My Big 3 0

Sep. 28th, 2011 06:37 pm
missrenie: (steam)
I just turned 30

About five years ago I told myself that by time I turned 30 I would weigh x amount of weight.
It was going to be my gift to myself. Finally conforming and squeezing my body into what was "socially acceptable"

But some things happened. My life changed and the only weight I lost was 165ish pounds of boyfriend who held me down, and back and at the same time up to some incredibly impossible standards.

In fact I've gained.
Joy, happiness, fierceness and part of that comes from being able to show the world what I once hated so much

My body.

I had not realized how much everything centered around my body.
My ability to hold my head up in a job interview,
Shame was eating at a restaurant,
Anger was trying on clothes,
Fear was take a trip
Embarrassment was meeting my partner's friends and family.

It was inescapable... this all encompassing adipose. I hated it, I hated me.

I wish I could tell you what changed.
I wish I could tell you how I changed.
Its too much like that "Dune" quote. The one about passing through your fear and looking back and seeing nothing because only you remain.

Well only I remain.
I am not ashamed to touch my body now
Can you imagine how seriously fucked up that is? Being ashamed to touch your own body?
The weight of no longer being repulsed by my own weight was heavier to me than my actual hips and thighs
and ass

I can look in the mirror and see what I look like and not compare that to what I wanted to look like.
I can see my own face sans the superimposed silhouette of societies views

To some people my fat says that I am lazy, that I eat three times the amount a "normal" person would eat, that I am sick or shut in, that I am depressed or stupid because obviously I do not love myself or want anyone else to love me either, that I have been abused in some way... that I need to be fixed.

but I'm not broken
there are no mental issues, I'm not diabetic nor do I suffer from hypertension, I am vegetarian and borderline vegan who eats all her meals home cooked and full of veggies,I exercise, I dance and sing, my week days are long and I doubt you could keep up with me on the weekend...

See that was the defensive side of me. The one side that feels like I have to explain or excuse myself. Because people sneer at me

People sneer at me
because I am fat
because I am black
because I am nappy headed
because I have the nerve to be HAPPY while being all of the above

The really fucked up thing about this is that deep down and somewhere inside I believed them.

I don't anymore.

I'm angry and I'm motivated. I don't think that is being reflected in the wording or the tone of this post but I am. Its this slow burning thing that's heating up all my blood and skin and bones but instead of turning it inward it's going right where it belongs

To the judgmental sizest cunt faces, the dick headed fat-o-phobes, the assholes, the haters... I don't owe you anything aside from my foot up your ass.

I just turned 30
I'm finally at home in my body
I just turned 30
and it looks damn good on me
missrenie: (burlesque)
Because being part of something larger than yourself, that challenges you and forces you to grow is a powerful experience

Because the burlesque community is comprised of artist twisted creative compassionate genius and it is a pure fucking honor to be among their ranks.

Because years from now when I am old and grey I can look back and say I had the ovaries to do it

Because years, weeks, days from now when things go all pear shaped I can call on any one of these powerful women and they would have my back

Because who needs prozac, zoloft or a stiff drink when you can go to sleep with the remnants of a roaring, screaming, cheering crowd still ringing in your ears.

Because years ago someone told me that I was ugly, that I couldn't dance, that no one would love me, that no one would listen to me that I wasn't special....
and every time I step on that stage
I'm sending them the
fuck you


awesome photo of Rubenesque Burlesque by Johnny Crash check him out at


Feb. 24th, 2011 02:36 pm
missrenie: (Default)
I have been for the past three years a woman haunted.
Haunted, followed, shadowed by this shade that refuse to let me go. This thing that screams look at me
see me
avenge me

I did not know this until yesterday
3 years ago I misdiagnosed myself as crazy, unhinged and simply bitter... needing for education in the fine art of processing
guidance in the rituals of letting go.

I prayed, sang feverish songs, made smoke offerings to my gods to make the anger fade
Sometimes a few months would go by peaceful and then it would come back
You would come back
I was frustrated with myself
Angry that I was letting you get to me
get in me
I wanted you out of me
Yesterday I realized that it was not you
it was me

Tyler Perry recently butchered a brilliant play by Ntozake Shange... seriously if the woman were dead she would be rolling in her grave over what Perry did to her amazing choreopoem. I winced my way through the horrible things that struck too close to home. I put up shields and focused on his flaws at directing. The way he made black women into broken empty shells.
I bitched and nagged instead of listening to the prolific prose but towards the end a phrase reached right through me and into me and shattered me thoroughly "Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff... Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff and didn't even know they had it"

The freshest of the scabs ripped back
and I poured out
That's me
That's me running behind you screaming: Hey give me my stuff back! You tread all through me and that thing you have dragging at the bottom of your shoe
that's mine
that's me
give it back

I became a new person to fill the space of the person that I no longer was
I made new stuff.
Instead of going back to salvage the tattered bits of me I left the person I no longer wanted to be behind

I demonized her. I told myself that she was weak for staying so long, that she was stupid for taking all that shit for so long that she deserved everything that she was dealt that she asked for it though an ill conceived notion of love and it was her punishment for not listening to her mother and the wise women who had gone before her, suffered and survived.
Stupid, silly, bitch.
Now had this woman not been me I would have been softer. I would have been kinder. I would have rallied to her, swept her into my arms, been harbor in the hurricane, nurtured and loved but it was not another woman. It was me. And I did not at that time in my life have the grace to forgive myself so I killed myself.
Buried myself in an unmarked grave.
“You’ve changed” a friend would say “You are not who you used to be” and I would always respond. Of course not. This is the new me I killed the waste of space that was here before.

