Hey, Boys & Girls!

Just checking in to say howdy. Life’s hit the “I’m insane, are you insane?” pre-Christmas madness phase. Tonight’s the only night I have to myself until next Tuesday, and I’m not so sure much writing’s going to happen in the next few days. I’ll pop in, to be sure, so stay tuned. And I’m gonna try, darn it! I’ve been getting life in order — I’ve gotten my Xmas gifts sorted, my house organized, and all that’s left on the to-do list is assembling gifts (which can’t happen until next Thursday) and decorating for the holidays. I need me some Christmas lights!

I have part II of the me-guide to dating tips that I’d like to post, but I want to add a bit more to it before that happens, so I’m holding off. I may have some time to write Friday night as I think my plans aren’t going to happen. (Which is a good thing.)

After that, though, I suspect my condition will be none so good. Three words: Staff Christmas Party. Uh-huh. Yeah, my one time per year that I get unequivocally drunk off my ass. I’ve reserved Sunday for a hang-over.

[record scratches]

Or did I?

No, no, it seems that in my INFINITE wisdom, I have arranged a date for Sunday night. Unlike most dates I go on, I’ve actually talked to this guy for a bit and such, so my fingers are crossed. I’m sure I’ll be tres sexy, tres hot in my hang-over phase. What have I done?

But, yeah, this week and next week: insanity inducing. Oddly, I have Christmas Day all to myself as family things are happening beforehand, and Christmas Eve is my night to celebrate with friends. A strange year this is, indeed.

I’ll be popping in soonish, and I hope to have the dating thingie up with an addendum of WHY DATING GUIDES SUCK to introduce it. Talk about shooting oneself in the foot! But if anyone can shoot to hit, baby, it’s me! I’m deadly at the air-gun “saloon” at the amusement park. Oh, yeah. All those years of lusting after Clint Eastwood as a young girl have paid off handily.

Have a good one, boys and girls. And don’t you go doing something silly, now, like behaving! Tsk!

Sorry, boys and girls. Has it really been four days since my last posting? I became Suzy Homemaker this weekend and have been making sense of my chaos. No longer will I loathe writing — my writing desk is a sexier thing than it has ever, ever been. And I’m plum knackered. I wrote this a few days ago… I think I’m somehow becoming a profound anti-abuse activist, but I’ll try to keep my postings on it to a minimum, hence this is packed with a lot of resources for those who need it. Another thing I’m becoming an activist about is AIDS, but I missed posting for World AIDS Day. Kind of deliberately, as I assumed all the other media was focusing on it enough. I’ll bang that drum when there’s more silence on the matter.

In the meantime, you get to read this. More on dating notions later in the week. (Most of the “rules” get broken by me, and I aim to share a little on why I think they don’t apply to me… and why they probably shouldn’t apply to you, even though I’ve taken the time to write them. It doesn’t make me a hypocrite — just aware that what works for some will never work for all. Like I sez, stay tuned for that.)

Domestic abuse is the leading cause of injuries to women between the ages of 18 – 49, more than the total caused by car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined.

[Stat provided by the Oprah Winfrey Show. Sue me, it’s easier than finding the actual source!]

Since I wrote about violence in relationships a few weeks back, I’ve had a couple of my own friends come forward and admit they’ve been abused. I sometimes wonder why I’ve never been told before, but I think it’s because they know I’d never stand for abuse, and maybe they felt that meant I wouldn’t understand. How sad that is. And, unfortunately, on some levels, they were right.

No, I don’t understand abuse. I don’t understand how someone can claim they love you, then raise an arm to you. I don’t understand how they can claim you are their world, then proceed to insult, ridicule, and demean you, let alone violently attack you. I don’t understand it. I never, ever will.

There simply is nothing to understand, save this: It is wrong. It is unforgivable. It is unthinkable. It is intolerable.

But there’s another thing to understand, too… and that is that, as much as we wish it wasn’t so, it is not uncommon.

I consider myself a romantic realist, as I’m sometimes a little too idealistic for my own good. But I believe in humanity. I believe that good can triumph over evil, and that good can even come from evil. I’d like to think that, in the face of the worst that can befall us in our lives, people will emerge who will help recalibrate our perceptions of humanity as a whole. Good people. Caring people. People who would do anything to help us if only because they think someone needs help, and help should be given. Selflessness is not a myth.

And sadly, neither is abuse. The most horrific thing about abuse is that it’s the destruction of trust. The person we’re supposed to trust the most is the person that hurts us the most. I think victims of abuse believe they’ve nowhere to turn. And almost every single time, they’re wrong about that.

Then there’s the shame. Signs of violence are often covered up by victims. The smart abusers know to never hit the face, so the victims don’t have a lot they need to try to hide.

