inappropriate behavior

I told myself I wasn’t going to “work”. I could lay off the writing for a week. Just seven short days, right? Take notice of my exotic surroundings without my head buried in a computer?

Note to self: No head burying. Be present. Take it ALL in.

Wrongo. Add this to the looming list of other lies I’ve told myself. And promises I’ve broken. To me.

But I can’t help it! (said in the voice of a whining five-year-old).

Here’s the thing you guys and I’m betting, with all my chips on the table, that YOU are a lot like me.

I came to this glorious place to unwind—to free my spirit. But it’s making me sad. My spirit is unbounded—but sad. I’m going to bed sad. Okay, maybe a little buzzed too, but most definitely sad.
And I’m waking up…sad.

In fucking paradise!
How is that possible?
What in the hell is my problem? This should at the very least be a misdemeanor, right?

I don’t like it when my emotions are mismatched inappropriately to a situation. Like that time I laughed hysterically all the way home after being fired or acted chirpy, grateful and giddy when our dog died suddenly.

It makes me profoundly curious—and deeply suspicious. What’s the back-story here? Wtf is going on?
Wait. Am I alone here? Does that happen to you?

For three days I’ve “observed” the feelings. I’ve “observed” the shit out of them.
Huh. I said over and over. Huh. Sad in paradise. That’s just not right. Someone should take away my humanity card.

Then my head started to hurt.
Huh. Look at that. Headaches in paradise. Clearly I’m a hopeless case.
You guys, I’m an ungrateful, whining, hopeless case of a sad-sack.

Finally, after many hours of contemplation and tons of Advil, I figured it out. Duh. (not the sharpest tool in the shed either).

I was sad and my head ached from all of the unexpressed ideas I was having!
My brain was overflowing with inspiration, but I had made a pact with myself to simply enjoy my vacation unencumbered by my compulsion to write.

The thing is, I usually write the ideas down in the moment they occur. Which was waaaay more often than even I realized.
I grab any random scrap of paper, candy wrapper, gum wrapper, fast food wrapper (you get the idea). Or, I dictate these flashes of brilliance, these nuggets of wonderfulness into my phone.
“The color orange is my new religion” or “I am just the toaster.”

I know. I KNOW! Don’t revolt now. At least wait until the end.

You see, that’s how posts like this one get started, and if I don’t get the ideas out of my head they pile up. My brain becomes constipated and I get a whopper of a headache. And I get sad. And bitchy.
It’s a blessing and a curse. What can I say?

I Can’t Always Just Write. I Want to Live My Life Too!

“Aren’t you supposed to be basking in the Mexican sun?” my dear friend Steph asked me after receiving my third snarky email in a row. And a video. I sent her a hilarious YouTube video. From Mexico. The poor thing had become my only outlet for all things creative—and funny.

This morning over coffee. Coffee in paradise. I informed my sweet and patient husband that I would be finding a cabana by the pool, someplace in the shade so I don’t melt, and I would be writing.

All damn day.

Someplace where I can look up and admire my surroundings, take a moment to express my immense gratitude to the Universe, and then write my face off.

Just the thought of that made me giddy.

Here I am, ratting myself out to all of you—again, and I don’t even care. Not a flinch. I actually have a gigantic smile on my face.

Personal epiphany: Writing is not work to me. It is an integral part of my life.
A part I cannot ignore or push aside (who knew?). It fuels my soul. It makes me deliriously, ridiculously happy.
Happier than paradise.
Well played but…Sorry paradise.

What makes you sad if you don’t allow yourself to just fucking “do it?”

Carry on,
xox

Chemistry
chem·is·try
ˈkeməstrē/
noun
1. the branch of science that deals with the identification of the substances of which matter is composed; blah, blah, blah, more scientific jargon.

2. the complex (understatement) emotional or psychological interaction between two people.
“their affair was triggered by intense sexual chemistry” (THAT’S the one I’m takin’ about.)

synonyms: affinity (not) attraction ( attraction is to chemistry, what propane is to rocket fuel) rapport (weak) spark ( ha! that’s putting it mildly)

“there was a chemistry between them” (…and they didn’t sleep for a week)

So, after the post about my lapse of good judgement due to some “intense sexual chemistry”,

http://www.theobserversvoice.com/2014/09/his-wife-saved-me-from-becoming-the-other-woman-a-cautionary-tale/

I decided to give this elusive beast more thought; seeing that it can ruin our lives and such.

So what is chemistry anyway?
If I knew the answer to that, well, I would be bottling it and living on my private island with all the subjects of my “research.”

There are studies that chalk it up to smell, to pheromones. According to the dictionary, Pheromones are chemicals, hormones, capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual.

In other words, little invisible sexual secret agents, that overrule all common sense, decorum and self-respect. They blindside us, leaving us slaves to our lady parts.
Men, I suppose you can blame your struggles with self-control on chemistry and pheromones – but what’s your excuse the rest of the time? – just sayin’.

Tweet: People that say they don’t “believe” in chemistry, have never experienced it.
Right?
I just felt the slow, collective, nod of thousands of heads.

I mean, it can strike you when you least expect it.
It’s a form of sexual terrorism, with the MOST wicked sense of humor.

Chemistry has no conscience, that I know for sure.
It seems it’s the strongest with the most inappropriate people; at the most inopportune times.

Haven’t you ever locked eyes across a crowded party with…the cater waiter?
Come on! I know it’s not just me!
What about the guy in the Home Depot outdoor department? Or the beautiful man in Starbucks?

A friend of mine locked eyes with a stunning, young woman, on an airplane, seated in first class.
He was walking down the aisle to his cheapest of the cheap seats, in the waaaaay back of bitch/coach.
He knew she felt the chemistry too when she walked all the way to the back of the plane to use the restroom, forgoing all the comforts of the first class potty, just to flirt with him.

They exchanged magazines, book titles, recipes and phone numbers, gossiping and giggling like two teenage girls, and annoying everyone around him, late into the night.
The pheromones were so strong, she had to be warned sternly, several times, to go back to her first class seat during turbulence.
Sadly, she was met at the gate by a much older husband and three little kids – and my friend is gay.
Hey, I’ve already told you, chemistry knows no boundaries.

My philosophy is this:
Feel the chemistry. Marvel at it. Admire it even. Then walk away.
Except if you’re single, some chemistry is a must have in any relationship, because, take it from me – if it’s not there, the first time you get a whiff of it; you’ll bolt.

My heart still flips over when my husband enters a room. Not every time – but most of the time.

Listen, mark my words; that wild, mad, leave your wife, make bad decisions, rip your clothes off in public, kind of chemistry does NOT make for good RELATIONSHIPS.

Relationships require some intellect, intimacy and love.

Chemistry is not to be mistaken for love. Ever.

Pheromone fueled chemistry rules the region south – of – the – border; if you catch my drift.
It’s the stuff of books and movies and it NEVER works out in the end. Trust me.

Knowing the difference can save you a lifetime of hurt.

Sympathetic kiss,
Xox

Have you got a juicy chemistry story for me?