Stray

4.

4.

Self deception is the worst deception. As an aunt used to say: don't fool yourself. She was a smart woman. Always prepared with an ounce of mother-wit for anyone who cared to listen, doling out advice with the smoke of a Benson and Hedges menthol curling around her permed hair.

She understood the mazes of people's minds and hearts in only the way that a bartender could. She knew that people were complex thinkers and feelers; contradictions in thought and deed. Messy, you could say. She wiped the bar, poured drinks and listened to people's stories. Yarns, complaints, philosophical rants - whatever you want to call them. It was all about their messy lives ... imperfection.

I am not perfect. I never will be. None of us are. And I don't appreciate people who insist on others believing that they are. We are human beings, through and through. Except for Kathryn.

She is an angel sent from the heavens to show the world (and in particular), Ricky that he really is a good person. Her love will change him. It will. Because she's a good person, dammit! And her vagina was the only thing missing in his life.

I assure you nothing has changed since 2005 - if anything it's gotten worse. So much for harps, fluffy wings, and restoring black, shriveled hearts.

Oh! And did I forget transformative magical snatches? Except that it isn't. I have had the pleasure (displeasure?) of servicing Mr. Fitzgerald - even after he left.

To answer your question - No, we never stopped having sex. Well - we stopped for a little while. But there was all manner of tension, and it was very uncomfortable. It took me a while to understand that, yes, Ricky was leering at me. And yes, if I offered he wasn't going to turn me down. I saw the advantage and I exploited it. Like a practical woman, may I add. Don't judge me. It's far better than taking up with some strange guy - and well, it makes things easier on me. I get more money, he's quicker to cooperate and he tolerates our youngest child better.

Again - I'm going to ask that you not judge me and - for your own sake - quit being so naive. This is real life; not the Pollyanna one that exists solely in your head. Sometimes we have to do things. That's just how it is.

~~**&**~~

Me and Ricky's lunch time and morning (and sometimes) evening escapades are what led up to my youngest daughter Marisa.

It must have been galling when Kathryn found out. To find out that your perfect boyfriend - that you saved from himself because you're special - is cheating on you with the wife he left you for. The irony. She did everything she could for a while to try to discourage the situation. She would call throughout the day. I started calling these intrusions "Dick Check" calls. He answered for a while - rushing through them with his pants down. Did she really think he was going to tolerate that for long? Eventually she stopped calling.

As much as she would like to believe, Kathryn is not special. This is the joke that life plays on us. We think we're different - that we mean more than the next person - because - just because. We're told over and over again that we are special and that we are talented with no real evidence to this claim. It's damaging. Why not tell people the truth. That while we try to be good, and try to live life and maybe cultivate some skill or talent (if we even have one), that life is not fair. And no, you are not special. You are just another speed bump along the intersections of many other lives.

The universe is gonna work you till the day you die, unless you figure out how to rig the system in your favor. And I know how.

Look out for number one. Always, always, always, look out for number one. No exceptions.

I'd always expected the secret to life to be more profound. But it's not. Just classic common sense. If you want things to go your way, be as self serving as you possibly can. There - I said it. Being is nice is just that: being nice. It gets nothing done.

You know what I want? I want control. Not the petty control that comes from screwing Ricky. I mean real control.

Buy my own car - get up and leave when I want to - spend my own money when I like - ignore Ricky's calls - type of control.

Because up until recently I had no control. And that's why I hate it here.

When you have no control, men cheat on you, dump you, your kids don't respect you and squirrels run out in front of your beater just to scare the living shit out of you.

Yeah - their little furry asses are in on it too.

But it's okay. I know what I need to do. Slowly but surely I'm learning.

I'll get there.