I'm Gourmet, Not Buffet

You know, I seriously think buffets are not a good thing. Having too many choices, with no limit to amount or portion is never a good thing. Our bodies are wonderful, beautiful, extraordinary machines and they have mechanical parts that work in a particular fashion. While some of us have different types of engines, different amenities, different options, we all function on a similar and foundational basis. Use the wrong fuel and parts of us will break down, we will become dysfunctional, defective, and damaged. Having access of a buffet requires self-control, discipline, determination and a desire to love yourself and love your body more than the choices displayed in front of you.

The same goes for relationships. There are so many choices out there, a smorgasbord of options, I’m beginning to wonder where is the self-control required to maintain a healthy relationship, a healthy interaction? Nobody is perfect. There will never be a perfect display, loaded with all the choices someone thinks they want in a partner, and then have all those options in perfect display, perfect condition, cooked perfectly to our taste. If you believe that perfect person exists, you’re a bigger fool than the obese patron of a buffet thinking they’re eating responsibly.

If you find a partner that has that perfect beautiful body you desire, what of their heart, what of their mind, what of their passion, what of their health, what of their faith, what of their fears, what of their faults, what of their skeletons, what of their triggers? I watch so many unbalanced relationships start and fail because the selection was made on first sight. Just because it looks good and tastes good, it doesn’t mean it is good and not spoiled or rotten in the center, and will poison you. However, just because something looks healthy, doesn’t mean it isn’t filled with toxins or chemicals that will destroy more than it will fix. Just because something looks terrible, doesn’t mean it’s wholesome or tastes good. Come on, people… you’ve got to look deeper than the presentation. I can cook a meal and make it look like a million-dollar five-star gourmet delight, but be tasteless or smell like heaven but will send you to hell. Get your fucking heads out of the gutter. Stop watching your romance movies, reading your romance novels, and watching porn and being disappointed with the world and in the beautiful person right in front of you. Guess what? We are ALL faulty, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be beautiful, healthy, and something good in this world.

I used to desire that hot, fast, muscled Mustang, but I’ve come to appreciate and love my dependable Focus. Don’t get me wrong, feeling the vibration of that muscle car humming with all its raw power is hot, but I’m a little deeper than that now and I need more than muscle to meet my needs. I stay away from buffets and instead only buy what’s good for me, healthy for me, and for my betterment. I drive past the fast food restaurants and enjoy the art of cooking. I don’t test my self-control by not placing myself in the path of having to make that decision. In return enjoy the life that makes my soul sing. I am able to hike and enjoy nature. I feel better, healthy, and strong. I have strength to fight off infection. While my body is riddled with flaws, scars, flab, some wrinkles and the beginning of graying hair… I’m beautiful. I’ll never be a porn star, but I can make beautiful love to my man. I’ll never win a beauty contest, but I’ll love my partner with a beauty that can’t be judged. When I give my heart, I give also my support, my love, my devotion, my hopes, my dreams… and I pick up their heart, their support, their love, their devotion, their hopes, and their dreams.

Our buffet minds have destroyed so many relationships. When life get tough, and it does get tough - it’s fucking life - we have too many other choices in front of us to stick with the original choice we made. We’ve lied to ourselves thinking that maybe the next selection, or the next bite will taste better, so we pile our plates full of a little bit of everything and anything, yet truly appreciate nothing. But, if we have ONE beautifully plated, beautifully seasoned dish, we now have a chance to savor it, appreciate it, enjoy it, and truly taste it for the beauty it is. It’ll change our lives and make our love bloom to unimaginable heights.

Have you never wondered why there is little food on a five-star dish? Because that chef put his skill, his love, his talent, and his devotion into his dish, and he wants you to enjoy, appreciate and love what he’s created. He wants that dish to be the star of the meal… not lost among gross portions. It’s not how much you have, but the fine quality of what you have. I’m sorry, but I’m gourmet, not buffet. I’m a delicious dish that deserves my own beautiful plate. I’m not something to be piled upon by everything and anything. I’m classy. But, don’t think I’m snobbish, snooty, or have to have expensive. Don’t mistake expensive for quality. There is just as much crap on an expensive buffet as there is on a cheap one, the difference is only in the packaging.

Listen to me. Being in a relationship is about sharing who you are, all of who you are with your partner. Share your body. Share your mind. Share your hopes. Share your dreams. Share your problems. Share your failures. Share your mistakes. Share your fears. Share your doubts. Share your gifts. Share your fork. Share your kisses. Share your touch. Share your words. Share your silence. I don’t care what dirty laundry you have – we all have dirty laundry. Let’s wash it together. Physical problems, let me help encourage you, as you encourage me. Financial problems, let’s make a plan and both pick up a shovel. Emotional problems, let’s talk about it together, heal together. That’s what a relationship is about – quality – not packaging, display, or quantity. Let me love you. Dare to love me. Let’s avoid the buffet and concentrate on making one hell of a beautiful dish - together. We might have to start over again and again, choose some different ingredients as we discover what works and what doesn’t, and try some different seasonings until we find the right combination we both will enjoy and savor. It’s worth it.

But if you can’t, if you can’t make the effort, or have no self-control and can’t stop thinking and desiring the cheap substance of a buffet, then keep moving. I won’t be, no, I CAN’T be part of a buffet. I’m gourmet.

Till next time,



~Filet Mignon

Swoozie's Cheerleader

Okay, if you guys don't know my boy Swoozie, from YouTube, you're missing it. Adande Thorne is infectious. He's one of the naturally funniest guys I've ever watched.  My good friend, Emilio Solano, introduced me to his videos a few years ago, and ever since I've been a loyal fan. I anticipate his videos and when I see a new one has been posted, I literally can't stop the smile that spreads across my face. I usually watch the video right there, right then, even in the middle of a date, No matter what I'm doing, except perhaps while having se... well, maybe even then too, I'll stop and watch a Swoozie video.



He's charming. He's funny. He's adorable.  He puts it all out there, all the embarrassing stuff, all the mistakes, all the funny day-to-day life tragedies and mishaps.  His raw honesty helps restore my faith that good men still exist. He's brilliant. He's talented. It doesn't hurt that he's also very, very handsome. It's also a plus that he's a gamer, but doesn't let the games consume his life. I have this fantasy of us playing a video game and the controllers get all mixed up... and... um... well... where was I?



But, seriously, one of the reasons I love this guy so much, is because I see what's not quite apparent. He's talented and a hard worker, and he's out there doing it, chasing his dreams, and making it come true. He's an inspiration because as a writer, author, and artist, I hear so many people talk about their dreams, talk about what they want to do in life, but I don't see them doing a damned thing to go out there and make it happen.  It's like this world expects everything to just drop in their laps like they're entitled, but dreams require sacrifice, they require dedication, they require sticking with it when it looks like the whole world doesn't give a damn - but you. I've watched Adande back when he only had a few video posts push forward.



Every time I saw him accomplish something else, I smiled.  When my boy went to the White House to interview President Obama, man... Oh, man... I was so damned proud.  His success has NOTHING to do with me, but I can't help feel like I'm one of his cheerleaders from the sideline, cheering him forward, and getting to witness his run right into greatness.  Watch this man!  I'm telling you, watch him... because he's one of the greats.  His spotlight is bright.  His presence is infectious.  His mind is clever.  His determination is steel.  He's going to make it. I can already see it, and I can't express how freakin' proud I am.



The very first video I watched by Swoozie was Video Game Girlfriend, and then a year or so later, Kiss the Gamer Girl.  He blew me away. I know he'll absolutely have you rolling on the floor.



So, guys and gals... if you haven't checked out my friends, Swoozie, what the heck are you waiting for?  Do it now. I promise... I promise... you won't regret it.  In fact, you'll be sending me messages thanking me. Show the love, people. Don't forget to let Swoozie know how much you love his videos once you do fall in love with them.



Till next time,



~Swoozie's Cheerleader

Piece by Piece

I sometimes think I really love a good epic fantasy, a fairy tale, because I have this deep need to see a valiant hero, to see a man stick his neck out, risk his life, risk everything in order to save the day.  I hope for it. I dream of it. I just need to actually see it put into action sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen the beauty and selflessness of man.  I’ve seen heroes. I’ve watched some of the most beautiful men risk their lives for their woman, their family, their faith, and their country. I’ve watched heroes die. I’ve lost a hero of my own and have lived with the fact for the past 24 years I was left alone so that others be saved. Others, who often don’t appreciate the sacrifices that were made for them. Others, who often degrade and diminish those sacrifices.

