A guy on the train and I are flirting madly. We’re having fun, but I know it’s not going anywhere. As time draws near to when I’m about ready to leave, I let him down slowly with a contrasting statement.
“How is it this not enough, yet too much?’
“Because you can’t do what I do.”
“Like what?”
We’d been conversing for a while; I knew I was deep in his head space. I arch a brow, slowly tilting my head back and to the side, as I even more slowly lick the inside of my lower lip before pursing them and then wait as he watches me. His response is near instantaneous and far too easy.
His pupils dilate and breath catches a little.
A vein near his jaw starts to pulse rapidly.
A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck in nervous curiosity. He realizes what he is doing and quickly brings his hand down.
I know my smile turns into a slow, but teasing grin. Like I said, too easy.
“How – I don’t even know what to call it – what is it you do?”
“Apparently manipulate sympathetic divisional responses in your autonomic ganglia.” I grin, mostly to myself, for I absolutely adore the times when I can successfully reel off such information at a moment’s notice as though it were pedestrian conversation filler.
“My what?”
Luckily, the train pulls into my station, so I stand and head to the door.
“Sorry, not telling, a woman has to have her secrets.” I wink exiting. At least I left him with a smile and tumescence.
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#SOL2017
Let’s see how others are slicing through this Tuesday:
He has learned to love himself through “her” eyes, and through the eyes of others. To believe he is worthy not because he himself thinks he’s worthy, but because they say so. He searches for himself in how they view him, but he forgets that when she leaves, when they leave, all leave with their views as well – so what’s left of him then?
She has to unlearn that peace with Self in never going to be in the desires of yet another lover’s eyes. She has to unlearned that love is physical, that she has to be touched by another for love to be felt. She does not know how to fall in love with the soul and mind of another, let alone her own self, thus she forgets her body’s worth. She has not learned the power of loving her own self, loving her own company.
When we are looking for others to complete our sense of self, we fail to realize, we will never be complete unless you are within ourselves. We have to unlearn searching for ourselves in the eyes of our parents, especially the absent parent – whether physically, but especially the emotionally one/s. We become adults and eventually move out of caretakers physical grasp, but the psychological ties, good and bad, bind so much longer. What parts are who you are, and what are who they say you are?
We continue giving valuable pieces of ourselves to the wrong people; they will continue to leave us feeling empty, and yet we continue to look to these same people to fill these holes. Being lonely is no excuse. We need to understand the difference between compromise and settling for less, to believe that it is not okay to lower our standards, mediocre is not good enough.
There’s a reason the phrase “I can do bad all by myself” exists. Because the people we let into our lives – not colleagues or families, as we often have little to no choice over them – I speak of the remaining that we let into our lives, is a reflection of what’s outside of us, and that reflection should always be of something good. They reflect how we choose to see what is outside of us, they can never destroy the core within us, we you don’t let it.
We get trapped in the stresses of trying to live up to impossible perfection. We subconsciously learn that to be in any way flawed is an offence. We try to fit into these images created by others and forget how to simply be ourselves. We forget the power we have within ourselves, to love ourselves first.
To love ourselves, first. When we do that. everything falls into alignment.
A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.
I who would paint iridescent murals, pen epic tomes, sing the most tear-inducing of arias, for its sheer beauty, all in tribute of you, had I the talents for such, know that there is no earthly media truly worthy of encompassing that magical core that is you. All the hoardings of my imagination I have laid bare to you. So forgiveness is begged sorely as I attempt, still, to do such with this lowly pen and ink.
You are my Sol, and I a mere human heliotrope whose face, legs, arms, oh my entire being ever gravitate towards your light, your heat. My passion for your most beautiful mind burned long before you levitated in the chambers of this once hollow heart, now made hallowed by your presence within. And once introduced to that flashover of heart, body, and soul – the harmoniousballet – of the grace of our physical expressions? Oh! Even when apart I am inseparable from you for there is not a recess in my being into which you haven’t penetrated wholly. It is the impetuous which spurs me to beg of your return to my side as quickly as the gods allow.
Oh my love! What cost, on the pricelessness of us, can be latched? This war proves it is far too much and far too little all the same, but pay it gladly I will, when I know it garners this magic which is us. Upon my return, I pray that you hold as much fervor to endure its costs with me. Forever…
…and ever yours,
Violet
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In the early 1900s, in an era long before LGBTQA pride, but before LGBTQA shaming somehow became the societal de rigueur, English author Vita Sackville-West fell in love with writer and socialite Violet Keppel. The two embarked upon one of the most notorious love affairs in LGBTQA history. This affair is especially noted for Violet’s most beautiful, yet heartbreaking and poignant love letters to Vita. The above is my take on such a letter had gay pride and marriage equality existed in their day.
I cannot lie, with the exception of the previous week, Winter 2016 has been relatively mild temperature wise. Granted there will be a couple more fights twixt lion and lamb for the next few weeks before we really feel like spring in our bones, but boy I am very happy to officially be on this side of the equinox at last.
