Dec. 14th, 2007 01:11 pm
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Walking on all the tiles going in the same direction is very comforting at this moment. 
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This story tells of a time long before now, and a time yet to come.  It began in a time before grocery stores and television.  In a time when we, as people, understood the earth because her bounty kept us alive and we respected her and all that she gave us…


The land is cold, harsh and barren.  The fruits of the earth have been harvested and stored against the hunger of the long winter.  The Lady wears a tattered dress of white, the twigs and branches of her hair dance and whirl in the cold, winter wind, making a forlorn music filled with a distant, gentle laughter.  Close your eyes and listen to the music the branches make in the wind on a cold, wintry morning.  Through this great forest walk the twin kings, the Oak King and the Holly King. 


Now the Oak King is the king of light.  He is the summer king whose magical touch brings new growth to the land in the spring.  His warmth moves within the animals who carry their young through the final days of cold, to be born just as the buds of spring burst forth.  Where he walks in the woods, the trees move in their sleepy winter dreams and they remember the shape of the leaves they once held and that will come again to flutter in the warm spring winds.


The Holly King is the king of dark.  He is the winter king who helps bring the cloak of cold to the land so that it may rest and renew itself within the quiet darkness for the labor of birth that comes in the spring.  He is the one who tucks the lady in for her long sleep in the fall so that she may face the hard work to come.  Where he walks, the plants and animals sigh, comforted in their long sleep that he watches over them and protects them. 


The Holly King walks until he reaches a clearing in the woods, past the bear asleep in her cave, the deer nibbling hungrily at the moss and the white rabbit, hidden and still.  He is met there by the Oak King, standing still and strong as the tree for which he is named.  The Oak King has been waiting, for he knew this moment would come this night as it will come again on the day of Midsummer. 


Under the dark of the night sky on the longest night of the year, the Holly King strides forth with the last of his strength and lifts his mighty sword, forged of darkest steel and reflecting the light of the silvery moon.  He lifts his sword to meet the shining steel blade of his brother, the Oak King, whose own sword gleams with the brightest light, seeming to reflect the very rays of the yet hidden sunlight. 


The two brothers fight long into the night, drawn together in their love for the lady and land upon which they stand.  They battle fiercely on this night as they battled the previous Midsummer and will again as the wheel of the year turns. 


They meet not with anger or hatred, but with the respect each honorable warrior has for his brother.  With great sweeps of their swords, they circle each other in the clearing.  They fight with every bit of skill and strength that they have, but as the first rays of dawn begin to creep over the horizon, the Holly King is defeated.  The Oak King bows his head in love and respect for the warrior king who fought so bravely, a single tear falling, crystalline and shining as snow.  The reign of the Holly King is ended and slowly the land, given strength from the sacrifice of the Holly King, will free itself from the cold.


And the lady, who walks in darkness, cloaked in starlight, face hidden in shadows, begins at that moment to give birth to the child she has carried within her.  That which lives and dies is also reborn.  The Holly King who sacrificed himself so bravely is once again reborn and the child shines with all the warmth and light and all who see him know that the Sun Child has once again come. 


And though winter for us does not mean counting our stored and canned food, for we can go to the grocery store, that food must still be grown somewhere on our earth…and though we have electricity to light our way in the longest and darkest night of the year, we still give thanks and rejoice, with the voices of nature, who live closely with the cycle of life, death and rebirth, that the warmth of the sun will come again in the spring and our lovely earth will continue to grow and renew with each turning of the wheel.

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This won't mean anything to most of you, but the first of my square cobalt blue dinner plates got broken tonight.
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Someone emailed this to me and I thought it was cool.  It's from the Huffington Post

Jericho advocates making the old custom of the Twelve Days of Christmas into a new tradition in which we mark each evening from December 25 through January 5 with a few minutes of reflection. The themes for each of these "Holy Nights" could help us rediscover the sacred dimension in our lives.

Dec. 25 - Receptivity
What gifts from the universe have you declined to accept or acknowledge?

Dec. 26 - Generosity
Think of three people and what you can give of yourself to them.

Dec. 27 - Humility
Think about how humility can become a great source of strength and power for you.

Dec. 28 - Nobility
Make a list of people from whose noble qualities you can learn.

Dec. 29 - Solidity
For 12 minutes, simply feel your soul's solidity.

Dec. 30 - Fluidity
Consider the importance of flow to your well-being and happiness.

