I’m broke off my ass, but bought a bottle of wine last weekend in my ignorant bliss, and opened it tonight because it’s the first work night I’ve been home before 8 since about, well, 2007. A big bowl of hearty (and cheap) lentil stew, some shaved parmesan broiled on a bit of baguette, and my wine… temporary poverty done very nicely, thanks. And what do I find running on the telly?

Kinsey. The movie about Alfred C. Kinsey, the famed sex researcher, the dude that said gay & straight was measured on scale of zero to six, rather than being a black-or-white simplified issue. Me, I’m about a one or two (on the straight side). I’d be into chicks if they were more like guys. Like, my favourite L-Word girl (as if I watch it, though… holy fucking stereotypical melodrama, Batman) would be Shane.

A little thing you likely don’t know: The movie Kinsey is what prompted me to start this blog. My parents were very repressed sexually. My walking in on ’em having sex when I was 12 probably scarred them as much as it scarred me. My first encounters with arousal? I kept thinking I had to pee bad. I had no idea. Took me years to clue in. I was raised Catholic, once wanted to be a nun, was devastated when the guy I thought was “the one” and slept with wound up being “the one I shoulda overlooked, but didn’t”, and felt guilty for loving bondage among other less than average encounters.

There’s a scene where Kinsey reads to his wife from this religiously right book that says hands should never be used for excitation and oral sex brought through to orgasm was “possibly injurious” and would harm future reproduction. He says “It’s morality disguised as fact.”

It’s no secret, I’ve hated the Bush administration since day one. I started this blog in 2005, before the economy started to tumble, when people got distracted from Iraq, and morality was the trump issue for Republicans in power under a Born-Again Christian Commander in Chief. I was sick of it. I was sick with my leftover Catholicism driving me to guilt and shutting me down in my desire to get laid after a ridiculous dry spell, like I was some sex-craved addict or something. I was tired of feeling bound by morality and just wanted to shrug off the binds… voila, le blog was born.

My thoughts then, I guess, aren’t really all that different from my current motivations… to push myself into an era of self-learning and use the blog as a record for doing just that. It required a lot of thinking on matters of the self, still does. I’m grateful for that. The “blogging’s cheaper than therapy!” joke gets a little tired, but it never becomes untrue. I’d rather spend my therapy money on red wine and do me some blogging.

I think who we are in relationships, in sex, depends massively on who we are when we’re alone when the lights are out. Like the old saying goes: Character is who you are when no one’s around.*

You want to be comfortable in sex? Be truly comfortable and loving of yourself when you’re alone. Then, and only then, will you really be able to not only give but truly, truly receive in sex. In other words: Get over your hangups, man. Then, you’ll really dig someone else digging you, ’cause you’ll understand that they should be digging you. Dig?

This blog’s been me learning to really dig myself again. Since day one. Still is. As my life happens, the blog happens. I’ll get tired of this no-sex thing very, very soon, I’m sure, and the circle of blogging will continue for me. My life’s gonna be full of sex no matter who I am, no matter what size I am, no matter where I am. I’m a sexual person, and that’s just reality. But I’m also happy to be alone, because, most of the time, I really enjoy being in my own company. Some times more than others, but that’s just how we roll. (Mankind, that is.)

What’s interesting is, this movie makes it pretty clear that, whatever else sex is, it requires incredible amounts of trust, of vulnerability. It suggests the more you’re willing to be vulnerable, the more you’re likely to experience. I guess I realized that those statements are entirely true about life as a whole. Life gets better the more you trust, the more you allow yourself to be vulnerable, the more you give into the flow of give’n’go.

Trust, vulnerability, openness. Three of the most important things you’ll ever possess in your life. Three things that’ll never cost you a dime but’ll change your life in every way. Trust yourself, trust others, trust instinct, trust timing, trust serendipity. Be vulnerable to others, be vulnerable despite fear, be vulnerable quid pro quo others’ vulnerability. Be open to spontanaeity, be open to suggestion. Be open for bizness, babe.

Sadly, in my experience, those three states also very, very difficult to not only administer… but to administer judiciously, or even just right. And being wrong about it… whew. Bring in the damage control, man.

But, fortunately, with there being 24 hours a day and at least 365 days per year and an undetermined amount of years, I think there’s plenty sufficient time for do-overs (and more do-overs, and more do-vers…).

So, this is what, take 7, 423? Let’s make it a good one, then. [clapboard strikes]

*Re: Character being when no one’s looking, I had this moment when I got to the bus stop the other morning. I literally slipped on a banana peel, and about 10 steps later, went back and picked the thing up, moving it to the trash so no one else would slip (and, unlike me, maybe fall). No one was around, I could’ve left it, but I didn’t. I sat down at the bus stop and I had a moment where I thought, “Cool, so I’m that girl. Good to know.” Sometimes we beat ourselves up for stupid shit, so it’s nice to take those rare moments of self-love and celebrate ’em. Couldn’t help but share. Incidentally, I’m not always that girl… but I want to be. It’s an ongoing project. 🙂

PS: A reader wants to know what he should listen to during sex. I have my tastes, but what are yours? What makes you feel like getting hot’n’heavy? Doin’ the dirty? Do tell. I’ll post a compendium of what everyone says! Thanks!

