Ah, geez, I should have known....
I wonder how many times a basic search on an unlabeled image brings up porn for the higher ups at HQ. Like, come on, people. This is ridiculous. Yes, I so totally appreciate the pure artwork and seduction in a man's carved chest, but what's below that....really, really, really don't need to see a thousand of those in one scroll down looking for a legitimate, clothed (mostly) image file.
Now I can see someone like Tristan dying to ask what sort of image search I was doing that would bring up such, ah, interesting results. Well....let's just say I'm more looking into the validity of statements made by a friend of mine and just cross-referencing what evidence I have to work with. Which....upon reading that....seems just as dirty as the search results. I'm trying to figure out if this person is who he says he is! Identity-wise, not....package....anyhew.....But instead of just finding links connecting to Twitter or whatever, I find places like "freeballinboys". Really? Really?
But then I imagine someone like Nicks doing a huge flatscreen projection search like this and suddenly *BAM*PENIS*!!!!! And I'm rolling in laughter, in my head he's chuckling pretty good, and then I'm sad because I remember that he was killed and the world is without a good man like Nicks. So I return to my search and keep going.
Oh geez, and I didn't even do a covert search. Please, please, please don't ask my about the browser history, oh conservative parents of mine. I swear it was legitimate research and I'm not....like that....I mean, what warm-blooded female human wouldn't want to see such God-manifested beauty in the world....?
I hate this. I hate my life. I hate what I am, or who I am, or whatever you want to call this.
Ooo! Chris Hemsworth made the list!
*Ahem*
I blame Michael for this. I thank him wholeheartedly for freeing my from my own prison, but now I blame him for doing such a good job about it.
Crap. I forgot what picture I was looking for. Yes, I'm blogging and researching at the same time. I just forgot what I was looking for. HEY. You show a long list of bare-chested, jaw-dropping gorgeous hunks to a 20-something single woman and ask her to look through the sea for a specific one. See how long she remembers what she's looking for. I rest my case.
As I was saying....
Michael did me a huge favor in proving to me that I can (because I so totally did) engage in, ah, intimacy with anyone I choose. I'm no longer locked into some seemingly cruel contract in which I am forbidden everyone but one, who is still in the wind, by the way. But at the same time, this new-found knowledge, and the forever-burned-into-my-brain-and-body memory of this revelation is becoming somewhat of a huge problem. Why?
I cannot be "that girl". You know exactly who I'm talking about. The vixen. The seductress. The woman in the bar who sits in the corner, raking up drinks from drooling men tripping over themselves just for one night with her, all the while you sit across the room wondering what the hell she has that you don't. Well, I think I figured out the secret to that question for myself, and now it's hard enough to drink a beer in peace without some weird guy stuttering for my attention. The secret? Realize that it's not about you trying to score the hottest guy in the bar. It's about men trying to score you (and failing miserably).
Maybe that came out wrong. Probably did. What I mean is, I realized that all this time I thought that the good guys, the ones with manners and intelligence as well as good looks, didn't want me because I wasn't pretty enough or sexy enough for them. Wrong. I wasn't confident enough for them, which is a huge thing even for women. I truly believed that Michael walking into the bar that first night, all gorgeous and "Hottest Naked Chest Contest" -competing, was what turned my social life around. He's got the looks, he's got the charm, he's a man who loves the ladies and yet commands the attention and respect of the men, even the owner of the bar forty years his senior. And he sat next to me, talked with me, kissed me speechless, and then took me around town on my birthday for the best shots of liquor in the city which ended with.....well, let's just say it ended. Weirdly.
That being said, my general perspective completely changed. I am no longer some girl wishing her knight in shining armor will come galloping in on his noble steed to save the day. I am a woman who can choose from a rather large pool of contestants, who really would just rather have God's chosen warrior reveal himself, finally, before I am forced to make a choice.
And I find myself so tempted to make a rather convenient choice for the time being, one that could potentially kill two birds with one stone.
