[Looking at this a year on makes me cry. Gah.]
My other damn blog still hasn't set itself up, and I keep being lured back here.
The Man Who Is Not My Boyfriend (Cameron) and I had a fight the other night, or as much of a fight as we ever have. Our arguments always follow the same pattern: he (the calm, collected, logical, occasionally autocratic party) makes a statement that I (the emotional, instinctive, occasionally-prone-to-overreaction party) take offense to. We talk it out, him in a peaceful way, me with flying hand gestures and just a hint of a Spanish accent, and in the end he willingly apologizes for making a blanket statement and I grudgingly admit that there's more than a grain of truth in it.
So the other night he said to me, You treat your friends like children. And I put my hands on my hips and glared at him and said, I bloody well do not.
Yeah, he continued, you do. And they might have needed it ten years ago, but they don't need it now.
You- you- you CAD! I spluttered. (Note: he gets really annoyed at me when I use this term, because his initials are C.A.D. and he's hated them ever since he was a kid, but sometimes when I get riled up I forget that I'm not supposed to hit below the belt, and use it to try and force him to react with something other than amused detachment. I know I shouldn't, and yet I occasionally do.) That's a horrible thing to say!
Babe, I'm not trying to be horrible, he said. But you need to stop. You spend so much time looking after people who don't need to be looked after, you forget to take care of yourself. You're in your mid-twenties, and you're already going gray because you take everyone's stresses onto you.
(At this point I slapped his hand away from me. He knows how to hit below the belt, too. Mentioning my gray hair...dammit, that's just low.)
I don't have any control over what I feel, I reminded him. You knew that when you met me.
True enough, he told me, but you can control what you do. I'm not telling you that you need to stop giving people your time, but you do need to stop babying them. What were you saying a few months ago, when you were bitching about your family coddling you? Something about wondering why people think that occasional humiliations and hurt feelings are fatal?
(The nerve of him, using my own words against me. Asshole.)
To which I responded peevishly, Why the hell are you bringing this up NOW?
Because you're doing it again, dummy, he said. You're panicking over this whole birthday thing, and have been since you decided to have people over. You think that your groups of friends aren't going to mix well, and people are going to have arguments, and offend each other.
But- but- they WILL! I cried, getting quite emotional at this point. I know my friends! They're nice people, but they don't all know that about each other. They don't know that Christie is passionate and loyal, but has very strong convictions about everything, and will stick to them even when she's wrong. They don't know that B has such an open heart that she trusts too many people, and then when they let her down she sometimes holds it against people who remind her of them. They don't know that Sash has spent the majority of her life having to prove to men that she's just as good as they are, and sometimes assumes that she still has to to every man she meets. They don't know that Ricky says things that he doesn't really mean to get a laugh, because he still feels like the kid who thought his only good quality was the ability to amuse people with mocking. They don't know that Curt is so protective of me that he gets overzealous about defending me from perceived threats, and may go into attack mode when someone teases me.
So, logical as The Man is, he asked me, Well, what's the worst that can happen?
They can offend each other, I said, sticking out my bottom lip in a pout. They can hurt each others feelings. Someone will inadvertently say something racist or homophobic or misandric or otherwise stupid, and someone will be hurt and angry.
And? They're adults, they can handle it. If they hate each other, they don't ever have to see each other again, they're from all different parts of the country. If they offend each other, you just don't invite them all to the same party again. At this point, he sat down on the bed and stroked my hair. What are you really worried about, babe? he asked me.
I don't know...that they'll hold it against me, for putting them in a situation like that, and then they won't like me anymore.
The Man gave me a hug, and laughed a bit, so I socked him in the arm. Not hard though, since I wasn't really mad anymore. This is what I'm talking about, silly, he said. You treat them like they're still angst-ridden teenagers who are going to react like children. You got so excited when you joined that site of yours, and met Bubbles and the Kid, and AirForce, and diablophallus, and all the other people you haven't met in person yet, because they were these incredible people who behaved like mature adults. But you've been so caught up with that, and you've stayed away from friends for so long, only seeing them for an hour here and there, that you haven't realised that your outside friends are now grown-ups too. Remember what you were saying about Becki last time you went skating, how pleased you were at how confident she is now, both professionally and as a person? Remember how surprised you were when you and me and Dom went to that club in Mayfair, and he was talking about taking his counselling diploma, and you said you thought he wanted to be a professional footballer, and he laughed?
I nodded.
So what are you so worried about? You think your friends are going to hold it against you if something happens that they don't like? You need to give them more credit. They're your friends, after all. I doubt that you'd surround yourself with people who are vindictive and hold grudges.
So, well, that was that.
So here I am, throwing all - or most - of the panic aside, and saying, fuck it. I am having a birthday party this year - the first time I've looked forward to a birthday, and the first party of any sort that I've thrown in about eight years - and it's going to be fabulous. This year I'm only expecting eight or ten people; next year I shall open it up to my favorite British bloggers (and non-Brits who can get here). Assuming it goes well and I don't die of embarrassment. Ack.
I have a BBQ planned. Just a small one, here at my house. Hopefully my brother will actually call me back tonight (I left a message a few days ago) to tell me if he and his wife can make it, and whether I can borrow their big BBQ or whether I need to go buy a couple of small ones from Robert Dyas. I shall "volunteer" some nice man, probably my brother or Curt, to cook the meats, and busy myself making tuna pasta salad and potato salad and green salad and a ratatouille pancake bake, and trying my best to make a pavlova and a summer pudding before throwing my hands up in defeat and going to buy a Delia Smith one from Marks & Spencers. And I need to work out some music. Dammit, I don't have a stereo, I always use my iPhone. And I need chairs. And drinks. And...
What the hell have I got myself into? I know NOTHING about entertaining, I'm the kind of person who chucks a bunch of people in a room and tells them to have fun. That, or I can cater a sit-down dinner party, or at least I used to be able to when I was 15. I do NOT know how to have a casual party.
