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Here is a link of who I found (include link for my internet stalking purposes).

Issue Date: Thursday, Jan. 25, 2007

I have an urge. I’ve been talking about this to my friend Jules (check out her site over at there’s got to be a pony in here somewhere…) all morning on Google Talk.

By the way, she calls me her “internet-same-sex-invisible-crush” and that thrills me to no end.

The urge is to talk about an old lover. It came up during a conversation with Miss Jules that I had once been in deep loke (like/love) with a man who was separated… (read: Totally Still Married!) from his wife.

I know, I know. I do this to y’all all the time. You are probably tired of hearing about the Internet Crazies and my ex-husband and those random guys I slept with those times. (Seriously, if you are my sister or are related to me and are reading this, stop now. Really. It’s gonna get ugly and you probably don’t want to know this much about me.)

Wait, I have to tell y’all this first. Remember when my father was cleaning out the attic and found a bunch of my stuff? Also see: the shorts. He found an ass load of dolls and stuff. Ok, let’s all take a step back and remember that I did not really play with dolls. Stuffed animals? Okee Dokee. But beady eyed dolls that would say “ma ma” in a voice that sounded like one of those cow in a can things. (I want one of those cow things for my desk.) The dolls? Are way too creepy. Seriously. I have them haphazardly shoved into a garbage bag and hidden behind the sofa in the living room. I can tell that one night, they are going to rip a hole in the bag and come and suck my soul out of my sleeping body.

So? I called that “I Sold It on eBay” place and asked them if they would sell my dolls. The dolls are mostly Madame Alexander dolls that apparently are very expensive. You know what they said? “We will only sell your stuff if it will bring in more than $60.00… and you will retain 60% of the profit.” “So,” I replied “You’d take a 40% cut just to take some pictures of my dolls and post them on eBay?” The lady replied, “Yes.” So, I am going to take pictures of them myself and sell (read: Probably give) them to a lady I work with.

Well, goodness. I have really wandered off topic here huh?

Old lover. Right.

Ok. A few months ago I was playing a game I like to call “Googling Those Who Are Dead To Me… but not really because it seems that I am Googling them.” Please enable my crazy and tell me that I am not the only one who does this. Stop reading right now, and go leave me a comment that says, “Baby, shhhhh, you are not the only one. We all do that. Here is a link of who I found (include link for my internet stalking purposes).”

Well, since you are going to share with me? I’ll share with you. I found him in this link. I wont tell you his full name or anything, I will just say that he is a very big guy, wearing a baseball cap, a goatee and lifting a… well, lifting a fucking tiger. (psst… bottom left picture of the second page.)

And for those of you playing the home game this is the man who I have written about several times. The last time I think was back in like 2004 or something. Yes, I will spare you the links. But I was talking about how I dreamt about him, then my old coworker sent me an email saying that he called to leave his number, to ask how I was, blah blah blah. She told him I was remarried and wouldn’t give him any other details. Since then he has remarried his wife of a frillion years and apparently has taken up tigers as a job, sport or both.

I want to tell you guys about …

Well, no.

I have to keep some things a secret.

I want to tell y’all that I felt so loved by this man. He was kind, generous, giving, and therapeutic to my wounded feelings and my broken little heart. We would talk for hours on the phone, via email and chatted online endlessly. I needed his attention so much at that point in my life that I overlooked that he was still legally bound to his wife of (I think, at that juncture) fourteen years.



I met him on a sunny day in October at the Oklahoma Zoo and that day, he changed my world. “World” is such a strong word. But “heart” didn’t do the sentiment justice.

He picked me up and hugged me. It had been so long since I had been touched or approached with such love and gentleness that I almost melted. I was still a little bitter on the inside, so I didn’t share my tears of joy, relief or excitement with him.

He was living in Kansas when we met for the first time, and over the next few years I would see him every few months. I met his ex-wife and I met his sons. I even helped them move to Nebraska. We would go maybe a month or two without seeing one another for a weekend, and even that much time between visits was almost too much to bear. I needed to be near him.

