There’s this blog I like

Something weird happened yesterday. I was reading this week’s Gargleblasters, preparing to vote for my favorites, and I came across one that I really liked.

This particular Gargleblaster used a photo that grabbed my attention, an old black and white of soldiers by a trench, some lying dead in it, some standing next to it. I had an immediate emotional reaction to that photo, probably because my grandfather died in WWII. Have I mentioned that before?

In any case, the photo grabbed my attention, and the 42 words that followed kept it. They described a man buried alive with his dead comrades. It was brutal and lovely image. Even grammatically incorrect as they were, those 42 words managed to pack a punch.

I turned my attention to the (extremely plain) blog header and I found the title, Irrational Realist, unfamiliar but incredibly evocative. Obviously my next step was to click on the About page to find out a bit more. Unfortunately, there was no personal description of any sort, only a public blog roll. And that’s when things got weird. The blogger had included only two other blogs, the first of which was mine. Weird, right?

Had I been able to, I would have left a comment on this new blog, introducing myself. However, I don’t have a Blogger account, or one in any of the other formats permitted in this blogger’s comment box. So here I am, composing this public introduction.

If you are the writer of the blog Irrational Realist, I am curious about you. Welcome to the blogosphere, or whatever you call it. I’d like to understand more about irrational realism. It resonates with me. If you’re reading this, then you know where to find me.

Me: A revision

You might have noticed that I’ve been talking more concretely about my kids lately. This has been a bit of a hard decision. Should I write about them at all? Is it a violation of my family’s privacy? What about using their names? For a while now, I’ve wanted to tell you more about them. I know that I could invent aliases, but it doesn’t feel natural to me to do that. So I’ve been using their names.

After my last post, I received a lot of comments from readers who were clearly confused about who Gabe is. I think I need to back up and tell you about my family.

Geoff and I have been married for almost 13 years. Our daughter, Anna, is seven. Our older son, Gabe, is five, and Nate, our baby, is almost two. They are funny, smart, great kids. I’m going to tell you more about them in future posts. Readers, I am trusting you. Please help me protect my family while I write my stories.


Why I’m blogging

It all started five months ago when I realized that I wanted to fuck another man.

First, a word about my marriage: Its earliest chapters began when we were kids, in grade school. There were sleepovers where we slept in each others’ beds. There was groping and whispering, yes, as six-year-olds. We loved each other before we knew what love was.

Separated by our parents’ choice, reunited as college students, Geoff and I felt that we couldn’t interfere with fate. We married at 23, and never doubted our choice. Six happy years passed – we worked, traveled, did our own thing together. Sex was always good, but in a quiet way. Then three kids arrived. Yes, all planned. I wanted to be in the middle of that, to be swamped with motherhood. And the kids did the trick. They took all that we had to give.

Now to the present. I turned 35 this year. I am the most me that I have ever been. I begin to take stock of my life. Where am I going from here? I begin running. I fucking love to run. Me, who has never run anywhere willingly before now.  I make Geoff a deal. By the time I am 36 I will be on a path back to work outside the home. I need to show my kids how it’s done.

In January, I get a sinking feeling in bed one night. Geoff is bored. Or I am. I set out to improve our sex life. My hunt for inspiration takes me to the bookshelf, the Victoria’s Secret catalog, and finally, to the internet. There, I find what I hoped for, and it turns out to be a disaster. There I find a blog, a weird and outrageously hot blog, which – just so creepily – seems to be written for me. I know, that’s delusional. But I just could not resist that blog. And I went so far as to email the blogger. And email him again from a secret email address. Oh, it gets worse. I dragged Geoff into it, and we shared a sort of e-tryst with that blogger for several months. I shared pictures, emails, recordings. I loved every minute of it, until I didn’t anymore. I loved, and I didn’t love, the confusion that our interactions brought me, the need for self-reflection, so long missing from my life.

Around the end of March, the interaction began to feel out of control. I wanted to stop, Geoff wanted me to stop, hell, even the blogger wanted me to stop. But I just couldn’t. For some reason, the whole process had brought out my creative side. Ten years after grad school, five years of not working, and I found that I had a lot to say. I started my blog, at first with Geoff. I wanted to write, draw, make art, all the time. How could I give that up? But Geoff would not stand for it. Our marriage counselor wouldn’t stand for it. Even our friends didn’t approve.

So I paid a visit to a well recommended psychiatrist, a previously unimaginable idea for me. That’s a post for another day. It took a lot of courage. It left me with a script for a mood stabilizer and more confused than ever. To find clarity, I am blogging. I am searching for what it means for me to be a sexy mom, a loving wife, a hot smart girl, a nice person who is mean sometimes, a good girl who has a dark side. All at once.

Christi, Somewhat Objectively

Dark wavy brown hair.  Green eyes.  Smooth skin.  Soft lips, and a smile that lights up a room.  Nice curves, perfectly sized B-cup breasts, and curves just right to grab and pull her in.

Average height, below average weight, and above average intellect.  Looks good in leggings, great in jeans, hot in a skirt and boots, and unbelievable in a dress and heels.  Knows what she wants.  Gets what she wants.

Geoff, objectively

Just below 6 feet tall. Light skin. Stick-straight, short medium brown hair. Blue eyes. 165 lbs. Long limbs, long fingers, long toes. Huge feet. Beautiful, full lips. Nice teeth. Strong arms and chest, but not ripped.  Jutting hips. Wide cheekbones, large nose, angular face. Strikingly handsome in a tuxedo or anything black.
Oh, and he wears a Stetson.