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Oh Angst, Oh Woe
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Nov 22, 2006 10:54 pm
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If I were feeling sufficiently cheesy and adolescent, I'd write something about being a wee little flower who needs to be cared for and nourished like the rose in the Little Prince. About being a fluffy kitten, about wanting to feel like a special girl, blah de blah de blah de blah.
I'll admit to the general "blarg" feeling I have at the moment. Yes, fine, it's there. It happens from time to time, even in strong Super-Bitches like myself. Step into my brain
"The ex is off again this weekend to shag his five foot tall submissive skinny girl with red hair - the type of girl most men would die to have, which I think is why he's going out with her, he admitted it was about his ego more than anything - and I can't get a date to last longer than two hours. It's the weight. Or the skintone. Or the fact I don't giggle and listen to all the cute pop songs. Or maybe I think too much. Perhaps I should just say 'I think kittens are fluffy' and twirl my hair round a finger and try to look cute. Oh, please, I'm 35, I stopped looking cute fifteen years ago.
"Lose some weight...nope, that isn't going to work, I know where my hipbones are and they're not shifting. I'd have to have the fucking things removed surgically to fit into trousers in this country. Lose the dreds maybe.
"Maybe I should just be sluttier? I can do slutty, I have done slutty, I've forgotten more things about being slutty than most of these 15 year old girls drinking White Lightning on street corners have read in their teen mags. I can wear something completely unimaginative and stereotypical like people expect, show my tits, show my ass, put on a badly fitting corset and my stocking and take crap photos so everyone can have a wank, and then move onto the next one once they get what they want....bleh, no. I hate that fake playacting crap.
"Still, sexier...I could do with that. Provided I could find sexy clothing that fits. Maybe I should pull something out to wear - "
"But my son is home and I need to make sure he hasn't tried to ride the cat again. And there's dishes...and laundry. Who has time for this sexy shit when there's housework? Seriously? Are people trippin'?!
"I've got a wink from a 26 year old. Gods, help me, I swore I wasn't going for anyone that young again, bloody CHILDREN, young dumb full-o-cum. Well ok, so maybe I could just - no, no that's right out, sooner or later you have to talk and when it becomes obvious we have NOTHING in common I lose interest. If there's nothing between your ears, I don't want you. Well, screw it, I suppose we could try ' a chat', gods I hate just chatting online, men never TALK they just want me to show off anatomy, which I never do....
"....he's not 26, he can't be, he's talking like he is 16, does a 26 year old not know how to spell 'fantasy'? Christ, sod that one....
"Winks, yay...from Germany. Again. And from the States. Hurrah. Well that's helpful.
"...Maybe I should move back to Seattle. Be a freak among freaks again.
"Blarg. Even bitches get the blues."
Yeah yeah, I'm this strong, lovely, beautiful, impressive woman says my friends. That's nice. It's not helping right now though, is it?
This too shall pass.
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Blahdeeblah
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Nov 20, 2006 11:38 pm
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I went to the gym once in about a month. In between falling down stairs/getting the flu/flu turning into lung infection/sprog getting sick I've had no chance back. Actually when I went to see the doc about the cough I had, he said "Stay out of the gym until I see you again in two weeks." All the weight and toning I did is gone. I'm so fucking irritated there are no words.
I've got stuff to do today, and I just want to sleep. This is why winter sucks; lack of sunlight and I want to hibernate. I could do with some gym fake-n-bake; yes I know, terrible for skin, but it's the only way I can get the proper UV light I need to be able to function in the dreariness that is England Winter.
General observations and things that make you say "hmmmmm"; I seem to have attracted the entire male population of Germany to my profile. I'm not entirely certain how that's happened, but the amount of winks, network invitations and generally illegible, broken-English emails I've been getting seems to have tripled. When did this happen? And what bloody good are any of them to me if they're in Germany, for fuck's sake? I appreciate the sentiment, gents, but if you're not less than 100 miles away, there isn't a whole lot any of you can do for me.
