snip.

i've had the same hair style for over 7 years. i finally got bored and chopped it off. and now...


i am an anime character.

subbing.

it's like a war really. so many different battles to fight at the same time.

me vs. the kids.
yeah, i want them to listen to me. want them to do their work. continue the learning process. do my job properly and according the the guidelines. but scaring them into submission makes my head hurt. and outsmarting them at their own game was awesome at first, but looses its magic after the 50th time you have the same argument, with the same result.

me vs. the man.
but when the teachers leave busy work that won't even be graded, what the hell is the point? i'd rather let the kids have a good time. entertain me, even. it seems like they have no faith in me as an educator, and i'd hate to live up to anything other than their expectations.

me vs. me.
i'd much rather type away at the computer or read my novel. and it's like the teachers leave me no choice. how am i supposed to stay awake all freaking morning with nothing to focus on except children doing busy work? so any of you folks wasting away in front of a computer who want to tempt me, gmail chat is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

keeping tabs...

i moved out of my house.

i became an independent, financial adult.

i designed and choreographed the most successful colorguard show of my career.

i proved myself as a showchoir choreographer and designer.

i wrote for and helped layout a college newspaper.

i came into my own as a hip hop and jazz dancer.

i excelled in a creative fiction writing course.

i lost 20 lbs.

i adopted a kitten.

i found out how to make love stay.

i got up enough nerve to train with a senior drum corps.

and i did all of this while maintaining 2 additional jobs, as a server and substitute teacher.



i guess, when you write it all out, i'm not such a nobody afterall.

Boondox: December 2006

I think he was trying to get into my pants...

This is Boondocks. He rocks my socks.

nom nom nom.

this month is just another opportunity for me to watch others work towards their dreams while i just keep making excuses.

yeah, fuck you too, halloween.

i've lost 20 lbs.

apparently, that isn't enough.

i don't want to even bother trying to fill in the holes of this swiss cheese description of my situation. so don't try to preach to me.

"you didn't look that bad before. i don't notice those things."

one of this blog's top searches is for the phrase "flabby belly" unattractive.

the only people who compliment me are the people who complimented me before i lost the weight.

"being sexy is not the same thing as being hot."
sexy is an attitude. hot is a state of being. i was informed that i was sexy. and that sexy isn't as good as hot.

thanks again for the painful reminder that what i am on the inside is not what matters.

the outside is what matters and well... mine just isn't good enough.

turnabout is fair play.

i catch myself in the mirror
surprised to see
the lines of my body
mimicking those of the women
i used to wish i could be

This has GOT to stop.

I would work hard for the money... if I actually earned any.

This week, over a span of three lunch shifts, I have made a total of $32. This is not going to get my bills paid. I've gotta quit working there.

That's one job down... only 4 more to go.

See-Saw

Going up...

The morning was perfect. Comfy. Cozy. A warm bed, cup of coffee and Tom Robbins. That surprise text message left me glowing.

Jazz class rocked. My childhood dream of learning how to do the running-man finally came true. And I am rocking all of the combinations. Our energy in there, as a group, is growing... and I can't help but feed off of it.

Coming down...

Show Choir was an experience. Too long and too full of estrogen. 30 girls going out to lunch and shopping was a daunting task, yes. But the surprise issue was that most of the girls were excited and cooperative, while a handful of the UPPER CLASSMEN ruined it. Completely. Thank god I don't have to see them until next week.

Writing class made my head hurt. Too much in too short a time period. The professor and I discussed how my major flaw in writing prose is assuming that the audience understands where I am coming from. I apparently need to get outside of my head a little more.

And well, I blame you people. Being able to write to an audience who knows my vibe and voice for such a long time... having support, understanding and excellent feedback has spoiled me. I'll be honest-- I'm not looking forward to writing for strangers, and I am upset that my latest assignment was not in the top of the class.

Sigh. I end this post celebrating the end of Project Runway (Michael made it!!!), but dreading my commute back to the city. I'm afraid to be alone during the ride AND in my apartment for yet another night. Especially knowing that fuzzi is out enjoying someone else's company.

Turn the world upside-down
and let it fall to the skies.

I hope sleep finds me quickly.

"A Cold and Broken Halleluiah"

For Christmas last year, Carolyn bought me a few books. Most of them poking fun at the fact that I like books. One in particular, entitled "The Oracle Book," requires a finely tuned divinitive intuition (which I, of course, happen to possess). You ask a clear, yes-or-no question and run your thumb across the edges until you feel it is right to stop. The answer you seek is on that page.

Sitting on the floor of my new room, in my new apartment, just me and the cats, I was listening to a poignant mixed CD, bawling my heart out. The book was on the shelf right at my eye-level, taunting me, so I asked it the second question I have ever asked it.

The first question I asked it was, "Will I have sex in 2006?" And while I do not remember the exact phrasing, the answer was yes. Little did we all know that very shortly after the new year, the book’s all-knowing power would be proven. Now, I have respect for such awesome power, so I thought it wise not to bother it unless the matter was really pressing.

So this question:

"Will fuzzi and I stay together?"

I thought that was important enough to tempt fate.

A hazy shape
in the
crystal ball
indicates
you’re too unsure
of yourself
to proceed.

And you thought this was a satirical post, didn't you?

Quick Stop

Yeah. That thing I said in the last post about part of me staying up wondering? That, right there, was one hell of an understatement. I tossed and turned for 3 hours. There has gotta be a way to shut off my brain. Without drugs or alcohol.

Luckily, the day time provides many a distraction. I'm off to go shake my booty to Stop! In The Name Of Love for 3 hours. Wee.

Impending Bloom...

As I sit here, I am excited to write. Maybe because I stand dangerously close to that line dividing those of us who are members of a couple, and those of us labeled single. Maybe because I have no choice but to put words down concerning my self, and that self's current state of being.

Sure, part of me will stay up wondering if he will decide to break up with me. But I can't control that decision. I pitched my best argument for why I want to try to make it work, and that's all I can do.

