I Know A Lot of Stuff About Things + Weekly Hi5

I have been awfully quiet this week, I know. Shame on me. But here we are, together again! I have a few posts I've been working on, but I don't know which one to post, if any. I'm pretty sure 90% of my readers are people who actually know me, so it's hard to decide how honest to be...yeah yeah yeah, I started this blog to put myself out there, to bare my artistic soul and all that. But still some things are in the past and even though they have made me who I am (amazing), they may affect how people see me now. Essentially I am afraid. There, I said it! Are you happy now? ARE YOU?!?

I can say that my performance that I was concerned about last Friday went swimmingly well! My inspiration came from a particularly terrible relationship I was in up until a little over a year ago. He was a very angry and a very smart person. I allowed myself to be manipulated, always hoping against hope it would get better, that I could be better. But I could never quite get there. Until I realized I was not the problem, some people just aren't good together and that was us. For a long time I carried our baggage, held on to the guilt and misconception of not being good enough. I have come a long way since then and Friday was the final piece. The raw expression of my pain and fear, my courage and strength. It was the first performance I have ever done that was so honest and I came away from it on a huge high. To be able to communicate in a non-verbal way with such a varied audience is something I may now be addicted to.

The only thing I can think to close this with is if you, today, right now, are carrying unneccessary baggage and hurt from past experiences, do anything and everything you can to let them go. It's scary. It's difficult. It's uncomfortable. You may need to confront someone, or maybe find a friend to talk to, or simply spend some time by yourself dealing with that thing you've been trying not to deal with. But I promise the rewards are great. For a long time the screen on my phone had these words "You're awesome. Start fucking acting like it." I've finally started, and I feel so light.

And now enough of that emotional rambling! Here's some hilarious pictures - Happy Weekend!!!

[hashtag] WEEKLYHI5 + Friday News

Well my horoscope this morning told me to follow my feelings, go with my instincts. I guess that finally means it's ok to send Justin Bieber some of my hair as a token of my love. Just kidding (probably). To be totally honest my feelings are rather on-edge at the moment, and thankfully have nothing to do with teen celebrities.

I'm performing at a friend's fundraising event tonight and I am quite nervous. Excited! But also nervous. I've been given full artistic license to do whatever I want. I could go on stage and pluck feathers out of a [dead] chicken for 6.5 minutes if I wanted to. But that's not really what I have in mind. I've prepared a very personal piece, and I'm insanely nervous about presenting it. I'm worried people won't 'get it', I'm worried about being cast as one of those 'bizarre artsy people'. And on the other hand I'm super pumped to be able to express myself in a way I haven't been able to before, haters be damned.

Performing is something I used to crave, and I'm not sure if that's ever really gone away or if I've just gotten better at ignoring the feeling. Being a musical theatre enthusiast, an active choir member, one of the few students willing to do 'improv' at my school, and a vocal student for 9 years, you get used to being on stage. So you'd think. I perform rarely now and I still get the shakes right before the curtain goes up. But as soon as the lights are blinding me, and I can't see the audience so much as sense that they are there, I am calm. I do the things I've rehearsed hundreds, dozens or only a couple of times. I throw myself open to be judged, praised, mocked, ignored. But when the lights go down and I step off stage, whether the audience is enthusiastically applauding or clapping out of politeness, I feel the rush of adrenaline. A lightness I can't accurately describe permeates my body. I feel I have done something important, in a relative sense.

So I remain nervously excited for tonight, trying not to think of it too much. I'll be posting pictures of the evening on my twitter @FrittanyAlexis if you're interested (and I know you are). And for now let me share my favorite pictures from this week. Happy Weekend!!!

Small-Town Me (?)

Community - a: unified body of individuals b: the people with common interests living in a particular area. It’s a word I grew up despising, especially when ‘rural’ was put in front of it. Growing up in a town so small it wasn’t even classified as a town, I always felt somewhat oppressed. I didn’t fit in, and I often felt misunderstood. I wanted to escape. So when I graduated at age 17 I packed my bags and headed to the infinitely larger Winnipeg.

I was quite the snobby bitch in those days, looking down my nose at my former classmates who chose to stay in ‘the country’. The reality was that I had relocated within a 2 hour drive of my family farm, and that my Dad regularly stopped in to my questionable apartment to drop off Costco-sized packs of toilet paper or Kraft Dinner. I was close enough to attend family weddings, funerals, and community events whenever one would come up. Most of the time I chose not to, and until recently, this never really bothered me.

