You know your getting old when......

Your wrist hurts after masterbating! Ouch! Or maybe it means it is going to rain tomorrow - my wrist is often used as a human barometer, but it is usually the left hand!

The Sweater Song

Okay, so this morning I was rushing to get to an eyebrow waxing appointment. I put on my all time favourite sweater and arg! Underneath the arms are those nubbly, bumpy, rolled toegther bits of sweater! I hate that! You have to pick them off and then the sweater gets all fuzzy, and not fuzzy in a good way. And don't even try lint rollers, they just make things worse! Anybody have a good tip for stopping the sweater fuzzies?

Cassie's Book Club - Little White Lies

So, lately I have been absolutely devouring books. Devouring them. All sorts of wonderful weird books of all shapes and sizes.

I recently finished two books written by Gemma Townley, When in Rome – A Novel of Pizzas and Passion and Little White Lies – A Novel of Love and Good Intentions. Great fun, cute, girlie books. There were both super easy to read and really get you drawn into the story. Of the two, my favourite was Little White Lies. It is about a quirky country girl who has just moved to London, who assumes the identity of the city girl she is subletting her apartment from. Things eventually spiral out of control when she meets a man under her new identity. She lies to her new boyfriend, her family, her friends, her boss and even complete strangers. It got me thinking, how many lies are spouted everyday? How many people stretch the truth? How much of what we are told is true?

As little kids, we learn the rhyme “Liar, Liar Pants on Fire, Hanging from the Telephone wire!” Those words were sung to my sister by Mom and Dad during a family trip in our old Datsun when they caught her in a bold faced lie. She was 6. She was so distraught. She really thought she was going to end up hanging meters above the street. Was this enough to deter her from lying for the rest of her life? Not really. She still tells her husband “I’m fine” when things are definitely not “fine”.

Is lying something we learn from our parents? Or is it something programmed into our souls? A form of self-protection. I am not sure, but, even at the age of 4, my niece lies. She does it instinctively when she knows she is in trouble.

So, I am going to step up and admit it! Sometimes I lie. Sometimes it is much easier and much safer than telling the truth. Sometimes I am really good at lying, and other times people see right through me. And other times I can’t figure out why I am even doing it. Is it a lack of confidence? Sometimes. Is it shame? A lot of the time. And sometimes I even lie to myself. Deep down I know it is not the truth, but I am determined to keep the truth from myself.

I don't really know if lying is good, bad of neutral. Maybe it is something we need to do sometimes. Maybe we shouldn't do it at all. Maybe it would be easier if my pants burst spontaneously into flame whenever I lied. Maybe that would stop me. Come to think of it, probably not.

Strange Things Heard at 3:36 am.....

A large group of people walking down my one way street singing "Ooh, ee, ooh, I look just like Buddy Holly, oh, oh, oh and your Mary Tyler Moore, I don't care what they say about us anyway, I don't care 'bout that". All I could think was "man, I haven't heard that song in ages".

A Man Around the House?

I enjoy being a single gal. Honestly, I don't think I have the energy for the whole boyfriend, relationship work thing right now. But, I must admitt, there are times when a man around the house would come in handy. Yesterday, I spent 7 hours painting my bedroom. Yup, seven hours. Alone. Now, I could have asked some friends to help out, but I didn't. It got me thinking about how handy it would be to have someone living here who knew how to do things around the house. Like, construction things. Like fixing the hot water tap in my bathroom. Like having a second opinion when hanging pictures. Like helping move furniture. Yeah, maybe I should start dating again - a big guy with power tools who is trained in massage! A girl can dream....

Fridge Notes

As most of you know, I have an erotic magnetic poetry kit on my fridge. My gay husband forced me to get out of my house and go grocery shopping on the weekend. He left this little ditty in my kitchen:

"Please Spank Bush
Must Hump Boy
Pump his cock into my creamy ass"

Dirty. Oh so dirty.

