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)

Sometimes I look at you and I wonder how it happened


I wonder if you see it as mystical and as magical as I do.  I wonder if you notice how everything had to come into synergy for us to be the way we are with each other now.


For the better part of a decade I thought I knew what love was.  It was tolerance, sacrifice, not kicking the other person when they were down.  It was caring for, cleaning up after, pushing and pulling and changing drastically for the "us", the unit, the team.  I thought that love was achieving the impossible.  That love didn't happen every day  so it had to be held onto, maintained, protected and kept guilelessly pure even if the vessel rotted around it. 


I thought it was convoluted.




You've shown me that I was terribly wrong

Love is simple.

Painfully simple


You do not protect and maintain  it.  IT protects and maintains you. It purifies you and give you a hope with which you can achieve the impossible.  It gives you the ability to endure and change.  To yield instead of pull... to push so gently that dust remains unsettled while breaking through an immovable mountain.


It is the honesty to tell each other the truth even if you are down, to give everything you have while sacrificing nothing.

It is perpetual motion while standing perfectly still


It is not romantic

or at least not nearly as romantic as I was lead to believe

It is real

It is blissfully mundane and in that lies it magic

Love happens everyday... that's fucking important to remember so I'll type it again.  Love happens everyday.


It's the warm hand adjusting the seam of your black fishnet stockings, or the careful yet ample application of glitter spray to a nervous, giggly body.  It's the battle cry of "Vajazzle" and "I live" 

It's a tolerated snore in your ear or drool on your shoulder


It's in reconnection and forgiveness. 

It's a shared night that we may never talk about again but think about every-time we see each other and smile. 


It's a bag of snap peas you didn't have to get

the extra tip you gave

or refused to take. 


It's the in following text:

"Where you at bitch? Dead in a ditch?  I haven't hear from you since go was a child"

It's telling me I have something stuck between my two front teeth.


It's taking my car and forcing me to call in sick when I am.  It's reminding me of me when I have lost myself.  You remember the little things and you are present for the big ones.


It's your breath against my neck at 2am


the sound of your voice over the phone at midnight


It's the open  invite to dinner or lunch or breakfast even though I never quite seem to have the time.


It's letting me feel safe enough to painfully vulnerable and trusting me to be powerfully strong for you.


It's letting go

It's refusing to let go


It's in seeing my faults and filling those empty spaces with your own unique perfection and allowing me the privilege of doing the same for you.


Thank you

I'm a better person

because of you~~~

missrenie: (Default)
"They're everywhere" You state
"Who" I ask
"Those kids... "

I pause and look up at you.  You are grimacing slightly.  It is painfully cute and I want to laugh.  
"You do know what we are doing right... I mean... seriously"
"This is different"  you snort  almost indignantly
"This is childish" 

A tiny ring rises up from the bin.
"Hmmm that's too early are you setting them right?"
"I think so... probably not"
"The trick is to turn to the ten and then back down to the five"

I do as you say but I know I mess up on some... I'm too busy stealing glances at you. We work in tandem.  We work in silence.  I stop occasionally to place my ear to the bin. It's ticking like a bomb and buzzing like hive and sizzling like a choir full of kids sucking on poprocks during a quiet prayer.  I notice some women looking at us funny but it doesn't matter. 

I'm riding on the wings of your high.

One of mine go off early again and I apologize.  You smile.  You grab my hand and weave your fingers through mine while muttering something about spatulas.   We are browsing two aisles away when the first of the multicolored egg timers go off.  I think it is another mistake until it is quickly followed by another and another.  I nearly bite my own tongue. I think I am going to explode from holding in the laughter and the embarrassment.  I turn into you, wanting to hide my face in your chest. 

"Keep it together." you whisper.
"I can't" I manage to wrestle the worlds out. 

My face hurts and I know I am smiling from ear to ear.  When I look up at you you seem to be having just as hard a time.  So we make our retreat to textiles.  I would have run but you kept us at a very non obvious brisk walk while I giggled and stared at the floor.

"They are going to haaaaaaaaate us"
"Yep" I agree
I'm sure our little adventure aggravated some and amused others but I don't care.  I'm in the moment.  I'm mindful in an almost Buddhist way  feeling my  heart tick like a bomb, buzz like a hive and sizzle like a choir full of kids sucking on poprocks during a quiet prayer.