Codependency is the worse kind of prison one could imagine. It's pink and fluffy and stinks of love. But I'm not talk about a vagina here, folks... I'm talking about the comfortable state of stagnancy long-term couples can nestle into. We build boxes for our selves and our counter parts and then we sit in them, staring at each other. It's cool for a while, until one or both of you start to feel claustrophobic, and notice the other trying to get out of their box. Then you get paranoid and want to get out of your box.

The prospect of being able to learn from him again— that thought alone is enough to carry me through whatever decision is made. If we need to stop being intimate in order to get back to the real connection between us, then I am prepared to give that up. If the only way he will really find out who is and what he wants involves me not being in the picture, then I have to get ready to paint my own.

There are some things that need to be addressed:

I need to stop taking dance gigs. While I do enjoy working with the kids, and like generating designs and ideas for songs, I do not get off on making up the actual choreography. Sure, my interest and talent involving dance has grown immensely these last few months, but I know, without a doubt, that I enjoy participating in the group over leading it. And this is not the direction I want to take my career at all, so there is no reason to stick with it.

I need a break from colorguard. The magic is gone. I cannot spend any more time right now telling people to point their toes and to spin at their belly button level. The only way I would be satisfied in this arena would be to perform or work with an advanced skill-level group... and that just ain't gonna happen right now. So after this fall season ends... I HAVE to be done, at least for the winterguard season. To Dawn, Laura and Patricia: I am sorry, but this is what's best for me.

The bottom line in both of these cases is that I am in a rut with teaching. I'm excited to get back to learning.

I need to write more. Every day. All the time. My thoughts, my feelings, and most importantly all those love poems to myself. I miss studying how I move and what I say and putting it down on paper. This writing class I am taking and working with the college newspaper are teaching me so much and making me so hungry. Hungry for grad school. Hungry for song writing. Hungry for the mother fucking black and white.

It's time to trim the fat. Not literally, because I lost 10 lbs 2 months ago and have kept them off with great success. I love the gym, I love sweating and I love eating healthier. Lifestyle switch has been completed and shows only hormonal signs of regression (sometimes a girl just has to have chocolate).

I need to get one job. ONE. That I work at least 35 hours a week, and get benefits with. The reason for this is so I can save enough money to pay for school and my new apartment and all of the lavish gifts I intend to buy myself incase I end up without boyfriend. This job needs to help me advance within the field of artistic, written expression... or at least facilitate it being done in my spare time.

YES. Spare time. I need some of it. So I can do the aforementioned writing, AND exploring and adventuring and dates with my boyfriend (hopefully) or men who will never compare to him but who I will settle for.

I had forgotten that my favorite fix-it project has always been, and always will be ME... rather than those close to me. So here I am: once again making the commitment to myself. To my words. To my dreams. I think you should start a pool for which day I flake out again.

"Because you're young," he said.

"You'll see. You'll get over that- thinking you deserve to be happy."

"Deserve?"

"It is what it is: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The pursuit. Not the inalienable right. It's not a permanent state of mind."

* page 76, The Room-mating Season, by Rona Jaffe.

Surprisingly potent.

One of my most favorite things:

How Dave Matthews Band sounds so much better in the car while it's raining than ANY other situation imaginable.

Now add a skim, no-whip white mocha and a walk into the office without an umbrella... and you have the most refreshingly cozy commute I've had in years.

I'm Movin' Out.

Ah yes, leaving the nest. A rite of passage most experience their freshman year of college. Being, however, that this will be the third time I attempt to move out of my mother's house... I've got this shit down to an art form.

Tomorrow, I will begin the 3-day "carry heavy boxes full of my shit up and down an ungodly number of stairs" initial phase of my relocation.

Where? The big city, right up the highway from my little suburbian hometown.

Who? This crazy-ass mother fucker right here. Her name is golden wednesday and, yes... she has a criminal record. How else do you think we found a dirt-cheap apartment in a shady-ass neighborhood?!

On the plus side, she has two kitties. They are both unbelievably retarded. Hence... I adore them and cannot wait to make my boyfriend die of allergies.

But to back-track a bit here, folks... the reason that this weekend is only the initial phase of my move is quite simple. I have no furniture and no money with which to purchase furniture. So until I can either make money, or find people who want to give me home furnishings, I will be a nomad, living by my wits.

tease.

the words drip delicious and tempting
tempt me from the tips of my fingers
my lips
in between my hips
what a cliche thing to say
and a rhyme so horribly over-played

maybe that's why i-
why the blogs don't read anymore
the same reason
the radio never gets played

the only thing i need
to inspire a raging wave of jealousy
is to click on any of these
links on the left that read
2002-2003

fuck.
i used to be good at this.

miss me like i miss you
far away and blurry
not because of imperfect eyesight
but because of
a lack of vision

passion shriveled.
remember those wonders and hopes
for love and lust?

your words stunk of sex it seems
... until you actually started having it.

how can one write of dreams
when they are too busy living them?

that whole "things never turn out the way you imagine them" thing
has been done.
repeatedly.

and while i am redundant.
longwinded.
and unoriginal.

... i do always try to keep the reader guessing.

So why did I stop updating this time?

Well. Pour a cup of coffee. Grab a muffin.

Let me tell you.

The day after my last post I had my first real break down. I got an email from an unidentified japanese address. It read as follows:

This is not for me. I miss u like hell

Being that this was the only contact fuzzi had made with me since the day of his departure, I flipped the fuck out. Was he okay? Was he going to be able to communicate with me at all while he was there? Would he come home if things didn't develop?

It is very rare that I don't have any answers... let alone ways to find answers. I was powerless and felt that the best way to deal with it would be to ignore it.

I didn't want to jinx anything. I didn't want to admit that I wanted him home. That although I was functioning fairly well, I had little enthusiasm for anything outside of colorguard. I was afraid to flip-flop back and forth, showing everyone my instability and panic.

It is ever-exhaustingly amazing how fast things can change. This cloud has been hanging over me for so long now, trying to deal with the upcoming stage of my life with such dread and lack of enthusiasm... promising myself that it would pay off in the long run. That the impending suffering would make the end so much sweeter.

And now, within 3 days, my attitude has exploded into this exuberant energy that can't wait to see what happens. Everything about everything is so much brighter now and I am forever certain now... that your life is not what you make of it if unless you share it with the ones you love.

