Thursday, February 19, 2015
One of my favorite movie scenes is from "City Slickers." It's a scene where the Bruno Kirby character asks Billy Crystal what he would do in a hypothetical situation where some aliens land who look like gorgeous women. In the hypothetical situation in question, one of these aliens would want to have sex with the Billy Crystal character-with the caveat that his wife would NEVER find out about it.
"I mean, guaranteed. She would never know." Bruno Kirby's character says. "Would you do it?"
"No." Billy Crystal responds.
"Why not?" Bruno asks.
"Because, I'd know."
I was asked recently if "I was ready" to be friends with my most recent ex. Apparently, this potential friendship is contingent upon something being askew and needing resolution within me. "When I'm ready" has come up several times...and I generally like and miss this person. She's smart, and nice, and funny...and I think I could do that. I'm truly at peace with the overall outcome of things, and believe that everybody is right where they are supposed to be.
There is one big issue I have though...and I think it is less my issue than it is hers.
She lied to me. Quite a bit, actually-now that I think about it.
This isn't some unforgivable offense, and it certainly isn't the sum of who she is. But, I'll tell you why it is a pretty big problem in the scheme of whether or not "I am ready" for a friendship.
The very fact that she asks me that tells me that she isn't ready.
My processing of things isn't the problem.
There was never any guarantee that the "outcome" would be some "happily ever after." When you tell someone, in an effort to reassure them so they will let you in, that you "won't hurt them," it isn't a guarantee of an outcome...but, it is a sort of statement that you won't take actions that are reckless, careless, completely selfish, or would have a possibility of putting them at risk. That's all I thought it meant, and I chose to believe that part.
So, the OUTCOME would have been sad and disappointing. It didn't work out. But, the LYING turned it into hurt...by conscious actions and choices taken that, in effect, threw me under the bus so someone else could do and get what they felt they needed, while still holding me in reserve while they made up their minds.
Because, had I known what was going on, I would have chosen (for myself and my own well-being) to totally leave that situation. She knew that, and it wasn't convenient for her to have to deal with my reactions, or fussing, or decisions yet...so "what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
That's about the long and the short of it. I was treated like a prop in someone else's journey...as if the thing to figure out was all about HER happiness. That is what was important, really...and given that I'm not her, well, what happens to me is secondary.
Lying to me had only ONE purpose, and it wasn't about "saving my feelings." It was to buy time to work some personal stuff out for herself.
As if it is okay to put an entire person "on-hold," so you can come back at your leisure is anything but totally selfish. Kind of like a handbag that you like at the store, but can't decide on...so you hide it on an out of the way rack in case you want to come back for it.
I'm not a handbag (and DEFINITELY not a purse).
When my intuition was screaming at me, it was suggested that I was imagining and over-thinking things...which I am prone to do...so, I was seriously questioning myself. I've only recently learned to really follow my instincts and trust myself...so this pisses me off.
It actually served to reinforce my belief in my "gut feelings"...and, overall things are truly okay. But, THAT isn't my point...nor is it a reason to let this slide as all the "magic workings" of the universe.
Man, you don't treat people that way! It wasn't okay to treat ME that way! It was seriously disrespectful...and I honestly don't think she sees that in more than a slight, peripheral way...because she's super happy...and I'm okay...no harm done!
When she treated me like some kind of accessory, she wasn't even being a GOOD FRIEND...and the fact that she's done it to others, repeatedly, in her past....did it to me...and manages to ask me if "I am ready" to be friends....tells me that she has no clue, really...has learned nothing new...and is very much NOT a safe person to include in my life.
I don't need or want to hear "I'm sorry"...or need for things to have worked out any differently. If I thought it had dawned on her how seriously screwed up it is to think that people might exist for our benefit...everything would be fine. OMG-had this come even six months earlier in my life, it would have literally been DANGEROUS for me.
As it was, it was terrifying to entertain a claim of "I won't hurt you." Thank goodness I have tools now that I didn't have this time last year. Some people are so very fragile, wounded, lost...if you get intimate with them, you have a responsibility to not be a selfish a**hole.
It's not that I'm holding a grudge. It's not just sour grapes. It's not that I think she's a scumbag. I AM MAD, because I was treated like ornamental crap...but forgiveness would be a breeze...if I thought she had any new wisdom that might make her safe friend material.
Am I ready for friendship?
My goodness, silly girl. I miss a lot about you...but, that is the wrong question.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
When I first started as a young social worker, I worked with severely emotionally disturbed youth for a while. These were kids who had lived through horrors that I can't really even imagine.
It didn't occur to me until very recently that one of the things about these children was the seemingly different way in which they grieved. I witnessed it many times...a loosening and spilling of sorrow in the form of tears. At the time, I didn't identify what was so unusual about it. I look back now, and it hits me...like a ton of bricks...
These kids cried quietly. Tears would stream down their faces in total silence. Sometimes if you didn't look carefully, you wouldn't even know that they were crying.
The first thing that might occur to someone is that they had learned to be quiet, for fear of additional abuse. I'm sure in many cases this was true. You don't want to be the squeaky wheel in places where such attention could unhinge your world in the form of cruel words, a belt, or a fist. Or worse.
But, there is also something else.
I grew up in a home where love was given and expressed freely. Not only was it safe to cry, but a good sniffle and boo-hooing would invariably result in someone who loves you coming to comfort you...to put their arms around you, wipe your tears away, and tell you that everything was going to be alright.
From scraped knees, to schoolyard rejections, all I wanted was to get home to my mom or dad and break apart, because they would HEAR ME make everything safe, and warm, and okay again. How incredibly blessed I was. I entered into adulthood with the expectation that this is how the world worked.
I remember the first time I hit that edge of human emotion with someone who really didn't give a sh*t. It was a girlfriend...a woman who had come from a hard place...and she looked at my tears with total indifference. In fact, she told me to shut up, and proceeded to totally ignore me. Looking back, it seems silly...but I was totally shocked.
Well, life has shocked me quite a bit since then, and I have toughened up considerably. It's good. I needed to. I had been sheltered, and, of course, I didn't realize it.
The thing is, now...my emotional life has tipped...into scary places. And, I fear that I am broken.
This really started for me eight years ago. I won't go into details...but it was the beginning of my experience in the brutality of loneliness. It started as a misguided battle for my daughter, and reached its pinnacle when my wife left me for someone else. So profound has that experience been that my life seems actually divided into a "before and after" the moment she delivered the news to me. Rage, addiction, loss, lashing out, driving people off, and a few ill-timed experiences with betrayal later...and I have constructed a life that frightens the hell out of me.
I remember being curled on our bedroom floor of our huge ocean front house, in the darkness of another sleepless night, praying to hear her tires on the gravel of our long driveway as she was coming home to me, wracked with sobs that had no sound. The only sound was of our two cats (our boys) running around chasing each other upstairs, and of the wind driving rain against the windows. Where we had lived was pretty secluded...and any noise I made was met with nothingness. The indifference of the pale walls inside, and the cliffs and the dark sea outside, settled within me a lonely and lost feeling that has never left me. There was no point in crying out loud...and there still isn't.
I am so blessed to have experienced being loved in my life. In the same blessing lies a sort of curse, in that having touched love, it's absence has seemed a terrible contrast...and I feel haunted by the memory of it. I'm also tangled in the fact that the people I ultimately drove away I still love very much. My wife I'm still in love with, my daughter doesn't even know me (or that not a day goes by that I don't think of her, and ache with regret), and my parents are afraid of me and have detached from my fate.
