gypsy feet

i'll write more later about the story in full, but i'm writing this post from my new apartment...

...with *ds* and *ks*. i woke up happy this morning. i woke up exhausted because i moved all my worldly possessions in two days (bye-bye weekend, *sniffle*) but i woke up happy.

the living room is an absolute nightmare, piled high with everyone's shit, and boxes and boxes. 'tis a veritable mountain of boxes. Mt. Crapola.

yay, mt. crapola!

but yeah. i'll write more later when i'm not busy snatching sleep or working or sorting. but trust the delena: this was a good thing.


word of advice

if you are lactose intolerant...

...wearing a corset and eating cheese isn't good.

don't ask me how i know. *nod*

oi vey...



CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): Philosopher Robert Anton Wilson defined information as data and ideas that are new to you. If it's something you already know, then it's propaganda or dogma, not information. Philosopher Terence McKenna had a similar view. He used the terms "information" and "novelty" interchangeably. If you're not surprised, he said, if your curiosity isn't piqued, then the messages streaming your way don't qualify as information. I'd like you to make that your gold standard in the coming weeks, Capricorn. Be voracious for real information, and ruthlessly banish all the fake stuff that's masquerading as real information. You will know you're doing it right if you're never bored.

"what do you know?"

i've been asking myself the above question a lot in the last few days. and, no, not in the pleasantly surprised manner, but more in the, "okay, delena, search your mind and your heart. what do you know is true?" the only answer i keep coming back to that i know for definite truth is, "i am happy."

i might hold onto something until it's long since gone to dust. i'll hold the dust in the cracks and creases of my grubby little hands until it's mixed with so much of my sweat and tears it turns to cement, dries, and weighs me down. but when i finally decide to let it go, i never pick it up again. and i never look back.

of course, i suppose i've also been using nothing but the aforementioned propaganda and dogma to decide this. of course, i've also not had so much of an influx of new information to help me make any decisions. *m* has gone into full-blown "operation win back delena" mode, and this makes me decidedly uncomfortable. he's starting to try to be sweet, and attentive. he's even gone so far as to set up a date with me to spend time together, and sent me flowers at work. my only emotional response has been anger so far. well, anger and discomfort. i keep wanting to shout "too fucking little too fucking late! WHY couldn't you do this three months ago?!!?!" but i say nothing.

then again, saying nothing hasn't really paid off in the past, either.

my relationships with people-not-him are driving him crazy. he's gone into the mindless male possessiveness, and i had to grind it into his head that i am not his territory anymore so he can stop trying to piss on my leg, thankyouverymuch. i also had to grind it in that not only is my personal life not his business, but he's no longer a part of my personal life. i don't think he realized how far he'd fallen out of my life until he was so far removed he couldn't see me at all.

and if that's what it took, then so be it.

of course, now i'm quite content with my life as it is. i'm making these fabulous plans and working toward the goals i can reach. i'm setting weekly goals and meeting them! i'm finally truly learning the meaning of, "let it go to focus on other things." richard told me this once, and i figured out it meant that only when something is strong enough to stand on its own can you then let it go to focus on other things that need your attention. in theory i understood it, but now i've figured out what it means in actual practice. and it seems so simple now, but it's so very difficult to learn.

and *m* has yet to learn this, but he wants me to be his support. he doesn't see he needs to build his own support. he was a cop for so long, he used that as his identity and sense of Self. when that was gone, he used me and our relationship. now that's gone, and he's left looking at himself...and he doesn't want to. so now he's trying to get me back so he doesn't have to face his darkness.

and we all know how that story ends.

and i hate to think so, but it feels like he's only being nice to me now because he wants something from me and he's desperate to fill the void in himself. i don't want to discourage him if he really wants to work on things, but i'll only help him work on what's important: his own Self. i don't know if i want to work on us. if i'm totally honest with myself? inside, it just doesn't feel like i want to. that could still be lingering resentment and a whole lot of distrust, and i have to be honest and look at that, too.

all i really know is that i'm happy right now, where i am, and who i am. and i don't wanna mess that up.


delena haiku

new purpose in life:
it's magically delicious!
sometimes things work out.


lilith in the garden

as part of my resolutions for the new moon --of which i'm doing rather well (go me!)-- i've decided to come out about yet something else. now, before you respond with, "*stunned silence* ...uh, delena? don't you wanna sit on this one a while?" just know that i already have sat on this for quite a few months, and i haven't said anything until i was not only sure, but had already taken steps in this direction.

i had come across this story by robin westmiller a few weeks ago and the beauty and simplicity of it rocked my Funk. it's about lilith in the garden of eden, right before she awakens to her plight and tells adam to go fuck a sheep. she would have told him to go fuck his mother, but in this story, adam really didn't have a mother except for the clay from which he was fashioned. but anyway, that's not the point. the point is the end of the story, where she says...