My bebi is coming home. And I'm going to love the shit out of him.

Getting the Worm?

While I don't consider myself a morning person... damn do I love getting up early sometimes. Today my brother and I hit the gym at 8:30am. After I finished my workout, I read for a half an hour at the near-by Starbux, while enjoying a bagel and iced coffee. I got home, showered and dressed for the day by 11am... and felt so amped that it was still so early.

The other bonus is that because my day starts earlier, I get tired sooner. Like right now... I have a huge post I want to write up while I'm feeling it... but I can't keep my fucking eyes open.

This is good. I won't be able to cry myself to sleep like last night.

362. 361.

I'm avoiding social situations.

There is no way I am going to get drunk right now.

It would only result in me losing control over my emotional state of being.




363.

Scan Reveals Nothing

New bull shit job... same bullshit system.

Turns out that I will actually be nowhere near a scanner. The office is converting to electronic medical records through a simple series of data entry. There are 3 other employees working on this project, and since its beginning in June, they have only gotten halfway through the letter C.

I work at an old front desk computer, no one within 2 rooms of me. All of these factors, combined with the motto of "take your time and be thorough," leave me with no motivation to avoid multi-tasking.

... meaning that I will be checking my email and/or updating at least twice a day.

Lunch? Break!!

Yeah, this might be a count down.

364.

That's right, bitches. One down.

And I only welled up with tears TWICE today.

What, what?

Why yes... I am a bad ass.

Thank you.

My strategy?

Simple.

Get back into my life.

So here are a few tid bits:

The new owners of the pub have brought in a surprisingly competent staff and I am stoked to see how the social circles develop. Can't wait until we switch over to the seafood and sports bar. Why? Because there will be karaoke! Giggle.

Guard is going too well for words. My custom uniforms are FINISHED already, and most of the squad already knows Fight Song. Band Camp ain't gonna know what hit it this year.

I start a temp job at my mom's office tomorrow. Scanning medical records for $10 an hour. Lots of time to listen to music. I have a bunch of newly-burned CDs waiting for me to love them. This will help me pay off the $1500 I racked up on my credit card over the last two months (no regrets).

Currently, I am chatting it up with a shit-ton of people I haven't talked to in a while and jamming out with my brother to some of his new itunes.

And the truth of the matter is...

I'm gonna be okay.

365 days until I get writers block again.

I sit and I write with a sad sort of confidence because I am back to what I know.

I am wistful and longing again.

Aching. And lonely.

For love.

You see... knowing that I will be unsatisfied- sexually and emotionally- robbed of an intimacy that my heart bleeds without... I will be able to find that person I used to be.

Words bleed again, but this time for a different reason.

This time it’s to keep busy until he comes home.

To make sure he knows that I am still here.

And that I am lacking.

it was beautiful, but i am empty.

this is a fight.
an effort for me.
there is nothing graceful or natural about these mechanics.
my movements are planned, measured and executed with as little personal investment as possible.
i tell myself that i don't know what it's like not to have anything to say.
my blooms are temperamental.
they only come out when they feel like it.

flutter bye.

Welcome Back to the Emo-Fest!

Ahem.

So about that whole...

"Separation of Church and State"
thing.
I think it might just be a load of crap.


Quite impossible, really.

I mean seriously... I listened to the song, Offspring.
You Gotta Keep'em Separated?! I tried. But things were getting too personal. I had too many stalkers. Haters. The words weren't flowing like they used to.

In the battle of good vs. evil; fantasy vs. reality; the professional online persona vs. the personal offline persona... I was losing. But then again... there wasn't really any good fight TO fight, so I may have picked the wrong metaphor.

... there was a lot of yelling, though. Over the phone. With boyfriends and bosses and sometimes both at the same time. Way too many minutes that I can't get back OR get included in my plan.

For those of you who have no idea as to what I am talking about... stumbling across this page might be a little much for you. I feel as though I should apologize... but that might ruin the whole effect.

And as for the rest of you... I have pangs of guilt in your general directions as well. Uh, you see... when I killed this blog back in February of 2006... I started another one to replace it. I have been posting in secret... under a different alias, on a different website, since March of 2006.

Shocking, I know.

The Mission Statement
Originally Written March 19, 2006

Starting over always seems like such a good idea when you first consider it. Deliberations become ideas and theories grow into hopes. You begin yearning for this freedom to actually be what you've wanted to be all along... and suddenly you have the motivation to make it tangible.

You take a few baby steps in a new direction and get caught up in the adrenaline. Your pace quickens to a run and you end up chasing yourself around in circles, drilling further and further into a whole new brand of expectations you never knew you had and desires you never knew existed.

With this new beginning... this creation of a new medium, handle and style- I wonder if to make it successful, will I need to completely remove myself from my old identity? Do I need to find new stomping grounds, new mentors and new peers?

Is it just that I am so afraid of sharing myself- whether it be this new me, old me or some combination of the two- with the masses I feel I have grown with and committed myself to throughout my past?

Afraid of hurting them. Disappointing them. Not living up to their ideals and expectations. I want so badly to be something that inspires and encourages the people in my life... and seem to be unforgiving when my feelings and decisions might fall short of that.

I can't keep going on like this. Chasing an ideal in myself for everyone else. I need to start planting seeds to openly be me- especially when it involves showing my underbelly. Even if it might hurt the people in my life.

So I apologize in advance. In theory I'm already living and loving on Cloud 9. But in practice... here I am on Cloud 8. Almost, but not quite there.

... yet.

As I read over this post, I am amused. Not because the writing was bad or because I'm an emofest... but because I have no idea who, exactly, I was hiding from... except, maybe

myself.

In trying to keep my writing a secret, I lost all motivation to keep up with me. There was no need to post regularly or to make the content genuine. I dug my hole deeper than it really was. Too many identities to keep up with. Too many tight-ropes to walk.

And for what?!

... your guess is as good as mine.

No matter what I do, where I go or which label I attach to myself... the down-sides of sharing my thoughts on paper and computer screens will always be there. The stalkers are going to find me again if they look hard enough. And hopefully, if the starz align, the words will too.

