Fear-Full!Less! Contemplation

The queen met with an almost full retinue of ladies-in-waiting this weekend. The mood was one of celebration and joy.  Much of Aes Sidhe’s latest gossip was shared and dissected amongst the women in the spirit of good-hearted fun.  However, much to the queen’s surprise, her ladies were prepared to delve into questions about the Princes which had not occurred to her at that point in time. They had many of their own personal faerie tales of less-than-chivalrous acts to divulge, and divulge they did!  Our queen was left on her dais dumbstruck and fearful.  Why didn’t I think of that, she asked herself. What if that’s true, she wondered.  She walked away from that afternoon’s repast not in happy expectation but cautious anxiety. Our sovereign does not share the minutiae of her queenly duties with many, and when it comes to entertaining princes she can appear almost mute on the subject. Dysphonic. The ladies were all atwitter with the details she was willing to share, but rather than be happy for her some of the company appeared to be downright judgmental. It left our ruler with much to ponder.

I’m not certain what The Rules are. I haven’t reviewed He’s Just Not That Into You. I’m from Mars more than Venus. I don’t, as a rule, lie to members of the opposite sex (full disclosure: this rule does not necessarily hold true in business. But that’s a different ball of wax, now, isn’t it?). I don’t believe in fabricating stories in order to impress someone of romantic interest. I mean, what happens if you lie, and then that person does become interested in you, and then you have to disclose the truth? What a disappointment!  No, yours truly may be making a mistake by being upfront and honest with these new friends I am making, but it’s who I am.  And I am seeking The Gold Standard, don’t forget. I am not interested in the chaff.  The chaff don’t really matter. Therefore, I am careful who I select to befriend, and I am careful about cultivating that friendship.  Don’t be misled – I am not suggesting I have told anybody anything about my former kingdom. At least, I am acutely aware of the proper amount of spin control.  But I am not going to willfully present myself as someone other than who I am. I wear many masks, that is true.  But each mask is a part of me, and each mask represents a facet of my very-real personality.

My friends were frightening me for my own good, I think. I hope. I hope they weren’t frightening me for a darker purpose!  And it isn’t to say they were all that way: two friends of that company in particular have been infinitely kind and gentle with me. They are simply happy I’ve decided to end my sentence in the Ivory Tower and rejoin the ranks of real human beings. I have been away for so long, Dear Readers!  I cannot say whether what I am doing is for good or ill. All I know is that I am having fun, more fun than I have had in years.  I like the new me. She is more aggressive and playful, not willing to be a subject in her own land.  She is smart and funny and kinda sexy-bookish, if there even is such a term out there ;)  Lady Eva says that Tina Fey could play me in the movie about my life.  I take that as a compliment.  But regardless of who plays me in the role, or whether there is a term such as “sexy-bookish”, I intend to move slowly forward with these and any other Princes who may catch my discerning eye. I was a prisoner for eons; now that I am free I intend to take full advantage of what life has to offer me.

I will not cower. I will stumble. Fall. Stagger. Recover. Fall again. Dance. Leap. Pirouette. Embrace. As long as that chain of events keeps me lively and happy, then I will continue on my merry way.  My ladies-in-waiting, although protecting me with the best of intentions, have forgotten the simple fact that this is my second shot at life.  What a blessing!  How many of us actually have that, or even if we have it how many of us recognize it for what it is and take full advantage?!?!

No, the queen shall remain contemplative until the First of Dates. She remains cautious always. But she will not lock herself away, will not become inured to the joy of dalliance simply because it has injured others in the past. She hid for so long.

She’s done hiding.

“And tell me, is it a crime to have an ideal or two? Evolving takes it's time, we can't do it all in one go. Doesn't have to drive us all mad, we can only do our best. Let the mind shut up, and the heart do the rest” ~Howard Jones

Theorum I: The Art of Sex

i have a theory. the Art of Sex has very little to do with the Act of Copulation. copulation is something all mammals do; it's a biological imperative meant to enhance and/or propagate the species. there is no joy to it. it is a physical act: insert tab A into slot B, thrust repeatedly, and share some chromosomes. it lasts moments, a few minutes at best. it may or may not be pleasurable.

big f'ing deal.

yeah, i hear you. i get it. sex is great! sex is awesome! sex is hawt!  but you're missing the point i'm trying to make: sex IS great. at least, it can be.  but sex is not copulation.  at least, not in this gal's lexicon. 

as far as i'm concerned, the best part is the game. the pursuit. the fencing match. the dance between two individuals who are physically attracted to one another but who don't immediately give into their basest nature.  channel that energy into something Other. perhaps a creative outlet such as... writing a blog, for instance ;)  or painting a picture. or unlocking MRSA's mysteries. i think sexual tension is one of the most delightful sensations a woman can experience. but it's not having sex. not even close.

