Question for ya... not rhetorical either (email me, Facebook, Twitter... whatever suits ya). When you watch either or both of these videos do you a) find them to be funny? and b) find them to be in the "funny because it's true" category?
my story... I watched the first video and thought it was funny... and yeah, in the "funny because it's true category" and then I watched the second video and thought it wasn't funny, and mostly because it wasn't true (to me)... and then I got to have a moment of self reflection (don't you love those? if only life would dole out more... <--sarcasm) and wondered if I was a hypocrite... Did I think the first video was "true funny" because I'm not in the community who is the subject of the video so I believe the stereotypical norms it portrays. Ewww, maybe I did... I'm not sure how I feel about that! I mean, I know that playing on stereotypes can be damn funny... but why didn't I think the stereotypes about my community weren't funny? Because they aren't... or because I'm *gasp* offended? (I'm not)
Not judging myself here... or you, but truly authentically curious. Are they funny? Is one yes and the other no? Which one? And why?
Video One:
Video Two:
11.30.2012
11.28.2012
I missed the 15,000 hits mark
I think I was probably crying when it happened.
I did a major possession purge over Thanksgiving week. Currently there are at least a dozen boxes and just as many bags of my soon to be former possessions creating a fire hazard in my underground parking space in the garage of my building. The semi threatening email I received from the property manager insists they must be moved by Saturday which is exactly the day after they will be moved because the Salvation Army (who hates me for being gay, but I didn't find that out until after I scheduled the pickup AND I'm craving Chik Fil A like a motherfucker--damn menstruation and it's lack of cohesion with social justice) is picking them up.
It was mostly a non-monumental experience. It felt good to make space... this apartment has lacked it since we moved in almost six months ago because I brought 1400 sq feet of house into 600 sq feet of apartment--it was the best I could do at the time.
The monumental moment came when I picked up a stuffed bear who has been missing it's nose for at least 25 years... probably closer to 30 because my little brother bit it off and as I gave it a goodbye hug I started sobbing. I ended up curled in the fetal position on my bed amid white plastic trash bags stuffed like sausages full of clothes I haven't been wearing because they're either ugly, too big, or both... wailing, while my tears made a horrid mascara stain pool on my pillowcase.
Devon was there. She was in the living room at the time working and her need for a bathroom break coincided with my breakdown nicely. Before I knew it I was being cradled and after a minute of that the "why the fuck am I crying" question echoing in my thoughts was replaced by "oh, that's why"
when "I miss my poppa" came out of my mouth without hesitation.
I don't usually call him that (or at least without choking). It's his "name" or it was, but I just say "my dad" when I talk about him because it's easier. But there it was on my lips like it was natural and there the feeling was too... crystal clear... like it had never left. But the thing is I hadn't felt it for what felt like years.
I said it and the recognizing of the feeling resonated and reflected in her eyes. More holding commenced. It's good to be loved. It helps a sudden outburst of emotion resulting from an encounter with a stuffed bear named "bear" that turns out to be about someone whose been dead for 21 years be okay... good even.
Wondering where the sex is in this post? Well folks... being in love... totally sexy. Feeling safe enough to be a blubbery raccoon eyed mess and let your wounded sad little girl out to cry... totally sexy. I'm telling you... sexy is big stuff.
 |
| 16048. Nice work readers, nice work. |
It was mostly a non-monumental experience. It felt good to make space... this apartment has lacked it since we moved in almost six months ago because I brought 1400 sq feet of house into 600 sq feet of apartment--it was the best I could do at the time.
The monumental moment came when I picked up a stuffed bear who has been missing it's nose for at least 25 years... probably closer to 30 because my little brother bit it off and as I gave it a goodbye hug I started sobbing. I ended up curled in the fetal position on my bed amid white plastic trash bags stuffed like sausages full of clothes I haven't been wearing because they're either ugly, too big, or both... wailing, while my tears made a horrid mascara stain pool on my pillowcase.
