Slut Guilt

Guilt: Anthony Guerra

“I don't know why
you want to follow me tonight
when the rest of the world
with whom I've crossed and I've quarreled
let's me down so
for a thousand reasons that I know
to share forever the unrest
with all the demons I possess
beneath the silver moon
maybe you were right
but baby I was lonely
I don't want to fight
I'm tired of being sorry” :: Tired of Being Sorry: Ringside

Sally has fucked, left, and destroyed quite a few people in her short life on this planet, which has led to various accusations like:

“You have no heart.”
“You’re dead inside”
“You’re a scandalous whore.”
“You ripped my pretty red heart in two.” (tribute to Sylvia Plath)

and the old stand by:

“You’re a player.”

What these malcontents don’t realize is during my younger years, I was a nice girl, a people pleaser, in fact. Often times, I would lose interest in relationship long before I broke it off. Even when relationship no longer honored self-discovery and growth, I continued on with the person at my expense. Hell, I spent two and half years with one ex-girlfriend when it should’ve been a one-night stand. But, the girl would flip out, threaten suicide, and stalk me to the ends of the earth until I relented. In order to protect her feelings I soldiered on, half-heartedly, to appease her. This relationship is only one example of how I traded the truth for a lie to protect someone’s feelings. I had many more relationships over the years that followed this pattern.

A part of me felt an obligation to help my partners maintain their emotional balance. Oh, you’re unhappy? Here, let me help. So, you hate yourself and feel weak and misunderstood? Come here, then, my little bird with broken wing. Let me stitch you up and put you back together.

The problem is, once you’ve helped someone in this capacity (either sexually or psychologically) the subject (i.e partner) yearns for fusion and wholeness with their guide again and again. In many cases, the subject becomes addicted to, what they perceive to be, their “savior’s” attention or presence in their life. The subject, then, feeds of this strength while taking what they need for themselves. When the “savior” finally attempts to gracefully bow out of their role or let’s the projection expire, the subject is, naturally, enraged. They want more. We don’t especially like it when our faith or image of someone is destroyed. But as Tori Amos sings, “I was never the vision of what you wanted me to be.”

Readers, I realize this scenario makes Sally sound like a real bitch. Who does this chick think she is? God? a Savior? a freakin’ saint?

My father had a severe Jesus complex, so I am particularly sensitive to being viewed as anybody’s savior. It disgusts me. However, Dad was a charismatic preacher, people wanted to believe him. They needed to believe him. When he spoke his “followers” listened in awe, the man was damn inspiring. Growing up hearing him and seeing him certainly affected me and the way my communication with others is received. Further, since ancestral imprints run deep through our family heritage, daughters and sons carry the strengths and weakness of those who have gone before them. In other words, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

It’s also important to realize human beings are hard wired to seek out meaning in their encounters with others and are prone to projections. For every savior out there, you’ll find someone in need of saving and vice versa. Saviors need their followers as much as their followers need their saviors. This is, essentially, a karmic situation and a sticky one at that.

I wish those who’ve felt slighted by Sally could understand the deeper impact of their perceived abandonment. They were learning something beautiful, and I was too. Nothing is ever lost. People get what they need from one another, even if it hurts. Important lessons do come through our pain and disappointment. And those who have crossed paths with Ms. Sunshine have learned about self-reliance. I can pick you up and dust you off, but in the end, each person must develop their own inner resources, their temple of self, or strong core.

So, here ends Sally’s Slut Guilt.

When we start to understand ourselves (i.e. “birthing” ourselves) we recognize radical honesty is the only way to go. This blog is dedicated to the pursuit of radical honesty, and as we all know, revolution is never a dinner party. It’s tough.

Telling a lover,

“Hey, I’m sorry; I just don’t do relationships right now. “
“I’m sorry, I can’t see you anymore.”
“I’m falling in love with you”
“I’ve fallen out of love with you”
“I want to fuck your best friend”
or “I’d like to fuck you again.”

all requires balls (or ovaries!) of steel. It may be embarrassing, the other person may feel like shit, or you may end up losing them, but we must commit ourselves to the highest order in life...truth.

So be it.

Love you all immensely, Sally.

The Miracle of Menstruation

“There is another kind of death that is pregnant with more viable meditations- if you’re a woman. It typically occurs once in every orbit of the moon around the Earth. When you menstruate, a specialized cell in your body, the only type of cell capable of spawning a new creature, begins a quest for a larger life- only to fail in its mission and disintegrate. This is a death that is more shocking to the body than digestion and oxidation, and therefore more palpable to your imagination. It even generates a symptom that in any other situation is a dramatic sign of rapidly ebbing vitality: loss of blood"
-The Televisionary Oracle, Rob Brezsny

Readers, today I got my period.