If you’re the victim of abuse, I implore you to try to trust others around you. Allow them to see the signs. Do not be a victim in silence – you cannot be protected, nor saved, if you’re silent. Should that day come when you have the courage to leave, if there’s no evidence, you may have a harder time leaving, let alone creating protection for yourself.

You must let others know of your suffering, but you must also exercise caution. A person capable of hurting you is a person capable of killing you, and it’s not a stretch to think it could happen. More than half the murders committed on this continent are committed by spouses and partners. How many of them should have seen it coming?

Signs you’re likely in an abusive, or soon to be abusive, relationship:

• Jealousy
• Name-calling and demeaning behaviour
• Threats against you, your family, or pet
• They try to isolate you from friends and family
• Controlling behaviour

If this sounds like your partner, you need to consider your options and your exit strategy. You need to confer with people who understand the risks that you’re facing. See the below resources at the end of this posting.

It’s so hard to give advice about these situations because some are so incredibly volatile and dangerous. You can’t listen to some amateur like myself. You must enlist the help of support services. Even if/when you leave, you cannot assume the danger has passed. One never knows when something might snap and everything change in a moment.

The New Year is around the corner, and everyone everywhere is starting to think of resolutions – lose 10 lbs, find a better job – but if you’re abused, you must try to find a way out of your situation. You must believe that this is the year a fresh start can be found for you. You must believe you deserve better. Every living person deserves to know what love and safety feel like, so why not you?

I was raised to believe something that shapes my worldview even now: Don’t just accept apologies. “Sorry” is just a word, and the saying of it means so little. Believe the actions, not the words. Ensure that attrition is proven to you, not just given lip-service. But don’t wait around and provide them with another chance to shatter that easily-given apology. Create a plan of action. Accept that you deserve better, and strive to attain it.

I pride myself on being able to see through situations and see through people, but even I’ve been surprised at learning just who is abusive to whom of late. And it breaks my heart because I know my friends never needed to suffer in silence. I’d move heaven and earth to be the kind of friend a friend in need deserves, but if I’m not given that chance, if I’m not trusted with those shameful, dark secrets, I can never be that friend I wish to be.

Neither can your friends or your loved ones if you don’t give them the chance. After all, what have you got to lose, considering?

(But you must exercise grave caution if you’re thinking of leaving an abusive situation. There are unimaginable things which occur daily, and having a knowing, strong support group around you – including professionals who understand the potential for catastrophe and how to avoid it – is essential. I don’t for a minute think I understand in the least what kind of precautions to take. You must be brave and contact support services. Enlist a friend for help if need be, but you must contact someone.)

If you’re an American about to do some Xmas shopping and wish your expenditures could do more for others, you can shop at the “mall” at IGive.com and a percentage of your purchases will go to help the Domestic Abuse Hotline. Give the gift of freedom this holiday season.

If you’re one of the many who’ll be capitalizing on deals for new cellphones this season, consider donating your old phone to The Wireless Foundation, who provide cellphones that are reprogrammed for emergency calling only to victims of abuse for the means of protecting themselves. Who knows, that old cellphone of yours could just save a life. Click here to learn more.

Some resources for you:
A bi-lingual National Domestic Violence Helpline here in Canada can be found at: 1-800-363-9010.
The American national Domestic Abuse Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE — they can put you in touch with real resources in your region. Call for further information.
The American Domestic Abuse Hotline on the web is Here.
Learn more abought domestic abuse of all kinds at EndViolence.org.
Still not sure if you’re in an abusive relationship? This QUIZ might clear up the matter for you.
A terrific site including domestic abuse resource links for over 70 nations. HotPeaches.net.
A good list of North American, English, Australian, and a few other nations’ domestic violence contact numbers are here at the Domestic Violence International website.

Remember: Abusive relationships often start beautifully, then deteriorate to wars of words and belittling, then the violence follows. Don’t doubt early signs. Don’t think you deserve to be treated that way. Don’t wait for more. Don’t let it happen again. You deserve more. End the cycle now.

Well, after being pressured (oh, the pressure!) into doing a dating guide, I gave it some thought and decided Yeah, I have thoughts. I have a lot of thoughts. You want my take on dating? I believe in a kinder, gentler dating world, and in my world, everyone would follow my common sense take on things. This is at least two parts, possibly three. I’m too lazy to organize it, though, so it’s coming out as I wrote it.

