Truth or Consequences

When it comes to lasting relationships with people in your life, I guess it might all come down to two things: Do I want to be right or do I want to be happy? I can, without hesitation, say that being happy

The next question becomes: can I be happy with the way things are right now, and with the way another person in my life is right now, warts and all? That answer remains to be seen and might take a little more time.

The thing is, after 8 years of college and some pretty hard knocks, I'd like to think that education counts for something. If it doesn't then I might as well have skipped the whole thing and just done drugs and partied and had lots of meaningless sex. Yeah, that would have been the school of life, but would it have given me a healthy view of the world and my place in it? Would it have helped make me the best person i could be? Would it have provided me with happiness and contentment and a sense of well-being? Would it have taught me how to have healthy relationships? Part of me thinks that the answer to that is a resounding "No"--so what am I left with? A compromise? a total denial? Perhaps honoring my own truths while allowing the truths of others?

It is a myth that one answer is the only answer and that one truth is the only truth. The only solution then, must be that compromise can be beneficial, and acknowledgment of our own tenuous grip on reality is only as real as we believe it to be.

Truth or Consequences

Heavy Sigh

It's kind of rare for me to be in a funk these days but that's where I am. We have a president who took the office by dishonest means, and is pissing off every other country in the world with his war and his bully mentality, and I fear that we will all be blown off the face of the earth before it's over.

I have just completed several books and am now in this dry spell where I don’t want to do anything. I don't feel well, and am tired all the time. I feel this cloying fear all the time, that I am somehow running out of time to have the life I want while I can still enjoy it. I don’t want to be single—I hate it. But I also know that I am way too aware of what I require in order to live that life I want. I cannot pretend I don’t' know that. And I can't compromise on most of it, because it's now about who I am, and what's important to me.

I continue to be chagrined and disgusted and disheartened by the choices out there in the dating and romance area, and know that I am not helping matters by this tendency I have to have sex when I'm not attracted, nor in love. I must make myself stop that. I think I finally can now, because I'm so tired of the dance. My need for intimacy, I know, stems from my disinterest in pleasing myself, sexually. I need another person in order to feel anything. And yet, I don't feel that much when I'm with those I have no feelings for. So it all becomes an empty experience over all. I'm sure it has something to do with those needed brain chemicals--if they aren't engaged, the libido just stays bored. . .all the more reason why I need a rich relationship that gives me a balance of things, so I can engage those sensations that we all like so much.

And then there are the sheer numbers of women out there who are liars, imbeciles, or emotional cripples—it's hugely depressing. Even the ones who are somewhat normal and decent of character, always seem to have some desperation about them—a desperation that will make them turn themselves over to me, in order to win me over. And none of them have problems with self-gratification, so I know it's for other reasons. They are so desperate for a mate that they will compromise almost anything if they think I might be interested in them as a partner.

My situation does not lend itself to finding the right partner either. I am isolated here and the only choices are ones I will not make. This entire region is fraught with bubba's, dykes, low-brow mentality women who have little to offer me. Since I don't partake of mainstream religion, I can't meet anyone at religious functions, I'm done with school, don't have co-workers, and any other usual method of meeting someone is also not available to me. So I wind up dealing with the internet. Yet I still find the same types there. I hope that somehow fate will see fit to send someone my way who will be just what I need. I've been trying to manifest that in many ways, but am losing my motivation swiftly. I must find a way to accept the possibility that I will remain alone, and I have to find a way to be okay with that. I don't know how I'm going to do it.

Heavy Sigh

Jersey, Wawa, and Little Miss Delaware

I just returned from a week in New Jersey, visiting a couple of friends. There are always dangers in big cities and always dangerous cities in every state. I knew that, and still, I had my own apprehensions; especially since a new report listed Camden as the most dangerous city in the nation. But i wasn't in Camden. And everyone outside Camden knows to avoid Camden. Apparently, even the Camden Criminals know to stay within Camden. Or something like that. But I was in Glendora, and it reminded me very much of Colorado Springs. Clean, relatively safe, and not at all threatening. Jersey gets a bad rap, maybe

My friends took me to Atlantic City and we went to a casino for the buffet. I had crab legs, primarily. Then we strolled along the boardwalk and then the beach, where i stared out at the ocean, watched the beautiful waves cresting, ebbing and sluicing onto the sand, and thought of how romantic it would have been if i had been holding hands with a girl of my own. I knew this was something i could thoroughly enjoy in the right circumstances. One of my friends found me some beautiful shells and I told the other she had to find me something too, so she soon handed me a rock. (Thanks, that was special). It was nice to be able to look for shells on a real beach--unlike my experience with the Gulf Coast.

