There are a couple of things on my mind tonight, and a conversation with a good friend got me to typing this evening.

In no particular order of importance:

Says the woman who writes as if the devil were at her heels.

I am not a role model though.

I can share some of my jacked up experiences, hoping that you learn the lessons I learned in a softer manner than I did, but I am not a role model.

I have lived a lot, and learned a lot, and I am a wonderful listener, but I am not a role model.

I think to be a role model one must have patience.  I have tolerance (sometimes) but I question my patience.

I am 100% convinced that I have all of the answers, all of the time, and when you choose to not agree with me I pretty much withdraw.  If you are a friend I will not LEAVE you, but if you are just some reggie person that I could take or leave?  I will save my energy for bigger fights.

I think to be a role model you have to be living the life you WANT to live.  I am close, but I am not there yet.  I am on the path, but there is still a lot of work to be done.

I think to be a role model, you have to be able to teach and share in a way that your public can emulate.  I have that connection with a couple of people, like the mentee, but for most folk, what I say goes completely over their heads.

Or they are so busy being contrary they won’t stop and listen.  A role model can work around that…I ain’t got the time.

When a role model hears this:

“I wish my attached girlfriends would stop telling me to be patient.  They have someone to go home to at night, I don’t!”

A role model can say this:

I wasn’t born in a relationship with The Man.  It took trial and error, starts and stops, and literally years before we were BOTH at a point that we could make an honest effort at this thing.  It is STILL a work on progress.  I don’t get to spend EVERY night with him, but the ones I do are worth it.

He is worth it, and He was worth waiting for.

I kissed a lot of frogs while I was waiting for this moment, and caught a couple of warts, but it was worth it.

I spent more than one night in tears, I spent more than one night wondering what the fuck was wrong with ME that I had to be single.

After 35 that shit went into overdrive.

It’s not that I want more children, but society has taught us that women over 30 are not desirable and if I didn’t hurry up and find a man RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I would be a failure.

The thing is I was able to find men, but they were not right for me.  Some lasted longer than others, but I understood that they were temporary.  I didn’t try to turn my temporary into forever —- well I did once, but that is another story for another time —- and I did not try to marry every man that I met after 35.

Why can’t you find your own version of “The Man”?  Because you are so busy not trying to be alone, that you aren’t bothering to identify what your version of “The Man” is for you.

You would rather hang out with Jim Bob, who you KNOW is not a good fit for you just to say, at least I ain’t single!  As if single is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Single can be hell on wheels, but trying to make Mr Right Now – Mr Right is more painful if you ask me.

If it is ACTUALLY your goal to settle down for the rest of your life with this mythical person you don’t have the patience to wait for my question is why not?

If you have to wait three years for the return of 30 with the right person for you, what does it matter?  I would like a real answer to that question when you have the time.

And you would have the time to answer that if you weren’t spending all day and night mad at your attached girlfriends.

Which leads me to thought number 2:

I have the right to define what happiness is for me, and how to achieve that for me and I refuse to let your malfunction impede on my bliss.

On the real though?  It’s harder than it looks.

The Man is not a simple creature, and what is required of me is something that I never thought I would be able to do.

If you doubt that I refer you to the toothbrush conversation.

I am also a scary chick. I am afraid of everything until I am positive that I no longer have to carry that fear.

I have fears about the past, fears about the future, fears about the present, fears about merging, fears about not merging, fears of heights, fears of commitments….I am pretty much afraid of EVERYTHING….with the exception of being happy.

I am working daily on the path to happiness and when I get a glimpse of that golden nugget I have to the right to talk about it.

I have the right to post pictures about it, I have the right to take out a billboard on I95 about it.

I should not have to stifle MY happiness because it may hurt YOUR feelings.

If it hurts your feelings you need to ask yourself why, not question my happiness.

Just a thought.

And my final thought for the night:

I have this picture on my Fetlife profile:

Mr. Snuffaluffagus – some of you are old enough to remember this but once upon a time the only person who could SEE Snuffy was Big Bird.  Big Bird would talk about him and the rest of Sesame Street questioned his existence.  Until one day they didn’t because he stood side by side with Big Bird

I put it up a while back, for a friend.  She told me a story about a conversation she had and it reduced me to a pile of laughter. I still chuckle at the thought of it.

But Snuffy has a special meaning for me as well.

I can recall having a conversation where I was told that my existence was denied.  I still question the origins of that conversation, but over time it has less importance to me.

For a while there, it was coming at me from everywhere that I looked.  Except when I looked at him.

I won’t get into speculation about the whys, I just know what I know.

I still get questions, and I still don’t answer them.  I have nothing to prove to anyone outside of this thing we do.

I remember thinking in 3 or 4 months we would make this grand announcement to the ‘public’.  These days I don’t think that I ever want to make that announcement.

I do enough with this blog, and I am not all that interested in inviting other people into my special place.

I have learned – finally – that to maintain my special place it needs to be exclusive.

Will one of us no longer be Snuffy?

It doesn’t matter as long as we are real to each other.