Don't get me wrong...there are a few people who love me vaguely, from afar. And, I'm LUCKY to have that. Still...it is hard to explain how sometimes a hug from someone who is a fleeting presence in my life only makes it worse.
I'm also not unconscious to the other great blessings that I have. I don't live in a refugee camp. I haven't had to witness the slaughter of people I love. I don't have to worry about where my food, shelter, clothing, or clean water will come from. I have all of my senses, and my limbs. I live in a free country. I am blessed in so many ways-as if I know the first thing about REAL pain...as if I would survive 30 seconds in a war zone. As if I would even WANT to.
But, there is this...
I can stand in front of an amazing sunset, or under an awe inspiring night sky with stars falling all around...the beauty burns bright and warm for a few moments...and then slowly, inevitably, if the incredible thing lingers...a transformation happens. It's like a cold stone turning over in my chest. I can't make it mean the same thing that it would if I wasn't alone. The more incredible it is the thing I am seeing, the more I want to turn to someone and say, "Did you see that?" And the heavier the absence and silence becomes.
I could win the lottery tomorrow, and walk into an empty apartment...if I had no one to share it with, I could give a flying f**k. People with fame, fortune, fast cars, designer clothes, jewels...if they are truly alone, that stuff is just a dance without music. The motion and sparkle might feel good...but if you have a brain in your head, that stuff means nothing on it's own. By the same token, I could be wearing recycled shoes-and if I have a person or a family to come home to-I could live in a shack made of sticks and be truly happy. I'd also have a reason to strive for more...for me and for them.
It's amazing how we learn to pretend that something more than love is the thing that really matters.
I haven't been able to safely listen to music for years...because music hits me like a two ton sledgehammer-and I fear it. I literally am afraid of it. The songs that vividly transport me back to happy times lost-times where I felt safe and warm and surrounded by love...those songs are unbearable. The songs that capture sadness nearly kill me. They come without warning, and they take me by surprise. You know what I'm talking about...something beyond mere recollection...you can taste, touch, smell, feel the memory...I can't do it...and some days I don't even want to walk through the grocery store for fear of what their "background/environmental" selections may be.
So...I was laying in my bed a few nights ago...awake at a ridiculous hour...and I thought of someone. I remembered something that left me aching so badly for them, it felt like my heart was going to just stop beating...and then abruptly I had tears spilling over onto my face...which I realized was still and expressionless.
There is no one to turn to, no one to hear...it is an emotion that is so thin and sharp, I have definitely cut myself on the feeling of it.
The resident cat (who isn't even mine) sometimes comes up next to me on those serrated nights, and watches my face...and sometimes she will put her paw on my cheek. Animals are amazing...
Thank God for the cat.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
I once had plans to open a coffee shop in a recology thrift store, I was going to call it "Instant Karma Coffee," and the tag line was going to be "Careful now. It's hot."
Then I moved to Arizona, where I realized that iced coffee would be the big seller...and I had to re-think my plans.
I've had to re-think a lot of things.
One of the things that I've given a lot of thought to (besides why my fitted sheet corner continuously pops off at night, or why cardboard milk cartons won't open without a hacksaw) is the whole concept of "karma."
The whole idea of "cosmic justice" is an interesting thing. It is VERY HARD to live in a world where people seem to get away with stuff that sucks...and not just "get away" with it, but appear to reap rewards from stuff that seems wrong.
If you have ever been stolen from, lied to, been cheated on, or generally been the victim of someone's selfish, unkind, cruel, or greedy behavior...it is hard to take when it appears to pay off for them.
And, sometimes, it does appear that way.
The guy who cheats at cards, and takes the pot. The lady who steals the steaks from the store, and then has the "free" steak dinner that night. The middle age guy who leaves his wife for his 23 year old secretary, and buys the Ferrari...he's having awesome sex, and..well...driving a Ferrari.
It is said that "crime doesn't pay." But, sometimes, it does. It just DOES.
It is said, "Nice guys finish last." And, often they do...after being trampled on. It just happens sometimes.
The same book that says, "An eye for an eye" also touts the virtues of "turning the other cheek."
Still, it is very hard to live in a world where we witness (or are directly impacted by) people doing icky things, and appearing to benefit from it. So...we rely on this idea that "the universe" will eventually set it right. That, "vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." That SOMEHOW there will be a checks and balances...SOMEWHERE. That someone saw it, and as we sit broken, injured, altered, hurt, angry...these trespasses will ultimately result in those people "getting everything that they deserve."
I think we HAVE to believe this, because the alternative (that they steal your money and then go sunbathing in Bermuda) is too hard to take. We NEED to trust and believe that there is a greater justice that somehow WORKS.
My problem (one of many, I realize) is that I don't TRULY believe that. I think that the "dirty money" spends as nicely as the "honest" money...and that sociopaths are really just going to have a blast, because their conscience won't be in their way. I believe that if you smash your finger in a drawer, it isn't because you did something creepy last week. I just think it is random. I think that bad things happen to good people sometimes, and that selfish thieves often "make out like bandits."
I've had to come to terms with it...in my non "black or white" kind of internal world. You see, except in the cases of psychological pathology, I believe that character itself is a journey. As humans, sometimes we fly, and sometimes we fall. Some people are just jerks...but even jerks have moments where they are touched by compassion or kindness. And, conversely, sometimes exceptionally decent people do the WRONG thing. I cannot judge anyone, because my slate isn't clean.
So, here is what I have figured out for myself....in the throes of watching people reap great rewards from being giant a**holes...
I have BECOME Karma in my past, before I was better equipped to handle things...I mean, I was scary good at it. With a basic understanding of human nature, psychology, and some basic smarts...I have visited revenge. I mean, fire and brimstone, baby. I'm not talking keying somebodies car. Oh, no. I'm talking a family relationship in uproar, a romance derailed, a career in shambles...I've altered lives when I was victimized, because I thought I couldn't stay sane if I saw it "pay off" for these people...
I'm not going to go into sordid details...but, if you heard some of the stories, you would probably not debate with me whether or not they "deserved" it, although the last man who truly HURT me took the brunt for a lot of accumulated frustration from my "turning the other cheek." He picked a REALLY bad time to victimize me-which he did-and I may have used a bazooka to kill a fly...
I snapped. Yes, I did.
I thought I just couldn't walk away, because he had taken from me (along with others) something too close to my very source of being...and, on the surface, it was totally benefiting him. Stomping on ME in the most disgusting way was paying off for HIM...it just was...and witnessing and KNOWING that, I THOUGHT...was going to drive me insane. Well, it kind of did, actually.
I'm pretty sure my cheese slid off my cracker for a while, there.
I got "justice." Yep. Yay me. I got him, but good.
Except, I have realized something so simple...
Whether I am an instrument of "cosmic justice"...or whether or not someone "gets what's coming to them"...however it may happen, or NOT happen...I DO NOT get any kind of pleasure from someone else's hurt. Even when I WANT to. Even when I think I hate them. Even when I KNOW they "deserve" it.
I've caused tears. I've caused fear. I've made people regret that they have crossed me. I don't even want to argue the "rightness" or the "wrongness" of any of it. All I know is that, when I witness this "justice" that I set into in motion, all I have felt is sad, and empty, and I've wanted it to stop.
I don't have the answer here...because it is so weird. It's taken me years to fully realize this. I don't even take pleasure anymore from the idea of KARMA doing it on it's own. I really don't...because that means that I'm counting on the universe to make someone else suffer for doing a bad thing.