In an effort to step up and actually take on my mission (to write honestly and openly), I am currently in the process of uploading all of the posts you may have missed. That means that things might be messy around here for a couple of days.

Who am I kidding... things are going to be messy around here always. I promise.

The Secret is Out.

Tonight I let it slip that I loved his face. And that I wanted to marry it.

He didn't really respond... just kind of let me try and talk my way out of what I had implied. Then he kissed me.

So yeah. I'm not gonna take it back.

It's just too heavy.

Remind me never to schedule more than one coffee date per 24hr period ever again.

Today I find myself overwhelmed with pertinent life information focusing around romantic relationships. Two different women... two different relationships... two completely different platforms... and too much for me to effing process thoroughly.

Sitting here, I stuff my face with Cheez-Its and get salt on my keyboard. It's all I can do to curb my urge to drive over to Grey's house and cry in his arms. God, I am so fucking scared.

We make so many mistakes. And we willing watch ourselves dig these holes deeper and deeper. We justify the shit out of complete bull shit and then wonder why we end up smelly.

I am scared of what is to become of us.

out on the road today

a little voice inside my head said,

"don't look back.

you can never look back."

long past due.

yes.

it's true.

i have driven you away.






... but i'm still here.



and this is where i'll stay.

Hear Here!

him: you know, you are probably the girl I have talked to the longest without ever really discussing sex
him: especially online
her: i'll take that as a compliment.
him: I would.
him: it means something else has kept my interest.
him: lol
her: i've heard that's a rarity.
him: about me or about men?
her: a rarity that something else holds a man's interest
her: in regards to women
him: well, sex is often present, but not necessarily at the forefront
him: often probably equals always
him: lol.
him: still, conversations typically turn to sex, especially late at night. thus far with you they have not, and i have not missed it really.
her: hear hear!
her: or is it here here?
him: no idea

Not Much. But a Start.

I can't finish stories.
I only seem to be able to start them.

Once upon a time...
But these words...
They aren’t even mine


So I’m wondering which one of us should start the piece. I see the value in starting with a silent dance, a simple drumbeat or guitar chord progression, just an image on a slide projector or even some acapella singing.

My grammar skills are lacking.
Calling my vocabulary my vernacular would instill false hopes.
I still look at the key board when I type.
My manuscripts are covered in more red ink than black.


Linking this all together with the underlying theme. The struggles... both inward and outward of an artist. A creater. A dreamer. We need a hook. A top 40's bullshit hook.

art doesn't express who we are.
art is who we are.

imperfect, lacking and hopeful.

When in Doubt... Get Someone Else to Make You Write.

write me one sentence about what you are feeling this instant. just one. however you want it conveyed.

i am frustrated that at the most productive and magical points in my life, i can't seem to sit still enough to reflect and write about all i am going through... and the knowledge that all of these amazing pieces of writing are slipping through my fingers almost makes me wish that my life would slow down so my words could keep up.

so, now in once sentence tell me what made you use the word magical.

i think there is so much of it around and inside of us and so few people in so few moments notice it... every time i get a chill or a shit eating grin or start to giggle OR cry uncontrollably or feel a change in myself i try to make a note of not only acknowledgement but appreciation.

now what changes in yourself are you thinking of?

i can feel my heart growing.

care to explain that sentence?

i'm in such better shape. feeling my heart pump throughout my body is something i never REALLY took the time to reflect on. i was always concentrated on the activity i was doing that caused the pumping.

but when im alone on a machine or on the mat... all i can hear and feel is my heart.

and now it's everywhere. i feel it beyond my body. beyond the sweat. beyond the dancing, laughing or loving. i've never felt this way before.

Resurfacing...

I have decided not to go through with the Myers Briggs Qualification Workshop this month. I was going to drop the $1100 with no qualms, but have since re-prioritized my financial and professional situation.

My creative block has taken the physical form of my mother's house. I need to move out as SOON as my prospective roommates give me the word. That money will be key in my growing roots for the next year... and establishing a place and platform for my projects.

Because there is no direct feed from this workshop into steady work (or even unsteady, for that matter), I should put it off until my networking has put me in a place where the skills will be utilized.

Maybe after colorguard season is over. Or winterguard. Sigh.

"I've always wanted on of those."

a·nom·a·ly
n. pl. a·nom·a·lies

1. Deviation or departure from the normal or common order, form, or rule.
2. One that is peculiar, irregular, abnormal, or difficult to classify.

This is NO Time For Yo Momma Jokes.

Let's just get this out of the way real quick. My mother and I do not have the relationship that I wish we did. To try and explain it simply and without any biased romanticism, we just operate on different planes.

While this obvious, gaping distance between us has put a strain on my living situation (especially in this past year), there are certain things that just make all of it inconsequential.

My mother is the dreamer. The reader. She is the arts and crafts. The stationary and matching wrapping paper. She is the theater enthusiast. The sports fanatic. She is all of the family tradition and tireless work ethic.

My living, breathing reminder that dreams can only get you so far. That in order to live the way you desire you have to put in the effort to change. To grow. To challenge yourself.

Thank you, Mom. For the things you'll never know and never do.
I promise you... I'll do them for the both of us.

Leaving Things Unsaid

I can assure you, no one is more painfully aware of the recent drop in my post production than I am. The worst part is that it is my own, conscious doing. Censoring my writing already. Hiding parts of my life.


... and it only took me 3 months to get here this time.

Cryptic is an adjective I aspire to be on a daily basis, but this is just lying by omission. Waiting for someone to call me out. To look me in the eye and command me, through clenched teeth, to type up the fucking words and stop being such a chicken shit.

Status Report: Not So Sick Anymore

... so much so, infact, that I even fucked your mother last night.

Happy Cinco De Mayo: Now Go Piss In This Cup.

I want to write something. I want to share everything that has been going on. But every time I sit down and try to get it all out... something seems to stop me. No. That's a lie. Not something. It's a particular thing. I'm fucking embarrassed.

See... I'm sick again. My fever came back and spiked 103 degrees this time. I went to the doctor's today (finally), and she reamed me a new one for putting it off. Because I didn't get my UTI treated earlier, my kidneys are now infected. She put me on this uber-antibiotic, so fingers crossed I'll get better. At least I got this hot Spiderman Band-Aid out of the whole deal.

