There was an accident on my front lawn and the boogie man was there with his twisted machete smile asking questions about how I got here

“I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science, science and progress
Don't speak as loud as my heart.
Tell me you love me, and come back and haunt me,
Oh, when I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing tails
coming back as we are.” - The Scientist, Coldplay

Last time he left I was just a little girl, and I was terrified he’d never come back. I woke up with tears stuck to the back of my throat, eyes heavy and red. True, it was winter and the daylight was long gone before he left and I never had the courage to say I love you, but it was late baby, and I was sad.

In the crossover space in my head, I turned the dial, and crawled back into bed. There was no light coming from my window, there was no soft breeze to graze my skin, and there was no you breathing down on my neck.

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

Dear readers, I have a problem. I like to fuck my friends.

Eh.

It doesn’t always produce the most positive results, especially when certain friends aren’t as sprinkle-happy with their own sexuality. For many o’ moons, I have teetered back and forth on the issue. I’m usually very honest with my lovers the majority of the time. It wasn’t always that way. When I was younger (the teenage angst years) I often balanced three-five relationships at one time, PLUS making pretty decent grades while working 40 hours a week. Let’s just say I didn’t sleep very much as the whirlwind of faces through the revolving door didn’t stop.

Occasionally, I may've become smitten with one person, but it was always peppered with late night trysts with others. I’ve tried to force myself into “one-on-one” relationship models, but, in the end, come back to the same old place. The seduction.

Add a little bit of impulsiveness and idealism to the equation and you’ve got a die-hard sensualist. Once the energy of the encounter has been depleted, I often ponder how I might channel my lust-filled libido into other mediums.

A person can only give so much of themselves before they start to feel the affects elsewhere. I’ve never been one to neglect my responsibilities in a mundane sense, but I often miss out on opportunities for self-reflection, writing, or helping others in a more pure (heh) capacity because I’m busy chasing the feeling.

Ah, the ecstasy of a temporary high. Those moments are few and far between in this life, aren’t they? I mean, that really is the nature of an addiction. I know there are love addicts, sexual addicts..hell, there are all sorts of addicts out there. Yet, I’m not sure that’s the issue in my situation.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to explain my behavior to myself with the following reasons:

1) I am a fundamentally flawed individual with absolutely no moral compass. I am a bad, bad, bad girl.

2) I have a deep fear of commitment and will go to any and all lengths to protect my freedom in the name of self-preservation.

3) The purpose of my life is not to form romantic attachments with others, as it depletes my power and lowers my effectiveness. I’ll have fun for now, but eventually will discard my obsession with physical to help others in a more evolved fashion.

4) I like sex. Period. There is nothing wrong with me. It is who I am. I should not waste energy trying to conform to society’s expectations of moral virtue. As long as I am honest with partners, I have no reason to change my behavior.

5) I’ve learned many important lessons regarding power and relating as a result of my sexual conquests and will continue to do so in the spirit of adventure, growth, and self-awareness. And that, is nothing to be ashamed of.

At various intervals during my life, I’ve often felt drawn to one of the above reasons, or sometimes, a multitude of em’ at once. Maybe all of them are true, to an extent.

The fact is, I’ve seen the ugly sides of symbiosis, along with the beautiful. When I say symbiosis, I mean in the sense that the parasite feeds from the host. Sex mimics the symbiotic process in a very natural way. And even on a greater level, symbiotic relationships color our human experience. In the womb, we engage in this very basic primal act before we’re even born into this world. It is our first experience. Relationships continue to evolve within the realm of symbiosis for better or worse during the course of a lifetime as well.

Wiki lists several classes of symbiosis, all of which apply to our relationships in this life:

1) Mutualism - a relationship in which members of two different species benefit and neither suffers

2) Commensalism- a relationship in which one party gains some benefit, while the other suffers no serious disadvantage

3) Parasitism- one member of the association benefits while the other is harmed

4) Amensalism- the association is disadvantageous to one member while the other is not affected

5) Competition- both organisms are harmed

6) Artificial symbiosis- the mutually beneficial integration between a live part and an artifact.

Many biologists concede that symbiosis has been a major driving force in the evolution of humanity. On a psychological level, I couldn’t agree more. As one of my favorite musician's/poet's would say, “I am trying to evolve”, which isn’t done within a vacuum. We need to experience relationships fully (even negative or painful attachments) to move forward with the task at hand, doing what we came here to do.

