humor

Day 220: I Gotta Be Me

| Aspergers Girls

My ten-year-old son made his way towards the aisle lined with big, bulky twenty-dollar televisions. “Those are ancient,” he commented. “Yes, they are,” I answered.

We were at Goodwill, a national chain that sells used items. After twenty minutes of strolling together, looking at various treasures and collecting a few homeschool materials, I had explained to my son, amongst other things, the complexity of college statistic textbooks and why he might not be interested in purchasing one today, the perplexity of eight-track tapes and how they don’t sell new players any longer, the oddness of bowl-shaped old hair dryers that went atop the head, and the sad reality that this store didn’t have used goldfish.

As we wrapped up our mini-excursion, and the mini-lessons, we stood in line to make our purchase. Seeing us there, a fellow lady customer, standing in front of us in the checkout line, motioned to our mostly empty cart, and said, “Please, go first. You don’t have much.”

I smiled and replied, ” Thank you. I do that, too, let people go in front of me. That was kind.”

As she backed up her cart and we swapped places, I noted there was a Starbuck’s coffee cup in her cart. I don’t normally drink coffee. It turns me into a very dynamic thinker who believes she can solve all the world problems, if given an hour. In fact, during my walk today, around the lake, I think I completed three blog articles in my head. As today, I had coffee.

At the store, I turned to the young lady, motioned to her coffee cup in the front of her cart, and said, “I left my Starbucks in the car. I can’t wait to get back to it.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like a goof. I always feel like a goof when thoughts quickly brew and percolate in my mind, and spit themselves out before I have time to stop them.

After I blushed, this kind customer, a woman about half my age (say twelve), began a full-blown monologue that sounded something to the tune of:

“I thought about leaving my coffee in the car. But I didn’t. I brought it in. It’s the same coffee I always get. I don’t know why I always get the same flavor, white mocha, but I do. It’s silly, but I always get the same. Maybe I should try more variety. I was going to leave the coffee in the car. I was. I wasn’t sure I should bring it into the store, but then I thought, what if I die. I mean, what if I drop dead, and the last thing I think is: I should have brought my coffee. I mean if you’re going to die, you might as well have had coffee first. Who knows. This could be my last day. My last hour. And here I’d be dying without my coffee. And with the way my life’s been going lately—lots of personal crisis and stuff, that just makes me upset. Well, this coffee is a real treat. If you know what I mean. I need to treat myself, now, more than ever. Plus, I’m anemic, and I get so cold. That’s why I’m wearing this. (Motions to two or three layers she’s wearing, and the high neckline of her cotton sweater.) I must look pretty silly wearing this in the summer. But my anemia, it makes me very cold. I shiver sometimes. I have to dress this way. That’s why I’m shopping. This cart had my whole fall wardrobe. Can you believe it? The whole season, right here.”

When she was finished, she grinned wider. At first I was speechless, as I watched my son’s eyes grow from super large and then shrink back to normal size. But I was certain to politely validated the lady, before I set out to pay for my few items.

Hours later, I keep smiling knowingly to myself as I visualize the woman with the mulit-layers and white-mocha coffee. I keep hearing her words in my head, seeing her cart full of clothes, and watching her weave her story.

I can’t help but think that my big guy in the sky (multiple gods, or woman or tree or void, depending on your beliefs) is smiling down with a wink and saying, “See how grand it is to be quirky! See how grand to be you!”

I can’t help but here the phrase I gotta be me resonating in my mind.

I can’t help but chuckle in delight.

I can’t help but like myself a little better.

And as a bizarre-o side note, I do have this rare superpower. I can tell when white paper cups with lids are empty.  Amazing, I know.  When I’m watching a movie or sitcom, when the actors are drinking from paper coffee cups, I can tell they don’t often have a full cup. And I can tell when people in real life have hardly anything left in their cup. It’s true! I haven’t figured out how to use this rare, and now probably sought after, superpower. But stay tuned. I’m sure to find out soon! I just hope no one tries to steal my superpower from my amazing mega brain!

Day 215: Why You Don’t Want to Date Me

| Aspergers Girls

Why you don’t want to date me…

1) Well first off I’m married, and that can get complicated; and my husband has a black belt in a particular branch of martial arts, which I can’t spell tonight. So it would be a surprise attack.

