Jul 26, 2007

8 Extraordinary Things About Moi!

"These are 8 extraordinary things about me, then eight people are tagged to write 8 things about themselves. I'm sorry if I pick you.....don't be mad, it's all in good fun!" (Thx to Siobhan!)

1. I read Tarot cards frighteningly well. As a result, I don't read them too often!

2. I find four leaf clovers everywhere all the time. In fact, most people don't believe it until they've witnessed it. Non-believers claim it's just good eyesight, though.

3. I'm extremely empathic. Sometimes it bugs me, because I don't always want to be a giant sponge for other people's feelings.

4. I'm a lucid dreamer. When I become lucid, I tend to ditch whatever dream I'm in, so I can fly. I love flying in my dreams!

5. I'm a Dr. Doolittle.

6. I'm really good at most things artistic (to the point where I've been paid for all kinds of gigs, like drawing, photography, graphic design, jewelrey making, web design, etc.).

7. I have a photographic memory.

8. I'm center-brained.

Jul 21, 2007

Why is masturbation so taboo?

I mean, aside from the obvious religious implication and such  (ie. "Every sperm is sacred..."), why do we shun masturbation when it's really one of the best gifts we can give ourselves?

Feeling stressed? Masturbate!

Feeling depressed? Masturbate!

It's like a wonder rememdy. I don't feel like getting into the science behind it, but we've all heard or know that orgasms release some kind of endorphins or something that send these "feel good" messages to the brain and then we, voila! Feel good!

And what could possibly be more important in life other than to feel good? No, really. Think about it.

We may have jobs, kids, responsibilities, etc. but at the end of the day (or beginning) all we really want is to feel good, don't we?

And what better way to make yourself feel good than masturbation?

I used to get wicked jealous of my husband for masturbating to porn. It made me feel somehow inferior to the women in the magazines, but what I realize now is that it was just lack of imagiation on his part (no offense, honey). I don't need magazines (when Bill Pardy will do -- how'd that get in there? lol Seriously tho...), but why blame him for needing them? I mean, just because I can create some big strange fantasy about being some Greek Goddess or Egytian Princess getting it on with a God doesn't mean everyone can (or would want to). In other words, we all get our rocks off different ways... We are all individuals... Why blame someone for getting their rocks off differently (as long as "differently" doesn't mean anything harmful or illegal, y'know)?

As a writer, I need to "get my rocks off" (I honestly do not know where I got that expression, but I like it so I'm sticking with it), but if I'm writing every day and, um, my husband is off in Colorado working on a film, well, what am I suppose to do, right? Masturbation!

But then guilt creeps in and all those moments someone said something like "Ew, gross, you do that?" or "That's wrong" and all of a sudden I feel blocked. And then, well, then I end up not writing, which really bugs me. I want to be unstoppable like James Gunn, but being unstoppable means you gotta start in the first place!

Damn, I'm on a rant... Don't want to get too tangential...

The point is why the big deal? Why is it taboo to talk about masturbating? Why does it have to be a "dirty little secret?"

Eating isn't. Drinking isn't. Finding shelter from a storm or going to sleep when you're tired isn't taboo.

Isn't sex, or, more importantly orgasm, just one more thing we humans NEED.

Nourishment, shelter, sleep, & sex.

Aren't those our basic needs without which we could not survive?

I suppose a gaggle of nuns or priests might say icks-nay on the ex-say, but come on! Perhaps sex with someone else, but don't we all need the release of sexual gratification even if it is  just with our hands (or whatever you use)?

How many popular songs have been about it?

She Bop - Cyndi Lauper
Dancing with Myself - Billy Idol
Touch Myself - DiVinyls (I think??)
Whip It - Devo

These are just off the top of my head... I'm sure there are many more. Oh!

Me and My Hand - Pink (or whatever that song is called)

I think you get my point... People have sung about it, written about it (Joe Matt)... It's obvious we need it, so why keep it taboo? Why not just be totally open and upfront about it?

Is it because what may get our rocks off isn't what we want people to think does? Maybe, but who cares what your private fantasy is... Most of our daily choices seem to stem from the same place... Why do I love Serenity so much? Why did I love Star Wars so much when I was younger? They get my rocks off. Maybe not in the same exact way as masturbation (that could be embarrassing and messy), but still, the point is, something gets my heart racing, something uplifts me, brings me to a higher level...

Hey, maybe masturbation could be looked at like prayer...

Wow. A whole bunch of strange thoughts just flooded my brain with that one sentence, one of them being my very Catholic grandmother -- my only grandparent still living -- whacking me over the head with rosaries, but, hopefully, you get my point.

Prayer is a solitary thing we do at night if we are at all even remotely spiritual (and sometimes even when we're not). It makes us feel better. It helps us focus on what's most important. It channels our positive energy.

So, why not masturbation? It pretty much does the same thing only it feels a heck of a lot better, imho.

Well, enough chatter... I got some professional writing to do,but first I gotta get my rocks off.

Jul 20, 2007

"Come Away with Me"

Sometimes I wonder…
What's it all about?
And I can't hardly conceive,
Why I should even get out of bed…

Then there are days…
When the pool calls my name…
And I can see all the beauty…
In the world around me.

