tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46330643138570681682024-03-05T16:15:42.109-05:00Living in ParadiseDelicious Randomness from the Mind of a Functioning-Dysfunctional, Arts/Culture/Life Aficionada.Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-74813147558888989372012-05-13T11:07:00.001-04:002012-05-13T11:23:26.313-04:00Insert Clever Mother's Day Title Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mother’s Day 2012</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning, my kids decided to make me breakfast for
Mother’s Day. My daughter prepared a bowl of oatmeal (at least I think that’s
what it was) and my son handed me a slice of bread. They stood there staring at
me with eager eyes waiting for me to finish the meal they prepared in my honor.
I ate every bite and smiled and praised them for doing such a great job.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t even hungry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just wanted some time to think in peace this morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found the gesture ironic that, much like every day, I am
forced to swallow something I don’t want or like for the sake of keeping my
kids happy. Definitive motherhood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shortly after breakfast, my mother came by to give me a
bouquet of dead flowers. I had to excuse myself after my celebratory breakfast
and lovely gift to cry in peace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oatmeal. A slice of bread. Dead flowers. Happy Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are you starting to see the picture that I am painting for
you?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ruminating...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought of my upbringing in a dysfunctional, broken family
and tried to isolate the reasons why approaching holidays have filled me with
dread and feelings of inadequacy for most of my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the part where I stop talking about myself. This is
the part where I start talking about the big picture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holidays can unearth repressed emotions within some people.
Feigning enthusiasm and pleasure for the sake of others is probably the most
difficult part of celebrating holidays. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'd like to take a moment to say it's okay if you're *not
feeling* Mother's Day or any other holiday for that matter. Not everyone can
uphold the standard of conventional living implied by greeting card marketing
strategies. Not all of us are perfect. Most of us do not have perfectly
constructed families and </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
perfect lives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of us who have lost mothers and grandmothers and
find this day unbearable, Fuck Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of us who are dealing with broken homes (due to
divorce or poor choices in choosing a mate) and feeling the weight of this
day and not sure why, Fuck Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of us who have buried children, Fuck Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of us who have endured an abusive or absentee
mother, Fuck Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of us that feel like our kids are more burdensome
than we’d ever care to admit to ourselves, let alone out loud, Fuck Mother’s
Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For all of those picture perfect families walking around
with smiles and honoring their matriarch on this day…Happy Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those that can’t conceive and see Mother’s Day as a
demarcation of ultimate failure as a woman, Fuck Mother’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fuck Mother’s Day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, reflect on your life and how the role of motherhood
has affected you as a mother, as a child, as a spouse, as a woman or as a man.
Whatever. If the feelings evoked are painful, don’t be afraid to cry or scream
or punch a hole through the wall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure how to end this. Besides, my kids are going to
eventually find me. Did I mention that I had to hide behind my bed to write
this? No? Well, I am… Forgive the typos in advance. I hope my words make sense.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time to fake it 'til I make it. xoxo</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Light and Love, yall. Everything is going to be alright.</div>
</div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-1445663525034995622012-02-19T19:45:00.000-05:002012-02-19T19:45:55.365-05:00The Reader From New Jersey...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">You've been visiting my blog since January 22. As of today, you have 138 visits. Who are you? Why don't you comment or drop me a line?<br />
<br />
What's so fascinating about this blog that I rarely update?</div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-79256428838979806512012-01-22T17:41:00.005-05:002012-01-22T18:17:24.734-05:00Don't Let Them Fool You: The Other Woman Matters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’ve stumbled upon this blog entry, you’ve more than likely made a google search seeking answers to resolve/absolve the issues brought on by the dreaded, shameful love triad known as an extramarital affair. Whether you are the ethically corrupt Jezebel, the philandering husband or the poor, sweet innocent wife/victim, an affair leaves all THREE parties (that’s right, THREE) with negative feelings that run the gamut between mild regret and self-destructive thought patterns. Hopefully, a little truth from the third party’s perspective can provide insight to all persons involved.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not going to exhaust my energy discussing how an affair affects the married couple. After all, there are a zillion and one websites, books and support groups providing information on everything from why spouses cheat, all the way to repairing a marriage after the affair is over. I can almost guarantee that the other woman will never be treated as a human being with legitimate feelings when it comes to marital counseling. She is often a two-dimensional object symbolizing the emotional or physical desires of the wayward husband. At best, she is a science project, a sociology experiment merely gauging the unaddressed needs or personality flaws of the husband. Through this litmus of indiscretion, a dishonored wife can learn to understand the needs of her husband and work towards building a stronger marriage for the next twenty years.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Twenty years of rebuilding. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This means the damaged union must embark on a twenty-year journey of self and couple realization through couples counseling, workshops and individualized therapy. That’s also twenty more years of self-help authors, therapists and retreat programs staying in business through enabling many couples to tire their arms beating the same dead horse over and over again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But what do I know? I’m no therapist. I was, however, the other woman and I am writing this for other “other women”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First and foremost, YOU MATTER! Don’t let people gaslight you into feeling that your emotions are not legitimate. Here’s a list of truths that no one wants to acknowledge when it comes to the other woman:</div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IT IS POSSIBLE FOR LOVE TO EXIST BETWEEN A MARRIED MAN AND ANOTHER WOMAN. </b>The married woman doesn’t want to believe this because it pretty much shatters everything her marriage probably stands for. Nor does she want to believe that her husband could possibly utter those three golden words into an ear that doesn’t belong to her. The fact is, you know what you feel when you’re with him and he knows it, too. Holding hands at a café during lunch at basking in the electricity of a comfortable silence is not a moment to be discredited. There are more moments I’m sure you can think of, too. Don’t let anyone take that away from you. It was real. The wives, friends of wives and therapists will try to chalk his affair up to a mid-life crisis, insatiable libido or some other crap. The truth is, men are human and they have hearts and their hearts can sometimes be as complicated as our own.</li>
</ol><ol style="text-align: left;"> The downside is that even though the emotion exists, it isn’t love in action – which is where people seem to get confused. When you’re sick, he won’t be there to pick up your cold medicine from the pharmacy or make you tea with extra honey and lemon. When it snows, you’ll be the only one there to clean off your car and shovel your walk. When your father dies, you’ll be alone at the funeral. He won’t be there to hold you hand and see you through the good and the bad. He can’t. He already promised that to another woman. It sucks, but you deserve to be actively loved and not just “told” that you’re loved. </ol><ol style="text-align: left;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">HE’S HAVING THE AFFAIR. YOU’RE IN A TOXIC, ONE-SIDED RELATIONSHIP. </b>Let’s face it: you made no promise under God or Zeus or whatever to lead life as one with two other people. He made a vow to one woman that isn’t you. Therefore, this is his extramarital affair. You, my sister, are in a toxic relationship with a selfish jerk. You’re making yourself available 100% of the time to a man that has next to no availability. Basic things couples enjoy like an impromptu dinner and a movie, retreating to a bed and breakfast during a winter holiday or even just spooning before slumber and waking up next to your love daily are denied to you. Instead, you find yourself living for the next moment that you see him and depressed during the days, weeks or even months between those times. He has to consider the feelings of his partner and preserve his marriage, which will take up most of his time. When he does this, he places importance of another woman over you. This is not good for your self-esteem, my darling friend. When a man is loving you the right way, he will put no other woman before you. If one of your friends were going through something similar with a single guy, I’m sure you would say the same thing to her.</ol><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">YOU’RE NOT A TRAMP.</b> A lot of long-term affairs are not the result of a drunken fuck in a bar bathroom during the tail end of happy hour. Long-term affairs are cultivated and they start with friendship. At some point, perhaps months or years of connecting, the line is crossed emotionally. By the time many married men and other women realize they’ve hit dangerous ground, it’s usually too late to turn back. They’ve already become emotionally vested in each other to some degree. This level of friendship is hard to end because it is also hard to come by.