Dec. 31 - Luminosity
Look back at your darkest moments of the last year, and remember what qualities in yourself and others lit the way for you.

Jan. 1 - Reflectivity
Let an image from the outer world settle in your mind and write down five thoughts you associate with it. Reflect on it and how you might transform it.

Jan. 2 - Equanimity
Pick a recent event and review it in light of various possible emotions like happiness, anger and fear.

Jan. 3 - Fecundity
Celebrate the richness of your imagination. Hold this vision and then plan tomorrow's activities. Keep it alive during the day.

Jan. 4 - Sagacity
Think of yourself as an elder who has learned from the trials and triumphs of experience. What are some profound lessons?

Jan. 5 - Unity
What ideas, yearnings, themes or in- sights have come together for you through the holidays?

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I resigned as Chair of the Committee Council for our UU Fellowship last night.


The Committee Council is part of our new governance structure and I was part of the process to develop a healthier congregation, so was (and still am) very invested in making it work.  This is a really hard decision for me to make.  A couple of things happened over Thanksgiving weekend that I won't go into here (I know, me not share, how bizarre) that heavily influenced my decision.  

Given my other committments at the Fellowship (Chairing the Sunday Service Committee and the Aesthetics Committee), it's not like I won't be involved!  Just less involved.  I still feel like I failed to support the Fellowship with my all.  I feel like I failed to meet my committments in general.  I wish that I could go out with a bang of having done a lot of great stuff with the council, but the truth is that I've just barely managed to hold it together and am leaving with a lot of stuff un-done, half-done, etc.

**breathing **

But the committments that really matter are the boys and something had to give.  So, that's one less meeting a month, because I won't have to attend Board meetings to represent the Committee Council.  It's a little bit off my plate, though it got ripped away and is covered with claw marks.  And I feel a little bit lighter.

I think more sex would help me feel a LOT lighter. 

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Any suggestions on how to "iron" out Settlers board pieces that have become warped?  Steam?  I'm afraid that'll take the paper off the top of them.  Creative suggestions welcome and appreciated...

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Before I launch into my awesome weekend, I have to say that I started organizing my desk last night.   The untainted promise of new office supplies (yes, I love new office supplies almost as much as I love new purses) lured me to begin mucking out the detritus that has grown on my desk in my "office".  (For those of you who haven't seen my office, it's really a corner of my bedroom.)  It is as if my computer is the base of a tall tree and everything else is the leaves that have fallen and fallen and fallen and fallen until you have to get a shovel and the bottom layers are beginning to blacken and turn to fertilizer.  Yeah.  Needless to say, my desk has been neglected in the unpacking frenzy that Lisa has courageously helped me undertake before this coming weekend.  But I started taking it back last night.  I sorted.  I threw away.  I actually read some of my mail! I have a lot of my bills set up on automatic bill pay, so I'm not always good about mail, unless I'm expecting something fun, like lingerie.

Saturday morning, I got up early and armed with (hopefully!) Aunt Clara proof directions, I made my way into Philadelphia to a contra dance.  Yeah, I didn't know what one was either.  You do a lot of the same moves as a square dance, but you move up and down a line of dancers.  The best description, in my mind, is the country dance in the early part of the original A&E version of Pride and Prejudice.  [Don't even bother with the recent version.  It sucked.]  I ended up at this dance because an old and dear friend, Seth, was up from Hotlanta calling for the dance.  I was very amused when I arrived and asked if Seth was there yet to be told that he hadn't arrived and everyone was asking about him.  Really?  Wow.  Turns out this goofy guy who used to have lumber in his bedroom and had to throw out a pot of spagghetti sauce because he didn't want to wash it is one of the top ten callers in the country.  And he was!  Awesome that is.  I was very impressed at how he lifted the energy of the room with his...patter.  There's no other word for it.  It's patter.  And it was fun.  It was fun people watching.  It was fun dancing.  And everyone was in disbelief that I had known him so long that I knew him when he still had hair. 

