Tag Archives: men

base

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My oldest nephew has reminded me about “base”.  Nothing can get you at “base”.  Base is perhaps the most important thing.  And I’m really glad that in play, kids have something to run to where all of the scariness stops and they are control.  When they are on base, they stop the world and process the chase, the overstimulation of the craziness and then when its time to go again they re-enter the game.

The sufferer of ptsd (I’m trying not to capitalize it, I think that’s great advice.  Thanks, A!) frequently feels chased.  I’ve got a thing or twelve on my emotional plate right now.  I have about 4 family relationships I am working on right now.  We still don’t have our stuff from the pirates and that is winding down, I hope we may have our stuff by Christmas.  My new job is great and not easy.

E and I continually work to connect to be “base”.  It is so good.  It’s really hard right now.  The pirates have our bed.  This weekend in a hotel was the first time we’ve slept together in a bed since 9/25.  And we are working so hard to keep our emotional connection sweet.  I’m really lucky, because the air mattresses and other sleeping arrangements have led us both to a lot of back pain through this ordeal and it’s not getting us down.  We’re just taking care of each other.

After a really hard week, A texts me….  She simply says, “I bet you look beautiful and your hair smells like strawberries”.   I laugh because she was close, 3000 miles away and my hair smelled like pumpkins.  My best friend is the master of sweet understatement, she can say better in 9 words what I was trying to tell you in 1,200.  And she smells like caramel, but she doesn’t have to put stuff in her hair to create a scent like I do.  A is “base”.  A is bass to my melody.

I am “base”.  I keep the motion and the flow in my life.  I swim the channel of shadows toward the light.  I love and forgive and connect and sting when I harm people and get pissed off when I have to do the right things and it’s hard.  I try to stop when I can’t and I try to go when I should.  And I learn from my little wild guru nephew about base and safe and stop.

Spiritual Self Abuse?

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A lot of veterans with PTSD can’t stop watching war movies.  It is very common for people with PTSD to have trouble avoiding media that involves the subject of their trauma.  If I see a documentary on cults or religion or bible history, I will watch it obsessively.  I can’t watch movies like “Passion of the Christ” because I can’t watch violence without becoming seriously upset inside for hours.  So, I generally stick to documentaries, etc.

This is compulsive behavior for me, and since I got dealt OCD from my PTSD and have been living in a lot of stress with a new job and no stuff…  It’s been acting up.  Like my eating disorder and trichotillomania (2 not 1 for those keeping track at home) have been acting up.  I’ve been really angry for this mess of wiring in my head, and I’m still hunting for a good fit in a therapist.

“Well, you’re in the Bible belt”, is something I hear a lot at work.  And I need to learn to not let my compulsions out of my mouth via words at work.  Because one of the most successful industries here is the “church industry”, and I have been tasked with a project involving the “church industry”.  I could have turned it down in the beginning, but I didn’t want to and I was so intrigued.  But it would have been the most self-loving thing to do.

While working on this project, it’s brought a lot of churchy energy around me.  People see me working with media and iconography.  I am really into it, because I am marketing to churches and I can’t wait to see if it works.  I am so fascinated by this challenge, you know and nauseated.  People come into my work space and talk and then they talk to me about their faith.  I should probably put up some kind of boundary, but I don’t because I am sickly fascinated by how every one of them has translated and integrated a book differently.  It’s so interesting.

Yesterday was a hard day though.  I got whistled at in the hall.  I believe this was meant as a compliment.  I almost lost my shit.  To me it feels like.  Don’t forget that someone is always watching you.  Even when you think you are alone in a hallway, someone is watching you and sexualizing you.  Don’t forget you are never safe.  I told my coworker and he said that was an awesome compliment and he wishes he would get whistled at.  So that sucked.  Yesterday when this coworker said, “well you’re in the Bible belt…”  I told him that I never wanted suspenders so bad.

Then when wrapping up phase 1 of my project (yay I get a break!!!).  Someone was talking to me about their beliefs and it was ok.  He’s an animated talker.  I was sitting, he was standing.  He was talking about how people think that god the father will punish us forever in hell.  Then he said, “would a father punish a child forever?”  When he said that he was moving his arm for dramatic effect, his arm was over my head and I was looking up.  This had the effect of making me very small feeling.  His arm was coming down repeatedly (like ten times) and his hand was in the exactly grip that Pastor’s was when he was holding the PVC pipe.

