s the one and only thing that can send someone over the edge. While I was at the river, I asked my friend (in the shed) what he thought my tragic flaw was. I was alarmed that he nailed it immediately, without the slightest hesitation.

“Trust.”

It was simple, succinct, and brutal. Thankfully, he could not see the tears well up in my eyes immediately. I don’t know if he just knows me that well, or if it’s blatantly obvious. I want to think that it’s the former, because if it’s not, then I’m an easy target.

As the evening winds to a close, I’m left to wonder if any man is truly faithful anymore. In my childish naiveté, I’d like to think that he’s still out there, Mr. Right. But after an evening of watching married men hit on twenty-somethings and eavesdropping on various conversations around me, I am sickened by the filth that surrounds me. Seriously, guys, can you think for yourself for fifteen minutes without your lower extremities butting in on the conversation?

Where is my Urban Renaissance Man?

He has to be tall, with a soft but deep voice. He has to have substance. He has to appreciate both the civilized and the untamed world, and be able to move across both with little or no effort. He has to be romantic, but not weak. He has to be strong, but not dominating.

He has to listen.

But above all, he must be faithful. I have to look into his eyes and KNOW that he cannot see a life without me. I have to see that the fire in his eyes is kindled by my love for him. He would never imagine cheating on me. I know he will look at other women, and that’s okay, as long as he still wants to lie down next to me at the end of the day.

He has to want a family. He has to want to be there for better and, or course, the hard part; the worst. Funny how many people vacantly recite those vows, but when the going gets tough, the tough find a lawyer and bail out. When he says his vows, and looks into my eyes, he will MEAN them. He will do anything to save his family. He will do anything to save our love.

He would die for me.

I just don’t know that men like this exist anymore. I pray they do. I pray that someday, he will find me and restore my faith. I pray he’s strong enough to endure a life with a pessimist and cynic. I pray that he never betrays my trust.

Because I need to believe. I need to be able to believe in somebody.

“You shouldn’t write stuff like that. It could be misinterpreted.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“What would your mother say?”

“She’d say, ‘Hit the bitch again…’”

I find myself censoring my thoughts a lot lately; in the effort to stay on the lovely asphalt of the high road, I have to bite my tongue and swallow a lot of the acidic comments that gurgle up from the depths of my over-stimulated core.

Anger is really a dangerous thing. Despite from the obvious, it has long-lasting repercussions that radiate from the fault line, little earthquakes that strike unexpectedly, shaking your world and knocking important parts of your psyche off the shelves… I want so badly to rage against the injustices in my life, but I have reached a point where I can’t play the victim anymore.

I have always been nice. I sacrifice my own feelings for the sake of others, for their comfort, for their well-being. And it just PISSES ME OFF when, after I have bent over backwards, through, around, under, etc.. that someone refers to me as a bitch. You HAVE NOT SEEN BITCH. BITCH is locked away tight, in a tiny box inside, and BITCH can only get out when a keyboard is in front of her because she’s too worried that the world will not like her in person. BITCH lives here. And even here, BITCH is still subdued, quiet, and controlled. Because RAGING BITCH could do more damage than the world is ready for. BITCH has been on such a tight leash for so long that the anger inside is immeasurable.

BITCH wants out. BITCH wants to KICK ASS. BITCH wants to SCRATCH YOUR EYES OUT and PUNCH YOU IN YOUR PERFECTLY STRAIGHT WHITE TEETH.

But BITCH has a little girl. And that little girl looks up at her with the most beautiful, innocent, and trusting eyes, and BITCH has to back down. Because no matter how angry the BITCH gets, she cannot let that little girl down.

The high road is long and lonely. Doing the right thing is NOT the easiest thing. I’m letting go now, and just praying that God will give me the strength that I don’t think I have anymore.

“So what?”

“So, now what?”

“He went home. We’ll see each other again in a few weeks.”

“THAT’S IT?”

“Well, crap, what do you expect? His horse is in the shop, he’s got prior engagements the night of the ball, and quite honestly, I hate glass shoes….they make me look like I have cankles…”

Shortly after arriving home, I discovered why my co-worker had so much trouble opening my garage door. It’s a double-door, with an automatic garage door opener. After some inspection, I realized (from the inside) that the handle on the outside had been turned and locked. From the outside, you can see that there is a keyed lock…

…to which I have no key.

I also flipped a switch in my bathroom and heard the slightest phisssstpop! And now four switches in my bathroom have been rendered useless. And one in the hallway. And four outlets. Yes, I checked the breaker box. No, no switches had flipped.

And perhaps the most outrageous thing I’ve discovered about my new home was about two weeks ago when my father retro-fitted the plug on my new dryer and it began to smoke. I called in an appliance specialist who informed me that because the vent to my dryer didn’t back up to an outside wall (it actually vents through the wall, up through the attic, and out the ceiling) that I would have to pull the vent off once a month and stick a leaf blower in the hole to blow out the lint that was causing my dryer to overheat.

A leaf blower. In my vent. Once a month.

Now seriously, when people warned me that home ownership could be stressful, the worst thing I was thinking was how in the hell I would edge my corner lot without getting hit by oncoming traffic. This is WAY more than I signed up for. And I haven’t even been here a month yet.

So out of sheer desparation, I hit eBay and ordered the entire Time-Life series for home improvement. I have a toolbox, power tools, and duct tape. I figure now is the time to call on my pop-culture arsenal and try to figure out what Tim Taylor would do if he wore boots and had a manicure….