Validation is a powerful drug. I used to feed on the positive impressions of others, consistently craving more praise. I was an approval junkie. Like a hungry goat at a petting zoo, I would climb the fence for a handful of shitty pellets. I am proud to say that I no longer depend on validation, as most people do. Although it certainly is nice to indulge from time to time.

It’s strange how the ego responds to a compliment. Powerful feelings can emerge when someone makes you feel like you matter, even if you don’t believe them. Like feeding a caged beast, the ego grows hungry for more. Starved for attention, he will eventually bite the hand that once fed him. I am very blessed, as my beast had been starved for so long that he shriveled up and died. Now I have no beasts to answer to, just an empty cage and the bones of the neglect that made me who I am. My ego has freed herself from the shackles of validation. This has been my reward for ascension in self love.

And that’s what I think he liked about me. The other girls will come back with hands out, begging. I came back with my hands full, giving. And I hope I showed him something new. But like a flower, wilted over from too much water, imbalance can lead to detriment. It was the contrast that pulled me in, but the contradiction that pushed me away. I’m grateful as I’m always starving for intensity and he did make that happen. But that indifference was a bitter follow through. I’m not built for shallow water. He is incapable of submitting to depth.

It can be agonizing to deal with a hungry ego when my perspective is through the eyes of my soul. And I wonder if love is nothing more than the act of feeding each other’s monsters. And if I have no monster, surely I could never understand love. And I never know what the hell to do with all this freedom. And I can’t help but to wonder if I am the only one here.


Writing Material

“What is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly.” ~Morticia Adams

I went to see that ambiguous man again last night. I had allowed him to read my last post, which was obviously about him. And then I was invited back to gather some more writing material. I was not disappointed.

It’s a little unnerving, how good the sex is, especially considering that he has Mars in Gemini. I’ve intentionally avoided this placement before. I’ve always advised women to avoid this placement of Mars.

What I’m learning now, is that Mars in Gemini is so much more than a need for detachment and variety. This energy is all about logistics. This guy knows how to fuck. He’s got it down to a science, making good use of angles and tension. He has mastered that delicate blend of dominance with respect. He is the only man that I’ve ever been with, who makes condom sex feel amazing. And because he’s careful, I really don’t care about his need for variety and detachment. My philosophy on life is to do what feels good. Right now, that’s him.

He has my mostly undivided attention. I have his slightly more divided attention. He called me today, seemingly concerned about this imbalance in our situation. He is not capable of monogamy, and he has hurt people because of that. There was a sense of fear in his voice, because he knows that he will eventually hurt me. I think he underestimates the level of armor that I have wrapped around my heart.

I don’t worry about the future or dwell in the past. All I know is that right now, his value as a person exceeds his value as a prospect. He does not waste my time. So far, he’s made very good use of it.

Last night, as I was leaving his apartment after an impromptu dick appointment, he pulled me against the wall by my hair. He leaned his naked body up against me, and kissed me like he was going off to war or some shit and my mind fell into a million tiny pieces. Every girl should be getting kissed like that. Knowing him, every girl probably is.

A Beautiful Mess

“What a beautiful mess you’ve made of things,” he said to me as I laid back to catch my breath. I’m not really sure if he was talking about the messed up sheets, or something more abstract, like his life. I didn’t respond. It didn’t matter to me. I just savored the moment of this man’s bewitching and poetic mind.

He is not an easy guy to figure out. His apartment had the essence of minimalism. A couch, a television, a bed. There were no pictures on the wall, no dining room table. Just stacks of books and the necessities. His very unique mind was the sexiest thing about him, though his body was divine perfection. He looked as if DaVinci himself had sculpted his torso. His smile was enchanting. I fell into a trance of intoxicating rhapsody, watching his dark skin all tangled up with mine. We were the same in many ways. We were also very different. To me, there is nothing more beautiful than contrast.

Just as the stars had suggested, he is a walking paradox of push and pull. My head rested on his chest, falling into a deep rest to the sound of his unattainable heartbeat. The rhythm of complexity, one of my favorite songs. I can’t help but to wonder if my own unattainable heart will ever let down her guard.

He was a beautiful mess long before I came along. He’ll stay a beautiful mess long after I am gone.

Juggling Gigolos

Uranus just moved into my eighth house. So the unexpected little surprises that were popping up in my relationship house before, are now popping up in my sex life. To take full advantage of the most electric planet moving into my house of intimacy, I decided to give online dating another go round.

Last night, I had crazy kinky phone sex with three different dudes at the same time. One guy has a foot fetish, so I had to include my feet in all of the pictures. I pulled a muscle from trying to balance the copy and paste feature of my iPhone in one hand while using my other hand to partake in all of the fun. On top of that, I was trying to get my feet in the same picture as my tits, all while staying mentally focused enough to send vague enough messages that applied to everyone. I guess you could say I was juggling gigolos. I may be a little hungover on cheap validation.

That being said, it was fun. I needed some fun in my life, so I created some. And it’s been a really cool experience to go back to the viscous hell of online dating with the impenetrable armor of my brand new perspective. It’s a brand new ballgame now that I’ve shaken that monkey of codependency off my back. The old me would pin up my very best pictures and then sit deep in my own anxiety when guys would reach out. I would spend hours, sometimes days, talking to & trying to impress douche bags while eagerly searching for any breadcrumb reason to love them.

That shit is all gone now. I don’t give a single tiny fuck about impressing anyone. This is me. Take or leave me… IF I approve of your ass. My standards are on point these days. Like me right now, they are very high. None of the phone sex guys made the cut… but I have a couple of guys on my line who did and I am very much looking forward to the adventures I’ve lined up for myself. I think seven years of Uranus in my eighth house sounds like a really good time. I’m just going to keep swiping right.

Different Strokes

I had a reunion with some way back, old school, neighborhood friends from the elementary days.

We’re an odd bunch. One friend grew up in the most immaculate house in town. Her dad was always unusually quiet. Her mom was sweet and mostly progressive as a parent. She was in the “gifted child” class in school, but very down to earth. I used to roller skate in circles around her basement while MTV or Saturday Night Live blared in the back ground. Now she’s an eye doctor and lives in a castle with brand new corvettes in the garage and a kitchen that could be the centerfold for Good Housekeeping.

The other friend grew up right next door to her. She came from a large family in one of the most chaotic houses in town. They reminded me of the Beverly hillbillies, with a yard full of chained up hunting dogs and rusty old car parts everywhere. The front porch was always filled with piles of junk. They were the messiest, kindest, happiest people you would ever meet. She was the second to oldest of four. Now she’s married to a polygamist with three daughters of her own, and a wife who graduated high school just five years before she was born. She is still one of the kindest and happiest people I’ve ever met.

And then there’s me. I couldn’t help but to think about my humbled little life, passing my days in a double wide trailer. My fingers caressed the spiraling staircase bannister in my friend’s mansion, and I wondered what it would feel like to come home to this home. They had a hotel sized workout room, a home theater, a beautiful basement bar, and another wing that we didn’t even go into. She never wanted children. She has a couple of rescued greyhounds and a husband who obviously adores her. It was really beautiful, the life that she had built for herself.

The other girl shared stories about her very unique home life. Just a regular sized house, bursting at the seems with a big happy family. Three adults, three teenage daughters, a German man who followed the oldest girl home from college and all the boyfriends who stop in for a home cooked meal. She is surrounded by the kind of love and happiness that most people search for throughout their entire lives. Her life was blissfully beautiful as well.

And then there’s me. I have found a fierce contentment inside of this old trailer. I lay on my hammock every evening, after a very short day at work, doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do. My two beautiful daughters jump on the trampoline behind me. A soundtrack of giggling girls and chirping birds ride the waves of wind that rock me to ecstasy in the shade of my favorite poplar trees. I catch a buzz from my vape pen and thank the universe for all that I have. I am not rich. I have no lover to brag about. But I have the exact same life that I only ever dreamt about when I was twenty-two. My blessings came in the shape of absolute freedom.

How amazing is it, that three women who came from completely different backgrounds, and grew up into such different directions, can come together for a few hours of story telling and laughing until our cheeks hurt. Contrasting friendships are one of the sweetest things in life.


I had written a previous post , a while ago, about a fling that I shared with a very cute drug dealer. It didn’t bother me so much that he sold cocaine, as much as it bothered me that he did cocaine, and my attraction to him felt a lot like an addiction.

That being said, I adored him. He was a lot of fun to be around. He was sweet and caring. He charmed me, simply by being himself. Most importantly, he still holds the title of the very best dick I’ve ever had. His mars is exactly conjunct my South Node. What that means is that our sex life transcended time and space. Many astrologers would argue that he and I had been lovers in a past life. It’s one of the most powerful karmic ties in astrology. We also shared opposite nodes and a Moon/Pluto conjunction. This kind of synastry doesn’t happen very often. Walking away from that man was not easy. I was proud of myself for doing it, but it hurt just the same.

I have a routine for every guy that I date. I take them to my favorite place in the world. It’s a wildlife refuge that looks like a scene from National Geographic. And I watch these men’s faces as we explore the wilderness. Some guys will talk nonstop through the entire tour, and those guys never get invited back. Some guys just rush through it, and they don’t get invited back either. When I took the drug dealer through my refuge, he looked like a kid in a candy shop. He took pictures. He watched quietly for birds and deer. His eyes weren’t fixed on me, they were fixed on what I loved because he loved the same things. I could feel that he felt the same respect for nature that I have. He mentioned that trip to the refuge every single time I talked to him.

I liked every thing about this guy, except his addiction. And his height. He was a lot shorter than me, which was a deal breaker for every man I’ve ever met, except him. His personality made up for his height, and he was fucking adorable. He showed me new music, and it was really good stuff! It always seemed to thunder every time we were together. One time we were intimate while a tornado ripped through the neighborhood, and neither of us noticed because we were too enthralled in each other. We were good together. He always said sweet things to me, and it always felt genuine. He would make a point to call me and say he just wanted to listen to my voice. But I could always feel him being pulled into his social life, just as strongly as I was being pulled into him.

I ghosted on this drug dealer last August, just five months after our romance had begun. I have not seen or spoken to him since. As much as I liked him, and as heavy as the pull towards him felt, I knew that I had to walk away. It was the first time that I had ever walked away after my heart had been opened, but before my heart was ready to leave. My heart recognized something familiar and sacred in him, but my brain knew that I could never fix that man. I had to let him fix himself.

He reached out to me last week. It’s been nine months. He said he had a dream about us together at the refuge, and just had to try and talk to me. It’s so funny, because just a few days before, I had dreamt about another guy from my past and reached out to him. And I remember thinking that it felt really good to forget about that drug dealer and start to finally consider someone new.

It’s like the sandman and Cupid are in cahoots and fucking with me. The other guy is sweet, but his life seems to be falling apart at the moment. I’d love to help him, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t fix people anymore. The drug dealer seems to be getting his shit together, or at least trying to. But he also feels like quicksand to me. I got out once. I’m not so sure I could handle that again.

Pleasure and Pain

This hanging over of flesh is called a mother’s apron. I gained almost 90 pounds during my first pregnancy. My daughter barely weighed in with eight of them. A little bit of the gain was water and amniotic fluid. The rest was skin and fat, stretched out to grow another human into this wild world. When that human came out of my body, my belly collapsed, and then continued to grow as my lack of self love and nutritional knowledge got the best of me.

This is the most shameful thing about me, and also the most beautiful. This belly, which grew to feel like an actual spare tire, exists because every time my feelings were hurt, I ate sugar and I smoked a cigarette. My feelings were hurt a lot. I’ve always found myself in the presence of assholes. This belly is a trophy of the pain that I have endured in this human experience so far. And it also exists because I literally stretched myself out, to make space for another person, a very special person. And then I did it again six years later. There’s nothing more beautiful than motherhood. This belly is a sacred portal, where my children manifested into my life.

This belly is so meaningful to me. And yet, I despise it’s existence. I constantly shift, layer and crop out my pictures, in an attempt to hide it. Sex has always been unnerving, especially during the nude reveal with a new partner… I hate trying to feel sexy in this body. I thought men would run in shame, until one day when I saw the video of a man walking up behind a rusty old car on the side of the street. The car was running, but parked and spit firing. The man unzipped his pants, squatted down, and proceeded to fuck the rusty old muffler. Men will literally fuck anything.

In August of last year, I experienced a major change in perspective. Certain events culminated in my life, which led me to an epiphany about energy and boundaries. To describe that epiphany is still a daunting task, but I can tell you that finally understanding the way energy works was the bridge that lead to unconditional self love, which included learning to love this slab of blubber that strapped itself around my hips. I used to say that it looked like the love child of Freddy Krueger and the Michelin Tire man. Now I call it my Mother’s apron, a term they used to describe a collapsed muffin top in the fifties.

Since this change, I’m much more forgiving of myself and have learned to trust my intuition over everything else. I was able to completely understand the process of boundaries and the consequences of not having them. I had no boundaries with people. I had no boundaries with food. Now I have boundaries with both.

I discovered intermittent fasting, autophagy, and the miracle of ketosis. Since I quit my job in April, I have only been eating once a day, most days. And when I eat more often, it’s still within a 4-6 hour window, and never more than two days a week. When I do eat, I eat a lot and try to watch my macros.

I regularly apply castor oil packs at night and drink apple cider vinegar water all day. I drink a lot of tea. I have patience with myself when I cheat. I am teaching myself how to take care of myself. Self care was not a common action in my family. In the past year, I quit smoking, cut way down on drinking, kicked it up a notch with weed (it inhances my spirituality). I have radically changed my diet, and have lost a lot of volume. I’ve lost a ton of old beliefs as well. I have not weighed myself since I was down 30 pounds. That was many weeks ago.

I stopped letting people and their opinions take up space in my mind, even the people whom I have respected. I started appreciating the very few people that were allowed to stay in my circle….which was literally just my two daughters and my friend, Julie. I stopped agreeing to do things I didn’t want to do. Stopped making plans I didn’t want to make. And then I started making the plans that I did want to make. I started to design the life that I wanted to live. I started to realize that I am in control.

I got my massage license. I quit my day job. I’m doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. Yesterday, I sent a message to a guy who I have not spoken to in a year. I had a very intense and passionate dream about him the night before. It was the sexiest dream I’ve ever had. I woke up and knew I had to speak to him. I messaged asking how he’s been. He responded, saying that he had been thinking a lot about reaching out to me too.

This one, I promise you, is going to test me in every possible way. But I know now that I can handle it and continue to maintain my vision and vibration. The old me would have masterbated and then ate sixteen candy bars to stuff down the disappointment of not being able to live the reality of that dream. The new me sent a very cocky message, ensuring that I absolutely will live that dream out.

I can’t wait. And even though my belly is still flapping over itself, and I have much more weight to lose… I have no reservations about my body, mind, or spirit. I am living completely in alignment, and I finally understand that this is all happening for the simple idea of pleasure, because what else would you paint on your blank canvas of life? I’m all done with painting a life of misery and regurgitated pain. It’s time to paint myself into a masterpiece.