lipps, inc.

verbatim

i feel like i'm obliged to give alternate opinions of me because who i think i am and how i come across to other people may conflict. so here is a treatise that i received from someone who thinks very little of me but very highly of his friend, my ex - no this was not during high school - it was a month ago and he's almost fifty:

"... Yet you were unable to see any truth because you have failed him and you lashed out at him with out any provocation. I did not imagine that you of all people were so selfish and shallow. When some one comes to you for help it is because they still remember the good parts of your time together instead you discounted all you have been through without any understanding of his situation . Yet you ask everyone else to.

I feel very sorry that you don't see or care to understand what a great guy you let slip away because of some selfish self pity. It is easy for any one to blame someone else for their short comings. There seemed to be too many conditions placed on your relationship. You could not let it be what it was. There was too much jealousy and suspicion and because of this, it was not unconditional and you lost the most important part of any relationship,and that, if you don't know is simply, TRUST."

i'm not even going to bother to defend myself or describe the events leading up to that missive. He's right - there may be a woman out there who will not expect fidelity and will tolerate cocaine abuse. I wasn't she.

godsmack

i made the decision to extricate myself from myspace. i had deleted all my info and all my blogs. i wanted to disappear because it seemed easier than feeling scrutinized. but not long ago, i got a copy of all my blog posts in the mail. initially, i thought it was a petty resentment eventhough i wasn't even sure what was meant by it.

i wanted to add this to my list of "see-what-i-mean"s' however something stopped me:

"the penetrating glow of her smile coupled with the comforting sound of her laugh keeps my pain at bay."

i found it in a journal (the entry was not mine). it was then that i was able to look at how my mind was processing the whole thing. i was being negative. the person described in that quote (that would be me) was once an optimistic person. i was continuing a cycle of hurt and rejection. and it didn't have to be that way.

why did getting my posts in the mail have to mean something negative? maybe the person was being positive, especially since it was all of them, not just some that were specific to a certain subject. maybe, the person - who has always liked my writing - was signifying that i should continue to express myself. maybe there are gems in those posts - sentiment and poignancy, humanity and hilarity.

or maybe not. maybe it's something entirely different. my point is that i have a choice - i can use it to prove the worst or view it as gift. i think i've had enough of negativity (though it makes great angst for karaoke singing). i don't want to hate love anymore. not that i don't like cats and shawls but i think i'm still a little young for the old maid routine.

heart

"i'm an island," he said on various occasions.

i know islands. my father was an island - remote. my stepfather - the same. my mother's depression (herself an isle) created the island of me. and my brother ran away only to become an atoll in the end. i exist in an archipalego - one without causeways, bridges or even ferrys to connection.

it started with pithy emails and ended with 2 hour phone calls till the wee hours a month ago today. we didn't stop talking until the delirium of "tomatoes scream if you poke them with wednesdays."

the beginnings of a relationship that existed in the touchstone - words, coincidence, laughter, similarity, silence, understanding, shared experience. i had only been in his physical presence thrice. had i seen him more than that this blog wouldn't exist - i couldn't have said goodbye.

i should feel proud that i heard the heartache to come and protected myself. but i only feel disappointed. what do i get if i avoid the rollercoaster with it's thrill, the butterflies, it's dizzying up? beatitude?

yeah, maybe. maybe serentity.

brand new heavies

being twenty pounds overweight has it's advantages:

• my posture has improved tremendously. in an attempt to camouflage my orb-like shape, i stand tall. it's easy to remember because when i slouch my waistband cuts into my sides, although my typical garb consists of some type of drawstring closure.
• and so what if i keep the lights off during sex? the good news is i don't see his twenty pounds either. everyone's happy, right?
• my boobs - or as my grandmother so loving called them, my titties - are bigger. i'm practically busting out of every brassiere i have so maybe we don't notice the extra pounds. smoke and mirrors!
• i don't have to listen to my mother telling me i look to skinny or gaunt. she accuses me of inanition - as if i'm anorexic which is impossible for me. of course, i only see her once a year - no biggie - but this last visit was halcyon. it's quite enough to dodge assaults from my grandmother let alone the two of them.
• my ass is large or at least more protuberant. for most women that would be a problem however in my case it's the opposite. once, in an ohio airport, a guy actually sang "baby got NO back" to me. maybe i ignored him and he was being obnoxious in return but it doesn't mean it's not true.

