I try to hold onto the moments when I feel absolutely secure.
When I know that I am an important, rich, beautiful, colorful human being worthy of attention and love.
I try to hold too, to the moments that spear me open with pain and crush the cockles that line the sandy shores of the inside of me.
I try to make a balance of pain and joy, to remember the smooth and buttery flavor of pleasure and the vinegar-sour pulse of a heartache.

All day I silently recite proverbs and poems, French curses and love songs, bible passages and poignant lyrics from songs, hoping to find some way to connect the hot river of words on the inside to the solitary beauty of the outside around me.
When I fall asleep at night I comb through the long and silky strands of my memory and tease out the tiny moments when it didn’t hurt to breathe, swaddle myself in the almost imagined thoughts of smiles and casual touches, create a thick cushion of possession to curl up on, gently easing me to sleep- and if there isn’t enough- if I cannot picture enough touches or smiles or moments of love to build my nightly bed, then I slip further into myself to some fantasy I’ve constructed for the occasion where I can simulate the feeling of being cared about and treasured by those unnamed and unfaced, until numbness takes me over and I sleep just the same.

Where are they?
The small but bosom kith to surround me, take me in, and tell me, yes, you are loved.
Yes, you are loved.
Yes, you.
Loved.

Ever Virgin.

The wonderful and terrible thing about human relationships is how utterly complicated they are.  How without any effort whatsoever, and with a complete lack of control, the human body and the human mind create their own natural reactions to the behavior and chemicals of another person.  I am constantly surprised by how easily and seamlessly emotions run together and turn on people, making a happy event or a sad event reverse itself almost instantly, and how even though one’s logic can talk away a hurt or a slight, ones emotions sometimes cannot.  Even when you want to stop being sad or angry, recognizing it as a severe waste of time, your emotions can choose to ignore that logic and take their own time instead.

It’s almost 10:00 am on the day after Steven’s holiday party, which was , without question, a lovely event with an interesting crowd and I’d gladly attend a similar future event if I am invited.  It went infinitely better than the last time I hung out with Steven’s friends, on the whole.  While I was there, Brody, who is Steven’s roommate, was recommending movies to me and mentioned that Jacob and Steven saw Milk together on their Christmas holiday.  For those of you without the history Jacob and I had plans to see this movie, and he ruined  them by being late from an outing with Steven that he could have easily declined but didn’t even though he knew he would be late.  I had my heart set on seeing this movie and I was very disappointed- so Steven and Jacob offered to treat me to the film because they knew I was so upset about missing it.  It was a nice gesture and I appreciated it, though they never offered again and thusly we didn’t go.  It was inappropriate, in my mind, for me to bring this up, “hey you need to take me to that free movie you promised me,” so I waited for them to invite me- it didn’t happen.  So when I found out last night that instead of taking me to see the film I missed (did I mention they were free passes with a talk-back by the director and some of the actors after the show?) because of their selfishness, they instead took themselves to see the movie together and without me.  I didn’t know WHAT to do.  I felt a little bubble of pain and injustice burst in my heart.  I didn’t want to be upset, I wanted to let it roll off of me, but I couldn’t.  It really hurt my feelings.  It is so difficult to see a friendship you’ve grown and cultivated and cherished and cared for absolutely and instantly tossed aside for someone who is almost a stranger.   I know Jacob doesn’t want to hurt me, I know he loves me and he tries to be a good friend to me.  Logic dictates that I am overreacting when I get so hurt over a slight as insignificant as seeing a movie.  But it’s more than that- its the feeling of being disregarded when the two of them had date plans they liked better than keeping their word.  I just wouldn’t ever do something like that to someone that I claimed to care about.   And you know- Jacob had nothing to say about it.  He was just going to ignore it like it never happened and he didn’t even apologize.  I had to ask him to say he was sorry, which means he actually wasn’t sorry and was placating me.  Even then I wanted to just forget about it but the idea that he couldn’t care any less just ate and me and made me even more upset.

