flashpapertiger

For a period of time in the late 80s and early 90s, I was seriously questioning my own humanity.

As an adoptee, there was a constantly verbalized difference and some of this perception of otherhood comes, I think, from early on. Among the multiple explanations of adoption, the "we wanted another baby, we wanted girl, we waited for you, you're specials we picked you out..." was my Mom's inexplicably dark and constant comment that, "We bought you from the Gypsys". When I misbehaved or tested her patience, she'd tell me she was going to call the Gypsys, like bogeymen, and sell me back.

In retrospect, she and I have similar senses of humor. I also understand now her look of absolute horror one day when she found me hiding, shaking, having broken something I shouldn't even oughta been playing with, completely convinced this was the day the Gypsys were getting that call and were coming to reclaim me. I explained all this through my hyperventilating when she found me; her finding me in my hiding place one of my earliest memories. My mom apologized *a lot* and never said such a thing again, of course, but by then, maybe four years old? the **foundling of unknown origin** idea had been firmly imprinted in my young brain.

This foundling theme was a constant, ongoing source of imaginative entertainment for me throughout my youth, don't get me wrong. I spent a lot of time in books and in my head, self amused, it's not at all tragic. I preferred adults, and adults adored me. Most other children didn't enjoy being around me and that didn't bother me, particularly, as long as they left me alone. That personality trait seemed to make them dislike me even more and, naturally, made me a target virtually everyone in my so-called peer group could get behind. I had few childhood friends, none of whom I remain in touch with. My personal feelings of alienation strengthened during adolescence; I might as well have a bulls eye on me.

My "oldest" friends are from high school; less than a handful of very precious souls I formed real connections with - the first ever outside of *a few* of my immediate family...

As I matured into my early 20s, mainstream magazines weren't helping this belief in a literal manifestation of my deep emotional alienation. There were also several books from alternative publishing sources floating around at the time "theorizing" that there were human hybrids among us. A friend (coincidentally, another adoptee) gave me book by Brad Steiger, Star People...

"Do you think you are a Starseed?
Here are a few of the characteristics you may recognize.

Compelling eyes.
Lower than normal body temperature.
Was an unexpected child.
Chronic sinusitis.
Hypersensitivity to electricity or electro-magnetic force fields.
Experience buzzing or audio tone prior to a psychic-spiritual event or warning of danger.
Have "flying" dreams.
Children and animals are attracted to you.
Felt Earth mother/father not real parents.
Had unseen companions as a child.
Have extra or transitional vertebra
Have hypersensitivity to sound, light, odors"

Check, check, check, check...hmmm

and this quiz appeared in OMNI magazine, Vol. 13, No. 3, December 1990.

"1.When you first meet a stranger, you:
a) form a powerful, intuitive first impression
b) usually feel bored and unimpressed
c) know exactly what he or she is really thinking

2.Whenever you think of your parents, you:
a) feel a deep kinship
b) wonder how pedestrian people like these could have produced a creative genius like you
c) sense confusion and discomfort

3.When visiting a museum, you are drawn to:
a) the swirling lights, flowers, and fields of Van Gogh
b) the abstract shapes and bold colors of Klee
c) the strange hieroglyphic renderings of the Egyptians

4.Unusual markings along your body include:
a) freckles
b) moles or cysts
c) straight, unexplained cuts that appeared mysteriously one day

5.You experience headaches when:
a) you enter a room filled with paints, powerful cleaning fluids, or other noxious fumes
b) you are upset
c) a strange, inaudible signal beckons you to come

6.The characters in your dreams include:
a) relatives and childhood friends
b) rock stars, political figures, and TV news anchors
c) bald figures in bodysuits

7.For you, summer vacation was:
a) a time for fun and self-exploration
b) a painful test of your popularity and ability to fit in
c) a period when you would disappear for long stretches of time, sometimes even days, yet not remember where you had been

8.You are on a subway train in New York City when a gang of tough-looking youths demand your money. You:
a) give it to them
b) decide to punch and kick your way out of the situation
c) look into their eyes and convince them to desist through nonverbal communication alone

9.You are most often bothered by:
a) blaring music or other loud noises after midnight
b) an insistent inner voice telling you, in English and Spanish, to save the human race
c) questions from friends about the circumstances of your conception and birth

10.Your largest physical problems include:
a) oversized features, such as a large nose or ears
b) a tendency to put on weight
c) gray skin, premature baldness, and a tiny, almost vestigial, mouth

SCORING THE QUIZ

Please give yourself three points for every C answer you selected. If you scored between 20 and 30 points, you may truly be out of this world. A score between 0 and 9 indicates a basic earthiness. Scores between 9 and 21 points indicate you may have a few alien genes. But then, don't we all?"