"from the dust you came, and from the dust you'll return. i, however, will continue for generations. i don't need you. you will never be able to create a new life on your own. i can, and i will.

"...it's all i need to create more of our kind. they're called 'children' and i will have them and they will be strong. the males will be partners and equal to the females and never force the females to lie beneath them. they will be my children and they will have love and be loved..." --robin westmiller

one thing i've come to realize after the debacle-of-*m* is that i've been trying to force something to materialize, through sheer force of my will and effort, that will never be. okay, so i can't be june cleaver. fine. however, i've also come to realize that by the very nature of my quest, i've affected the nature of the very thing i've sought after for so long. simple quantum physics, like schrödinger's cat.

kinda ironic that my holy grail turned out to be a dead cat. (and please, tell me you googled the cat so my very geeky joke at least got one laugh...)

however, i am a child of the dark goddesses. i am a capricorn woman, and it is written in the stars our lives are like one, long dark night of the soul. death is our bridegroom. i wholeheartedly believe in and embrace compassionate destruction. i am a pronoiac: "i die every day" is one of our mantras.

so be it.

i have swallowed my dream and broken it down into its most basic elements so i may then use those materials to construct an even purer Funkalicious Dream, closer to the breast of the All-Savage Vulture Goddess Herself and the Spark that Fueled the Great Big Mushroom Cloud in Our Brains.

and what was left?

love. and family. and love.

if i die right now, i die failing to impart the wisdom Funk i've learned. i die with a meaningless childhood in the House of Oppression, the Baseball Incident only a sad tragedy with no purpose. the ability to feel the Funk with my signature delena-liciousness will fade as my ashes are scattered in some organic garden somewhere. sure, my ashes will inspire some Funky zucchini, but c'mon. squash have a Funk all their own.

zucchini rock, btw...

so i decided if lilith can do it, and if i have taken her name and the responsibilities of her patronage, then i can follow her example. and lo, i said unto myself, in regards to building a happy family, "i'll do it myself."

i declare this the Year of Bountiful Funk. the rest of this year is dedicated to preparing for the precious child i will bring into this world with love and joy and much, much anticipation. i will prepare my finances, my surroundings, my mind, my body, my life. i've gone back to the gym and renounced all caffeine and shortcuts. with the help of a few precious friends and mentors, i'm researching the nitty-grit of single motherhood. *waves to boho mom* i'm transferring to a salon closer to home by half, to help save money. the Funkmobile is slowly but surely getting into perfect working order. *ds*, *ks* and i are planning on moving into a rent-to-own house, as soon as we can find one that works for us. i swear, every time we get together, we can't help brainstorming about this wonderful Plan of ours, with real and attainable Goals we're working on even now, because the thought fills us with such excitement and purpose.

and with this decision, i feel a new vitality breathing in me. life has color again. my life has purpose...finally. i never was fully happy living just for myself. so yes, this time i think i'm ready. i'm not a child this time around, and i can look into my child's eyes and say, "i wanted you. i chose you. i cleared the way so you may come and experience life."

i'll do it myself.


conversations with a disillusioned heart

while driving home...

me: i've never really liked valentine's day. in grade school it was a popularity contest, receiving those valentine-o-grams with lollipops or balloons. i wasn't liked, let alone popular. in high school, i'd already been injured enough by males to get a kick out of dumping boyfriends a few days before valentine's day. married, there was the bouquet of stargazers for a couple years, then nothing. valentine's day sucks.

now there's someone who called me up to ask, "hey, what do you want to do for valentine's day?" it surprised me. *looking over shoulder to change lanes* i made him dinner last night, and we enjoyed wine, italian, and movies at his place. i never said anything, but it was my valentine gift.

my Disillusioned Heart: but i thought you never made dinner for anyone if it wasn't special.

me: i don't, but that's just it. i'll cook for family. i cooked for the special men in my life. but i couldn't help it. i just wanted to.

my Disillusioned Heart: but you didn't want to get serious. you said you were done with men, with hoping for a husband, with believing in that kind of love being possible in your life. you're such a flake!

