Friday Hi-5 STARRING Brittany Munro

Weird confession: sometimes at the end of the work day I look up a movie trailer on YouTube, innocently enough. Then all of a sudden I realize I've spent forty minutes watching trailers for random movies, most of which I'll never actually see. But then something strange happens and as I pack up my Tupperware and put on my walking flats to go home, I start to have imaginary conversations (facial expressions and all) and I can almost hear the soundtrack in the background, as a movie trailer about my life plays in my head. Sometimes I can even make myself cry. I told you it was weird...

So by sometimes I meant this happened yesterday. But instead of snapping out of it and focusing on my exciting evening of going for a jog and changing my nail polish, I couldn't shake the thought. My life as a movie. What parts would I want in it? What could I write out, pretend it had never happened? What parts shouldn't be written out, as much as I'd like to. And the little gnomes in my head worked away. Who knows, maybe someday you will see a feature film about a lanky girl trying to make some sense out of her life (I know, SO original). Anyway, the question that has stuck in my brain as a result of all this is: who would I exclude? Who is just not significant enough to be written in and cast in my life. And if there are people who fit this description, why are they in my actual real life right now? Why are they in yours?

I'm not talking about extras, like the friendly deli counter man who gives me samples of the same kind of ham I always buy. I'm talking about the people we all collect in our lives who simply serve no real purpose. They don't make you a better person, they don't challenge you, they don't make you happy. They're just there. Doing the same things they have always done, and will always do. When do you cut them out? Should you cut them out, or are they contributing in some secret way after all, and would you miss out on something bigger if they weren't there?

I'm feeling pretty rambly today so before I launch into my thoughts on existentialism and time as a non-linear concept, I'll just cut myself off and leave you with my ponderings and, of course, the Hi-5. Happy Weekend to all, and to all a Happy Weekend.

   

Hey, You're a Crazy B*tch

I think my friend Jo said it best one day when I was losing my shit over a boy. Why wasn't he calling me every hour on the hour, why didn't he want to spend every waking moment with me, why was he so smothering at times, etc. etc. She just looked at me, rolled her eyes and said "Brittany! I love you but you are a crazy bitch. Chill out." And that was some of the best advice I have ever received.

It's easy to convince yourself that you're not actually being crazy (whether you're a girl or guy) when really you are in serious need of an intervention. With an intervention banner and solemn background music. To prove my point, let's do a simple quiz. 

1. When you are close to your sig. oth., you like to:
a) smile at them when you catch their eye
b) smell their hair when they're not looking

2. When a person of the opposite sex checks out your sig. oth., your first response is to:
a) feel confident that your companion is attractive, and pleased others think so too
b) immediately start grilling your companion with questions like "Do you know him? How do you know him?? Do you think he's hot!? Have you had sex with him?!?"

3. When a random, unknown Facebook friend posts suggestive comments on a few of your sig. oth. pictures, you:
a) casually bring it up next time the conversation turns to Facebook drama
b) actively stalk the commenter online and send them threatening messages

4. When you find a pair of underwear that isn't yours in your sig. oth.'s home, you:
a) confront them about it
b) burn their house down

Alright, let's tally. If you got mostly a)'s you're doing great! Keep up the good work. If you got mostly b)'s, I'm sorry but you might be a Crazy Bitch. And yes, this applies to guys as well. Now as you may have noticed from my ramblings thus far, I'm a pretty cool chick (also incredibly humble). Really though, I have other sources who can back me up on this claim. But no matter how chill I am with my friends and their relationships, when it comes to my relationships I can be a raving lunatic. One time I threw a book at a former lover. Actually, now that I think about it, I've done that twice...dammit.

The main reason this kind of craziness happens is because you've been hurt in the past, and you now have issues to deal with and baggage to get rid of. It can be tricky business, especially if you're a serial dater. To anyone who has gone through a bad relationship I say: just be single for a while! Take some 'me' time. Honestly though, I haven't always followed my own advice on this topic. Sometimes you meet that special  person and you just really want to be with them. If you go down that road, you may need to tell yourself that this person is not your ex, and you may in fact be acting like a CB.