I was proud
And haunted.
Unable to sleep, to dream, to slow down to be still because she was at my heels demanding that I see her, respect her, save her, reclaim her.
She was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.
I was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.

I was not weak... I was strong enough to withstand with myself intact
I was not stupid... I was smart enough to leave.
I did not deserve what happened.
I did not deserve what happened.
What I do deserve is to give to myself to same compassion that I would give to someone else.
What I do deserve is to understand deep in my soul that I am not the solely to blame.
What I do deserve is to claim this broken piece of me and remake myself whole.
missrenie: (Default)
 It fucking pours

I really hate that expression.  It sounds so pessitimitic.  I want to punch the people in the throat that use it.  But since I already feel like I have been punched in the throat I'm  totally gonna use it.

I wake up bleeding from my vagina.  Since I have not had a natural period in ten years my first thought is "Holy shit I didn't play that hard at the dungeon did I?!"  I force myself to calm down because I have to get to work.  And I heal quickly anyways sooo by Sunday I should be fine.

I spend the first part of Sunday curled up into a ball because it feels like some sadistic bastard grabbed my uterus and started squeezing maybe I did play to hard!!! I call my playmate and ask her if she noticed anything funny on Friday.  To which she said no and asked if I was having my period.  At this point I am embarrassed.  Bleeding profusely, cramps, head aches, motion sickness, craving: red meat, chocolate, sex, the mass slaughter of those found guilty of being stupid...duh!

"Was it always like this?" I moan over the phone.  The answer is yes.

Aside from losing so much blood that I am simultaneously fascinated and horrified I  develop general malaise and laryngitis just in time for public speaking. Instead of being down about all these schenaigains I'm pissed.   I'm raising my fist in defiance at a sadistic Matronly Mother Goddess screaming "How could You!?  This is one of the grooviest things I've gotten to do in my life.  Speaking as  part of a panel regarding Healthcare in the GLBTQ community.  I thought You liked us!!!"  

She must have found my  ranting hilarious because the bleeding reached level ridiculous.... by 3pm  I'd lost so much blood that I feel faint. On my way home from work I make a desperate phone call to Terick who comes over to find me half dead and half dressed on the floor of my room.  He gets me dressed, hydrated, out the door, to my destination and back home again with zero super dickery and tons of compassion.

"You're a good man" I say as he tucks me in
"You're opinion will change when you're better"  He assures me
"Fuck you... if I say you are a good man then I mean it you bastard"
"There's the Irene we all know and love"  he kisses my forehead with practiced condescension while I make a feeble attempt at smacking him but I'm weak and tucked in far too well to do so.  So I hiss instead and fall right off to sleep.

14 hours later I wake up
go to work
go back to sleep for 4 hours at work
work for 3
go home
go back to sleep

Its Wednesday I've figured out why I get the laryngitis.  I'm a mouth breather with sever allergies and the immune system of a decrepit old woman in a dark and dingy cell.   The solution: keep my fucking mouth closed when around allergens like pollen and cats and buy a humidifier.    Waaaay  harder than it sounds trust me.... the keeping my mouth closed bit.

The blood loss seems to be tapering off so my energy level has picked up
and I no longer want to eat dead cows
or strangle two year olds
or the stupid which is especially significant and noteworthy since I'm headed to Reno to dance at a club opening this Saturday.

wish me luck ;)
missrenie: (Default)
I should be sleeping
but I'm not
this denotes a problem
some evolving issue in my id
a pimple in my psyche just waiting to breach the surface and explode embarrassingly

Why when everything is going good do I freak out?
Why must I sabotage myself just to feel normal?
Over eating 
Over spending
Over extending
Is it because I don't really think that I deserve my happiness or my success?
Have I really gotten so addicted to the adrenaline high, the strung out of stress?

Or is it just easier
to create an excuse to not live fully

See all these problems, all the extra hours I spent at work, every time I let someone use me, every time I swallowed my truth, every time I pushed myself beyond all reason in the name of sacrificing my wellbeing for those that had less: less love, less affection, less happiness, less opportunity, less vision, less drive, less will I gave up vital pieces of me.  I gave up my flesh to warm another, I gave up my heart to sustain another, I used my happiness as a blanket to smoother someones burning sorrow and when there was no one to give to I simply cut.  Cut Cut Cut Cut into myself via my health, self esteem,  self image.

I should blame my mother you know.
I really wasn't hugged enough.

But I can't blame her.  I couldn't choose how I lived as a child but I do choose how I live an adult and despite all my accomplishments this year I know beyond a doubt that it is a drop in the bucket compared to what I can really get done.

I could say that I am afraid of failure but sugah I've tasted failure.  I've been it's bedmate and lover.  Some people think its a horrible thing but once you get a whiff of it it is intoxicating because it's so safe.  IT is the gateway drug.  It's bottom floor and basement.  You can't get lower, no fall is gonna hurt as much. Stay down it whispers sounding as smooth as a leather pants wearing  Lando Calrissian.  Its like a great big fucked up hug that's hard to get out of...  no I don't fear failure.

