Friday, October 8, 2010

the road to hell is paved with hypocrisy

just a short entry today, but this was too long for twitter. i find it absolutely hilarious how people will scream from the hills that "x" is horrible, "y" is of satan and "z" will be the downfall of all time... but openly partake in mind numbing amounts of "w". really? its all the same thing.
for example...
......if i eat a cookie, a hershey kiss or a piece of non-sugar free gum-the world will END.... while you eat a bag a cheetos? bitch what?
......if i have a glass of wine, its a crime against Jesus himself (nevermind the as a Catholic- i drink in church & as an adult, i'm aware of moderation)... but you can all but OD on painkillers? bitch who?
......if i have a down day or need a minute to be my quiet self, i'm being selfish and depressive for no reason...while you never asked what could be the reason, nor do you really have one yourself- but you pontificate on your demise every other week? bitch please!

its not a regular occurrence for all this contradictory bullshit to surround me- but when it does, its at full force from all angles and today i'm at that level. that shut. theee. crispy. charred. hell. UP! level... we all do things that may or may not be in our best interests, but at the end of that day you can be no more than a positive cheerleader to those in your life making decisions you dont agree with. forcing what you think other people should do onto the them is just going to piss you off when they dont take your advice and piss them off because you feel the need to share.

Monday, September 27, 2010

the wind has been knocked out of me

Typically, I'm not the easiest person to rile. Little stupid things may irk my nerves or cause an eye roll with relative ease- but truly getting to me always has been a pretty difficult task. The exception to this is when my heart is invested, when most would agree the rules go out the window a lot of the time.

Today was no execption.

Over the last couple years its been a running joke that I'm the perfect remedy to a man that wont grow up. Want him to find religion? Let him date me. Mothers looking to marry their sons off? Let him date me. In need of a grandchild? Again, just let him date me. While I wont be next to him in church/ mosque/ synagogue or your daughter in law or mother of your grandchild- I will definitely be the catalyst for him to do some combination of these things with the very next woman he meets in six months or less. This is my talent apparently. And it was funny as a joke amongst friends, kinda. We'll say mostly, though it stung a little. Overall, I was ok. It just wasn't my turn and no one that fit into this formula was someone that would have been right for me anyway.

Until today.

Not the first man to hurt me- but the first one to actually break my heart. The first one I believed in wholly and without question, even as everyone around me seemed to cringe. I know I knew better, and I know I've loved in some form or another before. But this one... this one I loved on a level that even I didn't wholly understand. I could actually picture old age with him- something I had never experienced before or since. I let go of deal breakers and accepted him for who he was, what came with it and what came during our relationship and is still with me to this day. But it wasn't enough- and he now holds the distinction of the only one that was able to make me lose my breath when the end came.

I'm sure that experience has a lot to do with why my steps are still shaky to this day, but I was really sure that there was nothing else that could come to pass and affect me for more than just a fleeting moment. I can see him out and about and not give it anymore energy than a wave and a nod. I can hear the "did you know...." gossip that's ever present in a small city with no more than a shrug.

But now he's engaged.

And I can't breath again.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

never expect something you don't have the courage to ask for

i've never been the type to talk myself into a revelation or suddenly find clarity in obsessing over an issue. those types of activities tend to leave me more pissed off than when i started. usually, if i want to work something out i have to set it down, walk away and one day in the not so distant future, my mind will wander to a conclusion. why am i surprised every time this happens, i don't know. but the process works, so i guess i'll keep flowing with it lol.

today is one of those days. zoning out playing bejeweled blitz for no other reason that i don't feel like doing the dishes i was too lazy to wash last night, my mind started to wander to feelings i've been holding in for a few weeks- but that i've felt for a while regarding some friends of mine. the short version is that i felt like our friendships were becoming a little one sided. i didn't always hit every mark as a friend, but i tried. i always had to make the effort to go see them, to call, to IM, etc. except in circumstances where something was needed, then i was on speed dial. for their birthdays/ celebrations/ get togethers i was there 99% of the time, dish to pass, bottle or card in hand. but for mine, if i did see them, it was a hassle. i was cutting into their time to do something else.

