Browsing Tag

wanderlust

gypsy travels

My Lake

September 6, 2016

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Driving home I could still hear the waves crashing in my head. I still can now actually. My lake was in fine, angry exhibition this time home. I felt proud, oddly. Standing in front of her, introducing my girls. Have you met the undertow? Do you know what to do if she catches you?

I call Lake Huron my lake, but really I am hers. She soothes me, soaks my sins away, batters me with waves until my soul comes out clean. And I don’t know what she does to my hair, but damn. I didn’t want to/have to wash it for days after I’ve been in.

I don’t have a God per say. I have a moral compass of my own. I do what feels good and light and right.

We 4 girls spoke on the way home about religion and its purpose. Sacrificing virgins came up. I said “well this one time somebody killed a girl and it rained the next day, so they kept doing it for 1000’s of years.” And sometimes the rains came shortly after, because of weather patterns, not virgins.

That’s what it felt like in the lake that night. God’s marionettes. Tossed and tumbled. Thrown out, knocked over all the while blissed out beyond words. With moments of fear.

She deserves respect.

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.” Ezekiel 25:17

The line I was going for when I looked that up was ‘you will know my name is the Lord’ spoken in Samuel L Jackson’s specific cadence.

Lake isn’t evil, she might be God, or the closest thing I have to it. I crave her when I am lost, think of her often, bring home rocks, set up little altars, palm them when I am stressed out. I hear her echoes in my ears when I am homesick. I love her on the days I am up to my ribs and it’s so clear I can see my toes and I revere her on the days that she rages and churns.

I think she is just trying to wash us clean. Like when 6 of us went in naked, played and fought waves, riptide and undertow and laughed with delight. We all made it out, but there were a few waves, ocean sized, that had me sucked under talking myself out of that panic that will kill you. Ass over teakettle into the dark oblivion, no air, no idea which way was up. Then finding my feet, standing in awe and humbled as I coughed, sputtered and spit water back where it came from.

I am grateful for the reminder that she can get in anywhere she pleases. That water is relentless, changes shape, form, and eventually washes everything away.

I am water, I am her daughter, I can do the same.

 

Uncategorized

Imaginary Friends and Enemies

August 27, 2016

 

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…26 If Satan drives out Satan, he is divided against himself. How then can his kingdom stand? 27 And if I drive out demons by Beelzebub, by whom do your sons drive them out? So then, they will be your judges. 28 But if I drive out demons by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you. Matthew 12:26-28

Stop dividing yourself between what you did and who you are.

Did a bad thing? Okay.

Still doing it? No. Good job darlin’.

He said: I was afraid to see you after 22 years. I know the things that I have done in that time apart and I somehow assumed you did too, but you don’t, do you?

I replied: Nope, I don’t, but it doesn’t matter, I’d love you anyways. You are what I remember. We’ve all done some sketchy stupid shit, myself included. There is no judgement here.

Funny enough he brought me handmade scrabble tiles that spell out L.O.V.E.

We only let love in this house.

We’ve both changed exponentially, but the things that made us friends stayed the same.

Never apologize for how you had to survive.”

But everyone does. Just makes you human and humble. That’s okay.

We’re all trying to navigate the 4 lane highway between do no harm and take no shit.
But then emotions get in the way and we covet things/people we ought not to. Life happens and we get hungry.
Or we run into the selfish soul suckers and we find ourselves fighting them on their turf and terms and then the shame sets in.

What did I just do?

Doesn’t matter, the question is ‘what do you do now.’

Just get back on the highway, or climb in and let me drive for a while.

I’ll pick you up gladly, but leave the past in the rear view. Don’t tow it behind.

I have music, cigarettes and enough gas to get us far away from here.

People love to tell me the things they have done, their deep dark dirtiest of secrets.
And I listen.
I don’t ask why.
Why is a useless question.
You did what you had to do/wanted to do and no amount of worry/guilt or shame is going to change that.

If someone starts drowning in the past I throw a life preserver labeled…“But did you die?”

Yes? Cool, I am communing with the dead, how can I help you?

No? Let it fucking go.

I scrolled back through my Instagram and I was struck by how much things have changed.
I know I’ll do it again in a year and think the same thing. I chuckled at myself. I remember being sad because I didn’t get what I wanted.

Then I pulled myself out of the muck and mire of ‘what was supposed to be’ and setting my feet down on the firm ground of ‘what is’.

I was stuck in detours and rest stops that were actually really dirty and dangerous in retrospect.

Get back in the car.

As I look for stories to tell here I find myself falling back on Facebook/Instagram memories.
There is no drama presently, nothing to dazzle y’all with.
Just a girl who likes a boy, her job, her house, her friends, her life, in this moment, right now, as is.

The past is just a story we tell ourselves. Chuck Palahniuk

And those Gods and demons we thank and blame?

Just imaginary friends of our own making.

I do envy those who blindly believe in god. How easy it must be to give your every action over to an omnipotent puppet master in the sky.
Personally? I gotta call bullshit.
You did the thing and god doesn’t approve or disapprove, own it and move on.
If it made you feel bad, don’t do it again.

