The Destroyer. At rest.

I won’t be blogging much after today, although I just found out that there’s wifi on the playa - but I still don’t think I am bringing my computer because I’ve been told that I need to take some time off, and although I know I should leave a happy, happy, joy, joy blog, I’m not there today.

But there are lots of things that are making me happy. Mainly career things. I think when I get back in September, so much will manifest in that area of my chart (as an astrologer might say) and it will all be good.

But…

There’s a woman named Carolyn Myss and I don’t know her at all, nor do I think I ever will, but my boyfriend and one of his friends, they’ve been studying her teachings a bit, and trying to discover the different archetypes that make up their persons. Carolyn believes that each of us is a series of twelve archetypes including the child, the victim, the prostitute and the saboteur. We all have these four archetypes in our “Sacred Contract” (as her book is called) because they are all essential to our survival. The other eight archetypes are decided on based on who we know we are, even if at times we don’t like what that means.

We spent Sunday analyzing Jonny’s chart, and discussing his various archetypes. As I thumbed through the book, and began reading about the various types for myself, I started to pinpoint the archetypes that I could relate to. There is the shape-shifter - a person in a constant state of transition, change or flux (you pick the word), and the teacher - a person who helps others learn. Then there were some others that I know I am that have been biting at my neck like a mosquito or an annoying bird who thinks that your neck isn’t flesh but birdseed.

I believe I’m an outsider rebel. I’ve never felt like I belong. In any group. Anywhere. In high school I had three close girl friends, and now I talk to none of them. In college I had a few more, and really keep in touch with one. I’ve had a lot of jobs since college and have made and lost a lot of friends along the way. I’ve never felt like I belonged and therefore have always considered myself an outsider in any social circle, and yeah, I’m also a bit of a rebel. So, this is def. one archetype I connect with.

Now, this outsider rebel persona is helping aid my other persona, the one that is, and will continue to, get me into a shitload of trouble. That’s the archetype of the destroyer. The destroyer is good at destroying things in her path. Obviously. But what sucks is that no matter how obvious, and no matter how hard I try, I still manage to get myself into spaces that aim at destroying everything. It’s as if I’m in a straight jacket and I still manage to stab myself with a pencil. It’s frustrating and drives me crazy and makes me think that maybe what I’m afraid of is being with someone, more than being alone. I didn’t know what to call it before this weekend, but this personality, this destroyer, she can ruin everything.

I don’t want to be her anymore. I think I need to get to Burning Man more than I realized that I needed to. My goal there: To be present. Always. And to eliminate some of this destroyer personality.

As they say in yiddish…Oy vey.

My fellatio video is almost done and that makes me super happy..and no, I didn’t *star* in the video, at least not in the naked sense. I did *star* in the video though, although that seems like many years and lifetimes ago…since it was before I began my health plan, pre my no cheese diet, pre my joining the gym. But that’s not what I want to blog about today. I’m a bit nervous about my dietary needs at Burning Man as I decided to pay a lot of money to a camp so that I can have a communal dining experience, even if I’m not going to be sleeping at said camp. That makes me happy, because I feel the need for community, but I feel like I must be annoying, since I joined at the last minute and then I had to send an email to the head of the camp that said.. “uh, by the way I don’t eat cheese or wheat.” I am probably the pickiest eater you could ever eat with.

I often aplogize to my fellow patrons, the ones sitting at my table, when we are ready to place our order. I’m the kind of girl who has certain dietary restrictions, the kind that change all the time, depending on the type of “diet” I’ve decided to put myself on. Now it’s that no cheese, no wheat, no pasta and very little white potatoes diet, but I still eat corn and other oats, and I love soy cheese. I don’t like raw onions on food, they repeat on me all night, and I can’t stand too much rosemary. If we’re at a Chinese Restaurant I want to make sure there’s no MSG, even if, most of the time, I forget to ask. When I do remember, I remember, and then I ask. Although I’m not even sure if restaurants cook with MSG anymore. Do they?

Then I dissect food as well. Especially if it were alive in the animal sense. I don’t eat beef, chicken or the other white meat, but I do eat certain types of fish. Very certain types of fish. I’m trying to like tuna again, although I was traumatized when at 8 years old I learned that a tuna sandwich came from the sea - don’t ask, I didn’t know any better for some reason - but I do eat salmon and white fishes, but not white fish, that’s too smelly. But if I’m eating salmon I have to make sure that there are no grey parts on the meat, no skin, and def. no bones (but who wants to eat bones anyway?) and once in a while when I eat the fish that comes with the eyes and mouth on it, I insist that whomever I’m eating with chop off the head before I even look at the plate. Yes, that’s the kind of eater I am.