The first...boy...that I danced with had bare feet and was so sweet about it being my first time.  I think he's been stoned A LOT in his lifetime, but he was very kind as he helped me through the moves.  The next guy I danced with came all the way up from DC for this dance.  He showed me how to properly be swung.  I like to be swung.  It's spinny and fun.  In fact a lot of the dancing was spinny and fun.  Allemande is spinny and fun too.  I spent a lot of time looking into the eyes of people I had never met before.  There's a curious intimacy about it.  It's not like when you meet someone for the first time and you look at all of them and talk to them and your eyes move about the room.  No, when you're dancing and your partner swings you, you look into their eyes.  Everyone there had a different energy.  There were the college guys like Keith and Joe who were having laid back fun.  There were the guys who, you could tell, were serious dancers and took every misstep with the tolerance of a siamese cat.  "No, your feets go there, stupid human."  There were the little old men who were just glad they could still get it up and onto a dance floor.  There were some gay couples, one of which had very prickly energy.  There were the couples that kissed every time they swung together, kissed while the waltzed.  There was one couple especially that was all about the kissing.  I kept looking at them and trying to decide if they were kinky or not.  Because that's how my mind works.  He appeared to be much older than she looked and he had this big-ass, goofy grin on his face for most of the dance.  This man was having some serious bootilicious fun.  It was a joy to watch.  

At this point, let me say, never ask a guy who wears fluorescent yellow and orange pants what to wear to a contra dance.  The vagueness of his response goes into Guy Communication Hall of Fame.  Really it does.  Though, to be fair, people wore a wide variety of outfits from short tennis-type skirts, to peasant skirts, to pants, to pants under skirts, to short flirty skirts that showed their panties when they whirled.  No one had a skirt stuffed inside their pants, but that's just because everyone was all about the swirling.  The men wore skirts too.  I guess men who contra dance like to swirl too.  One of the guys wore this cool-ass skirt that was black with fall leaves on it.  It was awesome.  There were a couple of guys there in kilts.  One of them was quite offended when I asked him if he was regimental.  I don't know why.  It's not like I was groping his ass while I asked!  

It was a lot of fun and I plan on dragging our Girls' Night Out group to a more local contra dance.  

It was also a lot of fun to catch up with Seth.  What can I say about him?  It's lovely to have shared your life, your time, your body with someone and years later still be friends.  He put up with a lot from me in the rocky months after we finally broke up.  I told everyone about the cat playing ping pong with his balls.  I gave all his new girlfriends' bug names.  But we survived.  And our history together is something to be treasured.  He's the one who upped my nickname in college from Wench to Fiendish Wench (Somehow "pantsing" someone while they're doing laundry and not wearing underwear could be considered evil.  Go figure.).  He challenged me in how I have relationships with people.  He accused me of splurching on myself all the time to draw attention to my tits.  Please.  As if.  We talked about old and familiar topics.  We talked about new stuff in our lives.  He's expecting another child and I'm thrilled for him.  I always knew that he would make a great dad and was a little sad when I thought he was going to marry someone who didn't want kids.  I rediscovered his fabulously silly sense of humor.  Puns and silly jokes abounded.  

I was so tired Saturday night that not even the Magic Pajamas could give me energy.  They practically had to scrape my ass off the sofa to get me into bed.  Of course, that didn't stop me from being distracted the next morning and running late in the process of discovering my legs are too short.  

Sunday morning, I met Seth, along with Baldric and my kids at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  We grabbed a quick breakfast at their suck-egg cafeteria and then hit the museum.  We had so much fun!  The Japanese Tea house was lovely.  The temples were so peaceful.  I got to see "Sunflowers" up close and personal.  Wow.  But the best fun we had was in the modern art rooms trying to decide what everything was.  (A long time favorite pass time of the boys' and mine.)  My favorite was the Washer and Dryer.  Nicholas thought it was a cave.  I don't remember what everyone else thought of it.  The highlight of those rooms though was Nicholas trying to touch some (probably priceless) piece of artwork because he didn't realize the stick stuck in front of it was part of the piece.  Once we scraped the security guards off of him, he was fine.  I plan on teasing him about this for years to come.  We also liked the ceiling which I thought would make a good nerf gun target.  Conner agreed because it was already shaped and painted like a nerf bullet.  We had a great discussion about what art was.  Is a painting that is grades of orange on canvas art?  Or the blue square with a different shade of blue down the center?  Or the grid of 25 blocks in five different colors?

We then trekked nearby to a restaurant for a leisurely lunch.  It was a bit more leisurely than we had anticipated, because our waitress was so slow, I think she was going into the kitchen and giving blowjobs to the kitchen staff in between trips to our table.  She always had this vague, silly expression on her face.  Everything took forever.  My toast came after the bus boy cleared my plate.  But we had a great time.  Seth showed the boys his iPhone and let them play with it.  He and the boys told silly jokes and talked.  it was a lot of fun.  I only got lost a couple of times on the way out of Philadelphia.  Breathing much easier once I hit 422.  

The evening wasn't so fun.  Nicholas was very...expressive...of his anger.  But it needed to come out.  I also found out that someone I absolutely cannot stand because of something she did to Conner wants to date Baldric.  What?  Why?  Sometimes the world is just too bizarre, even for me.

But, I had a lovely weekend and fulfilled a couple of my goals (yeah me!) of keeping in better touch with friends and of taking the boys to more fun, enriching activities.
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I love Thanksgiving.  I really do. 

Someone brought up the "europeans raped the indigenous people of their land" argument against Thanksgiving to me yesterday.  Let's examine that.  First, did europeans rape the native americans of their land?  Yes they did.  Big, huge mistake that we can't take back because we've paved it all over and turned it into strip malls and subdivisions.  But, that's not what we're celebrating here people!   Get over it and move on.

The original pilgrims were celebrating being alive with the unexpected and generous help from those who could have been, or were, their enemies.  That, to me, makes Thanksgiving is about compassion and about building community.  It's also about celebrating being alive.  I think that's a great thing to celebrate.  Today we also celebrate what's in our lives for which we feel thankful.  I'm all about that too.  Thanksgiving is a great holiday.  I love getting together with family and friends.  I love connecting with people and being reminded how lucky I am to have them in my life. 

And I love turkey dinner.  Almost as much as I love hot, open-faced turkey sandwiches the next day.  Okay, that's a close toss up.  I love them both equally.  Swimming in gravy.  Must.  Have.  Gravy.  I also love leftovers in general.  Cold turkey samwiches with mayonnaise, bread & butter pickles, swiss cheese, salt & pepper.  Yummm.  I'm making myself hungry.  I love turkey noodle soup, turkey pot pie and turkey enchiladas.  I love it all.  After Thanksgiving is over, I always want to make another Thanksgiving dinner again.  I love it so much.

We had a nice, quiet Thanksgiving this year.  The morning was deliciously lovely and something to truly be thankful for.  I had a great conversation with Baldric in the early afternoon.  It's good to remember that we're friends even when he makes me so mad I want to stab things into his head.  The afternoon was spent with eating a low key meal with my dad and step mother.  We played games.  It was fun.  My dad noticed all the work I'd done to vanquish the box rebellion and only had a couple snarky things to say about how I was doing things.  It was good.  I stripped the bird, the only part of Thanksgiving, I DON'T like.  And the evening was spent with friends playing games for my goddaughter's birthday.  I can't believe she's two already!

I'm thankful for my home.  I'm thankful for my family, both related and created.  I'm thankful for my kids.  I'm thankful I have a job.  I'm thankful for my ability to be creative.  I'm thankful for all the fun in my life.  I'm thankful for my fellowship and my spiritual community.  I'm thankful for people who challenge me.  I'm thankful for sex.  I'm thankful when I actually get the opportunities for snuggling and sex.  I'm thankful (most days) for technology.  I'm thankful for so many things in my life!

Namaste and blessed be!
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 So, there I am, at my son's school last night, sitting there calmly knitting (because I don't wait well and the alternative is to go jump on the teacher's head and tell him that he's kept me waiting ten minutes past my scheduled time), looking pretty matronly because no one there knows that I'm wearing red panties and this totally hot, lacy, black bra.  This teenager walks up wearing an Eagles sweat shirt.  So...of course, I make some snarky comment about how the Cowboys kick ass and the Eagles suck.  And we have this great conversation.  We poke at each other verbally.  It's funny and sarcastic, but not mean.  We're both laughing.  We share.  I tell him about meeting Tony Dorsett and he listens.  He tells me about meeting some football guy and I listen.  It's clearly important to him and I recognize that.  It was great.  

And suddenly, all the rude teenagers with their pants stuck below their ass cheeks just fade away and I have hope for the next generation.
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Okay, some of you know how cool I think our new minister is, while others, not only I am new to your world, but you don't know that I think our new minister is smack dab, bomb-diggety awesome.  He just emailed me his service blurbs for December and look at what he's doing:

December 30- The Serpent and the Ladder- In his book The Cosmic Serpent, Jeremy Narby asks the question: How is it that indiginous people, without the help of modern science, can have so much botanical and medicinal knowledge? Trial and error alone, even over time, can not explain their vast library of resources. Today we explore the idea of knowing and how we know what we know.
Rev. Paul Langston-Daley

How cool is that!
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 I went to the most awesome concert last night!

