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.
YouTube Tuesday: Pancakes
Tonight's video exemplifies some of the best of what youtube can be: An outlet for creative people, with little or no budget, no connections, with basically a camera and an idea. A way for one's creativity to be seen and appreciated by a wide audience, financial gain or motivation aside.
This is a very clever, cute little video about, well, making pancakes. I have no idea about the song -- I'm assuming that the video's author created the music as well.
My only little quibbles are that what ends up being made in this video I'd call a crepe as opposed to a pancake, and well . . . Nutella? There is something deeply weird and vaguely disturbing about Nutella.
This is a very clever, cute little video about, well, making pancakes. I have no idea about the song -- I'm assuming that the video's author created the music as well.
My only little quibbles are that what ends up being made in this video I'd call a crepe as opposed to a pancake, and well . . . Nutella? There is something deeply weird and vaguely disturbing about Nutella.
Lonely on the Pedestal?
I was talking last night with iris . . . I wasn't in a good mood. I'd been vaguely sick all weekend, not truly ill, but not quite right either. Last night a couple of things happened that got Me rather annoyed. The details don't matter; but the conversation was somewhat tense.
At a certain point, frustrated, I felt compelled to explain to iris that Me being the Dominant deosn't make Me immune from having to learn, to change, to grow . . . to "move." There are a lot of lessons I'm trying to impart to My girls -- some of them I'm still working on, too.
iris confessed that she never thinks about that aspect of things. To her, I've always got all the answers.
What to make of that? In one sense, iris' perception of Me is exactly what I want it to be -- I strive to always know the right thing to do or say, to really be that, for her and for her sisters.
But there's another side to it of course. I want and need to be seen, felt, loved for the person I really am . . . and love, even in a D/s relationship, means being able to show all of one's self, to be able to have all the highs and lows and in-betweens that we're all subject to.
I am not sure there is a 100% solution. It's more or less impossible to achieve the level of submission that I want from My girls and then have them see Me as . . . well . . . just Me.
I end up feeling it's a necessary tradeoff. My girls can feel who I am, they understand that in a very real sense I am learning much of what I'm teaching them as we move through this incredible journey together. But all that doesn't preclude them from wanting, and needing, to have Me "up there" on that pedestal. And it doesn't preclude Me from wanting to be there.
At a certain point, frustrated, I felt compelled to explain to iris that Me being the Dominant deosn't make Me immune from having to learn, to change, to grow . . . to "move." There are a lot of lessons I'm trying to impart to My girls -- some of them I'm still working on, too.
iris confessed that she never thinks about that aspect of things. To her, I've always got all the answers.
What to make of that? In one sense, iris' perception of Me is exactly what I want it to be -- I strive to always know the right thing to do or say, to really be that, for her and for her sisters.
But there's another side to it of course. I want and need to be seen, felt, loved for the person I really am . . . and love, even in a D/s relationship, means being able to show all of one's self, to be able to have all the highs and lows and in-betweens that we're all subject to.
I am not sure there is a 100% solution. It's more or less impossible to achieve the level of submission that I want from My girls and then have them see Me as . . . well . . . just Me.
I end up feeling it's a necessary tradeoff. My girls can feel who I am, they understand that in a very real sense I am learning much of what I'm teaching them as we move through this incredible journey together. But all that doesn't preclude them from wanting, and needing, to have Me "up there" on that pedestal. And it doesn't preclude Me from wanting to be there.
YouTube Tuesday (ok, one day late): Sexual Harrassment In The Workplace
Family obligations kept Me from meeting My self-imposed schedule last night. So here's youtube Tuesday, Wednesday edition.
A Saturday Night Live skit spoofing 1950s training films and giving a somewhat cyncial slant on the topic of sexual harrassment in the workplace.
Yes, iris . . . that is Tom Brady, but you should still watch this video.
A Saturday Night Live skit spoofing 1950s training films and giving a somewhat cyncial slant on the topic of sexual harrassment in the workplace.
