Maggie West

Now You See It, Now You Don't

Granted, my mind is infested with an array of convoluted information, thoughts, ideas and self-absorption. The most irrational and absurd notions are caught up in my mind’s web and meticulously wrapped in contemplation and imagination, until they take on a life of their own.

What can I say? I am easily amused. The closer I come to the Georgia border, the stranger and more bizarre the concepts that form. It seems the green, green grass of home (okay, soon-to-be home) sharpens the psychoses already clearly evinced by my daily actions and thoughts.

Today, my folly derives from being at the mercy of time and space – to put a finer point on it – long, arduous, grueling distances. Specifically, being far, far away from the object of one’s affections. When minutes seem like hours, hours seem like days, days seem like weeks, weeks seem like months – get the picture?

This quandary inhibits the regular, fulfilling, passionate, steamy, mentally and physically interactive interpersonal relationship I crave. My belief is it could drive even the most patient of us mere mortals stark, raving mad. I am pretty damn patient and look at what it has done to me.

One in this predicament does not have the day-to-day exchanges couples that live in the same town – hell, even those within a reasonable driving distance – have. No customary Friday night dates, no weekly visits on the sofa for a little “mouth-to-mouth,” even the frequent means of communication (real communication – not the telephone, letters, or word-of-mouth kind) are lost somewhere in the miles that temporally and spatially restrict these match-ups.

By now, several readers are probably asking themselves, “What is she griping about? That’s a good thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Sure. Sure. Sure.

Except…

This is all well and good if one is an inanimate object – a mannequin or statue perhaps. Not that some men and women couldn’t be easily categorized this way – just not me. Parts of my body act on their own volition. They need a little more attention than that.

Thank God for Duracell®.

Of course, this falls short of the real thing (to put it mildly), leaving me somewhat restless until the next little jaunt into the Georgia wilderness. As luck would have it, this is where I am, at this very moment.

Arriving Thursday afternoon of last week, as I ascended the driveway, it hit me.

Why hasn’t anyone invented “wear and tear” clothing for long-distance relationships?

All of a sudden, the mental image of Jeff standing in front of me, sporting his “birthday suit” overrode any other impulse. What else could one have expected? It was the first time seeing him in three weeks. For a split second, all the rants and raves meticulously detailed in my head, for the past week and on my five-hour drive down I-85, were replaced with visions of clothing being torn from his body (by my hand of course), strips of cloth flying through the air and landing at his feet. As one can clearly see, self-control is not one of my assets.

Up until that very moment, a barb of anger aimed at this infuriatingly zealous, single-minded, stubborn creature had me rehearsing my part as the forlorn lover; the lion with a thorn caught in his paw, the Scarlet O’Hara of injustice (knowing full well my imagined unfairness was part of the problem) for our next little get together. Each and every grievance that needed to be voiced since last we met; grievances of which he was the ostensible cause (many of them had been inflated by my own ego) during our time apart, was at the very tip of my tongue.

Being apart for any prolonged period of time, however, creates a surge of estrogen. Once I come face-to-face with this redheaded Clansman, the anger subsides – momentarily of course. I’m a woman, not a machine.

Enough of that; back to the clothing cyclone born of my mind’s eye…

It’s only a guess, but at the sight of his clothes being destroyed and falling at his feet, Jeff may dole out a few excruciating ripostes (if not in the physical sense, you can rest assured; my mental state could be affected). Not wishing to precipitate this imagined misery upon arrival; I managed to shake myself back into reality and remain composed. A simple approach, consisting of a very lengthy, heartfelt embrace along with a sweet, “miss you long-time” kiss was all that took place.

Still, the fevered mental image of disposable garments has consumed me. Dreaming up their design and function, selecting the materials – most of all – the accessibility such attire would entail is driving me crazy.

