Ka- I am doing your questions next. I appreciate the compliment that anything I might say could be considered riveting.
Anyone else have a question? After a month of unemployment I have run out of anything intelligent to say.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sorry I've Been Gone
Wow. I had a really, really long weekend. I did get to do a few interesting things during it though.
Friday I went to out local mall, and spent the afternoon with Sakura, a friend of mine from my NaNoWriMo group. He and his fellow had just broken up, se we needed to keep his mind off of things for a bit. We met at Starbucks, but rather than eating there we went for Chinese in the food court. After, he took me to the arcade and I played my very first game of Dance Dance Revolution [Extreme]. I made it through all three songs despite the fact I was in 4" boots and they aren’t exactly made for video game style stomping. I got a D on all three levels, but hey - I’m not complaining since I actually made it though all three. I fully intend on going back and having a go whenever I have tennis shoes on. I also went to our local gothic poser store "Hot Topic" and bought a few buttons for my purse [I love buttons] and tried on a gorgeous cream and black corset that made me drool. I look a little more than decent in it, if I don’t say so myself.
Saturday found me at Beloved’s mom’s all day. This was not very exciting, especially as it was raining, but we did get a moment to go out to the barn and I hand fed Beck [mule] and Snoopy [horse] some grain while Beloved messed with some saddles her mom wants to sell. They were soaking wet, but they still felt incredible and they still smelled that lovely horse/mule smell, so I can’t complain. I haven’t been riding in a age, and I miss it terribly.
Yesterday I went to the fitness center. I am determined to get back into shape. I was happy to see that somehow over the holidays despite my not being in the gym at all, I have dropped 10 pounds. Hooray. Now if I can tone, I’ll be a happy girl. Since I was alone I went to the one on the far side of the city so I could swim laps. I managed 25 laps and 10 miles on the bike before I felt as though I needed to stop, so I am pretty proud of myself. After that I headed off to see Mystery. We have a Sunday "play date" if you will. Charlie Brown was leaving as I arrived, so I got to say hi to him as well. I learned the art of single crochet, and we went for a walk, stopped off at the coffee shop by her house and geeked out over Firefly/Serenity and the cast thereof. She’s an excellent girl, Mystery.
Oh. Friday I watched the movie Seven. Seriously disturbed me. Great film though. I *love* Kevin Spacey. He’s a great actor. Brilliant in "American Beauty" and even better in "The Usual Suspects." And as much as I would love to hate Brad Pitt, I can’t help but like almost all of his movies. Bastard. [I am from his hometown, see, and the hype over him here is worse than just about anywhere, I really am over it. So it drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s that I like his movies.]
About the Meme-
Charby - I will certainly tell you if I scuba...I would love to learn how. Living miles and miles from an ocean does decrease my chances. However, there is a lake in AK that allows a little scuba, and the shack there has T-shirt that says "I Dive on Beaver" [the lake is called Beaver Lake] and I am dying to get it...
Mystic - that was a joke. I don’t tell anyone I don’t want to. I would have been thrown out in a heartbeat though. I went to the camp as a little girl and I loved it there. Its lovely. And the feel of an ice cold spring in the morning? Nothing beats it.
Mark - seems we have opposite taste in films, don’t we? Although I need to have another look at your profile and see what else you like. I don’t like jut rubbish, you know. Although since I have to get Beloved’s stamp of approval on DVD purchases, I am sorely lacking in a lot of decent movies...like Kevin Smith’s stuff, all of Tarantino’s minus Kill Bill, and a lot of classics...I need to take care of that, come think of it. She won’t even *try* to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I though was a right of passage to adulthood around here. I got auctioned off myself. And she hates Monty Python, which I can’t understand at all.
Adem - do you ballroom dance?! And yes, gogo dancer, I think, is the term. Lazy strippers, I call them , you’ve already got all you’re going to take off, off, see? It was a lot of fun, and I am an excellent dancer. I can say that. I know I am.
Right. Any questions? I love sharing, and am lacking in something to post about. Inspiration is always appreciated.
xxx-Alecya
Friday I went to out local mall, and spent the afternoon with Sakura, a friend of mine from my NaNoWriMo group. He and his fellow had just broken up, se we needed to keep his mind off of things for a bit. We met at Starbucks, but rather than eating there we went for Chinese in the food court. After, he took me to the arcade and I played my very first game of Dance Dance Revolution [Extreme]. I made it through all three songs despite the fact I was in 4" boots and they aren’t exactly made for video game style stomping. I got a D on all three levels, but hey - I’m not complaining since I actually made it though all three. I fully intend on going back and having a go whenever I have tennis shoes on. I also went to our local gothic poser store "Hot Topic" and bought a few buttons for my purse [I love buttons] and tried on a gorgeous cream and black corset that made me drool. I look a little more than decent in it, if I don’t say so myself.
Saturday found me at Beloved’s mom’s all day. This was not very exciting, especially as it was raining, but we did get a moment to go out to the barn and I hand fed Beck [mule] and Snoopy [horse] some grain while Beloved messed with some saddles her mom wants to sell. They were soaking wet, but they still felt incredible and they still smelled that lovely horse/mule smell, so I can’t complain. I haven’t been riding in a age, and I miss it terribly.
Yesterday I went to the fitness center. I am determined to get back into shape. I was happy to see that somehow over the holidays despite my not being in the gym at all, I have dropped 10 pounds. Hooray. Now if I can tone, I’ll be a happy girl. Since I was alone I went to the one on the far side of the city so I could swim laps. I managed 25 laps and 10 miles on the bike before I felt as though I needed to stop, so I am pretty proud of myself. After that I headed off to see Mystery. We have a Sunday "play date" if you will. Charlie Brown was leaving as I arrived, so I got to say hi to him as well. I learned the art of single crochet, and we went for a walk, stopped off at the coffee shop by her house and geeked out over Firefly/Serenity and the cast thereof. She’s an excellent girl, Mystery.
Oh. Friday I watched the movie Seven. Seriously disturbed me. Great film though. I *love* Kevin Spacey. He’s a great actor. Brilliant in "American Beauty" and even better in "The Usual Suspects." And as much as I would love to hate Brad Pitt, I can’t help but like almost all of his movies. Bastard. [I am from his hometown, see, and the hype over him here is worse than just about anywhere, I really am over it. So it drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s that I like his movies.]
About the Meme-
Charby - I will certainly tell you if I scuba...I would love to learn how. Living miles and miles from an ocean does decrease my chances. However, there is a lake in AK that allows a little scuba, and the shack there has T-shirt that says "I Dive on Beaver" [the lake is called Beaver Lake] and I am dying to get it...
Mystic - that was a joke. I don’t tell anyone I don’t want to. I would have been thrown out in a heartbeat though. I went to the camp as a little girl and I loved it there. Its lovely. And the feel of an ice cold spring in the morning? Nothing beats it.
Mark - seems we have opposite taste in films, don’t we? Although I need to have another look at your profile and see what else you like. I don’t like jut rubbish, you know. Although since I have to get Beloved’s stamp of approval on DVD purchases, I am sorely lacking in a lot of decent movies...like Kevin Smith’s stuff, all of Tarantino’s minus Kill Bill, and a lot of classics...I need to take care of that, come think of it. She won’t even *try* to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I though was a right of passage to adulthood around here. I got auctioned off myself. And she hates Monty Python, which I can’t understand at all.
Adem - do you ballroom dance?! And yes, gogo dancer, I think, is the term. Lazy strippers, I call them , you’ve already got all you’re going to take off, off, see? It was a lot of fun, and I am an excellent dancer. I can say that. I know I am.
Right. Any questions? I love sharing, and am lacking in something to post about. Inspiration is always appreciated.
xxx-Alecya
Friday, January 27, 2006
The MeMe that seems to be everywhere
Alright. I first saw it at Adem's, and I belive he picked it up from Phil, where Ka saw it. I've been meaning to get around to it, and since blogger has decided to be kind to me, here we go. [And my spacing is crap again, sorry]
4 Jobs I've had:
1. Camp counselor at a Baptist girl's camp. One week of excellent fun, the girls were great, the camp was beautiful and it was spiritually refreshing for me [just not is a baptist kind of way..no I didn't tell them I was a lesbain witch, why?] And we won "honor cabin". Ace.
2. Domestic Law Paralegal. Three years of sheer hell. When your client's lives are falling apart you have to be there to pick up the peices. I am a nice person, but I haven't the compassion or patience to talk to people who call me 6 and 7 times a day to cry about their lives. [I kept a long list of personal counselors on my desk for reference] And I especially didnt have the patience for people who call me shouting "My ex is here and he's beating down my door and threatening me" So call the police! Why are you on the phone to me? Sorry...sorry...
3. GoGo Dancer at a gay nightclub. It was a lot of fun. Of course, I was a mess. Still, it was fun at the time. What's really funny? I made all my money off gay men. All of it. I think I was tipped by a woman maybe three times in the entire time I worked there. Go figure...I also worked as a dresser and a coreographer at the same club, at the same time, but my official title was 'dancer'
4. Office Manager for a Construction company. It was at a wastewater treatment plant too. I had to crawl all over and about and near all manner of sick things. *plus* I had to photgraph work progress, so I was up really high [I am afraid if heights] and had to go all sorts of odd places.
4 Places I've Lived: 1. I've lived in the same city all my life. Sad, eh?
The 4 Best Places I've Visited: 1. Oklahoma City. Beautiful city. Lovely people. Excellent zoo. 2. Disney World. I had so much fun at Disney world. I want to go again without my family to ruin it. I went with my friends when I was in high school because we were marching in the Citrus Bowl Parade [yes, I am a geek, what's it to you?] and we were there for new years. It was beautiful. 3. HaHa Tonka State Park, MO. A gorgeous place to visit. Lots of great hiking and wildlife and the caslte ruins are excellent. 4. Buffalo River State Park, AK. best canoeing ever. I promise. from the easy bits to the rock garden, every canoeist can find something here. And the bluffs are gorgeous, and are a strenuous but beautiful trek. And the hemmed in hollow is my favorite place in the world to sit and eat a picnic lunch.
4 Movies I'd Watch Again: 1. The Count of Monte Cristo. Based on my favorite book, hot can I not like it? 2. Harry Potter, take your pick. I'm with Ka on this one. And with my longstanding crushes on Jason Isaacs and Alan Rickman....yep. Stopping now. 3. Kill Bill. Either one. I love the soundtrack. I like the storyline and some of the characters are hilarious. And Uma thurman's deadpan is priceless. "My pussy wagon broke down" Plus the true geek in me likes the homage to the Spaghetti Westerns and the old Japaneese Films... 4. Love, Actually. I can't get enough of this film. I can't.