Neither do I fear success.  I've rolled in the hay with that cocky well hung bastard as well and smoked a cigarette after so that's a non issue.

It's simpler than that
I'm too lazy.

See  I exhausted myself so I would not have to deal with the truth of what I could become.  What we all have the potential to become.
My ambient was that 60hour work week, unhealthy relationships, the problems of others, bad food, lack of exercise, my outstanding ability to turn my body into a breeding ground for illness.  And while it looked like I was fiercely forging ahead I was really running away.  I was running away from the commitments that I had made to myself, the tapestry of a destiny that I set on the loom with threads of will, faith, intuition, courage and encouragement because I was too lazy to finish it.

I looked a what my life could become and said god damn that would be a pretty thing but fuck me look at all the work its gonna take.... oh something sparkly!!!

I should be sleeping
but I can't
because the "inner I" has been asleep  for so long
my body is tierd
but my spirit is impatient
she is crouching and growling and pawing at the dirt of this fucking grave I sent her to so long ago
she is screaming in rage for her freedom.
"Let me be.  Let me be.  Let me be me."

I have no more excuses
Circumstances I have allowed myself to be put in.  Situations that "inner I" set in sway has stripped that all from me now.
I am waking up
whether I want to or not  and I have to be strong
so  that means that I have to sleep.

That's the real reason why I don't see you as much as you used too.
Like Pink said "I'm not dead just changing"

 so off to bed I go~~~

missrenie: (Default)
That wish list I wrote on here… yeah my first request came in. Clarity.

I have a clear realization that regardless of whether or not I join the Universal Ether or get reincarnated as comfy fat house cat whose owner is rich, childless , reasonably mentally balanced, doesn’t believe in declawing, does believe one pet is enough and is totally enthusiastic about kitty couture, bling and organic salmon dinners.

I have the memory of this one life.

This one only to hold onto in this now and if I am going to live it to the fullest then I have to let go of something.

Or rather some things, some ones and some false perceptions like this fake sense of security and the stifling fear of failure. For nearly three years this 60 to 70 hour working week thing has been the safety wheels on my life.

It’s kept me from falling down and going too fast.
It’s kept me balanced and gave me boundaries
But it also kept me from falling in love (with some exception)
in tale worthy trouble (sort of)
and down this rabbit hole that I’m constantly flirting around the edge of.

I am so so ready to free fall and fly with these wings that have been gifted to me though my own journey thus far, wings that have been pieced together from all this pain, pleasure and joy, pieced together with feathers of love plucked from friends with beautiful souls and mentors of magnificent quality.

It’s all come down to tea…

Which is my personal truth #2

Great Tea is not just tossed together. It is not just an accident. The seed has to be planted, the seed has to grow, the plant must be harvested, the harvest must be separated from the chaff, the leaves must be dried carefully, water must almost boil, then the leaves must regenerated themselves in seemingly opposing elements fire like heat and water, and just when they blossom and unfurl once again releasing like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon their life essence gets taken from them, infused changed into something new. For great tea there must be an even greater patience. I myself and my life itself are no different than the tea.

The things that happen in my life are not just accidents… well not everything :).
Life is like the tea. Sometimes we brew it for ourselves sometimes other people brew it for us. We brew with actions, and reactions and thoughts. We pick our ingredients (actively or passively) … sometimes some bastards sneak up behind you and toss something in the mix. Other times we see them put it in and just let it stay… too lazy to pick it out ourselves, or too afraid to displease them.

And when the tea is done we drink

It tastes like shit
We bitch
And pour another cup
Toast and bottoms up

If it ain't my cup of tea… why the fuck am I drinking it?! Why complain and then do nothing. Why did I fill myself with the same bitter drink over and over again. Because I was worried that if I spit it out I would look like a stuck up ungrateful bitch, I was worried that it was too late to start a new batch, grow new plants and wait for a new harvest, and no matter how appalling the taste was I knew what to expect… and in that there was comfort despite the discomfort.

My mom is taught me all about tea.

An eon ago she laughed at me when I told her I was hesitant about starting everything over. She said that she understood my fear but that I was a silly hussy for using that as an excuse. "If the shoe is fucking up your foot kick it off and if something in your life, whether it be a person, a thing, a job, a situation a habit is not your cup of tea i.e. .Something suitable, appropriate, or attractive to one stop accepting it in your life. Fill your cup with something else and stop being such a silly hussy."

I did it mama.

I made my own precious ever-changing and evolving brew.
I’m protecting it and not letting sneaky bastards toss things in it I did not choose.
I am not allowing fear to dictate the ingredients of my life.

It’s almost ready and when it’s done the first cup of victory will be raised to you.

oh and Juicy if you are reading this Rubenesque Burlesque is totally a main part of the brew ;)
missrenie: (Default)
I’ve decided to withdraw from this battle.
I lay down my shield and sword and I shake off all this armor.
And even though I’m no longer kicking and screaming I’m not as serene as I appear to be. I still feel you moving around in my body, stirring my blood, fevering my brain but it gets better. Since I’ve acknowledged it everyday gets easier. You’re more of a ghost than tangible touch now.