There are some very dark people in this world...people who torture, and kill...and actually take pleasure in the suffering of others. I don't have the answer on how to psychologically handle the concept of justice...except a suggestion that seems to have transcended the ages and to be espoused by every spiritual leader who has ever spoken truth...to espouse an ideal and principle that has been right in front of my face all along...to embrace the only concept that seems to sit peacefully in my life and my conscience...
I no longer hunger for JUSTICE, in the form of additional misery in order to set the scales right. I hunger for LOVE...I want them to see the light. I have.
I'm NEVER going to deliberately try to "get even" again. I don't have the stomach for it-which I have learned by witnessing that which was supposed to set me free. It feels wrong. So wrong.
Two wrongs don't make a right. It's true.
Love has finally hit me on the head like a hammer falling from the sky...
Which I probably deserved.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
This post has an 85% chance of sarcasm, and a 100% chance of being a post that my mother should not read. Do you hear that, mom? Don't say I didn't warn you.
There is a lot of talk out there right now about monogamy versus polyamorous ways of being in relationships. Because this recently became an issue for me to deal with in my own life, I did some research. It's what I do.
I noticed that most of the discussions are designed to argue for or against one way of being or another...and most were somehow enveloped in a critical tone. I read with interest the academic arguments, the ones that floated research about "mating strategies" and the biological origins of why humans may, or may NOT be "naturally monogamous" or "naturally polyamorous"...I read the political arguments about the patriarchal functions of monogamy to enforce ownership and/or sexual access to females (and securing paternal lineage) as if women and children were property, and sexual pleasure a commodity for and about men...I read the sociological ideas about monogamy being nothing more than a social construction designed on a fairy tale idea of what "true love" is supposed to look and feel like, packaged, sold, and reinforced by cultural products...things like Disney princes and princesses, and hit songs with titles like, "I Only Have Eyes For You,"-or songs that tell tales about beating the crap out of some cheating boyfriend's truck with a baseball bat....
I listened to someone I was growing to love tell me that my knee jerk negative reaction to the idea of an "open relationship" was one rooted in fear and in my own fragile ego. I was given the opportunity to "transcend" these silly and self-defeating characteristics...to embrace the idea of total trust, and mutual "freedom" to "enjoy the intimate gifts of others" while still building a future together.
I ultimately let go of that relationship (and all of the otherwise wonderful possibility within it) rather than cope with the idea of us having sex with other people, and then coming home to each other. It was apparently a condition of continuing to build a loving life with me...and I have second-guessed myself ever since I chose to bail. I mean, I really liked this girl. I was attracted to her, inside and out. I was joyful, filled with hope, falling in love with our visions of a future home by the sea, a little yellow and white kitchen that smelled of coffee and sandalwood, nights lying by a warm fireplace while coastal storms raged outside...of building a business together...of showing her my secret places, whether they be a secluded beach, or the wounds, weaknesses, and fears I carry around in my head and heart...of feeling safe and truly loved and accepted once again, and of my aching to be that for someone else as well. I cracked up at this woman's smart humor, I rejoiced in our stimulating intellectual discussions, and I ignited emotionally and physically as we started to touch and discover each other. I let that go, all of it...because life with her would also apparently include others touching her in the most intimate of ways. Why should THAT of all things REALLY bother me?
Seriously. Think about it for a second. What does it REALLY matter in the big scheme of things, if she still comes home to YOU? If the history, and the future, are still about your relationship, your life together, and what you are building and HAVE already built together...what changes just because someone else makes her orgasm? Wouldn't you just be HAPPY for her if someone else could make her come so hard that she nearly loses consciousness and gets a spontaneous nose-bleed? I mean, HOORAY for her, right? Just like you would be happy for her if she got a promotion at work, or found the perfect pair of shoes while out shopping...right? It wouldn't mean an end of her love for you, or an end to your own ability to still "rock her world," or her to rock yours, so to speak.
I DARE you to identify ONE reason that isn't ultimately selfish, or about YOUR own ego, or fear of loss or inadequacy. Go ahead...because this is the challenge I was left with, and I did A LOT of soul searching. I had to get brutally honest with my self assessment...and I discovered that A LOT of my reasoning really WAS unhealthy. After sifting through it all...I also clarified that there were reasons, for me, that were absolutely centered, realistic, okay, and NOT about fear, selfishness, or ego.
And I remembered, too, that SHE was ALSO willing to give up our possible life together because in her measure of things...she was going to need sex with multiple people to imagine herself fulfilled, and THAT was ultimately the yardstick that she used. In other words, it was easier for her to imagine a life without ME than it was to imagine a life without multiple sex partners. That alone made me feel better about MY choice, but let me tell you why... beyond the obvious...why it matters to me enough to painfully close a potentially beautiful thing and ultimately risk a life alone rather than accept non-monogamy as an open and honest choice.
First, let me say that I am NOT espousing the brand of monogamy that comes along with rabidly snapping at anyone who looks at my partner, or me endlessly questioning my partner about who SHE was looking at. I'm not talking about making proclamations about someone "belonging" to me...or being one of those dreaded people who practically pees a possessive circle around someone else while chanting "back off...she's MINE." THAT is what I consider symptomatic of all of the worst and most unhealthy things about the idea of monogamy. THAT is about jealousy, fear, and control...and no matter what, one person cannot possess another, not even in marriage.
We don't OWN anyone.
Secondly, I also don't believe that the idea of one person "completing" another person (sorry Jerry McGuire)...or making WHO you ARE okay to YOURSELF is healthy. Someone else can't be the primary source of your validation and self-esteem, although I don't think there is anything wrong with finding SOME of your validation and identity through your partnership...it's normal to have the adoration of someone else lift and bolster us. It's one of the wonderful characteristics of being "in-love," and research supports that this is one of the reported defining elements of THAT feeling...how seeing ourselves reflected through the eyes of someone who thinks we are awesome ADDS to our feeling good about ourselves...just as it is normal to feel shaken and small in the face of constant criticism or someone treating us as if we don't matter.
Being loved and treated well, placed as someones priority FEELS good. It should.
That is quite different than NEEDING that to feel whole or okay. I think the song, "I Can't Live If Living is Without You" is ridiculous. Catchy, but ridiculous.
I recently read a book written by an owl biologist, and apparently barn owls mate for life. If their mate dies, these owls will turn towards a tree and just starve themselves to death.
There is nothing worse than a suicidal, co-dependent owl (except maybe a narcissistic, enabling pigeon).
Anyway...I think it is extremely unhealthy and unsafe to identify yourself only in relation to someone else. This is not the same thing as discovering that your life WITH someone is beautiful, feeling that they aren't replaceable, and finding that if you lose them for some reason- that their absence has left holes in your life and heart. I simply believe that is called partnership...it's love in motion.
It can be argued that monogamy isn't a required pre-condition for THAT. I mean, why would it be? What does sexual exclusivity have to do with the concepts I just mentioned? A healthy self-esteem would actually be an absolute necessity for an open-relationship to even have a chance of succeeding...and you certainly don't have to assume that intimacy with others has to necessarily SUBTRACT from the intimacy you have built in your primary partnership. It's NOT a competition, and love itself is not a finite resource.
I'm a sociologist, so let's talk brass tacks for a second. What does the research actually tell us? Do monogamous relationships even work? Or even more pressing, DO THEY EVEN EXIST? Can polyamorous couples be happy? Are those relationships more successful?
It depends on the study that you consult, of course...because there are many. This isn't a journal submission or an academic paper, so I'm not going to cite them...but I will summarize what I've found...and of course it isn't conclusive.