4 Movies You Couldn't Pay Me Enough to Watch Again: 1. Mars Attacks. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid movie. I lost brain cells watching it. There's a way to spoof and there's a way to not. This is a 'not'. 2. Who's Harry Crumb? Belvoed made me watch this. I thought it was stupid. 3 . The Intperpreter. My god, was this film overhyped or what? And I like Nicole Kidman well enough, but really, the only thing remotely interesting about this movie was that it was filmed at the UN. 4. Rules of Attraction. I saw the first ten minutes of this and quit watching. It was terrible. I almost threw up.
4 TV Shows I Love to Watch: 1. Survivor. I am a reality TV show addict, and this is my drug of choice. I think it shows what type of person you really are. we never improve, but only become more fully what we are. 2. Dancing with the Stars. Yep. Because I love ballroom, I love dancing and its beautiful. Oh, and Lisa Renna? Grrr! Louis Van Amstel isn't too bad either... 3. Alias. Used to be my absolute favorite, but the storyline has gone down the toilet, I think. Should have quit while they were ahead. 4. X-Files. I love these re-runs and I never catch them enough. Possibly my favorite show of all time.
My 4 Favourite Foods: 1. Chineese. Can't get enough of it. Rice, noodles, chicken, beef. I love it all. 2. Steak. A good thick steak. I know you poor vegetarians are sick to your stomach now. But at least I like mine cooked...right? 3. Potatoes any way you can give them to me. 4. Butterscotch. Its not a real food, I know. But its one of the best sweets in the world.
4 Places I'd Rather Be Right Now: 1. In a park, hiking with friends. 2. At a job, of any kind at this point. 3. In a class at University 4. In the arms of someone who loves me
4 Things I Want to Do Before I Die: 1. see Europe. 2. Wear a wedding gown 3. See a volcano 4. Go scuba diving
4 Things I've Tried But Never Again 1. Jaggermister 2. the "Pirate Ship" ride at the fair. I hyperventilated and got sick. 3. Onion and Pepperoni pizza. Ick. 4. Chewing Gum in bed. That was a *mess*
4 Things I've Not Tried But Would Like To 1. going on a Sailboat 2. Surfing 3. Learning how to Paso Double 4. Snow Skiing
4 Jobs I've had:
1. Camp counselor at a Baptist girl's camp. One week of excellent fun, the girls were great, the camp was beautiful and it was spiritually refreshing for me [just not is a baptist kind of way..no I didn't tell them I was a lesbain witch, why?] And we won "honor cabin". Ace.
2. Domestic Law Paralegal. Three years of sheer hell. When your client's lives are falling apart you have to be there to pick up the peices. I am a nice person, but I haven't the compassion or patience to talk to people who call me 6 and 7 times a day to cry about their lives. [I kept a long list of personal counselors on my desk for reference] And I especially didnt have the patience for people who call me shouting "My ex is here and he's beating down my door and threatening me" So call the police! Why are you on the phone to me? Sorry...sorry...
3. GoGo Dancer at a gay nightclub. It was a lot of fun. Of course, I was a mess. Still, it was fun at the time. What's really funny? I made all my money off gay men. All of it. I think I was tipped by a woman maybe three times in the entire time I worked there. Go figure...I also worked as a dresser and a coreographer at the same club, at the same time, but my official title was 'dancer'
4. Office Manager for a Construction company. It was at a wastewater treatment plant too. I had to crawl all over and about and near all manner of sick things. *plus* I had to photgraph work progress, so I was up really high [I am afraid if heights] and had to go all sorts of odd places.
4 Places I've Lived: 1. I've lived in the same city all my life. Sad, eh?
The 4 Best Places I've Visited: 1. Oklahoma City. Beautiful city. Lovely people. Excellent zoo. 2. Disney World. I had so much fun at Disney world. I want to go again without my family to ruin it. I went with my friends when I was in high school because we were marching in the Citrus Bowl Parade [yes, I am a geek, what's it to you?] and we were there for new years. It was beautiful. 3. HaHa Tonka State Park, MO. A gorgeous place to visit. Lots of great hiking and wildlife and the caslte ruins are excellent. 4. Buffalo River State Park, AK. best canoeing ever. I promise. from the easy bits to the rock garden, every canoeist can find something here. And the bluffs are gorgeous, and are a strenuous but beautiful trek. And the hemmed in hollow is my favorite place in the world to sit and eat a picnic lunch.
4 Movies I'd Watch Again: 1. The Count of Monte Cristo. Based on my favorite book, hot can I not like it? 2. Harry Potter, take your pick. I'm with Ka on this one. And with my longstanding crushes on Jason Isaacs and Alan Rickman....yep. Stopping now. 3. Kill Bill. Either one. I love the soundtrack. I like the storyline and some of the characters are hilarious. And Uma thurman's deadpan is priceless. "My pussy wagon broke down" Plus the true geek in me likes the homage to the Spaghetti Westerns and the old Japaneese Films... 4. Love, Actually. I can't get enough of this film. I can't.
4 Movies You Couldn't Pay Me Enough to Watch Again: 1. Mars Attacks. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid movie. I lost brain cells watching it. There's a way to spoof and there's a way to not. This is a 'not'. 2. Who's Harry Crumb? Belvoed made me watch this. I thought it was stupid. 3 . The Intperpreter. My god, was this film overhyped or what? And I like Nicole Kidman well enough, but really, the only thing remotely interesting about this movie was that it was filmed at the UN. 4. Rules of Attraction. I saw the first ten minutes of this and quit watching. It was terrible. I almost threw up.
4 TV Shows I Love to Watch: 1. Survivor. I am a reality TV show addict, and this is my drug of choice. I think it shows what type of person you really are. we never improve, but only become more fully what we are. 2. Dancing with the Stars. Yep. Because I love ballroom, I love dancing and its beautiful. Oh, and Lisa Renna? Grrr! Louis Van Amstel isn't too bad either... 3. Alias. Used to be my absolute favorite, but the storyline has gone down the toilet, I think. Should have quit while they were ahead. 4. X-Files. I love these re-runs and I never catch them enough. Possibly my favorite show of all time.
My 4 Favourite Foods: 1. Chineese. Can't get enough of it. Rice, noodles, chicken, beef. I love it all. 2. Steak. A good thick steak. I know you poor vegetarians are sick to your stomach now. But at least I like mine cooked...right? 3. Potatoes any way you can give them to me. 4. Butterscotch. Its not a real food, I know. But its one of the best sweets in the world.
4 Places I'd Rather Be Right Now: 1. In a park, hiking with friends. 2. At a job, of any kind at this point. 3. In a class at University 4. In the arms of someone who loves me
4 Things I Want to Do Before I Die: 1. see Europe. 2. Wear a wedding gown 3. See a volcano 4. Go scuba diving
4 Things I've Tried But Never Again 1. Jaggermister 2. the "Pirate Ship" ride at the fair. I hyperventilated and got sick. 3. Onion and Pepperoni pizza. Ick. 4. Chewing Gum in bed. That was a *mess*
4 Things I've Not Tried But Would Like To 1. going on a Sailboat 2. Surfing 3. Learning how to Paso Double 4. Snow Skiing
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
something long forgotten
Have you ever lost something, but didn’t know you lost it until you found it? Like the odd $20 you find in last years coat pocket? Or a mix tape you made while you were still in high school. You remember all of your favorite songs from that time, and you find yourself singing the words, though you haven’t heard them in an age. And suddenly, you are laughing and remembering long forgotten moments and having feelings that you haven’t felt in years?
I think you must be able to feel that with people. I used to not think so. I used to think this was it, and who we saw was who we saw. That when we met it was the first time, and when people left, that was all there was. But I am increasingly of the opinion that I have lived many lives, and seen many things, and I feel more and more awake lately. I am suddenly seeing everything in a completely different way.
A friend said something to me that really resonated for me- that they felt sad when they saw things happening, not because it was a sad moment, in particular, but because they have been there before. And I felt like that was really profound, that you can be so reminded of something in your past, this life or another, that it overwhelms you with a sadness for that moment that you had lost right up until the moment you relived it. I understood it, that feeling. Not deja vous per se, not living that exact moment, but feeling that situation as though it was already a part of your life experience. You knew it already.
There are times when I meet certain people and I feel completely sure that I have known them for an age. There is an odd familiarity with them, the moment your eyes meet or the first time they speak to you. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have been with them before, that they were already a part of you or your life, and somehow the pieces just fit back in. Its almost as if you both have an in joke you didn’t know until the moment you spoke. And you get this giddy, laughing, not quite real feeling and you smile and you become what some people call "instant friends."
Have you ever had a lover where you felt like they knew you the moment they saw you? Not from experience but from touch? As though you could blindfold them and they would still know every part of you from memory - down to the scars on your knees from when you fell on the playground as a child or the freckle between your big toe and the next. When kissing them feels like coming home and laying in their arms feels like a bed and their breath seems like your own.
I think it’s a beautiful feeling.
And every time I feel it, which has been more and more lately, I feel so grateful and so beautiful that I am in touch with myself, and who I am, and who I was, that I can see these people in my life and remember the specters of who they were to me before. I feel so lucky that I can close my eyes and be there for a moment, in that place where we used to be, and return to it with this sense of belonging that nearly overwhelms.
I want to cry almost. I feel a lot like collapsing and weeping for myself because I was foolish to forget those moments in the transition from the last life to this one. I want to clasp those people in my arms and promise I won’t forget this time around, and hold them tight and remember every moment I had with them before, and dream of all the happy things we can do now that we are back to where we were so long ago.
Its like waking up from a long sleep. From a bad dream where you have all that matters to you taken from you. You can just barely see it, see them and the memory of them, and you can’t quite touch them, and its torture, and then suddenly you’ve wake up and they are there with you and you’re sweating off all of the fear you were feeling moments before.
Maybe none of this makes sense. Maybe this is another one of my silly rambles. But I feel like this so much lately. I feel like I have woken up. And I feel like telling everyone I remember, it is so good to see you at last. To remember and feel at home again. This is happiness. This is love. This is remembering. And to me, its perfect.