Stay tuned for the next part, sometime next week, but here’s part one. First, my credo:

• I don’t believe there are do-or-die rules.
• I don’t believe in systems.
• I don’t think you should ever try to ‘snag’ a person – they’re right for you or they’re not, and if you need to change yourself, well, keeping them in the longterm is unlikely ‘cos you’d be changing for the wrong reasons.
• I believe every date is an entity in and of itself – focus on the moment ‘cos the future’s just a question mark.
• I believe in being true.
• I believe in going with the flow.
• I believe in following your instinct.
• I believe in chemistry, and I don’t believe it’s conjureable. It’s there or it’s not.
• I don’t believe those who say “only call once” – I say go ahead and call a second time or follow up with an email. I agree that it can be pushy or perceived as aggressive, but if they’re not interested anyhow, another call isn’t going to hurt your chances, now is it? But what if? What if your message got dropped along the way, or they accidentally deleted your number, or toasted your email? It would suck if you’d jumped to conclusions. Give it time in between, but if you don’t hear back the second time, yer done. They’re not into you.
• Don’t be late, or at the very least, call in ADVANCE when you’re running late and tell them. If they’re rushing to get ready on time and then you show up late, they’ll wonder why you didn’t make the same effort they did. Strike one.
• If you’re a chick and the guy’s picking you up, be ready. I’ve never once met a man who enjoys waiting for a woman to get ready. Break the stereotype, girls. That means having your coat and shoes ready, your keys in your purse, your makeup done. It means being ready to walk out the door.
• Don’t be nosier than you have a right to be. What they make, if they own their place, whether their car is paid for, what level schooling they have… none of these really matter, and for you to make them a central issue indicates you’re probably more hung up on status than you are about who they are under the skin.
• Don’t ask boring questions. Find out what makes them tick. Ask about happy memories. What’s a great Sunday. Are they enjoying life. Books, movies, music, dreams, goals, best laugh ever.
• Don’t talk about exes. You might be over them, but your date doesn’t know it.
• Don’t talk about your troubles. Your date’s not your shrink. Most people, most of the time, don’t give a shit about your problems. They’d rather talk about the movies. Let ’em grow fond of you, and then they’ll naturally care about your problems. Give it time.
• Don’t talk on your cell phone. It’s rude. Turn the thing off.
• Hold the door open for your date – even if you’re a girl. It’s classy and it’s just plain good manners.
• If you’re on a dinner date, know your etiquette. (I wrote something on it a while back. Part one here, part two here.) Eat slowly. Take your time. Spend more time looking at your date than you do your food. Eat small bites so they don’t have to wait awkwardly for a minute or two while you’re mashing your honking bite to bits before you can answer the question they just asked you.
• If they ask you a question that cuts too close to home on a difficult subject for you, and you’re into them, be honest. Smile, look them in the eye, and just say, “That’s a great question, but it’s a hard topic for me. Can we save that for next time?” They’ll appreciate your honesty, and you’ll show them you can be vulnerable yet composed. It’s an attractive balance.

Part two’s done, but I go by whim ’round these parts, so it may be posted tomorrow, maybe next week. Depends on many things. 🙂 Stay tuned.

Whatchoo think about these ones so far, though? Any thoughts?

This debate is heating up in the comments, where he who has been (albeit ever so briefly) mentioned here took issue to me not posting his whole email for you people to look at. Gee, I respect privacy. I’m such an evil wench. Check out the comments for more fun-filled flamethrowing.

So, I got an email on a dating site that really pissed me off. It’s from some reader who found me through my Craigslist ad way back when.

See, he’s reading me rather religiously, whatever, and has sent me some longwinded emails saying he feels “guilty” for reading me and “sorry” that I spend so much of my time writing blogs.

So, lemme just clear this the fuck up right now.

I type fast and I write even faster than I can type. Writing is not hard for me. I’m not being arrogant, just stating facts. It means I let a lot of crap go that I should probably be more selective about when I’m editing. But I don’t care.

See, if I edited more, if I took it slower, you’d get less content, but I’d also have less of a life. I don’t instant message people. I don’t send long, meandering, ponderous emails to people. I don’t surf the net. I don’t read blogs, even. What I do on my computer is WRITE. That’s all. The rest of the time, I do what I do.

And, no, I’ll never be Little Miss Social. I’m not built that way. I can certainly work a room, but I need my alone time, too.

For some of us, writing is like breathing. We have to. We must. If we don’t, we wither and waste away. I know what that feels like — I felt it for six long, hellish years — so I grab tenaciously at this gift of writing now, and I’m never, ever letting go.

You want to feel guilty for compulsively reading? That’s your prerogative. I don’t give a shit. I’d like to hear from readers, but I’d be writing even if no one was out there. Because I simply must do it.

There is a quote I can recite by heart without even blinking. It’s on my wall. It’s tattooed on my brain, really. “Writing for a living is a privilege, not a god-given right, as the opportunities are few, though sought after by many. Years of rejection serve as a crude winnowing process, after which those left standing are those who simply must write.” Richard Ford.

I must write. But I don’t need to accept pity. I don’t need to spend more than one moment longer than I wish to doing this. And believe me, I don’t.

