I know what you’re thinking, “Whoaaaaaa, Rebecca posted twice in one day” but this is:
Just A Hint.
Had this been an actual blog entry and I wasn’t in a hurry, I’d be all wordy and long winded.
As for the hint and where I’ll be for a few days……….here it is.
~It's Summer, I live in Idaho, I'm just that sort of Lady~
Hold the fort, man the stations, be good, play nicely and I’ll be back in a few days….or so….
I’ve decided the next time someone asks me why I blog, my new improved answer will be, “Based on the human condition regarded as individual impression, blogging is good for the balance. This condition is also known as swimming in solitary shark infested waters that are located deep inside our own minds that employ mind tricks on a daily basis whereas suggesting to an individual they are all alone, perhaps strange or just plain weird. Being a blogger lets you know you are aren’t the only freaky oddity after all and it illustrates everyone else is just as strange and unique as you think you are. There is comfort in group waters. We even virtual hug”
Then when the persons mouth drops and their lips form a little O, I will spare them the brain strain and say, ” In other words, blogging can be validation of the extraordinary peculiarities I may have.”
If they still go, “HUH?”
I’ll follow up with, ” I blog to hear myself think.”
Would it be hypocritical to say I wish could swoop up all you non-huggers and anti-smoochers and give you a big hug and a kiss for being touch resistant like me? Ya, probably…. but my previous entry gave me strength though numbers. The next time I’m bent over like a broken tree with my ass jutting out into another state, I’ll be thinking of that entry, all the comments and I WILL smile like I really mean it.
And for you authentic huggers who braved all us anti-hugglypoo people by describing how and why you hug, I do believe I’d let you envelope me in a pretzel embrace and show me the bounty of your grace. You could even give me lessons and show me the error of my ways. I promise, unless specifically requested, I won’t run my leg up and down yours or smother you in my breasts~
Now, Kate from the fabulous, Blogging is my only Vice asked in her comment, “How do you feel about close talkers?” When I thought about it, my mind misted up and I realized I could write an entire series just based on social graces that perplex me, scare me or otherwise make me laugh most of the time.
Close proximity talkers get about the same effect from me as swooping huggers get, just the opposite direction. I’ll unhinge at the hips and go the opposite direction with my shoulders leaning back, back and way back. …….basically, it’s ‘here, talk to my birthing hips, they produced two children, they can handle your breath, pores and space invasion’ I do not enjoy a close talker. Nope, not at all, makes my skin itch and the air feels quite dense around me. I call that, start to suffocate and check out time. To be honest, I’d jump into the arms of a hugger before I subjected myself to a 5 inch from my nose talker……………
Lets think about this, group effort moment. I don’t think these things are really pet peeves, but rather the evolution of comfort zones. One of the most fascinating realizations of my previous entry and comments was the mention of several people who had moved and were forced into hug submission by region rather then hugging being a natural reflex……
I’d love to know what old Emily Post would have said about a close talker and how she would describe the perfect hug. Google…here I come…..What other social graces give us the heebie jeebies and which ones bring us enjoyment? That is the question rattling around in my thinking blogger self today ~
This is alittle close for comfort
So, something has been bothering me. This issue, although non-life threatening, changing, and basically insignificant…..is like a piece of sand floating around on my eyeball and despite my valiant effort to ignore it, it’s still annoying me. So, I’ll just slander myself here and call it good.
It wasn’t the first time and I doubt it will be the last time, but after the last five day social fiesta, I was once again accused of dropping the hug etiquette ball. Basically, I am a non-hugger. Or maybe that should read……Rebecca is often forced to hug, but evidence suggests she fails (flails) miserably at it.
Robert: “You are so funny to watch when people are hugging you. You really suck at hug etiquette.”
Rebecca: “What do you mean?!! I hug. I hugged no less then 10 people tonight.”
Robert: “Ya, ok, you ‘hugged’ if you call it that. But you’re stiff as a board and you are the only person I’ve ever seen put 3 feet of space between you and the person you’re hugging. You may not realize it, but it makes you look cold and uncaring.”
Rebecca;”Damnit, I’m not a cold and uncaring person just because I don’t melt my body with someone I barely know. I care! I’m kind!”
Robert: ” I know that, but you can be confusing to people because you give off mixed signals. You’ll talk to them, make them feel all warm and cozy, but when they go to give you a hug you practically run from them.”
Rebecca: ” I hug you and the girls good enough, don’t I?”
Robert: “Yes you do, you hug us like you mean it, but we are the exception. Everyone else gets the tree that bends in the middle for a quick shoulder to shoulder touch”
Rebecca: “Great, I’m an unhuggable tree. Anything else you’d like to add?”
Robert: ” Your ass does look cute when you stick it way out and away from everyone.”
Rebecca: ” Good to know.”
I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing wrong. I know my ass does tend to stick out because usually everyone is shorter then me and I’m bending over to recieve the impending hug. Perhaps this is evasive action, but I unhinge at the hip, bend way over and out thereby touching my shoulders to their shoulders. This I believe creates that 3 feet of space Robert was referring to and I’ll usually throw in a one handed back pat. I’ll pat twice if I’m feeling gracious, three times if I’m feeling rambunctious, and quickly retreat back to an upright position. Not good enough? Not feeling some care from that?
Would it be better if I stood up straight, wrapped my arms around the person in earnest, pulled them in flush to my body? I could really show some love by pressing their nose into the valley between my breasts and hummmm softly. Would that imply caring or simply smother a person into a cozy zone?
