Very Interesting and Random Stuff

There's been over one thousand page views for "When I Was Fourteen", but - only one comment (my cousin commented privately via email, so really two comments).

I find that odd.

Is it just too shameful or personal to comment on? Too painful?

Frankly, I'm not writing this shit to get comments. Don't get me wrong, I like comments, they are generally affirming and who the heck doesn't like that. But they're not my reason for living.

But obviously that post struck a chord with a LOT of people, because it is my most read post EVER in my tiny three and a bit year history of blogging.
Interesting.

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Thursday at Barbell Club, we did deadlifts - my favorite. We worked up to our max weight and did one rep . My max weight was 160 lbs. 

Here's what a deadlift looks like: 

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My phone camera has an effect called Posterize; it makes you look like a paint by number painting.
It hides a multitudes of sins. I love it.

Hope your week is good, dear readers.

What A Day

Yesterday was N.C. Pride. Several of us went to Charlie's on Ninth Street in Durham for the parade where our hairdresser, JP, had saved us front row seats.

Lovely day for a parade

Photo credit - D.F. That's me on the right

All manner of persuasions showed up; there was a lot of love on Ninth Street. Everyone happy to be there.

My favorite float said simply, "God Adores You." 

I teared up. 

I did.  

Then I reenacted this scene from "Elf" when I saw Mary K Mart (from Drag Bingo) on the AAS-C float (Mary K Mart - I know HER!):

There were some haters somewhere, but I didn't see them. My Libra comes out around people like that. And not in the peacemaker sense. More like the iron fist in the velvet glove way - only the gloves are off.

I want to mash their buttons (as we say here in the South). Mash. Them. Hard.

I had one Bloody Mary too many. Which made me really friendly. And inclined to take tattoo pictures with people I met like two seconds ago. 

Photo Credit - D.F.

Photo Credit - D.F. (OSD said I looked "like some bad ass biker chick.")

Just had the best time.

And once again felt proud to live in Durham.

Lazy Day

Good thing it's Pajama Day. Fed the damn cats, then went back to bed until 11:30. Mmmmmm. 

Wish someone would bring me coffee in bed. Alas, that would be my own self having to do that.

PJD footwear. This is as girly as I get y'all.

Anyway, yesterday - the wedding! 

It was oh so sweet. Lovely. Heartwarming. Everyone in the church laid hands on them and blessed them. They served us communion. I cried. A lot.

Wish this wasn't so blurry. The look of love! 

B. and his honorary (and honored) moms

E., our intrepid Drag Bingo leader R. (sans drag), N.

N. and I went to A Southern Season afterward for ice tea and shrimp hushpuppies. (yum) After that I met another friend at Med Deli (my favorite!) for a late supper. Came home and had a couple of glasses of Prosecco to toast the happy couple. 

A sweet, sweet day. 

So Excited

Two young men we know from Drag Bingo (not drag queens) are getting married next Saturday.
I cried about three times last night I was so damn happy for them.

B.'s parents are not supportive (they're not being ugly about it, they just can't get on board, even though they love C.), so Nancy and I are Mom stand-in's.

I told you we are on the Planning Committee for next year, didn't I? Maybe not. B. is also on committee.
Seriously excited.

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I love this poem. Lifted from a moon, worn as if it had been a shell:

Success Story

My clothes are perfectly contoured
to my body. my shoes & socks
fit just right. My cat is a delightful
intelligent animal. My apartment
is great. The right location,
cheap rent. I eat the best food.
My friends love me. I adore them.
My lover is terrific & beautiful.
The sun is shining. There are trees
even in the slums in Washington.
I have tons of money & a gorgeous
air conditioner. Great art hangs
on my wall. I live a spine-tingling life
of delirious sex & intense happiness.

Terence Winch

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I cannot stop listening to this song:

"Slipping Away"

Wait just a little bit more

I feel you cause your breath is burning holes in my door

You love it when there's blood on your tongue and you're ready for war

But wait just a little bit more

Take what you came here for

I know you and I know you can't take anymore

You got me with your fingers on my throat and my head on the floor

You're taking what you came here for

So this is how I'm slipping away

Yea this is how you want me to play

You know I love it but it's stopping today

I'm slipping away

Oh I think that I should go

My house is burning out of control I know you hate it and you want me to stay I'm slipping away

Wait just a little bit more I'm watching as your lips are moving towards that horn

You're ready but I'm not quite dead and I'm not quite yours

So wait just a little bit more

Take what you came here for I'm ready for you flames crawling up my door

And if you give me just a minute I'll be out on the floor

You're taking what you came here for

So this is how I'm slipping away

Yea this is how you want me to play

You know I love it but it's stopping today I'm slipping away

Oh I think that I should go

My house is burning out of control I know you hate it and you want me to stay I'm slipping away

Wait just a little bit more

You hold me like I've never been held before

Your spider web is wrapping around my head like a big black hole

So wait just a little bit more

Take what you came here for I trusted and I promised to believe, I swore

That you would be the first and the last but I did not know

You take me but you'll take no more

So this is how I'm slipping away

Now this is how you want me to play

You know I love it but it's stopping today I'm slipping away

Oh I think that I should go

My house is burning out of control I know you hate it and you want me to stay I'm slipping away

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And now I'm going to drag myself out on Pajama Day for a Med Deli run. 

Only Way Out

For the time being, The Troubles are over; I'm no longer hollow. So there's that.

No Empower today, it's my day of rest. Tomorrow night it begins again with TRX. Tuesday and Thursday: Barbell Club; Wednesday: personal trainer; Friday: Cardio Kickboxing. You can see who is kicking my ass here: http://becomepowerful.com/about/the-team/. Tiffani is my PT. Angelo is the kickboxing instructor. Paul does the barbell club. Elizabeth and Jordan teach the TRX classes.

Three things:

1. I have biceps now
2. I deadlifted 100 pounds Thursday night
3. Some part of me is always full of the pain (this sums it up nicely) (Paul said he is always sore; you just get used to it. Bad, bad answer Paul.)

Also, there are bruises all over my body. 

I need this tattooed on my arm so I can read it every second:

I am also loving Robert Montgomery, a Scottish artist based in London, who writes poems and then sets them on fire. My favorites are 2, 3, 14, and 15. Just click on the number.

Been listening to Dessa. Enjoying her A LOT.

That's all I got. Oh no, wait. One more, not Dessa. Fun David Byrne song.

Have a good week readers. Kick ass and take names.

I will be.

Hollow

That's how I feel today.

Hollow, caved-in, empty, hungover (mentally, not physically). It could be due to not eating anything until now, but I think it's mostly due to the other.

I made myself get dressed and drove to the Mediterranean Deli in Chapel Hill; came home with chicken kabob, chickpea and spinach salad, baked okra, avocado feta salad, and a piece of cheese baklava. (I could easily eat there every single day)
The homeless man on the corner said "Thank you baby", and told me to have a blessed day when I gave him $5. He had a nice smile.

I listened to The White Stripes "De Stijl" so loud my ears almost bled.

I needed to fill up that hollow place.

Just Dammit

WTF with looking him up on Facebook?!

Because now, that girl, my dear sweet girl, is screaming back to consciousness, clawing her way out from under the pillow.

And out of the corner of her eye - seeing the girls she was babysitting silhouetted in the doorway.


Those girls. Oh my god, those girls. I can't see their faces; the hall light was behind them. And just maybe I am really glad about that. For Pete's fucking sake, that was THE WORST THING about it. Worse than being torn apart, worse than passing out for the only time in my life, worse than being suffocated. Worse than the entire school knowing. Worse than my parents knowing.

No, this isn't a new memory, it's always been there. It's such a horrible little detail, I preferred to leave it out.

What did that do to them? What could they possibly have thought? That he was murdering me? Did they worry it would be like that for them?

Dear Jesus. Those girls.

I'm glad there is no alcohol in the house. Because I feel like drinking myself into a stupor.

Stirring the Pot

I feel like vomiting. Just now, I searched on Facebook for the [no longer] young man who raped me.

There he was; in one picture, holding a little girl, a toddler, who I assume is his daughter. Another picture shows him with her in her graduation cap and gown. I kept thinking, how would he feel if someone did to her what he did to me? My shaking hands flew to my mouth. Seeking comfort, I called the Old Sea Dog - who was not available. Just like when it happened all those years ago, there was only me. I trembled and wailed, rocked and cried, holding my chest, my heart, my torn asunder fourteen year old self.

Besides killing Wormtongue, the other part of doing this Happy Body Coaching is dealing with the stuff in my past that makes me want to be invisible - bad things happen when men notice me, (Bloody fucking theme. I was molested by the library janitor when I was seven.).
Things that keep the passionate, lovable, beautiful woman I am under wraps. I shouldn't be surprised that this is coming up - I'm stirring the damned pot.

The only way out is through.


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Declaration

Friday, (if I had a dollar for every time I spelled Friday "Firday" first, I could buy a summer house in the Hamptons.), I had my session with The Happy Body Coach.

And the Medusa that is my ex-husband made an appearance yet again.

Please know that the ex and I have made our peace and buried the hatchet (and not in his head, amazingly).
But the tape that he "gave" me all those years ago still plays on in my head. On a loop.
At this point dealing with it is kind of pissing me off, like dusting. I did this already! Why do I have to keep doing it?!

The last six months of my very short marriage were, shall we say, not good.
Every night, before he went up to bed, he would read off the list of things that were wrong with me, along with the myriad of ways I had fucked up that day. From not vacuuming correctly, to his lunch not being hot (it was hot when I brought it to him at 12:30, but somehow it was my fault he didn't get to eat it until 2). He wanted breakfast at 6:30 AM AND he wanted me to be happy about doing that. (Actually on that count, I wasn't unhappy, I just have Bitchy Resting Face. Heh.)

So...the tape goes like this (just the three high points):

1. No one will ever want you again. 
2. You don't look normal. 
3. You are a dud. 

Subsequently, every break-up, every mistaken "he likes me", every unnoticed attempt at on-line dating, every "I like you, but...", just confirmed the tape. And thus, on it played. Over. And over. And over.

Until it became, not his voice, but MINE. My own personal Wormtongue, haunting my inner Eowyn.

Here then, is my declaration (and this also applies to my rapist):

Guess what motherfucker - I WANT ME. 

I am a strong, vibrant, BEAUTIFUL woman and you have no business with me. You are beneath me.

RIGHT NOW, I claim back my power, my beauty, my magnificence. 

I claim back my face, my body, my sexual self.

I claim back that young girl - that adventurous, brilliant, brave, sparkling, witty, vivacious, funny girl. 

I AM NOT FOR THE LIKES OF YOU.

I belong to me, and I will protect, cherish, love, nurture myself. TREASURE myself. 

I AM a PEARL and you are swine.
I am a dangerous, powerful woman and if you aren't up to that, get the fuck away from me.
I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR MYSELF EVER AGAIN. 

Astrid, Eowyn, me. We are one. And we are not to be trifled with.