Book Review: Picture Perfect Cowboy by Tiffany Reisz

Retired bull rider Jason Waters is about as tightly wound and uncomfortable as a cowboy can be. He fits every surface assumption about a rodeo athlete more accustomed to thousand pound pissed off animals than people: lean, quiet, calm, conservative, and unfailingly polite. Unfortunately for Jason (and luckily for us), a promise to a fellow rodeo buddy puts Jason in the position of posing naked for a hot-rodeo-boys calendar: a calendar Simone Levine is shooting. Simone's unique combination of artistic mischief and harmlessness cuts through the Jason's polite shield, and he unexpectedly reveals a secret he's carried for years. And so they begin with a nude photo shoot and a naked confession.

One of my favorite things about Tiffany Reisz's work is the way she takes a familiar romance novel premise and twists it down excellently unexpected paths. Picture Perfect Cowboy occurs in the Original Sinners universe, which generally guarantees a certain level of character depth (oh yes, that pun is intended) as well as varying levels of smut. This story doesn't disappoint, as it turns out Jason is terrified his own predilections make him a terrible and depraved man. Simone, on the other hand, is an occasional professional at King's NY club and a personal friend of Mistress Nora. Who better to help Jason  relax and be who he is, by proving that a little depravity doesn't make him a bad guy?

Again, the romance theme of the "good woman is all a rake needs to be reformed" is revised to a more modern and entertainingly smutty adventure. Reisz doesn't skimp on the varying erotic scenes. True to form, some are pure sexiness while some skate the edge of downright uncomfortable, and there's really no predicting which scenes will have either effect on any reader. If you aren't an expert on spanking after this, you weren't paying attention.

What's really interesting in this story is Jason's evolution, both in emotional growth and technical skill. I love that Reisz always delves into the how/why of a character's kinks, and though some of the motivating factors can be judged as awful (through no fault of Jason's own), the end result is an acceptance without judgment of his needs as an adult. Simone (with a little help from Nora and Soren) actively encourages Jason to accept himself and navigate the twisty ethical and emotional effects of desires he's been ashamed of as morally terrible due to his upbringing.

In addition to his internal struggle, relationship conflicts arise as outside parties are introduced to Jason and Simone's private world, and the vast lifestyle differences between a Kentucky horse rancher and a New York professional kinkster interfere. Picture Perfect Cowboy is a lot of relationship packed into a pretty short package. Tiffany Reisz covers both traditional romance novel issues as well as BDSM kink with the same excellent style in the other Sinners books.

My only complaint is the traditional market length of this story necessarily leaves little room for more, and I wanted more. The best possible danger of writing is convincing readers the characters are real people you want to hang out with: this is an absolute success. I hope this becomes a bit of a series since at least one other character has some clear Sinner potential, because I thoroughly enjoyed Simone and Jason's love story. Also, I'm not going to lie, I'd love to find out how Jason and Griffin get along.

Picture Perfect Cowboy by Tiffany Reisz is available on November 5th in hardcover and ebook from 8th Circle Press.
Picture Perfect Cowboy on Amazon

God Jul. It's ok to take a break.

It's two days until the winter solstice (well, in the Northern hemisphere, anyway), and five days to Christmas Eve. Various cable channels are all about Christmas movies. Main streets in my city are lit with non-denominational decorations - white and multi-colored lights on various trees, big bright snowflakes hanging from streetlamps, evergreens in the public areas hold stars and winking bits of color.

Parking lots in shopping areas stay crowded until late. The frenzy of holiday grocery and gift shopping creates an anxious energy and a noticeable lack of "seasonal good will". Company, school, and extended family holiday doings take extra time out of schedules, increasing the frenetic pace right along with the feelings evoked (whether they be fun, obligation-stress, amusement, energizing excitement, love, or pure painful enduring).

Some folk utterly adore this time of year for exactly that frenetic pace, for seeing friends and family they haven't seen in a year, for the grand panoply of holiday shopping. Some folk feel the weight of all the social shenanigans, schedulus-interruptus, and the deepening darkness like a bone-crushing slab of obligation. And then, there are all the people along the spectrum between the two. 

Socially, "light" during the Solstice manifests with all the gift shopping, fancy dinners, exchanges of treats, decorating trees, lighting candles, and all the work/family parties that give a framework of community. Companionship. A way to battle the weight of the dark. It's the dark season, after all, and no matter which religion (if any) you claim as yours the theme of this week of the year is consistently a need for light.

It's ok to take a break from all the craziness if you need it. Use that lovely concept of hygge: relax just a little and think or read a book or watch a movie or just REST. Sleep extra to fend off the viruses all those adorable germ-carrying children carry around with them. Drink a little tea on the non-party days to counter all those awesome drinks. Spend some time sweating physically (outside, at the gym, with your romantic partner...whatever works) to burn off the excellent treats. Finding a little balance, saying no when you need to, is all ok. Really. Relaxing a little gives you an opportunity to catch your breath and stay healthy in all the ways.

The weeks around the longest night give us a pause in regularly scheduled days between the end of one year and the beginning of the next. Whether you enjoy or loathe this season for the solitude, for family gatherings, for parties and glitz, for gift giving and receiving, for the spectacle: it's a good time to consider what really matters to you and to your life. And what's been bothering you: those things you've pushed off for the superfun season's sake.

Shadows are so scary, aren't they? Creatures live there, in the dim corners of the room untouched by the Christmas Tree lights. Loneliness lurks there, among the deep quiet after the sun goes down. Seasonal depression reaches out from under the bed or the unlit closet. So much of the activity this time of year is attempting to drive the shadows away, but we learn over and over in our lives that facing those fears is the way to kill them. Eleanor Roosevelt said we should do one thing every day that scares us...and change of any kind is uncomfortable. I use this time of year for evaluating my shadows: which ones could be let go? Which ones should be embraced as a healthy part of me, or needs some help to heal and remove? What clutter can I clear? 

Thinking about what to push out and what to pull into your universe when the light returns after the 21st gives you time to toss out the garbage in your head and move forward, because starting on December 22nd the light will come back. The annual pause in time will give way to all the potential of the next year.

Isn't that what the whole New Year Resolution thing is all about?

Michael's Wings, by Tiffany Reisz (Book Review, Spoiler-Free, Appropriately NSFW)

One of the tags I use a lot in this blog is "these aren't the penises you're looking for," but I happily can't use that label for this review.