This post started off with fucking friends and turned into a lesson in biology.

Well, ya gotta start somewhere. Happy Friday, SS

Secret Agent Man

Going Incognito……

It’s time I change my look.

I’ve moved into a new loft downtown, reconnected with old friends, made peace with ex-girlfriends, and even changed my blog. Change is in the air people!

As far as the blog goes, I was becoming aesthetically challenged with the old arrangement. Thus, reorganization was in order. When I changed templates it erased all of my previous blog links, so hopefully I’ve remembered to add everyone back on. If not, let me know.

Apart from being stylistically bored, I’ve also been a little sketched out about all of the recent media focus on bloggers/my spacers losing their jobs because of the content posted on their blogs. Then, there’s the issue of other bloggers threatening to “out” other bloggers in order to silence them. Hence, there will not be anymore personal/identifying information shared, or if it is shared, it will be kept at a minimum.

With that said…. hello freedom!

As Nasty as I Wanna Be, SS

Cum-Guzzling Whores: Take One

How come the permanent spunk-filled taste in my mouth hasn’t left despite numerous rigorous brushings?

Could it be all the unnecessary head I’ve been giving recently?

I mean, it really makes a girl wonder how much money she could make if she turned her talent/hobby into a huge money-making pornified scheme. Seriously, if I had two cents for every blow job I’ve given on my knees in the dark.... well, let’s just say my college debt would’ve been paid off long before it was.

Sex workers, I can understand. Why not make money from a fun hobby you’d do for free anyway. An extra $400 bucks a month from sucking a couple of cocks would be a pretty nice cash prize indeed. Instead, I’m scrambling to complete all my work & responsibilities while pursuing pleasure. Wouldn’t it be easier to combine the acquisition of material resources with the sins of the flesh? Talk about two birds and a stone….......

I feel extraordinary guilty for writing about my sex life while everyone else in blogdina land is writing about actual important issues. Which, mind you, I have been pondering as well, but I can’t say that I feel compelled to write about it. A foggy haze has settled square in the middle of brain and now all I can do is touch, touch, touch.

You know, the “I want, I want, I want” mass consumption practices our society engages in on a day-to-day basis. I’m not exempt from this behavior either, but find it creeps into my life in more of a cannibalistic way. I'm like a rotating door, one in and one out, then repeat.

There once was a day when I attempted to maintain some sustainable from of celibacy, but have found I’m far too physically-orientated to proceed with any kind of solemnity regarding a sexless state of existence. It just doesn’t work for me.

And, that’s all I have to say about that folks. (In my best Southern accent, of course.)

~SS

There Goes the Neighborhood

“Hey let's party, let's get down, let's turn the radio on,
This is the meltdown.
Get out the camera, take a picture,
The drag queens and the freaks
Are all out on the town.
And cowboy Jane's in bed
Nursing a swollen head.

Sunshine Sally and Peter Ustinov
Don't like the scene anyhow.
I dropped acid on a Saturday night
Just to see what the fuss was about.
Now there goes the neighborhood.” - Sheryl Crow

I’m moving. Tomorrow.

Actually, it’s not the death sentence I thought it’d be. Turns out, a good friend lives three doors down. And, of course, the chair. OMFG. The new chair. This chair is leading me to new orgasmic heights. It’s $600 chair, so it ain’t cheap, but it’s so well worth it. The chair is very difficult to explain, it’s circular in nature with a deep back one can sink into quite nicely. The chair also fits two people easily, hell, even three if you’re up for it. I’m thinking it will be The Primo make out chair, and why not? I’m living alone again so I’ve got no reason to avoid making out all over the place.

When it finally arrives on the Magical Day (May 18th) of Sally’s birth I shall take a picture of it and post it here for your viewing pleasure. In the meantime, here is a chair/small couch that is somewhat similar to what I got, minus the red color.



My place is mostly earthy tones, except for the bathroom which is an interesting shade of fuchsia. I’ve contemplated changing my bathroom colors for some time now to progress with a more evolved theme than simply “fuchsia, it shall be fuchsia.” Any ideas? The jungle theme is outworn and trite, and so is lavender or lame shades of blue. I’m looking for something with a little one-two-punch, that leaves you going “huh” in a disturbingly strange yet quizzical manner. Sorta like if I had this piece by Frank Walls hanging from the wall in my bathroom after choosing a hellfire and damnation theme.



heh.