I think you must be able to feel that with people. I used to not think so. I used to think this was it, and who we saw was who we saw. That when we met it was the first time, and when people left, that was all there was. But I am increasingly of the opinion that I have lived many lives, and seen many things, and I feel more and more awake lately. I am suddenly seeing everything in a completely different way.
A friend said something to me that really resonated for me- that they felt sad when they saw things happening, not because it was a sad moment, in particular, but because they have been there before. And I felt like that was really profound, that you can be so reminded of something in your past, this life or another, that it overwhelms you with a sadness for that moment that you had lost right up until the moment you relived it. I understood it, that feeling. Not deja vous per se, not living that exact moment, but feeling that situation as though it was already a part of your life experience. You knew it already.
There are times when I meet certain people and I feel completely sure that I have known them for an age. There is an odd familiarity with them, the moment your eyes meet or the first time they speak to you. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have been with them before, that they were already a part of you or your life, and somehow the pieces just fit back in. Its almost as if you both have an in joke you didn’t know until the moment you spoke. And you get this giddy, laughing, not quite real feeling and you smile and you become what some people call "instant friends."
Have you ever had a lover where you felt like they knew you the moment they saw you? Not from experience but from touch? As though you could blindfold them and they would still know every part of you from memory - down to the scars on your knees from when you fell on the playground as a child or the freckle between your big toe and the next. When kissing them feels like coming home and laying in their arms feels like a bed and their breath seems like your own.
I think it’s a beautiful feeling.
And every time I feel it, which has been more and more lately, I feel so grateful and so beautiful that I am in touch with myself, and who I am, and who I was, that I can see these people in my life and remember the specters of who they were to me before. I feel so lucky that I can close my eyes and be there for a moment, in that place where we used to be, and return to it with this sense of belonging that nearly overwhelms.
I want to cry almost. I feel a lot like collapsing and weeping for myself because I was foolish to forget those moments in the transition from the last life to this one. I want to clasp those people in my arms and promise I won’t forget this time around, and hold them tight and remember every moment I had with them before, and dream of all the happy things we can do now that we are back to where we were so long ago.
Its like waking up from a long sleep. From a bad dream where you have all that matters to you taken from you. You can just barely see it, see them and the memory of them, and you can’t quite touch them, and its torture, and then suddenly you’ve wake up and they are there with you and you’re sweating off all of the fear you were feeling moments before.
Maybe none of this makes sense. Maybe this is another one of my silly rambles. But I feel like this so much lately. I feel like I have woken up. And I feel like telling everyone I remember, it is so good to see you at last. To remember and feel at home again. This is happiness. This is love. This is remembering. And to me, its perfect.
Searching For My Lost Shaker Of Salt
I am going to apologize now for teh spacing. Blogger won't let me key "enter" to space down. Last night Beloved and I were talking about music, while we listened to the radio in our room, and it brought back a funny story that I wanted to share with you.
In our town there is a piano bar, which is an excellent little place to go if you like music or karaoke, or watching people make complete fools of themselves in public. I ought to explain how ours works, for the record, so if you’ve been to one of these, bear with me...
It’s a basic bar, where there are a lot of tables, and a bar on one end of a very long room. All the tables, however, face a platform on one side of the room, where there are two grand pianos and a trap set in between them. At a certain time in the evening, two pianists and a drummer come to the platform and do a "show". During the show they sing songs and play their pianos and encourage all the drunk people watching to sing along. They tell little jokes, and bring people with birthdays or anniversaries, or ones that are particularly good looking or drunk, up to the platform and tease them, make them sing songs, or have them help tell a lewd joke. They also take requests, which you put in a little fish bowl with a few dollars on top of the piano. [I’ve learned, the larger the tip, the more likely your song gets played.]
At our Piano Bar they sing all sorts of songs. There are of course, the standards, like "Boardwalk" or that "If you like Pina Coladas" song...but they also play songs like "Wonderwall" by Oasis or "Heart Shaped Box" by Nirvana. I’ve even seen "Material Girl" by Madonna, which was fabulous, as the person singing it was a male. Really, there isn’t much they won’t play.
The first time Beloved ever came to the Piano Bar with me, it was for a friend of her’s birthday [I despise the girl, but hey - its beer and singing, right?]. we got there at about 7pm, which is quite early, but it gets full really fast, so its better to get a seat. We ordered a pizza and some beer [well, Beloved had Royal Flushes, I had beer] and she chatted her friends up, and I got drunk because I didn’t want to talk to anyone and it was 2 for 1, so why not, right?
I got all dressed up for the occasion, and it was a lot of fun for me. Partly because her friends were horrified, and partly because I got a lot of compliments, including one from a very attractive young lady who was waiting in line in the bathroom with me. [she was lovely, and had a scratchy Janis Joplin-esque voice that was wonderful.] So - my outfit- I had gone vintage shopping and found some men’s dress trousers in grey that were a little flared in the leg, I assume from the seventies, but they were really nice. I also found a lovely navy-blue necktie from Sears Roebuck circa 1953 *with the tag still on* and a mens grey hat similar to the ones Frank Sinatra used to wear. I put on a white ribbed men’s undershirt and the rest of the ensemble, straitened my hair as flat as can be, and then slicked it back under my hat. I put on a girly a face I could [beautiful eyeliner and lip gloss...] and my black boots. It was a nice effect. But like I said, I think her friends were horrified to see me in men’s clothes. It gave me a good laugh.
So, we got lit, and then the show started. They sang a lot, and with most bars that have these, there are add in lines to the songs as you sing along [Think something similar to a Rocky Horror Picture Show viewing] Well, we had done this before, in other clubs we had been to in another neighboring state, so Beloved thought we were all set.
Here’s the thing. Most times, no one sings along, or not loud enough to be noticed. We were all completely pissed and singing *very* loudly which the piano guys like, and so they were doing a lot of our requests, because we were having a very good time. Of course, time came for them to do the classic piano bar song, "Magaritaville" by Jimmy Buffet. This is one that gets everyone going.
Like I said, we’d done this before, so we knew the add ins. Well, we had forgotten we went to a rather rowdy karaoke bar out of state, and here we are in the middle of the bible belt, and the add in had been changed, just a little. You may or may not know it...the line generally goes (around here)
Wasting away again in margaritaville...
Searching for my lost shaker of salt...
Then we add in "Where’s my salt, not the pepper, but the salt" [or so we learned]
So if you can imagine, here we are, having instructed our friends on the proper line to the song, and when the insert comes, we shout, at the top of our drunken lungs:
"Where’s the salt, where’s my mother f*cking salt?"
Everyone in the bar turned to look at us. The piano player actually stopped, laughed and made a joke, teased us about letting loose on our friends birthday, thanked us for at least singing along, sent us a round of drinks, and went back to the song after instructing us on the "G" rated version of the insert.
Looking back, I laugh when I think of it every time. The look on that poor man’s face? Priceless.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Weekend Update
Beloved's cousin and uncle from California this week and we went to the movies with her cousin yesdterday. She's a sweet thing. We saw the Chronicles of Narnia. It was alright. I did have a nice time after talking with her over dinner. I like her a lot, and I am glad she's in and I get to meet her. She's having dinner with us on Tuesday, so I am looking forward to that. I also spent some time with Mystery yesterday, which was wonderful, because I needed to get out of the house. And she's excellent of course. Do I had a nice day all in all.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
movie
I went to see the movie "Underworld" today. The second one that is. It was alright, but really, who can resist staring at Kate Beckinsdale for two hours? I know I can’t. I had a nice time though, and it was good. Plus, and I hate sounding like a misogynist, but she had a fabulous sex scene, and she’s amazing.
*sigh* Anyone have a favorite celeb they would like to see in a sex scene?
*sigh* Anyone have a favorite celeb they would like to see in a sex scene?
Friday, January 20, 2006
You Make Me Feel Love
So I've solved the wanting to talk about sex problem. I've made a new blog. Its all my tripe erotica, all in once place. Its on the links, so you can check it out. And see, if you dont look at my links, you'll have to check out all my friends to see which one is mine. works out well. Cheers-AG
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Brown Paper Packages, Tied Up With String
I wanted to write about sex again, but then, I was thinking, you lot must get really tired of me talking about sex all the time. [So I used a Julie Andrews song quote, how's that for killing the mood? heh heh] So I am going to try and navigate away from that a little, and instead give you a bit of a list. I would like to see you all add to my list, partially because I am curious, and partially because I like seeing this in other people, I think it tells me a lot about you. And I think this will also tell you a lot about me, and who I am, and the type of things I like. I am feeling more again like opening up to you and sharing myself with you.Here we go. Two lists. Leave me a note [at least on list one], and tell me what you think.
Things I Like [in general]: wild flowers, lavender roses, lilies, the smell of leather, the sound of a key turning in the lock, the feel of fur, being tickled until I can hardly speak from the laughter, rock music, the smell of the produce section in my local grocery store, strawberries, butterscotch, toffee, chocolate covered potato chips, fuzzy blankets, the smell of rain, hugging someone - around the waist is the best, dancing, stretching really hard when I wake up, dry champagne, red wine, whiskey - neat, silk clothes, lots of buttons, music - especially mix CD’s, songs that make you think of happy memories, letters written by hand, whispering, taking photographs, long phone conversations, taffy, walks in the springtime, jumping into piles of leaves in the autumn [yes, yes I do], running a horse, roller coasters that go upside down, when I finish a friend’s sentence, making people laugh, talking in a cartoon voice, painting on a canvas.
Things I Like [relating to the sensual]: slow dancing, necks, shoulders, collarbones, when a woman wears a long skirt and all you can see is her ankles, mouths, kissing [without tongue - for a long time], cuddling, women’s calves, mens upper arm, the look of a person’s back, having mine scratched, kissing fingertips, kissing a cheek [when you kiss a friend you care for], being held really tight and sharing the same breath, women in high heels, neckties [I have a terrible fetish - I collect them and wear them myself - I especially love vintage ties and solid silks], blindfolds, whispering, someone telling me what they want, candlelight, listening to music with someone, smiles - especially slow ones, flannel pajama pants, massages, laying with my back to someone’s chest, having my eyelids kissed, being pet across my stomach after.
So, do we have any in common? What do you like? Anything you feel the opposite on?
Also, if you have a suggestion about something you would like me to tell you or a particular idea or subject you would like me to take a stab a t writing, leave me a comment or email me, and I will write whatever you like. I like to be given ideas, especially from people who know my writing because its you that can stretch me and give me scope, and you who know what I am capable of writing.
