The Second First of Dates!

Our Queen returns to us with tidings of the second First of Dates!

This one was kept secret to all except Lady Chamberlain Heidi and Lady Eva. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all, and our sovereign likes to keep up on all social niceties as best she can.

As you may have anticipated, this First of Dates was with Prince The Real Megillah.

Our queen returned to us after her meeting pale and distressed. She assured us all she was “quite well, thank you”, but took to her chambers and remained there for the better part of XXXVI hours.  As to why she was so pensive and silent, we knew not though we fretted with anxiety over our ruler’s health. She refused most food, but took double rations of mead in the evenings (which even babes in the bassinet know is not the happiest of signs). Although she barred all but the aforementioned companions from her righteous presence, she could be heard pacing the floors of her bedchamber late into the evening and through early dawn.

This was not a good sign, and all good subjects of Aes Sidhe awaited her emergence with bated breath. What could have happened, they wondered? Are we at war? Is there a secret pestilence spreading through the lands? What danger has befallen us and our beloved ruler?

The soothsayers questioned Lady Eva, whose response was something to the effect that the Queen reaped what she sowed and that she would recover from her experience in due time.

The soothsayers also questioned Lady Chamberlain Heidi, whose response to their queries was to strip them to their under-britches and toss them into the moat. “Be gone!” she yelled, “Leave well enough alone or you will be fed to the hounds!”

So what, pray tell, had happened to our Queen? It is true that the evening in question shook with lightning, hail, and snow – all of which promised an ominous outcome. But having screwed her courage to the sticking place as the Lady Macbeth had done so many centuries ago, our blessed sovereign ventured out into the raging dark towards a personal attendance with Prince Megillah.

We can say with certainty that the evening began well enough, with shared food and drink and stories galore. Our queen liked Megillah’s company and the manner in which he could traipse from subject to subject with casual ease and intelligence.  All was well for a First of Dates. All was well, at least… at first.

When the private audience was drawing to its close roughly two hours after it had begun (almost like clockwork, our queen noticed), the Prince insisted on returning our Fairest Daughter to her castle via his personal carriage pulled by the regal and dangerous Panthera onca. Normally our queen would have chosen to return to the castle under her own sure footing, but as the weather was still blowing cold and wet she accepted the offer.

And here, faithful readers, is where things went very wrong.

Secreted away from prying eyes and public places, the Prince immediately took liberties with the Queen. The nobleman who had just exemplified all the courtesies of the term “noble” in public had turned, once interred within the confines of his carriage, into a beast of cephalopod origins. He was more than forward with his advances, Dear Readers, for he took liberties with the Queen where none were offered! The ride took X minutes at most, but for our sovereign it was about V minutes too long. So shocked was she by his immediate physical reaction to her that she herself did not react much at all!  She did remove his hands from her person more than once, but apparently it was not enough for the rogue, and at minute X when the carriage pulled up in front of the castle walls he embraced her before she could disengage the lap belt and stole – can you believe it?!? -- a kiss! Lady Eva scolded her later that by not bluntly ceasing his pawing by both word and action that she brought the physical assault on herself. There is truth to this statement, to be sure, but our Queen could be heard in her bedchamber afterwards repeating the same phrase over and over, “Not without my permission!”

By forcing the embraces, by making the queen flutter like a songbird trapped in a cage within his Panthera onca driven carriage, by stealing kiss from her… what may have been allowed had Prince Megillah merely asked first… turned our ruler’s heart from fire to ice. By not allowing her to come to mutual agreement on a plan of action, the Prince lost much of his leverage that night. She retracted much of her good will towards him, and now she finds herself torn between barring the beast or losing her friend.

“Not without my permission,” she whispers through the corridors now. The servants have even caught her mumbling the passage under her breath in public places. But kindly souls that they are they merely avert their eyes and curtsey with good breeding since they can tell even with their peasant eyes that the queen is not herself at the moment.

The queen has a choice to make, and the decision must be made soon. If she chooses to continue an affiliation with this fellow, and she may do so as he offers her much by way of mental and verbal stimulation, she will have to continually bear in mind that his motivations are for one purpose and one purpose only. All things being equal, that may not be a bad arrangement, but of course the reason why the queen finds herself in her current predicament is because all things were clearly not equal on that fateful evening.  There must be mutual understanding. There must be equanimity. Without this, she is an object to be owned not a creature to be tamed. It goes against a codex in the Art of Sex. It cannot be. She will not allow it.

Not without my permission!

