Takin' it Back

Music. Besides smell, music is one of the biggest triggers for memories of your past. As of recently, I considered this a curse. It seemed every time I got in the car to drive to work certain songs that to express everything I was feeling at the time kept playing (of course, logically, I know that this is why Linkin Park was so popular during my 'teen angst' years, it expressed what *everything* is feeling at the time). It's been no secret that I haven't been in a good place lately, not for lack of trying. However, through a series of events surrounding songs that brought on negative emotions, I came to a conclusion or two:

It all started the first time Mdin617 came to visit me.

I plugged his iPhone into my radio to charge--it plays whatever playlist you were on/listening to last.

All I needed to hear was the first couple of notes and I *knew*. Frozen, tense, I asked, "What song is this?"

"Great Gig in the Sky-Pink Floyd" he answered, looking at me. I closed my eyes and swallowed, the song being confirmed seconds before it started really going into instrumental intro.

As Clare Torry started belting out her wordless lyrics in ways that have always made me feel near orgasmic, I wrestled with myself while lying next to Md.

"I may have to change this," I announced simply, every nerve in my body going haywire as the music continued. He looked at me, concerned, but not saying anything. I met his eyes finally and explained, "It's a *thing*".

One word was all I needed to say to describe that this was something special between me and an ex--namely one that I was not over at the time--and still had an affect on me.

I will spare the who, what, why's for all other parties involved, but rest assured knowing it was kinda a REALLY BIG *thing*.

At that point, a few months ago, I was tired. I was tired of still feeling pain, I was tired of the depression, and I was ready to move on. There's only so much healing you can force, but you can help a lot. I'd been proactive about it after the initial shock, I tried to put myself out there as an educator, loaded myself up with modelling gigs, purged things through writing, focused on framing things in a positive light, stood on my own two feet, and at that point, started gradually dating again. I really did not *want* to stew in those negative feelings that I still haven't seemed to shake completely. I'd been *doing* something about it since day one.

So why, now, was I going to let my emotions become victim to a song? I had very little control over how that *thing* played out. I couldn't control that the song came on *now*. The one thing that I could have some sort of control over (just a tiny bit)? Well, my response of course.

I leaned into Md. "Let's make it not-so-much a *thing*. Let's make it a *new* "thing"," I suggested. Like that, my blood pressure slowed, my near-hyperventilation halted and I was (almost) able to lay there and enjoy the song with him. I'd taken control. I'd taken it back.

I applied this new-found epiphany elsewhere. For a while, I couldn't hear a minute of Jakob Dylan's voice, namely from the album "Bringing Down the Horse". Why? Well this may give you a clue: http://fetteredgirls.com/BLOG/?p=8 (though, I'm not sure how long that link may be up since it's A.) a blog from YEARS ago B.) not my website C.) Perspectives on certain things were different at the time). Abridged version: at 13, I was raped by my best friend's dad while he was driving me home--it was that album that'd been playing over and over at the time.

I remember the last time I'd heard that particular song. I was with my S.O. du jour at Sporting Goods store trying out jump ropes to maintain my physical fitness and to aid in his. It was some time after that blog was written and posted.

It started playing over the loudspeaker and without explanation, I'd run out of the store, lighting up a cigarette in the safe silence outside only to have to scramble to explain why to him after. He didn't get it at the time.

Which is why, about a month ago, when that freaking song played on the radio, I went to change it--and the instance in the Sporting Goods store was part of the memories that had flooded me. In fact, while part of me relived the horrors of that night those were a bit removed, as if I weren't reliving them, but watching a movie. What really stuck out in my mind was the feeling that had me jettisoning out of the store that day-- and how that feeling of fear and might *just* be something I did have control over. By catering to it and changing the channel or running away every time I heard that music, I was continuing to be a victim. I was reinforcing that idea, in fact. Yeah, I was a victim of something horrible, but I was choosing to *continue* to be a victim to this day, 11 years later.

I wrote that blog 3 years ago-- that last line: "And here’s me, going on with my life, but I won’t be the victim anymore..." a half-truth. Until now.

I stopped myself from changing it, I focused on my workday ahead, my plans for that night and (nearly) jammed to that song.