being skilled in The Art of Sex is a powerful tool, indeed. Cleopatra wrote the book, in my opinion. picture this: an 18-year old Macedonian queen who inherited a crumbling kingdom full of economic difficulties, famine, drought, corruption, and dangerous political conflicts. her kingdom was hemorrhaging tributes at a rapid rate.  so what does she do? she smuggles herself into the private chambers of the most powerful man in the world, seduces him somehow, and a short nine months later bears him a son. she convinces Caesar to back her cause (which for some reason he gladly does), and she once again becomes a powerful monarch in her own right.  here's the thing: he didn't need her; he was already married; she was not a beauty.  when Caesar is assassinated, she immediately beds one of the three dictators who ruled Rome following his death, bore him children, and safeguarded her kingdom in this fashion.  here's the thing: he didn't need her; he was also already married; she was still no beauty.  how did she manage all this?  what was her secret?  i believe it was The Art of Sex.  being attractive to a person doesn't have to be about physical beauty.  i believe it has more to do with intellectual prowess, the ability to shift on a dime, an aptitude in playful humor, and the resourcefulness to stay one step ahead of one's quarry without ever letting him think so.  they say the way to a man's heart is his stomach?  i politely disagree. i believe the way to his heart is through his head. keep him dancing, keep him guessing, keep him interested.  make him feel special, make him believe you're special. hell, convince a man that you are someone worth possessing and he will stop at nothing to acquire you.  but let's be clear here: there is no rule which states you must be caught.  never, ever let him think he owns you.  only let him believe he has tamed you.  if you can accomplish that, he will be yours in whatever capacity you wish.

your opportunities are endless, ladies...

...now let's see if i can successfully practice what i preach, shall we?

 

"You don't know and i don't care, so hard i know, it's not fair.
Get with me, i'll change it up like no one has before Knock it down i'll pick it up, put you on the floor
Oh, your love is cool, but don't you know Everbody's doin' it, you can feel it in the air"
~ Rudenko

 

Prepping for the Exam

the Queen and her retinue are all aflutter! the time is coming soon when our raven-haired ruler must make the greatest of first impressions upon the Princes!  there are nails to be polished, tresses to be braided, petticoats to be starched, shoes to be buffed! all this effort and more must go into preparations for the First Of Dates.  the queen's subjects have all kindly endeavored to comply with the order of "no frangipane", and as a token of solidarity have removed most honeyed cakes, slabs of beef and pork, sweetened drinks, and candied violets from their own tables.  she works hard, our queen, calling upon her former training with Lady Eva in the art of all things exercise. the queen is older now and has less stamina. of course, one does not speak of such things outright, but we are all very supportive of her efforts, and much improvement has been made on HRH's personage even as we speak.  God Bless our Queen.

so i have one. a date. i can't believe it myself. pinch me, Friend, because this must be someone else's life.

now before you go lecturing me to be careful and not jump into things blindly, etc. etc., i will take the time to explain that this boy i'm seeing next week operates at a glacial speed. which, for my purposes, it just about right.  it's been a long time since i've been on a date. i am terrified and exhilarated at the same time.  i want to make a good impression. i want to be liked. and i really want to have a nice time.  so a slow pace is preferable to a fast one. i need to get my feet wet before i slip into the sea. 

i am worried about my appearance, like many females of the species are when faced with this opportunity. i have been starving myself and exercising like mad. i have made significant progress since the end of january (thanks, Nutella!), but of course i'm already feeling like it wasn't enough. "if only i could be 10 pounds lighter" "if only i didn't have the beginnings of crow's feet" "if only i were my young, hot self"  if only...  but i am none of those things. i am 40 years old, 15 lbs overweight, have laugh lines, and don't look in the mirror to say to myself "ooh, hawt."  i know i am not a bad looking woman, but i am definitely a fearful one in this matter.  please understand, i spent years of my life seeing myself through Judas' eyes -- what a waste, and more importantly, what a disservice to myself! Judas never did much to make me feel special. but don't blame him; I always knew he possessed that trait. remember -- i was the one who settled. and now, here i stand without anchor or focus, and i have no idea if i am capable of Attraction.

"Frankenstein and Dracula have nothing on you; Jekyll and Hyde join the back of the queue -  the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Oh she wants to conquer the world completely, but first she'll conquer me discreetly - the female of the species is more deadly than the male" ~Space

 

 

The Lady Chamberlain

the Lady Chamberlain Adelheid Einrichtungsmanager ("Heidi") is a chief officer of the Royal Household. she is peer and privy councillor to our beloved monarch, second to Lady Eva in matters of the household but first in public functions of the court. in short, it is Heidi's job to make the kingdom run smoothly.

