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Political, be warned.

Sunday, April 30, 2006 by Mellie

I meant to write a post about something hot... but what I really want to talk about is the significance of tomorrow, May 1st. Most people grew up knowing May 1st as May Day, a day to ring people's doorbells to leave them flowers or dance around the Maypole. But the real origins of the holiday are much deeper than that, much more significant and closer to my heart.

May Day was originally known as International Workers' Day, a day meant to commemorate the Haymarket Riot (*for those of you who don't know what the Haymarket Riot was, I've added a footnote to the end of this post). Instead of flowers, cuteness and dancing, this day was meant for people to rise against their government and make their views heard. Multiple riots have happened on this day throughout history. Through time and oppressive government, we've had this tradition forced away from us and turned into something sweet and harmless. Such is our government, in 1886 and in 2006. The same point in history that forced the words "under god" into our Pledge of Allegiance erased our connection to the ancestors that fought for what we have today. As

I believe a job should be like a good relationship... when all are treated fairly, everyone wins. It's hard to believe, in this age when unions are barely even needed, that we once had to struggle to only work a 9 to 5 and to have weekends off. No matter how good the government is treating you at the moment, you must remember that (as was very succinctly put in V for Vendetta) people should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people. Tomorrow, May 1st, is a day to remind them of that. On the 120th anniversary of the Haymarket Riot, stand up. Be heard. Remember that you, as an individual, are still strong. You still influence policy and social change... don't let anyone think you are weak because you stand alone. One person can change the world.

*The Haymarket Riot was originally a protest, mainly by anarchists, for worker's rights. They, we, fought for an eight-hour work day because the standard at the time was ten to twelve hours a day, six days a week. Although the actual date of the Haymarket Riot is May 4th (1886), the organization happened on May 1st.

During the rally at Haymarket Square in Chicago, a lit bomb exploded at the police line, killing a police officer. Police immediately opened fire on the crowd, killing eleven people. Seven police officers died. Eight anarchists were arrested, seven were sentenced to death and, on November 11th 1887, 4 (August Spies, Albert Parsons, Adolph Fischer and George Engel) were hanged together in front of the general public. Their last words, from the mouth of August Spies, were "The time will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you strangle today." The other 4 were ultimately pardoned for their innocence, and the trial is often referred to by scholars as one of the most serious miscarriages of justice in United States history.


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Friday, April 28, 2006 by Mellie

this is an audio post - click to play


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by Mellie

this is an audio post - click to play


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Wednesday, April 26, 2006 by Mellie

I've been rolling a couple of posts around in my head over the last few days, but nothing has come to the forefront. There are plenty of ideas there, but none ripe enough to pick yet. I firmly believe that words are like fruit - you can write them before they're ready, but they won't be as perfect as if you left them to ripen for just a few days longer. So that's what I'm doing... waiting for just the right time to plunge my teeth into that juicy peach.

Bear with me. I'll be back with wit and conversation before you know it...


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Submissive pheromones.

Friday, April 21, 2006 by Mellie


When I was younger, I used to do unethical behaviors all the time. I'd skip school, run away from home, smoke pot, bring alcohol to school in travel coffeemugs (my preference was screwdrivers or Tequila Rose with milk). I was, not to sound cliche, a very bad girl. That's me in the picture above, at 17 years old, looking smug (notice the shaved head - I was a total badass) because I knew that I could get away with anything. There's always that high after you've done something wrong and you get away with it... you're walking around on cloud nine but you're still very aware of how people are watching you. If a teacher looks at you with a cocked eyebrow, you figure it's all over. "He knows!" you think. "I'm caught!"

99% of the time, I wasn't caught. I got away with things that I look back on now and think, "I was a fucking idiot." And I was. How I didn't catch a sexually transmitted disease, get raped (well, more than the once), fail high school or kill someone in a drunk driving accident is beyond me. But, really, the point of this isn't to reminisce about how much of a dumbass I was in high school.

As a switch with pretty set role boundaries (submissive to men and dominant to women with no exceptions that I've found so far, but I'm always open), I often feel like I did back in high school. I wonder, as I'm walking around, if people see me and sense my "tendencies." I've found, in my life, that people are drawn to me. When I met a close friend through work, we seemed to immediately click and it wasn't until later that we found out just how much we had in common. Is there a D/s pheromone? Is it all just chance?