Breathe. It'll be fabulous. This is your first birthday, remember?
Gah.
Breathe.
I'm breathing.
Friends: think you might come next year?
Sunday, 1 May 2011
Thursday, 28 April 2011
We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident...
...That some men are awesome, and some are created douchey.
Note to self: do not read WhyWomenHateMen while eating. Now I have ice cream in my lungs. Gak.*
I've been dating around on some other sites recently. I've kind of given up finding men here, most of the ones who email me are guys who've mailed me before and I have no interest in, and the few that I would be interested in dating live too far away. But you know, those other sites aren't that easy either. Now, y'all know that I'm not really one to bitch about how men don't listen - because I think women are the masters at that most of the time, and because I think that most people won't listen when all they hear is whinging. Kwitcherbitchin', ladies, and maybe your guys will listen more.
Not that I'm tarring all women with the same brush or anything. *rolls eyes*
But in recent weeks I've found out that it's actually fairly true: a lot of men don't listen. On here, I kind of expect most men who mail me to not have read the profile. It goes along with all the glitches that we know and love about the A-Double-Eff. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Yet on the other sites that I use, there's much the same problem.
Case in point: one of the sites allows you to put a song on your profile. And in the last month, AT LEAST a dozen guys have mailed me to tell me how much they like Nirvana too. Yet not one of those has cottoned onto the fact that the song I have playing is not, in fact, Smells Like Teen Spirit - it's the Weird Al version, Smells Like Nirvana. To me, this is fairly obvious, especially since I don't believe Kurt Cobain ever started a song of his, "What is this song all about / Can't figure any lyrics out..." but apparently what is crystal clear to me is not so evident to a person whose blood is obviously being diverted out of his ears (and other unimportant bits) into his dick.
*shrug*
And again, I would find it obvious that when a girl takes a long time and much thought composing an extensive profile that tells you a great deal about her, in the hopes of finding a match that actually has a chance of being compatible, she would not be particularly responsive to a message that says, "Unlike these other fools, I'm a very busy man, and don't have the time for small talk. Are you interested? Let me know." Particularly when said busy man was too busy to fill out his profile. But perhaps these truths are not self-evident after all.
Yeah, I'm whinging. The new blog is not yet up and running. It's been a hell of a couple weeks.
___________________________
*That first sentence had nothing to do with the rest of this post, it was just an aside. Unless you consider the fact that WWHM is one of the awesome ones, IMO.
Note to self: do not read WhyWomenHateMen while eating. Now I have ice cream in my lungs. Gak.*
I've been dating around on some other sites recently. I've kind of given up finding men here, most of the ones who email me are guys who've mailed me before and I have no interest in, and the few that I would be interested in dating live too far away. But you know, those other sites aren't that easy either. Now, y'all know that I'm not really one to bitch about how men don't listen - because I think women are the masters at that most of the time, and because I think that most people won't listen when all they hear is whinging. Kwitcherbitchin', ladies, and maybe your guys will listen more.
Not that I'm tarring all women with the same brush or anything. *rolls eyes*
But in recent weeks I've found out that it's actually fairly true: a lot of men don't listen. On here, I kind of expect most men who mail me to not have read the profile. It goes along with all the glitches that we know and love about the A-Double-Eff. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Yet on the other sites that I use, there's much the same problem.
Case in point: one of the sites allows you to put a song on your profile. And in the last month, AT LEAST a dozen guys have mailed me to tell me how much they like Nirvana too. Yet not one of those has cottoned onto the fact that the song I have playing is not, in fact, Smells Like Teen Spirit - it's the Weird Al version, Smells Like Nirvana. To me, this is fairly obvious, especially since I don't believe Kurt Cobain ever started a song of his, "What is this song all about / Can't figure any lyrics out..." but apparently what is crystal clear to me is not so evident to a person whose blood is obviously being diverted out of his ears (and other unimportant bits) into his dick.
*shrug*
And again, I would find it obvious that when a girl takes a long time and much thought composing an extensive profile that tells you a great deal about her, in the hopes of finding a match that actually has a chance of being compatible, she would not be particularly responsive to a message that says, "Unlike these other fools, I'm a very busy man, and don't have the time for small talk. Are you interested? Let me know." Particularly when said busy man was too busy to fill out his profile. But perhaps these truths are not self-evident after all.
Yeah, I'm whinging. The new blog is not yet up and running. It's been a hell of a couple weeks.
*That first sentence had nothing to do with the rest of this post, it was just an aside. Unless you consider the fact that WWHM is one of the awesome ones, IMO.
Friday, 22 April 2011
St George's Day - Pimping The Best Of British
I am the worst Brit ever - I know NOTHING about St. George except that he was a hero who supposedly slayed a dragon - but I thought that since it's our national day today, I'd make a brief return to pimp some of my favorite British bloggers. And yes, I know St. George's Day is for English, not British, but I don't read a lot of Brits, so you gotta cut me some slack here, OK?
Before the post starts for real, I thought I'd steal a leaf from the Kid's book, and give you some English music to play. Pick your playlist - or pick and choose from any of them, I don't care - and YouTube it, then listen while you read. I would recommend opening this post in a second window, since I've got several blog links in here.
Of course, you can skip this part if you really want to, although I think a little theme music is nice, ja?