Oh- and the flower I posted a picture of up there, in case you aren't familiar with it, is one of my favorites, called Cupid's Dart.
There's a Dark Secret In Me
I am in a funny mood today. I am happy-ish, but I had a dream last night about an ex of mine from a long time ago, and its put me in a funk. So I wrote about it. I think it helped. I'll post something happy later on, I promise.
Love you all-
AG
*************
I’ve been sitting here, hours now, trying to think of something else. But I can’t. I can’t get you out of my mind. You are the smoke that fills a bar. I’ve drawn deeply off of you, and now you are there, lingering about the air and permeating every thought I have. In my hair, in my mouth, on my skin. I can’t get rid of you. Just like being warned about the dangers of smoking, I’ve carried on a habit too long, and now I’ve gotten hurt.
I thought it would be safe. There was no danger in you. You are mild. Soft and gentle. There’s nothing in you that can reach in a devastate a cold heart like mine. I told myself that then, but now I know that is not the case. I should have seen it strait away.
You made the move. That should have been the first clue. I never would have expected that. You wanting me, and saying so with the most plain gesture you could have made. When you pulled me tight to you and leaned down to kiss my neck, I should have run. Fast and far, I should have jumped the train and been out of there. But I turned to look at you and I could see your eyes shining with that deceptive softness. You had a completely unreadable expression about you and I mistook it. I thought you cared.
I was wrong, that much I am sure of now. But when you started kissing me harder, when you slid your arms around me waist and whispered to me suggestions of things that had up to that point only been late night wanderings, how could I have said no to you then? How could I turn my back on something I had wanted for so long?
It almost leaves me cold now, when I think of the press of your body against mine. It makes me a little sick inside to think of the things I must have whispered to you in my need to be close to you. You were laughing on the inside, weren’t you? Having a good little joke at my expense while I was giving myself up to you in the most complete way I could?
I feel like a silly girl now. Much the way you must have seen me, fawning on you, telling you how much I loved you, never caring that you never echoed my sentiments or even showed a fraction of the emotion I was choking on I was so full of it.
I should have seen it. I should have. I should have taken notice that our conversation died, that I never saw you but the times you wanted me. I should have seen how you shrugged me off on public and how your friends gave me looks I couldn’t read, but now know were a cross between pity and amusement. I was a fool for you, and you let me be one. You let me be a complete fool.
Why, why would you have not told me the truth? Who is to say I wouldn’t have still been with you, but the least I would have been able to do was protect myself. You didn’t, I couldn’t and now I am here with the feeling of you lingering on me in a way I can’t wash off and can’t forget. I still dream about you and that deceptively sweet smile that mistook for understanding and that gentle tone that I know you must practice at home when you are by yourself.
At this moment, I loathe you almost as much as I loathe myself for letting me get to this place where I can’t forget you and all I want to do is erase it all, and make it to where it never happened. What makes me hate myself more, and this will amuse you, is I still wake up from those dreams of you, caught between this feeling of anger I have now and a desperate longing for you. I wake up and I wish I was still in your arms and I hate myself for it.
When I lay in my bed and think of you and I let the tears come they are still tears of regret that things weren’t the way I wanted them to be, and feelings of doubt, that maybe if I had been more, tried harder, you would have loved me the way I loved you. My chest is aching from that feeling, and my stomach turned over from it, because I know the truth, and I have to keep telling it to myself.
You used me. You made a fool of me. I loved you. You didn’t deserve it.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Some Dance to Remember, Some Dance to Forget
Give me something. Anything. There seem to be moments when I am so empty, like there is nothing there but hollow, wandering thoughts and a non-stop parade of memories I would rather not relive. My life, it hasn’t been all bad, but then, there’s not been that much good has there, or I wouldn’t be laying here in this bathtub wishing for nothing more than the courage it takes to scream aloud every frustration I have. And I have them, to be sure, plenty of them. Who doesn’t anymore?
That’s the thing, though. No one seems to care about anything anymore. We’ve all got our own problems and our own worries. Who has time to check on their friends or their family when they can barely see above the rising tide of all the things they have to take care of, all the things they have to worry about, and then some that maybe they don’t need to worry about, but do anyway. I know I don’t. Have time, I mean. I don’t have the time to think of all the people who might be worried about whether or not I am doing well my first time out on my own. Likely there aren’t many.
Certainly not my mother. My selfish, annoying mother, who would forsake her own children for the love of a crack dealer who has no intention of taking care of her or thinking about her future. Only thinking of spiriting her away from her miserable marriage with promises of change, Tantra and other things I can’t bear to dream of. No, somewhere, she is in a cramped apartment, living with him and believing she can be happy if she just tells herself she is, the same way she always has, the same way she always will. God will make it all better eventually, she’ll tell herself. God will reward her for her patience...
God my ass. If there is such a thing, it’s a huge cosmic joke and the laugh isn’t on God. I’ll tell you that. Imagine for a moment, if you can, that you are all powerful. You are all knowing. You are all seeing. And you can do anything you like. You created the world, everything in it. Do you really think that you would take time to check in on each of the workers in you cosmic ant farm? Because I know I wouldn’t. I can barely be assed to keep up with people I like, let alone all the people I have ever met. No sir, if I had created the universe I’d be in Tahiti with a lovely woman on my arm, and handsome fellow feeding me fresh fruit and marveling at all the lovely things I can get people to do, all because I am God.
I pick up the soap and have a little laugh to myself, for a moment, seeing that God [if there is such a thing] and my mom have just a little in common, too much to do for themselves to check in on their own creation. She’s like that, my mother, being compared to God. But not a Goddess, mind you, that’s heresy.
The soap feels strangely cool tonight as I wash myself. That may be that the water is a lot hotter than I normally run it. Its steaming tonight, nearly boiling, and my neurotic masochism has turned my skin a bright pink already. But I don’t mind it so much as it feels different, and as lonely as I am, and bored, different is alright. Either way, the soap is delightfully cold. I am using a bar tonight. Not one of those fluffy things that I get in gift sets every year from people who have no idea what I like or who I am, nor one of those gels that you can buy even at the local grocery store now. No, tonight I have a plain, boring bar of washing soap. And it smells clean. And refreshing. And different. I am afraid I haven’t really got the energy to do what I have to do tonight. I don’t feel like going out, being pretty, being charming, getting people to want to be around me or be with me. No, I don’t feel like that in the least. But old habits die hard, and I will go, same as I have, night after night for nearly a year now, and I will laugh. I will talk and I will dance. It will be alright, once I make it to the dance floor. I always manage to forget how terrible things are when I am dancing. I feel better, freer. Happy, almost. You know that song by the Eagles where they say some dance to forget? That’s me they were talking about.
So to forget, to be beautiful the way only I know how to be, I have to be here, in this too hot bath, listening to the echos of the people in my apartment, chattering and flirting and laughing below while I get ready. I suppose I ought to hurry, someone might have to pee. But you know, I can’t be troubled by it. Its my place, right?
So I pick up the razor and I move my candles a little closer and I lather the soap much thicker than I have been. My legs are long, I know this, and I am blessed with a nice complexion, but it still means that shaving is both necessary and a nuisance. I was never much of a shaver, blame that on my mother as well, not letting me start until I could nearly drive a car. So I have to take my time, running the razor over my leg gently, in slow strokes I make as steady as I can.
Its about the only thing I make steady in myself. Sometimes it seems to me like my spirit is slamming up against the inside of my body, trying desperately to find a weakness in the fortress. One day I fear it will, and I will finally go flying out of my body and away from everything around me at last. It won’t come soon enough, if you ask me.
There was once I felt it, when I was still in high school. There was a guy who worked with me at my after school job, and he was a witch. Or a male witch. A mystic or a warlock. Whatever you wanted to call him, he was a lot like me, and he knew things he shouldn’t and he sensed things before others could think or say them. I felt him, a presence, long before I ever met him, and once I did I took to spending a lot of time with him. I would bring him home with me after work, and we would sit in my room, all candles and heavy scents, and we would talk about things I thought were deep or spiritual.
Once, at his apartment, [he was much older than I was] we sat, and he lit a stick of incense and brought me in front of him and took my hands and with his soft calm voice he put me in the deepest meditation that I have ever been in. And softly, slowly, I made my way out of my body and walked about without it. I could see him there beside me, feeling the things I did and seeing the things I did, even though we were far from where our bodies are resting and where we should have been. When we finally came crashing down into our bodies again I was exhausted. I slept there all night, before going home the next morning I told him I enjoyed myself, and maybe we could do it again sometime. We never did, but I have been looking for a voice or a way out ever since then, and I can feel it in myself on nights like this.
Unfortunately, its not all I feel. All of my daydreaming has caused my attention to wander and I’ve managed to nick myself on the top of my thigh. I press my hand there to stop the bleeding and look up to the top of the cabinet, crawling out of the bathtub and reaching for a band aid, cutting of the sticky part to cover the cut. See, this is where I get, when I dream. A cut on the leg, another inconvenience and a stinging reminder that I can’t go back and I can’t quite make things the way I’d like them to be. So I am here, sitting on my floor, the cold of the tile against me, and I am empty, hurting and frustrated.
Fill me up. Give me something, anything, to distract me from all of this. To distract me from what my life has become. To distract me from the things I wish weren’t real, and the memories I can’t seem to escape. Distract me from myself. And give me something new.
That’s the thing, though. No one seems to care about anything anymore. We’ve all got our own problems and our own worries. Who has time to check on their friends or their family when they can barely see above the rising tide of all the things they have to take care of, all the things they have to worry about, and then some that maybe they don’t need to worry about, but do anyway. I know I don’t. Have time, I mean. I don’t have the time to think of all the people who might be worried about whether or not I am doing well my first time out on my own. Likely there aren’t many.
Certainly not my mother. My selfish, annoying mother, who would forsake her own children for the love of a crack dealer who has no intention of taking care of her or thinking about her future. Only thinking of spiriting her away from her miserable marriage with promises of change, Tantra and other things I can’t bear to dream of. No, somewhere, she is in a cramped apartment, living with him and believing she can be happy if she just tells herself she is, the same way she always has, the same way she always will. God will make it all better eventually, she’ll tell herself. God will reward her for her patience...