Heidi is a reluctant member of court. she is a woman schooled in business, mathematics, engineering, biology, and hard knocks. she prefers manufacturing over needlepoint. her expression is most often somber and serious, a countenance she must wear in order to control the marauding legions of soldiers she commands. in order to remain in power, she dusts her flaxen hair and soots her porcelain skin. Heidi is not a woman to be hampered by her looks; her beauty is either a hindrance or a weapon, depending on the motivation of those around her. but beautiful she is nonetheless, and nary a suitor can be found in this kingdom who has not at least once dreamed of taking the hand of this Chamberlain. it is known throughout the land that the queen considers her Lady Chamberlain to be her better in many matters; there has been speculation on both sides of the high seas that the queen and the Lady Chamberlain are actually related. they are often of one mind, and their combined acumen is magnificent to behold. enemies beyond the borders of Aes Sidhe (and even those within) quake at the sight of these two dazzling women standing side-by-side in full stainless steel armor. 

 

Heidi approves of the queen's current state at court.  she knows the story as well as any subject of the realm:  crowned queen long before she had ample opportunity to attend many balls, cotillions, pickinicks, or May Days, our sovereign is a woman of disparity. on the one hand, she is a just and benevolent ruler with a quick wit and sharp tongue. there is a famous story of our queen's travels through the Nubian Plains in which she was surrounded by a pack of hungry cat-beasts.  instead of panicking, our royal highness unslung from her shoulder a lute, and played a lullaby while crooning softly to the cat-beast matriarch. the famished creatures not only spared her life but pulled her royal sledge through the savannah with great haste; she has the pelts to prove it. on the other hand, especially in matters such as the Darkling Art of Enticement, she reveals herself to be rather unlettered and unschooled.  although Heidi remains steadfast to the queen at all times, she has been publicly quoted as saying the queen had been married off to Judas at far too young an age.  she is therefore amused and warmed by the queen's newfound attentions to ones such as The Other White Meat and The Real Megillah. Heidi reminds herself that in this effort the queen is like a young princess again; she is determined to make certain her liege does not stumble during public functions, and helps her practice her diction in the royal mirror every afternoon at teatime. she hopes the court continues to grow with many interesting, powerful, and seductive princes. she wants our sovereign to break bread at many tables, and revels in each schoolgirl peal that emits from HRH after meeting another fearless suitor. her job is to protect the Royal Personage from harm, and she takes this charge seriously. she will not tolerate popinjays or puppet rulers. she holds no opinion on either example of the current princely favorites, other than she is pleased they entertain her dear friend the queen. she hopes they will continue to afford her royal affiliate much amusement and sweet dalliance.

"Give me back my point of view 'cause I just can't think for you.
I can hardly hear you say 'What should I do?' Well... you choose" ~Jet

 

Lady Eva

before you get the wrong impression and think that the only nobleborn in Aes Sidhe are of the male persuasion, it is time to introduce you to a very important member of the queen's court: namely, the Superintendent of the Queen's Household, Lady Eva Mendes.

Lady Eva is HRH's closest confidante. through a series of scandalous actions known throughout the kingdom that are often speculated upon, Eva and the queen became fast friends at a tender and impressionable age when both studied under the tutelage of Dame Schlueter. neither girl was particularly familiar with the cruel and often manipulative ways of court, but the dame's young charges clung to each other for support and camaraderie until each came of age. the two girls could often be found secreted away in the basement of the scullery. it is speculated that this is the place where our fine sovereign learned the art of aerobics and saucy chatter.  it is also assumed to be place she first developed her love of foreign film.

Lady Eva is one of only two sources the queen can depend upon to clearly discuss current matters of the court.  it is no great secret to anyone in Aes Sidhe that Eva currently favors one prince over the other, but she swiftly reminds the queen that hers is a single-ruler kingdom, and should remain so for a long time to come. Eva has the distinct honor of being the only woman in the queen's cortege who has seen both princes. The Other White Meat has been paraded around to a small number of ladies-in-waiting, and all have given their approval.  but only Eva has had the opportunity for formal introductions to The Real Megillah.  as i mentioned, Eva is indeed HRH's most trusted confidante.

Eva and i talk all the time. it wasn't always so.  when Judas was a fixture here, he didn't approve of Eva and so yours truly had to do what she thought was a wifely duty and distance herself from her friend for the sake of her spouse. in turn (and to her credit), Eva did not much like Judas from the start, and knew her dearest friend was destined for sadness and trouble.  Eva had no choice but to distance herself from her friend. but the moment that trouble hit, Eva was once again by my side.  so it is with the greatest of friendships, the ebb and flow of time not really disrupting the bonds created so many years ago. i hope you are lucky enough to find a friend such as Eva, Dear Readers. i know i try to give thanks for her every day.