But then....then my "better half" surfaces to remind me of who I really am. And I am not a woman allowed to have such conveniences and God's blessing in everything I aspire for. In my mind I see two versions of myself: one, fiercely beautiful with wild auburn waves, a rich amber gown that hugs every sensual curve, and a cunning pair of green eyes atop a seductive but knowing smile. The other wears a gown of white, hair soft and silky in more controlled waves, a softer hue, gentler smile, eyes brown and full of compassion and wisdom, crowned with a delicate gold circlet. These two women battle each other within me, the former saying this is what I need to survive and be happy, the latter insisting that I must stay true to the higher calling if I want eternal happiness. When I, should I, get married, the two women will become one and all will be at peace within me so far as that is concerned.
It is why I was supposed to wait until marriage. So that Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde would never exist separately, nor would one completely overtake the other. But as time progresses without my mate, their continual struggle makes it that much harder for me to enjoy life.
I should have known.
8.10.2012
8.07.2012
Contradiction
This was supposed to be easy.
All I was supposed to do in life was fall in love with a good, honest, Christian man, get married, have children, live in a decent home and just enjoy life. That's it. No complications. No drama. I prayed and prayed and prayed that God would limit my selection so much that I'd be forced to stick with only one man, have my first kiss with him, give myself to only him, etc etc. And it seemed like, for the longest time, He was answering my prayer so well, it was driving me insane!
Now.....I don't know what happened. Well, I say that and then this soft voice in me whispers, "You know exactly what happened. You grew up."
I look in the physical mirror, and I see a somewhat baby-faced girl who needs to shed a few pounds and retrain basic combat skills. I look in the mental mirror at myself, and I see a cunning woman, not as much hardened as she is sharpened. Older. Wiser. Much, much more aware of the world around her, both seen and unseen. As much as I hate admitting it, sacrificing my virginity before marriage may have saved my sanity in the long run. It was just like Mom had described it: a greater awareness, an extreme sharpening of the senses, a powerful awakening.
But at what cost? I find myself grieving the death of my innocence, regardless of the reasons or who I was with. I will never regret my time with Tristan. I still, and always will, hold a great affection for him. He gave me wonderful memories and helped me achieve....a "level"? Whatever you want to call this advancement, or maturation, I will always have him to thank and hold no regrets, only happy memories. While ours is a tragic story of what happens when too many people hold too much power over your life, it is also a story of an unbreakable friendship, even when we cannot speak.
My grief is for the life that once was, that sweet longing for something that seemed so unattainable, so precious, that it held a priceless value in my life and made me a rarity among women.
Lately I've been looking at myself from another's eyes. Mostly Jake's. Not like I ever really knew what the man was thinking, ever (or I did but had no clue I was actually listening to his thoughts....I was....rather undeveloped in my abilities at the time.....). But still, I often wonder what he would think of me if he saw me now, if he knew what I have become, and the end result is a bittersweet blend of pride and grief. Pride for finally honing in my abilities, for standing strong in the midst of turmoil, for remaining resilient against the onslaught of pain and depression, and for just living a decent life. Grief, for not being the one to stand with me through it all. For having to, for lack of a better term, share me. And in some sense....a disappointment in that despite the logical sense of it all, I sacrificed the one vow I held on to so tightly. The one thing that made me different from the rest.
This was supposed to be easy. But no. Instead of playing Dorothy Day, I ended up playing a mash-up between Helen of Troy and a heterosexual Pussy Galore. Maybe I'm being too generous with the imagery, but hopefully you get what I mean. I could be nursing my firstborn and folding tiny clothes in a clean hamper, but instead I'm rifling through senseless crap trying to connect dots that have connections but no set pattern. And while I had imagined my life to, by now, be filled with nights of seemingly endless passion with my sexy, insatiable husband......I lie alone in my parents' guest room both grateful for and loathing my inability to control my "seer" abilities during coitus. I don't sleep around because I value myself, I value what people think of me, and I really, really, really don't want to/need to see/hear every little sordid detail about some random stranger because it's both depressing and slightly disturbing. This I say on theory, as I've only been with two men (in hindsight that just seems almost like two men too many). With Tristan, I was actually able to remain "surfaced" enough that I didn't consciously hear/see anything out of the ordinary. With Michael, what I heard/saw intensely was not creepy or disturbing at all, it was just incredibly depressing.