When this happens consider the following: what kind of a person is she, outside of your relationship. Is she honest? Is she trustworthy? Does she have good quality friendships? If she's an all-around good person, she's probably not secretly having sex with all your friends. Also, reverse the situation you're freaking out about. If he was calling you out for not immediately answering every single text he sent while you're out for a girl's night, would you appreciate it? Or would you think he was being ridiculous?

I'm not saying ignore the total obvious. If he or she is at the local disco grinding one out with someone else, you need to have a serious talk (or, just break up with them, whatever floats your boat). But generally, just try to keep a level head. Vent to your friends, have a snack, get more sleep, go out and do something that doesn't revolve around them. Everyone is entitled to have their own lives, even if they're in a relationship (especially if they're in a relationship!)

The main thing to remember is, as my wise owl father told me, you can't push a rope. Think about it...pushing...a rope...no, it's not possible. If your gf wants to cheat on you, no amount of surveillance will stop her. If your bf wants to treat you like crap, no amount of nagging or pleading or oral sex will stop him. So the next time you feel your inner CB starting to get rowdy, step back from the situation, think rational thoughts, and just say no. Unless you're drunk, in which case you're pretty much effed and I hope you have a patient partner. Contrary to what MTV will tell you, drinking rarely improves the situation. Neither does teen pregnancy. Lesson over. 

It's Friday Folks

You know when you really shouldn't do something? You've told yourself 'no more' or 'this is the last time'. You sit and try to rationalize with your inner voice, convincing yourself you don't want to do it again. But sometimes the desire is too strong. Sometimes you just have to give in. It's a feeling I am, unfortunately, very familiar with...

So I'm eating yet another Dinosour candy. The sugary gumminess is really starting to hurt my teeth, but damn these little things are SO tasty! I'm going to regret this in an hour when I'm on a sugar high, and then again in two hours when I am falling asleep and have a stomach ache. But for now, it's bliss. And there's so many red ones!

Nothing too serious today, as you've no doubt realized. I think I'm PMSing so I don't want to get on any rants. Being a girl is scary sometimes, all of a sudden you're really mad at the silliest things, you tear up at stupid advertisements, you start having angry dreams and are convinced your sig. oth. is cheating on you. Then you realize - I'm not crazy! I'm just PMSing. Then I have some chocolate, and try not to get into any philosophical or relationship discussions. Maybe it will get better with age, but I always find it sneaks up on me.

Anyway, now that we've indirectly discussed my inner workings as a woman, it's time for the Friday Hi-5. One final note, close your eyes (after you're done reading this obviously) and repeat "I am fantastic" to yourself at least 5 times. Because you ARE fantastic. And so are Dinosours. That is all. 

Mystery Crush

You know when you listen to a radio show consistently, and you develop a picture in your mind of what the person attached to the voice looks like? Then you see them on a billboard or on the station’s website and you’re like – Whoah. WTF?

I think having a crush is kind of like that. You meet someone and you start chatting, flirting, drawing their name on your binder with hearts floating around it, practicing your signature with their last name for when you get married, calling them every single day believing that this will be the day they finally declare their undying love for you......no? Well that’s how it was for me in high school anyway (sorry Chris S.). Whatever your method, during the blissful days of crushing, the object of your affection seems completely wonderful. Every smile, every laugh, every glance seems to happen in slow motion and gives you butterflies. Then you get to know them and realize they are kind of an idiot, just like everyone else.    

I was talking with a friend lately about relationships, the internet, relationships over the internet and relationships with the internet, but that got weird so just back to relationships and the internet. I read an article on Salon.com about a woman who had an intimate emotional affair with a man she had never met – over twitter. My first reaction was probably the same as yours, wow she sounds crazy. But then I started to really mull it over, chew on the issue like a nice steak, and relate it to my own experiences. You have total control over whatever you send out or post, and so the person you’re talking to can present to you only what they want to present. Like me, for example, you’re reading my blog thinking I’m an attractive 20-something girl, when really I am a fat old man in a basement, eating cheese puffs and laughing at you! Just kidding, I’m myself (whoever she is).

