Lipstick on a Pig(gy)
Like any good queer, I've been thrust into astrology with increased passion. I blame memes. I am playfully (and not really) obsessed with the idea of my own Sagittarian nature, even if most rational people find Astrology's resurgence in popularity to be pointless and nauseating. Something that struck me about the idea of the Sagttiarian (if you've made it this far and hate astrology, please keep reading...if only because you love me and believe that I'll bury the lead like I always do and get to some "profound" statement) is their ability to express grim realities in blunt and honest ways in one breath while continuing to enjoy what life has to offer in another. Kind of like a, "we're fucked but it doesn't mean we can't go RIGHT NOW and get tacos out of this gas station," kind-of-way. Do we realize that the realities of the world don't necessarily negate all that it has to offer in the meantime? Or, is it the true addiction to freedom and risk that brings any Archer to that place? Or, is risk-taking and a complete misunderstanding about normal behavior just my own ACoA personality shining under the guise of a starry night?
I am very aware that there is a lot left to see, do, smell, taste and climb (and, mostly I want to be here for it), but the belief is always there in the moments that feel good - that I could just vaporize without much thought and a lot of relief, too. Every milestone that I reach is weirdly bigger than the casual people in my life realize - because I never thought that I would reach any of them...and I still don't. That blunt reality of my own ever-looming mental state is (maybe?) the Sagittarian function - I'm just going to be this way right now, but let's see Richard III's parking-lot grave because it looks cool and I've always wanted to see it.
I am unsure if my own inability to see myself as old or with a future is because I've always only ever been very concerned with feeling safe in the short term or if it is because I never imagined that I would not succumb to my own mental state prior to the moment that I'm experiencing RIGHT NOW. It sounds like, super scary, but what I mostly feel is profoundly surprised - sprinkled with some kind of weird pride in my own resiliency. I even named a little blog about it (like to hear it? here it goes). When life feels lived as a reactionary tale, the goal is always feels like survival with anything else being a bonus. It sounds sad but that feels like a short-change for what is a growing state of being kind of flabbergasted by all that my life still has to offer. That's not sad: it's totally exciting.
Recently, I got a gigantic Missy Piggy tattoo on my arm. I guess it's considered a half-sleeve - of Piggy flanked by beautiful flowers in front of a movie makeup mirror and topped with beautiful stars like a shining halo beacon pointing to her beautiful snout. I reached out to the artist with this idea of an eighties Piggy with the beautiful curly hair, the purple satin gloves and the bedroom eyes and she DELIVERED. When I was driving down to the first appointment, I was struck with this innate sense of jitters about such a bold choice for a place that I really hated on my body. The idea of a woman in the back-half of her thirties starting the journey to a huge Missy Piggy tattoo seemed ludicrous in that moment...the exact opposite way that it felt every second leading up to that creeping dread. I thought about all of the possibilities of what to do - cancel the appointment and pay the artist for the time she missed, get something else when I get there, consult the internet for other Piggy fans. The answer, though, came to me in the form of a queer podcast featuring Fran Tirado - an deputy editor of Out magazine, a podcaster and a totally bad bitch. When Fran shared who his "queero" was, as I was fear-driving to get a tattoo, he revealed that he believed in Missy Piggy. In that moment, the fear washed away that I was making the wrong choice and I leaped into complete rejoicing with the universe.
The Universe will provide - mostly. When I say mostly I mean - in ways that aren't fancy or tremendous or even really helpful in the moment. Much like the wonder the realization that there is room to feel both intense wonder in all that is left to see while simultaneously being totally fine with the idea of poofing away without having done any of it. That feels like the Sagittarian belief, I think.
The lipstick on the Piggy.
I am very aware that there is a lot left to see, do, smell, taste and climb (and, mostly I want to be here for it), but the belief is always there in the moments that feel good - that I could just vaporize without much thought and a lot of relief, too. Every milestone that I reach is weirdly bigger than the casual people in my life realize - because I never thought that I would reach any of them...and I still don't. That blunt reality of my own ever-looming mental state is (maybe?) the Sagittarian function - I'm just going to be this way right now, but let's see Richard III's parking-lot grave because it looks cool and I've always wanted to see it.
I am unsure if my own inability to see myself as old or with a future is because I've always only ever been very concerned with feeling safe in the short term or if it is because I never imagined that I would not succumb to my own mental state prior to the moment that I'm experiencing RIGHT NOW. It sounds like, super scary, but what I mostly feel is profoundly surprised - sprinkled with some kind of weird pride in my own resiliency. I even named a little blog about it (like to hear it? here it goes). When life feels lived as a reactionary tale, the goal is always feels like survival with anything else being a bonus. It sounds sad but that feels like a short-change for what is a growing state of being kind of flabbergasted by all that my life still has to offer. That's not sad: it's totally exciting.
Recently, I got a gigantic Missy Piggy tattoo on my arm. I guess it's considered a half-sleeve - of Piggy flanked by beautiful flowers in front of a movie makeup mirror and topped with beautiful stars like a shining halo beacon pointing to her beautiful snout. I reached out to the artist with this idea of an eighties Piggy with the beautiful curly hair, the purple satin gloves and the bedroom eyes and she DELIVERED. When I was driving down to the first appointment, I was struck with this innate sense of jitters about such a bold choice for a place that I really hated on my body. The idea of a woman in the back-half of her thirties starting the journey to a huge Missy Piggy tattoo seemed ludicrous in that moment...the exact opposite way that it felt every second leading up to that creeping dread. I thought about all of the possibilities of what to do - cancel the appointment and pay the artist for the time she missed, get something else when I get there, consult the internet for other Piggy fans. The answer, though, came to me in the form of a queer podcast featuring Fran Tirado - an deputy editor of Out magazine, a podcaster and a totally bad bitch. When Fran shared who his "queero" was, as I was fear-driving to get a tattoo, he revealed that he believed in Missy Piggy. In that moment, the fear washed away that I was making the wrong choice and I leaped into complete rejoicing with the universe.
The Universe will provide - mostly. When I say mostly I mean - in ways that aren't fancy or tremendous or even really helpful in the moment. Much like the wonder the realization that there is room to feel both intense wonder in all that is left to see while simultaneously being totally fine with the idea of poofing away without having done any of it. That feels like the Sagittarian belief, I think.
The lipstick on the Piggy.
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