Ugh. What Jake must think of me. Or even Tristan. It didn't help that Lydia's fiance/husband said I "whored [myself] out" just to have sex. He didn't mean it in a mean way, he was stating it like one would state the current weather. It's cloudy outside, and I whored myself out. Thanks, dude. Love ya, too.
Ugh. This was supposed to be easy.
FML.
All I was supposed to do in life was fall in love with a good, honest, Christian man, get married, have children, live in a decent home and just enjoy life. That's it. No complications. No drama. I prayed and prayed and prayed that God would limit my selection so much that I'd be forced to stick with only one man, have my first kiss with him, give myself to only him, etc etc. And it seemed like, for the longest time, He was answering my prayer so well, it was driving me insane!
Now.....I don't know what happened. Well, I say that and then this soft voice in me whispers, "You know exactly what happened. You grew up."
I look in the physical mirror, and I see a somewhat baby-faced girl who needs to shed a few pounds and retrain basic combat skills. I look in the mental mirror at myself, and I see a cunning woman, not as much hardened as she is sharpened. Older. Wiser. Much, much more aware of the world around her, both seen and unseen. As much as I hate admitting it, sacrificing my virginity before marriage may have saved my sanity in the long run. It was just like Mom had described it: a greater awareness, an extreme sharpening of the senses, a powerful awakening.
But at what cost? I find myself grieving the death of my innocence, regardless of the reasons or who I was with. I will never regret my time with Tristan. I still, and always will, hold a great affection for him. He gave me wonderful memories and helped me achieve....a "level"? Whatever you want to call this advancement, or maturation, I will always have him to thank and hold no regrets, only happy memories. While ours is a tragic story of what happens when too many people hold too much power over your life, it is also a story of an unbreakable friendship, even when we cannot speak.
My grief is for the life that once was, that sweet longing for something that seemed so unattainable, so precious, that it held a priceless value in my life and made me a rarity among women.
Lately I've been looking at myself from another's eyes. Mostly Jake's. Not like I ever really knew what the man was thinking, ever (or I did but had no clue I was actually listening to his thoughts....I was....rather undeveloped in my abilities at the time.....). But still, I often wonder what he would think of me if he saw me now, if he knew what I have become, and the end result is a bittersweet blend of pride and grief. Pride for finally honing in my abilities, for standing strong in the midst of turmoil, for remaining resilient against the onslaught of pain and depression, and for just living a decent life. Grief, for not being the one to stand with me through it all. For having to, for lack of a better term, share me. And in some sense....a disappointment in that despite the logical sense of it all, I sacrificed the one vow I held on to so tightly. The one thing that made me different from the rest.
This was supposed to be easy. But no. Instead of playing Dorothy Day, I ended up playing a mash-up between Helen of Troy and a heterosexual Pussy Galore. Maybe I'm being too generous with the imagery, but hopefully you get what I mean. I could be nursing my firstborn and folding tiny clothes in a clean hamper, but instead I'm rifling through senseless crap trying to connect dots that have connections but no set pattern. And while I had imagined my life to, by now, be filled with nights of seemingly endless passion with my sexy, insatiable husband......I lie alone in my parents' guest room both grateful for and loathing my inability to control my "seer" abilities during coitus. I don't sleep around because I value myself, I value what people think of me, and I really, really, really don't want to/need to see/hear every little sordid detail about some random stranger because it's both depressing and slightly disturbing. This I say on theory, as I've only been with two men (in hindsight that just seems almost like two men too many). With Tristan, I was actually able to remain "surfaced" enough that I didn't consciously hear/see anything out of the ordinary. With Michael, what I heard/saw intensely was not creepy or disturbing at all, it was just incredibly depressing.
Ugh. What Jake must think of me. Or even Tristan. It didn't help that Lydia's fiance/husband said I "whored [myself] out" just to have sex. He didn't mean it in a mean way, he was stating it like one would state the current weather. It's cloudy outside, and I whored myself out. Thanks, dude. Love ya, too.
Ugh. This was supposed to be easy.
FML.
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