I didn’t cry.

I talked to him about his loving views.  He smiled and went away.  Defense systems passed the test and all was well.  I came home about 5 hours later and lost my shit.  It was a bad day at work.  I didn’t want to go to bed, because we can’t sleep together and I really wanted to snuggle up.  So I’m up after 4.5 hours sleep ready to bang out the last day of the work week.  Tired, fragile.

good ol boys

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The South is fantastic and weird.  It is so beautiful here.  I work with about 38 guys and two other girls.  I am very grateful that my experience has trained me for environments like this.  Especially since my professional environments have been high in vitamin estrogen since I left corporate IT.

It’s interesting to talk to the other two women, they are at that place where they don’t know if they can trust women in the workplace.  I am modeling trustworthiness to them.  I am modeling good will, because I remember when I was there.

I have been confronted toe to toe about my knowledge and experience by the alpha male, in public.  I think he regrets that.  He thought this California girl would be a push over.  He thought that having his guys around would intimidate me.  But I am so grateful for my experience in public confrontation (thanks cult!!).  In public speaking, in business, in everything.  I had one hell of a tit for his tat.  And he has 20 years of experience in this technical industry, but when I pulled my 16 years of technical experience together and shot back.  His guys started to back down and walk away. Hit the bully once, big, publicly and with humor not anger (like he had).  Now he minds his own business and I got cred.

I wasn’t going to come out as bisexual because I am trying to practice personal boundaries and I didn’t want people all up in my business.  And I didn’t want the whispers and chortling of being a bi-chick among dudes.  I didn’t want that to be the only thing they remembered about me.  I at least wanted my 90 day probation to be overwith.  But I messed up the “pronoun game”.  And said she when talking about my ex, instead of letting them assume he.  It was only in front of my manager.  After that he had a vacation planned and he came back and it’s not an issue.  Except that he told me he’s too ugly to be gay.

Politically correct doesn’t really happen here and that is actually extremely refreshing to me.  Because they don’t care if you walk away if you don’t want to hear it.  And I do feel perfectly comfortable walking away.  I love that they’ve only known me at this age.  Everyone else has known me as a younger me, and people don’t see me as especially  young here.  That’s really liberating.

Everyone is mostly awesome and sweet.  Lots of Southern charm.  I love it.

an engaging tale

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07/30/11

When we were saving up for our relocation to North Carolina, I was working 2.5 gigs.  I only had one day off a week.  We wanted to have one last weekend in San Francisco because we love that town.  E was planning it and he asked me if there was anything I wanted to do in San Francisco that I haven’t done yet.  I wanted to see the buffalo.

Hotel Bijou

Hotel Bijou

He booked us a gorgeous room at Hotel Bijou!  Each room is named after a film that was shot or set in San Francisco.  Our room was “The Competition”.

 

And we went out to go see the bison at the park.  We walked and held hands.  I was expecting a thundering herd of 40 bison, as well as a cowboy playing harmonica.  That didn’t happen.  There were three very sleepy bison shaped logs.  One rolled over, so we are almost certain that there were three bison.

Golden Gate Bison

Click this for their frickin Yelp review

 

The park was all abuzz with getting ready for a marathon the next day; we drove through the winding streets.  It was so gorgeous; we jumped out and looked around a pond with a waterfall.  I think we frolicked, we definitely engaged in conviviality and hijinks.

Good for frolicking

Good for frolicking

 

The weather was perfect.  We decided to go to the redwood grove.  As soon as we walked into the grove there was a hush, it was like entering the most sacred space.  The energy was pure and we walked in silence.  I tingled.  We weaved through it, exploring separately and together.  I breathed in the trees.

 

Then we were looking for the perfect space.  I had a feeling it was coming, but I didn’t want to count on it and be disappointed or jump the gun and wreck it.

Cathedral or family groups of trees are simply trees that have grown up from the living remains of the stump of a fallen redwood, and since they grew out of the perimeter, they are organized in a circle. If you looked at the genetic information in a cell of each of these trees, you would find that they were identical to each other and to the stump they sprang from. They are clones! The only cathedral I’ll ever need.

We found this gorgeous curvy log, all the bark was gone and it was smooth.  From one side it looked like a beautiful pregnant woman.  Then we noticed it kind of looked like that from the other side too.  So we perched on the smooth, freaky double-pregnant log lady and snuggled up and kissed and said very nice things about each other to each other, loving each other like we do.  It was smooth and slick from the mist and I gracefully fell off the log and onto my ass on the dirt.  I got back on the log, very um, romantically.