Well, I never said it would be remotely tasteful. I think I’ve moved beyond that point, in more ways than one.

The Subtle Magnetism of Nature

I was going to do a post about nature worship/pantheism today, but fuck it, let’s talk about boot fetishes instead. Notice I did not say “foot fetish”. I have no desire for a man or woman to lick my bare feet or toes. It’s not that I don’t have cute feet. They are, in fact, quite shapely and painted nicely at the moment. However, a good boot licking done with the right amount enthusiasm could really turn this girl out. Once, in a room full of people, I had the pleasure of receiving a brief but sloppy boot sucking. Even so, I did feel little shock waves of desire as the boot dude got down on his knee in front of me, wrapped his mouth around my stiletto heel and proceeded to suck it off.

Nice.

I was never intimate with the boot guy, we only kissed once and truth be told it was, like his boot head, rather sloppy. Yet, it was at that time I started to research various fetishes, BDSM activities, and dom/sub relationships. I found a lot of things turned me on that I never even gave a second thought to before. I started watching alternative/fetish porn to figure out what types of fetishes did it for me and what did not. I also started to do “energy experiments” with the men I was intimate with by consciously putting out my own masculine energy during sex rather than “being done”. It was fascinating. I found myself touching my partner differently and I was able to appreciate other parts of his body I had previously ignored or skipped over. When I looked down at my partner’s face, his expression took on a very feminine quality.

In order for a sexual relationship to be satisfying for me there has to be some sort of energy switch where feminine becomes masculine or vice versa. I'm bored with sexual experiences that do not allow for a range of gender expression. The standard missionary position “you are the man and I am the woman” fuck does not hold one ounce of appeal for me. First of all, being bi-sexual, I couldn’t follow those rules anyway. Next, for the love of God!, what a boring lesson in relating! I couldn’t imagine a world where we are stuck in some predetermined roles just waiting for the interesting stuff to come (or cum?). How stuffy. And did I mention lame?

Men/women who are afraid to get dirty, gritty, nasty, ect.. are definitely not my cup o’ tea. Even as a child, I reveled in the dirt, literally. After a session of playing outdoors, my hair, clothes, and toes were often covered in mud and dirt, and I loved it! The experience of being intimately tied to (or tied up?) with the Earth felt very natural. In adulthood, I’ve carried some of those same concepts into the bed room. See, I started out writing about boot fetishes, but ended up coming (cum-ing) back to nature anyway. heh. And so it goes…

Shiny Happy People Holding Hands

This was my horoscope for May penned by one of my favorite astrologers:

“As you make your way in the world, consider the men who have influenced you the most. What troubled them? What did they come up against that prevented them from enjoying life and from living up to their sense of their own potential? If you find yourself being confronted by the same things, I suggest you take a chance and dare to go beyond them. Too often, one generation after the next inherits the limitations and blocks of their forebears, and we typically attract people who help us make sure the patterns stick. New things are happening in your life now, which are thrusting you into the present, which could not be further away from the past.”

So, in the spirit of analysis I thought about the questions above and came up the following:

What troubled the men in my life?

An unhealthy attachment to their mothers, over identifying with a powerful mother figure, a connection to life that was mostly spiritual in nature, avoiding the physical or being fully present in the “NOW”, escapism through drugs and religion, The Searcher or the Journeyman who is lost looking for redemption, dissatisfied with the physical aspect of incarnation, neglect of their health and emotions for fusion with the divine, inability to form strong attachments in human relationships, avoiding responsibilities in favor of freedom, self-deception, impulsiveness, Jesus complex, a martyr energy being channeled in the wrong direction, defeatism, hopelessness followed by periods of self-aggrandizement.

What did they come up against that prevented them from enjoying life and from living up to their sense of their own potential?

Fear, laziness, addictions, lack of self-awareness, perceived or real abandonment of their father/father figures, rigidly adhering to a poisonous belief structure, suffering in silence, servitude displaced, loyalties misplaced, searching for the easy way out without doing any of the work, guilt for failing as a parent the same way their parents did, investing everything into a lie and not having the strength to change.

Now, think about the men who've influenced you in your own life. After you’ve done this little exercise take a look at what you’ve written. I’ll be damned if you don’t see your partner (or if not a partner, your own issues) staring you in the face. People tend to go for what they know. If you look closely at relationships you can see the underlying archetypes operating.

For those of us consciously trying to change, it presents a unique dilemma. I have to admit, I felt a little depressed answering the questions above. There are positive and negative sides to these family patterns, yes, some of our greatest individual strengths emerge from it, but you also get the bullshit too. Obviously, the archetypal pattern represented above is Neptunian in nature. Since I do have a tendency to draw Neptunian/Piscean people (especially men) to me it’s quite fitting.

I was talking to a dear friend during lunch on Saturday. He was reflecting on his own relationship woes, explaining that certain kinds of women with “issues” or “excess baggage” were often attracted to him. Basically, he found himself puzzled that these types of women kept seeking him out. I pointed out that this isn’t a one-way street, that we are, in fact, making relationship choices that validate are own archetypal patterns whether we realize it or not, and that he is “finding them” as much as they are finding him. Both people learn something from the exchange. It’s not to say that this is necessary healthy. It may be that one has to bang their head against the wall a couple hundred times to work through the archetype to find the positive side, or, the positive woman in his situation.

Relationship choices reflect our inner dynamics or patterns whether it’s through work situations, friendships, or romantic partners. Through momentary flashes of truth in seemingly meaningless interactions we come to awareness. The synchronicity is astounding, and in those situations it does feel as if the universe is working with us rather than against us. Truth is waiting to be discovered, examined, recovered, and connected.

Last night on my deck with an old friend at midnight, I had one of those sweet moments of clarity, hence, my flower-sniffing,dress-twirling, love-fest today.

Goin’ all Budda-like on yo’ ass, SS

The cops kicked my door down last night, and how was your night?

I was sleeping soundly in my bed, all safe n’ warm, when my sister and her boyfriend burst into my room yelling, “Someone’s breaking into our house, call 911!” I sprang out of bed, grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911 as my hands were shaking. I could hear a loud banging noise coming from the upstairs. Someone was trying to get in. I told the 911 dispatched, “They’re pounding on the windows, and they’re coming in now!” A loud crash was heard from the basement. My sister and I were both screaming when they said, “Police! Police!” Still unconvinced, my sis asked for the officer’s badge, then my sis’s boyfriend opened my bedroom door and let them in. The cops said, “Where is *______* (insert name of my youngest sister)? I said, “She’s at her boyfriends, what’s going on?” To which they replied, “Your sister was on her cell phone with someone when she said “Oh my God, I’m going to die” and then her phone hung up. Her friend then called the police. We traced her cell phone to this address, how can we find her?”

The next ½ hour was spent frantically searching for her boyfriend’s address in a neighboring town. Her boyfriend, now in jail, has a history of violent and abusive behavior. Also, his friends are somewhat questionable. This, of course, increased our anxiety levels. I called my mom, who immediately left her house. As she was backing out of her driveway, two cop cars pulled up behind her questioning her about my sister’s whereabouts.

Eventually, my other sister tracked down the boyfriend’s address and officers were sent to the house immediately. It turns out that my sister was having a bad dream when she answered her friend’s call and said “Oh my God, I’m going to die.” She honestly does not remember saying any such thing to her friend, or even talking to her. My sis has been known to talk in her sleep and sleep walk, especially when she was younger, but hasn’t any incidents since then. Anyway, needless to say, it took a long time before we all calmed down and were able to sleep.

The lesson here is to make damn sure you have all the contact info of your loved ones plus numbers of close friends to call in case of an emergency. Since we all hate my sister’s boyfriend with the fire of a thousand suns we made no effort to find out where he lived or even his last name.

Also, as I tossed n’ turned trying to sleep after having my front door kicked down by the police, I thought about all the families in Iraq and elsewhere who live with the day-to-day fear that their loved ones could be abducted from their homes and killed during the middle of the night. The horror and helplessness that I felt, even in just believing for a couple of minutes that someone was trying to break into my house, was downright terrifying. I can’t imagine going to bed every night with that fear. Sally’s gonna get herself a gun, or at least a freakin’ can of mace.

Honey and The Sting

*raises cup metaphorically to readers* “Here’s to rejection, may all your humiliations be as fine as mine!”

