[ A Vanity Project ]

The Groove Is Back

2009-07-08T20:26:00.003-04:00

I miss writing, so I'm starting again with 20 things about me:

1. I taught myself how to tie my own shoes at three years old. I was such the over-achiever back then but not so much anymore.

2. When I was nine years old, I won a front-end alignment from the radio station by answering a trivia question about local history. I didn’t even know what a front-end alignment was.

3. I made a blind man flinch several times in the passenger seat of my 1975 Toyota Corona while taking mountain road curves on two wheels. That's when I realized I needed to become a better driver.

4. I had a 7"x4" tumor removed from my leg and walked with a cane for seven months afterwards. The handle of the cane was a detailed sculpture of a dog's head carved from soapstone.

5. I painted fire hydrants for a whole summer.

6. I sneeze like your grandpa.

7. I was recently moved to tears by an episode of What Not To Wear on TLC.

8. I do not enjoy fireworks at all.

9. I think I have cancer at least once a week. Different kinds.

10. I never broke any bones as a kid and have broken way too many as an adult, leg and arm among them.

11. Once I went to the hospital with freak stomach pain and was diagnosed with a distended colon. That basically means I was packed full of shit.

12. I fell in front of this chick running up a flight of stairs and totally blew her image of me. I know because she told my friend.

13. I once rode horses through the woods off the coast of Alaska.

14. I got so pissed at my friend John playing X-Men on Playstation that I threw a controller at him and stormed out. Just to press my buttons, when I checked my email later that evening, there was a link to an anger management website from him.

15. I got stuck floating down a river for nine hours at night in a styrofoam sailboat that my friend's dad got from the KOOL cigarettes catalog in the 1960s. I nearly froze to death.

16. I just remembered I had some grape Big League Chew gum in my purse and am gonna chew some right now.

17. I got a full scholarship to college.

18. The best part about having kids would be naming them and dressing them. Therefore I have decided that childbearing is not in anyone's best interest. Instead I should opt for a My Buddy.

19. I live with a fem-bot.

20. I want to be rolled up and smoked when I die.

~ the lady love

Thoughts & Stuff

2006-07-20T22:44:00.001-04:00

The neighbor boys have taken to coming over every night. I'm trying to figure out how to remedy this situation. They're young, 20-year-old college boys. Somehow I need to break the news to them that this is not a dormitory, and by the time you get to be my age, you don't want folks just giving a knock and climbing through the window at will. I've got to tell them it's not an open window policy. They're actually alright, though. At first I wasn't so sure. A decade sure makes a big difference. Nevertheless, I've yet to address the situation. I'm still waiting to see if it takes care of itself, and if doesn't, I'm in the process of determining how to handle it with grace and tact. It's only become a pattern in the past five days, so it hasn't become intolerable. I've just got to put a stop to it before it does.

I've recently been listening to David Gray's "Sail Away", Los Lonely Boys' "Senorita", and Charles & Eddie's "Would I Lie to You" like they're the only three songs that exist in the world. Three great songs for three very different reasons. "Would I Lie to You" has been one of my sure-fire "happy" songs for 15 years.

I've officially declared myself a Joss Whedon groupie. Laugh if you want, but I'm a devout "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" fan. For years, nobody had better disturb me between the hours of 8:00 and 9:00 p.m. on Tuesday nights. Sure, at first I scoffed at it, believing it to be some teeny-bopper WB show. Then I lived with someone who watched the show, and after a few episodes I realized that I was so very wrong about it. Turns out, it happened to be the best show I've ever seen on t.v. Now I question the worthiness, taste, and intelligence of anyone who doesn't grasp the brilliance of the show. I'm not going to pretend that, at times, it didn't have its shortcomings. There were some pretty bad episodes on occasion ("Beer Bad" anyone?), and occasionally some bad acting. For example, I could never quite embrace the Tara character because I thought the role was poorly acted. I even found Season Six to be sub-par in comparison to the rest of the series. Even still, the show was solid.

Then there's Firely. That's when Joss Whedon really sealed the deal for me as King of the World. Having vaguely known that the series existed, I never had the opportunity to watch it. It was in a weak time slot, and I thought the promotion of the series was severely lacking. Not surprisingly, the show was cancelled after the first season.

Then Serenity came out at the box office last year (the movie based on the series that had been cancelled after one season). I saw it. I adored it. Then I bought it. After two more viewings of the movie, I ordered the "Firefly" television series on DVD from amazon.com. Needless to say, I've spent the last few days watching episode after episode. Relentlessly. And I could go on and on about it, but I'll just sum it up by saying that I am in no way a sci-fi fan, but I love this show. Maybe I'll save the reasons why for another post. Anyway, yeah, Joss Whedon is ruler of the universe.

For lack of a better transition here, I'll just jump right to the point. I'm comtemplating a big life change: a move to Chattanooga to be near my family. I'm still not wholly committed to the move, but I've been giving it some serious thought the past few months and am becoming more sold on the idea. My family is elated. They've been trying to get me to move back since I moved away 13 years ago. And I think I just might be ready to do it.

Wow. I never thought I'd say that. But you know what? As I get older, I am starting to really understand how invaluable the relationship with my parents and sister is. To have the kind of love and support they give me is proving to be much more elusive than I ever believed it to be. Perhaps because I had it all my life, I never quite realized just how special and rare it is. I guess I just thought that that's how life was. Turns out, it's not. People don't treat each other with near the unconditional love and acceptance that my family shares. I am lucky.

Okay, my roommate just got home and has decided in my behalf that it's time for me to stop blogging for tonight. I guess I'll oblige him. And go beat him at some dice. It's my duty, I suppose.

Peace out, players.

~ the lady loverly

The Lady Love Makes The News

2005-09-24T02:31:00.001-04:00

I would first like to say that, as I write this post, the Golden Girls are on. The girls are worried about Rose being addicted to painkillers. A very important episode with a very important message: drugs just make some people more tolerable

So, I was in Creative Loafing this week. It's weird. I haven't been in the paper since I was in high school. I recently reconnected with this music journalist I know because of a professional gig. Late one night we got to talking and he asked me to be the subject of this recurring, inconsequential piece in the music section. It was all very spontaneous, and it had to be done by the next morning. I said sure. I pretty much had free range with the topic, though I ended up going with something he threw out upfront: I had to come up with five things bands should not do.

It was fun and came very naturally. I gave him my list, and he wrote a little intro profile and punctuated each of my points. The next day, I asked him to send it to me - what he turned in to be published. He told me that he never let people see the articles before they ran. From his experience, people inevitably don't like something and want to make a change. But for me, he would make an exception. Of course. Of course. I wouldn't have any gripes.

But of course. Of course. There was something I didn't like. Two little, very powerful words that I felt portrayed me as intimidating and unapproachable. "Bitingly caustic." It wouldn't have been a big deal other than the fact that I was specifically being identified as the publicity & promotions rep for a local club who is very image-conscious at the moment.

I never aked him to change it. I just couldn't do it. I already felt like one of those women who say, "Does this make my ass look big? Tell me. I promise I won't get mad." But then they get mad anyway. What can I say? I'm a cliche.

No, I couldn't. I did, however, passionately communicate my apprehension about the image being projected and why it mattered. Beyond that, if he wanted to change it, it was up to him. Graciously, he obliged me and did a little editing, though I'm sure he regretted ever making the exception for me. I basically reinforced what he already knew. Still, I was very thankful for the consideration.

The end result:

REAL LIFE TOP FIVE: THE LADY LOVE

The Lady Love is the new publicity and promotions rep at ... She sorts through tons of band press kits and promo packs daily. Here, she offers some constructive criticism and advice for hopeful - and, in some cases, hopeless - musicians.

1) Avoid John Mayer "Do not drop the John Mayer bomb. Every musician in this city has either played with him, opened for him, shared the stage with him, or sounds like him. Sorry, but it doesn't make you special."

2) Don't Be A Name Dropper "Do not drop more than 10 names of bands you've opened for in your bio. It's tacky and implies you'll never be more than an opening act."

3) Don't Get A "Heart" On "Please, please, please do not ever say during a performance, 'This next song comes straight from the heart.' It's tired. 'This next song comes straight from the groin would be better - or at least funnier.'"

