The Misogynist In Me

I've been attracted to women since I was fairly young, roughly 12 years of age. There have been a few kissing experiences, I was a regular at the strip clubs two separate periods in my life, and had strong feelings for one girl in particular that made me question my sexual orientation. After my most recent break up, I contemplated exploring this a bit more just to be sure.

It wasn't until a recent phone conversation with a dear friend that I truly understood my own feelings regarding women, even though we've talked about this before and I didn't see it. He joked about me "coming out" and recounted an embarrassing, yet hilarious (I still can't stop laughing), story during which he said something to the effect of, "...she was being murdered by an elephant sized cock." These might sound completely unrelated and inconsequential, but something in my brain clicked. I've been thinking about this non-stop since that initial observation. I am a total pig when it comes to views on women; a quasi-misogynist. I've mostly considered myself this hippie-ish, love and have compassion and empathy for all feminist, but this ugliness has been there underneath all along. It manifested in so many different ways I didn't recognize it. It's like I've tried to bury it, hoping to keep this alarming truth from myself.

During/after this last horrific relationship, all women were a threat, even friends. For the longest time I blamed all the women my ex cheated on me with and not him. I still do a tiny bit. When we were together the only way I could climax was to fantasize about him aggressively fucking these other girls, seriously injuring them. Watching porn it's usually the same; inexperienced diminutive chicks being hurt or taken advantage of or treated like playthings by brawny older men.

It's rare that I forge friendships with other women. I've always gotten along better with guys and it's been that way as far back as I can remember. If you're not on my extremely short list of exemptions, I've most likely secretly objectified and/or judged you. I don't trust women. I hate the pettiness, cattiness and games. It disgusts me when they take on traditional roles to conform, blindly or purposely, or when they play the victim. Sometimes it's aggravating just trying to have a conversation with them as I generally can't relate. Whatever this valley girl/basic bitch shit is, it needs to stop now; it's not fucking cute, you sound like a moron.

"Them." "They." It's arrogant and hypocritical of me to say such things. I'm a woman, too! I'm strong, capable and independent which sets me apart from a portion of other women, but I'm certainly not the only one of my kind, nor am I in an elite bracket. In fact, I've been in almost every one of those scenarios I despise at some point or another in my life. I'm also highly sensitive and emotional which could be deemed typical, unfavorable female traits. Perhaps this appalling mindset is simply a reflection of my own weaknesses in addition to some traumatic life experiences and residual, misdirected anger. Whatever the case, this brutal honesty is troublesome and needs to be addressed. I'm really not an evil, hateful person.

So to answer my own question, and enlighten those who have been curious, I'm not a lesbian. I appreciate art and beauty, including the female form (and I'm not saying I'm opposed to having a sexual encounter with a woman at some point), but I will not be switching teams.

An Exercise In Self Love

Those who know me well would likely agree I'm a very caring, thoughtful person by nature and that I generally go out of my way to ensure everyone's comfort and happiness. The problem is, I rarely extend the same kindness to myself and that lack of practice is beginning to take a toll. I find it incredibly difficult to come up with ways to love on myself without feeling selfish or vain, but I will continue to attempt nevertheless because it's an important aspect in the quality of one's life.

My most recent project was a combination of my desire to demonstrate self love with a need for a creative outlet. (My artsy side doesn't come out to play as often as I'd like either.) In lieu of selecting a personality trait, I chose a physical attribute to showcase at this time; my mouth.

I like my lips. No matter what weight I'm at, or clothes I'm wearing, mood I'm in, made up or not, they're always plump, soft and supple with a graceful shape. When I'm feeling sexy I find them especially alluring. I'm not very good at whistling but can make a bird chirping noise well enough to fool my cat. My teeth are neither the straightest nor whitest, but they are uniquely mine and I'd never withhold a smile to spite them. I have a thick, somewhat pointy tongue that is long enough to touch the tip of my nose; it's also strong and flexible enough to tie a cherry stem in a knot or open a Starburst candy wrapper (remember those games?). My lips and tongue are highly sensitive to pressure, temperature, texture and flavor, making eating and kissing two of my most favorite pastimes.