The 3rd bout of my epiphany happened only a few weeks ago at a Goo-Goo Dolls concert. In the 6th grade, my two favorite bands were Goo-Goo Dolls and Aerosmith. I had a pretty healthy obsession with both, listening to the albums often. My fandom died out over the years, particularly after Dizzy Up the Girl. Most know the song "Iris"- that is one of their most popular. It's a gorgeous song with beautiful lyrics and notes. One I've loved since I lived out West.

A S.O. dedicated that song to me during the course of our relationship. It was my ring-back, so I heard it often. Soon, anytime I heard it, my thoughts drifted to him when we were apart, my arms drifted to him when we were together. It was *our* song.

That relationship ended as amicably as-- well-- let's not go there. I'm not angry, just sad that I couldn't salvage some sort of friendship. So whenever I heard that song, I got somber in remembrance of the good times: not because I regretted leaving, but because, while the romantic relationship wasn't meant to be, I felt a loss at the lack of any sort of relationship and even more hurt at this person's negative feelings toward me.

There was only so many ways I could try to salvage some sort of friendship. It took me a long time, but I realized that I couldn't force it and exposing myself to the ire was actually doing me damage. I eventually decided, no more. But there were still a few things that made me sad--namely, the song.

When the tickets to the concert were purchased for me, I knew that the Goo Goo Dolls were eventually going to play that infamous song. That's what made this epiphany very clear: I could A.) When that song played (most likely near the end) have it affect my entire time as it brought on the waves of "what if" and my pensive thoughts on how I could have achieved a better outcome or B.) I say "It is what it is, it's not my damn fault that things are the way they are now, and this has been my favorite song years before I met so-and-so".

I decided not to feel down/sad/bad/etc. DECIDED. And it worked.

The moral of the story is, bad shit happens. I couldn't control half of the things that I listed above. But I *could* control my continued reaction to them. Yeah, the songs will still inspire a knee-jerk sad, anxious, even angry response, hopefully one that will fade and mayyyybe even disappear over tim. But the more power I give them, the more power the hurt and those who caused it deliberately (example #2) have over me. Things can hurt you, but you can be proactive in whether or not you're going to keep letting them hurt you.

People say that you can choose to be happy. While I now ascribe to being an instrumental part in the formation of my perspective in life and realize I'd given that job to others for way too long, it will take a while until I can find my truly happy perspective again. That's how pain works, unfortunately. But I'm not going to just sit here and let it happen, I'm going to go and find my happy.

And I'm *certainly* not going to sit here and be a prisoner of my past.

So those songs? Yeah, I'm takin' them back.

Followup on Daddy Post

I received a message in response to my last "Daddy" post that made the familiar ball in my throat and the tears in my eyes come back. It read as follows

Hey,

I just read your Daddy journal entry. I was sorry to read that you were so low. I felt like I could hear the tears streaming and the sniffles through your words.

You have a strength in you that I believe you have not yet been able to reach. Mere fragments sustain you at times. But I also know that deeper within lies the Little Ten. And obviously, that is the child that longs for the comfort and safety that Daddy always provides.

It is hard to manage a Little as strong - or perhaps weak - as yours, given the specific issues which surround her. And the strength that protects her is merely a strength suit of sorts. And when that suit is peeled back, the tearful child - afraid and exhausted from acting like a big girl and feigning strength that she knows she does not have - pours out and collapses every so often. It is hard for little girls to be strong.

And when a Daddy leaves his little girl, that creates an instant security vacuum which causes the little girl to have to hasten and put her suit back on.

He finished these words with an extension of support if I ever needed it.

Kind words, right? I felt a bit of gratitude... and a whole lot of shock and pain.

He was SPOT ON about the strong suit. It's the only way I'd been able to survive without being a pathetic puddle on the floor the last few months. But now he pointed it out, he unwittingly exposed it as somewhat of a farce. A defense mechanism, for sure, but what really lurks underneath?

Deep inside I'll always have that vulnerable little girl. Right now I hate it. She's like a tiny baby bird--so fragile and easily broken--she holds me back and gets me hurt to a degree that I never fathomed. I want to tell her to GROW THE FUCK UP and stop being such a fucking baby.