Changing your world doesn’t come easily. It’s a constant mental challenge. I find myself constantly fighting my insecurities and fears. Anything that happens, my first instinct has been to conjure a worry or to see the worst of it rather than the opportunity it presents. It’s habits like those that are the first I aim to change this year, and it means stepping outside my cozy little box and doing things that are perhaps not something I’d ever consider the right “fit” for me.

…But in realizing how unhappy I really was with life last fall, I realized that all the things I thought “fit” my life weren’t fitting me at all. So, like buying clothes, part of my challenge this year is to try a whole lot of things that are outside my perceived comfort zone, and then I’ll hone my experiences to things that I now know fit me.

That, however, is easier said than done, particularly in a week like I’m having. Actually, there’s just been one bad day, that was Monday. No great days, but only the one bad day. Mentally, though, I haven’t been beaten. But let’s not get ahead of things here, and back up a bit.

On Monday, I thought this week might never end. It was the Monday that Just Kept Coming. Between crap breaking and getting lost, I figure I’m out about $500. Yeah, GREAT start to the week, thanks. We’ll just take this week’s salary and throw it right out the window. What fun! Who needs food anyhow?

But I got up when I planned to, I did my yoga, and I kept my head in the game all day. At day’s end, I attributed my ability to stay positive with having a good breakfast and doing some yoga so I had become a little more “conscious” of my day. Yoga’s not just exercise, it’s learning how to mentally flip the page on attitudes, and I’m really embracing that part of it.

That said, I’m not really into the yoga again yet. I think one needs to do it a week or two before it feels comfortable. It’s harder than it looks. Nice being able to do MyYogaOnline in all my glorious suckiness. Real classes will be nice one day, but not until I’m possessing more grace than the lumbering elephant disposition I currently have. God knows I’m trying. Grace shall be mine.

But it’s really helping me keep my tactical mind awake about life this week. I’m looking at things more constructively than emotionally, which is good ‘cos the emotions have been a little unreliable given losing my beloved iPOD is part of what’s made my week precarious, especially since I’ve been doomed to taking the bus this week given the cold snap out there.

Speaking of transit, I had a strange moment last night on the bus. Remember how I was mentioning my decision to do things decidedly outside of my comfort zone of late?

Well, last year I received a couriered package and opened it up to find a top-quality Yves St. Laurent knock-off purse. I stared at it with confusion, thinking, “Wow. That’s so not me.” In the year that’s passed, it’s lain on the floor of my closet, receiving the occasion quizzical gaze from yours truly. It’s a fresh-off-the-boat Mainland Chinese knock-off of the best quality, just fantastic.

But it’s so chi-chi Uptown New York, or so very Yaletown here in Vancouver. There’s a certain kind of woman that carries that purse, uptown or not. I mean, as a math equation, it’d be something like:

I didn’t have the courage to try and play that role. Steff le chi-chi moneyed femme? Yeah. Okay then. I’ll just park my stickered scooter over here and hide my nine-hole boots.

Finally a couple weeks ago I decided I could be any kind of woman I wanted, since “trying before buying” is my lifestyle approach this year, and YSL or not, it was a knock-off. Sure, it looked like $1400, but it was a knock-off. How very punk. Sorta. And it supported local economy in impoverished China since it was bought there by my aunt. How very philanthropical of us, really.

And it’s big and well-made. So, I started carrying it once every few days. When I do, I dress the best I’m able, cuteify myself, and head out. I totally forget it’s some expensive purse lookalike and I tell myself I need to match my gear.

But then I had this moment last night when this middle-aged sad-looking Asian woman across the bus aisle kept looking at the purse, then me, and I could see her thinking “What’s she done to get that, and how come I’m not so lucky?”

Much to my surprise, I was foolin’ ’em. Then I realized two things. One, I could make the purse work which says something about my demeanour and appearance that I didn’t think was true, thanks to insecurities I’ve embraced in recent years, and has been an eye-opening but happy shock to me. Two, it was a reminder of just how much people can, and will, read into our appearance, and if there’s any one thing we have the power to do, it’s to control what it is they perceive about us.

I don’t know. I keep telling myself that I don’t know myself as well as I keep telling myself… that I’m stronger than I think, more versatile than I think. That I’m resilient in the face of challenges. That I enjoy learning about cultures and know how to make new friends fast. But I haven’t allow myself to face those challenges in the last few years, all because I thought I knew my limits.

The point is, too many of us pass up opportunity because we don’t think we can live up to it, or we think it’s not the right fit for us. Whether it’s trying bondage in sex or eating sushi, we want to think we know what’s going to work for us, instead of taking the chance to try and see whether it might fit after all.