These are DECIDEDLY the penises you're looking for.

Oh, were you looking for a safe-for-work book review? Let's start here: Michael's Wings successfully proves that a series of stories centered around a male/male BSDM couple is absolutely lust-inspiring regardless of which direction you're sliding toward today on the sexuality scale.

Fans of the Original Sinners series already know the peripheral tale of young submissive Michael and his older, richer, sexy-as-sin beloved dominant, Gryphon. Sure, Michael's Wings could've just been a series of filthy sex scenes using various BDSM scenarios (well ok, honestly it IS that, and sexy as hell): easy peasy, everybody's tired and sated, job done. A complacent writer might've gone that route, using established characters to fill in a bit of the universe with more sex to sell: this is not that book.

Never one to shy from controversial expressions of love and lust, Tiffany Reisz gave us the high level events of how these two lovely men came together (ahem) as additional color threads in Nora's, Soren's, and Kingsley's story lines over the course of the eight Sinners novels. In Michael's Wings, she gives us a novella and a series of short stories that bring Michael and Gryphon fully to life, with just enough Nora, Soren, and Kingsley thrown in to give appropriately irreverent commentary on the duo's struggles.

Michael grows up over the course of the collection, and transitions over time from the emotionally broken teenager to an independent adult with ambitions and desires outside of the apartment he shares with Gryphon. Since his place in their relationship began with a suicide attempt, an abusive father, and a pretty all-encompassing rescue by his rich, beautiful lover, Michael had to figure out whether he was really in love, or just the damoiseau-in-distress. Was he capable of being a real partner in the relationship? Could he stand on his own as an adult? Could he be a husband?

Gryphon, on the other hand, has to discover whether he loves enough to do what's best for Michael, regardless of his own pain. Patience is not a virtue of his, and boy does he get to painfully learn how to let go of control and be patient. Since he's older, more established, and is already secure in who he is, Gryphon's job is to let Michael catch up in maturity, regardless of his own wants and needs. Nora, Soren, and Kingsley all make appearances in order to beat sense into him. Literally.

Michael's Wings is full of all the romantic, inventive sexual encounters a reader could hope for, including the blush-inducing, uncomfortably hot BDSM scenes. About halfway through the first tale I realized I could never sit down in their apartment in real life (because all of her characters end up being people you'd really like to know in person, don't they?) knowing how much naked cock has been on that couch. The candle wax, the toys. Wowza.

The thing is, the explicit quality of Reisz's writing isn't limited to eroticism: it's the anguished and raw emotional issues spiced with delicious sex that make her work so exhilarating (and wonderfully exhausting) to read. Gryphon and Michael have an incredibly complicated relationship. Love drives them both, and learning to love so intensely that they can heal while avoiding being completely consumed by each other is a delicate balance they struggle with for the entire book.

Michael's Wings is an excellent addition to the Original Sinners universe, giving us the long-awaited middle to Gryphon and Michael's love story. Be prepared to stay up until you've finished it, because you won't be able to put it down.

An Argument for Flowers and Frivolity

So I'm not usually a flowers sort of girl. If I have a yen to have some in the house I'll often just buy some myself, and I tend to befriend (with or without a romantic relationship attached) practical, generally awesome men who insist they do not ever give flowers to anyone. OF COURSE I considered the practical, generally awesome women in my group as well: they're about a 50/50 split for and against, but those who don't do the flower thing usually don't feel a need to give a reason other than "I don't like flowers." See counterpoint #2.

At Renaissance Festival, one of my fabulous friends had a rose sent to me anonymously, just because she knew it would brighten my day, and ever since then I've been rolling the usual arguments against gifting flowers in my head when discussing the custom with friends/lovers/etc.

1) "Flowers die/Why would I buy someone I care about a present that dies/How is that a symbol of my affection?" 

So, let's blow off the obvious argument that physical beauty is temporary, because insisting flowers have no value because their physical beauty only lasts a short time can be extended to other things. You know...like your hot partner who may not be so hot later. I'm sure that's not the intent of the argument.

Everything dies. Pets die: do we NOT have a pet because we'll outlive them? Cars die. Gardens die. For crying out loud, even electronics die. The argument against buying flowers because they die is ridiculous: what's unsaid is "they die too fast."

Ultimately, it is based on a faulty assumption that the person will outlive the flowers. There are no guarantees that any of us will still be here tomorrow. Flowers are an indication that you appreciate the NOW- the current state of your recipient's beauty, the current affectionate thought you had for them, the current state of your relationship.

2) "I'm not spending money on something so frivolous/I don't like flowers."

To be fair, I hear this one less, but I have still heard it, and it's the most annoying reason. The argument is just...sigh. It's a lie. There is value in frivolous things. OH DO LET ME GIVE YOU AN EXAMPLE. How often do you pay for beer/pizza in a bar, or get Chinese takeout/delivery when you could make groceries you already have in your fridge at home?

What you're really saying is YOU don't value the effect a flower has on your partner enough to pay for it, but you're happy to pay for frivolous things YOU value. Hmm. So, that becomes a "when you purchase something expressly to give as a gift, do you buy something YOU like, or do you buy something you know THEY like?" discussion.

I think there IS an argument for buying someone flowers if s/he has expressed a desire to receive them and values them as a gift, simply because it would make them happy regardless of your feelings on the topic. My ex-husband and I had almost this exact discussion over a decade ago about roses, and he did occasionally bring them home or send them to me even though he still thinks they're silly, because he knew it mattered to me. I loved that he made the gestures, because I knew he did it purely to give me something I liked.

Today, Starbucks is the MOST frivolous thing I spend my money on. I mean really...I recognize the terrible silliness and waste. And yet, taking me out for coffee or bringing me my favorite drink when I wake up is one of the kindest things a person can do for me: it makes my whole day, and I'm not lying when I say I feel absolutely LOVED because of it. Because of a stupid $6 glass of caffeine and chocolate that we all know is ridiculous.

3) "Flowers aren't useful, they just sit there." 

Let's be clear that giving flowers isn't really a physical gift. Sure, they're pretty and smell nice, but that's after the recipient has already gotten the real present: the FEELING. The rose I received at Fest didn't last longer than a day or two, but that was weeks ago and I still remember the feelings I had when I got it: surprise, joy, a little bafflement that anyone would bother doing such a gesture for me.