God my ass. If there is such a thing, it’s a huge cosmic joke and the laugh isn’t on God. I’ll tell you that. Imagine for a moment, if you can, that you are all powerful. You are all knowing. You are all seeing. And you can do anything you like. You created the world, everything in it. Do you really think that you would take time to check in on each of the workers in you cosmic ant farm? Because I know I wouldn’t. I can barely be assed to keep up with people I like, let alone all the people I have ever met. No sir, if I had created the universe I’d be in Tahiti with a lovely woman on my arm, and handsome fellow feeding me fresh fruit and marveling at all the lovely things I can get people to do, all because I am God.
I pick up the soap and have a little laugh to myself, for a moment, seeing that God [if there is such a thing] and my mom have just a little in common, too much to do for themselves to check in on their own creation. She’s like that, my mother, being compared to God. But not a Goddess, mind you, that’s heresy.
The soap feels strangely cool tonight as I wash myself. That may be that the water is a lot hotter than I normally run it. Its steaming tonight, nearly boiling, and my neurotic masochism has turned my skin a bright pink already. But I don’t mind it so much as it feels different, and as lonely as I am, and bored, different is alright. Either way, the soap is delightfully cold. I am using a bar tonight. Not one of those fluffy things that I get in gift sets every year from people who have no idea what I like or who I am, nor one of those gels that you can buy even at the local grocery store now. No, tonight I have a plain, boring bar of washing soap. And it smells clean. And refreshing. And different. I am afraid I haven’t really got the energy to do what I have to do tonight. I don’t feel like going out, being pretty, being charming, getting people to want to be around me or be with me. No, I don’t feel like that in the least. But old habits die hard, and I will go, same as I have, night after night for nearly a year now, and I will laugh. I will talk and I will dance. It will be alright, once I make it to the dance floor. I always manage to forget how terrible things are when I am dancing. I feel better, freer. Happy, almost. You know that song by the Eagles where they say some dance to forget? That’s me they were talking about.
So to forget, to be beautiful the way only I know how to be, I have to be here, in this too hot bath, listening to the echos of the people in my apartment, chattering and flirting and laughing below while I get ready. I suppose I ought to hurry, someone might have to pee. But you know, I can’t be troubled by it. Its my place, right?
So I pick up the razor and I move my candles a little closer and I lather the soap much thicker than I have been. My legs are long, I know this, and I am blessed with a nice complexion, but it still means that shaving is both necessary and a nuisance. I was never much of a shaver, blame that on my mother as well, not letting me start until I could nearly drive a car. So I have to take my time, running the razor over my leg gently, in slow strokes I make as steady as I can.
Its about the only thing I make steady in myself. Sometimes it seems to me like my spirit is slamming up against the inside of my body, trying desperately to find a weakness in the fortress. One day I fear it will, and I will finally go flying out of my body and away from everything around me at last. It won’t come soon enough, if you ask me.
There was once I felt it, when I was still in high school. There was a guy who worked with me at my after school job, and he was a witch. Or a male witch. A mystic or a warlock. Whatever you wanted to call him, he was a lot like me, and he knew things he shouldn’t and he sensed things before others could think or say them. I felt him, a presence, long before I ever met him, and once I did I took to spending a lot of time with him. I would bring him home with me after work, and we would sit in my room, all candles and heavy scents, and we would talk about things I thought were deep or spiritual.
Once, at his apartment, [he was much older than I was] we sat, and he lit a stick of incense and brought me in front of him and took my hands and with his soft calm voice he put me in the deepest meditation that I have ever been in. And softly, slowly, I made my way out of my body and walked about without it. I could see him there beside me, feeling the things I did and seeing the things I did, even though we were far from where our bodies are resting and where we should have been. When we finally came crashing down into our bodies again I was exhausted. I slept there all night, before going home the next morning I told him I enjoyed myself, and maybe we could do it again sometime. We never did, but I have been looking for a voice or a way out ever since then, and I can feel it in myself on nights like this.
Unfortunately, its not all I feel. All of my daydreaming has caused my attention to wander and I’ve managed to nick myself on the top of my thigh. I press my hand there to stop the bleeding and look up to the top of the cabinet, crawling out of the bathtub and reaching for a band aid, cutting of the sticky part to cover the cut. See, this is where I get, when I dream. A cut on the leg, another inconvenience and a stinging reminder that I can’t go back and I can’t quite make things the way I’d like them to be. So I am here, sitting on my floor, the cold of the tile against me, and I am empty, hurting and frustrated.
Fill me up. Give me something, anything, to distract me from all of this. To distract me from what my life has become. To distract me from the things I wish weren’t real, and the memories I can’t seem to escape. Distract me from myself. And give me something new.
When It Rains, It Pours
Right. Alternator went out on my truck. So I have to get it replaced and thats going to cost me a little more than I wanted to spend right now, but its alright. As long as I get my truck back.
I'm going to write later, I just wanted to whine about my truck. I'm bitter. She's not even paid off yet and I am fixing her up. Bitter, bitter, bitter.
I'm going to write later, I just wanted to whine about my truck. I'm bitter. She's not even paid off yet and I am fixing her up. Bitter, bitter, bitter.
Monday, January 16, 2006
And I'll Send You Mine
What do you dream about?
Last night I dreamed of a field covered with tents and full of people. There was a sweet smell in the air, like sage or cloves. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds passing over the sun would cast shadows on the ground as they moved.
I was reclining on a blanket, a quilt made of large blue patches, and leaning against the chest of a man. He had wide brown eyes and a friendly smile. He brushed my long, dark hair as I looked up at you. I could feel his fingers moving quickly in the rhythm of someone experienced at braiding hair or tying knots - binding my hair, and then just as quickly letting it go to do it over again. Occasionally, he would lean in and whisper a secret to me, tickling my ear with his breath, and knowing he was doing it.
I would lean into his laugh, smiling and nodding and look up at you. You were watching me, just outside an olive green tent in a chair made for camping. You were completely unreadable behind your sunglasses, but I could feel your eyes on me as surely as I felt the hands in my hair. You laughed, someone, I couldn’t see them, was telling you a joke and you were laughing at it, your smile stretching wide over your teeth, your head tipped back to expose your throat.
And yet, with each chuckle, I knew you were looking at me. I sat there, complacent, slowly puffing at a cigar, my lips touching the porcelain mouthpiece briefly before I would let the smoke go spiraling into the air, and a soft sigh with it, and reach across to the edge of the blanket and give it my customary tap-tap to push the ash off the end.
I wanted to tell you something. I am quite sure of it. It was lingering in my mind the same way it does now. Unsure then of what to say, unsure now of what I was thinking. But then, and now, I had the same feeling. You knew it, I hadn’t to say it, and so we laughed, you and I. And we let the thought stay there unspoken between us.
I expect one night, without preamble or premeditation, I will go back to that place and remember what I was going to say to you. Perhaps I will say it then, or perhaps you will say it for me. Or likely, if we ever visit again in our sleep, we will stay, just as we did, and let our smiles talk for us.
Last night I dreamed of a field covered with tents and full of people. There was a sweet smell in the air, like sage or cloves. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds passing over the sun would cast shadows on the ground as they moved.
I was reclining on a blanket, a quilt made of large blue patches, and leaning against the chest of a man. He had wide brown eyes and a friendly smile. He brushed my long, dark hair as I looked up at you. I could feel his fingers moving quickly in the rhythm of someone experienced at braiding hair or tying knots - binding my hair, and then just as quickly letting it go to do it over again. Occasionally, he would lean in and whisper a secret to me, tickling my ear with his breath, and knowing he was doing it.
I would lean into his laugh, smiling and nodding and look up at you. You were watching me, just outside an olive green tent in a chair made for camping. You were completely unreadable behind your sunglasses, but I could feel your eyes on me as surely as I felt the hands in my hair. You laughed, someone, I couldn’t see them, was telling you a joke and you were laughing at it, your smile stretching wide over your teeth, your head tipped back to expose your throat.
And yet, with each chuckle, I knew you were looking at me. I sat there, complacent, slowly puffing at a cigar, my lips touching the porcelain mouthpiece briefly before I would let the smoke go spiraling into the air, and a soft sigh with it, and reach across to the edge of the blanket and give it my customary tap-tap to push the ash off the end.
I wanted to tell you something. I am quite sure of it. It was lingering in my mind the same way it does now. Unsure then of what to say, unsure now of what I was thinking. But then, and now, I had the same feeling. You knew it, I hadn’t to say it, and so we laughed, you and I. And we let the thought stay there unspoken between us.
I expect one night, without preamble or premeditation, I will go back to that place and remember what I was going to say to you. Perhaps I will say it then, or perhaps you will say it for me. Or likely, if we ever visit again in our sleep, we will stay, just as we did, and let our smiles talk for us.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
We Have Now Reached Maximum Geek Capacity
I went to an excellent arcade in my town tonight called 1984. Its unbelieveable. You go pay a $5 cover charge an all your games are free, as long as you stay. The hook [there's always a hook] is it is all games from the 1980's. I went, and for two hours, played Frogger, Dig Dug, Donkey Kong Jr., Mrs. Pacman, Galaga, Asteroids, and every other amazing '80's game you can think of. I have completely geeked out.
I loved it. It was amazing. And I even got to 25 on the high score for one of the Atari race car games. If you ever beat a high score, they pay your way in the next time. There were as many adults as there were kids, and it was great. Really, really fun. My only regret is that I didn't get a crack at a pinball machine. There was a woman on there that really knew what she was doing. I can't wait to go back...It was amazing.
Right. I am off to find my pocket protector and my Slam book now. See you later, dudes.
Friday, January 13, 2006
I Feel Summer Creeping In
I was eighteen. It was the summertime, and I spent a lot of time with one of the bartenders that I worked with during the day as we prepared for the night ahead, or recovered from the evening before. He was a lovely man. I used to give him a hard time, because he really did have difficulty keeping men off of him.
Paul was in his mid-thirties, but he looked like he was maybe 25, and that was being harsh with his looks. He had been in the navy, and was a trained rescue swimmer. He had a medium build, he was well built, and his had disarming good looks. His hair was jet black and fell in perfect, heavy locks across his head, he had disarming black eyes and perfect teeth - the kind you see in toothpaste commercials or whitening advertisements. His smile was lovely, and he only smiled when he meant it, so it was always a pleasure to see.