Bad Bad Blogger

Okay, okay, I am sorry. I am sorry I haven't posted in an eon. Thank you to those who kept checking back and haven't stop reading me. But sometimes a gal needs a little space and a little room to think. Maybe reflect is a better word than think.

So, I haven't been sleeping. Except from sheer exhaustion when I collapse for a couple hours on Ralph, my couch, during the day. Why? A variety of reasons. But right now my anxiety is super high. When I lie down at night, I can feel my blood pulsing through every point of my body, raging against my veins. And then it starts. The thoughts start bouncing around my brain. It is like being stuck out in the rain without an umbrella. You feel one little rain drop fall from the sky. Then another and another. Eventually, you are running for cover, a shelter away from the storm. But inside my brain at night, there is no bus stop to hide under, no awning to deflect the rain. It is a load scary place. I can't seem to get quiet in there lately. I just want quiet. I just want to feel comfortable inside. Comfortable in my own skin. Not to shake, not to dread life without distraction. With distraction, I can forget the other stuff, at least until I try to sleep.

My mental health Mondays have been spilt into Mediation Mondays and Therapeutic Tuesdays. As some of you know, I am on stress leave, so it is easier to get into my psychologist on Tuesdays. I still go for acupuncture on Mondays. You know what's the worst part of going on medical leave? The damn forms you have to fill out. I arrived at my shrink yesterday in tears, frustrated at the daunting task of expressing myself on pages and pages and pages of forms. Forms to prove that I am not able to work right now. Just come and talk to me, I tell you, I show you why I can't work. They make it hard on purpose, I understand why. Insurance fraud is rampant. We finally got things sorted out although the stack are still sitting in my car. I just can't deal with filling the rest of them out today.

Every week, after about 20 minutes of talking, I do something we call "body work" at my shrinks. Yup, I actually lie down on her couch and focus on breathing. How cliched is that? In real life, in the dangerous scary place, I don't breath. Well, at least I don't breath deeply. In my shrink's office, it is safe and I can access the deep repressed feelings and memories. Yesterdays, I am fat and ugly and my mother never really loved me.

I never realize the importance of the mother-child bond. That is not true, I never realized the importance of the bond, or lack of bond with my mother. I always felt that nothing was ever good enough for my mother. I wasn't good enough. That sentiment still lingers today deep down inside. When you mother states "if I had to go back and do it all again, I wouldn't have children", those words stick with you. When your mother moves out your Dad the same weekend her new boyfriend moves in, it sticks with you. When your mother and your stepdad fight over the one "B" on a report card of 47 "A"'s, it sticks with you. When your mother allows you and your sister to be around her verbally abusive mother, and the father that sexually molested her, it sticks with you. It all sticks with you. It destroys your self worth, it rattles your confidence. Don't get me wrong, I am not blaming all of my problems on my Mom, but the childhood traumas don't easily go away. Especially when they have been bottled for years and years.

All these memories flooded back, flooded out as we were doing the body work. Them and many tears. I don't cry much, but I sobbed and sobbed yesterday. As I left my therapist said "Be careful today, you are very wounded. And you wound is gaping right now." The story of my life. I hope that wound is getting smaller. I don't think it will ever go away, but maybe one day it won't consume so much if my soul. That is the goal of all of this. To be me. And to be quiet inside.

Bad Bad Week

Hey kids. Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It hasn't been the best week. But, things are bound to look up right?

Does size matter?

After a lovely evening, I just arrived home from a fabulous dinner at my gay husband's house. Every time I am over there, GH, or gay husband, puts my domestic skills to shame! He keeps a fabulous house, makes a wonderful dinner and prepares the most nummy desserts all while chatting away, appying on Brie and crackers and serving me drinks. When people come to my house, I usually haul a frozen pizza out of my freezer and burn it to a crisp. Ah, to be a gay man! I must thank you GH for a most enjoyable evening. It has been a while since we got together last and we must do it again soon. Plus I still owe you an anniversary dinner from March. French cuisine awaits us!

