When it comes to gossip, there are no innocent people. Much of what we know, or think we know, has its origins in gossip. And gossip isn't always bad. When we gather, it is human nature to discuss more than the weather.
I am the horse's mouth when it comes to my antics, but I have certainly been the horse's ass when it comes to the antics of others. And we all know what comes out of a horse's ass! This reminds me of an improvisational acting class I attended many years ago and a group exercise that was quite funny. One person would tell a story about themselves to another, that person would then tell someone else...and so on and so on. The last person to hear the story would then repeat that story to the group as a whole. It was amazing - and hilarious, in fact - how much the story had changed by the time it reached the last person. From the horse's mouth to the horse's ass, indeed.
According to Robin Dunbar, author of Grooming, Gossip, And the Evolution of Language, we have simply improved the process of primate grooming. I'm not going to take a scholarly leap here, because I'm not that smart. Besides, that book has been written about by enough people. If you haven't heard of it, however, I encourage you to check it out.
Simply put, we form groups and minimize intrusion by making statements that cement ties. The world is too big and overwhelming to be friends with everyone, so we find a circle and sit around "nitpicking" until we're all clean. And if that isn't enough, we stroke each other's fur until the feeling within the circle is mutual.
Basically, we're chimps with a better vocabulary. And sugar coated with good intentions or dipped in shit, gossip is gossip...a billion dollar industry, and we want more!
Why? The answer escapes each of us to varying degrees, but my youngest daughter seems to have a clue. I asked her once why she enjoyed watching Jerry Springer. With an easy grin, she said, "Because it makes me feel better about myself."
Out of the mouths of babes, right?
Seeing as how I've already failed the Google AdSense test, I won't further elaborate. No need to. When it comes to gossip, accept that we all do it. After all, language and motor skills are the only things that separate us from chimps.
In conclusion, I will refer to a man who always sums it up best: “If someone says something unkind about you, live so no one will believe it.” – Dalai Lama
So a book that I must write has presented itself, but before I can delve into that I have to blog my way through a few loose ends. Yes, I'm back on the job with regards to evolving. Annoying, I know. However, if you're reading this, you're probably on the same train...even if you're a few cars behind. Or ahead, for that matter. And if that's the case, this will be like a distant hum that resonates a familiar note here and there, then vanishes when your own personal journey pulls you towards a song that is meant just for you.
Regardless of the source, be sure to listen. If you do, you will hear what you need to hear when you need to hear it.
As one who is committed to the practice of sharing my time and energy in the healing process of others, by definition I am committed to healing myself as well. My circle of influence within the healing community fully understands this, since those of us who choose a practice are very much in touch with our own need to heal. How else can one empathize? Of course, choosing to practice the healing arts doesn't put you above it all. Oh no. That would be too easy. Sometimes you see or intuit your own demons in the spirit of another, and this is no accident. As a matter of fact, the moment I found those shoes and put them on (after years of wearing the shoes of a really pissed off, unofficial healer) my own healing journey became a maze of unexpected twists and turns. Some good, some not so good. But always spot on!
For instance, my last divorce (and I do mean my last!) was the result of my own need to reinforce a very low opinion of men. Well, if your life experience in the formative years has shown you that men can be abusive, unpredictable, unsafe and downright pigs, what are you more likely to do? Marry Prince Charming or someone who pushes your very last "men are pigs" button? I was obviously ready for that experience, because he pushed that button good. And you know what? I'm glad he did. It was the straw that broke this camel's back. Of course, he got what he asked for too. Here's hoping he learned something from it; otherwise, he'll marry his mother again.
I think some women wear the pants on the homefront because they have to. After all, masculine energy will present where it is needed. Always.
Which leads me closer to the exit door on this train. It's a damn shame when a woman has to wear the pants at home! Seriously. I don't mean that in the sense that a woman has to be all lacy and demure and submissive. And certainly she should be treated as an equal in a relationship. I'm just saying that a woman who finds herself in that situation (usually by choice, reread the above paragraph if you must) is truly robbed of something. She doesn't get to be the woman. You know, that lovely space in a relationship where she can let her hair down and feel cherished and protected. When you see such a woman, then you can rest assured that her man is truly the man.
I'm definitely finding my way off this train. I've progressed from an unspoken invitation to audition for second fiddle, or maybe Plan B, to simply not being old enough.
I'm also a genuinely happy camper these days. So, if you see this denim-clad ball of fire headed your way...relax! I'm not going to kick your ass, unless you want me to. Then again, I might just keep walking!
Yep, I've got a set of balls to be sure. But make no mistake about it, my tits are bigger.
Well, depending on which button you push. And if you push them both at the same time? Woo hoo!
