Inner Child and an Old Fart Walk Into a Bar: Freudian slips in a puddle of Jung!

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
Carl Jung 

It is impossible to overlook the extent to which civilization is built upon a renunciation of instinct.
Sigmund Freud

One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. 
Goethe

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Dammit.  I was on vacation.  Or, as my ex-husband once said to me, "I don't want to evolve!"  But, like it or not - and when you least expect it - the universe will smack you upside the head and remind you to pay attention.  It's a good thing, really.

So, Kimmy Sue walks into a bar.  That's my inner child, by the way, in case you hadn't figured that out.  The whole of my existence (and yours too, if you're honest with yourself) is the outward journey through life struggling between growing up and moving forward, all the while reaching back to grab the hand of the divine child that fears it has been sentenced to a permanent time out for no good reason.

Oops...back to the bar.  Kimmy Sue is ready for a good beer and some good music, supported in full by a grown ass woman named Ruby Lou.  Yeah, she is my dark chocolate, no nonsense reminder that I must keep it real.  This means inner child is gainfully employed and in charge. 

So I'm at the bar, when a very articulate and handsome man starts chatting me up.  How cool is that?  I left my glasses at home, however, because apparently he was old enough to be my father...in certain areas of South Carolina, and pretty much the entire state of Alabama.  More importantly, in his mind.  And, apparently, he left his glasses at home too.  Somehow, he saw a hot red head who might actually be old enough for him.  As in, sometimes miracles occur and a woman who looks 40 something might actually be 60.  Woo hoo!  How lucky can you get?

This is the point where I have to accept that regardless of age and education, men are stupid.  It's okay.  They're allowed.  Women are stupid too.  Actually, people are stupid.  And that's why we're here folks...to get UNstupid.  It's the point of this whole blog, in case you're missing that. 

Which is entirely possible, given my non sequitur inclinations. 

So.  Handsome, articulate old fart...same bar.  A few weeks,  and one damned good minute later, he tells me I'm too young for him.  Wow.  For a not-so-damned good minute, I was offended.  I'm pushing 50 for crying out loud, but I guess I should just feel flattered.  Most women are concerned about being too old.  Anyway, the words "chastened" and "scolded" came to mind.  And then it hit me.  Oh, here we go again...the "daddy" connection.  Seriously, if a man crosses my path and shows an interest in me, the common evolutionary denominator is always the father.  On both sides of the fence, mind you.

Yep, the universe really smacked me upside the head this time, but fortunately I have made great progress with my inner child.   This time, Kimmy Sue thwarted a knee-jerk reaction to go stand in a corner somewhere and said what any strong-willed southern girl would say when challenged in such a manner:  Awwwwwwwwwwwww...hell naw! 

The most important sign of progress, for me, is that I was not a victim this time.  He was a real nice daddy. 

(On the off chance that I'm not making sense - yes, I'm laughing too - what I'm pointing out is the importance of paying attention to what you attract.  More specifically, the common denominator.  It is the key to unlocking those trap doors and giving yourself permission to come out and play.)

I AM too young...and it's about damned time.  I hope I'm too young for the rest of my life.

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Too Young to Be Old or Too Old to Be Young? Oh yay...another wrinkle! I'm a big girl now!

"The only way you'll ever learn a thing
Is to admit that you know absolutely nothing
Oh nothing
Think about this carefully
You might not get another chance to speak freely
Oh freely

Old Enough - The Raconteurs

“We do not know what things look like.
We know what things are like. It must be a very limiting thing, this seeing. - Aunt Beast”

A Wrinkle in Time

I have often made the statement that I don't see people so much as I feel them.  I will say it again, because it's true.  However, maybe I need to have my eyes examined and start looking.  After all, I am living in a country that places more value on appearances than actual substance.  Or maybe we just draw a line between the two.

We're also more inclined to judge a book by its cover.  It's easier that way.  We label and categorize and live by the calendar.  Fuck Einstein!  Time IS linear!  Why?  Because the illusion makes life less scary.  Linear time allows us to believe that we have control.  It's all about the future right? 

Speaking of time, I've never really thought much about my age until recently. Most of my friends are older, chronologically speaking.  I guess I get along better with older people.  Not sure why.  Maybe I'm the token kid in the group? 



Or maybe I'm just an idiot.  How many wrinkles and hot flashes do I need to have in order to be taken seriously?

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As a woman in this life, this is where I have to admit that I'm confused.  If you are a man in this life, do you want this?

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Or do you want this?

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This post is a short one and you can thank my post-menopausal friend "Sweet Pea" for summing it all up.  She's in her 50's, so surely she knows what she's talking about.  According to her, the moral of the story is this:  Men want women to be 60, but they prefer that we look 40.  Yeah, here's what that looks like:



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Ewwww.  Just ewwww.  Without a doubt, the plastic surgeon's bank account is more attractive.

Sigh.  I guess it's a numbers game after all. 





Slutty Goddess and the Plungerheads: Meet my BFF and her Bodacious Boobs!

Miss Mona:  Well, I always just thought if you see somebody without a smile, give 'em yours!

- from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

“Try to avoid getting involved with somebody who's gonna need killing before it's over. It may seem to you that that narrows the field somewhat, but be diligent.”

