Is It Really?

Is Chivalry really dead to my own, and other chronologically close generations?

I have a man in my life who is very dear to me...and who has little to no manners or sense of chivalry. While I am in the process of forcing myself to accept him as he is and love him for it, I find myself ready to spit nails over re-occurring instances of thoughtlessness. Not to say that he is entirely thoughtless. Quite the contrary, and I think that's what kills me. That and the fact that I already reamed him for brooding, lethargy and playing victim to circumstance (ooooops, might have pushed that too far, now that I look at the list) the other day. Is it possible to remain outside the "BITCH" box on this one? F-ing relationships. Who came up with this ridiculous idea anyway?

From chewing with his mouth open, smacking and slurping his food, to blatantly failing or refusing to offer food or drink to others when serving himself in front of them. Even taking the time to help scrape a car of snow or hold a door for strangers, this man is CLUELESS. What the F? It makes me want to scream! And don't even get me started on the basics of communication...is this stupid nit-picking, or is this a worthy waste of my time and energy?

I'm fairly certain if I brought things to his attention, he would be inclined to change them. But how much "training" does any one person really want to take on or incorporate? Do you just take 'em as they come or honestly try and beat them in to what you want? Argh. I just...don't get it. Furthermore, we have an increasingly lop-sided mess of me bitching, and him listening, adjusting, "understanding"...accompanied by and increasing number of comments like "I can't do anything right" or other insinuation of "holding out" or being demanding without returning favors...F, F, F, F, F.

However, hold on just a damn minute. I NEVER wanted to get into a relationship like my parents again. From the get-go, I have required a backbone, and ability to defend oneself against accusations. I know I am a Princess (that is capitalized for a reason), and I know I can be a Royal, demanding, pain-in-the-ass. That was never a question. What I need to know, is if this boy can handle it, or if he's going to roll over and play tortured lap dog, because I am not capable of playing constantly apologetic, angry bitch, Jekyl and Hyde, while I try to make sense of him and myself and our relationship.

Lord, when did this thing become a public bitching fest? Whatever. Read on, bitch on, write on. Go freakin' SKI!

Pivot Slips

"It's a plumage thing." She explains to me. Demonstrating a final, perfect execution, of pink-rhinestone-belted pelvic thrust to drive home the point. She turns to me with all sincerity, "Women naturally tip their pelvis back, and their ass out. Like on the red carpet, I studied it on perezhilton.com. Men, on the other hand, tip forward, cuz that's where the action is. Notice how much more integrated the legs and hips are when the pelvis is tipped forward, vs. the spaghetti legs and lack of control, when your ass is back. That's why men tend to be naturally stronger skiers than women."

Mind you this is in no way an excuse, being uttered from the sassy lips of one most recently aquired partner in crime. No no. This is a statement of fact, so as to know the face of one's enemy: "The anthropologically-rooted tendency to stick out one's ass."

Meet Kate, one of so many, nearest and dearest, phenomenal people in my life. This "plumage" theory being only one of countless wisdom pearls Kate has adorned my ridiculously stubborn and self righteous psyche with over the last three months. Today, we are working on pivot slips...and trying not to destroy myself. I am standing on my recently (as in 5 minutes ago) "canted" skis; i.e. the Gorilla Tape (litterally), rigged bindings I have been assigned by the god of boot fitting. We are attempting to make my knock-need self stand on flat skis until he recreates with a sweep of his hand, the actual, perfectly adjusted boot. In all honesty, I am thrilled to be playing on, if for not other reason than the physical contact with this ever allusive Gorilla Tape, whose existence I have only recently been made aware of, yet have heretofore been unable to obtain. Viola!

In love

I am in love. I am in love with my life. I am in love with my choices. I am in love with my surroundings. I am in love with the current sport of skiing, which has permeated everything I do...for now. I am in love with the caffeine coursing through my veins, tinting the world rose for me. Bring on the bi-polar mood swings of coffee highs and blood sugar lows. I am in love.

Mostly though I am doused in renewed, or perhaps new-found faith. Yep, I said it...FAITH (stay tuned, I'll start cussing in the same sentence just so you know it's still me). What is this faith you might ask??? It's skiing. And I'm serious. Skiing has renewed my enthusiasm and faith in life. Furthermore, it is my new religion. More on that later.

Call me ridiculous. Call me shallow. All things considered and by no means disregarded...I have found my calling: To ski for the rest of my life and make it my life. Not only. Not soley. But certainly central to many if not all things. I am in love.

The Thing About Blogging...

The thing about blogging...is that you have to find yourself and your life terribly amusing in order to fuel a constant dialog with...well...no one else. My little sis thinks I'm a hard ass, and a drama queen. I can't say I completely disagree with her accusations, though I'd say it's more of an overall Princess Approach, and a little less specific than she suggests.

I am momentarily fired up about stupid people: The ones who I believe are everywhere making my Princess life difficult, and who in general, annoy me with their annoying behavior (I of course am exempt from my own generalizations, and stand as the sole authority finger, pointing accusingly at the "others"). Why must they torment me so? I know not.

I think idiots who arrogantly parade around a sport like f-ing peacocks should be kicked. Sports are meant to be FUN, you bone heads, NOT platforms for making other people feel less. Fine if you want to compete, but go find the right venue for it. And for the love of F, be nice.

Damned Cutting Boards

I have decided so many times, that one of the foundational issues in the world, is emotional immaturity. I stand by that. To demonstrate: Here I am, pissed off again, being immature I'm sure, about my emotions. What are you supposed to do with them?

For the first time in my life...I am exactly where I am...and will never be here again.

What I mean is, I am excited about my life, in so many ways. However, I am different to myself and to people that I love, in more ways than I sometimes know how to deal with. Furthermore, I'm not always sure that the 'changed' me is honestly me. Other times I'm not so sure the 'me' I've grown up being, is who I truly am or want to be.

I have an impatience with people and with life, that I didn't use to have. I have an intense amount of energy an urgent need to put it to use. Lately, I want to ski every minute of my day, or run or bike or hike, anything that has me outside, using my body. I don't want to sit at the table and talk politics with my family. I don't want to argue over stupid decisions or details like what cutting board I use or how to make burgers (recently encountered topics). I am tired of being micro managed by my mother, and yet sooooooooo sick of being annoyed by her...so what the fuck? What does a girl do with all this energy? What does a person do with all this emotion? I don't want to be a mom, but I find myself feeling guilty for not being available to my nieces. I don't want to be an emotional support or peer to my parents or any other person of their generation, yet I find myself repeatedly confided of information I do not care to know, that lands me in just such a position.

I may be just a Princess, with too many demands on the world. I may be burning bridges as I write this. I may be a selfish little shit with no sense of family or community or the little things that make the world go round. Fine...maybe. I hope that my friends and family can forgive for that. However, I maintain that I want clearer boundaries. I want people to have integrity in their drippy, gooey shit. I want good friends to go play hard with, every moment of my life. I want the rest of my life to play hard, push every boundary of personal limits and seek the life that makes my soul soar.

I am happy. I am in love with my life. I am in love with the people in it. But I feel impatient. I want people to get the fuck out of my way, or climb on and come with me. Whatever, but for the love of god, who gives a shit about the onion on the cutting board? No, really, to everyone who's just devoured and entire meal, caked in onion, I am so sorry that your carrots taste like them too.

oh the anguish

I've been watching my 4yr old niece for days now, as she demonstrates time and again an almost perfect void of emotional editing. When things are exciting, they are THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET. When things are frustrating, they are worthy of being thrown, growled at, kicked, yelled about, etc. When things are not quite as she would like them to be, there is a general, overall meltdown. The possibility of things being any different, EVER with the use of communication and a little help to adjust the situation, do not occur to her yet...why does this feel so familiar?

It amazes me that to this day, I act like a 4yr old. Better yet, that I can see myself doing it, and can't always (if ever) stop it. I am the queen of crisis mode to the point that my cohorts harass me for being a stress queen and it dawns on me slowly, with the utmost self control, that I am rarely trapped in the situations I think I'm stuck in. Ha! I think the only thing age has taught me, is that silence is an amazing tool and power. People think the world of someone who can walk in and be quiet. They will cast upon this silence, all of their worst fears and greatest aspirations. Meanwhile the silent observer could be (and usually is) just wondering what in the holy hell is going on, but a good poker face will fool the best of them.

Whatever people. I can barely keep a grip on y 28yrs of psychosis. Don't give me the silent treatment to add to it.

tidbits and end caps

Just the little bits of weird shit that make their way into my life...here's a poem from a boy who will likely never confirm if it was written to me, but will nonchalantly send it in a pile of others just to see what ignites...
_________________________________________
Kiss drunk

When I find my body in your arms in waking dream am I
Not the kind with elephants or the ones that make me fly.
Rather this dream without slumber
Comes on me like thunder
My body trembles and shakes
For in this little time
I’m out of my mind
And I am forced to wake
I know that I love you,
as strong as my will
But that is a painful pill
___________________________________________
I on the other hand am not so subtle, and this is my 'poetic' response. I do not pretend to be a poet, but I can make words rhyme and occasionally do somersaults...
__________________
lay down

what the fuck is this
these dreams that you whisper
this tortured iron will
and this body that trembles

don’t tell me your dreams
when you won’t press upon them
the weight of my touch
that you won’t meet beyond them

i have kissed your tremble
i have touched your melt
held your shudders
and known what i felt

here’s my heart
here’s my head
here’s my faults
here’s my dread
here’s my hopes of a life i’m afraid to believe in
here’s my fears of a love i’m not sure i’d be leaving

my hearts bursting open
with words from your lips
my will is worn ragged
on misconceived tips

you’re not speaking to me
and perhaps never were
your’re a ghost in your own head
your own knot, your own bur

so go, fight your own fight
on your own battle field
i’m so sick of the glory
for this sword and this shield

i want real
i want truth
i want ground
i want proof

to be looked at and seen
not imagined otherwise
to be met in the middle
not the outskirts of lies

give me courage and longing
the fierce pursuit of my being
give me rugged whole truth
not a fool who’s been dreaming