I have come to realize that I am lost. More than that. I am wasting my time. I have spent the better part of my adult life in school - going in and out of this program and that, never to finish, but never leaving incomplete. I'm beyond formal education. At least the archaic version that we're stuck with. I know that I'm not alone in that sentiment, and it is truly not a statement of narcissism.
I started this blog to allow me a place to put my thoughts in the "real me" moments. This blog couldn't be successful as long as I was still comfortable in my "fake me" personae. At the beginning of this year I had the realization that I was entering a transition point - and I started talking to my closest of close friends about my need to merge these personae into just one person.
It has already begun to rapidly happen, but I feel an intense need to do it with as little influence from my current life as possible. I honestly feel like a snake, needing to shed a layer of life - and if I don't get rid of this restricting skin I'm going to suffocate. I'm going to come out of that skin a much better person, but that does not mean its not a terrifying process. I am certainly not going to do this alone. I know the handful of people who already know the inkling of my potential will always love me for me.
I've decided to finish out this semester and not to return in the fall for school. I might return for the spring of next year. But I need to evaluate some things. I am essentially going to become homeless. I'm getting rid of a large portion of my stuff, putting the rest in storage, and finally merge myself into one - and more importantly someone who can be strong enough to hold true when I do let my past life meet me once again.
My mom and I are barely speaking. She's always been the one to talk me out of my brash ideas. Honestly, I know now that it kept me from growing so much in my life. I haven't yet told her any of this, or my plans. I'm not sure when I will, or how. I'm done with her talking me out of living. I told Dad a few days ago. He is all for this and supportive, but that doesn't mean his influence will be fully welcomed.
I am resolving to use this blog as my outlet, after all that is how it was intended to be used. My goal is smaller and more frequent posts. Heck, I don't even like going back and reading this much stuff about me.
Toodles for now!
Monday, March 15, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The life of a bra...
As I am roughly a week into a three week transcontinental trip, I have occasionally reflected on one specific item which got packed: a dainty red bra.
This specific red bra has a memory. It was early in what ended up being the last attempt of monogamy I presume to ever have. I was shopping with some girlfriends and came across this red bra and pantie set which was adorable and sexy, lacy and elegant; somewhat flirtatious, yet never overbearing. In my memory, this was the first lingerie set that was more classy than trashy, I suppose a coming-of-age in the life of a young woman. Between the three of us, it was the only thing purchased that evening, and I carried it in the bag as we finished the night with shrimp cocktails and mimosas, and later, decadent chocolate cake.
I remember the first time I wore these for this boy - our relationship was still relatively fresh and I was still attempting to seem "put together" and would often wear matching lingerie. (Oh, who am I kidding, deep down I'm a sucker for matching lingerie, and will wear it for no occasion at all - but lets just keep that our secret and let the boys believe it is to make them feel special) The first time I wore this was for our Christmas date - some time between Christmas and New Years - a good night of unwrapping presents and unwrapping each other.
Now I suppose it is obvious that things did not work out between the two of us. For a long time, this bra went into low circulation, and would only be worn when there was a need for a deep red undergarment. Gradually, the frequency of wear increased, but the memory always lingered, even to this day; each time I put it on, the memories of "the good times," and subsequently "the bad times," with this boy refresh in my mind. Mind you, these thoughts are merely fleeting, but they are there nonetheless.
No matter how many time I've worn it for however many subsequent bedfellows, the memory of him still lingers on the lace.
The Frugal Fannie in me just won't let it go - come on, I spent good money on this, and it still offers support in the right places, and really, a good red bra is always needed. Well in all honesty, it is not my only red bra, and the support isn't that great anymore. But I hold onto it, and occasionally wonder why I do. Is it the "what could have beens," or the frugality mentality?
Either way, I think I've decided that it is time to part with this little red bra. Consider this the epitaph of an old friend with a long and sorted history.
This specific red bra has a memory. It was early in what ended up being the last attempt of monogamy I presume to ever have. I was shopping with some girlfriends and came across this red bra and pantie set which was adorable and sexy, lacy and elegant; somewhat flirtatious, yet never overbearing. In my memory, this was the first lingerie set that was more classy than trashy, I suppose a coming-of-age in the life of a young woman. Between the three of us, it was the only thing purchased that evening, and I carried it in the bag as we finished the night with shrimp cocktails and mimosas, and later, decadent chocolate cake.
I remember the first time I wore these for this boy - our relationship was still relatively fresh and I was still attempting to seem "put together" and would often wear matching lingerie. (Oh, who am I kidding, deep down I'm a sucker for matching lingerie, and will wear it for no occasion at all - but lets just keep that our secret and let the boys believe it is to make them feel special) The first time I wore this was for our Christmas date - some time between Christmas and New Years - a good night of unwrapping presents and unwrapping each other.