I do this for me. Luckily, I’ve allowed you all along for the ride. The same gift of luck is extended to you by any blogger whose work you love. We do it for ourselves, and when we find ourselves with an audience, it makes us smile simply because we discover that through our voices we have somehow tapped into the universal condition and found an echo of familiarity among others.

I’ve been writing some guidelines for the dating masses, having been peer-pressured into it, and having realized I do have a thing or four that I think are applicable. I’ll get that up next time. Had to get this off my chest. ‘cos, like, I do it for me. 😉 (This took me 12 minutes, for those with enquiring minds.)

So, I had a question yesterday in the comments. Here’s the short and sweet of it.

Spicy Little Pi apparently has an explosion of men in her life and wants to know what the REAL rules of dating are.

You wanna know? You really wanna know?

Fucked if I know, honey.

Here’s the thing. I wouldn’t know how to play games if the rule book dropped heavy as a rock on my head. I know one thing and one thing only — myself. I figure you can play as many games as you want, stick to as many rules as you want, but in the end, it’s either a fit or it’s not. And if it’s a fit, wouldn’t you rather it be a fit with you being yourself, instead of having to live up to an unrealistic ideal you set because you were trying to be something they’d like better?

I am not a serial dater. I don’t have it in me. I know what I like when I see it, and the rest of it I leave for others. I used to follow “rules” and not a one ever worked for me. Sometimes I ask guys out, sometimes I don’t. When I do, sometimes it works, sometimes it seems to be a deal breaker. There’s no one-size fits-all approach here. Trust your instincts, that’s all you can do.

The thing about “rules” is that it’s insulting from the outset. It implies everyone’s a cookie-cut-out and that one set way of doing things ought to apply to the masses. Bullshit. Maybe, just maybe, they work for the lowest common denominator. Maybe they work for people who like their news spoon-fed for ’em and who can’t dress themselves, but methinks not. You try to handle me with your rules and I’ll probably see through you like a clean window on a sunny day.

All I know that works is:

Don’t be clingy. Be patient. Don’t expect a call the next day, because most guys are stupid enough to believe it’s uncool. If they do call, and you’re happy about it, make sure they know they know you’re pleased to hear from ’em. Don’t gush. Be real. Be honest. Be open. Be yourself. Look good. Smell nice.* Make a lot of eye contact. Smile. Watch your body language and be sure you initiate touch (touching a hand or forearm or shoulder is a great thing). I still believe guys should pay on the first date, particularly if they do the asking. You can offer to split the check if you like. Don’t complain. Don’t be negative. Don’t talk about your problems. Don’t be bossy. Go with the flow — if things go sideways (meal takes too long, gig’s sold out), then get over it and have fun despite it.

And if you wanna kiss on the first date, I approve. Much more than that and you’re liable to not see or hear from him again, regardless of what he tells you. Like him? Hold off. I’ve had more than one promising venture go up in flames because of too much, too soon, because no matter what they tell you, guys don’t like girls who put out. Fuckin’ men are ideal candidates for the “careful what you wish for” adage. Some say wait until the 10th date. Noble thought, but jesus. That’s hard work!

Aside from that, I say fuck the rules. They’ve never worked for me, and anyone anywhere who tells you there’s a “right” way to date probably has a used car lot they’re trying to hawk off as well.

It comes down to you and them. Do you listen? Do you smile? Are you genuinely interested? Are you flattering them? Are you fun to be with? Hell, it’s basic charm school, that’s all.

Yeah, fuck the rules. Be charming. Be real. Be open. That’s all I try to do. And yes, I still fail, but then again, I fail with the ones I don’t like. Funny how that works. I’m serially single, mostly by choice. What the hell are you asking me for?! Ha.

I’ll likely try to tackle this with more thought another time, but I’m interested in what YOU think. Well? Are there real rules? Meanwhile, I got a dayjob beckoning me. Oh, boy.

*Best lesson ever on perfume came from my aunt, who bought me some expensive perfumes when I was 13. “Spray the air, and walk through it.” Cologne and perfume are teases to get the person closer to you — it’s not a fucking early warning system. Me, I’m allergic to too much of it, and I’d be repelled, not attracted, by anyone wearing much of it. And I ain’t alone.