Although we had many interesting conversations throughout the evening, the one that suck in my mind was the discussion of penis size GH and I had over our meal of sausages. As I looked at the tiny tubes of pork on my plate, I was reminded of some boys from my past. And then it hit me, why do boys with small cocks ask you if it is big? Every single "slightly less endowed" boy I have been with has asked me a series of questions: Is my dick big? Do you like my big cock? It is the biggest you have ever seen? It's big eh? Is it bigger than the other guys you have been with? Does my big cock fill your pussy up?

I want to shout out "No"! No, it isn't. It is actually the size of my pinky. I have green beans in my fridge bigger than that! You are actually inside of me?

I am not saying that size is everything, but a girl does need a little girth. And where size is lacking, creativity, passion and enthusiam rain supreme. In all honesty, the first few inches of a vagina are the most sensitive and it hurts like hell when a penis bangs into my cervix.

I think of these questions are like what I see as the female equivalent - "do I look fat in this?". Do we really want an honest answer to that question? I am not sure, but I think these types of questions are asked not looking for a truthful answer. I think deep down inside, we really know the truth, we just want someone to tell us we are wrong. And I have been that girl. I have lied in bed when it has come to penis size. I thought it to be the courteous thing to do. But is this the right thing to do? If a relationship is based on trust, it is fair to be dishonest at such an intimate moment? Honey, your cock is small, but you make up for it when you go down on me? Is that enough to destroy a man?

The most famous of the small dick boys I have been with was JR. JR was a hard drinking, porn-loving west coast red-neck. Sweet guy with a heart of gold, but I think penis size meant the world to him. I knew something was up when I saw his truck before we started dating. Picture this: nice white jeep + 40" tires. It looked like a freaking monster truck. JR had to haul my ass up into it (which is no small feat) because it was way too tall for me to climb in on my own. Can we say compensating for something? Indeed! I have never seen a smaller penis. And he constantly asked me about it! It is big? And so on and so forth. Over and over and over again. How many times can you force a girl to lie! He must of known he was small, he watched so many pornos with he favourite being "Edward PenisHands".

That being said, we had some of the most explosive sex ever. Powerful orgasms, scratch and teeth marks and several, and I mean many, times each night. Our bodies were in-tuned and we figured out what each person liked and needed. It didn't matter that his cock was small - the drive and the passion made up for it in spades! It was much better than some of the "overly endowed" boys I have been with.

So, does size really matter? My answer - it is not the size of the lure, it is how you wiggle the worm. Just don't ask me about the worm's size. I don't want to lie to you. And in return, I won't ask you if I look fat in this! Deal?

My fridge is oh, so dirty!

This go 'round at a nervous breakdown has manifested itself in sleep. Not peaceful sleep that allows escape, but sleep riddled with heart palpitations and night terrors, my absolute favourite. Today, I didn't get out of bed until 1 pm. I think that is a record for me. Although I spent over 10 hours in bed, I probably only slept a fraction of them and dreamt through the rest. Last night, I spent the majority of my night camped outside a convenience store in the rain waiting for an ex-boyfriend. Hmmm...wonder what that means! At least it wasn't terrifying like the previous night - the night my niece fell off of the Natural History Museum in London. It was my fault, I thought there were stairs, but instead it was the edge of the building. As she went over, I grabbed her jacket to try to pull her up and she slipped out of it and just kept falling. I woke up in tears. Watching someone fall to their death is never a pleasant image.

Sleep for me used to be an escape. A place to hide. A place of safety. Now it has become something I fear. I stay awake late into the night and try to prevent it. When I do go to lie down, I feel my pulse beating through me. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Uneasy thoughts flood my mind. And what happens when I fall to sleep, what will the dreams be like? Will I drive into the puddle that really isn't a puddle but the ocean? Will I make in out of my car as it sinks to the ocean floor? Will the ferry that I am on sink? Will my workplace be bombed? All terrifying thoughts which manifest in my dreams. Yikes, I wonder what tonight will bring?