We spent a lot of time in his loft apartment with his best friend Mike, another guy that we worked with. Most days we threw open his patio doors and let the wind come in. We would lay across his couch sipping drinks and occasionally wander outside to smoke a cigarette. They would toss out ideas for new gimmicks for the dancers, drink specials, new shots, and how to play to crowd’s on various nights of the week. They would tease me about being single, or give me tips on my outfits, or hair [or wigs, which I wore a lot of] and compliment me on my abilities. Most of the time I lay in the floor, or on the couch and listened, content to just be there relaxing. Listening to their banter and watching their expressions as they talked always put me in a good mood.
I’d done drugs before. Lots of them. I was no innocent. So when, on occasion, the two of them decided to indulge, I had no problem with it. They always offered me a hit and I always declined. It wasn’t that I was opposed to it, I just didn’t care to do it.
It felt like a waste to me. You see, I jumped strait into hard drugs, cocaine, meth, poppers and pills. For some reason, smoking weed never did it for me. I had tried it several times, and it had never really done anything for me. I never felt relaxed. I never felt much different, except later on I would feel hungry. I felt like it was a waste, and finally, one day, when they pressed me for a reason, I told them so. If I wanted to be hungry or sleepy, I could do that on my own.
Paul laughed and said I had either not had the good stuff, or I wasn’t doing it properly. I shrugged him off, telling him I had smoked from a tobacco pipe long enough I thought I knew what I was doing. Mike laughed, and told me that I should let Paul get me high the way he had gotten him high for the first time, because he used to think the exact same thing. I agreed, knowing in my mind, that it wasn’t going to make a bit of difference, and if I could settle it once and for all, it would be fine by me.
The, to my surprise, got up and walked back to Paul’s bedroom. Now, I had been in his bedroom before, in fact, it was my favorite room of the house. It had a tall cheery sleigh bed, gorgeous artwork, huge french doors that led to the patio and more pillows and candles than I could count. I wasn’t nervous to be in there, we often spent time in there, I just knew that he kept his stash in his bathroom, and there wasn’t much a reason to be headed back to that particular room.
The two of them removed their shirts, and slipped off their leather sandals. Mike went to light some candles, and Paul took me over to his closet and pulled out a tee-shirt from his huge stack of plain, white, perfectly bleached undershirts. Telling me to put it on, he slid my skirt off my hips with ease of practice [he helped me to dress when I danced] and when I had put in on, lifted me up onto the bed and instructed me to relax.
Now, at this point, I imagine most women would be in a panic. Either from being undressed in a bedroom with two beautiful men, or from nerves at not knowing what the hell was going on. In my case, I was completely calm. I had been around the two of them so often that I had no qualms with doing as they told me. I trusted them implicitly. They had seen me undressed more times than I could count, and I was not shy about seeing them with their shirts off, as they often worked that way on weekends when the club was so hot that neither air conditioner, barrels of water or huge fans could break the sweltering torture brought on by hundreds of people pressed against each other for hours on end.
When I laid back on the pillows, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself and become as calm as I could possibly be. I opened them again when I felt Mike settle onto the end of the bed. Sitting cross legged, he managed to look both completely comfortable and somehow very, well, stern almost. Paul slid onto the bed next to me, laying on the night stand a lighter and his pipe.
With almost no effort, he slid me into his lap, so that I was still propped up, half against his pillows, and half against his chest, my legs dangling over the side of the bed, the tips of my toes playing in and out of the sheer table cover. He asked me if I was alright, and I smiled and nodded. Reaching for his pipe, he told me to watch him as he did it. I nodded. This wouldn’t be a difficult task, considering I nearly had my head on his shoulder, and he had me in such a way that unless I struggled against his arms, I wouldn’t be able to see much but him.
The mechanics of the next moment or so still escape me when I think of it. But I know how pulled me very tight as he used his right arm to hold the pipe to his lips and his left hand to light the pipe. I was close, very close to him. In fact, with the exception of a drunken after party where I had made a spectacle of myself dancing with him, I had never been quite ths close to him before. But Mike must have taken the pipe from him, just after he inhaled. I remember Mike’s voice telling me to look at Paul closely, and then the sound of him inhaling the pipe on his own.
I lost track of everything for a moment, though, because Paul began to kiss me. I knew in a moment what he was doing, but was so surprised, I think I would have choked even had I done that type of thing before. But, I titled my head back and tried to exhale through my nose as he poured the smoke into my mouth, cradling my head with his hand and teasing my lips with his tongue.
I coughed and spluttered for a moment, feeling completely ungraceful. He smiled and asked me if I wanted to try again. I said yes. Now, this is another moment where you might jump tp conclusions about why I said yes. I’ll tell you. First, I honestly wanted to try and feel it. Second, he was [and quite possibly still] one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen in my life and if he wanted to mouth feed me drugs, I was not going to say no. Third, I was already feeling tingly, which I imagine was from the combination of surprise and a small amount of lust. I’m no angel. I’ll admit that freely, and regardless of my orientation, or his, I knew there was no small amount of regard that we both held for each other, if only from a purely esthetic point of view. This was something most guys in the bar we worked at would kill to do, and would never experience, and I wasn’t about to pass up the chance. Not in a million years.
He cradled me back again, this time sliding me in between his legs, so that my back was rested on his chest, and this time when he was ready, I was too. His mouth came down on mine again, and I closed my eyes and imagined pulling the smoke physically out of his mouth with my tongue. I inhaled deeply, and I think I heard him sigh. Mike was laughing in the background, and said something to the effect it was about time the two of us had gotten around to doing this.
I let it go, not wanting to ask. And I tipped my head back and exhaled out slowly, feeling soft, sexy, and strangely unreal. Paul was stroking my arms and talking to Mike, but his voice was soft, and soothing. Mike called it his bedroom voice. Regardless of what it was, I felt very nearly like I might float away, but they weren’t going to let me do so, not just yet.
I was slipping my legs back and forth across the duvet, curling my toes and enjoying the feel of my thighs against each other. Mike laughed again, and began to massage my feet, telling me to try and relax. Paul went back to the pipe, and then, back to my mouth. This time he did sigh, and just after I let the smoke go, he went back to kissing me in a soft, teasing way. His hands worked their way across my stomach and up to my collar bone, where he feathers touches there with expert movements.
I lay my head back into his chest, sliding down a bit, and began to stroke his legs. Mike moved over me, and began to give me a hit from his mouth, and I smiled as I took it from him, slipping my hands across his back and then back down his chest.
We went on for some time this way, the three of us, until Mike declared himself finished, and went to lay on a chair just outside the french doors, in the sunlight. Paul stayed with me, and continued to pet me and give me hits, kissing me in his deep and oddly detached manner for nearly another half hour. When we finished, he lay next to me on the bed, and let me enjoy the feeling of the pillows beneath me.
I vaguely remember telling him how I felt. The way everything felt a little softer and more lovely around me. How I couldn’t feel the ache in my body that comes from dancing. How I felt beautiful and a little giggly at the same time. He let me talk on for ages, and then he laughed and put a finger to my lips, telling me he had obviously done what he had set out to do.
I know we lay there for quite some time, and I am not exactly sure how we left things, but I remember that very vividly. Him petting my stomach and lounging with me on those pillows, and the long time we spent laying there quietly. And the one real kiss he gave me before he went outside to join Mike, telling me I was beautiful and he was glad I finally felt that way.
Paul was in his mid-thirties, but he looked like he was maybe 25, and that was being harsh with his looks. He had been in the navy, and was a trained rescue swimmer. He had a medium build, he was well built, and his had disarming good looks. His hair was jet black and fell in perfect, heavy locks across his head, he had disarming black eyes and perfect teeth - the kind you see in toothpaste commercials or whitening advertisements. His smile was lovely, and he only smiled when he meant it, so it was always a pleasure to see.
We spent a lot of time in his loft apartment with his best friend Mike, another guy that we worked with. Most days we threw open his patio doors and let the wind come in. We would lay across his couch sipping drinks and occasionally wander outside to smoke a cigarette. They would toss out ideas for new gimmicks for the dancers, drink specials, new shots, and how to play to crowd’s on various nights of the week. They would tease me about being single, or give me tips on my outfits, or hair [or wigs, which I wore a lot of] and compliment me on my abilities. Most of the time I lay in the floor, or on the couch and listened, content to just be there relaxing. Listening to their banter and watching their expressions as they talked always put me in a good mood.
I’d done drugs before. Lots of them. I was no innocent. So when, on occasion, the two of them decided to indulge, I had no problem with it. They always offered me a hit and I always declined. It wasn’t that I was opposed to it, I just didn’t care to do it.
It felt like a waste to me. You see, I jumped strait into hard drugs, cocaine, meth, poppers and pills. For some reason, smoking weed never did it for me. I had tried it several times, and it had never really done anything for me. I never felt relaxed. I never felt much different, except later on I would feel hungry. I felt like it was a waste, and finally, one day, when they pressed me for a reason, I told them so. If I wanted to be hungry or sleepy, I could do that on my own.
Paul laughed and said I had either not had the good stuff, or I wasn’t doing it properly. I shrugged him off, telling him I had smoked from a tobacco pipe long enough I thought I knew what I was doing. Mike laughed, and told me that I should let Paul get me high the way he had gotten him high for the first time, because he used to think the exact same thing. I agreed, knowing in my mind, that it wasn’t going to make a bit of difference, and if I could settle it once and for all, it would be fine by me.
The, to my surprise, got up and walked back to Paul’s bedroom. Now, I had been in his bedroom before, in fact, it was my favorite room of the house. It had a tall cheery sleigh bed, gorgeous artwork, huge french doors that led to the patio and more pillows and candles than I could count. I wasn’t nervous to be in there, we often spent time in there, I just knew that he kept his stash in his bathroom, and there wasn’t much a reason to be headed back to that particular room.
The two of them removed their shirts, and slipped off their leather sandals. Mike went to light some candles, and Paul took me over to his closet and pulled out a tee-shirt from his huge stack of plain, white, perfectly bleached undershirts. Telling me to put it on, he slid my skirt off my hips with ease of practice [he helped me to dress when I danced] and when I had put in on, lifted me up onto the bed and instructed me to relax.
Now, at this point, I imagine most women would be in a panic. Either from being undressed in a bedroom with two beautiful men, or from nerves at not knowing what the hell was going on. In my case, I was completely calm. I had been around the two of them so often that I had no qualms with doing as they told me. I trusted them implicitly. They had seen me undressed more times than I could count, and I was not shy about seeing them with their shirts off, as they often worked that way on weekends when the club was so hot that neither air conditioner, barrels of water or huge fans could break the sweltering torture brought on by hundreds of people pressed against each other for hours on end.