In a way, that's exactly what she is though. And is that my strong suit part of me talking to her so crudely so that I can stuff her back down again and not get hurt? Am I doomed to have this around with me for the rest of my life? Do I go seek therapy to deal with her once and for all and move on, because this isn't healthy?

Or do I embrace her as someone that is always going to be a part of me and find that ideal relationship where my Significant Other can too?

I said in my last post that I can live without Daddy. I really can. But maybe I was wrong about the fact that I'm always going to want Daddy.

Maybe it's she, the little girl inside me, that can't live without Daddy/Mommy/other safe Big of sorts. And until that person or people come out of the woodwork, maybe I have to keep her behind this suit.

However, she obviously doesn't exist too far beneath the surface if one can point her out so easily.

So what the hell to do with that? (rhetorical, as I'm babbling out of my ass right now).

What (not who) Daddy is...

*I want my Daddy..."

I burst into tears on the way home tonight as this thought permeated my brain and rested there. It was a pervasive chant that the vulnerable little girl inside of me kept uttering.

I tried to figure out why it suddenly popped into my brain and why I was so effected by it.

In spite of my previous writings, this wasn't about an ex-relationship. This wasn't about my real father dying. This wasn't about any of the men in my life, past, present, or perhaps.

For once, "Daddy" didn't have a face.

An epiphany struck me.

"Daddy" was no longer a person in my head. None of the "Daddies" of my past came to mind when I suddenly longed for "Daddy". "Daddy" was and always has been a concept for me.

Since my real Daddy was taken away at such a young age, I think I superimposed all of the things I was missing as I grew up, but longed for, onto my Daddy--or at least associated it with a father-figure role. All of the things I've yearned for I suddenly felt like I could find in one place--in Daddy.

Daddy= security, safety, acceptance, unconditional love. Basically Daddy= a sense of fulfillment.

This explains why I suddenly dissolve into tears and feel an incredible sense of destabilization when one of the things named above drop out of my life (mostly in the form of a sudden detachment with people I used to feel attached to). With one central symbol (my Daddy) of all of the things named above I don't crumble nearly as easily when I feel those things are shaky with someone else like a close friend or even a lover who is not Daddy-- much like a slave may touch his/her collar and feel security and fulfillment in the D/s relationship he/she has with his/her Dominant. It explains why, when I don't have that relationship, I nearly fall to pieces at the first sign of abandonment by anyone I've let in. And finally, it explains why, when I have that central Daddy person that is supposed to embody things like unconditional love and security and they leave for whatever reason-- it nearly kills me emotionally.

While I don't think wanting all of those things (security, safety, acceptance, unconditional love, fulfillment) is necessarily unhealthy-- my reactions to people (potential future Daddy's or not) because of the lack thereof are not healthy in any way, shape, or form. And to call someone "Daddy" without them knowing those expectations is asking them to fall short.

I honestly don't know if "Daddy" will ever become a "who" again. I do know that I can live without-- and will try my damnedest to find a healthy way to do so. That is what I will be working on for the time being. However...

I'm always going to want my Daddy.

Domlessness

"You know why you don't have a Dom, Ten? You have to take them seriously. They need to be taken seriously. You're too flippant."

Someone said this to me after observing my behavior over a series of hours as I volunteered at TESFest this weekend.

I -had- been flouncing about being my usual cheeky self to those who know me that way. That's social Ten, however. That's not relationship Ten. Unless you're a play partner and the dynamic we have is me constantly challenging you--because it's something we mutually enjoy.

I was not thrilled with his judgment, delivery, or the tone in his voice. I don't even recall the statement I made to spurn the comment and at that moment, I could care less.

"Well when I find someone I can fucking take seriously, I'll take them seriously", was my retort before I walked away.

Right now in my day to day relationships in the scene are merely 'PLAY'. Hence my PLAYfulness. Whether my 'bratting' crosses the line into annoyance is a matter of opinion, but I'd like to think it's not for the majority of those I encounter and play with. That's why they continue playing with me.

I don't lose that playfulness in D/s. That does not mean I don't take MY Dom seriously.

However, an encounter on a another social media website got me pondering.