NOTE: In an effort to keep this short and sweet, I've left out a few stories that are quite beautiful where men are concerned - two "little boys" in particular who taught me so much, and to whom I am grateful. But I've said enough. Just know that I am fully aware that men suffer too. We're all in this together right? Maybe one day we'll all be helping each other and we won't have to recycle all this crap, again and again. Here's hoping! Meanwhile, Kimmy Sue and Ruby Lou are celebrating another step towards the whole of some divine masculine AND feminine.
Dammit. I was on vacation. Or, as my ex-husband once said to me, "I don't want to evolve!" But, like it or not - and when you least expect it - the universe will smack you upside the head and remind you to pay attention. It's a good thing, really.
So, Kimmy Sue walks into a bar. That's my inner child, by the way, in case you hadn't figured that out. The whole of my existence (and yours too, if you're honest with yourself) is the outward journey through life struggling between growing up and moving forward, all the while reaching back to grab the hand of the divine child that fears it has been sentenced to a permanent time out for no good reason.
Oops...back to the bar. Kimmy Sue is ready for a good beer and some good music, supported in full by a grown ass woman named Ruby Lou. Yeah, she is my dark chocolate, no nonsense reminder that I must keep it real. This means inner child is gainfully employed and in charge.
So I'm at the bar, when a very articulate and handsome man starts chatting me up. How cool is that? I left my glasses at home, however, because apparently he was old enough to be my father...in certain areas of South Carolina, and pretty much the entire state of Alabama. More importantly, in his mind. And, apparently, he left his glasses at home too. Somehow, he saw a hot red head who might actually be old enough for him. As in, sometimes miracles occur and a woman who looks 40 something might actually be 60. Woo hoo! How lucky can you get?
This is the point where I have to accept that regardless of age and education, men are stupid. It's okay. They're allowed. Women are stupid too. Actually, people are stupid. And that's why we're here folks...to get UNstupid. It's the point of this whole blog, in case you're missing that.
Which is entirely possible, given my non sequitur inclinations.
So. Handsome, articulate old fart...same bar. A few weeks, and one damned good minute later, he tells me I'm too young for him. Wow. For a not-so-damned good minute, I was offended. I'm pushing 50 for crying out loud, but I guess I should just feel flattered. Most women are concerned about being too old. Anyway, the words "chastened" and "scolded" came to mind. And then it hit me. Oh, here we go again...the "daddy" connection. Seriously, if a man crosses my path and shows an interest in me, the common evolutionary denominator is always the father. On both sides of the fence, mind you.
Yep, the universe really smacked me upside the head this time, but fortunately I have made great progress with my inner child. This time, Kimmy Sue thwarted a knee-jerk reaction to go stand in a corner somewhere and said what any strong-willed southern girl would say when challenged in such a manner: Awwwwwwwwwwwww...hell naw!
The most important sign of progress, for me, is that I was not a victim this time. He was a real nice daddy.
(On the off chance that I'm not making sense - yes, I'm laughing too - what I'm pointing out is the importance of paying attention to what you attract. More specifically, the common denominator. It is the key to unlocking those trap doors and giving yourself permission to come out and play.)
I AM too young...and it's about damned time. I hope I'm too young for the rest of my life.
"The only way you'll ever learn a thing
Is to admit that you know absolutely nothing
Oh nothing
Think about this carefully
You might not get another chance to speak freely
Oh freely
I have often made the statement that I don't see people so much as I feel them. I will say it again, because it's true. However, maybe I need to have my eyes examined and start looking. After all, I am living in a country that places more value on appearances than actual substance. Or maybe we just draw a line between the two.
We're also more inclined to judge a book by its cover. It's easier that way. We label and categorize and live by the calendar. Fuck Einstein! Time IS linear! Why? Because the illusion makes life less scary. Linear time allows us to believe that we have control. It's all about the future right?
Speaking of time, I've never really thought much about my age until recently. Most of my friends are older, chronologically speaking. I guess I get along better with older people. Not sure why. Maybe I'm the token kid in the group?
Or maybe I'm just an idiot. How many wrinkles and hot flashes do I need to have in order to be taken seriously?
This post is a short one and you can thank my post-menopausal friend "Sweet Pea" for summing it all up. She's in her 50's, so surely she knows what she's talking about. According to her, the moral of the story is this: Men want women to be 60, but they prefer that we look 40. Yeah, here's what that looks like:
“Try to avoid getting involved with somebody who's gonna need killing before it's over. It may seem to you that that narrows the field somewhat, but be diligent.”