and for some reason, i kept my mouth shut about feeling slighted for years. maybe it was that it was common knowledge that i spent some of that time battling depression and didn't answer the phone or come out much at all that left them with the "let her come to us when she's ready" outlook. maybe it was that there was a few years i didn't want to celebrate my birthday, they thought that was a permanent thing. maybe life just got in the way and kids, family, jobs, etc happen. maybe it was that i really wasn't that valued as a friend.

its not my place to say what the reason was, nor does it much matter. today i realized the number one reason why i felt that way had nothing to do with them or what they were/ weren't doing. they didn't do what i expected them to do because i never had the courage to say that was what i expected. i'm the first to say "don't worry about it" or brush off that something IS a big deal to me if i can see its not something that can, will or has want to be done. i give because i want to, because i enjoy doing what i can for my friends. how can i hold someone else responsible what i choose to do? i have the option of saying no, but lack the fortitude to deal with disappointing someone i care about. after all, its important to them- right?

reading this one would think that i am in the habit of keeping succubus types around for my health lol. not the case at all. these people are counted among those who i care about most in life and we have shared and done for one another quite a bit over the years. but just as with anyone you love, no random person is capable of making you feel worse than those that are closest to you. it wouldn't much matter if this was a total stranger or even an acquaintance- those types of situations are easy to walk away from. amazing how we easy it is to let a stranger know what we expect and correct at the simplest sign of deviation... but a friend becomes that gray area filled with "maybe they'll get it

*crack*

no, maybe i was wrong to never tell them.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

count your blessings

And they'll be no need for tissues
'Cause there will be no further issues
If you got someone who miss you,
Man, count your blessings.

I've got love and assurance
I've got new health insurance
And I've got strength and endurance
So I count my blessings

And give thanks to the master
That through all the disaster
We're still here together after
Better count your blessings

~Nas ft Damien Marley
"Count Your Blessings"


Three decades.
Thirty years.
Ten thousand nine hundred and fifty seven days.

You would think I now consider myself old. Truthfully, when I think about the number I do feel old. This is the age we are supposed to fear, right? So why am I not scared, worried or fearful? Am I still keeping up the trend from my teens and twenties of never doing things when I’m supposed to? Maybe.

I can vividly remember a certain day when I was seven. I was playing with my Barbie with the amazingly crooked bob hairstyle with fresh bangs I cut that morning and Derrick, who was just a Ken doll with brown hair and highlights, but cooler because he was marketed as a bass player in a punk rock band and wore a neon green shirt and black tie. Even as a kid if it fit stat quo, I wasn’t having it. My mom was there in this khaki skirt outfit with a huge lion on the back and a red plastic bracelet- her coolest outfit ever to my seven year old Leo self- and I asked her “How old are you, Mommy?”. “Thirty-seven.” Her answer horrified me. Mommy was fly, she couldn’t be… *gulp*… in her THIRTIES?! That meant she was old. That soon she would die. That her life would be over and when that happened, who would buy me a new Barbie whose hair I could cut off? Silly and trivial- but I was seven, what do you want? I’ve been scared of turning thirty ever since.

Fast forward to the two thousandth and tenth year since they say the big homie, Jesus, was born. As of August 6th at 5:37pm, I am officially thirty years old. The family I started with loves me just as fiercely as ever- and is growing to include a new generation that I sit in awe of. Friends I’ve had for years are still my most loyal confidants and cheerleaders, even as they have watched me tear myself apart. It’s possible there is a new opportunity for me to explore the world coming over the horizon (keep your fingers crossed). And despite yet another klutz related injury and the presence of some pounds I was supposed to shed long ago- my body is now that of a non-smoker after twelve long, stinking years.

