12-29-09
Hmm. Interesting. Hello world. It is me, Melissa. Writing from my universe as I have created it. A great many changes have happened in such a short time- in fact, I am bedazzled by it all. Gives me so much hope for what can happen within this next year- I no longer have to plan an impending move OR resign myself to New Orleans. Yippee. He he.
So here I sit on my magical extended sublet in my pretty homey feeling land of San Francisco fabulousness. My life is truly a representation of what I have intended for myself to live- AND I easily see the fruition of all these glorious things that I have intended on the totally reasonable horizon. Yay. And the more I get in touch with yes, my life is good and yes I do believe I deserve all these magical things to come.
So I would like to praise the things that have already glided into my life like a magical scene from willy wonka. Ok, so improv comedy. Oh my god do I love it! Love it and have LONGED to do it for years. In fact, I spent a great deal of time thinking I would one day grace the stages of SNL (when it was good) or do a second city. I contemplated working an office job to support my dream of doing comedy. That’s what I thought life was. Choose a profession where you settle and work in some type of cubicle and if you have a dream you must sacrifice your 9-5 and make it happen in your spare time. I.e., if you want it enough and if you pray to god hard enough and if you sweat, bleed and nearly die but STILL believe that dream is yours and that it is possible- why golly then you deserve a miracle I would say. Geez. No kidding. I can’t believe I actually thought that like five years ago.
I believed that it was the right thing for me to do to get an office job and that something like me being a famous comedian that made lots of money and got to laugh and make others laugh all day- yeah sounds and feels good to me. So needless to say, didn’t choose Chicago, office job, second city thing- I chose New Orleans. Yep, so glad to be a graduate of the school of life New Orleans. Woo hoo. And also I would like to honor that I have so come to understand that I am in no means starting from scratch here. And I think all the delicious things I have let in SOO SOON from my arrival here is due to my sort of accrued experience and navigating various lessons in new Orleans. So thank you new Orleans for all the wondrous growth you helped me accomplish and I give absolute thanks and praise that I am now able to reap the benefits in somewhere as AWESOME as san Francisco. Because, my glorious life here is totally believable and starting with that vibration- holy macaroni- some good stuff is happening.
Oh yeah, I was telling you all the good stuff. So, I have manifested weekly trips to Oakland to do improv comedy school (or improv conservatory is my fav way to look at it, because it’s funny). And I get to jump around and be silly and laugh and make others laugh every week. And it is totally awesome and it completely time just for me. So that’s awesome.
And so lately this week I have deeply contemplated what other things like that that I have sort of been waiting for whatever reasons/excuses- like someday, particularly when my partner gets here I can start living that rocking life I've always imagined. Or if I moved. Well, I’ve moved. So and yeah! YEAH! San Francisco offers so much, it is so great. Oh, I looked up dance classes and I was like OH MY GOD. Of course, yes Melissa you live in san Francisco of course there are all kinds of really interesting awesome badass classes at all different kinds. And I am sincerely excited about the bhangra and bollywood classes. I dig it. So yeah, comedy, dancing- I have reconnected with a yoga space that is actually sisters with a yoga place in New Orleans. AND my fav kirtan band will be here next month. AND my spiritual teachers Abraham are coming to san Francisco and I'm going to see them AND I get to speak Spanish and I am improving daily AND I get to eat really well in all kinds of ways and the space I am living in is filled with resonant laughter AND the place I am living has a wood burning stove and cozy reading nook AND a living room entertainment center that is nearly as impressive as the amazing amounts of movies (better than a movie store, I tell ya) AND meeting and hearing about spiritual opportunities AND having a tribe that is a nice blend of the spiritual, party whole me AND living near the beach AND having so many amazing and separate and interesting worlds that exist right out my front door (china town, you are in a foreign country, it is awesome) AND getting fabulous opportunities like winning VIP cirque du soleil tickets for me and guest and a $50 voucher for food and drink AND manifesting witch school at a later date when I am better able to receive it AND manifesting kirtans that are all over the city AND understanding how easy it is to renew my passport AND having the impending prospect of having all of my worldly goods in one actual geographic location AND actually having jobs that I love that are relevant to my career path and my life purpose AND actually having a reasonable plan for going back to school WITH the added bonus of affordability for having achieved my California residency AND understanding that I am truly free from money and have a wonderful relationship with money.
AND ACTUALLY that is a great topic to steer my babble into. So I was under this huge misconception that in order to pursue my comedy dream (but also I believe that I hold this belief for artist, starving artist complex/programming) that I would be totally fucked and literally starving (whatever that means because I’ve been on food stamps before and all that poverty jazz because my mom was too overwhelmed to pay the bills and put the money she had into those things- but I realized I am living just fine if not really well on a fucking minimum wage salary. Yes, it is incredibly galling that I am an intelligent person and I actually tried hard and paid attention in school and got good grades and this is where I am right now BUT I am still living well and really affordably. I think I’ve figured out my rhythm of living affordably and I think I cooperate with the universe to allow them to bring me things I need. Sometimes I pay for stuff, sometimes I buy stuff sometimes I earn stuff sometimes stuff is given to me, sometimes I find stuff… and on and on. God’s methods are ingenious- his ways are sure. And I think that’s good for me. Ok friends and family. Love and light to y’all.