2) I used to sing a song about my grandmother’s boobs when I was younger. I taught the song to my younger cousin. We would stuff our shirts with socks, cup our hands over our chest, and sing together: “Grandma’s little boobies go boom, boom, boom, boom. Grandma’s little boobies go boom, boom, boom!” It was a favorite party song. I choreographed the whole thing. On the first line our hands would shoot out in front of us. On the second stanza, we’d drop our hands down with each boom, until they almost touched the floor. Grandma’s boobs weren’t little, still aren’t. Don’t know why I called them little to begin with. But sometimes I still sing the song. Only now I’m crying in the mirror. (Don’t ask me how this is related to dating. It just is. Boobs are always related to dating.)

3) I get super excited. Just ask anyone who has ever taken a walk with me. I like to process when I walk. I like to process even more when I am first getting to know someone. I always apologize for my rambling. And I always get the same half-smile and bewildered eyes, in response. People usually say, “It’s alright.” But I secretly want them to tell me they really enjoyed all my insights. That has yet to happen.

4) I am a very picky eater and will stress over where to go out to eat. Then when I finally decide where I want to eat, I will take forever to decide between the three things on the menu that I might like. I discuss the pros and cons of each particular appetizer. I analyze the menu and point out to the waitress misprints and errors. I question the authenticity of the food description. I try to remember is it farm raised salmon that’s better or wild. I interrupt patrons to ask what they have ordered, and if it is indeed any good. I will taste your food from your plate without asking, especially mashed potatoes. I try to help people. Once I interrupted a couple and said: “Based on your conversation, it sounds like your grandson might have Aspergers.” No worries, I introduced myself first. The grandpa wasn’t too thrilled. I heard him say: “Boy, that lady has got some big ears on her!” I didn’t take it personally because my ears weren’t showing.

5) I will ask you many questions, such as: Is there anything in my teeth? Do I look bloated? How much do you think this would cost to make at home? Do you like the food? Are you full? Did you get enough to eat? Do you want dessert? Do you know soda is bad for you? Are you having a second soda? How are you going to work off all that soda? Are the refills free? Did you leave enough for the tip? How much? Are you sure? What do you think of the waiter’s personality? Would you hire him? Can I have the rest of your potatoes? Want to guess what color I’m thinking of? Will you guess the number? Did you have a good time? Do you like me? Do you think I’m pretty? Why?

6) As a former teacher and mother of three energetic boys, I am programmed to play games for survival. While we are waiting for our food, I will likely engage you in a game of hangman, connect the dots, I-Spy, and guess the animal I’m thinking. Electronics are not allowed at the table, as I require your full attention. And it is important to follow all my rules. And don’t even try watching television. Before we sit down in a sport’s bar, I will make certain there are no televisions in your line of vision, as to not take away from our time together. Of course, I would question why you were taking me to a cheap sport’s bar to begin with.

7) I am not a meat eater, and haven’t been since 1984 (the year I was born). So, if you ask me to help you cut your meat, especially ribs, I will try to use a butter knife and the ribs will fly across the table and plop on the floor and people will stare. But you will likely cut your own ribs, and I will give a look of disgust and tell you that I hate meat breath. Then I might, depending on my mood, remind you of one of the many documentaries I have viewed. I might even write the name down for you on a napkin. I will then eat your mashed potatoes when you are not looking.

8) I will compliment you. I will tell you have nice eyes or a nice smile, and mean it. I will likely compliment the restaurant staff, as well. Then I will stare at parts of your body that don’t look perfectly to scale. I will point out the facial hair that needs to be shaved, the rouge eyebrow hair, the freckle that looks questionable, the blemish, the grey hair, the wrinkled shirt, the old shoes, the nostril hair, and whatever else catches my attention. Unless you are a stone statue perfectly carved, I will find something to wonder about. I will obsess that perhaps you have a terrible disease or are allergic to something, and that is why there is a pimple on your neck. I will point out the bug bites on your arm. I will try to memorize your face, close my eyes and reopen them, and see if I can remember your hairline and freckles. Most of this I will do in my head and not say aloud. So I will be sitting there preoccupied, with a weird expression on my face, and one eyebrow raised high, and not listening to a word you are saying.

9) I will have to guess the amount on the bill. I will say, “Wait, wait, wait, let me guess!” Then I will calculate everything we consumed and add the totals up in my head, including tax. Then I will proclaim my guess. If I am within a dollar, I will smile so proudly. If I am wrong, I will go back and justify my answer, figuring out something I forgot, like the price of your soda. I will blame you for my error. Then I will lean over your shoulder to make sure you leave a twenty percent tip or higher; unless the service was terrible, then I will insist you leave fifteen percent exactly. If the waiter is exceptional, I will ask to speak to the manager about the wonderful service. I will tell the waiter first how great he is. And ask you to agree and nod. Then I will double-check the tip. I will still be worrying about the tip by the time we reach the car, and ask you to verify we calculated correctly. I will then ask if you remembered the boxed leftovers on the table, and ask you to go back and get them. I will complain if you have to use the bathroom, as I am tired, and want to go home.

