It's nice to be called beautiful. It's even nicer when it's someone other than my mother. I read a book about the 5 love languages - the premise being that everyone has a particular love language which is their 'first' tongue - a way of speaking and communicating with them that makes them feel loved and appreciated. The five love languages were: personal touch, words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, and gifts. I did the quiz a few years back - absolutely convinced in my stubborn self that it was absolute B.S. and a collosal waste of time, but I thought I would humour my boyfriend and the counsellor and take the test. My first love language is "words of affirmation". I laughed, because I was sure it would be "touch" - I mean, I love being touched, carressed, so why would I give two shakes what someone said to me or wrote me? The third was "acts of service".
I went home and was grabbing something from my night table drawer, when I had to pause. In my top drawer, I had a note from my son, a birthday card from my boyfriend, a handmade bookmark saying "you're the best mommy" and a few other notes I ran my fingers over. So here was the evidence. I am a 'words of affirmation' person. I feel loved, cherished, appreciated when someone writes the words down or utters them, these are the words that make my heart sing.
Skip forward to 'you're beautiful'. These words were uttered to me many, many moons ago. I was 18 and in a dry bar (unheard of now, but back in Saskatoon in the 90's, there was a bar you could go to that didn't serve alcohol). I had come to Saskatoon to pursue higher education, but really I had come to escape the small town life and live in the big metropolis of Saskatoon. I wanted to be a big city girl, and here I was, standing next to a 2nd year Engineer, still sweating from dancing with him to Autograph's "Turn up the radio", and almost swooning when he said "you're beautiful." I'm sure I responded with something sexy like "neato" but I honestly don't remember.
What I do remember is him offering to give me a ride home, and me, very naively, accepting. I also remember him driving me to a park and wanting to make out a little. I was a little nervous but thought I could handle a kiss or two - but was pulling the plug when it turned into a full out, knock down, mach-3 grope session - the man sprouted hands and arms like an octopus - all the while, sucking my face like a full on incubus. I managed to push him away, and tell him that I wanted to go home. He laughed and said "not until I'm done with you" and grabbed the door handle I was trying to push open.
It was at this point, I got scared and reacted in a true Serena fashion. I turned back to him, grabbed a HOLD of his crotch, and, while squeezing, I said "If you don't let go of that door handle, you will be singing soprano for the rest of your life" with a very incessant clench at the end to reiterate my point. Beauty in the eye of the beHOLDer - I checked off all three love languages: words of affirmation (I was very affirmative as to what I was about to do if he didn't let me go);personal touch - having your fingers digging into a scrotum doesn't get much more personal than that; acts of service - oh, I was servicing myself just fine. Bottom line - it was beautiful.
note: I am not advocating that people should put themselves in dangerous positions. What I do advocate is that we find the courage to look after ourselves when needed - therein lies the beauty.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Shit happens
Here we go. So I've been busy. So I've been really busy. I've been driving a lot - some of it fun, some of it not so fun, but what really matters at the end of the day - is I am mother frickin' tired. I average about four hours of sleep a night (before you go there, it's for all of the wrong reasons - well actually some of the reasons are right, just not sexual) and so I spend quite a bit of my day yawning, drinking caffeinated beverages, chewing gum, etc. for the first few hours of my day and then I get into the swing of things.
At least, I USUALLY get into the swing of things. Yesterday, not so much. Warning - what you are about to read might very well fall under the 'TMI' section of your brain, and yeah, it's embarrassing as all hell to me so why not share it with an indiscriminate world.
So again - here we go. Yesterday started off like every other day. I yawned, I yawned, I drank water, I brushed my teeth, I yawned some more and then drank my coffee. I came into work and still felt tired (my eyes were puffy and dry - sensitive to light like I'm some albino mole emerging from the cave) so I decided to drink some more coffee; but not just any old coffee - coffee from the pods that are available to me here at work. I then went into a long strategic meeting, and proceeded to drink some more coffee...and then my guts let me know that this alien coffee was not sitting well, that it was proving itself to be a very strong diarrhetic and I best change locations - and SOON!