Now I suppose it is obvious that things did not work out between the two of us. For a long time, this bra went into low circulation, and would only be worn when there was a need for a deep red undergarment. Gradually, the frequency of wear increased, but the memory always lingered, even to this day; each time I put it on, the memories of "the good times," and subsequently "the bad times," with this boy refresh in my mind. Mind you, these thoughts are merely fleeting, but they are there nonetheless.
No matter how many time I've worn it for however many subsequent bedfellows, the memory of him still lingers on the lace.
The Frugal Fannie in me just won't let it go - come on, I spent good money on this, and it still offers support in the right places, and really, a good red bra is always needed. Well in all honesty, it is not my only red bra, and the support isn't that great anymore. But I hold onto it, and occasionally wonder why I do. Is it the "what could have beens," or the frugality mentality?
Either way, I think I've decided that it is time to part with this little red bra. Consider this the epitaph of an old friend with a long and sorted history.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
My Vanilla Fetish
Yeah, I know I don't really have to time write. Especially with finals knocking down my door, but I've had this blog brewing in the back of my head for a few days. I know, I really should be doing work right now-but I need a little calm before this storm rears its ugly head.
It was last week sometime that I first saw mention, on the twitter-vine, of the topic "vanilla fetish." I think, maybe, it was SliverDayDreams? (I think one thing I love most about twitter is that complete strangers can seep into my brain and mentally stimulate me when I least expect it) At the moment, I had all these witty comebacks that came to mind, but none of them were really me. Then I spent a few days traveling, and after much time on the road the vanilla fetish topic popped back in my head.
At first, I thought it was radio. Give me a few hours of Garrison Keillor's rich baritone, smooth talking me from antidote to antic. The stimulation of my mind and the titillation of my imagination. I'll admit it, when I can find good radio I will listen intently for hours. I’ll settle for the news, but it won’t arouse me like a good aural adventure. I have no desires for some chatty imbecile with an FX box and a CD player; you don't even want to get me started on how repugnant I find a majority of them. So yes, perhaps I fetishize good radio, but good radio is so rare that I eventually will have to spice it up with some good ol' fashioned kink.
As I kept contemplating this, it dawned on me that my true vanilla fetish is a tourist trap. I could go without actual sexual gratification for unknown amounts of times if you keep feeding me shiny lights and kitschy souvenirs until I collapse into a happy, exhausted, and content puddle on the floor. Keep dumping caffeine in me while I fill every hour with anything and everything I have ever been told about in a ten mile radius. MY GAWD! Give me a roadtrip with roadside attractions and I'll be content for a month. Well, maybe not a month, I mean really, I'm not dead. Tide me over with mystery spots and magical wonders - both natural and man-made - and if you can find me a cardboard cut-out where I can place my face where another's should be, be prepared to take control of my camera before you take your turn.
Now I fancy myself a bit of a wadering gypsy, and have been lucky to check so many tourist destinations off my list. But there are a few tourist daydreams that get my panties moist...
I want to walk through the Hollywood Walk of Fame and take pictures with the faux-stars (especially Superman!!). I want to go to Pikes Peak and sleep in the lodge that inspired Stephen King to write The Shining. I want to go to Florida and be up before the tide come in, so I can comb the beach for shells - especially the little ones with natural holes so I can make myself a bracelet. I want to visit the holy lands and all the ancient religious sites. I want to go to Moscow... the Great Wall... the Leaning Tower... And I will probably buy a tshirt, or a cheesy photo, or a snow globe... and I will place them next to the singing camel, the photo of a dino eating me, my mini Arc de Triumph, and all the other tourist kitsch I've collected through the years.
What can I say? I’m a sucker, and I’m ok with that.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Settling into my fishbowl
It always seems that the first post is the most awkward, as the words and the keyboard begin to learn the movements of the other. So I promise, I will try to keep this lively and free from mind-numbing paste. As I formulate my thoughts and wonder which direction I will go, there are so many place I could choose to start this, but I think it may be best to start at the end work my way backwards.
I have decided to start this blog because I need an outlet to be who I want to be, and unfortunately I am constantly reminded that most of the world is not ready for me; so I must be me anonymously, at least for now. So in an attempt to not disclose too much about myself, I will try to explain further.
I would gauge that I am 70% nerdy-inquisitive-geek girl and 30% activist, and 100% kinkster (it's kink-math, it doesn't need to make sense). The thing is, that 30% activist has gotten pretty fed up with some stuff and is pretty dead-set on saving the world, which means that internal kinkster is traditionally supposed to lay low. This master plan that I have somehow fallen into has brought me across the country to the east coast, and back to school; much of my time and classwork revolves around ethics, policy, and government.