10) You will be in shock, because on the first and second date, I was on my best behavior.

Day 210: Almost First Kiss

| Aspergers Girls

It was low tide and the sun had almost tucked itself beneath the waves of flickering cobalt. After a quick introduction, idle chit-chat and three or four bouts of nervous giggles on my account, a cute dark-eyed boy pointed to me, and said with a wink, “I choose you!”

I leaned in closer to Renny and grabbed hold of her warm hand.  I knew instantly, out of the three boys, I liked this dark-eyed boy the best.  Even as my knees knocked and my mouth grew dry, I was beginning to think that the whole meeting-at-the-beach-in-secrecy-plan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

I crossed the fingers of my free hand, just as my favorite boy approached and casually brushed his shoulder against mine.

Yes, this would work.

I began dreaming about my first lover’s embrace.  I imagined this boy would want to know everything about me, then perhaps stroll me  home and ask me for a good night kiss.  As my mind played out a romantic episode, more suitable for an after school television special than real life, I heard from a distance my boy say, “First you.”

I looked to my side to find him tilting his head sideways in the direction of the shack on the edge of the concrete pier.  I was processing what he had said, when he spoke again.  “And then her.”  He pointed straight at Renny.

All of the sudden, I wished I had bigger boobs.

I crossed my arms across my chest and then heard the words Oh Crap shouting in my head.  Renny curled into herself with a blushing giggle and the boys appeared to be salivating.  Oh Crap my mind repeated.

Soon the circled boys shouted, “I’m next!”

Okay, so by now I was in a bit of trouble, but before I could think to say anything, my boy gleamed his full set of braces my direction, grabbed hold of my trembling hand and led me swiftly down the concrete pier.  For a fleeting second I believed he loved me.  Right up to the point, that is, when I glanced behind and eyed two boys nodding their heads, barking like sea lions, and flaunting a huge thumb-up.  Right about then my stomach, as well as my hopes, dropped a good ten stories.

The thought of slut crossed my mind, roller-skated back and forth, and then plopped down with its wide butt and sat there.

Out on the edge of the pier, with the sound of the waves crashing, I shook crazily inside the dark shed.  I tried not to breathe too heavily.  And I tried not to move my feet on the tacky floor.  There was just enough light trickling in that I could see the boy’s tinsel-smile.

With the door shut, the boy shuffled forward and set his hands on my shoulders, from there he slid them down my side to my waist.   His scent was that of the beach air: the smell of cypress, suntan lotion, and salt.

This is it

This will be my first kiss

I let out a deep breath and the boy’s hands touched down.

I felt him there, touching my hips, caressing me through the layers. In the next few seconds I forgot all else.

But then, something inside shifted, and my heart started beating so fast I could barely breathe, and I’ll I wanted to do was escape.

I pushed his hands off of me, and without thought yelped an adamant, “STOP!”

On my word, the boy leaped back, almost tripping.

I could see  his eyes narrowing and his left brow arching in question.  And I could visualize my pitiful look as I bit down on my bottom lip and made a sound like a puppy that had been stepped on.

I counted ten hard-heartbeats.  Then the words stumbled out of me, bumping here and there, so my voice sounded uncertain and unnatural.   “I can’t because…” I paused for a split-second.  “I can’t because our…”  I thought as hard as I could, so much that my head hurt, and then I closed my eyes and said, “Because our braces might get stuck together!”

That was all I said.  All I could say.  Because before the last syllable left my lips, I opened my eyes, burst open the shed door, darted up the pier, sprinted past the astonished boys and Renny, and raced the entire two-miles back home.

Day 209: Checking Out Men

| Aspergers Girls

I was going to write about this awesome salad I made…….that’s guacamole along the edges, and beets I peeled and steamed, and all organic!

Or my adorable Violet (aka Spastic Colon) that I overfed with people-food so much that she threw up all over the house. This is her looking at me wondering why I didn’t take her on my walk to the lake. It was 95 degrees outside, that’s why. And you, Violet, poop out after one lap when it gets over 70 degrees. You no longer like the sun. She didn’t understand.

Well, I guess, I just did write about both, but not at length. Here’s the real scoop….

I’ve been walking around the lake near our house, once or twice a day. While I’m walking, I practice eye contact. Eye contact is not something I learn naturally, and not something I ever feel comfortable with. Not something I enjoy. And not something that I like practicing.