We all know the statistics that about 50% of first marriages end in divorce. Somewhere between 60-85% of people report that they are faithful when in monogamous relationships, which means there is quite a bit of "cheating" going on. So what if you remove the entire concept of "cheating" to begin with, and just open up the doors to consensual intimate relations with others? One of my favorite married couples in Hollywood, Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith, allow for extra-marital dalliances, and it seems to work for them.
Unfortunately, longitudinal studies of polyamorous relationships suggest that they don't fare much better than monogamous ones in terms of "staying power," although for the reasons that you might not at first suspect.
Apparently, successful long-term relationships take a LOT of work...and polyamorous relationships take even more, emotionally speaking. It takes an amazing amount of communication, negotiation, honesty, reassurances, organization, balancing...to get the scripts hammered out...to get trust, logistics, safety, shared understandings and agreed upon conditions and boundaries under control. It is, in short, exhausting...even with the best of intentions.
With all of that said-here are my reasons why monogamy is my absolute choice:
TIME: For me personally, this is the cornerstone-even more-so than sexual intimacy itself. The little things add up to the big things...I want the comfort of coffee in the morning, watching the news together and talking about it, sharing conversations about how our day went, preparing and sharing meals together, falling asleep and waking up next to someone, going on little adventures and making memories together...and the right person for me will want that as well. My experience has been that it is ALREADY tough to balance competing demands and MAKE time for each other in a busy world of work, school, family, friendships, pursuing personal hobbies and interests...I mean, I suppose I could play the guitar while my spouse went to go f*#k someone else...but really, I don't think the person in love with me would choose that...and if so, it would bother me. I would have a similar reaction if a friendship came to require time investments that invaded our privacy, our plans, our important moments...beyond being there for our friends when they need us in hard times, I'm talking about cultivating a competing intimate relationship. Time IS finite, and additional relationships by necessity DO subtract from that.
EMOTIONAL SAFETY: People come with baggage...including the alternate people my spouse might choose to have sex with. They have their own perspectives, needs wants, desires, history, cast of characters, character defects and other emotional entanglements. Add the potentially explosive feelings that sex can create, and it can become dangerous..."boil the bunny" kind of dangerous. Hopefully, the alternate person would be emotionally healthy, honest about OTHER people who might become hurt or upset by their bonking you, or decide that they must have you as their primary person, and show up at our house with an ax.
Ok...maybe a little dramatic...
There is a reason that sexuality and emotional intensity go hand in hand...sex releases oxytocin, which is a "bonding" hormone, as well as a pleasure one. We all instinctively know this. It's playing with fire...the fates of nations have been altered by this little hormone.
I think keeping sexual intimacy for your partner and lover is the only way to keep that stuff safe...no one else is going to take care of your relationship. The world does not care, and in fact can be downright hostile to people that appear to be happy (or appear to be less than certain about their commitment). Life pushes, people shove...I need my partner to shove back-just as I would. Keep us safe.
EXIT DOORS: Life is a journey, and over the course of time with a life partner "feelings" will ebb and flow. GUARANTEED there will be times when you are disappointed, bored, maybe want to strangle them. If you really love the person and hang on, the love will come back around. Research supports this...that relationships go through stages, and cycles. Marriage/relationship counselors refer to emotional "exit doors" that people create...things like putting up the newspaper between yourself and your family, focusing on the television or your phone to "escape"...it's normal to a certain degree, but in excess it can sink a relationship.
Another intimate relationship, one that isn't burdened by the dailiness and struggle that accompanies life shared with someone, is an ultimate potential exit door. Why would you stay during the tough stuff when you can just check out and drive over to the newer, shinier thing? I think it is fool's gold. I was told that having that exit, that alternative, would in turn keep the primary relationship "fresh and new" too. I think that is bullsh*t. Really. Rational choice theory and exchange theory of human interaction suggest that is absolute crap.
If you create that exit door, you will use it when things are unpleasant at home, right when you should be looking inward instead of outward. It's human nature. Which brings me to...
LONGEVITY AND TRUST: If I love you and have married you, it would take a stick of dynamite to get me out of your hospital room if you are sick. I'm the person who will hold your hand when you are scared...and wild horses couldn't keep me from witnessing your personal triumphs, or holding you through your personal setbacks. If we are blessed enough to make it to old age, I'm the one who is going to be there with you. I'm not going to leave you if you become injured or disabled, or as physical beauty fades.
I want to know and believe I found the person who will be that for me too.
If having your hoo-ha rubbed by someone else is really the deal-breaker for you, if that is what matters, you aren't that person. For me, infidelity isn't necessarily a deal breaker, if I understand why (and I hope to make my relationship a safe enough place to talk about those things honestly)...but if the "reason" is just that you wanted the sexual thrill, and that was more important to you than everything else we have...I honestly don't think it is my ego, fears, or commitment issues that need to be examined.
HEALTH SAFETY: You can take precautions, and reduce risk...but you can't eliminate it. If you put your mouth around someone else's genitals, you may unpack their intimate gifts, and bring them home to me and our life. I'm amazed that I made it out of my twenties and thirties safely...with HPV, Hep C, genital warts, 1 in 6 adults having genital herpes, chlamydia, etc. etc. etc...even if you use a rubber sleeve or a dental dam, and I trusted you to do that without fail, the risk is NOT eliminated. One of the big attractions for me in finding a loving and monogamous relationship is the exhale I get to do after getting off the human body fluid super-highway.
If we are going to have sex with other people I would want regular STD screens. It's not just YOU being careful, it's having to trust that where YOU placed trust was safe...and maybe you were fooled. The fact is, if you chose for yourself that risk, you are also choosing that for me.
Honestly, you just are never going to have to worry that I had someones testicles slapping up on me, or had my mouth on someone else. I'm just not going to do that if I'm in a relationship...exposing you and us to the risk is not worth it.
GIVE ME A BREAK: The claim that it isn't "natural" to be monogamous irritates me, although it is probably ultimately true. It isn't "natural" to pee in a toilet, instead of our pants. For that matter, it isn't "natural" to even WEAR pants.
I would love to just sit around and eat ice-cream, cookies, and pizza all day...and I can certainly do that...with consequences.
We learn to control and temper our "urges"...usually related to outcomes that we consider important to us. Balance.
It's TRUE that we can't encapsulate all of humanity and the sexual variations and energy within...there are LOTS of lollipops out there, and we certainly CAN'T be every flavor. I've heard that there is a tribe in New Guinea that will go from one sexual partner to another for their entire life-span...just for the variety.
They're called "single."
I told you I would probably be sarcastic.
Anyway, I DO think we have a responsibility to our partners, if we enter into a committed relationship, to TRY to meet their sexual needs too. You know, push the envelope, exit the comfort zone, try new things...dress up like Julie Andrews and sing the "Sound of Music" if that's what it takes...within reason-which only you can decide what that is.
A total sexual mis-match is a valid reason to reconsider before entering a relationship...but if someone is telling me they just want the "freedom" to entertain hypothetical people for simple variety...because it's "FREE"...as in totally unconstrained... really?
Enjoy single-dom. I got that out of my system in my twenties.
LIKE-MINDEDNESS: I'm monogamous by nature, now. I CAN'T WAIT to offer that to someone who would appreciate it, and give that back to me. It will be an HONOR, and I won't be offering that until I am in love with someone.
For me, it comes naturally, effortlessly, and does NOT feel like a sacrifice, or as if I am "sexually incarcerated." I don't need to be tethered, watched, controlled...and it's not as if I would fail to notice beautiful, sexy people...but I want something more than an orgasm...and I want it with my life partner.
I honestly believe that had I been the "right" person for this woman, had she felt strongly enough about me, the very idea of losing me would have been unacceptable...
