Again, I feel compelled to apologize for the lack of attention to my blog (and Twitter, for that matter), but I have been very preoccupied lately as real life demands my attention. It’s been a little rough lately. Last week, I left the job that I loved in the heat of a very confusing, very dramatic, wildly inappropriate moment. I do not mean “wildly inappropriate” in a sexual way this time. I’m more upset by this than I ever would have expected to be, and I have been busy talking with some people and figuring out what sort of action to take in the wake of what happened. Despite that very unpleasant experience, I still find myself grieving the loss of that job. I am admittedly no authority on ‘moving on,’ and as such I am having a hard time figuring out what my next career move will be. My sewing skills are still terribly rudimentary so far. I don’t know if I could realistically apply myself to copywriting as much as I’d need to. I have very little interest in pursuing any of the fields in which I have significant experience any further. I hadn’t planned on needing to worry about this so soon, so without any clear direction all I can do is keep my options open and hope a good opportunity knocks again.
In the grand tradition of misfortune, one thing led to another until I ended up with quite a large knot of stress somewhere in my belly. I’m still carrying that around. After explaining the circumstances surrounding my sudden unemployment to my family, a good handful of my nearest and dearest were both appalled at the treatment I received and understanding of my anger (and, frankly, outrage). Several offered comfort and support, but unfortunately my mother was not among this group. My relationship with my mother is complicated, as she is a very complicated woman. I’m not exactly simple, but my mother and I are completely different brands of difficult and she has always been something of a mystery to me. She was upset when I called and told her of my situation, but her first reaction was to ask how I “fucked up.” Already angered and edgy, I chafed at this. Even after I elaborated on the story, including all the nasty details, her suggestion was that I grovel at the feet of the offending party and beg to be rehired. This is not an option as far as I’m concerned, and nobody else has suggested that it should be. Fundamentally, she and I have very different values, and this is a source of constant contention for us. My mother can be an extremely sweet, generous woman, but she clings to a vehement refusal to admit that there is a Hyde to her Jekyll and that yes, even her priorities might be backward from time to time. My decision to share this personal crisis of mine with her led to yet another unprovoked attack, involving words that one person should never say to another, let alone to one’s child. As I typically do in such situations, and as I did in the incident involving my former employer, I remained quiet and let her vent, excusing myself when I felt the exchange was going nowhere. I suppose I ought to be proud of the ability to control my emotions when things get ugly. I’ve worked very hard at that. The only person my temper was ever an issue to begin with was with my mother, but I am saddened by the realization that our relationship hasn’t been improved upon any by my refusal to fight. In the absence of retort, some people will simply fill the air with more attacks and never tire of the one-sided battle. She is one of them.
So, weighed down by career and family stress, I am trying to distract myself in both productive and unproductive ways. I cut off all but an inch or two of my hair, reorganized my closets and recommitted to regular exercise. Eager for pleasant experiences, I'm trying to make arrangements for several mini-vacations. My romantic life is still something of a nonevent, and my libido seems to have packed its bags and headed for cover until the crisis has blown over. That hasn't stopped me from continuing to enjoy CollarMe, though. My experience with it so far has been very interesting and often downright amusing, though not very fruitful. I've also learned some things about my kink. For example: I don't think I will ever be able to submit to someone who can't spell or write/type in complete sentences. Hard limit: poor grammatical skills. I sware im not an unresonabel snob but relly ther is only so much of this kidn of talkin a girl can taek u kno? It isnt sexxxyy.
The people who attract my attention are invariably the ones who put a little extra effort into things. This is true for my dating/sex life in general. I don't demand 110% from every exchange. I don't even expect anybody to match my enthusiasm. That would be very tough to do, as I can be a very eager beaver. All I'm looking for is that "Hey - I give a shit" impression. I am beginning to worry that I still may be asking too much in that arena.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Hallelujah.
There is nothing terribly exciting in my personal life to report, as I have been very busy with work and such lately, so I apologize about that. I warned you that this wasn't going to be too terribly exciting. I would, however, like to share the story of something that turned me on today.
