A new blog...

I'm jumping on the wordpress bandwagon and blogging over at mistressmom.wordpress.com. The blog is plain as all hell, but it's some of the most fun I've had with my clothes on in a while. You should definitely join me.

XO-M

I'm pregnant and ready to be a mom.

But do I want to be a mom right now?

I don't know.

My thoughts fluctuate on the subject.

It really is THAT easy.

Ames calls me and we talk about our favorite subject: relationships. Who we love, why we love them, the pain they cause us. We talk about people who are having problems finding love. We pontificate on why these people are having problems. We laugh at them and poke fun at them and call them stupid for not seeing what we see. All the while, we know that it's easier to make judgments when neither one of us are a party to the situation in question. We know that it's rude to question or judge peoples' choices. We hope that we're never as blind as these people who don't see the black-and-white, right-and-wrong, clear-as-day answers to their problems.

Yes, we're really that pretentious.

On the other hand, most problems really are that easy to solve.

Allow me to explain:

Thing X is happening to Person Y.

A) If Person Y is ok with Thing X, then Thing X is NOT a problem.

B) If Person Y is NOT ok with Thing X, then Thing X is a problem.

Now:

If Thing X is a problem, Person Y can...

D) Accept it and move on, thus reverting back to A.

OR

E) Change Thing X.

The "What" is clear and rather simple. It's the "How" that proves difficult. Most people like their situations, even if those situations are harmful. Many people don't know how to identify problems, and most don't know how to move on from their problems. Also: most people are hypocrites and/or liars.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm not guilty of this. I'm not even saying that it's a particularly bad thing to do; I know that there are very valid psychological reasons for using this coping mechanism. All I'm saying is, it pains me when relatively intelligent and thoughtful individuals refuse to change their Thing X, or subscribe to a theory that totally ignores their Thing X.

There's a reason I haven't posted any pics of myself.

Every photo I'm in looks nuanced with the time's zeitgeist and whatever personal melodrama I'm partaking in at that very moment. They scream "That's me when I was going through my idealistic political phase!" or "That's me when I was a Real Ho!" or "That's me when I'm feeling really lost and trying to look like I know what the fuck I'm doing!"

Maybe it's because I've never been in the habit of taking pictures or having my picture taken, but I've never been able to take a picture that captures the essence of who I am. I don't know how to look like me. I just know how to be me. And I don't know how to look like I'm being me. Not anymore anyway. Not right now.

All of this makes me feel like I'm really understanding abstract art. How something that doesn't appear similar to their representation can stir emotions and create effects that mimic those of their representation. How something so seemingly contradictory to its meaning can elicit the same ideas as its idea. That's what I need: a picture that represents me. Something visible that somehow shows as many parts of my personality as possible. A photo or painting or sculpture that provides depth and clarity to Me. Then I can post pictures to my heart's desire and not feel strange about calling them "Me".

If I'm really to uncover this physical rendering of myself, maybe I should try something new: collaborate with talented artists, take nude photos, take art classes, etc.? [Anyone have suggestions?]

Till then, I have words.

Full disclosure

I'm becoming a very transparent, simple person. And that scares me. I've never been the type to be so honest about my feelings and motivations. Or, at least, I always comforted myself with the idea that I'm multi-layered and multi-faceted, and that while one layer and/or facet is Honest, the others are not-as-honest. I never liked the idea of people "knowing" me, "having" me, being able to control me. I looked down on people for being so easily read, so textbook, so knowable. I relished being complicated, unruly, dark, manipulative, controlling. I loved being able to get swept away in the currents of action and reaction, and get involved with strange, illicit, dangerous people and situations - all the while always having the outcome under my thumb.

I took great pride in being able to read people, figure out their weaknesses, and exploit them for my own benefit. I based much of my self on the fact that I am a master manipulator, able to insert myself into anyones' inner circle and get from them what I want and need. My personality was as much enmeshed in the grit and grime of the Lower East Side projects as it was enthralled with the upscale, charmed lives of the Upper East Side. I made myself a part of every scene, every way of life, every way of thinking. I was well-versed in the ways of the world and prided myself on knowing people, knowing facts, knowing.

And now?

*long exhale*

Now I'm reconciling with the fact that all of that was preparation for a greater goal. I needed to see how all of the cogs fit and worked. It was necessary for me to taste all of the strains of personalities and situations. I needed to be confident that I can overcome all that life has to throw at me. That I am able and capable and worthy. That I am, in some ways, better than most people.

And now that I'm at the point where I am non-plussed by any and all situations, where nothing truly surprises me, where I can appraise, acknowledge and appreciate the subtleties as well as the extremes, I am at a loss. What the fuck was all of that for? How can I get back that zest for experience? Should I? Is it better, now that I have come down from the euphoria of sampling as much of life as possible? Now that I must stop studying life in general so that I can concentrate on my own life?

*flinch*

As much as my life up until this moment has been a preparation for "real life" to begin, it was also a severe episode of procrastination. I needed to feel as if something important were holding me back from starting the real deal, the real consequences, the real truth or dare of it all. I needed to feel as if some mysterious and ominous thing were guiding me to find solace in wayward teens and crumby adults. As if fucking up grades is just as valid and good as being a star student (both of which I excelled at). As if pretending to know the answers grants the same kind of merits as pretending to not know any of the answers. I needed to know that, despite the lameness of platitudes, most of them are right - including this: "It is what it is." That one holds true no matter what the "is" is.

Most of all, having seen all of these contrary ways of living, I learned that none is better than the rest, and that that truth is something most people don't know. There is no way of life which is best; only a way of life that is best for you.

I know this for certain because I've seen so many lives made and destroyed, so many decisions turn out for better or for worse, so many different ways to live. And as much as I love all of my experiences and all of the people I've met and all of the people I've been and all that life has to offer, I must now ask myself: What's next? And that question, that question is full of fear and anxiety and loneliness and complications. That question is so easy and yet so difficult. That question is the paradox to end all paradoxes, because I know that whatever is in store for me, I must at once succumb to it and lead my destiny towards it. I must simultaneously know the answer and be dumb to my destination. I must feel all of the pangs and highs and lows and laughter and tears and really let myself experience it because this time it's not preparation. This time, it's not a rehearsal. This time, it's not just a temporary personality or phase or stage that I'm going through.

I've come this far and I know this much: No matter how your life is, it is possible to be happy. The human condition allows for shades of emotion, defense mechanisms, contradictions, ironies, and lies. There is a way to find happiness in the most mundane, the most sinister, the most wicked and ugly stations of life. There is a glimmer of truth and beauty everywhere, and it is within these specks that joy is magnified and our lives illuminated and enriched.

Unfortunately, we are merely mortal and unable to appraise all that we encounter. We strive to discover a place within ourselves that is truly and purely lit by joy. Most people don't think this place exists, but I am certain of it. I'm done with trying out different ideas of who to be and how to be. I'm through with attempting to figure out who I am. I know who I am, and now I have to weed through the parts of my life that don't fit in with the person I've become. I must cut away the people I've amassed who know my phases but don't know my real face. I must place my bets on myself and trust that all of this was not for nought. That I know what I'm doing. That I'm working towards a great unknown which is worthy of me. That I am capable of mind-blowing, amazing, wonderful happiness.

*****

I'm broke and without a day job and not making much money from my night job. I haven't paid my credit card bills in months. My credit is shit. My love life is non-existent. I have reached a point in my life where I really and truly must be in a loving, respectful and committed relationship in order to have sex with someone. The people with whom I spend the most time - my coworkers at my night job - are the only people in my everyday life with whom I can't/won't be my true self. There is still much I must do in order to receive my bachelor's degree. And there are letters I must write to apologize to people, to let them know my side of the story, to show them that I would like my memory to elicit happy thoughts in their minds. There is so much for me to do.

And yet, despite the fact that all of the black-and-white would dictate that I am unhappy, discontented with my reality, and lacking self-reliance or self-determination, that couldn't be farther from the truth. This is my reality. The one that I carved for myself. The one whose details I painstakingly distressed over. The one I want. These are the problems I'd rather have. These are the latent joys that I plan on uncovering.

I'm just working it out. In my mind. To myself. Without disclosing much of anything to anyone. While being a good friend and sister and daughter. While being the best person I've ever been. While putting people first and not resenting anyone for having to be put first. While letting others do some self-actualizing without trying to exert control over who they become.

This is the progress that I've made.

Life is Beautiful

I'm sitting in my new apartment. My roommate is at her 9 to 5. I've sent out my resume to a few places, and I got a couple emails back confirming that I have an interview at a staffing agency this week. I'm writing up a storm and thinking up ways to be a better student, sister, daughter, dominatrix, friend. In that order. I'm about to cook lunch, write some more, clean up the kitchen, hang up curtains, do laundry. I'm drinking an entire bottle of cranberry juice because I toked up a couple of days ago and I might have to piss in a cup to land a job. And I feel good. So. Very. Fucking. Good. School's gonna work out and work is gonna work out and domming is gonna work out and writing sure as hell is gonna work out. I'm fixing things with my father and I'm keeping in communicado with my brother. My mom's being supportive, and I've been able to lean on her and depend on her. My friends are absolutely amazing. And, by the looks of things, I'll be able to buy Christmas presents this year.