4) Stay At Least Semi-Sober "Don't get so drunk on stage that you can't play your own music. It's a bad sign when your fans start asking the venue for their money back."

5) It Shouldn't Matter If There Are 3 or 3000 "Don't get pissy if only three people come to your show. Having a bad attitude on stage due to 'low voter turnout' will only alienate the three paying fans you actually do, or did, have."

---

That's all folks.

~ the lady love

Junk

2007-05-27T19:55:00.001-04:00

I got a new car. It's a fully-loaded, sweet little ride. I've been lusting after this car for five years since I drove one, and now I finally got it. Yay for me.

Next, I am addicted to the Maroon 5 song Makes Me Wonder, which I actually felt guilty about until I read this about their album: "Sometimes it's O.K.--even important--to put aside your reluctance to embrace artists who make teenage girls scream."

~ the lady

What If?

2008-01-22T10:50:00.001-05:00

What if I told you that it was jealousy that might make me to start writing again? Or that sneezing sometimes made my nipples hard. Or that the cinema is my new drug, replacing fat bags with films at ten bucks a pop.

What if I told you that I pretended to like In The Bedroom more than I actually did and that I’m not making that same mistake with No Country for Old Men just because I’m supposed to. It is leading the pack in Oscar nods this year ya know... But some movies just move. Way. Too. Slow.

For.

My.

Taste.

To put it in the words of one Cher Horowitz, as if.

~ the lady love

I think I just got asked out on a date

2005-06-02T20:07:00.001-04:00

Honestly, I don't know how to tell. Is it a date or is it just friendly socializing? Since I usually somehow always end up being the one to put the ball into play in romantic types of situations, I'm not really sure what to make this. Seems like a date, but then again, I just dated someone for a year who turns out never even thought we were dating. I like to call him my non-boyfriend. I would say we broke up, but you can't really break up with someone you're not dating. So who the hell knows. I obviously don't.

So, the date-in-question came about from an out-of-the-blue phone call from someone who I

a) don't know very well
b) have exchanged fliratious banter with in the past
c) had never given my unlisted phone number to
d) never think about until I run into her
e) now think has impressively big balls

"I've been thinking about you the past few days, so I wanted to see if you were perhaps interested in getting together [note: not "hanging out"] for dinner or lunch this weekend?"

I guess I'll find out if it's a date at our late lunch/early dinner tomorrow. Whatever I determine it is, I'll probably be wrong.

~the lady love

Acting Out

2005-09-27T13:54:00.001-04:00

I came back home today for the first time since Sunday when I was here for only about 30 minutes - just long enough to find out if it was for real. I pulled up to my gate, and Steve's car was right there at the very front - the first thing you see when you pull in. I guess the property manager moved it there. It's the best place for it I suppose until things are figured out. It was just a jolt to my system - it had originally been moved to the parking deck next door out of sight.

As I got out of my car, I noticed a handwritten note secured under the windshield wiper on his car. I walked over and read it:

"If I or any of your neighbors parked beside you, we would block you in. Please park correctly. Others would like to park near the gate as well. Next time myself or your neighbors have agreed that we will block you in. About five of us have discussed this. Thanks for understanding." ~Alphabet Lofts

The note was signed as the name of the loft building and not by the name of the writer, which bugged the motherfucking shit out of me.

I don't know if I'm being irrational, but it sent rage through me. I wrote a reply note and pinned both my note and the original note to the bulletin board in the lobby next to the mailboxes. My notes reads:

"To whomever wrote this note above and stuck it to the windshield of the Lexus parked right inside the gate:
The owner of the Lexus died on Saturday night and cannot move it. Feel free to block it in. And the next time you want to leave a note like this for a neighbor, at least have the balls to sign your own name. Thanks for understanding. ~The Lady Love, #13"

I think I know the jerk that wrote the note. She's this manipulative cunt that has pulled some other stunts around the building. I specifically know of her blackmailing another neighbor - yeah, I'm serious. Point is, if you're going to leave a nasty note like this, at least have the fucking balls to identify yourself.

In my opinion, a more appropriate note would have been along the lines of, "Hi neighbor ~ the way your car is parked prevents other folks from being able to park around you without blocking you in. We were hoping you could park at an angle - it's the most efficient use of space for our lot. Thanks, and feel free to come talk to me about it. ~The Lady Love, #13"

I guess I'm just sensitive right now because of the personal tragedy that I'm privy to and that this 'anonymous' note (yet under the guise of "Alphabet Lofts") was written to my dead friend.

~ the lady love

I Think Some Guy Just Played Me

2005-06-14T12:36:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure quite yet... it might be too early to tell (two days?), but you know, I can't ignore that nagging feeling inside telling me that I probably did get played. And if I did, he did one hell of a job weaseling his way into my bed. And here I thought I was too old (and too smart) for this shit to happen. What's even worse is that I waited seven months to go there (to bed) with someone new since my last lover, and it turns out to be the first bad sex of my life. I don't think that this guy is necessarily a bad lay; I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, that nagging feeling I was talking about before is telling me that he doesn't even care to have the benefit of doubt, and trust me, he couldn't possibly think that it was good.

I used to think I was bulletproof.
I've amended that to shatterproof.
I believe it to be best if I were bullshitproof.

It is also very possible that I jumping to conclusions. Being kingly hurt by someone you loved and trusted can be really confusing.

~the lady love

All Eyes On Me

2005-08-30T05:09:00.001-04:00

As far as we've come in recent decades in terms of socially acceptable sexual behavior for men and women, we also haven't come very far at all. Sure, with the aid of "the pill" and Madonna and "Sex & the City', women have gained significant ground socially regarding their sexuality. The virgin/whore dichotomy appears to be slowly fading. Women can be more open and expressive about being every bit as sexual as their male counterparts. Yet, when it comes to standards of accountability, women still bear the brunt of maintaining a certain countenance, and I recently experienced it firsthand.

As predicted, I recently encountered Mr. Two-Pump Chump (from this post and this one). I arrived at an impromptu gathering quite late one Saturday night to find him among the party-goers. I first spotted him from the corner of my eye as I was being greeted by friends. As I moved deeper into the crowd, we made eye contact. He looked like a deer in headlights, though he surely knew the chances of me being there were very high. I immediately acknowledged him and said hello as if nothing ever happened between us. Of course, I had no intentions of engaging him beyond this gesture of courtesy. I'd already said everything I needed to say to him one-on-one. Naturally I wasn't going to be dramatic or make a scene. Please. Nonetheless, as the gossip mill had unsurprisingly churned, I sensed I had an audience. Folks were watching. They wanted to see how I would handle the situation.

This is key: how I would handle the situation. Despite the fact that all who were privy to our rendezvous undoubtedly trusted my (solicited) recount of the event (because they're not fucking stupid, they know both of us, and they witnessed themselves the majority of our interaction), there was still an expectation of how I would act. There was little to no expectation for his behavior. But, of course, why should there be? He's just a guy who did what was necessary to get the sexual gratification he wanted. Thus, he is automatically excused because he is a man doing his typical man thing.

No, it was me who was under surveillance. Would I freak out? Would I be a bitch? Would I make a scene? Would I maintain my composure? Would I act needy? Would I be a psycopath? If I were or did any of these things, then obviously, the err would be solely mine.

Of course, I was none of these things. Mr. Two Pump Chump personal was easy to dismiss. I had no emotional investment in him (minus the fact that his particular deception was personal). All in all, I came out looking like a champ. In fact, I've heard in various incarnations that I am a "class act".

But what about him? What is he?

I may be a class act because a) I stood up for myself by confronting him about his misrepresentation of his motives, and b) I maintained the visage of ladyship under the pressure of being thrust into a potentially awkard social scene with him.

But again, what about him? What standard was he held to?

He wasn't. He could misrepresent himself. He could perform horrid sex. He could cower upon confrontation. And he could waltz right back into his usual position of social acceptance without a second thought as to how he may be defined or perceived.

But of course he could, because all eyes were on me.

~the lady love

Dirty Little Secret

2005-11-05T13:54:00.001-05:00

This thing I'm doing with him is beginning to feel like my dirty little secret. We've seen each other three times in the past week, but I don't really want anybody to know we're hanging out again. So I turn off my phone or ignore my calls, I dodge questions from him about social engagements...