I just heard a song by Kelly Clarkson that had me weeping, because it touches so close to the center of my heart. “Piece by piece he collected me off the ground where you abandoned things. Piece by piece he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old. He never walks away; he never asks for money. He takes care of me, ‘cause he loves me. Piece by piece he’s restored my faith that a man could be kind and a father could stay… piece by piece.”

Now, that’s a man, one not afraid to pick up the shattered pieces, one unafraid of the difficulties he may have to face for the woman he loves. You know, that’s all women really need from a man - to be loved, to be brave, to be wanted, and needed.  We all have difficulties to face, shattered pieces to put back together, and we women are strong enough to do anything and everything on our own. We don’t need to be saved, we just need to be loved so we can heal, blossom, and then bloom into the beautiful flower that will adorn her man.  

Bonnie Tyler had the right idea. “Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? Where’s the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need.  I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning night. He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight. I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ‘till the morning light.  He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon, and he’s gotta be larger than life.  Somewhere after midnight, in my wildest fantasy, somewhere just beyond my reach there’s someone reaching back for me. Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat. It’s gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet.”

We are strong. We are independent. We are resilient. Where have all the good men gone? We need heroes. We don’t need flowery words, empty promises, lies and deceptions.  Our bodies aren’t the prize, it’s our hearts and our minds and our devotion. Why are there so many cowards?  Why do men choose the easy route, the sure, temporary thing? I’ve watched men choose women in fear, too afraid to take a chance, too lazy to face a challenge.  I even had a man tell me once, “Never date someone who’s problems are bigger than yours.” Really?  That’s selfish, that’s lazy, that’s pathetic.  

I’m really tired of cowards, tired of men too afraid to step up and be the men I know they’re capable of being. I understand we live in a world that has constantly been emasculating men for years. I see it every day and it literally makes my heart ache.  Where are our warriors, men willing to fight no matter how difficult the struggle is ahead of them? Where are our gods, men unafraid to love a woman, to devote himself to one woman and make her a goddess, a queen?  Men expect women to be these great queens, but do not feel they must be king themselves first. 

God, help me.  I’m surrounded by minstrels and fools. Piece by piece, let my faith be restored that a man can be kind and a hero can be brave. This sword I carry is heavy.  Take a fucking risk, you cowards! Stop playing these mind games because you’re too afraid to lose, too afraid to fail, too afraid to get hurt.  The best things in life are those things that require risk, require sacrifice, and require a bit of courage.  I’m sick of watching men run away from confrontation, too scared to speak their mind, too afraid to want something, too afraid to put their heart’s on the line. They chase after what’s easy, what’s uncomplicated, until it becomes complicated and then run like a feral dog with their tails tucked between their legs because things get hard. Life is hard.  Life if filled with drama and complications, yet if you stick it out, there’s also a beauty that’s worth it.

Is this what we want to teach our sons, the next generation of men, how to be a coward?  They learn by example, not by words. Let’s teach them that to have a woman look at you with pure admiration and devotion because you stood up and faced your fears like a man, is worth it.  Big muscles don’t make a man, a big heart does. Well-endowed shouldn’t be in reference to the size of a man’s penis, but the size of his courage. Courage shouldn’t only be present when you hold a gun in your hand, but when you hold a heart. Stop this fucking half-hearted, bullshit cowardice two-step dance.  If you don’t have the guts to be the man a woman deserves, a woman needs, then move to the side and go play with young women who don’t know what they want or need and have no confidence in themselves so they’ll put up with your bullshit.  I’m tired of watching the tears stream down a good woman’s face because a coward broke her heart, because he was too much of a pussy to actually devote himself to her, and her alone.  Instead of facing the difficulties of a relationship, they move onto the next unsuspecting woman. 

In a recent conversation with my best friend, they asked me what I wanted, what I needed, what I hoped for in a relationship. It wasn’t a great body, an intellectual mind, a great financial portfolio, or a long laundry list of attributes I found attractive… it was very simply… a man willing to love me with all his heart. That man would have my devotion, my faithfulness, my support, my love.  They would have a partner that would give them everything and who would stand by their side and fight through anything. I’ve been through hell and back, there’s nothing I can’t face, there’s nothing I can’t accomplish, there’s nothing I can’t overcome. I don’t need a man to save me, just love me. But a coward can’t do that.  A coward can’t pick up my pieces, they don’t have the strength.

I don’t need a man. I can take care of myself. I love myself and strive to navigate this world through that love and with that love.  That love blazes like the sun.  Cowards can’t touch the sun, only heroes.  My heart breaks for my friend as I watch her try to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.  I think I empathize because I have found myself in the same position as her many times before.  My anger this morning is perhaps for us both.  I’m so sick of cowards.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not beating up on all men. I love men. I love good men. I admire courageous men. I respect heroes. I know there are good men out there.  I just need to see them, just a little piece.

Judgement Day - Stealth

Judgment Day – Stealth

https://youtu.be/GZFpzVZjbDg

I can feel the floor shaking and the glass begin to break. 

The air is getting thinner with every breath that I take.  

The calm before the storm, you can hear the drop of a pen.

Never been claustrophobic, but now the walls are closing in.  

I’ve crossed every line, broken every boundary.

And now it’s retribution time ‘cause the change that I’m into, it ain’t that holy.

So, strike me down, take me away. Debts are due, it’s time to pay.

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day!

I won’t run, the guilt is mine. Still, I’m denying all my crimes.

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day.

Of all the love I have taken, all the hearts I’ve turned to hate.

Hearts are easily broken when you’re being made in the shade.

I’ve crossed every line, broken every boundary,

And now it’s retribution time ‘cause the change that I’m into, it ain’t that holy.

So, strike me down, take me away. Debts are due, it’s time to pay.

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day.

I won’t run, the guilt is mine. Still, I’m denying all my crimes.

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day.

Standing up by name. Ready to meet my fate.

Burns my soul, it’s not too late. So bring on the judgement day.

So, strike me down, take me away. Debts are due, it’s time to pay,

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day!

I won’t run, the guilt is mine. Still, I’m denying all my crimes.

Face what I deserve, here comes judgement day!

Man, man, man, man, man… this song moves my soul, to the deepest, most intimate part of my being. It’s cool water, to a parched, thirsty, and brittle spirit.

We'll Figure It Out

The world is a mess. We are all mess. I’m a mess. You don’t know how many times I’ve found myself in situations I knew were coming, yet procrastinated until I was deep into the heat of battle. It’s during times like that I’ve often heard myself say, “I’ll figure it out.” Most struggles stem from a lack of preparation, yet spending my life planning for every situation often caused me to miss out on actually living in the moment. Battles come… always. They never stop. When one is won or lost, another rises in its wake, each leading us closer to the resolution of our war – life. This is our ultimate plot line.

I’m a planner, a dreamer, and survivor. I do try really hard to live in the moment, to focus on the here and now and not continue to be caught up reliving the past or fretting over the future. But, come on – it’s part of my DNA to have the whole story, to flesh out the minor plots, to notice the connections, the paths, the solutions, the threads, and the story on the whole. In the story of life, I’m not only the protagonist, antagonist, the hero, and the villain of my particular tale, but my story intermingles with so many other sub-characters, allies, enemies, and love interests. How can I not get caught up in trying to see where their plot lines cross with mine? We are all part of the same story.

I can’t express how many relationships I’ve run from because I’ve followed the plot lines and found they didn’t lead to where I wanted them to go, or where I needed them to go despite where I wanted. Yet, even the best plot lines, no matter how certain of their direction, were met with plot twists or inciting scenes that changed everything, mostly changing me and what character I thought I played. Some were wrought with red herrings and disturbing revelations, or deep mysteries, while others just simply had a lack of story they became lost amid my drama.

Here I am again with another plot twist. Here I face new plot lines, new characters, new scenes, and a new objective, yet filled with many familiar faces. Here I am once again swimming in a sea of uncertainty, hearing myself say, “I’ll figure it out.” But there is a particular part of me, one of the many characters that has played in the story of my life so many times before, that aches inside. I can hear her soft, broken voice whispering, “I’m tired of going it alone. My cape is worn. My boots are crusted in mud. My mask is fading and withering. No matter how tirelessly I fly from one disaster to the next, the world continues to spin and my job is never done. Who’s gonna save me?”

Though surrounded in this world by people that have come and gone in my life, I’ve always felt alone, an orphan among seven billion people. I’ve tried really hard to let people in my life, to only be met with pain, disappointment and heartache. My walls are too deep to tunnel beneath, or too high to fly above. My skin is made of steel, though it appears soft as flesh. My eyes see through the veils at what is hidden beneath, that it’s hard to see the shallow exteriors. Though I look like everyone else, I’m unique, one of a kind, and alien in strange world. Though strong and gifted, I’m afraid. Not of being destroyed by anything this world can throw at me, but that I’ll always fly alone. What will keep my feet on the ground, tether my cape, and hold me tight as I struggle to fly away?

