My husband's booty-call agreement

Just so you understand the nature of my relationship. Below is what Dario came home with yesterday. And after my first laugh, I sort of realized that this is something I shouldn't be laughing about, should I? If I made such an agreement with any of my friends the man would lose his cool... but I must be a sucka. Or a really good wife. Or ...someone who understands her man and that this really means nothing. I am any of these things depending on my mood. ... So, here is that booty-call agreement ...I'm sure you'll enjoy it more than I ...being the wife and all.

the signs to your path are clear they say

so, I'm supposed to read The Alchemist for my bookclub, which basically says that the signs to your right path (or your destiny) are very clear and they are everywhere. I haven't read the book, yet...but a friend told me.

So, now that I am on closer look-out for such signs (especially in my current situation - to be or not to be with Dario) I came across ANOTHER 50 Cent look-alike. If you look at my previous post, I just saw a "Doppel-gaenger" of my "free-cheat-famous-person" this morning. Maybe it's that everyone is copying the 50-Cent-style ..but this guy looked even more like 50 (actually maybe a younger version) than the one from this morning.

I tell you, something is pointing me in that direction. And with that direction I mean to move on already.

However, there is another voice inside of me and it's asking how I can be sure my signs are coming from the right side? What if my "signs" are coming from the evil side. ...Not that I believe in heaven and hell but I definitely believe in evil ...and in a wrong and right path. However, I am not so sure if there are other forces involved when we make our decisions.
And the weaker we are the easier we are pushed onto that wrong path....pushed to make that very bad decision...which we knew wasn't a very good idea to begin with.

So, .. I feel a little bit like Voltaire's Candide today. Very philosophically inclined.

50 Cent is my free ticket

you know how you do these weird pacts with your partner? you've basically got one famous person you are allowed to sleep with (because that ain't never gonna happen, anyway).
For Dario that's Gwen Stefani ..or Julia Stiles (I think) ... for me it's 50 Cent but I think I just changed my mind. Looking for a photo to post on my blog I found a mugshot of his ...and his real name is CURTIS! (oh no, oh no...my beautiful "bad boy" illusion is destroyed.) I have to say, though, this man knows how to deliver the "tough rapper" image. Excellent marketing. You should check out his site ...well, he probably really is tough...but the PR work is still excellent
www.50centonline.com

Anyway, the reason I am making this entry is because today I ran into somebody who looked JUST like 50 Cent. I had to make a double-take and he caught me at it, which made me blush and smile like a shy teenager (not that these girls are shy anymore...nowadays.) A minute later, as I was parking my car (where I wasn't supposed t0), he triple-parked right next to me (to move some weights he had left on the floor before). This then didn't leave any space for the bus behind us to pass and that's how we made contact. We really didn't make contact. I'm a wuss so we just talked for like a second about who should be moving the car (me or him) and then as he was driving away he waved at me with a very big smile.
There goes my free ticket, I thought, too bad I probably won't ever see him again.

This is the kind of place New York is. A city full of beautiful people which I will never connect with. The perfect place for singles (who can be spontaneous and open with strangers). Not so much fun for the commited ones (like me)...who can't offer anything but a smile.
I'm so prude.

sigh.

what is the right answer?

This is what the problem is. I tell Dario my request for emotional support packed into a general complaint. Tonight: perfect example. I ended up babysitting 4 kids from 7.30 until about 10pm and this after a whole day with my own kids, and a previous night of clubbing until 5am. Needless to say I was exhausted and needless to say I was non-stop buzzing around trying to meet the needs of 4 young children during bedtime routine, while trying to clean up the worst mess.

Finally, Dario comes home from his afternoon out on the town and I tell him my frustration or …how I feel. I say something like “my God, I'm really not good at this whole motherhood thing. … If I had four kids, I think I’d go crazy.” –
“so, give the kids to me and I’ll look for one of those good domestic kinda wifeys…you know a Dominican one or an Arabic one.” he says
“you’re an ass” is what I thought. “Why can’t you see that I am asking for emotional support. Why do I have to spell it out? Why can’t you just ask me “why? Why are you saying this?” or why can’t you first and foremost say “stop talking bullshit, you’re a great mother. You give all you have, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed.” (HA HA HA …YEAH, right. Like that is ever gonna happen. An informed, compassionate, mature response to my insecurities.)

