Archive for March, 2010

This is Going to be Funny…. Eventually

Posted in Uncategorized on March 13, 2010 by Queenie

Well.  Her royal highness has returned from her latest adventure, relatively unscathed.  Relatively.  The forward part of the trip went as well as anything could.  The destination town wherein I was honored and feted as a special guest and artiste was a wonderful success – couldn’t have gone better.  After that I was entertained by friends as they took me out to the boonies of West Texas and hiked off some portion of my royal behind – a good shakedown of things to come when I go to the Big River next month.  After all that I was fairly well whipped, but on to the next highly anticipated part of the journey – the meeting up with the river guide who had offered to show me the best parts of his world, and who came highly recommended by a friend of a friend – having credentials, so to speak.  And with whom I had been in very friendly and may I say highly entertaining conversation for almost two months via the wonders of email, and a few phone calls.  Oh, it would be wonderful, and we’d been entertaining each other in a winsome fashion, and were both quite looking forward to our actual meeting.  Alas, it should’ve ended with those thoughts of Anticipation, and then I could’ve let it be some Fate interceding Chick Movie Moment of (supposed) Chick Movie Love never realized because of some twist of aforementioned Fate.  Nope.  Not hardly.  Reality had to intrude its ugly face.  I got to meet him.  End of “fantasy.”

Now Queenie has already written about the vagaries of Fantasy, and the trouble it can get you into.  But I thought I’d done my homework, asked enough of the right questions, and as I said, this was not some complete stranger just off the highway with a big knife concealed in his pants leg, a la the usual Woman in Jeopardy movie of the week…..poor, unsuspecting heroine.  No, I was going in with eyes open, to the artistic home of some supposedly remarkable man, who came with recommendations and kudos and good reports.  (I’d even Googled the guy, and he was out there, lauded for his good works.)  I guess he plays well to the guys who hire him out for the river trips for days at a time – no “intimacy” involved, nor even remotely desired, most likely.  And if your guide doesn’t brush his teeth for two or three days it’s not likely to be cause for disdain, and you can’t fire him in the middle of your river trip for hygiene violations.  Where’s Donald Trump when you need him?

Not to say he didn’t live up to his words of stewardship to the river and the planet, and animals and creatures in general.  He knew his stuff, he was capable and craftsy, and had built a truly remarkable house.  However, I was a tad taken aback when I inquired as to the location of the “facilities,” wondering where was the bathroom.  The bedroom was upstairs, with a bathtub right next to the bed, and maybe that should’ve been a clue.  Why, there was no commode, simple as that.  Wasted money to invest in a septic system I was told, and perhaps my stock went rapidly down when I said something about the possibility of a composting toilet – I had actually heard about such things.  But no, no such anything, and the facilities were the best that nature had to offer – right off the balcony for him for casual necessities, (and I should be able to do that, too…… Oh really? It was a considerable drop to the rocks below if I should, uh, lose my grip while in whatever position I was to assume to manage that), or just out the door and down a ways to take care of whatever business I had.  Luckily the weather was pleasant, and I didn’t have to consider the consequences of having an extended sit upon an appropriate rock whilst enduring a rainstorm or freezing weather, or both at the same time.  Just take your tissue and put that back in a plastic bag, and nature will tend to the rest of it in due time…. or the tumble bugs.

Now I am not so much a softie when it comes to such things.  I can roll with the punches, and two weeks on the river means you deal with such things as peeing in said river, (never on the bank or in camp!), and even then when you’re stopped for a while, the boatmen set up the Groover for more advanced requirements, and even it comes with an appropriate lid affair on which to perch your hiney.  But not even that at RiverMan’s place.  Your hiney is on its own.  And watch out for the cactus.  Not that it would’ve made any difference, but somehow it might have shed a small light, duh, to know some part of this in advance.  Or for there to have been clean sheets on the bed?  Maybe I really am a royal pain, expecting such radical amenities.

