The Deepest Ink I Have

"The atoms of our bodies are traceable to stars that manufactured them in their cores and exploded these enriched ingredients across our galaxy, billions of years ago. For this reason, we are biologically connected to every other living thing in the world. We are chemically connected to all molecules on Earth. And we are atomically connected to all atoms in the universe. We are not figuratively, but literally stardust." - Neil DeGrasse Tyson

 

I got my hands tattoooooooooooooooed.  Specifically, my knuckles.

Job killer. 

They're huge.

I generally try not to make a huge deal out of my new tattoos, but these make me so happy.  It's like they were always supposed to be there but they weren't.  And now they are.  They may battle the heart bombs on my neck for the title of "Sophie's Favorite Tattoo".  I know. 

They say STAR DUST, which is a sentiment shared by Neil DeGrasse Tyson, which is an extrapolation of a sentiment by Carl Sagan.  Science has proven to us that all of the atoms in our body: the carbon, the nitrogen, all of it, can be traced to exploding stars billions of years ago.  Light years away, the elements in our tiny yet narcissistic vessels were traveling through meteor showers and galaxies.  Now they are us.  Eventually, who knows where they will end up.  It's amazing.  It's humbling and empowering all at the same time. 

It's why I'm so enamored by outer space.  The whole idea of looking down onto our dysfunctional and dying planet, which is constantly in some state of terror and disaster and war and famine and greed and bigotry.... from up there, there is no line drawn from one area or one kind of person to another.   Even the separation of the human species to other animals is lessened.  We're all on this blue mass of rock together, and your money and your religion and your prejudices... they don't mean jack shit.  I'm not sure if hate can be felt from space, but I'm sure that a sense of  pure love and wonder and the understanding that we don't understand, it can be felt.

At the same time, we are all so small, but we are huge.  We are made up of particles that have traveled from all over to form our bodies for our short lifespans.  Our brains, which are barely able to grasp the most simple ideas regarding this giant black pond that we call our universe, are MADE UP from that same universe.  We are quite literally the universe experiencing itself. It's not fate or destiny or god or any of those things that we create to make ourselves feel important and safe.  It is what it is, and it's amazing! And it's just the tip of the iceburg.  We have so much more to learn, about our bodies, about our planet, about our solar system, our galaxy, our universe, and possible other universes! 

And now I can be reminded of that every time I look down at my hands. 

To answer your question, yes, it hurt.  Hell yes. 

I would also like to promote my tattoo artist, Tony Klett.  He is an amazing traditional artist and an allover badass human being with a great beard.  He's currently at Urban Art Tattoo in Mesa on Country Club and University Dr.  You can check out his work on Instagram: TEK9INE

Good or Bad, it's Necessary

I had a friend tell me once that "change is always good".  I like to think it's good advice.  Of course, I immediately run to the thought that nothing ALWAYS good.  But, still, I would tend to agree that more often than not, change is a good thing... or better yet, change is necessary.  It at least shakes things up and keeps you from getting bored. Besides, it's not the change that scares me, really.  It's those transitional periods that are fucking terrifying.

      I quit my job.  I know, I only have six months of school left, but it was way overdue.  The restaurant is going downhill at an exponential rate because of the new management.  It didn't help that he hated me and most everyone else there.  Probably because we are smarter than him.  It doesn't take a lot.  He finally came up with a reason to fire me, after a year of trying to pin me for shit I didn't do.  So I wrote a two-page resignation and said adios to the place I'd made a living for four years.  Crazy, right?  He also managed to fire the manager who had been there the longest.  He also put an end to any decent live music.  We are guessing that the company is keeping him there to put the cafe out of its misery.  It's a sad thing, because we all really used to like that job.

        So I got a new job.  It's another restaurant, which I was trying to avoid, but it works the easiest around school, and you can't beat the money.  The place is in Tempe, and it hasn't opened yet.  I'm supposed to start training this week, and the grand opening is scheduled for the end of June.  I have met the chef who owns it, and to be honest, it seems like a really great place.  Everyone knows what they're talking about AND they've worked in restaurants before. I know it seems like that would be a requirement for running this kind of business, but you'd be surprised. Looks hopeful so far.

                 School.  School is fucking amazing.  The school itself has its ups and downs, like anywhere, but doing hair and makeup and nails and waxing... it's my favorite thing in the world.  Honestly, I will kick myself for the rest of my life for not doing this earlier.  I adore it.  It's the only thing that I can still wake up at six o'clock in the morning for and then want to stay late.  We just did a hair show a couple of weeks ago, and I was very proud of what came out of it.  I'm trying to build up my portfolio and meet as many people as I can so that by December I will have some sort of idea where I will work.  Eventually I would like to do editorial work and possibly be a platform artist.  It's a crazy idea, but those are my favorites.

            Phoenix Comic Con was fun.  Now we are planning our yearly vacation to San Diego in July.  It's become a trip for collecting new things and meeting people we look up to for years, but now we also have friends that we only get to see during con season that we really look forward to hanging out with.   

              I quit biting my nails.  I can't promise anything, but they are long enough now to make typing weird.  I like it a lot.  I hope it lasts.

As far as being body positive, it's a process.  I am gaining weight because of the hormones I have to take, so that is an added challenge to this whole thing.  I got rid of all of my clothes that "sometimes fit" because looking at them made me feel gross.  I'm still going to zumba and yoga, and that feels good.  I did break down and weigh myself at the gym one day, and I'm angry at myself for it.  In the meantime, I am working on loving myself, feeling pretty, and I've signed on to do nude modeling for life drawing classes a few times a month.  I'll try and remember to blog and let you know how that goes. 

I'll try and remember to blog more about a lot of things. 

The Biggest FUCK YOU I can Muster

       It's been a long time coming, but I have finally forced myself to make peace with this body.  I've been in it for almost 30 years now, and I cannot think of any one time in my life that I was completely happy with it.  Even as a kid.  I could probably blame my dad for calling my mother fat for years.  I could blame it on the media.   I could blame it on all the hot chicks around me.  But in the end, it's my fault for letting myself get caught up in how I am supposed to look.  I've managed to scream "fuck you" to a lot of things, but I couldn't say it to my poor body image.  Until now. 

      For years I've concentrated on how my thighs and stomach stick out and how my chest never does.  My boobs were "too low" or "too small" and my nose is "huge" from being broken seven times.  I have crooked pinkies and a big butt. It's always been this way.  And you know what?  It's always going to be this way.  The truth is, I have dieted my way down to 92 pounds and my nose was STILL too big for my liking and my thighs still touched and my ass still stuck out.  At 92 pounds I didn't get to eat when I was hungry and I still hated the way I looked.  So fuck that.

           I'm learning to embrace all the things I formerly hated about myself.  No, I can't love them all yet, but I can begin to accept them.  I'm almost thirty.  Hating yourself isn't cute anymore.  So I'm starting here.  I've teamed up with some friends who are a part of the body positive movement and a huge inspiration.  If you follow my Instagram, you can find my more recent photos, celebrating my body, my brain, and the things that I love about myself.  And the best part is- showing support to other people makes loving myself easier.  It's amazing. I can see the beauty in so many other women and their bodies that I can see why they may find me beautiful.  That's amazing.

   So no more diets.   Granted, my vegan diet does not count.  I will continue to try and eat well, for my health and because it makes me happy.  I didn't go vegan with Gren to lose weight.  We did it to feel better and make our bodies happy.  In turn, we help the earth and we can eat without harming animals.  It would be illogical and, well, mean, to stop.  But if I want to eat a lot in a day or go have a Tsoynami at my favorite vegan bakery downtown, I will quit worrying about how my belly will look afterwards.   I will not count calories.  I will not make deals with myself just to eat something that I want.  I never kept them anyway.