The calendar month has flipped for the last time this year. 2007 looms. Yay, 2007.
In 1999, my mother died. New Year’s Eve that year was a night to remember, as everyone was running around, scurrying like scared rats on a ship going down at sea. Everyone thought the Y2K bug was going to shut down the world. Chicken Little was our mascot. Things heated up even more when, days before, a would-be terrorist was found pretty close to my home, who had ambitious plans on trying to do something to Seattle’s Space Needle. All of those things conspired to make me just wish the year would come to a close in a hurry. My friends and I gathered for a movie about the last night of the world (Last Night, a Canadian indie apocalyptic flick in which the end of the world has been known for six months, and it’s a look at how the last night is spent amongst a handful of people) and for the requisite shit-faced drinking that comes with the end of a calendar year.
Me, I wrote a poem for the occasion, and then we went and took an aerosol can and used it as a flamethrower to ceremoniously end the year as I read the last line of my poem to my friends: “the millennium dawns in minutes mere, so let’s burn this fucker and have a beer.”
Something tells me my 2006 calendar’s going up in flames in 29 days. If nothing else that night, the calendar’s getting torched.
You hear talk of “lost years”, the years in which people sign out of their lives and discover who they are, etc. I’m calling 2006 my Lost & Found year. Hence the photo I’ve included here, which I shot in November, and I cheekily call “Finding Myself”. (Blogger’s not cooperating. The photo will be added later.)
You people have had a bird’s eye view on my life, and those that have been dedicated readers for the entire duration know a few things about what’s all gone down, but you’re nowhere near completely informed. I keep a lot to myself as well, but suffice to say, in all the turmoil and angst and struggle, this blog has been a right bitch to keep alive. But it’s been worth the fight and I know that, in the coming months, a new era of blogging will be dawning for me.
I’m looking forwards to 2007. My Lost & Found year has redefined me in many ways, but it’s also awakened me to all the things I’m not that I wish I were. I have a song running through my mind, an old Canadian indie hit from the early ‘90s, “All the Things I Wasn’t” by a defunct band called The Grapes of Wrath. I’m trying to focus on all the things I am but haven’t been.
This year has woken me. I know who I was, I know who I ought to be, and I think I know how to get from here to there, even without GPS to aid me.
At 33, I’m becoming more of myself on a daily basis. I’m realizing that there are things I do I dislike – that of trying to always be the nice, generous, good girl. That of allowing my insecurities to change how I am in front of others. That of conforming when the last thing in the world I really want is to fit in – I want to stand out, be someone different, someone worth watching. And I know I can be. There are so many things I want to change, and I’m taking a long, hard look at how I want to be in the years that come.
But that’s the thing. We’re all learning how to be ourselves. I don’t care if you’re 16 or 82, the path to who you are is never one that ends. Unless you want to stop the growth and change. It’s you who decides what to take from this life. And I’ll tell you, I’m taking every little fucking thing I can from it. I want it all, man. I want it all.
I like the challenge of changing myself. I like the struggle of growth and maturity and not only gaining wisdom, but understanding it. I love living the examined life. I’m astounded at how much there is to learn about myself and my world, and how little it seems I really do know. Sometimes I grow cynical and believe it’s just the same shit every day, packaged in another way, but then I have these moments of child-like awe and wonder… That, no, it’s not the same. It’s not even the same ballpark, unless I want it to be. I assign value to the passing moments in my life, and sometimes I even get it right.
I’ve been thinking a lot about goals and values and who I am. I’ve been thinking a lot about my dreams and where I wish to be. I’ve been thinking a lot about me. Nowhere in that picture do I worry about there being a man to hold me and comfort me through it all. It’s funny, I was walking down the nearly empty street last night, on my way home, when the old Eurythmics song “I Need a Man” spun into play on my iPOD. I began dancing and singing my way home, laughing my ass off at Annie Lennox’s comical and fun vocals in that track. I may need a good shagging, but I need no man.
I find myself reflecting on my last relationship with a lot of regret these days, not because of anything that really happened, not because of him, none of that. I regret that I wasn’t who I ought to have been. I regret that I tried to make another person happy instead of appeasing myself. I think that in finding happiness within ourselves, it just spreads. Joy spreads. Happiness spreads. Love spreads, as the Stone Roses sang. When we pursue any of those for the wrong reasons, things just tumble out wrong, I find.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve made a lot of them this year. And that’s just fine, because I learn from them, as well. Much of how I operate in this world is “do it” then I either fuck it up or I succeed, but either way, I learn, and that’s all I can ask.

Sorry, folks, I just haven’t got much to say about anything these days — kind of in emotional hangover period after what was a pretty wild ride for three weeks, and I’m taking a little ‘who am I’ self-discovery time, during which writing’s just not working. I’m good, I just don’t feel like appeasing an audience. I’d rather have a bath, frankly. Heh. (Actually, I’m trying to be honest with myself, and I’m finding that’s not happening on the page. Pity for you. Humdinger for me.)

But, that’s okay. These phases come and go like you wouldn’t believe. Right around the corner is the start of yet another love affair between you and I. This is not that day, that’s all.

I do have one thing to say, though: I don’t normally buy into all the bullshit celebrity gossip crap that goes around, as I hate the cult of celebrity, but on the subject of my hometown girl Pamela Anderson’s split with Kid Rock, I just have to chime in. The media’s speculating, for some fucked-up bizarre reason, that the Borat movie’s “love obsession” with Pamela Anderson is a reason behind the split. (I keep meaning to see Borat but life intrudes. Curse you, life!)