Devon was there. She was in the living room at the time working and her need for a bathroom break coincided with my breakdown nicely. Before I knew it I was being cradled and after a minute of that the "why the fuck am I crying" question echoing in my thoughts was replaced by "oh, that's why"
when "I miss my poppa" came out of my mouth without hesitation.
I don't usually call him that (or at least without choking). It's his "name" or it was, but I just say "my dad" when I talk about him because it's easier. But there it was on my lips like it was natural and there the feeling was too... crystal clear... like it had never left. But the thing is I hadn't felt it for what felt like years.
I said it and the recognizing of the feeling resonated and reflected in her eyes. More holding commenced. It's good to be loved. It helps a sudden outburst of emotion resulting from an encounter with a stuffed bear named "bear" that turns out to be about someone whose been dead for 21 years be okay... good even.
Wondering where the sex is in this post? Well folks... being in love... totally sexy. Feeling safe enough to be a blubbery raccoon eyed mess and let your wounded sad little girl out to cry... totally sexy. I'm telling you... sexy is big stuff.
11.23.2012
Bananas and Holes in the Sidewalk
I mentioned that I'm taking an MBSR (Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction) class a few weeks ago when it started, but I don't think I've said much about it since. Tuesday night this week was the fourth class meeting meaning that for the three weeks between the first class meeting and tonight I have been practicing formal mindfulness (formal=sitting/lying down to intently meditate, body scan, do yoga, etc. vs. informal=choosing to pay attention to my breath in a stressful moment or while I'm in line at the market) for 45 minutes a day.
After the first two weeks of that practice (which per the MBSR prescription is a daily 40-45 minute body scan, some reading and occasional written homework, plus I would do some of my own sitting here and there) I was experiencing tremendous results. My level of generalized anxiety had dramatically decreased and I noticed that when I was trigged by things that used to cause tremendous upset I was either less reactive or the reaction would be much shorter in duration and easier to move through back to emotional homeostasis. I had even learned that I have even more positive results when I get up at 5:30am to start my day with a body scan meditation and changed my behavior to accommodate that practice (success!)
The thing is though... a few of the core principles of mindfulness are non-judgement (good is a judgment folks... sit with that for a minute), non-striving, and non-attachment. THAT... AND we're not supposed to declare whether the program worked for us until the end (which I think is mostly for the folks who it doesn't work for in the beginning but is also for the over-achievers like me to prevent us from burning out in an all too early blaze of glory when the results of our practice aren't as stunning over time.
I was aware of the positive results. I was aware of my desire to become attached to them. And that's pretty much as far as I got. Knowing is half the battle--no one ever says what the other half is.
Cue week three when we're instructed to introduce mindful yoga into our practice by alternating it with the body scan every other day. I notice I'm somewhat averse to this... but I don't know why. I like yoga... hell, I've even loved yoga. I'm also kind of resistant to activity lately which I think is just a result of it being difficult because my activity level has dropped so I'm not experiencing as much success as I'd like. I figure this is the issue and go on with my life intended to begrudgingly do yoga instead of the body scan every other day (not figuring that I could actually do both if I wanted. Sometimes my "rule follower" nature still drives the car [brain]).
Cue stabbing self in hand with knife two days later and deciding that I therefore "can't" do yoga (although there is plenty of yoga I could have done, I welcomed the excuse to remain body scan monogamous). Now, I knew at the time of the stabbing that it had a deeper meaning, and I knew later on when I wrote about it that I hadn't explored it yet. My first thought: "maybe you don't love yourself enough." Was met with a quick "fuck you. yes I do. this was an opportunity to prove that to myself and all of you judgy judgersons by doing right by myself after it happened!" That felt good enough so again... I moved on! (moving on is nice. if you don't do it regularly, I highly recommend it)
Tuesday evening this week in MBSR while others were sharing their observations about the week's practice and the pseudo-celebrity was asking questions whose pondering take up most of the sharing time to answer... I realized that I had not been able to remain unattached to my success in the first two weeks of body scanning. In fact... I had become so attached that I stabbed myself on the hand accidentally on purpose as a way to remain attached to the practice as it was. Thing is, it didn't work. I body scanned every day in the third week of practice, but it was hard, I didn't love it, and I didn't feel particularly great afterward. I was not as engaged in my practice as I had been before.
