Turn Ons that I Might or Mightn't Do

I was having a conversation with a friend who mentioned something about anal sex and somehow we got onto the topic of Sarah Palin and anal sex and I found myself getting aroused. Hm. So, my friend said (yes, I told him that this was happening), so you'd have anal sex with Sarah Palin? And I said, "NO WAY, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't turn me on." So... I figured I'd explore things that turn me on that I would or wouldn't engage in personally.

Turn On-Fantasy / Will do or Participate in?

*Anal Sex with Sarah Palin / Nope.
*Vaginal Sex with Sarah Palin / Possibly, if she doesn't moan in that nasal tone.
*Glass Dildos / Absolutely
*Waterfalls / Yes Yes Yes!
*Gay Men making love / No. (Just no real place for me there, you know?)
*Having sex with a cop who's pulled me over for speeding. / ??? (nothing to do with getting/not getting the ticket)
*Having sex with another driver who's nodded for us to get off at the next rest stop / No!
*Red Honda Del Sol Convertibles / No room to fuck -- unless the top were down...
*Sofia Coppola in Godfather 3 trying to get Al Pacino's forgiveness / Not interested in the Mafia.

and, by the way, with all respect to Ms. Coppola for her film direction, she turned in a very difficult-to-watch performance in that movie. And it STILL got me. Amazing.

*Public Sex / Yes. Sorta depends on the public, though. Like at a Gala or Ballroom Affair.
*Sex in the water, pool, jacuzzi / No.
*Sex on the kitchen floor / Yes. As long as it's been cleaned.
*Sex with a stranger - Met on a Subway, An Audition, A Waiting Room / Nope.
*June Cleaver / Nope.
*Nancy McKeon / Nope.
*Valerie Bertinelli / Yes!
*John Hughes Films / Yes. I mean, if that were possible.
*Reese Witherspoon / Uh-uh.
*Rose petals / Yes -- a bed covered in rose petals -- yes
*On a stage with no audience / Yes! yes!
*iPhones / Nope. Don't want those radiowaves inside me.
*Cigarette Packs (before they're de-celophaned) / Nope.
*The turning of a lined piece of paper that's been written on with ball point pen / If I could...
*Sideways Glances / Yes!
*Eddie Izzard / No.
*Eddie Murphy / Yes.
*Eddie Vetter / Yes.
*Edward R. Murrow / Yes.
*David Strathairn playing Edward R. Murrow / Yes.
*Edie Brickell / Yes.
*Snakes / No. No. No.
*Alanis Morrisette / Yes.
*Ani DiFranco / Do I really have to even answer this?
*Annie Lennox / Yes.
*Michelle N'degeocello / YES YES YES~
*Queen Latifah / Yes!
*Cellos / The players...yes. Not the male ones. Jacqueline DuPre over Yo-Yo Ma anyday.
*Me. / Yes.

:-) Make your own lists and share 'em.

Peace,

Pandora

Gravestone Musings

If I were to have a gravestone, I'd want something that really expressed something about my essence. I've studied a lot of gravestones - I'm fascinated by how people boil down their lives. Mostly, they boil them down to their relationships with other people in their lives or they have a short quote from the bible. I haven't been to a Buddhist cemetary --- that's a new one on me --- I should definitely check that out. In any case there are two problems with what I want on my gravestone -- the first is that I want something that totally gives the person reading it a sense of who I am or...was... and then second problem is that I don't want to be buried so where the Fuck is the gravestone going to go? In any case, left to the conventionalists, my gravestone may read something like:

Pandora Scooter: Daughter, Mother, Grandmother. 1971 - 2076
(I'm being very optomistic...I missed out on the bicentennial - I really want to make it to the tricentennial - seriously.)

But, if I had a limited number of characters - which I imagine it must cost a pretty penny (funny phrase) to have a gravestone or placemarker (if it's made out of bronze of something) carved -- it might read something like:

Pandora Scooter: Kick-Ass Mom and All Round Awesome Human Being. 1971-2076.
(If I keep typing "2076" maybe it'll come true... :-)... a girl can hope, right?)

But, if I had loads of money...hmmmm... like if anything was possible.... anything at all... Where and what would I want for a marker to commemorate my life?

It seems so impossible a question to answer.

I'd like a chip inserted into everyone's mind so that they have some reference for me and that I am missed by everyone. I mean everyone. Every. One.

But that's over the top, even for me. And, the next closest to thing to that would be to achieve the kind of fame and impact that Michael Jackson or JFK or Diana achieved. And, while anything is possible, it's also quite possible that that won't happen.

So, then I feel like maybe a marker, if I had to choose a place right now, would have to be in a place that means something to me. There's a stage - wooden stage - in the middle of a forest in Danbury, CT where I first felt the immense power of myself on stage. I could see my ashes being strewn around that stage and a marker being placed there. And, because it's at a camp, I'd probably want something inspiring to kids to be written on my marker something like:

Pandora Scooter learned the power of her presence in this forest. She wishes each person who steps on the stage to experience their power and achieve centeredness. 1971-2076.

Or maybe something a bit more poetic.

But really...my dream...is to have founded an arts-space by the time I die -- sometime in my 60s or 70s and have my plaque there. Dedicate myself to making space for others. Similar to the way that there a little alcove dedicated to Mr. Smithson who founded the Smithsonian in "The Castle" - the administrative building of the Smithsonian. I've always loved that alcove. It's so peaceful and well placed. And accessible.

Well, I guess I better get on creating that arts space, huh? :-)

Dreams are meant to sweeten life...not be beaten down.

Pandora Scooter: Power to the Peaceful and Love to All -- 2009.

Turn that Smile Upside Down

I smown or frile or something that means, I smile with a frown. I realized this a year or two ago when I became aware of my face. How crazy is that concept? Apparently, for years I had gone along completely out of touch with the expressions I created throughout the day. And one of them that I completely missed was the response I had to strangers and sometimes people I knew upon seeing them. I would turn down the corners of my mouth while executing a subtle nod. Sort of like the stereo-typical Deniro mug that reads something like, “Not bad, kid.”

I think I actually became aware of it when I noticed that I was greeting more and more people as I was becoming more open in general and that people weren’t smiling back. And rather than chalk it up to “People suck.” I actually delved into what I may be doing to discourage a more welcoming response. That’s when I became aware of my face.

My expressions are rather…extreme. Eyebrows raise into my hair line, eyes open wide like saucers (where did that phrase come from?). Lips poke out as if I’m doing some kind of “kissie, kissie” expression – but actually, this is my “thinking” face. Nostrils flare. Cheeks fill with air. (And this is all during the course of a typical exchange between me and the cashier at the corner deli.)

And, apparently, I frown when greeting people.

Today, at least a year (probably more) since I realized this, I still have trouble actually turning the corners of my mouth upwards upon making eye contact with people. Not people I know I’m meeting. People who are passer-bys.

When I succeed, at least 75% of the time, I get a smile (these people know how to smile) in response. Sometimes a head-nod. Sometimes an actually greeting, like “Hey” or “Hi there.”

This may seem like a lot of thought put into how I make contact with people who have no idea who I am and who will completely forget my existence as soon as I pass by, but I think this is important because a true smile shared between two people can turn a grumpy, crummy day into an ok, or even a good, or even, a great! day.

So, I’m learning to smile.

Life Celebrations

Ok. Forgetting for a moment the Carpe Diem-thing and the idea that "every day is a new day" or "every day is a me day" (the last being my particular theme song), I'm having some very serious thoughts about how we should re-jigger our thoughts about celebrating life.

Birthdays are nice. Yay, it's your birthday, let's have a party, let's have some fun, let's lavish a little extra attention on you (if you can call paying attention to someone "lavishing")...and then let's go home and resume our typical responses and relationship to one another. Kaput. Done. Your special day is over.

NEXT!

But wait. It took me 39 weeks (actually I think it was 37 weeks...I just couldn't wait to get out into this world and...spend it completely tied up in neurotic spirals of self-destruction - until the age of 30, of course, when everything started unravelling-in a good way. Or maybe I could wait to get FREE of my mother's uterus which housed about the same amount of tension as the Golden Gate Bridge, but without the purpose of actually bridging gaps, huh.)

ANYway, it took me 37 weeks to gestate into an organism that could sustain itself without much aid (food notwithstanding) and one day, the cervix gave way, my "pee" flushed out of my mother's vagina (my birth canal - isn't it interesting how my mother's vagina is my birth canal -- kind of like how Panama's Canal was the United States' "Look how we can manipulate Central & South America" canal. (I'm totally open to correction on this one, but that's how I currently read the history.)

ANYANYway, then, one day, my water broke through my mom's cervix and BAM it's time to be born and 18 hours later (which, spanned across a midnight from Dec 20 into Dec 21), I was born.

All this, and I get ONE DAY to celebrate?

And, in some people's cases, they don't even get one day to celebrate, they get one meal - or a special dessert after one meal.

So, 39 weeks - nevermind if there was actually planning involved -- (I shudder to imagine) -- is knocked down to a few hours of loud interaction, alcohol consumption and, in many cases of my peers who are nearing their.......(((((forties))))...drunken rumination about the point of their existence.

Hm.

I'm thinkin' somethin's off kilter here.

Now I know you know what I'm thinking:

39 weeks of celebrating! February 21-December 21 of each year is my birthabration (that sounds horrible, the word, not hte idea).

But, I know...no one's going to be able to celebrate their life, their existence, for 40 weeks out of each 52-week year. I mean, the cake/pastry and restaurant industry would LOVE it, as would computer software programmers -- can you imagine the software that could track who's IN their 39 weeks and who's OUT, so that you could appropriately send off "Happy Birthabration" emails to the correct people automatically? It'd come out on the Mac for Moms as iBirth'dU.

So, how about celebrating the following dates throughout the year:

ConceptionDay
First/Second/Thrid TrimesterDay
WaterbreakDay
BirthDay

That's SIX days throughout the year (well, 10 months of it) to celebrate your existence. If everyone I knew had six days to celebrate, well, there'd be enough celebrating to keep everyone in touch - and then there could be combined celebrations - my thirdtrimesterday with your waterbreakday, etc...etc... It would be a total boon.

And to those of you who may be rolling your eyes because you have *so* many friends that you can't even keep up with the ONE day of celebration each of them gets per year :-), I say to you: count your lucky stars and know that all your friends will know that you can only be in one place at a time.

Fuck 'Em

I think the word “them” should be recategorized to “four-letter-word” status in our language. The word has lost its literally meaning of simply “not us” and has taken on the denotation of “against us” or “not acceptable to us.”

THEM.

I heard someone say (in a rather neutral tone), “Well, it happened because of them.” And the first thing that popped up into in my mind was the image of “them” as these callous, robotic corporate types (my “them”) who were victimizing a totally innocent, Snow White (which, apparently, is my idea of an “us” – hmmm…more on that later, I think there must be…(Yoda I’ve become.).)

Fortunately, I saw RIG (Reactive Image Generator) for what it was and immediately began recasting everyone in the scenario: the woman speaking was actually not seeing the big picture; the “them” were actually trying their best, perhaps not succeeding; perhaps she was actually sabotaging them’s attempts to make the situation better; maybe the man listening is actually trying to decide whether or not to favor them and the woman was giving him her insight…

So then I had fourteen full-color stories going on in my head all because I was trying to erase the one black-n-white image.

But in midst of the mulit-hued and uber-nuanced re-interpretations of this single utterance, I realized that, in actuality, I knew nothing about the situation.

Well, to be a bit more accurate, I knew five things:

1) There was a woman who said the phrase “Well, it happened because of them.”
2) There was a man with her.
3) I am fascinated by interactions of strangers.
4) I did not know anything else about the woman or the man.
and
5) I have a proclivity toward interpretation

All because of the word “them” and my response to it.