On a much more pleasant note, I spent part of my weekend cleaning and decorating. I moved into my place about 4 months ago. When I moved in, I had grand ideas of remodeling and at the very least throwing a coat of paint on the walls. I even have all of the paint and all of the tools I need. I have been waiting for the paint to leap from their buckets onto the walls, but since that hasn't happened yet, I decided to hang some pictures. Amazing what some art on the wall will do to a room. Not that I have given up on painting, I think I may need a bit more motivation. And maybe a tad of help from my friends.

I also unpacked my set of Magnetic Poetry given to me by my good friend Marleybone Coach. And it is not just any kind of Magnetic Poetry, it's the erotic version! As an aspiring erotic story teller, let me just say, I have expanded my vocabulary some! My dirty, naughty fridge has become my muse. The poem on the door right now -"Plunge into my creamy cunt, sweet shudder inside, exquisite wail." Hey, if it is not happening in real life, at least it can happen on my fridge. Naughty, naughty fridge.

DUI - Dialing Under the Influence

I would like to thank all the chickadees who were brave enough to give comments on my last posting! You guys are awesome. And you have some weird things you do when you are alone. I like somewhere deep inside we all have gross things we do. Yes, we are a little crazy. But I think these things make us us. In all honesty, I need a little bit of craziness in my world - helps me escape the really bad stuff that I just can't handle.

So, in my last posting, I mentioned some of my SSB, secret single behaviour, but believe it or not, there is more, way more. I won't go into all of the detail, but off the top of my head - I store bugs in my freezer for my entomology collections, I hate doing dishes and if people drop by unexpectedly, I will hide dirty dishes in my oven, and finally, I am a DUI - a dialer under the influence.

Yes, yes, my name is Cassie, and I call people when I am drunk. Not so much anymore, as I don't drink that much anymore, but in my past, it was routine. Now, you may ask, why, why do you do that? Well, when I am intoxicated, I think I am the funniest person in the world. And, being so funny, why not share this with others? It started harmlessly enough, but progressed. You see, I had a mentor for DUI in the early years, a boy from high school at a different university from me who would call me every time he was loaded. This started our oh so romantic love affair, over the phone. Yes, I has phone sex, drunken phone sex, for over a year with this guy almost every weekend. I guess it was better than being alone.

Eventually, we moved on, but the behaviour didn't stop. And with my increased knowledge of computers, DUI became, EUI, emailing while drunk. I thought it was the funniest thing! Oh so funny. But, I am not a typer at the best of times and really, if I sent you an email while I was drunk, you wouldn't be able to understand a thing.

My last episode of DUI was almost 6 months ago. I decided after a bottle of red wine and a few beers within the span of 90 minutes, to call my exboyfriend in Vancouver. Yup, I did. I thought to myself, I am over him, a nice chat would be great! I think he would really appreciate it! So, I dialed. It is amazing to me how well I can dial while shit-faced. He answered, we talked. I thought it was nice. Apparently not. His girlfriend was sitting beside him the whole time, hating me. And I am pretty sure he does too! I didn't say anything bad, I didn't cry and beg for him to come back, but the act of the DUI is dangerous enough in its self. Then, to make matters worse, I picked up the phone again and called my very good friend, also in Vancouver, and proceeded to ask him again and again why "he hadn't fucked me yet". "Get over here right now and fuck me". Good times. Luckily, my friend has a great sense of humour and only brings it up every now and then to completely mortify me!

That night, I hung up my dialing fingers and have gone cold turkey. Do I think I will dial again, without a doubt. But now I am smart, now I hide my phones! Let this be a warning to you all - stay away from the DUI.