I found that if I straddled a woody knob that I could gracefully stay on the alien lady log.  After laughing, we sat their silently.  A wind made my hat fly off into the path.  “REALLY” I said to myself…

E started to play around with something behind me.  I felt that it was time to make small talk so that he couldn’t tell that I could tell he was playing with something behind my butt.  I couldn’t really help but look and see what was going on so I started to turn around and he kissed me.  I leaned into him and then I tried to peek and he kissed me.  So, we went back to small talk and odd fiddling.

Then I heard Gene Kelly sing…  Singin’ in the Rain is our favorite movie and the first thing we found out that we had in common about 12 years ago.  He had been trying to get youtube on his phone through the fog and the trees and he had been buffering…

You Were Meant For Me on YouTube

I was so touched, I started crying immediately.  When the video paused, I said.  “I get it”.  We sang it to each other.  When we were almost done, the buffering ended and the video started again-interrupting us.  He stopped it.  We kissed through my tears.

He pulled out a ring that had a blue topaz as the main stone.  A stone that he had bought at an antique fair in Santa Cruz a year ago.  And he said, “You know, Suzi.  If you put this ring on it means that you want to be my wife.  Do you want to put the ring on?  Suzi, will you marry me?”  I said yes!  Then I had him ask me a few more times and slip the ring on a couple more times for fun.  We kissed a million more times.

Cliff House

Cliff House

We remained there for a while and then decided to go to dinner to celebrate.  I couldn’t drive because I was too mesmerized by my sparkly finger.

I walked up to the hostess and she asked for a name.  I said “Future Mrs. #######, Party of 2″!  She said, “Oh girl, let me see the ring!”

The dinner was amazing, the night was amazing.  The night at the room was not a competition, but a collaboration.  And all feels amazing in my soul and just as it should be.  This is my one.

way back machine 2

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Setting:  I’m 14.  We are in the pastor’s office.  He is in his big chair.  I am on the couch.  I was in trouble because it was found out that I hugged a boy that I was in a play with.

Pastor: So tell me what happened.

Teen Feisty: I saw C after rehearsal and he said, “give me a hug” and I did.

Pastor: That’s it?

Teen Feisty: yes.

Pastor: So, if any guy asks you for any sexual favor you give it to him?

Teen Feisty: What?

Pastor: He demanded a hug.

Teen Feisty: Well, he said it casually.

Pastor: And you gave it to him?

Teen Feisty: Well, yes.

Pastor: And that seems ok to you?

Teen Feisty: yes.  We all hug all the time.

Pastor: He’s different, he’s worldly.  When we hug it’s because of our love of each other and God.

Teen Feisty: Everyone there knows me and wouldn’t hurt me.

Pastor: A hug can be a sexual act.  Think about it, Suzi.  Your breasts were on his chest.  Your breasts were on his chest.  What did it feel like with your breasts on his chest?  Did it feel good?  Did you feel like a woman?

Teen Feisty: I didn’t think about it that way.

Pastor: What did it feel like?

Teen Feisty: Just a hug.

Pastor: You are getting big breasts, and every man that wants to hug you is going to want to feel them.

Teen Feisty:  What?

Pastor: You are not to talk to him again.

Teen Feisty: We’re friends!

Pastor: Better to lose a friend now than to be found unworthy later.

way back machine

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The setting:  I am 11 and I had a rash or something on my thigh.  Our pastor wanted to look at it because he had medical training and it probably didn’t need a doctor’s visit.  I am in the pastors big leather chair wearing a shirt and my underwear and a towel over my underwear.

Pastor: OK, let’s see the rash

(I show him and am careful to keep as much as possible covered because it’s at the top of my inner thigh.  I am really scared.)

Pastor: Hmmmmm.  It doesn’t look too bad.  Is it itchy?

Little Feisty: yeah.

Pastor: WHAT?

Little Feisty: Yes.  Sorry, Sir. Yes.

Pastor: It’s probably from your tights and dancing.  Do you wash them?

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: Are you clean down there?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Show me how you wipe after you go to the bathroom.

Little Feisty: um….

Pastor: You can show me over the towel.

(I pantomime for him, and it feels awful)

Pastor: OK good, that shouldn’t cause a rash.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: You might need to dance without tights for a while and I’ll have your mom sit you in an oatmeal bath.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: We need to have a talk.