I have a friend whose kid is but a year and a half old, and the kid’ll eat anything not once, not twice, but three times. Seriously, under two, and this kid will eat minimum three mouths full of any food you give him before he decides that he does or doesn’t like it. Once he’s opposed, you’re not changing his mind, but why would you bother… because you know he tried it, right? How smart is this kid, huh?

If only I’d had that mentality from birth, my life would be a world different than it is now.

Consciously trying to change my former tendancy to fear change in my life’s already been a pretty eye-opening experience, and I’ve done nothing but have breakfast with some folks, get a haircut, and carry a purse in the span of a week or so. Wait’ll the big things start happening later this year, hey? What fun.

So, way off topic?
When you buy something like, oh, say, mayonnaise, and it’s been on the shelf for nine months, and it has an expiry down to the DAY… how are you supposed to take this seriously? Oh, it’s 16/01/08, so this is officially bad now. Like the molecules just look up at some cosmic clock and some head molecule guy shouts, “Okay, boys… that’s a shift! Time to go bad, baby.”
Christ. I’m using the motherfucking mayonnaise, all right? You don’t hear from me in a week, send in the professionals. I’m having the motherfuckin’ mayo.

Daylight is dawning as a windstorm rages here on the Wet Coast. Light mist is getting blown sideways. It’s not a day for scooters. The prospect of work is not painting a smile on this face of mine, but smiling ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.

I’m finding this getting-a-life plan of mine is starting to limit my time alone, and I’ve realized the only way I can have the best of both worlds is if I start getting up earlier. Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it, but it’s a little more complicated than that.

Allow me a tangent, if you will. Breakfast yesterday was with some of the folks from the scooter club here in town (don’t knock it; they’re all into all the same stuff in life as me, but I think I need to get that tattoo I’ve been considering before I totally fit in, seriously). I was talking shop with one of the guys and mentioned how I had, at one time, considered doing some mods to increase speed, and he frowned on the idea. He mentioned how, when you’re modifying your ride and increasing performance, it’s totally a domino effect. Everything from the spark plug to the muffler to the rollers to the belt to the transmission needs upgrading in order for your ride to perform faster, better.

It’s the same dilemma in existential mechanics. Change can’t be done to one area of life without affecting others. When it comes to sleep, for me, that impacts everything. I’ll need to eat better, exercise more, and take my nighttime meds earlier to have the kind of energy I’ll need to maintain an earlier rising every day.

Yesterday’s breakfast hookup, strangely, will also assist me in getting life on track in every way. I’ve been trying not to whine about my scooter too much, but it’s had problems since last August. I made the mistake of running fully synthetic oil and my bike’s carb’s all jammed up, which means I putt-putt around town. A) It’s humiliating to barely break 30 clicks on hills, and B) it’s gonna get me killed with these fucking impatient drivers Vancouver has in our Olympics-construction dead-locked town. Seriously. Fearing for my life is my latest new past-time. Fuckin’ drivers. Leaving a foot between yer car and my ride does NOT constitute “safe passing”, thank you kindly.

Why it hasn’t been repaired is a long and sordid story involving AWOL shop owners, businesses closing and relocating, and possibly even fraud, so forgive me if I don’t clue you in on the chaos and soap-operaesque antics of As the Scooter World Turns. Convoluted, indeed.

…Suffice to say my bike needs a-fixin’. And this weekend one of the guys from the club is more than happy, he says, to not only fix my bike for me (which he concurs sounds like a clogged injector) but teach me how to do it, too. Yay!

Having my scooter RUN the way it’s supposed to will really improve my quality of life. That thing gives me so much control over my life, and when I don’t have it running well and I’m not riding, I’m at the mercy of the horrible BC Transit. Evil! There’s a big difference between 15 minutes to get downtown on the scooter (and, when it’s running, despite only having a max of 60-65 clicks, I get downtown faster than 90% of cars) and taking an hour with buses. The thing’s been verging on unsafe to ride, though, so I’ve been doing buses and feel like I have no time left for me, though I am well-read of late. Giving myself back that additional 60-90 minutes a day, PLUS getting up earlier will have a huge impact on how full my life can be.

AND I’m excited to learn something about mechanics. This is cool. That’s totally in keeping with the kind of chick I am — empowered. Gimme a wrench, man! I’ll show you some torque, baby.

Did I mention it’s nice to be meeting men again? Right, well, that too.

So, that’s where my week’s at. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m being a little self-indulgent with the posts on my world and changing my life, but to tell you the truth, my head’s spinning a little and I’m worried about achieving a good balance with everything. Plus I’m nervous as hell about being social again after taking myself out of the game so long. (But I did say something so funny yesterday that someone spat food out and someone else choked, so, that was nice. 🙂 It’s tough navigating new worlds, and I’m kind of concerned that if I take too much time to think about other things that I might get off my path. Changing the self and fixing what’s the existential equivalent of a leaky boat takes a whole lot of work, and a lot of courage at times. Whew.