The nub and gist of my rambling today is: how can you really know someone you’ve never met, or have only met once or twice? The internet has provided an amazing and totally new way of connecting people who are worlds apart, who would never be able to meet or stay in touch without it. But unlike other revolutionary inventions (such as the automobile; you had to learn how to operate it, then you had to learn the rules of the road before you got a licence and were even allowed to use it) the internet doesn’t have any kind of guidelines, a user manual, etc. There are no rules. I mean sure, there are the general societal rules like don’t be a racist or a pedophile or use ‘their’ incorrectly. But there’s no code of conduct, especially when the heart is involved.

So back in the olden days, boy meets girl, asks her out, she says yes, they go on a date. First dates were nerve-wracking occasions. Look your best, don’t talk about your alcoholic family, avoid mentioning the Ex, find some common interests. Today it is possible to discuss your most intimate sexual fantasies and intricate personal problems without ever having made eye contact. If you do get a face to face date, no need to worry about what you look like, she’s probably already seen all your drunken college pictures on Facebook. And there’s a good chance she knows your relationship and work history, political views, religious values and what you 'Like'. Does this not seem a little weird?!? We’ve never been more careful with our personal finance information, with the risk of identity theft and credit card fraud ever present. But the right kind of phrasing, a cute picture, and an extra 5 minutes of attention every day can bring our guard down like the Berlin Wall (which was a very positive, progressive thing, it was just the only appropriate reference I could think of).

I’m not saying internet dating is wrong, or that sites like sugardaddy.com aren’t viable places to find love, but maybe let’s pump the brakes a bit. It’s easy to feel connected to people when you’re interacting with them one on one, exchanging sneaky emails for your eyes only. But to allow yourself to fall in love with someone who you haven’t spent very much quality time with - being actually physically present that is - seems very risky to me. There is not going to be one Complete Set of Rules that everyone can follow. Everyone has different boundaries and comfort levels. I’m just saying, if a guy or girl you’re IM-ing with seems like the most absolutely amazing person who ever lived, there is something they’re not telling you. Maybe they like to trip old people. Maybe they are married. Maybe they have a really annoying twitch. Maybe they just really suck as a person. Guard your virtual heart, because it hurts just as much as a ‘real’ breakup to end a relationship with someone who only exists in your iPhone. 

Light Me Up

I clearly remember being in junior high, and walking across the street to the high school to take Industrial Arts (a mandatory class; I don't have a secret passion for welding or rebuilding car engines). On our walk we would pass by the Smokers Bridge, which was really just a culvert in a ditch that someone put a railing on. Oh the glamour!  Anyway I would usually make a big scene, coughing and hacking loudly as we passed by, to let those poor degenerates know what was in store for them, someday.

Then, while getting ready for my bestie's birthday party in May last year I was frantically putting together the contents of my purse for the night when her boyfriend help up a single Vogue super-slim cigarette. "Is this yours?" he asked me. "No! I don't smoke." I said. "Hmm. Well take it anyway, you might want one." And it landed innocently in my handbag.

So began my spiral. One smoke turned into a pack that sat in a drawer in my room, then eventually in my purse, and my friends were all quite disgusted with me. The funny thing was, walking down the street on my way to work in the morning, if I smelled smoke or saw someone smoking, I would feel sick. No cravings at all. But as soon as I was done drinking one beer or glass of wine, I was itching to light up. I rarely ever had any desire to smoke if I wasn't drinking, and I hated the way I smelled afterwards. I would be very careful when coming in from the smokers' pit to go wash my hands, tousle my hair under the hand drier, spray on some perfume, rinse out my mouth and pop in a mint. Like it never happened.

A new friend joined our mishmash group of partiers, and he was a committed and concrete smoker. Finally I had someone to go out with, though I did enjoy the incredibly random conversations I would have with strangers while asking for a light. We would take a break from the madness of the dance floor to suck in some smoke, discussing anything and everything, sometimes chatting with others, sometimes just the two of us. There is a very social aspect of smoking, as it's an activity that is much more frowned upon than it used to be. Those who do it seem to want to band together, to find common ground. I have talked intimately with VP's of oil companies, girls in full burlesque costumes, dreadlocked travellers, beautiful gay boys and everyone in between while enjoying the slight rush of nicotine.