I'd only pointed out to this person who said that a "true submissive" does this and that that being submissive means something different to everyone. This person was relatively new to the scene and used such bonus words as "topping from the bottom" to describe my relatively harmless statement. Said person even went so far as to ask Dominants that I don't even know to "keep me in line".

This experience brought two different thoughts to mind. First, this poor naive girl seems to think that just because I identify as submissive, that I should behave a certain way (sort of the same way the person who called me "flippant" did)and and that any Dom can and will put me in line.

But also, it was relayed to me that her most recent Dom left her, which, seeing as her defensiveness made her lash out at me in several very not cool ways, not limited to making fun of my appearance and suggesting violence happen to me--her behavior might have had something to do with that. Also, in her words, it was 'because he couldn't tame her'.

I personally find the whole idea of "breaking" or "taming" a sub unnecessary and part of unfair expectations. Logically.

However I've been pondering whether my own behavior is the reason I'm still without anything but a "maybe" D/s relationship at the moment. Am I subconsciously "testing" potential Dominants by positing a bit of a challenge for my submission? Am I placing unfair expectations on suitor Dominants? And if so... why? Is it because the last D/s relationship I "took seriously" slipped off into the night and I'm too afraid of that happening again? Am I just not ready for a new Daddy?

Or is it because I really just haven't found someone I can actually take seriously?

In the D/s sense of course.

Life is too short to be serious all of the time.

Chasing the Dragon

No, Dear friends, it's not about drugs


Pure, exhilirating, scintillating emotion.
Never went away, was just forced out
Like a campfire not quite finished
With it's purpose, not quite through
Spending it's kinetic energy
Yet they pour dust on it
Stifle it
It's served their purpose after all

Chasing that fire night and day, day and night
Trying to find that beautiful inferno that was
Tiny conflagrations here and there
Don't serve their purpose quite like they used to
Keep searching for that feu de joie
The pure
The absolute
But you can never re-ignite the blaze
And bask in the incandescence...
Quite like the first time.

Hurts So Good

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Slave at Heart

"You're not submissive, you know," he says from the passenger seat of my car. I rolled my eyes. I couldn't blame him. He'd just spent two seperate play sessions, one Saturday night, one Sunday afternoon whaling on me and I only gave in--just barely-- after at least an hour. Most of the scenes I spent being my regular smart ass self and tested him to see who would break first, me or him. I still think that particular outcome was a bit of a toss-up, though the scene that occured Sunday had me feeling a tad bit more of a docile and with a certain... affinity... toward him.

"But we'll get to that later..." he continued and then must've seen something in the look on my face as I met his eyes. "You aren't submissive," he repeated as I bit my lip and looked away in frustration. "You're a slave," he finished matter-of-factly as my neck snapped back for me to gape at him with my mouth open.

I've heard many people in my past criticize my submissive tendencies (or lack there-of). Something about my being the the strong-willed and opinionated brat who heavily enjoys resistance play in scenes and finds all that kneeling and protocol stuff tiresome might've given people the idea that I'd make a really bad submissive, much less a slave.

Part of me started to believe it. Especially since I ascribed to the Daddy/Little Girl dynamic mentality. A little girl doesn't always say "yes, Daddy, whatever you say" and get on her knees every time he walks in the room. But a Daddy, much like a Master, keeps his little girl in line when she needs it and is ultimately the boss, even if he has to show her so. So is Daddy/LG ultimately a M/s relationship?

Boy, this guy stirred up a tempest in my mind with just a simple comment. You see, in the past I used to say I had a "slave-heart". That eventually, I'd find the right person to give myself to. Then I ascribed to what everyone was telling me-- that I was too headstrong, too controlling, and, well, real slaves don't make a *trew Masteh* work for it, they'd simply recognize his Mastery.

Which is why I sort of gave up on the whole slave thing... until this man I'd met the day before had said this statement so matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

Thinking about my D/s relationships in the past, I reflected on whether I was always so ornery and the answer is no. Not at all. I used to actually be a pretty good girl.