The world will always need to be saved. Solutions will always need to be figured out. There is no day that will be free of struggle, be free of inciting scenes, plot devices, climaxes, or resolutions. But my greatest hope is that one day I will hear the flap of another cape and a soft whisper in my ear, “We’ll figure it out.”

Till next time,

~ Hopeful Heroine

Faith, Hope and Love

Faith, hope and Love

Life has a funny way of sometimes jumping forward, pulling you back, or getting stuck in the present that you can’t move in either direction. That complexity is what makes it life. If everything worked the way we thought it should, or our thoughts always went in a forward momentum, or our hearts always moved in a particular direction, we wouldn’t be the complicated human beings we’ve turned out to be. We’d be happy plastic people. Isn’t that the way the song goes? We’d be strong in faith, solid in hope, and brimming with love, right?

Anyway, we are complicated, complexed, and often confused. We are taught morals and values that create walls and boxes, and when life doesn’t go according to plan, we often crumble inside those boxes, doubting ourselves and becoming weak in faith, void of hope, and empty in love.

I was thinking about God and family this morning. Well, how religion often portrays God, really. I thought about the scripture in Philippians 4, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything through prayer and supplication make your requests known to God… “, and I remembered being told more times than I can count not to worry about things, that God is watching out for me, He’s got me in his protection, and He’d make a way for me, to protect me; that my worry was detrimental and contrary to my faith. I’ve always wondered at those who would quote this scripture to me, if they’d ever suffered any real loss, any real tragedy, any real heartbreak, any real disappointment, any real set back or failure, because I had. For many years I felt weak in my faith because I still worried about the things that threatened my welfare, my children, my family, or the life I was trying to provide for them. Yet when I expressed those worries or fears, told with a smile NOT to worry, to have faith, to trust God would see me through it. Yeah, like all the things I already went through, that’s what I feared. Many of those things I worried about happened no matter my faith. Instead of feeling the strength I had often felt growing up in a severely abusive childhood, I felt like a failure, weak, and a disappointment to a god that was supposed to love and protect me. But it’s easy to talk warfare when you’ve never been in true battle. It’s easy to talk of a father’s love if you’ve never known a father’s love. But, what of us orphans who never knew love, never had a father to protect us, but a father from whom we needed protection? What of a soldier on the battlefield of life, one that’s seen the brutality of war, the ugliness of mankind? How can we ask them not to be afraid?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the past, not really the experiences I’ve had, but the woman I used to be. I was strong, but so lost. I was damaged, yet impenetrable. But what’s changing for me now is love. I’ve known love, but I didn’t quite know how to accept it. I’ve loved deeply, but I didn’t know how to express it. I’d like to say it’s because of the love that’s growing for my Dominican Marine that’s creating/inspiring this new outlook, and perhaps that’s part of it, but it’s more of the love I’m receiving from him, from my best friends Jenna and Kenny, from my kids, but mostly it’s from the love I’m receiving for and from myself.

I heard my ex-husband is getting remarried. I’m happy for him, because I’ve only ever wanted him to find and feel love. Everyone knew we married for convenience, to fulfill responsibility, and I could never be the woman he wanted, the woman he loved, and he often made sure I was reminded I was not wanted, or desired, or acceptable. I am not without blame, because I always knew I was never in love with him either, though I respected and was faithful to him, I couldn’t give him the love he needed. What hurt most in our divorce wasn’t our separation, because now we both had an opportunity to find the love we desired, but the loss and separation of family. His family was my family for two decades, and really the only real family I ever knew. His parents were the only parents I ever really had and I loved them dearly. Still do. I miss them. Now they’ll have a new daughter and I hope it’s one they can be proud to love. The bond I have with my natural brothers isn’t one of love, but one of survivorship, and while that bond brings us together and keeps us connected on some level, it’s also the foundation of the huge wall that keeps us separated, well… that and the lying, stealing, cheating, drugs, etc. My kids love me, but they don’t need me, and they’re getting on with their lives knowing they don’t have to worry about me. I loved them more than myself and only hope they understood and felt that love from me. I often fear I damaged them because of my own lack of being able to show what was inside beneath my thick armor.

I am a vagabond, a woman without a home, without a people, without a family, yet I am a very blessed woman because I am rich in love, in friendships, and in faith. While I worry about the cares of this world, I am not afraid. Not because I cling to a scripture, to a promise, or to a faith in a god to protect me, or a man to save me. I cling to a knowledge that shit happens, but I’m strong and I’ll overcome it, and I’m not alone, because LOVE is with me. God is love. God is with me. I love me. I love my kids. I love my friends. I love my Dominican. That love … that love is my strength. That love helps me heal from a past, gives me hope for my future, and surrounds me as I walk through my present… in all its complexity and simplicity. Faith is good. Hope is beautiful. But, love is the greatest of all these things.

Till next time,



~ Love’s Lover

Somewhere in the Middle

I tried to find a word to capture my current feeling, this overwhelming, yet underwhelming lack of expression for a place somewhere in the middle, but I can’t quite capture it. I even asked one of my highly intelligent friends for a word to express a median and they couldn’t come up with one either. It seems we are hard wired to think in extremes, always looking for that heightened or lack of feeling, but what we often experience on a day to day basis lies somewhere in the middle, and that’s normal. Yet, we think normal is depressing or non-essential. As a writer, one would think we always need to feel those polar extremes to write better, but that’s not true. What we should be able to capture is every level, every plane, every degree, every color on the spectrum.

So, why am I thinking of mediums this morning? Well, because my over-thinking, over-imaginative, over-complicated mind (get the idea?) is trying to evaluate, to be introspective about the current relationship I’m involved with my Dominican Marine. Some moments I have these bouts of clarity and think, Wow, I’ve met an incredibly wonderful man and I can feel the love and admiration, and I can see a life with him. Not a fantasy, but a real life, full of struggles and obstacles, but standing side by side with each other as we navigate. I suppose I found an adventure partner. And other times I think, Oh, shit… now what? Will I be able to stick this out or will I get scared and slip into my running shoes because I’ve worked too hard to find myself? I don’t want to be on either end of that stick, but I need those ends to keep me balanced. I don’t want to lose myself into someone else again, forget who I am as a woman, forget and forgo my own wants, needs, and dreams in order to fulfill theirs, and yet at the same time I don’t want to get so consumed in protecting the long list of personal goals and wants that I don’t make room for him and his. It’s about finding a balance somewhere in the middle, like a bubble finds the medium mark when it’s leveled.

So, here I find myself living between hope and fear, love and indifference, want and need. It’s okay to have them all, but it can get confusing if they’re experienced out of balance. One of my best friends is an 18-year old named Kenny who still yet has to discover life, love and heartbreak, and part of me envies his journey, but at the same time I am so glad I’ve already climbed those mountains. I also had a conversation with a 23-year old young man named Jordan at work yesterday, and hearing his doubts fight against his wants, his ideas against his morals, his hopes for a future against the reality of the present, made me smile because I realized I already know what I want when it comes to a relationship, I’ve already discovered for myself all the things he’s trying to discover now. My only fear at the moment is if what I want is compatible to what my Dominican Marine wants, and that answer is going to be found somewhere in the middle.

Yes, I’m still afraid and some days find it hard to breathe because love has a devastating way of being very elusive. At the same time, I’m finding myself beginning to dare to hope that maybe love has finally found me. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy being right here in the middle of them both. Got any popcorn?

Till next time,



~The Bubble in the Middle

Lies and Love

We are all liars. We lie to each other, but mostly we lie to ourselves. We create these ideals of what and who we are, and when things happen in our lives, we often get hurt and confused when they turn out to be something we didn’t expect. We don’t mean to lie to ourselves, in fact, we don’t often know we’re doing it. But the pain of the lies we tell ourselves, well, the pain hurts us really bad. Most often, even in the midst of the pain, we can sometimes still refuse to see the truth.

Why do we think it hurts so much when we’re disappointed, when our faith is tested and we’re deemed wanting? We hurt partly because we believe we failed on some level, but mostly because we were deceived, things didn’t turn out as we had imagined them, as we had hoped, as we had believed. We try to blame everything and everyone else for that pain. But if we really look at each situation in our lives, the worse of the pain stems from realizing we were wrong.

When I found out I had cancer, I instantly wondered what I had done wrong in my life to have deserved this punishment, to have earned this disease. That’s how I’m programmed to believe, that there are consequences for my actions, that for every action there’s an equal or opposite reaction, or there’s a blood price to pay for the sins we commit. When my ex-husband told me that he was never attracted to me or was never in love with me, I thought I deserved that, too. I didn’t deserve to be loved. The things I loved died. When my father would beat me for talking back to him or denying him, I thought I deserved the pain. The things I challenged hurt me. I was disobedient, and how can the universe, God, faith, or science honor disobedience? Even the natural laws of the universe have abstracts. When my oldest daughter ran away from home, I thought I too deserved that, after all… I ran away. I had just begun the journey of loving myself, loving my body, and loving my mind, and daring to love someone else when the cancer attacked. But it wasn’t the cancer that hurt me; it was the lies, the fantasy of a life I had created for myself, and those around me.

I ran, not so much from the people I loved from this crazy idea that it would hurt them less when I died if I was already gone, but I think I ran more from the dissolution of the dream world I’d built for myself, the hope of a life I dared to dream, and the reality of that dream didn’t live up the fantasy. Not even the man I thought I loved lived up to the man I had imagined. That’s not his fault, that was mine. It was unfair for me to build him as I had. He was perfect. He was simply amazing. Was he as I imagined him? Far from it, but I liked the lie. I fell in love with it. But as with all lies, the truth finally revealed itself, and I got hurt. No, I shattered.

So, here I am now, at a new place in my life, a strange place, because I can’t explain what happened to me, what happened to that dreamer, but I somehow I changed. I have slowly been piecing myself back together. While there are familiar fragments of the woman I used to be, I’m something different, I’m something new and the way I look at life, love, and living is something new too. Could it be another lie I’m telling myself? Maybe. I know I’m capable of it. I’m a writer after all, which makes me a master manipulator, an imaginative dreamer.

I don’t say this about being a liar as something derogatory. On the contrary, some of the lies are beautiful. The truth is always hard, always absolute, always concrete, but we are fluid, moldable, movable. The truth of life for me at this time is that not everything in my life is beautiful. There are struggles, there are strings, there are twists and turns, uncertainties, and a whole lot of choices. But there’s also adventure, discovery, and even love.

I’m falling in love again… in love with my life, in love with my body, in love with my mind, in love with my gifts, in love with my passions, in love with my sense of adventure, and in love with love. I might also be falling in love with this one particular Dominican Marine. Love has hurt me deeply before, broken me, shattered me, but I’m ready to try again. I’m ready to dream again, and the truth is… this is what living is all about – falling down and getting back up again. Love isn’t the broken pieces of my life, it’s the glue that keeps putting those broken pieces back together again. And that, my friend, is no lie.



Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

I'm Scared, But It Feels Good!

I can’t even express what I’ve been through emotionally, physically, psychologically, or even intellectually over the past few years.  Well, I don’t have to, these blogs have recorded that for me.  I find myself even unable to read them because those emotions are just under the surface, and I can’t jump back onto that roller-coaster ride, not yet. The highs are really high, and the lows are so deep I find myself really, really, really wanting to stay afloat for just a little while somewhere in the middle, somewhere in a medium, somewhere safe I can breathe.  Don’t get me wrong, I still want to feel the thrill of the peaks and the even the pain of the depths, but I just plead the universe gives me a little time to enjoy this moment of inertia.   

I’ve met someone recently, a wonderful, handsome Marine that keeps me smiling. I call him my Bello, because that’s what he is to me, he’s a beautiful soul that arrived in the midst of my darkness. I’m not sure I can explain what meeting him and knowing him is doing to me, because whatever is happening it’s momentarily outside my understanding.  I’m not going to say it’s love, but I’m not going to say it’s not.  I can only honestly say it’s different.  All the loves of my life have been different. Some complicated. Some painful.  All in the past, all gone, all of them I lost either by death, divorce, or deception. Each left a mark, a scar of their own, but a scar that I’m not ashamed to bare.  These scars have made me who I am.  I have no regrets. 

Last year, when I thought I was dying, I pushed everyone that meant anything to me out of my life, or at least to the edges of it, and built this huge wall of fear.  I became afraid… of everything and everyone.  I lost that girl that was living out loud and doing all these amazing things.  God, I envied her, I still do.  She was so full of life, so full of hope, so exuberant, taking on the world and taking a chance on life and on love.  Even now, I still envy her.  I fell in love with her, with myself, with life.  She had nothing, yet she had everything. But, I had to let her go, because cancer killed her, fear destroyed her, and a broken heart ripped her to pieces. She went from living out-loud and deep into survival mode - a place of numbness, detachment, minimal existence, darkness.

But light has entered the room.  Not a big light, but a little one and it grows brighter every day, exposing the shadows that have petrified me for too long.  I’m waking, wanting to find my way back to the light, back to a life full of sunshine, a life where I can once again live out loud.  I have too many dreams, too many hopes, too many passions to keep them hidden in the dark.  A dear revertant friend of mine has helped me see a glimpse that girl I once was, and though I can’t go back and be her, I can be even more.  I survived, again.  I’ve lost so much, but there is much more ahead of me.  

My Bello is showing me that though I’ve lost a lot, but those I’ve lost also lost me. I suppose that’s what I’ve had a hard time to see.  I’ve been so focused on what and who I’ve lost, even the girl I used to be, to see that I was the one lost, not them.  They lost me.  For whatever reason they didn’t choose me. Now, here I am, breathing, standing on my own two feet, staring at a world of possibility, alive, and ready to live.  I’m scared, but it feels good.  I’m ready to live out loud again. I’m ready to jump back into the light and fly.  My wounds are still there, and I have a few new scars, but my wings are not broken.  They’re sore, but I’m so ready to fly.  Yet, this adventure will be different, because I’m different.  I’m not the same woman I used to be. I haven’t yet figured out who she is yet, but I’m okay with that.

My Bello came to see me this week.  He moved his schedule around so that I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.  Someone put me first.  It felt nice.  He moves me to find me.  He encourages me to chase my passions. He doesn’t ask me for anything.  He makes me feel beautiful, wanted, desired, and adored. Mostly, he inspires me want to live out loud.  While I love the feel of his strong arms around me, or the softness of his lips upon mine, I mostly love the fact that I don’t want to change for him. I only want him to hold my hand as I break out of this cocoon and spread my wings.   

I have loved deeply.  I have loved faithfully. I have loved wildly.  Mostly, I think I’ve loved love.  Maybe now it’s time for love to love me back.  I’m still scared, but it feels good.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Isn't There Any Room?

With the world gathering beneath tinsel, families making holiday plans, lovers finding creative ways to express their affections, I can’t help but see the universe singing along filled with holiday cheers and fears. Yet, with all the fa-la-la, I also can’t help but feel a little lost. The constant festivities have me thinking about things, traditions, ideals about love. Working in the fashion industry and swimming among the super, secret, surprise sales, I also can’t help be a little disconnected, a little torn, and whole lotta confused.

I’m a giver, and I’m a rebel. I show emotion, and I keep it to myself. I like to do things for the people I love and care about, but I hate feeling like giving is an obligation. So, just as I didn’t feel pressured to cook an elaborate meal to feed our gluttonous appetites for Thanksgiving, I feel no pressure to buy meaningless gifts for a commercialized Christmas. I miss the Christmas cheer, but at the same time I’m free from the bondage of it.

Just as conflicted I am about the holidays, I’m just as conflicted about finding room in my heart for a new relationship in my life. I’ve lately met a wonderful man, my Bello, and he is delightful, and handsome and has many of the qualities I’ve always found attractive in a man. He keeps me smiling so much my face actually hurts. We seem to be kindred spirits and click in many, many, many ways. I like it. I like the whole romance phase. I like the butterflies, the expectation, the whole getting-to-know-you period. I’m not in a hurry, taking my time and letting things bloom in the sunshine as they’re meant. But, there’s also this small ache in my heart for the relationships of my past. The world keeps telling me I have to let them go so I can make room for something new. But, isn’t there room for everyone? Just as I continue to love my children as I enter a new relationship, I believe there’s room for both – the loves of my past and the loves of my future.

I suppose I’m struggling with the concept of ‘unloving’. I don’t think it’s possible, not when the love is real. I’m beginning to think that you NEVER stop loving. While you may stop being in an active relationship, you never stopping loving what you really, deeply, truly loved. These loves of our past helped mold us into who we are today. They’re part of our history, part of our experiences, part of our who we were – so how can we disconnect completely from that? My soldier died nearly 25 years ago, yet I still love him today. My love for him never prevented me from loving others and it doesn’t mean I love those in my life today any less. The pain of losing him made it hard for me to open my heart for a long time, but it didn’t stop me. I did open my heart. I did love. Wow, I mean… I loved deeply. I fell hard. I lived, I loved, I had an adventure. While that relationship didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean the love we had wasn’t real, and now that I’ve moved on to another relationship, it doesn’t mean the love is gone. It’s still there, and I believe it will always be there, because I don’t understand how to stop loving. I can stop being in their life, stop being connected, but I can’t make my heart stop the love. I can deny it, but I can’t stop.

