lesbilove

lesbilove

let's be goddesses. lesbifriends

in the gay world there are a lot of gray areas. there is an ever increasing number of labels that, while their intention is to make everyone feel included, seem to have a more divisive quality about them. we are a community that's based on the differences that unite us and yet we lay a hand in dividing ourselves further.

the lesbian subset is not impervious to the power of in-fighting. it's a fact i admit with a very heavy heart. for years i've bickered with those who clung to the mantra of "lesbians love drama". i think it's a broad, unfair statement. no matter how many crazy shenanigans ladies seem to find themselves in- dramatic situations are universal. straight girls, hetero wiener-slingers, old women who wear the absurd red hats...'drama' has touched them all.

gay or straight- we all love something or someone. gays love other fellas; bisexuals love ladies and gents; pansexuals love everyone, pre or post op; and lesbians love other women. i hate to jump atop my hippie soap box- but damnit, WHERE'S THE LOVE GONE? we all need love. we all give love. we need to remember that. for a fact as obvious as this, it seems people have made a conscious choice to not love.

thanks to facebook and the basic misunderstanding that retelling a story infused with your emotional perspective ISN'T gossip (but it is), i'm aware of more than i should be. thanks to facebook ALONE i'm sure we all can say we know more than we ever could have wanted to in regards to other peoples lives. people claim to be private or even guarded with personal info but i don't recall a time i've ever approached someone and said, "hey, would you mind telling me about how apeshit your ex is?" and yet, in spite of these words never jumping off my lips i've heard many a'stories about some wacky ladies, post breakup.

in this summer alone i've witnessed countless couples cheat on each other; i've witnessed people ram their way into situations in efforts to 'help', when their actual goal was to destroy someone; i've witnessed people turn into heartless, hate-breeders who only gain pleasure out of being the star of the shit show. the hyper dramatic, self-centered, summer of sin was in full swing these past few month. it's not as if i was unaware that these sorts of situations existed but this summer has really seemed to kick up the crazy.

i went up to philly this weekend to visit my best lesbifriend, jarvis. i was hoping to get a taste of a new lesbiscene and see the beautiful faces of philly and new jersey lesbots. when i arrived jarvis was filling me in on all the drama that had happened in that area in recent weeks. not knowing the people made it easier to tune out but i heard stories that were mirrored back home.

at first i smiled. it was funny to me to think how universal bullshit can be. but then i realized the wave that crested back home was crashing here as well. young or old; femme or butch...estrogen begets a certain amount of drama- and i'm sorry, but it's fucking LAME and needs to stop.

"same shit, different vaginas man..." i said under my breath upon hearing a story about how one chick wanted to fight some girl who held her girlfriend's hair one night as she was vomiting. let's just take a moment to reflect on that one more rationally- her girlfriend was sick...she was nowhere to be found...and a stranger was helping. THAT'S IT. you should probably thank her for making sure your chick didn't chip a tooth on the toilet before you punch her in the throat- but, it's really none of my business.

i've had the same conversation with my friends all over the country. the general consciouses is that sometimes women can be emotional, silly geese. excuse me for using such juvenile terms but it's appropriate, if only for the flock-like nature of those who like to stir the pot. much like other drugs, gossip needs enablers to thrive. if you surround yourself with those who are equally as done with the bullshit, then dramatic situations will arise less often.

it's one thing to share stories about your life with your friends and loved ones but it's a complete other thing to rip others apart and claim you're merely 'being honest'. i've never understood when such hateful things fly out of peoples mouths followed by 'no offense, i'm just being honest.'

the thing that really pickles my cucumbers is that at the end of the day- we all love women. when i say love women i mean more than 'i really enjoy how you all look when naked'. from mind to mammaries, I LOVE ALL WOMEN. that includes the women who've fucked me over; the women who annoy me; the women who i've not returned their calls; and the women who've slept with my exes (...ok, love is strong for that one. i will more honestly say i can appreciate the fact that those women have a vagina and thus we are sisters in an 'isnt-this-a-crazy-fucked-up-universe' kinda way, but i digress.)

i get that we can't all be best friends and that the world wouldn't be balanced without discourse but i honestly believe we can all conduct ourselves respectfully with some dignity. there have been times when i've wanted to give a girl a hot-sauce soaked tampon in hopes that upon insertion she might feel a fraction of the pain she caused me emotionally. but what kept me from unwrapping that stick of cotton and dipping it in texas pete was the simple, yet powerful thought of- what if that was me? how would i feel if someone was attacking me in such a way? if we all asked ourselves these question prior to going umbrella britney on each other, i think that fights would flow more logically- if not be all together avoided.

we are all in this little world together (and if you know young lesbians, we are all most likely sleeping together as well.) it's high time we treat each other like the goddesses we are-
LESBIFRIENDS FOREVER!

magic in store

magic in store
random tidbit

the wind was warm yet it cooled my face as it tenderly flowed through the window. i was staring out and up towards the sky when a ladybug riding the breeze landed atop the screen. she wrapped her legs between the squares and began to dance around.
"today will be a great day-" i thought, as she unhooked herself to stretch her wings once more. "ladybugs always mean something magical is in store."