While I cant say I didn’t have a small moment of mourning for the mistakes I’ve made thus far on the beautiful marble bathroom floor of a hotel in New Orleans or that the lack of acknowledgment from a few people I’ve cheered on over the years didn’t hurt just a little - for the most part I feel so at peace that I’m not quite sure how to handle it. Nothing in my life is as I imagined it would be at this point, but I have no idea what I would do if I didn’t have the life that has materialized. It’s not perfect. Shoot, in a lot of ways its not even ideal- but it makes me smile. When I think of what’s in store, that smile turns to a laugh. Even though a lot of days I ask if I’m on candid camera, I’m happy in knowing that the universe thinks enough about lil ol me to punk me on a regular basis. I must be doing something right – so I count my blessings.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

You are a whore. Do the math.

As I sit here on an amazingly wild and crazy Friday night with my watermelon fizz and Sex and the City DVDs, I realize that the lovely women of one of my favorite shows are certified whores. Or at least they would be in real life. But on TV- they are normal.

Now we all know Samantha was the whore of the group. Over the shows six season run, she bedded 94 men. Well, actually 93 in five seasons considering that season six was for Smith Jerrod. That’s 18.6 a year or a new penis and a half every month. Considering I have known more than a handful of women who go to the club one to two times a week and meet someone new on at least half of their excursions and sleep with maybe half of those men, Samantha is on par with you everyday run of the mill club rat. Over the course of just this woman’s twenties, she will have bedded 186 men. Well, no wonder people think everyone cheats. While the club rat isn’t most men’s ideal exclusive partner, there seems to be no shortage of men that will sleep with them- in more instances than most would admit that does not include a condom and in some cases they even give out a few gifts, groceries or utilities payments. How turned off by the club rat can men be?

Then we have the “good” girl, Charlotte. She is the marrying type, the one who obsesses over the dating rules and following the Miss Manners mode of sexual operation. We will give her four seasons as she was married for two of them. She slept with 18 men (the same as Carrie, who also spent at least two seasons involved- probably more). That’s four and a half a year (or a new penis less than every three months). With that average, she would have slept with 54 men in just her twenties. And this is a good one?

The single, shining beacon of hope? Miranda, whose lowly 17 partners would seem to make her the good one. There is one problem, she was with Steve for the better part of three of those seasons, so her average is five per year or a new one every two plus months. Add to this, Miranda’s sex number is the only one we actually know -42. Being that the average age in America to lose ones virginity is 16-17 and she is 34 when we learn this information, Miranda successfully bounced on 2.4 new penises a year. So I guess those three seasons were just really busy for her and she did her whoring in her thirties instead of her early twenties/college years like the rest of us. But what do I know?

I think I have confused myself with all this, so I’m willing to bet you are as well. Let’s go ahead and add the final wrinkle anyway- that Sex and the City only covers four months of a year in any given season. As we learned from Miranda, numbers can be skewed, however in Samantha’s case I think we can stick to the formula. This leaves her with a 55.8 man a year average. Well hot damn, misshapen pussy walls for everyone!

I do realize this is just a TV show and of course things are turned up more than a few notches for dramatic effect. Real life must be much, much slower- right? Apparently, the government thinks so as research shows a woman’s average number of sexual partners is four. (don’t worry guys, you get seven.) Excuse me? FOUR? My most extra virginal, pure as the driven snow friend is holding at four right now. She is under thirty and just broke up with number four. That’s it, she’s done? For life? El Fin? I have friend couples in the late twenty/ early thirties who have been married over ten years each- every single of them is past four- sadly some of them in just the time since they had been married.

Do I just have whore friends, myself included? Or can we venture to guess the government just might be *gasp* wrong? So I ask you, how many is too many? No, I am I not asking how many you have had- nor will I answer- just how many you think is too many for everyone else, considering the math.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Relationships would have been much easier if we had common sense at twenty…

~You are supposed to be single- you’re twenty. Learn how to deal with and love it. Ninety nine percent of the men you date are supposed to be a one or two date thing. If every date turns into sex, a friends with benefits situation, or a relationship you are doing something wrong. Be selective; take the time to make sure you accomplish your goals so you are the catch, not the option. You have to learn you before you can learn anyone else.