When I laid back on the pillows, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself and become as calm as I could possibly be. I opened them again when I felt Mike settle onto the end of the bed. Sitting cross legged, he managed to look both completely comfortable and somehow very, well, stern almost. Paul slid onto the bed next to me, laying on the night stand a lighter and his pipe.
With almost no effort, he slid me into his lap, so that I was still propped up, half against his pillows, and half against his chest, my legs dangling over the side of the bed, the tips of my toes playing in and out of the sheer table cover. He asked me if I was alright, and I smiled and nodded. Reaching for his pipe, he told me to watch him as he did it. I nodded. This wouldn’t be a difficult task, considering I nearly had my head on his shoulder, and he had me in such a way that unless I struggled against his arms, I wouldn’t be able to see much but him.
The mechanics of the next moment or so still escape me when I think of it. But I know how pulled me very tight as he used his right arm to hold the pipe to his lips and his left hand to light the pipe. I was close, very close to him. In fact, with the exception of a drunken after party where I had made a spectacle of myself dancing with him, I had never been quite ths close to him before. But Mike must have taken the pipe from him, just after he inhaled. I remember Mike’s voice telling me to look at Paul closely, and then the sound of him inhaling the pipe on his own.
I lost track of everything for a moment, though, because Paul began to kiss me. I knew in a moment what he was doing, but was so surprised, I think I would have choked even had I done that type of thing before. But, I titled my head back and tried to exhale through my nose as he poured the smoke into my mouth, cradling my head with his hand and teasing my lips with his tongue.
I coughed and spluttered for a moment, feeling completely ungraceful. He smiled and asked me if I wanted to try again. I said yes. Now, this is another moment where you might jump tp conclusions about why I said yes. I’ll tell you. First, I honestly wanted to try and feel it. Second, he was [and quite possibly still] one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen in my life and if he wanted to mouth feed me drugs, I was not going to say no. Third, I was already feeling tingly, which I imagine was from the combination of surprise and a small amount of lust. I’m no angel. I’ll admit that freely, and regardless of my orientation, or his, I knew there was no small amount of regard that we both held for each other, if only from a purely esthetic point of view. This was something most guys in the bar we worked at would kill to do, and would never experience, and I wasn’t about to pass up the chance. Not in a million years.
He cradled me back again, this time sliding me in between his legs, so that my back was rested on his chest, and this time when he was ready, I was too. His mouth came down on mine again, and I closed my eyes and imagined pulling the smoke physically out of his mouth with my tongue. I inhaled deeply, and I think I heard him sigh. Mike was laughing in the background, and said something to the effect it was about time the two of us had gotten around to doing this.
I let it go, not wanting to ask. And I tipped my head back and exhaled out slowly, feeling soft, sexy, and strangely unreal. Paul was stroking my arms and talking to Mike, but his voice was soft, and soothing. Mike called it his bedroom voice. Regardless of what it was, I felt very nearly like I might float away, but they weren’t going to let me do so, not just yet.
I was slipping my legs back and forth across the duvet, curling my toes and enjoying the feel of my thighs against each other. Mike laughed again, and began to massage my feet, telling me to try and relax. Paul went back to the pipe, and then, back to my mouth. This time he did sigh, and just after I let the smoke go, he went back to kissing me in a soft, teasing way. His hands worked their way across my stomach and up to my collar bone, where he feathers touches there with expert movements.
I lay my head back into his chest, sliding down a bit, and began to stroke his legs. Mike moved over me, and began to give me a hit from his mouth, and I smiled as I took it from him, slipping my hands across his back and then back down his chest.
We went on for some time this way, the three of us, until Mike declared himself finished, and went to lay on a chair just outside the french doors, in the sunlight. Paul stayed with me, and continued to pet me and give me hits, kissing me in his deep and oddly detached manner for nearly another half hour. When we finished, he lay next to me on the bed, and let me enjoy the feeling of the pillows beneath me.
I vaguely remember telling him how I felt. The way everything felt a little softer and more lovely around me. How I couldn’t feel the ache in my body that comes from dancing. How I felt beautiful and a little giggly at the same time. He let me talk on for ages, and then he laughed and put a finger to my lips, telling me he had obviously done what he had set out to do.
I know we lay there for quite some time, and I am not exactly sure how we left things, but I remember that very vividly. Him petting my stomach and lounging with me on those pillows, and the long time we spent laying there quietly. And the one real kiss he gave me before he went outside to join Mike, telling me I was beautiful and he was glad I finally felt that way.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Don't Want No One to Follow Me [Except Maybe You]
Alrighty. So, in an effort to have at least one interesting post today, I am putting up the contents of my newest Mix CD, so you can see what I've got in my head today. Those that are in posession of a Mix CD of mine will notice I often repeat songs on them, because I put them together according to my mood. I also title my CD's so laugh if you like at the title. I don't care...Meh...
Without Further Ado [and with much unneeded fanfare, most likely undeserved]
How Do You Like Your Music?
Scrambled - Soft
1. Untouchable Face, Ani DiFranco
2. Somewhere Only We Know, Keane
3. Feeling Love, Paula Cole
4. Dance, Jimiraqaui
5. Man Who Sold the World, Nirvana
6. Layla (slow) Eric Clapton
7. I Need You Tonight, INXS [Thanks, LB]
8. Making Me High, Toni Braxton
9. Barely Breathing, Duncan Sheik
10. Freshman, The Verve
11. Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
12. Brick, Ben Folds Five
13. I Died In Your Arms Tonight, Cutting Crew
14. Criminal, Fiona Apple
15. Sonny Came Home, Shawn Colvin
16. Bitersweet Symphony, The Verve
17. Champagne Supernova, Oasis
18. Sadness Part 1, Enigma
19. Losing My Religion, REM
There, now. I know at least one of you is clutching your ears crying [or at least, I expect he is...]
What do the rest of you think?
Without Further Ado [and with much unneeded fanfare, most likely undeserved]
How Do You Like Your Music?
Scrambled - Soft
1. Untouchable Face, Ani DiFranco
2. Somewhere Only We Know, Keane
3. Feeling Love, Paula Cole
4. Dance, Jimiraqaui
5. Man Who Sold the World, Nirvana
6. Layla (slow) Eric Clapton
7. I Need You Tonight, INXS [Thanks, LB]
8. Making Me High, Toni Braxton
9. Barely Breathing, Duncan Sheik
10. Freshman, The Verve
11. Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
12. Brick, Ben Folds Five
13. I Died In Your Arms Tonight, Cutting Crew
14. Criminal, Fiona Apple
15. Sonny Came Home, Shawn Colvin
16. Bitersweet Symphony, The Verve
17. Champagne Supernova, Oasis
18. Sadness Part 1, Enigma
19. Losing My Religion, REM
There, now. I know at least one of you is clutching your ears crying [or at least, I expect he is...]
What do the rest of you think?
You Know That I'll Be Back
Hello, loves. The old Alecya is back, I promise. I'll try to keep scary Alecya in the closet. She's depressing, isn't she? Just a quick update, I have been looking and have has several job interviews so far. No offers. I have another one today. I have my fingers crossed. Also, I am going back to school, so I am getting all my ducks in a row there. In the meantime. Do you guys have anything you would like me to write about, or tell you? I am fresh out of ideas, being cooped up in a house for two weeks with nothing to do will do that to you...
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
My Cunt Is Built Like A Wound That Won't Heal
Ah. Feminism. Gives you a strong mental pictures doesn’t it? Women who don’t shave. Bra burning hippies. Man haters. Those are feminists. But as Ka rightly points out, [or maybe it was Spins] there is a very negative connotation with the word "feminist". Groups at my local college call themselves "post-modern feminists" meaning they have evolved from what they used to be.
To me, it matters very little. I don’t know what I am. I used to think I was a feminist. As I said on Ka’s blog though, the more I settle down into the lesbian version of married life, the more I worry I am not the feminist I used to be.
I can tell you, in a little manifesto, what I do believe.
Women are beautiful. Absolutely amazing. They can create life. They hold it inside their bodies. And when I child comes bawling and screaming into the world, it is her body that lets it go. It is her body that knows the timing and it is her body that nourished that child. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
Looking at a woman, completely naked, is a beautiful experience. They’re soft. Curvy, Inviting. There is something mysterious and tantalizing about the way a woman looks, no doubt about it.
As far as dating goes, I think women should be able to chase the people they are attracted to. They should be aggressive and entice their lovers, if that is what they want. I think that a person (regardless of sex, really) should be able to pursue or be pursued as they wish. Are some women more likely to sit and wait for the right person to come along? I think so. Is it because they are women? No, its because it is their personality.
As far as rights goes, I think everyone should be equal, regardless. Plain and simple. Will it ever happen? No. But should it? Sure.
I think the thing that most feminists now do, and something I probably ought to do more of, is work to promote basic rights for women who cannot or do not have them, such as the women in third world countries who experience female circumcision. They help other women become more aware of their bodies and how they work. Help them to understand them and celebrate the parts of their body unique to them.
One feminist who really touched me explained to me that I should not dread my monthly cycle, but instead celebrate it as my body renewing itself should I choose to try and create life. I should appreciate it, and do things that make it feel pleasant, like eating cookies and chocolate or going for a massage.
I think there is a lot to appreciate about being a woman, hell, I have a tattoo that means as much. Still, I think there are too many women who do not appreciate their bodies or their own sex the way they should. I am one of them.
Still, that’s the beauty of being a woman, I always have more time to enjoy my body and explore it. Because its not going anywhere.
To me, it matters very little. I don’t know what I am. I used to think I was a feminist. As I said on Ka’s blog though, the more I settle down into the lesbian version of married life, the more I worry I am not the feminist I used to be.
I can tell you, in a little manifesto, what I do believe.
Women are beautiful. Absolutely amazing. They can create life. They hold it inside their bodies. And when I child comes bawling and screaming into the world, it is her body that lets it go. It is her body that knows the timing and it is her body that nourished that child. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
Looking at a woman, completely naked, is a beautiful experience. They’re soft. Curvy, Inviting. There is something mysterious and tantalizing about the way a woman looks, no doubt about it.
As far as dating goes, I think women should be able to chase the people they are attracted to. They should be aggressive and entice their lovers, if that is what they want. I think that a person (regardless of sex, really) should be able to pursue or be pursued as they wish. Are some women more likely to sit and wait for the right person to come along? I think so. Is it because they are women? No, its because it is their personality.
