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?"