Start with Her. What Do You Have to Lose?

So I found my picture on an Israeli website. Since I don't speak hebrew, I bought a hebrew-to-english translator. Turns out, it's a website for queers and the article is teaching/encouraging women to approach other women. I got a big kick out of it! Here's the link to the page: Ask Her, "Do You Have A Light?" and below is a loose translation (be forwarned: some parts make absolutely no sense).

Oh yeah, the caption under my photo is "Start with Her. What Do You Have to Lose?" Fucking hilarious.

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Start with her. Ask her, do you have a light? She can always refuse you, and you will be sorry that she does not swallow you. On the other hand, if you do not try, you will not know.

We will suppose after all the searches, from exit of someone that finds a beauty bainih. What do now? The answer, of course, is " to start with her ", but it is really not that simple.

The method of the beginning changes from girl to girl, but one thing always should remain: Courage. A great deal of courage. I do not know no girl that will be sure by herself the more there will be, that unafraid from postponement. All of us we were name, and our majority not really able to deal.

Then even so, how do you start? If this is someone you already know and see her every so often in the events of the community, wait until the communal event comes. It does not change if it's a party, evening of discussion, or plays, approach her and try to develop very light conversation. If she smiles and engages you, there is a chance that she is interested and then you can request her phone number. In the accidental the most much that will succeed to enlist, in order that maybe will be met once. You will not say "will be met to skim", unless you want to there will be clear and transparent. If you want to leave this open to the conversation, in order if it will come, the postponement will be able to exempt all the interest in the lightness as if not really tried to start with her, but just were interested in the social contact, will tell simple that you want to meet.

By the way, to develop very light conversation sounds maybe easy in the theory, but when you approach someone that you like, striking up conversation may not be that simple. There is bots'it amazing one, that is convinced that the insular kio mine demarcates a century, because when I stands close to her, I really is not able to formulate a sentence, trusted and trusted not to mention something aintilignti or nimble. Not much to do in the situations like these, unless you consolidate you subjects to the conversation even before that you access her, or indoctrinate several judicial key are sophisticated or funny that will help you to capture her heart. The more you want her more, it will be harder.

If this someone that you do not know at all and you simply saw her, everything depends on the situation. If you saw her in the evening of perusal or in the intimate party at companies, you can approach her and endeavour to develop very light conversation. If you saw her at the party or in the bar, places in which more hard to develop conversation, my advice is to simply approach her, with predisposed tag by hand and in it your phone number, to say hello and to ask forthrightly if you can give her your number. Repressions that kidnapped when I used this strategy were from the most detractor and the hurt that I experienced in the lives.

One time I approached someone. She was pretty, she was rigorous, she was hyphenated companies. I crossed 20 the meters that isolated between us in the suitable heart to her with the tag by hand and asked if it's possible to give her my phone number. She reviewed me from above/up/upward down in the duration that seems like eternity, and then said, " for what?". The land not fairy and swallowed me, much to my regret, and I remember this as one of the experiences that forge that I experienced my waters. The truth is that it also doesn't have to be deplorable. Once I gave my telephone to a pretty girl that I saw in the rose Johnson.

She said thank you and smiled, but did not call. Maybe she lost the telephone. Maybe she is trampled on the way home. Maybe, not get accepted on the mind how much that it sounds, she simply there was uninterested. Things like these happen, and you must receive also rejection as an inseparable part of the process.

~ the lady lesbionic

I'm back...

...for a minute. I've begun a couple other entries - one on starfuckers - but they got really involved, so they're hanging out as drafts; waiting around for endings.

I'm happy to say goodbye to 2005. It was a tough year. I'm fixing myself. Yay.

Two times tonight I was complimented with the word "ass". First, an acquaintence announced that I was a "badass motherfucker". I thought that was kinda funny and also cool but I hope not too butch. Then I got an email from a long-time friend that ended with "I think you kick ass". I'll take it.

~ll

Two Day Old Wet Face

Man, I don't know if I'm just hormonal or what, but the past two days I've been a tear factory. Mind you, I'm not much of a crybaby. Well, at least not now. As a kid I was hyper-sensitive, and even the slightest questionable glance could ignite tears. But not now. No. I got over that a long time ago.

It started yesteday at a client's office. I was listening to Richard's iTunes playlist that he was sharing over the network. This song came on that really struck a chord, and I'll be damned if I didn't tear up. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew I recognized it. I burned a copy to disc and popped it in the cd player on my drive home. I then proceeded to blubber the entire way home (with intermittent laughter at my own silliness). Then it occurred to me that this was the song that literally ended the series Six Feet Under. Hey man, it was a poignant episode. Yeah, I'm a dumbass.

What kept the tears flowing were the repeated lyrics "be my friend/hold me/wrap me up/unfold me/I am small/I am needy/warm me up/and breathe me" because lately I've actually been feeling pretty needy, wanting somebody to swoop in and wrap me up and love me. Yeah, I know. It's not something that single, independent women in their thirties are supposed to admit, but fuck it. It's the truth. Sometimes it just feels good to fall asleep and wake up with somebody who loves you - not that I have much experience with it.

