Saturday, December 6, 2014


Those who know me know I am not the most stable, normal, girl ape on the planet. BiPolar, BiSexual, and sometimes BiZarre.

I've fallen into a stalker'ish minor obsession in the last few days with a most gorgeous man. He wouldn't have any way of knowing I watch him, its all online.

I've spent 4 or 5 hours tracking down every thing there is on the net about him, and check his FB several times a day...

And this is the normal part of this story!

I'm so tempted to put up a photo of him so you all can see why he is so fascinating, but I won't. He looks like a young Brad Pitt! Same scruff of whiskers....

Brad Pitt

Same alluring intensity in the eyes, confident masculinity with out looking like a macho fool. He's smart and funny from reading his comments and posts, and has a diverse circle of friends and family.

He works for a tech company, seems to have a motorcycle and a comfortable life. He gets along with his parents, although I know there were some rough years in his past. Drinking, jail.

He seems particularly self aware, aware of how damaged he was for a while, before he found himself. And now he seems very happy with who he is.

I've read his blogs and those of one of his was by chance and googlefu that I found them, they are not in the normal search anymore, but still findable. And wow. He has a past with twists!

Look at the photo above. What would you think his semi-secret is? Gay? Yeah well he is, but that is not the secret!

I've seen photos of him shirtless and he has a nice chest and flat stomach. He always sports a bit of scruff on his chin and lip, sometimes cheeks...

OK. He looks JUST like the guy above, only real big difference is he has no dick. Literally. Never Did!

"He" is a girl who has had her breasts surgically removed and takes testosterone.

Holy Fuck Chole, you are one sick puppy for cyber stalking a transman and fantasizing about what THAT would be like!

A total guy in looks and attitude, (yeah he pulls off "guy" pretty well!) AND GIRL PARTS BELOW!

TO HIM: if somehow you read this, I so have the weirdest crush ever on you. Yea I know this kind of attention is probably unwelcome, and if I were a perfect little Chloe I would never even write this, but I'm not.  I so identify with or different you are, not that I want what you have, just you are so brave, so hot, and so cool. I don't want to be you, just interesting, complex and a survivor of hurt.

Greta is going to have fun with this in my next therapy session.


Sunday, November 16, 2014

Fifty Shades...


I just moments ago finished reading 50 Shades of Grey.

I had bought it a year or so ago, meaning to read it because it was a cultural reference sort of book. Something you had to have read so you could make a few snarky comments about it at a party.


I got into it. I SO IDENTIFIED WITH HER in ways that taught me something about myself.

I'm not quite sure what it is, something on the order of could I give myself to another person beyond my limits?

Women my age don't have the social programing to be halfway submissive to men like my moms generation, or more fully like my grandma still is. Much less in the BDSM way.

Could I transcend my own upbringing and what I think of as my basic nature and personality to give more than I was...willing? to deal with? For some one I loved so completely?

It is an interesting question, and one that drives the book.

I think I could do the Red Room of Pain scenes, if it were just scene. I don't know if I could do it with someone I loved. And I think that was her unanticipated limit.

50 Shades of Grey is the classic romance novel story arc, two people not terribly inclined to each other at first, then attraction and simultaneous repulsion, and then resolution. With a twist of the resolution at the end.

She's my age, my temperament, a bit introverted and introspective, clutzy and self demeaning, and totally dazzled by a man who would dazzle me!

Truth be told, I am not sure I wouldn't whore myself to him.

But then his intrigue with her is exactly in that she won't, and that she will be submissive willingly for love, but not for his less than sane urges. She is good for him, a path out of the darkness. She knows it. He doesn't. Interesting that she truly has the power as a submissive. Something I had never considered. And perhaps this is something that is in play in larger society, women, having power, in ways that are not so obvious.

Will she come back?

Well there are two more books! So its a given.

50 Shades was less than great literature in some ways, but the story, the characters, made up for it.

Now I join housewife's all over in day dreaming about a man who could make me want to submit. here I come.


Sunday, November 9, 2014

Men are Funny - Psychosexual Dynamics

Funny ha ha? Or funny strange?


I love them for the silly way they think they can work their way into my life, into my pants, into my heart.

Well maybe they don't think they ARE working their way into my heart, but they do, and mostly way before they get near my pants!

Men are endearing for those very qualities that they are not self aware of, characteristics they don't control, their subconscious drives, deep urges...sweet innocence in the transparency.

Therein lies part of a woman's power.

I've had a few interactions with men over the last couple of weeks that have brought this on. I signed up for LinkedIn®, sort of preparing for the future where I am not sheltered by school and daddy's generosity.   Feel free to connect!

I had a hard time finding people I know, my age and circumstance, but I was having fun just reading profiles looking for unusual but dynamic people. People who were doing interesting things with their lives.

I have a real life pagan wizard as a connection. A real life Albus Dumbledore, who has a school of wizardry, a bunch of degrees and lives a polyamorous lifestyle. It is interesting to google stalk people and read what they have said and what people around them say. Apparently there is a lot of social dynamic foofarah in an extended community of people who live in open and multiple partnered relationships. But you have to give them props for trying! I still haven't totally figured out the women, is it a submissive thing, to be one of several, in a group relationship?

I don't think I could handle all the potential drama. I can see the occasional threesome but not a long term sextuple! (or maybe it should always be an odd number?)

He seems like a sweet guy, but my mental picture is adolescent boy with a bunch of crush girls fawning. How do you extend intimacy over a group? I have a hard enough time with one other.

I also connected up with a couple of authors who are my dads age, 60's ish.

Now I have a book to my name, but it is a amateurish, self involved work, and hardly something to give me cred with the grownup crowd. Maybe points for trying. But the feeling I got from both of them was interest and solicitousness. I felt that cuteness was a big factor in their accepting my connection request. Not that I am so cute, but being a young woman, I feel men that age think I am.

Don't get me wrong either, I like that! I think older guys are sexy as hell if they have that kind of confidence that younger guys just don't have the life experience to pull off. I mean the older guys aren't so horny that they can't look you in the eye for more that a second, and know the way to you, is through your head anyway. And they have been rejected enough that it is just play, not a big ego thing. It's fun to flirt with them.

So one of the guys "liked" a picture of me on my Facebook® from when I was sixteen. And he was not single. What do I think? What am I supposed to think? The photo was from when I was skinny and the caption said I wasn't so skinny anymore. Yeah I like the photo too, but the guy has grandkids almost that age, so he likes it because.....

I think I know men. Their urges are psychosexual. Not necessarily directly toward actual sex, but things that gratify the idea, attention from young women perhaps? Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I don't think so.

The other guy offered to let me read his upcoming manuscript! I warned him that my skills were on display in my own writing and my input would probably be less than profound. He wrote back very supportively and I had the feeling that I could establish a correspondence with him if I wanted. Tempting too as he is a deep thinker from what my googling of his writing showed. I even ordered his last book from Amazon.

I have a bit of reluctance though. Self doubt really, and fear of making a fool of myself! It's like the acceptance of flattery, is a set up for a fall. Not that any of the men I am writing about were blatantly flattering beyond mere politeness, I wasn't being hit on, or even offered the suggestion of a more personal interest. It is just what I feel is the subconscious motivation in men.

So one more guy. He only had 2 connections on LinkedIn® but one was a mutual connection, so when his request came in, I googled him.


Oh My Fucking God!

Men can not know the creepy ick feeling a girl has when someone who has messed with children, and had it proven in court, try to make contact with them!

I had to dig to find what to do, being new to LinkedIn®, but found how to sent a report to them. Hopefully they will boot him off and report him to the authorities. But probably its not illegal for him to be there.

So men. A range from the amusing to the bizarre.

Amusing is good, even great, I think of amuse as a bit of muse, inspiration. Man muse. I can work the shit out of a little bit of man muse in my life. Sucking inspiration out of life and hopefully into words.

The bizzare can be good, (wizard) or totally fucked up, (child molester).

Four men, a real range of the species' gender. Perhaps a bit of genius in each and also some deviance too.

So my take on men. Psychosexual, biospiritual organisms.

Why do I need them, watch them, worry what they think. Why do I act the way I do around them, different than around other women. Why do I want one so bad.



Wednesday, October 29, 2014


I wake at 5:30 or 6, pee, then sit on my cushion. Close my eyes and breathe, moving my attention closer and closer to my nostrils till that fills my consciousness, the sensation of air moving in, the sensation of air moving out. Totally focused in the immediate moment of the breath occurring.

After a bit I move from Anapana, meditation on breath, to vipassanna, moving meditation on body sensation.

Top of the head, observing the sensation in the small spot I seem to find, then moving the attention systematically around, and down over the face, through the structure of my head, down the neck to the shoulder, arm, hand, fingers top then bottoms one by one. Then the other arm.

Then the trunk of my body, breasts, under, stomach, upper pelvis, hips both internal and external, then down the right leg through the knee and top of the foot to each toe, like the fingers, top then bottom. And back up from the bottom of the toes, the sole of my foot, heel, back of the leg and across my root. Sensitive genitals, anus, nerves, to the other leg.

I work back up from my extremes through my back, neck, skull and find my crown chakra.

One cycle.

Goenkaji says 8 cycles an hour are common.

When I am in the groove, in the zone, I can cycle in minutes, but that is not the goal. Finding the smallest sensation, the most focus on the most minute sensation may be. But I can also hold my focus on the whole of my physical presence at once too.

The objective is to observe the sensations throughout the body without craving for the "good" sensation or aversion to the "bad" sensation. To observe sensation equanimously. The theory is based on the buddhist idea of dependent origin, every thing that happens is based on some prior happening. This is what results in karma. So by observation without attachment, you are effectively rewriting the karma from the good or bad reaction into an equanimous state.