*deep exhalation*

Like a prized dick, I have to take this all in. Experiences like this don't come around too often.

I'm [Not?] Yours

Rob and I held hands. I looked at him, and was surprised. He wasn't the same man I'd been pining for. Something had changed.

I don't know what changed. I'm not sure how it happened. I don't know if it's temporary. But, yesterday, after going through the motions of mine and Rob's usual interaction, I had to acknowledge that our pattern felt empty. Void of any emotion besides nostalgia and friendship. Expired. And Rob looked different to me. Literally. Figuratively. He was different. He is different.

I told him this as he walked me to the bus stop. "I look different?" he asked, incredulous. "But you moved out two days ago."

"I dunno. You just do. You... look... different."

"Good different? Bad different?"

"You... just... don't... look like you."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't look like the man that I was in love with. You don't look like the same guy I'd hoped would turn things around and validate my love."

He nodded slowly. "Oh. That sucks."

And it was true. Somehow, the chasm between us had grown. I'd been emotionally distancing myself from Rob for a long time, but it was all the more evident last night, when I'd realized that his mom knew things were dead and done between he and I. When I no longer felt the need to nag him about his lack of a job. When I acknowledged that Rob has his own little swagger and he's attractive, but sex would only be sex. There would be no making love. Not anymore.

Even though I'm able to acknowledge and identify these feelings, I still haven't internalized them. They still don't feel real and true. I haven't accepted them.

There's a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing that I've moved on. There's relief and sadness at our relationship ending. But there isn't any disappointment. There isn't any anger. There isn't any remourse. Or regret.

This morning, when I put on VH1 at my new apartment, Jason Mraz's video came on, and I felt a stirring in the middle of my chest that I haven't felt in a long time. It took me aback and it took me a while to figure out what it was. Even now, until I wrote that sentence, I don't think I knew exactly what it was. I just knew that it was familiar and full of adrenaline and passion and fire. I just knew that it has to do with timing, with the way the world is, with the fact that it's Election Day, with my new place and my emotional distance from my last big love.

It's hope.

I'm hopeful that I have finally learned how to have a successful relationship. Not necessarily successful in that it'll be the last love relationship I'll ever have. Just that I've learned how to love and how to be loved and how to end things when either isn't happening. I'm hopeful that being with Rob has taught me more about myself and about what I want in a partner. I'm hopeful that today, Barack Obama will be elected, and a small part of my beliefs will be personified and actualized by this man being the President of the United States. I'm hopeful that the world - my world - is becoming a better place.

The Baby and the Bathwater

Don't mind the words in the picture. It's the artistic rendering of the two women that's appropriate in this case. One's scared, the other in control. They appear familiar to each other, with a certain amount of time spent together.

Or maybe I'm just projecting that last part.

For the longest time, I've been heeing and hawing about my social circle. Not my entire social circle, mind you, but the women that I call my best friends. We grew up together and in the process, I've grown apart from them. We don't communicate often, and we hardly see each other. And yet, I find myself applying the term "best friend" to two of these women, instead of revoking that privilege to the entire group.

It's strange, how it happened. It was like breaking up with a lover, even though we'd only had a platonic relationship. There were the usual trappings: not wanting to elongate a cycle that may or may not be vicious; feeling anxiety and frustration at the very thought of dealing with her; doubting the validity of our relationship. And it took years to come to this conclusion. In true break-up form, I'd been deliberating this break for a quarter of the time that we'd been "together".

But we were different people. We had vastly different priorities. And we didn't trust each other.

That last part is what really did it.

Her boyfriend (who's a douchebag that makes her cry all the time), and his best friend (who'd tried to hook up with me - and failed), told her that I'm a liar. And she believed them. She didn't defend me. She didn't communicate with me. She just started being hostile and calling me a liar. Via text. Because, ya know, if she spoke with me in person or on the phone, she might realize what a complete bitch she's being, and that would contradict the numero-uno supreme rule of her universe: Her boyfriend is everything good in the world.

And it hurt. Badly. To hear her call me a liar. To accuse me of - get this - telling people that I own more property than I really do own, and that I have more degrees that I've earned. Not only is it completely and utterly uncharacteristic of me to lie, but if I did lie, you'd think I'd be more creative. Or smarter about it. Why would I make such outrageous claims to someone who could so easily check them out? And why oh why would I ever lie about status and wealth and education? At least, why to them? I've never been one to care about status and wealth and following trends. I mean, hell, I'm proud to tell you that I shop at discount stores and that that dress of mine that you covet was bought at a thrift store. And why the fuck would I lie to them about my education/ Are they gonna give me a six-figure salary?

All of this bothered me. So. Much.

I mean, sure, I'd already had my doubts about her value to me as a friend. We don't vibe anymore, and other than our past, we share nothing in common.

But I'd looked forward to seeing past that and finding a few moments where our synapses click and hum to the same beat, at the same time, in the same key. I'd looked forward to those inevitable moments of familiarity when you look at your friend of many years and go, "That's why we're BFFs." Before any of those things happened, she accused me of being a liar, refused to talk things out, and said that she'd only speak to me after I admitted to saying things that I didn't say. On top of that, she had the gall to act as if she was doing me a favor, with an air like, "Just be glad I still call you my best friend - even though you're a liar."

Fuck that.

Fuck our relationship.

Fuck sisterhood.

Fuck our history.

In my world, loyalty is mutual. She's proven herself disloyal, and I'm too wise to believe that I'm losing something of value by throwing her to the curb. Don't get me wrong; I ask myself all the time about the repercussions of these events. Will the other two girls treat me differently? Will I lose them in the process? Do I regret telling her, "If you don't trust me, then we don't have a relationship?" [NOTE: The same words that my father said to me right before I left my folks' place and became estranged from him.]

I can't claim to know what the future holds, but I can say with confidence and honesty that no matter what happens, I won't regret it. I've reached a point in my life where I trust myself and I trust that I'm making the right choices.

Control Freak

It's 12:30 on the Sunday after Halloween, and I'm sitting at Cafe Enduro with my friend and fellow website-writer, Deena. We haven't seen each other in a couple of weeks, and today there's business on the agenda. In hopes of luring more traffic to The Musing Broads, I've enlisted my friend, Hunter, to help jazz up the site.

Now, lemme tell ya: when it comes to technology, I'm pretty much a retard. I mean that. I'm slooooowwww. I'm pretty sure that in the next couple of years, I'll be more up on it, but right now, I know nearly nothing about the internet, the new technology available on the market, and how to jazz up a website.

But I know people, so I don't necessarily need to know shit anyway.

I'd set up the meeting a couple weeks before, and I'm peeved because I feel unprepared. Deena, Anna, and I haven't made a plan about what we're going to talk to him about. Our schedules clash, our communication sucks, and I'm frustrated. I've been calling and leaving voicemails. I've been texting every other day. And here we are, on the day of the meeting, and all of the topics that we can talk to Hunter about are suitable for a telephone conversation. He doesn't need to come meet us. Hell, I didn't have to roll out of bed at an ungodly hour on a Sunday to schlep over to Prospect Park - not when my to-do list is running a mile long.

As I'm seeing those words go up, I'm thinking that I should maybe write this in my private journal. The one that people don't read. The one that won't hurt anyone's feelings.

But I'm not gonna. I'm gonna post it up on here.

Why?

If my therapist asked me that question, I'd probably tell her "no harm, no foul". I've already expressed these sentiments to Deena, and I'll surely express them to Anna sure enough.

What about others' opinions of them? Of us, The Musing Broads?

That's a bit trickier to answer. I fully believe that our actions and words are influential, and that communication is always a form of promotion. There's a reason that people speak the way they speak and use the words they use. It might be because their agenda is to "blend in", or it could be because their agenda is to "seem smart", or it could be because their agenda is to "seem different". Whatever the reason, there is always an agenda.

Right now, though, the agenda of my words is to promote the fact that I'm trying my damnedest to do right by our website. Moreover, I'm trying my damnedest to do right in every other facet of my life. I'm concurrently working on a short story collection and two novels, and looking for freelance writing gigs. I'm job hunting for a 9-5. I'm working my ass off and improving myself as a dominatrix. I'm cleaning and nesting at my new apartment. I'm communicating with professors and writing papers that were due soooo long ago.

And I'm not saying that I'm the busiest person on the planet, or the best, or the one who should get more credit for her actions. What I am saying is that I communicate. I let you know my motives and my goals, I ask if you're down with them, and then I make a plan. I expect people to follow the plan.

I haven't always been like this. In fact, like I've been telling my new roommate, JC, this is a new development. Two or three years ago, I was good at looking like I was meticulous and constantly on the ball - but looks are deceiving. Now that I feel in control of my life and my future and my surroundings, I feel good about things. I don't feel helpless. I don't feel scared. I am fortified with the knowledge that I choose my own problems, and the ones that I have are the ones that I want.

I've taken to cleaning and sorting and scheduling and always being active. Even when I'm daydreaming, I'm doing it actively. I multi-task every chance I get. I always keep in mind how much time I have, what I'm supposed to do, and how much is in my budget. I'm running on almost all cylinders.

And I'm really hoping that I don't annoy too many people in doing so. I don't mean to cause anyone discomfort or distress. Simultaneously, and because I will do almost anything to avoid causing anyone discomfort or distress, I don't give a fuck if I do. I'm doing my best, goddamnit. If I ruffle some feathers, then so be it.