The Grimes:
Kano feat. Mike Skinner & Leo the Lion - Nite Nite
Wiley & The England 10 - She Likes To
Random Impulse - Overload
Dizzee Rascal - Do It
Bashy - Blackboys
Ironik - Stay With Me
Skepta - Rescue Me
Tinie Tempah - Pass Out
Aggro Santos feat. The Marvell Boys - Rhythm 'n' Flow
Tinchy Stryder - Stryderman
The Pops / R & Bs:
Daniel Merriweather - Red
Darren B - Shorty's Got It Bad
Lemar - Someone Should Tell You
Big Brovaz - Baby Boy
Sugababes - Freak Like Me
Lily Allen - Not Fair
Damage - Love To Love
Alexandra Burke - Broken Heels
JLS - Love You More
Leona Lewis - Better In Time
The Alternatives / Rocks:
Oasis - The Master Plan
Suede - Trash
Lightning Seeds - Pure
Mummy Calls - Beauty Has Her Way
Pulp - Sorted for Es and Wizz
Nick Stephenson - Innocent Dream
Travis - Driftwood
Coldplay - Viva La Vida
Blur - The Universal
Manic Street Preachers - The Everlasting (Yeah, they're Welsh, suck it up)
The "WTF, Sati, that doesn't fit into any category!"s:
David Bowie - Space Oddity
Elton John - Your Song
Madness - It Must Be Love
Mike & The Mechanics - Over My Shoulder
Charlie Brown - Dependency
Space - Female of the Species
David Gray - Babylon
Adele - Someone Like You
Paloma Faith - New York
Kate Bush - Running Up The Hill
OK, now onto the REAL list.
First up? Naturally, it has to be Kidfos. What can I say about the Kid? Well, I could tell you the things that HE would tell you, or the things that you've probably worked out for yourself - like he's smart, hilariously funny, good-looking, sarcastic, a little bit nihilistic, a little bit misanthropic, and a total pervert.
Or I could tell you the things that may not come across when he's blogging, but that are all too obvious in person and in email. Like, he's kind. When I met him in January he welcomed me with open arms the same way he welcomed everyone's favorite Bubbles, even though I pretty much forced myself on them. I could tell you he's patient - when I kept asking him if he was comfortable, he didn't hit me round the head with his (totally rocking) pimp daddy cane, the way my mother would have. Actually, the way *I* would have. I could tell you that he's less of a misanthrope than he would have you believe - he certainly manages to tolerate me, even with my fluffiness.
He has a shirt with The Hoff that is just this side of icy-cool. He managed to infect even cautious, unspontaneous me with enough excitement to try out a completely unknown restaurant, and enjoy it. He calls me Bambi, which makes me feel all happy inside. Those three things alone, without all the other good stuff, would be enough for me.
I would tell you that I absolutely love Kid, but then he'd snarl at me and say not to use that word around him, and I'd have to pat him on the head and tell him not to take it personally, I also love rice and clean sheets and the smell of Nivea sun lotion.
And don't worry, ladies - any l-word I have for the Kid is platonic, you're all still in with a chance.
Next on my list, I want to shout out to my girl Babylonian_. I adore this woman more than words can say, even when you're a chatterbox like me. People may visit her in the beginning for her smokin' hot pictures and provocative titles, but they stay because she's a phenomenal writer with an innate ability to get to the heart of an issue. Every time I visit Babs' blog I want to start singing Johnny Cash, because she manages to walk a really fine line in a lot of her posts - she's unafraid to state her opinions, but is also willing to take on board other people's views; she has fire and passion but also a cool enough head to see multiple sides of a story - which is a really tricky thing to do. She's got a lot of compassion for people, and will also totally flame you if you act like a douchebag. She's totally cool, and endearingly geeky. She's very smart (although she'll tell you she's not) and happy to act silly.
I have a total girl-crush on you, Babs, just so you know.
For shits and giggles - although that's probably a really bad way of putting it, LOL - you should go visit Mygentlecaress. Wince in pain at hideous penile modifications, laugh till you cry at idiotic signs and crap tats, and debate the pressing questions in the news today, such as, "Who was better, Kirk or Picard?" or "Who would win in a street brawl, Muppets or Sesame Street?" One of MGCs commenters will solve world hunger or find a cure for AIDS one day, mark my words.
Someone I enjoy reading a great deal is hotdreamer1000. Dreamer's blog is much like his name implies - dreamy, introspective, and extremely hot. He writes some of the most piercingly beautiful erotic posts that I've ever read; even in a short couple of paragraphs that aren't set in a story, he has a way with words that I find spellbinding. But it's not all dreaminess, there's also some wonderfully dry wit there that ensures that I always stop in when I see a new post. I was lucky enough to spend an hour or so with Dreamer back in January, and I really hope that I get to spend more time talking with him at some point in the future.
Also on my watch list, and also someone that I'm thrilled to see new posts from, is sabz121. Sabz / Bri (I'm never sure what to call her!) has a wonderful blog that's centered around sex - surprisingly few of the blogs I read are mostly sex-related, so this is a nice change for me - but she really has a knack for getting people talking about a variety of things. I love people who can get others talking and sharing stories, and Sabz manages to create an atmosphere that's perfect for this. Stop in and have a chat sometime!
Someone I've only started reading in the last week is Fetishlover1975. I don't think it's really fair to say too much about his blog, since it's too early to have a good grasp of things, but I am enjoying it greatly, the same as I am with the comments of his that I see around.
Finally, I'd like to pimp three lovely ladies who aren't around anymore - Tiz_Only_Me, lucy_36C and HollyVanDeFlash. Tiz disappeared one day, but her blog is still up, so I've kept it on my watch list in the hopes that she comes back. Lucy and her blog vanished and were never heard from again, at least not by me, and I'm really hoping she's OK. Holly comes and goes - she's gone at the moment, but she may return, so keep an eye out for her. All of them were / are gorgeous women and unfailingly interesting bloggers who I was always overjoyed to read.
Of course this is just my subjective opinion, and I don't read nearly enough British bloggers. Who do you think I'd enjoy? Any Brits you want to pimp? Do it here!
Before the post starts for real, I thought I'd steal a leaf from the Kid's book, and give you some English music to play. Pick your playlist - or pick and choose from any of them, I don't care - and YouTube it, then listen while you read. I would recommend opening this post in a second window, since I've got several blog links in here.
Of course, you can skip this part if you really want to, although I think a little theme music is nice, ja?