As far as rights goes, I think everyone should be equal, regardless. Plain and simple. Will it ever happen? No. But should it? Sure.
I think the thing that most feminists now do, and something I probably ought to do more of, is work to promote basic rights for women who cannot or do not have them, such as the women in third world countries who experience female circumcision. They help other women become more aware of their bodies and how they work. Help them to understand them and celebrate the parts of their body unique to them.
One feminist who really touched me explained to me that I should not dread my monthly cycle, but instead celebrate it as my body renewing itself should I choose to try and create life. I should appreciate it, and do things that make it feel pleasant, like eating cookies and chocolate or going for a massage.
I think there is a lot to appreciate about being a woman, hell, I have a tattoo that means as much. Still, I think there are too many women who do not appreciate their bodies or their own sex the way they should. I am one of them.
Still, that’s the beauty of being a woman, I always have more time to enjoy my body and explore it. Because its not going anywhere.
I'm All Out of Faith, This is How I Feel
Preface: this is a long, rather painful post. I imagine it is not pleasant to read [I just re-read it] and you might skip it for today. Go visit Pisser instead, if you are in the mood for a laugh. There’s no laughing here today.
Lets go:
I had a bad night last night. A really bad night. Remember, in that meme I did a few days ago, I told you about a feeling I get every once and a while? Where I feel like I have lost a vital part of me, or that I am terribly sad for no reason? I suppose it was that feeling I had, only it was amplified to a huge degree.
I was crawling into bed, and it seemed like all the feelings that I have been trying to hold in since I lost my job came crashing down over me. I feel like a failure, like I can’t ever make the right choice or do the right thing. I feel like I let everyone I love down. I feel like when I touch someone, I leave this nearly imperceptible mark and all these people are trying desperately to scrub every remnant of who I am and what I have done from their existence. I feel used, like I have been taken advantage of. I feel helpless. I feel foolish. I feel like hoping for something better is a waste, because there isn’t really anything better, is there? There’s only life, and disappointments and trying desperately to struggle through it, clinging to every support you can find, and hoping to god that you won’t let go. I feel like I am trying too hard, loving too hard, and I am completely empty now. There’s isn’t a thing left. I am completely hollow at this point.
I lay there, trying not to cry, trying to let Beloved sleep, and I felt like I was shaking all over. In my minds eye, all these things that have happened to me in the past, that I hate, and I hate thinking about kept rolling through my mind. I lay there for a few hours and relived all the things that have ever torn me up, seeing the people who have hurt me, and feeling these terrible feelings of guilt for all the things I have done, one after another.
It occurred to me, I am not a good person. I’m not. As much as I try to be, as hard as I work to be, as much as I would like to be, I am not. I am a selfish, ugly, angry person. I have an incredible amount of hate for the things that have happened to me and the people in my past who have hurt me. I don’t like myself most days. I keep telling myself that all the things that have happened to me happened for a reason, and I can use them to help others. But I don’t I keep going on, hating and being petrified of what each day brings with out any thought of how I could make someone else’s existence better by helping them using my past as a reference. I feel like a fraud, because I have somehow convinced all of you that I am an essentially good person. And I am not.
Needless to say, I haven’t slept well. In the light of the morning, I can say I know most of these things aren’t true. I can say that its how I feel when I am overwhelmed. I can say that these feelings will go away and I will feel better soon enough.
This morning, I want to make a step towards making amends for myself. I want to heal a bit. And I want to talk about something that has deeply affected me. I am going to pause, and let you guys check out now if you aren’t into dealing with painful issues. [Run, run now]
Still with me? Alright. Ladies [and I know guys too - just- not as often]
Rape. Its happened to so many of us, and it upsets me. The more women I meet the more I realize there are so many who have been invaded this way. There are a few things I want to say, and then I’ll let you go somewhere else and read something cheerful.
Its not your fault. No matter what you think, what situation you were in, where you were or why you think it happened. It is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. No is no, stop is stop.
If you have been hurt, go talk to someone. A friend, a counselor, a therapist, a group for women who have been through it. But talk to someone. Find a way to move on. Find a way to not let it consume you. If you can, go to the police. There is no shame in what happened to you. You are a victim. If you know the person, stop knowing them , don’t go near them, stay away. If your friends object tell them why. Educate them. You’ll be protecting them from it happening to them too, no matter how angry or afraid you might make them.
Learn to fight back. Take a self defense course. Learn to defend yourself. Find places that are dangerous and avoid them. Go in groups to places like bars, or parties. Make a system for checking up on each other. Follow up with friends who have been gone a while. Don’t ever let a drunk friend leave with a stranger.
Learn that it is okay to say no - to your boyfriend, your husband, your date or your best friend. You don’t have to prove you love them. You don’t have to show them you care. You don’t owe them anything. Nothing at all. And if they tell you so they are lying, they are trying to take advantage of you. Your affection and your body are yours alone to give out, when and how you want. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Ever.
Go to the doctor. Make sure you haven’t been damaged in a permanent physical manner. Get treatment.
Love yourself. Its hard. It will hurt. The thoughts don’t go away. But love yourself anyway. Look at yourself in the mirror and say out loud all of the beautiful things about you. Your love for your children, how you volunteer, how you go to church. Whatever it is, recognize the beauty in yourself. You are still whole. You are still lovely. You are still a complete person.
Through strength we overcome adversity, right?
Really, this post was for me, and if you don’t know what to say, its alright. I don’t expect comments on this one. And I certainly don’t want you all to pity me. But this is my space, isn’t it, and if I can’t write honestly about myself here, to you, who don’t know me, how can I face it when the time comes in the real world?
I love you all, I really do.
Lets go:
I had a bad night last night. A really bad night. Remember, in that meme I did a few days ago, I told you about a feeling I get every once and a while? Where I feel like I have lost a vital part of me, or that I am terribly sad for no reason? I suppose it was that feeling I had, only it was amplified to a huge degree.
I was crawling into bed, and it seemed like all the feelings that I have been trying to hold in since I lost my job came crashing down over me. I feel like a failure, like I can’t ever make the right choice or do the right thing. I feel like I let everyone I love down. I feel like when I touch someone, I leave this nearly imperceptible mark and all these people are trying desperately to scrub every remnant of who I am and what I have done from their existence. I feel used, like I have been taken advantage of. I feel helpless. I feel foolish. I feel like hoping for something better is a waste, because there isn’t really anything better, is there? There’s only life, and disappointments and trying desperately to struggle through it, clinging to every support you can find, and hoping to god that you won’t let go. I feel like I am trying too hard, loving too hard, and I am completely empty now. There’s isn’t a thing left. I am completely hollow at this point.
I lay there, trying not to cry, trying to let Beloved sleep, and I felt like I was shaking all over. In my minds eye, all these things that have happened to me in the past, that I hate, and I hate thinking about kept rolling through my mind. I lay there for a few hours and relived all the things that have ever torn me up, seeing the people who have hurt me, and feeling these terrible feelings of guilt for all the things I have done, one after another.
It occurred to me, I am not a good person. I’m not. As much as I try to be, as hard as I work to be, as much as I would like to be, I am not. I am a selfish, ugly, angry person. I have an incredible amount of hate for the things that have happened to me and the people in my past who have hurt me. I don’t like myself most days. I keep telling myself that all the things that have happened to me happened for a reason, and I can use them to help others. But I don’t I keep going on, hating and being petrified of what each day brings with out any thought of how I could make someone else’s existence better by helping them using my past as a reference. I feel like a fraud, because I have somehow convinced all of you that I am an essentially good person. And I am not.
Needless to say, I haven’t slept well. In the light of the morning, I can say I know most of these things aren’t true. I can say that its how I feel when I am overwhelmed. I can say that these feelings will go away and I will feel better soon enough.
This morning, I want to make a step towards making amends for myself. I want to heal a bit. And I want to talk about something that has deeply affected me. I am going to pause, and let you guys check out now if you aren’t into dealing with painful issues. [Run, run now]
Still with me? Alright. Ladies [and I know guys too - just- not as often]
Rape. Its happened to so many of us, and it upsets me. The more women I meet the more I realize there are so many who have been invaded this way. There are a few things I want to say, and then I’ll let you go somewhere else and read something cheerful.
Its not your fault. No matter what you think, what situation you were in, where you were or why you think it happened. It is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. No is no, stop is stop.
If you have been hurt, go talk to someone. A friend, a counselor, a therapist, a group for women who have been through it. But talk to someone. Find a way to move on. Find a way to not let it consume you. If you can, go to the police. There is no shame in what happened to you. You are a victim. If you know the person, stop knowing them , don’t go near them, stay away. If your friends object tell them why. Educate them. You’ll be protecting them from it happening to them too, no matter how angry or afraid you might make them.
Learn to fight back. Take a self defense course. Learn to defend yourself. Find places that are dangerous and avoid them. Go in groups to places like bars, or parties. Make a system for checking up on each other. Follow up with friends who have been gone a while. Don’t ever let a drunk friend leave with a stranger.
Learn that it is okay to say no - to your boyfriend, your husband, your date or your best friend. You don’t have to prove you love them. You don’t have to show them you care. You don’t owe them anything. Nothing at all. And if they tell you so they are lying, they are trying to take advantage of you. Your affection and your body are yours alone to give out, when and how you want. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Ever.
Go to the doctor. Make sure you haven’t been damaged in a permanent physical manner. Get treatment.
Love yourself. Its hard. It will hurt. The thoughts don’t go away. But love yourself anyway. Look at yourself in the mirror and say out loud all of the beautiful things about you. Your love for your children, how you volunteer, how you go to church. Whatever it is, recognize the beauty in yourself. You are still whole. You are still lovely. You are still a complete person.
Through strength we overcome adversity, right?
Really, this post was for me, and if you don’t know what to say, its alright. I don’t expect comments on this one. And I certainly don’t want you all to pity me. But this is my space, isn’t it, and if I can’t write honestly about myself here, to you, who don’t know me, how can I face it when the time comes in the real world?
I love you all, I really do.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
I Ain't No Damsel In Distress
Alrighty, ladies. This one is for you. If you have not been to visit the lovely Ka at Grey City Manifesto, I've added her to my links. She's got a great feminist thing going right now and it makes me want to cheer. I forgot what its like to love being a woman.
I might need to go on about this tomorrow. Till then, go visit her, and tell her how much she rocks.
I might need to go on about this tomorrow. Till then, go visit her, and tell her how much she rocks.
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