My Secret Single Behaviour

I wanted to shout out to Lurker Lou, who commented on the "Princess and the Pee-on". Welcome to my blog! And thank you for your great comment! Maybe it is just me, but I do believe "when you're in love, you do the things that just aren't done". Maybe it is dangerous, maybe it is silly, but that is what love is about.

So last night, as I was jumping up and down on my couch and screaming at my TV, I was quite struck at how odd the site would be to an outsider of Cassie World. I actually stopped for a moment to check if anyone was looking in the window! Seeing me do this might be reason to haul me into the loony bin, and yes, I know I am almost there, but it was just a Typical Tuesday night chez Cascadia. It started me thinking about my Secret Single Behaviour, boy, do I do some strange things. For those of you who are not Sex and the City freaks like me, Secret Single Bevahiour, or SSB, are the things you do in the privacy of your own home that others may think are odd, stupid, or maybe even a little disgusting. Most of us try to hide this behaviour, but today folks, I am coming out! Here is my some, and I really mean only some, of my SSB.

I am having a love affair with my couch.
Not like that! I don't mount my couch and hump it every night, but I do have a soft spot for the big fuzzy purple cutie named Ralph. Yes, I named my couch Ralph. He is warm, protective and he has gotten me through some rough times. Over the past 4 years, Ralph has seen boys come and go, his fair share of food and beverages (thank goodness for stainguard), different hair styles, different parties and many different guests sleeping on him, but he has always stayed strong and supportive. I even have been sleeping on Ralph for the last two weeks as I am finding it hard to sleep anywhere else. He is my friend, he is my confidant, he is the only man that hasn't left me cold.

I clean my house wearing practically nothing.
I know it is weird. But, I do like to house clean almost in the nude. I admit it. Now you may think, wow, that could be dangerous with those chemical, but I don't use anything that exciting when cleaning up. It is usually me and my swiffer and some lysol wipes. And then I have a shower in my nice clean shower.

I like reality or unscripted TV.
Yup. I do. Not all the shit like the midgets finding love, but I do like my big three: Survivor, The Amazing Race and The Apprentice. Hence I was jumping up and down on the couch, yelling at the TV last night - I was watching the Amazing Race. You may think I am cattle, but I don't care. On Tuesday and Thursday nights, most of the time I will screen out your call, settle in with Ralph and laugh out loud or holler at the TV. And if I am out for the evening, my VCR will be running and more times than not, I will watch my show when I get home. Sad, but it is my little joy in life.

I leave hair ties ad bobby pins everywhere.
I mean everywhere! Check it out if you are ever at my house. It is like an Easter egg hunt for hair accessories. I once even found a bobby pin in my fridge. How gross is that?

I love to pop zits.
Love it, love it, love it! And if I don't have any, I will go for yours. Watch out!

My favourite dinner is....
....popcorn and hot chocolate. So good. But I can only eat that when I am not watching the carbs. Yummy. My second favourite, MiniWheats, the cereal. There is something so naughty to me about having cereal for dinner.

I put on fancy clothes and walk around my house.
So, some of the time I walk around nude. Okay, well a fair bit of the time. But other times, I am like a kid. I will put on a fancy dress for no reason, do my hair, put on heels and wander around the house. Alone. Maybe I will read a book in my prom dress or watch reality TV in a bride's maid gown. It is something I do to feel pretty. And speaking of acting childish....

I like to make forts out of my furniture, blankets and cushions.
Did you ever do that as a kid? I certainly did! And I still do it! There is something very cozy and warm about a fort in your living room. You can go inside of it on a raining day, snuggle on in and forget about the rest of the world. Well, forget about it until your friend knocks on your door and asks what the fuck you are doing. One of the nicest things ever done for me by a boyfriend was making me a fort. What a hoot! He surprised me and then we decimated it by romping! There is nothing like fort fucking!