It was R. Carlos Nakai, a Native American flutist, joined by Udi Bar-David a cellist and Wu Man, a pipa vurtoso.  Oh my goodness.  The flute music was so peaceful.  The cello was haunting.  The pipa (a chinese banjo - I know of no other way to describe it, though the program says it's a type of lute) was intriguing.  I loved watching their faces while playing and their joy in the music.  Udi and Wu Man were especially captivating to watch.  They enjoyed it so!

One of my two favorite parts of the concert were when a violinist joined them and they played Amazing Grace.  Each of the instrumentalists took the lead on one verse with the other instruments supporting them.  The pipa doesn't draw notes out, so it was tinkly with a melodic undertone.  I'm not musical enough to describe it correctly.  I don't have the language, but it was one of the most beautiful versions of that song that I've ever heard. 

The other part was at the end when they were improvising jazz riffs.  I mean, how cool is it to hear a Chinese lute and a Native American flute performing jazz riffs?  It was an experience that I will always remember.  I just wish the kids hadn't been too tired for us to stick around and meet the artists.

Okay, so I'm sitting here at work writing this, listening to a cd that I purchased last night of R. Carlos Nakai's flute music and one of my more outrageous co-workers pipes up with the comment that it sounds like porn music.  So, I can say, "No, it really isn't porn slappin' music." and be correct, but then everyone I work with will know that I watch porn.  I think I'll just let the comment pass.

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 I was sitting here at work (pleased to be employed, even if I want to stab my boss in the eyeball with a letter opener) feeling whiny about how tired and run down that I'm feeling.

What an ungrateful wretch I am!  

I had a fan-fucking-tabulous weekend.  Emily and I had an unexpected and enchanting dinner during which we discussed literature (one of my favorite topics!) and evolutionary psychology.  It was a really enjoyable conversation about love and whether or not humans are genetically engineered for monogomy.  

Saturday morning we went to get furniture from my boss (Napoleonette) that is being put to good use.  Freecycle low tech version.  I talked (chatted via IM) with my cousin in Crete.  How cool is that?  How cool is technology sometimes?

Saturday afternoon I had fun cleaning my house.  Yes, I had fun cleaning.  No, I'm not feverish.  I really enjoyed it.  It was as if I took possession of my house.  I'm beginning to see me in my house.  I love it.  I didn't get nearly what I wanted done, but do I ever? 

Saturday evening Robin and Shannon came over.  It was wonderful.  I'm really hoping this grows into a long, term close relationship.  (I love playing board games and anyone who accepts offers of sexual favors so I can win and then collects right then and there is delicious to play with!)  We had some seriously awesome, quality sofa cuddling time while watching Black Adder.  We played a new game that I ordered Sunday (after playing it) it was so fun.  I lost twice and enjoyed it.  Shannon is delightfully cut-throat.  We never made it to the chocolate fondue, but I'll leave it that I had never fully realized how sexy breath could be, I was never in charge and a good time was had by all.  *cheshire grin*

Sunday morning Rev. Paul's sermon was actually inspiring.  I didn't daze off at all.  I actually paid attention and listened and was inspired.  Sunday afternoon Lynn and I had a comfortable coz at McDonald's chatting and working on our service for next week. 

I mean seriously, aside from a couple minor hiccups (including avoiding a call from my mother who seems to have forgotten everything that happened and wants me to come up to spend the holidays with her) and VERY little sleep, it was a fabulous weekend.  The only reason I'm not walking on cloud nine is that I'm sooo tired.  Which says to me that my attitude is heavily influenced by how rested I am.  I don't know if it works that same way for everyone, but I think that's how I work.  Interesting. 

In any case, thanks to the universe for a great weekend.

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 I haven't really blogged about this yet.  The emotions are pretty intense and pretty deeply buried.  I realized today that I needed to write about it to bring some of this up and deal with it.

My mom has finally crossed the final line for me and I'm at the point where I will no longer speak to her ever again, unless she heals one or two of her addictions.  I'm not picky.  It doesn't have to be all of them.  Just one or two.  I really hope that I can stick with this, because it's the right choice to make to protect myself from her selfishness, drama and destructiveness. 

I have a lot of empathy for my mom who has had several strokes and brain aneurisms (sp?).  She's very creative, but she's unable to hold down a job due to health reasons, so she's at home all the time with the television, catalogues and four yappy-ass dogs. 

