Deer In the Headlights: Trapped or Caught?

"Her pepper spray made it rather hard for me to walk her home, but I guess that's the way it goes."

 Owl City

If you grew up watching The Partridge Family and your favorite female role model was Shirley, chances are you never intended to be married.  However, intent without resolve will find you married anyway...a few times in fact. 

Seriously.  I was not born with the "bride gene."  I didn't dream of the big day or the damned dress.  I don't know why. 

The first time it happened, I wore the damned dress.  You know, the one that's white but shouldn't be.  My mother picked it out while I was at work.  Don't even get me started on "the train."  He was a nice man, actually, and he loved me enough that he didn't want me to go to hell...as in the only way we could have sex again was to get married.  He was a preacher's son - the good kind.  And I have to admit, it's really sweet when a man doesn't want you to burn in hell.  I have my moments.  That moment lasted nine months, at which point I set him free so he could find what was right for him.  He is now a preacher with a lovely wife and three sons.  And I'm quite certain that neither of them will burn in hell. I'm also certain that I was not meant to be a preacher's wife.

Ten years later, it happened again.  I don't remember what I wore, but I do remember getting the marriage license and noticing that the gun license department was next door.  Shoot me, I'm getting married again?  Anyway, he was a very deep, passionate man (and still is)...he was also one angry son of a bitch.  However, I was not ready to "look in that mirror."  Nope.  I needed to be a victim.  We all do at times. Isn't it easier to blame someone else for something that you don't want to see in yourself?  Of course it is.  You simply sit back, watch the show...and plan your escape.  So I escaped. 

Eight years later...DAMN...IT HAPPENED AGAIN!  I must say, as far as weddings go this was my favorite.  It was potluck.  Literally.  Everyone brought a dish to share, musicians showed up and jammed and I wore overalls, (a dress version, it was a wedding after all) and since I forgot my special shoes I simply slipped on some available flip flops on my way out the door.  After the ceremony, I gave the veil back to the lady I had borrowed it from and instantly changed into my reception outfit.  Perfect day...followed by the honeymoon from hell!  My anger had found a home. 

Yep, Kimmy Sue grew a dick and had the biggest hard on of her life.  There wasn't a condom big enough to contain that hot mess!  That marriage set me free in every sense of the word.  Release is a beautiful thing.

I also realized what my biggest fear is.  A few years ago, a close friend pointed it out.  I didn't really get it at the time, but I sure as hell get it now. 

And I can thank a little "deer in the headlights" moment that freaked me out (as in mister, don't you dare get out of that truck, don't even roll down the window!) for helping me to remember what a friend once told me.

I don't mind "being trapped" because all I have to do is chew my foot off and hobble away.  However, "getting caught" is something else entirely. 

 

If I'm telling you something you already know about this life, good for you.  Seriously.  But, if sharing my stupid attempts to grow, evolve and see the writing on the wall whenever possible helps you in some way...well, that makes me happy. 

 

2011 has been the best year of my life, all things considered.  As for 2012?  I have no idea where I'm going, but seeing as how I have no feet left...I won't be running...in any direction.

 



Ruby Heart Boobs...and other random keywords!

I have no hidden agenda with this blog.  From day one, I haven't been concerned about making money or friends.  Or, for that matter, enemies.

When I say this is one soul's journey in search of non-duality, that is one truth I stand beside, in front of and behind. Meanwhile, Kimmy Sue and Ruby Lou make circles around that truth like hungry vultures fighting over who will get there first.

It is that crazy, complicated...and simple.  When the music starts, I invite them both to the dance floor.  And we dance.  And sometimes we dance with humor, or anger, or confusion.  Sometimes, with all three.  Mostly, we dance with curiosity regarding the people, places and things we encounter in this life.  More importantly, we dance.

Today the girls and I are dancing with humor AND curiosity. 

Why?  Because once in a while I check the stats to see who has stumbled into my world and, out of curiosity, how.  Keywords are one way we connect right?  Whatever it is we're looking for, or think we're looking for, we just type in a few words and voila...instant connection.

I am quite certain that the individual who logged on and searched "blue pie sickness dick" wasn't looking for a goofy blog about one soul's journey in search of non-duality.  Yes, I mention blues music in my profile.  And pie is discussed in one blog, sickness in another...and since this blog is about my attempts to figure out the evolution of masculine and feminine energy, I do mention dicks and vaginas.  And boobies of course! Well, those are the physical manifestations.  So, while I get someone searching for "hide vigina" (and they were either drunk, can't spell...or possibly that's how Latvians spell vagina), I am real curious about "blue pie sickness dick."  What on earth were they looking for?

Okay, I'm curious.  I'm going to google that now and see what I find...be right back.

WTF?  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_cutaneous_conditions

If I was really smart, I'd quote some fancy quantum theory that explains random searches versus what we receive.  Maybe what we're putting out there isn't clear enough?  Or...maybe our thoughts have nothing to do with what we receive? 

It's like the universe is one giant radio and we're all just fucking with the dial. 