I wanted to be more important than his sons. I wanted to be more important than his estranged wife. They shared responsibility of their kids even when they were divorced… I admired that, but was still jealous.

He was the first man I was ever jealous of. I wasn’t jealous of his charm, his close working environment with his female coworkers or friends, or even his (ex)wife. I encouraged them to get back together. They were better together than apart. But even then, I was jealous of the time he was spending away from me, not jealous that he shared a marital bed with the woman he was once married to.

Maybe I was just jealous of the time that I wasn’t being praised and handled like the hope diamond. Maybe I was just jealous that all of that attention that could have been mine was not there for me to enjoy.

I must admit that when he was there, in my apartment, all the time, I felt loved and cherished… but also a little smothered. I was so inconsistent. I wanted him to be with me, but when he was, I wanted to push him to go back to his ex-wife. I wanted to be petted and held and made love to… but I also wanted him to fight with me, to prove that I was right that he was this, that or the other. I wanted him to cook for me, coo over me and bathe me… but I wanted him to be a man. I wanted him to go out and make a life for himself and then we could work out a way to be with one another.

He was used to being the stay at home dad. He was used to working odd hours so he could be with his boys. He was used to waiting on and handling the needs of the woman/women in his life. I wanted him to change, but then again, I didn’t. I loved that he was tender and engaging. I loved that he could cook and figure out how to clean the lint trap in my dryer. I loved that he would wash my hair, bathe me and then make love to me like the world was going to end in the next hour. But… yet, I wanted something else.

When he went back home I would date men on and off again and he hated it. Hated it so much and would get so quiet that I could hear his brow furrowing over the phone. He knew that he couldn’t say a word before his divorce was final. And even when it was final, he hesitated to push me because I would come unglued at the first sign of jealousy.

I never told him I was jealous of the time he spent away from me. I never let him all the way in.

The most time we ever spent together was two weeks.

For the first part of the first week it was wonderful. He drove down and I was so excited that I drove up to Denton (north of Dallas) to meet him because I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to see him, had to put my mouth on his, had to feel his soft goatee tickle my neck while he kissed the underside of my jaw. He would wrap his arms around me and lift me high off the ground, never squishing me just holding me. I would feel so safe.

He would wake up with me in the morning and talk to me while I was getting ready for work. He would make coffee and stand on the balcony smoking his off brand cigarettes and then send me off with a kiss and some sweet words. While at work, he would shop for groceries and fix dinner for when I arrived home. We would go out with my friends and listen to live music and drink cheap beer down at the Blue Note on Greenville. Around the second weekend, I started to see strain lines around my eyes as I did my makeup in the mornings and I wondered why I was getting so snippy.

I think I was having flashbacks of my relationship with my ex-husband. X didn’t like to work, he reveled in being unemployed and spent my paychecks like they were Monopoly money.

Kim did none of these things. He liked working, he didn’t like being unemployed, and he would use his own cash to buy things like groceries or whatever.

I think I just felt like I was being the new model that his ex-wife was being traded for. She did tell me that if she could choose anyone to replace her, that it would be me.

No. Just … no.

I am not sure why I am revealing all of these ugly things about how I treated him, because I did. I treated him badly and I wanted him to leave and feel like he was better off up north. I didn’t want him to leave his sons to be with some Texas Tart. I was never called that, but I certainly felt like it.

My heart was ugly and black when I was with him. He lightened it up several shades so I could go to therapy and work on getting it a nice off white color as opposed to the gray it was when I asked him to leave.

I think I want to apologize to him.

I would never do that because that would be selfish, only succeed in opening a door better left shut and making ME (it’s always about me, isn’t it?) feel better. I am sure he has moved onto better (and more stripey – a little tiger humor) things and I wish him nothing but the best. But that wish, will have to remain unsaid.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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