Earlier this week I went to a bridal shower for my friend, held in a small town outside of Calgary. We were all keeping an open mind as to what we would find there, as it was her fiancé’s community who was hosting, and we were the outsiders. To my surprise, it was absolutely delightful. The care and concern that went into every step, from the organized games to the sugar-rimmed champagne flutes (which held an innocent fruit punch) filled me with warmth...as well as a hint of jealousy.

I honestly never expected to miss my small-town days, but there I was. Life surprises you, especially as you get older. I know I chose to move away, I wasn’t ostracized or cast out by any means. If I felt left out when I was younger, it’s most likely that I chose to feel that way. I have a tendency to take things too personally, and it’s probable that started early on in my life.

So what do I do now? I can’t go back home, I wouldn’t really want to anyway. Everything is different. People get older, things change. I read recently in The Social Animal by David Brooks that a loss of community, of social support, is what’s truly at the core of the presently bleak economy. Humans don’t just need a job, the need a fulfilling position within a positive environment. We don’t just need partners or children, we need a social web with meaningful and diverse connections. But how to go about that? It seems that the art of community is gradually being lost, especially in large cities.

I suppose I will have to make my own community, and it’s a bit of a challenge. I’m realizing I’ve made myself into somewhat of a drifter, coasting between different social and cultural groups.  Sometimes I feel tempted to return to the church, if only for that sense of support and fellowship. But my ideals and core beliefs have changed a bit too much for that. Instead I’ve done my best to find people who I enjoy, people who I value, people I connect with. They might not give me homemade pot holders and I might not see them every week, but they are my version of a community. And for that, I am overwhelmingly grateful.

-Week-ly-Hi-Five-

Question, what is with people I have deleted off Facebook asking me about it? Does this ever happen to you? It's not like Facebook is real life. I have been the deleted as well as the deletee, and when I have been deleted I do not send them a message asking why. I'm sure they have their reasons. Maybe they're tired of me incessantly posting links to my blog...
Haha. No, you're right, I don't think that's the real reason either. Lately I've taken to having conversations with myself (out loud instead of in my head). So far it's working out well, eliciting strange looks from my roomies, who really should be used to my shenanigans by now.

And so I look forward to tonight. No idea what it will bring, but I'm kind of excited. I'll be more excited after I have a nap and wash my greasy hair. But all in good time, all in good time. And now it's time for my favorite pictures this week. Happy Friday-ing to you and you and you!

 **end note** This wolf/sheep picture is super creepy. I don't actually like it, but I think it's clever and I get that eerie feeling when I look into its' wolf eyes, like it's communicating with me through my screen directly into my mind. Thank God I don't speak wolf.

Tolerance: Learning When to Zip my Lips

Aside from the throwback days of early high school, I consider myself a tolerant person. But it has taken a decent amount of work on my part.

If you haven’t been reading my glorious nonsense thus far (shame on you), you may not know I used to be against a number of things. Drinking, pre-marital sex, swearing and homosexuality to name a few. That last one is quite ironic because a certain kiss scene from Cruel Intentions has always tugged at my insides in a very particular way, ifyouknowhatimean. But eventually all of that changed, and here is one side of the story.

When I was 16 years old, one of my friends (who was 17 at the time) came out to me, in the equipment room of our high school gymnasium. I was devastated, of course, because I had unrequited feelings for him, left over from our torrid two-week affair the previous year. Oh and I was also sure that he was now damned for all eternity. We had had a tumultuous relationship since first meeting 4 years prior at our town’s music festival. Yes, we were band geeks. Myself a vocalist and he an extremely talented pianist. He also played the violin. And the flute. And later the French horn. And even later the tuba. I digress...the point is, students of the arts have a less-than sportsmanlike approach to competition, in my experience. (I once held a grudge against a fellow songstress for 11 years). So even though we never competed directly, there was still some sort of vague power-struggle between us. Also he tormented me in grade 9 by constantly making Christian lesbian jokes (I had very very short hair, and very very secret thoughts – thank you Xaviera).  

We had grown closer since those first days, but still this revelation was a bit of a shock. And as he shared his feelings and experiences with me, at first tentatively and then with growing conviction, I did my best to say nothing. Even though I wanted to slap him silly and then run away in tears, I knew I had to listen. And as he talked I realized that he was still my friend. There was this new, strange and vaguely offensive part...but essentially he was the same. And I was the first person he had ever told; he had trusted me with this complicated truth. Later on, he also trusted me to put on his eyeliner. One of these endeavors turned out quite well. It definitely took some adjustment for me, but from that day on we had a special bond.

