First Night

I declared last night my first official night as a single woman in the Fortress of Solitude.
During the afternoon yesterday I spent one entire hour cleaning my fridge, and ended up ruining the dress I was wearing in the process. That of course serves me right for wearing a dress to do house-work. I unpacked almost all of my summer clothes, and put them away in my front closet where they will hopefully be safe from drywall dust. Then I got overwhelmed by all of the cleaning and unpacking still remaining, and I decided to escape for a little bit.
I went for a stroll down Roncesvalles and popped into two local second-hand book stores in search of a good read. I was overwhelmed by choice and ended up going with a history of life among the Bohemians at the turn of the century in London. I shall use it as a guidebook for both how to live, and how not to live. (I’m going with the art and sensualism and avoiding the poverty and starvation, and hopefully consumption.) I hit the Freshwood patio and had huevos, then walked to the park to meet my lovely friend Sav (who dubbed me “Schnoo” by the way). We enjoyed some locally grown strawberries and commiserated about boys and jobs and books, and then I went back to the park to do a bit of writing before returning home.
I had a little lay-down on the grass at my aunt’s house across the street, and we searched for her missing cat, who turned up locked in the neigbours shed, pooping up a storm. My cousin and I went on a rescue operation. I distracted the drunk who lives in the basement, and my cousin hopped the fence, scooped up both kitty and ca-ca, and scrambled back to her own yard just as the neighbours were pulling into their yard.
We deposited the errant cat, jumped in the car, hooked up the ipod and headed to Burlington.
My uncle shares his birthday with Canada, and has started a tradition of hosting a patio party at his penthouse, where we all sit and watch various fireworks displays. My mom sounded very eager to see me, so I thought I would put in an appearance. It was pretty low-key, but nice, and worth the excursion just to see my uncle in a suede fringe coat and leather cowboy hat with khaki shorts and socks-and-sandals. Rock and roll. I’m still not sure why, but my mom spent the better part of the evening staring at me across the table. She always knows when something isn’t right with me, but fortunately she didn’t ask any questions.
Once home, I made up my bed on the couch. The real bed doesn’t arrive until next week. It wasn’t too bad. Quite cozy, actually. I tucked into my new book, which had me unconscious in minutes. Perhaps not a good sign. I slept really well until my phone rang at quarter to seven.
Then every dream I had vanished from my brain, and I woke up having no idea where I was.
I’m looking forward to night two. Tonight I will tackle the stove and kitchen cupboards, and if there’s time, perhaps I will even dust and mop. Oohhh the passion and excitement. Thankfully, another awesome friend is springing me for chicken wings and the opening night of the Fringe play that she worked on as costume designer.
I keep telling myself I’m laying the groundwork for what will be a really sensational single lifestyle. Right now, it just feels dusty and like the plumbing isn’t quite working.
Ya know?
Rule #3 for the Fortress of Solitude: Always leave the Fortress ready for guests to stop in.

Still Sorting Out those Marys

Jules Joseph Lefebvre’s “Mary Magdalene in the Cave” (1876)

I was raised Catholic, and within that faith, really only had two female role models – Mary the Virgin Mother of Christ, or Mary the Magdalene, who at the time, we were taught was a whore who repented her evil ways, to be accepted by Jesus and his posse.
Though I loved the idea of the nurturing mother figure with the first, I always thought the latter was kind of a bad ass, and her story really resonated with me. I especially like the mental picture of her washing Christ’s feet with her inky ribbons of hair. Yum.
I love sex. I have since my very first and inappropriately older boyfriend showed me the ropes. I love it, and crave it, but I won’t just have it for the sake of having it. I’m selective about my partners, and they are usually the types of people I feel really relaxed around. The types I can just cut loose with and be myself with, and not worry about the fact that I’m not in perfect shape, and am sometimes really goofy and clumsy. When I find someone like that, and we’re physically compatible (which I equate to great kissing, and a love of their personal scent, and that desire to be in close proximity) it’s on. It’s a safe assumption that if we’re together, that’s what I’m thinking about, and that’s where I’d like things to lead. I’m not subtle about that either.
Now, I feel like I’m constantly reading about how women don’t initiate sex enough, and men always feel like they have to fight, or beg, and it’s discouraging and frustrating and so I figure my enthusiastic approach is probably a welcome change of pace, but in discussing sex and sexuality with a friend, I discovered this can be off-putting.
Really. Really?
Do I have a seriously over-inflated ego? Perhaps a warped idea of the dynamic between men and women? Do I maybe have a problem that I’m in denial about?
Is it unrealistic for me to want to be devoured, and really have to fight off the enthusiasm of a lover? (And yes, I DO know this won’t happen every day.)
I was told that “sometimes a guy likes to work for it”.
As we know, my brain has been switched off, but now it appears to be in overdrive because I’ve been ruminating over that one all day long.
I can only guess it means that a man likes to feel like he’s inspired the desire for sex in a woman because of something he’s said or done, and that it took some effort to make that happen. I suppose it means that knowing a woman is ready to get into it more or less from the time she sees you isn’t as exciting.
It still takes work though. Just because I’d like to get naked and twisted up together doesn’t mean I don’t want to go through the motions of getting to “that place”.
Should we pretend shyness? Innocence? Indifference? Do you want to convince us that we should let you have at us? Do you want to coax us into relinquishing power? Do you want me to bat my eyelashes and smile up at you coyly?
Sometimes I really feel I need to own my sexuality and be proud to embrace it since so many women haven’t been able to throughout history.
Perhaps it’s a better idea to enjoy the physical, and be grateful for it. Perhaps it’s better to be glad that I’m grinning at you like the Cheshire cat because I’ve wanted to be alone with you all day long. If you want to work, you can work at getting to know me, getting into my heart and soul, because at this point, that’s going to be a hell of a lot harder I think.

Rule number 4 for the Fortress: Every corner will be awash in sensuality.