Deborah…bee

My real first name is Deborah. Not pronounced like Debra, but like Deb-or-ah. It’s the old fashioned pronunciation. I love my name. It means bee.

Deborah was also a prophetess and herione in the Book of Judges in the Old Testament. She led the Israelites in defeating the Canaanites. I like having an ancient and strong name.

Deb-or-ah.

Most people call me Debra and I gave up correcting them. I don’t know why, except it’s easier to let it go than to have to explain why my name is pronounced that way and then having those same people look at me like I’m an asshole because they think I’m trying to make my ordinary name fancy. I’m not.

My name is Deborah. Deb-or-ah. Deborah.

I like bees. I respect bees. They have a purpose. More of a purpose than us humans, if I can be completely honest. We humans are like a disgusting virus on this Earth, multiplying and destroying everything in our path. But bees…bees are so fucking important. If the bees are gone, humans will follow quickly. This is what I believe.

What got me all crazy with bee talk is a book I read. I didn’t go to work today because I’m feeling under the weather, so I read a whole book. It’s called The Secret Lives of Bees. Reading this book made me want to crawl to South Carolina and live on a farm with beehives owned by beautiful black Southern women who have more love in their hearts and souls than anyone I’ve ever known.

It made me crave the spirit of women. I wanted to form my own hive and revolve around the queen…working with my sisters to keep the hive in order.

I also found out that it’s coming out as a movie this year. I can’t wait to see it.

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Those devils of mine needed love

My relationship with my body started at a young age. I started my period at a very young age and had C cup breasts by the time I was in 5th grade. When womanhood is thrown on you like that, you don’t have a choice on when you’re going to grow up. I believe that I’ve mentioned this before, but teachers and my friends’ fathers and old men would gawk and make crude comments to me. I think I was 11 or 12.

My first years with the new grown up body were terrible. I was at war with the girl inside and the woman everyone saw. Everyone thought I was a lot older than I was, so they treated me differently. I was really smart, but nobody noticed. Why should they when my breasts were now D cups and I weighed 120 pounds? I wore huge sweaters and sweatshirts for many years. The only time I didn’t hide myself was when I hate to wear a sports uniform. The rest of the time I tried to be invisible.

My first year of college was a strange year. I lost my virginity and then was raped. The body wars got vicious. I despised myself. I thought that my body was defiled and worthless and used. I blamed my body for every bad thing that happened to me. These were my demons. My devils.

Therapy was fun. I had a lot of it. At some point I remember my therapist telling me to spend as much time as I could naked. She told me to start with one body part at a time and find something to love.

So I did. And guess what? I started to fall deeply in love with my body. Every part of it. The deeper the flaws, on my skin my face my shape my weight, the more I poured love into myself. I got to know myself, body and soul.

Over the years, the love I have for myself has saved me in more ways then I can describe here. Trust me though, when I say that my body has saved me I mean it. And it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t learned to love it and respect myself like I do.

My body is the temple in which I sound salvation. Corny as that sounds, it’s the truth.

How do you feel about your body? Whenever you feel those hateful demons coming up, remember to love them. Look at those flaws that mark your body and just love them. It’s amazing what love does to you. It will save you.

This whole post was inspired by something I read on a blog that Tori Amos is writing as one of her characters, Santa. Oh, I know that some of you may find that fact corny too. Suck it, I love her.

You can find the post here, but I’ve decided to copy the post below as well because I think it’s that good. (If the copyright holder would like me to remove it, please email me and I’ll do so immediately.)

——–

BODY

Where do I start???
Let’s start with the word BODY.
What picture flashes through your mind when you read the word Body?
What picture flashes through your mind when you read the words Your Body?

Because girls and boys that’s the whole point. It matters not that history has been unfair to women and their Bodies. Your Body is still Your Body whatever Bull those old farts of history were shovelling down people’s throats. Okay. Okay, I ADMIT, it may not have been easy when we as women were being married off to the highest bidder and that laws of old ALLOWED evil husbands to beat the hell out of their wives. BUT, It was still That Woman’s Body. Very simply when she dies, her body dies too. No king or even pope could keep a woman’s body alive if she chose to flee and perhaps died trying to escape. Ultimately, in the very big end, you decide how you See your own body. I admit that there are circumstances when you disagree what should happen to you and your body and some sick-o imposes their will on your body. However ladies, they don’t have control over how you feel in your body. Even if they hijack Your Body for a spin around the block it is not ever anyone else’s to possess. Infringe upon, yes, that has happened to more than one woman. Shit Happens. Shit has been happening to innocent women and men for thousands and thousands of years. No pity parties girls. Therefore, and I am fuming as I write this——- what women chose to do with Their Bodies in the 21^st century where we have more choice than we have had in a long, long, long, long time is important. Nobody is making us become objects in the west but ourselves. If we become a Hole for some lecherous vermin smegma then OWN UP ladies—-99 times out of a hundred, there is no one to blame but yourselves. SO. Now that I have had my rant I will tell you about my night. I just got off the phone with Nef and she has made me promise that I would write to you, whoever is out there, what I have been agonizing about with her. Why can’t we as women in the west Value our Sex? And Not think we’re dirty whores just because we may have a sexiness in our morning coffee? The guilt. The shame. How this gets played out by women from coast to coast is painful to watch. Hot and Vulgar are two extremely opposite poles to dance on. But some women can’t seem to separate sexy from vulgar. Wrong. Incorrect. I have friends that are high price call girls, judges, dirt cheap adult actresses, doctors, dancers, photographers, astrophysicists (okay so one, and yeah it’s a friend’s mom, excellent formidable woman by the way) and so on and so on. The truth of the matter is, that sometimes it’s the stripper that values her body more than the doctor.

——-

That’s enough sappy stuff for tonight. I’ll post something funny tomorrow to reassure you all that I haven’t lost my marbles.

Oh, and tomorrow is my first Blogtalkradio show. It’s at 7PM EST. I hope that at least one of you listen to it. It’s only going to be 30 minutes long this first time because I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to talk about. I just hope I don’t suck.

That’s all, my loves.

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Weekend of Witchy Women

I had a busy weekend. In between all of these events, I watched horror movies and scared the shit out of myself. Anyhow, this post is all about pictures because I’m tired of typing. Enjoy!

Friday night I had a witch party to go to. It was so much fun. Wine, sushi, and good company. The party was an all women event with my niece as the star of the show. Here are some pictures from the night.

This is Wendy and Janet looking witchy and gorgeous.

Tiffany, who just recently got engaged to a very nice man.

My mama. She was wearing Halloween pajamas because she is still recovering from her surgery.

Jen looking smart and festive.

My niece Morgan looking very spooky.

Morgan’s mom, Michelle, the hostess with the mostest.

Here are three pictures of me after the party because I’m an idiot and didn’t get anyone to take a picture of me during the party. I did have a hat on, but I was so over wearing it. I’m not sure what the hell is up with my facial expressions, only that I’m a dork.

On Saturday afternoon, my sister’s step-son had a swimming birthday party at the local community center. She got special permission from her doctor to attend the party because it’s been planned for months. Little Miss Morgan attended the party as well.

Morgan after eating some green Fundip.

I swear this child cracks me up.

And Morgan cracking up further.

The birthday boy, Riley.

And then last night I had a huge annual Halloween party to go to. Unfortunately it wasn’t as awesome as it usually is and I was home by midnight. I did tie a nice one on before leaving, so all wasn’t lost. I don’t even think there were half the people at the party that attended last year. Bummer. Here are some pictures of that. I’m sorry they came out so dark, but I took them all with my phone. These are the only ones that came out.

Howdy partner. Tom as Brokeback Mountain.

Matt as Paco. I almost pissed myself when I saw him.

Marianne, dressed as Cleopatra, being silly.

The only picture of me with my witch hat on. I blew out my hair for the party.

And I got home to this. Stella was having fun with the tarot cards.

She’s too cute to get really mad at.

So, today I did nothing but relax, some laundry, cleaned, and got myself ready for the work week.

I find myself missing the Pilot pretty bad. He emailed me this weekend to see if I was okay after reading my blog. I was impressed that he’s reading my blog while on some mission somewhere. He is getting home in about a week and a half. I’m glad.

Smooches.

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Fae Ring

Yesterday was a very good day. I found my favorite ring. It went missing in March and I had given up on it. I don’t wear much jewelry (actually I don’t have much jewelry as my ex-boyfriend , Michael, sold almost everything I had–apparently supporting him financially wasn’t enough–I’ve mentioned him a few times), but I always wear the ring. It’s very special. And it’s quite pretty, garnets and diamonds set in gold. It was given to me by someone who just looked at me and said, “Here, this belongs to you.” I told her it didn’t, but she insisted and I’ve worn the ring ever since. Weird, I know but I believe that things like that happen for a reason. I don’t know the reason yet, but I know I feel better when I wear the ring. Maybe it’s a fae ring.

Other than that, I have no news. No nothing. I’m bored. Seriously bored.

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