My. Life. Is. So. Fucking. Awesome.

I'm finally making bank as a dominatrix. I'm thisclose to landing a 9-5 that I don't hate. I moved in to a new apartment that is AWESOME, i.e., close to trains, affordable, with the awesomest of awesome roommates, large, and in New York City. My health insurance is kicking in and I get to use it in a couple of weeks when I visit a gyno that's been recommended by a close friend. I can finally start paying off my credit card debt. Wondermazing and HOT men and women are knocking on the door of my pussy. Family and friend ish is working out. Life is good.

Just wanted to brag.

Nope. I don't believe in that.

a·the·ist /ˈeɪθiɪst/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ey-thee-ist] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
a person who denies or disbelieves the existence of a supreme being or beings.
[Origin: 1565–75; < Gk áthe(os) godless + -ist]

—Synonyms Atheist, agnostic, infidel, skeptic refer to persons not inclined toward religious belief or a particular form of religious belief. An atheist is one who denies the existence of a deity or of divine beings. An agnostic is one who believes it impossible to know anything about God or about the creation of the universe and refrains from commitment to any religious doctrine. Infidel means an unbeliever, especially a nonbeliever in Islam or Christianity. A skeptic doubts and is critical of all accepted doctrines and creeds.

ag·nos·tic /ægˈnɒstɪk/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ag-nos-tik] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. a person who holds that the existence of the ultimate cause, as God, and the essential nature of things are unknown and unknowable, or that human knowledge is limited to experience.
2. a person who denies or doubts the possibility of ultimate knowledge in some area of study.
–adjective
3. of or pertaining to agnostics or agnosticism.
4. asserting the uncertainty of all claims to knowledge.

And by that, I mean "organized religion". I swear I mean no disrespect when I say this, but your religious beliefs? They mean jack shit to me. I think they're idle and useless, and though I will defend your right to recount historically inaccurate texts and speak words into the air, I have no use for those practices.

Yeah, they make you a better person. They guide you. They make you feel less alone. Your entire lineage swears by it and your great-grandparents died for the right to practice it, and it's great. I'm sure it is.

But, ya know what? We are alone. And the fact that someone had to die to be able to practice your religion? It only means that your religion's ass got beat, and that's not exactly a newsflash, since EVERYONE'S religion's ass got beat somewhere down the line. I'm glad you've found a way to connect to an imaginary being; I felt the same kind of awe when I discovered the Ouija Board. But let's face the facts, buddy: this is all just a panacea. A cure-all. A drug. Entrusting your life and decisions to some story is just a way to alleviate yourself of the responsibility of being an individual. Because it's hard to have full responsibility over yourself. It is. You have to have reasons for doing things that go beyond, "'Cause God told me so." And, yeah, who has the skill to pull that off?

Oh, wait. You do. You can decide what to eat and when to sleep and how much time to devote to your spouse. You can figure out for yourself who to trust and who's right and who your friends are. You can experience life and use your own judgment to refine your moral compass. You can decide that it's wrong to kick someone when they're down; you can decide to be kind; you can decide not to be a bitch or an asshole.

If you need someone to tell you this stuff, then you're not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.

NOTE: If you decide what you're about, and then realize that it fits into a doctrine that doesn't resemble an established organized religion, then the preceding rant does not apply to you.

I'm not big on quizzes that supposedly determine something about me. I'm not big on labels, in general, and every quiz seems to be a "look which cliche you fit best!" test. But I'm scouring the internet for potential jobs, and when I took a break to check in with real life, I found this quiz. I love it when a quiz tells me something I already know!

you are deeppink #FF1493

Your dominant hues are red and magenta. You love doing your own thing and going on your own adventures, but there are close friends you know you just can't leave behind. You can influence others on days when you're patient, but most times you just want to go out, have fun, and do your own thing. Your saturation level is high - you get into life and have a strong personality. Everyone you meet will either love you or hate you - either way, your goal is to get them to change the world with you. You are very hard working and don't have much patience for people without your initiative. Your outlook on life is very bright. You are sunny and optimistic about life and others find it very encouraging, but remember to tone it down if you sense irritation.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

More Options

It's strange how quickly things change. One morning, you wake up and it's cold and rainy and you know that it's another season. Fall becomes the present and summer the past, and you witnessed the change but you can't pinpoint exactly when it happened.

That's what my life feels like right now. Everything is different.

Not too long ago, I was working half a dozen gigs, trying my damnedest to earn money from unreliable sources, and taking pride in the fact that every facet of my personality was earning money. I can be respectable and in-charge and academic; so I had a consulting job. I can be unorthodox and willing to show my body; so I had a job as a model-teacher. I can be over(t)ly sexual and sensual; so I became a dominatrix. I can be warm and maternal; so I taught poetry to at-risk youths. I can be creative and spontaneous; so I was a freelance writer for the campus women's center.

I had wrongly believed that I wanted to pimp out my talents and facets in order to earn money. "It's what celebrities do," I said to myself. "They get paid for being themselves."

But in selling these facets of my personality, I felt like a whore, selling my self. I had become adept at comodifying Me, and while I was reaping the rewards, I felt like I was only a product. I wasn't a person anymore.

So here I am, barely working. I'm only holding on to my consulting job, and barely at that. I'm looking for a boring full-time 9 to 5 which will give me time for stasis. I fully anticipate running on all cylinders outside of work - school, writing, and other creative endeavors will take up my time and energy - and I need a boring place to relax and just work.

I know that going back to school will be difficult for me. I haven't been in school for two years, I think. It's been so long that I don't remember. All I know is that I have a lot of work to make up, and I want to get to my peak academic condition. I've totally rearranged my priorities and I've realized that my big problem - one of the reasons that my priorities haven't been what they are now - is that I can't handle the input of authority figures. I naturally resist doing what parents and guardians and police officers and teachers and mentors tell me. I don't believe that it's possible for anyone to know better than me, and when someone says something to me, I automatically believe that it can't be valid or true. Having opinions shoved down my throat only delays the process of embracing that opinion.

I've become very vanilla in a short amount of time, and I like that. I like having so much experience under my belt and not seeming that way. I like having a past that is so colorful and different from the usual past. I take pride in having been a dominatrix and a juvenile delinquent and having done drugs and been a ho and been in fights. Those are extraordinary feats of personality.

But now I want to stretch out in the opposite direction and be more "conventional". I want long-term monetary success. I want stability. I want family. I want academic status. These are all things that mainstream American tells you you should want, and for that reason, I've been rebelling against them. But now I'm embracing them, and I'm not afraid to show it.

Labels are for wusses. History is where it's at. Call me what you want; but if you don't know who I've been, you have no idea who I am.

A typical day at the office.

Rob took these pics of me. I'm kind of upset because I look better in them than I do on the ones that are on the dungeon website, but cest la vie. I figured you deserve to see what I look like, if only to know that I'm not shitting you about being a dom.

There's the hard way and there's the harder way.

And, for the life of me, I can't figure out why I'd wanna take the harder way. Who am I trying to impress? What lesson am I hoping to learn? What do I think I'm gonna get out of it? If the name of the game is "perseverance", and I play by the same goddamn rules all the fucking time, then why shouldn't I stick with the shorter process, the less daunting options, and the easier outcome? This realization has hit me as I figure out my next step.

Currently, I'm fixing to get back into school while working my ass off at a consulting job that I find boring as all hell. I tell myself that in a year, I'll be a salaried employee with benefits and a staff working under me, but the truth is, I'm doing this because I feel indebted to my boss, Mei. She's like an aunt to me, and that in itself is a problem. I've never been good with the hierarchy of power, nor have I been good at mixing and matching friendly with business. The ironic part of my relationship with Mei is this: she's been trying to ween me off of my old patterns/habits concerning my parents, and in so doing she's reinforced them with her.

I haven't spoken to her about any of this because I feel like that's part of the problem: I shouldn't have to speak to her about all of this. I want a cut-and-dry employee-employer relationship. I mean, yeah, it would be nice if my boss wasn't a douchebag, but do I need them to care about me and want to save me from something big and bad? Nope, not in the least.

So now I'm looking into getting a really boring cubicle job where I'll be another in the masses - and somehow, that suits me better. I'll keep my night job for money and kicks, and in between that and writing and school, I should be pretty busy. I'll be readjusting to single life and getting back in touch with my frilly girlie side, and wow... I just realized that I can't wait for all of this to kick in!

Dating, Maria-style

Maybe I should talk about Alex, aka post-Rob rebound guy. He's all the good things that Rob's not and all the good things that Rob is, and yet I can't seem to get Rob out of my system. Maybe it's because I still love the jerk, or maybe it's because I still live with him, or maybe it's both. All I know is that Alex says the right things at the right time, and he's real - at least, he's as real as a drug dealer can be - yet I can't wrap my brain around being with him. Not in a long-term way, anyway.

Before I forget and leave everyone scratching their heads, going, "Did she really just say what I think she said?", let me say for the record that I've dated drug dealers before. I've even dated a pimp, though that was after his pimping days, and before I knew of his past. What can I say? I connect to shady and dangerous people, and if you met me in person that would throw you for a loop.