I was at the gym today when a very muscle-bound dude (there's no other word for this man but "dude") sat down at the recumbent bike next to the one I was riding, sized me up (from the face downward, which earned this "dude" massive points with me) and gave me a look that made me whither. Most people would have assumed that it was simple, he was a man and I was a woman, but it was different for me. Perhaps some facial expression gave me away, I tend to look downward when people look into my eyes too long (it's a defense mechanism), but he gave a very male laugh and smiled at me. I thought, the same as during high school, that I was caught. This dude knew I was submissive, that I had just acquiesced control to him somehow, and was going to call me on it. But we peddled and sweated next to each other for the next 15 minutes before I left to move on to another machine. Nothing was said and I felt better.

But I worry. What is it about me that draws men like that to me? Perhaps it's the other way around and I find myself drawn to men like that. Why is it that people who live states away from me can smell my submissiveness like a dog lying at their feet? I pride myself on being a very strong woman - I can and will do things on my own for far too long before even thinking about help. I fix cars, I drink, I cuss like a sailor, I balance my own checkbook and I raise my child alone. Bear stands beside me, helps me when I absolutely need it, and supports me emotionally. We're very much separate individuals, with separate lives and separate interests. We click so well because we both know how much individuality and solitude means to the other - and neither of us wants to lose ourselves in the other person. The fact that I acknowledge him as dominant to me is merely an extra facet of our relationship. It isn't the whole relationship, or even close to it. I don't think he would say that I ever really emitted submissiveness, especially when we first got together. So why now? Am I just more open and more mature? More comfortable with myself?

I don't know the answer to that. What I do know is that, somehow, people just know. One girl I know started following my commands, even though I wasn't aware that she was doing it until more recently when she had already committed herself to other people, almost immediately after having met me. Even last night, she said she was tired. I told her to go to bed, she said "Yes, Madam" (although I prefer Mistress, sounds much less matronly) and marched. Just like that, with no formal ties between us. There are people who I acknowledge as dominant to me now, even if they're not aware of it. It's not sexual, it's no form of relationship (besides friendship), but it's more knowing who the alpha dog is. Perhaps it really is a trait left over from when we were closer to our animal nature, and some of us are just more sensitive than others. That would certainly explain why I notice it much more at the gym, although it doesn't explain away how people I've never met in real life can understand me in that manner.

As usual, I have no answers. Just thinking out loud, as I so often do.


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Hey people, I'm lonely.

Thursday, April 20, 2006 by Mellie

Check on the new button on the side bar and give me a little cyber love sometime. I'm usually near the computer when I'm not working or out. :)


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Oh, the gym.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006 by Mellie


It's official, I've become a gym addict. I'm there at least 5 hours a week, sweating to the beat of the satellite radio (always playing upbeat music to keep my ass motivated). Addiction is in my blood, as the daughter of an only recently sober alcoholic, so I fight the bad habits and encourage the good ones. It's a coping mechanism, I admit, since beating the demon is something that I gave up long ago. Obsessive compulsion is in my genetics, so "going with the flow" tempers the desire to drink myself into oblivion (although I do tie one on with my friends every other weekend or so) or cut myself like I used to in high school (I have someone to do that for me now, even though we rarely take advantage of it).

I find the gym an incredibly erotic experience. Although getting out to run in the beautiful weather helps me in my solitary moments, the gym provides the perfect combination of atmosphere, personality and eye candy. Watching the pretty women's ponytails bop up and down with the elliptical machine or eyeballing the pectoral muscles on the shirtless dude running on the treadmill... it definitely keeps me moving and motivated. The knowledge that the people behind me are watching my cute ass move up and down also helps. *smile*

I can't even begin to tell you all the fantasies I've had while at the gym. Being taken in the men's locker room or bent over a weight bench while sweaty, testosterone-filled men have their way with me... faux-victimization has always been a hot button for me.

In the end, all the sweat and panting leaves me with the need to drive home as quickly as possible and fuck myself stupid (which I usually do). Some things I will simply never be too tired for.


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Religion.

Sunday, April 16, 2006 by Mellie


Religion, at least the concept of organized religion, has always eluded me. I've always been jealous of those people who seem to have grasped it, who have made God (or a god-figure like Pagans or Buddhists have) a part of their lives. I wish I could feel as though my life were in higher hands, that fate was merely something shaped at birth and that my tough times were nothing more than minor bumps in the road that was mapped before I was born.

I've always struggled with that. Currently, I have a cross around my neck. I don't usually wear necklaces, so it feels strange. I like the idea, the symbolism, but I still feel uncomfortable. It's not necessarily a sacrilegious feeling, but more of the hollow feeling left behind when a lover leaves or a cherished friend dies. Like something is missing, some sentiment of faith or spirituality. I've been studying Buddhism a bit lately, because it's one of the few religions that aren't dogmatic and judgmental. I learned a long time ago, from a wise friend, that religion doesn't always have to be an all or nothing concept (this same friend told me just to pretend the cross was a "t," and that the "t" stood for tits. Does she know me, or what?). It is possible to pick and choose what you believe, to develop a spirituality molded for your lifestyle. Maybe that's all I need to do, design something that fits in my life but doesn't run it.

And perhaps that's why submission appeals to me... The larger than life "god" figure. The idea of placing myself, if just for a little while, into someone else's hands. I've lost the desire to make a lifestyle situation work, as it's never really clicked into place for us. I've always found little displays of power erotic (like his hand placement on the back of the neck to remind me who "the boss" is), but not being run 24 hours a day. I need too much space, too much room to grow and change. The perfect balance of walking on my own and knowing that I have help if I need it (even if that help is forced on me against my own self-destructive/stubborn tendencies). If there is a God, he would be like that.


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Wednesday, April 12, 2006 by Mellie


Driving through town this afternoon, I realized just how poorly I fit in here. This town is made for reminiscing. It's made for lazy Sunday afternoons on the patio with family, drinking lemonade and raising children. It's almost as if this place is straight out of a Thorton Wilder play. The pace of life here is devastatingly slow. Nothing happens here. Nothing, besides the birth of the first spring tulip, grows here. It's a place to wither and die. And I need to get out of here.

It's not that I'm anti-family. I love my little makeshift family more than anything. I just want to spend my life in a place with something, anything, is happening. I want to be able to go out to the art museum with my daughter, just because. I want to eat Cuban food one day and Thai food the next. I want to be able to walk around downtown with the understanding that I'll always find something new to do and someone new to meet. I hate feeling stagnant and slow. Perhaps that's why all this emphasis on the gym lately. At least, for an hour, I can forget that I'm going nowhere fast. Although, the irony is large.

We're leaving on a new journey at the end of this summer. These will be my last hot, humid days here. I don't know where we're going yet, but I'll embrace it as the life-saving change it will be. Sure, I'll miss my friends and my family, but I've missed them before. They'll come see me, I'll come see them. Even my mom has told me that she doesn't want to die here. I know I don't.

On an unrelated note, I was cleaning my bedroom when I found my trunk at the foot of the bed unlocked. Making sure everything was there, I opened it and was overwhelmed with the smell. It's been so long that I opened it that the smell of leather, lube, metal, duct tape and nylon rope attacked my sensory organs. It smelled like heaven. At least, what my version of heaven would smell like. I'll have to open that trunk more often, even if most of it's inhabitants have migrated to Bear's apartment.


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On Weather, Money and Movies. :)

Monday, April 10, 2006 by Mellie


Spring has finally arrived in Illinois, bringing with it a flourish of color and temperatures out of the low digits! All seventies this week, folks, which not only cranks my positive attitude up a couple of notches but also means a HUGE reprieve to my enormous gas heating bill! Whoo! My apartment complex has been raping me in an entirely unsatisfactory way for months now.

Unfortunately, spring also means an end to my school related subsidy and tough financial times ahead. I've got like $100 in my back account to last me for the rest of this month, and I honestly have NO idea how I'm going to pay my rent/gas at the beginning of next month. I'll survive, I always do, but it's still a blow to my self esteem. As Bear always reminds me, even though we're not living together currently, we're a team. Teams do things together. Teams work together on everything, and he's been helping out enormously with all things financial. It will just be tons easier when we're married and living together. Two incomes, even if we're both going to school and working a job and a half between us, is much better than one. Plus two school subsidies. Lovely.

But I'm learning to appreciate money. I don't need material possessions to make me happy, I've always known that. Sure, I'm a sucker for a pretty pair of shoes and a nice dress, but that stuff simply isn't necessary to living a good life. (Although, how absolutely FAB are those hand-carved Lucky Lou's and wouldn't I look divine in that swing dress? *wink*). Money truly is the root of all evil. No one is ever happy with what they have - money can't buy happiness/love/family/etc. and love can't bring you money. Of course, money can be earned by faking love, especially of the sexual variety, but I won't go there. *grin* Why fake it, anyway?!

I'm going to go. I've been trying to finish this Laurell Hamilton pulp book for a few days now. I just joined Netflix and I have a giant queue of movies waiting for me to watch. Can't concentrate on books and movies. (By the way, as I'm sure I tend to become a movie reviewer with the more movies I watch, I highly recommend both Walk the Line and The Squid and the Whale. Excellent, both of them, in their own right!). Take care, all.


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Thursday, April 06, 2006 by Mellie

When I was a little girl, I never dreamt of a Prince Charming that would come and sweep me off my feet. There was never any romantic fairy tale home with a white picket fence and 2.5 children. In fact, I can't remember ever thinking fondly of the future. I was happy, my food was paid for by someone else and I only had to clean my room up and sweep the kitchen floor every once in awhile to earn my keep. I had it easy. Adulthood always seemed like the monster looming on the horizon, waiting to snatch me out of my nice, simple life and thrust me into the "real world." Or, at least, what my young brain envisioned the real world to be.

Looking back on it now, I can see that I was absolutely right to fear adulthood. Most dreams are crushed in this stage of the game. Lives can become meaningless death marches before you can blink. I've still never really settled on the idea of the Prince Charming character. I still don't want the stereotypical house in the suburbs. Hell, most days I don't even like dogs. Let alone want to spend the rest of my life with one. I'm an independent, slightly self-absorbed cat lover and I'll be one until the day I die.

Now, that doesn't mean I don't love the ones I share my life with. I'm grateful for Bear and I hope that the rest of our life together is happy and filled with love and kindness. I hope that's the case, though I know that any lifelong relationship can be rocky. Mainly, I'm glad that he and I share a similar world view and non-conformist nature. I was watching a commercial for some cleaning product the other day and I found myself getting very stressed out by the concept of the happy white sterile home with the smiling perfect mother/wife and her wild children running around. That house, that atmosphere... it makes me feel icky. My house is a mess. My daughter is a wild woman. Fuck, my cat has tried to kill multiple people. Bear and I have non-traditional bedroom personalities (read: if either of us emerges without bruises, abrasions and/or bite marks we consider it a failed encounter). We're like a suburban nightmare. And I love that about us.

On the perpetual eve of marriage and moving... I'm finding myself getting a bit, er, terrified. The first time I was married, I was a wife. A cookie-making, house-cleaning, husband-servicing, baby-making machine. I was polished to a shine for the Army. Sure, I still was gritty around the edges and had dirt under my nails, but I was everything I thought a wife was supposed to be. I gave up like 80% of myself for my husband, and that's not what he wanted. It certainly wasn't what I wanted, and I'm terrified that that is going to happen again. I don't want to be taken for granted or ignored, but I also don't want to be smothered to death. My submissive persona way too easily grafts onto the man who finds me worthy, and I don't want to give myself up for Bear when that's obviously not what he wants. But I can't find a happy medium. I never thought I'd be struggling this hard to want to be the best partner I can be 3 1/2 years into the relationship. I've never really settled in here, for various reasons. But I want to. I need to. It's all just so overwhelming.

My main question is this... why, when I'm so independent, am I also so needy? Why can't I escape every one else's expectations of me? Why do I feel like a failure if I fail to attain those standards of a happy homelife? Those are the $64,000 questions.


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Tuesday, April 04, 2006 by Mellie

When I started working for the veterinarian, I worried about myself. Although I'm a bad-ass, I still used to watch Emergency Vets on Animal Planet and weep openly the entire half hour without shame. Today, I realized that it never really gets easier. The first, fifteenth, one hundredth and ten thousandth time that you watch an animal die... each time stings just as painfully. And I'm glad for that. I'm becoming more emotional in my old age, and I like it. I never used to cry, even when it was warranted. Now it takes all I have not to start crying with the clients euthanizing their pet... especially when they hug me as if I'm all that's keeping them from sinking into the abyss of grief. It's heartbreaking, but yet I'm grateful that I'm allowed to be in this line of work. It's a gift.

Nothing sexual to write about today. I haven't been boffed in two weeks, sadly. That will change this weekend. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll take pics. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Naughty naughty people.


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about


"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -- Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

I'm like that, I'm the untaken road. I walk the path that's filled with jagged rocks, spooky trees and no sunlight - but I come out the other side wiser. It's always worth the price.


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