sometimes i encounter the most unexpectedly beautiful people.

A group of us poolees (Marine Corps cleared/sworn-in enlistment candidates waiting on our ship date) visited the Marine Corps Museum today. It was a long long LONG trip, but it was kind of like going away with your spouse for a weekend. You get time away from your daily life to focus on your commitment and to remember why you fell in love in the first place.

It was also a really great opportunity to bond with my fellow poolees, most of whom I only see once a month. We’re all essentially on the same plan these days. Sure, we may all have separate lives and jobs and dreams, but we share the goal of wanting to earn the title of United States Marine. Ooh Fucking Rah.

Now, you may wonder, as a gal pal of mine did recently, how amazing is it to hang out with guys who have been cleared by the government (read: no drug use, no mental or physical illness, a desire to be big and bad) and have a desire to bring l their bodies into prime physical condition, if it’s not already there.

Well…I won’t get on my feminist soapbox. Another post, perhaps. Suffice it to say that believing I can not control myself in hitting on or objectifying my peers is disappointing. Just like we ladies scoff at the sleazy cad leering out his car window at us as we pass, it is equally important that we remember acting like we can’t think of guys without planning out our next boyfriend is just as abhorrent.

So. The trip. It was really great, and one of the nice things for me was the camaraderie. Like I mentioned in my last post, I be gettin’ lonesome, and I don’t see many people I can identify with on a day-to-day basis. I work with fifth graders, my friends are in college, and my little sister is still in high school. Most of my peers, if they’re still around here, have no intentions of ever leaving. It’s one of those tiny, black hole towns that sucks the energy out of everyone and makes it nearly impossible to pull free. So being around people like me, who are also from small towns, who are also joining the Marine Corps, and who are also awesome, are good people in my book.

Today was awesome, but what really made it great was the conversation we had on the way home. We talked about anything and everything: military policy, ethics, religion, sports, music, the fucking Illuminati. And what surprised me were the viewpoints. I thought a lot of them would be more close minded about certain topics, like gay people. Not rights, just the people. There were only two of us girls, and one of us was asleep. The rest of my conversational partners were straight, macho-type, conservative Christian guys, and, darn my stereotyping, I thought they’d have problems with it. But they didn’t. I have emotional ties to the topic, and it warmed my heart that much more for them to say, “I don’t care how people are. For someone to exclude somebody because they’re gay or whatever is juvenile.” Not the most eloquent support of gay rights, but a real one.

At any rate, I guess this is just my way to express how happy and thankful I am for the people who pass through my life, no matter if they are here for a moment or a lifetime.

[END OF SENTIMENTAL MUSING]

Here’s to loneliness

I really do revel in being alone. Today, I drove my brother to school, and it was only when he had gotten out, his backpack slung affectedly on one shoulder, puff-puffs of breath in the cold air marking his short trek to the warmth of the school, that I sort of relaxed, in a weird way. All the way home, I sang to myself and carried on one-sided commentary on whatever I pleased. It’s not that I’m crazy; I just enjoy the sound of my own voice.

I had the house to myself when I got home, so I changed into sweats, poured myself a glass of wine, and masturbated. If you’re into memes, I was essentially the embodiment of Foul Bachelorette Frog.

But that’s not all, oh no. I gave a great big F-U to all the neat little housework tasks I had planned for myself, as well as the run I had lukewarmly considered last night. I fucked around on the internet, ate a really weird lunch, and took a 3-hour long nap. I did, however, do the 300 movie abs workout I found on one of my favorite fitness blogs, Fitspoholic Barbie!

Now, don’t get too disgusted at this revolting description. This is hardly me every day, but one commonality of most of my days is the intensely satisfying sensation of being alone. Don’t get me wrong– when I psych myself up to go out, I have a great time. I enjoy getting all spruced up and seeing the sights. I don’t have social anxiety (I’m not a bog fan of public speaking, but hey, that’s life). However, something in my soul will always delight in walking around the house in my underwear or reading on the toilet, even when I’m finished going. A part of me will always celebrate spending hours on a meal that only I will ever see or consume. And somewhere down deep I will always get a warm rush of joy at the feeling of being able to go braless all day, scratching my boobs whenever and wherever I damn well please.

You may call it gross; you may call it antisocial. I call it freedom.

Cheers,
Un-Glib

Chronicles of a Social Networker: Facebook Detox

Below are the first results of my recent Facebook Detox. I was tired of all of it, so it’s deactivated. I didn’t delete it for a couple of reasons.