Whatever. 

I'll stick with "ruby heart boobs" because I would so wear this hat and fight the forces of evil with a "signature anchor and sabre, or tricks like a haunted chest with a hostile ghost within"...and with a French accent, no less.  Yeah, this makes sense to me:
http://marvelvscapcom.wikia.com/wiki/Ruby_Heart



Kings, Queens, Assholes and Bitches...and something about pie!

Source

Regardless of sexual orientation, any partnership is a human example of duality that seeks "the one."    Masculine energy seeks feminine energy for balance, and vice verse.  I believe this applies to friendships as well. 

Sounds simple doesn't it?

Not on your life.  This song and dance is about as simple as baking a pie without an oven.  All the ingredients are there, but the sweetness just sits and denies potential.  And even if you have an oven, temperatures vary.  In a specified time frame, one attempt may turn out runny and doughy and look like crap on your plate...while another just might get burned and have to be thrown in the trash.  (Forgive me, I love analogy.  It's how I process life.)

I think the struggles begin with who is responsible for what.  Who will gather the ingredients?  Who will bake the pie?  Obviously, gender roles have evolved to a point where this isn't as confusing as it used to be.  I love to watch men cook.  My personal favorite has the word bacon tattooed on his arm...very sexy!

Source

And Paula Deen ain't no shrinking violet.  She has bigger balls than a lot of men I know.  I love this about her.  To me she exemplifies yin and yang in the kitchen...all feminine grace and masculine strength, a combination that makes her a hero to me.  She is my example of the art of giving and receiving.  And I picked this photo because she's all black and white and holding a very LARGE pepper grinder.  Pretty phallic huh?

Source

So Kings and Queens can reign supreme in the kitchen (except when it comes to homeade pie), but where are they in relationships these days?  It seems we're evolving the traditional aspects of partnership into gray areas where the original pleasures of simply being a man (King of the Hill) and a woman (The Queen) are becoming androgynous - or from a spiritual perspective, the masculine and the feminine are becoming less pronounced in the daily contraction and expansion of the energy between two people.  I realize that this may only make sense to me.  And maybe those two people in Russia who never miss a blog post. 

This might make more sense.  Assholes and Bitches are the alter egos of Kings and Queens.  And I believe this is, in part, due to the aforementioned gray areas.  If you are born with a penis, you want to be King of the Hill.  But how?  It used to be easy.  All you had to do was bring home the bacon, kill the spiders, fix whatever was broken and do whatever it took to make your partner feel cherished and protected.  In exchange you received support, attention, meals and applause just for being a man.  Oh, and nice sex.  And if you didn't get sex, nice or otherwise, it was acceptable to have a mistress.  A simple formula that worked.  If you are born with a vagina, you want to be THE Queen.  But how?  That also used to be easy.  All you had to do was bat your eyes and be the damsel in distress because the King knew how to fulfill his role by coming to your rescue. 

Blah, blah.  The Cleavers must have been incredibly bored.  Well, she was.  And I have never looked this good in the kitchen.

Source

Obviously this isn't breaking news.  We struggle with redefining ourselves in this modern world.  And the shift in consciousness may contain seemingly far-fetched ideas, but something is beginning to change at a rate so fast that we have to notice. 

Have we come this far only to realize that we've gone too far? 

Overall weird, I know.

Source

KS:  I am the Queen! I am the Queen!
RL:  Hide your dick!  Hide your dick!

And ewwwww, just ewwwww...  Source

Baby Got Back?

"I am open to the guidance of synchronicity, and do not let expectations hinder my path."

 - H.H. The Dalai Lama

We all have values and expectations that define who we are as human beings and, right or wrong, I have always had strong feelings with regards to knowing that those closest to me “have my back.”

Clearly I am doing something wrong.  Possibly, I expect too much.

Maybe I should reflect on what that means to me. What does it feel like when someone has my back? More importantly, why is that feeling so important to me?  Is there a different meaning for relationships?  Friendships?  Co-workers?

I don’t think so.  I’m pretty clear on that.

Either someone has your back, or they don’t. Unless, of course, sometimes they do…and sometimes they don’t.  There must be some discretionary rules that I don’t know about.

Should I be focusing on the expectation instead?  Maybe.  Expectation is a precursor to disappointment.

And since we're all in this together, I guess we should replace expectation with more acceptance of what is...and forgiveness for what isn't.  Which is not to say that we don't have choices.  It is just as important to choose what you will and won't allow in your life as it is to accept and forgive what you shouldn't have. 

In the process of becoming a Reiki Master, I have certainly uncovered layers of myself that I needed to look at, accept and forgive.  I have kicked up the dirt, felt it with my own hands and struggled to allow that loving, universal energy soothe my soul.  However, it's important to know that once you begin uncovering the layers that a process has begun.  And like chemo for cancer, sometimes you have to get really sick in order to get better.  You might say this is when the shit hits the fan. 









