If You’re Seeking Motivation to Work Out

I’m on the elliptical, feeling the burn in my thighs and my upper arms. My headphones are in my ears, but all I can hear is my heart pounding, and it’s not because of the workout. My eyes are on you while you’re working out, while you’re working up a sweat. My adrenaline is pumping, pushing me through the last fifteen minutes of my current regimen. There’s a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin and it’s hot to the touch. Watching you from the across the room is my motivation to keep going; the way the sweat glistens on your skin, the way you push yourself, the look of concentration on your face.

The timer reads fifteen and I ease my pace to nearly nothing before stopping. I feel loose and high and electric and inexplicably aroused, as I always do after a workout. My blood is circulating fast and I can feel my pulse everywhere. Stepping off the machine and onto solid floor is like walking on water; I feel ill at ease even though I seem to have sure footing. I make my way across the gym, heading for the locker rooms. I catch a last look at you, sneak it in, on the way there, raising my water bottle to my lips for a long chug, side-eying you as I pass by, watching you wipe your brow with your towel.

The locker rooms, like the gym, at this time of day, are deserted, and the sound of my footsteps echoes smartly through the cavernous space. I grab my towel from the locker and take off my trainers, replace them for flip-flops and head to a stall, unzipping my sweater on the way, till I’m standing just outside the curtain in my yoga pants and my sports bra, skin shiny with perspiration. I lean in and turn on the water, adjusting the handle all the way to hot and then I wait, still outside of the shower, listening to the pipes, waiting for the steam. There’s an ache starting in my shoulders that I know the heat will work it out just swimmingly.
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TMI Tuesday: What’s in a Name?

Pet Names & Body Parts
pet nicknames

1. Do you give pet names to anything? (e.g. Significant other. Car. Breasts. Penis. Vagina.)

Significant Others, lovers, car–nothing else really.

2. Is there a pet name that you can’t stand being called?

Not… really? o.O It’s more like… I only like when certain people call me pet names.

3. Has your body ever done something that you didn’t understand? Even if it was a ‘first time’ something happened?

Yes.

4. Which body part do you spend the most time on? (grooming, applying, etc.)

Probably my hair. It is down at my hips now and takes a lot of attention.

5. The name of the best lover you’ve ever had.

A lady never tells. *wink*

6. Have you ever taken an ex back?

Yes. Once bitten, twice shy—never again.

Bonus: What’s your biggest concern in the world today?

Global Politics.

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Music Appreciation Monday: The Story so Far

MaM

Feve might be upset that I present this song as the cover done by the indomitable Sara Ramirez of Broadway and small screen fame instead of by the soulful American Folk Rock singer who coined it, Brandi Carlile (though I do enjoy the original as well, Feve), but I assure you, Sara does it justice. It’s a beautiful song that I rediscovered after watching a particularly weepy episode of Grey’s Anatomy. The lyrics are beautiful.

 

Lyrics:
“The Story”
Covered by: Sara Ramirez

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true… I was made for you

I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
But baby I broke them all for you
Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do and I was made for you

You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of my friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess
No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what I’ve been through like you do
And I was made for you…

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true… I was made for you

Oh yeah, well it’s true… that
I was made for you.

More Stream of Consciousness

There is something about the moment, just after, I bask in the satisfaction, just for that moment, letting it seep into my bones, listening to the soothing tones of your voice, to your breathing as it becomes normal again, to mine, to the tiny noises I make, the whimpers and the soft sighs. There is no voice in my head for that moment, I am nothing but liquid, a person, yes, existing? Perhaps. Just… being.

And then the moment passes and am I strange in that I want you again, almost immediately after? I ruminated about this yesterday, in the moments of cooling and cleaning, how badly my desire was again, gnawing at me, a deep ache in between my thighs, something dull and hot and swimming in the back of my head.

Is it a symptom of what it is between you and I, that I can never get enough of you?

No. I think, rather, it is just you, and the way that my body hungers for you, the way that my body responds to you. The drop of a single octave can send my head swimming. The slightest suggestion, the merest glance. Sway. You hold sway over me. And isn’t that just another word for power? And isn’t that funny, that this is exactly what this is.

A Power Exchange.

Fatal Rambles and Calls it Writing

Driving downtown today, on my way to work, every telephone pole I passed, every street sign, had a square of cardboard crudely taped onto it. The message on every single piece said: “Who is ?” The scrawl was untidy, cramped, in black sharpie, permanent, no doubt. Subversive campaign tactics sparking curiosity in the hearts and minds of voters. The writing looks like the ample supply of homeless drug addicts that frequent downtown must’ve suddenly woke from their addled stupor and become politically minded–more like, knowing the character of would be politician, they were paid in the drug that poisons them, to write out hundreds of signs.

I feel particularly existential and the signs make me questions myself. Who am I? Who are any of us? As if by design the song Hotel California comes on my stereo and I automatically turn up the volume. Songs hold meaning for me, and in some cases, live as placeholders of memory, lending to visions, like clips from movie reels. Hotel California smells like Drakkar Noir cologne and citrus body wash, cocoa butter shampoo and clean linen and hot leather on a summer day in Florida. It smells like the musty attics of the theatre where we met, me ex-ex (how many now?) and I, and the old drop cloths where we used to sneak in quickies during rehearsal.

