Sunday, March 31, 2013

Don't Give Me Coffee After 5pm

I am sitting in a Starbucks on Easter Sunday.  My son is with his dad.  I have nothing scheduled until later tonight.  I am experiencing a rare few hours of nothing to do.



These occasions happen so rarely they always catch me by surprise.  I realize it's coming about 45 minutes before it arrives and almost never have a plan.

So I usually find myself at a coffee shop reading, writing, planning, thinking, listening to music, and otherwise recharging my batteries.


I'm an extrovert (I think...) but these quiet hours where I can direct my brain to ends that I get to decide give me a boost like I was an introvert.  I can take stock of my emotional landscape, re-evaluate decisions I made recently, browse my spiritual health, input my cultural quotient and just generally goof off.

It is a gorgeous 76 degrees.  The sky is light blue still even though the sun is dying quietly right over my right shoulder.  There are contrails in the sky instead of the thunderheads the weather man promised us this morning.  People are in a good mood because we recently got some icky weather and these Floridians are persnickety people when it comes to rain and clouds.


I am observing these people.  The twenty year old guy in the ICP shirt who brought his own Chinese food to the cafe table outside.  The tiny gay Asian guy with the cream colored cashmere sweater tied around his shoulders.  The weird looking male barista with the girl face and the Leif Ericsson beard.  Red hat who keeps trying to read this over my shoulder.  The girl who parked at the table with the outdoor outlet hours ago and just won't leave already.

What are they doing today?  Why did they come here now?  What are they doing later?

Will they eat well tonight?  Will they be kissed?  Will they experience a life altering moment in just a few hours?  Will their dreams tonight make them sad?  Is anyone getting laid?

Many times, when I'm people watching alone, I feel like an Anne Rice vampire.  I am ageless and watching these puny mortals like ants in a plastic box.  Years ago, I learned about creative visualization.  It helped me with my confidence and in situations like this, I try to live in a space I call the Goddess Persona driven by a sense of immortality defined by Anne Rice for me when I was a teenager.


I have just arrived like Botticelli's Venus de Milo on the half shell from pink clouds in the sky.  Birds and woodland creatures are on their way from the park across the street to help me smoke my cigarettes and sing songs about missing my Prince Charming who is ever so faraway.  My chin is high, my hair looks good in the lack of humidity (not for long...this IS Florida) and I imagine I radiate lovingkindness energy.

It's not about being superior or holier-than-thou.  It's about honoring the divine within me and requiring those around me to honor it as well, as I honor theirs.  The latter being often forgotten about by modern women and something I encourage my female friends to do as often as possible.

Kids and animals react to me in this state like I was Cinderella.  Women almost commit girl-on-girl crime, think better of it and smile at me instead.  Men vary from hitting on me to simply giving me my space.  Cashiers are more pleasant, I'm more confident, and my bed gets made by chipmunks and deer.



I share this with you, Dear Reader, to give form and shape to the Goddess Persona concept; something I've not articulated before.

That said, this is the space I find myself during this precious free time today.

Free time I'm currently using to imagine private strip routines to Depeche Mode's "Corrupt" or Magnet's "Lay Lady Lay."  To think of how to incorporate significant song lyrics into sonnet form to impress an English teacher.  To decide whether I want to go get that pedicure I've been wanting to indulge in so when I shave my legs later in antici......pation of tonight's events my legs will be exfoliated and super-smooth.  To daydream a little about a weekend with no kids.  To re-live choice moments of the last month.


I can't turn off my brain.

It's like I don't get a say in the paths my neurons choose.  I can simply observe or not.  In observing, tangential nothings sprout in my mind like an Aeon Flux episode leaving messages in my teeth on separate trains of thought.

I am full speed ahead despite hearing myself say the responsible thing.  I can deny it for only a little longer which I think I will do because somewhere in me I know down the road I will be thankful I took that time, even if it wasn't necessarily needed.  Too many times I've overridden my sense of caution to my great detriment.  Never again, I once promised.