i think the salient point here is that i see the glass as 3/4 full.

war

apparently people actually read these posts. who knew?

but so what? that's why it's called a blog. it's my opinion, it's my pleasure, my pain, my rants. it's not as if other people's opinions aren't germinating through other methods. case in point, my ex thinks i'm a louse. he didn't write that down but all his friends think i am so obviously they're getting their information from somewhere. he's entitled to grieve or express his anger in whatever form he choses and i don't dispute it. his story is his story.

yet i should eschew my method of dissemination because someone might read it. whatever happened to "there are two sides to every story" or "there's one side, another side and the then there's the truth?" because i truly believe that statement, it took me years to finally say that my ex-husband was a jerk for hitting me because i'm sure he thinks he had good reason. and i had good reason to think he shouldn't and then there's everything that happened in between; and his fucked up childhood and my abandonment issues and whatever else that makes us who we are.

but that is why it is easier for most people to get through life. we adopt the opinions of those closest to us to obviate the need for critical thinking - that would be too much work, like voting. we don't have to worry about whether all Muslims are bad because we can look at one incident and say "look, that proves it." then we can go back to our lazy lives, safe and secure, and forget everyone else outside our perimeter.

bertrand said something to the effect of: the ignorant don't question and therefore able to act; the intelligent see all sides and are therefore unable to.

is there a way to turn that off?

common

i thought i was doing the right thing but i wasn't. what i thought was a cry for help was viewed as into sticking my nose into someone else's business. what's funny is, i was torn between "it's not my problem" and "you cared for this person, sound the alarm." it's why most people turn a blind eye. we're afraid of making a mistake, looking foolish, choosing the wrong action.

anyway, i was going to blahg about the whole thing because, although some would take pleasure in the pain of someone who hurt them, i found no vindication in this situation. i don't want to see anyone have problems because i would want the same empathy if the roles were reversed. i guess i'm glad i didn't get to the keyboard before the whole thing blewup. i would have felt even more foolish.

perhaps, that has been my problem for too long. i've always thought i could make a difference - that's why i volunteer at schools, donate my goods instead of having a garage sale, foster animals until i can find them a good home (i almost got thrown out of my apartment for that one). i'm trying to help but it doesn't seem to ever make a difference.

i struggle to keep my boundaries and self-respect but whenever i cross the line between what's good for me and what's good for someone else, i get burned. why should i care anymore if no one else does? why should i respond humanely when everyone around me is out for number one?

it's been said that you're remembered for the good things you've done but i don't see anyone celebrating Gandhi or Mother Theresa day. not that i compare myself to them but i try to do good deeds. obviously, to no prosperity in my own life.

logic says i shouldn't care but i still do. although, i think i may have learned my lesson during this last episode. unfortunately, people throw around words that mean a call to action but really it's smoke and mirrors to elicit a personal response in the moment - not a true cry for help. everything is exaggerated in this day and age. that's why we have faxes and cell phones. NOW, NOW, NOW. even if it's not a now.

hence, i build more walls to keep out the noise but it's really lonely here.

the temptations

So I was thinking
I was drinking a bit of you
And not only were you sweet
Soft
Almost pure
But you were
You were In me!
There we were

There we were
and All I could think
is
this is the sweetest taste

The sweetest breath
And how full I was
Happy Full
That it was mine
Close my eyes
breathe us in
Close my eyes
breathe us in

Close my eyes and breathe
My eyes
and breath
Breathe
Just breathe

by Malcolm Ian Cross, 10-21-1999

'til tuesday

just when i think i've reached the zenith of grief, i'm pulled in the gyre of emotions stemming from some innocous occurence. in this case, my former's birthday.

fortunately, it's just a fortnight to before it's over. still, the days can't pass fast enough - i'm unable to parry the sorrow that assaults me so i'm crying most nights. oh sure, i'll still hurt after that but at the very least my every thought won't be consumed with what went wrong, not being good enough (though i've already admitted to being non-interesting), what i should have done, etc. typical woe-is-me shit.

what's a girl to do? admittedly, i could be drowning my sorrows in Maker's Mark, but in an effort to recover in a healthy fashion, I signed up for a running group to prepare for the LA marathon. actually, i had a bet with my former so it wasn't exactly an original idea. and i've run it - ten or eleven years ago.