Central Park Promenade 1st Day of Spring 2016
Like most seasons some signs of spring appear before the calendar states such. The days are noticeably longer, grass has started to show its first shoots – though last week’s snow storm may have done a number on them, any day now I expect the landscapers by my job to start planting their annual tulip bulbs, there’s even the tiniest hint of what will be buds on the cherry blossom trees. Starbucks have the new coffee cup sleeves for spring and the annual joking, but not funny memes requesting people to please, for the love of all that’s holy, please get pedicures before breaking out the strappy sandals. Ahh spring!
To all of my southern hemisphere people, now entering autumnal equinox: may your coming winter be even more gentle than our past one. And please take time for Hygge.
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#SOL2017
Let’s see how others are getting through their First Day of Equinox:
Most Facebook like me know about its On This Day feature. On This Day displays anything you’ve posted post on your own page from previous years. As an avid, I almost typed rabid – pretty close, Facebook user of eight years it is now rare to come across any given day that does not have at least four entries.
For the most part it’s a lovely trip down memory lane. All the jokes, the quips and memes, blog posts that I’ve chosen to share bringing memories. The only major downside is a bittersweet revisit when I come across where I’ve posted on someone who has left this realm – a loved one, a friend or a favored celebrity. One can choose to delete the any upsetting posts to avoid such in the future revisits, but I do not delete mine. I feel if I deemed it important enough to post in the first place, then I should live with it. After all I’ve have learned the hard way everything heals with time. And speaking of avored celebrity RIP Chuck Berry – who left us yesterday after 90 years and is now playing with his Ding-a-Ling for all eternity.
The other occasional downside is when I share something from another website —
I click looking forward to revisiting the fun of it only to see–
— it gone. It’s not my content so I have no control over it when this happens. For the most part when someone else decides to delete the content or the site altogether – it’s gone. I have had posts where my only descriptor was “HAH!” and I’ll never know what was so funny on that date – now those I will delete as it serves no purpose to connect to a dead link. However, this is YouTube where there is almost always duplicates of everything – especially things that amuse and delight. In this case it is a compilation of scenes from movies in which Christopher Walken is dancing. It underlies with C+C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)” and I adore it. So I knew, KNEW there was no way there were not other posts of this out there, so – to the Google! My trust in this clip amusing others, as it does me, was valid. At least this is one dead post I can edit and keep the fun going.
And now for your and especially my own entertainment:
Christopher Walken Dance Now
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#SOL2017
Let’s see how others are getting through their Sunday:
What’s black, green, orange and purple and impatient?
That would be me.
It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, I’m wearing my traditional kelly green, over orange tee shirt. Normally, I would wear this with a white suit to represent the colors green/white/orange of the flag of Ireland. However, though spring is mere days away by the calendar, the weather remains absolutely winter sucky. The streets are still slushy from Stella. The wearing of any kind of white was not happening, so I’m wearing black instead. And of course, for those who don’t already know, my hair is purple. Yes, I’m being really subtle
As for the impatient – no it’s not to rush out of here and get my green beer going (ugh!). My office floor is in the midst of a major floor renovation. The section where I sit was the first to be taken apart and worked on. As the partition wall is partially glass, it has a rather distracting bug under a magnifying glass feel. All day there has been a constant stream of colleagues from other areas on the floor, who have come walking around to get a good look at the finished product. I get it I do, as this will be their future as well, but it’s a cubicle – not a reinvention of the wheel.
As I said it was rather distracting, but this is me, always finding a way to put my tongue firmly in cheek and snark things out. The constriction guys left a portable line barrier off to the side in a room. They clearly forgot it was in the room as all other supplies have been moved to the next section. So I decided to put it to good use.
click for full picture…
Yes, in a direct tribute to Les Nessman, the sign actually requests visitors to my cubicle to “Please Knock”. You’re as young as I am points to the first person who knows exactly where I got that from.
In the interim – unlike Erin – I’m not going braugh-less, but I am getting my Guinness on.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!!!
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#SOL2017
Let’s see how others are slicing up their St. Paddy’s Day:
My afternoon session over, I’m part joking around with a student and part mentally prepping for the next day’s training when my train of thought crashed spectacularly. It must have shown on my face.
Student: You okay?
Me: Yes. No. Tomorrow.
Student: Tomorrow?
Me: Yes, Tomorrow…
And this is what it sounds like when my brain fries
…and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty…wait no, that Shakespeare, that’s not tomorrow… creeps in this petty pace from day to day… NO!..Tomorrow never dies……what about tomorrow?… To the last syllable of recorded time… what the ever loving fuck?! I’m having a damn Shakespearean earworm!! …pace from day to day…day by day, oh dear Lord three things I pray…wait. What? No! My mind is shot…arrows… suffer the slings and arrows…GOD DAMN IT WILLIE SHAKES!…arrows…shot through the heart and you’re to blame…NO!…I will burn the heart…I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one… Oh Sherlock…Moriarty…Mycroft Masada Holmes…dammit no… Mycroft and Sherlock…broken heart…playing Operation…operations?…YES! Office of Operations! That’s who is coming in for training tomorrow!…
The mystery of tomorrow solved, I sigh in relief returning to what I was doing.
