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Primal Feet First: In Search of Lost Time or Remembrance of Things Past

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  • #61
    And now I'm feeling all Apple-y


    If only I had a fresh Honeycrisp...
    “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
    ~Friedrich Nietzsche
    And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

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    • #62
      LOVE across the universe! also love fiona apple!

      re: makeup: i like to wear a little now and then, but i worry about wearing it on a regular basis. i know some women don't feel quite right unless they have it on, and i'd hate to dislike looking at my bare face because i'm used to it having makeup on. i also kind of suck at the whole thing, so it works for me.
      my primal journal:
      http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum...Primal-Journal

      Comment


      • #63
        Originally posted by Saoirse View Post
        LOVE across the universe! also love fiona apple!

        re: makeup: i like to wear a little now and then, but i worry about wearing it on a regular basis. i know some women don't feel quite right unless they have it on, and i'd hate to dislike looking at my bare face because i'm used to it having makeup on. i also kind of suck at the whole thing, so it works for me.
        Been listening to Fiona all night... music bingeing!

        The make-up issue goes hand in hand with some other self identity issues that I have, and have cast off.
        Growing up in a small conservative population, and as a member of an old fashioned family, I was sort of accosted several times in my youth by (I suppose) well meaning aunts/relatives who decided that I needed to be straightened out a bit (little did they know! LOL).
        I was pretty much a tomboy, and at some point I was snatched up and told that I needed to look and act like a proper young lady instead of a heathen(read: shorts/pants and t-/sweat shirts). So, between middle school and high school I got "fixed"... I was no longer allowed to shop for my own clothes unsupervised like before (dad never cared what I wore as long it was as cheap as possible, boys clothes were fine), I was pushed into girlie clothing, and taught that you don't leave the house without fixing your face. Because "We have to be presentable".
        This was almost 25 years ago of course!
        Soooo old. I'll be 39 this fall. O_o I don't even know how that happened.

        Now... I managed to wiggle my way into some not so old lady approved outfits that were punkish/grungeish... but I was still policed pretty heavily about hair and make-up... and I learned to play at the part pretty well. B
        But the flowery stuff and skirts were never comfortable. I'd try them on in the store and they would gush about how great I looked, and I'd get compliments and stuff later, but when I looked int he mirror... FRAUD! It was really like looking at me in a costume.
        And then I learned the power of sexuality... and that's another game with a bigger costume.

        Then I met husband... and slowly started to turn the tables and work back the other direction it seems. Back to where I can be me without those other inputs. He's happy with me as long as I'm happy. Best thing ever.

        I shucked the remnants of a pretense of anything really overtly feminine (flowers, ruffles, skirts, lace, sparkly bits, whatever) several years ago... and haven't looked back. MY ideal for formal wear is Katherine Hepburn in a pant suit.

        But, until pretty recently I've held on to that thing in my head that said "you don't go out without at LEAST your eyes done!" (Thanks Gramma! /snark).
        And now I've shucked that too. I like it. It feels right.

        And I still FEEL feminine... and look pretty feminine... just my own relaxed comfy for me version of it.
        “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
        ~Friedrich Nietzsche
        And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

        Comment


        • #64
          I went through a few years of heavy black eyeliner (was called "emo") in high school. My first longterm boyfriend got me to stop wearing it for a while because I was hiding behind it. Took a couple of years for me to realize I could be just as "fierce" without. Now I wear mascara and eyeliner (only on top lid) sometimes, but I don't like the Barbie look my sister does and I try really hard not to look like her (we've been accused of looking like twins). It's nice to be able to accept ones face as this/her own.
          Depression Lies

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          • #65
            cori-i've come from another standpoint. my mom was a total tomboy, and so i was raised any knowledge of "the womanly arts." i felt like i missed out a little on the girly-girly moments, but i definitely appreciate not having beauty defined for me. also, female objectification at home wasn't a big thing as it is in some households. my mom was/is overweight by quite a bit, and there was never any indication that she was less of a woman or less worthy of being loved because of it. my mom talks about how she likes being fat, and wouldn't like it any other way. i think it gives her a sense of power.

            church, of course, was another matter. if my mom was mindful of these things, maybe she would've chosen a church more wisely. but there was a lot of talk about modesty, what makes a good woman, etc. it doesn't help, of course, that i was a very studious bible reader as a teen. when my relationship with my mom degraded in my teens year, i began very serious studies of proverbs every night, focusing particularly on proverbs 31 (description of the good wife). while that's definitely not objectification (it's about all the important ways the wife contributes to her family and community, even specifically de-emphasizing appearance and physical adornment) it fed my idea that i wasn't acceptable unless i was perfect.

            i think my objectification issues started with my husband. he comes from a fat-phobic family; his sister and mom used to make little piggy noises at each other, and make comments about food/fat. his sister was very skinny, and still is. even though i was a fairly skinny girl with little body fat, i remember one of the first times he actually saw me without a shirt, he was disappointed that i didn't have the ideal abs and actually told me. by the time we were married, i was no longer in school, so my usual mode of feeding my self-worth (through being studious and a talented violinist) were gone, and at the same time i had little hints here and there from him that i lacked in the beauty department. with each pregnancy (hello stretch marks!) and further and further from the activities that i had used to define myself, my self-image continued to drop. i think back then, his view of attractive was informed by porn and objectified women. he claims now that it's much more influenced by me than anything else.

            if you look at a picture of me when we married (i was 18) and now (27), i look a lot hotter now. i have breasts, a waist, hips and a fairly nice ass; whereas then i looked fairly prepubescent- no defined waist, smallish breasts, smaller ass, more chub on my face. and yet, i'm significantly more worried about my appearance now than i was then. i didn't go through the usual body-hate that most girls go through during puberty, but it seems i'm going through it now.

            anyway, let's go burn our bras.
            my primal journal:
            http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum...Primal-Journal

            Comment


            • #66
              re: female objectification in the home
              More later... it's one of those difficult spots in the narrative of a girl.

              "She decided to free herself, dance into the wind, create a new language. And birds fluttered around her, writing “yes” in the sky."
              — Monique Duval

              A field of red poppies for those who served with my grandfather who didn't come home, those who served with my father who didn't come home, those who served with my brother who didn't come home, those who served with my husband who didn't come home, for those who served with me who didn't come home... and for all others who didn't or won't make it home past, present, and future. Peace be with you.

              In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
              Between the crosses, row on row
              That mark our place; and in the sky
              The larks, still bravely singing, fly
              Scarce heard amid the guns below.

              We are the Dead. Short days ago
              We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
              Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
              In Flanders Fields.

              Take up our quarrel with the foe:
              To you from failing hands we throw
              The torch; be yours to hold it high.
              If ye break faith with us who die
              We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
              In Flanders Fields.

              -John McCrae, 1915.
              “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
              ~Friedrich Nietzsche
              And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

              Comment


              • #67
                That's a lot of music to take in today. You'll be happy to know that before 1 and 2 left for DisneyWorld, I had 1 singing "Blame it on my ADD, baby!" Then they left and I proceeded to drive my wife crazy with it.
                If I just said LOL, I lied. Do or do not. There is no try.

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                • #68
                  Originally posted by justyouraveragecavemen View Post
                  That's a lot of music to take in today. You'll be happy to know that before 1 and 2 left for DisneyWorld, I had 1 singing "Blame it on my ADD, baby!" Then they left and I proceeded to drive my wife crazy with it.
                  Haha! Sweet!

                  I'm a bit of a music fanatic.
                  I have broad tastes and tend to binge on one type or artist at a time pretty often, and according to the day/activity/mood.
                  This is also known as a sadistic torture method if you are on a 800mile car trip, own every Sting album made, and have a 13 year old boy in the car with you.

                  I spent about 6 months of the past year NOT listening to anything.
                  As in completely unable to listen.
                  (The tale will probably be fully told here in my Journal soon.)
                  It was really hard for me... heartbreaking... miserable.
                  Neurological problems can be really weird... and SUCK! lol
                  “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
                  ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                  And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

                  Comment


                  • #69
                    Originally posted by cori93437 View Post
                    Haha! Sweet!

                    I'm a bit of a music fanatic.
                    I have broad tastes and tend to binge on one type or artist at a time pretty often, and according to the day/activity/mood.
                    This is also known as a sadistic torture method if you are on a 800mile car trip, own every Sting album made, and have a 13 year old boy in the car with you.

                    I spent about 6 months of the past year NOT listening to anything.
                    As in completely unable to listen.
                    (The tale will probably be fully told here in my Journal soon.)
                    It was really hard for me... heartbreaking... miserable.
                    Neurological problems can be really weird... and SUCK! lol
                    Wow, I can't imagine what that would be like. I'm a music person myself.
                    If I just said LOL, I lied. Do or do not. There is no try.

                    Comment


                    • #70
                      Today the lovely, tropical tempered, Beryl is still in town.
                      I like this... we need the rain.
                      The thunder and lightening is a bonus.
                      And she is covering all the bases...


                      Rainy day music is happening!
                      “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
                      ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                      And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

                      Comment


                      • #71
                        re: the above post...
                        Annnnnnndddd then I realized that I posted that on Tuesday instead of Monday... so the allusion to Beryl covering all the bases via a rainy day AND a Monday both was lame. *sigh*

                        This is what happens when a person has no job or life structure that demands she keep up wit what actual day of the week it is.
                        Sooooooooo, just pretend that I posted that lovely Carpenters song on Monday... because Beryl was raining her sweet drops down on my little corner of the world then too.


