Freedom

What does it mean to be free? As Americans we enjoy many so called freedoms. We can elect our public officials, we have religious freedom, and are free from government persecution. As a newly single forty something female, I have my own kind of freedom, whether I like or want it.

At age 45 (well almost 7/14 is just around the corner) I never thought I would pretty much be alone in the world. Both parents are deceased, and the man I thought I'd share the rest of my life with died last year. I have no children, and my pets rarely deter me from doing as I damn well please. The fact that I truly don't have another living soul on this earth to answer to is the ultimate freedom. The only person I answer to is my own self, and of course, ultimately God. Some people might say I'm obligated to my job, housenote, bills, responsibilities, but when I think about it, not really. I take responsibility for all those things as obligations because it makes my life much nicer, and I was raised to take responsibility for my actions, and honor the agreements I make. Do I HAVE to do that? No, because I'm free to make my own decisions and choices regarding how I live my life.
Another aspect of my personal freedom is how my freedom effects others, my friends and family. Do I care what people think of me? Certain people in my life, yes, I do. Why? Because I admire, respect, and genuinely care for them, and I don't ever want them to think less of me, or cause problems between us.  The folks outside that circle...well if you don't know me like that or pay my light bill and kiss me goodnight, then your opinion of me matters not. What you say about me has zero bearing because you don't know me well enough to talk about me in the first place.
Freedom. So many people fight for it, yearn for it, and even die for it. I've recently been told I'm lucky, because I can just go and do as I please, with not chick nor child to hold me back. I can live where I want, wear what I want, say and do what I please, and if I offend someone, or piss them off... oh well, it's not like I'm going to get in trouble for it. Sounds incredible doesn't it? Sounds like a kick ass way to take charge of one's destiny and live life on one's own terms. Honestly, I'd give my very soul to have my husband with me again, and have to report in so he wouldn't worry. I'd love to have my mother here to guide me with her wisdom when I have tough decisions to make. So many times I've wished for my dad's steadfast assurance that everything will be alright. Now, it's up to me to handle things on my own.
There are certain freedoms we all share, and some freedoms are more precious than others. What sounded like freedom as a teenager, is pretty much the life I'm living today. I enjoy being able to do as I please with no one to tell me otherwise, and I have a really good life, filled with alot of good people. But, I understand now, that not all freedom is worth the price paid for it.

Unintentionally Single at 45: The New Middle Aged Crazy

I've been widowed for almost 15 months now, and just recently stopped wearing my wedding rings in an effort to move on with my life. I still feel married in many ways, and I never want to dishonor my late husband's memory, but I have to admit I don't want to be alone forever. Perhaps recent events and a discussion with a very dear friend helped me view the idea of dating again in a more postive light, although I tend to equate my re-entering the singles scene to a horrible train wreck. You really don't want to look but you can't help but take a peek and hate yourself for it, knowing you will probably be scarred by the mental images for life.

I recently tested the waters by taking a mini-vacation all by myself. I despise the idea that single women need someone to accompany them when venturing beyond their daily boundaries, whether it's another female, or the man in her life. If I want to go, and have the funds, fuel, and freedom, why the hell not! Sure, there are all kinds of crazy people out there waiting to slit my throat and dump me in a ditch, but I got enough street smarts to know how to avoid offering the psychos opportunities to make me the next headline for Nancy Grace. Anyway, I had free rooms at the Imperial Palace Casino in Biloxi, MS. which was one of my husband's favorite getaways for us. So, what was supposed to be a girlfriend getaway, turned into me going by my damn self, and I upgraded to a King jacuzzi suite and treated myself to a little luxury. For $20 a night, hell that's better than sex... better than fantasy sex!!

Well, I arrived on the Mississippi Gulf Coast about mid-afternoon, and began my ritual of using up my allotted free play starting at the Island View in Gulfport, then popped into Treasure Bay to burn up that $10, and finally I checked into my room at the IP shortly before 5PM. Checking in, unloading my bags, and checking out my awesome room, wasn't the tough part of being alone. Thinking about Moe, and how romantic he would have made such a trip brought back some truly sweet memories, and as luck would have it, thanks to being by myself, I indulged in a weeping spell that was well over due. Once I regained composure and made myself presentable enough to appear in public, I made a beeline for Moe's favorite slot machines. You never know, Lady Luck might have a soft spot for poor old widow women. Being alone roaming the casino floor, or taking a seat for a drink at the bar doesn't faze me in the least. Eating alone in the buffet or restaurants is an entirely different deal, but when a meal is free, a little trepidation is easily overcome.