i changed my phone numbers too. ostensibly to prevent further contact but it served a better unforseen function. i don't have to wonder if he's called me (because i'd want to know that he was pining after me too). this way i'm blissfully ignorant and i haven't checked my messages a thousand times like a truly pathetic victim of heartache.

all in all i'd say i'm coping pretty well (she writes sardonically).

tears for fears

as i was going through old files and papers in an attempt to organize things, i had an epiphany. i realized how grateful i should be to my ex for not being romantic. there in my mess of things to file, scrapbook or throwaway was not a single billet-doux, printed e-mail or card to remind me of him. i'm not being sarcastic about this; i'm truly sincere. he made it easy to get over him because i had virtually nothing to remind me of him. and just as i thank a perfect stranger for holding the door for me, though it's probably out of habit; i too thank him for that, although it was unintentional.

of course i did have some stuff. after all, he worked in the hospitality industry so he reeived a lot of giveaways - tee-shirts, hats, product samples (ironically, one of the freebies was a book called "they call it a break-up because it's broken." it really helped!) but those things don't spur fond thoughts or memories.

i sent back any tems he left at my apartment, also a book i borrowed, and a science project that i bought for his son (i couldn't bear to throw them away, it seemed like a waste of money. a throwback from my mother's teachings). still there wasn't anything of him that i had to hide or shred so that i wouldn't be reduced to a torrent of tears. the reverse wouldn't be true for him, it would be a sisyphean effort to remove all the crap i'd given him over a year and half's time - books, cards, notes, dvds, cds, etc.

fortunately for him, those objects won't cause him any grief. he's not given to sentimentality after a love affair is over. and that's not a negative. i have quaffed many a glass of wine after the onset of that particular emotion. i wouldn't wish my overwrought sense of misery on anyone.

so, i here i am realizing that there is nothing left of us except memories. remembrances that are so completely overshadowed by duplicity and deceit that i doubt very much any of them have any validity whatsoever. and that has left me feeling grateful that it has taken little effort to exuviate my former life with him.

dire straits

beer or dinner?

it's a shame that i have to choose but i have to watch my weight. unfortunately, i choose beer not realizing that it would bring about deep depression. my bad.

but here i sit, wishing that things were different. missing every thing that was good forgetting about all the bad.

there's a reason why hindsight contains the word insight. i can see that when i'm involved my life revolves around that person. i've done more socializing in the last four days than i have in the year and a half when we were together. that can't be good.

i met a guy tonight that left me with the thought "why can't i fall in love with the good man?" he was decent and honest and humble but he didn't make me laugh. is laughter that important?

apparently or i wouldn't fall for the cad.

right said fred

what's blog stand for? it's so close to the word "blah" that it seems like it's words you throw up in cyberspace.

blahg - i like that. that's pretty much what i'm going to use it for. perhaps spitting up on my page will take the place of wine, cigarettes and solitaire. i would say that's a step in the right direction given the fact that my heart's been burnt 3x the heat of the sun.

no, no, i'm not going to start whining. in the miniscule recesses of my cells, i still believe that i'm a happier person for having loved and been loved even with all it's tragedy. i sparkled and felt sunny for months at a time. if i have to feel shitty for a few weeks it's a small sum to pay for laughter and yellow and warm.

yeah, i might like blahgging after all. i feel a little better. and spit up comes out with a dab of soda water.

the killers

My Apologies

I apologize for giving you the benefit of the doubt.
I wish I never I believed anything you said.
I'm sorry I ever met you.

I apologize for making you think i liked your dick.
You'd fuck anything in a skirt and I actually feel sorry for her and her and her.
I'm sorry I had sex with you.

I apologize for listening.
I made you think you were funny by laughing at any joke you made.
I'm sorry your an asshole.


I'm mostly sorry for wanting you to die.

the mamas and the papas

Vagina Hands


A new nickname was not supposed to be the outcome of our conversation but, truth be told, i wasn't prepared for the conversation at all.

What's wonderful about my relationship with my daughter is that she feels free to query me about virtually anything. Mind you, I made certain that she had plenty of women in her life that she could talk to if she felt uncomfortable with telling me something but apparently our lines of communication are fairly intimate in her conciousness.