me: i don't understand it. the one relationship i've tried so hard to keep from getting serious is the relationship that's turned out to be the most rewarding i've ever been in. i know that should tell me something, but what? i'm not yet sure. *downshifting for slower traffic*

my Disillusioned Heart: it tells you serious relationships are never rewarding. every time you got serious, you got fucked and i got smashed to pieces. this last time with *m*? the fucker put me in a blender! do you know how NOT fun it is to be frappéed? i'm a fucking pile of goo now. no pieces to put back together. thanks for that, by the way.

me: i know, i'm sorry. i should have protected you better. my naïveté and trusting nature shouldn't be an excuse. but i don't agree with you, either. my love role-models show me committed relationships are among the most rewarding things in the universe.

my Disillusioned Heart: they're merely the exception proving the rule.

me: people all over the world have rewarding, committed relationships.

my Disillusioned Heart: *raises a brow* seems like everyone but you, huh?

me: no need to be so hurtful. and no, not everyone. if everyone had the same special gift, it wouldn't be special anymore, would it? ...'cept for the gift of life. that's always special, and everyone has that.

my Disillusioned Heart: *scoffs* too bad so many people squander it. don't appreciate what they take for granted.

me: just because they're blind to the specialness doesn't take it away, though. it's always there. just like my own specialness has always been there, whether They ever appreciated it or not. you and i? we let Their blindness convince us we were just seeing things, hallucinating our own specialness. we were wrong.

my Disillusioned Heart: ain't nothing special 'bout amorphous goo that used to be a heart.

me: *laughs* 'cept that now i can take that goo, like cake batter, and bake it slowly in the warmth of peace, forgiveness, and self-respect. spread the Funk on you like cream cheese frosting. when it's done, you'll be whole again. good as new, but stronger. denser. moist and sweet and delicious. maybe you, my oft-broken heart, had to be completely destroyed --frappéed, as you put it-- to put you into the perfect consistency for resurrection. wouldn't that be exactly what our goddesses do? compassionate destruction to utter completion? resurrection to a stronger, purer Self?

my Disillusioned Heart: shut up.

me: perhaps you had to utterly die, my heart, in order to truly live again.

my Disillusioned Heart: *quiet a moment* ...you sound like you actually believe this bunk.

me: i do.

my Disillusioned Heart: next you'll be telling me you love this whacked relationship you're in; "The Serious Relationship That's Not."

me: *sigh* i do.

my Disillusioned Heart: *accusing glare* you said you loved him last night.

me: *whispered* i know.

my Disillusioned Heart: *narrows skeptical eyes* what are you gonna do about it?

me: nothing i haven't already done.

my Disillusioned Heart: good.

me: not for the reasons you think, though. quite simply, you're not ready yet. and i've let go of that dream.

my Disillusioned Heart: i'm not going to convince you i'm right, am i?

me: no, my heart. it is i who will convince you.



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Happy Valentine Daze, Capricorn! The astrological omens suggest that you should liberate your wild heart from its hiding place, maybe even experiment with extravagant expressions of love. To get yourself worked up into a proper state of fertile agitation, read aloud from Pablo Neruda's book *100 Love Sonnets* (translated by Stephen Tapscott), starting with "Love Sonnet XI": "I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day_I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps . . . [I] hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond . . . I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes. And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens . . . ."

mr. brezsny, i love you...but FUCK NO and GET BENT, mr. brezsny. my "wild heart," as you accurately called it, has been indelibly cured of its ridiculous obsession with romantic love.

but don't worry. i'll love you next week.


new moon

i was browsing through boho mom's blog and found this, and it just touched me. so much has been simmering inside me lately, and as always when i'm on a long simmer, i haven't been able to put any of it to words.

and on the other hand, my actions lately have lacked aught for eloquence. and so i, too, will commit to the blogosphere my intentions for this new moon. my natural powers and abilities always resonated more strongly with the dark/new moon anyhow...

the new moon phase is the time of new beginnings.
this is a time of growing energy, newness, rejuvenation, growth, renewal and hope. it is a good point to make changes in your life, such as putting an end to bad habits or dead-end relationships.

as we begin this lunar cycle and tune into the new moon energy i am focusing on intention for these areas...