Code Blue for Spanky and the Love Handles

Everyone and everything has its own path and the blues is no different. From the first note to the last, each song is a journey and is unique to its moment in time. You may hear the same song again and again, but you can’t possibly hear it the same way twice.

Allow me to struggle with the first note and accept that I don’t know how this song ends. More importantly, it doesn’t matter.

Now I don't know much, but I do know this: if life is a song, then I prefer the offbeat version.  I took an exit one night marked Code Blue and got lost in a back alley of blues, where tradition leaves the front porch and stumbles upon a feral cat somewhere along the filthier side of New Orleans. This cat was black and white, dirty and deep.   I closed my eyes and felt every move, every thought and every note that ever was...and ever will be. 

I felt Clark Vreeland.  And this feeling definitely tagged along when I took another exit marked Spanky and the Love Handles.

What can I say?  I love quirky!  And Clark is the King of Quirk.  He is many things to many people, but he is always true to his spirit - good, bad and everything in between.  He is that feral cat.  Self-possessed and always hungry for nothing more than what is required to sustain the moment.  Not saying I'm a mind reader, but that's what I believe based on what I intuit in the music he creates. 

As for the genre of blues?  I do love some down home blues, but I refuse to keep it in a box.  There are more shades of blue than there are people trying to find themselves.

KS:  If there's anything that I know, I sure don't show it.
RL:  You should've learned what you had to know.













Rainbows and Moonbeams: I Have Never Laughed So Hard!

This is another big hair,  Carolina girl story.  I might have been 24 or 25.  I looked like this:

Actually, my hair was much bigger than that in my twenties but this was taken on my 30th birthday and by then I had downsized in the hair department.  However, makeup and hairspray were still essentials.  I sometimes wonder if I am personally responsible for all those holes in the ozone layer.  I'm sure really bad hair karma awaits me in a future life.

But enough about hair.  In my twenties I was raising my first daughter, alone...having said a tearful goodbye to her Palestinian father, to this day the biggest heartbreak of my life.  (You can read about it here if you like.)  And I was on the path of spiritual discovery. 

My best friend was a 250 pound Catholic girl from Long Island, NY.  She worked as a dispatcher for the Greenville County Sheriff's Department, possessed a very dry sense of humor and an impatient acceptance of my antics.  So when I asked her to tag along to this crystal workshop I'd heard about she did what she always did...rolled her eyes, took a drag on a menthol cigarette and said, "this oughta be good."  I told her it was at this really cool, new store called Rainbows and Moonbeams.  The stoic glare on her face spoke volumes but she summed it up by saying, "can't wait."

If there was a YouTube video of that evening, it would be the funniest thing ever.  Even now, I can still say that I have never laughed so hard in my life.

So we arrive.  Me and my big, late 80's hair, holy jeans, black gargoyle t-shirt and a burning desire to uncover the meaning of life.  My BFF?  Big ass, big perm and an immediate dislike for patchouli air and a room full of pot-smokin' hippies cramming pita chips in their mouth while inviting everyone to have a seat on the floor (keep in mind BFF is very large and not at all happy about sitting on the floor). 

And so begins the workshop, and I'm a little nervous.  Mainly because BFF is giving me "the look" and I'm trying not to notice.  I give her a big smile, she smirks and the crystals are presented.  The first thing we learn is that you don't choose a crystal, a crystal chooses you.  As we're passing around the crystals, a young girl tells a story of a crystal that followed her to Alabama.  Seriously?  Did it take a bus?  Even I'm stifling a giggle at this point and BFF is really giving me "the look."  The one that says, "I hate you." 

In time the crystals had chosen their BFFs and we were instructed to place them on our heads and close our eyes.  I kept one eye open because a rather sinister looking hippie was staring at me, pointing a two-pronged metal thingie in my direction and saying some of us are in serious need of healing.  BFF kept one eye open to maintain "the look" lest I forget that I was the one who suggested this. 

We were later asked to go outside.  Nice.  It was a beautiful, sunny, summer evening and fresh air seemed like a good idea. We joined forces on the sidewalks of a very provincial downtown Greenville, South Carolina and the first order of business was to find a tree that we liked and hug it.  I'm not making this up...we hugged trees.  I'm really getting "the look" now and I can't even smile back, because if I do I'm going to lose it.  As if that wasn't enough, we were then asked to kiss our tree.  Okay.  BFF isn't just giving me "the look," she speaks.  She says the words I will never forget:  "I ain't kissing no f****ng tree."  Again, I'm not smiling.  I kiss my tree and await further instruction.  BFF is ready to kill me, but first we have to cross the street to the beautiful fountain in front of the Hyatt Regency.  Normal people are milling about in large numbers as we cast imaginary tears from our dry eyes into the fountain.  Now I have nothing against rituals, but we could've picked a better spot.  A secluded field or farm maybe? 

I'm not sure what happened after that - and I may very well be blocking the memory - but eventually we were free to leave.  Now I have every respect for another's beliefs and I wasn't about to make an early exit or laugh at an inappropriate time, but after quickly making our way to the car and rolling up the windows it was time to release some very real laughter from the gut.  It was the kind of laughter that takes your breath, hurts your stomach and threatens to soil your pants. 