Haven’t we all been there? Rejected by a potential romantic partner, institution, job, parent, or even your entire peer group? Yep, it happens. In fact, it has been occurring since the beginning of time. From classic ostracism dating all the way back to the budding Athenian democracy to modern day excommunications and the shunning of certain public personalities rejection rears its ugly head. And that doesn’t even begin to touch on the petty little rejections each one of us has suffered on a personal level.

Rejection, with its funny little stinger, reminds me of a bumble bee. ( I know, weird analogy, stay with me.) It buzzes around your head on a beautiful summer day, its presence annoying, yet not terribly noticeable. Until the little fucker stings you. Then, that big swollen red bump takes shape, the stinger hanging half way out of the wound. After you’ve torn out the stinger itching and what not may last for a week sometimes longer. In some cases, those allergic to bee stings may experience a fatal reaction. Hell, I think we’ve all seen My Girl where that kid dies from multiple bee stings.

Rejection, especially to the environmentally sensitive person, is like a little mini death of the ego. We scratch, we pull, and some of us even manage to suck the venom out of the wound, yet it is still painful. Some never recover, and the pain turns into rage. For those of us who manage to find some healing and self-esteem, it’s long battle indeed. Yet, as human beings I think we’re up to the task.

Not to get biblical on ya, but “forgive our sins as we forgive those who’ve sinned against us” is not a bad message. Plus, playing the eternal victim is boring and really does nothing in the way of relief anyway. The question we all need to ask about *any* wound we may have suffered in our life is, “How can I use it?” How can we take what we’ve learned through our suffering and give it back to others in the form of compassion, love, and strength? A high order, I know, but necessary in our evolution as a species.

Rejection being the theme … if you feel inclined to do so please share a story of rejection/humiliation no matter how big or small the rejection was. It’ll be like free therapy! YAY!

Here’s mine:

Sally Sunshine is proud of her ability to seduce, being the Aphrodite charmer hyper-sexual girl that she is. It’s an art that’s been perfected over many desire-induced evenings spent in eternal rapture. Eh, you get the point.

Anyway, many moons ago there was a certain lesbian *who shall remain nameless* who seemed bent on humiliating me. She was of the stoic variety, said very little, but had one of those “penetrating stares” romance novels talk about. She was twice my age and rather butchy. She was cute, but in a non-traditional super-secret spy kind of way.

We had been eyeing each other for some time, but never said a word throughout our exchange of hot n’ heavy glances. Finally, on my birthday, with a killer mini and extra beer in hand, I approached Ms. Elusive. She was, for all purposes, less than thrilled with my overture. My “hey, don’t cha wanna come home with me?” after 3-5 birthday shots wasn’t exactly classy.

She explained she didn’t like to rush things and wanted to get to know me better. I, although pleased she wanted to “know me better”, was not pleased with the reference to “taking our time.” However, I conceded and continued to chat with her. She said later that evening we should leave the bar together and continue our conversation elsewhere, which I considered a small victory. After all, it was my birthday and the mini did look fierce.

However, at the end of the night, when I went to get her, her friends said they weren’t sure where she was at. They thought she may have stepped outside for a minute. So, happily I trotted away leaving my drink on the table next to them. But when I got outside she was no where to be found and her car was gone. A few moments later, the first few rain drops fell. I stood, stunned and hurt in my best birthday outfit, while the rain soaked my face. Rejected and a bit emotional, I went home alone.

On*my*birthday.

** Update: The lesbian *who shall remain nameless* later apologized and we dated briefly, until I left her for a hotter younger chick. Funny how life works.

Moon Madness, Larva, and Beautiful Release

We’re in the midst of a full moon in Scorpio.

Anyone else feeling the burn?

I know I am. Full moons tend to either really energize me or dull-down all my senses to zero point. In particular, this full in Moon in Scorpio opposing the Taurus Sun is a bit like a piece of sandpaper rubbing away to expose raw flesh. Yes, it is fleshy, but not the good kind of fleshy. Don’t get me wrong, I like the Scorps, but let’s all do ourselves a favor and remove ourselves from the lava pit, at least for a few days to regroup. And since I feel like I’ve got a ten ton bulldozer scraping up against the wall of my brain there will be no insightful, witty, or even remotely intelligent commentary today.

But, tomorrow…. tomorrow I will emerge from my cocoon like a butterfly.........

or something like that.

Housekeeping!

It’s about time I update my blog link list. I’ve added a few new ones that I read often, like daily. Thanks for all the good reads ladies, SS