Stirrup, anyone?

So, tonight I mentioned in a social media avenue that I was once a "stirrup". I was asked to clarify, and I feel it's about time I did, aside from the ol' "hey, I remember when" type stories.

It's been almost 6 years since The Ex and I split, and most of my close friends from that time period know this story, so I don't feel there will be too much harm. If there is, so be it - I apologize to you if you're reading this and were a party to this and are offended (I especially apologize if you're offended as I feel sorry for you, considering if you were there you've probably got a longer list of interesting stories in some respects than I might, even).

Ahhhh...I don't recall exactly when this was, but I'd safely guess the early 2000's. A friend of mine introduced me to a friend (backstory here), and this friend of mine got heavily into the Leather Community. To the point, mind you, that she was KNOWN in the community by the nickname "moocher bottom". That's not quite the name you want in that group of folk - that's like being known at the bar as, "self assessed whore". Ya, seriously. She was happy that way...

I digress...Moocher Bottom introduced me to Ratty. Ratty ended up dating a woman, also with an Are name, so we'll call her R. So, now we have R&R dating. Simple enough.

The Ex and I became good friends of R&R's and The Ex also started to explore her more "leather" side. This is not like Leather Tuscadero, folks, we're talking bondage, whips and chains. This is NOT my scene, mind you, but I was a good little other half to my lovely Wife, so I did what I could to make her happy (within reason). As R&R were heavily into this "scene", and they knew The Ex was highly interested, they asked us if we'd like to attend an "Event" in Orlando. To amuse the wife, I agreed. I must admit, I was quite curious (wouldn't you be? Honestly now!) This "event" was a Leather Convention...I think it was for 2 or 3 days, I can't recall now. I guess I should go by what I do remember:

We shared a room (and hearing our co-horts having sex was enough of a turn-on for us to oblige in the same action across the room). R volunteered for many things, including a session of "wax play", and that was quite interesting - to the point that they taught you how to use wax to help relax you much like a massage. The Play Room was quite...hmmmm...not quite scary, but enough of something that I knew I would never want to partake in such a situation - open play with bondage/whips/pain is not something I find necessary in my life. The buffet/dinner was interesting enough, especially when R let them know it was her birthday, and she volunteered for a Fisting demonstration.

Yes...I did just say "Fisting Demonstration". I was a stirrup. R heard they needed someone for this, and since it was her birthday the next day (the day of the demonstration), the 100's of people all cheered and clapped for the birthday girl who was volunteering to be fisted in front of a live audience. In fact, it had such a turn-out they had to move it to a different room to hold everyone who wanted to attend! The Fister (is) an author on the subject and quite professional, made us all feel quite calm about the situation at hand. Ratty was to be there with her beloved, and The Ex and I were asked to be stirrups to R's legs (and she wasn't a small girl, mind you).

I can honestly tell you, who is reading, that this is the first, and most probably the last, time I've ever experienced watching someone get fisted in front of a live audience. If you don't know what fisting is, you might want to Google that. Now...I will admit I've had my fair share of, ummmm, fisting, but I never was able to get this technique down (...and, maybe I'm just not that talented, or The Ex wasn't that open to the concept - even though she requested this).  It really makes you think...how can someone take something like that inside themselves and find such pleasure in it? Well, it's not for me to say what's pleasurable to someone else, now is it?

...But, that's the brief, truthful story of my being a stirrup. I hope the audience at hand has enjoyed.

-AA

Mark, #2

This is called "Mark #2" - Mark has a story, and it was told through me...and I've got all the words I wrote for him somewhere in a large binder (I know where it is...) and I should really post all this stuff, as it's important in many ways.

Mark came to me in 1993 (I think), and I wrote many short pieces from him...he was a Vet in Vietnam who died there; the writing showed he was from the IL/WI area (forget which, exactly) and towards the end, I got his full name.

In 1995, my (then) partner looked him up on the Vietnam Wall Memorial list...he was there - and I found out he was from that area of the country (the opposite of the one he wrote as) - and that he died about a year before I was born.  Damn...that hit me pretty hard.

I don't hear much from Mark anymore - I think I got his story mostly out, but in 1999 he gave me a little more, just to remind me that he's still with me, always:

"and if anyone shall ever forget what it meant to send their men to war, if anyone shall ever forget what it meant to leave their mothers, wives, children and parents alone, waiting by the phone, by the t.v. for some glimpse of possible returned death - for some hollow face to wave back at the cameras...wondering if your son would come back in a body bag...if anyone shall ever forget these erroneous ways of the world, these horrid manslaughter ideas that spouted upon the refuge of idealism that we turned upon ourselves with loaded guns - bullets flying - death mounting...if anyone shall ever forget let it be me, let it be my sacrificed ghost that walks upon the graveyards...like so many others, let it be me, please let it be me who forgets, the one who died, the one who's gone...the one who's writing."