It's not right or wrong in a moral sense...but just not the right person for ME. She's not going to be there when the chips are down...if keeping her pants up for me is a huge, personal sacrifice.
Which brings me to my last reason...
PSYCHOLOGICAL WELL-BEING: Research has shown that one of our human "needs" is to feel like we are number one, THE priority-to another human being, somewhere. If we are lucky, our parents made us feel that way as children. We often get that sense of security and satisfaction throughout our adult lives with our spouses...our partners in life and love.
There is a song, written by Emily Saliers, with the line, "The closer I'm bound in love to you, the closer I am to free..." I love that line. I do.
The notion isn't that I am "settling" for someone. It isn't that sexual exclusivity is the end-all component of intimacy, or "putting someone first." But, the very ACT of keeping that boundary intact IS an act of recreating and reinforcing that priority.
I can flirt, or be flirted with...it feels good...but, the time sensibly and naturally presents itself to me where I would hold up my ring finger, and gladly say, "I'm married." It's a boundary that matters to me. It's a message to the world (and to my partner) that she is most important. I would do it freely, and without resentment...and it would matter MOST in those times when I didn't really FEEL like it, because maybe I'm angry, or bored, or having a low self-esteem moment and craving that ego-boost...
But, by DOING that, I exercise my commitment and awareness of a big picture...and I BELIEVE by seeking within instead of outside, we grow together and strengthen what we have. Not in a choke hold...not in an artificial vacuum...not because anyone is forcing me, but because what I have with that person matters more...and I WANT to keep it as safe as I can from the forces in the world that wouldn't think twice about trying to tear it apart.
My parents are coming up on fifty years together. It hasn't been perfect, or without storms...I have no idea if they have managed fidelity through it all, but they do love each other. I am certain of this...and I think they would choose each other all over again.
If I'm lucky enough to find that, to feel that and actually have it returned...I think I will have found the thing that is most important of all...and my actions will reflect that.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Finding myself falling in love...that combined gentle descent and rapid rise that just starts to happen...starts unfolding under it's own weight, without effort, and with a total disregard for any barricades one might have deliberately placed between experience and feeling...felt like bliss unleashed..
and then to be abruptly faced with a seemingly cruel fork in the road...
Not only can't I be faithful to you, but i have no intention of even trying...but I promise I'll love you, and it wouldn't change a thing between us...
...is not something I would have ever knowingly stepped into...and given these options...I had no choice but in leaving the relationship with folds and tears, right where it stood...nothing beyond a simple equation...no right or wrong...it was honesty and truth, which sometimes you just have to let BE. And it was appreciated, very much. I had the chance to make an informed choice, and it's not what I want for my life, and my love, and my partnership.
Yesterday, I was angry with you. Trying to clean the house, again, and literally having a blond hair hurl itself at me from a ceiling fan. What did you do? PLANT it there? Haha...
You KNOW why I'm angry...and I told you that if you answered my anger with a cosmic platitude, I might "transcend" my tattered grace altogether and want to stab you with gardening shears-and then poke my own eyeballs out with a BBQ fork...
To which you responded chirpily (and, I'm sure, in your softest and most spiritually profound voice EVER), "...everything you are feeling is just perfect."
I think things to death sometimes, considering every angle to the point I'm CREATING angles where none exist...and you maneuver through days letting feelings guide you...both styles valid, both styles flawed...
But, thank goodness I didn't let FEELING guide me yesterday. I would have attacked an innocent little ceramic squirrel with a claw hammer, and tossed his little, broken pieces into the dumpster.
Feelings pass as frequently and as quickly as the next mood. That's why I DON'T TRUST THEM, or words in general. People aren't LYING when they say things like, "I won't hurt you..." or, "I promise (fill in the blank)." They mean them when they say them.
But, feelings are subject to erratic and intense changes...and therefore, so are the words that are inspired by them. That's why love is a DECISION as much as it is an EMOTION. Without the decision to carry through those "I don't feel like trying" moments, well, no one would be together past their first storm.
Anyway, sure enough...the intensity subsided in my own feelings, and chiclet squirrel will live to see the inside of a dusty box in a garage...hopefully destined to see the light of day again sometime, when he will be pulled out to greet a smile as he resurrects a faded memory...
Of course, you were right...which just pisses me off even more. Perfectly.
You know, I had mercilessly beaten love into full retreat...reactively, defensively...after losing the person who is, to date, the love of my life. Scared to dream, scared to feel, scared to hope again. That's not being alive.
So, as much as it smarts...you have reminded me that the risk is worth it. If I remove myself from the game, from the experience of living, then I'm not truly alive. I KNEW this, and yet I didn't know HOW to undo what I had done...HOW to reconnect. I WANTED TO.
It would have taken someone bypassing my excuses, brazenly ignoring my self defeating "no's," and bulldozing right through my roadblocks. Who does that? I mean, besides a stalker...what SANE person would DO THAT?
Well...YOU did. And now, I'm hurt again...but, something is different. I CHOSE this after you offered me something I could not accept...but the same reason I am angry with you is the same reason I need to genuinely and lovingly thank you. I'm awake, alive, and welcoming again. Even music has returned.
Yes...everything I'm feeling is perfect...damn you.
Before anyone comes unglued at my making the private public...sorry...it's the way it IS, and always will be..as Melissa Etheridge scratches, and crawls, and stands outside windows in the pouring rain with her last cigarette...and publishes BOOKS detailing the landscape of her pain and heartbreaks in high definition, splendid, gory detail...it's what poets, and songwriters, and painters, and sculpters, and all manner of artsy fartsy/philosophical types doooo...we bleed our Borderline Disorders all over the place...both to make peace with our own struggles before we drown...but also, because we have found that sometimes we can give voice and comforting solidarity to those facing the same human experience we all do...
By doing THIS, tomorrow I can write about vibrators and squirrels again.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
So, I just woke up from a nap...and from a very vivid dream.
My housemates needed to re-home their pet duck, and had some people over to meet the duck...but the duck only wanted to play with it's squeaky toy, and kept disappearing down a hallway. I was sent to retrieve the duck, but he wouldn't cooperate...unless I grabbed the toy from his bill and squeaked it to make it (the duck, not the toy) chase me.
I squeaked the toy, and the duck chased me back out into the dining room.
We were all very apologetic about the duck's misbehavior. I remember my housemate (I will refer to her here as Mary, mostly because her name is Mary) saying, "I'm so sorry...he never does this. He normally will come right to you when you call him."
This would have been a good place in the dream to have Mary pull out a duck call and start quacking in the kitchen...but THAT would have made sense.
What is SO TROUBLING about this dream (besides everything) is that we don't even own a duck.
My girlfriend made us dinner last night, and it included smoked tofu. I'm pretty sure that has something to do with it...well, either that, or the Chia seeds. I had some pretty vivid dreams last night, too. Then, I had the leftovers for lunch today.
|Thank goodness he passed on the tofu|
Anyway, I just finished the last of the tofu dish...and I can't wait to go to sleep. I have to find out if our duck got adopted.
I hate cliffhangers.
Sunday, November 09, 2014
In my absolutley hilarious and (dare I say) geniusly inspired guitar blog (http://guitarfingerfreak.blogspot.com) I wrote about "Nutella and the Elvis Potato," which recounted the life altering 'Nutella incident of 1995.'
Looking back, I might be tempted to say that this was my first real experience with dangerous spreadables...but I think my problem may have started long before that.
Like most people, I think I got my first taste of the smooth and creamy side back when I was just a kid. It was Jif...I think...because my mom was choosy. Choosy moms choose it...it's a well known fact. This isn't just another "blame my mom" diversionary tactic to avoid responsibility.