Those of you who know me know what a huge documentary geek I am. Those of you who don't know me - well, now you know. I watch documentaries daily. I've seen loads of them, and I've loved most of them. I'll watch a documentary about just about anything. One of my recent favorite types has been the "religious documentary" category. This began when I first saw Jesus Camp, a provocative look inside an evangelical summer camp for children. The trailer sort of speaks for itself, but keep in mind that the actual content is a little more militant. I don't understand where and when the line got blurred, in Christianity, between "love thy neighbor" and "religious warfare." I'm not a Christian, but I can certainly identify with any group whose core values embrace goodness, generosity, tolerance and peace. The message behind some of this zeal, though, scares me a little bit. One has to hope that these kids get a little lazier as they get older.
Continuing with the Pentecostal theme, today I watched a film called Hell House, which is about a "haunted house" presented each year by Trinity Christian Church outside of Dallas, TX. This "haunted house" is intended to scare "the lost" back onto the path of righteousness. I'm sorry, but these folks are really fucking batshit overboard, and some of them seem downright dumb to boot. At least most of the Jesus Camp folks seem intelligent. Basically, Trinity builds this whole walk-through composed of a few different rooms or "scenes," and then casts actors to perform them. I gather that the scenes have changed a bit from year to year, but one example is a teenager committing suicide because she had sex with her father and then aborted the resulting baby. Because, you know, performing incestuous acts with your father and then needing to have an abortion is one of the leading temptations today's youth is faced with, apparently. It's right up there next to the alcohol and party scenes. Or how about the scene where a teenager is sucked into the occult and damned for eternity because he or she read Harry Potter? Then you've got the guy whose pet project is the "rave room," to teach kids about the dangers of raves. He says, and I quote, "What you see at these parties is literally dozens of bodies being carried out... okay, maybe not dozens, maybe I'm exaggerating, but 8 or 10 bodies being carried out at the end of the night at the more dangerous ones." What? Have any of you ever been to a rave like that? In this "rave room," he plays the DJ. He sure seems excited about it, too. I'll bet we could've found him trying his hand and wrecking many a train at the decks at real parties 5 or 6 years ago. Then, for the "occult room," they had to paint posterboards with things like "666," and they tried for a pentagram and ended up with a Star of David. Oh, and the construction folks had a little tiff over the color of the paint used for these things, because apparently "a warlock" had come through a year or two beforehand and told them not to use white paint. "There would never be any white at any sort of occult gathering." What kind of "warlock" exactly? A level 43 Undead warlock, affliction spec, with a succubus named "Helriel" at his side? I digress. The production crew discussed how role-playing games lead to eternal damnation, but they couldn't figure out how to write "Magic: The Gathering" so they just called it "the magic cards." Seriously? Seriously? This might be scarier than Jesus Camp if I thought these folks had the wherewithal to actually facilitate any kind of change in the world at large. Mind you, it's not the Pentecostal movement that bothers me in and of itself. It's the idea that someone who doesn't know the difference between a pentagram and a Star of David is the leader of any congregation at all.
The whole movie was mostly a lot of this nonsense until the very end when you finally get to see the walk-through from start to finish. At the end of it, you end up in "hell" with all the characters who made the wrong decision just prior to their death. Now, this is the interesting part. This, I think, is where the fundamental difference of opinion happens between me and these folks. You see, their version of hell is quite interesting. The brief glimpse into it offered in the film included smoke machines, red lightbulbs, some people tied up (some tied to hooks in the ceiling), some people writhing on the floor, and one attractive young man (the devil?) wearing a very tight leather/fishnet ensemble with a spiked collar and some very well-applied makeup. Okay, okay, I know this is supposed to scare people, but, uh. . . I'm not really scared of that. This feeling that I have about that "devil" guy surrounded by people in ropes, it's not too different from the feeling I got watching Dee Snider's Strangeland. It's. . . well, it's not fright, that's for sure. It's a little warm, and kind of tingly, actually. . . Excuse me for a few minutes while I go, you know, fill myself with the spirit.
Those of you who know me know what a huge documentary geek I am. Those of you who don't know me - well, now you know. I watch documentaries daily. I've seen loads of them, and I've loved most of them. I'll watch a documentary about just about anything. One of my recent favorite types has been the "religious documentary" category. This began when I first saw Jesus Camp, a provocative look inside an evangelical summer camp for children. The trailer sort of speaks for itself, but keep in mind that the actual content is a little more militant. I don't understand where and when the line got blurred, in Christianity, between "love thy neighbor" and "religious warfare." I'm not a Christian, but I can certainly identify with any group whose core values embrace goodness, generosity, tolerance and peace. The message behind some of this zeal, though, scares me a little bit. One has to hope that these kids get a little lazier as they get older.