Again, I have never laughed so hard in my life. 

That was more than 25 years ago and I have come a long way on my spiritual path.  I'm still open minded, still respectful and I have since become a Reiki Master Practitioner Teacher (that's a mouthful I know), but I am much more grounded in the application of and attitude towards spiritual matters. 

However, funny is funny!  And a song from Sesame Street just popped into my head.  Who are the people in your neighborhood?  Remember that?

Oh, and I'm not making fun of hippies.  I consider myself to be one, sort of.  And I love trees.

The Tarot Tango: A Fool's Journey

Source

The mystery of evolution is no mystery.  We evolve.  From cavemen to condo dwellers, and everything in between, we have foolishly continued to search for things we already have.  Sometimes a little worse for the wear and tear, but ultimately better. 

I sure hope so.  If I had a dollar for every time I took one step too many and landed on my ass, I'd be rich.  Filthy rich.  However, I will credit myself with this:  I trust the process.

Wise men say only fools rush in, but that's okay because the process may be the only thing I do trust.  And I may not always look where I'm going, but when I get there I am exactly where I need to be.

My latest cliff diving adventure feels like the most successful yet.  I woke up in a funhouse of mirrors and through another saw parts of myself I had not considered before.  Simply put, we attract what we need to look at in ourselves.  In this case, everything was so distorted that it was laughable...a funhouse where no one got the joke until it was too late. 

I get it now.  With another roadblock out of the way, let the process begin...again.

KS:  Was that too short?

RL:  Yes, but it resonates.

The Personal Manager - Simply Stated

If you sign my contract baby
You know all of your worries is over for you

Yea I wanna be your milk man every morning
Your ice-cream man when the days is through

Personal Manager - Albert King

From the first time I heard The Personal Manager in a little ribs 'n' blues shack in Decatur, Georgia, I've been trying to figure out what it is about that song that so resonates with me.  

And I don't believe in accidents.  I believe everything happens for a reason and every pothole on the highway of life is a lesson learned.  My life began to change with a simple blues song and the potholes were plenty.  Although I was having so much fun, I hardly noticed.  Blues is like that.  The simple chords and innuendo lure you into the heart of it all.  And if you're a hearts on fire Leo type like me, it's easy to get lost and miss the meaning. 

.

Fortunately, Kimmy Sue and Ruby Lou do meet halfway on occasion and see the writing on the wall. Together we finally figured this one out, and one whole woman is hearing that song with her eyes open.

I want a man whose dick is bigger than mine. 

Yea, I said that.  It's the truth.  Figuratively speaking of course, but literally would not be frowned upon.

Relationships are a dance, and in the human attempt to find pleasure in the roles of man and woman it's important to bring it all to the dance floor and find your song...the one that tells the truth, plain and simple. 

When I die and go to Heaven (don't laugh, it could happen!), forget St. Peter.  Albert King better be standing at the gate with a big ol' shit-eating blues grin.  He'll have one question for me:  What took you so long?

Source

Pillow Talk Around the World

From a distance, you look like my friend

even though we are at war...Bette Midler (Julie Gold)

Long before I moved to Atlanta and wandered into my first blues joint, I was a Carolina girl.  I had big hair, big cars and a big tendency to find myself in funny situations. Or maybe I convinced myself they were funny.  Those were some tough years, but a sense of humor did get me through.

At age 20,  I had one of those "love at first sight" experiences - an 18-year old Palestinian who had just arrived and was getting his first taste of America.  Seriously, it was like one of those scenes in a movie when boy meets girl, eyes lock and you just know that nothing will ever be the same.  And it wasn't.

I don't know who was more naive.  He taught me how to say I love you and hairbrush (hair has always been important to me) in Arabic, and I taught him how to kiss.  Not that I was all that experienced. I was a late bloomer when it came to intimacy. But I do remember that we were young and pillow talk consisted of his stories of growing up in Beirut, Lebanon...bombings, studying by candlelight and poor vision at a very young age as a result, Yasser Arafat making his rounds to check on everyone, his mother struggling to raise three sons alone because his father died in his 40's, his mother worrying every time her sons left the house.  Forget the history books or the news, he took me there.  I could only share a life in rural South Carolina and my earliest memories of desegragation...riding my bike through corn fields, marching bands, my mother's health food store on Main Street, climbing trees and then crying for my mother to get me down (coming down is always the scary part).  And somehow it all made perfect sense that we were together at that time.  People are just people right? 

We were both so caught up in our own little world that the consequences caught us both off guard.  Did I mention that he was a virgin and we made a baby the very first time?  I said we were both naive didn't I?