In retrospect, maybe being so happily married to a musician for five years, helped prepare me for stepping back into the world of dating,  Sitting in bars while my spouse was on stage provided hours of people watching experience, and I learned how to read the subtle nuances, body language, and silent means of communication, between members of the opposite sex, and even some between those of the same gender. Those observations mixed with my own personal experiences from years of single partying, really came in handy on my little adventure on the coast. Once again, as luck would have it, my dear pal was playing in the band booked in the casino lounge my last night there, and he introduced me to the bass players fiance, who I immediately clicked with, and as ladies night ensued, and the free drinks flowed, I began to realize I needed to loosen up. I had been needing it for a very long time.

 Since Moe died, fun has been a rare and often unwanted commodity, and up until that point, I had been to careful to maintain a particular image out of respect for Moe's memory. Well, no matter how much you loved, and always will love your lost beloved, a dead husband can't compete with a big honking set of 42D's in a low cut top, and a good rum & diet coke buzz. I had a frigging BLAST! I shook my big ass like a poloroid picture, got hit on by a cute little Georgia boy who had no clue until I told him I was old enough to be his mother, and after it was all said and done, I crawled into bed feeling younger and more alive than I had in quite some time.
So now I know I'm not totally washed up by any means, and with my new low carb lifestyle, and exercise goals, maybe dating after death isn't the nightmare I envisioned. Oh, and cute little Georgia guy, you told me your age, but I never told mine , so I'm only ten years older than you, and even though I'm old enough to be your lover NOT your mother, I prefer older men.... so Mr. Georgia what's your grandfather like, and how's his life insurance policy?

Manscaping: The Difference Between Sexy and WTF

Although I am recently widowed and not quite ready to venture into the world of dating again, I do appreciate a well groomed man, always have. My husband was a very well groomed man, one of the things that attracted me to him was not just the fact that he always smelled good, he looked good. Most men are as vain as us females of the species, but recently certain trends in male personal hygiene have taken vanity, or in this instance, "manity" to a whole other level. One I personally find a little ...well.. just kinda like... "eewww, did you forget you were a dude?"

First off, I like well kept facial hair on men. Well kept being the key phrase here. A nicely groomed, trimmed beard and/or mustache on the right man is sexy. Not every guy can pull that look off, but those who can, should, and those who do... call me. Further more, men are supposed to be hairy. That's right, hairy. Sure, you guys need to keep the ear, and nose hairs in check, and there are some poor fellows who have an abundance of body hair, front, back, up and down, who resemble walking talking mohair rugs. While the very hirsute of the gender should consider some waxing, shaving, or even laser hair removal,  for the average sexually mature male, slick and boyish is NOT sexy. No woman wants to share her bikini wax, or other depliatory products with her man. Any man with smooth legs, waxed brows, and defuzzed nether regions is way more high maitenance than I am, which means I have to up my defoliation game to keep up, and baby there are just some things not worth shaving my legs for, much less any other areas of "significance".

Everyone deserves pampering, and should treat themselves to a massage, or facial, from time to time. If financially feasable, make it part of your beauty routine, LADIES. But, seeing a man at the salon/spa getting a mani-pedi, facial, perm or highlights is not just off-putting, it is freakishly abnormal, especially if he seems to really be comfortable and enjoying it. If you want to cover your grays, or have hobbit feet with ninja star toenails, take care of that in the privacy of your own bathroom. A little Grecian Formula, and some farrier's tools, and not only will you look good, but you've managed to retain your masculinity!

Beauty/grooming products vary among the genders of our species, and the females have traditionally excelled at stockpiling an abundance of the latest and greatest in anti-aging, and youth maintaining concoctions. But, over the past couple of years, cosmetic companies have discovered a new demographic, and begun to create product lines geared towards the more progressive males, aka..metrosexuals. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it is only human to appreciate true beauty in both the opposite, and same sex. I'll be the first to admit I assess and critique other women, and will openly admire the results of hours spent at the gym, salon, and plastic surgeon's office. All women compare and take notes, and I know men do the same, but there is just something wrong with any man who strives to be prettier than his woman.

