The Extroverted Introvert

There is a huge spectrum of being within the introvert/extrovert scale. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle, but knowing where we fall on the spectrum is important in understanding ourselves and our interactions with people. It took me a while to figure myself out; but now that I have, it explains a lot about my actions and reactions.

An introvert is someone who finds social interactions draining and difficult. He/she likes to create a cave for themselves and is perfectly content in it. An extrovert is, obviously, the opposite. He/she is someone who loves and gets energy from interacting with people, not liking solitude in any of its forms. There are people who live comfortably in those extremes, and manage to live life successfully this way.

But that's not most of us. Most of us, out of necessity, interact with others, face-to- face, on a daily basis, while regularly finding ourselves, at times, alone. How well we deal with those situations depends on where we fall on the I/E scale. The more introverted we are, the less likely we are to pursue situations with many people, face-to-face. The more extroverted we are, the more we avoid being alone like the plague.

This is why the social media phenomenon is so popular. It satisfies the introverts by allowing them safe interactions, while feeding the extrovert's constant need to be in touch with others, even when there's no one physically around.

I'm an extroverted introvert. I feel most comfortable in my own company, or in the company of a chosen few. Although I can function in larger settings, even addressing large crowds of people, I have had to acquire that skill which does not come naturally. After having been in those situations, I feel drained and require solitude.

I have to encourage myself to be in large settings; I don't do so enthusiastically. That's the introverted part of me. If I can overcome it, which is about 70% of the time, I do so with method. At a party, I will mingle with one or two people at a time, asking them questions about themselves, taking the focus off me, and surviving it piecemeal; but when I get home from the party, I sigh in relief.

I am just as happy going to a movie alone, as going with my buds. I will overcome this to go to a concert that I love, or to a pub; but I don't enjoy clubs, parades and massive venues. I don't like crowds and get overwhelmed when there is a lot of stimulus and noise around me. That's when I create a safe haven in my head to overcome it, but as a rule, I avoid those situations completely.

Not so oddly, I can address big crowds of people, merely because there is a controlled space between them and me; but I cannot address a large crowd of people at a party. Having that much attention in such close proximity makes me uncomfortable.

Where is this all going?

Knowing these things about myself, allows be both to gauge whether I will attempt an experience or not and to develop tools of coping when I do go for it. It gives me peace of mind. I don't beat myself up when I pass on those situations; and when I do, I navigate them more comfortably.

It's an exercise in self-analysis I highly recommend. :)

Magic Mike and Stone Face

A group of my gal pals and I went to see Magic Mike. What red-blooded, straight woman wouldn't? It's not often that any form of media caters to female sexuality and voyeurism, viewing it as taboo. All hail to double standards.

Although this movie, does in a way, empower female sexuality, in other ways it imposes the male's vision of what women would want. This is reinforced by the fact that both the director (Steven Soderbergh) and the screenwriter (Reid Carolin) are men.

Speaking for myself, most of my friends and most of the audience, we didn't go to the movie expecting a fabulous story line, interesting camera angles and award-winning performances. We wanted to see some delicious MAN. We saw some hot Hollywood males for sure, but within a prudish limit, set by male standards, of course; and the movie lived up to our low expectations of plot and acting.

Most notably, what were they thinking casting and directing Cody Horn as the female lead? Her stone-faced disapproval throughout the movie, killed our buzz. And we saw way too much of her on the screen. Hello? The movie is Magic Mike, not Stone Face Brooke. I don't know if it's her lack of acting skills, or the way she was directed into the role, but suffice it to say, she made us angry. When the credits rolled, and her name and face flashed on the screen, we booed.

By contrast, Olivia Munn's performance and presence was much more empowering and likable, until the script demanded that she turn taciturn and cold. This reinforces the fact that the movie's vision was from the male not female perspective. No woman would have made the casting and script decisions made in this movie. I know for a fact, because we all talked about it at length and in disgust, after the movie. Women fall into two categories in Hollywood: irredeemable bitches, and judgmental but pure bitches. Nice.

Further, the evolution of the story, along with it being hackneyed and trite, left much to be desired, not allowing the characters or the situations to evolve organically. The story left us unfulfilled, wanting more and hating the man who could not give us release. In other words, it was like a bad one-night stand.

The direction tried to fulfill their artistic manifesto with some interesting, though sometimes dizzying, camera work; but again, we didn't go expecting to see Tarantino.