I’d really like to fix this failing social grace of mine. Maybe the next time a man that is of equal size or taller hugs me (if he’s shorter he would probably enjoy the above paragraph), I could wrap a leg behind theirs and slide it up and down for some extra lovin. I could probably throw in an ass grab and press my boobs against their chest to convey a memorable ‘nice to meet you sir’ gesture.
When it comes down to it, I admit, I’m not a touchy feelie sort of person. I do happen to enjoy people very much, but that doesn’t mean I need a soul pressing hug to validate my internal emotions.
What happened to the handshake in a social setting? Is a handshake so cold and impersonal that it’s currently off the social menu? Why is connection signed, sealed and delivered through physical contact, i.e. an authentic, zero personal space, hug? These questions are the social sand in my eye.
And for you honest huggers out there. I admire your ability to press solidly, pat soundly and impart your physical impression on others. Just don’t hold my 3 feet against me. K?
With Permission ~ By Chris @ www.aninstantoutoftime.blogspot.com
Awhile back, I came across this eye stopping picture that was taken by the talented Chris, and posted on his photography blog. An Instant out of Time.
I was instantly captivated.
There is something about a red door that invites my mind to imagine in provocative possibilities.
It may be me and my always drifting thoughts, but a red door demands a certain type of pause and ponder. I have instant expectations of the most alluring scenarios.
I’ll envision an illegal poker parlor that’s constantly filled with cigar smoke. The red door could lead to an artist studio with white walls covered in abstract paintings a soul could get lost in. A wall like the picture would compliment a music studio or a VIP entrance into a exclusive piano bar. All places I would desire elusive entrance.
For me, the best dust cover for a red door always involves risqué meetings and potential affairs of the heart. Whether it be a place for a 30 minute argument or a hidden destination for an afternoon tangle, behind door 127……….
A suggestion: Don’t let your mind ruin the potential of a red door with storage rooms and kitchen activities. Lets leave those realities to say, white doors.
Fish On, Hold onto your Ovaries
I know what people think when I tell them I live in Idaho. Visions of potato farms and cow tipping swirl in a cloud of presumption above their heads. Outsider minds will probably throw in a four door diesel truck with a large rifle duct tapped to the back window along with a ‘I heart Pres. Bush’ bumper sticker plus his and her name emblems on each side window. Is that about right? Be honest beyond Idaho border dwellers…..
Today I thought I’d enhance the vision and give you dinosaurs as well. Yesterday when it was clear my fears of having the children home for the summer were temporarily unwarranted. Meaning, they wanted nothing to do with me and defected to fun times elsewhere. I discovered free time on my hands and the Hubs and I opted to go fishing. We flipped a coin which means if I win, we go flyfishing, if he wins, we go bait (ack) fishing. He won. (BTW, hows that up there for a kickin header. Yours truly, minus my head, flyfishing! I continue to amuse myself)
Jaws, without Teeth
Cue the Snake River and the all mighty Sturgeon fish. There’s a huge difference between flyfishing in a softly moving river for trout, size 12 to 20 inches vs. taking on the black swirling vortex of potential death called the Snake River and all that lives out in those evil waters. Hooking a 7 foot monster sturgeon that becomes instantly and irrationally pissed is on a level that does not coincide with the tranquility of say…..”A River Runs through It” ……
When you catch one it’s instant buckle down and hold on for your life. You strap on a hip belt so the end of the pole doesn’t, in a females case, crush an ovary or puncture a uterus and in the case of men, they strap on the belt so they can still call themselves a Male after the ordeal.
I’ll admit……It isn’t even a pleasant time, not in a ‘I derived pure joy’ sort of way. Sure we have the first 5 minutes of excitement, the initial call out, “Fish On” usually followed by an impressive set of sturgeon aerial stunt work, but after a few minutes it becomes a test of strength and mental will power. Fighting a 200 lb fish that is using the current to it’s advantage makes for numb hands and jello arms. It’s pure pain actually.
After 15, 20, 30 minutes of that sort of fun, the experience (and back pain) reminds me of childbirth. I become silent and focused. I can hear people encouraging me along, but all I want is a safe cozy blanket and some apple juice. It becomes, she who talks first, loses all sense of sanity and cries Uncle. But, the last thing I would ever, ever, do, is admit defeat to the male egos around me who constantly ask if I’m doing ok…. No freakin way. I’d let the pole and fish rip my arms out and sacrifice them both to the river before I asked for relief or help. Fun stuff huh!
Run Rebecca, Run
The finale, and fisherman are stubborn about this, is once the fish is at the bank and wore out, the exhausted fisherman is forced to relinquish their pole to another and slide their hand inside the Dinosaurs mouth for a quick picture and release. If you don’t do this official rite of passage your entire torture experience is null and void. You’ll get zero credit for pain and suffering. Fisherman’s rules.(Men must come up with this shit)
So last night, after giving birth to this monster (actually getting it to the bank) I climbed down the rocks and attempted to perform the obligatory tasks. Well, let me tell ya, I put my hand in that vile toothless mouth (task and credit complete, yay me), started to flip it over and that fish had the audacity to beat the shit out of me before a good picture could be taken. Instantly soaked through and through. Good times, good times………
~Civilized Reminders~
So there you go, a new paint stroke in the canvas that is Idahoan persona. We don’t have a lot of things to entertain ourselves in these parts. It’s pretty much, outdoors, outdoors and a bit more outdoors.
But even in Idaho we have cultured rules and civilized expectations. For example, when I went to the bathroom located a short walking distance from the river……yes one with toilets and sinks, I noticed a sweet and significant sign that is surely displayed in other bathrooms across the nation. ???
Classy civilized behavior I tell ya……………now, I must go put my shoulder on ice because today I feel like someone took my hand and yanked my entire left arm out of it’s socket.
All hail flyfishing~