Dang, can't seem to find that Christmas spirit. I know I laid it around here somewhere, but I'd really like to have it now. I just feel blah, tired and worn out with trying to work, shop, decorate, cookie back. I'm on tonight (Friday the 23rd) and Christmas Eve night, and then we will open presents Christmas morning when I get off work before driving all the way to OH to see his family. I plan on champagne and a fire in the stove while we open presents, apporpriate music, then I will nap all the way to Ohio, it's better that way when he is driving like a bat out of hell, and he will, being that it is Christmas and during the day the interstates are usually very clear that day. We've made the trip before. The only thing left to do is to wrap his last few gifts and pack, neither of which I had the heart to do today, though I got the last few dozen gingerbread (made 73 dozen this year)deliveries completed.
But Christmas morning, I'm putting him in charge. I refuse to do any further planning and want to be the child -- he can be in charge of who we visit in Columbus, and I will tag along. I will take along a few books and nibbles, one trashy outfit, one dressy one, some warm gear, and the rest is up to him!
I just want my Christmas spirit back!
Friday, December 23, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
"Wild Side Sex: The book of Kink"
Midori, a well-known writer and teacher within the fetish/BDSM community, has put out a new book about the amalgam we call 'kink.' I'd never thought before of how this lumps together a whole sexual buffet that may, or may not, have much to do with each other. I have, by her lights, determined that I am a poly-fetishist, i.e. a whole lot of what is labelled 'kink' turns me on -- leathersex, bondage, piercing, tight-fitting elbow-length leather gloves, boots of all varieties, corsets, silk and fur and velvet, foot play, etc. There are very few of the kinks that don't hold some attraction (even if not strong) for me.
But, then, I've been an omnivore all my life -- I'll read anything, eat almost anything once, like talking to a variety of people, want to travel everywhere. It makes sense, therefore, that very little in the community shocks, disgust, or upsets me. And, truthfully, maybe a little of the attraction is my own exhibitionism. Since 'normal' society has only rarely ever liked and approved of me (I was raised a liberal in the deep South) it was just as well to hang with the outcasts and laugh back at society. Thank the goddess/god, that my mother was strong and willing to be different and an 'outsider' to remain true to herself. she gave me that as a gift. Peer pressure just never meant much, too much of a sacrifice to gain their apporval.
Her blogsite is here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fd_midori/
But, then, I've been an omnivore all my life -- I'll read anything, eat almost anything once, like talking to a variety of people, want to travel everywhere. It makes sense, therefore, that very little in the community shocks, disgust, or upsets me. And, truthfully, maybe a little of the attraction is my own exhibitionism. Since 'normal' society has only rarely ever liked and approved of me (I was raised a liberal in the deep South) it was just as well to hang with the outcasts and laugh back at society. Thank the goddess/god, that my mother was strong and willing to be different and an 'outsider' to remain true to herself. she gave me that as a gift. Peer pressure just never meant much, too much of a sacrifice to gain their apporval.
Her blogsite is here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fd_midori/
Thursday, December 15, 2005
I'm flying, but it's not from the mountain
We've been going through some honeymoon spell the last few days. Don't know exactly what triggered it, but we've been playing like mad. Maybe it's the date I've made with him to meet me at the Read House in Chattanooga in a couple of days and play out a first date. We're pretending it's our first meeting (the one he was two hours late arriving at) all over again. I'm pretending to benew to bondage and he's pretending he's never met me before and we're going for drinks and flirtation before retiring (well, he's supposed to woo me into his love nest) where we will do unspeakable acts. Okay, I'll get tied up at some point and do a whole lot of grovelling and gasping, and breathing. Lots of deep breathing.
But all this is in reference to the fact that for the last two days I have felt as if everything tight and clinched in me had melted away. I've felt all warm and happy, whether being 'chastised' or discussing future genital piercings for Christmas.
But all this is in reference to the fact that for the last two days I have felt as if everything tight and clinched in me had melted away. I've felt all warm and happy, whether being 'chastised' or discussing future genital piercings for Christmas.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Excerpt from the Nanowrimo project
So she read the archetypes and the reasons for her kind of people, the ones who didn’t just want intercourse, but wanted something more who wanted to play ‘adult reindeer games’ and wanted to make up rules for themselves and names for themselves or new personas and who were happy to let others take over sexually, or even their lives, just to achieve this kind of sex. And then there were the spiritual seekers, the ones who wanted to achieve a higher consciousness by both sex and pain. In it all, she began to see herself as a variant of a ‘norm’ that she hadn’t realized existed, of a whole group of human beings, and not just a solitary wanderer, a misfit.
For years she had know about leather sex bars and wondered if she would ever have the courage to go to one, but just couldn’t figure if they or even swingers clubs still existed and how to get into them, or if, even given the opportunity, she world have the courage to go to one of them,. But now with the opportunity looming the only answer was “yes.” She would make the meeting.
She called him once a day that week, per his orders, she liked his voice and the one picture she had of him was quite attractive, but she realized it might be old and that might look nothing like him. She tried to be honest about her own looks but didn’t have anything but vanilla pictures to upload to the site and wasn’t quite ready enough for that to be part of her profile, so she compensated by the bluntness of her description. She wanted no disappointment when he looked at he for the first time. For her own part she figured she would be blindfolded , unable to tell black from white or old from young. Well-hung, yes, because, unlike many of the fraternity she was in no way interested in this without some orgasm occurring and unlike many of them she wasn’t gonna lie about it. The ones who insisted they wanted no sexual contact she viewed as self-delusional at best and outright liars on the other hand.
For years she had know about leather sex bars and wondered if she would ever have the courage to go to one, but just couldn’t figure if they or even swingers clubs still existed and how to get into them, or if, even given the opportunity, she world have the courage to go to one of them,. But now with the opportunity looming the only answer was “yes.” She would make the meeting.
She called him once a day that week, per his orders, she liked his voice and the one picture she had of him was quite attractive, but she realized it might be old and that might look nothing like him. She tried to be honest about her own looks but didn’t have anything but vanilla pictures to upload to the site and wasn’t quite ready enough for that to be part of her profile, so she compensated by the bluntness of her description. She wanted no disappointment when he looked at he for the first time. For her own part she figured she would be blindfolded , unable to tell black from white or old from young. Well-hung, yes, because, unlike many of the fraternity she was in no way interested in this without some orgasm occurring and unlike many of them she wasn’t gonna lie about it. The ones who insisted they wanted no sexual contact she viewed as self-delusional at best and outright liars on the other hand.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
NaNoWriMo Concluded!
I did it, I really, truly did it! I am so proud of myself, even if what I wrote is pure drivel, it's ten whole days and 50,000 words of drivel later and I wrote it all in big chunks without thinking too long and hard. I had an extremely basic idea when I started and just ran with it. It is so rewardijng to have finished a long story even though it may never see the light of day. Viva la creativity! Now off to London for a long weekend and a wedding.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Thanksgiving, NaNoWriMo, work and family
All three currently consuming my time. I am working right now, and when I'm not, I'm doing time pacing to see how many words I can type in a given timespan to get more nanowrimo accomplished. I'm over 25,000 words today and so proud of myself since I started late! After working tonight I'm actually off for Thanksgiving for the first time in over a decade and I'll get to watch the Macy's Day Parade which was one of the high points of my Thanksgiving holiday, that and the little taste of Mogen-David wine (the only kind allowed in Mississippi when I was growing up) Mom always allowed us on Thanksgiving (and since my brother and sisters hated it, I got all their samples, too!) Also, I plan to start decorating the house for Christmas, try and get ahead on my Nanowrimo for the weekend and fly off on Friday to visit my nephew, his wife and their new baby girl, Jade, my foster granddaughter!
Friday, November 18, 2005
NaNoWriMo, part deux
Not NOT writing, just spent 5500 words on nanowrimo (in less than four hours) trying to make up for my lack of an early start. It really is empowering to just get the words on a page, without looking up to see the typos, without worrying that what you are putting down has a plot, without wondering if anyone will read it and nominate you for the Nobel Prize or even whether the damned thing will ever see a printed page. How about just writing? Just writing is good, and this is a journey I've been promising myself this year, and i'm on it. Can't believe that the gods were kind enough last night to leave the ED mostly empty so that I could get that many words on paper. I've had writer's cramp from a pen before, but my fingers and joints are feeling this stient now. Ahh, jubilation -- I'm a quarter of the way through!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Yesterday's Meltdown
Phewww, had a meltdown yesterday at work. Cried all night. Think my BP's up. need to remember Epictetus, "Of things, some are in our power, and others are not." from "Enchiridium."
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Politicised
I hadn't meant to become so politicised, but having a baby sister who is an activist and whose intelligence challenges your own and who make you think forces you to reexamine old arguments you've made, excuses that you've made to yourself in the past that saved you having to consider that the other person might just be right. At least as right as you are, maybe even, that you are wrong or misinformed or just ignorant. (A hard admission when one believes one-self congenitally honest and open-minded.)
Rwanda is the center of my reading at the moment and what happened there in the 90's. Phillip Gourevitch's book of essays/history was assigned for our reading this month by a woman who always gives the impression of a Gen X slacker with nothing more serious on her attractive mind than what boy she'll take to bed next in our little flying community. The book is called "We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow we will be killed with our Families." It's a mouthful of a title and so full of questions (and not bottled, prepackaged answers) that I'm reading it straight through, but having to stop frequently to breath and think and question myself and consider. I am fascinated (and maybe the sentence only functions within the context of the book) by his statement, "Power consists in the ablity to make others inhabit your story of their reality, even if you have to kill a lot of them to make that happpen."
"Power consists in the ablity to make others inhabit your story of their reality, even if you have to kill a lot of them to make that happpen."
Putting aside the triviality of what I'm about to say, but that's what advertisers (of cigarettes, etc.) do all the time. They retell our stories of ourselves to us so that we feel we will be truer to ourselves if we smoke Malboros or wear Vickie's Secret underwear or wear clothes that look like what Brad Pitt wears.
It's also about the bigger political stories. Male historians would allow for the occassinal exceptional woman -- Queen Elizabeth I -- but those were deemed rare and, in general, we were not expected to be wise or strong or athletic or stubborn or militant, or sexual, briliant, or inventive, or diplomatic, or skilled, or hilarious, or any of the other things we are learning we are and can be. We (the established culture) pretty up what the mostly white population did to the indigenous peoples of the Americas when we invaded their country and we try to tell African Americans that "it" wasn't so bad. Well, the truth is, "it" was so bad. "It" was so bad that people died rather than live like that. But we don't want to feel shame nowadays for something that happened before we were born, never mind the reverberations it carries for them today, so we tell them their story in our way until they believe it, or we kill enough of them off that they can't argue. Especially we kill off the uppity niggers and the Native Americans who try to tell us their version of events, their concept of what really 'went down' at Wounded Knee. They are too dangerous to Our stor; we can't allow them to speak because it puts us and our vision of our noble culture on shakey ground. We pooh-pooh the attempted revision of what we have come to accept as doctrine because it would feel dangerous, uncertain to question the version of events that we've been raised to believe is true, that is the groundwork of our "great" nation. I'm happy to live here, but then, I'm white.
Which brings me back to the book on Rwanda. It has raised questions about what we should and could do in a genocide. And what the president I thought was "okay" didn't do. He helped the Yugoslavians, after a time, but the Africans (and what is it about Africa that always reduces us to paralyzed shame and impotence?) were left to be slaughtered because it was too difficult and too far off for us culturally, and identity wise to bother to sort out who was shooting whom over what. And what about the Sudan? Too black, too mish-mashed politically to know that bad things are happening to a whole mass of people? Is it just because they are people of color, or is it because they seem so far removed from us and because we carry such guilt as to feel bereft of hope to even try to sort out what it means, what we can do. It doesn't help that the passionate advocates are only heard when things deteriorate to the point of needing outside help. We never hear of the Kashmiris until it is time for a war, we choose to hope it will go away.
I'm not done with this topic. Thank you baby sister.
Rwanda is the center of my reading at the moment and what happened there in the 90's. Phillip Gourevitch's book of essays/history was assigned for our reading this month by a woman who always gives the impression of a Gen X slacker with nothing more serious on her attractive mind than what boy she'll take to bed next in our little flying community. The book is called "We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow we will be killed with our Families." It's a mouthful of a title and so full of questions (and not bottled, prepackaged answers) that I'm reading it straight through, but having to stop frequently to breath and think and question myself and consider. I am fascinated (and maybe the sentence only functions within the context of the book) by his statement, "Power consists in the ablity to make others inhabit your story of their reality, even if you have to kill a lot of them to make that happpen."
"Power consists in the ablity to make others inhabit your story of their reality, even if you have to kill a lot of them to make that happpen."
Putting aside the triviality of what I'm about to say, but that's what advertisers (of cigarettes, etc.) do all the time. They retell our stories of ourselves to us so that we feel we will be truer to ourselves if we smoke Malboros or wear Vickie's Secret underwear or wear clothes that look like what Brad Pitt wears.
It's also about the bigger political stories. Male historians would allow for the occassinal exceptional woman -- Queen Elizabeth I -- but those were deemed rare and, in general, we were not expected to be wise or strong or athletic or stubborn or militant, or sexual, briliant, or inventive, or diplomatic, or skilled, or hilarious, or any of the other things we are learning we are and can be. We (the established culture) pretty up what the mostly white population did to the indigenous peoples of the Americas when we invaded their country and we try to tell African Americans that "it" wasn't so bad. Well, the truth is, "it" was so bad. "It" was so bad that people died rather than live like that. But we don't want to feel shame nowadays for something that happened before we were born, never mind the reverberations it carries for them today, so we tell them their story in our way until they believe it, or we kill enough of them off that they can't argue. Especially we kill off the uppity niggers and the Native Americans who try to tell us their version of events, their concept of what really 'went down' at Wounded Knee. They are too dangerous to Our stor; we can't allow them to speak because it puts us and our vision of our noble culture on shakey ground. We pooh-pooh the attempted revision of what we have come to accept as doctrine because it would feel dangerous, uncertain to question the version of events that we've been raised to believe is true, that is the groundwork of our "great" nation. I'm happy to live here, but then, I'm white.
Which brings me back to the book on Rwanda. It has raised questions about what we should and could do in a genocide. And what the president I thought was "okay" didn't do. He helped the Yugoslavians, after a time, but the Africans (and what is it about Africa that always reduces us to paralyzed shame and impotence?) were left to be slaughtered because it was too difficult and too far off for us culturally, and identity wise to bother to sort out who was shooting whom over what. And what about the Sudan? Too black, too mish-mashed politically to know that bad things are happening to a whole mass of people? Is it just because they are people of color, or is it because they seem so far removed from us and because we carry such guilt as to feel bereft of hope to even try to sort out what it means, what we can do. It doesn't help that the passionate advocates are only heard when things deteriorate to the point of needing outside help. We never hear of the Kashmiris until it is time for a war, we choose to hope it will go away.
I'm not done with this topic. Thank you baby sister.
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