Lovemelxxx
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Role Models- Making/breaking moulds
Mom/Mother/Ma
That last part said with a heavy boston Aaa. So it’s a “Maa” and sounds a bit trashy- to me at least. I guess I am judging myself. Eh. So anyway, the topic today for discussion kids is my Mom. This lesson could pour into lots of things and is a bit spicy as they say- lots of kick to it. So I have been thinking about my mother because a) I am in the process of mourning her b) I am in the process of coming to terms with her as a person and her as my mother and how that shaped me 3) I am coming to terms with my own sense in the world and we meaning society tend to compare to our parents. What interesting role models I have then, no wonder I am such an interesting person.
The role model my mother instilled in me- cleaniness is manditoriness and if the recipe says water substitute with cream, preferably heavy whipping cream or some other tarring arteries variety, talk about the grandiose things that you are capable and do NONE of them- particularly from a vantage point of a sofa watching tv and a coffee table with a Budweiser tucked into the corner- easily assessable and yet somehow discreet (and guilty?) ah mom. Not to mention a list of illnesses and misfortunes that would have JOB spinning in his woe is me cronhicles and shaking in his boots for lack of ingenuity. See my mother was clever and before she used her body something fierce she was also quite pretty.
I think I failed her- or was taught that I failed her- through my uninspired career as a dater. A woman’s worth being that of the men she can wrangle to provide for her and be her ‘honey do’. And yet, be so disempowered. So afraid- I don’t care to know the true depths to the self hatred I am sure my mother possessed. She continuously made some pretty bad decisions and dug herself into a pretty dark hole. I see her release from physical reality a totally blessing for her and for me and my sisters and maybe anyone who was touched by her. Sad to say so much growth was through pain.
Perhaps I am remembering it wrong- perhaps there were more moments of pure (or semi) family bliss where we did resemble a real family with love and affection but that was the sham of it. I was told to believe that not everyone is like the brady bunch. Like families, real families have disfunction. Oh ok. But do you think it is normal disfunction to have a mother wake up her children out of the bed on a school night and tell them they are moving away and to pack everything they want- while she is screaming at mark who she forced /manipulated me into calling him dad- I think to further hurt my father- that she was leaving. Oh my mother wanted to run away from her life so bad. She dreamt of new Hampshire and Alaska and other intensely cold climates. But wanted her ashes scattered on a beach. Contrary woman.
Mom. I feel perhaps the hardest thing to come to terms with is that- nope that would have been some huge generalization and that’s just not necessary with this. My mom- a case study as Nicole said. Who knows really? In the excessive emotional damage wraught by my mother’s war on herself and the rest of the family- I am not sure anyone would agree and remember anything the same. Ive encountered it frequently with my older sister Shannon- when I moved to new Orleans her and her life long best friend kara told me one night that I moved out when I was 12. and that I had basically missed being abused in the rest of the household. My sister has also stated, ‘you have no idea what I endured to protect you guys’. Sigh.
None of us have any idea what the others suffered. That’s the point of war, no one ever wins. Everyone is left tending to their wounds and attempting to collect themselves into some semblence of working societally functioning individual. Or at least that seems to be the programming ive experienced. And how we look around and think, what the fuck man- if you knew what I had endured you would never look at me that way- say that to me- think that about me- you would be amazed I am standing in front of you and able to smile. So yes I am a leo and I can exxagerate but if anything- I think I have understated my past because ive spent so much time processing it and I don’t want to harp on it. Because according to the law of attraction that would be completely not helpful as a strategy. Sooo, where is the line I ask you universe between telling a story, coming to peaceful resolution about something as painful and interesting (PAINTING) as my childhood. Wouldn’t that be funny- I keep seeing all these art academy of san fran buses- they go by my work all the time.. and I think right? I wanted a sign and I even said how much of a fan I am of the universe talking to me through bus logos and writing. Ta daQ!
Go back to school. But I am resistant. Eh, figure that out later…. LATER MAN LATER. Wtf. Anyway, so my current super duper coffee life has had me pondering hey what is that about, that cant be an accident. And in my last job in new Orleans as a barrista I came to some very powerful realizations and forgiveness for my mother-
To backtrack- my mother passed away sept 2007 from initially what I thought was coughing (miscommunication with my sister- later april 2009 to find out it was drug overdose)and we as a way of inheritance all received manilla envelopes with unsent letters from my mother. My sister still hasn’t read hers. Ive burned mine.
I read them that night. But that’s a whole other story
I found out when I went up to mass for the not funeral that my mom had actually managed to get a real job- funnily enough inject memory of my mom making fun of the dunkin’ donuts commercials from the 80s growing up… time to make the donuts. Well, the universe has a wicked sense of humor. The steady job my mom did eventually get fired from but held down for a while, was dunkin donuts. When I had thought she had coughed to death I was so struck by the near tragic proportions of her song. To finally have semblence of sobriety after some dark and even street living body selling times- have a steady job- and then die coughing. But she didn’t- she died the most logical way ever. For her at least.