I've got to figure out what I'm doing here soon.

~ the lady love

Does Rape Turn You On?

2006-03-30T02:58:00.001-05:00

The topic of forced fantasies, often referred to "rape fantasies", came up in a recent conversation with a friend. I have my own ideas about forced fantasies and what they mean, which I'm sure are wholly unoriginal, so please forgive me for having done zero research on the topic.

Does the average woman really fantasize about being raped? Hell no she doesn't. That's because, in my opinion, forced fantasies aren't really tales of rape.

Rape is a touchy subject. Merriam Webster's Dictionary (and I paraphrase here) defines rape as sexual intercourse carried out forcibly and against the will of the victim.

A quick digression: It is a commonly held viewpoint that rape, in fact, has nothing to do with sex but rather domination and power. Though not entirely, I tend to disagree with this perspective. I believe rape often has a lot do with sex. Otherwise, the valid cases we refer to as "date rape" would rarely occur. Date rape, in my opinion, more likely happens because of compromised judgement rather than the offender seeking domination and power.

As I said, regardless of whether it's rape or date rape, forced fantasies aren't really about rape at all. This would imply that one wants to be taken against her will, which in the case of a rape fantasy is a non sequitur. If a woman desires to be taken forcibly, then it's not really against her will now is it?

So why would a woman fantasize about forced sex in the context of rape? While the social idealogy of female sexuality has undoubtedly evolved over the years, there is an undeniable stigma that remains attached to a promiscuous woman: whore. In the case of rape fantasies, a woman is able to explore her sexuality and carnal desires guilt-free. She can have the sexual pleasure she so desires, say when she lusts after a stranger on the street or her handy man, but her reputation and virtue remain in tact if she is taken by him. If she is taken by him as opposed to being a willing party, then she escapes being a whore.

I also believe that forced fantasies may be an extension of gender roleplay. I believe that gender roles are actually quite natural. The problem with them is that, much like religion, we've created our own institution of rules and acceptable behavior that we subscribe to. So it follows that the problem with gender ideaology is that our social constructs disregard a person's right to choose which aspects of gender they identify with and manifest in their daily lives.

I've also observed that women often have a need to be desired by a man as a form of affirmation and acceptance. I'm not trying to say that men don't. Of course men want to be desired by women. However, it's more often the case that if a guy has a girlfriend, his buddies consider her "hands off" whereas women are more likely to be competitive for a man's attention and affection, even when it's her female friend's boyfriend.

It's hard to talk about this subject without all the cases of "but but but". Yes, I get it that I'm making huge generalizations here and there are always exceptions. And I for one am actually fortunate that my girlfriends and I respect each other much more than that to stoop to boyfriend stealing. However, my entire life I've seen it all around me in female-female friendships. So why is it that women tend to have a deeper need to be desired by a man, especially when she can take it away from another woman? For starters it says a lot about female self esteem. When a woman can take a man from another woman, it consciously or subconsciously translates as "I am more desirable".

So what does this have to do with forced fantasies? Well if we look at gender roles relative to men as the pursuer/aggressor, then a man taking a woman - in fantasy land - feeds a notion for a woman of being so desireable that a man will take it from her even if she is resistant.

What's ironic to me about the socially constructed ideas of gender roles is that they sometimes stand in direct opposition to our biology. It's actually women who do the choosing. We all know this. In the framework of men "spreading their seed", it's women who are the selective ones - finding the most suitable, prime sperm donor. But I digress.

With that said, I think forced fantasies are natural. In some way, sure, they perpetuate the gender role ideaology that feminism attempts to overcome, but hey, it's just a fantasy. It could also be said that these types of fantasies are progressive, meaning that by fantasizing about sexual freesom is a step towards breaking out of prescibed gender roles in reality. The next fantasy could be one where she doesn't have to be taken by force, but she actually wants it and can acknowledge it and accept it without feeling guilty for being a whore.

I admit that I've had my own sort of forced fantasy. I had never fleshed out a scene of any sort in my head, but I actually lived out this fantasy a few months ago, though it wasn't purposeful nor was I thinking about it directly when it happened. My experience didn't really have anything to do with the gender role argument I was making, which is ironic I know, but in a sense it does have a connection. In my experience, it was the conflict of my body actually wanting it but my mind telling me to say no.

And really, that's what I think forced fantasies are all about: wanting something that you think you shouldn't want and being absolved of the responsibility by having it taken from you.

~ the lady love

Followup

2005-06-07T18:19:00.001-04:00

I think Saturday was a date.

~ the lady love

Lady Love Sounds Off

2005-11-30T01:14:00.000-05:00

The Good Wife article got me thinking about the feminist movement. I am very much a feminist. Feminism by definition is about the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes. I don't know how you could be a woman and not be a feminist, but I think the feminist movement as we know it often has a negative connotation that is not necessarily unwarranted. I don't think the feminist movement as it has evolved since the 1970s wholly serves women (note the word wholly). The movement tends to portray the idea that women can have it all and too often ignores an important message that with choice comes sacrifice. Likewise, I also think that it displaces responsiblity for one's choices and actions.

I hold certain beliefs that many would consider anti-feminist. I remember in a women's studies/literature class in college, I often found my opinions igniting heated debates with my professor and classmates. Then three years ago, I read Camille Paglia's Sex, Art and American Culture and was relieved to find my ideas validated. Shortly thereafter, I discovered that Ms. Paglia is often hailed as a feminist antichrist. Ha!

So how exactly is it that I believe feminism has let women down? By teaching us that we can have everything we want (if we want it): children, full time careers, husbands, independence... anything and everything our little hearts desire. Likewise, it tells us that we are equally entitled to the same rewards, professional advancement, etc., because our sex excepts us from being held to the same standards. To me, this logic is flawed. When we make a choice, aren't we also not choosing something else? And wouldn't true equality - not just the benefits - only exist if there was an even playing field?

Professionally speaking, is a man, a childless woman, and a mother entitled to the same professional advancement and compensation? Maybe. Maybe not. Obviously, performance is a key, but if the man and the childless woman outperform the woman with children because they work 10-12 hours a day, should there be any special consideration for the woman with children because she is a mother and can only put in 8 hours a day? In my opinion, absolutely not. Personal lifestyle choices do make for special treatment or allowances. Isn't it just as possible that a childless woman is sacrificing motherhood or a man is sacrificing time with his family because they make their careers priority?

I remember watching the movie G.I. Jane the first time. The most compelling thing about this movie for me was the Demi Moore's character insisted upon being held to the same standard as the other Navy SEALS in training. I have absolutely no problem with women serving in the military or even the special forces, but when it comes to special ops like the SEALS, should the standards be lowered to accommodate women? I don't think so. Sure, I understand that there are physiological difference between men and women that in some cases, like basic military service, should be accommodated, but aren't the higher standards of the SEALS in place to ensure the quality and integrity of this highly specialized group rather than a sexist, exclusionary tactic?

Demi Moore's character succeeded and achieved SEAL status, but it wasn't without sacrifice. She shaved her head (because her hair kept getting in the way). She physically transformed her body to such a degree that her performance paralleled the men's. And as a result of losing so much body fat, she ceased to menstruate.

My point is, if women want equality, then we should be held to the same standards as men. This does not mean, however, that we shouldn't recognize, respect, and celebrate the differences between men and women.

That's not the only way that the feminist movement has let women down. Women's lib has somehow erroneously freed us from taking responsibility for ourselves. Of course, rape and sexual harrassment are atrocious, but when is it criminal? Is it rape or just poor judgement when a girl goes upstairs by herself at a frat party with a drunk guy and takes off her clothes and gives him head and then he fucks her despite the fact that she says no to penetration? A typical feminist answer would be date rape. No means no, right? But shouldn't the girl be accountable for her own actions that may have precipitated the final act? Who is to say there was a clear understanding of what "no" meant? Could it be possible that under the circumstances the lines had been blurred between yes and no?

By no means am I saying that rape is a woman's own fault, but I think feminism has taught us that we can do whatever we want without any consequences. And when a woman's subjective lines have been crossed, then she's been victimized - no questions asked.