I am my own moral compass. If my gut flutters with butterflies, I go that way.

If my stomach twists and turns and hurts. I run. Or I hang out for a good long while, cry a lot and then I leave.

My friends that don’t believe in god still carry these heavy burdens of guilt about where they came from, the things they’ve done.

Baby did a bad, bad thing. (Chris Isaac)

Again, I have to ask…but did you die?

It just means you are better than those who hurt you. Start acting like it.

You survived. Enjoy.

If you tell me anything and the beginning of the story is ‘once upon a time’ I will remind you that there is no such thing, all we have is this moment now and you’re spending it in the past?

Stop doing that.

Tell me where you are going, not where you’ve been.

They label this darkness as ‘demons’.

Stop.

That makes less sense than god.

At least we give god credit for the big, beautiful, miraculous things we enjoy.

What do those demons do for you?

Not a damn thing.

Mama says “If they can’t play nice then they’re not your friends.”

If the cd keeps skipping, toss it out the window and make a new one.

You are writing the story of your own life with the memories and feelings you choose you hold onto.
Edit yourself a better life.
Sugar coat that shit all you want, remember the good things. Put the rest in a filing cabinet marked ‘what not to do’, yell ‘plot twist’ and get on with your life.

No one will know in a year.

Gods and demons are just fictional characters, time to invent some better ones, and make sure they love you even when you are acting the fool. If they don’t, they aren’t your friends.

Smile at your own ridiculousness, because in the end, it won’t matter.

How about this… I am your flesh and blood friend, I exist and I absolutely forgive your absolute worst.

I’m your goddess of mercy.

I don’t care how you got here, I am just glad you made it.

 

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unable to even

Fortunate Cookie

August 21, 2016

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Everyone this is Sally.

Sally this is…everyone.

Angel came down from heaven yesterday, she stayed just long enough to rescue me.
Jimi Hendrix

Sally isn’t an angel, but she has wings, close e-fucking-nuff.

We used to ride through the hayfields on the tractor. The mantises would whir up out of the grass dancing in the motes from the hay we were cutting. The golden glory when the sun was going down made it look like fairies and heaven to me.

She came in from the less than heavenly porch and landed on my desk lamp the next morning.

My son anointed her with the name Sally and the working title “Guardian of the House.”

I moved her to the golden glorious morning glory porch, lest she starve, and there she stays. Guarding my house.

Thanks Sally.

The book I am writing starts out with a girl, much like me, who is a writer, much like me, sitting outside and a mantis lands on her startling her out of a daydream.

The pic in the background was a gift from the man that inspired the book.

Now, I am not saying it’s a sign from god, but it’s a sign from god.

A few things happened that keep pushing me back to the book that I don’t want to write because my muses are treating me like dirt and leaving me in the lion’s den then pointing and laughing when I got bit.

There was this fortunate fortune cookie.

cookie

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then Rob Breszny said things. A lot of things.

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And then the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.

The theme of this full moon?
Leave your comfort zone and go explore the dark, your magic is in there.

I did that.

and this…

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The theme of every full moon ever?

Let it fucking go.

“The mantis comes to us when we need peace, quiet and calm in our lives. Usually making an appearance when we’ve flooded our lives with so much chaos that we can no longer hear the still small voice within us because of the external din we’ve created.”

I have to return to therapy next Tuesday and she is invariably going to ask me if I worked on the book and I am out of excuses as to why I haven’t.

For a while there I didn’t know what to write.

I get it now.

I have to finish the thing.

I have plans and the book being done and sold is part of my future.

I have encouragement from other published writers that it is good and I should keep going.

So what of my fortunate cookie?

Double entendre.

My favorite.

I am writing my literal financial fortune.

I can finish this thing any way I want.

I got stuck on the book during the part where our dear heroine gets assaulted in a parking lot
Life imitated art and I was scorned by the hero and anti-hero because of it.

“Well what did you think was going to happen?”

Um, not that and definitely not this.

They left me to my own devices, laughed when I got hurt. Made me feel dumb and small. An insignificant speck floating around in a huge sea of blue.

“Enlightenment is when a wave realizes it is the ocean.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

I’ve always been able to write the story of my life.
I just forgot for a bit and handed my pen to others.

The ending has always been up to me.

Now I know what I don’t want.

I love the ocean, god knows I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to go ass over teakettle off the side of a boat in the middle of nowhere breathing canned air with no idea where the land is.

I am content playing in the surf near the shore. I can go under, get wet and stand up when I am feeling overwhelmed and catch my breath.

I just want to play in the waves, I am done drowning and choking.

Neil Gaiman said his favorite stories were the ones where women saved themselves.

I am swimming to shore.

So now I know what I want because I know who makes me cry when I look at my phone and I know who makes me smile.

It ends like this…I get loved as is. By someone who doesn’t make me feel like I am gasping for air, grasping at straws or unworthy.