The cold flashes and head aches that I have been getting are like nothing I've ever experienced before. I can remember friends of mine telling me about anxiety attacks and migranes... but I never really believed that they could be as severely crippled by pain as they described. Obviously, my opinion on the matter has changed.

Over-worked doesn't even begin to describe my current state of being. I'm working 10 hour days and putting work-out sessions in-between jobs. Not a smart move for someone with a bungee chord fever. Seems as though I learned the "in moderation" rule a little too late.

I've been stubborn. With Grey gone and my new motivation to live healthier, I jumped head-first into a totally different lifestyle and schedule, and didn't give my immune system (or my brain) any time to adjust. I just feel stupid. And mad at myself.

Because my fever got so high again last night, I had to cancel on a wedding date I had for this evening, and miss out on a house/cat-sitting job I had for this weekend. I also have no idea if I will be able to work the closing shift at the pub tomorrow night that my boss desperately needs me to cover, or actively participate in my softball team's practice on sunday.

The burst of positive energy that I felt last week has been flushed down the toilet. All I can do is wait for my body to get better... and hope that the world will still have things for me to do. Until then, my goal is to distract my brain from throwing yet another pity party with cheesy romantic comedies.

Vaginal Secretions (or lack thereof).

starz: i havent masturbated since the last time dave and i had sex
starz: the 21st of april
starz: i cant think about sex
starz: it makes me want to vomit
INFP: i had the exact same phenomenon after my worst breakup too
INFP: i didn't even want to get CLOSE to a guy, like i was afraid they were bad emotional luck
starz: i feel ugly.
starz: i dont want to think about myself in a sexual position
starz: because that grosses me out
starz: i see myself as some fat gross thing that was pity fucked for the last 4 months
INFP: but you weren't pity fucked
starz: its how i feel though
INFP: he wouldn't have had sex with you if he didn't find you attractive, he wouldn't have been able to get it up
starz: self deprecation is kicking my ass harder than anything else ever has before
INFP: *hug*

shenright 50.0: the shend

I can't let my shenrighting come to a shend. I have a mission to complete. So how's about something else in my life?

:melodramatic drum roll: please.

I'm pulling away from Grey.

No, I will not be going into detail at this juncture in time. But I will say that when getting this post ready for publishing, I realized that I do not have ONE picture of the two of us at all. That should have been a sign.

But anyway...

This is not sad. This is not the end. This is the shend.

Don't worry...
you aren't the only one crossing their fingers for a reunion tour.
But I wouldn't get your hopes up.

shenright 51.0: write a letter

Dear God:

I don't need you the way I used to. You know... as some comforting caricature of an old, wise man... promising me that everything will be okay.

For a long time, you served as my father- spiritually and emotionally. I listened to the stories. I dissected the morals. I stood up for you when my friends tried to tell me that you didn't exist.

Now, it's not that I have come to agree with them. I will always believe in the meaning of everything, the collective unconscious and the good will in the theory behind all of your organized religions.

The problem is that these man-made interpretations don't do you justice. They are placid and boring. They are without the passion that faith and spirituality was supposedly based on.

You aren't a "you" anymore. You are a feeling. An energy. A philosophy even. And everything in between.

I simply refuse to continue trying to label you the way I have been brought up to. It's just too limiting.

Love You,
starz

Shedding the Layers... One at a Time.

I used to think that if I lost the weight that I'd be selling out. I wanted so much to prove to the world that I was worthy of great things, including a great love, even if I weighed 30 more pounds than I was supposed to.

But all I've proven is that no man I have ever had a mental connection with has had the balls to say, "It's just that I'm not as physically attracted to you as I would be if you were in better shape." No man has found enough in that connection to warrant wanting to work on that with me. No man has who pledged some sort of allegiance or attachment to me has cared enough about me (and my health) over their fear of hurting my feelings by calling me "fat."

shenright: 57.0: quote

scarlet, on her body: i LIKE being a bigger girl. i am happy with my stature and my build. and i like that i don't look like everyone else. the only thing i would really change about my appearance is to shrink my gut a little bit - but i like food and beer (yay, carbohydrates!). so i can deal with that. and if you can't... then you are stupid.

everyone is concerned about their appearance. every girl looks at herself in the mirror every now and again, paranoid about looking unattractive. i do not have some major phobia about my body. but i swear... if this crap keeps up... it won't be long until i do.

It might be fair to say that my predicition from 2003 has come true. It's true- I haven't been as good to my body as it has been to me. And I used my self-righteousness to convince myself and others that I was okay with that. But knowing what I do now... I can't hide behind this anymore. I can still be a fighter for natural beauty and women of different shapes, types and sizes when I am healthier. When I am at my appropriate weight range and body fat percentage.

My home environment has been my top excuse for not living the lifestyle I know I need to, followed closely by my lack of fundage to pay for a gym membership. Both can be worked around and I know that.

It's time to put in a little more effort.

---

15 Comments

a One Word fan said...

I don't know you,but why would anyone in their correct mind yell at you for being fat when your mantra has always been,"I'm selling out if I lose weight."?You are telling them to accept you for who you are,and then wondering why they don't worry about your health.From your photo,you don't look unhealthedly overweight-socially overweight maybe.It depends on what your idea of healthy is.I have heard on NPR that the new healthy weight is five pounds more then the old standard...why don't they just say that they now believe it to be healthier to weigh more.Of course if your weight is affecting your health,then your weight is a health problem-NOT A BEAUTY PROBLEM.I am just a typical male dog,but if you are worried about your sexual attractiveness-I'd do ya.

Battlerocker said...

It could also be that there are those who actually prefer you the way you are. In some circles at least we men still enjoy soft curvy women, and the higher scale reading those qualities demand. From the looks of your photo you have little to worry about. We can always find others to whom we compare unfavorably, if we select the right rules and right opponents. Compare yourself to models in the arena of classic looks and you will find disappointment. But a lady need not be rail thin to be healthy, and she ought not be rail thin to be beautiful.

starz said...

Blah, blah gentlemen. Niether of you have said anything that I haven't heard from someone else or told myself already.