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Skinny
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Nov 19, 2006 8:58 pm
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I'm actually surprised at the positive comments I've seen on this video. It's been my experience English men don't find fat birds attractive, but then perhaps it's that "closet desire" thing again; dating the skinny bird in public, lusting after the fat bird in private.
Cool to know the love is out there...but I wish the English were more bloody DEMONSTRATIVE.
P.S. and I'm awake because my son thought 2:40 was time for breakfast...I haven't been able to get back to sleep. It's going to be an unpleasant day.
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Don't talk...do.
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Nov 18, 2006 11:05 pm
713 Views
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Recently I was asked why I don't talk about deep subjects upon my blogs. This caught me by surprise, and so as a result I am going to do something rare and attempt to formulate the thought processes of my brain in one post. Impossible, but then so was the question.
People tend to turn their blogs into huge debates of their own personal points and politics; whether it be mundane, vanilla, kink or whatever. It's a disease of the internet; I join pagan online communities and it's constant debates over various paradigms. Online gaming? People going on about game mechanics like they actually know what they're talking about (and most don't). Kink is no different, but the people who feel the need to make this site their personal political crusade baffle me beyond belief, almost as much as the "real/fake" debates or What Is Truly Kink.
I ascribe to the Steppenwolf. It's my bible - even though the 60's generation completely misinterpreted what they were reading and didn't understand what to actually do with it (much to Herman Hesse's amused dismay). In it, our anti hero Harry Haller is suffering on the cusp of the Jazz age. He's a romantic and a thinker, a philosopher who has hankered after the pure aesthetic of old - and that world is long gone, leaving him part-wild and lonely. He is discovered by Hermine, a call-girl and courtesan, which teaches him how to dance, and how to enjoy the pleasures of the new age. One of her friends is Pablo, a talented saxophone player who speaks very little, but spends all his time playing music. Harry tries many a time to get into deep philosophical discussions about music, "tone colours" and things which would appeal to the studier of music and critic. Pablo never gets into such discussions and one day Harry asks why.
Pablo replies it is not worth his time to discuss music; it is only up to him to PLAY it, the best he can, as consistently as he can. Harry tries to argue again from the high intellectual ground how other music is more valuable than jazz, and even tries to place it intellectually on "levels of importance". To Pablo, it's all one and the same - in the end, it's the music itself that is worth it. As a musician, he owes it to the world to play, and chattering on and on would take away from that.
If you want my philosophy of life...that's it right there.
I never debate about anything. I know all the wonderful points people make about how being able to argue makes you a better person (read that over again a few times; how does arguing and being able to sway someone to ideas you don't even really believe in make you GOOD? Good at what exactly?!). I have heard it said time and time again to "know the issues", to "debate and get your sources". I have seen threads and online debates turn into pages and pages of people trying to prove things to one another. There are even people who just like to argue, and will happily do nothing but surf about looking for a debate to start.
But does anyone who spends all that time doing that actually have any time to actually FOLLOW what they preach in the real world? If you're going to rant on and on about poverty and cruelty and so on, what do you actually do in your daily life to stop it? And I don't mean maybe giving five pounds a month to some remote charity. I mean rolling up your sleeves and getting both hands dirty. I mean offering to help single mums do their taxes or sort through paperwork. I mean volunteering at homeless shelters. If you're the double'ard type who believes we should all be superhumans without weaknesses, are you offering to train people in martial arts (if you even know them)? Or are you just going on and on about how much a weakness compassion is on an online blog? Better still, are you willing to accept the fact you will be left to your own devices, alone, for those self same beliefs? A person without compassion doesn't love.
