The Fourth....apologies and fantasies

See? I told you I was no good at keeping a journal. Too many things going on, with Christmas comes: house cleaning, prezzie buying and wrapping, cooking, work, work, work....

Also financially, well, let's not go there, shall we?

So, apology taken care of, now for the fantasy...

What is it about the above photo that sparks fantasies? Well, damn, just look at it, for starters...who wouldn't want a hot, helpless man sitting in the corner of an elevator just looking at you, wondering what you are going to do to him, what you will expect of him?

Ignoring the tennis socks for the moment, look at the expression, the whole composition of it, like you've just hit the emergency stop button and thrown him to the ground....and he is waiting for you, this perfect stranger, to have your way with him...this is sex on legs, or in this case, sex on his perfect butt.

He's a little scared, a little apprehensive, a little excited, a little turned on despite himself...he knows there's no way out, that you are in control....and that's where you see that spark of aggression, that tightening around the eyes that challenges you, c'mon, vixen, do your worst, I can take it and give it back ten-fold. He dares you with those blue eyes, dares you to finish what you started.

And isn't that every woman's hidden little reverse rape fantasy?

Trust, I have been in this situation, not with him mind you, but still...it is not what your libido and the movies tell you it is. But perhaps that was more the company then the event? Doubt it, I was very into the boyfriend in question, but it didn't feel as dirty or as naughty as this picture implies it would be. More terrifying and odd....

But....that's reality farting in the fantasy of your closed, stopped elevator....

So back to the fantasy and to hell with reality, it's never as good....

This picture promises you everything you could want from the forbidden and naughty encounter about to take place here, this picture promises you that the fear of those doors opening and your mum and boss walking in together and finding you only heightens the thrill of having your way with this gorgeous hunk of man.

Save your candlelit dinners with conversation. Save the long, shoe-less, moonlit walks on the beach for afterward. This guy is all about the down and dirty. This guy is all about ripping off buttons and pulling down zippers with your teeth. This guy is walking pornography. He's about the sweat and the wordless moans. He's about the passion. He's about the animal.

He's the one that when the doors open you go your separate ways, without looking at each other, and push through the throngs who've been waiting to get on the elevator....they sense something has happened there, they see your JBF hair and his tousled blond locks, they see you holding your blouse closed with one hand and him half tucking his button-less shirt into his jeans, they see your far off look and his sly grin. They smell you both, they smell the sweat, they smell the animal, and they wait for the next car, a little scared about getting in the one you two were just in.

This photo is about what should happen. This photo leaves you knowing that what started out with you being the hunter, ended with you being the willing, if clawing and scratching, prey.

This photo is about the tables turning. You; the aggressor, seeing what you want and throwing it to the ground without a second's hesitation...but then suddenly things change, and he fights back, tears at your clothing, and it ends with mutual aggression and satiation.

Yes, I can build that big a story around a still shot of a sex god. Yes I can.

I have many more. Some are romantic too :-)

And in closing, as an afterthought......once the animal returns to his den, he is exhausted, and thrilled, and still dirty-sweaty...he can barely stagger through the door before collapsing thusly and dreaming of the vixen on the elevator.....


Until next time, and next photo, in harmony

IrishRed

The Third.....um....jobs??? Dreams? Dogs??? Random.

See? I am trying, even though nothing of any note happened today, even though nothing sparked any deep rooted feelings, memories or peeves....I am here...writing, well, not writing much as it turns out.

So, today, the topic is......How to start a topic.

Like breaking the ice at a party with people you don't know. What do you ask? What is it you want to know about them, or them you? A recently rediscovered friend of mine (thanks, Facebook) who I had not seen for over, well, let's be nice and say, 25 years, said to me a couple of months ago how he hated it when the first thing people asked each other was "so, what do you do?" Illustrating the fact that, like it or not, this is a class based society where what you do DOES show, to a certain extent, who you are. At least to this stranger's eyes.

Before he'd even said it I had been thinking that there was something refreshing about the couple of hours we'd spent together, chatting in the coffee shop, like old friends, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then I realized that it was because he had NOT asked me, once, what I did with my days. Just various questions about me. Books, movies, hobbies etc.

He understands that where we spend our days does not, definitively, define who we are. Sometimes we work the job because that's what we ended up being handed, not out of any great love or need to do what we do, some people work to live, not live to work.

Having grown up with a workaholic father, and having dating a workaholic for many years as a result, it was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn't obsessed with what he, or anyone else for that matter, does for a living.

I am a dog groomer. I own my own business. Do I love dogs? You bet. Did I dream of nothing but grooming them for the rest of my life when I was a small girl? Nope. I dreamed of being an actor, a private investigator, an entertainer, a horse trainer, being married to Simon Le Bon, or Roger Taylor, or Scott Baio..... The job fell in my lap when I needed it, so I took it. Then the business fell in my lap at a good time, so I took that too.