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto;">It’s unfortunate that the mass consensus of the “other woman” is that she’s some home-wrecking, desperate, amoral slut. Personally, I engaged in an emotional affair that didn’t involve any sex at all for almost 2 years. My assumption, again, goes back to item number one. No married woman wants to believe that her husband is capable of loving someone else. Please don’t let her fear and the support of others coddling towards her victimized role mar the unseen truth: Intimacy CAN exist between a married man and a woman without sex involved. A married man CAN make love to a woman that isn’t his wife. </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IT’S OKAY TO BE SELF-SERVING.</b> No one else, outside of a few amazingly non-judgmental friends, is going to lend you the support needed to get through an affair. It seems like the entire world will tell you to think of the wife and how she feels while vilifying you. Respect their marriage and be the bigger person. Guess what?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">Their marriage is NOT the most important thing in YOUR world and neither are HIS feelings or HER feelings. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">Once you understand this, you can start to reclaim your power. Getting out of his affair and your toxic relationship with him takes more selfishness than altruism. In retrospect, you’ve been anything but selfish. Broken dates, disappointments, spending nights alone, waiting for his call… sound familiar? While you’re crying in your Cherry Garcia, you’re also being considerate of his situation and allowing him the space he needs to maintain his marriage. Every moment that you fight the urge to send an emotionally charged email to his wife or plaster their front door with every love letter he’s ever given you proves your consideration. Bottom line, you don’t want to cause him any distress because you love him, oh, so much, right? You are considerate of his wife and her needs because he is, too. Why? While you’re looking at old pictures of him or tearfully lost in the memory of the last time you saw him, he’s off actively loving his wife. She’s getting all of the consideration, support and love she needs and more. What about you?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">Face it, no one is thinking of your feelings. Now is the time to be selfish. Put on your Queen B crown and cut off anyone and everyone that can’t get with your program. You are too great of a force to be put on the back burner by any man for any woman. Besides, there is a world of men out there ready to accommodate your needs on your terms.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">5. <b>THEIR MARRIAGE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN</b>. If you felt at all powerless before, let this be an affirmation of your Titan strength. You have turned their world upside down and they will never be able to be what they were ever again. At best, they can start fresh and try to reinvent their marriage. Nonetheless, your presence has forever shattered truths their marriage was built upon. Personally, I think those "truths" are delusions. If they carried weighted honesty, there would have never been room for an affair in the first place. These people will not have an easy road ahead of them. They might succeed. They might fail. They might learn to be honest or they might continue to lie to themselves. Either way, their outcome is no concern of yours. Hand the burden of truth over to them and move forward. The other woman has the luxury of starting fresh with newfound knowledge of herself. How awesome is that?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: left;">6.<b> YOUR PAIN IS VALID.</b> You are a woman. You are a human being. You are entitled to being healed from the aftermath of an affair just as much as that god-awful married couple getting everyone’s prayers. You, my sister, carry the biggest burden in this love triad. You have to find the room to heal amidst the surrounding shame that you’ve been given the responsibility of carrying. While the married man and his wife move onward in recovery, they have each other for support through a shared purpose. Their efforts to maintain strong ties with each other will be supported and applauded by their loved ones. Whereas you, my sister, will have lost your pride, chunks of self-esteem, optimism all while losing the man you loved. As they move forward towards healing, you have to get through the process of the pain of his absence. Every passing day after the affair, you wonder if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if he’s in love with her all over again. You start to question yourself and you feel another layer of your self-esteem crack off of your armor and crash to the ground. This is a dangerous time for many women left behind after the affair. Suicides, addiction and self-destructive behavior are dangerously common reactions to such heartache. Before you exit the affair, have a support network ready. Trusted friends, a therapist and a support group will help you steer towards a positive future and a healthier you. Don’t fall into the abyss of the aftermath. If that couple is permitted to move forward, so are you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you are still involved with a married man, I strongly recommend leaving the situation as soon as possible. The longer you hold on to him, the harder it will be to recover in the inevitable end. After a while, your self-esteem will be a foreign concept and you will rely on the inconsistent attention given by a man who will never be able to give you all that you deserve…thus, destroying your self esteem even more. He might not intentionally try to hurt you, but he will and he does. Don’t make excuses justifying why he breaks your heart and why you allow him to do so.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can grow from the experience of being the other woman. What positive aspects have you learned about yourself? What happened in your past that left you open to receive a toxic relationship? What negative aspects have you found within yourself that you’d like to change?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We all make mistakes. We live, love, learn and grow. We are all human…no one woman is any better or any worse than any "other "woman.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">**Godspeed Yall**</div><br />
</div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-41782698866821387622011-11-13T10:54:00.000-05:002011-11-13T10:54:08.091-05:00Wilde at Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You, Mr. Wilde...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Literally imprisoned for following the desires of the heart and body. His brilliance resonates and rings true to the souls of those held under the thumb of convention and social expectation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Your pen or quill or whatever... a weapon indeed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Oh Oscar, I am silenced, bitterly silenced, by emotions overwhelming. No place else to turn but to the words of poets past, reading prose like biblical canons. Salvation in the confessions of a heart drunk on forlorn circumstance. Again, I am not alone.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Genuflect before the <i>Picture of Dorian Gray. </i>Through you, I learn<i> The Importance of Being Earnest.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Perhaps my life is a lesson to a young man or an older woman 100 years from now. Perhaps the cross I bear will make it easier for the next person to carry their own knowing they aren't carrying it alone.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Big Picture.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Thank you, Oscar. I do adore you.</span><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Silentium Amoris</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Oscar Wilde</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, Arial, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzu0ErZQYvFmN-w78bqGYgEeyldN73-9ADUj-WV46c4rXodw-yWJHu3McpZ-_jK3Dxdg9wPjI36EGysOb78j125kBxqBHsbwol_Zu2fvHDE0Hnk7JiZaZk4zFgz8unGO-EWYu0lRz1PI/s1600/240px-Oscar_Wilde_portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzu0ErZQYvFmN-w78bqGYgEeyldN73-9ADUj-WV46c4rXodw-yWJHu3McpZ-_jK3Dxdg9wPjI36EGysOb78j125kBxqBHsbwol_Zu2fvHDE0Hnk7JiZaZk4zFgz8unGO-EWYu0lRz1PI/s320/240px-Oscar_Wilde_portrait.jpg" width="212" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As often-times the too resplendent sun<br />
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon<br />
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won<br />
A single ballad from the nightingale,<br />
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,<br />
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And as at dawn across the level mead<br />
On wings impetuous some wind will come,<br />
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed<br />
Which was its only instrument of song,<br />
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,<br />
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show<br />
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;<br />
Else it were better we should part, and go,<br />
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,<br />
And I to nurse the barren memory<br />