The Grimes:
Kano feat. Mike Skinner & Leo the Lion - Nite Nite
Wiley & The England 10 - She Likes To
Random Impulse - Overload
Dizzee Rascal - Do It
Bashy - Blackboys
Ironik - Stay With Me
Skepta - Rescue Me
Tinie Tempah - Pass Out
Aggro Santos feat. The Marvell Boys - Rhythm 'n' Flow
Tinchy Stryder - Stryderman
The Pops / R & Bs:
Daniel Merriweather - Red
Darren B - Shorty's Got It Bad
Lemar - Someone Should Tell You
Big Brovaz - Baby Boy
Sugababes - Freak Like Me
Lily Allen - Not Fair
Damage - Love To Love
Alexandra Burke - Broken Heels
JLS - Love You More
Leona Lewis - Better In Time
The Alternatives / Rocks:
Oasis - The Master Plan
Suede - Trash
Lightning Seeds - Pure
Mummy Calls - Beauty Has Her Way
Pulp - Sorted for Es and Wizz
Nick Stephenson - Innocent Dream
Travis - Driftwood
Coldplay - Viva La Vida
Blur - The Universal
Manic Street Preachers - The Everlasting (Yeah, they're Welsh, suck it up)
The "WTF, Sati, that doesn't fit into any category!"s:
David Bowie - Space Oddity
Elton John - Your Song
Madness - It Must Be Love
Mike & The Mechanics - Over My Shoulder
Charlie Brown - Dependency
Space - Female of the Species
David Gray - Babylon
Adele - Someone Like You
Paloma Faith - New York
Kate Bush - Running Up The Hill
OK, now onto the REAL list.
First up? Naturally, it has to be Kidfos. What can I say about the Kid? Well, I could tell you the things that HE would tell you, or the things that you've probably worked out for yourself - like he's smart, hilariously funny, good-looking, sarcastic, a little bit nihilistic, a little bit misanthropic, and a total pervert.
Or I could tell you the things that may not come across when he's blogging, but that are all too obvious in person and in email. Like, he's kind. When I met him in January he welcomed me with open arms the same way he welcomed everyone's favorite Bubbles, even though I pretty much forced myself on them. I could tell you he's patient - when I kept asking him if he was comfortable, he didn't hit me round the head with his (totally rocking) pimp daddy cane, the way my mother would have. Actually, the way *I* would have. I could tell you that he's less of a misanthrope than he would have you believe - he certainly manages to tolerate me, even with my fluffiness.
He has a shirt with The Hoff that is just this side of icy-cool. He managed to infect even cautious, unspontaneous me with enough excitement to try out a completely unknown restaurant, and enjoy it. He calls me Bambi, which makes me feel all happy inside. Those three things alone, without all the other good stuff, would be enough for me.
I would tell you that I absolutely love Kid, but then he'd snarl at me and say not to use that word around him, and I'd have to pat him on the head and tell him not to take it personally, I also love rice and clean sheets and the smell of Nivea sun lotion.
And don't worry, ladies - any l-word I have for the Kid is platonic, you're all still in with a chance.
Next on my list, I want to shout out to my girl Babylonian_. I adore this woman more than words can say, even when you're a chatterbox like me. People may visit her in the beginning for her smokin' hot pictures and provocative titles, but they stay because she's a phenomenal writer with an innate ability to get to the heart of an issue. Every time I visit Babs' blog I want to start singing Johnny Cash, because she manages to walk a really fine line in a lot of her posts - she's unafraid to state her opinions, but is also willing to take on board other people's views; she has fire and passion but also a cool enough head to see multiple sides of a story - which is a really tricky thing to do. She's got a lot of compassion for people, and will also totally flame you if you act like a douchebag. She's totally cool, and endearingly geeky. She's very smart (although she'll tell you she's not) and happy to act silly.
I have a total girl-crush on you, Babs, just so you know.
For shits and giggles - although that's probably a really bad way of putting it, LOL - you should go visit Mygentlecaress. Wince in pain at hideous penile modifications, laugh till you cry at idiotic signs and crap tats, and debate the pressing questions in the news today, such as, "Who was better, Kirk or Picard?" or "Who would win in a street brawl, Muppets or Sesame Street?" One of MGCs commenters will solve world hunger or find a cure for AIDS one day, mark my words.
Someone I enjoy reading a great deal is hotdreamer1000. Dreamer's blog is much like his name implies - dreamy, introspective, and extremely hot. He writes some of the most piercingly beautiful erotic posts that I've ever read; even in a short couple of paragraphs that aren't set in a story, he has a way with words that I find spellbinding. But it's not all dreaminess, there's also some wonderfully dry wit there that ensures that I always stop in when I see a new post. I was lucky enough to spend an hour or so with Dreamer back in January, and I really hope that I get to spend more time talking with him at some point in the future.
Also on my watch list, and also someone that I'm thrilled to see new posts from, is sabz121. Sabz / Bri (I'm never sure what to call her!) has a wonderful blog that's centered around sex - surprisingly few of the blogs I read are mostly sex-related, so this is a nice change for me - but she really has a knack for getting people talking about a variety of things. I love people who can get others talking and sharing stories, and Sabz manages to create an atmosphere that's perfect for this. Stop in and have a chat sometime!
Someone I've only started reading in the last week is Fetishlover1975. I don't think it's really fair to say too much about his blog, since it's too early to have a good grasp of things, but I am enjoying it greatly, the same as I am with the comments of his that I see around.
Finally, I'd like to pimp three lovely ladies who aren't around anymore - Tiz_Only_Me, lucy_36C and HollyVanDeFlash. Tiz disappeared one day, but her blog is still up, so I've kept it on my watch list in the hopes that she comes back. Lucy and her blog vanished and were never heard from again, at least not by me, and I'm really hoping she's OK. Holly comes and goes - she's gone at the moment, but she may return, so keep an eye out for her. All of them were / are gorgeous women and unfailingly interesting bloggers who I was always overjoyed to read.
Of course this is just my subjective opinion, and I don't read nearly enough British bloggers. Who do you think I'd enjoy? Any Brits you want to pimp? Do it here!