I feel buoyant, optimistic, and ready to take on the world. Really, I do! Every month I look forward to menstruating with the renewed excitement of a little girl on the first day of school. And, it’s not because I’ve been having unprotected anonymous sex with strange men, contrary to popular belief. I just enjoy reveling in womanhood, contemplating the strange efficiency with which our bodies operate, and yes, feeling about five pounds lighter after the fact.

For me, menstruation represents the connection to my innate femininity and trust in it. As women, we are often told by doctors, nutritionists, fertility specialists, gynecologists, and yes, society, how our bodies should look and what we should feed them. Yet, there is a simple truth vibrating in each one of us and that is our body’s own natural rhythm.

Over the years, I began notice the subtle patterns and fluctuations during my cycle. I usually follow a regular 27-28 day schedule, so on the twelfth day I start to feel the beginning stages of ovulation as my body prepares itself. My dreams intensify and my appetite increases. I also experience quite a few of the physical signs of ovulation. For instance, my body temperature rises a few degrees, which is usually accompanied by a hot flash or two. However, the most obvious sign of ovulation, and when the likelihood of a pregnancy is highest, is when vaginal mucous secretions resemble snot- sticky, rubbery, stretchy, and goopy. If you’ve ever pulled a long string of it out of your vagina during ovulation and let it slide between your fingers, you know what I’m talking about. This is the moment when fertility is at its peak. Cervical Mucous Monitoring is actually a pretty good way to keep track of the fertility “window of opportunity” if one is diligent.

Finally, about fourteen days after ovulation, my period arrives with fanfare, drums, and celebration. The few days right before my period are always interesting. Typically, I have dreams which are psychologically taxing but necessary. I’ve entered the shaman’s territory here. The dreams are vividly clear, lucid, in fact, and they hold the key to a problem or question I’ve been stuck on. Subconsciously, during dreamtime I receive, in abundance, the wisdom and direction I’m seeking. It’s at this time; I know I’ll shed the first few drops of blood soon.

One of the most beautiful experiences with a female lover I’ve ever had has been the times when cycles synch up. Our bodies have truly touched one another’s. Our chemistry has been altered and now our bodies move in unison. Ladies, even if you've never slept with a woman, you know how it goes. If you live with a group of women long enough cycles have a tendency to mirror each other. With my last lover we experienced this phenomenon, although we didn’t live together- we fucked- a lot. Juices mixed and mingled often, so it was no surprise when I got my period two weeks early on the same day she did. This is the magic chemistry of our bodies in action.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not all howling at the moon and tasting menstrual blood fun. Many women have indicated if given the choice they would gladly stop menstruating if it was medically possible. Now, I realize not every woman is in love with their body’s natural functions. In high school, I had a friend with a severe case of endometriosis. For her, menstruating was a “curse” and not a beautiful reflection of womanhood.

I’ve also had some not so nice experiences during my period as well. For example, when I accidentally inserted a second tampon in my vagina, forcing the first one so far up I had to claw it out with my free hand while I held my leg back with the other. It didn’t help I was only fourteen years old at the time. I had slept with both tampons in overnight and was positive I had toxic shock syndrome the next morning. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson, but when I was sixteen, I had sex with tampon in. It’s not that I forgot I had my period or was drunk, I have no excuse. I was sober and can only claim that I was horny. I spent the next hour in the bathroom fishing for the string under a fluorescent light. Needless to say, I finally learned my lesson, take it out first.

Hey, Happy Friday.

Cheers! (raising a metaphorical glass of menstrual blood to my lips)

~Sally S.

Playing Doctor

No, this post will not be about fairies. I just liked the pretty picture.

I often like pretty pictures whether it’s a person viewed as an object, or an actual piece of art.

Hence, Dr. Dude.

Dr. Dude is an ICU nurse who I happened to meet walking down the streets of a strange city late at night in my cute multi-colored summer dress, heels slung over my shoulder, a little tipsy, but, nonetheless, feeling conversational. Dr. Dude recognized me immediately and called out, “hey, I know you, you’re from _______ right?” To which I replied, “Why yes, Doctor, I am.” Turns out, he was staying at the same hotel as I was, so, we continued to chat in the lobby while he checked in.

Dr. Dude is 30 years old, but looks all of 23 years old (Damn Gemini’s and their anti-aging superpowers!) Anyway, he’s a pretty sexy boi, and was very interested in conversing with moi, so naturally I was all ears. At the last minute, I gave him my number, leaned over, kissed his cheek, and left him standing in the hotel elevator.