About a week ago I thought that she was over-dosing from an ingestion of oxycontin, tranquilizers, alcohol and probably other substances that I wasn't even aware of.  I processed.  I consulted with valued members of my family (thanks Richard and Robin).  I talked with my mom and my stepfather.  I finally realized that she was enjoying the drama of the situation more than she was in any real danger. 

In her diatribe about how she had been abused her whole life, she started in on my dad and what an asshole he had been to her.  This is one of the boundaries that I have established with her.  In order to maintain any kind of relationship with this women we do not discuss the past and we do not discuss my father or his family, because she and I remember so much of what happened completely differently.  We can never find middle ground.  So, we just don't discuss it..  I not only called her on it, but I told her to get off her Pity Potty and quit being a victim.  Weeeeell, that, in addition to telling her that she was killing herself, didn't go over well, needless to say. 

The following day, she left me a couple of messages, the jist of which was that I was an ungrateful child, that she had done so much for me and it was never enough, I always wanted more and she hoped I wouldn't be so selfish as to keep the facts from my children, including how she wanted to be a grandmother to them but was prevented by my selfishness.  She threw in my face the train tickets to Rhode Island.  She threw my purse in my face.  I love my purse.  I didn't ask for it, but I love it. 

And I just can't past this.  I know that she equates love with money.  I know this.  I've known this for a long time.  I know that I don't do enough to show my love to her by buying her things.  I just can't wrap my heart around it.  I can show love by doing things.  I can show love by listening.  I can show love by telling people.  I can show love with hugs.  I can show love with food.  I can even show love by buying things for people sometimes, but it's usually something I see that just jumps out at me and I know is perfect for them, or a special surprise that I think will mean a lot to that person. 

The things, the stuff, has never meant much to me.  It would have meant so much more to me if she had just come to my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding, the birth of either of my children, any milestone in my life.   Any ONE of them. 

I accepted, with much reluctance, some things she wanted to buy me or do for me, because I knew that's how she showed her love.  And I know that I failed to show my love for her.  I failed her in so many ways, but she crossed the last line for me.  I know this may seem silly.  She's crossed so many lines.  She's accused me of taking her prescription valium to hide her use.  She's thrown me out of her house in the middle of the night in a snow storm.  She's let me down in so many ways and this is just the final one. 

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I'm sure it comes as no surprise to any of you that I've been talking with someone about sex lately.  Someone emailed me late last night and said something really inane like "women need more foreplay than men."  Huh?  I disagree with this completely and told him so in long, delicious details, but after thinking about it, I thought I'd put it out here for all of your informed, educated and supremely awesome opinions.

Is it necessarily true that biologically a man needs less stimulation to come to orgasm than a woman?  In my Humble Opinion, (yeah, quit laughing), we have to go back to Richard's Yardstick of Desire (oh wow, that one just came out) and decide that everyone is an individual and some people, regardless of gender have High Maintenance Orgasms and others can spurt by looking at the dog lick his or her own bits and parts.  Okay, maybe not the dog, but you get the point.  Someone could, let's say, breath on the back of their neck and this hypothetical person would quiver into orgasm.  Why is it gender specific?  AND, even if they could quiver into orgasm at the drop of a well shaped sex toy, does that preclude them from having a better orgasm if you tease them into begging?

Go forth and sprout opinions.  Post them here as comments.  Have long, delicious teasing orgasms.


And because this is so interesting, here are some of the comments from my myspace blog, where this was originally posted:

From alphageek:  I have a lady friend that can orgasm from a really good bite on her neck
From the Soap Wench:  So, you're making a case for High Maintenance Orgasms NOT being gender specific? Would said person have a more powerful orgasm if you built up to the neck bite?
From alphageek:  Probably :)

From the Soap Wench:

And this brings me around to another question that interests me:

How necessary is orgasm?

Seriously, if you spend hours touching, licking, kissing, teasing and feel deliciously well-loved, is that release crucial to well-being? Or can the process of almost getting there be just as satisfying?

I have my own opinion on this, but am interested in hearing all of yours.


And another comment from the Soap Wench: 

I can go both ways on this Doc. (whose comment was deleted when he departed myspace) 

I always enjoy the build up to it and there are lots of times that I don't need that release, but I feel like it leaves a more languid, tingly, relaxed me when I have an orgasm. And there are times when lots of orgasms seem like a good idea. A lot of it depends on the mood of the build up.