― Jill Conner Browne, The Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love

I've been chewing on this story for quite some time.  Mainly how to tell the truth without divulging identity.  You see, my BFF is a mother, an artist and every manner of normal you can think of.  She's into arts and crafts, sews, bakes crazy good cookies and is a budding entrepeneur.  She's also a born again slut! 

Why not?  After more than two decades of being married to the same man, she suddenly found herself single.  Seriously.  Just like that.  One day everything is fine (or so she thought) and the next he tells her it's not...as in, oh by the way, I'm in love with someone else and I'm leaving. 

After many porch chats, lots of wine (Arbor Mist, bless her heart, which is like juice boxes for adults) and tears, she finally realized what I told her from day one.  He did her a favor. 

Not to undermine the whole damned marriage.  They brought two awesome children into this world, made lots of friends together and currently maintain a semi-decent friendship.  My BFF is a very good example of grace, let me tell you.  I should probably pay more attention to how she handles herself because my fiery nature doesn't always know when to keep its mouth shut. (I'll blame it on my moon in Aries!)

Anyway, life goes on.  And the life of my BFF, whom I jokingly refer to as the Slutty Goddess, certainly has gone on...and on...and on...and on!  I have truly been amazed at just how far she's come, how much she's grown and how fucking awesome she is.  It wasn't as obvious when she was busy raising her kids and fulfilling her role as supporting wife.  Hell, she was too damned busy.

It's obvious now.  And I can't tell you her name, she'll hurt me.  But I can share a photo of her bodacious boobs!  (I did start this blog on the subject of boobs, so it's appropriate.)  Here they are:



Yep, the Slutty Goddess has discovered the joys of being a sexy, independent woman.  And since some things will never change, with a rack like that...she has choices!  Of course, the realization has been a process.  Which is not uncommon.  We all have to kiss a few toads along the way, right? 

Speaking of toads, she sent me a text message one day stating that she'd just had the worst date of her life.  Worst as in weird.  During lunch, no less.  She was so nonplussed, I did what any BFF would do.  On the way home, I stopped by the package store to find just the right bottle of wine for dinner...to celebrate the worst date ever.  When I saw this bottle, I laughed out loud.  How perfect:



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The next time you have endured the worst/weirdest date ever, I highly recommend this wine.  As a matter of fact, it has become the official KSRL and Slutty Goddess men are stupid wine.  After a few glasses, a light salad and lots of chocolate...who gives a shit?

Of course, we don't think men are stupid all the time.  We think men are cute, and cuddly, and we like the way they smell (most of them). They can also lift heavy objects, open doors and kill spiders. You know, useful.  But when they are stupid, we reserve the right to celebrate in style. 

The two of us have toasted many chapters in her dating career.  I have them all labeled for her in case she ever decides to let me write the book.  Seriously, her shenanigans would be a best seller for every single woman starting over in her 50's.  You see, my BFF personifies the ability to get up after the rug's been yanked out from under you, dust yourself off and get busy!  All you need is a bustier, an open mind and a sense of humor. 

For instance, Salsa Boy.  Yeah, you heard me.  Salsa Boy.  This would be the chapter dedicated to a fit and fine Salsa dancer with a penchant for big momma porn and the audacity to greet my BFF at his door butt...ass...naked...and sporting a very large woody.  So, while the experience left her feeling less than cherished, and later in tears, it wasn't a total loss.  There's more to it than porn and the surprise greeting, of course.  As a matter of fact, that's not the bad part. 

My personal favorite is Button Boy. Do I need to explain that one?  In this chapter, the Slutty Goddess exercises her natural ability to make do (all moms know how to do this) and find pleasure in life's little things.  She was tempted to go back to Salsa Boy, but he made her cry.  Sigh.  Now what?

How about Fantasy Boy?  To her credit, SG (getting tired of spelling it out) really cared about this one and she was willing to fulfill his fantasy.  Without going into great detail, there was dancing, a bubble bath and breakfast the next morning. There's more, but she made me take it out.  Pooh!  Good stuff too...except, he wasn't so happy about it after. Men don't like competition you know.  Never mind the fact it was his idea.  However, SG rose to the occasion in the manner of a true Goddess.  She enjoyed it!

Hell, I might as well mention Big Blues Man.  He made her laugh.  A lot.  And he had a really big...guitar.  So, he got double points.  I so want to hint at what went on in the Green Room at Blind Willie's.  Sigh.  I wish my mouth was that big and my knees that strong. 

We're not going to talk about Two Second Man.  Bless his heart.

There are more stories, and all involve a very good woman with a big heart, big boobs and the guts to keep trying.  Over time, she has learned to be the kind, nurturing woman that she is while at the same time saying no to things that do not serve the Goddess well. 

And she is a Goddess dammit!  She deserves whatever she wants.  Near as I can tell, she finally agrees.

I sure hope so, because she has survived seven years on the post-divorce path of blues and beyond.  And while she's gotten really good at the dating thing, I sense that she's ready to share the new and improved woman that she has become with just one. 

Damn, I sure will miss her stories.  However, some lucky man will reap a mountain of rewards when he chooses SG.  And boys, that's how it's supposed to go.  You make a woman feel chosen.  After all, the only way a man gets to be King is by treating his woman like a Queen.  SG and I are amazed at how many men out there just don't get that.

I have to conclude with a song that makes me think of her every time I hear it. Consider it the Slutty Goddess theme song!