I started to have cravings during the day, and I knew it was a bad sign. I tried to quit. I threw out half-full packs, only to go out, get drunk and purchase a new one. I decided it was too expensive to try to quit before I was "ready", and I may as well just resign myself to being a casual smoker. But eventually my body started to reject my tiny vice. I smoked less and less, until the last time I tried to have a few puffs (quite a few glasses of wine in) and I had an overwhelming wave of nausea. 'Brittany, don't be such a pansy. What is your problem?' I told myself. I inhaled, and again I felt like spewing. Well that was that. I was officially a nonsmoker. After all, what's the point of doing something if you don't enjoy it?

A few weeks ago I got a phone call from my doctor's office; I had an appointment at the colposcopy clinic. For those of you who are unaware (as I was until I Googled it immediately after hanging up), this is where you go when you have irregular results from a pap test, so they can take a sample of cervix tissue and come up with more conclusive results. I sat in the clinic, trying to keep my anxiety under control (I've never been good in hospitals and the like) until my name was called. A very nice nurse took me to a small room and sat me down to go over the procedure and why we were doing this. Essentially, abnormal cells = possible cancer. This procedure was step 1 in preventative measures. They don't know why these cells can be normal for years and then suddenly abnormal. There can be many possibilities,but one they are certain of is - surprise! - smoking.

I laid there after the test, which really didn't hurt that much, and tried in vain to choke back tears as my thoughts raced. My deepest fears battled each other for the main spotlight in my mind. The C word, infertility, being 'sick', people pitying me. I knew it was a common procedure. I knew that I might be fine, that freaking out now would be no help. I knew that if I did have abnormalities, it was a fairly easy (though very uncomfortable and invasive) fix. But I couldn't rationalize my panic, and broke down. The worst part was I couldn't lay there and wonder why. I couldn't ask what I had done to deserve this? I knew the answer.

Every time I lit up a cigarette, every time I felt glamorous, romantic, worldly, rebellious, etc. I was poisoning myself. I didn't care at the time, thinking about how young I was and how healthy I am in other areas of my life, how the universe unfolds as it should and if I'm meant to suffer I will one way or another. Well, turns out I was a fucking idiot. I'm still in limbo, waiting for the test results, and I know that it's out of my hands for now, so I try not to worry. But from now on I will do everything I possibly can to keep myself healthy and well, and I will never touch another cigarette. Something that starts so slowly, slips into your life so quietly, can have a massive, devastating impact.

I know I can't run around snapping people's cigarettes in half and throwing them on the ground shouting "IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!" but it kills me to see people I care about smoking. It even bothers me to see strangers smoking. But I remember how I felt the first time, only inhaling half of the smoke into my almost-virgin lungs, standing outside in the crisp night air, seeing someone I recognize in the crowd and they come over and say "Hey. I didn't know you smoked...you look cool. It suits you." And I realize so painfully now that I looked just as foolish as those 16 year-olds from my high school, self destructive and defiant, just standing in a ditch, waiting for something to happen. Well, something has happened and I can say with conviction, it certainly wasn't worth it.

High Five Alive

When was the last time you drank 5 Alive? Or Sunny D? I remember being a kid and fighting ceaselessly with my mom that Sunny D actually WAS juice and definitely would not give me ADD or cancer. Well, maybe I didn't use those words exactly. Anyway, it's funny how my tastes are changing as I get older. I used to like Lucky Charms, but now I like asparagus. I used to like Aqua and now I like Florence + The Machine. I used to like chocolate milk and - well, I still like chocolate milk. Now I also like gin. Not with the chocolate milk, that's disgusting. What's wrong with you?

Anyhoo that's about all I have to say on that topic. I guess I've been thinking about age because my mom has been staying with me this past week and the first night when I cooked everyone a delicious salmon dinner she almost fell over, asking when I started to like cooking (as opposed to living off of rice cakes, Cheerios and Kraft Dinner). Also my younger brother has unofficially moved out West to find his fortune in cattle ropin' and panning for gold or something along those lines. It is a great chance for me smother him, I mean to show him how grown up and responsible I have become in order to set a good example. Really though, I'm looking forward to having him around, and I will do my best to show him around the city and let him make his own choices (sigh).