Just as I see the holidays with a different pair of eyes, I’m learning more and more about love, and have discovered the concepts I’ve always accepted are like an artificial Christmas tree. Just as beautiful, but when the season is over you can pack the artificial tree away and bring it out year after year, but the real thing… the real thing, was a living thing and the scent of it never leaves you, even when the decorations are put away and the tree is gone from your life. All you have to do is close your eyes and you can still smell it. The life of it lingers in your heart, in your memory, and in your soul. The loves of the past… though gone, still linger, because my heart has plenty of room for all the loves I hope to experience in this life. I’m excited about this new spark, and I hope it burns true as the one’s before it, and yet even brighter.

Till next time,

~Tinsel Tinker, Love Inn Keeper

The Best Voyage

"The voyage of the best ship is a zig-zag line of a hundred tacks." ~Emerson

This is so true.  Life is filled with so many turns, obstacles, and adventures.  If it worked out how we planned it, oh, what a boring life it would be.  I've had all kinds of moments... good ones, bad ones, dreams and nightmares.  While I didn't enjoy many of them, I wouldn't change them, because they've made me who I am. I can look behind me and see the zigs and zags, and the tacks are colorful and numerous.  It makes me excited and afraid of what might lay ahead.  I'm excited, because I'm enjoying the trip.

~Passenger Aboard the US TonyaView blog

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

**Image from https://www.pinterest.com/explore/simon-garfunkel/

There are some songs I remember from my childhood, songs like nursery rhymes, rock-n-roll anthems my parents used to play in the car or through the house as they were getting stoned, school songs, and that odd song that would randomly come on the radio or television. One of those songs is The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy) by Simon & Garfunkel. I can’t tell you when I first heard the song, but just know that forty-four some-odd years later, I still remember it; every-single-word.

“Slow down, you move too fast. Ya got to make the mornin’ last, just kickin’ down the cobble-stone, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy. Da-da-da-da-da… feelin’ groovy. Hello, lamppost, what ‘cha knowin’. I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’. Ain’t ya got no rhymes for me? Da-da-da-da-da… feelin’ groovy. I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep. I’m dappled and drowsy and ready for sleep. Let the mornin’-time drop all its petals on me. Life I love ya’, all is groovy.”

Facing the next 3-4 weeks of a 50-hour work schedule, that’s what I’d like… for the world just to slow down a little bit. But, it doesn’t. It never does. It reminds me of another song that says, “Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future.” Boy, those hippies of the 60’s and 70’s may have been stoned, but they had some really profound sayings.

I woke up this morning listening to the birds singing their morning song. It’s been a while since I’ve listened to their soulful melodies because I moved to a freakin’ hot state that is awfully humid, forcing me to keep the windows shut and the air-conditioner constantly humming it’s dull, dreadful song. For a woman who dreams of breathing in fresh mountain air, this Florida whether is about the farthest thing away from anything I want. But I’m here, and I’m trying to make the best of the hard decision I made to come.

But, just because my life is spinning wide open like a treadmill set on fast speed and I have to keep up or else I’ll lose my footing and go flying off the end, I can choose to regulate my breathing, slow down my mind, and fall into pace. I can choose to enjoy those simple things like listening to the bird’s morning song, remember staring into pair of beautiful, brown eyes and feeling the warmth of a strong pair of arms, listening to the laughter of a simple joke, playing a game of Nancy Drew with my best friends, feel the excitement of meeting someone new, getting to know my co-workers, and taking one slow step at a time at living out loud.

So, as Simon & Garfunkel sang, let’s all just slow down a little bit, make the morning last, take a few moments and just breathe, smell the flowers of life, feel the love of those around us. I feel loved this morning having received unexpected messages from some of my favorite people in the world. It wasn’t earth-shattering messages, just simple hellos from old friends, new friends, past friends, and friends I hope to be there in my life for always. I don’t love easy, but I do love deeply.

Till next time,

~Groovy-Feelin’ Hippy

Let Me Count the Ways

The older I get, the more I look back on life with a little more perspective, and the more I see things differently than I did in my wild, younger days. Well, that’s really a lot of bullshit, because I never really had wild, younger days. I had the misfortune of being bogged down with adult responsibilities since before I could talk. However, I had wild, youthful notions through inexperience and naivety, especially when it came to love.

Having a conversation with a very close friend last night about love, about being in love, about responsibility and accountability, it reminded me of the things I loved most about the people I have loved, and even some I continue to love today. Why do we love the people in our lives? It reminds me of the practice of picking a daisy and plucking the petals with “he loves me, he loves me not”, or some lame poetic utterance of, “Oh, how I love thee… let me count the ways.” Really, what are those ways? What are the things that we truly fall in love with about someone else?

I’d like to say that in my past relationships that I fell in love with a heroic act, that my superman swooped in and saved the planet, saved me from uncertain death, or saved me from unhappiness, abuse, or a life depraved. But, I can’t say that, because no one ever saved me from anything. I have fallen in love, only in different ways, for different things. It was never for those big reasons, or even for those shallow ones like sex, physical features, money or fame. No, NONE of those things ever seduced me. It was cleverness, compassion, thoughtfulness and nerdiness that stole my heart. Deep conversations, wild speculations, imaginative curiosity, individual reflection, courage, passion, and confidence… oh, let me count the ways.

Touching is nice. Sex is fantastic. Chemistry, fire, passion… they all burn hot, and it’s all good. But, it’s playing trivia, sharing a song, contemplating deep thoughts, debating philosophy, sharing nerdy passions like a favorite movie, tv show or video game, sending silly memes, talking about embarrassing moments, texting me when someone does something to make you angry or happy, sharing dumb jokes, podcasts, videos, or just the everyday things, etc. THESE are the ways that steal my heart. These are the moments that are remembered and cherished. Passions fade. Bodies get old. Things rust. But, moments of love… those are the ways that last forever.

Till next time,

~Petal Plucker

Looking for Love

Life’s a little crazy sometimes. Well, for me, it seems like it’s crazy all the time. But, isn’t that what we all think? While we believe we’re unique and individual, aren’t we really pretty much the same, with the same needs, the same wants, the same desires? The only differences lie within the degree of each? Who knows? I may be wrong in that assumption. I can’t really speak for anyone else, only for myself, and in that… these are my individual wants, my own selfish needs, my own personal desires. What do I really want right now in the middle of my crazy life? What is it I’m looking for? I suppose it’s the same thing I’ve been looking for all my life… I’m looking for love.

I have love in my life, have had love in my life, and am sure I’ll have new love in the days to come. I’m loved by my kids, by my friends, and maybe even loved by a man or two. But, am I in love? Maybe, maybe not. I’m too damned scared to know, or too damned scared to try. The last guy I fell in love with, I fell hard, and I fell deep, and I fell on my ass because he didn’t fall with me. Hitting the ground after such a huge leap leaves a person scared to jump again no matter how much they want, no matter how much they desire to feel the rush of falling, the excitement of dreaming, and the hope of a future. But I want it.

I have a lot of love to give, but I also have a huge empty space inside that I desire to fill. I’ve made room for friends, I’ve made room for family, I’ve made room for the things in life and the dreams I dream, but I want to make room for someone that I can share that life, those hopes, and dreams. Last year, I closed that room when I thought I was going to die. It’s been a long road back to approaching that door, and having the courage to reach for the handle and throw it open. It’s been hard. It’s been scary. No, it’s been terrifying. But I did it. With the love and support of my dear friends, I’ve once again grabbed that zest, that desire, that hope to live. That part of me that was ‘living out loud’ is beginning to hear the music again. It’s been one hell of a climb back up the mountain. I’ve had some very steep parts that I was only able to hang onto by the tips of my fingers and pull my whole weight as I struggled to find a foothold. But, I’ve made it. Love helped me. Love guided me. Love lifted me, when I couldn’t lift myself. Ah, dang it, now I have that stupid song stuck in my head, “love lifts us up where we belong…” And now… now I have something to share and something to give. But, oh Mylanta, am I afraid. I’m so scared I’m trembling.

What if I fall again? What if I jump and find myself hitting the bottom on my own? What if, like another song I know, I find myself looking for love in all the wrong places? It seems I’m drawn to the weird, the awkward, the damaged, the broken, those who’ve been in the trenches and carry the scars, those that have walls as thick as my own, if not thicker, or to the impossible, the improbable, or the forgotten. I’ve never chosen the easy way, but damned… for once can’t it be easy? I think that’s why I love fairy tales and superhero stories so much… though they have great obstacles to overcome, everything always works out in the end. So, I keep hoping that someday it’s time for my story, my fairy tale, my day to shine… and love will come looking for me.