Continuing with the Pentecostal theme, today I watched a film called Hell House, which is about a "haunted house" presented each year by Trinity Christian Church outside of Dallas, TX. This "haunted house" is intended to scare "the lost" back onto the path of righteousness. I'm sorry, but these folks are really fucking batshit overboard, and some of them seem downright dumb to boot. At least most of the Jesus Camp folks seem intelligent. Basically, Trinity builds this whole walk-through composed of a few different rooms or "scenes," and then casts actors to perform them. I gather that the scenes have changed a bit from year to year, but one example is a teenager committing suicide because she had sex with her father and then aborted the resulting baby. Because, you know, performing incestuous acts with your father and then needing to have an abortion is one of the leading temptations today's youth is faced with, apparently. It's right up there next to the alcohol and party scenes. Or how about the scene where a teenager is sucked into the occult and damned for eternity because he or she read Harry Potter? Then you've got the guy whose pet project is the "rave room," to teach kids about the dangers of raves. He says, and I quote, "What you see at these parties is literally dozens of bodies being carried out... okay, maybe not dozens, maybe I'm exaggerating, but 8 or 10 bodies being carried out at the end of the night at the more dangerous ones." What? Have any of you ever been to a rave like that? In this "rave room," he plays the DJ. He sure seems excited about it, too. I'll bet we could've found him trying his hand and wrecking many a train at the decks at real parties 5 or 6 years ago. Then, for the "occult room," they had to paint posterboards with things like "666," and they tried for a pentagram and ended up with a Star of David. Oh, and the construction folks had a little tiff over the color of the paint used for these things, because apparently "a warlock" had come through a year or two beforehand and told them not to use white paint. "There would never be any white at any sort of occult gathering." What kind of "warlock" exactly? A level 43 Undead warlock, affliction spec, with a succubus named "Helriel" at his side? I digress. The production crew discussed how role-playing games lead to eternal damnation, but they couldn't figure out how to write "Magic: The Gathering" so they just called it "the magic cards." Seriously? Seriously? This might be scarier than Jesus Camp if I thought these folks had the wherewithal to actually facilitate any kind of change in the world at large. Mind you, it's not the Pentecostal movement that bothers me in and of itself. It's the idea that someone who doesn't know the difference between a pentagram and a Star of David is the leader of any congregation at all.
The whole movie was mostly a lot of this nonsense until the very end when you finally get to see the walk-through from start to finish. At the end of it, you end up in "hell" with all the characters who made the wrong decision just prior to their death. Now, this is the interesting part. This, I think, is where the fundamental difference of opinion happens between me and these folks. You see, their version of hell is quite interesting. The brief glimpse into it offered in the film included smoke machines, red lightbulbs, some people tied up (some tied to hooks in the ceiling), some people writhing on the floor, and one attractive young man (the devil?) wearing a very tight leather/fishnet ensemble with a spiked collar and some very well-applied makeup. Okay, okay, I know this is supposed to scare people, but, uh. . . I'm not really scared of that. This feeling that I have about that "devil" guy surrounded by people in ropes, it's not too different from the feeling I got watching Dee Snider's Strangeland. It's. . . well, it's not fright, that's for sure. It's a little warm, and kind of tingly, actually. . . Excuse me for a few minutes while I go, you know, fill myself with the spirit.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Try, Try Again
It's Wednesday. I'm not supposed to be at work today, as Wednesdays are typically my days off, but here I am. On my computer screen, there are several open windows. The first one is Notepad - a menacingly long and ever-growing list of work issues that need to be attended to. The second window is Netflix - I've been attempting all day to finally watch The Hours but am coming up short in the attention-span department. The third window is my Playlist, providing a soundtrack for the day, where I can be serenaded by the likes of Freddie Mercury and Maynard James Keenan to my heart's content. I am finding it increasingly difficult to open and deal with that first window.
I'm distracted.
I'm distracted by a lot of things. I'm sexually frustrated, but that's not really anything new. I'm experiencing a love-life slump at the moment that's annoying but not catastrophic. I've got personal projects that aren't progressing according to plan. I'm having trouble keeping up with my friends, due mostly to scheduling issues. I've got some pretty big career concerns. I'm a little stressed about each of those things and others, and it's just adding up to a palpable dysphoria. Mostly, though, I'm distracted by my plans for the weekend.