Friday, 8 April 2011
Deja Vu
[This post originally came with a picture of my bare breast. I've deleted the picture, because I'm sure my friends and family don't want to see that - seeing semi-nude "arty" photos is not quite the same as up close and personal.]
Three years ago - almost to the day, funnily enough - I sent my first ever current internet picture to a guy who I'd recently "met". This wasn't just my first A F F pic, it was the first non-childhood (and young childhood, at that) picture that I'd ever put up of myself, on any site. Before this, the one and only time that I'd sent any friend a picture of me was when I was fifteen, and I sent that through snail mail. None of my close online friends knew what I looked like.
I didn't want to. I did it because I had a lot of respect for him, and wanted the same, and I knew that fobbing him off with excuses about not having pics was one way to halt our friendship before it ever began. I was absolutely petrified, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would turn away from me in disgust when he saw what I looked like.
He didn't. He said I was pretty, in fact that I had a face that he'd be happy to look at on a regular basis. We're still good friends today. Yet somehow I expect this dear man to be the exception, rather than the rule - even when I know intellectually that this is horribly unfair to y'all.
In person, or at least until I get in the bedroom, I am fairly confident. I know that I make friends easily, and that I can rely on my charm and friendliness and genuine affection for people to compensate for any physical shortcomings I have. Online, this is not how things work. Online, I expect every pimple, every scar, every unplucked hair, every roll of fat to be a dealbreaker, just the way that (offline or on) I expect every moral and emotional and intellectual failure of mine to lead to tragedy.
Of course there are reasons why I am this way. We all have our reasons for being the ways we are. Some of them I have gone into in the past, and some of them I will probably never talk about. But they are still there, and copious amounts of time and self-reflection and therapy have only made me able to deal with them, rather than making them go away.
So fast-forward three years, and here I am again, sending my first topless picture to a friend - or friendly acquaintance - of mine. I hear, "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Oh, my dears, you have NO idea.
A month ago I promised you bare breast pics. I didn't deliver. Part of this wasn't my fault - I got kicked off the internet for two weeks, and public places like the library and Starbucks don't allow you on this site - but the last week, HAS been my fault. I've been dragging my heels, because of the hassle of downloading from my old phone to my old computer to a flash drive to my new computer, and because of real-life sadnesses that have made any sort of frivolity seem...well, frivolous (and not in a good way). And yes, because of the reasons outlined in this note.
I am already regretting sending the picture. I am certainly regretting telling you that I would, because once I give my word on something I find it very hard to go back on, even if I sometimes don't manage to keep to the schedule I set myself.
And do you know something? It feels really fucking awesome.
Yes, you heard me. Having regrets feels great. To understand that, though, you'd have to have lived a life for many years where you regret nothing, because you never do anything that you think you might change your mind on, never take a chance on something new and scary. Never step outside of your groove, even if you feel like your skin is now the wrong fit.
Five and a half years I've been living a rerun. Five and a half years I've been trying to fit myself into the life of a barely-grown child who died the day she was raped, and who was buried deep underground the day she miscarried the baby that either belonged to her rapist or the love of her life, and whose final shovel of dirt was thrown in the day she hit her head and lost all memories. I tried to make this life mine, with varying degrees of success. I gave up LOML, for the good of us both, and dated Oli. I joined this site - something that I will never, EVER regret. I came to terms - sometimes - with the fact that I will probably never grow any older mentally than 21. Sometimes it seemed a losing battle, trying to keep moving in a world that keeps turning, when your brain has stopped. But I did it.
The last couple of years I've got lazy, though. Or perhaps lazy is not the word as much as complacent. Changes come less and less naturally to me. I start out with good intentions, and then lose them in the comfortable monotony of my life. Yet I know this is not how a life should be, especially at my age - indeed, at either of my ages. A person should not sacrifice excitement in exchange for peace and calm, at least not all the time, not long-term. A person should not just consist of serenity and softness and a gentle smile, a person should also be sharp humor and giddy laughter and energy and a filthy mind and social skills and swirls of bright colors surrounding her. A person should. This person should.
And on that note, dearest of dear hearts, I am starting a new chapter in a fresh book, even if it is but a volume in the same story. This chapter will not be chronicled on A F F, but on a site where my blog is written in summery green, and decorated with daisies and narcissi, and things feel fresh again.
Anyone who asks for the link shall have it. You'll have to mail me, though, since I'm ball-less. If you can't mail me, my Facebook profile is always there, and links to new blog posts are on my live feed. I haven't yet worked out how to allow comments on there, and will miss the commenting here, but perhaps I'll sort it out soon.
I fully intend to keep reading your blogs on here, although perhaps not as often as I used to. I love the networking that we do on here, and would miss you dearly if I never saw you at all, even if this no longer feels like home to me. Perhaps I'll even post a blog here, once in a blue moon. And the old posts will stay where they are. After having my mental disk rebooted, deletion of any sort is not something that I can feel comfortable with.
My brightest blessings go out to all of you - particularly Bubbles and Kid, whose friendship online and in person has meant so much to me; Calmlys and Drunkat and Templar, who I've been reading almost since the beginning of my A F F journey; LuLu, whose friendship acted as a sort of nexus around which so much else of my blogging life has revolved, something that would not have been possible for me without her; Babs and Thom and InnerPeace, who I am overjoyed to be finally getting to know better elsewhere; AirForce, who's been a loyal commenter for a long time now; and Kel and MGC and Wordy and Annie and Arty and AspiringBo and Sasha, who stop in regularly or occasionally, but who always have something interesting to say, and who I truly hope will visit me in my new home.
Home is where the heart is, after all, and you guys all have a piece of my heart, and as such will always have a home with me.
Anyone who I haven't mentioned - watchers, lurkers, occasional visitors - each one of you enriched my experience here. Please feel free to continue to visit.
