No one ever wakes up excited to go to work in customer service. Anyone who tells ya different is a complete and utter liar. Personally, I feel that particular species of bullshitters should either be publicly tarred and feathered or given a best actor award by SAG, realistically we all know those are the douche bags that either end up being the boss or we imagine these jackasses accidentally murder themselves during really kinky sex with themselves on a Tuesday in May and no one finds the body till the cats start bringing fingers out and the smell of rotting flesh gets to be too much for Mildred down the block sometime in August.~ What? Like you never imagined what Creepy Cassandra in cubicle 426 was like at home? The point is these people are sad inside.
The reason I bring this up? Well, I've spent a lot of time recently trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing. This applies to pretty much every aspect of my life. Out of lets say, 50 of the major sub-categories to the heading "Life~ and what I'm doing with it." I've managed to narrow down only a handful of basic points. None of which including : Love my customer service job because it's magically delicious! Honestly, I feel that some people, not all, but some, really believe customer service is the most awesome work ever. These people are fucking dumb, not only for setting their standards so low but for their irritating attempts to convince the rest of us that we should feel goddamned great about the work we do. Every office has some of these people, these people are obnoxious and we all know at least one.
I'm not saying I'm not glad I have a job but at no point in my life will I ever be caught saying :
"Gee, I really love my customer service job. I get paid so well to be shat upon every day by dumbasses. I'm going to spend 30 years doing this, I just love it so much."
Never gonna happen, not now, not ever. I have come full circle to the realization that I do love that I have a job. I love that I am nearing the final stages of demolition to the house of cards that is debt. I love that this job will get me through to my bachelors degree in a matter of 3 years if I can just stick to the plan and not fuck up.
Not fuck up. Not fuck up is where things begin to get shaky, not only in this aspect but in many aspects of my life, a life, any life. For now, we'll stick to the job category. What does it mean to not fuck up? In simplest terms it means don't piss of the customers, don't piss off the co-workers, and certainly don't piss off the bosses. This means all the time, not a fraction of the time but all the time. This shit is hard work, like a job within the job, but ok, I'll try. Yoda said something about trying once, that dude clearly never worked customer service because there are times where doing the whole, don't piss off the customer thing is hard and there are even other times when that shit is absolutely impossible, the customer was born pissed off. I digress, sub-category number one : Job : What am I doing? Loving that I have one. Not pissing anyone off, taking care of business.
Awesome, one aspect down, plenty more to go, what about school? All the cool kids are doing it right? How do I do that without going back into debt, without losing my job and without deviating from this degree in 3 years plan? Set yourself up, take care of business, stay in Cuntecticunt, get a cheap bachelors and splurge on that Doctorate later, when I can afford it. Well this all seems reasonable, logical even, where's the catch? Stay. Just the word makes my little black gypsy heart stiffen.Stay, in one place, accept it in the interest of moving forward. Seems simple enough until you factor in my gypsy, my undying desire to keep moving in the most literal of senses, must be kept in check for this to work. Apparently a student who moves around a lot, is not the best student. I want to be the best student, I have this thing about failure so its time to keep it in perspective. Keeping it simple comes back to not fucking up, not fucking up in this case means, Stay in one place for a while, not one state, one place.
Seems simple, but nothing in life is simple. I had little girl dreams as a child, most girls dream of pony's and shit, I dreamed of getting the fuck out of here. I love my family each and every munchkin that calls me auntie, and the people that sit at my table, but we all have lives and eventually I will get my big adventure filled life. For the next three years its this apartment, work, school, munchkins.To me this is the most long term planning I've ever done aside from dreaming I would get the fuck out of here and I have to be honest, this shit is scary. The bright side is it gives me plenty of materiel for this blog and pages of worthless drivel for my epic novel about nothing...which is sweet because that shit will be EPIC.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
The Gay Mans Guide to a Hurricane
The Gay Mans Guide to a Hurricane
A Guest Blog By: Kid Kelvin Carney
I have only known two ladies by the name of Sandy, the first is a scruffy companion to the a little curly red-haired girl named Annie. The second was this Australian broad that fell in love with some bloke Danny.
Now rumor is that the next one I get to meet is going to be a real bitch, on her super period. I am hoping she is wearing a super maxi pad cause this is going to be her heavy flow days. How do you deal with a problem like Sandy?
Lighting
Don’t get your average handy man flashlight, the one I picked up has a red light going on, a little mood lighting if you will. The second source is normally as boring as candle, but gay men just don’t do that. Pick one up with a little scent and flavor, these are multi-functional, see if the power goes out and you can’t wash your butt, a nice Yankee Candle will hide your stench.
Cleanliness
Keeping you butt clean should be a main concern. You can fill up your tub with water and use that to clean up your pits, but there are also these handy dandy flushable wipes to help clean your man parts spic and span.
Food
They say to get non-perishable items during the storm of the century, but lets be real there are too many carbs in those. Get yourself some fresh fruit and veggies, but don’t forget about all those frozen veggies in the freezer. Once the power goes out take those out, once defrosted, you get to take a trip down the vegan highway. Also buy some eggs and boil them for a great source of protein. Now every girl needs atleast a few carbs in her life, I suggest getting some bagels for a morning treat, dry cereal, and some chips. You will need these for the party you are about to have.
Drinks
Get some bottled water, sparkling if you like. Although the water is important the real issue should be you alcohol shortage. If you like beer, stay away from it during these hard times! If you lose power, it will get warm and all skunky. Get some wine, vodka, bourbon, whiskey. If you are like me and forgot to get a mixer for your vodka, there is a quick fix. Boil some water, tie 4 tea bags to a skewer and steep. Once cooled this will serve as a perfect mixer for the dark nights ahead.
Lastly, we cannot forget the Entertainment!
If you are like me, you have tons of technology. Make sure you get your laptop charged up. This can be used to watch movies, all kinds if you catch my drift. Your kindle or e-reader, we need to use every chance we have to keep ahead of the hetero-sexual curve. Camera, there are always opportunities for a great shot. I-Pad or another tablet to watch movies, listen to music, or use as extra lighting.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
What is real life?
What I wanted to say after reading a strangers profile: I'm all for feminism, I'm cool with that, really. I'm just not so into, the whole, "non-conformist" ~ conformist ~ Can't take a joke, half-assed, lady plastic, butch wannabe, who I'd bet money, wouldn't hold a door open for her mother, Because "ya know women's rights and all." Your 27, life's been so hard on you, you've seen the world, you've been judged by your outside appearance and you're actually offended that you even have a gender. Really, tell me more about how you really have it hard and how you're getting you're Doctorate and you don't know what you want to do with your life but you know what everyone else should do with theirs. News flash, no one does and you are a pretentious attention whore...(sincerely, the blogger with too many ideas on what to do with my life.)
What I said instead: Nothing
What if people actually said things like that to one another? "Hey I know I've never once met you, but, you present like an asshole on the interwebs, is that really who you are? Wait no, stop typing, with all your education you should know, that was a rhetorical question. Of course you're really an asshole. I'm talking to you and I have great radar for you're kind. You've been identified I'm reporting you to the board, It's ok they work wonders , they'll have you behaving like less of a douche in no time. If you get really lucky people will even start taking you seriously.
Or, on the flip side, what if people saw something amazing and instead of saying nothing they said "Hey, I know we don't know each other but, I have zebra sheets. I like the way you say my name and right now that's all either of us needs to know. Lets go be random together.
Clearly there's no Board of Douchebag Rehabilitation or BDR (pronounced "Better" for giggles and shits), but wouldn't that be a different world. Checking your privilege is a privilege of the over-privileged by its very nature.What person trying to claw their way to respect or equality or even just appreciation has the time to sit around being offended by life and culture and society?
As I prepare for a winter of doing everything I can to ensure I'm making shit happen and moving forward. I cannot help but wonder how it is that more of the world is not wiped out by spontaneous combustion just for thinking about half the things I think about, and then I realize I must have way too much time on my hands, if this is what I'm thinking about when I could be bettering myself. There is a grand difference between offended and irate. History gives us a clear impression of how the power of a true purity of the irate, can demolish the delicate senselessness of the offended every time. Life is precious and I have zebra sheets, art on my walls, and a bucket list that must be completed to reach the next level. Lets go be random together. Until I get irate, I'm, not offended easily, unless you call me white, or straight or well adjusted, or nice or...
Thursday, September 27, 2012
What do you believe in said the joker to the thief...
I believe in Unicorns, I know, I do, you're thinkin what is this crazy bitch talkin about this time. Just try and stay with me I'll explain. Unicorns are the most magical creatures of all time, mythical, mysterious and possibly, maybe, not even real. That doesn't stop me from believing, people believe in all sorts of crazy, so I see no reason why I can't believe in Unicorns. At times I try to give up this ridiculous belief and convince myself adults live in reality and well, clearly Unicorns aren't real. Something happens, a kid does something incredibly beautiful to my refrigerator, a really nice person holds a door open after a terrible day, I walk into a restaurant and the sign is about Unicorns (or cake, or both) and I'm snapped back into hoping and believing.