Dr. Dude is prime catch, ladies. Good job, sexy bod, smart, witty, fun… BUT…………and a big BUT at that…. he’s a devout Christian, wants marriage AND kids. So, what in the hell is he doing hanging out with likes me?

I feel a little more than selfish snatching this guy up for my own personal enjoyment while some people struggle to simply get a date. I guess I’m just a gluttonous lust-filled pig. I want, I want, I want!

The thing is, Dr. Dude has decided to save himself for marriage. Although he is not a virgin, it’s been a long time since he’s engaged in the horizontal mambo.

Like 12 years or so.

Seems Dr. Dude is a bit of a freak boi, yet does not engage in any type of penetration, save anal. And folks, anal is not for the faint of heart. The guy really fascinates me. Being an artiste of seduction, I have formulated a plan to see how far I can carry on with the lust until I break him down. Yes, it’s an evil plot and the characters are actual people, but doesn’t it sound fun?

And did I mention he has the best ass I’ve ever seen?

Even if he has tendency to read bible verses to me at 12:30 in the morning, I can over look it. Because. That Ass. Heh. Makes me sweat just thinking about it.

Someday I will actually post about something relevant like Hamas and Fatah, or The Up Coming Primaries, or hell…ending poverty. Someday I may even return to my feminist roots and write something on the subject or any subject other than my own self-indulgent pleasure-seeking indecent activities. It could happen. Just not today.

Body Goals: 2007

Hey y'all,

As you know, Sally does enjoy her many hard core hours spent sweating it out in the gym. Here is the new workout plan (nutritition, cardio, and lifting) I devised for myself. It's pretty intense, but hopefully I can kick start this old mule. Heh.

Diet:

1) breakfeast: 2 servings, low calorie egg beaters with a sm. serving of fresh fruit

2) snack: whey protein shake

3) lunch: Soy burger, low fat, 2 servings of vegetables, low fat yogurt

4) pre-gym snack: Quaker Rick Cake with Peanut Butter

5) dinner: Salad with low cal dressing, fish (protein), and tomato

Other snack options: banana, apple, no sugar added: granola bar or pudding

Limit all caffeine, alcohol, and juices with high sugar content and increase water intake by 2 times the regular amount. (16 glasses per day at 8 ounces per glass)

Work out Plan: (based on a 6 day rotation, one day off)

1) Monday: 45 minutes of cardio: spin class (600 calorie burn)

Lift: Back and Biceps

Back rotation:

1) Assisted pull-ups (wide-grip) (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) One-Arm Dumbbell Row or Sitting Cable Rows (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) T-Bar Row (standing) narrow over-hand grip (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Lat Pull Downs (3 sets, 15 reps)
5) Shoulder Shrugs with Isolation (2 sets, 10 reps)

Biceps:

1) Alternating Dumbbell Curls (2 sets, 20 reps)
2) Standing Straight Ez Bar Curls (2 sets, 15 reps)
3) Standing Preacher Curls (Ez Bar or Dumbells) (3 sets, 10 reps) or until failure

2) Tuesday- off-

3) Wednesday- 45 minutes of cardio (kick boxing and step class)

Lift: Legs

1) Leg extensions (2 machines, 3 sets of 15 on each one) warm-up
2) Squats (3 sets, 15 reps)

3) Leg Press (3 sets, 15 reps) wide stance

4) Sitting position with 25 lbs of weight on lap- hold for 2 minutes

4) Thursday- 40 minutes of cardio-Running

Lift: Chest and Triceps

Chest Rotation:

1) Incline Dumbbell Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Wide-Grip Push Ups (3 sets, 15 reps)
3) Flat Bench Dumbbell Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Cable Crossovers (3 sets, 8 reps)

Tricep Rotation:

1) Close-Grip Push Downs (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Lying or Standing Dumbbell Tricep Extensions (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) Lying Tricep Press using EZ Bar (3 sets, 10 reps)

5) Friday – 30 minutes of cardio

Lift: Shoulders and Abs

Shoulder Rotation:

1) Behind the Neck Military Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Seated Dumbbell Press (sitting straight up on bench, palms facing out) (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) Side Lateral Raises with dumbbells, keep palms facing down (3 sets, 10 reps)
or Front Dumbbell Raises for variation

Ab Rotation:

1) Cable Rope Crunches (3 sets, 20 reps)
2) 30 Degree partial sit-ups with Swiss Ball (3 sets, 20 reps)
3) Ball Pass (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) The Plank (2 sets, 60 seconds)

** Abs can be done every other day besides this day only

6) Saturday- 60 Minutes of Cardo, Abs and Glutes

Cardio (stair stepper and running)

Glutes

1) Walking Lunges with Weights, (3 times around the track)
2) Glute Kickbacks (3 sets, 25 reps)
3) Dumbbell Squat or Squat Lunges (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Dumbbell Lunges (2 sets, 10 reps) or until failure

7) Sunday- cardio only with Abs (45 minutes of cardio, 15 minute abs)

Karma, 101

Everything I touch breaks.

