I promise I’ll never feel the need to cling to you like that slut bitch whore cunt.

Interesting study about intrasexual competition among women:

Intolerance of Sexy Peers: Intrasexual Competition Among Women

The study found that women displayed high levels of indirect aggression against other women who were dressed in what many would consider a sexy manner. Women who were dressed sexier were rated as being more bitchy. Respondents laughed with their friends about them, called them names, accusing them of wanting to sleep with professors at the college where the study was being conducted.

Do you think you rate your peers based on how sexy they dress? Would you hesitate to introduce a woman you consider attractive to your boyfriend or significant other? Would you refer to a girl in a short skirt as a whore or accuse her of trying to sleep with someone based on her dress?

Is indirect aggression a way that females exert their authority over other women in an attempt to impress a mate as some psychologists believe? If so, why do older women who are no longer in competition for a mate still seem to exhibit similar behavior?  Men, do you assume that when a woman displays signs of indirect aggression toward another female that she may be trying to mark her territory, so to speak? 

Obviously terms such as whore, slut, bitch are derogatory, but what about descriptions such as clingy or needy?

As a women, do you find it offensive when a man refers to other women as clingy or needy or laughs about ignoring them, even when it may seem that the woman may be acting in a reasonable manner?

If a friend referred to another women as a slut or whore based solely on their dress, would you feel the need to defend the woman or just let it go? 

 

What If…

As I child, I questioned. Most children do. Why is the most popular question, but my personal favorite was and continues to be “What if…”

After several of these questions in a row, my 3^rd Grade teacher in frustration, finally yelled “What if the world was square? We’d all fall off and die”. My “what if” questions were never met with much enthusiasm. I grew up with adults trying to convince me that asking “what if” was a waste of time. It was an unhealthy exercise, and my time was best spent answering the questions they asked versus coming up with questions of my own. Though, it didn’t keep me from spending many nights secretly pondering the answers to those “what if” questions. I still do. Though, now my questions are more focused on past actions than the broad questions of my youth regarding the world around me.

When I fall into a counterfactual mode of thinking, I usually try to snap myself out of it quickly, because most people believe that this sort of self-reflection is harmful. Spending hours lost wondering if you made the right decision in the past could negatively impact your future.

But perhaps, just maybe, reflecting on the decisions you made and the effects those decisions created could in some way be positive?

Lately, I’ve been focusing on several key decisions and wondering how my life would be different.

What if I had turned into another parking lot on July 20, 1996?

What if I had slept through that phone call September 16^th of that same year?

What if I never went to Arizona?

What if I wasn’t home “sick” that day when I read that article about Second Life?

What if I had woke up late January 5^th of this year?

Who would I be? Where would I be? Would I even be?

Sounds like a wasted exercise huh? Asking questions that will never be answered.

Fortunately for me, experts are beginning to realize that counterfactual thinkers may have a few things going for them.  ”Counterfactual thinking — heightens one’s perception of the moment as significant, and even fated. Armed with a sense that life may not be arbitrary, counterfactual thinkers are more motivated and analytical…” 

I’m not sure I entirely agree with this study’s findings, but over 30 years of asking “what if” doesn’t go away easily. I hope that the time I spend questioning my past decisions will help me find the right answers when it comes to my future twists and turns.

Insert your Certificate of Authenticity Here

Wouldn’t it be great if the people we encounter on a daily basis came complete with a Certificate of Authenticity?  A nice little slip that declares them to be the genuine article, exactly who they claim to be.  It could come in especially handy with the individuals we encounter online. But who would determine if the person was truly who they said they were?

When you meet someone face-to-face, you obviously can recognize if it’s John, the guy that works at the auto repair shop down the street, cousin to Mark, who you met at that party last year, the one that was once married to Evie, the girl that cuts your hair, but what do all those facts really tell you about John? Could you claim to know the real John?

What if you were married to John? He slept next to you every night. He was there when your children were born, and he nursed you when you had that nasty stomach bug last year. You know his favorite food is chili, he can’t stand Burger King, is allergic to latex, bowls every Friday and loves the blues. Do you know John?