I’m not sure what it was in my makeup that so affronted him.  It became obvious in not so much time that I wasn’t up to his par, and after that it seemed to become a calculated exercise to see how much I could put up with.  He took great pleasure in giving his private parts a loll in the sun, and pointing that out to me.  He as much as dared me to become apoplectic about such a thing, but I didn’t bite…. ugh, poor choice of words there.  He knew some amount about my history, and inquired if I were just “an old maid living with my mother.”  Well, no, I hardly thought of it in such a way, and I have to admit I managed it all the way to defensive on that one.  I think my voice actually raised a couple of decibels.  WTF?

I was not accosted, attacked or molested.  Thank goodness.  I think I was tolerated, sort of.  On the last morning I was offered coffee, no more.  I got hungry and took to my own food sack, picking out a piece of bread and some pimento cheese I’d brought with me.  And then, gratefully, it was time to flee.  (There were two locked gates between me and the highway, so no midnight, or daylight, escapes were easily managed.)  I never felt threatened, only insulted, and demeaned, and flummoxed.  If one can be somehow respectfully humiliated, I think that’s what happened.  I’m still not sure what happened, only that the guy who presented himself to me, (and you can let your imagination run wild with that one, and you won’t be wrong), was not the one I’d been communicating with for those months.  Or maybe he was – I’ll never quite know.  There was such a level of friendship and laughter in our letters, and genuine excitement in the idea of our meeting up….. which was quickly extinguished when it actually happened.   One friend in West Texas had cautioned me on such an event, saying that a friend of hers had traveled all the way to Australia to be likewise deflated after a LONG “courtship” in the ethers.  At least this one was on the way of my already planned comings and goings, and airfares and passports were not involved.  I will say that he showed great affection for his dog.  I fared not nearly so well.  And there that is.  End of story.  I’ve never been quite so eager to engage my Delete button when I returned to my computer.  Delete delete delete……He didn’t look near as good as he did in those pictures he sent, either.  Delete delete delete……  Oh, and this will be no surprise, he didn’t wear underwear, either.  And had to show me?  Delete delete delete…..

And as much as I’ve pretty much made it through to the other side of my last experience of the heart, it was again brought home that there still exist some remnants of that event.  Driving away, grateful for the escape and my freedom, I found myself smarting still from some revived pain of the last roundup, finding myself on some back roads that I had shared with that one a lifetime ago.  Some things just suck, till they don’t anymore.  At least on getting back to my home and my own welcoming bed, and those who really do love me, that, too, subsided, but I know it still lurks and can be poked into snarls by an offending stick.  Yet a bit more work awaits my attention I see.  Hell and damn.

Meantime I am back and whole, if not baffled and brain-whacked, but don’t wish to expend anymore effort on trying to figure out what that was all about.  The royal birthday is mere days away, and much celebrating has been arranged, with at least two sublime events on the calendar involving appearances by the divine Mr. Malo.  That will certainly help to salve the wounded (and insulted) heart.  Ah yes, there will be dancing.  And true friends, and much laughter.  I plan to laugh a lot more about all this, but it may take a while.  I think the royal nose may still be a bit out of joint, but why waste energy on such things, when the world is still out there, and better adventures are awaiting, and crazy people need not apply.  There is bound to be a lesson in all this – there always is – and when I figure it out, I’ll get back to you.  Please feel free to laugh about any and all of this.  I assure you that’s what I’m aiming for.  Laughter is very healing, they say.  And while “they” are sometimes full of tumble bug fodder, on this one, they’re right on.


And here is an afterthought:  In all fairness, I am quite willing to add that I am on the far side of absolutely sure that if you asked the other party in this story, he would have an entirely different version of this little tale.  It seems to have always been so in any of my histories with the opposite sex.  There have, in times past, been some capitulations to my “versions of the truth” by some of the characters involved, but they are slim to almost none.  Being the equal opportunity venue that this is, I must always allow for other viewpoints.  Fortunately, I don’t have to live with them.  What I do have to live with is my own, and I do spend rather a lot of time considering them, and ferreting out what I sometimes observe as my own behaviors in these little dramas…. (or comedies.)  This observation thing has gotten very interesting.  I wish I’d had a little more time spent in observation mode during this particular incident.  Not so much though – I was deep in just experiencing and getting through it – what I can only describe as “A Strange Encounter,” although no aliens were involved.  I don’t think. That premise might answer a lot of my questions however……. cue the Twilight Zone music.

Ain’t Life Grand.