Till next time,

Princess of Impossible Dreams

Waiting for Superman

If you’ve never heard the song by Daughtry, “Waiting for Superman,” then you should definitely take a minute and check it out. I’m not going to say it’s the best song ever, I don’t think I could ever really say that about any song, but it’s definitely a song worth listening to at least once. I’ve actually had this song for a couple years now in my iPod, and play it every so often, but for some reason over the last few weeks I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

A friend of mine told me recently, “Songs to a person mean what you want them to mean. They don’t have to be amorphic. That’s why writers write in such a vague composition when it comes to songs. They want to include everybody’s feelings and experiences.” I suppose I should get to the song and how I’m finding relation to what it says, or at least what it says to me; that is, after all, the purpose of this blogpost today.

Another dear friend of mine told me recently, “You know, you’re always waiting.” I know the context in which he was referring, and when he said that to me, it hit me hard, because even though I knew that particular truth somewhere deep inside my subconscious, I didn’t realize it. Realizing the truth about something is the first step to changing it.

The song starts out...

“She’s watching the taxi driver, he pulls away
She’s been locked up inside her apartment a hundred days

She says, “Yeah, he’s still coming, just a little bit late.
He got stuck at the laundromat washing his cape.”
She’s just watching the clouds roll by and they spell her name
Like Lois Lane
And she smiles, oh the way she smiles

She’s talking to angels,
Counting the stars
Making a wish on a passing car
She’s dancing with strangers,
Falling apart
Waiting for Superman to pick her up
In his arms, yeah, in his arms, yeah
Waiting for Superman…”

Wow, the imagery my mind creates with that story. It’s amazing. But the pain I feel in my heart creates this huge lump in my throat and I can’t stop the tears that start to pool in the corner of my eyes. I get this song. I feel it. I can even taste it. What is it I’m experiencing? What is it that I’m seeing and relating to in this song? I see a woman who had to endure watching the love of her life, the hero of her heart and imagination disappear right out of her life. I’ve felt this now… twice. Twice, I’m left waiting… waiting for one soldier that will never come back, and another that chose not to. I’m the woman left behind, refusing to accept the truth, living in a delusional state because the pain is too hard to accept. It took me more than 20 years to visit the grave and stop waiting for the first soldier, my first Superman; how long now before I stop waiting on the second?

Superman, the superhero, was my first love, ever. At 10 years old watching Christopher Reeve fly across that screen, it literally took my breath away. To this day I’m a diehard Supes fan. I’ve always wanted to be Lois Lane, the woman who stole Superman’s heart. I even became a reporter at one point, obviously in an attempt at fulfilling that deep seeded fantasy. But, the more I think about it, I’m not sure I want to be Lois Lane anymore. What does it mean to be Lois Lane? What does it mean to be a woman so in love with a man, who sees him as her hero, who worships him like a god, yet is always waiting and will always come second to the world? A woman constantly deceived and lied to? A woman, a hero in her own right, yet shadowed by the spotlight of the man in a cape?

The delusions and excuses we tell ourselves to block the pain of reality is a hard pill to swallow. We wait. We wait for the truth to become the fantasy. We make excuses. We cling to a hope that our superhero will fly back to us one day, so we wait. Just the thought of him in our fantasy makes us smile with a pure joy. Yet, we can’t breathe, so we take these small, tiny, minute breaths, which deprive us of the levels of oxygen we need to think more clearly. But we don’t want to think more clearly, because to think more clearly is to lose the fantasy, to realize he’s not stuck at the laundromat washing his cape - he’s just not coming back. We pray to the angels, we count the stars casting our wishes upon them and all the passing cars. We dance with strangers, make the appearance that we’re fine, we’re okay and living our lives. We’re mingling with others, laughing out loud, yet constantly looking for his face in the crowd, his eyes behind every pair of glasses, his smile, his touch… but we can’t find him among all these strangers. Inside we’re falling apart and become just a pile of broken pieces, waiting, waiting, always waiting. We’re just waiting for our superman to rescue us, to pick us up, to save us and put us back together. Why? Because... we’ve flown in the clouds with him, we’ve tasted the sweet softness of his lips and felt the strong security of his arms. We’ve listened to the beat of his heart through his chest of steel.

“She’s out on the corner trying to catch a glimpse
Nothing’s making sense
She’s been chasing an answer, a sign lost in the abyss,
This Metropolis

She says, "Yeah, he’s still coming, just a little bit late.
He got stuck at the Five and Dime saving the day.”
She says, "If life was a movie, then it wouldn’t end like this,
Left without a kiss."
Still, she smiles, oh, the way she smiles, yeah…”

When the heart wants what it wants, and the mind wants something different, a war begins between the two. I’m learning that love isn’t rational, and can’t be conquered, or overcome rationally, because it doesn’t fight rationally or fair. Love is a tricky little devil and stubborn as hell, and wild – so wild it can never really be tamed. We can be as delusional as this woman waiting for the hero that will never come, looking for any and every sign of hope, clinging to every lie because it’s better than the truth no matter how rational she wants to be. She’s not blind, she sees the reality, and the truth… she just can’t escape the reality of her heart no matter how rational her mind wants to be. Love can’t just be turned off. All she has to do is close her eyes and remember… and the burn of the kiss is still there.

I used to think this kind of love didn’t exist. I had convinced myself I had made it up. Loving a hero long gone, it was easier to deny the pain I held in my heart by creating a universe where I had only imagined the love I had thought I felt to try and escape the pain at its loss. The delusion helped me be rational in all my other relationships. But, what I thought was rational was just another delusion, because the love was still there, it was still real, and it still hurt that my hero had died and left me behind, left me waiting for a return that would never come. It took finding, feeling, and falling in love with another hero to show me the truth, to remind me what that wild love felt like, to show me the denial of it was the true delusion. Watching and feeling the loss of the second one, helped me grieve the first. I was able to finally say goodbye after all this time to my lost hero, but I haven’t quite figured out yet how to say goodbye to the second. I had no choice in saying goodbye to the first… he died. The second chose someone else. My head knows he doesn’t deserve me, that I don’t need to be saved because I’m the only one that can truly save myself, that I’m my own hero, that I can fly myself… without him. But my heart still desperately clings to the fantasy that he’ll one day fly back to me. And so, I smile, Oh, the way I smile.

I don’t want to be Lois anymore. I don’t want to keep waiting for Superman. I realize the truth - he’s not coming back, he’s not at the Five and Dime saving the day, he simply just flew away. Acknowledging the truth is the first step, now I’m just waiting on the change to happen and I hope it doesn’t take 20 years this time to accept it, and I’ll soon be able to say, “Later, gator.” Maybe my next great love will be something a little simpler and not involve capes.

Till next time,



~Lois Lane

Letting Go

Letting go isn’t as easy as it’s made out to be, or as easy as it sounds. Hell, it sounds so simple… you know, just open your hand and let it go. Elsa even understood it so much she sang a song about it. Holding on is hard. Holding on is scary. Holding on takes so much out of you; it breaks you down and pulls at the very center of who you really are. The way ‘letting go’ is made to sound so easy is like saying holding on is a bad thing. But is it, really? Isn’t holding on what makes a relationship work? Isn’t holding on what gets you ‘through’ the tough times in life? Hold on to the promises. Hold on to the hope. Hold on to faith. Hold on to love. Right? How come I feel like I’m the only one that ever ‘holds on’ to anything in my life? I’m sure that probably sounds like such a selfish and self-centered attitude, but I can’t help but feel the lump in my throat when I think about it, and feel the warm tears streak down my cheeks as I think of all those that found it so easy to let go… to let me go.

Yesterday, I was faced with the stark reminder that I’ve once again been left behind, forgotten, that life has moved on without me, that they have ‘let me go’ and are busy with their new life, without me. Yet, feeling the pain of it made it clear that I’m still holding on. The tears that flow this morning are tears from facing the reality that they’ve moved on. I suppose it’s time for me to do the same. It’s time for me to let go of the fairy tale that will never happen, the knight-in-shining armor moment that’s never coming. He’s got his Cinderella and I’m faced with the reality that I was just another faceless dancer at the ball; all dressed up, but didn’t quite possess the right shoes. Obviously, that wasn’t my fairy tale.