Yes, iris . . . that is Tom Brady, but you should still watch this video.
Random Stuff
1. The link list has been pared down a little, eliminating the dead links, and the blogs not updated in more than 3 months. Also noted a couple of blogs that have ceased new publication.
2. I realized this morning that it's been a while since I did a gratuitous picture post. Well, that state of affairs is easily addressed.
OK . . . who needs medicine?
3. To n . . . thank you so much for the beautiful card. That was a wonderfully thoughtful gesture, and much appreciated. Talk to you soon.
4. A new Lenora X episode is in the works . . . is it just Me, or is "creative" writing draining in a way that "analytical" writing can't approach?
5. More soon. Have a great weekend.
2. I realized this morning that it's been a while since I did a gratuitous picture post. Well, that state of affairs is easily addressed.
OK . . . who needs medicine?3. To n . . . thank you so much for the beautiful card. That was a wonderfully thoughtful gesture, and much appreciated. Talk to you soon.
4. A new Lenora X episode is in the works . . . is it just Me, or is "creative" writing draining in a way that "analytical" writing can't approach?
5. More soon. Have a great weekend.
Perfection and Reassurance
The other night I ended up having essentially the same conversation with both iris and natasha, independent of each other. Tonight, I found a couple of comments on the "Struggle" post, that fit, in a way, with the subject of those parallel conversations. Not surprisingly the subject was an important one.
Perfection. And Reassurace.
I've never met a submissive who at some point didn't think/worry that s/he "wasn't good enough." For some it's a fleeting thought, brought on by the submissive's natural and intense devotion to his or her Owner. For others it's almost a syndrome . . . they're unable to move past the point of feeling "not good enough" and they return to it again and again, trapping themselves in a poisonous thought pattern and depriving the Other of all of themselves.
In talking to My girls on this subject, I set for them a simple definition of perfection.
Perfection is doing the thing you are doing at this moment perfectly. Then doing the next thing perfectly. If the thing being done is too "big" to do perfectly, break it down for yourself into small enough pieces so that each piece can be done perfectly.
I used the image that a submissive "builds" perfection . . . by creating a necklace of tiny perfect stones. When one is totally immersed in finding and placing the current stone, the issue that the necklace is infinite in length loses its debilitating force.
Perfection is not some massive plan with 15,893 steps and sub-steps. It's one thing, done perfectly. Then the next.
I find that this is the only way a submissive can approach the issue of perfection that doesn't lead to feelings of failure and depression. And for the Dominant as well, perfection approached in this way allows the Dominant to see, note, and reward progress without falling into the traps of expecting too much or settling for too little.
So where does reassurance come in?
Commenting on the "Struggle" post, this girl wrote (in part):
"Yet on one hand that (needing reassurance) seems childish, doesn't it? it is something i try to come to understand..."
And Englishman wrote in response:
"Surely this girl is missing a point here? Do not all subs need reassurance, given constantly?"
Again, this girl echoes the feeling I hear from many submissives . . . that needing reassurance is somehow evidence that the submissive is not moving fast enough, not trusting enough, that s/he is somehow missing something fundamental and important.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The endeavor to be a "perfect" submissive, even under My simplified definition, is horrendously difficult. There are going to be times when the submissive simply feels as though it's all too much, or that it's too big: The limitless nature of submission can sometimes come crashing home to a submissive with a force that can make the strongest person doubt if s/he has what it takes.
And this is where the Dominant has to be at His or Her best -- reassuring without coddling, correcting without berating, understanding without condoning -- knowing when to push a little more and when to let her just have a good cry.
Perfection requires not only the submissive to see perfection for what it truly is; it requires a Dominant to understand that as well, and to be able to remind the submissive of that.
Perfection. And Reassurace.
I've never met a submissive who at some point didn't think/worry that s/he "wasn't good enough." For some it's a fleeting thought, brought on by the submissive's natural and intense devotion to his or her Owner. For others it's almost a syndrome . . . they're unable to move past the point of feeling "not good enough" and they return to it again and again, trapping themselves in a poisonous thought pattern and depriving the Other of all of themselves.
In talking to My girls on this subject, I set for them a simple definition of perfection.
Perfection is doing the thing you are doing at this moment perfectly. Then doing the next thing perfectly. If the thing being done is too "big" to do perfectly, break it down for yourself into small enough pieces so that each piece can be done perfectly.
I used the image that a submissive "builds" perfection . . . by creating a necklace of tiny perfect stones. When one is totally immersed in finding and placing the current stone, the issue that the necklace is infinite in length loses its debilitating force.
Perfection is not some massive plan with 15,893 steps and sub-steps. It's one thing, done perfectly. Then the next.
I find that this is the only way a submissive can approach the issue of perfection that doesn't lead to feelings of failure and depression. And for the Dominant as well, perfection approached in this way allows the Dominant to see, note, and reward progress without falling into the traps of expecting too much or settling for too little.
So where does reassurance come in?
Commenting on the "Struggle" post, this girl wrote (in part):
"Yet on one hand that (needing reassurance) seems childish, doesn't it? it is something i try to come to understand..."
And Englishman wrote in response:
"Surely this girl is missing a point here? Do not all subs need reassurance, given constantly?"
Again, this girl echoes the feeling I hear from many submissives . . . that needing reassurance is somehow evidence that the submissive is not moving fast enough, not trusting enough, that s/he is somehow missing something fundamental and important.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The endeavor to be a "perfect" submissive, even under My simplified definition, is horrendously difficult. There are going to be times when the submissive simply feels as though it's all too much, or that it's too big: The limitless nature of submission can sometimes come crashing home to a submissive with a force that can make the strongest person doubt if s/he has what it takes.
And this is where the Dominant has to be at His or Her best -- reassuring without coddling, correcting without berating, understanding without condoning -- knowing when to push a little more and when to let her just have a good cry.
Perfection requires not only the submissive to see perfection for what it truly is; it requires a Dominant to understand that as well, and to be able to remind the submissive of that.
YouTube Tuesday: PaxilBack
Tonight's entry is a brilliant parody of Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back." It's hilarious on one level, and sobering on another.
Struggle
freya recently wrote:
"On my side, wrists bound to ankles in front, I'm bent and he's behind me. Fucking into me with feral intensity. This angle is deep. I can't move and struggling is futile.
Yet I pull against my bonds anway, held fast. Not because I want free but because it's in my nature.
I have gooseflesh even now as I think about the feeling."
This post struck Me, even though I know that freya is not submissive outside the bedroom. It got Me to thinking about the concept, "yet I pull against my bonds anway, held fast. Not because I want free but because it's in my nature."
Many submissives have similar feelings -- the struggle against the force that seeks to be overwhelming, that needs to be overwhelming, is for many a large part of the thrill, the attraction. They want (need) to struggle, yet seek to ultimately "fail" in that struggle.
This hits on a very deep thing for Me. Because what I seek, is ultimately the end of struggling.
My power, My authority, seek to be total, final. I need them to be. For Me, there is no eroticism in the struggle. The question, as I see it, has been decided. For the other to struggle against empirical truth is debiliating for her and frustrating for Me.
But there is a deeper point here as well. It is only when the struggle ceases that the real learning can begin. The lessons I seek to impart can't be heard and absorbed over the noise of lingering struggle.
It's a difficult, narrow way to proceed. And there are hazards. I am blessed in that My girls embrace and udnerstand all this . . . and their embracing of it allows Me to not only dominate the way I must, but also to love them -- completely, unreservedly. The way I have to. There are no questions on either side of that equation.
"On my side, wrists bound to ankles in front, I'm bent and he's behind me. Fucking into me with feral intensity. This angle is deep. I can't move and struggling is futile.
Yet I pull against my bonds anway, held fast. Not because I want free but because it's in my nature.
I have gooseflesh even now as I think about the feeling."
This post struck Me, even though I know that freya is not submissive outside the bedroom. It got Me to thinking about the concept, "yet I pull against my bonds anway, held fast. Not because I want free but because it's in my nature."
Many submissives have similar feelings -- the struggle against the force that seeks to be overwhelming, that needs to be overwhelming, is for many a large part of the thrill, the attraction. They want (need) to struggle, yet seek to ultimately "fail" in that struggle.
This hits on a very deep thing for Me. Because what I seek, is ultimately the end of struggling.
My power, My authority, seek to be total, final. I need them to be. For Me, there is no eroticism in the struggle. The question, as I see it, has been decided. For the other to struggle against empirical truth is debiliating for her and frustrating for Me.
But there is a deeper point here as well. It is only when the struggle ceases that the real learning can begin. The lessons I seek to impart can't be heard and absorbed over the noise of lingering struggle.
It's a difficult, narrow way to proceed. And there are hazards. I am blessed in that My girls embrace and udnerstand all this . . . and their embracing of it allows Me to not only dominate the way I must, but also to love them -- completely, unreservedly. The way I have to. There are no questions on either side of that equation.
One Post at a Time
One of the little frustrations of blogging is that it's single-threaded. Meaning one can only write about one thing at a time. While that's good for the resulting posts (it helps when posts actually make sense and move from point A to point B) and good for the readers, it doesn't reflect the fact that at any given time, most of the stuff I've ever written about is going on in Me. (Full disclosure: OK, I am not actually a private detective.)
So by the nature of blogging, certain things get left behind, because once one' s words roll off the front page they more or less never existed. Until you write about them again. While I'm aware of and not entirely unhappy with the tradeoff of persistence for immediacy, it doesn't give a totally accurate picture.
Case in point. I did a long series of posts on the spritual side of things, then a few more posts at intervals following those. It occurred to Me how long it's been since I addressed that topic, and the inconvenience/inaccuracy of "single-threading" made its presence felt, strongly.
But of course I can't leave well enough alone. I start to think about whether this is a common phenomenon, the frustration of knowing that what one writes about today is just one little part of the big picture, and that most parts of that picture are "lost" in the archives, or somehow not able to be addressed. I can't come to any reliable answer about that without doing massive one on one research. So . . .
From there, I start to theorize that blogs, rather than just being the expression of the effect, might actually be an element of the cause. Because thinking, writing, editing, editing some more, thinking, writing, editing more then finally pushing it out to the world for immediate digestoin and feedback isn't exactly a normal or natural way to approach thinking about one's life and the issues that affect it. So is it possible that blogs actually create a new way of thinking in us? An inherently different approach to finding our place in the world and coming to terms with that place?
Blogging about blogging. I have wandered into a Fellini film, I think. But like any good character trapped by that fourth wall I'll carry on. More on this another time.
So by the nature of blogging, certain things get left behind, because once one' s words roll off the front page they more or less never existed. Until you write about them again. While I'm aware of and not entirely unhappy with the tradeoff of persistence for immediacy, it doesn't give a totally accurate picture.
Case in point. I did a long series of posts on the spritual side of things, then a few more posts at intervals following those. It occurred to Me how long it's been since I addressed that topic, and the inconvenience/inaccuracy of "single-threading" made its presence felt, strongly.
But of course I can't leave well enough alone. I start to think about whether this is a common phenomenon, the frustration of knowing that what one writes about today is just one little part of the big picture, and that most parts of that picture are "lost" in the archives, or somehow not able to be addressed. I can't come to any reliable answer about that without doing massive one on one research. So . . .
From there, I start to theorize that blogs, rather than just being the expression of the effect, might actually be an element of the cause. Because thinking, writing, editing, editing some more, thinking, writing, editing more then finally pushing it out to the world for immediate digestoin and feedback isn't exactly a normal or natural way to approach thinking about one's life and the issues that affect it. So is it possible that blogs actually create a new way of thinking in us? An inherently different approach to finding our place in the world and coming to terms with that place?
Blogging about blogging. I have wandered into a Fellini film, I think. But like any good character trapped by that fourth wall I'll carry on. More on this another time.
YouTube Tuesday: Life Begins at the Hop; it ends . . . ?
Well, the inevitable happened. YouTube is to be acquired by Google for $1.65 billion. What this means for youtube is difficult to know right now, but from what I've read, Google intends to meet the copyright issue head on, by means of making deals with rights holders where it makes financial sense and aggressively keeping the other stuff off of the service. Meaning that you will most likely be paying in many cases for what's free now. Add to that the massive increase in advertising that is sure to happen and well, I'm not sure that the resulting youtube is going to be nearly as much fun as the one we currently enjoy.
I don't know what this means for youtube Tuesday (and I know you're all on pins and needles here) . . . I've no interest in "Google Video Tuesday" . . . we'll see what happens. As long as I can keep finding stuff that appeals to Me out there for free and with a minimum of hassle, I'll keep YTT going. If some upstart picks up youtube's mantle and keeps it fun and free with the same uninhibited attitude about copyright, perhaps YTT becomes presenations from whatever that new service is, if and when that happens.
But I do have to enjoy all this copyrighted stuff while I still can. So tonight, a video of one of My favorite songs ever -- "Life Begins At The Hop" by XTC. The video is cheesy and silly in a way that only a group of gifted but overly clever lads in the late 1970s could pull off. But the song is so uplifting and mood-brightening for Me I was thrilled to find the video out there and happy to post it here.
I don't know what this means for youtube Tuesday (and I know you're all on pins and needles here) . . . I've no interest in "Google Video Tuesday" . . . we'll see what happens. As long as I can keep finding stuff that appeals to Me out there for free and with a minimum of hassle, I'll keep YTT going. If some upstart picks up youtube's mantle and keeps it fun and free with the same uninhibited attitude about copyright, perhaps YTT becomes presenations from whatever that new service is, if and when that happens.
But I do have to enjoy all this copyrighted stuff while I still can. So tonight, a video of one of My favorite songs ever -- "Life Begins At The Hop" by XTC. The video is cheesy and silly in a way that only a group of gifted but overly clever lads in the late 1970s could pull off. But the song is so uplifting and mood-brightening for Me I was thrilled to find the video out there and happy to post it here.
YouTube Tuesday: Watching the Detectives
This week's clip is apropos -- Elvis Costello performing his classic "Watching the Detectives" from a 1977 episode of Saturday Night Live. Costello's homage to film noir is entrancing, from the halting rhythms to the razor-sharp lyrics. This song is one of the inspirations for the "Lenora X" character.
I'm not totally thrilled with this version . . . the audio is not great, and Costello has the tempo jerked up a bit, throwing the song off a bit in My mind. The bass player overdoes the flourishes to the extent that it's distracting, and the keyboards came out sounding like a bad accordion.
But the alternatives on youtube were a much later version, where an older, bloated Costello hardly seems interested in one of his best songs ever, and a much better, older version from Top of the Pops, but that one's abbreviated, the dancing British teens around the stage are annoying and the video quality is poor.
But ultimately, any version of "Watching the Detectives" is a good one.
I'm not totally thrilled with this version . . . the audio is not great, and Costello has the tempo jerked up a bit, throwing the song off a bit in My mind. The bass player overdoes the flourishes to the extent that it's distracting, and the keyboards came out sounding like a bad accordion.
But the alternatives on youtube were a much later version, where an older, bloated Costello hardly seems interested in one of his best songs ever, and a much better, older version from Top of the Pops, but that one's abbreviated, the dancing British teens around the stage are annoying and the video quality is poor.
But ultimately, any version of "Watching the Detectives" is a good one.
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