~It’s so much easier to catch a man with ho shit. Like, infinitely easier. Too bad easy is the only word that describe everything about that situation- including you. Not much needs to be said about this, except if you want a long term interaction- have a long term introduction.

~You can’t save a bum or change a workaholic.
(Same goes for unstable, crazy, thugs, spineless, et al) What more can I really say about this? He won’t wake up one day and suddenly realize the need for balance. Nothing you say or do will bring him to a middle ground. That’s purely his decision and if it’s not working for you, then waiting for that breakthrough is only succeeding in making you older.

~If there is a problem- it is always you, not them.
It may be a result of their actions or lack there of, but ultimately the problem is yours to deal with. However you choose to solve it- you can only take responsibility for yourself. Your choice in partner. Your choice in accepting certain behavior. Your choice in attitude, outlook, and coping mechanisms. Be accountable for both the positive and the negative in life- this includes yourself.

~You can be wrong. It’s allowed.
What isn’t is not accepting it, making the necessary apologies and actually attempting to change the behavior. None of us are perfect and refusing to change for the better is hurting you more than him in the end. He’ll find someone that doesn’t do that and you will do it to the next one. This also applies to the wrong choice in partner. If it’s not for you- leave.

~You are a woman. You aren’t supposed to do what men do.
Well you can, but how does it benefit you to be mannish? It can be fun, cute or useful for a little while. It is stupid that men can get away with things we can’t, but we have our own set of special powers as well. When is the last time your boyfriend batted his eyes and poked out his breasts to get out of a ticket? Looked at you to open his door? Also on the plus side, you will never have balls. Take the advantages of being a woman and enjoy them.

~He’s a man. Let him be.
Nagging, chastising, screaming and ridicule accomplish nothing. You don’t have to be the mute Stepford Wife, but you do need to learn how to shut up and let him figure it out sometimes. Mastering the art of subtle suggestion is much more effective tool here. The only warning- make sure he is capable of being a man before you give him that type of role in your life. He needs to be able to steer the ship to deserve your submission. (P.S. Submission is not a bad thing- blind obedience is. We all have our roles; they are equally important and require the control of both parties.)

~Faking an orgasm is a huge waste of time. This practice really serves no benefit to anyone involved. He’s going to think that horrible use of his two front teeth is cool, that jack rabbit sex is what’s hot or those three minutes of flaccid pumps are an Olympic performance and more than likely get his feelings (or his forehead) seriously injured when someone down the line blurts out what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You will take just that much longer to learn what it actually takes to have a real orgasm- and lets face it, at twenty (shoot, for some it’s thirty or forty) most of us didn’t know what a bonafide orgasm was anyway. Adding insult to (possible) injury, there is nothing worse for either party for him to pull the “I had you screaming though.” card in a fight only for you to pick that time to tell him he’s horrible in bed. He won’t believe you at that point anyway.

~Like it or not, eventually marriage is necessary.
It may not be suitable for everyone, but if you want someone there when you are eighty, playing house isn’t the way to go about it. While it is true that marriage has lost some of its sacredness and it no longer means a guarantee, it still carries a much deeper commitment to actually working problems out and thinking about the union before giving into desires that serve only one of the two than a one year apartment lease.

~Blowjobs. Yes! You have to do that. And honestly, I hope you enjoy doing it. If you don’t, look at it as reparations for him dealing with your PMS. We all make sacrifices and while I hope you don’t make a martyr of yourself with this one, if that’s what it takes to get you to feign excitement then so be it. Bonus: Get you some head too!n'

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

5 minutes of frustration

What is the worst thing in the world for a person like me? Being ignored.

Not in the larger sense, as I'm a huge fan of sitting in the background and just watching what goes on around me. but in the "I'm right here telling you something and you act like I'm not" sense.

