SO. MANY. PICTURES. But here’s a few more for now. The next few days are gonna be crucial.
In our minds not only are we ahead of the game – we are ahead of our time. Wise beyond our years, and bulletproof beyond belief, with more lessons learned than mistakes made. We see in black and white – no blurry shades of grey, or rosy shades of red. We are logical. We are reasonable. And we can handle this.
In her mind she knows that it can’t be anymore than what it is. That it takes more than “like.” That he’ll be leaving soon, and she supports the move. His vision. Him. And the relationship they have. She can’t be mad, because technically he has done nothing wrong. In her mind she more than understands. She sympathizes. She’s been there. She IS there. She knows the depth of the water she’s treading, and what comes with the territory. It’s his dream and he is but a sugar-plum fairy away.
In my mind, I can do this. Not because I am strong, and not because I can separate my emotions from my hormones. But because I am realistic. I know what it is, and what it isn’t. I’m not delusional, and I know my role. So I will continue to “have fun” until it stops being “fun,” and will only allow myself to feel bad, but never bad enough to stop. I don’t know you enough to like you. In my mind, I’m fine. I’m OK.
In our minds, we know better. But in our hearts?
In her heart she wants more than he can give, but takes what she can get. So she winks at the opposition, then cries over her decision. And secretly doesn’t apologize for the selfish little voice inside of her that hopes he doesn’t go. In her heart she’s scared. She feels neglected, and insecure. There are trust issues. She understands the plan, but doesn’t understand why she can’t be included in every single blueprint. She misses him, and it hurts.
And in my heart, feeling bad just feels – bad. But I’ll get it while the gettin’s good. Even if it’s not for long, and even if it’s not for real. As long as it’s real enough for me to pretend. That when I wake up with your arms around me in the morning it’s because you don’t want me to leave. Not just your room, but your life. Ever. In my heart I take things for more than they’re worth, and hold onto words with no meaning. In my heart, I knew this would happen. I knew I would like you. I knew I wouldn’t be fine with it, and I knew I was never OK.
Because in our hearts, we know nothing outside of it. In our hearts? We refuse to know better.
In just a few hours I’ll be heading back to the Bay, and I must say the feeling is definitely bittersweet. Here’s something to hold you down until my next post. Don’t go crazy now kids lol.
You know how you read someone’s blog, and feel like you already know them or would like to meet them? BAM. In my mind, this was inevitable. One of my favorite writers, and now new friends. Shout out to Jozen for coming through to the Mixologi event with his homegirl Naima!
Like I mentioned yesterday, I’ve been vicariously living through Anastasia Steele ever since picking up Fifty Shades of Grey. But just as controversial as the book itself, is the discussion of who would play the characters in the upcoming movie. Here are my top picks for some key players in book one.
Ian Somerhalder as Christian FUCK ME NOW Grey. Let me preface by saying that a 25 year-old Christian Bale will always be my number one pick – have you seen American Psycho? Asides from looking good in sex scenes, he also looks damn good in a suit, and is an asshole when it comes to authority. Having said all of that, Ian Somerhalder of The Vampire Diaries is def my second pick. It’s all in the eyes. Like Ness said, “He’s smoldering.”
THIS IS NOT A POST ABOUT BASEBALL.
So no need to take me off your google reader just yet.
However, this IS a post about family. About friends. About memories. About putting a dent in ones bucket list. It’s about a legacy.About a dream turned reality. About pain and passion. About loyalty. Laughter. Good, old fashioned fun. Discipline. Determination. Blood, sweat, and tears. It’s about heart. Courage. Humility. About feeling like a kid again. It’s about LOVE. And yes, it’s also about torture.
This morning I tuned into KRON 4 news like I usually do when I get ready for work, and watched them interview Giants fans at Civic Center. When they asked one man how he felt about winning the World Series he said, “I just wish my pops was here to see this.”
I CRY NOW. AGAIN.
The other week I read this blurb about Debbie Freitas, who shared Giants season tickets with her husband Dan back in the 80s. He passed away two years ago, but it hasn’t stopped her from attending the games in the same section and wearing his Giants jacket for good luck.
The night the Giants won the World Series, I headed over to the Embarcadero to catch what was apparently the “hood” portion of the celebration. As I was sitting shotty with the window down screaming back to folks on the street chanting, “GIANTS BABYYYY!” I saw two guys walking towards each other. One was a middle-aged white man in a suit and Giants baseball hat. The other, a young black man in an oversized Giants jersey and dreadlocks. They smiled and gave each other a hi-five. It was kinda awesome.
And somewhere out there is an interview of Edgar Renteria in which he admits to breaking down in front of the team in tears thinking his career was over. Today, he’s the 2010 World Series Champs MVP. But more importantly, he is a hero and a symbol of hope.
Some people don’t like the Giants. OK fine. But to me, they are so much more than a team.
Some people think baseball is the most boring sport ever. I get it, I do. But to me, this is so much bigger than baseball.
Amongst the madness of Corona bottles and people on top of trees at the parade yesterday, I noticed A LOT of families. Especially, parents with their children. Some too young to even know what was going on, yet still adorning teeny-tiny Giants onesies. I watched Wilson’s last pitch with my mom at Roy’s in celebration of her birthday and although I wished I was drunk at some sports bar with my friends, I was happy I got to witness history with the woman who brought me into this world on her special day. I can only hope I get to do the same with my future children one day.
OK, so maybe this post was a little bit about baseball. Just a little bit. But I’m not going to say sorry. Because anything that was meaningful enough to make grown men (and big babies like me) cry is worth writing about. So no apologies here. Only “Thank-yous.” Thank you to the 2010 World Series Champs, the San Francisco Giants, for painting the town proud and happy, and orange and black for days beyond Halloween. Thank you for bringing together my beloved city that I’ve lived for 27 years. And thank you to my readers who’ve painstakingly beared with me during all my baseball blabber, I guess it was torture for you too.
I did it. I’ve succumbed into the anomaly better known as 50 Shades of Grey. Sixteen chapters in, and three pairs of panties later, I finally have enough of an opinion to write about a topic I’ve been meaning to explore for some time now – bondage.
Not some super duper S&M shit either, just the mere act of not having your hands free to do as you please. I’ve actually never consciously participated in it. I know, weird right? However, I’ve had a few similar experiences that involved being restrained. I’m sure there were more, but these are the two I remember most.
Forgive me for sounding like a whore, but the first instance was so long ago I can’t even remember who it was with lol. All I remember is he was going down on me while holding down my hands. A natural reflex for me when someone’s down there, is to rub their head with my hands or fondle myself, and the fact I couldn’t do either drove me fucking NUTS.
The second instance was with surprise, surprise – Thor. He was fucking me like it was going out of style, and it was getting to the point where I couldn’t handle the pleasure without screaming bloody murder or being gagged (hey, now there’s an idea). So in an attempt to give myself a break, I tried to push his hips away from me. He responded by grabbing both of my tiny wrist with one hand (his hands were oh, so big good God) and pinning them over my head as he thrusted even deeper and harder.
Do you need a fan, and a glass of water? Yeah me too. Go for it, I’ll wait.
In both instances, being restricted made me fucking crazy. I like being dominated, but it’s usually because I let myself be. When it’s because I’m being restrained and have no choice it’s different. Nevertheless, I think I’m a fan. It’s the only tying up of something I know of, that unleashes something else.
What are your thoughts or experiences on bondage? Share if you dare! P.S. I haven’t finished the book, if you ruin it for me – I WILL (paper)CUT you.