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-19810311258736685352011-05-25T12:07:00.002-04:002011-05-25T12:07:58.147-04:00Existential Downtime: Darwin's 5 Possible Outcomes and Dealing With The Monkey Shit Life Throws at You.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ahhh FML, yo...ferreal...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When did life turn into a game of dodgeball? With every stupid ball thrown, I find myself scattering left and right and dipping and ducking to survive the constant changes happening on what seems like a daily basis at this point. Do I catch the ball and fight back, do I drop low and hope they sail overhead or do I just let that stupid tether ball smack me in the eye... Maybe a little of all three?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I suppose change is inevitable. I suppose the manner in which we respond to change depends on the individual's response or/and the severity of a changing situation.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evolution">Charles Darwin's 5 possible</a> outcomes to a change of environment or circumstance comes to mind when I think about how to deal with changes in life:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjc0EB7ywiFWKq54_yqckEyVWc4nsyWA5x3Im3fLVr9mrtcDFtZM1chjPbvstuQLPPgEDKdTEamVTbRB9PnyAnYu1Rd_mpY1CuJx6q4IpU1E8yhs4VAvsQJ6kpEVmIwblOq2tJLUWjpdc/s1600/nuclear-evolution.jpg.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjc0EB7ywiFWKq54_yqckEyVWc4nsyWA5x3Im3fLVr9mrtcDFtZM1chjPbvstuQLPPgEDKdTEamVTbRB9PnyAnYu1Rd_mpY1CuJx6q4IpU1E8yhs4VAvsQJ6kpEVmIwblOq2tJLUWjpdc/s320/nuclear-evolution.jpg.gif" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Adaptation:</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do we allow parts of ourselves to cease functioning for the sake of survival when accepting a new and unfamiliar situation?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Co-Evolution:</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do we continue to grow alongside others as they mutate, forcing us to mutate accordingly in order to exist in a confined area amidst the spectrum of a changing situation?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Co-Operation:</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do we find our strengths within the face of change to co-exist with others that provide complementary strengths in order to survive as a community?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Speciation:</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do we spread ourselves out and find options within the face of change? Should we seek other aspects in life with the hopes of finding a place to grow into a completely different person?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Extinction:</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do we surrender to the past and allow ourselves to slowly drift into a ghost of what we once were because the inevitable changes life presents frightens us, angers us...or we just resist...?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The more I think about it, the balance of all five is ideally human. Accepting change and giving up a part of yourself in order to adapt. Living alongside someone and absorbing his changes so that you can grow alongside him. Finding your strengths and seeing how the strengths of others around you can help you to survive. Making sure that you don't turn your back on opportunities that present the ability to grow in new ways never thought of. Honoring the past and seeing the road taken and how the road can prepare you for today....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">They all can work hand in hand, can't they?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Just some thoughts...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">*end transmission*</div></div></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-41434646352922111692011-05-11T00:26:00.000-04:002011-05-11T00:26:47.192-04:00Why I like Nice Guys....and the Reason Ain't So Nice.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">To quote myself:<br />
<br />
"Nice guys finish last because they're too focused on giving everyone around them a head start..."<br />
<br />
Not sure what this has to do with this post, but I think that's a brilliant goddam quote. *pat on the back*<br />
<br />
<br />
So, I'm over here thinking about all of the times I've heard from "nice guys" that they have a problem staying out of the friend zone and getting the woman that they might want.<br />
<br />
Well, what I have learned is thaaaat nice guys are attracted to some fucked up women. Just like how nice girls are attracted to some serious assholes. Perhaps their is a certain level of fear-otica involved? Perhaps the danger aspect of having your emotions tossed into a centrifuge and leaving you leveled, in debt and possibly with a new baby has something to do with it.<br />
<br />
Who knows?<br />
<br />
All I KNOW is that nice guys either don't like me or I turn them into assholes.<br />
<br />
Assholes can't get enough of me. I tame them and make them beg...never giving them anything because I don't like them. But I do adore the challenge of bringing the asshole out of a nice guy. New hobby...<br />
<br />
Who is this callous bitch that I have become? I'm not the kind of bitch that usually comes with the title of "wife". No, I'm so fucking cold hearted that I don't even recognize myself anymore. Dear God, I have been through the fucking wringer with these fucking men. Good thing that I am a fan of karma, because I could really see myself becoming some kind of serial killer of men.<br />
<br />
So, instead of picking up an axe or a revolver, I write:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They way they glare at me...hungry. The remarks they make about my cleavage and my mouth. Fuck Puppet extreme..seriously it fucking hurts when I want to believe that I am so much more. Well, I used to be more. Now, I'm not sure. Maybe they can sense that I've surrendered and no longer seek relationships and love. Maybe they can smell me when I am just exceptionally horny. Walking in a skirt, satin panties, feeling the lips of my kitty rub against the other...subtle oozing of sex. My wetness. Walking into the convenience store to buy a scratch off game and my smokes. They all turn their heads, nostrils flaring, pupils rapidly dilating....sniffing harder. Approaching me with their off-color advances. Some stumbling into the coffee pots and creamers. Other's looking fearful. Some bold enough to ask for my number.<br />
<br />
They are all denied...and I walk away, leaving a trail of sex behind me. Their eyes follow me out of the door.<br />
<br />
But it isn't love. It's a carnal desire for sex and conquest. When they look at me, they never see love. They see a whore, a mistress, a woman that might do things that other women won't.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As the voice of the ghost of what I once was trails faintly from millions of miles above me, "I just want somebody to love me..."...repeated... as I recklessly descend into the deep pitch black....until I hear nothing but the steady hum of my own self-loathing, malice and discontent. The familiar, bitter taste of reproach soothes the palette.<br />
<br />
Oh, sweet surrender into lustful oblivion. A different kind of numbing.<br />
<br />
Fuck me until I hurt. Fuck me until you split me in two. Make me forget about love. About these so called "nice guys". Turn off the lights. Get rid of this hope.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe one day I will meet a nice guy at that convenience store...and he'll sniff me out. He'll be shy about approaching me. Maybe I'll walk up to him, put his hand up my skirt and take him to the men's room. Maybe ...I'll let this nice guy fuck me. And if he does, he won't be a nice guy anymore.<br />
<br />
I want to make him thrust harder and harder as we experience violent fucking into le petit muer. The further stabbing of my own dead, hopeless heart. The asphyxiation of his decency. The nice guy drowned to death in a pool of his own semen.<br />
<br />
Maybe letting him fuck me is murder in an abstract sense. Slaying his stoic sensibilities and aptitude for Godly justice in a way. Making him see the truth. He's just an animal. Just like me.<br />
<br />
Death by sex, the numbers increase. The nice guys have gone missing. Keep your doting husbands, super boyfriends and wonderful sons locked indoors. Call out an APB. There might be a serial killer on the loose after all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nice guys like to complain about getting the short end of the stick, but I am convinced that deep within the heart of every "nice guy" lays an asshole just screaming to get out. They're just too afraid of letting go...that's when they look at me.<br />
<br />
The way they smell me, I can sniff them out, too.<br />
<br />
Am I even the prey anymore? Not even a little bit.<br />
<br />
What have I become....<br />
<br />
Well, maybe everyone, when stripped to the core is pretty much an asshole given enough beat downs by life to make them hate the light of day or cringe at the sound of laughter or break into hives at displays of love.<br />
<br />
Or maybe not. Maybe I'm the only cold-hearted, asshole bitch with nothing to lose and a lot of darkness within me clawing its way out every day. I can feel my skin burn underneath from that devil woman's nails scratching to get out of my body.<br />
<br />
I fear for the world. The scariest thing a man can ever confront is a woman that no longer gives a fuck.<br />
<br />
<br />
*fun times*</span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-26076551000687082202011-03-27T13:31:00.000-04:002011-03-27T13:31:46.878-04:00How do I taste?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Not bitter, I hope. </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Here's a cute video of a kitten. Enjoy! Hugs and Kisses.</span></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_ZSbC09qgLI?fs=1" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Hahaha... cute widdew kitty in da frijerator...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-78507715735075404522011-02-19T23:20:00.000-05:002011-02-19T23:20:29.666-05:00A Toast to the Fellas! Cheers.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Dear Men,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am just a young woman trying to navigate my way through this life like anyone else. Unfortunately, I feel that your gender has complicated my natural state of being due to persistent bitchassness and bullshit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was once a girl with the potential to be a loving, supportive, generous matriarch with an insatiable appetite to please the right man in every shape, form and position. Nothing would have given me more satisfaction than to welcome my man home from work with a blow job and a steak dinner cooked with my own delicate hands.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that I am in my thirties, however, I have gone from pink to a steel, titanium gray. I no longer have the desire to be feminine as I have been forced to become one of you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today, I tried to put on lip gloss and eyeliner and shit but I couldn’t do it. Why? Because progressively, throughout the day, I grew a humongous set of great, big, undulating hairy testicles and a fifteen-inch cock. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was alarmed. Needless to say, I did what many do when they can't cope with unforeseen circumstances. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I bought a bottle of (fill in the blank booze here).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Grab a glass... I'll pour a snifter or two...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ready? Let's do this...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, men out there…Here’s a Toast:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you let a door slam in my face when walking behind you into the local Radio Shack – for all the times you’ve made hissing noises and crude gestures towards me while I was out and about with my kids – for all the times you stared me down like a bloodthirsty jackal while in the presence of your significant other – for all the times you cowered at the threat of my accomplishments and tried to cut me down with disparaging remarks – for all the times you were amidst a sea of male photojournalists and you chose my neck to step on in order to get the perfect shot…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve raped me…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve swung at me, thrown laptops at me and did permanent damage to my right knee…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve told me you loved me and then disappeared…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve taken pieces of me and never embraced the whole me…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve left me hanging…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you've taken my dark skin as a warrior’s armor, able to withstand the toughest blows…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve called me a bitch and a whore for not complying…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you lied and lied and said you loved me…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you’ve left me alone to care for our kids without a dime of support or your presence to make them whole positively…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you were supposed to be my protector, but chose to side with my assailant…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you opened me up and left me alone as vulnerable prey….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you made promises and broke them…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you expected my solidarity despite your infidelity…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you forced me to question my beauty because I didn’t live up to your Hollywood-hyped television standards….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you left me in the cold, unclad and bleeding from the inside…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you ate me up just to defecate me out…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times I gave you my love and you spat upon my very most fundamental emotion…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of the times you colored my pink black…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s to you, MEN.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">CHEERS!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanks for helping to cultivate me into the strong, vicious she-male I am today…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Balls the size of co-co-nuts and a great big dick that’s hungry to tear some anus…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanks for your cold shoulder, because it has turned me into the Ice Queen I have always needed to be…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Romance? Fuck that…hugs and kisses are for ladies? Me? I am no longer a lady by any means. I am the most dangerous being in the world. I'm one of you...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once a woman who wanted a caring love, then a woman denied. Funny how the formula works.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have no choice…Thanks for not giving me any OPTIONS, Men…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, while you sit wrapped up in your self delusion, comfort and complacency…lying in your mother’s basement or childhood bedroom or underneath that Venus of Willendorf bosom of your significant other…suckling your way into selective memory…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember… you turned a bonafide DIAMOND into a Coal Miner…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Have another shot. I know I will…and I’ll drink your ass under the table.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Best wishes,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Your Protégé.</div><!--EndFragment--> </div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-43969422632992884412011-01-29T18:46:00.003-05:002011-01-30T10:41:42.793-05:00Pretty Baby. Let's go.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
I am here.<br />
<br />
Went window shopping for a new bike and I had this Blondie classic on repeat on my iPod. Couldn't help but to ask myself what is attracting me to bikes these days so passionately? I've always had an affinity for bikes and muscle cars (novice gear head that I am) and then it dawned on me:<br />
<br />
I am replacing love with vibrating steel that will always be there. Where this bike might break my budget, I'll be confident that it won't break my heart. Plus, I can straddle and ride it as long as I want and we'll "arrive" together every time. ;)<br />
<br />
Downside to finding my new love is that I might have to break out the chapstick and kneepads to come up with enough bread to bring this bad boy home.<br />
<br />
Meet my new future boyfriend:<br />
2009 Moto Guzzi vintage-repl. California Touring Bike...In homage to the heartbreaker of all heartbreakers, Mr. James Dean. Although, it does have Brando quality about it. Doesn't it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjzQnJqtw5gwwgFG7UQxzGSoszLU1pNIBZudTbfJNh6T9CFc1usMhjceE5Az3Og-UVhSHbvn3EWyrRjYlYsRu2WJYRTqNdB6zfppKH0F5vHTuyCT602WF3ZVwmVHsH8n5b1Qe9RRk1D4/s1600/2009-Moto-Guzzi-California-Classic-Right-Angle-588x392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjzQnJqtw5gwwgFG7UQxzGSoszLU1pNIBZudTbfJNh6T9CFc1usMhjceE5Az3Og-UVhSHbvn3EWyrRjYlYsRu2WJYRTqNdB6zfppKH0F5vHTuyCT602WF3ZVwmVHsH8n5b1Qe9RRk1D4/s320/2009-Moto-Guzzi-California-Classic-Right-Angle-588x392.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
For your musical entertainment, as you envision beautiful me straddling this painfully sexy machine and riding it into the beyond, my inspiration to GO. Miss Harry, let 'em have it.<br />
<br />
<br />
I fell in love with you...<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AnNU3M5WlgI?fs=1" width="425"></iframe></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-14714753083142557042011-01-25T22:10:00.003-05:002011-01-26T01:57:17.186-05:00Universal Jewels: 11 Tips for the Heart in 2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HCpaSrL5vg">--on rotation: SPREAD, Outkast, The LoVe BeloW --</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">The Universe taught me a few lessons on how to "refine my heart" in 2010. With open eyes and newfound wisdom, I know how to define healthy love. Hopefully, these painful lessons learned will save many of you some heartache.</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;">A person who chooses to leave your life is not worth crying over. Anyone that can turn his/her back from the magnificence that is your LOVE, that is YOU, never truly loved you in the first place. Cut your losses and hold onto your proven ability to love without depths, love without conditions. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: normal;">Your love was too big for someone so small. Remember that.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;">A good lover should enhance your positive attributes and make it effortless to dissolve negative energy. Compromise for growth as one, not sacrifice your identity to soothe your lover's insecurity.</span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">You should never have to choose between intimacy and security. Love should be the glue that binds both qualities seamlessly.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">It is utterly impossible to accept and reciprocate the greatness of what love has to offer and what love can be if you have no love of self. If you have no love of self, you'll never feel worthy of such a blessing that love is.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Be mindful of people that casually use the word love. It is a word that should be held sacred and only uttered when the sayer is prepared to truly embrace the responsibility of truly loving you.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">If you fall in love, make sure the the person will be there to catch you. Falling on your face hurts pretty damn bad and your face will never quite look the same again.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Love and Hate exist upon the same infinite litmus strip of passion. There is no limit to either emotion and no defining threshold of change. Levels of passion can run up and down the scale and change at whim depending on the conditions of which the heart is kept.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Hate is not the opposite of Love. Indifference is the Opposite. You cannot hate without the presence of passion or the disappointment of failed Love.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Love without fear, but never love a coward fearlessly. You will go from hero to fool in a matter of moments.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Hearts don't break. Hearts are muscles and a strenuous workout from a lover that's hurt you will only make your heart beat stronger. I promise. It is not the end of the world.</span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Treat your heart like the last pink diamond. Keep it on display for the world to see how beautiful your love truly is, but make sure you have laser sight technology surrounded that bitch to take out intruders. </span></span></li>
</ol><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">All my LOVE, faithful readers. There is Love abound. Some real, some counterfeit (thanks Dana!), keep your eyes and your heart open. 2011 - the Cinderella Year </span></span></div></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-71529113489179843352010-12-19T11:19:00.000-05:002010-12-19T11:19:14.767-05:00You Are HEREEverybody wants to be somebody to someone, to something, to everyone...Everybody wants a reason to be here on this earth.<br />
<br />
Some of us believe that there are a select few destined to make monumental changes that affect humanity. Unfortunately, not everyone is destined to make a super-human impact on the world as a whole.<br />
<br />
Everyone cannot be Superman.<br />
<br />
We are not all built with the temperance of Gandhi.<br />
<br />
Even at our most sinister, we cannot all embody the wrath of Hitler.<br />
<br />
It is within our quiet of our daily lives that the biggest impacts can be made. Similar to the butterfly effect theory, we exist within the same manner. A subtle gesture of kindness or an ignorant action of seemingly harmless carelessness can set off a reaction larger than what you've ever imagined.<br />
<br />