Now, what was THAT about?
The discussion from class went something like this... the honeymoon is over. The class is halfway through and the practice has evolved. The excitement is wearing off and it's starting to feel less fun simply by virtue of becoming more comfortable or familiar.
And then there's me, in my head: "oh fuck. i'm attached and because i'm attached and am afraid of that attachment being broken... i am doing that thing i do. i am trying to leave this relationship before it leaves me!"
wow. That old one again... haven't seen that one in a while...
Class continues...
Then...
and then the question... what are your bananas (and again, me, in my head... "i don't have any fucking bananas and I want to go home" wow, apparently someone's still trying to "leave" before she gets "left" here)?
*sigh*
My bananas/holes in the sidewalk... The places where I get stuck... The things that prevent me from being free:
After the first two weeks of that practice (which per the MBSR prescription is a daily 40-45 minute body scan, some reading and occasional written homework, plus I would do some of my own sitting here and there) I was experiencing tremendous results. My level of generalized anxiety had dramatically decreased and I noticed that when I was trigged by things that used to cause tremendous upset I was either less reactive or the reaction would be much shorter in duration and easier to move through back to emotional homeostasis. I had even learned that I have even more positive results when I get up at 5:30am to start my day with a body scan meditation and changed my behavior to accommodate that practice (success!)
The thing is though... a few of the core principles of mindfulness are non-judgement (good is a judgment folks... sit with that for a minute), non-striving, and non-attachment. THAT... AND we're not supposed to declare whether the program worked for us until the end (which I think is mostly for the folks who it doesn't work for in the beginning but is also for the over-achievers like me to prevent us from burning out in an all too early blaze of glory when the results of our practice aren't as stunning over time.
I was aware of the positive results. I was aware of my desire to become attached to them. And that's pretty much as far as I got. Knowing is half the battle--no one ever says what the other half is.
Cue week three when we're instructed to introduce mindful yoga into our practice by alternating it with the body scan every other day. I notice I'm somewhat averse to this... but I don't know why. I like yoga... hell, I've even loved yoga. I'm also kind of resistant to activity lately which I think is just a result of it being difficult because my activity level has dropped so I'm not experiencing as much success as I'd like. I figure this is the issue and go on with my life intended to begrudgingly do yoga instead of the body scan every other day (not figuring that I could actually do both if I wanted. Sometimes my "rule follower" nature still drives the car [brain]).
Cue stabbing self in hand with knife two days later and deciding that I therefore "can't" do yoga (although there is plenty of yoga I could have done, I welcomed the excuse to remain body scan monogamous). Now, I knew at the time of the stabbing that it had a deeper meaning, and I knew later on when I wrote about it that I hadn't explored it yet. My first thought: "maybe you don't love yourself enough." Was met with a quick "fuck you. yes I do. this was an opportunity to prove that to myself and all of you judgy judgersons by doing right by myself after it happened!" That felt good enough so again... I moved on! (moving on is nice. if you don't do it regularly, I highly recommend it)
Tuesday evening this week in MBSR while others were sharing their observations about the week's practice and the pseudo-celebrity was asking questions whose pondering take up most of the sharing time to answer... I realized that I had not been able to remain unattached to my success in the first two weeks of body scanning. In fact... I had become so attached that I stabbed myself on the hand accidentally on purpose as a way to remain attached to the practice as it was. Thing is, it didn't work. I body scanned every day in the third week of practice, but it was hard, I didn't love it, and I didn't feel particularly great afterward. I was not as engaged in my practice as I had been before.
Now, what was THAT about?
The discussion from class went something like this... the honeymoon is over. The class is halfway through and the practice has evolved. The excitement is wearing off and it's starting to feel less fun simply by virtue of becoming more comfortable or familiar.
