Body Vs Disk

Ingredients for this My Time: THINKING with DRINKING

Sometimes I like to think. And sometimes, thinking likes to devour me.

 When that time comes, I like to drink.

ETHEREAL. PENSIVE. GUSHING.

It is as if because I am a woman, Think can consume my body as if it were an object on the economic market to purchase, own, and discard when no longer viable or another upgrade comes along. I mean, whoever heard of a woman's body being a good on the market, a commodity one can evaluate for worth?

Oh. Wait.

This Mr Think often comes to say hello to me, and even after introducing him to Mr Drink, he refuses to leave. Mr Think has some problems with MANNERS. So what can I do to get him out of mi vida loca? I've decided a natural, holistic approach called DIET is the way.

Honey, I'm going on a disk diet. My thinking is that if I eat only while thinking about math, I'll lose this 25 lbs of bullshit I've gained since moving to my mini-mansh in the Midwestern country, and gain that much back in self-esteem. (Insert comment here about how women's bodies are not commodities to be evaluated and consumed). But really, Darling, disks.

"plus one 'Skinny Girl MargaritaTM,' please!"

They're safe. They've got everything they need on the INSIDE while maintaining a demure, white, symmetrical OUTSIDE. They're not hurting anyone, they don't make mistakes, and they feel absolutely nothing. I've been fortunate enough to have my training in being a woman starting early on, with my attentive mother putting me on diets, telling me no one will like me if I don't lose weight, and occasionally instigating a nice cardio session with her fists on my body or a bar of soap to the mouth (one can never be too clean! Lesson number one!). But some women can still learn that "you are what you eat!" And Honey, I've decided that I really don't need another pre-divorce ceremony (wedding) or another alimony struggle if I can simply and finally be: a disk.

What's that you say, Honey? I can't turn into a delicious disk with a slightly toasty BUT STILL WHITE exterior and a sassy, hidden inside that will only be revealed once I'm consumed by someone who has chosen and paid for me? Well, Honey, if my body is a commodity, then I'm a good on the market, and I should be able to upgrade like every other Apple product. I choo-choo-choose upgrading to a disk!

Ah, Honey, only a short time left for me in the Midwestern Country. Where will I go? How will I get there? I don't know. But I do know that my legacy will be the first woman who has finally understood that her body is a commodity. Sure, the feminists might tell you, "boo! Women's bodies are not commodities! We are ourselves! We are not owned by a male-dominant media and world governments nor are we going to compare ourselves to celebrities' bodies or magazine covers that are not real representations of women! We age and we have cellulite!" But here's the thing: our bodies are commodities. BUT GOD THAT'S SO FREEING! You know why? WE CAN UPGRADE! And since I've gained 25 lbs since moving to the Midwestern Country, I'm choo-choo-choosing to upgrade to a disk. A beautiful, thoughtless, changeless-until-consumed- disk. And the best thing about being a commodity is that once we are consumed, we are nothing. Lo, to be Not-Are...the next place I move will have heroin, again, at least. A lady likes to keep her options open!

"i can't stand you too much longer                                               _
can't you see                                                                              _     _
you can use me for some time                                                _           _
then i'm history                                                                     _                _
one more kiss then i'm history                                           _                     _
                                                                                        _                           _
well the sad martyr come                                             _                _               _
i scratch your arms and you won't come                                        _
scratch your eyes so you can't see                                                 _
what it means to feel so dumb                                                        _
one more kiss then we're history                                                    _
                                                                                                        _
what's the point of getting angry                                                     _
over me?                                                                                         _
you can use me for some time                                                        _
it's a game to me                                                                             _
i don't know you where you are                                                      _
like you used to be                                                                          _
one more leap then we're history"                                                  _


Of course when I'm not thinking too much, I'm blissed out. Instead of eradicating myself from history, I make a place for myself in it. While that feeling hasn't been around for awhile, it comes at times. Like exactly RIGHT NOW. The truth is that I've chosen to be in a non-affirming situation right now to strengthen other things and get a degree. What this degree means to me the closer I am to it is less and less. In order for me to find a balance between oblivion and bliss (and I do enjoy the pendulum of both at times, while with intimacy, music, travel, and vice) affirmation is something that I would like. It helps. Being told one is beautiful (something that hasn't happened to me in the last year or so but was a part of my life for so long that I guess I presumed it would persist) and knowing that the person saying that is sleighed solely by one's body is really lovely. Yet, this feeds into the commodity game that make women suffer so, as well as men who buy into a standard account of the woman's body that can be equated with lust, love, and happiness. And yet, it is helpful to wade in superficials sometimes. The problem, I suppose, is when we lose the difference between superficial and important in our own self-worth, or that we buy into the concept of self in the first place. Me, I feel like the energy I am is more like an avalanche or some forward motion that, because of its motion, chances from one thing to the next via action.