He isn’t a poet, but neither am I.

He calls me a ‘dork’.
I know it means that I am adored.
It’s not everyone’s happy ending, but it works for me.
I’d rather that than be someone’s sexual soulmate and never hear a word.
Or someone else’s Lady of Stars, but we have to end this gracefully.

Fuck that fuck this fuck them.

I want peace and quiet. I want a relationship that doesn’t have me posting to this blog every 5 minutes trying to work shit out because I am not getting any help and I can’t breathe.

I am a good girl, I just needed a good man to see it.

I’ve done my PhD. in Fuckboi Languages, Variations and Interpretations, I have the Scorpio decoder ring, learning how to speak pragmatic lumberjack is going to be a cakewalk.

Or a cookie walk.

 

 

 

Boys

2 Girls 1 Tinder and a Move

July 26, 2016

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Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been…hang on lemme check…10 days since I have written a word. The good word, any word at all that wasn’t a list of shit to pick up at IKEA or Home Depot.

I am still not fully settled. But roommate is sleeping and thou shalt not use the drill nor the hammer till both of us have some coffee.

I’ve realized that I  am my mother’s daughter.

Not the dirty nasty bits, those are mine and mine alone. But I cannot function in a house of chaos.

I like things where I like them goddammit.

And where I like them is not in boxes and bags willy-nilly/errrwhere, mmmm kay?

For someone who drifts and wanders as often as I do, one would think I would have this all down to some kind of science. And I do. I know how it goes, I just plug away and try not to stop moving, not to waste my movements, there is an order to things.

My OCD kicked in, and my PMDD, as things went sideways and my brain turned to mush.

That was fun, a bout of crippling turbo-charged PMS right at the end.

I went on Tinder too, the Friday before the Friday we moved.

As if I didn’t have enough on my plate.

I have no idea what is wrong with me.

In my defense I didn’t understand how it worked exactly. But like I do with all things, I went overboard. Talked to too many people, got confused and overwhelmed. Ended up blocking almost everyone. It was boy chaos on top of life chaos.

And no fucking manners anywhere to be found.

I see your dick pic and raise you a dick video. At least his bathroom looked clean.

I love sex, lord knows I do.

I don’t want a relationship per say, lord knows I don’t…but can we maybe grab a coffee before you demand I meet you at a hotel room? Did you think you were on Backpages?

The shit show culminated in one less than glorious date that I bailed in the middle of, but a little too far past the stranger-danger portion of the evening. What happens when the person who follows you to your car and gropes you in a parking lot is the person you agreed to meet? Who do you call for help?

The Giant, but his girlfriend was on her way over, so no sanctuary for me. He did make me smile though. Bless him.

I regressed these past few weeks. I’ve had this nagging feeling like I’m back in public school and I don’t understand the lessons and everyone is whispering behind their hands about me and I have no idea what I’m doing wrong. My solution seems to be to pile more wrong on top.

I am stopping now.

I don’t know where my big girl panties are exactly, but I found my big girl voice and a few others things I thought were lost.

I also found someone who speaks to me nicely. Calls me sweetcheeks and asks before he touches my bum.

 

Boys

Not Forgotten

July 4, 2016

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So Gelfling, derived from “Ghel-lflainngk” roughly translates to “those who live without knowledge of the future.” (Grant Volker).

That was posted under an article from a year ago about a boy I called Gelfling, Ouf and Mind Fuck.

I always felt like ‘ouf’ was an onomatopoeia for the sound of getting punched in the gut.

He said ouf like it was a good thing. To him it meant guttural/literal sex noises.

He did knock the wind out of me, both coming and going.

That is fucked up.

Seriously.

Both the Muppet and the boy have no knowledge of the future, by choice.
And I cannot shake the past, not by choice.

He did make a choice, they both did. To wander out of the safety of their cave dwellings out into the world for some greater purpose that has yet to be revealed.

So be it.

Oh Gelfling, my Gelflng.

He cannot possibly be my Gelfling.

If he was he would be here. With me, right now. Or at least message on occasion.

Giant messaged me recently and said “My dearest Sarah”. I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn’t wrong. Part of me still lives in his head, his heart and his bed. I wouldn’t know how to take that back if I wanted to. And I don’t. There are threads that bind and alternate timelines that I somehow remember even though they didn’t happen here.

The only way I run is at something, not away.
Wait.
That isn’t exactly it. No straight lines, I spiral out and back in again.

That thing we had for the most fleeting of moments that defied logic and words and could only be described as a magical convergence of entangled particles.
Both of them.
“You tie my tongue. You make my fingers into these clumsy things on the keyboard, like trying to articulate the aurora borealis in a foreign language and the only word I know is ‘yes’.” (I wrote that)

Tangled in timelines that went awry and I still can’t figure out why.

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I saw this and things started to make more sense. Think I might get this tattooed on me. My best girl calls me a vampire, she is wrong.  I just see time moving in spirals instead of in a straight line and I spiral with it.