Well that's all from me. Here are my favorite pics o' the week. Don't bother following me on Twitter because I haven't signed on to it in about a month @FrittanyAlexis

If you've been in a coma for the past month and don't get the last picture, please click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0

A Favorite Excerpt

I was going to write about age differences and the changing of the times but honestly, I just don't have the mental capacity to deal with that today. So instead I'm going to be incredibly philosophically lazy and share with you my absolutely favorite passage of text in relation to religion/God. I know what you're thinking "I don't come on here to be preached to! I read this blog to find out more about this probably unhinged yet hilarious girl and her adventures." Well, I agree. The last thing I would want to do is preach to anyone. 

Living with Christians can be tricky sometimes (I have 3 female roomies, all members of my old church). We have developed a good flow, which mostly includes not talking about the finer points of religion. They do their thing, I do mine. I love them, they are great girls, and I respect their choices. Mostly I just don't say anything when it comes to the G-O-D topic. But I've had some conversations lately that made me want to share a certain blurb from one of my favorite books, Life Of Pi by Yann Martel, in an effort to shed some light on my spiritual views. I have probably read Life Of Pi about 5 or 6 times since I first picked it up when I was 16, and this passage has by turns challenged, enlightened, affirmed and comforted me. I would never be so presumptuous as to tell you, my unknown friend, what or how to believe, but I hope you will enjoy this text and come to your own conclusions. 

~*~
After the "Hellos" and the "Good days", there was an awkward silence. The priest broke it when he said, with pride in his voice, "Piscine is a good Christian boy. I hope to see him join our choir soon."
My parents, the pandit and the imam looked surprised.
"You must be mistaken. He's a good Muslim boy. He comes without fail to Friday prayer, and his knowledge of the Holy Qur'an is coming along nicely." So said the imam.
My parent's, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous.
The pandit spoke. "You're both wrong. He's a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time at temple coming for darshan and performing puja."
My parents, the imam and the priest looked astounded.
"There is no mistake," said the priest. "I know this boy. He is Piscine Molitar Patel and he's a Christian."
"I know him too, and I tell you he's a Muslim," asserted the imam.
"Nonsense!" cried the pandit. "Piscine was born a Hindu, lives a Hindu and will die a Hindu!"
The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and dis-believing.
Lord, avert there eyes from me, I whispered in my soul.
All eyes fell upon me.
.......
"What it comes down to," the priest put out with cool rage, "is whether Piscine wants real religion - or myths from a cartoon strip."
"God - or idols," intoned the imam gravely.
"Our gods - or colonial gods," hissed the pandit.
It was hard to tell whose face was more inflamed. It looked as if they might come to blows.
Father raised his hands. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" he interjected. "I would like to remind you that there is freedom of practice in this country."
Three apoplectic faces turned to him.
"Yes! Practice - singular!" the wise men screamed in unison. Three index fingers, like puntuation marks, jumped to attention in the air to emphasize their point.
They were not pleased with the choral effect or the spontaneous unity of their gestures. Their fingers came down quickly, and they sighed and groaned each on his own. Father and Mother stared on, at a loss for words.
The pandit spoke first. "Mr. Patel, Piscine's piety is admirable. In these troubled times it's good to see a boy so keen on God. We all agree on that." The imam and the priest nodded. "But he can't be a Hindu, a Christian and a Muslim. It's impossible. He must choose."
"I don't think it's a crime, but I suppose you're right," father replied.
The three murmed agreement and looked heavenward, as did Father, whence they felt the decision must come. Mother looked a me.
A silence fell heavily on my shoulders.
"Hmmm, Piscine?" Mother nudged me. "How do you feel about the question?"
"Bapu Gandhi said 'All religions are true.' I just want to love God," I blurted out, and looked down, red in the face.
My embarrassment was contagious. No one said anything. It happened that we were not far from the statue of Gandhi on the esplanade. Stick in hand, an impish smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, the Mahatma walked. I fancy that he heard our conversation, but that he paid even greater attention to my heart.
~*~