6/16/99 – Mark…

I do think I'll work on adding in his pieces to this blog, as they are truly impressive to read - even to me, to this day, they're haunting.  I took these pieces to a Vet who I befriended at a trade show I was working one day in Portland - as he asked about them once we started talking about his tours of duty in the war, and my writing this "piece" about a Vet.  He brought them back the next day, and said he had never read anything like this from someone who wasn't there, who didn't live the war - that it was not just impressive, but amazing.  I hope, if he's still alive, that he still has that memory, as I do.  To a writer, this is the best form of flattery - but, to someone who has been given the gift of telling a story from the past, it's more than that...it's acknowledgment for us both.

-AA

Short Rites Of Passage scribble

This is something I wrote a bit ago - submitted to a small magazine (thus the very structured wording) - thought I'd post it here so I'd have it in the future...it's short, to the point, but is my take on one aspect of "finding" myself - though, to be honest, I never really was that lost as I was fighting my way through all the b.s. I was being fed on a daily basis.  That is what made me tough, helped shape who I am today.

Growing up in a small town as a Jehovah’s Witness, my mother tried to keep me semi-sheltered from life outside of what I was taught to believe.  My father just went along for the ride.  At the age of 18, after barely graduating high school (due to boredom), I left the very next day, in 1988, in my parents tiny truck with a friends brother in tow, and moved to Los Angeles from Oregon.  I moved to the literal, on a map, this is it Los Angeles.  We started out as four in a 1-bedroom which turned into six, living in the “Spanish area” which had the Korean police department about 3 blocks away.  It was quite a change from what I grew up with, but I was ready for it.  I wanted to go out and experience life.  I assure you, I did.  I got a job at a record store, part time, and barely made enough to eat…but, I didn’t care, I was free.  I lived and worked in a grimy area of the city, but for the first time in my life I felt like I could breathe.

One of my friends and I moved to another apartment in the south part of Downtown Los Angeles a couple of months later – this time it was three in a studio, near the Los Angeles River and the Jewelry District.  I was in Los Angeles for a total of six months.  The amount of things I experienced in this time was enough to write a small book, and I’m grateful to this day for that.  I wouldn’t change the being broke and not getting enough to eat, missing out on a crazy rave (and what would have been my first and only experience with heavy drugs) because my instincts took over, meeting a man I adored only to find out he practiced Voodoo and wanted a wife to compliment him, or the number of people I met that I’m still in touch with to this day.  I found myself in Los Angeles.  I woke up.  I realized that I didn’t have to be what I was molded to be.  I realized I could be who I was born to be, which was far from what I was “trained” to become.

I bought myself a ring in the jewelry district about a month before moving back home to Portland.  I wore it on my ring finger for years – a solid gold wedding band.  I married myself in Los Angeles, and told myself this when I put it on.  I gave into myself and found myself, and I wouldn’t change that experience for the world…and I know I’m blessed because so many others aren’t allowed to experience life once they turn “of age”.

**breathe**

Had a bit too much bourbon last night (actually, not really, it was the Tequila I insisted on adding to the bourbon that did me in, I think)...but, got up late, which was nice.  Did some walking, fed the kitties, did a bunch of tweeting (junkie, yes), and now I'm in front of the computer at almost 11:30 ready to start some work today.

C hasn't given me much of a chance to miss her - she and I talked on the phone last night, and again this morning (I sent her a picture that she needed some clarification on, LOL). It's okay, though, it's actually calm today and it's nice not having anyone here.

SisterFromAnotherMister might come up tomorrow (or tonight) and spend the day - not sure yet.  She's got some opportunities on the horizon for work and doesn't want to miss out on anything by coming up for an extended stay next week, and I personally don't blame her.  She's had two interviews thus far already this week, and her last day of work was technically on Sunday!  She's paid up from the company through the end of June, I believe, so she'd be fine, regardless - a job now would be a bonus (especially considering she's due in August).  Now I just have to wait for her to call - which she can be quite poor at in regards to things that I'm waiting to hear on...I hate that.

I've gotten C addicted to the Hunger Games book (I'm on the second book, now) - that's good - it's an excellent read that sucks you right in...I won't go into the fact that it mirrors what I think our country is headed towards in the future.  That's for another blog/discussion.

Thinking I may post some of my old writing up here - maybe that will help get me back into the groove.

-AA

Worn out...

To say I'm stressed and that I need a break is the understatement of the century, I'm afraid...