The next two years were interesting.  The oldest brother was flown to America to oversee this situation since he was the man of the house.  I will never forget oldest brother.  He was very stern as he lectured me about his people.  Needless to say, I got my first real taste of culture clash...something I had never considered.  He told me they didn't do these things (really?) and that there were required classes in abstinence.  I wasn't much of a smartass then, but I remember telling him that little brother obviously skipped his. It was the weirdest experience of my life.  I can still see him standing in front of me, all serious and pointing fingers.  I was too curious and incredulous to say much. I was taking it all in.  There was an Arabic man outside my classroom door in Greenville, South Carolina...lecturing me.  I half wondered if Arafat was on his way to save my little Palestinian from the wicked Western whore!  I didn't argue with him, I intuitively knew better. 

I knew that his family was going to make him come home and that was that. 

My parents kept our precious little girl so that we could spend one last night together, and the next morning he took a taxi to the airport and I got up and got ready for work.  The sudden separation was worse than the flu and all the sickness was in a race to come out, as quickly as possible.  But I got over it and focused on raising a daughter.

Something was awakened in me by that connection and my spiritual journey began, for that experience was on a level of existence that knew nothing of segregation, religious wars and walls. These things seemed irrelevant.

Actually, it has always seemed irrelevant to me.  I can't stomach the media with its graphic and glorified production of what's going on in this world.  We watch in horror and disgust, then change the channel.  And if we talk about it at all, we take sides.  If you ask me, money isn't the root of all evil...it's taking sides.

Duality exists because of these sides and walls are a manmade construct.  Bridges are far more useful.

KS:  How do I get past this wall?
RL:  Silly girl, stop climbing...walk!

Ting Tang Walla Walla Yin Yang

I told the witch doctor you didn't love me nice
And then the witch doctor, he gave me this advice
He said to ...

Witch Doctor - David Seville (Ross Bagdaserian Jr)

So my husband and I finally found ourselves on the "same page" for the first time in I don't know how long.  Quite a few pages actually, since even an uncontested divorce with a signed settlement agreement is quite lengthy.  

He's still in the house which is providing us with all sorts of opportunities, ranging from silence to somewhat friendly chit chat...and sometimes anger.  Mostly mine. I am the one who wears my heart on my sleeve and he is the wall I bang my head against.  Neither of us is right and neither of us is wrong.  It simply is what it is. 

And while it is my nature to question the underlying reasons for relationships at any stage, I am not immune to getting caught in the trappings of human angst along the way. 

Don't get me wrong.  I want this divorce.  I need this divorce.  We both do. But right now I'm feeling very angry and I don't know why.  I know it's a normal part of the process, but I want to know why. 

A friend of mine told me that my husband and I were like two children in a sandbox, with a line drawn between our toys.  This is a very good analogy as far as I'm concerned.  I showed him my toys, even the broken ones.  He guarded his.  And we're both fiery, strong-willed Leos who love to have a good time and make things fun for others.  Unfortunately, we sure didn't make things fun for each other.  Here's a good place to mention that I had an astrological reading some months ago and when I told the astrologer that my husband and I were born three days apart in the same year he had to check that out.  He told me that I was in the process of redefining myself (I thought everyone was) and that he would never have put the two of us together.  He was so matter-of-fact that his statement lingered and my thoughts were drawn to visions of why this would be true.

Relationships are just a hot evolutionary mess, but make no mistake about it...the most difficult relationships are the ones we need to pay attention to.  Difficult relationships teach us more than the easy ones I believe.  That's why they're so uncomfortable.  But when you find yourself banging your head against a wall it's time to wake up.

I'm awake for the first time in years.  I feel like I've been crawling through a tunnel through all manner of unnamed shit and debris.  There was no light and I had to feel my way.  Needless to say, my knees and elbows are bruised and bleeding and I don't smell so good right now. 

Call me crazy, I am grateful.  Just when I think I'm ready to receive, I find that once again I have very cleverly set up yet another road block. 

If you look back and you're honest with yourself, you will recognize every time that you have done that as well. 

How can I be angry with someone for not giving me what I want, when I deliberately attracted someone I knew would never give it to me in the first place?  That's why I'm angry.  That is the only reason we are ever angry, I think. 

I'll figure it out.  We all will.  If not this life, the next.

Bing bang!

I Do, I Did, I'm Done

Fawn Lowery is my favorite woman.  I didn't know this until her marriage was over. (More on Miss Fawn aka the Slutty Goddess in a future post, for she is totally blogworthy.)

And here's hoping she will feel the same about me when my marriage is over.  If I evolve and grow as well as she has, I'll be happy. 

Actually, I'm happy now.  I'm just not ecstatic.  Major life changes such as divorce are never easy, even when it's the right thing to do.  It unsettles the spirit that wants attachment and old fears threaten to surface. Of course, I'm always wanting to talk about these things and I married a man who does not have a preference for what I consider to be meaningful conversations.  Everybody's different. 

But relationships do get lost in the absence of meaningful communication. Always. Mine didn't have a clue. I shall call this phenomena falling head over heels with your eyes closed.  And since this thing called love that we search for outside ourselves is subject to emotional baggage (old and new), the opportunity exists to recognize it and heal by means of the relationship you've attracted or choose not to and let the relationship collapse. It really is that simple.  Face it or fuck it.