Cold Calls

I have had some terrible jobs. Before the fancy 40 hour work weeks and free coffee of the office world, I was a poor country kid who took whatever job I could find. I worked at Safeway bagging groceries and used to fantasize about falling off of a ladder (I didn't use ladders) and breaking my arm so I could claim workers comp. I worked seasonally at a family friend's motor home rental business, cleaning said motor homes. Dead birds - not uncommon. I worked at a bar known for having lingerie theme nights and gang fights (the two were generally unrelated). My most embarrassing job by far was working for a home cleaning service. Yes, I was one of those sad girls who wore medical scrubs and drove around in a blue car that said "Molly Maid" on the side. We would get honked at all the time which proves that men are not detail oriented.  I would literally roll out of bed, but my hair in a pony tail and throw on my, usually dirty and very unflattering, uniform and run out to the car every morning to get breakfast at 7-11 while my supervisor smoked and bitched about her ex. To put it delicately, we looked like crap. But as soon as someone saw the word 'maid' it was all hoots and whistles. Oh the power of porn. Yet, I managed to last there for almost a year, mostly because I was lazy and it was kind of interesting to go into strange houses all the time.

Aside from all of those shitty jobs, one stands out in my mind as The Worst Job Ever.  Being employed for an entire day and a half at a cold calling center was the worst thing I have ever done. Not even when I had to mop up an entire bottle of maple syrup in aisle 7 did I feel as degraded. Not even when I was shamelessly batting my fake eyelashes at drunk old men did I feel as cheap. Let me break it down. After a day of training from an unfortunate looking woman wearing a cat sweater, we were set loose on the call floor. There were 'promotional incentives' that I didn't understand all over the walls. There was a very old monitor in front of me connected to an evil central computer somewhere. There was a cheap metal and foam headset...on my head.

Basically you sit there, waiting for something to happen, gradually losing all sense of time and space. All of a sudden there's a noise in your ear and the screen in front of you says 'dialing...' and you wish that you could trade your first born to a magical dwarf in exchange for a bunch of gold and quit this hell. But you can't. It rings and you pray to God, Allah, Chuck Norris, etc. that no one is home. Most of the time, someone is home. Milliseconds after you hear the hesitant "hello?" of a confused senior citizen, a script pops up on the screen. 90% of the time you pronounce their name wrong, which is apparently one of the most offensive things you could do. Then you have to read through a ridiculous script for whatever the company is selling/surveying/raising money for. If your deity is merciful, the other person will just hang up. Sometimes they stiffly say "I'm not interested" first. Sometimes they freak out and verbally abuse you for a while. Sometimes they're just lonely and are happy to finally have someone to talk to. Rarely do they actually care or have any desire to hear you out, least of all a desire to give you money.

I had been going through this process for a of couple hours when my trainer came over to give me a pep talk. "The thing you have to remember is that we're raising money for a charity. A charity. Really emphasize that. Talk about the blind children. Pull on their heart strings."

I resolved in that moment to be the best silver-tongued saleswoman in the office. I would win all the incentive prizes and raise the most money for those poor blind kids and I would do it all with a smile! I swallowed nervously and nodded at her, tensed and ready to go as the next call connected. "Hello?" said a kindly old lady on the other end. 'Piece of cake,' I thought to myself. "Hi Mrs..." I launched into my spiel, gaining confidence every second that she didn't interrupt me. When I finished she politely said, "well, thank you for calling, but I already donate to the CNIB." I was prepared and rebutted "Oh, but we're not the same as the CNIB, ma'am, we blah blah blah blah blah. I mean, think of all the poor, unfortunate, blind children you'll be helping." I said in a sickeningly sweetly sad voice. Silence on the other end. 'I've got her now,' I thought. "Well...I happen to be blind myself. I have never even heard of your charity and as I said, I already give to the CNIB who, I happen to know first hand, do wonderful work with children. Good day." And hung up.