We did the most ridiculous things together. Growing up in rural Manitoba certainly leaves some social activities to be desired, unless you’re really into 4-H. So we made our own fun in the form of cakes, capes, fashion shows, musicals, Indian leg wrestling (the bruises are gone but the emotional scars remain) and more. We watched Peter Pan countless times before graduation, holding each other and weeping, so hesitant to grow up. As I have mentioned before, my parents had a lot to deal with.

It was many years later before I embraced my own not-quite-straight feelings, and when I told him about it he just laughed. Not in a mocking or judging way, but in a way that said ‘yes, of course I understand you crazy bitch’. What if I had freaked out that day in the gym? What if I had condemned him and refused to listen? I would have missed out on a much needed support, and a very important friendship.

These days I wouldn’t classify myself as gay, or even bi-sexual. But I am an open-minded person, and no matter what you’re into I find it interesting. What does worry me is that maybe I don’t speak my mind enough on issues such as these. To me, it’s obvious that my friend should have as much of a right as anyone else to get married, and divorced, and re-married (wink), or to have a child, or to simply have the respect of society and feel safe when walking home at night, holding hands with his lover.

If you don’t understand homosexuality, if it weirds you out, if you understand it completely, if you feel it’s wrong, or if you simply support it, we all have a responsibility to be tolerant to other people. When you close your mouth and open your mind, you might be surprised what can happen.    

Pancakes for One

I woke up last windy Sunday morning quite looking forward to my day. A nice long shower, a seaweed face mask, painting my nails, etc. And as I was pondering what to make for breakfast, I realized I wanted pancakes. Suddenly, panic set in! What to do with all of them? - after all, there's only one mouth to feed. Thankfully I was able to use simple math (!) to cut the recipe in half and I started preparation.

Over a year ago now I boldly titled one full page of my diary with 'The Simple Joys of Being Single'. On it were things such as grocery shopping for one (cheaper and I can buy a treat for myself without any questioning), wearing lingerie because I like it (boys and girls do not always find the same things appealing) and...well that was pretty much it sadly. I have gone back to add a few things here and there, but I think that list still sits at a dismal 5 lines, the rest of the page blank.

Truthfully, for most of my young adult life I have been afraid to be alone. I like to be looked after, I like following rules, I especially like physical touch (big cuddler right here). I don't like saying goodbye.
I've examined this part of myself a lot in recent months, and I'm not very happy with my conclusions. It seems my sense of self has been eclipsed at some point by my sense of myself-as-a-girlfriend. And how on earth will I find someone who truly compliments me, who brings out the best parts of me, who challenges and supports me...if I don't know me?

I was watching an incredibly bad movie on the weekend, I won't even say the name because it really was just awful, but one of the lines stuck with me "a woman has the exact love life that she wants". I pondered this and, for the most part, I think it's true. So for right now what I want, what I'm focusing on, is my love life with myself. (Yes, it's cliche. I'm a girl what do you expect?)

As scary and uncomfortable as it is to be alone at times, I realized that morning - as I enjoyed my pancakes - that I am content. I'm pleased with myself for being strong enough to admit I don't really like being alone, but I'm learning to like it. And I had a wonderful day!

Weekly Hi-FIVE

You didn't think I would skip out on my favorite pictures of the week did you? Oh, you did? I see. Well then, we obviously don't know each other like I thought we did...I thought we had something special!!!

Ha. Jk. It's Friday fun-day and you know what that means > follow me on Twitter @FrittanyAlexis for instant picture updates of my night. It may be a tame one as I am focusing on sticking to my budget but, let's be real, I have been wrong before. Happy Weekend!

 

Also, a great tune:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oABEGc8Dus0

Let's Talk About Sex - Part III

My boyfriend became my fiancé, who became my husband when I was 19 years old. I wasn’t very happy, but I wasn’t terribly unhappy either. We fought often, but I had never experienced another serious relationship first hand, so I thought that maybe that’s just how marriage, how life, was. We were married for around 6 months before I decided to leave, which was just as emotionally damaging and socially awkward as if we had been together for 6 years. I thank my lucky stars that we never had children.

Now, I don’t want to come off as the victim here. True I was young, I was naive. But I was just as hard to deal with as he was. He was simply more stubborn than I, and I more passive-aggressive than he. When we were finally over I like to think that we both breathed a sad sigh of relief. 

And all of a sudden it came back; the elusive question I had been thinking about for most of my life. It finally took form in my brain as these simple words “what does sex mean to me?”

I’m still trying to answer that question. With each new discovery, with each new disappointment, I feel I get closer to the answer. Yet I wonder if I will ever truly have an answer. As people we are constantly growing, constantly changing, and I am definitely on the more introspective end of the spectrum. Which basically means I like to think about the same thing over and over and over.