I save that for my inability to follow through with anything, and my fear of intimacy...and spiders.
Anyway, I'm sure my mother meant no harm. Maybe she didn't understand the dangers of succumbing to the capitalist propoganda machine. Maybe it wasn't even Jif at all. Maybe it was Skippy. It was so long ago that I really can't remember the details now. Or, perhaps I have blocked it.
I do remember that at some point she tried to switch over to some crunchy, organic peanut butter. It was all oily on the top, and the bottom half of the jar was always hard and impossible to spread on bread without ripping gaping holes in it. I don't think it even qualified as a spreadable at all. It almost broke me of the habit...
But then I would go tomy friends' houses, and the dreaded peer pressure. "Do you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
One is too many. A thousand is never enough.
I did some experimenting in college with some alternative spreadables...walnut, and almond. Cashew butter was so good that it scared me...fortunately these exotic blends were cost prohibitive, and didn't go well with beer, or I might have lost my way.
Then, out of nowhere, 'the Nutella Incident of 1995.' It involved a dumpster, and I was pretty sure I had hit my low point. My bottom, if you will. It was a dark, dark year.
What I realize now is that Nutella itself is really just a gateway spreadable.
My girlfriend showed up with something the other day that is just wrong. It looked innocent enough, and she brought it from Trader Joe's...I mean, Trader Joe's! It HAD to be safe, right?
The name should have given it away. "Cookie Butter."
It's EVIL. Cookies and butter are two things I really don't need. At all. Combined together, it's just not even fair.
Crack in a jar.
Anyway, I've quit cold turkey after going through an entire jar by myself in two days.
Thursday, November 06, 2014
In a recent post I had discussed the ever increasing social problem of tweaker golf cart escapes along highway 101. It has unfortunately come to my attention that this serious issue may have taken a turn for the worse, and broken free of coastal California.
Go ahead. Look for yourself: www'sbsun.com/general-news/20110415/rancho-cucamonga-man-leads-deputies-on-scooter-chase
As you can probably guess, this post is mostly an excuse for me to use the the name Cucamonga as many times as possible.
But, in addition to being able to say "Cucamonga" frequently and without impunity, I am also able to bring attention once again to dangerous criminals using tiny vehicles to elude law enforcement.
These hardened criminals have an obvious and reckless disregard for the safety and welfare of others...unlike those 'other' hardened criminals who care, and wouldn't dare resort to taking Wal-Mart motorized shopping carts out onto public roadways in an attempt to escape justice.
Of even greater concern, however, is why someone would name a municipality "Rancho Cucamonga"-which, roughly translated, means, "Ranch of the very large Cuca's."
I have no idea what a Cuca is, but I certainly wouldn't name my town after one. It sounds obscene.
So, you just keep all of this in mind if you decide to travel to the "Ranch of the very large Cuca's" area. There is some sh*t going down. Leave your hoverrounds at home if you must visit there. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem.
Friday, October 31, 2014
It's Halloween, and I didn't want Charlene (my guitar) to feel left out. So, I got her a costume.
She's dressed as a lesbian.
I think she looks awesome.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Here's one: http://www.breitbart.com/Breitbart-California/2014/10/26/Parolee-Allegedly-High_On-Meth-Crashes-Stolen-Golf-Cart-While-Evading-Police-On-Highway
Yes, I have a few opinions and observations about this one.
First of all, when I do my "high on meth police evading," I prefer to use a more sensible escape method...like a stolen bicycle. Or if I'm REALLY high, on horseback (that's for another blog entry). But, a stolen golf cart? Come on!
Highway 101 is famous for being one of the most scenic drives in the world. It is heavily traveled by visitors and local sightseers alike. Nearly 30,000 vehicles pass by any given stretch of Highway 101 on a typical day. It is not unusual to see tourist filled motorhomes, and family filled passenger cars out for a beautiful drive alongside the ocean beaches.
Unfortunately, it is increasingly being used for meth induced golf cart escapes.
This is troubling, and dangerous. This particular story indicates that this parolee floored it, and at one point reached speeds in excess of 10 miles per hour. I mean, what if he had run into a redwood tree or something? He totally could have tipped over. Who wants to subject their family to seeing carnage like that?
It's not such a big problem in places like Scottsdale, or maybe Palm Springs, where everyone is in a perpetual state of golfing anyway. Or maybe Florida, where large numbers of retired people are using their golf carts to do stuff like to go shopping at Walgreens, to meet at the Golden Corral Buffet, or to plan a big heist at the Moose Lodge Bingo Extravaganza. You expect to see the golf carts on the sidewalks...and highways...and sometimes involved in dangerous pursuits. It just comes with the territory.
It's First World senior problems.
"Get off mah lawn!"
"Don't tell me what to do, Mavis!"
But, I'm not sure how to address this ever-increasing social problem in Humboldt County, where the populace just isn't used to the hard-core criminal golf cart activity.
I'm thinking we need to get the tweakers to talk to the stoners, and maybe convinve them to switch over to dune buggies.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
So, there's this girl I kind of, sorta like a little bit. It turns out that she thinks intelligence is sexy. So, having smarts up in my head like I do, I decided that I needed to impress her with some real big words...and to wear my reading glasses everywhere (hoping that she finds running into doors sexy too)...
At the same time that this circumstantial situationalism was developing, our friend (who I will refer to here as BM, mostly because his initials are BM-and that makes us think of 'bowel movement,' which sets us off into immature fits of giggling) was the target of some vocabulitanarianistic ridiculism. He had no choice but to defend himself. We both outdid ourselves...
It all started when my friend BM sent my friend SE a friend request on facebook. I didn't have time to warn her, and she accepted. So, BM posted this to her wall:
"Hi. My name is Poop. I like long walks on the beach and staring at crystals."
SE: Wow. That's quite a list there, poop. I'm soooo, soooo glad that I accepted your friend request. Soooo glad. Glad.
JN: Oh SE, you didn't...
BM: Isn't it THRILLING??!
BM: People of intelligence think I'm the shiznit!
BM: I love me today! Can I get a wut, wut????
SE: You mean people with this kind of intelligence??
SE: The last time I had one of these um, new friend requests of a certain type...it lasted about 2 weeks until his 'caretaker' deleted his account. Somehow, I fear I won't be so lucky this time.
BM: I have my caretakers "tied up" right now. Wink. Wink.
So, Bill started it.
...and then came...the words...
"Add, 'I'm dizzy, and I'm pretty sure I strained my sternocleidomastoid' to the list of sentences I never thought I would say. Ever."
KW: How in the blazes did you get that word unwound off your tongue?? Good God, girl. That sprained me brain just trying to read it LOL..
CE: What have you been smoking?
JN: HAHAHAHAHA...yesterday I got litigious about disgruntled pumpkin vaginas and SN asked me what I had been eating...HAHAHAHAHA...
JN: KW, I know...that one hurt. I pulled a hamstring...
BM: My diameter is significant in that it amounts to ulterior dissemination.
BM: I think I just pulled an ass muscle.
BM: JN, get a meme ready.
BM: SE, JN keeps looking at me.
SE: Does she look perplexed?
SE: There's also horrified.
JN: Mortified comes to mind...
BM: She is splendifferously osteoporosis on the califragilistic.
BM: I just crapped myself.
SE: No offense to anyone suffering from that very debilitating condition. Thereby, therein..litigious...uh..
BM: Ligaments are surely to follow the perpendicular observation that SE has expostulated. My brain is melting.
JN: Ours too, Bill. Ours too.
JN: I think you need your bicarbonate recalibrated.
