Tonight's entry is the second in a series of short films (currently there are four, I think) chronicling the life of Darth Vader's less successful brother, Chad.
Enjoy . . . and seek out the other entries in the series. They're well worth it.
The Real-Life Adventures of an UberDomme, or, Stupidity Is Its Own Reward
Due to a number of cirucmstances, but mostly becasue I'm an IDIOT, I ended up having to go to the grocery store after work on the afternoon before Thanksgiving.
I was lulled into a false state of optimism by the ease with which I got a parking space. Hey, this isn't going to be so bad. I'm in and out of here in no time! Yessss!
I get up to the entrance to the store and reality slaps Me, hard. There are NO carriages. None. I walk to the other entrance. None there either. So much for getting in and out in short order . . . I can't even get in!
I can wait for the carriage-retriever guy to come back with a load of empties from the parking lot. Or I can try to find him in the parking lot and snag one. I look to My left and to My right -- there are a number of other would-be shoppers standing, carriageless, considering the same options I am. I start cruising through the parking lot. Eventually I find the guy, with all of FOUR empty carts. I grab one and start wheeling it towards the store, My fellow carriage-lottery losers closing in on the carriage guy and this three remaining carts.
OK, I'm in. And it's not as bad as I'd feared.
It's worse. Every aisle is clogged. It's one of those moments when your entire body just gives up for a moment, in some undefineable but very real way. The moment passes, I resist the urge to shout FIRE! at the top of My lungs, and plunge in to the pre-holiday mass of humanity.
Thankfully I don't need that much. It's slow going but I resign Myself and fall into the torturous rhythm of it. I manage not to run up the back of an ultra slow-moving elderly couple. A nifty last-second move prevents Me from running over the toes of a five-year old driving a little "Customer In Training" cart (whose Ipod-wired mother is blissfully unaware of her son's near-brush with injury). I'm not exactly filled with the holiday spirit but I'm making it, I'm getting the grocery shopping done.
I approach the checkout lines and now the real tricky part comes. Every line has 2-3 people backed up, so the trick is to scan carefully and try to find the line where there won't be the "Customer With A Problem." Nothing sends Me to the edge of grocery store rage faster than a long delay while the cahsier and customer scan the flyer, trying to determine if it's the Maxi Pads or the Thin Freshness variety that's actually on sale this week.
It's an art more than a science, avoiding the Customer With a Problem. There are a few tipoffs, though.
Coupons. Avoid any line where any shopper who has lots of coupons.
A cart piled way over the top with stuff. The law of averages dictates that the more stuff in there, the greater the chance of there being one or more items that won't scan, or which will come up with the wrong price.
Change purses. Anyone with a change purse is a checkout delay waiting to happen.
One of those little clicker things that helps you calucalte your bill as you go along. Enough said.
But in the end, it's a "feel" thing. Some people just have that look. That "I'm ever vigilant that the evil grocery store conglomerate is going to try to rip Me off, so don't fuck with Me, missy!" look.
Well, I actually for once make a good choice and get checked out in a reasonable, delay-free amount of time. Yay. I rock, totally.
I leave the store, and everything's great (except for the three people following Me waiting for My soon to be empty carriage).
I suddenly stop, that totally drained feeling stabbing at Me again. Where the hell did I park?
UberDomme indeed.
I was lulled into a false state of optimism by the ease with which I got a parking space. Hey, this isn't going to be so bad. I'm in and out of here in no time! Yessss!
I get up to the entrance to the store and reality slaps Me, hard. There are NO carriages. None. I walk to the other entrance. None there either. So much for getting in and out in short order . . . I can't even get in!
I can wait for the carriage-retriever guy to come back with a load of empties from the parking lot. Or I can try to find him in the parking lot and snag one. I look to My left and to My right -- there are a number of other would-be shoppers standing, carriageless, considering the same options I am. I start cruising through the parking lot. Eventually I find the guy, with all of FOUR empty carts. I grab one and start wheeling it towards the store, My fellow carriage-lottery losers closing in on the carriage guy and this three remaining carts.
OK, I'm in. And it's not as bad as I'd feared.