Let me back up. It started with the television drama, "House." In this particular episode, a five year old girl discovered how to "pleasure herself." Her mother thought she was having epileptic seizures but Dr. House clued her in on what an orgasm looked like (married with children, no orgasms, how sad). Jensen and I had a short conversation about masturbation (what it was and what happens when you do it - growing hair on your palms, going to hell, typical responses - just kidding).

Here's where it gets brilliant. Not one, not two, but three weeks later; she asks me why people do it. Like what's the point which told me that she hasn't had "stirrings" yet - a relief since she's only twelve and i'm just not ready for boys yet. But having to explain why you would want to handle your vagina is not a conversation I even remotely thought would be on the list.
I mean my parents talked so little about anything sexual that i just assumed that i would be hitting the majors like sex and babies. and let's be honest here, boys don't need any explanation. pretty early on their penises hit up against something and they like the feeling and it's on from there. maybe i'll take her horseback riding...

anyway, so i'm explaining how eventually she'll get the urges that come with puberty and that she'll probably want to touch herself and that everyone does eventually though some do earlier than others. here's where i put my foot in my mouth. i said that it wasn't abnormal for her to think it's weird because i myself hadn't started masturbating till i was in my LATE twenties.

mouth agape, "you masturabate?" well what was i supposed to say? i mean it's nothing to be ashamed of and if i acted otherwise then i would tinge the whole thing with a sordidness that i refuse to give to normal sexuality.

"yes, i masturbate. everyone does. boys more so than girls, but yes." then as we're finishing up the conversation and we arrive at her father's house, in my uncomfortability, i look for support from her father. "doesn't everyone masturbate?" i say to him.

"i don't."

that's right. he leaves me hanging out to dry. and then comes the moniker "vagina hands." i didn't have the werewithal to tell her that my fingers aren't nimble enough so i use a vibrator. after peals of laughter at my expense, her dad did eventually cop to it, which i think is why after a day or so she stopped calling me that and let me hug her with my "vagina hands."

motherhood is a mercurial business.

soft cell

i'm so grateful that i have been loved by good men, otherwise i would be completely devastated by this break-up. the other relationships i've been in remind me that i shouldn't waste tears on the unworthy. i don't mean that in the sense that i'm so incredible that he doesn't know what he's lost; i mean that i've loved men that were decent and honest and truthful.

those men are worth tears because they deserve respect. those relationships deserve to be mourned and grieved for. the end of a relationship based on lies and deceit should be celebrated. i'm not drowning my sorrows in gatorade out of regret but in joyous appreciation that i got out without mortal wounds.

gratitude to those great men who have loved me and i have loved in return. you have helped me more than you could imagine.

the replacements

i met a man who volunteered for a casual encounter after a brief meeting over smoothies (actually i was the only one having a smoothie but whatever). it got me thinking about what kind of rules i should set up for that kind of thing if, in fact, i go for it.

mind you, the rules are more for me than him because i imagine that most guys will abide by anything to "get some." these rules would help create boundaries to keep things from getting out of hand.

but what should they be? i'm thinking first and foremost, i go to his apartment so he doesn't know where i live but then i'm thinking how safe is it to go to someone else's apartment?
my second thought was that i decline giving him my number so as not to become a booty call.

thirdly, what about kissing. i'm not to keen on kissing someone i barely know. that sounds stupid given that we're having sex but kissing is so personal. that and blowjobs. don't get me wrong, i'm probably one of the few women in the country who actually gets off on washing a man's genitalia orally but i really only enjoy doing it to someone with whom i'm in a relationship.

there are somethings that are concrete - i won't stay the night and i'll never see the person again. which i'd say probably fits with what most guys want from casual sex anyway. oh, and i should have my own supply of condoms just in case.

i'm at a crossroads. maybe it's more trouble than it's worth. my friend says the only way i'd know whether the sex will be good or not is if i kiss the person, but if i don't want to kiss then that leaves me in a quandary.

help!

pink floyd

i detest asking people for money. i don't mean money for myself because if i'm in trouble that means my girl's in trouble; so i'm going to do my fillial duty. i mean money for other things - like fundraisers or donations.