So, what do I do now? Let go? That’s easy to say, easy to think, easy to plan, but… what everyone fails to explain is ‘HOW’. How do I turn a part of my heart off? How do I stop dreaming? How do I stop hurting? How do I start to breathe again? I should know how to do this; I’ve done it so many times before. I should be an expert, or know how to write a how-to book on “letting go” and “starting over”. Yet, I know as much now as I knew every time before. I’m lost. I’m just lost. Nothing’s familiar in my life right now. For a few seconds in the mornings I forget I’m in a new town and separated from everything I love. I’m in a new job, and haven’t yet started back writing. I have everything I own and possess stuffed away in some storage unit, waiting to be reclaimed. That’s how my life feels: stored away just waiting to be reclaimed.

I have to let go, I have no choice. Those decisions were made without me. I may have been the one who moved away, but they left me long before that. The tears this morning remind me I’m still holding on, but there’s nothing in my hands except broken pieces of myself. Was it worth it? Is the pain I feel now worth the joy I felt while falling in love? Yes. I loved falling in love. It was scary, but exciting. For just a little while, I was the princess at the ball in the beautiful gown, and it was me with whom he was dancing. I felt the magic. The music moved me. Everything about it was beautiful. He was beautiful. I don’t know how long it’ll be before I dare dress up and attend another ball, but before I do I have to somehow “let go” of this particular fairy tale. Elsa, help me. My friends, please just hold me close and very tight. I love you all very much, and it’ll be your love that helps me find my magic again.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Manly Man

I’ve often heard a guy talk about being ‘manly’, like his actions determine his level of maturity. But really… who makes up the rules? What is the measuring rod that determines the level of manliness that determines whether a male is manly enough? I hope to God it isn’t his ability to spit a nasty wad of tobacco half way across the yard, hit a chicken in the head, and bounce off a bell. That’s just stupid. I also hope it isn’t the deepness or squeakiness of his voice, because I’ve heard some squeaky men and some deep-toned whiny babies.

So, what truly determines the level of manliness accepted by men? Or do the women set this level of acceptability?

For me, what makes a man a man is simply the way he treats the women in his life. Does he respect his mother? Does he refer to females as bitches and ho’s? Does he treat his girlfriend like an object? Does he treat his daughter like a burden or mistake? Does he treat his sisters like they’re not important? How does a man treat the woman in his life? An imbecile treats their women deplorably… and their accomplishments, achievements or abilities mean SHIT, regardless of their virginity status or deepness of voice. An asshole is an asshole is an asshole. A manly man, in my opinion, is someone who loves, adores, respects, protects, worries, and defends the women in their life.

Also, the way that a man is in life, often determines the type of woman he inspires in life. A cheap, lying, asshole creates a long line of damaged, hurt women. But a real man, a manly man, creates a long line of strong, creative, loving, independent women.

So, I suppose there is a measuring rod for ‘manly’, at least one I use… and I hope the world has enough manly men to help build up these beautiful women. I don’t see many ‘manly’ men these days, but I do have to confess that I’ve some of the best manly friends. I can’t help but become a better woman because of them. I hope they know I love them and am proud to call them my friend. I really am a lucky girl.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

My Personal Epic Fantasy

On my jog this morning I noticed something peculiar that set my mind pondering all sorts of odd ideas. Not new ideas, but really a particular idea that’s been percolating in my mind for a very long time. It’s been years of study really. It’s also been a subject, or at least part of the subject, that’s come up recently in a few casual conversations. Mind you, these conversations are with the male species ranging from 18 to 45. You see, I’m an avid gamer, well, I’m a Destiny gamer, and 99% of the gamers I meet online are male. So, it’s reasonable to expect that 99% of my daily conversations are with the male species. I’m thankful at the moment that my roommate is female, so that way I get a splash of female perspective at times. But, then again, she’s not your typical female roommate, because if we were a lesbian couple I’d definitely be the feminine aspect of that coupling. Not to stray too far from the topic, let me bring it back to my peculiar finding.

It’s very populated where I live now. What a stark contrast from just a couple months ago when I practically lived in a Siberian wasteland and could go a whole week seeing only 2 or 3 people, if I was lucky, and only have to talk to maybe half of those if I was extremely lucky. I now can’t walk out my front door without being greeted by a neighbor or two. So, jogging around the bungalow complex, or down and around the park, or along the sidewalks by the various strip malls, I see a lot of people. Typically, I’d have my earbuds blasting away an upbeat tune to keep me motivated and moving, but mostly as an excuse so I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I also usually glance at the people I pass but keep my eyes forward to avoid contact. Well, that’s NOT what I did this morning. I made eye contact with everyone I passed (mostly men, btw), smiled at them, waved, but kept moving. Every one of them responded, even the ones who moved as I normally do with only a glance and eyes forward to avoid contact.

So, what was this deep thought I had? It involves porn, but I’ll get to that in a minute. Well, this thought occurred to me when this older gentleman, clearly in his mid-50’s, perhaps early 60’s since he’s running and in shape, made no subtle attempt in letting me know he really liked what he saw. He stopped in front of me, took his ear buds out of his ears, and put both his hands up to his heart…as if to say he’s having a heart attack, but certainly not under any true duress. The smile on his face lit up his whole countenance. Against my usual judgment, I stopped. “Darlin’, I just have to say, “Wowzers”. There’s no other expression I can imagine that would fit any better.” You must remember, I’m not 25 with legs that go on forever. I’m 44, short, curvy, and have a wrinkle and a gray hair or two (with hair dye you’ll never see those). Though I look young for my age, it’s clear to see I’m a mature woman, not a ‘young, hot, thang’. I smiled and thanked him for his compliment and continued my run.

That’s not the first ‘older’ gentleman to hit on me since I’ve been here. I live on the Space Coast in sunny Florida, where the rich recreate and the elderly retire out their golden years. If I so choose, I could easily snatch up a “Sugar Daddy” or two, IF material possessions and money really meant anything to me. Unfortunately, I’m sort of a gypsy, a wild soul looking for adventure more than possessions, love more than money, and living life more than just surviving it. I’ve been in survival mode for too long. It’s time I got back to being my wild, adventurous self.

I can’t help but think about what men really want in women. What do the young want, the old want, or the lover want? I listen to the guys talk in the game chats, and while they talk a big game (in most cases dehumanizing women into sexual objects, something to be fucked and tolerated… seriously… I NEVER hear the guys talk about how a woman is beautiful, smart, amazing, something to be cherished, adored, appreciated, and such… what a culture we live in), but I believe they all want the same thing; they just have different ideas of how to obtain it. I.e. I have this one friend that falls in love easily and often. While he’s very wise on a lot of things, very knowledgeable on a lot more things, very brave in almost everything, I wouldn’t take love advice from him because he doesn’t even know what it is he really wants. While being in ‘love’ with one woman, he keeps a small circle of good female ‘friends’ on a string (not too loose they disappear, not too close to be committed) just in case things don’t work out, more than likely so he won’t be alone until he falls in love again. I’m pretty sure he feels deeply, but he doesn’t express those deep emotions, in a failed attempt at protecting his heart from getting hurt. He hurts. He’s human. Failed relationships hurt, no matter how badass you might be. He’d be quick to protest that he doesn’t fear anything, or isn’t affected when something falls apart. But what is it he’s really looking for? What is it he hasn’t been able to find yet in choices he’s already made? What was it about the women chosen before where he thought he’d found it, to only discover a short time later he can’t see that same thing to sustain it?