RIG is powerful stuff. Not to be ignored. It probably is responsible for at least half or three-quarters of the disagreements that happen during the course of any given interaction.

**Oh, and about my “Snow White” as “us” thing… I guess I identify Snow White as being an innocent. But she was also disempowered, if I’m recalling correctly, and kinda super naïve. So, I don’t think of myself as being part of an “us” that includes Snow White…but when I think of innocent victims, that’s what RIG provides. How ‘bout for you? What does “us” or “innocent” bring up for you?

A Kid in Adult's Clothing

So, I'm at this 2-day retreat...(does it count as being "at" a retreat if it's held "at" my house?) -- Ok, I'm hosting a 2-day retreat of an arts organization of which I'm a part and it's 12:30 am and we've been working all day - since 11:00 am and I am ex-hausted - as in, I can't keep my shit together - at all. I was incapable of not giggling at the slightest misspoken word or slightest sexual inuendo (someone mentioned that marshmallows were 'elongated' and I couldn't help but say to that person (who was male): "If that's your idea of elongated...")

Usually, I'M the one who keeps it together. I'M the one who holds down the fort and keeps things rolling. Instead, here I was, the one who was being told to focus. Wow. What a turn of events.

I think it goes along with wanting glasses when I was a kid. I always thought that having glasses would mean that I was grown-up. I always wanted to be older than I was. I was being called "mature" and "wise" when I was 12. TWELVE. I mean, ok, a 12 year old can be wise, but I was putting together a RESUME when I was 11. I was pursuing this response from people - adults. I had no peer-to-peer skills. And I was always serious.

Now, when meetings are out of control and misled, I'm still usually the one to keep it together.

But this meeting had other people (folks who are 12-15 years my juniors!) who were keeping it together...so I could relax...for what seemed like the first time in my life.

For the first time in my life I have experienced what it is like to NOT have to be the one who takes things seriously so that others will do the same. I trusted these folks and it felt great.

Just FYI: I wasn't disrespectful. For the most part, I wasn't disruptive. I did have to stuff my face into a pillow for much of the last part of the meeting to keep myself from being disruptive. Not the most professional "face" to put on things, but at least I didn't impede the meeting, which was, in everyone's opinion, very, very successful.

It's nice to be a kid once in a while.

ISO: Brain Taser

I had a full-on temper tantrum last night.
Crying, stomping feet, hitting clothes (What? They were in front of me!)
I cried myself exhausted and then watched the hypnotism scene from Holy Man
(have you seen this movie? I know people totally wrote it off, but I think it's actually quite lovely)
3 times over
And then I watched the "Parcel of Peace" scene
And then I was tired so I fell asleep.

And, WHY?, you may ask, did I have this temper tantrum?

Because people say "Don't beat yourself up."
And I believe people.
Well, not all people, but I believe the people who say "Don't beat yourself up."

The problem with "Don't beat yourself up" is that if one has a proclivity for beating oneself up, then one has a proclivity for beating oneself up for beating oneself up
and then for beating oneself up for beating oneself up for beating oneself up...

Let's just say my brain is black-n-blue this morning.

How to stop the hamster wheel and just jump off into the shit pellets?
(Because even walking in my own shit would have been better than that turmoil.)

Breath.
Kombucha (I am totally addicted.)
Holy Man

And a brain-taser

I think people who get stuck in their heads too much
(ahem...like me)
Need a brain-taser.
Something to shock the brain out of it's overheating, overthinking, overeverythinging

And don't offer me meditation, because the last thing I need is to be left alone with my brain.
It scares me sometimes.

You know the saying, "You don't want to be inside my head." ?
Well: You don't want to be inside my head.
Seriously, folks, it's a very, very BRIGHT chasm, where there's no place to hide and I'm naked inside...
(ok, stop thinking about me naked. it's a metaphor, not a tease. :-) )

Anyway.

Brain-tasers.

Anyone got any ideas?