Lately, I've had a penchant for take-down scenes, escaping from rope, being beat for hours on end before I break (if I ever did), and if I put all in the perspective of what my new friend stated, it's not because I'm not submissive-- I'm trying to find someone strong enough to be my Master. Once I do, while still opinionated and headstrong, I feel like I'd make a pretty good slave.

The last person who broke me had my complete devotion. He had the strength and patience and compassion (and sometimes brute force) to take down all of my walls one by one. Walls I'd spent a long time building. And while I was sometimes a 'brat', while I messed up sometimes and needed punished... I knew without a doubt who I belonged to and showed endless and unconditional love and devotion.

So yeah, when he left me without even the sanctity of my walls-- my need to be taken, controlled, 'broken', increased. Because the next one won't get that love, adoration and devotion so easily. Not by a long-shot.

But it doesn't mean I don't have a deep desire to give it. And like AA has the attitude that all you need to have is the "desire" to quit, I kind of feel the same way about M/s. My slave-heart beats deep down in my chest. It's there behind these reinforced walls brought on by distrust, pain and pure stubbornness. And it's waiting for someone with even more strength of character, body, mind, patience, with even more tenacity and not just good intentions to help me take them down.

Taking a Chance

Still taking strides. Been focusing all my energy into positive endeavors. Including *maybe* presenting at future events. Below are some ROUGH outlines of what I want to teach as of now. Feedback IS appreciated, positive or constructive criticism:

BDSM as Therapy: Finding Catharsis in A Scene

Have you ever experienced or heard someone talk about a “Cathartic” scene? What is 'catharsis' in the scope of a scene? Come to this class to explore what catharsis is, why it's a good thing, and how to find this wonderful state in a scene. Discussion includes why and how catharsis is different for tops and bottoms and what could possibly be blocking you from experiencing it.

Understanding Brat/Bitch Play

A Brat/Bitch play dynamic is one of the most misunderstood of D/s dynamics. Join us as we analyze the exchange more as a system of communication and dispel the myth that it's simply “topping from the bottom”. We explore why anyone who respects a D/s dynamic would ever want to engage in this sort of behavior and what both sides get out of it. Whether as part of a temporary roleplay scenario or a 24/7 D/s relationship, learn the joys of embracing your inner brat/bitch ... or reining one in!

Rough and Intense Public Scenes

This class has two different subjects that will be investigated and then integrated to create a very interesting composite scene. First, we will explore what is inherent in a rough scene. We will go over all of the steps on how to create a rough and intense scene including negotiation, preparation, the follow thru and aftercare with a brief touch on safety. Then we will discuss public scening, the different purposes of scening in public and what the difference is between private vs. public scening. Once we integrate the two, we will discuss the characteristics of an intense public scene and things to be mindful of, including environment and those around you. Subjects that will be touched upon will be how to create your ideal rough public scene and controlling the levels of intimacy vs. putting on a production and finding your “zone” vs. including the audience in said scene.

Why Tuesdays are Worse than Mondays in my World: Curse of the Evil Lady.

Ok. So.. if you're here to subject yourself to an entertaining piece of literature in the form of an e-mail of someone getting paid THREE times as me (at least) and "trains" me how to do my job here it goes:

Good morning
On ____________ Sheet, ____ Inventory, and __________Report must match before you start keying for the next week. This mean you need to set down with the _____ people before you start your current week. Your _____Inventory must match your ____ Inventory Sheet and ___ Report, I will like to see this report before any site start keying for the next week. So you can call or email me when you are finishing with your reports. Please put paperwork in daily, as I go thru the report I am seeing mistake, so please organize your day, so you can have time to input CFA. Thank for what all you'll do. Your work is very appreciated.


I received the above e-mail this morning. Before this woman commenced to make my day a living hell. I'm a bit blessed, for now she's not there every day. She only comes in on Tuesdays anymore (and the last hour before I leave on Monday, which is also it's own form of hell).

I had the same reaction: Wowwwwwwww.

Followed by: How the HELL is this the woman I answer to?!?!?!

So anyways... I had it out with this woman today. It's frustrating enough that I'm teaching her how to use her own program and that I'm formulating reports she's taking credit for but then today, today she threw down.

