Today I found myself merrily bopping along to OutKast's song bow tie and decided I needed a Naked green machine juice. I hoisted my bike up onto the curb out of bustling Pacific Avenue traffic in downtown Tacoma in search of said beverage. Just then, a distinguished yet adorably scruffy gentleman rounded the corner wearing a bow tie.
Ha! I'm not sure what what level of unhip dorkinesss this reveals about my personal taste- I thought that he looked utterly sexy. Eye contact was established, but he instantly dismissed me as too young. Little did he know his assesment may have saved himself from ruin. This harmless interaction got me thinking about my recent choices. The choice I am referring to now, is my self imposed "year of intimacy abstinence". Although it is suggested for a person new in recovery like myself to not date for a year, this restriction was one I came to on my own. I am sure the refugees of Barbara Jean land would most likely agree that before I create another hostage situation, it would be best for me to hold off on the love stuff while I heal my mind, body and soul.
Ironically, this declaration is great fun for me as a conqueror of hearts. Not only does it allow me to flirt with shameless abandon, but I can do so under the banner that I am all talk. Dastardly to be sure, yet somehow safe I reason. Of course anyone that knows me knows that I am not shy, and at anytime I can be seen chopping it up with just about anyone- the guy digging in the alley for who-knows-what, the postman, or your grandmother. My friendliness knows no bounds and no one is exempt unless I am wearing my headphones.
That being said, I am also a natural flirt. Slowly I am becoming aware that this power of mine can be very destructive to all parties involved. It begins with my disarming goofy smile, followed by very honed skills of attraction, which are innate (due to years of being an exotic dancer). Pretty soon the unsuspecting fellow is under my toxic spell and is later heard muttering something about being soul mates.
And to think! He just came in for a banana! I'll take a perfectly good guy with a job, aspirations, and good health, and by the time I'm done with him, he is an unshaven corpse like lump at the food bank asking to use the phone. Codependecy to this degree is not exactly becoming. But, fear not. I am a vixen with a conscious.........
So, in conclusion, I hear by proclaim 2013 the year of no romance! I do this with the best intentions lest I create any more amorous bow tie wearing zombies humping my leg.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Reggae made me late.
disclaimer;
Alright, so due to a roaring crowd (of one), I have decided to compose my personal musings on life in general. I am hoping my fans (again, one, so using a plural isn't applicible, but who's counting) will bear with me as I foray into this blossoming social media outlet without a theme present. Let me mention that my blog begins in spite of my internal perfectionist talking me out of doing it at all, lest it be tedius and dull. So after a false start and much procrastination please bare with me as a I hope a topic will rise like cream out of the sludgy ramblings.
Reggae made me late.
I. like many of my fellow early birds, enjoy music to help aid in the process of getting one's self up and out the door before the ungodly hour of 6 am. Upon spilling out of bed, I select a Pandora or Soma FM station with a foggy and optimistic mind. My thought is that the type of music I select will forshadow how my day will progress. My choices range from The Commadores to The Clash or whatever else I randomly fancy. Today, I selected Reggae. How fitting! I thought. Just the thing! And so I bobbed along to a mellow, steady, and as it turns out, too casual vibe. Music does have a way of transporting one into a certain mood, and for this bleary eyed girl, it was reaggae. This choice would have been just grand had I not played "got you last" with my snooze button for 40 min. By the time I had eased myself onto my bike saddle, it was 6:15! I did not have time to stop and change the station to a more driving tempo like The Faint or Pantera in order to propel me. And so, in my race against time I continued listening to Bob Marley and plodded along. 20 dark soggy blocks stood between me and my 6:30 meeting. By the time I rolled in, I was soaked and tardy. Seeing that my usual coveted corner chair was taken, I sandwiched myself between two bright faced (and punctual) fellows on the wooden bench, feebly muttering that the reggae had made me late. I noted to myself that perhaps next time I wrestle with my alarm clock I will listen to something more.......motivational, like "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.
Alright, so due to a roaring crowd (of one), I have decided to compose my personal musings on life in general. I am hoping my fans (again, one, so using a plural isn't applicible, but who's counting) will bear with me as I foray into this blossoming social media outlet without a theme present. Let me mention that my blog begins in spite of my internal perfectionist talking me out of doing it at all, lest it be tedius and dull. So after a false start and much procrastination please bare with me as a I hope a topic will rise like cream out of the sludgy ramblings.
Reggae made me late.
I. like many of my fellow early birds, enjoy music to help aid in the process of getting one's self up and out the door before the ungodly hour of 6 am. Upon spilling out of bed, I select a Pandora or Soma FM station with a foggy and optimistic mind. My thought is that the type of music I select will forshadow how my day will progress. My choices range from The Commadores to The Clash or whatever else I randomly fancy. Today, I selected Reggae. How fitting! I thought. Just the thing! And so I bobbed along to a mellow, steady, and as it turns out, too casual vibe. Music does have a way of transporting one into a certain mood, and for this bleary eyed girl, it was reaggae. This choice would have been just grand had I not played "got you last" with my snooze button for 40 min. By the time I had eased myself onto my bike saddle, it was 6:15! I did not have time to stop and change the station to a more driving tempo like The Faint or Pantera in order to propel me. And so, in my race against time I continued listening to Bob Marley and plodded along. 20 dark soggy blocks stood between me and my 6:30 meeting. By the time I rolled in, I was soaked and tardy. Seeing that my usual coveted corner chair was taken, I sandwiched myself between two bright faced (and punctual) fellows on the wooden bench, feebly muttering that the reggae had made me late. I noted to myself that perhaps next time I wrestle with my alarm clock I will listen to something more.......motivational, like "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.
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