And given the baggage we all carry, there's no such thing as a perfect relationship. We are human, therefore perfect isn't possible.  But you do need to know when to let it go. When and if the time comes you need to book a flight as far away as possible and hope your baggage gets lost by the airline.  Unfortunately, more often than not it follows you home. 

So how does an outgoing, outspoken soul attract one that is emotionally unavailable?  That is the question I'm asking myself now. I don't know the answer to that yet, but you can bet that I will spend however much time it takes to figure it out.  After all, that's why we're here.  And relationships - good, bad and everything in between - are the best source for learning about yourself.  If you don't learn, you will make the same mistakes again and again.  I shall call this phenomena running in place.  Just think about it.

I did manage to make progress.  Once upon a time I was married to someone who was sometimes physically abusive and often verbally abusive, the end of which was a long and emotionally exhausting rollercoaster of abuse that transcended the divorce.  I didn't get married again until eight years later.  And I only dated four men during that time, the last one being the one that made me think I could do it again.  Well, I managed to not attract physical abuse and not much at all in the way of verbal abuse...but emotionally unavailable did present itself.  What?  Where did that come from?  Again, that's what I'm trying to figure out.  I could focus my energy on the emotional unavailability of another (which is nothing but a clever distraction), or I can focus on what is obviously - still - not available within me. 

It won't be easy given the human tendency to project, but I'll get there. I'm on board for the shift in consciousness predicted for 2012.  If you see me somewhere still running in place, just shoot me.

Evolving just plain sucks sometimes.

If I Didn't Know Now What I Didn't Know Then

Can you you feel it, see it, hear it today?

If you can't, then it doesn't matter anyway.

 - Epic by Faith No More

Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you could "unknow" every hurtful thing that has ever happened to you?  Imagine if you could mentally and emotionally go back in time to the moment before those hurtful things occurred...and you lived in those moments instead, only in the present. 

What?????

According to my opinion of  Eckhart Tolle, that would be the power of now.  I read that book some years ago.  The language drove me crazy and the message was repeated so many times that my brain wanted to do a quantum leap into any moment other than the one where I was holding that book and forcing myself to "get it."  The fact that I was forcing myself and trying to understand it intellectually is probably proof that I didn't "get it" at all. 

And what is IT? 

Here's where I admit that I had no idea what I was going to say next until I did a search for an image to go with this article.  Basically, Kimmy Sue (cute, country and ever so smart) thinks of a clever title and waits for Ruby Lou (big, bold, black, wise and funny) to show up (and grab KS by the overalls, maybe smack her upside the head) and figure it out.  I googled "power of now" and found this:

See The Crafty Girl Blog for Source

KS:  Wow, that is so cool!  RL:  Slow down Kimmy Sue, take a moment to look at the source this time.

I'm glad I did take a moment.  This image led me to the artist Kelly Angard and her amazing fine art and photography website where I found this:

http://kellyangard.com/2009/11/life-lesson/



KS:  Well I'll be damned, is that IT?  RL:  Maybe.
KS:  Give me a moment.  RL:  Take your time.

Okay, so maybe that isn't exactly what I started with but by some quirk of fate I think a moment just happened.  And I didn't once think about getting a boob job.

Darn it...it's gone. 





Women: Weight vs. Health?

In an effort to do what I'm supposed to do, I spent one of my vacation weeks checking in with various doctors.  One morning I got the dreaded mammogram (which wasn't anything like I expected, was nothing really) and in the afternoon I went to the gynecologist.  Another day I saw my primary care physician and I was quick to inform him (he who has never seen me naked in all the 17 years that I've been his patient) that I'd already taken care of the top and the bottom.  Thank you very much, I'll keep my clothes on. 

So he listened to my heart (it's still there) and my lungs (still breathing) and he poked all the usual spots looking for I don't know what...and we talked.  This is why I love my PCP.  He always stops poking, sits and asks me, "How are you doing?"  Well, I'm not one to go to the doctor every time I fart sideways, so I told him I was basically okay.  And I am, basically.  Then he asked me if I was still smoking.  Sigh.  Yes.  But, I informed him that I did quit for 8 months...last year.  He of course asked me why I started smoking again.  My response?  I gained too much weight.  Damn.  He shook his head and said, "I get that all the time from women."

Wow.  All the time.  Ladies, this is sad.  I can't speak for every woman, but I'm sure there are many who worry more about their weight than their health.  Why? 

Obviously, in my quest to evolve and find that perfect yin yang state of being I'm still pretty stupid.  Just because I am aware and awake in the subtle energies that surround me (and work with them as a Reiki Master), doesn't mean I've figured out how to get past the status quo of this stupid world we live in. 

And we are stupid.  Masculine energy wants to show the world who has the biggest dick, wins the wars and has the most money, babes, things...whatever.  What does feminine energy do?  Feminine energy tries to stop the wars.  Obviously this energy is not succeeding.  Not when little girls are being schooled in how to sell their body parts and men are still getting paid more (on average) for putting out less. 

If the world does end in 2012, this is why.

Poopy Shoes and Dingleberries

It goes without saying that if you step in shit, you need to stop what you're doing and clean your shoes.  Otherwise, you're going to track it everywhere you go.  Not to mention the fact that anyone who crosses your path will find the same shit on their shoes and track it everywhere they go. 

This is how shit spreads. 

This is one of those days when I probably don't make any sense at all, but it is a beautiful day and my shoes are clean.  I was simply reflecting on days when I find poopy on my shoes. 

I don't always know where it came from.

Moral of the story:

KS:  Shit happens!
RL:  Wipe your ass and move on...and do it right or the dingleberries will get you!

Blogger or Stripper?

According to a local deejay, bloggers are the equivalent of fat strippers. 

My commute to and from work is about five minutes, so I didn't get to hear everything he had to say.  I'm not even sure how bloggers found their way into the talk show topic...which I'm also not sure of.  Whatever the topic was it had to do with someone doing something for attention.  He then said something to the effect of if you want that much attention, start a blog.

And then, of course, bloggers are like fat strippers.

While the comment made me laugh, the other part of my brain just couldn't wrap around exactly what he meant.  Not that I was upset or anything.  I simply didn't exactly get the joke.

So if you're a skinny stripper you're not seeking attention? 

I guess that makes sense, seeing as how I've always viewed stripping as the equivalent of cashing in on the men are stupid chips.  Strippers are seeking money. 

Through my work, I knew a stripper once.  She told me she and the other girls would often place bets on who they'd get the most money out of.  It was a game.  Now that is funny to me.  It also goes to show you just how easy it is to take a man's money...just get a boob job, a wax job and pretend you're interested in him.

So if you're a fat stripper you're not seeking money, but attention? 

That doesn't make so much sense to me.  I know lots of fat people who want money as well as attention.  And I know lots of fat people who wouldn't become strippers to get attention only.  (I know skinny people who wouldn't either.)  I certainly wouldn't take my clothes off in public unless there was money involved.  And just because I'm blogging doesn't mean I'm showing you everything. 

I am not skinny or fat and I want what everyone wants...everything! I love to write. I love to read. I love to laugh.  And I've connected with some wonderful people that I wouldn't have otherwise if not for blogging. I like to think blogging makes the world even smaller. Small enough to relate to anyone, anywhere. And it's fun, you should try it.

I've also decided that from now on I shall blog naked. Why not? You can't see me.

By the way, I don't think men are stupid. I adore men...even the stupid ones. And aren't we all stupid in one way or another?

Lights out. Pay the bartender. Take a cab. I'm done for the night!

Darn, no money. Guess I better skip dessert.

KS:  I don't get it.
RL:  Girrrrlll...you are getting on my last nerve.



Boobs, Buddhas and Other Natural Healing Stones

Whether you choose to acknowledge this in any formal way, you are on a spiritual path. Evolving whether you like it or not. From the atheist, agnostic, silent monk, stripper, materialistic A-type to the duplicitous KSRL…we’re in this together.

So what are we doing? And why? From one moment to the next, what are we aware of?

Most days I’m aware that I, Kimmy Sue, have work to do, bills to pay, teenagers to keep track of and a wonderful husband to love up on when time and energy permits. And my recent non-surgical boob reduction apparently doesn’t deter his wandering hands. My boobs could be shaped like cucumbers and he would still consider it a privilege to grope. I am, after all, the girl he mainly likes. Ladies, this is as good as it gets.

Other days I’m aware that I, Ruby Lou, must catch an inward breath, kick attachment out the door and grab the emptiness of everything by the balls. (Talk about your body parts that don’t fare well as time goes by! But who cares? They’re just balls.)

And I don’t have a clue where this is going. This might be the point. Maybe it’s already gone. I do know that at any given moment I have two paths to choose from. Neither is right and neither is wrong. But something will be different, depending on which way I go.

Don’t worry. I’m confused too. Today I seem to be standing still, lingering and shifting. Kimmy Sue wants to be lazy, which often resembles waking up in quicksand and not really giving a shit. Ruby Lou got tired of waiting and climbed a tree instead. I hate it when she does that! It’s like being in a dark room with eyes that refuse to adjust. But I can hear her laughter.

Whatever.

KS: Whew, pulled that off.
RL: Barely!

Today’s boobs are donated by Beth Ann, owner/designer - Natural Healing Stones. She created my favorite necklace ever - a beautiful black jade Buddha that feels good around my neck and looks great with cleavage. Be sure to check out her website, and watch the video below for some very special words of wisdom!

..

AdNONsense, Key Word Boobs!

I started this blog with boobs and since they're so popular I shall include them always.  Until I change my mind.

Today's boobs are donated by my granddaughter.  She calls me Grammy because I refuse to be called grandma or granny.  I made that clear the day she was born.  I also asked her to draw boobs.  Here they are.