Her: "Why you doing it like this?"
Me: "Because that's how I was told to do it."
Her, incredulously: "Who told you to do it that way????"
Me: "You."

I asked many times when she told me, ARE YOU SURE you want it this way, because it doesn't make sense for this and that reason... There were witnesses. Some even stepped forward today. I'm sorry, she was wrong and I put that in her face when she tried to dump it in my lap. So we'll see what the outcome of that will be in the future.

Honestly, I SO would rather deal with the mob.

Sorry this doesn't have fetish, porn, sex, or anything of that nature in it. I'm boring.

Morals? Where did these come from???

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Another Day, Another Shoot at Kink.

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I was asked an interesting question...

He wondered if I would still be involved in the lifestyle if I hadn't lost my father at such a young age. (He died a week before my 5th birthday. Drunk driving accident. Don't do it, folks. You become a deadly weapon when you toy with even buzzed driving).

This was my response:

A very good question.

The short answer is yes.

I would probably not have the Daddy/LG attraction as much as I do. I wouldn't have missed out on that relationship, causing a void in my past that I now try to exorcise through ageplay and with my penchant for Daddy Doms, rather than simply sadistic tops or dominants.

I was, however, born a spanko. I got turned on from watching spanking scenes in cartoons as far back as my toddler years. I would read and reread passages from stories where the main character, a child my age, would receive some sort of corporal punishment as a consequence of foolish actions. Of course I didn't know what it was at the time-- it just felt like my tummy feels when I went on a roller coaster. But I liked it.Same thing when someone was whipped. I'm preconditioned to get wet from this stuff.

Gay men and women were considered psychologically unsound 10 years ago for their sexual proclivities. People thought that some event in their past caused them to suddenly shift their sexual preference. Now we know it is mostly biological. Same with me. And hopefully that idea too can begin to be accepted... The idea that I simply can't help myself. I am what I am, I was born that way.

I would've found this lifestyle no matter if my father passed on or not. I would've came in a spanko and still would've evolved as I experienced new things-- such as rope. Ten would still be Ten.


I'd like to hear some comments from the peanut gallery. Is your kink biological or psychological and why?

The History of Ten

Ten was born prior to my first Playa. Since it’s also a Playa name, that is kind of cheating… you’re supposed to get your Playa name –ON- the Playa. But meh, petty details.

I had a very different life then—collar and ownership and all. I literally belonged to someone else. So yes, it was true, those who said it was a phase.

The man who owned me named me. Slave 10. The number. Not just because that was all I was. But because I was his perfect 10.

We’re different people now. But I’m still Ten. I’m not a number, and not just someone’s Perfect 10. The word is now personified into the person you see before you today. The person who came to Playa del Fuego and left a changed woman. Who took the collar off, but still remains active in the BDSM community. Because that’s who I am now.

You ask about BDSM? As a “community”? Those who aren’t a part of it will never know how strong we really are. A BDSM “community”—it’s a hard concept for those who think it’s all about beating the snot out of people for sexual gratification. But I assure you, I’ve never felt more a part of something, more supported, and more self-aware before I found my kinky chosen family.

I never fit in anywhere. I never belonged. High school, college, even with those of similar age in the workplace… I was always different. I mean, I got along well enough, I had my fun. But never fit in. Never got let in.

Now. I know what community is. My first chosen “home” where I could be me (Ten) was Dressing for Pleasure’s The Crawlspace. Master Ed and Karen took us in and accepted us as family that very first night. I learned so much there, about different fetishes and people and statuses--- and about uniting under one flag.

It was there that I met Firefly who would take me to my first “big event”: Black Phoenix’s Winter Solstice. It was a sleep-away event where I stayed in a hotel and attended classes during the day. I met soooo many people. And it became apparent that people accepted me, as Ten. The person who I had to hide from others. That I wasn’t strange, crazy, or a burden.

Since then, Ten has attended many events. And Ten has spilled over to daily life. I introduce myself as Ten to most anyone new I meet. I am called “Ten” by both of my roommates, the kinkster and the ‘nilla both. Few people know me by my old name anymore. Those I still talk to from my old life (not the ones that simply keep tabs through Myspace and Facebook status updates), know about my lifestyle… and while they may not want to know details, they accept me as Ten as well, even if they call me by my given name.