So the coffee shop- I went into work last summer blazed (beyond wits end with my life in general, tried something I usually prohibit- mixing work and smoking) and I was so overcome with guilt and fear and self rejection and then in that moment of a near panic attack I stopped and had the total realization and awareness that if that was how I felt; it was like having a small window into my mother’s reality. And I bet it was sad. So I went from saying I can be compassionate for my mother to truly forgiving her (on whatever levels ) and having compassion.
So do I need to keep working in coffee to have MORE compassion for her or can I move onto something more exciting, which ties into the initial statements of role models. My role models for success have been lackluster at best. My mother was an incredible student and then went on to have a series of marriages, have children and develop a serious health and drug problem- among other things. And my father is from a wealthy and successful family and he was the accidental late in life baby to emotional vacant parents and his true passion- music- he was discouraged and even put off by the practicalities of being a businessman… where in my humble opinion he has punished himself for siding with them pretty much my whole life by working in sales and all music playing related fields and its like sitting across the room with your beloved for 30 years and never doing more than looking at it. Never actually touching it, tasting it. What a shame. Especially if you came here on this earth plane to unite and create with your beloved. And your beloved does not have to be a person- for my dad it is music. Music and skiing. Let the man ski!
But while my dad excelled at overworking and giving himself few vacations and lots of debt- he never really has been successful enough to not have to ‘worry’. Worry about money, worry about his safety, worry about money. That first and third one I think is a big issue. So yeah, I also got my mother who treated me like a paycheck (child support, it pays to marry muiltiple times and have children) and stole birthday money- you know the usual. And property. The amount of times I heard as a small child and young adult. YOU ARE MINE. Really? I thought I kind of belonged to no one- or at least myself right? But my mother asserted I belonged to her because she had fought over me and won- an expensive court battle between my parents.
I truly thought that my parents didn’t have other things they could even say to each other besides’ ‘i’ll see you in court’. It was like most people say hello and goodbye. They would say I’ll see you in court after a brief shouting match when ever my dad came to pick me up or drop me off. Basically my parents loathed each other. Really interesting to come from people who loath each other and treat you like property goods. Part of me feels that the reason my mother never recovered from me moving away wasn’t because I never came back like Shannon did- but because it somehow meant my dad won- their long fucked up battle for me and custody. Hello! I was 16 and you told me I couldn’t go to school anymore. Fucking crazy.
Ugh. Crazy and pretty and brilliant. I know, totally frightening. Don’t worry, she only had four daughters. Who so far have borne three beautiful children. I do take pride in the fact that the offspring of our family- regardless of the family history (eeks) well, we look attractive. And isn’t that what mom taught us? If nothing else, look attractive. Looks are really what matter. Thanks mom.
That last part said with a heavy boston Aaa. So it’s a “Maa” and sounds a bit trashy- to me at least. I guess I am judging myself. Eh. So anyway, the topic today for discussion kids is my Mom. This lesson could pour into lots of things and is a bit spicy as they say- lots of kick to it. So I have been thinking about my mother because a) I am in the process of mourning her b) I am in the process of coming to terms with her as a person and her as my mother and how that shaped me 3) I am coming to terms with my own sense in the world and we meaning society tend to compare to our parents. What interesting role models I have then, no wonder I am such an interesting person.
The role model my mother instilled in me- cleaniness is manditoriness and if the recipe says water substitute with cream, preferably heavy whipping cream or some other tarring arteries variety, talk about the grandiose things that you are capable and do NONE of them- particularly from a vantage point of a sofa watching tv and a coffee table with a Budweiser tucked into the corner- easily assessable and yet somehow discreet (and guilty?) ah mom. Not to mention a list of illnesses and misfortunes that would have JOB spinning in his woe is me cronhicles and shaking in his boots for lack of ingenuity. See my mother was clever and before she used her body something fierce she was also quite pretty.
I think I failed her- or was taught that I failed her- through my uninspired career as a dater. A woman’s worth being that of the men she can wrangle to provide for her and be her ‘honey do’. And yet, be so disempowered. So afraid- I don’t care to know the true depths to the self hatred I am sure my mother possessed. She continuously made some pretty bad decisions and dug herself into a pretty dark hole. I see her release from physical reality a totally blessing for her and for me and my sisters and maybe anyone who was touched by her. Sad to say so much growth was through pain.
Perhaps I am remembering it wrong- perhaps there were more moments of pure (or semi) family bliss where we did resemble a real family with love and affection but that was the sham of it. I was told to believe that not everyone is like the brady bunch. Like families, real families have disfunction. Oh ok. But do you think it is normal disfunction to have a mother wake up her children out of the bed on a school night and tell them they are moving away and to pack everything they want- while she is screaming at mark who she forced /manipulated me into calling him dad- I think to further hurt my father- that she was leaving. Oh my mother wanted to run away from her life so bad. She dreamt of new Hampshire and Alaska and other intensely cold climates. But wanted her ashes scattered on a beach. Contrary woman.
Mom. I feel perhaps the hardest thing to come to terms with is that- nope that would have been some huge generalization and that’s just not necessary with this. My mom- a case study as Nicole said. Who knows really? In the excessive emotional damage wraught by my mother’s war on herself and the rest of the family- I am not sure anyone would agree and remember anything the same. Ive encountered it frequently with my older sister Shannon- when I moved to new Orleans her and her life long best friend kara told me one night that I moved out when I was 12. and that I had basically missed being abused in the rest of the household. My sister has also stated, ‘you have no idea what I endured to protect you guys’. Sigh.
None of us have any idea what the others suffered. That’s the point of war, no one ever wins. Everyone is left tending to their wounds and attempting to collect themselves into some semblence of working societally functioning individual. Or at least that seems to be the programming ive experienced. And how we look around and think, what the fuck man- if you knew what I had endured you would never look at me that way- say that to me- think that about me- you would be amazed I am standing in front of you and able to smile. So yes I am a leo and I can exxagerate but if anything- I think I have understated my past because ive spent so much time processing it and I don’t want to harp on it. Because according to the law of attraction that would be completely not helpful as a strategy. Sooo, where is the line I ask you universe between telling a story, coming to peaceful resolution about something as painful and interesting (PAINTING) as my childhood. Wouldn’t that be funny- I keep seeing all these art academy of san fran buses- they go by my work all the time.. and I think right? I wanted a sign and I even said how much of a fan I am of the universe talking to me through bus logos and writing. Ta daQ!
Go back to school. But I am resistant. Eh, figure that out later…. LATER MAN LATER. Wtf. Anyway, so my current super duper coffee life has had me pondering hey what is that about, that cant be an accident. And in my last job in new Orleans as a barrista I came to some very powerful realizations and forgiveness for my mother-
To backtrack- my mother passed away sept 2007 from initially what I thought was coughing (miscommunication with my sister- later april 2009 to find out it was drug overdose)and we as a way of inheritance all received manilla envelopes with unsent letters from my mother. My sister still hasn’t read hers. Ive burned mine.
I read them that night. But that’s a whole other story
I found out when I went up to mass for the not funeral that my mom had actually managed to get a real job- funnily enough inject memory of my mom making fun of the dunkin’ donuts commercials from the 80s growing up… time to make the donuts. Well, the universe has a wicked sense of humor. The steady job my mom did eventually get fired from but held down for a while, was dunkin donuts. When I had thought she had coughed to death I was so struck by the near tragic proportions of her song. To finally have semblence of sobriety after some dark and even street living body selling times- have a steady job- and then die coughing. But she didn’t- she died the most logical way ever. For her at least.
So the coffee shop- I went into work last summer blazed (beyond wits end with my life in general, tried something I usually prohibit- mixing work and smoking) and I was so overcome with guilt and fear and self rejection and then in that moment of a near panic attack I stopped and had the total realization and awareness that if that was how I felt; it was like having a small window into my mother’s reality. And I bet it was sad. So I went from saying I can be compassionate for my mother to truly forgiving her (on whatever levels ) and having compassion.
So do I need to keep working in coffee to have MORE compassion for her or can I move onto something more exciting, which ties into the initial statements of role models. My role models for success have been lackluster at best. My mother was an incredible student and then went on to have a series of marriages, have children and develop a serious health and drug problem- among other things. And my father is from a wealthy and successful family and he was the accidental late in life baby to emotional vacant parents and his true passion- music- he was discouraged and even put off by the practicalities of being a businessman… where in my humble opinion he has punished himself for siding with them pretty much my whole life by working in sales and all music playing related fields and its like sitting across the room with your beloved for 30 years and never doing more than looking at it. Never actually touching it, tasting it. What a shame. Especially if you came here on this earth plane to unite and create with your beloved. And your beloved does not have to be a person- for my dad it is music. Music and skiing. Let the man ski!
But while my dad excelled at overworking and giving himself few vacations and lots of debt- he never really has been successful enough to not have to ‘worry’. Worry about money, worry about his safety, worry about money. That first and third one I think is a big issue. So yeah, I also got my mother who treated me like a paycheck (child support, it pays to marry muiltiple times and have children) and stole birthday money- you know the usual. And property. The amount of times I heard as a small child and young adult. YOU ARE MINE. Really? I thought I kind of belonged to no one- or at least myself right? But my mother asserted I belonged to her because she had fought over me and won- an expensive court battle between my parents.
I truly thought that my parents didn’t have other things they could even say to each other besides’ ‘i’ll see you in court’. It was like most people say hello and goodbye. They would say I’ll see you in court after a brief shouting match when ever my dad came to pick me up or drop me off. Basically my parents loathed each other. Really interesting to come from people who loath each other and treat you like property goods. Part of me feels that the reason my mother never recovered from me moving away wasn’t because I never came back like Shannon did- but because it somehow meant my dad won- their long fucked up battle for me and custody. Hello! I was 16 and you told me I couldn’t go to school anymore. Fucking crazy.
Ugh. Crazy and pretty and brilliant. I know, totally frightening. Don’t worry, she only had four daughters. Who so far have borne three beautiful children. I do take pride in the fact that the offspring of our family- regardless of the family history (eeks) well, we look attractive. And isn’t that what mom taught us? If nothing else, look attractive. Looks are really what matter. Thanks mom.
