Rise Again

Gratuitous Sex Blog

January 18th, 2009 | social | 3 Comments »

Now that I’m “officially” single I feel like I can again post openly about that part of my life.

I’m a bit concerned, actually, about some of the things I find.  I am a member of an online dating site.  It’s free…no cheesy guarantees of finding love in six months or it’s free, but really, really free.  If your a moron or a dork, you’ll probably stay that way in your mom’s basement.  I’ve been a member since before I got married so needless to say I’ve had to do some housecleaning since so much information has changed.

I find that there are many questions related to sex, which of course is to be expected but one reoccuring theme is rather disturbing to me.  There seem to be a lot of people, men and women alike, who are obsessed with rape fantasies. 

I just don’t get it.

BDSM or any light variation thereof, I get.  I am generally a very outspoken woman, even overbearing at times and the last thing I want in the bedroom is to be in control.  I’m very submissive and I like it that way.  I enjoy the strength of a man and have no interest in dominating those activities.

Submissive is one thing.  But rape?  When I think of rape, I don’t get turned on.  I think of bloody legs and busted lips.  Tears and sleepless nights.  While I have had the unpleasant experience of being somewhat violated, both by men I barely knew and friends/boyfriends alike, I don’t think any of them can compare to being violently torn apart from the inside out.

So am I missing something here?  Because what I think these people are fantasizing about has little to do with rage and control than the “rape” they are idealizing.

Am I wrong?

Stereotypes

January 15th, 2009 | election, music, social | 2 Comments »

I just have a little example of how stereotypes are wrong and can go on to hurt groups of people for generations.

We talked about this in my Musical Theater Appreciation class, of all places.

Minstrelsy was an early form of music theater in America and is where “blackface” or “corking” originated.  They advertised their shows by using phrases such as “original negro songs”-even though all of the music was written by Northern white men.  The over-exaggerated lips, tattered clothing and body frame is something even now people assume is true.  What really got me was the dialect used…
 

Quote:

“First on de heel tap

den on de toe…”
From the original Jim Crow character.

That wasn’t any dialect used by African American slaves.  Most of them spoke their native language anyway.  Whites made it up….and I was taken aback at how we have still decided that all or many black people use “ebonics” even though, at least in my experience, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

So basically an entire form of wildly popular entertainment was based on nothing but prejudice and a stereotype formed that had no basis in reality.

Love’s Twisted Little Sister

January 6th, 2009 | addiction, social | No Comments »

Is emotional and clingy.

Love is tender.  It is steadfast.  It rarely comes off the back end of abusive relationships, drugs or sexual encounters.

But Infatuation does.

And she’s a fickle tag-along if ever I saw one.

She fools others around you and makes you look like a fool. 

The great thing is that time, wisdom and experience make the one so easy to recognize when love is ellusive and hard to catch.

Infatuation is the catalyst that creates psychotic and toxic unions.  Fairly easy to get over in the short term, impossible to maintain-ever.

Either way, the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that is the subject of so many love-gone-wrong songs is neither comfortable nor curable…through any means but time.

The surest thing is that change always comes.

For that, I think we can all be thankful.

Phoenix Pt. 1

December 4th, 2008 | fat, social | 8 Comments »

Hour one

It’s not in the budget.

My dad will probably flip out when he either sees it, finds out how much I spent on it, or looks at my bank balance.

But I have waited so long for this.

For the permanent indication that I have moved on.  That my rebirth is almost complete, as cheesy as that sounds.

Hour Two

End Session One

I had hoped to finish is one session, but that’s just not possible.  I will return in 3-4 weeks to finish the phoenix.

It’s been one hell of a year.

To Hell With Georgia!

December 1st, 2008 | social | 4 Comments »

I have been a Tech fan for as long as I remember.  In a part of the state surrounded by mutts, it’s hard being in the minority.

They really ought to give a scholarship for that.

I love football.  I love competition.  I love to scream and throw things at the television and drink lots of beer when we score.

I’m not a football expert, sometimes I call a play something it’s not, sometimes I don’t understand why there’s a flag on the play…

But I sure as shit know when the ball is in the end zone that’s six points on the board.

I know if it’s fourth and long, you punt.

I know you don’t go for the two point conversion when the field goal will tie it up in the first quarter.

I can tell you exactly what I know.

I know that for eight years I have watched Tech football, sporadically-mostly due to circumstances beyond my control-and been bitterly disappointed each year.  Four years ago I watched a team I knew had such amazing potential get fucked right in the ass.  A loss that lead right into UGA clinching the SEC title.

I cried that year.

The past two years I haven’t had a tv or a football friend.  No one I know is a Tech fan and no one I know likes watching football.

I think I need to reevaluate my friends list in real life.

Oh, but not this year.

Not.

This.

Fucking.

Year.

Oh, no no.

Because this year I was there.

In Athens.

Because victory is so, so sweet when you win between the hedges.

So.

So.

Sweet.

I’m a Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech and a hell of an engineer,
A helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva, hell of an engineer,
Like all the jolly good fellows, I drink my whiskey clear,
I’m a Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech and a hell of an engineer.
Oh, if I had a daughter, sir, I’d dress her in White and Gold,
And put her on the campus, to cheer the brave and bold.
But if I had a son, sir, I’ll tell you what he’d do.
He would yell, “To Hell with Georgia,” like his daddy used to do.
Oh, I wish I had a barrel of rum and sugar three thousand pounds,
A college bell to put it in and a clapper to stir it around.
I’d drink to all good fellows who come from far and near.
I’m a ramblin’, gamblin’, hell of an engineer.

Field Goal attempt will be good.

We are some damn good looking Tech fans.

This guy is a sad clown.

12 Steps.

November 16th, 2008 | addiction, social | 5 Comments »

It’s funny how one of those infamous 12 steps is reconciliation…no, not that,  rectification of past misdeeds.

The only one of those steps I ever thought that meant a damn thing.  Finally catches up to me.

After all this time, disguised as good will between exlovers. 

Not that at all.

Do you know what it feels like to have all the horrible shit you’ve done to one person laid bare for you to experience?

Well, I do.  And it ain’t pretty.

At.

All.

See, at tthis point I thought that I was a good person. I kicked that shit.  I kicked it right in the nuts.  Me.  Myself.

No.

One.

Else.

And then this.

Reminder that I didn’t come through that alone.

There most certainly were human casulties in the name of the war on myself.

And some of those people really cared for me. Really loved me.

Probably would have married me.

Well, I feel it.

Oh, let me tell you exactly how I feel it.

Red rims and snotty nose and caught breath don’t even begin to describe exactly how it feels to have the numbness you achieved then, escape you now.

I was a heartless bitch.  Let’s just go on ahead and get that right on out there.

I fucked up.

I fucked you and a lot of other people.

And I can move on and be me and feel real proud of myself for moving on and bein’ me…but it still won’t erase, excuse or elimiate the fact and I fucked some really, really, really good people.

And one of those people was you.

So.

I’m sorry.

Not that it matters, but, well…I am.

Parking Spots

November 11th, 2008 | Uncategorized, social | 6 Comments »

How long has it been since you went searching for a parking spot?

And I don’t mean the kind at the mall.

The kind you seek out, not for it’s closeness to the bustling front door of the grocery store, your car waiting patiently for your hurried push of bags in cart…gotta get home, dinner, kids, rush…rush…rush…

But for the sky empty of city intrusions and air neglect of horns and brakes.  A scavenger hunt through backroads and bumpy terrain for the perfect spot. 

Dark.  Cold.  Barren.

Reminiscent of teenage years wasted on thoughts of getting caught being more important than getting caught in the moment. 

Not now.

This time it’s easy, care isn’t spent on worry of a flashlight in the car, brown bottles sparking in the cup holder.  Care is spent on deciding if that really was a falling star; the decision coming a second to late for a wish.

Maybe there is a parking spot fairy?

Socks

November 4th, 2008 | social | 4 Comments »

I seem to have misplaced mine.

Funny how that can happen.

What Women Want

October 28th, 2008 | fat, social | 2 Comments »

I’m nervous.

Excited.

But, mostly nervous.

Will he be more interested in my mind than my mid-section?  My cranium or my calves? 

My voice or voluptuousness?

We’re doing karaoke, for the last one.

How about a man being nervous about what we think for once?

Ugh, I’m even nervous that I’ll get there and the date will be “Dutch” instead of normal.  If it’s Dutch, I’m screwed.  I hate to have expectations of people, but when did dating go from traditional to 20 questions?

Rejoining the singles of metro Atlanta is thrilling and frightening.  I can’t get any guy I want, like I could at 20, 23, 25…

As Molly so eloquently puts it in The Starter Wife, “Divorced women don’t have the same options.”

Hell, I’ll be happy with any options.

This is why I don’t miss high school.  Bueller, Bueller?

Florida is a pretty happenin’ place

October 22nd, 2008 | social, travel | 4 Comments »

And they have alcohol there.

Lots of it.

Well, not anymore.

Because we drank it.

This is me and my friend

at the beach at St. Augustine off of Anastasia Island.

We did other stuff too, walked up and down St. George St., pulled a muscle in my foot, ate some awesome pizza (which I promptly came home and recreated in my kitchen) and visted the really great historic sites there.

But mostly, we drank.  And talked.  And relaxed.  And woke up when we felt like it.  No Mom!s or Can I!s or Honey!s.

Just two girls and room full of alcohol.

I wanna go back now.

More later, I have been so freakin’ tired.  Bear with me, I will get my ass in gear soon.