...something sorcerous is afoot.

the best way to get over one

the best way to get over one
is to get on top of another

i don't like AIDs. this fact, coupled with my fear of countless other STDs has prevented me from getting over my most recent ex...or so i've been told. i wasn't aware that my safety conscious attitude towards sex was an issue until my friend sat me down and dropped a deuce of truth in my lap. if it weren't for her enlightenment i would have been trapped in a very sanitary cage of celibacy for the rest of my natural born life...or at least until i got over my ex.

"ash- this summer has turned you into a social recluse! where have you been hiding? i never see you anymore!" i couldn't tell if she was genuinely upset or mocking me. "tell me- what you do outside of work? do you ever just wake up and do something crazy and unplanned?" i hate when peers ask that question. i've yet to find the perfect words to explain the delicate balance between spontaneity and rigidity in my world.

most of those i know live a life that's more conducive to last minute adventures. the life i've lead since dropping out of college at 18 has been consumed with plans, dreams, hopes and wishes- all devoted to my work. no relationship, party, friend or foe could prove to be more attractive than my goals. to this day very little can sway me from that path. sometimes it's lonely in the sense that i'm alone, but i've always been a relentless believer in hard work pays off, so whether it's now or 10 years from now i know i'll achieve what i've set out to do. that fact makes me happy.

this year, my year and a half long relationship dissolved along with the passage of spring. the only fiery-love left in my life comes from my work. no woman or activity has ever brought me the unrelenting joy and pleasure that work has. from my job that pays the bills to all the work surrounding my writing (blog and otherwise); the power that comes from creating is an infectious one. i've certainly felt that passion in my relationships with people but clearly nothing that has stuck with me longer than a few years.

i'm beginning to believe that work is the only lover i'll keep throughout the rest my days...and at the moment, that's an eerily comforting thought.

my friend, knowing my stance on work, snapped me back to reality by grabbing my face and stating, "you need to get laid." her blasé tone made me laugh. was she really speaking about sex in such a flat way? i told her, "it doesn't work like that for me. sex isn't an action as much as it's a reaction in my world. it has to be motivated by something in order to actually accomplish anything. if i went around slayin' hotties i don't think i'd feel nearly as fulfilled as i do when i complete a task."

after nearly falling out of her chair in a fit of laughter, my friend composed herself just enough to say, "you just compared sex- one of the most tribal, animalistic rituals man practices- to 'completing a task'." i corrected her, "i believe i put the task above sex, thank you very much." needless to say, she didn't share my enthusiasm. she kept stressing that i'm never going to escape the feeling of being in a relationship until i prove to myself that i'm not. that sounds like a rational line of thinking until you realize she's not talking about moving on so much as sleeping with others.

is it just me? am i the only one who sees the disconnect between the two? they aren't one in the same and yet everyone's advice is- get over one by getting under another.

i can't help but feel like i did in middle school when everyone had boyfriends except for me. my friends were learning how to kiss while i was picking popcorn out of my braces. i never felt bad about where i was in life until a popular girl alerted me to the devastating realization that i was lame. i was a virgin who couldn't drive. all the boys in school were lusting after my high-school attending sister. i still collected pogs (but only played the game by myself, which is arguably more lame than the fact that i simply collected them). i didn't even realize how lame i was until she took my bag of YIKES pencils and threatened to trash them. my squeal of terror did nothing to stop her ally-oop to the trashcan but it did confirm that we had different priorities.

without the help of that little douchette in seventh grade, my lameness would have probably spiraled out of control until i finally went through puberty 5 years later. the question now is, do i allow my beloved yikes pencils to be stolen and trashed once more? do i really get over one by sleeping with many? do i allow the words surrounding me to become my own?

i should stress the fact that i mean all of that in a rhetorcial sense. i'm content and completely satisfied throwing myself into my job. if crossing my legs and not partying makes me a prude- so be it...that makes for more porntime for me SUCKAS! plus, i really don't think that getting naked with new friends would make me feel anything but awkward...and lord knows i don't need help in that department!