And then there's me, in my head: "oh fuck. i'm attached and because i'm attached and am afraid of that attachment being broken... i am doing that thing i do. i am trying to leave this relationship before it leaves me!"
wow. That old one again... haven't seen that one in a while...
Class continues...
Autobiography In Five Chapters
1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
5) I walk down another street.
Portia Nelson
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
5) I walk down another street.
Portia Nelson
Then...
How to Catch a Monkey: cut a small hole in a coconut, just large enough for a monkey to put its hand in. Next they would tie the coconut to a tree and put a banana inside.
The monkey would smell the banana, squeeze its hands into the coconut and grab the banana. Unfortunately the hole was not large enough for the monkey to pull out with his fist clenched. Of course the monkey could easily release itself from the trap by letting go of the banana and pulling its hand out but it simply cannot bring itself to do so.
and then the question... what are your bananas (and again, me, in my head... "i don't have any fucking bananas and I want to go home" wow, apparently someone's still trying to "leave" before she gets "left" here)?
*sigh*
My bananas/holes in the sidewalk... The places where I get stuck... The things that prevent me from being free:
- perfectionism
- fear of discomfort/difficulty
- control (I thought all day that I was missing Spiderman because he's with BFO for a week when really what I am is worried about him and how he's being taken care of because it's not me who's taking care of him!)
- attachment
It's strange to be in a place where I'm so fresh off of Chapter 5 in the Autobiography poem for so many bananas/holes that I can still remember the way old routes smelled... but I'm also in Chapters 1-3 for several things that have been uncovered recently or maybe Chapter 4 for some of the old ones that are needing more time and effort to choose to do differently... I think the poet should add an additional chapter.
Chapter 6: repeat Chapters 1-5.
11.21.2012
the epic sex post
Is calling something epic from the start the best way to set oneself up for success? God(dess) <---*hehehe... this is the kind of shit that comes out when I write late at night* only knows... I mean, there's that whole "self fulfilling prophecy" thing, but there's also a lot of "living a life without expectation is the way to live" stuff going on in my life lately. Where is the balance?
Too bad we can't explore that this evening because I promised you we were going to talk about sex tonight, so that is what we will do. My mom asked me to warn her to stay away from this post, but honestly I'm not sure there's going to be any NSFM (not suitable for mom) material in this. I'm not going to describe my sex life in detail... and I could say that's because it's not just mine, it's someone else's too... but really even if it were just mine I still think I would maintain some privacy. I don't have a very high need for privacy, as you all already know... but I guess this is a place where I do.
Okay, more talking about it and less talking about not talking about it.
Again, this topic ("get sexy") made the FULLfillment project because I knew I wanted/needed to address it... it also came very late in the FULLfillment project because it scared the crap out of me! Sexy isn't something I ever considered myself and I wasn't sure I wanted to either.
Thing is, somewhere between designing the project and now... I found my sexuality... and I don't mean my "I like lady parts and not boy parts" sexuality (that was this post)... I mean my sexual self (which includes but is not limited to the aforementioned quoted statement).
This month isn't feeling as challenging as I expected it would be when it was conceived, except for deciding what to write about and whether it's mom safe, but we're not going back there right now... let's go even further back in time instead:
It's the early-mid 90's and I'm pubescent. My mother gives me a book all about sex, sexuality, sexual health... etc. The main message (that I took) from the book: masturbation is okay... good even. The main down side to the book: there were no instructions. Okay... I get it... masturbation is okay. Now how do I do it?
I actually didn't figure it out for a few more years. I spent some time trying to experience pleasure by penetrating myself with crayola markers and even electric toothbrushes (personal massager, anyone?) but it wasn't particularly effective and I don't have the greatest stick-to-it-iv-ness. It wasn't until my first boyfriend put his hand down my pants that I discovered the clitoris... and that was all I needed to know (apparently for a good long time... after which it turns out it was still all I needed to know).