At least today.

My car, the toilet in our community office bathroom, the toilet at the house I used to rent with my sister, the door which the cops kicked down at the old house I used to live at, and for fuck’s sake, my favorite Channel lipstick, and the end of my living room table (baby toe, meet table, AGAIN…), ect…

Eh.

Similarly, my little sister claims everything in her life rots, i.e. grows mold, from the fridge to possibly her personal life, but I’m not judging, no, of course not.

Conversely, everyone in my office is having a grand old day. So-and- so’s pathetic excuse for a son just bought a house and blah, blah, blah… suck it people!

Do I sound like a five year-old today or what? Maybe someone should just put me on a leash. After all, with my tendency to break shit and what not…..

So, why the rude smart-ass overtones? Readers, I have been feeling somewhat emotionally numb the last few days and cannot be bothered to find one iota of compassion for others in my cold dead lifeless heart.

Also, money people, that’s right, money. I’ve been spending an obscene amount of it lately and found I am somewhat disgusted with myself about it. I received a rather large inheritance over a year ago and I have basically bought a lot of shit. Needless shit. So much for that "conservative with money" accountant stereotype, you won’t find that here, no siree.

And each week it’s a game, isn’t it? We say, I’m going to change this and this and this about my life, next week, yeah, sometime next week. But that time never comes, and well, why should it? When we’re doing just the minimal amount of work in our lives to get by and keep others off our freakin’ backs, there’s not much incentive to achieve, is there?

I the problem is, I was a nose-to-the-grind stone hard core achiever for many years, and managed to make some pretty impressive strides in my life. But now, it’s just enough to get by….heh. How did it come to this, I ask myself often. And each week I make impossible promises to myself about how dedicated and service-orientated I will be and how much joy I will experience because of it, and then… fuck…. it’s pedicures, shopping, tanning, excessive gyming (is that a word?) and martinis on a Tuesday night.

Key lime pie martinis.

Who does that?

Some people my age have 2.5 kids, the house, The Job, ect, ect, ect..
Yet, I cannot be bothered with such humdrum. I’ve been catching flack from friends lately about being more “adult-like” and “stop all that partying girlfriend!” which is actually ironic, because 5 years ago with my nose held to the stone, they looked awfully frivolous in my eyes.

Well, Justin Timberlake, you just might be on to something there, what goes around does come round’. Funny, I thought I told ya.

Sistas' are doin’ it for themselves…

“Standin' on their own two feet.
And ringin' on their own bells.”

If you haven’t done so yet, go read Cassandra’s post about women-only spaces.

My experience with women-only spaces was a little different. I grew up in a family of women (powerful women at that) with no male influences. I saw the women around me kicking a lot of ass..doing it on their own and what not… both my mother and aunt were staunch feminists. In fact, the very first book my mom ever gave me was called “Eve’s Revenge”, a collection of feminist stories, jokes, etc… so I remember identifying with feminism at a pretty early age. Although my paternal grandmother never identified herself as a feminist, hell if she didn’t raise 3 boys on her own and run an entire franchise with little or no help. So, yeah, women-only spaces, not a bad thing in my book.

I don’t know that my mom ever told me “Sally, you don’t have to fear anyone, especially men.” But, it was communicated to me through her actions. She, in my mind, was doing the impossible (single parent, 4 kids, in law school) which taught me a lot about self-preservation and kicking ass, overall. Typically, I’ve approached dangerous situations with somewhat of a reckless attitude. For example, the time I caught a burglar in downtown Minneapolis in the process of robbing my best friend’s car. I simply told him to get his ass out of the car and start running because I was going to call the police, so when I screamed, “FUCKIN MOVE IT!”, he got out of the car and ran. Fortunately, he wasn’t able to pry her stereo system free in time.

Sure, there were instances when I was younger where disgusting men helped themselves to my body. Three situations in particular stand out. The first one was in the 3rd grade when nauseatingly perverted older boy grabbed my crotch on the play ground at school and taunted me, “Sally, watcha’ gonna do, huh?” “Huh?” Had I been a little older n’ wiser, I would’ve beat his sorry ass to the pavement, but no, I just sorta stood there with a dumb look on my face. My pelvic area burned for the next week, I could still feel his fat meaty hand there.