See, the thing is, I'm sweet. Saccharine sweet. I'm an open book - too open, really. I say it how it is and I wear my heart on my sleeve, and, honestly, if you wanted to play me for a fool that wouldn't seem so hard to do. Only, most people play head games for the rush of controlling other people, and it never quite feels like you're controlling me. Even when I'm doing things that'll work out in your favor, even when I'm helping you out - I either have an angle or I really love you. Don't mistake my kindness as weakness. I let blatant offenses roll off my back because I've got your number and I know I can call you out if need be. I let people make themselves look good at my expense because I'm already working the room and you can't even begin to fathom what I'm working on. I play head games with the best of em, and only the people I love best know the real me.

So Alex and I have had a few moments and I feel my walls coming down, but I have a few apprehensions. For one thing, I'm not about to let this shady underbelly of my personality run, full-throttle. I don't like the idea of having to watch my back all the time (I'm way too paranoid for that shit). And the legal repercussions do faze me a bit.

For another thing, I've just ended a three-year relationship and I don't wanna run straight into another one. I know better than to move in with Alex, though the situation would be ideal in a lot of ways, i.e., I wouldn't have to pay rent, the apartment's in the city, Alex would take care of me financially.

I'll admit that Alex runs a good game, and the things that come out of his mouth seem too good to be true; he has a way with words, yet the fact that I've known him since his dorky days makes me believe that some of it must be true.

In a lot of ways, I feel like we're on equal-footing, despite the fact that I'd be unabashedly living off of him. It has to do with how sincere he seems, and his perception of me, and the experiences we've both accumulated since we last hung out.

But none of this matters, really.

I've resolved to move in with my good girlfriend, JC, by the first of November. I'm applying to a few part-time gigs with steady pay. Mei and I will sit down some time this week to discuss what hours/pay I can count on. And the night job is finally picking up (a photog friend agreed to take my pics tonight! I'm so excited!).

In the meantime, Rob and I are being friendly and civil, and all kinds of guys from my past are popping out of the woodwork. Isn't that always the case, though? You resolve to stay single and even contemplate celibacy, and dick gets thrown at you from every direction! Of course!

Maybe I'll satisfy my craving for pussy. It's been a while.

"So now you finally know him."

That's what Rob's aunt said after I off-handedly mentioned that Rob's been lying to me about doing laundry. I wanted to say, "I've always known that about him, but I've hoped that he'd change." But I kept my mouth shut. There is no reason to revisit my relationship with Rob. The part of me that used to care for him in more than a platonic manner is dead. Gone. Shriveled up and withered away. Attention does nothing to that lonely patch of soul.

I feel like I've spent a lot of time blogging about Rob and the intricacies and complexities that make up our relationship. And, for sure, there have been many many many many many hours, days, weeks, months spent philosophizing on the merits of said relationship. But now, after my patience has been spent and my urge to move on has become final and definite, I'm left to ponder the next step.

Of course, it's more difficult than I make it sound. For one thing, I haven't moved out of his mom's house yet. I'm saving up as much as I can and looking for an affordable apartment in a nice neighborhood that's close to my job and campus. That right there's a tall order to fill, hence why it's taking so fucking long. I've hired a broker to help me, and while I'm still living in the house I've made it a point to distance myself from everyone. I owe this much to Rob. He has to know for certain that his family is on his side. I know that much.

Last night, I broke down that rule and told two of his cousins that I'm going to move soon and that when I do, I'll be breaking up with Rob. Up to that moment, I had considered this fact something that belonged in the "too sacred to tell" pile. The exposure of my words to air only show how much my love for him has died. His cousins nodded, understandingly, and cracked jokes to make me feel better, and assured me wholeheartedly that we'd still be seeing each other. They successfully made me feel better, and I went to bed last night relaxed and fulfilled.

I know that the end of our relationship will signal to others that it's safe to conjecture and criticize, but the opposite is true. Now that this chapter is closed, I prefer to keep it that way. Screw what anyone thinks or says. Only Rob and I know what we had and how it affects us. And fuck anyone who has the nerve to say "I told you so." You have no idea what you're talking about.

This is why I don't take down posts.

I just spent a couple minutes re-reading a few of my more recent posts and thinking about taking them down. They contradict a lot of what I'm feeling right now, and I don't want people chancing upon them and assuming that they're current feelings.

But doing so would violate the sacred code of journal writing: You just don't tear shit out. You need remnants of the person that you are at this very moment. That's why you write in a journal or blog in the first place. So what if people don't get it? So what if they're too blind-sighted to see past the fact that you harbored ill wishes toward them for two minutes? Isn't it better that everyone know what they're dealing with, and also be aware that life is ever-changing and vacillating and is never the same twice?

Years ago I had a blog where I said some mean things about a woman who is now a very dear friend. She happens to be dating another dear friend of mine, who's an avid reader of my blogs, and it occurred to me the other night that there's a good chance she read those harsh criticisms. I felt bad for having had these thoughts about her, but whether or not she read them, they're in the past. Obviously, we're both past it.

I've mended much of my inner-conflict surrounding Mei and our relationship, and as much as I thoroughly meant it when I said I wanted to use her only as a source of money, it's just not the case anymore. I've passed that short-lived phase and I'm on to a new, more positive, and healthier cycle.

The same goes with the riffs I felt with Rob's family. A lot of it, I realize, stems from my own paranoia and phobias. I've done things (like get my own refrigerator) to curb my lack-of-boundaries issue. I've also learned to be less dependent on them for basic things like food and laundry detergent. I'm making money now, and it's easier for everyone involved that I deal with the situation in this way.

Yeah, things change. Life gets harder, life gets easier. We learn and we roll with the punches and we lie there and take it in the ass. But when it comes to art, when it comes to writing, when it comes to my writing - well, you have to take everything with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. You have to keep in mind who and what you're dealing with. And you have to adjust.

Believe it or not, your way isn't the only way to see things. And at some particular moment, in some significant way, someone you care about has disagreed with you or thought ill of you or realized something about you that made them more aware. It doesn't make them better or worse, and it sure as hell doesn't make you better or worse. It just makes the speaker more articulate for airing their thoughts. And, anyway, as Jay-Z said: "What you about to witness is my thoughts/Just my thoughts man - right or wrong/Just what I was feeling at the time."

There are no mistakes in life...

...only consequences to your actions.

That's one of my favorite sayings of all time, and I got it from Dawson's fucking Creek.

Yeah, I said it. Kevin Williamson and the writers had some choice lines in that show.

You know who else has some choice fucking lines? Politicians. Either they're funny or they're unintentionally funny. Either way, I get sheer and utter amusement (befuddlement?) out of them, and it shows. A lot. Take, for instance, last night. I've been wrapped up in the craziness that's been the presidential election, and that VP debate was enough amusement to have ALL the ladies at my night job glued to the screen.

All of us are rooting for Obama, but I was more even-handed about my criticism than most; I was quick to point out when Palin said "Talibani", but I was just as quick to point out when Biden said "Bosniacs."

And, don't get me wrong, I've been a public speaker for at least 6 years now, and God knows it's hard to get in front of people and talk about anything - but for the love of guacamole! Talibani? And Bosniacs?

*****

My birthday was this past Wednesday. It was great and it was heart-wrenching, and maybe I'll get into it, but if I do it'll be some other time. All that's certain after my birthday having passed - besides the fact that despite my quips and their quirks, I really do have a sincere and true affinity for Rob's family - is that I didn't make my self-imposed deadline. That's right: I haven't yet finished my collection of short stories. And that kinda sucks.

For the most part, it sucks because now I know that I'm really too busy trying to earn a buck to actually sit down and write. For another thing, I just wanna get this thing over with. I've cast off all of my reasons to be "humble" about my talent. I want to show off my skills and get the acclaim I deserve.

Speaking of which, The Musing Broads site has been doing well. I know this because I've received over a dozen emails, texts and calls from people telling me that they love the site. Only, for some reason, no one's actually commenting on the damn thing. Why?!

*****

I have to admit, I'm loving the ability to work and work and work and love working. It's taken me a long time to get to this point, and I'm damn proud of it. There used to be so much inner conflict radiating from the topic of MONEY, in general. Now, I only see black-and-white, dos-and-don'ts, and ins-and-outs. I still spend too much for my own good, but I'm not exactly po'. And I'm loving life to the fullest extent. Can't nothin' beat that.

SO the job hunt is momentarily called off, and the money is momentarily flowing in. And next week, I'll be devoting a large chunk of my time to writing and apartment hunting. Not that I'm exactly rollin' in dough, but I have enough stashed away that this prospect isn't entirely ludicrous.

And yes, children, if you happen along my site, take note that that's the right way to spell "ludicrous." Kudos to other musical acts for spelling out the right way to write their moniker. Even if it's in every fucking song. Maybe it's their way of improving literacy in America, I dunno. I'm just sayin'... Every little bit helps. Right, Fab?

*****

Oh, the joy that is in my heart right now for no apparent reason. Maybe it's because I woke up to a clean room and a warm bed and a boyfriend who's willing to go hours eating me out. Maybe it's because I'm so certain that I'm gonna bring home a G by the end of this week. Maybe it's because said boyfriend will actually be making monetary contributions to our lifestyle. Soon.

Yes, it's true: I might be packing my bags to leave his ass, but it's nice to have some help while I'm still here.