“Leaning over you here cold and catatonic
I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been
It's your RIGHT and your ability to become my perfect enemy” ~A Perfect Circle

The Queen Departs

Faithful subjects of the realm, our most gracious sovereign departs for southern climes. She will return to us all in one week’s time. Before she kindly dismissed us from her chamber, however, she offered us these written musings, as she lay awake in her featherbed most of the night and scribbled these notes: 

I am most befuddled.

I am thinking about double standards.

Why is it that a man can be witty, or verbose, or virile, and be excused (or even encouraged) for such behaviors, but a woman cannot? I find that if I am too clever around a squire or prince then he feels threatened. I find if I debate the finer points of any particular topic with too much ease around a squire or prince then he feels threatened. I find if I don’t do a perfect job of hiding the fact that my interest falls to more than one man around a squire or prince then he feels threatened. These fellows want a woman to make certain overtures, but only to a point. They want us to be wildly flirtatious, but only with them. They want us to be smart, but not smarter than they. They want us to be bawdy, but chaste. They want us to be funny, but not laugh-out-loud. They want us to be a complement to them, but do not dare suggest they are a complement to us.

As I say, a double standard.

Double standards are fixed features of life; I certainly get that. What troubles me is the fact that when confronted about these seeming inconsistencies in their signals, men balk. It’s as if admitting these things are true also forces them to “out” their baser, more feral selves. There’s nothing wrong with being an animal, gentlemen, but at least be honest with yourselves and admit to it. I don’t like the fact that I am called arrogant, or too forward, or a tease when I merely apply the rules honestly. It’s simply not fair. Not that life ever was fair, and certainly not my life to be sure, but why can’t we at least try to acknowledge the facts for what they are?

I am leaving Aes Sidhe for a short holiday, and in that time I hope to cleanse my palate and purify my thoughts. I am already growing fatigued with the dating rat race. Well, that’s a lie, actually. I am enjoying it tremendously. But it takes a lot of energy, and I find myself consistently confused or stymied by some other rule I was unaware of. I still find the two princes quite engaging, and for very different reasons. Leaving them both behind for a period of days may prove to be interesting. Will they miss me? Will they look forward to my return? The augurs cannot foresee the outcome; only playing the exercise in real time will bear out the truth.

Be well. Be safe. I will think of you often while I am away, my subjects. 

Until next week, then... God Save Our Queen!

“Heaven help me for the way I am!
Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done
I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand
But I keep livin' this day like the next will never come
Oh, help me but don't tell me to deny it
I've got to cleanse myself of all these lies 'til I'm good enough for him
I got a lot to lose, and I'm bettin' high so I'm beggin' you:
Before it ends, just tell me where to begin” ~Fiona Apple

A Look Back in Time

Sometimes it's important to look backwards in order to learn something about yourself going forwards.

This queen is feeling a bit stunted.  I'm not really certain why, but I am in a sour mood with myself these past XXIV hours and keep asking the question why I have not progessed more than I should have.  Hmm. Is that really true?  Is the Royal We stuck in the past, worrying still over a Jacobite King who is no longer a part of Aes Sidhe?  Not at all, for We don't really think much of Judas at all these days. In truth, We have advanced a lot in the past year. We should not fret over the pace We have set for Ourself; We should revel in Our accomplishments. 

So I have chosen, Dear Readers, to share with you excerpts from another private blog, from another time. This was an open letter written some time ago addressed to the Jacobite King. You are forewarned that the tone of this missive is more than a little hostile, but for truth and posterity's sake, I shall not alter its content to make myself look better. I will merely omit parts which may harm the author or reveal the identity of Judas. Nay, what I would suggest to you (and to myself in the process, of ourse) is that when I am feeling out of sorts and question my adventures and readiness in the land of singledom, I have merely to review who I was to take comfort in who I am...

“To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target” ~ Ashleigh Brilliant

It’s a great quote, and one I keep saying to myself in order to remain in control of my emotions.

I think everyone is surprised at how controlled and even-tempered I have been throughout this process. I know the whole world is expecting me to blow up, to attack, to slaughter. And it’s not to say I don’t want to at times. I really, truly despise you, or at least what you have done to me. However, love supersedes anger and derision, and honor must be placed above all else.

It’s not for your sake that I have spared you from wrath, it is for mine. What kind of person would I truly be if I lashed out indiscriminately? And even worse, what kind of person would I truly be if I lashed out at the man I have devoted my life to? You deserve bad things for what you’ve done to me, to our family and friends, but your punishment will not come from my hand unless you break the treaty.