What if you met John one late night in a BDSM chat room? He tells you he can only cum with pantyhose stuffed down his throat and that he dreams of leaving his wife and living with Rick the plumber, the guy he fucks every Friday night when he’s supposed to be bowling.  Could you vouch for John?

What if you are John, the mechanic, cousin to Mark, ex of Evie, married to a stomach flu prone wife, Friday night fucker of Rick, lover of the blues? Obviously, John knows John, right? Or does John not really even understand himself. Why does he do the things he does, and why does he act on certain impulses, while resisting others?  John may be an enigma, even to himself.

Who could verify a person’s authenticity? Is there really even a such thing as a truly authentic person?

What would it take to know someone was real, truly who they represent in an online, anonymous setting like Second Life?

4chan founder, Christopher Poole said “We choose to filter ourselves based on what others will think of what we say. If there is no risk of someone judging me there need not be a filter. Consequently anonymity allows me to speak without fear of social reprisal. I can say what I genuinely think. Ergo, authenticity.”

I disagree. I think we continue to filter ourselves, even online. There’s a calculation, a slight manipulation, not purposefully, but it’s there. Perhaps we’re so used to filtering ourselves at work, with our families that we can’t help but continue the process online? Or perhaps, since we spend so much time online now, the lines are blurred.

Though, interestingly enough, I would say that the average person may choose to reveal what he would filter normally in real life, and hide the details online that are most obvious to the individuals he encounters in the real world.

Here, we sometimes reveal the deep, dark personal stuff, early on. The arrests, the dirty one night stands, the time you saw your aunt topless or your sister walked in on you jacking off in the shower, it all comes out in amusing anecdotes or whispered in private to semi-strangers, nasty little personal revelations. Possibly, we reveal those things, because we think our secrets are our most interesting tidbits.  Maybe, we tell them here, because they are screaming to come out, and of course you can’t tell your boss or the lady at your dry cleaners. We might suffer from some sort of  confessional inclination. Or perhaps, we reveal those tidbits to confuse. Obviously, if we amusingly or achingly tell the dirty dish about ourselves, then we must be telling the truth about the everyday boring facts, right?

For me personally, it’s not the number of skeletons or the condition of the corpses that you pull out for show and tell with me online that convinces me of your authenticity. It’s how much I can relate to them, and how well you relate to my revelations that convince me you are someone worthy of my trust.

It all comes down to a connection. Connect with me, and I’ll believe your every word.

I never did like jigsaw puzzles.

Remember when I thought you liked me?  I remember when I liked me too. 

With less than 5 months to go, I wonder if  2011 will go down in my memory as the year I shattered, burst into a million pieces on the 5th day of the year.  Or will the last few months of the year finally wipe that memory away?  Perhaps 2012 will rush in and make me wish for the mundanity and silent pain of 2011?  Perhaps I should save the yearly retrospection for my News Year Eve post?  Yes, I think so too.

I laugh more deeply and sweetly with strangers.  The more you see me, the less I want to see you.  I do miss you.

I stare into his eyes, and I tell him I want to be happy.  I want to put it all behind us.  I want to move on.  I want to put all those pieces back together and see what my happy face once looked like.  Before, I knew how fake it all was. Funny, now I can’t help but see the fakery, in my smile, in my eyes, in my words, on our faces. 

Fickle, fickle little girl.  Fraught with vanity over your cleverness.  Wasting time with falsehoods while reality whirled. 

We went to the beach.  It was lovely. Sunsets, sand and sunscreen, all the cream-filled yumminess filling up the perfect vacation.  The sex is wonderful.  Blowjobs and cum shots galore, fuck me’s yelled, and I love you’s whispered.  Sex in bathroom stalls, lips caressed in theatres, cocks licked in cars, just like teenagers.  Is the sex better, or are we just clinging to it more as we avoid the jagged edges of the broken pieces scattered all over the bedroom floor?

Cuts and bruises heal.  Memories of unfaithfulness and other loves linger.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding.  I dream of wild animals, murderers, death.  I wake up and call out for you.  It means I still need you.  Need your arms around me.  Reassurance, reminiscing, rewind…  If I think of someone else, does that mean you do too?  Is assuming you don’t like hiding somewhere where I can’t see you and assuming you can’t see me?   If you find me, does that mean you’re overwhelmed with images of others?  No one concrete, just random images of someone who can make you happier. 

The idea that you have to make yourself happy, before you can make someone else happy is a crock of shit.   What if being a selfish, fucking unemotional prick makes you happy?  Think that’s gonna make you a great partner for someone else?  Doubtful.

I am happy when I make you happy.  I am happy when I press against you in the middle of the night and feel your immediate response.  I am happy when I press my lips against yours for a quick kiss as we stir cake batter or get dressed in the morning.  I am happy to know that we’re still here trying. 

And coming up after the break, we have the 33rd birthday of one Miss Daila Holder.  Stay tuned for there’s more to tell.

I may even figure where some of those missing pieces are…

Don’t despair, I’m still an amusing complication. 

Breaks and Break-Ups

 

I logged into SL tonight, dressed Daila up and took a picture. 

She’s still there and with a few lindens spent to update her look, she quickly got over her abandonment issues. I still don’t see frequent visits to SL in my future.  Though, I am extremely glad I didn’t delete her completely.  She’s way too special to me. 

Today, someone shared some honesty with me that made me stop and think.  I love when that happens. I go through my day posting random nonsense and joking about anal sex and lab coats, and I sometimes forgot that there are real people out there and some of those individuals may not appreciate my brand of humor. 

As silly and flighty as I may seem at times, I swear there is some substance here. I do care how I come across.  I do want my thoughts to resonate with someone out there.  I’m not all fluff. 

I don’t think every person I encounter online is there for my personal entertainment, but I’m honest enough to admit how amazing I find that idea!  I realize you are all unique individuals, and I can’t categorize and sort you all.  We all have our hang-ups.  That just happens to be one of mine.  I promise I can put up with your bad habits, if you can put up with mine. 

As far as May goes, it’s rocky.  Fortunately, it’s almost over!  I have lots of plans for the summer, and I can’t wait!

All the May Flowers Have Gone Away

 ”What potent blood hath modest May.”
-  Ralph W. Emerson

 

It’s May again.

My perfect year would skip from April to June.

May hasn’t been kind to me in the last twelve years.

I know that just having the idea that a particular month brings tidings of doom greatly increases the chance of it happening. I do believe in the power of positive thinking, but May has proven me wrong year after year.

Good things have happened in May. Surely they have, right? Just in my own family, two “successful” marriages began in May, and my father will celebrate his 63^rd year this month. Those are all things to look forward to in May.

If only I didn’t remember the times May let me down. The times May made me want it to be the last month I ever lived.

This year I dread May more than I ever have. It has not been a good year. My least favorite month on top of a very bad year might just mean 31 very long days for me.

I know this all sounds very silly, and I hope that on June 1^st, I can come back and read this blog post and laugh. Heck, this blog post is so melodramatic, I might just laugh now, if I weren’t so paranoid of the next 30 days.

If anyone still reads this blog, it’s okay to laugh about a grown woman being scared of one little month. Though, I’m not really sure that anyone does actually reach this blog looking for me anymore. Aside from an occasional weird search, very few even stumble here any longer. If by chance, you find yourself reading this, and you just happen to be one of the few people who have seen me through Mays of the past, say hi sometimes. I miss you.

One day down, 30 more to go, and I remain desperately waiting for June.

For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.”
-  Sara Teasdale, May  

What a Pair: Grand Romantic Gestures

What a Pair

Roses will be delivered, candies will be consumed, lovers will delight…

 

Today is the day of love.

 

It’s also the day for Grand Romantic Gestures.  You picture, John Cusack and hear Peter Gabriel playing.

 

As a young girl, I, like many others, may have had daydreams of a young man serenading me across a crowded room, picking me above all others and cementing publicly that his desire for me is greater than his pride.

 

As a mature woman, whose tin heart has had many dents popped back out, I realize that most of those grand gestures are not so much about showing someone that they are your only one, as it is hoping and praying the gesture allows you to be their only one.  It’s an act of desperation by someone who may realize deep down that they haven’t truly won over the object of their affection, and perhaps a huge billboard sign will convince them.

 

I’ve changed my views on “romantic love” more times than I’ve changed my hairstyle in Second Life.  Though, I’m still not ready to give it up completely.

 

Sometimes the grandest gesture of all is to swallow your pride and put societal views of romantic love aside and give someone a second, third, sixth, eighth chance to dent your heart all over again.

 

Making that decision is a little easier when you have perfect days like we had on Saturday.  A long hike, beautiful scenery and good company all worked to create a magical atmosphere and a damn close to perfect day.

 

Love may start as a spark, a special connection, but a long term relationship is about unequivocally stating your needs and opening yourself up to allow a willing party to meet those needs.  Unmet needs, now there’s another topic for discussion, but not today, not on the day of love.

 

You can share in our special day by viewing some of the shots from our hike at   (Flickr)

 

I’ll end by stealing/paraphrasing words from a Relient K (yeah I’m in shock too) song

 

You’re still the Cusack on the lawn of my heart.

 

Tiny Morsels of Longing

Have I used this picture before?  Who knows?  Yeah, I haven’t taken a new picture in SL for a while.  My bad.

This picture sort of physically captures my mood when I log in though.  I feel like I’m in a contamination zone.  Unlike a normal zone full of deadly bacteria, death and disease, this is an area where I’d really like to catch the bug.  Unfortunately, I just can’t seem to force myself to spend enough time around the infected with my mask off to get bit.

Oh well. *shrug*  I’m sort of over talking about it.  Almost all my blog posts for the last year are about my lack of desire to log in and my lame attempts to try to find joy in playing SL again, and fuck, talking about that shit gets boring.

So what’s going on with me?  Well I’m glad you asked.  I’m getting ready for the holidays in RL.  I’m sort of pretty proud of myself.  I had all my decorating and shopping done by the first weekend in December which is quite unlike me.  I’ve also sort of went overboard buying gifts this year, but you know it happens.  Oh well.  Fuck, talking about Christmas.  You can only talk tinsel and garland so long before that shit gets boring.

So, can I just talk some random nonsense that makes you go “Huh, that chick is weird.” now? Cause I’ve been dying to get it all out.  All the prior niceties were beginning to grate.  Fuck niceties, that shit gets boring, right?

I’m actually fairly happy, content, satisfied, good to go right now.  I think finally at 32, I’m beginning to just appreciate the small things and not try to analyze the most minute detail of my existence and ponder how I can improve it.  It feels really good.  I find satisfaction in a really great cup of hot chocolate, smooth sheets on my freshly shaved legs and movie nights. The highlight of the last week was walking around the zoo at night, marveling at Christmas lights and holding the hand of the person I love.  My heart didn’t race, but it beat steadily, and I’m beginning to realize that’s just fine with me.

Does that mean that next week I won’t be wishing for someone to distract me with tiny morsels of longing?  Probably not.  I’d never turn down a decent distraction attempt.

I’ll end with something I read recently that I identified with which is probably just an attempt to end this blog post with a nice little fuck yes.  Fuck yes is always a great ending point.

“Overpopulation will only accelerate until we need walled cities to keep out the hungry, swarming insane masses.  And they will scrape and dig under the walls like bug eyed mole men.”

You say catastrophe, I say, fuck yes.

Addiction is a Bitch

Warning: The blog post you are about to read may cause rolling nausea and repeated cringing.  It is not a tale for the faint of heart.  Unfortunately, every word is true. 

Several years ago, so long ago that I can not even remember the exact year, I jumped on a bandwagon.  A bandwagon, that at the time seemed to be heading somewhere exciting.  The decision to hop on was an easy one.  It seemed interesting and everyone else was doing it.  The exact reasons that most young adults make the poor decisions that seem to follow them throughout their life.  I played an active role for a time.  Treating it as everyone else did, just a casual thing that one does with friends.  I made new friends because of it.  I even turned other people on to it.  It was just the way it was. 

Then, much like the way I started, I stopped.  But, it was still there, out there lingering, on hold, waiting for the perfect moment to reassert itself in my life.  But for a while, it was dormant. 

I didn’t miss it.  I didn’t even think about it.  I moved on to other interests.  Years went by.  And then as these things often do, it came back.  It came back with a vengeance, but not how you might expect.  It began innocently enough with my husband.  Joel had never experienced it.  When most people experimented with it in their late teens/early twenties, he was busy doing other things.  Within a few short days, he became addicted.  I didn’t even think to warn him. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t know what it was like to be in a relationship with someone that needed it.  First thing in the morning, he would turn to it.  Middle of the day, I’d catch him using.  It would be the last thing he would do before collapsing into bed.  It was way more accessible now, than it had even been before.  And it wasn’t very long, before I started again too. 

But I had it under control you see.  Just a couple of times on the weekend, but then a couple of times on the weekend weren’t enough.  I started turning to it whenever the threat of boredom loomed.  Before work, late at night and even in the middle of the work day, I begin to indulge.  I became paranoid about it.  What do people think when they see me using it in the middle of the day, several times a day.  I begin to hide my habit.  I told myself it was only to protect myself from awkward conversations or getting stuck having to make excuses to my friends from long ago.  But I knew the truth, I was ashamed. 

Up until then, it was still somewhat casual use.  Sure, I used frequently, but it was mainly the same stuff that everyone did.  Nothing too intense. 

Until last week, that is.  Someone on Plurk (damn you!!!!) mentioned their own closeted addiction at my worst possible moment.  It was a long afternoon.  Boredom hung heavy in the air around me.  I needed a distraction, a release, something to occupy my mind, and that short small mention in Plurk was all it took for me to tumble into the deep abyss that I had resisted for so long. 

I thought that day was my lowest point, but unfortunately it got worse.  That was just the tipping point.  I lost countless hours over the weekend to it.  Precious hours, I’ll never get back.  Sunday morning, Joel walked in and caught me.  “What the hell are you doing?”  I was embarrassed.  I tried to explain that it’s nothing.  “Just a few minutes of mindlessness, and plus you do it too”, I snapped.  “I don’t do that, and there’s a big difference between what I do and what you’re doing”, he replied sharply.  “I thought you said you’d never sink so low” he accused.  I started grasping at straws and then just like an addict, I started to try to lure him in too.  “I need your help Joel.  Try it, just once.  You don’t have to use it often.  Just help me out.”  I even started to get angry when he refused.  “Why won’t you just fucking try it for me?” I started yelling.  And with a shake of his head, he turned away and left me alone, alone with my addiction.   

Did I stop?  Did being caught embarrass me into quitting?  Not a chance.  In fact, this morning I sunk to a new low.  I started searching online for strangers that shared my own sick twisted addiction.  Strangers with like-minded tendencies, and I lured them in too.  Hoping to find someone, anyone that shared my secret desire.  Even as I was tracking them down, sending them messages, urging them to indulge with me, I felt the big lump of shame deep inside me.  Who had I become? 

How did that occasional thing I did with friends on a Saturday night turn into this shameful secret that I must indulge frequently, repeatedly with strangers? 

Judge me, judge away, but know that this too could happen to you or your loved ones. 

This blog post is my confession.  Facebook was the gateway drug that sent me spiraling deep into the pit of hell that has become my Frontierville addiction.   

Won’t you be my neighbor? 

No, seriously, be my fucking neighbor!  I need some damn cloth, and it’s driving me crazy.  We can turn off alerts, and it will be our own little secret.

Back Up Bitch:Friendship Ain’t That Hard

I’ve never been a mean girl. I’ve been a blunt girl, but I try not to be catty.   I may be sarcastic, but I never aim to hurt anyone’s feelings.  I do not find reasons to dislike girls that are prettier than me.  I’ve never threatened to kick a girl’s ass for staring at me or my boyfriend. I’ve never knowingly had sex with someone’s boyfriend or husband.  I’ve never ruined a friendship over a guy. Though, one was ruined for me.

My first year of college, I met a girl, who became my very good friend.  I’ll call her “A”.  She was as spontaneous and eager to try new things as I was.  We’d hop in the car and go away on weekend trips.  We’d go to clubs and parties.  We always seemed to get along very well.  One weekend, we went to my hometown to hang out with a group of guys I knew that were having a party.  “A” ended up crushing on a friend of mine named Drew.  Drew was never someone I had any romantic interest in at all, so “A” and Drew started to date.

“A” and I would drive down to visit Drew and my other friends quite frequently.  We’d all hang out together.  One night pretty late, Drew called and invited us and some of our other friends down to spend the weekend and party.  “A” and I decide to each take our vehicles.  I have two girls with me, and she has one girl with her.  It’s a few hours to get there and already pretty late. Since I’m more familiar with the road, “A” said she’d follow me.  About 30 minutes into the drive, “A” zooms past me and speeds away.  This is before cell phones were common, so all I could do is think “WTF” and keep driving.  I sped up a little bit trying to catch up to her in case something was going on, but I never even saw her tail lights again on the drive.

I get to Drew’s apartment, and he opens up surprised to see us.  ”A” isn’t there yet, and I’m worried.  Drew proceeds to tell me that “A” called him about five minutes before, telling him, she stopped at the gas station and to not open the door to anyone else until she got there.  She told him that I had decided not to come.  I’m in shock, wondering what the hell was going on.  Drew proceeds to tell me that he thinks “A” is jealous of our friendship and that “A” has to be insane to think he would put a girl he’s only known a couple of months before me, who had been a friend for several years.  He says he thinks “A” is crazy and really doesn‘t want to see her again.

I’m floored and confused.  And then “A” knocks on the door.  Drew refuses to answer it.  I’m sitting there with two of my other college friends unsure what to do.  On one hand, “A” is acting incredibly weird, but on the other hand, she had been one of my best friends since the first day  I checked into the dorms. “A” starts to yell, cry and beg for Drew to open up the door.  Finally, I tell him that we have to talk to her.

We walk out in the breezeway and “A” is looking really pathetic.  Drew is angry and tells her that their relationship is over. Instead of being upset at Drew, “A” turns her anger onto me.  At this point, I’ve had all the crazy I can stand and tell both of them I’m leaving.  The poor girls that came with me are eager to get out of there at this point also.  By the time, we get to my car, Drew comes running up.  He says he wants to get of there too. We decide to try to salvage the night by going to have a few drinks and talk about the craziness.  It was already too late to drive back to school at that point anyway, so I knew we were going to have to stay the night.

By the time we got back to school on Sunday afternoon, I was nervous thinking about encountering “A”, but I knew it had to be done.  When I got to my dorm room door, there was a huge basket with a balloon from “A”.  She basically explained that she knew Drew was going to break up with her soon, and she tried to tell herself it was because of me.  She had somehow deluded herself into thinking I was sabotaging the relationship.  Though, she finally realized that Drew and her would have never really worked out, and that I was probably the only reason it had lasted as long as it had.

So what did I do?  I decided to accept her apology, but things were never the same on my part.  By the third year of school, we barely saw each other.  She decided to drop out to get married.  She asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, which I did.  Within three years, her marriage had ended. I felt very sorry for her at that point.

I have no idea where she is now.  I see her ex-husband sometimes.  He has custody of their two children and told me last he heard, she was still trying to get her act together.  She had a pattern of ruining every relationship she had with uncontrollable jealousy of any and all other women.  She had never learned to control it.

In the group of people that I associate with in SL, I hear rumors of female friendships ruined over a flirtation with the same man. I see cattiness and pettiness.  I see women throwing themselves at men to the point where it makes a guy uncomfortable.  I even almost got wrapped up in a similar situation.  It’s easy to get bogged down in it and convince ourselves that other women are our enemy.

They’re not.  Our only true enemy in these type of situations is ourselves.  We want to blame someone, anyone, when a relationship ends or a person doesn’t like us in that way.  It can’t be me. It must be that other girl flirting with him.  I wish she would just leave my man alone.  Sometimes our own self doubts can ruin a perfectly healthy relationship.  It’s easy to overthink (I do it A LOT!) and try to blame another flirtation, when “your man” doesn’t immediately return your IM or respond to your Plurk.  Most of the time, there’s a normal explanation that doesn’t involve another woman at all.

Even if it does turn out that someone else was flirting with your partner, who is the real person to blame if your relationship ends due to infidelity?   The other woman or the person that entered the commitment and strayed?

I’m not saying that every woman in Second Life has to like each other.  That’ s never going to happen.  All I’m asking is that we let our guard down a little and try to get to know someone that we may have even written off before due to petty gossip or some ill-perceived notion, we may just discover that getting to know them is a lot more fulfilling than talking behind their back.