My mantra has NEVER been,"I'm selling out if I lose weight." It's what I told myself. And how can I expect people who care for me to tell me that I need to get in shape? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU DO EVEN IF IT SMASHES DOWN SOME PRECONCIEVED NOTION.

That picture doesn't prove anything. I am about 30 lbs moderately overweight. Even if you include the new 5lb addition... that is still 25 lbs overweight. I have some mad muscle mass going on, but my body fat percentage is around 27%... were it needs to be under 24%.

I know that some men love curvy women, and that I shouldn't compare myself to corporate versions of beauty. Duh. Duh. Duh. This is not about my ignorance on healthy self-image.

This is about the fact that I knew, even in 2003, that I wanted to change things about my body, but used a mind set to make excuses for not doing the work.

I'm sorry if my response is harsh... I know that both of you were just offering your opinions on what little information was given... and I really do appreciate it. Forgive me- I've had a stressful week.

Battlerocker said...

I guess I was confused. If you are angry that your friends and acquaintances haven’t hurt you in the name of advancing a goal they believe both unnecessary and counterproductive, you have odd expectations of your friends. If one actually believed your health to be at risk for being slightly overweight, then I would hope they would speak up. Otherwise, you might consider the possibility that people were dating you for what you were, rather than what they hoped they could make you. I don’t view girls as ‘fix-er-upers,’ and I know of no studies which indicate that slightly heavy twenty-somethings are dying off like flies. In fact the entire notion that obesity and mortality are strongly linked is a mantra more often repeated than actually proved. In any event, if you expect a motivational slave-driver from a relationship, make it clear from the beginning. Otherwise you might wind up dating someone with no wish to hurt you and no great worries about your present health.

shenry said...

Here's the thing... I believe that I live a fairly healthy lifestyle. I eat right. I do cardio. I lift heavy weights (I couldn't resist adding the "heavy" adjective). Because of this, people bitch to me about being overweight, or not eating veggies, or not being active, or whatever. I used to be all, "Well, here's what you do..." The thing is, they were just bitching to be bitching. They didn't want my advice or my help; they just wanted to make excuses or justify their lifestyle choice. My new approach is that I don't give support or advice unless somebody directly asks me. So if you're looking for support then straight up ask me and I'll be by your side in a heartbeat.

starz said...

Fair enough, Battlerocker... I should be clear from the get go that, among the other things I look for in a close relationship, I need someone who is willing to call me out on my shit, challenge me in my comfort zones to grow and change and experience as much as possible, even if the truth might hurt me or jeopardize the relationship.

You can see signs of people's hidden insecurities and unsatisfactions. And as a romantic partner, or fuck, just as a friend, the better you get to know someone, the more you get to know their defenses and their bull shit.

And I do practice what I preach. Any opportunity I have to help or challenge one of my freinds or love interests... I sure as hell take it. Some even engage back- but never on this subject. Never on the one I actually needed them to.

In closing... shenry: hook a sister up.

Battlerocker said...

Well I will agree with you there. Having someone who both motivates and participates in your personal growth is a vital and hard to find relationship quality. I guess my point is only that they need to agree on what your shit is before they can effectively call you out on it. I hope I didn’t come across as overly harsh.

a one word fan said...

Then lose some weight,bitch..Jesus.Blah,blah,blah,blah.Do you want any cheese with that wine?How do you expect me to make love to you if you die for a fat induced heart attack?How can I find you attractive if you loose a foot from diebetes?Get on your fuckin' running shoes and get jogging...damn/Oooor...Honey,I love you,but ultimately it is you who are responsible for you.If you want a boss,or to me a slave-then say so.But if you are going to be my slave...post a naked photo of your titties RIGT NOW!!!

a one word fan said...

P.S.I was being sarcastic....

a one word fan said...

I am sorry for my previous comments.They were said in jest and I was trying to make a (somewhat assinine)point.It came out rude,and mean sprirted.I am sorry.It was wrong of me.

oom oom said...

Seriously, you ARE healthy. A heck of a lot more so than I am. So for both of our sakes, I will see you at the gym. I would love to help you and me at the same time. Besides, I think we could motivate one another and have fun. Yeah, that was me not posting a comment.

Richie said...

the shallowest are all always at the shallow end, they always stand ankle deep in the water and watch the drowning.

starz said...

onewordfan, you have dug yourself a hole. i have nothing to say in response to your comments because i get your point... but am not impressed with your fucking delivery.

battlerocker, it's all good... your perspectives have given me a lot to think about. i can always appreciate MATURE conversation... especially when it's harsh. that's really the whole point of this post, i think.

oom oom, i just can't wait to see who breaks/falls off of a machine first. you know i love you and appreciate any and all comments you leave me here. however... with all this impending cardio- you might wanna cut back on the smoking. :hint hint:

and richie. you have no idea how poignant your statement was. really. but that is a post for another day.

a one word fan said...

So I have dug a hole...now you know why men walk on eggshells when it comes to discussing women's weight...because it is more of a woman thing then a man thing.If a man loves youall you have to do is throw up your shirt and he is happy.Concerning God...I have felt church and orginized religion is a good start.But if you don't put God first what is the point?So,you make some very good points.Now...fitness and God?I believe it is not what goes into your mouth that counts,but what comes out of it.That being said ,your body is your temple.As JFK once said:Ass not what your country can do for you,but ass what you can do for your country.

Sister Spikey Mace of Desirable Mindfulness said...

"And how can I expect people who care for me to tell me that I need to get in shape? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU DO EVEN IF IT SMASHES DOWN SOME PRECONCIEVED NOTION."

An interesting view of what love is, SI. It certainly explains a lot.

The Fever Chills... They Leave My Heart Restless

I just want you to know that I am postdating this. It is Saturday night, but I will be speaking on behalf of Friday afternoon.

My new job fit right into the holes in my schedule, with the 3 current seasonal jobs, quite nicely. But what I failed to realize is that all of these things together would result in the lack of time for me to properly take care of myself (mainly referring to things called eating and sleeping). I could feel my body wearing out on Wednesday. Thursday, I knew it was weak. So weak that I was susceptible to some sort of virus causing me to become bedridden with a 102 degree fever on Friday morning. Haven't really left this position... unless you count trips to the bathroom.

shenright 58.0: repeat clothing

Easy as pie this weekend, boss. No need to be seen in public... no need to dirty up any additional clothing.