                        TONIGHT: I have a 5 1/5 lb pork shoulder butt roast thingy that I picked up at the butcher gouged, and rubbed, and spiced, and marinating in a lovely golden liquid slurry. Tomorrow it will roast at 250* for about 6 hours trying to be all that it can be, if a beautiful pile of Cuban pork is what it has in mind for itself. And that's what it whispered into my ear... so I'm helping it along.

                        A pile of crisp homemade salad slaw and a virgin mojito is in order to accompany it tomorrow night.
                        Of course by virgin mojito I mean that I'll muddle some fresh mint, splash in some key lime, and top it up with ice and water... It will taste nothing like a mojito. *sigh*
                        Still, refreshing.

                        Also... I WANT maduros! (fried plantains)... I'm resisting. They are a mess to do at home... maybe I'll make dear sweet husband drop by my fav Cuban shop and grab me a few as a side.

                        Old, romantic, sappiness... sweet like maduros... and by a Cuban dude!
                        Last edited by cori93437; 05-29-2012, 10:24 PM.
                        “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
                        ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                        And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

                        Comment


                        • #72
                          What really is a day of the week and who says it's right, huh? How do we know when we adopted a 7 day calendar that they didn't start on Sunday, but in actuality it was Saturday? Or they said "Today is Wednesday" (and their voice echoed off the mountainsides like in an empty baseball stadium...Today day day day is Wednesday day day day) But it was really Tuesday but they didn't want to announce AGAIN (Today day day day is Wednesday day day day again gen gen gen) because they would have been embarrassed, so they just went with it. Secretly hiding their shame for the rest of their days. When someone said "meet me on Friday" they always wondered, YOUR Friday or MY Friday? Then Tuesday would have technically been Monday, right? Who knows?
                          If I just said LOL, I lied. Do or do not. There is no try.

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                          • #73
                            Encyclopedia Mythica: Origin of the names of the days
                            Depression Lies

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                            • #74
                              Ahhhhhh... dog must go see vet and I become a nervous, anxiety ridden, OCD MESS!
                              And Charlie Sunshine is all...

                              "Hahaha! Whatever, MOM!"

                              It's going to take a week for my lip to heal... IF it's good news and I no longer have anything at all to worry about FOR CERTAIN. Otherwise... I'm just gonna wind up finishing chewing it off! >_<
                              “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
                              ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                              And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

                              Comment


                              • #75
                                OK... ball, rolling, again.
                                I was contemplating this...
                                "re: female objectification in the home
                                More later... it's one of those difficult spots in the narrative of a girl."

                                NOTE: Horribly written rambling post about awful crap. Feel free to not read it. It's the short version... so it might not even make sense in spots. I don't know... writing about this is a little like vomiting. whatever comes up is just what you get.

                                Yes. That is the simplest place to begin.
                                Yes... I was raised in a home rife with female objectification. This had a huge impact on me during puberty and early womanhood.

                                First, while my mother was horribly physically and emotionally abused, I never witnessed overt sexual objectification where she was concerned. She was a strong character in many ways from what I remember of her... she tended to do things her own way. Perhaps that is why my father felt the need to subdue her with violence. I don't know. If she was objectified then it was as a thing to be controlled, rather than the common objectification we see in media today.
                                She died, among some cruddy circumstances that never quite cleared the air in my small town. The whispers that you're own father may have killed your mother are never so quiet that you can't hear them, they aren't intended to be. Add into it that I had seen him threaten to do the same while physically abusing her, and later the knowledge that my grandparents had finally sent her money to help her leave just before it happened... and you have a boiling kettle of childhood mess.*
                                After mother died my brother and I were alone a lot. That was actually good for the most part. We could feed ourselves being ages 7 and 9, and we did our chores and played away from the house as much as possible. Father's mood did not improve with mother's death. He sat and stared into his tea cup. He didn't speak to us much that I remember. We didn't seek his attention if we could avoid it because his glances were often as hard as his hands. You could really see the hate boiling under the surface. Maybe disdain is a better word. I don't know, I just always knew that when he looked at me he saw something he didn't like.
                                Gradually it came to pass that I was expected to perform the "women's" tasks around the house. Laundry, dishes, cooking, sweeping... And the violence previously reserved for mother was passed along with those chores to me. I won't say that my brother never got a share of the whippings, but I never saw him catch the random stuff like I did. Those random times I was hit were what always bothered me the most. I'd never know when, or why, just BOOM... and then he'd walk away usually grumbling something about "you shouldn't have done that". Most of my life I've assumed that by "that" he must have meant "look just like your mom", because the whole family has always agreed I was her spitting image, and even had a lot of her personality and mannerisms.
                                Also, there was some semi-sexual physical abuse by my brother (until I got big enough to physically fight him).**
                                In those regards it was always very plain in our household that women are less than men, they have less rights, they are the brunt of abuse and that is acceptable, etc...

                                So, on to more objectification... dad had no job "so he could take care of us", and he ran around a lot. There were always several girlfriends in the rotation at any given time. Sex was in our faces most of the time. He locked us either out of or in the house as his mood struck him so that he could have happy fun drink wine, smoke pot, and fuck all day parties. I was a kid on a farm... I wasn't stupid, I knew exactly what was going on. Sometimes women would find out about other women and shit would hit the fan... it was kind of normal. I mostly ignored them even if they tried to make nice with me thinking to get in with my dad that way. Little did they know, he wasn't interested in a gal caring about his kids.
                                Until, that is... someone finally called social services on him... we were often dirty, torn clothes, and roaming about... I mean, we were kids. We weren't going to take baths and all that every day without some sort of parental guidance.
                                That summer he met himself a 17 year old HS student... she was a Sr that fall... he was 36. I was 10. She was as naive as the day is long. He introduced her to wine, pot,and locking the kids out for sex all day. She was also DIRT poor, quite literally. Some of the poorest people I have ever known in my life. She thought he was a goldmine, he thought she would make a wonderful babysitter (she had huge tits, bonus). So, at some point it changed... she started cooking us dinner and they'd let us in to eat with them before he took her home. And he proposed to her... "for after graduation". Of course, I knew that during the week when she was at school, the other women were still coming over.

                                And that continued on and on and on... I watched him bully her verbally and demean her. She worked, and he didn't. And he continued to stick his dick in anything with a vagina. And I continued to get the random violence as always. It was all very obvious to me, I actually assumed that the step-mother knew about he other women. At one point one of them came to our house and brother, stepM, and I all went out to meet her... Father introduces us all by first name. Since stepM was closer to our age than his the lady assumed she was one of his children also. He later arranged for me to baby sit her kids while they hooked up in the afternoons. I was 14-15. Like I said ... it was so in my face that I just thought everyone knew. I'm sure some of my dad's random bops in my face were for me looking him way too square in the eye when he was doing these things. It was seriously constant. He even stalked another lady for a while. General weirdness.

                                So, I went through puberty and developed into a young woman seeing that the path to a man's attention was sex, and only sex. And that violence was not only OK in a relationship, but expected to an extent. Yes, this definitely informed some of my behavior. I'm probably lucky I didn't run off to Hollywood and get into porn or something. But I was also a little bent and jaded from the rest of it, the seeing abuse, the being abused, the anger about feeling helpless for myself and my dead mother. I 'played' a bad girl on the run (from daddy obviously)... but what I really did was put myself in relationships with more abusive men.*** First the father of my son, who was just abusive in general as dumbass country hick alcoholics sometimes are. And then I was sort of cherry picked to be the barbie doll play toy of a seriously messed up man****... a psychotic sadist who left me with some permanent scars both physical and mental. I tried very hard, I wanted to love and trust a man... I thought that if I could just do everything right they wouldn't get mad and they could love me. I eventually extracted myself... and lived with anxiety, depression, and PTSD until a few years of meds and therapy got me about as fixed as I figure is possible.


                                *Mess that lasted well into my mid-late 20's. These days I'm actually pretty good with the fact that I'll never know the answer. I still speak with my father though out relationship has never been good... I realize that being angry only hurts me, no one else. And that there is no way to ever know the truth. I can't ask him. If I did and he admitted it I would come apart from the outrage and pain. If he denied it I wouldn't believe him anyway. We don't talk or see each other often. Phone calls maybe once or twice a year. See each other once every 2-3. Sometimes simple avoidance is best.
                                **This really troubled me when I was young. I tried to tell some family members about him 'touching' me but I was not explicit, and I was told to stop whining and fussing so much. It no longer troubles me at all. I know that he was only mimicking abusive acts that he had seen our father commit on our mother, so it kind of makes sense that it would happen in the environment we were in.
                                *** I was in a small town and wanted relationships with girls... not a chance. As it ended up I've had relatively few male partners, but after bad man experiences I became a bit of a whore with the ladies for a while.
                                ****IF this particular man ever shows up at my home, you'll see me on the news or something. I would not hesitate to kill him. Sad... but true. Physical abuse, mental and emotional abuse, and sexual abuse... all with a smile... he is evil.

                                If you'd like some sort of cinematic approximation of life with the Psycho watch the movie '.45'.
                                Honestly I haven't seen the whole thing. It started to hit close to home for me and I started having a panic attack and had to leave... what I did see wasn't quiet as messed up as some of the stuff I experienced but... it has some of the more realistic abuse I've seen.
                                Last edited by cori93437; 05-31-2012, 11:50 PM.
                                “You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
                                ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                                And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.

                                Comment

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