My other best friend in high school (I had two besties, the aforementioned gay boy who supplied me vodka and orange juice while we danced and sang along with ‘Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat’, and a wonderful girl who shared her food, her home, her closet and her secrets with me, and I with her) has stayed true to our teenage promises. She was my unofficial grad date, my maid of honor. She prayed with me, sang with me, laughed with me, and wept when I told her I was no longer sure of my faith.

She is getting married this summer and in one of our recent conversations I popped the question, “so...are you excited to have sex?” It’s crazy, that I’m comfortable asking relative strangers to discuss their sexual experiences and preferences (I have never lost my curiosity and find other perspectives fascinating). But when I broach the topic with her, I immediately feel like I am 13 years old, giggling and nervous. Thankfully, she didn’t look at me with disgust or surprise. She just smiled and said “um...YES!”

Sex is different for everyone. There’s no right or wrong way to go about it (unless you are a pedophile). Many factors shape our sexual identity, and many people feel uncomfortable discussing it. I have had mixed feelings about my sexual development and history over the years, but I have come to accept my experiences as part of who I am. And I have come to accept myself as someone who is capable and worthy of great love. As always, it comes down to being honest with yourself about what you really want and having the courage to pursue that behavior.

Safety in this day and age is of utmost importance, and I'm not just talking about physical protection, which is obviously incredibly important. But also emotional protection. It’s easy to pretend not to care when you get used or when you use someone else. But is it making you happy? It is making you a better person? Or do you pretend to be heartless so often that eventually you don’t have to pretend anymore? Do you become so closed off that when you do find someone special you won't (or can't) let them in?

I’m not sure how to end this series. I feel it’s something I’ll be writing about, talking about and thinking about for most of my foreseeable future. I’m not going to pretend to be some sort of wise sex sage, but if you do have any questions or comments please feel free to post them, you can do so anonymously. I can say that if the day comes when my [unborn] child asks where babies come from, if they are under a certain age, I have a lovely story about a woman’s garden and a man’s fertilizer to tell them. Without pictures.

Let's Talk About Sex - Part Deux

While I was trying to understand the sexual world, which at this point was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle when you only have 2 of the pieces, I was also trying to understand the spiritual world. To say that religion represses sexuality is not my intention here. I am simply telling my story, and everyone’s experience is different. That being said, I got the impression from youth group, Bible camp, Christian friends, my grandmother, etc. that sex was not cool. Talking about it was basically asking for satan to temp you. Experimenting was a one way ticket to somewhere you do not want to go. When I was 14 I asked my parents for a purity ring, as a symbol of my promise to God, myself and my church that I would abstain from sex until I was married.

It was my dear Father who once again sat me down and said “look, I know you have your beliefs. And I know you feel strongly about sex. But I just want you to know that when you do fall in love and find someone you want to marry, you should have sex first. Because it’s a big deal. And if you don’t – um – work well together in that area, it can make other parts of your life difficult.” And once again I was horrified and heartbroken that my own father was trying to lead me into a life of sin.

Drastic measures were called for. I burned the Xaviera Hollander book, along with a 3 stories in 1 Danielle Steele book I’d picked up along the way. I burned sexy ads I had found in magazines. I burned pages of my diary that confessed sinful thoughts. I have to smile when I think back to that self-imposed purification party. My parents probably thought I was insane. (Note: I did all this burning in a small incinerator out in our yard, where my brother had to burn our garbage every week. Safety first.)

But, alas, there was temptation. I had a couple boyfriends when I was in high school. Kissing turned to making out, which is about as far as I would go. Until it went further...I still find it funny that the first boy to get to second base with me later came out to me in the equipment room of our gym. But that’s another story. My approach to sex in my mid to late teens was best described by Al Pacino in The Devil’s Advocate “Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, but don’t swallow.” I was forever pushing the envelope, so to speak, and then feeling terribly guilty for it afterwards.

I was caught in a kind of a yo-yo pattern, and at the end of grade 12 I found myself at a crossroads. I could move away from home with my best gay friend to have scary new adventures in the city, which would most likely lead to eternal hellfire. Or I could choose the straight (literally) and narrow, move in with a friend from Bible camp and continue to date my older and wiser boyfriend (also from Bible camp) who I was quite taken with. I chose the latter, of course, with the best of intentions.

[I feel I’m rambling quite a bit, but certain things just can’t be left out.] My boyfriend and I had both made commitments to remain pure until marriage, so when the night came that I just couldn’t say no in time, and he just couldn’t help himself any more, I was left feeling unbearably betrayed by him and by own body. I cried in the dark as I realized my wedding night would never be what I had wanted it to be. Yet I was also crying because I was disappointed...that was it?? That was the big mystery I had been grappling with since I was a child?? And suddenly, all at once, the mystery was gone.