Its not just about the magical, mystical, horned creatures we all think of when someone says the word Unicorn. I mean hell yes, I'm all about those too, but there's an even more ridiculous part. Little girls are started on a steady diet of princess fairy tales, in one way or another from birth. I guess I needed something more magical than a prince and more attractive than a frog and the unicorn was born. They're the happy place that gets me through the worst of times. The one that told me to go home, when I'm 15, I ran away and I'm contemplating sleeping in a stairwell, like a dumbass. The one that picked up the phone and listened and told me I'd be fine, that first real night of driving a big truck, with a trainer who at the time scared the crap out of me, crying like a little bitch. The one I'd let sleep on a couch I don't even have and the one I'm glad got away. The people who've actually seen me, all of me, even if only for a second and gave me enough hope to hold on through whatever crappy thing had happened or was on the way. People don't realize the impact they have on you and it's so rare in our time, that we tell each other. There are not enough Unicorns in anyone's life these days, not enough magic and not enough hope. I expect so much of myself and yes, I have expectations of the people around me to be decent people, and yes, my moral fiber and honor code may be somewhat demented, but more important than any expectation, I hope. I hope and I believe that the very best people I meet in life become the people they were meant to be. There are few things that would stop us in our tracks, outside of an insane emergency or an alien landing, but a Unicorn, a horned horse, a person doesn't keep moving for that. They'd miss all the magic.
Someone once told me that eye contact with a stranger meant there was some kind of a connection, that you should speak to that person. Basically that there was a reason for it. I don't know if I ever believed that but, I do believe shit happens for a reason. Who's reason? Fuck if I know, I don't think its God or some higher power, not sure its destiny, I kinda think that's a stretch, but I think there is some order to the chaos and disarray that is life. Not that it will always make sense, or be pleasant, or enjoyable, I just believe all the parts of our lives good and bad serve a purpose. I've got a million stories of really good times, trucker stories, house stories, NBJ stories, happy stories, sad stories but my favorite stories, the stories I rarely if ever tell, are the stories of Unicorns at their most beautiful moments. Everyone needs a light in the sky sometimes, a little Saint Elmos Fire to help them get by, a beautiful distraction from a harsh reality, hope. There are many people that sit at my table and they are all magically inclined, I can even levitate phones myself, but I sure as hell don't even hold a candle to the few Unicorns I've been lucky enough to invite for dinner. Hope is believing in magic, believing that what you see is really there, or really happening because some really talented mind trickster magician made it real, even if you think you know how he did it. Its magic, and you can't do it. I have hope, because I am not magic. I'm not a Unicorn, I'm a mess, a mess who can finally keep a plant alive(small personal victory), but still a mess, so I keep hoping and believing in creatures and people I see as inspiring and amazing because those are the fairy tales and people that keep me from giving up every time. Hope is why I believe in Unicorns even if it is the dumbest thing any one, ever, heard.
Its not just about the magical, mystical, horned creatures we all think of when someone says the word Unicorn. I mean hell yes, I'm all about those too, but there's an even more ridiculous part. Little girls are started on a steady diet of princess fairy tales, in one way or another from birth. I guess I needed something more magical than a prince and more attractive than a frog and the unicorn was born. They're the happy place that gets me through the worst of times. The one that told me to go home, when I'm 15, I ran away and I'm contemplating sleeping in a stairwell, like a dumbass. The one that picked up the phone and listened and told me I'd be fine, that first real night of driving a big truck, with a trainer who at the time scared the crap out of me, crying like a little bitch. The one I'd let sleep on a couch I don't even have and the one I'm glad got away. The people who've actually seen me, all of me, even if only for a second and gave me enough hope to hold on through whatever crappy thing had happened or was on the way. People don't realize the impact they have on you and it's so rare in our time, that we tell each other. There are not enough Unicorns in anyone's life these days, not enough magic and not enough hope. I expect so much of myself and yes, I have expectations of the people around me to be decent people, and yes, my moral fiber and honor code may be somewhat demented, but more important than any expectation, I hope. I hope and I believe that the very best people I meet in life become the people they were meant to be. There are few things that would stop us in our tracks, outside of an insane emergency or an alien landing, but a Unicorn, a horned horse, a person doesn't keep moving for that. They'd miss all the magic.
Someone once told me that eye contact with a stranger meant there was some kind of a connection, that you should speak to that person. Basically that there was a reason for it. I don't know if I ever believed that but, I do believe shit happens for a reason. Who's reason? Fuck if I know, I don't think its God or some higher power, not sure its destiny, I kinda think that's a stretch, but I think there is some order to the chaos and disarray that is life. Not that it will always make sense, or be pleasant, or enjoyable, I just believe all the parts of our lives good and bad serve a purpose. I've got a million stories of really good times, trucker stories, house stories, NBJ stories, happy stories, sad stories but my favorite stories, the stories I rarely if ever tell, are the stories of Unicorns at their most beautiful moments. Everyone needs a light in the sky sometimes, a little Saint Elmos Fire to help them get by, a beautiful distraction from a harsh reality, hope. There are many people that sit at my table and they are all magically inclined, I can even levitate phones myself, but I sure as hell don't even hold a candle to the few Unicorns I've been lucky enough to invite for dinner. Hope is believing in magic, believing that what you see is really there, or really happening because some really talented mind trickster magician made it real, even if you think you know how he did it. Its magic, and you can't do it. I have hope, because I am not magic. I'm not a Unicorn, I'm a mess, a mess who can finally keep a plant alive(small personal victory), but still a mess, so I keep hoping and believing in creatures and people I see as inspiring and amazing because those are the fairy tales and people that keep me from giving up every time. Hope is why I believe in Unicorns even if it is the dumbest thing any one, ever, heard.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
A House and a Harley on the moon...
When we were kids my Grandmother used to send us looking for rocks for this rock garden she was going to create in the back yard. I can't recall ever seeing my Grandmother do more than receive and water plants, nor did she ever create a rock garden. As a kid my fathers mother could do no wrong as an adult I think for her, watching us collect her rocks might have been something like a small scale version of the Egyptians and the slaves. She didn't treat us badly, she simply manipulated us into thinking we were building something beautiful. The rocks were probably still in the corner of the yard in milk crates when she sold that house.The lessons I learned from the Queen of Cards, heavy as those rocks but in their own way far more beautiful than any garden. She was poison dressed in chocolate, the dark kind, bitter and sweet, and dark as night. She was a lovely kind of cruel and like anyone I have my doubts that any 2 people really knew her the same. While she was dying I went through every picture book I could find, among the hundreds of old pictures I barely found ten where she was smiling, really smiling, before retirement. Even when she did start smiling, somewhere around 45 or 50 and the majority of those pictures where she is smiling, she was anywhere but here.
I've done so much of my smiling here and a little there and a whole lot of everywhere. I have so much smiling left to go and I wonder so many things about what my pictures will say to whoever goes through them when I die. I hope whoever gets that job gets a kick out of it all and I hope they knew me, all of me. Some where in the future there is someone who knows me inside and out, who I've told all of myself to and who will be there to go through the rough spots with me. My Grandmother was a few different people, to a few different people and to each she gave and was a different part of all of her.
Over these past few weeks of doctors appointments and politics and employment changes and just plain living, I've been forgetting and re-living and realizing so many new things about who I am and what I've come from. I'm not sure of anything but I am sure Its time to grow up. Not become some one else or anything, just a more adult version of myself, this will be an interesting ride, a strange new internal adventure. No one really knows how and when this adulthood and appointments and politics and money making really became the cornerstones of their lives. I submit that for some of us those stones were always there, for others of us they were a long time coming or a short time coming but we got there and for a few they will never be there.
A year from now I have goals and like all the ones that came before, I have no idea where they'll lead me. For the first time in a long time, I have goals, the broken winged dreams are flyin around again and makin a ruckus. For the second time in a lifetime I am ready to start checking things off of my list. Debts paid, lets do this, stay in the same home for a while, ok sure lets do that too, Money in savings, Car paid off, I'd love too. Work out every day, eat healthy be healthy, LIVE, hell yea, great idea. None of these goals are impossible, none of them outlandish or radical. They're reasonable, possibly even rational, maybe not so simple but all attainable.I am many different people, too many different people, but eventually I always get where I'm going. I smile because I love the people in my life, I smile because I'm taking a mental picture of the beautiful moments that are my life, and I smile because it confuses the hell out of strangers and friends alike. I am not always smiling and to some, I'm never smiling but to those who know me, really know me, I am exactly who I always was.
Who the fuck are you?
I've done so much of my smiling here and a little there and a whole lot of everywhere. I have so much smiling left to go and I wonder so many things about what my pictures will say to whoever goes through them when I die. I hope whoever gets that job gets a kick out of it all and I hope they knew me, all of me. Some where in the future there is someone who knows me inside and out, who I've told all of myself to and who will be there to go through the rough spots with me. My Grandmother was a few different people, to a few different people and to each she gave and was a different part of all of her.
Over these past few weeks of doctors appointments and politics and employment changes and just plain living, I've been forgetting and re-living and realizing so many new things about who I am and what I've come from. I'm not sure of anything but I am sure Its time to grow up. Not become some one else or anything, just a more adult version of myself, this will be an interesting ride, a strange new internal adventure. No one really knows how and when this adulthood and appointments and politics and money making really became the cornerstones of their lives. I submit that for some of us those stones were always there, for others of us they were a long time coming or a short time coming but we got there and for a few they will never be there.
