30 days and 2 years

30 Days.

Here we are, 30 straight (not sober) days of blogging! Woot. Thanks for the challenge Daniel... I have gained a lot from it and only cursed your name a few times, swear.

From the looks of things you all want me to chill and meditate for the next month ( I did not in anyway influence this outcome ;) with a dead tie on the 30 day photo thing BUT I did attempt the 365 day photo challenge a few months ago on FB and got about 75 days into it so I think I'll try that one a bit later,  maybe in conjunction with a photogenic 30-day challenge, like the "make something everyday" or "clean something everyday" challenges, for proof.

2 Years.

September is my birth month and it also now happens to mark the years of my life outside of the Mormon religion. I stopped paying a tenth of my income to CoJCoLDS (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) in September of 2009. I had my emotional/mental rift with the church about 6 months before that but the very tangible monetary factor halted in 09/09.

I was going to try and make a break tomorrow and neatly shovel all of my ex-Mormon baggage into a neat little pile and decorate it with flowers etc for you to peruse at your leisure but otherwise ignore it myself. I have decided against this now. I am not healed. I am not new and sparkly and whole and transformed. I have worked through A LOT of shit over the last 2 (and a half) years but there is plenty more to go. I don't think it would be wise to try and hide from it. I have this urge to tuck it under the rug because it would make a bunch of OTHER people a lot more comfortable.

There is also this urge to gloss over the REALLY dark stuff and dress it all up to look presentable to the believing community so that they (if they are still lurking) would see how brilliant it is to be out of the church and may even venture out for themselves. Whilst I am so glad that I am out and I will never ever go back... life goes on and it is not always easy.

My partner (Rockstar) and I have each been on HUGE personal journeys this year and our relationship has scraped through by the skin of its bloody teeth. I mean it. That was fucking rough man.

But here we are on some kind of high again and I can't help but feel very optimistic about the latest hurdles we have overcome because they were sooooooo huge (and they're not all entirely surmounted yet) and there is a very real sense (at least on my part) of victory atop a panoramic mountain; flag in hand; bright sun smiling back at me.

Thanks for coming along for the ride. I think I can safely guarantee you another year of drunken posts and unwanted revelations. 2012 looks set to rock the house! Plenty of 'end of days' action to be sure... Big sloppy Irish kisses to you and yours.

Love and chest bumps,
Bikinimaureen.

I am (Part One)

Each cut felt like a release. The thick matt of hair that had been growing for 7 years now lay in a heap on the floor. All those curls! It was like I was looking at a part of my body that had just been removed. I was so used to seeing those curls on me and now they were all the way down there, on the floor, not attached to me. How would they survive?

My head felt lighter. Detached. Free. 

The clippers wouldn't go through my thick gunk-covered frizz of a head so I had to wash away the weeks(!) of product and skin (euphemism for dandruff). It felt amazing to scrub away with a foaming chemical mass of shampoo and not have to fight against a tangle of wanna-be dreads. I couldn't stop. Eventually my moderately patient barber (Rockstar) said it was time. 

The rub down aka pampering time! The barber dried my hair with a towel. I must admit I hadn't thought about all of these extras. I was thinking yeah 10 minutes and it'll be done. Nope. But I liked this part very much. I suddenly realised that this experience might actually be very enjoyable, if I wanted it to be. 

This time the clippers hit their mark. My head has never been shaved before and I had a sudden panic that my head would be cut and and spew forth blood (to be fair, the last time Rockstar cut my hair he did snip my neck and leave a mark!). My barber assured me that clippers don't do that and I chose to believe him. The vibrations were soothing at first, it was relatively easy for me to close my eyes and drift off into the meditative state that I have practiced so often. I put my trust in the hands behind me and just let go. At times the vibrations became too much but a few deep breaths soon sorted that out. 

It was time to reveal. Such white skin. Was that a man? or still a woman? There was my face, staring back at me with nothing to hide behind. And my head! it has bumps and a shape of its own. 

It even has a story to tell. I have 3 scars on my head and I don't know where they came from. I will have to ask mum and dad, I remember a story about me being dropped on my head as a baby?? 

I might shave the mohawk off; it feels pretty butch. I had to try it though. 

My son loves it and wants the same cut. He keeps coming up to me and running his hand over the smooth mohawk and the rough sides. My daughter says I looked prettier before. 

Lamanite!!!

I like it. I feel like a boy though. Sometimes I look in the mirror and still see my femininity but mostly I just see that head! Luckily it is a nice shaped head. I am glad that I could set my head free and symbolically shed the weight of oppression.  I'm looking forward to the stares. I hope I don't blush too much; it really would stuff up the tough bruiser look that I've got going.