Still. Loving the dividends I’m reaping already (did I mention my scooter’s getting fixed?) and can’t wait to see what else is coming down the pipes. (Yippee! Scooter! Vive le Eurotrash Girl!)

Geez! Would someone open a window in here? I can barely breathe!

Oh… it’s my new jeans. It’s a wonder any blood’s circulating at all. Whew! They look great, though. And I’m going to lose weight, right? So. But yowzas. I’m not sure wearing these out for breakfast with new people is the wisest choice today.

But they look great. And are highly motivating for a gym visit after brekkie.

Speaking of which, places to be, people to see, things to eat. Kinda in that order, too. But here’s something I wrote a couple days ago and forgot to post. 🙂

Something pretty remarkable has started to happen. I’m actually getting my libido back.

It’s one thing to watch some steamy part of a movie, say, and experience all those familiar twinges and urges, but it’s quite another to for that to occur when you’re on a crowded bus and you see some twinkle in some guy’s eye.

It’s been a while since I’ve looked at someone, anyone, and had dirty, dirty thoughts of things I could do to them. Like, forever and a day, really.

The thought of my lack of libido was almost as depressing as the depression itself was for a while there. It’s sad when you find nothing hot enough that you have to shift because that sudden twitch is a little overwhelming and needs some kinda itching. I wasn’t trying to do anything to get it back, though. I figured it made my life simpler to not be missing sex. God knows missing it can be hell.

This week I’ve been starting to have Moments again. Nice.

I doubt that had I been involved with someone still that my libido would’ve taken the sabbatical it’s been on, but I think the body has a way sometimes of protecting you from yourself. Maybe when you have other worries and concerns and just don’t feel like getting hurt, your body tries to remove an element from the equation to keep things simpler. Maybe. Certainly seems that way to me, seeing the rather convenient return this particular week when I’m finally plugging into the moi of old.

Whatever the case, I grinned pretty wildly when I had a particularly enticing little sudden visual of myself corning this one hottie on the bus and doing the classic up-against-the-wall knee-shaking loin-pressing deep, deep kiss. And groping, lots of groping. I’m a sucker for some of the classic moves like that. Never had an against-the-wall kiss fail me yet. Definitely my ace in the hole.

Ah, where there are fantasties, reality can’t be far behind. Gotta love the new year and the brimming of optimism.

As you know, I’m doing what I can to bust a move and minimize my copious ghetto ass, and I’m doing it the old-fashioned way — being aware of my choices, trying a variety of activity so I’m firing all my muscles at one point or another, and just practicing moderation. (Which now means cutting back on the red wine I love so much. Curse you, Cosmos.)

Our body image is so huge, isn’t it? I mean, secretly, we all have the same New Year’s Resolution: To look good naked.

There’s no bigger test, right? It’s easy to feel hot in makeup and heels, or in a good leather jacket and jeans that fit all the right places the right way, or in a thousand-dollar suit. With paint and posh goodies to wear, we’re all a little sexier. Hell, we can convey so much with our clothes and accessories, and sometimes what we’re adorned in can sell us all on its own.

Naked, though, you got no tricks. You can try lighting, like those who will only have sex in the dark (what’s wrong with you people? Turn the lights on! It’s hot! Light gleaming off sweat…).

But even the best lighting won’t sculpt inches off your waist or melt away those cellulite bumps.

Lipodissolve, though, will. You heard about this shit? It’s the new Botox, they say! (Yeah, I’ll never fuckin’ understand the thinking behind injecting a potentially fatal toxin, or any part of it, into me, but hey, I’m pragmatic. It’s what I do.)

So, this shit, you inject it in a matter of minutes, and it “melts” your fat away over the course of a few days. You, you do nothing. Fat just “dissolves”. But anyone with half a brain who’s ever taken physics or science of any kind knows that you can’t just turn something into nothing. There’s always evidence.

When you eliminate vitamins from your body, they come out in your pee. Where does the fat from Lipodissolve go? Well, that is the new Caramilk secret, apparently. Is it peed out? Dunno. Does it get pooped out? Dunno. Does it just evaporate like steam? Dunno. No one does. None of the smart guys who made it, and sure as shit not the questionable folk selling it. They just don’t know.

All I know is, if they can’t even tell ya where the fat’s going, thinking twice about having it injected into you might be the way to go, even if it’s yet another fuckin’ miracle product made from soy.

There are horror stories beginning to crop up Stateside. One unfortunate chick in this article had to be hospitalized as a result of her Lipodissolve experience. She left the hospital a week later, after a big-ass lump was resolved (how, the article doesn’t say… surgically? did it, too, “dissolve” on its own after appearing, and if so, what happened to the obviously hazardous contents of that mystery lump?).