Haven't been this sick in quite some time. Hate that it happened at such an active intersection in my life. Fever still around 101 degrees, but I am at least able to focus on the screen now. Sorry about my absence. Will do my best to make it up.

Indulge Me...

If you were to ask me what I wanted to be when I grow up, I'd say nothing... because I don't believe in growing up. But if you asked me what I wanted to do as I grow in all sorts of directions, among the top things on the list would be to write.*

Struggling to find my voice and trying to figure out what, exactly, it is that I want to write about, are issues that very rarely leave the forefront of my mind. One of the ways that I am trying to explore my options is by following my stream of consciousness down 60 second adventures that we call onewords. Some of these I include in my posts on this blog, but I catalogue them all on another page called Scattered.

Not only am I trying to plug this page because I want more feedback on my writing, but because I want you to join in on the fun. So far, shenry is my only active writing buddy, and even he has been on hiatus for a bit. I'm lonely. My words are lonely. I hope to expand this page to include collaborative works and other writing exercises... so if you fellow bloggers are anything like I am (desperately wanting to write, but full of fear and doubt that you can write or have anything valuable to say), take a chance. Step up. Play our little game.



Shoot me an email and I'll send you an invite.

---

*and get paid for it.

Daddi.

They say that we fall in love with the parent of opposite sex, and are then left doomed to search the earth for someone who compares. In my case... this is totally the case.

My father is one of the only reasons that I have any faith in men, and even he has had, and then left, two wives, each with two children.

I cried for the first time last Friday... thinking about Grey not being here anymore. It's getting too close to pretend it's far away.

You see, Dad and I ate brunch together, and as per our usual, we got into deep conversation. We talked about love. And how there is a difference between being in love and being ready to put in the work to maintain a loving relationship. There are different levels of intimacy... and a separate ladder of logistics that can parallel that intimacy.

It sucks when the ladders don't line up.

Sure enough... I have fallen in love with my father. With a man who's feelings are there, but without the desire to make it work.

Dad asked me if Grey and I had discussed what would happen if he didn't get the job in Japan. Two hours later, I realized that I had so much to tell Grey... knowing that he didn't have much to say to me in return.

But my train of thought was interrupted. By Grey... informing me that he did, in fact, get the job.

All of that speculation... and all of the revelation that came along with it- for not. I didn't expect my heart to break like that when I heard the words. I guess I had done a fine job of pretending that I wouldn't have to deal with the hurt of losing someone you love.

I know that Grey's focus right now is all about figuring out who he is and where he wants to go with his life. He is unsettled, unhappy and his motivation teeter totters with his moods and waves of insecurity.

I have already figured out who I am and what I want to do as an individual (at least in a broad enough sense to build a foundation). My motivation and drive have blossomed over these last three months and I am well on my way to getting where I need to be in order to accomplish my goals. Because of this, my focus has turned to sharing my journey with others... picking and choosing who... and seeing how my relationships can foster and facilitate my movement towards living the dreams I used to be too afraid to voice.

Obviously, a romantic counter-part is a big part of this puzzle. Having someone present in my life whom I love so deeply put that possibility right in the middle of my world. My relationship with Grey serves only to distract me and hold me back because HE is NOT ready.

And that's okay. More than okay, really... it's fabulous. This gives me time to celebrate and fly solo for a while, in this newly realized search for my future. It gives him time to take flight as well... and who knows if my presence would have fostered or held him back from that? We all tend to lean on the people we love when we are insecure or needy... and I would hate myself if I was the reason he never figured out what he wanted on his own.

We shall see if our flight patterns mesh... when we are both ready to fly, together.

He needs to leave. Not only in order to get moving on his journey... but so I can let go... and move on in mine.

Always Fleeting.

So about last weekend. Grey Matters and I were, obviously, in Boston. He had his Japan interview on Friday, and cordially invited me to come along. I decided to contact my cousin, the Aqua Douche (see the above photo), and make a weekend out of it.

Douche was kind enough to share his shithole of an apartment for three nights, and play tour guide for us after Grey's business matters were settled. My cousin is probably my most favorite person on the planet. I say probably only because I don't want to hurt anyone else's feelings in how positive I am of this fact.

The trip was wonderful. Nothing glamorous or noteworthy... just good times with two men I love. Lots of urban crawling, photo taking, and taco bell eating. As always... I wish it had lasted longer.

More on Boston, the Douche, and how I plan to take over the world after this message from our sponsor:

novice

i'm new to this.

not change. that happens a lot. jobs. seasons. rooms. locations. friends.

but this time everything feels more real. more important.

taking steps towards the life i only used to dream about.

i'm new to this.

The Vote Is In: ... He Likes It.

Grey Matters: i can hear your writing.
Grey Matters: its audible.
scarletideals: ?
Grey Matters: i can hear it because it has its own natural cadence to it.
Grey Matters: its not mine, so it doesnt sound like me in my head.
Grey Matters: i can hear you read it.
Grey Matters: even tho i cant.
Grey Matters: what im failing to say is that your blog is good.
Grey Matters: me gusta mucho.
scarletideals: no no u didnt fail
scarletideals: i get it
scarletideals: thank u sir.
Grey Matters: plus there is this KILLER beard in one picture.
Grey Matters: heh.



Grey Matters: your 'labels' on the right hand side are cute.
Grey Matters: he-man woman hater! grrrr!
Grey Matters: i dont see the big time farter, or toe sucker.
Grey Matters: the rest seems accurate.
scarletideals: hey hey
scarletideals: i fart a LOT
scarletideals: you just cant hear it
scarletideals: and i do suck toes.
Grey Matters: thats SO not big time!
scarletideals: yes it is
scarletideals: ask my brother
Grey Matters: and whose toes?
scarletideals: a few boys i have dated
Grey Matters: their request or yours?
scarletideals: the first time he asked to suck mine
scarletideals: and i kicked him in the jaw
Grey Matters: from the intense pleasure i hope??
scarletideals: it felt really good, despite that... so i returned the favor
Grey Matters: okay - so now i just disagree with your definition of "big time". i wanna HEAR a big time fart. smell is incidental. you can smell an infant fart.
scarletideals: fine
scarletideals: i will do my best
scarletideals: to save some good farts for you

Lunch With Lilac

There is just something about sharing a meal with someone you feed off of. Nourishing your body and your brain at the same time is so effing energizing. Go figure.