One hour, I have a timer on my iphone that gently lets me know when I am done.

Usually I am in a large personal space, almost limitless and ever so quiet. Sometimes I stay for a bit.

Then a bit of metta, sending love from the power of that vast space and peace to others. Wanting them to have real peace, real happiness.

This is my daily practice.

Join me


Here is where:

It looks so plain, but inside people become aware of themselves in ways they didn't know they could. Men and women are segregated, 10 days of silence, no speaking, 11 hours a day of meditation. Hard. But also driven by your own desire, not by any pressure from the volunteers who facilitate it, feed and house you or teach the courses. Have you ever given yourself 10 days to be with yourself in an environment that lets you see yourself from your own true perspective? I did. I loved it. No longer the bipolar, and selfish bitch I once was....I hope. I am more quiet now.



Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Four Years, a Lifetime.

Four years ago today my mother died. It is like a lifetime ago even though I vividly remember the day, events and emotions. But the pain has faded.

Here is an excerpt from my book, Far Edge of Seventeen:

"     The day my mom died. Every one has seen it in the movies, someone dying, but its not like that. Its not noble or dramatic or sweet sadness, its ugly, uncontrollable, and is like something is ripped away from you with hidden power you didn't know existed. And I think it is like that for the person dying as well as those who were close to them.
     It was just another day, mom had been having a rough few weeks, she had lost weight and was in bed a lot, but she would have good days when she was up and eating and hanging around in the house, and bad days when she was in bed and didnt talk much. On those days it was like she wasnt really asleep and resting, but just sort of out of it, not making an effort to do anything. We knew she was getting worse, but I still hoped that she would fight her way out of it. But today she was really out of it. She was awake sometimes and would look at me and I would know she was seeing me, but no smile of recognition, no sign of her being able to rest from what she was fighting. Her breathing had gotten sort of hoarse and she looked tired and cold.
     In the early afternoon dad called her doctor, who came by the house and looked at her, and then talked to my dad for a while. After he left Dad called my brother and sister and told them to come to the house.
    By late afternoon is was obvious that something was wrong, she had not been at all really conscious and aware at all of her surroundings since morning. She seemed to be awake, but not really.
     We were all in the bedroom, Dad on the bed with her, sometimes gently saying things to her and stroking her hair. Shelly on a chair on dad's side, my brother on the foot of the bed and me on moms side. She wasnt awake and not asleep, but it was like she was dreaming, and figgiting. Her eyes would move around, looking, sometimes open, sometimes closed, but not recognizing anything we were. Then for a while she was relaxed and seemed asleep, breathing deeply and calm. We all relaxed and just hung out in the room. It was good to see her calm, she seemed to have been fighting so much. We snacked and dad had some classical music on, Bach, moms fav.
     Then she sort of woke with a couple of quick breaths and seemed to be reaching for my dad, who took hold of her, holding her to him. She seemed to be fighting, tense, but breathing slow and shallow, not really conscious, and then she wasnt breathing.
    And in the next moment, oh god, I knew that all the things I ever should have said to her, done for her, asked her, were lost  forever in a way I had never felt before. I suddenly realized what was now gone from my life. A gigantic hole, or more like a gigantic place where nothing could ever be again. Mom wasnt anymore. I'm crying now writing this, but not the way I was then, so deep and hopeless and lost.
     Dad layed with her sobbing, we were all sobbing. There was nothing else to do.  I layed on the bed next to her to and touched her hand for a moment, but SHE WASNT THERE. Oh god.

   It seemed like hours or maybe minutes, it was like a dream you couldn't wake up from, but Dad got up and called the doctor again and called the funeral home. An hour later a van came and they put her in a bag and took her out on a wheeled thing. Mom in a bag on a cart, except she wasnt mom anymore, just something to be taken away. I remember watching them push her through the living room and out the door, and hearing the van leave. I felt like I didnt know who I was or where I was. We all went to sleep later without eating."

Yea. I remember. like it was yesterday....

And still it seems as if it happened to a different person, a little girl floundering through her teenage years. Not me, now.

The pain is gone. Not that there are not those moments when my chest tightens and my eyes leak in her memory, but it is a good thing, something strong still left from her, the memory of her.

It amazes me how life moves on in little increments and one day we look back and see the vast change that just crept up.

I have a long way to go before I could be a mom, but just that I think about it means I am a different person. There will come a time when it is my turn to be there for someone else, with the lessons of my mom to guide me. Not yet, but someday.

Dad's up at the house on the coast this week where we left what was left of her, her ashes. They are in the sea and the winds up there. The more important parts of her we have are in our memories, and in how she effected us and influenced us into who we are today.

I'm beginning to understand ancestor worship, we ARE the culmination of a long line of the people before us. Not that I would literally worship any physical representation of my ancestors, but to think about it and try to honor what they went through to put me here....Yes.

I wish real peace and real joy to all.