I recently told a close friend about my encounter with John. She was quite disturbed when I intimated how the incident turned sexual and expressed her concern that a line had been crossed. Indeed, I have had some reflective moments where I have acknowledged a certain level of physical force that bordered on questionable. But did he violate me? Yes and no. He didn't stop when I asked him to, but as I explained to my friend, I never once tried to leave. My pleas of "no", while genuine, were also born out of emotional confliction, not out of fear that he was going to hurt me or rape me. I was there willingly. I went to his room. I sat on the bed, and when he began to touch me, I didn't leave. And then I stayed for the next three hours.

Sexual harrassment is even harder to define. Girls have adopted the notion that they should be able to dress provocatively but a man dare not comment on her exposed cleavage. It's okay to flirt and to play the coquette, but a man is crossing the line when her behavior elicits sexual commentary from him. Of course, it's only not okay when she doesn't want it.

Also, is it sexual harrassment, especially when verbal, if a woman doesn't establish her boundaries? I don't think so. Sexual harrassment claims are only legitimate in my eyes when a woman has clearly expressed that a man's behavior towards her is inappropriate. Yet, Anita Hill became the Rosa Parks of feminism when she accused Clarence Thomas of sexual harrassment (coincidentally another topic that Ms. Paglia has been very outspoken about).

Was Anita Hill sexually harrassed by Clarence Thomas? I don't doubt that he said and did the things she claimed, but were her claims of "harrassment" justified if she didn't stand up for herself? To my knowledge, she never reported it or pursued any action to stop the alleged harrassment. And was there really any recourse 10 years later when she finally had the balls to speak up and acknowledge that she didn't like the things he said to her?

I guess what I am trying to say is that, despite the progress that feminism has afforded women, feminism as we know it today attempts to create a caveat that makes women the perpetual victim when it's convenient for them. But it's a delusion to think that equality of the sexes means a life free of consequences or compromise.

~ the lady love

On The Topic Of Breeding

2006-06-25T21:12:00.000-04:00

I visited my sister this weekend. She birthed a baby recently. His name is Micah. Being with them made me think a lot. I learned something, too - three-month olds cannot sit up on their own. Found that out the hard way. Yeah.

Anyway, I've never really thought that I wanted children - pretty much since I was about 13. And people always give me the whole "oh, you'll change your mind" spiel, which I always acknowledge the slight possibility that, sure, I might change my mind someday, but not likely. It's the only reason I haven't had my tubes tied yet. Fact is, the most compelling thing for me about having a child would be naming it and dressing it. Seriously.

Then this weekend I had that feeling of being wowed by motherhood. It makes me admire and respect my sister so, sooo much, and I completely fall in love with that kid with every smile and coo. It made me contemplate for a quick minute that, if I wanted it, I could have it so easily. I could give life, steward it, give love, have that exclusive relationship between a parent and a child, etc. Man, that would be incredible.

But then the reality of it hits me. I do not have what it takes to be a mother. When you have a child, your life - in every action - becomes about taking care of them. (I know, I'm so very deep. Aren't you glad you have me to enlighten you with such profound thoughts?) Anyway, it's just not something I want to do, and I for damn sure wouldn't go it alone. I can't even imagine how difficult it would be to be a single mother. Sure, it might be selfish of me, but who cares? There's no mandate that I have to procreate, and at least I recognize this fact before I spit one out. I also don't feel like being childless will keep me from having a full life experience.

Then it occurred to me: I'm not entirely anti-kid. Should the right person come along, I just might be up for doing the family thing - but with one stipulation, of course. I couldn't be the primary caregiver. I'd have to have myself a Mr. Mom, and I'd be fine with a man who wanted to fulfill that role. I just can't (or won't), but I do feel very strongly about the primary caregiver of my hypothetical child being raised by myself and my partner. I know folks gotta do what they gotta do to provide for their families, but for me, it's how it'd have to be. Call me old-fashioned.

So yeah, I'll probably be a spinster when I grow up, and when I'm old, everyone can gossip about what must've been wrong with me to end up an old maid. Oh well. Such is life. But I'm okay with it.

~ the lady love

My Mess of Thoughts Bundled On Your Screen

2006-05-09T02:42:00.000-04:00

What the fuck up with the miracle water they sell on late-night tv? I mean, dude. Seriously. But it got me to thinking - scratching time around my chin - about people and how we are. Theoretically, I could sit here the rest of my life and spout off about this topic, but for the sake of actually be able to post this fucker, I'm gonna attempt an abridged stream-of-consiousness.

So here's the thing that got me going: the testimonials. I mean, here are these people who are feverishly proclaiming how this shit changed their lives: gave them fortune/got them out of debt, healed uncurable diseases, whatever. Is it bullshit? Sure, they could be actors, but something about them speaks to a genuineness that you just can't fake. And if that's the case, they're real people who actually believe that this miracle water changed their lives.

So did it? Did it really changes their lives and fix their problems? If it weren't true (at least temporarily), it sure doesn't seem like they'd so passionately and so readily talk about all the great shit that has happened to them since they got their mail-order miracle water.

It made me laugh at first in disbelief, then I had to remind myself that I am an educated and logical person, so the way I think is different than the way a lot of people think. So does that really make my way of thinking right or better? Why is logic or a more developed ability to reason superior to being emotional or reactionary?

The thing that got me at first about the miracle water pitch is how much it reminded me of tele-evangelists. I saw an America Undercover documentary once that suggested that, quite simply, the success of tele-evangelism is a result of mass hypnosis much in the same vein as Hitler used. Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, all I'm comparing here is application of mass hypnosis.

There are supposedly three types of people. Those who are highly susceptible to the power of suggestion, those moderate folks who are doubtful but can be swayed once they have enough evidence to convince them, and finally, those who are least resistant to suggestibility. I tend to think that you could even say these three categories are akin to progressive levels of the emotional and logical.

So in the case of tele-evangalists or the miracle water pitch, they capture the first group easily and then gain the confidence of the second group by using the first group to make their case. So when you've got someone testifying to the effects of the miracle water or you see a group of a hundred people falling over when Benny Hinn waves his hands, it allays the doubt in the moderate minds of the second group and converts them to believers.

But here's the thing: what happens when shit really does change for people? Is that bullshit? How else could you explain healing or good fortune? Well, for starters, the human mind is powerful, so it actually is possible for someone who hasn't walked in years to get up and take steps when their mind convinces them that they are cured. It's a strange phenomenon indeed and usually short-lived, however. Check in on them a week later and they're back confined to the wheelchair. But, for a moment, they actually did walk across the stage, or at least made those three steps.

I've often thought about religion much in the same way. That an inclination to believe in something that can't be grasped or measured comes from a place of emotional need. People have so much faith and believe so adamanantly that there is a higher power taking care of them. And often they actually do reap positive results. They see their lives change for the better, and they're motivated to modify their own behavior to live a more godly life. And when they don't have positive experiences, they keep on having faith, because well, the lord works in mysterious ways. And for the times when something good does happen, it's the power of the lord providing for them.

I've even thought before that projecting hope and faith outward and towards something greater than one's self - simply directing it away from yourself - alleviates a certain pressure that it's up to you and only you, thereby making people happier and more fulfilled. In a cosmic sense of feeling taken care of, you actually are taken care of, even if you're still doing the work to sustain yourself. But the lord gets the credit, and maybe that's okay. If confidence and faith in a higher power provide people the wherewithal, optimism, and motivation to not give up in life, then what's wrong with that?

I've seen it a lot, actually. It makes me wish sometimes that I could have faith. I don't disrespect it, either. My parents attribute their survival to the power and mercy of Christ.

Holy tangent, batman. I was intending to talk about logic vs. emotion. My point is, is it logical for a bottle of holy water, the touch of a self-proclaimed prophet, or even the grace of a mythical or otherworldly entity to be the answer to our problems? Of course not, because it doesn't make sense. I mean, isn't faith believing in something when there is no proof? But sometimes it does work, even if only in our own minds.