So this girl I know. Lilac Melody. She's one of my bestest friends in the world. We beer wench together. We make music together. And soon, soon, SOON... we will reside together too. Like- in the same dwelling.

It might just be key to surround yourself with the people who foster your creative thinking and get just as jazzed as you do talking about the future and dreams and the like.

Another Tasty Treat From The Gang @ oneword: map

i can see the changes in my location and my destination rolling out in red carpet right in front of me.

all i have to do is continue taking steps.


every day. every minute. every single chance i get.

i look around me and see so many things i have yet to do and know that my journey is really about to begin.

This is not going to be a pipe dream. A phase. An idea that never comes to fruition. This is going to be my life, folks. And thank-FUCKING-god she's a part of it.

This IS Work

Business. Let's get down to it.

Today's oneword: soak

he stood at the end of my parking space with his hands in his jeans pockets. his hoodie was up but served no purpose as his entire being was soaked through the wet fabric clinging to his skin. His aqua-green steel eyes blazed through the the rain drops and caught mine and my hands froze on the steering wheel and i knew he wasn't going to let me drive away this time.

I said "his" way too many times. But other than that... I really like that little scene there.

Anyway.
So once or twice a week I attend first period at the high school to work with their show choir. See: clumsy choreographer. My current challenge with them is the upcoming spring concert. Wait for it...

... it's a Disney show.

I am responsible for writing the work to 2 numbers specifically (an ensemble performance of "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid, and a full group rendition of "The Circle of Life" from The Lion King), as well as helping the student choreographers with their pieces, and the over-all flow of the entire presentation.

The cynic in me wants to scream "SHOOT ME NOW" at the top of my lungs and run as fast as I can towards something that isn't over-done, synthetic cheese. But let's think about this. I have an opportunity to produce some classy-ass, wholesome shit here.

Heh.
I can't stop giggling at myself and the fact that I GET PAID to do this.

Wake. The Fuck. Up.

My cell phone alarm just went off. Not because I was napping and didn't want to sleep the evening away... but because I needed to be reminded. To take my birth control pill.

This is only my second dose and I'm already so very aware of my body... waiting to see what, if any, effect the hormones will have on me.

Everything about this feels so sneaky. So private. Like I shouldn't even be writing about it because "these types of things" don't need to be discussed in public realms. I even lied to my father about what my prescription was for... and that is just something I can't do very easily.

Part of me feels like an idiot for even mentioning it. At my age, I "should not" just be discovering the wonders of birth control... and documenting the fact that I am so late to the game makes me want to feel sorry for myself.

I can't help it that I am excited to explore and write about this new aspect of my life and my love... even if half the people in the world are shaking their heads in pity for me while the other half are shaking their finger in anger at me.

I just don't like how this feels. Not one bit.

Just 5 More Minutes!

I should have been out of bed an hour ago. But I have this guilty pleasure of wasting time in these lucid dreams that I end up forgetting the second my bare feet hit the red carpet floor of my room. This is my daily ritual, no matter what task I should be focused on first thing in the morning.

Before I set off for my 10-4 shift at the irish pub, I wanted to make a point to blog something, and my snoozing has robbed me of the precious minutes needed to complete this task. There is always an excuse, but I AM trying to get back into the habit. With this new period in my life, I want to have a bit more influence over my own activities. Interesting concept- giving up on passive aggressive living. So despite my late start, I will press on.

Today's oneword: retreat

it's quick and crass and you know that in pulling back you will only spread this pain wider and deeper and it's a shame because you all had such good intentions but where good and bad are relative it doesn't really matter what we set out to do...

only what we did.

Hit home a little harder there, sxb* (who, by the way, still needs to get his blasted comments fixed). This whole blog is a retreat on my part. Bringing my writing back to what it used to be for me. A self-serving escape.

I hate how the term "self-serving" has such a negative connotation. It's just that I used to write for me... until I lost sight of that in all of the attention I was getting. Then I served the masses until I was dry and now there is hardly anything left.

Hrmn. That last sentence pretty much sums up my current feelings on my job at the pub as well as my writing. I guess that's why I'm pulling back from that environment too.

This... and by this I mean me... must be nutured slowly, until my words come back to life.

The "He"

If I was sadistic enough, I could categorize the periods in my life by the male(s) I have been "in love" with during that time. That being said, I feel as though it is only fair that I explain the current state of being this blog begins itself in.

For the first time in my life I am in love and vulnerable. I do not have complete confidence and control over this "relationship," and I really don't know what to do with myself. So much so that I hesitate to even call it a "relationship" without putting quotation marks around the word.


His name is Grey. Grey Matters. He is, despite his name, so much more than the comfortable shade of gray he makes his home in. There is no need for me to wax poetic about all of the little, big and medium-sized things I find in his eyes that lead me to love him so- SEE?!?! Cheese ball much?

Anyway. This is the revisiting of my first love. My first a lot of things. We have come and gone in and out of each other's lives since the fall of 1998... and the spectrum of our relationship is gargantuan, yet still continuing to grow at mammoth speed.

This one could really hurt me. And I am very fearful that he will. Mainly because in the way that I wasn't ready for him in high school... he is not ready for me now.

I am counting down the days until I have to say good bye. Not because of some fear that he will leave me but because he IS leaving. Quite soon, actually. For Japan. And don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have it any other way... but I am anxious. Anxious to see if our paths will ever cross again... and if they do... will this love be as real and big as I think it might be.

I am counting down the days until I have to say good bye. Until I have to end this period and wait for a new he.

Because for the first time in my life... I don't want a new he.

Ladies and Gentlemen:

My time here is through.

I have enjoyed this part of the ride with you... but it is time to move on.

Keep shootin'.