Nice!  

I could write about asking my granddaughter to draw boobs using long, exhausting complete sentences...or maybe one Faulkneresque sentence that goes on and on and on for pages and days in order to make this particular blog searchworthy for pedophiles who want to advertise their kiddy porn sites disguised as lingerie for tots.  Ewwww. 

Obviously I don't know what I'm doing.  AdSense?  Why not?  I don't particularly like the look of random ads on my nice, clean blog page but I was willing to let it fly.  Day one: ads for bras and Asian women.  I get that.  It was relevant.  Apparently my content related to porn sites disguised as bra ads.  Day two:  no ads and a nice e-mail from Google telling me that in order to be adworthy I must use complete sentences and write longer paragraphs. 

With the exception of boobs, less is more.  I think.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to spend the rest of my day doing more than anyone in their right mind wants to read about.  Key words:  Excuuuuuuuuse ME!

KS:  I know how to write long paragraphs and sentences and I will consider it to make the Google Gods happy.

RL:  NOT!





I Don't Hate My Boobs: Fakin' It Part II

Sad but true, I'm so technically stupid that I can't figure out how to comment on my own blog. 

Ronda, I buy my clothes at thrift stores and drive a 2001 Saturn that I'm determined to get the last mile out of.  Why on earth would I spend thousands for fake boobs?  I wouldn't.  And I've been wearing pushup bras for years.

Milk Man, you still can't spell.  I'm quite certain my breasts have never been "coddled."  But thanks for making me laugh.  And it isn't bad to like boobs.  Boobs are fun.  It's the special rules that apply to your wives and girlfriends that are bad.  Would you tell your girlfriend that if she got fake boobs you would no longer want to touch her?  If so, why?  If you don't mind looking at them, why wouldn't you want your girlfriend to have them?

Debbie, you are correct.  It is the double standard that I hate.  In the process of raising three daughters, I have become more sensitive to the double standards for women.  And I love my belly button.

Kimmy Sue is the energy that conforms.  She would be stupid enough to get a boob job.  She would secretly hate it.

Ruby Lou is the energy that laughs out loud and puts things in perspective.  Ruby Lou would get a boob job just to piss someone off, to push buttons and make fun of it all.  Or not.  She does what she wants. 

We are all duplicitous fakers.  That is the one thing we can be honest about. 

What we really want are boobs that don't need a bra.  We are both in agreement that bras are annoying.  Which means they either need to be smaller or they need to be fake. 

Fakin' It

I’ve lost weight before, but this time I’ve lost my boobs. I’m not sure where they went, but I’ve come to the realization that wherever they are they’re hanging out with belly rolls and a double chin that I no longer want. How dare they steal my girls!

This is so not fair. I’m not sure why. Maybe this is how men feel when their dicks no longer work.

The only thing I am sure of is that I’ve seriously considered a boob job. Seriously. I stopped coloring my hair to let my natural salt and pepper reign supreme (and I will never go back) but dammit, I want my boobs back. And if they insist on leaving me, permission not granted, then I have a right to do something about it…don’t I?

Apparently not. Another thing I am sure of is that my husband doesn’t like the idea at all. This seems rather inconsistent given the viewing pleasures of your average male. I just don’t get it.

I’m not treading unknown waters here. There’s a familiar line drawn between wife and slut. The moment you say I do, you can’t. Certainly, I understand the “wife in the kitchen, whore in the bedroom” mentality. That’s as it should be. No one wants to see their spouse acting all pornographic in public. Well maybe some do, but I’m talking about your average couple.

Having said all that, don’t let me fool you. I am 99.9% certain that I will never get a boob job. But that fraction of a percent of me that isn’t sure is very intrigued with the reasons why I might.

We all fake something. Why not boobs? Seriously. What’s the difference between pretending you like someone that you don’t, or pretending that you’re doing your job…and walking around with fake boobs? Other than the monetary expense, nothing.

Maybe what I’d really like to do is spend one day with double D water balloons just to see what I could get away with. Like a social experiment. I think it would be fun and funny. Boobs do have a way of bringing out the stupid in men.

Lame? Yes. Funny? Definitely. Come to think of it, those of us with boobs would have a lot less to laugh about if it weren’t for men. But they’re so cute!

Here’s what isn’t cute. Hypocrisy. Yes, if you’re reading this between the lines then you will notice some righteous feminine anger trying to evolve here.

Again, I’m not treading unknown waters. On the way to work this morning a local radio show presented this situation: A guy meets a girl at work and he is attracted to her because of the way she dresses, but once he hooks up with her he asks her to tone it down. Your thoughts?

I didn’t have time to respond or listen. Darn.

I have plenty to say about that. Mainly, it pisses me off. It’s not like men will ever stop lusting after the “slut.” But why do they not want their wives, girlfriends, significant others to be slutty?

Whether or not my boobs are real or fake is irrelevant.

Who’s faking here?  That is the question.

Female Chauvinist Pigs Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture - Ariel Levy