The Steppenwolf makes another observation - the parallel between Harry's feelings about the upcoming second World War and what I've been feeling about this whole Iraq thing are so similar it made my hair stand on end at first reading; history has taught us nothing. Another aspect of this self-same parallel is the distancing ourselves from the guilt of the world. Yes, you can be broken up about how we have nearly destroyed our oceans to the point there will be no fish in 40 years...but I bet you're still driving a car. And that self-same car you drive is contributing to the war as well. Saying there is "nothing you can do" is a copout, and an attempt to release yourself from the guilt of the problems of the world. The fact is you don't want to be inconvenienced, you have "substituted responsiblity for convenience, conscience for the poll booth" (to misquote). There is plenty you can do, but it would mean doing without a great deal...and there are few people in the world that dedicated.
But you are guilty, my friend, guilty for the state of the world, yes you right there....we all are. When people on these blogs moan about the "fakes" in post after post, yet their own profile has nothing but a picture of their cock and "prefer not to say", they're as guilty as anyone else. The Treatise of the Steppenwolf can and does apply to each and every one of us, whether we like it or not. Let that sink in for a bit.
We can either allow this to drag us into depression like Harry, or we can "laugh at the bim bim" of life. But either way you go, TALKING about it won't do a thing.
Before the Egyptian gods we're familiar with came to be in Egypt, there were many many others. There is very little known of them because the Egyptians knew the best way to bury history from repeating itself is to erase all traces of it (until of course some idiots come along wanting to dig it all up out of curiosity). The only thing we know of these Primordial gods is their main paradigm - "To Know, To Will, To Dare, To Keep Silent." Again, something I ascribe to. I know what is going on, I will it to stop, I dare to attempt to do something about these issues...but I don't talk about them. What's the point? Why not just DO it? It's not illegal, or eco-terrorist, it's very simple stuff. But if I take a few moments out to go on and on about it, that's time I've just taken out of continuing to do what I need to do.
I'm an artist (yeah, ok, I said it). But I couldn't tell you a damn thing about art. I Know how to create a particular item, I Will it into being underneath my fingers, I Dare to fire it, and then I Keep Silent about the rest. The point is not to go on and on about art for me; it's to MAKE it, as best as I can. I imagine I'm really going to baffle these contest judges and gallery interviewers when I start submitting my work, because I've got nothing to say....let my art do the talking.
I don't talk on and on about things. I do things instead. By action, by deed. Do no mistake my silence for indifference. I'm watching, I see what's going on. But doing as per my own beliefs have been, and always will be, more important than babbling on and on about it in pixels, which does nothing but try and convince ourselves we're actually doing something, when we're not.
And thus...there you have it. I won't be posting on this again as I already feel I've wasted to much of my "do" time in explaining instead.
"May each do with it as they like."
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More boots!
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Nov 18, 2006 12:42 am
663 Views
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Tis the season, with autumn in full swing, and winter approaching, when boots appear in all the shops.
Mmmmm, boots.
I love boots. Give me boots. I'm a fan for the suedes especially. Give me something looking faintly Victorian, about to midcalf, and I'm in heaven. Black, of course, and capable of looking both sedate and sultry depending on what outfit I'm wearing.
Mukluks? No thank you. England, listen to me; teaming up miniskirts and boots which look like they've been made out of several tribbles is NOT FASHION!!! Trust me on this.
The downer this year (as it is every year) is England doesn't make sizes big enough for me. Women's feet are supposed to stop at a "huge" (huge for whom?!) size 8. I wear a 10.
I'm screwed in an unpleasant, non-boot sort of way.
So every year I look at the rows and rows of boots, I can FEEL the satisfaction of wearing them, of zipping them up over my calves and the sigh of content; they feel like corsets for my feet. I imagine how brilliant that pair there with the buckles on the side would go with my black corset and backseam stockings, or that suede bit with my velvet...but I know better than to even go and look at a pricetag. I know that damning "size 8" or under will be on the sole.
I've given up asking about larger sizes in this country. The conversation goes something like this.
Me: Great boots, do you have them in a larger size?