Flowers impart an instant "aww, someone thought of me" feeling. The feeling can be romantic, homey, happy, warm fuzzies of friendship, or any of a bazillion variations. Receiving a flower is an instant of brightness to a day. Flowers in a home conveys a happy, inviting energy right along with their beauty and scent, not unlike burning candles or incense.

4) "Well, why don't women buy ME flowers?"

Ah, the WORST of all arguments, because it's a classic turn-the-topic-back-to-me tactic which pretty much indicates there's no reason to try to rationally discuss it any further. Ultimately, this argument become a moot point. If you repeatedly vocalize your distaste for something as a gift, why on earth would anyone would give that gift to you?


Look, I'm not saying anyone should change their mind if they really hate giving flowers over something else - I'm just offering counterpoints to the reasons I hear most often. Life is often dark and difficult and just plain exhaustingly hard. Flowers might be frivolous, but life NEEDS a little bit of that sometimes. My particular circle of friends and loved ones, men and women, are generally excellent: thoughtful, considerate, kind, and both frivolous and practical. I'm lucky that way, or maybe I'm particularly choosy that way in the people with whom I surround myself. And because of it, I still expect if I want a dozen roses on my table I'll need to pick them up myself. Ultimately, I'm good with that. And speaking of, it's a gloomy day today. I think my counter vase needs some colorful residents - Cub flower section, here I come.

After Starbucks. Priorities, people. Priorities.

Adventures in Depression Pissed Off-Ed-Ness

Ah depressive angry insomnia, hello. It's been a long time. You're unwelcome, but since you're here...I'd like to take this midnight opportunity to rant, if I may.

 In the past couple of weeks I've NOT punched at least three people delivering the same flippant message under various guises: the perky cheerleader type, the concerned counselor type, the self-help blunt type. Do you know I've gotten to the point in these episodes that I don't bother explaining why that's not helpful? I actually just nod or say ok and change the subject, because I suppose I presume it's both a discomfort and a lack of experiential reference on their part.

Have you ever gone swimming in the deep end of the pool? Out in the middle of a lake? A couple miles off shore in the ocean? Ever find yourself suddenly exhausted and floundering, over your head?

Imagine that sensation in the pit of your stomach, your arms aching, legs so tired you can barely keep your chin out of the water, head tipped back to get as much air as possible in case a wave shoots water up your nose.

Now, imagine doing that in the dark.
In the sea.
In a raging storm.

The wind is blowing water into your eyes, howling around you. Waves tower over you, and you can't get your bearings between the crushing rounds shoving your head under. You've swallowed so much icy saltwater you gag every time the water smashes your face, and you feel nauseated even as you try to keep your head tilted to the sky for as much air as you can gulp between hits. You have NO IDEA which direction shore might be, and you're too tired to actually swim there anyway. Something huge just bumped into your legs under the surface. Is it flotsam in the storm, or a shark? Do you try to swim in some direction and hope you find anything to hold onto, or do you tread water and wait for the storm to pass? Or do you let yourself sink into the seductively quiet underside of the waves and whatever's circling beneath?

Now, imagine someone floats by on a raft and says "come on dude, just change your attitude and you'll be fine" or "you just have to put energy in" or "can't you just feel better?"...

Yeah. I want to punch them.

I mean, obviously I want to be this way, right? I already KNOW it's inconvenient and worrisome to those who love me, unfun in pretty much every way for however long it lasts, and uncomfortable for those who don't know what to say. Of course I choose to do this on occasion. It must be for the attention...you know, the same attention I refuse to accept and generally push away to protect those I really don't want to infect with a pirate's Black Spot of being a troublesome burden.

The truth is, it's a cycle I have to just ride out, and the severity isn't usually so bad (a good night's sleep and I'm often fine). Exhaustion and stress make it exponentially worse, and when it's really awful it's very similar to the panic of being too far from shore and too tired to swim back in (uh, yes, that happened to me once, and let me tell you the panic that hits when you suddenly realize the clear water is actually about 60 feet deep and there are fucking SHARKS in the ocean is goddamned terrifying).

Annoyingly (mostly for those who love me), my own hang-ups prevent my acceptance of a lot of help (which I absolutely recognize is a douchey thing of me to do to people, but there you go).

Hell, the single thing I really need when at the lowest, the most terrible and dark drowning stage, is the one thing I can't and won't accept from anyone because holy shit that's a level of vulnerable I now avoid like the plague. Yes, I'm my own catch-22.

Recognizing it isn't the same as just changing my fucking mind about being IN it. Sometimes, the storm just has to be endured. If you're lucky, someone offers to be a sandbar or driftwood or even a rock: a place to rest for a little while.

If not, you tread water and hope the thing in there with you is a whale, not a shark.

Cheaper Than A New Body Part?

A year ago my husband and I separated. Contrary to everyone's expectations, we've managed to do so not only amicably, but actually remain close friends interested in each other's welfare and happiness as we've each ridden the emotional (and practical) waves that come with the end of a marriage.

We still hang out often on weekends so he can spend time with all of us (and to give me a break from the dogs, who regularly look for him in the house). Most of his stuff is still stored in my house/garage, since he's living with a buddy on the other side of town and doesn't have room yet to take more than essentials. His fun car and tools are here. I was thrilled for him when he started dating someone, and listened as a friend when they eventually broke up.

This is possible, this friendly divorce idea in which both parties remember that it's not about stuff, or money, or what hurts have been caused, but about the well being of a person you loved enough to marry. So the marriage itself didn't work - so what? We were friends before we were spouses: there's no good reason to let the friendship go, too. I know it's weird: I've talked about it a little on this blog. We're both warned all the time by well-meaning people that it's not going to work, and one of us will screw the other over. I don't know how he handles it, but I generally say something noncommittal like "thanks but you don't know us", and change the subject before I get irritated.

Over the last six months I've gone to consultations with three different lawyers about doing the legal papers for divorce. This is not a surprise to my ex: we have already talked about everything we own jointly and how we'll handle splitting things up. In fact, that's all been settled for nearly a year, and he reminded me after 1/1 that we should get the filing done so it's not hanging out there like poor forgotten Johnny Tyler in Tombstone.

