Monday, May 27, 2013

Those Sexy, Sexy Men

“Men are most virile and attractive between the ages of 35 and 55. Under 35 a man has too much to learn, and I don't have time to teach him.” ~Hedy Lamarr

“I would tell anyone who wants something from someone else to feign not wanting it. People are perverse. If you show great affection to them, they'll run the other way.” ~Hedy Lamarr

German actress and bombshell, Hedy Lamarr is one of the most beautiful actresses who ever lived.  Hands down.  She wins.  Sultry.  Sexy.  Everything a girl from Indiana longs to be and isn't.  In fact, I emulate Hedy the same way I yearn intellectually to be like Dorothy Parker.  She is the pinnacle. But here's the problem: I can only ever seem to take half of her advice.  Hedy is dead on when she claims men are sexiest between the ages of 35 and 55.  Yep.  Those are my magic numbers, Folks.  Anything under 35 does have far too much to learn.  And I am still learning myself.  But, that second piece of advice...feign not wanting it.  I have the hardest time with that.  I'm a terrible poker player, you know.  Honestly, you've been reading my blog for how long and you still haven't pick up on that?  You should work on that.  Anyway, as I was saying: Does feigning disinterest work, really?  Pretend you don't want him (or her), and the other person comes running?  Its always seemed mean to me.  Not to mention, an awful lot of fuss.  Why can't I say: I want you.  Its so clear and to the point.  But, then again, who am I to argue with Hedy?  

The Impossible

Mark  10: 27: "For men it is impossible, but not for God.  All things are possible for God."

"Well, I'll be bold.  As well as strong.  And use my head alongside my heart.  So take my flesh.  And fix my eyes.  A tethered mind freed from the lies.  I will wait for you." ~Mumford and Sons

"We are exhausted," she says her in best Smeagol voice.  "Stupid fat hobbits tricks us.  Betrays us.  We hates them."  Oh, you're already reading this, aren't you?  Well, hello Folks, just checking in from my hometown of Vincennes, Indiana.  Go Lincoln Alices!  (Actually,  I didn't care that much for my high school and don't give a flying fuck how the Alices are doing)  Being here isn't easy.  Of course, being anywhere isn't easy at the moment.  To make my point, let me just say that I nearly broke down over lunch today due to a sappy and stupid Rascal Flatts song.  You want to know which one, don't you?  Fine.  "God bless the Broken Road"...the song is intrinsically stupid.  A.) It suggests that there is some Fate that is pulling us toward a one true happiness and love.  I highly doubt that B.) What about all those bastards that just find happiness no problem?  See.  Its full of lies.   The truth is I am starting to doubt my own sanity again.  Everything feels hard and the things I want most seem unattainable.  I'm not sure I can have faith the way the Bible verse in Mark suggests or can even summon a small amount of belief to find comfort in a Mumford and Sons song.  What I do know is this: I know what I want and who I want.  I just need to figure out how to get there.  Maybe that is going to take prayer and time so I'll be bold as well as strong, and use my head alongside my heart.  I will wait for you.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Waiting: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to heart
The waiting is the hardest part

The waiting is the hardest part.  Its May and Yours Truly is absolutely itching to graduate, so much so, I have been pricing doctoral robes and wishing I lived in Sweden where I could purchase a doctoral ring.  Uh huh, when I finally receive my hood I will obnoxiously deck myself from head to toe in memorabilia that screams: "I have PhD and you don't!  Neener, neener, neener."  We will not speak of the current job market.  Or the fact that I am practicing saying: "Would you like fries with that?"  No.  no. no.  I have plans people.  I will not be detoured. Unfortunately, nothing will happen until next spring.  For an entire year, I must write like crazy, bite my lip, and wait.  And if I were just waiting on my PhD maybe it wouldn't be so hard.  But I'm not.  This Gal is waiting on a whole slew of stuff and the suspense is killing her.  But what can you do other than wait?  You take it on faith, you take it heart.  The waiting is the hardest part.  

Friday, May 17, 2013

The Overcomers: Saved Alone. What Shall I Do?