(omit)

No, even during this worst state of my life, even after your ultimate betrayal, I remain loyal. To be clear, I don’t think I would fling myself between you and a pack of rabid wolves anymore, but I will not cause you harm if I can help it. I will protect you as best I can from the one person who could do the most damage and get away with it. Namely, me.

(omit)

But what you don’t know, what you can’t see beyond your own nose is the fact that by not engaging I am actually protecting you from me. I have you in my sights, lined up perfectly in my crosshairs, twitchy finger resting on the trigger just aching to squeeze. But I refrain, because to squeeze just a little would release a torrent of rage so thick I think we would both be smothered to death by it. I am silent and guarded in order to save us both from the painful maelstrom. I will not allow myself to be another Herculaneum.

(omit)

I will not shoot blindly. I will not shoot blindly. I will not shoot blindly.

Sometimes the biggest thrill for a hunter with a sixteen-point buck in his sights is not to shoot, but to not shoot. The exhilaration of allowing something to live can outweigh the thrill of taking the animal down. Watching the buck bound away, white tail raised in alarm once it catches the hunter’s scent in the wind can be a spiritual revelation. There is more power in granting life than in taking it away.

You are in my sights; I hold my breath; I say a prayer to remain in control; you run away.

I let you live, (Judas). I let you live.

Ohmigoodness!  Such ferocity! Such raw emotion! Exposed nerve endings! I am glad she is safely tucked away now. And I ask you: am I not better? Am I not on the correct and righteous path? Am I not exactly where I wish to be at this point and faring better than was to be expected?

I shudder at the barely suppressed rage in that entry written so many moons ago, but I don't want to lie to you, Friends. Many of you wonder if I am deluding myself into believing that what I am experiencing right now is nothing more than folly.  So what if I am? Clearly I am in a better place now than I was when I wrote the above entry! So shouldn't it stand to reason, therefore, that the frivolity I take comfort in now trumps the pain I wallowed in then?

I continue to seek answers to all my questions. There will be no song to end this day...

To Friend or Not To Friend

To friend or not to friend: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the Online to suffer

The pings and supplications of outrageous requests,

Or to remain anonymous against a sea of suitors,

And by opposing end them? To decline: to ignore;

No more! And by a decline to say we end

The heart-ache and the princes' natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a separation

Devoutly to be unfriended. To avoid, to evade;

To evade: perchance to breathe free! Ay, there's the rub;

For in that breath of anonymity what suitors may come

When we have shuffled off this online persona,

Must give us an excited flutter in our heart: there's the respect

That makes calamity of online dating!

"I don't want you, Baby; I don't need you lately
Love is ever-changing and I think you're crazy
Oooh, Girl, I've got to let you, let you, let you go" ~Carney

A False Sense Of Intimacy

“A false sense of intimacy.”

That’s what Lady Eva calls it, and she’s absolutely right.

Internet dating, as a rule, is a strange beastie indeed. As time goes on it carries less and less of a stigma attached to it, but while it becomes more commonplace I think we lose something in the translation in regards to the Art of Sex.  Let’s discuss…

For any Dear Readers who may not be in the know, the basic tenet of online dating is simply this: you create a profile for yourself, writing things which make you seem witty, charming, flirtatious, sexy, whatever it is you want to put out there for the world to see. You add the best possible pictures of yourself. Cross your fingers and spit twice into the North Wind while chanting within the circle drawn with dove’s blood upon the 3^rd new moon of the 11^th month in the….  No, wait, that’s my recipe for mulligatawny.  Seriously, though, you send a persona out into the datasphere and hope for the best. And by “persona”, I mean exactly that. No matter how hard you try to be true, it won’t be you. It will be a cleaned-up, spit-shined visage of you. And let’s face it, Friends… how many people are actually honest with themselves never mind a bunch of perfect strangers they are trying to impress?

I am learning that the answer is “not many”.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I am an exception to the rule. I use untouched photos, enter my real age, don’t lie about my profession.  I did that from the get-go.  But as I explore this world of dating profiles I am coming to the realization that not only an I an exception, but I am an endangered species!

Here’s what I know already:

·    Men lie about their age often, and they aren’t even good at it. I cannot begin to tell you how many profiles I opened up because the info stated we were age appropriate, only to stumble face-to-face upon images of a man at least 10 years my senior! And hey!  I’m no spring chicken!!!  Who in Zeus’ name are these fellows kidding?!? I called one individual out on this very thing and the response I received was something to the effect that, A) he didn’t want to be speaking to 50+ year old women and if he admitted his real age those were the only females who would contact him (okay, that may be true); B) he feels younger than his actual age (oh, puh-leeze! I feel a lot younger than my 40 years, but I am not going to lie about it. I’m going to own it outright. Clearly if my profile can convey the youth I feel then that should be enough, right?)

·    Men lie about their professions often, and they aren’t very clever about it. I have spoken to at least a half-dozen potentials and when the topic of profession comes up they end up saying something that is utterly contrary to their profile. Why do this? You know the question is going to come up, and most likely it’s going to come up right away as talking about one’s job is a fairly innocuous topic of conversation.

·    Men don’t know how to take a decent picture of themselves for a dating site. Half the photos are computer camera stills (listen up, fellows: your laptop video camera does NOT take a flattering image of you. Not once, not ever), and another quarter are photos with an exwife/gf poorly cropped out of the pic. For my part, I would much prefer a goofy looking casual shot which is entirely real than either of the aforementioned styles.

·    Men don’t write their profiles themselves.  I can think of two particular knaves who contacted me with brilliantly written profiles, all charm and witty stylings. I replied back to both these jesters and found myself speaking to puerile, monosyllabic oafs who didn’t know their Oscar Wilde from Oscar the Grouch. Now, before you call this queen elitist, you must remember that I would only judge a person on what they put out into the ether. Claim to be well read and I will ask you about authors. Claim to love music and I will ask you about composers. Claim to love movies and I will ask you… well, you get the picture. I cannot understand why you would change the truth so much about the basics such as “what are my favorite things”. To what end? Eventually some Lady of the Realm is going to reply to you, Knaves, so you ought to be prepared for their sword as well as their song!

Here’s another thing I know:

·    Women do the exact same thing

I am shocked. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.  All of this falsehood spread across the digital plains makes me very ill at ease. I know I am unschooled and gullible. Therefore, I fear it may be easier for me to be duped than other women. I know that if I am out here on the digital plain long enough, I may become jaded just like the old-timers out here. I will be more suspicious than open, more forceful than forgiving, more  confounder than confirmer.

A false sense of intimacy. What is that? Well, if you are lucky you will find yourself regularly discoursing via email with some Squire or other. And if you email daily, or even more than once daily (which is what I tend to do with the two aforementioned princes) you begin to convince yourself that the witty banter and heartfelt commentary between you engenders some sort of bond. Graduate to telephony, and if the voice on the other end is as warm or soothing or sexy as you expected, then you continue your talks. But now you really feel as if you know each other.

You don't.

You know next to nothing about each other.  Courtship has traditionally been about taking one's time to get to know a potential partner. With online dating, it seems that everyone wants to know everything up front with a sense of urgency, like the Apocalypse is upon us but just before we go to our impending doom just tell me twenty-two more tidbits about yourself in the next five minutes so I can feel closer to you.

Ick.

Assuming you know someone when you clearly don't is just asking for trouble.  Therefore, my approach is to take it slow. I am cautious, tentative, and unhurried. I don't want to know everything about you right away, nor do I want you to read me from cover-to-cover at the first sitting.   Regardless of whether or not we gel in conversations, like the same movies, laugh at each other's jokes, or hate Woody Allen... these men are still strangers and nothing but time is going to alter that.

I want to be intimate. But I also want it to be true-- raw and sloppy around the edges, sometimes perfect pitch and sometimes a little off-key. I don't fear stumbling together; it's bogus perfection which scares me to death.

"did you think that i would laugh when you said i was small?
did you think that that would pass as if nothing at all?
you say a lot of funny things, my little bunny
and i almost always laugh but that's not really funny" ~eels

 

An Internal Pep Talk

I am a lot quieter on the inside now than I was a week ago.  It feels good. It feels real now.

I’m going to drop the pretense today and speak plainly to you all. I wish to give myself a pat on the back; I think I deserve one. I still can’t believe I went through with this. If you told me a year ago that I would be not only single again, but on the market again I would have called you crazy. It’s funny how life has a habit of sneaking up on you and taking you for a ride you can’t control.

One year ago I was still dealing with the aftereffects of a terrible car accident which left me with a bad case of PTSD. I was having flashbacks; I was terrified of my own shadow (yes, I know! Me!! The bold fearless one: ter-ri-fied); I was becoming a recluse. I was fat; I was depressed; I was still in pain; I was lonely.

Fast forward one year ahead: I am only ten pounds shy of a normal BMI; I am happier now than I have been in years; I am actively meeting new people; I am exercising regularly; I am driving all over the East Coast; I am fearless again.

So how does that translate to dating?

Well, for starters, with The Other White Meat it was me who pursued him in the very beginning, not the other way around. I forced myself to continue making contact, though these actions were completely foreign to me.  I figured out a way to not only be noticed, but to be interesting to this Prince. And then things began to fall into place: soon he was emailing me first, and then he called. And once again, I took the reins for the first time in my life: I ingratiated myself enough so that he invited me out, but then I turned him down. Not once, but twice. And each time I said to him, “Not yet. Soon.” I set a date. He cancelled it. Then clearly he changed his mind for 24hrs later there we were together.

And throughout this whole process since Nutella I have been saying to myself: Is this really happening? Is this really me? 

So now I have a response to those questions: Yes, dear. Yes it is. And I like you. I like you an awful lot.  You thought you were irrevocably broken, but you weren’t – you are closer to a whole being now than you ever were. You have potential. You have Strength and Grace in abundance.

Go get ‘em, Tigress :)

At winters edge you found me by the fields of wild gold
My hands still filled with ashes from fires long cold
You pulled me from the wreckage of bitterness and blame
Flung open the page and put some flesh on the bones of my dreams

~David Gray

All Hail The First of Dates!

(Today's missive shall be delivered remotely thru carrier pigeon as our fair queen has taken to her bed from swooning. Fear not, Faithful Subjects of Aes Sidhe! She is quite well but has decided to spend the weekend in quiet contemplation and rest)

"It happened, dear subjects: The First of Dates.

Prince The Other White Meat convinced our person to travel to his private estate for a consultation of personal concern. The Royal We traveled under cover of darkness so as not to be recognized by the general populace and arrived at the Prince's estate as the clock struck X. We can tell you without shame or fear that our nerves were on edge and our stomach on fire from anxiety. We stood outside the watchtower debating whether to alert the town crier of our arrival or merely turn the carriage around and head back to the safety of our own castle walls.  After a small eternity of roughly five minutes, we allowed the bells to ring in our honor. The honor guard opened the gates and allowed us safe passage.

As we climbed the stairs of the 4th floor keep and reached the level of "2", we heard the trampling of feet from up above heading down. Within moments, we were face to face with the prince. He was carrying refuse to toss into the moat, and as we passed each other with shy smiles and sidelong glances, we couldn't help but notice how handsome the prince was in person. The intermediaries had said so, and weeks ago sent commissioned portraits to our personal chambers for us to study and admire. But a living and breathing Adonis is far superior than a copy, even one created by an Italian Master. The prince's action was a clever one, and it wasn't until the next day that we realized the purpose.  Imagine, my subjects, opening one's door and being witness to the Terrible And Glorious Visage of one's sovereign in the flesh? It would be a revelatory experience, but one leaves it to chance whether for good or ill.  In layman's terms, answering the front door to a pseudo-stranger is strange indeed. What if the person before you was not as he or she availed themselves to be? Could you hide your disappointment and shock? Alternately, what if the person were even better than the tales attributed to them in the Chronicles? Could you dampen your excitement?  No, what the prince did was cleverness incarnate: meeting quickly on the stairs while in motion allowed him to take in our person in a series of rapid glances and make first impression judgment before turning around and coming back up the stairs. He could formulate his opinion without my presence. Brilliant! This is a trick we shall remember for the future for any First of Dates which may begin in our territories.

The details of the First of Dates shall remain a secret, dear subjects. Your queen is not in a position to share her private diaries with you. What will be stated here for the record is that both the prince and your queen remained both chaste and gentle with one another. No sordid tales of passionate embrace shall pass our lips this evening. Nay, we remember our position and we hold true to the notion that with this prince (and more importantly... with OURself), slow and steady shall win the race. The Royal We is no bed-notch! She is a person of breeding and honor, and shall hold herself above any other solo queens and princesses who visit this prince by not doing what would be so simple in this particular situation with this particular comely enchanter: losing herself in those beautiful eyes and allowing him access to her personage.

It is the dawning of a New Age, one of hope and joy and fun. We hope to continue on this path for a long time to come. Your queen is happy right now, dearest subjects of Aes Sidhe. Your queen is happy, indeed..."

"Walk with me. The future's at hand. Here with us, Here where you stand. 

We both know the power of pain; We get back up and start it again.
With new hope, no place for tears, Leave behind those frozen years. 

Come with me and we'll go dreaming." ~BT