Unsurprisingly, lawyers are also unprepared for our amicable split. Actual conversation with the first one I tried (after telling him very clearly we ONLY need someone to check the paperwork and do the court filings in the county):

• Have you considered x,y,z items?
• Legit question, and yup we had considered all of them.
• Are you SURE you want to let him have a,b,c items?
• Um, yes, I already said so.
• You know, you could get everything--
• I stopped him cold right there - I don't WANT everything: I want a split we consider fair between us (you know, the two people who actually own the stuff in question), which we've ALREADY DETERMINED.
• Why are you taking x,y,z debts?
• Again, ALREADY DETERMINED.
• Well, dear (large sigh with obvious "poor you, dumbass" body language), you could do better here for yourself by fighting for x,y,z.
• At this point, I've already decided you'll not be my lawyer, since you're not listening and the items in question are REALLY not worth any further argument. We don't own huge amounts of stock/planes/mansions/etc. We don't have kids to fight over. We have a house, a couple cars, and some minor stuff to split up. It's DONE.
• I suppose if you're really going to do it this way and not fight for his truck as well, filing the paperwork all together would be $X.
• Ok, that's not so bad.  
• I require a $X,XXX retainer, paid in full before I do anything. Here's a worksheet and the agreement, you have 30 days to decide to retain me or not.
• Um, why is the retainer 4 times your anticipated cost of filing paperwork?
• Oh the retainer is standard regardless of the work. I return any unused funds 30 days after everything is final.
• Ah, so you take as much of my money as possible and make interest off of it, hoping to talk me into fighting and delaying this process so you make MORE, then hold my refunded balance hostage for another month?

Sadly, other than the condescending attitude (for the record, the other two people I spoke with neither condescended nor argued about our decisions) the super-high retainer seems common so far. Sigh.

And let me be clear: I think lawyers are absolutely entitled to make money at their jobs. Good money. I have no problem with that. I don't even have a problem with providing a retainer - I'm sure it's easier than invoicing every time fees are required.

But, potential lawyer, if you specifically tell me the paperwork itself and expected filing fees plus your hourly rate to be a total of thousand dollars, asking me for five thousand (of which you get to make extra money for however long the process takes plus your standard return-funds check process) is really just taking additional interest income from MY bank account. Which makes me wonder if you'll come up with reasons to delay, and thus we'd be starting our relationship on a distrustful foot.

Nope. I get that you're not going to make a bazillion off my divorce, and I'm not sorry for it, but come on. There has to be a better way.

Series Review: The Original Sinners (Tiffany Reisz)

"Romance is beautiful, it's a gesture, it's a walk in a park with a pretty girl. Love is ugly sometimes. It's a crawl through a war zone to save a friend. Romance whispers sweet nothings. Love tells painful truths. Romance gives an engagement ring. Love takes a bullet." - The Queen, Tiffany Reisz

Tiffany Reisz doesn't write romance novels. She writes about love. If you're looking for the Shakespearean "everyone gets married" romantic comedy or the Disney fairy tale "happily ever after" you might find parts of it here, but I guarantee those parts won't be typical or easy. 

The main character, Nora Sutherlin, is a professional dominatrix and erotica writer. The love of her life is a Jesuit priest. Her boss, best friend, and occasional client is the king of the BDSM underground. Oh yes, the empty shells I describe here were enough to pique my interest when I read the first book, The Siren, but they are only shells in this sentence. The intertwined lives, loves, experiences, and pasts of her characters are so fully developed you can't help but keep reading because even when they're total jerkface asshats they're fascinating. 

They are unapologetically complex humans who happen to live in text instead of New York. By definition, their complexity makes their stories complex, vivid, painful, and exciting.  Set against an extremely detailed backdrop of the BDSM scene and carrying a decidedly Catholic undertone (the author is billed as "dropping out of seminary to become a smut peddler"), the back cover copy could just as easily indicate a scintillating erotica tale. 

I mean, what's naughtier than including the Church and BDSM sex clubs in intertwined, overlapping worlds for your characters? And there is a lot of explicit erotica, make no mistake. But unlike many of the books labeled "warning, explicitly hot!" in the Romance section of Barnes & Noble, the sex scenes fit within the world. These are not books based on loosely connecting dirty moments with a flimsy story. Reisz explores all the corners of love, pain, and healing by putting her characters through cringeworthy pasts and blushworthy (ok, also often cringeworthy) situations: erotic and otherwise. 

I'm not going to lie: some of the scenes are horrendously uncomfortable to read. Some of the scenes are horrendously uncomfortable to even think about. There is darkness and real evil (the sort humans do to each other) in the story arcs that Reisz faces head on: this is not stuff for the faint-hearted. There are no limits, and your only safe word as a reader is to put the book down. 

If you can. 

Also (because I'm a stickler about terrible writing) let me just say how much I wish this woman would teach a writing class. If you read all eight novels in a row it's easy to see her skills' progression. The tight, clean writing and vivid imagery starts out strong only gets better. The quote at the top of this post is one of the best things I've read in a long while.   

This is not fluffy feel-good reading or mental junk food. Oh, but it's so, so fantastic you find yourself reading every possible short story on her blog and buying the next book in the series the day it's released. I don't buy a lot of books anymore: usually I stick with the library unless I'm so enamored with a character/world/story that I know I'll re-read it. I own every book in this series. 

I read the final installment, The Queen, in a night (and have the bags under my eyes to prove it). So yes, if you want a real BDSM erotica tale and/or if you just want a fucking excellent story with characters you can't help loving and hating all at once, read The Original Sinners series.

Start with The Siren. The list, in order is here. 

Intolerable Intolerance and My Unfollow

This is an overly-long post that is decidedly unfunny. I needed a venting space (within the rules of this blog) to "think-out-loud" a few things. I get it if you'd rather not get bogged by serious shit: feel free to come back tomorrow when I'm back to normal smartass fun.

Tonight, I left behind a person I used to know, because said person's beliefs have become so blatantly intolerant and judgmental I simply can't see myself interacting anymore. I haven't blocked or drastically called public attention to that person: I simply unfollowed from all social media and backed away. It was not the first time this happened recently.

For the most part, I've remained out of the tolerance/intolerance debate flying about on my social media pages. Maybe that's because touchy subjects are, in my experience, more easily understood by either party when the aftereffects of a hateful comment are immediately visible on someone's face. Interestingly, there appears to be a misconception of what the word "intolerance" actually means. People who appear to wish to exclude others from their public universe (and therefore SHARED universe) often accuse "liberals" of "intolerance" of "conservative" views. Let's review those terms, shall we?