white party lessons

white party lessons

respecting women + unorthodox hangover cures from strangers

perhaps i'm just a foul minded, perverted old man deep down but when i hear 'wet t-shirt contest' i also hear the unspoken whisper of 'nipples' and i hope against hope that actual flesh will be seen. i don't find myself alone in this line of thinking. i was packed shoulder to shoulder in a club full of lesbians and upon hearing "we are starting the wet t-shirt contest!" like moths to a flame, the masses scurried stage-side. looking at the faces around me, i noticed the crowd was peppered with smiles and mouths agape in anticipation of the glory we were all about to witness.

i've never been the type of woman who found strip clubs very offensive. any number of reasons could be the driving force behind this thought. from my work history in male-saturated fields to my personal experiences within the clubs themselves, i've always seen these women objectifying their own bodies and people paying them for the experience. never have i judged anyone who calls a club their home because on some level- it was a choice to be there, just as it was my choice to walk in.

now, the thought of men objectifying these women and not seeing them for the soft, beautiful, downright fabulous dancers they are does make me ill...but little, unassuming me making it rain on them is nothing short of magical. hypocritical? perhaps- but it's where i stand.

the crowd's verdict on strip clubs is still a mystery to me, however their thoughts on wet t-shirt contests is a lock. the love between both crowd and water soaked, t-shirt clad temptress' was a palpable one. i didn't hear one disrespectful word from those standing alongside me, except for the occasional, "oh the things i'd do to her..."

while the crowd was foaming at the mouth waiting for the show to begin, camera phones began to light up the club. like sweet summer lightning bugs, the glowing screens began to dance and i hoisted my video camera high above my head. the curtains peeled back and a t-shirt covered woman could be seen peeking out- i clicked on the flash and hit record.

after the first contestant was finished the MC grabbed the mic and looked sternly at us all. with furrowed brows and a finger wave that meant business she told us, "you all need to put the cameras and camera phones away NOW. you all need to RESPECT these women. if i see any of these photos on facebook- i swear...just put them away. and you- YOU WITH THE VIDEO CAMERA! I SEE YOU, PUT IT AWAY AND HAVE SOME RESPECT!"

you know the very first time your mother walked in on you while you were sharing a personal moment with yourself? that's how i felt...like a pervert who was caught lurking around a playground with a backpack full of candy and pokemon cards. after a talk with security and the promise that i would not post the videos, i was allowed to keep my camera and continue partying the night away.

but just for the record...i respect each and every diamond that graced the stage that evening. i bow down humbly towards those who allowed the celebrity guests to moisten their shirts with pitchers of water. i have nothing but admiration for both you and what i may or may not have seen through your shirts. you all were lovely but i digress, back to the party...

dani campbell (from "a shot a love with tila tequila") and elizabeth keener (aka dawn denbo of the l-word) were the celebrity guests in attendance that evening. i won't go so far as to say tila had it coming from the jugaloos, because that's truly awful what happened to her, however it's obvious her decision making skills are less than stellar. for one to pass on the formerly-firefighting, lady-loving dani campbell for some forgettable fella is still a riddle to us all.

i'm 90% sure dani's hand was on my fanny and/or in the general vicinity of it during the time of this photo.

this could be explained by the fact that i'm taller than 80% of the non-athletic lesbians and that forces me to hunch to make sure i don't flirt with tranny height in photos. it could also just as easily be explained as everyone was drunk, so a little hand slip down to the ol' ash-ass isn't THAT flattering. also, with my subtly pink backpack taking up the better portion of my back area, where else was her hand to go? whatever, fuck that- we shared a shot a love. she may not know my name, nor be familiar with the basic structure of my face...but damnit if we didn't make a little magic that night.

the night ended as chaotically and with as much energy as it had began. the crowd at cobalt was a diverse and impressive one. i hit on no one and staid almost completely sober the entire party but the night was still a success. i did witness an unparalleled act of kindness from a stranger towards my friend.

my friend had one too many sips of alcohol that evening and was found throwing up next to a car. strangers and friends alike, rallied around her making sure everything was taken care of and she was safe. after buying crackers, bread and 7-11 pizza i returned to the stoop where everyone had gathered only to find it empty. these strangers had walked my drunken friend down the street to their home for safekeeping.

if that had been the extent of their kindness, i would have been overjoyed but one fella pulled out all stops and really wow'd me. not once or twice but multiple times he lovingly rammed his fingers down my friend's throat to ensure she would not have a hangover. i consider myself a pretty neat little friend...but i also let my OCD tendencies take the wheel from time to time and THAT most definitely would not have been a bridge i'd have crossed for her.