~ Sati - who will hopefully NOT be remembered as the girl with the giant hickey on her nipple ~
Three years ago - almost to the day, funnily enough - I sent my first ever current internet picture to a guy who I'd recently "met". This wasn't just my first A F F pic, it was the first non-childhood (and young childhood, at that) picture that I'd ever put up of myself, on any site. Before this, the one and only time that I'd sent any friend a picture of me was when I was fifteen, and I sent that through snail mail. None of my close online friends knew what I looked like.
I didn't want to. I did it because I had a lot of respect for him, and wanted the same, and I knew that fobbing him off with excuses about not having pics was one way to halt our friendship before it ever began. I was absolutely petrified, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would turn away from me in disgust when he saw what I looked like.
He didn't. He said I was pretty, in fact that I had a face that he'd be happy to look at on a regular basis. We're still good friends today. Yet somehow I expect this dear man to be the exception, rather than the rule - even when I know intellectually that this is horribly unfair to y'all.
In person, or at least until I get in the bedroom, I am fairly confident. I know that I make friends easily, and that I can rely on my charm and friendliness and genuine affection for people to compensate for any physical shortcomings I have. Online, this is not how things work. Online, I expect every pimple, every scar, every unplucked hair, every roll of fat to be a dealbreaker, just the way that (offline or on) I expect every moral and emotional and intellectual failure of mine to lead to tragedy.
Of course there are reasons why I am this way. We all have our reasons for being the ways we are. Some of them I have gone into in the past, and some of them I will probably never talk about. But they are still there, and copious amounts of time and self-reflection and therapy have only made me able to deal with them, rather than making them go away.
So fast-forward three years, and here I am again, sending my first topless picture to a friend - or friendly acquaintance - of mine. I hear, "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Oh, my dears, you have NO idea.
A month ago I promised you bare breast pics. I didn't deliver. Part of this wasn't my fault - I got kicked off the internet for two weeks, and public places like the library and Starbucks don't allow you on this site - but the last week, HAS been my fault. I've been dragging my heels, because of the hassle of downloading from my old phone to my old computer to a flash drive to my new computer, and because of real-life sadnesses that have made any sort of frivolity seem...well, frivolous (and not in a good way). And yes, because of the reasons outlined in this note.
I am already regretting sending the picture. I am certainly regretting telling you that I would, because once I give my word on something I find it very hard to go back on, even if I sometimes don't manage to keep to the schedule I set myself.
And do you know something? It feels really fucking awesome.
Yes, you heard me. Having regrets feels great. To understand that, though, you'd have to have lived a life for many years where you regret nothing, because you never do anything that you think you might change your mind on, never take a chance on something new and scary. Never step outside of your groove, even if you feel like your skin is now the wrong fit.
Five and a half years I've been living a rerun. Five and a half years I've been trying to fit myself into the life of a barely-grown child who died the day she was raped, and who was buried deep underground the day she miscarried the baby that either belonged to her rapist or the love of her life, and whose final shovel of dirt was thrown in the day she hit her head and lost all memories. I tried to make this life mine, with varying degrees of success. I gave up LOML, for the good of us both, and dated Oli. I joined this site - something that I will never, EVER regret. I came to terms - sometimes - with the fact that I will probably never grow any older mentally than 21. Sometimes it seemed a losing battle, trying to keep moving in a world that keeps turning, when your brain has stopped. But I did it.
The last couple of years I've got lazy, though. Or perhaps lazy is not the word as much as complacent. Changes come less and less naturally to me. I start out with good intentions, and then lose them in the comfortable monotony of my life. Yet I know this is not how a life should be, especially at my age - indeed, at either of my ages. A person should not sacrifice excitement in exchange for peace and calm, at least not all the time, not long-term. A person should not just consist of serenity and softness and a gentle smile, a person should also be sharp humor and giddy laughter and energy and a filthy mind and social skills and swirls of bright colors surrounding her. A person should. This person should.
And on that note, dearest of dear hearts, I am starting a new chapter in a fresh book, even if it is but a volume in the same story. This chapter will not be chronicled on A F F, but on a site where my blog is written in summery green, and decorated with daisies and narcissi, and things feel fresh again.
Anyone who asks for the link shall have it. You'll have to mail me, though, since I'm ball-less. If you can't mail me, my Facebook profile is always there, and links to new blog posts are on my live feed. I haven't yet worked out how to allow comments on there, and will miss the commenting here, but perhaps I'll sort it out soon.
I fully intend to keep reading your blogs on here, although perhaps not as often as I used to. I love the networking that we do on here, and would miss you dearly if I never saw you at all, even if this no longer feels like home to me. Perhaps I'll even post a blog here, once in a blue moon. And the old posts will stay where they are. After having my mental disk rebooted, deletion of any sort is not something that I can feel comfortable with.
My brightest blessings go out to all of you - particularly Bubbles and Kid, whose friendship online and in person has meant so much to me; Calmlys and Drunkat and Templar, who I've been reading almost since the beginning of my A F F journey; LuLu, whose friendship acted as a sort of nexus around which so much else of my blogging life has revolved, something that would not have been possible for me without her; Babs and Thom and InnerPeace, who I am overjoyed to be finally getting to know better elsewhere; AirForce, who's been a loyal commenter for a long time now; and Kel and MGC and Wordy and Annie and Arty and AspiringBo and Sasha, who stop in regularly or occasionally, but who always have something interesting to say, and who I truly hope will visit me in my new home.
Home is where the heart is, after all, and you guys all have a piece of my heart, and as such will always have a home with me.
Anyone who I haven't mentioned - watchers, lurkers, occasional visitors - each one of you enriched my experience here. Please feel free to continue to visit.
~ Sati - who will hopefully NOT be remembered as the girl with the giant hickey on her nipple ~
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Yay For Vit D!
WARNING: This post contains bikini-clad pictures, although nothing too indecent. Hard to hide breasts this size, though. If you don't want to see, then move it along, cowboy.
