Posts Tagged ‘pheromones’

Full Moon Fever

November 7, 2014

Is it really the moon being full or is it an excuse to act like a loony?

Does it actually matter?

For instance, having been recently visited by the monthly due I pay for being a woman, I wondered, would I have had as much chemistry happening for me if my body hadn’t been screaming to be impregnated?

And, was it really God’s protection, the rejection?

Would I have gotten carried away?

I mean you don’t have to believe that prayer works, the efficacy is proven and written about and yes, I do, but no you don’t have to, and so it doesn’t really matter that last Saturday when I felt abandoned and went to the loo after ward to catch my breath it was no wonder that there was a small red dot floating in the water.

I believe in hormones, but I also believe in chemistry.

There’s something to be said for pheromones.

Moan.

And sexy seems to be oozing out of my pores at times, as it was so fondly related to me from an outside observer.

“You two are too much tall, dark, and sexy.”

It hit me today.

Whoa.

I mean, ok, it hits me more and more often, but shit, ma, I am sexy.

I know revelation.

What?

“Women would kill to look like you,” a past date said to me once over watermelon radish salad at Maverick’s in the Mission.

I was hoping he would just kiss me again.

I spend too much time wondering if he will just kiss me again.

All the he’s all over the place.

All the moon and the hormones and the chemistry and the pretty faces.

I can have it all.

I was sharing this evening and it really struck me, wait, I do attract god damn attractive people, so I needn’t be shy about asking attractive men out.

I know.

REVELATORY.

Not that I have spent a lot of time to fantasize about any one in particular, but I sacked up, I asked out a really attractive man.

He said yes.

Which means, I know, you are laughing at me, I am attractive to attractive men.

Which means, go for it.

I don’t know if it was the flirting I was doing with one of the vendors at the Bartlett Street Farmer’s Market in the Mission (totally harmless, but fun, I’m not about to date someone who lives in Watsonville.  I mean, where is that anyway?) or it was the late afternoon Americano I had before hitting the market.

Or perhaps that fateful, full, creamy moon rising over me.

It sang me out the door of work tonight and I noticed a lot of heady, giddy, crazy drivers, taxi cabs, bicyclists, happy hour folks being wooed by the great disk in the sky.

Did we all notice it at the same time?

Did it give permission to be sassy and sexy and wound up?

I don’t know.

But that self-same moon followed my home on my bicycle, singing in my blood, urging me on, pulling me forward, down, down, down to the sea.

I wanted someone to go barefoot walking on the beach with that moon bright as neon kisses over my head.

I don’t often want someone to go walking on the beach with me, it seems trite, clichéd, and over done, but tonight, I could almost feel the cool sand on my bare feet.

I could certainly feel the cool air from my bicycle ride in my hair when I got back to the house and pulled it up into a top knot.

I wanted someone’s hands in that coolness, until it wasn’t cool anymore.

And that’s when my little sexy epiphany struck, somewhere between pulling up my hair and folding my clothes (I was super sneaky and got in a load of laundry last night, so nice to squeeze that in early), I could ask out other really attractive, to me, men.

Guys that I might have previously, erroneously, thought, nah, he’s out of my league.

I tried to summon someone to mind and no one sprang fully formed like Athena from Zeus’s brow, but that was ok too.

Just the knowledge was enough.

“You are learning all sorts of things about you.”

That’s what dating is about.

Learning about myself.

As though I haven’t learned enough already, here again, more to learn, more things to sort through and grow around.

Awesome.

I mean annoying.

I mean awesome.

I am learning that I don’t want to date people, men, whom I am not attracted to.

So that dude that I met at Decompression who kissed me with stale Tecate mouth, NOT attracted to.  Don’t give out phone number, even if I said I would try to date and do one a week, there’s no point in going out with someone who leaves me cold.

What else am I learning?

Not to go on super big dates.

Start small.

No big theatrical stuff, start with a cup of coffee.

I sort of already knew this, but I have to stick to my guns.

First date is chill.

Sort of like an interview.

And if the guy interviews well, than second date can be decided upon.

Communication is super important and I have to say what I need.

So.

I am having a whole heap of learning.

Good stuff.

The moon is still full-out there and I am obviously full of myself, but that’s ok, if I don’t get a little full of myself occasionally, who the fuck will?

I might do something wrong, I might go fuck it up some more, but hey, I am living.

The trees in the park, the giant wide trunks, the breadth and circumference of them, the reach of limbs toward the yellow moon of buttery love, they were here before me, they will be here after me.

What care the trees for my foibles?

In the great, grand scheme of it all.

I am just a tiny drop in the bucket of life.

A sexy drop.

But a drop none the less.

 

 


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