A few days later, the Rock Giver and i took a walk in an actual city park. That's something--inane as it sounds--I've never done. It was a meaningful bonding experience for us, even though it was so cold that we were numb when we got back to the car. Again, i thought of how romantic it would have been to walk with a special someone (not that she wasn't special, Oh Giver of Rocks, but she was SPOKEN FOR!).

One of the more appealing things about the Glendora area of Jersey was the presence of a Wawa store on almost every corner. I love my coffee and Wawa is a dreamy place for any java connoisseur. There are always about 20 different flavors of coffee in carafes with all the condiments to make even Juan Valdez weak-kneed. And then there's all manner of snicky-snacks, like bagels and cream-cheese filled soft pretzels, and fruit cups and cheese and sausage trays--all fresh. I didn't even get a chance to sample the deli, but the selection was also impressive. It was the sort of convenience store that other convenience stores aspire to be. I could live there. We stopped several times a day while on our drives.

Another plus is that New York and D.C. are only 2 hours away, Philly is 20 minutes, and there is a plethora of cultural and social activities to be had. The Philly library alone held dozens of meetings and events for the Same Gender Loving folks, and the newspaper was full of other activities and social opportunities. Everywhere we went, i noticed, too, THE WOMEN...gorgeous, educated, cultured...it was all i could do not to rub my hands together in glee and cackle with delight.

I did have a rather rude awakening at the club BOUNCE we went to. A sweet young thang was "dancing at me" so i joined her on the dancefloor and exchanged a few ear-chats, learning that she was from Delaware, and came down to this club once every two weeks. The girl was hot, and i discovered a few raw hormones for the next several minutes, having a large time watching her gyrate and undulate, until i found out she was 18.

"Oh my god. I almost went to jail," I said. "I'm way too old to be dancing with you."

"No you're not!" she enthused.

She could not imagine the disturbing twinge that shot through me when i realized that i was actually entertaining some less than chaste fantasies involving she and I and a can of whipped cream. Little Miss Delaware was Unaware. I broke away and spent the next few minutes reacquainting myself with the sensation of air in my lungs and the burn in my leg muscles, and trying desperately to quell the burn in other areas.

Jersey, Wawa, and Little Miss Delaware

Insomnia, Sex, Guilt & MahJongg

There are several things that have kept me from writing lately. So I thought the only way I was going to get back to writing, was to write about what's been keeping me from writing.

One is a good reason that most people wish they had. I've been having lots of sex. I'm in the throes of a new relationship and everything is fresh and exciting. And the sex just happens to be really great, and that makes me want to continue to have it--especially since my self-imposed two year celibacy, where my only lover had a high and low switch and plugged into the wall. But now our hormones have calmed a bit. Well mine has. Hers is still uncannily like those of a 19 year old boy. I fear she has testosterone poisoning. She would throw me down at least five times a day if I let her. But I'm satisfied, and so I don't need to be thrown down quite that often. My hormones, I suppose fall into the "normal" range. I only require sex an average of 5 times a week.(wink wink). I think it's good to nurture the other aspects of a relationship, and if you're just doing the nasty all the time, you miss out on getting to know someone, heart and soul. And it makes it exciting if you wait a while between the slap and tickle sessions. My current partner assures me that it feels just as good no matter how many times a day I do it. Ironically, not too long ago, I was wishing that I had more than zero sex life. I won't say "be careful what you wish for" because that implies that I'm suffering some sort of punishment, when really I am basking in the sincere and passionate favors of an attentive lover. I shall not for an instant insinuate that this is a bad thing.