I make up little songs and rhymes and sing them really loud.
Constantly. It is a little family tradition started by my Dad. My sister does it too! It is so bad that my young niece is now doing it - she rhymes most of her words. In addition to composing our own diddies, we have a few family favourites: The fart song...."Pardon me boys, but that's the Chattanooga Choo Choo...." and my favourite, the dirty little song that my Dad sang to us when we were kids...

"Was it you who did the pushing
left the stains upon the cushion
footprints on the dashboard upside-down
Was it you, you sly wood pecker
who got in my daughter Rebecker
if it was you, you better leave this town

Yes, was I who did the pushing
left the stains upon the cushion
footprints on the dashboard upside-down
But, since I've had your daughter
I've had trouble passing water
so, I guess we're even all around!!"


And on that note, I think I will leave my SSB behind! I think that is all my ego can take for today! Thank god I live alone! Please please please, share some of your SSB with me. It will make me feel much better about Cassie Land!

The Little Girl on the Couch

Yesterday was Mental Health Monday! The day I spent doing things that may not always be fun, but are good for my mental state. Well, in theory they are good for my mental state. On hour on my therapist's couch and an hour on my acupuncturist's table followed up by some shopping. Nothing makes a girl feel better than spending $150 on make-up and skin products! (Just an aside, I started my new Clinque facial regime to combat the lovely wrinkles I am developing, and my face had never felt smoother and better.)

I had an interesting voyage into my mind and met someone new to me on my therapists couch yesterday - my inner child. No, I won't call her that, I will call her the child version of Cascadia. The little girl who was emotionally abused, abandoned and hurt constantly. Quite the interesting young lady! And let me say this, and I say this with the most love I could, she is quite the little brat!

I spent my hour switching sides of the couch creating a dialogue between the adult Cascadia and the child Cascadia. Who new this was going on inside on me! Who new I have two people living in there - adult, who can take on the world with confidence and child who is terrified of being hurt again. As I moved from side to side I could feel my demeanor and voice change - small and quiet, hunched and tight for the child and upright and deep for the adult. We fought back and forth and discussed issues, with a little guidance from my shrink. Why is she constantly making me sick? Why does she sabotage my confidence? Why does she float suicidal thoughts into my brain at the most inopportune times? And then, as the session ended, many of the thoughts and epiphanies I had during our conversation floated back into my subconscious where I couldn't grab them. Things I had just said were gone. Imagine saying something outloud, something you have never realized before, just to have it swallowed back into the grey matter which is came from literally in seconds. It was one of the most odd sensations of my life.

My dialogue with Little Cascadia has not ended, I am sure we will meet up on that couch again. Maybe by working with her, I can fix some of the issues going on with Big Cascadia. Therapy - what an odd thing!

The Princess or the Pee-on?

"How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me."
- WH Auden

My last posting seemed to spark some thoughts from some of my closest friends, and some new friends, about the metrosexual, the laws of attraction and our roles in relationships. Whether it is better to be absolutely adored, the princess syndrome, or love a little bit, or a whole heck of a lot more, as WH Auden so aptly put. Today, I was lucky enough to be directed to a great blog written by Lucky Spinster (it is fecking great - be sure to check it out)who added her thoughts on the subject and really started me thinking about which relationship role I want to take, the princess or the pee-on?

I don't have vast relationship repertoire, but I have had a few kicks at the can. Out of all of them, I have really only been in love once - I can feel my heart in my throat, throw myself in front of a moving bus, zsa-zsa zsu kinda love. His name was Dennis and I met him one summer when we both worked together at the same currency exchange. It took us 4 months before either of us got up the nerve to ask the other out on a date. We became each other's "first" and spent 9 months with each other. Dennis ended it because "he was afraid and things got too serious". I was hurt. But we decided to remain friends.

Fast forward two years later. Two friends, sitting on a balcony, drinking red wine, talking about the past. Fast forward two minutes. Two good friend, rolling around on the floor, making out like wild lions. He suddenly stopped, looked at me and said
"I love you, I still love you, I never stopped loving you". Could this be happening? Could this be real? I had wanted to hear those words for so long. He added, "but I can't be with you, it is too much". What the fuck? You love me, but you can't be with me? I was confused. Apparently, so was he. But, I waited, and six months later, the confusion lifted and we got back together.