Per Dictionary.com:

Tolerance (as pertains to ideas, not physical limits):
1) a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, beliefs, practices, racial or ethnic origins, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry.
2) a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward opinions, beliefs, and practices that differ from one's own. 
3) interest in and concern for ideas, opinions, practices, etc., foreign to one's own; a liberal, undogmatic viewpoint.

Intolerance (again, excluding definitions regarding physical limits):
1) lack of tolerance; unwillingness or refusal to tolerate or respect opinions or beliefs contrary to one's own. 
2) unwillingness or refusal to tolerate or respect persons of a different social group, especially members of a minority group.

Now, I have difficulty accepting the definition of a word that begins with "lack of" the definition of the opposite, but it's dictionary.com, not the Oxford English.

We ALL have personal things which we cannot or will not tolerate.  I've seen examples of gross intolerance from all sides of the health care debates, politics, marriage equality, gender equality, economic equality...: the moment the argument becomes any variation of "if you aren't with us, you're against us" there is no longer tolerance. I find myself intolerant of laws created specifically to allow discrimination against any group of people in public space. I am emotionally vested in and intolerant of actions which seek to reduce my ability to participate in public life simply because I have a vagina. I have to think HARD about my reactions to some issues because of the emotional value they have for me...I am decidedly not immune.

But in all the debates a-ragin' about gay marriage, religious persecution, liberal and conservative social beliefs, health care, "isms"...people seem to be forgetting that these aren't cardboard cutouts they're attacking: they're other people. People who have as much right to a strong opinion as anyone else.

Personally, I may think you sound like a jackass if you say things like "Yoga is Satanic" or "Loving someone different from what MY (insert religion/culture/upbringing here) says is ok makes you evil," but hey, go ahead and believe in hate and exclusion if you want. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO BELIEVE WHATEVER YOU WISH. You can encourage others to agree with you. You can express your distaste for another's beliefs.

You are not, however, protected from the consequences of expressing those opinions in a public forum. Public space is public space, and is defined by the group. Society's norms are (contrary to popular belief) ever-changing. If you don't think so, please feel free to review the actual wording of the Constitution, noting that people who aren't white men (vagina people and black people are both specifically mentioned in amendments) weren't recognized as fully HUMAN (ie people who can vote, participate in society, work together to make this country what it is, HAVE A VOICE) until quite a long while after the document was written. The Constitution has changed over time. Society has changed over time. Public opinion changes over time. Sticking your neck out publicly to say you won't serve gays pizza and receiving social backlash doesn't make your situation "poor me, I'm persecuted for my beliefs." It makes you a person who discovered a large chunk of the public forum no longer supports your opinions.

Let me be clear: if you believe it's dangerously evil to practice yoga, have sex with your own gender, meditate, surf, study languages, watch horror movies, read smut, travel and experience other cultures...well...you certainly get to opt out of any of those activities. You just don't have the right to try to force ME to opt out. And you certainly don't get to pull the "I'm trying to save you from the horrors of hell in the afterlife" argument. That presumes sure factual (provable) knowledge of said hell and afterlife...and I'd have to challenge the presumption with demand of proof before I'd take that argument at any value.

To my mind, tolerance is the acceptance that there is no one way to any truth, but many, and I think everyone is welcome to theirs.  Intolerance is attempting to force someone else to YOUR view of the truth. And truth is not the same as fact...it's malleable and sometimes squishy, and that seems to terrify some people.

I think it's sort of fascinating how people either grow more repressed, restrained, hidebound, intolerant with age OR more tolerant, accepting, inclusive, and free. What's really interesting is that I seem to be reaching an age when people in my loosely-defined generational group are showing inclinations one way or the other, like plum-bobs swinging on a pendulum. I have yet to actually unfriend/block someone from my social media for increasing fundamentalism or intolerance. I have and will continue to remove them from my news feeds, if necessary...because if I can't have a rational discussion about why I disagree and only receive fundamentalist responses, I see no reason to engage at all. But you never know when something will change, and my door is still open if adult conversation is possible down the road.

I'm starting to think Someone in the universe is laughing their butt off at me, because this week has been a series of "practice what you preach, bitch" tests in tolerance and compassion, and what exactly I'm going to do when confronted with people unwilling to debate or discuss at all and would rather try to force me to their way of thinking.

Boy, I really do not do "forced" anything well at all.

It's Not You. And I'm Not Breaking Up. This is not a funny post. Feel free to ignore it.

I am a cyclical depression hermit. (Do not confuse that with a  Cycling hermit, because truly I loathe bikes, unicycles, pretty much all pedaling-type exercise with the fire of a thousand suns).

Yesterday in a discussion with Husband about the depression I've been fighting off and on for a while now, he said something that hit home.

"There are people who WANT to be your friend, who want to get to know the real you, who WANT to connect. YOU shut them out and push them away."

He's likely quite right: when I'm in a down cycle I avoid all the people. I don't trust easily. I don't call. I don't write. Hell I barely leave the house, which the dogs love but likely isn't good for me on multiple levels.

I've written about this before, but I suppose I haven't explicitly said that in the past year some really shitty things have happened both to me and around me that sucked up so much of our time and energy that I've been more prone to depressions simply from lack of any sort of reserves. Therefore, I've withdrawn from everyone.

It's not you. It's me. I know, that phrase sucks...but I'm not breaking up.

I debate and debate about how explicit I should be or want to be in this blog (and elsewhere), because 1) it's goddamn fucking HARD to expose things and 2) who the fuck wants to read this depressing shit? 

But in the interest of friends and potential friends not feeling ignored or slighted, here it is: 99% of the time I feel utterly worthless and completely unloveable. There are both internal and external factors that contribute to my personal form of emotional wreck-ness and this post IS NOT, I REPEAT: IS NOT any sort of plea for sympathy, empathy, or help. It really isn't. I'm working on things. I'm trying to get my act together. Sometimes I have a burst of energy and say "fuck off" to those lying bastard inner demons, and I can be who I want to be. That's happened less often the past few years, and you should know I'm working like mad on changing it.