Honey, it's true.I feel forward movement yet without a hill in this Midwestern Country to fall down. It's embarrassing for us all. So I make my hills, hence :

It's been so long...

Honey, it has been awhile. I have no excuse. I mean, I'm just sitting here with my sippy cup of sangria under my Hotel Collection down comforter, wearing a t-shirt with an anchor on it, watching tasteful pornography, and eating DIET CHIPS.

mmm, pink

The truth is, Honey, I'm busy. It's hard being a cold bitch, teaching old men how to wipe their own asses, cashing alimony checks, and meeting new men to go on dates with that make a wistful woman think, what if this one has learned how to wipe that. That in addition to eating queso, leaving for my Beverly Hills condo in 2 weeks (for 3 months! What will the country Missouri do without my money in its pockets?), and writing two full length books about 1. my time with Mick and the Boys:

twice as fuckable with Brian

and 2. my childhood as a rich rouge daughter:

Once the summer starts, I'll be writing tons more to you. You, Honey, after all, are what keep me from attempting to kill myself one more sweet time, to my own sweet degree. How could I off myself with so much money to spend?

Champers on me!
Daggy

Using Men's Words Against Them

Ingredients for this My Time: Barbeque chips (THE DIET CANCEROUS BUT WHO CARES YOU CAN EAT MORE kind), vodka, listing, and humor that straighter men won't find funny.

After something called a "Progressive Dinner Party" that people who eat delicious food LIKE IT DOESN'T HAVE CALORIES in it invited me to (a lovely affair of the most civil, dignified kind, where the women's lipstick and shoes were above par from other social gatherings I've endured), a later look around the bar for a swarthy yet religious man that might be pillaged for his credit cards and body (I do love the look of religious garb.

Never a not-hot Hassid have I seen, or as I like to call then, "Orthos," short for "orthodox," of course. Which reminds me. Being in an airport in the Middle East or in the Eurasia area always allows an elegant woman from the west to peruse men in all kinds of indigenous and/or religious garb and wonder what they do "allow" and not in their intimate lives with women, as if we'd let them choose, anyway! Oh, they are precious with their morals and rules, but really, it's the reverence for life and treating belief as an action--as believing--that I find most sexual), I ended up at a lavish home having something called a "key party" where a gorgeous blonde woman in a large hat

 --it's always important to not let people see the brightness of your eyes, or how it has dimmed over the years from the work in elegance a woman must engage in to be presentable to the world--told me that she in fact was employed as a home decorator for my ex as well as his ex. What a small web we weave in this country I've been exiled to known as "Missouri." I laughed and laughed and laughed at how peculiar it was to know that this mysterious woman with the beauty of a Ukrainian spy in shoulder pads (while side-eying the key bowl WHY IS NO ONE TAKING MY 'UAR KEYS? I DRIVE A JAGUAR CLEARLY I'M RICH AND THEREFORE GOOD ENOUGH TO BED) had her hands all over the things I once held so dear, and with such a clear, sustainable boundary of work. His pillows. His towels. His toothbrush. "My" "relationship." It was an arrangement, anyway, from the beginning, a union of sophisticated understandings of the self and a discourse with which to inflict on each other and others at important social gatherings of Society Folks. Sadly, I could not keep up such discourse, as you may have guessed by reading my previous post, as I've "lost myself" and therefore was tossed aside by something called "email," which is appropriate, as a human without a self should only be speaking to and fro with machines and waves and the clicking of delicately manicured fingers on a keyboard instead of the hands that held her own body for so long. I digress again! Oh my, it is so hard to keep focused when I have lost who I am. I just laugh and laugh and laugh like a gaslight.


I excused myself to use the restroom while others fornicated around me, seeing as how no fornication would be coming my way--it must have been the tiger skin I wore as a tube top--so much elegance can be intimidating to fornicate on--as I had been in this elegant home before, and happened to have hidden a bottle of Stoli in the toilet tank. As I sat with pal Stan, my vanilla Stoli bottle, and the barbeque DIET SO IT'S FINE chips I brought in my tassled leathah handbag, I remembered all the words ex-lovers have spoken to me, whether through print, song, speeches (I've dated many dignitaries and am able to clearly identify when one is making a speech about a war crime that they are also clearly apologizing to me for their brute, manly behavior ON THE INSIDE), and in person. Then I decided that since I have no self, I might construct one of men's words, the most authoritative evidence of selfhood, obviously. Here is a list of some of the wonderful things men have said to me, in complete confidence, and with incredible pride.

Ladies, I suggest that you too make a list of the words proud men have used against you, and take them as your own to use, repeat, address with, and write out. If they have been spoken to you, they are yours, and no amount of upper-class "privacy about doing stupid shit is more important than actually not doing stupid shit or talking about how we've done stupid shit" attitude, I assure you as a member of this class, can get in your way. One almost envies the gay male, who gets to hear and say so many dumb things that men say without ever a thought of recalling what they are, but then of course, one pities the gay male, for who does he have to copulate and love, but, alas: men. I'll give a quick 30 I can think of off the top of my head. Also, tell me, what have you heard that bears repeating? Meaning, what have bears told you between wandering in and out of their forest (I mean, hearts)?

1. you have the back of a linebacker! (obviously, right after our first intercourse, while I lay on my stomach to avoid showing him the disappointment on my face evidenced by a lack of even a bead of sweat on my brow, while he managed to look like this:)

 2.  I'm sorry if you feel that I...(just fill this in with many ending phrases that circle back around to the main point: he's sorry THAT YOU FEEL).
3. I see you losing yourself and that makes me sad, especially if there's a chance I might have had something to do with this (notice how much knowledge he has, the most important thing that keeps him going, and the agency to take the non-physical parts of you, and yet notice his ability to empathize. Oh wait. I mean to simplify you and then tell you that simplifying you is an act that causes him suffering, and then rhetorically remove his own part in a mess with "if there's a chance." Chances are, Sir. And I might know that because I have a self and it has opinions, even if they are dulled by "mommy's medicine." A simple, clear "Sorry, woman" is too base, it seems, or really, beside the point).
4. It's not my job to... (because that's what interpersonal, committed relationships are, right? Manual labor. And those from the upper echelons of society [the only men I date, naturally] know what it's like to do manual labor, right? They've tarred roofs, fixed cars, and climbed electricity poles at 3 am, all in-between waiting in line at the church free food giveaway and dumpster diving to feed your child. Oh no, wait, that was my family. [I do have a sordid past. It's a part of my intrigue as a rich, established, elegant woman now. And why I get invited to key parties and progressive dinner parties: I bring the color])

5. Like a dance, I was drawn to you from the road
6. Your distant gunfire creates distant light
7. Are you a witch?

8. I think I'm like in love with you
9. Take me back (that's right, it's not even a question!)
10. I knew from the first second I saw you that I'd have you
11. (inhales deeply near a crevice)
12. You're not wearing any underwear!
13. You've inflicted thousands of words on me
14. No
15. I couldn't predict that I would feel this way (because, Honies, clearly a lover being a PSYCHIC is what you are demanding from him)
16. you're bigger than other women I've dated. I like it.
17. I like bigger women (while embracing you. while you embrace DIET BBQ CHIPS and get CANCER)
18. you getting along with my family makes it hard for me to view you as a lover
19. why are you so mean to your mother? (naturally at first I thought this was a rhetorical question)
20. I feel proud for knowing my own limitations

 21. Can you watch my children?
22. No one is above suspicion with my children, even you

23. Today was the first day I spoke at an AA meeting and it was very hard for me. You're not supporting me (on my birthday, ladies, naturally, while I'm trying to numb hearing Our Failing Relationship by drinking alcohol! The rudeness)
24. I actually think you might be smarter than me (he thinks it's a compliment, ladies, and that it makes him look progressive for going outside the norm and liking smarter women!)
25. You're acting your age (well, I was 19 and he 33! Maybe he was acting my age, too!)
26. You don't understand (oh, that one gets me laughing every time)
27. (In response to the question, "why didn't you make amends to me?" he puts fingers in ears, closes eyes, and screams LALALALALA to avoid hearing you [this one was my father, and a few days before he died, and accident which I drove past at the time and didn't know was him, confirming for me at the time, of course, that there is no such thing as mystical or genetic connection. A wonderful memory I return to often in the night when I haven't drank or popped enough "medicine"]. Oh, how fun it is to conflate fathers and lovers! Men, they provide us so much fodder!)
28. I love spending time with you
29. You've taught me so much
30. ...But...


So, ladies, and male homosexuals, what have our men of the world told you? That French boyfriend? That beach boy you took home who stole your wallet? Tell me. Anger is a powerfully uncomfortable and healing feeling, and after writing some of these phrases out, I was able to laugh and laugh and laugh like I do. So perhaps it's anger (one thing, anyway) that truly brings humor, and then, reverence for life and its possibilities. Let us exorcise. I am a witch, after all, so the gods know how many men have to exorcise me after I've had them in my clutches. A priest should line them up.