Should the pants and shirts consist of snaps, zippers, hooks, or involve disintegration somehow? The Sci-fi lover in me envisions “now you see it, now you don’t,” NYD glasses; when worn, they cause an instant breakdown of any fabric’s molecular structure, melting it away like heated butter.

Or perhaps exotic dancers hold one of the keys to my hormonal invention?

I have witnessed, first-hand, the ease with which their clothing can be removed. Of course, this is in a calm, want-to-get-your-money, bogus kind of way. The sudden urge to seduce is not intended – a seduction of the mind – perhaps? But no physical interaction is normally invited or accepted by these ersatz “ladies (and/or men) of the night”.  This deviates wildly from my intended course of action.

Hell, even the sexually arousing, get-your-rocks-off way these dancers move on stage appeals to me. The erotic “hip and pelvis thrusting” movements (memory courtesy of a Barry Eisler skit) could be incorporated into this deliciously provocative scene being mentally composed at Green Hell’s gate.

The way I see it, one’s lover should dress to impress – uh, I mean – undress to impress.

Distance may make the heart grow fonder, but it does absolutely nothing for my libido, which, at the moment, is running in overdrive, stimulating my already overactive imagination.

Sounds like time to relieve some tension. Now where did I leave the wrapping paper and the stapler…?

Be back soon.

Oops!

It has come to my attention that my last post in this section, “The Waters Run Deep”, included a huge injustice to the man in my life. If there’s anyone left who might not know of whom I speak, let’s just say, his frickin’ name and website can be found in just about every post and category listed on this site.

Before leaving for Georgia, in my usual hurried manner (not an excuse by any means), I used an inaccurate adjective to describe his behaviors.

Though this “thorn in my side”, this “pain in my ass”, this “eighth wonder of the world”, and every bit the “light of my life” has many traits, there is not a deceitful bone in his body. He has never been dishonest or devious in any way, shape, or form.

Perhaps esoteric at times: enigmatic even to those of us who know him well. Other terms like perplexing, demented, and difficult come to mind. But all this is amorously recognized. It is what makes him the most fascinating creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and what keeps my love, adoration, and admiration for the man growing with each passing day.

I beg forgiveness for my indiscretion from him as well as my readers. In the future I will exercise more caution when putting pen to paper (hands on keyboard).

My most sincere apologies.

A Little Bit O' Explainin'

After the near-200 emails I received on Green Hell’s new cookbook, a little bit o’ explainin’ might be necessary.

When a recipe is posted for testing and commenting purposes (by you, our readers) it will not always be written as the “eggplant” one linked to the main page of this website. The weekly installments are going to “just” be the recipes – no flavorful rants included. Once a month, however, he will give you a sneak peek at a completed version for the book.

If the end result were posted each and every time, there would be no need for the cookbook – right? Of course right.

So just grabs your pots and pans, follow the instructions, and submit a description of the dance those neglected taste buds experience once these mouthwatering temptations are created by your own hands.

Have fun with it.

We are!

What's Cookin'?

Green Hell -- cookbook.

Green Hell -- cookbook!

Green Hell -- cookbook?

Yep. It's true.

And a damn good one at that.

If, by reading the material on this man's site, you have not yet ascertained that his passions run very deep and very wide -- then your not paying much attention are you?

He cooks as well as he rants -- if not better. The creations served up by his hands are unbelievable.

With the help of all his readers and mine we hope to receive enough feedback on these recipes to include in the cookbook. Each comment selected for print will earn the sender a complimentary copy once published.

An example is featured on the main page of this website. Just select the link represented by the word "here" under the "New Cookbook" title listed.

So what are you waiting for -- get to work.

Start cooking.

The Waters Run Deep

Today, once again, I leave for Georgia.

Boldly, I depart on this 300-mile voyage. Knowing full well, by now, that my visit will include many deliciously-wicked rants and enigmatic behaviors. Of course, not without being accompanied by the usual nourishing strokes of wisdom and devotion. All wondrous journeys seem to begin with a little skepticism and lots of enthusiasm. This one is no different.