At this very moment, as I am writing this there is the clear and present danger that I may run into Gelfling tomorrow.

I kinda want to. Cosmic finger crossing for a cosmic path crossing.

(^that was Thursday)

 

 


I saw him.

Truth be told I was terrified. The butterflies in my stomach were worked into a frenzy and their wings felt like sharp cutting things, leaving me slightly shredded inside.

I knew he would be where I was going, because I asked. I needed and heeded the warning. I thought he had wandered off to Tibet, or maybe Sedona, called home by the ley lines and returned to the cave of mystics that he came from.

I was warned that he got exponentially hotter in the last year.

Good god damn. Somethings cannot be prepared for even when you think you know what is coming.

He came to mind every time the sky went red or there were fireworks, literal and sometimes proverbial. I dream about him often, sometimes when I’m awake.

I have the ability to compartmentalize almost everything and everyone.
He never fit into a box, kept slipping out.
Everyone else becomes, after enough time, a page or three in a scrapbook.
Mental photographs, scraps of paper, bits of music and candy wrappers pressed between pages in pretty little vignettes of the good stuff.

When triggered my mind flips to their page I sigh and smile because I have cut out the bad bits, the part where they left. Instead my mind sees a slideshow of their more redeeming moments.

I read an article about our brains having a delete button and I recoiled a bit.

http://www.fastcompany.com/3059634/your-most-productive-self/your-brain-has-a-delete-button-heres-how-to-use-it

I have yet to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I am scared of Jedi mind tricks, the red flashy thing and the glamouring by vampires in True Blood. When Lena tried to save Ethan by wiping herself from his memory my heart hurt and when he remembered anyways it soared.

I am more afraid of forgetting than being forgotten.

I suffered severe memory loss due to a concussion/brain injury from a car wreck that stole the month of December 2008.  I also misplaced 35% of my vocabulary which came back with great effort, a giant red dictionary and about a thousand games of scrabble. The word ‘enough’ was the last to return. Still looks funny to me and cause a slight skip in my synapses. Gone also was my ability to make new memories for approximately 90 days (I can’t exactly remember). That was a blessing I believe my temporal lobe and prefrontal cortex were in cahoots, making it so I don’t have to recall that level of suffering.

You see dear readers, my life was shit before the car wreck. Being immobilized with physical pain matching my mental anguish just made it more vivid, or so I can only imagine and blissfully not recall.

I hold onto the memories I have left and the ones I make now pretty tightly, almost compulsively.
Hoarding them like a fat kid and Halloween candy MINE MINE MINE.
You can look but you can’t touch.

I was  getting tattooed by Gelfling’s best friend who said something about ‘forgetting’ (meaning what happened between he and I) which, ironically I have forgotten the exact wording of.
But ‘oh honey no’, I said, ‘not remotely, not one tiny bit, not an iota‘. Nothing is forgotten.

I saw him.
I saw him and nothing happened except a few flashed smiles and a little banter. But that want that I had tried to quash or tame came rushing back.

If you understand, things are just as they are; if you do not understand, things are just as they are. (Zen koan)

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Boys

Fucking Scorpios, the Saga Continues

June 26, 2016

 

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I believe this and live it with my whole heart.

This can be compatible with my longer term mantra which reads ‘if you build it he will come.’ Field of Dreams. I am building something but I don’t need to be cloistered in a nunnery, or my office to get there.

I posted this the other day.

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My sunshine caught me in a moment of bliss. An old friend messaged and said I looked stunning and happy.

I said “I was at the beach, fresh out of the water, flirting with a 27 year old Scorpio. In other words, utterly in my element.”

I have a penchant for finding Scorpios. Or maybe they find me.

Whether it be on a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street nestled in a boy’s lap whispering secrets, coveting what I saw every day aka Hot Neighbor, Young Un the First seeing just pictures of each other and declaring we wanted that one, once upon a Sunday, that friend of mine with a purdy mouth or this new Thai Fighter I found.

They’ve all read the Handbook I wrote and declared that I knew what I was talking about.

The new one said so and I replied, “Everyone needs a hobby.”

He proceeded to fuck me in that perfect/intense way Scorpios are prone to do.

But it’s deeper than that.

Messages with another friend this morning…

Him: So what’s your Scorpio doing?

Me: Being cute as fuck.
I am currently writing a thing about how I have a certain level of expectations based on age and sun sign. And although I am not punishing the new ones for the behavior of the old I do find myself pleasantly surprised when a new one ups the bar.

Him: Those are always fun moments. Being surprised in a good way.

Me: Yes. This.
He messages me more frequently and is more attentive than I expected.

Him: Hmmmm so maybe rethink the Handbook?

Me: We had a moment where I was trying to leave and respect his work/sleep schedule and he said ‘one more story’, 5 more minutes.

Him: I keep waiting for the rug to be jerked or the ice water to fall on me. That IS fucking cute

Me: I know right? He asked me to come over the very next night and I actually had to send him a message saying I didn’t know him well enough to read if that was sarcasm or not.
I get that I wasn’t expected. I kinda showed up outta nowhere.
He has work and goals and man-bonding shit to do. This is where past lessons are useful. I understand.
It could have gone the other way and he could have said ‘this wasn’t in the plan for me’, still could. So I understand your rug analogy.