In high school, I took pride in the fact that my saxophone playing ambature made it easy for me to keep the corners of my lips tight for a long lasting blow job (okay, maybe my mom shouldn't be reading this...) and that when a later boyfriend had an orgasm from a hand job his ejaculate (apparently I'm going to make this feel better by using very technical language) used to hit the wall behind his head (I believed this had something to do with my mad penis handling skills...). The first time I saw a man (let's be real: boy) achieve climax I realized what a horrible disservice I was doing to the first boyfriend who helped me find my pleasure button because nothing we ever did resulted in any kind of ending for him (I'm so sorry! I had no idea!).
I lost my virginity at the latter end of my 16th year after ditching school for the day, eating delivered pizza while watching "airplane." I don't remember a whole lot about it... it wasn't super painful or super pleasant. We definitely got better at it as time went on.
Plugging along I had sex with teenage boys (when I was a teenage girl and it was legalish) and men later... It wasn't bad, but it wasn't that good either. After the initial rush of new relationship wore off and if not for the desire to feel wanted I didn't have much interest in sex. I invented a "virginity score" system in college (to keep it interesting?) wherein a person gained a point for having sex with a virgin and lost a point for having sex with a non-virgin. I developed (I think my advantage in the game existed before the game itself rather than the game being a motivator) a taste for virgins and had a great score running for a while there...
When I look back on my sex-capades with boys/men I have the overwhelming feeling that it didn't matter that it was me most of the time. That the goal, for the male, was to stick it in, after which point I could have been any hole really... I don't believe this is a judgment against their lovemaking skills (at least I don't mean it to be)--I'm pretty sure it has a lot more to do with my interest in their equipment (and them in general) or lack thereof, but who knows really... I'm not sure I can claim that I knew how to pick 'em.
First time I separated from BFO I thought I should probably try and date women... I hadn't ever and it seemed like something everyone should do at least once, but I didn't get around to it. After the final separation, it occurred to me again and before I knew it I was falling in love with a new female friend. Our relationship ended up with a 4 hour make-out session followed by a 90 day lapse in contact during which I met Devon and the rest is history...
Cue discovering of sexuality. Because, yeah... I had already discovered that I was sexually/emotionally attracted to women but I still didn't know what sexy was. I had only been comfortable with that word (s-e-x-y) a few years before. Prior to that it would never have come out of my mouth. So, I was having all of these experiences of enjoying things/experiences/qualities, being drawn to/attracted to things/experiences/qualities... but I never saw them as sexy until someone who was undeniably sexy gave them that description (but she spells it with two Xs, because that's her thing...).
Suddenly:
apparently we aren't the only ones who find organization alluring...
And suddenly, I'm experiencing life through a different lens. I'm in a relationship where the dynamic allows for conversation about what's sexy... and it can be anything. And it turns out... I have a really fucking sexy life, and a lot of it has absolutely nothing to do with sex and way more to do with me (and her) and who I am (we are). And, in case it isn't clear, none of this is new... these aren't things I do on purpose to be or feel sexy... this is just me... and me appreciating me and me appreciating being appreciated by someone else (did you follow that last part?)
Now my sex life isn't driven by the goal of "sticking it in." It seems incredibly personal and specific to me... to us... and I can't believe I ever did it any other way.
I don't think I need to "get sexy" anymore. I am sexy... I just needed to realize that and now that I have I just need to remain open to finding out more about what that means.
Too bad we can't explore that this evening because I promised you we were going to talk about sex tonight, so that is what we will do. My mom asked me to warn her to stay away from this post, but honestly I'm not sure there's going to be any NSFM (not suitable for mom) material in this. I'm not going to describe my sex life in detail... and I could say that's because it's not just mine, it's someone else's too... but really even if it were just mine I still think I would maintain some privacy. I don't have a very high need for privacy, as you all already know... but I guess this is a place where I do.
Okay, more talking about it and less talking about not talking about it.