Salesperson: (in smug assuring voice) Oh yes, we even go up to a size 8.
Me: (cringing inwardly already) No, I mean larger, size 8 isn't large enough for me. Do they come bigger?
Salesperson: (looking as if they're a blind person trying to envision an elephant) Er...no, I've not even heard of women's boots going up that high.
*sigh* But then it doesn't matter what I wear. I spent an amusing half-hour ranting with another American woman last week about how "fun" it is shopping for jeans or trousers in this country, where having hips is illegal - thus you end up with about four to six inches of loose fabric around the waist on account of having to get clothes three sizes to large just to get them over our American bums.
The ball is on for January, and I had a mind to get some new boots for the outfit...and then I realised what I was saying. Thankfully I've got a pair of boots which are almost like the ones in the photo. I custom ordered them especially from the States about four years ago, the best boot purchase I have ever made.
I'll suffer and make do...and go bootless again this year.
Someone from the US - where women come in a size other than "petite" - send me a wardrobe, will ya?
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Definitely what is Needed
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Nov 16, 2006 11:18 am
569 Views
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My twin-separated-from-birth, DD, wrote in [post 211422] about what is seriously needed when a sistah is tired, tired tired. I can assure you it is NOT shots of your nether bits and a "please use me by watching me stick this pint glass up my bum".
Some good old fashioned coddling is on the menu with my schedule at the moment. Want to impress me? Wash my sheets, scent them with the water of roses, and let me luxuriate. Rub my feet with oil - they always hurt. Give me an hour of bliss and touch and SILENCE.
Take some lessons in spoiling, and give, without expectation to receive. It does exist, there are men who do this, I've found a fair few. Servitude means more than putting on a rubber thong and high heels.
I can hear the "amens" but I don't hear "I'll be right there" which would be more useful.
But you best stop at DominaDelight's house first...
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Yay, dance, boo, smoke filled pubs
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Nov 16, 2006 12:26 am
533 Views
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Met with the instructor lass last night in a very smoky pub (my lungs hate me today). I can't make her classes unfortunately; getting to her classes is too difficult as I don't drive. There is another instructor who is very close and local as well - she doesn't do tribal in the improvisational sense, but it would be cool to get in and just do some dancing regardless. I was invited to a hafla and I've only now just realised it's a friend's birthday party that weekend. Arse arse arse. I need to choose. What a novelty - choosing between events! When was the last time I had to choose which social stuff I wanted to attend?! Potentially, the hafla will help me earn money, while the birthday party will encourage me to spend it...so maybe that's the decision made right there.
I've had five hours of sleep. Hard party animal, me, I'm exhausted and want to snooze, but sprog was up again at 5. My gym routine is going right out the window lately as I'm too exhausted to even think about going. Maybe I can pick it up again next week, get my motivation back.
Not thinking about anything kink-worthy, sorry. A sistah has NO time.
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Woot
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Nov 15, 2006 7:57 am
533 Views
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Well the firing went well, say thankya. Still need to burnish - and I won't be doing that tonight because I get obsessed about burnishing, and my son is due back in an hour, then I need to be out the door later on.
I think I managed to nail it, as it were - I modelled this after a real rose, rips in its petals and all. Burnishing and garnet mounting will happen later.
Woot, and can I say woot again.
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Ah, sweet sleep
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Nov 14, 2006 11:17 pm
488 Views
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...which I haven't been getting much of lately. The Sproggo was up at 5am again this morning. He managed to keep himself occupied for a half hour in his room, but I've got Mum-dar; if I hear my boy stirring, I'm wide awake, waiting for the first cry or sound he's hurt himself.
I've made him a huge breakfast of sausages and eggs, which he's devoured, and once he's off for nursery again, I'm going to take my morning snooze. Then gym, then clean, then get sorted for my schmooze with the tribal-dance folks. That I'm even considering adding something else to my already full-up schedule boggles my mind...but it's DANCING, and costumes, and flashy things, and ...and stuff! Which is beyond cool.