C told me to get away last week...I would have, it it hadn't of still been spring break rates here in this state I exist in...sucks...so, this week, we've been bickering about the stupidest crap on the planet, and she just finally snapped - she said, "you didn't get away last week, so I need to get away this week."  Okay...fine...no, I'm not fine about it, but it is what it is.

Part of me is perfectly fine with the fact that she needs a break...but, I need a fucking break, and have needed one for quite awhile - I guess the faster rabbit gets the carrot.  Not me, not this week.  Not today.

My sister is probably coming up next week, which will add an extra layer of stress to my inner self - she's just lost her job of over 15 years and needs to figure out what to do (while being pregnant with a second child, who's due about 4 months before the first one turns 2)...I love her dearly, but I just don't know that I'm ready for the baggage she's going to bring with.  We are the "safe haven" - the boonies - the home away from home...but, how much home can I give someone when I'm not happy in it myself?

That's the key...I need to find some happiness.

Most days I'm fine, but for the past few weeks things have just been mounting - and I'm not really sure what it is or why, but it's here.  I used to thrive on stress, and now that I don't want it...it seems I'm getting more than I can handle.  Maybe I can handle it, but it just doesn't seem like it at this moment.  I hope that's all it is.

I am going to get back to work, as I won't leave everything until C comes back, even though she's told me to do something to that effect - she's worried about me, but she had to take care of herself first, and I understand that.  I should have stepped up last week and just said, "fuck finances", but that's not how I operate.  

She told me today that I'm selfless.  I told her thank you, and that it might be the death of me someday, and I mean that - I'm starting to feel that wear on me, too...it's time, I guess, to start thinking of myself and fuck everything else.

Do I mean that?  Who knows, the year is still young...and the people in office are still screwing with my ability to make an honest living.

-AA

TwitHead

I've turned into a TwitHead, so to speak...I'm on Twitter an awful, awful lot...but, I'm enjoying myself!  Twitter reminds me of the days back when I was on Prodigy in the early 90's - we'd post and sign off (modem) and sign back on just to see what others had said...much easier now, obviously, but it's the same concept in many ways.  I've found a new pile of folks that have similar interests to me, as well, that I've been enjoying interacting with.

I really, really need to start writing more...in an odd head space, but am trying to break free from it.

-AA

Workaholic, me.

So, I'm working today...I've been working every day (at least part of the day) since January 23rd.  That means I'm on day 13...and don't plan on stopping until the 7th - C's birthday.  This really sucks.  


Part of the reason I'm working so much is I feel like I've put us into this situation (of not having our shop bring in enough money).  I have to realize that realistically we both did this to ourselves, and I shouldn't put all the weight on my shoulders to turn it around, but I am, and I know I am.  The other thing I need to realize is that C is taking time off for feeling sick, or taking a call, or whatever, and that's good that she can do that.  I want to be able to do that, but don't feel like I can.  I'm holding myself back/down, whatever, so that I can keep fighting at this.


I also realize that while doing this I could be doing more harm than good, by burning myself out, but somehow I feel like this justifies the means...I don't know how, still trying to figure that one out, I guess.

I'm very sore, very achy from sitting in a chair so much...my hips and knees hurt from exercise on top of all that (and we're not exercising that much, but I have arthritis in my knees and am pretty sure it's starting in my hips...not good).  I just feel kind of overwhelmed in a sense - that I have too much to do and if I stop doing it then it will just take us steps backwards, so I'm trying to keep going.


Maybe that isn't the best route to go - but, it's what I'm doing.

...


I really wanted to go out today, maybe have a nice lunch out, but C started feeling like crap.  I'm getting a bit concerned about her digestive health - seems her intestines are rebelling in her body from her eating healthier - I'm wondering if she doesn't have something going on...let's hope not.  

...


No going out for me.  I was offered the idea of going to Wal-Mart to pick up some more items for our store, and pick up a few personal things in the process, but I have no desire to do that today - if I go out I want it to be as an OFF piece of time.  Monday we'll be doing the Wal-Mart runs anyway.

Gah.  I'm also very hungry, but have it in my head that I shouldn't waste calories on random things.  I'm getting myself all twisted up - and I see myself doing it and know I'm doing it, but for some reason I don't want to stop this.  Maybe...well, maybe I want to let it build so I can outlet it in another form - maybe I will.  This is how I used to write - that was 20-22 years ago - I wrote my butt off, and always found myself in emotional situations so that I could do so.  Fuel for my fire.  Mental masochism.  Now?  I don't know...I have raw energy and have to find something to do with it.  


I'm very frustrated with myself and life today.  I'll figure it out, eventually.

-AA