The silly things I say and do

Whenever I get too much time on my hands I start thinking about Juan and feeling sad. So, I decided to go out last night. I rustled up myself an internet date.

Due in part to an insane regimen of vodka, rum, beer, and wine with some sips of a gin cocktail thrown in for good measure, I was not on my best behavior...

I spilled my after-dinner glass of Reisling all over the table then asked my date to ask for a free refill.
I checked to see what he left as a tip. After evaluating whether the amount was generous enough, I declared "That tip just made you lose an inch off your penis!"
I also believe I may have spanked him several times...
At the end of the night when we were kissing (yes, he wanted a kiss after all that) I bit his ear lobe!

The crazy thing is we were laughing our asses off most of the night. Later he texted me saying he had a great night and wanted to do it again.
I suspect he may actually return to his senses soon enough and change his mind. We will see...

I may have to impose a strict two drink limit on myself on first dates.

For Juan V.

I love all the cooks at my work, they are all really funny and sweet and great. But Juan was my very favorite. Two days ago he was murdered. His girlfriend picked him up after work and was driving him home when someone open fired on their car. They were at a stoplight in a bad neighborhood in Richmond. Juan died at the scene. His girlfriend died later in the hospital.
I worked with him that night. The last thing he did was give me some food to take home with me since I was hungry at the end of my shift. While I was eating the food he had kindly cooked for me, he was unsuspectingly driving to his death. It breaks my heart.
I looked forward to working with him; his huge, sweet smile brightened my day. Our little flirtations made my tedious job bearable, even fun at times. We'd always wink at each other over the counter. Several days ago I drew a little picture of a heart and stuck it on his chef's coat over his heart. I can't believe that heart is not beating anymore...
He was so adorable. I had a big crush on him. We'd joke that he and I were married and one of the other young guys that worked with us was our son. I even had dreams about him. He had the most beautiful hands and the biggest, softest brown eyes. I loved watching him work; he was graceful and quick and usually laughing. My feelings made me feel vaguely guilty though because he had a live in girlfriend. Juan would always greet me with a "Hi Sexy" whenever he saw me. I made up some excuse to hug him every shift. I wish I had hugged him one last time before I went home Monday night.
He was only 25. I can't believe someone could take this beautiful, wonderful man's life so thoughtlessly. I can't believe we will never see him again. We will never have the pleasure of his smile again, never hear his silly laugh, never hear him sing in Spanish. His brother works there too. I am so sad for him. I don't even think I could look at his brother right now without completely losing my composure. I can't imagine the grief his family feels.
Everyone at work loved him. We all called him 'Juanito' as an endearment even though he was one of the biggest guys there. An air of tragedy hangs over the restaurant, the faces of all the chefs look like they are ready to crumple at any moment. Its really hard to be there.
Te estrano mucho Juanito. Te amo mi amigo.

Viva La Vida

Coming home inebriated and taking topless photos of myself, checking out the construction worker across the street, answering my door still in my slip at 2pm in the afternoon, eating kale tacos for breakfast, meditating, reading Buddhist precepts about refraining from 'sexual misconduct' (feeling vaguely guilty), cyber-stalking my ex boyfriend, dragging myself out of bed at 11am...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...just another day in Nirvana at the bachelorette pad!

Bootylicious!!!

On a lighter note...
I just have to say thank god for non-white men's appreciation for the booty.
During a blissful sunny stroll at my local farmer's market in Oaktown I received many an appreciative glance and comment. Not grotesque, sleazy and leering like I've encountered by countless crackheads outside my last job in the Tenderloin; rather the pleasant, sweet acknowledgment of men noticing a woman they find attractive. Trust me, when you have been single for a while you start to enjoy this sort of thing...
My favorite was the overly enthusiastic sample boy who leapt at me with a piece of spinach stuffed naan smothered in chutney shouting "I FEED EVERYONE!! But I only chase the cute ones!!" He then followed me insistently with yet another sample. An older black man noted "Now, there's a REAL woman. How're you doing today beautiful?"

Somehow I ended up at the local beauty supply store in an isle full of press on nails and padded butt enhancing shapewear. Beyonce was gyrating sexily in a leotard on the TV singing 'To all the single ladies....if you like it, you shouldda put a ring on it...' Although the likes of Beyonce and JLo are not exactly ideal role models for promoting body acceptance, at the very least they provide images of non-white, non-stick thin beauty. I'd a million times rather look at them than someone like Gwynth Paltrow in all her skinny, austere, ultra-WASPy glory. And let's be honest, Queen Latifa and America Ferrera are beautiful and keep it even MORE REAL! I am infinitely grateful to all the men and women of the world who do not perpetuate the tyrannical belief that you must be very thin in order to be deemed appealing.