It surprises me that its harder getting over the dream than it was to get over the reality. And now that I have finally begun the process of letting go, since I stopped medicating myself with a hyper active social life and schedule I’m oh so sensitive to everything.
I feel pain, longing, loneliness, anger and grief.

I’m finally in mourning…
I was so arrogant that I believed that allowing myself to feel these things was a sign of weakness.

After all I was the one who left you right?

Who was I to miss you, miss us, miss what could have been or be angry at “what should have been”. But I can be this way. I can be pissed off at losing my best friend. I can mourn the death of this relationship. I can miss the way our bodies moved together and the way we had with words. I can grieve… it is well within my rights to grieve.

I spent 16 months running from this feeling that is washing over me right now because I was terrified of drowning in it. And guess what? Even though I am in over my head with it I can still breathe. And that is kinda pissing me off too. Knowing that I can in fact breath without you… I should have tried to far sooner.

Ten years ago I laughed when I asked you ”What did I think about before I thought of you?”

Now I remember. And I am upset about that too. I am enraged at how I allowed myself to be so dedicated and consumed by us that I let me wither away. That I allowed the value of my word to tarnish that I let my ambition lay furrow in a vast field of opportunity.

I’ve decided to withdraw from this battle of looking for that person to be “us” with.
I have decided to lay down my shield and sword and shake off all this armor so that I can relearn to breathe just for me.
I have decided to remember my own thoughts.
I have decided to reclaim my word and properly nourish my ambitions.
I have decided to let go of this hope for you and me
I have decided to surrender the dream of somesort of “us”
So that I can live the victorious reality

Of me.
missrenie: (Default)

You were Pan and all of his Lost Boy.
You believed you could fly and I longed for you to.

You were Nibs
debonair and charismatic wanting to provide even though you were incapable of it
You were Slightly
living in lies you believed to be true, creating songs that only you could hear while begging me to dance with you
You were Curly
my troublesome and forgetful boy but always so so endearing
You were my Twins
knowing nothing about yourself but professing everything

You were also my Tootles.
Who mistook me for something else.
Who shot me down and almost killed me when I tried to fly

You were my Peter Pan, unable to love me the way an adult should.
I was your Wendy, constantly reattaching your shadow.
You exhausted me, wore me out, broke me down while trying to rescue me from a Captian Hook that you created.
The Dreams of Neverland turned to the Dark of Nightmares

When I left you followed me
And at first I loved it

You coming through my window bringing with you all the dreams of a unknowingly selfish heartless innocence. Sprinkling fairy dust over my head and saying that we would fly. But my feet no longer want to leave the ground with you. Every time I leapt off of the edge I realized that that dust was just the remnants of shattered dreams and that the only thing that keep me suspended in the air was the noose you tied around my neck. That and these wings I've constructed on my own.

You were taping at my window last night


But I would not let you in.
Wendy doesn’t live here any more
I do

It's the worst thing I’ve done to you
And it's the best thing I’ve done for myself

Betraying you by growing up

missrenie: (Default)

A year ago I made a promise to myself

I promised to Untame , To Rename, To Reclaim me

Because amidst years of conflict
amidst years of conditioning
amidst years of conforming

I had forgotten
my worth
my beauty
my self


A year ago I made this proclamation of reclamation. 

~it has resulted in the metaphorsis of a nine year relationship to a wonderful life long friendship
~it has resulted in the loss of 30 pounds
~and the gaining of 15 ;)
~it has resulted in ardent change within myself which has rippled out to touch those closest to me
~it has brought to me a learning of  me

And some of these things that I learned  I love
And some of these things that I learned I absolutely despise

I have learned that I like the razor edge of things
That my sunshine is all the deep deep sensations from elated joy to tortuous pain
I’ve learned that I can shout and sing and strip in front of a crowded room
I’ve reclaimed my sashay, my sass, my sexuality, my spirit.

I’ve also learned that my halo can just as easily become Horns
That I possess as much callousness as I do compassion
That I can be as ugly as I can be beautiful, selfless and selfish
That I can be brilliantly confident and oh so needy of outside affirmation


I learned that I had miscalculated terribly

I assumed at the beginning of this that being “me” was a destination that I would arrive at.   I even had the nerve to assume on several occasions that I had “arrived”.   

Now I know that all this, all these things that I have embraced as part of me, all these robes of robes I have put on me is not me.  

I know this because I see it in others. 

In the mother who turns to temptress after her children as fast asleep.

In the tattooed burlesque dancer who has to run off after her performance to study for her exams

In the most feared sadist who cries cheerful tears when given the gentlest butterfly kiss upon his cheek.

In the eyes of the power lawyer who confesses that all he wants is to give in, submit, be told what to think and feel and do.


Burlesque Dancer, Debaucher, Red Pill, Submissive Switch, Poly, Pan Sexual, Pagan these are  planets  coming in and out orbit around the soul of who I am and more importantly who I can be.  It’s easy to get caught up in “planets”  I mean hell they are fucking planets.  Huge massive things with there own systems of doing things, rules and landscapes.  It is easy to get caught on one.