~ enriching those relationships with which i have already been blessed
~ kind thoughts, kind words, kind deeds
~ reinforcing my new dedication to work so it becomes permanent
~ moving meditation
~ defining my goals, and creating a Plan to attain them
~ good health, better diet, a night of pampering myself
~ creating peace in my heart, and in my home
~ performing a re-dedication ritual for my space

I am letting go of...
~ bitterness toward broken dreams
~ resentment towards *m*
~ feeling pressured to be more committed than i feel ready to be



the thing i love most about pronoia and the miracle of self-actualization (or as the Multiversal Jiggy Snake likes to call it, "Pop Goes the Weasel") is that i find out more things about myself every day. and considering i'm just self-centered enough to find myself fascinating, i find this whole finding-more-things-out absolutely...well...fascinating!

after a text-message fight with *m* last night, i realized that while i've given up on him, i'm still honoring the memory of the version of *m* i fell in love with and with whom i wanted to bear children and create my family. i'm still giving him a chance. yes it's a long shot, because i don't think he's ever going to self-actualize and come out of his self-absorption enough to realize what he needs to realize. but all the same, i'm giving him a chance not because i'm in love with him, but because i owe it to our memory, and the memory of the wonderful him, to give him every chance i can.

as long as he asks for it.

on the other hand, i'm also not going to sacrifice any more of myself for it. i have drawn my lines in the sand and made no bones about it. i've not lied or even hedged the truth. yes, i'm seeing *sy*. yes, we're fucking. yes, he makes me happy while *m* makes me abjectly miserable. but i'm a funktastic, bootylicious, strong, beautiful, and enduring woman with one hell of a head on her shoulders, and i'm a stunning partner to be with.

i think he's finally figuring that part out, and pissed as hell that i don't belong to him anymore. i belong to ME. but i'm giving him a chance, for the man he used to be. call it a matter of honor.


mirror mirror

work has been fan-funky-tastic. bloody orgasmic. a great big mushroom cloud in my confidence...and my checking account.

i've gotten in the groove of filling my appointment book, and judging how much extra work i can take on in any given day. the net result has been upping my average by two dogs a day, and bumping my weekly sales well over a grand. considering your average dog groom costs about forty dollars, that's a lot of dogs. i love my work...

yesterday, by purest funky chance, i happened to check my cell phone. i usually don't anymore, since *m* and i really don't talk, and he was the reason i kept my phone on during work hours. but i was looking up *ds*'s number to apologize for going off radar for so many days --as we have the gym regimen together-- and found a text from *m*: "is there an ER in [our city]?"

oh crap.

so i call him, and there's no answer.

double crap.

i call again, and get him. thank the Funk. i ask what's wrong. he's in pain. crippling pain, left kidney. he's gasping on the phone.


i tell him to call my sister, as she might be home. call me back at work if she doesn't answer. a phone call comes in; it's a customer wanting to make an appointment. fine. phone call. it's *m*. *cc*'s not answering.

shit, shit.

fine. lemme work something out. i wait for the manager lady to get back in the salon, tell her what's going on. *m*'s got something serious, needs to go to the ER, there's no one else to drive him but me. she tells me to go. i call *m*: "i'm on my way, hold tight, 'kay?"

to make a very long afternoon short, it was kidney stones and i've never seen *m* in that state before. he was in the sort of pain in which no position is comfortable and stillness is agony, to move is torture but the body writhes and fidgets and rocks itself back and forth because it is pushed so far beyond its ability to process or endure that level of pain.

i know it well.

my heart knows it even better.

...this story is not about *m*.

you would think, knowing my big and stupidvulnerable heart and what a sucker it is for people in need, that i would have dropped work, dropped everything and been by his side through thick and thin. as greggo can attest, i've never been very good about allotting my inner resources. i just give it all away on anyone i remotely care about.

but it's been eating at me since yesterday: the only thought through my head was that i was more irritated that i'd be missing out on work and the opportunity to fatten my paycheck with my rockin' grooming. i was counting every dollar that i missed out on (103$ in sales), and whatever missed opportunities came in the form of walk-ins or call-in last-minute appointments. and when *m* was sitting in the hospital bed, rocking back and forth and crying from the pain, i wanted to sit with my book and read. if i was going to miss work, at least i could finish the book i was reading. but i thought, "if i was in his shoes, i would want a little human compassion." i actually had to think about it. things like that are instinctive, reflexive with me. i had to think about holding his hand, consider if i actually wanted to do it, and then make myself do it.

all the while, it was in my head what an inconvenience this all was.

all i could see was the man who had shoved my heart into a food processor and hit "pulp." all i could see was the stranger wearing my dead beloved's face, this stranger who makes it so fucking uncomfortable to be home to the point where i'm gone mostly five nights out of seven every week just so i don't have to be around it. all i could see was someone i don't trust, who had already cost me so much money, time, and heartache as it was.

to make matters even more complicated...

last night i was with *sy*. now, a few things about *sy* as i see them: because of this whole stupid complication with *m*, and my ambivalent, conflicting feelings regarding him, i'd been letting myself be with *sy* but not letting myself get too involved or attached. my heart was a bloody pulp, and love is gone. there is only Now, and no attachment or commitment to a future.
it is long, long gone;
career, love, marriage, children.
a foolish dream, dead.

but while i was still reeling in confusion over my reaction to *m*'s emergency, in its wake came a new eagerness and anticipation to see *sy*, and a happiness on the verge of excitement when i saw his face. i wore the purple number beneath my jeans and t-shirt, gave him such a thrill when he saw it, and i had fun doing it. i'd bought it to try and entice big *c*'s attention after things fell apart, but instead of waving it around in desperate appeal i wore it for simple surprise and enjoyment, and what a difference! not to mention, because i wasn't letting myself care too deeply, i've been able to be myself in bed and not care. i've been demanding and creative, even getting up and leaving in the middle of the night the one time he wasn't attentive to my needs.

that's not really like me. usually i bend over backward and take the disregard like a doormat. the whole boundary issue, and being too, foolhardily generous with my inner resources. not with *sy*, and i daresay that's probably what my problem has been with men treating me well in the beginning and then like shit at the end. i think i conditioned them to do it, with my too-stupidgenerous giving of everything i had. right principles, wrong execution.

but last night i was still that way, still comfortable and unself-conscious. i asked for it "soft," and it took him a minute to understand what i meant. "oh!' he said, laughing. "you mean the touching and soft kissing, slow and gentle everything, right?"

"yeah. i think i want that," i said.

"you mean makin' love. that's what you want."

my smile froze on my face. the realization hit me like thunder and dread and i felt it slam into my chest and spread upwards and outwards until my toes, fingers, and scalp fairly tingled with that ball of mixed emotions. but he was absolutely right. i wanted him to make love to me.

and he did. we did.

i woke up this morning sated and soft, not just in my body but in my heart. he couldn't stop bringing up how his touch made my body sing, and his fingertips coaxed the words, "i think i love you" from my lips. i vaguely remember something like that, but i was out of my head at the time.

but i think yesterday, dealing with *m*'s emergency, those are usually the time for realizations of what's truly important. you could be at absolute, merciless odds with someone, but in a medical emergency or life-threatening situation, all the bullshit gets swept aside and those things that are truly important finally get to shine. well, the bullshit was swept away, and there was no love to be found.

there was only me.

in the place where i thought a torch was still at least smouldering for *m*, i found only cold darkness and, at the same time, that realization gave me the freedom to give *sy* the warmth i'd been holding back from him. it might not be love --it's too soon for it to be love-- and it probably will never be. love is dead, remember? but the caring, affection, and warmth i think i was holding back in hopes to give it to *m* is now free to go where it will.

i don't want to say it's a happy ending, because i don't feel it is. it's a tragic ending for the saga of delena and *m*, for whom love was slaughtered in slow degrees by neglect and self-absorption, and encouraged to die by my misguided attempts to be purely unselfish. i swear by the Funk, i did not see what i was doing. i thought i was being loving, selfless, and may the Jiggy Snake lash me with its mighty, cosmic big bang tail if i'm lying.

on the other hand, it means i'm free of this oppressive heartache for once and all, and it's no secret the vehement revulsion i hold for all cages. because of it, last night held magic. it's small, the step he and i took, but i can feel the difference it made for the two of us. and my heart...i think it's slightly less pulpy.


the little stripper who could...

it seems that it's becoming a pattern every week, that i'm really only home two nights out of every week. and by "home," i mean the apartment for which i work to pay rent and utilities. the apartment in which i house the fucktard kittens-who-are-not-mine. the apartment in which i actually have a reserved parking space in the lot, use the gym and pool facilities, and store my clothes and polyglot "stuff."

yeah, that home.

i think renting a storage unit would be cheaper, since i really lay my head there less often than i lay it elsewhere. but anyway...

last night was designated "friday night out" with a few friends from work. since she is the tacit-crowned party girl of the salon, and since i have the great good fortune of closing the salon on friday nights with her, i usually end up just packing a few things and driving to her place, partying all night long, and then dragging my sorry, whimpering-yet-sated ass to work the next (early) day.

like today. *cough*

so yeah.

i had thought, and packed clothing accordingly, for 80's Night. y'know, club with nothing but kickass 80's music, bottomless sex on the beach and midori sours, and dancing for hours straight and, in my case, watching friends play pool. i can't stand pool. but instead i was surprised by the news we would be going to the strip club down the street from them.

i was down with that.

so we walked (i swear, it was that close) and i ended up watching them play about a half dozen rounds of pool, ate a few baskets of fries, took (stole) a few sips of my friend's white russian, and then went and watched the girls. now, my friends --being that they live two portland blocks from this place-- are known regulars there, and have their favorite girl. and yes, she's actually quite entertaining and engaging. she's outgoing, talkative, and hilarious on stage. so it was fun.

but while eating fries and watching my friend kick her boyfriend's ass at pool (by nothing but lucky shots and pure chance), what do i espy across the room, in the far, dark corner, but a very shapely, thick, rubenesque venus of redheads spinning upside down on the pole.

i swear to you, ladies and gentlefolk, it took my breath away.

"oh my funky gods," i said.

"what?!" she said.

i pointed. "her."

she looked. "you like her?" her tone was neutral, yet interested.

"my gods!" i breathed. "she's gorgeous! she's not like all the other fucking thin-like-rail girls here that i know i'll never live up to. she's thick, but she's beautiful!" and it was true.

she was round and voluptuous in the way that i would imagine the first women of Eden would have been. of-the-earth, with thick ankles adorned in shining, coiling bronze, muscular calves and a torso defined by just-enough muscle to ripple like soft waves against the shore at sunset. i swear i was enchanted. she didn't wear the usual outfits the others wore, but just a simple red dress and no shoes. and lemme tell you, it's harder to walk around with the self-possession, poise, and grace that the others do when their prancing around in five-inch stillettos or platform heels, and you're barefoot.

she pulled it off.

we sat down, and i actually had to wait --patiently-- through three other girls' sets before my flame-haired vulture goddess came onto the stage. and she was friendly, and talkative, and i think i might have been the first person all night to ask her how she was.

"and how are you all tonight?" she asked, doing her little wiggle-dance.

"we're fabulous," my friend said.

"that's great," said the dancer. "y'know, it's always nice to hear that from people."

"and how are you?" i asked, entranced.

she kind of chuffed, a laugh that's not quite a laugh. "you don't wanna be asking me that right now."

of course, my bold friend being what she is, asked point-blank, "so what happened to make tonight not a good night?"

and she told us. long story short, she came in three hours early to work and it wasn't paying off, not to mention two people had already come up to her to tell her she was too heavy to be dancing. imagine! people with enough shit for brains to dare try make a stripper feel ugly. and not just any stripper -- my vulture goddess! when angry, i would bet hard-earned grooming money she sprouts an extra four arms and her skin turns blue when she's angry, just like one of the patronesses of the Menstrual Temple.

i sat and talked with her after her set was done, stars in my eyes. all night long, i couldn't tear my eyes away from her lines. it wasn't even about the stereotypical eye-candy that all women possess; it was about those beautiful lines, the epic poetry of her curves. i asked her how she got such a stunning body, "...because," i said, pointing at my friend across the room, "i've been telling her all night that you are the most beautiful girl in this entire building. you look real, and you're unbelievable on stage. girl, you give me hope," i said.

throughout our conversation, i found out she was 5'3, weighed 185 lbs., and she was as strong as all that to do the things she did freestyle, and enchanting from every angle. it made me realize that, standing at 5'5 and weighing ten pounds less than she did, beauty was actually attainable.

now, everyone can say, until they're blue in the face, all that beauty in the eye of the beholder bullshit, and many types of beauty, and blah blah fucking blah. but the truth of the matter is majority rules, and all i ever see are skinny, anglo-saxon twigs with delicate bone structures, no hips, and bellies as flat as my sex life with *m* was.

i'm mexican. i am all hip, and i have shoulders as broad as some men's. i will never be slim, and i will never be delicate or flat. i have too much rugged mexican terrain and thought the only goddess figure i could aspire to was of the venus of willendorf persuasion. not that there's anything wrong with Her, just that pendulous breasts and an ass that could park a car wasn't exactly what i had in mind when talking about my inner goddess.

not until my dancing vulture goddess showed me --for the first time in my life-- that thick and beautiful really could go together. i'd never seen anyone like her before.


she gave me so much last night. she said i made her night. i gave her dollar bills. she gave me hope.