Again, this topic ("get sexy") made the FULLfillment project because I knew I wanted/needed to address it... it also came very late in the FULLfillment project because it scared the crap out of me! Sexy isn't something I ever considered myself and I wasn't sure I wanted to either.
Thing is, somewhere between designing the project and now... I found my sexuality... and I don't mean my "I like lady parts and not boy parts" sexuality (that was this post)... I mean my sexual self (which includes but is not limited to the aforementioned quoted statement).
This month isn't feeling as challenging as I expected it would be when it was conceived, except for deciding what to write about and whether it's mom safe, but we're not going back there right now... let's go even further back in time instead:
It's the early-mid 90's and I'm pubescent. My mother gives me a book all about sex, sexuality, sexual health... etc. The main message (that I took) from the book: masturbation is okay... good even. The main down side to the book: there were no instructions. Okay... I get it... masturbation is okay. Now how do I do it?
I actually didn't figure it out for a few more years. I spent some time trying to experience pleasure by penetrating myself with crayola markers and even electric toothbrushes (personal massager, anyone?) but it wasn't particularly effective and I don't have the greatest stick-to-it-iv-ness. It wasn't until my first boyfriend put his hand down my pants that I discovered the clitoris... and that was all I needed to know (apparently for a good long time... after which it turns out it was still all I needed to know).
 |
| here are a couple of photos of me with my finger stuck in a dildo |
I lost my virginity at the latter end of my 16th year after ditching school for the day, eating delivered pizza while watching "airplane." I don't remember a whole lot about it... it wasn't super painful or super pleasant. We definitely got better at it as time went on.
 |
| you know... just for kicks |
When I look back on my sex-capades with boys/men I have the overwhelming feeling that it didn't matter that it was me most of the time. That the goal, for the male, was to stick it in, after which point I could have been any hole really... I don't believe this is a judgment against their lovemaking skills (at least I don't mean it to be)--I'm pretty sure it has a lot more to do with my interest in their equipment (and them in general) or lack thereof, but who knows really... I'm not sure I can claim that I knew how to pick 'em.
First time I separated from BFO I thought I should probably try and date women... I hadn't ever and it seemed like something everyone should do at least once, but I didn't get around to it. After the final separation, it occurred to me again and before I knew it I was falling in love with a new female friend. Our relationship ended up with a 4 hour make-out session followed by a 90 day lapse in contact during which I met Devon and the rest is history...
Cue discovering of sexuality. Because, yeah... I had already discovered that I was sexually/emotionally attracted to women but I still didn't know what sexy was. I had only been comfortable with that word (s-e-x-y) a few years before. Prior to that it would never have come out of my mouth. So, I was having all of these experiences of enjoying things/experiences/qualities, being drawn to/attracted to things/experiences/qualities... but I never saw them as sexy until someone who was undeniably sexy gave them that description (but she spells it with two Xs, because that's her thing...).
Suddenly:
- list making--sexy (not a coincidence that this is a list... she reads this blog and i know my audience)
- color coding--sexy.
- calendaring--sexy.
- spreadsheets--sexy.
- making art--sexy.
- whipping up a Robin costume to compliment Spiderman's "Batman" in an afternoon--super sexy (just in case you didn't catch that... that means: being a fun mom--sexy).
- the list goes on...
apparently we aren't the only ones who find organization alluring...
And suddenly, I'm experiencing life through a different lens. I'm in a relationship where the dynamic allows for conversation about what's sexy... and it can be anything. And it turns out... I have a really fucking sexy life, and a lot of it has absolutely nothing to do with sex and way more to do with me (and her) and who I am (we are). And, in case it isn't clear, none of this is new... these aren't things I do on purpose to be or feel sexy... this is just me... and me appreciating me and me appreciating being appreciated by someone else (did you follow that last part?)
Now my sex life isn't driven by the goal of "sticking it in." It seems incredibly personal and specific to me... to us... and I can't believe I ever did it any other way.
I don't think I need to "get sexy" anymore. I am sexy... I just needed to realize that and now that I have I just need to remain open to finding out more about what that means.
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