[New question since this was all posted:  Which is better?  Multiple little orgasms, Le Petit Morte, or one big Screaming Orgasm?  Any volunteers for scientific research?]

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Surprise. Surprise. I don't ever want to have an orgasm just to say that I had one, but I'd at least like to be shooting for that goal and have a partner willing to enjoy the journey towards it with me.

When you say quicky, are you talking about the wild 'throw-me-over-the-table-and-push-my-skirt-up' quicky? Or are you talking about 'hurry-up-and-cum-before-the-kids-hear' rushed sex? Those are two VERY different things and to me one is wild while the other is hurrying toward an orgasm. And I say this from LOTS of experience with the 'hurrying toward orgasm' type. When the kids say "Can you keep the noise down, you're scaring us!" it's time to hurry.



Oct. 17th, 2007 02:26 pm
soapwench: (Default)

Just re-writing this whole thing because it rambles and doesn't make sense.

Oh nevermind.  I give up for now.  It just isn't what I want it to be.  The thoughts are still hard to capture and crumbly.  I think they keep changing because of "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress." (society structure)

In any case, I've come upon a situation that I don't know how to approach.  I can make guesses, but there isn't a cultural standard for it.  Henry VIII would have been easier.  I would have fluffed my cleavage and hoped it was in his younger, more vigorous days.

The room is dark

I curtsy

I begin to straighten


The floor is velvet

And my steps unsure

I'm told to kneel

But can't arise again

The hands reach out

I bat them away

I was trying to be all discreet, but I think everyone who reads this knows by now that I'm dating someone who is poly.  So, I'm going to stop dancing around the issue and come right out about it.  

The situation that I have no friggin' clue how to approach is meeting The Senior Wife.  It's not usual to meet someone who knows that you've been intimate with their husband and the meeting isn't an ugly, jealous scene.  It really isn't.  What do you say?  Yes, I do have some thoughts, but the irreverent part of me thinks that I can't really say, "Hello, isn't his cock delicious?"  It just doesn't flow somehow.  But it's going to feel odd as hell to sit there with someone while having wicked, decadent thoughts about a man and it's okay to have them.  Permission is sometimes a scary thing. 

Now that I write about this, I think it's the permission of the situation that is scariest.  The freedom.  The lack of restrictions.  

Okay, so it all turned out fabulously.  Worry for nothing.

soapwench: (Default)

I caught up with a couple of friends this week that I haven't talked to in awhile.  

I felt...connected...even though I haven't spoken with Seth in at least a year, we have a history together.  I'll always love him, though in a much different way than when we lived together.  I'm happy that he's put up with me all these years and that we still have a friendship.  Lane and I have a history that we have maintained, though our conversation took an...interesting...turn this week.  I love when my friends challenge me and our friendship.  Jeff is one of my oldest friends, though certainly not my closest.  I've known him since high school, when I was much more awkward, weighed less, but was less saucy and cute as well.  When Kathy and I talk, it's like no time has passed, we have that kind of friendship.  I miss Sabrina, I wish that I knew where she was.  I miss Tammy, we try, but it's never the same.  I love and miss Jaeyne, we're starting to keep up via IM.  Vikki and I have gotten back in touch and I love this.

This doesn't even include the friends that I live near and see regularly.  I'm sure there are others that I'm not thinking of right now and I'm going to do a Homer "Du-oh!" and slap my forehead, but what this is about is not to list every friend I've ever had and why I keep in touch, but to share the feeling I had this morning after talking to Seth.  I felt...connected.  I felt this firm foundation, this web of friends that is part of who I am and part of who I will grow to be.  It made me feel more grounded and lighter all at the same time. 

I'm sure it doesn't hurt that I actually got more than four hours sleep last night, either!

Super exciting update:  I got a myspace message from Tiff and Diego!  Wow.  Cool.  I'm so excited.

soapwench: (Default)

I'm not sure that's the right word, but here goes.

I'm on my way into work this morning, exhausted from Not Fun activities, but feeling lighter.  At one point traffic patterns are such that I can pause to let a car coming out of a parking lot in front of me, so I do.  This follows my deep belief that if everyone lets just one car in front of them, traffic would flow much more smoothly and everyone would be happier and lighter, thereby confounding whatever soul-sucking forces that designed our road systems (reference 'Good Omens'). 

I let the car in, the guy smiles, the car pulls in front of me has a bumper sticker on it that says, "Global Warming My Ass!"  When I see that, I want to ram into the back of the car and ask the driver to please get his head out of his ass before he puts bumper stickers on the back of his car. 