I’ve gotten caught on a few
I’ve been lazy again

I’ve come far from the quite girl with low self esteem, from that over emotional self hating mess that used to cut her wrists and cry herself asleep at night.  I’ve come far from the binge eater, the hater, the angry one who threw things and cursed(I still curse but I do it with a smile).  I’ve come far from the cowardess, the powerless.


But  I have not arrived
This is just a plateau
I can see a little bit clearly… at least I think I can. 

And what I see are other lines cast down.  From other men and women who have gone before me.  Ropes of knowledge, wisdom, challenge, growth all dangling in the breeze.  There are footholds too, uncharted paths to take as well all things leading to the next level and the next.


To continue on this everyday adventure that I’m making my life to be will take more than proclamations, more than believing and boasting.


It will take that discipline that Sensei told me I needed so badly ten years ago…  I’m looking forward to the new set of challenges before me, the creations and catharsis they will bring me…


I’m not so afraid anymore
and that either means that I am ready or that I am incredibly, inexcusably stupid.  Not that that matters… I’m committed.


Or certifiable.



Either way there is nothing like getting your hands a little dirty to cleanse your soul ;)
missrenie: (Default)

"Any time there is a fat person onstage as anything besides the butt of a joke, it's political.
Add physical movement, then dance, then sexuality and you have a revolutionary  act."

Heather MacAllister aka Reva Lucian 2/25/68 - 2/13/07
missrenie: (Default)

In a little more than 72 hours I will be standing in direct defiance of every negative thing about my body that I have been taught to believe

I will take the stage in front of total strangers and fond friends;) and if you are there you will see that it will take a total of three minutes for me to stylishly remove two black gloves, one silk nighty and a black and purple laced bra.

What you will not see is the decade it has taken me to remove the limitations of self hate
What you will not see is the years I have spent removing corrosive loathing in order find my worth and self love
What you will not see is the six months it has taken me to remove that defeating fear that has told me that my dreams will never be my reality

You'll see me
just me
all of me
exactly how I was made to be

Yours Truly,
Miss Magnoliah Black

missrenie: (Default)
“You won’t make it on pretty alone” Kitty von Quimm says

There are three us there
Three of us sitting in a single line

with our legs spread
and our shoulders back

facing a large long ballet style mirror,
in a small theater somewhere in Oakland.

I look from her reflection to my own and in the light streaming in from above I  can see every flaw in my thunderous thighs, the repulsing fat of my abdomen, the ample flesh of my arms and yes more than one chin.

I almost smile at her remark. I’ve accepted my body but I’ve never thought of pretty as an option. Well that’s a lie. With clothes on, well the right clothes on I am beautiful. But like this…

“Burlesque is about attitude. They want it.  They want all of this” Juicy D. Light says from my right as she runs her hands up her full figured form. “And you can’t be afraid to give it to them.”

For a moment I am afraid.
There are no lines here, no biased boundaries, no entity to fight against, no rules to bend or break, no lines to refuse to follow.

There is just me

just me and the music
the stage and the crowd

The crowd who will not judge me according to my body, nor the false stylized standards of beauty that society has to its own detriment declared as fact.

No, they will judge me on something far more important…
my creativity
my fearlessness
my self expression
my ability to shock & amaze
my mastery over my sexuality and sensuality
my ability to command their attention and make them let me entertain them.

I am thinking this as Juicy counts off the sexy eight, as I watch us move together our left shoulders dipping to the right and our bodies following it back out.

I am feeling this as I shimmy and shake down low before slapping my thighs and pushing myself back up forcefully.

And as my mane of dreadlocks flips up and back over my shoulders I see this
I see this creativity & sensuality,
this expression of a fierce and fearless sexuality
I see this in my own reflection.
and I can’t help but growl a little.

Kitty is right I won’t make it on pretty alone
But that’s not a problem for me because I’m not pretty.

I am fucking gorgeous
I am fucking fabulous
I am fucking fierce

I am Miss Magnoliah Black~~~
                           Let me entertain you~~~
missrenie: (Default)

Friday night at 8:05pm 

I’m standing on a darkened street. 
my eyes are rimmed with khol, my lips shiny with blood wine colored gloss,
my dreds are pulled into two low buns at the back of my head.
I am dressed in a red and black striped corset,
short black skirt with a slit up the back,
and appropriately uncomfortable shiny black patent leather 6 inch fuck me stilettos whose steel grommets accents wrap scandalously up my ankle…

And I am trying to convince one of San Jose’s finest that I am not a whore.


We are way past the do you know why I pulled you over, where are you coming from, where are you going song and dance.  It is flawless until we get to the registration part.

See I brought my car a while ago and didn’t register it until that Tuesday.  I have the paper work proving that it is registered in my binder… that is on my futon… at home along with my proof of insurance.

So now I am trying to prove that I am not a whore and the car is mine.  Frantically searching for my cell phone in my purse so I can ask Marlene to bring me the papers, pulling out things like a leather collar and nipple clamps while telling him my entire life story or at least the part about buying the car, the breaking up of my relationship, moving to a new place, working seven days a week and the reason why the car was not registered sooner.