moral of the story is that it did prove to be a great hangover cure...so at least there's a silver lining to a bite marked-speckled, vomit soaked finger from a new friend.

luRe presents: the white party

end of summer bash
the white party

Saturday August 21st, 2010
$10 before Midnight - $13 after
Cobalt 1639 R St. NW (corner of 17th & R St.)

i don't often turn my blog into an events calendar. i suppose that speaks to my overall 'lameness' when it comes to social gatherings but save me the speech- i'm completely aware that socially i'm a terrible excuse for a 23 year old but knowing this works to your benefit.

how so?

simple my precious friends- i save you the hassle of picking and choosing which lady-saturated events to invest your hard earned dollars at.

the summer is fading fast and fall will soon envelop us all. generally this is regarded as a depressive time. with the change of season comes school back in session, heavier traffic patterns and our half naked sisters at the beach begin to bundle up. the ladies of luRe, sensing this depressive shift in their friends, knew they had to act fast and big if they wanted to save all dc/va/md lesbians! after some skillful planning luRe popped out a steaming pile of perfection in the white party.

month after month, luRe is responsible for hosting some of the best ladies events. their current claim to fame is their monthly parties held at cobalt, (corner of 17th & R St. NW) called BARE. it's hard to find women events in this "gay means gayboy" world. that's why i've always been a huge supporter of BARE- they always have a healthy crowd of beautiful faces swimming around.

the white party is sure not to disappoint. DJ Rosie & DJ Keenan will be spinning- the always lovely go-go dancers will be shaking their thangs- and everyone will be decked out in white. let me express this in a different way...a ton of ladies- in white shirts. now i won't go so far as to say that i'm going to sneak in water balloons just to see what sort of magic i can help facilitate BUT i think that the possibilities are endless. who knows what sorts of debauchery will ensue!

OH WAIT! the ladies of luRe are one step ahead- THEY HAVE A WET T-SHIRT CONTEST SCHEDULED FOR 1AM with a $200 prize! there is a cover of $10 prior to midnight and after that it's a humble $13. did i mention they have celebrity guests coming? the last time the l-word's tasha & dawn denbo popped in, who knows who they secured this time.

i hope you all find some time to go and check it out on saturday evening!

deluded dreams

deluded dreams
and real life fantasies

have you ever had a dream that upon awaking still resonates with you? a dream so vivid it leaves you shaken and confused; a dream so intricate it couldn't possibly have been a simple firing of subconscious neurons; a dream that feels so real you are left questioning the line between reality and REM. after being jolted back to consciousness, your mind is in a haze and you ask yourself, "did that just happen?"

there is something to be said for the unspoken power of the subconscious. my most memorable dreams piss me off more than anything else. i'm not excited to recall the events, no matter how magical the dream may have been. if you read my blog with any sense of regularity you'd know that i'm a big supporter of dreams, so this news of my feelings towards my own nighttime visions might come as a shock.

as a child i had night terrors. i never remembered the dreams as much as i remembered waking up to the feeling of catching yourself just prior to a fall. i'd wake out of breath, shaken and disoriented. you know when you're dozing off in class or a meeting and you're trying desperately to stay awake. your eyes, weighted down by exhaustion (or sheer boredom), begin to close. your head and neck, no longer working in tandem, begin to nod forward then whip back. after perching your head atop your hand in attempts to wake up, it happens- you finally drift away only to be violently awoken by your head smashing into the table. this is how i woke up night after night as a lil fella (albeit sans table).

as a young adult my dreams were easier to recall but i still didn't consider that a feather in my cap. during this time my dreams seemed to tell the future...or, in actuality, i had one dream i was being cheated on and it turned out to be true. my mother raised a valid point when i told her of my new found miss cleo status, "i don't think you're psychic ashley. however, do you think it's possible on some level you saw it coming? not saying it's your fault, or it could have been prevented but maybe deep in your subconscious- you knew." i still have no idea how this delightful tidbit popped into my brain. it would make sense that it was somehow buried in my subconscious but then how does one explain that i was completely blindsided when the truth came out? oh well, lesson learned...i'm not psychic and my dreams are to be trusted.

fast forward to the present day dreamer, ashley. as of late my dreams have been extensions of real life. while i don't find it hard in waking life to acknowledge the fact that i'm not asleep, i do sometimes find it challenging to recall conversations or situations and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they did or did not happen. a lot of the dreams i have are possible. the dream-conversations i engage in are equally as plausible as the situation itself.

in addition to having to ask people, "did we actually have this conversation once before" it also pisses me off that i have dreams about finding things. nothing is more depressing to me then having a dream in which you find an item you have been desperately searching for. i would have no problem with these sorts of dreams if they lead to a major discovery upon my return to reality but that has never been the case. i will wake up overjoyed that in my dream i found whatever the misplaced item was. i will then rush to the location where it was hidden in my dreamworld only to discover, i've been duped.

what it boils down to is that i don't like to be disappointed- by my dreams or thoughts. waking dreams are more tangible and my love affair with them will endure forever. no matter how outlandish or far-fetched the goal might be, at least in my mind, it is always possible. there is always a way to turn a daydream into a reality. those scenes i see once my eyes are closed are not always possible. they leave me frustrated and confused more than they leave me enlightened and inspired. i've tried to interpret them in a way that makes them seem like something more than a manifestation of my subconscious with no avail. the dreams i've spent years constructing help me greet each morning with a smile and a purpose but as for my little nighttime visitors- to you i say, GOOD NIGHT!

classic authors teach me...

classic authors teach me
the art of swallowing

this weekend i took the opportunity to get better acquainted with a few old friends. when life proves to be a dash too disheartening, words- books- and dead authors are the safest and easiest escape. i can't imagine too many wacky shenanigans one could stumble into whilst reading a book. oh sure- you might be inspired (and if you were turning to bret easton ellis for solace you may think twice about picking up a hooker and then setting her eyeballs on fire) but for the most part, turning to the written word for a reprieve from day-to-day living is healthier than other, oft times more destructive, forms of escape.

in my world, there has always been a comfort and safety surrounding words. the way in which we choose to make these man made symbols dance can leave me with goosebumps or on rare occasion- with tear filled eyes. mr. thoreau and emerson were the guests in my head this weekend, as well as a cameo from sylvia. through their words i bypass all of the mundane, pointless, trivial blips on my radar. through them i can escape...if only for a moment.

while tangled in the web spun by thoreau specifically, a question surfaced and resurfaced in my mind- who is more the animal...man or beast? i've witnessed both cause destruction and wreak havoc in their own lives and the lives of others. for the most part animals devour each other not out of spite or jealousy but necessity. humans can rip each other limb from limb for sheer amusement.

as i peek through the trees thoreau paints in my mind, i know that my frustrations may be more than slightly influenced by the social interactions i've been part of lately. i've witnessed character shifts in people that are mirrored in the animal kingdom when one contracts rabies. from full of life and purpose to spewing venom and lost; people and animals have fewer differences than many would like to admit. it's worth noting however, that an animal must contract rabies whereas humans can fault any number of reasons for their social declination.

it would be easy to take the words of these literary gods and weave them into my life in a way that would bolster my disdain with people as of late. the challenge i posed to myself was not to fall down further in a pit of unsavory realizations but rather smile in spite of them.

you can stand on the side of being smug and righteous all by your lonesome or you can toss your hands to the heavens and dance wildly. if you wanna get out of this world an unjaded, open-hearted, creepily optimistic person then you're going to have to learn to roll with it. taking gulps of both shit and sunshine is how i plan on living the rest of my days; to simply swallow life as it comes (...that's what she said.)

the authors whose words who floated about my head this weekend helped me to see that life has, and always will, rage wildly around us. it's what we choose to focus on that really paints the picture of our world. if your palette only has negativity to draw from, how can you expect to paint anything but? it's natural in life to face both ups and downs, but there comes a point where you have to pull yourself back from the edge and remind yourself that life is meant to be enjoyed.

single and sanitary

single and sanitary

finger fashions

because in these std-riddled times, what's sexier than a lady who's colorfully prepared?

queerFAQtor wednesday

queerFAQtor wednesday

apacowayner's movin' in!

way to be topical queerfaqtor. that wasn't at all painful to talk about...

femme-femme

femme-femme

unlike it's medical sounding counterpart, will not kill you

fen-phen has been linked to cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol, sleep deprivation, and cancer; femme-femme relationships have been linked to aesthetically pleasing make-out photos, an immediate doubling of ones wardrobe and praise from frat boys around the world. bringing nothing but joy into the world, you would think that femme-femme relationships would be encouraged by the masses but it would seem as if things are stacked against the flirty flipped hair of femmes.

the biggest supporter of femme-femme lezzyiasons goes to the porn industry. i guess 'supporter' is awfully kind of me, 'exploiter' would be more accurate. the lesbian porn community to a heterosexual is chalk full of bodaciously bouncy, rock-of-love rejects (except for that one who confirmed she was in porn, she's no reject). the girls often times are uncomfortable or stiff; their movements clearly dictated by a man who wants a sexy shot. now in mainstream porns defense, i will admit to both watching and enjoy such filth from time to time. the shots are indeed sexy but as a woman i know that she can't possibly be driving pleasure from a straight girl, playing gay, poking at her vagina like a gynecologist.

it's little wonder why femme-femme relationships have trouble being taken seriously. once, while out at the bar, a friend turned to me and pointed out some ladies across the room. "look at the one in the hat- hellloo loverr" she whispered in my direction while eyes locked on our new friends. i chimed in, "i'll take the one in the tank top." her head spun around and she looked at me confused, "but ashley- she's a super femme and you are..well, you are pretty fuckin' femmey."

i rolled my eyes, not like i haven't heard that bullshit before- i just don't get it. for one, i classify myself as 'quirky' and 'unique', not 'femme'. two,why is it so challenging for even those within the gay community to recognize the validity of a relationship, regardless of how the two dress. some argue that it's jarring seeing two lipstick lesbians in an embrace...that the mind wants to call them sisters, or drunk party girls. conversely, people are also uncomfortable with two butch ladies dating. are the only acceptable match-ups femme and butch? can we not cross lines without fear of jeers? i'm sorry but when did gender roles become the mainstay in gay relationships? do gay men face this same unspoken scrutiny?

femmes are just as much lesbians as dykes on bikes, the leather is just distributed differently. there are a lot of "party-lesbians" that are tainting the waters for the rest of us. flaunting their sexuality (or their claimed sexuality of the moment) and demanding attention from all who will give it, these ladies are living their life and i applaud them for it. however, my frustration comes from the fact that i have to defend myself for their attention seeking actions. much like bisexuals constantly have to defend their sexuality, femme couples hear the all too often "you two are too pretty to be gay" or "you guys are sisters, right?".

lipstick lovin' ladies- i say, date whom you please and follow your heart. people can shove you into a box but it's your choice whether or not you stay in it. to all of my less-than-femme-sisters, i got your back too...we are all in this together. it doesn't matter what color the m&m- they all are stuffed to the brim with chocolate. so what if i date butch ladies? who cares if my tastes include hyper-feminine women? there is more than enough love in this world for everyone to be happy.

quarter life monsters

quarter life monsters
under my bed & within my head

the term "quarter life-crisis" always struck me as a bit dramatic. don't get me wrong- i'm in no way trying to diminish the magnitude of a quarter life-crisis, but just as with the 'terror level' in america, the name instantly sets a tone...and it isn't an uplifting one. why couldn't psychologists dub it the more friendly, "quarter life-kerfuffle"? i for one wouldn't mind talking about that ad nauseum. whereas admitting that i might be in the throes of a life crisis (amidst my early-to-mid twenties, no less) is overwhelming and kind of embarrassing. i'd even settle for the appropriate "quarter life-cluster fuck" or the alliterative, "quarter life-quandary" having the word crisis in the title is the equivalent to having death in the name of an illness- it doesn't instill a feeling of optimism.

i keep telling myself if i don't classify it as a crisis then it isn't one. this theory was born of another that worked out great when i was a child. as a fresh faced babe i was terrified of the dark. i had night terrors and trouble turning off my mind...a normal sleep pattern is something i've never known. my parents chosen form of protection was in a monster-light (which was actually just a normal lamp with a colored bulb...my parents stopped at nothing in their quest to help me get to sleep soundly) but nothing could ease my restless mind.

i had a particular fear of wolverine hiding under my bed. if i where i to move just a fraction of an inch his giant blades would tear up through my mattress- slicing each and every one of the major organs housed in my tiny body. nightly i would stand atop my bed and jump on different pieces of furniture in order to escape his clutches.

my bed wasn't the only place i feared. in my mind my closet was a portal to another world. during the day- it was where all my dreams came true. i would climb into it and close the door- pretending i was an astronaut locking myself in the shuttle. when i would open it again my bedroom would transform into a new world. with the flick of a switch that dreamworld would turn into a horrorfest. i never knew what exactly was so terrifying inside my closet, all i knew at that age was that i was not to go in there when it was dark.

i'm not sure if it came out of sincere concern or he was sick and tired of having me come into their bed to sleep night after night, but my father finally broke down my monster-walls. he put me back to bed one evening and simply told me to close my eyes and go to sleep. to help ease my fears he did a run down of my room; first flipping up my bed skirt- nothing there; then he pulled back my bi-fold closet doors- still no monsters. he assured me that i was the only one besides him in the room and the monsters i feared so much only lived in my head. he then proceeded to slip his legs under my bed and scream, "oh my god- ashley help! they've got me!! HELP!" i burst into tears and began screaming as well.

some might mark this milestone as traumatic one. others might tearfully recount the events to a therapist later on in life. but in my slightly-off young mind i understood my fathers intentions, even if his execution gave me nightmares for weeks afterwards. his attempt was to teach me that even if there were monsters under my bed they could fucking eat my father, so for me it was certain death. there is a sense of comfort in knowing that the man you see as untouchable could also be nomnom'd on by some subconscious creatures.

after scaring the shit out of me my father gave me a big hug. "i'm sorry honey, i didn't think you would get that scared. everything is ok- i was just playing around with you. monsters are silly and they are not real- you should laugh at them instead of crying about them." with big, blue, tear filled eyes i looked up at him. my superman just told me everything was going to be ok and i should laugh about it. "but seriously ashley...go to sleep, it's late. i'm done joking- close your eyes and it will all go away."

i wish i could say that in the trying times i've faced in recent months that i've clung to my fathers positive advice from years ago. truth be told if i had chosen to believe that everything was going to be ok and that i should be laughing about my worries versus crying about them, i'd probably be on more stable emotional footing. instead i chose to close my eyes and believe it would all go away.

my world has taken a shift and i don't like what's going on within it. i don't like seeing people act in ways that are unbecoming. i don't understand how people can treat each other in such terrible ways sometimes. i don't like feeling anger grow inside of me. i don't want to live in a society that throws respect away in order to be more self-sufficient. the shroud of negative energy that surrounds me this summer is a self imposed one. i've placed myself in a position where i don't actually have to engage with people. i've not been ostracized as much as i've been awol. even knowing that, i've found it hard to shake this feeling of having no fucking idea what i'm doing with my life. i push as hard as i possibly can when it comes to work not knowing if i'm going in a direction that will lead me to ultimate satisfaction.

i feel like i'm on a scavenger hunt looking for little scraps of happiness. along my walk through life i've picked up all sorts of things that bring me joy. one day i believe i'll be able to construct a whole world for myself filled with all the things that i enjoy. the tricky part with life is that yes, you will find things that fill you to the brim with excitement and elation but you will also have to deal with things that bring you unmeasurable pain. it's how life balances itself out.

so, am i in the middle of a "quarter life-crisis"? i can't lick the envelope on that one just yet. if i admit that's where i am then in a way i'll have admitted defeat. as for now, all i can do is continue to ride out this storm and remind myself that monsters aren't real- and life isn't worth crying over...and if that doesn't work keeping the lights on never killed anyone.

The Soggy Showdown

The Soggy Showdown

apacolyptic productions

The Soggy Showdown Saga

Written/Directed/Produced:

ashley, apacolyptic productions

Featuring the talents of...

Lisa; Ayna; Melissa; Eleana; Kathy; Anna;

Thuy; Dana: Jackie; Megan & Ashley

My Bits

My Bits
apacolyptic productions

My Bits
a lesbifriendly remake
to mickey avalon's, my dick

re-written/produced/directed:
ashley, apacolyptic productions

featuring the talents of...
jackie; keri; emily;
sammie; donna; & danielle

rant: shoe vs sock

rant
shoe vs sock

as far as foot housing is concerned, i generally opt for the simple cotton sock. all too often people neglect this classic, dare i say perfect, covering for heels and toe alike. shoes don't provide the uniform comfort of a sock. any enclosure comprised completely of fabric that cradles my foot, not unlike baby jesus in a manger, is a-ok in my book. tightly bound, secure, safe- socks truly provide feet with the luxury they deserve. sure, i'll give you that skater shoes feel lovely on the tops of my feet. (with their giant pillowy tongues it comes as no surprise that lesbians love DCs). the soles of a shoe however, is what forces it behind the sock as supreme paw cloak.

the foot is placed in an interesting juxtaposition when harnessed in a shoe. the more tender 'top of foot region' is worshiped and caressed by a gentle lick of a shoe tongue. even if the tongue where absent, as with sandals, the foot will either kiss the sky or play peek-a-boo with some laces. conversely, the sole of a shoe, is treated as the literal underbelly of ones soul. it lives in dark often dank conditions. after years of at worst abuse, at best an acknowledgement via pedicure the bottom side of the foot is kicked one final blow. in addition to shouldering the burden of supporting you or me, the bottom is full of bacteria. creepy...infectious...nasty...ok- i'm going to gag- germs.

admittedly, i've always been acutely aware of sensation on my little feetsies...err- they aren't little. i've got some flappers down there, 9.5US (but i've notice recently they have shrunk, i'll keep you posted on this as i'm not sure if i'm devolving into stumps). everything my feet touch- i feel. when i was very young it was amazing- i loved nothing more than dragging my feet through crisp, dewy, mildly-firm grass; my family dubbed it "carpet grass". but it was always weird during the summertime. typically this would be my afternoon:
running around outside;
kicking off my shoes;
stepping in mud;
freaking out it was poop;
being assured it was not;
freaking out poop was mixed in the mud;
think about what animal pooped there thousands of years ago;
now KNOW i'm standing in poop- prehistoric or otherwise;
hose off feet;
put on socks.
socks always clean up the mess.

i'm not ashamed to say that i take a disinfecting wipe to my feet every night, even if immediately after the shower. call me ocd or call me sensible but feet and hands are no different! i just think of all the things feet can get into- it's downright scary. i know i might be alone in this tirade and if that's the case- so be it.
feet are friends...not giant breeding grounds for infections- and SOCKS RULE.

rant complete.

hopedar

hopedar
don't stop- believin'

have you ever noticed no one seems to shout about their marginal skills when it comes to spotting gays? people love to tell you how fabulous their gaydar is; how they can spot lesbian in a sea of straw-fedora-clad hipsters. mirroring their tenacity, those whos gaydar sucks are equally as proud. their claim to fame is finding the most flamboyantly gay person alive, then swearing it was a curve ball when they came out.

a woman at work and i nearly came to blows regarding one, 'ricky martin'. she claimed that she was in love with him from day one and just could not wrap her brain around the fact that he came out. now, i'm not a pro in spotting gays but 'curve ball' and 'ricky martin's sexuality' don't exactly go hand-n-hand for me. his hip control alone lead me to believe years ago that, at the very least, he's seen some male-tail. she said that he's spanish and happy- not gay... that was literally her whole defense- an emotion and his lineage.

then others, much like my mother, think every woman with a wide stance and a pixie cut is checking her out. any frumpily dressed woman in wal-mart is a giant dyke in her eyes. everything with a vagina in home depot; all vegetarians; women who have neglected (by choice or convenience) to shave their legs- all of them are snatch goblins. their gaydar sounds the alarm at every boy in a speedo and any fella with a small dog. i wouldn't exactly call this "gaydar" as much as it's "reinforcing stereotypes"...but this is also from the mind of the same woman who told me i wouldn't ever get my period i would just turn into an ape on account of my ample, blonde, arm hair- so i get that sometimes her logic is a bit off.

there is yet another set of people who have no clue what the fuck they are doing in this blog post but they're really happy to be here. they don't cite reason or a vibe for assuming someone gay- these select few dig deep in their pants for others sexuality. you may call it 'wishful thinking'- i call it hopedar. through a dream and a scantily clad vision in their head, these folks look super-straight girls in the eye and tell 'em they're gay. you know those moments when you meet someone who you're just so blown away by that regardless of how long her nails are, you believe you have a solid shot. it doesn't matter than she has never heard of ani d. or tegan & sara... she's totally interested, or at the very least she will be gay for you.

i am not a stranger to hopedar. lindsay lohan captured my heart in her timeless portrayal of not one- but TWO adorably precocious twin girls separated by divorce in the 1998 remake of "the parent trap". her freckles danced across the screen and into my young heart. our one-sided love affair has done little to enrich my life but i've supervised hers in a way that would make any stalker proud. i tell myself she is gay. i want to believe the words as they trickle out of my mouth. i want to believe it has nothing to do with being 'edgy' or 'a media hot button'. i want to believe that one day i will see her semi-to-half naked in real life. i want to believe i will make her feel loved. i want to believe these things just as much as i want to believe miley cyrus and lilo might hookup with megan fox at a party...it all boils down to hope.

gaydar, hopedar and archaic ways of thinking are fun ways to mask the fact that we still look at each other and make snap judgements. we all know judging and assuming are wrong but if waldo taught is nothing else- at least he gave us the joy of the hunt, the thrill of the find, and the ultimate crush of realizing that it's not waldo but that douchbag who wears the striped hat. it doesn't matter if your gaydar is on point or you are shooting blanks...all that matters is that you do it with a smile on your face and love in your heart.