Still, I’m cordial to the waitstaff and I tip well. And at least I don’t ask for my drinks with no ice, the way my father used to, so that he could make sure that we got more bang for the buck.

I mean, c’mon I’m not that picky.

A pic of me. Done by me. I’m not masturbating (not that there’s anything wrong with that) even if it looks like I am.

The days left til I won’t blog so much are most def. here. My flight leaves mid-afternoon Wed., and have I mentioned - since the last blog - that I am so fucking excited? Yes, I think I have, but still I fail to think of anything I want to mention more.

Oh, except that I just recorded my first podcast for Playgirl TV‘s website. It’s not up yet, but it should be up soon. It’s short, since I’m still experimenting and I have no potential for guests just yet, but it’s done. An accomplishment in and of itself.

Tonight I must pack after I visit a couple of other “must do’s” on my way to this year’s Burning Man. It gets complicated because you have to pack for extreme heat and frigid cold, and then there’s always the small but because it’s so small it will probably happen chance of rain. Rain and dust don’t mix, sort of like oil and water don’t…except that they actually do mix, but not in a good mix sort of way.

I was just reminded of an incident that really pissed me off this weekend. I was sitting on my steps, the ones in front of my house, and this neighbor woman of mine - a crazy lady that I had never seen before, got out of a car right in front of my house. I was wearing a skirt, a below the knee skirt, but after sitting on the third step in front of my house, I guess it didn’t look like it was so below the knee. Jonny (that again is the boyfriend’s name) is standing in front of me. We’re talking, minding our own business, casually closing out the world around us…oh, that’s me, not him..

Soooo…We’re talking and this lady, she sort of looks like a younger version of the old lady in Throw Mama From the Train (Anne..something or other) - she steps out of the car and starts to move her legs in this awkward open/close motion, as if she’s doing the bottom part of the hand jive from the movie Grease. She’s opening and closing her legs, like a chicken who’s just learning to walk, and then I notice that she’s doing this gesture as she’s pointing at me.

“You can see everything,” she screams and walks a bit closer. “Everything!”

I am taken aback and proceed to close my legs for fear that she has some sharp object that she’s about to stab me with right in between my thighs. And as she stumbles to the door two doors down from my apartment, she continues to scream, “You’re disgusting. Goddamn girl. Close your legs…” and other things like that.

Out of the blue. For no reason. I seemed to really piss her off. I wanted to write a letter and slide it under her door. Jonny didn’t think that was a good idea. I don’t like her attitude though, and quite frankly, she got a little too upset about seeing my underwear. Actually she got a lot too upset. I was wearing underwear and it was covering anything she might not want to see!!! She’s obviously not a happy person, but still, she doesn’t have to take it out on random strangers. Or does she? I guess if I’m not going to confront her, then I’ll never know. So instead I’ll post a pic of me in my underwear…sort of…my bra..or maybe it’s a bathing suit top…this is for her, because I’m afraid she didn’t get to see enough. Not that she knows my name, or where to find me…

Life is full of mysteries. What was up with the crazy lady, this is one of those mysteries.

The Hanging Tree. Washington Square Park.

I’m leaving New York on Wednesday and feel like I haven’t fully realized that I’m leaving New York on Wednesday. I’m leaving for two weeks, with minimal computer access, because I won’t be bringing my computer out to the middle of the desert where it could potentially get fucked in a dust storm, and therefore, after next Wednesday, I will have minimal communications with the outside world (cell phones don’t work in the desert either). And here I sit in a coffee shop, getting my quick fix so that I don’t focus on the fact that I won’t be able to get my blogging fix for quite a while.

Next week, at a little later than around this time, I will be on the ‘playa’ or in the desert staring up at the man that has come to represent the Burning Man festival. I can’t believe one year has passed since the last festival, but since this only happens once a year I guess I should believe it, and now as I get ready to pack up the costumes, pack up the blinkies, pack up my insecurities about my relationship, I must admit, I can’t wait to get the fuck out of dodge.

And next week I’ll also be with one of my other loves, the city of San Francisco. I can’t wait to be back in that magical city!!! These next few weeks are going to be good. Real good. That’s all I have to say right now. Surprising but true.

My kind of man…

Sometimes I am so behind the times, or at least a day behind them.

From Yesterday’s NY DAILY NEWS:

Playgirl’s hunks? The hairy, chubby & poor!

Forget waxed chests and rock-hard abs. A new survey finds ladies like their men scruffy, a wee bit chubby - and definitely not a metrosexual. Playgirl asked 2,000 of its readers what they find sexy in a man and the answers were surprising: 42% said they thought love handles were kind of sexy and 47% approved of chest hair.