A year from now I have goals and like all the ones that came before, I have no idea where they'll lead me. For the first time in a long time, I have goals, the broken winged dreams are flyin around again and makin a ruckus. For the second time in a lifetime I am ready to start checking things off of my list. Debts paid, lets do this, stay in the same home for a while, ok sure lets do that too, Money in savings, Car paid off, I'd love too. Work out every day, eat healthy be healthy, LIVE, hell yea, great idea. None of these goals are impossible, none of them outlandish or radical. They're reasonable, possibly even rational, maybe not so simple but all attainable.I am many different people, too many different people, but eventually I always get where I'm going. I smile because I love the people in my life, I smile because I'm taking a mental picture of the beautiful moments that are my life, and I smile because it confuses the hell out of strangers and friends alike. I am not always smiling and to some, I'm never smiling but to those who know me, really know me, I am exactly who I always was.
Who the fuck are you?
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Two boats and a Tarantino film in the making...
There's a story, or maybe its a joke, my mom tells. I'm probably going to butcher it, I'll do my best not to, but since I'm telling it I'm also gonna do it my way...
A man is on a roof after a bad storm because his city had flooded, he's praying for god (or as I call him Jeebus), to save him, and a boat comes by. The people in the boat say "Hey, Guy, jump down get in, lets go!" The man say's "No, it's cool you don't have much room in there, I'll be ok, save some women and children and such. God Jeebus will save me!" The folks in the boat argue a bit but eventually say ok and move on. The water is still rising and the man is still prayin on the roof when the next boat comes by. They have a few seats and the waters so high he can walk right in off the roof. Once again the people in the boat invite him in and once more the man says "No, Jeebus will save me!", and the boat floats on. Now it's getting dark and the man is clinging close to the chimney as the waters continue to rise, he hears a loud noise coming closer and then out of the sky, directly above him comes a bright light, its a bird, its a plane, JEEBUS HIMSELF? Nope a helicopter, from wich a rope ladder drops and a man on a microphone yells, "Hey, Hey you there, on the chimney, in the red suit, with the white trim, grab the ladder,you'll drown down there! GET TO THE CHOPPA, ITS THE ONLY WAY OOOOOUUUUT." The man clings tighter to the chimney shaking his head no and yelling something about some guy by the name Jeebus coming to pick him up with some other guy named Rudolph. Finally the copter has to go, and they do, leaving the crazy man to drown on the chimney.
The man gets to heaven after some screaming and flailing and demands to see god. God says to herself, and all the Angels, ~Well, this, I have got to hear, send this dude in. She nudges the Angel to her right and says watch this, and turns herself into Samuel L. Jackson, cuz come on what's not funny about that! The man looks at her and like a true american says, "God, Jeebus, I knew you were black! Seriously though? What the fuck? Why have you forsaken me? Why did you let me drown out there?!!!?" With this, God stands, laughing, she holds his face in her hands and says, as only Samuel L. Jackson could, "MOTHAFUCKA, I sent you TWO BOATS and a mothafuckin HELICOPTER, If you think I was gettin in that water myself, you were sadly mistaken. I don't fuckin swim!" She laughs and the angels laugh and she hugs the man and they all laugh and eat cake and that's that.
I guess the point is different in some way for every circumstance and every person. I mean I'm not much for Jeebus but I can definitely appreciate more and more as I grow, how important it is to keep your eyes and mind open. If at any point the man had thought outside the box of his expectation, he might not have drowned. Life changes every day. We make decisions based on expectations, based on lies, lies other people tell us, lies we tell ourselves. That man told himself god would save him, to the point he actually believed the sky would open and god would carry him to dry ground. Instead he got a prankster in the sky. It wasn't what he expected. The boats, the helicopter he didn't accept those and he didn't expect to see the pearly gates or Mr Jackson that day, but shit happens. If he'd had the chance for a do over, I bet the man would have hopped right in the first boat, said thanks, and been livin high off the insurance money to a ripe old age. But life is short, we don't always get second chances and I'd rather see Tarantino do a short film of my AMAZING version of this story. My point? If ya miss the boat, please for Sams sake, get to the choppa people, it's the only way out!
A man is on a roof after a bad storm because his city had flooded, he's praying for god (or as I call him Jeebus), to save him, and a boat comes by. The people in the boat say "Hey, Guy, jump down get in, lets go!" The man say's "No, it's cool you don't have much room in there, I'll be ok, save some women and children and such. God Jeebus will save me!" The folks in the boat argue a bit but eventually say ok and move on. The water is still rising and the man is still prayin on the roof when the next boat comes by. They have a few seats and the waters so high he can walk right in off the roof. Once again the people in the boat invite him in and once more the man says "No, Jeebus will save me!", and the boat floats on. Now it's getting dark and the man is clinging close to the chimney as the waters continue to rise, he hears a loud noise coming closer and then out of the sky, directly above him comes a bright light, its a bird, its a plane, JEEBUS HIMSELF? Nope a helicopter, from wich a rope ladder drops and a man on a microphone yells, "Hey, Hey you there, on the chimney, in the red suit, with the white trim, grab the ladder,you'll drown down there! GET TO THE CHOPPA, ITS THE ONLY WAY OOOOOUUUUT." The man clings tighter to the chimney shaking his head no and yelling something about some guy by the name Jeebus coming to pick him up with some other guy named Rudolph. Finally the copter has to go, and they do, leaving the crazy man to drown on the chimney.
The man gets to heaven after some screaming and flailing and demands to see god. God says to herself, and all the Angels, ~Well, this, I have got to hear, send this dude in. She nudges the Angel to her right and says watch this, and turns herself into Samuel L. Jackson, cuz come on what's not funny about that! The man looks at her and like a true american says, "God, Jeebus, I knew you were black! Seriously though? What the fuck? Why have you forsaken me? Why did you let me drown out there?!!!?" With this, God stands, laughing, she holds his face in her hands and says, as only Samuel L. Jackson could, "MOTHAFUCKA, I sent you TWO BOATS and a mothafuckin HELICOPTER, If you think I was gettin in that water myself, you were sadly mistaken. I don't fuckin swim!" She laughs and the angels laugh and she hugs the man and they all laugh and eat cake and that's that.
I guess the point is different in some way for every circumstance and every person. I mean I'm not much for Jeebus but I can definitely appreciate more and more as I grow, how important it is to keep your eyes and mind open. If at any point the man had thought outside the box of his expectation, he might not have drowned. Life changes every day. We make decisions based on expectations, based on lies, lies other people tell us, lies we tell ourselves. That man told himself god would save him, to the point he actually believed the sky would open and god would carry him to dry ground. Instead he got a prankster in the sky. It wasn't what he expected. The boats, the helicopter he didn't accept those and he didn't expect to see the pearly gates or Mr Jackson that day, but shit happens. If he'd had the chance for a do over, I bet the man would have hopped right in the first boat, said thanks, and been livin high off the insurance money to a ripe old age. But life is short, we don't always get second chances and I'd rather see Tarantino do a short film of my AMAZING version of this story. My point? If ya miss the boat, please for Sams sake, get to the choppa people, it's the only way out!
Friday, June 29, 2012
Discovering the religion of ink and the importance of 2 wings.
I was 18 when I got my first tattoo, I wanted a phoenix, so I got one. It was the beginning of a healing that will probably be a lifelong work in progress. The asshole I was with at the time hated the idea, it was against his religion. As was sex, drugs and rock and roll, more or less, I was against his religion. The tongue ring I got earlier in that relationship, while he made fun of my slurred speech the first few weeks, he thoroughly approved of, but the tattoo was sure to cause a fight. By this time in the relationship I knew it would be ending soon and maybe this was my way to celebrate the best decision of my life, maybe I was just looking to start the end with a clear message. I guess it really doesn't matter but to this day it is one of my favorites. I picked it out of a book of flash and asked the artist to make a few changes, a good friend was with me and I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd seen friends get tattoos and watched my father get work done. I remember sitting in the chair hearing the buzz as it was about to begin and focusing on the Alice Cooper poster. I sat as still as I possibly could and focused on the poster, a few times I know I thought about how pissed the asshole was going to be and cracked a smile. I remember thinking I'm gonna be ok and breathing more calmly and freely than I had in months before that piece in time and at one point I remember the artist asking me if I was breathing. I just laughed and said yes. I had never felt as free and sure of myself and relaxed as I did that day, in that chair, knowing I was going my own way. Among the many things the asshole had told me I would never do a tattoo had been one of my earliest concessions. My tattoos since then each have stories of their own, I've got alot of eyes watching over me and plenty of thoughts for the empty spaces but that one is the closest to my heart.
I am learning to expect less of people I love who haven't lived my life. I am learning slowly that everyone believes they understand and while some people do, most don't. You cannot fully explain to anyone who hasn't lived it what it is like to wake up with someone licking your face, holding you down with his dick inside you. I mean clearly, I've just described it but that doesn't mean you know or understand what its like to crawl back inside yourself and watch this happen to you from some outside level of existance. You may have an idea what its like to pretend your asleep but I have my doubts that the majority of people know the thoughts that go through someones head while they allow someone to do this while they simply lie there and play dead so to minimize the other persons enjoyment and keep from having to open their eyes to the reality of that nightly nightmare. While there are plenty of people who can relate and plenty of people who do actually understand, they are not concentrated to only eachother, they don't flock solely to eachother and even when they do they rarely break out the skeletons that feed their sadness.