The 7-year Itch

Well, it's more like the 10 year itch...but it's been really itching since the 7th...so, I'm sticking to the proverb (...ehm, it's not a proverb it's an "expression", Sisi). Oh, great, now I am talking to myself. I REALLY need to get a life.

Yesterday, I couldn't find anyone to go to the movies with me, so I just went by myself. Back in Austria this wouldn't have been a big deal and in no way indicative of anything wrong with my social life but in America going to the movies by yourself is a big stigma. And, since I am not totally immune to the stares of others, I usually refrain from such activities.
Yesterday, however, I didn't give a sh*t anymore. I wanted to hit the movies, there was nobody available, so I went alone. I could have probably gotten my downtown or Queens friends to go but I was entirely too lazy to play the chauffeur, so I just went to a mall 10 minutes up the highway. Besides, nobody would have gone with me to see "The Upperclassman" anyway. This is more of a teenie movie, which I enjoyed very much, regardless. I just ignored the thin plot and focused on the funny kid. ;)
I had a good time.
Then, I raced with some people on the highway. I lost. Well, ...me and my minivan lost. Also, I'm not taking it to death-wish speeds and maneuvers. I'm just too old for that.... and I have children.

After I got home (around midnight), I took the dog out for a walk. Inspired by the rap from D's little i-pod, I walked a little further than usual. I ended up having to cut through a big playground. A group of youngsters were hanging out for a late basketball game, so I just stopped and asked them if I could use their extra ball for a couple of minutes. They were surprised by my appearance but nice enough to let me have the second ball. I tied up the dog, and started shooting hoops on the neighboring (dark) court.
...
hold on...phone is ringing.
....
hmm, somebody just called me singing me a love song ;)
it was too funny. I kept on telling him he's got the wrong number but he was sure
he: "no, no...it's me, Chris. you'll remember me. just hold on. ...let me sing to you...then you'll remember,"
me:"the last time someone sung to me is ten years ago, but now I'm curious what you're gonna sing...so go ahead."
he actually sounded really nice. so nice, he could be doing this for a living. seriously. he sung something by Joe (R&B). when he finished I said: "well, Chris....this was very nice and whoever you're trying to reach is going to be very flattered."
- "thank you," he said," and you, are you taken?"
- "yes," I said thinking "MEN!!" and then saying, "and you should keep focused. who are you trying to reach?"
- "crystal."
-"well, go call crystal. she's gonna be happy to hear you sing."
-"ok."
-"talk to you later", I said thinking "or actually not."

you know you don't have a life if...

you know you're social life is pathetic when your late-afternoon dentist appointment feels like a nice night out. Today was my third visit there to finish up a root-canal, which is still not done.
Today, you won't feel any pain, he said.
Let's see about that, I responded.
Trust me, he said.

And this coming from a dentist who at my last visit had almost injected me at the wrong side to work on the wrong tooth. My dentist is so comfortable with me (I don't know, I seem to bring it out in some people), that he constantly goes about other business while he is working on me (eg. talk on the phone, walk out to have a staff meeting, figure out his taxes, etc. etc.). The last time, somebody had made him really angry over the phone, and this is when he tried to inject me on the wrong side ...twice.
Fantastic, I thought, it took me two years to overcome my trauma from my last visit here and make an appointment, and then I get this. An angry dentist with an oversized syringe in his hand.

Of course, my experience with nitrous oxide, which I thought might take the edge off, was an abnormal one as well. Just before the dentist left the room after having placed the laughing gas mask on my face, he tells me "Ooone percent of the population reacts to this gas with an anxiety attack, so let me know if all is ok."
Great, why are you walking out the room then? How am I going to let you know? I thought.
I suppose, you know where this story is going: I apparently belong to this odd 1% of the population. I guess, being the control freak that I am I just couldn't handle the fact that I started to lose control over my body. And before I knew it, I couldn't breath anymore, I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't speak....I was going into panic mode.With all the rational I could build up I tore myself out of my clouded mind for an instant and raised my hand, which thankfully the dental assistant happened to notice as she was passing by.