It's worse. Every aisle is clogged. It's one of those moments when your entire body just gives up for a moment, in some undefineable but very real way. The moment passes, I resist the urge to shout FIRE! at the top of My lungs, and plunge in to the pre-holiday mass of humanity.
Thankfully I don't need that much. It's slow going but I resign Myself and fall into the torturous rhythm of it. I manage not to run up the back of an ultra slow-moving elderly couple. A nifty last-second move prevents Me from running over the toes of a five-year old driving a little "Customer In Training" cart (whose Ipod-wired mother is blissfully unaware of her son's near-brush with injury). I'm not exactly filled with the holiday spirit but I'm making it, I'm getting the grocery shopping done.
I approach the checkout lines and now the real tricky part comes. Every line has 2-3 people backed up, so the trick is to scan carefully and try to find the line where there won't be the "Customer With A Problem." Nothing sends Me to the edge of grocery store rage faster than a long delay while the cahsier and customer scan the flyer, trying to determine if it's the Maxi Pads or the Thin Freshness variety that's actually on sale this week.
It's an art more than a science, avoiding the Customer With a Problem. There are a few tipoffs, though.
Coupons. Avoid any line where any shopper who has lots of coupons.
A cart piled way over the top with stuff. The law of averages dictates that the more stuff in there, the greater the chance of there being one or more items that won't scan, or which will come up with the wrong price.
Change purses. Anyone with a change purse is a checkout delay waiting to happen.
One of those little clicker things that helps you calucalte your bill as you go along. Enough said.
But in the end, it's a "feel" thing. Some people just have that look. That "I'm ever vigilant that the evil grocery store conglomerate is going to try to rip Me off, so don't fuck with Me, missy!" look.
Well, I actually for once make a good choice and get checked out in a reasonable, delay-free amount of time. Yay. I rock, totally.
I leave the store, and everything's great (except for the three people following Me waiting for My soon to be empty carriage).
I suddenly stop, that totally drained feeling stabbing at Me again. Where the hell did I park?
UberDomme indeed.
YouTube Tuesday: One Person's Answer
People start blogs for all sorts of reasons . . . tonight's youtube Tuesday offering is one woman's reason.
Potpourri for $1000, Alex
1. New Link: Butterfly Temptress . . . I haven't had a lot of time to read this blog yet, but she's linked to Me -- so how bad can it be?
2.
2. Nice tattoo.
3. This week coming up is a really wonderful work week -- three days in length, with no one who's there particularly interested in doing much of anything productive. A little slice of Western Europe right here in the USA.
4. I had a chat with a very talented "sex blogger" last night. She is feeling burnt out a bit on the whole "sex blogging" thing, and wants to turn her talents to something she feels will be more substantial and fresher. I say go ahead and do it! It's going to be great.
5. Thanksgiving approaches, and as corny as it is, perhaps, it is a really good time to express My thanks.
a. To My girls, for their continual love and devotion and for their unwavering committment to a way that I know is not always easy.
b. To everyone who reads this blog, and to those who take the time to comment. I appreciate every view, every comment. Thanks for being out there, and for coming here. And please, if you read but don't comment, feel free to de-lurk some time . . . it's good for the soul.
c. To the bloggers out there, writing insightful, funny, sexy, crazy things. You inspire Me, and doubtless others, in ways you can never know.
d. To My friends and family, here and offline. Thanks for being you.
e. To a presence I can't name, and certainly can't begin to fathom, for giving Me the gift of being able to pursue the ultimate freedom, for having that tiny tiny chance.
6. There really is a new Lenora X story in the works, honest!
7. Everyone have a great weekend and a happy and fulfilling Thanksigiving. Big kisses and hugs to all the usual suspects.
2.
2. Nice tattoo.
3. This week coming up is a really wonderful work week -- three days in length, with no one who's there particularly interested in doing much of anything productive. A little slice of Western Europe right here in the USA.
4. I had a chat with a very talented "sex blogger" last night. She is feeling burnt out a bit on the whole "sex blogging" thing, and wants to turn her talents to something she feels will be more substantial and fresher. I say go ahead and do it! It's going to be great.