This post is to reassure those of you who might be in the category Husband voiced, because I DO want to hang. I DO want relationships. I just don't have the wherewithal or oomph to do the work required, because I've been trying hard to get my own shit back in order.  While Husband insists certain peeps we know really want to have a better/deeper friendship with me if I give them a chance, I've also had some recent (ie past few years) spectacularly damaging betrayals by "friends." Most recently, one who made every effort to get to know those hidden psychological bits of me, only to cause damage when I proved to be...hmm...insufficiently "fixed," and the friendship ended. Too much work, that's me.

I have to consciously fight some pretty dark core beliefs about friendship and relationships and myself that have NOTHING to do with your efforts or the quality of our relationship. I am working on learning to open up again. I apparently have the progress of a goddamned sloth in this area, and for that I really do apologize. It sucks for me, too. Truly and sincerely, it's NOT YOU. And when I finally come out of this and act like the normal, semi-confident, funny smartass I used to be, hopefully some of you will still be there. If not, I get it dude, and I cast no blame: acquaintance status is ok with me too.

Writing about Writing (WARNING! Han Pictures!)

Thank you, all of you who encouraged me to keep going. Honestly, my couple-week-hiatus wasn't a plea for attention or validation, nor was it to wonder whether the person in question was right: I KNOW he's wrong. That's not the point. HE'S not the point. Ultimately, that friendship was killed by an entirely different subject (after all, I may be pretty damn flexible and accepting, but there are a few topics on which I do not bend).

HE doesn't matter in terms of this blog, because ultimately it's my blog. If no one reads it at all, I'd still write it (which is the #1 reason the premise behind the comment was in error: I don't write to publish. I write for me. If I entertain or inspire argument/thought/reflection, well neat. But it's not my reason for writing).

I took a couple weeks to really think about where this blog started (with NO readers other than very occasionally my husband, who already knew all the stories) to where it is now, and what I want to do with it. I DO have a quick temper and at least enough bare minimum skills with words to cause harm if I'm not careful. I also have a responsibility to myself to balance editing (for the protection of subjects as well as for clear writing) and self-censorship.

Here's the deal, I originally intended this blog to be about my random silly life, and that's how it's going to remain.

That means some days, I'm feeling like this:

I am SO GODDAMN HAPPY!
 (That's right, my nephew Han is FUCKING ADORABLE. SUCK IT, Prince George!)

And some days, maybe not so much.


DUDE! I'm not sure WTF just happened, but I am SORELY unimpressed. STOP LAUGHING!
(In case you're wondering, his mom gave him the squeeze tube of baby food. OF COURSE he squeezed it...and was slightly horrified at the result. Or, at all of us laughing at him...)

I suppose the best way to put my final decisions on manipulation is: I see a clear difference between attempting to manipulate someone versus entertaining and/or openly influencing someone. I won't lie to get someone to do what I want them to do. I won't arrange situations and people to try to change the outcome.

But I WILL report when situations are funny as hell (or, as is often the case with me, utterly fucked up). And I won't hide when depression hits, or when I'm particularly emotional about something.

So yeah, I'm back.

Now, I'm off to put the Cone of Shame on Chewy. Sigh. One more week of this hell and my house goes back to normal. Just in time for Renaissance Festival to start.

I could do a whole series on THOSE dramas...after the Townhome Twits are finished. Next one tomorrow! 

I Am Not a Dude, Yahoo. Stop Offering Me Women.

My yahoo email address isn't particularly masculine, so I'm mildly amused and somewhat disturbed that I received the following emails in my Spam folder this morning:

Sexy Brides! Hot Russian and Ukrainian Brides Looking For Love
Because a husband isn't enough: I NEED the drama of another wife in the house. Sister wife I am not, but thanks for trying. Sigh. I did wonder for a moment if I shouldn't turn this over to some organization that handles trafficking.

Canadian Pharmacy
To go with the new sexy Ukrainian bride I can pay X dollars to ship here (again, trafficking orgs need to get on this shit), I can get discounted Viagra and Cialis. Because clearly my erectile dysfunction is stopping me from enjoying my new mail order woman.

Hey YOU!
I love these: the same "person" in the from field about once a week who insists we know each other from way back on Yahoo IM and don't I want to look at her dirty pictures at this link? Um, no, Adriana, I do not.

Hmm.

You know, I started this post being amused at Spam's consistent assumption that I want hot, lonely housewives or a safe way to cheat on my wife, or a way to find a new one (when my cheated-on wife leaves me for someone who doesn't open spam emails) AND the drugs to get me going again.

Sigh. Now that I look over this post and realize just how much of my email is cheating/porn/otherwise objectifying women AND belittling men, it makes me sad. Can't we be better than this?

Therefore, I'm adding these links to my blog today:

The Polaris Project A World Without Slavery
LiveYourDream.Org Women helping women achieve dreams
WebMD Marriage Advice Because there are WAY too many relationship counselors out there.

I'm Too Lewd for Google...Mwahahahaha

I was toying with the idea of putting a couple of ads on my blog, and so I looked into the Google AdSense stuff (since it's affiliated with Blogger and so is likely the easiest foray into the great unknown).

Alas, it's not meant to be.

According to the email I got from the AdSense bot (which apparently scanned my blog for all things inappropriate), I'm not eligible for any ads because (GASP) I have "adult content" peppered throughout my pages.

I am utterly amused and tickled about my status as THAT inappropriate...particularly since I've also been considering adding a weekly "relationship enhancers" post to my normal random commentary. Partly to be less random on at least ONE day of the week, partly because I've recently resumed my role as sex therapist to friends (and acquaintences, and people I've never met who sit down with me at the grocery store deli over lunch), partly because another website keeps trying to get me to be a "relationship expert" in their stable of bloggers. Unfortunately, that site requires I link to my Facebook page...which is just never going to happen.

Anyway, I'd say Google AdSense just validated that option.

Excuse me while I snicker at my desk some more at the prudish company with "ogle" embedded in its name...

Could it be my labeling choices?

Perhaps it's my Cosmic Guide for Harlots?

Husband says it's true: I'm lewd and inappropriate for children.

I think that means I win.

Back to Hell, Demon!

I was observed recently as being...inconsistent...between who I appear to be and who I am. It's a fair observation given by one of the slight handful of people in the world who know the real me, and 100% true in the context of the conversation. This post will likely be long and self-indulgent attempt to reconcile a few of the inconsistencies with bare, painful truth. Feel free to stop reading this and go back to a funny post here.