The mag, which often features toned, hairless males in its beefcake photo spreads, is now searching for a man who meets readers’ standards.

Average Joes everywhere can send photos to models@playgirlmag.com to compete for a shot at a pictorial in a future issue.

Rich playboys need not apply - only 4% of women said the size of a man’s wallet mattered. Metrosexuals are also out: 73% want a guy who is “rough around the edges.”

“This survey shows that the guy who’s most attractive to our readers is not your average Hollywood hunk,” said Playgirl editrix Jill Sieracki. “It’s the average Joe who came up on top. Women are practical about their choices, and they’re smart.”

New York matchmaker Janis Spindel, a self-described specialist at setting up “highly successful, well-educated, attractive professionals,” confirmed the survey’s findings. “It’s scary, but women don’t care [about looks],” she said. “Men are very superficial and very shallow.”

But Spindel disputed the claim that women don’t care about finding a rich man: “Women want a man who makes more money than they do,” she said. “They want to be able to live a comfortable lifestyle.”

And if you haven’t read enough!!!

The NY POST (again from yesterday)

DUMPY DUDES HAVE A ‘HANDLE’ ON THE GALS

There is a God after all, guys

Alex Grey “Oversoul”

Sometimes life literally slaps me in the head, not the kind of smack that hurts or can cause any life damaging concussions, but one of those slaps that helps shake up all the loose brain particles and arrange them in some sort of semblance of order. That’s exactly what happened yesterday, and I’m in a bit of a shock at how quickly it came about. Still, I’m sure the roller coaster ride will continue.

I was not feeling all that happy yesterday. One of my co-workers claims it was the weather, but I don’t think that’s what it was for me. I liked that it got cold, I liked that I wasn’t sweating every two minutes, I didn’t mind the rain. I think it was something else, actually a couple of something elses. Anyway, I let my thoughts go crazy, and even though I promised Jonny (that’s my boyfriend’s name as it gets old always calling him my boyfriend when he’s much more of a person than that) that when I feel a downward spiral coming on, I’ll start singing John Denver’s “Country Road” or Outkast’s “Vibrate,” - nothing was working.

It only got worse as the night got later, and I could feel my anger and sadness reaching a space in my body that was both uncomfortable and ugly. I wanted to go home and meditate, yes, meditate, something I’ve been trying to do more often, and something that I have done the past two nights. But I was nowhere near home and I was losing control.

Then…

I got on the subway, and I took out the book I’ve been reading. It’s a conversation between Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers called “The Power of Myth.” It’s a pretty incredible dialogue, one that’s opened up my perceptions on life, religion, relationships..things like that. Anyway, last night I was reading and something happened. Some sort of larger understanding on the meaning of life, something I had never been able to grasp before. This might sound strange, perhaps new agey, perhaps freakish, maybe loony, I don’t even know if I can accurately write what I want to say, but I’ll try.

When I was a young Jamye and I couldn’t sleep at night, I would often start imagining the concept of death. Not really of how I was going to die, or when it would happen, but I focused more on how you don’t return from death. How death is forever, and ever and ever and ever and ever, and ever, I could never stop the evers…you get the picture. Now granted, I do believe in reincarnation - at least for a limited time - but at that time I didn’t, and at that time I didn’t really understand how to measure forever, *of course I still don’t know how to measure forever and I wanted to know how to be okay with the fact that one day I just wouldn’t be here.

In this book, Bill Moyers asks Joseph Campbell if he is afraid of aging, or how he views getting old. And Joseph Campbell goes into this beautiful explanation of how the body is, at first, something we are very connected with, and as we age and it loses some of its functioning, we find a stronger connection with our spirits, we become more conected with our consciousness and our soul. And when we die, our consciousness, which is what we really are anyway, just rejoins the consciousness of the universe, and that’s how life is. In fact, birth is one of the most difficult times in life because it is the beginning of when we are forced to reconnect with something outside of what is just consciouness.

This explanation, this awesome description of life and aging has helped me get over the concept of forever. It’s helped me to understand that when we die, or as we live, we are working on the eventual rejoining with what is natural. Life is part of our soul’s process of growth and it is a series of adventures and challenges and learning and things like that. But in the end, life is what it is, and it is not all we are.

Now everytime I start to worry, to feel sad, whatever..I think consciousness meets consciousness and everything feels better again. It’s like I’ve had this rebirth, this beautiful understanding of how much more we are than what we think we are, and I’m only on page 84 of “The Power of Myth!”

I feel so different. Last night I had my first real self-meditative experience. It was short (only 10 minutes) but wild, and I was totally there and totally connected.

Now, on a funny and not having anything to do with anything note - Yesterday, when I went to the blood clot doctor I was wearing a shirt that read “A is for Anal” and while I thought I could get away with the explanation that I am anal (as in anal retentive) I don’t think most people were buying it. But my very nice doctor, he didn’t have a clue and eventually he blurts out “So, who is anal (a-nail)?”

Like I said, he didn’t have a clue. I’m only beginning to realize, in some ways, neither do I.

It’s always about me…
unless it’s about Pokey…(a memorial to Mr. Pokey 2001-2003)

At 8:30 this morning I realized that I was the victim of credit card fraud. It’s happened to me before, and I’m afraid it may happen to me again - well, not afraid in the oh, my goddess I’m scared to get out of bed because there’s a Chucky doll under my bed afraid - but afraid in the sense that it’s so common it could happen to anyone afraid. It always seems to happen to me as I’m about to embark on a vacation or something, and this time there is no exception. Hopefully I’ve planned well, and the fact that I may not have a debit card for the next few weeks won’t really be an issue. But whoever is using my card to watch “Live Naked Girls” from their home computer, will be sad when they log on today. Their account is officially closed, and so is use of my card.

Ha! Ha! Bastard…

Onto other news about me..although I really think I should learn to start writing news about other people…

I had a bit of a minor hypochondriac scare this past weekend. I’m a big hypo and when I feel pain and then find out that there could be a legitimate reason for my pain, my thoughts spiral out of control. I’ve been having this throbbing in my left calf for the past few weeks, and while I’ve been ignoring it, actually just thinking it was the product of some improper stretching, I decided to read the “cautionary warning” on my birth control pill instructions. It turns out that being on the pill can cause blot clots in the calf, another great reason for me to get off of it (something I’m thinking about doing, but for really stupid, selfish reasons don’t actually want to do)..and although anybody who talked to me on Sunday had to listen to me talking about my blood clot, I was still only partially convinced that I was dying.

Then on Monday when I got into work I googled “blood clot in the calf” and freaked myself out even more. Apparently another symptom of a blood clot is that one ankle is more swollen then the other - presumably the ankle with the clot - and wouldn’t you know it, but really, truly my left ankle was more swollen, tender and what one person referred to as “doughy.” So after seeing that additional symptom, I freaked out and headed straight to my doctor. She wasn’t convinced that it was or wasn’t a blood clot, and told me to go get a sonogram just to be sure - especially because I’m flying next week. And this morning, the sonogram doctor could see me and after he gelled my leg with warm blue stuff, I’ve discovered that I’m blood clot free!!! But he also suggested I wear support stockings when I fly. And now I know how to check for my own blood clots. Something any good hypochondriac should learn how to do..

I actually told myself last night that I didn’t have a blood clot. I also told myself I have to stop manifesting these sorts of things. I mean after all the brain isn’t only the most powerful sex organ, it’s the most powerful health organ as well.

Okay..so let’s talk about something other than me.

Hmm..

Thinking…

Still thinking…

Am I that narcisstic?

How’s that for a personal ad…

My legs, this past Saturday.

It might have been the grossest f*ckin’ weekend I’ve yet to experience in New York this summer, as I was out of town the last time I heard we had a hot spell and therefore, a pretty gross weekend. Although those thunderstorms yesterday were pretty damn cool and extremely intense, and nothing like I’ve seen in years, until the rain literally came pouring down, it was hard to want to motivate to do anything. Still somehow we managed to get out and do.

Saturday, a group of us got to hear the master, Timothy “Speed” Levitch recite his verbage about this great city. He took us on a tour of Washington Square Park and we ended at a nice cowgirl type establishment in the West Village. It was strange, none of us were tourists, yet because we walked in a large group, with a tour guide, everyone assumed that we were. It was the first time I’ve ever been called a tourist in the city that I’ve called home - on and off - for the past eight years. It gave me a whole new perspective on living in New York.

But let’s get back to the storm…When my boy (I like to use that term as it makes me feel all manly and stuff) and I were walking down his block last night, we were greeted by a big mess of tree that had been significantly destroyed by the heavy wind and rain. In all actuality, it was probably hit by lightning and that’s why it was damaged, and in it’s few moments of struggle, it uprooted an electrical pole down the block (the wires of the pole and the tree were somehow tangled). It was insane and beautiful and made me fully appreciate the power of nature, something that Joseph Campbell would say human beings don’t necessarily know how to appreciate.

But there are lots of things I don’t know how to fully appreciate. One of them is being my relationship. The boy and I are currently still in “Deep Space Nine” the time, around nine months, where you re-evaluate space as an issue. And because of me it’s still an issue. We talked a lot about space during the hot humidity of the weekend. But I’m going to make a change, as Michael Jackson would say, only mine won’t involve little boys and a bed.

But it will be involved. At least in my mind. Cause I’m not only a thinker, I’m a brinker..a word I’ve made up about living on the brink of whatever. Today it might be the brink of sanity. Although some might argue I’ve fallen over that edge a long time ago…

This is not my bed. This is not my hitachi magic wand.

I have spent more hours watching Playgirl TV erotic entertainment over the last few days than most women will spend watching all year. I’ve spent more hours writing erotic voice overs then I ever imagined I would, and if I can’t find more words for pussy and cock, words like sex, shaft, rod and wetness…then I will have to hang up my erotic writing hat sooner than I should. I’m quickly learning the ins and outs of being on the inside of erotic writing (does that make sense?), but I get bored using the same words, although I really do like saying “my sex.” At least I’m seeing new men and women having sex, and I do enjoy a good oral scene, esp. when he goes down on her, but still, after a while, sex is sex is sex. Oh, that makes me so sad to write. Do I really believe my own ears?

I’m about to head out to do a photo shoot for a certain magazine. I’ll divulge the details once it’s all done, but I’m pretty excited!!! And yes, of course, it has to do with sex. But at least I don’t have to watch anyone else having sex today. Unless of course it’s watching myself - I do have these great mirrored closets in my new apartment. But the odds of that happening tonight are a big fat ZERO. My boy and I, we seem to be having some space issues in the relationship. More like he wants a lot of it, and I don’t want as much. I like sleeping in bed with someone night after night. But it IS a growing process. I mean it’s been so long since I’ve even gotten this far with somebody. I know I should just enjoy the time it’s taking to get to the next place. Patience. It is a virtue.

Too bad I have so little of it. Okay, back to positive Jamye now.

(Fade out)

Me. Last month. In my new”est” glasses.

It’s amazing what a few days can do to your perception of life. While two days ago I was grumpy and miserable, and three days ago I was crying until I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, last night and all day today have been two of my happiest days in a while.

I’m not much into self-help books, because quite frankly, I used to always think that I could help myself - thank you, but recently a girl I know told me about the book, “Excuse Me, Your Life Is Waiting.” (lynn grabhorn) I read a couple of chapters about a month ago, and then put it down to read Hemingway’s “A Farewell to Arms,” because I felt like I needed something that would make me seem more well-rounded. But after my bit of a breakdown over the weekend, I decided that it was time to get some positive vibrational flow back in my noggin’ and have been reading a chapter every day at the gym* *when I go to the gym. Anyway, between the book talking about how to be positive (Okay, I know a book can’t talk), and then me just being positive - it’s working!

Of course, there are always things to throw a positive person off. For instance, the phone call to my grandmother last night. She literally answers the phone and says, “Hi Jame. How are you? So, did you lose any weight?”

Okay, I know. I know. She’s old and not as with it as she once was, but still, what kind of question is that? At least what kind of question is that too start off a conversation with? Maybe if I had said, “Y’know Grandma, I’ve been going to the gym and watching what I eat, and having lots of sex…” then maybe, just maybe she could have asked me that sort of question. But that’s not what I said, not that it isn’t true, well, maybe parts of it are true and parts of it aren’t, but still, it’s not the way I’d start off a conversation with anybody, let alone my granddaughter who’s had a constant life struggle with a few extra pounds. I totally understand where my body image issues stem from. I remember when I was younger and my grandparents tried to bribe me to lose weight. They told me they’d get me a present if I lost a couple of pounds. Well, when I did lose some excess skin, they gave me a mail-in Tropicana watch that they got on rebate from the back of the Orange Juice cartons. It was totally cheap and gross and a big disappointment.

“Life is full of disappointments. Get used to it.” (The Princess Bride)

However, while I was having the above mentioned conversation with my Grandma Shirley, I also had a power of the mind sort of experience. I hadn’t thought about this boy I used to work with (E.D.) in like three years, and then when I was walking uptown to meet a friend for dinner, I thought I saw someone that looked like him. It wasn’t him, and I kept walking. Then on 62nd and Broadway - right smack dab in the middle of my grandmother and the weight conversation - I heard “Jamye” and turned around to see E.D. It was crazy I say, crazy!

And I am so happy to have a website and to love my website. It makes me feel good, real good, like after sex good…what’s with me and sex today? …to be able to look at the site and think, damn this is beautiful.

Because right now, everything is.