The mirror has two faces – or nine.

Recently I set up a MySpace page. It is not anonymous so no I won’t tell you how to get there. My naked pictures cannot be shared with people I don’t know and have never met. I actually like all of you. - - MySpace. I swore I would never go there. The dark side. With cookies. I caved.
I wanted it so that I could put up more family related stuff and so that I could leave obnoxious comments on some of my friends’ pages.

You know that “mood” face thingy? Of course you know it. Y’all are much more interweb-smarty-pants-ish than I am. Anyhoo, I like it. However, I have discovered that at any given time I need more than one face. A nice round half dozen would probably suffice on a normal day.

Let’s take today for example: I woke up this morning with feelings of mushy-butterflies-stickyfingers-rainbows-6yearoldloving. Left over from spending an evening with the coolest beings under 3 feet tall, it was a haze that clung to my skin. As I moved about the house completing my morning rituals is swooshed around me, swirling at my feet and making me do one of those really sappy contented sighs over a steaming cup of go-juice. Still dripping from the shower and my happiness I sauntered into the living room to get my daily weather only to find fuzzies. Fuzzies fuzzies everywhere. The pooch has decided that a very small 3 inch square section of the couch is offensive and she must scratch it away. Must. Be. Gone. Out damn spot I say. This is very frustrating to me because I like my couch and I do not like fuzzies. But she is cute. I’ve got the spot covered right now and the fuzzies are actually from the covering, not the couch. No real damage was done other than the mess. But she isn’t making any progress at emotionally moving on from the evil couch spot. I’m mildly annoyed but running late enough to not give it much conscious attention. Upon arriving to the office I start doing the many important things my job requires me to do; things like checking my various email accounts and my bank account for that IRS stimulus-thingy (whatever, just send money). And there it is staring me in the face: An email from Ex that sends my rage-o-meter through the roof. He has decided that he still has the right to call into a business where I have an account and make changes to my account on my behalf (but solely for his benefit) by giving them my information which he knows because we were married for almost 13 years. I’m livid. I’m seething. I can’t do a damn thing about it because he’s driving across country with my children in tow for his grandmother’s funeral – and aren’t I the bitch for being furious at this man while he is on his way to a funeral? Then there was the email that said SexyMan cannot spend the entire weekend with me as originally planned because his boss is a poop. I’m an only child. The only child of a single parent who worked 3 jobs and we DID NOT have a lot of money. But I was most certainly spoiled for attention. It is from this experience that I learned that beginning 5 days before my birthday and ending somewhere around 5 days afterwards: It. Is. All. About. ME. Me me me. Someone needs to tell SexyMan’s boss that making him work on my birthday is unacceptable. It’s not even a surrounding day –that I’m willing to admit is open to interpretation- it is The day. I’m so disappointed. But I can’t tell SexyMan that because it’s his job and he sort of needs that and it’s really not his fault. So, I’m feeling rather martyr-ish because I’m so sad but not telling him that I’m so sad. However, SexyMan is still available to meet my parents for a fancy dinner one night – complete with me in a little black dress – hooray for dressing up. That makes me excited and nervous. The Things love him but my Momma is a much tougher sell.

So, let’s add these up:
Mushy-butterflies-stickyfingers-rainbows-6yearoldloving’
Mildly annoyed.
Greedy/broke – IRS to send money now please
Seething fury
Guilty
Disappointed
Martyr-ish
Excited
Nervous

I know this is confusing for some men. How can so many emotions swish around in one space. What can I say, I’m not simple. Most women aren’t. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that Ex and I didn’t make it – one of MANY, let’s not over simplify here- and why he is with CrazyWoman now. She’s in her early twenties and only seems to have two emotions: Perky Cute or Perky Pouty. She is simple. I think that’s because the voices in her head are taking care of all the complex feelings.