I AM inconsistent: I present a certain face with certain qualities I admire to the world: strength, self-confidence, surety, humor...all the qualities I think are valued by others. All the things I'd like to be all the time. On rare occasions when I'm feeling particularly good I AM the way I present. On those days I'm funny, clever, happy with myself and my accomplishments so far and enthusiastically passionate about life. In all honesty, those days are treasured rarities in my universe that I'm trying to learn to allow more often. I'd prefer they be the norm, after all.
Most of the time I use my public face as a combination of shield and bolster. It's actually fairly exhausting. Emotional energy is a well, and eventually that well runs low, the flow becomes silty and clogged, and I slow down. I am a person who refreshes the well with periods of relaxing alone-time (books, Lifetime TV, walks, repeated viewings of Gladiator...you know, silly mindless things) not by being with others. I'm actually pretty envious of all you folk who get energized and excited about parties and social situations. I NEED that bit of time every week to sustain. 

The real person underneath is...sigh...well hidden. This causes an issue if I let anyone in past a certain point, because ultimately that person discovers I've been untruthful about who I really am all along, and that's probably unfair. How can I be enough and loved just as I am if you can't see what I REALLY am until it's too late? Ah, conundrums that feed the demons.

It's something I've been working on for a long time, actually, when I have enough in my emotional well to work on myself. Sometimes, the well just fucking dries up. I've worked on myself enough to USUALLY be able to head the bastard off at the pass before he weasels his way into my brain like a fucking Khan earworm. Sometimes I fail.

Today I've failed. Since it's the Holidays and that's likely a part of the depression heavily holding me down, I envision it as this:


Holiday cheer my ASS. I'm coming for you...



Last night the same someone said "I wish I could go back and find the bastard(s) who made you feel so worthless and ..." well, the graphically violent nature of the comment probably doesn't need to be repeated. It was one of those things most people would likely be horrified and offended by, but was an utterly sweet thing to say to me.

I know where my self-loathing comes from. I know where the unworthiness comes from. I also know the reason I'm still here after those feelings hit me in wave after wave is something my dad said to me once when I was really young: suicide is the most selfish thing you can do to those who love you. All the bullying, all the nastiness, all the isolation that fed my genetic pre-disposition to depression is tempered by that statement, because I've always been more concerned with others' feelings than my own. It's another point of contention between me and the few insiders who know me best (I don't take care of myself if someone else needs me, which is stupid and harmful). My point is: I'm not in suicidal danger. I'm just not taking sufficient care of myself to avoid the hit right now.

The Bloggess posts often about depression, how it lies and how hard it is to live with repeated bouts. I so utterly agree, but I don't have any answers about how to successfully beat the bastard down either. Knowing WHY he arrives doesn't always give me enough to defeat him. The past few months have been so utterly emotionally exhausting I haven't been able to refill my well, which left me open to that sneaky bastard. And so I force myself to get out of bed and drive to work and hope I can stop any pressing tears (yeah, Scandahoovians don't cry without red, splotchy faces and puffy eyes) and bury myself in work for the day.   Only today is a no-meeting-not-much-to-do day and the conversation I had last night was intense enough that I can't push it aside until I'm home. Today, I'm trying to STOP thinking about all the evil lying shit depression says in my head and concentrate on rediscovering what makes me feel valuable, worthy, fulfilled, passionate and happy.  

My friend Superbetsy sent me this about depression today: The bloggess calls depression a lying bastard. When it tries to take me down, I lie right back to it. I put on a shit ton of makeup and sing loudly and look at pictures of puppies. If it can tell us falsehoods, we can do the same. BECAUSE IM A GREAT SINGER, DAMMIT!

This post isn't any sort of request for validation, compliments, or anything of the sort. I've written about this many times before privately and it's done nothing: maybe taking the risk of putting it out here will make some difference in my heart. If not, at least any reader also battling that bastard will know they're not alone in the fight.

If it's NOT "The Count of Monte Cristo" I have no freaking idea.

"We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it... Anyone can love 'because.' That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something 'despite.' To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect." -Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear


You should probably ignore this post. To be honest, I'm not certain I'm going to publish this post.

I don't recall which classic story ended in the perpetrator getting walled into a room forever. I thought it was The Count of Monte Cristo, but I'm likely incorrect. I just have a vivid mental image of him screaming through the tiny remaining open space as the final brick slides into place.  

That's where I am right now. Only I'm bricking myself into my own prison.  

Amidst all the horrific stress and terror of the past month, I've been desperately pushing down/aside/away other things that have cracked my foundations and left me on precarious footing. I locked it all away for a time, ignoring everything for weeks under the wave of fear and worry associated with the accident. Now that Husband is doing significantly better and I no longer wonder if he'll live, I'm getting to the point that if I DON'T let something out that last brick will slide into place. And I'll be trapped in self-imposed isolation.

Ultimately, the main drama will be resolved somehow or another, and it doesn't really matter what it was (because it will eventually be dealt with). What matters for this post is this: I'm a person with many acquaintances and very few real friends (by friends I don't mean people who consider me their friend: I mean people I'm willing to trust and lean on when I need them).

I don't trust easily or well, and I don't let many past those outer periphery "I know you and generally like you some" edges. When I discover someone isn't actually trustworthy in my moral code, fair or not, I purposefully withdraw from everyone. I bury everything deep under a pasted-on a positive attitude and keep going on the outside.

On the inside I'm slapped by shock, followed by incendiary overwhelming anger, followed by humiliation and despair...who hold red-hot pokers in their evil little hands and beat me as long as I let them. Those devious bastards insert and foster dark thoughts and invite anger back to the party, particularly when I'm alone at 3am.

And now I'm sorely tempted not to trust anyone again. I'm caught between "you never should've anyway" and "if you don't open up now and again you'll be alone."

I'm aware of the over-dramatic nature of my anxiety, pain and depression. I'm even aware that my moral code is harsher than most and likely an unfair standard, particularly in certain situations. I find this to be somewhat of a failing in my character, that opening up isn't often worth the risk to my heart. It's a part of me that's been under construction for quite some time as I try to keep myself from alienating people in general and be more...positive...about humans.