1: I can’t quite let go of the convenience of it altogether. All my friends in one place, digitally speaking? I can’t ask for anything better. I don’t have a Twitter or LinkedIn or anything else, so for now it’s my best bet to stick with a way to connect if I ever need it.
2: When I go to boot camp, I’ve gotta post my mailing address somewhere! Yeah, I’m gonna be that recruit.
3: I have a lot of really good pictures on Facebook that aren’t available anywhere else. I gotta be able to access ’em.

DIARY- FB Detox

Day 1
I feel fine. There were a couple of times when I thought, ‘Oh, this would make a good status/ caption/ whatever. But the thing I remind myself of is the fact that everyone important has my number– and a few people that aren’t important, for that matter. At the end of this, I think I’ll find that it was worth it. It shouldn’t be by accident or convenience that people contact me, and the idea that I would ever believe my worth or popularity is somehow tied up in the traffic to my Facebook page is stupid. It’s sad to admit that, but it definitely seems that way sometimes. It will make every deliberate interaction that much more meaningful.
So, Day 1. Here’s to 29 more successful days…and beyond!

Day 2
Easy, though admittedly, I have gotten my social networking fix by not only posting FOUR times to my blog, but by also reactivating my Tumblr. Remember that? Yeah, it’s a dim memory for me too. At any rate, I get a weird kind of satisfaction from being largely off the map. Yay for no withdrawal symptoms!!

Day 3
Tumblr has replaced Facebook in my life. I don’t feel bad though, because it’s an anonymous creative outlet, and that is good for me. I don’t miss it. Over and out.

Ever done a “detox?” What social networks have come and gone in your life? (MySpace, we’re looking at you.)

closure.

You were perfect.

You said what I needed to hear.

You told me I was wonderful

and beautiful

and strong

and smart.

I was a fresh face in a new scene

Worried that everyone already knew who I was

And equally worried that no one knew.

We sifted through it all together

Sorted out the whole place

We ruled our corner of that universe together and

We were perfect.

And then I left you behind

In our old corner of the universe.

I smiled at my new space

So happy to have a room all to myself

At first, but

Elapsed time and unresolved questions piled up above my head

The more there were

The emptier it became.

Weeks passed

Months burned away in silence and questions

Each of us in our own separate, newly-made corners

And sometimes I would wonder

What the universe looked like for you all the way over there

Because for me sometimes it was cold

And empty.

I couldn’t take the guessing

The wondering

So I grew a pair (even though you know I hate that phrase)

And I brought my piece of the universe right next to yours again

For this little space of time.

Now, as I hang up the phone

I don’t feel lonely

or guilty

or selfish

or worried that I forgot to say one of those thousands of things

lurking right below the surface for all of these months

You told me I was wonderful

and brave

and strong

and smart all by myself.

You said what I needed to hear.

You were perfect.

__________

As usual, gimme yer feedback. Please and thank you. Even if it’s two words. But it better not be.

xoxo,

Unglib

i’ll never know (i’m sorry)

i remember that snow ball fight that first night when neither of us had anything to lose

you came to my table and i couldn’t stop laughing

i didn’t know you but i knew i wanted to 

i followed you out into the cold and we were perfect for that moment

you put your arms around me and i wondered what it would be like to stay that way

all winter i waited

sitting in the library forcing myself not to wonder about you

you surprised me by reaching out

i surprised myself and reached back

i didn’t understand that you wanted me for me

you didn’t care that i didn’t believe in myself

in fact you couldn’t see my rough edges

just my smile, my wild hair, my shy advances

you tried to know what i wanted even though i didn’t know myself

trying to put together the puzzle pieces i was still shaping

 

i wanted your arms

i wanted your smile

i wanted your love

but i didn’t give mine

guarding my heart, scared to make the leap

 

that night, twin breaths

you thought you had broken through

i thought i had ruined it all

 

and yes, it’s my fault

when i walked away from your arms

that day in the city

all the promises you wanted to keep

it was like a dream but i wouldn’t let myself fall asleep

 

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

what we had won’t ever be here again

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

 

I wish these words made up for everything i never said

the clues i never gave

to help you win the game you didn’t know you were playing

to help you kill the dragons you didn’t know you were slaying

 

and now i can’t think of you without feeling guilty

and lonely

and the first moment when you sat at our table and made me smile

and the night we slept on that couch

and the day we had coffee

and the time you found out I was ticklish

and how my friends wondered how we had what we had

and the days i spent wanting more of you

 

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

 

and i can’t tell you how proud i am of you

and how i have no right to be

and how i cheer for you in my mind

every week

and how you are the smartest strongest most beautiful man i ever knew

and how i can’t think of your arms without wishing i was in them

my head on your chest

 

it’s all gone now

we could have been beautiful

and i know you tried

and i wish you knew

i’m sorry

____________________________

I guess I should’ve given warning, but I hate putting any kind of foreword (AKA disclaimer) on my work. Read it, think about it and then hear my blab on.