The worst things that have happened to us make us the strongest and teach us the most and what that time in my life continues to teach me is that I am stronger than the worst things to come my way. I will always come back stronger from the things that hurt the most and it's that knowledge that means the difference between laying down and getting back up. I've had a broken wing and maybe thats part of why I don't fly straight but every break must heal. The people in my life who need justifications and continual explanations of my feelings and actions this long after the fact. These are the same people who look in the mirror too long and still can't see themselves. These are the same people who say I understand, but..., and these are the people I can't keep fighting to keep in my life simply because I love them. When I open my closet and count my skeletons I am the one who has the memories flood back and anyone who wants to step inside my head and dig around my closet had better be ready to see the grass burning. No two people honestly have the same vision of what hell is, for me, it was a long time ago and I'm not goin back. I will never respect any group, religion person or idea that could send another person home to tell the person they "love" that they are going to hell for having sex and then rape them 6 hours later on a regular basis. I can respect myself enough not to keep company with people I don't respect and I can love myself enough to not continue to give people power they don't deserve. I may not respect those people who I feel had a chance to help but I don't hate them, I more or less feel sad that they believe they were helping while they were actually fueling the actions of a sociopath.
There has been a shift over the last few years in my outlook on my past and I really have no desire to continue dredging the waters just to bring up more pain. There is a place where you realize now is far more pertinent than then. Some asshole told me once I'd never go to college, drive trucks, go to broadcasting school, drink, be with a girl, get a tattoo, see my Goddaughter and a few other things. I have no idea what that piece of shit is doing right now, but I do know in ten years I've done all the things he said I wouldn't except one and I'm pretty sure the naked lady on my leg and I get to be proud of that. No apologies, no regrets.
I am learning to expect less of people I love who haven't lived my life. I am learning slowly that everyone believes they understand and while some people do, most don't. You cannot fully explain to anyone who hasn't lived it what it is like to wake up with someone licking your face, holding you down with his dick inside you. I mean clearly, I've just described it but that doesn't mean you know or understand what its like to crawl back inside yourself and watch this happen to you from some outside level of existance. You may have an idea what its like to pretend your asleep but I have my doubts that the majority of people know the thoughts that go through someones head while they allow someone to do this while they simply lie there and play dead so to minimize the other persons enjoyment and keep from having to open their eyes to the reality of that nightly nightmare. While there are plenty of people who can relate and plenty of people who do actually understand, they are not concentrated to only eachother, they don't flock solely to eachother and even when they do they rarely break out the skeletons that feed their sadness.
The worst things that have happened to us make us the strongest and teach us the most and what that time in my life continues to teach me is that I am stronger than the worst things to come my way. I will always come back stronger from the things that hurt the most and it's that knowledge that means the difference between laying down and getting back up. I've had a broken wing and maybe thats part of why I don't fly straight but every break must heal. The people in my life who need justifications and continual explanations of my feelings and actions this long after the fact. These are the same people who look in the mirror too long and still can't see themselves. These are the same people who say I understand, but..., and these are the people I can't keep fighting to keep in my life simply because I love them. When I open my closet and count my skeletons I am the one who has the memories flood back and anyone who wants to step inside my head and dig around my closet had better be ready to see the grass burning. No two people honestly have the same vision of what hell is, for me, it was a long time ago and I'm not goin back. I will never respect any group, religion person or idea that could send another person home to tell the person they "love" that they are going to hell for having sex and then rape them 6 hours later on a regular basis. I can respect myself enough not to keep company with people I don't respect and I can love myself enough to not continue to give people power they don't deserve. I may not respect those people who I feel had a chance to help but I don't hate them, I more or less feel sad that they believe they were helping while they were actually fueling the actions of a sociopath.
There has been a shift over the last few years in my outlook on my past and I really have no desire to continue dredging the waters just to bring up more pain. There is a place where you realize now is far more pertinent than then. Some asshole told me once I'd never go to college, drive trucks, go to broadcasting school, drink, be with a girl, get a tattoo, see my Goddaughter and a few other things. I have no idea what that piece of shit is doing right now, but I do know in ten years I've done all the things he said I wouldn't except one and I'm pretty sure the naked lady on my leg and I get to be proud of that. No apologies, no regrets.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
What about the children?
Over the years I've been asked countless times by new friends and even a few strangers if my parents are still together. With the places and adventures I've had, a good amount of these people were truckers and southerners amazed at the idea of a biracial couple surviving the daily criticism and social taboo of race mixing. Here in the northeast, now in 2012, it is fairly commonplace. We don't think about it, we don't dwell on it, it is what it is. We tend to take for granted the idea that people of a different color can and do flock together, make lives, car payments, cake, babies, love, together. By choice, by ignorance, by accident, we forget that the urge to share and partner and copulate with someone other than ourselves is as natural as our skin or the sex parts we happen to be born with. We go about our daily lives thinking our struggle is so much harder than those that came before us. We live blind to the experiences that put the person next to us wherever we may be. We don't ask eachother to share our life stories by a fireside and we don't really want to know. Unless you're like me and you do, sometimes, and so you ask. Four in five times that will get a long drawn out story about some shit you didn't expect nor did you really want to know. One in five times you get suprised with awesomeness and that is worth the risk. Mostly. My family is larger than my bloodline might have you think and my past is littered with judgements from inside and outside of that family, but I am ever impressed by my parents ability to give their children the best tools to survive the choppy waters and hard questions and looks from those without the sense to see past their skin and our burnt sienna crayons.
About a year maybe two, before she died, my Grandmother and I were discussing a news story about a lesbian couple in wich the Butch or more masculine of the couple was carrying their child because hir partner could not. To me this was the ultimate act of love and a beautiful selfless thing. To my Grandmother this was, at best, an abomination. In a heated arguement with a dying woman I quickly realized how hard my parents must have had it and how fortunate my sibling and I had been to even be alive. She said with the disapproving tone and I quote, " The poor children".Her stance (summerized) was that the parents would be different and so the children would be different and their lives would all be hell. She felt this was fine for the parents but they should not bring children into a world they could not assimilate to. At wich point I lost it. Yes, with an elderly dying woman, I lost my shit and soon uncovered a truth I spent my life choosing to bury in the arsenal of dirt I knew about my Grandmother. "Grandmother, I am the children of differentMy life is not hell, hard at times but that has made me stronger. There is nothing wrong with different, my life is not hell, hard at times but that has made me stronger. There is nothing wrong with different, I am different, I am proud of that and what you're saying is that my parents should not have had us..."
How much deeper and farther that conversation cut is between me and a dead women but the point is my parents love eachother just as that couple loved eachother. As one of three products of that love I will always be thankful that my parents dared to be different, before it was commonplace, before it didn't matter so much. Love is not an easy thing under the best of circumstances, it doesn't bend to appease the masses or adjust for optimal comfort, but it does give us the chance to grow and learn and become better with the help of a good partner.
I am black and I am white, I was not stolen or adopted, I am weird, I am different and my mommy and daddy love the hell out of me and I them. Happy 32nd Anniversary to the white lady and black guy also known as Mothadear and Papabear that made me. Thanks for turning out ok.
About a year maybe two, before she died, my Grandmother and I were discussing a news story about a lesbian couple in wich the Butch or more masculine of the couple was carrying their child because hir partner could not. To me this was the ultimate act of love and a beautiful selfless thing. To my Grandmother this was, at best, an abomination. In a heated arguement with a dying woman I quickly realized how hard my parents must have had it and how fortunate my sibling and I had been to even be alive. She said with the disapproving tone and I quote, " The poor children".Her stance (summerized) was that the parents would be different and so the children would be different and their lives would all be hell. She felt this was fine for the parents but they should not bring children into a world they could not assimilate to. At wich point I lost it. Yes, with an elderly dying woman, I lost my shit and soon uncovered a truth I spent my life choosing to bury in the arsenal of dirt I knew about my Grandmother. "Grandmother, I am the children of differentMy life is not hell, hard at times but that has made me stronger. There is nothing wrong with different, my life is not hell, hard at times but that has made me stronger. There is nothing wrong with different, I am different, I am proud of that and what you're saying is that my parents should not have had us..."
How much deeper and farther that conversation cut is between me and a dead women but the point is my parents love eachother just as that couple loved eachother. As one of three products of that love I will always be thankful that my parents dared to be different, before it was commonplace, before it didn't matter so much. Love is not an easy thing under the best of circumstances, it doesn't bend to appease the masses or adjust for optimal comfort, but it does give us the chance to grow and learn and become better with the help of a good partner.
I am black and I am white, I was not stolen or adopted, I am weird, I am different and my mommy and daddy love the hell out of me and I them. Happy 32nd Anniversary to the white lady and black guy also known as Mothadear and Papabear that made me. Thanks for turning out ok.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Nodody shits in sinks anymore...