Apparently she now has a belly shaped like a spoon. You know, some of my favourite meals have been served on bellies, but that’s a little excessive and sounds a little freaky-lookin’.

Other countries have banned the procedure. Not the good ol’ US of A, where selling fear and inadequacy are still big, big business. Creepy stuff, that Lipodissolve, but god knows people’ll flock to it. Whatever gets you to sleep at night, eh?

This is a difficult time of year for most people, I imagine. The media fills up with dieting and life-fixing advertising. It’s easy to believe you’re less of the person you should be, and I’m concerned that my kamikaze change-my-life monologuing of late might persuade others that their unhappiness means they should gut everything.

Not necessarily. Change will be right for you when it’s right. The media can’t tell you that and I know I sure can’t. It takes a lot of soul-searching to find the right path for any of us, and there’s no quick route to it out there.

I’ve also been talking a lot about dieting and working out, and that possibly flies in the face of what I sometimes write about, learning to love yourself as you are. I really think self-love’s one of the most difficult places to get to, so it’s something we need to constantly work on. There’s always that little voice that tells you you’re not good enough, and learning to shut that voice up can take some people a lifetime. For me, it’s going to be a lifelong journey towards love of self, and I know it.

So it’s important, I think, that I clarify myself. I’m not on a diet. I’m not following the South Beach Diet or the Zone, there’s no book or trend behind my food choices. I’ve learned that I’m overweight for four reasons: ignorance, laziness, emotional eating, and fear. I’ve never really known just how bad my diet choices were. I’ve been ignorant of just how conscious one needs to be about what they eat, or how much. For me, this is a massive re-education. I’m learning so much, and need to learn yet so much more, and I’m learning to restrain myself and have a yogic mindset about food, and I’m teaching myself about nutrition and food value.

I’ve also been talking about having to buy new clothes in order to feel I’m worthy of socializing, when I’ve, in the past, said it doesn’t matter what others think. And I stand by that. If someone’s happy looking like a slob, then go for it. Me, I want to feel like I look my best, and my clothes… jeans that are torn near the crotch, shirts with minor stains– have not been allowing me to feel that way.

I’m not looking to fit into any perfect little fashion window. I want to look like I’m taking chances with my wardrobe. I want to look as edgy as I feel in my head. I want to have that sense of whimsy in my style that I have in my personality. It’s not about fitting anyone else’s concept of style, it’s about looking like the person I know I am and feeling as though my self-respect is visually evident, which I haven’t felt in some time now. (Until recently.)

The point is this: Don’t change because you think others expect it of you. Fuck them. Change because you know it’s what you want, what you need. Change because you’ve taken the time to really consider who you are, where you are, how you got there, and why you don’t want to be there anymore. Change because it’s something that excites you. Change because you have hope, because you have motivation, because you dream of something better for yourself.

But if you’re waking up in the morning and your day fails to excite you or a sense of dread lingers in the back of your mind, or you’re feeling shameful when you’re out on the street, or you’re wondering if this is all life holds in store for you… then maybe change is right for you, too.

My plan for change excites me. I’m amazed at how easy it is once you simply start. Me, I’m feeling like my food’s back on track after Christmas. I just started reducing the madness a bit on the weekend, and finally ran out of butter Sunday. I’ve eaten very well the last two days and think it’ll be much simpler now that I’ve got something to build on again. I had the delightful experience at 12:30 last night of lying in the bathtub and noticing I was displacing less water. Oh, how exciting. One cannot argue the displacement of water. The scale knows nothing, the tub knows all. Remember, we’re not talking cosmetic weight less or minor diet changes in my life. My weight is a serious health issue and I can’t ignore it any more. I’ve been very, very lucky that I’m reasonably active and have kept serious problems at bay. Luck runs out, sooner or later. I’m circumventing that. 🙂

(Ow! I hurt all over! It’s the AbSwing’s fault. OMG. 70 stomach crunches on there yesterday and today and I feel like my torso’s on fire. And my ribs and my glutes and my thighs. Nice new addition to my fitness regime.)

I mentioned in a comment on the below posting that I’m sort of going after total change in my life. Everything I was doing, I want to change. Everything. In every single area of my life, I can improve. And I know it. I’m happier already, so I can’t imagine how fun my year will be if this progresses like I hope it to.

I’ve been looking at myself very critically for a while now, and it’s been really, really hard emotionally to let myself not just have glimpses of what it is I don’t like about myself, but to really peer in and see where I’m going wrong and what I need to do to correct it. Right now, I’m not comfortable enough to share particulars of that process with you, but it’s basically like this:

Wow. Fuck. Can’t believe I did that again. Man, I hate it when I do that. How’d I get so self-centred? Geez. Duly noted. I remember how X did the total opposite, and it was like people just wanted to drink her in. It created interest. Hmm. Next time, I’ll try to remember that. I know better, now I’ll remember. Good for me to spot that. Next time.

Yeah, fun night in, no doubt. Don’t forget the wine, and a hot bath helps.

But I had to get my head in the game. You can’t change to something if you don’t know what you’re changing from. Gotta know who you are before you can become who you want to be.

Then there’s different forums for change. There’s social, financial, professional, physical, and mental, and probably a few others. Like experiential, perhaps, environmental, too. And I’m going to change every single one of those areas. The good news for me is, I have been consciously trying to grow and change for a few months now. In both the financial and career areas, I’ve had progress. I’ve also had moments of success in the physical realm, too. So it’s not like I’m starting from nothing.

Hence the many-splendoured modern torture device, The AbSwing. If you do this thing right, and in large enough quantities, you’re in a world of hurt. Which is where I currently reside. Just another cog in my wheel of fitness. Tomorrow is both yoga AND the gym, so.

The AbSwing now sits where my beanbag once was. Sick of it consuming my living room, I’ve put the big, fat cow-patterned bastard (5′ round pill, 2 feet deep. Monster.) into storage. Where it was is now my new yoga space and permanent home to my AbSwing so that I will do 70 pain-inducing crunches a day, which I consider of huge importance since my weak core contributes to so many stupid things I can live without.

And as I continue to whittle away the clutter of my house, I will make it easier to keep clean, and more conducive to a clear head when writing. I will feel more like being social and inviting people in. Having a new haircut makes me want to go out more. New shoes, and the new jeans I plan to buy this weekend, along with other items I’ve acquired of late, will give me that confidence I have to have in order to feel like I belong to the social events I intend to find my way into.

It’s not like I’ve never been in the social mix. I used to sleep through college and get in after the sun rose. Every single day. I did it, loved it, and miss like hell having that kind of energy for life with people. I miss people really enjoying being around me. My friends are old and married and I think I need me new young things that will spark my life rather nicely.

I don’t, however, want to validate myself through others’ eyes, so I’m making sure I also keep quality time for myself. I want to remember who I was when I used to love doing month-long roadtrips down the American coast… solo. I’m a week into this thing and I can tell you she’s in sight already. I took her to the movies this past Saturday and had a beer afterwards, too.

But this feeling I have of knowing I’m on my way? I wouldn’t really have that, I don’t think, if I hadn’t taken some rather dark time of introspection over the holidays to clue myself in (including all the areas I had already had advances in). I took a mental snapshot of everything I was, everything I wanted to be, and everything that needed to change.

And my first step was: A haircut and losing the beanbag.

Well, a little bit before Christmas I bought myself a change journal and have since completely forgotten to write in it, but what I did write stands as one of the oldest, lamest cliches ever… yet so true. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Steff also, rumour has it, will not be built in a day.

Which makes for good blogging, we can only hope, right? So, there’s that. And I mentioned this weekend’s the jeans weekend? Yep. Fun. 🙂

And: Ow. Thus was born the love-hate relationship with the AbSwing. (Oh, and anyone who disses this thing isn’t doing it right. Seriously. But it can’t be your only exercise. Variety, baby. Still, doing this 5 times a week will do wonders for me.)

HEY, world! It’s been several days since I last posted, and though I’ve not really got the time to share with you this morning, I’ll race through a quickie, because god knows I can’t leave you without time wastage for work on Monday, eh?

Welcome to week one of the Steff plan for total world domination… or at least taking back my life.

I spent my weekend getting myself on page for new happenings. I’m still not 100% ready to face the year before me, but I’m sure as hell getting there. I’ve gutted my place and I’m maybe two full days of work away from having this place look the way I’ve always wanted it. I’ve purge 20% of the belongings from my living area, and now, when my hallway has been emptied of the towers of crap I’m either selling or donating, then I have other closets and my bedroom to contend with.

I’m a firm believer that, if your home is in chaos, no matter what you do in your life, your life, too, will be chaotic. I’m reclaiming my life from the top down.

This week I now need to get back on page with diet and exercise, thanks to a) having bronchitis since Christmas, and b) having all the food baskets sent my way for holiday gifts, I can assure you there’s no diet left in my life, and I sure as hell haven’t been doing yoga. That changes tonight and tomorrow, though.

Saturday was all about me. Got treated like a goddess for my first real salon hairstyling in the last two years, thanks to perenially being broke off my ass before now. I bought two awesome, cute, trendy pairs of sneakers I love. And I went out all on my own to the movies and to write in a coffee shop. I flirted with a couple strangers, and had a pretty nice night without anyone’s company.

This getting-back-to-myself is happening a lot quicker than I would have thought. The haircut and shoes, you know, great start. As is returning to my old loves of writing in coffee shops, browsing bookshops, and wandering the streets at night.

Next weekend’s another leap of faith, as I institute the “getting social” part of my life back into full swing. Nice to see my master plan’s coming along nicely. I’ll try to write a more guided posting on what my actual plan of attack is in the next week or so, for anyone else wanting to change their lives from the top down.

Meanwhile… work beckons. Hope I’ve successfully wasted 3.4 minutes of your workday. Have fun with that. 🙂

(Someone asked me last month “Didn’t you used to write about sex?” And though this seems a million miles off from that question, it’s kind of a very abstract and intellectualized retort to why I’ve been pretty off that topic for a while now.***)

I remember being 10, maybe 12, and wandering through our resort’s hotel lobby when I saw a fellow looking an awful lot like Santa Claus, at a Baha’i Faith convention’s information table.

Always drawn to Santa-like people with the hope of receiving things for free, I naturally stopped to tell him that he bore an uncanny resemblance to my North Pole friend. I then decided to ask him what B’hai Faith meant, and he more or less told me how BF pretty much was this hodge-podge faith that leant credence to many beliefs. His notions, not necessarily the truth. Go play with Wikipedia to learn more.

I wandered off afterwards, deep in thought. I was a profound Catholic and had toyed often with the notion of being a nun as a kid. (Seriously, I thought I could feel stigmata every time they talked about the sacrifice Christ made. I was hardcore.)

When I was 12 and 13, though, I began to start noticing other religions in the world and I knew I had questions. And it all started with this chance encounter with the Hawaiian-shirted Santa at a conference info table. This notion of believing every religion was right in some kinda way, though, that really appealled to me. Until someone could prove one way was more right than another, why the hell shouldn’t I respect them all?

I believe that even today, that some people get all bent out of shape and want to believe strict interpretations of things, but anyone with half a brain and the remotest amount of research abilities can see that there are uncanny parallels among all the great faiths today, and you really do need to ask why those parallels are so predominant.

[Oh, so here’s where I remind you that this is my blog, I’m not paid to be a pundit, and I don’t need to take abuse, nor do I need to suffer attempts to convert or “save” me. I believe what I believe, and while I love a philosophical debate, religious ones are another matter. Don’t waste your time on me, is what I’m saying. Go save a soul who really wants saving. And if my ideas offend you, surf elsewhere, friend.]

I don’t really want to go there and have that big theological discussion, though. I believe more in energies and consciousnesses than I do deities, and probably always will. Call it whatever gets you to sleep at night, honey.

My point is, though, that I guess there comes a time in all of our lives when we reach a crisis of faith, a crisis of consciousness, and even a crisis of self. We lose who we are and big questions like “why are we here?” and “what’s the point of it all?” starting swimming in our stream of consciousness, and no matter how often we try to stop up the dam as the flood of wonderment happens, we keep coming back to the wonderings.

I’ve had these times before, like when I was 13 and lost all faith in the Catholic church, and became a kind of disillusioned I think I’ve never stopped being, and the parents’ divorce, Mom’s death, and even when I cheated death myself.

And in all my life I’ve had one moment, one moment in time, where everything really made sense and all the answers to life just kind of came to me. It was one night in the summer of 1995, living in the famous Yukon, when I went by myself to sit at the top of a canyon and watch the midnight sun change on the landscape of mountains, trees, and the river. I smoked a joint and drank a beer and sat there in silence for four, five hours, just enjoying my place in the world.

And the answers hit me as clear as they could any philosophy 101 student. Why are we here? Because we are. What are we here for? For whatever. Who am I? Me. What am I? Just human, baby. Why’s it happening to me, why me? It’s my turn, man, it’s just my turn. Where am I going? Wherever I want to. Who made all this? It doesn’t matter; that it’s been made is self-evident.* Why does it matter? Well, who said it did? What’s at the end? Either the end or a new beginning, but either/or, certainly not this.

What’s the meaning of life? That it is a thing to be lived. Noun, meet verb.

Well, somehow in the midst of everything that was my life in the last year and a half, I kind of forgot my place in the world, what I thought it all mattered for, and, more importantly, I got confused on what mattered. I became unhappy, ungrateful, and even angry, but I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping it checked, which isn’t a good thing.

At the time that everything kind of came undone on me, I was in a relationship, and I found myself all of a sudden thrown back into being this person I was a long, long time ago, the person who needed to validate herself through relationships with others. And when the relationship came to a long-avoided end, I found myself just stunned at who I’d become and figured that was that, I’d stay single and the problem would be solved in the short term.

And I thought I was past that, that I wasn’t doing that anymore — the validating of self through others, clinging and needing their approval — but it’s only in the last couple of weeks that I’ve realized I’ve still been doing it… I just haven’t been fortunate enough to be getting laid at the same time. I’ve still been seeking approval, and petty things like that.

I’ve recognized it now and it’s a huge goal for me this year to really realize how repetitive that theme has been in my life, and I’ve been reconfiguring my values a little since my wee epiphany.

It’s really, really, really easy to get into the habit of believing the propaganda we see everywhere, that you’re “nobody until somebody loves you”, as the old song goes. It’s easy to believe that, if someone loves us, we’re somehow better than if we’re not with someone. It’s easy to believe, too, that it’s easier to be with someone no matter how hard they make it to love them, than it is to be alone.

Now, being alone, there’s a contentious issue. I both absolutely love being single and hate it with a passion. And it would be so much easier if I was in a relationship, no matter how mediocre it was, right now because then I could say “Yeah, well, at least you’re dateable” and “thank god I’m not on the singles scene”. Being involved sometimes allows us to overlook those things we’re not enjoying about ourselves.

But being single means there’s that silence punctuated only by the rise and fall of your breath or the springs creaking in the couch under you as you shift your legs. Being single means deciding if you’re in the mood to be a party of one at dinner, whether you need to dredge up a friend, or whether you should just stay home for the night. If you’re alone enough, the voices speaking in the back of your mind can steal a bit more of the spotlight. Being single means always hearing “Oh, you’d be so much happier if you found a good man.” Mm, well, a vibrator’s handy too, and there’s no messy wet spot to contend with afterwards.

I honestly think there’s nothing greater than someone being single, not chasing relationships or flings, and being completely happy with who they are. Wow. Good for them. “Completely happy” is not a phrase I use lightly, either. I know few people in life that really are “completely happy”. Content or self-satisfied’s a lot easier to come by, and not something
to dismiss either, but complete happiness is pretty much what everyone strives to be, isn’t it? That mirage in the desert of our lives? And to be that AND alone, and okay with it? Kinda like the Holy Grail of maturity, isn’t it? You hear about it, and you know people even go off lookin’ for it, but, wow…

I don’t plan to spend my life alone. I doubt I’ll ever find one person I can love till life’s end, I don’t believe love’s as simplistic and easy as that. I’ve been through enough change and turmoil in my life to know I’ve been a dozen different people and the dozen or so men I’ve been really head over heels for were all fine men… for that moment in my life, and that they’re in my past is probably a great thing. Vive le demise, gents.

I think relationships and sex and communication are just fantastic and I intend to indulge in much of them in my lifetime. But there are times when losing ourselves in the arms of another really does amount to a loss, and possibly a loss of far too much to make the entanglement worth the grief.

I’ve had a time of great clarity in these past few days, of realizing I’ve still been giving people far too much power over how I feel about life, and having now realized what I’ve been doing, I’m pretty passionate about reclaiming who I was that sunny midnight in the Yukon, having had that moment of clarity where all of life just exploded in simplicity.

That’s my 2008, reclaiming simplicity in all aspects of life. Even dating. I’m getting social, back into the world, bein’ a “joiner” again, and dusting off my flirtin’ shoes. But I’m doing it the simple way, the “it’ll happen when it’s ‘sposed to happen” way, instead of trying to hook up and get laid via the computer, which also was seeming a good plan over the holidays.

And maybe my hormones will mutiny and demand I get me some casual nooky to quell my quivering thighs, or maybe I’ll just connect with someone soon the old-fashioned way and be unable to fend off cupid’s piercing arrow, or maybe I’ll have fun slowly making my world completely change with effort after effort, week after week, with or without someone in my bed. I don’t know. I’ve given up trying to guess. I’m doing what life presents to me, but at least I’m letting it do the presenting.

The only thing I do know is, I spent much of last year being a spectator to life. Now I’m gonna be living one and not watching.**

Noun, meet verb.

*See, I never fucking understood the creationism argument. I always thought these fuckwits who are actually stupid enough (I lied when I said I respected all religion; creationism is fucking moronic and I don’t mind offending you if you believe in it) that some dude sitting somewhere created all this in a literal 7 days. A) You’re offending your omniscient being if you infer they needed to take seven days to do anything all. This should be a fuckin’ snap for the dude you think has the ill skillz to rain Armageddon upon us all. What’s the other 6.75 days for, then? and B) I think the idea that a god might’ve had the brilliance to cause a single simple “big bang” from which atomic life was born, and then that it had the incredibly complex interrelating of species and environs to spawn something as complicated, eternal, and beautiful as evolution… well, that’s kinda sorta omniscient, don’t you think? What’s the fucking disappointment and whining about, this constant asserting it had to be seven days and there really was a suburb called The Garden of Eden? Wow. I just don’t get it.

**Trrrust me. You have no idea. I can make things happen pretty quick when I’m in the mood to. I have a plan. I just don’t want to share. You’ll get yer news after-the-fact this year, kids.

***So, no, I wasn’t in the mood to write about sex for a very long time, but this blog has always been first and foremost about how to love yourself so that you can love others better. This is all part of that. If you want dripping cocks and fuckin’ till you’re raw, then there are other blogs. I’ll be writing about sex again, but I do what life hands me, man. You want to email me a question about sex, I might write about it. Ain’t getting questions. Ain’t getting laid. So. Do the math. But like I say, this was always about more than sex and always will be.