While all those timers were going off
time stopped
it stopped
it slipped
it tripped back
and suddenly I'm a child again
just a giddy girl
holding the hand of a boy
with lips turned up in a riotous grin
that's half mischievous
and all pure pleasure
missrenie: (Default)

For those of you who don't know we are kinda spoiled out here in California.  Some people out here are actually shocked to realize that racism still exists. When I recount stories from my childhood they cringe and say ooooooommmmmgeeeeeeee seriously dude.  They are rather dismayed to find that in certain areas of the United States your life expectations, habits, and activities are still dictated by the color of your skin. There is a whole list I could go into but near the top of that list is dating outside of the race.



me: Sup


me: Haven't heard from you in a while

~~:Yeah... hey you really dating a white boy

me: ummmm yeah

~~:Yeah so you couldn't date me but you could date him

me: ummmm yeah

~~:is it because he's white

me: ummmm no it's because he doesn't suck... you know... like you.





me: Hello


me: Omgeee I haven't heard from you in forever!!!

~~:Yeah how your people and them

me: Good, where yah at darlin

~~:so so... so I heard that you are dating a white boy

me: You mean man

~~:Yeah "The Man" and I was thinking that maybe its just a phase like when you were a lesbian

me: I was never a lesbian

~~:I knew it!

me:No I never thought I was a lesbian I thought I  was bisexual

~~:oh well yeah that phase

me:It wasn't a phase I was just confused

~~:Yah you were

me: I wasn't lesbian or bisexual I'm totally pansexual

~~:Pah-what?!  What the hell is that?  Is that even a word? That's some shit you just made up.  Look whatever... just think about what you're getting into.




me: What


me: What do you want

~~:I got a joke for you

me: Keep it

~~:Aww come on it's quick... knock knock

me: (silence)

~~:Knock Knock

me: (silence)

~~:Knock Knock

me: (sigh) Who's there


me: Guess who

~~:Guess Who's coming to dinner!!!!! Bahahahahahahahaha

me: Damn't you suck!!! I'm hanging up!!!!


Okay so far and to date I've been accused of giving up on my black brothers, conspiring to "wash the line" (non-withstanding the fact that my ovaries are most likely completely useless) giving into a slave mentality and hating my own blackness. This is a complete double standard. 


I didn't take this much heat for dating a white woman.


~le sigh

anyways... I kinda expected all this so no big deal.  It's comical and something to blog about.  I was bouncing along pretty fine.  I had pre planned witty retorts tucked in all my pockets and a mug full of fuck you for the next person who was gonna preach to me about my failure as a black woman.  I was ready for anything


Anything except that old woman.


There is this woman I bump into sometimes... she calls me fat alot and gives me oranges.  I think this means she cares about me.   You maybe wondering why I subject myself to an old lady that verbally abuses me for my size then glares at me until I eat but she is totally the bees knees, gives great advice and is the exact kinda fuck-odd-devil-may-care-crazy I inspire to be at her age. She always asks me about my love life.  She is worried about me finding love since I am so fat.  She thinks I'll die old and alone which is really awful since I'm such a nice girl.   When I told her that I was dating she asked if he was fat too and I told her no.  She thought this was good because I would lose weight with him.  She then asked what he looked like and I told her, eyes, height, haircolor...

"Is he white"


"Ohhhh you will have such beautiful babies!!!!!"


I nearly chocked on my orange. She went on excitedly for five minutes about how lovely  our interracial children would be and how she wanted pictures.  She even gave me an extra orange.  The whole conversation left me feeling off balanced.  It was one of the few times I was stunned to silence.  I know she meant it as a compliment...I think, but we just started dating and she is already plotting our chromosomal mash-up exchange and outcome.  Besides aren't all babies supposed to be beautiful? Wait I can make that statement with a straight face...


I think



Anywaysssssssssss, when I told him about it he kinda had the same reaction... "Did you thank her for planning the rest of our lives?"


She's not the only one who said that either.


At first I felt the need to say/scream  that my all black babies would be lovely and so would his all white babies. I think its hilarious that the people who support us so much that they want us to reproduce are making me more uncomfortable than the nay sayers. So I had to chill out and think about it.  Maybe when they see people who have love for each other despite the divide of ethnic and social differences it gives them hope for the world coming together as a whole... or maybe they really do have a fetish for multicultural children.


We were at Trader Joes gathering supplies to make a salad with. 

I suggested the white mushrooms because of the low price.