There are people in this world who know things about you, not bad things, not good things, just things. Those people just kind of feel it, they can touch it and reach you in a place very few people even see. These are the people you never forget. The first time I met one of those people he was tellin nigger jokes and could have gone swimming in his own pants. He made no apologies for his jokes once made aware of my ethnicity, I think he actually told a few more and for that I will always be grateful. We were'nt best friends but we were friends. There are a million stories that could be told about this character that was the NBJ himself. I'll only tell you a few. We were kids and we were dumb and we had fun. I saved his life once. Ok, maybe not saved his life but that pale fucker would have drowned in his own vomit on my parents front lawn if I hadn't hosed him down that night. It was Beefeater Gin and koolaid that did it and we'd both had a good amount. We were sitting in the back of my dads work truck with blankets and a few of us were hangin out. I was grounded for life and couldn't go out but could hang out outside if people came over. Occasionally people brought me things, that night it was Gin. My parents were out and shortly before they arrived home we realized our friend had passed out on the lawn when he had gone to throw up earlier. He was passed out in his own fucking vomit. I kicked him a few times then resorted to the hose. He jumped up when the cold water hit him and we laughed like idiots, he thanked me for savin his life, and I think my parents came home and everyone left.
I was grounded most of my highschool career. People came to visit and once in a while I'd be granted freedom but I don't think many people came to visit and hang out as often as the NBJ, he came and ate my mothers hot dogs - raw. He came and searched the couch cushions for change and once or twice I think he even helped my mother bring in groceries. He also answered our phone "Stratford abortion clinic, you rape em, we scrape em" at least once before gettin hit with the receiver for answering the phone in the first place. I can only assume his reasons for being at my house so often were that he got kicked out of his best friends house and mine was the closest. Whatever the reason I'm glad. He used to pretend to be running in front of cars and then fly back like you hit him but you were parked, and yea we were possibly, maybe, under the influence of tai food but for such a scrawny shit he sure made a thud and it was a simple kind of hilarious that most people seem to forget as they grow old. He also threw matches at me more than once and made fairly amusing jokes about what countries my tits could feed, but hey, no one is perfect. He was one of the few friends I never had a crush on and he always seemed to understand why I loved the things I did about the people he knew were more than just a crush. He carried a doorknob with him and was the first person I had ever heard use words like twatwaffle, grundelbisquit, and my personal favorite slampig, he said them as if they were the first words he'd ever learned and it was priceless to watch him talk shit. One morning after staying overnight at a friends house I woke up to him trying to break in through the window. He had plenty of jokes about the bed I was in but they were funny so I went and opened the door for him. When I left that day he and his best friend had taken a little joyride in the household car. When I got back a few hours later they were still gone and shortly before an adult came home you heard the car screech as they turned down the street and pulled in just in time. If I remember correctly they lost a hubcap somewhere upon entry but they made it just in time.
He almost caught me once while fishing for idiots. I was on my way into Dunkin Donuts for coffee and I saw a dollar. I stopped and considered picking it up, nearly went for it before remembering he liked to watch people chase the dollars and recalled that he hadn't gotten up to say hello to me just waved from the wall. Kelly on the other hand bent to go after it before I stopped her and pointed out the string attached to the dollar being held by the NBJ. Another Dunkin Donuts night he was running to the car to say hello. I opened the car door and got Hi Miiiiiii out of my mouth before vomitting. He helped me out of the car and walked with me to get coffee wich was more than the person who had driven me there was willing to do. It's shit like that you remember about a person, if they're doing anything right. He was a dick, but he had his moments and they were some really good ones. Six years is not quite as long as I knew him but it is as long as I've missed him and his inappropriate antics. I'm going to miss him for the better part of a lifetime and he is missing the better part of our lifetime. He wasn't my best friend but he was a good friend and I'm still angry he's not here to see the men and fathers, women and mothers his friends have grown to be and he's not here to make us laugh on our bad days, or meet our significant others with stories of our youth. He left us and for that, if there is a heaven or a summerland, and if I get there, one scrawny motherfuckin white dude with glowsticks and springs for earrings better be wearing a titanium cup to protect him from the nut shot I will be greeting him with.
I was grounded most of my highschool career. People came to visit and once in a while I'd be granted freedom but I don't think many people came to visit and hang out as often as the NBJ, he came and ate my mothers hot dogs - raw. He came and searched the couch cushions for change and once or twice I think he even helped my mother bring in groceries. He also answered our phone "Stratford abortion clinic, you rape em, we scrape em" at least once before gettin hit with the receiver for answering the phone in the first place. I can only assume his reasons for being at my house so often were that he got kicked out of his best friends house and mine was the closest. Whatever the reason I'm glad. He used to pretend to be running in front of cars and then fly back like you hit him but you were parked, and yea we were possibly, maybe, under the influence of tai food but for such a scrawny shit he sure made a thud and it was a simple kind of hilarious that most people seem to forget as they grow old. He also threw matches at me more than once and made fairly amusing jokes about what countries my tits could feed, but hey, no one is perfect. He was one of the few friends I never had a crush on and he always seemed to understand why I loved the things I did about the people he knew were more than just a crush. He carried a doorknob with him and was the first person I had ever heard use words like twatwaffle, grundelbisquit, and my personal favorite slampig, he said them as if they were the first words he'd ever learned and it was priceless to watch him talk shit. One morning after staying overnight at a friends house I woke up to him trying to break in through the window. He had plenty of jokes about the bed I was in but they were funny so I went and opened the door for him. When I left that day he and his best friend had taken a little joyride in the household car. When I got back a few hours later they were still gone and shortly before an adult came home you heard the car screech as they turned down the street and pulled in just in time. If I remember correctly they lost a hubcap somewhere upon entry but they made it just in time.
He almost caught me once while fishing for idiots. I was on my way into Dunkin Donuts for coffee and I saw a dollar. I stopped and considered picking it up, nearly went for it before remembering he liked to watch people chase the dollars and recalled that he hadn't gotten up to say hello to me just waved from the wall. Kelly on the other hand bent to go after it before I stopped her and pointed out the string attached to the dollar being held by the NBJ. Another Dunkin Donuts night he was running to the car to say hello. I opened the car door and got Hi Miiiiiii out of my mouth before vomitting. He helped me out of the car and walked with me to get coffee wich was more than the person who had driven me there was willing to do. It's shit like that you remember about a person, if they're doing anything right. He was a dick, but he had his moments and they were some really good ones. Six years is not quite as long as I knew him but it is as long as I've missed him and his inappropriate antics. I'm going to miss him for the better part of a lifetime and he is missing the better part of our lifetime. He wasn't my best friend but he was a good friend and I'm still angry he's not here to see the men and fathers, women and mothers his friends have grown to be and he's not here to make us laugh on our bad days, or meet our significant others with stories of our youth. He left us and for that, if there is a heaven or a summerland, and if I get there, one scrawny motherfuckin white dude with glowsticks and springs for earrings better be wearing a titanium cup to protect him from the nut shot I will be greeting him with.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Make it sound good, REAL good...
My 21st birthday started about an hour before I officially turned 21, we went to a bar called Helwigs and aside from that I mostly remember only the highlights. I know my Shoe was there, I know Sweet Dee was bartending, I know the same guy that pierced my nipples bought me my last ever shot of Jager and I know when the bar closed I was on the phone with a friend and screaming for the bikers parked in front to "Make it sound good, make it sound real good!". I know Shoe drove my car home and me in my short skirt and lowcut top hung out the passenger window pretty much the whole way home and I know I slept on the beach that night. I celebrated that particular birthday for 7 days and 7 nights and I remember enough to know it was a good fuckin week, much like a fair amount of weeks that year.
I lived in the house with some of the best people I will ever know, we partied like rockstars, fought like family, and once in a while someone did the dishes or I broke them, point is we had a good time bein young and dumb.
Of the 15 or so places I've lived in the last ten years that house of crazy was one of my best bad decisions. If the walls of that house could talk they would tell you the best of secrets and the worst of truths and all the really funny shit in between. Those idiots blew up a toilet once, they also drank beer in the shower and shot eachother and me with pellet guns among other things. We had theme parties, break shit parties, shot parties and even once or twice just an impromptu, plain old, party. We relaxed and enjoyed just plain livin and we fought and laughed and this is all starting to sound like a much nicer version than I thought I'd remember when the lease was up.
The thing about the past is it gets easier to look at and easier to fade out the bad. The bad, I was a whore, I threw a cat once, one of the most epic fights I ever had. Yes, I threw that mother fuckin cat after pulling a large sharp object out of a drawer, after throwing a penguin, after having a coconut thrown at my shin, in a room full of people who sat speechless. What no one knew was late at night when no one was around I used to comb that cat and clean his litter and make sure he was fed, granted I still threw the cat.~RIP Jerry. Back to the whore part, I brought home more dudes than any of the boys brought home girls, and I sent them all home right after.(Don't worry Mom, Dad condoms are a gals best friend!) Now, a few things I can hear being questioned right about now and you have to keep in mind, 1) I am the worst lez ever. 2) Yes, my parents read my blog and 3) No, I'm not ashamed of where I've been. My past is more than what the interwebs knows about me and any one who knows me could probably tell you much worse than this anyways. The point, I told a good amount of people ~ If they were gone when I got back from the shower that would be great.