During our second go 'round, things were different. Den was more open with his feelings and more considerate of me. He was truly my best friend this time. We had amazing sparks. My skin twitched with excitement every time he kissed me. I would get butterflies when I knew I was going to see him. He'd bring me flowers and take me out for dinner. And the sex was amazing - the fucking was animalistic and I felt more connected than I had to anyone when we made soft, passionate love. But many things hadn't change. He was still frightened of "the end" of relationships. He wanted his freedom and thought that was imposed on by living with someone, or by marriage. Six months into our rekindled romance, he made the decision to move to Vancouver without even talking to me about it. Two months later, he made the decision to stay in Vancouver indefinitely without even discussing it with me.

I needed him, I wanted him so badly in my life. Did it matter that he didn't consult me? Yes, it hurt, but that was just Den. So I made sacrifices, the ferries rides to see him, the monthly telephone bills and the evenings out with my friends solo as my boyfriend lived across a body of water. Eventually, I decided to move there - leave everything behind me in Victoria, my job, my friends, my family, to live on my own as he was too scared to live with someone, to take the relationship to that next level. I was willing to do that, or so I thought. It was worth it to me. It was worth it to make him happy.

The move never happened. I couldn't find a job. And honestly, I think part of me just couldn't give up that much of my life for him, for nothing. No promise of a future together, no plans of things to come. The day I knew it was all over between Dennis and I - we were talking on the phone and I jokingly suggested he get his ass to the 9 pm ferry (it was only 6:30 pm) to come and spend the night with me. Yeah it would have been crazy, yeah it would have cost some money, but it would have been nice. And I thought he might do it. When he called at 9:30 pm, I really thought he was on the boat. But he wasn't. The notion was too crazy for him. "What would be the point, just to sleep?". There didn't need to be a point. He should have just done it. I knew it was over then.


And so, it ended. I couldn't stand to be angry with him anymore. Every phone call ended with resentment. Every weekend together ended with tears. Did I want to leave him? No. Could I have stayed? No. I guess I just really wanted him to fight for me. Tell me he would change. To get on that damn ferry! To actually give up something for me. I was so willing to give up so much for him, why couldn't he do something for me? And during our last visit, the let's give back our stuff visit, as I was before him, on my knees, barely able to talk through the tear, begging him to fight for me, I knew he couldn't. No, not that he couldn't, he wouldn't. He didn't love me that much. I was the more loving one. Or was I? I always wondered what stopped me from moving to Vancouver. Why I couldn't give a bit more?

And even though it ended a year and a half ago, I know you guys don't want to hear this, I still think of him everyday. I still miss him. I don't pine to be back with him, but I do miss the sparks, the passion, the friendship. It drives me crazy that he has a new girlfriend that lives with him. Why wasn't I good enough to live with? Maybe the roles are different with them, maybe he has become the more loving one with her. And rationally, I can tell myself it was for the best and I would never be happy with him, I still hope for a knock on my door one day. A knock that says "I was wrong". Will it happen, of course not. And I know it sounds cliche, but I really wouldn't change anything with Den for the world. Okay, well maybe I would change a few things. My version would end with us riding off together into the sunset on a horse. But, honestly, I am afraid of horses, so that would never happen. The other thing I would change, I would get back my "sports cuffs". He gave them to me as a present and then kept them! Those things are expensive! And, then don't leave bruises like real handcuffs do!

So, it brings me back to my dilemma....can I settle for being the princess or can I only find true passion when I am the pee-on? I guess time will tell. With Den, did I get tired of being the pee-on? Can a relationship so unequal survive? Maybe I'll be able to beat the odds and find both, the passion coupled with the equality. A princess can dream, can't she?