(The Him I’m speaking to has a Scorpio of his own, I may be chairing that support group I have joked about joining)

Me: If I know anything about Scorpios, and I do…just take it as it comes. They don’t lie. It’s beneath them. They need space sometimes and will say so. We just have to respect it. Let them know it’s really okay.

Him: She loves that I can see her. I notice things and it drives her mad, but she loves it too.

Me: Yuss. They do so very much love that. (Everyone does)
The ones I’ve known seem to function on a different plane of awareness. Like alien visitors from another planet. They don’t understand even the whitest of lies or sugar-coating shit. They observe and see a lot of bad in the world. It weighs them down. So if someone can come along and accept them as-is, rejoice in their idiosyncrasies, show them kindness, understanding and enthusiasm it makes them open up and show these beautiful souls hidden under armor.

Him: That’s basically it, yes.

Me: Everyone loves being noticed, and it is a huge bonus when the noticing is of the quiet things left unsaid.

Oh honey. I could teach a course, you know this. And as of late, if a pretty boy moth comes towards my flame it’s almost a guarantee that when the birthday conversation arises October 21st to November 21st will be the answer. To which I reply, of course you are. Come here boy.
Thai Fighter and I were talking after dinner, when he said November 17th, I felt my eyes flashed high beams and his flashed right back.

Him: Jesus, if the universe decides this one is a no, I’m not sure I could handle another Scorpio

Me: He read the article and said it was spot on…
Oh honey. Good luck with that, they are harder to quit than heroin.

Those of us who do not lie make them feel better. This world really is shit and we are little islands of safety, comfort and joy.

Him: You know that is her biggest thing. No lies

Me: As much as they are wonderful jewels of sexy awesomeness, they need us too. It’s a good secret club to be part of.

Him: I like this club.

Me: I find they bring out my most calm and confident self. Insta-Zen. No bullshit, no games. It’s nice. I need a rest too, and to be fed and I am totally writing an article as we are speaking. Ha 🙂


Truth be told I have never fancied being some queen on a throne with every whim satisfied or riches placed at my feet.
I like my books, movies and men with plot twists.
I enjoy the work, figuring things out, reading the subtle subtexts. I love being challenged and tested. I get off on figuring things out and adapting. I enjoy being understanding and kind. I relish sitting back and watching what people do on their own. I have no desire to influence anyone’s behavior. My satisfaction lies elsewhere. My life is full of organic, ecstatic movie moments because I let things happen.

You flipped the script and shot the plot (Sedona, Houndmouth)

And that is just fine by me.

Boys

Rainbows and Unicorns

June 24, 2016

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I think it pisses god off if you walk by the color purple and don’t notice.
Alice Walker, The Color Purple.

I was recently accused of believing in magic.

I do.

I also notice the color purple.

To me this is one and the same.

All you have to do is see a field full of cosmos and realize that is magic.

But not the way he said it. Which came out sounding something like by the left hand of the crow something, something… I was giggling as quietly as possible as to not interrupt the rant. There were poignant points in there, just not that one, not exactly.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to explain herself. Okay baby. So mote it be.

The morning glories on my porch are a miracle. I watch them grow, inches a day twining in and around the bamboo arches I gave them to climb. Murmurations of starlings, the way the ocean moves, a hovering hummingbird, deer on the road at dusk and orgasms that leave me shaking. All the small wonders of the world.

Those things are magic.

I believe in god as a concept. There is something bigger than us and I believe it can be tapped into from time to time.

I suppose that is a kind of magic.

Words are literal magic, what I write, speak and believe, I become.

I write about finding pretty surfers on the beach. Life is imitating art, or art is becoming life. Not sure.

With all this in mind I said, at some point last week, I think it was Monday, ‘give me what I want or something better.

I want a summer fling. I miss getting laid regularly, having something to look forward to, a reason to unplug, dress up and get out of the house. Talking, touching, exploring … sigh.
Yes
please
soon.

I had someone in mind and a back-up plan. Both infamous for bolting.
But the devil you know, you know?
I know my place with them.
I didn’t say it was a good plan and as such, I left myself that open ending. Something better.

It was 102.4 F Monday. I was sweating too hard to work/move beyond writing Proverbial Dangling Carrots. A wishing post.
I was trying to work on the book, but my muse was suffering heat stroke I presume. My Sunshine said “beach?” and I didn’t even pretend to fight it. Threw on my suit, grabbed a towel and ran out the door. I am a water baby and I had a small uranium rod radiating sickly heat through my core.

Walked a half mile, put our blanket down in a quiet spot. Wandered in the water, found it frigid, got wet anyways.

And lo, and angel of the lord came unto them and said ‘look right ladies’.
And yea there were 2 beautiful boys walking towards them and they smiled and it was good.
Amen.