The other thing about the past is its passed, it's not comin back around like Big Ben, it's not a place you want to live and it's not worth holding all that tight. Freedom comes with knowing that. Freedom comes in recognizing your biggest mistakes and making them into future victories and sometimes all it takes is a glance back at who you were to remember who you are. My 21st birthday I asked for my favorite people to be in the same place and somehow, the Friday night of my 7 day celebration, even if only for a short while, most of them were. I was late to my own party, my aunt took me out drinkin first to Alphas, then Rays, then home, where one of the boys asked me who the hot chick was, where Crouse sent me on a really good trip and at some point we had a topless congo line. I was fun once ya know! I am fuckin happiest when the people I love are, well, around. Is that all there is to take from that though? Two of the people there that day are dead, many of the people there that day I haven't seen in years and the ones that count are still around.
The things we do that remind us of the worst of who we used to be can be the best tools for stopping the replay. All the showers I took no one ever stayed or came back around, they never counted. The choices I've made are mine and the people that have stayed in my life, they're my people and the ones that didn't, they're my past. What the hell does any of this mean? Means today I wanted to remember. I drove trucks to be tall, I went to broadcasting school to find out who lived in the radio and I live like I do because objects in motion tend to stay in motion and the last time I let someone stop me I ended up in the shower. You figure it out, I'm goin to watch the sun go down...
I lived in the house with some of the best people I will ever know, we partied like rockstars, fought like family, and once in a while someone did the dishes or I broke them, point is we had a good time bein young and dumb.
Of the 15 or so places I've lived in the last ten years that house of crazy was one of my best bad decisions. If the walls of that house could talk they would tell you the best of secrets and the worst of truths and all the really funny shit in between. Those idiots blew up a toilet once, they also drank beer in the shower and shot eachother and me with pellet guns among other things. We had theme parties, break shit parties, shot parties and even once or twice just an impromptu, plain old, party. We relaxed and enjoyed just plain livin and we fought and laughed and this is all starting to sound like a much nicer version than I thought I'd remember when the lease was up.
The thing about the past is it gets easier to look at and easier to fade out the bad. The bad, I was a whore, I threw a cat once, one of the most epic fights I ever had. Yes, I threw that mother fuckin cat after pulling a large sharp object out of a drawer, after throwing a penguin, after having a coconut thrown at my shin, in a room full of people who sat speechless. What no one knew was late at night when no one was around I used to comb that cat and clean his litter and make sure he was fed, granted I still threw the cat.~RIP Jerry. Back to the whore part, I brought home more dudes than any of the boys brought home girls, and I sent them all home right after.(Don't worry Mom, Dad condoms are a gals best friend!) Now, a few things I can hear being questioned right about now and you have to keep in mind, 1) I am the worst lez ever. 2) Yes, my parents read my blog and 3) No, I'm not ashamed of where I've been. My past is more than what the interwebs knows about me and any one who knows me could probably tell you much worse than this anyways. The point, I told a good amount of people ~ If they were gone when I got back from the shower that would be great.
The other thing about the past is its passed, it's not comin back around like Big Ben, it's not a place you want to live and it's not worth holding all that tight. Freedom comes with knowing that. Freedom comes in recognizing your biggest mistakes and making them into future victories and sometimes all it takes is a glance back at who you were to remember who you are. My 21st birthday I asked for my favorite people to be in the same place and somehow, the Friday night of my 7 day celebration, even if only for a short while, most of them were. I was late to my own party, my aunt took me out drinkin first to Alphas, then Rays, then home, where one of the boys asked me who the hot chick was, where Crouse sent me on a really good trip and at some point we had a topless congo line. I was fun once ya know! I am fuckin happiest when the people I love are, well, around. Is that all there is to take from that though? Two of the people there that day are dead, many of the people there that day I haven't seen in years and the ones that count are still around.
The things we do that remind us of the worst of who we used to be can be the best tools for stopping the replay. All the showers I took no one ever stayed or came back around, they never counted. The choices I've made are mine and the people that have stayed in my life, they're my people and the ones that didn't, they're my past. What the hell does any of this mean? Means today I wanted to remember. I drove trucks to be tall, I went to broadcasting school to find out who lived in the radio and I live like I do because objects in motion tend to stay in motion and the last time I let someone stop me I ended up in the shower. You figure it out, I'm goin to watch the sun go down...
Monday, April 2, 2012
A tarnished star, and the rule of thumb...
In the first few minutes of the movie Boondock Saints there is a scene where a woman firmly explains the history of the phrase "rule of thumb". The scene - awesome, the movie - amazing, My reason for bringing it up? The woman played by Dot Marie Jones (Google her) has a tattoo that says "Untouched by man." The first time I saw this I was 19 maybe 20 and had no idea there was more out there than what you learn in school or among childhood friends. Years later I know bath houses really do exist, neither black nor white likes a bi-racial truck drivin girl in the state of Mississippi and there is far more to the world than this tiny sliver of life here in Connecticut or anything we will ever learn by stayin in one place too long. Somewhere in my travels I learned there was significance to that scene, a relevance that goes unnoticed, and maybe it's only me that makes the connection but I somehow doubt it and now you'll think of this when you see it wether you agree or not.
Fun Fact: A Gold star lesbian is a lesbian who has never had sex with a man - untouched by man - biblically.
Last night in a room filled with a majority of trendy, modern day, lesbian seagulls, I realized how little I fit. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking awesome in my own tarnished chrome kind of way but much like I was never black enough for the black kids as a kid, I'm not sure I will ever be lez enough for the lesbians as an adult. One might attribute that to the approximately 1/5 female to male partner ratio but only friends know the specifics on those statistics, so, really it must be me right? Even so, in a room with shiny gold stars its intimidating to be the not so shiny one, but thats life isn't it? No ones really that fuckin shiny anyways.
I knew at an early age I liked both girls and boys, I knew at a later age that sometimes, sometimes we do what is easy rather than what honestly feels good or right and I know now that my attractions to both has little to do with physical form and everything to do with personality and possibility. I don't know that I've ever really looked at people as their parts but more as the sparkle in their eyes and the heart that fuels them. I see potential and I see something indescribably amazing in a handful of people and personality types and I could get lost in that, like really lost in that. This kind of lost leaves no space for registering what sexual parts a person has, the time wasted evaluating that is about 6 months and it gets messy. The point is lately more and more I can see how for me, its not what I see that turns me on, but who I see and if I am really honest with myself , fuck the details.
In a room full of people lastnight three people knew my name when I left, the 2 folk lovin, Falcon Ridge goin, hippie dudes with kids my age (Thanks for the beer guys!) and Chris Pureka. While if she remembers it the next time I see her I will be amazed and even more ridiculous over her, I don't imagine she's writing love songs about meeting me. The thing is I'm still not quite sure how I managed to not lose my mind. With the simple act of buying a tshirt turning into a discussion with someone else in front of the aformentioned folk singer about how great my boobs would look in said tshirt and then going back later to get a postcard for my collection only to find that she remembered my name. There is something about the way someone your attracted to says your name. There's this millisecond that feels like forever in the best way where you stop, breathe and tell yourself not to act a fool. It's possible this only happens to me but I'm fairly certain everyone has something that triggers the stop, breathe, don't act a fool reaction when done by someone they're into. For me its hearing my name come out of their mouth, that and watching them wash dishes. Don't laugh at me, to see someone I want (-biblically -) wash my dishes, it's like Halloween, Mardi Gras, New years and my 21st Birthday all combined into one really fuckin awesome 4th of July firework show ~ in my lady parts. I digress...
What I'm getting at here, I'm not even sure I have a clue anymore. I guess what it is, is that all the unladylike behavior thats created some of my best stories from the bedroom don't amount to but maybe two sexual situations where I can say I felt truly right and honestly beautiful. (The ratio on that is one to one, female to male for anyone workin the math on this.) I can count those moments, add the times someone has made me feel lost in that good way, and still have somewhere between 3 and 5 fingers left out of 10. As I grow so does my interest in feeling, that feeling, that way, for more than just a fleeting sexual moment. It's taken too long for me to accept that I don't have to choose a sexual preference, I simply have to recognize that maybe no one else can understand what it is that really turns me on about the people I'm attracted too. Those people being Butch of either male or female parts and if you need that explained by all means ask but there is just not enough room here to get into that statement in full. For space I will simply quote S. Bear Bergman "Butch is a noun, and an adjective, and a verb...", read the whole book, its amazing (and not too long).
Above and beyond sex at this strange stage in my life, I prefer the beauty of the verbally triggered orgasm and the intensity of knowing just how fast my heart is beating and hoping they have no idea, and then maybe hoping they do. I'd rather this than the sex with the lights out, hiding every detail of who we are. I want to see and be seen, I prefer the idea that maybe the person who makes me laugh and smile and calms me down with even just a small understanding of my awkwardness, might be someone who can wait to fuck me. A gentleman, a true Butch and worth the time it takes to find them. I am a Femme, I am a tarnished star and I might not be the lady you think I am but I'm ok with that. I'm wearing the tshirt now by the way and my tits look AMAZING in it, no bra! One of a million great stories of my adventures!
It was blind intuition that drew me to you, you were a miracle of sadness ~ Chris Pureka, Shipwreck
Fun Fact: A Gold star lesbian is a lesbian who has never had sex with a man - untouched by man - biblically.
Last night in a room filled with a majority of trendy, modern day, lesbian seagulls, I realized how little I fit. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking awesome in my own tarnished chrome kind of way but much like I was never black enough for the black kids as a kid, I'm not sure I will ever be lez enough for the lesbians as an adult. One might attribute that to the approximately 1/5 female to male partner ratio but only friends know the specifics on those statistics, so, really it must be me right? Even so, in a room with shiny gold stars its intimidating to be the not so shiny one, but thats life isn't it? No ones really that fuckin shiny anyways.
I knew at an early age I liked both girls and boys, I knew at a later age that sometimes, sometimes we do what is easy rather than what honestly feels good or right and I know now that my attractions to both has little to do with physical form and everything to do with personality and possibility. I don't know that I've ever really looked at people as their parts but more as the sparkle in their eyes and the heart that fuels them. I see potential and I see something indescribably amazing in a handful of people and personality types and I could get lost in that, like really lost in that. This kind of lost leaves no space for registering what sexual parts a person has, the time wasted evaluating that is about 6 months and it gets messy. The point is lately more and more I can see how for me, its not what I see that turns me on, but who I see and if I am really honest with myself , fuck the details.
In a room full of people lastnight three people knew my name when I left, the 2 folk lovin, Falcon Ridge goin, hippie dudes with kids my age (Thanks for the beer guys!) and Chris Pureka. While if she remembers it the next time I see her I will be amazed and even more ridiculous over her, I don't imagine she's writing love songs about meeting me. The thing is I'm still not quite sure how I managed to not lose my mind. With the simple act of buying a tshirt turning into a discussion with someone else in front of the aformentioned folk singer about how great my boobs would look in said tshirt and then going back later to get a postcard for my collection only to find that she remembered my name. There is something about the way someone your attracted to says your name. There's this millisecond that feels like forever in the best way where you stop, breathe and tell yourself not to act a fool. It's possible this only happens to me but I'm fairly certain everyone has something that triggers the stop, breathe, don't act a fool reaction when done by someone they're into. For me its hearing my name come out of their mouth, that and watching them wash dishes. Don't laugh at me, to see someone I want (-biblically -) wash my dishes, it's like Halloween, Mardi Gras, New years and my 21st Birthday all combined into one really fuckin awesome 4th of July firework show ~ in my lady parts. I digress...
What I'm getting at here, I'm not even sure I have a clue anymore. I guess what it is, is that all the unladylike behavior thats created some of my best stories from the bedroom don't amount to but maybe two sexual situations where I can say I felt truly right and honestly beautiful. (The ratio on that is one to one, female to male for anyone workin the math on this.) I can count those moments, add the times someone has made me feel lost in that good way, and still have somewhere between 3 and 5 fingers left out of 10. As I grow so does my interest in feeling, that feeling, that way, for more than just a fleeting sexual moment. It's taken too long for me to accept that I don't have to choose a sexual preference, I simply have to recognize that maybe no one else can understand what it is that really turns me on about the people I'm attracted too. Those people being Butch of either male or female parts and if you need that explained by all means ask but there is just not enough room here to get into that statement in full. For space I will simply quote S. Bear Bergman "Butch is a noun, and an adjective, and a verb...", read the whole book, its amazing (and not too long).
Above and beyond sex at this strange stage in my life, I prefer the beauty of the verbally triggered orgasm and the intensity of knowing just how fast my heart is beating and hoping they have no idea, and then maybe hoping they do. I'd rather this than the sex with the lights out, hiding every detail of who we are. I want to see and be seen, I prefer the idea that maybe the person who makes me laugh and smile and calms me down with even just a small understanding of my awkwardness, might be someone who can wait to fuck me. A gentleman, a true Butch and worth the time it takes to find them. I am a Femme, I am a tarnished star and I might not be the lady you think I am but I'm ok with that. I'm wearing the tshirt now by the way and my tits look AMAZING in it, no bra! One of a million great stories of my adventures!
It was blind intuition that drew me to you, you were a miracle of sadness ~ Chris Pureka, Shipwreck
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Ever been hit with a bag of Spaghetti?
Maybe I was in the kitchen, but I think I was in my room and drawn out only to be rudely suprised by a bag of spaghetti to the head. I don't remember all of that time in my life clearly but I do remember it fondly. You learn alot living in a house full of guys, then again you learn alot just by living. I've done a shitload of really dumb things and had ALOT of fun doing all of them and while I now recognize just how dumb most of my best stories are I regret none of them. I've been giving this no apologies no regrets lifestyle of mine some serious and sincere thought lately and have yet to come to any conclusions as to wether or not I'm totally karmically fucked for living like this. I've also been wondering if I'm really living by it. Anyone who knows me knows I don't believe in apologies unless they're sincere and for real things, I'm sorry lost its value to me circa 2002. I only use the words if I actually mean them and I apologize sparingly as to uphold my rep as the last true insensitive. So I guess that means I do live as close to "No apologies" as anyone with some kind of heart actually could.
This leaves me pondering regret. Do I regret shaving the back of my head a few weeks before christmas in highschool, losing my virginity in a field instead of a bed, drinkin a 23 year old under the table at 17 then screaming "Stop the world I wanna get off" from the back seat of a friends car as I threw up and took my clothes off all while hanging out the window of a moving vehicle? Nope, don't regret that shit, they're funny fuckin stories. Breakin plates on my own kitchen floor, losin my shit cuz 6 boys didn't know how to do dishes, topless congo lines and sleepin on the beach for my 21st birthday, pirate parties with sand from the actual beach... ok had to think about it but no I don't regret that shit either. Would I do it again, probably not, but I can't ever imagine being sorry I did it. Now thats the fun stuff how about the crappier decisions like moving in with an asshole and all the crap that goes along with that old, old story no one needs to hear, nope don't regret that either. It made me strong, you can't regret the things that make you strong without taking something away from who you are. I'm built like a brick house, so I'm good with strong. Without the bad I'm not sure I'd know the good. Do I regret any of my HORRIBLE roomate choices or career choices or ridiculous plans to do what I may, or may not, believe are AWESOME things, nope still got nothin. We're about a paragraph and 2 decades in and yes this is the highlights but still no regrets. This is where I had to look it up, websters dictionary defines regret (in the noun form) as : Sorrow aroused by circumstances beyond ones control or power to repair.
Ok, terrific, we're back to sorry but with a twist. What, of any of the things I've done or been through am I sorry I cannot change? Here, is where I find my 2 definite 100 percent without a doubt, regrets. They both involve dead people, I can't change anything about the decisions I made, but in both cases, not a day goes by I don't wish I could. Number one, not calling Crouse the weekend before he died and number two never telling my Aunt that one night in a truckstop in Ohio her shithead alcoholic husband attempted to kiss me after a few beers. Now, I never really called Mike Crouse except to get other peoples phone numbers, we just weren't friends like that but the whole weekend before he died I was afraid he was gonna OD and I had a feelin I should call him. I didn't, he did and I miss the fuck out of him.
My Aunt, maybe he told her, maybe he didn't, we never talked about it, he probably didn't remember it and if he did, he knows he creeped me the fuck out, but I never told her. I told her everything but I never told her that and now she's dead.
So, regret for me I would define it as simply this ~ When you know there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do about it, but you still wish you could. It's the wishing you could that I see most people get lost in piles of regret and I've recently found myself in this whole new place where I wish I could change the impression this one person has of me, and its frightening because I feel this regret thing is a slippery slope. The reality is either this person has no idea who I really am or maybe they do, or maybe I have no idea who I really am, but I do, it took me a long time but I do. Then someone came along and suddenly I'm a dumb girl nervous and incapable of basic normalcy (ya know for me) instead of the Gune, Shoe, Jugs, Sicklecell, Rainbow, Scalpel, Eddie, Mz Mitzy, combo pack of nicknames and awesome I TOTALLY am. I question wether I can even actually count this as a regret. If a person is living, there's hope that at some point you can do something about whatever it is that's bothering you. Is having that chance enough if you never do anything with it? Do you take it as a lesson learned and move on? Is nothing sometimes the best thing you can do? I hate awkward moments, it's a problem because I often create them and then react by making them more awkward or doing absolutely nothing. Until now I've never had a regret for any of the things I have done only those two things I didn't do and maybe that one other thing, that time in Wisconsin but that is neither here nor there. The jury is still out on this whole bein a girl debaucle but I feel it leaning toward lesson learned and do nothing.