Coming up faster than you can say supercalifrajalisticexpealidocious - Part III !

Let's Talk About Sex - Part Uno

This is how I remember it...I was about 4 years old and my brother had just been born. Naturally curious, I asked my Dad how it was that my brother came to be. Where did he come from? On that note, where did I come from? Instead of brushing me off like an irritating child that asks about everything, my wonderful Father sat me down and read me this book:

I will mention now that this book was fully illustrated.

It left little to the imagination. Naturally I was horrified. I burst into hysterical tears and refused my parent’s comforting hugs, swearing that I would never EVER do that. My Mom asked of my Dad “are you happy now? Why did you have to tell her the truth?” My Dad’s reply, “because I promised I would never lie to my children.”

While my Dad’s commitment to truth is admirable, I would say that it was not altogether appropriate in this particular circumstance. I hold no grudges against my parents, I was the eldest and they did the best they could, and I think I turned out alright. But from that very moment, my sexual identity started to form. And I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

I blocked the specifics of this early ‘birds and the bees’ talk from my mind. But I remember my mom telling me I was ‘not allowed to make the Barbies have sex’ when I played with our neighbors at the cabin. I remember secretly watching sex scenes in movies through the cracks of my fingers, and thinking that looked much more pleasant than I had originally thought. I invented a kissing game when I was in elementary school, to play with my very first crush, who had the longest rat-tail in the school. But still the actual act of intercourse was repulsive to me. Barbies were relatively safe with their plastic mounds, and the movies never showed, well, you know. I was also very young when I decided to become a Christian, and immediately loved the thought of not having sex until I was married, and then only having to do it with that one person until one of us died.

I knew I was interested in that intimate connection people could share, but I was quite happy to wait as long as possible before I experienced it. Then, when I was in my early teens I found this book, nestled in the bookshelf in our basement:

My world EXPLODED! Until now I had assumed people only had sex to make a baby, or maybe if they were just really bored. But this was a revelation! Apparently people – a woman no less – could actually love sex. Could crave it, could need it, could become obsessed with it. And not just a man and woman! This book was my first look into bi-sexuality. I had a lot to process.

Stay tuned for Part Deux!

The Hardest Part

Over the past week and a bit, I’ve talked with a few different people about difficult or challenging situations in their lives. I guess spring truly is the season of change, of growth. Whether it’s leaving a partner, starting a new business endeavor, dealing with parental issues, or saying goodbye, it’s never easy. As one of my friends said to me ‘growth is uncomfortable sometimes’, which is – in my opinion – incredibly accurate. Depending on the degree of change you’re experiencing, I find more often than an acutely painful sensation, I feel distinctly uncomfortable. Like there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but my day (week, etc.) is just somehow ‘off’.

The hardest part for me is understanding how I really feel. I’ve developed an unhealthy little habit over the years of misdirecting my emotions, which is probably something a lot of people do. You’re stressed about work, you take it out on your significant other. You’re angry with your partner, you take it out on your friends, and on and on. But it’s not always easy to pinpoint the source. As humans we are illogical, we are driven in a huge way by our emotions, our perceptions, and those can change moment to moment.

I’ve gotten better at being honest with myself about my feelings, with time and practice. When my parents separated it took me over a year to actually say out loud that I was angry with my mother. And now when I know that I’m feeling ‘off’, the best thing for me to do is spend some time alone, focus my energy inwards, and try to figure out what the real issue is. This isn’t the solution, it’s only the first step, but it’s the most important. Next I have to give myself permission to feel however I need to. It’s ok to be sad, to be angry, to be disappointed – with others or with myself. Then comes accepting this new part of my life, and creating new habits or adjusting my ways of thinking to accommodate the change.

I can’t imagine that growing from a sapling into a tree is a painless process (if trees could feel pain, that is). It involves stretching further than you ever have before, extending through the discomfort, hoping that somehow you will find the next stage. Holding out and having faith that there is a place of contentment, if you can just reach a little further.

Weekly Hi-YA!

What a week it's been. I've somewhat recovered from exhaustion by getting a solid 7.5 hour sleep last night, so I'm more than ready for whatever this weekend will bring me. Thinking of doing a real-time twitter/instagram explosion of tonight's activities so follow me @FrittanyAlexis and your sad, lonely Friday night will instantly transform into a magical journey of hilarity and gangsta hand signs.

For now, please enjoy my favorite pictures from this week's meanderings on the interweb. Also, next week I will be writing my first post about - wait for it - sex. tee-hee-hee-he-he-he!!!!