Lost!

You know the feeling, when you've lost something, probably out of your own stupidity, and you can't seem to get it out of your head.... Well, I've been having that feeling. It feels like I've been stripped of myself and can't figure out why. It's a weird thing, when something you had taken for granted, knew was a part of your existence, in some way defined you, is no longer there in your life. An empty space, no, a gaping hole remains in place of what once filled the most beautiful part of me. They say you never know what you had till you lose it. I knew exactly what I had, I just never thought I'd be dumb enough to lose it!

Loss is nothing new to me. I have endured probably as much as everyone else at this stage in my life. But, the feeling of knowing I can never have the same exact thing, ever again, drowns me in a bottomless pit. Yes, there is always that hope that the future will bring back what was once mine, and make this just a distant memory, something I have learned from, but who am I kidding. I've gone back a thousand times, in my mind, and tried to figure out how I could have just let go of something that was more precious than gold, just walked away from that one thing that was me. I have wondered, in the dark recesses of my mind, what has become of my 'precious'? Did someone else find what I had lost, and am I the only one who doesn't know? I hate myself for walking away, but did so anyway, knowing full well the consequences of staying, when darkness had fallen on me.

I feel naked! Fully clothed, in public view, yet with the knowledge that I have nothing on, and see the piercing eyes of those who look at me, and judge. You know the dream, everyone's had it, of being the only one in a crowded room, who is naked, with the end result of being laughed at. It's not the nakedness that bothers anyone, it's the being laughed at that touches our insecurity. For me it's that insecurity compounded by the fact that now, I am left with nothing to make me feel the way I used to. My memories are the only thing that serve as a reminder of an attachment meant to last a lifetime.

The dried earth now a testament to my loss. A million blades pointed at me, refusing me the pleasure of finding my treasure. I live on hope and faith that someday, soon, I will have, what truly belongs to me. But till then I am bent over, now in daylight, on the lawn, looking for my earring.

Honey Chili Chicken

I don't cook! Not because I can't, but because I've been told over and over again by certain people, over multiple years, that I can't, that I am a terrible cook, that the maid makes better food than I do. So, I got rid of the maid! But I still don't cook. There in lies the dilemma. Since the official maker of the stuff we eat has left, I have had little choice but to re-enter the room with all the utensils, and subject myself to the harsh environs in front of the stove, to feed the kids.

As with everything I do, I have taken this up as a challenge, but with a twist. I will no longer toil in the kitchen, as I had done for over a decade, with no appreciation, sometimes down right humiliation. No sir! I have now taken it upon myself to concoct, nay create my own versions of recipes that I love. And yes, there will be no choice (evil laugh in the background).

Tonight I started with one of my favorite recipes, Honey Chili Chicken, made in a pressure cooker. I know, I gasped too when 'shown' this recipe by a dear friend who is a certified chef, without the certificate. I would divulge the ingredients and procedure, besides the Honey, Chili, Chicken and the pressure cooker, but I was made to take an oath, under the condition that if I ever did tell anyone, I would never be fed. So bear with me. I will try my best to describe the end result.

Picture: Succulent, plump whole legs of chicken browned to a deep caramel color, with its skin blistered to a paper thin crisp layer. The juices freely flowing clear into the bed of potato wedges, when cut. The white flesh tender to the touch of the fork, yet firm enough to be cut off the bone. The sauce, a color of deep Mahogany with the scent of dark forest honey fleetingly tempered with bright red, hand crushed chili flakes.

I would have taken pictures, if only there had been enough time before it was devoured. The kids and the cat have complimented the chef, and I feel like I can do wonders. Now, for my next trick....eggplant lasagna....for you vegetarians.

Trust Me.

Trust me, these two little words
Mean the world to me.
Blind faith I've had before
To be burned right to the core.
No more of the mindless complacency
That ruled my life into dormancy.

Trust me, I've woken up
To face a world that's ready to give up.
Miles to go before I reap
The simple pleasures that I seek.
A path clearly charted out
Through a turbulent existence, as is no doubt.

Trust me, I know the pain
Of suffering with absolutely no gain.
In the depths of hell I traverse
With only me I have to curse.
But wait and see what's in store
For the chances I'm taking will restore.

Trust me, I know the truth
The trouble is, it's all mute.
The deafening silence speaks not well
As I struggle out of this prison shell.
But with head held high and shoulders squared
To meet MY life I am prepared.

Trust me, it's about time
To venture beyond that faint line.
As I see the face that leads me on
All will be set right that was wrong.
It would be far too easy to give up on me
But I refuse and I will win! Trust me.
  

Wanted!

In a run up to Valentine's Day, Christina Aguilera's song of 'What a Girl Wants' playing on the radio, I thought I'd share what I think a woman really wants. Every woman is different, but what she really wants in a man hasn't changed too much, well, since Adam and Eve. 

                                                              WANTED!

A man who looks after himself. Needs to be fit, not necessarily Dwayne Johnson type, but with a body to lift my spirits, and stamina to match. Needs to smell like the summer, adventure, and a dash of danger.

A man who makes the time to be with me, even through my PMS and the follow up tantrums. Someone who just holds me tight when I cry, without asking, 'What are you crying about now?'

A man who can cook, preferably a AAA rated chef, who's not afraid to try new combinations. Extra brownie points to someone who likes to watch cooking shows with me & can recreate what he has just learned.

A man who will not compare me to his mother, or for that matter with my mother, in any respect. I am my own person, and if my cooking isn't as good as mom's, that's probably because I"M NOT YOUR MOTHER!

A man with whom I can share silence with. Someone who leaves me speechless, in a good way.

A man, who respects women. Someone who respects me, and will treat me like a girl, woman and a lady, NOT a chick or a babe. (Hot momma, is okay!) A gentleman! Someone who, in turn, earns my respect with his good deeds and words.

A man who is strong enough to share his emotions and deepest, darkest secrets with me, and trustworthy enough for me to tell him mine. You know, the shit even my mother doesn't know kinda stuff.

A man who listens, NOT just hears what I have to say. I don't always need you to understand me, but I would like your full attention, without interruptions, when I speak. Just because I'm sharing my problems with you does not mean I need advice on how to solve them, I am quite capable of solving my own issues. So, unless asked for, please keep your advice to yourself and lend me your ear. All I would like is for you to be there for me.

A man who likes to flirt but knows his limits, except with me. Someone who can look at me from across a crowded room and make me feel weak in the knees. Someone who thinks I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, even with bad hair, morning breath, wrinkles, sick as a dog, unshaven, in my worst moods.

A man who understands that it's the little things that count, like knowing exactly what each little gesture I make means, what my favorite color is, what my favorite flower is, how I like my coffee.

A man who loves animals, has had pets and taken care of them himself. Someone who doesn't think rescuing stray animals is detrimental to one's health.

A man will not abuse me in any way, verbally, emotionally, psychologically or financially. Someone who is fiercely protective of me, enough to beat up a roadside romeo for looking wrongly at me or tell off his mean mother. Someone I can run to to share everything with....good, bad, or ugly.

A man with whom I can be completely honest, open, crazy, sloppy, aggressive, soft, gentle, loving, nurturing, a vixen, and everything else that I really am.

A man who is completely honest with me, enough to tell me I'm getting fat, but kind enough to help me lose the extra weight.

A man who is committed to me on a molecular level and would not stray or let me stray. Someone who understands that flirting to me is a process of making friends (male or female) and does NOT implicitly or explicitly imply anything else. A man who has the sense to ask me about my male friends before jumping to unforgivable conclusions.

A man who knows when and how to use the three little words and mean them....'Sorry, Thank you, Please!'

A man who would give up every bad habit just so that I wouldn't be influenced.

A man who understands that just because you've done something nice for me does not automatically qualify you to a 'roll in the hay'. Must have the ability to be romantic, spontaneous and sensitive ...if possible all at the same time.

A man who isn't afraid of a little PDA, and is proud to show me off as his girl. Someone who's idea of foreplay is NOT 'get your clothes off!' and the words 'I love you' do NOT equal 'let's have sex!'

A man who knows I'm an independent woman, but has complete control over me, body, heart & soul, and visa versa. Someone who shows me he loves me. Someone who can make me dance, laugh, cry all at the same time.

A man who's only fear is losing me, and is not afraid to show it. Someone I would let go of not in death, but only in dire circumstances. 

Qualifying points are in random order. All the above points need to be met to qualify and proceed to the next level. If this person should be found, please call me ASAP.

                         WANTED! Preferably ALIVE, before I Die!

In sickness & ...what!?

I know, it's been eons since I last blogged, not for lack of material to write, or the time. Nope! I had plenty of both but lacked the motivation and honestly, putting sentence in things was not right coming. But I'm back, until I completely fall off my precariously pitched cliff top perch.

I have been sick lately. Yes, I know....Oh my God!! Me sick? A karate brown belt! Well, I have been, and let me tell you, it ain't fun. It has been years since I've been this ill, making me feel like I was going to die. As I writhed in the corner of my extendable bunk bed, I saw flashes of my short, extremely eventful life before me, as if the movie reel had come undone from its canister. I think I had divine visitations from people long dead and some not see in a while, so I don't know if they're dead or not. I heard voices of angels asking if I was alright, and of demons passing snide comments from afar. At one point the cold enveloped my fever wrecked body with such force, as if the hand of Death wanted to wring the life out of me. Every muscle fiber twisted into malicious knots of pain, that I couldn't imagine enduring anything worse. God, I hate having the flu!

As I lay curled up in a heap, hacking my lung out, it dawned on me that I was at my ugliest, not just in appearance, but in behavior, temperament, attitude, in my entirety. To put up with me when I’m normal, not sick and in relative good cheer is hard enough. I know, because I’ve had to put up with me. But when I exude detestability at its heights, I can be a challenge to the Gods, to put is very mildly. Who would want to take care of, let alone tolerate a female exponentially twisted form of Gollum? And in that brief moment of brightness in an otherwise blitzed out mind of mine, it hit me like gravity hits a falling apple…people who truly love me.

Now, don’t get all excited, those numbers are literally countable on the fingertips of less than two hands, of which only one person is not related to me by blood, and she lives half way across the world. This has put things, my value, as I interpret it, into perspective. For the longest time, I had invested my time, caring, love, and all rosy emotional things on people, who, when it came right down to it, didn’t give a rat’s ass if I lived or died as long as their purpose was served. But those who’ve been beside me with absolutely no expectation other than my well being and happiness, however few they maybe, are the ones who make me feel better about myself. It finally boils down to blood and true friendship being thicker than bonds forged of legalities or happenstance.

Now that I’m back to normal, which is a relative term, I have taken it upon myself to look after those I love, starting with me. Because at the end of our lives, we only remember the people who made it worthwhile, loved and protected us, in sickness and in all forms of body art!