And, yes, it also helps that said boyfriend has purchased tickets for me to see Margaret Cho tomorrow night.

I fucking loooovveeee her.

Even better than said boyfriend having bought me two nice seats to Margaret Cho's show at Radio City is the fact that he's also given me permission to take someone else to the show. Rob isn't as into Margaret as I'd like, but my girl JC loves her almost as much as I do.

And that, ladies and gents, is how I make it work with Rob. Or rather, how I keep my sanity as things fall apart with him. I don't think about him as often as I probably should and I make sure to steer clear of conversations rife with agitating topics. I'm not there for him emotionally simply because I can't handle having to be so goddamn patient with one fucking person all the fucking time. But, I'm there for him on the immediate basis, for issues that are closer to home. [READ: Issues that affect/effect ME.] For other issues, there are pillows and other peoples' shoulders to cry on.

Yes, I love him, and yes I am bitchier than usual when I'm with him. But am I living, loving it, and refraining from lying to anyone? YES. Who can say the same?

*****

I guess, what it boils down to, is that I'm a hopeful bitch. There's a lot you can say about me. But "hopeless"? Just not one of em.

Because you miss me so much.

You'll wanna take a gander at the latest post on my other blog, Mama Maria's Makin' It Work. It's called "So You Wanna Be a Dominatrix?"

My exploding ego will be on hiatus.

At least for a little while.

By this I mean: I will be blogging over at themusingbroads.co.nr for the time being. Lots of work-related issues I wanna dive into, and I just don't have the time and energy to do both blogs.

Before I go, though, I want to leave you all with this tidbit: I'm staying. I'm at least 95% sure of it. I think an overwhelming sense of frustration led me to want to go, and that, though it's a good idea, it's a better idea to choose "fight" instead of "flight." It helps that Mei offered to make me a full-time employee by the end of the year, thus ending my quest for steady/good income. It also helps that I have the most awesome friends in the world. I love you all so much.

XO-M

Back to my old tricks.

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm a spin doctor; I always have been. My powers of manipulation have made almost every situation work in my favor, and I control the thoughts of people who have influence. I do this involuntarily; after attempting to quelch my instinct to do so, I now know that trying is pointless. It's ingrained in me.

Thing is, I honestly believe that everyone tries to be a spin doctor, and in a way, everyone is a spin doctor. The inflection of your voice as you tell a story, your word choice, the subtle physical cues you use - those are all to persuade the audience of something, because, as any political campaign can tell you, "It's not the truth that counts. It's what passes for the truth."

Rewind to this past Thursday. My hormones were out of whack. I was crying every fifteen minutes. Every little thing upset me. I was seriously suicidal for all of half an hour. And just a day before, I was on top of the world, conquering every obstacle thrown at me and loving it. This, dear reader, is why a therapist once suggested that I'm bi-polar.

Every sound out of my mouth was a scream or a holler or a yelp or a cry. Every tear made me shiver and quake. The depression that hit was deep and all-consuming. I couldn't face the thought of leaving my room and dealing with things. No work, no writing, no people. Everything just added to the melee of confusion that attacked me. So I refused to do anything. I stayed home and hardly communicated with the outside world. I slept and cried and ate a bit and repeated the process. I thought about slitting my wrists, then laughed at the idea.

It was in this state that I decided on leaving the country. It came as a revelation, and just as soon as the thought was formed into words and I spoke those words aloud, I felt an overarching sense of relief. Somehow, there existed a plan of action that didn't make me feel more burdened; it was whole and perfect and encompassed everything that I needed to feel all right. In one fell swoop, it canceled out all of the issues that had surfaced within my deep state of depression, and it made me feel better about my situation and my life.

I can't tell for sure, but I think I called people that night. Who I talked to and what was said, I can't really say. Some of the people I remember speaking to have been dead a long time. Some of the people I thought I spoke to tell me they didn't speak to me that night. All I know for sure is that, somehow, I managed to tire myself out and fall asleep. The next day, I woke up and I was fine.

No. Not fine. I haven't been fine in a while. I've been walking the line between crazy and normal, and I know it (and this makes me think that I must be okay, because crazy people don't know when they're crazy). I was mired in residual feelings of laziness. It was hard to get out of bed. I couldn't bring myself to go to work on time. But unlike in the past, I knew all of this and I didn't care; I was no longer afraid of the consequences and feeling guilty about the situation. I thought, "So what if I don't [insert responsibility here]? My first responsibility is to myself, and fuck what anyone has to say to that."

Like so many platitudes and cliches, there is a strand of truth in this line of thinking which makes it difficult to argue. Most people who try to argue with me are immediately shut down because I don't like the way they approach the issue. Some people [read: close friends], I can't help but listen to. However, in the end, more often than not, I stick to my guns. Another platitude about self-reliance rings in my head: "Who can you trust if not yourself?"

I've become enamored with thoughts about fate and destiny. I am zealous about controlling my own fate and loathe the idea that it might be subjected to someone else's plans or whims. I am paranoid that other people might attempt to exercise their influence over my life, and I am angered by the notion that I might be stupid and weak enough to allow them this ability. In the end, only I can be held accountable for what happens to me, and I don't want to be disappointed with myself.

But what do I do now?

I am standing at a precipice, facing the choice of staying in New York City and taking the more conventional route of growing up. If this plan of action is followed, I will lick my wounds, horde my money, get my own place, and find a sense of dignity in joining the masses. I will feel as though I have accomplished a phase that society has deemed necessary, and I will soak in the praise of the ordinary people who will recognize in me the same obstacles they've faced. But more than that: I will, for the first time, compare myself to the masses. I will feel safe and comforted from having chosen to be more conventional, from using the accepted norm as a measure for what I should do or who I should become. I will know that, despite the outcome of my life, there will be a safety net to catch me: people will understand my choices and they will relate to me. This route is personified my Mei.

But, on the other hand, is the less conventional route: the complicated and seemingly perverse route which includes leaving the country and starting anew. It is the choice that seems more natural to me, the choice that most people do not have, the choice that is extraordinary. The parts of me that are inherently from my parents love this choice. It exemplifies everything that is unconventional and quirky and misunderstood and strange and out-of-the-ordinary. In short, it exemplifies everything that I am. It is a vastness of contradiction, i.e., In order to get to the end result of "acceptable norm" I will go through a very "unacceptable ab-norm". It fortifies me with something that most people do not have, and maybe, that's what all of this is really about. Maybe I've come to accept that I am most certainly not like most people, and that's okay: I don't want to be like most people.

*****

This choice is difficult for me to make because I'm being told by Mei that my original way of thinking - aka, the way that makes me want to leave the country - is not healthy.

But maybe, despite all of Mei's understanding and tolerance, my way of thinking is simply out of the bounds of her understanding. Maybe it's simply too unconventional for her - and thus relegated to the realm of unhealthy. What if the risks that I'm taking are simply not the risks that Mei would take? Who's to say what normal is, anyway? And how can anyone know what is healthy?

*****

I've lied to Mei. I told her that a family emergency caused me not to go to work. I told her that Rob's landed a job. I've said that I've started going to therapy. I know that whatever I choose to do in the long-run, it won't be what she wants for me.

If I was going to therapy, the therapist would probably ask why I feel the need to lie to Mei. I'd say that lying facilitates having a relationship with Mei; being honest with her only leads to arguments and confrontation, and I've come to the conclusion that what I want from her isn't mentorship: it's money. In a strictly work environment, I have to responsibility to her to be honest and open about my life, so I'm retracting from what I'd previously done.

*****

I've long ago come to the conclusion that there is nothing in the world that is right - or - wrong, black - or - white. There are shades of gray, and those are the shades that we live in. None of us have definitive answers. Those who claim to have answers are usually the ones grasping hardest at straws, hoping to find a way of consoling themselves.

But strength lies in standing on one's own, familiarizing one's self with the terrain of their personality, and catering to that personality despite what other people might say or do. Strength resides in the faith one has in him/herself. Strength is tolerating negativity and overcoming obstacles - especially when you're something that most people don't understand.

And yet, on the flip side of things, there are, I'm sure, ways to the contrary of being strong. And within the seemingly concrete edifice of my definition of "strength" there are indeed gray areas, dents and nooks and crannies, in which contradictory ideas reside. I will venture on a limb and say that I know all of these sides of strength, and after all is said and done, there will be no one who can doubt my strength of will and character.

Therein lies the problem.

With an add-on

The last few days have been especially hard. My mom's been in and out of the hospital, my brother's thousands of miles away (in the Philippines), and my father and I are still at a stalemate. On Tuesday night, a man followed me home from work, and what followed was a sea of emotions: pride and empowerment from having handled the situation well, confusion and befuddlement from having two parts of my world clash. On the one hand he was fulfilling a desire that was somewhat assisted from the part I play at work; on the other hand, this is real life motherfucker.

What followed the unsettling feeling was a decision: Call Rob; he'll make me feel better. But even though we'd agreed that he'd be glued to his phone while I'm coming home from work; even though I called him, frantic, a dozen times; even though I texted him and called his house and even called from a payphone (I'm not sure why that seemed like a relevant idea), I was left hanging. The one person that I depend on to be there for me was not there for me. Because he was asleep.