In the 1860s, Horatio Spafford, a friend of the evangelist Dwight L. Moody, lived in Chicago with his wife, Anna, and their five children.  The Spafford family belonged to a Presbyterian Church and, by 1860 standards lived an idyllic life, well, that is until 1870 when the Spafford's only son died of pneumonia.  While still reeling from that loss, Chicago's Great Fire destroyed much of the Spafford family's assets.  Perhaps in hopes of easing the pain of their recent tragedies, in 1873, the Spaffords decided to take a trip to England, where Moody would be preaching, but Horatio was held back due to business, and so, he sent his wife and four daughters ahead of him promising to catch up soon.  Then the unthinkable happened, the ship carrying Spafford's family wrecked.  All four of the Spafford's daughters drown.  When she reached shore, Anna sent Horatio a cable saying: "Saved alone.  What shall I do."  What indeed.  As he sail across the spot where his little children had just drown, it is said that Horatio wrote the famous hymn "It Is Well With My Soul."  

After the shipwreck, Anna would go on to give birth to three more children, a son who died of pneumonia at age four, and two daughters who survived.  The Presbyterian Church to which the Spafford's belonged claimed all the tragedy in their lives was due to divine punishment so the family created their own Christian sect, which the pressed dubbed "the Overcomers."  Funny, that nothing memorable remains from the Presbyterian church members who persecuted the Spafford's, but the hymn and the story lives on today more one and fifty years later.

Its hard for me to think of an existence more difficult and tragic than the Anna and Horatio Spafford's.  Their story reminds me of Job.  Yet, in their day, People knew them as the Overcomers, not the Mourners.  Truth: Right now, I am scared and hurt.  But, I still have a choice as to how I behave.  I can hang my head and mourn, or I can pray, dust myself off, and count myself an Overcomer.  Its about choice. 

Thursday, May 16, 2013

It is Well With My Soul: Trust, Mediation, and Fear

"I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more." ~C.S. Lewis

Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your path's straight.

Dearies, Subtly is simply not a part of my Genetic Makeup.  My Natural Inclination tempts me to shove until I receive the negative response I am expecting.  But, with time, I am learning that some things in life are about waiting.  And, Folks, waiting is not easy for me.  But, then again, if I am honest, I really want the good outcome, not the devastation I fear most.  I want to be shocked, surprised, and thrilled.  A veritable Vanessa Williams song: "Just when I thought our chance had passed, you went and saved the best for last."  Despite the fact, I am terrified of being hurt again.  Of falling back down the Rabbit Hole, and finally, like Sylvia Plath hurling myself under the wheels in a Rabbit Fear.  Preparing, methodically, for my final escape.  But, here's the deal: If I believe there is a God.  And every night, I ask Him to do whatever He wants, but please save me from devastation again.  Then I have to trust that He hears me.  Despite my fear, He's there and taking care of things.  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.  In the end, He has taught me to say: It is well.  It is well.  With my soul. (Okay, its not well with my soul right now, but I am assuming this is a practice kinda know like mediating.  You don't become a Buddhist monk overnight.)

In 1873, Hortio Spafford wrote the words to this hymn after the death of his four daughters.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Wee Woo: Jeremiah 29:11

Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

"All my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity.  I need someone to comfort me." Simon and Garfunkel "Homeward Bound"

Plans to prosper and not to harm.  To give me hope and a future.  Today, Yours Truly is terrified, so much so, that she is dipping into Joyce Meyer with a look of guilt and desperation.  Asking my friends for advice.  What's funny is that they are all coming to the same conclusion: I am overreacting.  Nothing is wrong.  I have blown things out of proportion yet again.  And they are right.  In fact, you might think I find their declarations upsetting but I don't.  They are comforting.  You see, once my limbs go cold and fear seizes me I have the hardest time coming back to reality.  All the colors in my life fade into a shit shade of brown.  I fight tears, sit in a corner, and hyperventilate.  Wee Woo. Wee woo.  wee woo.  

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Blank all the Blanks?

At the moment, the things I yearn for the most are not reciprocated...and it hurts.  Everyone keeps on telling me that it will be okay.  This too shall pass.  It will go one way or the other.  Don't worry.  God will give back the years the
locust ate.  Never give up.  Never surrender.  Well, guess what, People, I am exhausted and no amount of platitudes or Galaxy Quest quotes fixes that fact.  Sometimes, the exhaustion makes me angry.  I want to stand up for myself.  Say everything I feel.  But, I've tried that option before.  It can only end in tears.  Other times, I want to beg.  Plead my case, but, I somehow doubt groveling will earn me what I want either.  The answer is there is no answer.  I left with grey, murky uncertainty.  No real moral here, I'm just swimming through the grey muck of an unstable existence.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Que Sera Sera

Que sera sera.  What will be will be.  A mantra easier spoken than one lived out, if you ask me.  I ache to see the I can prepare...mentally, emotionally, spiritually,...ecumenically.  The future is dangerous business, Folks.  Up to now, the bottom has fallen out of each and every one of my dreams and desires.  But, according to my therapist, I can take a deep breathe and play my hand OR I can take a match, light myself on fire, and fall through the hole I burn in the floor.  I seriously considered the latter, but, in the end, decided to play through.  Ante up! I'm not folding this time.  Que sera sera.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Tired: Journey to Camelot

The Lady of Shallot on her final journey

“I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.”
― John GreenLooking for Alaska
“But that afternoon he asked himself, with his infinite capacity for illusion, if such pitiless indifference might not be a subterfuge for hiding the torments of love.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a MárquezLove in the Time of Cholera
A drizzle compared to a hurricane.  A drizzle aching to be a hurricane.  Something worthy of her desires.  Does indifference hide the torments of love, she wonders with her infinite capacity for illusion?    Yours Truly is tired...of everything right now.  Perhaps, its time to make my journey to Camelot.

But Lancelot mused a little
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shallot


Friday, May 3, 2013

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

"The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" is a folk song written in 1957 by British political singer/songwriter Ewan MacColl for Peggy Seeger, who later became his wife.  At the time the couple were lovers, although MacColl was married to someone else.  It was later covered, and, made famous by Peter, Paul, and Mary, among other artists.  This is Johnny Cash's rendition of the song for June Carter.  

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless sky, my love

And the first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move through my hands
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I know our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time, my love
The first time ever I saw your face

Patient With Me: Body Art and Wilco

Well, last night, Yours Truly got her first, and last, tattoo.  No, I am not being a wimp.  My bit of Body Art took over an hour to complete.  That's enough, thank you.  But, outside of moaning like a B-Rated Porno (their description not mine), I sat and listened to Wilco's "Please be Patient with Me" over and over and over.   Why, you ask?  Three Reasons A.) I was just in too much pain to play with my iPod; 2.) It helped me count off minutes (the man said an hour...he lied); and D.) (Get it?  From Home Alone?) I think the song is beautiful.  My favorite verse:
How can I warn you when my tongue turns to dust
Like we've discussed
It doesn't mean that I don't care
It means I'm partially there

You're gonna need to be patient with me.

Here's the deal: If you ever plan to love another person, you gotta learn to be patient, and hope to God whomever you've set yourself on adoring has the same mindset.  Because communication is a tricky thing.  And understanding another person is a partial at best.  We are complex and fucked up, you're gonna need to be patient with me. 

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Return to King's Cross

King's Cross in the 1950s
Sylvia Plath  was a woman who knew that "The extremity of her feelings, the overwhelming flood of her tears," were often "out of proportion.  Her "molten face and eyes hinting at a dangerous violence". Ted Hughes would later say his wife was "physically transformed"by either feelings of love, fear, or depression.  The most poignant example came early in their courtship when Sylvia "nearly missed Hughes as he came down to London from Heptonstall" in October of 1956. Perhaps, reliving her anguish over being abandoned in Paris by a former lover, Richard Sasson, when Plath couldn't find Hughes, she fell apart: "I was really frantic, unable to understand why Ted wasn't on one of these [buses]; he'd bought reservations: so, in a fury of tears, I fell sobbing into a taxi and for 20 minutes begged him hurry to King's Cross to see if by some miracle Ted might be there. Well, to shorten the trauma, I walked into King's Cross into Ted's arms...He looked like the most beautiful person in the world, everything began to shine, and the taxi driver sprouted wings, and all was fine". 

In case you haven't guessed I am still waiting for my miracle.  Falling into taxis  in a fury of tears but my drivers never sprout wings.  When will all be fine?  When will I lose this molten face?

Try the Priest: Cannibalism in Jamestown

"Welcome to Jamestown.  Tonight, we will be serving a tender young woman alongside a lushicous side of priest."  Yep, that right, Folks.  In 1609, the colonists in Jamestown went cannibal and ate one another.  Check it out here:  Om Nom Nom Nom.