Which is why I don’t hesitate anymore in declaring that name dead. While I’m not legally changing my name, please note, that if anyone ever asks if “Ten” is my real name, I will now say, "Yes" emphatically.

A Day in the Life: My first Porn Shoot

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BOOKED!

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Black Phoenix 3/7/09- Rope Mania!

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Mmmm David Lawrence

Who has two thumbs and got to have 3 consecutive bondage scenes with David Lawrence on Saturday night???

This girl!

Blog to come...

But just wanted to make a quick note about his new book reBound. The entire book is available online so be sure to check it out. And I highly suggest you purchase a copy NOW at the discounted price. It makes a great addition to your coffee table book collection!

A Strong Dose of Perspective

OK, I can make this vewwwwy easy on you. Skip to the bottom, to the "Quick and Easy Version" if ya just wanna read some fortune cookie type advice.

Otherwise... have fun readin' wha' goes on in mai head!*

I thought the day was going pretty shitty. Things had been kinda-- less colorful-- since Monday and my experience with my ex (aka the General Manager of the NJ branch of ****ers Inc.-- the company I work for) which led to my resignation. I mean, having to go in for these last 2 weeks (ok, actually twelve days as I don't work Sundays)... it's killing me. It's been two days and I'm getting more and more depressed. I love my fucking job. I mean, I maintain the structural and financial center of an entire company, I work with truckers all day, I can wear pajamas to work, and I can fuck around on Fet all day without fear of reproach. This is a gig to kill for. And yet, one person, who happens to be my boss, who I happened to be VERY in love with at one point, sullied it so much that I need to leave because I feel as though I am mentally and physically in danger.

Today sucks worse than Monday... I have to get all of my stuff out of the warehouse, where I'd been storing it since, what, July? I mean, me and P had been going around these last two days faking it until we made it. As if I wasn't leaving. It seems like it's the way everyone feels like dealing with my exodus...

Except Alv**.

"Naw girl, don' tell me dat. Naw, you playin'. Stop playin." I get a huge hug as the man wrestles with emotions ranging from anger, anxiety, and sadness

Ohhhh Alv--. Alv-- the skinny African American from North Carolina who repeats the same thing over and over, who got real excited over the "crystal clear" picture of a T.V. a customer had given him (I mean REAL excited), and who thinks won-ton soup is some kind of strange, foreign delicacy. He's so special. But he's the only one who showed emotion when I said I was leaving. who was the only one out of all the members of ****vers Inc. to willingly enter the Delancey Street Foundation where all of the workers of this company met.

Oh yeah, I probably forgot to mention that, not only do I work with truck drivers all day, but I work with reformed (reformed with the exception of my ex) drug addicts and ex-cons. The stories you hear, the things you learn when you work in an environment like that... well it should probably be considered a part of your benefits package

OK BACK TO THE POINT

So moving out kinda sucke. It was another blow of reality that I really wanted to ignore. Thank goodness I had the help of Christian Davids and ElisabethDavids (who will always be "Ismene" in my heart). They kept me in good spirits and that they drove 2 hours to help me means the world to me. These kind of friends are VERY few and far between.

I took them and Master_Tombstone out to dinner and we were shootin' the shit and then I got kind of bothered. My mom had called me earlier and said something about a house fire but that everyone was ok and she'd call me later. It didn't really sound all that bad, something like a cooking accident that destroyed a cabinet or something. But at dinner with these fond friends, something hit me, in the gut. A feeling. An "ohmigod". I suddenly felt the need to get in touch with someone, anyone who could explain to me what the fuck happened.

I called my mom, my granddmother, my stepfather, my brother, and my sister. None picked up. They complain that I distanced myself from the family-- argh. Finally get my brother. While I thought his voice was the least likely I'd hear, it was a pleasant surprise to talk to him. Still, he's also the most likely to know nothing beyond the pot smoke within his college dorm room.

Then my mom called back. Actually my stepfather did, from her phone. I used to hate the man. 8 years ago, before they got sober, him and my mother, he used to terrorize the household with empty-- and full for the matter-- threats of bodily harm and anguish. But tonight, I was never more relieved to hear his voice.

