Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
If you don't want to read my bitching and moaning, then exit through the gift shop now. I need to vent before Thanksgiving arrives and I'm required to display faux gratitude.
Yes, Penelope was correct when she said I am going to my friend Rebekah's house for a Thanksgiving repast, and tomorrow I'm going to bake bread as my contribution to the meal. I thought it would be a good idea to clean the kitchen prior to baking in an effort to keep Rebekah and her family from finding dog hair in the bread. So last night I started cleaning by removing Diet Pepsi from boxes sitting on the counter and putting the cans in the refrigerator (yes, Rudy Giuliani and I are Diet Pepsi drinkers, or at least one of us is).
In so doing, three cans broke free from a box I opened and flung themselves on the floor. One burst open and sprayed soda all over me, the kitchen cabinets, and even made it to the range. By the time I finished cleaning up the soda, I was too tired to clean the kitchen. I'll try again after work today.
Yesterday as I prepared by blog post, I was excited about what I would do with photos of the fine folk on the mantel. Nancy Pelosi deserves music and fireworks and I don't know what all. I love having fun with photos. So I pulled up the first photo and went to edit it, and most of the features are gone. I can still add text and crop photos, but the fun stuff is gone. No more music or special effects. I updated to Windows 11 when it became available (which I regret; I should have held onto 10 as long as I could), so I suppose this is a consequence, although I Googled the problem and answers said the same photo editing is available in 11 as in 10. Where? Where the hell is it available? IT'S NOT FUCKING THERE.
I loved adding bubbles to a photo of Ron DeSantis and creating Dodge The Lightning, a game for kids at the Lake Junebug Resort & Rumpus Room.
Someone please tell me how I can have fun with my photos again, and put it in terms you'd use for an idiot because I am technologically challenged in spite of my constant use of computers for work and blogging and other stuff.
I'm not even sure how I did what I did before. All I know is that I can't find it now. FUCK!
Now here's the last item on the agenda for my bitchfest. I have other things to complain about, too, but I'll let them wait.
Remember this ass? It's gone.
I am very fond of the butt, and of the man, but I ended the relationship on a Saturday during October. I had prepared a lovely dinner for us, expecting Sweet Cheeks to arrive around 6 p.m. after he had watched his stupid football game. At 7, I hadn't heard anything from him, so I ate supper. At 8, I received an email in which he said he didn't feel well because his team had played so badly; thus, he was not coming over.
I replied with You wait until now to tell me? Fuck you!
I followed that up with another succinct message stating the obvious: He doesn't care about me the way I care about him.
He replied, saying that he was wrong to wait so long to tell me he wasn't coming over, that he had games the next few Saturdays, and is on call Thanksgiving week, so he wouldn't be over for a while. He did not apologize, and apparently he did not understand my fuck you. It's over. I'm done.
He's done this shit before––waiting until late in the evening to tell me he's not coming over, or not showing up at all.
One aspect of our lack of communication that you might have noticed is email. We were together, on and off, for almost 10 years. During that time, I think I spoke to him on the phone two or three times. He texted once. Other than that, all communication has been in person or by email––his choice. I can't give him a call to ask a question or confirm a time because he doesn't answer his phone. No way to call him to tell him about an emergency.
And what kind of a person gets sick because his bad football team played badly? His team has always been bad. It's not a shock when they don't play well. Even if they were a good team and they played badly, that is not a reason to get sick.
I'm pretty okay with not seeing him anymore, except for one thing:
Pardon my candor, but he doesn't have to try. He knows where it is, and he knows what to do with it.
I asked him once how he got to be so good. He said, It's instinctual.
Before you know it, I'll be writing sad
Nothing interesting has happened in my bed since the middle of October. No cuddling. No warm skin to fondle. No fondling of me!
I also enjoyed talking to him. Our political views are pretty much the same (he's a little more liberal than I am). We had great, in-depth conversations.
Another man expressed an interest soon after I ended it. I rejected myself for him, telling him I'm too old. Then I thought about it and decided to invite him over to dinner. He said, I'll have to see what I'm doing this weekend.
Obviously, that's a no. We haven't really spoken since then, and he certainly hasn't sought me out. Now I'm embarrassed when I go to the office, which I do as rarely as possible. I never should have mentioned age. Now I can't stop fantasizing about him.
What am I going to do? Don't tell me to go to a bar to pick up some guy. I didn't do that when I was young. At age 63, it's definitely not happening now.
I want a reliable man who will engage in in-bed antics with me on days and at times I require attention. The man has to show up when he says he will, he has to be a Democrat, and he has to be a good conversationalist who is not smug like X.
So, here are your tasks: The soda in the kitchen is cleaned up. You don't have to worry about that. But you do have to tell me where the photo editing stuff has gone, and you have to find an appropriate man for me. You may turn in individual responses, but group work is also allowed.
Infinities of love,