People seem to be of the mindset that I'm not a big girl that can't handle certain things. In reality- I'm the biggest fan of the truth ever. Don't leave me dangling because you are too... I'm sure you would say nice or careful of my feelings, but I will be blunt and say you are just simply too busy punking out. Its really simple to be honest with your feelings with me- there rarely is an argument, or even a discussion to follow. If that's how you feel, I have to accept it even if i feel differently about the subject. It may sting, I may be hurt for a minute- but I'll respect you more for it. And the longer you take to address something, knowing full well that it's an issue, the worse it becomes. Because then it starts to become something that doesn't need to be talked about anymore, you are just an asshole. While I am friends with a few assholes and they are fun people, they are rarely anyone I take seriously or bother really investing in.

So if you are wondering why I'm short with you at times or I seem to shut down on you when you talk about unrelated things, now you know. You are on the one way path to asshole-ville because I'm tired of telling you shit you ignore. Hey, I tried.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

its my anniversary....

Today is April 18, 2010. I am single, not dating, not having sex and not really overly concerned or driven to do much about changing that.

A year ago today, I knew eventually I was going to stop “meeting up” with my ex, but I cant say I had a concrete plan on when that was going to happen. I wasn’t his biggest fan (hence the “ex” title) but our meetings served a purpose that he was, shall we say, skilled at. It wasn’t interfering too terribly in other aspects of my life. Sure, there was the occasional uncomfortable phone call if he had more to drink than I wanted to deal with and schedules to sync up. I knew that I was sharing penis (a practice I despise) and there was the time or two that his inability to understand that we BOTH were single resulted in some surprise visits that probably weren’t high on my neighbors list of positives to their restful sleep. But on the whole, I had my cake and I got to eat it too. And really, isn’t that the point of a piece of cake anyway?

Then I was over it. The option was there, the opportunity was there, but the drama from even a no strings attached type interaction wasn’t enough to justify the benefits. So I set my mind into taking a little break and starting to keep an eye out for other prospects once summer came into full swing. That should be easy enough, right?

Apparently not.

As time crept closer to summer, I used my time to get some more work in both professionally and on myself personally. I had gone without sex before, but never without a dating crutch or at the very least a few friendly pursuits to keep me occupied. It was time for me to be truly single for the first time since I started dating at 15. No numbers in my phone or on slips of paper in my purse to fall back on (that I would use anyway), no picking up new ones, no falling back into old habits with those friends you call when you are in between relationships- just me.

At first, this break was incredibly liberating. I felt truly free of years of dating the same possessive and almost obsessive types that kept sniffing around long after the final curtain call. (Why I even got into that habit or tolerated that kind of behavior for the majority of my twenties is another discussion for another time.) I remember a conversation with an internet buddy around this time in which I was deluded enough to think it was the sex just that good to the point that old flames refused to just flicker out when told. I guess it was too early for me to admit that it was more about them recognizing and capitalizing on my need to still be desired physically. A want to be wanted. Smart guys. Assholes of my own choosing for the most part, but smart none the less.

Well spring turned into summer, summer was getting close to fall. By that time, I was in- what kills me to admit, but let’s be honest- all out depression. Not from the lack of physical affection (in all forms, not just sex) but from having the time to force myself to look in the mirror and see how broken the reflection was.
I had spent so many years looking for that man to love me “despite” that I had let all my potential get used up. Without going into gory details, what I mean by that in a nutshell is that my physical appearance had always got me in the door so the speak. I have always been smart; school was relatively easy, as was making money, my job, friends, acquiring material possessions, living life in general- even with the bumps in the road. But that’s not what I was valued for in most situations with the men I chose. I was the pretty one. The green eyed one. The long haired one. The big titty one. The thick thighed one. As time went on, I lost my drive to keep up the physical, hoping that eventually I would be valued for all I was despite my appearance instead of because of it. And the longer I went without this need for validation being met, the more I let all the other positives fall by the wayside too. I just didn’t care enough to keep it all up. I didn’t care enough to keep ME.