Channing Tatum, Joe Manganiello and Matthew McConaughey redeemed the movie to some extent. Tatum can sure move, satisfying our eyes beautifully along with Manganiello and McConaughey; and that would have been enough to please the audience, but then they had to ruin it with a broken plot, female stereotypes and a cliche romantic formula.

Save your dollar bills ladies.

It's All in the Attitude

So as some of you know, I have been struggling with weight my whole life. Though I was blessed with a normal weight when I was young, several events conspired to envelope my body in extra weight in my tweens and it's been a struggle ever since. I am and have been healthy my whole life (excuse me for a second while I superstitiously knock on wood), but that was not enough to ensure a healthy self-confidence. Other people's perceptions weighed me down more than the extra pounds and I have been mired with low self-esteem on the brink of self-loathing most of my life. Loving myself as I am, has not been easy. You can imagine my elation and awe when I stumbled upon this vlog:

 

How absolutely marvelous is she? While watching it for the third time, I asked myself, "How much easier would it have been had I chosen to live with that attitude?" Which brings me to the realization, that it is all about the attitude. People can think what they like. Most don't even bother to think, but espouse what the media and society as a whole deems to be beautiful or normal or acceptable. Why even allow that to color my attitude towards myself?

There's no going back; but as I step into the future while I reshape my body, I will reshape my attitude. My body is the vessel that allows me to travel through this experience we call life. I will care for it, but I will care for the person it houses too. My Self.

50 Shades of Puke

Anastasia Steele might not have a gag reflex, winning the Most Adept Virgin Ever Award, but I do; and it was engaged reading this drivel.

My friend was reading 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James for a book club she's in; and having heard about it at least twice more that day, I decided to cave into peer pressure and read the damn thing. Damn my weakness! And to further compound this messy situation, I found out after reading the first book, that it was part of a trilogy. Triple DAMN!

Being obsessive compulsive about these things, I simply had to read the other two just to finish this lame story about a paragon and her Dominant boyfriend.

Don't let anyone fool you. It's just another romance novel, following the genre's pattern closely, with some darker than usual elements shrouding the male protagonist, Christian Grey, and a LOT of mind-numbing (and not in a good way) kinky sex. It's never a good sign when I finally had to SKIP the sex scenes to get to the actual STORY, such as it is.

It's as if James decided to go through a checklist of places where she would have her protagonists having sex. Bathroom. Check. Bedroom. Check. Office. Check. Kitchen counter. Check. "Playroom". Check. Elevator. Check. Car. Check. Boat, plane, ocean. Check. Eye roll. Check.

Of course, Anastasia is the perfect woman who for some unexplained reason has no self-esteem or understanding of how BEAUTIFUL she is. At 21, she has not had sex, nor really done anything sexual, including masturbation. Yet. She gives perfect blow jobs, hand jobs, and other jobs as well as being the perfect receptacle for Christian's passion.

Oh. Kay.

The emails between them are witty and funny. I'll give it that; but that's all I'll give it. Erotica isn't supposed to be boring. But. It. Is. The story is contrived. The plot twists ridiculous. The premise laughable. Grey's past is disturbing and not just in the way it's portrayed in the novel. It's disturbing in the way it's NOT portrayed.

This Shades series has brought out my disgust for the fad of the polylogy as a way to score oodles of cash for the publishing house, the media conglomerate making the movies, and the author. I'm all for art being a lucrative business, but money can't be the motivation for a story. Reading these novels whose stories could have been more eloquently and efficiently told in one novel, has become an exercise in futility.

Stay tuned for my next post. Romance: The Horror.

Laters, babies

Ebb and Flow

It's all in the attitude, the outlook, the lens from which we perceive the world. Circumstances are what they are, but it is our reaction to them that can change; and sometimes, the greatest change comes from within.
The Revolution of One.

I have always drawn great comfort and release from writing. There have been periods in my life when I have written non-stop. I have a lot to say.
Then there have been other times that a silence comes over me.
I have a lot to experience.
It used to be that sometimes, during the ebb-time of my writing, I would be stricken with a sudden panic that I am not doing more with my abilities, with my time. That because
I am a writer,
I have the obligation to publish.
To see my name (Hello, Ego! How you doin'?) in print.

But writing does not bear any relation to the business of publishing.
Or does it?

Writing is expression and should be something personal.
It should exist for its own sake, and not depend on who is reading it and for what purpose.
But that's utter nonsense.
Writing needs to be shared.
Otherwise, it's an endless babbling monologue in a room of one.

But in my room, there is a revolution brewing.
I can feel it bubbling inside, a brook of change, of growth, of resurgence.

I am standing at the terminal, watching the planes depart and land.
Tickets and boarding passes of ideas and possibilities, that might pique my interest or just leave me cold.
I choose to embark on this adventure with
anticipation
not wariness.

The attitude might not change the outcome, but it can make the ride.

Now Boarding

Do you ever get those dreams that make you wake up with tears in your eyes? I had one this morning. I dreamt that I was vacationing with friends of mine, friends I have known for decades, friends with whom I have all but lost touch. Not for lack of trying on my part.

We were at an airport about to go back home, when I told them how I felt about this distance that is ever-growing between us. They listened and were sympathetic, promising to keep in touch. Our flight was called and we gathered our things to cue up at the gate. As I was following them, I noticed they left some sunglasses behind - three pairs- and when I turned back from getting them, they had all disappeared.

They didn't even wait for me.

The last thought I had was, "It's okay. We're on the same flight."

I guess the symbolic and not so symbolic message of the dream is very clear. This feeling of abandonment the dream engendered is a familiar one, one I have dreamt about and have felt on several occasions; and as I slowly woke up, going through my morning routines, I realized it's time to let go.

No matter how much I try to keep in touch with people who have moved on in their lives, leaving me in their past, it's time to just collect myself and move on with mine. Trying to hold on to the precious memories of a past friendship, memories left behind like sunglasses at an airport diner, is sweet but futile.

Time to gather up myself, and cue up at the gate of new possibilities. And who knows, one day, we might find ourselves on the same flight.

A Voice

Sometimes, a voice moves separately from the words. A soft dulcet tone delivering the harshest comment can sweeten it into an endearment. A voice, harsh with anger, turns a simple hello into a curse.

Sometimes, a voice filled with passion, strangled by tears, impregnated by laughter, can evoke the most powerful emotion.

Sometimes, a voice is overcome by the enormity of what it has to deliver; and sometimes, it can break sound barriers, shatter all barriers, to deliver its missile.

Voices can mingle or clash, but sometimes, voices can maim the underlying understanding of voiceless communication.

Sometimes, soft voices can be barely audible in a room full of hotheads, but sometimes soft voices can command the room's attention.

Sometimes, voices can break off into many prisms of uncut crystal clarity.

But never, no never, should voices be silenced.

Something Smiles

Creativity. The root of existence.
Existence. An idea within, a breath coming out.
Spark. Electricity.
Syncopated oxygen.
Smothered in the fluid motion of air
spirit
soul.
Relaxation. A tune. In tune.
A one with one. Being just in the moment.
Just so.
So?
Trying to force the air out at first. Force the juices of inspiration.
Like one held in a cave too long. A willing captive of one's own denial of what the moment may bring.
Still.
It is worth the gasping, searing pain of being forced into that moment.
Going through the canal of birth.
Rebirth.
Painful and messy. The first breath painful, but the harbinger of life.
A breath we have taken for granted.
No second thought.
A primal instinct.
A life we live unconsciously from morning waking to evening ritual.
But.
Stop.
Breathe in the moment. Precious breath.
Breeding sparks of truth.
Nurtures the soil of the soul. The soul of the soil.
Spurts forth.
Lush and ripe to be
picked up.
Dusted off.
Starting all over again.
From the dust, something flowers.
From the pain, something smiles.
Empty of expectation.
Not seeking approval
or validation.
Like a parking ticket.
It is here
and here is wonderful.

Nesting

I have finally done the backyard, living room and bedroom to my liking! I will be adding some of my digital artwork in the living room soon. I have finishing decorative touches to put in the basement; and the next project will be the kitchen to complete renovating my home!

I see the remnant of my Vicks hugging cold on the headboard which I will be replacing soon!

I am working on some art for the wall :)

My digital artwork and a mirror will be added to this room. But I love me my new white faux-leather sofas!

Artwork on the wall is by Danette Relic, Rowena Murillo, and Steve Emery

Love my new faux fireplace/entertainment center!

The backyard is dreamy with the lights.

My Next Background

This image I created is the one I want to use for my blog. What do you think?