I “taught” myself how to make eye contact with strangers at the age of thirty-five. I realized I was having a hard time at it (eye contact), and needed to make a change, the time I was attempting to look up at a male sales clerk at a local take-and-go pizza parlor, and I got so nervous, that I wrote a check for $400 instead of $14. He wasn’t eye candy or even close to my age. But pretty much all males under 80 and over 10 make me nervous. I didn’t realize the error in my ways, until the establishment cashed my check.

I get nervous looking at anyone I do not know well. Especially men. I have become much more comfortable with women my age and older, small children, and senior citizens. They feel safe to me. Every other age group, when I think about locking eyes, I squirm inside from nervousness.

I now set my eyes just beyond a person or on a person’s forehead, in an attempt to appear friendly and approachable. I’d say I make eye contact with 80% of the females I pass (like in a store) and about 40% of males, well maybe 20%.

Lately, I’ve been wearing sunglasses when I walk the lake, and a plastered on real-looking smile. I listen to music and this helps me smile. And I remember all the smiles I’ve been practicing in the mirror and on camera. My face fidgets all over the place, while my smile tries to find a home. I am more comfortable with my mouth closed. Though I think my teethy smile is prettier. So I probably look perplexed and intense when I smile.

My hugest practice-smiling comes when a man my age approaches me while passing me on the jogging/walking trail at the lake. There are typically a couple dozen of men my age any given day that pass me. I have learned, through trial and error, to stare down the female, if a couple approaches, before I glance very quickly at HER male with a smile. If I smile at the male first, I tend to get a very shifty-darty eyed look from the female. I find this interesting, but logical.

I have also found that men about ten years my senior or more, tend to smile at me first, and even nod or say hello, while men my age look suspicious. This could be me jumping to conclusions. I wonder if I should start taking notes.

With every person that passes me,  I stand up straighter, glance slightly that person’s way, and then look at the forehead. With sunglasses on, I can hover there longer. Sometimes I get nervous and move down to the chest or legs. Which in retrospect, maybe isn’t such a good path for my eyes to follow. The whole time I’m looking I have a cheesy closed-lip smile and I hold my breath.

I’ve been practicing really super hard, and was feeling fairly pleased with my progress. Until tonight. Now I’m going back to the proverbial drawing board in my mind and trying to connect the eye contact dots.

At the lake, on my last loop around, a man my age approached me. He came up real close. I think he ran up to me from his car. He said, “Hey,” grabbed my wrist gently, and placed a folded small piece of paper in my hand. Between the “Hey” and hand grabbing, I figured this guy had special needs and needed my help.

He didn’t. But that was my first thought—trusting soul I am.

And so I smiled big, wanting him to feel safe, if indeed he had special needs.

As he stood there, I unfolded the note and read it quickly. Kind of in shock, and not fully comprehending what I’d read, I fell back on habit and manners, smiled again, and said with a giddy voice, “Thank you!”

The note??

James. Phone number.

I saw you checking me out!

Text me your name.

Hmmmm…..I think I might need some more practice….

Day 206: Hot Dog! Bikini Shots!

| Aspergers Girls

I have written about going from Prude to Sexy in prior posts .

In pure delight, I have reached several of my goals regarding Prude to Sexy, including the guitar purchase and kayaking. I still desire to take those guitar lessons and start belly dancing. Might trade in the ankle tattoo idea for a belly button ring, though….

My middle son is convinced this is all a midlife crisis. My husband is quite smitten. And my dog, well she is happy as a clam with all the walking we’ve been doing. I’m averaging five to seven miles a day of walking, and hope to continue when the rain makes its way to my town and sticks around.

My BIG GOAL of bikini purchase and wearing the bikini in public was achieved last week at a lake with hundreds of people!

Although, in all honesty, my bikini is really “boy shorts.” But the attire is skimpy enough to qualify as bikini in my book. I haven’t worn a bikini or anything like it in over twenty years. My stomach hadn’t seen the light of days in decades.

When I wore my bikini at the lake, I spent the whole two hours processing with my husband about my bikini and my body. I still harbor some childhood bleak memories of naked grownups at nude beaches.

And I’ve been revisiting the past, some of the haunting tauntings that occurred in my freshman year of high school on the east coast, where kids called me slut and such because of my figure.

I’m learning to embrace my body….and reprogramming thoughts I have about words like voluptuous. 

It’s taken me over a week to post my bikini photo, and this IS a thumbnail size photo. But it counts! OH, and did I mention, since February, I lost 21 pounds?

And for those of you that want the Full Effect…..here you go!!!!