Believe me when I say that I am patient with Rob. I give him the benefit of the doubt. Hell, I even lie to myself about him. All this just so that we have a shot in hell of working out. But when he doesn't provide for us financially and he doesn't help out emotionally and he can't even pick up a fucking phone when I'm being stalked from work - then what the fuck do I need him for?

We haven't had sex in more than a week, which is a huge deal for us. We argue all the time, which isn't necessarily a new development. What is a new development is the feeling of loneliness that's permeated my side of the relationship. I no longer feel like I am part of a couple. I no longer trust that Rob will pull through for me in any capacity. I have lost faith in us, ergo there is no Us.

And maybe that's why I am no longer comfortable in Rob's mom's house. Between the many times that I've screamed ridiculously loud at Rob and the fights that we've had; between the lack of boundaries within the house and the constant pressure to socialize; between the notion that I need a feeling of family and the magnification of a lack thereof within this house - I don't like it here. I want to leave as soon as possible.

But there's a problem: my lack of money and my lack of decision. There is a small nagging part of me that wants to jump ship. It is the part of me that says, "I know you're domming and consulting and you've started a blog with your two friends - but face it, dearie, you ain't no pauper. You gotta have dough and you don't want it to hinge on your punani. You're not happy with things the way they are."

And, yeah: that voice is right.

As much as I appreciate all that Mei's done for me, and I truly respect and admire sex workers who make the profession work for them - I can't depend on a paycheck that's built on my ability to be feminine. Not in the body-woman kind of way, and not in a slutty-for-show kind of way. And the reason for this isn't only that my feelings of femininity are flimsy - it's also because the pay is flimsy, too.

I can't depend on a regular, steady paycheck, and that makes my line of work seem more like a gig than a career. Yeah, I said it: I wouldn't mind making a career out of being a dominatrix. But a career implies that the pay is steady and the hours set. This is not so, and therefore I have to search elsewhere.

Had I known that things would be this hard on my own? Absolutely! I even fetishized the difficulty in being independent. But now that the new car smell has worn away, and I am less than a week away till my birthday, I'm feeling torn. That part of me who relished doing things the hard way, who bore the brunt of everything with a smile, who knew that every obstacle only made her stronger - she's tired of being strong and noble. She wants to take the easy way out. And, honestly, I can't blame her.

I think to myself: what is the best case scenario [short of finding a suitcase full of cash under my bed]? And I think to myself, I need a short-term solution that will manifest itself into a long-term solution. I need to land a job that pays really well, and I need to do it right now.

But jobs like that aren't exactly everywhere, and most of them are professions I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. Moreover, the ones that seem like a good idea inevitably turn into short-term prospects with no chance of becoming a long-term career.

Enter my mom, who has reserved a ticket to the Philippines. I'm considering going back to the original plan: going overseas, teaching English, and getting a nursing degree. I'm thinking about parlaying that nursing degree into a house and a physician's assistance degree when I get back to the States in 3 years. I'm daydreaming about tropical weather and my own house where I'll set boundaries and be able to afford the good life. I'm telling myself that I can still blog with the girls and write incessantly and send out my work to agents - but now I'll be emotionally and financially comfortable.

I have only a week to decide.

Add-on: I went in to see Mei and she corrected me. "You don't need to make a boatload of cash right now," she said with a glint in her eye. "You want to make that money. There's supposed to be a disconnect between what you want and what you need, and not having it isn't healthy."

I explained to her that bridging the disconnect is exactly why I get everything I want. I don't just focus on the things that are necessary; I attempt to accomplish the impossible. I don't limit my options and say, "I can have this or that." Instead, I say to myself, "What can I do to ensure that I have this and that?"

"But that's not healthy," Mei kept saying. "You have to make a decision. What do you need more?"

"If I can have both, why do I need to make a decision?"

"Because you can't have both."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not possible."

"But what if it is possible?"

"It's not."

And that, right there, is why I'm still considering going to the Philippines. I want to be able to make money and be creative, and I feel like this option will give me both.

The truth is, I don't do "poor" well, and at this point in the game, I don't want to do it if I don't need to do it. So why the fuck not go to the Philippines?

Sure, it's unconventional and will leave Mei disappointed - but I have more responsibility to myself than I have to her. And, sure, I'll miss New York City and all of my friends and family - but in this day and age, they're only as far as a computer or a phone. I've come to a conclusion about who I am and what I need, and it doesn't necessarily mesh with what others think of me and what others think I need - and that's okay. Part of growing up is facing truths that are uncomfortable, and dealing with them.

Shameless Plug

I've teamed up with two of my closest friends-cum-writing buddies, Annamarya and Deena, to become The Musing Broads. Every week, we'll be answering your questions about love, life and the pursuit of sexiness, and ya never know what we'll say! This week, for example, we got two rather spindly and long emails from women who don't know what to do about their love interests.

Ya got questions? We've got answers.

So this is what it feels like to be successful!

For the first time ever, things are really going my way. I'm making good money, working at jobs that I *love* with people I *adore*, and fully aware of what's coming up next.

Life gets more interesting and fulfilling with each passing minute, and I'm not wasting any time. This is productivity at its finest.

This here quarter-life crisis is passing me by. And. It. Feels. So. Good.

Off the top of my head, 15 things that are going on with me:

1) I'm hooking up my friend, Sasha, who's intense and has a very *ahem* colorful past, with a friend of Rob's brother, Ryan, who's got PTSD and is a retired Army Sgt.

2) Two of my closest friends and best writer-buddies have asked me to start a website with them. It's called "The Musing Broads" and will offer advice on everything from health and dating, to career and house-hunting.

3) Ryan (from #1) has finished a book, and I'm helping him shop it around to independent publishers and literary agents. Makes me kinda think I belong in publishing. But then I remember how much I loathe being tied down by a set schedule, and I very much love my freelance lifestyle.

4) As a big-tittied Asian woman, I'm hauling in lots of cash as a dominatrix. Unfortunately, it's all getting sucked into the black hole that is my debt. Hopefully, I'll soon be able to save some. Soon is the operative word. Only problem is, what with it being an election year and the dungeon having been out-of-business for a month, the clients are few and far between.

5) My own writing is going really well. That is, when I find the time to write.

6) Two things I'm buying asap: a cell phone and a laptop. Rob and I have been sharing his cell phone - "Love, don't worry about spending money on a phone bill. Just use my phone. I hardly use it anyway." - since I moved in with him. But the bill hasn't gotten paid and I need a cell phone in order to keep freelancing at all my jobs. And, technically, I have a laptop - only it's riddled with viruses and really bulky. I need one that I can take everywhere with me.

7) I've filled out the paperwork so that I can be re-admitted to school in the Spring. The way things are going, I'll only have time to take two classes, but cest la vie. I need to make some money, and that degree ain't goin' nowhere.

8) Right up there, on my list of things to do, alongside "Buy a cell phone", "Buy a laptop", "Go back to school", and "Make money", is "Get My Own Place." Things fell through with Asia and she's attempted to hook me up with another viable roommate option, but I'm not feelin' the idea of looking for a place when I don't have the steady income flow. Once the money gets good and steady, I'll be outta Rob's place quicker than you can bat a lash.

9) I love Rob and things are overall going aiight with him. Only... I... Just... Don't... Wanna... Be... Tied... Down. [Right now.]

Yeah.

There.

I said it.

10) I went to my cousin's fabulous lesbian wedding last weekend, and I'm going to California next weekend to attend another cousin's fabulous straight wedding. Plus, I'm making plans to spend some time in Miami this January. Look at me, all jet-setting!

11) My little brother is leaving for the Philippines this Sunday. My folks have already warned him: Once he's gone, he ain't comin' back till he's earned his degree. I'm gonna miss the little booger, but I know that this is what's best for him.

12) I've signed up for therapy at a really reputable place. It's so reputable, in fact, that there's a waiting list. *sigh* I'm hoping that they don't call me back while I don't have a phone; it would suck if I lost my place in line.

13) Rob's thisclose to securing a job as a barback. I'm really hoping that he'll get it, but at the same time I don't wanna get disappointed. The thing is, our main argument is that I feel I'm running around being productive while his ass is coasting on his parents' coattails. I don't want a house-husband.

14) I caught wind of a baby that might need rescuing. Her parents are teenage drug addicts who are supposedly too stupid and lazy to stand on line for WIC checks. Don't worry. I'm gonna do something about it. And, no, I'm not adopting her.

15) Despite the fact that I'm making good money, I'm still looking for a more steady part-time gig. Something with reliable hours/money would be great. I mean, yeah, I love having the flexibility to make my own schedule, but that depends on too many variables, and I need a job where I get paid for basically sitting around for a set amount of time.


Overall, I gotta say: I feel good. Really, really good.

This is why I'm considering therapy.

Ya know how when you're watching a movie, and it's a thriller or a suspense flick, and something happens to make you scream at the screen, "Why are you doing that?! You know that's not right!"?

It doesn't matter if it's the girl in the heels entering a scary house, or the teenage couple fucking in a car on a deserted street, or the Scooby Gang deciding to split up - you just know it's a bad idea.

Well, I'm not as big on movies as I'd like, but I remember very well that feeling of "Whoa, what the fuck are you doing?!" I remember it almost as well as I remember watching certain movies - Momento comes to mind - and thinking to myself, "What if that was me? How would that feel? What if I seriously didn't realize what was going on?"