Friday, December 4, 2009
My first San Fran Pay DAY PAYD PAYD PAYD
Today was payday.
Oh yeah, after a unexpected three month vacation-indeed a manifestation of a collection of my desires- I have not only begun working but today- received financial compensation to that we call- MONEY.
And the feeling of depositing cash into my bank account felt like breathing in fresh air- like for the first time really feeling the air fill my lungs to capacity- the richness of that breath. To remember how easy it really is- YEAH- even though it was scary and I was REALLY pissed off about the state of things- particularly financial/career- I am now in the flow. I actually enjoyed my job tonight. Realized I am getting paid to read, that’s pretty amazing. I am reading Tom Robbins for the first time and am in constant appreciation for him being able to translate universal truths and laws as I know them into a quirky and meandering journey into those truths- exquisite!!
And until my recent journey to San Francisco, I was quite quiet on the reading and writing circuit. My computer rarely clacked that clack- rarely opened a crack- in fact. And reading? I took on a strictly researching approach with minor exceptions like the last two books of Harry potter and jasper fforde. And suddenly that well had cracked open- and I find myself having a blog. I find myself longing to write- something I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel again. Now, having discovered the delicious secret of using Microsoft word instead of writing into the blog- I now am experiencing the fluidity of my writing and expression. Hmmm.
And so on this pay day I praise- the Universe@ I praise the God/ GODDESS/Air/Fire/Water/Earth/Spirit I am/=
Side note- I have been saying praise Methuselah for like 2 years ok? I am reading this tom Robbins novel and Methuselah is referred to- I thought I made it up. Oh universe, tricky clue- wonder what it means…
And so to be and truly digest the present NOW moment more fully, I am learning in San Francisco that one must go with the flow as they say. Meaning- meaning that I not analyse every single thing that is happening because it sets me in a delay where I am present- processing the events- thinking about the events and then bombarded with another event- OK- It was better explained by my dear friend Lauren (she lives in studio h, see, I told you H is incredible) but yeah this HUGE understanding of my self I came to with the assistance of Lauren- I analyse EVERYTHING. A LOT. Oh geez, boys- yeah that’s because I can thinking about thinking with a side of thinking on top of thoughts of thinking. Yeah.
This could require editing- and that’s the thing- to be my full integrated personality ( the embodiment of my potential) or the expression of my potential- what if New Orleans made me lazy? Like what if I just wanted to be blazed and not edit this and make this more readable and better attuned to the needs of my audience or does that completely serve as a way to stymied my flow because then I start THINKING about what I am writing and then THINKING about THINKING about (you get it). So I am a thinker- yeah and I would like to be more of a doer. In certain areas in particular- let’s say dudes. Bras, men, boys, guys, ummm I know there are lots more and see- lazy- feel bored with coming up with them so will stop- does that make me a bad writer?
Doing men is where I was prior to tangent- more doing men than thinking about men. But in truth, I feel so different than what I portray that I don’t even know how to reconcile the two. Right? I mean, it is outrageous that I am 29 and I am beautiful and lovely and loving and I have never really been in a relationship beyond 6 months and ever had sex with a man. I mean, that’s technically weird. In fact, they made a movie out of it- im pretty sure the theme (though I haven’t seen it so I GUESS my point moot) but it’s moral is that someone to a virgin by the age of 40 must be a social retard. Except, I am not a social retard. In fact, I am capable of having such delicious deep satisfying expansive expressive loving flowing allowing unconditional loving etc friendships frequently. In fact, because I haven’t had romantic stuff in my experience so far- I have really excelled in other areas because I had attention to put to those areas. Friendships because especially important to me because my family sucked and I never had a boyfriend(later girlfriend).
And I have really gotten to know myself and I KNOW how incredibly capable I am on my own- in fact, that was my huge Katrina lesson with Albuquerque- even if everyone deserts me and im totally alone- I have me and I am an awesome resourceful fantastic survivor to have. But its lonely being alone. And so I know I am good and succeeded being alone and in fact, it feels more scary (and thrilling) to actually BE with somebody. Actually have someone get to know me- I am not even sure what that means. I am not even sure what love means. I watched the cutest movie last night- over in H- called Paper Hearts- a mockumentary about a girl that doesn’t believe in love and her interviewing all sorts of people while gasp- she is pursued by a nice guy who she reluctantly falls for and is hilarious about… and I felt so much of myself in her.
I realized I am terrified of actually being really attractive or that that was a life long issue. In fact, also had that epiphany when I first arrived here. We were talking about developing cup sizes for bras and I said oh yeah I developed really early- which is true I was a B cup in 2nd grade and a D in 6th grade while most of my friends had AA or training bras, I didn’t need to wonder what my boobs would look like or wonder how much will show up- I was done. Ta da. And just recently having come to the understanding/awareness of my fear of men and sexual trauma stuff- I realized OF COURSE! I come from a line of very attractive women with chicken legs, big boobs and no waist and I am naturally petite. So in 6th grade when I had already created a cycle to keep me safe from not ACTUALLY having to face/encounter male and sexual advances- having early on made the agreement I am not safe with men, esp men who want to have sex with me- created a pattern where men rejected me.
