Milf Alert

Stop asking about my father

1hpb — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 01:49:44 +0000

My dad has cancer.
He is going through chemotherapy.
It’s taking a toll on his body and naturally his psyche.
His prognosis is fine.
He is a pain in the ass, please stop asking about him

Everybody has been asking about my father, some out of politeness and others with a little more concern. How shall I answer?

He is still a narcissistic nuisance and every visit with him feels like an obligation.

I know I am lucky to have a father, and one who loves me unconditionally. I wonder how I would feel if he passed away tomorrow. After feeling sad and like an orphan, I’d be at peace with our relationship. Not satisfied with how it all played out, but content that I behaved ethically.

The nucleus of my family has evolved to my husband and kids and not my father. So his disapproving remarks, or snide comments (He’ll answer the question How are you? with “Waiting for you.”) are no longer going to motivate me to seek his approval. I still love him and will attend to his legitimate needs but I am not going to alter my schedule to satisfy his whims and narcissistic desires.

I don’t indulge my dad’s descriptions of his procedures, most of which involve waiting for the doctors. I know it’s not fair to expect my father to behave in the same brave and somewhat nonchalant way my mother handled her more severe and dire cancer.

So when people ask me how my father is, I just don’t know what to say. I’m sure he’d love me to recite his lengthy responses he offers to the same question but I am not his puppet. And I cannot believe it took me this many years to say this.

First Move

1hpb — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 16:59:42 +0000

Most of the parents in the park are mothers. That’s not anti-feminist or gender biased but a fact. A dad at the playground with his children is a minority.

There is one dad who I see frequently and I find him recognizable because he is at the park frequently and he is highly unkempt. I see him with his shaggy light brown hair in his eyes, poor posture and lanky figure and wonder what woman would want to bare his children, let alone trust him with the kids. I know it’s terrible how I judge people, but I find him so slouchy and unappealing.

Imagine my surprise to discover he not only sends his girls to the same school as my daughter but is also on the PTA, and is in fact the secretary. He had to chose the most emasculating titled position. I’m still weirded out by him. I just want to see him showered and groomed.

On the upside, I’ve met a dad I do not find even remotely attractive.

The other day I had the luxury of sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop looking out the window. Who should pass the window but Dirty Dad. A moment after we made eye contact I offered a smile which was quickly returned.

I’m slightly ashamed that this was the first time we really had any sort of interaction where we acknowledged the other. Then I began to wonder why he did not initiate the smile. He likely recognized me and did not mistake me as a random smiler. Did he know that I do not shower daily? Or that some mornings I forget to brush my teeth- doesn’t Listerine kill the bad germs? Or that I’ve occasionally conveniently “forgotten” to brush my children’s teeth? Does he know I only like to wash my jeans monthly?

It’s been said that what you love and hate in another person is only a reflection of what you love and hate in yourself. Hmm.

Horny and Faithful

1hpb — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 15:43:31 +0000

I tried telling my 91 year old grandma last night how I enjoy flirting and I think she completely misunderstood what I was saying.

I know I’ve got it great on many levels and I am smart enough not to jeopardize it.

I think my husband respects my desire for attention so long as he does not have to see it and so long as it does not interfere with our lives.

I focus on what’s important, family.

Perhaps I was too attracted to the man at the party last week and could not quite shake him from my head. That was/is a minor problem. Even if I did have a way of contacting him, I did not. Flirting when you are at the same locale is one thing, communicating beyond that is not necessary.

One friend discovered his wife was having an affair for half of their marriage by helping her fix her email address. He came across many emails that she had sent to her paramours. I wonder how my husband would feel if he discovered this site – which he may have already. I’m not certainly not advertising or advocating anything I would not own up to and if it was an issue, I’d happily oblige my husband as our relationship is paramount.

Not sure why I am feeling defensive. When I came home last weekend from the party I simply wanted to get under the covers and pull out my husbands cock and suck it. I was more attracted to him and hornier than ever.

