Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory

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Today in a thrift store, I found a wedding cake topper that is identical to the one that was on my wedding cake twenty-one years ago. I’d had a vague idea that I wanted to have something to represent the death of my marriage for the Day of the Dead altar I am planning on November 2nd. When I saw the white ceramic bride and groom, I stopped and looked at it for a minute before I picked it up. I was a little sad for that girl who got married at age 22, but I also was flooded with a feeling of relief. Who I am now, is far from who I was then. I lived the life that was expected of me for many years. I may still be trying to find my way, but now I try to live with choice and intention. And that is a very good thing.

I have a lot of patterns that I am trying to change. Patterns of shame which do not serve me any more. I am aware, and I am present. I don’t always know what I’m doing, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to live my life according to someone else’s idea of who I should or shouldn’t be.



All I want is a bra that fits well, is comfortable, looks pretty, and holds my breasts where they need to be. I don’t want to be pinched and poked under the arms with underwires, I don’t want to be squeezed and suffocated by bands and straps and cups that runneth over. I don’t want my breasts to look misshapen. I used to have a killer rack. I loved it. Now, well, it’s just a rack that needs a little love.

Someone explain to me how every fucking bra manufacturer manages to make their bras so different, in the way they fit, and hold, and look, that it’s nearly impossible to find a bra that’s a perfect match for my body? Twice in my life I’ve found bras that worked well, and I bought those bras, in (what I thought) was my size for a year or two, and it was easy and stress free, and I was brand loyal, and THEN, twice, the bras were changed, or discontinued, and my body changed as I got older and my weight has fluctuated and now I’m back at square one. Braless. (Figuratively.)

I was recently measured, to see what my current bra size should be. I wanted something new and pretty, and I bit the bullet and presented my breasts for evaluation. I suspected I had been in the wrong size for a long time, as I think many women are. Okay, actually, I knew I was in the wrong size, because Special Man has been after me to get new bras for months. Or maybe a year. (Or more.)

By the way, I hate bra sizing.

So I had been in bras sized 40D, and I knew they were too big, sort of, except sometimes I was overflowing the tops of them, so who the hell knew if I needed bigger or smaller bras, and what does that mean anyway when you’ve got band size and cup size and then you throw in all the different varieties of plunge bras, demi bras, push ups and full coverage, and that’s not even the tip of the iceberg.

The gal with the tape measure proclaimed I was a 36DD. Yeah, right, I thought. It sounded ridiculous. Still, I tried on a dozen different styles, and I could see that indeed, the DD was a good call. I danced around in the dressing room, attempting to dislodge the girls from the bra cups, and immediately dismissed any bra that lent itself easily to the overflow issue. I came home with a single bra. I had narrowed the field down to two styles, but at the last minute, I couldn’t commit to both.

I’m telling you, I have serious bra trauma.

Even now, I don’t think the size is right. It’s closer, for sure. But, still…

Someone shoot me.

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I got a killer deal on a car.  Older, well-maintained Pontiac Grand Am that I really like.  Kind of cute.  I figured I’d drive it until next summer, and then it would make an ideal car for my teenagers to drive.

And now I know why it was such a good deal.  Apparently there’s a common issue with a few makes and models of cars and their security systems, and my cute little new red car is one of them.   Randomly, the car’s security system will be triggered and the car will not start.  Will.  Not.  Start.  The security light flashes for about fifteen minutes, and when it goes off, then the car starts.  Talk about annoying.  I can’t figure out what is triggering it, and from what I read on the internet, it’s some kind of common electronic thing that just happens with the ignition reading something wrong. Or something.

It’s almost funny. (Almost.)  The car troubles that have surrounded me lately just keep coming.  I had a choice between a new 2014 car, or this (very) old, 2000 Pontiac which would keep me out of debt.  It seemed like such a smart thing to do. It runs beautifully, when the damn security system lets me drive it!  Also the click-click of the turn signal just decides to go off occasionally…there must be a short somewhere.  I’m not sure what my next step is.  Maybe I can live with it.  Maybe I can find someone to fix it, there are YouTube videos and web pages devoted solely to this lame little problem.

Now I’m off to find my big flannel nightshirt, climb into bed, and think about other, more pleasant things before falling asleep.  (And that’s all I’m saying about that…)



I went car shopping today, after I went to the dentist.  I’m not sure which was worse.

I miss my old car, the one I left in Oregon.  You know what else I miss?

Coloring books and Colorforms.  Holly Hobbie.  Watching Little House On The Prairie.  Riding my bike down a steep hill, as fast as I could with no helmet on.  Bottle Caps candy, and Zero bars.  Colored tights and tight braids.  Sticker books and paper dolls.

Now it’s car payments and electric bills. Parent-teacher conferences and grocery shopping.  Making sure there’s always toilet paper in the house.

Being a grown-up is hard.

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Dear Potential Partner (girlfriend, boyfriend, fling, hook-up, or play partner) of Any of My Partners or other Persons Important To Me, Current or Future:

When our paths cross, I will shake your hand, and smile and be honestly pleased to meet you.  I am sure that there are lots of good things about you, things that my partner sees and enjoys, and may even love about you.

I want you to know, that I may be slow to find these things.  I will regard you carefully.  I will watch you from a distance. I will keep my ears open when anyone speaks of you.

I am protective.  I worry that someone I love will get hurt.  I will not think that you are good enough for my Loved One, until you prove to me that you are. I am not jealous, I am not being a bitch; I am not here to sabotage your relationship, whatever form that may take.  I’m careful, and I do not trust anyone quickly or easily, even people who are attempting to get close to me.

I am cautious.  Do not mistake this caution for cattiness.  I am not afraid of being replaced by you. I am secure in my unique relationships.  I have worked hard to develop meaningful ties to my people, and I continue to work to maintain those bonds.  You will make your own place, and find your own space with your Important People.  Eventually you may find yourself close to me, and my mamma bear claws will twitch when new people come around you.

(Or maybe you won’t.)


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Tonight is a local poly meet-up in my medium-sized city, and I’m looking forward to some grown-up time with interesting people.  At the same time, I’m just a little bit burned out. There’s such a small poly presence in my town, and I’m stuck, not knowing how to reach out to other like-minded people.  If only some big poly activist would move here and organize a bunch of fun events and find all the non-monogamous people so I could have some new friends…

I keep hearing about this person or that person working on a book about polyamory, but none sound like the book that I want to read.  I don’t want a bible on How To Do Polyamory The Right Way.  I don’t want a history of non-monogamy, or a dissection of the varieties or flavors of the different kinds of poly.  I want someone to tell me that imperfect people can do good poly, and that I can feel jealous, or insecure, or *gasp* even resentful, and it doesn’t make me a big fat relationship failure.

I’m going shopping.

This rant brought to you by too little sleep, too many restless dreams, and too much morning coffee. ~Ginger