Anyone who’s ever dealt with adversity in a relationship probably agrees with me that it’s the goddamned MISCARRIAGE she had in the recent weeks that is likely the cause of the split. Hello? Common sense knocking. Anyone home? Fuckin’ press is about as dumb-ass as it gets some days. If I were to retake my journalism degree, I’m certain one of the qualifying classes would now be “How to Keep Your Pride Amidst The Stupid Fucking Questions You’re Asking”, though they might truncate that a tad. Editing for brevity has always been my curse!

God knows that if I had to be accountable for my relationship in the PRESS during times of duress, I probably wouldn’t make it through it either. Something like a miscarriage… well, all you need is a little fingerpointing at each other for causal reasons, and you might as well buy your relationship a pine box, ‘cos it’s as good as six feet under by that stage.

I don’t care how good your foundation is, a sinkhole of good size is always gonna be able to take you out. The question is, how much have you got to lose if you walk away? In celebrity relationships? None. So, they walk. Big fucking surprise. Here in reality land, where we actually pay for mortgages and have to care for kids and deal with that pesky thing called real-life-on-a-budget and inconvenient job things and taxes and all, marriages drag on for years (darn it all) because of silly things like consequences that need actual heeding. And then there’s that not-being-famous pain in the ass that means when we become single, we’ll probably stay that way for awhile, which can be a chore for some. Go figger.

In other Steff news, with much of my region under one of the worst arctic blasts we’ve seen in years, I’m staying the fuck indoors until things get normalized! If I was IN a relationship, I’d be staying the hell inside, under the covers, with him, until it all subsided, too. Sadly. I’m not. Thus, I’m making my own fun. Ahem. Without ado, I bid adieu.

I wrote a posting not too long ago, I guess, about wanting to get back to dating, et al. This was around when all the shit came down with my dad, so I’ve had a lot of time to think about things since.

A reader had commented something to the effect of, “Yeah, I hear a lot of talking, but what are you actually doing?”

I didn’t respond, but I’ve been giving it thought. Truth be told, I wasn’t doing a lot about it. I placed the Craigslist ad in the hopes that it would all magically work out and I’d suddenly stop wanting to isolate myself and work, but I’ve now realized the timing was off. I was telling myself I was ready for a relationship and now I think I wasn’t as ready as I’d like to be.

Not that there’s any kind of magical right amount of readyness. But I know I didn’t really have it. I’ve had a lot of self-doubt lately and a lot of questioning going on inside. I’m a little lost, to tell the truth, but I’m starting to feel like I’m finding myself again. Thing is, it’s been a tumultuous year for me and it’s hard to get your footing when the rug keeps getting pulled out from under you. And sometimes it’s easier to lie to myself about just where I’m at than it is to tell the truth. This being-human-ergo-fallible thing sucks ass.

In the past month, I’ve gained weight. I’m not happy about this. I’ve had a lot of stress and I just stopped exercising. I doubt I’ve gained much through eating, but still. I was pissed when I could no longer pretend that I hadn’t gained weight earlier this week. This is the first time in a couple years I’ve put any weight on. And, I’ll tell ya something, it ain’t staying put.

So, you wanna know what I’m doing then, do ya? This week and next are for recalibrating myself. I started a new fitness plan yesterday and by the way my muscles feel now, it’s working already. Later, to the beach for a walk. Monday, a new hairdo. My place is getting into the kind of condition where I’ll finally enjoy having company, which means it’s time to meet men. In the next week or so, I’ll get an ad up on Plenty of Fish, and I’ll see how things are going. I’m going slowly into the realm.

The Craigslist thing is difficult to do. It worked well the last time I did it, I guess, ’cause a familiar face emerged and I didn’t need to really try to pick and choose through 200 guys for who might make the best date. It’s VERY overwhelming to have all that interest at once. I tried to set up a few different dates, but I was being open and saying that there were a couple people I just wanted to meet and see what was happening with. Didn’t work. I should lie more, it would seem. I just can’t. I’m so fucking honest that I definitely have limitations in some ways. Keeps me out of some games. Whatever. I didn’t enjoy the Craigslist thing this time. I’m having some negative “men are such cowards” thoughts these days, so I’m hoping to put those to bed before I jump into the Plenty of Fish pool.

So, I’m going back to the online dating thing indeed. It’s more of a manageable flow. And I really think I need to get into more light, non-committal dating for a bit. I don’t know if I want the emotional intensity of a deeper relationship. That could just be fear of getting hurt talking, though. I suspect somewhere inside I’d probably really enjoy one of those deep and trusting relationships that have all those secret doors left open or at least ajar.