It was the very amused expression on my student’s face that informed me that entire stream of unconsciousness had in fact occurred aloud.
So today is March 14th; or as beloved by most math and food geeks National Pi/π/Pie Day. What is that? some may ask –
Pi Day – fruit pie with some of the mathematical numbers of π as its crust – Google.
*clears throat and dons instructor’s cap* March 14 is Pi Day. It is a day to celebrate the mathematical constant pi (π) and to eat lots of pie. Celebrated in countries that follow the month/day (m/dd) date format, because the digits in the date, March 14 or 3/14, are the first three digits of π (3.14), Pi Day was founded by Physicist Larry Shaw in 1988.
*class dismissed – tosses instructor’s cap*
With my usual burst of planning ahead, I had the brilliant idea last night to go to the supermarket and get what I need to make a pie to bring to work in honor of the day. This would be fine on a normal day, however, yesterday was anything but normal.
I had completely forgotten that the City was preparing for Winter Storm Stella. Predicted to possibly dump upwards of two feet of snow in the Northeast within a less than twenty-four hour timespan, it was going to be a big one, and we humans (mis?)behaved accordingly. Why is it whenever the word snowstorm appears in the forecast, people in the City raid their local market as though it is the end of the world? I understand those who live in further reaches where getting to the local store involves just shy of a snow mobile and when honestly could be days before you can did yourselves out to restock. I’m questioning the City dwellers like myself where most businesses are back in business, if they even close at all, within 24 to 48 max of a storm’s start.
People stock up stormy weather essentials. This almost always includes what my fellow blogger Arjeah humorously calls a French Toast Alert. The trifecta of bread, milk, eggs that is almost always the first things to fly off the shelves.
Empty shelves from the bread section of a supermarket – Flickr.
As I joked later, add cheese to the list and one could have French Toast in the morning, grilled cheese in the afternoon and, depending on what’s already in the fridge, make a frittata later. All of which is a semi moot point to my being at the market at the moment – after all I wanted were ingredients to make a pie, right? Right.
I walked into the supermarket and saw the lines at check-out stretching nearly the length of the store. That should have been a deterrent right there, but I am stubborn. It took a full half hour to navigate through the store to learn other than butter and milk, the two things I did not need to make a pie, everything else was g-o-n-e. No sweet potatoes, no apples, no cherries – fresh or *shudders* canned – could be found to save my life. I repeated this at two other supermarkets to no avail. I mean seriously people! Did half of the City decide to make pie on their expected snow day too? Alas, no pie to be made last night.
So here I sit, on National Pi/π/Pie Day – currently still without pie – but the day is yet young, I’ve time to remedy this.
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Let’s see how others are slicing up their Pi/π/Pie Day:
I was at work at the time and could not view it. I forgot about it and did not see the video until a day or so later.
At first, I just rolled my eyes, but then I just saw red.
A different friend had the same initial reaction I had in thinking how men around the world are a huge reason for a lot of the fucked up shit we females go through when it comes to feminine beauty, even down to our vaginas. Over the years, I have come across articles and advertisements with commentary on what should be the labia color, labia size, whether to be or not to be hirsute, a vaginal canal’s width and depth, the proper moisture discharge and content, and of course, the natural scent of a woman. I suppose that, with so many cultures using complexion lighteners to attain the presumed ideal (read pink) beauty, I honestly cannot say that I am truly surprised by this. However, I am appalled and frankly disgusted at the depth of how deep this desire, this need to achieve this presumed ideal for even our most intimate of places can go.
Stop the madness.
This brought up some far-from-scientific but highly interesting conversation twixt various friends of all genders over the next few days. In one such conversation, I groused on how most CIS men seem to behave as though any vagina that does not look like a Georgia O’Keeffe painting is unworthy. Of course, one of my idiot male friends then sarcastically asked which artist I felt best represented mine. Me, being me, immediately replied, “Rorschach.” When asked to elaborate, I said, “Each person sees something different in my lips.”
And calling spades what they are, the women who are doing this are likely doing so to obtain some ideal for beings who should have no say -in this very specific- so of our bodies whatsoever. Not that they should have it in any other body parts, but really absolutely none right there – and yes, I mean men. Because as misandry filled as this is to say – no woman is likely going through labia bleaching, labiaplasty, vajazzling, and/or any other nonsense some women do to alter themselves from what nature intended for another woman. It’s bad enough we have legal legislation, by mostly men, trying to rule on what comes out of our bodies.
Now we have to put up with social legislation on how it should look before going in?!
Stop the madness.
I mean, seriously, we women go through enough shit on the daily with regards to our bodies on the parts that everyone can see. Are you effing kidding me that it has come literally down to that level? That some women have been made to feel so insecure about the appearance of their labia that they would subject themselves to that?
Stop the madness!
Because it seems to me if you’ve been invited to see this woman that up close and personal that you can make comparisons, you should be praising your local deity for the honors and shut the fuck up! Preferably by putting your lips on mine since you’re down there, I’m just saying…
Raivenne-lations 