I was talking to my female co worker earlier in the day about how all the men at our work tend to get really fixated on certain parts of women's bodies. While I find this somewhat shallow and mildly annoying it also doesn't deeply offend me. Certainly, I do the same thing to some of the men I find attractive. Anyway, all this got me thinking about people's perceptions and judgements about women's bodies.

I've always felt somewhat shy about my body, wishing that I wasn't quite so voluptuous. Somehow my curves make me feel more exposed on the street. Men are forever looking and commenting; sometimes I find it charming (as above) but sometimes I find it horrifying and/or alarming. Wearing something that would seem innocuous on a less endowed body, such as fitted jeans, a tank top or gym clothes, often feels vaguely indecent. I've talked to with some of my... ahem... more buxom friends and I know they feel similarly. What is even more strange is the perception some men may have about you - if a woman has a certain type of body, she may be perceived as less intelligent, more slutty etc. I wonder how we, as women, internalize these beliefs and expectations.

I know that for a long time, I really needed to be viewed as beautiful and desirable by men. I presented myself in a way that was highly sexualized. I have no regrets or shame about the good times I've had in the past. My myriad dating experiences, as well as my sexual experimentation, are an integral part of who I am. They've not only left me more open minded about trying things out for myself but also led me to be less judgemental towards others. I completely get women who want to revel in the power and joy of their sexuality. Hey, its fun! The thing is now, while I still want to be considered beautiful and attractive, I'm not satisfied with being viewed primarily in a sexual way by men. I want to meet someone who I can stay up all night with... talking.

Something to think about..

Love and Compassion Can Defeat Suffering And Depression
From UrbanMonk.net

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Lisis Blackston of Quest For Balance.

I recently learned about the power of love and compassion from someone who had all but given up on life. I met him, if you can call it that, in the comments section of another blog, where he posted that he was contemplating suicide.

What really bothered me was that no one had addressed his comment. Did they not see it? Were they uncertain of what to say? Was it a breach of blogger protocol to address a serious issue in someone else’s comments section? I didn’t know, but one thing was certain: this person was suffering. I could not simply go about my day as if I had not noticed it. The last time I tried that approach, things did not work out so well.

When Depression Threatens

Four Christmases ago, a very dear friend of mine took his own life. In a moment of hopelessness and despair, he shot himself. For fourteen years he had been one of my closest friends; we were always there for each other, and I loved him dearly. This was no mere acquaintance, so the news affected me deeply.

This was a fellow pilot and grieving soul. Like me, he had lost his parents at a young age, so we felt a strong connection; we promised to be each other’s shoulder to cry on and soft place to fall when life was knocking us down. He called me every year, without fail, on Valentine’s Day and my birthday, even when I moved to Costa Rica and he moved to Belize.

In 2005, when I got that birthday call, I knew something was terribly wrong. I had never heard him so despondent before. This guy was an aerobatic pilot, a Reno Air Racer; he was full of adventure and passion. But on this particular call, he was somber, quiet, and sad.

He had been struggling with bipolar disorder for a couple of years. He never would have admitted this fact, or sought treatment; but I knew. I recognized all the telltale signs because I had seen them in my dad: the endless rambling phone calls at all hours, the god complex, his blacklist of “enemies” which grew increasingly longer, the purchase of insanely expensive things with other people’s money, the topics of conversation bordering on sexual harassment…

These, and many more, were the symptoms I had been watching develop in him over the course of a few years. I would hear from him a whole lot when he was manic, then not at all for months at a time, during his depressive hibernation.

His family and friends had noticed this as well, but when they tried to get him to seek treatment, he just put them on his blacklist of people to avoid (and get even with). Finally, they did the responsible thing: they reported his condition to the FAA, who promptly revoked his medical certificate. He could no longer fly, and he’d never really done anything else. He used to tell everyone, “The day I can’t fly is the day that I die.” It was his whole life.

Reaching Out for Help

When he called on my birthday, I knew he was in utter despair, trying to figure out what life he could possibly have without flying. But I assumed it was just a phase, and that he would resolve it on the next upswing. I was busy and distracted, moving from Costa Rica to Austin, so I told him I’d call him later.

My birthday was in October; we moved to Austin in November. I almost called him then, but decided I would wait until we were settled in our new home, in early December. Then I was busy moving in, meeting neighbors, and getting ready for Christmas. I meant to call him; I really did… and then I got the email from his ex-wife. Just like that, it was over. All the history we shared and all the promises we made vanished into thin air.

I spent the first two years after that torturing myself with guilt. I should have been a better friend, and called him. Perhaps I could’ve gotten him treatment for his depression since he trusted me and knew about my dad. It would have made all the difference if I just took a moment from my busy life to let him know he was not alone. WHAT IF he had felt loved, instead of abandoned?

I will never know. I did nothing.

Maybe there was something I could have done, maybe not. But I could have tried. I didn’t reach out to help him when he suffered, and I can’t do anything about that now. But I can try to help others who are suffering.

What if Love and Compassion Win?

