I am still a Girl... And I still want my Orgas_ _ (COOKIE)!!

6 years ago
This article was written by a member of the SheKnows Community. It has not been edited, vetted or reviewed by our editorial staff, and any opinions expressed herein are the writer’s own.

Truths from the Chaos                   

Several of my girlfriends say I am in such a fearless place in my life today. OK. I suppose I am OK with this observation. I did, after all, have sense enough to leave corporate america before I became another casualty in an environment that bred toxic waste quicker than a landfill.

Some say I left much too late, because the price I paid turned out to be... well...everything. I am still alive to talk about everything today, and that's all that really matters.

True enough, in late 2010 I threw all caution to the wind to take a gamble on my passion - writing. Reduced the hell out of expenses, simplified my life. All of my strands, and strands of beautiful pearls have been packed up, and boxed in a storage unit in, California. I gladly traded in about three dozen pair of good lookin' high heel shoes for flip flops that you can count on finding on my feet most any day of the year. Yes, all of my pant and dress suits have been given away with the exception of two black suits for funerals. My daily schedule does not miss the ridiculous amount of meetings with doctors, lawyers, and CPAs to discuss the benefits of my ginormous Wall Street financial institution and today I still use the same can of hair spray I bought two years ago.

Yup, that's me today; flip flops, blue jeans, running pants or shorts, a multitude of sports bras in my dresser drawers, short and long sleeve tee-shirts coordinated (or NOT) with a light flannel vest for cold days.

And if you catch me inbetween hair appointments - every sixty to ninety days - you can usually see the grey strands at the root of a very long pony tail or top knot, because one thing is certain today...kind of like death and taxes. I am still a girl.

There is a dorky, at times silly, and a cut up, no question has the ability to cross a line of politically correct humor, noticeably vulnerable, somewhat scared and by all means super-duper sensitive girl still in me. Today my blog celebrates her and the other "girls" I know are out there waiting to be set free~


I am Still a Girl...

I am no longer in my twenties….that was oh so twenty plus years ago (Do the math and you’ll have an idea which President was in office when I was born.) Allow me to lay out some ground work...

A little over two years ago I kinda' fell off….....WAIT…....give me a sec.

CORRECTION; A little over two years ago I did fall off the face of the earth, or so my family thinks.

There I said it.

I fell off the face of the earth for reasons I carefully explain in a manuscript I am still writing today. I know I should say more, but I can’t very well explain more here if I have yet to tell my family about what happened, now can I?


This very same time last year I made a couple solid attempts to get back out there among the male species. In retrospect, I’m sure I knew I was not ready to dip my big toe into the raging waters of unrequited love, but it was after all, unrequited love…my FIRST love. Puppy love.

He was in the eight-grade, and I was in the seventh grade as we slow danced to Hotel California in the school cafeteria. Even in my seventies platform shoes I still had to look up to gaze into his dark brown eyes while we danced. My hair was long and straight with flat feathers. My lips were shiny from the lip gloss tucked away in a side pocket of my lavender zip up pant suit and yes my comb was in my pocket too. When the lights were dimmed we snuck outside to steal some kisses under the moonlight ~~~~ I was in love. Our hot love affair --giggles--ended the following week through a hand delivered note sloppily written on a carelessly torn piece of notebook paper. “I don’t like you as a girlfriend anymore.”   (Bast__d! That’s me today.) -giggles-

In my lifetime, I have been in love five times. First was him...the smooth dancer in the cafeteria who stole kisses from me under the moonlight. Second, my high school love. Third, my college love. Fourth, my transition love from college into adulthood and then finally, my most recent love. Of these loves, my heart has been broken three times. Some say I am lucky to have known such little heart break until I encourage them to consider their comment. Little experience in this area means I sucked terribly at it when it happened. My heart may as well have been scooped out of my chest the same way the guts of a pumpkin are scooped out of it's shell to create a Jack-o-Lantern. I never felt as though I wanted to die.  I just felt as though I couldn't breathe.


So can I transition here….choppy as it is…

Call me old school, but I come from a generation where certain parts of our body have hair. In other words, I don’t anticipate women I have never met or hot wax on a pop-sickle stick to be in proximity to my lady parts down south. So last year when faced with the opportunity to be in the company of H.I.M. my first love, I didn’t give any thought to whether:

- "Bush was in" –I'm not ‘talkin ‘bout the President ladies.

- If I am chemically balanced – probably not a good idea to cry after sex. Just ‘sayin.

- If I can get a “COOKIE” - borrowed from a sister-blogger, Reticula, "cookie"- euphemism for orgasm.

…fast forward to our very much anticipated night together.

Wow, no cookie for me, really?

It really was ok. If he only knew I was just thankful to have something other than my sweet blind kitty, baby Ray, lie on top of me.  -Giggles- A thirteen month dry spell is rather long. Then again sex has been the last thing on my mind, but it was H.I.M.

Seconds felt like hours as we lay side by side in my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. I began to feel uncomfortable as the silence between us got so loud. Secretly I wanted to say, “What are you, effin sixteen?” Course I did not help matters when I tried to make light about our predicament and said, “So, here’s a sure fire way to get me my cookie next time…” I'll be damn. Before I could bat an eyelash, he acted on what I had shared. Huge sigh~~~ still no cookie for me.

Good lawd, you would have thought he was twelve years old and that someone just stole his Huffy bike. I suppose I could have acted as if I got a cookie. Of course, I have never stolen a cookie before in my life. I wouldn’t know how to pull that off, because contrary to popular opinion it’s more than moans and groans. Unless something has changed since 2001in which case BlogHer sisters, please chatter me up!


In one evening, this man went from 48 years old to 16 to 12 years old. I figured two years old was next in which case I would have had to burp him. Best to leave well enough alone.

I think I am just surprised that's all. Maybe I have been a one man woman for the majority of my adult years that I rarely paid attention to the absence of cookies. I imagine this an example of one of the pitfalls of casual sex. Hit or misses in marriage and long term relationships are to be expected - I think. The world does not have to stop while egos are gathered.

 I told a mutual girlfriend about my experience (We all went to high school together). She was quiet for a moment and looked to be in deep thought - so I thought- than she burst into laughter. As if she were talking to our mutual friend she mocked, “Oh honey, come down off your ladder and get over yourself!”  Apparently he was guilty of doing not very nice things during his marriage. In other words, he deserved it. I suppose I should have left a very sweet junior high school memory alone, but it was H.I.M. ~~~sigh~~~

I admit it. I have been trying to rewind my memory bank back to that night in 1977 as we slow danced to Hotel California, and I gazed into his dark brown eyes until we snuck outside to steal first kisses under the moon light. Only I keep coming back to cookies.

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