There were drinks and conversation. The one I thought was cute was napping and thereby extending the time I could pontificate about his cuteness. I find that sometimes you can look glorious on the outside but once you speak, the hotness fades fast. Not so in this case.

He opened his mouth eventually, flashed a brilliant, whiter-than-white smile and spoke in the softest/thickest English accent. Used big words too. Easy to engage with. I immediately looked up at the heavens and uttered a silent, yet enthusiastic, thank you.

This is important. I religiously thank god, or my version of it, every time I hit a green light, have a good bite of food, any of those little things.
And abra-fucking-cadabra, I am happy.
I don’t need big cosmic events. But I get them, for the simple fact that I am grateful for everything, always.

I don’t think god really gets miffed if you fail to notice a universe in a blade of grass or the glory of a sunset.
But when the universe shows you rainbows and unicorns? You best be fucking paying attention. And carpe the fuck out of that good god damn. Lest later, you find yourself starving. ‘Waste not want not’ applies to opportunities as well.

That is what this is, a freebie. Further proof of a godlike thing. Ask and ye shall receive.

So, me and my Sunshine went to their beach house for a wonderfully adulty night.
Good food, good conversation and a goodnight kiss that woke up some dormant butterflies.

A summer fling without strings. When I try to control things my fingers just get tangled.

He leaves in the fall. Wants to see me a few times a week.  We have exactly enough in common and a fairly compatible schedule.
20something, young, articulate and not prone to bolting. Messages exactly enough. Tells good stories, really good stories.
So far this one is a pleasant surprise.

Mind you, I have said these things before. “This feels so good” (happy dance).
And then they pull the ultimate magic trick and disappear.
So I just enjoy him/this in the meantime.

All I wanted was something that feels good, and he does.

I’m not sure yet, but he might be a unicorn. I mean he is a hot ginger so he is already halfway there.

Maybe I find these rare articulate ones because I myself am  rare.
I don’t speak coy, games annoy me, I abhor being vexing or vexed.
I’m an eloquent, attractive older woman who truly is not complicated. Eat, fuck, talk and I’ll go home.
I think it’s also tied to the fact that I am eternally grateful. I receive the loveliest gifts and write thank you notes.
And the gifts keep coming, as do I.
It’s not complicated.

There is a difference between being temporary and being disposable. I’m not disposable, I much prefer sex friends, casual, without labels.
I have shit to do and playing housewifey long term isn’t on the list anymore.
Although the cooking part is fun. And I don’t mind doing the dishes. Making and unmaking the bed are fun too.

 

 

 

 

gypsy travels

Anticipation

May 6, 2016

 

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I grew up on a pretty steady diet of Carole King, James Taylor, Crosby Stills Nash and sometimes Young. And Carly Simon. She was the soundtrack to house cleaning most often. You’re So Vain shows up in this blog with regularity.

I did have some dreams and they were clouds in my coffee and he was so vain.

But that isn’t where I am at right now.

I am here…

And I tell you how easy it is to be with you
And how right your arms feel around me.
But I rehearsed those words just late last night
When I was thinking about how right tonight might be.
Anticipation, Anticipation…

Um ya Carly, exactly that.

It’s 7:30 am. I got up early to write. In 7 hours I leave for Toledo Ohio to see my love. It’s our halfway point and I booked a hotel with an indoor pool, and a 7 minute drive from Bob Evans…my wishes and wants and he is rolling with it. Because biscuits and bikini…

He rolls with everything, so do I….mostly. But I am having a mild freak out that must be acknowledged.

We have been talking for months. Facebook official for 10 days and met once in person mid-April for just over an hour at an airport. I almost missed my plane because I didn’t want to stop kissing him.

Fairy tale romance as far as internet romances go…or any romance really. I fucking love him.

But um…

We haven’t slept together yet.

Tonight is the night and I am feeling like a teenager again. Nervous. Maybe if I had ever dated in high school, or gone to prom this wouldn’t feel so strange. But I didn’t and it does.

I have really never dated like this before, all this getting to know you stuff before the sex.
Yes I have done long distance, but I had slept with them prior to the geographical rift.

I have started dividing my life into 2 parts. Before and after.

In the time called before I would (almost) literally trip and fall into a relationship by meeting a cute-ish guy, sleeping with him and then he just wouldn’t leave. 5 years, 7 years, 2 years, all gone.
I stopped that after Budget George/Pimp daddy. Not the sleeping with them right away. I fucked Young Un before dinner on our second date, less than a week after we met…but he was my choice. And he was/is magic.

Drogo, Gelfling, Wolfling, Giant.

Common denominator? Magic.
Empathic, ethereal and compatible. And they were my choice. Not something I fell into and couldn’t get out of.
Incredible transcendental conversations, dates, car rides, adventures.

And the sex?

Phantasmagorical.

I didn’t see the aurora borealis, I became them. Lightning, fireworks, molten lava in human form.

Natural phenomenon brought on by otherworldly compatibility.