The officer informs me of all the fines and penalties that I am facing

I get  angry…

I admit I behave badly.  I am really looking forward to play time with Mister…. seriously I am  going through withdrawl for a while.  And the thought of having my car taken away, fined 1,300 dollars for not having my proof of insurance on top of the possibility of not being able to see Mister was more than I could handle.

I get emotional.

Maybe it’s the massive amounts of cleavage
Maybe it’s that I’m about to cry
Maybe it’s the fact that beginning throws of crying makes the massive amount of cleavage dance like a hula girl on the dashboard of some teenagers first hand me down or maybe his first teenage hand me down but he softens.

Look I want to believe you but you don’t have any paper work or any proof that this is your car.

At this point the phone rings and its Mister who sounds a little worried and wants to know where I am.  I apologize to the officer and take the call and explain what’s going on… when I hang up I tell the officer that I’m going to get scolded for running late and speeding.


Where were you going again exactly?

Where is it?

~I give him vague directions because I do not know the street address.

He gives me a look boarding on incredulity You don’t know the street address?

~I give him an equal look of indignation I’m a woman I drive by landmarks.

So what exactly is ********? 


A club a dinner what?

~It’s a

A social event, a dance hall?


A rave?

~It's...What ensues is a nearly 15 min conversation about the nature of bdsm, dispelling the myth that it is all about sex, the importance of safe,sane and consensual,  basics on submissive and dominate relationship, power and exchange and overview on the psychology involved in play.
So what are you?

~Right now… a Submissive Switch.

Ahh that makes sense. That should be helpful with balancing out your A type personality.

~You really think I have an A type personality? I’m clearly if not blantly appalled.
Raises an eyebrow....with incredulity

~Okay okay you're right


He laughs and it’s a real laugh.
And he lets me go… even tells me that I can continue onto  ********* instead of going home to get my paper work first.  Tells me to drive slower, wash my rear window so I can see (if I’m being followed by the police) and tells me his name and where the station is and in case I am stopped again his card.

About 20 mins later (cause I went home and got my paperwork) I’m gripping onto the St Andrews Cross screaming/moaning my new mantra.

Early is on time
On time is late
Late is never acceptable


and for a brief moment I can’t help but smile because the sheer visual of myself dressed up like that defending myself, my sexual preferences, and the legal status of my ride is stranger than fiction
and what’s even stranger is that I think that officer knew exactly where and what ******** was and I think

… I think he made a pass at me.
missrenie: (Default)
After bitching about how embarrassed I was over this Mr. V business I was asked why I don’t delete the blogs. Or why I don’t delete all of my embarrassing blogs for that matter. I told him that I would lose like 79.5% of everything I’ve ever written if I did that, but the real reason is this

I’ll forget.

It would be nice to erase my mistakes. The times when I was a complete idiot, totally selfish and self indulgent, way too easy, volunteered for chaos, abuse and abandonment under the assumption that I was a victim.

Instead I choose to keep them all logged and tagged for easy referencing. It’s my cheap therapy, my glaring light of truth, a lesson in how not to do things. It’s not a ledger of failures but a reminder of how far I have come.

I have learned a lot from reading about other people’s lives, the words and world they have shared. The bottles they cast fearlessly out into the sea with all the deep, and hidden and hilarious messages. They teach me and inspire me.

These are my stories, the mark of my memory that I am hammering into the world. The thing I will leave behind. Since my body is incapable of creating life I choose to create this instead. My glaring mistakes, my cringing embarrassments, my non-fatal flaws, my slightly serious shortcomings are very much a part of it and they are to be laughed at and learned from… if not by others then definitely myself.

I forgot a lot of things from my childhood, from my past because I forced myself to. Because of pain, because of embarrassment. There are whole patches, years gone from my memory. I don’t want to forget anymore I want to remember

I want to remember vividly
the faces and names of people who have touched me deeply.
and some of you reading this know you have.
I want to remember
every color, sight and scent
every emotion from sky high soaring joy to earth shattering sadness
the feeling of his hands against my skin
the press of her lips against my own
how the dawn looked as I headed west with a full tank of gas and a heart full of unquestioning, unwavering love
how the terms "heartbreak and heart wenching" are painfully accurate 
how the cold the warm rain felt against my skin as I carried the last box out of our home

I don’t want to forget because the ability to experience all of these things is a gift.
So when I am old and gray, when my body has given me up like some Judas in the night. I will have the memories of this life. And I'll laugh and cry and laugh some more.

And be at peace.
Just like I am now.

And this too is something I never ever want to forget.
missrenie: (Default)
Lately I have been asked the following two questions repeatedly.

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?
Don’t you feel guilty at all?

The answer
No & No
But judging by the confused look on their faces when given this simple response I guess I should elaborate.

Shame is a false emotion created by organized religion and perpetuated by the masses as a lame ass excuse, and mind numbing rational to live your life within the inwardly ironspiked corset that “normal” society has crafted for anyone that:

~openly challenges “the system(s)”

~treats lines like suggestions

~has the audacity to live life according to their own rules, moral, ethics.

Why corset my limitless mind and infinite soul when the real thing is so much more comfy and not to mention sliming!  
I like mine black with steel boning
size 39


You’re right.  
Saying no is an out and out lie.  A little guilt can be helpful.  Reminds me not to do something that may hurt someone else.  As far as that “personal guilt”… you know the kind only stage mothers and the Roman Catholic Church can inspire. No

Er…. well sometimes.  But I distract myself from those negative feelings by doing something I “ought” to be ashamed of.