Do you put in the time and effort to appreciate yourself? How does it make you feel when you do/don't? If you were to mirror this project, which of your attributes would you select? 

Dear Diary: Family and Holidays

Growing up in a dysfunctional household tends to leave you with one of the two following desires: never wanting to have a family of your own or craving the picture perfect family, whatever that looks like to you. I didn't want anything to do with it. If you had asked me, as my Aunt did when I was very young, I would have told you that I wanted to live alone in a flat in New York City with two Siamese cats (it was totally Lady and the Tramp era). My sister, on the other hand, would disappear for days, even weeks at a time, to stay with any friend who had that white picket fence she chased after to get her fix. I thought for sure she'd end up with five hundred kids that I could visit then retreat back to my solitude when I had had enough. 

Then I accidentally got pregnant at 20. Talk about having a holy shit moment. My beliefs on family units and their importance instantly reconfigured as I felt I owed it to my daughter to have as close to a perfect childhood as possible; I did not want her to experience my nightmare of an upbringing. I remember so vividly sitting in the passenger seat of her father's maroon GMC pickup truck with tinted windows and silver skull decal on the rear windshield as he drove me to a doctor's appointment. He was holding my hand as I held my just now showing baby bump with the other, his excitement beaming through a still boyish smile. We were so young and so in love then. I thought, maybe I CAN do this. Maybe she came along to prove to me that this truly is what gives us purpose in life. Truth is, my daughter has been both a blessing and a curse. 

I poured my heart and soul into this family thing; uniting his, mine and ours. We visited grandparents and great grandparents for weeknight dinners and weekend outings, and I hosted most of the holiday festivities. It was always very draining but I started to appreciate it over time. I wouldn't have hand selected any of them in the bunch, but we all became very close and we knew, no matter what, we had each other's backs. That is, until I left her father when she was two. My decision came as a surprise to him and our families, and I stunned even myself a bit. I was overwhelmed and ran as far away as I could. And he didn't try to stop me. In the back of his mind he was sure I'd return, though I never did.

Fast forward about six years, now in Pennsylvania with my most recent ex. We chose to move here after a tumultuous go at a relationship in South Florida (thought that a change in scenery and a break from temptation would fix things - ha!). Because a good amount of his family lives here, we felt it could provide a more wholesome environment for the three of us. His Pughtown family was wonderful. They were who I would have wanted to grow up with and would have been proud to call my own. They were the ones who convinced me that was what I wanted more than anything; to belong, to feel loved unconditionally. So once more I bonded and cared so deeply, spending every bit of quality time with these people as possible. I had done all the legwork, building the relationships and carefully crafting memories. Yet, five years later, I find myself without.       

Last Christmas was my very first completely alone. I didn't want to be selfish and keep my daughter when it'd be more fun for her to spend the holiday with her father and his newly blended family. In a way I've been successful in giving my daughter everything my parents couldn't give me, I just didn't expect that it wouldn't include me during these times. So Christmas day I explored an awe-inspiring botanical gardens with my digital SLR instead of sulking on my couch, which I desperately wanted to do. I lost myself momentarily on the expansive lawns and in its greenhouses with dazzling ornamental displays, and figured that could be my new tradition. Looking back, though, I was really unhappy and longed for some sort of meaningful human connection. This kinship is something I've been craving on an everyday basis for months but it seems to be amplified now. For the first time, I truly believe I understand why depression and suicide rates sky rocket during this season.   

The real problem here may just be expectations. My mind fixated on an idea over the last decade or so and I believed so strongly in it that now my current life circumstances are disappointing at best, especially during the holidays. But how do you convince yourself that what you feel is wrong? How do you just let it go? And why am I making such a big deal about this when I don't participate in a "traditional" sense anyway?? Holidays, particularly Christmas, were created for pushing merchandise! Bah humbug. 

How To Connect Deeply With Anyone In Five Minutes

Am I the only one who loves these types of games?

http://earthweareone.com/how-to-connect-deeply-with-anyone-in-5-minutes/

I encourage you to give it a try, even if only to exercise your creative muscles for a moment. And if you're going play along, do it BEFORE you read mine!





This was my story:

There is a transparent cube of frosted glass about the size of a five gallon jug blurring my view of this barren desert. The edges are perfectly aligned, emitting a faint turquoise glow. It's hovering before me exactly four feet off the ground.

Closely beside on the right is an old rickety ladder standing erect but not touching the cube in any way. The wood was painted white once but the last few bits and pieces are flaking off, falling straight into the sand below where its legs meet the hard ground.

A dusty gray horse with a white mane and tail and spots on its rump, similar in color scheme to the ladder, leisurely strolls up with it's head hanging low, searching for something. It looks up and inspects the cube with great interest, briefly glances at the ladder before returning its gaze to the cube, then lays down to the left of it, staking its claim.

Wild flowers with long, flimsy stems start popping up beneath the cube rapidly and in great numbers. Their petals are various shapes and sizes, all brightly colored as the desert sun has not yet scorched them of their beauty. Instead of growing up, they reach outward like ground cover in a 20 foot radius around the horse, cube and ladder, as if the minimal amount of shade the cube provides were enough to suffocate them.

The sky begins to darken and a rumbling begins that can not only be heard, but felt through the ground. Pink lightning cracks the sky into a million abstract pieces. In the distance, a wall of sand like a tidal wave is forming and gaining speed, heading straight for us. The faint light from the cube is now blazing, and creates a barrier from the storm, a safe haven for it's constituents. The weather subsides and all is as was before.




Feel free to share yours in the comments and/or discuss what it means to you!

Operation Burner Girl Has Commenced

Well, I made it to that point where I'm officially sick of myself again which is actually a pretty good thing. Re-started Piyo at 5:30 this morning. Tracking water, food and portions for now to bring awareness. It's a bit of relief to know that I can have abs again in a month if I'm diligent, but ridiculously frustrating that I just don't stick with it in the first place.

I just re-read that. Don't I sound like a total whiny ass bitch? Oh, that six pack? Meh, no big deal. Give me like two days and it'll be eight, or ten. My abs have abs. I can crack walnuts with my ass cheeks, too.

NOT.

I've been at war with my body since I was five. About two years ago I finally accepted more realistic expectations of myself, aiming for health and vitality, and not some photoshopped magazine fantasy. Just need to figure out these cycles of funks and what they're about so I can be more consistent. I'm hoping that healing my adrenals and balancing my hormones will do the trick. It's quite aggravating to think of where I'd be right now if my efforts were compounded instead of starting over every time.

Ugh.

Anyway, I'll be using these Burner Girls as my motivation to keep going every day. I want to be my best possible self when I go to this festival and that includes rocking these amazing (-ly tiny) outfits or none at all! Eek!

BTW - I'm slightly crushing on the first one at the moment. Mainly because, if I could let everything go and just BE, she's a pretty good example of what you'd get. Except she's a bit hotter ;)

              

                     

I Watched Porn At Work Today

SOMEBODY introduced me to tumblr today by texting some sexy time gifs. How did I not know about this already!? And why when I say I'm going to cut down on screen time do I find something that pulls me further down the rabbit hole?

You know when you come home really late after drinking, the quieter you want to be, the louder you are? All your actions become over-the-top theatrical, hands are flailing everywhere. You startle easily and speak louder and faster than ever. Same goes for watching porn at work. This is how my day went:

Doc pokes his head in my... office (c'mon now)... to ask a question, I damn near have a heart attack and throw my cell phone into my bag with such force it bounced back out. I managed a, "Hmm.. what? Yeah, ok!" He asked if I heard anything he said - nope. Strike one.

My work phone is ringing but that last threesome is lingering on my mind, what do I do? How does this work?? Oh, right, "hello?" ENHHHH! Wrong greeting AND I got called out on it. Also, I'm so horny at this point I probably sound like a phone sex operator. Strike two.