I said before that we shouldn’t fuck outside of our tribe and this is why.

So why am I worried?

As I write this, I have realized. I am not worried, I’m nervous, but not worried.

He wrote this…

The Candle and The Fire – Jason King

And it sounds a lot like me. He is my tribe.

It’s no secret that I have had a lot of sex. It’s not a secret that I am really good at it, because I fucking love it, pun intended.

I learned years ago that ‘bad sex’ is a rarity, especially if you know what you are doing, and I do. And even more rare if you know how to use your words as well as your hips, and I really do.

Jason and I have developed our own secret language, some of it makes us belly laugh and some of it is just guttural growls and moans when we lose our words. I can see both of those things happening in our hotel bed.

I remember pressing my body against his under the overpass by the pillar that divided terminal one from two at O’Hare, and how it felt like I belonged there.

I’m no prophet, I don’t know nature’s way
So I’ll try to see into your eyes right now
And stay right here, ’cause these are the good old days.

I am a prophet and I do know nature’s way. 6 hours now until I can look into his eyes for the second time. The ‘right here’ that is a Comfort Suites in Toledo is where I want to be. I will stay right here. Because so far, this relationship with him is rivaling the happier times in my life. And I have to agree, that no matter what comes, I know I will look back years from now and see that these are the good old days.

I love you baby, no more sleeps.

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Author’s note…
As fate would have it, I got fired on Tuesday. Which gives me more time to write.
Something that was sorely lacking.
There is a ‘pay-per-view’ section contained within this blog that has gone unused.
I promised porn and stripper stories. And here they come.
No better thing to start with than an unadulterated look at why I got fired and a closer examination of the dirty fishbowl that is my old workplace…don’t’cha think?
I have been collecting secrets and stories and now I have time, and if you want to see what I wrote about you…pay up buttercups.
Launching May 10th 2016.
The timing is delicious.

men

Smitten as Fuck (airports and kudzu)

April 24, 2016

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When you live 9 hours away from the one you are smitten as fuck with, date-night takes on a whole new meaning.

Netflix+sweats, yesh. But my show stayed on pause for 5 hours while we talked about the universe, life, exes, work, our children, parents and grandparents. Feelings growing like kudzu, about a foot a day, wrapping us us in happy green and changing the landscape. Then we belly laughed for about an hour and made plans.

And it came to me then, that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time. (Death Cab for Cutie)

It is.

And with every new relationship we must battle the demons of what came before and the cold, cruel, pessimistic leader of their army, Sargent-at -Arms “What If”, his never-ending arsenal, bombs and bullets labeled ‘pain’ and ‘hurt’.

What if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t like me anymore? What if he likes me and then stops?

I don’t have to pray to any God’s for that. They have given me the gift of ‘try one more time’. I am optimism walking around in human form. Now is blessed the rest remembered. 90% of the time I only remember the good anyways, so there is that then.

I don’t feel like I have a choice. It’s either that or be a nun or a lesbian considering how I’ve been treated by men.
And men on the internet? Fugedaboudit.
And (gasp) another poet sailing into my inbox? Nope nope nope.
2 years of Chinese water torture under my belt there. The slow drip left me fucking Thirsty.

But I opened the door and invited him in. Didn’t think of any possible outcome beyond friends. He knows everything because I told him.

“2 years?” He said.

“Yesh.” I replied.

“Well that makes no sense.”

I opened my mouth to argue but nothing came out. I allowed myself to briefly imagine how much loving and living could have transpired between the Poet and I in 2 years, and suddenly I was kinda angry.
Who does that?

It’s easy to find all the ways something won’t work out, especially when nothing ever has.

I have the Giant as recent (I think he is still living) proof. Perfection and compatibility and magic mean nothing when you dangle a nice safe waitress in front of a boy. I mean nothing. It hurts.

Men are sweet as fuck to me and then they run.

This one is sweet as fuck and he may yet run.

But why would I deny myself the possibility contained in his eyes, the ones that crinkle at the corners when he looks at me, smile going all the way up and lighting tiny fires there. Why run from that voice? The one that sounds like a young Elvis…low, southern twang, wrapped in velvet and says wonderful things. Why deny the pull between us?
Why turn my back on the body that drove half a day to see me for an hour, the one that radiates heat and looks and feels like home.

Yes, him.

Once upon a time in New Orleans I gave a stripper a lap-dance on around midnight and so began the day of opposites. I stopped adulting. T’was I who suggested getting massages less than an hour before check out from the hotel. T’was I who took a cemetery tour with no way of telling time, just so I could say hello to Marie Laveau and the other ghosts that wander St. Louis. T’was I who said yes to shrimp and grits, knowing we had to be on a plane within the hour.

And it was I who stood under a pillar at O’Hare, tucked in between terminals, wearing a red dress as not to be missed. Eyes darting from the door to the road and back again, like a tennis match, simultaneously waiting on my PIC and him with 2% battery and not a care in the world. I just knew it would all work out.

I wasn’t wrong.