Husband keeps telling me how proud he is of me for dealing with everything that's going on and keeping it together, but all of that is an utter sham. I'm not and don't deserve any sort of praise here. I'm a brick or two away from being completely walled-in and emotionally frozen. I'm not suicidal. I'm just broken. I don't know what to do about it.

I put the quote about love at the top of this post to remind myself what I want to work toward: loving despite and including flaws. Even when I'm talking about my own.

The Value of an Aunt

Recently a friend told me I'd never understand his feelings because I didn't like kids and don't want to have any. Before I could protest, he apologized for the tone and clarified: he meant I couldn't truly love kids in their entirety, because I don't have any (and therefore don't experience the diaper blowouts, temper tantrums, and projectile vomit right along with the baby giggles and other fun). I haven't written about this for a few days: it took me some time to consider and process and get beyond pissed-off.

I wholeheartedly agree with this person that being a Dad is 1) something I'll never understand (um, specifically I'LL NEVER BE a Dad, but generally we don't plan to have children so I won't be a parent) and 2) that a parent's love for their child is a deep level of understanding I can't reach unless I have a child myself. I include ALL forms of "having" a child in that statement, including foster children, adoption, natural birth, etc.

The knife twist of his comment is that I'd like to have a family, but our lives right now are totally unsuited to raising a family, and until/unless we really want them and are in a place to make our lives about kids, we're not having them. Maybe my husband's and my views do make us selfish, but I'd rather be ready and have no regrets before changing everything for children. If that makes me a selfish bitch, well so be it. I'd rather be selfish no-kid-family than be a selfish bitch with kids who suffer for it.

In the meantime, I find an incredible amount of value being an "aunt" to my nieces/nephews/friends' kids. I'm fairly empathic and understanding: people talk to me all the time about their personal problems, relationship issues, etc etc. Seriously, random people on a plane will tell me all their shit. So it's not that weird to me that my friends' kids feel like they can talk to me about stuff they may not want to bring up to their parents, and trust that I'll tell them the truth. And not being their parent, I can tell them the truth and they may listen.  I don't have the same parent/child relationship that can make both sides uncomfortable and cloudy when touchy teenage things come up, and being an aunt instead of a parent I can point out stupid behavior or give advice without being seen as judgemental or overprotective.

I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles in my life: they're still important people in my life and I still look to them for the occasional reality check on stuff I don't feel comfortable talking to parents or siblings about. Family dynamics are a fascinating, compliated minefield of relationships: there are times as a teenager I know my aunts' influences kept me from royally screwing up. If I never have my own children, my goal is to be that resource for the kids in my life if they need it. I don't think that makes me any less loving or more selfish than a parent.

I Know a Few of These

http://www.examiner.com/x-2593-Modern-Love-Examiner~y2009m3d28-The-toxic-witch-wears-two-faces-in-life-and-in-love-but-here-is-how-you-can-spot-and-avoid-her

The subject of this article, the Toxic Witch, is ever so reminiscent of a few unnamed women at Fest. Renaissance Festival is one of the most accepting places for people of all backgrounds to hang out together: that accepting attitude unfortunately seems to be a magnet for the unstable of both sexes. Occasionally the visibly "issued" will show up: men looking for girlfriends in the WAY too young age category, ex-girlfriends who follow around their former lovers and hang outside their booths making everyone uncomfortable...

But the worst are the women who purposly befriend couples only to attempt to break them up later. The ones who try to get in the man's pants while he's drunk at the bar after hours only to tell the S.O. all about it the next day, or spread insidious rumors to anyone who will listen. These women are so pathetic, they do it just to see if they have the power to create drama and trouble between a couple. Many a man has been on the receiving end of these rumors, and quite a few relationships weren't strong enough to withstand their efforts.

Fest is just like high-school: rumors fly like mad and gossip provides entertainment on the hot days. Befriending one of these women only brings out the pain-in-the-ass factor, and unfortunately it can take a little while to get the TW radar working properly to avoid trouble. But it does start working eventually, and just like any other bully in life: the more you ignore one of these raging bitches, the sooner they go away.

On Fairytales

I wonder what would happen if little girls weren't raised on a constant diet of damsels-in-distress, of princesses who only become truly happy when they're finally married off and in a position (presumably) without any work? Look at Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty: NONE of them are happy until they've met Prince Charming in one of his many incarnations. Perhaps more disturbingly, none are happy until they're married to a man wealthy enough to 1) take care of them and 2) save them from any sort of labor.

Granted, cartoons have become a lot more progressive since then: look at Mulan, the girl who became a soldier...who again was happiest at the end when she'd found a man. Is society a reflection of the crap we watch, or is what we watch a reflection of society? Are women only truly happy when they're in a romantic relationship, or are we just bred to think that way? I think it's really interesting that statistically it's MEN who report being happier, more content, and are longer lived when they're married. So who perpetuates the idea that women are happy married: women, or the men who want to marry them?

I won't lie: I do wonder now and again what it would be like to be single, to be responsible for only my own feelings/goals/dreams/household/job etc. Who wouldn't think about it now and again? I don't generally feel guilty about it either: it's not a wish to be single, it's an idle wondering. After being through all ups and downs in my relationship over the past seven years (good GOD, seven years) I honestly think I'm happier overall being married than I would be single.

I was reading that blog again today: the one written by an young woman (maybe mid 20's) who's been cheating on her husband the entire time they've been married. With several different men. Reading it always leaves a really bad taste in my mouth, as I'm particularly offended by any type of betrayal, but most especially betrayal of the S.O. kind. It's just part of my makeup: honesty is #1 for me, even if honesty hurts I'd rather that than the lie. Anyway, while today is no different, I found myself wondering why an adulturous woman is called a homewrecker when an adulturous man isn't? Don't they wreck the respective home(s) together?

Is the Jezabel label another product of the fairy tales we teach little girls...that only bad women sleep with men outside of marriage? Only sluts and bitches fall in love with people they shouldn't? But why is behavior often percieved as a "weakness a wife should forgive" in a man percieved as "evil homewrecking slut" in a woman? And more interestingly, why when there's infidelity in the marriage does the spouse blame the OTHER person, not the offending spouse?

I don't have the answers, but I think this'll roll around in the brainpan for a little while. Maybe it's the product of American Puritanism. Maybe it's based on biological impulses to compete for genetic dominance. Maybe it's all a load of crap and people need to just rediscover honor.