Doc: Are you working on that funnel stat spreadsheet?
Me: Uh huh, yup. (I'm actually watching this hot guy being led into the massage room directly across from me while scrolling through lesbian action on this tumblr app. Would it be a welcomed surprise or very unprofessional if I popped in there real quick? Do guys ever turn down sex?)
Doc: No, you're not. It's a shared file and you're not even in there.
Me: Huh? Oh, THAT one... no, I was doing the averages first.
Doc: Why?
Me: You gave me so many supplements I can't even think straight. Hey, is that a new tie? (Insert ridiculously big cheesy smile here.)
Doc: ...
Me: Give me five minutes.
Strike three, I'm so out of here if he finds outttttt.

Must. Not. Check. Text. Messages.

Ok, just one more.

Mmhmm, that's nice. I wonder... aaaaand now I'm sucked in again.

Doc: When's my next scheduled call with Brandon?
Me: Thoosday (I was just about to have a When Harry Met Sally moment, dammit, leave me alone!)
Doc: Was that Thursday or Tuesday?
Me: A week from today.
Doc: Seriously, what's wrong with you?
Me: I think it's you. You're weird today.
Doc: You're lucky I like you.
Me: Roger that. Happy Veteran's Day, boss! (Then I salute him, he totally eats that shit up.) (PS - he's an ex Navy SEAL so that was totally relevant.)

Moral of this story (for me anyway): Unless you're able to "work things out," whether it's on your own or with a friend, save the sexual tension for home or wherever your happy place may be. Being unemployed is not fun.

Alternatively, there's no need for the space heater now. I'm a sweaty mess.

Burning For A Pilgrimage, Man

Burning Man has become a bit of an obsession for me lately. What's not to love about a crazy hippie community in the middle of a desert, filled with art and music, clothing is optional, and people are just burning shit. At least this is what I envision based on a few pictures I've seen and random bloggers personal accounts. The official website relates trying to describe the event to someone never having been, to trying to explain what a particular color looks like to a blind person. It's all about participation. You get what you give.

This is SO far outside my comfort zone. The mere thought of attending paralyzes me yet invigorates my soul. How freeing!

Guess you'll need some backstory here to truly understand. I mainly grew up with my grandparents who started sleeping in separate bedrooms when they were in their early 40s. Can't recall any affection or physical contact of any sort between them aside from my grandmother holding my grandfather's hand and pecking him on the forehead while he laid on his death bed. In fact, she's eluded her children were not conceived naturally so I wonder if she's ever spread her legs even once. Cobwebs. (I totally just talked about my grandma's cheech, OMG!)

If she could cover up our earlobes, she would. The baggier the clothes, the better. There should be no resemblance of any body parts or form/figure showing through. Needless to say, there were no talks of birds or bees. Bodies are BAD. Boys are BAD. Forget masturbation, interracial dating or homosexual experiences (and boy did some of us kids rock her world with that.. stories for another day). HA! You'll go directly to hell, no passing Go or collecting $200.

You couldn't even have a tiny space to be yourself in that household. No hanging anything on the walls, your bedroom was HER room, you were just able to stay in it and boy was that carrot dangled on a daily basis. One day my underwear would be in the long dresser by the door, after school the next they'd be in the tall dresser by the window. She was in complete control.

When I lived with my mother, it was do as I say not as I do which is very confusing for a child so basically that whole experience was negated, or rather, brought about issues of it's own later. (Again, stories for another day.)

Imagine how this all rewires your brain, though. Everything is bad and scary, there's no such thing as individualism or self expression, sexuality or spirituality. While I'm nowhere near the Puritan I was when I originally left home, there is still a lot of leftover anxiety about simply being myself, having opinions, desires. I was also the oldest girl so the expectations of me were exponentially higher than that of my sister or male cousin.

For me, Burning Man represents a pilgrimage. A much needed crusade pushing out the last little bits of self doubt and insecurity, leaving my mind and spirit open to possibility. It's place for achieving groundlessness. A destination to simply be.

Besides, I've got a bit of pyro in me and need an excuse to wear a gas mask and nothing else. No tan lines! Now what should my playa name be? Hmm...