         And no more exercising just for the sake of losing weight.  I will work out when I want to, and I will do it to have fun and feel good.  I will only do exercises that I enjoy.  If I don't want to run on the treadmill, then fuck that goddamn treadmill.  Fuck it up its stupid ass.  If I want to yoga, I'm going to yoga.  And I won't worry that I'm not burning calories like I would if I were running.  As silly as it is, I really like Zumba at my gym, so I have been going to it.  I sweat a lot, but more than anything, I feel stronger afterwards and it is ridiculously fun.  The hardest part is not weighing myself at the gym, but I'm doing alright so far.

     The biggest thing: I will replace all the energy I used to spend on hating my body on LOVING it.  It is healthy and alive and it is the only one I have.  I don't believe in an afterlife or reincarnation or any of that.  So this is it.  I need to treat this body with respect.  And while some people see my tattoos and hanging from hooks disrespectful, I do not.  I find it beautiful.  I think starving and overworking my body is much more detrimental.   And especially after going through pregnancy, extreme weight loss and gain and more recently, a hysterectomy, I owe my body a lot more respect than I've been giving it.  This thing is a badass healing machine!

         I will find peace with myself, even the parts I hate.  And I will concentrate on taking care of myself and others.  After all, that is what makes me feel good.  I try every day to make sure the people I love know that I love them.  And I try to tell a stranger that he or she is beautiful or smart or fun or something like that.  It's not as hard as it seems.  It either makes their day or makes them nervous, and to be honest, either way it's fun.

  And as it turns out?  Hating your body takes up a LOT of time.  It's all you think about once you get in that mindset.  We even use it as a distraction.  How many people can admit to focusing on weight loss when we should have been focusing on or marriages or our kids or our goals?  I can think of at least three people I know right now who fit in that category, myself included.  So, maybe you can, too.

      Here is my new start.  With a disclaimer: I know I'll slip.  I'll call myself "fat", I'll get the urge to weigh myself compulsively.  I'll find myself feeling guilty when I eat something unhealthy.   I'm human.  But I am working on becoming a better human.  And I can't do that if all I can think about is the size of my legs.   I can't focus on making people feel good if I don't feel good.  Being healthy is feeling good.  Being worried about my size is not good.  Here it is.  My big "FUCK YOU" to my former body image.  And if you would like to join me in my big "FUCK YOU" to your own low self-worth, I would be super delighted.  You can text me bopo images or inspiration or just ask me to tell you you're wonderful when you feel down.   I'm gay for it.  You can also follow me on Instagram @bonanza_jellybean.    You can especially come and talk to me in my salon chair.  It's not only shameless self-promotion, it's also where I spend 40 hours a week.

  In the meantime, take care of yourself and others.  In the words of Kevin Smith: In this life, if you don't celebrate yourself, nobody will.

Day 1 of self-love.  Bald and determined.

Ups and Downs

I got rid of all the old blog posts.

To be completely honest, I was getting annoyed at myself at how bitchy they could seem.  I really do work on trying to be a decent human, and bitching really isn't a part of that.  Sometimes it's fun, especially in person, and I will agree that many times it is necessary to vent.  It can also be hilarious if done right.  But not on this blog.  Not on the internet.  Not from me.  It's beyond ordinary.  And I refuse to be ordinary.

So I hid the old blog posts.  They still exist in case I want to go back and read them, but they're not out in the open anymore.  We're starting over.


So... yeah.
This is the hard part.  When you've been gone for months and you've done so much, where do you start?  Let's recap these past few months:

(in no particular order)

* I started beauty school in January.  I love it.  I love my school, the teachers, the students, everything.  I love making people feel good about themselves.  It goes deeper than just hair and nails and makeup.  Or at least I would like to think so. Appearance isn't everything, but self-love is.  And I like to play a part in that. 

* I'm in a... band, I guess?  It feels strange calling it that.  It's me, Trey (if I believed in soulmates, he might be mine.  But I never want to see his weiner, so it's ok), and Mike (who is just a super-amazing human being).  They do the hard work while I sing and play kazoo and perform.  We are called Space Waitress.  It's silly and rewarding and we have fun.  Hopefully we will be ready to play some shows soon.

* Charlie moved to LA without me.  It breaks my heart still.  It's been less than a month.  I can honestly say that I've never been closer to a person than I was with him.  He means as much to me as my own mother.  The best fag a hag could have.  It's bittersweet in that I want him to succeed and love his new home, but I also wanted to go with him so badly.  But I can't.  Not now, anyway.  And it hurts.  At the same time, I am learning to do my boring everyday activities without Charlie here.  It's like quitting smoking.  I am learning to do everything all over again.  Quitting fags is difficult.  Pun intended.

* I had a hysterectomy in March.  It was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my entire life.  Fifteen years of ovarian cysts and Endometriosis, and now NOTHING!  Side note: it was done laparoscopically!  With lasers!  Fuck yeah, science!!!



Each of these points will probably get its own blog entry soon.

It feels good to be back.

Be respectful, be responsible, and take care of one another.

The Fear

Last night I got "the fear" again.  I am really not sure of what to call it other than that, and to be honest, I am really close to being embarrassed that I even have it at all.  Except that I know it sounds crazy, but I also know that in my head it is real.  People base whole religions, beliefs, and convictions on things they have never seen.  People start wars based on gut instincts that they blame on supernatural beings.  So, just keep in mind if you're reading this, I know it sounds dumb, but it's as real to me as your Jesus or your Buddha or your ghosts are to you.

What I refer to as "the fear" has been going on for about as long as I can remember.  It almost always happens at night, but there have been more than a handful occasions that it has come around during daytime.  For some reason, those times are the worst.  It's not a fear of ghosts or kidnapping or fires or rapists or anything like that (although I do have moments of being scared of those things, too).  I just remember being a tiny child and sharing a bed with my younger sister.  I remember being pulled out of bed and trying to grab hold of her to wake her up, but I couldn't.  After that, I remember nothing until I woke up for school, scared to death.  For years and years after that, I made sure to sleep with some part of my leg, hand, or even my foot touching my sister.  I'm sure this annoyed the hell out of her, especially in the hot summers, but I felt safer, like if anything was going to pull me out of bed, I would wake her up in the process.  In retrospect, I'm really not sure what I thought she could do to protect me.  I went so many nights without sleeping, worrying that it would happen again.  And it didn't.  It was a dream.  But this dream or vision of being pulled from bed wasn't "the fear".  That was something else.

When "the fear" came I would lie in bed, frozen, trying not to move when I breathed, willing myself to hold my eyes closed tight and pretending to sleep for hours while something stood at the end of our bed.  It watched.  That's all it did.  It just watched.  That was the most disturbing part.  I never looked down at the end of that bed.  Never.  For him to see me move, to know that I had acknowledged his presence- I'm not sure what would have happened, but I was certain that it would involve stealing me from my bed again. Look... some kids had imaginary monsters in their closets or evil shadow people under their bed.  I had tall, grey men that stood and watched.  I don't dare use the "a" word, as it seems cliche and silly and doesn't strike the fear and foreignness of my reality.  But yeah, that's what I always assumed it was.  And the feeling of being completely alone and the absence of God or anything good... that's part of its presence.  That is what it feels like when he's there.

I slept in bed with my sister for years after it was probably considered normal.  And to be fair, it wasn't every night that I felt so scared that I was paralyzed.  But on those nights... when he was there... nothing could save me.  No praying I did made him leave.  No wishing made him stop.  He just appeared without warning, without any sort of pattern, and he watched.  It doesn't happen very often anymore.  I can go years without feeling that fear crawl up my spine into the back of my head.  But I got it last night.  And it's just as real as it always was.

On a side note, as a little bit of support to the fact that I am NOT completely off my rocker, I will admit that there are giant facts I left out of this entry.  Chunks of things that I will probably not mention to just anyone.  But I did share them with a couple of people who grew up in different states than I did, with different upbringings than my own, who had the exact same experiences that I did.  All the stories match up.  So whatever it is that is wrong with us, it's all the same thing.