Off I flit. I can force myself to stay awake another two hours I think. *yawn*
EDIT: Oh, I need to fire the bloodrose today as well I think. I've been putting it off because I'm afraid it's going to turn out shit. It's a lame reason for not firing a piece. I'll do one last bit of filing today, but it is going to the torch. Enough faffing around...not all my artwork turns out shit, this one will be fine.
I hope.
St Brigid...Girlfriend, Hook a Sistah Up, y0.
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Oops, Upside Yo' Head
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Nov 14, 2006 11:06 am
594 Views
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Lawd, lawd, I had to put some TRUTH on a sistah today...
My friends, who have been through best and worst with me even though I left them back in the US, know one thing about me: if you want the truth, ask OyaD, but only if you can handle what she has to say.
I've been watching the SCUD missle that is a friend's life for the past year and a half. I've got the emails and just made a few noises over them (or didn't respond at all as there's only so much of the same broken record I can listen to). However, I didn't unload on her; I've learned there's a difference between brutal honesty and being a bitch. I never give my advice unless asked...and even then I'm aware I'm probably going to lose a friend even if they confide in me.
Well, girlfriend FINALLY asked me what I thought about the choices she has or hasn't made. After I made my requisite Disclaimer, I unrolled it allllll out in front of her, and I spared no words. I was not nasty - I may have been thinking "Just close your legs for five minutes, you bint, and maybe life won't be so complicated!", but I didn't WRITE it that way. However, I wasn't gentle, because she knows me by now. I needed that shit to sink in. I imagine she hesitated a good long while before opening the email...and I'm pretty certain she was WINCING all the way through it as well. But she knows me - she knows I observe before I pass judgment, and my judgment is therefore rarely wrong.
Now hopefully she actually listens...
This is one of those things about me which gets written off as arrogance or being a bitch; just because I may not be talking doesn't mean I'm not watching what's going on around me. Team acute observation which has been compared to "Sherlock Holmes Intensity" with a rather frightening high level of empathy and there is very little I miss when I'm in a room with a group of people. You'd think this was a cool ability - it isn't. There is no joy in being able to tell who is currently jonesing for heroin, who is terrified because the guy who casual- her is standing on the other end of the room and he's also hoping to God her boyfriend won't figure it out, and the girl in the corner with the fingernails bit down to the quick and the cigarette smoke spiking like a seismograph reading from her trembling fingers - all she's doing is screaming inside her head, over, and over, and over...
I hate the word "emo". It's dismissive. I don't give a shit if you think someone isn't "truly suffering". The fact is, they do. And it isn't pretty - some people aren't made of cast iron with steel-boned corsets and piss and vinegar in their veins. There are things some people cannot handle; and there are things these same people can do which put our own selves to shame. Our greatest artists were "emo"...that's what made them artists. Granted, the derisive snort of "emo" from people who are just as emotionally messed up and more than willing to spread it around at any opportunity always remind me of the Goths who used to say everyone but them was "pretentious"...which is of course a very bloody pretentious thing to say.
Ironically, it's the "emo" who are the ones who listen to me the longest, and the best. They're the first ones who seem to give me their respect, and they're also the first ones to ask me "What should I do?" They may wince, but they listen, and then they move on and do their thing. It's the hard-as-nails-and-if-you-aren't-you're-weak types who hiss, spit, and faint in coils at what I've got to say even AFTER they ask me my advice, and of course they're too double'ard to apologise.
Doesn't make much nevermind to me so much any more. My friends are the People Who Can Feel Me, and they know my truth may be harsh, but it is still TRUTH nonetheless.
I owe it to them, as Oya's Dancer. It's not a pretty job, or a pleasant one, but I do it just the same.
So...don't ask me, unless you REALLY want to know.
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To link to this blog (OyaD) use [blog OyaD] in your messages.
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