But anyways, I listened to Taylor Swift’s new album more than I care to admit, and the girl’s gotten me through the rougher bits of my relatively recent breakup. So, I guess it makes sense that her emotional song-write-y style wormed its way into my mind. Expect more of the same.

As always, comments/likes/nods of approval are ALWAYSALWAYSALWAYS welcome. Still waiting on that first comment…it would be a great thing for a new blogger to get some feedback…nudge, nudge, wink, wink…

 

Love and corny country music,

Unglib

arugula

It was really only her hair that forced me to leave the warm, still moment that existed inside the car.  I didn’t know why, but as the unruly black curls whipped past my windshield, I wrapped the tangle of my hole-y gray scarf– the first I had ever knitted myself, and my favorite– around my face, looped my finger through my keyring, and opened the door into the wind.

 

That same morning, I sat on the edge of my bed. The left side, not the familiar right which was the closer to the wall. It was warmer than usual in the room, despite the heat quickly escaping through the cavernous maw of the open door. I shivered slightly for no particular reason. My breasts hung pendulously before me, slightly tender and bared to the morning air of the room.  Always, he greeted them first, but not in a way that made the tiny sometimes-feminist residing somewhere in the suburbia of my mind indignant. It was what he always did before we made love, so that made the gesture more romantic than objectifying, I suppose.

 

He would cup them gently and kiss along the collarbone, out to the shoulders, one at a time. We would lay back on the bed, and I would pull him down to me, hips first.

 

It turned out that she was shorter than I had guessed from the car, the top of her head probably only just reaching my chin. I didn’t approach her at first; I casually inspected peppers as she lingered over the romaine. I found it odd that she would do that; I promised myself that I would share with her my sentiment that romaine is overrated and only worth a second glance in comparison to iceberg, but comparing anything to iceberg is really meaningless. She would laugh and remember, and always choose arugula or chicory after that.

 

I remembered him gingerly picking his way over me and off of the bed– it was he who had kept me from my traditional spot, inadvertently. I had been in that misty half-dream world when he had gotten up, and that brief bit of consciousness had lapsed into another, bizarre dream sequence, as tends to happen in those strange moments that bridge sleep and waking. When I came to, I decided not to replace the oversized Florida t-shirt that lay crumpled on the floor and instead wandered, bare, down the hallway, my hair a wild beast leaping in all directions from my scalp. I discovered him in the kitchen, eating cereal. He smiled at me through a mouthful of the Cheerios I kept for him. He did not look at my breasts. I suppose they did not hold the allure of the night before. It was strange, for some reason, although his lack of attention wasn’t new. Kissing him on the forehead, I returned to the bedroom, tugged on carelessly paired jeans and sweater, and slipped out the door, letting myself out with an excuse of milk or bread.

 

It was then, in the parking lot of the grocery, I became immobile, obstinate. Leaving the car would mean retrieving the milk or bread or whatever other atonement I would purchase for my lie which would mean returning to the house with the cereal and the warmandcold room, and I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want his mouth on my shoulder or his cereal on my shelf or his body warming mine. When I saw her, she became my answer. It was not an excuse, and it was not a rebellion; it was a truth. I would make her laugh with my outrageous opinions on lettuce, and, suddenly, he would no longer have a place. I wondered what her hair felt like.

___________________

My first effort. Written in one sitting, and exploring some bisexual tendencies I haven’t sorted out. I enjoy writing about freedom and sexual rebellion with the aim of figuring yourself out. Also, I seem to enjoy pissing of my significant others. That probably played a small part here.  Any feedback is more than welcome. Seriously, if I get a comment, I may cry. Bring it on, betches.

Here are some questions to respond to if you just want to act as a soundboard or whatever:

What do you think about exploring bisexuality?

What do you think about pissing off your SO? (Heh heh. But really, comment.)

Does the story seem, I dunno, well-written? Realistic? Tangible?

Lemme know!

mama’s been busy.

Following are some of my musings, short stories, and poems that have worked more as cathartic measures than anything else. And I says to myself, Unglib, I says, you oughta publish them on this semi-anonymous blog o’ yers. And I think, what a swell plan! So, here we go. They’re all going to be posted separately so as to keep it all spaced out and add to the number of posts of this thing (hey, makes me feel productive). Stay tuned.