Happy Solstice and the Boon of a New Solstice Bed!

Word on the street has it that no one can quite get it up for the Holidays this year. I feel like I've felt the least prepared and most apathetic about all the big holidays (*my* big holidays) and whatnot this year of any years in recent memory. I am both a date/holiday oriented and gifty lady. Anniversaries, monthaversaries, Halloween, Dios de los Muertos, Pride, Folsom, the Solstices and Equinoxes, they tend to mean a lot to me. I tend to be a very present-giving person, for no or special occasions, I love giving presents and take great joy in finding the things that seem to already belong to their recipients. Birthdays are especially big deals in my heart and mind, I think I might have gotten that from my dad, but I have sometimes thought that if I could spend my life making sure people had happy, exciting, fulfilling birthdays, I could be happy. But this year feels pretty off, and it feels like as far as presents and planning go, since August I've just lost my touch and also kind of don't care.

I decided going back to Baltimore at holiday time isn't healthy for me, which felt like a good, strong, self-care type of decision until I panicked and realized that as a now single person, that might mean I end up mostly alone on a holiday I don't really care about, but very much do want to feel loved on. So I decided to cook my dad's traditional Polish Catholic xmas eve dinner, 'Wigilia', and invite people over. Now I am cursing myself for always having to make things so complicated.

Solstice is my holiday of choice, it speaks the most to me, yet this year I have nothing too exciting or special planned besides trying to get ready for everything else. Last year I went with two friends to Pt. Reyes area, went hiking and saw scores of elk. I was supposed to be in Baltimore and my friend Matt was supposed to be in Seattle, but thanks to the storms in Colorado we were both still here. It was magical. This year: well we'll see.

My incredibly hot date for yesterday got cancelled. I was both bummed and relieved. Bummed because the girl is incredible and becoming a friend, and much fun (which is important for me now, my horoscope even said so) was sure to be had by all. Relieved because of all the stupid holiday stuff it gave me time to do. As it was I finished wrapping my family presents, to be delivered by my friend Josh, who is also native to Baltimore, at midnight. However, given the choice for less stress and more time or hot date with nice girl who is not potential wifey but an excellent date, I would've chosen the date.

Update: I just got a new mattress and boxspring delivered, my Solstice present from my mother. And suddenly the day does feel full of magic. It is a good omen and a sign for the future. My old mattress was terrible for my body, I got it when my last big love's roommates moved out of his apartment. I've lain on it through at least three heartbreaks, and dreamt in it since before I got sober. It's felt the weight of numerous lovers; some wonderful joyous additions to my life and some unsound, hurtful choices and many who seemed to be one and then turned to the other. It has four years of unhealthy body and difficult emotions seeped into it. It was thin and broken and low quality.

The new bed feels like it will treat me right as well as be incredibly pleasurable to sleep and lie in, and I think that when we make moves to invite those aspects into our lives in one, in this case, very tangible way, they often tend to be attracted to us in others as well. The Esteemed Astrologist confirmed my long-time suspicion that I need more sleep than most people: 9-10 hours a night. Spending that much time, alone or with lovers in an unhealthy, janky environment versus a supportive and sweet one is bound to make a huge difference. Plus it's even higher off the ground than my old mattress, which will make my bed that much more princessified. Whee! I plan to do a ritual on it soon, to welcome in positive energy and influences, to invite it to attract healthy lovers who do right by me, and to welcome the coming of the light.


From my pre-Wigilia shopping trip yesterday:

So I was that person again, today. The one in the grocery store, fighting back tears. I started to sing "For Today I am a Boy" by Anthony and the Johnsons to myself while I was looking for all the fixins' of the traditional Polish Catholic xmas eve dinner, Wigilia, and all of the sudden my face felt like a swollen sponge and the tears began their welling. Well, then I had to ask one of the kindly Rainbow Grocery Co-Operative workers where the canned/jarred beets are (answer: there aren't any) and my voice was all shaky and he gave me this strange "it's ok, they're only beets" kind of look. I scurried into the housewares aisle and choked down a few silent sobs and kind of laughed to myself, wondering how many people ever feel like bursting into tears for no apparent reason except just the ambient pain and sorrow of loving and living, in the middle of the grocery store.

I seem to be that person a lot. Sometimes I think it's my reflexive emotional revolt against being in large institutional type structures with lots of people who know and for the most part play by the rules. Aundi and I once discussed how any large room with aisles or fluorescent lights gave us the immediate visceral impulse to poop, and I bet the cows lining up for the killing floor feel the same way. Or maybe it's just that Rainbow is such a open, wholesome (albeit expensive) nurturing kind of atmosphere, that similar to the therapist's office it inspires a freeing of emotions, one of the co-op members might even come over with a earthen cup of filtered water and put their arm around your shoulder until you could shop on your own again. I certainly wasn't about to weep half an hour before in Trader Joe's. (San Francisco is a city unsympathetic to beet needs that aren't met by a fresh bunch of organic bulbs, at least amongst the fancy "socially-conscious" grocery options. Pickled herring neither. I get the feeling there aren't an overwhelming number of Poles or Jews out here, at least not until the Richmond. I will continue the Slavic search tomorrow.)

Though I remember experiencing the intense desire to dive into a pile of fluffy new towels and throw a little fit once at Nordstrom's Rack a couple of months ago, and that is anything but a sympathetic atmosphere. Or maybe "For Today I am a Boy" just always makes me cry (which is true) and I've been on the verge for days now anyway. There is another song that keeps trying to pop into my head which would just obliterate me, so in harm reduction fashion, I opt for sudden tears over complete loosing-my-shit devastation. I don't really feel like blaming the Holidays, I feel like they can take responsibility for pretty much everything else. I left Rainbow after about 35 minutes, with only three items, costing $11. But I'm fine with that.


Today I woke up with Postal Service, which I don't even like but find occasionally heart-wrenching none the less, in my head. But it was ok, not as charged as the music in my head of yesterday. Also, I painted yesterday, for my mother's present, with a new (to me) technique I saw used in the Sigur Ros movie 'Heima' which is just using the ink dropper from India Ink directly on the paper. It made me feel good, like "oh yeah, sometimes I really am an artist." And now I'm finally in a festive Solstice mood, with They Might Be Giants (which is always good because it is *my* music, connected to ex's of long ago, sure, but both the Giants and Talking Heads feel like my core of tunes, listening to them gives me the feeling of "this doesn't have to be about you, its just about me") singing me and my new bed into the afternoon.

Tiny Update. Oh wait, I can't do tiny.

The holidays are kicking my ass. I keep working on posts here but not finishing them, though I'm sure after all the madness (presuming the the madness does end at some point), I will get back to them. Here's a teaser: definitely up-coming is a post all about my hygiene preferences! I know, I know, I'm just killing you with anticipation....

My second pseudo date was very sweet and unfortunately very pseudo. Tonight is the Lusty Lady Holiday party where I get to be a judge of the candy cane sucking contest. I'm feeling pretty low and hoping a tidal wave of scantily clad Lusties washes me onto some bed somewhere and does bad things with me. Not like littering or genocide though, I'm not up for either of those tonight unless someone gives me roofies in a big cup of coffee.

And that's mostly because my other big fantasy, that my bed will magically sprout a beautiful woman who *already* loves me, *already* knows me, just wants to stay in bed and cuddle and read each other stories and have kinky sex and get out of bed and pee on each other and make hot chocolate and then get back in bed with hot chocolate and watch movies and share our beliefs and snore in each other's armpits and make really cool bruises on each others backs and thighs and butts and necks and breasts without having to ask again where she grew up because I know where she grew up, I've heard all about it and how she hates it and loves it and maybe I've been there or we're planning a trip together.... well, I know that its too far-fetched for even me to believe. Its not the way it works, you have to go on dates and chit-chat and try new restaurants or sit in the park or whatever until you suddenly find yourself snuggled up in a hotel bed with your good friend and this new person, chastely nude, but wishing you could put their (the new person, not your good friend) genitals in your mouth, you know, just to try it.... and then two months later in another hotel bed, high on sugar and lack of sleep and amazing sex, you realize for sure that you love them. I mean, the hotel beds and sugar aren't required, I've just found that often while dating the person that I turn out to love kinda sneaks in from the side.

Yes. I like to pee on people. If that totally grosses you out, you are probably not my wife.
At this point I'm not sure whether a marriage where I never peed on my spouse but got to do it a lot with others would work, it may, but it most certainly *will not* work if you think that the mere idea of me peeing on someone is gross. There. I'm out. Possibly a big mistake, but oh well, its true.

I also really like reading out loud to people in bed (or out). I also enjoy being read to, but if I could only do one, I'd probably be the reader.

And, yes, it's true, I honestly *love* hot chocolate. I refused to be shamed for my adoration of the "steamy brown", as it's known. I hope by my confession I can pave the way for other warmed-dairy aficionados to feel comfortable about themselves, and their predilections, however un-vegan, just the way they are.

I don't yet know what to wear tonight. I used to wear miniskirts all the time and don't anymore and kind of want to wear a mini skirt for that reason, but I'm not sure I still own any festive enough. I know, big problems, what a fucking dilemma. "Fairy godmother, bring me a warm naked wife in bed, with her arm sticking out holding a hanger with the perfect outfit on it! "Of course, I would probably never make it to the party if that happened, but from the cold living room with a lap full of Mac, it sounds just peachy.

I've been having a lot of weird sex dreams all this week. Last night there were two, one involved me helping with a workers' revolt at this country-club type place where the boss was kind of a mix between Tony Soprano and the dad from the family guy. I riled everyone up and then people were playing golf and I was going to an art exhibit but my ex showed up, nude, and so I started groping her. We were just standing there, in the grass, side by side, surveying the grounds. At first she said "no need for that" or something basically telling me I should probably stop touching her genitals, but I kept doing it anyway and then she started getting excited and then...I don't know. The scene changed or something, I think maybe I was suddenly down by the water with a bunch of golf clubs in my hand.

The second one, I don't really remember the context for, possibly I was in a castle? Anyway, this cute dog, kind of grey hound like, came up and started nuzzling and licking me and I'm not a huge dog fan but I liked this dog and was petting it and then it started turning into Lynee Breedlove all dressed in leather, and I understood that this dog was really just Lynee's puppy play persona. There was a bunch of licking and what not, but I've never really been attracted to Lynee so I have no idea where that came from. Thank *YOU* twisted mind!

Alright, alright. Shower and dressing myself. One of these days I will let all the kids in on what a sham adulthood is. But tonight I'm schmoozing with the peep-show ladies, so the kids might just have to wait for their insight.

2 Pseudo-dates and the Importance of Symbolism

Two pseudo dates, one per day, today and tomorrow. I doubt either of these lovely women are my wife-to-be, but one never knows. And not every pursuit in life must be a means to an ultimate end. Especially not for me.

Let it be known that I am trying, however, and also really appreciate it when people hit on me in a cute and friendly way, and will often go out at least once with them because I think that type of behavior should get positive feedback.


Update! First pseudo-date successfully completed and actually so successful that it turned into a real date! Of course she found this page directly after the date, causing me to e-scream in embarrassment and panic. (It's always such a strange and conflicted line between the overwhelming urge for exhibitionistic, bare-all spew and the painfully self-conscious, highly mortified realization that other people can actually see me. Pema Chodron calls this something like "the overwhelming embarrassment of being me". So far, my only explanation is that its really easy for me to both imagine only the vague concept of the audience and attention I want and forget that my work is available and accessible to actual humies. ) And then, all of the sudden other offers are coming in as well. Perhaps as Tim Kreider says, "I think this time things are really going to turn around." Stay tuned for the possibility of against all odds, everything actually turning up Milhaus.

I was having a conversation with my friend Aundi, who is an excellent poet, working on her Master's in poetry in England (see links at bottom of page), about the importance of symbolism in both of our lives. It's one of my most intimate and heart-felt languages, and to me is tied to my sense of magic and spirituality as well as my narrative-based literary sensibility and my belief in dialectic processes. My best connections and partnerships have had respect and some understanding of the value and meaning of symbolism in my life, and I really cherish and appreciate those with a similar way of moving through and with the world, an affinity towards the scenic route of meaning, belief, correlation and understanding.

Re: symbolism, Aundi said : it's way too outside what's cool presently

it's nice I think. to have. it's like having peripheral vision on a grander scale

I wouldn't trade it to be any cooler

for shiz

Gotta love that, a lovely, insightful metaphor followed with "for shiz". She and I speak similarly that way sometimes.

Which brings up the question of 'woo' (otherwise known as "woo-woo", "the woo", "that hippie shit", etc.) which has a long and convoluted answer in my life. To try to make it simple, which is rarely my gift, I believe in esoterica, but not all of it, I appreciate an awareness and respect for non-tangible energies, though not when used as a mask for true intention or a tool for manipulation, and I think that logic and rationality are just two shades of a full spectrum of truth and understanding. I appreciate pluralities in modalities and perspectives although I often feel in didactic extremes.

While the value of symbolism is as often intellectual as emotional or spiritual (maybe there need be no hard distinction) it affects my thoughts and feelings and influences my behavior and view on the world daily. Both my parents are scientists and I believe in and value science, as well as emotional intelligence, multiple truths, omens, spiritual rituals, astrology (to an extent), psychic insights (also to an extent), karma, ghosts (because its fun), Goddesses and Gods (because it improves my enjoyment of life and myself), old medicine, witches, magic spells , synchronicity, dreams, and intuition. I see the world a little bit like a muti-dimensional puzzle, and sometimes connective pieces or clues can be analyzed and understood through one framework or set of tools and sometimes another fits better or makes things clearer. Often I feel strongly the sense that something is being shown but I don't know yet how to decode it. In the end, the majority of my beliefs are most strongly based on what seems like the most pleasurable, interesting, helpful, reassuring, fun, and true-feeling options I've encountered or can come up with. I also hold onto and cultivate beliefs which support me to act in ways that are in keeping with my sense of integrity. (i.e. I believe in karma and I believe in spells, so I don't cast spells intended to harm or do anything negative to anyone or anything else.)

Wow, so reading all that, I guess I sound pretty woo, at least for someone who grew up in Baltimore I sound pretty woo to me. But its a discerning woo, a selective woo, a patchwork woo that works for me without making me feel spacey or irresponsible or crazy or self-destructive/aggrandizing or inaccessible or overly out-of-touch or vulnerable to exploitation or too judgemental. My woo does often spark my curiosity and inspiration, console and make me feel better, and get my creativity, compassion, playfulness and sense of humor about myself flowing.

But beyond that, my mind likes making connections, so much so that sometimes really good ones give it the feeling of soft honeyed many-fingered ripples of delight tickling my brain. (I had that experience recently while reading 'Lolita', man, that Nabokov can write! English isn't even his first language! For whatever reason, the Poe references at the beginning of the book, especially before they get overly overt, tickled me gleefully.) And when those connections come in real life surprises, well-formed coincidences, evocative imagery, ironic mysteries and powerful symbols, I have no interest in denying myself the innate pleasure and intrigue and wonder that engulfs my body/mind and spirit.

So, a potential wifey would not, one would hope, find this crazy, or insufferable, or stupid, or silly ( a little silly is ok, silly rarely means to hurt anyone) or ridiculous or too high-faluttin or too uneducated or anything but somewhat weird (no qualms with that as long as its not seen in a derogatory light), maybe not totally in keeping with her beliefs, though adding a depth to my interest and involvement with the world as well as a useful, compelling and entertaining resource.

Whew, once again, more spew than I expected. I feel a little blushingly embarrassed again with outing all of that in one place, like I should don a witch hat and go do some Tantric breathing exercises with another spiritual being having a human experience while drinking colloidal gold at Cafe Gratitude. Truthfully, I would do all of the things in the sentence I just wrote, but all at once would be too much for me. Hopefully my next post will explain more about my serious hard-core no bullshit edge to balance this out, if I can find it.

A Small Realization Regarding Age

Today my brain is sizzling with lack of sleep so the ideas are live ones, unfettered and from wild waters. My PMS/stress/general emotional sensitivity rage of the past few days has subsided, and now there are a full spectrum of feelings washing up on the shore.

But one thought I had today, which struck me for a moment and is relevant here, is what I take to be a further sign that I am ready or near-ready for lady-marriage, or at least partnership.

The breif backstory: I am a notorious chickenhawk. I have enjoyed the barely-legal fetish since I myself was barely legal, and it just seems to become more prominent the older I get. I love introducing people to firsts, teaching and turning people on to new experiences, especially sexually. I like hunting the PYTs, the dolphins (as we call the boys) and the precocious younger girls. I've dated quite a few 18-21 year olds and I find them a very tasty snack though I've usually gotten hurt by their youthful impetuousness.

Leaving the bathroom at a bistro today, after watching an Opera students' version of the Magic Flute (still crusty eyed from the Studio 54 party last night, see the above picture- "Girl! You're a Hot Mess! Love it!" they said), something struck me.
I haven't been interested lately. Don't get me wrong, there are some gorgeous people in my life in their late teens and early 20s, and I don't find them any less gorgeous, but lately I haven't been so intrested in trying to meet people under 25. I don't look at their personal ads, I don't start salivating, I don't do much of anything except look around for more wife-age-appropriate friends. In fact, I remember distinctly thinking "Oh, too bad, probably too young" when I met the lovely girl at the bar the other night and she told me she was 23. Which for me is kind of mind-blowing. When I think about the age my imaginary bride may be, I tend to start the thinking at around 26 and then go up from there. This may seem like common sense to some, but really, if you knew me well, you would understand what a shock this is to me.

I feel like this is a direct result of finally having enough experience with people, younger and not-so- younger, to understand that the kind of commitment, self-awareness and accountability, as well as breadth of experience and trial and error that someone who might be a good and appropriate partner for me would have is much more likely to exist in someone over 25. I think it's also about a little more self-awareness around what I want from a partner or regular date, and what I like as sexual novelty or more casual date/mentor relationship. I have had almost all of my more satisfying relationships or encounters with the 18-21 year olds in the context of a primary partnership with someone closer to my age.

So I see myself naturally veering away from the more youthful pursuits. I think my body/mind are really gearing up for deep lasting love in a healthy relationship. Now I'm just working, albeit slowly, on my shit and also, of course, impatiently pouting and whining, until it becomes clear to me (finally!) where, and when, and with whom that love will be.