I laid out a partial message that didn't convey all the colors.  I painted a response in the dark and everyone knows colors need light to be seen.  I am grateful for the dim lighting because the blushing I've been doing is embarassing.




I have a reputation to uphold, ya know?  I'm tough as nails.  I don't take shit.  I serve it up.  I can do it myself.  I don't need no ______.  I pretend I am a fucking island.  I calculate and play puppet master.  I'm not malicious but I can be cold.

Half of it is protective.  Methods of dealing with skeeveballs who want to buy me a drink and be paid in pussy.  With female bosses and their accompanying shoulder chips.  With late buses, bad hair days, and feeling exposed.  With the coconut fiber walls up around my heart.  Hard to tear by hand but easy to knock down.


The other half of it is narcissism.  I want to be known as a bad bitch.  Someone not to be trifled with.  Someone who genuinely likes you because she took the time to construct and crack a joke at your expense. Someone who means what she says and will fight to the literal death for those she loves.

The second half won't change.  It will probably evolve into other forms of attention-seeking behavior because I have to acknowledge that it's part of my make up and needs to be fed lest it, like lightning, seek out the shortest path to the ground.

The first half is temporary by design.  There is a cobwebbed Now Hiring sign on the hut door and an engraved invitation sitting on the stoop next to two sleeping Dobermans.  I always want the space to defend myself and do for myself but the bomb here is:

     ....I want Prince Charming.



Please don't tell the other feminists.  My card will be revoked if they hear about this.



It's not that I am somehow invalidating my feminist streak or making it okay for misogyny to enter my life.  I'm not saying the feminists are right or wrong on any particular issue or that as a woman, I don't deserve equality.

What I am saying is that sometimes I want to watch a sexy man change my tire for me so I don't have to.


In the dark, in private, we both know how much power and control I have (50%, if you're wondering) but out and about, I want my drink ordered (correctly) for me, I want douchebags fended off in a show of bravery, confidence, and possession, and I don't want to be the one to lead when we dance.  I will gladly play the sammich-making Little Woman as a role because it's fun, satisfying, titillating, and worth it in the sexual dividends with the right partner.



I will never commingle funds.  I will never get married.  I am on the fence about even sharing living space ever again.

But damn if I'm not a quivering mess in the arms of an alpha male.



As I sit here in Starbucks, it's easy to pick out who is alpha and who is some other Greek letter.  There's a physical aspect to an alpha male sure but it's not always necessary.  I've known alphas who could have been the love child of Napoleon Bonaparte and Carrot Top.  It's an attitude.  And under other circumstances, that attitude rubs me completely the wrong way.  I take special pleasure in taking alpha males down a peg when unwelcome advances are made.  But done well....

...it's about a combination of confidence with slight arrogance, strength of conviction, level of self-actualization, sense of entitlement (this is where they get in trouble with me), and a glittering in the eye like a hungry predator.

It's a little dangerous and that's kind of what's exciting about it.  You may be nuzzled by a tiger but there is no guarantee you won't be eaten alive.


It's when the desired alpha male makes a declaration of intent that the bond that grows between the human who leaves meat out each night and the wild wolf who knows where to look.  There is a trust that takes root and (hopefully) grows into a sturdy oak where I can allow the delicious danger inherent in baring my heart, sharing my secrets and leaving myself in what I think are capable hands.


It's a powerful thing to be vulnerable.  It's not something I'm always good at and I've lost some opportunities because I didn't want to be vulnerable in front of an unknown variable.  When I'm the only safety net I've got, and then you throw my kid in the mix, I have a lot to be protective of.  To allow any old jerkoff to step in to that inner circle too soon would be irresponsible and dangerous in a scary real way.