It seems to be a commonly held belief that logic is superior to emotion. But why is that really? Logic is nothing more than a science - a system of knowledge to explain the world and the phenoma of our existance. My main problem with science is that it is only a creation of the human mind. It's how we attempt to explain and comprehend. But, to me, the precision of science is confined to the ability of the human mind to identify patterns based on how the human mind processes information, but does that make it absolute? Sure it does, at least in our own minds. Or in the mind of an atheist. I guess that explains why I'm agnostic.

Of course, our reactions are shaped by our environment: what we think we're supposed to have, what is right or wrong, etc., so it follows that our emotions are a mere product of environment as well, dictating our reactions. However, the root of emotion is not, is it? The fact that we even have the ability to respond emotionally to the world around us is a natural part of us, just as the ability to develop systems of thought about the world is. So why is it that being logical is so much better than being emotional?

I often find myself trying to suppress my emotional self. I mean, who wants to be accused of being emotional? Being emotional has a negative connotation, doesn't it? Being emotional equates to being irrational. But how often do you associate a negative connotion with logic? You don't. And being a woman, I'm much easier to dismiss if I am emotional, because good god damn, I'm certainly not rational if I react from a place of feeling.

The trick is trying to find the balance. I don't want to stifle a natural part of who I am: the emotional part. I want to feel. So how is it that I can honor my emotional self yet still embrace the logic of logic? Well, I'm still not there yet - you know, figuring out the balance. But, dammit, as long as I don't cry over spilt emotion. I mean, if I got kicked in the balls, that'd be okay, because those would be logical tears: a mere manifestion and reaction to the physical pain of it all.

~ the lady love

What's The Big (Hair) Deal?

2006-04-16T03:40:00.000-04:00

Hair. Where do I begin?

It's amazing to me how much our (my) identity is wrapped up in our (my) hair. Seriously. Probably less so for men, though I did know a heartbreaker of a guy once whose sex appeal was largely tied to his wild, curly hair. Grace and I use to joke that he was like Samson and would talk about secretly cutting it off in the middle of the night much like Delilah did. Let's see how much pussy he'd get then.

I've known a few people, Lenny Kravitz not among them, who've had dreadlocks for years and finally cut them off. Years of energy caught up in their hair hanging off their heads, and when they cut them off, they'll often talk about how alive and liberated they feel. It's almost like a rite of passage. A letting go of the past. And I can relate. Each time I get a haircut, I feel lighter and more alive.

It's on my mind at the moment because I'm feeling a desperate need to be shorn. By general western cultural standards (for some reason the term "generally accepted accounting principles" oddly keeps coming to mind), I've got good hair for a white chick - thick, shiny, soft - the kind of hair that people always enviously say they wish they had. I go through these periods where I decide to grow it out - to have that kind of hair you see most often worn by daytime soap opera actors, a signature of femininity and beauty. So after a few years of wearing it somewhat short, it hangs past my shoulders now. And you'd think that when it got long like it is now, I'd be rock 'em sock 'em. Not so - at least not to me.

Instead I feel weighed down, gross, and even moody - a sure sign to me that it's time to shed the locks. So does my dire need for a haircut justify a whole blog post dedicated to my hair? Probably not, but my hair fixation today reminded me of a story that leads me back to my original statement about how much of our (my) identity is wrapped up in our (my) hair.

When I was about 21, there was a period of time when I thought I may have a nasty form of cancer. It was a very troubling time for me - multiple biopsies and doctor visits and MRIs and such to figure out if the massive tumor in my leg was going to kill me. The good news is that it didn't kill me nor was it cancer. The bad news is that the back of my left thigh is permanently and significantly disfigured from an intensive surgery and reconstructive process. A tattoo couldn't even make this bitch of a scar pretty. I even walked with a cane for more than two months (which coincidentally made me feel completely badass). Oh well. Glad it wasn't my face.

So what the fuck does this story have to do with my hair you may wonder? When I got the call explaining the results of the MRI, a split second panic had me dropping the phone and fearing that I was going to lose my leg. When I calmed down enough to find out that they weren't going to cut off my leg, the next thought that ran through my head - I shit you not - was that I wanted to cut off my hair. Ridiculous maybe, but true. I couldn't imagine thinking about taking care of my long mane while having cancer, going through chemotherapy, being laid up in a hospital bed flat on my stomach for six weeks post-op, and then the months of recovery and attention that my leg would require.

So I directly went to my hair lady and had it chopped off - pixie-style. It was cute, sort of, but the problem was that it had the opposite of the desired effect. Instead of not thinking about my hair, I thought about it constantly. Of course, this was after I turned out to not have cancer, but nonetheless, I was more conscious and spent more time on my hair than ever before. Coincidentally, it even impacted other parts of my appearance. I often go without makeup, but when my hair was short, I wore more makeup more frequently. I was more thoughtful about wearing skirts, not wanting to look butch. And it annoyed the shit out of me that I was so vain that I cared enough to put more time and energy into any of this stuff. Instead of the standard 30 minutes it takes for me to get ready - including a shower - I was dedicating an entire hour to the daily beautification process.

The bottom line is, I was out of my hair comfort zone. Yep. That's right. I've got a hair comfort zone, and it falls right in between not too long and not too short. I get how ridiculously girly and shallow this all sounds, but actually, it's the exact opposite. When I'm in my hair comfort zone, I feel more myself and try less to project a certain type of appearance that I think I am supposed to have. And on hair-obsessed days like today, it keeps me from doing something radical and impulsive like shaving the shit off. Because then I really would become obnoxiously girly and vain, and that's just not me.

~ the lady coiffed

Gag Me With A Celebrity Fetus

2006-02-14T15:25:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know, celebrities are real people, too, but they make me wanna barf sometimes. If I see one more knocked up celebrity with her arms cradled around her belly while posing on the red carpet, I swear I'm gonna blow chunks. Don't get me wrong: it's great to finally see them out there rockin' their giant bellies in all their bloated, pregnant glory, but those Hollywood folks turn it into this disgusting sort of fashion trend.

Gwen, Rachel, you guys are swell, really. I mean, good for you that Gavin filled you with his man seed and you conceived. But please stop with your faux posturing. Please. That goes for the rest of you, too. Seriously, I am seeing it way too much. I'm sure it's natural to touch your "baby bump" to some extent (yet another term that makes me wanna hurl), but I am not kidding when I say I was sickened by watching Gwen Stefani deliberately wrap her tummy in her arms repeatedly for the papparazzi, and I can't tell you how many pictures I've seen of Rachel Weisz from different events in the same types of poses. Maybe it's just me, but G.S. looks like she's got a little bit of an arched back like she's trying to pooch it out even more. Yeah, we get it. You're pregnant and you're royalty and us common folk can't wait for the spawn of your crown. Puke.

In other news, last night I dreamt that Chan Marshall (Cat Power) had been my neighbor for the past two years, and I just found out about it. So we hung, and she wasn't crazy at all. She even let me karaoke to one of her songs for her. Oh yeah, and her hair was red and she had freckles.

Also, currently spinning in the Lady's headphones: redneck rap from Bubba Sparxxx. Yeah, the three "x"s are annoying as fuck, but I gotta say, I really like Bubba. The bluegrass and hip-hop fusion really works for him.

~ the lady love

Back from the Bastard Baby Shower

2006-01-31T00:56:00.000-05:00

I'm back in town now from my sister's bastard baby shower. She's eight months pregnant, and she looks absolutely adorable, though I can say without hesitation that I am in no way envious of her.

On Saturday night I was settling up my tab at The Highlander when a guy started chatting me up. I told him I was headed out because I had to get up early the next morning for a two-hour drive to my sister's bastard baby shower when he asked me, "Is she happy about it?" I simply replied, "As much as you can be when it's a bastard."

I hate that the father of her child is a complete turd who will probably need another 20 years to grow up (they're both almost 30), but then again, she already knew how irresponsible he was, which leads me to my next point. Despite the fact that there seems to be a growing cultural sentiment that men should be held more accountable when pregnancy occurs, it still comes down to the woman, especially when a man isn't fully committed to her.

One thing that supremely annoys me is to hear men say, "Women are so emotional about sex." Well yes and no, just like men may be more or less emotional about sex, depending on the situation. Overall, though, there's no denying that women do tend to be more emotional about sex, but what's wrong with that? Isn't it just as frustrating for women that men aren't?