JN: It's adjacent to your subterfuge.
BM: Does any of this make sense to ANYONE???
KW: I scared cuz yeah, some of this makes sense to my head, but now my brain is primordial soup.
BM: Here we go, KW! It is a preposterous supposition to accentuate the paranomal proclivities of the clavicle intestine.
BM: I didn't want to do this JN.
BM: It is ALL KW's fault. Just sitting here contemplating my naval. And she starts in.
SE: I have NEVER in my life expostulated, BM...NEVER. I can't believe you'd even suggest...phhhffft! PHHHHHFFFT! NEVER!
SE: Clavicle intestine....BM. I'm gonna need to see a diagram.
JN: Oh now, SE...we ALL expostulate from time to time. Just eat more fiber. It will be fine.
SE: Hahaha! You're doing it now.
JN: I knew someone that was in a bike accident and had a clavicle intestine.
JN: Also some politicians.
KW: What is a clavicle intestine? I was afraid to ask.
SE: Hahahaaaaha! Sorry about your friend..Hahaha! And my irreverent laughter..Haha!
SE: KW...BM thinks the Hokey Pokey IS what it's all about...don't trust his knowledge of the human anatomy. No.
KW: Thanks SE for enlightening me.
JN: Not to be paranoid, but I think this is all counterintelligence.
KW: Sounds more counter allegiance.
JN: The shin bone connected to the shoulder bone. The shoulder bone connected to the knee bone.
JN: Five car pile up.
SE: The clavicle connected to the intestinal bone.
KW: Black hole. . . . ?
JN: I went to a bar in Castro District called the Intestine Bone.
JN: OK. I made that up.
SE: Deep Six Nine!
KW: I thought it was Deep Space Nine...?
SE: Castro! Yay!
KW: Or are you referring to 69..
JN: Directed by Rush Limbaugh
SE: Starring Ann Coulter.
KW: Aaaaahhhh...SE, I sent you a friend request.
KW: What? What?
JN: Send BM one. No, really...heh, heh, heh...
KW: I already did, and he accepted. Called me out right quick after, also...
JN: Bill...you are about to tangle with a poet and you don't know it
JN: Because you are extemporaneously predisposed to existential gangsterism...
DD: Jo, do not let me see that last post again, reposted as something you never thought you'd say.
NOTE: DD (Denise DeSio) is a published author and is kind enough to occasionally take on the tortured task of providing professional editing skills for my horribly mangled online "content"...
SU: Yeah, Jo. Don't do it.
I thought we had, perhaps, all made it through these ridiculous exchanges without anybody needing a trip to the emergency room...and then...on another completely different thread....
BM: I wasn't aware that pumpkins were an amalgamated component to our interrelationship which correlated to the dysfunctional aspect ratio in-vitro risingsauce.
SE: Now you're aware, BM.
BM: GOOD CHRIST!! I think my brain just crapped itself with that last post.
JN: Dysfunctional aspect ratio in-vitro risingsauce?
JN: Philanthropically perpendicular to your interstitial striation circumference.
BM: Are we REALLY going to go there?
JN: Which sequentially creates an irascible stentorian demeanor inspired by my middle phallanges.
JN: Hey, it's your photosynthesis.
NOTE: This is where my retina detached and Denise DeSio's head just exploded...and then...
SE: Good lord, this conversation is HOT!
JN: It is?
SE: Umm, yes.
JN: Well then, you should observationally circumnavigate my centrifuge.
SE: Rendered speechless.
All I needed was proper motivation. I mean, you don't have to tell me twice...
In a private message I told her that I was, "Glad to an exponentially infinite proportion of gladness," about the whole thing. Then I told her that I couldn't wait to "allocate her rotunda."
I think I scored some points with the girl...although I have absolutely no idea what we said. I tried to use spell checker and was nearly blinded.
And, I think I may have lost my editor.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
So, this picture was posted on Facebook...as we near Halloween. It's a very cool pumpkin carving. The person who posted it (I will refer to her here as Sharla, mostly because her name is Sharla) made the mistake of captioning it, "Awesome! Except that it sorta looks like a very disgruntled vagina..."
This set off a discussion comments thread that I can only describe as...well...
Never mind. I can't desribe it...so I'm just going to share part of it. What follows is intended for mature audiences, even though "maturity" certainly had no part in the making of this thread...
TPAJ: Told you I was coming here, Hahahaha. I'll never come close to that vagina...something I never thought I would say. Tagging JN, LOL.
SE: No, TPAJ...I assure you this disgruntled vagina has no connection with JN's page. Nothing to see here...move along. Also, I'm in no way suggesting that another equally awesome pumpkin/vagina would appear here...umm...satisfied...so to recap, neither disgruntled nor satisfied vaginas directly connected to Jo's page will featured here...today.
JN: Very disgruntled vagina is not a good name for a rock band.
BM: I love ya, SE. But you need serious help. Lol.
SE: True story, BM! Haha..
JN: How did we get all 'litigious speak' regarding the disgruntled pumpkin vagina?
SE: Hahahahahaha!! Oh no, you've misconstrued my statement regarding said disgruntled vagina. I was merely stating the facts surrounding this particular day versus say...tomorrow. Litigious...haha
BM: Your vagina GRUNTS? HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!
SE: There's no way you're gonna derail this crazy train...BM...it's already there! Haha!
JN: I steadfastly herein thereby maintain that the alleged said pumpkin vagina may or may not be hypothetically disgruntled, although I can neither confirm nor deny said alleged disgruntlement, and in the possible potentiality that said pumpkin vagina may manifest a level of unsuitable disgruntlement, I assume no alleged hypothetical prior knowledge or assumption of responsibility for the mood of this gourd's genitalia.
SE: I CAN'T . BREATHE!!!
SE: Oooh my god!!!! Hahaha!!
SE: Oh seriously, that has to be a status alert!! JN...
JN: I'm on it...but I might have peed a little...
MR: This whole thread just killed me.
SE: Me too! Hahaha!
SE: Attack of the disgruntled vaginas!
JN: Directed by Rush Limbaugh
SE: Starring Ann Coulter.
JN: Omg...you're good.
JN: I can't stop giggling again...
This thread is still continuing on, much like Jason from the 'Friday the 13th' movies. There are actually several threads spanning across several pages now...maybe like 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'...
Saturday, October 18, 2014
When I went to California a few months ago to help a friend, I discovered that she had tape across her laptop camera lens....and also tape across her phone camera lens. I asked her why, and she said it was so no one, especially the government, could use it to watch her without her permission.
I said, "Oh, OK...." Then I went into the kitchen and made her a hat out of aluminum foil so the aliens couldn't read her thoughts.
She didn't think that was very funny...but I was concerned that she might be crazy. She also looked really good in aluminum foil, but that was irrelevant. She said I was making fun of her.
Of course I was making fun of her. It's what I do.
Then I came home and started this whole blogging thing. When I researched how to become a rock star blogger, I discovered that if I wanted to have people look at the stuff I wrote, I was going to have to join a bunch of social media sites.
No big deal, I thought. I started with Google+....and it took about two days for me to totally freak out and start wearing an aluminum foil hat.
It turns out that when you sign up for these things, they all "sync" with each other...and in an instant they know EVERYTHING about you. Who your friends are, what your interests are, what you research, what you eat, what you buy, when you sleep, where you are, what you read, what you listen to...
I sat down at my computer and found a "notification" from Google+ asking me, "Is this you?" It showed me an image that somebody else had taken, a long time ago, where I was a person standing in a crowd of other people. There was a little square around my face, and I was supposed to confirm that it was actually me.