Eva is the consummate single gal. she is witty, fun-loving, bawdy when encouraged but demure on a man's arm. in short, she is the perfect teacher for this fledgling adventurer-in-training. she finds this whole exercise -- my whole exercise -- to be entertaining and enlightening. we have always been able to play off one another, but in this field of interest she is the master and i the novice. i listen with rapt attention at her feet while she sits on my throne... while no one else is looking, of course. 

Eva reminds me i am a prize, a temptress, and a tease, with a dose of good laughs thrown in for good measure. she honestly feels i am a great queen, but castigates me when i revert to fears of worthlessness. she says she cannot understand how i have not yet come to realize my worth, that i am more than an average monarch. she is teaching me how to regain my regal bearing, how to hold my head during official ceremonies, and how to curtsy with a private wink and the barest hint of ankle. can i share a secret with you?  lean in close and i'll whisper it: Eva says i am already queen, but she thinks one day i may become Empress.

can you imagine?

"All arise from your rest; we'll find enough there to feed you.
Soon you'll belong to the blessed! Spare us your lives while we need you." ~Duran Duran

The Real Megillah

The Real Megillah is defined by his almost preternatural ability to anticipate and parry my feints with equal parts aplomb and snarkiness. He is, by definition, one of the cleverest men in the kingdom.  This gift makes him a prince among princes.  I struggle to keep up with our fencing matches, and I am pleased to announce that this royal son wins more than half the battles. Not all, mind you, but enough to keep this queen's attention.  It is not often Our Royal Personage can be outflanked and outmaneuvered. Megs makes it look easy.  This, Dear Friends, makes Megs look exponentially more attractive to the queen.

The Megillah is a scoundrel of the first order, and he makes me laugh a lot.   He is witty, older, charming, and prolix, an accomplished email writer. I find myself looking forward to his messages and grow disappointed when there isn't one waiting for me in my mailbox. He is intelligent and accomplished, and the more I get to know him the more I get the feeling that he is a Renaissance Man.  That's a fine thing, indeed, if it is true, as the queen appreciates her cousins the Medicis. He is gruff, and quick to apply gentle correction and guidance. Yet upon further inspection, it seems that there is a softer, chewier center to the crispity, crunchity outside. He makes fast work of helping a damsel in distress, and he is sincere when he does so.  He may be a scoundrel, and of course like all scoundrels he cannot be trusted around the Royal Treasury. But at times, it seems, he is a gentleman. 

Megs broke through the first wall rather quickly, as I gave him my real email address early on. But he also broke through the second; I gave him my phone number.  Only The Other White Meat was bestowed that particular honor. But here is the stunner, folks. Are you sitting down?  When Megs called for the first time, he literally made my knees buckle and I had to sit down. That has never happened to me before. His voice is like butter.  I want him to read the phone book to me. The milk carton. The newspaper. The latest issue of JAVMA.  His voice is deep, marginally husky, and curls up slightly around the edges.  It is also trained; I picked up on that almost immediately.  He has good timbre, breath control, and deliciously proper diction. In other words, he's taken vocal lessons. When I heard him, it was a shock; most definitely not what I expected. In fact, I was thrown so much by how attractive I found his voice that I found myself giggly and tongue-tied.  Also so. not. me.  I thought I blew it for sure; figured he wouldn't call again as I was convinced I came off as a moron.  But he did. Later that evening, in fact. And we talked. And talked. Talked into the wee hours of the morning.  Thinking about that conversation while I type this entry makes me want to stop right now and call The Real Megillah. That's powerful mojo, indeed.  Stregare.

What is his flaw, then? My Secret Service tells me that The Real Megillah regularly visits other courts beyond Aes Sidhe. Therefore, The Royal We is cautious to disclose pertinent details about her kingdom around him for fear he is a saboteur. And she worries about getting close to this one: she thinks one day she may find herself liking him far more than he to her. 

"Like anyone would be I am flattered by your fascination with me . Like any hot-blooded woman I have simply wanted an object to crave. But you, you're not allowed! You're uninvited. An unfortunate slight. Must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm; must be somewhat heartening to watch shepherd need shepherd. But you? You're not allowed; you're uninvited... an unfortunate slight" ~ Alanis Morrisette

 

The Other White Meat

The Other White Meat is impossible to define, and he likes it that way.  He is uniquely similar to the queen in that he wears different masks, too. He is an onion. No, that's not right. He's more like the TARDIS.  Much bigger and interminably more interesting on the inside than out.  He is not what he seems to be at first glance. One actually has to do some digging around before finding a key which unlocks a room full of surprising and unanticipated revelations.