But let me put something into perspective. First, there are the fundamental differences - called hormones - between the sexes, which cannot be overstressed here. When women have sex, their brains produce higher levels of oxytocin, commonly known as the "attachment" hormone. Beyond that, there is something far less less clinical, in my opinion, that may explain women's tendencies to be more emotional about sex: the way we have sex.

When a woman has sex, she is inviting another person INTO her body. How much more personal can you get, especially if you are emotionally or intellectually intimate with the person you're also being physically intimate with? And a man will never, ever - in the same way - have to deal with the reality/consequence of unwanted/unplanned pregnancy the way a woman does. I'm not implying that all men don't take the possibility of pregnancy seriously. But as a woman, even if the man is supportive or involved in the decision about how to deal with the situtation, SHE is the one who has to be pregnant and ultimately has to make the decision about what to do about it. A woman is the one who has to go through nine months of pregnancy, with all the nausea, physical discomfort, and labor and birth that comes along with it. A woman ultimately is the one who has to decide whether she will have an abortion and go through the emotional and physical suffering that goes hand-in-hand with this course of action. A woman is the one who has to decide if she will give life to a child and then give it up for adoption or devote the rest of her life to a child because of the singular act of sex.

So indeed, women are more emotional about sex, but wouldn't you be?

~ the lady love

Handle with Care (addendum)

2006-01-26T01:00:00.000-05:00

After all these years, I still don't know how to gracefully tell someone who asks for my number that I don't want to give it to him.

Tonight I ran into this guy that I've met a few times before. The first time I met him was at a friend's place about a year and half ago. I was going and he was coming when he overheard me inviting my friend out with me that night. He said he'd like to go out that night, too, and asked where I was going, implying that he'd like to go out with me. I simply replied, "I'm going to MJQ" as a way to acknowledge his question while cleverly deflecting his implication. Sure, I'd be happy to run into him and be friendly, which is why I responded at all, but I wasn't interested in making plans with him. He actually came to the club that night with a couple friends. We chatted for a minute and it was cool.

Then a few months ago, I ran into him again. We recognized each other, were happy to see each other, exchanged a few words, and went on our ways. Then I bumped into him tonight. Again with the recognition and acknowledgement, the casual and ritualistic exchange of pleasantries, and then he said, "Hey, I'd really like to hang out with you some time." I didn't really respond, and before I knew it, he asked, "Can I get your number?"

After a slight pause I tentatively said, "Uhhh, okay." So I gave him my digits.

As I was talking on the phone with Chelle Belle tonight, I got another call ringing in. Most often I don't answer my call waiting as I think it's a bit rude unless it's a necessary call to take, but I didn't recognize the number, which piqued my curiousity. My dumb ass had completely forgotten about giving dude my number just two hours earlier.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Love?" I instantly realized who it was. Shit. I wasn't prepared.

"This is Love."

"Hello? Hello?" He was obviously having technical difficulties and couldn't hear me. After a moment, I just clicked back over. Then he rang in again, but this time I didn't answer, nor did he leave a message.

So how is it that you gently tell someone that you are entirely uninterested? Now that I've given him my number, I want to acknowledge him. I think it's shitty to dodge a guy after extending an invitation, in effect, for him to call by giving him your number.

I don't know why I'm not interested. He's attractive, friendly, and obviously interested, but I'm just not. At all.

I tend to be a pretty direct person. I typically don't have a problem telling it like it is, but situations like these are a little different, perhaps because rejection just plain sucks. I guess I'm just going to have to suck it up and tell him what I should have said the first time when he said he wanted to hang out and asked for my number. That is, "Thank you, but I don't really have time for new friends right now," which is absolutely true. I don't have the time or energy for anyone new in my life right now, especially someone who I probably wouldn't want to make time for even if I was available.

It's just tough. It's tough to tell someone that you are simply not interested in knowing them better, but I think it's the respectable thing to do. I think I'd be more disappointed in myself if I just kept ignoring him long enough for him to get the hint, because I certainly don't like to be ignored.

Maybe I'm just being too sensitive. Men are probably better than women are at being rejected by a person who they are not invested in, most likely because they're well-practiced at it since our culture still largely abides the gender rules of engagement; i.e., men still do most of the asking. It's also likely that a man who is confident enough to so easily ask for a number probably understands that to get women you have to risk rejection.

Even still, rejection just plain sucks, and I admire people who have the confidence to ask me out. I've too often and too easily been told that I am especially intimidating, which I truly don't understand, but whatever. As a result, I often find myself having to put the ball into play. Fortunately, when I do, I have good enough reason to suspect I won't be rejected, so rejection of this sort isn't something I've ever had to really deal with. Nonetheless, I still fear it, so it's nice to have someone risk it for me.

Kind of a tangent here, but the topic of me being intimidating raises some interesting questions in my mind. Mainly, why? Sure, I know that I am a self assured person, but I've always been told that confidence in a woman is attractive, yet I get the feeling that this is the exact reason that people find me intimidating. I guess I just don't understand what exactly it is that I project that is intimidating. I look people in the eye, I listen to them, I ask them questions, I'm easy to talk to. In fact, I think I am quite welcoming and put people at ease. Perhaps it is my quick and sharp wit? (I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I know I have it.) I even had a guy tell me once that I made him nervous because I had the ability to shred him. But that's exactly what I don't get: why would anyone think I would shred them, even if I could?

Okay, rambling here and over-analyzing myself. Sometimes I just wish I could step outside myself and see me the way other people do, because I think we have very different perceptions.

What's a girl to do?

~ the lady love

Seen Around Town

2005-10-27T05:50:00.000-04:00

I almost took flight from Atlanta three years ago for Seattle. I literally had all the arrangements made - all but having the moving truck packed. A friend tearfully begged me on his knees to stay an extra year and move in with him. I conceded easily. We found a lovely bungalow in Candler Park that felt very adult-like, and we lived there for a year. After our year was up, we decided to live separately again, and we both moved into different lofts in Midtown. Another year passed. I stayed put, and my friend moved to Fort Lauderdale, leaving me behind, which I found somewhat ironic.

Almost another year has zipped by now, and I'm wondering if and when I will ever leave this city.

To be fair, I didn't stay exclusively for my friend. He just made it easy. In fact, the planned move was part of a series of life changes I had made: I exited a 5-year long relationship that had run its course, I quit my job and began freelancing, and I started taking better care of myself the way I should. By the time the move came 'round, I was quite happy with my life. I didn't need to run away to the other side of the country.

One of the most difficult parts of making the decision to move, then and now, is the thought of abandoning the network of family and friends that I've built here and starting over again from scratch. Yet, at times, it's the exact reason why I want to leave. There is an undeniable appeal that comes with the type of anonymity that I can no longer enjoy in this place. For living in city of substantial size, I always seem to run into someone I know everywhere I go - even in the most random or obscure places.

A perfect example: a recent Friday night I took myself out to dinner. I've been in retreat-mode as of late, so I wanted to be by myself (as much as I could while being in public). I happened upon a quaint little Italian restaurant called DaVinci's tucked behind a Cuban place on Ponce de Leon. Perfect.

I walked into the dimly lit eatery to be received by a bartendar stationed behind an understated bar with a scanty five bar stools. Two patrons claimed the lone high-top table in the place. I asked for a menu and promptly ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Yes. This is exactly what I was looking for.

While I was gazing at the menu for a ridiculously long time, I heard a voice boom in my direction, "Don't I know you?"

Looking up, I said, "You're Dave, right?" He was one of the two patrons in the place besides myself.

"I sure am, and you're Love. How's it going?"

I'll save you from the formalities of the hey-how-ya-doin' banter, but un-fucking-believable. Here I thought I was safe. I didn't have to be me. Wrong. Dave proceeded to engage me in resistant conversation throughout my entire meal. It turned out alright, though.

At the same time, I can't help but relish the fact that I've built myself a small town here. Atlanta is a decent place to be. There's a lot of good stuff here. Sure, it's stained by its own brand of bullshit, but what city isn't?

I don't know what it is I want to run away from. Maybe it's just myself that I can't escape. I think mostly, though, I just want to escape the me that everybody else thinks that I am - the person who carries the conversation or always has something funny or witty or entertaining to say. But that's not always me. And you know what? That's okay.