I had a glorious day today. I slept from about 8am until 2pm - a solid six hours with few interruptions which, for me, is a luxury. Then I got up at 2 and lay in the garden in a bikini until 5.30, listening to Gyptian and The Script and wondering if I had the ingredients to make strawberry shortcake. (No strawberries - duh.) I answered status updates on the site that lets you make them, and a bunch of messages from work. I can't believe I can take care of my shit and sunbathe at the same time.
.JPG)
I accidentally took this picture when I left the camera app on on the phone, set it down and brushed it with my knee. I can't believe how responsive that thing is. (Almost as responsive as me, LOL. ) It makes me giggle because from this position, my boobs look like they've taken over my whole body, and are about to start conquering the world.
I came back inside and took a bath and washed my hair. I lay down briefly and then got up and spent an hour or so talking on IM to a very wicked man who shall not be named on the grounds that it may incriminate him and me both. I could happily have gone on playing show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine until bedtime, which in recent days has been 7am, but sadly he had some actual real things to do today. So I watched Fringe and Grey's Anatomy, for once not being able to concentrate on either because I kept squirming in my seat, wishing that I was wearing panties just so I could take them off again. And laughing. I laughed a lot today, which is something that I haven't done much of in the exhaustion of the last few weeks. Mom kept looking over at me and shaking her head. The one time she commented, she said, "There's nothing funny happening. I may not know the particulars of why you're laughing, but I know the basics from experience." Oops.
I'm trying really hard to take e.e. cummings' advice about saying yes. I've been reading a lot of him lately - actually, a lot of everyone lately (more on that in a different post) - and that poem ("love is a place") still resonates with me the way it did when I first heard it, when I was 12 or 13.
Now I have clean-shaven everything, including legs, and clean fresh sheets, which is one of my favorite feelings in the world. And it's a lovely cool evening, with a breeze coming through the open window, and I have a good romance novel to read.
I was going to make this post into a long one about how I totally suck at compartmentalizing, how something simple like laughing a lot or spending a couple hours in the garden affects every area of my life, but I've lost my taste for it. I'm turned on for the first time in weeks (since the recent problems in Curt's life, actually) and that's a good thing. I feel happy tonight, and that's an even better thing. So that's what's important for now, ja?
I had a glorious day today. I slept from about 8am until 2pm - a solid six hours with few interruptions which, for me, is a luxury. Then I got up at 2 and lay in the garden in a bikini until 5.30, listening to Gyptian and The Script and wondering if I had the ingredients to make strawberry shortcake. (No strawberries - duh.) I answered status updates on the site that lets you make them, and a bunch of messages from work. I can't believe I can take care of my shit and sunbathe at the same time.
.JPG)
I accidentally took this picture when I left the camera app on on the phone, set it down and brushed it with my knee. I can't believe how responsive that thing is. (Almost as responsive as me, LOL. ) It makes me giggle because from this position, my boobs look like they've taken over my whole body, and are about to start conquering the world.
I came back inside and took a bath and washed my hair. I lay down briefly and then got up and spent an hour or so talking on IM to a very wicked man who shall not be named on the grounds that it may incriminate him and me both. I could happily have gone on playing show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine until bedtime, which in recent days has been 7am, but sadly he had some actual real things to do today. So I watched Fringe and Grey's Anatomy, for once not being able to concentrate on either because I kept squirming in my seat, wishing that I was wearing panties just so I could take them off again. And laughing. I laughed a lot today, which is something that I haven't done much of in the exhaustion of the last few weeks. Mom kept looking over at me and shaking her head. The one time she commented, she said, "There's nothing funny happening. I may not know the particulars of why you're laughing, but I know the basics from experience." Oops.
I'm trying really hard to take e.e. cummings' advice about saying yes. I've been reading a lot of him lately - actually, a lot of everyone lately (more on that in a different post) - and that poem ("love is a place") still resonates with me the way it did when I first heard it, when I was 12 or 13.
Now I have clean-shaven everything, including legs, and clean fresh sheets, which is one of my favorite feelings in the world. And it's a lovely cool evening, with a breeze coming through the open window, and I have a good romance novel to read.
I was going to make this post into a long one about how I totally suck at compartmentalizing, how something simple like laughing a lot or spending a couple hours in the garden affects every area of my life, but I've lost my taste for it. I'm turned on for the first time in weeks (since the recent problems in Curt's life, actually) and that's a good thing. I feel happy tonight, and that's an even better thing. So that's what's important for now, ja?
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Fun With Statuses
Righty-O, I've decided that the only way I'm going to find my music - and anything else that I've lost that I don't know about - is to totally reorganize EVERYTHING on my hard drive.
Therefore I will likely be online for the next twenty-four hours. Yowch. And yeah, I know I don't NEED to be online to reorganize my hard drive, but this way I can keep up on everyone's lives, nosy Aquarian that I am. Social network updates are manna to me.
I do wish that this site did something like Facebook, with a live feed of status updates that people actually USE. I know we have a status on here, but everything has to be approved, and there's nowhere (that I've found) to read a list of friends' updates unless you go on their profile, and we all know the problems there.
Sati is not wearing any clothes.
Sati just shaved her girlie bits* and is amazed at how soft everything feels.
Sati commented on Subs' post A squirter?? Who fucking knew.....really??? and is wondering if she should change the name of her blog to "A Walking Talking Margarita".
This could be fun, ja?
* And yes, I did just say girlie bits. Whatever. I go through scientific phases, and crude phases, and fluffy phases, and I'm in a fluffy one now.
Therefore I will likely be online for the next twenty-four hours. Yowch. And yeah, I know I don't NEED to be online to reorganize my hard drive, but this way I can keep up on everyone's lives, nosy Aquarian that I am. Social network updates are manna to me.
I do wish that this site did something like Facebook, with a live feed of status updates that people actually USE. I know we have a status on here, but everything has to be approved, and there's nowhere (that I've found) to read a list of friends' updates unless you go on their profile, and we all know the problems there.
Sati is not wearing any clothes.
Sati just shaved her girlie bits* and is amazed at how soft everything feels.