Little Feisty: About what?

Pastor: Well, you’re in the older school with the older kids.

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: And you’re the youngest.

Little Feisty: yes (I was very self conscious about being in my underwear and a towel)

Pastor: Do you like any of the boys?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Do you think any of them are handsome?

Little Feisty: (I was silent for a long time, because I had two crushes and I was not sure where this was headed, but I had to come clean once I was asked) yes

Pastor: who?

Little Feisty:   J & B

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: What do you mean?

Pastor: What does it feel like when you are around them?

Little Feisty: I feel happy.

Pastor: What else?

Little Feisty: um…

Pastor: Do you feel it physically?

Little Feisty: I guess?

Pastor: where?

Little Feisty: um…. well (and I started to cry) I feel something in my vagina a little bit.

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: A little warm and tingly.

Pastor: And do you masturbate and think about them?

Little Feisty: NO

Pastor: you don’t?

Little Feisty: no

Pastor: You need to be very careful, you are growing up.  And getting toward a dangerous age.  Masturbation is a terrible sin.

Little Feisty: I don’t do it.  I know it’s a sin and I never have.

Pastor: I’m going to go talk to your mom, put on your pants.

Little Feisty:  ok

Then we went home.

how can it be this good

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Every touch.  Every kiss.  Every hug.  Every look.  Every time we cook and dance in the kitchen.  Every time we talk and come to resolution.  Every time we watch a movie and turn our bodies into snuggled up pretzels.  Every time we wrestle.  Every time we go for a walk and hold hands by the lake.  Every time we dance in the grocery store aisle because we like the song and sometimes you gotta break it down next to the hummus.  Shamelessly in love.  I sure didn’t know love could go this far or feel this good.  I sure didn’t know that it could make me feel this mighty.  I sure didn’t know that love could make me feel safe enough to look into me and know that no matter what it’ll be ok.  He makes me want to do things I’ve never done before: listen and compromise.  This is a crazy new world, my friends.

OMG TMI

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“Really, Suzi?  Wow.”

I’ve heard it a million times.

TMI!!!

I thought of this when I was blogging yesterday about what do you tell a client about PTSD.  What do you have to tell a client or a boss about a trauma, a disorder or a mental illness?  I don’t know.  Mine makes me kinda flippy outty and tactless and times.  There’s the crying.  People kind of notice.  There’s the good days where I’m not triggered.  Or the OK days where I can bottle it down into a nice little coal in my gullet.

But gullet coals aside…  Why the oversharing?  Why the saying too much?  It’s been hard on relationships because I’ll be out to dinner and the start a relationship with…”so the other day in bed…”  Keeping it classy.

So, I was thinking about it, and talking (too much jk) about it.  And then I went to therapy and danced and screamed about it, and it hit me.  Not literally.   But the cult maintained control over us by brainwashing us into over-confessing everything.  We were trained to tell every thought and every feeling, or we would feel awful-nauseous.  If we ever saw someone from the church and had a bad thought about them and didn’t tell them, it was a sin and we had to tell them before the next communion or it was like the sin was locked in forever.

By making us a self policing congregation it really cut down on enforcement.  Which is actually good business automation practice if you think about it-but back to the cult…

So, I am in pain if I allow myself privacy.  I feel like I am lying to you if I know something that I haven’t told you.  It’s misery.  And if you confess before something gets found out the punishment is somewhat lessened.  There is a constant paranoia scan in my head that is looking for wrongs committed…

So, this over-confessing still makes sense.  I’ve adapted it a little.  In the past few years, Ive been more jokey about it so that I can still make sure that I’ve said everything but in a jokey way so that I don’t get looked at like I’m a martian all the time.

I’m practicing privacy now.  Which is one of the reasons I’ve been so silent on the blog.  I’ve been evaluating again: what do I want to say?  Why do I want to say it?  What do I want to get out of this?

And so I don’t know that I know what I want.  But I know I have more to say.  And this is my forum.

everybody limbo

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I’ve been enjoying contracting.  I’ve picked up clients and done a lot of work.  Since prioritizing recovery from my PTSD and trying to knit my brain back together from the nervous breakdown it’s been a hard path.  What do you share with a client?  I am much more fragile than I used to be.  But also stronger now that I am sober.  Sobriety is stupid because I feel a lot more feelings, but apparently that’s part of the point of it.

 

My contracts have been on average four months.  And that seems to be the lifespan for what I can handle right now.  I have told some clients about the PTSD and it has backfired horribly, others I didn’t and it wasn’t an issue.  With one boss, who had anger issues (probably because of his cocaine issue) I left the contract because I was horribly triggered when he flew into a rage and slammed his hand on the desk.  The sound of his hand on the wood desk was exactly the sound that it would make when a oak rod would hit someone.  I winced and started to have a panic attack and never came back.  Horribly unprofessional: on both of our parts.  But you know what…  I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe and I felt like I was going to die.  I went home with every intention of coming back the next day.  But I couldn’t get out of bed for three days.  My body would not let me go back.

 

Another client and I worked together really well.  He spoke so conceptually, and I am so literal.  He told me that he thought I was autistic.  I told him I wasn’t.  “He said, well there’s something wrong with you.  English can’t be your first language.”  And I realized that I was so sheltered by my cult growing up and we definitely had our own culture.  After that, I was with my friends and it was such an eclectic group that I was just accepted.  From there I went into IT, and well, weird just happens there.  In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m in the world for the first time without a massive support system and there are all of these people commenting on me and it’s vulnerable out here.  I am so grateful for E and my scaled down support system.

The gig I have now is hard and very much in limbo.  It’s not in limbo because of me there are just changes going on and a lot of stress.  I kind of wish it was about me.  But it’s not.  I am dealing with some politics and some people’s fear.  It seems like we’re waiting.  And I hate limbo.  Because limbo is the part where you wait and you fear.  It’s an uneasy, wait till dad gets home, kinda feeling.  And there is tension.

It’s hard being a cog in the wheel, after you’ve been the driver.  Because I used to have the map and make decisions.  I think that feeling of control really helped manage my PTSD.  But since I’m not prioritizing my career now and I’m prioritizing my recovery and my love life, I am sitting back and dealing with the other side of those issues.  And it’s really really uncomfortable.

I hate waiting.

 

 

A tiger is a tiger not a lamb

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When choreographing, just like any art form people can tell when it’s not from the heart. I was so used to working with women. That was at a time when I was really connecting with women. It was hard for me to be in a heartspace or open to the sensuality or the sexuality of men.

So, when drawn to the idea of choreographing a male version of “Mein Herr” from Cabaret, I was thinking drag and camp. When I called the dancers and asked them, they were mostly in. But if they were going to dance the dance, they didn’t want to clown around. They wanted to bring the heat.

You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr.
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb. Mein Herr.
You’ll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr.
So I do…
What I do…
When I’m through…
Then I’m through…
And I’m through…
Toodle-oo!

Three gorgeous guys, trusting me to get over my fear and sexism and give them moves from my heart that would make them look amazing and seduce an audience. I was expecting that they would lip-sync, but they surprised me again when they wanted to and could sing.

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

When a move didn’t work, it was a great collaborative effort. Just like so many things in my life, work like hell to create a framework and then stand back and let the magic happen. The problems come from controlling, fearing and not trusting in the inspiration that flows. And when you’ve got three guys writhing in unison in black on chairs that’s a form of inspiration.

Don’t dab your eye, mein Herr,
Or wonder why, Mein Herr.
I’ve always told you I was a rover.
You mustn’t knit your brow,
You should have known by now
You’d every cause to doubt me,
Mein, Herr.

The one on the left always had a sexy smolder in every movement. He could hold any position and would stick at a step until he knew he had it nailed. The one in the middle had the drama, his muscular shoulder would always hit that roll like it was the perfect punctuation. The one on the right was like engagingly aloof, undulating clockwork, and there was something in his eyes that made you want to be in on his inside joke. Each so uniquely perfect. The audience went wild. This dance and the feelings of healing and freedom of this artistic process remain with me and I hope always will.

The continent of Europe is so wide, Mein Herr.
Not only up and down, but side to side, Mein Herr.
I couldn’t ever cross it if I tried,
Mein Herr.
So I do..
What I can…
Inch by inch…
Step by step…
Mile by mile…
Man by man.

Sometimes, a song will haunt me. I will play it over and over again. It needs to come out. But I don’t have dancers or a venue to express it. I love to choreograph, and need to figure out how to express that in my life

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

I have two songs in my brain, clanging around right now. But this memory of this dance has been banging around, I don’t know why it is. Maybe it needs to be written about.