Am I fulfilled in my 'chosen' career? Eh. It pays the bills, sometimes. Do I wake up each morning champing at the bit to get to work....some days, sure, others? Nope. Does it beat an office job (of which I have had my share)? Hands down, any day. But it has it's headaches, believe you me. People who assume it's a Mickey Mouse job, 'playing with dogs all day', who never think of the biters, the squirmers, the jumpers, the head tossers, the fact that we have very sharp scissors around eyes, and paws, and butts all day hoping desperately that they won't move now or else we have some unpleasant news for the owner.

The fact that, amazingly enough, groomers seem to have all sorts of powers that, in fact, we do not have. The ability, for example, to give a dog warts, or a urinary tract infection, or arthritis. We get accused of 'ruining' a dog's character because the owner never taught it to be handled for anything other then a pat now and again, and is then shocked when the dog gets a bad 'report card' for being awkward for it's nail trim, or bath, or face trim.

I could rant for hours. But I am tired, I need some down time. I am not going to get it, but I need it all the same. I shall rant more later, I am just happy that I didn't let my lazy side get the better of me, it would have been so much easier to have not written anything at all....

Until next time. In Harmony

IrishRed

The Second.....Parties

Wow. Amazing. Two days, two posts. Let's see how long I can keep it up.

Tonight was the Christmas Office Party. I was supposed to meet two people from my business there, hoping to not be the only one...again. The first one met me outside, said she couldn't stay, something had come up. She had just stopped by to return some of my DVD's and to pick up something I had of hers. I convinced her to at least come inside for a minute. (the other one never showed at all, delayed by shopping friends.)
We entered the house, were greeted by Mike, the ever gracious host, with hugs and cursory cheek kisses. He smiled and took the bag containing the bottle of Glenfiddich I had brought for him as a thank you for various things he has done for me and my dogs over the year, he is truly a great man; selfless, thoughtful, extremely intelligent, 100% devoted to his lovely wife and their three kids.
He took our coats and disappeared upstairs with them, retuning moments later to offer beverages. He led me to the kitchen, I peered into a cooler brimming with ice and beer, chose a Kilkenny which he opened for me before wandering off to host some more.

I wandered around for a while, saying my hello's, holding the can of beer like a shield, before ensconcing myself in the corner of the brown leather couch by the fire to sip hops and people watch.

The dog of the house, a large, shaggy chocolate brown Labradoodle (designer mutts... a topic for another day) made his way over to me and sat on my feet, looking up at me with sad, brown eyes, "poor you," he seemed to say "all alone at a Christmas party....don't worry, I'll hang with you for a while".

I stroked the dogs' shaggy head and continued to watch. Why is it that every interesting man I see is already attached? Where did they meet? How? What do they see in each other? What is their relationship like? How do I get in on that? And how is it (not that I noticed it at this party, just in general life) that some truly awful people have found, somehow, mates?

I reflected, as this is the time of year for that when you are single, dateless, alone surrounded by couples, on my failed relationships, hoping that they had left more lessons then scars, but worried that it was the other way around.
Wondered, not for the first time, that if Mr. Right presented himself in front of me would I notice? Would I assume that he was talking to me to get to my friend? Would I panic and find some non existent flaw with him that was insurmountable? Would I just think: I can't do this, he'll get to know me, I'll get to love him, he'll leave me, and I'll have another failed relationship to reflect upon at the next installment of this party.

Self fulfilling prophesy, I know, but I wonder what it is that the other girls have that I don't, what do they have that let's them date and laugh and love and trust that I do not have? What do they have that enables them to live while I sit on the sofa with a dog on my feet and watch them do it?

Why is it that I am afraid to let someone in? Even my last boyfriend, who I was with for a very long time, had no idea who I really am. Was that because he didn't want to know? Or because I didn't want him to know?
It can't all boil down to my father, can it? Haven't I outgrown that yet? The beliefs he instilled, and still does try to instill, in me about how men are all after one thing, they can never be trusted, they will never be true, they all have ulterior motives ....My head knows these to be untrue, but the rest of me always reminds me of his lessons. But he's another story for a different day.

So, why do I diet, why am I trying so hard to shed 30 pounds? For me? Unlikely, I don't see myself that way, but when I used to be slim....the looks I'd get, the appreciative, furtive glances, the attention...I liked it, I miss it, I want it back.

Has society made me think that way? That without being thin and beautiful I am not worth it? Society + my dad? How do I make that stop? I know that I am a good person, a caring person, I am smart, funny, thoughtful, kind, fairly easy going....but I look at my friends....they're all married, most have homes and kids and lives...I have my dogs. Not the same.

I had a client whisper to me the other day, about a girl she knew: "39 years old....never married, something is wrong with that girl...." Sad, non, that in this day and age there is still a huge stigma attached to a single, adult woman. It's fine if you've been divorced a gazillion times, all that shows is that all those men wanted to marry you, not that you failed to make good choices...but to not be, at the very least, a divorcee by the time you're 30 means that there is something wrong with you.

Nice.