Over and over- actually until after the storm and then this last spring. Not to mention that sailor in Greece. Ah, I do say though the romantic times I have had are so unique and interesting that I make up in quality for the quantity. But yeah so suddenly I have boobs and I do remember being thin- and I remember one day in classes some of the boys saying do you smell that popcorn and leaning back in their chairs and sort of inviting me to do the same and realizing that they were having me lean back so they could look at my boobs. I think I morphed the experience to be they wanted to gawk because my boobs were grotesque- not because they were teenage boys and I actually had what books they were likely sneaking had- and I noted that in my trip to Disney land in 7th grade- I wore shirts so big they barely show I have boobs and I look like the size of a house- even though my legs are skinny. I look HUGE. And its all because I wore oversized shirts and felt fat- so I appreared fat. God, life is so interesting. I am so grateful for the relationship I have with my body NOW. I have made such dynamic progress. It is also part of the reason why I am looking forward to changes in the boy department. Isn’t time I made new decisions and choices and experienced new outcomes? Isn’t it time for me to be relaxed by the delicious and sacred warmth of two bodies coming together in appreciation? Isn’t it time for me to begin that discovery path of sexuality in REAL experiential form.
I mean, there is so much I remember from my past lives about sex. That has been by far the greatest juxtaposition of my realities- I so strongly FEEL that I have had sex and yet, in my conscious memory I have only had sex with a blonde lesbian named Jennifer and I guess if that sex counts then an African man who liked hamburgers (see, I told you they were interesting ones) and a greek sailor named Sotiris. But as far as actual cock in my vagina – nada, nadie, nuca, nada. OH YEAH- except that whole early childhood rape thing.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. What is up with my connections to stressed vaginas- mine carries a cellular memory of violation most unkind and unwelcome- and my mother’s a vendor to get her sweet candy in return- and yet I somehow have to make peace that that same portal was my entrance to this physical life experience. Can I perhaps in a super detached mode think how I like to use my bra to also carry stones etc is like my mother using her vagina to create life and also procure drugs at a discounted or exchange rate? It is one to ponder… I think at least.
And so speaking of stressed- I Understand how important it is to have sex and especially regularly and let me tell you when I was having sex I was good at it and wow- sex and I get along fine- due to the uninhibited nature of my own experience with sex with myself and the fact that when I do let someone in- I mean- seriously, you are touching me- I am turned on…its all over. I heart the point of no return. Anyway- that’s a bit racy content. Sorry folks- but you know I think I am pretty mellow for someone who hasn’t had sensual physical touch for over 3 years and before that pretty much my whole life. I mean were the entire context of my life to be known, I think that this is totally forgivable (see, that’s the problem- ha, I see my being raped and therefore not easy to have sex with and therefore high maintenance which I don’t like so I assume someone who potentially would sleep with me would be annoyed by) I mean, I think part of me believes that no one would want me because I just lived that out with Austin and Lauren (not h- opposite of what H is- - ugh. Yeah Melissa we had a super nice and amazing and magical time together but something is missing (because I had a panic attack) and oh! She was ready to receive him and could fuck him because she had had sex before. But I guess part of me wanted to dude/guy/man to be delighted and not in a creepy underage porn type of way but feel honored- or appreciate my journey- I never counted on being a virgin as a liability.
And it isn’t even just the sex either. It wasn’t until Austin and I were dating that I remember how little jenn and I kissed. We just did it. My repressed sexual everything unable to be contained in anyway- which is what I fear. I have kept such a tight lid on myself and my private parts I do fear that let loose I would be a whore amongst men and women. But is that bad? I bet I would be more relaxed. Maybe not. And it doesn’t even have to be that extreme- besides glorious sexual fulfillment there is also something though more quietly I deeply yearn for- that sense of loving companionship- lovers. I haven’t really played that game much yet and I think I would be so good at it. And it seems like such a fun game to play. Like, oh my goodness what if there was a boy that I thought was dreamy that thought I was dreamy and had never dated any of my friends and vice versa and wanted to practice kissing with me and was comfortable, compassionate and tender about being slow and my limitations and needs (which I am still coming to understand) and to have fun together and to play, often and to make love in all kinds of ways. Fuck- I have so much to learn! I have so much to do!!! And then I have to be mellow about it; the other night I was like fine. Give up on it completely. Totally and utterly.
Because I cant be whatever I think the person I am interested in would want me to be- I think I have exhausted that route and feel like I am finally laying down in the pool of water and saying whatever! Maybe I will never have sex. It seems like a damn shame because I know that my body was made for it- I was the best sex of my ex girlfriends life. And she was a ho. I am a natural and more than that- I feel my connection with spiritual sexuality and working with the chi creating by conscious coming together. I know, that sounds intense but wait! Gets more hilarious when you consider the Olympic trials times to get to kiss me. Uh.
So a man to date me in spite of myself- hmm. Well, as my spiritual teachers say- if you have the power to desire it, this environment has the ability to yield it to you. Amen. That’s all for me folks. Goodnight, amen.
jkalfdjlsakjf
Oh yeah, after a unexpected three month vacation-indeed a manifestation of a collection of my desires- I have not only begun working but today- received financial compensation to that we call- MONEY.
And the feeling of depositing cash into my bank account felt like breathing in fresh air- like for the first time really feeling the air fill my lungs to capacity- the richness of that breath. To remember how easy it really is- YEAH- even though it was scary and I was REALLY pissed off about the state of things- particularly financial/career- I am now in the flow. I actually enjoyed my job tonight. Realized I am getting paid to read, that’s pretty amazing. I am reading Tom Robbins for the first time and am in constant appreciation for him being able to translate universal truths and laws as I know them into a quirky and meandering journey into those truths- exquisite!!
And until my recent journey to San Francisco, I was quite quiet on the reading and writing circuit. My computer rarely clacked that clack- rarely opened a crack- in fact. And reading? I took on a strictly researching approach with minor exceptions like the last two books of Harry potter and jasper fforde. And suddenly that well had cracked open- and I find myself having a blog. I find myself longing to write- something I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel again. Now, having discovered the delicious secret of using Microsoft word instead of writing into the blog- I now am experiencing the fluidity of my writing and expression. Hmmm.
And so on this pay day I praise- the Universe@ I praise the God/ GODDESS/Air/Fire/Water/Earth/Spirit I am/=
Side note- I have been saying praise Methuselah for like 2 years ok? I am reading this tom Robbins novel and Methuselah is referred to- I thought I made it up. Oh universe, tricky clue- wonder what it means…
And so to be and truly digest the present NOW moment more fully, I am learning in San Francisco that one must go with the flow as they say. Meaning- meaning that I not analyse every single thing that is happening because it sets me in a delay where I am present- processing the events- thinking about the events and then bombarded with another event- OK- It was better explained by my dear friend Lauren (she lives in studio h, see, I told you H is incredible) but yeah this HUGE understanding of my self I came to with the assistance of Lauren- I analyse EVERYTHING. A LOT. Oh geez, boys- yeah that’s because I can thinking about thinking with a side of thinking on top of thoughts of thinking. Yeah.
This could require editing- and that’s the thing- to be my full integrated personality ( the embodiment of my potential) or the expression of my potential- what if New Orleans made me lazy? Like what if I just wanted to be blazed and not edit this and make this more readable and better attuned to the needs of my audience or does that completely serve as a way to stymied my flow because then I start THINKING about what I am writing and then THINKING about THINKING about (you get it). So I am a thinker- yeah and I would like to be more of a doer. In certain areas in particular- let’s say dudes. Bras, men, boys, guys, ummm I know there are lots more and see- lazy- feel bored with coming up with them so will stop- does that make me a bad writer?
Doing men is where I was prior to tangent- more doing men than thinking about men. But in truth, I feel so different than what I portray that I don’t even know how to reconcile the two. Right? I mean, it is outrageous that I am 29 and I am beautiful and lovely and loving and I have never really been in a relationship beyond 6 months and ever had sex with a man. I mean, that’s technically weird. In fact, they made a movie out of it- im pretty sure the theme (though I haven’t seen it so I GUESS my point moot) but it’s moral is that someone to a virgin by the age of 40 must be a social retard. Except, I am not a social retard. In fact, I am capable of having such delicious deep satisfying expansive expressive loving flowing allowing unconditional loving etc friendships frequently. In fact, because I haven’t had romantic stuff in my experience so far- I have really excelled in other areas because I had attention to put to those areas. Friendships because especially important to me because my family sucked and I never had a boyfriend(later girlfriend).
And I have really gotten to know myself and I KNOW how incredibly capable I am on my own- in fact, that was my huge Katrina lesson with Albuquerque- even if everyone deserts me and im totally alone- I have me and I am an awesome resourceful fantastic survivor to have. But its lonely being alone. And so I know I am good and succeeded being alone and in fact, it feels more scary (and thrilling) to actually BE with somebody. Actually have someone get to know me- I am not even sure what that means. I am not even sure what love means. I watched the cutest movie last night- over in H- called Paper Hearts- a mockumentary about a girl that doesn’t believe in love and her interviewing all sorts of people while gasp- she is pursued by a nice guy who she reluctantly falls for and is hilarious about… and I felt so much of myself in her.
I realized I am terrified of actually being really attractive or that that was a life long issue. In fact, also had that epiphany when I first arrived here. We were talking about developing cup sizes for bras and I said oh yeah I developed really early- which is true I was a B cup in 2nd grade and a D in 6th grade while most of my friends had AA or training bras, I didn’t need to wonder what my boobs would look like or wonder how much will show up- I was done. Ta da. And just recently having come to the understanding/awareness of my fear of men and sexual trauma stuff- I realized OF COURSE! I come from a line of very attractive women with chicken legs, big boobs and no waist and I am naturally petite. So in 6th grade when I had already created a cycle to keep me safe from not ACTUALLY having to face/encounter male and sexual advances- having early on made the agreement I am not safe with men, esp men who want to have sex with me- created a pattern where men rejected me.
Over and over- actually until after the storm and then this last spring. Not to mention that sailor in Greece. Ah, I do say though the romantic times I have had are so unique and interesting that I make up in quality for the quantity. But yeah so suddenly I have boobs and I do remember being thin- and I remember one day in classes some of the boys saying do you smell that popcorn and leaning back in their chairs and sort of inviting me to do the same and realizing that they were having me lean back so they could look at my boobs. I think I morphed the experience to be they wanted to gawk because my boobs were grotesque- not because they were teenage boys and I actually had what books they were likely sneaking had- and I noted that in my trip to Disney land in 7th grade- I wore shirts so big they barely show I have boobs and I look like the size of a house- even though my legs are skinny. I look HUGE. And its all because I wore oversized shirts and felt fat- so I appreared fat. God, life is so interesting. I am so grateful for the relationship I have with my body NOW. I have made such dynamic progress. It is also part of the reason why I am looking forward to changes in the boy department. Isn’t time I made new decisions and choices and experienced new outcomes? Isn’t it time for me to be relaxed by the delicious and sacred warmth of two bodies coming together in appreciation? Isn’t it time for me to begin that discovery path of sexuality in REAL experiential form.
I mean, there is so much I remember from my past lives about sex. That has been by far the greatest juxtaposition of my realities- I so strongly FEEL that I have had sex and yet, in my conscious memory I have only had sex with a blonde lesbian named Jennifer and I guess if that sex counts then an African man who liked hamburgers (see, I told you they were interesting ones) and a greek sailor named Sotiris. But as far as actual cock in my vagina – nada, nadie, nuca, nada. OH YEAH- except that whole early childhood rape thing.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. What is up with my connections to stressed vaginas- mine carries a cellular memory of violation most unkind and unwelcome- and my mother’s a vendor to get her sweet candy in return- and yet I somehow have to make peace that that same portal was my entrance to this physical life experience. Can I perhaps in a super detached mode think how I like to use my bra to also carry stones etc is like my mother using her vagina to create life and also procure drugs at a discounted or exchange rate? It is one to ponder… I think at least.
And so speaking of stressed- I Understand how important it is to have sex and especially regularly and let me tell you when I was having sex I was good at it and wow- sex and I get along fine- due to the uninhibited nature of my own experience with sex with myself and the fact that when I do let someone in- I mean- seriously, you are touching me- I am turned on…its all over. I heart the point of no return. Anyway- that’s a bit racy content. Sorry folks- but you know I think I am pretty mellow for someone who hasn’t had sensual physical touch for over 3 years and before that pretty much my whole life. I mean were the entire context of my life to be known, I think that this is totally forgivable (see, that’s the problem- ha, I see my being raped and therefore not easy to have sex with and therefore high maintenance which I don’t like so I assume someone who potentially would sleep with me would be annoyed by) I mean, I think part of me believes that no one would want me because I just lived that out with Austin and Lauren (not h- opposite of what H is- - ugh. Yeah Melissa we had a super nice and amazing and magical time together but something is missing (because I had a panic attack) and oh! She was ready to receive him and could fuck him because she had had sex before. But I guess part of me wanted to dude/guy/man to be delighted and not in a creepy underage porn type of way but feel honored- or appreciate my journey- I never counted on being a virgin as a liability.
And it isn’t even just the sex either. It wasn’t until Austin and I were dating that I remember how little jenn and I kissed. We just did it. My repressed sexual everything unable to be contained in anyway- which is what I fear. I have kept such a tight lid on myself and my private parts I do fear that let loose I would be a whore amongst men and women. But is that bad? I bet I would be more relaxed. Maybe not. And it doesn’t even have to be that extreme- besides glorious sexual fulfillment there is also something though more quietly I deeply yearn for- that sense of loving companionship- lovers. I haven’t really played that game much yet and I think I would be so good at it. And it seems like such a fun game to play. Like, oh my goodness what if there was a boy that I thought was dreamy that thought I was dreamy and had never dated any of my friends and vice versa and wanted to practice kissing with me and was comfortable, compassionate and tender about being slow and my limitations and needs (which I am still coming to understand) and to have fun together and to play, often and to make love in all kinds of ways. Fuck- I have so much to learn! I have so much to do!!! And then I have to be mellow about it; the other night I was like fine. Give up on it completely. Totally and utterly.
Because I cant be whatever I think the person I am interested in would want me to be- I think I have exhausted that route and feel like I am finally laying down in the pool of water and saying whatever! Maybe I will never have sex. It seems like a damn shame because I know that my body was made for it- I was the best sex of my ex girlfriends life. And she was a ho. I am a natural and more than that- I feel my connection with spiritual sexuality and working with the chi creating by conscious coming together. I know, that sounds intense but wait! Gets more hilarious when you consider the Olympic trials times to get to kiss me. Uh.
So a man to date me in spite of myself- hmm. Well, as my spiritual teachers say- if you have the power to desire it, this environment has the ability to yield it to you. Amen. That’s all for me folks. Goodnight, amen.
jkalfdjlsakjf
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