Perhaps it's just my personal preference, but shaggy haired, smooth chested, androgynous looking waifs, with clear polished nails, reeking of uni-sex cologne are not in the least bit attractive. No grown man with an ounce of testosterone is going to intentionally sport a Justin Bieber hair do, much less lip gloss, or nail polish. There are only two men in the world who can pull off wearing eye liner, nail polish, brightly colored scarves, hair feathers and beads, and still be sexy. One is Steven Tyler and the other is Captain Jack Sparrow.

Home Sweet Haunted Home

Ghost stories, folk tales and legends, myths, fact & fiction are deeply entwined in the cultures, a gumbo of ethnic roots, of Louisiana, especially south La. My husband grew up in Eunice, La. a born and bred cajun, whose Mama Bea would use the "Loup Garou" or in some areas "rougarou" to instill good behavior in her grandsons. I delighted in stories my parents would tell us,  many involving local legends, such as the Union General, killed with his regement at the Battle of Port Hudson, whose ghost rode his horse across the wooden bridge, and Old Man Shelmire, whose footsteps were heard nightly as he climbed up the stairs to bed in my uncle's house.
My mother instilled the fear of God in us, raising us in the Christian faith, yet she held a strong fascination, and healthy respect, for the supernatural and paranormal, and shared that with us as well. I have very fond memories of curling up with Mama, and my sister, on the couch late at night watching Rod Serling's Night Gallery,  or some spooky movie, when other kids my age were in bed. Mama loved suspense, and fright. Horror with gore, and gruesome scenes were not her taste. Rather than mundane bedtime stories like Goodnight Moon, or Mother Goose, my sister and I enjoyed readings from Grimm's Fairy Tales, and Homer's The Odyssey. I am sure my mother's choices for children's literature would meet with great disapproval by todays standards, but I am pretty sure I was the only third grader with a keen knowledge of Greek Mythology, and a ouija board. Thanks to my mother, I have always believed in spirits, guardian angels, as well as demons, and evil entities.
 All that being said, I find it very appropriate that three most important people in my life, all died in my house. I live in the house I grew up in, and my mother passed away in the bedroom where I sleep, ten years ago. My father breathed his last in the very back bedroom which is now the computer/junk room, five years ago this month. My beloved husband sat down on our living room couch one April afternoon last year, and died very unexpectedly at the age of 48.
When I tell people that all three died in my house, the usual response is negative.  For some reason, the majority has as aversion to death, and a fear of the paranormal. Ghosts, spirits, and the things that go bump in the night are not always evil, or demonic. Sure, I firmly believe in evil spirits, and demons, and have no doubt they can easily be let in by unsuspecting idiots who dabble in the occult, or unknowlingly open themselves through parlor games with ouija boards, or seances. In my house I know nothing but peace, and sense of total security, and the knowledge that I have three guardian angels gives me great comfort. Quite honestly I feel sorry for any demon that tries to invade my sanctuary. I won't tolerate that crap, and catch me in the right mood, evil is no match for my bitch powers. Reading this I'm sure you are convinced I'm slap raving nuts, but others have experienced paranormal activity in my house. Ask my dear friend Melissa about getting slapped on the butt in my kitchen, or my cousin about seeing someone move across the hallway when we were the only two people there. My experiences have really increased since Moe, my husband , died last year, and I've been told by friends who are sensitive to such things that there is a spiritual presence that surrounds me. I've heard my name called, I've had furniture moved, my shirt tugged on, my hair touched, and the most recent encounter was just last night.
 I didn't settle down to sleep until midnight, and I was restless, in and out of a light sleep. Each time I'd rouse from my fitfull rest, I kept hearing music playing very, very faintly, as though a radio or TV had been left on in a remote part of the house. At some point in the wee hours before the alarm,  very soft, raspy, voice said "she can hear" right beside my bed. The voice woke me up, and I have to admit I was wide awake when my bed moved like someone had sat down, or laid across the foot of it. The cats even looked up like they were seeing someone, and Freckles gave a soft chuff, and rolled over as if inviting this spector to rub his belly. Oddly enough, I was startled but unafraid, and I dozed off immediately and enjoyed peaceful, uninterrupted sleep until the alarm clock went off at 5:30AM. 5:30am alarm....now THAT is evil from the pits of Hell!!!