"The crimni have better coloring, same price"  And he grabs the brown mushrooms from the shelf.  I immediately become hypersensitive and hyper-aware... I even look around to see if anyone noticed.

"I think the white mushrooms have just as good coloring you know" I say defensively...  I may have pouted even.


He pauses and gives me an odd look... the one where he tilts his head to the side and kinda leans forward as if he is making sure that he is understanding what he is seeing.  I instantly stiffen and want to check my nose for buggers.  He pulls back and puts the brown mushrooms in the basket "You wanna know that I think... "  He says as he slips his fingers through mine and steers me toward checkout "I think that if the crimini mushrooms and the white mushrooms got together they would have beautiful babies."

missrenie: (Default)
About a year ago I met two women. They taught me alot about the art of shamelessly celebrating who I am and fearlessly flaunting the fabulous woman I can be.

Juicy D. Light, Kitty von Quim its been one hell of a year. We've braved New York, we've been to Reno. We have shared sorrow and success. We've gained sisters Frida B., Lucia N. Habitions, Silva Dagger, and Olivia. Now we are about to take it to a whole new level. I'm not gonna lie. I am nervous and I love it
...almost as much as I love you two.

missrenie: (Default)
Started listening to this
found it a bit depressing
but then I made it to the end :)

missrenie: (Default)
I’m on the verge of mental breakdown.

This little inconvenience (which is all manner of interesting on its lonesome) transforms into something of a Shakespearean tragedy when you account for the fact that my mind is one of those needy cry with me sons of bitches because it is taking my body and my car with it.

I figured I was headed for a breakdown last Tuesday when I went into work. I just felt off, scattered, and paranoid. A feeling I simply detest especially if a herbal high is not directly involved or the cause of the pandemonium. As soon as my brain processed the possibility that it was becoming unhinged it began a complete shut down of all systems in order to maintain its integrity.

By Wednesday evening I was up to a 102 degree fever complete with snot, headache, cough and chills. Sonya being the darling that she is came over to take care of me but she had a rather rough week/end herself. I tricked her into going to bed and spent the next three hours doing laundry and being in formed by some ex actress and British chick about the benefits of this brand new body shaper that makes all your skinny clothes fit your fat body.

So now I feel sick, fat, more than self conscious

And vaguely militant against these bitches who are selling a false and temporary solution to a problem that is not as simple as aesthetics but goes far deeper into post traumatic stress syndrome from a screwy childhood and fucked up start as an adult.

Besides I’m fat!!!

I’m well and intimately acquainted with every roll, divot and curve of my body and a small portion of San Francisco is as well. No bodyshaper in the ‘verse is gonna take back or change that…. and as Kathryn’s bright shiny button says “Kiss my Fat Ass”

I almost bought one in my delirium…. a body shaper not a button.

Thank the goddess I was broke.


Still feverish… but really in need of soup. I decide to haul myself and my 101 fever down to the local Whole foods for that organic brand of tlc. I use wipes on everything I touch since I don’t want to curse anyone with this disease and everything seems a little bit brighter. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the successful venture. On my way back my car decided to flip me a fuck you and begins doing a bump and grind while groaning wildly …. Also something I simply detest if me + sex is not involved or the direct cause of it.

I make it home
Park it
Curse it
Have a coughing fit (on account of the cursing)
Lock both key and groceries in it
Kick it
Fight with the pass code entry
Cry over it
Curse it more
Beg it (that works)
Retrieve my parcels
Slam the door and spit on it.
Split the grocery bag.
Sob a little until I am giggling

Decide I have neither the mental capacity nor the money to deal with it and drag my feverish deranged soundlessly laughing manically ass inside.

Thank goodness Jerimyah brings me tlc and soup soon thereafter.
Later that night I loose my precious flash drive that stores my life and scandal.


Sitting still is a certified bitch. Neil was right maybe I do have some weird disease that keeps me from staying in one spot. If it wasn’t for Jerimyah I would have probably reorganized my writing, re organized my closet by color, cleaned the refrigerator, sweep and moped all the floors, thrown out half of everything I own since I have not used any of it in the last three months. Instead I take a few showers and dream about my roll in the zombie apocalypse.

There is a 30 year old cop involved and I decided to bed him right before the heads started to roll but just as he leans me back onto an amazingly soft bed (amazing because were trapped into military encampment) I get excited and wake myself up with a fucking coughing fit. When I fall back asleep I skip straight to the “Oh this shit just got real” part and in the end have to cut his head off. … without ever having the opportunity to ride it first.