The next incident was when I was in 8th grade. Keep in mind, I, er, developed early. I started wearing a bra when I was 10 or 11. By the time I was 13 I was a full D-Cup, on a 5’3, 110lb frame. Let’s just say it didn’t go unnoticed. Anyway, it was the summer before my 8th grade year and I was at the state fair with a few girl friends. As we walked by the various displays n’ games, the old carnie guys with missing teeth would leer at us with their various cat-calls and what not. At one point, a particularly gross toothless excuse for a man reached over and grabbed by boob. Again, I was speechless. It was during the bright light of day and I had several others with me, so I wasn’t worried for my safety, but like Cassandra said, found myself enraged and a little bit shocked.

And lastly, as the girl from the wrong side of the tracks at the good ol’ Catholic high school, I found issues like class, religion, and sexism were alive n’ well. And don’t even get me started on race and sexual orientation. Anyway, I spent a lot of time bucking the popular paradigm. Refusing to be confirmed, openly questioning authority, standing up for other fellow outcasts who were teased by girls who made “Mean Girls” look like fuckin’ tea party…eh.. well, you know how those catholic girls are. But, the guys were even worse, specially’ the jock guys. Seeing how I had “developed early” I was often harassed in the hallways by the junior/senior guys. For example, on one particular day, an unruly jock guy grabbed my ponytail, threw me against a locker, and said to his buddies, “Hey guys, look at my little freshman sex toy.” Not the most welcoming environment for an insecure teenage girl. But, eventually, I grew out of my shell and started kicking a little ass, just like my mom… the apple doesn’t fall from the tree…

Over the years, I’ve become much more assertive and aggressive about protecting my boundaries. I no longer stand speechless when some uncivilized slob grabs a body part, I also feel like if I was attacked, I could defend myself, and hell… like I said before, maybe even kick a little ass. After all, those hardcore body building training sessions at the gym have to count for something.

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

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.

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

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.

A Swift Kick to the Groin

sticking it to the stone…

I am divesting in you, closing your accounts, taking out the trash, and removing your scaly hand from my mouth. I’m taking each and every sentence you uttered in my presence and declaring it null and void. I’m watching you stumble away, limping, without interest.

Easter Sucks

There's no religion but sex and music
There's no religion but sound and dancing
There's no religion but line and color
There's no religion but sacred trance

There's no religion but the endless ocean
There's no religion but the moon and stars
There's no religion but time and motion
There's no religion, just tribal scars
-“Send Your Love”- Sting


Let the Carnage Begin

Yesterday I wanted to spend the whole day writing a big fat anti-Christian post, but got side-tracked with booze, boys, and guitars. Oy.

Thus, I have no intelligent commentary or witty repartee to invoke about this holiday of major suckyness, except to say that, well, it sucks. You may be thinking, why Sally Sunshine, why does it suck so much?

My answer: Because I said so.

Be a good little reader and accept everything I say as rule and/or divine law and don’t ask too many questions. For example, like the question why. “Why” has never led to anything productive. Around here we bow our heads, pray feverishly, ask for mercy, bite our tongues, and for God sakes, we avoid honest discourse at any cost! In fact, each one of you must donate $5000 to my “Sally Sunshine Supreme Ruler of the Universe” account immediately. As you know, your impending salvation and depends on your conformity, let the soul saving begin! Also, in order to secure your adoration and complete devotion, I will remind you of my importance in your world. Silly reader, I led you out of your world of darkness and showed you the truth, the light, and the way. I even sacrificed my pen so that you may read my typed thoughts. Lucky you! Now, give everything to me (10%, at the *very* least), shut up and do as I say!


Point Made.

My first “disrespectful” incident with regard to scripture happened when I was 13 years old when I used Bible paper to roll a joint. Sure, it wasn’t the most obvious use of The Paper, I should’ve used it to wipe my ass instead, but alas, joint-smoking took precedence. There were many other creative uses of bibles growing up. For example, when having wild boar pre-marital pig sex, and the headboard is scraping against the fresh paint on your wall, go ahead and grab that bible! It works as a handy insert between the two. Plus, no more pesky banging noises either! Oh, and how could I forgot the ol’ lipstick blotter trick. Ladies, often times we, in error, apply a heavy coat of lipstick when all we desire is a thin coat. In the event of heavy application error, rip out one of those handy-dandy bible pages and blot away! Oily skin? Not a problem either, pull out a page and get to work!

So be resourceful, don’t let that leather-bound bag o’ shit in the dresser drawer collecting dust go to waste!

