Cat Skinner Club

Country Schnoo, City Schnoo

This is day three in the country, and the first full day of work I’ve had since we’ve arrived. Of course, it is also the day when the sun is gloriously shining, so I’m sure at some point my work flow will be interrupted by a brisk walk in my rubber boots.

It’s beautiful here. If I could drive a car, I could spend a lot of time in a place like this. I feel so much more relaxed, and I’m incredibly inspired and focused. In a dream life, I’d have a place like this on a lake, and a modest place in the city. I’d spend more time at the lake, knowing me, and there would have to be a dog.

Things are humming along with my writing project. I’m enjoying it so much, and it’s really changing the way I look at myself and my own potential. I can DO this. This is something I could be really great at, and something that feels entirely natural to me. I’m also piecing together this romantic picture about who Schnoo the writer is. I have writing outfits, and I’ve imagined my ideal writing space down to the most minute detail. I can really picture this kind of life.

How lucky I am to have the love and support that I have. Every morning I wake up grateful for this, and don’t take it for granted for even one instant. Its amazing how I feel like I am finding my voice all over again, and that every moment of my life has pointed to this time and place, and this new experience of self.

The nature of my new work requires that I create an alter-ego, a nom de plume. Breathing life into her has been so much fun. I hope to discreetly introduce her through these pages when the time is right, so that any of you who are interested can help support this project, because a great deal of our marketing efforts will be viral.

Life is sweet like the country air, filled with hope and promise and the lilting sigh of the burgeoning spring breeze.

Deboning my Duck

I rented Julie and Julia the other night, and it made me want to do two things:

1. Eat a lot of food cooked in a lot of butter

2. Write here

The movie was cute, but I would have rather watched the Meryl Streep action than the whiny narcissistic blogging girl. In true narcissistic fashion, it made me wonder if I am as narcissistic as this girl, consumed with her musings and driving her husband right out of the house. Then I realized that I haven’t written here in a very long time, and I have no husband. Legal documents may dictate otherwise, but the only ring on my hand is my feisty Nana’s wedding band which I wear proudly on my middle finger.

Here’s what’s happening in Schnooville:

1. I’ve given up on 9-5 forever. Seriously. I mean it. This last stint was the straw that broke this obnoxious, proud, ego-maniacal lion’s back once and for all. I am hell bent on being the boss of me, and am fortunate enough to be in such a position

2. I’m doing a lot of research about one of my favourite topics – sex. There is A LOT of crap out there, written by pathetic jerks looking to make a buck by proclaiming themselves master lovers. I’m sorry for everyone who is buying into this shite.

3. I’m creating an alter-ego. I almost spelled that “altar” and I think there is some significance to such a type o. This is to facilitate my new adventures as a writer and professional master lover. Ha! Just kidding. Sort of.

4. My relationship is awesome. Not perfect, but settling into this awesome place where I don’t have to worry so much about my relationship. I can just kind of be in it, and enjoy it.

5. Anxiety seems to be vastly diminished. I’m sure this is directly linked to my lack of 9-5 job. I really don’t know what I was thinking, trying to go back to that world. I kept telling myself “this time it will be different”, but like all bad pairings, the outcome was the same.

6. I am convinced that my lack of writing here has my mother convinced that something is wrong with me. Mom, nothing is wrong. Everything is actually amazing. You should know by now (my teenage years being the finest example) that I write more when I’m unsettled, anxious, depressed and/or frustrated. I guess it’s like venting.

7. Every female friend I have is now either a mom, or about to be a mom. I’m thinking through this list, and yep. All of ’em. The closest I have to my own “last unicorn” status is my girlfriend who is a step-mom. Amazingly, all maternal yearnings have been subdued by the recent focus on my writing. I am birthing a new career, I guess. I was actually marveling about this today, but then I ended up minding my pal’s five-month-old little dude and I think I have an achy ovary now. I think I’m reassured that my maternal cravings still exist somewhere.

8. Every morning I wake up happy, but realize I desperately, desperately need a bigger bed. Seriously. It’s actually ridiculous now. Am considering moonlighting as an exotic dancer, because I’m fairly convinced I could buy a larger bed after two nights of work. Ha. Kidding. Sort of.

9. My dreams are back. Intense, vivid, grabbing me by the throat and shaking me to my sub-basement. Deep dark childhood fears, feelings of insignificance and self-loathing from high school, terrifying scenarios involving total strangers. I blame therapy.

10. Therapy is AWESOME. Despite the unbelievable dreams, I am realizing exactly how to articulate what I need, and want. I’m also able to really relax into my life and my love, knowing how successfully my needs are being satisfied. My life may be non-traditional, but it works really well for me when I stop worrying so much. I am so in love, and feel so loved, and have faith that we really can make this work. I can’t imagine any other reality.

11. I’m back at the gym. I have a really sexy trainer. My goal is to be confidant in a bikini this summer. I haven’t worn a bikini since I was about six because I still have the exact pot belly I had then, and not the sexy Pulp Fiction kind. As I type this, I notice it actually hurts to rest my chin in my hands. Tomorrow should be awesome.

I’d best make more of an effort to write here. I have no idea how many people are still reading this, but I think about you often. Whenever I have a moment in my day that I consider remarkable, I think “That would make a good blog post, I think my readers would like that.” How fucking pretentious of me, no?

The truth is friends, I had my privacy pretty seriously invaded through this blog, and it hurt me more than I realized. Because of people’s narrow thinking, I’ve had to cut some significant parts out of my day-to-day accounts, and I really resented that for a while. Now, I think I’ve come out the other end.

Writing here challenges me to seek out the little bits of magic that happen every day, for the sake of having something to share. Without my regular posting, I felt like the magic dried up a little, but then, watching that kind of cheesy movie, it all clicked. I missed you, and remembered why I fell in love with you in the first place.

So, I’m back. I’m re-focused and ready to make a fresh commitment. If not for the sake of reaching out and examining, I will write more frequently in the hopes that I can squeeze a moderately entertaining chick flick out of this.

Ha. Kidding. Sort of.

My Niche

From Les Coquettes' LOVE STORY - photo by Ryan Visima

The universe is great, and mighty, and continues to steer me in so many interesting directions. Despite some upset, and some turmoil, I’m very glad to be exactly where I am today.

All roads keep pointing in one direction – I need to write. That’s what I thought I’d end up doing as a child, and that’s exactly where I’m heading now. I believe it’s up to me to educate, inform, entertain, and opportunity has come knocking again. One of the things I am most proud of is my ability to face a challenge head on, mostly without fear. This opportunity is the best one yet.

We just put another Les Coquettes show to bed. It was another huge success, with two sold out shows. My girlfriend was in charge of our merchandise booth, selling pasties that we’d made, and she told me this great story yesterday. A young woman had brought her mother to the show, and at intermission, the mother was trying to convince her daughter to buy a pair of pasties. They were contemplating them as a surprise for the young woman’s husband who had been out of town for a while.

As she recounted this yesterday, I realized that this little anecdote keenly sums up everything that I want to do – make sexuality fun, something to be celebrated and explored, free of embarrassment and any source of shame. To empower people, particularly women, by inviting them to embrace their own unique sexuality, and dig deeper to learn more about their sexual selves.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what I’m here to do.

Stay tuned to see how it all comes together.

Heh, heh, heh.

Today, In Therapy

Hump day is my day to sit on a couch and talk about my feelings. This was my second official visit, and the first time I tried to go back to the office after and be productive. Despite shoveling two handfuls of Munchos Parti Mix in my craw, I still feel like I can’t get anything done until I write some things down. Rather than do it in my diary (I probably will hit that next) I thought I’d share here.

The key issue we’re working on is Trust. With a capital ‘T”. Today we launched into my last relationship, which some of you know was a gong show of the highest order.

What a remarkably strong feeling of ‘ick’ I’ve got going on now. I had to put myself in the early infancy of that relationship, and try to remember what my early needs were. Facing that reality made me feel ashamed of the person I was back then. I think I learned today that a desperate fear of being alone with a lot of pain kept me tied to a relationship that should have ended six months in. Instead I stayed, and invited in a Great Big Sea of Sorrow.

What did I need?

Someone to distract me from my own pain (which was fairly monumental at that time)

Someone to nurture, and love

Someone whose dreams I could get behind and whose vision I could rally.

Someone who would inspire me with their artistry

Recently, when examining my current, rather complex relationship, I began to worry that I was repeating a pattern of making very difficult and possibly negative choices for myself. At last week’s session, my therapist asked me to examine what my needs were. I thought of this today as I was comparing the set of needs I had with my last relationship to the set of needs I have now:

Someone to give me lots of support and love

Someone to be inspired by my artistry and rally my creativity

Someone who inspires me with their own passion and ambition

Someone who I can trust, who will be emotionally and physically available

Respect and encouragement for my need for quiet space and alone time

I know that I am more than capable of reciprocating all of this, but the difference seems to be that I’ve now got the strength to hold my head high and lead with my own list of requirements. I was also pleased to realize that all of my needs are being met, twice over! My last relationship fell apart as I began to really understand what it was I needed.

People cannot be used as band aids. We need to heal ourselves before any real progress can happen. I suppose today’s lesson is that whenever you feel the most terrified of your own head and heart, these are the moments that you should sit alone with both of those organs and make sure they’re o.k. before moving on.

I ignored my gut for four years because my head and my heart were broken.

Oh, and Munchos cause acid reflux.

Nine Lives

I’m a lion, I’m a cat, and I’m a fire dragon. I credit these things for my ability to mostly bounce back from whatever life might toss in my direction. I’m good with things like hope, most of the time.

Today, I feel like I’m on the precipice again. Looking up, and looking way, way down. If I step off, I’m sure to plummet, but there’s always the possibility that somewhere down there, through the fog and haze, is a fluffy clearing where I will land softly and beautifully, and triumphant.

How does one gather the nerve to step off the ledge, over and over again? Even with a perfect record of brilliantly executed landings, or just a few minor bumps and scrapes, there is always the possibility that the next plunge might be your last. It’s possible that the fall will be so bad, there’s no bouncing back, and you’ll never again get the chance to consider pushing off with your toes.

I’m so tired. Deeply tired, down to my very core. I look into the mirror, into the eyes of a woman I know very well, and neither one of us can tell me how much strength is left there.

Ask my mom – if I am not good at something, I get overwhelmed with frustration and anger. I didn’t know this, but as a child, she’d have to intercept and cease activities so that I wouldn’t spiral into the pit of despair. All this time I’d thought she was just really impatient with me. Now, as an adult, if I can’t do something well I lose interest, shut down, or just get angry with myself. I’m eyeballing affairs of the heart right now with the same wary look I give to mathematical equations.

This time I’ve given it my all. I’ve emptied all my pockets and laid everything out on the table. I’ve opened up my heart wider than I even imagined it’s rusty hinges would allow. I’ve loved with every cell in my body.

The desire to jump off the cliff is not enough. Love is not enough. You need trust, and faith, and communication, and security. I need to know that if I’m going to jump, there’s a safe landing at the bottom. That there will always be a safe landing. My helmet and my knee pads are completely useless if there is not.

In fact, it’s probably smarter to just walk away from the ledge if you have no idea what’s at the bottom.

Will all these hands catch me?