But if the jerkoff isn't a jerkoff at all and in fact has my very best well-being and that of my son in his mind like it was actually important, there is a delicious unveiling of all the fascinating colors I'm painted with that I don't allow many to see.


It's such a funny thing...that it takes so many conditions and boundaries in order for my comfort level to be that where I can be laid bare before another.  But when it does happen I hold on to it for dear life.  Because that is why we're all here in our sublime little fascinating mortal lives.

Scurrying about from obligation to obligation.  All of us just dying to be exposed in safe environments.  I bet we're all interesting varied souls with so much beauty and kindness that it would just break your heart to be immersed in such a force.

We come into the world and build ourselves brick by brick.  Making our choices.  Defining and carving from obsidian who we become, for better or worse.  We learn.  Or we don't.  Either way, our vulnerability will show it all.  All our laziness, selfishness, apathy.  All our love, gifts, altruism.

When there are no walls, there are no locks.  It's all just arches and breezeways.  Candles are blown out in favor of opening blinds.  Sunlight illuminates dustjackets and grit in the corners.  Red velvet drapes actually look red and the crush of the nap is outlined in every fiber.


You could have a free pass.  You could be permitted to wander.  Abandon all hope ye who enter here since you won't need it anyway.  The trip is earned, guided by the original, and cannot be told in less than a lifetime.






Friday, March 29, 2013

Last Supper, Bitches

Mary/John be all like, "Oh my God, Simon Peter, LOOK AT HER BUTT."

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Autumn



Medleys and Mashups

Two strangers turning into dust
This is no ordinary love
Like a lightbulb in a dark room
Just breathe

Go ahead, go way low, in my honey lovin' arms
We are taking sugar water shower
I'd sail ships for you
Your rising sun, my kingdom come

We don't get no sleep
Every time I let you in abracadabra magic happens as we swim
Sour by the minute but sweeter by the hour
And the end comes too soon like dreaming of angels...and leaving without them

We are the lucky ones, my dear
When I can't get close to you I come undone
You could be my unintended
I will be your Desdemona

Damn you for being so easygoing...



There He Is


Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Star Crush



Hurry, get back in. I'm getting cold.

A warm spot on the corner of my mouth.  Soft with honey intentions and the slightest hint of boar's brush.  A low voice floats unobtrusively (welcomingly?) into the green-gray world of my subterranean eyelid reverie.

Another warm kissed spot.  A beloved tuck of hair behind my ear.  Gentle hand on my back.  Unfamiliar comforter delicious on my friction-less bare feet.

Stretch.  See.  Squint. Flop back to the sheets.  Squint again.

A conspiratorial smile bobs up into my sunlit waking consciousness like debris from a submerged vehicle.

The clicking and wet hot breathing of an unfamiliar coffee maker.  More sunlight.  Birds.

Green and gold outside.

I must have last night's makeup all over my face.  That's not cute, Christina.

I curl up into myself again and the softhearted smile before me fades away into memories of sensations felt only hours earlier.  Still fresh on my skin, branded into my muscle memory, I reminisce about the incandescent trails left by fingertips in the dark.  Driving home later is going to ache something fierce and fascinating.

More morning goes by.

Minutes?

Hours?

I could have as many warm spots on my mouth as I care to elicit with this feline behavior... all stretches and purring.

Five more minutes?

Coffee?

Exactly how I like it.

Participating in creating familiarity for me.  Small tokens.  Big dividends.  The exchange rate on this morning currency is high and cumulative.

The jockeys who were so sure they'd win a month ago are now strung out on daytime television and getting fatter by the day.  Ain't no horses for them now, sweetheart.

Laurels and gold await.  Onward.  Do not stop.

And in the mean time, I suppose I'll get my sweet patoot out of your bed now.

Does the whale cry with a seabound eye?

"Whatever the identity of this strange unidentified alien whale, it is, for now, the very definition of poetic, existential loneliness, in both time and space. The whale is somewhere wandering the Northeast Pacific, right now, in a rudderless, aimless track. And right now the lonely beast could be calling out for others of its kind, and finding none, for over 12 years and counting."



Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Wind In My Hair



Life Uncommon

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Artist: Jarek Puczel

Wearing Only A Cock Ring

come in

every night you enter me like a criminal

you break into my brain

but you're no ordinary criminal

you put your feet up

you pop a pepsi

you start to party
you turn up my stereo
songs I've never heard

but I move anyway

you get me crazy
I say do it

I don't care what

just do it

jam me

jack me

push me

pull me

TALK HARD




Hero

I was reading your life from now into the past.  About halfway through, shit got serious.  I was getting the story in reverse but I wanted to get it as it happened.  Probably so I could have a full understanding of the slice you decided to share; the evolution of emotion as it happened to you.  I already move with your ups and downs carved from serifs on topics of lighter note; I know this ride will be worth it.


So I began reading from the beginning.

It is a stark contrast to your present voice.  Tones.  Pretensions and references.  Structure and syntax.  You sound much younger, more naive in your earlier meanderings.  As it should be.

You make me feel like The Doctor.  I know the coming hurt is a fixed point in your time stream.  I know there is a tremendous pain that waits for you.  It's as if I am friends with now-you and past-you simultaneously and because of the laws of time, I can't warn past-you.  I can only wince as I watch and grieve with past-you in the echoes of your long ago narratives.


You say you want to be a hero.  There is an awful lot of hot air in the world today.  Hard to know who to trust.


A hero has integrity.  He can always be counted on.  He is her last best chance before she hurtles into the earth at 9.8m/s^2.  He hears her when she calls.  He takes time out when others don't.  He is a paragon, an example, a role model.  He makes the impossible possible.  He will not waver in his lawful good and he bravely vanquishes her enemies, caring not that he is beset by evil on all sides.  He emerges victorious in her eyes and she owes him her life this afternoon.


But he sacrifices the best parts of himself (time, energy, love) for others who don't know the cost of this gift so freely given.  He stretches thin and tired and pushes on anyway.  He stays up too late, doesn't care for his body temple with self-love, and doesn't value himself as he values others.  He is lonely at the top....and none of his fellow citizens know just how lonely.


We all walk our paths alone.  There are dark groves in my heart which have only known my tread, my tears.  I can't articulate my experience so you can feel it too.  You will never know the sorrow I've seen.  Or have you already known it?

You can't tell me how thick the evergreens are where you once walked.  How they muffled all the sounds like snow.  Except here and there between the branches, a murmur of...a friend? A doctor? The Reaper?  Who knows.  You can't describe to me how the weeds pull at your boots forcing you to exert more energy just to do the same things everyone else does with ease.  You can't make me understand what it feels like to scream at a suffocating starless sky until your throat bleeds.  You can't describe your gray.


But I know it anyway because I know my gray.  I found a way to stay out of it.  Maybe even forever.


I'm willing to share if the trust is there.






Monday, March 25, 2013

My Job in an Interpretive Dance


Classic


YEAH. Did you?


Don't Blink. Not Even Once.


I Had The Dumbest Crush On Michelangelo


Kari Byron

Bustin' myths and shit.

Didja notice her lil crotchfriend?

Uhura, You Sexy Bitch


Thanks to Hex for pointing me in this direction.  This is gonna be fun!

Salma, oh, Salma


Art Skanks

We're BAD news.


Heard Today

This belongs to a comedian I heard briefly in someone else's car.  If you know who it is, post it in the comments.

Britney Spears' vagina looks like Bill Murray's mouth in Caddyshack.


Did I mention we were a planet of idiots?


Splash!

Remember how she thought the name "Madison" was soooo clever?


TIL Gordon Ramsay Has a Midget Doppelganger Who Does Porn


And Sometimes the Internet is Wonderful


Happens To Me Twice a Week, At Least


This Song Is About ME