I've been chewing on this story for quite some time. Mainly how to tell the truth without divulging identity. You see, my BFF is a mother, an artist and every manner of normal you can think of. She's into arts and crafts, sews, bakes crazy good cookies and is a budding entrepeneur. She's also a born again slut!
Why not? After more than two decades of being married to the same man, she suddenly found herself single. Seriously. Just like that. One day everything is fine (or so she thought) and the next he tells her it's not...as in, oh by the way, I'm in love with someone else and I'm leaving.
After many porch chats, lots of wine (Arbor Mist, bless her heart, which is like juice boxes for adults) and tears, she finally realized what I told her from day one. He did her a favor.
Not to undermine the whole damned marriage. They brought two awesome children into this world, made lots of friends together and currently maintain a semi-decent friendship. My BFF is a very good example of grace, let me tell you. I should probably pay more attention to how she handles herself because my fiery nature doesn't always know when to keep its mouth shut. (I'll blame it on my moon in Aries!)
Anyway, life goes on. And the life of my BFF, whom I jokingly refer to as the Slutty Goddess, certainly has gone on...and on...and on...and on! I have truly been amazed at just how far she's come, how much she's grown and how fucking awesome she is. It wasn't as obvious when she was busy raising her kids and fulfilling her role as supporting wife. Hell, she was too damned busy.
It's obvious now. And I can't tell you her name, she'll hurt me. But I can share a photo of her bodacious boobs! (I did start this blog on the subject of boobs, so it's appropriate.) Here they are:
Yep, the Slutty Goddess has discovered the joys of being a sexy, independent woman. And since some things will never change, with a rack like that...she has choices! Of course, the realization has been a process. Which is not uncommon. We all have to kiss a few toads along the way, right?
Speaking of toads, she sent me a text message one day stating that she'd just had the worst date of her life. Worst as in weird. During lunch, no less. She was so nonplussed, I did what any BFF would do. On the way home, I stopped by the package store to find just the right bottle of wine for dinner...to celebrate the worst date ever. When I saw this bottle, I laughed out loud. How perfect:
The next time you have endured the worst/weirdest date ever, I highly recommend this wine. As a matter of fact, it has become the official KSRL and Slutty Goddess men are stupid wine. After a few glasses, a light salad and lots of chocolate...who gives a shit?
Of course, we don't think men are stupid all the time. We think men are cute, and cuddly, and we like the way they smell (most of them). They can also lift heavy objects, open doors and kill spiders. You know, useful. But when they are stupid, we reserve the right to celebrate in style.
The two of us have toasted many chapters in her dating career. I have them all labeled for her in case she ever decides to let me write the book. Seriously, her shenanigans would be a best seller for every single woman starting over in her 50's. You see, my BFF personifies the ability to get up after the rug's been yanked out from under you, dust yourself off and get busy! All you need is a bustier, an open mind and a sense of humor.
For instance, Salsa Boy. Yeah, you heard me. Salsa Boy. This would be the chapter dedicated to a fit and fine Salsa dancer with a penchant for big momma porn and the audacity to greet my BFF at his door butt...ass...naked...and sporting a very large woody. So, while the experience left her feeling less than cherished, and later in tears, it wasn't a total loss. There's more to it than porn and the surprise greeting, of course. As a matter of fact, that's not the bad part.
My personal favorite is Button Boy. Do I need to explain that one? In this chapter, the Slutty Goddess exercises her natural ability to make do (all moms know how to do this) and find pleasure in life's little things. She was tempted to go back to Salsa Boy, but he made her cry. Sigh. Now what?
How about Fantasy Boy? To her credit, SG (getting tired of spelling it out) really cared about this one and she was willing to fulfill his fantasy. Without going into great detail, there was dancing, a bubble bath and breakfast the next morning. There's more, but she made me take it out. Pooh! Good stuff too...except, he wasn't so happy about it after. Men don't like competition you know. Never mind the fact it was his idea. However, SG rose to the occasion in the manner of a true Goddess. She enjoyed it!
Hell, I might as well mention Big Blues Man. He made her laugh. A lot. And he had a really big...guitar. So, he got double points. I so want to hint at what went on in the Green Room at Blind Willie's. Sigh. I wish my mouth was that big and my knees that strong.
We're not going to talk about Two Second Man. Bless his heart.
There are more stories, and all involve a very good woman with a big heart, big boobs and the guts to keep trying. Over time, she has learned to be the kind, nurturing woman that she is while at the same time saying no to things that do not serve the Goddess well.
And she is a Goddess dammit! She deserves whatever she wants. Near as I can tell, she finally agrees.
I sure hope so, because she has survived seven years on the post-divorce path of blues and beyond. And while she's gotten really good at the dating thing, I sense that she's ready to share the new and improved woman that she has become with just one.