As a friend said to me recently, "Over-react much?"

But his ignorant bumper sticker made me want to take my politeness back. 

Okay, that's my over-tired rant for the day.


soapwench: (Default)
Seriously.  They're ONLY in my bedroom.  No where else in my house.

I know it sounds funny, but how do we know whether something is a sign to which we should be listening or an obstacle to overcome?  And how do we know we're listening with our heart and spirit and instincts, or our head and our body parts?  Is therapeutic sex nourishing?  Is it distracting from what we really need to be working on?  Is it as essential as being held in the arms of someone who you could fall in love with or just hearing their voice? 

Lots of random thoughts roaming around in my head this morning. 

soapwench: (Default)
Let's all take a moment of respectful silence to honor the passing of Herman the Super Mouse.  His life was prematurely transmuted to a new level of existence yesterday evening.  I shall miss his scuttling in the bathroom cabinets as I am enjoying a long, hot bath. 

Mrs. Frisby has also been transmuted to a new level of existence.  May they be reborn in a nice big mousy field.

soapwench: (Default)
Let me first say that this was a very trying weekend.  On top of a major, much-needed complete home re-organization that my hubby and I have undertaken to redefine our space and make it more ours, I committed to a number of things at church this weekend.  Not only due to wide-spread criticism of our efforts, but also because we were very invested in the space being really special, one of my committee's and I spend several hours Friday night decorating the building for the winter soltice.  I got home and got to bed well after 2:00 am.  It was well worth it because it looks fan-fucking-tabulous.  But I still got to be really late (or early, depending).

Saturday started out okay, but still, I felt like I was caught in a Jackie Chan movie.  I worked on Sunday's service, amid other errands, was an hour late to set up for the Holiday Party at the church and ended up leaving after just two hours.  I ran around looking for a CD with a song that I wanted to play Sunday and couldn't find at home due to said re-organization, only to discover that "A Child's Celebration of Christmas" with "The Takeover Before Christmas" by Odds Bodkin on it, was out of print.  I went home to download it only to discover that I had incorrectly saved all the work I had done earlier on Sunday's service and had to re-create it.  It was a good, creative process, but I still didn't get done until about 2:00 am.  All my good intentions to go to bed early were flushed down the black hole with all my 0s and 1s. 

So Sunday morning, I'm scrambling around to find people to fill parts for my skit that I was doing that morning with no rehearsal, I knocked over a basket of ornaments, my cell phone (the infamous 'All Aboard' from Crazy Train) goes off during a major song by our choir, and the play goes very stiltedly.  I end up passing on a committment that was important to me and going home.  That went pretty well, I did laundry, took a long, hot bath and went to bed relatively early.  Asleep by 10:00 pm.

Then Herman struck.  You were wondering when I was going to get to Herman, weren't you?  Herman is our mouse.  Herman has a mansion somewhere in the strata and structure of our townhouse building.  Herman has built the mouse super-highway with exits in every major room of our home (with large, orange caution cones around all of our fancy mouse traps). 

Herman decided that he needed to redecorate Sunday night at midnight.  I don't know what I'm missing ('cause everything is in boxes and I can't find a fracking thing), but Herman dragged something very large down to his little mouse mansion.  I woke up to his huffing, puffing and crinkling noises, turned on the light and watched said item disapear behind my dresser.  I'm hoping it was just a big page of a magazine to shred and bed down in, because if it wasn't Herman is Super Mouse.  He can leap tall 11 year olds in a single bound, he's faster than a speeding scream.  Light doesn't phase Herman.  He lets out a piercing squeek, which I interpret as "Thanks.  It was hard working in the dark.", waves his claw of steel and keeps working. 

So, I get up and run down stairs to get my phone and place an emergency call to a girlfriend who is up at this hour for sage advice.  Herman followed and continued construction underneath our modified entertainment center.  Apparently the re-organization has had an impact on his super-highway and he is working over-time to make sure all the little mouse families can visit each other for the holidays.  I think our home might be a hub, like the Atlanta airport. 

This was clearly not one of my bravest moments in life as I went from standing outside in my robe to calling my husband at work shrieking like a...well, like a semi-hysterical, very over-tired woman.  Husband arrived armed with steel wool and more traps and well...protectiveness.  Sometimes I can be fierce and people shouldn't mess with me, but sometimes it's nice to be protected, even from Herman. 

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