This monadnock-figure-of-a-man has had me perplexed since the day we met. Is this a bad thing? Hell no.

Time has not worn away his ideals, nor has it eroded his beliefs. I love him that way.

My raves lately have included some minor tidbits of a man’s problematic behaviors. If the urge to interpret this naughtiness maliciously strikes my readers – then interpret away. As for me, I am fully aware that my emotions for this man run deep. Perhaps at times, that is why their appearance seems murky. I will, however, battle this river no matter how strong the current. I could not disembark from these raging waterways even if my travels appear risky. Their waters have already become a part of my life – a part of me.

A trusted friend informed me, “It comes with the territory.” Sheer genius on his part – for this has become exceptionally clear to me.

So, from the first torrents of affection to the last kiss goodbye, I will enjoy this port of call in Georgia immensely.

And yes, the amorous adventures will be written here for your viewing pleasure.

Still Think You Know Women?

One of the worse things a man can do in a relationship, when dealing with a woman, is generalize.

There are objective similarities that exist in women as a whole, to be sure, but each woman comes with her own set of subjective differences and internal directions for their use. These directions have been written by the passing of time. Time spent in a particular place or places, with or without parents, with or without siblings, and most important of all, the time spent in previous relationships. These are just a few examples. Many other variables exist. Each woman is different in her own right: Largely due to these clandestine instructions. When men presume to know what women are thinking or what women will do next, it automatically puts them in the “Red Zone”. A man’s inept aptitude of distinguishing these disparities could be detrimental to his relationship’s longevity.

More than likely, a woman will not react as her mate has anticipated. And his presumed generalities of women can exacerbate a situation – any situation.

This is one of the main reasons a man can be heard bellyaching, “I don’t know what I did wrong, she just…” or “I have no idea what happened, one minute she…and the next she…” Anticipating a woman’s actions or thoughts takes years of experience – years of being with the same woman. And even then, only a partial understanding is realized.

More than likely, fully understanding a woman – any woman – is a myth.

A man’s eagerness to voice his experience about women through numerous examples of personal relationships only shows his inexperience in understanding women. The same holds true, however, for men who have not yet undertaken a long-term affair with a woman. Most of what is said or felt by these men is hearsay, bad advice, or flight of the imagination. Whatever terminology one cares to utilize. Bullshit is bullshit no matter how it’s phrased.

Only through the dreaded “trial and error” process could one possibly begin to understand the woman one is with. Decide to give that up and go for the imaginary greener pasture – then the process begins all over again. There are no shortcuts. There are no universal guidelines. If one believes there are – well, a court’s jester comes to mind.

Despite what men believe one woman does not think or act like another.

In a crowd or a group, women may exhibit similar behaviors, sure. On the other hand, things change when separated, sent home with their respective others, and then questioned regarding the particulars of the evening. Each one will express a different perspective on the night’s events as well as having ascertained different observations. I have tried this little experiment many times. The results are quite mind-boggling and amusing.

The adjectives used to describe the female gender only prove these points: Alluring, aloof, allusive, baffling, irrational, psychotic, misinterpreted, mysterious, unpredictable, etc.

If it were so easy to exemplify the characteristics of a woman, then dating them, living with them, marrying them would be a piece of cake – would it not?

Still think you know women?

Just Plain Male Bashing...

This category was created on my website for two women – Marianne and Graziella. Both are new readers of mine; time may bring us closer together in friendship as well. Until then, this category is given to them for posting purposes. Their humor has lifted me up a time or two – it might do the same for you. So whenever my readers need a “pick me up,” hopefully, “Fun Facts” will provide it for them.

~ Submitted by Marianne ~

How do some men define Roe vs. Wade?
Two ways to cross a river.

What is gross stupidity?
144 men in one room.

Husband: I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.
Wife: You wear briefs, don't you?

What's the difference between a porcupine and a Corvette?
The porcupine has pricks on the outside.