It was so unexpected...and I was having a really bad hair day in that photo...so I ran around the house screaming for a few minutes. Then I came back and actually read the "privacy statements" (HAHAHAHA) on a few of my social media thingies. They mentioned stuff about my accessing my GEO locator, my contacts list, my built in microphones and cameras, my emails...
So, after I put on my tinfoil hat, taped up my camera lenses, and went into the closet to keep reading about algorithms, face recognition capabilities, and to discover that every picture I've taken since 1984 (ironic) existed out there on some kind of "cloud," I totally freaked out and decided that I was going to delete it ALL. HAHAHA! ALL of it!
I mean, Facebook was scary enough...but at least I fully understood the privacy options. When I went to delete my Google+ profile, a warning screen came up to tell me that I could go ahead and do that, but that over the next few weeks they would gradually be deleting my Picassa photo albums, my gmail, my blog that I had been journaling in for the past eight years of my life, my contacts lists, my family, my friends, my cat, my self-esteem, my memory...and that once I hit that DELETE ACCOUNT button, I couldn't change my mind (which they would also be deleting)...and was I SURE that I wanted to do that?
I thought about it for a while (while crying in a fetal position), and I ultimately decided to embrace the WHOLE thing. I wasn't ready to erase my whole life...or my cat...in for a penny, in for a pound...as somebody (probably a Google alien) once said. Go big or go home! Why not, indeed?
So, I signed up for EVERYTHING.
It's how my falsely bifurcated brain works. Of course, Google+ already KNEW that, didn't they? HAHAHAHA!
So, now if I blog for ninety minutes, it takes me another three hours to share it to all of my social media sites. I mean, I'm blogging, stumbling, tumbling, tweeting, texting, instagramming, pinteresting, facebooking, my-spacing, soundclouding, googling, yelping, yahooing, foursquaring...I'm link'd in baby...
I'm exhausted. I sound very athletic, or sometimes, like a drunk bird...
|stumble, tumble, and tweet...oh, my|
Most of these social media things do link to each other, so if I submit to one of them, I might be submitting to twelve of them...my friends will probably get sick of seeing my "content" out there...but most are sensible enough to NOT have joined ALL of them.....like I DID...HAHAHAHA....OMG.....
I'm kind of afraid to talk critically about Google+...I've seen 'Silkwood'....and I've noticed the headlights behind me as I drive at night...
Of course I'm in Phoenix...which has a lot of traffic....so it could just be that...but, if I disappear, please check to see if I've been deleted. Or if I'm trapped in a cloud...or something.
Actually, I think that perhaps these guys (aliens) might have my best interests at heart. I woke up this morning to a notification that Google+ had talked to Yahoo, and they were concerned that I was overdue for a colonoscopy...so apparently they had given me one while I was sleeping...and everything checked out OK.
So, that was kind of sweet.
|I'm watching you....|
Sunday, October 12, 2014
|no one can see me...|
|laundry...fresh from the dryer...|
So, I live in a home with two kitties. They are sisters, and I've known them since they were tiny kittens. They look almost identical, which is part of their, "It wasn't me, you obviously have me confused with somebody else" scam.
Several years ago they were left in a box on the porch at the house where I was staying. Of course, upon discovery, they used all of their "supernatural kitten powers of unreasonable cuteness" to get adopted by these homeowners. I mean, it was ridiculous.
Anyway, they aren't mine, but I'm quite attached to them (the cats, not the homeowners...although they are lovely people).
Back then the kitties ended up with their own room. I told you...TOTAL con artists. They have no shame.
It's now several years later, and I'm back in Arizona...again staying with my friends...and with these unreasonably cute cats. My friends needed to relocate, and they ended up moving into a smaller space with one less room. I am really fond of these fuzzy little jerks, so I volunteered to have their litter box and food dishes in my room.
Shut up. They're really cute (the cats, not the dishes and the litter box...although they are just lovely).
Anyway, they don't just have a regular, run of the mill litter box. No. They have some kind of fancy, motor driven, electric litter box that cost several hundred dollars and has a lifetime guarantee. I'm surprised it doesn't have a horn and an airbag.
Or maybe it does.
All I know is that for some reason both cats have to poop at around 3am every morning...and it's an extended, sequential sort of endeavor. I will be sound asleep, in the dark, and I will hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...............................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally sit up and yell, "REALLY?" at which time the first cat will finally stop scratching and exit the box.
For you to fully understand what I am about to describe to you, I must tell you that the electric kitty box is motion triggered, but that it also has a five minute delay (so as not to disturb the fuc***g kitty)...so, just when I start to get settled back into sleep, the dark silence is suddenly broken with, "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRR.......RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRR.........squeak, squeak, squeak...RRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRR...thud."
And then, it is quiet again...and dark...and peaceful...and I am just drifting off, back to sleep,,,when I suddenly hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.........scratch.............scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally bolt upright screaming, "ARE YOU FUC***G KIDDING ME!!??" at which time the second kitty will abruptly exit the box. (while also dodging my slipper).
By now I'm wide awake, huddled in the dark, tormented and WAITING,,,,because there is a five minute delay...and I KNOW it's coming...any second...any second now...it's coming..., "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRRR...RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRRR...squeak, squeak, squeak....RRRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRRR...thud."
And, it's done. There is peace...quiet...for a few seconds...
Right until both kitties decide that they are hungry, and will go over to their little glass food bowls, and I will hear. "clink, clink, clink............crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch...clink, clink...crunch, crunch, crunch..."
By the time the kitties decide they need to bury their leftover food for later, I am close to losing it, and they will claw pointlessly on the wall.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...scratch, scratch..."
That's when I always clumsily turn on my bedside table lamp and maniacally flip the covers back, only to see both cats retreating hastily from the room.
This is what I usually look like in the morning.
No, not really. That was after I got some sushi from a gas station. (Don't ever do that).
Anyway, my friends think the cats might be doing it intentionally to purposely mess with my head. I don't think so, because every time I see them the next day, they are SO friendly, and unreasonably cute.
And besides...I always ultimately manage to get my sleep.
Right up until they climb into my venetian blinds.
Thursday, October 09, 2014
I'm not usually pro anything when it comes to violence, or news about war and political unrest. It's always sad, frustrating, depressing...and I, like many I would imagine, feel helpless to do anything but watch it unfold.
So, I found myself a little surprised that I was actually slightly giddy about one of the items that came across my news feed.
It seems that The United Arab Emerates has their first female fighter jet pilot. It also seems that she drew the assignment of bombing the crap out of some ISIS targets in Syria,
It was her job, and I'm sure that it wasn't personal...right? But, there is a certain poetic justice involved in the fact that this obviously extremely competent and driven female soldier, from an Arab country, was firing missiles at men who would stone her to death if she inadvertently revealed her ankle at the bottom of her Burka...at men who would deny her access to education...at men who would punish her severely for failing to walk behind them in the street...at men who might actually kill her if she dared give voice to any contradictory opinion...
This woman not only participated in the bombing raids. She led them. And she was apparently disowned by her family for doing it.
I admittedly don't understand all of the cultural and religious complexities over there, and I admittedly use my western sensibilities as a yardstick by which to measure the "rightness" or "wrongness" of things...and this is biased and only partially informed.
As much as I am aware of this, however, I can't seem to overcome the impulse to jump up and down and fist pump the air over this story.
I know that sometimes crews on bombing missions would paint names on the sides of their bombs. I've always thought they should put female names on them...and I guess sometimes they do.
Then give them to Maj. Mariam Al Monsouri, and send her up in her F-16,