You are here. Make the most of it. Be conscious of your power...as insignificant as it may seem to you and others, the fact that you are HERE gives you the strength of a titan.<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="344" style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/wV18KXos0xQ/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wV18KXos0xQ?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wV18KXos0xQ?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-20973412447935943712010-12-19T10:58:00.002-05:002010-12-19T14:15:45.833-05:00How Claymation Satan Made me Think..<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I suppose the word "Existential" and the phrase "Youth Programming" are relatively contradictory terms. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Recently, I stumbled across this old clip from a 1985 claymation feature entitled "The Adventures of Mark Twain". In a nutshell, the plot basically navigates through several existential journeys, weaving its way through the fibers of Christian doctrines. The concept of heaven, creationism and the meaning of humanity as a whole are questioned throughout the film. Mark Twain is the Captain of the ship and Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and Becky Thatcher are the passenger/students, poised in curiosity as our vessels, seeking truth through the eyes of a child. Upon release and due to public outcry, the film was banned from airing on many television channels across the country out of fear that the subject matter would taint the minds of children.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Needless to say, watching this clip inspired me to watch the entire film. Watching the film inspired me to question the entertainment that is offered to our kids. If we can saturate our kids with Jesus-praising vegetables, sexual innuendo, violence and consumerism, why can't we give them the option of critical thinking? Every media outlet with their claws in the "youth market" aka our kids, binds the mental development of our children by telling them what to do, how to think and how to feel. I know I'm not saying anything new...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As creepy as this clip is, I appreciate it. I appreciate the fact that it is scary and it cuts against the grain of what is taught. If it raises questions in the mind of this adult and inspires a blog post, imagine what it can do for children. We can turn off our televisions and read with our kids, which most of us should be doing, and build discussions leading to critical thinking. However, there's nothing wrong with the moving image. It's a great educational tool and particularly helpful if it's poignant and relevant.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">With all that being said, let's bring back thoughtful entertainment to our kids. It doesn't have to be about Satan or destruction all the time, but we should move forward in creating and supporting thought provoking programs for our children. Why do we permit idiotic television and cinema to become entertainment cornerstones in our children's childhood memories? Are we trying to shield our kids from the inevitable truths they'll have to face (which can be ugly and very frightening) or are we just as asinine? Perhaps its a combination of the two, but the latter speaks a harsh truth, doesn't it?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">...After all, someone pays for the cable and puts shows like "Dancing with the Stars" and "Meet the Kardashians" within the highest viewer ratings...and it ain't the kids.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Enjoy the clip.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/q29CmMHSQ3M?fs=1" width="425"></iframe>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-59949863454369934822010-11-16T17:34:00.000-05:002010-11-16T17:34:58.310-05:00Poetry Moment: At0miC L0vE - by kelly a. abelMy Love is a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Treat it as such...<br />
<br />
<br />
It must remain concealed from the likes of thieves, enemies, spies - the fallible...<br />
<br />
Who wish to harness her power for the sake of selfish causes like winning personal wars and inner battles...<br />
<br />
<br />
My Love is a Weapon of Mass Destruction.<br />
<br />
<br />
When present and diffused, she still lingers heavy as a threat, this complex creation...<br />
<br />
Making leaders of the world cower and fall to their knees at the possibility of her devastation....<br />
<br />
<br />
Treat it as such.<br />
<br />
<br />
She is hidden under ground, beneath the iron fortress of a clandestine sect...<br />
<br />
Giving the responsibility to subdue the beast and spare the world...<br />
<br />
<br />
Ignited by a countdown from ten to one, a traitor within pushes buttons...<br />
<br />
The world anticipates a global decimation, hands in prayer to be the celestial chosen...<br />
<br />
At zero, the world takes a deep breath and bears witness to her magnificent implosion...<br />
<br />
<br />
My Love is Like a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Treat it as Such...Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-31587194354832902412010-11-07T08:07:00.001-05:002010-11-07T08:35:02.524-05:00Delicious Randomness: Is Sesame Street in Brooklyn?Just where is Sesame Street?<br />
<br />
I think it's in Brooklyn.<br />
<br />
I'm leading towards Brooklyn for several reasons as follows:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChyVjLEqdoqRhJd7FEWEbvB5bFfpBoF3_pP1biWKIJoNkROkYLEsXOLBk_9U_B9mcWfyGPLw0gS3JCgYE-cT1uvURTsg5ghTL_4yHPQHGFchcm1iett88f3op0-BS5Wc8Q8_bch6q5xM/s1600/brooklynmap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChyVjLEqdoqRhJd7FEWEbvB5bFfpBoF3_pP1biWKIJoNkROkYLEsXOLBk_9U_B9mcWfyGPLw0gS3JCgYE-cT1uvURTsg5ghTL_4yHPQHGFchcm1iett88f3op0-BS5Wc8Q8_bch6q5xM/s320/brooklynmap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>1. If you proceed South down either Flatbush Avenue or Ocean Parkway towards Midwood, Canarsie and Sheepshead Bay, the streets are named after letters. Avenue T, Avenue Q, Avenue R etc. Now, I know that the East Village in Manhattan has Avenue's A through Avenue D, but the Architecture is more or less pre-war New York City Tenement-Style Multi-unit dwellings. Although, Oscar the Grouch could easily mesh in with the dumpster/toilet culture of the area...particularly in the seventies. Which leads me to reason number two:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQrmcc9e4c-KrUJG9DeeSEdnWKk7vSSWw8YHALf_XpZypAMgC3N2oQPtwA6JKHQ1_ieKCl7RuPoGDi-tkFp9V8EopjAIHbpXP3GOaBzdBrtXGDMXtcerlsNhMaSKcsFP6S_uviVtWe0g/s1600/bklynbstn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQrmcc9e4c-KrUJG9DeeSEdnWKk7vSSWw8YHALf_XpZypAMgC3N2oQPtwA6JKHQ1_ieKCl7RuPoGDi-tkFp9V8EopjAIHbpXP3GOaBzdBrtXGDMXtcerlsNhMaSKcsFP6S_uviVtWe0g/s1600/bklynbstn.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVorK547SlWHKqGUAEl7JLMYsgrLfa2nvoVHBVQirp12epSdmCR7pd_UcazjZ8pfw1fuwqzYNWZsu0Aq6Ypmuz3gRkP21rvBOGBESnr0QxluR875C1DM8bd0vXpU0hgKp7uXygK-OtmOw/s1600/sesamest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVorK547SlWHKqGUAEl7JLMYsgrLfa2nvoVHBVQirp12epSdmCR7pd_UcazjZ8pfw1fuwqzYNWZsu0Aq6Ypmuz3gRkP21rvBOGBESnr0QxluR875C1DM8bd0vXpU0hgKp7uXygK-OtmOw/s1600/sesamest.jpg" /></a>2. Brooklyn is known for its dutch inspired row homes known as Brownstones. 123 Sesame Street is in fact, a Brownstone owned by Gordon and Olivia. Although you can find variations of a Brownstone home in just about any borough in New York City, I would say, the infamous Sesame Street Brownstone stoop has design aesthetics to brownstones seen specifically in Manhattan and Brooklyn. While 123 Sesame Street could easily blend into a West Village, Harlem or Upper West Side block, there is another factor that leads me to believe that Sesame Street is in Brooklyn:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4tX3oq7q97j7Nly_j6_8vMECjPu0e5Hzz8AgHWSr4U6cAOK2OigY9krlGLzJPEazDmSnhSaYrygVvxBvSKkJT0Qfoy2edWQ7y9E9emwlEmzEGGhV7jdc7t5x-lt50seoIOVjpRsv6A0/s1600/300px-Prairiemap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4tX3oq7q97j7Nly_j6_8vMECjPu0e5Hzz8AgHWSr4U6cAOK2OigY9krlGLzJPEazDmSnhSaYrygVvxBvSKkJT0Qfoy2edWQ7y9E9emwlEmzEGGhV7jdc7t5x-lt50seoIOVjpRsv6A0/s1600/300px-Prairiemap.jpg" /></a>3. Geographic Comparative: Sesame Street has a very unique layout uncommonly seen in most boroughs. It's kind of a cul-de-sac. And, it only has three buildings: 123 Sesame Street, Hooper's Store and Maria and Luis's Fix-it Shop. Upon research, Sesame Street also has a laundry mat, but I have yet to find a photograph or video of any muppets entering and exiting one. I also didn't try that hard to find one. Anyway, there is no cross-street and I'm not sure if there is a way in or a way out of Sesame Street. I've seen quite a few no-man zones like that in Brooklyn. "How the eff did I end up on this 'block'," Is something that I have mumbled many times to myself. Yes, I'm convinced that Brooklyn has strategically placed vortexes in certain areas that sucks you into blocks that no one even knew existed. I believe Sesame Street is one of those Blocks.<br />
<br />
4. Finally, the residents. Brooklyn is quite possibly one of the most culturally eclectic neighborhoods in New York City. It attracts residents from all over the world. Because Brooklyn was and is within the process of gentrification, many neighborhoods are rapidly becoming more culturally diverse. It's also very popular and trendy among homosexuals. (ie, Bert, Ernie, Big Bird, Snuffy and Bob). There is also a zoo located in Brooklyn that Ol' Dirty Bastard spoke fondly of (R.I.P.). The Zoo is located in Prospect Park and I'd venture to guess, Big Baby Jesus wasn't talking about goats and cubs or whatever they have caged up over there. Anywho, that would explain why there are so many animals living on Sesame Street. I'm assuming these animals got sucked through the vortex I spoke of before and got stuck on Sesame Street, learned to speak and domesticated themselves enough to rent apartments. Now, people assume that Brooklyn has some pretty rough and hardcore residents. So, the sunny dispositions of the characters might not match my theory. I almost gave up until I found this photograph: <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8azWZ5pxY0Qovx2enH9qy3Ijq88FsV5e0xu9rxnm5HunFZtvvNwXbtYAJkAOp6GhJdPKhoU0HJeDn0ycLBuuy2naHONBsGM7vBlk5yWVjjpG3lbrRi0_GHznAk_VrXnbW535i2ViUtw/s1600/gangststreet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8azWZ5pxY0Qovx2enH9qy3Ijq88FsV5e0xu9rxnm5HunFZtvvNwXbtYAJkAOp6GhJdPKhoU0HJeDn0ycLBuuy2naHONBsGM7vBlk5yWVjjpG3lbrRi0_GHznAk_VrXnbW535i2ViUtw/s1600/gangststreet.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Don't Sleep on Sesame Street....Just Sayin.<br />
<br />
<br />
I now leave you with the song my inner child won't stop singing. You can also blame this video for inspiring this nonsense that I probably wasted too much time putting together. Godspeed, yall*<br />
<br />
<object height="344" style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/WETrHQVh3tY/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WETrHQVh3tY?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WETrHQVh3tY?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-23276907479180846112010-11-05T09:19:00.002-04:002010-11-05T09:25:50.235-04:00Non-Fiction<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Non-Fiction</b></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">, (excerpt from<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">my novel, </span></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">The Gravity of Me</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, available April, 2011)</i> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">By<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">kelly a. abel</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">People will not worship what they can see and touch. They will, however, give credence to a dream, for a dream is hope. A dream is a wish. A dream is an infinite kingdom where possibility reigns fantastic.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">One day, I'll be a story of a trial you will share with your son the night before his wedding. You will tell him of a moment of uncertainty that clouded your judgment and almost made you give up everything. You will look lovingly at your wife from an obstructed view of the kitchen, watching her dart in and out view, busy with whatever.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">I am the story shared between girlfriends, the urban legend. I am the written lesson of how to crash and burn with grace. My story, so lacking credibility and rich in sensationalism that they just can't resist turning each page to see what happens next.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">I am the obituary written by unknown hands that my parents read blindly. A small paragraph on an antique- beige textured card with a photograph of my smiling, youthful face on the cover. It is the face they remember, the face they want to remember. They read the paragraph, generalizing and non-descriptive in content and they cry quietly in mourning over the release of a burden. They will never read the entire story.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">One day, I'll be placed on the top shelf of a bookcase in your den. Covered with dust over time and left untouched and never to be revisited. You'll glance up and see my spine, leather cracked and gold embossing faded. You won't even think of the story, but you will think about how it's been a while since the cobwebs have been cleared from that top shelf. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p>You will continue to move forward with your life at the pace of snail, sleepy and slow and abandoning dreams for the safety and certainty of reality. </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">Still, you find yourself on your knees, beside your bed, hands prayerful, in reverence of this. Of me.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">I am and I will always be nothing more than a story you tell. I am fiction at its best and tragedy at its worst. I am never, ever seen as a biographical text or a historic account of a moment that should never be forgotten. I am the Cat in the Hat. I am the scribing of youth and discovery. I am The Lord of The Rings. I am truth swallowed by fantastic beasts and heroes and lore. I am a parable within the cannon that binds the living.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">I am not real. I never, ever was...not to you, not to anyone. I am just text on paper, reading as different stories to different sets of eyes. I am a glossy, three- dollar porn rag. I am the one-thousand paged horror novel, creating phobias within your subconscious. I am a Victorian romance, unbelievable and daft to the modern reader. I am a science fiction masterpiece, a legend trailblazing between planets and stars. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13pt;">I am epic.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-34086586734271410682010-11-04T13:27:00.001-04:002010-11-04T13:29:35.277-04:00No Slaughterhouse for This Bovine Heffa, jusssst sayin...I HATE being out of shape.<br />
<br />
Ever since I had these kids, I've put dancing aside. I have not been able to commit to not one single, solitary fitness regimen since my life now belongs to little people. Between professional development, education and child rearing...not to mention living in my head and fighting insecurities, I have yet to find a place in my life to incorporate a regular healthy, physical activity.<br />
<br />
I feel totally unfulfilled.<br />
<br />
But...it's not like I haven't made a few attempts. Let's run down the list and see what I have tried:<br />
<br />
Yoga and fitness videos. NO. I feel like an idiot sitting in front of a television while some fitness cyborg tries to tell me how to do a proper downward facing dog.<br />
<br />
Running: Ha! Next.<br />
<br />
Competitive Cycling: Okay, I bought a bike for my birthday and haven't ridden it yet. Not because I'm lazy, but because every attempt I make at peddling around my neighborhood, my plans are quickly thwarted by a psychotic Jamaican in a BMW X5 haphazardly missing my rear tire by a millimeter. I want to lose a few pounds, but not if that means expelling my organs onto concrete. Road Kill fitness...not so much my steez.<br />
<br />
The Gym: There is no end goal. I get on the treadmill and I run. And run. But the wall in front of me isn't getting any closer and the man licking his lips next to me is still by my side, no matter how fast I try to run from him. Fitness Centers are like Hamster Wheels for people. Not feeling it so much...<br />
<br />
The Shake Weight and The Thighmaster: Don't even ask... but, I do appreciate the free expandable closet organizers they sent (retail value 9.00 each).<br />
<br />
_________________________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
So, I'm thinking that I need a regimen that will incorporate stress relief, anger management and fitness along with a tangible goal or a prize. Perhaps martial arts or maybe I should take a dance class. Hmmm...<br />
<br />
Perhaps a Capoeira class might be just the ticket I need to fly into fitness. Hilarious. The thought of me slinging my cellulite about in a roundhouse kick circle dance is funny and disturbing. Haha..I should videotape this...<br />
<br />
Any other ideas out there? Post a comment and give me your two cents on how I can pave my road to fitness and tell me what works or has worked for you...Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-31686710150403670652010-10-27T10:42:00.000-04:002010-10-27T10:42:33.113-04:00Album Review: Fold It! Mold It!, Random Recipe<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soooo...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's my first attempt in music criticism. I've always been a bit of a snob when it comes to my listening pleasure and disdain. Why not write about it?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, when it comes to finding honest and relevant music, I find myself digging deeper into the crates these days. In an era where anyone can buy pro-tools and even make beats on their cell phones, modern music has become cluttered with half-assed noise on constant rotation. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Thursday, I had the honor and the pleasure of meeting two phenomenal women, Fab and Fran, that hail from Montreal at Arlene's Grocery. I missed their set, but they blessed me with an impromptu sidewalk private show on Stanton Street. See my videos for Random Recipe in previous posts to see their energy in full force. Ignore my "drunken swagger". Shout out to the Sound Surgeon... Ah, I owe you pizza and shots.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, the next day, I downloaded their album "Fold It! Mold It!":</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHz5C_acOrMzttcbzPV5muxj4Gqi1ZKW57VezGQE8UlBrWqc5t68YT9KLIXahgj9GNf9Y8xijEDXGAwToOG_xWmSGE_B5Kyr0onA7WO_RN9II5N9RAwzSvjozTICfQPdgaY-qBhjqMxI/s1600/ACH002693653.580x580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHz5C_acOrMzttcbzPV5muxj4Gqi1ZKW57VezGQE8UlBrWqc5t68YT9KLIXahgj9GNf9Y8xijEDXGAwToOG_xWmSGE_B5Kyr0onA7WO_RN9II5N9RAwzSvjozTICfQPdgaY-qBhjqMxI/s400/ACH002693653.580x580.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Random Recipe is comprised of a dynamic foursome including band members Fran (Vocals and Guitar), Fab (EmCee and BeatBox), Vincent (keys/guitar) and Liu-Kong (percussion). The combination of live instruments, raw Beat-Boxing and Fran's earthy vocals are engaging and definitely ear candy. Fab's flow roughens the edge of their sound with her French-Fried delivery on the microphone without distracting from the blended ranges of sound that makes Random Recipe an absolutely charming listening experience.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The album is seamless and can be easily enjoyed from beginning to end. The tracks are far from redundant and each song provides a different dimension to sound exploration without killing the floating vibe that Random Recipe's sound has undeniably targeted. "Without You" has a light airy, whimsical bounce and still retains its slickness and cool. "Dangerous" is probably one of the more aggressive tracks with its drum and bass explosive rhythmics, blowing up the track through beat-boxing and percussion. However, the song gets pulled back into that easy cool again with a mellowed out down-break on Fab's flow.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All in all, Random Recipe is definitely chock full of the right ingredients, making the perfect dish to satisfy your ears. One part grrrl, one part Hip Hop, one part fresh and all the way hot.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This novice critic gives Random Recipe 5 out of 5 Red Pills.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> (That's a good thing)</span>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-9388979690986963912010-10-26T21:38:00.003-04:002010-10-27T11:49:55.479-04:00Who the @^#& are YOU !?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sooo...</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dohJ9dSiZdqcMZUAoHxRAoX8YGtjrlizKIvw5ZAK1omuAUvqBKNEApp36fXcTUHd0by0UJhreyvuwK6jdnu-wjAwExXe-fDeBsENTDh-QzSoPnUrub3V3-Gq3uRBklE4yjih_LdE9sc/s1600/282814408v4_225x225_Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dohJ9dSiZdqcMZUAoHxRAoX8YGtjrlizKIvw5ZAK1omuAUvqBKNEApp36fXcTUHd0by0UJhreyvuwK6jdnu-wjAwExXe-fDeBsENTDh-QzSoPnUrub3V3-Gq3uRBklE4yjih_LdE9sc/s200/282814408v4_225x225_Front.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1512 Boulevard Baby Designs, Cafe Press</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I recently installed a stat counter on my blog to get a better understanding of my audience. Almost a thousand visits and very few comments are left on my page. I got a little weirded out by the idea that my thoughts are on display to...everyone and anyone...and not too many people are responding to my blog site directly. Although, I do appreciate the emails that I have received from those of you sharing your experiences with depression and anti-depressants. That was cool.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCr7aNJ0TOJTOjiwG56cfpzn0SSlQwf9uwPC_J2thGc6isY5WgN58jRoy6PwDt7kzFNJ1lYtt4nmtAI7ssYN3waKuBYQlVC3jypx3_wMRjXDiSVK0hJ0BX_vPwp82uPiNgc0T3aut8UD8/s1600/google-bot-850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCr7aNJ0TOJTOjiwG56cfpzn0SSlQwf9uwPC_J2thGc6isY5WgN58jRoy6PwDt7kzFNJ1lYtt4nmtAI7ssYN3waKuBYQlVC3jypx3_wMRjXDiSVK0hJ0BX_vPwp82uPiNgc0T3aut8UD8/s200/google-bot-850.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">googlebot logo by Tyler Jordan, eVisibility</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">While my counter isn't specific enough to list names and addresses, I have a general idea of whether or not my blog is being read by human beings. I can assume that my readers from the Virgin Islands, Slovenia, Denmark, Brazil and the States are actual people based on certain statistics and clearly defined criteria.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">However, what I found alarming was the googlebot, OneRiot and opensocial traffic spiders that crawl across my page daily, monitoring my usage and the usage of my audience. What it's doing, in fact, is indexing my entries and updating google's searchable database. It's automatic and invisible and really frightening as hell that technology like this is so intrusive and unseen. Documenting, documenting everything we do....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A big part of me wants to shut my blog down and disconnect from the world wide web. The concept of being constantly, automatically monitored by big brother or Robocop or whatever makes me feel, dare I say, a bit violated.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There is that small part of me that actually believes that my drivel is helping someone out there, so...I kind of feel responsible to continue saying whatever it is I have to say.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbLLcUcX9QZydBijf7dcOxnHa44cYhaZGxTHAY6OEd-io3G4WzDOqjIdd1VI6BbQX4oGSvr8WT7HQBUiHxjTJd30WB8UldHqJPt3bNHVNrkUqP02vYgcBbZwnA1kYHT8uZFR_2o7UXaE/s1600/301463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbLLcUcX9QZydBijf7dcOxnHa44cYhaZGxTHAY6OEd-io3G4WzDOqjIdd1VI6BbQX4oGSvr8WT7HQBUiHxjTJd30WB8UldHqJPt3bNHVNrkUqP02vYgcBbZwnA1kYHT8uZFR_2o7UXaE/s200/301463.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">From 123greetings.com</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Maintaining humanity at this point, in this era where love, relationships and friendships are wrapped in wires, is getting more and more surreal by the day. Can I really throw caution to the wind and naively step into this World Wide Webernet and attempt to display humanity even though this paranoia of a watchful eye constantly lingers overhead?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't know...</span>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-14342750354253244312010-10-24T22:56:00.000-04:002010-10-24T22:56:03.880-04:00At the end of the day...At the end of the day, I love you and that love is never, ever going to go away. Your Happiness is paramount.<br />
<br />
<br />
Short Entry. Big deal...Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-36805422806406076432010-10-16T14:00:00.003-04:002010-10-16T14:16:21.147-04:00On Drunken Sex<a href="http://blog.talkingphilosophy.com/?p=875">On Drunken Sex</a><br />
<br />
^Interesting Blog - click the link<br />
<br />
The dilemma...<br />
<br />
When the lines are blurry... If one side can blame it on the alcohol and claim victim...can the other counter the claim and say he is not the attacker?<br />
<br />
In the UK, the courts are passing legislation stating that a woman who has sex with someone while drunk can be considered a rape victim because she's not in her right mind to engage in consensual sex.<br />
<br />
See article here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-23379673-men-face-jail-for-rape-if-women-are-too-drunk-to-consent-in-bed-to-boost-convictions.do">MEN FACE JAIL TIME FOR SEX WITH DRUNK WOMEN</a><br />
<br />
<br />
So what do you think? If a sober man would not commit an act like rape or date rape, but the same man in an intoxicated state would because his sensibilities are impaired, should he get a pass?<br />
<br />
If a woman calls rape even though she was drunk and doesn't say no, does it make determining clearly defined cases of rape more challenging by blurring the boundaries of non-consensual sex?<br />
<br />
Hmmm.... food for thought.<br />
<br />
Either way, if no is said by one party even once, it IS rape. No way around that...<br />
<br />
Share your thoughts....Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-25846460113620307832010-10-10T00:50:00.001-04:002010-10-10T01:13:56.523-04:00Art Break: Pearl Necklace Series (maybe)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is me playing around with a concept for a series "Pearl Necklace"...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Still haven't found the right look I want to project. Anyone out there in the NY Metro interested in modeling, drop a line. It's time for some fine art photography. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*****edit to add*****</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If interested in modeling, please note full body shots and full or partial nudity might be required to realize the vision. Male and female models. Don't be skurrred.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEild8khWyQYWA-Dfuey7VRvP5PDUnPX4HFuj2H-TNiaiAZf495VW4o5W4f3yNeJAgedDo4Txt_6idRBtGbAYADBESlxfa1rczLS-L-b_7NfFVz3rNls_GWjFJXXNAUDr1zh6r5ZarcQXrw/s1600/pearls-00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEild8khWyQYWA-Dfuey7VRvP5PDUnPX4HFuj2H-TNiaiAZf495VW4o5W4f3yNeJAgedDo4Txt_6idRBtGbAYADBESlxfa1rczLS-L-b_7NfFVz3rNls_GWjFJXXNAUDr1zh6r5ZarcQXrw/s320/pearls-00.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-Uo5ZZdXmWXltHGXoRBUkza2MPITA5LHzEBwHxbod_ursjziLvR7HNsyFTUh4TWWqRS_MNdb8YSGCjZAcggNoSMr4ZC87eWsWcGhfxM2RrUUTFLqv3Isq4wMyUZGH0nLxKG4Ht4fnQQ/s1600/pearls-00-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-Uo5ZZdXmWXltHGXoRBUkza2MPITA5LHzEBwHxbod_ursjziLvR7HNsyFTUh4TWWqRS_MNdb8YSGCjZAcggNoSMr4ZC87eWsWcGhfxM2RrUUTFLqv3Isq4wMyUZGH0nLxKG4Ht4fnQQ/s320/pearls-00-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-40902011523323317672010-10-06T20:15:00.000-04:002010-10-06T20:15:40.622-04:00Open DoorsI see a world out there...all for you to shape and nurture. A world for you to build.... I peek through doors and I see your throne, empty and waiting for you to believe in yourself enough to rule...enough to claim your destiny.<div><br />
</div><div>So many things are happening and the world spins solely in favor of YOU. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Grab it. Lay your heavy hand upon the axis and set your own cycle.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So many things are coming in order and in line and the only thing that's missing is you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Wake up.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Claim it.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-45675512111576235412010-10-05T20:48:00.000-04:002010-10-05T20:48:56.712-04:00Randomness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I'd like to punch you in the necktie.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Of all the things I've lost, I miss my time the most.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Al dente spaghetti is for suckers. Make mine well done.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Heyyy...There's nothing musical about these chairs.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Instead of quietly leaving a tip for my waitress, I hand her my tip and say, "keep the change..ya filthy animal" - Angels with Dirty Faces, Gangster Johnny</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Next time you see a lady with a big booty, she might be wearing an adult diaper...and it might be full.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Urine is a smell that you'll never forget.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Refund is "dunfeR" spelt backwards.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Fellas, next time you want to take a lady home, instead of buying drinks and making stupid conversation just say, "I'm the star of the show! Me! This is my big dick and I wanna fuck right now!" - Dirk Diggler, Boogie Nights. I promise, something WILL happen.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">If a tree falls on an ex-boyfriend in a forest with no one around...would anybody give a shit?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">No, not manslaughter your honor...I'm just making up for an abortion that should have happened 46 years ago. His mother would thank me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Randomness... </span></span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-1570722702820401642010-10-03T12:53:00.002-04:002010-10-03T13:27:21.499-04:00Writing on the Wall: A Performance Review/Epiphany<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Last night, I photographed the “Why did I get Married Live, Vol. Too” event in downtown Brooklyn. I didn’t know what to expect and I was a little bit afraid that, given the title, the show was going to be covered in Tyler Perry’s stink.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To my surprise, the show was actually quite innovative. It was a fusion of spoken word-smithery, comedy and music with a live panel of married guests to answer questions about…well, marriage. Sustaining a marriage, to be exact. The theme that linked every artist that graced the stage was love. Every aspect of love. Self love, soul love, real love, star-crossed love, lusty love..in a sincere manner. I was impressed with how each artist personalized their experiences with love, through various modes of microphone art, painting pictures of what love means through their own visions and through their individual hearts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My overall impression was the production was relevant, sexy, relaxed, candid and honest. Above all, it was needed and will be needed to promote its message of love, Black love and marriage, to carry on throughout the community. Brooklyn and beyond.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This isn’t really a review of the show. This is an epiphany. This is a message.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As usual, when the topic of marriage arises, I find myself thinking about my own failed relationship with my ex and thinking about my experience with falling in love with someone else that I could never marry. Guilt, failure, anger…the matrimonial thing often left a bad taste in my mouth. That bad taste, the creeping bile from stomach, curling the walls of my esophagus, choking me, gagging me…leaving my mouth foul and bitter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">With every engagement announcement in the mail, with every conversation with a married couple that speaks only in terms of “we”, with every indication that everyone else in the world is falling in love and being caught…everyone but me, I felt myself shrink smaller and smaller. Bitter and small, I found myself forcing comparisons on married women and me. “I’m hotter, so why not?” or “She’s sooo mean, why did he?” or “Why? Just why?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At the end of the day, it didn’t matter because at the end of the day, as desirable to an extent as I am, I was still alone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Not something enough. Not something. Not the marrying kind…I guess.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But last night, after seeing that show…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I woke up this morning renewed from heartache. I mean, I still hurt, but I felt hope after light was revealed to me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The light revealed this message, “Stop looking at these encounters with love as a failure or as an attack. Start looking at it for what it is: knowing what you want, need and knowing you’re on the road to the right thing. THIS IS A TIME OF SELF DISCOVERY AND HONESTY. Keep your eyes open and see the writing on the wall. It spells love and it is for you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Photographing weddings, seeing couples in love and experiencing love for myself has shown me what I want and need out of the right person. I want monogamy, I want to build and share my life with someone that fits. I want to enhance someone and I want him to do the same for me. I want to hold him down and hold my head up in the process. I wanna be held down and feel safe and NOT held down and feel oppressed. I want love at its purest to wash over me and secure me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I want these things. I deserve them and so do you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A bad relationship or a bad marriage shouldn’t make you bitter about love forever. Take that experience as an education in self discovery and understanding what it is that you want and deserve. Instead of harping on how foul the person is who broke your heart, be honest with yourself and see how you’ve failed the relationship. After all, you can’t change anyone but yourself. So, why exert the energy mulling over how someone should change...especially when the changes you want that person to make are only a reflection of a damaged you? That person’s issues should be their own battle. Your only focus should be what you can do to improve yourself. I think all of this heartache from the past is nothing more than preparation for the real thing to come along. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Head up, eyes open…the writing is on the wall. Read it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think that’s all I have to say about that.</span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4633064313857068168.post-64007836746979233392010-09-29T19:34:00.003-04:002010-09-29T22:38:49.250-04:00Why I Will NEVER Have (a) "Sex On The Beach"<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Vodka, Peach Schnapps, Orange Juice and Cranberry Juice. Seems harmless enough…right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">34 years and three months ago, an 18 year old “woman” and a 21 year old “man” went to Jones Beach with a few friends after a community fashion show. There, on the sands of that Long Island, NY beach, they walked hand in hand, admiring the cloudless, starry night. Gazing lovingly into each others’ eyes, they could no longer resist the urge to kiss, to touch and lay in the sand. Together, their bodies exchanged souls and they made passionate love under a full, blue moon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At least that’s how I’d like to think I was conceived.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I was 10, in an un-medicated, bipolar high, my father told me the story of how I came to be. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Yeah…so, after I put on my fashion show at the Lady Eye Lounge, you know, when I had my Players Line, yeah we all went to Jones Beach. Your mom modeled for me and she helped sew the clothes for the show. She was real, real talented and she had a BOOTY on HER!! So, yeah..you know how it is ..a little drinkin’, a little smokin’ some herb and me and your mother, you know…Ah-hah-ah-hah-hah..ohh man…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My face, as pale as chocolate skin can get I’m sure, was frozen with horror.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Oh,” I responded. “Were you guys in love?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Love? Naaaah it wasn’t even like that. We were friends. I loved her like you love your friends, you know? She might have loved me, though. I loved your sister’s mother like that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What’s that sound? Oh, it’s a sound I’d come to know several more times in my life. It is the sound of my heart cracking under the pressure of disappointment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Why are you crying, Kelly? Oh you don’t like that? Well that’s just how it was in the seventies. Free love and all ‘a that. Not like Leave it To Beaver or one of those things. Ah-hah-ah-hah-ah-hah!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I’m sure he went on to talk about something else, but at that moment, I formed a new belief that I wasn’t special and wasn’t worthy because my parents were only out having a good time. That conversation marked the day that my first illusion was shattered. I was not a product of love between two people. A little bit of my fire went out. I’ll never forget that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Can I be entitled to love, if I wasn’t made from love?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That question stuck with me for years. More years than I’d care to share. I will say, a lot of failed relationships spawned from that question while I tried to search for the answer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A few pumps and a dump on the shores of Jones beach. Roach clip firmly pressed between his lips. Her eyes bloodshot and rolling backwards into her skull. Ashes from the clip floating onto her forehead with each thrust.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He didn’t pull out fast enough or he was too high to bother. Or he just didn’t care. And she, high and silly allowing lust to disguise itself as love. Would they remember the next day?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1k-mQnfPfSQXjEXvY4XGDENRdO2UQV0-xf758Zwmw-DYo6OxZJWhY78WVmQnhzl34v9qwd2ixP1EvQxIhsfFxFo6zwQjn1bqYMyUJqMj3_ijOUjLV5Fsy_oQesJygtvHBZXzaIsI_i_E/s1600/sex-on-the-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1k-mQnfPfSQXjEXvY4XGDENRdO2UQV0-xf758Zwmw-DYo6OxZJWhY78WVmQnhzl34v9qwd2ixP1EvQxIhsfFxFo6zwQjn1bqYMyUJqMj3_ijOUjLV5Fsy_oQesJygtvHBZXzaIsI_i_E/s400/sex-on-the-beach.jpg" width="300" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nine and half months later I am born into drama. His love, my younger sister’s mother was 3 months pregnant with my sister. Throughout the entire pregnancy, he denied me and called my mother a whore. He tried to pin her pregnancy on every man he knew.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Funny, I look exactly like him. The universe is clever and cruel at once.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When he saw me, he knew I was his and he loved me. He was a good dad outside of the physical and emotional abuse. But, that’s not what this post is about.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This post is about how parents fuck up and when they cannot reconcile the damage they have done to you. Whether they’re incapable of it because they have mental problems or they’re just oblivious or they think you’re overreacting, you might face the day that you’ll never find closure from your father or mother or both.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Rewind:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am growing up and I see my father less as his illness makes him incapable of caring for me. An illness I didn’t know he had until I was 19. No one told me. I am growing up believing that I was the cause of his divorce from my sister's mother. I am growing up and my mother gets married when I am 12 and I am forsaken for her new husband. I am raised by my conservative, catholic, southern grandparents who have no idea of what to do with a kid like me…artsy and too inquisitive. I am left to figure shit out on my own…never working through the hurt, just knowing that I have to navigate my way through life the best that I can until I one day die.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am the product of a sandy pump and dump. I am dumped and left to my own vices. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am growing up in New York City feeling abandoned by my parents who didn't love each other enough to make me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Fast Forward:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am 33 and I’m dealing with it. I’m still here. I could spend another 10 years crying over how they did me wrong and continue to disappoint me regularly, but I’d rather not. One day, I made the effort to let the past stay in the past and be accountable for my present and my future. I realize the damage, now how do I fix it? ME? No one else. Unfortunately, that means I might have to distance myself or even disown them if needed to continue with my healing process.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So yeah, reminiscing about the “good ol’ days” can bring guttural, uncontrollable sobbing out of me. It hurts, fuck, I’m human. But, I can leave that moment there and carry on. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>When you realize how much there is to look forward to, you don’t want anything to taint the possibilities of tomorrow. Especially your past.</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am 33. I go to a party and a man brings me a drink. It’s a Sex on the Beach and I turn him down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“No, thank you,” I smile politely. “I’m good.”</span></div>Kelly Paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13665461284867474016noreply@blogger.com13