~ the lady love

Inquiring Minds Want To Know

2005-08-09T02:50:00.000-04:00

I get asked a certain question A Lot. People have a hard time discerning whether I'm straight or gay. When it comes to my sexuality, I guess there's a big dangling question mark hanging over my head. The question mark does not belong to me; it belongs to them. I know what I am. But I find it amusing that I'm such an enigma.

The question doesn't bother me, you know, whether I'm straight or gay. I could sling pretentious with the "why does it matter to you what my sexuality is" attitude, which in a way, I believe it shouldn't matter to anyone else unless he or she is trying to get into my pants. Ideally, yeah, it would be nice to live in a world where we don't label each other, because most of us don't fit snugly into any one box anyway. But I understand the need for people to do it - to want to figure me out by conveniently placing me into a category they're comfortable with. Once people think they understand you, then they don't have to fear you. And instead of being irritated, I look at it as an opportunity to break down the pre-often-mis-conceptions. It only really starts to bug me when people are too one-dimensional to eventually shed the labels and see me as a Person.

Case in point: my former roommate Leia (yes, there were two of us under one roof). At the time I lived with Leia, I was in a longlived relationship with a woman. Without fail, Leia would refer to me as her "lesbian roommate Leah". That's how she would even introduce me to her friends and acquaintances. "This is my lesbian roommate Leah." God, that used to piss me the fuck off. I was being instantly defined by the fact that my private, sexual relationship was with a chick. Like my sexuality was my identity. Hardly.

For a long time, it perplexed me why the question seemed to bubble out of people's mouths so quickly upon meeting me. But I know why now. I'm quite feminine, so people at first think "straight". Yet I don't subscribe to a gender role in my actions and words. If I flirt, I don't play coy. I don't act like a "girl"; I act like an individual. I speak my mind. I don't hold back. I don't need the attention of a man to affirm my female-ness or desirability. So when I don't act as expected, people think "not straight?" Hmmm. And that's when the questions start to roll.

So how do I answer it?

If I'm feeling particulary saucy, I say I like the pole and hole. Or sometimes I simply go with "both".

I am sexual. I can be turned on by a man or a woman. I don't get wrapped up in the packaging. Sex is sex. Sex is pleasure. And if sex were purely for procreation, then we wouldn't do it for recreation.

Sure, sex is definitely different between a man and a woman and a woman and a woman - in more ways than one. But ultimately, a man can give me an orgasm, and so can a woman. They both have. So does that make me straight or gay? I guess it makes me both. Ultimately, our sexuality is literally defined by sex. Who we have it with (even if we're just having it in our minds). But sex doesn't define intimacy nor does it define love. Strangely, though, it seems to enhance both intimacy and love, with both a man and a woman.

When I was with Her for five years, I never wished she was a man. I never felt guilty or ashamed or unsure. It just felt right. And at the time, I could have been with her for as far as I could see. When she walked into that room for the very first time, not even knowing her name, I knew she did it for me. Whatever 'it' was; she did it. And she kept on doing it the more I got to know her, until I Really got to Know Her. Then she did it for another five years. Then we grew apart just like people do sometimes.

After Her, there were other hims and hers, perhaps a few more hims than hers. But never any Hims or Hers, except maybe one who really wasn't.

So there's usually a followup question. Which do I prefer? Men or women?

I prefer both. But if we're gonna split hairs, then men. I just do. I am more immediately physically sexually chemically attracted to men. For me, there's something about the idea of two people mutually experiencing the act and pleasure of sex exactly at the same time. Meaning, the most basic physical pleasure that is being given is being directly received back as the most basic physical pleasure. But fucking is where it's at for me. It's what I like most about sex, though it's not the only thing I like. Of course, I've had some women fuck me better than some men.

But that's sex. When it comes to intimacy and love, I don't know if I'll ever have with a man what I know I can have with a woman, with hot sex to boot. I'm open to it, but I really don't think it's possible. Men and women are just too different. When I was about 16 or 17, I remember telling my mother once - we were in the car - that I knew what I wanted in a man. I told her I wanted a man who thought like a woman. She simply replied that if I ever found him he'd be gay. Ha.

Unexpectedly, I thought that I had it last year with a man. That is, sex, love, and intimacy. Turns out I was wrong. He was a man, with all his man thinking and man ways.

But it's not just sex, either, that attracts me to men more readily than women. A big part of it is how I like for sex to make me feel. I am a very strong person. I am often looked to professionally, socially and personally as a person of power. A person to get things done. A person with the right answers. A person to turn to. A person to depend on. But part of who I am is also a very feminine person. A woman who likes to feel the weight of a man on her. A woman who likes to be enveloped by a man's body. A woman who likes to feel soft because there's somebody bigger and stronger than she is. It's not really so much about dominance and submission as it is more about femininity and masculinity. I like to Feel like a Woman. And as a woman who is six feet tall, let me tell you that I have never felt like that with another woman simply due of my sheer physical stature. I don't care who she is.

But if I am with a woman, it never has been or never will be because I'm settling for something less than what I want because I can't have it with a man. No. On the contrary, I am with her because she gives me more than what I can have with a man. Sex included.

So am I straight or gay? I guess it depends on the day. Or the woman.

~the lady love

See What's Become of Me

2005-10-29T14:56:00.000-04:00

Thursday night I dragged my ass out to see Telegram and meet up with Phillip, and man, am I glad that I did. Great, great show. The boys really rocked it out. Afterwards, I headed over to the Highlander for a couple games of pool, then back to Trista's house for a minute.

On my way home, my phone rang. I recognized the number as that of The One Who Broke My Heart despite having deleted his number out of my phonebook 10 months ago. Uncharacteristically, I answered the phone thinking that there was something wrong for him to be calling at 2am on a Thursday night.

"Hello?"

"Love, it's John. Look, I know I'm not your most favorite person right now, but I need your help. Please."

"What's up?"

"I've had a couple drinks and started my drive home and realized that I've had one too many to be driving. Can I please come over?"

"No, I don't want you at my place, but pull over and I'll come pick you up and take you home. Take your keys out of your ignition. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thank you so much. Thank you."

I picked him up and took him home. I guess my mistake was going inside, but we were talking and the conversation was honest and amiable. He couldn't believe I had deleted his number (I told him I had): "That's so permanent. If I delete a number, then it's like I'm deleting the person from my life. I thought we were different than that."

(Yeah, and I thought "I love you" meant "I love you" and "you give me everything I want and need" meant "you give me everything I want and need." Turns out "everything I want and need" excludes new pussy. Hey, I'm only one woman. Go fucking figure.)

Next thing I know and the very last thing I expected, I'm in the middle of SexFest2005. It was really great (and longlasting) sex, but our sex was always hot. Coincidentally, this encounter was one day shy of a year since our last romp and, essentially, the end of our year-long affair.

I'm feeling pretty emotionally solid, which is a bit surprising considering I never healed wholly from the staggering heartbreak he caused me. I guess I created a barrier between my mind, body and soul that night, though indeed it would be nice to have a relationship that honors the unity of these things instead of dividing part of me against the rest of myself. On the flip side, the realistic/practical/experienced side of me doesn't believe there can be unity between body, mind and soul when it comes to sex and men. Either I have to compartmentalize or I set myself up for disappointment.

John actually said to me the other night that he wanted to "make love" to me all night and all through the next day - that he could stay like "this" forever. How much he missed me. How much he wanted me. How sexy he thought I was. How much he wanted to go down on me. How often he thought about it. How much he wanted me to have pleasure ("I want to make you come a million times before I do" or "Just relax and enjoy this - don't worry about me"). How much he loved to be inside me. How much he "loved sharing this with me - sharing each other".

If I believed or took to heart anything he said that night, then I would be a mess right now. But I'm not a mess right now because I shut myself off from my emotions. I knew tomorrow would be different and that what he was saying was fleeting.

Legitimately, I tried to resist. I told him "no" over and over and pushed him away from me and off me and repeatedly pulled his hand out of my pants. But then he tore down my pants, saying he wanted to "taste me til I came" and I said "no, no, no". Then he flipped me over and pried apart my legs because he is bigger and stronger than me, and I couldn't help but give in to the pleasure of it all. My heart and mind were saying no, but my body was saying yes.

When he called me last night (at least he called), as expected I could sense a complete and utter detachment in his voice like he felt nothing of the sort he expressed just 12 hours before. That switch had unsurprisingly been turned right back off. But this time, only my tired body has to heal and not my broken heart.

~ the lady love

To You

2006-07-07T15:14:00.000-04:00

This will be the last you know of me. And you really are a prick. I didn't think so before. But now? Now I really do. Like I don't even exist. Thanks.

Before, I mostly just felt sorry for you after we stopped talking - felt sorry for you being so detached from love, connectedness, and emotion, because it was so apparent that your detachment was nothing more than fear. Well, fear and lots and lots of practice at becoming a stone.

Shame on me for thinking that I could fill that empty space with light and love. Shame on me, for there is a difference between emptiness and nothingness, and you can't fill a shell wrapped around nothingness. And shame on me for playing the fool to lip service.

O, but poor, poor you! You've been done wrong before. Now everyone who comes after will pay the price.

Unlike you, I will not let the fact that you seduced me into laying down a healthy amount of caring before shitting all over it keep me from believing in the good in people.

Unlike you, I will not be beaten down and lose sight of my humanness - my ability to feel - just because some transgressor stole another shard of my innocence.

Unlike you, I will not become a zombie, carrying out a series of daily motions and calling it living. A constant cycle of wake, train, work, train, crappy tv, and sleep that keeps you from risking potential suffering that comes with really being alive.

Unlike you, I will not exist on fantasies alone, occasionally pulling someone else into them and telling myself that I'm keeping it real. Coincidentally, it reminds me of Giovanni Ribisi's character in I Love Your Work and his make-believe Christina Ricci. If only she could've been a real life dream girl.

Unlike you, I will not be trapped in the asylum of my own mind where the only gratification is deprivation. It's no more or no better than being trapped in a real institution, rocking away in a chair with the word "crazy" carved in its arm.

Go ahead and tell yourself that you're not so bad. That I was warned. Keep falling on that sword. Sleep easy at night knowing that you did it for my own good, as you rub yourself raw lying face down with it trapped between you and your mattress.

~ the lady love

I'm Sorry I'm Not Available To Take Your Love Right Now

2006-05-23T00:12:00.000-04:00

yesterday i saw
the iron curtain
around your heart

making me cry
making me wonder
bringing me down
but making me love you

making me sad
making me sorry and
a little afraid
but making me love you

yeah

(Over the Rhine)

Spurred by a couple out-of-the-blue phone calls from former flames and the dusting of silt leftover from a faded broken heart, I had a thought. Not a new one for me but one that I finally have the right words for, or one word rather. Availability.

When I was in my early twenties, I had a 5 year relationship that, while certainly had its imperfections, was also sort of... perfect. And when I say perfect, I don't mean formulaic (read: storybook), but rather, unfettered. The three middle years we spent long distance, but it didn't matter. We saw each other when we could. Sometimes it was weekly; sometimes it was three months, but it never changed our love, devotion or loyalty to each other. Sure, the longer spans were harder because we missed each other, but having someone's love like that, I felt contented. I never even had the urge to stray, nor did she.

But that's not what even made it so... ideal. What made it ideal was how available we were to one another. We occasionally talked about the what-ifs of forever, but we both knew forever is a really long time, so how could we even begin to know the people we would become in the next 5, 10 or 20 years? Even still, while we were in it together - in love, that is - we were available to each other. Unfettered from the emotional baggage, bitterness, broken hearts, skepticism and insecurities that come from years of - and I use this word tentatively - relationships with unavailable people.

One thing I've never been able to understand is that if most people want love, then why is it so hard to have it with someone? But then I realized that it really comes down to one thing: availability. Of course, that is if the other basic ingredients are there - things like attraction and compatability.

So many people are not available. Their trust has been broken by someone in the past: a friend, a lover, or a parent, or they've never truly experienced love: from a friend, a lover, or a parent. And as much as they want love, they can't shed their self protective barriers that would allow them to experience real love. Out of fear. Out of hurt. Out of ignorance.

But to actually have love, you have to be available to give and receive it. I've experienced some really great people in my life. Tender ones. Compassionate ones. Even loving ones. But when it comes to being accessible on a level that makes them vulnerable to me, they're unavailable. Their emotional baggage, bitterness, broken hearts, skepticism and insecurities are too present in their hearts and minds to let their past fall away.

And that's why Jenny was so lovely. We weren't scared of loving each other. We were available - emotionally, mentally, and physically - to share ourselves with each other. We didn't promise each other forever; we didn't have to. The only thing we promised was to never betray each other's trust. Sure, when we broke up, it wasn't all puppies, rainbows, and flowers, but among the tears and sadness and loss, we knew that our lives were leading us in different directions. Breaking up was the right thing to do.

Since then, I've experienced some really great people. Tender ones. Compassionate ones. Even loving ones. But also unavailable ones. You often hear people say you can't help who you fall in love with. The heart wants what it wants. I don't believe that. See, I think that we make a choice as to whether or not we make ourselves available to give and receive love. And if you aren't open to it, chances are it's not going to happen, and if you are too open to it, you could fall for somebody who never really wanted your love in the first place.

I started this post with the song Iron Curtain because of something I've learned from the unavailable people in my life after Jenny. When I see the iron curtain around someone's heart, it may make me cry, make me wonder, bring me down, make me sad, make me sorry, and a little afraid, but it doesn't make me love them, not anymore, at least. Yeah. Because that's when you hurt yourself - when you try to love someone who is not available to receive it - someone with an iron curtain around their heart.

So the next time I make myself available to give and receive love, it's going to be to someone who is available to give and receive it back. Isn't that what being "in love" is about - being "in" something with somebody who is in it with you?

I was in love once, and I may never be in it again. And to anyone whose outgoing message says, "I'm sorry I'm not available to take your love right now," I'll leave this message: what I really want is someone who's available to pick up the phone. My love won't be waiting on the line for long.

~ the lady love

Let Me Die If I Want To

2006-02-16T23:59:00.000-05:00

Tonight I got into a conversation with a couple friends about suicide when one of them told the other about losing our friend to suicide a few months ago.

A recurring comment that I hear people make is that suicide is the most selfish act a person can do. Then they expound by asking, "How could a person do that to their friends and family?" I do understand this commonly held point of view, but I have a different and - gasp! - controversial opinion on the subject. You see, I don't think suicide is any more selfish than living - or dying, as the case me be - by your own rules.

When people talk about life, happiness, and fulfillment, it's generally accepted that the ideal way to live is to make choices that lead you to your own happiness and peace. That doesn't mean that we should disregard the well-being of those around us, nor does it excuse bad, inconsiderate, and hurtful behavior. But it's your life to live, so at the end of it, do you want to have lived the way you wanted to or to have lived the way everyone else wanted and expected you to?

As I recently explained to a friend going through a divorce: life is complex, and making choices about our own paths can sometimes be even more difficult than not making waves. I for one can only hope that my friends, family, and loved ones will be forgiving, merciful, compassionate, and understanding for all the things that I have done and will inevitably do that hurts and disappoints them. The best we can do is to respect our true selves rather than to lead false lives. Integrity should be measured by how we steward the hearts, minds, and spirits of those caught in the crossfire of our self discovery.

And that's how I feel about suicide. Yes, I am angry and hurt because of it, but I've been angry and hurt by a lot of things that people do that ultimately serve their own needs over mine. So what's the difference really? Aren't we being just as selfish by expecting someone to stay around because of what it will do to us if they kill themselves?

Of course, if I have a friend who is in a such a dark place that they are contemplating suicide, then I will do whatever I can to support them and help them in their healing. But just like someone with a drug addiction, we can't make people do - or not do - anything that we want them to do. And so it goes for my friend who died back in September. If he was so unhappy in this life that the only peace he could find was to exit it, then so be it. It would have been just as selfish for me to have expected him to live in misery to spare my grief.

See, that's the thing about life: our reality is other people - in friendship, love, family, business - so it's inevitable that the action of others will impact us. The trick is trying to find a balance of pursuing our own happiness while being mindful of the investment we have in each other.

~ the lady love