I do have to confess: It’s about time I gained some weight. I’ve lost a lot and without much effort, which is a good thing and a bad. If you don’t have to try and yet you’re losing weight, it’s easy to take food for granted. This scare with my dad kind of sent me eating bad for a bit, and now I’m trying to make up for it. It’s not like I’ve gained that much, but all the shirts that were just becoming lose have ceased and desisted the looseness and some even got a bit tighter.

But exercise is something that I tend to be excellent at if I can keep it up. I’m a strong girl. Big girl, but strong. This is probably the most intense a workout plan I’ve ever undertaken, but I absolutely loved it yesterday and felt great all day. And my endurance is pretty damned good when I get going on a workout plan. Like the Energizer Bunny, babe.

As soon as I have that feeling-great feeling every day, I’m totally all-in the dating game. But there’s no sense dating when you don’t feel sexy. And I haven’t been. Felt pretty cute yesterday though! I think, in hindsight, I was trying to provoke myself into being ready. I do that. Kinda faking myself out a bit. What? It works. Especially when some reader comes along and calls it like it is.

But don’t you go gettin’ ideas now. I see the light and I’m getting my shit together. The Further Chronicles of Steff will surely have some new fodder in the coming weeks. I will say this: I don’t believe in New Years’ Resolutions, but every Christmas Eve, I find some time to myself, do some writing, and take stock of who I’ve been in the last year and who I’d like to be in the coming year. It’ll be nice to have momentum before the calendars change again. Kinda fun. 🙂

Life has thrown me yet another hurdle, and I’m presently percolating, just taking it in and figuring out my next step. Despite all the stuff that’s going down, I’m much more even-keeled than I’ve been in a year or two. I’m sure it’s being off the pill that’s making me better able to process events. Yay. More later. I gotta get into the mindset of writing again. Chores, chores, they never end.

***

Three years ago, one of my two bestest friends got hitched. Naturally, I was bummed. I think when your formerly rebellious friends settle down and get mature there’s this “god, I’m getting old” reaction that’s pretty natural. This was one of these.

I was, however, touched when I learned that the two of them wished for me to do a reading of my choosing at their wedding. Reading, I’ll have you know, is not something I take lightly, especially the kind done aloud in public. And while I may not desire wedding bells in my near or even distant future, I fully appreciate the importance and magnitude of declaring your love to be another’s, and for life, in front of everyone who means anything to you.

So, it was something I considered for a long and hard time. What would I read? What could possibly capture the magnitude of this choice they’d made? The Christmas prior, when he emailed me to say he proposed and she accepted, I responded “How surprisingly optimistic of you to ask at all.” He’d never been a big believer in marriage, you see. We can all change.

Inevitably, I discovered my answer was under my nose the whole time. Since childhood, I’d always seen the boxed special edition of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet on the family bookshelf. When my mother died, it moved in with me. Gibran was a poet and philosopher who was born in Lebanon and died in 1931, and The Prophet could rightly be described as his masterwork.

Easily a dozen or more people approached me after the services and at the reception to find out more about the author. I think it’s a great statement about committing to another person in any way, and thought I’d put an excerpt here.

Then Almitra spoke again and said,
And what of Marriage, master?
And he answered, saying:
You were born together,
and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together
when the white wings of death
scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together
even in the silent memory of God.
But let their be spaces
in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens
dance between you.

Love one another,
but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea
between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup
but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread,
but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts,
but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life
can contain your hearts.
And stand together
yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple
stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress
grow not in each other’s shadow.

Really, I was just trying to explain that I still needed hang-time with my friend. Ha.

Here’s this week’s Sugasm. Party on, Wayne.

This week’s best of the sex blogs from the bloggers who blog them.

This Week’s Picks
To Tell or Not to Tell… (http://lipstickexplosion.com)
“Jane Falling claims it’s best not to tell, and she writes, ‘my identity as a prostitute is too serious a secret to trust with near-strangers.’”

Anti-Anti-Pornography, Part II (http://www.teen-porn-site.com/blog)
“One question I would like to ask them is – were there any rape or child abuse cases *before* the invention of pornography?”

To Shave or Not to Shave (http://www.model-chat.com)
“I stayed full bush for about my first two weeks as a live adult host.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Silence is better than bullshit (unless you’re a Gold-level member) (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