So, listening to my body, I proceeded into the bathroom. Now, my day job has an enlightened look on bathrooms. They like the not-quite unisex but let's call it communal approach to bathrooms. You walk through a glass door and there's a "his" bathroom to your left, and a "hers" bathroom to your right - but no doors are in between, because everybody likes it when it echoes when they're doing their business on either side. I mean, how can I get an applause break if you can't hear how masterfully I tinkle, fill and flush a toilet?
Anyway, I went into the stall the farthest from the door, closed the stall door, fumbled with the buttons on my pants and proceeded to do my business - courtesy flush almost as soon as I sat down. I told you, my stomach was hurting, my guts screaming and so I wasn't exactly sure how long I would be sitting on the throne...so I gamed it. Yeah, I did. I pulled out the trusty solitaire on the phone and played while the hot flush of desire (to excrete)passed. I heard someone come in, so I held out, hoping they would do their business and leave so I could finish doing mine. I didn't bother to look up or try and watch for feet - I mean, I was struggling not to just flush and flush to hide my body's desire to cleanse its colon...I heard the splash of water which signalled they were washing their hands, the slight pause in front of the mirror (really lady, is this the time to be vain? Are you Snow's evil step mother Queen?) and then they were gone - and I was able to finish what needed finishing.
Finally my body was ready to go back to the world of the working, and I got up and proceeded out of the stall. Then stopped. dead in my tracks. In my bleary-eyed exuberance to get to the stall, I had failed to shut the stall door. I started to giggle - all I could think about was this poor woman who had come in, washed her hands, turned around and saw me, sitting on the throne, flushed from my effort, one hand on a phone - thumbing my next solitaire move, and the other hand poised to do a courtesy flush on the chance I let one go. So yeah, shit happens.
At least, I USUALLY get into the swing of things. Yesterday, not so much. Warning - what you are about to read might very well fall under the 'TMI' section of your brain, and yeah, it's embarrassing as all hell to me so why not share it with an indiscriminate world.
So again - here we go. Yesterday started off like every other day. I yawned, I yawned, I drank water, I brushed my teeth, I yawned some more and then drank my coffee. I came into work and still felt tired (my eyes were puffy and dry - sensitive to light like I'm some albino mole emerging from the cave) so I decided to drink some more coffee; but not just any old coffee - coffee from the pods that are available to me here at work. I then went into a long strategic meeting, and proceeded to drink some more coffee...and then my guts let me know that this alien coffee was not sitting well, that it was proving itself to be a very strong diarrhetic and I best change locations - and SOON!
So, listening to my body, I proceeded into the bathroom. Now, my day job has an enlightened look on bathrooms. They like the not-quite unisex but let's call it communal approach to bathrooms. You walk through a glass door and there's a "his" bathroom to your left, and a "hers" bathroom to your right - but no doors are in between, because everybody likes it when it echoes when they're doing their business on either side. I mean, how can I get an applause break if you can't hear how masterfully I tinkle, fill and flush a toilet?
Anyway, I went into the stall the farthest from the door, closed the stall door, fumbled with the buttons on my pants and proceeded to do my business - courtesy flush almost as soon as I sat down. I told you, my stomach was hurting, my guts screaming and so I wasn't exactly sure how long I would be sitting on the throne...so I gamed it. Yeah, I did. I pulled out the trusty solitaire on the phone and played while the hot flush of desire (to excrete)passed. I heard someone come in, so I held out, hoping they would do their business and leave so I could finish doing mine. I didn't bother to look up or try and watch for feet - I mean, I was struggling not to just flush and flush to hide my body's desire to cleanse its colon...I heard the splash of water which signalled they were washing their hands, the slight pause in front of the mirror (really lady, is this the time to be vain? Are you Snow's evil step mother Queen?) and then they were gone - and I was able to finish what needed finishing.
Finally my body was ready to go back to the world of the working, and I got up and proceeded out of the stall. Then stopped. dead in my tracks. In my bleary-eyed exuberance to get to the stall, I had failed to shut the stall door. I started to giggle - all I could think about was this poor woman who had come in, washed her hands, turned around and saw me, sitting on the throne, flushed from my effort, one hand on a phone - thumbing my next solitaire move, and the other hand poised to do a courtesy flush on the chance I let one go. So yeah, shit happens.
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