Blogging from a remote location. Trying to make the permanent switch without too much muddy water under superficial bridges put in place to drive me comepletely insane...
Oh and new pictures and career developements coming soon.
can you say cryptic?
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Old Song and Dance
Sunday, October 25, 2009
0
In all of my infinite fabulousity (and trust me it is over 9 thousand) I can not seem to obtain happiness from the same venues as before. My steps are slower, monies have dried up, and companions are leaving at an alarming rate. Why is it that when people haven't seen you for a while one of the first things they ask is 'how's the love life'? Is this one more area of socialization I missed out on by reading and being good at math?
Maybe I am only sensitive to this question because the answer is a constant and stagnantly abysmal reminder that I am STILL alone and undoing this status is a constant psychological struggle.
This brings me to recent events- The Pond is starting back up, the higher ups have yet again changed their backing name (no comment) and once again familiar faces come together to crank the wheels and work the gears for fun, experience, and profit. While I don't mind this, it's old hat, what I do mind is the sinking feeling I get of never being good enough, for things beyond my control like my physical appearance.
Yes, I'm black, lesbian and female- the most visible invisible minority around- and yes I lack the amount of intimacy I would like to have, but that in no way gives someone the right/privilege/nerve to insinuate that I am an ugly dyke fuck up- at least not to my face. Which is usually my problem, I don't have an issue with certain people not finding me attractive, what I have a problem with is that being howled in front of my peers and colleagues as an amusing epithet to be attached to my character. I mean really? ... really?
I am starting to learn (with painful accuracy) that the only person that can take care of me is me. With that being said, I can't burn myself out on trying to make others happy or dance for "mr charlie" if all they are going to do is kick me down. It is also why I have started looking into medicinal (the legal kind, don't get excited) venues to let out and untangle this mess that is reality versus perception versus fantasy.
Can you say the doctor is in?
Maybe I am only sensitive to this question because the answer is a constant and stagnantly abysmal reminder that I am STILL alone and undoing this status is a constant psychological struggle.
This brings me to recent events- The Pond is starting back up, the higher ups have yet again changed their backing name (no comment) and once again familiar faces come together to crank the wheels and work the gears for fun, experience, and profit. While I don't mind this, it's old hat, what I do mind is the sinking feeling I get of never being good enough, for things beyond my control like my physical appearance.
Yes, I'm black, lesbian and female- the most visible invisible minority around- and yes I lack the amount of intimacy I would like to have, but that in no way gives someone the right/privilege/nerve to insinuate that I am an ugly dyke fuck up- at least not to my face. Which is usually my problem, I don't have an issue with certain people not finding me attractive, what I have a problem with is that being howled in front of my peers and colleagues as an amusing epithet to be attached to my character. I mean really? ... really?
I am starting to learn (with painful accuracy) that the only person that can take care of me is me. With that being said, I can't burn myself out on trying to make others happy or dance for "mr charlie" if all they are going to do is kick me down. It is also why I have started looking into medicinal (the legal kind, don't get excited) venues to let out and untangle this mess that is reality versus perception versus fantasy.
Can you say the doctor is in?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
And Then the Bubble Popped.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
0
Lackluster birthdays, fleeting autumnal flings and a fledgling freelance photog career have all been in the works lately.
I met R- girl through the only thing that actually provides me with social interaction (cbd) with the same sex. We laughed, and conversed- I spouted a dirty sentence in another tongue and she didn't cringe, (keeper obviously). She kissed me quiet, we took it further and she actually kept in touch (quite the first) and I thought this might be the one- so what she's leaving the country, touts vegetarian eateries and frolics about nature- I tried to hold on, but not too tight as I am oft prone but she cut the cord and made a run for it, like they all do.
I was called at the eleventh hour and given buzzwords like bond girl; sultry; mysterious. I was told to bring my camera and capture a young "entertainer" and schlep all the way to midtown in the middle of the night. I get there, with drinks and laughs but when it was time to get down to business- this was no bond girl and the only mystery was how was I going to make a lack of light and shiny fabrics look flattering on a newly pudgy frame. Four hours and 200+ frames later I was called an amateur (for not bringing lights) and ready to shoot off my big mouth before being yanked for a cig break, causing my target to escape unchastised - but hey I got paid right?
The rest of the weekend was spent working more than twice as hard for free- being drained of my control, opinions and general good nature. Both of these situations I learned way too much from, which is really the mark of growth right?
In a confusing romantic turn, I was actually pursued (for once) by a younger, poetic bisexual- shaky premises abound I remain aloof of this entire genre.
The birthday outing I had planned (barely) was washy at best. We hit up a clothing store doling out free booze and compliments for my new look

which was going well until Fernando's guest started throwing tantrums and Zach refused to show... I guess disappointed is to be expected in my old age.
So now I lay here, tweaking photos in photoshop/winning online game site badges/haphazardly working on my sweater and planning yet another new fashion awakening I can't help but wonder if all of my side projects are just a distraction for what I really want but am afraid I can never have.
can you say zonked?
I met R- girl through the only thing that actually provides me with social interaction (cbd) with the same sex. We laughed, and conversed- I spouted a dirty sentence in another tongue and she didn't cringe, (keeper obviously). She kissed me quiet, we took it further and she actually kept in touch (quite the first) and I thought this might be the one- so what she's leaving the country, touts vegetarian eateries and frolics about nature- I tried to hold on, but not too tight as I am oft prone but she cut the cord and made a run for it, like they all do.
I was called at the eleventh hour and given buzzwords like bond girl; sultry; mysterious. I was told to bring my camera and capture a young "entertainer" and schlep all the way to midtown in the middle of the night. I get there, with drinks and laughs but when it was time to get down to business- this was no bond girl and the only mystery was how was I going to make a lack of light and shiny fabrics look flattering on a newly pudgy frame. Four hours and 200+ frames later I was called an amateur (for not bringing lights) and ready to shoot off my big mouth before being yanked for a cig break, causing my target to escape unchastised - but hey I got paid right?
The rest of the weekend was spent working more than twice as hard for free- being drained of my control, opinions and general good nature. Both of these situations I learned way too much from, which is really the mark of growth right?
In a confusing romantic turn, I was actually pursued (for once) by a younger, poetic bisexual- shaky premises abound I remain aloof of this entire genre.
The birthday outing I had planned (barely) was washy at best. We hit up a clothing store doling out free booze and compliments for my new look
which was going well until Fernando's guest started throwing tantrums and Zach refused to show... I guess disappointed is to be expected in my old age.
So now I lay here, tweaking photos in photoshop/winning online game site badges/haphazardly working on my sweater and planning yet another new fashion awakening I can't help but wonder if all of my side projects are just a distraction for what I really want but am afraid I can never have.
can you say zonked?
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