Not getting off topic, but shifting gears to come at it from another angle. There’s another discussion in my gaming chat groups about pornography. The guys love it. Many of them watch it regularly, especially the friend mentioned above. They think I’m a prude because I don’t watch porn. I don’t not watch it because I’m a prude or think I’m too ‘goody’ to watch it, as if it’s garbage. I don’t watch it because it isn’t necessary and I feel sends the wrong message about sex, love, AND relationships. I love porn… but not to watch. I love making porn with someone I love. Not filming our sexual acts, but sharing our sexual, emotional, and psychological expressions together, using our imagination to play, have fun, and be together in every way. Being intimate. Porn lacks ALL that intimacy and imagination. I’m not anti-porn, I’m pro-intimacy. I love to be kinky, sexy, and fun. There’s NOTHING in porn that can beat my imagination, but when I feel a man expects what he watches in porn, it stifles my imagination. I can’t fake it, so I shut down. What little porn I’ve watched was filled with a lack of emotion, lack of imagination, and minimizes sex to a mere physical act - with strangers. Does a stranger deserve to see and share that part of me, that part of my imagination, that part of my intimacy? Hell NO. Yes, I’ve done it. I’ve had a casual experience with a stranger. While it was a little fun, and sexually charged, once it was over… it was over and I was empty. Yet, I’ve had a better experience when a man I loved very much simply ran his fingers over my hair. So, I’m sorry… I just can’t get excited or get off watching other people who don’t love or care for one another fucking, and doing it in a boring way. If your sex life is like a porn scene, that’s boring and I feel sorry for you, because your love life is going to be just as emotionally empty, because you’re training your mind and your body that ‘the porn way’ is the way sex is supposed to be done. I also believe that this is the number one killer in relationships for guys, because they’ve set up their relationships like a porn scene < Boy meets girl, sparks fly, they fuck, think they’ve fallen in love because they had chemistry and the orgasms were great, but then the orgasms subside and when they look at each other all they see is a stranger. They might fuck a few more times, but then that episode gets old, that page is starting to stick, and they want to see another one, meet another stranger>… and so the cycle goes.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying ALL men are like this, but many are… and they don’t even know it. I’m not harping on just men, either. There are many women in the same boat. I hope my friend someday learns to shut the porn off and swim into deeper waters, because I’d love to see him truly happy. I hope all the Sugar Daddy’s out there finds beauty in the older women they may overlook, while they’re tripping all over themselves over the pretty plastic ones. As for this gypsy, I’m still not going to watch porn, and I’ll still avoid the Sugar Daddy’s and their pockets of sweets, and keep running and smiling until I find my personal epic fantasy. I suppose that’s why porn doesn’t work for me, I’m not into the small and empty, but epic and fantastical magic. It’s no wonder my gamertag is Kvothe from The Name of the Wind. The music this Edema Rue plays has a meaning so deep the Chandrian will try to hunt me down and silence me, and the Arcanum doesn’t have enough room to record it.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Let the Music Move Me

We’ve all heard the song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. In fact, it’s one of those irritating songs that get stuck in my mind and I find myself humming it all day just from hearing the familiar simple notes. But I’m discovering there’s a little power in that song, as well as others like it. Power that moves me. When listening to it, I can’t help but sway to the familiar beat and feel my spirits lift as the positive lyrics run through my mind. Perhaps I should actually take the time and learn the whole song. I haven’t yet, because the chorus is powerful enough on its own. I should, though. I’ll put that down on my ‘to do’ list.

There’s another song that gets me moving without fail and that’s the Black-Eyed Peas, “Let’s Get It started.” Man, I can’t help but move to the beat no matter how tired, how exhausted, how sad, or how upset I might be at the moment… I start bobbing my head, moving my shoulders, moving my soul. If I’m sitting, I start doing the chair dance. If I’m standing, my whole body is moving to the beat. “Let’s get it started …in here. And the bass keeps runnin’ runnin’ and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin runnin’… everybody, everybody let’s get it into it, get stupid, get started, get started, get started, let’s get it started.” If you’re looking for a good workout song… this is it. If you just need a little pep in your step… this is the song too. It’s more potent than a Red Bull or a 5-Hour Energy. Hm…. I wonder how it’d do during a long session of tangled legs. I imagine it’d involve lots of sweat… and… well, I better get my mind out of the gutter and back on topic.

There are other times when my heart is filled with things I can’t quite express in words, when I need to disconnect from the rational and let myself go in the spiritual, the emotional. Go figure – a silent writer. But, there are those wordless times, where deep emotions are pulling my insides out and blanketing me with despair, pain, or… like I mentioned, unspeakable feelings. Those are the times I like to pick up my guitar and let the music out. Most times there’s no rhyme or rhythm, no chords, no particular progression, breaking all the music rules and just let the music move me. Often I can never replay those particular chords or find that the same strumming progression, because I’ve released that emotion, I’ve release that unspeakable pain, and it isn’t something to be made sense of, to be captured in a song, to be bounded by rules and regulations.

I know I’m not typical. I tried that, and I failed miserably. But, I also know I’m not the only one who can see some of the things I see, feel some of the things I feel, see some of the things I see, love some of the things I love, hate some of the things I hate, fear some of the things I fear, or think some of the things I think. While there is no one exactly like me, because there can only be one me, only one who has lived or can live my life, there are similar things our souls share. None of us are perfect. None of us are without moments that create unspeakable words or emotions. When you find yourself in one of those moments, let the music move you, let it heal you, let it remind you, let it be… as special, beautiful, and wonderful as you. Don’t worry, be happy…. And let’s get it started, Ah?

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Frustrated

I’m finding it easy to get frustrated these days. My temper explodes at the simplest of things, like this morning when my running tracker on my phone updated and didn’t track my run, as it had for the past year. Why the fuck doesn’t the app continue functioning as it had before it was updated? Why does it disappear from my home keys, make me have to accept the new terms and conditions, change the way it’s displayed and make me spend a half hour frustrated as hell because it didn’t do what it had previously done, trying to figure out (unsuccessfully) how to add it back? I fucking hate the app now and won’t use that program again. If I have to go through all that trouble, I’ll just go to the Google app store and download another free program that will track my running. The app screwed itself in a failed attempt at upgrading. Hint, hint… if you’re going to upgrade, then make it BETTER, but from a familiar point. I’m not one to spend a lot of time HUNTING down what should be easily accessible. I live in the modern age of convenience and I have a very, very short attention span.

Frustration number two. I uploaded the new Windows 10 on my desktop. I had done so earlier on my laptop and it went smoothly without a hitch. I don’t mind the program, it’s a cross between XP and Windows 8, featuring the familiar features I love about XP, mixed with some of the newer features of 8, and splashed with a little bit of even newer options with the 10. THAT I can handle. Give me a little bit of familiar territory and ease me into the new stuff. Smart. Convenient. Doable. But, low and behold, my desktop obviously doesn’t like the transition. I have spent the better part of my morning trying to figure out WHY I get to the load screen, type in my password, to have it only return back to the load screen, to type in my password, but NOT load up the program. FUCK YOU technology. I honestly don’t have the patience to handle all these little road blocks that are preventing me from being at my most productive. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got a life I need to get back on track. I’ve got to get busy, getting busy. But NO, I have to waste MOST of my morning piddling around with fucking updates and booting problems. Can you tell I’m frustrated just a bit? I did actually wake up in a good mood, with a positive attitude, and with a happy outlook for a beautiful day.

Frustration number three. I know I’ve been hiding. I know I’ve been trying hard to acclimate to my new life, my new surroundings, my new …. well, everything. But, damn… do I have to do it with the new ten pounds I gained? Really? Granted I’ve not been exercising. Granted, my routine got detoured. Granted I’ve spent a few days vegging out on television shows and video games, snacking all day (it doesn’t help I have a roommate that likes to cook ALL THE TIME), and smelling food cooking all day long, etc. Granted my allergies are killing me, and I mean literally killing me. I live with a dog. He’s a handsome little fellow, and lovable as can be. He’s adorable. Problem is, I’m allergic to dog hair, and this little cutie leaves hair everywhere. How can I keep him out of my room, off my bed when he’s such a soothing medicine to me, cuddling up to me, loving on me? I’m scared. I’m frustrated. I’m nervous about my future and my life. I miss my kids. I’m in unfamiliar territory. I need him. But, I can’t breathe, my ears are constantly stopped up, I have sinus migraines, and my lungs feel like they have a tight band around them. I’m taking antihistamines that make me drowsy and lethargic, but they help …some. I have an air purifier, that I think helps, but I can’t make myself UNallergic to dog hair. I can’t leave. The dog can’t leave. So what am I to do? How am I to persevere? Why the hell can’t my body, which grew up with dogs, get over this allergy shit and just go back to being normal? Oh, boy.

And sex… well, I haven’t had sex in a while. I’m not looking for a partner at the moment, and really I feel sick just even thinking about jumping back into the dating pool. You want to talk about frustration… dating in the 21st century is very, very frustrating. While masturbation helps a bit, I’m sexually frustrated at the moment too.

So, yeah, I’m a little frustrated. Well, okay… I’m a LOT of frustrated. But even so, I’m also very hopeful, very optimistic about what lies ahead of me. I have returned to my workout (even if the damned app didn’t record it), I will find that dependable job, then I will be able to move into my own apartment (dog free), and my sinuses will get a reprieve (if they don’t kill me first), I will lose these ten pounds and more, I will see my kids again somehow, I will fall in love and be loved in return, I will figure out what my new dreams are… and I will make them come true. How do I know this? I know me. I’ve been here before. I may be frustrated. I may be at another difficult cross road. I may have been knocked down a little bit. But, I’m a fighter. I never stay down too long. And if you know me at all, no matter how down I feel, how tough life gets, or how hopeless everything seems… I NEVER give up.

I’ve rested long enough. I’m dusting my (fat) ass off, standing back up, and lacing up my gloves. Let’s get this show on the road, bitch.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray