I’m a human, not a lady

I am not a good girl

I am not a good girl

Why do I need to act like a “lady?” What does that even mean? Be a yes, sir, no ma’am demure wall flower in hopes that I’ll get picked to be the next Cinderella? Does that mean I have to put someone else before me always and pray that my needs get met because I was a good girl and followed the rules?

Why do I need to play like a boy when I can be a woman and ditch cars, ride horses, bake cakes, kick dirt, saw wood, paint wordy pictures, dream just like any other human? Why does that even have to have a gender placed on it? We all know what we can do, why separate the two?

Why do I have to be respectable in public when the public slut shames my gender? Starts war upon my sisters with horrible results and back-alley horrors committed against their beauty out of spite, anger, jealousy? Why do I have to bow down to the “mighty” man of six years old because he was born with a penis and I was not? Fuck that. I’ll be who I am. You adapt to me. I’ll color just enough inside the lines so that you’ll have no choice but to look at my art, but when you start telling me that a sun has to be yellow and not purple, we’re no longer friends and I don’t have to be nice to you any more.

Why can’t I be passionate no matter where I am? No matter where I’m going? No matter what I’m doing? If I feel it, why should I make an excuse for loving my life and everything about it? This seems insulting to the very gifts I’ve been given. This seems selfish of me to hold back the beauty that is everything I am. It’s disgraceful to not be passionate about the life-gift we’ve been given and I don’t think it has anything to do about being a sexual being.

I treat my body like a temple, not a mausoleum. I don’t need quiet pristine walls to know that I’m alive. I need vibrant colors, loud music, laughter and singing, dancing at all hours with colors winging the ceilings and candles and joyous arousal. I need hats and capes, and delicious chocolates dripping with harmony. I’m here to live life not pretend I only want a little bit of a taste. I want the whole damn thing. I want to swallow it whole and chew for hours on ideas and thoughts of what I see; experience on every level.

Why can’t I treat my body like a motel if I want to? Why can’t I take a lover into my arms, no matter the number, no matter the reason? Why should I be held to a different standard than someone who happens to have different genitalia? Why do I need to limit myself to the taste and pleasures of one gender? What if I want to dip fingers into honey as much as I want to lick my lips up the honey dipper? Why can’t I smear sex on my body like peanut butter if I desire it? That’s a horrible double standard and I refuse your rule book, your little black marks, your stigma, and your anger towards my freedom to choose what I do with my body. It’s not some body. It’s MY body. See that? It’s not called YOUR body. It’s MY body. I can have a revolving door if I choose, so don’t dictate my hours or my calling. It’s not your motel to run. I’m sorry you’ve found the Bates Motel more to your liking, lurking with the dead and dispassionate. That’s not me.

I refuse to love unconditionally. If I were to do that, I’d be God or Goddess, or Buddha or Christ and I’m not any of those. I’m a human. I can look at you with disgust if I want to. I can refuse you entry to my chapel of horrors and my circus if I don’t like your act. I don’t owe you anything which, as many misconceive is what love is when it’s unconditional. That, in many people’s minds means without question. I’m not going to love someone who harms children, particularly me. No way. Been there done that and I’ve served my life sentence every day since my birth. No. I will not.

This part I can agree with. I will speak my truth and I will live as honestly as I can. Not for your benefit but because my spirit is peaceful when I know I’ve done my best to follow my own compass without your rules holding me to unrealistic and unreasonable behavioral constructs that do not belong in my body, mind, spirit, or hands. What I will further agree with is that if you trust me with your heart and I trust you with mine which means we vow, with word or not, to never betray that trust intentionally, you will never again have to feel alone.

YIELD!

I’ve been curiously absent these last days from posting what normally is a lot of work. I try to schedule those, by the way, so that they don’t all hit at once. I suppose I could schedule them for different days but I post them that way for a reason. Think of it as clearing off my mental desk in preparations for the next idea (and there are some days with a LOT of them) to manifest.

I was working at a factory on a rotating shift. The days were 12 hours long and usually 2-3 in succession with 2-3 days off in between bouts. Back in May I had surgery on my foot to correct an ongrowing issue (my nerve had grown around one of my main foot arteries, good pun, eh?) and within a couple of months I felt amazingly good again. I could walk! I could dance! I could jog (sort of, think Mario running without turbo). I felt so good I applied for an got the job. For three months I worked diligently to maintain my personal belief and work ethic by being consistently in attendance, observant to detail, and team oriented. I believe I maintained that throughout my employment.

A few days ago, while working a position that required far more dexterity than my hands could handle, I lost feeling in my fingers. Not only did I lose feeling in my fingers but I lost grip as well. I could no longer hold onto the parts. My co-worker refused to switch jobs because she was fine. I explained that I was not. She refused again. I went and spoke with my supervisor and told her that I couldn’t feel my fingers and my hands wouldn’t hold onto the parts. She said, “Okay.” and walked away. When I don’t feel heard, my frustration level doesn’t take much to push me over the edge. I just plain waited until break and contacted my employer. I was told to go home, finish out the next day and they’d find me something else to do.

From my previous post The heated battle, you may recall that I’ve been struggling to find something better suited to my gifts, needs, and requirements of financial responsibility. I believe I’ve found this particular niche. Jamie Lopez asked me a peculiar question which incited ridiculous thoughts in my brain. I only half committed to her idea. But the thought was persistent. It stood up and plinked my forebrain like a form of water torture. It whispered, “You should do this. You should do this. You should do this.” I tried to ignore it, but it was really difficult when that’s all I could focus my attention on doing. I consulted with my Mama, tossing the idea in the air with clumsy juggles, sparking further ideas until the seed had firmly taken root. I let it rest in the “earth.”

Without much ado, a couple of nights ago, my Uncle Les called me. He’s not a frequent caller, but when he does, I always know that I’m so loved by him and my Aunt Liz that I look forward to when he has time. He called me up and asked me, “Hey, do you remember Jim Bob?”

“I do. That’s Aunt Liz’s nephew, right?”

“Yes. I was thinking about you and I usually do, by the way,” he continued.

“Thanks!” I interrupted.

“You’re welcome. Anyway, his wife works out of her home. I thought of you because you’re a compassionate woman and an excellent writer, I think you could do what she does.” He stated firmly. “I think you need to be doing this.” And he explained word for word what I’d talked to my mother, was inspired by Jamie, and pondered about for two weeks.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned that paying attention to the omens when they come that clearly is a wise move. Otherwise, the Universe quits presenting the idea to you and gives it to someone else. In the past couple of days, I’ve retrieved my EIN (Employer Identification Number), set up a Paypal, applied for a business license, bought and started setting up a domain, secured an 877 number, and applied for information about advertising.

Although it may seem as if I’ve been slower than normal or that I’ve taken a vacation, I’m actually working towards being able to do what I love more than anything to do which is write for a living. This is scary stuff in my book, but I feel the have to becoming more prominent. It’s really strong and I know it’s right.

On November 3rd, I’ll be launching the site, the business, and making sure that I have myself priced accordingly. How weird is that? With the time on my hands right now, I can make sure that I’m able to deliver top quality of a valuable and perpetuating service that everyone will need. I’m so excited that your patience is allowing me this time to bring this idea into full bloom. Let’s see what happens, shall we?

To Honor Kali

The Goddess Kali-ma

The Goddess Kali-ma

I hear her voice as twinkling smooth as wine

Her lips sparkling words like silver sweet

Precious in their divine

Guiding hands to keep me warm with a caresses gentle bliss

Heated breath of her lover’s mouth emblazoned with her kiss

I walk with her on star-lit roads

I hear her sigh the night

I hear a tiny cricket’s call

The wisp of an owl in flight

I smell the scent of impending rain

The trickle of a nearby stream

The blush of moon blessed breezes

Floating through my dreams

Intimate imaginings spring forth in passions song

Spooned soft against my lover’s thigh

Eternal night prolonged

Pressed tight with lust to feed at her breast

I feel the release of my birth

I respond to her smoldering touch

I’m embraced within her earth

Living Out Loud

Queen of my own Life

Queen of my own Life

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Live your life out loud.” But we’ve also been told to “Keep it down”, “Don’t cause ripples”, “Work hard”, and “That’s just the way it is.” The mixed messages we get while we traverse our lives make it difficult to figure out exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. Parents want us to do this, friends want us to do that, society puts its expectations on us to be productive members. It’s all so confusing.

One of my “gifts” that I learned at a later age that serves me well is to be whom I am with no excuses.  I don’t have to be a stick thin woman. I don’t have to dumb myself down. I don’t have to hide my past or try to be someone I’m not. If I want to wear kitty ears, pirate hats, or super-hero capes when I go out in public, why the heck not? It makes me happy, harms no one, and brings a jolt of the unexpected to a world that lingers in melancholy.

But, how did I get to this point? How did I get “brave” enough to be me?

It happened on accident. “I” snuck up on myself. Most of my life was spent trying to do what I was expected but it never quite fit “me.” I’m loud. I’m bawdy. I love to eat, raise hell, and laugh a LOT. Without arrogance I can tell you I’m wicked smart, have great ideas, and apply my skills in unique and creative ways that don’t always coincide with the expectations of my occupations.

Every job I’ve ever had, with few exceptions, didn’t last long because I just couldn’t stay still long enough. Once I felt I’d mastered whatever it was, I wanted change. Sometimes it was voluntary and sometimes it wasn’t when I left a job. My least favorite positions were those where I wasn’t trained properly but expected to perform circus tricks with information that didn’t apply to the job at hand. My favorite positions were ones where I not only satisfied my creative needs but was allowed to be “a little off-beat.” Being a radio DJ, copy writer, and producing commercials satisfied all of those needs and although my reasons for leaving that position are complicated, I was in the process of moving to Tennessee to take care of my nephew.

When I was very young, I was constantly performing. Plays, jokes, being a mosquito, writing fake cursive on notes that I expected my younger brother to “read.” My Aunt Lizzie used to say that I marched to the beat of a different drummer only my drummer played the tuba. I loved wild clothes and climbing trees. I participated in nearly everything with all of me, unless it meant being in public. I didn’t much like that.

I got lucky enough to find a couple of people that showed me a fascinating truth about myself. Shanna Harris started it. One day she was a gas station attendant, the next moment, after my soul recognized hers and hers mine, we were inseparable. We had long talks, longer walks, and lived in a town that was too small for the both of our wild ways. By wild ways, I mean that we liked to be loud. We liked to be bawdy (me more than her), we liked to live out loud. But, as fates would have it, I moved away to a couple of places before I settled in Show Low, AZ.

At first I was doing a boring office job selling a product I didn’t care about for a ridiculously low salary of 100 bucks every two weeks. Anyway, opportunity knocked when the local radio station was looking for weekend help. I immediately applied.

I became a monkey pushing buttons to make sure shows ran at the times they were supposed to on the station they were supposed to run. I wasn’t good at it at first. In fact, I got reprimanded about a month into it being told either get it right or get out. I buckled down because, dude, I worked at a radio station and how cool was that?

It wasn’t long before they discovered I could write. When they did, I started writing nearly every commercial that came out of the station. When I figured out production, I added that to my skills. When they needed a substitute for the morning show, I stepped up and gave them banter. When they wanted remote talent for broadcasts, I’d either work the studio end or head out to the place they wanted to promote.

When football season came around, I played a game with the announcers. I’d give them a topic before they went out to the field and they’d incorporate that into their broadcast. Let’s say the topic was fish. For every reference to “A whale of a play” or “They look like they’re stacked like sardines in that tackle” they’d get a point. It was a lot of fun.

I made friends. LOTS of them, but my core posse was Carrie, Stephanie, and Bean. We went and did everything together. The more outrageous I got, the more they cheered me on with their own ridiculous hats and jokes. We sang loudly, drank more, and laughed a LOT. They forced me to realize that my oddities were exactly what made me so much fun to be around which in turn made me realize that maybe I wasn’t so bad after all.

So when I say “I” snuck up on myself, I mean it in the sense that once I realized that being me made me happy, once I accepted that who I am is a pretty cool person to be, I was able to explore what I wanted to be and how I wished others to see me.

Yes. I’m eccentric and off-kilter and I don’t always see things the way other people do, but I also realized that my voice is necessary to make changes in the world. Just like you, I doubted I was important. I didn’t believe I was worthy. I didn’t think people would want to hear the voice of a woman who likes rabbit ears in July. But you know what? They do.

People want to hear the truth even when society tells them to be this or do that. They want to see that being unique can be accomplished. They want to know that their own oddities, even when in private, are okay. How do you live out loud? You do what makes you happy in the biggest and best way because that, my friend, is the greatest gift you can give to the world, YOU!