How many men does it take to pop popcorn?
Three. One to hold the pan and two others to act macho and shake the stove.

What is a man's view of safe sex?
A padded headboard.

How do men sort their laundry?
"Filthy" and "Filthy but Wearable".

Why did God create man?
Because a vibrator can't mow the lawn.

Why were men given larger brains than dogs?
A) So they wouldn't hump women's legs at cocktail parties.
B) So they wouldn't stop to play with every other man they see when you take them around the block.

Why does the stupid man put ice in his condom?
To keep the swelling down.

What is the thinnest book in the world?

“What men know about women.”

How many men does it take to screw a light bulb?
A) One - men will screw anything.
B) One - men will screw up anything.
C) Five - one to actually do the screwing, four to listen to him brag about it.

How does a man take a bubble bath?
He eats beans for dinner.

What is a man's idea of foreplay?
A half hour of begging.

How can you tell if a man is aroused?
He's breathing.

What's the difference between men and government bonds?
Bonds mature.

How do you save a man from drowning?
Take your foot off his head.

What do men and beer have in common?
They're both empty from the neck up.

How can you tell if a man is happy?
Who cares?

How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?
Who knows? Has it ever happened?

How are men and parking spots alike?
The good ones are always taken. Free ones are mostly handicapped or extremely small.

What is a man's idea of doing housework?
Lifting his leg so you can vacuum.

What is the difference between a man and E.T.?
E.T. phoned home.

I Want To Be A Pig

~ Submitted into “Fun Facts” by Graziella ~

(Graziella’s personal comments are in parentheses)


*** If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.
(Hardly seems worth it.)

*** If you fart consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.
(Now that's more like it!)

*** The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out to the body to squirt blood 30 feet.
(O.M.G.!)

*** A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes.
(In my next life, I want to be a pig.)

*** A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death.
(Creepy.)
(I'm still not over the pig.)

*** Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories a hour.
(Don't try this at home, maybe at work)

*** The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.
(Honey, I'm home. What the...?!)

*** The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.
(30 minutes. Lucky pig! Can you imagine?)

*** The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.
(What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?)

*** Some lions mate over 50 times a day.
(I still want to be a pig in my next life...quality over quantity)
(Unless they can crossbreed the pig and the lion. That would make for 1500 minutes of climaxing each day. Now you're talking!!!)

*** Butterflies taste with their feet.
(Something I always wanted to know.)

*** The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue.
(Hmmmmmm ....)

*** Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.
(If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?)

*** Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump.
(Okay, so that would be a good thing)

*** A cat's urine glows under a black light.
(I wonder who was paid to figure that out?)

*** An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
(I know some people like that.)

*** Starfish have no brains
(I know some people like that too.)

*** Polar bears are left-handed.
(If they switch, they'll live a lot longer)

*** Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure.
(What about that pig??)

Three's A Crowd

Today’s insightful rant on relationships is brought to you by Ashley.

A couple of the perks that accompany knowing me personally, I guess, are: first, one can reap the benefits of my tyrannical responses to one's "love" ailments face-to-face. Another presumed advantage: my friends expect me to displace the other mailed-in questions, in lieu of theirs. Though rarely done, Ashley’s quandaries have me doing just that. She managed to “hit” the right spot. The “why” will reveal itself as this post unfolds.

So here we go…

A little history first…

Ashley works at one of the convenience stores I frequent. She is between her mid- and late twenties. Blessed with one child and no husband, she falls into the "single mom" category – and a damn good one at that.

Finding herself attracted to one of the store’s patrons, she gave this gentleman her phone number; hoping she could get to know him a little better outside of work.

This past weekend, she invited the gentleman over to her place for a friendly game of cards. Other people were going to attend, so it seemed harmless enough. He arrived, and all went rather nicely, until Jake showed up.

History on Jake: He has been a close "friend" of Ashley’s for quite a while – what kind of friend is the deeper issue – but I’m getting ahead of myself. At one point, Ashley expressed her desire to take their friendship to another level. Jake, however, wanted to leave things as they were. Ashley believed he was unwilling to commit at the time because of her daughter. He didn’t want any children at that stage in his life. So the two of them have remained friends – good friends, she says (we will come back to this in a moment).

Once Jake discerned that this other guy was at Ashley's apartment, with the intent of dating her, he began to make an ass of himself. He started calling her cute little names, rubbing up against her, and following her to the bathroom. He even pinched her ass at one point – right in front of the poor, disillusioned, new man in her life. To put it mildly, her date became angry – very angry. After a confrontational exchange that included a few well-chosen words, he left. His last words were something to the effect of, “I’m never coming by your work again and I never want to see you again.”

Ashley was floored. She couldn’t believe her date could becme that angry on their first visit together. She believes he had no reason to fly off the handle so quickly. After all, they had just met. Neither of them had made any plans, yet, to continue any further. So, his tirade greatly disturbed her.

Somehow or another, our conversation -- hers and mine – turned to what my Jeff would have done in the same situation. God forbid! The thought alone had me seeing red. The red from blood discharged all over the floor – that is (perhaps my own blood). The mental image was too frightening to give it any more thought.

This next segment, I pray, will be forgiven by my intended – I was unable to discuss the matter with him previously.

I proceeded to explain to her certain events that transpired between Jeff and me, many months ago. I explained to Ashley that we had only been seeing each other for roughly a month, when the shit hit the fan. The incident in question has not been discussed since – with anyone other than Jeff – nor did I have any plans of doing so in the future. I don’t even know how much of it Jeff would like others to know. So, I mentioned the pertinent points and kept most of the detail out of our conversation (honey, I hope that was okay).

But her designs fell upon a fastidious, Southern gentleman (a redneck – for the naive reader). My newfound knowledge of this particular breed of man is that -- generally -- similar reactions and certain characteristics are imminent in most of them. In Jeff’s case, however, I don’t think there ever was a mold. He’s a fluke – a once in a lifetime occurrence.

Back to the story…

Ashley had told Jake to stop messing with her. Unfortunately, the Southern gentleman hadn’t heard any of those words come out of her mouth. He believed he was being played for a fool and wanted no part of it.

I told her that Jeff’s anger, all those months ago, came from a misunderstanding. And even though I had not intended to create the situation in question, one could clearly devise from my actions why he was on the rampage.

I also told her, had Jeff been the man in her apartment this past weekend, the damage inflicted to anything or anyone within a five-mile radius would have been astronomical. He wouldn’t have stood for it – and rightfully so. She should have shown Jake the door – in front of her date – and kicked him out.

But she didn’t.

Ashley continued by stating that anyone with a temper as strong as the Southerner's couldn’t possibly be worth dating.

To which I replied…

If I had not swallowed my pride all those months ago, through all of Jeff’s anger (and there was plenty of it), I would not be seeing him today. He was well worth the effort. How could Ashley possibly know if this southern gentleman could be worth it or not? She couldn’t. After only one date (if you want to call it that), one visit, that's difficult to determine. A few minutes of explaining my other half to her, which included a "hugging" discussion, had Ashley asking, “What should I do?”

Hugging discussion: After only knowing Jeff for a little while, I was worried about him coming to my home town – where everyone knows me – and getting the wrong impression when most of my acquaintances upon seeing me walk into a club, bar, or restaurant have the tendency to hug me. To which he replied, "There is such a thing as an inappropriate hug and a man knows the difference."

For example: Leaning into an embrace or hands on the ass is definitely not considered suitable. Okay, his explanation was a lot longer and included more colorful verbiage than mine, however, that was the general idea (it makes one cringe to think what a "pinching ass" discussion could have been like -- huh?). And it made sense. Since our little talk, I have been giving classes all over town on how to properly hug. Why? Because I care a lot about him and our relationship. Other people may find this ridiculous – but I’ve seen some of their relationships – mine surpasses them all.

Back to the “What should I do?” question.

I would go to him and say – first and foremost – “I fucked up,” then very apologetically attempt to explain Jake’s actions as well as her own. If he doesn’t listen, give him a few days to let it sink in. What you say and how you say it may cause him to rethink his position, and leave him less inclined to issue ultimatums.

Then, I would talk to Jake. He is no friend. His ulterior motives are going to be harmful for any relationship Ashley cares to pursue. A good friend? I think not. She needs to realize exactly how truly good friends treat one another. Friends do not maliciously hurt anyone close to them, nor their chances with a potential mate. He or she is there for support, advice, unconditional love as a person, and to lean on every once in a while when the world outside hands out a few rotten apples.

Ashley has allowed me to blog about her situation, mainly, because she would like to hear what my readers have to say.

So, dear readers, do you agree or disagree with my advice? Is there anything that could be added to this post that I have neglected to mention? Here’s your chance to voice your opinion on yet another issue.

And please keep in mind – she’s young and was unaware of the damage she inflicted. Remorsefully, she has asked for my help. I would like to try and accommodate her.

Please respond on the “comment” link below.

At The Movies

Allow me to veer off one recently acquired characteristic for a few moments ( For surely, the sweet taste of revenge is quite addicting and could become part of my makeup permanently).

Since watching television is no longer an essential part of any day, thanks to my friend and author Barry Eisler, I’m not readily attuned to the latest mind-sucking-alleged-entertainment spewing forth from the screens in everyone’s living room.

Every once in a while, however, I do get the chance to observe a few films at the local theatre. Here lately, I've even seen a few in Jeff’s den (a little knife twisting for a previous blog). Ooh den, like lair, like lion – better stop now before I begin drifting.

My son, Jeremy, took me to see Ocean 13 last weekend and Shrek The Third last night at the two-dollar theatre down the street. Not intending to ruin the experience for the future viewers of these features, mentioning a few of the exceptional, visual pleasures these movies have to offer couldn’t hurt.

If you are familiar with the Ocean trilogy, then you know that the first episode – Ocean 11, like the other two – is a payback-heist. Ocean 12 brings back “one” of the characters from the original film, hence the “12”. Ocean 13 brings back yet another, hence the “13”.

Andy Garcia’s role in the third addition to these multi-million-dollar-big-screen yarns is truly extraordinary. It compliments his previous appearance in 12 rather nicely. But, the “cherry on top” has to be Al Pacino.

Al Pacino is the bad guy. He sticks it too Elliot Gould, one of the pack, and in turn they plan a heist at Pacino’s gambling casino in Vegas. What more does one need to say? Not much.

If you haven’t seen it – get off your ass and go rent it. You won’t be sorry.

Next, let us take a small peek at Shrek The Third. Realizing that parents take their uncontrollable little brats to this cartoon-film, even though the gist of the story couldn’t possibly be understood by their underdeveloped minds, it is still well worth the price of an admission ticket.

Unless you are familiar with the 007 films, the “Live and Let Die” song sung by Paul McCartney and Wings sequence wouldn’t have you busting a gut. The same holds true for the gingerbread man’s appearances in the movie. After being broken, he is spread out on a cookie sheet being pieced back together – the next scene shows him running through a field in slow motion with the sound effects from the Six Million Dollar Man playing in the back ground. That was fucking hilarious. And as if that wasn’t enough, during one of the “scarier” scenes (not really), the gingerbread man “shit” a gumdrop out of his ass. That was all I could take – I lost it. Having to run to the bathroom – something I never do at a theatre – I returned to my seat regretfully aware that what I had missed in those lost five minutes might have been worth sticking to my seat. The entire film was filled with an abundance of comical undertones, irony, and sarcasm.

Thank you, Jeremy. I am looking forward to next week.