He started to tell me what had happened but he was slurring a bit- while he'd given up the sauce, I know he was probably on his second dose of Percocet, whether or not his back really hurt. So I was really happy when he put my mom on the phone. I may think she's an ever-loving cunt and a "douche-cannon" (thanks Eric) but she's still my mom and at that point I was ready to start taking laps around the parking lot, I was so nervous.

I started going into shock when she recounted the events of the previous night. As an empath I could feel how it felt when C**, my 7 year old brother came in to tell her the TV stopped working and how terrified she was when she walked in to see gray smoke pouring out of the outlet. I felt what it was like to grab the kid- to scour the immediate surroundings for what you should be taking in case the place goes completely up in flames. I felt what it was like to have your husband of five years (although she has shitty taste, it is love after all, and love-- I understand-- see excerpt above about loving a toxic asshole) battling the blaze for 25 minutes while you impatiently wait for the FRIGGEN firemen to arrive to save the day. I felt the terror as the firemen went to leave and my fairly high husband asks if they checked the basement and as they open up the crawl space (no, NOT DFP's) and watch as smoke BILLOWS* out. The anguish as the hoses the inept firemen used only pushed the fire farther into the house and destroyed more of the precious irreplaceable stuff that one stores in the basement...

And what's the kicker of it all? My mom, the person who, in my angry adolescent angst years used to positively hate, the woman who beat several HEAVY addictions and continues to fight against rampant co-dependency (AKA wiping my douchebag stepfather's ass all the damn timer-- ok well he's not so much of a douchebag now either)... the woman who sold herself and her kids for drugs, who very nearly lost her identity as a human being... she said that we (meaning her, my stepfather and my little half [whole in my heart) brother] were blessed.

No one got hurt, not even Lucky, the dumbass chocolate lab. And within 24 hours, her connections within Alcoholic's Anonymous found them a "home". Not a hotel. 2 bedrooms, every amenity you could imagine. And the insurance company is paying for it. A home. Within 24 hours A place to stay until the damage was repaired. And this ex Meth head, who has no other faux "silver linings" was able to see the positive.

I tell ya. If ya met me a year ago you'd know I fucking HATED her. So to admit that I love this woman and that she taught me a lesson today is rough... I'm so happy for them and the energy they give me over the phone. Even if it took her other 3 grown kids from previous exploits and her making a new life with the ex-psycho, now somewhat reformed husband and the kid they made.

The only thing that is still making me feel these intense JABS-- yeah, they're fucking jabs... and they need to stop-- of depression is that she made me give her a bin I had taken mistakenly when I moved the fuck out. It had all of my dad's stuff in it and my old report cards, art from art shows I did (holy SHIT, I used to do art shows. And poetry contests. And speech and debate and fiction writing... wow I am a person. And not just someone who likes to be tied up... Sorry just need to remind myself sometimes because I really do love to be tied up) in it. She made me give it back. Luckily, I planned to do a scrapbook for my siblings (the one that share the same Daddy) and I had swiped a lot of his pictures, his wallet, his school term papers... and other random things. So something was working with me there.

But still. My past. A lot of it. Is gone. While it's not my dream home, like that house was to my mother... my past, the happy parts I like to hold onto... are gone.

shakes head vigorously

This blog was SUPPOSED to be about perspective. But yeah, if ya haven't figured it out yet, skip to the Quick 'n Easy Version at the bottom:

Quick 'n Easy Version My parent's house burned down. My past is missing. They don't have their dream house anymore but still feel blessed. So... yeah... how the fuck are you blessed?

Ha. Wicked Faire. UPDATED VIDDY LINK

Hoping this message works. Here's a viddy of me being tied to the cog at Wicked.

Yes my elbows are touching behind my back.

And yes, I got dizzy.

Just a Note

My ass got mentioned again in Graydancer's newest Ropecast which discusses his adventures at Dark Odyssey. Again, nicest ass he's ever seen, apparently. Pretty amazing compliment given that he's seen(and played with) tons of beautiful women's asses. Plus he reviews some kinky Extreme Restraints toys like vibrating nipple clamps.... which I NEED.