50 Sexual Things About Me (http://dirtytalk.wordpress.com)
Fun With Futanari (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
I’m So Tired (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Rediscovering the Secret to Great Sex (http://www.taratainton.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Alison & Peachez (video) (http://hotboxbabe.thumblogger.com)
Chelsea (4) (video) (http://ipodteens.ilovejulienight.com)
Hotel Rendezvous (video) (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Jennifer Kotwal (http://desibabes.blogspot.com)
Mistress Natali Demore (Awesome ass!) (video) (http://www.thebootcam.com)
Nora Marlo (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Sex Work
A Soft Click (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sex & Politics
RANT: Show Me The Pussy! (http://smutandsteff.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Buttered Up (http://thebutterflytemptress.com)
A Cure for Kleptomania? (http://thediaryofanenglishrose.blogspot.com)
Down the Coast, Part II (http://www.betweensheets.net)
Flying Buttons (http://bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
Frenetic (http://ambientstorm.blogspot.com)
A holiday to remember. (http://wanklog.blogspot.com)
A Little Bit of Madness (http://femmefataleteen.blogspot.com)
Mr Henry Recommends… (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Outdoor Sex (http://mandyseroticlife.blogspot.com)
Recipe for Suck Sex (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
Saturday Night Fun a la The Wife (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Sharing her… (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Starfucker: My First Time Watching Sex (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)

Sexy Humor
5 Reasons Why Porn Made Sex Better (http://ylovesporn.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Correction (http://secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com)
Fiction or Not, You Tell Me? (http://psoprincess.blogspot.com)
He’s Got the Look (http://www.spankingwriters.com)
HNT: Have a nice day! (http://www.the-iron-gate.com/blog)
A Nawty Story: Kitten Comes Clean (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Retribution (http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Sadism and domestic violence (http://www.bondage-guide.net)

Sex Advice, News, Reviews & Interviews
Free Shipping for your Holiday Shopping! (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
An Herbivores Guide to Safe Sex (http://blog.babeland.com)
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)
Revolutionary Cybersex (http://www.1trackmind.com/blog)
Threesome Advice (part 1) (video) (http://www.seskuality.com)

I did a thingie-thing on Show Me the Money, the blatantly sexual and sexist new gameshow. Someone commented that I should let it go, ‘cos sex has always sold, and it’ll never change.

So, you misunderstand me. I don’t care that they’re using sex to sell. I know sex sells. I count on sex selling. I beg you from my undersexed standing in life, please, continue using sex to sell. It’s all I’m getting. Hell, we’re all primal. We’re always going to love the idea of tossing convention aside and getting heavy, shagging like beasts. If I had a problem with that, it’d make me a hypocrite.

MY problem is an altogether different thing. My problem is using chicks as statues for no reason other than they’re scantily clad. My problem is that we forget that sexy can span many different looks and feels. A chick in a couple tight, layered t-shirts and tight blue jeans and 3″ heels is sexy, too. A sexpot smeared with automobile grease and wearing a grease-smeared coverall unbuttoned to the navel with a sweat-soaked tank on and a sloppy ponytail’s pretty fucking hot too. Then there’s Meg Ryan in City of Angels with her surgical scrub bottoms and her white tanktop and bare feet looking pretty goddamned hot, too. Why does it always have to be a fucking micro tube dress? Can’t we expand our perceptions? How about a sexy chick in cat-eye glasses, an open tuxedo shirt, black lace nylons, a garter, a loose bow-tie, and red silk bra and panties, standing there with a martini in her hand?

And the statues thing — they can’t really talk. They parrot cliched lines. They contribute nothing but aesthetic. That bothers me. I’m sick and tired of people forgetting that, as Pink says, sexy and smart are not oil and water.

I despise seeing mute cookie-cutter models. I want sexy brainiacs. I say bring back the naughty librarian. Overdue? You’re going to be punished. Bend over.

What happened to hot chicks with authority? Remember Nicholson’s controversial quote in A Few Good Men? “There’s nothing more sexy on this earth, I tell you, than a woman you have to salute in the morning. Promote them all, I say. If you haven’t had a blowjob from a woman that outranks you, you’re letting the best in life pass you by. Unfortunately, I have to settle with cold showers until the elect a woman in the White House.”

Instead, we have Barbies just standing there, looking pretty. If desire is about wanting what you can’t have, then let’s raise the bar for the women we have as sex objects. I should think a stupid bimbette would be far more attainable than a sexy, authoritarian, smart, bold woman emanating sexual confidence, wouldn’t you?

I’m angry that stereotypes and cliches still dominate the landscape. I’m angry that we seem to be demanding less of sex than we used to. I’d rather us be exploiting women a la Foxy Brown than these gameshow cookie-cutters. Let’s put the sexiness back into the bitch slap and see if we can’t have a little more powerful women in these blatant sexual roles. I want more hot and vibrant women like the dynamite Sara Ramirez, who plays the smart, feisty, independent, sexually assertive, no-apologies Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy.

But, by all means, continue using sex to sell. Just don’t forget to add the smarts. We should demand more of our sexploitation. After all, isn’t it about revving up our fantasies? C’mon, dream bigger. Dream better.

***

Wow, two posts, one day. Woo hoo. I’m takin’ tomorrah off. It’s the Grey Cup weekend here (the Canuck version of the Super Bowl) and I have managed to secure a tellyvision for my daddy’s hospital room. I’m going out to watch the game with Dad. Should make his day, methinks!