Another reason why I have been remiss with my literary endeavors, is directly due to insomnia and indirectly to guilt and obligation. I have been going through my usual phase of sleeplessness, and this leads to sleeping all day. When she comes home from work, I feel it is my duty (as well as my pleasure) to spend time with her. So when I am waking up, she is returning home and thinking about passing out from exhaustion right after I serve dinner. That means I'm wide awake, and ready to write and do other various and sundry things, to include, but not limited to moving furniture around, creating a painting, or filing that stack of papers that have accumulated on my desk. I've tried taking that prescription sleep-aid my doctor gave me, but all that does is make me sleepy for 14 hours after I take it. But if I don't take it, I don't sleep. I've tried the more holistic solutions of warm milk, herbal tea, and such-even alcohol. But none of them make me go to sleep. Some have sent me to bed long enough to lie there and think about the bazillion things I could be doing, but none of them deliver me into the loving arms of the Sandman.

The other culprit is MahJongg. That maddeningly addictive tile matching game from the Orient that has me glued to my computer monitor-click-swish-click-swish-until my eyes feel like they are made of bamboo. My theory on this addiction is that the game appeals to my great need to make order from chaos. And what could be more orderly than matching up symbols and clearing a page?

Because of this odd schedule, I am also off my schedule for taking my thyroid meds, and that can lead to all kinds of nasty side effects like. . . lethargy in the daytime, brittle nails, dry skin, easy bruising, poor vision and the loss of large amounts of hair (although, I have yet to see any hair fall off my legs. . .i suspect it's some cruel ironic joke from the Universe that the hair I wish would fall out, never does).

All of these things have resulted in a guilty, sleepy, hair-losing lump of nocturnal protoplasm.

So, to recap: insomnia, sex, guilt, and MahJongg. Heed well, my children. These are instruments of the devil.

Insomnia, Sex, Guilt & MahJongg

Baby Furry Ghost

I was on my way to my friend's house, delivering Frappuccinno and a Snickers crunch bar, and prepared to provide a massage because her back was "killing her." (Oh the things we do in the middle of the night for friends). The journey through the dark countryside on a blacktop road was a ripe situation for dreamy vestiges. I'm not sure i really did hallucinate, and i may never know...

But there i was, winding around the wooded road, trying to keep my eyes peeled for feeding deer that often wander near the shoulders, and my eyes caught the darting form, a dark arrow of fur, scuttling across in front of me, toward the woods. I slowed, and as i passed the little form, i could swear it was a tiny black kitten, sitting there with soupy eyes, begging for me to stop and rescue it from a life of eating bugs and dodging the vehicular bullets that swept past each day and night.

What if it was synchronicity? What if i was meant to rescue this kitten? What if i was supposed to pull it, mewling from the brush, pick the stickers out if its fur and take it home to shower it with affection, give it a can of tuna and a saucer of milk? I was already a little maudlin about the impending adoption as i pulled to a stop.

It was 3 a.m., and traffic was almost non-existent. Since I couldn't find a place to turn around, i moved to the other lane and drove in that lane in reverse back toward the kitten. I figured if another vehicle did appear in the lane, i would at least be moving in the same direction as them, and if a car came in the other lane, it would be like passing me, except my vehicle was pointed in the wrong direction, but moving in the right one...

After a period of time, i couldn't find the little kitten, so i continued to my friend's house, (in the correct lane, and in DRIVE, not REVERSE...)

SIDEBAR: i wonder why the display on the gear box doesn't say REVERSE and FORWARD? What kind of sense does it make to say REVERSE and DRIVE? Why not DRIVE and NOT-DRIVE? It's like, "I now pronounce you MAN and WIFE. Not HUSBAND and WOMAN? It's like, if you put the car into DRIVE, you will magically be driven, and you can sit back and read the paper and have a cup of coffee while you are shuttled to your destination...

Back to the kitten...

I was already a little sad that i was unable to find the creature, save it, offer it sanctuary.

A few nights later, a repeat performance had me on the same road toward my friends house. As i swung around the corners in the dark, ever vigilant for foraging deer and possums and raccoons, i thought of the kitten. ...Wondered if it was still out there in the darkness, afraid and hungry. As i came to the bend in the road where i had seen the kitten a few nights before, i watched carefully, just in case the kitten had some little feline lean-to in that area of the woods and would wander out to the road to hitchhike for a new owner...

And Behold. There it was. I swear. The kitten, sitting by the side of the road...what were the chances? Was the Universe telling me i didn't try hard enough the last time? I drove quite a distance until i found a place to turn around and returned, determined to answer the calling of human kindness...i had the same feeling i get when i watch one of those movies on Lifetime (Television for Women and Gay Men). I searched the opposite side of the road. I didn't see it. Turning around again, i searched on my way back by, toward my original destination, and still did not see the kitten.