This leaves me pondering regret. Do I regret shaving the back of my head a few weeks before christmas in highschool, losing my virginity in a field instead of a bed, drinkin a 23 year old under the table at 17 then screaming "Stop the world I wanna get off" from the back seat of a friends car as I threw up and took my clothes off all while hanging out the window of a moving vehicle? Nope, don't regret that shit, they're funny fuckin stories. Breakin plates on my own kitchen floor, losin my shit cuz 6 boys didn't know how to do dishes, topless congo lines and sleepin on the beach for my 21st birthday, pirate parties with sand from the actual beach... ok had to think about it but no I don't regret that shit either. Would I do it again, probably not, but I can't ever imagine being sorry I did it. Now thats the fun stuff how about the crappier decisions like moving in with an asshole and all the crap that goes along with that old, old story no one needs to hear, nope don't regret that either. It made me strong, you can't regret the things that make you strong without taking something away from who you are. I'm built like a brick house, so I'm good with strong. Without the bad I'm not sure I'd know the good. Do I regret any of my HORRIBLE roomate choices or career choices or ridiculous plans to do what I may, or may not, believe are AWESOME things, nope still got nothin. We're about a paragraph and 2 decades in and yes this is the highlights but still no regrets. This is where I had to look it up, websters dictionary defines regret (in the noun form) as : Sorrow aroused by circumstances beyond ones control or power to repair.
Ok, terrific, we're back to sorry but with a twist. What, of any of the things I've done or been through am I sorry I cannot change? Here, is where I find my 2 definite 100 percent without a doubt, regrets. They both involve dead people, I can't change anything about the decisions I made, but in both cases, not a day goes by I don't wish I could. Number one, not calling Crouse the weekend before he died and number two never telling my Aunt that one night in a truckstop in Ohio her shithead alcoholic husband attempted to kiss me after a few beers. Now, I never really called Mike Crouse except to get other peoples phone numbers, we just weren't friends like that but the whole weekend before he died I was afraid he was gonna OD and I had a feelin I should call him. I didn't, he did and I miss the fuck out of him.
My Aunt, maybe he told her, maybe he didn't, we never talked about it, he probably didn't remember it and if he did, he knows he creeped me the fuck out, but I never told her. I told her everything but I never told her that and now she's dead.
So, regret for me I would define it as simply this ~ When you know there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do about it, but you still wish you could. It's the wishing you could that I see most people get lost in piles of regret and I've recently found myself in this whole new place where I wish I could change the impression this one person has of me, and its frightening because I feel this regret thing is a slippery slope. The reality is either this person has no idea who I really am or maybe they do, or maybe I have no idea who I really am, but I do, it took me a long time but I do. Then someone came along and suddenly I'm a dumb girl nervous and incapable of basic normalcy (ya know for me) instead of the Gune, Shoe, Jugs, Sicklecell, Rainbow, Scalpel, Eddie, Mz Mitzy, combo pack of nicknames and awesome I TOTALLY am. I question wether I can even actually count this as a regret. If a person is living, there's hope that at some point you can do something about whatever it is that's bothering you. Is having that chance enough if you never do anything with it? Do you take it as a lesson learned and move on? Is nothing sometimes the best thing you can do? I hate awkward moments, it's a problem because I often create them and then react by making them more awkward or doing absolutely nothing. Until now I've never had a regret for any of the things I have done only those two things I didn't do and maybe that one other thing, that time in Wisconsin but that is neither here nor there. The jury is still out on this whole bein a girl debaucle but I feel it leaning toward lesson learned and do nothing.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Beauhandsome, A Valentine Manifesto
I had a good Valentines day once, really it was beyond great even. It lasted about 4 months and included some of the most mind blowing orgasms of my life... so far. While each and every one of those orgasms was made of a loving moment, great sex, good sex, sex at all, will only take a relationship so far. She brought me flowers, the trippiest teddy bear I've ever owned, held doors open, listened to me and even once or twice kissed me right into an orgasm or two. She was the best Valentine I've had... so far. Her fatal mistake was loving me and it ended the minute she said it. Had the moment been in a movie, time would have stood still, freeze frame style and you would have heard me yell "FUCK". It wasn't a movie though so no one heard it and the only one who time stood still for, was me, and thinking about it, maybe her too. Don't get me wrong, flowers are ok, I absolutely love when someone holds a door open and even the most jaded of people wants to be listened to. The thing was, I wasn't ready to be loved. Like any end there were other factors but the biggest was that I just wasn't ready.I'll always love her but not in a way you love a partner, not in a way you love someone who may honestly love you. I didn't honestly love her, I did honestly love plenty of things about her but that wasn't enough.
This relationship was a beginning, an awakening, a reminder of who I was, once upon a time, before I had to become a grown woman with a teenagers tools, before I knew the world could and would kick a woman in the vagina and heart while simultaneously fucking her mind via her ear. -Humorously stated, maybe, but real nonetheless. We all have baggage but that's not what this is about. The past is a memory, not a regret but a memory that gets us where we're going. This particular piece of my past changed my direction and forced a much needed examination of who I was letting myself become. No one wakes up and says: "I want to be alone. I strive to be a bitter, crazy, asshole whose intimate relationships are based solely on sex and a fear of commitment. Please Jeebus don't let anyone love me.", but I can't imagine I'm the only one to wake up and realize that was where my head was. With that ever so important wake up, there comes, with any luck, a moment of much needed clarity, where you realize that what you've been putting out there is far from your potential and even further from who you really are. This is the point where shit gets real, where you look in the mirror and see yourself. I saw myself as the girl who let one year define the next eight and I'd like to think that in my moment of clarity the woman I am finally remembered she existed.
Over time I'm learning to set real, legitimate boundries and communicate actual, honest, emotions but I'm still learning.
Lately, I've found myself thinking about what I would want in a partner and for me what sums it up is Valentines day. Don't worry I'm about to elaborate. The Valentines day I'm referring to isn't about candy, cards and flowers, Its not about who has someone and who doesn't. Yes, society tells us this holiday is about love in the most romantical sense of the word, thats kinda bullshit. Love isn't a holiday we celebrate once a year. It's not some ski resort we spend vacations at, or a planned out plotted out day of festivities ending in mediocre sex and ultimate disappointment - come on, we've all had atleast one of those valentines. Love doesn't happen in a day, it takes many and it doesn't cost money but it does require sacrifice and it may sound cliche but if you don't know yourself you can't love yourself and if you don't love you, it's not that no one else will, but you will make it damn hard for them to reach you. Love isn't February 14th but Valentines day is about having someone to share it with. To me this whole wanting someone to share it with is mindblowing and completely new, the "it" I'm talking about isn't Valentines day but life itself. I think once you find that person EVERYDAY is the four months of goddamned amazing sex I had that one time for Valentines day but its not just orgasms your sharing, its life. Life is too short to let one day define you and too long to let love escape you and once you have it you can share it and that is what its all about. For the first time in a long time I kind of love the person I'm becoming and for now thats all I really need. Do I want more? Hell yea, I want alot more, got a list of hopes and dreams but what I needed was to love me, myself. I may not have ever learned to do that if it weren't for my beauhandsome Valentine and yes, of course, I want someone to share it all with, therein lies the beauty of Valentines day.
This relationship was a beginning, an awakening, a reminder of who I was, once upon a time, before I had to become a grown woman with a teenagers tools, before I knew the world could and would kick a woman in the vagina and heart while simultaneously fucking her mind via her ear. -Humorously stated, maybe, but real nonetheless. We all have baggage but that's not what this is about. The past is a memory, not a regret but a memory that gets us where we're going. This particular piece of my past changed my direction and forced a much needed examination of who I was letting myself become. No one wakes up and says: "I want to be alone. I strive to be a bitter, crazy, asshole whose intimate relationships are based solely on sex and a fear of commitment. Please Jeebus don't let anyone love me.", but I can't imagine I'm the only one to wake up and realize that was where my head was. With that ever so important wake up, there comes, with any luck, a moment of much needed clarity, where you realize that what you've been putting out there is far from your potential and even further from who you really are. This is the point where shit gets real, where you look in the mirror and see yourself. I saw myself as the girl who let one year define the next eight and I'd like to think that in my moment of clarity the woman I am finally remembered she existed.
Over time I'm learning to set real, legitimate boundries and communicate actual, honest, emotions but I'm still learning.
Lately, I've found myself thinking about what I would want in a partner and for me what sums it up is Valentines day. Don't worry I'm about to elaborate. The Valentines day I'm referring to isn't about candy, cards and flowers, Its not about who has someone and who doesn't. Yes, society tells us this holiday is about love in the most romantical sense of the word, thats kinda bullshit. Love isn't a holiday we celebrate once a year. It's not some ski resort we spend vacations at, or a planned out plotted out day of festivities ending in mediocre sex and ultimate disappointment - come on, we've all had atleast one of those valentines. Love doesn't happen in a day, it takes many and it doesn't cost money but it does require sacrifice and it may sound cliche but if you don't know yourself you can't love yourself and if you don't love you, it's not that no one else will, but you will make it damn hard for them to reach you. Love isn't February 14th but Valentines day is about having someone to share it with. To me this whole wanting someone to share it with is mindblowing and completely new, the "it" I'm talking about isn't Valentines day but life itself. I think once you find that person EVERYDAY is the four months of goddamned amazing sex I had that one time for Valentines day but its not just orgasms your sharing, its life. Life is too short to let one day define you and too long to let love escape you and once you have it you can share it and that is what its all about. For the first time in a long time I kind of love the person I'm becoming and for now thats all I really need. Do I want more? Hell yea, I want alot more, got a list of hopes and dreams but what I needed was to love me, myself. I may not have ever learned to do that if it weren't for my beauhandsome Valentine and yes, of course, I want someone to share it all with, therein lies the beauty of Valentines day.
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