Whitestuff is a transplant. Like many in this city, he hails from elsewhere. He is devilishly attractive: dark-haired, tall, thin, of mediterranean-descent, and good-looking much like the admired Nutella.  He shares another trait with the Gold Standard, one which is hidden to the casual visitor. The trait is one to be lauded, not ignored -- but Whitestuff doesn't speak much about it.  This intrigues the queen to no end, as most men would wear this particular badge proudly.  It is something to boast about at the carhop, the country club, the hastily made cot.  But instead White deflects talk about it to other matters entirely.

White is an artist. And a writer. Published. White also has excellent taste in music, which is how he caught this sovereign's ear. These things are in contrast to the hidden Nutella trait. Well, not in contrast, really.  Just. Rare. Like your's truly.  C'mon, we've been friends for awhile now; you can keep my secret.  You know I'm an artist, too, a singer and a writer.  And a science geek.  These things can be considered a contraposition, should be thought of that way, and I like it because it keeps people guessing. Keeps them interested but at a safe distance until I decide to lend them the key.  I guess I am a TARDIS myself.  Perhaps this is why I am so deeply charmed by White.

He is shy. He is so painfully shy that I feel almost brazen around him. And yet even in this matter he is a study of contrasts.  Not once but twice this prince has beckoned me to his personal retreat.  Twice I have rejected him, and my reasons were sound.  I want to get to know White. I think he is one of the quirkiest men I have ever encountered. That is not a crime but a compliment in this court.  He apparently feels the same way about me. We have the oddest conversations, and he says I am clearly the crazier of the two.  I dunno. I think I'm being particularly charming and witty around him. I want to be White's friend. I want to give him a cheese sandwich.

So what's a highborn girl to do? Besides exchanging emails and phone numbers (yes, Dear Reader, White was allowed entrance beyond the second wall of the keep and given the ten digit skeleton), the queen has made formal arrangements for a private audience. I shall not tell you the date, though it has already been logged by my secretary. My advisors fear saboteurs, and a character assassination would be just the thing to set my kingdom to riot. In preparation for the aforementioned but secretly assigned date, the queen is now in full-blown ketosis. The prince is very thin, and the queen feels it would cause an international incident if she arrived at his estate overexcited and overfed.  The frangipane is temporarily abolished from Aes Sidhe's kitchen hearths.

"You wear guilt like shackles on your feet, like a halo in reverse. I can feel the discomfort in your seat and in your head it's worse. There's a pain, a famine in your heart, an aching to be free. Can't you see all love's luxuries are here for you and me? And when our worlds they fall apart... when the walls come tumbling in... though we may deserve it... it will be worth it. Bring your chains, your lips of tragedy, and fall into my arms" ~ Depeche Mode

 

 

 

The Royal Feint

the queen is a complicated woman. she wears different masks for different souls. now, to be fair most people do this to at least some extent. but the queen is a master at this particular skill. she goes beyond the mere wearing of a mask, she genuinely inhabits the role. the most Method of Method actors.  it is a defense mechanism, a camouflage created out of necessity (you must trust her on that point, as it is a Faerie Tale for another bedtime).  she truly has the Magick to possess more than one living avatar. there are times when it is terrifying to behold, Dear Ones, even for her. it is an exhilarating power, but it can overwhelm the user and take over. and when it does..... when it does.... the danger of becoming forever locked inside the avatar is tangible, indeed.

when Judas left, i learned something very troubling about myself.  we were locked in an emotional conversation, and i made pointed reference to the fact that Judas (above all others) knew me better than anyone in the universe.  he paused; took a deep breath, and grew calm. he said, "that's funny, because i don't know you at all. you never let me in. you are the most complex person i have ever known, and i am tired of trying to figure you out. you are a stranger."

ouch. point in fact: Judas has known me for 20 years. double ouch.

but he was right. it was a cold truth, delivered with tact, but the freezing bullet pierced my breastplate nonetheless.

i was a stranger. am a stranger. i bet i can count on less than three fingers the number of people who truly know me.  i have always made a habit of throwing up makeshift walls, using subterfuge and artifice to permanently detour any individual who attempts to get too close. anyone who knows me long enough knows this to be true.  it is a marvelous weapon in business; it's why i got to management years before i should have in the traditional sense -- i can outthink, outplay, and outlast my enemies.  i've been known to set in motion a course of action which will take years to unfold, and i possess an infinite amount of patience and self-control.  if you really want to understand me, friend... go read "Dune". oh puh-leeze, don't cheat and watch that stupid david lynch movie; this isn't high school, and the movie did little to convey the complexity of the real story buried beneath the sci-fi trappings.  simply put, that book's philosophy is my bible. i am the feint-within-a-feint personified. i know. i'm scary. i've been told that my entire life. but to my credit i also carry with me deep convictions and a strong moral code.  i believe in honor, in doing the right thing versus doing what's best for me.  i try my best to live a Righteous Life. it's why my friends (whose large number i am truly blessed with) not only remain with me, but have come to understand that even though they will never get me, they can truly trust me. i'm the one you call in the middle of the night because i'm the one who shows up with the shovel to bury the body; i will ask you why i buried it and demand a truthful answer, but i never question the fact that it needs burying, and i never ever betray its location to the local authorities. even when there is reward money.

so back to the topic at hand, and why it is important to explain this facet of my personality before i discuss the Two Princes.

The Other White Meat pulls my artistic, scientific, and satirical masks out of the bag and i wear all three concurrently. The trouble with Whitestuff is that he is also wearing concurrent masks but at the moment they are limiting his field of view.  The Real Megillah.... hmm.... Megs seems to have dumped the whole bag on the floor and tosses each mask to me in rapid succession. Megs also has the audacity to think he can try MY masks on. they are MY masks. I am the Rightful Queen of Aes Sidhe, and i will not tolerate usurpers. well, until i do...

with the Princes, i am different people. again. this is a path i don't want to go down again, but i may be unable to control myself.  we shall see; i hope the good guys win in this film.  please pass the popcorn.

"And on the days that followed I listened to his words: I strained to understand him, I chased his thoughts like birds. 'You will see light in the darkness; You will make some sense of this; And when you’ve made your secret journey you will find the love you miss.'" ~The Police

 

The Queen's Court at Aes Sidhe

i am making new friends.

there's the Street Cleaner, the Maharajah, the Social P, The Other White Meat, and The Real Megillah.

no, those aren't their real names, silly rabbit, nor are they self-assigned avatars. these are the names i have dubbed them, squires one and all in my Court of Curiosity. i assure you in real life they have regular names like bob, or joe, or bronx mowgli (srsly. who names their kid bronx mowgli? i'm looking at you, ashlee simpson, and it's a wicked scowl). but here in the kingdom of Aes Sidhe, they go by the names i have given.  i couldn't ID them here if i wanted to; imagine my horror if one should read my writings one day and recognize himself here?  i would be ashamed, he would probably be angry, and with good reason he would storm out of this Court. sayonara, Queen Crazy!

the quickest way for a single woman to introduce herself to new friends of the opposite sex is via online connections, i have discovered. and for the purposes of full disclosure i announce to all the world that a few of the aforementioned individuals fall into this category.

it began with Street Cleaner, a gentle man of a certain age who was the first to approach but not frighten me.  his attempts to woo were clumsy at best, but rather than embarrass an already self-conscious fellow, i chose instead to turn the rapidly failing courtship into kindly friendship. we now imagine ourselves to be confederates lashed together on a tiny ship in the middle of a vast ocean during a typhoon. i like having a friend i can hang onto during the storm; it makes me less fearful of drowning.

then there is Rajah, a self-described playboy of foreign descent who has flung himself into the belly of the Americana Beast and sits on his throne of digital media. he is a clever sort, but not cleverer than me.  i pose a challenge to his otherwise self-involved world, ergo i intrigue him. it won't be long before i merely piss him off. but you know me too well: you know i don't like pufferfish, so i'm going to keep poking him at inappropriate moments so that he blows himself right out of the water. in a certain light, Rajah reminds me of Judas. maybe that's why i keep jabbing.

Social P is kind and brilliant, a nut i cannot crack. his mind races and it's both a pleasure and a pain to listen to his mouth try to keep up.  P's failing is simply this: where i look and find perfection in every individual i have ever met, P seeks perfection and comes away with only the flaws.  i don't know yet whether he does this as a sort of defense mechanism, in the vein of "i'm not worthy myself so i'm going to make every woman i meet unworthy of me somehow". i feel bad for P. if he continues to follow this path, he will never find a right-minded companion because he keeps tossing potentials to the side without fully opening the package.  it's as if every day is Christmas and women are all wrapped gifts. P shakes each box near his ear, tears off a corner of paper, and declares "bah! these are socks!" and moves on to the next gift. problem is, P imagines every womangift is another pair of socks while he rummages thru the finite pile looking for the XBox. i keep him around court to see whether or not he finds her. i'm rooting for him, i really am.

at your queen's right is seated for her viewing pleasure The Other White Meat; at her left reclines The Real Megillah. each one is exciting and perfect in his own way.  i am intrigued. so intrigued, in fact, that i will pay each homage by dedicating a separate entry.  two princes in a otherwise dull court.  Yowza!

"Wasting time I stand and speak of my one regret: I haven't burnt this map of memories yet
pointing to X marks the spot. I have all I want at X Marks the spot" ~Humanwine

i want to talk about perfection for a bit. namely, yours.

in this new branch of this new life in this new skin, i spend a lot of time imagining what it is i want versus what it is i already have. i have plenty. i want for little. i need inspiration. that's where you come in.

when i was younger, i wanted to be perfect. i was an excellent student who cried at every "B". once, in an ethics class at NYU, the professor and i did not see eye-to-eye at all. i knew if i submitted a final paper based upon her line of reasoning i would get an "A" in the class. but i had a crisis of conscience, as her line of reasoning was abhorrent to me. i remember asking the one person who was more demanding of me than myself for advice.  my father sat on the couch and listened to me as i cried over my dilemma. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together.  he pointed out that if i followed my heart instead of my head, that my 3.98 GPA would suffer. he asked if my convictions outweighed my need for success.  as the tears coursed down my face i simply replied, "yes, Dad."  my father put his head down, and when he picked it up again he, too, was crying.  he stood up, said "i am very proud of you," and walked out of the room.  it was one of the few times in my life in which he expressed approval of me. me = flawed.

i used to be a singer. a lyric coloratura soprano. i had a voice to beat the band when it came to opera, and Kathleen Battle was my personal vocal inspiration. but there was one problem.  i disliked opera. well, that's not true. i liked opera a lot. but i loved rock-n-roll.  i didn't want to be Nellie Melba, i wanted to be Annie Lennox. i wanted to stomp and strut and belt and make wild onstage love to an audience of thousands.  i wanted to hold that microphone in my hand and make it tremble in awe at my vocal prowess.  i drove my teachers crazy.  my vocal coaches were all greek women, and every single one of them complained that i was throwing away the possibility of fame and fortune by pursuing an unattainable dream. i was an outcast among my peers, as these young men and women devoted their time wisely to their craft while i hung out with the jazz musicians. i was befriended by Placido Domingo's son at one point, and we had a contentious relationship. i mocked him for being lazy and trite; i demanded to hear him sing in his voice, not in a mimic of his father's. in turn, he lectured me for being lazy about my gift as well, complaining that thousands of women would give anything to sound like me but all i could think about was shitty pop music. he said i was a "shame to god".  good times.  so i did what any stupid kid in my position would do: i tried to sing in both styles.  i know your next question, Dear Reader: in the end, where did that leave me?  well, it killed the gift. i can carry a tune, but the beauty is gone.  i still love rock-n-roll, though.  that'll never fade.  stupid. me = flawed.

but back to perfection.  i love perfection. in all forms. i love looking at a well-stained blood smear under a microscope, counting out loud with glee the number of easily defined eosinophils. i love a great cup of coffee in the morning. i love staring at beautiful people -- both men and women equally --  and admire their grace and flawless complexions. i love riding out on the sea, staring at the sharply-defined-yet-slightly-curved horizon. i love your laugh, the way it makes me bubble on the inside. i love the way Ewan McGregor hits those notes so purely in "Come What May" after the 3 minute mark and i can't catch my breath for fear of missing a single note. i love earthworms. grass. my iPod. hardcover books. perfection.

you are all so perfect, my friends, and i revel in each of your individual talents. i don't want to be you, but i surely admire you and envy your gifts. therefore, if you would please accept this poor soul's infection into your perfect hearts i would be ever so grateful and won't take up much room.  i promise. i want to watch you, see what makes you so special. i want to learn from you, drink in your uniqueness and marvel at your brilliance. i am your humble servant. take me now.

"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special" ~ Radiohead

the gold standard

i had a huge crush on someone at work.  he was perfect in every way: handsome, brilliant, kind, european, doctor.  the kind of man every woman wants to be with and every man wants to be.

we shall call him Nutella.

i noticed Nutella for the first time about 2 years ago.  he wasn't an easy fellow to miss.  when he entered a room, a quiet hush followed and you could almost taste the pheromones exuding from him like so many dull pinpricks on the nape of your neck. i was married at the time, so of course i merely looked, admired, and went my way. but every day i would see him in the cafeteria, and every day i would look.

when Judas departed, Nutella was my only succor. my looks turned into stares. and one day, my Brothers and Sisters, i can tell you with complete honesty that Nutella began staring back.  every lunch became a ballet of sorts: where to sit to get the best view without being detected, how to look detached but still interested, exactly what time to arrive on a specific workday in order to be the one to see and not be seen.

we thought we were clever. we thought we were anonymous.  but as it turns out, we were blatant in our observation of one another.  neither of us ate alone; we each had teams of associates to dine with. and it became a running joke at each table that Nutella and i faltered in our speech or fork-eye-mouth coordination every time the other entered the room. ours was a chaste and mute love affair, but it was an affair of sorts nonetheless and we reveled in it.

as time went by, my associates complained that i was too timid to approach Nutella. "seize the day!" they insisted. but i simply couldn't bring myself to do it. at first it was because i was too shy at the thought of approaching a handsome man as a single woman. and to be perfectly frank, i held Nutella on a pedestal and therefore imagined myself unworthy of his singular attention. then the pedestal grew to a mountainous height, one i could no longer attempt to scale; therefore Nutella became lost to me. and for what it's worth to my ego, he seemed to be locked in a similar struggle.

a few months ago i found out Nutella was leaving for home. his work at my place of employ had come to an end, and he decided that America no longer held sway over him.  i tried in vain to overcome my shyness, to approach Nutella and invite him out for coffee, or a drink... "for as long as we both shall live" as Tom Hanks said to Meg Ryan.  we crossed paths outside of the cafeteria a few times, but one of us was always accompanied by others -- he was a lead person in his laboratory, i am a lead person running my facility, and rarely could you find one or the other without at least one person tagging along.  it was infinitely frustrating, but i gave myself over to the Powers That Be and held true to the notion that if we were meant to be anything other than mutual-but-distant admirers then it would happen.

it didn't.

to my credit i did finally speak to him. it was a comical interaction which should have been filmed for posterity's sake, but only Nutella and I know what passed between us.  in two years, it was the only time we were alone together. it lasted only for a few moments, but it was a lifetime's worth.

then... he was gone.

so the question remained: what was the purpose? everything in this universe has its place and time, a lesson to be learned so that one can grow and Become.  what was Nutella's lesson; what could i possibly take away from his fleeting presence in my life?

it wasn't until the end of january that i figured it out.

The Gold Standard.

Nutella represented all that which i craved, but none which i allowed myself to consume. he was everything i wanted in a man but never dreamed i should possess.  so i asked myself the question: why? then another: why not?  i did some soul-searching and got my answers (none of which i am explaining here, Dear Reader), and then it occurred to me that This Is A Do-Over.  my life. my quest for the grail... i have a second shot here.  and Nutella was the one who walked me to the starting gate. he was the Ungettable Get, the Gold Standard, to be certain, but that didn't mean every man had to be.

so i did the bold thing. i've put myself out there again. and i have pretty high standards this time, folks. i am going to find another Nutella, dammit, but this one i'm going to consume all by myself. mmmmm....

"I blow you a kiss It should reach you tomorrow As it flies from the other side of the world
From my room in my fugitive motel Somewhere in the dust bowl It flies from the other side of the world" ~Elbow

 

 

to new beginnings

i am beginning to understand the value of do-overs. 

although i subscribe passionately to the professional concept of the Three R's, namely "reduce, refine, replace", i have never been one to apply it much to my own life.  like a good predator i circle my kill, taunt it, wear it down, tire it out. then blammo! one fell swoop, a swift bite to the axis & atlas, and this mamakiller puts it down once and for all. i take my time to make up my mind about things. i theorize, analyze, mantain a detatched focus until i am ready to commit.  then once that switch is flipped, i jump in both feet first without so much as a wing and a prayer.  i am rarely wrong. i think it's because i am patient, like that predator.  laypersons think predators are hasty, quick to react and fast on their feet.  not so! many are slow, methodical, and use they prey's weaknesses to their own advantage.  ever watch a single shark attack? that king-of-the-pisces circles first, then it swims close and away, close and away. then a bump. then a bite. then a chomp. sushi time!


i often resemble that shark, mostly because my life has been around other sharks. bigger and meaner than me.  i'm not a mean shark by any means. but i will bite you  -- it is my nature.

okay, now that i've scared the pants off of you, i have some news. a revelation, even.

i think i've been taking the wrong approach.

those that know me are aware that i suffered a great tragedy last year. i lost my partner and best friend. the horrible thing is not that he's gone; the horrible thing is that he is alive and well, and living only a few blocks away from me.  you see, he abandoned me.  and i never. saw. it. coming.  this time i was the unsuspecting prey and he bit me good. laws, yes! he done bit me dead.

but i survived. and after a dark time i don't wish to share with you (because let's face it, we have only just met) something remarkable happened: i began to mend. i didn't believe it right away, but shit-and-shinola six horrible months passed as if in a fever dream and then i awoke. and i was okay. not great, but okay.  and different somehow.  i continued to mend, osteoblasts doing their boogie-woogie love thing inside my fractured shell.  they built a new frame, and threw in a new perspective for free. i think i like the new me.

if you're here to hear me kvetch and complain about my former kingdom i will sorely disappoint you.  during those dark days i prayed every day for Strength and Grace. you know; you were there.  and guess what? my prayers were answered, and i have come out of this with my dignity intact and my honor firmly in place.  the Powers That Be were good enough to give me those gifts, and i will use them wisely. the truth is i will never forgive Judas for his betrayal, but i have moved on from it and that's just about as good as these things get.

the world is a big place and i have come to realize it is my playground. look! over there! is that a jungle gym?  tag, you're it....

"i want to know everything i want to be everywhere i want to fuck everyone in the world
and i want to do something that matters" ~nine inch nails