This week was one of those weeks that had a bit of a theme, some examples of actual events:
1. It is explained to me that I am choosing a public life and I must know that anything I say on the internet (specifically mentioned facebook, twitter, and blog) may some day be used against me. It is further stated that I now live in a fishbowl, and my full life, especially what I consider most private, will be viewed and examined from all sides and all times.
2. I read Hobbes in class, where he explains that once you are chosen to lead you relinquish all right to a private life.
3. Sitting at a swanky lunch with my school's alum and I suddenly have one of those knowingly "you're a kinkster too" moments. After the lunch he pulls me aside and says, "the less people who know the real you, the further you will go."
It was here that I snapped. Honestly, it took me back to when I was 10, but perhaps that is a story better suited for another day. Its just important to know that with that one little statement I felt like a child again. I had been raised my whole life to wear masks to the world; my father would often say, "it is those who know you best that will bring you down." Long story short, it took me a long time to start being me around others, and really that kink part of me took decades off the process. Now I'm being told, again, to reel it in, and I have some serious problems with that.
I am, by nature, an extrovert. (Cool party trick - give me a drink - or two - and put me in the corner with some finger puppets*). I'm going to talk, and often a sexual innuendo or inappropriate aside is going to come out in mixed company, no matter how hard I try to tone it down. I'm going to keep wearing knee high leather boots because I'm fairly certain that they have magical powers that will make me win in the event of a spontaneous run-in with a lucha libre, oh and the boots are hot. And most importantly I don't see what the big deal is if I choose to do good by day and naughty by night.
So fine. I have been given a fishbowl to go live the rest of my days in. And somewhere between the faux-stone castle and the plastic flora you may find me bloody and bound, laying on the neon blue pebbles. Now I ask, who has the more concerning fetish, me or the people who like looking at naked girls in fishbowls?
So I welcome you to my private fishbowl, I'll try to keep it current but can't promise I'll keep it clean. It has been a long time since I've blogged on a regular basis, and it felt good to rant, I've forgotten that.
*finger puppets are optional. Other items may be used when finger puppets are not available.
I have decided to start this blog because I need an outlet to be who I want to be, and unfortunately I am constantly reminded that most of the world is not ready for me; so I must be me anonymously, at least for now. So in an attempt to not disclose too much about myself, I will try to explain further.
I would gauge that I am 70% nerdy-inquisitive-geek girl and 30% activist, and 100% kinkster (it's kink-math, it doesn't need to make sense). The thing is, that 30% activist has gotten pretty fed up with some stuff and is pretty dead-set on saving the world, which means that internal kinkster is traditionally supposed to lay low. This master plan that I have somehow fallen into has brought me across the country to the east coast, and back to school; much of my time and classwork revolves around ethics, policy, and government.
This week was one of those weeks that had a bit of a theme, some examples of actual events:
1. It is explained to me that I am choosing a public life and I must know that anything I say on the internet (specifically mentioned facebook, twitter, and blog) may some day be used against me. It is further stated that I now live in a fishbowl, and my full life, especially what I consider most private, will be viewed and examined from all sides and all times.
2. I read Hobbes in class, where he explains that once you are chosen to lead you relinquish all right to a private life.
3. Sitting at a swanky lunch with my school's alum and I suddenly have one of those knowingly "you're a kinkster too" moments. After the lunch he pulls me aside and says, "the less people who know the real you, the further you will go."
It was here that I snapped. Honestly, it took me back to when I was 10, but perhaps that is a story better suited for another day. Its just important to know that with that one little statement I felt like a child again. I had been raised my whole life to wear masks to the world; my father would often say, "it is those who know you best that will bring you down." Long story short, it took me a long time to start being me around others, and really that kink part of me took decades off the process. Now I'm being told, again, to reel it in, and I have some serious problems with that.
I am, by nature, an extrovert. (Cool party trick - give me a drink - or two - and put me in the corner with some finger puppets*). I'm going to talk, and often a sexual innuendo or inappropriate aside is going to come out in mixed company, no matter how hard I try to tone it down. I'm going to keep wearing knee high leather boots because I'm fairly certain that they have magical powers that will make me win in the event of a spontaneous run-in with a lucha libre, oh and the boots are hot. And most importantly I don't see what the big deal is if I choose to do good by day and naughty by night.
So fine. I have been given a fishbowl to go live the rest of my days in. And somewhere between the faux-stone castle and the plastic flora you may find me bloody and bound, laying on the neon blue pebbles. Now I ask, who has the more concerning fetish, me or the people who like looking at naked girls in fishbowls?
So I welcome you to my private fishbowl, I'll try to keep it current but can't promise I'll keep it clean. It has been a long time since I've blogged on a regular basis, and it felt good to rant, I've forgotten that.
*finger puppets are optional. Other items may be used when finger puppets are not available.
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