After coming to the realization of how skewed my self worth was and having no idea how to fix it, the depression came. Sure life was long, but having to face wasting the time that was supposed to be spent on building my foundation and starting over when many were settling into what they built broke me. I was no longer pretty or exhibiting any smarts or making money or fun at parties. I was overweight. I was jealous of my friends that seem to have it together. I was jaded and dangerously close to bitter. At one hundred pounds heavier than I was at eighteen, with no degree, no man, no children and a job I detested it just seemed like too much to be able to rectify before it would be too late (in my own mind) to get back on track, I simply checked out. Thankfully, I failed at that too.

As fall came and crept into winter and the holidays came, I sat still. I had started a semester of school with a new major to try and jump start myself out of the self hatred, but the need to stay in it meant I ended up withdrawing. A new nephew came into the world and despite loving his cute butt so much, it felt like another slap in the face on my inadequacy. My finances fell further into the dumps with my overall indifference to my job. Most of my friends stopped calling or texting because I never answered anyway. My family, despite their best efforts and closed lips, couldn’t hide that look that said they saw I was very much drowning. I stuck mostly to communication with people that didn’t know me well enough to realize there was a problem. I hid until I could figure it out. But I never did.

It was months before I felt this cloud of inadequacy start to lift. I’m still not sure when or how it did, nor can I tell you it has completely gone away. I still see fat, broke and ugly when I look in the mirror. I still see someone who isn’t strong enough to admit their own beauty (inside and out). I still see someone who doesn’t feel wholly deserving. But a year later, twenty pounds lighter, re-enrolled in school and climbing out of debt, I do see someone who needed to not have sex, someone that needed to take physical validation out of the equation, someone who is trying to make a change absent of outside confirmation. And while I don’t think I’m looking to make it two years, I do see someone that’s ok with sticking it out until sex is the icing, not the whole cake.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

just let me please you

Just let me do I as I wish
Take in every part of you
Actions unplanned and over executed
Tasting the simplicities of your skin with each kiss
Savoring every curve and bend between my lips
The glide of my tongue tracing places unseen
Allowing your senses steer me on cue.
Just let me please you.

I want to feel your body tense as balance you try to keep
As water becomes the secondary provider of steam
Every ridge of every valley awakens
My hair sliding through your fingers
Your grip tightens and the pull slows, then lingers
Breathing held for longer than anticipated
Thought falls away as eyes hold a mischievous gleam.
Just let me please you.

If cleanliness is next to godliness
Then I’m kneeling to pray for your eternal soul
Evangelical in my craving to cast out the demon
Venturing deeper, the rhythm coaxes slow with gently plies
Wearing my desire for all of you on the length of my thighs
Blessed cloak of shadows taking you to the ends of your wits
Given, never lost, your sense of control.
Just let me please you.



3/13/10
©jasmîne gabrielle

Monday, January 4, 2010

like you'll never see me again.....

Every time we wake in each others arms
Morning light accentuating the others charms
The sins of the night before disappear, even if only for a moment in passing
Though be both know that feeling wont be lasting
Continuous cycle in which we sit trapped
Powerless to let go, yet still not able to move past
Killing a piece of each other a little more each day
Unable to just let today be the time to say
The final embrace, that last time the others arms to feel
Actually admit the poison we inject and be free to heal
Every time I kiss you I wait to hear you say you're leaving
That you are finally are ready to take the space we both have been needing
Not that I’m ready for you to be gone
But because I’m not strong enough to make a decision that strong
Years of knowing the other is making life hell
Waiting for the moment that will never come for the toll of the final bell
A knock out, a decision no matter
Anything, as long as it means the start of some peace, something better
Loving each other too much to let the other simply go live
Hating each other too much to hand over what the other needs us to give
Loving more than power exists to make ourselves whole
Hating more than will allows to act on what we know
It’s so over there are no longer words that can describe how fucked up we are
No longer an apology that can make up for the emotional bruises or mental scars
So tonight, while I have the strength to say the words
I’m going to hold you like a lover does, kiss you like it’s not a curse
Make love to you like I know it’s the last
And in the morning, instead of greeting you like we never had a tumultuous past
I will leave you like one of us should have done long ago
And find myself the love we were never able to accept or show.


(this is old, circa 2007 i think, but i came across it and thought i would share)