Damn, I sure will miss her stories. However, some lucky man will reap a mountain of rewards when he chooses SG. And boys, that's how it's supposed to go. You make a woman feel chosen. After all, the only way a man gets to be King is by treating his woman like a Queen. SG and I are amazed at how many men out there just don't get that.
I have to conclude with a song that makes me think of her every time I hear it. Consider it the Slutty Goddess theme song!
"I think that the film Clueless was very deep. I think it was deep in the way that it was very light. I think lightness has to come from a very deep place if it's true lightness." - Alicia Silverstone, Actress
"We are not ready for an unforeseen event that may or may not occur." - Dan Quayle
Once in a while it helps to be reminded that there are people out there who make less sense than I do. Whew. I can do crazy ass, cryptic ass, crude ass, evolving ass, freak ass, shy ass, smart ass, stubborn ass and, my personal favorite, bongo ass...ahem...but dumb ass is not on my list of things to be when I grow up.
I'm currently feeling a strong, unfettered reconnection to my silly ass. She looks like this:
As for Fifty Shades, I just finished the trilogy so I had to throw in a reference. Part of reconnecting with my silly ass and putting my evolving ass on the shelf for a bit.
What did you think of the trilogy? I can honestly say that the story was entertaining, but I simply didn't find myself sitting around drooling over all the sex scenes. As a matter of fact, the sex scenes were so redundant that I found myself skimming over most of them in order to get back to the personalities beneath the "kinky fuckery." Oh, there they go again...he's tying her up again...oh, look at that, he's spanking her again...yep, she likes it...again!
Seriously. Once upon a time, I was a Criminal Justice major. I was more fascinated with the psychology of the criminal mind. You know...WHY did Jeffrey Dahmer drill a hole in someone's head and pour battery acid in there? Now that's psycho ass!
Recently, a new breed of ass was discovered...the psycho dumb ass. Yeah, apparently this ass makes an appearance when you have the brilliant idea to ingest something called "bath salts". And if you're into that, followed by getting naked and chewing human flesh, you are not only dumb...YOU ARE PSYCHO! So. Psycho Dumb Ass. In my opinion, this is the the most dangerous.
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for a little ear nibbling, but if you draw blood...game over!
Back to "Fifty Shades." I wouldn't place BDSM in the fetish category. After all, a little spanking never hurt anyone. Cuffing and spanking, or being the recipient of, simply isn't weird enough to be a fetish.
When I think of the word fetish, I am reminded of an episode of Law and Order (or maybe it was NYPD Blue). Anyway, a young girl was the victim of someone with a foot fetish. More specifically, crushing things with feet. There was a creepy video found of this young girl crushing a worm with her foot. (Damn. I sure hope my batteries aren't dead, because that shit is hot.)
Okay, I'm kidding...although, she did have a really nice pedicure. So. Fetish Ass. Oh baby!
The whole "Fifty Shades" craze just reminds me that people are fucking strange. You never know what they're really thinking or what they might be like in private. For instance, I once dated someone who was perfectly normal - in a manner of speaking and what's normal anyway? - but I'll be damned if he didn't get off on licking my teeth. WTF? Now, it's normal to graze a molar or two in the course of kissing...but when you are deliberately licking someone's teeth like candy, well, that's just fucking weird. I eventually spoke up and put a stop to that. It was very distracting. Nose licking, however, is where it's at. Just saying. (Yes, I'm kidding...this is silly ass blog, remember?)
Now if you'll excuse me, my silly ass has some more shameless flirting to do. I shall avoid teeth lickers and anyone staring at my feet for more than two seconds.
As for Alicia Silverstone...she might actually have a clue. In the course of writing this silly ass blog, I discovered her website http://www.thekindlife.com/
Now she is a sweet ass, so be sure to check it out. I'm definitely going to try the truffles.
Way too wordy an episode. . . Likes to ride standing up on a bumpier road. Yang says "What do you think, the kid, he was trying to say?" The kid screams out "I'm just an accident, I didn't plan it this way."
Hello! Check out the really cool map above. This is your soul wandering and flailing its way through the mind, I think. It's all over the map isn't it? This is true for everyone, no matter how hard we try to pretend otherwise.
However, if you have both hands (yin/yang) on the wheel...you might actually find your way home without stepping on a land mine and blowing your ass off the planet.
And roadblocks? Pffft...goes without saying. But every roadblock you encounter is an opportunity to see what you keep missing on the road home. The number of times you encounter the same roadblock is directly related to how stubborn you are. I must admit that I've been very stubborn.
Fortunately, I found the spiritual nerve to crash through a very familiar roadblock. I'm sure there are more ahead, but this one is no longer in my way:
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