In this way the cycle is never ending…
which means that I’m a genius since I’ve solved the riddle of perpetual motion all by myself.
missrenie: (Default)

I think the problem is that you think you know me
You think you have me all figured out
that you know what makes me tick and switch on
but you don't
you don't know me
you don't have the slightest idea.

I told you that I was tried, overwhelmed exhausted and needed a break from life for a moment.  You diagnosed me as simply being in need of orgasm. That you would deliver this “prescription”.  That you would make me feel things I have never felt before and that I was gonna release and relax.  Have peace within myself. 


…News flash...

your dick can't do that honey. 

1 that is something I have to give myself
2 that place you talk about getting me to , that momentary state of bliss you see fit to challenge yourself to bring me is a place you and I will never go

I told you how to get me there
I gave you hand written specific directions
go for my mind, my spirit, my divine and my body will follow

but you think you know better
you think you know me better than I know myself

you don't know me
you don't have the slightest idea.
and you’re not interested in that are you?
You just want my orgasm to be some trophy on your fucking shelf.

Like it's a competition between you and all the others that have come before.
It's not a competition but sense that's the only language you seem to understand
know that you have been weighed, measured found lacking and subsequently  disqualified.  For multiple reasons but this in particular:  For telling me what my body, my being needs and for having the audacity to tell me what I have and haven’t felt.


I've been in the game since 16 sugah.  I've  had plenty of climaxes and I know
beyond a doubt
that on that one late afternoon in the early fall of 1999
right as the sunset was casting blood orange slices of light through half lidded venetian blinds,  as the sweltering heat wrapped me from toe to hip from hip to tit from tit to crown  that this was different
Movement, breath and sound and sense different

and to tell me that I was mistaken, misinformed or otherwise ignorant of what it was makes you look like a jack ass ... trust me honey I know my own body.  I've lived in it longer than you have ten second man... see you don't even get a Mr. in front of your name any more.


Because you’re not worth it* no one is worth it*.


Dre was right

For a while there my inner Goddess went on vacation. 
I sent her off
I actually packed her bags, bought her a ticket and pushed her on the plane because I could not indulge in my most recent delusions if I didn’t.
You see I didn’t fall for you I fell for a false sense of security.


She’s back now
I’m back now
and it’s time to clean house.









*It=  the wiliness to compromise or change myself, my actions, my goals in order to accommodate some other person in an attempt to be accepted, embraced, “understood” or “loved” in varying degrees.

missrenie: (Default)



I guess I never told you(all)  the deal.  I just assumed that since you peeped the profile and actually paid attention during our conversations that I would never have to break it down like this.  But I guess I was mistaken.

I’ll only say this once.



Dear Mr. Friday,

I am not:
Your mistress

Your heart may be polyamorus but your marriage is not.  Your wife agreed to certain things and I respect her and her wishes. We will continue to be just dungeon buddies but if you keep pressing me so help me goddess we won’t even be that.

 In addition to not being your mistress I am also not your celibate mistress. 


Ps. My heart is poly too.



Dear Mr. Vanilla,

I am not :

Sick and misguided and in need of your gentle handling to show me the error of my hedonistic ways. When I said that I liked my hair pulled and my ass slapped I meant it.  No amount of kind cuddling is going to get me wet.  And you should know that by now due to personal experience.

Ps. We both know you’re not as vanilla as you are pretending to be.
Pss.  I do love the after sex should totally keep that.


Dear Mr. All American Cowboy,

I am not:
A horse

You can not tame me, break me, change me.  Pagan, Poly, Bisexual, Kinky these things are not choices they are huge parts of who I am.

Ps.  you're gay or at the very least bisexual. 
Thats a big part of who you are stop fighting it and just accept it.

To Mr. Jehovah Witness

I am not:
In need of you to save me… you’re not Jesus.

And please stop  crying to me about how conflicted you feel about last month.  I’m not Jesus either.   I asked you if you had reconciled your desires with your god and you said yes.  I suggest you go see your priest/minister.


I said god
not your genitalia.



To Mr Player:

I am not :
Crying over you when you don’t give me a ring on the celly.

That male voice you heard in the background when you did manage to dial the digits... yeah that was your replacement Mr. Vanilla.


Don’t hate me hate the game.




For all the rest.  Please read position description before submitting your application.



Pagan/Pagan friendly, Polyamous/ Poly friendly, Kinky, Geek/ geek friendly Spiritual male or female
who enjoys open communication, reading, learning, drinking exotic teas and experiencing new things.  Must have own life, goals and tool box with basic knowledge on how to use said tools.  Should be reasonably neat, logical, less neurotic than I am.  Must be patient, kind, open minded and tolerant and appreciative.   Honest compassionate critiques regarding art work and life in general is mandatory...  good spelling is a plus since I suck at it.  Please be willing to be physically active and supportive of my life/life style and goals, able to take and give in equal measure.
Have a light grey to dark khol sense of humor
Love music
Tolerant of snorers or fall asleep quickly.


Must be seeking the same minus the logical.




Bonus points if you take it in the ass.