My breath caught in my throat. My mouth went dry. My trainer, who had been listening in another room came over to talk to me again. I took off my headset and stood up, "yeah. I can't do this." As I walked out of that dilapidated office building jobless, car-less and poor, I took solace in the fact that I could always get a boob job and be stripper. I would probably sleep better at night, and the money would be going somewhere that actually existed (my g-string).

So the next time you get a call from an East Indian man named Ronald, try to go easy on him. Cold Callers are people too.

Friday HIFIVE

Well here we are again, another week has come and gone. It is officially the end of summer because I no longer have Friday afternoons off at work, and I've had to start wearing scarves in the morning because it's chilly out. Rather than dwell on this as a negative I will think about all the things I enjoy about the fall season...

- Vests (I have 2. One is a really terrible white fuzzy thing that all my friends make fun of me for, the other is a beige feathery affair that seems to be acceptable)

- Eggnog (eating healthy be damned. Eggnog is the breast milk of the gods)

- UGGS (it's like my feet are nestled in a wooly cloud)

- not shaving my legs (self explanatory)

I could go on. But let’s sum it up with: I will miss summer, but I’m looking forward to the things to come! One of those things is my mother, who arrives tomorrow. I’m sure that will result in some good writing material for next week.

For now, enjoy these pictures and have a great weekend, wherever you are!

Private Parts

Don't you love how I keep giving my posts suggestive titles, but they actually rarely contain the kind of things you're hoping for? Well what do you expect, soft-core erotica? Aren't my inner thoughts and snappy comments enough for you!?!

So let's get down to brass tacks here. Something that's been on my mind lately is The Ghost of Relationships Past, ie. the internet. What must it have been like forty years ago when you broke up with someone and that was it. Done. Finito. Period (not the menstrual kind). All you had to do was ignore them, or give them sad puppy eyes, depending on the situation, whenever you ran into them in public. I'm sure there must have been the occasional stalker, but what could your ex really do? Call your house phone a bunch of times breathing heavily?

Today, as everyone knows, it's a different story. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. etc. etc. are all too happy to keep you and your no-longer-significant-other involved on an electronic level. With a few strokes on your keyboard you can find out who he's with, where he is, and - in most cases - what he's been eating.

This is one of the reasons I avoid excessive posts about my current love life. If and when things fall apart, it's so time consuming to go back and delete every single cutesy comment and un-tag every picture. After one breakup (in which he suggested we 'hug it out' as I tried to choke back my tears), I received an angry text just hours later "did u srsly delete me from facebook??" Umm yeah. I did. Fuck off. I mean, why are people surprised? Facebook is supposedly to keep in touch with your friends, ie. people that you know and like. I'm currently on good terms with most of my exes, but that doesn't mean we're besties and it certainly doesn't mean there wasn't a time when I wouldn't have laughed if he fell down or got hit by a car or attacked by a horse or something. Haha, just kidding...probably...

Anyway. I just started wondering about how all this documentation via social media is affecting our relationships. Being reminded constantly that yesterday you were connected and today you are not. It doesn't even have to be recent. There is always the looming possibility that texts and pictures sent when love was in bloom can be regurgitated as blackmail material, if you have a particularly crazy and meddling ex. How hard is it to trust someone in the first place, let alone when you have all this cyberspace baggage to deal with?

When I first became involved with a particular man (who shall remain nameless, and who I am very fond of) I was almost offended by his lack of personal presence on the interweb. 'How will people know that we're together??? That he is mine!?' I thought frantically. After a few discussions and some ups and downs, I've realized how much I appreciate that quality, which is really more of a lifestyle choice in this day and age. It means I have to actively trust him, and put my faith in the validity of our words to each other as opposed to our words that everyone else can see. I think we can look to politicians as a shining example that your publicly spoken and written words really don't mean shiz. Of course, actions speak louder than words. But don't actions in real life speak louder than the actions of tweeting?

I think it's obvious by this point that I believe relationships should be private. By all means, share good news, be happy for your friends and loved ones, support those who are hurting. But do we need a constant play by play of someone else's relationship? Do we need to prove to everyone how absolutely overjoyed - or how completely unhappy - we are with our partner? Perhaps we just have to prove it to ourselves. And when a relationship ends, as they often do, for the love of our lord's pajamas, there's an 'unfriend' button for a reason.

Congratulations To Me! And Ye! (you)

I know I already posted today, but had to get this sneaky one in - I have hit 1000+ views!!! In the grand scheme of things, in the hugeness of the World Wide Web, all things considered, etc. this is not a huge number. But in my little mind, thinking that I would throw this mish mash of nonsense out into the internet like a stray cat and hope that it makes sense to someone, somewhere (yet thinking that it probably wouldn't and I would just delete it and not admit to ever having a blog) I am positively delighted! 

Thank you to all of you who read my ramblings! I look forward to really shaping things up around here in the coming months so stay tuned!

For now, enjoy this picture (it makes me giggle).

  

Sexual Lifestyle

Something I've been pondering lately...am I a Sexual Person? Over the past few months three men in my life have told me, in various ways, that I am 'trying to change myself' 'suppress myself' or 'hide who I really am'. This has puzzled me and caused a lot of reflection. Allow me to think out loud (via my keyboard).

It's true, in my younger years I was a bit of a scamp, a tease if you will. I took a sadistic pleasure in taunting men. I made an excellent beertub girl, let me tell you. If I had been better at math I might have actually made some money. Anyway, back to the point. I have always had what are called 'bedroom eyes', especially when I've had a few. I remember the first time I got drunk with a past boyfriend years ago and he was distressed by the fact that I was 'staring at everyone at the bar seductively'. Exasperated I explained "That's just how I look when I'm drunk!"

When I left 'the church' and my adolescent marriage, I had to reinvent the way I handled sex. I decided that I wouldn't be a "typical girl", that I would be the one in control, I would be the one who didn't call. I had close friendships with guys and they treated me in many ways like one of them. It wasn't strange for me to be a 'wing man', or to be the only girl in a group of guys, privy to their (sexist and often degrading) comments about the women around them. One time out at the bar a friend asked me to distract his date so he could go hit on some other girls. At the time I felt like I was part of a special club, and when a friend would say "you're such a cool chick. I wish my girlfriend was more like you." I was proud.

This role I played, this person I had become, was not healthy, was not happy. There were a lot of moments where I felt out of control, felt empty and sad, felt desperate to connect but too afraid to be vulnerable because I knew what guys were really like. I sabotaged relationships, I justified my behavior, I hardened my heart. Over top of it all I threw a sparkly, seductive smile so no one would be suspicious.

I can't say for sure when things started to change. When I started to realized that I was harming people, and it wasn't fun any more...that maybe it had never been fun at all. There were a few tough lessons I had to learn and a few realizations that really slapped me in the face. I still appreciate the friendships I have with men, but they have taken on a different form. I am not trying to bash men either, I know that us so-called ladies can be just as shady. I can tell that I am more guarded around my male friends now, however, and I am more protective of my fellow women.

Over the years I've begun to realize that my sexuality is something that should be sacred to me. My attitude has shifted and I now think that my bedroom eyes are much more appealing when they are shown infrequently, as the flash of an ankle or wrist from a geisha was once one of the most tantalizing views a man could hope for. Some people may not understand this. I barely understand it myself. I feel in some ways that I am becoming someone I don't entirely know, someone I have trouble explaining. But when a friend asked me a few days ago if I think of myself as a whole person, I could honestly answer her that yes, I do.

I don't feel like I'm being untrue to myself by not flaunting my sexuality. I have actually started to feel very uncomfortable if I go out for a night on the town all dressed up, looking slightly scandalous. I don't need the attention of half the men in a room to feel desired, and in fact I don't want it. I am learning to embrace myself as a woman, with all the soft, sensual secrets and pleasures I possess. And when I find a man worthy of sharing these moments and mysteries with, it will be a very special and a very personal thing.

I am not ashamed of sex, and I am not ashamed of who I am. I think that many people today would be much happier if they were honest with themselves about how they feel toward sex and stopped using it as a weapon or some kind of points system or as an emotional crutch. There are many ways to experience pleasure in this body, and I encourage you to be confident in yourself to find ways that work for you (whatever way that may be). I can say that I for one, am very happy in what I am discovering!