just here for a drink?

Her whispy grey hair billowed around her grizzled face like a storm cloud. The venom in her eyes was unmistakable.

"You think you hussies can come in here and make all of our men forget their wives?"

I shifted on the rotting bar stool I was sitting on, put my beer down and turned from the conversation I'd been having with a town lifer. It wasn't clear if the difficulty I had understanding him was from an obvious dental situation that encouraged his inadvertent whistling, or my lack of education in the slang that seemed to be common knowledge to the regulars.

I smiled at the brash defender. Patted the seat beside me. "First of all," I said as she sat down. "I'm too young to be a hussy and too old to be a slut. So you're gonna have to find something else to call me. And...we're not here for your men."

She cocked her head up to look in to my eyes. My look of bemusement confused her.

"Well," she said slowly. "What on god's green earth are you doing here then?"

Good question.

the unstable myth

When I was younger, I wanted to be a Saint. Anyone who knows me now might think that out of character for a girl, who at 16, got gussied up to sneak out of Christian camp in an attempt to buy booze. But for me, it was a life that was rebellious and different. I devoured tales of lives of the Saints, admiring their dedication to one thing, a dedication that often superceeded their physical or personal needs. Their lives were mythical and their stories have survived for that reason. They said 'fuck you' to what society required at the time, weather that be marriage or paganism or materialism and did their own thing. I know that's what drew me to their stories- the courage to be different, no matter the consequences.

Being on the fringe of society fascinated me at different times in my life, the willingness to be above or below the 'normal' and say fuck the consequences. But now, It just seems more challenging to balance the expectations of society with my own quiet rebellions. It results in a kind of schitzophrenic identity that doesn't reconcile. In high school, the girl on the honor roll, A+ choir student was hitting up strip clubs at lunch with her pot head girlfriends and drinking vodka in church. I seem to be able to emulate the correct side for those people who need it most, the ones who don't want to think that reality is a stability that doesn't exist. It just doesn't always add up. And that's okay. Because, even if I don't know exactly what I want, I know I don't want to be 'normal' or 'average'. What the definite definitions of these words are are obviously negotiable, but, from my understanding of what that might be (something like a suburban horror story)- terrifies me.

So I will continue on, as a Valentine's day card a friend got from his dad said; to 'Be Bold'. Hopefully it's the myth I aspire it to be- minus the stoning/burning at the stake/whipping oneself type of story.

clothes whore

It's a well known fact that I am a MAJOR clothing whore. Everytime I open my closet, something falls on me. Sometimes, it's something I've haven't seen in a while, and it gives me the opportunity to rediscover it's greatness, or wonder why the hell I would wear something like that it the first place. Oftentimes, it's more of an ambigous feeling. Like, maybe I'll wear it again, most likely not, but I probably need someone to come pry it out of my hands.

Today, I rediscovered a skirt I hadn't worn in about 9 months. It's like getting back together with an ex boyfriend. At first, it's shiny and sweet and why the hell haven't I worn this/done this in so long. Then you wake up with his hairy snoring fat beer belly in the morning, try to mitigate the regret with a nice breakfast and then he, the lazy ass that he is, sticks around till 2 pm playing wii and grunting. I still haven't passed such harsh judgement on the skirt, so it might get another chance in the much nearer future than he ever will.

So if clothing can be equated with sex, the fact that I am not getting any will soon be remedied by a binge of clothing whoreness that my credit card can't handle- or to that end- a spree of window shopping that will surely disappoint (hummmm, crappy one night stands anyone?).

There's only one way to damage control. Keep the tags on for the first couple wears. Don't you wish you could return him after the first couple times?

Three things I am grateful for since my last post:
1. Online shoe shopping.
2. A lack of a sense of guilt for really anything currently.
3. whowhatwear.com

vacation from hedonism

'We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of Time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work strengthens us. Let us choose.' ~ Charles Baudelaire

Today I chose work. Seriously, it felt like a long day, but I least I got a lot done. The last two days I've been hibernating. Sometimes it's sorely needed. Movies and tea and couch and fireplace and my own cozy space, being as slobby as I want to be. I've been choosing pleasure for the past couple of days, and my hedonistic bent has caused me to need some rest. So I feel refreshed and ready to finish of my week in style.