Why the mood swings?
Why the pendulum?
Why the back and forth?
What color is your mood ring?

Blue. I see right past you.
I see into me…
I see the blue sea…
A sea of sadness drowning me.

Throw me a lifeboat…
What's it all about?
And I can't hardly conceive…
What you mean to me.

Then there are days…
I kick my feet, swing so high!
Loving life, all passersby,
Not afraid of you and I.

Sometimes I wonder…
I see into me…
I see the blue sea…
What color your mood ring be?   

Blue. I see right through you…
And into me…
Sail away on the blue sea…
Come you with me!

On the blue sea…
On the blue sea…
Come away with me.
On the blue sea…
On the blue sea…
Come away with me.

Sometimes I wonder…
What's it all about?
I kick my feet, swing so high!
Lovin' every minute of you and I.

Jul 14, 2007

Remembering Vera...

This blog has been the hardest one I have ever tried to write. The one you are reading is its fourth incarnation. I'm having difficulty with words... I have pictures and cards that I have scanned and would like to share with you, but I really wanted to use words!

I think part of my problem is too much negativity still swirling around my heart from a somewhat unpleasant people...

I could write 10 pages just venting but I really don't want to do that. I want to focus on the positive. Of course, at the heart of the matter is my grandmother's passing. Where's the positive in that? She's in a better place, I know that in my heart, but I miss her. I have missed her for 20 years.

See, 20 years ago when I was 13 my Grandmother had an aneurysm.

She didn't die, but she lost her mind. She didn't recognize me, her only granddaughter. Something inside me shut off that day and did not return until we spread her ashes...

I want to write more. I want to paint a picture of who she was so you can see why I loved her so much. I want to sing her song.

She was so full of life. She knew so much about the world around her...

See, my folks divorced when I was 11 and my Mum moved out. I stayed with my Dad, but my Gramma, my Mum's Mum, was only a small cornfield away.

I loved running through the tall stalks to her house. I'd pretend the field was an ocean with waves of corn. She indulged my childhood imagination... Upon popping out of the field, I might find her hanging clothes to dry out back... Long white sheets I'd twirl between... We'd both giggle.

She had strawberries, blueberries, asparagus, and rhubarb all growing in her yard... She'd make strawberry rhubarb pie and it tasted like Heaven, especially with a dollop of real vanilla ice cream. Mmmm...

She used to pick buttercups and hold them under my chin, laugh and say, "You must really love butter!" When I'd ask her how she knew, she'd explain it was because of how much the yellow from the flower reflected off my chin.

Sometimes she'd tell me stories as we walked through the yard about the fairies who lived in the moss and how they'd gather under mushrooms on rainy days... Giant umbrellas protecting their translucent wings from the storm overhead.

There were nymphs of some sort who lived in the trees and when the wind whipped them about on chilly Autumn days, she'd say, "Listen... Listen to the trees. What do you hear?" I heard all sorts of strange noises... She said the nymphs were in the trees playing with their recent acquisitions... And what were those? Everything you ever thought you lost... Old keys, a sock, a tin pan, a hat... These were things the nymphs collected and would play with on those windy days creating atonal symphonies.

She said that cats were painted by angels and that Tortoise shell and Calicos were extra special because the angels would use all their different paints and splatter them on... Angel paintings for humans...

She made the world so magical. I miss her so much.

She'd take me on long walks "down the lane" to this small pond and giant rock. She told me that Indian spirits dwelled there and I could feel them. I'd climb up onto the rock and lay my head down listening to the quiet of the woods and feeling the sun's warmth radiate up from the rock.

She saw so much more than most folk in the simplicity of life.

She taught me how to read, write, and do basic math before I even went to kindergarten. We'd play Parcheesi or dolls... She'd help me make new clothes for my Barbie's.

She indulged my creative side. She fed my soul. I remember writing my first story ever... About a fawn... Sort of like Bambi only not sad.

She knew the names of all the flowers and trees and birds... We'd nosh on Checker Berries and chew on Sassafras leaves.

She taught me the songs of the birds, all of which she knew by heart. We'd be inside and if she heard a Whippoorwill, she'd call me to the window to see...

Where do these memories go when a person dies? I don't recall all these little details she knew about nature like instinct. I miss her mind. I miss her magic. I miss her creativity.

Vera is my soul and I'm a lost 13 year old looking for home.

Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you come back tomorrow
Can I sleep tonight

Outside, somebody's outside
Somebody's knocking at the door
There's a black car parked at the side of the road
Don't go to the door
Don't go to the door
I'm going out
I'm going outside, mother
I'm going out there

Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow

Who broke the window
Who broke down the door
Who tore the curtain
And who was it for
Who heals the wounds
Who heals the scars
Open the door
Open the door

Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow
Can I sleep tonight

'Cause I want you, I want you
I really want you, I want
I want you to be back tomorrow
I want you to be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow

Open up, open up to the love of God
To the love of He who made the blind to see
He's coming back
He's coming back
I believe Him
Jesus is coming
I'm gonna be there
I'm gonna be there, mother
I'm gonna be there, mother
I'm gonna be there
And you're gonna be there