~xoxo Miss Renie

missrenie: (magnoliah)

I always wanted to be a Top. Ever since I was a little girl. It was either a Mother Superior or a Dominatrix. And now finally at the age of 27 I am in the right place at the right time.

And I’ve started in a position that I never ever could imagine myself being in but am so glad that I did. I bear the lash so that I may be better at giving it. I  bow in service so I understand what it means to receive it.

I have learned to apperciate the awesome physical and emotional responsibility you take when you give pain that is turned into a tormenting pleasure.

There is much to do and learn and feel and experience.
but what I have experienced so far is the tip of the iceberg
what I have felt so far is the beautiful and terrifying freedom of bondage
and what I have learned is the power and strength it takes to school yourself under the lash and behind the blindfold.

The submissive is not with out will the dominate is very much subject to it as well. And I seek to be a model student so that I may in turn be a Magnificent Master

See more progress on: become a Dominatrix
missrenie: (Default)

I had a weird dream
Not a bad one
Just a really weird one
I wake up
I check the time
It’s one o’clock in the morning... I think
And I smell something

Something earthy and sage-like and I realize just why I had a weird ass- wake me up at one o’clock in the god damn morning-dream

I’ve just been fucking hotboxed*!!!

Someone lit up in the living room. This has not been a problem in the past since I close my bedroom door, tuck a towel under the crack and sleep with the window open for circulation.

But its winter now. There is no way I am sleeping with that window open. It was so chilly last night that we turned on the heater. The vent that sucks the air into the ventilation system is in the hallway right next to the living room

Needless to say:

Heating on
+Closed and sealed bedroom door
+420 friendly someone (who knows who they are)
= me all fucked up

I open my door... which is hard to do since I am groggy and the towel is getting in the way. I scream down the hall which seems longer than usual so I scream louder than normal. At least I think I am…

'Hey! are you smoking?!'
'A while ago'
'Jesus Christ!' at least I think I scream Jesus Christ...

I can't answer because Tank has just run down the hall and is accosting me like he hasn't seen me in two days when in all actuality it has only been two hours. I am trying to fend off his affection but I am groggy and I only use one hand since I'm trying to keep myself decent. After a while I realize that it’s a dog and don't really care if it sees me naked cause I see it naked all the time. I drop the sheet and shove him out with both hands but not before my face is covered in doggy slobber. I slam the door shut… or at least I think I do.
Pry open the window, light an incense stick stay awake just long enough to put it out. Once I figure out how anyway and collapse back onto my now trampled futon.

I wake up again around 3pm this time because I am freezing my tits off on account of falling asleep with the window open.

Somewhere, seriously, I swear some cosmic deity is just rolling in the god damn aisles…

I’d normally be upset about this
But currently I am in a curiously good mood

I wonder why…

*Hotbox: (noun)

A hotbox is an air-tight room or vehicle that contains one or more pot-smokers smoking one or more joints. The exhaled smoke and the smoke coming from the joint, unable to escape, circulates and thus is breathed in and is not wasted. Smokers in a hotbox may find themselves totally fucked beyond the point of speech after about 30 minutes. Hotboxing is an event that requires some amount of planning, but ensures optimal weed usage.

Guy 1: "Dude, my parents are on holiday and we're gonna hotbox my bathroom!!"
Guy 2: "SWEEET!"


missrenie: (Default)

I haven't broke down...
just a couple of tears here and there.

I thought I was functioning and functioning well.  Work, massage, exercise, social life, water intake, weekly chores...

One of my weekly chores is grocery shopping.  I decided to treat myself to trader joes and whole foods.  I came home toting two reusable cloth bags stocked with greens and goodies and went directly to the  fridge to put them away... but I couldn't.

I couldn't because they wasn't any space for them

There wasn't any space for them because I still had food in the fridge from last week

Which was odd because I haven't gone out to eat lately.

I dropped the bags on the floor and sat down infront of the fridge to think while my roomate's pitbull Tank decided whether or not he liked fresh my fresh burdock root… he didn’t


The numbers in my head just didn’t add up and I had to resort to pen and paper to figure out just what I had been eating for the past two weeks.  Turns out there were whole days where I didn’t eat at all.  And most days I had homemade hummus and veggies, no breakfast, no dinner…

This at least explains the reason why I have been so light headed


Some how I had swung from miss compulsive over eater to miss missing meals regularly.

The disturbing thing was that I wasn’t disturbed.


So I talked to Dre

And I figured out

That I am trying to end all my toxic relationships, all my controlling relationships, all my limiting relationships… including my oft fucked up relationship with food.


So last night I tried again.

I sat on the couch with a small container of roasted veggies and after three bites I broke down crying.  Really crying…


Me crying,

fucking sobbing into a bowl of shitake mushrooms for christ sakes!!

I gave up, drank a liter and a half of water and called it a night.


This morning I went to the Dr. to see about my ankle and found out that I dropped 3 more pounds over the weekend.  It’s not like I can’t stand to lose the weight.  But I don’t want to give myself a complex in the process…  I really don’t need another one.


I made it through the meal today...mushrooms and all.  Even though every time I reached for the bowl I ended up grabbing the water bottle instead… it took me an hour to eat.



(fucking sigh)


missrenie: (Default)

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