Three things I've thankful for since my last post.
1. The editor of the magazine me and my friend are trying to pitch an article to finally got back to us. He sounds stoked on the idea and wants to talk this weekend.
2. I left my charger at work all weekend and finally just charged my personal phone today. Added to the vacation feel.
3. Got a crapload of money back from my health insurance for more yoga yay!

powder gods

Spiritual experiences don't just happen every day. I believe certain contributing factors lead to circumstances where you feel like you have just been transported into the clouds and felt the ropes to earthly pittances go slack. Basically your mind fucked when you realize real life will hit you in the face eventually. So what factors are needed to experience awesomeness? I believe it's about mind state- so anything that affects your mind state, wheather it be euphoria, sticky green or just plain old beer. So, you think- does getting high and watching a movie count. Maybe. If you're laughing so hard you lose all the blood from your brain and start thinking you're in the film. But the more likely venue? That would be travelling to a new spot, and seeing something from a new perspective, influenced by a picturesque or even horrifying vista.

This weekend, I kneeled at the altar of the powder gods and was rewarded with the ability to float across the earth, feeling weightless, free and perfectly in control. Completed by the backdrop of some amazing vistas, and inhuman heights- emphasizing how small we are in the big picture and making me feel just a little luckier to have this great feeling. And later? We were a drunk and rowdy crew, feeling invincible, just out for a good time in some amazing snow, playing games and having fun. Only one thing could have made the picture complete- a missing piece, but we'll anticipate her presence for next time. So, after a long day of board meetings, does any President call it a day? No, we continued on into the night, getting our work done and thanking the powder gods for blessing us with the spiritual experience.

Signing out as El Presidente, I will get on with the three things that have made me happy since my last post.
1. Powder.
2. Beer.
3. Good friends and family to party with. (Still missing you boo!)

a mess of melted molten heat

It was warm in the club, but not hot, not sweltering like we both felt. The ability to make a man feel uncomfortable is not unfamiliar to me (I've been labeled intimidating), but the ability to make a man feel physically uncomfortable is a new one. There were sparks coming out of our eyes. Even brushing up against him seemed to emit a force field that was incomprehensable for both of us. How much conversation we had is something I can't even recollect, it was just those eyes.

So how much does Karma love me?

Enough to love to give it to me from behind and poke my eyes out at the same time. Because chemistry means nothing when someone has a significant other. Despite what J says, homewrecking is not an option. Especially when I found out his girlfriend is moving from Vancouver in with him. Wow. So he left. Because terribly, I couldn't stop flirting and neither could he.

So now. Nothing. Except the memory of sparkle flashes and heat.

O yeah, and L rubbing in how perfect we would be together.

I will still take time to give thanks for three things, because what else do you do when all you want to do is lay in your bed and smoke opium and have dreams about your unattainable dream guy.
1. I spoke with two of my Van friends on Sunday, and that always makes me feel good. Besties are the best.
2. I might, maybe, shouldn't type it here, but finally get my long hard fought promotion. Mama needs a new pair of shoes (not really, but a vacation would be nice).
3. My lost camera could be replaced thanks to my Mom's Visa insurance.

waking words

Sometimes in the twilight before I fall asleep or the dim mornings when I float between dreaming and waking, words threaten to overwhelm any potential sleep. Sentences run behind my eyelids, begging to be spilled on to a page or be typed out and read. I used to give in, but lately, I let it torture me, editing with my eyes closed, turning over variations of sentences and words in my brain. Then it's lost. In the waking world, the dream-like magic has disappeared, and they're just words again, not beautifully cadenced sentences singing like music to me and painting beautiful visions behind my closed eyes.