To indulge my white liberalism further, I bought chickens, not fior eating, but for the production of eggs. My dream...to walk into my backyard nude and gather eggs...cook said eggs in the buff, eat said eggs in the buff...then address my room mates who may or not at that time be balking at me in the kitchen.
It's cliche, but they grow up so fast. 3 weeks ago, they fit in the palm of my hand (chickens, not the roommates). Yesterday, they flew out of their box, shit all over the floor, then flew back in their box. For such dumb creatures, they sure are brilliant. Following the crapping catastrophe, after cleaning it up, I closed the door to relax on the couch to philosophize about life, love, and cougardom. I was aroused from my brain thoughts by their frantic chirping and finally after minutes of wishing it away, went to check on them. Somehow their heat lamp had gone out and the little poop machines were reacting to the darkness....my scientific assessment of the situation...they are afraid of the dark. I have a lot in common with chickens.
My online dating experiment has yielded many stories, a few worth mentioning. Earlier today, a gentleman asked me if he could "brutalize me." Out of morbid curiosity, I asked what that meant to which he responded (wait, I need to check and make sure this is accurate....) ok...he responded with "Slap you, spit on you, and fuck you." Hot. I responded, I cannot wait for you to meet my parents...and he said "you're lucky I don't pee on you." Sure am buddy...thanks.
There are more stories like that, but the one I want to focus on right now is the evolution of my cougar core. I met (ok, have been messaging) an adorable 23 year old. ADORABLE. Problem is, he's 23. I just turned 30. The question I am toying with is, am I cougar? When does a woman become a cougar? How does one know if she is a Cougar? Who determines Cougardom? Are there support groups for cougars? I'm most likely getting ahead of myself right now. Who knows if this delicious little morsel will want to touch my sagging lady parts, but it's something that's been occupying my mind for the past two days. It's more complicated than just aging (though that in and of itself is a sordid subject and I still haven't come to terms with my oldness), it's that he invigorated this part of me that's been dormant....NO, not like my sex drive or anything dirty like that...ewww...It's the me in my 20's...The girl that picked up and left when things got tired, or boring, or I wanted to see Crazy Horse's monument...just cause. I cannot really say anything here that hasn't been said before about aging, and the particular changes that occur (menopause and under arm flabbiness), but in experiencing it, I sure as hell feel like I have to talk about. There's an tradeoff, wisdom for ignorance/bliss, "stability" for abandonment and selfishness, and belly fat for....well ...not belly fat. Nonetheless it's made me nostalgic. Nostalgic for things that I can absolutely have and experience again...as long as I'm not willing to settle.
I suppose there's that whole mess of cougarishness and confusion....and then there's the practical, "are you fucking kidding me?? you didn't grow up watching ALF?" But that could be a cultural divide too, not just a generational. So, here I go, justifying my way into dating younger men..much younger men. I anticipate that after having to change his diaper and get him home before 9pm, this will become a little tooooo awwwwkward, and I'll have to call it quits.
Then I'll have way more time to obsess over the chickens and write wildly boring blogs about them. So, there's that...I have that going for me.
To all ma PEEPS!
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