Sati commented on Subs' post A squirter?? Who fucking knew.....really??? and is wondering if she should change the name of her blog to "A Walking Talking Margarita".
This could be fun, ja?
* And yes, I did just say girlie bits. Whatever. I go through scientific phases, and crude phases, and fluffy phases, and I'm in a fluffy one now.
Holy Crabapples, There's A Monster In My Bed
[Considering that this happened a day or two after getting the iPhone, I really cannot excuse not taking a picture of the giant terror, but there you have it.]
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.
I turned off my computer twenty minutes ago, finally feeling like I could be a good little girl and get some sleep. Washed my face. Put my phone on loud so I'd hear it if it rang. Turned down the covers-- holy fuck, there's this giant caterpillar staring up at me. To which I screeched, "motherFUCKER!" and promptly woke up my mother.
(Aside: she doesn't wake up when I'm screaming and crying because I'm getting attacked in my own bedroom, and our grown-up male lodger doesn't come out of his room when that happens even though he hears, because he thinks it's not his business, but the whole house will gather at 7 am for a caterpillar emergency. No, I'm not bitter at all.)
For the record, critters generally do not bother me. There are a couple I don't like - maggots scare the crap out of me, and spiders and roaches can go either way - but as a rule I am not bothered by beasties. (I hesitate to call them insects, since I'm sure there's at least one entomologist on here who'll call me out on using incorrect terminology, so I shall stick to nice little fluffy words like beasties and critters.) In the garden, I'll happily examine them and even let them crawl over my hand. In Spain I expect to find centipedes and millipedes in the bathtub and sink. In the winter, earwigs gather anywhere that's warm, which often includes laundry piles, and in the summer the clothes on the line attract all sorts, so I'm used to shaking everything really well before I put it on.
None of that is the same as turning down your bedcovers to find a two-inch long, one-inch circumference, black and gray caterpillar that can move like Speedy Gonzales. Live, at that, and it really shouldn't have been, considering it was right under where I was lying on top of the cover.
I do not deal well with surprises. Anything that shocks the nervous system and screws with my adrenaline production is a no-no for Sati. Even NICE surprises make me feel physically ill - I'm the kind of person who will walk out of a surprise party that people have sprung on her. My brain chemistry is so screwy anyway, what with my PTSD, and my calcification, and the electrical disturbance that is my alpha-EEG anomaly, and my extremely high Substance P production, and my low serotonin and dopamine, and a pineal gland that doesn't seem to want to stay still, that anything that upsets the fragile balance takes me days to come down from. Remember last fall, when Oli broke up with me out of the blue? Didn't sleep more than a couple of 2-hour naps in a hundred hours. Remember January, when I met Kid and Bubbles? For two weeks or more I went around in a daze, either in Joan-of-Arc raptures or floods of tears that I couldn't find a reason for. (That time was totally worth it, but still.)
So, ix-nay on the surprises. That means you too, denizens of the leaves.
Yeah, I've calmed down a bit now. Writing sometimes does that to me, although not if it's stories. I think I can prolly eat something sweet, and take my meds, and read a bit of tacky romance, and then sleep.
Although the thought has crossed my mind that maybe I AM asleep, and this is some fucked-up dream where I'm being punished for my FarmVille addiction.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.
I turned off my computer twenty minutes ago, finally feeling like I could be a good little girl and get some sleep. Washed my face. Put my phone on loud so I'd hear it if it rang. Turned down the covers-- holy fuck, there's this giant caterpillar staring up at me. To which I screeched, "motherFUCKER!" and promptly woke up my mother.
(Aside: she doesn't wake up when I'm screaming and crying because I'm getting attacked in my own bedroom, and our grown-up male lodger doesn't come out of his room when that happens even though he hears, because he thinks it's not his business, but the whole house will gather at 7 am for a caterpillar emergency. No, I'm not bitter at all.)
For the record, critters generally do not bother me. There are a couple I don't like - maggots scare the crap out of me, and spiders and roaches can go either way - but as a rule I am not bothered by beasties. (I hesitate to call them insects, since I'm sure there's at least one entomologist on here who'll call me out on using incorrect terminology, so I shall stick to nice little fluffy words like beasties and critters.) In the garden, I'll happily examine them and even let them crawl over my hand. In Spain I expect to find centipedes and millipedes in the bathtub and sink. In the winter, earwigs gather anywhere that's warm, which often includes laundry piles, and in the summer the clothes on the line attract all sorts, so I'm used to shaking everything really well before I put it on.
None of that is the same as turning down your bedcovers to find a two-inch long, one-inch circumference, black and gray caterpillar that can move like Speedy Gonzales. Live, at that, and it really shouldn't have been, considering it was right under where I was lying on top of the cover.
I do not deal well with surprises. Anything that shocks the nervous system and screws with my adrenaline production is a no-no for Sati. Even NICE surprises make me feel physically ill - I'm the kind of person who will walk out of a surprise party that people have sprung on her. My brain chemistry is so screwy anyway, what with my PTSD, and my calcification, and the electrical disturbance that is my alpha-EEG anomaly, and my extremely high Substance P production, and my low serotonin and dopamine, and a pineal gland that doesn't seem to want to stay still, that anything that upsets the fragile balance takes me days to come down from. Remember last fall, when Oli broke up with me out of the blue? Didn't sleep more than a couple of 2-hour naps in a hundred hours. Remember January, when I met Kid and Bubbles? For two weeks or more I went around in a daze, either in Joan-of-Arc raptures or floods of tears that I couldn't find a reason for. (That time was totally worth it, but still.)
So, ix-nay on the surprises. That means you too, denizens of the leaves.
Yeah, I've calmed down a bit now. Writing sometimes does that to me, although not if it's stories. I think I can prolly eat something sweet, and take my meds, and read a bit of tacky romance, and then sleep.
Although the thought has crossed my mind that maybe I AM asleep, and this is some fucked-up dream where I'm being punished for my FarmVille addiction.
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