This song always seemed to drift onto the radio when we were together, necking in the back seat of my car like teenagers or laying in his bed before work with the windows open because AC costs too much to run before the true heat of summer. There was something sad and poignant about it and we only made love to that song. The me of then would have scoffed at that terminology–to “make love.” It offended me then, and disgusted me a little. But the grown woman here and now recognizes the mistake, that making love does not come from a relationship or from promises or words, it is the moment when things are different, intimate, quiet, sudden, strange–when bodies speak for minds and hearts and souls.

The specificity of his actions astounded me. I could anticipate when it would be different between us by the look in his eye, and the tempo that his breathing would take. He would stroke my hair and that, that would be a sign. Little moments of tenderness, unusual differences separating “making love” from our usual rabbit-like rutting in enclosed spaces and for public consumption.

The song brings a hint of memory of him, those smells, those visions swimming before my eyes, but I can no longer feel his calloused fingertips at the nape of my neck, and as quickly as the nostalgia rises, it fades away, and I realize that this song is not just for him anymore, that nothing that I have is his, and that the ways I thought, then, that he touched my life, no longer exist for me. I feel the last of him slough off from me, like so much dirt in the rain.

I carry memories and hurts and regrets and old aches pains in my heart and find it hard to let them away from me. I am always surprised when I free myself from another piece, and at the strange moments that it happens. The awful anniversary has come and gone in the midst of a busy, busy week and I have barely paid it mind. I am secure in the knowledge that sometimes, time can heal wounds and mend hearts. It is strange to find myself at peace lately, untroubled by anything deeper than the surface frustrations of my week, to find that anger (real and righteous and not at all uncalled for or improper) is the only thing I’ve been feeling. No hint of depression, overwhelming and forcing its way to the top, just real emotions for real reasons. All things irrational have ebbed away for now, retreating into the darkest corners of my head space, hiding in my psyche, laying in wait, for sure, but not active, not bothering me today or tomorrow, or even next week.

I listen to the song, all the way through, and don’t feel the panicky need to change it to save myself from the memories and the feelings. The song ends. Something else comes on. Like background music, I can hardly understand what it is, I am so lost in my thoughts, on auto-pilot almost as I drive, but not a bad auto-pilot.

Sir calls and I am reanimated as I speak to him, continuing my commute, happy just to hear his voice before my work day begins.

TMI Tuesday: Business as Usual

All Up In Your Business…

gladys-kravitz

1. What is the one word, in your vocabulary, that you use excessively? Don’t know…ask your friends and family.

“Like” and “fuck” haha. I’m such a lady.

2. If you had to have a sex change, what part of your body would you want enhanced more than anything else?

If I had to have a sex change to a man? C’mon. I’d want a big dick, of course.

3. You are not having a sex change, what part of your body do you want enhanced?

Man. I’d want someone to shave my shoulders down or make my ass smaller. That would be great.

4. When was the last time you felt possessive about someone?

I dunno… today… maybe? Yesterday? Who knows. I always feel pretty possessive over Sir, but not actively jealous.

5. When was the last time you got a wedgie and had to remove it in public?

I have honestly never done this… and would never. If this ever happened I would wait till I could get to a bathroom—sometimes I *am* a lady.

6. If the world froze for an afternoon and only you could move and no one could see you or remember what you did, what would you do?

Troll everyone/all the pranks. Rob a bank maybe? Run naked through the streets. Who knows? The world would be my oyster!

Bonus: What is your favorite sex toy of 2014?

Oh, definitely the Wahl or the speculum.

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Music Appreciation Monday: Because I’m in the Mood

MaM

This song puts me in all kinds of different moods. It helps me chill out, and it turns me on a little too–don’t ask me why, I’m a fucking weirdo. I’ve had a stressful Monday, so I’m really feeling this song today.

Lyrics:
“Passive”
by: A Perfect Circle

“Dead as dead can be,” my doctor tells me
But I just can’t believe him, never the optimistic one
I’m sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy
Wake up and face me, don’t play dead cause maybe
Someday I will walk away and say, “You disappoint me,”
Maybe you’re better off this way

Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic
I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been
It’s your right and your ability
To become…my perfect enemy…

Wake up (why can’t you) and face me (come one now),
Don’t play dead (don’t play dead)
Cause maybe (because maybe)
Someday I’ll (someday I’ll) walk away and say, “You disappoint me,”
Maybe you’re better off this way

Maybe you’re better off this way
Maybe you’re better off this way
Maybe you’re better off this way
You’re better of this; you’re better off this;
Maybe you’re better off!

Wake up (can’t you) and face me (come on now),
Don’t play dead (don’t play dead)
Cause maybe (because maybe)
Someday I’ll (someday I’ll) walk away and say, “You fucking disappoint me!”
Maybe you’re better off this way

Go ahead and play dead
I know that you can hear this
Go ahead and play dead
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
You fucking disappoint me!

Passive aggressive bullshit