If there was a kitten.

But why would i see the same thing twice in the same location, unless it existed? And if the Universe really wanted me to save this kitten, why didn't it tell the little creature to stay put?

I continued to my destination, feeling just a little punked.

Baby Furry Ghost

Psychic Hotlines

It's not that i don't believe that there are individuals out there who are gifted with psychic abilities, it's just that i realize these gifts are so easily exploitable and can be effectively faked.

Take that popular Psychic phone line for instance. If you spend a lot of time watching late night cable, as i do when i am online working on web pages, you will see the infomercial-style program over and over again. They mostly use the same three or four clips which they feel will "prove" how authentic their psychics are. I imagine they choose the clips which they feel cast them in the best light. But if you examine the selections, there are flaws in the logic.

I believe there are two types of flaws: one is the obvious staging of calls and callers, and the other is the gullibility of the callers themselves.

EXAMPLE: A woman is video-taped as she speaks with a psychic who tells her that she will be pregnant within four months. She tells him she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant for a while without success. She calls back and they put her on the air with the same psychic. She tells them that she took a pregnancy test the next day, and it was positive. Then she began to thank the psychic effusively, as if he had something to do with her fertility. This is a flaw in the logic of the caller. Whether the psychic had just made a lucky guess, or was indeed in touch with a higher consciouness, he was in no way responsible for her pregnancy, yet she continued to thank him adding, "You have given me my hopes and dreams back." With a little thought, it doesn't take a mensa-member to figure out that if she had just been patient ONE MORE DAY, she would have STILL discovered she was With-Child, and would not have had to pay the $100 or so for that conversation with the psychic.

An example of the staged calls is the time that the hostess called a previous caller, and asked how things worked out. Of course, the caller had a fantastic story that was so smooth, it was obviously scripted. She claims in the call to be surprised by the callback, and yet, does not hesitate, but launches into a rehearsed, neatly capsulated report that sounds more like a segment of Prime Time Live, than a response from some Jane Doe from Iowa, caught off-guard and unprepared.

And of course, each of these examples were followed up by the Hostess saying, "That gave me goosebumps."

Now understand, I have a friend who is a psychic, and the one person who keeps from from calling the whole thing a lie...i know from personal experience hat she has a real gift, that cannot be debunked. She has worked for several of those psychic services. She left the last job when they began to tell her, essentially, she had to lie and also that she must keep them on the line past their free time, so that they could make their money. To make matters worse, they told her what to tell her clients-regardless of whether or not is was what she saw. In all fairness, the callers give their permission to be charged for the call. And they have free will to hang up at any time. Surprisingly, they don't usually hang up. My friend told me she has found that callers are primarily looking for someone to talk to, and that's all. May i suggest finding friends that don't charge?

Buyer Beware.

Psychic Hotlines

Plaque Brain

I often have trouble remembering my dreams, even though i wish fervently that this was not so. Dreams are an incredible resource for a creative person, and this NO ACCESS thing makes me think that the Powers That Be are protecting me from some screaming ugly...

At any rate, when i do recall a dream, i like to write it down...if it's interesting...
so...

I was having exploratory brain surgery. Skull open, i had a metal halo contraption around my head. Two of the docs were in there--or orderlies, maybe...they were acting crazy, looking at my exposed gray matter. One of them even kissed me, laughing that I wouldn't remember and I was frightened of what else they might do. I couldn't defend myself in any way and could not speak--Like the surgeons had pressed a pause button on my language center.

Then the surgeons are in the room again, and are conferring; Like they've already looked and left the room and come back. They know what is wrong with my brain but will have to do another procedure. They are to take me to another O.R. for some reason. I want to know what it means, and am scared that it might be serious or dangerous. I can't understand what they are saying.

Then I am being guided down the hallway to the other procedure, except instead of being on a gurney, I am walking. They say they want to be sure I can walk so they know everything is functioning before the next procedure. But I feel so odd. . . people in the corridors are staring and I feel so exposed--I mean literally-- here's my brain perched inside the open resevoir of my skull...

I pass a little kid in the hallway who is playing with an object--a toy of some kind--and his mother grabs him and pulls him away from me; he throws the toy, and it lands in my brain. I hope the surgeons see it and remove it.

In the O.R, back on the table again, they begin scraping my brain. Seems it has got a film of something on it; this growth that has been suppressing my brain function. Like, Plaque-brain. This is the thing that is causing my cognitive dysfunction.

As the surgeons scrape the gray matter, I begin to have memories, and then I am overwhelmed with memories and knowledge. All the things I learned over the years that I never had access to. But it's too much, and they have to give me some sort of neuro-blocking agent to suppress it until I can handle it. It has to be allowed to filter in gradually so I won't have a mental breakdown. But I know that I feel so smart, and I am excited that I am remembering all those things. I finally have answers. I finally can stop saying 'I don't know.' I can go through my set list without a single mistake, and I can do it all visually in my head. I can remember my childhood, I can recall conversations verbatim, I can handle doing math, my checkbook, my finances; I can recall even the most esoteric of details gathered throughout my life; volumes of trivia; reams of textbook content; I can recite the titles of hundreds of books I've read. It's like that life-review thing that i believe happens when you die; where you see everything in your life and suddenly have a keen and all-encompassing understanding...But i also remember all the bad things and all the details. It's painful.

Yet, I realize that some things have been altered by my memory before--some things seem clear to me now that were muddled before. And although it can be overwhelming and unpleasant, it's worth the trade-off to me. I finally feel whole. I finally feel I have reached my potential and anything is possible. I discover that it isn't common to have this much brain power after that surgery, and they tell me that it must indicate that I was some sort of genius all along, but never knew because of this condition.

Then, my best friend, LS comes to the hospital and brings me a T-shirt that reads::"I know."

Plaque Brain

Humans, Cats & Crackers

If you have a hungry cat and a hungry human,

and a cracker falls in front of each of them,

the cat wants to know if it tastes good,

the human wants to know where it came from.

So there it is.

Humans, Cats & Crackers

Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl

Once upon a time there was this lesbian who had been in a monogamous relationship for 7 years, the last year of which she had been very unhappy, living in what some would call the the Second Ring of Hell, also known as Texas. She was away from her usual circle of friends, and ripe for a dance with infidelity. She was the flirty type, but had never acted on her crushes or any of those raging hormones.

She had been flirting with an old friend online, via emails and phone calls, and wishing she didn't live in Texas. Then one weekend, another old friend came to visit, with more Old Friends in tow, and much merriment was made, and way too much beer was imbibed. Somehow one of the friends thought it would be fun to visit a local cemetery.

One thing mysteriously led to another, and she found herself in a liplock with one of those old friends, an Amazon Woman who played guitar and sang beautifully.... Then she found herself having wild sex with the Amazon. Twice. Then she found herself in a car going back to the motel the friends shared, and found herself having sex again in the motel room with the Amazon. When the beer wore off, she realized what she had done, and felt awful. Felt guilty, felt totally like the Second Ring of Hell was where she belonged, because she was such a sinner, and worthy of some Fire and Brimstone.

Word got around the Old Friend Grapevine, and soon phones were ringing and e-mails were zipping back and forth, and everyone had an opinion. Some Old Friends turned their backs, some Old Friends supported her in her hour of self-loathing. The Old Friend she had been flirting with online felt almost like she had been cheated on as well, since they had discussed why they couldn't pursue anything romantic, the Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl still being ensconced in a relationship.

But the E-mail Flirtee still offered understanding and support, as she had also been guilty of some bad decisions in the past. The Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl was busted, and the usual emotional upheavals began. But the Spurned Lover did not take the Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl to a cemetery and bury her up to her neck and leave her there all night. Nor did she smack her around, or throw her things in a pile in the yard and light them on fire. The Spurned Lover took it on the chin and tried to maintain a sense of humor through those clenched teeth, and despite her aching heart.

Whenever she drove them past a graveyard, she'd say, "Are you turned on, yet?"

Then the jokes began. "What was it like having sex on top of dead people?"

"Was there a soundtrack...like...the one to Thriller? Did you see any zombies?"

"Is your favorite show 'Six Feet Under', now?"

Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl

Fur-Family Christmas

The Cast of characters:

Giz
(AKA Gizmo, Gizzard the Lizard, Gizzy-Giz, and of course, his Russian name, Gizimov Runninov). Adopted from shelter in 1998. Half spaniel, half chihuahua, and all the way sweet and nerdy. If he was a human he'd be in therapy and wear pocket protectors.He eats anything i give him and steals the rest.

Nanny
(AKA the Nanster, Snooder, Smacker, Nanner-Bananner). Poodle adopted from the shelter. Stone deaf, incontinent, toothless. Eats only soft food, wears a diaper and makes "hoo hoo" noises.

Stormy
(AKA the Stormster, the Storminator, Stormy-storm). Matriarch of the LS branch of my extended family. Rescued from a thunderstorm on the Gulf Coast outside a casino, and only later in life learning to share her Mommy with other fur-children and humans. Stormy is a vegetarian and prefers fresh water from the tap.

Poe
(AKA Poe Ditty Super Kitty, Poe-Poe Headed Cat-Cat) Purchased by us at a flea market (they were fresh out of fleas) and embraced by stormy only after much resistance a little over a year ago. Poe was once the cute kitty, and now has grown and is more intense, allowing Stormy to return to her kitten-behavior. Poe has fallen in love with her human, LS, since LS and I obtained separate living quarters. Poe gazes at her lovingly, hugs her head. She is carnivorous.

Poe and Stormy take shifts getting attention from Mommy. Stormy gets her during the day, and Poe gets her at night. Any deviation from this daytime ownership incites a barrage of hissing and chasing behavior on Stormy's part.

ENTER stage left, Shoes. (AKA: Shoes, Shooooooooees).
The new kitten in the extended family.

It is Christmas day at her Godmommy's house. Shoes has lost patience with the hissing occupants of this condo, and is now alternately chasing them, running up and tagging them and running away. Intermittently, she becomes an Olympic hockey player with a wad of paper, and periodically visits my thick house socks to wrestle with my feet, run up the length of my body and grab my head. She is a space invader of the finest breed, and Stormy and Poe do not appreciate it one little bit.

I even brought Giz over too, and he is a little put off. It's not his house, and when I gave him his bowl of food, he set about guarding it like the family jewels--standing over it, a canine vulture, staring at it like it might move. He looks a little mental when he does that. Shoes also makes pit-stops at his bowl to sniff his kibble and thrust her furry arms into it and run away. He then goes over and counts his kibbles to make sure she has not taken one of them.

The two of them have bonded ever since I left them alone together for 24 hours. When I returned to my apartment, Shoes was brashly leaping from the bed, landing on top of Giz, and riding him, while she bit the fleshy folds of his neck. He would shake her off, and she would wrap her little kitty arms around his neck, bat at his face and ears, and try to chew on his feet. He has been admirably tolerant to this behavior, and even seems to be enjoying it.

Nanny is doing the usual: waddling around in her diaper, smacking her toothless mouth, making hoo-hoo noises, or sleeping in a wad of blankets near the fainting couch.

So, here, on this, her second visit to Godmommy's house to mix and mingle with her pseudo-siblings, she is still not met with a welcome mat. But this visit has none of the cowering under the futon. This visit seems to be without restraint. She continues to chase the two older cats, moving blithely into their space, ignoring the parameters. There is a repetitive hissing followed by the pitter-pat of a running cat. She is actually chasing them, and they are so mad.

Fur-Family Christmas

Barbie Cutlery

Some years ago I was invited to a Barbie-Party. This other couple I know has one foofy member who likes to throw theme parties, and this was the one that had some impact on my life...(as absurd at that sounds).

One of the gifts she gave out to us was our own personal set of Barbie Cutlery. It was bright pink, made of thick, durable plastic, and I took it home with me and found that after I used it a few times, I didn't want to use anything else...

Perhaps I should explain that I have this little quirk--I hate the sound of metal cutlery on plates and teeth. It gives me the same reaction as someone who wads up some foil and chews it. Invisible multi-legged critters traverse my spine, and I am stricken with some sort of seizure that makes me avoid the situation in the future.

So, when I realized how useful it was to have plastic cutlery that didn't break off in your bite of steak, but that also didn't make those horrible scritching and skerking noises, I was REBORN. Eventually I lost this set of fine utensils in a move and couldn't find them anywhere.

Recently, though I was tooling down the sale aisle in Wal-Mart, and there they were--tube upon tube of Barbie Cutlery....They were only 60 cents each, and I nabbed about 4 tubes, which turned out to be about 20 of each piece.

I can't tell you the ridiculous joy I get from using these.

And yes, I use them for company, too.

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Barbie Cutlery

Ichabod Day

Today feels like the first day of fall to me…not because it's necessarily cold, but because I have noticed for the first time that most of the leaves have been liberated from the trees. It opens things up, makes things feel larger, and yet more mystical at the same time. There is a starkness to the trees that create an ambiance like something out of a Tim Burton film. I half expect Ichabod Crane to come galloping down Pivot Rock Road with a lantern and windswept leaves crackling beneath clocking hooves.

Ichabod Day

Defining Rape

I don't pretend to know the truth one way or another about the Kobe Bryant case...This woman could be just trying to capitalize on the wealth and fame of a sports celebrity. She could have a legitimate complaint. She could be merely embarrassed that she engaged in sexual activity and then thought better of it later. She could feel that she wanted to stop, but wasn't strong enough to say so.

Regardless, all i do know is that often there are gray areas, and that this case has brought up some interesting issues.

The thing that interests me is the dynamic of screaming rape when there is some question as to definition. To me, rape can be defined as penetration of any kind in either genital orifice, against the will of the person being penetrated.

The question then becomes one of what I mean by "against the will of." If a woman places herself in a sexual situation, she is essentially expressing a permission to at least engage in SOME amount of sexually oriented activity, even if it is only kissing or touching. She is then responsible for being clear about what her intentions and limits are. Should she change her mind or reach her own boundary, which she has a perfect right to do, and then does not have the personal power to say "Stop" or "No" firmly and clearly, how is the other person to know that the situation has changed, when all other signals have told him otherwise?

Therefore, when a woman begins a process of sexual activity, and then remains mum when she changes her mind, there can be no rape, unless you say she has essentially raped herself...If she knows she is not strong enough to communicate her own will, then she has no business placing herself in any sexual situation to begin with.

This assessment does not include, naturally, situations in which the woman is incapable of speaking or communicating, incapacitated, incompetent, or not of the age of consent. Those situations fall into other categories.

A friend of mine told the story of someone she knew who had an applicable situation happen to her. This woman got drunk with a male friend, and the two of them went back to one of their houses, and she consented--actually requested--that he perform oral on her. Some time during the process, she passed out, and he was just drunk enough not to notice or not to care, and he then had intercourse with her. The next day,the girl stated, she questioned him when she awoke and found him naked from the waist down. He admitted openly what had happened. The girl then decided she had been raped. Now this is a prime example of what I'm talking about. Getting drunk was her responsibility; getting sexual with him was her responsibility; inviting him to perform oral on her was, too, and the mere fact that she opened herself up to him by asking and by removing her clothes, indicated clearly that she was open to sexual activity. How did he know she meant that was the only type of sexual activity? That she passed out is a moot point, since she was the one who allowed herself to get drunk in the first place.

Now if this situation had been a bit different, such as, the woman told him they were going back to her place to sleep it off, directed him to a sofa, and their clothes remained on, and there were no sexual invitations...then what he did would then be considered rape. Especially if she had said no and he did it anyway; but also if she had been unconscious and he took advantage. This in no way releases her from her responsibility in that she voluntarily became incapacitated, but that does not mean she deserved to be raped.

There are also situations in which a woman allows herself to be raped, such as when her children, sleeping in the next room, are threatened, and she chooses to be violated rather than endanger them. This is still rape.

Then there's that issue of women who dress provocatively and flirt, and men who think this is a license to have sex with them, even if the women say No. Men are responsible for behaving themselves as well and cannot use a woman's teasing or moral turpitude or revealing clothing as an excuse to force sex upon them--this would be rape. Women of this ilk do generally create unfortunate circumstances for themselves by constantly "stirring the coals" as it were. Our behavior has repercussions. That's the law of Cause and Effect: Karma. They should be willing to take responsibility for at least perpetuating the situation. But i still do not buy the argument that they "had it coming" or "wanted it." Unless, of course, they state that they DO or DID.

Essentially, i don't like it when women tease and manipulate men, when they have no intention of follow-through, just as i don't like men who blame their misbehavior on their "manhood."

Defining Rape