The Tease

1hpb — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:30:31 +0000

One of the fun things about flirting is the anticipation or tease of what could possibly come next. That excitement where your mind fills in all of the blanks of what you do not know about the other and the possibility of more is more appealing than the actual act. So naturally, I love to flirt.

If things get a little too intense or steamy I may slip in the conversation that I have two children and a husband. I’m not hiding anything, just dancing on the boundary. Plus, it is a total position of power when you (or rather I) have something that someone (hot!) wants, it’s a dance. A risque dance.

I went to a party last weekend and had more fun than I ought to admit. There was one particular guy who I found attractive. We bonded over the loss of our moms and…well I had a bit to drink so I do not remember everything so clearly. I do recall him talking about himself quite a bit (he’s a musician so perhaps it is in the blood) and him telling me about his open relationship with his girlfriend. Perhaps if he used a less crass expression than “my girlfriend knows I may fuck someone else.”

I believe if two parties are on the same page with a mutual understanding respect for one another and it works for the couple, then go for it. My husband and I are not there, nor do I think I want us to be.

Yeah, maybe it was a little inappropriate for me to stare directly at his crotch when we were talking to a few people, but when he commented on my snake style pants, I warned him that they, like me, are venomous and can bite. I left a little abruptly surprised that he did not try a little more aggressively. But little good can happen after 1:30am for a milf like me.

Do I need an Astericks?

1hpb — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 17:26:13 +0000

The other night my single girlfriend invited me to Karaoke which was more fun than I could have expected, and not just because I was not the worst singer. There were drinks and a bunch of 90s songs that I knew by heart.

Considering most people were drinking and all of the songs were classics from our childhood, people from different “parties” joined the other singers on stage. We danced, we made fools of ourselves, there was physical contact.

There was a particularly cute young guy that grabbed the mic to sing Sexual Healing with my friend while I watched from the booth. Then he joined us for a rendition of a Billy Joel number casually placing his arm around my waist and sometimes my friend’s.

Is this what kids do today? My friend is older than me, but as I mentioned single, and she lives in India and is horny. Their contact appeared natural. But mine! Me! His hand on my body! Touching the same shirt that had to replace the earlier one because someone threw up on me. His hand on a little girl’s mommy.

What to do? I pulled gently away feeling like I was betraying my family. Flirting is one thing, physical contact another. He did not seem to notice. Then the song was over and we both sat down in separate booths. He was mostly talking to my girlfriend as her side of the booth backed up to his. But then my Guns and Roses song popped up and he jumped on stage with me. That Sweet Child o Mine.

I felt like I needed a disclaimer, to let him know I was not only married but also a mother of two. When/where does that fit in during casual flirting at a karaoke bar?

Turns out most of the drama was in my head. Surprise surprise! Shortly after he barely said goodbye to my friend and gave me a nod when he went off to another bar. *My friend later told me that he was 5 years younger than me. I guess I should be flattered in a dark bar on a Saturday night I look half a decade younger.

Zen Head

1hpb — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 17:20:05 +0000

I tried being a DeadHead but I liked the tye dyes and the pot more than the music. I was too high strung to chill out and sway to the music. I’d love bumming hits of weed off others at concerts and try my hand at dancing, wondering if everyone knew that I was an impostor.

There’s a joke, what does a Deadhead say when you take away his weed?
What is this crap I’m listening to?

Some of those real mellow songs or super long solos felt like something I’d groan about my parents listening to, not something I’d seek out. I was more into it for the culture and the clothes.

Now that my husband is full blown music fan and has loaded my ipod up with hippy music, I’ve begun to appreciate the actual music talent more, of course not when I am running and looking for something with a little more beat.

But I am trying to apply this relaxed attitude to other areas of my life. After losing my mom, so much of everything feels like the small stuff.

One psychopharmacologist I visited to work out some kinks in my medication suggested I try Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT). From what I understood after meeting with two graduate students is it’s a finite type of therapy (no years of commitment like in analysis) to help patients become more “present” to their emotions and thus control them better. With their pre-scripted answers and specific vocabulary like mindfulness, and eagerness to get me to commit, I was suspicious. So I met with another counselor, actually a PhD student younger than myself. The fact that the secretary made a snide remark did not so much offend me but turned me off from the place.

I comment that she’s younger than me because she, like the other PhD student did not represent an authoritative figure. She was no smarter than me, just trained. I had memorized answers and found ways to handle multiple situations when I met with tutoring students or their parents (a career in my past life) and it appeared these therapists were drawing from a similar finite well. I put the woman on the spot and asked her how she would advise me when I lost my temper with my daughter.

“I’d try to help you identify where the emotions are coming from?”
“I’m stressed, I’m late, I’m tired, and I’ve become impatient.”
She went on saying how she’d tap into the source, but listening to her I deduced that a parenting class would be more productive.

I’m accepting this Zen attitude, not blindly following one person, regardless of medical degrees, advice and instead focusing on what’s important. Like my family. And finding that rare bootleg concert CD for my husband.

New and Improved

1hpb — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 01:37:35 +0000

My mom always said Life is not a dress rehearsal. She said it so frequently and lived by it so fully we put it on her tombstone. Life is not a dress rehearsal.

I know some people make bucket lists, and some producers make movies called Bucket List but why do you have to wait until you are old and gray with death looming in front of you to make a “bucket list”? Why not just live your life fully? That’s what my mom did, to the point of me perceiving her as selfish at times, and that is what I intend to do.

Most recently:
I colored my hair red. Not as red as I would have hoped, but closer to that fire-orange I find seductive and eye catching.

Changed pediatricians to one with a better grasp on English, a better waiting room, nicer staff, more approachable doctor and a better bedside manner.

There’s more: changed writing groups, got my eyebrows professionally shaped and splurged on those hot new Tory Burch super skinny camo pants that make me feel like a superhero every time I wear them.
I switched a few more things around to make life more pleasurable and enjoyable, streamline certain responsibilities that distract from the important.

House Arrest

1hpb — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 19:46:52 +0000

The other night I was walking from my grandmother’s apartment when I passed a mish-mash store. A mish-mash store is a pop-up retail store that sells all kinds of assorted tschokes and such for a finite period of time often at a really low price. I’m not sure what lured me in, but the Halloween costumes caught my eye.

Now is probably a good time to mention that they were designed by Hustler.
I opted for the policewoman number, a short dress with lace in the front that looks pretty freakin sexy with the fishnets and aviator glasses I picked up. Despite feeling environmental with my reusable fabric bag, the saleswoman put the outfit in a dark plastic bag to then put inside my bag. I was on the way to the hospital to see my father then to my daughter’s pre-school so a little decorum would not hurt.

It was not until I was placing the cupcakes on paper plates at the preschool that I noticed the word “HUSTLER” on the package peaking out the top of the plastic bag. So the nursery school teachers, one with at least two obvious tattoos and a nose ring know I have an edge. I’m not sure what the one father who came to pick up his daughter thought, or if he even noticed at all.

That night I tried on the Hustler Policewoman Costume with the new fishnet thigh highs and aviator sunglasses when my husband emerged from the bathroom. I let him pick out a pair of boots considering he has a foot fetish and continued the seduction.

The costume was particularly exciting because it was new and neither of us knew what to expect. It’s not like when we start kissing and know that in so many minutes our clothes will be off and shortly afterwards one of us will be on top of the other. Foreplay. Thrust. Thrust. Cum.

There was that uncertainty and suspense found in the beginning of a relationship in a married parental bedroom. I felt empowered and sexy and he was surprised and excited. Our most erotic night in some time, all because of an inexpensive cheap polyester blend outfit, sans handcuffs. Who knew?

When I later mentioned to someone that I wanted to go out on Halloween as a Policewoman my husband declared that dress is not for public consumption. While I’m tempted to do something I never had to do as a teenager, wear one outfit out of the house then sneak into another once outside, I’ll opt to keep it private. (sort of) Even though I bought it as a Halloween costume, I’ll get many more miles in the bedroom.

Public Rants

1hpb — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 16:29:16 +0000

Seems like everyone is having meltdowns lately. Well at least some public people are which exonerates us normal folks whose breakdowns are not publicized.

Serena Williams ranted at an umpire’s call and lost match point based on poor decorum. I’m all up for maintaining a sense of dignity when playing a gentleman’s sport. (I’m using the term gentleman despite my Smith education and its masculine inclination to describe well behaved and civil.) While Serena should have been penalized for her outburst she did not deserve to lose the round. The same way that the World Cup revisited its tie breaker rules after a game was won with penalty kicks, the US Open should revise its poor sportsmanship rule. This is of course coming from a mom who does not play tennis and did not have the opportunity to watch the video, although I may go to youtube shortly.

I don’t want to watch the video while the babysitter is making bottles in the other room. Having her work in the open apartment and be able to glance at what I am doing or at least hear sounds from the computer forces me to at least appear productive, hence no youtube or crossword puzzles.

Kanye West stole Taylor Swift’s spotlight at the VMAs Sunday and later went on Leno to apologize. He admited to being drunk that night and responding to Jay’s question said he had not had time to mourn his mom’s passing in November. I never thought I’d have so much in common with a superstar rapper. I know we lost our mom’s in different ways but the tragedy still stings. I miss my mom so terribly. I believe she would be proud of how I am conducting myself professionally and personally.

I know she would delight in my kids and wants to be here for them and for me. But I know she does not *need* to be here. She has given me tools and skills to help me tackle it all. While I am freed from her definitive and sometimes oppressing opinion/ advice, I want her here.

On a recent afternoon I could not get my daughter to sit in the stroller or walk home and I was expecting a visitor. Walking along the river promenade past tables and chairs littered with people who were free at 4:00 in the afternoon I lost my temper. “It’s enough! It’s enough! It’s enough!” I screamed lifting my daughter in my arms. Strangers from every direction put down their books, paused on their computers, interrupted a cell phone call to stare at me. That was plenty of witnesses for me. While it was not a huge deal I’m glad I do not have to answer for that moment or watch it again or cringe knowing my friends could view it on youtube.

To Be or not to be

1hpb — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:53:53 +0000

Labor day has come and gone without much fanfare which was more than fine. Usually the holiday was just a reminder of everybody having more fun than me but this year I did not feel like I was missing out.

My husband had the week off leading up to the long weekend and he encouraged me to treat it as a true vacation. It was bliss to really just be together as a family. Naturally, I miss my mom more than anything and the awkwardness of being in her house without her and knowing she will never come home is subsiding. I am more in love with my husband than ever and not just because he helps me cope with my dad.

I constantly struggle to be with my father. He is my dad. He did change my diapers and come to my school plays (then comment how insignificant my role was and wondered what I did at all of the rehearsals). He has a tally for all of the selfless things he has done as my father and believes that I should be indebted to him because he answered the call of duty, or doodie when I was a baby (Bad pun, sorry.)

But it’s not selfless if I am forever indebted to him. While he remembers every positive thing he has done and has virtually no memory of the negatives or gets hyper defensive when I mention them, he remembers the opposite in others. He can still cite feeling slighted when my brother over a decade ago did not spend time with him because he chose to be with his girlfriend. Now my dad will have some greater explanation on why this is, our cousin was in town and blah blah. And in my dad’s memory my brother is completely in the wrong and he, my father remains infallible. It ceases to be fun.

My dad can justify insulting and demeaning his kids. “I didn’t call you an asshole. I said you are acting like an asshole.” Regardless of his word choice, I don’t want to be around that berating.

Yes, I know I’m lucky to have a father who does love me and shows me in his convoluted way and wants to be with me, hence the struggle. I just don’t like putting myself into situations which I know bring out the worst in me. I try not to let it get to me and keep everything in perspective, but I’m a fallible human being.