I saw him before he saw me, and I just knew.

“I’m here”, I called out. Head down, studying his phone. “Jason.”
He looked up and smiled, kept coming towards me.

My walk became a run, I totally forgot about watching the door. I forgot about everything beyond closing the gap between us. He opened his arms and I fell into them like I belonged there. Airport chaos forgotten when I asked him to hold my hand and not let go.

He still hasn’t let go.

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wanderlust

Voodoo

March 22, 2016

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Who do that voodoo that you do so well?

The answer is…Me.

I do.
I just forgot myself for a while there.

I am heading to New Orleans mid-April. Booked my flight last week. It’s starting to feel real.

3 days, 2 nights with my blonde, bubbly, charismatic partner in crime.

The suggestion came out of nowhere one night sipping Bobby’s amazing Caesars. She said “I am going, you should come with me.” Sounded incredibly right, so I said yes.

Bartender said, “do me a favor, look after her and try not to get arrested.” I promise.
He has my 6 every damned night, after 7, bless him. We watch Jeopardy, I bring dinner and he keeps me sane. I am going to miss that curmudgeonly old fucker.

He wants hot pepper seeds. I will find them and bring them home. Among other things.

My PIC wants to see a psychic, and so we shall. I’ll find the right one for her while we are wandering down the street in the sunshine, in pretty dresses, eating beignets and sipping coffee. There will be a door and a tiny sign and my body will just tell me to turn left. I already know what she is going to say.

PIC and I are splitting off on Friday night, I will be the girl in New Orleans who doesn’t get drunk. Find a piano/jazz bar somewhere and another bartender to chat with. I am going to eat all the foods. Absorb the energy of the city. The good stuff, the old wisdoms, commune with some ghosts, listen to what they have to say.

Between Poppy Z Brite writing about it, National Geographic articles about Mardi Gras and Mr. Carver’s American history class, I have wanted to go since I was young. I regret not making it down before Katrina. I remember watching the news and having my heart broken, mostly for them but a little bit for me too.

It wasn’t time then, it is now. That has been happening a lot lately.

This is one of those odd, spontaneous trips I denied myself for years. Out of fear and motherhood.

I wish I knew then what I know now. Taking kidlet on adventures would have been so much better than staying on lockdown with men who didn’t deserve my love, body, time or financial contributions. I could have done it on my own so much better.

I didn’t get out of jail free, but I am free now and I am not looking back. I am not that girl anymore. I don’t even hate my jailors. Ain’t worth my time or energy. They hold no power over me. I am the witch they failed to burn. Or maybe I was made out the ash. Either way, I am still here.

3 years ago I walked out of the land of Should and I haven’t looked back. I took kidlet with me, we have never been happier.

I saw this yesterday

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I chuckled to myself, I had a similar idea when I booked my trip.

New Orleans is the oldest city I have ever been too. Ancient magicks still clinging to the ghosts wandering around. I will negotiate with the dead. There is power there and I aim to bring some back with me.

It’s time to level up, I was treading in mediocre waters, not getting anywhere.

Neighbor came by Sunday, yes, the hot one. He played guitar and sang for me. We watched a movie in bed and laughed. Managing to cut through my melancholia. He just held onto me because he knew I needed it. He willingly gave me the energy I was lacking. I rubbed the knots out of his back and he worked through the tangle in my brain, perfect trade. He asked about what was happening and when I told him how I was behaving, he sat up straight and said “That isn’t like you at all, you are so much stronger than that, what happened to you? Smarten up, be you and take what is yours.”

He is a good man and a good friend, and he isn’t wrong.

He pried out the answer as to why I was so distrustful, and second guessing myself over every damned thing.

You see dear readers, I went to Florida for Christmas break, had every intention of a deep soul cleansing in the ocean. The last time I went I changed my entire life for the ‘oh so much better’. That was 3 years ago.
I fucked up. Almost tripped back into my old life. I didn’t realize I had picked up a parasite. I was trying to date someone/something. He drained me in a way I haven’t felt since the farm and sisterwife shenanigans. Same mental illness and ensuing drama. I got rid of him the second I realized what it was, but it hit me this morning, I am still not back at full strength.
Fuck that, fuck him, he ceases to exist right fucking now. So mote it be.

I call all my power back to me, it’s mine.

I feel better already.

Full moon is coming soon. I have a few things to throw away, sever any remaining ties that bind.
I get a cosmic do-over. I’ll come home with all new juju.

I am buying a voodoo doll.

Not for the reasons most people do. I am not a rube or a tourist. I am not a vengeful girl. The only pins I would put in him would be acupuncture needles to ease his pain and even then I would rather use my hands to untie knots. I am made out of love, passion and compassion. I take bullets, I don’t fire back.

I will buy a doll, give it a face and name and I will love it.

Lavish all the kindness and nurturing I have for the one I love on a poppet until I can do these things in the flesh. Manifest destiny.

I feel my strength returning. I am unbound, untainted and focused.

I put a spell on you, because you’re mine. Nina Simone

 

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