Random Memory… worth thinking of

I was at a party with my 5 housemates (all Air Force guys) back in the early 90s. These guys would have D&D nights, drinking nights and basically I was pretty much a friend (and outsider) to this community. I had my own room, but would frequently find it shared by some random stranger that parked in the bed without my approval due to lack of space

The first guy was a douche. He was a DJ on a country station, pretended to pay our electricity bills while he went to town and bought whatever he wanted. When we finally figured this out, all of of us disbanded. The 2nd was a truthful guy : someone I thought I felt in love with (although I had no idea what love was at the time) and he moved early on to Korea. Our 3rd roommate ended up getting married, and the 4th dropped out and went back to Idaho or Ohio (I can’t remember) to live the rest of his life out.

Of all of these guys, I would have to say I was the most successful. I started with a horrible past (college drop out), meeting far too many men, being a  trash white girl that was only looking for someone to be with. I had no future, no life.

Yet. at some point, I decided to leave. Probably after throwing my first at our largest roommate twice and then his car, to find myself in the hospital explaining that my 3 broken bones that were qualified as a breaker’s break were due to a “fall on the driveway”. Of course, the doctor never believed it, but I found myself in a cast and realized I couldn’t live this way anymore.

I found a halfway house (between a prostitute and a homeless alcoholic) and lived on Ramen Noodles for 2 years before I found out my French grand father had died.

Mom called me and asked me to come to France for the funeral. At this point, I was 121 pounds at 5ft10 and had been refused for recruitment in the Air Force due to the lack of pounds I had on me. Perhaps that saved me: all I wanted to do was to become a KC-135 pilot to refuel B-52s  in flight.

The death of Grand–Pere made me realize I was wasting my life away and I became adamant on becoming someone someone could be proud of.  I worked my 12 hour shifts, did what I could do to prove I was worth it and ultimately was able to achieve what I am today. Wiuthout the will, the emotional backing of my grand parents, I am not sure I would be where I am today. but I thank them from the bottom of my heart. Je vous aime.


What the F…..

I’ve been in this dream world with a man that says he wants kids, live in a happy home, yet spends his time texting and doesn’t want to meet me.

So I continue on my way. Next step is Paris, then Amsterdam for a week of work/pleasure. A few weeks later, I will be on a plane to Las Vegas and most likely another plane to Orlando a few weeks after that.

I understand he’s scared. After all, he’s 48, wants kids and never wants to imagine divorce. But texting isn’t the way to go about ‘observing’ a person, you need to see them and interact before you determine whether they are fit for you or not. Not to gloat, but I am a pretty damn good catch. Well into the 6 figures, no children, no exes, no baggage…. and yet I am ready to support what he has to deal in life.  Great: he has a great job that makes great money. Fantastic: he has a property he bought that most would kill for.

But my expectations are to find someone that loves me, adores me, and treats me like his woman. I can be the beer drinking, loud mouthed type as well, but I have found a way to use both my intellectual and my redneck roots to skill, so he will never be embarrassed. Instead, he is retreating into his family domain and not letting me in

This could be critical to a relationship that would have lasted and been fruitful. My gut feeling tells me he’s hiding something. What…. I don’t know.

A sadder childhood memory

As much as I loved Andy as a friend, his brothers were sometimes tough on me. As much as I was infatuated with Danny, there were many other brothers to contend with.

Michael was the oldest. He decided, at the ripe old age of 17, that it would be OK to ask an 8 year old to perform oral sex on him. Now, honestly, I cannot remember what age I was (between 6 and 9) but he would hide in the bushes and ask me to perform oral sex. He would call it a “lollipop” and tell me to grind it up and down.

This happened in the bushes behind his house and in the den when no one was around. I had no idea what to do at that age and was always instructed to follow adults so I tried to please him as best I could so I could go playing with Andy again.

Mom started using him as a babysitter for me, which turned into a nightmare. He would sit in front of the TV with his pants open and calling for me. I was terrified. I remember trying to read a paper (wall street journal?) and him saying “you can’t read that don’t give me that crap”.  Abuse would ensue.

One night, when I found out Michael would be babysitting, I had a fit (according to mom). I hid behind the kitchen table and said I could not do that. Maman’s reaction was immediate : she turned to Greg (Dad)  and said that something was wrong to and to cancel all plans

Thankfully this stopped the sexual harassment. Andy ended up getting married and having kids, but once I heard Michael had a girl ,I was extremely upset. I hope he doesn’t do the same he did to me…

How to deal with work and live balance

I spent many years getting to the point where I would have to make this choice. I was always hellbent on my career, making sure I did the right thing, and looking like a superstar after the fact. The problem is that I completely neglected my personal life and ended up living very lonely for many years.

Multiple men proposed to me. I declined every time. My goal was to prove that, without official education, I could do better than anyone out there. And I think I proved my point. I don’t want to compare myself to Steve Jobs or Bill Gates, but I really felt I had the potential to make things happen and all that stopped me from it was a piece of paper worth 200k to tell me I could do it.

 I’m there. I worked hard. Harder than most and did what I could to become that person people could trust.  I never felt like college degrees were a source of official revenue, but believed that hard work and proof could get you there.

Yes,, it’s been a struggle. An uphill battle with those that feel that a degree in “drinking their faces off” allows them a certain advantage. While they were doing that, I was working 3 jobs, attending school part time and had no help from my family whatsoever.

In that sense, I feel superior. I hate the word, but frankly, I never did the frat parties or hanging out places… I was always working, fighting and bettering myself. If that makes me a lesser person, so be it. 

I earned my place in hardship. What did you white collars do to get into these schools? 

My Tattoo story

Well, this one deserves its own post.

Here I was, a pretty reserved girl coming from France to attend meetings for my career and wound up meeting someone I could almost call my soul mate from the other side of the pond : I’ll call her Jacks for the sake of this blogl

Jacks is crazy. She’s a South African with fire built in her and a knack for attracting every possible guy in any scene (night club, restaurant, professional meeting). She exudes sexuality. She’s beautiful, smart and knows what she wants. And gets it if she wants to … every time.

Long story short, I flew from Paris to Johannesburg on a 14 hour flight (not fun by the way, for those that haven’t tried that before) and arrived exhausted in Jo’burg airport. 

Jacks picked me up and brought me to her house where friends were waiting, the South African sun was beating on us, and weird bird noises I had never heard before were cackling.

I was asked to try to the Gaunga. I have no idea how to spell it but the truth is that this is pure marijuana without any type of tobacco and used frequently in SA circles. As I was not a habitual smoker, I had no idea what I was in for. By 4 pm, I was completely knocked out and crashed on the guest bed waiting for the next day to arrive : I couldn’t tell what was the ceiling versus the floor.

The next morning, I awake to Jacks tying Saran Wrap (or equivalent) around my mid waist. I was mostly naked and here , this crazy South African woman was wrapping plastic around me. WTF. I asked her what she was doing and all she said was “Dahhhhhling, we’re getting tattoos!”. 

Next thing I know, I’m in the 4 corners mall outside of Johannesburg, sitting on a table with Macedonian tattoo person in charge of creating what would become called a “tramp stamp”. In my defense, I did it far before anyone else did, and therefore cannot say I was following any type of trend!!!

So when asked what I wanted, and knowing how much I felt at home in South Africa, I said “make something South African for me so I can take Africa home with me”. And from there, the deed was done. I found myself with a tattoo i still carry to this day, from a random mall in a random city in South Africa, from a country that claims 40% AIDS, with needles and symbols that represent a country I fell in love with, the day I arrived the first time.


South Africa is the most beautiful country on earth. I have been to hundreds of countries but when I landed there the first time, I knew I was home. I have no idea why, but it was to the point of tears. For those that know me, I don’t cry. And I was balling though security as I arrived past security.


My wish is to be buried there. May it be Kruger Park, Cape Town, Durban, Johannesburg. I don’t care. But South Africa is where my roots are somewhere. A different life, different period. One day I will return. I promise.

The meaning of life

I find myself wondering about the meaning of life every day. It’s easy to get up at 7am, brush your teeth, feed your cats, check the litter box, make sure the coffee is set, shower, shave and all of the numerous other robotic things you do in your life to get prepped for the day to come ahead.

But as time goes by, and you realize that every day is the same …. do you feel like you have accomplished what it is you are looking for? Are you truly happy? And what is happiness : is it love? money? professional accomplishments? stability?

As I think about the road I have traveled, I realize my priorities have drastically changed. I was once an Air Force brat, torn between 2 cultures and can probably safely say that I moved 30+ times in my life. No roots, no real childhood friends or memories.. just someone who jumped in and out of reality of others that had their fate waiting for them.

At first I was jealous. Everyone I know has a history : a past, a belonging, that brings them together. People remember the “good old days” when you could ride a bike without a helmet, or when cigarettes were cool and drinking under legal age wasn’t an issue. They remember who had braces when, who got their first DUI, which kid in junior high was the first to get his first car….

But now that I look back on my broken life, I realize that it may have saved me from the dreary reality of what today’s society calls “standard”. By standard I mean, by “American” standards. Everyone in this country is married by 25, has 2 children, generally gain 50 pounds in between, go through mid life crisis, and divorce ensues.

I never wanted that for myself. I wanted to be with THE person I felt was the closest to me. A South African man once told me that he was waiting for the age of 32 to marry his girlfriend because he felt that was the timeline when people divorced and he could proceed gayly through life. He admitted he never loved her, but believed this was how he could avoid this situation.

I, stubbornly, have always believed that the real partner is waiting out there. I haven’t searched enough. I always expect that knight in shining armor to ring the doorbell one day and say “ok, I’m home darling”. Unfortunately that is the case of many single women around the ages of 40 today : those that preferred to focus on their careers versus sign in on the “standard Stephardville” life that everyone dreamed of in the 50s.

So what is the final truth? Settle and be done with it? Have 2 kids, pretend to be soccer mom, invite “friends” once a month for a routine brunch and go to church every week to be ‘that’ person? Or be yourself and find your true calling and hope that you wind up with the person that really comprehends who you are and what you are made of before committing to something long term.

I would rather be alone and die alone happy, then spend my life miserably with the pretence of having a husband and children just because society dictates it. I’m a rebel. Some say it’s selfish. I say it’s self preservation.

So how……

Can you be in love with someone without having carnal knowledge of them? I’m astounded to see how many emotions fly when this man walks into my life. If he were to ask me to spend the rest of my life with him, I would. And yet, a short kiss is all it took. 

Has anyone else felt the same? Is it a gut feeling, or just something that may be real? All I want to do is protect him (the Cancer in me) and I’m willing to wait it out. We’re both adults, yet we’re taking it slow…. to a crawl. But he makes me laugh, he’s truthful and he’s a gem. I cannot imagine my life without him after so few weeks spent together.

Something has got to give. This can’t be real. All of my previous relationships were built on solid facts, not this ideal that is similar to a ‘groupie’ feel!  What to do about this???