Needless to say I wake up a tad bit put out, ornery and now horny but the fever broke... so yay!


Spent the day in the shower trying to breathe
Spent the afternoon in bed trying to orgasm
Dinner out and movie with Mister …saw 9.
Walked out in total need of an upper.
But with time patience and the right touch achieved on hell of an orgasm not climax fucking orgasm!!!!


Mister took me for a much needed airing out at the Flea market, quick visit to San Francisco and then He dropped me at Burlesque Rehearsals in Oakland which left me whipped… but when I got home I couldn’t sleep. Instead I had the great idea to do a ceremonial smudge(spiritual smoke cleansing originating from the Native Tribes of this country) myself and my room with sage.

Note to self: smoke is not helpful if your lungs are still encased in ick.


Dependant for rides from friends and loved ones until the Falcon gets fixed.
Made an appointment with the OBGYN.
It seems that that wonderful orgasm I had been a jonesing for has knocked out my IUD. It’s all bleeding, cramping and uncomfortable and every time I think about my elusive unicorn of an orgasm my cervix cinches with wondrous remembered pleasure and sends me into a semi spiral of non consensual what the holy fuck.

I had no idea that I thought about sex so much.

This has to come to a close or ill end up like those fucking rats who went off cheese due to electrocution.

I’m still stepping and still smiling…
Because what does not kill me makes me stronger, crying isn’t getting shit done, crumbled cookies, spilled milk , mercury retrograde, Saturn return, blah blah blah. But really
Fuck you trouble… and thank you too.

I realize that I am blessed enough to be surrounded by a loving patchwork family of friends that have my back, will hold my hair away and hug me even if I’m covered in ick. Thank you trouble for bending me gracelessly over a barrel without the lube to make me notice, appreicate and fully understand this.

So currently I’m too fucking busy being grateful and emotionally overwhelmed to tears and giggles by the support of friends and loved ones to truly let temporary trouble, car problems, mental break downs, missing scandal a 24 hour financial glitch and a fucked up cervix darken my day.

Besides all that sage and sick left me with a voice like Jennifer Tilly and that has to be worth the all trouble by itself ;)
missrenie: (Default)

It was a hard thing

and if I was not so exhausted I would have fought myself. 


It was a hard thing

and if I was not so defeated  I would have broken both tooth and nail  trying to swim in this shit filled river called denial proclaiming all the while that it smelled of fresh milk and roses.


It was a hard thing… but I did it.

I pulled myself out.



Now I feel hollowed out and worn out. 

Now I feel groggy and yet oh so electric

Awakening from that drugged stupor.

Aching as my blood clears itself form the heroine I injected into it. 

Poison self poured into my own open veins visa vi your touch, your voice, your face, your body.




I was still willing, wanting and waiting until I realized how afraid you were.

Until I realized how afraid you have always been.


I deserve to be loved with the same ferocity with which I love, with which I live.  To accept less is a slap in the face to everything I have accomplished over the last year.  It is a direct mockery to every sacrifice I have made.  It is disservice to every person that has helped raise me into this state of being.


It is a hypocritical crime of the worst kind against all those people who I have told repeatedly to take their power back.


I took mine back

Its this foreign feral thing

I’m swagging from head to toe.

It’s in my shoes and I’m stepping taller

It’s wrapped around my waist and I’m standing straighter

It’s a crown on my brow and its making me glow


I’m re-incorporating it into my non-corporal self


I’m putting it in a special place


That place where you once were.


And you’ll never fucking touch it again.

missrenie: (Default)

I am happy for my friends whose marriages were upheld and respected.
and I am furious beyond words that the marriages that were to be can not come to pass at least not right now. 

I believed with all my heart that prop 8 would be seen as the deplorable, disrespectful, demeaning, segregationist piece of shit it is. 

I believed with all my heart that there was indeed a division between church and state.

I believed with all my heart that if IOWA could do it then CALIFORNIA sure the hell could.

I thought that people would see that this isn't just about marriage that it is about Civil Rights.  Just like it was all those years ago with a person of my ethnicity could not do certain things or marry certain people.

I thought that people would see this as a president for control.  That if they could do this with marriage that they could do this with other things too.


I think that what happened today is WRONG

and I belive it is FAR FROM OVER!!!

erase the H8

missrenie: (Default)
So Melo and I went to the beach and I brought my fender and she brought her congo.  It was a beautiful hot as hell day and with her encouragement we made this recording of a song that I wrote I think I sound nasally and the wind is blowing hard but I'm really glad we did it.
now I just need to figure out how to play the other nine songs I wrote :)

Thanks Melo!! xoxo

missrenie: (Default)

missrenie: (Default)
I've been acting weird lately...
well more than usual :)

I didn't quite realize it until I talked to Dre this afternoon.  And it really hit me again when I was writing an email to Kaelyn so I decided to put part of that e-mail here as some sort of explanation.

Pantheacon took alot out of me and put alot into me too.
It was beautiful, spending so much time with like minded and open minded magickal people.  I am completely beyond words and still have alot to process.  It was heavan on earth, it was perfection with all of it's flaws, it was silent and safe introspection.  It was exciting and encompassing orgasm... I guess I am not as beyond words as I thought :)

I short.  I feel like I hit a fucking wall!!

Mundy life sucks right now and I feel like a jilted lover left with the wedding ring as a memento of the good times and a cruel reminder that there is little promise of a second go round.

The ring being the henna mandala on my left hand that is still hanging on strong
and the jilted lover being a dramatic exaggeration since I am planning on going to events happening all through the year from now on...

I'm addicted our magickal love energy.  I love us!
Where else can someone say I am a polyamorus, pansexual, pagan, kinky, geek and have three quarters of the room say "so join the coven... bend over and let me spank you."

I want to write page after page of stuff about this event.  But like I told Kaelyn... dear wonderful Kaelyn... I'm brain dead and energy drained and caught in a mild and hilariously frustrating depression over the end of con. 

Maybe I should not have skipped that energy shielding class afterall!!!
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: (Default)

Last weekends sex-capades  left me all fucked up in the head.

After talking to a few level headed friends who suggested the following:


*Intimacy is a thing of perception.  What you interpreted as love making may have been his standard fair.  Remember hun you’re ass to elbow into some weird multi-favored shit… normal maybe starting to taste exotic to you.

 *There are guys who just want to please women you know (this was stated to me very defensly).  Doesn’t mean he’s in love with you just that he likes making love and until he asks you to formally be his girly then
A: just enjoy it with no emotional attachments
B: stop fucking/ making love to him

 *You’re not in love you’re in stupid.  I think you should come over so I can slap you.  Maybe give you that some sense you’re sorely lacking.

 *This guy is a stickler for rules.  And he is breaking his personal rules for you.  He may have real feelings for you but is freaking out about logistics.  Or he doesn’t and he’s using the logistics as an excuse. 

 *Maybe its your body’s way of telling you to slow the hell down you dirty whore.  Maybe you actually want one man and not three hundred. 

 *You… one guy, vanilla sex, no hair pulling or strap-ons?  Who the hell are you trying to kid.  You’re delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.  Take a nap, get thee to a dungeon and talk to me in the morning.



I decide to take him for another run just to be figure out if: 
A: that I am in deep deep like with him
B: that I was delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.

So last night I’m clutching the edge of the stove top and leaning dangerously close to an almost whistling teapot as he grinds against me enthusiastically from the back.  It’s hard to pour tea when someone’s biting on your neck but we both really needed it.  The tea I mean. Turns out that I gave him a nasty viral throat infection last Sunday that I wasn’t aware I had at the time.

We cuddle, drink our tea.  And I wonder if sleeping with him again is the best course of action.  Laying in his arms with my head against his chest felt too good.  But  then I figure that any guy who likes my herbal tea, doesn’t flinch or look at me crazy when I tell him about the coven and still thinks I’m sexy after serving him up a slice of the special hell I’ve been in since Wednesday  is worth another roll in the hay. 

Besides it would be like kissing after we both ate garlic… “a negating effect since I’ve already infected him”... this is his theory.  I suggest giving him a massage.  I actually do give him a professional massage with no hanky panky.

 I inform him of his body issues.  Suggest a course of action and I can barely get the lotion away before it’s all “hacha and whoopee”. 

And this time I screamed louder when I came.
This time I went into with a sense humor instead of heartbreak and you know what, maybe my logic is skewed but it worked out in my favor anyway.  I figured out that what I've got is something far better than a fuck buddy.  I have a love buddy.  Which is kinda like a fuck buddy but better. 

See my love buddy cares about my day, my life and when he is going to see me again, he wants to know what I am thinking, and how he can please me. He teaches me to load and shoot winchester rifles and remembers the things that I say and sometimes peer pressures me into eating beef.
I care about my love buddies goals and pursuits, whether or not he made it home okay, I know the names of his siblings and that when he was 12 he had a blond patch of hair... just one patch admist all that brown  and how a specific shade of green turns his eyes really really blue... and I make him laugh.  Alot. 

I really like him
and I really enjoy my time with him. We both enjoy our time with each other, moaning and laughing, touching and tickling. Holding eachother and breathing.

There was no embarrassment as he massaged a horrendous cramp out of my left thigh while kissing my right knee.  And in the after glow as we cuddled under my blanket I told him about my mother and he told me about his.    

I saw the pain in his eyes when he spoke of the cancer that killed her.


He knows my secrets.
He’s seen me at my worst and best
He likes me just as wild and free as I am.
He hasn’t asked me to change in any way.

His secrets are silent but on the surface.
And at he worst he is harsh on himself at his best he is passionately focused
He is controled and displined, intelligent and giving
I wouldn't want him to change in any way

His hands were warm as he touched me and I told him so.

He replied with “warm hands cold heart” 
I cupped my hands around my mouth and breathed out hot air against his chest.   I was smiling with childish satisfaction as looked back up at him.   He was laughing, the lines around his eyes deepening and within them I saw that struggle that hesitation but he drew me closer and kissed me anyway and rubbed his nose against mine.

So I love him.

So I  make love to him.

But I'm not in love with him.  See I’ve learned the lesson of the tree.  How some people are roots and stay forever, how some people are branches and can fall away, how some people are leaves and are for a season only.  There is danger in trying to turn a leaf to root.


Intuition tells me  that he is a leaf. 


And that’s alright. 

I accept that. 

I’ll revel in this season. Because right now he’s a little island of sanity within all the insanity of this amazing and awkward adventure I call my life. If he ends up touching me like that for only a little while…If we end up touching each other like that only for a little while then so be it. 


Because he has touched me


In a positive way
that will remain with me
long after he himself  is gone~~~

missrenie: (Default)
Dear Mr. Obama,

    I want to trust you.  I want to believe you.  I want to hold your hand and have you walk besides me.  I want you.  You said all the right things to me in all the right ways.  You promised to not use me but lift me up, you promised to help me find a way to feed and educate  my children, pay my bills, soothe torrid tensions with my neighbors and provide for me so that I could provide for myself.

I’m broken but you already know that don’t you.  I have been ravaged and torn and screwed over and blamed.  I have been shamed and twisted and lied to and about.  I have been raped and you come along… from no where and you tell me to stand up, to open up, to love again.

It’s unfair of me but I desperately want you to fix me. To wrap your arms around me and make me believe that this change you speak of is possible.  That I will not only be able to heal from this but that I will be able to heal others too.  You know that is a dream of mine don’t you?

Anias Nin said the following: I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.~~

Mr Obama I am that woman and I hope by all things sacred that you are that man
Don’t leave me
Don’t fuck me

Yours very truly,
Ms Amerika

On Flying

Nov. 11th, 2008 12:15 pm
missrenie: (Default)
You'll soar he said simply his hand in mine
How do you know that?  I whispered back choking on my tears
Because I know you... it's what you do.

I  now understand Icarus...

how he could forget the stern warnings of his father and try to touch the greatest star in the heavens.


I can feel heat and warmth,

deep pleasure and shattering pain


I am aware of touch and taste and sound and me

I can feel


and I want to feel it all

the sun against my face

the wind below my body


my heart a pounding warriors drum within my breast

so loud sometimes that it frightens me

and makes me fold my wings for a moment

free fall back into what the world considers a comfortable norm


I remember a promise I made to myself when I left.

To Untame
To Rename
To Reclaim me


I struggle I resist I push back against the glass ceiling

and there is a rain of sparkling glittering diamond shards around me

His accuracy is a bitter sweet taste in my mouth

As I break through

As I fly beyond

As my mind, my spirit, my body join as one




It's a good day to kiss the sun



The list

Oct. 10th, 2008 11:20 am
missrenie: (Default)

You should write a list. 


I inform him without looking at him that I have no intention of writing down every bad thing that happened in my relationship.


I went back to typing.  A few moments had passed before I realized that he had not replied to my remark, nor had he moved.  He just stood there looking at me.  I turned my chair to face him and I looked up him with what I imagined to be defiance. 

He stared back at me with all the annoying impassivism of a vulcan but when he spoke it was low, thoughtful and without condescension.


You should write a list.

-I don’t want to

I understand it hurts. But when you see him again.  And you are going to see him again.  You may do something…


Less intelligent than your norm

-Stupid… like forget everything that happened between us and go to bed with him, get involved again.

Less intelligent than your norm…  You’re a wonderful woman and any man would be a fool to mess up with you.  He doesn’t deserve you. 

-That’s a nice thing to say.  But I’ve done things wrong too you know.  You only know my side of it... I’m not as wonderful and deserving as you think I am.

I’ve been where you are right now. Write the list. 


The whole time he had never raised his voice.  And while I could barely look at him he had never taken his eyes off of me.  I felt naked, I felt weak, I felt guilty, I felt undeserving, I felt embarrassed.  I felt like an idiot.
Partially because I was defending, holding on to, believing in a relationship that almost left me ruined.
Partially because it was unrealistically dramatic,  unsettlingly romantic and uncomfortably exposing  to be talking to him like this.
When I was able to face him directly the impassive mask was gone.  And in its place was a look of genuine concern and I knew what it was like to be completely disarmed and alarmed at the same time.

He wasn’t being nice
He wasn't being sweet
He wasn't trying to collect on a rebound

He was being honest


I wrote the list
It took over two weeks
It was an ugly ordeal
In the end I had to rip out half my heart  in order to drag myself from this river of denial I had been drowning in. 

I’m not used to the air yet and while it’s still hard to breathe sometimes…

                                                                      its no where near as hard as it used to be.


missrenie: (Default)


It's easy to write about myself. 

Just myself.

It's therapy.

At one point in my life I went crazy from keeping too many secrets...

I don't want to have secrets. 


Secrets turn to lies and headaches so I just get it all out.  I live head deep in exhibitionism because if anyone likes me I want it to be for me.  With every flaw, for every ill shaped notion, for every crude word and weakness.  I do this because while I love acting I hate pretending.  I hate people pretending to be something they are not.  You get close to them and find out that they are someone completely different.  I don't want to do go through that.  So I don't do it. 


I live out loud.

I don't have secrets… I have the occasional delusion but I don't have secrets.

Just myself


It's easy to write about myself.

But I can't write this without writing about you.  So I will write it to you.  Even though we've already had this conversation months ago.  I will write it to you. And if you read this… when you read this I hope you forgive me. Just like you've forgiven every flaw, every ill shaped notion, every crude word and weakness. 


 It's been heaven, it's been hell.  It's been wonderful, it's been a war and there are casualties on both sides.  I need space and time and healing. 


You're beautiful to me… did you know that?  Did I tell you often enough? 

I love you even though I am leaving.  I really truly deeply do.  I think I always will.


We laugh now…easily.  Did you notice?  Ever since we talked and agreed not to emo out about this.  We agreed that since there is not enough space on the cross for both of us neither of us was allowed to go up there.  Cause it wasn't fair. 


What we've done to ourselves wasn't fair

What we've done to eachother wasn't fair


You know what else isn't fair... having to explain this to your mom.  To our other friends, to our family.  Sitting there as they shake their heads and say "I told you so" or "What a shame... we really thought you two would make it" or "You should have married eachother sooner and then you would not be going through this" or "Whose to blame?" and the worst one...the absolute worst fucking one. "Don't you love each other any more?"


But between you and me...

Are you excited?

Are you terrified?

Are you sad?


I am.

Excited about my own place, my own stuff, finally dear goddess MY OWN


Terrified about going it alone, stepping away from the ledge, letting go of the edge and trying to swim, daring to fly without your hand in mine, without your voice in my ear, without the safety of your net.


Sad because if I change too much if you change too much,   you or me or we may not want us anymore…


I dread the conversations we haven't even had yet.  In the future.  A year or two from now.  If you pass me by with someone on your arm and wave at me and smile that sweet smile as you introduce us to each other.  Would I blush and stutter, would I compare myself to her, would I be insanely jealous or genuinely happy… would I have someone too?



I don't blame you… well not anymore

I hope you don't blame me.


This is an ending

This is an beginning

We bring this chapter to us to a close

And we open a new book on ourselves.



one day

we can be a part of each other's story.


missrenie: (Default)

November 2011

1314151617 1819
202122 23242526


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 11:05 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios