The Feminine Side of Men...

"Does you guy ever.....tell you things that you really didn't want or need to hear...and really could have done with out?"

Christina stopped what she was doing and peered over the countertop at me. It was lunchtime, both of us had second lunch, and we were responsible for cleaning the tables and chairs on a Friday.

"Yeah" she said.

Chris is such a guy sometimes, and he feels the need to tell me things I could much rather do without knowing. We don't have a whole lot of secrecy in our relationship (embarassing stories to come later) so it really shouldn't come as a shock to me when he tells me these things. But there's a very small part of me that still wants to be able to maintain some, no matter how little, mystery to our relationships.

While it doesn't truly bother me, it does make me stop, take pause before shrugging my shoulders, and going back to what I was doing.

Today, when I was taking a much needed break from the mountainous work load I have, and the downsizing of my closet space, I sat down to read Heather's blog (www.thisfish.com) when I came across an entry where some guy named Tim was not only into watching chick ficks, he was also able to quote them.

No while this may make some women feel all warm and cozy inside like hot chocolate, I, on the other hand, much prefer to have a guy that belches, and leaves the toilet seat up. Why? Because if I wanted a girlfriend, I'd go get one.

Some Hearts Just Get Lucky Sometimes...

It occured to me today how odd it must be for people to hear that I'm dating an inmate. If you were to see me on the street, or to talk to me, you'd find me to be a well-rounded, intelligent, sassy young redhead. Whether you'd expect me to be married to a lawyer, or a doctor, well that's another story.

I think there is a huge stigma attached to women whom date inmates. I blame the media for that image. It makes us seem so...desperate. I think we often place a stigma on people and prison as well. We forget that people in prison are fathers, mothers, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters, and husbands, wives, and boyfriends and girlfriends. And prison is a place of rehabilitation. No, it doesn't work for everyone. And no one completely changes, there are always knee-jerk reactions that are in all of us that remind us of the past, and keep us humble. Thankfully, Chris isn't in for Murder or anything serious like that, and we have talked extensively about what is acceptable when he gets out, and what is not, at least if he wants to be with me.

A lot of people wonder how you can date someone who's in prison. For me, it all began with a picture. A picture that needed editing, and I'm computer savvy when it comes to that kind of stuff. It also involved me dating someone whom wasn't my type, and try as I did to love him for his money, I just couldn't. Those pictures sat on my dresser for a few weeks, and they kept catching my eye. Once I put my pictures into my purse to take to my mom's to scan into the computer and fix. Every single time I picked up my purse, those pictures would fall out. Not amused, I'd pick them back up and tuck them neatly back in my purse with a mental note to get them fixed. When I admited I liked him, and asked my cousin about him, the pictures remained in my purse, without falling out, for months.

Let me say that being together was entirely my idea. I can show you, in writing, the early stages of letters where Chris was severely opposed to the idea of us dating. My response was that he can't affect free will. And he can't.

If I'm honest with myself, I think I got into this relationship without the intention of being in a relationship first and foremost. My cousin told me to write him, that he was definitely okay with that, which proved difficult when I knew nothing about him! But then again, my 2nd fiancee was someone I never intended to become involved with, and we ended up getting engaged!

As Chris and I talked, I discovered that a lot of our values are the same. I've had people warn me about dating a man in prison and I say this: I have dated a lot of the dirtbags of this world to include scum of the earth, con artists, and everyone else in between. There are ALWAYS red flags. I may choose to ignore them, repeatedly, but they are always there. No one can hide their true colors for that long.

The truth is that when Chris talks about the person he used to be, and the things he used to do, it's like he's talking about someone else. And in a way, he is. I have no doubt that he'll get out and be one of the successful ones that makes it. In his own way, he already has demonstrated that when he was at a camp in Atlanta, GA. (Research camps: no fences, it's like being out in the real world, 2 guards, very relaxed atmosphere).

In reality I'm only 1 of thousands of women that date inmates each year. I know another girl that drives from NY every two weeks to see her boyfriend. We're not abnormal, we're actually among the lucky to have found someone whom we can relate to, and have as much of a real relationship as possible. Sure it's hard sometimes, but KB was right, when you're with the right person, it's all about being together.

Retraction

I have to take back my last comment about Torri. Even though she's a (insert long list of expletitives) I would never want anything to happen to her that would compromise the health, happiness and well-being of Amber. No matter what, I love that little girl, and wouldn't want her to end up in some foster home while the idiots that figure this stuff out utilize their God Complex.

So I officially don't hope she got hit by a train, but she could fade into the shadows, or run off with her 16 year old boyfriend if that's what makes her happy as long as she signs over custody first.

Sharp Like A Razorblade

Chris called tonight, and he sounded a bit down. After a bit of coaxing, he revealed to me that his sister was visiting their parents house when she brought up the subject of him to his daughter.

"I don't have a daddy," his daughter said.

"What do you mean," asked his sister?

"That man in jail isn't my daddy, he's just a sperm donor."

Now before people go jumping down MY throat that this is correct let me explain a few things:

His sister became angry at the statement, not because of Chris, but because of the blantant disrespect to her parents! She wanted to wait until the hoebag bitch got off work to "break her face" but their mom made her leave!

First and foremost let me say that just because you can spread your legs, and pop out a kid doesn't make you a mother. Living in a trailer park with various men, and allowing your child to live in situations where bugs crawl across her does not make you a good mother. Committing statutory rape doesn't make you a good mother. Working at Quiznos PART-TIME is not an acceptable form of supporting your child while living at your baby's daddy's parents house.

But even if it was...

It is truly unacceptable to put words like "sperm donor" into a 5 year olds mouth. And if you and I are ever to cross paths on the street, I'm going to break your face for putting her into that position. Luckily for you, I value my relationship enough not to FIND YOU the next time I'm in North Carolina and put your skanky ass in it's place. And for the record, you and your dramatic assed bullshit can fade into the shadows, and with any lucky you'll be hit by a train tomorrow. Just remember to sign over custody first.

Lost

I realized recently that I lost a lot on my last North Carolina trip. And normally, when things get "too tough" I give up--albeit only for the moment--on that particular "thing" and return to it later when my patience is restored to an acceptable amount.

Dining in the Chickie's and Pete's of South Philadelphia, I lost my jacket, my Bally's card, and my debit card (which I canceled upon landing, and thankfully no fraudulent charges were made).

On the plane (while we sat on the runway 12th in line to take off-doing what Philly does best, waiting in traffic) I lost a book I'd bought to read on the flight.

And once I arrived at the hotel I realized that clothes I thought, no I was sure I had packed were MIA. Thankfully Chris's mom didn't end up showing up, and I didn't have to worry about what I was wearing.

When I returned the rental car to Alamo (whom I will never rent from again, but that's another story), I had left $30 cash in the glovebox.

That was definitively a weekend I should have pulled the covers back over my head and stayed there.

Joke of the Day

In a recent issue of Glamour magazine, there was a comic block featuring a woman sitting in her accountant's office saying the following thing:

Oh and I broke up with my boyfriend in 2007, so I'd like to write off: $400 worth of useless lingerie, 7 Brazilian Bikini Waxes he didn't deserve, 23 allergy shots I needed to be around his dog, the gifts I bought for all 34 members of his extended family whom I'll never see again (I actually liked his mom!). Shrink bills to deal with his issues, and airfare for that wasted ski trip. I have the receipts right here.

Thanks to Marisa Marchetto for thinking this up!

I Never Would've Thought This Was Me...

I was watching a re-run (well it's really TV on DVD for me since it's the first time I'm seeing it) of Nip Tuck (Season 3 to be exact) today where Christian performs surgery on a woman whom would need dramatic plastic surgery to really change the way she looks.

Anyways, Christian has her show up at his place, and to put a bag over her head while he rams her with enough impetus to shove her into the head board. When she removes the bag from her head, and he's thrown her away like yesterday's garbage, she's crying. Naturally the viewer thinks it's because she feels like she's been disrespected, and she has. Naturally as a woman I'm apalled by her willingness to reduce herself to nothing more than a warm body. And I honestly can't imagine the sex being very good either.

So imagine my surprise when she goes back to Christian offerring to wear the bag again, and to be at his beck and call!

But in reality, what good woman hasn't been there? I personally have never placed a bag over my head during sex, nor would I stand for anyone whom issued that ultimatum. I have however, attempted to change myself, and sacrificed my own feel-good rituals that make me, me for another person. Ironically when he told me that I should "take better care of myself" I had a moment of revelation. And another. And another, until I finally drew that line in the sand.

It's not easy to kick a bad guy like a bad habit, but it's important. By being their enables we're not only doing ourselves a disservice, but also them. As women we should feel empowered to stand up for what's right because for every douche bag, there is a good guy waiting in the wings to change your mind.

Gatorade Water, Movies and Phone Calls

Yesterday (day 5 of the where the hell is my boyfriend, and why hasn't he called saga) was not a good day for me. Finally giving in to my need to "get out of the house" and "do more than write papers" I decided to text Ozzwald and see what he was up to.

As it turned out, he was driving through Reading on his way home. I ended up meeting up with him at his house as he was talking to the female version of Johnny. Well minus the threats.

We headed to Walmart where we got Gatorade's "workout water" (who's name escapes me at the moment), and some videos that we ended up not even watching.

When we got back to the house we tore up the lawn a bit in Ozz's new toy- a pick up truck--and I headed home where I finally did hear from Chris.

So in response to Christina's question yesterday about whether I was still seeing the same guy, the answer happens to be "yes".

Cloud Drama

One of my children's grandfather's approached me this afternoon when I was on way too much overtime, and asked for my phone number because the child's mother wished to speak to me. I jotted down my phone number, placed my hands on my hips, and asked if I was in trouble. He explained in very broken English that she needed help on the weekends. Dare I say that I have major behavior issues from this child during the week that I'm not sure we'd survive the weekend together? His older brother (whom is only 5 by the way), on the other hand is the angel child. I get the feeling the problem arises from the doting done on the younger child from everyone.

When the mother approached me later, she informed me that she's going through a divorce. This didn't surprise me as really, these days, who isn't? But then she informed me that the husband only has supervised visits and I would be responsible to accompany him with the kids on any field trips (zoo, aquarium and the like) that his brain may think up.

Part of me is thinking what if he tries to kidnap all of us, and then the other half of me thinks of how that would present an amazing opportunity to drop his ass like a bug. And after all, I do have a driver's license.

I maintain the theory that there is a big cloud called DRAMA that likes to follow me around.

Conjugal Visits

Chris mentioned conjugal visits this week.

"Did you know that until 19something [I forget the year] the Federal Prison system had conjugal visits?"

"....."

I didn't mention the fact that we'd have to be married, but the conversation turned to why there are no longer conjugals which is far less of a turn on.

So for those aspiring criminals, there are no conjugal visits in the Federal prison system, and there is no parole.

Rant

Tonight there is a rant going on in my head that I so badly want to post on the internet. But it's not nice, and it would deeply hurt the person that it was directed against.

This person and I met on Craig's List. I am so traumatized by this that I have since given up internet dating. I mean, before meeting Chris. (And in the event that Chris and I don't work out, I will resort to background checks, and psychological evaluations). This person stayed on the phone with me from my house in the suburbs of Philadelphia to Williamstown, NJ. Refused to hang up with me while I got my gas (in NJ they automatically, by law pump it for you), and made me scare the crap out of KB as I approached the side door of his house. YOU ARE A PSYCHO.

As if that isn't enough, I find it imperative that you at least find a mirror you stand to look at yourself in and invest in some grooming habits. If you want to look human then I'd recommend seeing a dentist and getting veneers, and potentially a plastic surgeon.

Pouting because someone won't sleep with you isn't a positive response. Nor should it be tolerated. You were so terrible I don't even count it. I'm fairly certain the front desk was positive you were paying by the hour.

Stop texting my old phone. Those people don't want to hear from you. No one cares that you miss me, worry about me, or can't forget me. It's called therapy. Get some.

Proud Mother

This post is officially brought to you from: Cheryl's bedroom. Haha boys, only one man has ever laid foot in here before, and it didn't end well. I'm hoping this blog has a better rate of survival.

I am typing to you on my brand new, very expensive, almost dropped it in the parking lot, thank god for the warranty lap top. I am like a proud mother right now.



5 days till I see Chris! :)

I'm Still Laughing...

The funniest thing happened to me today. I walked into my gym (Bally's), where you approach the front desk, and the person behind the desk will scan your card. While I was waiting for the person in front of me to free the individual whom would be able to send me on my way, a mass of people rushed by me. One of the guys said at the top of his voice, "Damn!"

I made the mistake of turning around to find out what he was talking about, which turned out to be me! I shook my head, turned back around and continued to wait. But my admirer wasn't so easily deterred, and as soon as my card was scanned, and I was on my way, he repeated himself again. This time I had almost reached the steps, and blushing with embarassment at the gawking passerbys as I muttered
boys," under my breath.

I made a light jog up the steps and as I hit the landing, I peered over. There was my admirer, with his mouth hanging open as if he were unable to formulate words, and his wide eyes, although he did manage to crank out a small wave.

I just had to laugh...

Chris's Mom

When you're in prison, they only allow you a certain number of minutes on the telephone (300) per month. And they limit your calls to 15 min. So when Chris calls both me, and his house on his phone card (you can call collect as many times as you want), he has to divide the minutes in 1/2 (somewhat), and that means not being able to speak every night.

Last night, I was preparing to grab a shower when my phone rang. It was a (919) area code, one I recognized as being North Carolina. As I wondered who from North Carolina would be calling me at such a late hour, I answered my phone.

A sweet sounding Southern woman said, "Cheryl?"

"Yes?" I answered.

"Hi, this is Chris's mom,"

Chris's mom? My mind frantically tried to reason out why his mom would be calling me, and in the split second she paused, my mind had already come up with a reason: she had to be calling to tell me to stop having contact with her son. My first response was defensive: Chris is 28, he can make decisions for himself, and if this is his choice he'll need to tell me himself. Secondly, I am not going anywhere. So there.

"Hi," I said cautiously.

Soon though, in her Southern draw she was explaining that somehow Chris's phone account had gotten messed up, and he was unable to call me collect. He had before, but that didn't mean much. She explained that Chris had called her, and given her my number and specifically asked her to call me then, and explain what had happened. I breathed a major sigh of relief.

I expected her to let me go, but she continued to talk, telling me of Amber, and Brandon and Torri. She also asked me about moving down there, to which I had explained that I was going to be living on campus-somewhere, I hadn't entirely picked one yet. She told me to pick UNC over state, to which I laughed. I had just completed the application on the Monday prior.

The most surprising part was that she kept repeating "Chris really likes you," almost as if she were trying to grasp her head around it herself. About the third time she said it, I stoped her and I said, "Well I really like him too." She responded immediately by saying, "I know, you keep going down there to see him."

She told me that she was planning on taking Amber to see Chris on Thursday and that I could call her then, to find out how things went.

Some Things That Are Meant To Be May Remain a Mystery..

Chris called last night. During the call he mentioned something I had told him in my last letter:

Recently my mother had hit me with a complete 180 on the entire Chris situation. She told me that "I was so in love with him it wasn't funny," which was funny at the time because I was completely convinced that I wasn't. I liked Chris alot, but I also figured love was an emotion that had come later. Knowing that Chris and I have a few years ahead of us, I wasn't in any real hurry to put a label on it, or say "I love you" before I was ready.

I was sitting at visit though, and I just looked over at Chris, like I had so many times before, so many times that day, and I just realized that I really did love him.

So in my letter I told him what my mom had said, and that I couldn't tell him the rest of the story. Chris is crazy intuitive, he knows when things are wrong with me, without me saying a word, and he knew what I was saying.

So when he called me tonight, after I had gone out drinking with some girls from work, and woke me up, he also sprung it on me that he loved me.

"Hold on," I said. "I'm freaking out inside. In a good way."

I can only imagine what he was thinking, but his only reply was "Okay."

"I'm going to say it back," I swore, "I just need a minute,"

And then I did. "I love you too."