.Love, I Think.

I used to love the chase.
I used to love late night text messages and last-minute plans, a swipe of C.O. Bigelow peppermint lip gloss and pulling on my boots at midnight for an adventure.
I used to love empty beer cans in the back of my pickup and Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket.
A Metallica song came on the radio. "I should marry you..." he said when I turned it up and sang along.
"If you were smart, you would."
He was probably joking.
I was probably not.
I used to love the dark side of mornings, shooting stars over the desert punctuating thoughts I'd have been better off not having, and the highway home after nights that lasted too long.
"I'm going to be on the wagon...I'll call you when I get to town next time."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I never really knew what love was.
In my mind Love was bucking horses and pick up horses and big loops and years of conversations in a language of what-ifs and probably-nevers, Seven and Sevens, you-should-come-see-mes and maybe-I-wills.
In my mind love was a possibility.
I never wanted to know what was in his mind.
I still really don't know what love is.

"I heard you're gonna calve out."
"That's a hell of a way to put it."
"I'm gonna lose service...I'll call you when I come off the wagon."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I can't stand the chase.
The phone doesn't ring anymore and I barely notice it...a year's worth of wagons and works have gone by since I wore that lipgloss. I don't even remember where I left it.
Sometimes I find myself craving a Marlboro red and the scent of smoke and booze on a breath that touched my face.
A Metallica song comes on the radio. "He should've married me..." I say, then I turn it up and sing along.
If he was smart, he would've.
The baby's with his grandma and I'm going ten miles an hour over the speed limit to get home.
Home is finally where my heart is.
At least that's a love I do understand.

.Peeing On Tires.

I’m going to start this off with a teeny, tiny disclaimer lest I offend anyone because I’m pretty good at that – this is JUST FOR FUN, something that popped into my mind and made me laugh. I’m sticking with that story.


Men are like dogs…that’s a scientific theory I’m working on. And it’s not a derogatory statement on my part because I love dogs. I’m a total dog person.

But really. Here’s my theory:

Have you ever seen the way a dog acts when it wants something another dog has? Even though it may never have shown a speck of interest in a particular item before, when another pup gets a hold of it, it suddenly becomes the most fascinating object on the face of the planet. I have been this object. I’ve always noticed that when I’m single I seem to be invisible…it’s as if I cease to exist as soon as I become available. But literally the minute someone shows a little bit of interest, I become inexplicably interesting and irresistible.

There are those men that I have dated that seemed to be unable to make an “official” commitment. We hung out regularly, talked regularly, spent more time together than apart in many cases, but when I’ve started to broach the subject of exclusivity, I got the same old standard line – “Why does it have to be so serious? Can’t we just have fun?” Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m totally down with fun. Love fun. In fact, some other cute puppy – er, guy—wants to take me out, and I think it would be tons of fun!

And this is where the shit seems to hit-eth the fan. Apparently, dudes get jealous. Despite their protests to the contrary, they don’t like other dogs – I mean, dudes—playing with their toys. It doesn’t matter if they haven’t looked at that toy in ages, or have moved on to some other toy…by golly, they already slobbered on it and it’s theirs and what if they want to slobber on it again someday?? It should be there waiting for them, not being slobbered on by someone else!! I actually asked a member of the male species about this particular phenomenon, and his answer was profound: “I don’t know why. Even if I don’t give a shit about a girl, it pisses me off when I see her with another guy after I hang out with her.”

Very insightful.

I’m pretty sure I know what a tire feels like at this point. I’m forever running around after my mom’s Pomeranian, flapping at him like a mad woman trying to keep him from lifting his stubby leg on the tires of my pickup. He never rides in my pickup. Ever. Yet, if I wash my pickup and soap his markings off of my tires, or if I happen to go somewhere and another male dog pees on my tire, Hank is rabid about the reclaiming of the territory. But here’s the thing: once he finishes, he never gives so much as a sniff or a sideways glance to them again until the next time his tinkle spots are removed or covered up. And just like Hankie and the kicks on my GMC, I see this pattern in men and the girls they chase around with. They’re perfectly content to float through as long as their “markings” are still intact, but as soon as another testicular-ed being comes sniffing around, the legs start lifting. It’s enough to make a girl crazy.

So here’s my word of advice (for girls as well, because women can be real bitches); there’s nothing wrong with just having fun or chasing around with someone…life is short and there are plenty of opportunities, and as long as everyone is on the same page, it’s pretty no-harm-no-foul. But people aren’t tires or chew toys or “territory”. If you’re not willing to make it serious business, you have no right to get all pissed off if someone else comes around to check things out.

 (Pepper...aka, this girl's BFF)