As you can see the dentist's office is not the place for me to be.In addition to my bad experiences I seem to also have a very high tolerance for anesthetics, for I am usually still sensitive even after 3 or 4 shots.
I can't believe you still feel that, the dentist kept repeating as I was tearing the chair's leather armrest with my fingernails.

Nevertheless, after I was out of the office, my tooth throbbing with numb pain, I walked down 72nd Street and truly enjoyed my "night" out on the town. I say "night" because it took the man until 8.30pm to finish up. Once I realized how pathetic this thought was, nice late-summer evening atmosphere or not, I decided that I really need to work more actively on my social schedule.

I'm back

For those of you who don't know me this is the continuation of the following blog:

http://austrianchick.blogspot.com

Also known as the "bitchin' mama" blog ...or "an austrian in 'da Bronx" blog.

So, and here I am again. I couldn't think of a good blogname. I liked "bitchin' mama" but that's taken (by me;). So, it is now "I feel like Carrie Bradshaw... if she were a mama" I kept the same template, although I could have probably tried something new. Apparently I don't deal well with change. That and I wanted to tie it in with my old blog.

I tell you it's no easy feat not having a blogspot for so long (...well, 2 weeks?). My head is spinning from all the sh*t I wanted to write down but will probably not be able to reproduce as one coherent piece of text. That's why I'm not even going to try.

To update the few people who have come with me to this new blogspot, I have broken up with Dario last week and it just totally sucks. I don't want this separation to end in anything bad (divorce!) but I think it has to be done (the temporary separating, I mean). I'm talking about where he could move to for a little while, and he's talking about who he could bang for a little while. So, you see we are totally on the same page.

My mother, who is a family therapist in Austria is telling me that my plan is simply stupid. "No relationship gets fixed by breaking up, darlin'", she says, "that's a myth. ... If you want to improve your relationship you need to work on it - while you are TOGETHER."
She is probably right but I am so tired of being the stereotypical woman. The woman, who always has to make things work. The woman, who always has to start and carry the dialogue in the relationship. The woman, who has to just deal with the fact that she is married to a man.

I just cannot believe that all men are the same. I just can't. This can't be true, can it?
I am married to Raymond, to Doug, to all these testosterone-high, infantile guys on the beer, pizza, and burger commercials. That is Dario and that is what the stereotypical man appears to be. What is going on?

I am so disillusioned and frustrated at the moment. So, if this separation really is going to be pulled through, I will be the men-hating female, and he'll be the happy, promiscuous re-enstated bachelor.

The weird thing is that I really do love him and I don't want him to go anywhere. And he loves me, too. My mother says that this is the key-element of the situation. If you don't love him or vice versa, then you would need to go. But you like each other very much and that is not a thing to be taken for granted, she says.

It is really hard to pretend you don't love someone but to pretend that nothing is wrong is much harder.
At this point, I just need an instructions manual (i.e. a therapist).
I need someone to tell me how I should properly react to the things that drive me nuts about D.
I need someone to reinforce the idea that my spouse is NOT responsible for my happiness.
I told my friend Rosa that I am going to talk to him but first I would have to prepare a list of the things that I will change. One of the things would be that I will take 2 or 3 nights a week, and they will be mine. They will be mine to go work out, to go photograph, to do whatever to regain my balance and keep my sanity (in exchange, I will just deal with the fact that I have to carry 80% of our household matters - i.e. stress). However, to make this possible the one thing I would need from Dario is to not give me a guilt trip about it. I just don't want to hear it, I said, to which Rosa told me that this should not be my concern. He is entitled to bitch. He is entitled to express himself. That should not affect how I feel about my time off. It is not connected, she said.
But it is, isn't it? If I wouldn't take that time off he wouldn't have to deal with the two kids by himself. You have to stop trying to make him happy in order for him to allow you to be happy. It's true ... I always leave with the kids either in bed, ready for bed (or if it is during the daytime one napping the other one fed and occupied).

I don't know what's going to happen but I really hate not being with him. If only I wouldn't love him. Also, it isn't exactly an easy decision when kids are involved, either. But I'm thinking better earlier than later. This sucks. sucks. sucks.