But I am afraid to meet people, I am afraid that they won't like me, or they will like me and I won't like them, or I'll like them but they won't like me, or we'll like each other for a while and then they'll cool off and I'll get the "it's not you...it's me....you're a great girl and I want to stay friends" speech...or even worse, just nothing....no phone call, no explanation.....nothing ...so I do nothing to remedy that. I just sit and watch everyone else living their lives and I scratch the dogs head, I wonder about them instead.

This has got to change.

Until next time, in harmony

Irish Red

The First...Music

I sit here contemplating my blank screen, wondering where to begin.
I remember how I used to do this sort of self therapy, it was called a diary. Hand written, each year starting off January 1, 198(enter year here), and it would make it to about January 4, 198same year before I would start thinking: "I can't today, no time, I'll do it tomorrow"...
I guess this is that tomorrow.

December 12, 2008.

Why start a blog at all? Does anyone read blogs that aren't created by celebrities or friends? My gut feeling is 'no'. But still, it's a place to express yourself, non? To un-saddle yourself, to discover what you are encumbered with and, well, un-encumber yourself. What blogs to I read? My sisters' (http://www.roverexposure.com/wordpress/), my friends' (http://www.80spro.blogspot.com/), the various members of Duran Duran (http://www.duranduran.com/wordpress/?page_id=14005), Lainey's Gossip (http://www.laineygossip.com/) .....see my point?
Why do I want to start one? I guess it's that need to write again, I used to write a lot, 'back in the day', as my young, young co-workers would say, I wrote journals, short stories, remarkably bad poetry, even a novel once with my high-school cohort, Karen G., I was published too, in The Toronto Star short story contest. I was a runner up with a story that I had written at the tender age of 15. The judges contacted me and told me that my story was too 'sophisticated' to be included in the children's section, so they bumped it to the adult group.
So, instead of winning the first place prize of a computer and printer, I got the great honour of 'runner up' and a $50 cheque.
Was I bitter? Well, maybe a little bit. I REALLY wanted that computer....

Last Tuesday night, December the ninth, I went to see Duran Duran yet again at the ACC with my high-school cohort. Perhaps that is what sparked this need to write. Remembering who I used to be, who I have become, and who I was in between. Maybe I need to write down some memories before they fade.

As we stood, screaming our 30 something heads off in the crowd just as I had done for the last 26 years of seeing them in concert, I thought how wonderful it was to still be able to feel that, to recapture, if only for a night, what it was like to have been a young teenage girl, idolizing after and having impure thoughts of these ungettable gets.
And I was also struck by the realization that I was now not JUST lusting after the ungettable gets but also, perhaps for the first time, live anyway, appreciating the music.

sigh.

Grown up.

Sure, scream, yell: "I love you Simon, I love you Roger" as I always had (rather more shamefaced now than then perhaps, after all I am a grown up) but to also listen...LISTEN to how beautifully John Taylor can handle that bass of his, LISTEN to how evenly Roger can beat those skins and keep the whole thing going, LISTEN to the subtleness of Nick's keyboards, and LISTEN to just how well Simon Le Bon's pipes have matured into something even MORE raw and melodic.
It was an odd moment, caught between the swooning teen and the appreciative adult. Still a few thoughts of "will they notice me?" dealt right beside the thoughts of how lucky I felt to have been able to see them one more time. To realize that they ARE musicians, not some boy band who rely on dancing and pretty faces, but who rely on, sure, being pretty, but being pretty with talent.

Perhaps that is the problem I have. There are bands I like now, The Killers, Kid Rock, a few others, but the music of the '80's was different. It had it's own sound, sure, a lot of the bands relied on their hair more then their skill, but there were others, Simple Minds, Adam Ant, The Fixx, Echo and the Bunnymen, Oingo Boingo, Shriekback, Tears for Fears, Duran Duran, ABC, Culture Club, Paul Young, Level 42, Haircut 100, The Stray Cats...who all had their 'thing' of course, but also had the music.
Many of them had their roots in the '70's, often in the punk field, often with many of the same people who they claimed fame with in the '80's and beyond.
They brought new life, new sound.
They brought new romantics, they brought ska, they brought blitz, they brought techno, they brought rock-a-billy, they brought double basses and electric keyboards, they brought drums and piano, they brought bass solo's, they brought more interesting vocals, they brought some meaningful lyrics, some poetry, some gibberish...and they brought their souls.

I don't see a lot of souls in '00's. I see a lot of hype, marketing, pyrotechnics, choreography...not a whole lot of souls anymore.
They are there, I'm sure, but not with the same bold-faced rawness that they used to be.

Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe I'm being an old fart with the complaints about "the kids of today with their loud music and their big pants, you call this music? In MY day we had.....", but my co-workers, the oldest of whom is 25, have echoed my statements about the bulk of today's music.
They listen to Zeppelin and The Beatles just as much as Feist and much more then Justin Timberlake. However they did have the nerve to ask the question "who are Duran Duran?"...I will just say "get off my lawn, and your Christmas Bonus' have been reduced."

Ok, sure, Rio might have danced on the sand with her cherry ice cream smile....but isn't that nicer than having you naked by the end of this song?

Until next time, in harmony.
IrishRed