On Saturday morning, I will supposedly be meeting with someone whom I haven't seen in over four years. I've mentioned her before - my former best friend who has, in the years since we had a falling-out, been battling a substance-abuse problem. I'm nervous and eager to see her again, and I can feel myself getting my hopes up. Ideally, I'd like for us to be close again, to rhyme again the way that we did years ago. I want to find that intimacy with a friend once more, because golly, I've really missed it. I thought I was doing okay without it for quite some time, but the moment I got the idea in my head that it might be possible to recapture it, it was like dangling a steak in front of a ravenous dog. I'm hungry for that companionship. I've got plenty friends that I care deeply about, sure, but for one reason or another I've never quite managed to have the same bond with anyone that I had with my erstwhile BFF. However, as much as I'd like for us to settle right back into our old rhythms, I'm trying to be realistic. She's a beautiful, amazing girl, but the last time I saw her, she did not seem so healthy. And 4 years of further damage have passed between then and now. I must expect to find her much changed.
I don't have many photos of the two of us together. That's us in our party gear, what seems like a lifetime ago. I'm on the right, freshly 14, all bad skin and Swiss Miss braids. Laughing is permitted. Hopefully we will have the opportunity to take better photos in the future.
My mother-hen instinct is already kicking in, and I don't even want to control it. I'm not the most well-adjusted girl in the world, I haven't known too many addicts or recovering addicts in my life and I can't be a hero, but if I can somehow manage to be a positive influence or to help her get back on her feet in even some small way, it would mean the world to me. I'm hoping for the best, but I should also be bracing for the worst. She's only been clean for two months. The chances of yet another relapse are high. The chances of us having a meaningful reconnection and then experiencing further drama as a result of this problem might also be high. The chances of me worrying about her well-being for quite some time yet? Astronomical. I know what I'm signing up for. But I have to try.
I'm distracted.
I'm distracted by a lot of things. I'm sexually frustrated, but that's not really anything new. I'm experiencing a love-life slump at the moment that's annoying but not catastrophic. I've got personal projects that aren't progressing according to plan. I'm having trouble keeping up with my friends, due mostly to scheduling issues. I've got some pretty big career concerns. I'm a little stressed about each of those things and others, and it's just adding up to a palpable dysphoria. Mostly, though, I'm distracted by my plans for the weekend.
On Saturday morning, I will supposedly be meeting with someone whom I haven't seen in over four years. I've mentioned her before - my former best friend who has, in the years since we had a falling-out, been battling a substance-abuse problem. I'm nervous and eager to see her again, and I can feel myself getting my hopes up. Ideally, I'd like for us to be close again, to rhyme again the way that we did years ago. I want to find that intimacy with a friend once more, because golly, I've really missed it. I thought I was doing okay without it for quite some time, but the moment I got the idea in my head that it might be possible to recapture it, it was like dangling a steak in front of a ravenous dog. I'm hungry for that companionship. I've got plenty friends that I care deeply about, sure, but for one reason or another I've never quite managed to have the same bond with anyone that I had with my erstwhile BFF. However, as much as I'd like for us to settle right back into our old rhythms, I'm trying to be realistic. She's a beautiful, amazing girl, but the last time I saw her, she did not seem so healthy. And 4 years of further damage have passed between then and now. I must expect to find her much changed.
I don't have many photos of the two of us together. That's us in our party gear, what seems like a lifetime ago. I'm on the right, freshly 14, all bad skin and Swiss Miss braids. Laughing is permitted. Hopefully we will have the opportunity to take better photos in the future.
My mother-hen instinct is already kicking in, and I don't even want to control it. I'm not the most well-adjusted girl in the world, I haven't known too many addicts or recovering addicts in my life and I can't be a hero, but if I can somehow manage to be a positive influence or to help her get back on her feet in even some small way, it would mean the world to me. I'm hoping for the best, but I should also be bracing for the worst. She's only been clean for two months. The chances of yet another relapse are high. The chances of us having a meaningful reconnection and then experiencing further drama as a result of this problem might also be high. The chances of me worrying about her well-being for quite some time yet? Astronomical. I know what I'm signing up for. But I have to try.
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