By the time I got home I had overcome my sobfest and regained by composure. Then this morning, I woke up to my mom calling me. The conversation turned ugly quickly, most likely because I was a little out of it and grumpy and didn't react well to what she was saying. She asked me why I didn't call her back this weekend like I said I was going to, and I didn't have an answer, let alone a good one. Then she commented on the fact that we haven't talked a lot lately and that I don't seem to want to spend any time with the family. And finally, she said that she doesn't know anything about me or my life because I've been keeping myself at a distance. She noted that something wasn't "right" with me.

I roared, "I don't do anything but work and sleep. There's nothing to know! Leave me alone!"

Not the most rational response, I know, and it didn't get any better. We spoke again later in the day right before I was about to go into a meeting with a client, and fuck if I didn't start squalling again, so I went into my meeting red-faced and puffy-eyed (fortunately it was a long-time client so all that mattered was how I acted and not how I looked).

Later in the afternoon I found myself alone and bawling again, quivering chin and all. This time there was not catalyst, so I don't know what the fuck is up with me. I've definitely had my ups and downs this year - lonliness, rejection, heartbreak, death, financial woes, depression - but I can usually keep it together. With all the down times, I've had plenty of up times, too.

Yeah, I definitely think I am hormonal.

~ the lady love

vacant reflection

Mostly I post photos to my, well, photoblog, but it seemed aptly timed given my recent entry I Can't Paint. Funny how life goes.

I had conceptualized This pomegranate mouth. Sweet fecund forbidden. a week or so ago and tried two other times to get it right. vacant reflection was just serendipity. The creativy worked in reverse this time. The image commanded to be conceptualized; to be named.

~ the lady love

sweet fecund forbidden

This pomegranate mouth. Sweet fecund forbidden.

Updated...

...righthand column. Added contact info and new music spinning at the lady's love lounge. Very important stuff.

Check out this one by Fischerspooner (requires windows media player)

Just Downloaded

Man, iTunes can spoil the hell out of of a girl. I got a hankering for Peter Murphy's "Cuts You Up" and within seconds I had downloaded a live version from the Alive Just for Love album. Such a good song.

Speaking of live albums, Bonnie Prince Billy's (Will Oldham) latest album (Nov 2005) is a live one called Summer in the Southeast. I gotta say that, when it comes to live albums, I'm pretty indifferent. I mean, a live show is one thing, but a live album? Typically they don't do a whole lot for me, in large part due to the fact that the studio version is usually better; cleaner. Plus, part of the thrill of a live performance is being there live yourself, right? However, BPB's record is quite impressive and only motivates me that much more to see him live. His music is pretty mellow - even the more upbeat ones - but duuuuude, when I heard the live version of "Madelaine Mary" on this record, I got moist as a snack cake it rocked so much.

Also currently spinning at the Lady's Love Lounge: Zap Mama.

~ the lady love

Two Things

1) Donald Rumsfeld is such a dick, but that's okay because he's so much smarter than the rest of us. We're on a need-to-know basis.

2) I want these shoes real bad, but they are so last year that I haven't a clue where to find them. Grace?



~ the lady love

Holy Crap, Batman...

...I look exactly like my mother. I took this picture of her over Thanksgiving and was just now looking at it for the first time. I compared it to my mug shot and realized I am my mother's daughter.

Her (Mother)


Me (Daughter)

Tannenbaum

My first christmas tree. I got festive this year. Battery-operated electric light. Hell yeah.

Tannenbaum 2005

Actually, I lied. It's my second christmas tree. My first one was 9 years ago. Jenny (from the Alphabet Book series and, at one time, the love of my life) and I cut down a 7 ft. cedar tree on our college campus, strapped it to the top of her 1977 brown Chrysler Cordoba (which she turned into a semi-convertible by hacksawing the roof off - I shit you not), and took it back to the charming third story apartment I was renting downtown. We decorated the tree with ornaments made out of various metal scraps that Jenny had collected from the junkyard, stationed it in a 5-gallon bucket anchored by large rocks, and dressed it with a bed-sheet-turned-makeshift christmas tree skirt.

I remember one time this really dumb chick came over to my apartment with a friend of mine while the tree was up. The dumb chick sat on my couch, gazed at my tree, cocked her head to the side and asked, "Sooo was that, like, just a plant you had?"

I really didn't know how to respond. At first I thought she might be kidding untill I realized she wasn't. So I said, "Ummmm, no... it's a tree."

~ the lady love

No More Drinking, Drugs, Smoking or Bad Eating for Me

I just got my ass kicked. Bad news from my girl Karah, my sweet-voiced holistic, vegan, pagan, hard-bodied former roommate and temptress. At 30 years old, she had a heart attack. She had some sort of viral heart infection that arose from chronic tonsillitis, which resulted in a tonsillectemy right after a 2-day stint in the hospital for post-heart-attack observation. Fucked. Up. As Grace put it when I called to tell her about our dear sick friend, "Great. I didn't think we'd have to start dealing with this kind of crap for another 15 - 20 years."

Seriously.

Grace and I live in Atlanta, and Karah lives in Seattle along with Rachelle, who is also our old roommate. The four of us once shared a magical dump of a house together in the ghetto otherwise known as 110 S. Blanche. We lived there with our other friend Karen - our fifth roommate - who had a sexy, brooding brother that the rest of us passed around like a joint at Woodstock. It was a swell time.

Being on the other side of the country makes me feel helpless that I can't be there for my sister love. I just talked to Rachelle and commanded her to go see Karah and take care of her for the rest of us.

I think I'm being paranoid, but I keep thinking I'm feeling chest pains.

~ the lady love