5. Thanksgiving approaches, and as corny as it is, perhaps, it is a really good time to express My thanks.
a. To My girls, for their continual love and devotion and for their unwavering committment to a way that I know is not always easy.
b. To everyone who reads this blog, and to those who take the time to comment. I appreciate every view, every comment. Thanks for being out there, and for coming here. And please, if you read but don't comment, feel free to de-lurk some time . . . it's good for the soul.
c. To the bloggers out there, writing insightful, funny, sexy, crazy things. You inspire Me, and doubtless others, in ways you can never know.
d. To My friends and family, here and offline. Thanks for being you.
e. To a presence I can't name, and certainly can't begin to fathom, for giving Me the gift of being able to pursue the ultimate freedom, for having that tiny tiny chance.
6. There really is a new Lenora X story in the works, honest!
7. Everyone have a great weekend and a happy and fulfilling Thanksigiving. Big kisses and hugs to all the usual suspects.
The Cosmic Pep Talk (Extended Remix Part 1)
Those who've been reading this blog for a while might have seen Me make reference to something I've called "The Cosmic Pep Talk."
The CPT comes into play when a submissive feels his or her world spinning out of control, when he or she feels incapable of doing "this whole thing" right, etc. The CPT is summed up in one simple but powerful statement:
Not everything that happens to the submissive is necessarily about the submissive.
Faithfully applied, the CPT works wonders. The submissive, feeling the freedom of knowing that the only thing s/he can really control is his or her effort and not the results of said effort, lets go more and is more fluid, more alive to the possibilites, and ultimately more submissive.
But as with everything, there's more . . . because human nature tends to be acquisitive -- it tends to grab, to pile up, to intensify and magnify. Sadly we don't come equipped with very good filtering mechanisms to accompany that acquisitive nature, so we end up piling up good and bad stuff in more or less equal measure.
Many of us, especially women, have been raised to "take it upon ourselves," to go out of our way to assume the fault, to take the reponsibility for fixing what's wrong, and to look inward first in that pursuit. Among those of a submissive nature that tendancy is often even stronger.
Taking the CPT to heart not only means not letting yourself get too full of yourself, but also, just as importantly, not getting too down on yourself, either. Putting ourselves at the center of the universe or relegating ourselves to the dustbin both amount to the same thing -- namely, making it about us. It never is, at least never to the degree that we, in our highs and lows, feel that it is.
Finding and maintaining that balance is the most difficult, and ultimately the most rewarding thing we can possibly do.
The CPT comes into play when a submissive feels his or her world spinning out of control, when he or she feels incapable of doing "this whole thing" right, etc. The CPT is summed up in one simple but powerful statement:
Not everything that happens to the submissive is necessarily about the submissive.
Faithfully applied, the CPT works wonders. The submissive, feeling the freedom of knowing that the only thing s/he can really control is his or her effort and not the results of said effort, lets go more and is more fluid, more alive to the possibilites, and ultimately more submissive.
But as with everything, there's more . . . because human nature tends to be acquisitive -- it tends to grab, to pile up, to intensify and magnify. Sadly we don't come equipped with very good filtering mechanisms to accompany that acquisitive nature, so we end up piling up good and bad stuff in more or less equal measure.
Many of us, especially women, have been raised to "take it upon ourselves," to go out of our way to assume the fault, to take the reponsibility for fixing what's wrong, and to look inward first in that pursuit. Among those of a submissive nature that tendancy is often even stronger.
Taking the CPT to heart not only means not letting yourself get too full of yourself, but also, just as importantly, not getting too down on yourself, either. Putting ourselves at the center of the universe or relegating ourselves to the dustbin both amount to the same thing -- namely, making it about us. It never is, at least never to the degree that we, in our highs and lows, feel that it is.
Finding and maintaining that balance is the most difficult, and ultimately the most rewarding thing we can possibly do.
YouTube Tuesday: Refreshing Candor
As television technology has grown wider and deeper, the effects on the broadcasting of sports have been profound. That there are now 300 channels where there used to be a handful means, among other things, that practically any sporting event of any magnitude (or non-magnitude) is now televised. (ESPN has recently broadcast, among other events, competitive Scrabble, juggling, dominoes, cheerleading, poker, billiards, and hot-dog eating.)
For the "name" events, Major League Baseball, the NFL, major college sports, etc., not onlty is every game on TV, it's covered more and longer and deeper. Longer pre- and post-game shows. Live post-game press conferences. 20 cameras where two or three used to be the norm. And the "media coverage" spills over to the Internet. Reporters and bloggers and fans deluge team message boards, sports network sites, etc.
For coaches in major sports, carefully controlling what the media has access to and parcelling out cliches as though they were revelations from the Dead Sea Sscrolls are common. In the case of the NFL, where most coaches take the words "control freak" to new heights, the relationship with the media is akin to the that of the dark days of the late Nixon White House.
There are always a few coaches, however, who are simply quote machines. Walking sound-bites. And it's those coaches who contribute some of the most priceless moments in TV sports.
Tonight's YouTube Tuesday offering is a montage of some of the finest moments of ex-Colts coach Jim Mora . . . a guy who would never hesitate to let you know how he honestly felt about his team's just-concluded game. Mora was a breath of fresh air in a sport consumed with presenting a tightly wrapped, homogonized media product. But in the end, leaving NFL coaching was probalby very good for this health.
For the "name" events, Major League Baseball, the NFL, major college sports, etc., not onlty is every game on TV, it's covered more and longer and deeper. Longer pre- and post-game shows. Live post-game press conferences. 20 cameras where two or three used to be the norm. And the "media coverage" spills over to the Internet. Reporters and bloggers and fans deluge team message boards, sports network sites, etc.
For coaches in major sports, carefully controlling what the media has access to and parcelling out cliches as though they were revelations from the Dead Sea Sscrolls are common. In the case of the NFL, where most coaches take the words "control freak" to new heights, the relationship with the media is akin to the that of the dark days of the late Nixon White House.
There are always a few coaches, however, who are simply quote machines. Walking sound-bites. And it's those coaches who contribute some of the most priceless moments in TV sports.
Tonight's YouTube Tuesday offering is a montage of some of the finest moments of ex-Colts coach Jim Mora . . . a guy who would never hesitate to let you know how he honestly felt about his team's just-concluded game. Mora was a breath of fresh air in a sport consumed with presenting a tightly wrapped, homogonized media product. But in the end, leaving NFL coaching was probalby very good for this health.
We're All Legos
I find that insights into the spiritual aspects of this lifestyle often come out of very odd, random, places.
I was talking to a girl last night about an epiphany she had about her place in this life. she is the kind of person who processes things better in images, preferring to assimiliate the image whole as opposed to learning/seeing in small intellectual bits at a time. she had arrived at the image of herself as a bar of hard soap -- something that can change its shape, when molded by a strong hand and water under the right conditions.
We talked about this some, and, wel, the soap image doesn't work for Me all that well, becasue, as hard as it might be, soap eventually turns into nothing. And for Me that is exactly the opposite of where I want the submissive to end up (not to mention Me).
I then got an image of what I was trying to convey.
Imagine there is a gigantic vat of Lego pieces, of all different colors and shapes and sizes. Some unseen hand, at the moment of birth, reaches into that impossibly large vat of Legos and pulls out a big, unique handful.
That collection of Legos . . . is who we are. Whatever happens to us, we are that, in some unchanging way.
But those Legos can be assembled and re-assembled in many different ways. When we think we are "changing," we are simply finding new arrangements, new priorities. Some configurations will not last long -- there are unused pieces laying off to the side, somehow, and we feel that something is missing. Other configurations can last a very long time, sometimes for good, sometimes to our detriment.
And of course, the intruiging thing about these Legos is as the same time the most dangerous. It's easy, and enthralling, sometimes, to get caught up in the multitude of possibilites inherent in the big big handful we've been dealt, losing focus on any one design. Or we can lose our way, obsessed with the Legos not in our basket, losing sight of all those possibilities.
And therein lies the role of the Dominant. If S/he has His or Her eyes firmly on the design, the submissive is freed to concentrate on moving the pieces around to His or Her command, secure that even if the ultimate design is unknown to him or her, it is known to the Other. Implicit in this process is that the Dominant is at the same time moving His or Her blocks around, as well; being in control doesn't imply that One has reached any ultimate state. And not to overlooked is that fact through this process, both submissive and Dominant, if they are open to it, will find pieces they never realized were a part of themselves.
As borderline silly as it can sound, the Legos image is a powerful one for Me . . . becasue it reflects what for Me is a basic truth of existense, and powerfully addresses the dilemma of change, and growth.
It's all there, in each of us. The perfect arrangement is there, already, and has been our whole lives. That that is even possible is a wonder of immense magnitude.
I was talking to a girl last night about an epiphany she had about her place in this life. she is the kind of person who processes things better in images, preferring to assimiliate the image whole as opposed to learning/seeing in small intellectual bits at a time. she had arrived at the image of herself as a bar of hard soap -- something that can change its shape, when molded by a strong hand and water under the right conditions.
We talked about this some, and, wel, the soap image doesn't work for Me all that well, becasue, as hard as it might be, soap eventually turns into nothing. And for Me that is exactly the opposite of where I want the submissive to end up (not to mention Me).
I then got an image of what I was trying to convey.
Imagine there is a gigantic vat of Lego pieces, of all different colors and shapes and sizes. Some unseen hand, at the moment of birth, reaches into that impossibly large vat of Legos and pulls out a big, unique handful.
That collection of Legos . . . is who we are. Whatever happens to us, we are that, in some unchanging way.
But those Legos can be assembled and re-assembled in many different ways. When we think we are "changing," we are simply finding new arrangements, new priorities. Some configurations will not last long -- there are unused pieces laying off to the side, somehow, and we feel that something is missing. Other configurations can last a very long time, sometimes for good, sometimes to our detriment.
And of course, the intruiging thing about these Legos is as the same time the most dangerous. It's easy, and enthralling, sometimes, to get caught up in the multitude of possibilites inherent in the big big handful we've been dealt, losing focus on any one design. Or we can lose our way, obsessed with the Legos not in our basket, losing sight of all those possibilities.
And therein lies the role of the Dominant. If S/he has His or Her eyes firmly on the design, the submissive is freed to concentrate on moving the pieces around to His or Her command, secure that even if the ultimate design is unknown to him or her, it is known to the Other. Implicit in this process is that the Dominant is at the same time moving His or Her blocks around, as well; being in control doesn't imply that One has reached any ultimate state. And not to overlooked is that fact through this process, both submissive and Dominant, if they are open to it, will find pieces they never realized were a part of themselves.
As borderline silly as it can sound, the Legos image is a powerful one for Me . . . becasue it reflects what for Me is a basic truth of existense, and powerfully addresses the dilemma of change, and growth.
It's all there, in each of us. The perfect arrangement is there, already, and has been our whole lives. That that is even possible is a wonder of immense magnitude.
New Link
I've added Brazen Brunette to the link list. She writes well on a range of topics . . . worth a look.
Speaking of which, anyone who might be linked to Me . . . please let Me know so I can link back.
Speaking of which, anyone who might be linked to Me . . . please let Me know so I can link back.
YouTube Tuesday: "River"
For today's selection . . . a figure skating montage set to Joni Mitchell's "River."
A lot of songs can affect Me emotionally . . . "River" is one of the few that is genuinely, routinely, tear-inducing whenever I hear it. Perhaps it's the juxtapositoin of personal loneliness expressed in the context of the Christmas season, I'm not sure. But the song gets to Me in a way few songs can.
The ice-skating montage works with this song, for Me. The loneliness of the figure skater, there, amidst the packed arena -- every flaw or success instantly, totally on view. And almost perversely, the shots of pairs skating seem to actually intensify that effect, as if there being two people sharing the wrong end of the microscope together accentuates the loneliness of that pursuit.
Update: I was told just now that today happens to be Joni Mitchell's brithday . . . serendiptiy rules.
A lot of songs can affect Me emotionally . . . "River" is one of the few that is genuinely, routinely, tear-inducing whenever I hear it. Perhaps it's the juxtapositoin of personal loneliness expressed in the context of the Christmas season, I'm not sure. But the song gets to Me in a way few songs can.
The ice-skating montage works with this song, for Me. The loneliness of the figure skater, there, amidst the packed arena -- every flaw or success instantly, totally on view. And almost perversely, the shots of pairs skating seem to actually intensify that effect, as if there being two people sharing the wrong end of the microscope together accentuates the loneliness of that pursuit.
Update: I was told just now that today happens to be Joni Mitchell's brithday . . . serendiptiy rules.
Negative . . . and Positive
I read somehwere that the secret of life lies in the ability to balance positive and negative forces.
I am, today, this week, lately . . . out of balance.
The way I look at the world, at life, is at base, lonely, non-comforting. For better or worse, I know too much to get comfort from the simple reassurances that once used to have the ability to fill Me up and keep Me going. I see the world for what it is: A carefully, relentlessly maintained collective agreement. Real, but hardly all-encompassing. That fact can be deeply reassuring, and often is. At times that fact is crushingly draining. Like now.
I have been not well physically for a week or so now, and I know that the main reason for it is emotional, spiritual, whatever word one wants to put to it. I have no symptoms other than a terrible lack of energy. I left work early yesterday, went home, and slept for hours. I awoke more tired than when I went to sleep. That's not physical.
I have written often about how what I seek in D/s requires many iterations, may tellings and retellings, teachings and reteachings. To believe in that, to stay on that course, requires maintaining that fine balance between the positive and the negative. In My UberDomme moments I can make Myself honestly, sincerely think that I can maintain that balance indefinitely and continually throw handfuls of sand aginst the stone, knowing that in the end the sand wins out, infinitesimal bits at a time. At times like this I wonder how I will ever have the strength to pick up that next handful of sand.
Two things keeps Me going.
1. The love and devotion of My girls.
2. The feeling of standing on the ground, feeling it's alive, the knowing that it is being a part of that, of everything, small as My part of it may be, is in the end everything. The smallest thing is everything that matters. There is no "comfort" in the things I was raised and taught to think comfort could be derived from; there is comfort only in pressing on, acting as if, continuing the struggle to understand the way to embrace that smallest thing and use it to become everything. And to help My girls every way I can in that same effort.
I am, today, this week, lately . . . out of balance.
The way I look at the world, at life, is at base, lonely, non-comforting. For better or worse, I know too much to get comfort from the simple reassurances that once used to have the ability to fill Me up and keep Me going. I see the world for what it is: A carefully, relentlessly maintained collective agreement. Real, but hardly all-encompassing. That fact can be deeply reassuring, and often is. At times that fact is crushingly draining. Like now.
I have been not well physically for a week or so now, and I know that the main reason for it is emotional, spiritual, whatever word one wants to put to it. I have no symptoms other than a terrible lack of energy. I left work early yesterday, went home, and slept for hours. I awoke more tired than when I went to sleep. That's not physical.
I have written often about how what I seek in D/s requires many iterations, may tellings and retellings, teachings and reteachings. To believe in that, to stay on that course, requires maintaining that fine balance between the positive and the negative. In My UberDomme moments I can make Myself honestly, sincerely think that I can maintain that balance indefinitely and continually throw handfuls of sand aginst the stone, knowing that in the end the sand wins out, infinitesimal bits at a time. At times like this I wonder how I will ever have the strength to pick up that next handful of sand.
Two things keeps Me going.
1. The love and devotion of My girls.
2. The feeling of standing on the ground, feeling it's alive, the knowing that it is being a part of that, of everything, small as My part of it may be, is in the end everything. The smallest thing is everything that matters. There is no "comfort" in the things I was raised and taught to think comfort could be derived from; there is comfort only in pressing on, acting as if, continuing the struggle to understand the way to embrace that smallest thing and use it to become everything. And to help My girls every way I can in that same effort.
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