I'm sincere, here. I wanted to believe. I also know it sounds silly, but I don't care... that's one of those things that makes me different from most people, remember? I've never cared much about what any of the other monkeys, all caught up in their silly monkey business, who just happen to live on this big dirtball with me, think about anything, let alone what they think of me, specifically.

Eventually I reconciled with myself, and though I know I'm not literally alien-ated, I will always still be and feel "other", even though I work at it. Reconciling one's otherhood, it seems, is much harder than just accepting your own humanity.

One of my gel fingernails shattered this morning at work. I didn't do anything extreme to it - just knocked it on my desk and it broke into several pieces, about a third of the total material still adhering to my own nail all sharp edges and razor thin. While I could live with it all day, I didn't want to wait until Friday to repair it so I went to the nail shop at the mall after work. Unlike my regular nail salon, they are on mall hours and stay open until 9pm instead of closing at 6:30p on weeknights.

Of course there was no just getting a simple rebase - A couple weeks ago, City Nail had applied the gel over my existing acrylic base and it hadn't adhered properly (hence the shattering of my long, right, bird-finger nail) despite all their assurances that the two products would bond just fine.

After 15 or 20 minutes with my fingers in acetone, the gel was soaked off but the acrylic immediately rehardened and had to be dremelled off, at which point, the fungi spots became apparent. More soaking in acetone, and some good luck that they were very shallow. Once cured, a whole new set of gel nails was meticulously formed from scratch. One by one, laid down as a semisolid amalgam with a fat artists brush, and over the next 45 minutes or so, sanded and filed into shape.

My nails look real nice, though. Deep, dark, sparkly red for the holiday parties coming up. A dimensional sort of candy apple metal flake red. Angel, my *new* nail tech, rounded them for me so the tips come to a long oval point. When I told her my regular nail salon didn't like to make oval tips and claimed the shape was "unstable" and she informed me that my regular nail techs are "obviously very lazy" and don't want to do all the filing necessary for an oval, kind of like they didn't want to take the old product of my nails before they put the different new, more expensive stuff on and just put one product over the over the top of the other and hoped for the best, instead.

I think, mayhaps, she has a valid point.

Her work on my marquis-cut ruby nails did take significantly more time than those blunted duckbill nails I'd become accustomed to. I still think it's more a matter of taste and technique, but the oval points sure do make text messaging easier.

I told Angel that I only go to City Nail because my last nail salon before them weren't good at eyebrows, and I have to get my eyebrows waxed, often, or they get out of control. My eyebrows once belonged to an elderly Scotsman before they reincarnated as my own. They're wacky fly away brows that are very thick, long, and curl up and away. They have to to be maintained.

I repeat, my eyebrows MUST be maintained. Restrained. Reformed.

The fake nails were just an afterthought one day after a waxing visit; funny how an afterthought can take over and change everything.

"What are you doing today?"

The text message blips across my phone display and I look at it, curious. The name makes me warm and smile, but the words give me pause. Why is he asking?

"The usual" I reply, deliberately vague.

"I need to see you! When can we meet?"

Something is different. We exchange texts constantly, this conversation just reads wrong.

"You don't work tonight?"

"No, I'm off. Meet me at the park by the mall?"

"The park south of the mall? Sure, when?"

"An hour"

"OK"

I jump in the shower and rinse off. The warm water hits my face and chest, I turn the crown of my head to the stream and run my fingers through my hair, rolling my head to relax the tension in my neck. Something isn't right, the urgency perhaps, but more - these aren't the words he uses.

As I towel off, I send a message, "What's going on with you?"

"I just need to see you. We'll talk in person"

"OK - on my way" *send*

But I'm not on my way. I drive by the restaurant and see his car parked there; he is working after all... curiouser and curiouser. I walk in and sit at the bar. He sees me enter and a subtle smile tickles across his face.

"And what can I get for you, ma'am?" He asks.

"Vodka tonic with a little lime." I locate a paper and peruse the letters to the editor, sipping my drink and watching the Nuggets game on teevee.

"What brings you in tonight?"

"Just a hunch" I answer.

My phone beeps urgently- I glance down and see his name.

"Where are you?"

I look at the bartender busily working away.

"You left your phone at home?" I ask-

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't notice until it was too late to turn back. How did you know?"

My phone beeps again- I hold it so he can see his name on the display.

"I need to see you! Are you coming?"

The shadows cover his face like storm clouds as he frowns.

I text back:

"No. I don't think it's good idea, we should NEVER meet. It's just best that way."

I show him my words and press *send*.

"What? Why not?"

"Because you're married" I text back.

The bartender sets another vodka tonic in front me, and the game goes on.

I work graveyard shift in customer service for an adult entertainment provider.

It's very late at night.

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes:

blonde - click

doggy style - click

stockings - click

threesome - click

smoking - click

girl on girl - click

I glance at the image again

hotel room - click

image quality: 7

save, forward to the next image

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes

natural tits - click

brunette - click

solo - click

image quality: 8

save, forward to the next image

Didn't you ever wonder how the tagging for porn search engines gets put in place?

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes

long hair - click

redhead - click

big tits - click

slut - click

upskirt - click

voyeur - click

image quality: 4

save, forward to the next image

The four of us worked together on the image tagging project.

Over 160,000 new pornographic images for the database

All needing to be defined by their individual kinks

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes

interracial - click

BBD - click

BBW - click

DP - click

group - click

facial - click

image quality: 6

save, forward to the next image

About 45 seconds per image; during the slow hours of the night.

Porn has no titillation value for me, whatsoever, anymore.

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes

vintage - click

milf - click

bedroom - click

corset - click

stilettos - click

image quality: 3

save, forward to the next image

In the end, porno has been ruined for me forever;

all I see when I look at a dirty picture are its individual components.

I'm staring at the image, then at the check boxes

barely legal - click

public - click

exhibitionist - click

cut-offs - click

beach - click

image quality: 8

save, forward to the next image

Howdya do, I'm Flashpapertiger.

This is my second season of and I'm excited for things to get going.

My biggest challenge last season was consistency. I felt like I wrote some great entries; I also was embarrassed to survive elimination after a couple of them - vowing to submit something better "next week". In week 18, my "next weeks" had run out.

This season, I'd like to stay in the game for more weeks.

I'm 43, female, and I live in (The People's Republic of) Boulder, Colorado, USA. I'm married 25 years, and the mother of a college aged daughter. I'm also very polyamorous, a reunited adoptee, and a devoted Thelemite. Over the last few months, I've transitioned myself off of sugar and have begun to train for the pending 2012 apocalypse, or maybe the zombie apocalypse if it comes first.

My computer time is limited, so you won't see me much in the green room, and I have a habit of posting my entries close to the deadline. I look forward to this seasons game - I read every entry, but I'm unlikely to comment unless I really feel like I have something to add.

My day to day journal is debrafortune

Tags: 7:00, about me, introduction, lj idol

I'll be playing season seven of LJ IDol!

It is this time of year that it becomes so obvious to me why countless generations of our ancestors, across cultures, worshipped the sun. As each tender sprout of crocus pokes forward from the ground in adoration to display it’s tender face, and the life returns to the frozen earth, and the promise of summer returns. I'm look forward to moving my morning yoga ritual out of doors again as soon as possible. The Sūrya namaskāra, or Sun salutation, originated as part of the worship of India’s sun diety, Surya. The Sanskrit word namaskar stems from namas, which means "to bow to" or "to adore." Considered benevolent, the“Supreme Light”is the visible form of God.

As I stand, feet together in the mountain pose, hands touching in prayer-like position in front of my heart, I feel the sunlight touch my face. I close my eyes and raise my hands above my head as I breathe in the fresh morning air stretching upward toward the sky. Slowly exhaling, I fold my body in half and rest my palms on the ground next to my feet, feeling my spine stretch and relax as the warmth penetrates the muscles. Inhaling again, I step my right foot back and bring myself into a lunge before exhaling and stepping the left foot back to make the plank. I hold that position for as long as I can, breathing before exhaling and lowering myself into the stick, which looks something like a push-up only with no pushing up and elbows tucked in. Then and inhale and I stretch my torso up in to Upward Dog, face full to the sun, then exhaling, and pulling my legs under me as I push into Downward Facing Dog, which is exactly the stretch you think it is. Next, inhaling, I pull the right foot forward to balance out the lunges, then bringing the left foot to meet it, exhaling as I extend back into my folded in half, head to knees, palms on the ground again. Finally, slowly inhaling as I rise to the full standing potion, arms over my head, palms together, fully extended. Fully exhilarated, I exhale completely and lower my hands back to the prayer position.

My head clear, my heart warm, I'm ready to face the day.

Namaste

During cold winters, like this one, I find myself reaching for the foundation garments of my foremothers. The structure and warmth of the extra layer between me and my clothes lends a comfort and reassurance like that of a hug. Fashions' unnatural glamour-aid binds soft flesh into a marble ideal. Compressing the waistline and reducing it by several inches, unforgiving muslin and metal stays transform Rubenesque into bombshell.



Scarlet O'Hara wanted a 17-inch waist in the movie Gone With The Wind. Impossibly small. One of my thighs is larger in girth than Scarlet's wasp waist. The prison of the tightlaced corset was a symbol of high status, demonstrating that you were wealthy enough to have a maid or valet to lace you, and that no vigorous activity was ever required of you. Most of us no longer torture ourselves daily with the hourglass vice, deform our ribcages, displace organs, and shorten our lives. Fashion's love affair with tight laced corsetry lasted over three hundred years, ending nearly a century ago when corsets fell out of popularity in the roaring 20s. We choose now the less severe corrections of modern miracle fabrics such as elastic and lycra to pushpull parts into preferred position, to form, sculpt and mold.

In March of 1741, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, wife of England's ambassador to Turkey, visited a bathhouse in that country. Joseph Spence, a member of the diplomatic entourage, wrote to his mother that Lady Montagu "never saw finer shap'd women than the Turkish ladies, tho' they never wear stays. Their make is more natural, and really more beautiful than that of the ladies with us. The first time she was at one of those baths the ladies invited her to undress and to bathe with them; and on her not making any haste, one of the prettiest ran to undress her. You can't imagine her surprise upon lifting my lady's gown and seeing [corset] stays all around her. She ran back quite frighten'd and told her companions that the husbands in England were much worse than in the East, for they ty'd up their wives in little boxes the shape of their bodies... They all agreed that 'twas one of the greatest barbarities and pities the poor women for being such slaves in Europe."
Call me old fashioned if you like, but I prefer the genuine article to the modern shapers. Every once in a while I ask my husband to lace me into a body shaped cage I wear under my clothes. Secured tightly from both top and bottom, but not too tight, and knotted at the middle within a matter of moments I am armored against the chill and damp, trussed tight and insulated against the elements; ready to face the world.

Tags: 6:17, lj idol

If any of you Boulder folks have been reading my entries and want to keep me in the game, now is the time to save me-

Save me! Please

Check the little ticky box next to flashpapertiger and vote if you haven't already done it.


Thankyew

Shortly after my last post recounting the various failures to communicate within the dysfunctional tangle of my family, the three of us siblings who are on speaking terms had a particularly cordial conference call on the matter of our dad, and agreed on a division that seemed fair to us and to the widow alike. We omitted alotting anything to Brother #2 because he had never responded to any of our messages and we could neither provide his social security number nor sign the documents for him, as needed to complete this phase. The widow was in agreement and we were set to go. The papers were signed and returned last week.

Today the attorney called. Brother #2 responded with a proposal of his own and it varies wildly from what we all came to agree upon without him. Clearly, we will revise our proposals to include him now that he's been verified to still be living... I'm trying to be hopeful that Brother #2 intends to break his decade-long silence, his fast from his family. I hope he's planning to reconnect with his siblings and communicate with us. After so long, though, I'm feeling a little more than dubious.

I'll reach out, again. I'll call and write and extend myself one more time. But my expectations are low.