Maybe it's my innate creativity (or my hustler prowess?) that forces me to empathize with people, but I've always prided myself on being able to figure people out. I've always been good at seeing all the dimensions of a person and being able to cater to as many of them as the occasion calls for. It's not far-fetched of me to consider the possibility of being schizophrenic or clinically depressed. It's not a big leap to see how much I have in common with the homeless geriatric war vet on the corner.

*****

My brother bought me the tools I needed to alter a dress, so a few days ago I went to Queens to pick up the stuff. I have to take the 2 train to the shuttle to the C train to the A train in order to get to my folks' place, and before I reached the shuttle, I couldn't help but notice a middle-aged, white, balding, man. He was dressed in pressed jeans that were pulled up to his waist, and he wore a matching stone-washed denim jacket. There was a braided brown leather belt holding his pants to his gut, and a red plaid button-down shirt underneath his unbuttoned jacket. On his face were glasses, and on his right hand was a gold wedding band.

I remember looking him over and deciding that he was probably in town for his first gay rendezvous. There was a distinct aura of "foreigner" about him, as if he, too, did not fully comprehend what he was about. He carried two large pieces of luggage and was probably on his way to JFK airport to go back to his wife and kids.

I watched as this man took the shuttle to the C to the A. I watched as the woman sitting next to me pointed out which train he should take to the airport. I saw the man get out of the A train at Rockaway Boulevard.

Everything made sense.

I went to my folks' place, had lunch with my mom and brother, played with my dog. I picked up a crapload of clothes and headed back to the train station. I'd spent maybe three hours at my folks' place, and I had to hurry to Brooklyn so that I could take a shower before going to work.

I remember missing the train by a fraction of a second; if I'd have quickened my pace by the most minute of speeds, I would've made it in time. But, instead, I stood on the train platform and waited for the next train, and boarded it when the opportunity arrived. I took a seat by the window and stared out into the neighborhood that used to be my own. When I reached Rockaway Boulevard, I noticed a teenage girl: very pale, with bleached blond hair and wearing all black. Her big, baggy jeans reminded me of Jnco Jeans; they were all the rage when I was in junior high school, and coming back to Queens always makes me nostalgic. Her top was tight, making her lithe frame all the more noticeable. The black bandana on her head made it unclear whether she was designating herself as a goth kid or a wanna-be gangsta.

I watched this girl from across the platform. She sat on one of those large, metal, beige-painted boxes in which are housed the train station's cleaning materials. She was looking down at her hands, and thinking about something very intently. I imagined that she was thinking about something very important: the state of the world, her future, how hard it is to live. I projected onto her things that I know far too well: drama, chaos, hardships, responsibilities, adulthood. I felt that in making her like me, I would be less alone. But of course, none of this I knew at the time.

I was just thinking and letting my mind wander, and holding her in my gaze as my train left the station. It was not until now, as I'm sitting here, in a house that is not mine, in a room that is not mine, that I realize all of this probably led up to my thoughts.

But, anyway, those were my thoughts as my train left the station, and I saw this girl - young, impressionable, finding her way - on the opposite platform, heading to a place I'd just come from. I felt like I was leaving her behind to fend for herself.

*****

My thoughts were jumbled and cloudy as I made the trek back to Brooklyn. These days, that is not unusual, and I attribute that fact to my lack of sleep and nutrients. I joke with my friends that I'm on the "too broke to eat more than once a day diet." The truth is, my appetite is diminished. Even at weddings and baby showers and parties, when there is a large, lavish spread of food, I am unable to eat. Delicacies and choice cuts of meat are piled high around me, and people are prodding me to eat! eat! eat!, and I can't bring myself to fill my stomach. I think, "What's the use? I'll only have to refill it again."

On my shoulder was a large duffel bag filled with clothes, jewelry, hair clips. There was a bag of weed in it, too - something that I'd bought right before leaving my folks' place - and I walked to the end of the platform to keep away from a cop. It was nearly deserted on the far end of the platform, and I busied myself with thoughts of things I have to do. I made mental checklists and crossed things out one by one.

When the shuttle arrived, I found a seat by the conductor's booth, and when I looked up, there was the white man with the two suitcases and a gold wedding band on his right hand. To my left was the teenage girl dressed all in black.

I kept on staring at them. I wanted to ask the white man, "Didn't I see you on the train earlier?" I wanted to ask the teenage girl, "How is it possible that you're on the same train as me when I know I saw you on the opposite side of the platform, heading to Queens?" But I was too scared to open my mouth. At that point, I'd already begun to doubt myself, and this was brand-new to me. It's one thing to doubt my decisions, but to doubt my senses? To not be able to trust what I see?

It was all too much.

I got back home, showered, and readied myself for work. That night, there were no clients. Rob's favorite uncle passed away. I felt alone and adrift, with no one to understand or help me.

*****

The next morning, I watched as Rob opened the door to the basement and disappeared down the stairs. From my vantage point, I saw his head bobbing as he drunkenly stepped. I went downstairs to make sure that he'd be okay, that he wouldn't bump his head on the low ceiling or fall on the awkwardly-placed steps. But the basement was empty. He hadn't walked down the stairs.

I intellectualized the events, figured that I'd projected onto Rob my desire to have him do laundry in the basement. Then I found him in his cousin's bedroom. I called his name and he came to me, and even though he held me and smiled at me, I felt as if he were clutching air. When he walked away, I saw him enter the bathroom, turn on the light and close the door so that it was partially ajar. I could see the light spilling out of the doorway. I could see his image in the bathroom mirror. I called out to him and when he didn't come out, I went into the bathroom - and it was empty.

Almost frantic, I called to him again and again, and finally he re-emerged from his cousin's bedroom, which is directly opposite from the bathroom. I told him that I could've sworn he went into the bathroom, and he just laughed.

*****

Always, after something like this happens, I feel like there's been a disruption in the space-time continuum. It's like my life was paused and something was changed, and when play was hit again, I could feel the shift but not explain it. It's like those moments in the movies when you know that something is wrong or that something will happen or that the director will play with your head - but you're not really sure why it's affecting you so much. You can't really tell why you care that the couple in the car will be killed or the Scooby Gang will see a ghost. You just know that something unusual, extraordinary, and strange will occur, and that this person, these people, this moment will have to face a reality that you could never even fathom.

No matter how much discipline or preparation or life experience I have, there is something I'm not ready for. And it's out there, waiting, plotting, scheming. It's making me feel paranoid, it's making me feel on-edge, it's making me doubt myself. And it's my job to beat it.

Slowly slipping into something altogether different.

What does it mean when someone becomes excited to go to therapy? Is it that they're really hopeful? If so, what for? If not, then what?

I ask because I'm excited at the prospect of starting therapy. Damn near pissing-in-my-pants-excited, actually.

I attribute this to the fact that, for the first time in my life, many many many trusted individuals are telling me that I'm not right in the head and BUM BUM BUMMMMM I'm starting to believe them.

Why?, you ask.

Well, it's hard for me to explain, and that's clue numero uno. [NOTE: I'll elaborate on other reasons in another post.]

I, the over-communicator, am finding it difficult to express the gads of emotions and events that have been happening. There's just too much of it, too much stuff to sift through, too many affairs to keep track of. And I just don't have the time. My workin-more-jobs-than-a-Jamaican ass needs to recuperate from all the stress. I'm so busy multi-tasking that I haven't been able to organize the thoughts, thus making it hard for me to Create. And if therapy will help me overcome my frustration, then bring it on. (A tiny voice whispers in my ear: "It's all for writing.")

What else is up with me?

Oh yes: there is the fact that I've stumbled upon Something Too Grand To Be Named.

Yes, it's true. I, the over-communicator, she who spills the beans on everything from fucking to feces and finds it difficult not to impart to a group of strangers that I whip men for a living - yeah, that me - well, I've found something that is too good to spoil by sharing. Something so beautiful that I can't have anyone knowing about it. It's too beautiful for this world and it escapes definition or elaboration. It feels like an emotion in its purest form, raw and wild and thick in your blood, an adrenaline rush at the moment of action. It feels like the very verb and definition of experience. It cannot be subdued into wordplay.

I never thought such a thing could exist.

Which brings me to a strange juncture: at the point of "can't write but would LOVE to" and "too beautiful to write about" lies a kind of peace. I've always known that every part of life intersects and overlaps, but never before has a chasm seemed so much like a bridge. This here, I'm sure, means something big and important.

After I've gotten more than 3 hours of sleep and have been able to get some down time, I'll fill in the blanks.

Three conversations with Mei.

All I've done since Rob came back from Florida:

1) Sleep in.
2) Hang out with friends and fam.
3) Repeat steps one and two.

It's been good. So very good. I feel relaxed and enlivened and... LAZY!

I know it's probably just a sign of my crazy-compulsive behavior, but now that it's settled in that the most stressful thing I've done in the past 72 is look for a tailor - well, I'm feeling mighty slothful. Fo real. The money-making hustla in me is just screaming to re-emerge.

Thing is, the craziness of my work life will be returning to normal come tomorrow. I'll be working at the women's center tomorrow morning, then off to the dom job from 5 to 11. On Wednesday, I'll be at Mei's, and then I'll be spending 5 to 11 at the dom job again. And on Thursday, I'll be putting the last touches on my outfit for the wedding I'm attending this weekend; then I'll be working the dom job from 5 to 11. In between all that, I'm signing all the papers so I can get readmitted into school, and talking to the folks at the CUNY Honors Academy about getting back my coveted seat. I'm also networking a shit-storm, and trying to rebuild bridges that were recently burned.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm looking for MORE work? Yeah, just in case my schedule isn't crazy enough, I'm requiring myself to earn money for ANOTHER 25 hours per week. At least. Mei's got a lead on a substantial paycheck via office work, and I've found a lead on a few phone sex places that pay $40-60/hour. I thought my days of being a lady of the line were over, but after seeing those kinds of dividends, I say, "Bring it on!"

The other night, when Mei and I were driving out to Nassau, she said to me, "You're very smart and competent, and it doesn't take a lot of money to live. I think you'll be able to find a part-time job that you can live off of, so that you can write in the meantime."

To which I replied: "Yeah, I know you and Nina [one of my mentors from the women's center] think it's cool to just make enough money to get by... but I don't want that for myself. I get bitter if I don't have the funds to do what I want - and I'm not ashamed to admit it, I want to live lavishly."

Mei laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah. No joke."

I left it at that, and Mei appreciated my candor, but what I really wanted to say was, "I know how hard it is when you don't have enough money to do the things people should be entitled to do in a capitalist economy. Like paying my rent/mortgage. And affording to live in a neighborhood or building that I love. And sending myself, and eventually my children, to school. And being able to have the time and money to unwind when I need to de-stress. Those are all things I won't be able to do if I don't give myself enough financial leeway - and if that means working my tail off right now, then so be it."

*****

I saw my soon-to-be-roommate *fingers crossed*, Asia, at a barbecue on Saturday, and the more we talk the more I really think that moving in with her is a great idea.

I really and truly love Rob's mom's house. I love Rob's family, and I love being able to talk to such cool people all the time. Thing is, what with my crazy-hectic schedule and burgeoning hustling prowess, the last thing I need when I get home is more stimulation. What I really need after a looonngg day is a quiet place for my head to relax - and a house full of young people just doesn't fit the bill.

Yeah, I've got mine and Rob's room as a refuge from the chaos, but it doesn't really feel like *mine*. The room feels like *ours*, which is awesome if I wanted to give up all sense of ownership and propriety - but right now, I'm straight Virginia Woolf-ing it. I want a room of my own.

I want to be able to come to a relaxing home: someplace where I've staked claim on things, someplace quiet and comfortable and friendly and comforting. I want my own four walls, which I can paint and decorate. I want my own bed and my own desk and my own collection of books. I want windows that overlook busy streets, and someone stable and reliable and fun and cool (Asia) living a stone's throw away from me.

As much as I love Rob and I appreciate the way he opened his home and family to me, right now, I just really need to get my hustle on full-tilt. I need to be doing things that get me noticed by the right people, and that will make me exorbitant amounts of money. As Crystal says all the time, "I need to get the street outta my system." But at the end of the day, when I'm done expelling all of "the street", I wanna be able to just be easy.

The other night, as Mei was driving me home, she told me that her husband, who's a criminal defense attorney, seriously advises that I stop domming. With it being an election year, the odds are good that my place of employment be raided. And despite the fact the domming and dungeons are perfectly legal, it would be in my best interest to cease and desist all money-earning activity of the sexual variety.

When I wouldn't relent, Mei became even more serious. "If something happens," she said, "call me. Don't hesitate and don't say anything. Just call me and say '911'. Lenny will get you out of jail."

Her motherly attention made me glow. "Thanks, Mei."

"No problem. Lenny does this all the time. You'd be surprised how many of his clients are prostitutes."

Without batting a lash, I laughed appreciatively. "There's one thing you don't have to worry about," I offered, "I'm definitely not going to sell drugs."

"That's good, Maria," she said, her eyes dancing as she steered clear of all the dangers on Flatbush Avenue. "That's really good to know."

*****

I'm scared of my newfound confidence and where it might lead me. Not because I didn't think it existed, or because I think it's wrong in any way - but because it's so new. I've always been very confident and very competent, but somewhere between "assertive" and "arrogant" is a line I've never allowed myself to cross. I now feel myself teetering on the brink of that line, displaying my swagger, testing out the waters - and I wonder where my bravado came from. Unlike two months ago, I save my analyzation and introspection for writing, and only act and react in real life. Unlike four months ago, I am boldly announcing what I want and how I'm going to get it - all the while being completely aware that there will be many people who disagree with me, and/or don't want me to accomplish my goals. Unlike six months ago, I've learned to let go of negative people and negative situations, and to focus on Me.

Last week, while on our way yet again to Nassau, Mei talked to me about entitlement. She said that minorities - Asians, especially - feel a need to overcompensate for our perceived inadequacies. We're taught from a young age that in America, we should expect the short end of the stick - and very rarely are we taught to demand more. She colored the same qualities and actions that I'd written off as "bratty" as "entitled." And as much as I love words, I had to face the fact that much of communication is rhetoric and semantics. Being assertive could just as much be a sign of arrogance as it could be a sign of competence; meaning is found not in a thing itself but in its context. Mei, who I respect and admire, was telling me that it's not only okay but encouragedthat I "unapologetically take what I deserve." It was up to me to figure out where her opinion stopped and truth began.

I retold this story to Texti yesterday, and found myself soaking in Mei's words. The saturation of Mei's influence was undeniable. How much of the new Maria is Mei's doing? Can she claim credit or fault for the small evolutions I've made?

Last night, after hanging out with Texti, I spent the day in bed with Rob, being vomit-inducingly saccharine sweet and lovey-dovey. On the way back to Brooklyn, I had come to the conclusion that we can only uncover in each other traits that are already there. We live as we can and as we must, and we undoubtedly brush up against each other now and again. But the sway and pull of opinions only mean as much as we let them mean, and those of strong character and moral fortitude are not so easily influenced. No where could that be more apparent than in Rob's arms, which, to the chagrin of many of my close friends and mentors, I was happily enfolded by.

Yeah, I know I have initiative, but...

Rob's coming home in T-minus-42 minutes, and it's a long weekend. I've been working my ass off, winding myself up damn tight what with all the craziness and stress, and tryna make a pretty penny.

You best believe that all I'm about right now is gettin dolled up for my man, throwing caution to the wind (and my employers) and taking the next three days to myself. I'm gonna be hanging out with friends, drinking a lot, and lookin' real cute.

That is all.

I have so much to say.

So. Right now, at this very moment, I'm sitting on campus, in the Women's Center, attempting to send out my resume to day jobs. Sitting right across from me *fanning myself* is Asia, aka the awesome woman who I might move in with. My boss lady, Mei, happened to mention to her that I'm looking to find my own place, and she happens to be in the position of being thisclose to throwing out her roommate. Asia and I haven't seen each other since this time last year, when we were at a mutual friend's birthday barbecue, and we just happened to run into each other here.

Now, I've had my reservations about finding a roommate. Thankfully, I've only ever had a roommate once in my life, and that was for a very short period. But I've heard many many horror stories about having to share a living space with someone, and I've been apprehensive.

The thing is, Asia's beyond cool. Really and truly, she is. And we seem to vibe really well. And I'm really really really hoping that her current roommate can't make the rent, so that I get to move in on October 1st, aka my birthday, aka the same day that I started working for Penguin last year. *fingers crossed* Here's hoping.

But before I can even fathom moving in with Asia, I have to make money. Real money. And that's something that just isn't happening right now. *sigh*

I was supposed to go to another dom training today, but seriously, I'm just really frustrated with the job. Protocol dictates that I must sit in on three days' worth of sessions before I can go on my own, and I don't get paid for them. Not really, at least. It depends on the situation - whether the guy tips the main dom, whether the main dom gives me a share of her tip, whether the guy insists that I be there... There are just too many fucking variables! In the meantime, I'm in a room full of women, and forced to be a social fucking butterfly.

Now, like I've said before, I'm all about the socializing. But lately, what with my working my tail off to train for jobs that are supposed to earn me the quick/big bucks, I'd rather just chill with a magazine and be left the hell alone. This doesn't work too well in an environment like the Dungeon. Some girls are catty, a few of them are divas, and ALL of them are trying to find an angle on you. I chose to defer to the role of "sweet, kinda-ditzy girl who just happens to be hella assertive." It's way less confrontational than vying for the position of top bitch, and fo real, I don't need the extra work. I just wanna do my job and do it well, and from the looks on the girls' faces after they saw me in action, I'm doing a good job.

Which brings me to the subject of work, in general. I've been toying with the idea of starting another blog, one that is all about my work experiences. I have limited "internet access + privacy" these days, and thus the limited blogging - because, chile, lemme tell you: I have soooo much to say about my work experiences. Like, how the first couple of clients that I had at the Dungeon were sooo hot, and I could see why girls are tempted to turn tricks. And how I gave my first breast and pelvic exams with Mei's consulting firm - I got to stick a finger into a woman's rectum while sticking another finger in her vagina, and people watched! And the bitch 2nd year resident at Nassau Medical Center with a superiority complex - I think her name was Cindy Henri; I hope she honestly learned something from the workshops we ran. And the way that Mei is grooming me to possibly take over the consulting firm when she retires.

So much to say.