So, when I saw that person mention suicide in the comments of a blog, I gave him my email and asked him to contact me. And he did. We have been in contact ever since, and I cherish each email I receive from him. He still has a whole set of challenging circumstances to deal with, and I can’t make those go away. We all have those constant burdens to bear, each in our own way. But I can let him know I care, I’m here, and things will get better. Sometimes that is all we need to find the strength to keep going.

A short while ago, I told him I was going out to the yard to plant strawberries with my son. He asked me how long it takes to grow a strawberry plant.

I replied, “I don’t know yet how long it will take to harvest my strawberries. There’s a good chance I never will, because the birds will beat me to it. But it’s ok… I like the planting… and the birds.”

His answer helped me understand the key to happiness: He said, “Yes, there will be birds, but we should not stop planting strawberries. That is the essence of life. Like what Albert Camus tried to propagate in his essay, The Myth of Sisyphus.”

For those of you who may not remember, Sisyphus, of Greek mythology, was the guy condemned to push a boulder up a hill, watch it roll back down, and repeat this for all eternity. His burden is constantly present, but he presses on anyway. What else can he do?

It seems to me, since we each have our individual burdens, that the way to fight off suffering and depression in order to be happy is to find the little things that bring us joy, the simple pleasures. Make time to find them; take time to appreciate them. Just as importantly, if someone you know has lost the ability to enjoy anything, take a moment to help that person. Show a little Love and Compassion, because even little things can make a world of difference. You never know… the life you save may be a friend’s.

Author Bio

Lisis Blackston is a wife and mother who is dedicated to helping others find happiness and inner peace. You can learn more about Lisis at her blog, Quest For Balance, which is dedicated to this concept:

Whether we find happiness through grand adventures, or seek it in every-day places, we all want less pain and more joy. Quest for Balance is a place where people can be reminded that finding lasting happiness and inner peace is not only achievable, but surprisingly simple… for all of us!

Sola

Recently I told my mom, in a rare moment of unabashed positivity, that at times I view my singleness as a luxury. I have no one to report to. There is no need for compromise in my lifestyle. My home is my own blessed oasis, seldom shared. Alone, I am free to roam the corridors of my mind, tending to every thought and emotion as if they were the most treasured and precious of objects. It is true; I have come to love my solitude, the unadulterated contents of my mind, fiercely.

What Else Is There?

I love this song. The video is really creepy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOt15JsLloU

The Savagery of Women

I just finished She Came To Stay by Simone de Beauvoir. An entrancing book. Apparently its a semi-autobiographical account of a sort of menage a trois she and her lifelong lover Sartre had with a young student of theirs. She's a beautiful and ruthless writer. I can't believe I haven't read her earlier.

I love this passage: "With a sudden movement she pushed back her bangs, baring her smooth forehead. Her face seemed to swell in a burst of violent hatred and suffering. Her mouth was partly open in a smile, like a gash in an overripe fruit; and this open wound in the venomous pulp was exposed to the sunlight. It was impossible to get anywhere."

I've been thinking a lot lately about my mistrust of other women. Its not about jealousy or competition for men. Its more about my fear of being emotionally open and vulnerable with someone outside of a sexual relationship and my past history of feeling hurt by female friends. Why is it that I feel more comfortable having intellectual/philosophical conversations with men? With my female friends I often find us returning (again and again) to discussions centered on interpersonal relationships. I myself perpetuate this cycle with my endless complaints about my love life (or lack thereof)! Its so frustrating. Especially when I know that women are having these types of conversations - but probably with whoever they are in a relationship with. I think this is what partially accounts for my deep loneliness and sadness without a partner; I miss the intensity of the conversations I used to have with the men I've been with. Now, I have no one left who wants to engage in passionate dialogue with me. I remember with my first boyfriend how we used to stay up all night discussing philosophy, art, music. We played each other our favorite songs (he first introduced me to Leonard Cohen and Jimmy Cliff, among infinite others) til 4am and read out loud to one another. My brothers and I still engage in heated political diatribes but other than that I feel intellectually void, my thoughts tangled in my head with no outlet.

As my aspirations for romantic love crumble slowly in my hands and slip away, I long for the company of wise women.

Haunted

I'm on an 80's - 90's music kick. Everything still sounds good. Not much has changed, I'm still alone in my room writing while listening to sad music. Now its this blog rather than morbid teenage poems scratched out in my journal along with smears of my own blood and melodramatic plans for my funereal ('play The End by The Doors' - jeez how original!). Yeah, I guess I'm mellowing out a bit in my old age...

Escaping The Rut

I might have made the most intelligent and penetrating remarks about the ramifications and the causes of my sufferings, my sickness of soul, my general bedevilment of neurosis. The mechanism was transparent to me. But what I needed was not knowledge and understanding. What I longed for in my despair was life and resolution, action and reaction, impulse and impetus. - Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf