rough and tumble

rough and tumble lesbians
who are they?!

rough and tumble lesbians:
a new breed of mainstream lesbian; a monster mash-up of all your favorite stereotypical lesbian roles:
two parts dyke + one part femme + a pinch of 'yo-boy' + a whole bunch of dyke swagger

wardrobe consists mainly of:
board shorts
brightly colored skater shoes
flat-billed hats (only worn slightly cocked to the side)
thin, mildly form fitting, cotton t-shirts (preferably v-neck)

these girls aren't afraid to jump back and forth across the line between femme and dyke but they feel most at home in a pair of mesh shorts and a wife beater. with a wardrobe that would leave justin bieber speechless, rough and tumble lesbians offer more than the simple style of a preteen boy. to their outfits they bring color- neon to be exact. those who suffer from seizures should look elsewhere for a lover because these ladies love bold punches from the visual spectrum. from bright splashes on shoelaces to multicolored neon hats, everything is worthy of a kiss of color.

rough and tumble lesbians differ from your everyday dyke in two major areas- hair and makeup. dykes are known for their shorter, often gender-neutral haircuts. brash and bold in their hair stylings, the dykes love shaving their heads (or more typical of your modern lesbian- shaving half or simply the square above the ear) sometimes they even spice it up to the point that they shave some speed stripes in there! conversely, rough and tumble girls generally roll with long, straightened hair.

the myth that lesbians don't wear makeup couldn't be disproved more by our rough and tumble friends. with a flick of an eyeliner and a coat or two of mascara, these ladies aren't exactly breaking the bank at MAC. it might not be on par with drag queens but they do wear make-up, albeit a little.

be on the lookout for this new lesbian breed on the rise...

you should get naked...

you should get naked...

and other fun suggestions i passed on this weekend

this weekend, against my better judgment, i forced some friends to join me in a directionless adventure. our mission was simple: go to arlington to deliver a birthday present to a jordana-brewster-look-alike. being road-savvy, i thought i'd be in the clear leaving the GPS at home and following my remembered way into the beer-soaked streets of clarendon. that was a great thought, however i forgot to include in that line of thinking that i don't actually go bar hopping in arlington, nor do i have any idea where the bar in question was...hilarity ensues.

three ladies, collectively dressed to kill, slipped into my pt cruiser and within moments we were on our way. as a plan enthusiast i found it odd how excited i was to arrive at a location that kept changing as we drove. first one bar- then the one across the street- now the one that's catty corner to the metro station...the texts poured in from the jordana-brewster-look-alike. every location given was within the same block or two and that fact kept my nerves at bay.

our main goal was delivery of the birthday present. the jordana-brewster-look-alike had been out of the country all summer and this was my first chance to really wow her. in fact, it was my first time actually meeting her face to face. no pressure. after a 15 minute drive into arlington turned into a 45 minute tour of arlington we finally arrived at our destination.

it's worth mentioning that the bar we were willingly seeking out was a straight one. in the past, i've had some challenging experiences in hetero clubs and bars but i'm trying to let go of my 'straight-club-hatin' ways. well- more honestly, this chick is a friggin' jordana-brewster-look-alike!! i would have stopped by anywhere to ensure she got her birthday hug.

after elbowing our way through the entrance we were finally in sight of the dance floor. it was late- late enough that 80% of those dancing had sweat stains and a complete lack of basic motor skills. if i couldn't feel my ass cheeks the night would have been delightful. alas, my ass is a sensitive little sucker and i felt all of the man bulges and giant lady shoulder bags as they shimmied by. the dance floor was packed so we inched our way to the bar. it proved to provide little relief from the crowd but the promise of holding something in my hand was a comforting thought.

those of you who aren't excessive drinkers understand my uneasiness when my hands are empty while standing bar-side. everyone sees my paws without a drip drop between them and thinks, "she needs a drink." who's to blame them for jumping to those conclusions? i'm in a bar...it's pretty clear that the intention of an establishment such as that is to drink. to help myself assimilate into the bar scene, i've adopted the habit of always holding a corona light in my hand- empty or full, in my hand it stays.

try as i might to avoid the awkward it finds fun new ways to weave itself into my life. in attempts to play it cool, i told my friends we should stand stationary and wait for the jordana-brewster-look-alike to come around our way. this was a good call on two counts; one- we wouldn't have to bulldoze our way through a crowd and risk loosing each other, two- i wouldn't throw up on the short girls heads and have a panic attack while looking for my friend...WIN WIN!

i saw her gracefully bounce down the steps, smiling and saying hi to people along the way. "guys! i found her! but i'll just wait until she wonders this way...i don't actually want hunt her down." sure enough, within 10 minutes a hand cupped my back and a woman politely asked me if she could squeeze by. in true rico suave form i began smiling uncontrollably and saying bizarre, already established things.

why when i'm nervous i slip into stating facts is still a mystery to me. "ahh! there you are!""it's your birthday." in case she wasn't aware, never mind all of her friends standing behind her tossing 'birthday shots' her way OR the fact that she invited me to her birthday party. "this place is packed." she would have undoubtedly been lost without my assertions. thankfully i alerted her to her own location.

fake-jordana-brewster, my friends and i chatted for a little while longer until our convo was disrupted by two polo-clad fellas. "do you think we are douchebags?!" they asked as the sweat and booze trickled out of their pores. i wouldn't normally judge strangers so harshly but the tenacity of these two was a bit much for me. maybe it was the one corona light talking but i gave 'em some sass.

engaging with these drunk strangers wasn't the best move i've made recently. rather than causing them to scatter, my unparalleled wit (or the fact that we were rejecting them) kept them nestled close to our circle of five.

i began rattling off the reasons why drunk people can be douchebags and one guy went on the attack. he grabbed my scarf, "you know it's not winter. why are you wearing this scarf? it's silly."

at a lesbian bar, i would have been showered with compliments on the classic black kerchief tied round my neck. i told my inebriated new friend that i was on the pulse of fashion and he didn't understand. indeed he didn't- he then went into a tirade on how 'you don't need clothes to be beautiful'. "that scarf isn't you. those clothes don't make you beautiful- you make you beautiful..."

as much as i wanted to hear him out and accept his compliments (let's face it- we can all use a pick-me-up), his bloodshot eyes and the faint smell of vomit reminded me that he was wasted. the jordana-brewster-look-alike rushed to my defense. grabbing my scarf she shouted, "do you know what this means? it means her dick is bigger than yours."

for a split second i'm pretty sure he thought i was a M2F trans but then i clarified,"i'm aware of the fact that you are trying to be philosophical but all you are really saying is that we should all be naked. that's a really neat thought sir, but you are barking up the wrong tree- i'm gay."

being a mature adult he then called me a douchebag and gave me a firm scowl. i went on to remind him that any number of the ladies dancing around would gladly service him later; that our disinterest in dick was no slight to him but the damage was done, his ego crushed for the moment.

it would be easy to look back on the night and remember nothing but the adventure-filled drive and the 15 minutes spent giving the fake-jordana-brewster her birthday present. but where's the fun in denying all of the fun pickles that life puts us in?

rolling with the punches this weekend was something i'm proud to say i did with relative ease. stepping out of my comfort zone both physically and emotionally was a tough pill to swallow but with friends as smooth and thirst-quenching as mine, it was no sweat...aside from those drenched in it at the bar.

epic high fives

epic high fives
a thought to pick you up

hating thursday simply because it's not friday is no way to muddle through the week. every day should be praised (except mondays- they always suck). daily we all should try and focus on the threads of hope, humanity, and hilarity.

if you are more of a pessimist and find my unusually chipper demeanor annoying- you're an ass, lighten up sunshine. but even the negative nancy's of the world could use a smile. who doesn't enjoy smiling? (that's a stupid question. sometimes smiles, particularly from strangers, are unnerving. picture this- elderly man in loose fitting sweatpants and a beater looks at you from across the bus. his smile stretches from ear to ear. after returning the smile you note both his hands are down his pants- creepy right? that was of no relevance...i'm sorry) point being- we all can use some hints on how to bring more happiness into our worlds.

today's hint? high fives, man.

nothing quite compares to the joy one gets after a solid clap of the perfect high five. after locking eyes, i square up with my partner and while facing each other, our shoulders align. just prior to the approach my arm is fashionably draped over the corresponding shoulder. another breath won't enter my lungs until the one across from me mirrors my sassy stance. some might jump from this point directly into the arch just before the high five. those who do that are fucking high fivin' amateurs.

the one, lone key in the making of a perfect high five is the momentary glance preceding the high five itself. it's all about checking out those 'bows. often called 'the most awkward part of the body aside from knees' or 'wenis', the elbow holds all the cards. one fleeting glance in tandem with your high-fiving-friend ensures that you will get the perfect clap- every time.

after arching back and hurling my heart and soul into my approach- it happened. *CLAP* that sound; a thunderous, meaty, slap of skin. that feeling; epic, rad, perfection. that connection- open palm, open heart. no debate necessary- high fives can't be beat.

if you find yourself feeling a little bit low today, i remind you to smile and find joy in this moment by ramming your hand into anothers. with one solitary slap you can bring an explosion of bright light into your world. if you are too lost in the darkness and feel that no one is around you, fear not- high fives are always possible, no matter how deep the depression. as long as you have two mitts at your disposal (even if the both belong to you), you've got yourself some magic.

up high- down low.
happy day- fo' sho.

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.