And there you have it, save a tree, Sally’s Easter celebration is complete.

hello new shoes, bye bye blues

I put some new shoes on,
And suddenly everything is right,
I put some new shoes on and everybody's smiling,
It so inviting,
Short on money,
But long on time,
Slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine,
And I'm running late,
And I don’t need an excuse,
'cause I'm wearing my brand new shoes. -New Shoes, Paolo Nutini

Walking down the streets of New York City in my four inch heels, my feet started to hurt. I finally acquiesced to the pain and darted into the first store I saw. From the back room, an imposing blonde woman appeared. She led me over to look at all the shoes displayed on the wall. My eyes first zeroed in on the kaki colored pair. As soon as she returned with the shoes, I noticed the price - $325! Evidently, I had stumbled into a high-end store even though the outside of the store suggested otherwise. From my reaction she knew I wasn’t buying and proceeded to ignore me until I left. On my way out the door, a pair of dark brown funky platforms called my name, but I was determined to find a cheaper pair.

I left the store disappointed and disappeared into a sea of people just as a torrential rain began to hammer the city. An attractive man with dark hair and bright green eyes, in a muted-green tee-shirt looked over at me and said, “That Brillo scarf looks really nice on you.” The funny thing is I didn’t feel beautiful, in fact, just the opposite. The red n’ white silk Italian scarf around my neck was soggy, rain-soaked and heavy. We stood together on the street, my hair wild and tangled in my scarf, and stared silently at one another while he loosened the knots. In front of him, I bent down on my knees and came undone.

It's Freaky Friday, and I'm feeeling a little naughty. How about you?

The Art of Clever Response

(Disclaimer: Immaturity Abounds)

The wonderful Mz. Plain(s) Feminist has given the old, “Tag, You’re It”, so here I go.

A- Available or Single
Perpetually and irrevocably, single.

B- Best Friend
My comrades, my rocks, my fellow Civil War embalmers, my lovely ladies, my “we’ll grow old together and live in each other’s basements and fuck men because we can”, sisters.

C- Cake or Pie
Cake, specifically the mystery “pink bunny Easter coconut cake” left on my door step at 5:00 am yesterday morning, along with the flowers.

D- Drink of Choice
I like me a tall glass of man.
Actually, no, let me rephrase, I love Sake, especially of the “Mountain of Man” variety, or in a pinch, “Demon Slayer.”

E- Essential Item
A fake Russian accent at an All-American Boys hang-out.

F- Favorite Color
White, it matches my pure Christian moral upbringing. Thanks Mom & Dad!

G- Gummi Bears or Worms
Worms, all the way. Anything delectable shaped like a worm in my book is a-o-k.

H- Hometown
I’m under the spell of L.A. and I don’t wanna be here.

I- Indulgence
Travel, Useless Desire, and Cream Puffs

J- January or February
Both months represent my descent into hell (tax season). January sucks a little bit more because it’s only the beginning, baby.

K- Kids
Pardon Moi? Not in this lifetime!

L- Life is incomplete without:
Jump rope, bubble gum, and boys (the jump rope also moonlights as a whip, cat-o-nine-tails anyone?)

M- Marriage Date
About 400 B.C., isn’t that the last time marriage was even socially relevant?

N- Number of Siblings?
By marriage or blood? First marriage, second, or third? Oh hell, just throw’em all in there. Under that premise, 8.

O- Oranges or Apples?
Oranges, but only if I get to say who, where, and when damnit!

P- Phobias/Fears
That one day I might join MySpace. Eh, yeah.

Q- Favorite Quote
“Send in the clowns!”

R- Reasons to smile
1) Flashing the bartender for beer after last call and getting more, a whole pitcher in fact! (I really took one for the team!)

and

2) Hosting after-hour orgies at my house. That loud slapping noise coming from the basement can’t be good!


S- Season
Spring, all the sprightly fairies come out and bless each and every budding flower with their sweet enchanted kisses.

T- Tag Three People
Red rover, Red Rover send Cassandra Says, Sage, and My Sister over. (My sis doesn’t have a blog, but I trust that she will respond to this because I’ve included her in my will.)

U- Unknown Fact About Me
The night the lights went out in Georgia, I was the second gunman on the grassy noel.

W- Worst Habit
Speaking out of turn, interrupting others, controlling conversations, proving my endless superiority time & time again, oh, and did I mention that I’m a rude bitch?

Y- Your Favorite Foods
Mama buy your babies some papayas and sweet bananas.

Z- Zodiac

Yes, please!

Sally Sunshine’s alternate nickname: Zoodle from the Zodiac, given by sister, Detective Hoodle, witnessed by other sister, Ms. Noodle.

Little Brain Feedings

Readers, I am usually more regular with my posts. My apologies. Divine inspiration has been in short supply these days. My right brain has suffered from an incredible lack of creative motivation lately. Instead, I have immersed myself in partnership tax returns, charitable donations, stock sales, housing allowances for ministers, standard mileage rates, pre-tax health care deductions, medical expenses over 7.5% of AGI, sale of business properties, recapturing depreciation, corporate liquidations, imputing interest on shareholder loans, SEP’s, 401K’s, Traditional and Roth IRAs, and don’t forget… e-filing! Did you want to e-file your taxes this year????!!!!!

FUCK!

The mental stimulation I do get in between the hustle and bustle has consisted of the following:

Cosmos and Psyche by Richard Tarnas
(not a light read by any means, I’m still mulling over the first chapter)

Short stories about travel in the Czech Republic

A History of Budapest

The Balkan Conflict

The Kosovo War

The 1986 Chernobyl Disaster (the environmental and psychological consequences)

The Seat of the Soul (I have an affinity for cheesy new age spirituality stuff.)

There is also my third “Blessings from the Past” collection of short stories, random musings, and poems to finish.

Oh yeah, and my class. Did I forget to say I start teaching again on April 10th? My whole class needs to be gutted and re-worked for the new approach I want to implement this spring/summer.

And, yes, I did remember to mail my uncle a birthday card too.

All in a day’s work, my friend, all in a day’s work.

Other items of note: I just heard this damn catchy tune on satellite radio, and to my surprise, I haven’t heard of this artist before.

Check out Amy Winehouse here.

And lastly, to a girl who told me not to forget to:


Hey buddy, come get your shit!

The “I don’t care about your marriage” post.

“And the license said you had to stick around until I was dead
But if you're tired of looking at my face, I guess I already am” - Divorce Song, Liz Phair

How many hideously trite conversations about marriage should I have to endure in one day?

Conversation observed in my office’s lunch room:

Balding middle-aged guy: “You know Bob and Shelia have been together for 70 years!”

To which the rest of the room replied with their random “Oh’s and Ah’s, and Wow’s”.

I could feel the chunks rising in my throat as I tried to keep my lunch down. Readers, it was hard. Stare at the same person for 70 years? Why, I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a pairing-knife.

What is it about our culture that celebrates this monotony, this willingness to submit ourselves to routine till death do we part? How can this be fun or even remotely enjoyable? It’s not that I have a problem with individual marriages per se, as I am sure Bob and Shelia are just tickled pink with one another. Good for them. However, I would argue that marriage, as an institution/societal structure, is PURE BULLSHIT.

The truth is men need marriage more than women.

There, I said it.

Now, I’m not commenting on previous generations, during which men and women managed to tolerate each other for a whole slew of fucked up reasons (for women: lack of economic, political, social power, for men: cheap unpaid domestic labor, women as status symbols ect..oh, and to avoid the stigma of divorce) Even though this still occurs, women can own property, vote, get paid a decent wage, get an education, and have domain over their bodies through reproductive freedom. The tables have turned, at least in the US and Western Europe. So, what is it about marriage that’s appealing today now that it’s not being used as a tool for survival (in most cases)?

Well, there are still those damn societal expectations. We are to A) Get Married, B) Have Children, and C) Die Quickly and Efficiently as to not trouble others (i.e. the state or relatives). Along the way we are to acquire as many possessions as possible while using as many resources as possible. Yes, Americans, Shop, Have Babies, and please, Don’t Ask Too Many Questions. In that order.

Marriage, as an institution, is supposedly a rite of passage we are told (especially women) that we should be more than eager to partake in. It’s sold to us just like all the other trash out there. The Las Vegas quickie, the 6 month mistake, and yes, even the 70 year snore- fest, all have their place in our consumer-driven society. The marriage business is big business, diamonds, the dresses, the food, the party, all add up. Yes, there are those who elope reducing the time, money, and energy spent, but still, there is a lot of money being exchanged for a fairy tale. From the white dress to the obnoxiously large cake, it’s all gravy baby.

Then, there’s the whole issue of what to do once you are married. Do you sit in silence and stare absent-mindedly at the same person for the rest of your natural life? I think my generation is particularly lost on this issue. Marriage, as a structure, may provide support in the context of childrearing, but other than that, why bother? I understand the practical elements of insurance, retirement planning ect… but for a girl like me, with my own insurance, my own retirement accounts, financial acumen and the skills to make a decent living for myself, what is the point?

For me, marriage as an institution was irrelevant from day one. I never wanted to put my well-being (financial, or otherwise) in the mercy of another’s hand. It seems foolish and most of all, boring.

Although Bob and Shelia, I’m sure, have enjoyed their 70 years together, it’s not to say everyone else would. I’d probably suffocate slowly, dying just a little each day as my independence was stripped from me, moment by moment.

Dramatic? Maybe. But all the same, I think I’ll pass.

Spaced-Out Dreamy Nonsensical Noise

The pope and his folks got us under a scope
But for unknown reasons cuz we don’t sell dope
That you distribute, we don’t contribute, to your clandestine
activity, my soliloquy, may be hard for some to swallow

-Wheelz of Steel, ATLiens, 1996

For all of you former midnight tokers out there, do you ever have an overwhelming urge to smoke again?

Spring Equinox always fills me with the desire to pack my bags and head to the Hills for a serious smoke fest with friends. I remember when I was in college, sitting on my favorite rock by my hidden little waterfall while the sun warmed my face. High as a kite, I sat for hours and watched the clouds.

Or, when my best friend and I parked my 1988 Monte Carlo on a gravel road, rolled the windows up, and smoked our brains out. The windows were tinted a black/blue hue, and they shook and rattled while we listened to my new Outkast CD. “Touched by the wheels of steel, now show me how you feel…” echoed in background over their spacey new age-ey hip-hop beats.

Last night I was thinking about altered states and the “body buzz”. For me it was the euphoria, a feeling of being weightless and without conscious ego that really floored me. When my boundaries dissolved and I was absorbed into/and with nature it felt like unity was possible.

Divine union with others (sex), ourselves (masturbation), god (nature worship, for some), is what it’s all about. I think all human beings (even the most callous) have a need for reunion with The Source, and we all use various methods (and yes, sometimes addictions) when we reach for it.

It was so easy to “get there” as child. In those days, I would lie in the grass and walk through my grandmother’s garden and get lost for hours. I literally felt as though I was being absorbed into the landscape. It wasn’t hard to forge a connection between myself and the Earth then because it was there already, vibrating with me.

In adulthood, the methods aren’t as natural, and the consequences are potentially destructive. In attempting to fill the bottomless pit of “need” and “union”, many will allow the protective veil of fantasy to dominate their lives through addictions. And since addictions represent the ultimate denial of reality coupled with a refusal to participate in life, addicts, in their empty shells, desperately cling to the void of nothingness.

But the problem is, Joy, or Union with the Divine, cannot be held in the palm of our hands, at least not for any great length of time. This is, in fact, an Earthly incarnation. Eventually, we must all return from the garden, come back to reality, and face the inevitable. This requires a certain amount of trust in life (to every season, there is a turn, turn, turn), because we all face the same anxiety about life and our place here.

If I could re-do the D.A.R.E. speech I gave in 5th grade, I would’ve included some of things above. And I would’ve ended with, “Fellow classmates, some of us will experiment, some of us will become addicts, and some of us will never touch a drug in during our life span, but all of us, at some point, will experience the need to reunite with the divine, let’s not fuck it up by forgetting where we came from.”

Eat Lead for Breakfast

Self-Indulgent, Self-Important, Self-Made, Self-Modified, Self-Described, Self-Supported, Self-Worth, Self-esteem, Self-Centered, Self-Motivated, Self- Desecrated, Self-Destructive, Self-Serving, Self-Identified bullshit

Yo hipsters, forgive me for I have sinned, its been two days since my last confession.

Wait, this isn’t mass? SH-IA-T. Wrong again.

Does anyone else feel like they’re living in a dream? Maybe it’s the sun’s annual tour through Pisces that leaves us all feeling mildly intoxicated. Who knows.

Then again, I have known (and dated) enough Pisces to form my own school of fish, so it is an energy I’m familiar with. What is it about the artistic creative sensitive redeemer type that pulls me in every time?

In other random musings, I’ve never dated a guy plus all of his friends at one time. Not that I don’t love, Bob, Rob and Tom tagging along on EVERY single social function and personal visits to my home, but it’s starting to border on the lines of ridiculous.

Good thing I have a full supply of bartenders to keep me occupied.

No Stopping for Nicotine

Monday, oh Monday, how I hate thee, let me count the ways.
It’s Sally S here, waxing poetic on your ass.
This weekend was fluffy, little substance, little action, but heavy with the promise of many new dalliances to come. Yes readers, more ruminations on Sally’s romantic follies, just what you wanted! Hurrah!

I seemed to have raised favor with a specific hottie bartender, an American, no less. But I sorta like his big bad brain. Anyway, on that note, here is a note from me to you.

Love is a bastard art
its simple graffiti pulling at the strings of some heart now gone
its deadly infection stuck in the milky glaze of a long blaze
a fire swirling down some poor soft throat
and after a day of solitude
it will come home just to find the lips of its beloved
running over a pair of thorned roses
love is a dying art
its participants empty and cold
the drama unfolding its beautiful and pure scene
sometimes renting is better
when you’re thinking of leaving
and sometimes a hug is better than a fuck
still, love is a bastard art, and I, its divorced sun
stand waiting for it to come home