Its no longer Saturday, and I have things to do in my life that make still feeling sad about this a waste of my time, but I cannot seem to shake it.  It feels so sneaky.  Like the two of them were going to pull one over on silly little Shan and think that I’d be none the wiser.  That’s not how it usually works with me.  I tend to always acquire the knowledge somehow- the truth just sort of floats around me until it touches me, it has always been that way.  If Jacob had just told me- “When we were in P-Town we saw Milk, there was nothing else playing at the theater!  We loved it!  We’d totally go again to see it, do you still want to go?”  I would have said oh no…it’s okay…I’ll wait, but thanks for asking!  But I would have felt like he respected me enough to at least tell me.  Even if he was totally lying and could care less about my feelings, at least I wouldn’t have felt like a discarded shoe.  I just want so badly for him to apologize in earnest, so that I don’t have this weight sitting on my heart- but he won’t.  People don’t always give you what you need.  People let you down.  Friends let you down.

And that is what makes human emotions so complicated.  Because I am raw with love for him even still.  It doesn’t matter how many times this sort of thing might happen, I still love him as one of my dearest friends on this earth and I couldn’t picture not having him as a part of my life.  I mean, love, in all its variations, platonic to romantic, is so beautiful because it smothers all those other emotions and in the end the love will always win- at least for me.  Even though what I need from him is some sort of explanation as to why my feelings meant so little to him, what will replace that need is the wash of love that we share.  That love will fill in the cracks of my sadness and hurt and I won’t feel it anymore except in the dark hours of the night when all the other emotions tie their strings together, wrap themselves around me, and make me wonder why I ever thought I was worthy of real love or friendship in the first place. And those nightime sadnesses don’t matter- they are only shadows meant specifically to beat me down, and so far, I’ve been able to take them on pretty successfully.  It is hard though- and even harder when they get the amunition like this to keep feeding them and making them stronger.  It’s hard to battle against the thought, “your dearest friends don’t even care about you enough to keep their word…”

I think I am going to try to be productive, clean my house up, caress my dog, try to ascribe positive emotions to complicated and sad scenarios.  I know I don’t usually get so specific with actual names, but this one wasn’t going to go anywhere unless I shared it.  So here it is.  Proof that sometimes even I am not strong enough to hold it all inside.

Ever Virgin.

Sometimes we get what we want, and we don’t even realize it. Sometimes we get what we want without doing anything at all. It makes me wonder- how hard do you have to think about something to force a change? Can you truly change the way things are simply by wishing hard enough- maybe even wishing without realizing you are. I guess I just wonder if God really does bless us with answered prayers more than we even realize. Everything always works out, in the end.

Vauge and pointless paragraph? I suppose I’ll pad the sides with a little actual content for good measure. We move in two days and the house is only about 50% packed. I am not worried yet though it is possible that I should be! I’m looking so forward to settle myself into a new place that I plan on residing in for several years- until I am ready to buy a home of some sort. Hopefully this year will also bring a car, I know I gave it up once and it was okay..but I just want to have one. It makes me feel safe and it makes me feel confident and secure. Hopefully by November I’ll be ready.

Yesterday I witnessed a bank robbery and its subsequent police chase and arrest. It scared me a little, but mostly it just made me sad. I thought about how desperate that man must be, knowing full well he was going to get caught, to go into the bank and rob it. I said a prayer for him. I mean, maybe he was a scumbag, or a drug addict, or selfish and cruel- but maybe he was a guy caught so tight in a life that spun out of control that he had to do it because there was no other option. Yes, I know, there is always another option- but I know what it is like to feel trapped and desperate and I wanted, at that moment, more than being scared, to pray that he is blessed and healed. Maybe it makes me a sucker, but I think I am okay with it.

I am leaving you with this comic that made me laugh so hard I had to lay down to keep from hyperventilating. I think it might only be funny to a select group of “potty trainers”, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. It even LOOKS like Lavan.

Ever Virgin.

A question for all you philosophers out there.

Here is a scenario.

You’re ex-boyfriend offers to pay your rent for the rest of your lease if you sleep with him one time.  It’s as simple as that.  You give up the goods, he gives over the cash, every month until you move out of your apartment.  So, let’s look at this in a little more depth.

You dated this man for four years and were emotionally though not officially, attached to him for another year and a half.  In that time, your morals and values were such that you did not think it was appropriate to have sexual intercourse with someone until you were lawfully married in the eyes of the church, thusly, the two of you, despite the length of your relationship, never got down.  So he still considers you a big V even if you have already thrown down with dozens, even hundreds of men, and even if you already told him that you may not be as innocent as he once knew you to be he still sees the scarlet V dazzling on your bosom.  His desire for conquest seems to have no basis in the actual reality of your sexual history.
Now, let’s consider the implications of your break up.  You assured the ex that at the time of your breakup you would never again, under any circumstances; take him back if he decided to make the choice to end the relationship.  Even with a full understanding of what would happen, he decides the time for the two of you is over.  So, having made his choice, you cut him out of your heart.  Throughout the years since there have been countless moments where he regrets this decision and on many occasions crawls back to you, begging to be taken back, but true to yourself and your ideals, you stand firm.  To have sex with him now would effectively destroy the delicate fence that you built between the two of you even when your own temptation was very strong.
That being said, you wonder what it would be like to bone the man that you already know so much about.  You can hardly remember what his mouth tastes like (or other things) and you wonder if the same things still get a standing ovation.  Part of you is curious to see what it would be like to be with him now that you are both adults and now that you both understand what means a lot, and what means nothing, and maybe you would do it just for fun anyway, money aside.
Yes, there’s the money.  Does receiving this monthly gift from him, at a point post-coital, make you a prostitute?  If a prostitute is defined as someone who has sex for monetary compensation, then maybe you are.  But are you having the sex for the money or is the money merely a gift brought on in generosity for the giving of a gift that he has been longing for, for many years.  Perhaps you do it because you want to do it, and the money isn’t even an object, but then the money ends up coming out of the experience anyway, does that then make you a whore?  A whore is someone who has sex not for money but because they like it, at least that is my understanding.  And even if the real definition implies many, varied, sexual partners for an extended period of time, by the sheer weirdness of this one sex act, you’d be thrown into that category.
So what to do?   Sex and money, no sex and no money, or maybe even sex but no money?  Please, offer me your suggestions.   Please keep in mind the HYPOTHETICAL nature of this post.

Ever Virgin

There are some things that you never think will happen to you.  They are so far out of the realm of possibility that you don’t even have the inclination to imagine them.  They are so abstract that you can literally pull them out of thin air like a round robin make-believe story and you still couldn’t get as strange or outlandish as the actual reality. I sit here, lower lumbar supported by the cross-bar of my broken bed (injured by the stair-fall, in this episode), and I surround myself by ambient noise all around, the whirring of the fans somehow helping to recycle my brainwaves and keep the thoughts flowing from hysterically painful to hysterically ironic but never staying on any one given thought for long enough to make impact.  And I am thoughtful, quiet here, thinking about the ways we touch and the ways we are touched- thinking about the things we say to people and the words we omit to spare their feelings or our own.  I’m always thinking about them- the words, the motions, the actions and the reactions- what I fail to convey, how little of an impact I make for change in my heart, no matter how well intentioned.

It doesn’t feel right.  That I should know the curve your elbow makes when it hits your upper arm.  That I can trace behind my eyes the pattern your chest hair makes across your pectorals.  That I could paint the outline of your foot from my memory getting every detail as if I had traced it.  That I know which of your eyelashes cross over one another when you cry.  That I can count your breaths on the rise and fall of one freckle on your collar bone.  That I’ve covered your skin with my hands and with my eyes until you’ve been so fully absorbed into me that I feel like I could recreate you out of the matter that I imagine.  But to what end?  I am tired of feeling like I have the secret formula that will always know what color shirt you’re going to wear or what you’re going to order for breakfast.  I am scared that I could make your bed and know which pillows you prefer to have on top and which corner of the comforter to pull down.  I am frustrated that I would like to fold your laundry and match your socks and rub lotion into your shoulder blade in an intuitive, silent, no-need-for-thank-you sort of way.  I sit up in bed, awake, into the early hours of the morning, thinking about the smallest parts of you that charm me.  I want to finger paint you.  I want to cover you in orange blossoms and garlands of gardenia.  I want to push you into the ocean and run away and trip in the sand.  I want to clean up the crumpled paper, the dasani bottles, the condom wrappers and the sweaty t-shirts that you leave around my bedroom.  I want to outrun you.  I want to feel what it’s like to know you.  I want to feel like you know which direction the curls swirl around the frame of my face.  I want you to already know which crayon you would use to color in my eyes.  I want so much more than any one person could ever give me, and yet so little that it’s barely worth recognition.  I want to know someone sees me and that staying up all night, counting and recounting the span my two fingers can measure between your hip bone and waist is worth it.

For once, I want to outlandish reality to be so much more mundane than anything I could ever imagine.  Where are you?

Ever Virgin.

I know that this cannot be a venue for my heart to live in anger, and right now, my heart is so weary and so full of frustration that it almost hurts to breathe.  I feel so weak, and all I want is someone to hug me and ask me if I want a cup of tea, or just sit with me and tell me a story.  I know I do this for other people.  I am constantly doing this for other people.

I am consistently alone when I am in need.

I did not have the energy to do everything by myself tonight- but I did it anyway.  Because that’s what you’re supposed to do- live up to your obligations and fulfill other people’s expectations- and I CAN do it.  I do do it.  But I need someone to hold me right now, just for a few minutes.  The complete and utter lack of anyone who truly cares about my need is a deafening thud of complete silence.  I can care for myself 99.99 percent of the time, but I could really, really use a hand right now.  I don’t have a hand.  So what do I do?  Sew myself up and keep going, I know.  I know.  I’m not dumb.  and I’m not needy, and I’m not a complainer. I’m just very very very tired.

Ever Virgin.

It is hard, isn’t it? You go to bed one day feeling like a million bucks and you wake up in the morning and see the walls flaking all around you, leaving you in the middle of the floor on a bare mattress looking at the ceiling, quite confused and lonesome.

Lots of the people in my life are making transitions right now. Some are simply making a change of location- a new job, a new home- some are making changes in their lifestyles- getting married, having babies- but it seems like everywhere I look, things are not as they once were. Of course, everything changes. One cannot expect to know where everything is going to be from one day to the next- but as it stands, I am growing weary of always being on guard for when the next change will come around and smack me in the face.

Some people move through friends and relationships as if through water, gently drifting over one rock and the next, never fully taking root anywhere but always seeming to belong to all places at once. I am not that kind of friend. I root deeply in one location and try to place myself somewhere where I can reach all the things that are important to me. I cannot be like one that floats on the water- I have tried, but I just sink and drown in my own feelings of shallowness. I know I demand a lot from people, that my demands on a friend are more than your typical demands and I hold everyone around me to higher standards, which means, of course, that I am much more likely to be disappointed. But I cannot seem to accept that fact that people I love and care for are consistently failing on a day to day basis.

Stop being selfish. Stop being mean. Stop using other people as an excuse for your bad behavior. Account for your own negative actions, apologize, learn and grow. Just love each other. It doesn’t take long until you look up and suddenly find that no one is the same anymore, and trust me, it sucks to get left behind in the race to be more and better. I’m tired of racing. I want to feel like the people around me love me no matter what. That they know their actions matter because they effect me and other people in their lives. I don’t feel like running around trying to please people for the ten seconds of appreciation I get once every six months. Maybe that’s over dramatic, but its true- I can’t keep up the stamina.

When one person’s arms around you makes you burst into tears at the novelty of it- then you know there’s a problem.

There is a problem.

Ever Virgin.

How does one inaugurate a blog? Do I welcome my readers, as if they were entering a new home- everything lined up perfectly, free of dust and pollution, with the greatest of expectations? Do I give a fair warning that my home sometimes gets dark and messy- that sometimes the colors don’t go together and the upholstery is thick and scratchy? Or is it something else? Do I promise them fun, whimsy, laughs and tears, stupid pictures, video, witty banter? I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am a writer. And a writer writes. For quite some time now I have been abandoning the somewhat tired platform of live journal. It served me well and loyally since 2002, and I was its faithful companion for most of that tenure- but it holds within its pages a lot of memories that I am ready to set aside. I loved and lost much through those pages. I’m ready for a new book.

Ultimately, the urbanvirgin domain should be something more than just a blog, but until the time comes for me to spread into other corners of my mind to pull out the good gunk of creativity from the pool of uselessness, these humble words are all I can offer.

Thank you for being my muses, my brood, and my home off of paper.

Ever Virgin.