it's not the asking that's the problem really. it's not even the answer - although yes is always nicer than no. it's mostly the disappointment. i'm disappointed that my kith and kin aren't very charitable. after all, i know how much they spend or if there are impediments to their earning or not. i know that one less "carmel macchiato" is a decent contribution when ten people opt in. But most don't.

what's worse is that it has nothing to do with me. i would fare better if i thought that he/she didn't want to support my cause because of some old resentment. however, their niggardliness is merely a byproduct of their character. therefore, my view of them is colored by the new revelation. most often it's not a picture i care to look at again.

nevertheless, my sabbatical is over - let the begging begin!:

Please consider making a donation to Reading to Kids an organization with which I volunteer. R2K is dedicated to inspiring underserved children with a love of reading. R2Kids gathers an average of 650 children and 250 volunteers at reading clubs on the second Saturday of every month at four Los Angeles Unified elementary schools: Gratts, Magnolia, Esperanza, and Hoover.

At the reading clubs, pairs of volunteers read aloud to small groups of children, while their parents receive training on how to encourage their children to read at home. Kids, parents, teachers, and school libraries receive book donations at the end of the reading clubs. These books are important donations, as 60 ercent of low-income homes do not have age-appropriate reading materials for children.

Since its inception in 1999, Reading to Kids has given more than 38,000 books to children who attend the reading clubs and donated over 6,300 books to their school libraries.

Please consider making a donation to Reading to Kids. When you give to Reading to Kids, you also give great hope and enthusiasm--if children have good reading skills, their future is bright. Any size gift would be greatly appreciated: $5, $10, $25. Checks should be made payable to Reading to Kids and can be mailed to Reading to Kids, 1600 Sawtelle Boulevard, Suite 210, Los Angeles, CA 90025, pay online at http://www.guidestar.org/partners/networkforgood/donate.jsp?ein=95-4758698 or you can give your donation to me and I will send it in. You can find out more about the organization at www.readingtokids.org.

america

i refuse to call it "gay marriage" since it seems that marriage is hardly ever described as gay - fulfilling, committed, enjoyable, work, commendable, etc. - but gay is rarely used.

it's been on my mind because a friend of mine posted a simple question on myspace: "gay marriage - for or against?" in which he got an avalanche of responses both for and against.
it seems like whenever people get on their soapbox against it, it's usually in reference to two men - "god made adam and eve not adam and steve." women are ancillary, as usual. well let me first say it's a pretty lame pun as a well as being completely unoriginal. it's seems to me that if someone has already written or said it once, it doesn't bear repeating when in a debate.

besides, god didn't make marriage which i thought was the subject in the first place. still i can't give any credit to the people who were for it because their basic answer was "whatever - just don't ask me to marry you." as if gay folks are out trolling for straight folks to pop the question to. there are just as many commitment phobic gays as there are straights and guaranteed there will be just as many divorces, if it's ever allowed.

not one person brought up the fact that besides the emotional part of wanting to marry someone - there are practical reasons. like being able to be at your dying partner's beside if need be since only the married or the family can be present. being able to decide what to do with your partner's belongings otherwise everything reverts to the family. being able to decide how the person is buried and honored.

sure no one wants to think of the bad things that might happen but they do happen and being married assures that the decision-making process is in the hands of the person who most likely has the latest information on preferences.

adam and steve... i guess there's no female rhyme for adam ... lana and eve? whatever - just don't ask me.

the grateful dead

are you dating a vampire?

over the next few blahgs, i'm going to describe the hallmarks of a vampire. but a few things before i start.

first, this is not a disparaging treatise on vampires. it is simply an aid to those people in relationships to discover whether their lover is a vampire since vampires will never voluntarily reveal their secret. thereby allowing a human being to decide whether to continue the relationship.

second, a vampire is neither good nor evil. they simply are. just as a cheetah feeds on springboks because it is their nature, a vampire must dominate a human. they know no other way. and they show no remorse as is their nature.

third, i use the moniker vampire to describe those people who inhabit a human form but are unable to form emotional attachments that are common to human beings. i would even venture to say vampires are jealous that they can't feel as we do and therefore experience a thrill in dominating a human who is bound by such attachments. thus, vampires exploit what they see as frailties against the human.

fourth, if my examples do not elucidate your particular quandary, feel free to post a comment and i will attempt to help clarify.