Truly Frightening

Cold cement below your feet is splattered with some unrecognizable dark liquid. You inch slowly forward, senses fully alert, palms holding a cold sweat, and heart pounding so loud you're sure the person next to you will hear. Something surely will jump out at you, might grab you, might scream, might pretend to threaten your life with a chainsaw or other torturous contraption. You just know it. You just know that when you take this next step it's there. It's there. It's coming. You close in on the corner. Waiting. Here it comes.

Here it comes...

AHHHHH!!

And that's when you jump toward the friend standing next to you, who convinced you to attend this haunted house in the first place. If you were moderately attracted to this "friend" before, now you're two seconds away from finding an even darker corner and ripping some clothes off. What is it about being terrified that arouses us? And what's the difference between sexy-scary and truly frightening?

Haunted Houses, scary movies, and even creepy carnivals make great dates for a reason. Just think of all the similarities between Scary and Sexy:
1.) sweating
2.) alert senses
3.) things that go bump in the night...
4.) blood rushing
5.) carnal, instinctual behavior
and the list goes on!
Heightened adrenaline encourages borderline insane behavior. Something about it is thrilling. Something about it is exciting. And something about it is distinctly erotic. (Iconic example: Vampires.) It's no wonder the Halloween costume trend has been somewhere between terrifying and scandalous. It's one day out of the year when propriety has no place. The tradition of dressing up is an excuse to indulge in an unapologetic expression of two of the most primal functions of human existence: procreation and death.

But when things are truly frightening it changes everything. You feel nauseous, despondent, and paralyzed. Not only do you feel the opposite of sexy in moments like these, but the thought of being touched is generally lost somewhere far, far away. In some extreme cases the thought of being touched aggravates the existing problem. So this begs the question: what is truly frightening? And what's the real difference?

Slasher movies mimic the sensation of fear, just as romantic movies mimic the sensation of love--but real love is far more than a sensation, just as real fear is more. Sexy-scary, or the sensation of fear, is as shallow as infatuation and lust. True fear (just like true love) isn't an emotion, but something much deeper. I suppose genuine fear is one of those sentiments that is both universal and extremely personal. It is at the core of who we are and who we want to be; this great obstacle binding us to somewhere on the wrong side of the finish line.

Halloween laughs at frightening things and evokes the sensation without any actual danger. Suddenly a "fun" holiday is born. But no one dresses up as Failure, or Loneliness, Isolation, or Brutal Violence and Pain. Indifference and Abandonment weren't popular costumes last I checked either. Things we truly fear, things that pull us far within ourselves and deplete our power are not as easy to laugh at or twist into something exciting.

But what if we could laugh at it all?

The only thing to fear is fear itself.

True fear is our worst enemy: an Achilles heel of the human race. But fear in and of itself is nothing. Nothing at all. Perhaps we should laugh at such a preposterous notion. Perhaps we would be better if we could realize reality contains only everything else.

In the meantime, we can revel in the tradition of converting "fear" into an active energy. Adrenaline pumping, awareness heightening, and heart pounding sensations are much more useful than paralytic self-abomination. Sexy-scary is a healthier habit. Ridiculous amounts of candy aside, Halloween in general may be healthier than we thought after all. It turns a light on in the dark, illuminates those creepy demons, and in the process eradicates darkness itself. Don't you see?

Bad things do happen, and we are better off being aware of them, but awareness does not have to mean fear. True fear produces nothing positive.

Sexy-scary, on the other hand, could mean a great make-out session with your Haunted House partner in a dark corner.

Just one word of advice with that one though: make sure whoever you feel up (or let feel you up) isn't wearing a mask. Now THAT could be truly frightening...

Another One Bites the Dust

It always amuses me that people think they have unlimited chances.

Haven't you heard Shakespeare's quote "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"???

Buck-up buckaroo--you're in for a rude awakening.

Yes, even a girl who suggests "friends with benefits" has standards. Recent events, in fact, have raised those standards through the roof. While you had a chance to get what you wanted, you blew it entirely and will never get it back. Doubt it? Try me.

Here's the gist of recent events:

Alejandro offered to be the "booty call." Only, when the call was made, he managed to be unavailable. After a couple attempts and waiting for rain in a drought, I made plans with David instead. (David is a previously mentioned self-proclaimed admirer of this author.) After spending some time with David, I realized I felt guilty.

Guilty? For what exactly?

Clearly Alejandro had no claim on me--he had made no attempt whatsoever to be with me--so why did I feel guilty for spending time with another man? Eventually I arrived at the conclusion that I had attempted to be with Alejandro and that I was still harboring hope for a commitment that did not (and would not) exist. This meant I also was no longer suited for the arrangement I had offered to Alejandro at that baseball game two weeks before. Clearly it is not my personality to embark on such care-free endeavors.

Pity.

So, driving home from David's, I decided Alejandro needed to either step up or step out.

What I discovered was that he was already gone.

That baseball game was the last time I saw him, and two days after David was the last time I heard from him (about a week ago). Looks like Alejandro wasn't interested in being with any part of me. Talk about a blow to your pride.

But then, adding salt on the wound, David disappeared as well. He had sworn up and down he was crazy for me before we hung out, but then after we did--and the chase was over--he disappeared. Normally David would be given a chance to pipe up and explain himself. Normally David would be given some time to grow some balls (something that I already know is quite difficult for him). Unfortunately, timing is everything. After Alejandro's disappearing act I only had about enough patience for one day of deaf ears.

So they're out.

And will they think they have a second chance? Or third? Just because I'm nice and forgiving and understanding? HA. Forgive--yes. Forget--never. They already had all the chances they earned. Plus some. It's time for me to move on and never look back.

A Lifetime of What

What risks are we willing to take? When do we let fear be more important? And why?

I've been thinking things for a long time without the courage to say them. I've been dreaming things without the courage to make them happen. I've been so focused on a possible failure that I never leaped for success.

No more.

Here is a tattoo that translates into my new life philosophy: FEARLESS.

And why not?

I'll let you know what happens. Now that the adventure is the only option...

Friends with Benefits?

I finally said yes to a date with Alejandro.

But that was six weeks ago. What's happened since then is a decent story, a bit of a mystery, and not something I'm interested in reporting here at the moment. Although, there is one aspect to my current Latino predicament worth considering morally, socially, and personally for a moment: the nature of meaningless sex.

One of my very best girlfriends, Miss Independent, has been engaging in "meaningless" sex with an ex boyfriend for a few weeks, since they were so good at it while they were together. It seemed to make sense to continue the enjoyable part of the relationship, once everything else had tumbled downhill.

This was the theory I applied to my own situation.

Alejandro and I did not work out due to timing. (Timing--i.e. I broke things off because he couldn't meet my needs, and he did not fight to stay in the relationship because of my neediness.) The first time we hung out post-split was just last week, 7th row at a baseball game, first base side. After the unexpectedly amazing blended margarita--generally speaking I'm an on-the-rocks gal--and after discussing our "timing" issue a little more thoroughly, I came to a solid conclusion about where things should go next.

"Well, just because we're not dating doesn't mean we have to stop having fun... I liked the fun... What do you think?" I offered. He was shocked.

True, I'm a self-respecting and demanding girl, so offering to have fun without dating was a bit of a shock, and certainly a first.

"Girls don't usually make offers like that," he said.

"I'm not most girls."

His body language completely changed. He leaned in and put a hand on my knee. "So, when are we going to start having this fun?" he asked.

"Whenever you'd like."

He laughed. "If it were up to me, I'd say let's leave now." (Alejandro, as it turns out, is not a big fan of baseball anyway.)

I kept my eyes on his, gave a half smile with one raised eyebrow, then threw my purse over my shoulder and stood up.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

Turns out our team lost the game anyway.

And that's how I took on my first ever no-strings romantic endeavor. There are rules to these types of arrangements though; five basic rules.

1.) Always use protection, no matter what.

You're not there to prove your loyalty or feign monogamy or increase intimacy. You're there for a purpose, and there is no reason to ignore the safety etiquette. It's a matter of respect from one human being to another.

2.) There is one need this other person satisfies, so don't call to satisfy any other need.

Need a shoulder to cry on? Someone to talk to? A date for a family or friend function? A ride? An extra jersey for Sunday's game-day celebration? CALL SOMEONE ELSE. If you are alright excluding this person from every other part of your life, then go ahead and make a "meaningless fun" pact.

3.) Date other people.

It is essential you separate this arrangement from your actual romantic life. Obviously, if things start to heat up with the other person you're dating, you need to boot your booty call. Don't let your booty call ever get in the way of a chance at the real thing. Ever. That's a baaaadddd sign. If your booty call is the one you want to share intimate dinners and deep dark secrets with, then I suggest you stop everything now. Because, let's face it, he's not gonna buy the Popsicle stand once you've supplied your frozen desserts for free.

4.) Shhhhhhh...

Want to maintain any sense of self-worth and dignity through this? I suggest you keep your mouth shut. I know what you're thinking, "But you're blogging about yours!" Yes, I run a huge risk of sacrificing my dignity with this public confession, but I hope to serve the greater good with what I've learned. (And, for the record, I never said Alejandro and I had sex.) The reason for secrecy's imperativeness comes down to the world of distortion you welcome with the inevitable judgements from others. Society isn't ready to accept this type of arrangement. As a nation, we're flat-out PRUDE. And, as a woman, you must be particularly careful because you are very likely to be reprimanded for this arrangement, while the man is more likely to be rewarded. There are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part we know how the Slut/Stud imperative works in this country. The last thing anyone needs is to feel like shit about him/herself, so shhhhhhh...

.

5.) Always be honest with yourself.

This is the ultimate rule of engaging in meaningless fun. You must never pretend things are really okay if they are not. The moment any of the above rules are broken you must get out. This arrangement lives on the edge of a perilous cliff, and you can't mess around with such things and expect no consequences. The reason these arrangements receive criticism stems from the participants' inability to follow this one final rule.

.

Miss Independent's situation breaks almost all of these rules despite her best efforts. She is stronger than most, but even she walked into a trap. Because of a recent, total breakdown from my independent friend (who never cries), I realized engaging in such an arrangement with Alejandro came with its unavoidable demise attached.

I don't have the connection or history with Alejandro that Miss Independent has with her ex. For her, the waters were so murky it hurt. (A lot.) Currently I'm enjoying the Latino Lover in my back pocket, but if you play in the waters long enough they too get murky, no matter how clear they were to start.

As Jordin Sparks appropriately said, "Why does Love have to be like a battlefield?... You better go and get your armor." On a battlefield, one must remember: know thy enemy, and know thyself. For me this means I have to recognize I will almost inevitably develop feelings for Alejandro if things continue. Sure I'm safe now, but my enemy in this case is my desire to care and my desire to love. Therefore I must prepare my armor: self-awareness and self-preservation. When things begin to get deep, I must get out. No exceptions. It's all any of us can do.

He decided we were friends, which adds a complicated layer to the supposed fun-only relationship. Does that make us friends with benefits? Ugh, what an ugly term. And, if so, is it really a benefit?

Only if you've got your armor.

Because, if you want more, and you're not suited up, you'll be singing a different tune--try Leona Lewis's "Bleeding Love."

And, please, don't forget it.

What's Love Got to Do with It?

Yes, those are piercings. Don't be afraid--that's not me. :-D Is it someone I know? Oh, yes, my brother's girlfriend actually. This gorgeous work of art elicits two rather conflicting responses: "Wow, that's fucking COOL," and "AH! God that must have hurt! Oh why would you do that to yourself??"

Good question.

Every time I hear someone ask it, I face the fact that my opinion on the matter has drastically changed from what it once was. Initially such "physical abuse" was jarring and unsettling to view. I was both disgusted and fascinated by such a mutilation of the human body, finding it simultaneously repulsive and compelling. Over time, as I grew more and more use to this lovely canvas Kassie (brother's girlfriend in pic), I realized my initial reaction shot beyond the surface of the skin, and saw through to the art. Kassie and her piercer, Dan Braily (as printed on the photo itself), know the time, effort, pain, creativity, and dedication that goes into every piece. They see the art. They see the limits they push with their creative endeavors. Their commitment to the art and each other is inspiring.

Thus the title, What's love got to do with it?

Imagine laying on a table for hours, and hours, while someone tries to pinch enough skin on your skinny, bony chest to shove a metal bar through it. He does this so many times you're not sure you can make it through the whole design. You're sweating and experiencing the same physical exhaustion that follows a day at boot-camp, but Dan has only finished half of the piercings. Do you keep going? Do you stop now? It's a last-minute idea and you weren't sure you'd ever do something like this again, but Dan is a good friend and there's something else... something else that makes you endure the final piercings. What is it?

What's love got to do with it?

Piercings for the sake of art, such as these pieces shown here, are expressions of love--as all art created through blood, sweat, and tears is. Why should piercing be viewed as a horrific mutilation when those doing it feel it's an expression of the most selfless, enduring love?

Not everyone involved in these tattoo conventions does what they do for love. In fact, many definitely don't. But a certain level of dedication and love involved in such an endeavor is hardly deniable. There is more to it that ink and metal. There is more to the people involved too.

For example, piercer Dan Braily is one of the friendliest people I know. He's pleasant and outgoing, with a laid back disposition and great sense of humor. His art gallery in Phoenix, displaying many of these same designs recreated on an actual painted canvas, captures the attention of many. Several individuals will walk by, look in, seem interested, and then spot Dan and his friends and walk away. Fear of the unknown and misunderstood keeps them from experiencing this art that compels their better senses. Truth about pain and beauty lies on Dan's canvases--both the cotton and the flesh--which grabs the viewer. It's Dan in the flesh (as shown on the left with Kassie), this sweetly dispositioned individual, that keeps them from fully embracing the truth.

Trust me, Dan up close is far from scary. Just ask his adorable, blonde five-year-old.

I have three piercings; one in each ear that I got at one month old, and another in my ear from a year ago. I have no tattoos, nor do I plan on ever having one. I find intense beauty in the unmarked canvas as well. But I'm thankful for Kassie, my brother, and Dan who broaden my perspective on the matter. It's not for my body, but it is another shade of beauty worth appreciating. When it comes to art, beauty, truth, and all of those other Bohemian concepts reborn in the metal and ink of our generation you ask, "What's love got to do with it?"

Everything.

Nana Na Na, Nana Na Na, Hey Hey Hey...

One question has been relentlessly on my mind: When is it the time to drop a guy, and when do you give him another chance to come around? My intuition--and He's Just Not That Into You experience--tells me you simply don't give a guy a second chance. If he really wants one, then he won't need it in the first place. Guys don't do "noble" things like back off if a friend is interested in you too, or hesitate if they're not sure you reciprocate. Men are simple: if he likes you, he'll go for it. If he doesn't go for it, he doesn't like you.

This is the rule.

The thing is, there are exceptions to every rule.

Have I encountered such an exception? Probably not. Except every time I begin to explain the situation to a man he says, "Yeah well, Tess, it's his brother." Does this mean there is actually a code of honor among men I have to take into consideration before dropping them both and moving on? Which brings me back to my original question: when do you let go, and when should you stick with it little longer?

David cancelled on me virtually last minute last night do to "family stuff." Somehow I managed to not care very much. The night was instead spent with potato chips, gummie candies, television flipping between Erin Brockovich and Wanted, and a self-imposed 9:00 bed time. It worked for me.

David, technically, has cancelled on me a few times now. He's the perpetual empty threat. He'll swear up and down he wants to see me, but then back out when I actually give him a shot. I can't read his mind and I don't feel like trying. There's frankly too much mystery surrounding it all for me to be interested in investing. Therefore, dropping him makes the most sense. BUT, since I'm not invested, I'm also not at risk of being hurt at all by not dropping him. So, does this mean I keep my options open in case he finally decides to bite the bullet?

Alejandro, on the other hand, is a lot less ambiguous than David. He asked again "what are you doing tonight?"--a third invitation from him. That's impressive. Again, out of respect for my girlfriend, I didn't commit to anything. But, in a moment of weakness, mentioned I'd be free on Friday. At least that way it buys me enough time to really figure out what I'm going to do about him. He is the only one living up to the "rule" in a positive way anyway...

The pub brothers, Rugby and Jimmy, are a whole different problem. I gave Rugby a chance after Jimmy and I decided to be friends, and he blew it. Or, perhaps, he wasn't interested in taking the chance I gave him. So that's that, right? And, because they're brothers, I drop them both? Give up? Take the likely hint and be done? (Why do I frown when I think of walking away this time?)

There is no sense worrying about it now though. I'll see them tonight, and report back tomorrow. I can only deal with a reality, not my foolish hypothetical scenarios.

The point is, it's difficult to accept the rule, and even more difficult to identify the exception. Once we can do both, perhaps we'll be masters of love. In the meantime, we're bumbling idiots who are simply hoping to get lucky (no pun intended?).

Wish me luck then.

I'll keep you posted...

Sweet-T

The date with Sweet-T last night didn't feel much like a date. If I didn't know he liked me, I never would have guessed. When we sat next to each other on a bench watching a fountain, his body never shifted even in the slightest degree to face me. Ridiculous, I tell you. I'm not the one interested, and yet I could actually look him in the eye. Go figure.

We may go out for dinner sometime, but I'm thinking probably not. All signs point to us being friends. He is too afraid of what he wants to get it.

Alejandro (I cancelled hiking), on the other hand, contacted me last night while I was on my date, and asked me what I was doing. Out of respect for my friend, I did not answer the text. Did I want to? Yes. Would I have a little more exciting drama to report today if I did? Ha, yes. There are times in life where all I want is a good, heavy make-out session. Nothing too extreme, just some fun. This is one of those times. Which is why David might have fun on our date tonight. He is more likely to go for what he wants.

The problem is I still want Rugby. I think about him and my stomach feels empty, my throat tightens, and my chest seizes. The other night I stayed until he closed. I waited patiently for everyone to leave. It took fucking forever. I don't know what he was waiting for exactly, or what he was thinking. But, when it came time to say goodbye, all I got was a "friend" hug--you know, that short, you-could-be-my-sister hug? Ugh I was so pissed. I was particularly frustrated because he looked so good. And he smelled so good...

Who smells that good after ten hours of bartending?? Seriously. Jerk.

Anyway, it's best to move on and start looking elsewhere. Thus the date with David.

I'll keep you posted...